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merakiui · 5 months

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simply business.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight nsfw, misogyny, power imbalance, workplace misconduct, abuse of authority, ceo azul, secretary jade note - you'll do anything for this job. mr. ashengrotto wonders if there are limits to your anything.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Ashengrotto. Thank you for making time for me today. I can’t begin to imagine how packed your schedule is,” you admit with a gentle laugh.

Just as you practiced with Trey and Riddle, you shake his hand firmly and confidently. Even if most of your poise is feigned to hide a mountain of anxieties, it manages to fool the CEO of Mostro, for he mirrors your amiable greeting with one of his own. Or maybe he sees right through your act and is choosing to remain quiet. You’re not going to think too deeply about that.

“The pleasure’s all mine. You have no idea how startled I was when your application found its way on my desk. Why, I thought I was dreaming.”

If he brings up childhood memories, talk about it. Why not? Trey advised hours earlier, serving you and Riddle individual slices of strawberry tart. Friendship is just as good a connection as the one made through sweets.

Which is very solid guidance coming from a baker.

Even so, she shouldn’t rely solely on past connections. In business, that means nothing if the connection itself isn’t stable and worthwhile enough, Riddle, ever the realist, added with a grimace. We should know. We went to school with him.

Hey, don’t sweat it. You’ll do great, Trey added when he noticed the despairing look you’d given your tart. I’ll bake you something to celebrate, so do your best, be yourself, and bring home good news.

With his and Riddle’s encouragement, you had been so certain of your abilities before, in which you proudly proclaimed you’d get the job and charm Azul in the process, but now you’re not sure. Standing here in his office, thirty-something stories in the clouds, you can’t escape the suffocating fear as it saps the oxygen from the room and renders your lungs vacant.

“I aim to surprise.”

“And surprise you have. Pleasantly, might I add.” He motions for you to sit, to which you comply and lower into the seat across from him. A mahogany desk separates you from a sparkling future. Your gaze pans from him to the man standing a few inches behind, a clipboard and pen held in both hands. Standing isn’t the right word, actually. With his height, all lithe limbs dressed darkly, he looks like a bodyguard ready to escort you to your execution should you make the wrong move. You can handle one pressed suit, but another is too much. And this one looks even more intimidating than Azul with his sharp, stoic stare. “Pay him no mind. Jade’s merely here to make note of our discussion.”

“Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jade.”

He nods his silent acknowledgement, two-toned eyes filling with light.

“Shall we begin?” Azul gathers a few documents, straightens them, and then dives right into the rigmarole. “I must preface this by stating our past friendship has no influence on my decision or the outcome of this interview.”

“Completely understandable,” you blurt, trigger-happy with agreement.

Don’t be a yes-man, Riddle’s words from before float through your head, stern like a parent. You’re human, not some gear meant to strengthen their corporate machine. If they can’t see that, then that’s no environment for you.

“I… Actually, it feels a little awkward talking like this,” you add with a nervous sigh. “With the stakes being so high and everything… It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I’m happy you’re doing well for yourself. Oh! I’m not saying that to butter you up or anything! That’s my honest opinion.”

He chuckles. “I’m also pleased to see you again. Although going forward I would like to keep this matter separate from the task at hand.”

“Right. Sorry. We got off topic.”

He flips through the papers—likely your resume and application and any other information he has on file—and hums. “It says here that you have experience managing an online platform. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Oh, that. It was for my friend’s family business. He’s a baker. The shop has a nice reputation in the neighborhood, but they don’t really have any social media presence. My friend and I thought his family could benefit from a website and a Magicam account, so we put both together. I was in charge of creating and managing the website.”

“I see.”

You notice Jade scribbling something and your heart drops into your stomach. “S-So I have experience in design and…stuff.”

Relax. Don’t pay attention to him.

“Then may I assume you’re passionate about photography and graphic design?”

“Very.”

“It’s good to have an eye for aesthetics. I can clearly see that from the samples you submitted. Your portfolio is impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashengrotto. I take pride in all of my work.”

“In that case, would you mind walking me through your portfolio?”

“I’d be happy to.” You scoot closer to his desk without thinking, gesturing to the prints he’s laid out for you. “That’s the website I designed for my friend. He wanted something simple, family-friendly, and easy to navigate. I had to appeal to both customers from the neighborhood and customers who might be visiting for the first time. Finding a balance was a little difficult, but I made it work after lots of dedicated effort.”

He gestures to another sample and you delve into the lore behind it. This carries on twice more before he indicates his satisfaction with a beaming smile.

“Aren’t you diligent?”

The delivery is more backhanded than you’d care to hear, but you choose to brush it aside. “Thank you.”

“Your baker friend… Are you employed?”

“Oh, not currently! It was just a side gig. A one-time thing.”

“Is that all?”

You open your mouth to reply and then stop. Did you hear him correctly? “Is… Is what all?”

“You may not work for him in that capacity, but you might in another capacity. ‘One-time things’ could snowball into—”

“It didn’t and it never will,” you interrupt. You realize your error seconds later and smooth out the abrasiveness in your tone. “My apologies. I meant to say that I’m not affiliated with him in any of those ways. I’m merely a friend who helped out where she could. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Azul hums flatly, as if disappointed. Jade scribbles. You swallow mounting dread.

What was that about?

“Very well. Moving swiftly on… Can you tell me about yourself? What drew you to this job?”

“I’ve always wanted to manage a social media account for a business like yours. There are so many branches. I think it’d be a very fulfilling experience.”

“Is there a particular branch you’re interested in?”

“Definitely one of your restaurants. I’ve worked with food websites and accounts before, so I have the necessary qualifications you might be seeking.”

“Social media is no easy task. It can be stressful to manage any platform in which you have a following. With that in mind, may I ask how you normally handle stressful or challenging situations?”

“I don’t get stressed very easily. I’m normally very level-headed.”

Liar. I’m so stressed right now. Sweating like crazy and everything!

As if listening in on your thoughts, Jade drags his pen across paper.

“But in the event that you might face such a situation?”

“If such a thing were to occur, I’d take a step back, analyze everything objectively, and see what I can do to mitigate the stress or difficulty that’s cropped up. If it’s a team effort, I’d gather everyone involved for a meeting so that we could discuss together.”

“And if it was an individual effort?”

“It depends on the severity of the stress. If it comes down to it, I’d have no problem notifying my supervisor or manager of the issue firsthand. The sooner you’re made aware of something, the easier it is to draw up a plan of action, right?”

“That can be true, yes.” Azul shuffles his files. “How would others describe you? From the perspective of a friend, perhaps? Or a spouse? Are you married?”

That’s…way too personal. Is that even an interview question? So far he’s asked everything Riddle went over in our mock interview. What’s up with this sudden shift?

You force a stiff laugh. “Not married yet, no…”

“Do you plan to be?”

“Um… I…don’t know. I’m focused on my career right now.”

“Ah, a career woman. Most women your age often settle down. Not you, though. Ambitious thing, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitch into the beginning of a scandalized grimace, but before you can allow your tactful façade to slip you hurry to paste an unruffled grin on your countenance. “I’m passionate,” you smoothly correct. You don’t miss the way Jade’s pen halts before he continues his duty as scribe. “If I may, Mr. Ashengrotto, did you not say you wanted to keep work and personal matters separate?”

“Forgive me. I was only testing you.”

Just what kind of test is that?

“O-Oh. Well, I hope I passed.”

“With flying colors.” He clears his throat. “Now then, what motivates you, Miss (Name)?”

“My friends and family. Myself. The food waiting for me at home.” He quirks a slight smile at that. “I always strive to do my best.”

“A fine attitude to have.”

“Mhm! I like what I do. Every day’s exciting and I love a good challenge.”

No, I don’t. I almost cried on the way here. This is too much of a challenge for me. I didn’t even think I’d get an email back from you…

“You seem like quite the optimist.” He straightens the papers once more and then clips them together. “I appreciate your insightful, honest answers.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, right! Of course! Thank you for your time.” You practically jump out of your seat to shake his hand.

That was good, right? It felt so fast, but I did well. Right?

“If I may ask one final question…”

“Sure thing!”

Azul smiles. “Just how badly do you want this job?”

More than anything. I need this job. I’m unemployed and desperate. Please, Azul. You have to help me out.

Obviously you can’t phrase it like that, even though the spineless side of you wants to.

“I…would benefit greatly if I was hired. Working for you and your successful company would be an amazing honor.”

“Is that right?” He releases your hand. “All right. The job is yours.”

You blink at him, shocked. “Wait. It is?”

“On one condition.” Azul sits back in his plush office chair. It’s the expensive type. The one with cushions and reclining abilities. “Strip for me.”

Your blood crystallizes in your veins; your heart almost stops. “Excuse me?”

Surely he didn’t just say that. Surely he meant to say something else. Something like…strip all of your worries and accept this position? Your eyes drift over to Jade. He blinks back at you, a razored smile hidden behind his clipboard.

“If you’re willing to go to extremes for this job, prove it.”

“Mr. Ashengrotto… I…” You laugh, but nothing about this is funny. Bile rises in your throat, scalding with sickening acid. “I…”

“Go on then.” Azul waves his hand impatiently, deceptively youthful features twisting with annoyance. “I haven’t got all day.”

Your hands curl into fists, and you dig your nails into your palms so roughly that you break skin. He can’t be serious. He really can’t.

And yet he’s watching you like he expects it.

Again, you look to Jade for help. He lowers his clipboard. “It’s not polite to make one wait, Miss (Name). We pride ourselves on timely efficiency here.”

“But…” You swallow thickly, your hope slowly waning. “But this… This is absurd! I… You must be joking. I can’t possibly—”

“You can,” Azul interjects. “If you want this job, you will do just as I’ve said. Well? The choice is yours. I’ve played my hand.”

Warmth drains from your person until all that’s left is creeping cold.

Oh, you think with devastating resignation, it’s this kind of management. So this is how everyone survives here.

Inhaling through your nose, you steel yourself. Your fingers twitch towards the buttons on your blazer.

“Will I truly get the job?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” you ask, dreading the answer.

“On how far you’re willing to go.”

“C-Can he leave?”

Azul glances at Jade, a sticky smile spreading his lips wide. “Oh, you’ll hurt his feelings with that. How cruel. I can already see the tears brimming in Jade’s eyes.”

“Heartless,” Jade echoes with a sniffle.

You school your scowl into something friendly. “I… I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with him here…”

“And you do with me? I’m flattered, but our past has nothing to do with this. I’m grateful you bothered to give me a Valentine every school year, but those days are behind us. So stop wasting my time. It’s money, and every second you spend stalling is a Madol lost.”

Your lip trembles, but you don’t cry. You won’t give either of these rotten monsters the satisfaction.

“H-How much do I have to undress to get the job?” You toy with a button, regret pooling in your stomach.

It’s not worth it. I should leave.

You should, but can you?

“We’ll see. I’m feeling generous today, so your fortune may just be favorable.”

Hopeless, you shut your eyes, exhale a defeated breath, and harden your features into something unshakeable.

I’m sorry, Riddle. I’m not a gear here. I’m not even human.

Slowly, while holding unbreakable eye contact, you undo each button on your blazer. You shrug out of it seconds later, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. Azul and Jade follow your movements like expert predators ensorcelled by prey.

Here, in this hellish bathyal zone, I’m just a whale fall.

From there, you move to your blouse next. You untuck it from your pencil skirt, allowing the fabric to fall freely. Deft fingers work at the buttons, traveling further down until there’s nothing left of the garment protecting your nudity. That, too, joins the slowly forming heap on the floor. The action leaves both men transfixed, and they eye your lacy white bralette as if attempting to sear the sight into their retinas. At one point, Jade decides to write something down. You fondly contemplate all the ways in which he should die.

“Will that be all?”

“Keep going.”

“Haven’t I done enough?”

“If you have room in that mouth to voice complaints, you can stuff it with my—”

You yank your pencil skirt down, silencing the sin that was ready to spill from Azul’s lips. Jade doesn’t muffle his snicker. Again, you fantasize about pushing him out the window.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

With trembling hands, you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra. It’s peeled from your chest then, exposing your tits for their ravenous leering. Their silence says enough. After what feels like an eternity, Azul stops you when you start to slide your panties down.

“I’ve seen enough.”

“On the contrary, I’ve yet to have my fill.” Jade smiles at you, hiding behind his clipboard like the coy bastard he is.

You stand there, clutching your bra so tightly your knuckles ache. “Is… Is it over?”

“For now.”

At that, you fall to your knees, wrap your arms around your chest, and suck in great gulps of air. Fixing your stare on the floor, you find yourself unable to meet his azure hues. If you do, you may just vomit. Footsteps click their way over to you. He pauses; you can feel his gaze burning through you. And then his fingers ghost over your bare shoulder, dancing like playful puppets.

“You start Monday. Bright and early,” Azul says. There’s a detached, clinical edge to the fluff. “I expect wonderful things from you, Miss Marketing Manager.”

As if his words have materialized to topple you—to shatter what’s left of your dignity—you almost collapse. Your arms shoot out to catch you; your palms press against the icy tiles. Still, you don’t cry. Jade’s leather shoes enter your line of sight, which immediately dries your ducts. You don’t have to look to see the satisfied smirk sharpening on his lips because you hear it.

“I must thank you for the entertaining show. Perhaps you should have considered a career in acting.” He drapes your blazer over your shoulders for added effect.

It’s the loudest fuck you in the quietest sentence.

I hope you die a million painful deaths, you despotic, disgusting dickhead.

When you finally stagger out of the building—fully clothed and gutted—dropping thirty-something floors from heaven to the sensible earth below in a compact lift, you fish your phone out of your bag. You’re moving on autopilot when you press his contact. Trey answers on the third ring.

“I was waiting for this call. So what’s the news? Am I baking a celebration cake or a consolation cake? I’m ready for either one. Just say the word.”

The tears are already streaming down your face. You wipe them away, smudging your makeup in the process. “No consolation needed. I… I got the job…”

“See? I knew you’d get it. This’ll be the best celebration cake you’ve ever tasted. Just you wait and—hey, you okay? You don’t sound good.”

You open and close your mouth, unable to pull a reply from the dry depths of your throat. For one minute, Trey listens to your soft, hiccuping sobs. “I’m just—” you sniffle— “I’m so happy… I can’t wait to eat cake.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw

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drawlfoy · 11 months

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the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.”

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin.

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it.

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable.

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy.

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring.

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it.

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal.

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you.

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands.

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?”

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.”

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer.

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark.

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point?

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys.

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder.

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version.

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market.

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943.

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please.

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal.

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below.

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s.

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train.

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it.

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces.

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had.

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink.

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you.

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin.

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty.

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it.

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you.

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects.

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand.

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects.

Huh.

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either.

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest.

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away.

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?”

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.”

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.”

“Right, right.”

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.”

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise.

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly.

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.”

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all.

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.”

Y/N.

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out.

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added.

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow.

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you.

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions.

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing.

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here.

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though.

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.”

“See? Useful.”

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot.

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away.

Well, goodnight you wrote.

Goodnight

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit.

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy.

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.”

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!”

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way.

There you are. I thought I’d bored you.

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight.

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around.

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink.

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts.

Then the lettering appeared again.

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me.

You lived in a muggle orphanage?

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming.

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to.

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth?

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn.

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair.

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class.

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets.

Surely you do.

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this.

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection.

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.”

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then???

Ancient.

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage?

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled.

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out?

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious.

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction.

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought.

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail?

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause.

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly.

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again.

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section.

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake.

Not until now.

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands.

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here.

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more.

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it.

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary.

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead.

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again.

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal.

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again.

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes?

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive.

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend.

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day.

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give.

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke.

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help.

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied.

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world.

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze.

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.”

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent.

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it.

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.”

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.”

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok.

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling.

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook.

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable.

“Hi.”

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin.

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.”

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered.

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering.

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning.

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.”

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.”

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.”

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away.

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch.

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless.

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.”

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate.

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.”

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron.

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut.

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly.

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?”

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices.

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory.

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness.

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?”

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling.

He didn’t say anything.

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes.

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air.

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing.

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.”

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised.

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you.

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm.

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?”

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.”

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders.

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling.

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well.

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine

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backwzzds · 10 months

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ take the reins, ichigo kurosaki (nsfw)

slightly sub!ichigo loves letting you fuck him back to sleep.

it was such a late night. you knew ichigo was tired the way the boy literally slept like a rock beside you. you were still awake though. you’d got in from work just a few hours ago when it was ichigo’s ‘day off’, one he used to practically sleep for twenty hours straight. you’d settled on just watching the features of your lover as he slept through the rest of the night, but was confused when you heard him let out an awakening yawn before you.

suddenly, ichigo’s beautiful eyes opened up, clearly surprised at your sudden presence beside him. ichigo yawns and speaks. “didn’t know you came home. what time is it?”

“little after three. your heavy ass was knocked out like a log when i got home,” you laughed lightly. “you know how hard it was getting just one of your legs to move over?”

the strawberry blonde let out a tired smile as he bought a large hand to cup your face. naturally, you mirrored his actions and ran your acrylic nail over the smooth of his porcelain skin. you two lovingly stared at each other like you did every night. “sorry, princess,” he raspily chuckled, running his own thumb against the terrain of your mahogany skin. “missed you today.”

“missed you too,” you smiled at him. “you ate the food i cooked for you papa? or did your ass sleep all day?” your eyebrows flattened as you gave him a knowing look.

ichigo chuckled as he scooted your body closer to his. by now, your noses were almost touching, and your bare body was against his. all you were clad in was one of his older shirts and panties. he was only wearing his boxers to bed like he usually did. but the time of night didn’t keep ichigo from bothering to hide the growing boner that was poking your stomach right about now.

“i did, i did. it was really good,” he breathed out. “i went back to sleep after though.” you playfully rolled your eyes at his response. you already knew from the way he completely cleaned out the pots you had left the fresh food in before you left for work.

you both are left in a relaxing silence before ichigo’s eyes falter down to your full lips. “lemme get a kiss.” his voice was hard and tired; but that didn’t stop it from letting his request come out as a very soft demand.

without a second thought, you leaned into his touch and pressed your lips against his. you physically felt ichigo’s hardened body, tired from all his protective soul reaper work, melt into the grasp of your soft hands. you took care of him without even trying; you always did.

you stayed like that for a few minutes, just swallowing each other whole in the pitch black room. you have no complaints when you feel ichigo grab you by the waist and use the very little strength he could muster up to pull you onto his chest. at first, you’re fearful that you may be too heavy for his injuries that were still healing. but at the twitch of you about to get off of him, he grips your hips and slightly forces you down against him.

“‘m fine,” he whispered against your lips. “just let me fuck you.”

you speak in between the pecks of your kisses and give him a stern look. “you need to rest.”

“mama i’m fine,” he whined, coyly rutting his pelvis up into your thin clothed cunt. “rested all day, been wanting to be inside you all damn day. let me, will ya?” you roll your eyes at his sassy attitude before lightly lifting up the shirt you wore, silently giving him permission to continue.

in one swift move, ichigo slides down his boxers before moving your own panty to the side. he runs his wet tip against your even wetter pussy, barely groaning at the easy comparison. the strawberry blonde bites his lip tightly as he slips in you with complete ease.

you audibly gasp as you feel ichigo fill you up within seconds. his large hands press down on your back so your chest is flat against his own, lightly rocking into. “just relax—fuck,” he encouraged.

you moan, lightly lifting and dropping your ass down against him to meet his thrusts. “i s-should be telling you that.”

“shit—i’m supposed to relax when y’er grippin’ me so tight?” ichigo groans, running his hands along your sides. “feel like i’m boutta cum already.”

“don’t nut quick like a teenage boy,” you roll your eyes.

ichigo mirrors your actions, slightly quickening his pace. “tch. might cum way quicker than that.”

at the sound of this, you could tell he’s straining himself, so you rest your hand on his chest and sit up a little. “let me do will the work before you pull a muscle. again.”

ichigo’s face turns red as he exclaims, “that was one time!” but you shut him up with a quick bounce of your hips against him. by now, you were fully riding him, putting all the control in your knees and ankles that were flat against the mattress.

“fuck, daddy,” you let out as you roll yourself against him. “that feel good, pa?”

pleasure is written all over ichigo’s face as his eyes roll to the back of his nodding head. “just like that mama. feel so good—shit.”

leaning forward just a little bit, you turn your head back behind you and you and ichigo watch as your ass bounces up and down against his painfully long cock that was stretching you so good.

minutes pass by when you’re still riding ichigo. your knees were burning as a sign of them starting to give out, but you kept going as a way to treat ichigo for everything he did for you. by the sounds of his low whines—too tired enough to fully be vocal—you knew he was close.

you felt yourself cumming out of nowhere. the knot in your stomach slowly came undone as you looked down and saw a ring of your arousal forming around ichigo’s girth. “baby, ‘m close,” ichigo breathed out heavily. “so fucking close—“

“i know baby,” you cooed, rubbing your hands all along his chest. “you like it when i fuck you back like this? when i take control?” your voice is soft and sensual as you begin to shown praise to ichigo’s body. all the scars and marks on his skin telling a different story. you only saw the effect his job had on him when he was beneath you like this.

“mhm,” ichigo hummed in response. his hands found solace on your clit and began rubbing it in small circles, stimulating you as well. “lemme cum in you—please—shit.”

you can’t help but smirk at his begging. “go ahead baby, nut in this pussy, daddy.” your words are the only confirmation ichigo needs before he’s halting your movements by the hips and rutting his own into you at lightning pace. he was moving pretty fast for someone who needed rest.

“oh fuck, ichi!” you cry out, feeling one last orgasm approach. in the midst of it all, ichigo slips his hand down beneath ur legs and scoops of a mix of both your cum before placing the fingers in his mouth and sucking on them as you began to come down from your high.

with a cheeky grin, the orange haired boy smiled at you. “desert?”

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐#ichigo x black!reader #ichigo x black reader #ichigo kurosaki x black reader #ichigo kurosaki x reader #ichigo smut #ichigo kurosaki #ichigo kurosaki smut #kurosaki ichigo #ichigo x reader #ichigo bleach #bleach x black reader #bleach smut #bleach

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gejo333 · 11 months

Text

A Misunderstanding

Father Miguel O’Hara x Mother Spider Reader

—> pt. 2

Summary: Your relationship with Miguel was doing amazing. But when you find out your pregnant Miguel begins to close himself off . You decide it’s best not to tell him and end things. But what happens when you see him again after five years and learns that he is a father?

There is a sensual scene, if you feel uncomfortable just scroll past it.

I was going to write it all in one post but I decided to do a part two. Part 2 will be posted tomorrow. I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Hope you enjoy🤗

Wc: 3.2k

____________________________________________

A heavy breath leaves your lungs; sitting on a piece of rubble, you stare at the anomaly being taken away by another spider back to HQ. On a mission like this one, an anomaly of this low stature wouldn’t make you sweat. But for some reason, you had a hard time defeating it.

Peter B comes up to you, lending you a hand. You gladly take it rising from your makeshift seat. After walking through the portal back to HQ, Peter puts his hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/n?” Peter looked concerned about your tired complexion.

“I’m fine. I must not have slept well last night. But thanks for checking in and for your help with the mission.”

“No problem. Are you reporting back to Miguel?”

