#*head in hands* I AM GOING TO BE THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT NOW THANKS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

distantdarlings · 21 hours ago

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LIKE HE BELONGED THERE // m. riddle

RATING: R / 6K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this and this* After being friends for a while, Mattheo decides to kick your relationship up a notch at the upcoming Halloween party.

+ WARNINGS - Fem!Reader, unprotected PIV, oral sex (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, soft dom!Mattheo, sub!reader, overstimulation, fingering (f!receiving), slight cum play, creampie, mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed, language, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

headache - asal

- - -

Your heels scraped the stone stairs as you bounded down them, excited to start the day.

Generally, you weren’t too happy about having to get up every morning and attend your classes, but today was a Friday. And not only was today a Friday, it was the last Friday before Halloween. And you were well acquainted with what that meant—the annual Hogwarts Halloween party was tonight.

It was easily one of your favorite nights of the school year. Between the costumes, the snuck-in Firewhisky, the snacks, and the dancing, you weren’t sure what the best part of it was. Either way, you always made sure you went all out.

You walked through the doors of the Great Hall, searching for your group of friends. They generally sat directly across from one of the large hearths placed throughout the room.

Above, Halloween decorations floated and dangled—creepy spiderwebs and jack-o-lanterns littered the magical skyline that cracked with faux lightning. Damn, you loved this school.

Excitement floated in your stomach.

You jogged over to your friends where they sat gathered closely around each other, munching on bits of breakfast and likely discussing their costumes for tonight.

All of their eyes came up to meet yours as you selected a seat next to Angelina Johnson and grabbed a muffin from the ornate bowl in the center of the table.

“Are you ready for tonight?” she asked, smiling widely.

“Am I? I’ve been fucking pumped all year!” you laughed. “I’m assuming you’ve all prepared your costumes for tonight?”

“If you can even call them costumes,” Ginny Weasley chuckled quietly.

“Oh, shut up!” Lavender Brown scoffed, shoving her shoulder. “Just because you’re as modest as a damn nun, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”

“I don’t think your costume is simply immodest, Lavender,” Angelina joked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. You turned to look at the girl.

“Wait—what’s it look like? I haven’t seen it yet,” you cocked your head. Lavender tended to have a bit of a penchant for flashy Halloween costumes, but you couldn’t remember a time in years past when the other girls were this interested in what it was.

Lavender produced a cutout picture.

“It’s just a rabbit costume…,” she shrugged, scoffing as if it was inconceivable that she’d be made fun of for her outfit. An outfit that was…definitely immodest.

The photo seemed to come from a wizarding catalog for lingerie, where the model depicted had simple bunny makeup and a pair of fuzzy ears strapped to a headband atop her curly hair. She wore what looked like a fuzzy bra and panty set with a fluffy cotton tail. The woman danced seductively in the moving picture.

“Lav, I think this is lingerie,” you said.

Angelina and Ginny burst out laughing as Lavender cried out. She snatched the photo back away from you, folded it, and shoved it in her robe pocket. Pouting, she placed her hand on her fist and looked away.

“I’m sorry, but I think you may have outdone yourself this year,” you laughed, tears welling in your eyes.

“Oh, fuck off!” she growled. “What are you all going to wear?”

“I’m just wearing my Quidditch jersey,” Ginny shrugged.

“Ugh, boring! You did that last year.” Angelina rolled her eyes. Ginny didn’t seem to care. “Anyways, I’m going as a pirate. I’ve got like an eyepatch and stuff—ooh! I’ve also got a sword.”

Everyone nodded, agreeing that she may have the best costume this year—as she did every year.

“What about you?” Ginny nodded toward you, absentmindedly picking at the food left on her plate.

“I’m being a cat this year. I went the sort of ‘slutty’ route like Lavender.”

The girl mentioned groaned and set her head down on the table. You should stop teasing her but it was just too easy. Besides, she knew you loved her.

While the conversation and picking across nibbles of breakfast continued, you eventually heard a few sharp steps behind you on the rough stone floor.

Just as you were about to turn to catch a glimpse of who it may be, a warm hand tugged on your right earlobe. You gasped and turned to see who belonged to the fingers curled against your skin.

Mattheo turned and sat just beside you, back against the table and arm resting comfortably on the table in front of you. You faked an annoyed groan and rolled your eyes.

“Ugh, look who it is!” you sighed sarcastically.

Ginny and Angelina seemed to sneer and look away before continuing their conversation privately, while Lavender seemed to swoon just a bit over the dark boy next to you.

“I was wondering when I was going to run into you,” he spoke, smirking as he caught the reactions of your friends to him in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, yeah? You think about me that much?” you teased, turning your body more toward him.

“You could say that,” he snorted. “I was wondering what your plans were for this evening?”

“Well, I planned to head down to Hogsmeade to catch a Butterbeer after classes and grab a few more things for my costume. Want to come?”

“Will your friends be coming?” he asked, nodding his jaw toward the girls behind you.

“Yes, we will! We all will! So, it’ll be kind of crowded. You might want to sit this one out,” Angelina interrupted, nodding enthusiastically. You rolled your eyes at her, shoving an elbow back against her ribs.

“Right, I think I will,” he laughed. “Your friends aren’t exactly my choice of company.”

Angelina stuck her tongue out at the boy who rolled his eyes in response.

“We’ll see you tonight, alright?” Ginny said. You nodded as she and Angelina stood and headed out the door. Lavender slid farther down the bench and set her chin in her hands.

“I don’t mind if you come, Mattheo,” she said sweetly, ogling him like a prize.

Mattheo stood and leaned over the table a bit, looking over her. “I appreciate it, baby. But, I think I’ll skip.” He brushed a gentle finger against her chin before heading out the door.

Lavender sat there gobsmacked, watching you like she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Mattheo was a natural flirt—you’d seen it a thousand times over. You weren’t shocked.

“I think he’s in love with me,” she gasped.

“Whatever,” you laughed, before getting up as well to head to your first period.

***

By the time your classes were over, you were practically bouncing out of your seat with energy. You couldn’t wait to stuff your face with all of the autumnal foods and dance until you felt sick.

You knew by the time the next morning hit, you’d be regretting your choices from the night before, just as you always did. But you never cared, because it was so damn fun.

Now, rushing to catch up with your friends who were already halfway down the cobbled path to Hogsmeade, you could feel the excitement bubbling up through your throat.

“Guys! You ready?” you shouted, waving above your head.

“Hell yeah!” Angelina stopped and hollered back.

Ginny whooped loudly and Lavender jumped into the air. You hadn’t seen them this pumped since last year when Gryffindor won the House Cup.

You caught up with them by slamming against Angelina with the force of the downhill stairs, giggling wildly.

The four of you made your way down the rest of the path, fingertips scraping along flaming lilies that grew along the stone, and skirts hovering gently in the soft breeze.

The feeling of autumn was finally beginning to set in around the campus—smokey air, white skies, crunchy leaves fluttering about. It was one of your favorite times of year—the castle always stood out like a painting. You glanced back at it, appreciating its beauty against the fading skyline.

“It’s getting darker sooner,” Lavender noted, stopping just before the door to the Three Broomsticks. Ginny pranced forward and grabbed ahold of the large metal handle, pulling the heavy oak open steadily. She held it as everyone headed in, shivering slightly at the change in temperature.

“Practice will likely be moved up soon, just because of the light,” Angelina said, more to Ginny than you or Lavender. You hadn’t picked up a broom since Flying class and Lavender wouldn’t be caught in the athletic changing rooms.

The two of them were both hell of a player, each with their own set of skills and unique style. Angelina was the captain and you imagined Ginny was next in her footsteps.

You took a table near the back and ordered two rounds of Butterbeer until the grandfather clock in the corner chimed five times.

At that point, you dropped a few coins on the table and followed the other girls out the door.

You stopped on the way back to the castle at a little convenience store stuck to the side of a little wand repair shop. The woman who worked the counter there—not much older than you were—always looked like she absolutely hated her life, so you attempted to crack a few jokes any time you entered the store. Every once and a while, she’d break a slight smile and today was one of those days. To you, that was proof that tonight was going to be an amazing party.

You grabbed a few bits of makeup and Lavender grabbed many bits of makeup and a few things for her hair, while Ginny and Angelina selected “snacks” to pregame the party with. If you were any dumber, you wouldn’t have known that the chips and gummies they selected were infused with a few special herbs designed to make the light a little less harsh. You rolled your eyes at them.

After you’d checked out and made it back to the castle, Ginny and Angelina had already dug into their special treats while you and Lavender had settled onto her bed and began dressing up.

You had managed a cute makeup look with a winged eyeliner, drawn-on whiskers and cat nose, and dark lipstick. All together, you hadn’t done too badly even with minimal help from Lavender.

Of course, when you’d glanced over at her, she’d almost completely finished her look—an extremely detailed, but sexy rendition of a bunny—by the time you’d only finished the eyeliner. She was a pro.

After that, she’d helped you pull your hair into a curled updo and fasten the little cat ears to the top of your head.

You’d pulled a long-sleeved black v-neck on and a skimpy black skirt you’d borrowed from a Slytherin friend. All things considered, you thought you looked pretty damn good.

“Wow, you look hot!” Angelina said. Her eyes had already started to lid over. Ginny smiled lazily, tossing her hand in the air and throwing a thumbs-up at you.

“Thanks!” you giggled. Though it was a simple outfit, you felt sexy. There was proof that pulling a shirt collar down over your breasts and wearing a short skirt with fishnets underneath could put you on top of the world. At least, for you.

Lavender walked around the corner and struck a pose. She looked…exactly like the model did.

“Lav, you look amazing, but you’ll be lucky if a professor doesn’t send you back to the dorm!” you laughed. Ginny and Angelina snorted at your words, guffawing obnoxiously.

“Well, then I guess we’ll see if I get lucky,” she said, smirking. “Or we’ll see if I get lucky another way.”

“Oh, brother,” Ginny groaned, rubbing her reddened eyes.

In the meantime, she had managed to slip her Quidditch jersey and a pair of jeans on. She looked really well for such a simple costume. Somehow, despite her wobbly legs, Angelina had managed to wrap a cushioned skirt around her waist—deep red in color and fastened with a thick brown belt that held a fake sword—and pull a billowy white shirt over her head. She slipped a leather corset around her torso, put an eyepatch on, and tied a striped bandana around her braided hair.

“Angie, your tits look amazing!” Ginny laughed. Murmurs of agreement passed around the room at the beautiful woman who bowed a few times.

“Well, are we heading down or not?” you smiled, throwing an arm around Lavender’s glittered shoulder. The other two girls nodded and followed you out of the dormitory.

The Halloween party was being held in the Slytherin common room this year. The location of the event tended to shift around the castle, but it had been held there a couple of years ago also. And, if you remember correctly, it had been your favorite venue so far.

You could remember the lights and the music and the reflection of the Black Lake outside the windows. That party was the one you’d really talked to Mattheo for the first time.

You’d chatted over pumpkin juice and bumped shoulders along the dance floor, connecting in ways you never thought a Slytherin and Gryffindor could. He’d made you smile and laugh so hard, the snacks settled in your hands had been abandoned so you could walk around the lake with him.

It was easily one of your favorite memories of the school. Oftentimes, it tended to float back into your head whilst you were sad or daydreaming about swimming in the lake.

As you slipped into the dungeon entrance, you were immediately taken aback by the aura of hundreds of treats, flashing lights, and loud music. Beside you, Lavender giggled giddily and shook your arm. Ginny and Angelina chatted back and forth, their voices slowly being more and more drowned out by the music.

To say that you’d been waiting for this party since last year’s was an understatement. Every year, the students who threw this together outdid themselves even further than they had the year before. And it had gotten so big that the professors had just stopped trying to shut it down and, instead, stationed a few of their own about the halls, just to ensure nothing particularly criminal was happening.

On your way to the party, you’d already glimpsed Hagrid’s towering body attempting to hide behind one of the gigantic stone torches lining the walls.

You’d thrown a wave at him and giggled as he pretended not to see you, as he was meant to be spying rather than clearly supervising.

Before you even had a chance to grab a drink from one of the tables set up, Mattheo Riddle swooped in beside you and threw an arm around you.

“My, mama, you are looking ravishing tonight,” he smirked, eyeing you up and down like a treat.

You giggled in response and placed a playful slap on his arm. “Whatever. What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a vampire, can’t you tell?” he asked, holding his arms up to display his outfit.

All he wore was a black dress shirt, only partially buttoned, with matching slacks, and a bit of fake blood scattered across his lips. To be honest, you couldn’t really tell.

“I mean…it’s definitely a Halloween costume. I’m just not sure it screams ‘vampire,’” you responded. “It needs some fangs or a cape or something.”

“My natural ones not enough?” he teased, pressing a tongue against his sharp canines. You rolled your eyes, though a bit of an inappropriate thought rolled through your head at the small gesture. You shook it off, ashamed a thought like that would even pop up for someone like one of your best friends.

They’d happened before, but you weren’t one to listen to or act on intrusive thoughts.

You rolled your eyes and pulled away from him. “Well, what do you think of mine? I’m a cat!”

“I figured, baby,” he said. He glanced down your body once more, not even slightly attempting to conceal his gaze.

Without taking his eyes from you, he reached behind him and selected a cup waiting on the table. He leaned in to hand it to you, pressing his lips near your ear. He placed the drink in your fingers.

His voice was rough against the backdrop of the pounding music. “Wanna dance?”

“You think you can handle all this?” you giggled.

“What, you think I don’t know my way around a little pussy?” he asked, glaring down at you. Your eyes widened as your breath caught in your throat.

“Mattheo, you—” you gasped, nearly sending your cup toppling to the floor.

“I’m picking on you,” he laughed. He slid his hand around your waist and pulled you tightly against his body. The thin material of your skirt and tights was hardly enough to ward off the feeling of his hips against you. A shock of pleasure radiated through your body, eliciting chills down your arms.

Confidently, he gripped the red solo cup by the rim and quickly swallowed the contents in one go. The colored lights flickering overhead illuminated the swell of his throat as it pulsed with each swallow.

You weren’t sure why but that kept the fire in your stomach kindled.

Once done, he crumpled the cup in his hand and tossed it back toward the table. All the while, his hand never left your waist.

“Let’s dance, baby,” he whispered into your ear, liquid confidence already firing up in his mouth.

You repeated his actions, lifting your cup to your lips, swallowing as quickly as you could, and feeling the sudden buzz within your head. It was a small one, but definitely enough to push a little bit of urgency into your actions.

