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aklaustaleteller · 9 days

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@ghayda0 requested via submission: Hi, please ignore if you’re not taking requests. Klaus is out all day. Literally from morning to midnight and when he comes back, Y/N is very pissed at him and giving him the silent treatment. At first Klaus’s amused by her actions, thinking Y/N is just being bratty but when she starts tearing up, maybe mid argument, he sees that’s she’s genuinely hurt. Maybe it was their anniversary or her birthday and he forgot. Can be smutty if you want to be, I mean he has to make it up somehow ;)

Entirety of Eternity

Waiting and waiting for Klaus to return home, Y/n's grasp on reality soon slipped and she fell into a sad, sad slumber. But then Klaus finally comes back, and he doesn't know what he's done wrong -- and Y/n won't tell him. Until she does, shouting at him how the night clearly wasn't anything special to him. And now, all Klaus wants is to show her just how much she, and their relationship, truly mean to him.

Warnings - Smut and some mentions of blood. Word Count - 3.3k

Not super proud of the way I wrote this one, but I'm pretty certain that it isn't that bad (please tell me it isn't) And thank you for requesting this -- I hope you enjoy reading it!

Y/n was sat on one end of the dining table, her face resting in her quite sweaty palms as she waited for her ears to finally perk up at the sound of the front door to the mansion opening. But it was beginning to cross the two-hour mark and still, there was no sound.

Every once in a while, the sound of her earrings' tiny bells would chime in her ears as she'd change her position to get more comfortable. At least as comfortable as she could on a wooden chair.

A deep wine-red dress adorned her body, pooling on the ground around her feet as she sat. Delicate jewellery hung from her ears, her wrists and a dainty necklace rested just below her collarbone. Sighing defeatedly, she let her head lay atop her arms on the dining table, looking at the polished plates in front of her and then at the empty seat across from her.

Tonight was nothing special, at least not to Klaus considering the fact that he had yet to return home. But it was to her. After all, this was the day that he had turned into a hybrid himself, and then turned her into one as well – justifying it with the purpose that he just wanted to spend the rest of eternity with her.

This was just the fifth year, and already he was forgetting their anniversary.

Maybe this wasn't so special after all. But when you've got the entirety of eternity on your hands, surely you'd try and celebrate as many occasions as possible to keep things special and ...to keep their value.

The clock rang throughout the empty house, finally hitting one in the morning and he still wasn't standing across from her. And she was getting too close to doubting if he even will tonight.

And even if it wasn't so special to him, shouldn't he have listened to her when she'd so excitedly told him to return home early tonight as she'd have something special waiting for him? Wouldn't matter anymore because all the food that she'd cooked herself had gone cold, and the candles she'd set up had burned down to the wick.

The dust had begun to settle on the exposed crockery, the moon had hidden itself behind the clouds and her heart had begun wilting away inside her chest.

She didn't quite realise when her hold on reality slipped and she fell into a sad slumber, but she woke up to the feel of a hand on her arm and a soft voice coaxing her back to life.

"There you are, my darling," Klaus smiled, already kneeling beside her so he was face to face with her. "Why didn't you go to bed?"

Y/n looked at him with eyes that were screaming how could he have the guts, the audacity to ask her that and so callously pretend that he hadn't just come home past midnight despite her sweet request that went against his act.

But when her shouts fell on deaf ears, she simply turned the other way from where Klaus was sitting and stood up. "The dinner's gone cold... I'd suggest you warm it up before eating, it'd taste better," she told him as she walked up the stairs, her gaze empty but her blood heating up rapidly.

Klaus looked at her as she walked away, amusement filling him up to the brim at her antics. Yes, she'd asked him to return early but it was for no special occasion, and he'd gotten himself in a rather sticky situation, so why was she upset out of the blue?

He was even sure that she his reasoning in someone's red blood covering him from head to toe, beginning to dry up. And he wished that she'd clean him up like every other time, so he decided to eat first. Give her some time to change her clothes and get comfortable for the night before he could go over to her and ask her innocently to help him clean himself off.

So he sat and ate, his eyes closing every once in a while at the feeling of the home cooked meal filling him up with all the love he could digest.

Rinsing off his dishes, Klaus sped up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with Y/n as her lover, a frown settling itself between his brows when he caught her sitting in front of the vanity, lost in some thought as she glared at a broken lipstick.

"What's wrong, my love?" Klaus asked her, concern lacing his voice as he walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders as he locked his eyes with hers in the mirror.

His frown only deepened further when she didn't reply and began removing her jewellery, looking at him with big eyes trembling with fury. He didn't move, not until she was getting up and moving towards the bed, which had him following her hot on her heels.

"C'mon, it's not the right time to be a brat, sweetheart," Klaus joked, chuckling to himself but stopped when she shot him a look sharp enough to make him flinch.

"Just tell me what's happened!" Klaus insisted, kneeling in front of her and holding her hand, ignoring the fact that she didn't weave her fingers through his' and pick his hand up to press a kiss on his knuckles like she usually did.

"Where were you?" She asked, forcing her voice to be at a bay.

"Well, some newbies truly thought that they could have my head on a sword for them to take home to their master,” he chuckled. “And their plan was quite impressive, dare I say,” shrugging he said, passing her a grin which, expectedly, wasn’t reciprocated.

“I apologise for not coming home earlier,” he sighed. But he knew that she knew that he truly wasn’t, for he didn’t even yet realise the density of this grave mistake he had made. And when she continued with her silence, Klaus finally cracked.

“It’d not as if tonight’s anything special!”

And right then, Y/n heard something crack inside her. Possibly her dead heart.

“I know you wanted me to return early tonight and I’m sorry that I didn’t, I truly am!” He almost whined, trying to show her how unreasonable she was being as he started pacing the room. “But this has happened before and you’ve never been this upset, so just tell me what have I done wrong!”

He felt quite embarrassed once he was done shouting due to her lack of response, and sighed once more before walking towards her.

“It was our anniversary,” she started, quickly glancing at the clock, “yesterday.”

Klaus stopped in midst of his way to her, his heart dropping in his stomach as he finally found himself at a loss of words. His mouth moved, but nothing came out except for some incoherent stutters.

“Forget it. It was nothing special,” she gritted through her teeth, not wanting her anger to get the best of her but she could feel it slipping out of her grasp.

“Darling – I,” Klaus stuttered, looking at the floor, wishing it’d remind him how to speak. “I’m so sorry darling,” Klaus breathed, his gaze turning doe-eyed as the realisation set in.

“No you’re not!” Y/n shouted, getting off the bed to walk towards him. “You are not sorry, Klaus. You clearly don’t care!”

Hot tears were lined up against her lower lashline, making it hard for her to see clearly.

“You were showing that last night meant nothing to you for so long and you even said it! It was no special occasion!” She yelled, her voice shaking as her brain debated whether she was trying to convince herself about that, or him.

And the way she was talking about their anniversary in a way that it truly had passed and that it was the next day, was only breaking his heart worse.

“Darling our anniversary means the world to me,” he desperately said. “I’d just carelessly forgotten about it but please don’t think that it doesn’t mean anything to me,” he whispered, his eyes aching to meet with hers but she just wouldn’t let it happen, looking to the side.

But the moment those words left his mouth, a bitter chuckle escaped her mouth as she finally looked him in the eyes.

“Can you hear yourself Klaus?” She asked him, shaking her head. “If it did mean anything to you, you wouldn’t have forgotten about it!” She told him, fisting her hand to prevent herself from ripping her hair out of her scalp.

“Please let me make it up to you, darling,” Klaus begged, his own tears threatening to spill. “I’d been a bastard to do such a thing but please let me show you how much you mean to me,” his voice went meek as he lowered his head to meet her eyes. “How much this,” Klaus whispered, motioning his hand to point at her and then at himself, “means to me,” he finished, cautiously cupping her face in his rough hands.

And he breathed in relief when she leaned into his touch, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I cooked us a meal, lit up candles and I only wore this dress so you could take it off,” she admitted, a tinge of pink rising on her cheeks, betraying her sadness. “And you just had to go and mess everything up,” she sighed, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him, clinging to his torso while resting her face in the cervix of his neck, ignoring the dried blood that covered his clothes and exposed skin.

“And I’m so sorry darling,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I swear I’ll never do something like this again,” he smiled, swaying them side to side.

Y/n detached herself from him then, her hair a bit ruffled due to his touch. “Please don’t,” she chuckled, pressing a quick kiss on his lips before weaving their fingers together and walking towards the bathroom.

“You better not show up some day covered in your own blood,” Y/n warned him as she sat him on the bathroom counter and wetted a towel.

She began wiping the blood off of him with ease, having done this a million and more times by now. And she’d just wiped down his neck when she realised that he had way more blood on him that she’d expected, and some in his hair as well.

“Why don’t you just take a shower? You genuinely have blood everywhere, hell it’s even in your hair,” she laughed and didn’t wait for his answer as she went on to turn on the shower and nodded her head at him, urging him to get in already.

“You’re not joining me, are you?” Klaus asked, teasingly and nervously.

“You wish, don’t you?” She grinned before walking out, her ears picking up on him mumbling how she very well knew that he did.

And Y/n had just been sitting on the bed, waiting for him when he finally walked out of the shower, in a towel that hung dangerously low on his hips. And his drenched curls stuck to his forehead while water shone off of his chiselled chest, a teasing smirk on his mouth as he looked at her while she took him in.

He began walking towards her, a certain glint in his eyes as he watched her shut off the book in her lap and place it on her bedside table. Once he stood beside her, he took her hands in his and began moving so that she’d stand up and walk with him.

Leaning in, he hovered his mouth over hers before tilting his head slightly so that he was whispering in her ear.

“You said you’d only worn this dress so I could take it off… yes?” He asked her, beginning to sway the two of them across the room, listening in to hear her heartbeat picking up while her heavy breath fanned his neck.

Y/n hummed in response, her eyes fluttering close when he began pressing feather light kisses up her neck. She looked at him with intrigue when he stood the both of them in front of the mirror, looking at her with the slightest smirk from behind.

“Gonna still let me take you up on that offer, darling?” he asked, his fingers dancing across her shoulders until she nodded her head, and whispered a small yes.

“Gonna let me show you how much truly special you are to me?” He asked again, clearly teasing her as he fingers travelled to her back. He pressed his mouth against her jaw when she nodded again, eyes still on her in the mirror as he began nipping at her skin, leaving behind the very first hickey.

He undid the chain of the dress, letting it slump off of her torso and expose her naked breasts to him. No bra, he grinned, licking the bruising skin on her jaw as a blush creeped up on the highs of her cheeks.

From behind, his hands slithered across her skin, from her back to now her breasts, flicking the hardened nipples as he littered love bites all over her neck.

He made sure that while he touched her, his eyes remained locked with hers. She knew after so many years with him that he preferred eye contact during such intimate moments, that he preferred to see how much effect he had on her – how he had her at his mercy just by touch.

“Klaus,” she breathed with pleading eyes and let her head fall against his chest as he began to force the rest of her dress to slip off of her figure.

“Darling,” Klaus smiled, turning her around once she’d stepped out of the dress that was merely a pool on the floor now. He picked her up, bridal style and walked over to their bed, laying her on it gently unlike other times when he’d roughly toss her on it. After all, he had some apologising to do tonight.

Moving to hover above her, Klaus resumed his kisses and marks, slipping lower and lower on her body until her fingers were clutching his curls while he bit lightly on the lowest point of her stomach.

“Stop all this teasing now, Klaus,” Y/n asked of him, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him with a rather scolding look as he looked back at her with mischievousness swimming in his eyes.

“Only because I’m truly sorry,” Klaus grinned at her, teasing her for the final time before he pressed his mouth against her aching core, licking up her hole to her clit, spreading her arousal before he could actually begin.

Y/n’s breathing hitched and a moan escaped her mouth when she felt him increase his pace a bit. His fingers dug into the skin on her hips as he kept his hold tight on her, forcing himself as close to her pussy as he could, his nose breathing in her scent and tongue lapping up her wetness.

“Oh Klaus,” she whined when he shifted all his attention on her clit, sucking on it until he began feeling a tremor coursing through her thighs.

He went back to licking up her arousal then, wanting to prolong her orgasm to give her a good one instead. And his own grunts began to vibrate against her core when he began to rub against the bed, causing her arousal begin dripping down his chin.

“You taste fucking amazing, darling,” he told her as he pushed a finger inside her with ease, quickly adding another one at the realisation of just how open and ready he’d got her dawned on him.

Y/n mewled above him, her moans turning into louder groans as he pushed himself against her core again, flicking her clit with his tongue while pumping his fingers inside her at a fast pace. Her eyes fell shut as the knot in her belly began to move lower and lower, a pleasing and burning sensation coursing through her body, causing her to begin shaking.

Her thighs instinctively closed shut around Klaus’ head, her hands pushing against his head to get away from him, making him increase his pace even more.

“Klaus, please!” She cried out to him, begging for release while her back arched off the bed, her eyes flying open when Klaus detached his mouth from her, keeping his fingers at work regardless.

“Look at me,” he breathed, her arousal smeared across his mouth, along with a couple strings connecting his mouth and her core.

And he went right back to messing with her now puffy clit once he had her eyes on him. Noises of his tongue licking her up and down began to fill the room along with the ones coming from him fingering her, and her hips stuttered to move just once more before she was crying out, trying with all her might to get away from his mouth as she grew more and more sensitive as he made her ride out her orgasm.

Klaus finally stopped after a couple more kitten licks then, crawling back up to her to kiss her. And he had just cupped her jaw when she flipped them over, now straddling his naked hips as the towel remained lying near the foot of the bed.

And she began lining his hardened cock against her pussy, slowly sinking down on him until he was fully inside her. She placed her hands on top of his which were situated on her waist and then she began moving up and down, increasing her pace with each jump.

“Only because I’m forgiving you,” she lazily grinned at him, making him chuckle hoarsely.

Klaus’ hands slowly slithered up her torso then, and cupped her breasts as their bouncing in his face was going to make him reach his high embarrassingly fast.

And when he noticed her pace slowing down, he placed his hold back on her waist to hold her in place while he thrusted up into her, fucking her well enough for her to lean forward and hover over him with her eyes clenched shut.

“Fucking hell,” Klaus gritted as her breasts were now back in his face, bouncing so prettily that he couldn’t help but take one of her nipples in his mouth to tease her into another orgasm now.

“Oh I’m gonna cum again,” she moaned close to his ears, and it was enough to make him slip his hand between their connected bodies and rub her clit, all while he felt himself growing closer and closer to tipping over the edge himself.

“Give it to me darling – give it to your husband,” Klaus groaned as he felt her walls clench around him, her orgasm slipping past her entrance and onto the base of his cock, making him spill inside her with a loud moan.

Making a few more deep and hard thrusts, Klaus finally stopped, his head thrown back in pure ecstasy as Y/n laid on top of him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“I fear you’ll need another shower, Klaus,” Y/n giggled, laughing harder when he sped both of them into the bathroom, and turned on the shower, kissing her with a wide grin on his own mouth.

“Please buy more dresses just for me to take them off, my love,” Klaus told her, his teasing grin turning into dropped jaw when her arse brushed against him, eliciting an even deeper moan from him when she pressed herself further into him and began peppering kisses across his chest, nipping at the skin every once in a while just to hear him hiss.

“For the entirety of eternity, yes?” She grinned, yelling in surprise when he pushed her against the wall and pressed his mouth on hers, mumbling a hoarse ‘yes’ as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

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milky-aeons · 4 months

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𝐁𝐘 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

౨ৎ . . . even though you may not always be by his side, there are multiple ways you and ARMIN ARLERT express your love for each other.

warnings: sexual content, memories of war, ptsd, marriage, pregnancy, mdni, w.c 845

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ tenerife sea — ed sheeran ꒱ ˎˊ-

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who was, at first, not very forthcoming about his feelings towards you. Who allowed them to balloon into something monstrous, something that wouldn't let his eyes leave you no matter where you came or when you went.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who mustered up the courage to ask you on a date after weeks of deliberation. That mind of his really was a double-edged sword, having the ability to lead squadrons to victory but crumbled when he looked into your eyes and became so adorably tongue-tied.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who, on the day of your wedding, wore a crown of flowers in her hair and jewellery made from emerald sea-glass. Who kept the jewellery on that night you spent together, the smooth stone sliding over your bouncing breasts as you rode him into ecstasy.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who held him tight on those nights he couldn't sleep. When the haunting echoes of war visited him instead of dreams. Who cradled him against your chest and carded through his golden hair, humming to him a song from your childhood, until his tense shoulder muscles smoothened down and he took more even, slumbering breaths.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who was always phenomenal when it came to choosing gifts. Whether they be for special occasions like your one year anniversary — when he surprised you with that delicate little music box specially crafted to play that tune, the one you always sung to him — or little delicates he brought home after a long day's work. Chocolates, flowers, books from the Capital where he conducted the duties of Commander.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who would know immediately when your husband has had a taxing day. When he'd come through the door of the little town house you shared — his eyes shadowed, his hair mused from where he ruffled at it. You would go to him and place longer, sweeter kisses against his lips. You would instruct him to sit in the kitchen so you could brew him some tea, so you could take your fingers to his temples and draw soothing little circles.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who brought you to the beach on late summer's nights. Who would be mysterious and playful with his little secret, ushering you out of the house when you least expected it. Of course, he had the charade planned right down to the finer details; the standing wax candles in the sand, the blanket, the bottle of fine Mitras wine and two polished glasses waiting to be drunk.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who was reserved with his desires, and yet eager to please you at the same time. Who would murmur hot and heady into your ear; where do you need it, love? Does it feel good when I do this? Tell me what you need, let me please you. Who had years of power in his honed abdomen muscles and thighs as he would use them to thrust into you without conviction. Who would relish in the way you called out his name as your walls clenched around him, undoing him by the very seams.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who gave him a small clothed package unannounced one day. Watchful as he undid the layers with those gorgeous blue eyes wide and curious. Who did not take long to understand what the gift meant — a little wooden horse and a hat that would be much too small for him. He had stood, unbelieving, his eyes shining with tears, and picked you up in a hug that stole the air from your lungs and spun you round, round, round.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who lay beside your curved belly swollen with life and read to them. About fields of fire, endless seas of ice, vast rivers of colour in the night sky. Who would place kisses to your unborn child, who would place kisses on the back of your hand and tell you how much he loved you.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who cooked with you on the days he had been spared from his military duties. Who would lift your beautiful child up into the air and make them giggle as you stirred the pot. Who would come up behind you and encircle you in his strong arms, placing a quick, chaste kiss on your temple.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who was cunning with him, adoring the blush that still coloured your husbands cheeks when you did something daring. You would seek him out on late nights in the study as he poured over reports by lamplight. Quietly, you would slip your nightdress down from your shoulders and let it fall to a pool at your feet. It always made your pulse flutter, the way he looked at you, like a man strangled. Like a man so madly and irrevocably in love.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who, before he left every morning and before he closed his eyes at night, would mutter the same exact words;

"I love you, my moon and stars."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who would murmur right back;

"And I love you too, my entire night sky."