“Yeah. I should tell him about the mission getting out of hand. I’ll see you around.” You wave goodbye before making your way to Miguel’s office. When reporting missions that didn’t go exactly to plan, spiders asked you to report to Miguel.

Before you began dating him 6 months ago, you still had a close relationship with him. Ever since he recruited you, he’s had a soft spot for you, never once getting mad with you.

Walking into his “lair,” as most spiders called it, you tried to shoot up a web to him, but your web shooter malfunctioned.

Miguel jumped down from the platform, walking towards you. His gaze crossed your entire body, checking to see if you were hurt.

“I heard the mission went a bit south.” Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. He lifted your chin and leaned down to kiss your lips lovingly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, lifting your toes to press deeper into the kiss. Breaking apart, you caress his cheek as he leans into your touch.

“Yeah, I needed to call backup. The anomaly was more to handle than I thought. I’m not sure why. I just don’t feel my best today.”

“How about we get some delicious empanadas near my apartment and watch a movie. How does that sound? We can leave right now if you want?” A smile graces his lips as he gazes at you with so much love waiting for your response. You smile back at him as your e/c meets his mahogany eyes. You were the only person to see his true eye color.

“That sounds perfect.”

Pressing a few buttons on his watch, Miguel opens the portal back to his universe. The two of you walk through, entering an ally a block away from Miguel’s place. Both of your suits dissolve underneath casual clothing hiding underneath.

The two of you walked into the little store that sold the best empanadas in all of Nueva York, as Miguel had told you multiple times.

“Miguel! Mi cliente favorito. Cómo te va?” An older woman walked around the counter, hugging Miguel, which he gladly accepted.

“Estoy bien. Y usted?” Miguel said as he led you fully into the store. You loved seeing this side of Miguel. He only revealed his true warm side when he was back in his world or alone with you on missions or at HQ.

“I’m doing good. Business is good. And who is this gorgeous woman by your side Miguel?” The woman looks at you with a bright smile. You look up at Miguel as he looks down at you with a smile.

“This is Y/n. My girlfriend.” Miguel’s response made the woman beam with joy as she hugged you.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n. It’s so nice for Miguel to find such a nice woman as you. The usual order Miguel?” The woman returns behind the counter, grabs a box, and puts in empanadas.

“Sí, plus a few extra.”

“Of course!” She adds a few more before handing them to you. Miguel pays her before adding $500 to the tip jar. The woman looks astounded and takes the money out, trying to return it to him. He closes her hand, pushing gently back towards her.

“Miguel, this is too much.”

“Nonsense. You make the best empanadas in all of Nueva York.” The woman hugs Miguel again as tears brim her eyes.

“Thank you so much. You truly are a good man Miguel.”

“Until next time!” He waved goodbye before leading you out of the store.

Miguel opened the door, letting you go first before making your way to the kitchen, setting the empanadas down on the counter. Miguel places both arms at your sides, trapping you against the counter. You turn to face him, leaning back a bit against the counter. Hands run up his chest and wrap around his neck. You run your hands through his hair as he leans his back, enjoying the sensation of your hands through his hair.

He leaned down, lips centimeters from yours. His gaze goes to your lips, his eyes starving for your touch. You give him a quick kiss.

“Let’s choose something to watch.”

“Yeah.” Miguel calms down his breathing before letting you go. The two of you grab an empanada and head to the living room as you get comfy on the couch, putting a blanket over the both of you. You rest your head against him.

Almost halfway into the movie, your gaze is directed toward Miguel as he stares ahead. He shifts slightly, uncomfortable. Your gaze falls down to his lap, where a tent appears. Sliding a hand to his lap, you pull down his sweats, setting him free as you give him a handjob.

Miguel’s head leans back, a groan escaping his lips.

“Y/n” You continue your movements as you feel your hand getting covered in precum.

“You like that?” You lean towards him as you kiss his neck towards his lips, where he hungrily captures yours.

“I need more of you, mi vida.” He groaned before removing the blanket. He grabbed you by the waist, sitting you on his lap as he ripped your panties off, thrusting himself fully into your wet folds.

“Those were my favorite.” You moaned out. A pout was on your face before Miguel captured your lips.

“I’ll buy you all the new pairs you want,” Miguel whispered into your ear as he thrust his hips into you.

“Miggy!” Your moans grew louder as his pace quickened, sending you into euphoria.

You awake from your bed in a sweaty state, your breath uneven. Sitting up from your bed, you place your head against your knee as you calm your heart. Why that memory again? You’ve had that same memory plague your dreams for the past week.

Looking at your phone, it was 8 am. You get up from your bed and go to the room next to you. Opening the door, you walk up to the small race car bed. Leaning down, you brush the dark brown hair from your son’s face and press a kiss to his forehead.

You watch his eyes flutter open, his big brown eyes tiredly staring at you.

“Good morning.” You say, gazing at your five-year-old as he wakes up. He jumps into your arms as you pick him up.

“Are you excited for today? It’s your first day of kindergarten!”

“Yes!” His arms went up in excitement. You set him down as you grab the outfit you prepared for him today. After the both of you got dressed, you went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

“What would you like?”

“Pancakes! With chocolate chips!”

“How about pancakes with blueberries? Make it a bit healthier.” You suggest as you already begin making the batter.

“I love blueberries!” He cheered.

You place the small pancakes in front of him as you finish getting ready in your room. After you finish putting on your makeup, you see your son walk in with a face covered with syrup. You chuckle at the cute site as you get up and bring her to the bathroom to wipe her face and hands.

“Mommy, can you do my hair how I like it?”

“Of course!”

You set her on the bathroom counter as you brush his hair. You combed your fingers through his hair. You look at him through the mirror. Distinct brown hair and eyes. Warm honey-toned skin. He was the spitting image of his father.

It’s been almost six years since you last saw him. Ever since that fateful day, you wonder if you made the right decision. But he made it clear to you.

“Mommy?” You’re brought out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, sweetie.” You finish the combing his hair. You grab your purse and his brand-new fire truck backpack. Grabbing his hand, you walk out the door and towards the school.

Arriving at the school, you walk through the front doors to his classroom. You see the other 5-year-olds entering the classroom or clinging to their parents. Arriving at the door, you see the teacher come out.

“Hi! My name is Ms. Williams. And who might this be?”

“This is Mateo (L/n). Say hi, Mateo.” You say to your son, who clings to you. Hiding his face behind your leg.

“Hi.” Mateo slowly waves to the teacher. Ms. Williams holds out her hand toward Mateo. Mateo looks up to you as you smile.

“It’s ok, Mateo. Go make some friends. Mommy will be here to pick you up in a few hours.”

“Promise?” He holds his pinky out to you, which you hook with yours.

“Promise.” Mateo smiles at you before taking his teacher’s hand, walking him into the room. He turned to wave goodbye before disappearing into the room.

A tear escapes you as you wipe it away. You couldn’t believe he was already 5. It went by so fast.

After drying your tears, you make it back to your apartment. Sitting at your desk in your bedroom, you stare at the drafted article before you. Since you quit Spider Society, you got your job back as a journalist.

Your mind drifts off from the work before you.

Sitting on the edge of the toilet seat, you stare down at the small object in your hands.

Two lines. These two lines answer the question that was in the back of your mind all day.

You were pregnant. Your body jumps up when you hear someone walk into the bathroom. Unlocking the door to the stall, you quickly wash your hands and clean off the stick before hiding it in a secret pocket of your spider suit.

A beep from your watch tells you to go to Miguel’s office. Miguel… what would he think? You rush out of the bathroom and towards his office.

Ben Reilly and Jess are talking with Miguel about a mission. Standing next to Miguel as he continues talking. However, everything he said was unheard as your thoughts raced.

“Y/n?” You came back to reality as Miguel placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Yep! Understood.” You say, hoping he didn’t notice you drifting off into space. Miguel dismisses Ben and Jess as he turns to face you.

“Is everything ok?” His eyes grew concerned as you weren’t your usual happy self. You decided not to tell him yet. You were too nervous to tell him. Since movie night, Miguel has been nonstop busy and stressed from work. You didn’t feel you should stress him out more with your news.

And it’s only been 6 months since you started dating. You didn’t know if he wanted children, especially after what happened to his daughter.

“Yeah! I’m good. Just tired. So my mind is a bit off.”

“How about you go home and rest. I’ll do the mission with Jess and Ben.”

“It’s ok. I can still go on the mission.” You try to reason with him.

“No mi amor. Go home and rest. I don’t want you getting hurt on the mission if you’re tired.” You decided to listen to him as he would not change his mind.

“Ok, fine. See you later tonight.” You give him a kiss before saying goodbye.

…

“You’re 2 months pregnant.”

The doctor’s words shocked you. You didn’t think you were that far along. It’s only been two weeks since you found out you were pregnant.

After leaving the doctor’s office, you head back to HQ. Going to the doctor at HQ was free, but you knew word would get back to Miguel, as everyone knew you two were in a relationship.

Spider HQ felt off today as barely anyone was here. You go to Miguel’s office but find all the lights turned off except one of his monitors.

Miguel sat in his chair, his head resting in his hand. He looked so sad. You never had seen him this way before.

“Miguel?” You walk closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. You look at the monitor. It was a video of him and his daughter.

“Y/n? I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

“I wasn’t. But I’ve barely seen you for the past two weeks. I wanted to just check in on you.” He moved his chair to face you. As he opens his arms to you, you sit in his lap. Wrapping his arms tight around you, he nestled his head in your neck. You comb your fingers through his hair to help comfort him.

“Today’s her birthday.” He mumbled against your skin. His words clenched at your heart.

“Miguel…” You lifted his chin to look at you as you softly caressed his cheek. He leans into your hand, looking at you with red eyes. Not his normal ruby red, but red from tears.

“She would have been ten this year.” A tear slipped from his eye, trailing down his cheek, which you gently wiped away. You never have seen him in such a vulnerable state before. It made your heart break seeing him like this.

Would it be ok to tell him now about the pregnancy? To try and lift his spirits? Maybe it was too sudden. It was Gabriella’s birthday, after all.

“The thought of having another child is unbearable. I couldn’t handle the pain again if something happened.”

His words shattered you. He didn’t want to have more kids. You placed a hand on your stomach. It would be pointless to tell him. He didn’t want to be a father again.

His watch suddenly beeped, indicating that there was an anomaly he needed to deal with.

“Maybe you should let someone else do the mission.” You got up from his lap as he continued to sit in the chair.

“No, I’ll do it. He stands from his chair as he opens the portal. Before he leaves, you gently grab his arm.

“I can go with you.” He smiles at you as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m going to do this one myself, Hermosa.”

“Oh, ok. Be safe.” You say before he walks into the portal.

…

You gaze at the surroundings of HQ, seeing various spiders interacting with one another. Ever since Gabriella’s birthday, you’ve barely seen Miguel. He buried himself in work. You tried several times to see him, but he was so distant from you that you decided to stop visiting him.

That was a month ago. Now 3 months pregnant, you have a baby bump, so when you came into HQ today, you decided to wear casual clothes that hid your bump. For what you’re about to do. You didn’t want anyone to know, especially Miguel.

Anxiety blossomed at the bottom of your stomach as you walked to his office. Were you being selfish? Maybe you should wait until he’s better. But time would run out in 6 months, and you didn’t want to face the truth of him rejecting his child. You wouldn’t be able to bear it.

You reach his office, where he talks to Peter B. and Jess about past missions. The three turn when they notice your presence.

“Y/n! It’s been so long! You’ve barely been to HQ this past month!” Said Peter as he went to hug you. You quickly give him a side hug so he wouldn’t find out your little secret. Peter gave you a confused look at your gesture but decided to ignore it.

Your gaze shifts to Miguel as he looks back at you. He’s barely seen you this month. Longer even.

“Jess, Peter. Is it ok if I talk privately with Miguel for a few minutes?” Your serious tone makes the two briefly look at Miguel and back at you before leaving his office.

Miguel walks up to you and places his hands around your waist.

“Is everything alright, cariño?” His gaze turned serious when you didn’t wrap your arms around him like you used to. Bile felt like it was threatening to come out of your throat. Not from the pregnancy. But what you were dreading telling him the past few days.

“I’m quitting Spider Society.” His eyes widened slightly before worry and confusion replaced them.

“What for?”

“Other life commitments need my attention back in my universe.”

“Like what?” He pushed you to tell him.

“Just other things.” You can see hurt in his eyes by your answer.

“You don’t have to quit. You can take a break if you need it.” He suggested.

“No, I’m sure of my decision.”

“Fine. But we’ll talk about it later. I don’t think you should quit. You’re an amazing Spiderwoman. I’ll come over after work with some food.” He wasn’t happy about your answer, but he let it slide.

“Miguel…” His heart dropped when you moved out of his arms.

“I have loved every second we’ve spent together…”

“Y/n?” You held up your hand to stop him from talking to let you finish. Tears began to threaten to spill out.

“But our lives are starting to go in different directions. I think we should stop seeing each other.” Tears spilled down your cheeks as you saw how hurt he looked. You felt terrible.

“Mi amor…” He tries to caress your cheek, but you move your face away, breaking him further.

“It’s for the best, Miguel. I hope you find someone who brings you happiness and love.” You turn away from him. But he grabs you by the arm and pulls you into an embrace. He kisses gently up your neck.

“You brought me that. I’ve never been happier in my life when I’m with you. Please don’t leave me.”

You wanted to melt into his arms and forget everything you said. But you couldn’t let your guard down. Removing his arms from your waist, you walk away from him. You turn to look at him one more time.

“Goodbye, Miguel.”

Tears fall onto your computer as you relive those memories. Even after five years, the look in his eyes broke you. Your heart still aches for him. There were times when you thought of reaching out. But you remembered he never came to your universe to fight for you both. To say he wouldn’t accept you breaking up with him.

You knew you told him it was over. But you still hoped he would run after you. Looking at the time on your computer, you realize you need to pick up Mateo.

You wipe your tears before grabbing your wallet, phone, and keys. As you were about to open the door, you heard a knock. Your spider-sense was going off, which you didn’t know why.

Slowly you open the door. The air from your lungs briefly left you as you dropped everything in your hand.

“Miguel?”

____________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed it.🥰

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel x reader #oneshot #oneshot requests #jessica drew #miguel o’hara fanfiction #sadnees #romance #relationship issues #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #spider woman #pregnant

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roosterforme · 9 months

Text

The Curveball Part 10 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Molly hates the feeling of each day slipping away, knowing Bob will be leaving soon. But there are cowboy hats to be worn and grandparents to talk to. And when Bob sails off into the Pacific, leaving Molly truly alone, she understands how much of her heart he's taking with him.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swears, pregnancy, smut, 18+

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

"I had all these things planned that I wanted to do," Molly complained. "What am I supposed to do with this cowboy hat while you're deployed, huh? You expect me to just use my fingers or a vibrator for weeks on end? This is bullshit, and you know it, Lieutenant Floyd."

Bob watched Molly pace around the bedroom wearing a sports bra, a pair of his gym shorts, and the mahogany brown cowboy hat she just took out of the Amazon box that was delivered today. Her bump was so adorable, he just wanted to touch it all the time. But right now he was watching her absentmindedly running her hands along her belly as she walked back and forth in front of where he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Why did you buy a cowboy hat in the first place, Mo?" he asked, honestly hoping he'd come home to find his girlfriend asking him for uniform time. Now that she was in her second trimester, she was practically begging for him around the clock. If he was able to get hard, then she was ready to go.

She let out a cute little whine as her fingers grazed her tattoo. "Because you grew up on a ranch, Bobby. In Wyoming. You're a cowboy. My boyfriend is a bona fide cowboy."

"Weapons systems officer, actually," he replied as she came to stand between his spread legs. Bob placed his big hands on her little bump and kissed along her tattoo.

She stomped her bare foot on the floor. "I want a cowboy."

Bob looked up at her pretty, pouting face as he ran his thumb along the bottom of her sports bra. "You really want a cowboy?"

"Yes." Her hands were on her hips now, and he knew he was about to give her what she asked for. He stood to his full height, brushing against her as she looked up at him with needy eyes. Then he gingerly removed the hat from her head.

"Get in bed, Honey."

With a little giggle, she jumped up and down and then crawled into bed. Bob shook his head and went to dig around in the walk-in closet for his oldest pair of jeans. He paused his search for a moment to reach behind his duffle bag and feel for the little box that was holding the ring he picked out. It was perfect, and he let himself hold it in his palm for a few seconds before tucking it away again.

"Bobby?" Molly called, and he rolled his eyes with a laugh. She couldn't even wait two minutes for him.

"I'll be there in a second."

He quickly stripped out of his uniform and underwear and gently pulled his jeans on. Very carefully he zipped them up and then put the cowboy hat on his head. He knew he must look ridiculous like this. He was probably the furthest thing from a rugged cowboy that ever existed. Now, if Molly wanted to fuck a nerd in his thirties who liked to play Dungeons & Dragons and was really good at math, he could probably dial that up to an eleven.

But as soon as he walked back into the bedroom, her eyes went wide, and her lips parted. "Fuck," she whined, and Bob watched her dip her hand inside the waistband of the gym shorts. Her back arched off the bed as she moaned his name over and over, and she kept her eyes glued on him while she touched herself. Maybe he didn't look so bad after all?

He grinned and tipped the hat for her. "Well, howdy little lady."

"Jesus Christ," she gasped. Bob watched her yank down the gym shorts and kick them onto the floor as she said, "Call me little lady again, and I'll probably cum everywhere."

Bob's eyebrows quirked up as she pulled him into bed with her. He pushed her gently back until she was propped up on her elbows. What a sight. Pregnant Molly, running her smooth leg up around his waist and pulling him closer until her pussy was pressed against the denim.

"Your cock looks huge through your jeans," she said, biting her lip. "Now call me little lady again," she demanded. Bob could practically hear the earlier stomp of her foot on the floor as he remained silent.

Instead, he reached for her sports bra and gently pulled it up above her breasts. Those little silver barbells and her perfect tits greeted him. They were already bigger now, and as soon as Bob tipped the hat back on his head and tasted her, she was keening.

Unintelligible noises escaped her lips as she leaned back against the pillows and braced her hands on his shoulders. Bob pulled those little barbells between his lips one at a time, tugging gently, but her breasts were so sensitive now, he felt her nails digging into his skin. He sucked gently and then a little harder on her left nipple until he felt her squeezing her thighs together beneath him.

"Oh, oh fuck," she gasped, back arching slowly as she started panting. When Bob ran his rough thumb back and forth across her right nipple, gently pulling on her piercing, she bucked against him. And then she started shaking, so he replaced his mouth with his fingers, giving her a good pinch as she came for him.

With a satisfied smirk, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "I barely even touched you, little lady."

"Bobby!" she shrieked, rubbing herself against him as her orgasm peaked. Next thing he knew, he was the one on his back. Molly's bra was on the pillow next to his head, and his jeans were yanked down to his thighs. And she was the one wearing the hat.

"You look adorable," he said as she adjusted the hat which was way too big for her head. And then she sank down around him, and rode him hard. The teeth of his zipper dug into his leg every time she ground down. The bite of pain mixed with the pleasure that was purely Molly, and Bob was completely lost in the moment. "Sexy cowgirl."

She bent a little closer until her bump was rubbing against his flat abs every time she rolled her hips. "I love riding you cowgirl. I love riding every which way. And I love these jeans. And I love your big cock. And I love our baby. And I love you."

Bob came almost immediately, knocking the cowboy hat off her head and pulling her down to kiss him. "I love you," he murmured, barely releasing her lips as he bucked up into her. "So much." He ran his hands along her belly and her tattoos and her barbells, and then he thought maybe he was being a little too rough. But when he released her, she took his hands in hers and kissed him until she had her fill.

"Will you make me dinner in your snug jeans, Cowboy Bob?"

She didn't actually need to ask him that. She must already know he would.

-----------------------------

Molly was now counting down the meager time left until Bob's deployment started. "Only one hundred and sixteen hours left," she said as she ate a chocolate chip pancake. It was Sunday. He was leaving on Friday morning. "I hate it here."

"I'll be back home before you know it. This is actually a short one. More of a special mission."

"This is a short one?" she asked, looking scandalized. "They can't just... like keep you away from us whenever they feel like it." She gestured to her belly as she licked chocolate from her fork.

"Actually," he said with a sigh, "they sure can."

She started pouting, instantly angry that their son or daughter was going to have to deal with this level of bullshit. She would teach the child to pout just like her, and then Bob would have both of them to contend with. It usually worked for her.

"Mo... I need to go out for a few hours," he said softly, drawing her attention back to him.

"Are you going to Costco? I started a list, and it's my turn to pay for household necessities. But I wanted to watch a new murder documentary later today."

But he was shaking his head. "I need to go to San Bernardino. I need to tell my parents that you're pregnant."

Molly was silent. She hadn't really even considered this. She didn't have parents to tell anything to. If it wasn't something her sister or Bob should know about, then she generally kept it to herself. And now she felt like she was going to vomit, something she hadn't done in weeks.

"Do you really have to tell them?" she asked, setting her fork down.

Bob eyed her skeptically. "I think they should probably be informed that they have another grandchild on the way, Honey."

Tears stung her eyes. "But your mom really liked me," she whispered, rubbing her fingertips along her lips, trying to stay calm. "She was so warm and motherly, and now she's going to know I corrupted her sweet, only son. She'll think I'm a filthy harlot! Only after your mountains of money! You can't tell her I'm pregnant!"

Bob chuckled. "Do we have mountains of money that I'm not aware of?"

"I'm being serious right now, Cowboy Bob!"

"So am I," he said, kissing her lips softly as a tear slid down her cheek. "They aren't going to think anything bad about you. I promise. Rebecca wasn't married to Todd yet when she had Piper."

Molly sniffed and wiped at her nose. "Really? They seem to like him?"

"They do," he said, and he sounded reassuring to Molly's ears.

She took a deep breath. "I'll come with you. To see your parents."

"You don't have to, Mo."

But she reached out and straightened his glasses on his nose. If Rebecca got married later, after she had Piper, then maybe there was hope. And now Molly was thinking about that wildflower wedding. She could practically smell the flowers as she whispered, "I'm going with you."

The ride seemed to take forever, and Bob's truck was mostly quiet. Molly had changed into a snug dress that definitely didn't leave her belly up for debate. They would know she was pregnant as soon as they looked at her. That way there would be less for Bob to have to nervously string together. Molly would take the brunt of the dirty looks, and he could just hold her hand quietly.

"You ready?" he asked in a soft yet strong voice as he parked his truck.

"Yes," she replied. She had no idea this is where she would end up today when she woke up this morning, and she'd rather be almost anywhere else. But she was ready to get this over with.

"Well this is a surprise!" Bob's mom called as she came out onto the porch when she heard the truck door close. She looked delighted. Absolutely delighted to see them. But as Bob wrapped his arm around Molly's waist and started to lead her up to the porch, his mom's eyes dropped down to her midsection, and she gasped.

"Oh no," Molly whispered, swallowing hard against the onslaught of fresh tears.

"Mom," Bob said in a warning tone as Molly tripped along next to him.

"You're pregnant." Her voice was like a gunshot to Molly's ears.

"Yes," Bob replied. Molly had promised herself she would be the strong one here, but now she was collapsing in on herself like a house of cards.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Floyd," she whispered, hand shaking at her side. "It was an accident." But she watched as Bob's mom pulled her son in for a hug as she cried.

