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kiss-me-muchoo · 9 months

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one (this one) // part two: Afterglow

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ Miguel falls for the sweet spider girl that opens a bakery on the HQ. Of course he had to ruin it, but… Did he lose the girl? 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ age gap (legal, not specified), implied Hispanic reader, angst, asshole Miguel, pastries and sweets,idk, no proofread 𝐀/𝐍_ read along cruel summer from my playlist!<3 (cruel summer coded fic)

♪ ♫ My Miguel O’Hara playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Miguel O’Hara thinks you’re annoying, always giggling like a toddler and gossiping with everyone. Except him.

He had to accept you were creative; your iridescent suit was proof of it.

Your friendship with the spiders that gave the most terrible headaches to Miguel was annoying.

You’re laughing very hard with Gwen in the middle of the gym sector.

When Miguel looks up, he sees Miles tangled in a tight of webs in the ceiling.

“What is going on here?” He asks, walking in completely.

“Oh-“ Gwen mumbles, the laughing seizing.

“Hey, Miguel!. Can you help me come down?” Miles asks, causing you and Gwen to start laughing again.

Soon, silence reigned again after Miguel sent you and the blonde girl a death look.

The man rolls his eyes and sighs, tired. However, he goes and helps Miles to get down.

“pss…” Gwen whispers, indicating you quietly leave the gym. You nod, smiling.

It had been almost a year; since Miles learned about his destiny since the spot almost killed everyone, and since you joined the Spider society.

Yeah, a lot happened.

“I never said you two could leave…” Miguel spits without even looking. When he does, you and Gwen are holding hands, looking scared as if a spook was in his place. He could laugh if it wasn’t because of the image he had to maintain.

“I asked for that earth-01989 report two hours ago…” he said, frowning at Gwen.

“And I needed you in today’s mission with me,” so Miguel wanted you; he needed you out of all the spiders in the facility.

“I was in the nursing room getting stitches. See?…” you say, lifting your arm to show your bare skin sewn with a fine thread. Some blood was decorated around the long line that would likely transform into a scar.

Miguel’s angered face softened.

“Are you okay?” Even Gwen seems abashed when Miguel asks you that.

“Yes. It was this tedious variant of Mysterio and his projectiles” Miles finally appears on Miguel’s side, hearing the conversation.

“I don’t want you on any mission until that heals”

“Are you kidding?” You ask incredulously, thinking your boss was exaggerating.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He could not be intimidating. Always making sassy comments, with a monotonous tone.

“I guess not…” Your face barely brushed his chest. And the one and only time his hand holds your body, you feel like a porcelain doll, small and delicate.

“Buena chica….” He finalized petting your head and starting to leave. It annoys you; you weren’t a dog.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Use your imagination, y/n. You’re a creative spider…”

Gwen, Miles, and you just stare in silence.

He thought you were creative; how sweet.

…

Miguel just finished a debriefing. He was finally alone until Jess entered the room, at least without her loud motorcycle.

“What are you doing? It’s lunchtime,” she points out.

Miguel smells sweet, sugar… or something soft.

“I don’t take my lunchtime. You know it…” When the woman stands beside him, he sees it.

There’s a little plate on her hands. Spider cupcakes and a cookie… with his mask as a decoration.

“What’s that?” He asks in disbelief.

“What? This?. Oh, it’s from y/n’s bakery” Miguel looks confused.

“…y/n’s bakery?” Jess shrugs, biting the cupcake.

“Yeah, you said the aisles beside the cafeteria could have a renovation.”

“I never approved a bakery.” He wasn’t mad but wanted to know why you didn’t ask. He would have said yes, only to you.

He started to move towards the exit and heard Jess sighing.

“Don’t be harsh with her, Miguel. It’s making everyone happy…” he didn’t say anything.

…

Half of the aisle was a cabin in the woods, with moss, bulb lights, bookshelves, and the smell of espresso all over.

The other half was the Italian Renaissance, similar to the Bradbury building of LA. Black and white floor tiles with a dark and elegant vibe.

Very interesting.

Some spiders greet him and say he needs to try his own cookies. Miguel doesn’t know if it annoys or intrigues him.

Until he walks to the cash register, you are with Pavitr and Margo giggling. Margo is taking the orders, and Pavitr helps you with the baking.

Miguel sneaks through the back door for the kitchen and grunts, making you and the boy turn around.

“What’s this supposed to mean?” Miguel asks. Pav drops some dishes and stares in shock at his boss.

“So-… I’m leaving,” Pavitr mumbles before calling it quits. You send him a lousy look before washing your hands from the dough in the process of being finished. Finally, you stare at Miguel with a smile.

“This is The spider’s lounge cabin bakery.”

“That’s a long name,” you laugh hard, slight dimples forming. And Miguel is annoyed. Cute

“Why I wasn’t noticed of this?” you blush, scratching your forearm. He never thought you would build a bakery while you healed.

“I wanted to tell you. But you’re always busy. Jess said she would tell you.”

Jess never said anything. He could always make time for you.

“Then she must’ve forgotten too,” you nod. Suddenly you don’t know what to say. Miguel feels the air shift; Margo keeps taking orders, and people keep picking cakes and cookies, but deep down, everyone wants to hear what Miguel is saying to you,

“I’m not mad, y/n.” He really is not.

“But I’m not happy either.”

“Just.., just try something,” he’s surprised but looks at the showcase shelves with many desserts; crème brûlée, cupcakes, a pink mousse, and slices of cakes. But there was a section that captured his whole attention; pan dulce. Pieces of conchas, torcidos, mantecadas, there’s even chocoflan, arroz con leche and more.

“Oh, yeah… you know about my Hispanic heritage. And… I did this whole section for you” his heart beats faster. But as the stubborn spider, Miguel only asks Margo for a polvorón. The girl hands him the cookie, which is small and covered in white dust that is sugar.

Honestly, you’re sweating. Too nervous to digest Miguel’s upcoming reaction.

He takes a bite of the cookie and slowly starts chewing it.

“Please don’t fire me…” he hears you but says nothing.

He has to suppress a moan from how good the polvorón tasted.

The cookie was perfectly baked, with small pieces of walnuts appearing once in between bites. And the sugar melted in his mouth.

“I want a report on how this is doing….weekly,” you nod. But there’s a little smirk on your face; you know he must’ve liked the cookie.

“As you wish. Thank you” he only offers you a slight nod before leaving.

He didn’t need a report. It was useless. But that meant he could see you around oftenly.

…

Jess was right. Everyone seemed to be happy with the Spider’s lounge cabin bakery. Miguel had to see donuts, cakes, and more, dedicated to different spiders or seasons.

And somehow, Miguel grew fond of you, but was terrified.

He promised to stay away from catching feelings. Maybe it was because of the sweet smile you always offered him whenever he passed by the bakery.

Or the stupid cookies you kept doing based on his mask.

It must have been because of your jericallas, his favorite dessert.

Every Friday, Miguel was there, watching you bake. There wasn’t a lot of talking, mostly just him finishing some reports and planning missions as you decorated pastries. It was a pleasant silence, though.

Quickly, after some weeks, both of you were used to it.

You sigh, looking at Miguel. The spider society was almost empty on a Friday night. But he was there sitting on the little desk. He looked ridiculously broad seated there.

He must feel tired, but he’s a workaholic. You admire him cause of that, only you can’t help but feel some sadness. Loneliness must haunt him. And you would love to be his company.

Suddenly Miguel smells something; herbs and sugar.

“Miguel…” you call him. Hoping to catch his attention, and help him to relieve the stress he was always in.

A cup of hot tea and a slice of pan de elote appeared before him.

“What’s this?…” you roll your eyes at him.

“You’re tired. And you didn’t pick any empanadas today. Please, eat something…” he didn’t know how perceptive you were of him. He was glad you were.

“Fine,” he accepts. You cheer, and he can’t help but smile.

The tea is sweet but no more than the pan de elote. It’s perfect, soft, and made by you.

“Do you like it?”

“You know I love everything you do…” you’re shocked. The feeling of getting blushed only increases.

He probably referred to your baking; that’s it. Maybe he referred to everything else.

“That’s so sweet of you, Miguel” Now he was blushing. Staring at each other, you’re the first to break contact, hiding your gaze by placing some hairs behind your ear.

“So you do this in your earth?”

“My grandma taught me everything. And then, I worked in a bakery for a while. Now I’m just in college,” he nods, taking another sip of the tea.

“Coding, right?” Now you nod with a smile, surprised that he remembered your major.

“Yeah. I wanted to major in arts, but my parents thought it wasn’t good enough to give me a stable income.” Miguel had some idea of the economy being totally different than the one on his earth. However, he’s very intrigued to know more about you. He thought it would be harder to converse with you, but surprisingly, that was not the case.

“What else do you like to do?” You realize you’re having the most extended conversation you’ve ever had with Miguel since… ever.

“I’m a home girl. I like staying in my room and reading and watching movies. I’m pretty boring. Anyways…What about you?”

“I-I really don’t have time for anything” Somehow, Miguel was embarrassed. His life revolved around being Spider-Man and leader of the spider society. And since he lost his family… that’s all he was.

You offered him a warm smile. You could feel he was not proud of that. And you blamed the trauma he had with his past. And from the bottom of your heart, you leaned to caress his big shoulder.

“You deserve a break, Miguel. The spider verse won’t collapse for you wanting a life” Something from your words touched him. He looked into your eyes and found kindness. You were what he needed.

“Would you hang out with me?” It was too late to analyze what he had said, basically a date. Miguel wanted to bang his head against the desk. Maybe you didn’t want to do anything with him, only coworkers. He was older than you and-… No. He was afraid of the date going well. Cause if that happened, he wasn’t sure if he would give in to you.

You’re blushing again.

“For real?…like friends? Or like… a date?” You were babbling. Never in your wildest dreams, you thought Miguel O’Hara would invite you to hang out with him.

“Whatever it pleases you,” there was no turning back. He was happy, though.

“I would love to have a date with you” The touch on his shoulder sends him a wave of tranquility. For one day, Miguel promises to not think about his past and enjoy the moment. He thinks he’s choosing a woman like you; intelligent, realistic, sweet, and kind. Everything could quickly go well.

“Okay then. It’s a date…” he smiles; it’s a short smile, but you’re more than pleased.

He stands up and cleans the desk. While he does, you have a dorky smile plastered on your face. And you are eager to find out Something.

“Miguel?” He keeps cleaning.

“Hmm?” His back faces you, but he can see you smiling.

“Why me?” Finally, he turns around.

You are so small. He can’t wait to see how your little hands will feel tangled with his. Your ear will barely press against his chest as he hugs you tightly. He couldn’t hide it anymore… he had feelings for you.

“You match what I need,” he said before leaving, not before giving you another brief smile.

Before that day, you weren’t even sure if Miguel cared about you. You were technically new to the society. And he barely shared glances with you.

But you matched his needs, and that was lovely.

…

A thrift store dress was always a good purchase. For this occasion, it was lilac, a y2k nostalgic dress. It matched your red lipstick, red purse, and chunky boots.

You were going to have a date with Miguel O’Hara.

He would meet you to see a movie at your New York historic theater and then… dinner.

Simple.

A few days before the date, you dared to kiss Miguel on the cheek after heading out of the HQ.

He blushed, and you loved seeing him like that.

Then Gwen and Lyla cheered and were all about your date. Jess, on the other side, was a little suspicious. However, she told you everything was gonna be okay. You didn’t understand what she meant.

When you showed the lilac dress, Lyla was sincere in telling you how pretty you looked and how it highlighted the best features of your body.

Everything seemed to be okay.

So you arrived five minutes late to the theater; 7:36 pm. And Miguel wasn’t there yet. A lot of couples were in lane to buy tickets. The popcorns smelled amazing, and you wanted to try the burgers beside the historic building. You were getting impatient, hoping to see the giant silhouette of Miguel.

But he was a busy man, so you waited.

You waited, and waited, and waited, and waited.

8:59 pm; he never came.

…

Gwen Stacy opened your bedroom window only to find the room empty.

Your butterfly lights that decorated your bookshelves are on. Your family is not home, Gwen can assume.

So she hears you; you’re sobbing loudly.

She panics and starts looking for you until she steps into the kitchen, and you punch a big chunk of dough… or something.

“Y/n… What happened?” The blonde asks, hurrying to come to your side and look at your face.

When you turn, your nose looks like a cherry and swollen and red eyes keep squeezing out tears that fall across your face and land on the dough.

“We were worried for you. What’s wrong?” You shake your head, returning to your baking, sniffing. Gwen sighs, taking her mask off.

“Miguel was looking for you like crazy.” The blonde noticed that, as he mentioned Miguel, you sobbed harder again, so he started to worry again.

“He can especially go and fuck himself,” you mumble with a broken voice.

“What? So the date didn’t go well?” When you try to reach for a bag of cocoa powder in the drawers, Gwen gets it with her webs.

“The date didn’t even happen because he stood me up” Your friend is in shock, her mouth is open in disbelief, and her eyes are wide open.

“NO WAY!. But-…No, Something must’ve happened. Why would Miguel do something like that?”

“Because he’s a fucking asshole,” you spit with so much venom. Even Gwen notices it, Something that it’s highly unusual for you.

“If he wasn’t ready, if he didn’t even like me, he could have avoided all of this,” you explain, trying to sound calm. But it’s nearly impossible with how much you’ve been crying.

“There must be a reason, y/n. Miguel seeme-”

“I don’t want to know, Gwen” She respects it, she stays quiet. You tilt your head, planning to sound softer with your friend.

“Look, I want to cry the whole day. So tomorrow, I’ll be able to walk into the HQ like nothing. So from now on… This never happened. Okay, Gwen?” She nods.

She helps you with a chocolate cake and gets at least three smiles from you.

You offer half of the cake for her and Hobie, as you promised to give Peter, Pav, Miles, and Jess a slice too.

But the whole night, you can only think about Miguel.

Why he had to be such a fucking jerk?

…

Miguel is working on a new serum when Gwen stomps in. She makes sure she’s being loud enough to draw their attention.

“You can’t be here,” he says to the girl.

“Why did you stood up, y/n?” That was enough to pull him out of his experiment. Miguel exchanged looks with Gwen before he remembered it.

The fucking date. He never came; he didn’t even let you know what happened.

“Mierda…” he whispers.

“So?…” Gwen asks, reluctant, arms crossed on her chest, demanding an answer.

“Didn’t Jess tell you?” Gwen shook her head, confused.

“A variant of the green goblin tried to make his own super collider. It was a mess…” Until that moment, Gwen noticed a patch on Miguel’s arm. She admits to herself it must’ve been pretty bad to make the great Spider-Man 2099 injured.

“If you didn’t come to say that, I wouldn’t have remembered it. How is she?” He tries to sound even; calmed. But he’s not; he’s stressing, and the embarrassment quickly invades him.

That Saturday, he was getting ready for the date when Ben called. Miguel grew worried about another super collider being created, so he ran back to the HQ.

The fight was very tough; he injured his whole arm, and when he returned home, he was knocked out. And the following day, he forgot about the date entirely. But he didn’t forget you, 'cause he looked for you like crazy.

“Not okay. She thought you stood her up. Which you did, but…”

“I didn’t mean to. I would never purposefully hurt her,” Gwen nods. Knowing she won’t be able to read Miguel’s face.

