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slytherinslut0 · 7 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Sixteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Jealousy, Angst, Possessive Behaviours, Syltherin!Boys, asshole!Berkshire, Kissing, Threats Of Violence, Weaponizing!TomRiddle, Dirty Talk.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

As darkness shrouded the castle on the overly-anticipated Saturday evening, Tom guided you into the lively heart of the Slytherin common room, a space pulsating with carefree energy and laughter. Students adorned in their finest attire swirled around you, their faces flushed with excitement, their voices mingling in a chorus of revelry. The air crackled with the tang of burning embers, and the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow emanating from countless floating candles overhead.

Amidst the joyful chaos, Tom's friends sat at a secluded table, an oasis of calm amidst the storm. Their demeanor was poised, their laughter soft and controlled, setting them apart from the exuberant crowd. As you stepped closer, you felt like a solitary figure navigating the maze of social intricacies. Emily, who had promised to join you shortly, was notably absent, leaving you feeling like a fish out of water in this sea of unfamiliar faces.

Tom's hand in yours provided some semblance of comfort, grounding you in the midst of the lively chaos as he introduced you to each one of his friends individually. Every introduction was a meticulously choreographed ritual, marked by the graceful dip of heads and the soft rustle of silk against polished leather. Their smiles, though polite, held a hint of calculated charm, concealing a labyrinth of secrets beneath their composed exteriors.

In this enclave of refinement, Tom's circle stood apart from the rest of the common room. The casual revelry of the other Slytherins felt distant, their laughter and chatter forming a separate backdrop to the sophisticated symphony of Tom's world. The room seemed to bend to the will of this select group, accentuating the stark contrast between their cultivated refinement and the more carefree atmosphere of the rest of the room. Here, every gesture and word was carefully curated, preserving an aura of exclusivity. You could tell this was not something they did very often, so when they did, it was absolutely noticed--the rest of the room seemingly more tame in response, a stark comparison to the last party you had ventured in on.

This group represented everything you had ever dreamed of being a part of, all the aspirations you had ever hoped to achieve. Yet, your focus--or rather, your entire fucking mind--was elsewhere.

And the very reason it was elsewhere was seated amidst a circle of his elite friends-- Nott, Berkshire, Black, Zabini, and Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson at his side--Mattheo's intense gaze bore into you from across the room. His dark eyes, like orbs of obsidian, were sharp and penetrating, dissecting the scene meticulously, and no matter what the fuck you tried to do, there was absolutely nothing that could distract you from the feeling of his gaze, burning flesh wounds into your skin with each passing second.

While his friends engaged in lively conversations, Mattheo's attention was solely fixated on you and Tom. His focus, both laser-sharp and predatory, traced every movement, every touch, every nuance of your interactions with his brother. The air around him crackled with an unspoken tension, his lips pressed into a thin line, a manifestation of the restrained emotions churning beneath his composed facade. It was as though he was dissecting the scene before him, his mind processing every detail with the precision of a master strategist, all while his dark eyes remained fixated on you, as though he was scared that he'd miss something if he looked away.

As the night bore on, you began to grow more comfortable amidst the sophisticated chatter--getting to know a few of Tom's friends fairly well, discussing ambitions and graduation plans without even being offered a single drink. You honestly thought things had been going well, almost far too fucking well--until Tom excused himself momentarily, his eyes meeting yours from the seat next to you as he prepared to make his exit.

"I need to handle something," he said, his voice low and confidential, his eyes flicking to his brother across the room, before returning to you. "I noticed Mattheo watching you...why don't you go say hi? I should only be a few moments, I'll join you when I'm finished."

"Oh, no-uh..." you hesitated, knowing that Berkshire was present, a fact you couldn't ignore. "I don't think it's a good idea, Tom, me and-" you began, attempting to voice your concerns, but he cut you off with a soft, reassuring kiss.

His lips pressed against yours, brief yet meaningful, before he pushed up from the table, leaving you in the midst of the party, alone.

As Tom's figure disappeared from view, you caught another glimpse of Mattheo from across the room, his gaze intensified, his stormy eyes ablaze with a potent mix of irritation and complete fucking fury--something you've seen in his eyes a few times before, but never like this. He sat slumped in the chair, his form swallowed by the shadows, his tousled curly hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The dim light caught the sheen of frustration on his sharp features, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw and the determined set of his mouth. His fingers tightened around his drink, the muscles in his hands flexing with the effort to suppress the simmering anger bubbling within him.

You knew him all too fucking well at this point to know that he was not bloody happy, and you weren't entirely confident that approaching him was at all the right move at this moment. Yet, you weren't sure what else you were supposed to do.

But before you could dwell any further, Blaise's eyes, a glimmering shade of obsidian, met yours from across the room. His lips curled into a playful smile, beckoning you over to his group with a subtle yet irresistible gesture. Despite your inner turmoil, the unavoidable feeling of dread pooling in your stomach, you excused yourself from the table and began to hesitantly make your way through the crowded room, every step feeling heavier as you approached the circle of Slytherin boys.

Mattheo's presence never relented, slouchily seated in the love seat, legs spread far too fucking wide, his intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes, like twin storm clouds, seemed to dissect every movement, scanning every inch of your body as you moved, as if he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin. It sent shivers down your spine, and you fought to maintain your semblance of composure.

As you drew closer, Berkshire, always the instigator, couldn't resist the opportunity to unleash his venomous tongue. "As if you're going to call her over here," he sneered, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. "Didn't know our circle was open to charity cases."

The rest of the Slytherin boys, visibly inebriated and riding the wave of arrogance, chimed in with smirks and condescending remarks, reveling in their camaraderie at your expense. It was a calculated display of power, a reminder that you were the outsider in this exclusive circle, a pawn in their powerful game.

Suppressing your frustration, you took a seat next to Blaise, your eyes darting briefly to Mattheo, who watched your every move with an intensity that sent your heart racing. The air crackled with tension, and you felt like a lamb surrounded by hungry wolves, each one waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Yet, amid the arrogance and hostility, Blaise's charm provided a temporary shield.

"Ignore them," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody amidst the discord. "They're always like this. Besides, you look stunning tonight, little raven. Don't let them get to you."

Despite Blaise's efforts to calm you down, to deescalate the situation as best as he could, Berkshire persisted, seemingly unable to control himself.

"I hear you're quite the favourite of the prodigy," he sneered, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Must be thrilling, being the chosen one for a night."

Malfoy, ever the arrogant asshole, added his own twist. "Or maybe she's just a distraction," he said, his tone conspiratorial. "You know how Tom likes to keep himself occupied, especially when the stakes are high."

You parted your lips to say something, to defend yourself in any sort of way, when another voice cut through the air, cutting you off before you could even attempt to force out a syllable.

"Tom's little plaything, isn't that right?" Regulus’ words were laced with arrogance, his voice like a low growl. "Who would have guessed."

Blaise shot Regulus a warning glance, his eyes urging him to rein in his hostility, but the damage was done. The room felt suffocating, the weight of their words pressing down on you, threatening to crush your resolve, and you couldn't hold your tongue any further--if they wanted to play with fire, you were going to make sure you were the one holding the matches.

A derisive chuckle escaped your lips as you assessed the Slytherins before you. "Jealousy, gentlemen, is a rather unflattering shade on anyone," you remarked, your gaze settling on Berkshire. "I'd refrain from it if I were you, Berkshire, you're already hard enough to look at as it is."

Berkshire's lips curled into a sneer, his arrogance on full display. "Well, well, we've got ourselves a little spitfire, haven't we?" he retorted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Someone really needs to fix that attitude of yours...perhaps I'll let Tom know, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to fuck it out of y-"

Mattheo's eyes turned icy, his rough voice slicing through the air like a blade of frost. "Berkshire, I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut before someone decides to shut it for you," he said, his tone frigid and devoid of any warmth. "Let's start the fucking game, yeah?"

Mattheo's attempt to restrain his anger only made his words sharper, emphasizing the dangerous edge lurking beneath his composed exterior--Blaise, seemingly sensing the danger rolling over the horizon, nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat as he scanned around the circle.

"Absolutely, let's get on with it," he chimed in, his tone more playful now. He turned his attention to Nott, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Nott, truth or dare?"

Nott, appearing unfazed by the tension that had just unfolded, raised an eyebrow and smirked back at Blaise.

"Dare," he replied confidently, his demeanor cool and collected.

Blaise's grin widened. "I dare you to snog the next person who enters this common room."

Nott chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the challenge. "Piece of cake," he said, leaning back casually, his eyes scanning the room for potential targets.

You caught yourself smiling at his causality, but when you noticed a familiar blonde haired girl walking in, her eyes scanning the room as though she was looking for someone, your heart stalled.

Blaise's voice cut through the silence. "Hey, isn't that-"

"Yes." You said, raising a hand to wave her over as her sight finally landed on you. "It is..."

Emily hurried over, her eyes widening in curiosity as she settled into the seat next to you, giving you a small greeting. The room seemed to hold its breath as Theodore stood up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ah, perfect timing," Theodore said, his voice smooth and confident. "Emily, was it? Lovely name. I've been dared to kiss the next person who enters the room, so I must inquire, do you have a boyfriend, and would you be amenable to participating in this little game?"

Emily blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Um, no boyfriend," she stammered, her gaze shifting nervously between Theodore and the expectant faces around her. "I guess...I mean, if it's just a game, sure, I guess that's fine."

The tension in the circle seemed to heighten as Theodore closed the distance between them, his eyes fixed on Emily's lips. The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath as he leaned in, his hand finding her chin, tilting her head back as his lips met hers in a brief, almost chaste kiss. The atmosphere crackled with a strange mixture of anticipation and awkwardness, your eyes meeting Mattheo's for a fleeting moment--one that felt as though it lasted forever, noticing his jaw tense and his eyes darken as he glimpsed your mouth, and then, as Theodore pulled away, a sly smirk played on his lips.

"There we go, a perfect dare fulfilled," he said as he reclaimed his seat, leaving Emily looking slightly dazed. "And that's how it's done, boys."

Theodore's triumphant tone hung in the air, echoing his satisfaction at successfully completing the dare. Emily, looking slightly embarrassed but surprisingly amused, exchanged a bewildered glance with you. It seemed like Theodore had a natural talent for both charm and mischief, a combination that made him rather unpredictable.

Blaise let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Well played, Nott," he said, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and approval. "I think we could all take some fucking notes."

Theodore's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned his attention to Malfoy, who sat back, looking unfazed despite the intensity of the situation.

"Malfoy, truth or dare?" he asked, his voice dripping with calculated curiosity.

Malfoy, never one to back down from a challenge, arched an eyebrow. "Dare," he declared, his confidence unshaken.

"I dare you to serenade the group," Theodore proclaimed with an impish grin after a few moments of thought, his eyes flicking toward Pansy. "And Pansy here gets to pick the song."

You couldn't stifle the smile that crawled its way across your face as Malfoy's expressions dropped, Pansy sitting up straighter against the back of the couch as though she'd just been abruptly woken up from a slumber. As she pondered her thoughts for a moment, a sly smile crawled across her lips while she turned her attention to Malfoy.

"I heard this charming Muggle song recently. 'Can't Help Falling in Love' by Elvis Presley, do you know it?" When Malfoy groaned, reluctantly nodding, her grin widened. "Perfect. Sing it, Malfoy, let's see if you can capture the essence of a true romantic."

Malfoy, never one to shy away from a challenge, dropped the grumbling act and accepted the dare with a smirk. He stood up gracefully, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt with an air of confidence. The room fell into a hushed silence, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

With a deep breath, Malfoy launched into the Muggle love ballad, his voice slightly off-key but filled with an unexpected sincerity. Each word spilled out in an earnest attempt, and despite the imperfections, there was a genuine effort in his performance. The room was soon filled with laughter as Malfoy's melodramatic rendition took an unintentionally humorous turn.

His eyes, though, couldn't escape the challenge in Pansy's choice of song. As he sang, they occasionally flicked toward her, acknowledging the audacious choice. The laughter and amusement echoed around the room, mingling with the bittersweet undercurrent of emotions that danced in the air.

Amidst the laughter, Mattheo remained as serious as ever, his eyes continually locking onto you. For a brief moment, your gaze met his, and in that exchange, a torrent of memories flooded your mind--past moments shared in secret, a connection that had once felt unbreakable. The juxtaposition of Malfoy's performance and Mattheo's unwavering stare stirred something deep within you, a mixture of nostalgia, regret, and an unspoken longing that lingered in the pit of your stomach, leaving you both captivated and unsettled.

As his show finally came to an end, Malfoy took a bow, the circle erupting into a laughter-filled applause. As he returned to his seat, Pansy wore a satisfied grin, clearly happy with her choice, and Theodore looked especially pleased, reveling in the success of his dare.

"Quite impressive, Malfoy," Theodore remarked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Your secret talents never cease to amaze us."

Malfoy simply shrugged, his usual arrogance back in place. "Naturally," he replied, the corners of his lips quirking up in a subtle smile. "Now, who's next? How about you, Ravenclaw, truth or dare?"

You felt a sudden knot tighten in your stomach as Malfoy turned his attention toward you, his silver eyes sharp and calculating. The weight of the room seemed to press down on your shoulders as the spotlight shifted onto you. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each more precarious than the last. Truth might lead to questions about Tom or Mattheo, both topics you desperately wanted to avoid.

So, with a forced nonchalance that barely masked your anxiety, you replied, "Dare."

You hoped against hope that the dare he gave you wouldn't plunge you into deeper waters, although the mischievous glint in Malfoy's eyes suggested he had something particularly devious in mind--and of course, you most definitely were fucking right.

"I dare you to go into the broom closet with Berkshire for fifteen minutes."

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief at Malfoy's audacious dare, your voice laced with incredulity.

"Are you completely mental?" you scoffed, glancing at Berkshire, who seemed equally stunned. "There's no way I'm voluntarily locking myself in a broom closet with him for fifteen minutes. We will undoubtedly end up tearing each other's heads off."

Berkshire, never one to miss an opportunity to mock, chimed in, "Yeah, I'm not signing up for a murder-suicide pact tonight, thanks."

"What's the matter, Raven? Afraid of a little close quarters?" Malfoy, clearly enjoying your discomfort, taunted, "you two certainly have no problems running your mouths at each other in public. I think a little private meeting might be good for you."

You clenched your fists, trying to rein in your irritation. "I promise you, I'm not afraid...I'd just prefer not to be expelled a few months from graduation."

"Fine, fine...you're a bloody baby," Malfoy retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since you're so picky, how about Mattheo instead. He's not scared of a little closet, are you, Riddle?"

Your eyes darted to Mattheo, his expression stoic, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. The room seemed to tighten around you, a sense of foreboding settling in your bones as Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his eyes glittering with concealed anger as he put down his cup and stood up. The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken hostility. His voice was low and steady, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Fifteen minutes," he said curtly, his gaze fixed on the broom closet. "Knock when it's up."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his determined stare. There was a whirlpool of something in his eyes, something you couldn't quite decipher--anger, frustration, or maybe something entirely different. As he gestured toward the closet, you felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

With a deep breath, you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. You walked toward the closet, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on your back. The door creaked open, and you both stepped inside, the darkness enveloping you as it closed shut behind you with a soft click. Inside the closet, the air was close, your breaths mingling in the confined space as you stood facing each other with hardly enough room to turn around if you tried to.

The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the tension between you almost suffocating. It was a daring game, one neither of you had expected to play, and now you were trapped together, the world outside the closet slipping away into nothingness, the tense energy in the room vibrating through your bones as the silence grew to be unbearable, neither of you daring to speak.

Finally, Mattheo spoke, his voice rough like gravel underfoot, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder in the night. "You let him kiss you."

His words weren't a question, but weren't really a statement either--it was as though he was repeating something, reading something off a sheet of paper, trying to make sense of it, each syllable carrying a weight of disbelief, as if he was grappling with a reality he couldn't quite accept. Your pulse increased, your lungs stalling, his tone laced with something you couldn't quite place--accusation, curiosity, or maybe a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes," your throat felt tight as you admitted your actions. "I did."

It was a confession, a truth you couldn't deny, even if you wanted to. The darkness seemed to amplify the weight of your words, and you could almost feel Mattheo's gaze piercing through the shadows, seeking answers. And even though you could hardly see Mattheo's face in the darkness of the closet, you could smell the hint of alcohol radiating off of him, not as strong as it usually was, but still enough to make your head spin. Mattheo's breath, warm and laced with the remnants of the party, washed over your face. His next question sliced through the air, sharp and accusatory.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, echoing with frustration and confusion. "You said you don't-"

"I don't." You cut him off, already knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Not at fucking all."

