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venusxxlangdon · 5 years

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Of Mice & Snakes. Part Two — The Mice

pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader x Tom Riddle

warnings: crossover, third-person narration, character death, smut, dub-con, dirty talk, fingering, oral (male receiving)

words: 11.5k

summary: The Dark Lord and his gray eminence are coming to end the regular world order. While the Slytherin Heir might have already put the crown on his head, keep in mind that it’s the Knight (Michael Langdon) who’s the most powerful on the grand chessboard of the wizarding war. When money, power, glory, and love collide, what will win in the end?

mood board by the one and only @micheallangdons

“No, please, don’t! No! Pleaaase!” Her deafening scream pierced through the thick, fetid air of the pit. She clawed onto the muddy walls, but her fingers slipped and she ended up falling to her knees, smearing the dirt all over her bony kneecaps and bruised thighs. The squelching sound of mud and mucus rang in her ears and mixed with the threatening hissing behind her. She squeezed her eyes and let out a desperate animalistic howl, trying with all her might not to look over her shoulder and see them — two huge serpents making their way to her small, trembling body.

“Did you miss us, kitty?” Her blood ran cold at the sudden sound of a human voice echoing in her head. Her body jolted up, and she covered her ears with her dirty hands, but she could still feel the snakes approach her, come closer, their boneless bodies gliding along the ground. Like a trapped bird, a little prey with no chances of survival, her mind tried to come up with some, any plan to get out of this nightmare, but every thought was hammering against the gold cage of her subconscious without the slightest idea of the possible escape.

Her heart raced like mad, pumping the thick blood, shackled with fear, through her veins.

“Go away!” She cried out and whirled around, facing the beasts. Her breath hitched at the sight of the snakes with their big heads swaying slightly from side to side as if they were trying to hypnotize her. One of them was jet back, with the silver scale on its head, and the other was emerald green with spikes. She knew it was a dream, but the creatures looked so real, that the thought of actually dying there and never being able to wake up crossed her paralyzed mind.

The serpents had become the frequent guest of her nightmares, none of which had been as realistic as the current one. She looked up at the rift above her head, through which a faint streak of light was coming. It was too high for her to reach. Having moved the gaze of her wide eyes back at the snakes, she gulped heavily. Their maws were not moving, but she still could hear their voices. They were whispering something like “we are coming, we want you, you are ours”.

She put her hands in front of her and leaned forward, standing on all fours, digging her fingers into the goo; her hair covered her face like curtains. A shiver ran down her spine as she noticed from the corner of her eyes that the serpents had come closer, they were several inches away from her, their forked tongues darting out. There was only one way to end this. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Empty yourself from emotions,” she heard Snape’s voice and tried to concentrate on it as if it was the lively beacon that could guide her through the nightmare. Her nostrils flared when she felt the beasts crawl closer, facing her. She knew if she opened her eyes she would be welcomed with the stare of two pairs of slit-like eyes.

She had never been good at controlling her emotions, but at that moment, on the verge of death, she had to do it. Although it was almost impossible to calm the racing heartbeat down, she tried to tell herself to relax. At least a little bit, so her mind could jostle her out of the lucid dream. She gasped at the blow of cool air fanning over her ears.

“Y/N...” they hissed, “silly, little girl...”

And then...

“Legilimency,” another voice drawled, and a blinding spark of light flashed before her eyes.

She shook her head violently, resisting the intruder. A pounding headache shot through her temples — it felt like as if someone was trying to cruelly scatter her thoughts and memories all over the ballroom of her mind and destruct her from her attempts to gain control over her subconsciousness. It became harder to breathe as if her lungs were held with a steel vice.

She ran the tip of her tongue along her dry, chapped lips and grunted through the gritted teeth, “Protego!”

A loud, primeval scream bordering on terror that rippled through her sweaty body and shattered her brain, made the blood drain from her face, and before she was aware of making a conscious decision, her legs were pounding furiously in the mud.

Her body bolted up in bed, and her wide eyes welcomed the darkness of the Prefects’ bedroom. She was panting heavily, her mouth rigid and open, her face gaunt and sulky, fists clenched with blanched knuckles. Her mind was still in the snake pit, so it took her a while to focus her eyes on the small window in the opposite wall that gave the view of the silver band of the Black Lake sprawled out in the distance. With a look of disgust, she glanced at her nightgown clinging to her body and hooked her fingers under the hem of her collar to take it off. She ran her fingers through her messy hair and slid her hands over the chiseled lines of her face, scratching her flushed cheeks as if she wanted to rip her skin off to get rid of the crawling feeling under it. She sighed and hanged her legs off the bed, placing her feet on the thick emerald green carpet.

“Aguamenti,” she whispered and poured some water into a tall glass on her desk. It was down in one gulp, and as she put the glass back onto the polished surface, she leaned her hip against the corner of the oak table and blankly stared through the window, her back slouching.

Why was it all happening to her? Standing there with her toes flinching on the carpet pile, she reminisced to that ill-omened day when she found the accursed diary in her bag. Why was the universe so merciless to her? The moral cancer of dispiritedness had been eating into her heart for months, turning her into a malignant ball of fear.

The burden of silence had become unbearable at some point and after she had heard the mysterious whisper calling her name in the hallway on her way to class, she decided it was time to share what had happened to her in the Chamber of Secrets at least with someone, otherwise, she would have gone mental. Winona Flint, who had seen the diary when that second-year student brought it to Y/N on the following day after the incident, was the first person the girl shared her experience with. Well, not in detail, of course. Fling’s reaction was quite predictable — as a reasonable witch, she told Y/N that the best thing to do was to let Dumbledore, or Snape, whom she always had a good relationship with, know. Little did Winona know that the poor thing was too scared and worried that the professors could find out that she had been fucked by two entities and really enjoyed it. When she admitted that shameful fact to herself, she forswore that she would never discuss it again.

She tried to get rid of the diary. On one of the gloomy Sunday mornings Winona and Y/N went to the backyard and spent two hours trying different charms to destroy the artifact.

“Insendio!” She pointed her wand at the diary. The lively flames licked the hardcover, turning the grass around it into yellow patches of straw. When the fire went out, it revealed the notebook without any slightest traces of distortion. Not even a scratch was made.

They tried to find something about the diary in the library, but eventually, lost their privilege of using the Restricted Section. Irma Pince, the librarian and Study Hall observer, tracked the search history of the archives and demanded the explanation of why two Slytherin students had been fishing for the information about the darkest artifacts.

The rules became stricter as more students were attacked by the mysterious creature. All Prefects were told to be more attentive to the first and second-year students, who always tended to sneak out late at night, and make sure that everyone was in their dorms after curfew. No matter how hard the professors had been trying to cover what was happening in Hogwarts up, panic started to rise in a geometrical progression. Scared students wrote letters to their parents about the “weird atmosphere at school” and some of them even stayed home after Christmas break.

The usual spirit of mirth and joy that had always reigned in the Great Hall was replaced by the dark and gloomy atmosphere. Even the candles flowing in the air seemed depressive as if they were mourning the petrified victims.

Everything went downhill after the first death. Ginny Weasley, a Gryffindor student and one of many Weasleys who were studying at Hogwarts, was found dead in the abandoned bathroom. It was the day when the Headmaster made the tragic news public. The reporters from Daily Prophet and other magazines flooded the castle like locusts. Rita Skeeter was in her element, interviewing Gryffindor students and then Molly and Arthur Weasley whose hysterical cries could be heard from afar.

“I heard she had asked them if they were sad because they lost a chance to be a part of that Family program Mr. Weasley had applied for last summer,” said Cedric Diggory to one of his mates, and Y/N who was leaning against the doorway and watching Ms. Skeeter pose with the crying Weasleys, snapped her head at him.

“Are you serious?” She asked in disbelief, and to her disappointment, Cedric nodded.

“I’m telling you,” he glanced at the woman, “she’s fucking sick.” They all simultaneously looked back at the blonde woman who was flashing her pearly white teeth at the camera.

Y/N frowned. How easy it was for one person to depreciate other people’s grief. In times when they all were in danger, unity was supposed to be the only thing that could help them, yet the voice of one of the most famous newspapers belonged to a heartless bitch who would never learn such words as sorrow, sympathy, and support.

Over the past months, death had become a frequent visitor of Y/N's life. The familiar feeling of distress and pity that had been eating her from the inside like a nasty warm reminded her about itself on the following morning after she had been awoken by the nightmare. It filled her body like quicksilver, making every limb of hers heavy, nearly pinning her to the wooden floor. Looking through the small window, she was watching the faint sunlight trying to break through the thick blanket of the grey sky that was looming over Hogwarts. What if she was next? She could feel something inside of her, crawling its way out — the sickening fear of the unknown. She highly doubted that Tom and Michael were done with her, but it was not the worry about herself that made her insides flutter in terror. She cared about her family and the thought that something could happen to them was making her head spin. She wanted to make sure that her mom and dad were okay thus she was sending them letters every three days, asking if everything was alright. Every time her white owl brought the yellow envelope tied to its clawed paw, the feeling of relief washed over her.

When Ginny died Y/N's mother wanted her to go home as soon as she could, but the girl had a strong feeling that she would not be safe away from Dumbledore and other professors. Besides, she could not use magic outside Hogwarts without passing her O.W.Ls*, so it was another reason why she chose not to leave.

Having pushed the buttons of her white shirt into the holes and pulling them through absentmindedly, she got dressed and span around on her heels to take her black cloak with a green serpent adorning the breast pocket. She adjusted the cuffs and took a deep breath. How the hell she was supposed to go through the day when every fiber of her body was paralyzed with anxiety? The collar of her shirt felt too tight, suffocating; the laces of her shoes were like shackles, making every step torturously heavy, and the corners of her eyes tingled with upcoming tears. She ran her bony fingers through her messy hair nervously in a weak attempt to calm down.

There were going to be so many people, and the professors would be watching her like hawks — she could already feel their stares and it made her physically uncomfortable, so she hugged herself tightly and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Unfortunately, she could not spend all day in the bedroom no matter how badly she wanted to do so. It was the day that would go down in history, and she should have been there to witness it. Probably one of the most important things the Slytherin House had taught her was the ability to wear a mask of a stone-cold detachment on her face even in times of grief.

She cleared her throat, shrugged her shoulders as if she wanted to brush the weight of the burden off of her shoulders and made her way to the door. When she wrapped her fingers around the silver knob and twisted it, opening the door with a helpless squeaky sound, she froze and looked over her shoulder at the nightstand by her bed. That was where she had been keeping the diary, which no longer belonged to her. Dumbledore confiscated it from her on the day she confessed that she knew what creature had petrified the students.

“There’s no guarantee she’s telling the truth, Headmaster,” her haze lingered over Snape’s pale fingers gripping onto the arms of the chair she was sitting in with such force that his knuckles bled white. He kneeled before her and looked her in the eyes through the greasy strands of his raven black hair. She shivered under his stare and looked away, focusing her attention on Dumbledore who was walking around the room with his hands behind his back. “Truth serum will give a loose to her tongue.”

“Severus, she’s not an enemy,” professor McGonagall intervened, arching her thin eyebrow in a reproachful manner, “miss Y/L/N is your student and her reputation is implacable.”

The remark did not seem to convince Professor Snape who knew more about the dark arts than anyone in the headmaster’s office.

“We’re dealing with dark magic,” Snape hissed, his eyes still glued to Y/n’s face overshadowed with fear, uncertainty, and shame. She slouched her back and looked down at her trembling hands, that were clutching onto the hem of her pleated skirt, suddenly looking so small and vulnerable that McGonagall’s heart sank. “Why all of a sudden miss Y/L/N decided to bless us with her confession?” He narrowed his snake-like eyes at Y/N. “Who is going to prove that she is not their ally...”

Her head flew up so unexpectedly that it made professor Snape recoil in surprise. Her wide, e/c eyes looked at him in disbelief. How could he even think such things of her? Her mind went back to the humiliation she had gone through in the Chamber of Secrets and the grievance of the unfairness washed over her. Why did she have to deal with false accusations when it was /her/ who should have been protected and taken care of? Her bottom lip started trembling, the omen of an approaching tantrum.

“Severus, that’s enough!” Dumbledore barked and raised his right hand, calling for silence. For a second the only sound disturbing them was the ticking of numerous magic objects in headmaster’s office and Y/N's quiet sobs. He squatted to her level, the draped fabric of his long, lilac gown polling around him, and softly touched her hand.

“Professor Dumbledore,” she started, hesitantly looking into the older man’s watery eyes that were studying her face attentively through his half-moon spectacles. There was something in his gaze that made her visibly relax — the noble calmness of wisdom and understanding. “I swear to Merlin, it wasn’t me... I just...”

She didn’t finish because of the lump in her throat and uncontrollable tears she had not even noticed at first.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” his voice was croaky, yet managed to sound gentle, “please, tell us if Tom and Michael had told you when they were going to come back?”

That question had been bothering her ever since. It felt like every day had turned into the exhausting waiting for Riddle and Langdon to strike. As she walked out of the Prefect’s bedroom, she made sure to check if the hallway was clear and only then headed out to where every student was going. To the Courtyard. The lapels of her school gown rustled with every step; she shoved her hands into the pockets and wrapped her fingers around the wooden handle of her wand — the small gesture made her feel safer.