“Well… tell her, not me. But I warn you if this changes her forever…I’ll blame you forever” Miguel had an idea of Gwen’s words. You only had one true love before, your Harry Osborn, who died in your arms. You were only fifteen and since then… No love for you.

“I’ll fix this, Gwen. I promise…” he assured her.

…

Miguel was taking longer than intended to fix things.

He spent around an hour looking for you in the HQ, only to learn from Jess that you were on a mission with Peter and Hobie.

“Gwen said you stood her up. Why the hell did you do that?” Miguel knew the woman was mad at him. Even when Jess was older than you, she liked you a lot. Everyone did.

“You know what happened. You were there with me.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t aware it was the same day as the date. You could have let her know when you knew about the anomaly, Miguel.”

“I know, Jess. I know…” he was stressed… a lot. Jess shook her arms in surrender. But she also knew she could help her friend.

“Just talk with her. She might understand… both of you should give it a chance” She was right because the more Miguel thought if it was okay to court you, the more he realized he liked you.

“She’s arriving in ten minutes… be gentle,” he nodded. Looking at his gizmo, he saw you just entered Nueva York and were heading towards the showers.

Slowly, he made his way there.

A long hallway connected the pools and showers for different genders. Miguel found himself walking through it. Many spiders were in the pool, and some greeted him, but Miguel was fixated on seeing you.

A door opened; the ladies showered. You came out with wet hair, sweatpants, a baggy tee, and sandals. Miguel had never seen you without your suit before. Just a picture Peter showed him of an evening you spent with him and Mayday. That day you had a pretty sundress, and your hair was in a cute braid.

However, now…Miguel knew everything was different. Now he has a personal issue with you. One that he caused in the first place.

“Hey…” he called once he was an inch behind you. You turned to face him, only to roll your eyes and walk away towards the exit.

“Please, y/n. We need to talk,” he insisted, gently grabbing your forearm.

You weren’t expecting him to come and find you, but how regretful he was trying to sound enrages you.

“Now you wanna talk?. I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood to talk” The hostility in your voice takes him aback.

“I just need some minutes, please,” you sigh. You don’t want to be immature but still think it’s unfair.

“Really? I just needed five seconds, Miguel. In five seconds, you could have told me an anomaly came in” he’s embarrassed. Gwen must’ve told you.

“I know you’ve suffered enough to open up again with somebody. But I’ve been there too. And if you weren’t ready or didn’t even like me… you could have avoided having me waiting an hour in that theater like an idiot.”

“But I do like you. And it’s been a while since the last time I’ve felt like this” At that moment, Miguel didn’t know he had chosen the wrong words.

“SHUT UP!” A lot of spiders turn to see you and Miguel. You eye them shortly, slightly embarrassed.

“You’re an asshole, Miguel O’Hara. And if you ever try to play with me again, I’ll leave the spider society and make sure you can never come to my earth again.” You don’t even glance at him. But you want to. You want to forgive him so severely, to ask about the injury in his arm and bake him something. You open a portal with tears in your eyes as you head home.

You won’t. You know the pain of a broken heart, and you won’t go through that again.

And poor Miguel, chooses a woman to try again for love, and he messes everything. But he’s optimistic; he had chosen a woman and was confident it wasn’t the ending. He would try again until you were smiling again.

But you wished having your friends and saving the spider-verse didn’t depend on Miguel being the leader of the spider society. Because you didn’t want to see him again. Like…never.

How does the song goes?…. I love you, Ain’t that worst thing you’ve ever heard?

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Comment if you want to be tagged in part two :)

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara angst #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse

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takenbypeter · 11 months

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Anything To Make You Smile

Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 903

Authors note: so many people requested a part two to this Anything to make him smile, and I think I might have to make a part 3, also idk if there is a sword for this there is

Here Bucky and Sam were, back at the S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. And despite Bucky telling them he was done with this sort of thing he still found himself constantly being pulled back again. Thankfully they were just finishing up a mission report this time.

He didn’t enjoy coming to headquarters, too many people, too many looks despite them already knowing who he was.

But it wasn’t all bad.

“And that’s when AJ and Cass got caught, right in the middle of everything,” Sam said laughing at his own story about his nephews while eating one of the free breakfast bars from the break room.

Bucky’s head was faced in Sam’s direction but his eyes were focused past Sam, and on you. You were outside the door just across the hallway perched at the water cooler.

Now Bucky and you have reached some sort of understanding over the past few months, you would greet each other with smiles, genuine ones now, and sure you’d make small talk here and there nothing big, but today?Today you seemed out of it.

I mean this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you today, he walked by you when he first got there and he expected some sort of greeting but you kept your eyes down, mind seemingly elsewhere.

Even here at the cooler you looked distracted. Now, typically your face rested with the corners of your mouth tilted a little bit upwards, today your lips ran a flat line. Bucky would tell himself he didn’t care, but he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering if everything was okay.

Sam easily caught on as he looked behind him then back at the vibranium armed man. “Alright, go on.”

That seemed to grab back Bucky’s attention, “what?”

“Go on. Go talk to Y/n, you clearly want to. I’m out here telling a hilarious story and you just want to ignore me.”

Bucky shook his head, “no it’s not like that, just…” Buck’s eyes fall to you again before back to Sam, “something’s off.”

“Then go find out,” Sam simply suggested. Bucky wanted to argue and mind his own business but his body was already reacting as he pushed himself off from the counter that he was leaning on and began walking your direction.

Wanting the conversation to happen as naturally as possible he grabbed a cup and poured himself a drink from the water cooler that you were standing beside as you drank from your own cup.

He took a sip from the paper cup before lowering it from his mouth, “hey,” he said.

You responded by giving him a tired smile, “hey.”

Buck looked away, pressing his lips together. Usually you did most of the talking. He wasn’t exactly sure where to go from here. After taking another sip from his drink he figured he’d cut right to the chase, “are you…okay?”

You turned to him with your eyelids resting halfway. “You seem a little off, that’s all.”

“I’m fine, just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Bucky knew how that felt, but he didn’t want to make this about him. “What happened?”

“Oh you know. The usual, just up all night crying, but don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal,” you promised, trying to remind yourself not to give too much information to the attractive man which was difficult because he did make you a little nervous.

“I’m sorry,” is all he said.

“No don’t be, it’s just one of those things you know?”

He pressed his lips together and raised his brows, lines taking shape above them. “I do know how that is.” You tilted your head and he pointed to himself adding, “nightmares.”

“Oh, gotcha…well it’s just one of those things that we gotta keep moving forward right?”

He nodded again and you offered him a real genuine smile, it wasn’t as big as your usual but he could tell you meant it. With that little chat you threw away your cup, thanked him, and went back on your way.

Buck didn’t know what to do but he wanted to help you in some way, just wasn’t sure how.

Practically twenty minutes later he found you again as he was leaving the building.

“Hey I hoped I’d run into you.”

“Oh yeah? Well here I am,” you said with an exhausted expression still on your face.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say bye and I’ll see you next time.”

That was strange to you, he’s never looked for you before, not like this. “See you next time,” you repeated, finding this interaction odd. He walked past you but before he got too far he turned around again, “oh and uh, check your right cardigan pocket.” And off he went not even a stalling to see your reaction.

Automatically you reach in curiously. You felt a piece of paper in there and pulling it out, you realized it was folded in four quadrants. Unfolding it you opened it up and on it was an endearing picture of a tiny kitten, hanging onto a tree branch, with the words, ‘hang in there,’ plastered in the photo.

This was so hilariously silly to you, especially with the fact that it came from Bucky, the man who half the building was afraid of. Despite your day being crap, you couldn’t stop the laugh that started to escape from your mouth.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic

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tvgirllvr · 9 months

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part two to the james potter smut I wrote!!! again, im new to writing, so pls give me tips how to be better!

James Potter x Reader

Warnings: smut, praise kink, degrading kink, size kink, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (WEAR A CONDOM), probably more idk

———————————————————————

It’s the next day, the day after James had told you to meet him after practice. You went back to your dorm last night feeling both satisfied and unsatisfied. Yes, you got to suck James Potter’s cock. However, there wasn’t enough time for him to return the favor. All considered, you were everything and excited for your guy’s encounter tonight.

In potions class today he actually said hello to you. It may seem like nothing but it has never happened before. Not only that, you also caught him staring at you a few times. Once you made eye contact with him he smirked, every single time. How could someone you dislike so much make you this desperate?

As you're walking out of potions you feel a familiar hand placed on your shoulder. You turn around, and of course, it's the man himself.

“Hey, um - can I talk to you about something?” James asked. He seemed a little nervous.

“Yeah, what's going on?” You replied, he could tell you were anxious by the pitch in your voice.

“Listen, about tonight, I’m sorry. We have a game tomorrow and I told the team we would have a late practice … so I’m going to have to cancel. I really wish I could return the favor now. I promise I will another time. Okay baby?’

Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Oh, um - yeah. That's fine,” you replied quietly. God, you were pissed. So pissed. Who fucking does that?

“I’m sorry, again,” his repetitiveness was starting to annoy you. With that, you did anything a pissed off person would do. You didn’t reply, turned your back, and walked away.

______________________________________________

It’s two hours later and you still can’t stop thinking about how James totally blew you off. I guess he didn’t make a fake excuse, the Gryffindor team was in fact practicing that night. Still, your feelings were hurt. You wanted to make him regret the fact that he canceled on plans, and as always, you had the perfect plan to do so.

It wasn’t uncommon for the Gryffindor girls to gawk over the boys at practice, they would sit in the high booths and drool over whichever boy they liked that week. You had only done it a few times before, but tonight seemed like the perfect opportunity to pick up an old hobby.

You went through the clothes you had brought to school and found the most perfect thing to wear. A black mini skirt, a tight sweater, and a necklace that rested in between your breasts. James had previously made a comment about how worked up you wearing skirts got him, so you were positive that this plan would work to an extent. You gathered two of your girl friends and proposed the idea of going up to watch the boys. They agreed in the same beat, and before you knew it, you were up in those stands.

Watching the team play was an interesting experience. Some of the boys you felt incredibly repulsing, you became annoyed when they would wink at you or look at you for too long. It made you question if you should just leave, but once you saw the face of James Potter when one of his mates whistled at you, you made up your mind to stay.

Everytime one of James’ teammates made a comment or even looked in your direction, he would furiously grip his broom and block the teammate’s view of you. God, could he make it more obvious? At the end of the day, it didn’t matter to you, because you were the one getting him all flustered. To be frank, it was all his fault.

You eventually got too cold so you and your friends decided to call it a night. If it went as usual, the long Quidditch practice would last another hour. Boohoo, you thought. Poor James is stuck on a broom while you were going to fingerfuck yourself to make up for his absence. Of course that isn’t the ideal situation, but it was better than nothing. Walking down from the stands, you were shocked to hear what was being shouted about on the field. Nevertheless, it made your stomach turn with anticipation.

“Alright you guys!” You heard James yell, “That's it for today. You guys have worked hard enough, we should be good for tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep!”

Oh, thats fucking funny. James Potter, who had to cancel on fucking you tonight, just ended practice early cause he got too worked up seeing you dressed like a slut. You were trying to anticipate what his next move was going to be, but honestly, you had no clue. With that, you began walking back to your dorm. Your two friends had already left you behind because you were purposefully walking slowly to listen to what James was saying to the team. You couldn’t walk for 60 seconds without hearing a pissed voice call you.

“What the fuck was that?” You heard James ask sternly. You whipped around, he was only a few yards behind you.

‘What was what?” You teased, knowing exactly what got him worked up.

“Are you kidding me? What was what? I’m talking about you showing up to practice dressed like a total slut. You should have heard what the guys were saying about you. Where do you get off doing that?”

“I don’t know Potter, maybe I was trying to impress someone.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “who?”

“It’s none of your business,” you replied, a little too snarky. This seemed to piss him off.

“Oh, yeah? It is my business. You were the one begging for my cock down your throat last night,” he said in a soft voice, almost mocking. He was slowly getting closer to you.

“What does that have to do with anything?” you said in a very defensive tone.

“What that means is that if I were to pull you into that empty classroom right there, bend you over and fuck you from behind, you would let me. Don’t pretend like you're so innocent being dressed like that.”

You went silent. You knew that’s what you wanted. He knew that's what you wanted.

“Please,” in a whisper, was all you were able to get out. He grabbed you by your waist and did exactly what he suggested. He pulled you into the closest classroom and locked the door. Before you know it, he was pinning you on the desk that belonged to professor whoever.

“You’re such a fucking brat trying to distract me. You should know better than that. You were so good to me last night, but now, I don’t think you deserve anything at all,” he said with a knee in between your legs. God, you needed him so bad.

He was kissing you so slow, he knew that he was teasing you. All he wanted was to see how desperate you were for him and you were giving him all of that. With your hands tangled in each other's hair, you felt one of his hands run down your body and to your cunt.

“So wet and needy. I bet you don’t even need any warming up, bet I could slip my cock right inside your tight pussy and you would love it just as much. Isn’t that right?” He asked while circling your clit with his thumb.

“Yes, more .. please more,” was all you were able to get out. He let out a laugh at that.

“God, you’re so fucking pathetic. You really are just a horny slut wanting to be used, only by me right?”

“Yes...yes, yes! Only by you,” you let out as he picked up the pace.

“What a sight,” he said while taking off your skirt. “Awww, did my baby wear her pretty pink panties for me to see? Too bad you soaked right through them, gotta take them off.”

As he removed your underwear, he let out a sigh as he was able to see your cunt for the first time. He looked up at you, made eye contact, then immediately began placing kisses on your clit. He moaned against your heat as he stuck a finger inside, making your body shift with pleasure.

“So fucking tight, how am I going to fit in there?” He asked, “Guess I do have to warm you up doll. Fuck, you taste so good….”

He added another finger inside you and began to pick up the pace to which his tongue was moving. You couldn’t help but let out a large moan as he moaned against you.

“Oh my fucking god, I’m gonna fucking cum, ” you let out as you were approaching your high.

“Hmm… I don’t know if I should let you though. You acted like such a spoiled brat earlier, getting me worked up with your cute ass in that skirt. Maybe I should just leave you here, let you get yourself off so you can learn your lesson,” he said as he pulled off of you for a moment.

You would think his words would actually make you less likely to finish, but something about the way he was talking to you only made the ache in between your legs more prominent.

“Please, please, please. I’ll be good, I swear,” you moaned in separate breaths, hoping he’s kind enough.

“Alright pretty. Go ahead, cum. You’ll look so cute, I just know it.”

As he flicked his tongue as fast as he could on your clit, you came to a high you didn’t even think was possible. You moaned out his name as you had your hands tangled in his hair making sure he was as close to your cunt as possible. Soon enough, you pulled him off because whatever he just put you through made you the most sensitive you had ever been.

“Fuck baby,” he groaned, “looked so pretty like that. Ha, like what you see?”

It was hard not to see his hard cock making a clear mark through his uniform. You wanted nothing more than to experience what it was like to be totally, and utterly, destroyed by him. You reach down to his pants and undid them. As soon as his cock was released, you wrapped a hand around the base then moved it up, collecting all the precum that had gathered when he was eating you out.

“Fuck, doll. You gotta stop or I’m not gonna last long, you gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours?” He asked you in a very low voice, like he needed it at that very moment

“Mhm,” you said, “Want it inside me, please.”