The words spilled out, tinged with defiance, but beneath that was a current of vulnerability. You knew the truth of your feelings, but convincing Mattheo seemed like an insurmountable task in the darkness.

"Then why?" he pressed again, his tone more insistent, as though he needed you to unravel this mystery for him. "You're playing him...you're playing him like a fucking flute, yeah?"

His accusation hung in the air, a challenge, a plea for an explanation that made sense of the tangled web of emotions between you, and for some reason, all it did was further your anger.

"Does that bother you, Riddle?" you hissed, your voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. You shifted your weight, locking eyes with him, your gaze narrowed and intense. "Did you think you were the only one capable of playing games? Or maybe you think it’s only okay when you do it?"

The words carried a raw edge, a blend of defiance and accusation, challenging him to confront his own actions and hypocrisy. Mattheo's throat worked as he swallowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Raven, you're playing with fire-" he began, his voice a low warning.

"Don't even go there," you cut him off, your words dripping with venom. "I am the shape you made me, Mattheo...filth teaches filth..."

Your voice trailed off, the darkness of the closet adding weight to your words. You tilted your head, catching a glimpse of his parted lips and furrowed brows, a mix of frustration and barely-restrained anger etched on his features.

"And even still," you continued, your tone biting, "I could only dream to be as skilled at it as you are."

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn't quite place, as your words hung in the air like a heavy fog. The anger and dread that had gripped you moments ago seemed to dissipate, replaced by an almost palpable tension. His energy shifted, seeping out of the closet through the cracks in the door, leaving a lingering, painstaking atmosphere in its wake.

You stood there, anxiety coiling in your chest, completely unaware of how close the two of you were until this very moment. His presence loomed over you, a silent force that you couldn't escape, and yet, a part of you didn't want to. His chest rose and fell with each intense breath, the confined space amplifying the weight of his proximity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and even if there were, you found yourself rooted to the spot, knowing that not even a fucking fire could force you to move.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, either." He whispered.

You paused. “You-“

"You haven’t left my mind…not even once." His words hung in the air like a sinful confession, catching you completely off guard. “Do you know how fucking annoying that is, Raven? Having to act like you’re not haunting me at all seconds of the fucking day?”

Utter shock seized you, your body tensing involuntarily. You stared at his face, desperately searching for any signs of deceit, but found none.

“The mind works in funny ways,” he said. “Memory…memory taps a fucking gun to your skull and demands you bring back the dead…meanwhile, the dead is out kissing my fucking brother in front of me…”

His gaze bored into yours, raw and unguarded, leaving you utterly defenseless against the truth he laid bare.

“I know we called things off, I know I used you in the beginning, I know I was a fucking asshole to you, and I’m…I’m fucking sorry..." his body seemed to vibrate with restrained emotion, his fists clenched at his sides, as though he was waging a war within his mind. "There’s so many girls out there, Raven...so fucking many that I could distract myself with, but it would do nothing...it's your body, it's your fucking pussy on my mind..."

Each word hung between you, heavy and charged with unspoken longing, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. "Matt-"

Mattheo stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his chest almost brushing against yours but not quite daring to touch. The tension between you crackled in the air, your every nerve on edge. His eyes, dark and searching, drilled into yours, seeking answers to questions you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

"Were you thinking of me?" His voice was a low rumble, an undercurrent of intensity underscoring his words. "When you're with him...every time you close your eyes, who do you see?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers trembling at your sides. The room seemed to spin, the air growing thin as your lungs struggled to draw in oxygen.

"You." The word escaped your lips, a fragile admission that hung between you, heavy with the weight of truth. "Always, always you."

Mattheo exhaled, his breath rushing out like a dam breaking, as though he had been holding it in, afraid of your response. His lips parted, wetted by a tongue that seemed to have forgotten how to form words.

"That's right..." he murmured, his voice barely audible over the racing of your hearts. "You know I'm your best-kept secret, Raven...why don't you show me like you know and believe it..."

His words lingered in the charged atmosphere, a challenge and a plea, leaving you suspended in the moment, torn between the past and the present, between what was and what could be.

Your voice wavered with a mix of concern and disbelief. "You're drunk, aren't you, Mattheo..."

"I'm not drunk." His reply was swift, like a crack of lightning. "I've barely had one fucking drink, I'm as sober as I've ever been...and even if I hadn't quit all that shit, there'd be no way I could drink tonight anyways."

Your breath hitched, your eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign that this was some kind of sick joke. "Why?"

Mattheo emitted a low chuckle, but it lacked any warmth, carrying a sinister edge that sent shivers down your spine. "Because, if I was drunk, I wouldn't have been able to control myself...I would have knocked my own brother out fifty fucking times over without even a second thought…not a fucking soul in that room would have been able to stop me..."

His words hung heavy in the air, an ominous promise that draped over you like a suffocating cloak, leaving you with a chilling realization that the tangled web of your past was far from unraveling.

"You fucking ruin me, Raven..." his voice was a low, guttural whisper, dark and haunting, sending a shudder through your limbs. "That stare...it makes me fucking want things..."

Your eyes widened, his words wrapping around you like a vice, constricting your thoughts.

"Things...like what?" you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible.

Mattheo ran a trembling hand through his tousled hair, the veins in his hands standing out in stark relief, a silent testament to the intensity of his emotions. His eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, were now clouded with a raw, primal desire, a longing that had been hidden for far too long.

"Things like my fist in your hair and my cock in that pretty fucking mouth..." he growled, his voice cracking with the weight of his desire. "Things like bending you over in the middle of that party just to show every asshole out there who you belong to..."

Your mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spinning out of control, unable to comprehend anything except the burning desire that consumed you.

"Holy fuck..." the words escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, a testament to the overwhelming intensity of the moment. "Mattheo, I...."

Mattheo's eyes, darker than you'd ever seen them, searched yours desperately. "Can I touch you, Raven?" he pleaded, his voice a raw, heartfelt plea. "Please, let me fucking touch you."

In response, you barely managed to nod, your throat tight with anticipation. And then, his lips crashed onto yours with a fervor that made up for all the lost time, all the weeks of distance and silence. His kiss was passionate, demanding, a fiery reunion of lips and souls that ignited a wildfire between you two. His hands, warm and possessive, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, sealing the gap that had kept you apart for far too long.

In that moment, every wall you had built around your heart crumbled, the fragments falling away like ash in the wind. You surrendered to the storm that was Mattheo Riddle, his touch setting your skin ablaze, his kiss a tempest that swept you off your feet. He was your drug, your haunting addiction, an irresistible pull that defied reason and logic. No matter how far you tried to run, no matter the crazy measures you took to stay away, you always found yourself right back where you started--entangled in his arms, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of his presence.

Mattheo broke the kiss, his hands gripping you as if he feared you might vanish into thin air. His lips trailed down to your jawline, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against your skin. "I can taste your fucking pain, Raven...is that because of me?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes," you admitted, your vulnerability laid bare before him. "Having experienced both, I'm not sure what hurts more...intense feeling, or the absence of it..."

"The absence...without a fucking doubt," he whispered, his touch on your skin sending electric sparks through your veins. His presence felt overwhelming, his breath warm against your neck in the dimness of the closet. "I know he's good for you...I know he's every fucking thing that you need...but I-"

"No." Your hands tightened around his neck, nails digging into his skin. "He could be fucking everything and more...he's just...he's not you."

Mattheo's teeth grazed your earlobe, a shiver running down your spine as your words spun in the silence between your bodies. Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the dark curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline in the midst of a storm.

"Better men could have you, Raven...I won’t deny that," he admitted, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. "But they'll have to get through me, now...I will leave such a fucking imprint on your soul that anyone you entertain after me will have to physically know me in order to fucking attempt to understand you..."

His declaration felt like a promise, an unspoken commitment that bound you to him in a way that transcended mere words. In that moment, you realized that you were not just giving in to desire; you were surrendering to something far more profound and all-encompassing. Mattheo wasn't just another flame to be extinguished; he was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, leaving behind scorched earth and a desire that defied reason.

You pulled him closer, sealing the unspoken pact with a fervent kiss, letting the intensity of your emotions guide your actions. In that dim closet, amidst the whispers of Slytherin secrets and the echoes of your tangled past, you found solace in Mattheo's arms, embracing the chaos that came with wanting someone you shouldn't, knowing that in the end, the heart wants what it wants, regardless of the consequences.

The air in the closet felt charged with a potent blend of desire and desperation as you pulled away, gasping for air. The intensity of the moment coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless and exhilarated. Your eyes locked onto Mattheo's, your voice raw and unsteady, yet laced with conviction.

"You might be bad…so fucking bad for me, Mattheo," you whispered, your words hanging in the small space between you, "but I fucking want you...there's no one else..."

“Fucking hell, Raven…” Mattheo let out a low, guttural groan, his hand slithering up to grip your face gently, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. His stormy eyes bore into yours, his voice a gravelly murmur, carrying the weight of his emotions. “You’re my little devil, aren’t you?”

You smirked. “Yes…I am…”

"I'm in deep, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath warm and sweet. "Merlin knows we both feel it...you hold my fucking fate, so seal it…”

With those words, you closed the distance between you yet again, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, his hands slithering down to grip your backside with enough force to make you groan into his mouth. And just as things began escalating, just as your hands were trailing their way down the front of his body, reaching for his belt, there was a knock at the door.

"Fifteens up."

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Find seventeen->

844 notes · View notes

archonsabyss · 5 months

Text

╰─..✶. [ Impetuous Bonds ]

❒ pairing: al haitham x fem!reader [ft platonic bff wriothesley]

❒ genre: fluff! action!

❒ warnings: minor violence!

❒ wc: 5.6k

─❒ authors note: did you know I've been working on this fic since october 4th. It's been rough but the year's over thank god. on the other note, let me officially introduce my wriothesley and al haitham as besties brain rot. and yes I have plans to expand on this brain rot. atlst 2 more ideas which I'll start on as soon as the spark hits again 💐

Amid your contrasting personalities was a semblance of shared interests woven together by a single thread. You, one and the same possessed a deep love for reading, discovering solace in the scripted ink, where letters blended to form words, weaving pathways to realms of boundless creativity. Whether it delved into knowledge, seeking escape, or simply enjoying the thrill of fiction, this mutual passion became a bridge of understanding between you despite your glaring differences.

A sense of harmony prevailed in your relationship which created a captivating paradox that intrigued those around you. People marvelled at the depth of your connection, questioning how two individuals so dissimilar could share such an intimate bond. Some attributed it to the age-old saying that opposites attract, believing it to be fate's handiwork—a calm presence to counterbalance chaos, a soothing embrace against restlessness, and a tender heart to temper the directness of the wordsmith.

Alternatively, it could be argued that the similarities, subtle yet profound, were the secret ingredients of your relationship. A quiet demeanour and reserved nature concealed a dream-like love that left onlookers in both awe and envy. Your love story, tender and understated, defied expectations, leaving a trail of wonder and admiration in its wake. A love, true as an existence of pure gold, if such ethereal beauty could be acknowledged.

To you, what others deemed ordinary, was a world of its own. Normal acts of affection and simple gestures of intimacy felt like your beloved had gifted you the heavens and earth. Perhaps, the extent to which you elaborated on your connection with the acting grand sage felt akin to a tale spun from fantasy, a reverie you indulged in.

You considered that the romanticized nature of your love might have been obscured by the mist of infatuation, that the love you had for Al Haitham may have cast an enchanting illusion upon your reality. But it was okay when no harm or toxicity came from being tucked away in your little head, daydreaming about the man who had long proclaimed himself yours until the day he died.

As the early days of parading around with an unacknowledged crush, and the fledgling phase of your romance grew further in distance, you settled into a life different, happier yet marked by its trials.

You fell in step with each other, occasionally finding them offbeat or at entirely different paces, yet such is the essence of any relationship. Despite this, everything harmonized.

While you weren't a morning person, on rare occasions when sleep evaded you, you'd rise earlier than usual, and frequently, Al Haitham would already be awake. During those moments you would sit together in bed for a few minutes longer or have an early breakfast before the sun had fully ascended, relishing in the silence and warmth of each other's company, and today was one of those days.

While Al Haitham took a shower, you began preparing breakfast, knowing that your errands could only be attended to a bit later on.

Upon entering the kitchen, an aromatic veil of freshly brewed coffee gracefully filled the air, its enticing fragrance embracing Al Haitham as he sat down and reached for the coffee, finding it already thoughtfully poured into two cups, one from which you'd intermittently sipped on while engrossed in preparing food to sustain you for the first half of the day. Despite knowing its warmth had faded as you got lost in preparations, you were certain, albeit acknowledging its unhealthiness, that you'd have another cup once breakfast started. Meanwhile, Al Haitham had long eased into his seat at the island table, his hands cradling a mug, savouring the invigorating bitter heat of his coffee. His concentration remained unbroken as his eyes meticulously skimmed through the arranged stack of documents before him.

It was a simple and ordinary scene, but it was these moments shared that held such immense value.

You felt completely at ease as you moved about the kitchen, exuding the comfort of a face free from makeup, clad solely in the shirt Al Haitham discarded before bed, with your hair casually bundled in a tousled bun.

The kitchen bustled with the promise of breakfast, ingredients for pancakes and eggs scattered like confetti on the tables. In contrast to your relaxed appearance, your lover was impeccably dressed, looking incredibly handsome and sharp. For most of the time you had your back turned to him, unaware that Al Haitham couldn't help but steal glances between you and his papers.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips. Though his face remained composed, it was clear from the emotions in his eyes that he was utterly captivated by you— the subtle relaxation and absence of tension in his gaze spoke volumes.

Whenever you turned to face him, his attention would seamlessly shift back to his work, not out of shame for openly admiring his beloved, but because he understood that if your eyes locked, the temptation to whisk you back to bed would be irresistible.

"When will you join me" He mused after some time, lips hiding behind his cup of coffee as you scowled when one of the pancakes painfully flopped.

"As soon as your food is done" You mutter, sighing in relief when you flip the last pancake, turn off the stove, and turn around to set the plate of food before him.

Al Haitham's eyes lit up with deep gratitude behind the gilded frames of his glasses, glimmering with subdued enthusiasm, his smile a testament to the warmth of his appreciation as his fingers entwined with yours, gently pulling you around the counter and towards him.

With a soft kiss on your hand, he tilted his head, silently pleading for a kiss, his whispered "Thank you" lingering in the air as you leaned in, wishing to seal his gratitude with another kiss when you were startled by a sudden resounding crash reverberating through the house, signalling the forceful swing of the front door opening and closing.

You both turned your heads in the direction of the hallway and in sauntered Wriothesley who had been a guest in Sumeru as well as your home for the past week. He wore a nonchalant smile each time he visited, his hair artfully tousled, and his heavy boots thudding on the wooden floor.

Al Haitham often remarked, like clockwork, that Wriothesley would invite himself inside as if he was welcomed, which he was not by his words, but by your prior blessing to enter whenever he pleased.

Al Haitham let out an audible grumble, his smile fading as Wriothesley's smile grew, begrudgingly turning his attention to his meal, expressing his discontent in silence. You planted a kiss on his cheek and gently pulled away, a move he anticipated, evident from the disapproving glare he directed at his plate while he continued eating.

"Good morning, Wriothesley." You cheerfully greeted, just as you have every time he's made his unannounced─ yet expected entrance.

"I've just brewed a fresh pot of tea for you," You stated proudly, already taking out a cup and pouring the piping hot amber liquid in.

In response, your distinguished guest's grin widens a touch as he offers his thanks and comfortably takes a seat beside Al Haitham.

"When do you plan on returning home? I reckon your presence there is considerably valued─ necessary if you prefer" Al Haitham inquired with a casual and composed demeanour, his tone direct and perhaps a bit blunt, though neither you nor Wriothesley takes offence as you've grown accustomed to his straightforwardness.

With a playful gleam in his eyes, he opted to provoke a reaction by disregarding Al Haitham and answering you instead, "Figured you'd feed me"

"Mind your manners," Al Haitham chimes in flatly, taking a sip of his coffee while casting a sidelong glance at Wriothesley. "My wife's not here to serve you."

"Fiancée," Wriothesley corrects teasingly, his smile appreciative towards you as you set the plate before him and move on to the dishes, disregarding their banter.

