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lorelune · 5 months

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lobotomy commission

|| jing yuan x gn!reader || T || love sick hopefully lovers || wc: 3.9k || ao3 ||

The Xianzhou Alliance has... never allowed lobotomies? Why are you so insistent on receiving one?

(The General, the Divine Foresight.)

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: oh mister general jing yuan you have me so damn heart eyes. here's a lil sweet treat!!!!

CW: fluff, friends to lovers, jing yuan being a bit silly, alcohol consumption, FLUFF, a bit of crack being taken seriously

"Lady Fu, I need to be put down." Your cheek hits the low table. You feel pathetic. It's a Thursday and you're teary-eyed after far too little wine to be in such a state. You sniffle.

"No one is 'putting you down'!" Fu Xuan huffs from the other side, patting your arm. "It's rare that you’re this mopey. What’s troubling you?"

"I am not 'mopey'. I need a lobotomy. Which of the commissions would handle this procedure?"

Lady Fu frowns, clicks her tongue, and sighs your name, “A lobotomy, really?

"Yes, exactly. As soon as possible, preferably.” You down the rest of your cup and restlessly flip your phone screen up.

"This is particularly pathetic. Stop drinking and wallowing and just tell me what's wrong."

"Fu Xuan, you will scold me." You push yourself up on the table and shake your head. "No, actually, you will fire me. You will send me to my office this very instant, force me to pack up my things, and turn in my permissions. I'll be out of a job. Then, I'll be homeless. then—"

"No, nuh-uh, no more dramatics!" Fu Xuan slaps a hand over your mouth. You're glad you’re seated in a private corner of the bar, as this is a rather pathetic display on both of your parts. "Please just tell me, what’s the matter?”

Your dilemma.

"I like the General."

Fu Xuan frowns, expression pinched, and her hand falls heavily onto the table. "That... isn’t exactly new information? Even if it’s a... questionable call of taste, the general is handsome. Occasionally charming when he isn’t being an oaf on purpose. I don’t think having a bit of a crush on the Divine Foresight is anything unusual. Half of the population of the Luofu holds the same opinion.

“Okay, but,” you unlock your phone, a ceramic, cat-shaped charm swinging from the vase as you wobble. “What if the General were to return my feelings? And he invited me for a walk and a meal tomorrow evening?”

Fu Xuan's jaw drops. "You're joking."

"I'm not,” you whine and slide your phone across the table.

...

Divine Foresight 🦁:

Are you free tomorrow evening? I know a terrace that has a splendid view of the overlook near the Cinnabar Eyeline. I would be delighted to take you to it and share a meal after,

Divine Foresight 🦁:

If you'll have me :3c

...

“Oh... wow.” Fu Xuan looks shocked. It’s hard to shock her, but she does tend to avoid divining the destiny of those she is close to (unless entirely necessary.) Her intuition regardless of mathematics and astral geometry is, however, keen. Yet her eyes are wide and she struggles to gather her words. “What a menace.”

“I know.”

“The General is rarely so forward. I’ve never heard of him being so forward.”

“I know.”

“Except, perhaps—”

“With me?” You rub your cheeks. They’re warm from the wine.

“Only you. Though this is particularly... telling. I’m sure it’s sincere.”

“I would agree.” Your stomach flutters, and you swallow the feeling down.

Fu Xuan narrows her eyes and says your name, mouth in a thin line, "You haven't replied."

“And that’s why I need the lobotomy.” You swallow. “I’m going to turn him down.”

“WHAT?!”

You need another drink.

Fu Xuan clearly does not. Her cheeks flush rosy pink as she slaps her hands on the low table. “Why would you reject him? Even if he’s a scoundrel— he is genuine.”

“I know, that’s why I can’t accept his... proposition.”

Despite knowing that Jing Yuan serially denies any potential suitors or daring admirers. You know that it has always been like this— from the time long ago when he first gained rank, to his ‘withered age’ as he self-deprecating refers to himself now. He is always kind about his rejections, you’ve witnessed one or two of them, but he never even entertains the idea of romantic partnership. You’ve never heard him mention it or any desires.

So, for him to so bluntly ask you on a date—

He couldn’t be more clear with his feelings.

“You’re a fool.”

“Now, you’re getting it.” You pour yourself another glass of plum wine. Your shared bottle is nearly empty. “This is why I need the lobotomy.”

Fu Xuan watches you drink your glass in a single go. Her brows are pinched and her arms are crossed. Her shoulders sag a moment later.

“I do believe I understand your reasoning, and I don’t think it’s lobotomy-worthy.”

“... High praise.”

“[Name].”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” You laugh behind your palm. The world feels sticky and bouncy, all at once. You crave the respite of your own bed. “I can’t accept his proposition in the form of a text. I mean, Lady Fu, he's the most powerful man on the Luofu. He is renowned in all fields of battle, strategic, and social graces. He’s kind. He probably like, kisses babies on Sundays at the markets."

"He does not."

"You never know!" You groan. "That's all to say that I won't accept an invitation to a date with this little effort put into it."

"... Because it's a text?"

"Because it's a text." You nod.

Fu Xuan pauses, then sighs.

“I can’t decide if that makes you a fool or not.” Her hair is frizzing up with the humidity. "Perhaps you have a point, the General is old enough to know and have some decorum when going about these things."

"Maybe he's a virgin? But like, for dating."

"I'd have to check... certain records. Archives. To confirm or deny that."

You wilt, “He probably isn’t. I’m being foolish.”

“No, you’re not.” Fu Xuan smooths a hand over your cheek with a frown.

"Lady Fu," you cry and wish you were at home. In bed. Maybe you should block his number. "You're supposed to say, 'You absolutely are, my most beloved junior, I will schedule your lobotomy and—’"

"No more talk of lobotomies, please."