“Good morning, Mister Nicholas,” she greeted the Gryffindor ghost who pouted unhappily in response.

“Hardly, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“I’m sorry for the loss of your house,” she added, but the Nearly Headless Nick only shrugged and disappeared into the nearest wall. She bit her lip thinking how awkward it was for her to express condolences. She felt somewhat embarrassed by such things because it was difficult to find the right words that would not be too sentimental and too formal at the same time.

The soft flames of the torches hanging on the walls were casting shadows on her face. The sound of her steps echoed through the semi-empty hallway matching the drumming of her racing heart. As she got closer to her destination, the sound of voices humming in the distance became clearer. Her nerves were tight as the violin strings when she made the last turn and the numerous rows of chairs, placed all over the yard, came in sight. She pushed her way through the crowd of students toward Slytherin pews.

Thick grey clouds moved in the afternoon sky, kissed into brilliant white by the sun. She pulled the collar of her cloak a bit higher to cover her neck — the chilly air made her a bit cold. She looked around, spotting a messy mane of bright ginger hair of Ron Weasley next to Hermione’s head. The kids were sitting next to each other, wiping off tears with the back of their palms.

“Today we have gathered to acknowledge a terrifying loss,” Dumbledore’s voice thundered, drawing everyone’s attentioт. “Harry Potter was, as you all know, exceptionally hard-working, intricately fair-minded, and loyal student. But most importantly he was a great friend, Hogwarts Quidditch champion, and the outstanding young man with the bright future ahead of him. Only a few of you know how he died, so before we proceed to say goodbyes I would like to tell you about Mr. Potter’s heroic act of bravery. He was killed by two former Hogwarts students,” a shocked whisper rolled through the crowd, and Dumbledore had to wait until everyone calmed out.

“Heroic? I bet Potter slipped and banged his stupid head,” Draco Malfoy smirked addressing Crabbe and Goyle who immediately nodded in agreement. “My father says Dumbledore will do his best to present the story in the best light with a bow on top.”

Y/N leaned forward and tapped his shoulder. The boy looked back and raised his brows at her.

“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’m gonna take ten points from Slytherin,” she sneered, feeling annoyed.

Malfoy pursed his thin lips in disgust; he looked at her hand still placed on his shoulder and shrugged it off.

“That’s robbery,” he noted, giving her a sidelong glance, “you aren’t going to take the points from your house, are you?”

“Try me.”

He was about to say something but the headmaster’s voice cut him off.

“Michael Langdon and Tom Riddle, whom you may know as Lorde Voldemort, were Slytherin students many years ago. With the help of a dark artifact they had managed to trap their souls in the Chamber of Secrets and waited many years to come back.” At the mentioning of Riddle’s and Langdon’s names Y/N shivered. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and leaned back into the chair, wishing she could disappear. Deep inside of her, she felt extremely guilty for Harry’s death. If she had told the professors about Tom and Michael it would have been possible to avoid many victims.

“Harry Potter was killed by the person whose attack he had once survive. The dark times are coming. All students will be dismissed before the official end of the semester, the exams are to postponed until the next school year...”

Hot tears of feebleness burned in the corners of her eyes and she had to look up at the grey sky to let them dry. That was the moment when she noticed how weirdly the clouds were gliding along the silvery surface. The grey hues obscured the sky, covering the last patches of where the faint light tried to get through. The unexpected sound of thunder interrupted Dumbledore’s speech and made everyone lift their heads. A violent gust of wind raised a pile of leaves and swirled it in the vortex — Y/N had to cover her face with the palm.

“Look!” Pansy Parkinson exclaimed and pointed at the patch of darkness that erupted from the sky in the form of a colossal skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth. The Courtyard was shaken with a loud CRASH. Y/N turned her head at the source of the sound, and her eyes widened at the sight of a huge fiery ball flying in the direction of the Astronomy Tower.

Many people were only just realizing that something strange had happened.

“What is going on?” Someone shouted and the helpless cry died down in the noise of the extended thunder that was coming from beneath the ground. The concrete floors started to crack.

“Holy shit.” Y/N cussed and drew her wand. Panic ensued quickly as the ground shook up and down as if the entire place suddenly fell from the sky. Scared students rushed to the main entrance of the castle.

“Everyone, go inside! Now!” Professor Dumbledore cried out. “To the dungeons! Use the passageway to Hogsmeade. Prefects, listen to your deans for the further instructions!”

Y/N was pushed away and nearly got swept off her feet. She saw the smoke transform into tall, dark figures whose faces were covered with silver masks adorned with arabesque ornament. Her heart skipped a beat; she could feel the sweat drench her skin, and the ringing screams vibrating in her ears. She got a strong grip on her wand and curled the fingers of her other hand into a fist, nails digging into her palm. Pushing through the crowd, she made her way to the stairs ignoring the conciseness that was telling her to fulfill her duty as a Prefect and help the students. Images of her nightmare flashed before her eyes, and she gulped heavily, realizing that they came for her. Fear engulfed her body, churning her stomach in cramps. The only thought “Run! Get out!” was pounding in her head like a gong. The only person she cared about at that moment was herself.

Her scream from deep within that forced its way from her mouth was so loud that she had to press her palm to her lips to muffle it. Her eyes widened at the body of a student that fell before her feet. She looked back and gasped at the sight of the Courtyard ignited by the flashes of green, red and white lights.

She sped up making her way to the Pendulum and then behind it toward the big wooden door. “To the left, and then forward, then again to the left” she was running faster than the wind, her mind racing. The plan she had come up with the other day was not thought out, in fact, she did not have any plan besides having her bag packed and kept in the wardrobe in case of emergency. She headed out to the Prefects’ bedrooms to pick it up and then go to the secret passageway to Hogsmead where she could apparate from.

She stormed into her bedroom, the heavy door swinging open. She slammed it shut with a loud noise and locked it from the inside. Only when her back felt the wooden surface she let herself take an erratic breath. Her eyes skimmed through the room and she stopped her gaze at the big wardrobe that stood proudly against the wall. Her trembling fingers rummaged through the piles of neatly folded clothes; she grabbed the bag and tossed on the floor beside her.

Suddenly she heard a noise behind the door and turned her head at it worryingly, instinctively gripping her wand tightly. The short hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end when the door flew open with a loud noise, and the clouds of dust obscured her vision, filling her nostrils. She started coughing, and before she could mutter “Protego!” someone’s familiar, stern voice said “Expelliarmus,” disarming her. Her wand fell from her grip and landed several feet away from her.

As soon as the dust cleared, two tall figures walked into the room. Both were wearing the same masks she had seen on those wizards who had appeared at the Courtyard. They took them off with a delicate flick of their glove-clad hands, and a strangled yelp left Y/N’s lips when she saw who was in front of her. The arabesque masks revealed the features of those who she had been trying to forget all that time. It seemed like they had got even more handsome. Michael’s blonde hair styled in short, soft waves looked almost silver in the light that was splashing through the small window. His locks and vibrant blue eyes emphasized the beauty of his porcelain skin. He had a subtle hint of blush on his cheeks which she had not noticed in the Chamber of secrets. He was alive. Michael Langdon stood before her in flesh.

She moved her gaze at Tom starring at her with his rigid and cold eyes. The color of them matched the shade of his hair of the purest ink. She made a couple of steps backward but impaled herself onto the corner of the nightstand that hit her hip painfully.

“Well, well, well,” Tom said in a sing-song voice, and her insides fluttered. He looked around the room and pressed his lips into a tight line. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s not polite to hide from your friends, sweetheart.”

She wrapped her trembling fingers around the lamp on the nightstand and pointed it at Tom in a threatening manner.

“Don’t you dare do anything to me,” she hissed, her eyes traveling back and forth from Michael to Tom. From Tom to Michael.

“Michael, seal the door,” Riddle ordered without looking at Langdon and made a couple of steps toward her. She shivered at the feeling of the weird deja vu — everything resembled her nightmare, except for the human guise of Tom and Michael. “We don’t want Dumbledore to interrupt our fun, don’t we?” He arched his brow at Y/N.

“What do you want from me?” Her question came off as a piercing screech.

“You want me to announce the list?” He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her. Tom thrived off of the sight of her trembling lips and bright, e/c eyes gleaming with tears.

“I don’t understand,” she sobbed, “Why me? I didn’t do anything, I...” She froze to her spot when the sudden memory of what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets flashed before her eyes. She saw herself with her legs wide open, Tom thrusting into her worked up ass, and Michael taking her soaked pussy. She had been trying to forget it, the delicious stretch of both of her holes and intoxicating smell of the boys, for months. She was looking at Riddle with wide eyes and then she realized that he had sent that vision to her on purpose.

Y/N shook her head and imagined a stone wall surrounding her mind. It was another trick professor Snape had taught her to block her subconscious from Tom’s intrusion. Anger flashed in Riddle’s eyes when she shut him out of her thoughts.

“Not bad, not bad,” he hummed, crossing his arms against his chest, “turns out Snape has taught you a thing or two.” It took his long legs just a couple of strides to approach her, his broad figure towering over her. “We would’ve never thought that you’d be so stupid and tell Dumbledore about what had happened,” he spat out. “If it hadn’t been you, many students wouldn’t have been at the hospital recovering from Basilisk’s attack.”

He knew what buttons to push. Even though she understood that Tom was aware of her weaknesses only thanks to Occlumency, she still felt guilty. She readjusted her fingers on the handle.

“You could’ve used anyone instead of me, and the outcome would be the same. Now, back off,” She barked and took a swing at him. When she was about to hit him, a pair of strong hands got wrapped around her waist and pushed her forward from the nightstand into Tom’s embrace.

“Not so fast, kitty,” Michael whispered in her ear, his colossal hands landing on her hips. The lamp crashed on the floor, the crystal beads of glass scattering over the emerald green carpet like morning dew.

She cried out and tried to push Tom away, pressing her small hands against his chest, but he did not even flinch. He laced his fingers around her slender wrists, and for a second, she thought he was going to break her bones.

“You are so pretty,” Riddle cooed, tracing the pads of his fingers along her features almost lovingly, ignoring the way she scrunched up her nose at his caresses. His eyes lingered over her face and stopped at her parted lips; he slid his thumb along them. Riddle smirked. “Too bad such a beautiful doll face has no brains,” and with those words, he blew some blue powder in her face.

She did not even have time to process what was going on before a thick blanket of mist clouded her vision. Her eyesight blurred, everything became fuzzy, floating before her. Then she saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was swimming through a space filled with a thick static.

It was the beginning of the end.

xxx

Slap!

She winced at the harsh tap on her cheek and the pounding headache in her temples. Slowly, as if at any given second her head could explode, she opened her left eye, and then the right one. Everything was unfocused, although she was hyper-away of the fact that there was a wooden surface of the polished floor in front of her face, her left cheek was resting against it. No wonder every muscle of her body was sore and felt as if she had been beaten up for hours — her wrists were tied behind her back, arms bent outward at the most uncomfortable angle, and when she tried to move them, a hot wave of piercing pain shattered her body.

Slap!

Another tap and she let out a muffled moan. Her throat was dry as The Sahara — she gulped heavily and licked her chapped lips.

“That’s enough, Bella,” she closed her eyes at the sound of the familiar voice. So it was not a nightmare — they had kidnaped her. “She’s with us.”

A desperate yelp fell from her lips, when someone’s strong hand gripped at the roots of her hair and forced her upper body up from the floor, forcing her to kneel. Her heavy-lidded eyes flew open and she faced a pair of expensive leather shoes and the bare feet of the house elf before her. She traced her eyes higher up the black slacks and the bony, slender frame of a creature that must have been responsible for slapping her. The elf looked angry, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at Y/N. Bella looked as if she was ready to rip Y/N’s throat out at any given second if the girl attempted to attack any of her masters.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Michael placed his long fingers under her chin and used his index and thumb to get a strong grip on it. He carefully examined her face. “You gave her too much of that powder, Tom.” Langdon noted critically, tilting her head to the side and pursing his lips disapprovingly at her puffy features. “She shouldn’t be so swollen.”

He looked over his shoulder and she followed his gaze. Riddle was sitting cross-legged on a big velvet armchair, his pale, aristocratic hands resting atop wooden armrests. He pensively rubbed his pointy chin and shrugged.

“It’s the last thing that bothers me. As long as she‘s more appeasable than her father, she shouldn’t have any problems.”

Her whole body bolted up at the mentioning of her dad.

“What did you do to him?” Her hoarse voice roared through the room. It sounded so foreign and raspy that she could barely recognize herself. The elf hissed at her threateningly, but she ignored it. Michael was looking down upon her, a faint smirk ghosting over his plump lips.

“The old man was so sensitive. Couldn’t handle even two minutes of the charming effect of Cruciatus. By the way, he was right at this spot where you are now.” He flashed his perfect teeth at her.

She could not understand what they were talking about. She had been receiving letters from her family every three days. Y/N pressed her lips together.

“If you think that I’ll buy another lie, you fucker...” She spat out and earned one more slap across her reddening cheek.