“That’s my girl, bend over on the desk princess,” he ordered you. Your sweater was still on, to which you removed before you did what he said. Your nipples hardened even more after being pressed on the cold surface, you felt a smack to your ass as James began lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Wait,” you heard him say.

“Oh god, what now?”

“Condom… do you have one?” He asked you, concerned.

“No. We don’t need one. I’m on the pill. Please just fuck me now, no more teasing,” you begged.

“I don’t think you’re in charge here,” he said right before pushing a fourth of his cock inside of you. “Fuck, holy shit. I don’t know if I’m gonna fit in here, no, you’ll make it fit. You’re so cock hungry you would do anything for it all now, is that right baby?”

“Yes!” you let you scream, you honestly couldn’t wait any longer.

He slowly pulled out and went back in faster, pushing his whole cock inside you this time. His doing caused you to half yell half moan. The way he was stretching you out made you somehow even wetter. It was painful at first, but the pain definitely didn’t last long as he started to slowly thrust in and out of your cunt.

“You’re such a whore for it, huh? Letting me fuck you in a classroom where someone could hear us at any moment. I bet you would like that, letting everyone know how much you love my cock inside you,” James rambled, you loved the way he rambled.

He continued to fuck you at a faster pace. It was obvious that neither of you were going to last that long, he had been hard for a while and you felt your second orgasm approaching as he flipped you over and began to circle your clit again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moaned, by the way you were squeezing around him, he could tell you were going to cum soon.

“That’s my girl, go ahead, cum on my cock. You’re gonna go back to your dorm after this, play with yourself, and realize nobody’s ever going to make you feel as good”

“I’m cumming, shit! I’m cumming, oh my gosh,” you let out the most pornographic moan known to man as you reached your high for the second time that night.

“Oh… that’s it. Fuck, hang in there baby. Almost there, gonna cum inside you, gonna fill you up. I know you want it so bad,” he rambled on. His thrusts were starting to become sloppy.

At this point both of his hands were on your hips and your back was on the table. Throughout intense eye contact, you felt him twitch inside you and let out a load, low, groan. The feeling of him cumming inside you was absolutely immaculate. You both stayed still for a few seconds until James pulled you up to his level and planted a soft kiss on your lips. He pulled out of you and got dressed to go get a towel so he could help clean you up.

“You did so good for me baby,” he said while helping you get dressed, “I’m so proud of you.”

You were a little shy and tired at this point, so you just planted a kiss on his cheek and held his hand. He walked you back to your dorm and gave you a kiss tonight. You wondered to yourself what this meant for the two of you. It seemed impossible that James Potter would ever be wishing you sweet dreams and holding your hand. Wherever this went with you two, you were in for the whole ride.

#marauders smut #marauders #james potter smut #james potter #remus lupin #remus lupin smut #sirius black smut #sirius black #hogwarts fanfiction #smut #enemies to lovers #jealousy

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russellsppttemplates · 5 months

Note

So what about one of the girfriends not feeling well during the raceweeked but being stubborn about it. She ends up feeling really really poorly on race day and has to sit inside with some other wag inside hospitality or even be taken to the medical area for a bit. Maybe it's the heat or the jetlag idk,but driver ends up knowing about it after and he's worried, so he's taking care of her from them on and is grateful for their friends

Tw: sickness from heat stroke, medical visit

"I'm getting a coffee, Y/N, do you want something?", Carmen asked, "can you bring me a bottle of water, please? Cold, if possible", you asked her, seeing her nod as she got up. It was hot, that much you could say. Inside the hospitality, you were feeling okay, but the minute you set foot close to the garage, where the air outside was much more prominent, it was a different story. So, for now, you and Carmen were keeping yourselves indoor until the race started, having already wished good luck to both of your boyfriends on their race, hoping for a double Mercedes podium today.

"How did you convince Mick to let you watch the race here?", Carmen asked as she came back, handing you the cold bottle for you to place it on the nape of your neck, "I might've told him that I was fine, which I feel like I am", you said as the Spanish woman looked at you sternly, "fine-ish, but it's going to be okay, I just have to keep myself in a cooler spot, lots of water, maybe grab some ice from the catering", you joked.

Joking, however, didn't seem like such when about halfway through the race, you started having trouble in seeing the screen properly, even with your glasses on, "you're not feeling well, are you, Y/N?", Carmen asked as she got up, helping you to a cooler part of the garage, "I'm a bit dizzy", you admitted. After giving you some water and placing an ice pack on your neck and another to your wrists, you started feeling a little bit better even though you were still a bit weak.

"I think it's best if we go get you checked out", Carmen reasoned, "you're looking pale and flushed, and those two are never a good sign", she said, getting one of the media girls to help you to the medical tent hoping someone would just check if everything was fine.

"Y/N, have you been sleeping well?", the doctor asked after he took your temperature, "I've been travelling for work, and then I came here, so sleep hasn't been so easy", you clarified, "jet lag and this heat is a bad combination", he stated, "this is likely heat stroke, there's nothing else suggesting another situation, so rest up, lots of fluids, stay away from the sun as much as possible for the next few days and ice packs on your pressure and temperature points should help, too", he concluded as you nodded, thanking him.

"It looks like there might be some celebrations today, but I'd rather you stay in", he said as he showed you the final results, George and Mick getting a Mercedes 1-2 as they crossed the line.

Opting to stay in Mick's driver's room until after the podium, it didn't take long for your boyfriend to walk in, his trophy standing on Toto's counter as he checked you, "I heard what happened, are you okay?", he said, approaching you as Carmen stood back, looking for her boyfriend so she could congratulate him and give you two some privacy, "I'm fine, I just can't take the combination of hot temperatures and sleep deprivation", you smiled, hoping to soothe his worries.

Understandably, you and Mick passed on the team's dinner despite your insistence that Mick should go, "knowing Mick, he would eat very quickly and wait for the best and most polite time to come back to you, so he might as well just pass this one and we will all celebrate later when you feel better", Toto said as you smiled at his attentiveness.

"I have a bath, cool water, so we can wash the day away, I asked room service for something light for dinner and also a bucket of ice", he smiled as he helped you undress, "I know you're tired, but I promise you're going to feel better after this, liebling". Holding you with one arm under your knees and one around your back, Mick eased you into the bathtub before he got in, "don't think I won't scold you for letting me believe you were feeling better when you weren't. I'm just not going to do it now", he chuckled, kissing your shoulders as you snuggled closer to him, "thank you for looking after me", you whispered, "always, liebling, always".

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

#mick schumacher blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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chronicbeans · 9 months

Text

Puppeteer Wally Darling x (G/N) Puppet Reader

idk if this will be a series or just a one off so LET'S GOOOOOO (if you want a part two, let me know in the comments of this post.

TW: Obsessive and Possessive Behavior, Kidnapping? (Can you kidnap a puppet? IDK but we're putting that warning just in case), Controlling Behavior

Wally Darling grins widely as he puppeteers the star of the show, (Y/N) (L/N), in a scene within their home. As sad as he is that he cannot voice them, as well, just bringing their personality to life through their motions is enough for him. Voicing his beloved (Y/N) is all up to Sam, their voice actor/actress. Sam, who also happens to be out sick, today. Just like yesterday. And the day before that...

"Aaannddd... CUT! Great job, Wally. You did great! If only Sam were here. Have you heard any word from them?" The director sits back in their chair, staring at the puppeteer on set. Everybody has been asking him about Sam, today. Why are they asking him? Is it because they don't get along?

"No. Sorry. I haven't heard a word. They don't tell me anything." "Alright. Well, you can go take a break, Wally. You've been filming for about... Woah! I must've lost track! You've been filming for NINE hours straight! Isn't your arm tired from being upright for so long?" Wally shakes his head, grinning as wide as a Cheshire. "I can't feel my arm at this point... but I can keep going! I'm always happy to keep going! (Y/N) means so much to me-!"

"Take a break, Wally... And put that puppet back in the storage, will you?" The director looks over to one of the camera people, telling them to turn off the camera, before muttering to themself "He's an amazing puppeteer, but Jesus... He treats that thing like it's alive..."

He quickly runs to his little office, taking (Y/N) with him. Placing the puppet on his desk, he gives his arms a rest as he lies back in his seat. Letting out a long sigh, he looks over to the limp puppet on his desk. Sitting it up and leaning it against a pile of books and folders, he smiles. Surely, the director won't mind if he keeps (Y/N) out of that dingy old box for a little while... As long as they get back in there by the time he leaves, it should be fine.

"I wonder why everybody keeps asking me about Sam, (Y/N)? Do they think I did something to them? Sure, we don't get along, and they clearly don't have as much passion for you as I do! I would never hurt them, though! Do you think I would hurt them?" He looks down to the puppet, smiling. Of course, it doesn't answer. It still feels nice to act like (Y/N) answers and understands. "Thank you for the kind words. It really helps! I love working with you, but the others can be so stressful, sometimes!"

Wally looks away for a moment, checking a few papers on his desk. His schedule seems rather empty for the next week. He had already gotten most of the filming for the episode done today! Only two more scenes require (Y/N). He wishes that there were a few more, to be honest. He prefers working to having nothing to do all day. Maybe he-

"Where... WHERE AM I?!"

Wally's eyes widen, hearing the familiar voice. He looks over to (Y/N), seeing that they have now toppled over onto their side. Their arms flail slightly, as they squeak out "Where am I?! Who? What?! This isn't the neighborhood!"

As much as he wants to squeal with excitement, they are being rather loud. That, alongside the fact that they are voiced, and still sound like, Sam... and people are a bit suspicious of Wally for some reason... He quickly grabs them, placing a hand over their mouth as he quickly says "Be quiet! Someone might hear! I'll explain as much as I can! Just be... Quiet. Here, let me help you back upright."

He picks the puppet up, feeling them squirm a bit in his hands, then sits them back where they were. They raise their arms, which shake as they do so. As they look up to him, he feels his heart swell with joy.

He doesn't know how this has happened... And, frankly... He doesn't care. (Y/N) is talking! (Y/N) is moving! (Y/N) is... (Y/N) is alive! Shaken, yes, but still alive! It's his greatest wish come true! All the work he's put in to bring this character that he loves oh so much to life... Did he have something to do with this? Did his wish for (Y/N) to be able to talk back, move, and live a life in his world make it actually happen?

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that his little puppet is here, in front of him, and able to truly interact with him.

"What's going on...?" Their legs shift slightly, but not much. "Why do my legs feel weird? I can barely move my legs?!" Wally pats their head, saying "Shh... It'll be alright. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what is going on, either. I can tell you where you are, though. First thing's first, though... I'm Wally Darling! I already know who you are, (Y/N). Before you ask, I'll let you know how I know your name."

He goes through everything. The studio, the show, how they are a puppet. To his shock, they already knew they were a puppet, just not exactly what it meant... They didn't know somebody was controlling them in their world. The poor little thing seems so confused! It looks like their head is spinning!

He picks up (Y/N), grinning from ear to ear as he says "Don't worry, (Y/N)! I'll keep you safe! This world is large and dangerous for a puppet like you! I, as your kind puppeteer, will make sure you are safe from harm!" To his shock, (Y/N) only flails, saying "I want to go back to my world! My neighborhood!"

Wally's eyes widen. They want to go back? To leave him? He knows that it is the right thing to do, but he simply cannot have it. As much as he wants to make his lovely little puppet happy... they can just learn to be happy with him! There's no reason why they can't, right?

A simple shake of his head was all it took for them to visibly lose hope. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I care about you too much to let you go back! Think about it... I explained how your world is a show, right? It is like... think of it like a little lie. Would you rather go back to your world, cursed with the knowledge that everything you say and do, see and hear, and all your friends, are just a lie? That it isn't real? Or would you rather stay here, where everything is real?"

(Y/N) shakes their head, again. "I could go back and tell them the truth! I could let them know what is going on! I could-" "Not if I don't let you. I control what you do in that world. If I don't let you tell them, then you can't." "I still want to go home. I want to see my friends, again. I want to go back to Home and take a rest." "You can take a rest at my house!" "I WANT TO GO HOME!" "Be quiet! The others might notice! I might be treating this like it is normal, but if others saw you moving about, they would scream! Stay still-!"

Wally quickly places his hand over their mouth, again, as the director walks in. "What is going on in here?!" Wally chuckles, nervous, as he says "I'm just practicing my (Y/N) impression! You know, since Sam has been out for a while. We don't want to get behind on episodes just because they are gone! Who knows when they will be back?"

The director's eyes trail to the limp puppet in the man's hands. "I thought I told you to put that thing away! Why do you still have it out?" Wally flinches, quickly thinking of an excuse. "Well, I needed to practice not only the voice, but also puppeteering while talking. Since I usually only have to puppeteer, I thought it would help to practice doing both?" The director sighs, nodding.

Then, the best words he has ever heard come out of their mouth happen.

"Just take that puppet home with you, if you want. You clearly have something wrong in the head to be so... ungodly attached to it. You'd probably would keep it in better condition than when we leave them in the storage boxes, anyway."

With that, the director slammed the door to Wally's office shut. The puppet in Wally's arms began to move once more, looking up to Wally with fear. They immediately begin to squirm, trying to get out of his grasp, only for him to hold them still with ease. "Come on, (Y/N)! Let me show you just how much you'll love it here! I'll show you how happy your show makes the children of this world, as well as how much fun this world can be! Anything for you to stay, (Y/N)!"

He grabs a small, cardboard box, then places the struggling puppet inside. Quickly stapling it shut, he then pokes a few little holes into the top. Yes, technically, a puppet cannot breathe, but he still feels bad keeping them in a dark box during transport. Picking up the box, he takes it to his car, saying "Don't worry. The ride will be short. I love relatively close to the studio! Just stay calm, alright?"

"LET ME OUT! WALLY! WALLY! LET ME GO!!!" The box shuffles in the car seat, the puppet inside clearly being in distress as he drives down the road. "WALLY!" (Y/N) peeks out of one of the holes in the box. "I don't know what you are doing, but you are clearly not being a nice neighbor! LET ME GO!" "It's too late. Even if I wanted to, we are already at my house! Come on, let me show you around!" "You could just drive me back-" "LET ME SHOW YOU AROUND!"

He quickly swoops the box into his arms, carrying it into his house as the puppet inside throws itself against the cardboard walls, attempting to escape. He rushes inside, closing the door behind him, before placing the box on his couch. Popping open the lid, (Y/N) pokes their head out, frantically looking around the room.

Their face would've grown pale, if it could've, as they survey the room. Their expression twists, as much as their felt face could allow, into a look of anxiety and fear. Looking around, Wally is slightly confused. What could be wrong with his home? There isn't anything that is obscene or dangerous, as far as he is aware. Then, it hits him.

This place is Wally sized, not (Y/N) sized. The small puppet, who is only around 3 feet tall, give or take, will have a bit of trouble navigating his home. Especially with the fact that they don't seem used to their puppet body. Normally, he would feel bad or sorry, then help accommodate his beloved little puppet. Considering the fact that they clearly want to escape him, however...

This is perfect.

Even more so, because felt hands won't have as much traction and grip on things like doorknobs, windowsills, and the likes. It's going to be harder for them to try to get out without his permission. As much as he hates knowing that he is making (Y/N) unhappy, it truly is for the best!

"Aww... (Y/N), this will only be for a week! Then, I have to go back to work! Maybe... Maybe, when I puppeteer you at work, on set, you'll go back to your world? Just wait. If my theory is true, you'll be back in no time!" The puppet nods, folding their arms. They look away from Wally, clearly upset and full of dismay.