WRITING REQUESTS

#attack on titan #aot #aot fanfiction #armin arlert #armin x reader #armin arlet x reader #armin arlert fluff #armin arlet smut #armin arlet headcanons #i was feeling very big feelings for this man tonight #i love him too much #🪄— milky writes #headers by firefly graphics! <3 #‼️ — spoilers #💓 — thump

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garoujo · 2 years

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WATCH ME — SANO MANJIRO & SANZU HARUCHIYO

manjiro notices the way his second in command looks at you. but he doesn’t mind showing you off what’s his.

♱ warnings — vouyerism, threesome [vaguely], f!reader, bonten timeline, sanzu finishes in his pants, creampies, if you’ve seen me write smth similar before ur so right. ꒰ word count : 2.5k ! ꒱

♱ note — next fic ! next fic ! i hope u guys enjoy <3

RETURN TO KINKTOBER MLIST ♱ REGULAR MLIST

it wasn’t unlike manjiro to call you into his office, letting the heavy wooden door close behind you when you’re met with one of his more softer looks, his usual uniform jacket lying discarded in the corner of the room.

you hear him sigh before he rests back against his heavy seat at the desk, watching his thighs move underneath the fabric of his pants when he spreads them enough to give you more room to climb on to straddle his lap.

you could always tell he’d had a long day with the shift in his expression—but it would easily melt into something gentler, more relax whenever he felt your skin press against his, leaving his executives to pick up the rest of his responsibilities so he could unwind with you instead.

manjiro was a beautiful man, gorgeously unhinged but impulsive and intimidating, he’d made a name for himself with the gangs he’d ruled when he was younger, the invincible mikey was a name that people had come to fear in tokyo, but not you.

he was a skilled fighter and a respected leader, years of vigorous fighting evident in his techniques and battle strategy, he was always draped in his uniform jacket— hanging oversized, loosely over his shoulders, dark eyes and an almost sinister, blank but equally intimidating look that was framed by platinum hair.

but your visits to maniiro’s office always ended up the same way, your tits pressing tightly against his chest as he kisses you lazily, drinking up your moans and pushing his name between your lips, and you feel him sound out a sigh of content into the kiss when you find yourself rolling your hips against his.

your skin feels hot where he touches you, and you’re too focused on the needy push and pull of his hands to hear the three sharp knocks on the door behind you, but the blonde below you does and he grumbles under his breath, bunching up your dress at the hips when he hears the click of the door handle a few seconds later.

“mikey, you called for me? i can come back.” the low, smooth tone snaps you from your daze when you realise it didn’t come from your boyfriend, and suddenly you feel even warmer under your dress when you look back over your shoulder to see sanzu’s daunting, brooding figure standing straight at the door as you watch him fiddle with his watch, the jewellery doing wonders to compliment his brighter, pastel suit while his bangs fall messy, but delicately along his forehead.

sanzu was unpredictable but he was also manjiro’s most trusted man— second in command and someone people had come to fear given his track record. he was impulsive, sometimes a little psychotic and unhinged but unwaveringly loyal, thorough and always finished a job —especially when it came to traitors — good traits to have in their line of work and someone who’d been beside your boyfriend before he’d even met you.

but manjiro had noticed that sanzu, had taken a liking to you. he’d see the way his friend’s jaw would clench every time you leaned in to hear him better during the meetings you were allowed to sit in at, the slight shade of pink his cheeks would take when you brushed past him during a meeting, or the way the usual crease in his brows would soften whenever you entered the room.

he was perceptive, this kind of life made him that way, but it also made him possessive.

you’re staring, wide eyed and suddenly self conscious at your more than compromising position as you quickly try to stand up from manjiro’s lap, only for the blonde to pull you back down wordlessly when you turn away from him.

your back falls against his chest with a gasp as the clinging fabric of your dress rises up your thighs, and the sound has sanzu’s bright gaze finally locking with yours from where hes rooted at the door. his brow arches ever so slightly as he bites on the inside of his scarred cheek, clearing his throat when he watches his hands begin to wander your sides before he turns to leave. “call me when you’re done.”

“i didn’t say you could leave, sanzu. i called you here, didn’t i.” manjiro hums, a more commanding undertone to his voice in place of his usual bored tone as one of his arms tighten around your waist, exuding the kind of dominance he was known for as his breath fans along the dip of your shoulder.

he hooks your legs over his thighs, prying them apart until you’re left embarrassingly displayed for the blush haired male who’s currently trying his best not to stare, swallowing roughly.

“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” manjiro sighs, smearing a few kisses against the skin of your neck while his hands explore the dips of your body and you cant help but breathe deep at the touch.

“manjiro, w-what are you doing?” you hiss, batting away his hands when he grabs a slow, languid handful of your breast, leaning forward to meet your confused gaze over your shoulder. “i thought you were going to take care of me. you like sanzu, right? you’re friends.” his tone is softer when he talks to you, but he emphasises his last words deliberately as his arm around your waist squeezes tightly.

but the touch feels comforting and sturdy—reminding you that you still have a choice here when he sends you a whisper of a smile. like a gentle reminder of the promise he’d made to protect you when you got together.

it doesn’t take long for you to melt into manjiro’s chest once more and he hums, low and needy before placing another kiss against your cheek.

the air feels thick in the suddenly stuffy office when your head turns to face sanzu once more, licking your lips as you watch his chest expand behind the tight fabric of his shirt and waistcoat as he inhales shakily.

his face is flushed, although you can tell he’s holding himself back despite the way his bright eyes drop when he watches your boyfriend slowly drag down the front of your dress, the straps falling down your arms as manjiro carefully tucks the fabric under your breasts.

you shiver at the feeling of his eyes on you, his blown out gaze meeting yours from beneath his blushy, messy bangs and you feel something pleasant burn in your stomach when manjiro rolls his hips into yours with a hiss. “she likes when you touch here.” the blonde grumbles, one of his palms coming up to cup one of your breasts while the other smoothes it’s way along your inner thigh, leaving featherlight touches dangerously close to your heat and you know the nature of his touch is deliberate.

manjiro closes his palm around the flesh of your tit, squeezing softly before he pulls back to swipe his thumb over the firm, sensitive flesh of your nipple and you mewl, arching into him when its followed by a hard press on your clit through your panties.

“m-manjiro.” you breathe, your voice dreamy and whispery when it cracks with need and you almost hear a whimper slip from sanzu’s scarred lips at the sound, hearing a few careful footsteps after as he comes closer, allowing himself to take in more of your blissful expression while trying to ignore the dark look his boss is sending him behind you.

“she’s sensitive too, aren’t you?” manjiro groans and you dont know if its the extra pair of eyes on you that seems to only heighten your pleasure or the quick, purposeful circles your boyfriend is tracing around clit but a ragged sound leaves your throat when the blonde catches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching at the pebbled bud until you’re almost hunching forward, his arm being the only thing keeping you pressed against his chest until he abruptly pulls away.

your mouth is dropped open with heavy breaths while your chest heaves, but before you can get your thoughts together you feel manjiro move under you slightly, tucking his fingers under the waistband of your panties before he’s pushing them to the side.

sanzu swallows, fighting the grin that threatens to break on his lips, he’s shuffling uncomfortably at how tight his cock suddenly feels at the sight of your puffy, slick folds—feeling it leak behind the fabric of his slacks as he watches your hips lift slightly. he’s paying no attention to the sound of manjiro pushing down his own pants before his cock rests against the inside of your thigh, and he’s letting you rest back down on his hips with a long exhale.

manjiro grabs his cock at the base from behind you, tapping the blunt head against your clit and you whimper at the sharp jolts of pleasure it sends through your system, feeling him slowly rest his forehead against your shoulder before he begins to sink into your sloppy cunt. you press your body deeper into his, trying not to let your eyes roll into the back of your head at the blissful stretch as sanzu watches you hungrily.

“fuck—you’re always so..mmm, so tight” manjiro breathes, a trembling undercurrent to his voice and your words feel clumsy when you choke on his name, his hips rolling languidly into yours and your body twitches when your feel him glide past your sweet spot, finally bottoming out with a hiss as your pussy clenches hard around him.

his fingers grope almost a little too hard into your hips before he leans back, sinking underneath you more so you can spread yourself wider against him, leaving you on display for the flushed, bright haired male so he can see the way you’re trembling and flexing around your boyfriends fat cock in anticipation.

your toes curl and relax at how deep manjiro reaches, feeling his cock twitch against the needy pull of your cunt at the first bounce of his hips against yours, your hands grabbing at the flesh of his thighs beneath you as he begins a pace that has your body bouncing to meet it.

“o-oh, fuck. does it feel good?” manjiro hums, your pussy squeezing down on him, desperately trying to keep him plugged inside you as he mumbles something affirming under his breath. you gasp, the room dizzy beneath you as you blink up at sanzu, his eyes locked intensely on your cunt as the blonde behind you sinks back into your slick walls, each thrust making the room spin and your breathing come quickly as he fucks up into you.

his fingers dig bruises into your hips, his head falling over the back rest of the thankfully sturdy chair you’re both seated on as your pussy squelches, wet and messy as your slick drips down onto his thighs and his cock thickens as he grunts wordlessly, losing himself in each needy flex of your cunt while you babble mindlessly against him.

“manjiro, wanna cum.” you mumble, your eyes fluttering shut in bliss and manjiro hums in reply, letting his head fall forward to focus his heavy eyes on the male infront of him with a dark look, snapping sanzu from his lewd haze when he speaks.

“didnt you hear her, sanzu? she says she wants to cum.” manjiro breathes and although his tone is breathless, sanzu knows its more of a command when his dark gaze meets his own.

he swallows heavily before he lets himself grin, taking an almost hesitant step forward as he admires you, a slight tremble of want to his fingers when his arm outstretches and he feels his cock throb uncomfortably in his pants when he meets your lustful gaze.

“haruchiyo, you—you dont have to.” you whimper and manjiro cuts you off with a particularly sharp thrust before he speaks. “but he wants to, he can’t keep his eyes off of you anyway. you’re too pretty.” sanzu’s palm rests against your thigh and you whine, letting your head rest against your boyfriends shoulder when you feel his unfamiliar, slender fingers trace their way along your skin.

“is this okay?” the pink haired male asks, watching closely until you’re babbling out a yes with a drowsy nod before your mouth drops open to moan at the first swipe of his fingers along your clit. “hnghh—fuck, she liked that, do it again.”

manjiro whimpers when you clench tight around him, cursing breathlessly as his pace stutters, and his hold on one of your hips slackens just enough to have your body jolting, your thigh dragging along the bulge in sanzu’s slacks given how close he is to you both now, pulling a groan from the man beside you as his hips instinctively twitch to grind himself against the skin.

“haru! p-please—“ you cry, feeling him drag the rough pad of his finger beneath the hood of your clit as the blonde beneath you repositions his feet, taking a pace that’s a little rougher as he chases both your orgasms, making your tits jiggle with each bounce of his hips.

“you do look real pretty, angel. do you like that?” he asks at the dreamy drawl of his name, a sound he’d really only dreamed of — never expecting to actually hear it, you were mikey’s after all.

so sanzu’s ministrations on your clit only speed up at the sound of his name falling from your lips, the breathless tone causing his hips to roll against your thigh once more and he’s so focused on the blissful expression on your face he doesn’t even realise how close he is until his legs are almost crumbling underneath him, the fabric of his briefs suddenly becoming stickier as he chokes back a low growl.

"let him see how pretty you look when you cum. mmm, you’re close right?” manjiro breathes, low and growly against your shoulder and you’re more than eager to follow his command “fuck, manjiro—” your body crumbling in his hold as sanzu continues to messily roll your clit, the blissful feeling of your orgasm rushing through your veins.

you feel your boyfriend’s hips stutter and twitch underneath you at the greedy coax of your pussy before he spills inside of you, smiling softly at the sound of his name on your lips before he bites down on the smooth skin of your neck, allowing your flexing walls to milk him as he fucks his creamy load into your sensitive cunt, his hips slowing while he mumbles praises into the crook of your neck.

the hold on your skin suddenly relaxes as you whine at the sudden ache when he lets you relax, feeling manjiro’s arms slide around your waist instead as he hugs you closer, encouraging you to curl into his chest and the familiar warmth is pleasant.

sanzu awkwardly stumbles back, clearing his throat and chewing on his bottom lip, suddenly not being able to meet either of your eyes while his heart thuds in his chest. but he cant avoid his bosses look when he narrows his eyes at him.

“mikey—“ sanzu starts but the blonde above you cuts him off with a long exhale as he traces his fingers along your skin soothingly. “you should know i don’t usually share what’s mine. i’d let you feel her next time, but i think she’s fine with this." he drawls, sending him another dark look when you nuzzle deeper into his chest.

“you can leave now. clean yourself up, sanzu.”

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lilys-of-the-valley · 1 year

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So, I just started HotD, and I'm obsessed with Aemond!!! Can I pls request him and his new wife on their wedding night. Where fem reader is a Virgin and super sensitive, and has no idea what she's doing. But he guides her and is really kind and gentle and stuff. Pls and ty!

OF course! I love Aemond as well 🩷🌸

Warnings: smut (this is my first time writing it, idk if it's good😭) mentions of pregnancy.

The wedding ceremony for both you and Aemond had not long finished, you were being ushered back into your chambers for one last time by your handmaids before you went to Aemonds' chambers where you would stay for the rest of your married life.

The handmaid's rushed around you once you were in the room, and hands were all over your body as they undid the laces from your wedding gown. The heavy fabric dropped to the floor in a heavy pile, leaving you standing in your thin undergarments. Your handmaid's re-brushed your hair and removed any jewellery that might get in the way.

Once they deemed you were ready, they lead you down the halls of the Red Keep quickly, guiding you over to Aemonds bed chambers. Your anxiety was getting the better of you now you were here, stood in front of the looming wooden door as the Handmaid's knocked and requested to be let inside.

The door creaked open enough for you to slip inside. The handmaid's didn't enter with you but instead shut the door behind you and left you inside the room alone with Aemond. You peered around anxiously until your eyes fell on Aemond.

He was stood by the edge of the bed, his hair was loose about his shoulders, and he was wearing his nightwear. You shuffled where you stood, anxiety and panic creeping up in your chest. You felt majorly underdressed and scared as he stood there.

He turned and finally acknowledged your presence. He had been nothing but kind to you all throughout your courting and wedding day, but still, you couldn't help but fear the removal of your maidenhead.

He gave you a small smile, a rare thing for Aemond, as his eye trailed up and down your body, you shuffled again, your hands clammy and shakey as you fiddled with your fingers.

Aemond seemed to notice your nerves as he approached. He put one hand on your shoulder, then cupped your cheek gently in one rough, warm hand, his eye staring into yours as you pretty much trembled. He finally spoke up, his voice low and rough. "Do not be nervous... we do not have to do this if you would prefer that?"

You looked into his eye, searching for any hint that he was tricking you, but he was sincere, you shook your head no. You knew it was your duty as his wife to provide an heir. Your mother had told you that you were going to have to pleasure your husband and have many children for him.

When you shook your head, he nodded. He cupped your face with both hands and spoke again. "I will stop whenever you request it, I will be as gentle as I can, and I swear to you I will not hurt you." His voice was as serious as you'd ever heard, and you nodded meekly at him, giving him a small smile, feeling reassured.

He leads you over to the bed, his hand holding yours as he helps you lie back on the bed, the furs and covers were thick and luxurious under your body and it was comforting to be laid there. Aemond crawled above you, one hand going to cup your cheek again, running his thumb over your bottom lip as he stared at you with a glazed over eye.

He leant down so that your faces were almost touching, his nose brushed against yours as he murmured. "May I kiss you?"

You nodded, the anxiety that had settled in your belly dissipating as he asked for your permission.

His head dipped low again, and his lips caught yours. Your lips moved in sync for a short while. It was almost a teaser to see if your lips fit together. When he pulled away he gave you a small reassuring smile, his hand trailed down to hold your waist as you laid below him.

Both of his hands went to hold your sides gently, he rubbed them up and down, feeling the curve beneath the fabric of your undergarments. He gave you another soft smile before he asked. "May I remove your clothes?"

You nodded and finally spoke up, excited but also still nervous. "Yes Aemond... please"

He let out a soft groan as you spoke. You blushed at the noise, feeling a wet warm sensation spreading between your legs. He moved his hands to grab the hem of your undergarments and he slowly pulled it up, you moved to help him get it off.

He tossed the fabric aside once it was removed, and he stared down at you hungrily, his eye tracking over every inch of your skin, committing it all to memory. You flushed under his gaze, feeling exposed and shakey. You lifted your hands to cover your breasts.