“Bella, stop,” Langdon rolled his eyes at the elf who did not understand why her Master was so forgiving of the girl’s rudeness. She glanced at him with her big eyes that looked like two baseballs.

“Bella can’t let this filthy girl talk about Master and his friend like that,” she frowned, curling her fingers into tight, little fists.

Langdon hummed and traced his the pads of his fingers over Y/N’s face, barely touching her.

“She’s not filthy, my darling,” he told the elf, and Y/N tried to shy away from his featherlight touch. “She comes from a pure-blood family where there have never been any encounters with muggles. She’s a pure lily-white to some extent,” he muttered.

Y/N did not know how he had known anything about her family. She was a pure-blood witch indeed and knew her family tree by heart because it used to hang next to the crest in the living room of her parents’ mansion where she had grown up. Her father was a famous wandmaker, always competing with a half-blood family of the Ollivanders, the owners of the well-known store located in Diagon Alley. He had a penchant for studying the psychological aspect of wanders, how they chose wizards and the way the core of them resonated with the personalities of their owners. He believed that the wands had souls.

“What happened to my father?” She barked, the slimy hand of fear grasping around her spine. “I received letters from mom, she said everything was fine,” tears tingled in the corners of her eyes.

Tom chuckled, clearly finding her naive nature amusing.

“Your honorable mother writes whatever she’s told,” he explained, “under Confundus. It does wonders to those unwilling to compromise,” as Tom spoke, he was examining his perfectly trimmed nails with a bored look on his face. “As for your father, we needed some information only he could provide us with, but he refused to share it, so...” he smiled carnivorously, “he’s at St. Mungo’s recovering from his visit.”

His words knocked the bottom out of her made-up self-control. Her howl that ranged through the room made the blood of everyone present in the room run cold. A scream of hysteria and disbelief. She wriggled her back trying to get rid of the ropes, but it was impossible — she ended up beating her body against the floor like a fish that needed oxygen. She cried as if her brain was shredded from the inside, the emotional pain of realization that Langdon and Riddle had tortured her father flowed out of her every pore. The living room turned into a blur, and so did all the sounds. She could only hear the blood drumming in her ears. Tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down her face. Her throat burnt, forming a scream, her breath got heavier, as she fell on the floor and rolled over on her side. It felt like a part of her was dying inside.

“Oh, c’mon,” Michael scoffed at her lying before him. Y/N looked so helpless that it was getting on his nerves. He stepped aside, afraid that her tears could stain his shoes. “He’s doing alright. Besides, you can help him if you behave and do as you are told.”

Langdon waited till she stopped crying. The girl stared blankly at the wooden surface, letting out small hiccups from time to time. Tom sighed and covered his face with the palm, already regretting having messed with her. A fucking cry baby was on their hands.

“You’re monsters,” she finally whispered and closed her eyes. “I’m gonna kill you and make sure that your death won’t be easy.”

“Sounds like a promise,” Michael mused, “and a good start for the negotiations.”

The next moment she found herself sitting on a chair, hands still tired securely. She looked over the shoulder and noticed that the ropes were glowing. No way she could untie them. She bowed her head lowly, admitting her defeat.

“Don’t be so pouty,” Tom said in a mocking tone, “you’re going to benefit from our deal, too.”

She snapped her head at him.

“I’d rather fucking die.”

Michael tsked.

“It would be such a waste of the precious blood of yours,” he clicked his tongue, crossing his hands against his chest, the fabric of his cape tightening around his strong arms. “You need to practice more self-love. In that case, you won’t be willing to die every five seconds.” His deep tone vibrated with a silvery clang of veiled satire.

“If you continue with this stupid sarcasm,” she sneered, “I’m going to smash my head against the floor and die like that.”

“That’s not an appealing way to die.”

“Better than listening to you.”

“That’s enough!” Tom interfered and stoop up to his feet. The sound of his boots echoed through the room, as he approached her and Michael. He bent over at the waist to the same level with her face. “You are much better when the only sound leaving that pretty mouth of your is your pleas to be fucked harder.”

Her cheeks turned bright red and she could not find anything to contradict with, which made Riddle extremely satisfied with himself. He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

“You have no idea how similar you are to us. You can tell yourself all you want that we are monsters because, perhaps, to some extent we are,” he smirked, “but everything we do is for the bright future ahead of us. The world without mud-bloods, muggles, and other rubbish. And you,” he slid his thumb along her bottom lip bruised from biting, “are not a saint you try to portrait yourself to be. Forgive me, angel, but I don’t remember you helping the students when the Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts. Where were you, a noble Prefect of Slytherin?”

She gulped.

“I...” Y/N started, but Tom did not need her remarks. He raised his hand, forcing her to shut up.

“You were saving your ass,” he said nonchalantly as if he was talking about the weather. “You are selfish and cowardly, but that’s what makes you a human being. Save the puny bravery for Gryffindor. Those fools never miss the opportunity to get into a fight without even thinking of the consequences...”

“Don’t make my fear of getting killed equivalent to the horror you and Michael are responsible for.” She interrupted him.

Tom’s nostrils flared. She looked at him with wide eyes, when he brutally grabbed her by the chin and made her look up at him.

“Next time you interrupt me, I’m going to cut your tongue off, am I being clear?” He had waited for her to nod before he let go off his grip.

“They are fighting and losing their people when they could join us and help us built something greater,” Tom raised his hands as if he was showing her the scope of his ambitions. “We’ve been oppressed by muggles for centuries, and it’s time to end it. We’ll annihilate everyone...”

“That’s where there’s mischief or the deity of things — nothing can be entirely annihilated; — not even a thought.” She murmured loud enough for Riddle to hear.

Michael sighed.

“Crucio”

A shot of blinding pain went through her body and made her choke on her scream. It felt like hundreds of needles were stuck under her nails and her skin got ripped off at the same time. It subsided as quickly as it had started when Michael pointed his wand in a different direction, leaving her breathless.

“Much better,” Riddle said, nodding approvingly at her fucked out state. “Where we were? Ah yes, the annihilation. Here’s the thing. To build the new word, you have to destroy the regular order of things. Those who choose to join us are very welcomed because they are going to be the ones building up the new life based on my and Michael’s commands. Human beings are very easy to manipulate, my dear. You will learn it soon enough. Our society has created a system that shapes every single one of us since the day we are born. It gives us our name, believes and determines the role we are going to play. A man in his origin is a blank canvas, nobody, who will be shaped in whatever form we want them to be,” his dark eyes sparkled mischievously.

She could only imagine the destruction they wanted to bring into the world.

“Has your father ever told you about the Elder Wand?” Michael asked, slowly circling her chair. She shivered when he brushed his hand over her tense shoulders.

“The one from the fairy tale?” She asked, her eyebrows frowned.

“Yes, the one originally owned by Antioch Peverell, a loyal subject of Death. The most powerful wand that has ever existed,” notes of anticipation threaded into Langdon’s voice. His boyish features illuminated with excitement as soon as he mentioned the wand.

“You are talking about it as if it’s real,” Y/N responded timidly. The last time she had heard anything about the Peverell brothers was when she was seven.

“It exists,” Riddle said gloomily, “and your father confirmed it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t said much before he lost his mind.”

A new wave of boiling anger raised within her. She tried to get her wrists free by rocking on the chair back and forth but failed. Her only desire was to punch Tom in his handsome face.

“And what do you want from me?”

Michael came closer and put his hand on her shoulder, holding her in place, his fingers dipping into the hollows of her collarbones firmly.

“Any information about it, the access to your father’s archives,” his blue eyes were drilling into her soul, “they are charmed and we can’t break into them. We need to know the possible location of the wand or its current owner.”

She was looking at them in disbelief. Two the most powerful wizards she had ever come across, really indulged in the idea of finding the wand from a fairy tale. She nervously licked her lips.

“I don’t know anything about it,” she started slowly, “Dad never talked about it and...”

Tom let out a frustrating groan. He was so tired of hearing the same damn thing from every captive. He hid his face in his palms and took a deep breath.

“Fucking cru—...”

“No! Please, don’t!” She yelled at him and squeezed her eyes tightly, waiting for a new wave of agony wash over her body, but it did not follow. She opened her right eye and saw Tom pointing his wand at her.

“Name one reason why I shouldn’t help you join your father at St. Mungo’s right now,” he hissed.

Y/N sobbed and only then noticed that she was crying again.

“If I give you access to my father’s archives, will you promise that you’ll leave me and my family alone?” She asked, her voice breaking. The voice in her head kept telling her to shut up, but she tucked it away. “That’s the only thing I need. Do whatever you want, but promise that in the anarchy you two will create, my family and I will survive.”

A defeating silence followed her question. She felt weak and defeated. Maybe they were right and she only cared about herself indeed? But who could blame her for that? Dumbledore was right about upcoming dark times and having seen Tom and Michael in flesh, as powerful as they were, she realized that it was time to make a choice. The choice every wizard would face soon enough. She had never wanted to be a hero and if there was a small chance for her and her family to survive. She would do anything for it, even if it meant making a deal with Satan.

“Seems like there’s an ounce of common sense in you indeed,” Tom finally mused. When he raised his wand again, she expected him to torture her, but he only flicked his wrist and untied her ropes. They fell helplessly on the floor like two coiled snakes. She lifted her eyes at him.

“Tomorrow we will make the Unbreakable vow in front of our followers. We will grant you a chance to live, but if you break any of your promises, you will die. You have time till dawn to think it all over.”

It was all he said to her.

xxx

Sitting in a huge bathtub filled with scented foam and oils the house elf had added for her, she was thinking if it was possible to drown in there or Michael and Tom would come and save her because they needed her for their plan. She leaned her head against the marble edge of the tub and closed her eyes. At least she had bought some time till morning, but she still had no idea what to do. On the way to her bedroom that Tom and Michael had prepared for her, she managed to take a glance at their mansion. It looked impressive. There must have been more than one elf because taking care of all those carpets, shiny polished furniture and jacquard curtains that framed big windows required a lot of time and effort. She doubted that Michael and Tom had neighbors, so she eliminated the attempt to scream and cry for help from her list.

What if she tricked him into believing that she was supporting their ideas and then found some floo powder and used in the fireplace she had noticed in the living room? She could let Dumbledore or Snape know what had happened to her. But Tom and Michael were masters of Occlumency. There was no way they would not control her mind. She sighed heavily. Y/N was too tired and drained out to think of any plan. She looked at her palms under pink foam and stroke the water with such anger that it got splashed overboard.

Fucking assholes.

She froze to the spot at the sudden sound of Riddle’s and Langdon’s voices behind the door.

“I don’t think she will mind,” and the next moment two men brazenly ruined her fragile peace.

They had got changed into more comfortable clothes, yet still managed to look implacable. A loose fit grey t-shirt was hanging off Michael’s collarbones contrasting with the icy blue flames in his eyes. There was a wide grin on his face when he entered the bathroom, he looked so young that if Y/N had not known what he was actually like, he would’ve tricked her into believing that he was a real-life angel. He shoved his hands into the pockets of linen trousers he was wearing and closed the door with a push of his hips.

Tom did not even bother to throw a shirt on. He leaned against the sink with his hands crossed against his smooth chest. His pants were hanging lowly on his naval, exposing the deep V of his muscles. Y/N nervously tried to cover her nudity with foam, hoping that they had not caught the glimpse of her pink, perky nipples, poking through the white and pink clouds of bubbles.

“Get the fuck out of here!” She exclaimed angrily, sinking deeper into the water, leaving only her head above the surface.

Michael rolled his eyes.

“No, not happening,” he said and bent over to sink the tips of his fingers into the water, checking the temperature.

She gasped at their audacity and demanded the explanation.

“What are you doing here?”

She could feel the blush creep over her cheeks at the heavy-lidded look of Tom’s dark eyes; for some reason, it seemed like he could see her through the water and foam mixed together, and she felt extremely embarrassed by it. She brushed her fingers through her hair, trying to cover her breasts with it.

“We decided to come help you with your decision,” Riddle said, licking his lips.

Y/N shot a sidelong glance at Michael who nodded in response and hooked his fingers under the waistband if the pants. She did not have to think twice to understand what he was up to.

“Don’t you dare!” She protested, instinctively pressing her back against the bathtub. She looked over her shoulder and nervously bit her bottom lip, thinking if she could slide to the side and thus get away from Michael, but the tub did not have much space. Langdon rolled his pants down his long legs and quickly stepped out of them, revealing himself in his full glory before her.

“Oh, my God,” she whined and tried to look away. “Put them back on for fuck’s sake!” Y/N pleaded, feeling the panic rise within her. She tried her best not to share at the impressive length of his half-hard cock hanging heavily between his parted thighs. It looked just as she had remembered it — long and thick with a pink, shiny head and a prominent vein on the underside. Okay, she did not see the vein this time, she just remembered it from the Chamber of Secrets, how it had felt against her wet, velvet tongue.

The cheeky grin ghosting over Michael’s plump lips was a sign of him being perfectly aware of the effect his naked form had on Y/N.

“Move,” he beaconed his fingers at her, and she shook her head.

“What?” Y/N’s question came off in a more high-pitched tone that she had intended, “No! Don’t you even think...”