"Fine, fine." you sigh and finish off your final cup as Lady Fu does as well. "Do you think I'm nuts for turning him down?"

"... No, I don't." Fu Xuan looks shy for a moment. A lot more human than her lofty station implies. "I don't doubt that... Jing Yuan has feelings for you. I see how he looks at you. But he ought to romance you a bit. A text is low effort. You should reply regardless though."

"I'm going to, I just needed some courage. And moral support." You give her a soft smile and tap back into your messages. Fu Xuan practically crawls around the table to your side. She leans her head on your shoulders and her eyes droop. You take a heavy inhale, then exhale, attempt to focus your blurry vision and craft.

...

You:

General, though I'm flatered by your offer, I will need to decline. Though I will ackknowledge what I would imagine (and hope)) to be your genun

You:

geuine

You:

gennuie

You:

genuine

You:

feelings, I cannot accept an invitation in the form of a text message. I must be wooed.

You:

lady Fuu says "if you are capable of such things"

You:

pls don't fire her she's a good boss and so nice

You:

[picture from XX/XX/XXXX @ 2:14 AM]

...

The next morning is hell. Hell. You wished you had undergone your requested lobotomy. It certainly feels like someone has stuck metal rods into your brain, with the migraine pounding the back of your eyes. Maybe a hangover this bad is somewhat equivalent to a lobotomy. Your memory of your night prior is... cloudy, to say the least. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you manage to down a glass of water and a handful of peachy-colored pills. You speed walk to the Divination Commission, shooting Fu Xuan an apologetic “sorry, running late, forgive me 🙏" text.

You mentally pat your drunk self on the back. After you sent your... rejection (ouch) to the General, you muted his messages and deleted the thread. No evidence, no way to feel awkward about it sober. And no way to dwell on it either. Besides, you hardly remember what you said to him after your last glass of wine. It’s hazy in your memory.

It was... perhaps a foolish way to go about things. You certainly could have approached the General and talked about it, but he sometimes spoke in circles about matters of the heart. Maybe... maybe you felt too fragile to dance that dance, if it came to that. Maybe, you were a bit overwhelmed by his invitation. You know all too well that he does not let himself be pursued. He does not pursue others.

You feel blind-sided by the whole thing.

But that doesn’t matter— because you cleanly rejected him and your only repercussion is a hangover that you’re sure Fu Xuan is twinning.

And besides, it’s better that you rejected him. He’s of such a high— highest station. He wouldn’t have time for you, surely. You... have gotten used to your entirely and completely platonic, twice-a-month lunch dates and the occasional star chess lesson (where he never lets you win but you swear you'll give him a run for his money.) But it's fine. You can let go of those things, along with your feelings for the General.

It's better this way.

You think these thoughts somewhat confidently until you arrive at the Divination Commission and find a crowd swarming the central platform under the Matrix of Prescience Ultima. Frowning, you try to weave through the edge of it to your office, where you conveniently have a few nutrition shakes stashed away that you most certainly need. You’re already late and this hangover needs to go. You have a full docket for the day that you need to make fuller so you don’t think about—

You nearly stumble when you hear a rich, familiar, roll of laughter. You freeze, slowly turning to the sound. A crown of fluffy hair peaks above the small crowd, a red ribbon waving in the breeze.

Absolutely fucking not.

You duck, just in case, and try to creep below the crowd. You probably look ridiculous, but you absolutely cannot see Jing Yuan. You can’t. Your poorly-thought out, hungover plan of not caring about the General does somewhat heavily rely on not seeing the man. You trip over over your own feet and barely catch yourself so as to not tumble to the ground.

Jing Yuan calls your name and

You freeze before jolting to your full height a moment later. The gaggle of your coworkers part enough so that you’re able to see him— lit so well and handsomely in the morning sun, smiling so easily with... perhaps a hint of mischief in the curve of his lips.

He waves with his free hand, while a massive bouquet is pillowed in the crook of his arm.

The flowers are beautiful— off-ship exotics, clearly. The colors are all bright oranges and vibrant blues. Thinner stems are topped with bundles of white, delicate flowers that break the barrage of colors. They look fresh, like they’d been cut this morning. Fu Xuan stands next to him, clearly hungover herself and close to popping a blood vessel. It’s incredibly rare that the General do anything in the mornings, especially causing a commotion in the Divination Commission.

Jing Yuan, who is more than likely aware of this, looks entirely unbothered. Actually, he glows as he calls your name, gentle and rich, and the sound of it hits you in the chest, “There you are.”

"Here I am." You're not. You need that lobotomy. You nod to him curtly, "General. Is there something I can help you with today?"

Fu Xuan looks like she’s going to expire right there on the platform.

Jing Yuan cocks his head knowingly, “There is, yes. I have a rather personal matter to discuss in private with you. Are you available?”

You have things on your schedule. You can make yourself appear busy, if it means not dealing with the General you can’t really hide from and the beautiful bouquet in his arms. “Well—”

“They’re free.” Fu Xuan all but pushes you toward him. You regret covering her tab the night before. “Especially free, since I’ll be rescheduling our weekly meeting to tomorrow.”

“Is that really necessary—?” You laugh and wring your hands. You feel caught in the worst way. “General, will this personal discussion take much time? I am quite busy today—”

Jing Yuan, who has been watching your exchange with Fu Xuan wordlessly, looks a bit... crestfallen. It’s hard to tell on a man who holds himself like the General, but it’s there. A crease between his brows that’s slight, but visible and abnormal. Maybe he’s holding the bouquet a little tighter than he probably thought. There’s a sheen of sweat on his temple that, if asked, he would probably blame on the heat index for the day.

Your words die in your throat as you take him in and force yourself to meet his gaze. Honeyed and sad, a bit like a kicked dog.