Al Haitham's jaw tightened in annoyance at the correction. To him, it was merely a title, a formality. In less than a month you were set to officially become his wife, yet the significance of a ring and title paled in comparison to the deep connection he felt in his mind, heart, and soul from the very beginning. He was undeniably yours, just as you were undeniably his, and nothing could change that.

"Regardless, she's mine and has no obligation to serve you let alone feed you"

"It's not an obligation if she wants to do it" Wriothesley takes a sip of his tea, humming in contentment as the warm liquid touches his tongue and envelopes his throat, satisfied with your skills as always.

Al Haitham reluctantly admits to himself that Wriothesley is right, simply because he knows you. Over the years he has observed, comprehended, and admired you from distances far and near, he's learned almost everything there is to know about you, and your passion for cooking was one of them seeing as you've taken up the role of preparing the meals on most days.

Al Haitham has seen the way you revelled in the process of preparing meals with the mindset that your actions would fill the stomachs of those you loved dearly, even if there was the less enjoyable task of washing dishes afterwards, if it was for him, anything. To his misfortune, that anything extended to the male seated beside him as well.

You snuck a few glances between the two, restraining your amusement by biting your lip as you leaned over the counter and picked at the fruit bowls, knowing you were rarely able to stomach food this early in the morning without feeling nauseated.

"It's been a while since I've gotten to savour a meal made with love, let me enjoy this" Wriothesley smiles, savouring the mix of sugary sweet syrup that he licks off his lips.

"If you must, shut up and drink your tea" Al Haitham mumbles under his breath with an ever so small smile hinting at the corner of his lips, prompting an amused raised eyebrow from the onlooker.

"Why don't you shut up and drink your coffee so I can enjoy my tea then"

"You are insufferable"

"Do you think I'm insufferable?" Wriothesley directs at you, pursing his lips into a full pout just to annoy Al Haitham even more.

"No, Wrio. I think you're rather quite loveable" You said smiling as you leaned your forearms on Al Haitham's shoulders and placed your chin atop his head.

"See," He says smugly, "Loveable"

Al Haitham releases a deep breath, exhaling built-up frustrations, and gradually letting worries and tension fade away, he eases his shoulders, leaning back more into your embrace, while Wriothesley attempts to hide his smile upon witnessing it.

"Do you boys have any plans for the day?" You asked eventually. One of them shook his head and the other simply shrugged. "I have a few errands to run and seeing as you're both available, would you mind accompanying me?"

"That would depend" The grin returns to Wriothesley's pondering face, "I'll take my payment in the form of your baking" He decided, unfolding his arms and placing them flat on the countertop, but in doing so he receives a sharp nudge to his ankles from the tip of Al Haitham's shoe.

Wriothesley winces but doesn't retreat, he shrugs lazily before stating lastly with narrowed eyes directed at his dearest friend in emphasis, "I work enough as it is, Al Haitham. Being an errand boy has become more your thing, and besides, there's no way I'm going to pass up the chance of having your Mrs, bake for me"

Al Haitham pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the forming ache.

You smile sweetly at Wriothesley, thanking him for the compliment just as Al Haitham rises from his seat, dishes in hand and a perpetually sullen and irritated expression etched on his face, wishing for the silence that has been disturbed.

🜙˚─ [˚ ⁀🕯️⟡‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Strolling through the streets of Sumeru to reach your destination, you took the time to observe the peculiar camaraderie between Al Haitham and Wriothesley as they walked a few steps ahead of you, lost in a world of their own, one with a scowl while the other engaged in conversation, seemingly unaware that he wasn't being heard by the former.

Al Haitham's composed and disinterested expression might deceive anyone into believing he wasn't attentive, and there was a chance his noise-cancelling earpieces were intentionally activated to avoid hearing the conversation, but as you observe him closely, you discerned that Al Haitham was indeed attentive, if not wholly absorbed in the Duke's ceaseless chatter.

It was to no one's business but his own, Al Haitham once said to you, for your ears alone, while seated by your dresser, observing you through the mirror as you loosened your corset and unbuttoned your white blouse, revealing skin just above your belly button.

In unspoken words, it was a confession where he admitted he acknowledged his friends more than he expressed. He admired Kaveh's profound passion for the arts and his unwavering stubbornness when they bickered, he also acknowledged with a hint of irritation, the blonde's imperfections and his excessive eagerness to please others through tireless efforts.

What Al Haitham harbours within himself is quite bothersome to his conscious, it is the fact that Kaveh withholds emotional fragility, a presumption he believes you're already aware of, but it does not change how he engages with the latter.

Al Haitham with all his knowledge hardly wishes to entangle himself in the inner turmoil of others, hence, he chooses to refrain from crossing a particular boundary, with Wriothesley on the other hand, presented a slightly more distinct scenario where he found his company rather tolerable if not likable, though he would never dare to articulate it.

Al Haitham turned from the dresser's mirror to face you, drawing you between his parted legs and resting his hands beneath your shirt on your bare hips, he lifted his eyes to meet yours before uttering a sentence you least expected that night before bed. "Would you accompany me to Fontaine?" No further explanation was necessary; you understood the spontaneous mention of a trip to Fontaine. With a wistful smile and a tender kiss on his forehead, you agreed.

The following week, you left for Fontaine to personally wish Wriothesley a Happy Birthday, offering him companionship in his solitude for as long as you could.

What became apparent during that period, was that witnessing Al Haitham being his authentic self wasn't a rare occurrence in Wriothesleys presence.

Wriothesley had a knack for bringing vibrancy to your partner, whether through a spirited debate, an unfriendly competition, or the fact that Al Haitham's eyes had never been more devoid of his usual contentment with a mundane life. This was a side of Al Haitham you've only ever caught brief glimpses of beyond the walls of your home.

The bond threaded through the viscosity of blood coursing within their veins, knowing to most it was nothing more than a misinterpretation of their characters by the way they argued with their teeth bared and claws extended. They appeared mostly harmless. You prayed it would never escalate to physical tests of strength. A chuckle is prompted by the thought, returning you to the ongoing reality of Al Haitham and Wriothesley embroiled once more in their unending dispute.

"I don't see the need for you to be hovering," Al Haitham said. "If I wanted your company I would have asked, which in case you haven't gotten the jest by now, I don't really want"

"Al Haitham!"

Your partner's ears react to the cautionary tone in your voice, and swiftly, his head turns towards you. His eyes widen with innocence, and his demeanour dissolves, resembling a deer caught in headlights. The ongoing argument fades into oblivion, and even Wriothesley's presence is nearly erased as he shifts his focus entirely towards you.

"What?" He asked, oblivious to any issue with his earlier question.

"Could you go buy those spices you brought home last week? We've run out" It's not entirely untrue, but you simply crave a moment of peace from their conversation so you can hurry up the trip and return to the quiet solitude of your home and the warmth of your blankets, and considering Al Haitham is more responsive to your requests, you cleverly recall the need for spice and ask him to handle that quick errand while you wrap up the rest of your grocery shopping.

"Mhm," He murmured, exhaling deeply, placing a slow kiss on your cheek before moving on, going along with your tactic to separate him from Wriothesley who watches in amused bewilderment, hands placed at the top of his hips, "And here I thought I was a dog. You've got a good leash on him. Keep it that way"

"You should stop instigating him," You tell him, amusement glinting in your eyes and tugging on your lips, walking on. Leaving Wriothesley to follow along at his leisure.

"This is my sign to run along"

"Where are you going?" You tilt your head back to glance at him.

"I just remembered something, I'll be back in a bit, promise" In the blink of an eye, he vanishes, leaving you to continue on your way. When you finally reach the bustling Grand Bazaar, vibrant with crowds, you roam the markets and stalls, finding yourself engaged in conversation with Afshin, the travelling merchant, when your attention is abruptly diverted by a sudden commotion.

Across from you, a female merchant had fallen prey to a disgruntled customer, likely the source of the chaos unfolding. A table overturned, boxes strewn across the floor, their contents spilled and some irreparably damaged.

The young woman in her early twenties who stood ownership of the stall, gazed at her belongings before sinking to her knees, attempting to salvage the disarray.

Meanwhile, the customer and what you presumed to be his mercenary guards, hurled disparaging comments about the perceived inadequacy of her trade, their hands clasping the hilts of their swords as though perceiving the young woman as a clear threat.

A sigh escaped you, heart pounding with anxiety as you observed the unfolding scene.

"Give me a moment," You said, Afshin nodded in response, resuming the task of organizing the items on his table.

"Excuse me" Walking towards the occurring scene, you hesitantly intervened, drawing the glaring eyes of the customer towards you.

"This doesn't concern you. Take your nosiness elsewhere woman" He snarled in a manner that made you step back, nevertheless, you stood your ground and faced the Female merchant, offering her a reassuring smile.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Aniya"

"Aniya, what seems to be the problem?" You inquired, assessing the tables and the contents occupying them.

"This man claims my merchandise is not authentic after he has already inspected, bought, and paid for several pieces. Now he asks for a refund without returning the products"

"Look, I don't want no trouble lady" He exclaims, barely standing firm on his short stubby legs. "But if you just give me my money back I'll be on my way"

"What of my labour?! I've spent a good worth of time exploring and producing each of those carpets and materials by hand! You won't find such quality elsewhere for as cheap of a price as I've given!"

His face scrunched in anger, his guards stepping forward with a subtle signal. "If we can't reach an agreement you will pay the price"

"We won't come to an agreement if you refuse to settle your greed" You stated calmly.

The anger that exuded off him was not by any means intimidating, but the mercenaries that stepped forward at the ready, made you cautious.

The tension of the situation gradually grew and you were bordering on a violent reaction, that much you could easily tell given you've been a front-row witness to past events with both Al Haitham and Wriothesley.

As you feel yourself growing anxious, you positioned yourself protectively in front of Aniya, who, though a few years younger, was brimming with unrefined passion and working diligently. The youthful intensity in her gaze spelled trouble, yet it reflected such bravery and boldness altogether, truly embodying the spirit of a genuine merchant, and though it was admirable, it also meant there was no escaping the situation if the fiery spirit possessing her had any influence.

You breathed in steadily, gathering your hyperventilating thoughts and acknowledging your helplessness with Wriothesley and Al Haitham absent. Neither you nor Aniya were fully equipped for a direct physical confrontation, but perhaps, if you could stall them long enough, the result might not be excessively dire. The wisest choice now was to prevent provoking the man to the point that he sends those gruelling tattered mercenaries your way.

The argument─ though you wish not to call it that given you hoped to subdue the situation before it escalated, but with the feistiness of the young Merchant Aniya and the highly obnoxious and demanding customer by the distasteful name of Afif, nothing was going as planned.

Afif was a lord spoiled and rotten in both name and character. By nature, his manner of approach was enough to make your skin crawl and your throat tighten. You wonder who awaits him at home and how they endure such a man throughout their lives, considering you can hardly tolerate his attitude for even a few minutes.

They went back and forth without resolution, and each passing minute had regret swirling hefty within your conscience as neither of them backed down, the mercenaries themselves were growing antsy. With every breeze tousling your hair, it seemed like a word uttered by Afif left you feeling even more frustrated. He simply carried on spouting his nonsense of fair trade─ exposing himself as a hypocrite who disregarded the fundamental principles of fair trade.

In your mind, a silent prayer echoed, hoping for the return of either Al Haitham or Wriothesley.

These kinds of situations were precisely what you aimed to avoid, but your compassion couldn't tolerate witnessing Aniya's mistreatment, and unfortunately, because of it you landed yourself in such a predicament you could neither talk your way out nor pathetically apologize and walk away.

Meanwhile, Al Haitham was en route to the Bazaar when he coincidentally encountered Wriothesley who happened to be returning from his quick errand.

"Where'd you go" Al Haitham asked with a raised brow, causing the dark-haired Duke to pause and turn around, waiting for Al Haitham to catch up before continuing, now with him at his side.

"Look how you contradict yourself Haitham, went from claiming I was hovering to questioning my absence. Such a sweetheart─ truly" He flashed a lazy grin, revealing the pointed tips of his fangs that grazed his bottom lip.

"If you must know, Tea" He wiggled the bag mid-air for Al Haitham to see.

"I felt compelled to ask, not that I care much at all"

"You care enough"

"Unfortunately" Al Haitham muttered with a roll of his eyes, flexing the fingers of his free hand that wasn't holding the pack of spices you had asked him to fetch.

Upon entering the Bazaar, Al Haitham abruptly ceased his argument with Wriothesley. He lapsed into silence as he paused and scanned the area, allowing for his senses to come back to him.

He alongside Wriothesley took in the situation surrounding you and the menacing bodies enclosing your safe space. The ambience was palpable even from his current position.

Wriothesley glanced at Al Haitham who had already begun to pick up his pace and he followed suit.

If given the opportunity, Al Haitham would steer clear of any sort of situation that compelled him into social confrontations. He cherished solitude, finding no necessity for social interaction unless absolutely unavoidable.

He was a man of simplicity, content in silence until he met you, and suddenly, he found a liking for sharing that silence with you. In that regard, both of you shared a preference for confining yourselves within the familiar walls of home, avoiding expending energy on forced interactions.

Even when venturing outside, the dynamic persisted. Amidst a sea of people and bustling crowds, it was as if the world consisted solely of the two of you. Others might cast glances, but your attention remained fixed on the path ahead or each other.

Your ears seemed attuned exclusively to each other's voices, and your hands, not particularly fond of physical contact, found solace only in being held by one another.

But when Al Haitham caught sight of you standing there trying to convey strength through your expression, the subtle tremble in your fingers betrayed you and did not go unnoticed by him.

A cold chill ran down his spine and the sensation of blood draining from his body followed. With urgency, he briskly approached to be by your side, arriving just in time to see rough hands reaching out to seize you. Commotion and reactions stirred among the onlookers, who stood by passively, aggravating him further.

"There seems to be a problem here" Al Haitham intervened, his voice clear, monotone, and confident, arms hanging casually at his sides as he looms over the customer, whose posture shifts the moment he lays eyes on the unexpected presence of the Acting Sage.

Al Haitham's arrival brings instant relief to your anxiously furrowed forehead and your tensed shoulders.

"Acting Grand Sage" Afif mumbles with a touch of trepidation, his once gruesome expression fading entirely.

The tallest among the three mercenaries scowls in response to the sudden intrusion, displaying no fear or concern for Al Haitham in his demeanour.

It's evident that he harbours a strong desire to pummel the interrupter through those demonic eyes glaring at your lover's head. Had it not been for Wriothesley who announces his presence to you by offering a reassuring nudge to your shoulder, you'd have redirected your cowering gaze to the ground.

Wriothesley leans casually against the wooden beam of the market tent, arms folded with a smug air as he watches Afif and his Entourage of folks masquerading as combatants.

Afif squirms under the intimidating aura of both Al Haitham and Wriothesley and attempts to shift the blame, trying to implicate Aniya for supposedly intending to mislead him in the trade, alleging that she was dishonest about her products, as is often the case in trade within Sumeru lately. In this instance, it was not. Aniya's honesty mirrored her ambition to rise as a respected merchant, firm and true.

Afif's initial efforts were futile, and as he came to this realization, fear gradually morphed into anger.

"I don't owe any of you an explanation, this is between me and that deceitful merchant wench" He spat, instructing his mercenaries to seize Aniya. However, their unscrupulous nature led them to reach for you as well, a decision that likely proved to be their gravest mistake.

Standing beside you, Wriothesley, under the Scribe's approving gaze, shrugged and uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders back as the mercenaries lunged forward with snarls.

He was mindful of the limited space and wary of endangering you or Aniya and therefore employed small, sharp, and precise movements. He swiftly evaded a punch from the towering mercenary, causing him to stumble forward in the aftermath of his failed attack. In that fleeting moment, Wriothesley seized the flailing arm of his adversary and firmly clamped his other hand onto his shoulder, twisting it behind his back and rendering him effectively immobilized.

With a vigorous push, he forced the vanquished mercenary to his knees, a disgruntled groan of pain echoed. Simultaneously, the second mercenary, driven by rage and fiery eyes, charged forward, only to be skillfully tripped and sent tumbling to the ground, nursing a bruised ego.

Wriothesley applied the weight of his sturdy boot on the back of the second assailant, forcing his face into the ground. Meanwhile, the first attacker was restrained by his hair, ensuring both remained motionless and incapable of causing further trouble.