You grabbed onto his hand and tugged him deeper into the dance floor. As you moved past each swaying, grinding figure on the floor, you could feel your audacity building with each step.

With every press of your hand into his, you could feel sparks glowing from within your stomach. The feeling of his skin on yours—no matter how minute—had an effect on you. It always had.

You stopped once in the center and turned towards Mattheo. With a gentle smirk on your face, you pulled your hands above your head and began to sway slowly.

Your hips curved downwards and then back up. The lights flickered over your body, putting every seductive detail on display for the ravenous boy before you. You hoped that this would be enough to get the attention you’d been desperate for months.

The thoughts of lust that had entwined themselves around your brain had finally tightened themselves to their fullest. All you could think was Mattheo. All you could see was Mattheo. All you could hear, feel… Mattheo, Mattheo, Mattheo…

At the sight of your swaying body before him, Mattheo had no control over his desire. He’d held himself back for years, not wanting to scare you off. Wanting to get closer to you and treat you right. Wanting to do whatever he needed to do to get a taste of you.

His hand snaked back around your waist. He turned you into him, pressing your back against his chest. He moved his hips along you, grinding lazily against your ass.

Shock and pleasure coiled against the wall of your stomach, while the strong alcohol you’d down only moments ago began to dim the lights a bit.

If there was one thing Ravenclaw was good for, it was whipping up the strongest Firewhisky you’d ever tasted. One shot usually did you in.

His lips caressed over your ear, whispering sweet nothings. Over the music, it was hard to make out everything he said, but wisps of your hips, of your ass, of your legs echoed in your mind.

Chills flowed down the length of your exposed arms as he traced a finger down them. His hand interlocked with yours overtop the back, palm pressed against your knuckles.

He pulled your hand upwards and hooked it around the back of his neck. Instinctually, your fingers curled in the dark strands of hair down the back of his neck.

Your fingernails scraped against his scalp. He echoed your actions with a quiet groan, punctuating them with a chaste kiss against the connection of your jaw and neck. You sighed, clutching your fingers even tighter.

Your ass rolled against his front, urging a hardened point up from between his legs. You smirked at the effect you were having on him.

Suddenly, he spun you around, seemingly angry that you were affecting him so strongly. He pulled your chest into his and locked his hands onto your ass. The tips of his fingers hooked under the line of your fishnets right where your skimpy shorts ended. His strong hands pulled you as close to him as you would go, your hands tucked into between the two of you.

You gasped as your breasts pressed tightly against him, pushing your cleavage up to be even more exposed.

“Told ya I knew my way around some pussy,” he growled in your ear. You shuddered against him.

You forced forward some more confidence and leaned against his cheek. “I don’t know if I believe you. As far as I can tell, you haven’t handled anything. Your hands have stayed front and center.”

“Yeah? You want my hands, mama?” The tips of his fingers trailed down your sides, drawing every bit of pent-up energy to the forefront. As he reached your waist, his fingers found your wrists and eased them above your head.

For a split second, he caught both of your wrists wrapped into his singular hand. With his free hand, he obtained a firm grip on your ass and moved his hips against yours to the beat of the music. You giggled, embarrassed at the blunt boy.

He released your arms and they landed around his neck. He smiled cockily, flashing sharpened fangs. You wondered what they’d feel like crushing against your neck.

A laugh bubbled up your throat and you leaned back against Mattheo’s supportive arms to release it.

Your neck was exposed to the open air, enlightening sparks of glitter, and that was the last straw for Mattheo. At the sight of your body splayed out before him, arched against his abdomen, and relying fully on his strength, he couldn’t control himself any longer.

Ignoring all pre-conceived boundaries in your relationship with him, he leaned forward against you and pressed hot lips against your collarbone.

You gasped aloud at the sensation, not expecting to feel his mouth on you. Whispers of freshly-shaven stubble caressed your flesh. His breath plumed against your neck as he mouthed kisses against you.

He slowly worked his way upward until he reached the base of your neck, then abandoned his lips in favor of his tongue, which he traced delicately up the line of your throat.

Your head tilted forward to match the speed with which he licked against your skin.

Once he reached your chin, you were back to making full eye contact. You hoped that you weren’t completely flushed and wide-eyed, but you knew that couldn’t be true. Even through your makeup, you were sure that shock and embarrassment were shining bright.

His eyes were lidded, a small smirk curving his lips. He looked fucking breathtaking.

You refused to let him take you by such surprise, though and opted to return the sexually-charged favor.

Interlinking your fingers behind his neck, you pulled his lips to yours.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t as shocked as you’d been hoping and melded his lips against yours without skipping a beat. Like he’d been waiting for it—anticipating the moment you’d finally drop all of your pride and force your tongue into his mouth.

His hands wrapped around you, settling one on your hip, one splayed against your back. Now that he had your lips right where he wanted them, there was no way he’d let you pull away. He’d been waiting for this for months.

Your hands wrapped around the throat of his collar and, without pulling your mouth from his, began to walk backward. He followed willingly, hands refusing to pull from you. He knew what you wanted—he knew you'd wanted it just as long as he had.

Mutual desire hadn't been an issue between the two of you up until about five minutes ago, but that didn't mean neither of you felt it. You'd both felt the longing for the other extensively.

But now instead of desperately fucking your hands in your respective dormitories, you were—hopefully—going to fuck each other's hands in… You pulled away from Mattheo and glanced behind you, nodding your head suggestively toward the staircase leading up to his dormitory…say, ten minutes?

Mattheo snickered at your expression and allowed you to lead him up the stairs. Your hand was entangled in his like it had never belonged anywhere but there.

Once the two of you were past the landing and down the hallway, you clutched his hand tighter for a brief second, to which he responded by echoing the motion.

It was a silent question of which dorm was his. You'd been in his room once before, but only for studying, and it had been a while. You couldn't remember which identical door belonged to him.

He walked ahead, taking the lead, but never dropping your hand.

A few more steps later he was stopping in front of a door, sticking the brass key into the lock, and tugging you in. Once the door was closed, you were only allowed a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room, before Mattheo shoved you backward onto the bed nearest the door.

The pressure of your back hitting the mattress released a squeal from your lips, but that was quickly muted by Mattheo’s lips which found yours again. In the dark of the room, it was hard to tell where exactly he was, but you could clearly feel the bed beneath you sinking in as he crawled over you.

His knee came to rest between your legs, forcing them apart, and nudging against your core. You moaned lightly against his mouth but he swallowed the small sound with each breath he took.

His tongue traced the inside of your mouth lovingly, urging your jaw open further, forcing you to let him in.

Your fingers raised to his chest and began working the few buttons that were fastened apart, revealing his smooth, browned chest. Once the shirt was pulled apart, you pushed the fabric down his shoulders and whined at the feeling of his hot skin beneath your fingers.

He finally pulled his lips from yours and began working his way down your jawline and neck. You sighed in pleasure, fingers curling into his dark hair. Your nails lightly scratched against his scalp as they did so, eliciting a whispered groan from him.

The sound struck a flame in your core. You'd always wondered if he'd be vocal in bed.

Once he reached the divide of your cleavage, he wasted no time grasping the neckline of your busty shirt and pulling down.

Your breasts are pulled free, and exposed to the open air. You were suddenly so grateful to your past self for opting to skip the bra tonight.

He groaned at the sight of you and immediately latched his lips to your right nipple. You gasped aloud at the sensation, chest arching toward his face.

His hands, now free from anything else, got to work pushing your skirt up toward your hips. Beneath, you'd only wore a pair of black panties and the fishnets you'd bought, and it seemed that Mattheo was a very big fan.

Once he'd pulled away from your chest and noticed your legs, he immediately dropped down and began mouthing at your core through your bottoms. You jumped at the sudden stimulation, your fingers clutching at his hair.

“Fuck, Mattheo!” you cried. His mouth was ceaseless, devouring you through your panties, wetting the material completely through. The way your essence intertwined with his saliva had you gasping.

And before you could take another breath, he slipped his finger beneath your bottoms and pulled them to the side. His tongue resumed its previous ministrations, only this time his mouth was pressed right against your folds.

You groaned aloud, your thighs clenching together around his head.

With a deep breath, you snuck a peek down at his face. His eyes were completely closed—peacefully like he was right where he belonged. His jaw worked professionally, devouring you like you were a slice of fruit, and your juices painted his chin as such.

Without warning, he slipped a long finger into you, pressing directly against your sweet spot. At that point, you were done for. The final move pushed you over the edge.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—!” You came ferociously, the waves of pleasure flowing through your body. Your hips snapped involuntarily against his mouth but he never stopped fucking you.

He worked you through the height of your orgasm, allowing you to come down from it gently and gradually.

When all of your muscles finally relaxed and a blissful smile began to spread across your face, you thought he was going to lie down beside you. But the recovery time didn’t last long as he flipped you on your stomach, the skirt still pushed up over your hips.

“Matty, baby,” you gasped, still out of breath from your last climax. “Wait.”

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered frantically. Behind you, you could hear his belt clinking and the fabric of his pants rustling as he pulled them apart. “But I need to feel you around me.”

You gasped against the duvet—emerald and soft—realizing that you had only a few moments before Mattheo Riddle was going to be fucking you into his mattress. Your fingers gripped the sheets in anticipation.

His fingers grabbed hold of your hips, strong and sturdy, keeping you in place. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

He massaged your skin, watching lovingly as your body moved beneath his stimulation. He’d been imagining what you looked like under all of your uniform for months—imagining the way your ass would bounce when he fucked you into the bed, and the way your tits would flow like the ocean when you rode him. He’d imagined everything.

His hot, exposed core then pressed against the backs of your thighs. You whined aloud, face pressed into the soft comforter.

He felt like fire against your skin. Chills ran down your arms as you realized the sheer size of him, trailing across both of your legs. Fuck.

“Take a deep breath in for me, sweetheart,” he said, clutching your hip tighter with one hand whilst holding himself with the other.

He lined himself up with your entrance, tracing the tip down through your folds. You moaned aloud at the sensation, preparing yourself to take every inch of him within you.

As he pushed himself into you, with little to no resistance from the climax you’d already been given, you cried out. He bottomed out—his hipbones pressed squarely against your ass.

He let out a soft groan. “Fuck, baby, you opened right up for me.”

His fingers massaged your hips as he seemed to adjust to your warmth, lips parted in a silent moan. In his reluctance to move within you, you turned and peered over your shoulder at him, relishing in his pleasure-woven expression.

His eyes peeked open to stare down at you. When his eyes met yours, he moaned aloud and immediately pulled himself out of you only to force back in.

As he pressed directly into that spot deep within your core, you gasped and fell back against the sheets, unable to keep yourself pushed up.

“Fuck, baby, don’t look at me like that,” he said, pounding into you. “Gonna make me fall in love, sweetheart.”

You giggled against the bed, muffled slightly by the pace he was setting. His words were almost as tantalizing as the way his body moved. At this point, though, you didn’t care if he wanted to fall in love or not, you just wanted his body and the way it was learning yours.

“What do you want, baby? Huh? What do you need?” he gasped, his breaths coming out in hard pants as he refused to let up.

“Mm—I need…,” your words trailed off, forced into the duvet. Your hand pulled away from the sheets it gripped onto, to slide between your legs.

When Mattheo realized where your fingers’ intended goal was, he snatched your wrist and pinned it to your spine. His pace quickened, his hips snapping into you like an incredible force. With his free hand, he released your waist and slid it down between your legs.

His dampened chest pressed against your back as he allowed his fingers to reach their full extent. When his fingers touched your core, it only took a few spirals of movement for you to come hard around him.

You screamed at the sensation, this orgasm twice as hard as the previous one. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as he pushed you through your climax, each thrust extending the feeling pulsing through your body.

Still, he never stopped the sensations every part of his body was giving to yours.

You tightened around him. He all but whined behind you, moaning louder with each gradually sloppier thrust.

“Where, baby?” he groaned. “Where do you want it?”

“I-Inside, please,” you begged, forcing him closer to you, refusing to let him pull away from you. “Please give it to me inside.”

He pushed and pushed until he was finally spilling with you, each warm pulsation echoing within you as deep as he was.

He worked himself through his own orgasm, not granting you any relief despite your weakness. As he came to a complete stop, you were barely able to hold yourself up. Your hips sank down pathetically as he pulled himself away from you, moaning softly as he watched his essence pour from your entrance.

“Fuck, mama, you look so good for me,” he whispered. His fingers traced along your core at the mixture of spends. You cried out at the pure oversensitivity you were experiencing.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he said, collecting the pooling of cum around you and slowly pushing his finger back into you.

“Fuck, Mattheo,” you whined, eyes clenching shut.

“I just wanna make sure you get all of it,” he whispered, leaning down to press a biting kiss to your ass cheek. You whimpered at the slight pain fluttering across your skin.

“As a matter of fact, baby, I think you're gonna give me one more… just so I can make sure you're gonna come back to me no matter what,” he said.

And before you realized what he meant and could protest, you felt his mouth press to your core once again, his tongue working dangerous symbols against you.

And before you could remember to return to the party, Mattheo actually gave you two more orgasms—one extra for ‘good measure,’ he'd said. And you had collapsed against the mattress one final time before drifting off into the heaviest, most dreamless sleep you'd had in a while.

Nothing, it seemed, had been done whilst you were asleep, except that he'd dressed you in a pair of his pajamas, placed you beneath the covers, drawn the curtains around his canopy bed, and slid himself right beneath you and the covers. Almost as if he'd always belonged there. It seemed as if he was finding quite a bit of those spaces lately.

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74 , @2dloveshp, @seagull-on-toast

#creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle smut #self insert #slytherin boys #slytherin x gryffindor #requested

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acoazlove · 23 hours ago

Text

A New Place | part five

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Summary: A couple of weeks after your conversation with Azriel, your mind won’t let you sleep. what happens when the person on your mind can’t sleep either

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff ? maybe?

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Eyes flutter open, blinking a few times to reorient yourself. Adjusting to the dark room. You turn your head towards the windows, dark. Still nighttime.

With a heavy sigh, you heave yourself out of bed. Waking up hasn’t been such a task since you were human. Living in that cabin—if you can call it that. Waking up back then was simpler.

But since you left your sisters and the rest of their family, you can’t bring yourself to care if you don't get out of bed ever again.

Pulling the covers off of you, sliding out of bed. Your feet meet the chilled floor while making your way blindly into the bathroom. Turning on a dim faelight.