Wally picks up (Y/N), holding them in his arms gently, almost like he is cradling the most precious thing in the world. To him, he is. Nothing could compare to (Y/N)! The effect they have had on the children who watch the show brings him such joy. The way they talk about kindness, acceptance, generosity, and creativity is all that he has wanted to see in life. He has always wanted that kindness, that acceptance, and affection for himself! Now, he can. Now, he can have (Y/N).

His co-workers may call him crazy, saying something is wrong with him... having crushes on fictional characters is childish in their eyes- something an adult shouldn't do. They've been on his back for him talking to the puppet like it could talk back, how he never seems to let it go, and how his little obsession is made stranger, considering that he puppeteers the character. They've always told him that (Y/N) isn't real and to let go. Jokes on them, because now Wally's precious, sweet (Y/N) is real! They're real and they're his.

#welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling #wally darling x reader #welcome home au #welcome home puppeteer wally #welcome home puppeteer wally au

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cinnamoodles · 9 months

Text

the language of flowers — part three, peonies

warnings: angst, less than usual though, and arguing between Anthony and reader bc what did we expect from our fav couple??

word count: 1.5k (im totally on a roll)

author’s note: hi pookies! anthony is a total charmer in this one, and it’s a bit rushed?? idk personally i feel like it’s really bad but whatevs i guess.

read previous parts! — part one, daises | part two, irises

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

--------- . . . ---------

iii. 1807, paeonia lactiflora. peonies, regret

The sight of your second brother’s engagement ball should have put your heart at peace, and the familiar sight of the most eligible bachelors and debutantes dancing in the hall comforting, but today, strangely, was the opposite. Gold decor and soft yellow candlelight was one of the things most known to you, yet you were uneasy, glancing around the ballroom fervently, looking for something—someone—you desperately wanted to avoid.

Or perhaps it wasn’t strange at all. You knew precisely what was causing your nervous pacing, and it might have had something to do with the fact that your mother had invited her best friend, who just happened to be one Violet Bridgerton, and her children to your brother’s engagement ball.

You fiddle with the clasp of your bracelet unconsciously, and look up to see them. The ton’s perfect family, of course, the Bridgertons. And what made your heart pang even more was the sight of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton with a bouquet of flowers in his hand—peonies…?

Ever since that fateful argument in the dark-haired boy’s study, your contact had been limited to necessary formalities and a peculiar bouquet of peonies that mysteriously appeared on your doorstep each week, on Wednesday, without fail. Why Wednesdays, you truly had no idea, but he had made no effort to apologize to you, or do anything other than pretend everything was fine for the past two years, so instead, you had unintentionally gotten closer to the second Bridgerton brother, Benedict.

You quickly approached the latter, fingers twitching, head pounding, only to be intercepted by Anthony Bridgerton on a day you most certainly did not want to deal with his egotistical, narcissistic arse (you were being a bit too harsh, but of course, he deserved it). His typically confident and charismatic demeanor was on full display as he gracefully stepped in front of you, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“A pound for your thoughts, darling?” He held out his hand, as if attempting to offer a dance, perhaps in the only method he knew how. You ignored his hand, opting instead for a curt, chaste curtsy, and quickly righted yourself.

You bite the inside of your lip, restraining yourself from pinning this man to the ground and beating the life out of him. “Viscount Bridgerton,” you nod, your voice clipped. “What is the reason for you to talk to me? And, if I may ask, what are you doing here? Do you not have other responsibilities you must tend to, and as such, you are far too busy to gallivanting to weddings or engagement balls?” You sneer, referring to the last proper conversation the both of you had. One might even say that it could be regarded as less than a conversation.

“Why won’t you just let it go?” He sighs, exasperated. “I told you that my words were not true, so why are you holding this against me?” He gestures to the peonies in his hand. “I even brought—”

“Presents and flowers for the married couple-to-be will be placed on the table adjacent to the orchestra,” you say absentmindedly, waving your hands in that general direction.

He takes your wrist, a sudden heat feeling certainly enveloping you. “You know damn well what these flowers are,” he clenches his teeth. “What more do you desire from me? Would you like me begging for your forgiveness, at your feet, right here?”

Your eyes widen. “Do not do that, or I will make it my personal mission that I will never speak with you henceforth.” You bite your lip nervously. If Anthony truly does this, it would seem as though there had been something romantic between the two of you, which would be a nightmare to handle.

Anthony grinned. “Then why don’t you accept the flowers, and we can both get on with how we used to be, alright?” He seemed nervous, his eyes blinking far too rapidly, his fingers fiddling with his cufflinks and the lapel of his jacket.

“What?” You had thought it wasn’t possible for your eyes to widen further, but clearly, you were wrong. “How we were before? Do you even have the bloody idea how much your words hurt me?” Your words were quiet, but this was two years of rage ebbing inside you. You stuck a finger on his clothed chest, (regrettably, only to find rock hard muscle), and quickly pulled back.

“How did my words hurt you?” You looked at his face, of which pain was cast over. His eyes were looking at you as if you’d committed some grave deed, that he was responsible for.

The audacity of his question left you momentarily speechless. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself to keep your composure. "I don't believe it's necessary to discuss personal matters at a celebration, Viscount Bridgerton. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

In this moment, you were reminded of Anthony’s hand around your wrist, in the sense that he gripped it tightly and heaved you into a nearby hallway, his palm sweaty, and his eyes flashing with hints of both anger and annoyance. He placed you against the wall, breathing deeply, and his hands resting firmly on your hips.

“What is the meaning of this?” You snap. “What are you doing? It’s my brother’s engagement ball, and I do not have the mental capacity at this moment to deal with whatever plan you have concocted in your mind to try to win me back, or anything, alright?”

Anthony's eyes bore into yours, a mixture of frustration and sincerity evident in his gaze. "I'm not here to win you back with some grand gesture, if that's what you think," he replied, his voice a touch more gentle than before. "I'm here because I genuinely want to make amends, darling. I can't keep pretending that everything is alright with me, when it clearly isn't."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze, searching for any hint of sincerity. It was hard to believe that the man standing in front of you, who exuded confidence and charm to the outside world, was capable of admitting his mistakes and showing vulnerability.

"I've been carrying the weight of those words for two years," he continued, his voice earnest. "And I can't bear the thought of you holding onto that pain any longer. Pain caused because of me, and the fact that even a single tear shed your eye because of my carelessness is not something I can live with, do you understand? I…” he looks at you, inching closer, till your faces are merely inches apart. “I care for you, and I cannot have one more thought of you feeling this way due to my actions.”

You can smell his breath, and surprisingly, you don’t find a hint of whiskey, or any alcoholic substance that might have forced this long overdue confession out. Instead, you’re met with the familiar scent of citrus, and the musk of sandalwood from his body.

“Words have consequences, Anthony,” you say, sighing, “you cannot merely throw them around like knives and expect one not to be wounded.”

Anthony's expression softened, and you could see genuine remorse in his eyes. He took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself, and his hands on your hips loosened their grip, becoming more tender. "You're right," he admitted, his voice laced with regret. "I've come to realize the weight of my words, the damage they've caused, and I can't undo the past, but I can try to right things now."

And suddenly, like someone, or something else was speaking for you, you said the words you’d been longing to say for the past two years. “I forgive you,” you say, smiling softly. “But just answer one question.”

“Yes?” His face is hopeful, his eyes sparkling and his demeanor lit up like you hadn’t seen before in a long while. “Ask me anything, whatever you need.”

You bite your lip. “Why did you send me peonies every week? And don’t try to lie to me, and say that it wasn’t you.” You look up into his eyes, finally about to ge the answer to the question plaguing you for the past two years.

Instead of nervousness, he stifled a chuckle. “I though you, queen of flowery symbolism, would understand. When you gave me the bouquet of irises, you had included a paragraph from a book, the guide for flowers, or something of the sort. I perused the book to see anything I could give you, and eventually chose peonies, for regret.”

Your face fell. “So you’d been apologizing all this time? And I was merely ignoring you?” You squeezed his hand tightly.

Anthony shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we’re each other’s best friends again, and believe me, I am not letting you out of my sight.” He mischievously grinned before picking you up, just as he had all those years before, in his arms. “How does a cup of lemonade in the garden sound, darling?”

”Will I ever go to a garden without you carrying me in? Nevertheless, fine, alright.” You smiled against his biceps, finally at peace with both your restless heart and your yearning mind, in the arms of the man you loved all too much, and whom you had left all too long.

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teyamskxawng · 1 year

Text

In Heat [II]

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Previously: Chapter I

Keep reading: Chapter III, Chapter IV

The rundown: Tensions rise in the aftermath of your chance encounter with Lo'ak.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut-ish??, language, kiri being mother <3, characters are aged up, minors do not interact!! please

WC: 7.2k

A/N: this chapter is kind of long but it's for the plot!! thanks for reading idk ily :)

That evening, Lo'ak couldn't bring himself to ignore the glaring absence of your presence at dinner. Anxiety set in as his gaze swept across the dining area, well aware that you also skipped lunch that afternoon. Lo’ak’s worry only grew as the meal went on, anchored by the knowledge he had of your unwavering stubbornness.

He knew you well enough to know that you were most likely holed up inside your tent, refusing to leave after what went down earlier that morning, though that was about as far as he let himself dwell on your current condition.

Lo’ak totally understood the reasoning for your deliberate seclusion, but he wasn’t going to let you starve to death inside your home–embarrassed about the situation or not. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he turned to his sister, hoping to confirm your whereabouts.

"Kiri," he began, trying to sound casual yet failing to suppress the worry in his voice. "Have you seen y/n today?"

All too familiar with her brother's persistent nature, Kiri responded with a less-than-enthusiastic demeanor. Annoyed by his meddling, she pushed him away with an assertive shove to the shoulder.

"No. Why don't you try leaving the poor girl alone for once in your life?"

Despite his sister's snide remark, Lo'ak's determination to find you intensified. His persistence shone through as he continued his inquiry.

"But Kiri, y/n wasn't at dinner or lunch. I don't think she ate anything today."

At that moment, Kiri could no longer feign apathy. Lo'ak's genuine concern had a way of breaking through even her toughest exterior, and she was also admittedly concerned for you, her close friend.

She hesitated, then sighed in resignation, glancing over at the table laden with leftover meat and vegetables from their dinner. "Fine," she relented. "I'll go bring some of the leftovers up to–"

Lo'ak suddenly interrupted Kiri mid-sentence with an impassioned "No!" startling not only himself but also the people eating around them, who shot him a series of curious and bewildered looks.

Despite what he told himself not to think about, Lo'ak's overactive imagination created a vivid image of the state you might be in at the moment. He swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat, pushing the images of you–desperately clinging to his shoulders, head thrown back in pleasure as you cursed and whined and moaned and let yourself unravel on top of him–from his traitorously wandering mind.

When he had the chance to console you earlier in the day, he told himself it was probably just a one-time thing. Just a friend helping a friend come in the heat of the moment, something you'd both silently and mutually agree to forget ever happened.

Still, he knew that he couldn't just avoid you forever. It'd be suspicious. Practically everyone knew how close you two were. And besides, he didn't want to avoid you. He wanted to be the one to check in on you; he felt the protective need to be the one who was there for you during your heat. Just like any good friend with zero feelings attached would. He'd just have to find a way to convince himself about that last part...

Kiri raised a puzzled eyebrow at her brother, silently asking for an explanation.

Fuck. He hadn't actually thought that far. Eager to minimize his obvious blunder, Lo'ak hurriedly attempted to cover his tracks by saying, "I mean, I can bring y/n the food instead. There's something I wanted to ask her. Something about..."

Lo'ak's voice wavered precariously as he scrambled to fabricate a credible excuse for wanting to see you again.

In a last-ditch effort to sound somewhat rational, he finally muttered the first feasible reason that popped into his head: "...it's about our next training session together. You know, warrior stuff."

He attempted to deliver a soothing grin towards his sister, yet in her perspective, Lo’ak merely resembled a brainless banshee.

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Kiri gave in to her brother's antics.

"Ugh. Whatever, Lo’ak. So weird," she muttered, a hint of amusement dancing in her expression. Lo'ak heaved a sigh of relief, grateful that she finally relented without digging too deep.

Wasting no time, Lo'ak eagerly hurried over to the serving table. He selected a sizable cassava leaf and began piling a mountainous portion of sari and grilled sturmbeest onto its surface. He folded the leaf around the heap of leftovers, then secured the bundle with twine, tying it into a tight knot.

With the parcel in hand, Lo'ak proceeded to make his exit from the gathering with a quick stride. As he stepped out of the crowded cave, his feet seemed to navigate the pathway toward your tent on their own accord.

Meanwhile, you found yourself cooped up in your home, where you had remained all day ever since your chance encounter with Lo'ak.

Huddled closely by a flickering fire that cast a faint, warm glow over your living space, you distractedly sharpened an impressively long spear with a dull blade.

Your nose suddenly twitched as if betraying you.

You were overwhelmed by the all-too-familiar scent of fragrant herbs, rich musk, a tantalizing sweet spice, and...grilled meat?

Your tail immediately stiffened in recognition. There was no question about it–Lo'ak was unmistakably nearby, and unfortunately, you were still most definitely in the throes of your heat. It was a catastrophe in the making. You must have been cursed by Eywa.

You heard a gentle rap at your tent's flap, followed by the whispered voice of your best friend quietly calling your name.

"y/n?"

Internally cursing your circumstances with every ounce of your being, your legs betrayed you as they involuntarily propelled you to your feet and toward the entrance of your tent. Your treacherous tail swayed in anticipation, giving away your hidden excitement.

With a reluctant move, you untied the fastening on your entryway. You cautiously lifted it open just wide enough to see the figure of Lo'ak shadowed in the darkness outside, a leaf full of what was definitely food cradled in his hands.

At that moment, you realized you had forgotten about the simple yet vital act of nourishment–the process of consuming food essential to sustaining life. Right. Such was the impact of your recent experiences that your thoughts had been entirely consumed by your primal, lust-fueled desires and the tantalizing tease of your fingers against your–

"y/n,"

Lo'ak repeated himself, noticing your lack of response to your own name. His gaze nervously shifted to the spear you held, his free palm lifted in front of him in a show of caution. The palm that held your hips down on his leg, the palm that you had eagerly traced with your tongue, the palm whose fingers were inside of you.

Momentarily lost in your thoughts, you snapped back to reality.

You casually tossed the weapon you'd been sharpening onto a nearby mat, attempting to appear calm and composed and not as though you wanted your best friend to fuck you right there in the entrance of your tent.

"I was just sharpening some of my weapons. Trying to keep myself busy."

The deeper, unspoken motivation behind your actions hung in the air between the two of you. Both you and Lo'ak understood exactly what you were alluding to.

Lo'ak bobbed his head, the two-word response, "Right. Good." escaping his lips.

He noticed your gaze shifting, avoiding his eyes and fixating on the morsel in his hands. Deciding to address the obvious, Lo'ak extended the wrapped meal toward you. "Oh, yeah. It's for you. I saw you weren't at dinner today. Or lunch, since…yeah."

A flood of emotions washed over you; embarrassment and longing mingled together as you briefly shut your eyes. The thought of sitting in the same vicinity as Lo'ak and his entire family after the intimate moment you'd shared just hours prior was too much for you.