“... I suppose, I could arrange a proper appointment with you. Perhaps it was uncouth of me to expect such accommodations to be made for me last minute. I apologize.” You can hear his tone change. It may be imperceptible to someone else, but you notice the shift in him. Gone is the playful lilt and air of mischief, on his a veneer of niceties that you... had forgotten he loses around you.

Something in your chest aches.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Floundering. Jing Yuan adjusts his hold on the bouquet—

“Enough of this.” Lady Fu shakes her head. She shoos a hand toward the lingering onlookers. “Back to work, now. Don’t eavesdrop either. I’ll know if you do.”

(Debatable, but it’s Fu Xuan’s favorite threat.)

Once the crowd has dispersed, she turns toward you too. You needed that lobotomy, like, yesterday.

“I will make the necessary changes to your schedule so you can speak privately for as long as you need." She points at you, then Jing Yuan. “Sort this.”

The General raises an eyebrow at her. She’s bold to speak in such a way to someone above her own station, but Lady Fu doesn't dare back down. She glares at him, then you, partially covering her mouth to block Jing Yuan’s view before mouthing, “FIX THIS!!!!”

...

On the way to your office, you walk side by side, in silence. You’re trying to think of the right words to say.

“... Are you sure you have time for this, General?” You ask him, softly. “I don’t mean to ask as a slight— just— I don’t want to inconvenience you is all.”

“Of course.” He replies easily. You turn down the long, quiet corridor that leads to your office. It’s tucked away in a corner of the divination Commission, facing outward toward the Arbor’s stump with tall windows providing a sunlit view. You’re glad you don’t have to look at him as you unlock the door with a thick-looking key. “This is a rather pertinent, time-sensitive matter we’re discussing. My own schedule is not consequential in this case. Haste, moreso.”

You laugh under your breath.

“Great Lan, Qingzu is going to kill me.” You sigh before pushing the door open with a shake of your head. Perhaps a smile curls on your lips. Who’s to say. “Did you at least not leave a pile of paperwork for her to delegate in your stead?”

“And what, diminish the time I have for my afternoon nap with busy work?” Jing Yuan laughs. The sound fills you from the bottom up and you want to choke on it. You tear your gaze away from him. “Such a thing would be unhealthy, you know. I’m an old man.”

“An old man who needs an ample amount of beauty sleep.” You tease him, it’s easy to. You speak before you even have a chance to think about the warm nature of your words. The meaning behind the bouquet in his arms that he still hasn’t given to you.

Why Jing Yuan is in your office at all.

“... If this is about my texts my last night—”

“It is, partially.” Jing Yuan hums. “I’m afraid I’ve slighted you, and it’s of the utmost importance I correct my transgression.”

“That’s— That’s not necessary, General.” Your cheeks burn.

“It is. Entirely, in fact. Stating my intentions with you over text messages was... a poor choice on my part. I must apologize appropriately, don’t you think?

“I mean— that’s—” Your words flounder in your mouth. “Kind of you.”

It is kind of him. He certainly doesn’t need to be here, in your cramped office, with a bouquet that costs close to what you make in a day of work. He doesn’t need to be showing a sincere, lovesick smile as he speaks. He’s showing you a card he’s kept close to his chest. One you, perhaps, guessed he had, but hadn’t intended to ever see.

He presents you with the bouquet, “You said you must be wooed, and I am here to begin that process explicitly.”

"... I said what?" You’re going to burst into flames.

“I thought you may not recall your exact words. Did you and Lady Fu have a fun night together?” Jing Yuan chuckles, and you flush so hot you feel almost faint. “You said that I must, and I quote, ‘woo you’.”

He smiles at you, the glint in his eye a bit more mischievous. More knowing. He’s toying with you.

“I— no— I’m so sorry, General.” You cover your face with your hands and back into your desk. “Forget I said that. Please forget I said anything.”

“Please, use my name.” He corrects, gently. “I’d prefer not to forget. You have a point, I should have stated my intentions clearly and to you in person.”

You peek at him between your fingers. He still holds the bouquet out to you, like he’s trying to lure a cagey cat in for a pet rather than make a confession. You feel out of sorts. Off kilter. That said— it is nice to hear him in person. Your heart has been oscillating between fluttering and pounding.

Jing Yuan tilts his head sweetly at you. You take the bouquet from him and examine it closer. There’s yellow and lilac pollen dusted on the filaments, fresh and fragrant.

“Jing Yuan, then.” You reply to him, softly. It’s hardly the first time you’ve called him by his name, rather than a title, but he preens when you speak regardless. “... So, you intend to woo me then?”

“Entirely.” Jing Yuan hums to himself, looking quite proud. “I do fully recant my offer I sent previously. Though I would be happy to lounge with you in the terraces and see some lovely views, I’ve secured a reservation for this evening at a lovely restaurant in the Exalting Sanctum, if you would accompany me.”

Your stomach flips pleasantly. You can’t help the little smile that’s twitching over your lips. You take care to not crush the bouquet in your arms, despite the urge to squeeze it to your chest, just to tamp down the thumping of your heart. Stroking your thumb over the silken petal of lush, round-petaled bloom, you let yourself smile.

You can practically hear Jing Yuan holding his breath. His eyes look hopeful and young.

“I accept,” you reply. “Consider me wooed.”

“It was that easy?” Jing Yuan’s voice takes that air of smugness that you know is a farce but you still can’t help but to approach him and bat your hands at his chest.

“I already like you, you know,” You laugh. “I was more offended that you wouldn’t face me and tell me your intentions. I hardly know the General to be a coward. I was a bit slighted.”

Jing Yuan catches your wrists in one of his hands and gently holds them against your sternum. His fingers lay over the thump of your heart; you wonder if he can feel it. You feel pleasantly woozy when you meet his eyes and all their intensity. Intention.

“I apologize.” He speaks smoothly, easily. Perhaps ducking his head down to be closer to your own. “It’s quite difficult to proposition someone so beautiful and kind.”