Everything about your apartment is old, and worn down and you used to think it gave it character, made it unique. But as you look at the light you can’t help but wish it was the old cabin. Life was easier back then, no fae, no wars, no monsters, no evil kings or cauldrons, but most of all, you had your sisters. Of course you were all on the verge of starving or freezing to death. You don’t miss that.

Despite the fighting, you were all closer. Now everyone’s gone their separate ways and have their own families and partners. You don't have any of that. That thought breaks you from your reverie, turning to the mirror hanging above the sink. The edges are slightly rusted and the frame is a bit scratched.

Locking eyes with your reflection, you cringe. Dark shadows under your eyes, hair messy and frizzy as if you hadn’t brushed it in days, shoulders tense with undercurrents of your strained emotions. You look exactly how you feel. Tired.

Ignore it. A small voice in the back of your mind. You turn the tap and splash water on your face. There’s no going back to sleep so might as well do something.

Turning back and entering your bedroom, heading straight for your wardrobe. Putting on the first thing you grab. Staring in the mirror for a moment too long, you grimace once again at your reflection. How long had you looked a mess? Your friends would tell you if you didn’t look okay. Right?

With a heavy sigh, you exited your room. Passing the kitchen—you’re not feeling well, you’ll eat later, you tell yourself—and go straight to the front door, grabbing your coat as you glance at the clock on the wall by the door. 4:00 am, no wonder everything’s so quiet.

Without another thought, you slip out the door. You can’t be in that apartment for another moment. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you decide to clear your mind and go for a walk. Because walking down dark streets at 4:00 am is totally normal.

You miss the small shadow slipping under the door, following you. A second one going in the opposite direction, away from you.

─

Meandering down the streets of The City of Starlight, your thoughts wander despite trying to clear your head.

Wandering to a certain shadow-wielding Illyrian. Your conversation had been two weeks ago now. You wanted to talk to him again. or at least just see him.

You huff. Where had that thought come from? I mean he was kind enough to go for a walk with you and listen to you rant.

But he hadn’t exactly offered to be the company you’d seek out, but you’ve been lonely. You’re not sure if you’re ready to forgive your family just yet. You want to, but you won’t reach out first. They need to put in the effort for once.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly you should think—there are a few fae still wandering the streets. Maybe they were in your position too. Can’t sleep, and might just need to clear their mind, and get some night-chilled air

The Court of Dreams. It honestly doesn’t feel like it. You don’t feel like you’re dreaming. Nor had any of your own dreams had come true. It felt more like a nightmare.

Alone. All because your family forgot your birthday. You think bitterly. But then again, the more you think about it, you find more reasons that had been chipping away at your patience with them. It just happened to explode into a huge freakout on your birthday. The last straw.

They probably thought you were being overdramatic. You kick a small stone on the ground in front of you at that.

─

Tossing and turning, wings shifting uncomfortably, azriel grunts as he clenches his eyes shut. Trying to get some sleep for once, only for it to be just out of reach.

It’s like his mind was in overdrive—every thought shifting to another even more unwanted one—making him restless, which in time made his shadows restless. The main issue was that they weren’t telling him what was wrong. he doesn’t like that.

Finally, as his body relaxed and he was so close to falling asleep a new shadow joins the mix. Immediately slithering across his bed until it reached his ear. The information he received had him shooting up from where he had been lying down, and every last ounce of tiredness drained from his body.

She’s going for a walk. He glanced out his window. With how high the moon was in the sky he gathered that it was around four in the morning-

Why are you going for a walk at this time?

With a huff, knowing he won’t be able to sleep at all now, he pulls the blankets off him at the same time as sending a few more shadows to follow you, to make sure you’re okay and not in any danger of course.

Azriel hasn’t been able to get the conversation he had with you either. Well, it was more him listening as you spoke your mind, plus him apologising a few times and getting some of his thoughts out there. Or maybe it was just you in general. He can’t quite figure it out.

Now that he was out of bed he realized he didn’t actually know what he was planning to do with the situation. You’re going for a walk at four in the morning. You won’t want company. Besides, he already sent a few shadows. That should be fine.

The rest of Azriel’s shadows whirl around him, still agitated. Wanting him to do something, but still not telling him what. A long-suffering sigh leaves him, as he turns to look at his leathers, which are hanging over the back of the chair at his desk—thrown there after a long day—then back to the window.

He’s been staying in the townhouse since his last encounter with you, to make it easier for you if you want to seek him out and don’t want to see the rest of the family. Which you haven't. Why would you?

He also has a better view of the streets of Velaris from here. Which is why he sees a figure walk down the street, heading towards the sidra. Though he can’t see their face, he doesn’t need confirmation to know who it is. The posture, the way your shoes scuff when you walk while in thought, the way your hair falls with your head down.

Nevertheless, a shadow snakes up his arm, to his ear. Sad. Confused. Angry. Guilty. Lonely. The last word repeats over and over.

Azriel’s features contort into a frown. Watching as you disappear from view, having turned a corner. And without a second thought, he put on a change of clothes—deciding that if you do see him, his leathers possibly might make you uncomfortable, might think that there’s some kind of danger—opening up the balcony doors, stepping out and launching into the starry night sky. Following the direction you went, keeping a decent distance.

As he catches sight of you once again, slows down, descending to the ground. Landing as silent as he could for a massive Illyrian male.

Azriel steps into the shadows, trying to stay out of view and give you space.

He stands there feeling slightly awkward suddenly. Never has he felt that way about watching his family. Confused and caught off guard he misses the way his grip on his shadows loosens, most of which scramble their way over to you.

Already reaching your feet before he finally realizes, much to his horror. Frantically trying to yank them back to his own body.

─

Your train of thought is interrupted by small shadows softly brushing against your ankles before, slinking up your legs and entwining with your fingers. A soft smile curves your lips, as a scuff sounds from behind you.

“Hi Az.” your voice is soft. Looking over your shoulder, at the same time as he steps out from his hiding place. And even though it’s dark and void of any street lamp where you are, the stars and moon light his face enough for you to see the pink tinge to his cheeks. The sight brings you far more enjoyment than it should.

“Sorry.” he mutters lowly, watching the shadows almost reluctantly untangle itself from your fingers and body, returning to their master. “They have a mind of their own sometimes.”

Your smile widens ever so slightly, “It’s okay,” turning back to your beautiful view of the sidra, shimmering like the stars above. “I like them. They’re good company.”

Azriel blinks a few times, dumbfounded by your admission. You like them and think they’re good company. Not many think so. A lot of people perceive them differently. Not inherently scary, but wouldn’t consider them good company.

After a long moment he gathers himself. “Would you-” he stops himself mid-sentence, mouth snapping shut before the full question is out. But rather than running in the other direction like he assumed you would, you turned to face him, “Yes, I would like company Azriel.” That certainly caught him off guard.

You aren’t quite sure where the confidence came from. Cheeks tinting pink, gaze darting back to the sparkling sapphire river. You don’t even know if he was going to say that.

Right as you prepare yourself to leave, utterly mortified, his dark figure enters your peripheral.

Shoulders still stiff from the previous embarrassment you look out the corner of your eye. Thanking the mother when you see that his attention is elsewhere.

Your gaze casts downward, suddenly feeling awkward, you clear your throat, causing the Shadowsinger's attention to shift back to you.

Shifting between your feet, turning your head slightly to glance at him, “Uh…” Unsure.

You watch a shadow crawl around from his shoulder to his ear. a twitch between his brows at whatever information he had been given, before evening back out. Body turning fully toward you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes widen marginally. “No!” you say all too quickly, rubbing a hand down your face. “No, I’m just not-” gaze meeting hazel, “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to go for a walk?” Voice quieter than before, “Rather than just standing here.” Trailing off.

His wings twitch at his back, you barely catch the movement, before he gives a gentle nod. You give him a small smile before whirling around, and heading back through the streets of Velaris. Azriel and his shadows follow closely behind before coming up next to you.

The walk settles into silence. Not awkward like before. Comfortable. That’s something you’d noticed about Azriel from the moment you first met him in the human realms. He always let others talk and listened intently to every word. Contributing to the conversation only when needed.

Your thoughts drift to every interaction with him. He’d always been observant and encouraged conversations with you. Wanting you to feel comfortable. Similar to what happened with Elain a long while ago. Except he’s never had any romantic feelings for you. He was just being polite. Just as he is now.

You ignore the turn in your thoughts. Weird. And your destination is only a few steps away. The bridge above the sidra. The place you come to when you really need some kind of white noise to clear your head.

You lean forward, over the bridge peering down at the broad sparkling river. Almost mirroring the beauty of the stars above. You feel Azriel settle next to you on the bridge. Twist your head to look at him. He’s looking up at the sky, shadows swirling contentedly around his shoulders and wings.

You take a moment to look at him. Really look at him. You always knew he was handsome, would have to be blind not to. But in the moonlight, he’s stunning. The way his dark hair falls over his forehead, shadows cast over his eyebrows, his other features highlighted. His hands resting on the bridge wall, the lighting illuminating the ridges and crevices of his scars.

Just in the corner of your vision, you see the sun starting to rise, pinks and oranges, painting the previous starlit skies. It was views like these that make you wonder what the other courts are like. The Night Court obviously has exceptionally beautiful night skies, the stars so clear you might think one could reach up and touch them.

But then there were The Dawn Court’s dawn skies. A customer at Benny’s Bar once told you that when the sun rose in dawn it was one of the most breathtaking views one could see, that you had to see it at least once in your immortal life.

The Day Court had some of the most incredible libraries filled with immense knowledge. Something you’d like to see and explore at least once too.

The seasonal courts had to be amazing as well, you hadn’t heard too much about them except Mor saying how much she loved The Winter Court because of her best friend and how beautiful the snow is, and briefly of Summer from when Varian is around with Amren. And Spring, well Feyre and Rhysand don’t like talking about The Spring Court, so you never asked. The same goes for The Autumn Court.

You feel a cool brush of Azriel’s shadows against your hand, pulling you from your longing, wrapping around your wrist almost as if to comfort. You let out a heavy sigh, your walk must have been longer than you anticipated. Originally just hoping to clear your head, and tire yourself out before going back to sleep.

You have work anyway. Early shift, which is fine, you get to finish early in turn.

Turning to the Shadowsinger, “I should head home. I have work earlier today.” You fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to to head back to your apartment just yet. Back to the tavern. You haven’t talked to your coworkers much since the inner circle dined at the tavern.

Azriel gives a small nod, watching your features for a few moments before speaking, “Would you like me to walk you home?”

without hesitation you give him a nod in answer. “yes please.” Your answer soft.

He gives you a gentle smile before turning with you to leave.

─

Standing at the bottom of the stairs to your apartment you run a hand down your face. Azriel is quiet behind you. You huff, spinning on your heel to face him. Trying to find the words to what you want to ask him.

He’s patient as always, features kind. Allowing you to sort through your thoughts.

Inhaling sharply, you open your mouth, then close it again. Frustrated, you just blurt it out instead, “Would you like to do something once I finish work today?”

Azriel’s brows raise fractionally, and your face heats up. “of course only if you’re free, or even want to. If you don’t want to that’s okay-“ You pause your rambling when you see the subtle smirk curving his lips.

“What?” You cross your arms over your chest. He huffs out a laugh. “You didn’t even give me a chance to answer,” keen eyes, observant as ever, see you shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable from the lack of an actual answer. “I would like that. I’ll come by and you can decide.” Voice more quiet than before.

You give him a curt nod, happy with the response, turning toward your stairs once more, stopping at the top step, looking over your shoulder to the Shadowsinger, “Thank you az.” At the tilt of his head you continue, “For just… showing up, I guess. I appreciate it.” Smile at him and slip through your door before he can reply.

Azriel stares at the closed door for a few long moments before heading back to the townhouse. His shadows far more calm now. Interesting.

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a/n: Hi guys, I’m so so sorry that I took so long to post this but I was in a really bad writing slump and had other stuff going on in my life. I’m better right now and am planning on writing more. I know this isn’t the longer part that I asked you about but I just wanted to get this out, and it would’ve taken longer to come out. i’ve already started the next part as well. next week I probably won’t update just because I’m going to Australia with my sister for a week but you never know. Anyway I edited this but there still might be some mistakes. I love you all and thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoyed. <3

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel angst #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #acotar #a new place

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scoupsakakitty · 3 days ago

Note

hiiiiiii, author a req inspired from this real

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DFkgWHSSVOX/?igsh=c3FsZWR6dW41NnU4

can be 14th member with mingyu and rest of svt.

Like Cotton | idol!Mingyu x 14thMember | fluff

The bright glow of the screen illuminated Y/N’s face as she sat between Jeonghan and Mingyu for their live broadcast. The chat was scrolling at an incredible speed, filled with fans’ enthusiastic comments and playful demands. The energy in the room was light and fun, as it always was when the three of them got together.

“Hyung, they’re asking us to arm wrestle,” Mingyu read aloud, a grin tugging at his lips.

Jeonghan scoffed, flipping his hair dramatically. “Do they really think I can beat you? Look at these arms, and look at mine.” He waved his hand in dismissal but still leaned forward to place his elbow on the table. “Alright, let’s do it for the fans.”

Mingyu smirked, flexing his arm slightly before locking hands with Jeonghan. The moment their match began, it was clear who would win. Jeonghan put up a fight for a few seconds, his face scrunching in fake effort before dramatically letting Mingyu slam his arm down.

“Aish, so strong,” Jeonghan whined, shaking his hand out. “I should’ve let Y/N do it instead.”

Mingyu chuckled, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. “You didn’t stand a chance.”

The fans in the comments exploded with new messages.

*Let Y/N and Mingyu arm wrestle! *Y/N vs. Mingyu, let’s go! *We need to see the size difference!!

Jeonghan noticed the comments and smirked. “Oh, now this is interesting. Y/N, what do you think?”

Y/N glanced at Mingyu, who was already looking at her with a playful glint in his eyes. “You really want to arm wrestle me?” she asked, raising a brow.

Mingyu laughed. “I mean… if the fans want it, who am I to say no?”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

As she placed her elbow on the table, Mingyu reached out to take her hand—and that’s when he paused, his lips parting slightly in surprise. He let out a small chuckle, turning his hand slightly to look at the difference in size between theirs.

“Wait, hold on.” Mingyu pulled back slightly, laughing again as he studied her hand in his. “Your hand is so small.”

Y/N frowned in embarrassment. “It’s not that small.”

Mingyu grinned, lifting his other hand and offering his thumb. “Here, try grabbing my thumb.”