"That definitely wasn't happening," you muttered, imagining the impossible task of looking Jake and Neytiri in the eye after what you'd done with their son.

The corner of Lo'ak's lips lifted in amusement, although he earnestly attempted to suppress it. "You have to eat, though," he advised, genuine concern evident in his voice.

You rolled your eyes at his unwavering persistence, yet you undeniably found it kind of heartwarming how deeply he cared about your well-being.

"Yeah. I know," you conceded, slowly nodding your head in agreement while deliberately avoiding meeting his eyes.

However, you were firm in your resolve that you would not accompany Lo'ak to any of his family gatherings over the coming days. You most definitely did not want to immerse yourself in that particular social minefield just yet.

Lo'ak, completely understanding of your situation, quickly tried to come up with a workable compromise that would benefit both of you.

"I can bring you leftovers every day. Until you wanna come back." He again lifted the leaf full of food towards you, emphasizing his offer.

You gratefully accepted the proffered food, inwardly feeling a sense of relief for the extension of generosity. "Yeah, that'd be really nice. Thanks," you expressed.

Though your gratitude carried a deeper sentiment, you remained uncertain if Lo'ak had truly comprehended it within your words.

"I mean, thank you for everything. For dealing with what happened earlier," you added, feeling as though you didn't have to emphasize further to relay your multifaceted appreciation and mortification.

Lo'ak, in response, nodded swiftly, unconsciously wiping his clammy palms on his thighs as he recalled the earlier happenings.

"You're welcome. And, you know, I'm here if you need help tomorrow." He visibly winced at his words, hearing how eager they sounded on his lips "–or anytime! Obviously." He added, then mentally urged himself to stop talking.

You swallowed, your mind racing at the thought of Lo'ak's offer. If it were solely your decision (notwithstanding that it kind of was), you would have seized the chance to beg for his proposed 'help' right at that very instant.

However, you definitely weren't shameless enough to ask for such a favor a second third time within the same day. No way. You'd never recover from that.

You instead nodded your head in affirmation, quietly uttering, "Okay," in agreement. You hated how short you were being with him. It felt so forced and unnatural and it left the both of you struggling to find something, anything to say.

As the tension in the room threatened to build into an awkward silence, you mustered up the courage to break it.

You stated matter-of-factly, "It's getting late. Maybe you should head back."

Lo'ak nodded in agreement, acutely aware that the suggestion was your polite way of kicking him out of your home. The fact that you took care to soften your words instead of outright telling him to get lost spoke volumes.

You desperately craved solitude, and his lingering presence only heightened the discomfort and awkwardness you probably felt.

"Yeah, no. You're right. I'll see you later."

Lo'ak turned to leave, but just as he took his first step, he remembered his earlier promise.

"I'll bring you breakfast in the morning."

The air between you seemed to thicken as Lo'ak held your gaze, his promise heavy with unspoken implications.

Your breath hitched involuntarily as the anticipation of the coming morning filled you with a desperate yearning to be in Lo'ak's company once again, and he hadn't even left yet.

Mustering all your self-control, you managed to choke out a single word.

"Okay."

With a nod, Lo'ak exited your tent.

With an effort bordering on heroic, you forced yourself to close and tie the door's flap shut, leaving you alone amid your darkened room.

Your heart thundered in your chest, and an insistent throbbing began to resonate between your legs as if a second heartbeat had sprung to life within your body. The room seemed electrified with Lo'ak's absence, and all you could do was stand there, unable to move, as the magnitude of your emotions threatened to consume you.

Early the following morning, you were abruptly awoken by the insistent sound of knocking on one of the wooden support beams at the entrance of your tent. As your groggy brain tried to make sense of the intrusion, you were besieged by a throbbing ache that radiated from deep within your core, sending tendrils of searing pain throughout your body.

It was a feeling that you had begrudgingly become accustomed to throughout your heat. Your brain immediately thought of Lo'ak, whom you were expecting to arrive any moment now, bearing the gift of breakfast as he had promised you just the night before.

You searched for that warm, familiar scent of your best friend, but it was nowhere to be found.

Still half-asleep, your thoughts were interrupted by a second wave of thumping, much louder and more insistent than before.

With a hoarse voice that barely managed to scratch out the words, you called out, "One second."

Struggling to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, you scrubbed your hands over your face and forced yourself to rise from your sleeping mat. Not even bothering to spare a thought for your disheveled appearance, you shuffled towards the front of your tent.

With a combination of grogginess and caution, you slowly untied and cracked open the covering of your tent, peering out to see who was responsible for your early morning disruption.

What you found was not the anticipated sight of Lo'ak but, instead, another member of the Sully family. Lo and behold, it was his sister, Kiri.

A look of concern began to form on Kiri's face. Her eyebrows pinched together, and she tried to stretch her neck further to get a better glimpse of what was happening inside your home.

Her eyes quickly scanned your condition, hoping to find an explanation for your sudden disappearance.

Without waiting for an invitation, Kiri pushed the cover open wider and barged inside. She carefully placed the bowl of fruit that she was carrying on a nearby table before turning around to address you.

"Where have you been?!" Kiri exclaimed, scanning the darkened room for any hints of your recent whereabouts.

Having spent countless hours inside your home, she knew her way around the place like the back of her hand. The familiarity made her feel comfortable enough to roll up all of the openings within the tent, allowing the early rays of sunlight to pour in and illuminate every corner. You squinted at the unwelcome onslaught of light, raising a hand up to shield your poor eyes.

"I didn't see you at all yesterday, and then Lo'ak came asking about you at dinner," Kiri continued, still pacing around the room, allowing more sunlight to bathe the tent. "I thought he was just being annoying about you, as usual, but then he—"

Her words trailed off as she finally turned to observe you in the shining sunlight.

Kiri's eyes widened, and she couldn't help but gasp at your state. She hurriedly stepped closer, placing her hand gently on your forehead.

She recoiled in surprise, hissing at the excessive warmth of your sweaty skin. "y/n, you're burning hot!" she shouted, her voice filled with concern.

She batted the hand shielding your eyes away, finally noticing your blown pupils and darkened irises, and a look of realization washed over her face. Kiri, an exceptionally talented apprentice healer, undoubtedly shared some kind of deep bond with Eywa. Her uncanny abilities allowed her to quickly deduce that you were, in fact, in the midst of your very first heat cycle.

"Oh, Eywa! Why didn't you tell me you entered your heat?!" Kiri exclaimed, her voice laden with surprise and concern.

Mortified at being exposed, you felt your cheeks turn purple. You were utterly bewildered as to how Kiri had managed to discern your condition simply by touching your forehead.

Attempting to regain some composure, you responded, "Not exactly the easiest conversation to have, Kiri."

You released an exasperated sigh and grabbed the bowl Kiri had previously set aside, delving into the fruit it contained to divert your attention elsewhere.

Kiri, not one to let the matter slide, marched back to you with determination. Taking your face in her hands, she scrutinized your features, angling your face left and right as if trying to decipher some hidden message written across your skin. You groaned at her steadfast resolve and the way she was handling you like a literal rag-doll.

Kiri's eyes suddenly lit up with recognition.

"Are you kidding me? You're already on day two? You should've come to me sooner! I could've given you a tincture to ease some of the pain! Skxawng." Kiri chided, her voice a mixture of affection and mild frustration.

Relinquishing her hold on your face, she swiftly confiscated the bowl of food from your lap, even snatching away the piece of yovo fruit that you had been on the verge of devouring, held halfway to your mouth.

You hissed, a sound of pure displeasure as your stomach rumbled angrily, reminding you just how hungry you were–way more so than usual. Your hand shot out towards the fruit bowl in Kiri's grasp, only to be thwarted by a swift swat from the girl.

"No way," Kiri scolded, "Yovo fruit has inflammatory properties that'll worsen your pain. I'll get you some fungus soup. It'll help soothe your blood pressure and reduce your body temperature."

With that, Kiri finally let out a sigh, clearly feeling sorry for the pitiful state you found yourself in.

You looked like a train wreck, and Kiri barely held herself back from bursting into laughter at the sight before her. Stifling her giggles, she reached out with a gentle hand to tame the tangled mess of your hair, combing through the disheveled strands before smoothing them out with a warm smile.

"You look like absolute shit, y/n."

You shot your friend a deadpan glare, unimpressed with her remark.

"And you are a terrible person, Kiri."

Kiri shook her head in amusement even as she patted you affectionately on the cheek.

"I think you mean 'your guardian angel.'"

At that, you could no longer suppress your laughter, snorting at her confident proclamation. Despite the jesting tone, deep down, you knew it was true—you didn't know what you would do without Kiri in your life, especially right now.

"So…" Kiri began tentatively, a cautious yet persistent gleam in her eyes instantly putting you on high alert. "How have you been coping with your heat? Aside from the pain, I mean."

You shifted your gaze away from her, murmuring an unconvincing "fine" under your breath.

You abruptly rose from your seat and strode across the room, hoping to distract yourself by reorganizing your already meticulously organized shelves. Your mind wandered as you diligently picked up and inspected each trinket you'd amassed over the years.

Kiri, however, must have harnessed some mystical power because, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, she materialized behind you, curiosity still etched upon her face.

"y/n…" she ventured cautiously, drawing out your name. "We've both grown into strong young women now. We can talk about these things with one another, right?"

You, however, were sure that Kiri wouldn't want to know that it was her very own brother who had aided you through your heat the day prior.

Undaunted by your continued silence and evident reluctance to engage, Kiri maintained her resolve, determined to ensure that you weren't subjecting yourself to additional suffering by deliberately abstaining from the obvious pleasure of release.

"Had you ever touched yourself? I mean, before your heat started."

Your cheeks flushed at Kiri's blunt inquiry, the question hanging between you. You were well aware of the question's implications and knew about the topic before you even entered your heat.

It was unavoidable, really, considering you had spent time socializing with groups of Omatikaya girls over the years. Such conversations would inevitably arise, particularly from the more boy-crazy girls who swooned over the tribe's popular warriors.

As the memories flooded back, you could vividly recall the animated banter and giggles that echoed around you, reminding you of their frivolous nature.

During these chit-chats, you often felt like a fish out of water. You were a warrior-in-training and had grown up alongside the boys that they fawned over–namely Neteyam and Lo'ak. For that reason, your bond with the brothers, as well as with the other warriors, was entirely different.

For you, the warriors were your friends and training companions. All you ever thought about was perfecting your skills, being a better fighter, and proving your mettle to the tribe.

You had nothing against the girls who rambled on about their latest crushes. You actually found it quite interesting. However, you rarely entertained fanciful thoughts about boys for most of your childhood, and you had certainly never acted on any fleeting notions that might have crossed your mind.

Your prolonged silence spoke volumes and seemed to telepathically convey your answer to Kiri. With a gentle grin that almost appeared apologetic, she extended a hand toward you. She tenderly grasped your shoulder, providing a reassuring squeeze.

"That's completely normal, yawne." she soothingly whispered. "You don't need to do anything if it feels uncomfortable. But if you want to, and you do have those urges to relieve yourself, that's also okay. It's all very exploratory—you try things and uncover what you enjoy most."

You couldn't deny the overwhelming wave of affection that washed over you at that moment.

Considering how juvenile your previous response had been when Kiri tried to coax you into discussing your true feelings, you marveled at her unrelenting patience and sincere support throughout your conversation.

It was as if Kiri possessed the calm wisdom of a person thrice her age merged with the loving empathy of a dear friend–a rare and enchanting combination.

The reassuring touch of Kiri's hand, coupled with the warmth in her amber eyes, broke down your mental walls.

In surrender, you nodded, a glint of gratitude sparkling in your gaze. A tender smile danced upon your lips, silently voicing your appreciation for Kiri's unwavering kindness and gentle guidance.

"I'd never actually done anything like that to myself until yesterday," you admitted, laughing at your own naivety.

Kiri tilted her head, amused by your self-deprecating humor.

"You know," Kiri began, mischief dancing in her eyes and voice alike. "Many young women discover the object of their heart's desires during their first heat."

Your breath hitched at the mention of this phenomenon, and the memories rushed back to you, unbidden. You recalled the raw, magnetic attraction that had struck you the moment you'd laid eyes on Lo'ak the previous day. A visceral, almost irrepressible urge had come over you—an unquenchable longing to be close to him, experience him, taste him.

As your distracted expression shifted to one of pure, unbridled longing, Kiri's eyes widened in surprise. Never before had she seen you wear such a mask of desire and want, and she couldn't suppress her shock at the sight.

"What was that look all about?" she blurted, pointing at your face in disbelief.

Trying (and failing) to appear coolheaded, you quickly scrunched up your face and feigned ignorance. "What look?"

Not one to be easily swayed, Kiri stubbornly pointed her finger in front of your face, demanding an explanation.

"That look right there! Don't try to hide it. You so have feelings for someone. Who? You have to tell me!"

Kiri paused to turn away, her face scrunching up in momentary distaste as another thought crossed your mind.

"–but please, spare me the details if it happens to be one of my brothers," she finished, only half-joking. The thought was enough to make her shudder.

The moment you fell into a curious silence, Kiri's ears immediately perked up.

She hastily whirled around to face you, a look of sheer horror etched upon her features. You stood beside her, awkwardly fidgeting with your fingers, face flushed with what you were sure was a deep shade of purple.

"No way," Kiri exclaimed disbelievingly.

Yet, your silence persisted, provoking a deep groan of exasperation from the girl before you.

With a dramatic flourish, Kiri leaped to her feet and paced erratically back and forth within the confines of your tent, throwing her hands into the air in equal parts frustration and hilarity.

"I knew it!" she shouted, pausing her frantic march to face you.

"I've always had this gut feeling right from our childhood! Great Mother... it's so glaringly obvious! Just last night, he was asking about you. That's why he brought you leftovers for–" Kiri abruptly halted mid-sentence, a horrifying revelation dawning upon her.

Her face contorted into an expression of horror as she pieced the puzzle together. Barely able to contain her incredulity, she stammered, "Oh my–Did you two...?"

Open-ended as Kiri's question was, it could have been easily misconstrued. But despite its seemingly limitless possibilities, the question did indeed possess a clear, unspoken intent.

You both exchanged knowing, furtive glances, acutely aware of the answer that loomed unsaid between you.

Mustering every ounce of courage you could find, you spoke up. "It was just one time. Yesterday morning."

Kiri shook her head in disbelief. "So he came back looking for more last night? Eywa, help me. I swear, I'm going to murder my brother with my bare hands."

Immediately, Kiri rose to her feet and began storming towards the entrance of your tent.

"What a skxawng, making a move on you during your first heat when you're at your most vulnerable!" She continued, a look of pure fury dancing in her eyes.

Fearing that Kiri might actually attempt to strangle Lo'ak, you quickly intervened to placate your infuriated friend.

"No! I asked him to! He was actually...gentle and caring about the whole thing."

Your words made Kiri's face twist in disgust for what felt like the hundredth time, utterly repelled by the idea of her brother being 'caring' in the heat of the moment.

You both were suddenly interrupted by yet another knock coming from the entrance to your tent.

This time around, you instantly recognized the distinct aroma of Lo'ak lingering just a few paces away. When he called out your name, you let out a small gasp, your ears perking up and your tail excitedly swinging behind you.

Kiri, witnessing the scene, was nothing short of horrified. Her jaw dropped as her face twisted into an expression of unbridled revulsion.