“Ah, so the General was hiding behind a screen, then?” You laugh over the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve never known you to be a coward.”

Jing Yuan hums, and you pop up on the corner of your desk. He’s close enough to feel the heat of him, and see the threading of his uniform and the glitter woven into the rich fabrics.

“Hm, I wouldn’t say it has anything to do with cowardice.” Jing Yuan shakes his head. His breath is warm over your cheeks. “I planned to tell you my intentions of courting you at the Terraces, once you accepted. I, perhaps, was too presumptuous in expecting you to assume beyond my initial ask. I should have been more clear.”

You stifle a laugh and flex your hands, still held in his firm, but kind grip.

“Jing Yuan, if you continue to speak to me so directly, I’ll demand you take me out now and not this evening.”

“Is that so?”

“Entirely.” You struggle to maintain eye contact and not let your gaze drift down to his lips. “I’m not used to you speaking so clearly, only your riddles.”

“What riddles?” He tilts his head, curly, a sweet smile on his face that is far too mischievous for who he is expected to be.

“Oh, you know—”

“Do I?” Jing Yuan asks. He steps between your thighs, the width of him forcing your legs wider. As if your flush could be any more intense. “You must tell me more over lunch. I’ll send a message to Lady Fu and clear your schedule?”

“... She did say to take as long as we need to sort this,” You soften, a bit intimated, if only for a moment. “Is this sorted?”

Jing Yuan hums, “You did say you were wooed. I’d consider that fairly sorted.”

“And you’ll have me?” You ask him, daring to slide your arms over his shoulders. The contact bubbles up months of tension over Star Chess boards (during games that, perhaps, were not entirely platonic).

“I’d be honored.” Jing Yuan’s voice sounds sweet, more quiet than you’ve heard before, like it’s just for you to hear.

There’s an edge to it all still— something raw and new that will need to be tempered. That is the nature of immortality and the relationships and partnerships that come with it. Complexes develop, heal, and grow differently within the self. You’ve already gamed out a few of Jing Yuan’s (a cursed Master who he will only reference in melancholy, unrequited love he was too young for, so many tragedies that he somehow manages to give himself for not preventing). He is perceptive. You’re sure he has put together some of yours as well.

For now, there’s a promise of good things. There’s the feel of him pressing his lips to yours, gentle but unyielding, strung with a mutual yearning that, in retrospect, would’ve been a shame to crush and hide away. There’s the warmth of him so close, and closer still when you drag him closer by the nape of his neck.

You can feel his grin against your lips, and you mirror it easily.

No riddles, only a fragrant bouquet and intention.

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan reader insert #hsr x reader #im very in love with him #he is so husband #feeling very soft and yearning about him lately AAAAH #enjoy :''^)

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cemeterything · 6 months

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i'm planning out a game abt an angel who falls from heaven and gets roped into trying to contact god through math (extremely condensed version of the plot) and you've inspired me to get REALLY into the comparison of divinity and mathematics/technology and now there's a guy who's also trying to contact god but this time by building a "computer from the 1940s"-esque machine out of angels. do with that knowledge what you will.

building a machine out of angels is always a great idea that definitely won't have any unwanted consequences. don't even worry about it. keep welding those suckers together.

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

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For the best.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader P2

Summary: The one where Theodore’s decision was clear, and he had to do the thing that pained him the most, to keep you safe. Alternatively: Theodore has to grapple with losing you to save you. If only it were that simple.

A/N: P2 of the Theo request ‘ I’m here’ ! I hope you enjoy it because its angst and more angst! Proof read like once but if there are any mistakes i’ll correct them over due course 😭😭

The human intuition is a remarkable thing.

Despite the countless mathematical proofs, scientific findings and books upon books of logic and reasoning, intuition formed the basis of most things. Even the most foolproof of arguments in philosophy can be countered by human intuition.

With it being such a powerful thing, it would be foolish to ignore it.

But the day after your run-in with Theodore’s father, when you had woken up to an empty bed, your intuition screamed at you.

Something isn’t right.

You, rather stupidly, had chosen to pay it no mind. After all, it was Theodore you were talking about. The same boy who would cling to you and refuse to let go after the Holidays. He wouldn’t have any ill intentions, surely.

That was what you had thought 5 days ago.

5 days of not seeing or hearing from Theodore.

He had cleverly managed to avoid you in the school halls, and due to your conflicting lessons, you never saw him in Class either. You had checked the room of requirement, the library, and the hidden alcove between the divination tower and the hospital wing. You had even ventured onto the quidditch pitch during the matches in search of him but were met with a replacement chaser instead. When you had questioned the captain about Theodore's absence, he had merely shrugged and told you he simply stopped turning up.

Your initial thought was fear. Perhaps his father had taken it out on Theodore anyway. What if Theodore was hurt, or injured?

Your worry sept into your nights, now restless and in distress. You couldn’t bear laying in the bed you had shared with him mere days ago when you had absolutely no idea where he was. Fear gnawed at your insides from the moment the sun rose till the final rays of sunshine escaped the now bleak horizon, and Theodore was still nowhere to be seen.

You had rather bravely cornered his friends on the second day, stopping the platinum-haired boy in his tracks as you spoke.

“Malfoy. Have you seen Theodore anywhere?”

“And why on earth should I know where he is?” He responds, rather sassily as he eyes you, disdain evident on his face.

The anxiety that you felt in Theodore's absence overpowered the hate you had for his friend's obvious prejudice towards you, and you let out a sigh of exasperation as you stormed off. It had seemed as though everyone else had been seeing Theodore regularly, aside from you. You couldn’t fathom why you couldn't see him if everyone else said they did and why he hadn't sought you out in that period.

In pursuit of Theodore, you had completely forgotten about your own most basic needs, neglecting your sleep, amongst many other things.