“You need to be more appreciative of the fact that we have saved your life,” Tom said, and she wondered if he would join too. God forbid. So far, he was still standing against the sink, watching Michael and her.

“You are the ones who have put it in danger,” she reminded, eyeing Langdon suspiciously. He put his one leg over the edge of the bathtub, forming the ripples in the water.

“Then you understand how fragile your position is.”

Arguing with them was pointless, but it did not mean that she would give up so easily. She curled her fingers into fists and brought them against her chest when Michael fully got into the tub and headed toward her.

“Stay where you are,” she warned. He approached her, his broad chest covered in transparent beads of water; he dipped his head into the water, his blonde hair getting a shade or two darker.

“Or what?” He scoffed and extended his hand to her. It took him a couple of seconds to wrap his fingers of his one hand around her wrists and hold her in place. She looked at him in fear, but he only tilted his head to the side, his whole look asking “So what now? Go ahead and try me.” Michael used the time of her confusion to push his body off the bottom and press himself against her.

“Michael, please, don’t,” she begged, calling him by his name. Langdon’s cock twitched at the sound of his name falling from her lips, and he maneuvered both of them so he positioned himself behind her, holding her closely against his chest, her hands still in his firm grip.

Tom leaned forward, putting his hands on the edge of the tub, his muscular arms flexing at the weight of his body; the black strand of his hair fell into his face.

“C’mon, kitty,” he cooed, “didn’t you miss our time together?”

She arched her back and whined helplessly, trying to get away from Michael’s steel grasp. She wriggled her shoulders, but he wrapped his arm around her waist, pinning her to the spot. She could feel his erection pressed between their bodies and the way his chest was rising and falling within steady breathing.

“Did you sleep with anyone else after that?” Langdon whispered in her ear, grazing his teeth over the earlobe, his breath fanning over the sensitive spot. He nipped on the soft skin and then moved his lips to her neck, peppering it with sweet, teasing kisses. She rolled her head to the side in an attempt to prevent his manipulations.

“I’ve been trying to forget that experience like a nightmare.” She managed to mumble. He laid his hand on her stomach, slowly stroking it, his fingers dangerously close to her pubic bone. Michael used his thigh to spread her legs and make her straddle him, a position she was so used to.

“Hmmm, to forget?” He mused, massaging her tummy lazily, getting dangerously close to her womanhood with each circle. Langdon cupped her left breast in his free hand and rather harshly squeezed it, moving his fingers to her pink, soapy nipple to give it a pinch.

“We’ve seen every darkest corner of your mind,” Tom reminded her and stroke her cheek painted in scarlet hues of blush. “You loved the feeling of our cocks inside of you, didn’t you? The fullness? The way we moved together in your tight little holes that were begging to be ponded,” as he spoke his pupils were blown wide, turning his eyes into dark abysses; his voice dropping a few octaves lower, vibrating through her bones. By the way he licked his lips and brought his face so close to hers, she knew he was getting off to the filth that was coming out of his mouth.

“Stop, just stop it,” she whined and kicked Michael with her elbow, earning a disapproving groan from him.

Immediately, Langdon’s hand flew to her neck and wrapped around it securely, his thumb pressing right on the pulsing point of her sinew. She gasped in shock and reached for the edge of the bathtub, scratching her nails against the fine marble.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” she gripped onto his arm, but it only made him more aroused. He rubbed the tip of his nose against the nape of her neck and then moved lower to where her neck connected with her shoulder to bite the sweet spot, sinking his teeth into the warm flesh.

“She’s so cute when she’s trying to resist us,” Tom chuckled, sliding his hand over his bare torso down to his tense stomach, and then to the prominent bulge in his pants. He pumped his throbbing erection through the fabric without taking his eyes off of Michael who was toying with Y/N’s nipples. Having made sure that she was not moving, Langdon put both of his hands on her waist and raised her a little, so her breasts would appear on the same level with his lips. He attached his mouth to the hardening bud and sucked on it, circling his tongue around her flesh with a wet, ringing sound.

“I know,” he smirked against her mounds and playfully jiggled them in his palms, brushing his thumbs over the swollen nipples. He squeezed them and then let them go, clearly being amused by the way her tits bounced in front of his face. “Trying to fool us into believing that she’s not a little slut who craves being double penetrated, isn’t it so, angel?” He wondered, cocking his eyebrow at the nearly crying girl in his arms. They were doing it again. Mocking her. She sobbed, realizing that there was no escape, and dropped her hands, sinking them into the water and resting her palms on her spread thighs. She threw her head back on Michael’s shoulder and looked up at him tiredly.

“Just be a bit more gentle,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. His hands roamed over her body, contouring her sides and the curve of her silhouette. He groped her ass and parted her cheeks, stealing her breath away.

“We can’t promise it, sweetheart,” he winked at her and brushed the side of his palm over her crease, touching her most intimate parts.

She had to put her hands in front of her for leverage when Michael’s hand cupped her crotch, his long, skillful fingers digging into her folds. He pressed the heel of his palm to her center, mere inches away from her clit, electing a moan that mostly resembled a muffled gasp from her. Y/N turned her head at Tom, as she heard the sound of him undoing his zipper, and her mouth involuntarily fell agape at the sight of him. He wrapped his veiny hand around the impressive length and gave it a few tugs at the base, his fist meeting the neatly trimmed pubic hair. The sloppy sound that his hand was making mixed with the splashing of the water, as Michael started moving the V of his fingers up and down Y/N’s pussy, was filling the room.

The fact that they were in the tub made it a bit difficult for Langdon to understand if she was wet or not, but as he worked his digits faster, each time grazing her clit, he felt the beads of her juices collecting around his knuckles — consistency of her liquids was thicker than water. He swirled the tips of his fingers around her entrance and rubbed the arousal into her clit with tight, circling motions. She moaned and shifted on his thigh, instinctively wanting more.

“One thing that we’ve learned about you for sure,” Michael mewled, sliding his index inside of her tight heat, “is that you are submissive as fuck,” and just to emphasize his words he added another finger, stretching her walls out. She clenched around his digits, but he scissored them on purpose as a sign that he would still do as he pleased.

Tom’s hand found its way in her hair as he grabbed a fistful of it and pulled her toward him, her roots stinging at the piercing pain. Working his palm up and down his length, pausing at the slit to smear pearly precum all over the head, he crushed his lips against hers, his tongue possessively pushing on her bottom lip. She parted her mouth for him, and he let his hand, tangled in her wet locks, cup her cheek. Riddle wrapped his plush lips around the tip of her tongue and sucked on it, making her moan into the kiss.

She had to cling onto his shoulders when Michael’s fingers suddenly left her aching core. Tom was the one to break the kiss. She was panting heavily, as he pressed their foreheads together. Her eyes fluttered, lashes casting long shadows over her cheekbones when she looked down at his cock resting heavily against his abdomen. Riddle noticed her stare.

“Yes, Michael,” he grinned, his fingers stroking the blue, pulsing vein on the underside of his dick. “Give her what she wants.”

Langdon slid inside of her with ease and a low throaty groan, some water got splashed into the floor, but none of them cared. She could feel every inch of his delicious length and the head of it protruding its way into her quivering heat. The lack of lubrication, because of the soapy water,r made it harder for him to penetrate her with one thrust like he had wanted to do it. She winced at the burning stretch but did not ask him to stop.

“Just like that,” Tom praised, his fingers squishing her face and making her look up at him. “Take it, little slut. Take it all.” He smiled carnivorously, wiping the salty tears off of her cheeks.

“Oh, God,” she cried out when Michael, who had got tired of the slow pace, nestled his hands on her sides and forced her down on his length, making her sit fully on his cock. She heard the obscene “slap” of his balls against her ass cheeks.

“Fuck,” Langdon cussed behind her, throwing his head back. “Still the tightest kitty I’ve ever fucked.”

Her pussy clenched at the compliment, and she mentally slapped herself across the face for having reacted to his praise. She wanted to lean back against his chest, but Tom was holding her. He shifted forward and bent down on one knee.

“Bend her over a bit more for me,” he instructed Langdon who pressed his palm to her lower back, helping her position herself before Tom; her face appeared inches away from his cock. She lifted his gaze at him, and if it had not been for his self-control, he would have cum at the sight of her. Michael adjusted himself, too — he was standing behind her on his knees, his cock buried deep inside of her. He smoothed the foam all over her butt and gave the meaty flesh a couple of loud smacks.

“Come here, have a taste,” Tom called her and guided his cock to her lips. He ran the tip of it over her mouth, contouring the plump shape of her cherry lips, and for a second it seemed like he was going to be gentle with her. But as soon as the head of his flesh met the velvet of her mouth, he thrust his hips forward, hitting the back of her throat. Y/N did not expect that and ended up recoiling from him thus skewering herself onto Michael’s dick. She cried out with a mouthful of cock and placed her hands on Tom’s thighs in an attempt to push him away. It was almost impossible to concentrate. Not when Riddle was holding her firmly and Langdon pounding her so perfectly that each time the head of his cock brushed against all the right spots, making the knot in the pit of her stomach tighten.

He let her pull away just for a moment to recollect herself and get her breath steady, but then he threaded his fingers through her hair and wrapped it around his fist. This time she was more prepared and started breathing through her nose, hollowing he cheeks around his shaft. She laid her tongue flatly and let him slide the length along with rapid, brutal thrusts. She did not know how they were doing it, but Tom and Michael managed to work in sync — as Langdon was taking her from behind, the Slytherin Heir was using her mouth. She could feel the slightly bitter taste of him. Tears were streaming down her face, the air filled with the smell of sex and strawberry foam filled her nostrils.

“Oh fuck, oh shit,” Tom murmured, squeezing his eyes when she swirled her tongue around the head and stroke the rest of the length with her hand. He snapped his hips and forced her to stay still, making her gag on him. The muscles of his stomach tensed at the sound of her struggling to take a breath, and he tightened his grip, feeling the way her throat convulsed around him. She was drooling all over herself, and Michael hovered over her back, to reach for her breasts and smear the liquid all over them.

She gasped when Tom let go off of her hair. Her eyes were red, lips bright pink and swollen, wet hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her body was jolting toward Riddle each time Michael’s dick penetrated her. She let out a low moan, her voice sounded hoarse and raspy when Langdon pulled his cock out of her completely and then shoved only the tip inside. He did it a couple of times with the most vulgar sound.

“Look at me,” Riddle demanded. By the hazy look in his eyes and the erratic movements of his hand, she knew he was close. Tears welling up in her eyes made everything look blurry. The ripples of pleasure piercing her body also made her feel weak and pliant, leaving her all worked up and needy. In the state of pure euphoria, she could admit that she loved the way Michael was taking her on all fours. “Stick your tongue out.”

She obeyed and darted her tongue out at the command, giving Tom her best doe-like look.

“Fuck I’m so close,” she heard Langdon’s ramblings, and her tummy fluttered in anticipation. “Go ahead, kitty, work that pussy for me,” he smacked her. “Clench that little hole.”

Right at that moment, with a low growl, Tom came all over her tongue. The white stripes of his cum painted it like pearly ribbons, staining her lips and chin. He looked ethereal with his mouth formed into a perfect “o”, dark eyes sparkling with lust. His broad chest was rising and falling rapidly as he was coming down from his high. The salty taste of his milk and the whole scene, in general, sent her over the edge too. Y/N clenched her pussy around Michael so tightly, that he had to dig his nails into the flesh of her hips from how good it felt. A string of “fuckshitiamcumming” accompanied his last thrusts, and she whimpered at the throbbing between her thighs as Langdon’s cock erupted with his hot, sticky seed and filled her up to the brim. The coil in the pit of her stomach snapped, and the earth-shattering wave of pleasure flooded all her senses. Her arms gave up, and she would have nearly dropped her head in the water if Tom had not caught her.

For a while, it was only their erratic breathing and tired limps intertwined together. She was standing there with her ass still up and pussy covered with Michael’s cum on full display for him, when she slowly started realizing what had just happened. She turned her head over the shoulder to meet the blissful expression on Langdon’s face. He licked his dry lips and ran his fingers through the damp hair, putting the disheveled strands of blonde locks in place.

“Tomorrow,” he cleared his throat, “at the meeting with the Death Eaters you shall not say a word to them even if they address you, understood?” He rather clumsily rose to his feet, letting the mix of foam and water run down his lean body. He waited for her to nod and then looked at Tom.

“Give it to her.”

She did not know what he had meant until Tom scooped Michael’s pants from the floor and snaked his hand into the pockets. Langdon reached out for one of the fluffy towels folded neatly by the sink and wrapped it around his hips. Y/N watched him step out of the tub and join Tom. Two of them were facing her like the snakes from her dreams. Riddle fished a small black box out and quickly opened it, reveling to the dim light of the room a silver bracelet in the shape of the serpent.

“Don’t ever take this off,” he told her and made a gesture with his index and forefingers to give him her hand. She did not have the strength to hold his palm, so she just let him put the fine piece around her wrist.

“What’s it for?” She whispered, feeling the warmth radiating from the snake.

“Something for you to wear until you get the dark mark.”