He pretty much growled at that, removing your hands from your breasts himself as he spoke. "Do not conceal yourself from me, I want to see all of you"

You flush again, more wetness pooling between your thighs as he spoke. His hand went between your legs, his long fingers gently rubbing through your slicked up folds, your breath hitches at the feeling, and you bite down on your bottom lip.

His fingers moved almost skillfully, and you found yourself spreading your legs for him. One finger delved between your folds, running along your soaked slit. A small sigh leaves your lips.

Aemond smirked at your reactions. His other hand went to cup your right breast as his fingers pushed between your folds, feeling every inch of your wet parts.

His thumb rubbed over your nipple and one finger prodded gently at your dripping entrance. He looked at you for permission, and you nodded eagerly. His finger slipped inside, your walls stretching a little to take his digit, and you moaned softly.

The feeling was an odd one. Having his long slender finger inside of you was weird. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and started to move his finger inside of you, pulling it out then pushing it back inside.

Moans tumbled from your parted lips as he sped up, chasing your noises. He lowered his head again and kissed your perky nipple. He took no time in sucking it into his mouth. He sucked at your nipple as another finger pressed against your hole.

When he pushed it inside, your walls struggled to take them both. Your walls were tight and wet, and his fingers slowed a little, and he pushed past the initial tightness. It didn't take long for you to adjust and he sped up his pace again, still sucking and licking at your nipple.

You moaned loudly as his fingers pumped in and out of your slick hole quickly, the wet noises making you blush as he groaned against your tit. You felt a coil in your belly, tightening more and more until you came hard on his fingers. He slowled down his pumping until you recovered then he pulled them out.

"Good girl," He purred as he sucked your wetness from his fingers. Your breathing was ragged, and your walls were still fluttering, but you gave him a small smile at the praise.

He looked deep into your eyes and gave you a lustful look before he started unbuttoning his breeches, they fell away easily, revealing his hard heavy cock.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him, he was long and thick and the tip was red and bulging, his balls hung low and full between his pale thighs and a long blue vein ran along his underside.

You swallowed thickly at the sight of him, he wrapped a hand around his base and gently pumped himself a few times, making sure he was ready. He asked. "Do I have your consent to take your maidenhead?"

You nodded quickly, your eyes blown wide with lust as he smiled down at you. He positioned himself between your thighs, he nudged them open until his tip could press against you.

He ran his fingers along your soaking cunt and spread open your outer lips, revealing the soft pink hole underneath, you flushed at the action but moaned softly anyway. He shuffled again and then started rubbing his tip up and down along your slick hole, gathering up your fluids for easier penetration.

"Please... Aemond please..." You mewled out, a desire for him coursing through your veins.

He nodded and smirked, pressing his fat tip against your hole. He looked down at you again and spoke lowly again. "This will hurt, but I will go slow and I'll stop whenever you need me to"

You nod, and he pushes inside. The tip stretches you out wide, and you grimaced at the horrible sensation. The rest of his cock was harder to get inside. It felt like your insides were on fire as he pushed his seemingly never-ending length inside of you.

He got to a certain point in your cunt when he stilled his hips, looking down at you with a blown out eye. He spoke, "I'm going to have to push harder here, bare with me, love."

The nickname made your heart flutter and he placed both hands on your hips, he squeezed them once before pushing almost harshly inside, you felt a horrible stinging sensation but then felt that he was now balls deep inside of you. He stroked your hips soothingly as he allowed you time to adjust.

As your walls stretched to accommodate his size, he lowered his head again to gently kiss your neck and collar bone. You sighed happily at the feeling, and soon enough, you were ready for him to start moving.

You nod your head up at him and he nods back, starting with slow thrusts to let you get used to him. The pain turned quickly into pleasure and soon you were moaning for him to go faster. He heeded.

His pace was brutal, his tip brushing your sensitive spot with each deep thrust. He was bent over your body now, his hips snapping into yours as he groaned and growled softly into your ear. Your hands were digging into his shoulders as his cock bullied your insides.

You felt that coil building up in your stomach again and pathetically mewled out for him, he nodded and kept up his brutal pace, the sound of his balls slapping your ass with each thrust filling the air.

"Cum for me" He growled, his voice taught with lust.

You nodded and seconds later you were pretty much screaming as you came hard around his thick cock. He came to, the feeling of your hot wet walls squeezing him was too much.

His hot cum spilled inside of you and the sensation drew a long moan from your mouth. His hips kept pumping softly as he came, his seed spilling deep inside of you.

He kissed your neck and stilled his hips, his cock sheathed inside of you. You moaned softly and rested your forehead against his shoulder. He murmured words of praise and affection and soon you were fast asleep, still fluttering around his softening cock.

Note: I'm not sure if this was good or not 😭 also, my requests are open still so feel free to ask or request :) 🩷🌸

#hotd x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut

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enbyenvy666 · 2 months

Note

So for my next request, can you write a oneshot featuring Mirio and a male reader with harem boys, chastity and hypnosis please? In the fic, Mirio goes to an Aladdin themed spa for a part time job. There he meets the reader manager who grants him his harem uniform, plus chastity cage, and explains the types of jobs he'll be doing. But what Mirio doesn't realize is that the reader is using hypnosis on him to make him want to stay at the spa. What do you think?

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

hope you enjoy :)

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, dubcon, hypnosis, chastity cage, hair pulling, oral (r!receiving), reader has a hypnosis quirk, harem, sex work, dom reader, sub mirio, no beta we die like men

w/c - 1k

Mirio found himself hesitating as he stood before the dark wooden door. While the air of the spa was heated, his bare chest still felt cold, his lower half barely covered by a loin cloth. The metal jewellery around his neck and wrists felt like nothing compared to the cold metal of the cage encasing his cock. He wasn’t sure how he managed to fit inside the small device, but he did.

Eventually, he steeled his nerves enough, taking a deep breath to calm the anxiety swirling in his stomach. Knocking on the door, a call for him to enter quickly replied. With a smile to hide his nerves, he entered the room. The smell of incense flooded his senses, the room a little hazy from the smoke. Other men were in the room wearing the same uniform as Mirio, and he found himself wondering if they were also made to wear a cock cage.

Lounging on a plush chaise lounge in nothing but a silk robe, you smiled when you saw Mirio enter. You noticed his nerves, even as he tried to hide it, in the way his muscular shoulders tensed and how his eyes flickered around everyone in the room. Standing from the velvety chair, you met Mirio halfway into the room, reaching out to cup his face in your hands.

“Don’t be nervous, darling.”

Your voice sounded like honey, and it would’ve calmed him if he hadn’t noticed the eyes of every other man in the room, some with jealous expressions. Realising it did nothing to calm him, you reached for his hand, fingers running over the cold bangles on his wrist. Pulling him over to the day bed, some of the men reluctantly moved out of the way so he could sit with you. He had to resist the urge to apologise to them, ever the people pleaser. You brought his attention back to you by cupping his cheeks once more and leaning in close. He gasped softly, but that was perfect as you breathed out, making him inhale the intoxicating air.

His muscles relaxed, his nerves tingling and his brain turning mush. He leaned into your touch and the men around you chuckled as they watched the newbie turn to mush in your hands. You hummed happily, letting go of his face to hold his hands instead.

“What’s your name, darling?”

“Mirio Togata,” he replied, eyes watching your lips, in search of whatever made him feel so good.

“And what did the manager tell you?”

“To do whatever you want.”

“Will you do that, Mirio?” The blonde hesitated again, his mind running wild with what ‘whatever’ could be. You leaned in close again, breathing out again as you asked,

“Will you be good for me?”

It was at this moment that he realised there wasn’t any incense in the room, the sweet smell and the haze were from your hypnotising exhales. But as he breathed it in again, he didn’t care anymore. As the calming waves washed over him, he thought about how good he wanted to be for you. The thought sent a pulse to his cock which ached painfully in its cage. He winced before he could respond to you, shifting uncomfortably. You pouted sympathetically and lifted his loin cloth to eye the cage.

“If you’ll be my good boy, I’ll take it off for you,” you offered, stroking over the metal device. He couldn’t feel your touch but he wished he did, he prayed he could feel your soft hand around him. He nodded vigorously, trying his hardest not to grab you, touch you and feel you. But you felt how his hands shook, gripping his jaw and pulling him close.

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t need any convincing, kissing you like a man starved. Your saliva was more intoxicating than your breath, and goosebumps rose across his skin. He lost his self-control when your fingers weaved through his blonde locks, gently tugging on them. He pushed you back until your back met the raised backrest of the lounge, hands tugging on the tie of your robe. You didn’t have to tell him what you wanted, with every kiss he knew exactly how to make you happy.

Pushing the silk robe aside revealed your hard cock, standing tall and proud. He was quick to wrap his hand around it, making you hiss through your teeth. Mirio shuffled back on the lounge until he was face to face with your length, gazing at your reddened tip.

“He’s an eager one, isn’t he?”

Your teasing question was met by chuckles from around the room which turned to coos as you moaned from Mirio’s tongue gliding up your cock from base to tip. As he took you in his mouth, he watched the hands of the others caress your bare body. One of the men began to kiss you, and an almost jealousy swelled in the pit of Mirio’s stomach. Determined to make you focus on only him, he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head. He felt some satisfaction when you pulled on his hair, hips thrusting up into his wet mouth, cock hitting the back of his throat. One hand massaged your sack, the other reaching down between his legs, hoping to alleviate the painful ache.

If he made you feel good, you’ll take it off. If he makes you cum, you’ll take it off. He told himself over and over, motivating him almost as much as when you would curse from pleasure above him. Swirling his tongue over your tip had you roughly tugging on his hair, but taking you down to the base had you moaning and groaning, more of that hypnotising breath leaving your lungs. Your hips stuttered, twisting his blonde hair in your fist as your orgasm came to its peak. Roughly shoving his head down until his nose met your pelvis, your cum rocketed down his throat, to which he hungrily swallowed.

Sitting up, beady blue eyes glaring impatiently down at you, waiting for you to unlock his cage and give him the relief he prayed for. Instead, you smirked at him, slowly stroking your flaccid cock, slick with his saliva until it began to inflate again.

“Do it again, won’t you?”

For a second, Mirio felt an almost sense of betrayal and confusion, until you leaned in close and sighed deeply.

“Won’t you, Mirio?”

#bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #mirio togata x reader #mirio togata x male reader #mirio x reader #mirio x male reader

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januaryembrs · 10 months

Text

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [4]

description: Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment covered in blood for the second time this week with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?

word count: 8.7k

trigger warnings: death of a baby bird (sorry little pigeon you got fridged for the plot), blood, lots of blood on her skin but it’s washed off, Marc is mean, angst ville, talks of a dead body very briefly, Marc thinks about his mother

main masterlist | series masterlist

Marc remembered being young, when he was just Marc, not Marc and Steven. Before his mother was cruel, though that part seemed tainted, as if he couldn’t quite remember a time when she wasn’t. But he remembered being a boy, before the world felt heavy, and his eyes felt tired. He remembered Randall. He missed the boy he was allowed to be when he had Randall.

The day he was no older than ten when they played in the back garden, knees muddy, trainers scuffed, sweat on their backs from the blazing July heat. School was starting soon, and he remembered him and RoRo had been trying cram in as much time together as possible before they’d go back to only seeing each other in the evening when the sun had long since set and they had homework to do.

Randall had pink on his cheeks, having quickly wiped off the sunscreen Wendy had smeared on their faces, Marc felt his own temple burning. But he didn’t care. They were on their greatest adventure yet.

Dr Grant and his faithful assistant, Rosser, were on track to discover a long since lost Aztec artefact, inscribed on it the map leading to a hoard of gold and jewels. To the everyday person the boys were jumping around their yard in search of the spool of kitchen roll Elias had drawn on that morning, and their mother’s intricate and full jewellery box they’d promised to return once they’d ‘found the treasure’.

“Look, Rosser! Another clue!” Dr Grant called out, his small arms already grabbing his brother and near dragging him to a tree hanging low enough for the two of them to climb, “We’re getting close, I can smell it!”

‘Rosser’ tended not to say much when they would play their games, but his giggle was enough to spur Marc on to continue their venture. Marc gave him a boost up for his tiny hands to grab onto the thick branch, ignoring the way the leaves brushed in his face and tickled his nose in the hopes he could spend more time with his brother. Marc followed suit, pulling himself up to stand carefully on the wooden limb, already reaching for the next one. He could still remember the way his hands scratched on the rough, dry bark; the season had been particularly hot and had taken its toll on the wildlife, stripping the wood of its moisture to the core.

“If my calculations are correct, the last clue should be at the top of this mountain!” Marc said, holding his hand out for Randall to grab onto as he pulled him up. He was sure to only go for the branches strong enough to hold the two of them, knowing his brother was afraid of heights. But Randall went along with everything he did, even scaling mountains was no chore too big for Rosser and Dr. Grant. The two of them had been about to reach for the next branch already when they both heard the tiny peeping sounds.

“Marc, what is that?” Six-year-old RoRo asked, his chest puffing in and out from exhaustion having pulled his small body now a good ten feet off the ground.

“No, Randall, it’s Dr Grant, remember?” Young Marc whined, though his ears seemed to catch onto the sound of the chirping too. The boys’ eyes widened as they got louder, Marc carefully stepping on his tip-toes to see a bundle of twigs the next branch up. Sure enough, in between a knot of sprigs and fluff lay three tiny bodies of Sparrow hatchlings.

“By jove, Rosser!” Marc’s imitation of the fake English accent was endearing, but he knew Randall loved it when he got completely into character, “The Rare Amazonian Spotted-Dove! Maybe that’s the next clue.”

It truly had been complete chance that the nest had been so close to their next escapade, but Marc was creative when it came to their games. Randall’s chubby little hands reached up to grab the nest, not completely understanding what the fuss was about, near ready to tip the delicate bundle of twigs over to see the new find.

“Let me see! We’re going to be on the news, Dr Grant!” Randall played along, his digits wrapping around the edge of the nest, causing the birds to squawk in freight.

Marc was quick to pull his brother’s hands off the roost, pulling them away from the flora, “Gentle, Rosser!” He said with a kind chide, watching his brother's excited face descend into a sad pout, “They’re still babies, RoRo. You can’t touch them,” Marc whispered, as if to hide his break in character from their invisible audience.

“Why not? I wouldn’t hurt them,” Randall asked in his sweet young voice, his eyes still pining over the nest that was too far for him to see inside even at this height.

“Because if the Mom bird sees you holding them she’ll abandon them and they’ll die,” Randall’s face was struck with fear, looking up at his brother with glassy, russet eyes, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Why?” He asked in the most horrified of tones. Marc couldn’t help the way he held onto his brother’s hand the moment he heard it, ushering him to start descaling the tree so they could finish their game and go in for dinner.

“Dad said it's their way of making sure they only look after their own babies. If you touch them, the mom and dad bird thinks you’re the new mom and they stop looking after them,” Marc explained the best he could, though even he didn’t fully understand it either, just what Elias had been able to tell him.

“But that's horrible! That’s their babies,” Randall exclaimed, his tiny legs dangling off the bottom branch until he hit the ground with an Oomph. “We’d look after them then, wouldn’t we, Marc?”

“Right you are, Rosser,” Marc perked up with his faux accent, eager to take his little brothers off the birds and the idea of anything bad happening to them, “Good voyagers always protect the vulnerable,” Marc dusted his shorts off, straightening RoRo’s backpack and picking the sprig of leaves out of his hair, “And when danger is near, Dr Grant has no fear!”

Her eyes cracked open at the sound of bread popping out of the toaster, the smell of burning meeting her nose in a tang that had her wincing.

It was then she caught onto the fact she was not in her house at all. Nor was she in a bed the same way she had been the last time she awoke with little recollection of what happened the night before. The pain in her neck was instant, a crick in her back from being sat upright, slumped over and arse numb from hardwood flooring. It was then she felt the collar around her neck, tight enough she knew she had marks where it bit into her skin.

The panic hit her like a freight train, her body jolting forward when she realised she was bound with her arms behind her back, tied to a post with a chain and cuff secured around her neck. Her breathing came out laboured, head whipping around to see who was the perpetrator that had bound her.

She was dragged back to the before. Before she’d escaped to London. Before she’d so much as turned twenty. Before. With him. The before, when she was nothing more than a girlfriend, a puppet on a string, his doll to control. The before she’d spent so long running from.

She missed who she was before. That girl was gone. Dead, like him. Maybe that's why she was so scared, how else does someone react to feeling a ghost draw near?

It wasn’t until her foot scraped loudly on the floor, an odd sort of grain crunching under her boot, that she was snapped out of her reminiscence.

Sand. There was sand on the floor. And beside her was a bed. She was secured to a wooden beam, thick and oaky, a woodsy smell ravaging the room that she would know like her own childhood home.

Steven’s apartment.

She had yet to relent squirming in her binds, her hands tugging at the thick leather, moving enough that she could tell there were another two sets of chains wrapped around her waist and legs, making them heavy to move, the clinks of the metal links meeting her ears much too loud.

The thing that made her stomach churn however, that wasn’t helped whatsoever by the smell of charred bread that overwhelmed her nose, was the smell of metal. A coppery edge that overpowered anything else the moment she took note of it.

Her clothes felt wet, clinging to her skin, the chains, the leather collar biting in her neck the more she squirmed, the whole room collapsing in on her.

She was tied up again. She was back in the house, back in the before. Her wings clipped, her strings tied. Her porcelain cracking.

Why was her top red? A dark red, a brown red, why was it wet? Why did the room smell of corpse, or was that her?

Blood. It was blood. More blood than she’d ever seen in her life. Except that night when-

“Hey! Hey!” She hadn’t realised she’d made a sound until she felt two hands grab her shoulders and she flinched, a bleat of utter terror echoing around the loft style apartment. She hadn’t realised the wood was cracking under her strength until the hands shook her slightly, their words going in one ear and out the other, “Hey, it’s okay! It’s just me-”

Her watery eyes snapped up to meet two hardened brown ones that stared at her in concern. Marc could tell the woman that looked back at him wasn’t fully there, as though she was surfacing from a dream, as if struggling to decipher a nightmare and reality.