"A baby!" she practically shrieked in excitement. "Just wait until I tell your dad! He's going to be overjoyed. Roger!" she screamed into the house as Bob collected Molly against him once more.

"You okay?" he asked, and she nodded against his chest as Bob's dad bounded out onto the porch.

"I was trying to start the grill. What's wrong?"

"Bob and Molly are having a baby!" she screamed at her husband who was only five feet away.

"Another grandchild?" he asked, and Molly was soon sandwiched in a hug between both of Bob's parents as his mom asked a list of questions.

"When are you due? Do you need anything? Should we buy a crib for our house? I wonder if Beck still has Piper's pack n play. Are you hungry? Is Bob cleaning so you don't have to? The chemical smell of cleaning supplies might make you nauseous. Bob, are you cleaning everything?"

And then Molly burst into happy tears as she went inside to eat some grilled chicken and corn on the cob.

----------------------------

When Bob got home from work the day before he was to leave for his deployment, Molly was already there in her scrubs. She presented him with several pairs of gray sweatpants on their bed. "What are these for?" he asked, watching the way she bit her lip in anticipation.

"Try them on," she said, reaching for the first pair. "Without underwear."

He knew better than to argue with her, so he got undressed and pulled on the sweatpants.

"Yes," she said, nodding and stroking her chin with her fingertips. "Absolutely."

Bob looked down his body to where her gaze was transfixed on his crotch. "What are these for?"

"My personal enjoyment. And the enjoyment of others. I can see your dick through the fabric."

"Molly," Bob groaned, reaching for the waistband, but she stopped him with both hands.

"Please? Just wear them while we go pick up dinner! And you can take them on deployment with you."

He shook his head at her earnest expression. "Why would I take pants away with me when you can see my.... you know."

"Why not?" she asked, kissing his cheek.

He knew he was blushing as he softly said, "You know there will be other women on the aircraft carrier, right?"

"Yep," she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sure they'll love the sweatpants, too. If you got it, flaunt it, Coach Bob."

He just gaped at her. "You wouldn't feel nervous about what might get said to me?"

Molly kissed along his bare chest, and Bob closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her bump resting against him. "Like something another woman might say? No. I trust you."

Bob let his hands rest on her lower back. "I'm going to miss you so much, Mo."

She nodded against him and whispered, "When those other women try to chat you up, you just tell them that your girlfriend is a goddamn delight. And that she was the one who bought the sweatpants to try to bring more happiness to the world."

"I will," he said with a smile, unconvinced that anyone else would look at or talk to him at all for the full duration of his deployment. But he appreciated the way Molly seemed to trust him. And he also appreciated the way her hand was gliding down the front of his new pants.

"Let's go pick up dinner," she whispered. And then she groaned. "The fact that I can't even eat real sushi right now is absolutely ridiculous."

"The cooked stuff is okay though," he said as she led him out of the bedroom.

"Stop lying to try to make me feel better."

Once they were at the sushi restaurant, waiting for their pickup order, Molly was getting a little handsy again. "Mo," he warned, his voice deep and a little raspy, but that just seemed to spur her on more. She ran her hands down the front of his tee shirt and let them skim along the elastic waistband of his pants.

"Bobby," she crooned softly. He thanked the hostess three times when she handed him their food, causing enough of a distraction to get Molly to pull her hands away from him.

But out in the parking lot, it was a different story. And at least it was dark now as Bob set the food on the passenger side floor before he held out his hand to help Molly climb in. But she just ran her hands all over his abs as she said, "You know what I was thinking? Since you're going to miss the anatomy scan ultrasound?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, barely able to pay attention to anything as Molly's hand dipped inside the front of his pants and stroked his hardening length.

"How about I take a video of it? And then you can watch it later? Or if we get to have a facetime call, I could try to play the video for you? You'd like that?"

Bob just throbbed in her hand as she slowly jerked him off in the middle of the parking lot next to the In-N-Out like it was nothing. Her earnest gaze let him know she had asked him a question.

"Huh?" he grunted, reaching for her pretty face with both hands.

"Would you like that, Bobby?" she asked, smiling as he leaned down to kiss her lips.

"Mo, I have no idea what you're talking about, Honey." It was the truth. Something about the baby? An ultrasound? He wasn't sure, and he couldn't think straight with her hand on him like this. And he was absolutely startled to find how much he liked the idea and the feel of her doing this in a semi public place.

Molly let her fingernails scratch gently down along his balls before she withdrew her hand and said, "Get in the truck." A second later, Bob was standing there outside the closed passenger side door, trying to hustle around the cab with a huge erection. When he climbed in the driver's seat, Molly had her hand on him again.

"What are you doing?" he asked, starting the truck and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Road head," she muttered casually. Then Molly leaned across the seat and took Bob between her lips. He had never done anything like this before. He'd never even been with a woman who liked to give head as much as Molly before. Not only that, she loved teasing him. Her breath ghosted along his skin before she took him deeper, and Bob was afraid he might drive off the road.

"Molly," he begged, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. "Please."

She popped him out of her mouth and said, "Of course, Coach Cute Glasses. Anything you want."

But instead of stopping, she sucked and bobbed and licked him, working him up into such a frenzy that he nearly wrecked into her parked car when he got back to the condo. Mrs. Evans was out walking her poodle, and Mr. Walters was taking a brisk jog, but that didn't stop Molly. She stripped out of her scrub pants and crawled across the seat. Then she rode Bob while he held her hips and belly.

Bob didn't care if the neighbors saw him. In less than twelve hours, he was going to have to be without the love of his life for weeks on end. So he didn't stop her from coming apart in his lap and making a mess all over his new pants.

"I love you, Daddy," she panted, running her hands through his already messy hair and tugging on him as he came. His hands were covering her belly, and Bob felt the sting of tears in his eyes knowing how much he was going to be leaving at home.

------------------------------

Molly couldn't do it alone. She already called for backup. The morning that Bob left on the aircraft carrier, her sister was waiting a short distance away on the dock. Molly watched as she and Bob exchanged a hug, after which her sister pressed a quick kiss to Bob's cheeks like a civilized person.

But not Molly. No, she was sobbing uncontrollably and clinging to her boyfriend like he was her lifeline. As if he was her only reason for living. "I love you," he whispered against her lips, his metal glasses cold against her cheek. "Both of you."

"I don't want you to leave," she sobbed, holding him so tight, her belly was smashed and uncomfortable. "Just stay."

Bob wiped her tears away and she looked at him in his khaki uniform, all ready to get to work on a mission she didn't even want to know about, because she was so scared.

"I can't, Mo," he whispered, kissing her forehead in the early morning sunlight. He looked so handsome with his tidy hair and his serious expression.

But she knew she looked like a messy little wreck, face streaked with new tears as she said, "I thought I would hold up better than this. I thought I would be okay." She didn't want to go back to the empty condo and have to figure out how to cook for herself. She didn't want to watch murder documentaries and eat gummy bears alone now that she knew what it felt like to have Bob with her.

"You will be," he reassured her. "You'll be better than okay." And then he sank to his knees in front of her, and Molly had to brace her hands on his shoulders. He kissed her belly though his white undershirt and looked up at her. "When you find out if we're having a son or a daughter, email me right away, okay? I can't wait to know."

"I will," she promised him, closing her eyes to memorize how lovely his hands felt on her body like this. Memorize how much he loved their baby.

And then he stood and kissed her so well and for so long, his fingertips holding her still, digging into her neck until he got his fill. So she decided to memorize how loved she felt, too. And then with a few more whispered words, Bob was walking away from her as she shook with tears.

When an arm wrapped around her shoulders, Molly jumped, surprised to find her sister there even though she'd begged her to skip the first hour or so of work. "I can't do this," she hiccupped, accepting the warm mom hug. "I'm already too lonely."

"You're not alone," she replied, kissing Molly's hair. "If it gets too hard, you can come stay with us."

Molly scoffed and wiped her eyes on her sister's work blazer. "I'm not staying with newlyweds. That's just rude. And also kind of disgusting. Like what if I accidentally heard Bradley blowing your back out or something?"

She rolled her eyes, and Molly turned to watch Bob waving from the carrier deck. She waved back and said, "Look how perfect he is."

"He's pretty great," her sister replied, linking their fingers together. "And he loves you."

Molly stood there as the sun grew hot against her back. The carrier left the San Diego harbor as she held her head high. Bob loved her, and she was the one he'd be thinking about while he looked sexy in his gray sweatpants and when he flew his mission. Well, her and the baby of course.

Her phone pinged with a text message as she was turning to go back to her car.

I miss you already, Mo.

-------------------------

What are we thinking about baby Floyd? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing!

PART 11

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355 notes · View notes

tahliafox · 2 years

Text

Smart girl.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: after a long day at college, you go to your older girlfriend’s office for some much needed stress relief.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, CEO!Natasha, Older!Natasha, Mommy!Natasha, heavy praise, thigh riding, slight exhbitionism, Innocent!Reader, Soft!Smut, subspace.

Words: 967.

Soft hands shook nervously against your little blush-coloured skirt, brushing off any dirt that may have found its way onto the skimpy material during the day. You inhaled deeply to try to ease the nerves that seemed to claw at your stomach. It was always scary to visit Natasha during her work hours, her assistant didn’t seem to like you and she was always tense with the amount of work that was piled on her because her employees were too mindless to do it themselves.

However, none of that would ever spoil being able to see your girlfriend after a long day of lectures and studying. Even if she was tense, you knew a very… effective way to relax her. The elevator ride was long, as she was on the top floor, so the anticipation was almost killing you. Of course her assistant was right there as the little bing sounded of the doors being opened.

You scoffed quietly when she looked you up and down. Thankfully, Natashas door was right outside the elevator and all your thoughts seemed to dissipate when she met your line of sight through the glass, a pretty picture of her sitting at her mahogany desk, her auburn hair tied neatly into a high ponytail. Red lipstick swept its way across her full, soft lips and a white dress shirt that had been undone slightly throughout the day rested on her muscular shoulders. She had left her blinds open for some reason. Maybe she was waiting for you.

Without feeling the need to knock, you went straight into her office and shut the door behind you. Natasha looked up with an annoyed glint in her eyes, you squirmed.

“Hi, Natty.” you said meekly, now more nervous than before. Her eyes seemed to soften when she saw you.

“Hello, darling. I didn’t know you were coming today.” God, her voice was so arousing. She clearly had been shouting at someone earlier today as the deep husk had gone ever so raspy.

“Missed you, wanted to visit my Nat.” You mumbled. “College is stressful, I had so many lectures. We even had to dissect a real life brain.” Natashas legs parted when you walked over to her and her strong, veiny hands caged your waist, pulling you to straddle her lap. She pressed her nose into your neck and inhaled your vanilla perfume.

“You did? My smart girl.” she said, kissing her way up to your jaw then nipping lightly.

A shot of arousal hit you like a drug, you ground gently in her lap causing her to look up at you and kiss you passionately. “Is my pretty girl going to help mommy destress?” the honorific made everything in your brain to disappear, moving you deep into subspace. She hummed questioningly and tilted her head.

Unable to get any words to come to you, you just started grinding rhythmically on her lap and kissed her, hard- forgetting her blinds were open and that anyone could see in. Pushing your tongue into her mouth, you licked over the back of her teeth and then tangled it with hers. She pulled back and took your face in one of her hands and stroked your cheek gently.

“Always such a good girl for me, sweetheart. So ready for mommy and eager to please.”

You swooned and whined lightly. “Mommy's good girl.”

She nodded. “That's right, pretty baby.”

Natasha got back to kissing your neck and guided your waist with her arms to start humping again. The friction of her belt buckle on your very wet cunt made your toes curl. She pulled your skirt over your hips so the pink underwear you had soaked through started seeping onto her.

“That's it, honey. Keep using mommy's lap to get off.”

Her sweet words made you breath hitch, high pitched whines and moans kept escaping your lips. She captured every one then brought your head down the rest in the crook of her neck. She cradled you away from the rest of the world. “You’re doing so well for me, pretty. Always making me so, so proud.”

The praise made you closer and closer by the second. The tight knot in your stomach started becoming unbearable. “M’ close mommy.”

She ran her long, slender fingers through your hair and kissed the side of your head gently. “Yeah? Gonna cum for mommy? That’s it baby, keep rubbing yourself on me, staining my pants with your sweet arousal. Everyone is going to be able to smell you on me all night, claiming your mommy just like I love to claim you.”

You preened and drooled on her shoulder, your movements got sloppy as the inevitable high was so close.

“Is my smart girl going dumb, hm? What happened to the girl that can dissect brains? Now your all dumb and fucked out for mommy. Your head is so empty, only thinking about cumming all over mommy's lap. You're my good girl, aren't you, angel?”

The sweet words tipped you over the edge, making you bite down on her shoulder. Natasha gripped your thighs tightly and kept you moving to prolong the intense pleasure. “Good girl, doing so well for me. That’s it, keep cumming on my lap. I'm going to be able to feel your wetness in my panties soon, so much is coming out, huh? Gonna soak all the way through.”

She kept stroking your thighs, then moved a hand up to your hair. You tried to catch your breath, your forehead pressed tightly against her neck. She kissed the side of your hair a few times then brought your face into her hands and nuzzled her nose against your, ever so slightly red one.

“I'm so, so proud of you for being so good and pretty for me.”

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha x reader #older!nat #ceo!natasha romanoff #mommy natasha #mommy!nat #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #tahliesfics

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fizzy-fuzz · 8 months

Note

hello! I've been reading your SCP work and saw you add OM to your writing list.

Can I please get Lucifer with an adoptive teen reader? Sibling relationship please

AN: I wasn't sure what you wanted as far as like headcanons or oneshots go, So I just went with a short oneshot because that's what I'm most comfortable with writing. Hope you don't mind!

I took some creative liberties with the plot, since your request kinda left it open. I also left the age non-specific, except implying that the reader is a teenager... I may have gotten carried away, soft big brother Lucifer incoming.

TW: slight angst

Different yet the same... (Lucifer & Adoptive teen sibling reader)

Your shoes thud softly against the ground in the carpeted halls in the house of lamination. Your pace is slowed though you already have your destination in mind; Lucifer study. Your sure he's in there, he always is during the afternoon. Often doing paperwork assigned to him by diavolo that day.

This routine isn't unusual for you. The house gets too rambunctious, so you seek the tranquility and comfort of the eldests workspace.

It's the arguably quietest place in the house. with spells and enchants to make sure that the only thing heard within the space is the gently thrum of whatever cursed vinyl Lucifer happens to fancy that day.

Lucifer never seemed to care if you were there as long as you were quiet and didn't disrupt his work.

Yes, this isn't unusual for you... Yet today the circumstances for your visit are different.

The house isn't bustling. in fact, this is the most calm it's been in awhile: Mammon Is out gambling with the money he made from modeling, Levi is holed up in his room playing some new video game that just came out, Satan is out reading in a newly built library, Asmo is clubbing with Solomon, Beel is out at an all you can eat buffet, And belphie is napping in the planetarium.

You pause your thoughts when you make it to the grand mahogany door that holds Lucifer and his office behind it. Hand raising to knock on the door but falling short and stopping just before it makes contact.

Does he even want you in there? Maybe this whole time he hasn't, and is just too polite to tell you off.

Part of you realizes that that sentence sounds ridiculous. Lucifer never has a problem telling his siblings to leave him alone when he needs private time...

But you're not really his sibling, are you?

They're all so close to each other... They fought together, fell together, and survived together when devildom refused to accept them.

Your hand that was hovering just before the office door drops to your side, and you turn around the glance at the mirrors lining the hallway behind you. If you look hard enough, you can still picture the beautiful and pristine white of your wings.

.....

It was a few dumb decisions that got you banished from the celestial realm and made you fall from grace.

You were growing weary with the standards you had to constantly upkeep. The realm values excellence over anything, and they won't settle for any less. Angelic voices always ringing in your ears pushing you to be something you weren't; perfection.

It was that same weariness that blossomed into intrigue when you first heard the name 'Lucifer' be uttered. His name was always spoken with a hushed voice, as if he was some sort of deadly curse.

And when you begin poking around for more information about him you were quickly shut down...

Until you spoke to Simeon about it. Simeon had always been one of the most relaxed and understanding of all of the angels. And because he was so well liked and respected they let it slide.

So when you spoke to him about your curiosity, he was happy to divulge as much as he saw fit for your younger mind. Contrary to every other angel you talked to, he spoke about Lucifer with high regards. Often speaking about how kind and giving the morning star was, and still is, even if he doesn't always show it.

When you asked what happened to him he told you the truth. He fell from grace along with six other angels he was closest with. Though simeon told you he wasn't allowed to speak of why they fell from grace, he did however give you a key to access the vaults that held files on what you were looking for.

That's when you first began properly learning about the great celestial war.

It dazzled you're young mind, the thought of seven angels taking on the entirety of the celestial realm with such bravery. And although you weren't about to try and start a rebellion like Lucifer did, seeing him fight for what he thought was right encouraged you to begin declining the high expectations of the realm.

Everyday when you got free time, you would sneak back off to the vault to read more on the rebellion and war, while sneaking conversations with simeon in between.

It kept you content...

Until one day, you made the mistake of getting too comfortable and sloppy while sneaking off. Unfortunately, you were blissfully unaware of the fact that you had been spotted and were being followed the whole time.

It's safe to say the higher ups weren't pleased...

So they gave you two choses:

Stay and be held on trial for treason. Which who knows what would happen after you were inevitably found guilty.

Or be stripped of your grace and be banished to devildom...

You choose the latter...

So you fell...

And fell...

And fell some more...

Devildom was beautiful, and it's Prince was nothing short of gracious. A far cry from the pompous aristocrats of the celestial realm, and of course diavolo knew just where to stick you. Where else if not with the demon brothers? Considering your circumstance, you should get along swimmingly.

Yeah, no... it's safe to say they were not happy about the idea of a freshly fallen angel teenager stuck living with them. For the first couple of months they either avoided you like the plague, or were confrontational.

All but one... Lucifer.

He wasn't peachy with you, but he held an air of understanding with your situation. He allowed you to express your woes, and offered a guiding hand when you seemed stuck.

Eventually all of the brothers warmed up to you, and came to view you as their eighth sibling. Though you always had a hard time feeling like you fit...

.....

"I can see you standing out there, Y/n. Come in." Lucifer startles you out of your thoughts as he calls out to you from behind the door.

You grip the door handle and open the heavy wooden door. It squeaks on it's hinges, the sound normally doesn't bug you, but today it makes your anxiety spike. You look up from the ground and see Lucifer at his desk writing away at some paperwork, he raises his none occupied hand and gestures for you to have a seat on the leather chair off to the side in the room.

As you scuttle over and plant yourself in the chair, you fidget nervously with your hands. The room is quiet, too quiet. The only thing heard is the scratching of Lucifers quill against the paper.

"I take it you'd like to talk? You seem tense" Though he acknowledges you verbally, he continues to work on his paperwork. Despite this you know you have his full attention.

"I guess?.. I'm really not sure." you shuffle around in your seat to get comfortable. He hums in thought.

Maybe you should've just gone to your room and dealt with your feelings yourself... He seems so busy, he shouldn't have to deal with your self-consciousness.

"tell me what's on your mind, Y/n..."

His voice has that certain tone to it, the closest it gets to 'soft'. You feel your self doubt fade away slightly... So you decide to spill your guts.

"I guess I've just been feeling a little out of place lately? Like I don't really fit in anywhere in the family..." Your voice falls to a hesitant whisper at the end.

Lucifers writing halts but he doesn't look at you yet. It feels like he already knows where this conversation is going. A light sigh falls from his mouth.

"elaborate."

You pause and think about how you want to respond. the topic is uncomfortable for you to approach, but it weighs heavy on your shoulders, so it's better to talk about it then let yourself stew...

"it's just... the seven of you are so close, you've been together for your entire life. You guys didn't even know me when I was still in the celestial realm, I was kinda just placed here after i fell from grace because there was nowhere else for me to go..." You pause for a moment and look to the ground, avoiding Lucifers gaze. "I feel like I don't belong..."

There's a silence that falls over the room as you finish your rant, only thing heard is your shuddery breathing and the scuff of Lucifers chair being pushed away from his desk. You hear here the sound of his dress shoes approach you, but you don't look up from the ground. Scared you'll meet his gaze and be ment with a lecture about how you need to be more secure with yourself.

You fidget a bit more when he stops in front of you, his shoes now in your vision as you continue to avoid looking at him properly. Two gloved fingers swoop into your view as well when he gently places them under your chin, tilting your head up carefully.

When you meet his gaze, your surprised to see his eyes half lidded with sympathy and understanding. His other hand coming up to gently run through your hair to clear it from you face, before falling to rest your shoulder in a grounding grip.

You both stay silent for a short while, before Lucifer speaks.

"how long have you felt like this?" His words are simple, but encourage you to delve deeper into your feelings.

"For awhile... I have a hard time feeling like I'm even slightly related to you guys sometimes" to your surprised, a light laugh falls from Lucifers mouth at this.

"none of us are related by blood, When has that ever made a difference?"

"that's not what I mean... Not biologically, more like our experiences feel so different, and you're all so close in age... I don't know" Lucifers gaze grows serious as he addresses you with a firm tone.

"Y/n, I know we don't always express it, but we all cherish you greatly. We may not share the same experiences, but we're still cut from the same cloth... We're family, Y/n" he pauses for a moment and sighs. "Why didn't you come to me if this was bothering you? We could've spoken about it sooner"

You gently push his hand away and he backs up to allow you to stand. Once standing, you hug your arms close to your body and shift your weight around nervously.

"it shouldn't be your job to deal with my emotions, you already have enough to deal with-" he quickly cuts you off.

"as your eldest brother it is my job to help you through things like this, my duties come second always. Y/n, you can always rely on me."

his firm response leaves no room for argument, and with his unusual sentiment, a dam breaks in you.

You take a few steps towards him and hug him close, sniffling lightly.

"I love you, Lucifer..."

His hands hover for a second, before gently pulling you closer.

"I love you too, Y/n"

#lucifer obey me #lucifer x reader #Lucifer x reader platonic #teen reader #Platonic #Obey me x reader #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #lucifer x you #obey me lucifer x reader

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priestessame · 1 year

Text

The Emperor's most favored II

FLUFF Part 2. As requested by 🎐annon ^^ I'm for sure making this a series of one shots~

Warnings: Slightly suggestive (^^) Fluff, angst, slight violence, name-calling, mentions of blood, and bullying. Sleepy mornings~~

Summary: The preparations of the lantern rite, bring unwelcome ghosts of the past.

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You rolled awake, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your eyes adjusted in the dimly lit chambers. You turned so that you were resting on your side, your sight catching the familiar silhouette sitting across from you.

The desk was only a few feet away from your shared bed. Now it had almost become routine for you to stir awake, only to find him like this. The mahogany silks pooled around his waist. You watched as your husband leaned over his desk. Your eyes followed the vast expanse of his bare back, golden and black scales trailing down the spine, the muscles flexing as he continued to work on his scrolls. Dark and gold arms constantly at work.

It was only the early hours of the morning, even before sunrise. But even gentle morning light wasn't allowed in. Even if the emperor was writing, special care was taken so that the curtains in his chambers were shut tightly. The only light allowed, was the dim lantern placed close to his desk. Strong enough to just illuminate the papers scattered around him. His hand was gentle as he wrote, careful not to wake you from the noise of the ink pen scratching on the scrolls. So much care, just to make sure you wouldn't be disturbed.