*In Harry Potter universe the underage magic is considered as any magic used by a wizard or witch who is under seventeen years of age outside of school, but in this series, it’s required to pass an exam first.

Taglist: (my regular taglist + those who expressed their interest in reading part two): @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @ccodyfern @sammythankyou @kaigitana @ms-mead @sebastianshoe @langdonsdemon @starwlkers @iloveziggystardust @chaoticevillangdon @sojournmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @rocketgirl2410 @theghostoflangdon @americanhorrorstudies @bbyduncan @nightsblackroses @langdvnshepherd @ccodyferns @isoldedax @omgsuperstarg @1-800-bitchcraft @wroteclassicaly @ticklish-leafy-plant @elena-75s-blog @peachesandfern @your-daddy-langdon @hexqueensupreme @icylangdon @littledemondani @hecohansen31 @mega-combusken

#michael langdon smut #michael langdon fanfic #tom riddle smut #michael langdon x reader #harry potter smut #Michael x Tom x reader

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ddaenghoney · 4 years

Text

chapter three

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none.

Word count: 5234

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

Namjoon catches sight of you walking in through the door, excusing himself from a conversation with some patron. He nearly grimaces at your outfit only considering the drop in temperature that left him cold if he even stood too close to the window, but that examination leaves his mind entirely when he catches the reddened corners of your eyes.

“What happened?” He’s completely concerned, gently placing hands on your arms that begin to rub to circulate heat.

“I just didn’t listen to you about Jimin; what else is new.” You spit bitterly, too embarrassed by your current state to meet his gaze. Namjoon’s frown grows more, eyebrows furrowing in wonder of the specifics,

“Want to talk?” Your head shake is slight, but it’s enough for him to see. “Okay,” He glances to your spot at the counter. Seeing it occupied, he clicks his tongue. “I can’t leave the floor right now, but you can go up into my office if you want?” You shake your head again as Namjoon begins searching in his pants pocket for the key even though you know it’s always in his blazer pocket.

“No, Joon, it’s okay.” You sigh, rubbing your thumb to the corner of your eyes, careful of the makeup. “I’m okay, I just want to get my mind off of it.” He’s nodding with uncertainty at your words, worrying still about what exactly went on, because it’s one of the few times he’s ever seen you cry about Jimin. “You still have any of the muffins from lunch?”

“Maybe.” He smiles gently, not recalling a rush during the day. He guides you towards the end of the counter, arms shrugging off the luxurious fabric of his suit blazer, and draping it over your shoulders. “I’ll check; wait here.”

You clutch the outerwear tighter around yourself, realizing in its warmth how cold you were from the walk down the street. Namjoon’s cafe or bar is lively at this very late hour of the night, mostly with couples sipping sweeter alcoholic beverages and relaxing with one another after the clubs in the area become tiring to them. Then the few mellow nightlife-types that simply socialize in the armchairs and comfortable couch beside the fireplace in the corner.

“Blueberry.” Namjoon smiles at you with the tiny saucer carrying a large muffin, reheated so steam leaves its top.

“Thank you, Joon.” You return the smile, taking the plate from him as he starts to look for a spot for you. “You really don’t need to worry.” You tell him as you pinch a piece of the baked good, munching on it when he scoffs.

“Yeah, right.”

“Oh, you’re both here!” Seokjin’s voice is as clear as day when he walks towards you both from the door. You nearly laugh at the fact until you notice Yoongi trailing behind him, then you’re on edge. Painfully aware of how you probably look like a mess from the stream of tears that only recently dissipated, you bite your lip, praying that he altogether ignores your existence. It’d be the one time you’d be grateful for him to forget who you are just like earlier that day. “Y/N, I didn’t know you left the club,” Seokjin frowns, while Namjoon rests against the counter next to you. “You seemed to be having fun with-”

“Got hungry.” You gesture more than needed to the muffin in your hand, “Muffins are delicious at,” You glance to find a clock but then don’t find one. “It’s like two in the morning, right?” Seokjin raises an eyebrow at the nervousness, but when he sees the subtle glare in Namjoon’s eyes he leaves it alone.

“Close to two, yeah.” He nods, then raises a hand to gesture to Yoongi beside him. “Here’s the friend of mine that was going to use the meeting room tonight. Min Yoongi.”

“Oh,” Namjoon straightens at the information, reaching a hand out for a greeting shake, “Honestly that slipped my mind, but nice to meet you. I’m Namjoon,” He then gestures to you once the handshake ends, “This is my friend Y/N.”

You feel the desire to scream, but you just lift your hand for a tiny wave.

“Yeah, I’ve met her; we work at the same company.” Yoongi says the information matter-of-factly, with no ill-intent, and you want to sprint from the building, or at least get ahold of a mirror to see how bad the damage from the crying was.

“Ah,” Namjoon nods, “Right, I think she’s mentioned you before.” You nearly smack Namjoon’s chest to get him to shut up, but the way his mouth clamps you know at least that he realizes the fact himself. “The meeting room is empty though,” A subject change while you try to act normally by eating a bite of the muffin and nearly getting it lodged in the corner of your cheek. “Did you want a drink or anything? We may have another muffin.”

Seokjin watches the scene unfold in front of him, mixed between confused and utterly humored by you and Namjoon acting like something was evidently wrong. He leaves it be, figuring he’ll just text you both when he gets back to the club.

“Bourbon on the rocks is fine.”

“Y/N likes that too.” Seokjin comments, while you wish you could glare at him for further involving you in the conversation. Yoongi nods, glancing towards you as you speak up as if it was needed to,

“Usually with cherry coke, but yeah.” You look towards Yoongi then, continuing for no reason, “Joon’s after-dinner drinks are the best though. They’re what this place is known for.”

“Okay,” He says thoughtfully, the consideration he seems to have on your statement throwing you off. “If you have one that you recommend, then I’ll take that.” The comment is directed to Namjoon where Yooni ends up looking, leaving you to contemplate why he actually took your advice. Replaying the sentence in your head you wonder if your tone may have been aggressive, or harsh. “Muffin too. If it’s not a big deal.”

Namjoon nods while Seokjin looks down at his smart watch, apparently receiving a message. He brings his hand up to wave goodbye,

“I need to get back, but I’ll try and stop by again.” You all nod while Yoongi thanks Seokjin for helping him with the reservation. Namjoon and you are equally bewildered by the apparent friendship between the two as Seokjin pats Yoongi’s back nonchalantly and states it’s no big deal before running off. You give Namjoon a glance, and he’s there to return it with a shrug.

“I’ll get the order going. Y/N, can you lead him back there for me?” Namjoon asks stepping further behind the counter, closer into the mix of his employees working ridiculously fast at all their own orders. You nod, keeping the wish that you agreed to escape to his office from the beginning in the back corner of your mind.

“Yeah, the meeting room is just back this way.” You use your free hand to point in the direction. Yoongi follows you the short distance to an imposingly large, black door. He’s quiet watching you reach into the pocket of the coat hanging off your shoulders to retrieve an organized bundle of keys on a chain.

“I guess you and Jin are friends?” He tries at conversation, wholly approachable when you look back at him after opening the door wide. You nod, stepping into the room to find the light switch,

“He, Namjoon, and I went to college together.” You explain briefly, switching the light to its highest setting, “Ah,” You point to the contraption as he walks in, “The switch can dim,” You say and he appears inquisitive of the random fact. You go on again. Needlessly. Explaining yourself, “Like, if you wanted to sleep, or,” You huff, giving up, “I don’t know. Whatever you want to do.”

Yoongi chuckles, his small smile presenting itself and making you silent. Opposite appearance of any magazine spread you had seen him in. “Thank you.” He sits into one of the many comfortably upholstered chairs, and it’s as he takes the backpack off him that you realize he had it to begin with. It goes on the table, while his black jacket becomes removed too. Tosses it onto the chair beside him. “Was the club too loud for you too?” He asks you casually, removing his laptop from the bag.

“You were there?” You ask shocked in response, but cover up the tone before he’s able to look at you in bewilderment of your loud reply. “I mean, yeah, it was pretty crowded, too. I didn’t realize you were going to it.” You recall Seokjin mentioning the friend-- Yoongi-- days earlier and how he would be going to and from the club. If only you had been curious enough to ask for a name.

“To get to know people.” Yoongi tells you before shaking his head at whatever he’s thinking about that idea. “I feel like it’s too loud to actually get to know anyone there, but what can you do?”

“Not go.” You dumbly spout, before you’re able to filter the words. He laughs outright, thankfully. You literally bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying anything else.

“If you want to chill out in here you can, by the way. I’m not sure why Jin got a room this big.”

“Joon’s renovating the smaller one. The light fixture broke the other day.” You explain, looking down at your muffin as you poke around at it. “Either way, Jin goes out for anything so.”

“That’s true.” Yoongi nods, looking in your direction when Namjoon steps into the room from beside you.

“Here’s this,” He says with the plate of muffin and a mug containing the warm, vanilla bean Kalua beverage he has seasonally. “The light switch dims, by the way.”

“I told him.” You giggle while Joon places the little meal down. Yoongi smiles in his own humor from the similarity as Namjoon sheepishly admits he didn’t know.

“Thanks. I can pay you now for everything if you want.” He tells Namjoon as he reaches for his backpack to retrieve a wallet, but Namjoon’s head shaking stops him,

“Jin already paid for it all-”

“What?” Yoongi speaks up in surprise, then sighing to find his phone. “He really does go all out.”

“Yeah, he said he owed you.” Namjoon shrugs with full use of his hands as he steps back, “Sorry, I’d stay to chat, but I have to go help them out there.” You wave to Namjoon as he walks out, then turn back towards Yoongi. He’s typing away at his phone, likely to Seokjin. You bite your lip, remembering that Namjoon said you could go up to his office,

“I guess I’ll leave you alone then, so I don’t bother you.”

“You’re not.” Yoongi brushes off your assumption, placing his phone back down. “You really can stay in here if you want. I was just going to watch a movie until I feel like I need to go back to the club to make an appearance.” He listens to your soft chuckling at his plan for the rest of the night. “But you also don’t need to feel obligated.”

“What movie?” Coy. He taps his fingertips on the table, thinking.

“The Spiderverse one.”

You hum, nodding your head at the choice.

For a moment you consider how this may seem to him, then your thoughts drift to Jimin as well. You completely doubt Yoongi would even flirt with you, but nonetheless being in here close enough to his laptop, and therefore him, to enjoy the flick would be pushing it, wouldn’t it? Then the sequence causing you to leave the club drifts through, and the absent title of an official relationship between you and Jimin. The time when he said a while back that if you wanted to get into a relationship with someone else crosses your mind. This wasn’t that. But it made you care a lot less about saying no to Yoongi’s offer.

“Sure.” You nod, walking to the seat beside Yoongi and claiming it while he’s logging into his account. It could be the lingering effects of alcohol leading you along. “Also, I’m sorry about being, well, rude earlier today.”

“I was the one who assumed you were an assistant.” He shrugs, unbothered from the ordeal on the surface. “You said you worked in song production?”

You just nod. And that’s all you wanted to do, but thinking that’s unfair to him, you elaborate a bit more. “I’m one of the songwriters. Sometimes I produce things, but mostly songwriting.”

“I’ll get your feedback on stuff I make in the future then.” Yoongi casually comments and you’re not sure of how serious he is. Either way the consideration makes you smile softly, pinching more muffin off to eat.

The movie is one you’ve seen multiple times, the first viewing being with Namjoon. Yoongi as well had seen it enough to know when to lower volume at louder scenes, but his consideration of that ended about thirty minutes in. With each of you taking long sips of drinks the staff gave to you, it felt easier to just chat. Nothing particularly telling of one another, but sufficient to help you ignore the bulk of thoughts in regards to Jimin.

By the time the credits roll through, Yoongi stands to go back to the club. You catch the time well into the four o’clock hour of the night. It may be more accurate to call it morning. You get up with him, nothing convincing you to go back to the club, but a taxi instead.

“Joon,” You hand his blazer back to Namjoon when he notices you. “Thanks for letting me be a loiterer.”

“You’re not that.” He smiles, reluctant to put the material back on. “It’s colder than it was when you came in, why don’t you keep it for the night?” You shake your head, already waving as you step away. Slightly off-balance. Namjoon represses a sigh, then notices Yoongi beyond you waiting for you to come along. “Hey,” He tugs you back, face incredibly closer to yours so he can whisper, “He’s going with you?”

“Just helping me get a taxi. He’s going back to the club.” You explain patting his chest, “Whoa, you’re still working out-”

“He’s okay?”

“He’s nice enough with his taste in movies.” You grin at Namjoon, which is worrisome considering the amount of alcohol he figures you’ve had.

“Get your taxi right outside my place, okay?” You nod, forcing his pinky into a promise with your own.

“He doesn’t trust you.” You tell Yoongi breeching into the cold air. Namjoon was right: the frigid temperature is worse than you remember. You rub your thinly covered arm, while typing your location into the taxi app.

“Good friend.” Yoongi says simply, his eyes aiming down the street to the club. There’s no longer a queue, but evidently still an active party. To his dissatisfaction. You groan next to him causing Yoongi to turn back towards you with his hands shoved deep into his jacket. “I feel freezing looking at you.”