"Care to help?" He directed at Al Haitham, paying no mind to the third mercenary who tightly clenched his blade, casting nervous glances between Wriothesley, who effortlessly subdued his fellow mercenaries, his employer, and the aloof scribe who stood in front of you protectively.

The onlookers stared in astonishment at the unfolding scene. Aniya, her mouth agape in amazement, beheld the renowned Duke of Fontaine standing before her very eyes, and besides you, Al Haitham, the esteemed Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru, portrayed a grand demeanour, often misunderstood. She observed his protective stance in front of you and it brought a small smile to her face, recognizing the subtle expressions of love in those gestures. She watched them in awe despite feeling guilt for the entire situation being a result of her actions.

"You appear to be managing quite well without me" Al Haitham replied with a raised brow.

"Leaving me to do all the work, I see" Cracking his neck, Wriothesley awaited the concluding blow from the sole remaining mercenary.

"Classifying it as 'work' would be a stretch," Al Haitham emphasized, "Three mercenaries hardly pose a challenge for you, Your Grace."

Releasing the two mercenaries he held, both now unconscious, Wriothesley did so just as the final adversary staggered forward on unsteady legs. True to Al Haitham's assertion, Wriothesley effortlessly subdued the remaining threat by gripping the front of his shirt and hoisting him off the ground.

"I feel like I'm third wheeling," You remarked.

"Nonsense, Wriothesley just talks a lot" Al Haitham brushed aside, moving past you in the direction of Afif, narrowing the brief gap between them. With the situation now in check, the only task left was tending to Afif before you could all proceed on your way.

"I'm sensing a bit tension though" You teased, nonetheless.

"Really?" Pipes Wriothesley over his shoulder, "On a scale of 10, how good is our chemistry?"

"Can you not entertain this, Wriothesley" Al Haitham looks at you, "And no, there is nothing of the sort nor will there ever be"

"Why not?"

"I am perfectly content with the relationship I'm in," He says, and simultaneously, a metallic clinking sound captures your attention.

You glance towards the source of the sound and find yourself pleasantly surprised. Wriothesley notices the shift in your gaze and follows your line of sight. Al Haitham had grabbed the dangling pair of handcuffs on his hip, right under his nose, and placed them on Afif's hands, all while everyone's attention was absorbed in listening to your conversation rather than observing him.

"What the─" Wriothesley muttered, his eyes wandering to the metal restraints encircling the discourteous customer's wrists. A moment later, upon realization setting in, he checked his side, only to realize with surprise that it was indeed his handcuffs.

"Keep up" The smugness in Al Haithams voice could be heard even without looking at him.

"Well shit buddy, good luck trying to get those off" Wriothesley blinks, expression flat as he stares at his handcuffs knowing the only means of removing them lies in a key only accessible to him – a key that resided in the drawer of his cluttered desk all the way in Fontaine.

"So.." Wriothesley trails off looking around, "What do we do with them now?"

"Let's have them pay a visit to the General Mahamatra, I'm certain he'd know just what to do with you"

"This has no connection to the Akakemiya. I haven't breached any rules concerning it and therefore you have no right to detain me like this! It goes against my rights."

Wriothesley chuckled, bending eye level with Afif. "Your rights have just been revoked, Lord"

"I beg to differ. Would you like a detailed account of all your criminal activities?" Al Haitham undoubtedly possesses more knowledge than he let's on. He's not bluffing, and you wonder what kind of leverage your fiancé has on this insignificant Lord for him submit and cower so quickly.

Leaning in to whisper, he says, "Wouldn't want the Akademiya catching wind of your illicit knowledge exchanges, would we? Or perhaps General Mahamatra is already on the lookout for you, Khada'i. Your nose is in everyone's business, and because of that, I'll ensure you're buried. Now then," he pats his shoulder. Sweat accumulates on Afif's—rather, Khada'i's—face under the pressure of Al Haitham's words. "Sit quietly and await your end."

"You two are enjoying this" You shift your weight to your right leg, hand on your hip.

"Not in the slightest," Denies Al Haitham, while simultaneously, Wriothesley questions, "What gives you that impression?"

Shaking your head, you dismiss the two as the guards lead away the identity-deceiving lord into proper custody. You turn to Aniya once more, and she showers you with endless gratitude for your help and assistance. She expresses concern about what might have happened if you hadn't been there, especially with Afif sending his mercenaries after her, fearing what may have become of the situation then had you not stepped in. The recent situation had drained you entirely of your energy and though Aniya offered to repay you in any way she could, you politely declined, desiring only to be on your way and depart from the public eye, wanting nothing more than to be home with a cup of coffee and your bed.

☣ copyright @archonsabyss all rights reserved // do not copy; steal; plagiarize; reword or repost my works to any other platform! No translations!! All credits to original owners of characters/anime/pictures that are not my own!

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talesofadragon · 4 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst | Fluff

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄. Ironically, considering his service as a soldier during World War II in the 107th Infantry Regiment. One might assume his story followed the typical trajectory of a veteran—a man who had served and preserved, giving his all until he had nothing left to lose nor gain.

Bucky faced wars in waves, losing his sense of direction as he battled the currents. Maybe the placidity he yearned for was because of the instabilities and perplexities he'd witnessed, though the peace he needed went far beyond that. From the moment he was reborn into this world, all he ever wanted was to find solace within the hurricane that had upended his life.

Bucky sought peace, yes. Peace within the chaos of his fractured realities.

The sky lit up, a white veil enveloping the night's somber hues. Its brilliance lingered for a fleeting moment before the darkness regained its dominion. Sometimes, Bucky wondered if the storms were a remedy or a curse. When the sky, such as tonight, wailed and bled, and when the clouds tore themselves up to bits and pieces, was the chaos some twisted form of peace? Or was it his fractured mind pitifully attempting to shroud the truths with another veiled deception?

Rain dropped down in fervor, droplets finding themselves on Bucky’s skin. A part of him told him to move away and give the sky some space to grieve. Another rebutted that he should stay to remind the heavens that they’re not alone.

He raised his head, feeling the water droplets on his face, allowing them to delicately trace his features. The storm was ravenous, tumultuous, mutinous—everything a winter turbulence should be, everything the winter soldier in him was.

And yet, the damned poets he’d read about weren’t too far off in their exuberant analogies, comparing a winter storm to a peaceful spring. As polarizing as it was, there was a certain peace to its violence—a peace that Bucky could experience extrospectively but never conversely.

“James,” he heard behind him. This voice, perhaps, was the nearest semblance of personal tranquility he could reach. It permeated his skin, nestled in every nucleus, exuding an air of calmness and hope. He cherished it when she called him by his name. It was her personal term of endearment. To the world, he was several things: Sergeant Barnes, Bucky, and The Winter Soldier. But to Y/N, his precious Y/N, he was James. And he loved her even more for the simple yet profound reminder.

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a shy whisper, playing with his fingers. Truths came easy with her, despite how he grappled with them in his solitary battles. “Going there… going there will trigger a lot of bad memories. It might even trigger him, too.”

Y/N stepped closer, placing her palm on his left arm. His metal arm. She didn’t miss the way Bucky shut his eyes, which is why her thumb traced invisible shapes on the prosthetic. “You don’t have to go there, baby. You don’t have to do anything if your heart’s not in it.”

“But you’ll be there. I can’t…. I won’t for the life of me let you wander around in that monstrous prison world without me. Especially with all those people there.” Bucky’s lower lip trembled as he spoke. His blue eyes harbored a thousand emotions. Peace, fortitude, courage… they all fought waves of anguish and despair. But love, concern, and fear all remained afloat.

“James,” Y/N whispered delicately, framing his cheeks with her gentle hands. Bucky nuzzled in her open palms, his lips brushing against her skin. His eyes captured her in an everlasting glance, filled with so much devotion. “I don’t want you to relive your worst nightmare because of me. Yes, you are our primary knowledge hub when it comes to Hydra, but you’re also a part of our family. We would never want to harm you. I would never want to harm you or cause you despair.”

“You could never,” Bucky answered, his hands falling from the railing and finding their place on her hips. He suddenly became aware that she was wearing no more than his Henley and a pair of pajama bottoms in the middle of this storm. So, he pulled her closer and buried her face in his chest.

“I can go with Steve, maybe even Nat. You don’t have to do this. You–”

“It’s not the memories I fear most, angel.”

“Then what is it?” Y/N asked, raising her head to meet his eyes without stepping out of his embrace. “Is it those soldiers they have created?”

Bucky stared at the falling rain, realizing that the two of them had drifted away from the sliding door’s overhang, which shielded Y/N. He tried to step back, but she must’ve falsely interpreted it as his attempt at fleeing because she tightened her hold on him.

He brushed a strand of her damp hair behind her ear, his thumbs tracing her pink cheek. “What if he comes back?”

“Say his name aloud,” Y/N encouraged. “It’s okay, baby.”

He gulped, closing his eyes for a moment. “The Winter Soldier.” Heaven knew he didn’t want to, and maybe that’s why this whole storm had assaulted New York this evening.

Y/N, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think the same. Calmly, she lifted herself on her toes to kiss his beard, nestling her head in the junction between his neck and shoulder. “The Winter Soldier is what you make him out to be.”

“He’s a murderer,” Bucky spat, his hold on Y/N tightening as if the simple mention of the Soldat would breathe him back to life.

Y/N shook her head. “He’s you.”

“He’s not me, Y/N!” Bucky pried himself away, giving her an indignant look. “He’s a homicidal menace that will not hesitate to rip you apart without a second thought!”

Y/N tried to step closer, but Bucky flinched. He involuntarily retreated back, his cerulean eyes rimmed with despair and hurt. Y/N shook her head, locking her eyes with his. “The Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes. A man that has never stopped fighting, not even for a second. He may be bruised, erratic, and damaged. But he’s not a monster. Not in my story.”

“Y/N,” Bucky all but growled, keeping as much distance between himself and the girl. “You have no idea how twisted these words sound. You won’t even have a chance to take them back or change your mind when he all but attacks you and rips your heart out of your chest like some goddamn fucking prize without even taking his eyes off yours!”

“My heart is his for the taking.” Bucky’s mind spiraled out of control. “As much as it is yours. He and you are one. What I feel for you, I feel for him.”

“Don’t, Y/N.”

Ignoring his comment, Y/N took his hands in hers before he had the chance to run away. “If you cannot see your true worth through your own eyes, James, then see it through my own. Every part of you is worthy. You and The Winter Soldier are heroes in your unique ways, each fighting different battles to find a missing piece of yourself. So, if you’re so afraid that being there will trigger the worst parts of you, then I will whisper to you both all the truth you need to hear until you find your way back to me. Back home.”

“You’re my home,” Bucky whispered, caressing her cheek. He dipped his head, his nose caressing Y/N’s. A second passed, and he allowed himself to bask in her warmth, losing himself in the ardency of her love. His lips delicately traced her berry-flavored ones, claiming them against his own. “I love you,” he almost cried, fearing he might lose her. His mouth wrapped around her lower lip, sucking it fervently and inhaling in all the devotion he held toward his girl. “You're my sanctuary, my peace. And I don’t want my own violent dispositions to threaten the home that I’ve built with you.”

“James,” Y/N mumbled breathlessly, tears on the edge of her lashes. She pressed one more fervent kiss against his lips, resting her hand on his heart to remind him once more that he could feel. That he was human. “I love you in all your nuances and dispositions. No matter who you are or who you think you ought to be, you'll always be my home."

Bucky smiled endearingly, taking Y/N’s hand in his. He kissed her knuckles, one by one, before planting his lips on her wrist. With a final glance at her eyes, Bucky led her inside their shared bedroom, relishing in the feeling of her between his arms.

He closed his eyes with the images of her in his mind, forgetting all about Hydra and The Winter Soldier. It was tomorrow’s nightmare, but Y/N was tonight’s dream, and that’s all that mattered.

BUCKY IS BACK!!

I have so many ideas for this man, and we're starting with this short little series. If you're a fan of hurt/comfort and The Winter Soldier coming out to play, welcome to this maze of truths!!

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn

: ̗̀➛ Read Chapter 2 - CHAOS - here!!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #winter soldier!bucky #winter soldier relapse #winter soldier x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction

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deliciousangelfestival · 9 days

Text

Let Me Love You - 7

Character: college!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: On a mysterious, rainy night, Bucky witnesses a distressing encounter involving his crush.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

Lloyd scanned the campus frantically, searching for Nicky. Desperation clawed at him as he pulled out his phone and checked the friend circle for any recent photos.

She was tagged in a picture at a nearby café with her girlfriends. Gritting his teeth, he broke into a run.

When he reached the café, he spotted her immediately. Nicky was laughing with her friends, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused.

The sight of her carefree demeanor fueled his anger, knowing she didn't care that she had almost ruined someone's life.

"Nicky!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. The entire café fell silent, all eyes turning towards him.

Nicky's laughter faded as she met Lloyd's blazing gaze, realizing that her actions were about to catch up with her.

"You selfish bitch. You can't be trusted," Lloyd spat, his voice shaking with anger and frustration.

Nicky looked up, feigning innocence. "What?" she replied, trying to mask her guilt with a confused expression.

Lloyd couldn't believe that he had lost you because of this selfish woman. "It's you," he accused, his eyes burning with betrayal.

Nicky tried to maintain her composure but couldn't hide the tremble coursing through her body as she faced Lloyd's wrath. For the first time, she realized the true impact of her actions.

Nicky crossed her arms, trying to regain some semblance of control. "I will tell my father to stop sponsoring you," she threatened, her voice icy.

Lloyd smirked, stepping closer until she recoiled back into her chair. "Do it. I don't care. I got here because of my own effort," he retorted, his voice steady and defiant.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Nicky seething. Realizing her threat had no effect, she clenched her coffee mug in frustration, her carefully constructed facade of power shattered.

🌊

Feeling overwhelmed with misery, you had lost the will to join the class and were sitting alone in a quiet place behind the university pond.

Consumed by your thoughts, you didn't notice Bucky approaching until he spoke. "Y/N, do you need anything?"

Surprised, you saw him standing there, slightly out of breath. He had been searching the campus to find you.

You kept looking at him, taken aback by his question. Instead of asking if you were okay, he asked what you needed.

With a weak smile, you patted the empty spot beside you. "I need someone to talk to."

Bucky nodded and sat down next to you. "Of course."

You sighed, your eyes still fixed on the water pond in front of you. "I'm so mad and embarrassed that everyone will know about my mom. I've been through that already. I hate the pitying looks I get every time people from my hometown see me and my mom."

You closed your eyes, the memories flooding back. "I hate those looks. Their judging eyes."

Bucky gently placed his hand on your shoulder, offering silent support.

Bucky placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It won't happen to you."

You frowned. "What do you mean? You didn't see the looks they gave me this morning."

Bucky shook his head. "It wasn't you who should be ashamed and hide. It's the person who put it on the campus homepage."

He continued, "Every family has its own problems, and this person used yours to attack you."

His words were reassuring. You realized he was right—you hadn't done anything wrong.

Seeing that you had calmed down a bit, Bucky added, "I've contacted the campus IT department to check the IP address. Not many people have access to publish articles on that homepage. We'll soon find out who that person is."

You gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Bucky."

Your smile made Bucky's heartbeat quicken. He didn't expect your next words.

"You're a good person, Bucky. I'm grateful that you care for me."

Bucky stammered, "Oh... That's what friends—"

You let out a weak laugh. "I'm not that dense, Bucky. You're always there for me."

Bucky looked at you earnestly. "I will try anything to help you."

Your heart felt warm at his words. After that, neither spoke, but there was a silent agreement that something was blooming between you two.

Both of you were lost in the moment, unaware that someone was watching you from a distance with a look of agony.

That person was Lloyd.

Lloyd had been looking everywhere for you, his frustration growing with each passing minute. Unable to reach you by phone since you had blocked him, he searched the campus tirelessly.

When he finally found you, it was only to see you from behind.

Watching you sit beside someone else, leaning on Bucky for support, made it painfully clear that he had already lost you.

It should have been him comforting you, just like he had when your parents went through their painful divorce.

He remembered being there for you through thick and thin, and the realization that he had thrown it all away hit him like a punch to the gut.

Now seeing you with someone else, Lloyd felt a surge of nausea rise within him. The sight of you finding solace in another's presence was like a dagger to his heart.

But what could he do now? Everything had crumbled because of him. He cheated on you, and now he had to face the consequences of his actions.

With heavy steps, Lloyd turned and walked away, the weight of his regret weighing him down. He knew he had lost you, and there was nothing he could do to change that now.