“I know you’re confused, it’s okay-”

“Why is there blood- Marc, why is there blood- there’s so much blood, oh god,-” And he couldn’t deny it. He hadn’t wanted to change her clothes when she’d finally worn herself out, it had taken everything out of him to wrestle her to the ground after whatever that thing was inside her body last night took over. He still felt his thigh twinge at the thought of her teeth that were not at all her teeth, that had become long canines the moment she’s turned, the razor sharp kind that sunk into his flesh as Layla and Steven both gave him the signal to get her away from civilian people.

She had practically lunged at him spitting and hissing, yowling as he’d socked her in the jaw and tried knocking her out long enough to bind her. He hated himself for the way he hurt her, but one look into the abyss like eyes told him it wasn’t her. She would never want this, never want to hurt Steven.

He’d had no choice but to chain her up in Steven’s apartment until she came to her senses. He was worried she’d wreck the place, sure, but anything was better than her killing an innocent person who just so happened to cross her warpath.

“Alright, it’s alright, it’s mostly mine and yours,” He’d meant it as a piece of reassurance, but he was quick to realise it was not nearly as pleasant as he’d thought when her face dropped and her eyes widened.

“What?” She whispered, horrified, “What do you mean- what happened? Did the jackal come back? Am I dead- again?”

He watched her for any sign of realisation, that it was in fact her who had done this to them, but he only saw the fear in her wide eyes that implored him to say anything to make her feel okay again.

Marc said nothing for a moment, sighing to himself, his eyes lowering to where she gulped and pulled at the ankle collar Steven used to keep himself from sleepwalking. It had been the only thing he’d been able to use when he’d entered the apartment with her sleeping body in his arms for the second time that week, having to head to his storage locker for the rest of the chains.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll talk,”

She’d been scrubbing her hands for twenty minutes now and the damn blood refused to come from out of her nail beds. The shower had done her good, she’d used Steven’s shampoo and conditioner, and his shower gel that brought her some comfort as she felt he was with her with every breath she drew in. She smelled of him through and through. Missed him, yearned for him, wanted to hear nothing but her name from his lips, feel his arms wrap around her, hold her close.

Marc was not one for affection, she had noted. The two of them were more different than she could have imagined, the accent alone had yet to sink in, but the thing she missed most about Steven was his kind words. His gentle touches. The way he would always know how to make her feel better. Where he was soft, Marc was rough. A tough love kind of guy.

The closest they’d gotten to endearment was when he’d handed her a stack of Steven’s neatly pressed clothes for her to change into, even down to his boxers embarrassingly enough, and taken from her a sodden, blood soaked pile of her own to stick into the washer.

They both knew there was no amount of washing that would get the blood out. Marc put it in for her anyway.

It wasn’t until she was four bites into the toast he had made (burned) for her that she showed any sign of understanding as he talked her through what had happened.

Marc had purposely dodged the part where she had grabbed Steven and had been seconds from ripping his throat out, not wanting to upset her more than she already was. Things came back to her in ripples; fuzzy, distorted, vague. Like de je vu, as if she didn’t remember them until he said it, and even then it seemed almost like recalling a dream. The feeling of slashing and biting, animalistic noises coming from her throat, like she was seeing things through a stranger's eyes. That was not her.

Yet all she could think about was the fact the blood was still settled under her nail beds, no matter how hard she’d scrubbed it, no matter the fact her skin was raw around the keratin, probably bleeding again with where she had been so brutal. She struggled with picking at the site when she was nervous, her fingers were sore already from the assault.

Marc noticed how red they were, the butchered skin ugly and damaged, but said nothing. Said nothing about the blood that clung to her raw skin.

Possibly hers. But also the jackals. Marc’s- Steven’s blood from where she’d taken swipes at him.

She could tell Marc was downplaying the severity of her condition. She could tell by the way embers of guilt lingered in his eyes, concern clouding the corners of his coffee bean gaze, that he tried so desperately to hide with his natural cold stare, that it had been bad.

She could still see the way the shower water had dropped off her in waves of red, rolled over her tainted skin and had still yet to make her feel clean.

“Look, no one got hurt, we made sure of that.” Marc took another stab at reassuring her, the way her eyes glazed over as his spoke, detached from the usual spark of life they had and staring into nothing, “If anything, the way you took out those two jackals, you saved people last night,”

“That wasn’t me,” She mumbled, her gaze falling to her half eaten breakfast. She felt sick to her stomach, felt the barely chewed pieces of bread already churning and making their way back up with every breath. Every flicker of memory that came back to her, none of it making sense.

“Huh?” Marc’s voice was unnaturally soft, as he urged her to repeat herself, not quite catching her quiet words the first time.

“That thing wasn’t me- it wasn’t me that did that, it was Seth, he was in the room before- in the room where we got trapped- when Layla had left and- and Steven had been thrown through the window- and he- I don’t know what he did to me but everythings dark after he touched me- and-”

“Hey, look just breath, okay?” Marc grabbed her wrist, and she hadn’t even realised how fast she had been talking until his hand alone snapped her out of it, and she felt her eyes burning, her lungs crying out for air. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, head snapping to look at him in the eyes for the first time all day.

Marc noted how cold her skin was. He’d noticed the way her skin looked gaunt, sunken. Sickly. As if Seth festered under her skin within the single day he’d had her.

They looked at one another for a moment, his eye brows curving upwards being the only sign that he wasn’t outright glaring at her.

“It wasn’t me,” She said again once she’d finally caught herself, voice weak and childlike, petrified.

“I know,” He says calmly, letting go of her. She looked at him again as if to check her was telling the truth, that he believed her, and seemed to comfort herself somewhat when she found he did.

As if a switch had flicked in Marc’s expression, he looked back to his own clean hands, clearing his throat and ignoring the way Steven was yelling at him from inside the body to let him talk to her. Telling him to just hug her for Gods’ sakes. Ignoring the way Steven was begging him to comfort her in any way.

“Look, I understand this thing with Seth is rough on you right now, but Harrow got the scarab while we were all trying to fix your… problem,” Marc said simply, and Dove fought the urge to not cry at the way it sounded as though he blamed her. “I’ve got an informant working on getting us a place in Cairo, chances are Layla’s already on her way over there,”

“Cairo?” Her body straightened at the idea of leaving the country unplanned.

“Yeah, Egypt,” She rolled her eyes at his dumb statement, standing to clean her still full breakfast plate.

“I know where Cairo is. I’ll have to call in sick for me and Steven for a couple days,” She said, dumping the cold toast into the bin and turning the tall brass tap on.

“Not Steven. The museum cut him off after the jackal destroyed the toilets,” Marc said, his eyes flicking to the spoon he’d used to eat his cereal, where he saw Steven frowning and pointing at him in the reflection.

“After YOU destroyed the toilets. YOU!” Steven sassed, shaking his head at the way Marc glared back.

“Shit! I can’t believe I forgot!” Suds sprayed up her arms as she spun back to look at Marc, “Steven’s fired? Is he okay? Can I talk to him?” She rushed, knowing Steven would be crushed to lose that job.

Marc sighed, running a hand through his hair tensely, “Steven’s not gonna be around for a while, alright? It’s better for everyone if I deal with Harrow, Steven’s not exactly got the hang of fighting,”

“I could do if you gave me a chance,” Steven snipped, sulking from his perspective in the metal.

“So I can’t see him? For what, a week?” She asked, a frown settling onto her features at the thought of it, “That’s not fair, I want to speak with him, ask him if he’s okay,”

“Look, princess, you’re just going to have to learn how to share, alright? Haven’t you got other friends to talk to?” Her face dropped, and he didn’t realise she’d yet to say anything until it had gone quiet in the small kitchenette.

His nut brown eyes cast up to hers, the sadness he found there slowly steeping into a bitter anger. Surely she couldn’t be so upset over not seeing Steven for a couple of days when they had much more important things to worry about.

That is until it dropped in his head what had gotten her so forlorn.

She had no one else. Just Steven. And now, just him it seemed.

A flutter of guilt washed over Marc’s chest as she put the plate on the side to drip dry and avoided his gaze. Marc couldn’t help but scoff at the fact she seemed to have only him, the same way he had no one else really, no one except Layla and even that whole mess was a dead rose that he’d been meaning to cull when he got enough courage to stop running from her.

And yet he couldn’t escape from the girl in his kitchen. Not when she made it so easy for Steven to stay, made it so easy for her to depend on him. He felt like shaking her silly and telling her to run as far away as she could, tell her he was an explosive waiting for a single wrong step to detonate and that he would take everyone out with him when he did. He wanted to tell her to stay away, leave him alone and never look back. And she knew it too. He could tell she knew he wanted her away, wanted her gone. That no matter how many brief soft glances she had caught, the slightest of kind touches, he wanted nothing more than for her to steer clear of him.

He was a rot, he was a virus and she was the forbidden fruit, young and vibrant and full of life that had already started wilting because of him. Because of his selfish mistakes, and his awful luck, and the disease that followed him long before Konshu and Harrow and any of this mess.

She was a delicate blossom, and he was nothing more than the weed that would choke her, kill her from the inside before she could realise she was in any danger. Because all of this, everything she’d been through the past two days that riddled her face with such malady was all his fault. It was all his fault, all of it.

“Look, just message me the flight details and I’ll meet you there,” She said with a huff, collecting her now red-brown stained clothes from the dryer and fighting the urge to cringe at the sight of the colour. Marc said nothing, what was there to say? He didn’t do comfort, and affection, getting her to take a deep breath was the extent of it. Wendy had taken everything soft out of him before it could bloom into knowing how to love, how to show someone you care.

So he didn’t. He let her leave in silence, staring at her with his cold gaze as she left. With not a single protest falling from his grimacing lips.

He waited until the door was shut before the plate went hurtling towards the wall, the delicate ceramic exploding on impact.

She had gotten all but ten minutes down the street before his (Steven’s) phone buzzed with an incoming call, a picture of the two of them in the museum stockroom lighting up the screen.

Marc huffed with effort, his fingers scratched from where he’d been cleaning up the porcelain chips with his bare hands, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart leapt when he saw her face, worry overcoming him. She was mad. She was angry at him, upset with how he’d spoken to her. And could he blame her? And yet she still called. That meant it was serious.

“Hello?” He accepted the call with an irate tone, just to make her sure how much of a bother to him the action was.

“Marc-c,” She hiccuped, and he could tell she was crying. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel his pulse spike from fear. “Marc, I’ve killed it, it’s dead- oh my god, its neck-”

Fuck.

“What? Where are you?” He asked, already on his feet and heading for his jacket.

“Marc, it’s little neck- fuck what have I done?” Fuck, what had she done? He knew he shouldn't have let her out of his sight, he was supposed to protect civilians not set off a hellhound into the wild with no leash on her bloodthirst.

“Send me your location- it’s gonna be alright-”

“I’m outside,” She sobbed, cutting him off with a low mewl of sadness, “Can you buzz me in?”

Great. Steven’s apartment, which was already a hotbed for Harrow’s followers, was now about to become a crime scene. What the fuck was he about to let through those doors?

This was all on his hands. He had given her over, let a monster take over her soul and use her as he pleased. Killing and maiming included.

Yet he did as she asked, because who else would she go to? The phone cut off as soon as he did, telling him she was likely in the elevator. Sure enough, two minutes later and he heard a forlorn knock at his door.

Taking a deep breath in and preparing himself for whatever it was he was about to see. Gods above what if she’d killed a kid? The thought of it made his stomach churn.

He opened the door with a stoney expression, his eyes immediately finding two bloodshot eyes looking back at him sorrowfully, a small sniff coming from her wet nose before she gave a short mewl.

“Marc, I’m a fucking monster,”

Fuck. Fuck she’d killed someone, gone feral like she’d done last night and he hadn’t been there to stop her because of his stupid pride. This was all his faul-

It was then he realised she was clutching something in her hands. Her hand cupped in front of her, as if keeping a bug from escaping, latched together tightly with something inside.

He looked from her delicate hands to her face, still sniffing and whimpering, eyes huge with fat tears.

She opened her hands, seeing his confused eyes, to show him the damage, awaiting her trial from the man she’d been so angry at she hadn’t been watching where she was walking.

There, in her hands, a frail, near skeletal frame of a pigeon hatchling. It was barely a few days old, its beak too big for its face, its skin dark and ugly, fluff where feathers eventually would be covering its leathery undercoat in patches.

Its wings, if he could even call them that, were bent at awkward angles, its tiny neck snapped in two as if it had been mauled.

“Why are you showing me a dead bird?” Marc said with a cold stare, his voice just as biting. The word ‘dead’ had sent her into another sob by the time he dragged her back into the apartment.

“I was so mad at your stupid arse that I-” She seemed to choke herself with the thought, “I wasn’t watching where I was going- and I” She hiccupped again, “Heard a crunch and-”

She presented him with the tiny victim again, watery eyes never leaving the chick that was quite clearly since passed. Marc huffed, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. He couldn’t catch a break from this girl and her tears. He wished Steven hadn’t gotten so attached to her, that he would be able to just up and leave her in the dust, wished she hadn’t been such a good friend to his alter that she had never gotten so wrapped up in all of this and he could simply tell her to grow up and that shit happens, birds die all the time, that if it was on the sidewalk it was probably already abandoned and she put it out of its misery quickly. He wished he didn’t find it so difficult to be cold to her, that a cloud of guilt didn’t hang over him for the whole thing.

Perhaps that's why he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, or perhaps it was the way Steven was glaring at him from the kitchen sink, waiting for him to tend to the girl as he would if he would just let him have the body. And seeing as that wasn’t going to happen, it was down to Marc to do so.

He felt her semi freeze at the contact, unable to miss the way her skin was cold to touch as it had been all day. “Do you want me to have it?” Marc held out the other of his olive hand’s, his bruised knuckles seemingly fitting as she carefully dropped the bird in his palm. She sniffled under his muscled arm, her hands out infront of her as if to not know what to do now he had the creature.

“Be gentle with it,” She murmured.

Its dead you fucking idiot. I don’t need to be gentle; is what Marc would have snapped, had she been anyone else. Yet the emergence of the words in his sour brain only revolted him. She knew it was dead. She knew it. He didn’t need to tell her, to see her cry harder.

She looked up at him expectantly, and he gave her a barely there nod. ‘I will’ He seemed to say without words.

Letting go of her he went to find an empty shoe box to put the corpse in, knowing he would likely flush the thing as soon as she left.

He heard her run the sink to wash her hands, scrubbing at her already raw nail beds the same way she was when she’d seen the blood. He’d already noticed the way she’d pick at herself, pulling off flesh as if the pain of it was nothing compared to what it was she was feeling inside. He didn’t have the heart to comment on that either, he knew what it was like to have the demon come from within.

“You’ll give it a grave?” She asked, wiping her wet eyes with sore fingers, one of which bleeding once more from her washing. Her eyes looked at him guiltily, imploring him to fix it, fix it Marc. Depollute this awful body of mine that seems to ravage everything it touches, even innocent baby birds, no matter how ugly they were.

He nodded wordlessly again, and she seemed to quieten down for a moment, though she fidgeted in her place as if to not know where to put herself. Marc wasn’t dumb, he knew she was probably waiting for a hug, the fawning and pining that Steven would shower her in by now. He writhed internally, knowing what she expected of him, watching her pitiful frame cowering in on itself, waiting for him to give her something.

“You should probably get going, I’ll bury it later,” He said huskily, his eyes avoiding how she bit her lip to stop herself from crying again. Get out, he was saying nicely, go bother some other depressed man with enough on his plate already. She nodded quietly, turning on her heel to head back towards the door for a second time that day. She felt stupid for coming here, she felt instantly as if he was annoyed at her for bursting back into his apartment in floods of tears, but as he’d already established - she had no one else. No one except a man who hated the sight of her and shared a body with her only friend. She felt even more stupid for expecting anything else from him. Even more angry at herself for taking up so much of his space.

Slouching in his, Steven’s, clothes, she shuffled towards the door, face burning at the way she felt his cold eyes on her back, no doubt ready to lock the door the moment she left to ensure she stopped bothering him.

Maybe it was the way she looked so broken-hearted as she left, or the way she was still sniffling, or the way Steven had gone back to glaring at him through the surface of the bathroom mirror, shaking his head in utter fury that he’d let her go alone when she was so clearly distraught.

Marc sighed, a grunt of annoyance building in his throat as he reached over the back of the sofa for the soft blanket Steven kept for their movie nights. He said her name, her real name not Steven’s sweet nickname for her, and it had her whirling on the spot at the rough edge to his tone. Moving to her with an almost frustrated scowl, he threw the blanket to her stunned figure, heading towards the kitchen cabinet.

“What are you-” She uttered, catching the blanket fluidly and stammering, frozen in her place. Quickly wrapping the blanket around herself, of course she’d noticed how cold she felt, how her body had seemed to die and wither since Seth had taken her. She wouldn’t be surprised if her skin began to rot and discolour any minute now.

“I’m only doing this to get Steven to stop heckling me, understand?” He snipped, pulling out a medical box and producing a box of blue plasters. “You have no idea how infuriating it is to have someone telling you what to do inside your head all day,”

They both froze at his poor choice of words. Of course she knew. She’d spent all morning in a state of shock that Seth had so easily taken over her every movement, puppeteered her as if she was nothing more than a Barbie, and here Marc was complaining as if her being manipulated by the God wasn’t his idea in the first place.

His jaw went slack, the look on his face the guiltiest she’d seen yet. He seemed so caught off guard by his own mouth, bobbing open and closed as if looking for the words to say sorry, a concept clearly unnatural to him.