“Shut up.” You glare at him, realizing a simple long-sleeve dress is afterall not a good choice for a late December night. “It’s going to be ten minutes until the cab gets here. You can leave if you want.”

“I’m okay.” He watches his breath in the air, and enjoys the lack of noise on the space in front of Namjoon’s cafe. So different from the otherside of the block Yoongi isn’t interested in going back to in the first place. He sees your shoulders vibrate, and without a word of complaint from your mouth removes his jacket. “Here.”

“What?” You look in confusion to his extended hand, giving you what appears to be a wonderfully warm blend of cashmere.

“So you don’t freeze.”

“I thought you were?” You smile, then break into a small fit of laughter as he waits no longer and simply puts the clothing over your shoulders. “Everyone is giving me jackets tonight.”

“You look like you’d get sick without one.” Yoongi says now procuring his hands into his jean pockets. “But if you think Jimin is going to be upset by it just blame me and say I forced you to take it.”

You’re staring at the street when Yoongi’s comment leaves his mouth. But at the notice of information he is clearly aware of, your head quickly turns towards him. By the looks of his face, you think the alcohol he drank let that sentence slip. “What?”

“I,” Yoongi reaches to rub his jaw as he considers the stupidity of that comment. “Saw you both when I was looking for Jin at the club.” When he reaches to fix his wind-blown locks you recall the same blonde hair walking from the booth Jimin and you had been sitting at. The jacket on your body is unfamiliar, but his wine red shirt below is what you also remember seeing flee from the scene. “I didn’t mean to see anything.”

“Yeah.” You nod at the information, voice calm, heart ricocheting in your chest. “Don’t say anything about it.”

“I didn’t plan to even let you know I knew. It’s not my secret.”

“Now it is.” You murmur, returning your gaze to the street. “Sorry I lied to you about it this morning.”

“It’s really not something I’m hurt about.” Frank tone, but soft. Apologetic to starting the topic, like Yoongi was to ask you the wrong questions earlier that day. As if more needs to go wrong your phone vibrates within your clutch. You pull it out only to see the contact name for Jimin that you don’t want to think about, and the situation you didn’t want to think about. You slide a decline on the call, shoving the phone back into your clutch.

“Thanks for lending me your jacket.” You break the silence, assuming that Yoongi saw your phone’s screen even though he wasn’t able to from his amicable distance. Suddenly feeling analyzed and ridiculous for the hidden relationship that isn’t a relationship.

“No problem.” Yoongi’s voice is considerably quieter, wondering whether or not he should apologize again for blurting out what he saw. The taxi headlights coming from down the street interrupt him from doing so. Instead he’s stiffened by the jacket he gave you suddenly being presented back to him. “Oh, you can wear it home. It’s really cold, Y/N.”

“It’s okay, really.” Resembling a plea. Yoongi bites back his frown as he reclaims the coat, but steps to the curbside to open the door for you. “Hopefully the club isn’t as loud anymore.” You tell him with a half-hearted smile, attempting to look teasing. He nods, smiling back to let you believe you succeeded in masking the resurfacing discontentment that he remembers seeing you have that same day at the company.

In both times, when you walked away from him, and now as the taxi drives away, Yoongi can only feel guilty for being the reason.

---

Monday usually saunters through monotonously. You spend much of the time scribbling notes into your journals, or experimenting sounds on the mixing equipment overtaking the purpose of the second bedroom. An hour after noon you’re eating cereal, listening to what you have completed so far, until the day becomes different.

Your phone’s ringtone interrupts your conceptual song, and you’re about to turn the sound off and ignore what you assumed to be a call from Jimin, which would be the fifth that you’ve gone unresponsive to since leaving the club in the very early hours of Saturday. But SoundWave is the presenting contact name.

Before you’re able to comprehend the speed of changing clothes readying yourself, you stand in the elevator of the company. The other two people in there with you are in their own worlds, unbothered by your presence. They have no reason to be, but after Yerin’s assistant urgently relays that you need to get to the company with yourself hidden, you think some people around you may be in on the news as well.

You remove your sunglasses as you exit to the topmost floor, nodding your head to the composed secretary as she stands from her desk. “They’re waiting for you.”

Repressing the urge to ask who exactly is a challenge, but you instead manage a thanks and continue to the door, knocking softly. Entering when you receive a confirmation, your eyes find Yerin’s first as they sharpen at your figure. You pause in the doorway, going over every single wrongdoing you’re ever committed in your life and nervously trying to understand her evident anger. Then the short eternity of thoughts pass and you see the heads of Jimin and Yoongi, very barely glancing back at you.

Your heart is in the wretches of your stomach at the sight of them.

“Sit.” She ignores greeting you and gestures to the empty chair beside Yoongi’s right side. You’re quick to oblige, trying hard not to blurt out the confusion swarming in your mind. “There’s pictures dropping tonight.” Yerin’s tone is like that of the tundra, yet cutting over the three of you as though she attempts to drive stakes at your throats.

Your heartbeat recalls every instance of you and Jimin relaxing into one another at the club with lips attached at every angle of the face and neck available. You don’t dare to spot the reaction on the other two faces, but Jimin’s hands curl tighter in his lap. His eyes remain steady on Yerin as her finger taps on her desk, and he is entirely on edge.

“Of Y/N and Yoongi.”

Every word you prepare in anticipation is choked completely in your throat, your mouth blurting an indignantly surprised question to if you heard her correctly. She glares towards you, while Jimin’s head turns to you and Yoongi as well.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow in complete confusion, “Of us doing what?” It’s a ludicrous statement from his perspective, because there is nothing at all to speak of. Yerin reaches for her computer monitor, shifting the device so the screen of images in an open email become clear.

A blurry shot of Yoongi exiting the club with Seokjin. She clicks to the next one, revealing a picture with worse quality of him inside Namjoon’s cafe in the group of you that spoke to each other, and the last click shows a clear picture of you and Yoongi outside waiting for the taxi. His jacket draping over your figure.

“That’s out of context.” Your head shakes at the insinuation of the series, and you turn to look at Jimin’s frowning face before you can stop yourself, “He and I just ran into each other by chance and he was just waiting for the taxi with me-”

“That’s irrelevant.” Yerin sighs, sitting back into your chair, rubbing her temples. Jimin’s confused and hurt stare leaves yours for his lap. You want to say more to him, but Yoongi stops the bad idea by speaking,

“She and I aren’t dating, just tell them we work at the same company. It’s not that big of a deal is it?” Yoongi grows taken aback when he is met with silence from the rest of you. Where he expected Yerin to at least argue with him, she stares towards her desk contemplating. “Y/N works here.”

“She’s not publically an employee.” Yerin breaks into Yoongi’s idea, ignoring the clear shift of your body in your seat that wants your voice to speak. “Her relationship with the company can’t become publicized in the way you’re saying.” As Yoongi opens his mouth to question what the hell she meant, her hand raises to silence him. “What I say about that matter is final. The company’s reputation won’t stand for her to be associated with us as an employee.”

Your hands fist on your lap, irritated by everything about this meeting that you have to listen to. The idea of Yoongi and you getting caught over all the instances of you and Jimin being together felt so arbitrary and like a sick joke. Then to have Yoongi learn of your embarrassing status in SoundWaves’ workforce right beside you and by a mouth that is not your own makes you want to crawl back into bed and ignore the alarm clock for a few years.

“Ma’am,” Jimin’s polite and tired tone cuts into the silence. You look towards him while he simply goes on in muted irritation, “Is there a reason I’m here?”

You realize he’s angry. By the way the question rigidly falls, and his posture straightened and unwavering absent of attention towards you. The pictures with Yoongi, the situation about Yoongi is between you and Jimin on top of the last argument. You want to talk to him, and think of how selfish you were to decline any of the phonecalls.

“You’re dating Y/N.”

Jimin’s eyes fill with shock, mouth parting at her statement, similar to your own face that looks back at Yerin slowly. Dreading whatever would come out of her mouth as you felt yourself completely unable to lie about the fact when she is so sure of herself.

“People at the party saw you both, and I’ve had an idea about it for months now anyways.” She’s frustrated, but her voice is even, flicking her eyes between you both. She barely smirks spitefully at the lack of response. “And you’re both terrible at lying to me about it right now.”

“We aren’t,” You speak up in a cracked call, head shaking when the sentence won’t complete itself. You wouldn’t be lying to tell her that there isn’t a relationship, but either way she has proof of enough going on for Jimin to get in trouble. Your disposability factor shines and you think that this is the end of your job.

“You aren’t,” Yerin nods, then her finger lifts to point at you then to Yoongi, “He and you are.”

“What?” Jimin questions with leaking frustration. Yerin looks at him with a blistering freeze,

“You’re under a contract that says you’re not allowed to be in a romantic relationship with anyone. You should be thanking me for not firing you.” Her eyes leave Jimin as he recoils into his seat from the words, looks at Yoongi’s grown glare at the idea, and then your uncertain frown that appears unwilling to argue henceforth. “Yoongi doesn’t have that. And SUGA doesn’t have an image like Jimin’s that would expel any idea of relationships. Y/N, you’re simply supposed to be an enigma here; people thinking you’re dating Yoongi would just give you an acceptable reason to go in and out of the company, as well as attend various affairs.”

“I don’t want to be in a fake relationship.” Yoongi’s words are firm. Certain. Yerin glances towards him, regarding his disagreement with ease,

“That doesn’t matter.” He glares at her but doesn’t speak up, while you’re unable to process how it took a matter of an hour for everything to go wrong.

“Don’t make them.” Your head lifts in surprise when Jimin speaks up. Soft, but frustrated. “If you know Y/N and I have something, then don’t do this to us. I know us getting spotted isn’t good, but it was just company employees. The pictures of her and Yoongi are harmless if you tell people that they’re coworkers.” He bites his lip as Yerin stares at him silently. She appears ever so slightly taken aback by his interference. “She and I won’t let it happen again.”

“You can’t guarantee me that.” Yerin exhales, resting her elbows on the desk to continue, “And I’m not changing my mind on this. It works for SUGA’s image anyways. It’ll add appeal for him.” Yoongi makes a dissatisfied noise, arms crossed over himself. “In any case, it’s not a real relationship. Just for the cameras.” She looks back at Jimin, “Adapt and get over it. This situation was collectively caused by the three of you, so you all need to do whatever is necessary to handle it.”

You sit quiet still, unable to find an argument Jimin and Yoongi have yet to say.

“Is this understood?” The three of you give head nods, Yoongi’s barely even an arch of his neck. The turn of events completely throwing him off considering he greeted her just hours earlier and was met with Yerin’s stoic, but pleasant mood. “Good. Yoongi and Jimin leave.”

The two in question look puzzled, Jimin more so concerned on what she wants to say to you in private. You’re resigned, simply staring at your lap, figuring this would be a precursor to the end of your career in the company. You don’t glance towards Jimin when he stands up, looking at you. Not another word leaves anyone’s mouth until they’re exited the room, shutting the door with a clack.

“You should also be grateful I don’t take stricter actions for your behavior.” Yerin sounds poised, despite the menacing idea of her words. You bite your lip, taking it as a sign that you are somehow safe for the moment. “Aside from that all, I’m unsettled.”

Slowly you meet her eyes, frowning a little in confusion of what she means, “About what?”

“The way you walked out of the meeting last week.” Direct. The reminder jabs you in the stomach, and you nod,

“Right. I acted out of line then. I’m sorry about that.”

“I don’t care about the act itself, besides the meeting was practically over anyways. I’m referring to how my reminder of your place in the company caused you to do that. You agreed to the terms of your contract when you signed it years ago, and only recently you’ve been acting like it’s a malleable clause. That you’re owed something.” She studies your expression as you remain quiet. Your breathing is regular and no part of your mind gives you the desire to argue with her considering all of the trouble with Jimin and now Yoongi. “If you’re suddenly credited as a writer, and sleuths study your background it could lead to them discovering that the artists taking the credit have not been as independent as we’ve led them to believe. Damaging that perception will not be good for SoundWave, and it won’t give you any work anywhere else. You’ll be branded as a liar just as well as any other person in this company. You won’t be a songwriter, producer, or anything else if you speak up.”

The screensaver on her monitor activates, as a visual representation of the seconds that pass by. With her assured tone, Yerin dissects the ideas you’ve pondered since the meeting. Seeing straight through you as though you were water. An easily manageable kink in her daily agenda.

“You’re making more money to satisfy yourself, especially considering your age and lack of outside obligations. Your work is widely loved. You’re able to work from the comfort of your apartment. I’m not even trying to hinder the relationship with Jimin. Frankly, you have it made here.” A calculative, selling tone. She’s right. Given the way you could be right now without signing the contract in college, you’re living lavishly. “Don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire

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swearronchanel · 7 years

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BETTER LATE THAN NEVER 6.07

AHHH OMG, I was out all day & Actually MISSED the NEW episode like wtfff?!!? it was TOrture!! & I literally had to delete twitter and Tumblr off my phone because the devil himself would’ve tempted me lmfao😭 I love spoilers but not when everyone has seen the episode but me! it’s okay though I had some rum chata to distract me lol, which is just rum and horchata which is the Hispanic version of Horlicks so, At least I was in the CtM Spirit 🙃

Anyway I’m finally getting to watch it so here we go ..

shit I’m so nervous and I haven’t pressed play

why is my heart beating so fast omg

i usually skip the intro but I’m legit not ready

PHYLLIS !! 💕

damn Vanessa already hinting at what’s to come

Baby Susan so precious omg!!