📱

Bucky drove you back to your apartment, but before that, he made sure you ate something first. He didn't want you to get sick.

You chuckled at Bucky's motherly instincts, finding comfort in his caring nature.

As you settled back into your apartment, thoughts of your mother crept into your mind. You wondered how she was doing, and if she knew what had happened to you.

Deciding to take a shower to clear your head, you washed your hair with cold water, hoping to soothe your thoughts.

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, your cell phone rang. Despite not wanting to talk to anyone, you recognized the specific ringtone you had set for one person in your contacts.

Taking a deep breath, you answered, "Hi dad."

Your father, Matthew, had moved out to the city after the divorce from your mother, driven by his guilt for betraying his wife and you. It was, in a way, his way of running away from his mistakes.

Despite the distance, Matthew had kept in touch with you, occasionally offering to pay your school tuition as a gesture of remorse.

However, you had always declined, still harboring anger towards him. Instead, you asked him to send the money for your mother's treatment, a way for him to contribute positively to the family.

Now, out of the blue, he was calling you.

"I heard what happened," he said solemnly.

Surprised, you asked, "How did you know?"

"Don't worry about that," he replied. "They made a big mistake for making my daughter cry."

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Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

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lendeah · 4 months

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After the Weave 4.

series masterlist

Summary: Following the Duke's murder, Elara and Astarion find themselves detained by the Flaming Fists and interrogated by detective Valeria. Somehow, they are forced to spend a pleasant evening in the barracks' basement, and the outcome is far from what they anticipated.

Pairing: Astarion x OFC!Tav, past Gale x OFC!Tav

Tags: Angst, Drinking to Cope, References to Depression, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Emotional Baggage, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Post-Break Up, Tav finds herself again with Astarion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD.

Word count: 5.2k

"How come every time there is a series of murders, it's always you guys around?" Valeria asks, their pipe perched as always.

The Basilisk Gate Barracks are filled to the brim, with every fist trying to talk down the nobles assembled there. Most of them are still in formal attire, adding to the chaos of the situation. Meanwhile, Blaze Elin, a gruff woman with a thick scar running down her cheek, stands at the front of the room, trying to maintain some semblance of order. She had called all of the Flaming Fists in for an emergency meeting, and now they stand tensely, waiting for her orders.

"We have no idea who is behind these murders," she barks, voice booming through the barracks. "But I can assure you, we are working tirelessly to solve this case. I urge you all to share any information you may have so that we can bring justice to the Duke's murder. And then you can go home and rest easy knowing we are doing everything in our power to protect Baldur's Gate." Her eyes scan the room, daring anyone to go against her judgment.

Valeria flies around the room, their eyes narrowed skeptically. "That's what they always say," they spat lowly, their words like venom.

Astarion is slumped in his chair, his white hair falling across his face as he rolls his eyes dramatically. "Must we linger in this dull abode any longer? We have divulged everything we know," he complains, casting a side glance at the detective.

We both knew that was a lie, of course. We hadn't told Valeria about the spawn under the city. Or the ones in the Underdark, for that matter. It was too risky to spread the word about their existence.

But Valeria wasn't easily fooled. They perch on top of a bookshelf, piercing gaze fixed on us. "I know you're hiding something," they state matter-of-factly.

Astarion scoffs. "And what makes you think that?"

Valeria tilts their head to the side, their pipe still clenched between their teeth. "How about your sudden return to Baldur's Gate socialite? Your involvement in an apparent "charity hospital for children"? And let's not forget your companion here, which you have suddenly reunited with after months." They gestured towards me with a wingtip.

I can feel my stomach knotting with anxiety, but Astarion just laughs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh please, detective, I'm flattered that you find my life so interesting. But I assure you, the only thing I am involved in is solving this terrible murder case."

Valeria raised an eyebrow skeptically, as they calmly blew a puff of smoke.

"Is that so? Then tell me, why does every corpse we are finding present bite marks? Vampire bite marks?"

My heart skips a beat at Valeria's accusation. I know they are onto us. Astarion, however, remains once again unfazed. He leans forward in his chair, his lips curling into a sly smile. "My dear detective, are you implying I am the culprit just because I'm a vampire?"

Valeria's expression remained unreadable, their pipe still clenched between their teeth. "I'm not ruling out any possibilities," they replied evenly.

Astarion chuckles, leaning back in his chair with a casual shrug. "Well then, I suppose anyone could be the culprit."

Valeria's eyes narrow at his nonchalant attitude. "You seem awfully calm for someone who is being accused of killing multiple people," they state, their tone laced with suspicion.

Astarion's smile falters for a moment before he regains his composure. "My dear detective, I assure you, I am not responsible for these murders. Do you have any evidence to suggest otherwise?" He crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. "And in this case, the simplest explanation is that there is a vampire on the loose, preying on unsuspecting victims. Just because I am a civilized vampire, doesn't mean every of my kind is." he ends with another casual shrug. Gods, he is good.

I take a sharp breath and blurt out. "You know, this could be considered vampire discrimination!"

Valeria raises a skeptical eyebrow at my outburst. "Vampire discrimination? I highly doubt that, Miss. Not when we have solid evidence pointing towards a vampire as the suspect."

I clamp my mouth shut, realizing that I may have just made things worse. Astarion gives me a warning look before turning his attention back to Valeria.

"Forgive her, detective. As you know, she tends to let her emotions get the best of her," he says with false charm.

Valeria seems to consider this for a moment before speaking again. "Then why would this vampire target specific people? The past victims were normally lower class, but the Duke and his family were well-protected and respected individuals."

Astarion shrugs again. "Perhaps it was just a simple case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like we were."

I can see Valeria nod reluctantly at Astarion's words, but their eyes continued to bore into us with suspicion.

"Well then, if you come across any information or leads from your kind, be sure to inform me," they say sternly before standing up from their perch on the bookshelf. "I trust you, but I will be keeping a close eye on the both of you."

We both nod solemnly and finally get up to head out. At this point, only a handful of nobles are left to be interviewed. Among them is Lady Saphira, her elegant dress sparkling in the dim light. When she catches sight of us, her painted lips curl into a warm smile and she waves us over eagerly.

Regrettably, just as we are about to exit the building, I catch a glimpse of the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon. The soft orange and pink hues cast a warm glow over the city, signaling the start of a new day. I look at Astarion with a grimace, knowing this means we are unable to walk outside. The elf lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of cover.

"Well, well, it appears we'll have to find some shelter until nightfall," he mutters.

I nod in agreement, my mind already racing with thoughts on where we could go. And then I realize: we are in the Barracks. I look to the corner of the room, where the door to a small staircase lies hidden out of sight.

"Maybe we could rest in my old basement until then?" I ask.

Astarion turns to me with a raised eyebrow. "Your basement? Well, I suppose it's better than wandering out in the open..." he says with a hint of skepticism.

However, as I lead him to the door, I notice a guard is currently standing in front of it, and he would surely notice if we were to go down. During my time here, the Barracks were often pretty empty, so I didn't worry about the Fists finding out I was using their basement as my home.

I try to call the magic to my hands to cast an invisibility enchantment, but it is so rusty from months of no use that barely a few sparks appear.

Astarion, noticing my thoughts, places a hand on my arm and smiles. "Darling, you can just ask me to cause a distraction."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the mischievous glint in his eyes. "And just what kind of distraction are we talking about?" I ask.

Astarion smirks, his charming smile reaching his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, Astarion reaches into his cloak and retrieves a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid. He holds it up to the light, the liquid sparkling like stardust. "This," he says, waving the vial playfully, "is a little something I acquired during our time apart. It's an enchantment potion that can cause illusions. But not just normal illusions, big illusions. Trust me, it'll be quite the spectacle."

I nod, dubious of the effectiveness of said potion. "Alright then, show me what you've got."

He smirks, and gets closer to my ear to whisper, "¿Ready to run?"

Without another word, Astarion forcefully throws the vial to the other side of the room where it explodes in a thousand shards. I watch in amazement as an image of a huge ogre appears in the corner of the room, letting out a deafening roar.

Panic erupts among both the soldiers and nobles as they scramble to either arm themselves and prepare for battle or run away. The Fist in front of the door immediately runs to help in the chaos, leaving the door unguarded. The image of the ogre is so realistic that even I start to panic for a moment, but then Astarion's hand grabs mine and pulls me towards the stairs. As we run, my ball gown gets caught on one of the tables, causing me to stumble and almost fall. But Astarion quickly catches me and effortlessly detaches my dress from the table.

"Come on, we need to move fast," he urges, his grip tightening on my hand.

I nod and we continue our escape. Soon, we reach the small door, and it takes all my strength to open it since I haven't used it in so long. Finally, with a loud creak, it swings open revealing a dimly lit staircase that goes down into the basement. I quickly urge him forward and close the door behind us, making sure to lock it. The sound of chaos from above fades as we hurry down the stairs into the darkness. I can feel Astarion's hand gripping mine tightly, guiding me through the narrow staircase.

As we reach the end, I see another door, this one larger and made of metal. It has a large lock on it, but before I even remember where I left the key, Astarion quickly takes out a set of lockpicks and skillfully picks the lock. The door opens with a soft creak, revealing a small underground room, barely lit from a small window to the street. Astarion collapses onto a nearby chair with a grin on his face.

"Well, that was exhilarating," he says with a laugh, catching his breath.

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief as I sink down onto another chair beside Astarion. My hands shake as I begin to remove the layers of my ball gown, leaving only the outer scarlet texture that falls freely over my feet. Astarion watches me with amusement in his eyes as I struggle with the intricately designed dress. Finally, I manage to pull it off and throw it onto the floor, feeling suddenly free from its suffocating hold.

"I can't believe you had an enchantment potion on you," I say.

Astarion shrugs nonchalantly. "What can I say? I like to be prepared for any situation."

I chuckle and then take a look at my surroundings.

As I take in the room, my chest constricts. Despite it only being two weeks since I last stood here, it feels like a lifetime has passed. The room is dirtier and more somber than I remembered. A small bed sits in one corner, with a tiny window near the roof as its sole source of light. Two old chairs and a table, coupled with an old sofa, make up the rest of the barren furnishings. Empty bottles of alcohol litter the floor, along with many plates of half-eaten food. Oh, and it absolutely stinks.

I can't help but feel ashamed of Astarion's presence; I don't want him to see this place. Don't want him to realize how low I fell before he took me in.

Astarion takes note of my discomfort and raises an eyebrow. "Is everything alright, love?" he asks, concern coloring his voice.

I force a smile and shrug it off. "It's just...I didn't think it had gotten this bad," I say, trying to brush it off casually.

Astarion's eyebrows furrow in concern as he takes in the state of my basement. "What do you mean?" he asks softly.

I sigh and avoid his gaze. "I hadn't been taking care of myself properly since... since Gale left," I admit with a hint of sorrow in my voice.

Astarion's expression softens and with a tenderness that surprises me, he takes my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry, Elara," he says, sincerity lacing his words. "I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long."

I shake my head, feeling a touch of guilt for bringing up the subject. "It's not your fault, Astarion. I'm sure you had your own reasons for leaving," I say, trying to reassure him.

Astarion nods, but I can see the guilt still lingering in his eyes. He stands up and starts looking around the room, "Let's clean this place up a bit, shall we?" he says with a grin, picking up empty bottles and plates.

I can't help but laugh at his sudden enthusiasm for cleaning.

"Oh, you? Engaged in the noble art of cleaning? I am astonished."

Astarion gives me a mock offended look. "Why yes, my dear, I am capable of more than just thievery and seduction," he retorts with a smirk.

I laugh again and join him in cleaning up the mess. Together, we spend the next hour tidying up the basement. It's a surprisingly cathartic experience, feels as if we are washing away the memories of my past struggles together.

When we finish cleaning, Astarion looks around with satisfaction. "Much better," he says with a smile.

I look around as well and feel a weight lift off my shoulders. The room is no longer dark and depressing; although still austere, it feels a bit more cozy and welcoming now.

"Thank you," I say sincerely to Astarion.

Just when I am prepared to sit on the makeshift sofa, I notice a stray bottle hiding between the wall and the bed. Curiosity getting the best of me, I reach for it and realize it's still full.

"I really spent five months drowning my sorrows in ale. What a brilliant strategy, right?" I say, reaching it with a heavy sigh.

I sit defeatedly back on the sofa. Astarion looks at the bottle in my hand, deep in thought. After a moment, he turns to me with a determined expression.

"Why don't we make a different kind of toast?" he suggests, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?" I ask.

Astarion settles beside me on the plush sofa, grabbing the last bottle of ale. "Let's share this final bottle, closing the chapter as it began," he suggests with a wistful smile. "And then let us make a promise to each other – to move forward as one."

I look at Astarion in surprise, not sure what to make of his sudden declaration. But something in his eyes tells me that he is being genuine, and I can't help but feel touched by his words.

I nod slowly, and Astarion opens the bottle with ease "To new beginnings," Astarion says, raising the bottle in a toast, and gulps with a grimace. "Gods, this ale is awful."

I chuckle and take a sip myself. The drink is strong and bitter, but I find myself enjoying it more than I thought I would. We sit in comfortable quietness for a few moments, passing the bottle back and forth.

"I can't believe the Duke is dead..." I say, breaking the silence. "Wyll..."

Astarion nods, his expression grim. "Yes, and he won't have a clue unless he graces us with his presence again."

I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "I wish there was a way to contact them."

Astarion leans back against the sofa, taking another swig from the bottle of ale. "It seems we are also very screwed," he says bluntly."No noble will want to help a vampire now, even with a charming hero by my side."

I roll my eyes at his choice of words, but can't deny the truth in them. I bite my lip. "And now everyone will hate you even more," I murmur.

"I'm used to it by now, that is the least of my worries," Astarion shrugs nonchalantly."The problem is the Underdark spawn. We can't keep covering to sustain them if the nobles don't pay us."

Astarion takes another swig of the ale, his expression troubled despite trying to conceal it. I can't help but admire his genuine dedication to the well-being of the spawn.

"You're right, but we can't just let them starve," I say, thinking of the innocent children that were turned into spawns by Cazador.

Astarion nods in agreement. "We'll have to come up with a solution soon or else things will only get worse."

I take a deep breath and try to think of a plan. "Perhaps we could find the culprit spawn? That way, instead of being labeled as monsters, the nobles might see us as saviors in the end. Plus, you know, prevent further harm to innocent lives."

Astarion looks at me with a smirk. "Ah, always the hero. But finding the spawn? That's a risky move, my dear. They're not exactly known for their civility or cooperation. Much less yours or mine."

I raise an eyebrow at Astarion's comment. "I never said it would be easy, but it could be worth a try. We can't just sit here and do nothing while they go around killing more innocents."

Astarion nods slowly and then gives me a sly smile. "Well, looks like we'll have to go on a little hunt. We'll most certainly find them, but we must tread lightly and play our cards just right."

"I agree," I say with determination. "We can start tomorrow and see what we can find out."

A heavy silence settles between us, the warmth of the ale slowly creeping into my mind. Suddenly, I feel emboldened by the alcohol and ask the question that has been nagging at me for months: "What did you do during all that time we were apart?"

Astarion looks at me with surprise before a small smirk forms on his face. "Oh, just the usual. Drinking, gambling, and charming my way into the beds of highborn virgins."

I raise an eyebrow at him and he chuckles. "Just kidding, of course. Well, mostly kidding."

I roll my eyes at Astarion's flippant response. After what I saw at the party, I am more than sure that he has indeed been visiting a lot of bedchambers. The thought, for some reason, doesn't sit well with me.

"Seriously though, what did you do?" I press on, trying to distract my thoughts. We are so close our arms are touching, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.

"As much as I wish to boast about how I was far off better than you... I cannot" He sighs. "Hiding in the shadows once again took a toll on me, and I fear it may have shattered me completely. I never thought I would have to resort to such methods again. It was like reliving a nightmare."

Astarion takes another swig of ale before continuing. "I spent most of my time huddled in my bedchambers. My appetite disappeared, along with any sense of purpose or thought. All I could do was lay there, consumed by my own despair."

His raw confession tugs at my heart, causing it to clench painfully. My mind struggles to process this new side of Astarion - so unlike the guarded and closed-off man I thought I knew. It's almost as if he's a completely different person now, changed by the events of these past few months. Or perhaps, his sudden honesty is simply a result of the alcohol loosening his inhibitions.