Maybe it was the way that for the first time he didn’t seem cold and distant, he seemed human in his expression, he seemed so shocked and unlike the stoic face he usually held. It was perhaps the slip of character, and she was sure she’d never see such a face again, but the sight of it made her burst out laughing through watery eyes.

She was sleep deprived, still moneyless from when her date had stolen her purse, likely to be kicked out of her apartment any day now seeing as her rent money was gone, had nothing to eat for the foreseeable future, had an ancient Egyptian God playing house in her body and going on killing sprees, had an entire cult of child murderers looking for the two of them, and yet this was what had made her crack.

“I’m-” Marc started, only to realise she was laughing, genuinely laughing though he pinned some of it was probably just sheer mania from the stress. “Stop laughing at me,” He growled, throwing the plasters into her free hands that peaked out from under the blanket.

“Sorry-I’m sorry-” She cackled again as he huffed and turned around, busying himself inside the fridge, looking for something for her to eat, “I’m sorry- just your face-”

“Shut up or I’m going to Cairo alone,” Marc snapped, though he tried to fight the slight smile that teased at his lips hearing her biting her tongue to hide the giggles, making herself at home on the sofa.

“Steven would never let you,” She muttered, knowing full well he could hear her. His eyes flicked over to her as she started peeling back the paper and applying the plasters to her raw digits, her face concentrated and much less miserable than she had been.

She was right. Steven would never let him. Nor did he think he could leave her with Seth alone if it came to it. She’d burrowed under his skin like a stray dog that had followed him home, wanting nothing more than a companion, someone to bathe in the horridness of reality with.

Marc only hoped she didn’t get too attached when he inevitably drove her away, made her feel as disgusted with him and he was. They were on borrowed time before she was all Steven’s again. And he hated the idea that she was never his, never his friend. That she’d never lust over him. That the only time she’d ever looked at him with such affection in her eyes was when she’d thought he was Steven.

She was not his to enjoy. Which only made him feel all the more selfish for feeling so grateful she’d stayed this time.

English people were simply not made for heat. No matter the amount of sun cream, cool packs or ice lollies they consumed, they were simply not adapted to hot weather.

Egypt was mind-blowingly gorgeous, she would give it that. Marc had let her have the window seat, pretending to not know why she’d made such a fuss about where they sat, but he couldn’t deny seeing her practically vibrating in her seat, nose pressed to the glass to get a better look of the country upon crossing the border, hot air puffing up the tiny glass with her close breath.

“Look, Marc, look!” She said, not drawing her face away, simply reaching out behind her to grab his arm, “The sea, it's so blue,” And it was. The royalest shades of cobalt lapped at the beachy shore surrounded by archaic buildings that seemed revamped for modern life. The entire city was a buzz of activity, only made more enticing to watch by the vibrant colours that ran through it as well. A pier plunged out from the beachfront, its canopy providing chunks of new hues among the lapis blue water; cloth of cardinal red, canary yellow, aubergine purple covering citizens from the harsh weather. The lush greenery that covered the earth where roads and buildings had yet to trample over it was a sight to behold in itself, the grass only getting darker and thicker the closer to Cairo they got.

“That’s Alexandria,” Marc said, as she drew back from the window to look at him with wide, excited eyes, “Named-”

“Named after Alexander the Great in 331BC after he liberated them from the Persians,” She cut him off, eyes guilty when she realised through her history fogged brain that he had been about to speak. She would have apologised had he not given her a small nod, and had she not seen the tiniest of amusement in his eyes, “Sorry. You don’t work at a museum and study Ancient Languages and not get excited by this stuff,”

“Ancient Languages?” Marc asked, for once not a tone of annoyance or disgruntled coldness. Since the incident with the bird (which Marc did in fact bury, only it was in the park near his house since he didn’t have the heart to remind her he didn’t have a garden) he seemed more patient with her. Less outright mean every time they spoke or so much as looked at one another. She pinned it down to being pitiful for her big, naive heart and tendency to get upset by the smallest things like dead birds. She pinned it down to sorrow, real women didn’t cry like a child over something like that. Birds fall out of their nests all the time, she was the only one immature enough to blubber over it. “I see why he likes you so much,”

Her ears perked at that. “Steven?” She asked, in a practised innocent voice as if she wasn’t desperate for more information immediately.

Marc laughed, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, “Yes, Steven. Who else?”

“He likes me?” She asked, secretly hoping the optimism wasn’t shining in her eyes like the sun reflecting off the waves below them. It was.

Marc caught the girlish, excitable glee in her face at the sound of his alter’s name. It was obvious how smitten she was with Steven. He had seen it even before he knew her, before he had messed up his alter’s life. Messed up hers. The two of them were skipping around the feelings they so undeniably had for one another. Even Layla had seen it the second she met her, the puppy dog look she got in her eyes when she saw Steven so happy to see her, the gentle touch his rough hands held her with, the way the two seemed to gravitate around one another as if moved by an orbit of their own, joined by atoms no one else seemed to have.

But Marc knew it wasn’t his place to interfere, knew Steven would be so angry beyond belief if he was the one to tell her how he felt. And besides, he was sure they would have time to figure it all out without him in the way when he handed the body over to Steven for good, when he could watch them be bumbling idiots once more from inside the body.

“You’re his best friend. Of course he likes you,” Marc recovered his slip up smoothly, only feeling half guilty when her face visibly dropped and her chest deflated.

“Oh, right.” She said, straightening herself back into her chair, the elation dissipating from her face. How could she have been so dumb to think otherwise?

Marc knew he should say something, knew he should try and comfort her in some way but he didn’t know how. Which was how he felt about her most of the time anyway, unable to escape even now the thought that she’d much prefer it if he were just Steven. Not Steven and Marc. Steven would have known what to say.

“You alri-”

“Where’s this friend of yours meeting us?” She cut him off for a second time, her attention back on the window, her eyes scanning over the Mediterranean sea as it blended into the land, Alexandria slowly becoming Cairo.

Marc could have laughed and yelled at the same time. The only time he’d bucked up the courage to extend a hand of friendship to her she cut him off unknowingly.

“He’s not, he’s booked us a car to use and a hotel room to share,”

Share would be an understatement. It had been two days since they had checked in, only to discover Marc’s friend had wildly gotten the wrong end of the stick when Marc had asked for a room for two. One queen sized bed, a fancy ensuite and a tiny balcony later, Marc had been pacing the room, pissed, as he hung up the phone with the hotel lobby.

“They said the double rooms are fully booked, and unless you got enough cash for two singles, we're sharing.” He huffed, throwing his phone onto the bed where she sat, eyes wide and looking up at him with an innocence that had his heart jump into his throat.

She had got to stop looking like that if he had any chance of leaving her for Steven to have entirely to himself.

She shrugged, looking behind her at the huge, luxurious bed, much bigger than the double she had at home and made with the softest Egyptian cotton sheets she’d ever felt. “I don’t mind sharing. I’ve slept at Steven’s before,”

“He took the sofa, remember? Sharing a bed is a whole other thing,” Marc dismissed, moving to grab one of the pillows and move it to the red loveseat in the corner of the room.

“You were there?” She asked, her face pulling into a shy smile as he tossed her a look over his shoulder.

“Huh?” The agitated frown was back, one that had been missing the entirety of the way there.

“You could see me, see what we were doing?” She asked again with a bashful pull at her lips. She found it odd the idea of an outsider watching in on the time she spent with Steven, as though she were entirely herself with Steven in a way she wasn’t with Marc. Yet from that spiralled another thought, she was herself with Marc in a way she wouldn’t allow in front of Steven; vulnerable, emotional, scared. She would never let Steven know any of those things, knowing how much he worried over her. She hadn’t even told him about getting robbed by her date yet, conscious of how much he would fret.

Yet she had let Marc tend to her that first time they met in the museum, when she was bleeding out onto the beautifully polished marble. She had begged him to not leave her the day she’d woken up to find herself rather dead. She had let him console her when she’d arisen tied up in his apartment. Let him wash her clothes, make her breakfast. He’d been the first person she’d called when she’d found the bird.

She felt safe with both of them in entirely different ways. Safe knowing Steven was always there to cheer her up, to dote on her over every tiny thing she did. He was always bringing her little keepsakes that had made him think of her, bringing her the cinnamon rolls she liked from the bakery on his street on the days he knew she was running late and would have gone without food. Always walking her to her train stop even though it was entirely out of his way. Making sure she was having enough breaks at work, eating her full lunch. He remembered everything she ever told him, even the time she’d mentioned the anniversary date of her dog’s passing, he'd remembered it to the very day and given her a sympathy card and a bunch of flowers. Her favourites of course, that too had only been brought up once.

She felt loved by Steven, felt safe and cared for in a way she knew was beyond friendship. Yet she could only hope and imagine what anything more than being loved like this felt like. What kissing him, touching him in a way that went beyond what they had would feel like.

And to have such a raw feeling for someone spectated on turned her stomach oddly. She thought she’d feel more intruded on than anything, but she simply felt indifferent. It was only Marc afterall.

“It’s like I’m watching a movie, kind of. It’s more like I’m watching over his shoulder but I can’t do anything to stop him unless I really try to take the body,” He explained, though the way his shoulders tensed up had her guessing he didn’t like to talk too much about it. Marc seemed the anal type to want control over his life, and to have someone take the reins in front of him sounded torturous.

“Is he here now?” She asked, her eyes lighting up at the thought of seeing him again, “Can he hear me?”

Marc fought the urge to grunt in annoyance (that was entirely annoyance, and not at all jealousy) at her eagerness to see Steven. “Not right now,” She slumped for the second time that day, “From what I understand, we can either be co-conscious which is when he can hear and talk to me or he can just go away if he wants to. Go quiet, make it so I can’t feel if he’s watching me,”

“Huh,” She said with an intrigued look, “Well, it must be nice to never be lonely, I guess,”

Marc was ready to snark something back about how Steven was possibly the biggest pain in the ass when he was spouting off nonsense inside the headspace, how he had still yet to stop fawning over the way she looked, filling Marc’s head with a mix of his own thoughts as well as Steven’s running commentary about how her every movement made her “something out of the films, you know, like one of those actresses on the big screens, like MariIyn Monroe or Elizabeth Taylor, but entirely in her own way better, you know what I mean, Marc?”

It drove him insane, and he was glad Steven had taken a stand of silence for whatever reason, and left him to at least have a few days to himself.

Of course that hadn’t stopped Marc from noticing just how softly beautiful she was, but he was glad of the silence nonetheless.

And happy to have her to himself, but that was by the by.

He stopped himself from snapping at her that the reality of having someone in your head 24/7 talking to you and nagging your every move was a thousand percent more frustrating than being lonely, but then he guessed he’d felt lonely his whole life; grown used to feeling alone. Trying to protect Steven from the awful reality of what happened to him as a child, keep him from knowing what a failure he actually was, what a curse this body was, to know someone and never being seen in return. He realised it was lonely, and lonely was draining.

And he watched her eyes soften, a sadness shining through them, not intentionally but a glimpse of her soul Marc had never seen from her, as if she truly envied having someone there for him at all times. And Marc realised maybe having Steven wasn’t the worst thing to have. He could be entirely alone with his own mind, his own thoughts. He could have been entirely alone throughout his childhood, entirely alone with Wendy and her cruel hands.

Steven was annoying most days, but Steven was needed.

“I guess,” He muttered, turning back to setting up his bed on the plush sofa that he already knew would murder his back. Sighing, and fighting back his usual moody tone, he chanced a look at her, only to find she was already staring at him. It made his stomach turn to know she watched him when he didn’t know, “You know, you’re not alone, right?”

Her face hardened, eyes flicking away from his in a way that screamed she felt caught in an inner turmoil, surprised that Marc had seemed to almost read her mind, “I never said I was alone,”

Marc rolled his eyes at her pushback, wishing she wouldn’t make it so difficult for him to be kind for once, “I know that but,” He chewed over his words, “You’re not alone, you got that?” He sounded annoyed despite the fact he’d tried to rein in his demeanour, “You have Steven, and me,” Her expression faltered at that, and he was sure to turn back to rearranging the sofa cushions before she could give him anything more to admire about her. “And, you’know, Layla’s got your back through all this too, so you know. You’re all set really,” He cleared his throat, a few beats of silence. He thought that would be the end of it, that she would simply move onto something else.

He heard her stand off the bed, not thinking much of the movement other than the soft sound of her sock-feet crossing the hotel room. He froze when he felt two arms wrap around his middle from behind him, her face burying into his spine.

“What are you-”

“Don’t ruin it,” She said, her voice muffled by his body, her hands tightening around his toned waist as if worried he would pull away, “Just let me-” She nuzzled closer into his beefy back, taking a deep breath of his scent, “Thankyou,” The woman mumbled, but he still heard it.

Two large hands came to rest over her forearms that squoze his midriff, letting the girl soak into him, lean on him, take all of him in entirely in a way he’d craved from someone for so long.

Not hugging Steven. Hugging him. His friend. His Dove, too.

Marc said nothing, a small smile pulled at his lips that felt almost foreign on his permanently bitter face.

His Dove, too.

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hedghost · 1 year

Note

blurb inspo has arrived!!!

what about less w reader going feral bc shes wearing that suit^^^

alessia russo / suited up

you’re sat on the sofa, just scrolling though your phone, while less is in the bedroom getting ready for an award night that you aren’t going to. she’s been a little secretive about her outfit, only replying to your questions about what she’s wearing with a you’ll see.

you hear the soft click of her heels against the wooden floor, and you turn your head to look over the back of the sofa as she emerges. she looks a little bashful, smoothing down the non-existent creases of her suit as she stands for you to take her in. and take her in you do.

you almost forget how to breathe, as your eyes flick over her outfit - sleek and stunning black, a dark contrast against her hair - her hair, light soft tresses falling pinstraight around her face - her face, with her freckles spraying her cheeks - her cheeks, blushing slightly, and raised in a smile that crinkles her eyes - her eyes, striking and beautiful, with that shimmer of anticipation as she waits for your opinion, before your attention lands resolutely back on the suit. god, that suit.

how the suit frames her body perfectly. the way it hangs off her broad shoulders, giving only a glimpse of those sharp, freckled collarbones. the sliver of her exposed chest, the chain, that you bought her, that shines around her neck, brushing against the exact spot that she loves when you kiss. the way it hangs squarely around her wrists, exposing her gold jewellery. the way the black makes her skin practically glow. the way it accentuates her body in all the right places, lengthens those long, toned legs.

you don’t speak, but from alessia’s sly smile, you know she can sense your approval.

well? what do you think?

you can’t take your eyes off her as you stutter a response. at her light laugh, the kind you can bring out of her at any given moment, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle, her cheeks shine, the kind that makes her lean her head back, exposing that slip of her neck further. at the sound, and the sight, you scramble to stand.

your hands find her waist, snaking underneath the silky material of the jacket to brush gently at the smooth skin underneath. you press her back against the wall, and she looks down at you, eyelashes fluttering and smile unwavering.

she looks unreal all day, every day, no matter what she’s wearing, but in this, where she radiates sleekness and confidence, you can barely breathe, barely think. your chest pounds to get closer, closer, and you run your fingers up her back beneath the jacket, nails raking lightly against flawlessly smooth skin.

is that a yes?

you nod with a grin, before leaning in to press your lips against her neck, nipping lightly at the skin beneath her necklace. you run your fingers lightly over her exposed chest, tracing her torso up and around to the base of her neck to brush back the collar of her jacket, so it exposes her collarbones, and you press your lips there too. your hand rests to cradle the back of her neck as you begin trailing soft kisses up from her collarbone to beneath her jaw.

you press your lips to hers and murmur against her mouth

very much a yes

you’re mindful that she has to leave soon, that all this will have to wait until she returns later, but she indulges you in a lingering kiss. you’re careful not to smudge her makeup or mess up her hair, but since you aren’t going out, alessia has no such qualms. her long fingers find your cheeks, before she entangles her perfectly manicured nails in your hair, raking through your curls with a desire that shows that you aren’t the only one feeling some sort of way.

you pull away regretfully, knowing you need to send her on her way before she pulls you too far gone, before you both get too caught up in something. you give her one last peck before you push her out the door, and she laughs and winks.

wait up for me?

oh, i’ll be waiting alright

she blows you a kiss and shuts the door, leaving you with some very suggestive thoughts about that suit, and what you intend to do with her in it. you place yourself back on the sofa, already impatiently craving her return. this is going to be a long night.

#alessia russo x reader #blurbs #i almost feel dirty writing this #lessi blurbs

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hiraeth-sonder · 1 month

Text

High Tides - Zimeng House

Yan! OC x Reader

Overindulging your child is very often the downfall of most parents, but it can be excused when you have reunited with your long lost son, no?

TW: Incest, some guy gets knocked out/killed, nursing, implied dubcon, general toxic behaviour, not really proof-read and maybe (definitely) bad writing

//I had the urge to write this no idea why. Dedicated to a friend of mine who fulfilled my inspiration fix and indirectly aided with the creation of this horrific thing

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The rapid yet skillful plucking of strings echoed throughout the hall, a sudden start that brought attention to the stage in the very middle. Surrounded by dozens of other guests, sitting atop a wooden chair with a pipa in your lap, draped in fine silks and tinkling jewellery, you strum the strings slowly as the melody rises layer by layer. Interspersed were tremolos, hot friction rubbing against the pads of your finger, the bright moon rising from the sea.

Your eyes scan across the gathering of people tonight, fingers still playing as you pluck and strum. It is the same as every other night, men seeking to spend the night in the embrace of another, courtesans pouring sweet wine into the awaiting mouths, there was little to note on such a mundane night.

The second section begins, you bring your other hand to the neck of the instrument as it joins your dominant hand in chanting and pulling. Still just as leisurely as the first, the added motions continued to entice your eager audience, wide eyes filled with wonder as they drift to visages beyond your face and skill. You could feel wandering eyes trail along your neck, travelling a line to your fingers, your waist, even to the arch of your feet. You pay them no mind, it is after all, your life’s work to entice and should your music not be up to par, then let it be your frame that does so.