No lie one of the prettiest babies I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen lots of ugly babies and lots of cute babies, I’m qualified to judge.

“Courage and resilience will matter most of all” 😭😭ahh omg

My spirit animal and campion Phyllis deserves nothing but the best I’m not ready to see her hurt

SHELAGH GETTING EXAMINED 😭😭💕💕 MY HEART IS BURSTING & her belly is so big omg!

CRYING SHE STILL CANT BELIEVE ITS HAPPENING ME EITHER BBY 😭 like holy shit I’m still not over it.

But I’m going to binge series 6 with my mother when I’m home Saturday and can’t wait for her to watch because she wanted to see shelagh have a baby & also she doesn’t know what tf has happened 😭😭😂 it’s been a crazy series! She will be s h o o k

“I know I’m just not a very relaxed sort of person” SAME but BBY RELAX 😭💕

LOL I WOULDNT HAVE READ IT EITHER

That was a cute moment with Babs and Shelagh!! But still wish it was w/ Trixie though 🙁 also it didn’t seem like a “heart to heart”? was it supposed to or was I expecting too much

Aw Rhoda 💔

what a ignorant ass teacher though, I’ll FIGHT HER REAL QUICK

BOY OR GIRL??? I REALLY WANT TO KNOW UGH WHAT IS BABY TURNER??!

ugh Shelagh and Patrick’s faces 😫 I hope they don’t feel guilty for having a baby

But also why does shelagh have to keep wearing the same things lol, I feel cheated of all the cute maternity looks she could’ve served instead

“Having to explain” poor Mrs Antoine UGH THAT MAKES ME SO ANGRY, THERE’S NOTHING TO BE EXPLAINED I’m mixed, Hispanic and white not black and white but still my dad is tan & we’ve been places where people have given my parents the dirtiest looks and have heard a nasty comment or two & it BOILS MY BLOOD

Omg the Antoine boys are precious

TRIXIE 😍😍 my bby looks good!

PHYLLIS IN TROUSERS HELL YES

UM VALARIE CAN U NOT BE RACIST

I swear if she says anything more I’ll lose my shit

“No one can really choose who they fall in love with” BLESS U DEELS

Bless Phyllis for making sure those cubs don’t grow up to be as ignorant as their parents

“I surmise the puller of teeth is intended to admire it” SISTER MJ IS A GEM

LOL SISTER J WANTS HIM TO COME THROUGH

SISTER WINIFRED WITH ANOTHER PRICELESS FACE IM DEAD

A bassoon? Lmaoo what the actual fuck Tim

Oh it’s for girls ofc LOL give him a girlfriend already, I’d get such a kick out of it. & Patrick could make another dad joke and say like take a lesson from me I legit beat God over a woman’s heart

The Mullucks fam 😭

Patrick with Susan omg aww

Trixie looking like a b a b e I’m dead 😍

“You’ll look like you’re trying to hard” DELIA HAHA OMG SHE GETS LIKE ONE MIN OF SCREEN TIME BUT SHE ALWAYS HAS GOOD LINES

I need Trixie’s everything, no joke. HOW

But I’m dying my hair blonder this week don’t play

Ah my bby shelagh again 😍💕

I feel so sorry for Patrick like this wasn’t your fault

LMAO SISTER WINIFRED CANT CONCENTRATE IN COMPLINE SHE IS ANNOYINGLY PRECIOUS

She’s scared to take her driving test aw 😂😂 same like I have my permit but I’m scared to fail the actual driving test

“Oh I have a soft spot for the Antoines” PHYLLIS TIENE UN GRAN COROZON 😭

Omg Mr and Mrs Antoine are so cute too, dios te bendiga 😰

Christopher being a flake wtf no me gusta

Sister W is in on the drama like Sister B was, am I right??

LMAO HER RUN

Prosthetics are so wild, my abuelo has a prosthetic leg and I was so interested when he first got it. But also I’m going to hell for being evil because I joke around way too much when he’s extra senile

“People call my kids hair frizzy, but I think it’s beautiful” MY HEART😭💔 literally my mom was the same with me. Defensive over my curls - even tho my hair is frizzy sometimes😭

The song though, took me a second to process but that’s my bby shelagh’s song ?? Ummm wut

lol sister Winifred hella late, let me guess this will make her want to drive?

this prosthetic place is so great wow omg

damn it Bernie

PHYLLIS LOVES THIS FAMILY AND I LOVE THEM ALL OMG 😭😭

GET THE RUM ! or I will lol

ah never mind

LOL SISTER W AGAIN & PHYLLIS SHAKING HER HEAD

the question is, does/has sister Winifred drink/drank ? she seems like a light weight

fuck is this when it’s gonna happen

I’M NOT READY DAMN IT

damn Bernie..

UGH MY HEART IS RACING IM SO ANXIOUS AND SCARED AHJXKWLXM

HOLY SHIT OMGGGG

THAT WAS SO HARD AHH OMGG

IM FUCKING SCREAMING

Phyllis is in shock o h m y g o d

I can’t process this either

OMG I CANT DEAL

PHYLLIS IS SOBBING, IM SOBBING WTFFFF OMGG 😭😰😰😰💔💔💔

MY FUCKING HEART

I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO OMG

AW SISTER W ASWELL UGH WTF I SHOULDNT FEEL SO MUCH

LMAO OMG THANK U FOR COMIC RELIF

TIM SUCKS LMAO stick to the damn piano boy

PATRICK AND SHELAGH GIGGLING OMG MY HEART IS OKAY NOW 😭😭💕💕

SHELAGH AND PATRICK BEING SO CUTE IM CRYING

DAMN THALIDOMIDE

DAMN THAT CAR UGH

DAMN IT ALL

LOW FUCKING BLOW BERNIE THAT WAS NOT HER FAULT

BABS TRYING TO COMFORT PHYLLIS IM CRYING AGAIN

SHE IS SO HURT, I AM SO HURT, IM A BLOODY MESS OF TEARS. IM SOBER AND SAD NOW & THERE’S MASCARA In MY CONTACT LENS & MY 3yr OLD GREMLIN LITTLE COUSIN IS KICKING ME (lol he’s laying next to me)

AND CARRIE CRYING NOW OMGGG NO LENNY WONT DIE STOP

“That lovely gp of yours” lol does everyone have a crush on Dr Turner but me? Lol don’t come @ me pls I’m sorry I know people love him 😭😭 Im here for Christopher and Tom But He is handsome, just in an older man way Lmaoo guess it’s cause he could be my dad 😂 lol he’s older than my dad

I’d take him as a sugar daddy real quick though. I need my tuition paid and he is so sweet😏 😭😂

So it was a scarf, hmm I thought trixie was gonna find like stockings or something

“Not Hermès but something very like it” lol how does Trixie know what Hermès feels like on a nurses salary?

Valarie is on my nerves & she’s had like 2 mins of screen time Lmaoo I’ve liked her until this episode. I hope they don’t ruin her for me

“But I’m a member of the institute of advanced motorists” UGH PHYLLIS IS A GEM WHO DOES NOT DESERVE THIS !! SHE IS THERE FOR EVERYONE ALWAYS, SHE ALWAYS DOES GOOD WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO HER?

Aw Sister Winifred

Oh Rhoda 💔💔she’s such a great mother

MY HEART, THEY WERE WALKING AWAY FROM BEING TEASED

BLAME THE RACISTS, IT IS ALWAYS A VALID BLAME

YES PHYLLIS IS A GOOD WOMAN! 😭😭

Tom trying to comfort Phyllis😭😭

“You’re fond of your meat, and our views on God and His existence are divergent to say the least, but we both follow vocations…. so if you caused harm to someone else, even inadvertently would it not make you question what everything in your life has come to stand for?” I’m c r y i n g

“I, a rational woman, have no one to question but myself” 😭💔

IM REALLY HURT

“Sometimes cheering people on the sidelines doesn’t help”

my bby killing it 😍

Why you being a flake Christopher? go ahead man tell her about your kid

BRUH YOU DONT TELL HER LIKE THAT LMAO

he’s divorced ah, thought it was out of wedlock. I don’t care though haha

NO DRINKS FOR TRIXIE, TELL HIM BBY.. in your own time of course 💕

BABY SUSAN SO PRECIOUS

Fred brought her car ugh And Phyllis is still so hurt as am I 💔

This lady is so sweet! I hope she and Rhoda become friends right now

DID SHE TAKE DISTIVAL TOO?

lol wait where are the Turners I miss them??

“.. and the words ‘Nonnatus house this is not a midwife speaking’ are most unlikely to reassure the caller” SISTER MJ!

YES SHE DID OMG. I need them to be best friends omg 💔😭

“Nothing was said, nothing was done” 💔💔

PHYLLIS LOOKING AT THE CAR

SISTER MJ IS GOING WITH HER MY HEART OMG

my heart my heart

aw the mullucks'😭 ofc IT WASNT YOUR FAULT!

SISTER MJ IS A GEM 💕😭 & PHYLLIS IS JUMPING BACK IN

TWO GEMS 😭💕 but also if this was the birth they meant that sister MJ was involved in ill be lowkey sad, but we shall see next week if she’s randomly with Shelagh when she delivers

Trixie serving more looks 😍

Aw my bby 💔does she tell him about her alcoholism at the end of this ?

Also what are we guessing about Valarie rn?? she has a secret? tragic backstory to be unlocked? what ? She gay?

Aw the mulluks’s again! All so sweet💕 & YES LYDIA BE FRIENDS

ugh Christopher looks good af😍 and that car yes

YES TRIXIE 😍 my girl looking good as well

SHE TOLD HIM 😭 IM CRYING IM SO PROUD 😭😭💕💕WHY DO I FEEL SO PROUD FOR A FICTIONAL CHARACTER??! I love her

Oh shit Patsy’s dad is dead. I assumed that was coming

Phyllis reassuring Delia awww

PHYLLIS BACK AT THE CUBS 😭 MY CHAMPION AND SPIRIT ANIMAL BOUNCING BACK

Lenny’s speech omg brb crying

The support group for thalidomide victims omg my heart

I was cryin before and now I’m crying more for this Irish lady

Omg side side side note there was this cute old interracial couple that seem like my parents in 20yrs in JFK yesterday that were so precious and sweet and we’re talking to me the whole time waiting at the gate & then there was this sweet Irish couple who were confused about the time difference and I helped them out and then when we landed they helped me out looking for my bag so now I have much more faith in humanity because usually the people in NYC airports are angry new yorkers who don’t care lol like me (jk)

“There’s no rule of life so simple or so true ..” 😭😢💔💖

Thank u Vanessa I’m so emotional, show me next week

Bonus: next week

OMG PHYLLIS HUGGING SHELAGH OMGGG. I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED TO SEE THIS

PHYLLIS BETTER DELIVER THE BABY I KNOW I WANTED TRIXIE BUT IT DOESNT SEEN LIKELY AND SO INEED PHYLLIS (sister J too ofc?! She was barely in this past episode)

MY BBY SHELAGH’S TUMMY IS SO BIG IN HER UNIFORM OMG SHE’S SO PRECIOUS I LOVE HER I MISSED HER THIS PAST EPISODE

BUT OH MY GOD BABY TURNER IS COMING HOLY SHIT THIS IS HAPPENING THIS IS NOT A DRILL

HERE COMES THE PILL READY OR NOT #LETSGETIT1962

Lol oh shoot I didn’t take mine yesterday or today brb

AW DELIA

WHAT IS SIGNIFICANT ABOUT BABS SLEEPING I NEED TO KNOW

Lol idk why but even though I like Tom and Babs their relationship just doesn’t do anything for me😂😂 like I don’t give a shit? They’re cute but idk it doesn’t cut it. Like they’re just there and I’m like “aw ok”

OMG I CANT WAIT WHAT WILL HAPPEN ?! I NEED ANSWERS

I will die next week. For real.

#call the midwife #lets get it 1962 #masterpost #protect my bbys at all costs though #my commentaries™

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Arplis - News: Arlyns Warm (& Sort of Last-Minute DIYed) Holiday Reveal

Spoiler alert: This starts sad, but I promise a happy endingjust like your favorite Hallmark movie. Yes, its a post about decorating for Christmas, but its a bit of a journey (and your prize for sticking around is seven tips for a pretty holiday look without a ton of planningnext to a cash reward, what more could you want, hm?).

Before moving to LA, I had a long-standing Christmas tradition that involved a sleepover at my place with my twin nephews. Wed go buy a fresh tree, head to Target to pick out their yearly ornaments (and okay, I usually caved and bought them several when they couldnt pickauntie privilege), and settle in for the night with a big ol cheese pizza and tons of candy to decorate and watch holiday movies. When I left Florida, my absolute favorite weekend of the year stayed behind along with my family, and frankly, I didnt feel festive enough last year to decorate. Sure, I bought a tree and then proceeded to cry my way through placing all the memories from years past on it (like I said, no this whole post wont be one giant Joni Mitchell River-esque depressing monologue). But, its been almost two years, and I realized that it was time to start making some new traditions, starting with proper decorations to set the scene for the season.