I find myself reaching out to gently place my hand over his in comfort. He just looks to the wall, as if his mind is elsewhere, and keeps talking. "I was utterly alone. Everyone else had found their own happily ever after - Lae'zel fulfilling her duties to her people, Shadowheart finding her true calling, Wyll and Karlach, you know, at least they were together. And then there was you and Gale..." He looks over at me with an unreadable expression before turning his gaze back to the wall. "I couldn't help but feel envious of all of you. It seemed like everyone had moved on except for me."

I take a deep breath, his thoughts resonating so deep within me, reminding me of my own struggles back when I was alone and trying to help everyone. "I understand what you mean," I say softly, squeezing his hand lightly. "I've been there too, feeling like everyone has moved on and left me behind."

Astarion shrugs, a bitter smile on his face. "It's not their fault. It's just... hard being alone after so long. It reminded me too much of my old life."

I nod, "I can imagine how hard it must have been for you," I reply sincerely.

"Surviving wasn't easy, but I managed." He says with a hint of amusement, "Dalyria found me cowering in the bedroom after a month and gave me quite the scolding. But then she helped me dust off my pride and put me back on my feet. She knew we needed all hands on deck to deal with the spawn, and apparently, I was deemed the most capable." With a shrug, he sums it up, "And that's how it went."

His final words are a bit slurred as if the alcohol is getting to him too. I grasp his hand tightly, not wanting to let go even as the world around us spins. His skin is cold against mine and I can feel the tremble in his fingers.

"Well, we're not alone anymore. We're together." I whisper, my words also a bit slurred.

Astarion looks at me with surprise before a small smile forms on his face. "Together," he repeats, his voice muddled, before pulling back and taking another swig of the bottle. My gaze follows the movement as his strong hand grips the bottle, his soft lips enveloping the tip, his translucent eyelashes fluttering shut in pleasure. My mind reels as I watch his throat move while he gulps, and for some reason, my drunken haze makes me ache with desire for him.

His red eyes connect with mine, and I can feel myself getting flustered under his intense gaze, caught in the act.

A faint smirk appears on his lips as he takes another swig of ale. "Do you like what you see?" he teases, and his voice is now low and husky.

I have the urge to look away, a blush creeping onto my cheeks. But instead, I reply emboldened by the alcohol, "Maybe."

Astarion's eyes widen in surprise, and a mischievous grin spreads across his face. He leans closer, his breath fanning against my ear. "Well, isn't that interesting," he whispers, his voice dripping with playful suggestion. "Perhaps we should explore this newfound curiosity of yours."

My heart skips a beat as his words hang in the air, my mind buzzing with a mixture of desire and confusion. A part of me wants to push him away, to remind myself that this is just the alcohol talking, but another part of me yearns to indulge in this intoxicating connection we share. It's been so long since I've felt this desire, this need. So long since I've been touched.

Summoning up the courage, I lean in closer to his ear, our knees now touching.

"Do you like what you see?" I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. From this close, I can admire the small moles dotting his cheek, and fight the urge to trace them with my fingertip.

Astarion chuckles softly and pulls back slightly, his red eyes locking onto mine. His lips curl into a mischievous smile as he places his free hand on my thigh. His touch sends an electric jolt through my body, igniting a fire within me. "Who are you and what have you done to my dear Elara?" he asks teasingly.

Our faces are now mere inches apart, our bodies pressed against each other.

"Do you like what you see?" I repeat, surprised at how low and sultry my voice comes out.

Astarion leans in closer, his nose barely brushing mine. "I do," he replies, his voice filled with desire. "Who could resist such a stunning creature?"

The tension between us is palpable as Astarion's hand continues to trail up my thigh, his touch igniting a burning desire within me even through the thick fabric of my dress. I don't know if he is pretending anymore, my head is swimming, my thoughts clouded by the alcohol and his touch. I know he can hear my heartbeat, his pupils expanded to the point where there is no crimson in them. He licks his lips, briefly showing his fangs, and I can't help but shiver, my body remembering the way they felt on my neck.

Without fully realizing what I'm doing, I take my trembling hand to his neck, touching the bite mark there softly, and caress my way to the base of his throat. My fingers tremble as I tug on the strings of Astarion's black shirt, feeling the smooth fabric open to reveal his sculpted chest. The dim sunset light from the basement window casts a golden glow over him, accentuating his every muscle and curve. He looks like a creature carved out of marble, perfect in every way.

Astarion watches me with intense eyes as I trace my fingers down his chest, feeling the softness of his skin under my touch. His breath hitches slightly and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I can feel his hunger for me radiating off of him, and it only fuels my desire.

"How long has it been?" Astarion's hand goes up and cups my cheek gently, his thumb stroking my skin softly "How long has it been since someone touched you?"

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within me. "It's been a while," I admit, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his intense stare.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Astarion's lips as he leans in closer once more. Our lips brush lightly again, sending all kinds of electric feelings along my skin. "You are drunk," he whispers.

And then, he pulls back completely, retrieving his hand. A wave of disappointment washes over me and I can't help but whine at the lack of contact.

"B-but I want to," I say, my words almost gibberish.

He just shakes his head and gets up to get even further away, allowing me to see I wasn't the only one affected by our exchange.

"You will regret it tomorrow." He adds, "If you still want to when you sober up, I will more than oblige."

The room suddenly feels cold and empty with Astarion away from me. I can't help but feel disappointed, my desire still burning strong within my veins.

"I won't regret it," I say with determination, but my words are slightly slurred from the alcohol. "I want you."

Astarion's eyes darken with desire as he looks at me, but he shakes his head again. "Oh darling, you are clearly drunk," he repeats, "And a whiny, obnoxious one at that."

I pout, feeling rejected and frustrated. Why won't he just give in to our mutual desire? Is it really because I'm drunk? Or maybe because he thinks I'm not good enough for him? Is this even his true self, or is he simply pretending to be flirty as usual?

"Can we please go home now, precious little crybaby?" he drawled with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

My pout deepens as I watch Astarion head towards the door. "Fine," I mutter, standing up and swaying slightly as the alcohol starts to hit me harder.

Astarion's teasing grin transforms into a devilish chuckle as he observes my unsteady steps. "Oh, darling, is this your attempt at seduction?" he quips with a wink. "I won't fall for it, but I'll gladly watch you stumble."

But then he comes to stand beside me and with his firm grip, he assists me in walking up the stairs once more. The barracks lay eerily quiet and devoid of life in the cover of night, the moon casting an eerie shadow over our movements. As we walk through the empty hall, Astarion's arm finds its way around my waist for support, and my mind is still consumed by thoughts of our previous interaction. The alcohol in my system makes me more aware of his touch and the way his body presses against mine.

Before leaving the place, Astarion turns to face me with a mischievous grin on his face. "Now, shall we finish our little promise?" he asks in a low voice.

I can feel my cheeks heating up at his words and I nod eagerly. I hold out my hand "I promise to move forward from this place. And from Gale. And from the ale."

Astarion raises an eyebrow at my wobbly words, but he takes my hand in his and gives it a firm shake. "Together," he says with a smirk, his grip surprisingly steady despite the amount of alcohol we've consumed. How is he not drunk? He drank more than me!

As we make our way back to the Palace, Astarion keeps his arm around me, guiding me through the now-dark streets of Baldur's Gate. Despite the alcohol clouding my senses, I can't help but feel safe and protected by his presence, and I unconsciously lean into his touch. As we reach the metal gates of the Palace, I am starting to sober up, and he finally releases his grip on me and opens the door.

"Well," Astarion says, leaning against the door frame with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That was certainly an interesting day."

I roll my eyes at his comment, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. It's bad enough that I made a fool of myself in front of Astarion, but now he's going to tease me about it too?

"Can we just forget about it?" I mumble, trying to brush off the embarrassing events of the evening.

A cunning smirk spreads across Astarion's face as he gazes at me. "Oh, don't worry darling," he drawls. "I will most definitely forget." but his words drip with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes at Astarion's teasing comment, but I can't deny the small flicker of disappointment at the thought of him forgetting about our drunken encounter. Despite trying to push those memories away, they keep resurfacing in my mind. The way Astarion's fingers had felt against my skin, the desire burning between us... I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

Astarion leads me inside and we have barely taken two steps when two figures appear in front of us.

"Are you two drunk?"

Astarion and I freeze in our tracks as Shadowheart and Lae'zel stand before us, their arms crossed and disapproval etched on their faces. My heart stops at the sight of the two women.

I straighten myself, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. I can feel my face flushing with embarrassment, desperately wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Astarion, ever the smooth-talker, steps forward with a sly grin.

"My two favorite companions!" he replies, feigning innocence. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my modest property?"

Shadowheart and Lae'zel exchange a doubtful glance before turning their attention back to Astarion.

"We've been waiting here the entire day for the both of you," Shadowheart says, her tone serious. "We heard the Duke died, and it's clear you two were entangled in the mess somehow."

Lae'zel finally speaks up, her voice cold and commanding. "We are here to deal with the wreckage you left behind."

Tag List - @astarioffsimpmain, @amazingnerd, @ayselluna

#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

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Goo Kim x Reader: Mario Kart

You two find something to do

Another day another dollar won.

That's the mantra you and Goo live by. If cash is king, then you are both but its humble servant.

Even if you are doing nothing, as long as you're on the clock, you're making money. So what if you're both just idly waiting in a dilapidated shack for the boss's call? And you've had nothing to do in the past hour apart from fiddling with your phone? You're getting paid for your time, aren't you.

You check out your unimpressive surroundings. The heater splutters away in the corner, working hard to provide some semblance of warmth. An uphill battle considering the holes in the shoddy tin roof. Cigarette butts litter the floor, and old blood stains dot the walls. No doubt from the times Goo and Gun spent a bit too long in each other's company and it resulted in exchanging blows.

An ancient moth-eaten sofa sits in the middle, where your boyfriend currently lies.

Goo usually provides entertainment during these quiet hours, but today his face remains glued to his phone. He said a new series of one punch had dropped or something.

Another ten minutes slog by.

God, this is fucking boring-

"Wait! Shit!" You dart across the room to your bag and stumble in your haste.

Goo peers over his screen lazily at you. "What's the rush, princess?"

"Where is it, where is it," you mutter to yourself, digging through the clutter and chaos that is your backpack, "I swear I packed it... HERE!"

You hand clutches around the smooth plastic device, and you triumphantly thrust it in the air.

"MARIO KART!"

With a little convincing, "Don't you prefer to watch your show on our big huge TV at home instead? In all its 4K glory? With the surround sound? And the LED lighting?", you and Goo both perch on the threadbare sofa, the Switch balancing precariously on a cardboard box.

Desperate times calls for desperate measures.

"Babe, I can't see shit," Goo pouts and fiddles with his glasses, "This is unfair!"

"It's a portable gaming device," You hand him a controller, "Of course the screen is small. Deal with it."

Goo squints at the screen, leaning in to check you're not screwing him over somehow. You start setting up the race: 200cc - as much mayhem as possible, the tracks, and the characters. Goo predictably picks Baby Peach, and you opt for your favourite.

"Are you ready to get your ass whooped?" you taunt, giving Goo a little shove with your shoulders.

"Hmph. I swear if you blue shell me this time..."

"What you gonna do about it?"

Goo waggles his eyebrows at you in a poor imitation of seduction, "I'm not gonna do that thing you like with my tongue anymore!"

You consider whether it's worth going easy on him, just this once.

The Switch lies in pieces across the room.

You sigh, picking up what remains of your beloved device. The fifth one in three months.

During the final race, Goo was in 1st place when a blue shell (that had nothing to do with you) ruined his victory, allowing you to cinch the overall Gold.

Or you would have, had he not kicked the Switch across the room as soon as he saw the familiar blue whirl around his character.

"That game fucking HATES ME!" he stomps his feet, a childish tantrum starting.

"I'm sorry babe," you throw an arm around him in an attempt to calm him down. "What about I do that thing you like with my tongue?"

That got Goo's attention, "Right now?"

"Sure, we've got time."

#lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism hc #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #goo kim #kim joongoo #goo kim x reader #lookism x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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marcelwrites · 12 days

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Sometimes modern life feels like your head is shoved into the toilet bowl and some ingrate is flushing it repeatedly. Every now and then you get the respite of their being no water left in the tank, as you heap air back into your lungs with aggressive and strained breaths, waiting for the tank to fill back up, hoping by some miracle there's no water left in the world, but it always fills back up, and the process repeats yet again. Your head is soaked, you're gasping for air, and it just never fucking ends.

Maybe the key is to do your best, practice breathwork, and find that warm and gooey place deep in the centre of your brain where there's some semblance of calm and peace. Somewhere that once you find, you're always able to hark back to, you're able to find that little spot and nestle there and wait for everything to blow over. But that storm on the horizon, the one the old-timers in their haggard wisdom refer to as "the big one", it's building and growing into a dark, swirling mass of pure chaos. Sooner or later, it's gonna trudge over, like heavy boots scraping through oozing mud, and when it gets here, it's not going to joke around and vainly show off with some fireworks and noise; all bluster. Instead, it's going to be torrential, and we're all going to get washed away in its fury.

If that's the case, and I believe it is, that tank isn't going to empty, and there'll be no respite. No respite at all. We're going to drown in toilet water, and if the toilet water doesn't get you, that size 12 boot on your throat will. If you're lucky maybe your neck will snap before you suffer.

#marcelwrites #writing #words #thoughts #text

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prideofcelestia · 2 years

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❝ with a s/o who has social anxiety and gets suffocated in especially large crowds ❞

« characters - beelzebub, diavolo, solomon »

« gender neutral reader »

« headcanons »

« notes - i did my best! might have gone on unnecessary tangents :") »

« request by @myblogisatotalmess »

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub is not a fan of socialising since he’s a demon of few words and a big appetite. Even if his mouth is always working, it’s either biting any food he can find or gently accepting the kisses you reward him with — but hardly talking. So, you can stay by his side in comfortable silence without being overly anxious to fill it up. His hand carefully wraps around yours and squeezes it every once in a while as a reminder that you're not alone.

His main aim is to have you comfortable with him and to protect you against the dangers of the world. He’s not a very observant demon but if you react drastically in crowds where you cling to him or start crying, he notices and immediately gets you away. Once he knows of your fear, he never forces you to go to crowded places and excuses you from his brother’s plans of hitting the clubs. He's very blunt about it. “[Name] is not comfortable with that so you guys can go there on your own.”

If anybody tries to invite you out despite your protests, he shows up and looks at them pointedly.

“Sorry but [Name] and I have plans.”

It's unnerving to have a gigantic muscular ginger glare at one so everyone just shuts up. It saves you the trouble of having to refuse yourself and frankly, it relieves you of a burden. He can be reliable like that.

That doesn’t mean you can hide in your room all day long. As a health enthusiast, he knows that some form of social interaction is important (no offence to Levi) so he finds the least populated routes for jogging and asks you to tag along with him. As you must have guessed, these roads are deserted because it’s the spot for dangerous crowds to chill. However, you have nothing to fear, because Beelzebub will just eat them and continue exercising with you. As long as you have him, every corner of the Devildom is accessible to you.

Some days, the mental pain is more difficult to deal with than others but he doesn’t judge you. He quietly fills your room with stuffed toys so that you are always surrounded by friends who don’t make you anxious. Of course, he’s just within reach too if you want him. Call out to him and he’ll come and pull you close in a bear hug.

With Beelzebub, you don’t need to talk because his actions hold an entire dimension of meaning. Such love, such devotion, such adoration that you could never put your gratitude for him in words anyway.

DIAVOLO

When it comes to you, he can’t help but bend the rules a little. What one doesn’t know won’t hurt one. As his partner, you are also the face of the Devildom and many of his subjects want to talk to you. However, he excuses your absence by declaring that you wish to do your best to fit in the Devildom before making a public appearance in social events. A sort of etiquette training to fit into royalty. It’s not entirely false because you’re trying to fight your own demons with the aid of the demon prince and he’s incredibly supportive of you. The excuse isn’t born of embarrassment. It’s just not his secret to share and it’s also easier this way. His subjects admire your perseverance and couldn’t have asked for a better human for the exchange programme or as Diavolo’s partner.

Any party held in your honour (Diavolo gets super excited when planning these) includes your closest friends only. He never compromises your comfort by trying to show you off even if he would be honoured to do so. It’s mostly just the cast causing chaos or talking as they usually do. Your boyfriend remembers to talk to you about the invitation list every time he’s planning a gathering.