But the absence of his warmth would make you stir from your sleep nevertheless. Most of the time you would fall back asleep again. But some mornings, just like today you couldn't help but gathered the silks around you, wrapping them around your body before sliding off the bed.

You sunk into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You murmured against the crook of his neck as the emperor chuckled. "Did I wake you again, beloved?" He asked.

"No," You replied, pressing down the urge to drag him back to your bed. If it was up to you, you would have rolled around in each other's warmth, limbs entangled until late afternoon. Fortunately for Liuye and unfortunately for you, the emperor had more discipline than that. Once awake, the emperor would be consumed with his duties. Not that you felt neglected because of it. He always found time, especially for you.

You pressed yourself against him tighter, his skin felt feverishly warm this early in the morning. You looked over his shoulder, at the scrolls pulled open along the desk. The whorls and runes on it were enchantingly beautiful, and the strange script he seemed so fluent in was completely alien to you.

Although now your husband, there was so much of him that was still alien to you. How many languages was he fluent in that you couldn't even begin to understand? You would wonder. There may always be a certain distance between you and his past. Something you wondered if you could ever transcend. But most of your reservations would melt away the moment you felt his touch.

Morax pulled you into his lap and you went willingly. His arms guide you to straddle him. His fingers cupped your face before he pressed his mouth on your forehead. His breath brushed against the hollow of your throat. As he murmured sweet praises, you couldn't help but laugh against his mouth. For a man known for his restraint, he couldn't seem to keep his hands off you. His fingers slid under the silk sheets you had pulled, sliding up your torso. He kissed you between your breasts, lips lingering just above your heart. "You should get more rest beloved," He said,

You brushed the hair framing his face, "Come back to bed Morax." You said through a pout, throwing your hands around his neck, "It's cold." His fingers dug into your hips, it was insane how his slightest touch would send your mind reeling. The scrolls on the desk were long discarded as he scooped you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you towards your bed, setting you down while sinking down himself.

His fingers brushed your cheek lovingly, after all, who was he to deny the empress of Liyue?

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It was late in the afternoon when the news reached you. With the emperor and his general out, you and Shi Lian sat in your study, trying your hand at another game of chaurang. The game board was spread out before the two of you, colored tiles arranged across it. Your lady-in-waiting rolled the dice, too engrossed in the game as Ganyu continued to narrate the finished details for the upcoming Lantern rite.

As excited as you were for the festival, you could hardly keep up with all the details. Especially now when Shi Lian was getting increasingly good at forming her tiles.

“And so Lady Nigguang wished to know your preferences.” Ganyu reported.

You gave the Adeptus an endearing look, “Ganyu, tell Ningguang that I completely trust her… aesthetic judgment.” You said, “Swans, deers, frogs- whatever she deems fit.”

Shi Lian moved her rose-carved tile forward, an intelligent attempt at defense but you saw through it immediately.

“As you wish, Your highness,” Ganyu replied.

“T-that’s not fair!” Shi Lian wailed, as you replaced her tile with your own. You laughed at her, feeling so at ease at the moment that nothing could have prepared you for the message the Yuheng had for you.

Keqing walked in just as Ganyu was about to depart, her gait as nonchalant as Ganyu’s was respectful.

“The Mililith have reported early visitors for the lantern rite, apparently.” Keqing continued, her tone as unbothered as ever.

“Visitors already?” You asked, although the lantern rite wasn’t that far away, you weren’t expecting any visitors at the palace for at least another week.

“From your homeland your highness.” Keqing said, “The carriages that brought them to the royal palace both bore the royal emblem.”

Your ears rang. Unconsciously you had dug into the gold-cut pawn so hard, it cut into your palm drawing blood.

Keqing's face twisted, "Clearly they didn't even bother sending a raven to announce their arrival." She started.

But you weren't listening, your hands going very very cold. "Who is it?" You asked, breath shallowing as you spoke.

"The 2nd princess and her Lord husband, your highness," she replied, her tone sensing your sudden discomfort. The two watched as the walls of safety you had built around yourself shattered like glass. You felt as if you were underwater.

"Your highness?"

Your eyes snapped towards her, “Take me there.” You said breathlessly.

Ganyu shifted on her feet, “Your highness, it might be better to wait for the emperor to return-

“No,” You replied at once, a morbid silence falling in the study. You stood up, placing the tile back on the board. Shi Lian followed your suit clumsily. “M-my Lady-“ she started. But it was like your mind had gone entirely numb.

“Take me to her, now.”

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She was already in your chambers, her tall silhouette reaching to inspect the ornate draperies.

Saili turned towards you, lips pulling themselves in a perfect smile. "Sister!" She exclaimed, reaching a hand out as if she expected an embrace. You felt as if you were about to throw up. Anger and disgust clouding your mind. Why, why after all these years was, she here again? Hadn't she made your life miserable enough?

You gave Shi lian a quick nod, dismissing her. Your lady-in-waiting gave you a concerned look but obliged. She scurried outside your chambers, leaving the two of you alone.

Your fingers curled, and you closed them in a fist, trying to hide the tremble. "I hope the weather was kind to you, sister." you tried.

"Look how lovely." She said, dismissing you entirely. Her fingers glided through the ornate curtains in your chambers. She inspected the fabric like she wanted to rip them up. She turned towards you again,

Her face was as beautiful as you remembered. Chestnut hair and wide eyes. The kind of beauty that makes people falter their steps. But those who could see past that really saw her crudeness. Out of the ones making your life miserable back home, the 2nd princess was one of the worst.

She walked towards you. You unknowingly took a step back for everyone she took forward until your dresser hit the back of your legs. "I'm afraid my husband, was rather upset at not receiving at least an invitation for your first Lantern rite." She said.

Her smile was razor sharp, "I thought they held high regard for family here in lieuye."

Family? You wanted to ask her, strong words for people who basically sold you off for convenience. Her face was close to you now. She smiled painfully wide as her fingers reached for your sleeves, "How long would it have taken to dye the fabric this deep blue?" She mused.

"I wouldn't know." You replied, mouth going dry. For that moment, you were back in your homeland. Fear coating your insides, your fingers dug into the dresser behind you.

They had called her the nation's first love when she was born. Lovely even as a child, she was perfect in everything she did. Even her most venomous words and actions were simply endearing to everyone else. Her violence was written off as harmless tantrums, especially because they were all directed toward you.

It had never mattered to her that her sapphire accessories were way more precious than yours. That given your status, you never were any competition to her, you couldn't be. Maybe it was that very reason that gave her a kick out of it, knowing you couldn't fight back.

Like ripping apart wings of insects, she liked to yank anything you were wearing off of you. Ripping out clumps of your hair as she pulled off your moon-stone hairpin in one tantrum, or tearing out the skin off your ear lobes when she demanded she wanted to wear your earrings instead. Her fingers would dig into you ruthlessly, nails scrapping your skin, the grip leaving marks across your hands.

Her mother, the princess consort would just pull her in her arms and laugh her tantrums off. Coaxing her with talks of sweets or new silks. Leaving you hunched over yourself, blood trickling down your face. Even then what hurt more was that you didn't have anyone to cry to. So, you had just stopped the tears or pain and anger, pulling on an emotional armour even her nails couldn't carve out.

As you two had gotten older, her violence towards you had receded, and she had just discarded you like a toy she no longer wanted to play with. To your own disgust, you were more than happy to be unseen. Elated that she had finally grown tired of you. But the fear would crawl up now and then. That one day as she saw you brush past her in the halls, she would remember the old doll she had thrown away. Wanting to rip it apart again.

"Didn't you get lucky Y/n?" She mused, backing away from you.

She gave out a sigh looking around your chambers. She walked around curiously, her long robes flowing behind her. You felt pinned under her gaze, pushed into a corner just like you used to when you were younger. Suddenly seen again. The shadows that you thought you had left in your past, crawling back. You pushed through the pain, pulling your eyes away from her figure.

"Does your ship leave tonight sister?" You asked hating how your voice still wavered. Saili let go of the amulet she was inspecting, letting it clatter to the floor.

She had the audacity to look offended, "Why Y/n, you make it sound as if you want me gone." She laughed, her dazzling smile cutting into your skin. You felt the disgust coil in your stomach, although honey-tongued now, you remembered her morbid smile as she had told you about Morax's ugly scales and horns. How his talons would rip through your skin when he tried to touch you.

"It's a long trip back home." You replied, "It would be terrible if you got caught in sea-storms."

"It is a long trip, isn't it?" She said, your stomach dropped at her tone, "It's days and days on the sea, so much of the same blue makes you sick. You start wondering if there's anything alive this far into the ocean at all." She gave a chuckle, "Doesn't it feel like the ship would sail off the edge of the earth? She continued, suddenly sounding a lot more malicious.

You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for the mask to fall.

"We threw you away to the remote end of the earth and you still managed to wobble up like the trash you are." She sneered out.

"Sai-" You tried to reason with her, but you knew your words wouldn't matter. Her expression became more erratic, thoughts of who she was and where she was standing clouded by her rage.

"Just because they gave you a pretty jade crown doesn't really make you a queen, low-born." She growled out, her hands reached for your face and you flinched. She curled her fist into your thick hair, yanking you hard.

For the first few seconds, your body shut down from habit. Going limp against her anger, mind retracting within itself taking you away from the situation entirely. You were far too used to it. Far too used to just shutting your eyes close until her tantrum was over.

"Don't forget your mother was just a common musician whore." she said, her breath putrid on your face. For the first time in years, you reached for your anger. And the beast leaped up like it was waiting for your one command all along. And just like that, you snapped.

She gasped as you threw her down, your jade ornament clattering down with her. Your hair tumbled down, falling around your face.

Her eyes were wide with shock. Her figure sprawled on the floor, looking up at you, mouth stuck half-open.

"Enough." You breathed out. Your body practically convulsed from the pent-up rage. Unlike her haphazard rage, yours was composed and cold. "Touch me again," You spoke through the tremble, your voice dangerously low "And I’ll have you thrown off Qingyun Peak. "

In the moment of silence and shock, you thought you had actually won.

"How dare you?" she said, "Do you think you can command me? You wrench?" she screamed at you.

In that split second, the door flung open. Keqing was a blur of violet. She moved so swiftly; your own eyes couldn’t keep up with her. Her blade was pure lightning. Within a split second, she was between the two of you.

She wrung the 2nd princess’s wrist behind her as she cried out in pain, "Daring to touch the Empress will cost you much more than just your hand." She said.

"Let her go Keqing." You said sadly, much to your Yuheng's surprise. "She poses no threat to me." you completed.

Before you, she really looked pathetic. The frizzled hair, fingers still tightly curled around your jade crown, her eyes wide and whimsical. She pointed it accusingly at you, "You have no right," she sneered.

"Get the princess's ship ready." You commanded, "She will not be staying for the lantern rite."

"Making an enemy of your own kingdom, do you think your Beloved emperor wouldn't cast you away if he knew your true bloodline?" she whimpered at you, already lost.

"Is that so?"

The sudden voice surprised you too. A voice that could move mountains.

Morax stood at the end of the room, flanked by Xiao and Bosacius by his side. He wore traditional liyue clothes, gold and ebony robes, with a rounded neck. They fell across his tall frame like a waterfall of dark colors. Dragon scales were sewn in along the elaborate sleeves, the beast made of gold thread, curling around the bodice.

He walked inside the chamber, unforgiving eyes pinned on the 2nd princess. “Slander against the Empress herself is high treason.” He said, "Just the thought of profane words against her is subject to Lingchi."

Her face dropped with horror.

His voice was still low, yet stripped of any kindness. Urging, beckoning her to try and challenge his authority. It sent chills down your spine. "You will ride the ship willingly, or I will have you and your husband impaled to the mast on the way back."

Silent tears ran down her face as she dared not looked up at any of you, surprisingly you felt no real satisfaction. Finally realizing how little she had always been compared to you. Keqing moved to take your ornament from her hands but you stopped her midway.

"Keep it." You said to her, hold its weight for the rest of your life. Let it remind you of where you really stand. "It's the closest you'll ever come to holding true power."

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His fingers moved deftly as he fixed your hair. It was just the two of you again, your silks pooling around your frame as he placed you in front of the mirror. Experienced fingers running through your locks gently. The afternoon had bled into a crimson evening, painting your shared chamber a deep auburn. The failing light caught the scattered gold embellishments around you, making them glitter faintly. Not wanting to break the somber silence, you couldn’t help but stare at the gold pieces instead. The beading of the draperies, the curved points of the chandelier, and most of all the molten-gold color of his irises.

You winced as his fingers brushed against a particularly sore part and he halted at once.

"I'm sorry." He said finally.

Morax wrapped his arms around your frame, "I promised that I would protect you." He said, sounding broken. He hung his head on your shoulder, and the lamp in your room flickered. "And yet I have failed you." His voice was heavy like you had never heard before. He hugged you lightly, as if he put any more strength in this touch, you would shrug it off.

The whole thing was so absurd that you laughed as you leaned back into him. Wrapping your hands around his arm. It echoed around the room, you looked up at him, his eyes wide with confusion.

“You’re a bit of a fool aren’t you emperor?” you said.

“I couldn’t even stop them from hurting you.” He replied.

You sighed against his warmth, shaking your head softly.

"My past was mine to confront," you told him.

“Y/n-“ He began again, “Even so..”

“All my life, I have only had bruises.” You replied, “Some of hurt and some of shame.” Your fingers ran over his as you inspected the bump on your head, “For the first time, these don’t feel so bad.”

“If it wasn’t for the peace you give me Morax, I would have been ashamed of them all my life.” You said, sinking back into his warmth.

Being held like this was the safest you had ever felt in your entire life. “The kind of safety I feel with you cannot be measured in actions.”

“So,” You picked up the ornate comb beside you, “Just go back to brushing my hair.” He finally chuckled, deep voice ringing in his chest. He lifted your hair from the name of your neck, pressing a feverish kiss on your skin, “As you wish.”

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Ayyy I finally finished this one ^^

#zhongli scenarios #zhongli #zhongli genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli fluff

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mxigo · 1 year

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soul sick | part 2

SERIES SYNOPSIS: It’s hard enough watching the male that holds your heart pine for another woman, one that is the definition of beauty and grace, but to watch him fall for another yet again after you feel the mating bond snap into place is its own hell. A hell that makes you dangerously ill.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: lucien pays you a visit to ask a favor, and things come to a head with azriel

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, graphic descriptions of vomiting

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: FINALLY. oh my god i finally figured it out and was able get the plot done and chugged through the angst. as usual, please let me know if there are any errors. enjoy!

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MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

Your mood improved ten-fold after having lunch with Cassian and Mor. They did everything they could to get you to forget your miserable night, and they did for the most part. Although, they caught you staring off into space once or twice, and they knew you were trying to understand where you went wrong with your relationship with the Spymaster.

The remainder of the walk consisted of the three of you talking about senseless things until they each give you a hug before they leave, Mor winnowing out of the street with a pop.

When you walk through the door, you can’t help but sigh, letting the rest of the tension fall off your shoulders. Blessed relief floods through you as you shuck your shoes off in your room near the wardrobe’s door, pushing past clothes to find a sleep set to wear.

You throw your hair up out of your face, padding into your bathroom to wash your face of the little makeup you did wear today. It doesn’t matter that the sun had just set behind the horizon. Once your pajamas were on and you took off your face, you were not stepping foot outside again today, and you planned on shutting yourself in your study to continue your work for the priestesses.

While you were not a priestess, you feel at home in the library in the House of Wind, and you loved helping them with rewriting and translating anything new or old for them. Before you had friends of your own, you had books and the stories that they told. And although you have made some friends throughout your life, your love for books has never waned.

In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of rosé before making your way to your study, letting the door close behind you with a soft snick. The entire room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books of just about every genre of fiction and nonfiction, organized carefully so that you know where every book was right off the top of your head. Cassian likes to poke fun at you and call you anal, but it literally drives you crazy if a book is put back in the wrong spot and then you can’t find it the next time you need it.

The dark mahogany shelves exude warmth throughout the room, pairing perfectly with the desk of the same material, gifted to you from Rhys when you bought the townhouse. This place is your safe place and has a perfect view of the dazzling lights of Velaris at night through the double glass doors leading to a balcony.

The hardwood floors are cool beneath your feet as you walk over to the desk, sending chills up your spine. You grab a blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders before settling into the comfortable chair. The stack of books that you need to work on is tall, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The first book is thousands of years old and seems to be a second edition one as well. The spine is nearly falling apart, holding together by sheer will alone, like merely touching it could make it disintegrate into dust. Dust and dirt is caked into the scratches and grooves of the cover, but you can still make out the title. Orys: Prythian’s Fourth High Lord of the Night Court. A smile tugs at your lips. You’re almost excited to read about one of Rhysand’s distant relatives.

A sharp knock at your door interrupts you, pulling an annoyed sigh from you. You grab a sweater to throw on before you walk down the hall to the door, praying that it’s not Azriel. You just don’t have the strength to talk to him about last night just yet.

But you’re surprised to see Lucien at your door instead of the shadowsinger.

“Lucien? To what do I owe the pleasure,” you ask, completely taken aback.

He is noticeably distraught, his hair looking like it needs to be washed along with forming dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he has not had a good sleep in a few nights.

“I—I need some help.”

For a moment, you are speechless. There could only be one thing that he would need help with, and you are a bit afraid to confront it.

“I just opened a bottle of rosé from my favorite winery on the Sidra. Would you like a glass while we talk,” you try, earning a nod from the lordling in response.

You stand back, opening the door wider for him to step into your home, suddenly self-conscious about how you are dressed in the presence of a male that you hardly know. You wrap your sweater around you a little bit tighter at the realization.

Lucien follows you into the kitchen where you left the bottle, telling him to get comfortable while you go to retrieve your glass where you left it on your desk. When you return, Lucien is staring off at the table, a pained expression shrouding his face. His hands are curled around each other, supporting his head as they rest under his chin. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the counter where the bottle sits and pour a generous glass for your guest before settling across from him, tucking a leg under yourself.

Neither of you speak first, and you wait so Lucien has the time to gather his thoughts and think about what he might say. After a moment, he finally unfurls his hands to rest them in his lap.

“I fear that I may be losing my mate to the shadowsinger.”

Oh dear gods. Your heart aches for the male in front of you, suddenly understanding his pain, and feeling your own at the same time. You wet your lips, shifting as you try to come up with something to say, but you suddenly feel sick, and your heart is beating too loud to hear anything.

“Could it be possible that their relationship is just platonic,” you ask, your voice airy.

You take a long draw from your glass, watching as Lucien shakes his head, finally looking up at you, and his golden eyes find your own.

“No. I catch glimpses of her emotions and feelings occasionally, especially when they’re together. It’s not platonic.”

Your eyes fall shut, attempting not to panic at the thought that Azriel might share the same feelings for the Archeron sister.

“I’m sorry this is happening. I can’t imagine the pain that you might be feeling.”

“But I think you can.” Your eyes snap open, freezing on him.

“What?”

“You have feelings for Azriel, do you not?” His straightforwardness makes your mouth drop open.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are quite obvious about it. It’s puzzling that he hasn’t caught on yet,” Lucien says, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip from his glass.

Your face burns, undoubtedly red. This time, you take a gulp of the wine.

“I’m hoping because of it, you can try to persuade him to turn his efforts elsewhere, perhaps yourself.”

“Lucien, I understand you are upset, and rightfully so, but I think you should talk to Elain, not me.” You shake your head, unbelieving of what he is asking of you.

“Then try to talk to Azriel and explain what he is doing, even if he doesn’t realize it,” he fights, his desperation seeping through. “He is taking what is supposed to be my moments with her.”

Neither of you speak, the tension having peaked.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit much,” he whispers, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s ok. I’ll try to talk to him the next time I see him. Although, we’re not really on good terms right now.”

“For the same reason?” You nod.

“Hm. Well, thank you for listening to me, but I should get going. Mother knows that Rhysand will start to wonder where I slinked off to.” He stands, knocking back the rest of the rosé. “Thank you for the drink. You have lovely taste,” he adds with a smile, which you return.

“You’re welcome, Lucien. My door is open whenever you need me.”

He nods once before winnowing out of the house, leaving you to think about his proposal.

Just the very thought of talking to Azriel about relationship with Elain makes your stomach roll, and there is a very good chance that Azriel won’t take your advice the right way either. Historically, he is not one for getting over someone that he cannot have.

A knock from behind you makes you jump, nearly screaming when you see a shadowed figure outside your home, but you sigh when you see a pair of great leathery wings. Your heart thunders in your ears as you try to decide whether to go out and talk to him or ignore him and send him away. You decide on the former.

Taking a blanket from the living room, you walk out the door and onto the patio, allowing yourself to lean against the wall. The night has quickly turned brisk, a sharp wind ripping through the balcony, and you pull your blanket tighter. It’s silent for a moment, waiting for him to speak first.

He is dressed casually tonight, the swirls of his tattoos spilling from underneath the hem of his short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants loose around his thighs. Not that you’re looking.

But as you look to meet his eyes, you blink in surprise at their seriousness, staring at you with a look that you can only describe as distraught.

“Why was Lucien here?”

You blink again, not quite sure of what you heard.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did Lucien come to you at this time of day?”

“What? Can a friend not come for a visit?” you ask defensively, crossing your arms.

“We both know that he’s not a friend, Y/N. There’s a reason that he came here, and I need to know what it was.”

You stare at him, mouth agape in disbelief. Is this really happening right now?

“He came to me for help.”

“Help for what?”

You take a breath. “Az, I think you should take a step back from Elain for a while.”

His face screws up instantly, offended by what you have said.

“Is that what he came here for? Because he’s jealous?”

“Azriel, think about what you are doing. Regardless of what the two of you think, there is a reason they are mates.”

A feeling of unease is palpable from him as he switches his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“You know that Rhys’ parents were mates and look how that turned out.”

“But Lucien is not Rhys’ father, Az. He is so far from that, or Feyre wouldn’t have brought her with him to Velaris. He is a good male, and you are actively standing in the way of their relationship.”

Azriel’s mouth is agape, at a loss for words, but he quickly turns to gather himself.

“I’m just trying to help her assimilate into our life, Y/N. She lost a lot when she was Made, and I’m helping her understand that there’s a whole new world that she can explore now.”

A weightless feeling begins to overshadow you, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“That is Feyre’s job as her sister to do that. She is also mated to someone that happens to be living with us and is dying to get to know her, Az, and you’re taking that away from him and stealing those moments that are meant for him for yourself.”

Azriel scoffs, his gaze sour.

“A mate that had a hand in having her kidnapped from her home. Of course she doesn’t want anything to do with him, Y/N, and she doesn’t have to.”

Silence stretches between the both of you as you allow the gravity of his words sink in, a cold terror gripping you.

With a blank face, you ask, “what do you mean by that?”

He just shakes his head, letting his wings unfurl. In a desperate attempt to get him to stay, you grab his hand, and your eyes meet once again. Then, suddenly, you feel it. You feel the bond snap into place as your soul realizes that male in front of you is your mate, and your heart breaks for the second time tonight. Your eyes go wide, breath catching in your throat as your skin erupts into chills. Hope fills you as you wait for any recognition from him, but there’s nothing, only his face screwing up.

He shrugs your hand off, just as you did to him. Your heart is thundering in your ears, and you struggle to figure out what to do next over the onslaught of emotions, both yours and glimpses of Azriel’s.