Curious, Y/N wrapped her fingers around his thumb, and they both stared at how perfectly it fit in her grip. Even the fans in the comments were reacting in real time.

*OMG HER HAND FITS AROUND HIS THUMB?! *This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. *HOW IS THIS REAL?

“Okay, what about this?” Mingyu extended his index finger toward her. Y/N hesitated before wrapping her fingers around it—and once again, his finger was noticeably longer than her entire palm.

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “That’s… actually adorable.”

Jeonghan smirked at him. “Mingyu, are you calling Y/N adorable on live?”

Mingyu’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly corrected himself. “I mean—uh—I meant her hand! Her hand is adorable.”

The chat exploded again.

*DID HE JUST CALL HER CUTE?! *THE WAY HE PANICKED LMAOO *Bro, just admit it already.

Jeonghan, ever the instigator, waved his hands dramatically. “Guys, let’s be real. Mingyu is 186 cm, and Y/N is, what, 152 cm? Of course there’s going to be a huge size difference.”

Mingyu nodded, relieved to shift the attention away from his slip-up. “Exactly! That’s all it is.”

Still, the teasing in Jeonghan’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N. She felt her heart race a little at the way Mingyu had looked at her—like he was genuinely fascinated by their difference in size.

After the live ended, Jeonghan stretched and let out a loud yawn. “Well, I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late, you two.” He winked at them before disappearing into his room.

Mingyu lingered in the doorway of Y/N’s room as she scrolled through her phone, reading the fans’ reactions.

“They’re going crazy over the hand thing,” she mumbled with a small laugh.

Mingyu smiled, stepping inside. “Well, can you blame them? It was kinda funny.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath, summoning all her courage. “Mingyu�� do you really think I’m cute?”

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard by her sudden question. He hadn’t expected her to be so direct. But after a brief moment, he nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed slightly, and before she could react, Mingyu reached for her hand again. He held it gently in his own, turning it over as if he were still amazed by how small it was compared to his.

“You have really soft hands,” he murmured, tracing a finger lightly over her palm. “Like cotton.”

She quickly covered her face with her hands, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. “Mingyu, stop…”

He chuckled, reaching up to gently pull her hands away. “Don’t hide,” he said softly, his fingertips grazing her skin. His palm cupped her cheek, and he brushed his thumb lightly across it.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them was charged with something unspoken, something that made Y/N’s heart race.

Mingyu’s gaze flickered to her lips for a second before he smiled, shaking his head slightly. “You really are cute, you know that?”

Y/N swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You keep saying that…”

He grinned. “Because it’s true.”

The warmth of his hand on her cheek lingered as he slowly pulled away. Y/N felt her heart pounding against her ribs, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but smile.

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wosospacegirl · 2 days ago

Text

And they were roommates - part 2

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: angst; hurt/comfort; reader might have a crush on Kyra ;)

Word count: 3.4k

| PART 1 HERE |

Over the next few days, Kyra and Y/n settle into a comfortable, domestic routine.

Kyra was the first to wake up each day. She went straight to Y/n’s room to check on her and give her her morning medication, along with a cup of black coffee.

Y/n didn’t like mornings, especially now with the heavy cast on her leg. Kyra, on the other hand, loved mornings, so she sat by Y/n’s bed and chatted for 20 minutes straight while Y/n nodded along to whatever Kyra was saying.

“—And that's how we’re beating Man United this weekend,” Kyra concluded after a long thought process about technical strategies that would lead the Gunners to yet another victory. “I mean, they can’t keep putting her as a winger, right?” Kyra turned to Y/n, waiting for her to nod again.

“How can you have so much to say at 7 am?” Y/n asked, hiding her face in her pillow.

“I just do, it’s a talent, you wouldn’t know it, Grumpy,” Kyra shrugged and threw herself on the bed next to Y/n, the sunlight hitting Kyra’s freckles.

Kyra was wearing tracksuit bottoms and an old, oversized t-shirt, she looked pretty, comfy, and very cuddly too.

“Will you come with me today?” Kyra asked, changing the subjects, caution in her voice.

“Where?” Y/n asked confused, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn’t supposed to go to physiotherapy or the doctor for another two weeks.

“Training?” Kyra explained, holding her head with one hand as she rested her elbow on the mattress. “They miss you, the girls, I mean. You could go there for a few hours, talk to Alessia, Leah, Steph… I bet Win misses you too,”

“I’m not in the mood,” Y/n said, turning her back to Kyra. Y/n missed the girls, but it would be too upsetting to see them running around while she could barely stand on her own.

“You’ve said that the last three times, Y/n” Kyra sighed. “You haven’t left the house, not once, and you also won’t talk to anyone but me and your mom. That’s worrying. You can’t just wait for me to come home every day, you also need to do relaxing and fun things for yourself.” Y/n felt a pleasant pressure on her shoulder. It was Kyra’s hand.

You can’t just stay here in bed and rot, maybe you could start a new hobby! Painting, sudoku, I don’t know!””Kyra continued, using the serious tone she never used with Y/n. “You need to see people, see your friends, get some fresh air.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “And do what? Talk about how miserable I am all the time?” Y/n said bitterly.

Kyra didn’t understand.

She had never been seriously injured before, she didn’t know what it was like to just go to bed every day not knowing what the future held. Football was everything to Y/n. It was her passion, her hobby and her career. Ninety per cent of her friends were footballers themselves, her whole social circle revolved around football.

Without it, she was nothing Football’s been her thing since she was a kid. Y/n had grown up with a ball on her feet, and now it was gone, and she didn’t know if she would get it back. Right now, Y/n was nothing.

Kyra pressed her lips together and stared at the girl, trying to think of what to say.

“Go away please, I want to be alone,” Y/n muttered after the room had gone quiet.

“No,” Kyra said. “Let’s talk about this, let’s—”

“Go. Away.” Y/n snapped.

Y/n felt the shift in the mattress. Kyra wasn’t sitting on it anymore. “You can’t keep pushing people away, it’ll only hurt you even more,” Kyra said quietly. “You can’t let yourself go like that, you know how easy it is for us athletes to get depressed after an injury, I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I’m not depressed, Kyra!” Y/n locked eyes with the other girl, anger slowly building in her chest. “I just don’t have anything! If I talk to the girls all I’ll think about is how they’re playing and I’m not.

“You don’t have anything?!” Kyra raised her voice. “What do you mean you have nothing? You’re not just your fucking leg, or your football—You’re a whole person! Just because you can’t play right now doesn’t mean you have no worth.”

Y/n remained silent as Kyra’s voice escalated. Kyra was starting to get angry with her. Kyra had never been angry with her before.

“You are injured! Your tibia split in two, of course, it’ll take some time to heal. Does that mean you have to stay in the house for the remaining months? Of course not!” Kyra’s face was flushed, and she was out of breath.

“Kyra, my whole life had been inside a pitch, I don’t know how the fuck to live without knowing if I’ll ever be in one again!” Y/n exploded, pointing at her cast “And this fucking leg hurts all the time, it’s always a reminder of how unhappy I am and how the world kept on moving while I just stay here!”

“But you don’t have to just stay here! You are the one who is avoiding the world, but it hasn’t stopped for you, it never has! Especially because you have people who care about you! You would know that if you would answered your phone when your friends called,” Kyra rubbed her eyes, tiredly.

“Why is it so hard for you to be kind and patient with yourself?” Kyra asked, looking genuinely confused, trying to find the answer to her question on Y/n’s face. “It’s so easy to treat you well, I don’t know why you find it so difficult.”

Kyra finally took a deep breath, and then another.

“Okay, I’m calm now. I’m sorry,” Kyra said, unclenching her fist. “I didn’t mean to get mad at you, I know you’re frustrated and angry right now. I just wish you’d be more compassionate with yourself and your body.

The room was silent.

“I’ll just… go then. I have to be at training in half an hour anyway,” Kyra took a step closer to where Y/n was lying, she dropped a soft kiss on her cheek. “Just don’t—rot in bed the whole day, ok? I’ll buy you some food and send it over at lunchtime so you can eat something other than crisps”.

Y/n felt her skin warm where Kyra had kissed her. She barely had time to process it before Kyra pulled away. “Okay, thank you,” Y/n whispered, she couldn’t help the blush creeping up her neck.

She should say something, she should say how sorry she was and how ungrateful she had been, Kyra didn’t complain about having to put up with her. Often Y/n felt that she didn’t deserve to have Kyra by her side and now was one of those times. She felt embarrassed by the way she just acted.

Y/n wasn’t someone who felt at ease with vulnerability. She didn’t normally let people see her at her lowest, except her closest friend, of course, but even now the thought of seeing them, of going back to Arsenal, even if for a few hours, felt excruciating.

It was as if life was mocking Y/n. Everyone’s life would go on, even if hers was frozen in time. Arsenal still had good and healthy athletes to train.

Kyra still had responsibilities to attend ttoY/n didn’t, not for the months ahead of her.

Eight months the doctor said, eight months until (and if) she could run. Would she be this bitter for that long? Was she going to stay frustrated with everything and everyone forever? Was she going to shut herself off from her teammates—her friends—if she didn’t heal the way she intended?

Change was a slow process, but Y/n decided to start it right now.

“Ky?” Y/n called.

“Yeah?”

“I’m being an idiot,” Y/n admitted.

Kyra smiled. “Yeah, you kind of are.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/n apologized. Small steps.

“It’s fine, you are a lot meaner when you lose at UNO, it didn’t scare me.”

Both girls smiled at each other.

Kyra held no grudges; it was one of the things Y/n admired the most about her.

“But if you really want me to forgive you, you’ll let me do something,” Kyra added, mischievous in her voice.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “What?’

“You’ll see,” Kyra said before leaving the room. “I’ll be back around 3 pm, see you!”

Y/n heard the front door close, and now she was alone. Y/n thought she enjoyed being alone, but deep down she didn’t. She missed Kyra when she was away. The house no longer felt warm and comforting; instead; it felt cold and isolated.

Y/n thought about Kyra’s words; about her being kind to others and not to herself. When Beth and Viv tore their ACLs, Y/n committed herself to take their dogs on a walk every day, since the couple couldn’t walk.

When Vic got injured Y/n made sure she was left alone during the physio sessions. When Leah also tore her ACL she made sure to call her every day to see how she was doing; Leah, unlike Y/n, answered her calls.

Y/n had so much love and support around her. She needed it to allow herself to receive it.

Y/n looked around her room. It felt strange now. Before her surgery, she had thought the room was rather cosy, with its green walls and light wooden furniture, but now it felt like a prison.

Maybe Kyra would agree to put on a mattress in the living room and make it into a bed. Then both girls could just sleep there, and watch some films. It would probably bring Y/n some comfort.

Hours later Kyra came back from training wearing a black kit. Her hair was in a ponytail, with grass and dirt on it. Y/n wasn’t sure if it was because of their fight earlier, but Kyra seemed different somehow . Even though Kyra was all dirty, y/n couldn’t help but notice how pretty she looked. She realised she hadn’t seen Kyra with her hair in a ponytail before, she always wore it in a bun. It was nice, maybe the new hairstyle was the reason why Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off of her.

Cute, Kyra is cute.

She has always been cute, of course, but in the last few days, she looked even prettier. It’s okay to think your friends are cute. It was normal. Y/n thought to herself as Kyra bent down to take out her shoes, the black legging hugging her body. The book Y/n had in hand long forgotten.

Hot. Y/n thought. She was hot.

Maybe it wasn’t okay to think your friends were hot.

“Sorry?” Kyra asked turning to face Y/n.

Y/n widened her eyes. “What? Y/n said, her cheeks flushed. Fuck, had she said that out loud? And why did she sound so defensive? Chill out. “I didn’t say anything., she said, in a calmer tone, closing her book.

“Yes, you did,” Kyra insisted, looking at her with a smile. She let her hair out of the ponytail, letting it fall over her shoulder.

“Nop! You’re going mad, I’m afraid.” Y/n asserted, chin up.

“It must be all the time we spend together, then” Kyra raised a brow.

A lot of time together, indeed.

“Wait, is that a book? I haven’t seen you with a book for a while, I’m proud you still know your letters.” Kyra continued, a smirk on her face

Kyra was right, thought. With football and national camps, she hadn’t had time to read. It had been embarrassing years since she picked up a book. But now she had time, so she just took advantage of it.

“Haha you’re so funny,” Y/n said dryly. “You told me to do something nice for myself, so I decided to read this book I had lying around,” Y/n said, proudly.

Kyra looked dramatically surprised. “Wow, you actually listened to me? Did something happen while I was gone? Did you fall? Oh, you might have brain haemorrhage!”

“The ability you have to turn a normal conversation into a sarcastic one will always blow my mind,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes.

“Good thing I love to blow your mind,” Kyra said before realizing the double meaning of what she just said.

The girls stared at each other.

“Okay that was awkward,” Kyra mumbled, blushing. “I mean it like—”

Y/n laughed, thinking it was cute how embarrassed Kyra looked. Usually, Kyra was the one who put people in awkward situations.

“It’s all right, I got what you meant,” Y/n said, offering a small smile. “So—” She changed the subject, not wanting Kyra to feel uncomfortable. “What was that thing you wanted me to do so you can forgive me?”

Kyra looked at her watch. “You won’t have to do anything. But they will be here soon.”

Y/n frowned slightly. “Did you get that line from some horror film? Who the hell are they?”

Kyra rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun, I’m trying to be mysterious here”.

“You sound suspicious, not mysterious!”

“Oh, shut up, just sit there and look pretty, no more questions, please.”

Y/n welcomed the compliment “Why, because you won’t be able not to tell me?” She challenged.

Kyra was the worst secret keeper she had ever known.

“You know me so well actually!” Kyra said. “Stop asking questions. I’m going to take a shower, but I’ll be right back,” Kyra said before heading upstairs.

Don’t go. Y/n almost said. Almost begged her to keep that kit on so Y/n could just look at her for a few moments.

The thing was: Y/n got used to having Kyra around, not just because she needed Kyra’s help to get things done, but because she just…appreciated her presence.

Y/n was always bored to tears while Kyra was away for training or a match day, so when Kyra came home, Y/n wanted her all to herself. Which was a bit strange.

Kyra Cooney-Cross was making Y/n think of very, very weird things. She wasn’t necessarily upset about it, though.

Minutes later Kyra stepped out of the shower, wearing sweatpants and an Arsenal hoodie. Y/n welcomed the sight more than she’d ever admit. Kyra was pretty, prettier than yesterday and the day before that.