If you have a comfort activity that helps you calm down, the palace and its resources are at your disposal to explore. You can go to the kitchen or the personal gym built within or just roam around the spacious rooms at will to find a semblance of normalcy. When Diavolo gets a break, he likes to guess how you are spending your time as he goes in search for you to see if he guessed correctly. He’s never disappointed because even if his answer was wrong, he still gets to see you.

Someday, he wants to hold your hand firmly in a crowded gathering with your permission. As the future king, there's no running away from that day. While understanding your mental pain, he talks to you about your fears and gets doctors if that’s what you want. Why do you feel this fear? There’s no one to hurt you. Take a deep breath and try to find the reason. You have his undivided attention so let him understand you. He wants you to feel comfortable in your own skin and he’ll do his part to help you.

SOLOMON

During the initial centuries of his immortality, he felt dejected to talk to his fellow human beings. He was still young and powerless to know a lot about demons so his friendless past self spent his time walking around any space that promised him privacy and solace. The world he stepped out of and the world he stepped back in were always wildly different. He was scared to find out how long had passed since he began any activity. It made his skin crawl and his lungs burn and without anyone to return to, he felt like hiding in the wind.

The stars were his only companions and he trusted them wholeheartedly. Once, they led him to a place inhabited by trolls. Since it was the stars that whispered the secret in his ears, he trusted them instantly and has never regretted his decision till date. The trolls were small, wise creatures that accepted him as a friend.

That was his first encounter with the truth.

The world comprises unique creatures so Solomon must travel to know more about them. Now that he has you, he can’t help but share his knowledge with a hint of childish excitement. You can be charmed and mesmerised by the wonders of the world. Don't hide in yourself. Be friends with the howling wind and the burning fire, talking fowl and herbs that make you feel ecstatic. These are all his friends. These all have life.

Where the waters turn red and black and purple to eventually take the colour that represents your soul, the journey to find peace begins.

If human beings aren’t meeting your standard, don’t let it stop you! Find and befriend a new species! Just make sure that human beings don’t make up their diet.

If you feel uncomfortable talking to beings with a human form, take a little adventure. Life’s too short to be questioning. If you want to talk to someone, talk. If you like Solomon’s cooking, then eat it. Simple, right?

Let him be your guide. You trust him, don’t you?… No, he wasn’t planning on cooking. Why do you ask? Oh, so now you trust him? Great!

The journey is marked by picturesque places so devoid of any life form that you think that your boyfriend and you are the last two people on the planet. The fresh air and the curiosity his talks spark gives you life.

Rules don’t exist if someone isn’t preaching them in your ear. Asking for permission? Solomon has never heard of her! If he walks in and finds you in your sad pajamas that he bought you once, he’s getting a flying carpet and you two are going out on an adventure that instant! No questions asked. The demon brothers will have to be satisfied with a note that he leaves them.

"[Name] and I made sudden plans. You guys are excluded. How does that feel? LOL."

You can make your choice regarding who to follow.

He doesn’t mean it to be romantic but then again, he wasn’t planning for the giant Sphinx to come attack you two and for him to gallantly save you. It just happened, okay?

Someday, when you’re comfortable conversing with creatures of every shape and form, maybe human beings won’t scare you to the same extent. He’ll keep observing your behavioral patterns so that he can help comfort you in the best way possible. You are an important person to him so he’ll never let you go. He wants you to love being in your own skin.

#obey me #obey me x reader #gender neutral reader #obey me x mc #gender neutral mc #obey me headcanons #obey me!#obey me solomon #obey me diavolo #obey me beelzebub #x mc #x reader #comfort #shion script

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googleitlol · 10 months

Text

Now I wanna share more so here’s another blurb from my jttw x reader, thinking of calling it Little Dove but that’s just a placeholder rn

I’ve never rlly written a dynamic that begins so… aggressively before, so it’s been rlly fun writing the beginning bits where Reader straight up despises Sun Wukong. I’ll probably do another post for this fic explaining why Reader (or Dove) hates him so much, so if anyone wants to know more, lmk!

(This takes place just after SWK has been freed)

Dove Masterlist:

This river would be perfect for finding the right materials. Once you can see a suitable clump of reeds by the river, you turn back to begin your harvest. Alone at last, you're finally able to feel a semblance of peace. The moon reflecting over the great body of water, a soft breeze carrying through the air, tonight might prove to be the first calm night in weeks of travel.

The family that let you and your traveling companions stay the night truly seem to be kind people, they were quite considerate when realizing your group are strictly vegetarian. It also felt amazing when you were able to properly bathe yourself again. Not that you aren't used to spending days in the wilderness, but it was certainly a welcome change of pace to have proper shelter for the night.

You start snapping the reeds out of the ground, checking the first one to see if it was the right width for an arrow before continuing your harvest. You carried no extra arrowheads, but you were certain you could worry about that later. For now, these reeds would work as good arrow shafts.

Normally, you would collect your own arrows after a fight. But that just wasn't possible in the midst of the chaos of that demon attack. There were too many of them to kill them all, and with Tripitaka's horse taking off with the monk, all you could do was leave the arrows behind. Luckily, you still have a few left over, but it isn't enough.

After taking a sizeable amount of reeds, you follow the river downstream for some time. It didn't take long for you to find a rock large enough to sit on while you work. Setting the reeds by your feet, you take out your bow to help measure how long to make the arrows. Taking a seat, you take one of the reeds in your hold, drawing the soon-to-be-shaft and taking mental note of the length.

"Do you ever sleep?"

The voice from behind makes you jump out of your skin, though the following snicker quickly helps to ground you.

Turning back, you see Sun Wukong leaning against one of the trees lining the shore of the river. "I mean, you've made it very clear that you're mortal. Rest is important for those of you that can die, right?" One might think his words came from actual concern if not for the smirk on his face stretching from ear to ear. "I wouldn't know, seeing as I'm immortal. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

He has no idea how infuriating he is.

You swiftly turn back to face the river after seeing who's with you. "Done showing off your new garments to your master?"

"Can’t I accompany you? You’re not the only one who can become a bird." His reply was casual, as though he didn't sense your blatant hostility. You know he does, but he acts oblivious to it. Maybe that's the point, a method to aggravate you further. So much for that peaceful alone time.

Now with more annoyance than before, you begin snapping the reeds to the length needed. Silence falls over the two of you as you work, which you might almost be grateful for… if not for the monkey's overbearing presence that had moved to be just over your shoulder.

Taking out your knife, you begin notching the arrows shafts, doing your best to ignore the occasional brush of a tail over your arm. It was easy at first to call them accidental little grazes as his tail never seemed to stop swaying. However, it was starting to grow harder when it kept happening. Tapping your nose was the final straw.

"Can I help you?!" Your head swivels back to face the monkey, the same shit-eating grin resting on his face.

Despite the clear aggression in your tone, a laugh is his first response. "What are you doing?"

The question makes you roll your eyes. His tone is condescending, his smile doing nothing to hide the mock in his voice. "I need arrows, what does it look like I'm doing?" Part of you can’t help but wonder, would his teeth get replaced if you knocked them out? If he's immortal, would they come back or would he remain teeth-less? One could only wish for the latter.

The Monkey King strolls over to face you now, his hands behind his back. "Oh, I know. What I meant to say is, why? Didn’t you hear what I told Master? Don’t you know how powerful I am?” He gestures to himself, getting much too close as he continues to blabber. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head anymore. Just curse me out from the safety of Master’s shoulder. Your insults will keep me entertained.”

“You pompous—!” You stop yourself before you can go any further, the iron grip on you knife tightening as it points towards the ape. The smug look on his face tells you all you need to know. He wants you to get riled up, like he said. He has to be bored out of his mind, being ‘converted’ and forced to help Tripitaka. So instead of plundering villages or whatever it is that he did before his punishment under the mountain, he’s playing with you.

Closing you eyes, you let out a deep sigh. If that’s how he wants to play it, then so be it. “Why are you here, Sun Wukong?” You ask, your expression returning to its neutral state from before.

The demon raises a playful brow, finally stepping back to allow for some of your personal space back as he hummed in faux thought. “Master seems to like you— I don’t really see why— but when you left, I thought what a shame it’d be if you were snatched or eaten in the middle of the night.” He shrugs absentmindedly before his eyes narrow. “Then again, who knows? It might be fun to watch.”

You let out a dry chuckle at that, inspecting your handiwork as he turns to look out over the water. “Trust me, simian, I am plenty capable of caring for myself.”

“Is that how you ended up under me that day in the Jade Palace?” He snickers, and it takes everything not to snap at the comment.

“You mean how I distracted you long enough for the thunder deities to arrive, and eventually the Buddha himself?” Collecting your arrow shafts, you rise to your feet. “It was never my goal to beat you. I’ve been taught to know the difference between fights I can and cannot win. Your power is the only reason I can stomach you being here.”

Laughter ripples from his chest, the monkey turning to approach you once more. “Aww, what a good little student you are. Is that why you’re so uptight all the time? You’re a teacher’s pet?” Despite his demeanour and mocking tone, you stand tall as he circles to your other side, his back now facing the woods that line the river.

With an uncaring expression, you study the monkey’s face. Brow raised cockily, smile accompanied with teeth that are bared. His body language, arms crossed and posture tall. “You may be immortal, Sun Wukong, but everything is temporary.”

He lets out another huff of amusement. “Is that a threat, Dove?”

“A lesson I’ve been taught again and again.” You raise your brows with an uncaring smile. “You might have eternal life, monkey, but you won’t last on this journey.” You lean closer, voice just a whisper. “So I’ll be there to watch the moment you mess up.”

With a little hmmph, you move past the Monkey King. “And I’ll enjoy it.”

With your final words, you take your materials to work elsewhere, leaving the Monkey King by the water to digest your words. He turns to watch you stalk off into the woods, frowning with a smile. One could only know it was forced if they noticed the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“…Bitch.”

#uuuggghhhh i love them so much #they both cut each other with their words #but cut deeper than they realize #don’t worry it gets better :D #journey to the west #jttw #journey to the west x reader #jttw x reader #journey to the west sun wukong #journey to the west monkey king #jttw sun wukong #jttw monkey king

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november-rising · 8 months

Text

The Bear: Season Two, Episode Nine - Omelette

This not-fully-plotted-or-planned post is the fruit of a conversation between myself and @unladyboss (including their observations of Carmy). We were supposed to rewatch THE SCENE from that episode to share our interpretations.

But I tend to do too much which means I watched the whole episode.

It’s been months since I’ve seen Omelette. I certainly remember the significant moments. But, seeing the whole story, allowed me to gain more appreciation for this episode and the show in total.

The driving force – the theme of this episode was focus and unfocus. The writers beat us over the head with the amount of times the word ‘focus’ was said. Yes, I knew this was a crucial arc of the season but watching this play out was fascinating.

We, the audience, are not just told about focus but are also shown how the characters have become streamlined, honing their skills and talents - becoming focused.

In no particular order:

Ebra working on his Serve Safe Certification during prep.

Tina leading the other chefs with precision.

Natalie reviewing the upcoming weeks to keep revenue coming.

Richie commanding the pre-dinner staffing.

Gary and Fak stepping up to be the informants of customer experience/enjoyment.

Marcus using his creativity to craft new desserts.

Uncle Cicero supporting Carmen in those moments leading up to the soft open.

Sydney utilizing her voice to demand respect and to be vulnerable.

Carmen realizing that there is something so important in his life.

Each character was finding purpose, embracing it, and owning their worth. To me, they felt solid and assured. That is everyone except Carmy whose focus wavered throughout.

And that is his greatest fear. Consistency…calm – a focus of his own choosing.

He knows chaos. That’s what his brain and body have become accustomed to due to years and years of childhood abuse and the verbal abuse of that one NYC Chef. Frenzy, hecticness, hypervigilance, planning ten steps ahead, anxiety, disappointment, shame, guilt, anger…so much anger…

These are emotions and “coping skills” that Carmy has depended on his whole life. He tries to mask them, burying or transforming them into his culinary expertise. But here, at The Bear – back home, Carmen is faced with too much stability. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

The expectations that have been placed upon him (internally and externally) are a lot, sure. But he seems to roll with those punches. And he has managed to trust in those around him. That is overwhelming. Things are going fairly well in his life. That is overwhelming. He's dating and taking some semblance of control of his life. That's overwhelming. His vision for the restaurant he wanted to start with his brother is coming true. That’s overwhelming. He has a trusted person standing side-by-side with him in the BOH. That’s overwhelming.

Though Mikey is the catalyst to opening a new restaurant, it’s all the people who are here now that have made it work.

I don’t think Carmy can manage that knowledge. He’s so okay with being alone and driven and self-harming himself in the sense of constant work, lack of self-care, not eating properly, pushing passed exhaustion – you get the picture. He’s not okay in knowing that there are people who genuinely care about him and his dreams; and they have stayed.

People stay.

Sydney stayed.

I believe that’s why he thought of her during his panic attack. Being near her allowed the conversation about Sydney’s mom to happen. He can focus when she’s around. That’s why, when Syd corrected Nat that the fridge guy’s name was Tony, Carmy was in perfect sync. When watching that moment, I thought: “Jinx! You owe her soda!” LOL!

Then there’s the table scene which was utterly glorious. It highlighted his vulnerability concerning his fear dating Claire who was “great”. Carmen doesn't believe he deserves greatness. It's not for him. It's for everyone else.

Under that dang table, he showed his hesitations all the while noticing Sydney. He values her. He made sure she knew. Towards the end of that scene, the way he looks at her before turning away to go get THE gift, was wow. To me, it seemed like a lightbulb clicked in his heart and soul.

Sydney matters so much to him. He doesn’t want to fuck up for her. But he knows he will. He always does.

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squishablesunbeam · 2 years

Text

The Palette Pt. 2

Prev. Next

TW: dehumanization, whumpee is a palette, human furniture, conditioning, nudity

The palette had been woken up and dragged out of its closet by two strange men and left to rest against the wall. It wasn't its place to wonder who they were or what was happening but the palette liked its routines. Some semblance of predictability was all it had to hold onto and this wasn't routine. Where was Cliff?

It tried to stop the fear from pouring into its veins and stay still. Stay exactly as it was put. Like it's supposed to. Maybe Cliff was busy tending to more important matters. It wasn't the palette's place to be concerned, it knew its purpose.

It was out of the closet so it must be needed.

The palette took a slow, deep breath and waited to be prepared and placed where Master wanted it. The strange men were talking harshly above it, occasionally casting glances down at the palette where it sat perfectly still. It tried not to listen, it wasn't its place, but something felt wrong. It caught some words the men were saying on accident.

Something had happened, something had happened to Master.

Fear continued to sink itself deep into the palette's stomach, words piecing themselves together to make a clearer picture.

Master had died.

The palette felt its mouth drop open in an attempt to get more air into its desperate lungs and dared to look around the large studio. Its brow creased in confusion at the large sheets placed over everything else that lived in the room. What must have been several of Master's paintings were now covered in thin sheets of various colors. The table, the chairs, the old couch that sat by the window that the palette always wondered what it must have felt like to sink deeply into. Now all covered in flowy linen.

The palette flicked its eyes quickly up, just enough to catch the hands of the men.

Where was the palette's sheet? Was it to be covered too? What color would it get? One of the men held a clipboard, the man that seemed particularly angry at finding the palette, and the other a phone. But there was no sheet.

The palette flinched as Cliff hurried into the room, but it calmed down immediately. Cliff would know what was happening. He'd place the palette where it should go and these strange men would stop looking at it like that. Breathing shallow and slow like it was trained, the palette stared at the floor and waited to be moved.

Be still. Be still. Be still.

Blood rushed through the palette's ears as it waited but wasn't moved. It knew human matters were not for the palette to hear but still, it wanted desperately to listen. To understand.

But so much was wrong. Master wasn't coming to use the palette; not now.

Not ever again.

The palette swallowed down the fear that clogged its throat at the thought. If there was no master to paint the beautiful paintings, then what use was a painter's palette. It tried to calm down, to breathe.

In and out. In and out.

The palette would be thrown out.

Go slow.

Just breathe.

It didn't want to be thrown away.

Tears bit at the corners of its eyes and it took a slow, deep breath.

Just be still.

It needed to know what was expected of it now that it was out of the supply closet. It must be needed in some way, even if Master wasn't coming. Did these men need the palette?

The palette tried again to listen to the men talking above it.

----

“We weren't aware Mr. Sinclair had a pet. He is not listed in his assets.”

Cliff glanced down at the palette, sitting as still as a statue. He'd completely forgotten about the boy in all the chaos of the last few days. God, when was the last time he'd fed it?