"Please, please, please tell me you're joking," she muttered, praying that what she had just learned was nothing more than a cruel joke.

You could only manage a shaky exhale, your eyes unwaveringly focused on the front of your tent. Despite Kiri's efforts to maintain a stubborn facade, she couldn't resist chuckling at your love-struck demeanor.

Affectionately, she gave your shoulder a squeeze before rising to her feet and striding with purpose toward the tent's entrance. Lifting the flap open, she revealed a bewildered Lo'ak, who definitely wasn't expecting to see his sister inside your tent.

"I'm leaving," Kiri announced before her brother could even muster a single query about the unfolding situation.

Shoving her way past the dumbfounded boy, she pivoted to face him, a menacing glint in her eyes. "Do not do anything stupid. I will kill you."

Kiri turned to offer you a casual wave, eliciting a feeble, awkwardly returned gesture from you. With that, Kiri exited the tent, abandoning her brother to an anxious silence with you.

Lo'ak lingered in the entryway, his brows furrowed in bewilderment, clutching a platter piled high with the morning's breakfast offerings—a token of his promise from the previous night to bring you something to eat that morning.

In a sudden, rather embarrassing move, you found yourself by his side at the front of the tent too quickly. Desperate to recover from your reflexive reaction to his presence, you hastily took the plate from his hands, stating, "Thanks. Your sister beat you to me, though."

You set the plate on the table carefully, right in the same spot where Kiri's yovo fruit-filled bowl once rested. You wondered if déjà vu was a sign of entering one's heat.

Just then, Lo'ak broke into your thoughts with a hushed "shit."

You glanced up at him, almost sure he had just connected the dots.

"Does she know?" He asked, his eyes widening in fear.

You nodded your head, averting your gaze away from Lo'ak's face. "Kiri is a very smart girl."

Despite your overwhelming embarrassment, you found it nearly impossible to suppress the tiny smile that subtly danced upon your lips. Though maybe that was due to the heart-fluttering closeness you shared with Lo'ak at that very moment. It felt as though every single nerve ending within your body was set ablaze, becoming ultra-sensitive merely from breathing the same air as the boy.

Lo'ak hesitated, lingering awkwardly by your door as if he were a cautious animal, evidently unsure if you would be comfortable with him inside your home.

Perceptive as you were, you quickly caught on to his uncertainty and frantically scrambled to conjure up an excuse for him to stay. "Why the fuck is this so difficult?" you thought to yourself.

Coming up with things to say to Lo'ak should be second nature–this was your best friend. It was never uncomfortable or awkward with him; there was always something to say, something to joke about. You grew up inseparable, forever intertwined with shared experiences and adventures, always ensuring there was never a dreary moment in one another's presence.

"You can come inside, skxawng," you reassured him light-heartedly, hoping to dissolve some of the tension. "I'm not going to bite you."

You silently prayed to Eywa, fervently hoping that you would be able to keep your word.

Lo'ak, to his credit, took your playful jest in stride. He let out an amused snort, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he finally settled into your home. You moved to sit beside the heaping plate of assorted fruits, picking up a ripe, juicy piece and taking a huge bite.

With an encouraging smile, you urged Lo'ak to join you by nodding your head towards the delectable spread.

Lo'ak breathed out a sigh of relief, feeling more at ease as he sat beside you. Nonetheless, he maintained just enough of a respectful distance between you for your comfort–a gesture that did not go unnoticed.

"So," you ventured, striving to keep the conversation flowing and centered around innocuous subjects, steering it clear of your own personal matters. "What do you have planned for the day?"

Lo'ak smiled, thankful that you were making an effort to engage in conversation, because he sure as hell was inept at doing so.

"I have training with Neteyam later this afternoon," Lo'ak replied, his expression taking on a determined glint. "We're supposed to drive a pack of viperwolves further away from the southern boundary. Then I think I might go check out that waterfall—y'know, the one I told you about the other day—with Oa and Teon'i after that."

Lo'ak tilted his head to one side as he thoughtfully chewed on a sweet, tangy piece of fruit plucked from the plate. "And I'll probably be avoiding Kiri for the entire day, so. Wish me luck."

Lo'ak's enthusiasm was contagious as he shared his plans for the day, and you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. Deep down, a twinge of FOMO tugged at your heartstrings, knowing that you'd be confined to your home for at least the next day or two. You missed the forest, missed being able to hunt and train and make yourself useful to the tribe.

However, you were more than content to live vicariously through Lo'ak's escapades until you recovered and felt like your usual self.

Shaking your head in amusement, you teased, "So, you're taking Oa to a waterfall? Whose brilliant idea was that? We all know he can't swim for shit."

Lo'ak, in the middle of stuffing his face with another piece of fruit, snickered, some of the juice grossly dribbling down his chin. You grimaced, rolling your eyes as you watched him messily wipe it away with the back of his palm. Lo'ak continued talking with his mouth full. "He swears he's a pro swimmer! I already bet Teon'i that Oa would wuss out before we even mount our ikran."

Your face shown in amusement, and you playfully jabbed him in the ribs. "Right. You're one to talk, Mr. Almost-Drowned-In-Waist-Deep-Water."

Lo'ak feigned bewilderment, scoffing in response. "I was practically a baby back then, like, seven years old!"

You shook your head, your voice lilting with suppressed laughter. "Lo'ak, you're such a liar. You were definitely at least thirteen."

Lo'ak tried to press his lips into a thin line, stubbornly shaking his head in disagreement as if he wasn't a whole teenager when he finally learned to swim. His little act lasted all of about two seconds before he joined you in your cackles, knowing deep down that you were right.

"Pxasìk!" he chastised with a wide grin, unable to contain his amusement.

Reaching over, he playfully tugged at the beaded braid that hung among the strands of hair framing your face. Teasing him back, you hissed in response, leaning out of his reach. However, the tickle that raced down your spine from his fleeting touch sent a jolt of surprise and delight through your entire being.

The two of you continued to devour your platter in companionable silence for a while longer, the weight of the unacknowledged emotions in the room growing heavier and more conspicuous with each passing second in which you had nothing else to focus on.

You were hyper-aware of Lo'ak's presence beside you, so much so that you could practically feel the rhythm of his heart thumping in his chest, the faint whoosh of air as he inhaled, the gentle puff as he exhaled.

The intensity of your feelings was overwhelming, and before you even realized it, your leg started to bounce nervously, crisscrossed beneath you.

Your fingers dug into your skin with an anxiety-driven force as you tried to regain control over your emotions. It was only when you became conscious of your tense and irrational actions that you mustered the willpower to force yourself to unwind as best you could, releasing the grip on your legs and restlessly tucking your hair behind your ears with a quiet exhale.

It was Lo'ak who finally shattered the uncomfortable silence that hung in the air. The beads of his braids clashed together as he turned his head, his gaze focused on you.

"I didn't ask before because... well, I don't know why, but. How are you feeling today, with everything?"

You made a valiant attempt at playing it cool, shaking your head nonchalantly and shrugging your shoulders. You weren't sure if your voice could even be trusted to articulate a response.

Clearly dissatisfied with your lackluster reply, Lo'ak scooted his body closer, placing a gentle hand on your arm and tilting his head in a futile attempt to catch your gaze.

"y/n?" he spoke with a tone that skirted on being a scolding. It wasn't a question; in fact, it was quite the opposite. It was a firm demand. He had no intention of letting you avoid confronting the topic at hand. You groaned internally, silently reprimanding yourself for choosing a best friend as stubborn as you were.

You finally spoke up. "Lo'ak, you really don't have to—" but he abruptly cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

"I know I don't have to," Lo'ak interjected, firmly yet gently, punctuating his point with a reassuring squeeze to your arm. "But I want to." His expression turned anguished as he continued, "I barely even fucking slept last night. I couldn't stop thinking about you, if you were okay."

The moment was electric, punctuated by the sharp inhalation of your breath as you felt the weight of Lo'ak's piercing gaze. The intensity was overwhelming, and you found yourself unable to maintain eye contact, your gaze flitting away nervously.

The air between you and Lo'ak was thick with unspoken tension.

Lo'ak bravely let his hand glide slowly, deliberately, up your arm, tracing the outline of your dark stripes, taking his time to caress the curve of your shoulder, and finally continuing to trace the delicate line of your neck. He gently cradled your jaw, his fingers framing the softness of your face.

You automatically nuzzled into his palm, warm and sure–the sole anchor tethering you to reality. His eyes, dark and smoldering, traced over your features, mapped out the intricate patterns created by your bioluminescent freckles before falling to your full, flushed lips—bitten red from your nervous habit. He noticed two small indents on your lower lip, evidence of the slight punctures from your fangs. He inadvertently swiped his tongue over his own lower lip, as if he'd be able to feel the indentations on his own skin

You were so pretty, so soft and pliant under his touch, and it was slowly driving him to the brink of madness.

Almost unconsciously, his thumb began to trace a deliberate journey over the same path his eyes had just taken. Trailing a path over the freckles that painted your cheeks, down the bridge of your nose, across your jaw, all the way down to the jut of your chin.

He gently tugged at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, the expression in his eyes daring you to respond.

He knew that he was being too forward, too affectionate, the line between friendship and something more growing increasingly blurry.

There was just something about the way you were looking at him, like he was more than just your stupid friend, more than the second-born son to the olo'eyktan—the screw-up, the freak. You looked at Lo'ak like you were seeing him.

Caught in his enchanting web, you yielded to temptation and softly bit down on his thumb, your body practically thrumming with need under his intense gaze.

Your mind was ablaze with the vivid memory of his hand, slick with your desire and the heady taste of yourself as you eagerly licked him clean.

Lo'ak let a tiny, knowing grin spread across his face, no doubt recalling the same memory. He gently removed his thumb from the warm prison of your teeth, allowing your lip to bounce back to its natural position, and you nearly whined at the loss of contact.

"Thought you said you wouldn't bite," he chided, his warm hand still cupping your jaw.

You narrowed your eyes in confusion at Lo'ak's musings. Your already fuzzy brain desperately scrambled to remember when the fuck you had made such a statement.

Lo'ak's grin widened in full upon seeing your bemused expression, his thumb leisurely tracing little circles on your lower lip.

The gesture was entirely too distracting.

It sent a wave of tingles from the base of your skull all the way down your tailbone. You let your eyes fall shut, unable to stop yourself from folding under his touch.

The moment was suddenly and rather unceremoniously yanked away from you both by the rustling sound of the flap to your tent lifting open. You silently cursed yourself and Lo'ak for forgetting to tie the flap closed, solely blaming his entrancing and all-consuming presence for the oversight.

Right on cue, Kiri strolled into the room, her arms laden with two bulky containers.

Still finding yourselves in a decidedly suspicious position, you and Lo'ak fumbled to create some distance��your combined attempt at seeming casual a spectacular failure.

"Really?" Kiri began with a tone of disbelief, dramatically dropping the containers on the table between the two of you with a loud thud that echoed throughout the tent.

You widened your eyes, blinking rapidly, convinced that you were on the brink of emotional whiplash.

"I leave you two alone for five minutes…." Kiri continued, exasperation evident in her voice as she rubbed her eyes in frustration.

"y/n, yawne," she began with the patience of a saint. "This is the tincture for your pain, and that is your soup."

She pointed at each container as she emphasized their functions with an air of authority, adding, "It should be enough for a couple of days, at the very least."

Kiri then proceeded to give you a set of simple yet vital instructions.

"All you need to do is mix a scoop of the medicine into a bowl of the soup, eat it, and then sleep. And I mean seriously sleep." Pausing for dramatic effect, Kiri shot a piercing glare at Lo'ak, emphasizing the last word, "Alone."

Lo'ak's jaw visibly clenched in retaliation to his sister's nagging authoritative command. Kiri was cursed with the worst timing in the world.

Deep down, Lo'ak knew she was right; you needed food, medicine, and rest to recover properly.

But he just couldn't shake the desire to be by your side every step of the way. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving your side, even for a moment. Lo'ak was so devoted to your well-being that he was ready to throw caution to the wind and abandon his training session, forsake the trip he had planned to the waterfall with his friends, and toss aside any other obligations or engagements that stood in his way, all just to be near you and tend to your needs, to watch the way you melted into his touch, to bask in your presence, so beautiful and soft–

Kiri couldn't help but notice her brother's complete and utter lack of urgency. Lo'ak seemed to have become a statue, frozen in place, as he fixed his gaze on a seemingly unremarkable spot on the floor near the front of the tent.

She decided to snap him out of that particular state by abruptly clearing her throat.

At the unexpected sound, Lo'ak finally tore his gaze away from the floor and found Kiri glaring right back at him, a challenge reflected in her raised eyebrows.

Sighing, Lo'ak closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, gathering every ounce of strength he possessed to restrain himself from cursing out his sister right then and there.

He recognized the futility of resisting Kiri and reluctantly mumbled, "Yeah, okay," before pushing himself off the floor.

As he stood, he managed to make eye contact with you, offering an apologetic glance. You appeared dazed, your eyes glazed over, and your lips slightly parted as if you were perpetually on the verge of saying something.

The tender moment, however, was shattered by Kiri, who decided this was the perfect opportunity to further humiliate her brother.

She grabbed Lo'ak by the ear and began to drag him toward the front door. Wincing in pain and trying to keep up with Kiri's powerful strides, Lo'ak briefly wondered if his sister had somehow acquired super-strength overnight.

As they reached the door, Kiri paused just long enough to call out to you.

"Rest up, y/n," she advised in a caring tone, not forgetting to add a hint of playfulness. She punctuated her words with a warm smile before turning on her heels and leading a pouting Lo'ak out of the little tent.

Taglist: @vanillawhale

Previously: Chapter I

Keep reading: Chapter III, Chapter IV

#teyamskxawng #teyamskxawng’s fics #lo'ak x reader #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak smut #lo'ak smut #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2022 #atwow #lo'ak x y/n #lo’ak x y/n #lo'ak sully #lo’ak #lo'ak fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #james cameron avatar

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uhswag · 2 years

Text

regret

fwb!charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: you seek comfort in your situationship after a shitty day, but it only makes your day worse.

warnings: kinda toxic, smut (not that detailed tho), fwb

a/n: this was lowkey hard to write😭 and kinda based on something that happened to me😦 but f it we ball. i think this is angsty tho?? i tried idk. anyway enjoy buggos 💋

today sucked in all honesty. people on the street were mean. it was too hot and humid. your skin felt too much like skin. every little thing seemed to bother you and you were looking for a release. your release in mind? sex.

showing up at charles door for this was pretty natural at this point. the sex was good, and you guys had a friends with benefits situation going on for about four months. it was mainly sex, but sometimes you two had days that felt like real dates, and it made you wonder if whatever you had could be real. but all those “dates” ended with sex.

as much as you wished the lingering stares meant more, realising that most of your time together included sex at some point brought you back to reality. nonetheless, a small part of you may have started to catch feelings, but you would never admit it to the monegasque; you barely could admit it to yourself. your answer to avoid your feelings was that it was your “brain chemicals tricking you,” because certain hormones release after sex and can make you feel lust… right?

you end up at charles door this evening. you probably should have texted him before you were about to knock on his door, but this was an impulse visit. you craved something comforting tonight, and this was where your body took you.

the door swings open and a cocky smile is glowing from charles face, “surprise visit?”