Was Y/n suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning? Could that be the reason she was fancying Kyra? As it genuinely finding her attractive and not a bets mate type of way?

Kyra was attractive, of course. But Y/n hadn’t realised just how much it messed with her mind, and mostly her body. Kyra was her friend. Not as in a friends-with-benefits thing, but oh they could be, Y/n would be happy about that.

Kyra moved in to help me out, that’s all. She doesn’t like me that way, and that’s fine. Totally fine. Y/n bit her nails, trying to convince herself.

Before Y/n could spiral any further, Kyra clapped her hands and told Y/n to get ready, because apparently, the visitors they were having over were about to arrive.

An hour later Alessia and Leah stopped by with a warm lasagna on Leah’s hands.

It turned out that Kyra was only forgiving Y/n if she agreed to meet some of their friends and socialise for a few hours. “It’ll do you good” Kyra had said.d

“Hey, pest,” Leah greeted Kyra at the door. “How’s your pest doing? She hasn’t been answering mine or Lessie’s messages for a while now, is she dead? Did you kill her?”

“Well good evening to you too, Leah,” Kyra said ironically, letting both Leah and Alessia in, after kissing Alessia on the cheek.

“Why can’t you be like Alessia, she is so nice!” Kyra pouted, pointing at the blonde girl, “She doesn’t call me a pest or anything.”

Leah laughed and handed Kyra the lasagna. “Lessie girl is too nice to ever tell you the truth.”

Kyra and Leah continued their bickering while Alessia made herself at home. The girl was very familiar with Y/n’s house, having spent many film night’s here with Y/n and Kyra before Y/n’s injury.

Alessia went into the living room, where she found Y/n sitting on the couch, crutches propped up to the side.

“Less” y/n said cheerfully.

“Hey sweetie, how are you doing?” Alessia sat by Y/n’s side, hugging her. “God, I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

Y/n smiled and leaned further into Alessia’s embrace. “I missed you too, I feel like dying every time Kyra goes to training and I have to stay here by myself., Y/n confessed.

“Oh, so you miss me when I’m away. That is so lovely to hear!” Kyra's mischievous voice filled the living room as the girl elbowed Leah, “See, I told you she wasn’t bored of me yet.”

“Take me with you, Less, please.” Y/n playfully whispered in Alessia’s ear before the girl’s body was replaced by a taller and leaner one.

Leah hugged Y/n and patted her back before lightly smacking the top of her head.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Y/n whined, pouting.

“Me, Beth, Less, Kim—we’ve all been texting you non-stop, and you won’t text us back!” Leah scolded. “We’re not just your teammates, we’re your friends, in case you forgot!”

“Tough love. Told you.” Kyra chimed in from the corner of the room.

“Shut up, Kyra,” Leah and Y/n said in unison.

Y/n kept her eyes down, feeling a little embarrassed. Leah wasn’t wrong, though. Over the past week, she’d only been texting two people: her mom—because otherwise, she’d probably sent the police down; and Kyra—so she could pick up some snacks for Y/n on her way home.

“I know being injured is hard, but you can’t isolate yourself, especially form us!” Leah continued with a gentle reprimand. “You’re only going to feel worse.”

Leah pointed at Alessia, who was now standing next to Kyra. “Lessie told me you didn’t laugh at the memes she sent you! It’s Less, mate—you can’t make Lessie sad.”

If Y/n wasn’t being lectured by her captain, she would’ve laughed at how Leah was using Alessia’s sweetheart personally to make Y/n feel remorse about being a bad friend.

“Also,” Leah continued, now turning to Kyra. “Can you imagine how hard it is to rely on someone like Kyra for updates? Yesterday, she thought it’d be funny to tell Steph one of your bone screws had come loose.”

Y/n snapped her head towards Kyra, who suddenly looked like a kid caught red-handed. “I didn’t even get screws in my surgery! The doctor used locking compression plates instead!” Y/n argued.

“Well, you tell that to Steph,” Leah said dryly. “She cried and said we should call the surgeon responsible for letting you leave the hospital with a loose screw in your leg before Kyra finally told her she was just joking and that you were fine at home.”

“I didn’t think she would actually believe it,” Kyra winced, looking away, a small blush crept onto her cheeks.

“Steph got back at Kyra, don’t worry, Y/n,” Alessia added smiling. “Kyra is now responsible for walking Win every day before training.”

“I hate walking,” Kyra mumbled.

“Should’ve thought of that before messing with Steph,” Leah smirked.

“I was just trying to lighten the mood!” Kyra groaned.

“You don’t always have to fix things with jokes,” Y/n said smiling. “But I appreciate you are—at some point— giving updates to the girls. Still, leave that to me, I’ll start texting you guys back. I am sorry” Y/n apologized, glancing at Leah and Alessia.

“It’s all right kid, we’ve all been there, injuries bring out the worst in us,” Leah said, patting Y/n’s shoulder. “Now can we please eat the lasagna Lessie has made us? I’m starving!”

“You made your lasagna?” Y/n asked, her mouth-watering.

“Sure did. I know it’s your favourite,” Alessia said with a wink.

“May you be blessed for all eternity, Less,” Y/n said with an utmost stone face. “It’s been days since I’ve had good food.”

Kyra helped Y/n with her crutches before asking, a firm hand on her lower back. “Days? I’ve been making nutritious meals for us since you got back from the hospital!”

“Putting frozen pizza in the oven isn’t ‘making nutritious meals,’” Y/n teased, accepting Alessia’s hand as she sat down on the dining chair.

“I’m trying my best here,” Kyra huffed, crossing her arms.

Y/n leaned in, pressing a kiss to Kyra’s cheek. “Yeah, Yeah, I know. And I appreciate it very much.” She smiled.” Now let’s eat before Leah passes out from hunger.”

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

Tell me if you would like to read any special scene with Kyra and reader!

Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

#woso #woso fanfic #woso imagines #woso x reader #kyra cooney cross #women soccer #arsenal fanfic #woso appreciation #arsenal women #woso community

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 days ago

Text

Nothing But Net (And Love)

Pairing: KK Arnold x Reader

Fandom: UConn’s women’s basketball

POV: First-person

Word Count: 1,400+

Summary: kk is a menace even during the most loving day of the year..

If there’s one thing I know about KK Arnold, it’s that she’s competitive.

It doesn’t matter if it’s basketball, video games, or even something as small as rock-paper-scissors—she always plays to win.

That’s why, when February rolled around and all our teammates started talking about their Valentine’s Day plans, I wasn’t surprised when KK took it as a personal challenge to come up with the best way to ask me to be hers.

The only problem?

We’d been dating for almost six months.

She didn’t need to ask.

But this was KK we were talking about. She wanted to do it her way.

I should’ve known something was up when she texted me after practice.

KK: Meet me at the gym in 30. Wear something comfy.

Me: …Should I be worried?

KK: Nah, just be ready to lose.

I sighed, already shaking my head.

When I showed up at the gym, KK was already there, spinning a basketball on her finger with a cocky grin.

“Knew you’d come,” she teased, tossing the ball between her hands.

I crossed my arms. “I debated ignoring your text.”

She gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “You’d ignore me? On Valentine’s Day?”

I rolled my eyes. “What are we doing, KK?”

She smirked. “A little competition.”

I groaned. “Why am I not surprised?”

She dribbled the ball, looking way too smug. “Here’s the deal: One-on-one. First to seven. If I win, you have to be my Valentine.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And if I win?”

She paused, then scratched her head. “Uh… You still have to be my Valentine. But I’ll let you pick the movie for our date.”

I laughed. “So either way, I’m your Valentine?”

She grinned. “Obviously.”

Shaking my head, I grabbed the ball from her. “Fine. But don’t cry when I win.”

The game started off way too easy.

KK let me get a couple of shots in, probably trying to make me overconfident. I wasn’t stupid—I knew she was just waiting to flip the switch.

And sure enough, the second I got my third point, she locked in.

Her defense got tighter, her movements quicker, and suddenly, I was struggling to get a clean shot.

Within minutes, she had tied it up, 4-4.

I huffed, resting my hands on my knees. “Okay, you’re taking this way too seriously.”

She smirked, bouncing the ball. “Nah, I just really want you to be my Valentine.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

She winked. “And you love it.”

By the time the score hit 6-6, we were both sweaty and out of breath.

KK held the ball, dribbling slowly as she looked me up and down. “Final shot. You ready?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go ahead, Arnold. Let’s see what you got.”

She grinned, then suddenly took off towards the basket.

I moved to block her, but at the last second, she spun away, smoothly laying the ball up and watching it fall through the net.

Game.

KK threw her arms up in victory. “Let’s gooo!”

I sighed, shaking my head as she jogged over to me, still grinning.

“So, does this mean I won?” she asked, clearly already knowing the answer.

I crossed my arms, pretending to think. “I guess…”

She gasped. “Guess? Nah, you gotta say it.”

I sighed dramatically. “Fine. You win, KK. I’m your Valentine.”

She beamed, stepping closer. “Say it again.”

I laughed. “KK—”

“Say it again.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was already melting. “I’m your Valentine, KK.”

Her smile softened, and she reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good. ‘Cause you’ve been mine since day one.”

I felt my face heat up, but before I could say anything, she grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together.

“Come on,” she said, leading me toward the gym exit. “I got dinner reservations for us.”

I blinked in surprise. “Wait, what?”

She shrugged, looking smug. “Told you I had to win. I had a whole night planned.”

I laughed, squeezing her hand. “You’re something else, KK.”

She leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “And you love it.”

Yeah. I really, really did.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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mapis-putellas · 1 day ago

Text

𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆/𝑶.𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒍𝒆

Spanish is in italics <3

Ona sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her foot bouncing anxiously against the floor. You watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, doing your best to hide your amusement. You’d never seen her so nervous before -not before a match, not before press conferences, not even before meeting your friends. But now? Meeting your parents had her looking like she was about to face a firing squad.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” you teased, stepping closer and brushing a hand through her hair.

Ona sighed dramatically, tilting her head up to look at you. “I think…maybe I am.”

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “They’re going to love you. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

She groaned, letting her head fall backwards. “Not nervous. Scared.”

That made you laugh outright. “Scared? Why?”

Ona fixed you with a deadpan look. “Because your family is…Irish.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

Her hands flailed as she searched for the right words. “And! I…your English, I learn. Slow, but I learn. But them? I don’t know if…if I will understand.”

You bit your lip, doing your best not to smile too much. You knew this was a genuine fear for her. Your parents’ accents were thick, and their speech patterns could be difficult to follow, even for people who had grown up around them. But Ona had come a long way with her English, even if she didn’t always have confidence in it.

“They know you’re still learning,” you reassured her, kneeling so you were at her level, placing your hands on her thighs and squeezing softly. “They’re not going to care if you miss a few words.”

“But…what if they talk, and I…” She made a motion with her hands, mimicking something flying over her head.

You grinned as you stood, reaching for her hands. “Then I’ll translate.”

She groaned again, but she let you pull her up off the bed, exhaling deeply as she muttered something in Spanish under her breath.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your keys and tucking them into your pocket before sticking out your hand and wiggling your fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”

The moment you walked into your parents’ house, you knew Ona was in trouble.

“Jaysus, it’s about time ye got here! I was startin’ to think ye’d gotten lost or somethin’!”

Ona stiffened beside you. You squeezed her hand, biting back a laugh at the look of sheer panic on her face. Your mum rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a tea towel before pulling you into a tight hug. She was barely finished with you before turning to Ona, who barely had time to prepare herself before being pulled into the same embrace.

“And you must be Ona,” your mum said warmly, hands resting on Ona’s shoulders as she gave her a once-over. “Lovely to finally meet ye, love. We’ve heard so much about ye.”

Ona smiled nervously, clearly trying to piece together the words. “Um…thank you?”

Your dad appeared in the doorway then, nodding in greeting. “Howya, love. Hope ye don’t mind a bit of madness. We’re not exactly a quiet bunch.”

Ona’s grip on your hand tightened.

You cleared your throat, stepping in before she had a full-on breakdown. “He’s just saying we’re loud.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah! Sí, sí, is okay. Loud is…nice.”

Your mum beamed. “Ah, isn’t she just the sweetest thing? Come in, love, we’ve got a nice dinner ready for ye both.”

Ona followed you into the house like she was heading toward impending doom.

Dinner was…an experience.

Your parents were nothing if not welcoming, but they were also incapable of slowing down their speech. Which meant that, for the majority of the meal, you had one hand on your fork and the other on Ona’s thigh, gently squeezing every time you needed to translate something.

“So tell me, love, how’s the football goin’?” your dad asked, cutting into his chicken. “Ye keepin’ our one in line?”

Ona blinked. She turned to you immediately, wide-eyed.

You coughed, setting down your fork. “He’s asking if football is going well. And if you keep me in line.”

Ona let out a small breath of relief before turning back to your dad. “Uh…football is…very good. And-“ She smirked slightly, eyes flicking to you. “I try keep in line, but is…hard.”

Your dad roared with laughter, clapping a hand against the table so hard it made Ona visibly startle in surprise. You squeezed her thigh apologetically in response. “Aye, she’s a handful, alright. Ye must have the patience of a saint!”

Ona looked at you in desperation.

You smiled tightly, intending to kill your father for his words later. “He’s saying I’m a handful.”

Ona grinned, nodding enthusiastically and completely ignoring the glare you send her way. “Yes. Mucho handful.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” You scoffed.

Ona placatingly patted the hand you still had on her thigh as she took a bite of her food, and you tightened your hand around the toned muscle in response, having every intention of getting her back for that later. And if the way Ona freckled cheeks flush a lovely shade of red was anything to go by, you knew she was fully ware of this fact.

Well, at least you were on the same page.

Your mum laughed, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Ah, she’s grand. Now, tell me, love, do ye miss home much? I imagine Spain’s a lot warmer than here.”

Ona caught onto a couple of words, clearing her throat as she nodded. “Miss home, yes. Spain is…warmer, sí. But here is nice too.”

Your mum smiled, clearly pleased with the answer. “Aye, good girl.”

Ona turned to you again, confused, and you sighed before begrudgingly complying and leaning in. “She’s just saying good job.”

Ona nodded quickly. “Ah. Thank you.”

The conversation continued, with you acting as Ona’s personal translator whenever necessary. Which was, well, pretty often, actually, especially when your parents spoke over one another in their excitement.

At one point, your mother turned to her and asked, “So, love, d’ya get much time off or are ya always runnin’ about?”

Ona blinked, before she turned to you. “Translate.”