“Az, wait—”

“I love her, Y/N.”

Everything goes numb, your hearing cutting out. There is no possible way you heard him right. He can’t be in love with her because he’s your mate, it can’t be right.

You must look pitiful, staring unbelieving at him, waiting for him to say something different, but he only looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before launching off of the patio and into the sky, disappearing into a black spec in the night, leaving you alone to unravel the fresh bond that will never be returned.

†

Sleep evaded you the entire night, having left you to your thoughts and to relive how your mate essentially rejected you without actually knowing what he was doing. All because you didn’t have the guts to tell him how you felt, and now he is no longer yours in any sense of the word. You had centuries to tell him but waited too long, and he took the opportunity that opened for him to have someone of his own, despite her already having a mate.

A headache sprung up as well, bursting right behind your eyes, throbbing with intensity. You haven’t had a headache spring up like this since before Rhys was Under the Mountain, but the stress of the past few days could definitely have caused it, especially from last night. The morning brings no relief, as you remain curled up in bed with the blinds pulled shut to prevent the harsh light from attacking your eyes. You managed to make yourself a cup of tea to sit on your bedside to drink, but you are so exhausted that you have not been able to muster the strength to sit up and drink it.

A groan slips from you as you roll over to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but as you do, your stomach turns, and your mouth suddenly fills with saliva. Eyes snapping open, you scramble up from your bed, bolting to the bathroom to make it to the toilet just in time for your stomach to reject everything that was in it. You grip onto the cool porcelain, choking on the painful onslaught. The rejection is so strong that after each contraction, you sag against the seat, heaving. Even after there is nothing left to come up, your body keeps rejecting, causing you to gag and cough until you are gasping for air like a fish out of water. After an eternity, your stomach finally lets you rest, allowing you to sag to the floor, sighing against the cool tile upon your flushed cheek.

This continues the entire day, waking for bouts of dry heaving until tears leak from your eyes, and your chin trembles as you fight back a sob. You have no clue as to what time it could be, surely deep into the day, but you are confined to the bathroom in fear that your stomach will revolt again. You finally submit to whatever has a hold of you, deciding that you will sleep in the bathroom, you carefully pull your duvet from your bed to drag it into the bathroom to have some kind of comfort on the hard tile floor. Finally, sleep peacefully takes you.

†

A soft touch pulls you from your dreamless sleep, your eyes peeling open to look blearily at whoever is kneeling in front of you. The headache persists, and the light causes you to clamp your eyes shut again, hissing at the light.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Cassian’s voice whispers in your ear. You nod but don’t open your eyes again.

“Rhys has been sending you notes all day inviting you to dinner, but you never answered them. Have you been here all day?” Another nod. “What has you so messed up, sweetheart?”

“I dunno. Just woke up like this. Can’t stop throwing up.” Your voice is scratchy from the abuse it has suffered, and it hurts to swallow. “Just put me in bed and set a bucket next to it. I wanna sleep.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the House?”

“No, no House. I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be fine, just stressed out,” you insist, still not opening your eyes.

Despite his better judgment, Cassian carries you back to bed, tucking you in and replacing your cup of tea with a glass of water and brings the bucket that you wanted. You haven’t moved from how he laid you in bed, and his eyebrows furrow in concern. It’s not often that fae get sick, especially with whatever you have.

He kneels next to the side of the bed you are on, letting a hand run itself over your head.

“I’m going to get going. If we don’t hear from you in a few hours, I’m bringing you to the House and we’ll get Madja. Do you understand?” Yet another nod.

Cassian sighs, registering that you have a slight fever. He stands up, leaning over to tuck you in before he leaves. With a last once over of your room and leaving a scrap of paper and a quill on your bedside, Cassian leaves.

He still doesn’t feel right about leaving you at your home, but he will be going back if you don’t write back within a few hours to check on you.

Everyone has moved to the sitting room by the time he gets back, each with a drink in hand. He notes that Elain is sitting in a chair next to Azriel but refrains from saying something. He settles into a seat next to Rhys, and Feyre notices that Cassian is back, but without her friend in tow.

“Did you see her?”

“Mhmm. She’s sick. Found her asleep on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, all wrapped up in her sheets. She refused to be brought here, so I told her I would be back if we didn’t hear from her.”

“Oh Mother. We just saw her yesterday, Cas. How could she have gotten sick so quick?” Mor asks, face warped with concern as she leans forward.

“She said it’s from stress, but I don’t know how stress could make her throw up so much that she had to sleep on the bathroom floor,” he sighs.

Across the room, the Spymaster listens intently to Cassian’s words, his heart dropping as he realizes that he is the “stress” that has physically manifested as a sickness.

TAGLIST: @positivewitch @brekkershadowsinger @baebeepeach @toobsessedsstuff @lucyysthings @marigold-morelli

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel angst #mxigo.azriel #mxigo.masterlist.soulsick #mxigo.masterlist.azriel #mxigo.masterlist.acotar #mxigo.soulsick

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foreludes · 6 months

Text

Blood on the Side of the Mountain

pairing: young!coriolanus x reader

summary: coriolanus snow, a man known for his charm, his wit, and his passion for power, meets a talented artist in the capitol. she spends most of her days painting portraits for prominent figures and finds herself painting one for none other than coriolanus snow himself. through all the ups and downs, will coriolanus and the artist be able to defy all odds? or is this so-called love merely another version of control and a means to a devastating ending?

warnings: small mention of blood

word count: 1,942 words

(chapter 1)

chapter 2: writing all over the wall

Have you ever seen a gameshow? Like the ones where they ask you to choose between a million dollars or a brand-new car? It's a seemingly impossible choice. On one hand, you could be set for life, and on the other, you could get to wherever you need to go. That's what it felt like to be asked to lunch by Coriolanus Snow, a seemingly impossible choice, and any option led towards a winning situation.

You were surprised by his question, you had never been invited to lunch by a customer before. Especially one of this magnitude. Who were you to say no to him? "Yes, I think that would be nice," you finally answered as you brushed your paint-stained hands on the legs of your pants. You suddenly became quite aware of what was to come. A lunch with the president of Panem, meaning you would probably have to muster up the courage to have a full conversation. You looked down at the clothes you were wearing. Fortunately, you had always had a knack for picking attire, but even still you didn't think this was good enough to have lunch with someone so admired. Yet, it would have to do.

"Walk with me to the dining room," he said as he stood up from his spot on the couch. He looked especially alluring today, something was different about him than the day before. His bright blue eyes were filled with more enthusiasm, more life than the day before. You wondered why he was so interested in your company. After all, he could truly have lunch with anyone he wanted. Anyone would've been stupid to say no to his request. Yet, he offered you a seat at the table. You stood up from your spot, ready to follow him into probably an even more magnificent room than the one you were currently in.

Coriolanus opened the door for you, letting you walk out of the room before him. You stood in the dimly lit hallway that you had just admired the day before. He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and ushered you to follow him further into the home. You walked behind him quietly, not sure what to do or say. It wasn't every day that you were going to be able to have lunch in the president's home and you wanted to make a good impression. What if he wanted you to paint for him again? You could make some real money off a job like this. After a few short minutes, you entered a bigger room with a mahogany table in the center. There were two chairs, each spot adorned with an opulent-looking placemat, a plate, a set of silverware, and a glass cup. Coriolanus pulled out the chair nearest to the door for you and you sat down and watched as he walked to the other chair and sat down himself.

After a while, Avox's began to bring in food that you had only dreamed of eating, even seeing. They poured you a glass of fresh water, setting a small bowl of lemons in front of you. "So tell me, what do you think of me?" Coriolanus said, breaking the silence in the room. "Well I-," you were startled unsure of what to say. "And tell me the truth, I don't like lies," he interjected before you were able to muster up any thoughts. What did you think of him? You only knew what you heard, no firsthand experience. You knew stories of him from your friend who went to the academy and you knew how everyone else felt in the Capitol about him. But how did you feel? "I think that there's a darkness to you, something that you aren't telling people. I only know what I can see, as we don't know each other well," you began, watching his facial expressions twist and turn as you spoke. "But I think that I like that about you. It makes you real, it makes you more human," you finished as you picked up your fork and began to eat the food that was placed in front of you. He nodded his head slowly as a pit began to form in your stomach. Had you said something wrong? "And what do you think that darkness is?" He asked, the tone of his voice dark and low. "I think everyone who has some sort of power has it, it's not easy to get to the top and it's not innocent either," you responded, feeling more confident as you continued to speak. Never once had any of your customers given you the opportunity to speak about how you really felt, this was brand new to you. It gave you a powerful feeling that someone cared about your opinion.

The rest of the lunch was rather easy. You talked to him about how you started painting, your family, and pretty much anything he asked you about. You got to know him a little bit better too. You learned that he was somewhat of a simple man when it came to hobbies. He liked reading, going on walks, and tending to the greenhouse that he owned in the back of the mansion. He was interesting too and because you were sitting right next to him, you began to see what kind of person he was. You concluded that he was brutally honest, that he was driven, and yearned to succeed in all aspects of life. All of these qualities made him a confident man, no wonder he carried himself the way that he did.

It was the early hours of the afternoon now and the sun was making its way into the windows of the dining room where you and him sat. There was no longer any food on the table, just the glasses of water that were frequently refilled by Avox's. You hadn't realized how long you had been talking to him until he abruptly stood up from the table. "Let's go on a walk around the estate." You had almost forgotten about your painting, what you were really here for. "Shouldn't I finish your portrait?" You asked as you stood up along with him, pushing the chair back into the table. "You can finish it tomorrow," he said curtly as he walked towards you, putting his hand on your lower back as he directed you out of the dining room. Tomorrow? You thought. This project was only supposed to last a day, maybe two, and now he was having you come back for a third day? Was he doing this on purpose so that you would keep coming back to him until you never left?

By now, you were in the garden. The greenhouse he had told you about was at the back of the property. It was large, larger than you had imagined. You could see plants of all different kinds growing inside through the windows decorated with flowers from probably all over Panem. It was beautiful and you were impressed with his craftsmanship. It took a delicate touch to be able to grow and maintain such beautiful plants, almost like art. Coriolanus removed his hand from your lower back and instead linked his arm with yours as you began to walk around the intricate courtyard. It was mildly warm outside, but not enough for you to be wearing a short-sleeved shirt. So your hands were slightly covered by the sleeves of your brown shirt. "Do you like it here?" Coriolanus questioned. You looked up at the taller man, whose platinum blonde hair lay seemingly perfect against his forehead. "It's probably one of the biggest houses I've ever seen," you retorted as you neared the greenhouse doors. "That's not what I asked. I asked if you liked it here," he responded, his voice darker than before. You gulped quietly and nodded your head, "Yes, I do." And you weren't lying. You could imagine a wonderful life here. People waiting on your every beck in call, never going hungry, never shivering at night when the sun went down. It was like a dream, a dream that most people thought about and then moved passed because it would never be possible. "I'm glad you do." Coriolanus opened the doors to the greenhouse, revealing the most beautiful garden you had ever seen. Ferns lined the greenhouse walls giving a sense of privacy, katniss plants were deeply rooted giving an earthly glow of white flowers near the bases of every pot. There were tons of plants you couldn't even name, ones you had never seen before. It was beautiful, warm, and decedent inside the greenhouse. A bench sat under a small tree that was blossoming with pink flowers, and next to it bushes of white roses. Coriolanus guided you to the bench and sat down and so did you. He angled himself towards you so that he could look directly into your eyes.

"So why white roses?" You asked, reaching over to touch the soft petals with the tip of your finger. "My grandm'am used to grow them on the roof of our old family home," he responded as you sat back, resting your back against the back of the bench. "They were her favorite, they still are and then they became my favorite too," he continued. "They symbolize purity to me and although each rose is different, they're all seemingly perfect." His story was beautiful, it gave a more in-depth view into his soul and his desires. It seemed like Coriolanus valued purity, something you really were not. With all the baggage you kept inside of you, how could you be? "They're beautiful too, the most powerful in the garden," he finished. He reached over and picked one, the thorns gently poking his skin. He handed you the perfect flower and you smiled, looking at it delicately. As you twisted the flower stem between your fingertips, you were pricked by a thorn. A small droplet of blood began to form as you accidentally dropped the innocent flower onto the surface of the bench. You winced and brought your hand closer to your chest as a small pool of blood began to form from the small prick in your finger. Before you could wipe your finger on the legs of your pants, Coriolanus took your hand. He brought your finger closer to his lips before opening his mouth and gently putting your finger inside. You gasped, a larger pit now forming your stomach. After he was finished, he brought your hand back to your lap. You were shocked. His doing what he just did was something you had never expected. You couldn't rip your eyes away from his as your mouth lazily fell open, trying to understand what had just happened. His actions were so intimate, something you may have expected from a long-term boyfriend, not someone you had just met the day prior. His hand reached out, brushing a piece of hair off your cheek that had fallen in the process of your shock. You felt bile building up in your stomach. Was he going to kiss you? He leaned forward, brushing his soft lips against yours. And then he kissed you. The feeling was transcendent. You had never felt a kiss like this before. It was power, as powerful as he was. The feeling in your stomach subsided as you leaned into the kiss, letting him caress your face with the hand that had previously brushed the hair off of your cheek. As he pulled back he said,

"You'll come back tomorrow, won't you? I know you will."

Hi! Thank you for reading chapter 2. I'm kind of excited about this chapter. It's definitely a slow build, but I feel like that's what makes it fun. Thank you so much for the previous support on my first chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed this one as well, I know I did.

chapter 3 out: 12/05/23

tag list:

@bambikitten

@pepperanddsprayy

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #snow x reader #coriolanus x you

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emsgwenstan · 6 months

Text

Personal or professional?

Chap 2 | chap 3 | chap 4

Larissa Weems x fem(carpenter/joiner) named reader.

Words: 2k

Warnings: panic attack, anxiety.

Note: what is violet making? Haha. God the obsession is becoming clear I’d say. X

———

Thursday came and went quickly, it’s currently Friday and 4 in the afternoon, with each passing day it seems to be getting colder and colder. Larissa sent me a screenshotted booking at a restaurant In Burlington reserved for 6:30, by the looks of it, its 5 star and very luxurious, she also said she’ll pick me up. I’m knocking off earlier than usual, hopefully finishing in half an hour. I sent her my address in return.

Im so excited, but I know it’s strictly a professional dinner between two adult woman, who might I add, has already shared an awkward moment that I can’t go back from. I’ll just pretend it never happened. But I wanted it to. I gathered the mahogany off cuts from the racks and placed them on my bench to start Monday, prepped the sandpaper and sander blowing out all the dust from the previous projects just to fill in time until I leave.

Dragging my bag slung over my shoulder and pulling out my hair tie to release the tension in my head, I turn off the lights and shut down the compressors finally leaving the vicinity until next week. Ducking out the front, I unlocked my car and threw in my belongings before starting the short 4 minute drive home. Regathering my things and making it to the front door I fumbled with the keys before dropping them to the ground. Not now. Short tempered me bent down, snatched the keys and practically ripped open the door.

Stepping inside placing my Keys in the dish on the hall stand, I took a deep breath trying to calm down. Wandering further into the house I made it to my room carelessly flinging my bag on the bed. I went looking for my tv remote to flick on for background noise, but of course it was no where in sight. 20 minutes of searching, I found it on the floor under my bed, irritated again, I put on a random movie and tore off my work clothes to have a shower and wash my hair, hopefully a scalp massage will help with my impending headache.

Stepping out and wrapping myself in a towel in front of the vanity, I wiped the mirror of steam just for it to re-form again, I used another towel to dry my hair as much as I could before blow drying it. My headache is mostly gone but I still have irritability in my system almost as if I’m on the verge of a panic attack, I can’t pin point the exact reason behind it, but I just need to push though and finish my hair and do my make up, I’m sure everything is going to be fine.

Doing the finishing touches on my makeup my hands start trembling wildly when I remember i haven’t eaten a thing today, probably just low blood sugar. Except my breathing becomes erratic, I walk out of the ensuite and sit on the edge of the bed for 5 minutes. Feeling up to it i pace to the dresser and pull out my underwear and slip them on and walk to my closet to find something to wear. I haven’t touched any of this for a very long time, I hardly remember what i have, most of my clothes are black with bits of burgundy and purples, possibly one or two things white or cream.

Dress after dress, skirt after skirt, blouses and pants strewn around my room and on the floor, not a fucking thing is right, isn’t what I want, doesn’t look right or good, fits weirdly. I hadn’t relised how much time i spent on looking and trying on clothes as there was a knock at the door, my stomach churned at the thought of not being ready for Larissa. I’m always on time, if not always early, I throw on a robe and hesitantly walk the length of the hallway to the door, I looked in the mirror on the wall seeing my eyes are bloodshot and a frown line indented between my brows, she’s going to be so disappointed in me.

Upon opening the door Larissa was breath taking, her hair styled in a low bun with her usual side part and dressed in a navy blue dress shorter than her normal work ones, white heels higher and a blue with white detailing coat to tie it all together, her lips painted in a darker shade of red as well as darker eyeshadow, also holding a small white purse. I could have collapsed at the sight of her, but knowing I have to face the inevitable disappointment, I clung to the door’s architrave.

“Violet… are you alright?” She asked concerned at my state. I let out a small huff annoyed at myself for causing a problem. I looked deep into her eyes telling her without words that I’m really not ok. “Come in.” I said opening the door widder for her to step in. She did, walking in past me she turned on the spot, observing, trying to understand the situation. I move toward her taking her wrist pulling her towards my room. Larissa took in the little bits she could view of my home, before I led her into the bedroom. I let go of her wrist and walked further into the messy room.

Turning to face her i splayed out my arms, gesturing to the state of everything. “None of it fits.” I said dropping my arms to my sides. “What do you mean darling?” She asked, still a little confused. “I mean every single thing in my wardrobe is to big, I haven’t a thing to wear.” I said, crouching down and pick the items of clothing off the floor angrily tossing them to the bed. Larissa walked a little further to bend at the knees and crouch down to take my hands in her own. “Violet.” She said. I didn’t stop, still trying to pick things up. “Violet stop sweetheart.” She gently commanded. At that I did, Larissa slowly stood pulling me with her and placing me down on my bed in a sitting position. She took to sitting beside me still holding my hands. “I’m sorry, I just- I just don’t have anything, I wanted to be ready before you got here an-.” I blurted. “It’s ok.” She said. “Don’t worry about it.”.

I sat in silence, until I could feel my nose go funny and my eyes starting to water. I’ll be damned letting Larissa see me cry. I shot up causing her to jump a little. “Just give me a minute sorry.” I shakily said walking briskly back into the ensuite and closing the door. I turned the tap on and looked at myself In the mirror, the tears flowing down my cheeks and a sob trying to crawl it’s way up my throat, I cover my my mouth trying not to make a noise. I was in there for about a minute not wanting to keep her waiting, cleaning the tears that have slightly ruined my make up and made mascara run all the way down my neck, I pat myself with the edge of a hand towel, turning off the tap and plastering on a smile, I re-opened the door to find Larissa had picked up most of the clothes on the floor.

She faced me with a sympathetic smile and tossed the shirt she was holding on the bed before coming up to me and stopping. Extending her hand up to my face she used the pad of her thumb to wipe a smudge of black from the corner of my eye, she used her other hand to cup my cheek and pull me into a hug. It’s been so long, it’s been so so long, I’ve missed this. Her hand wrapped around the backs of my shoulders and one on my head. I exhaled before breathing her back in, her scent, her perfume, her smell.

I pulled away not looking at her, feeling like it’s enough physical touch for now, how is it I’ve known Larissa for less than a week and she already feels like home, I don’t understand. “Just give me a moment, Ill actually put clothes on.” I said pulling out a sweater and sweat pants from the pile. Turing around I walked back towards the door stopping outside it telling her to make herself comfortable in the lounge room and I won’t be long.

Larissa complied and took a seat on the couch, she absorbed her surroundings, taking in my own decor, the large book shelf full of books, the arm chair in the corner with a tall lamp standing beside it, the large fire place with a big dark green and tan rug resting in front of it, the vaulted ceilings and simple yet elegant light hanging from one of the beams. Moving on the spot, was the kitchen behind her, the black marble bench tops secured to forest green cupboards and the same for the overhead cabinets with glass pains in the doors and little plants next to the sink in the island bench. She saw a lot of me in the rooms and smiled at the thought.

I opened the door stepping out in the old baggy clothes. Sitting next to Larissa I stared at the flames flickering within the fireplace. “I’m so sorry Larissa I didn’t plan this, I should have bought something yesterday.” I said. “What do you have?” She asked. I shifted to face her. “What?” I wondered. “What do you have in your pantry, I’ll cook something for us?” She questioned. I sat there looking at her wondering why the hell she hasn’t left angry yet. “I don’t care about going. I just hope your ok, would you like me to stay?” It was silent before I whispered. “Yes.”. Larissa pulled out her phone and obviously cancelled the booking.

I got up and opened the pantry, I could hear Larissa’s shoeless feet pad behind me and come to a stop. I took a step back letting her look for herself. She seemed to pick out a pack of fettuccine and a few things like crushed tomatoes, garlic, onion and herbs, stepping back she placed the ingredients on the bench. “Up for spaghetti?” She asked, I smiled and turned to the freezer and picked out a pack of mince. “And meatballs?” I asked. Larissa chuckled “and meatballs.” She replied.

Standing in the kitchen together was nice. She took the reins and somehow managed to make her way around, finding all the utensils, pots and pans she needed. I sat on top of the bench watching her flit about, I did ask if she wanted help but Larissa declined the offer. After a while I could tell she was getting hot and grabbed her shoulder spinning her around to face her back towards me as I peeled off her coat, Larissa let out a breath. “Thank you, I was getting a bit hot.” She laughed. I folded the coat and hopped off the bench to lay it on the back of the lounge. Walking back I stood beside her at the stove. “You know for some who has a big kitchen and makes them for a living, I hate cooking.” I stated, chuckling looking at her side profile. A grin spread across her face.

Larissa stepped back and leaned against the island bench with her hands clamped to the edges, she observed my jumper with a smirk. “Do I have something on me, is it stained?” I asked looking for possible marks. “No it’s just, the Colour… it’s violet.” She giggled. “Oh shut up.” I said rolling my eyes. “Anyway.” I started. “How was work today?” She took a moment to visibly recall her day. “It was… something.” She trailed. “I had detention with a group of four boys and it seemed to have turned into a therapy session. It was so odd, but very eye opening I guess, I didn’t expect it in the slightest.” She finished. “Wow, headmistress and therapist. What else?” I asked spinning around to pull out two wine glasses from the cabinets above me. Larissa shook her head and let out a little tsk. “God knows, I’m constantly surprised at the things that go on in my life.” She said.

“Are you a wine person by any chance?” I asked temporarily off topic. “Yes.” She answered. “Red, white or rosé?” I asked placing the glass on the counter. “Red, please.” Larissa hadn’t noticed the wine rack under the bench she was leaning against, I bent down and was just about eye level with her abdomen when I pulled out a bottle beside her. “So constantly on your toes than?” I asked referring back to the initial conversation. “Always. I think my job is easier when I have students that are troubled and I can connect with them about something so small, that gives them a sense of reassurance their not alone. It also feels less dawning on me, just so I don’t seem annoying to get them to open up.” She ended. I passed her a glass and watched her take a sip, her eyes involuntarily closed and she let out a small hum at the taste. I could feel my cheeks heating.