As young women garbed in silks as vibrant as the fenghuang’s feathers emerge, their feet light and their actions entrancing, you continue your reverie upon silk strings. There is little incentive for you to focus on your art, not when you have all but perfected the very act of performing. In the distance, standing by a pillar and hidden among the crowd was a young man in dark robes. He had a still sheathed sword by his side, garbed in midnight dark robes that cut a severe silhouette. For a moment, your eyes meet, milky jade that seemed not of this mortal realm bearing an intensity. It is by instinct that you avert your gaze, and you find that despite having been the focus of unsavoury attention for far longer than most, you feel uneased by his.

You continue to strum, dancers whirling in winds of colourful fabric as the melody continues with its rhythmic flicks. Your vision is obscured by thin veils, arcing through the air as they fall with graceful descent. You still feel that man’s gaze on you, and you can only wonder whether you have met before in some clandestine time. There was little other reasoning, the only other could be a desire of service, a desire for temporary companionship.

When the performance eventually comes to its natural end, your sisters, the dancers, aid you with your ascent, one taking the pipa from your hands and another offering you a hand to take. Her hand is much softer when in comparison to yours, though care was essential for the lives you lead, your very niche borne callouses upon the pads of your fingers. A soft smile pulls across your lips as your eyes crinkle, and as the once hungry gazes of guests slide right off your form, focused on younger more nubile women, one slinks away.

You part the beaded curtains that separate the house’s main hall from the inner rooms, and just the clack of beads clicking against each other sound in your ears, you hear a man’s voice from behind you, low and rumbling.

“Ms. Shen.”

The sound is familiar in an odd manner, the way he calls your surname all too intimately despite the cold tone of his voice. You are not sure whether you like it, and when you turn to face him, high and all-mighty cultivator of milky jade eyes, you find that uncertainty still brewing. Your nerves seem to harden and chill, bringing a hand to your exposed collarbones.

Speaking slow and steady, you maintain the contact that he has put upon you, “I must apologise, young sir. I am afraid I shall not be taking on personal entertainment for tonight.”

“I wish not for company, but I must ask for a private room for I have questions not meant for prying ears,” He responds, his face not alluding to any emotion that you may take advantage of.

The brothel madam has been watching you from the second floor, her pipe in hand with a grimace on her lips. She waits for you to cover your mouth, to reach for the hanging decor of your hairpins. When none of it happens, the older woman closes her eyes and takes a puff from her pipe. Your eyes once shifting between her and the young man in front of you, his gaze ever steady, settles. You can only resign to whatever he wishes, acquiescing and bringing him to the upper floors of the building.

Tucked away within the labyrinth of rooms that lay within Zimeng House, a pot of warm tea and two cups sit between the two of you. The sounds of pleasure and revelry just barely at the edges of your mind, gentle woody incense wafting through the air as the night wind breezes in. Sitting opposite of you is the young man, grey hair long and bound at the ends, his complexion blemishless and those eyes, placid as a frozen lake, bore into you, as though trying to figure out something within you. His sword, impossibly long and not possibly able to be used by mortal hand, remains unsheathed by his side. This young man was quite obviously a cultivator, a fact that was only all the more by the odd oppressive aura he seemed to emit.

It takes a moment for him to speak, for any of you to speak yet when he does, there is now a susceptibility to his voice, one that sounded younger, one that belonged more to a child than an adult, “Did you have a son twenty years ago?”

The question, no matter the tinge of pregnability in his words, was sudden. Certainly not the kind of question one asks a high-ranking courtesan, and certainly not the kind of question asked in good faith, not in your field of work, not from a cultivator.

“If I did, that should be no business of yours.”

“And should that son still be alive? Would it then become my business?” He responds just as fast, still holding eye contact.

It is then that you notice the birthmark upon his hand, a little wing like discoloration below his knuckle. The bow of his lips so familiar to you, the curve of his eyes and the manner in which he holds himself. An image of you, an image of you distorted by the features of another and the dew of immortality.

You avert your gaze, taking in a breath before looking at him, the breath in your chest still and tight in your lungs. Rising from your seat, he lets you approach him with tentative steps, feet padding against wooden floors before you sit by his side. Pathetically, you could only rasp out, “How is he? If he is alive?”

The young man leans closer, eyes of wonder and recognition. As though just as affected by emotions deemed frivolous by his people, he manages to whisper, “He is doing well.” Then, he backtracks, a notion he appears not quite used to, correcting himself quietly, “And he has missed you quite so.”

For mother and child, it is very often that words are not needed to understand one another. Your arms that once cradled his infant form in a time long ago, wrap around him as he tucks his nose into the crook of your neck, his much broader form encapsulating yours as tears slowly soak through your silks. You cannot blame him, for even tears dew at your lower lashes.

“Mother, your son has found you.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

When your son had disappeared, you had not the chance to even name him. How could you? For someone like you, someone who could barely even read let alone write, you had always intended to give him some name that would bless him most, perhaps wish for him to become a great scholar or businessman. Yet he has returned to you as Yuanhua, ‘first magnificence’, and what truth he has grown up as.

Your darling son, pride of Fengyi Mountain, saviour of the innocent and bane of the demonic, how magnificent he has become. You could be no less prouder of him, proud that he would rise above the status of a courtesan’s son. He is so much more than you could hope he could have become, and it fills your heart with an emotion you can not fully deem delight.

You must admit however, you did not think he would become such a clingy child in his adulthood. You suppose that he is only trying to make up for the years lost on the both of you, for his loss of childhood vulnerability and yours to overindulge. It has only been a few months since he has reunited with you, yet many of your sisters have already started looking forward to his visits. They would wait at the windows that face the busy streets and look for the white head of hair towering above the crowd. It has come to the point that they would ask you about him, albeit your relation not known to them, asking whether he treats you well, whether he was looking to retire from the jianghu and get a wife of his own. All those times, you could only laugh and urge them to ask themselves, after all, that son of yours was by no means a person you could control.

Today, he has come once more, now resting his head upon your lap as his form curls in towards you. Yuanhua is quite definitely one of the larger men you have had the experience of being with, and he is careful to not put his full weight, though he is still that sticky child, holding one of your hands within his much larger, colder ones.

A small laugh escapes you, he all but rushed to your side the moment you entered the room, and with his recent absence, you can only surmise that he was sent away on a mission that took up far more energy than he would have liked.

“Hua’er, have they been working you too hard?” You hum, rubbing his knuckles with the pad of your thumb. Reaching for the osmanthus cakes plated on a table, cakes you had been gifted and intended for him to try, you bring up a cut piece for him, “Come, eat some pastries.”

He obliges, obediently opening his mouth to accept your offering. Watching him so happily eat, with an overfond smile on your lips, your other hand reaches to pet his head, an act that has him leaving into your touch, far more than you thought already possible.

“I only wanted to be with you sooner,” He murmurs.

You sigh, a reigned smile pulled across your painted lips, still allowing him to hold onto you. “Your old mother can be on her own, don’t rush even if you can.”

The thought of him being injured, no matter the fact that he is far more powerful than most, tugs at your heart strings, yanking on them with a ferocity. Though you have lived 20 years grieving your child, knowing that he is alive and that is a tangible, actual person that you now so unfailingly adore, the idea that he may possibly be harmed is torturous.

“What if you get hurt, hm?”

Yuanhua does not respond, merely tightening his grip on you as another sigh escapes. The melody for tonight’s performance comes to the surface of your mind, and as you hum and pat his back in rhythm, he lets you. Your son lets you move as you please, all too happy to follow along as he fully relaxes on you and flutters his eyes shut.

It is then that you hear the sliver of conversation from the outside, spoken in hushed voices yet deafeningly audible through paper and wood. For your ears that have grown keen to hear news of your son, it is only natural, yet it is now that you wish you could not.

“Why does that cultivator keep visiting her?” A man’s voice sounds from outside, he sounds familiar, perhaps one of the more frequent guests.

Another responds, another man and another guest. He sounds younger, his voice louder than the first’s, “You know, I heard that those people up in Fengyi Mountain are meant to be celibate.”

You look down to your son, his eyes shut and his posture relaxed. He appears to have not a worry in the world, long lashes kissing the apples of his cheek. High nose, sword straight brows and thin lips, sometimes you think you see the face of another upon his. Your child, who appears so much like you and another, it pains you.

“Do you think…?”

“That he’s a philanderer? Why not? They all think they’re above us and yet look at them,” One of them scoffs, a supercilious tone to his lilt.

The other laughs at that, odd mirth tinging his voice as their footsteps sound further and further down the hallways, “And he goes and picks the most expensive one of them all.”

“Hah! At least he has taste.”

Your heart seems to drop all throughout such vulgar conversation. You have been no stranger to slander, have been the victim of it many times in your life, but your son? Your son who had lived 20 years as an ascetic, finally allowed comfort within his mother, who is unfortunately a courtesan. How cruel this world is, to reunite mother and son only to make it so the interactions you may have, be tainted by the very career that has kept you alive long enough to be with him until now.

You look down to him once more, he is looking at you, milky jade eyes warm with adoration as his fingers interlock yours, tightly. He does not deserve such talk, he does not deserve to be the butt of such a cruel joke. There is nothing you would not give for him, and it is now that you yearn to give him freedom from such mockery. One last night, you shall have him one last night and he will return to Fengyi Mountain as their pride once more

Your son squeezes your hand and turns towards your womb. Yuanhua asks a question so casually it was as if he were a child asking his mother for another story, his voice soft as though any louder and you would crumble to dust, “Would mother still dote on this me if you knew what I have done?”

“You are still my son,” You whisper, bringing your hands up to kiss the back of his hand. Your eyes close, and it takes you a moment to continue, your throat tight and your breath stilled, “There is nothing that you can do that will make me hate you.”

“I will always love you.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The night is young, the smell of spicy oud burns through the air as the music of revelment reverb through the building. People of all backgrounds gather to find entertainment, bliss and temporary companionship. When the sun rises, the remnants of the night’s debauchery shall remain a stain upon the soul, no less visible to the judge of hell than the shameful walk one must make in pursuit of escape.

Not tonight, for rather than performing musicality or sensuality, you are granted the rare visit of an old friend.

Dipping your head, hairpins of tinkling gold graze the curves of your cheek as you greet the man before you, “My lord, it is an honour to serve you tonight.”

“Ms. Shen, no need for the formalities,” He waves you off, urging you to come closer, an offer you take. His voice is low and humming, reassuring and assuaging, he smiles at you as crows feet appear at the ends of his eyes, “How long has it been since we’ve known each other?”

When you respond to such with a familiar smile of your own, he takes your hand in his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. Truly, Lin Zheng is still your most loyal, and kindest guest. 23 years and he has yet to request another, it has come to the point that practically everyone in Zimeng House knows to see him situated in the better rooms and call for you to attend to him. It was hard to believe that this wizened 4th ranking court official before you was the county magistrate who blushed redder than a jujube when he first saw you.

His eyes ponder upon your visage, and it is a long seeded regard that seeps from them. You follow along his example, allowing your eyes to trail along his high nose and sword straight brows, features that lent him regal apertures that rivalled the imperial bloodline.

With a solemnity that could have rivalled even the underworld judges, he calls upon you, “Have you always been this beautiful? Even now you rival the ladies of Chunning House.”

“You flatter me, I am but an old maid compared to the young flowers of today,” Laughing, a kind of shyness overtakes you as you avert your gaze.

Lin Zheng only reaffirms his praise, bringing a hand to your cheek as he gently redirects your gaze to his, “No less lovely, what man would not feel shame for having not experienced your touch?”

Times must have truly changed, for when it was he who sputtered in diffidence, it seems to have become your turn to grow shy at his action. Still, you do not turn away from his affection. The older man reaches for the jug of wine on the low table and pours out a conservative amount into the two cups, offering the first to you.

As he hands the cup of wine to your waiting hand, the window shutters open with a violent swing. The sound of wood banging against wood and the tip of a sheath tapping against the floorboards further drag the two of you out of the intimate atmosphere contained within the room. Clad in dark robes and with his long silvery hair flowing in the night wind, the man calls for you.

“Mother.”

Controlled and yet, the breach of something more, something raw and broken lies beneath his low voice. He remains at the balcony, and it is as though the world has gone quiet for solely his presence. The oppressive energy that had once made you wary of him when you first met trickles out, those eyes of his that which had once been warm, seethes and rages

His voice cracks, just the slightest as he directs the heavy burden of his gaze onto you,“You sent me away, so you could entangle with another?”

“Hua’er,” You managed to breathe out, a slip of vulnerability that you had so painstakingly tried to keep within.

Li Zheng, who though had no clue who was before him, moved to put himself in front of you, pushing you behind him as he places himself as a physical barrier between the two of you. This man who grew up a scholar and took no interest in the world of martial might, still saw fit to protect you over himself. Yet this one action, this one innocent action only enraged your child.

“You said you loved me, but you would let others touch you so familiarly?”

This sudden accusation confuses you, and you rightfully respond to such an inquiry with confusion, “What are you talking about? This is my job.”

“I see,” He mutters, and it is then that you see how dilated his pupils have become, thin jade encircling a pitch dark void. Yuanhua approaches the two of you, footfalls slow and practised and cutting through the room like a knife, and that breach of violent emotion finally rips through. That though his very movements were the epitome of discipline, the manner in which he seethes reveals far more than his actions. A laugh of unconstraint leaves his lips, one that echoes in your ears before he finally sneers,“I see.”

“Yuanhua!” You can only pathetically yell out, hoping that he would come to his senses and cease whatever he seemed so hellbent on unleashing.

In a move far too swift for either of you to anticipate, he brings the pommel of his sword down upon Lin Zheng’s head, a harsh crack reverberating through the room. You could only watch as your dear friend’s form fell limp onto the ground with a thud, your son kicking him away without care, as though he was merely a pebble in his path.

With the moonlight as his halo, he looms above you, broad shouldered and stalwart. You do not recognise the man before you, do not recognise the fervency in his eyes nor the concupiscence within them. His sword is abandoned in favour of covet, and your son, your dear son pushes you to the cold ground. Though gentle with a hand to the back of your head, the rushed action still sends a dull ache through your form.

“Mother,” He breathes, rosy flush to his jade white complexion as his breath fans against your skin. Nosing along an imaginary line down your neck, lips ghosting over pulse points as he murmurs, “Don’t leave me, not again.”

He tugs down the front of your ruqun in one swift motion, exposing tender skin and bare chest to the night chill. He takes a moment to admire you. Then, without hesitation, he latches onto the soft bud and starts to suck, his tongue swirling around as it rips a weak whine from your lips. Though you push against him in some meagre attempt to put some distance between your two forms, he merely strengthens his efforts as a hand moves to squeeze your hips, the other cupping and kneading the neglected breast.

Enervated by his fervid actions, it was as though even your voice wished to give up, whether from use or carnality, you were not sure. “Stop it–!”

He ignores you, and that hand that once gripped the very hips that birthed him, sinks deeper into its origin. Pushing through cavernous desire, Yuanhua rips a particularly loud keen from your throat. It is a sound more beautiful than your skillful playing, more mellifluous to his ears than any other sound, and he smiles.

Fengyi Mountain may have taken him away from you for a reason illogical, but that is in the past, burned in the embers of the future. When he finally takes you away from this establishment, away from those greedy eyes, then he will truly be reunited with you, mother and son.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #original writing

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lorei-writes · 17 days

Text

Home Sweet Home

Habiba x Kenshin; Habiba & Hideyoshi (platonic) Comedy/Crack ~1.2k

My Meyday!Heyday gift for @spoopy-fish-writes <3 I hope my take on Habiba isn't too far off ^^"

Content Warnings: none

It was when Japanese tree lilac bloomed, although the people of Honshu were not warned of the fact; the pollen, it appeared, had simply spread, carried from the faraway Hokkaido over to the very lake Biwa. And the effects? Scandalous. Unprecedented… Perhaps merely incidental, given the grievous, quick-onset sighing that took over Lord Hideyoshi.

As per the usual state of affairs, the market sitting at the foot of Mount Azuchi spread far and wide, corridors of dumpling stalls interchanging with wooden jewellery, fresh fish, cartloads of colourful cloth, juicy fruit, fine metalwork, and any other produce one could dream of under the skies (at least provided that their dreams did not exceed the capacity of Sengoku-period-appropriate merchandise pool). Tens, if not hundreds, of feet ventured into that labyrinth, some leisurely strolling through the various shops, and some rushing forward without a care in the world. Children’s laughter rose high into the air, curious eyes shining and greedy hands pointing towards any spotted treats. At the heart of things, it was all very mundane in its loud opulence. Were it any different, it simply would not be Azuchi marketplace… And perhaps, in a certain dimension, it was not, or threatened not being one, or more precisely, ceasing to be one if things continued on as they happened to be that day.

Lord Hideyoshi Toyotomi sighed again.

Unusual.

Unprecedented.

Too early on in the day as well. (How many more wrinkles could his honourable forehead fit? That was yet to be tested.)

Shielding her eyes from the sweltering afternoon sun, Habiba Malik surveyed the surrounding stalls. Something glistened at the far edge of the horizon. A hawk that had found its prey, her arm snapped at once, a finger straight like the blade of a katana pointing at a cluster of fabric and precious gemstone stores.

“Full speed ahead!” she ordered.

Sasuke-the-ninja put his hand on Lord Kenshin’s arm. Lord Hideyoshi Toyotomi sighed again.

“No, Lord Kenshin. Nice warlords do not slice through crowds and mean warlords who cause bloodshed in enemy territory have to stand in time-out corners in the dungeon.”

Kenshin frowned, the expression soon melting into a pout. “It is not ‘full speed’ then,” he said, but removed his hand from the hilt of his sword regardless. His mismatched eyes darted over the street, perhaps searching for an alternate route to take… or for Habiba, for that matter, as she had already moved away, her head appearing above the distant waves of passing people. Whichever the case, he darted forward. And after him, Sasuke.