You tried very, very hard not to laugh, and you were only mildly successful as you were forced to set down the drink you were about to take a mouthful from. “She asked if you get much time off or if you’re always running around.”

Ona let out a soft oh before turning back to your mother. “Um…depende. Sometimes, yes, sometimes no.”

Your mother nodded approvingly. “Ah, so same as anythin’ really.”

Ona turned to you. “Again.”

“She said it’s the same with everything.”

Ona groaned quietly, rubbing her temples. “I need…the slowest English.”

Your father chuckled as he wiped his face with a napkin. “Ah, she’s grand. She’ll be fluent before ya know it.”

Ona didn’t even try to understand that one. She just looked at you with a look that said, help me, and you couldn’t help but grin as you squeeze her thigh again.

“He said you’re good.”

Ona seemed doubtful. “Too fast.” She looked down at her plate before sighing and dropping her hands.

Your dad winked at her. “You’ll catch up soon enough, pet.”

Ona stared, then turned to you once more.

You translated, and she groaned again, dropping her head onto your shoulder. “No puedo.”

“You can,” you assured her, pressing a kiss to her hair as you wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed softly. “You’re doing great, baby.”

She glanced up at you. “Really?”

“I promise.” You assured.

Ona let out another long, dramatic sigh, before sitting up and turning to your mother. “You…speak slow, please?”

Your mother nodded seriously. “Of course, love.”

She lasted approximately two minutes before she was rambling at full speed again.

Ona shot you a look, and you just laughed.

“Welcome to the family, baby.” You placed a fond kiss to her forehead.

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

#ona batlle x you #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine #fluff #woso fanfics #woso one shot

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moonsdrs · 3 days ago

Text

۶ৎ── ANSWER AS YOUR DRSELF (60s fame ver.)

what is your name? — mary-lynn michelle hendrix.

favorite food? — any sort of pasta dishes. especially my mom's spaghetti

you can only choose one movie to watch for the rest of your life, which is it? — hm..i don't particularly watch any movies these days. maybe the wizard of oz?

what is your birthday? — nov 24, 1943

what is a song you will always have a place for in your heart? — two sleepy people by hoagy carmichael

favorite color, go! — purple!

name the most important thing to you. — my rings. my hands cannot be bare for more than a few moments and they are like my good luck charms.

favorite memory? — bringing jimi to the studio for the first time to record my first album. we had a lot of fun and he helped write some of my best hits from it.

least favorite memory? — summer. summer in general. i hate summer.

someone you dislike? — i don't have anyone i dislike at all...at least not currently.

in a crowded room, who would you look for first? — michael, of course.

best music genre? — r&b and rock.

a topic you defend with your life. — artist protection and freedom of creation.

a character you relate to. — minnie mouse

picture your room, is it messy? — it's neat and organized with a bedside table that is messy. you touch it to fix it up, then it's just not right. yes i need my glasses to be beside my glasses case not inside of it and yes the cup of two day old half drunken water does need to stay right there too.

gun to your head, are you funny? — no, i'm mary-ly- *gun goes off*

fruit platter or candy platter? — fruit platter but there cannot be mangos or melons of any kind.

sugar, sour or spice? — sugar

what's your aesthetic? — a little bit of everything depending on my mood.

who in your dr would you not be surprised they came out as a shifter? — my little sister, pharoah and maybe elvis presley (or priscilla)

what's your hogwarts house? — what's a hogwarts house? (moon note. she'd be a hufflepuff.)

ambivert, introvert or extrovert? — an introvert who thinks she's an ambivert.

best school subject? — english

where can someone find you when you're sad? — in my room or anywhere secluded, probably alone listening to the vinyl or curled up on michael's lap ranting to him about it.

who are you? — well- i'm kinda sad you're asking me this when i told you twice that i'm mary-lynn. have you been listening to me at all or am i talking to the void?

someone's music you don't enjoy? — hm..i don't really know. i just listen to music i know i already like.

have you had a near death experience? — no, and i plan to keep it that way.

who was your first love? do you regret it? — michael, my sweet lover boy. only thing i regret is not making my move the moment i knew him. 5 months without him down the drain when that whole time we could've already been kissing.

has there been anyone famous you didn't like? — no...i usually just stick to myself and whoever i am introduced to. i am never met with people of whose nature i already don't like.

do you enjoy your fanbase? — of course! they are the best fanbase in the entire world (they are holding me at gunpoint as i write this)

least favorite interview? — anyone where they start getting very pushy and invasive. like guys can i talk about my music instead of which monkee is the better kisser?

fsvorite instrument? — to play is the bass guitar. to hear is the trumpet and/or euphonium

do you perform live? where did you last perform live? — of course i perform live. what performer doesn't? i last performed live at a spring festival alongside my brother, jimi.

what's your favorite song you've made? — it's not a song i released but i have writing creds for ain't too proud to beg!

SHIFTING EXCERSISE ── answer as your dr self .✦

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

what is your name?

favourite food?

you can only choose one movie to watch for the rest of your life, what would you choose?

what is your birthday?

what is a song you will always have a place for in your heart?

favourite colour, go!

name the most important thing to you.

favourite memory?

least favourite memory?

someone you dislike?

in a crowded room, who would you look for first?

best music genre?

a topic you defend with your life

a character you relate to?

picture your room, is it organised or messy?

gun to your head... are you funny?

fruit platter or candy platter?

sugar, sour or spice?

whats your aesthetic?

who in your dr would you not be surprised if they came out as a shifter?

whats your hogwarts house?

ambivert, introvert, or extravert?

best school subject?

where can someone find you when youre sad?

who are you?

someones music you dont enjoy?

have you had a near death experience?

who was your first love? do you regret it?

questions for specific drs ★彡

(fame dr) has there ever been someone famous you didnt like?

(fame dr) do you enjoy your fanbase?

(fame dr) what are you famous for?

(fame dr) least favourite interview?

(pjo dr) whats your cabin number?

(pjo dr) favourite and least favourite god?

(pjo dr) least favourite camper?

(harry potter dr) best and worst teacher? why?

(harry potter dr) blood status?

(harry potter dr) what house are you in? whats your favourite house?

(harry potter dr) in time of need, would you ever use a unforgivable curse?

(band/singer dr) favourite instrument?

(band/singer dr) do you preform live? where did you last preform?

(band/singer dr) whats your favourite song you made?

happy shifting!!

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ -> apologies if i didn't get your specific dr in here :-(

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ . . .

#shiftblr #shifting blog #shifting community #reality shifting #shifting realities #shifting exercise #60s fame dr #fame dr #desired reality #shifters #reality shifter #black shifters #shifting motivation #moonsdrs

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xiaq · 2 days ago

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Would you ever write a story or book about Kuzy? I need more of himmmm ❤️ one of the few characters I'd read MF for though I feel like if anyone would be chill about finding out he was bi and going with it, it'd be Kuzy lol #yeshomo

@rainbowsandcoconut

I don't currently have any substantive plans for a Kuzy story, but if you want some of my brainworms about him/his eventual romance, here you go:

He lives right next to a firehouse and there's a cute, kickass firewoman (cis, leans androgynous) named Nicole "call me Nic" with whom he has occasional banter-moments (I used to live next to a firehouse and if they were out front they'd always chat with me when I walked the dog; I loved that community dynamic).

One night after a rough game, Kuzy is going for a walk and Nic is sitting out on a lawn chair in front of the house processing a rough call, and they have a moment of shared vulnerability together, looking up at the stars. She's the child of immigrants and they bond over how stupid the English language is. Kuzy tells her about Eli/Hawk and she mentions that she loves dogs but can't have one with her work schedule.

Over the next few days, Kuzy can't stop thinking about her. He wants an excuse to see her more often that doesn't feel creepy, so he goes to the shelter nearby and offers to exercise dogs. Now, he has a perfectly good reason to walk past the firehouse (sometimes multiple times a day!) on the off-chance the firefighters are out and he can politely offer a dog's brief company for Nic's enjoyment.

Except he's not super smooth about it because the rest of the folks at the house realize pretty quickly that the giant Russian walking dogs only happens to walk dogs on the days that Nic is on shift.

Convenient.

This continues for longer than it probably should. Until Kuzy is hosting some of the Hounds and one of the rookies does something stupid. Not sure what. I'm thinking gets his hand stuck in an expensive vase. Or maybe his head. And Kuzy very sheepishly has to walk him over to the firehouse like, "hello, this baby is my responsibility, can you please rescue him?" And they eventually get the thing cut off of his hand/head/whatever but one of Nic's bros pulls Kuzy aside and says, "maybe you should just ask her out instead of coming up with increasingly more creative excuses to talk to her—at this rate someone is going to get hurt" and Kuzy is like, “ok, this was 100% not contrived and while I would like to go out with her, she is a goddess who saves lives and I am but a goofy athlete, undeserving of her attentions," and Firefighter Bro like, "you know, I think she'd settle for you."

So, spurred on by this bit of hope, he's like, "I need to do this right, this can't just be some hookup, I like her." And he starts Operation Woo Nic.

And the whole time Nic is like, "would you just fucking take me home, I would like to bang you," but he's trying so hard to be a gentleman about it that she lets him for a while. She's never been woo'ed before. Might be fun. Eventually she gets fed up and when he's dropping off cookies or whatever on his daily dog-walk she's like, "hey, do you want to be my boyfriend? Yeah? Great. We should have sex about that. My shift ends in three hours, what's your address?"

It is possibly the best day of Kuzy's life.

Anyway. As usual, there's no real plot, just vibes. But he is Smitten. And she is hopelessly endeared. And she's certified as a paramedic, so she's constantly ragging him for his little injuries and keeping him honest about PT. At some point she gets injured in the line of duty and he gets to be suitably dramatic and probably make declarations at her hospital bedside. He dotes on her for a while during her recovery.

And eventually he convinces her to move in with him so she can be close to work and she's like, "yeah? That's the only reason? For the ease of my commute?" And he says, "well that but also because I love you more than I thought was possible and when we're not together I miss you like a limb and our schedules are shit enough as it is, I'm greedy for every second I can have with you," and she's like, "yeah, fair enough."

So. Not really sure how it would end, but uh. There you go! Kuzy and his Firefighter Lady. Also he definitely foster-fails multiple times and hires a full-time nanny to take care of all his and Nic's dogs when she's on shift and he's traveling. It's great.

AND I imagine some very funny cultural confusion moments when her family (Japanese) interacts with his family (Russian) but they all generally bond over their shared love of fermented foods and dumplings. And alcohol. There are hijinks.

Ok. The End!

#kuzy #answered asks #lrpd #lrpd adjacent #mywriting #Author things

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narnian-neverlander · 3 days ago

Text

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again [Machine Herald Viktor x GN!Reader]

Preview: “You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 10,7k

Warnings: slight body horror/modifications, suicidal thoughts, canon typical violence (injuries and blood, mentions of torture, mentions of character death, alluded murder)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Does a broken rib from too much coughing count as the AO3 curse yet cause wow this took way longer than expected. Anyways, Epic x Arcane has been bouncing around my head since Season 2 came out, but this was inspired by this post from @le-fruit-de-la-passion cause I saw that and I’ve been internally screaming over it ever since 💁

Happy Valentine’s everybody 💞

Nothing had been the same since you woke up.

It’s to be expected, it had been almost two years after all.

Two years since the explosion. Two years since half the council had died. Two years since any attempt at peace between the two cities had been shattered. Two years that you had spent blissfully unaware of all of this; a coma keeping you trapped within the confines of a hospital bed and your own mind.

You’d expected pain after coming back to your senses; it was the last thing you remembered before the world had went dark. But you’d slept through most of your recovery. Through your wounds turning into scars. Through your muscles growing weak from disuse. Your hands were a different story, though. They didn’t so much hurt, only at times, as they were simply numb. Shattered bones and nerve damage had made them mostly useless and that was not something any amount of time would simply fix.

Not everything had completely changed, though, you’d found. You’d been awake for not more than an hour when Jayce had burst through the doors of your hospital room. And sure, he’d looked different: his hair longer, a beard, the white and gold that had always dominated his outfits replaced with black and silver, a brace on one of his legs and a cane at his side. But the relief in his hazel eyes when he’d found his friend conscious was familiar. The way his hug had felt. And how he’d completely avoided your gaze when you’d asked about your lover.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

He’d expected you to cry, scream, anything. But you hadn’t. You’d merely nodded, as numb as your broken hands, and had thanked him for coming to see you. Had told him to go back to his work, he must certainly be busy after all. And it had torn him apart, to see you, someone he’d always known as energetic and joyful, so tired, so apathetic. The very least for him to do had been to offer his help in any way he could, including finding a doctor that would fix your hands. He’d been more than reluctant to leave you, but you’d asked for some time alone to rest and he could hardly deny you that - it had still taken him a good ten minutes more to actually take his leave, with promises of a soon return and to simply send for him if you needed anything.

You’d settled back into the bed, fully intent on going back to sleep and pretending you’d be able to wake up in a different world, but the sun had caught on something metallic on your bedside table, hidden behind flowers and cards. You’d reached for it with stiff, unsteady fingers, almost sending the small, scratched up, mechanical cat crashing to the ground; luckily it had just ended up bouncing off your leg and then settling in your lap.

You’d stared at the little robotic feline in astonishment for a long time, unblinking amber eyes staring right back, like it would tell you who had brought it here, when it should’ve been sitting on a shelf in your apartment. Like it would give you all the answers and solutions in the world. An answer to your pain. To the hopelessness creeping in. To the feeling of your heart slowly shattering.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

It had almost made you drop your precious possession all over again, breaths heavy and migraine pounding in the back of your skull. And your racing mind had very clearly told you that there’s no recollection of ever having heard him say anything like this, your aching heart replying that it had been an idle wish, nothing more.

This idle wish comes back to you know, lying bruised and bloody and dazed in a ditch somewhere in Zaun. The people you’d been sent to for help had turned out to be anything but the kind, generous researches they’d made themselves look like; only interested in their own profit, gained on the backs of the helpless and the beaten. And after months of more pain and suffering, once you’d no longer been of use, your body even more mutilated and damaged than before, you’d been discarded like the trash they viewed you as. Face in the dirt, body and mind exhausted and screaming for rest, just a small respite, you consider letting go. Consider closing your eyes and just letting eternal rest take you; you don’t have anything left, after all. No home to go back to. No loved ones waiting for you.