“That’s good than, I love kids, all ages to. I have a niece and she’s four I love her to death, I loved her mom and other auntie to bits to when they were kids.” I said reminiscing when Louise and jade were little. “Oh you have siblings?” She asked. “You don’t?” I asked back. “No, only child I’m afraid.” She said taking a sip and placing the glass back on the counter to tend to the stove and turn it off. “Well technically, their my half siblings on my dads side, but I will still call them my sisters no matter what. I mean I practically raised them.” I said pulling out two plates and cutlery. “So your the eldest I presume?” She asked dishing up the plates. “Yeah, I was ten when the first was born and twelve with the second.” I said picking up the plate. “Do you mind if we sit in the lounge room? Is so cold in the dining.” I asked. “Of course.” She said picking up her plate and wine glass, I did the same and placed my own glass on the floor plucking two cushions from the couch and tossing them on the floor for us to sit on.

“So where are they now?” She asked, digging into her food. “About 5 hours away.” I said. “So your not from Jericho?” She questioned. “No I moved here about 15 years ago.” I said not elaborating on why. “How is it I haven’t seen you around before?” She asked. “I don’t get out much.” I answered, beginning to eat my dinner. Fuck it was good, Larissa knows how to cook. For a while we just sat and ate, I stoll glances of her and tried so hard to not make it as though I was staring.

Our dishes discarded on the the floor and legs tucked behind ourselves, Larissa broke the silence. “I hope it was ok for me to stay, you could have told me to leave if you wanted to be alone.” She said peering over at me. The fire light was licking at her skin so beautifully, the glow made her look even more incredible. “I would have if I didn’t want you here.” I said sincerely. Larissa looked at her watch and her face contorted into a sad expression. “It’s getting quite late I should probably go soon, I’ll help tidy the kitchen.” She said. “No don’t even think about it, I can do that, you’ve done enough already, I appreciate the offer though.” I said. Larissa looked away for a moment, but her eyes fell upon a book I had resting on the small coffee table beside the lounge.

“Is that the book you bought the other day?… may I?” She asked gesturing towards it. “Yeah go ahead.” She pulled the book toward herself and flipped open to the page that had a bookmark wedged with it. “For eternity, the most beautiful things to me about you, are the things you won’t ever know about yourself. Things only I know of, because everyday I read you like a book that has never been read. Your beautiful cover with your inspiring title and amazing story held captive my curiosity. Now everyday I yearn to learn from your mystery.” I watched as she was reading, her eyes scanning through the piece of literature and her red lips forming the words, I had in fact already read that particular poem, but when it came from her I felt like I could just float into an abyss somewhere, I could hear it forever. I could hear her forever.

“I like that.” She said softly, she flipped the page back and read a couple more silently, before closing it and resting it back on the table. Larissa slowly stood and picked up my plate taking it with her back to the kitchen. I rose slowly having to hold onto the couch for support, work has really taken a toll on my body. Larissa came back to toe on her heals and rounded the lounge to meet me holding out her coat for her to slip back into. “I’ve had a wonderful evening Violet.” She said looking into my eyes. “Ditto… and I’m sorry again, but I’m sure your cooking was better than what that restaurant had to offer anyway.” I said with a smile. “Thank you, it was quite good wasn’t it?” She said with a self satisfactory smirk. “Absolutely delicious, are you going to be alright driving home, not tipsy are you?” I asked. “No I have an impeccable tolerance, thanks for the concern.” She said pulling out her keys from her pocket.

I lead Larissa to the door and open it for her. We both stood awkwardly in the doorway waiting for each other to say something. “Thank you again for the wonderful evening vi. I’ll be seeing you soon I hope.” Vi, oh my god, my nickname, this along with darling and sweetheart, I may faint. “Yes I’ll let you know when I’m ready to install at the school. I have something else for you to.” I said. “Really, what is it?” She questioned. “Uh uh, it’s a surprise, be patient and you’ll see.” I remarked with a sickeningly sweet tone. Larissa laughed and nodded. “Ok than.” She jested. Another stretch of silence radiated between us. Larissa leaned forward and without thinking of what was going on I stood completely still, she kissed my cheek and winked, Larissa without a word stepped out of the threshold and paced to her car.

Opening her door, she looked back at me. “Excuse my language, but it’s fucking freezing.” She called out. I just about died laughing, causing her to giggle. “It’s ok, I mean it is really fucken cold.” I said mocking her, crossing my arms to somehow get warmer. Larissa took the opportunity to slide into her car and turn it on, reversing out I could just make out her hand waving goodbye as she drove off. I returned the wave and closed the door locking it behind me. A feeling of emptiness washed over me as I wandered back into the kitchen, I gathered all of the dishes and put them into the dish washer and wiped down the benches.

A yawn escaped my mouth when I threw on another piece of wood on the fire, walking to turn off all the lights and make my way to my room, my eye was caught by Larissa’s purse resting on the floor next to the cushion she was sat on. I picked it up and smiled at the label Dior of course. Hesitantly I opened it and saw the contents within, a lipstick, wad of cash and a small vile of perfume. The perfume was the only thing that interested me, I wanted to smell her, feel close to her, closer than I know we’ll ever be.

I’ll find time to return it to as soon as I can possibly tomorrow, but for now I’m going to bed, my cold, empty and lonely bed.

@lex13cm @im-a-carnivorous-plant

@barbarasstar @giogwensversion @sabraaabra

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principle weems #wednesday #larissa weems x y/n #larissa x reader #gwenchrist(ie)#wlw fanfic #larissa weems x reader

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katerina-marie · 1 month

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Bathtub Confession (Eres Tú)

Sukuna x Reader

Part 3 to this

The one where you learn that certain confessions don't always have to be romantic, but others certainly do.

Word Count: 5.7k

Notes: Part 3 of my Sukuna x Reader celebrity!au. Takes place directly after part two. Song of inspiration: Eres Tú by Carla Morrison

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo, found family vibes, some angst, fluff, crack, humor, out of character Sukuna (he's so fluffy), suggestive, maybe lightly explicit, tho no sex actually occurs just yet (sorry), so please avoid accordingly.

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“Should I change my name?”

A beat of silence. A drop of water.

“No.”

“Should I get a wig?”

Another beat of silence. A clink of glass on tile.

“No.”

“Should I flee the country?”

A minuscule half second of silence.

“Not if you’re going to quit paying me,” Toji grumbled.

His response made the frown on your face dip down further on your lips, and you rolled your head against the back of your porcelain tub to stare at the ceiling.

“Is that all you see me as?” you whined, “A paycheck?”

“You want me to lie?”

“That’s it, I’m going to drown myself.”

That gets a long, heavy sigh from your bodyguard and you can hear him readjust himself on the chaise lounge seated in the middle of your expansive bathroom before he carries on.

“First off,” he grunts, “no you’re not. That would require me to pull your sad self naked from the tub, and we both know we don’t want that. Second…you know you’re not just a paycheck.” Toji goes quiet for a moment. “I’d like to think that we’ve become a sort of family over the last couple years, you, me, and Nanami. Shoot, even Megs too when he’s around.”

His soft confession brings a smile to your face, and you turn your head to the right to look in his direction from behind a large mahogany privacy screen. It stands tall, wrapping just barely around the ends of your tub where your feet and head lay, keeping you securely tucked away from any prying eyes. It found its way there long ago, because this wasn’t the first time that Toji had played therapist from his dedicated chaise while you lounged in a hot bath and the two of you shared a bottle of wine.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, “I’m grateful you’re my friend…and my family.”

“Don’t worry about it, I know you are. But don’t go on getting too upset or sentimental just because you’ve had a rough day. Things haven’t been that bad,” Toji said, and you groaned at the reminder.

After finally arriving home safely—no thanks to you—Toji immediately went into damage control mode and spent the afternoon fielding phone calls and text messages, though nothing too serious had been blown your way yet.

You had received a none-too-pleased email from the producer of the movie you and Satoru were co-starring in, accusing you of sabotaging the release by not waiting to reveal your relationship with Sukuna until after the movie premiered in a few short months (as if he couldn’t tell that what happened today wasn’t by choice). Luckily, Satoru swooped in with his sweet-talking words and buttered the producer right back into promising extra money for a job well done. Though Satoru’s idea of fixing things was convincing the producer that the only premise that sold better than a classic love story was the angst of a good ol’ fashioned love triangle, and he was more than happy to play the jilted lover dead set on winning you back. You wondered what it must be like to live in such delusions.

What really put the cherry on top of a bad day was the text you received from Sukuna shortly after arriving home. It wasn’t anything particularly worrisome, a straight to the point, “I’ll call you this evening, busy smoothing a couple things out, x,” but it had you in a fit nonetheless. After sending a quick affirmation back, you threw your phone across the couch in your living room and flung yourself onto the nearest surface to bemoan your miserable existence. Toji was not amused when that nearest surface happened to be his chest, and he only offered you five minutes of soaking his shirt with snot and tears before he drug you upstairs to your bedroom, turned on the hot water to your tub, and shoved you into the bathroom with a promise to return with wine if you quieted down for just a second.

So here you were, an hour later, soaking under a mountain of peppermint scented bubbles while you toed at the hot water handle at the end of the tub.

“You think if I begged hard enough Nanami would let me come stay with him for the rest of his vacation? I’m afraid I’m in need of a tropical escape,” you told Toji, already calculating in your head how quickly you could pack your bags and be on the next plane to Malaysia.

Toji chuckled, “No, I don’t think he would, considering he refused to tell us anything more about his trip other than what country he’d be in and when he’d be back. You showing up would take seven years off his life. Add three more if he opens up the door to you sobbing like you’ve been all day. Besides, running away to another country just because you’re afraid to talk to your boyfriend is a cowardly move.”

You ‘tsked’ at him for calling you out on poor behavior and slouched further down into the hot water in shame-filled defeat. Instead of wallowing in it further though, you popped your ankles up on the rim of the tub, tossed your arms back to hang behind your head, and clapped twice to get Toji’s attention.

“Another glass of wine, please,” you mocked in as snobby an accent as you could manage.

“What do you take me as? I’m not your damn butler,” he complained, but you could hear the quick successive cracking of his back as he stood up from the chaise and stretched.

“Just one more and that’ll be it, I promise.” You considered what else could entice him into doing your bidding. “I’ll let you be done for the evening and take the day off tomorrow if you also bring me a plate of cheese and crackers, please.”

Toji was silent before letting out a begrudging “fine” and shuffling out the door without another complaint.

You marveled in the silence, nothing but the occasional lap of water as you adjusted yourself in the tub to break it. After a few minutes, however, you realized the absence of conversation was the perfect environment for your thoughts to run unhindered, and that was not something you cared to partake in at the given time. Trying to concentrate on anything else though was futile, and perhaps trying to wade through your own head for a few minutes would leave you feeling better when you chose to pointedly ignore it once your butler…ahem, Toji, returned with your snacks.

Besides falling on national television—and underneath Gojo Satoru nonetheless—you had a particularly difficult time deducing from yourself what exactly about the accidental revelation of your relationship with Sukuna caused you so much embarrassment. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be associated with him or that you always intended for the relationship to remain secret until it had reached its course; your desire was quite the opposite, actually. It was a feeling best left to baser animals and bedroom activities, but the idea of staking a claim, proving that he belonged to you in a way, was not unappealing and not something you could talk your way out of thinking, especially with the world the two of you lived in.

If you got down to it, the real problem lay in your unfortunate habit of caring what people thought. You didn’t want Sukuna to see you as childlike, only a few years younger than him in age but miles behind in maturity. You didn’t want him to view today’s incident as a misfortunate foreshadow into the “what if’s” of your relationship. Neither did you want the world looking at the two of you and questioning how exactly something like it came to be. Where Sukuna was all sharp angles and dark colors, suave nonchalance and carrying a presence that demanded to be seen, you felt painfully opposite. You wouldn’t self-deprecate and believe that you were unworthy of standing beside him, but just cognizant of how different you felt. More like something that could be just as appreciated, but more likely to be overlooked and favored over something brighter. A “mismatched pair” is what they would call you, something that struck you so vividly that the pressure in your chest increased ten-fold. You knew he would hear it, see it, be made aware of it, and while he may not agree right away, you wondered how long it would take for the sphere of influence to get to him too. The anticipatory grief (as your actual therapist called it, usually followed by anxiety) of waiting for someone you valued so much to realize that he had better options was enough to make you consider running away from the whole thing entirely.

And that’s how you came back to scheming your departure from the country. If you hurried, you could probably towel off, pack a bag, and slip out the back before Toji realized (you wondered if the big oaf had decided to take a nap instead of bringing you snacks for how long it’d been since you last heard him). Surely Nanami wouldn’t abandon you in your time of need if you were wailing at him over the phone in the airport of a foreign country.

But alas, you heard your bathroom door open, effectively cutting off any means of escape.

“It’s about time, Toji. What took you so long?” He neither spoke, nor took another step. “Eh, no matter. Bring me my snacks, please.”

Footsteps continued again and before you could chastise Toji further, a voice spoke up from right behind your privacy screen.

“Should I be concerned with the normalcy of your bodyguard attending to you while you’re naked in the bath?”

The shock of hearing Sukuna’s voice caused you to jolt, sending your legs into the water with an unmistakable splash and leaving you to scurry back into a sitting position from where you had slipped dangerously close to submerging your whole head underwater. The indecency of it all would kill you if this conversation that was about to happen didn’t.

“I assure you,” you started, hoping you didn’t sound as wrecked as you felt, “it is not nearly as salacious as you made it out to be.”

Sukuna hummed. “Really? Because it sounded as if you were expecting him, and when I ran into him downstairs he told me to tell you that he would be back up to deliver wine and cheese shortly. Sounds like a romantic evening to me if I’ve ever heard one.”

You were relieved to hear a hint of amusement in your boyfriend’s voice, but horrified at what he was saying.

“Please stop implying things that’ll make me gag.”

Sukuna chuckled, but was quiet for a minute until, “You have five seconds to tell me to stop before I move this privacy screen so we can talk face to face.”

You shot upwards, looking around hurriedly as you tried to scrape the remaining bubbles in the tub to strategic places in order to maintain your dignity, though you realized a moment later that it was probably unnecessary. With a second left, you brushed tendrils of your hair away from your face and wiped your thumb across the top of your lip to remove any remnants of a wine stain from your skin. In the next, Sukuna was pushing aside the privacy screen and looking down at you with a blank—but not unkind—expression. You eyed him warily as he walked up to the edge of the tub and dropped a cushion from the chaise Toji was sitting on earlier to the floor. He settled himself down onto it and then placed his elbow on the edge of the tub so he could lean in close to you.

“Hello,” you whispered to him, settling both your arms down next to his and then resting your head against them. A small smile crossed his face.

“Hello to you too.”

You were surprised at the lack of tension in his face, no clenched jaw or heavy brow to be seen, and as you trailed your eyes further down his torso you noticed its absence there too. His shoulders were relaxed, and his chin was cupped in the hand propped up on the tub so he could gaze at you with those unnervingly observant eyes of his. You wished he’d been wearing a t-shirt instead of the thin navy turtleneck he currently had on so you could focus your stare on the black tattoos decorating his body. Aside from being intricate, and distracting, they always gave you something to look at when meeting his eyes felt like too much.

The tenderness of Sukuna’s knuckles meeting your temple forced you to look back up at him, only to see that he was following the path his fingers were making over your skin. They grazed over your cheekbone, feathered down the bridge of your nose, and then were skimming over your mouth, his thumb catching ever so lightly on your bottom lip. His hand didn’t linger there, and it was quick to skate over your jaw before his thumb landed under your ear and the rest of his fingers tangled in your hair while his palm cupped your neck. With a slide of his other hand up your arm and down your back to press between your shoulder blades, Sukuna brought you close enough to him that he was able to reach the rest of the way over the tub and kiss you. His lips remained pressed against yours for a second or two before he broke away, hesitated, and then leaned in to do it once more, twice, and a third time.

You were the one that put space between the two of you, sitting back in the water and drawing your knees to your chest. You desperately needed to inhale without smelling the crispness of his aftershave or the spiced warmth of his cologne, both of which were guilty of making your head spin.

“You’re not mad at me?” you asked, breaking the silence before he had a chance to, before you lost your nerve. You watched as his head tilted slightly to one side, his expression a touch befuddled, but full of disbelief.

“Why would I be mad at you?” He questioned slowly, moving himself to his knees on the cushion so he could go back to resting his arms on the tub.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be,” you told him, your voice a bit sharp. “I inadvertently told anyone with access to the internet that we were dating, without even talking to you about it, and then proceeded to flee the scene like a coward instead of getting back out there to present myself as confident enough to own up to my mistakes. Not to mention the fall with Satoru right before. It’s embarrassing. The whole thing made us—me—look like a giant mess!”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek until you tasted iron. Sukuna looked pained, and he reached a hand out to play with your fingers as they sat at the top of your knees.

“You’re not a mess,” he said, rubbing his thumb in small circles over the middle knuckle of one of your fingers, “and I’m not embarrassed either. I never intended to keep us a secret, and I’m not trying to implicate you when I say this, but I don’t think I ever implied doing so that evening.”

“Well, yeah,” you huffed, the twinkle in his ochre-brown eyes and the mischievous grin on his face as he hinted to the night the two of you cemented your relationship into the category of “official” making your face get warm, “we didn’t do a whole lot of talking after that point.”

You tried to jerk your hands out from under his to cover up your cheeks, but Sukuna was unrelenting in his hold, and you gave up before continuing on, “I know you never implied that you wanted to keep our relationship hidden, but that’s been the theme of whatever we’ve had going on these last ten months. We were sneaking around from the very beginning, we lied about it to Yuji and Choso, and then let’s not forget about the whole incident of being caught by Satoru,” you pointed out to him, feeling the slightest bit smug when he looked chagrined.

“I apologized for that,” he reminded you, his voice tone faintly defensive. You squeezed his hand in comfort.

“You did, and I’m not upset about it.”

You took a deep breath and cast your eyes everywhere except Sukuna, taking in the details of your bathroom as you tried to muster the courage to share your insecurities with him. He never let his attention on you deviate, and between that and the heat of the water you had been in for almost two hours, you were beginning to feel lightheaded, and everything finally came rushing out of your mouth.

“I feel like we’re mismatched! It feels like everytime someone looks at us, they’re going to wonder why, like we don’t fit well together. And I’m not saying I believe that, or that you would believe that, and I know this whole thing sounds ridiculous because it is ridiculous, but it’s hard to get outside of my own head about this when I already love you so mu—,”

The startled look on Sukuna’s face is what clued you in to the fact you had said something you had not intended to. You snapped your mouth shut with an audible click of your teeth and used your feet to push away from him and to the otherside of the tub, wrenching your hands out of his grasp.

If someone asked why you never liked to talk about your feelings, this was why. Why the words that came out were never as eloquent—or as sane—as the thoughts in your head was something you’d pay so much money to figure out. And Kento was about to have no choice in letting you hide out with him for the rest of his vacation because you were no longer asking, and if he was interested in keeping his job he would do so without complaint. Even so, you considered that forcibly releasing Kento from the grip of a career that was so wrought with overtime would be another mercy for the overworked sal—,

“You know what I think,” Sukuna murmured, bringing you out of your own head to focus with rapt attention on the blissfully contented expression he wore. His fingers curled around the tops of your arms as he reached out to slide you back to his side of the tub, and when you were close enough again, he pushed his nose into the plushness of your cheek to nuzzle there affectionately. You were transfixed by a small tan freckle on the edge of his eyebrow that you somehow hadn’t noticed before.

“I think this whole time you’ve been so focused on pleasing everyone around you—which isn’t necessarily unadmirable, I promise—and treading with extreme care to take into consideration my feelings about our relationship that you haven’t noticed what’s been going on…or I haven’t been doing a very satisfactory job of making it apparent.”

He said the last part more under his breath, but didn’t give you a chance to interject with an objection before he carried on, making intently sure your eyes were on his. “From the very beginning, even when all I had of you were fleeting touches and secret meetings in questionable places, I was always bound to fall in love with you.”

You didn’t know what to say, what to think, and trying to wrap your head around the fact that what you considered to be one of the worst days of your life was ending with unintentional confessions of love in your bathtub wasn’t helping. So you did what you could and traced a finger down one of the tattoos under his eyes, hoping he would keep talking.

“We aren’t a mismatched pair,” he insisted, his eyelids fluttering slightly at your gentle touch, “I think we compliment each other quite well, so please, don’t try to hide or run away.” He fixed you with a pointed look that told you Toji had warned him of your current status as a flight risk, and you ducked your head slightly and in a way that you hope conveyed repentance.

“Because you must know, I will always be chasing after you.”

You wasted no time in hurrying to crush your lips against his and throw your arms around his neck, because what else was there to do when words couldn’t suffice, other than to surrender to the melding of bodies?

Sukuna reciprocated in fervor, breaking apart from you only to stand up from his place on his knees, and reached down to cup his hands under your bottom, lifting you out of the tub and securing your thighs around his hips while his mouth found yours again.

He seemed to care not that you were dripping water on the floor and soaking the front of his clothes from where you were pressed tightly against him. He stumbled back a couple steps until the back of his knees made contact with the chaise, and the two of you fell back onto it. Sukuna adjusted you to straddle his lap, his hands clasping at your hips while your hands scrambled down his back to pull up his shirt. You ground your pelvis down against him as he dropped his head to mouth at your neck, and the rough groan that elicited from his throat had you deciding that your bed was too far away to justify taking time to separate, and that the convenience of the chaise was worth going to the trouble of having to buy Toji a new one. You had no more than let the thought flutter through your head when an obnoxiously loud knock resounded through the bathroom.

“You two haven’t drowned yet, have you?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Sukuna ripped his lips away from where he was sucking a mark into the space where your shoulder blended into your neck, and met your gaze with one that dared you to intervene.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, using the grip he still had on your waist to hold you in place while he rolled his hips up into yours, and you prayed that the moan you let out wasn’t as loud as it sounded. Even if it was, you hoped Toji would get the hint and make himself scarce.

“Look, I get it,” your bodyguard remarked, sounding both amused and vaguely uncomfortable, “but it’s kinda, maybe important.”

With both the mood dashed and your anxiety spiked again, you patted Sukuna on the shoulder in a bid to get him to let you slide off his lap. He rolled his eyes, exasperation—and lustful desperation—painted clearly on his face, but he helped you down without giving you any grief and grabbed a black fluffy robe from where it was draped over your privacy screen. He held it out so you could thread your arms through it, and then he proceeded to tie the belt securely around your waist.

“Come in, Toji,” you called, moving to sit on the chaise while Sukuna came to stand at your back.

Your bodyguard waited a moment before opening the door, peeking his head around first and then sauntering in with his normal arrogance to lean against your bathroom counter just a couple feet in front of you.

“Glad to see that nobody’s drowned. There’s only one of you I’d be willing to do mouth-to-mouth on,” Toji joked, clearly proud of what he had come up with. You felt Sukuna’s hands come to rest on the tops of your shoulders, his fingertips digging into the muscles lightly. They relaxed when you bought one of your hands up to twine your fingers with his.

“So, to what do we owe the interruption?” you asked. The amusement on Toji’s face vanished, and in its place came weariness.

“I just got off the phone with Nanami, and—,”

“You called him?!” You yelped, springing up from your seat, “I begged you not to!”