By proper, I mean nothing more than something that actually brought me joy. In my last home, I didnt care even the tiniest bit about my Christmas aesthetic. Id throw around scraggly bows, dangle strange garlands in places that would inevitably fall off (left unfixed until January). While I appreciate a classic, kitschy look, this didnt make me happy. Looking back, it was a lot like the holiday aisle at Big Lots come December 26sparse, random and nowhere I wanted to be. BUT THIS YEAR IS DIFFERENT. Guys, I really actually tried, and whoa, I love coming home. I get so jazzed to know Ill walk through that door after work to all the fairy lights on (thanks, timers) and all I need to do is light my pine-scented candles.

When I first discussed decorating and shooting my place for the blog, I told Emily I would take the more last-minute DIY angle for this story, except, ha, I should know myself better than to think Im a DIY person (have I talked about the unfinished dining chairs sitting in a corner of my master bedroom enough times for you to understand the stakes here?). Im more of an early minute buying personif we can all agree thats the opposite of last-minute DIY, but dont worry Emily, I pulled out a few stops even for me to salvage this story. Really, though, its an excuse to show you guys my living and dining rooms again, this time just festooned for Christmas using nearly everything Target, because those guys have affordable holiday decor on lock.

Aside from what I bought, there were a few things I planned on doing going into this: dried oranges for garland and ornaments, and the addition of real greenery to anything faux for a lusher more natural look, but more on that in just a bit when we get there. Lets start in the living room:

Creating a Christmas Couch With Simple Textile Swaps

Swapping out textiles seasonally always felt to me like the equivalent of womens magazines telling me when I was younger that Id be going from day to night far more often than I ever have (never). Who was really doing this? Sure, my mom would throw a random Christmas pillow on the sofa when I was younger, but a full swap was absolutely something Id NEVER consider doing. Except well, for the sake of this shoot, I did it, and guess what. IM OBSESSED WITH IT. Dont knock it til you try it.

I left one of my everyday pillows out because it played well with everything else, but Im half tempted to never actually switch them back. Im officially living the cozy life and DONT MAKE ME GO BACK. But seriously, seeing that Fa la la pillow and those little gold embroidered Christmas trees fill my heart with childlike wonder and joy and Im now a winter textiles swap person (once I figure out a more permanent solution than throwing my year-round pillows and blanket in the guest bedroom).

Neutral Tree + Homemade Goodies

The (Christmas-celebrating) world is divided into two subsects: those who take no issue with faux trees, and those that choose to torture themselves with a real evergreen. I am the latter. Every year, when it comes time to recycle this baby, I curse myself for the massacre of needles. But alas, I cant be stopped and I will always opt for a real tree. This is a noble fir that I picked up at Lowes and it has that gappy vibe everyone is into right now. I like how you can load up a branch front to back and things dangle so nicely, sparkling and dazzling in the twinkle lights.

As for the decor, this is actually the first year in a long time I went with white lights. Ive always been a colored-lights just throw crazy stuff up on the tree and call it a day girl (correction: let your small nephews throw crazy stuff up on the tree and call it a day). Someone once asked me if I changed my trees color motif every year and Im pretty sure I rudely laughed in their face before I realized they were serious. No. I am not that person. This is why this year, once I realized that oh wait, people will be seeing my home and I needed to try, I opted to go for something a little more neutral so I could build on it over time. I also had a box full of handmade and drawn ornaments from my nephews that I needed to be sure made it up on those branches (see the paper and crayon snowman, for example). Theres enough going on in my apartment that something a little more minimal didnt make me want to crawl out of my skin a week into the merriment.

Because I wanted some color, I thought to do what evidently everyone else on the internet also thought to do this year: dried oranges as ornaments. I definitely did not get the mailer that must have gone around to tell everyone this was the look of 2019, but regardless, I love it. Some string (in a white and red becauseChristmas), a bag of small oranges and a few hours to dry them out in the oven (Erin from Francois et Moi has a great tutorial here) and boom, I supplemented my tree for about$4. LAST-MINUTE DECORATING LIFE HACK. Put dried oranges on just about everything and you have an instant holiday lewk that feels warm, unpretentious, welcoming and a wee-bit British (i.e. all I ever want to feel).

Some of my favorite ornaments I scooped up this year with my nephews top of mind: the sloth, the fabric Santa, the clip-on glittery birds, and the ceramic turtle doves (I promptly forced my husband Charles to sit and listen to why I got those to represent our undying love). Oh goodness, and I cant move on before discussing that Cookies For Santa plate and milk jug. No, there are no children in my house, but when I saw it, I knew I needed to hoard it for the day that there are because every year my sister runs around trying to find something to put cookies and milk in and it always ends up being an awkward mini loaf pan or something and this feels like a pat yourself on the back for planning ahead moment that I wanted to put on display.

Mix Real + Faux

HOT TIP: Faux garland is so great for using year after year and traditionally, I used to think it looked very fake, but Target has some good stuff. I went with their faux white pine and berries strand here and over the archway and Im so happy with them. This one is 72, so, maybe dont be like me and instead measure before you figure out how much of something you need. I ended up with about 8 inches of bare mantel and had to guinea rig a solution. The left side there, by the candlesticks, is actually a piece of faux greenery also from Target in the same color/finish that I added to the end and BOOM, fixed.

Once I put the eucalyptus wreath on the door, however, I realized it was much cooler in tone than the garland and side by side, they looked a little jarring. My solution? Get some actual eucalyptus (I had some leftover from my Thanksgiving tablescape) and shove in pieces of it about every 6 inches or so. This accomplished two things for me: it married the color/style gap between the wreath and the garland, but it also brought some life to the faux-ness. (Again, this stuff is good, so it doesnt NEED it, it was just a visual preference for me).

Can we talk about the cutest stocking? Growing up in Florida, a land devoid of mantels and fireplaces for obvious reasons, we were not a stocking family. Every now and then, my mom might tie some to the stair banister, but they were never full of anything. Well folks, thats over. I live in LA now, a land with NON-FUNCTIONING fireplaces, but fireplaces nonetheless. LA is all about illusions after all, so as long as it looks like a fireplace, thats all that matters, right? Throw some fairy lights in, no problem (and maybe light some candlesI used these candlesticks from Targetif youre brave and attentive for that real fire feel). This knit guy with the poms is maybe my favorite thing I got this year but HEAVY (hence the nutcracker on top of the stocking holder for that oneI have a little cut-out in the molding that meant less stability, but itll probably be fine if you have a normal 90-degree angle on your mantel).

And, in one of my favorite last-minute moves to use up random leftovers of things, I took some ribbon I had bought for my gift wrap, tied a little piece into a bow and velcroed it to this art piece. Dressing up your artwork can be SO fun for holidays (remember Emilys googly eyes over that oil portrait?). Its so unexpected, costs basically nothing and will get everyones attention, I promise.

Sprinkle Christmas Cheer Throughout Other Vignettes

This whole post should be titled Never Underestimate the Holiday Styling Power of the Bottle Brush Tree because if you look closely enough, there is absolutely one in nearly every shot angle of my home. I threw some on my console table, on a side table, on my coffee table, on my TV standand just WAIT until you get to the dining room. Bottle brush tree galore! They are very affordable and if you dont mind glitter sprouting from nearly everywhere until the end of time, theyre almost all you need to fill in your home with some Christmas spirit outside of the big moments (tree, fireplace). Same goes for leftover ornaments, pieces of greenery (such as free scraps from the tree lot), and super budget-friendly figurines, like these reindeer that make me so happy.

That blonde wood bowl is VERY good guys, and I will absolutely be leaving it out year-round, but for now, it screamed FILL ME WITH JINGLE BELLS so I had to oblige. These are 2-inch bells and honestly just so dang fun. Put them in a vase or bowl but save a few to sprinkle throughout other vignettes (or on a gift!).

The last moment I threw together in this room was the bench by my window. I moved the rust-colored velvet cushion into the guest bedroom (which honestly, I treat like a storage unit, so I know this is not a universal solution) and draped my sheepskin pelt a little asymmetrically. I gotta say, Im quite proud that this placement was my first go at it. The less fussing you do sometimes, the more effortless things look. I over-ordered pillows for my sofa, but thank goodness, because they worked great on here. The green pillow with the poms is SO cute and you might not see it here, but it has these little wood beads at the base of the pom pom which makes it extra special.

Alright, lets move this party into the dining roomafter you.

Accentuate Your Architecture

Ever since I saw Ginnys garland-bedecked archway into her dining room, I dreamed of being able to do the same thing. So when I stepped foot into this apartment for the first time, I instantly knew it would fulfill my greenery-over-archway dreams. This is three pieces of faux garland, hung with some small nails I dug out of an IKEA art hanging kit. Because of my 100-year-old plastered and heavily textured walls, Command hooks simply laughed the THREE times I tried themin three different sizes and configurations (both the laughter and hook type). I finally gave up and went to get the hammer. Cant wait to patch those holes come January, trulythough worth it to me.

Implement a Big Holiday Moment (Thats Actually Really Easy)

Over on the console, I went for a sort of kind of holiday village. It was my initial vision to do a jam-packed Christmas village here, so I bought what felt like hundreds of trees and houses, and then I put them all down and the credenza ATE it. It was like starting with a pan full of fresh spinach and ending up with 2 tablespoons of cooked spinach. My dreams were dashed and I came up with plan B: mix in everyday things with some holiday feels and pretend it was your plan all along. Im actually very happy with it and dont think I havent sat at my dining table some mornings and nights just looking over here with a twinkle in my eye and sugar plums dancing in my head. When you boil it down, its really just three new vignettes: the two bottle brush trees + seasonal candle (above), a footed bowl with some leftover greenery and bottle brush trees (below) and ceramic houses with some fairy lights shoved up into them on top of books which were already there (photo after next). Oh, and some oranges from the grocery store because #theme.

My favorite thing about this whole scene is probably those beautiful wreaths hanging by velvet ribbon over the windows. I LOVE a wreath-over-window (or, as youll see, mirror) moment and two windows meant I had two chances to do it in this room. Quickly: Im very much obsessed with this wreath. It looks so high-end with the dangling brass bells and it matches the garland in the living room, so both spaces speak to each other.

Over on the bar, my vintage gilded mirror called for another ribbon-hung wreath, but I went for the faux cypress leaf version instead to keep things more minimal. The addition of some new brass barware (the Project 62 line looks really good, folks) and a few bottle brush trees and voila, my holiday bar.

When In Doubt, Keep It Simple (For Real)

When it came to what to do on my table, this was REALLY a last-minute DIY situation because I had no idea (which is typically the case with my table). The day before this shoot, Emily texted me that she had some leftover garland at her house from her shoot, and I could come grab some if I wanted. So grab it I did, not knowing what I planned on doing with it, but I ended up throwing it on the table just to think and when I finally came to, I realized it was exactly where it belonged. I pulled out my kitchen sheers because I do not have clippers (apartment living), trimmed it to size and pulled out some small, cheap glass votives I had in my cabinets already to make things moody. AND THEN, I had some extra oranges from my tree ornaments and I just scattered some throughout to connect both rooms visually.

But wait, theres more. At the last minute (okay, the night before), I wanted to give the room more of a casual party vibe and wanted a dessert set up, so I ran out to Ralphs with the intention of making something with the zero minutes I had left in my life to whip up a baked good and found a pre-made bundt cake instead. A simple glaze (though Im sure you could find one glazed already), some cranberries I rolled in sugar, and a smattering of fresh sage leaves is all I needed to fool Sara into thinking I had actually made this when she made it over to shoot. SEMI HOMEMADE TRICKERY.

I will most certainly be doing this again in the future, and if you do, as well, everyone will think youre a domestic goddess. Set out some cute appetizer or dessert plates (these from the Hearth & Home with Magnolia are super cute with festive sayings on them that are subtle but still fun), flatware and napkins, and with very little effort, you just became the hostess with the mostest time to actually blow dry your hair before people show up.

And thus ends my holiday dissertation. It started out bleak, but I promised it would end on a high note, and theres no higher note than being pulled together enough to maybe put some curls in your hair (at least for me).

I rounded up ALL the goods I got from Target below in a few groupings, and yes, at the end of the season, you might find this stuff is sold out either in-store or online, so for that Im SO sorry, but ALWAYS check your local stores because they restock or people make returns and you might just find what youre looking for. Oh, and for a few more exclusive tips, I wanted to share the story Ruemag.com featured of my home as well, so check that out if youre interested. Thanks for stopping by and the happiest of holidays and the merriest of Christmases to you all.

***photography by Sara Ligorria-Tramp, design and styling by Arlyn Hernandez

The post Arlyns Warm (& Sort of Last-Minute DIYed) Holiday Reveal appeared first on Emily Henderson.

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/arlyns-warm-sort-of-last-minute-diyed-holiday-reveal

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