Your shattered psyche seems to welcome the idea more than anything; through blurry vision you swear you see your lost beloved right in front of you, like it’s just another lazy morning spent in bed together. A warm hand cupping your cheek, gentle amber eyes, voice still raspy and accent thick from sleep. Telling you to go back to sleep. That it’s okay to rest. You blink and he’s gone.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

A cry for help, created from a desperate mind and a broken heart. A fantasy. Wishful thinking. Nothing more. No one would be coming for you. Nobody would know or care if you just laid down to die right here. But there’s still a part of you, tiny as it may be, that wants to live. That under no circumstances wants to die on the same streets you once crawled your way out of, while your tormentors get rich on your suffering and are left with no consequences. Your blood’s starting to boil, powering you like a steam engine, getting you up on your hands and knees, groaning and whimpering in pain as you hopelessly try to get your feet back under you.

Peace is for the dead, revenge is for the living.

It’s what forces you towards the city limits on wobbly, clumsy legs, one stumbling step at a time. If revenge would be your only reason to live, then so be it. You’d take it over simply giving up and being forgotten; your body left to rot in the dirt.

So you live off scraps and garbage. Get your quick bouts of rest on dark, dirty street corners. Collect herbs from the riverbed, as scarce as they may be, to fight off the infections you incurred. It’s not pretty or elegant and you can barely call it living, but you’re alive. And eventually you catch rumors, whispers, only spoken in the same shadows you’ve now spent months living in: rumors of a healer. Well, some call him that. Others revere him as a god. Others fear him as a monster, more machine than man. But they all agree on two things: that he’s the one to go to if you’re in desperate need of help and have nothing left to lose. And where to find him.

The gate to the house on Emberflit Alley is old and bent and rusted. Not locked, but your stiff, useless fingers have enough trouble opening it anyways. The front door is a different story entirely, encrusted with interlocking gears to keep you and anyone else out unless invited in. So you knock and you wait. And then you repeat that process. Until it becomes clear that either no one is home or that a disturbance isn’t currently wanted. You’re not about to give up so easily though, so you step off the porch and start making your way around the house in search of any windows to knock on instead or maybe even break if necessary. It’s dusk by now and the ever present fog that always seems to cling to this area of the Lanes isn’t making your job much easier; your foot inevitably catches on something, a loose brick or a protruding pipe maybe, and sends you stumbling, falling and while you manage to catch yourself against the brick wall, your flailing palm ends up going straight through a window.

Perfect. You hadn’t actually been serious about breaking and entering. Not entirely, anyways. Trying to assess the damage to your hand in the dimly lit alley, you’re distracted enough to not pick up on the sound of a door opening and you only notice the heavy footsteps when they stop right behind you.

“You’re persistent if nothing else, I will give you that.”

The voice is deep, warped, with a mechanical echo to it, but it’s the accent that sends an unwelcome and unexpected twinge to your heart. You turn around very slowly and carefully, prey about to get caught by something terrible, and gulp when you actually need to crane your head back and look up cause fuck, he’s tall. At least a head taller than you, with a broad frame, all heavy armor and pieces of metal, a sharp, three pronged claw pulsing with energy pointed right at you from over his shoulder and a mask with only two hollow, glowing, yellow eyes staring back at you. He’s an imposing, unforgiving presence and you’re starting to understand why people only come to him as a last resort. But you’d come this far and he’s right, you’re persistent, stubborn, if nothing else, for better or for worse.

“I was— No one was opening the door and I was just trying to— Are you the Herald?” It’s a redundant question, really. “It’s what they insist on calling me.” Okay, you’re having a conversation. Sorta. That’s progress. “They also say that you… help people?” He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side and while you might not be able to see his eyes, you can feel them taking you in from head to toe. “To the best of my abilities. What would you need help with?” You falter for a second. “It’s uhm… a lot, really, but mostly my hands?” Most people have always reacted with disgust or pity and you don’t expect him to be much different, so the way you bring your hands in front of you for him to see is slow and hesitant. He leans forward for a better look and you fight the urge to back away and flee. It’s quiet, too quiet, the way he’s so intensely studying you and your injuries unnerving and the metal claw that looks like it could tear you in half opening and closing and rotating as if in thought is most definitely not helping your anxiety. Finally, he straightens up and turns around. “Follow me.” He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he check to see if you actually do follow him, merely strides back inside the house, leaving you scrambling to catch up.

The halls that he leads you through have dozens of motionless automatons leaning against the walls, the room you eventually arrive in is lined with shelves of glass jars containing organic and metal organs floating in green fluid and in the far corner a leather gurney with a mechanized drill laid upon it and stains you don’t want to think too hard about. Fortunately, he doesn’t lead you over to that, but instead to a workbench cluttered with machinery and tools and blueprints. He sits in the old, rusty chair and then drags out a little stool from under the table, gesturing for you to copy him while he reaches above his head and fiddles with what is revealed to be a bright, neon lamp when it finally flickers to life, blinding you for a moment and leaving spots in your vision. You do as your told and finally place your hands in his when he holds out his own, one gloved and from what you can tell human, the other solid metal.

There’s a certain gentle diligence with which he conducts his examination, something you most definitely didn’t expect, but it puts your frayed nerves at ease. It also triggers a memory from long ago, an accident in the lab, that had ended with you curled up against your boyfriend’s shoulder while Jayce had carefully picked glass shards from your palms. A slight shake of your head brings you back to the present; a different life, it no longer matters. It’s silent between you two, except for the occasional question from his side that you answer truthfully. Eventually, he sits back and switches off the lamp above you. “Your hands can not be salvaged; the damage is too severe and was left insufficiently treated for too long. If you want full use of them back, they will need to be replaced.” He says it like it’s the most logical, natural thing in the world and to him it must be, but to you? It leaves you stunned, mouth going dry. “So I’d lose them entirely…?”

“You already have,” he states matter of factly. “Now it’s just a matter of wether you’re insisting on clinging on to broken, useless flesh and bone for the sake of sentimentality or if you’d rather exceed your human limitations and be able to return to a normal life.” It takes everything you have not to laugh bitterly; new hands or not, you weren’t going back to your old, normal life anytime soon. But he’s right nonetheless. “And you can do that? Replace them? Make them work like before?” You can’t be certain, with the mask’s filter and all but it almost sounds like he scoffs in offense. He waves his own hand in front of your face and flexes his fingers for show; dark, solid metal, expertly welded and crafted together to create a perfectly functioning hand. “Naturally.”

There’s nothing for you to think about anymore. “Okay. Yeah, I… that sounds good. Except…” Maybe there is one thing to think about. “I can’t… pay you for it. B-but I can work it off! Or I could—“ he decisively cuts you off with, “I do not take payment for my work.” And your jaw actually drops, because there is no way anyone in this world would offer services like this for free. There always has to be an angle, something to be gained. “Right. So you just do this out of the goodness of your fucking heart? Do you even have one? A heart, I mean.” He stands to his full height and it hits you like a ton of bricks that you just followed a complete stranger into the confines of his home. A stranger twice your size that would have no trouble turning you into parts for his future experiments. A stranger that has a reputation on Zaun’s streets as an unhinged monster. And it seems like you might’ve hit a nerve.

But he merely reaches past you, for something behind you on the table and comes back with a pair of tweezers and gauze and then proceeds to remove the parts of his window that are still stuck in one of your palms. Right. Since you can’t really feel them, you’d forgotten all about them. “Of course not. And to answer your question, no, I got rid of my heart a long time ago; it was of no use to me any longer. I only ask that you stay here during your recovery so I can oversee the adjustment process. Document it to further my research. You will be paying me in information, knowledge, progress. That is worth more than any gold or jewels you could throw at me.” Your own heart is going a mile a minute after that scare, but you’re slowly coaxing your body to calm back down. If he truly wanted to harm you, he would’ve done so by now. “And you’re sure that’s enough?” A sigh, as if he’s forced to explain something overly simplistic to a child over and over again. “You can bring any scrap metal you may find on the streets to me, if that will make you feel better.” You snort in amusement. “Okay, sure, you got yourself a deal. Sooooo… now what?”

He pauses wrapping your hand for a moment and turns his unblinking gaze to you again. “Malnourished, sick or overly exhausted people make for greater risks, both during surgery and recovery.” You flinch because you damn well know that you check all of those boxes. And you’re sure he knows it, too. “Yeah, well it’s not like I can snap my fingers and magically be healthy again. If I could, I wouldn’t be here. Besides, do you know where you live? You can’t tell me that every Zaunite who comes in here is of picture perfect health?”

“No, I just thought you should be made aware. We can perform the procedure tomorrow, at least get some sleep before that; surely that’s not too difficult?” It almost sounds patronizing and you realize you’ve gained back, or rather are rediscovering a part of yourself you haven’t used in a long time in the few minutes you’ve been talking to him: the defiant smartass. “Of course I can do that, I’m not an imbecile. There’s a brothel owner who owes me a favor, I’m sure I can get her to cough up a bed for the night.” He’s doesn’t look up from putting the finishing touches on your bandages, but apparently he still feels the need to state, “And leave with more diseases than you came with?” Had he just called you diseased? “I’ll have you know I don’t have anything contagious, thank you very much. I don’t think. And it’s that or sleep out on the streets again, so…”

“Or you could just stay here.”

You barely manage a very intelligent ‘Huh?!’ in return.

“You will return here tomorrow anyways. And stay here for your recovery. One night will not make a difference.”

Your eyes flit over to the leather couch in the corner; it’s clearly old and worn, missing an armrest and has obvious tears in the leather. Truly, you shouldn’t be this comfortable around him so quickly, but it’s still the closest thing to an actual bed you’d had in months so you’d take it.

“If it’s okay with you.” you shrug and quickly walk over to the sofa, dropping the bag that contains whatever little belongings you have left to the floor and then promptly collapse on it in an exhausted heap of limbs. That seems to break some of his composed facade as you catch him physically startling in your peripheral while you’re busy shrugging out of one of your coats and turning it into a makeshift pillow. “There is a room upstairs, with a bed, entirely unused. You can sleep there.” But you’re drowsy already, the worn leather surprisingly soft and pliant against your battered body. “So you don’t sleep, I assume; noted. And don’t worry, I don’t snore, so I won’t interrupt your… your work. You won’t… even know… I’m…” You’re out cold before you’ve finished your sentence and it takes all of half a minute before you’re lightly snoring. Liar. But he knew that already.

A heavy sigh and then he’s up, grabbing the blanket and pillow from the bed upstairs; replacing the bunched up coat under your head and pausing before he covers your body with the thick, warm fabric. Your skin has lost color, you’re underweight, he most definitely caught you limping earlier and those are just the things he could tell from a first glance. Your hands would be an easy enough matter to fix, but the rest would take time and care. He covers you with the blanket and you immediately snuggle up into it until only your hair is barely poking out. So you still hate the cold, then. Just like you’re still defiant and mouthy. It’s ridiculous how much you haven’t changed in direct contrast to him; changed so vastly and completely, of course you wouldn’t recognize him.

Carefully dragging down the blanket and the backs of your several layers of clothing, he indeed finds a series of numbers and letters branded into the skin at the back of your neck, as expected. He recognizes their shoddy handiwork by now; you weren’t the first Zaunite to come through his door after they’d fallen victim to that group. But you’d most definitely be the last. He gathers some things from around the lab and finally grabs his staff from where it’s leaning against the wall, gem at the top crackling with energy; one last look at your curled up form and then he’s out of the door, leaving you resting in his lab.

You’re warm, comfortable. It’s quiet and you actually feel well rested. All of that is so utterly foreign to you, it frightens you back to consciousness, makes you startle awake and fall off whatever you’d been asleep on in the process. Blind panic as you untangle yourself from a blanket you don’t remember having and stagger back to your feet, wild eyes searching for the closest threat.

Dim lighting breaking through murky windows, shelves stocked organs, a bloody gurney in the far corner and a hunched over figure at a workbench, their back currently turned to you as a clawed contraption over their shoulder emits a thin, precise ray of light.

“I do not appreciate getting lied to.”

There’s a part of your mind screaming at you that you know this voice, this person, this place, but the terrified haze you’re in yields little room for rationality as he shuts off the laser and turns around to face you, features covered by a mask with nothing but a set of glowing yellow eyes.

“You do, in fact, snore.”

It’s like a switch gets flipped, the haze lifts as you realize that you’re safe and you collapse back into the couch in a relieved heap, breaths still frenzied and heart still trying to jump out of your chest. “Right. Sorry.” He doesn’t comment any further, simply gets back to whatever it is he was working on before, leaving you to recover by yourself. It takes a few minutes, but once you consider yourself sufficiently calmed, you sit back up on the couch cross legged, blanket draped over your shoulders, wanting to apologize and thank him properly, but looking at him gives you pause.

He seems… smaller somehow than the night before. You find your answer in a heap of metal scattered around his workbench: big, cumbersome pieces of armor. Armor that you remember seeing on him yesterday, that you’d just assumed to be irremovable parts of his body. What you most definitely do not recall are the dents, scratches and the dried blood all over the metal. Nervously flitting your gaze back to him, you see what he’s working on is actually himself; laser directed at a part of his chest that he seems to be welding shut. And you’re taken aback at how much skin there is - human skin. The entirety of his chest and his right arm are sleek steel, interlocking gears and mechanisms, flawlessly shifting into each other as he moves, thin glowing panels pulsing with energy from hidden engines. And there’s definitely more metal at his right hip, disappearing into the waistband of his pants, but other than that…

His left arm is mostly pale skin, scarred flesh at his shoulder connecting to the dark steel; a wired glove slipped over his slender fingers seemingly controling the movements of the claw over this shoulder. His stomach and waist are still incredibly human too, if nothing else because of the dark purple bruise forming against his skin. He’s nowhere near as much machine as you’d expected, not to mention he looks… hurt. Had he been in a fight? Gotten attacked?

You open your mouth to ask, but think better of it before any sound can come out. It really has nothing to do with you; what he does in his own time is none of your business. It still feels off, to infringe on his time and help and not even ask if he’s alright when clearly, something that you’re not privy to has happened. Never one to leave well enough alone, you grab your bag from the floor and start sorting through the collection of herbs you’ve managed to acquire over time. Once you’ve found the ones you’re looking for, you package them into the most clean rag you have in your possession and tie it shut; uncrossing your legs you walk over to him and place the haphazardly made package on the table, careful not to disturb him. The movement still gets his attention and even with the mask’s filter, confusion is clear as day in his voice as he asks, “What is that and what is it doing on my workbench?”