“just need to get my mind off things,” you hum, stepping inside his flat and taking in charles’ appearance. your eyes wander about his grey joggers and a white t-shirt that fit him perfectly.

“why waste any time then?” he says, then pulling you in for a kiss.

you immediately kiss him back, hungry for him. your hands wander to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss while you fight him for dominance.

“someone’s needy tonight.”

per usual, you end up in his bedroom in some position on his bed. tonight, one leg is thrown over his shoulder as he thrusts into you. however, the sex wasn’t curing your feelings from earlier today at all. if anything, it made you feel worse.

mentally frustrated, and now sexually frustrated, your body starts to tense underneath him. regretting the position you are currently in, the comfort you sought in sex was nowhere to be found.

charles, who was confused, noticed your discomfort and slowed down, scanning your face for answers.

you pull away from him trying to find something to cover your bare body, “sorry, i- i just don’t know if i’m feeling sex right now.” you stammer hesitantly. struggling to find the right words to say as you don’t know the best way to vocalise all your thoughts right now. all the same feelings from the previous hours of the day resurfaced and you felt stressed.

“did i do something wrong?”

“no, no, it’s me i-,”

“then come on, mon ange, at least finish what you started.” charles cut you off with his suggestion, finding it hard to ignore his erect cock, but his words did not help you whatsoever. he clearly didn’t seem to grasp the level of your discomfort. and you really couldn't care less about that fact you may have given him blue balls.

“i just- i think i’m gonna head home.” you mutter, not knowing what else to say in response to his comment. this was the only thing you thought of as your mind was blanking. you were starting to deeply regret your visit.

“ok fine,” he laughs slightly, getting up off the bed, “go home then.”

“wait, what?” you ask in disbelief at what you just heard. a pit in your stomach forming slowly because deep down all you ever wished for was him asking you to stay.

“you came here for sex, no?” he states bluntly, redressing himself. “you don’t seem to be enjoying that, so why stay any longer.”

you look at charles, still in shock at what you heard, but his back is facing you. the man who is basically telling you to fuck off can’t even say it to your face.

“right,” you whimpered, ”just sex. i’ll get going.” was all you had to say. you had no energy to even fight him back, all you could do was half heartedly agree. you needed to get out of his flat as soon as possible. frantically, you were searching for your belongings while biting your lip, trying to hold back that flow of tears and ignore the pain that was growing in your chest.

forgetting everything from earlier, this was worse. charles made you feel like a useless cumdumpster, and maybe that’s what you were to him for the past four months. he spoke to you like you meant nothing.

seeking solace in your own bed, you practically ran home. you wanted to walk as far away from him as humanly possible.

but, some part of you wanted to believe maybe he was pushing you away because he caught feelings too. maybe he was scared and that’s why he said what he said, but no matter the mental convincing or the “what if’s,” you heard him loud and clear. showing up tonight was your first and last mistake. you should've just stayed home.

━━━━━━━━

part 2??? let me know idk. also sorry for the verb tense changes but i actually cba to fix them because i wanted to get this out since i havent posted in a min.

also if i missed any warnings lmk bc i also suck with those😭 this writing shit be hard for real, so constructive criticism is welcome!

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the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

Note

Caine and kinger x reader with ADHD

Caine and Kinger x reader w/ ADHD

yahoo!! gonna knock out some requests today !! this is gonna be based off of my own experiences btw !! not much else i can think to put in this authors note so! ill just get on with it note from the future, little longer than i intended but thats mostly because admin started relating TOO much wuh-oh

CAINE:

caine is honestly really good about keeping you on track when theres a task at hand. i dont know about you, but i tend to wander about when im working on something; to check on something else repeatedly then coming back to what needs to be done and just go back and forth.(shit im even doing it now, the getting up and checking on things thing even though i know the thing is fine/complete) i like to think that caine would be pretty okay at making sure you get the thing you need/want to do done! i dont think theres meds in the digital world, i mean yeah sure you can ask for them but since theyre digital theyre not going to actually. do anything. but lets say in a hypothetical au where this all takes place in the real world and caine is a real person, he would make sure you take them consistently and on time. honestly this hc isnt really part of the ask but; i generally like to think that caine likes to follow routines and schedules as closely as he can... maybe its the ringmaster thing since hes tasked with keeping everything running but... shrugs

very supportive when you make a small mistake in something (like this is just a general thing, though) and isnt too obnoxious with trying to hold or regain your attention is something happens to the side and steals it away. very patient and polite with it, i think

last minute addition because it hit me like a sack of bricks. time blindness. fucking time blindness. you know how i mentioned that caine is good at keeping you on track? i think he would be good with helping you out with that, at least some of it. mostly logging your activities and him keeping an eye on the time (which he already does so its not like an extra habit he needs to pick up.. though if it werent he would pick it up in a heartbeat. literally anything for you, he loves you a lot)

KINGER:

honestly he might start to mimic your stims and fidgets! he doesnt mean to mock you, no i just think he would start to reflect your actions after spending most of his time around you to make sure you're okay! while caine keeps you on track, kinger is likely to go with you when you wander off to check/do something else. really unless its something time sensitive or really important is when hes going to start outwardly reassuring you that the other thing is fine. honestly, in an au with the real world i was originally going to say he would have a chance of forgetting to help remind you/ask if you took your meds (if you take them) but i think he would take stuff like that way too seriously to even DARE forget. like yeah sure you're not going to d1e if you forget to take them for a single day but still. he'd probably be like this with any meds tbh, so if you're prone to forgetting youll be fine as long as you have kinger around! gibes you pillows for fidget stuff, if you are feeling restless. or perhaps even goes on a walk with you around the circus grounds. like idk about yall, or if this is something completely unrelated, but my legs HURT when i sit too still. like down to the bone, if i dont get up every now and then its agony; sleeping is hell and on days its worse than others (like im talking sometimes i need to be in near constant movement) (also jerky arms and legs) (anyways)

also very polite with returning your attention to where it needs to be but honestly given that kinger himself is shown to space out at least twice in the pilot i think sometimes you guys both get side tracked and struggle to remember and/or get back into the flow of what you were originally doing

ponders

tldr; caine keeps you more on track with schedules whereas kinger embraces your flow a little more but both are respectful of things and dont really make you feel less than + remind you to take care of yourself

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #kinger x reader

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fairy-eclipse · 2 years

Note

AHHHHHHHHH invisible string was so good! Your writing is absolutely divine *chefs kiss*. Would you ever try to make a part two for "Devil's Sweet Demise"? IDK I love the grumpy/sunshine trope. It's completely fine if you don't want to!

Devil’s Sweet Demise II

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

A/N: due to my inability to shut up this thing is LONG and it’s not even finished yet :’] editing was so painful you don’t understand i’m sobbing on the floor ahhdshaj. what do you mean it’s been three months 😒😒

anyway here’s 5k words of tom being a total jerk in denial, thank you anon and thank you to @sociomoon for the original idea !!

Part 1

Disdain on their faces. Cold creeping up his skin.

The day Tom had known happiness was off the table was the day they shunned him, left him standing there in his oversized, threadbare shirt—he’d watched in silent resentment as their game of Hopscotch played out on the concrete. It had hurt only a little to realize that despite his best efforts to acclimate to their mob mentality, the place would never be home. And company would come in the form of twisted thoughts and talking snakes until hell froze over.

Even when the memories have been blotted out, buried in the depths of his mind and left to stew over in the hush of night, every now and then Tom can't help but remember. Remember that unlike the anger and hatred that runs through his veins forevermore, happiness will never be a familiar feeling.

Until in comes the most frustrating little badger he’s ever met, lugging rainbows and sunshine and unwelcome feelings by the boatload.

And Tom, with his knack for persuasion, can proudly say he can elude blame for most things. It’s not his fault everyone falls for his carefully-crafted smiles and well-woven lies, or intimidation works wonders on the student body. Or that fountain pens are more convenient than quills.

But as much as he wishes he could, he just can't find any rhyme or reason to the fact that your presence is…an antidote.

A strange remedy for the jagged pieces of his heart.

"You know,” your gentle voice carries from above, and Tom is pulled from his reverie to the sound of lush grass rustling under your feet. “You really have a thing for secluded places."

In a vast courtyard teeming with dense crowds and lone studiers, of course it’s you who finds him.

Tom raises a derisive brow. “Perhaps it’s to get away from you.”

He sees to it that you don’t miss the way he shifts in some semblance of an invitation.

Laughing, you step out of the June sun to plop down beside him against the trunk of an old elm tree. Going on a few thousand years, if Tom has to guess. Its winding, leaf-coated branches cast dancing shadows across the ground.

“Classes drained the soul out of me.” You let out a muffled yawn.

Like a kitten.

Tom frowns.

He’s no stranger to intrusive thoughts, but lately they’ve been odd. Unpredictable. Not to mention it’s only when you’re near that they seem to materialize, and, well, he isn’t so sure what that could spell. To analyze a yawn, for Merlin’s sake…

But you’ve always been a bit of a distraction, haven’t you?

The rhythmic drumming of your fingers on your lap can attest to that.

He watches as a faint smile pushes at the corners of your lips and a dreamlike quality glazes over your irises—both tell-tale signs that you’ve come bearing good news.

Not that he cares or anything. It’s none of his business, none at all because honestly what does it matter if you—

"You’ll never guess what happened today.” You declare, triumphant when you meet his eyes.

Tom’s breath catches in his throat. “Hm?”

Maybe the earth can swallow him whole.

You beam. “Professor read over the report from my tutor this morning. He told me that at the rate I’m going I’ll be caught up in no time!” You clasp your hands together. “On top of that, I passed my practical exam with soaring colors, so things are going swimmingly."

Tom had forgotten about your struggles in Charms—arguably the easiest subject Hogwarts has to offer. He can sympathize with needing a little assistance in Arithmancy, maybe even Runes to some extent. That is where the average student has their pitfalls, after all. Charms, though?

It certainly isn’t common, to say the least.

But he really wishes you’d quit looking at him like that. He wishes the radiant twinkle in your eyes wasn't so adorable and you’d stop grinning expectantly like his acknowledgment would make your entire month.

Yes, nobody should be behind in Charms. Tom decides he doesn’t particularly care.

"That's a decent amount of progress in just a few weeks.”

There’s a moment of peace, a second of placidity before Tom’s brain turns into turmoil.

Why did he say it?

To make you happy? For the sake of something so trivial as your feelings, with nothing to gain for himself? Impossible. He’d never stoop to such—

“Thank you!”

Your infectious smile boasts only sweetness and light, but to Tom’s absolute horror it’s in that instant that you decided to inch closer—he has no time to prepare himself before he’s falling into a heaven comprised of the fragrant smell of your shampoo and the softness of your gaze, an erratic tha-thump reverberating throughout his chest all the while.

Distantly, he sees your mouth moving, knows you have to be talking, but God has breathing always been such a laborious task?

Well, the world can burn for all he cares because nothing else matters save for the heat radiating off your shoulder. Nothing else compares to the bliss.

“—om?” Concern seeps into your tone.

No, no, no. It has to be wrong, all of it.

He fights desperately at the haze for his bearings, wills his focus to trickle back in and reins to be found again. All too slowly the stupor relinquishes control and the feeling of repulsion emerges from the fog, shame not far behind. Tom closes his fist around a tuft of grass.

He sees it now, in all its foul glory. He has it muddled up—the point where wanting ends and doing begins—and if there ever is a master of self control it’s him. The patient, composed, self-restrained student extraordinaire. It’s degrading that a mind of his caliber could simply stop functioning. Frozen, reduced to nothing, like a used parchment purged of its contents.

Could he be possessed? Insane?

Tom knows he’s insane, has to be for the plans he’ll carry out and unspeakable things he’ll do in the coming years. But this is a different kind of insane. It’s the kind that challenges all he’s taken to be set-in-stone, that threatens his beautiful, tragic world of black and white and red.

It's the kind that could sever the rope between mere life and immortality.

And yet Tom can’t decide whether it’s a curse or a blessing when you cast your eyes away in lieu of foraging through your satchel.

He’ll have to…look more into this matter. He’ll tear up the library in his wrath; he’ll search all over, high and low and in every nook and cranny until the thirst is satiated—

“Tom, Tom, Tom. Tomato. Tomfoolery. Oh, there you are!” You find his eyes once more, completely oblivious to the pathetic feeling closing in on him. “This is for you.”

A book flaunting loose threads sits on your lap, worn and flimsy.

Tom knows it’s one of those muggle stories you like to read, ones with the plotlines he can never understand and messages he can never grasp. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to—he’s tried at one point, and he does indulge in muggle literature on occasion (it’s not his fault they’re informative)—it’s just…well, he doesn’t think he can.

"I wouldn't have picked it for you if I didn't think you'd enjoy it," you assure him matter-of-factly.

He blinks. By no means are you adept at reading him, but it is strangely pleasant that someone should see past the anger and ire into his quieter, rarer emotions.

"A little broken, I know." An amused chuckle escapes him at that. You grin sheepishly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t love it.”

Sincerity on your face. Warmth hugging his skin.

Your fingers brush against his as you press it into his hands.

But how can he dare dream of anything more when darkness is a constant in his life? He has never wished to see the rainbow, has never found any appeal in a kaleidoscopic world until you stumbled into his life. You ebbed away at the corners of his concrete barriers until little by little the light shone through the cracks.

And Salazar. He wants to do something to you right then. Something way out of line, something that goes beyond his protective urges and against everything he believes in.

Regardless, he can always break away, can't he? When the time comes, he’d toss you into the pile of people who served their use and then he'd never have to deal with that stupid fluttery feeling in his chest again.

Yes. That is what he'd do.

So things are good, wonderful even; they’ve never been better and Tom has never been happier, at least he thinks that’s what it has to be. For once it’s not the promise of power or the vow of eradication that get him up in the wee hours of the morning.

And things are good.

Right up until they aren’t.

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“My Lord.” Mulciber fidgets nervously in the gold candlelight. Clears his throat. Once. Twice. “Do you think...will there be enough time to find the chamber before vacation commences?” He grips the rim of the table with ring-clad fingers until his knuckles turn a pasty white.

Tom bites back a sneer. Coward.

"You fret for nothing. While you incompetent fools were lazing around, I was scouring every inch of this castle. I'm quite certain I've found the very place Salazar Slytherin built his foundation on."

Tom bathes in the outbreak of gasps and elated cries before silencing them with a hand.

"I will not be disclosing the location; I alone will find a way to open it, though I doubt any of you would have proven to be of help anyway."

Tom watches them deflate, like he’s pierced their spirit with a needle. Perhaps this way they’ll learn that with him, making an impression takes more than a feeble attempt or two. Besides, he has yet to discern the loyal from the fainthearted and with so many things that can go wrong, there is no room for mistakes.

He holds everyone’s gaze for a few tense seconds (most of which end in rather pitiful quivering on their part) before continuing on.

“As I have discussed previously, our years at Hogwarts are drawing to a close. We have time, of course, some of us more than others, but we must plan every move meticulously.” Tom allows himself a satisfied smile. He’s been so painstakingly careful, so thorough in drawing up the plans and in due time every ounce of his hard work will be recognized. "The infiltration of the Ministry plays a pivotal role in my—our success, thus each of you must ensure your positions are secured—”

"You're infatuated with that Hufflepuff."

A sharp intake of breath, and then silence befalls the room. All eyes flick to Avery; some with disbelief, some with poorly concealed excitement, but he pays them no mind.