“And that’s why we’re being chaperoned.” And after them, Yukimura.

And after them? Hideyoshi.

Who else?

“No running in the crowd!”

“Why do we need an escort either way? Answer, Sasuke.” Kenshin ignored Hideyoshi.

“It was Lord Nobunaga’s one and only condition for your visit.” Hideyoshi resolutely resisted being ignored, although it required him to, indeed, break his rules and run too.

“I thought she said it’d be Masamune this time,” Yukimura added.

Hideyoshi’s lips parted, but to release no sound. And older lady falling into him, he supported her in his arms, his attention drifting away for just long enough for the group to leave him behind. Kenshin marched onwards, people skipping away from his path; Sasuke was shortly behind him, compensating for his lack of ominous aura with ninja-parkour skills (shops and stalls are just another path if you expand your mindset); Yukimura was last, walking like a normal person.

And then there was Hideyoshi, rushing forward yet not making any progress, and most definitely not preventing Sasuke from climbing onto roofs, or Kenshin from attracting superfluous attention with his sword-happy hand. As a matter of fact, he sighed again. Another crease marked his brow, more of its kind being added at each inconvenience. At last, he reached the store and rejoined the group.

“Would it hurt you to beha—” he started to speak, but forgot his tongue, Habiba staring at him with eyes as big as an owl’s. “What is it this time?”

“You’re frowning so hard you have a honeycomb pattern on your forehead right now. It’s the first time I’m seeing that.”

Hideyoshi ran his hand across his face.

“Look, it’s reorganised. Right now it’s more like… flooded rice fields?” she dully noted.

His eyebrow twitched.

“Huh… Are those seagulls?” Habiba tapped her chin, her eyes narrowing as she lost herself in thought.

“What are you on again, they’re just skiddly lines.” Yukimura shook his head.

“It’s a Rorschach’s test, Yuki,” Sasuke said. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “And I’m seeing two dancing bears.”

Hideyoshi sighed. Again.

***

Red light spilled from the sinking sun, each of the present warlords carrying an armload of wares, varying from golden wire and imported fabric, to drinks and snacks. The group split again, however, Yukimura leading the way out of the Azuchi castle town, followed shortly by Sasuke, with Kenshin tailing shortly behind… Habiba was second to last. Dusty clouds rose off the street as she turned on her heel, fabric billowing around her legs for but a second.

“I think I can see the bears now,” she spoke after a pause, thus breaking the quiet.

“And you never change,” Hideyoshi sighed. (Yet again!) His expression softened, however, a gentle smile curling the corners of his lips as he stepped forward to ruffle her hair. (Habiba ducked away from his hand and glared daggers at him. Alas.) “And that never changes either.”

Perhaps mildly stiff, Hideyoshi handed over the bundles he had carried thus far. Somehow, they were separated, standing at the edge of two different continents despite being just few paces apart.

“You know, you can always come for a visit.”

“Oh, you’ve missed me this much? ‘They grow up so fast’?”

“Hey, you…” Hideyoshi squinted.

“We all have to fly out eventually.” Habiba touched the back of her hand to her forehead, light getting caught in the earring dangling from her ear. “The only thing that doesn’t change is you pining after Nobunaga and Mitsuhide pining after you. No progress on those fronts still?”

“Habiba!”

“What? I have a bet! I can’t lose! If you’re going to take things so slow they don’t move at all, at least continue so for the next month or two.”

“I am doing nothing! There is nothing to continue!”

Habiba gave him the look. “Right. Sure. Absolutely.”

“I swear, you…” A groan churned in his throat. “Just come back whenever. Next time Masamune may not be grounded.”

“Grounded? In the dungeon? Kinky.”

Surrounded by decorum-induced-disingenuous complaints, Habiba turned on her heel again, this time towards Kenshin and his extended hand. She took it, the gentle squeeze delivered by his fingers a vow to always be there… and she stared at the sky, just for a moment, just for a little while. For a little while longer, until they had to head towards their inn. Whatever she saw in the orange clouds splashed in purple, she kept it to herself. Perhaps others would see it too. The sky would always be one and the same, even if different each day.

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cl-01-kestis · 1 year

Text

Come Back, I Always Do - Fred Weasley x Female Ex!Reader | Part 2

Summary: Ron and Hermione’s wedding is finally here, things seem to be going well but you’re quickly reminded that your old flame is present after the minister of magic introduces you to none other than Fred Weasley.

Warnings: angst angst angst, they bicker their feelings out, so much pining

The weeks leading up to the wedding were excruciatingly drawn out, the minutes felt like hours and the hours felt like days. You continuously tried to convince yourself not to go, that it would bring nothing but grief into your life. But those thoughts weren’t convincing enough, now you found yourself smoothing out your outfit just before you had to leave.

You wore a navy slip gown with a tie at the back to accentuate your waist, a knitted shawl made by your mother cloaking your shoulders. You decided to wear heels, since the dress was a tad too long and trainers weren’t the most appropriate wedding attire. Your mother let you borrow her pearl jewellery for the occasion, but you felt odd standing in front of your mirror wearing them. You looked great, maybe even sexy, but you felt as rigid as your wand. You couldn’t look at yourself without wanting to take everything off.

But it was too late to opt out, you checked the time and knew you had to leave at once. The reception started at 7, it was now 7:15 and you didn’t want to be any later than necessary. You grabbed the small gift bag which contained a new set of coffee mugs and some luxury chocolates, grabbing your wand and apparating as quickly as possible to The Burrow.

The first thing you noticed was the large tent right outside the familiar Weasley house, hundreds of guests were walking in and out, some leaving and others just arriving like you. You smiled, sucking in an assuring breath of air before walking towards the tent. You had to hike up your skirt a bit to avoid tripping over the silk, eventually walking on the wooden floor underneath the canapé.

You could see Hermione and Ron on the dance floor over a few heads, swaying side to side and enjoying their first dance as husband and wife. You decided to walk in another direction to get a drink, your heels clacking against the wood. You recognised some people from Hogwarts, waving hello to them as you made your way to the bar and took a free glass of champagne.

You watched a few people walk by, even Hermione’s parents who were once friends to your own. Your eyes drifted back to the dance floor, heart warming at the newly married Weasley’s who shared an adoring kiss as they continued to sway back and forth.

You realised you were still holding the small gift bag and quickly rushed to the gift table to drop it off without distracting Ron or Hermione.

As you turned around, you came face to face with a very familiar face, a short woman with red hair and grey roots. You completely froze in your tracks, face flushed and eyes wide as Molly Weasley gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, completely shell shocked.

“By Merlin’s beard!” Molly spread her arms open and invited you in for the warmest hug you’ve ever received. She held you like you were her own child, patting your back and giving your head a kiss before she leaned away.

“Words cannot describe how happy I am to see you again, my dear!” Molly cupped your face with both hands, her eyes kind but filled with memories of the past.

“Likewise, Mrs Weasley. It’s so nice to see your face” You chuckle, but you notice her grimace when you call her by her formal name.

“How many times have I said to you in the past, call me Molly!” She scolded you, pointing her finger at your face which made you smile. She was just like you remembered. Only with grey roots and deeper wrinkles.

“It just feels odd calling you Molly when I haven’t seen you in 6 years” You sigh, taking a sip of champagne as the older woman waved your comment off.

“Trust me, dear, nothing has changed since you left” She spoke to you warmly, giving off the same motherly tone you always remembered and loved.

You looked around the crowd for any sign of red hair, turning back to molly and noticing a small smile on her face.

“Is… he here?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, knowing you were making a complete fool of yourself by asking.

“He is, just around that corner,” She gestured to the left behind you as a shrill of nausea hit you like a train.

“But I’m sure you’re not ready to see him quite yet, so let’s move you to the other side of the tent” Molly urged you to the nearby buffet at the opposite end of the canapé. You internally thanked her, hands trembling and causing the surface of your champagne to shake. You couldn’t help but look behind you, spotting a couple of the Weasley siblings, but not the one you were looking for.

Molly held your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, leading you through the bustling crowds and apologising if she ever bumped into someone. As the mother of the groom, she was expected to hover around Ron and Hermione by many people, but her main priority at the moment was keeping you safe and comfortable. Some of the siblings expected her to be angry at you, if you ever reunited, but Molly always knew you took it just as hard as Fred during the breakup. Which is why she was helping you now, embracing you like she was your own mother, because deep down she still held so much love for you. Seeing you now made her over joyous, the fact you were back in the UK was incredible.

As Molly sat you down at one of the empty seats at the back, you soon noticed you were sitting right beside none other than the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He turned to you with a smile on his face, waving to Molly who bowed her head and gave his hand a shake.

“It’s quite busy in here, isn’t it?” He chuckled, offering his hand for you to take. You smiled, feeling the tension in your stomach flush out when you shook his hand.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, and who might you be?” He asked with a charming smile on his aging face.

“(Y/N) (S/N), Magizoology professor at Hogwarts” You nodded your head, placing your champagne glass on the table before waving farewell to Molly who had been summoned to the dance floor.

“Ah! So you’re the woman everyone’s been talking about? Well, it’s wonderful to finally meet you Professor, I hope the term has been well so far?” Kingsley asked curiously, fixing his tunic before he leaned an elbow on the table.

“It’s been brilliant, I couldn’t ask for a better job” You grin, taking a casual sip of your bubbling champagne. The minister was delighted by your response, but something or someone in the distance caught his eye.

“Professor (S/N), would you care to join me? I must introduce you to my colleagues at the Ministry” Kingsley insisted, standing up and offering you his hand with a toothy smile. You nodded your head and stood, linking your arm in his and making sure you didn’t trip as you synced your foot steps with his.

You remember the day he took over as the Minister of Magic after the war, you spoke with Arthur about it at the time but you never thought you’d be lucky enough to meet him. You even remembered when he participated in the war at Hogwarts, he battled alongside the late Remus Lupin and Arthur as well.

Kingsley scooted past the cramped dance floor, approaching the other end of the tent. You grew nervous, clutching his arm tighter as you remembered who was nearby. You briefly passed Ginny, who was leading Harry onto the dance floor. You avoided eye contact but you heard the scuffing of shoes and a gasp as you passed by, bringing your shawl closer to your body.

“I was invited to the wedding by Arthur Weasley, wonderful man he is” The minister smiled fondly, but his words sent your brain into a deep spiral.

“Speaking of which, his son is sitting at this table!” The minister let go of your arm, clapping his hands together as he approached one of the tables. You looked around and noticed Molly, standing staring right at you with a panicked look on her face. You froze on the spot, your gut churning with something dreadfully nauseating as you realised what was happening.

“Gentleman, I’d like you to meet Miss (Y/N) (S/N), she’s the brand new Magizoology professor at Hogwarts” Kingsley pressed a comforting hand to your shoulder, but your skin was covered with goosebumps as your eyes drifted to the table full of sharply dressed men. You smiled, bowing your head and trying not to crumble into pieces as you swallowed your pride.

“Nice to meet you all” You masked up any angst you might’ve bottled up, a graceful smile planted on your face as you drifted over the table.

Eventually, your eyes landed on him. Your felt your mouth dry up completely when you realised his eyes were already on you, wide and full of surprise, yet his expression didn’t match. Fred Weasley. A man you once adored much more than anyone else in the entire world, was sitting just a few meters away from you with a heart which was breaking all over again. Your eyes stayed on each other for what felt like a lifetime until the Minister pressed a hand on his shoulder.

“I was just saying to Miss (S/N) here that your father invited me to the wedding, Fred,” Kingsley gestured to you as he spoke, but Fred never took his eyes off you all the time that the minister spoke. It was like he was frozen in time.

“Say, didn’t you go to Hogwarts as well, Professor?” Kingsley inquired with a smile.

“Yes sir, I graduated in 1996” You smiled, your hands shakily fiddling with the hem of your mothers knitted shawl.

“So did Fred over here! You two ought to know each other then” Poor Kingsley wasn’t aware of how dense the situation was for you and Fred, so you decided to clear your throat and make a move, unable to stand the silence that followed.

“I remember him, Mr Shacklebolt… we’ve met” You smile at the minister, struggling to keep up your confident facade as Kingsley awed with surprise.

“How wonderful! Then you should need no introduction, Fred, why don’t you get Miss (S/N) another drink?” The minister gestured his friend to get up, but all you wanted to do was run away and hide after he finished his excruciating sentence. You looked down at your feet, unsure where eyes should go as Fred stood to his feet and dusted himself off.

“Excuse me” You breathe out, turning on your heel and aiming to get to the other side of the tent. But a hand grabbed your wrist, one you could never mistake. The warmth of Fred’s hand entirely encased your much smaller wrist, holding onto it as if he was scared to watch you leave.

A wordless interaction flourished between the two of you, the gentleman surrounding the table returned to whatever conversation they had before you arrived, which was ideal since none of them were paying any attention to you or Fred.

He eventually let go of your wrist, eyes swarming with an unfamiliar feeling as he gazed down at you. He felt it in his chest, the sticky feeling of heartache inching its way to his core. He wondered if you felt the same, if you were as star struck as he was in this current moment.

Fred didn’t seem to picture the same (Y/N) as he did when he last saw you, you changed so much. Your hair was shorter, you looked so mature and wise, even your new style blew him away. Your voice held a much more composed manner than it did 6 years ago, but it still sounded just as angelic.

Your eyes welled with tears shortly after he let go of your wrist, a flurry of emotions suddenly coming over you. Fred noticed the glassy gleam in your eyes and his heart felt like it had cracked, but he was frozen in place when you turned and bolted out of the tent. His mother, who was nearby, walked up to him and grabbed his hand.

“Go after her” She stated gently, giving him a small shove of encourage. Her son nodded, giving his mum a pat on the shoulder before jogging out of the canapé to find you. By the time he left the tent, you were nowhere in sight. Fred’s first instinct was to panic, to shout your name desperately until you hopefully appeared. But he knew it wouldn’t work that way, not like it used to. He took a minute to completely scan the area, a few guests were scattered about for a smoke or fresh air which made it harder to locate you. But just when he was about to lose all hope, he caught a glimpse of navy silk in the distance. You were sitting on the Burrow’s doorstep with your legs pressed against your chest.

Fred looked at you for a short moment, feeling a sob bubble up in his chest as he remembered all the memories from before. They came crashing in so suddenly, he felt woozy and overstimulated as his mind swirled with nothing but you.

He snapped out of his painful haze and started walking towards the burrow, his heart in his hands. He noticed you were crying, running your fingers through your hair as you tried to catch your breath on the cold doorstep of his childhood home. Fred didn’t live at the burrow anymore since you left, he couldn’t bear the sight of his own bedroom because so many things reminded him of you.

Fred wordlessly sat down beside you on the porch, keeping a small distance between you in case you still needed space. You continued to look at your feet as the cold breeze rushed through you, your knitted shawl failing to keep you warm. Fred noticed you shiver, but he had a clue as to how you might react if he gave you his coat.

“I never thought I’d see your face again” Fred sighed, plucking blades of grass from the ground. You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, holding your shoulders as you turned your head to look at him.

“Likewise,” You sigh shakily.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming back?” He asked, sounding almost hurt as he turned his gaze to meet your own. At first you didn’t answer, studying his face for the first time in years and trailing the shape of his nose, lips and jaw with your eyes.

“It’s not as easy as that, not after everything” Your reason was valid, but Fred still found it hard to process you were right here, right in front of him. He used to imagine this moment over and over in his head, if the day would ever come, sometimes he would dream of if, but he would wake up in a flurry of panic once it was over, realising you were just a vision.

A silence dispersed between you, keeping to your own personal bubbles as you both looked up at the sky littered with bright stars. A tear fell from the corner of your eye, skimming your cheek and dripping off the edge of your jaw. You sniffled quietly, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry if you saw him, but they were just empty words to yourself. How could you not cry?

“I’m sorry, I can’t just sit in silence and pretend everything’s okay” Fred sighed, looking down and changing his position on the doorstep so he was facing you. You dipped your head into your knees, running your hands through your hair before sucking in a sharp breath and turning to face him as well.

“I thought of not coming tonight, just so I didn’t see you” You bit the tip of your tongue, wiping your eyes once more with your knuckles as Fred frowned at your words.

“Why did you come then?” He inquired with a hint of distaste in his mouth.

“Why do you think, dimwit? I’m here for Ron and Hermione” You glared, scoffing silently to yourself as you picked daisies from the ground.

“They didn’t even tell me you were coming” Fred said it more to himself rather than you, feeling betrayed as he thought of his brother and his wife missing out that tiny little detail.

“They didn’t need to tell you, it’s their wedding” You reasoned softly, still bitter as you brought one of the daisies up to your face, examining the pink tip petals as you felt Fred’s eyes on you once again.

“I know, but- fuck, forget it” Fred grumbled, standing up suddenly which made you look away from the daisy, letting your arms fall to your lap.

“I just don’t see why it’s that important-“

“Oh don’t give me that shit, (Y/N)! You know exactly why it’s important!” Fred yelled, startling you into silence as you ripped your eyes away from him and looked down at your lap, your lip quivering at the scolding tone Fred adorned. There’d only been a couple of times he had raised his voice like that in the past, but it shouldn’t have effected you as much as it did.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment, I dreamed of seeing you again, over and over until my nights became restless,” His voice stumbled over, a tremor bubbling up in his throat as he tried swallowing it down.

“Until this moment I still thought of you, before the wedding, before you came back, I still saw your face in my mind. If someone told me you were coming, I would’ve been prepared to see you again and I wouldn’t be telling you all of this” Fred cried, tears spilling down his cheeks as he wiped them off with the cuff of his DJ. His words tore your heart into pieces, at first you weren’t sure how you’d even reply to what he said.