“Whoa, Whoa,” Toji cautioned, raising his hands up in a surrender, “easy with the accusations. He called me. He knew.” And before you could open your mouth to ask how, Toji’s expression darkened and his eyes flicked up over you to glare at Sukuna. “Uraume called him.”

You whirled around to look at Sukuna, who—thankfully—seemed just as surprised by the news as you did.

“I didn’t ask them to do that,” he assured you, then turned to Toji, “did Nanami say what they wanted?”

“Just to talk about the whole situation, more or less. Nanami said they only talked for about ten minutes, but they’re planning to discuss things more when he comes back in five or six days.” Your bodyguard sighed and crossed his legs as he leaned back further against your counter. “He was nearly ready to hop on the first plane home, but I managed to convince him to finish his vacation. Told him it’d damn near break your heart if he came back early.”

You plopped back down on the chaise, bone tired and completely ready for this whole day to be over.

“Thank you, Toji. I’m sorry for jumping down your throat like that.”

“Don’t sweat it, Princess,” he said, pulling a vaguely familiar set of keys out from his pocket and pushing himself off the counter to walk towards the door. “You two going to be okay if I head out? I have some errands to run and then I’ll probably crash at Megumi’s tonight instead of the staff quarters.”

You nodded at him, sending him off with a wave before shifting to look back at Sukuna.

“Stay with me?” you pleaded. He answered with a kiss to your hair, and then offered his arm so you could stand from the chaise. He followed after you into your bedroom, and the faint flutter of clothing made you glance back over your shoulder. Your heart began to race at the sight of his bare chest, tattoos displayed in full glory. You must have made some kind of noise because he looked up at you from where he was draping his shirt over the back of a lounging chair in the corner of your room.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said sheepishly, “my clothes are wet.”

You shook your head, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you watched the muscles in his back flex as he bent down to push his jeans to the floor, leaving him in simple grey underwear. There must have been something written all over your face as he began to walk towards you, for he was reaching out to pull you into him as soon as he got close enough.

“I’m tired, Sukuna,” you warned as he pressed your cheek to his chest, though you wondered if you could muster up the energy to continue where the two of you had left off in the bathroom. Surely he would make it worth your while.

“I know,” he told you, voice light and good-natured, and he tightened his arms around you briefly before stepping back and nodding in the direction of your bed, “why don’t you go get comfortable. Toji left your snacks on your dresser. Want to finish them off before bed?”

With a grateful nod, you turned to leap onto your bed, sitting down in the middle and wiggling with excitement as Sukuna came to join you. He sat the tray of food and wine in between the two of you and crossed his legs underneath himself before picking up a piece of cheese and offering it to you. You smiled in thanks and began to nibble on it while he surveyed his options.

“Mhm,” you started, an errant thought popping into your head, “I’m assuming since Uraume knows that Yuji and Choso know now as well?” Sukuna raised his head slowly from where he had been studying the various snacks, and the hint of guilt on his face wasn’t confidence inspiring.

“They do,” he drew out, observing you carefully, “they were both watching the interview with me.”

You groaned as white-hot embarrassment flooded your body, and you fell back against your pillows, grabbing one to shove over your face to muffle the bitter laughter you couldn’t control. “What do they think?”

“It’s nothing you should be worrying about,” Sukuna said, suddenly sitting by your head and lifting the pillow off your face to set it above your head, “you know they adore you. Choso was his normal, level-headed self. He’s happy for us. Yuji was just as ecstatic once he got his laughter under control, if a bit disappointed that we hadn’t told him.” Your boyfriend paused, his face darkening suddenly, and you watched with interest as a muscle feathered in his jaw.

“What?” you asked, pushing yourself back into a sitting position and poking him in the arm to urge him to explain. He shook his head, clearly annoyed.

“You know what that little shit said immediately after? He thought that you and Gojo had been secretly dating and were waiting till after your movie was over to say anything.”

Obnoxious laughter erupted from you, and you hurried to slap your hands over your mouth to try to conceal it as Sukuna’s face fell.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you rasped out in between giggles, unable to stop it as you watched Sukuna sit back against your pillows with a huff and a crossing of his arms.

“The little idiot is just dense. And delusional. Anyone could see that you and the q-tip don’t have any real chemistry.” He sounded an awful lot like he was trying to convince himself of the truthfulness of his own statement. You wondered, affectionately, at which brother was a touch deluded. You were a fine actor, thank you very much. And you were about to open your mouth and say so when something ‘plinked’ off the window next to your bed.

Strange. Your bedroom was on the second floor.

Sukuna jerked his head up, all traces of humor forgotten, and the two of you listened for the noise again.

Plink.

“What the hell,” he muttered, pushing off the bed so he could go inspect the noise, “stay right there.”

You appreciated the concern in his voice as he began to lift the window pane open, and he had just begun to stick his head out to look around when something small smacked him right between the eyes, sending him butt-first to the floor.

“Sukuna!” you gasped, rushing over to kneel by his side and lift his hand from where he had it pressed to his forehead. You didn’t get a chance to fawn over him any further before he was up on his feet and striding to your bedroom door.

“Be right back,” he growled, throwing the door open and cursing all the way down the stairs.

You heard something land next to you on the floor, utterly perplexed when it turned out to be a rock from your flower beds. You got up and tiptoed over to the window, just barely lifting your head over the pane as to avoid becoming another victim of a flying projectile, then shot to your feet when you caught sight of a familiar white-haired costar outside beneath your window.

“Satoru!” You screeched, dumbfounded by his mere presence and the way he waved up at you, completely unbothered, “How in the world did you get through the gate?!”

“Hey! There you are!” He called, with a lazy grin on his face, “that’s not really important right now.”

“I would disagree!” You yelled back down to him, making a mental note to have Toji go over all the security points around your property after his day off. “What are you doing here?”

Satoru laughed sarcastically before the smile on his face suddenly disappeared, and he propped his hands up on his hips. “Where is my car?”

No. Way.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Satoru.”

“Nope! Give me back my car. It’s one of a kind!”

You groaned, reaching up to massage the burgeoning headache you could feel at your temples. “Are you sure it’s not out there in the driveway? Toji left just a bit ago, so you shouldn’t be boxed in or—,” you cut off when the memory of your bodyguard twirling an unfamiliar set of his keys around his finger as he left your bathroom flashed across your memory.

Oh god, that absolute bastard.

Satoru must have caught the horrified look on your face, as well as how you suddenly stopped talking after mentioning Toji because his face blanched even paler than usual, and his voice was two octaves higher in distress when he hollered back up at you.

“Does that criminal have my car?!”

You deserved a vacation at this point.

“I’ll call him in the morning, Satoru, I promise. And I’ll make sure he washes it for you or whatever you want, just come back tomorrow.” You hoped placating him with the prospect of torturing Toji would convince him to leave, but no, he still stood rooted to his spot down below.

“As fun as that sounds,” he mocked back up at you, “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

He looked a bit like a toddler caught with his hand somewhere it shouldn’t be. “Suguru dropped me off and then left in a hurry. He said he had something to do.”

You couldn’t believe that the universe thought that pairing those two together in any capacity was worth the absolute chaos they unleashed on the poor, unsuspecting population.

The slamming of your front door caught your attention, and you figured your boyfriend was about to make himself known.

“Look,” you sighed, backing away from the window slightly, “you can borrow one of my cars and swap it tomorrow when Toji brings yours.” You ignored Satoru’s protests and started to close the window. “Just apologize to Sukuna for hitting him between the eyes with a rock and he’ll open the garage for you.”

You caught the confusion on Satoru’s face, and just barely heard his panicked remark as you shut the window.

“Oh, fu—.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Whew, that one took it out of me, not gonna lie. Angst and I are not friends.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you

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darlingdarkly · 2 months

Text

Fates Worse Than Death part 3

Deimos x f!reader noncon Enemies to Lovers

5.6k words

CW: noncon!elements, dubcon!elements, electrocution (non sexual), bondage, unprotected climactic pnv intercourse, threats of forced impreg, breeding kink

Part: 1, 2, 4

It was early when he left, Reveille hadn’t even blared its siren song to give rise to the base and its inhabitants. It was almost dreamlike in the way he came to you, soft and sweet in pulling you from the depths of your slumber. He left your mask on and you were grateful for it, without your sight it was easier to let the roles slip, just take it as it presented itself without the clouded lenses of your predicament.

So when he leaned down and lightly shook you awake you came up gently as the cot dipped to accommodate his weight. “I’m going, sugarcane.” You groaned and when you spoke, voice sleep strained and groggy and he saw your arms strain against the straps as you attempted to lift up and touch him made him wish to call the whole thing off, who gave a shit about meetings when he could just undo your straps, pick you up bridal style and carry you over to his bed where you belonged, lay in bed all day and make love to you over and over and over.

But it’s easy to forget the kitten has claws when she’s like this, it’d do not to forget she’s not as docile as she presents. “What time is it?” His fingers trail up your arm, the gloved pads of his digits swirling nonsensical patterns on your warm skin. “Early. 4:30. You can go back to sleep, I’ve arranged for someone to come in and help you out of your restraints and feed you, you’ll be staying up here until I return. I’ve got a surprise lined up for you later today.” He stops speaking and you feel one glove come up and smooth your hair, his thumb sweeping back and forth over the errant strands on your forehead.

“Be good for me.” You almost wish you could be but you won’t and deep down you both know you have to play the game so he says it and he means it but it doesn’t mean he believes you when you say you will. He spends a few more fleeting moments lingering in this early morning light, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your temple, one that cut through all the bullshit and made its way to the core. It was a message, a last plea, stay, be good, I know this is fucked but it could work couldn’t it? We both feel this, behind the roles and twisted implications, who gives a fuck how it started?

Then he was gone and you drifted off until Reveille woke up an entirely different woman than Deimos had kissed on his way out the door. A few minutes later someone entered the room and pulled the mask from your eyes. It was short and stocky and he looked as pissed off to see you as you were to see him. Obviously though, Deimos had had some sort of chat with him about his manners because he was on his best behavior as he carefully undid your straps.

It wasn’t time yet so you stayed compliant, sitting up on the cot and waiting for him to back away before standing and heading for the bathroom. He didn’t watch you like Deimos had as you showered but he was right outside of the door and frisked you a bit too thoroughly as you stepped out, dressed and ready for the day.

He left the room and you alone in it as he went to get breakfast for you. It was the first time you really got a good look at your surroundings. The room was double big, like it was really two rooms where the wall separating them had been knocked down. The walls were papered in deep red scroll and his bed took up the center of his section of the room. There wasn’t much else to speak of, a few dressers and a wardrobe against the far wall, a desk with a few pens in a cup on its mahogany surface. Your section of the room was even barer, just your cot and four empty walls, though they were also papered in dark red scroll.

It wasn’t long before short and stocky came back, tray in hand as he plopped it unceremoniously on the desk in Deimos’s section of the room, it didn’t topple over but the contents spilled out of their sections into each other and the juice you were meant to drink knocked over and spilled out over the wood. He looked you dead in the eye before turning and leaving.

You were glad for the way things turned out later on. You stood from the cot and made your way over to the desk, while the juice was off the table (more like all over the table) the food was still edible and after retrieving a towel from the cabinet in the bathroom and cleaning up his mess, you ate everything eagerly, you’d need every bit of it to escape. When you’d finished you knocked on the door and he came back to retrieve the tray.

“Good, you cleaned up your mess. Good to know he’s teaching you something useful other than how to take his cock.” You don’t even bother with a response, let it sink into your skin, you’ll get your licks back and they’ll be far more rewarding as actions rather than words. He isn’t quite done yet though.

“What? Nothing to say? You’re no spitfire. Whatever he sees in you is bullshit and he’ll know it soon and when he does I hope he lets me pull the trigger on you. I wanna watch the life drain from your eyes as I’m the last thing you see.” That seems to satisfy him and he leaves believing he’s the one on the high note. That's fine, let him. The morning passes slow and you try to retrace the plan in your brain, check it once, twice, three times for flaws. There is no alternative, no plan B. If this didn’t pan out your way, if anything went wrong, your goose was cooked.

It wasn’t until after lunch that you decided Deimos was probably far enough away that if something went awry it would at least take him some time to get back, enough time for you to get far enough away to have a chance at disappearing. You could link back up with rainbow after you’d meshed into the closest population dense city. Short and stocky had just left with your empty lunch tray as you bent down and pulled your paper clip free from its shoe home and unbent it to turn it into a shabby but functional lock pick. The outer doors of the facility were far too heavy duty for your little makeshift tool, but the door out of this room was all you needed unlocked for your escape.

You got up off the bed and walked to the solid wooden door, pressing your ear up against it to hear any activity on the other side. It was silent and still as far as you could tell so you bent down and set to work, carefully raking the paper clip around inside the lock mechanism to try and jostle the tumblers. It was a slow, tedious process but after a few minutes work the lock clicked and the knob turned freely.

You stepped cautiously out of the doorway and out into the hall. Short and stocky stood at the top of the stairs with his back to you, this was your chance. You strode forward with careful purpose, trying to stay as quiet as possible while moving as quickly as you could, if he saw you now it’d be a fight and one you’d probably lose.

He started to turn and you took the last few strides in a run, the element of surprise nearly lost as you pushed him with all your body weight and watched almost in slow-mo as he careened over the edge of the stairs, arms pinwheeling to prevent his fall but it was no use.

His side made first contact with the concrete stairs, producing four audible, gut wrenching cracks that seared white hot pain up his spine and knocked the air from his lungs. He continued to tumble, rolling over once, twice, and landing awkwardly on his right forearm at an acute angle. It’s there he heard another pop as his arm took the brunt of the fall and he landed in an agitated heap, screaming mad and hell bent on killing you when he got to his feet.

But before he could you were on him, the last thing he saw was your fist coming down on his temple, ironically knocking him out the very same way he’d threatened on the night of your capture and then all went dark.

You had to act quickly now, it was possible someone could have heard the commotion or would come up here for anything at any time so you stepped over him and raced down the last three flights of stairs and carefully made your way across the sky deck, head once again bent between your knees.

Entering the main building you had to act quickly, it was imperative that you avoided being seen until you changed, you were the only person on base wearing a skin tight jumpsuit and everyone would know you’d escaped upon first glance. Ducking into a particular side room you’d eyed the last time you’d made this trek with Deimos, you found what you were looking for.

It was an old supply room, dusty and mostly unused it was full of stores of toilet paper and cleaning supplies, a stack of desks, a few empty filing cabinets and what you came here for. In a box on the floor, a sight you gazed upon by chance after a soldier stepped in for a rack of toilet paper as you were passing by and stored away for this particular moment, was a pile of old uniforms. They were musty and it took you three separate sets to find ones that weren’t either covered in mildew or faded and the ones you finally settled on were about two sizes too big but they’d do.

You slipped them on over your clothes, you couldn’t risk another soldier dipping in for toilet paper and wanted to leave as soon as possible to avoid either short and stocky waking up or someone coming across him. This was a mistake you came to regret later, but hindsight is always 20/20.

You strode out of the supply closet in no rush, a patrol cap pulled down low over your eyes as you casually but briskly made your way towards the doors of the facility. You depressed the bar on one of the heavy metal doors and pushed out into the warm air. You surveyed the outer compound with scrutiny and found everyone tucked into tight groups, no lone wolves, which meant if you were going to get out of here without being singled out immediately you had to blend.

You spotted a set of soldiers by the gate, rifles in hand and more than likely headed for the gun range you’d heard but never had seen. You walked out with purpose and snagged two empty ammo cans from a stack by the wall and stuck yourself in the group, making sure to linger around the back so as not to draw too much unwanted attention.

The platoon leader called attention and you snapped to, the action just as much instinct as it was disguise. When he calls forward march you begin to move, keeping pace with the group and keeping your head down. You pass under the gate with the weight of nervous anticipation balancing precariously on your shoulders, expecting at any moment the call to halt from above but it never came and you marched out past it and onto a trail through the woods without hiccup.

When the gates were too far back and concealed by foliage to see you dropped off from the group, simply sliding behind a tree until their footfalls became too distant to hear. You left the ammo cans behind and sprinted out into the trees. From what you could remember there was nothing for miles around, just endless forest but you knew there was a little town about twenty miles south and if you could keep up a relative jog you could make it there just after nightfall.

You took a few glances back to make sure you weren’t being trailed but all you could see was empty forest. Your heart pounded with excitement but you knew better than to let it get the better of you, there was still much danger ahead and endless-

Your muscles locked up violently, legs stopping mid step and freezing as white hot pain zapped down your neck, coursing through your spine and consuming you from within. You called out involuntarily, a guttural pained scream that started and seemed to never end until all your breath was expelled and it died out in a hoarse croak. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand, couldn’t move and you heard the wail of a siren sound back in the direction of the base.

You stretched an arm out in the direction of safety, willing your body to crawl towards it with the last of your might, but it stayed put in stubborn defiance. The sight of the pines swaying in the wind, their dark green needles seeming to reach out for you was the last thing you saw before darkness stole over you.

When you wake it’s like waking in a dream, a dream you've dreamt before, fundamentally the same but different slightly. The pain is back, though then it was head driven, a throb radiating almost solely from your cranium but this is different. This feels like static but everywhere. Your nerves are shot to shit, jittery and fried, your fingers and toes tingle and there’s a metallic taste in your mouth.

You try to take in your surroundings when the feeling finally subsides a bit, fading out from forefront surround sound until it’s just background noise at best, though it still roars in and out of focus. It’s the same room you’d woken up in the night you were captured, only this time instead of tied kneeling to a padded platform you’re tied to a table, face up and completely naked, arms hoisted up past your head and secured to the northern legs of the table. Your body is stretched out across the top, eyes up skyward looking at the dingy ceiling. Your legs are spread, each tied to a seperate southern table leg to keep them that way, your ass is pulled to the edge of the table and as you crane your head south you can see him watching you from between your spread legs.

It was you who broke the silence first. “We can’t keep meeting like this.” He comes up and stands between your legs and he makes it obvious by the crane of his head that his eyes are trailing up every inch of your body, taking in the sights and landmarks along the path to your eyes before he even speaks.

“Cute. You think now's the time for jokes, eh?” You try to not think about what comes next. You’re naked, which means you’re probably not going to die just yet but it doesn’t mean he won't cut you down at any time past this point, maybe he was just waiting for you to be awake. Your only solace is that short and stocky won’t get to pull the trigger on you, you made sure of that.

“Just couldn’t be good for me, could you?” You flinch as his hand glides up your thighs to palm your hip, the padding gripping the flesh rather roughly. “What did you expect?” And he can’t help but feel pride under all the disappointment because you’re still cocky and fierce as all hell even tied to a table and completely at his mercy, and there’s something in that that makes his combat pants just a bit too snug for his liking.

“Not for you to put Vasquez in the infirmary with four cracked ribs and a fractured ulna.” You scoffed. “If I disappointed you then I’m soooo sorry but one thing I’m not sorry for is anything that happened to that fucking asshole, he got what he deserved and you’re lucky he’s in the hospital and not the morgue.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me. You’re already in deep fucking shit.” And his use of curse words make you flinch, you can only recall a handful of times he’d cursed and never had he done it in anger but it doesn’t change anything. If he was pissed off then good, so were you.

“The shock collar was a low blow. Kinda barbaric don’t you think?”

“Worked though, didn’t it? I knew you’d run eventually. It’s ok, I’m not mad. It’s only in your nature.” The way he says it piques something in the back of your mind but he glosses right over it, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“It did cut my meeting short but that really could have been an email anyway. But you know terrorist organizations, always wary of the digital footprint. You’re not off the hook though. Violent outbursts, escape attempts, lies. Ohh you’ve got a lot to atone for.” He gave your hip a painful squeeze but you held your tongue against the groan it threatened to elicit. When he stopped you felt it safe to speak.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He moves away from you and somehow feel less secure with him wandering about the room than if he’d stood put beside you. You vaguely hear the shuffle of papers and your heart stops when you hear him call out your full name.

“Standard checkups, vaccination records, routine physicals, psych evals, two hospitalizations, one for an apparent appendectomy the other outpatient surgery for the removal of shrapnel from your abdomen and left thigh.” You tensed as he read you your medical file and your breath hitched as he called out the last procedure on the list.

“Ahhh and last but not least an IUD procedure completed just two months ago.” You started to get angry, the familiar heat of it almost comforting. Almost.

“You scalped my file?!”

“You’re not the only one with friends in low places, sweetheart.”

You considered it momentarily but was still unsure what it changed or why it mattered. “So what? It’s not a pill, I didn’t lie to you I just withheld some truth, what the fucks it matter?”

“So what is you didnt fucking tell me.” And there was the cursing again and this time it was punctuated with a loud bang as he drove his fist into the metal table your file had been resting on. You’re unsure why he’s angry, could he really believe you had some kind of rapport? It seemed like he did, and maybe that’s when it all snaps into place for you, this isn’t some elaborate psychological tactic, it’s not a ruse. He genuinely is keeping you just to have you for himself and it's then you realize you won’t die, there’s never been any danger of death. He’s not keeping you out of spite, you can’t annoy him enough to end you. It doesn’t matter how many times you run away he will drag you back to heel like some kind of wild dog because he’s just insane enough to try and tame you.

“So now.. I have to figure out what to do with you.” He walks back towards you and you can feel his eyes on you, making your skin erupt with gooseflesh, he walks up the side of the table and brushes the side of your face with the palm of his hand, lightly cupping it. You stare up into the obsidian lenses of his mask, unsure how to act. You can’t see his eyes but just know somehow past those black panes he’s staring down at you so tenderly and the weight of that fact sits uncomfortably on your chest.

After a moment he speaks again. “Since you’re so desperate for release, you’ll get none. I need you to understand your actions have consequences and I will see to it personally that you learn.”

After a moment you understand he means to fuck you again and shortly after that the innuendo dawns on you as well and you just laugh. “What the fuck makes you think I’ll do anything you say?”

“You want incentive? How about if you’re good and you take your punishment like a good girl, I’ll see to it that you get some training, opportunities to stretch your legs a bit? Obviously you’re restless, pent up animalistic tendencies, I can understand that. If you’re good, I’ll make it happen.”

The fucking audacity of him to think you’ll accept treats for parlor tricks. Like some kind of dog you’ll just roll over for belly pats. “Screw you! You bastard! Let me fucking go!”

And then his hand goes from stroking your cheek to gripping it, the thumb digging into the soft flesh of your cheek while the rest of his fingers line your jaw, pursing your lips together and preventing any more lip.

“Not enough for ya? You wanna act like a brat? Fine. How about this? Either you do as I say or I’ll take you down to the infirmary. The IUD procedure is simple enough and so is the removal.”

Your eyes widen and even through the grip he’s got on your maw you threaten him, eyes burning up at him like hot coals. He can feel the heat. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

“Ohh, I think you’d be surprised at the things I’d dare. If I feel you so much as twitch around my cock I’ll have them take it out and then we’ll see about starting our own little family together, huh? I’ve always wanted to be a dad but have just never found the time to get around to it, better late than never though, right? I mean, surely you’re confident enough in your fertility to justify the need for protection, I’m sure you’ll make a fine mother. Whaddaya say, sugarcane? How’s your maternal instincts?”

You struggle in the bonds and slip out of his grip, pulling viciously at the ropes but they just cut harder into your skin, the harsh woven fibers biting voraciously into your flesh. “No! Don’t you fucking dare!”