"That's what's taking you so long, isn't it?” The boy hisses vehemently. “Ever since you met that poor excuse of a student, you've been putting off the purge. You’ve known about the Chamber’s whereabouts, haven’t you? Why is it that you haven’t acted by now?”

He pauses to feign contemplation, a slender finger tapping at his chin. “I’ll take a wild guess; it’s because that little mudblood is sufficient enough for you.”

And just like that the stillness is back, though this time it is an illusion; it can’t exist, not when the unmistakable buzz of fear and apprehension crackles in the air.

No one rushes to Avery’s defense, but Tom doesn’t need legilimency to know—he can see it clear as day—that it’s a unanimous agreement.

Red swirls in his vision.

An audacious Avery leans back in his seat as if accepting a major victory, boastful smirk intact. He lets his accusation sink in before he adds, like salt to injury, like an arrow piercing right through Tom's heart:

"You know what I think? I think you've gone soft."

Jaws drop and eyes widen, but Tom only smirks back, nauseating and sickly sweet.

He could torture him right now. He could turn his skin inside out and make him feel pain in all the worst places. He could reanimate the darkest stages of his trauma and dangle him by the ankles like a marionette until he begs for death's cold embrace.

And what’s stopping him? It’s nothing he hasn’t thought about before. Nothing he hasn’t come close to doing.

Would you be afraid of him if you found out?

Tom sputters.

Who are you to come up in his thoughts at a time like this? How dare you traipse over every line he’s ever created and exist there as if you’ve always belonged?

He suppresses his flaring, burning rage and tries, unsuccessfully, to even his breathing. No, it's hardly worth getting his hands bloody over. Besides, he'd rather not have to clean up the mess.

"Leave. All of you. Now." He manages to choke out.

It’s a scramble for the door.

Good. Fear is good.

His last follower has barely bolted before he’s pointing his wand at the long teakwood table and thundering out an Incendio. With each careless flick of his wrist, searing flames consume the conference space and it’s not until dark, ashy smoke obscures his vision that he takes his leave.

The door to the secret room clicks shut behind him, but the release has done little to assuage his fury.

He paces the length of the hallway outside.

The nerve. How could he suggest something so preposterous?

Everyone involved in his cause knows to never bite the hand that feeds them. And Avery has been feeding out of his palm ever since he took him in and gave purpose to his otherwise meaningless life.

Tom should tail him right now, really. Find him. Curse some sense into him. Who does that dull, privileged snob think he is? That daft, good for nothing—

But he's right.

Avery is right. Dead on, nail-on-the-head right.

He’s fallen for you; hook, line, and sinker.

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Tom isn't at the library the next afternoon.

You tell yourself he's busy, that he probably has a million duties to carry out and the world isn’t going to cave if he doesn’t show for one day—still, the little tug on your heart speaks for itself. Call it sentimental, but the study sessions have become something of a tradition.

And Tom’s usually a stickler for tradition.

“Looks like it's just you and me,” you tell the waiting pile of homework on the table.

You can practically hear his exasperated whisper in your ear. For Pete’s sake, stop conversing with inanimate objects as if they’ll miraculously bestow upon you the solutions or so help me. You grin.

It appears you’ve come to rely quite a bit on his forceful encouragement, because twenty minutes later your parchment is emptier than the porcelain flatware in the Great Hall after dessert, and only one thought reigns supreme on your mind.

“So much for productivity,” you mutter sullenly.

It hits you right then that Tom Riddle is taking up all your headspace.

When you had met him in this exact spot on that fateful night, you never would’ve guessed that he’d be so drawn to you. So adamant on getting to know you. You share no common ground with his other friends—egotistical, haughty, you’re-so-beneath-me blood purists who command the open-mindedness of jellyfish.

But despite what your confidantes claim, you truly think you’ve seen a side of him no one else has. Because when he’s with you, he sheds the rigid golden boy demeanor for something relaxed and content and dare you say it, warm.

Of course you had plummeted headfirst into your emotions. How could you not? Your affections for him have been growing by the day, and you doubt this is some silly old crush that’ll peter out with the last of summer.

No, the feeling extends way past friendship, you’re afraid.

You entertain the idea, play around with it and roll it over the edges of your brain, let it circle through before reluctantly storing it away for next time.

For the guilt, it’s always there; overbearing and unshakable and clawing at you. Surely it’s immoral to think of a good friend in such a way, especially when it seems good friends are all you’ll ever be—you’re no fool to neglect his detachment towards the whole topic of romance.

You groan. You’ll have time to dwell on it later, but for now there are more pressing matters to at hand. For starters, the conference with your D.A.D.A professor that starts in approximately…fifteen minutes.

You bid the librarian goodbye and wave to the old, regal portraits on your way down the long marble staircase, unceremoniously scouting for vanishing steps.

“Safe and sound,” you sigh when your feet reach hard ground.

Sunlight spills through arched windows into the ever-majestic halls, which are empty save for the occasional wandering student. With the early summer weather, everyone must be congregating outdoors again.

Tap tap tap!

Rushed footsteps and a sudden blur of motion at the end of the corridor bring an abrupt end to your solitude. You halt in your step, just managing to catch the barest glimpse of an outline before it rounds the corner in one swift turn.

Curiosity killed the cat.

A grin breaks over your face. But satisfaction brought it back.

And quick as a fox you’re trailing after the shadow, only a little ashamed that the promise of a distraction outweighs any sense of responsibility you might have. An instant later, a pair of spotless dress shoes accompanied by pristine, ironed robes come into view.

Why, you’d recognize that statuesque figure anywhere.

"Tom!" The prefect freezes mid-step, tension written in every line of his body as he reaches into his pocket and shuffles to his side ever so slightly and right ahead of him stands...

The girl's lavatory?

He swivels around as you approach, wand in hand. "Tom! There you are—"

Except he doesn't look very much like Tom.

There's something manic in his eyes, a ferocity in the way he peers down at you that sets your fight or flight instincts ablaze. His fingers curl restlessly at his sides and you have the horrible impression that you’ve just interrupted something very important.

Tom scowls, regarding you with a coldness so foreign, so unfamiliar you almost recoil under the scrutiny.

But everything your body tells you pales in comparison to the concern that overtakes you.

“Are you alright?” You place a tender hand on his arm, your initial excitement dimming at his state. “You seem ill. Should I escort you to the nurse?”

Tom stares at you, unblinking with those glacial eyes.

Ouch. You tear your gaze away and push down the fears that threaten to surface. There are a million different possibilities, but it'd do you no good to ruminate over any of them right now.

“Come on.” You tighten your grip and steer him toward the stairwell, mindful to take slow steps—you know it’s a fragile peace when eggshells are what you’re treading on.

Still, you’re thoroughly unprepared for the force that wrenches the arm out of your grasp.

The shock registers slowly. It’s a colossal punch to the gut, but all the same you try to keep the woundedness off your face.

“I am not in need of your assistance.”

His voice is low, devoid of its usual silkiness. Chills form a serpentine path up your arms and down your back, raising goosebumps all over your skin until you’re shivering.

Indignance claws its way past the alarm. “Is that why you didn’t show up?” You retort. “You’re normally awfully insistent on cramming as much studying as you can. Vital lucubration, or whatever you call it. I figured you might’ve needed to—”

Tom cuts you off with a scoff, all scorn and vitriol.

“That,” he enunciates slowly, “is none of your concern. I am not quite certain when such brazenness entered the picture, but it is not appreciated."

You blink owlishly before taking a much needed breath. “I don’t understand. Could you start from the beginning? I’m certain we can figure this out, it’s just the story is a little convoluted right now and—well, actually, I don’t even know what the story is.”

“This is a waste of time,” Tom chides. “I’ll make one thing clear: we are not friends.” The crazed stare has vanished, replaced by something eerily vacant. You’ve always wondered how he does that so quickly. “And I believe you’ve helped enough as it is, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll be seeing to my duties now.”

But he doesn’t leave, just crosses his arms and waits expectantly for you to turn away. To go.

You’ve helped enough as it is.

You have the sinking feeling that if you walk away now, you’ll be walking out of his life forever.

We are not friends.

Your pulse races. How can he say all those joy-filled hours you so often look back on amount to nothing? How can he brush you off like you’re just another speck of dirt on his clothes?

Maybe, when it all comes down to it, he’s no different from the rest of them.

“What part of your duties, pray tell, consists of going into the girl’s washroom?” You demand incredulously, voice shaking and mind reeling because Merlin there is no way this was all a ruse and you fell right into it like a blindsided, delusional moron in lo—

Tom stiffens, and you watch, mystified, as the mask of calm falls off. His nostrils flare in anger and he takes a step closer to you, only this time it doesn’t feel anything like the afternoon under the tree. Only this time it’s threatening.

“Fine. I’ll spare you, is that what you want?” He laughs mirthlessly, long fingers running through raven curls. “Since you’re so insistent on pretending to care for me? Fine. It won’t touch you. You have my word.”

Your vision blurs, though from the exasperation or tears you can’t be sure.

“Spare me what?” Your books drop to the floor with a resounding thud. “My concern for you has never been a pretense. That’s ludicrous! You’ll never begin to comprehend how much I care for you. As a matter of fact, I...”

You can’t say it.

His eyes are on you, curious and searching and scathing, but all you can do is helplessly stare back at him. You dig half crescents into your palms.

This time when he speaks, you’re prepared for the flames that come with it.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” Tom all but spits, and you’re wishing for the quiet to blanket you once again. He pauses, if only for a second, tone turning subdued. “The lightness in my chest, the nerves spiraling out of control, the…the…” He gestures wildly. “Floating feeling whenever you’re near.”

“I was satisfied with my perception of the world, so sure and unwavering in my decisions until you came along. You’ve turned all I’ve known upside down.”

Your blood freezes inside your veins.

Tom frowns at his hands. “I’m suffering the consequences, even when you’re not near. Every waking moment is you running through my thoughts and I am not dramatizing when I say it is driving. Me. Insane. I’ve had enough. This ends now.”

Your despair falters just enough for a sliver of hope to take hold. “It doesn't have to end.”

“It must.”

It pains you, it does, but you say it anyway.

“If that’s what you really want.”

The rigidity on Tom’s face lets up slightly, though you could’ve sworn you caught a flicker of something akin to regret.

You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale. “Just...about what you said. I know feelings are daunting, but I promise whatever you’re experiencing is perfectly reasonable.” You think back to the memories you share, as if that’ll make saying the next part any easier. “In fact, Tom I think I—”

“Stop,” he whispers, dangerously calm, yet somehow you know the fury has returned tenfold.

Your heart plummets.

“Get out of my way.”

And is it bad that you sense the undercurrent of something dark in his words? His intentions?

It doesn’t feel of your own accord when you rush to block his way back.

Tom levels you with a death glare, and you have only a second to ponder over whether you should be six feet under before his eyes are flashing a horrifying crimson. You give ground for every stride he takes towards you until a thump indicates that you’ve backpedaled to the lavatory entrance.

You watch in dread as Tom turns his attention to the inside, yearning written all over his features and for one harrowing second, you think he’s going to hurt you to get there.

But then he’s stepping away, away, and in the blink of an eye he’s gone.

And for the first time, you think there's more merit to your friends' warnings than you gave credit for.

You slump onto the floor. You wish you were in any condition to make sense of what transpired, but all you know is that it feels like your spirit has been zapped away. The strain on your chest persists even as you push it down, and then you feel a crushing snap before it all comes undone—caged sobs wrangle free from your throat and salty tears rain down upon where your smile had held just moments ago.

Has it really only been a week since you and Tom had that conversation in the courtyard? Since you lent him that book?

You wish you could retrace your footsteps, find where it all went astray.

“Waaah!”

You almost jump out of your skin.

“Waaaaah!” The sound, high-pitched and lamenting, can only be coming from inside.

You rise to your feet.

“Hello?” You venture from the doorway. Your voice ricochets off the stone walls. The place is well-kept, complete with four shiny sinks situated below a mirror and a row of wooden stall doors left fairly unchipped.

“GO AWAY!”

You may or may not be one stone’s leap away from hysterics (who’s to say?), but you think you’ve had enough scares in a day for the whole of Hogwarts. Besides, no one should be howling like their life is ending, and smiles make the world go round.

“Would you like to talk?” You goad gently, taking note of the leather shoes peeking out from under the far stall. "You can say the word again and I’ll leave you be.”

You cross your fingers behind your back, pray with all your being that this one won’t end in a full-blown lash-out session.

To your relief, the wooden door swings open a few moments later and a pale girl with long brown pigtails, round glasses and a blue tie steps out to face you. No older than fourteen, from the looks of it.

“Olive Hornby made fun of my glasseeeees,” she wails, and the noise grates against your ear. You wince.

“I’m sorry.” You place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I, for one, am of the opinion that your glasses look just fine.” She flushes at that. “Although if this is a recurring thing, I’d like to talk to her for you—only if you assent, of course, but it’d give me peace of mind.”

Her puffy, bloodshot eyes light up and suddenly it’s as if she were five years younger, a hopeful child with stars in her eyes. “R-Really?”

You nod. “Really.”

Her sobs subside to sniffles and the pout on her face morphs into something bashful. “Thanks…”

“What’s your name?”

“Myrtle. Myrtle Warren.” She takes off her glasses and wipes at the fogged-over lenses with the fabric of her clothes.

“He comes in here often, you know.” She peeks at you from under her lashes. “Taps on surfaces and makes these strange hissing noises, like it’s a language he’s fluent in." Her tone turns wistful. "I stay silent and listen because it’s all so mesmerizing…”

“Who does?” You frown.

“You know who.”

“Wait. Don’t tell me...”

But Myrtle only giggles, brows lifting in amusement. “Good luck on your boy problems.”

Then she’s off.

You stare after her in shock.

You catalog the new information, an onslaught of burning questions and what-ifs invading your mind in a trice.

One sticks out in particular. It’s afflicting and unnerving and you don’t want to consider it, but it prods and pushes at you until you’re forced to cave.

What exactly would’ve happened if Tom had gone in there today?

Nothing good, that’s for sure.

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The note comes a week—dense with radio silence and carefully averted glances—later, tied by a silken ribbon (high-end, no doubt about it) to the leg of a beautiful owl with raven feathers.

Now it rests, protrusive and unbidden in your lap as the root of your apprehension for the past half hour.

You pick it up and set it down again. Fidgeting in your beanbag chair has only fueled your restlessness, but now that the adrenaline’s gone you’re really out of options.

And if you’re being completely honest, not knowing is killing you more than anything.

You slouch in resignation and raise the letter to your face.

“Helga help me,” you whisper to the portrait above the mantelpiece.

It reads something about how he’s been awfully occupied with responsibilities and how he’d like to have a chance to make up for lost time and would you be so inclined as to accompany him to Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon.

There’s a palpable, gaping hole in the place where an apology or explanation should be—or an acknowledgement of anything that went down, for that matter. You don’t know what you were expecting.

A week ago, you would’ve been delighted at the prospect of going on a date with the Tom Riddle. Squealing in ecstasy and bouncing on the balls of your feet. Now all that’s running through your head is maybe the rose-colored glasses you see with have only made you blind in the end.

Crackling orange embers engulf the parchment with a satisfying hiss.

You’ve never been one to hold a grudge, but If he wants your forgiveness—he’ll have to try much harder than that.

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