Perhaps the first indicator that Theodore was very much still here, was when you were sitting in the common room, 4 days after he seemed to have simply vanished.

A girl with sleek black hair cut into a bob with thick bangs, one who you knew was part of Theodore’s friend group, had come up to you.

Pansy Parkinson - rather well known for her gossiping habits and association with some of the most popular Slytherin boys.

You had never really spoken to her before, but you had heard far and wide about her beliefs in pureblood supremacy. Simply put, a person like her would not associate with someone like you.

You look up in confusion as she approaches, and she eyes you for a second. She tosses something onto your lap, and you look down, the confusion etched further into your features when you see it's a sandwich, wrapped up in clingfilm. You look up at her and she speaks as though it pains her to say so.

“You haven’t eaten.” She says, before turning to walk away. You go to protest, but your stomach rumbles and you quickly realise you indeed hadn't eaten, and you were quite hungry.

You can't comprehend why someone like Pansy would have noticed that, let alone bothered to give you something, and your eyes linger on her retreating figure as you slowly unwrap the sandwich and take a bite.

“She had some,” Pansy says as she exits the common room, and Theodore lets out a sigh of relief.

“You can't run from her forever, Theodore. You’d have done well to listen to us when we told you it couldn’t ever possibly work out, with someone of such high status as yourself. You have me almost pitying the poor thing.” Panys mocks condescendingly, before waking off. Theodore lets out a sigh of frustration, rubbing a hand over his face. He catches a small glimpse of you sitting on the sofa, looking oh so tired as you sit alone, mindlessly chewing on the sandwich as you stare off into the fireplace. He yearns to reach out and unfurrow your brows, to kiss your cheek and draw you in. But he yearns even more to keep you safe.

Muttering a disillusionment charm, he slips through into the common room as someone else exits, and makes his way up to his dorm. He has to refrain from going to you, and he knows what he’s doing is for the best. He knows he can’t do this forever, and at some point, he’ll have to stop evading you. From then, he’d have to start ignoring you, treating you badly in the hopes you’d no longer want to associate with him. It would kill him to have to do so, but knowing he could guarantee your safety if he did, he was willing to pay the price.

He can only pray you’ll understand.

It came 2 weeks later when you were walking down the corridor on your way to Arithmancy. You had been navigating through the crowded hallways when a glimpse of a familiar head of hair had you whipping your head back. Sure enough, walking amongst his friends, was Theodore.

A mixture of relief, happiness, anger, and confusion all wash over you as you begin pushing through the crowd.

“Theo. Theo!” You call out, shouting the boy's name.

He turns around, looking over as he spots you. A glimpse of an unreadable emotion flashes in his eyes for a second, before his gaze hardens. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, and you notice - of course you notice. He looks away and walks straight past you.

You stand there, frozen. Your jaw twitches with a mix of frustration and hurt. How could he just walk past you like that? After two weeks of worry and sleepless nights, he acts as though you're a complete stranger.

Anger bubbles up within you, fueled by the rejection and confusion. You want to chase after him, demand an explanation for his disappearance and his cold behaviour. Unease and fear bubbling inside you, you clutch your bag ever so slightly tighter as you make your way back to your lesson.

You have no focus throughout your lesson, staring down at your paper as you grit your teeth. Was it because his Father found out? Were you really just a passing fancy to Theodore? All those tender words, his acts of love. Was it simply an act of rebellion from him?

Insecurity and doubts gnaw at you throughout the lesson, rendering you unable to focus or engage. You're so in your own head, that you don't even realise that the lesson is over till the sound of students packing up rouses you from your mental path of self-destruction. You hastily cram your belongings back into your bag and with a steely resolve, head straight for the common room.

Perhaps to your luck or dismay, Theodore is sitting there, nestled amongst his group of friends.

The familiar warmth of the common room feels suffocating as you draw nearer, your heart pounding in your chest with each step.

"Theodore," you say, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to appear composed. "We need to talk."

The group falls silent amidst your arrival, and Theodore looks up at you, his expression unreadable as he takes in your presence.

"I don't see why we would need to do that," he replies coolly, a hint of arrogance colouring his tone.

Confusion swirls within you like a tempest, mingling with the hurt and anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "What do you mean, we don't need to talk?" you demand, your voice rising with each word. "You disappeared for two weeks without a word, and now you act as though nothing's happened. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

Theodore's friends exchange knowing glances, their smirks filled with thinly veiled amusement.

Theodore's jaw tightens, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of something resembling remorse flicker in his eyes. But it's quickly replaced by a mask of indifference as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Why should I care about your feelings?" he retorts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're nothing to me."

His words hit you like a physical blow, and for a moment, you're rendered speechless, the sheer audacity of his cruelty leaving you reeling.

"How dare you?" you seethe, your voice trembling with righteous indignation. "After everything? Was I just a way for you to rebel against your father? A little fling?” You snap, tears in your eyes as you stare down at him. He swallows harshly, but he doesn’t say a word, looking up at you.

“Fuck you.” You spit, unable to say anything else. The hurt weighs heavy on you, lodging your words in your throat. It all of a sudden feels harder to breathe, and you're sure the room is spinning.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you turn on your heel and storm away, refusing to give Theodore the satisfaction of seeing your pain. Behind you, you can hear the hushed whispers of his friends, their laughter echoing in the air like a cruel taunt.

You slam the door to your dorm room, slumping against it as you dissolve into tears. Your body heaves as you sob, and your throat feels raw.

Mattheo’s eyes linger on the spot where you once stood, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he breaks the awkward silence that had fallen over the rest of the group amidst your departure.

“Reckon that was a bit harsh,” He says, a hint of amusement lacing his voice as Pansy snorts.