“Yes, well. It's just a palette. I doubt Mr. Sinclair gave it much thought in his will.”

Neither of these men were very good at hiding their feelings about the palette. One man looked absolutely disgusted at finding a young man, naked and likely starving at this point, in the little closet while the other was just quietly judgmental.

“It's perfectly legal.”

The disgusted man, Mr. Mitchell, took a deep breath and finally looked away from the boy on the ground and looked at Cliff with some semblance of professionalism.

“Yes, well, that is true as long as you have papers for the pet.”

“I do.”

“Good. Did you want to keep him or add the pet to the assets for sale?”

Cliff looked down at the boy that spent how many years now living as nothing but a palette for Mr. Sinclair. It's eyes now wide and breaking the rules; staring right up at him. Filled with so much confusion and fear it actually tugged at his old, worn out heart; just a little bit.

He took a deep breath.

“Sell it.”

The boy started to shake; it's eyes never looking away from Cliff's. The palette knows better, but maybe he'll give him a pass for today. They were all a bit out of sorts with Mr. Sinclair gone.

“Sir?” Cliff had missed whatever Mr. Mitchell was saying.

“I asked what you would like the listing price to be for the, um, the palette?”

“Oh, yes.” He looked at the boy again. Assessing it's worth. He never bothered to consider the palette much before. We all had our roles to play in this house and that was his. He played it perfectly, really. He was exactly what Mr. Sinclair had ordered. Beautiful, silent, as still as a living person could possibly be with blood pumping in it's veins and air shifting the bones inside of it. It should be worth something. Especially for a collector of Mr. Sinclair's work. The living palette of the famous artist. What was that worth?

Cliff wrinkled his nose at the thought of putting a price to the used palette, all cut up and skin stained various colors from the paint seeping into the wounds before they scarred, “We'll be lucky if we get $150 for it.”

---

Mr. Mitchell huffed in his disgust, as if the price were too low, but jotted it down anyway on a small white sticker. He peeled it off the sheet of translucent paper and hesitated.

He almost laughed, imagining himself sticking it right in the center of the boy's forehead. This was so wrong.

“Here,” Cliff took the sticker from the tip of Mitchell's finger and roughly pushed the palette's head down, revealing the many scars and still healing wounds covering the boy's back. As if justifying the price he had chosen. He stuck the sticker firmly on the shoulder blade and let the boy's head bounce back upright.

Mitchell watched the boy's eyes, now shifting around wildly, trying to comprehend what was happening. Mitchell wondered if he understood that he was going to be sold.

The boy let out the smallest, quietest gasp he's ever heard as he sucked in quick, desperate breaths. He was clearly starting to panic but sat exactly as they left him, leaning against the wall. Desperately trying to stay as still as possible while that small frame shook almost violently now.

Nah, he understands.

Mitchell could do nothing but watch in unveiled revulsion as the old caretaker of the house leaned down and grabbed the boy up by his arm and shoved him back into the supply closet, shutting the door.

He felt his own body flinch forward. To what? Rescue him?

The boy never even made a sound.

He'll be fine.

This wasn't Mitchell's problem to fix.

“I'll have the palette ready for the estate sale tomorrow. Not to worry.”

Mitchell swallowed thickly as he looked up and nodded at the man. This boy was going to be sold like a piece of furniture. He knew it was all legal in this hell of a world they all now lived in. It wasn't even the first time he'd overseen the purchase of a pet. This was all part of the job. But this felt different, somehow.

He knew he wasn't a good enough man to make the purchase himself, to make sure this young man was fed properly and his wounds taken care of. What would that even entail?

Still... that too thin frame, with wiry muscles barely hanging onto bones that damn near protruded from his skin; those wide, terrified eyes. That image might just haunt him at night.

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

There was nothing he could do.

But that boy's face just kept nagging at the back of his brain as he went about pricing the rest of Mr. Sinclair's belongings in the house. He found himself rushing and finished up as quickly as possible, leaving his partner to wrap up the paperwork with that horrible man, Cliff.

He all but ran out to his car and immediately pulled out his cell. He huffed out a half laugh at the trembling in his own fingers as he dialed.

“Mark? Hi. No, everything is fine. Listen, I need you to come to this estate sale tomorrow. There's something here I think you may want to buy. Just, trust me okay? Great. I'll send you the address.”

He hung up, feeling that horrible itch in his brain quiet down just slightly. His brother was a good man. He'd take one look at the boy and that righteous rage of his would make the decision for him. Maybe it wasn't fair to put this on his little brother but, someone had to do something, and it wasn't going to be him.

Taglist: @hold-him-down @maracujatangerine @whumpsday

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed! I'm going to try to add chapters as regularly as my brain will allow!

#whumpee is a palette!#dehumanization #human furniture #whump #discussions of selling a human being #conditioning #nudity #no comfort yet!!#caretaker coming soon!#pet whump

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kiljoius-writes · 9 months

Text

Downswing

Rating: General

Ao3 | FFN

Summary: Ibiki tells him, "Your feelings don't matter." Iruka thinks about it all night.

Iruka grapples with his identity as a sensei as his kids prepare to graduate.

Iruka focused genfic one shot

Word Count: 2.3k

Written for my writing friend, @elreinodelpurgatorio! Check out their stuff, too <3

The day Iruka witnessed Hinata give Naruto a bento box with the reddest face known to man, he could already feel himself getting tired.

Sakura and Ino were always menaces. He had no issue fielding them and their fawning over Sasuke. It had been a long-standing thing at this point. But once he saw his other students exhibiting feelings for one another, he knew his peace would be limited.

Peace for Iruka was a quiet afternoon with a book, under the sun, but covered by a tree, by a lake. Quiet to contrast the chaos of looking after dozens of preteens all day every day.

Don’t mistake him. He loves his job, there’s a reason he chose it. Watching a little genin perfect their shadow clone, hit the center of a target with their kunai, find out their chakra nature – it’s what he lives for. To see them grow up and be capable little shinobi. Able to defend themselves, the people they care about, and their village. He doesn’t like to think about the horrors that might await them in their future, just hopes that he can impart some semblance of normalcy and care.

But watching horribly awkward 12- and 13-year-olds fumble about their emotions and hormones is both amusing and painful.

It starts with Ino loudly making fun of Shikamaru’s nose and her crying when he calls her Sakura’s signature insult, “pig.” Moves to Kiba trying to sit a little closer to Ino on some days. Naruto tries to give Sakura a cherry blossom, Hinata scaredly leaves a bento on Naruto’s desk, and Sasuke “hangs out” by a tree while he watches Hinata train.

The patterns accumulate, become more elaborate as they go through the months. He’s known these damn kids for years, he’s not ready for the drama. Wants them to keep being stupid little weirdos who make up silly games with their wooden kunai, tell each other jokes that make zero sense, pretend like they have ancient powers that make them immune to being ‘it’ during tag. That’s what he misses most, the peace of nonsense between children.

No, they’re going through weird hormonal transitions and Iruka wishes he could fast forward a year or two.

A meeting in the Hokage tower of available chūnin and jōnin doesn’t help.

A senior jōnin stands at the front of the room, addressing them all about a potential threat that looms over Konoha. Iruka listens carefully, knowing that he needs to pay special attention with the genin exams coming up. The last thing he wants is to promote a bunch of hormonal kids right before a potential war. He’ll hold them all back if he has to, he doesn’t want what happened to his parents to befall these kids. As annoying as they are, they hold a special place in his squishy heart.

It doesn’t seem too terribly serious, so Iruka keeps the information filed away. Makes sure it’s something to keep an eye on and check in about but stays calm. He’ll talk to his kids tomorrow about preparedness and knowing when to move to the defensive. For now, he just keeps those notes tucked in his pocket and breathes a sigh of relief that it isn’t more serious than he initially thought.

In the area outside of the meeting around, there are refreshments. He spots Asuma and Aoba where the gyoza is, Kakashi where the fresh fruit is, and Ibiki and Anko where the drinks are, and decides he can stick around for a bit. He comes up beside Kakashi to grab a napkin to spoon melon into, smiling at him.

“Kakashi,” Iruka acknowledges him first, moving down to the mango. “Ready for your team?”

“Ready as ever,” Kakashi responds, holding the napkin to his chest. “See what we have this year.”

“I’m sure you’ll be impressed.”

Iruka doesn’t like to blow smoke, but he likes the batch he has. Naruto was the hardest one for him, but in the end, he really liked the kid. It’s been a rough time, especially considering the ‘beginning’ of their relationship, but Naruto demonstrated to Iruka that he’s serious. And honestly, he might just hold a soft spot for the poor kid at this point. Sure, little Iruka thought it would be easier on everyone if someone housing a monster, specifically a monster that killed his parents, just….be gone. It took a lot of time for Iruka to reconcile his love of kids and teaching and his hate of the tailed beast that took his parents from him. Made him an orphan as a kid.

Naruto was an orphan from his first few hours of life and housed that same beast.

Naruto irritates Iruka and makes him laugh. Makes him feel sad, angry, happy, and love.

He’s just a kid.

They all are. Iruka reminds himself of this every day. It’s why he does what he does. They’re just kids.

They need someone to guide them, help them, listen to their snotty fits and philosophical questions. His job is their success. A teacher has to love their kids, and he thinks he does.

“Had enough of the runts?”

Anko is the first to crush his worldview at all times, today is no different. She strolls up with some sort of energy drink in hand alongside Ibiki, who stays quiet, for now.

“Not at all,” Iruka responds, looking away as he piles a small bowl with various fruits. “Opposite, even.”

“Yeah, right!” Anko snorts, and soon, the other jōnin are converging on him. Kakashi is smirking under that mask, Asuma and Aoba meander over, and Kurenai and Genma cross from the other side, too, curious as to what’s going on.

“Little hellhounds you’re responsible for,” Aoba comments, popping a piece of gyoza in his maw. Iruka sighs, regretting his decisions as he often does.

“Leave him alone,” Asuma says, scratching at his chest with his lighter in hand, though no cigarette in his mouth. “He’s got it hard enough.”

“They’re cuties,” Kurenai says, arms crossed behind her back while Genma chews a needle. “I’m excited for whoever you put together for my team.”

“Excitement is definitely the wrong emotion.” Genma rolls his eyes, then looks away, clicks his tongue. Just then, a little discussion breaks out between the jōnin over what teams will be formed and who will get what. The jōnin sensei were decided a few months ago, and it’s standard for them to be itching to see who they’ll be assigned.

Iruka finds it all to be noise that hurts his brain. A simple conversation with Kakashi has turned into an interrogation, turned to a gossip fest about his students.

Genin and chūnin exams were the extent of excitement in the village these days. Without attacks or wars or good movies, it was all about the kids who would be the next killing machines.

Iruka tries not to think about his role in that. Tries to think of the good he does. With several other jōnin berating him for contributing to a class of annoying preteens, he finds it hard to focus on their good.

“Your feelings don’t matter,” Ibiki tells Iruka in this flat tone that’s not picked up on by most of the group, only by Aoba and Kakashi, who both look up in surprise. It’s all Ibiki says before setting his half-full cup on the table and taking off for good.

“What d’you think he meant by that?” Aoba asks, stepping to Iruka’s side. Anko notices his abandoned drink and snatches it up.

Iruka thinks about it all night.

“You don’t think I’m being selfish, do you?”

Kakashi perks an eyebrow at his dubious book but doesn’t look up. Iruka’s hunched over, forearms on his knees, restless legs. When he doesn’t respond, Iruka just sighs, pulls at his fatigues to straighten them out.

It’s a Sunday, a few weeks from genin promotion, and Iruka still thinks of the low blow Ibiki dished out to him. Thought about marching into interrogation to ask him just what the hell he meant, why it would ever seem like he was making things about himself. Iruka thinks he’s selfless, to be totally honest.

“I do this job because I care about those kids,” Iruka says, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his forehead. “I know my feelings don’t matter. I’ve never made this job about me.”

Kakashi turns a page but remains silent. It irritates Iruka.

“I mean, I have lost my temper a couple of times. Mostly with Naruto.” Iruka sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s because I care about them so much. They think becoming ninja, it’s fun. It’s not supposed to be fun.”

Iruka looks up at the sound of Kakashi’s book shutting, watches him readjust his mask while staring out into the distance. Finally, he actually says something. “Your feelings don’t matter.”

Jaw dropped, Iruka reels backward. “That’s really funny coming from you, Hatake.”

“You make it about you and what you’re feeling.” It’s like a dagger to his back hearing something like this from Kakashi of all people. “What are the runts feeling?”

“Excited?” Iruka says with an unsure tone. “Over-confident? Weirdly emotional.” Kakashi raises an eyebrow, rests his book on his chest as he sinks into the seat. He takes it as a sign to keep going. “Hormonal, that’s for sure.” He slumps over, hangs his head. “Curious but some of them are nervous. I’m not ready for them to leave yet.”

Kakashi folds his hands behind his neck. “Jobs not about what you want. Ibiki was right. Your feelings don’t matter.”

A perfect way to enter the new week, with both Ibiki and Kakashi nonchalantly telling him he’s worthless.

It makes him reflect on what all this means; what he’s doing all this for.

If called, Iruka has no doubt he’d be ready and willing to step it up for this village his parents died for. But there’s also a reason he didn’t progress beyond chūnin. This village is his home, and he thinks he services it best when he’s here, in his home.

But…

Is he really just ushering in the newest generation of killing machines?

Is that what his sensei thought of him? What they thought of Hayate, Yugao, and Shisui when they graduated together? That he and they’d be ripe for training to maw their way through any threat, big or small? It’s hard to think he’d be lying if he said he never thought about his kids going into that world and feeling downright frightened.

But if that’s selfish, then maybe he’s selfish. There’s no way someone can tell him he’s wrong for loving those kids.

“Iruka-sensei.”

Torn from the paperwork that sits in front of him, his eyes lift to meet the lightness of his Hyūga girl. One of the ones he worries most for, blinking at him with a sheepish smile. He holds back an exasperated sigh and thinks back to Ibiki and Kakashi. His feelings don’t matter. When it comes to these kids; their feelings matter. He gives her a lopsided smile, nodding at her to continue. “Hi, Hinata.”

“Do you think maybe, ehm, today, w-we could – “ Iruka blinks at her poking fingers, then back up at her. He sits up completely now, rolls his chair towards her to give her his full attention. She smiles a little, shoving her hands to her sides. “M-maybe this week we could have an off d-day? T-to let everyone relax…”

Iruka tilts his head, pondering the proposition.

Of all the kids, besides maybe Sasuke, Hinata was the last he ever once expected to ask for a break.

Must be serious.

Iruka pulls on his last week of being a genin.

Train, training, training.

“I-I’m sorry,” Hinata immediately begins which makes him wave his hand at her, more dismissively than he means to me. He pulls the hand down and turns to her.

“That sounds really nice,” he says it with all the sincerity he can muster. She looks at him curiously, clearly unsure as to whether to trust him. He clasps his hands together, leans forward. “Wednesday, day before the exams. Let’s go to the lake.”

“The lake,” she repeats, eyes unblinking at him. “I like the lake.”

“Me too,” he tells her, smiling a little wider now.

“I-I think the others do, too.”

Iruka feels a little warmer inside.

They do the usual preparations for the week without Iruka telling the rest of the class of the planned break. Makes it all the better on Wednesday, when tired eyes and exasperated sighs greet him, and he tells them to put their packs back on. They’re going to the lake.

With full sun, but plenty of canopy shade. With books and lunches and kunai and notes and bathing gear and sugary sweet drinks.

Iruka’s happy for his students to rush home to dress for the occasion, and he’s in comfortable shorts and a t-shirt when they arrive.

As he settles against the tree, he looks at the class. His kids that he’s loved for a long time. Trains his eye on a certain few, the ones he worked the hardest for. Sees them jump into the lake in bathing suits, scream and yell and laugh. Splash and push each other’s faces into the water. Kick their feet, make up games like they're just the kids they're meant to be. Call each other stupid and cute and crazy. Promise each other things won't change after this.

His chest feels warm.

Iruka pulls his arms behind his head and admires the generation of students he helped usher in.

He’s selfish, he realizes.

These are his kids.

Seeing them succeed is all he’s wanted in his adult life.

A sigh accompanied by shrieks and laughter and snorts and splashes and love surrounds him.

Umino Iruka is alright with being selfish.

#fanfic #naruto fanfic #iruka fanfic #iruka umino #umino iruka #iruka #family feels #realistic view on child ninja soldiers

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