Fred’s words stung deep but you empathised with him, you knew what the feeling was like. You spent many a night lying awake wishing he was there, holding your hand and peppering kisses over your face like he usually did. You cried to your friends in New York, expressing your sadness until all of it left your system. But even that wasn’t enough and you’d go home every night to the loneliness of your bedroom, your body lacking any spark.

“You don’t think I’ve stayed up wishing you were there? Thousands of days and nights, I’ve yearned for you,” You spluttered, standing up as well so you were closer to eye level with him. You stumbled back slightly, realising how much taller he was than you. Merlin, had he grown since you last saw him?

“I wish I could’ve told you I was back, but- it’s just not that simple” You sniffled, dragging your knitted shawl closer to your shivering body as Fred stared down at you with teary eyes.

“Why isn’t it simple?” Fred asked gently, still a hint of hurt through his rugged voice. You looked up at him, taking a moment to reply as you gazed deep into his soft brown eyes and resisted the urge to cup his jaw.

“I always thought we left on bad terms, we didn’t leave on the worst, but I knew this moment would hurt. That’s why I wanted to avoid it, to save both of us the pain” Your reasoning made Fred scoff, turning his back on you as he put his hands on his hips and stared blankly at the meadow surrounding the Burrow.

“Well you’ve failed,” The red head tried to stay stubborn but his voice gave away his true feelings, wobbling as each syllable passed his chapped lips.

“Merlin’s beard, I can’t think straight” Fred sobbed, hiding his face in his hands. A large tear left your eye as you watched his shoulders tremble, hearing his pained cries as he tried desperately to keep himself together.

You couldn’t take anymore of this torment, took a step forward, and wrapped your arms around him.

Fred’s back was facing you as you slipped your arms around his waist and held him close, your cheek pressing against one of his shoulder blades. He let out a shaky sigh and held onto your hands which were linked against his stomach, leaning into your touch.

“I don’t want to fight” You whimpered, pressing your forehead against his jacket as Fred took one of your hands and kissed the back of it, intertwining your fingers with his. Your head spun at the gesture of familiar yet distant affection, your skin igniting where he kissed you.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” Fred asked, his voice still broken but calmer than before. You smiled and noticed your tears stained his DJ, but you didn’t have the energy to care.

“Of course” You whispered, leaning back as he turned around and wrapped his arms around you. You still held onto his torso, head cradled against his chest as he held you, as if you were going to leave again.

Silence dawned over you both, but it was comfortable, cosy. He leaned his chin on your head, closing his eyes and appreciating the weight of your body in his arms once more.

A voice called in the distance, the both of you looking back to the tent and noticing Molly and George who appeared to be searching for you both.

“So much for peace and quiet” Fred groaned, his voice still jagged from crying. You smiled, pulling away from him carefully as you ran your hands down his arms until you held onto his hands. Fred sniffed, his lips quivering as he pulled himself together and turned towards his mother and brother.

“What do you think they’ll say?” Fred whispered. You laughed.

“I think they might react well, you know your mum always fancied us together” You didn’t really think before you spoke, just as you were about to feel bad about it, Fred smiled fondly.

“Maybe you’re right” He waved to his mum, offering you his arm after letting go of your hands.

Molly pressed her hand against her mouth as she witnessed you and Fred cosied up together, your arms linked and your head leaning on his shoulder. George seemed just as choked, looking at his mum with awe as the two of them watched you and Fred walk over with red and puffy eyes, but smiles on your faces.

“I’m guessing you two have finally talked things out” Molly put her hands on her hips, a teasing smile on her kind features. Fred spoke first.

“I’d say so” He smiled down at you warmly, noticing the tired look in your swollen eyes. The twins gave each other a knowing look, George raised his brows and gestured to you silently with a question in his face. Fred didn’t answer back, and simply walked you inside the tent to save you both from any further questioning.

“Want to dance?” Fred asked, looking at the dance floor where many other couples, fathers and daughters, and children danced. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, but you thought it was maybe for the best for now.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to” Fred second guessed himself, a typical habit you weren’t surprised he still had.

“I’d like that” You nodded, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly as you lead him to the dance floor. He grinned like a fool, not hiding his happy glow as you got into position on the dance floor. You didn’t really know how to dance, you never did. You two used to sway from side to side in his kitchen as teenagers, your hands behind his neck and his on your waist. So you decided to go with that for easiness, not caring about the sudden intimacy.

Fred noticed the familiarity of the position as your hands slid up his shoulders and around his neck. His hands shook as they slid around your hips, immediately feeling like he was 20 years old again, dancing with you at Fleur and Bill’s wedding.

The fact that was 6 years ago made him wince, but he masked up the void of lost time with the moment he was having with you now. Every memory came into view to the both of you, visions of your past in Hogwarts as Fred started swaying you from side to side. You remember running through the endless halls with him after being caught out by Umbridge, you remember dancing with him like this at the Yule Ball, you even remembered the first time you realised you loved him. Fred noticed the look in your eyes and smiled, his eyes tracing the shape of your face.

“Would it be rude to tell you you look absolutely beautiful?” Fred whispered, aware that many eyes were on you. You let out a lighthearted chuckle and shook your head, your fingers running through the red hair at the back of his neck. Fred shivered at the feeling and instinctively pulled you closer.

The music was slow and other couples joined on the dance floor, including Molly and Arthur who smiled hopefully at you and their son. Hermione and Ron danced beside you, both giving you a certain look of amusement as you rolled your eyes.

“This music’s really boring” Fred mumbled close to your ear, causing you to snicker as you looked back at him.

“Want to do something more fun?” He raised a brow curiously.

“Anything more fun than this? I’m in” You giggle, letting him lead you off the dance floor and across the canapé.

In your mind you were certain this would eventually lead to something more complex, at this point it was inevitable. But for now, you allowed yourself this peace, like the calm before the storm.

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#x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader

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suckerforcate · 3 months

Text

Lover to Lover

Chapter 2: Resolutions

Pairing: Liandrin Sedai x Reader, Alanna Sedai x Reader (platonic)

Word Count: about 2700

Warning: mention of character death, nsfw, jealousy sex, fingering

Summary: After you've gone through the Arches and slept a bit, you go and talk to Liandrin, though she doesn't seem to care very much.

A/n: Second and last Chapter!! Hope you love it, I'd be happy about a repost or a comment, love you guys <3

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It was dawn when you awoke again. Looking around you, you weren't sure where exactly you were for a moment. But when you saw Alanna, recent events came back into your mind. You were an Accepted now. And your father was dead. The two things made you feel miserable and proud at the same time, and you were not sure how to handle the conflicting emotions.

Alanna approached you and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her bed, you realised. She had given up her bed for you, and you immediately felt bad about it.

"I've got fresh clothes for you, and your new room is available. Your things have already been brought there." She handed you the clothes, embroidered with the colours of the Ajahs at the sleeves. She stood up and turned away, an indication for you to get changed. So you did, a little distracted by the ring on your finger for a moment. You had never been one for jewellery, your hand felt unusually heavy. After you were clothed you let your fingers run over the stitched colours on your wrists. It felt surreal. It felt like a dream, like you were still inside the Arch and any second now something horrible would happen. But it didn't.

Alanna showed you to your new room and left you alone. You felt lost, the room was at least three times as big as your old one. There were barely enough things in your possession to fill the room. It looked just like any other room, not like your room.

Your possessions had been little when you had come to the Tower and as a novice you weren't allowed to leave the tower without an allowance. Alanna had been generous, often allowing you to accompany her to Tar Valon. You had seen most of the city, but had little money to buy things.

One thing had a special place on your night stand. A small wooden figurine that you had liked on the market. You hadn't had any money to buy it, but apparently Liandrin had observed you and bought it for you, because one day later she had brought it to your room. You cherished it like the apple of your eye, even though you were aware that at that time she had still tried to get you on her side. It had been in your early days in the tower and you and Liandrin hadn't yet known each other very well. So it had been more manipulation than kindness.

As you looked at the little figurine, you remembered the third Arch and the feeling of Liandrin in your arms, dying. You shot up from the bed and practically ran out of your room. On your way to her room, you slowed a little and pulled yourself together again.

Gently you knocked on her door, but no one opened. You knocked once more, nothing. Slowly you opened the door and took a step inside. Your eyes scanned the room but didn't see her. Just as you wanted to turn around and leave, you saw her. She was on the little balcony that her room had. Not many rooms in the tower had a balcony, but of course the Liandrin Sedai had a room with a balcony.

Quietly you closed the door behind you and walked onto the balcony. You stopped and just stared at her back for a moment, relief washed over you. Of course, you had theoretically known that she was still alive, but her death had felt so real. It was hard to ignore that. Would she have been someone else, you would have fallen around her neck and held her tightly. But she was Liandrin, so you didn't so that and simply stepped closer.

Just as she did, you leaned on the railing next to her and stared ahead. Her eyes didn't even flicker over to you, but you could see she was a little surprised.

"What are you doing here?" She snapped and you looked at her. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, her posture was perfect as always and conveyed confidence. You didn't say anything and simply held your hand up, the one with the ring on it. Now her eyes flickered down to your hand, and you thought you had seen a spark of pride in them. But it was gone as fast as it had appeared.

"I hope Alanna is proud of her little pet. She'll definitely be happy to have gained an Accepted to teach." Her words were filled with venom, and she spit them out like they could poison her as well. You pulled your hand back and looked at her appalled.

"Really? That's all you have to say?" You ask in disbelief and scoff. That woman had nerves, truly. She didn't answer.

"I came here to ask you if you'd like to teach me, now that I'm an Accepted. And all you can muster is jealousy, not even any sort of praise or kind word?" Her eyes widened a little, but she pulled herself together very quickly. She shifted and turned her body in your direction, now just supporting herself on the railing with one hand.

"Why would you want me to teach you? You clearly didn't want that before." She held her chin high, proudly. She nearly looked a little arrogant. Who were you joking, she usually did.

"Because you weren't allowed, Liandrin. I wasn't going to risk your position." You said confused.

What did she think your reasons were? Did she really think you hadn't wanted her as a mentor? She could be so daft. She looked a little surprised, never really having thought about this possibility.

"You are such an idiot. I always wanted you to teach me, and now you're allowed to. So will you?" You ask, nearly doubting if she'll say yes. Before you had talked to her, you had been sure she would say yes. You looked at her, waiting for an answer. She silently nodded and turned away.

"Yes, I'll teach you."

"Alright. Now, will you finally ask?" You kept your eyes on her, even as she had turned away. You sounded almost a little annoyed, no one would ever dare to talk to Liandrin like that. But you were close enough, at least you liked to think that. And she always let you.

"Ask what?" You scoffed at her. Was this a bad joke? She slowly turned her head to look at you again. She wasn't joking, you could see that. She was dead serious.

"You do know what I just did to become an Accepted, don't you? That I went through the Arches?" You raised your voice, getting angry. Why was she acting so icy? She usually didn't act like this with you. Not anymore at least.

"And? Did you see Alanna being disappointed in you? Whatever else could you be scared of? You're a picture prefect student, with a picture prefect life." You stepped back a little, mouth open. No words escaped you, as you just didn't find any fitting once. Why on earth couldn't she get over Alanna?

"I really don't get why you're acting like this Liandrin, but for your information. I saw my sister being raped and dying, just as I did when I was nine years old. I saw my father being buried, so I know that I'll never see him again. And I saw you dying in my arms, because I wasn't able to heal you." You felt tears rise in you, and you wanted to turn away and leave but Liandrin caught your arm. You violently tried to shake her off, but her grip was too tight.

"What did you just say?" She asked, dumbfounded.

"You heard me. And I actually came her to see that you're well, and alive. To reassure myself and maybe get a hug. I'm not sure how I could have been so stupid as to think you'd hug me. To think you'd ever feel the same for me. But all you've got for me is jealousy and venom. Is it so bad that you didn't get to teach me, that you didn't get to infiltrate me and manipulate me into being a red?" You spit the words out, voice raised even though it broke a little as your throat tightened from the tears. She stared at you, utterly confused. For the first time since you had known her, she wasn't in control of her facial expression.

Suddenly she swiftly pulled you closer and let go of your arm. But before you could turn away again she harshly grabbed your face and crashed her lips onto yours. It was an angry kiss and caught you completely off guard. A slight gasp escaped you, and you stumbled a little backwards, supporting yourself on the railing behind you. For a moment you thought you'd simply fall over it and down into your death, but Liandrin wrapped her arm around you and held you close. Every single thought simply left your mind, it was completely filled with Liandrin. With the way her lips felt on yours, the way her arm was wrapped around you.

Though the kiss was harsh, it was filled with passion. Liandrin's mouth opened and, like you were being controlled by her, yours immediately did the same. You felt yourself getting lost in the kiss, her tongue running over your lip and her arm steadily holding you close. As you both ran out of breath, the kiss was broken.

Breathing heavily you stared at her, utterly outraged. She still held you close, so your face was mere inches apart from hers. A condition that made it very hard to think straight. Literally.

"What in lights name was that, Liandrin?" You asked her and freed yourself from her grip. She let go, and you immediately stepped back, needing some space to get your mind back to work. She looked confused and opened her mouth to speak. Then she closed it again. Liandrin Sedai was speechless, rarely had you seen that. She found her voice again and spoke, softer than before.

"Did you not like it?" She carefully asked, completely missing the point of your question. If on purpose or not, you weren't sure. You rolled your eyes and chuckled.

"Yes, I liked it. But you-..." you searched for the right words and didn't miss the way the corners of her lips twitched upwards at your words. "... you seem to not care about me being an Accepted now, or what I saw in the Arches at all. And suddenly you kiss me, like there is no tomorrow." You throw your hands up, and tilt your head in question.

"Of course I care, don't be ridiculous." She huffed and looked away from you, eyes fixed on the horizon again. You nod mockingly.

"An interesting way of showing it, for sure. Not asking in the first place and then mocking me and Alanna. What actually is your problem with Alanna?" She desperately tried to avoid eye contact with you, nearly like she was embarrassed by something. And at that moment it suddenly all made sense.

"My god, you're jealous." Now she looked at you, eyes filled with rage again. She stepped closer to you, as if to threaten you.

"I am not jealous." She hissed the words out between gritted teeth, but you just chuckled.

"Oh, yes you are. You thought I had chosen Alanna over you. You foolish idiot. I tried to protect your position, and while I like Alanna, I don't like her how you think I do." Liandrin's body visibly relaxed, and her eyes softened a bit, the rage having dissolved.

"I think I might have to make you jealous more often, if you then kiss me like that." You chuckle a little, teasing her. You knew you were treading dangerous paths, but with Liandrin most paths were dangerous.

She was still incredibly close, so close you could feel her breath on your lips. And mere seconds later also her lips. Because she had been so close her lips had met yours so suddenly that to hadn't had any time to take notice of it until you were already kissing back. She took a few steps forward, which resulted in you having to step back until your back hit a wall. Her lips remained on yours the whole time.

She reached down to the brim of your dress and shoved it up, her hand running over your naked leg up to your naked thigh. She didn't waist any time, nor did she even try to be gentle. She didn't hurt you, she never would, but she certainly didn't care for romance right now. You felt a shiver run down your spine as her cold hands touched your skin. In mere seconds her fingers had found your centre and roughly pushed your underwear aside. Two fingers immediately slipped inside making you gasp out loud. Desperately wanting to hold on to something your hand found its way onto her waist where you dug your nails into her clothes.

"Next time, behave and don't make me jealous again." She spoke, quietly but commanding. The tone in her voice just aroused you more. You managed a grin between gasps.

"But the result is so wonderful." You pressed out, and immediately she thrust deeper into you harshly, locking eyes with you. She wanted to show you who was in control, wanted to keep the upper hand. You'd work that out with her, but for now you were quite pleased with it.

Every time she thrust into you the palm of her hand inevitably rubbed over your clit, making you moan desperately. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to climax, so you gently cupped her cheek and locked eyes with her. You wanted to see her beautiful eyes and wanted her to watch you, to see every little gasp and twitch that you produced. Her face was so close to yours, your noses nearly touched. She captured your bottom lip between her teeth and pulled your lips into another kiss. Your whole body shivered and as she buried her fingers deep inside you, hitting sensitive spots, you gasped into the kiss, mouth hanging open and your fingers dug themselves deeper into her clothes. You felt pleasure run through you and make you tense. She grinned, as she could feel you clench around her fingers.

That grin, that beautiful face was all you needed to come. Eyes locked with hers a loud moan rolled over your lips and your knees felt like they might give in and make you fall down. Liandrin thankfully held you up, so that you didn't. Your breaths came in short gasps and the grin didn't leave Liandrin's face, like it was glued on. You felt her slowly pull her fingers out and withdraw from under your skirt.

"Clean me, will you?" She held her fingers out to you, and you eagerly wrapped your lips around them. Holding eye contact with her, you let your tongue run over them until they were clean.

As you calmed your breathing down, the two of you remained just as close together. You let your eyes wander over her face, and suddenly you had the urge to pull her into a hug, as the pictures from the Arch found its way back into your mind. You tightly held onto her and hid your face in her hair. Hesitantly she reached around you and hugged you back.

"It looked so realistic, for a second I was convinced it was true." You whispered into her hair, so quietly she nearly hadn't heard it. Her hand slowly stroked your back. An unusually tender action for her.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was also unusually soft.

"In the Arch. You died, in my arms. And I could heal you, couldn't save you. And when I came out for a second I thought you were actually dead." Your throat tightened a bit, so you stopped talking before the tears could overwhelm you. Her embrace around you tightened a bit.

"No ghost made you gasp like that, little one." She spoke teasingly and yet there was an undeniable softness to her voice. She wanted to reassure you, comfort you. She just wasn't really sure how. Still, it made you chuckle, so it had worked.

"Good point."

#the wheel of time #wheel of time #liandrin guirale #liandrin guirale x reader #liandrin sedai #liandrin sedai x reader #alanna sedai #alanna mosvani

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