“Well, I don't know what else he expected. It’s for the best he got over this silly little relationship and focused on the fact that they’re due to be here any day now. Someone like Theodore should not be wasting his time on someone as insignificant.” Draco drawls, feet lazily propped up on the coffee table in front of them.

Theodore pushes up, tossing his book onto the table with force. The group all look up at him suddenly, and the anger is evident on his face as he stares at Draco for a second.

“Speak another word about her, and I’ll rip your tongue out.” Theodore threatens, his voice strained. He grabs his bag and shoves past Blaise, who’s leaning against one of the armchairs as he makes his way up to his dorm.

He wants to chase after you, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. But he knows that doing so would only put you in more danger, and he can't bear the thought of causing you any more pain than he already has.

Hours pass in a blur of restless pacing and tormented thoughts. Theodore tries to distract himself with his studies, but his mind keeps wandering back to you, to the hurt and confusion etched on your face as you confronted him in the common room. Every time the image of your tear-filled eyes pops up in his mind, he has to clutch at his chest, willing to find a way to remove the physical ache that plagues him.

It's a few hours later when the sound of muffled screams and shouts rouse him from his inwards spiral. He frowns in confusion, straining as he wonders whether he is imagining it. He was met with silence and assumed that the emotional and physical toll that the past few days had taken on him meant he was simply imagining things.

A few minutes pass, and he hears it again.

A loud boom, followed by more screams.

No, he’s definitely not imagining it. He gets up, but just as he does so, Pansy bursts into the room, her eyes wide with excitement.

"They're here," she gasps, her voice filled with a sick exhilaration. "The Death Eaters are in Hogwarts."

Theodore's blood runs cold at her words, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of dread and apprehension. He knows what this means, and knows that he's expected to join them, to fight alongside his father and his allies.

But more than anything, he's filled with a paralyzing fear for you. His father now knows who you are, knows that you’re a Muggle, and Theodore knows that he’ll harm you if he’s to see you.

Theodore fumbles for his wand, clutching it tightly in his hand as he slips on his shoes, following Pansy. As he steps out of the now abandoned common room, the smell of smoke and the sound of frantic footsteps echo through the corridors. Panic grips the school as students and teachers alike scramble to find safety amidst the chaos.

Blaise and Mattheo run over to Pansy and Theodore, panting as they regroup.

“Draco is round by the bell towers. The fighting is heavy there.” Blaise says, but Theodore couldn't give two fucks, for his mind was consumed with worries about your safety.

Theodore knew you extremely well, and it's as if he knew you’d be in the midst of it all, trying desperately hard to fight amongst your peers against the very people Theodore was meant to be allied with. The image of his father spotting you enters his mind again and he clenches his jaw, ready to go. He looks over at Mattheo, who's unusually quiet. He's sure the unease on his face is mirrored on his own, and it seems as though they're the only two worried about this.

Despite his flaws, Theodore empathizes with the boy, who arguably would be expected to do the most. As the son of the dark lord himself, who else would be expected to fight first if not him?

Theodore squeezes his arm comfortingly, urging him to get his head back in the game and go.

“We have to. Firm it.” Theodore mutters to Mattheo, who looks up at him and nods reluctantly. The group begun running over to the bell tower, the acrid smoke stinging their eyes and the distant sounds of spells and screams growing louder with each step.

Approaching the midst of it all, they’re charmed with disguisement charms ensuring no one would notice them. Flashes of green and red bounce off the walls, crackling as students and teachers alike fight back.

Though he dares not admit it, Theodore cannot help but find relief in spitting a significantly larger number of death eater bodies knocked out on the floor. He ignores his insides churning at the prospect of having to fight his classmates. Blaise, Pansy and Mattheo seem to throw themselves straight into the fight, slinging curses left right and centre. Theodore ducks and dodges, weaving through the area as he searches for one person.

You.

He stumbles as a curse skims him, sending a searing pain across his upper arm. He whirls around, brandishing his wand with unforgiving anger as he sends the person who delivered the curse flying into the wall. How dare they hinder his pursuit of you?

Theodore would kill if it meant he could find you.

But he didn’t have to look any further.

Wincing as he grasps his injured arm, his head whips up when he hears an all too familiar voice.

“Confringo!” You gasp, sending a curse hurtling towards a cloaked figure, who’s bounded back.

Theodore shields himself from the sudden influx of heat, momentarily blinded by the orange flames as he spots you. You turn around, shielding a quaking first-year student as you single-handedly fend back a death eater.

“Go!” You shout, pushing the child to one of the teachers as you fight alongside a few others.

“You!” Another voice calls out, and Theodore is sure that he is dreaming, he has to be dreaming, for there is no possible way his very worst fears could have been confirmed so cruelly.

The person who stands in front of you is none other than his father.

“I was hoping I would have found you.” Theodore's father says, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as he advances towards you, his wand raised threateningly. Theodore's heart lurches in his chest at the sight of his father's malevolent grin, his worst nightmares unfolding before his very eyes.

"No!" Theodore cries out, his voice hoarse with desperation as he moves to go to you. But as he does, he slams back, an arm wrapping around him as they hold him back.

“We need to go.” Draco grits out, pulling him back. Theodore struggles against Draco's grip, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of fear and rage. He knows what his father is capable of, knows the danger you're in if he gets his hands on you.

But Draco holds him back, his grip like iron as he tries to drag Theodore away from the impending confrontation. "We have to go, Theodore," Draco urges, his voice tinged with urgency. "We can't stay here. It's not safe."

But Theodore refuses to listen, his eyes locked on you as his father closes in, his wand raised to strike.

"Let me go!" Theodore shouts, his voice cracking with emotion as he struggles against Draco's hold. "[name], please!" He shouts, in despair as he sees you cornered, wand knocked out of your hand.

Draco's grip tightens, his expression torn between concern and frustration as he tries to reason with Theodore. "You can't help her if you're captured," he insists, his voice strained with urgency. "We have to get out of here. Now!"