He regains purchase, this time around your throat and he can feel your pulse beating wildly, even through his glove. “Then do as I say.”

You stop struggling, for one because the ropes feel like they’re starting to draw blood and two because he’s let you go in favor of drawing down towards the southern end of the table. Fingers tracing lightly down your side and then back up the other until his fingers skim along the soft length of your inner thighs and you’re left hanging in anticipation as he spreads your thighs further apart to slot himself between them as they travel higher and higher.

The pads of his fingers find your clit and press ever so slightly over the bundle of nerves, drawing lazy circles over it and you can’t help the tensing of your muscles, the way your eyes squeeze shut as you fight the sensation. He plays with it, unrelenting until your arousal starts to well up around the edges of your slit, his fingers drawing down to gather it and spread it generously around.

You inhale sharply as your nipples pebble, hard and aching to be touched. He notices and brings the hand not driving you slowly into madness up to pinch one and roll it between his index and thumb. Your back arches and his fingers leave your breast to encircle your neck, squeezing the sides lightly to capture your attention.

When your eyes fall on him he speaks, and you can hear the apparent arousal in the gravel of his voice, hear the way his eagerness bleeds through, pining to have you again. “Show me you can practice restraint. Show me your self discipline. Don't disappoint me, soldier.”

His fingers push into you slightly for the first time and the edges of your vision blur as your mouth falls open at the dubiously welcomed intrusion. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were locked on yours watching your reactions with careful scrutiny. “Be good for me.”

He pulls out just as fast as he’d pushed in and then he’s gone for a moment, you hear him easing out of his tac pants just enough to pull his cock free and you close your eyes, willing your mind to relax and resist. But when he nudges up to you with the head of his cock, flicking it through the part of your sex and coating it in your slick heat you wonder just how much resolve you have in you.

He leans down over you as he pushes into you in one fluid thrust and you moan with him, unable to stifle it, the sweet ache intoxicating. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t give you time to adjust or catch your breath, just uses you with little to no care for how you fare it. His thrusts even out into a steady rhythm as his hands find purchase on the table you’re tied to and something about feeling him thrust up into you without any other contact, the push and pull of his cock without the feel of his hands on you has your eyes rolling back in your head until you have to squeeze them shut to try and regain the reins of your sanity.

You try and weather the storm, really try to focus on anything other than the devastating drive of his hips but it’s almost impossible. And then you feel his thumb over your clit again and your eyes fly open as the sensation makes you clench around him involuntarily, your arms pull at the ropes, desperate to push his hands away because if he keeps it up you’re not gonna make it.

And then he starts to speak. “You did this to us. Could’ve come back and taken my time with you, could’ve been good and I’d have spent all night just like this, fucked you good and raw til you screamed my name but you had to try. Had to test my patience.”

You try and block out the words, shake your head back and forth to try and not hear him but you can’t and it just adds fuel to the flame and he notices but doesn’t relent. He can tell by the shake of your thighs and the way you’re digging your nails into the palms of your own hands that you’re struggling to cope. He picks up speed a bit and your mouth drops open, prompting a sweet low moan to escape and he wishes he’d blindfolded you before he started because all he wants to do is drink up every single sound before it has a chance to leave your throat, swallow them down to keep them all to himself.

You’re gripping him so sweetly, the clutch of your pussy unlike anything he’d felt in a long, long time and he’d be damned if he’d give you up now. There’s not a thing on this planet that could separate the two of you, not even you. He’d love to see you try, really truly try to keep him from you. He’d never stop, never stop clawing his way back into your life no matter how hard you ran. He’d always find you, in this life and the next.

He can feel it too, the effect he’s having on you. He can feel it in the way your pussy clenches around him, can hear it in your back talk and banter, he knows you’re doomed, even if you don’t and he’s gonna enjoy every second of your downfall, every little slip of your grasp of sanity and reality until the only thing left is him.

His thrusts get particularly heavy, hips punctuating his point as he growls down from above you. “You will be mine.” You’ve lost, you know it. You try and fight it but he’s hitting it so good, cock dragging over that spot that makes your toes curl, there’s no escape and no relief and he knows just what he’s doing. Can feel your ruination coming to fruition and you’re so fucked.

You want to beg, beg him for forgviness, beg him for mercy but you can’t, it’ll just fall on deaf ears and something about it is just too compromising for your pride. Why should you let him know he’s getting to you? Why should you have to kneel at his feet? You’re supposed to be a warrior, a force to be reckoned with, an oddity among women and men for that matter but you’re so fucking close and he knows it and it’s killing you.

“Is it hard, sugarcane? Bet you’re so fucking close. Bet you wanna come for me don’t you?” And he leans in close, pelvis grinding down against you as he keeps up your ruination. His tall frame dwarfs yours and you sigh in relief as his hand finally ceases its assault on your clit to come up and seat itself against the back of your neck, pulling your head up and drawing your forehead against his as his other hand abandons the table for a grip on your hip, pulling you down against him as he thrusts up into you, making the sensation just that much more unbearable, making you cry out just that much louder. He dips down to whisper close against your lips, like he’s about to impart some great secret and he doesn’t want to risk allowing the rest of the room to hear it, empty or not, the shell of his mask so, so close.

“Do it. Let me make you mine in the most ultimate of ways. I’ll take such good care of you and the baby, I swear. Come for me and we’ll start all over.”

You’re quite nearly delirious, holding onto the last of your resolve with bloody fingers. It takes everything in you not to come around his cock, the way it fills you completely, hot and hard is going to be the death of you, or rather the birth of a new you but you can’t. You can’t bare this monsters offspring, he’s a goddamn terrorist for fucks sake and so you hold off until you feel you’re ripping apart at the seams.

You want to succeed but it’s slipping and you’d almost given in to the defeat when he finally comes, you feel it, thick and heavy in you and by god’s mercy he stills and you sob with relief. Chest heaving as your pussy spasms in protest around him. Sweat and tears streak your face as you let out shaky breaths to try and regain your composure. He pulls out and rubs his hands up your body, starting at your hips and gliding up your sides until he’s working at the knot holding your hands above your head.

You feel the ropes loosen but are too overwhelmed to do more than shift them down a bit to alleviate the ache in your shoulders. He says nothing as he comes around the side of the table and scoops you up off of it, pulling you into his chest and cradling you close. You can’t fight him, don’t have the strength so you just rest your head against him and let him carry you all the way out the door.

You shift to get comfortable in his arms as he makes two lefts, and then a right. Closing your eyes and breathing deeply as he climbs two flights of stairs and crosses the sky deck. Burying your head in his chest while he mounts the last four flights before you feel him gently deposit you onto a surface far too comfortable to be the cot.

Only then do you look up at your surroundings. “Bet you didn’t even stay long enough to see my surprise, did you?” His surprise is a queen sized bed, since you’ve been gone it’s been brought in, assembled and made. While it’s nothing fancy, having been carefully checked over with a fine toothed comb for anything that could aid you in another escape attempt, it was very lavish for someone being held prisoner, though you know he doesn’t exactly see you as that even if you still do.

There’s an awkward moment where neither of you knows quite what to say, for some bizarre reason you can’t explain there’s an apology waiting on the tip of your tongue. You won’t say it but it doesn’t mean it’s not there. He reaches up past your head to the metal headboard and pulls down a new set of restraints, they’re long and give you a bit of range as to how much you can move but they’re still restraints.

After you put on another white tee from the seemingly endless supply he has for you, he takes your hands and silently puts on the leather cuffs, securing them. His touch lingers on your wrists even after he’s finished and you feel like he’s about to say something but he doesn’t, just pulls your mask from its place and pulls it down over your eyes. You lie back and get comfortable as he moves away from the bed and undresses.

You listen to the familiar sounds of him sliding into bed and then the room stills and you drift off, until Reveille wakes you in the morn.

#dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #darkfic #tw dark themes #tw noncon #tw dark content #twdubcon #deimos x reader #r6s deimos #Deimos smut #r6s deimos x you #r6s deimos smut #r6s x reader #rainbow six siege

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qiwoomi · 1 year

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iii. care for you

series masterlist main masterlist prev next

The office is filled with silence, except for the constant clattering sound from the keyboard. Though, Alhaitham's peaceful ambience is ruined when a blonde haired man with a half updo hairstyle barged into his office without notice.

"Here's your coffee. You should really hire an assistant soon, I'm tired of having to buy you drinks all the time." Kaveh intervened, placing the cup on his desk.

The Chief Operating Officer's eyes are still glued to his computer, subconsciously ignoring his friend. He reached for the cup to take a sip, as Kaveh slammed his hand on the mahogany desk. "Ugh, can't you see that I'm busy right now?" Alhaitham grimaced.

"I won't leave unless I hear a thank you."

"Fine, thank you for the coffee Kaveh."

"It's insincere," Alhaitham immediately turned his gaze towards him, his eyes narrowing, "...fine I'll leave, geez. What got you so worked up this morning."

Kaveh left instantly, as Alhaitham facepalmed.

Truth is, you have been in his mind ever since last night. For the past few days, he has been quite observant of you.

It piqued his curiosity, because every time he came back from work and you're fast asleep, he would always hear you screaming. He ignored it however, thinking that maybe you're suddenly awake and decide to watch a horror movie. Which is... quite illogical for a man who always use logic above anything else.

It is until, he heard your scream for three times in a row every night that he decided to check on you. Even though he made a rule himself to not enter each other's room, he's still concerned.

The sight of you crying is still as clear as day, as well as the fact that you both hugged that night- it feels illegal to be that close to you.

Alhaitham is usually not the type to care about what other people thinks, but it's otherwise when it comes to you. Most of the time, he's more self-conscious around you.

As for now, he's only hoping that you don't remember what he did last night.

When the clock strikes five, Alhaitham didn't waste a minute to pack his things up and heads out of the door of his workplace, actively avoiding any coworkers who dare to approach him with more works. He can deal with them tomorrow.

He languidly walks to the parking lot, quickly entering his car. He sits for a moment, while loosening his tie.

Alhaitham decided to pick you up today. Entering his keys, he immediately drive to your college.

Last night's predicament never once left his mind. But, as embarrassing as it is for him to enter your room without your consent, his goal is to at least know what had been bothering you.

You might not notice however, the man had always been watching out for you.He had noticed it all. He noticed every little thing that you do. From head to toe, even.

When you brought up about divorce to him, he's surprised.

To his dismay, even the most intelligent and prominent figure of the Akademiya University that is known to have mastered several languages can't even describe what he feels.

Though, he would rather hide it than letting the world know. He feels a surge of responsibility through his body, which is stronger than before— which is why he ends up pulling up in front of your school. While mindlessly tapping the steering wheel with the car windows rolled down.

He's looking out for any possible friends of yours, to ask where have you been.

Unbeknownst to him, you had taken a day off. Alhaitham didn't even realise the slight furrow on his brows, as he drove away and went straight to home.

Since it's your grandma's birthday, you decided to visit her grave. You placed down the bouquet of red tulips, as you sit down. The atmosphere was quite, the thoughts inside you the only thing that is keeping you company.

It was only after a short while before you decided to go back.

Entering the passwords, the door opened as you stepped in.

You are suddenly greeted by a smell, the apartment being engulfed by an aromatic and pleasant smell— which of course comes from the kitchen.

"Oh, you're finally home. Where have you been?" Alhaitham turned to see you clad in all black attire.

"...Ah, I went to the graveyard then I stopped by a convenience store." You replied awkwardly. His eyebrows slightly raised. "You didn't tell me you took a day off. I stopped by the school to pick you up." He finished, as he returns to cooking.

"Sorry, I turned my phone off for today," You paused for a while, waiting to see his reaction before continuing, "Um, anyway... about last night I'm sorry. I guess I just watch too much movie that they started appearing in my dreams..."

Silence. Is he ignoring me?

Alhaitham turned off the stove, lifting the pan with fried chicken rice before dividing them into two ceramic plates.

"Come sit. I made dinner."

You hesitantly make your way towards the dinner table, slowly sliding the chair (you don't even know why you did that) as you sit across of Alhaitham. Not before placing the plastic bags filled with snacks inside for you to munch on when you're studying. The man before you then hands you a set of cutlery, a glass of water and not forgetting to put a box of tissue between you both.

You muttered a small thanks to him, to which he only nodded as you start eating.

Your eyes widened at the taste, absentmindedly nodding to yourself as an approval. His lips quirked up for a moment, which you failed to notice.

"Ahem. I noticed that you look unhealthy than usual. Do you want me to arrange an appointment to a doctor? I know someone you can trust."

"Oh..! Aha, no need. I already had contacted Dr. Baizhu... I have an appointment with him tomorrow."

He paused for a while, as if contemplating if he should tell you to cancel the meeting and choose another doctor instead.

"...I'll go with you. Just incase." You look up at him, taken aback at the offer, "I don't have any work tomorrow so you shouldn't worry." He lied.

Alhaitham then stands up, collecting your finished plate and his as he put them in the sink. Leaving no room for you to object his advances.

taglist: @odevote118 @levisbebe @hitomi-inaru @no3hg3nshin @thetwinkims @tanspostsblog @kaoyamamegami @iamfakeu @starlightauralis @mmm-alhaitham @klementime @makimakimi @itonashi @crowbird @changgchangg25 @haengezoe @0r093hf74hf8460 @catjsjs @ezraiix @hakunonn @lady-makima @ninjakuko @fluidfandoms @ragnvdnr @chishiyawifesworld

author's note: finally an alhaitham pov and slightly jealous alhaitham (tho he won't realize it) 🤭 just a heads up, but I can't reply to comments at all :( i owe you guys a double update tho since i can't post yesterday

est. 070323

do not copy, translate and repost my work.

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham angst

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lanitalay · 4 months

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Among Flames and Starlight Chapter 5

a/n: I'm very proud of this chapter!!!!! Enjoy!

Warnings: angst, bad mental health, suicidal thoughts, oc refusing to eat

Word count: 2.1k

Other Chapters

Mahogany. The massive doors that separated her from the rest of her life were mahogany. Not maple. Not pine. But deep red-brown mahogany. They were carved with scenes from Autumn legends. Irene didn’t recognize them. She could infer they told the story of a hero, from the male figure wielding a sword against a tentacled creature. If the doors stayed closed she’d be fine. Even if the dress she wore was scratchy. Or if the thorns from her bouquet pricked her skin. She was happy to stay here, cold sweat running down her spine, nausea making her question the last time she ate and hair pulled so tight in a bun that her head ached.

In this space, standing behind the doors she was herself. Not the Princess of Autumn. Not Eris Vanserras’ wife.

But the doors could not stay closed forever. Someone would inevitably have to open them. Either to go in or out. Today, she knew they would be opened by two footmen, right on cue with the music, so that she may walk down the aisle.

Irene was shell shocked from the last fifteen minutes. In moments, she was expelled from her home and sold off to the highest- or only- bidder. She was cold now, no longer surrounded by the Summer sun. No, she was in Autumn now and the sun was blocked by moody clouds and a forest canopy. The scent of maple and pine enveloped her and if she had chosen to be here on her own free will, she might have savored it. She remained standing in the courtyard as the Vanserras dispersed. Some went into the forest, others into the house and the youngest went towards a grass field.

Lady Autumn and Eris stayed with her. The latter still holding onto her arm. The former looked at her with sad eyes and motioned with her hand “come dear, I can show you to your room.” Eris let go of her, his hands now placed firmly behind his back. Irene nodded, not processing what was happening and followed the Lady into the Forest House.

The beginning notes of a traditional Autumn song sounded from behind the doors. The knobs on the door rotated slowly. Mahogany pulled away to reveal the aisle, lined with white carpet. She kept her eyes trained on that carpet, how pristine it was. How not one speck of dust dirtied it. How long it was. How, at the other end, stood a male with red hair. Staring at the floor was infinitely easier than facing the crows and the faces she could not bear to see.

They were all here. The High Lord of Night, Celene, Cassian, Azriel, Victoria and… Rhys. She couldn’t be sure that seeing him wouldn’t cause her to break. That the one person she truly wanted would be watching when she vowed her life away to another.

That first day in the Autumn Court was bad. Irene spent it in her room, looking out of the window from a cushioned chair. She didn’t see anyone until it was time for dinner when Lady Autumn, or Mora, as she insisted Irene call her, brought her a plate.

The next morning a servant took the untouched plate out of the room. Mora came back, insisting that she meet everyone at breakfast. Irene couldn’t focus on so many new names. Brando, Cyrus, Arden, Flint, Hugo. She knew Eris and had heard many things about Lucien. The middle autumn sons were mainly described as being various degrees of insane and sadistic, taking after their father. However, that morning the table was mute of conversation.

Mora introduced her properly to each of the boys. Irene didn’t acknowledge them. She was led to a chair and given a plate with a variety of foods. Lucien said that “the maple buns are good,” but she did not touch any of it. Not when they were eating. When she was sure the food was safe and eating it would keep her alive in this hell.

At lunch no one bothered her. Irene kept her gaze through the window.

She knew that she should be walking. But her feet were glued to the floor. The musicians repeated the first verse. Then moved to the second. Irene stayed put. Nothing good awaited her at the end of the aisle. No love. No friendship. Not even quiet companionship. She remembered the burn on her waist, acknowledged the threat that it was, and considered her options.

Her last shard of autonomy.

Burn at the hands of Beron and hope to die or marry Eris and pray to survive. She was only half witch, surely she could be killed like the fae. No one had ever tested that theory though. But she could be the first. The first half witch half fae to have ever lived and died. There would be nothing to hold onto with Eris. Only dread and fear that one day she’d be forced to carry out the duty of all heirs.

But Avalon was alive. She had been alive for decades in a prison. So if only for her mother and the smallest possibility of seeing her again, Irene stepped forward.

A full seven days went by and Irene refused to ingest anything, save for a few sips of water here and there. She only had enough energy to walk from the bed to the chair by the window and back. The same clothes she arrived in now hung from her hollowed frame. When she bothered to look in the mirror she saw a withered female. One breath from oblivion. Irene longed for it.

Mora would come in once a day and try to get her to eat something. She had even gone as far as to force broth down her throat. But Irene refused to keep it down.

Until, on the seventh day, Lucien walked into her room and gagged. She had not seen anyone except Mora since that first breakfast. He stood by the door, unsure if she was breathing. Irene’s patience had vanished by that point so she snapped, as much as she could manage “why are you here?”

He fiddled with an envelope and raised it up so she could see “this arrived for you.”

She remained silent and unmoving. “It’s from Victoria.” A twist in her heart reminded her she was still alive. Victoria… the last image she had of her friend was of her scratching at her throat, begging to speak. Irene flipped her hand, signaling Lucien to hand her the letter.

“I’ll give this to you if you eat something,” he sniffed “and bathe.” She did not react. Lucien left with the envelope and Irene thought just as well. She did not need to read her friend’s laments when soon, so very soon it would all be over and a dark endless sleep would rescue her. With eyes closed she willed herself to find that relief but then Lucien came back, this time with a tray of tea and plain crackers.

He placed the tray on her bed and her stomach grumbled at the sight. “You’re hungry,” he told her like she did not already know “when we are hungry we eat.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Irene said, getting winded just from rolling her eyes in annoyance. Then Lucien leaned in, so as not to be heard by anyone else, “you are letting him win by letting yourself die.”

“You don’t know anything,” he put a gentle hand over hers “I know the High Lord wants you to suffer for your mother’s crimes. I think he hopes you die because he can’t kill her and you are letting him win.” Irene stares flatly at him. Lucien does the only thing he can think of and rips open the envelope, hoping to the gods Victoria wrote something helpful. “My gentle Irene I’m so sorry,” he reads

“It has been a day since you were ripped from us and I can’t bear to think of you in pain, alone. Father says the wedding is in a month and all I can think about is how you always wanted to be married on the cliffs of Velaris, overlooking the sea. I feel as how you must have felt when your mother was ripped away from you. I love you like a sister. We are all heartbroken. Please forgive me for not being able to save you. Please forgive my mother and Rhysand. None of us knew what he was planning. I would have never insisted you attend the ball had I known. Please stay strong. I’ll be there for the wedding. I’ll be there for you. Take care of yourself, like you’ve always cared for me. Remember nothing is forever, except my love for you, Victoria.”

Silent tears flowed down Irene's face as she reached for the cup of tea.

It would take one hundred steps to reach the altar. The ridiculous poof of the dress does not let Irene look at her feet. So she walks with her head hung, looking at the floor. But their stares are so heavy. She can imagine the gloat in the High Lord of Night’s face and the pity in her friend’s eyes.

On the tenth day, Irene was having regular meals. Mora was glad to see the improvement, even if she did not engage in conversation. Another letter arrived, this time from Mor. It remained untouched for a day. But at night, when sleep was impossible, Irene read it. She was never close with the female. They saw each other occasionally, but Mor had her own apartment and after the failed engagement she took every opportunity to leave the Night Court. She would often visit Winter or Vallahan. Since Irene could not leave Velaris, their relationship was nothing more than casual.

The letter was simple “Irene, I’m sorry this happened. I would have written sooner but I did not hear about it until I returned to Velaris. Victoria was inconsolable. I promised her I’d write to you with advice. I don’t have much to say though, since I never spent more than a day there but the Autumn Court is just like any other. Watch your back. Avoid Beron at all costs.”

No more letters came. Irene figured the ones that arrived did so through couriers from the Court of Nightmares, as getting mail sent from Velaris was a hassle because of the wards. One morning Mora insisted she go outside and get fresh air. Irene complied, so tired of fighting, of resisting. They sat on a bench near a pond and watched a swan and its cygnets swimming around. “I never wanted to marry the Beron,” the Lady confessed, “I was forced into it, much like you. I would not wish it upon anyone. But it hasn’t been all bad. Find a way to carve out happiness for yourself.”

“How?” Mora sighed “you have everything we have to enjoy, paint? Or read? Maybe you enjoy gardening…” the list went on. But Irene could not think of finding joy. Not when all of her strength was spent fighting back tears and suppressing an ever present panic.

She was half way down the aisle when she dared to look up. Victoria was holding a tissue to her eyes, wet with tears. Rhys was a statue beside her. Face set in an unreadable mask. Irene wanted to speak to them, if only mind to mind. But that would shatter her. So she looked forward, chin lifted. Eris stood at the altar, waiting for her.

In the month she had been at the Forest House she had seen her betrothed three times. When she first arrived, that first breakfast and right now. He had made it his job to stay far away from her. Irene was grateful for the small mercy.

One, two, three.

Those were how many steps Irene climbed to reach the altar. She looked straight ahead, only seeing Eris’ chest and only spoke when the priestess said “repeat after me.”

“I take thee, Eris Vanserra, as my husband. To love and respect, until death do us part.”

“I take thee, Irene Vallier, as my wife. To love and respect, until death do us part.”

The priestess concluded “you may now seal this bond with a kiss.”

Eris began to lean in. Irene stiffened, this was the beginning of the rest of her life. He would use her when he needed. Her body, her time on this planet had just been given away to him. Irene closed her eyes as he neared, bracing for his lips to meet hers in an unwanted intrusion. An intrusion that never came because just before he claimed her mouth, Eris moved his face. Placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

The priestess then announced ,

“I present Eris and Irene Vanserra, may the Mother bless this union.”

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#acomaf #acosf #acotar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #acowar #azriel shadowsinger #rhysand #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x oc #mor #autumn court #night court #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin

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