But Theodore can't tear his eyes away from you, from the danger that looms ever closer with each passing second. He knows he should listen to Draco, and knows that staying here will only put you both in more danger. But the thought of leaving you behind, of abandoning you to face his father alone, is more than he can bear.

As his father draws closer, Theodore's resolve hardens, his determination burning brighter than ever.

“Your wand, Malfoy!” You shout, and Draco looks at you with confusion, his grip around Theodore still tight as he desperately tries to pull Theodore back.

“Give me your fucking wand!” You shout amidst the chaos, and Theodore is struggling to break free.

‘She's going to make it. She just needs a wand’

“Give her the wand!” Theodore snaps, still straining against Draco's hold as Draco tosses the wand over to you, the wooden thing clattering against the floor. Amidst the shouting, the explosions, and the screaming, Theodore aches as he hears you so clearly. You reach for Draco’s wand, and instead of using it to defend yourself, you turn to Theodore and Draco.

With one final, desperate struggle, he breaks free from Draco's grasp, his heart pounding in his chest as he charges towards you, his wand raised to defend you at all costs.

His eyes lock with yours, and a horrible feeling of dread settles in his gut, somehow feeling as though he's stuck in this position for years when it's only been a matter of seconds.

You knew the consequences Theodore would face if he were to get involved.

It was clear.

It was stupidly, and utterly clear.

You berated yourself for not having recognised it earlier. Perhaps then, you would have been able to savour what little time you had left with him. The way he disappeared, became a stranger. It wasn’t because he hated you. No, rather it was the exact opposite.

He loved you so much, he had to leave you. He would happily live with you hating him forever if it meant you would be safe.

Your eyes lock with his, and he can't breathe.

Don’t be brave. Don’t be the hero. Be selfish, he pleads

“I'm so sorry.” You mouth, and he takes a step forward, reaching out to you. You keep the wand pointed in his direction, and a sudden blast of magic sends him reeling backwards, his vision swimming as he crashes to the ground in a daze. He tries to shake off the disorientation, to push himself back to his feet and come to your aid, but his limbs feel like lead, his body refusing to obey his commands.

As he watches helplessly from the ground, his father draws closer to you, his wand raised high as he prepares to strike. Theodore's heart clenches with a sickening dread as he is simply left helpless, unable to say anything as he watches his father grasp a fistful of your hair, dragging you up.

He chokes out a strained plea as Draco hoists him up, limp body resting against him as Draco supports most of his weight, leading him away. He can do nothing but watch in utter anguish as his father, the embodiment of all his nightmares, seizes you in his grasp. The sight of your struggle only serves to deepen his agony, for he knows the danger you're in, the cruelty you'll face at his father's hands.

Every fibre of his being screams for him to break free, to rush to your aid, to shield you from harm. But his limbs remain frozen, his body unresponsive to his desperate pleas. It's as if he's trapped in a nightmare, forced to witness the person he loves most being torn away from him by the very embodiment of evil.

Theodore's heart clenches with a sickening dread as his father's cruel laughter fills the air, the sound like a knife twisting in his chest. He wants to scream, to lash out at his father with all the fury and rage burning inside him. But he's powerless to do anything but watch. As his father drags you away, your cries echoing in his ears like a haunting refrain, Theodore feels a crushing weight settle over him. He's failed you, utterly and completely, his inability to protect you is a bitter reminder of his inadequacy.

Theodore fights to keep his eyes open, in fear that by some miracle he’ll be able to open them and save you. But as darkness consumes his visions, the harrowing sounds of your sobs echo in his mind, and the bruises and scars are nothing compared to the dread and fear that fills him.

His eyes shut, and the thought of your suffering has him praying he won't have to open them again.

@mildlyuninformative @chgrch @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @schaebickel @lillywildly @multifandom-worlds @batmandabest @always-reading

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic

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yandere-wishes · 8 months

Text

⋆ Anomaly ⋆

❤Summary: Reader is an anomaly. A noblewoman of foreign descent. She doesn't belong here. But oh how she wishes to burn the world down just like William.

❤Author's note: A little something for Ana (@yandere-romanticaa) I hope you enjoy it!!

❤Warnings: Reader is traumatized, Yandere behavior, killing and blood, cryptic. I swear I know how math works…I've just been slaking this summer.

There are equations written over your skin. Complex formulas he's yet to solve. Exponents and variables freckle your body, scattered shards that try to tell him something, whispering the world's secrets every time he kisses your hand. You are an anomaly he thinks. Face full of cracks where the stars seep through. You're a mistake in the universe. A perfect doll misplaced. You are something, William is almost sure of it.

At heart, William is and always will be a mathematician. It just so happens that crime and math follow the same principles. Both require diligence and practice. Carefully throughout plans of how one must approach such a conundrum. One may call it a formula or a modus operandi or anything else as jejune. But in the end, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

And yet to Moriarty, you are an equation that refuses to be solved. An enigma he's desperately sought to unravel since your first meeting.

William notices something odd as you stroll down an exquisite exemplar of the golden ratio. Something the lord of crime can't fully place. You're akin to a puzzle missing far too many pieces to properly depict its picture. Maybe it's the setting he ponders as he watches you take careful steps in heeled shoes. Maybe it's the music from the ballroom or the meaningless prattle of the aristocrats that robs your form of all logic. Something is amiss with you and he's frantic to find out what it is.

William introduces himself when you reach the bottom of the staircase. He's never been one to show primary interest in the ladies. Rather he waits in the faint glow of the moonlight until someone approces him. Maybe it's the need to distinguish himself from the other aristocrats, maybe it's the repulsion for their customs and manners that refrains him from ever commencing idle chatter. Yet with you, a girl he's never met before, he finds it fitting to say hello first. To talk, about nothing and everything in the same breath. He mentions his admiration for the staircase in passing. Never expecting you to latch on to the words and morph them into the divine proportion. "My father was a mathematical enthusiast, he's passed that on to me as well." Your words slip into his veins like a narcotic, like the melody of an ancient tune lost to time.

William smiles, easy and bright like the melting rays of the desert sun. "Quite the coincidence, I'm a mathematics professor at Durham University". There's a giggle that bleeds from your rose-tainted lips. Reverberating in the chambers of his heart. "A toast then" you propose "to the lethal magnificence of calculation"

You click your champagne glass against his, as something feral festers within the young nobleman.

It's only days later when he's replaying that night in his head as he sips his afternoon tea. That he realizes your champagne glass was empty that whole time. How strange he pondered, wondering if he'd even seen you touch a single intoxicant all evening.

Four days and three sleepless nights later William finds himself tracing the letters of your name with tender adoration. As if he's engraving prayers upon his bones. He needs to see you again as desperately as he needs to breathe. The letter he writes is aloof, meticulous. Prying on your curiosity, hoping you'll take the bait. One miserable day later Louis delivers a letter bathed in your fragrance. Informing the lord Moriarty of your acceptance of his invitation for tea. William folds the letter with the leniency of a biologist regulating their slides. Tucking it away within his breast pocket.

You wear red when you oblige his invitation. An odd red, one that breaks his perception of the color. It's too vibrant yet too opaque. He's beginning to wonder if everything about you is an irregularity. When he ushers the conversation to your garment you merely laugh and brush it off as having belonged to your mother. There's something wrong with that reply as if the universe weeps at your every word. William watches astonished as if he's been told a secret lost to time.

It becomes a habit, an obsession, an addiction really. Tea thrice a week with the woman who plagues his dreams. He lets his cover slip between sips of tea. Permitting you glances into his dark affairs. There's a moment that breaks the norm. A bizarre instance when you ask him to spare no detail in recounting how a poor tormented man murdered the marquess that raped his wife. William stops the proclean cup mere millimeters from his lips. His voice dies in his throat as his mind races to find an appropriate way to tell a lady such a bloody tale. For a second reality slips away.

Reality has a tendency to slip away unnoticed when he's with you.

You weave William tales of foreign lands that sound like they belong in children's fairytales. You tell him about heroes who've done the impossible and kings whose hearts are as pure as the summer skies.

Something about you reverberates in his subconscious. Oh, how he wishes to engulf you, to pick apart your flesh revealing all those dainty secrets you keep in your pretty little chest.

He asks how you know of such utopic lands. You smile. "Because I once lived there"

One day, as Louis serves black tea with rose petals, you bring up a rather peculiar request. "Permit me to assist you in your quest for equality lord Moriarty." William's beginning to believe he's going mad when he hears you. Albit it may as well be expected. Any sane noble lady would have run away many times over. Yet you remain. Forever poised in your adorned seat. Now more than ever William wishes he knew what you truly are. "I want to help you", you plead. "Allow me to aid you in burning this world down and starting anew". He shouldn't have accepted, he shouldn't have nobbed. He shouldn't have left his seat to trace the side of your face with more love than he knew he possessed.

Sometimes, William wonders if something is haunting you, an apparition nesting within the depths of your heart. He ponders what could drive a brilliant mind such as yours to crave the blood of the rich. You once told him about a heritage disrespected. A legacy buried under sand and water lilies. He's yet to find the true meaning behind those words. Does that make you a threat or an ally? Can either be exalted to a lover?

Moriarty promises you the world. Promise you revenge. He's not sure if he too will burn away in your vendetta. Yet he's willing to take the risk if he can hold you close after every murder case.

"I've tried to kick the habit of strolling around the cemeteries at night. Yet I must admit I rather enjoy this." William smiles at your twisted words as he leads the way. If everything has goes as planned -which is most often the case- then the two of you should be prepared for quite the spectacle. A certain Count - who had shown more interest in you than Moriarty could permit- would be getting knifed by his butler whose life he had ruined. A whole new meaning to the term 'the butler did it'. Quite comedic from William's perspective.

You lean on a withering oak tree, hidden by London's thick fog. William stands by your side, the personification of a grim reaper. You watch the play begin, the cobblestone stage illuminated by the blood-red moon. The confrontation, the knife being thrust into the rich vermin's heart. Again and Again and Again. The butler screams into the bloodstained night. His words quelled by his sobs and screams of agony from his dying tormentor. You only catch half of his reasoning, half of his allegations. And yet that is more than enough to comprehend his motive. You sympathize with the poor man, one whose scars mirror your own.

William's scarlet gaze befalls you, as the performance nears its end.

You pick at your nails in a manner that William finds a little too adorable.

You are an anomaly masquerading as a human. Depression lays heavy over your bones as stardust gathers in the corners of your eyes.

You pray to the creator of the moon, pray for a place long since destroyed.

"I've yet to find someone who truly understands me," you say as the two of you begin the journey back to the Moriarty estate.

"Then we share the same burden, my lady," William says, stopping in his tracks.

He lays a firm hand on your shoulder pulling you backwards into his embrace. Somewhere in the distance, three crows consecrate you with their blessings. Willian's hands rest heavy on your sides. He holds you like a little boy holds his father's arithmatic books. Full of care, full of wonder. "What are you" he whispers into your ear. Leaving a playfully hard bite to the shell. His lips trace yours like one traces a treasure map. Trying to unearth all the riches of the world. "My anomaly" he mutters before he finally commits.

When Moriarty kisses you the whole world melts away.

There's an intriguing lightheadedness that follows. As if the stars themselves have exploded within you. You wonder if basking in his presence will mend your tattered heart.

"My precious little anomaly"

Tag list: @elvyshiarieko @himerurun @latolover @aru-nightmare @guidingstarsstuff @myfancollections

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