“It’s an herbal remedy, for uhm… bruises and the like?” you explain, vaguely gesturing at his waist. “You soak it in boiling water and then put it on the effected area; it helps with swelling and pain.” It’s silent for a few long seconds, then, “I see. Thank you.” Not even remotely close to anything you were readying yourself for as a response, but it makes something within your chest beam with pride. You don’t even realize you’re still staring until he points it out and is met with, “You’re just… not exactly what I expected.”

“A monster?”

The laugh you let out is so shockingly soft, it almost startles him. “You’ve got a reputation, sure, and you’re… intimidating at first glance, I’ll give you that, but… I’ve met plenty of monsters in my life and none of them were anything like you. In fact, all of them looked and acted remarkably, ordinarily human at first.” There’s no further elaboration from your side and your gaze is distant, mind somewhere far away from here. He almost calls your name, but it occurs to him in the nick of time that you never actually introduced yourself. You’ve been here for less than twenty four hours and already he’s slipping, making mistakes; he can’t have that, so he drives the conversation in a direction he has control over. “I am almost finished with my repairs, I can get the general anesthetic started so we can proceed with your surgery as quickly as possible.”

Wild, hot panic takes over your gaze and he fully expects you to bolt out the front door with how you flinch and take a step away from him. “I need be under for the surgery? Can’t you do like, local anesthesia on my arms?” He hesitates; he’s never known you to be afraid of medical procedures, so what’s the problem? “First off, I will not be replacing both of your hands at the same time. Too risky and you’ll be completely incapacitated; we’re going to start with only one today. And no, in theory, you do not have to be under full anesthesia, however, we are talking about a delicate and unusual kind of surgery; I can not promise that it will be painless while you’re still conscious.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind the pain, I just… I wanna have some agency in what gets done to my body from here on out.”

Ah. So that’s it. One glance at the dried blood still clinging to his armor on the floor and he feels the rage from last night raise it’s ugly head again. He shoves that right back down, cursing internally, before he answers you, voice level and betraying nothing. “All right. It will not be a pretty sight, though.” You shrug, as nonchalant as if he’d just told you about dinner plans. “I mean, I don’t have to watch directly. But I’m gonna admit, I am curious.”

The curiosity lasts for all of the first cut into your flesh, then you turn your head away and simply let him work in silence; wouldn’t want to distract the man currently flaying you open and re-wiring your nerve endings. Luckily, there’s only the occasional pinch and pull, but you stay pain free otherwise. Recovery after the procedure is a different story entirely though; painful and arduous and time consuming. And you’re more than a little surprised at how diligently the Herald takes care of you. Keeping a close eye on his newest test subject, that’s what you write it off as at first. But as the weeks go by there’s a certain familiar domesticity that sneaks into your routine and you find yourself talking with him more and more. Well, it’s mostly you talking, but he listens; you know because the day after you complained about the room you’d been staying in feeling too dark, you’d come back from an errand to find the windows cleaned, the curtains gone and some mismatched lamps placed around the room. It’s a sweet, quiet kind of constant reassurance and you can’t help the way your heart warms at it; so much like what you’d been used to from your lost love.

The day you pick up a glass of water all by yourself, without spilling anything and the glass noticeably cold against your fingers, you almost weep with joy and just barely hold yourself back from tackling him in a hug. Instead you busy yourself with touching as many things in his lab as you can get your one properly functioning hand on - which means you miss the way he so openly stares at you, obvious even with his mask hiding his features. He hasn’t seen you this happy and energized since you showed up on his doorstep. It makes some part in chest whir conspicuously and it almost feels like something is overheating, so he quickly turns away and grabs a random, discarded project from his workbench to fiddle with.

“Do you… ya know, eat?”

It’s a random question, even for you, but he answers nonetheless. He’s used to it by now.

“I no longer require it as a form of energy replenishment, no.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, that doesn’t answer my question, though. You don’t have to, but do you? Sometimes?”

“I fail to comprehend why we are having this conversation in the first place.” He doesn’t put down his tools, nor does he look at you.

Okay, fair point.

“Well, I uh… I used to be a chef, had my own restaurant and everything? And since one of my hands finally works again I figured I’d like to give cooking something a try? And if you have a favorite, I could make it for you? As thanks for… well, for giving me a hand?” It’s not one of your finer jokes, you will admit, so you’re not surprised he doesn’t laugh. Not that you’ve ever heard him laugh at anything, for that matter. He doesn’t react at all, except for, “I told you, I do not take payment for my work. Are we done with this fruitless conversation now?” It stings more than you’d like, to have him dismiss your tries at kindness like that, even though you know it’s not personal.

“Right, yeah, sorry. It’s just… cooking’s the only thing I’ve ever been good for and I like to be some sort of useful so… but you’re right, it’s stupid. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Because if I stopped being useful, then… maybe he wouldn’t want me anymore. Maybe he’d leave me behind for something better.

It was years ago, he shouldn’t remember you saying it as clearly as he does. Nor the way you’d looked then; all teary eyed and vulnerable, in front of him and only him. He shouldn’t remember and much less should he still care. He finds himself putting down his tools anyways.

“Sweetmilk.”

It doesn’t even register that he’s talking to you at first, considering you’re already halfway out the door to give him some peace and quiet. “P-pardon?”

“Sweetmilk.” he repeats. “It’s technically not food, but a weakness of mine and it’s still made on a stove. However, I am out of—“

“I got it! I’ll go get everything; I know how to make it!” The biggest grin on your face, you’re out of his lab in an instant and he hears the front door open and close not long after that.

There’s an actual skip in your step as you make your way down the street, there’s no other way to put it.

You are no fool. It’s in the way he hyperfocuses on his work. In the way his place is always a mess, right down to how his tools and notes clutter his desk. In the way what little sunlight manages to reach this part of the Lanes catches in his chestnut hair when it filters through the windows. In the little vocal mannerisms and gestures that you remember oh so well, that he apparently was unable to remove, no matter how much of a perfect machine he claims himself to be. It’s all right there, it had been from the start, this had just been the final push you’d needed. The final push to actually let yourself hope.

You are no fool. He knows this. He knows this and yet he let you have this. This tiny, obsolete, aggravating piece of information that has now turned him into the fool instead. He’s certain you’ve already figured it out, how could you not have? With the way you were immediately way too comfortable around him? With the way you sometimes talked about yourself, your past, just naturally assuming he’d be able to fill in the blanks, cause to him, they weren’t blanks at all? With the way it had been so easy to slip back into old, dangerously domestic habits with you? This had simply been the final nail in the coffin, yours or his, he isn’t sure; he is sure, however that you do not belong here in his oh so carefully crafted solitude.

Over two years. That’s how long it had taken him to put himself back together again. To rid himself of the parts the Hexcore had already infected, tainted, taken from his control. To replace his dying lungs. To make sure he didn’t fall apart again after every second step. To ensure he was no longer weak. And then he’d come for you, intending to save you, make you whole again, but you’d been gone. Disappeared from your hospital bed, from Piltover all together it had seemed. He’d crossed several lines in his search for you, even the ones he’d set for himself; namely never asking for help from his former best friend and partner again. In the end, the only thing he’d accomplished had been to widen the ever growing rift between them, no step closer to you. So he’d done the only thing he could still think of: rip his heart straight from his chest to maybe, hopefully, get rid of the agony right along with it; erase the joyful memories that held nothing but misery anymore. And it had worked; everything inside him dulled and numbed enough to simply drown himself in his work with no interferences. Until you’d stumbled back into his life. And things should be different, he shouldn’t care about you anymore outside of how you can further his research, but they’re not. The way the two of you still fit together so effortlessly is disgustingly, hauntingly familiar and he has to put a stop to it. He has chosen to live like this, in isolation and loneliness, he would not force it on you in the name of some long forgotten affection.

Perfect opportunity strikes some days later, while he’s in the process of replacing your second hand and you question him about his own augmentations. So he tells you about his weak leg and his collapsing lungs like you don’t already know. Watches the smile vanish from you lips and your face fall as he explains how he removed his connections to people from his past.

“So you… you don’t remember anyone who used to be a part of your life? Family, friends, lovers?”

“I remember them just fine, I simply got rid of any unnecessary emotional attachments associated with them. I remember my mother’s lullabies, I do not miss them any longer. I remember the discussions with my old partner, yet I no longer look at them fondly. I remember the lazy mornings spent with my lover, but I don’t yearn for them anymore.”

You visibly flinch at that last one and he merely warns you to stay still, like he doesn’t know what hearing all of this must do to you. It goes quiet between you two afterwards and any glance he steals at you confirms his theory, proves that his action had the desired reaction: the cogs are turning in your head and the longer they do, the more the despair and grief start to show on your face; realization that he is no longer the man you knew and that you no longer have a place by his side. It’s quick, simple work to finish your surgery and he decides to leave you be, give you time to let the new information he provided you with sink in and with some trivial errands used as a quick excuse, you’re left sitting alone on a rickety old stool in his lab.

And you stay seated for a long while, still and unmoving, blankly staring off into the distance as you hopelessly try to process what he just revealed to you. The love you hold for him hasn’t diminished in the slightest, no matter how much he might claim to have changed, but what’s it worth if you’re nothing but a stranger to him now? If the affections he’d had for you in return were lost to his quest of a perfect evolution?

You’re unsure what compels you to rise from your seat, to stroll across the room and absentmindedly trail your fingers across the books on one of his shelves. Maybe you’re simply trying to distract your mind from spiraling further down into the dark abyss of hoplessness it’s currently headed for. Maybe a part of you already knows that this is not meant to last and you’re trying to commit everything to memory through touch alone, now that he’s returned that sensation to you. The very last thing you expect is for one of the spines to catch your attention and for just a moment, you’re back in your old apartment, your old life. Hurriedly pulling the book from it’s spot you find that you are in fact correct, this used to belong to you. The corners of the dark blue cover are frayed and the golden lettering faded, but you recognize it anyways; you’d lent it to him years ago and he’d just never gotten around to giving it back. Which still doesn’t explain what it’s doing here, surely he doesn’t have any use for it anymore. You gingerly dust it off, careful not to over exert your new fingers, and crack it open only for a little slip of paper to immediately come fluttering out and land on the floor in front of you. Picking it up, you find only two words written in a handwriting you know all too well.

Lavender = devotion

The memories flood your mind wether you want them to or not; memories of your absolute mess of a first date. Of the meticulously crafted bouquet of flowers he’d gotten you, based on the book you’d lent him.

Putting the paper back with the page containing it’s corresponding flower, you quickly rifle through the rest of the book and find plenty more notes still left within the pages, all in his handwriting.

Iris = hope, trust

Alstroemeria = mutual support, fascination

Carnations = sincere love, respect, new beginnings

The last entry you come across doesn’t have a written note with it. Instead you find a picture: the two of you, slumped together on the sofa in the lab, all tangled limbs and sleepy intimacy, blissfully unaware of your friend sneaking this picture. It’s marking the pages for camellias and you don’t need a note or a proper look at the information in the book to know what they symbolize; not when you can clearly remember him telling you.

Eternal love. I’m yours for as long as you want. If you’ll have me.

The book slips from your fingers, landing open on the floor with a dull thump as you go right along with it, knees hitting the wood beneath you hard as you curl in on yourself and sob, photograph cradled close against your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve cried, some still coherent part of your mind realizes. Since waking up. Since being imprisoned and tortured. Since coming here. Since being forced to accept stroke after stroke of fate that had irreversibly changed your life entirely against your will or control. So you cry and you weep and you scream at the top of your lungs. For yourself and everything you’ve had to endure. For all you’ve lost. For the life you could’ve had.

You have to leave. You have to. Or you’d spend the the rest of your life desperately trying to rekindle a love that no longer exists. A final glance at the picture still held in your hands and you consider taking it; he wouldn’t miss it, he probably doesn’t even know it’s still here. But the people in that photograph are long gone and it would cause you nothing but more grief, so what’s the point? You drop it between the pages you’d found it in and shove the book back into its’ spot on the shelf before scrambling to your feet and beginning to gather your things strewn across his house. And you could’ve left then and there, things packed and mind made up. You probably should have. But it doesn’t feel quite right either, just disappearing without a trace. So you sit on the bed you’ve called your own for the past weeks and you wait. Until you hear him come home in the middle of the night and the urge to sprint downstairs, throw a quick goodbye and thank you over your shoulder and slam the door on this entire sad, miserable chapter of your life is there. But you don’t. You can’t. Because despite everything, you still want a proper goodbye - you didn’t get one last time, after all. Except you have no idea how you’d go about that, so you stay right where you are and rack your brain. Until dawn breaks and you’re no closer to a solution, so you drag your tired body off the bed and make your way downstairs; you’re just looking for more excuses to stay at this point.

Of course you find him at his workbench, where else, most of his heavier armor discarded and Hexclaw dimantled in front of him as he diligently solders wires to metal. Pausing in the doorway, you wait for him to acknowledge your presence, giving yourself some more time to think, but when several minutes pass and he doesn’t even look up you clear your throat, receiving a quick ‘Morning.’ in return and nothing else. No point beating around the bush, is there?

“When do you think I’ll be able to leave?”

Too busy fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of your shirt to distract yourself, you don’t notice the way he almost flinches, everything he’s doing coming to a halt. It’s quiet for only a moment before he says, “You are not a prisoner here. You may leave whenever you wish to.”

Not the answer you want, not the answer you long for, but an answer nonetheless

“I… now would be good for me, I think.”

“Very well.”

And that’s the end of it. The room is blanketed in silence once again, except for the scrapes and shuffles of his tools as he goes back to work. No grand, emotional request for you stay and why would he? You’re a stranger, an experiment and there’ll be others like you; others to further his research and learn from. He doesn’t need you anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time, you realize. Oh how you wish you could feel the same. You go to grab your bag from the hallway in apathetic, almost mechanical movements, nothing but muscle memory driving you at this point and you expect to walk out the front door without another word exchanged between the two of you, but surprisingly enough, he calls out to you again.

“Where will you go?”

Stopping in your tracks, you come to lean against the door frame, gaze falling anywhere but him. You’re not sure what he’s even asking for, it won’t have any impact on his life after all, but you answer honestly anyways. “As far away from this city as I can get, probably. There’s no one— there’s… nothing left for me here anymore.” A pause as the faces of your tormentors flash before your inner eye. “Not before making the bastards who used me pay for it, though.” He unscrews a panel at the base of the Hexclaw while posing another question. “And if that costs you your life?” You shrug even though he can’t see. “Just as well. I’m not sure I’ve got the will to build something new for myself anyways…”

Silence falls again and you interpret it as the natural end of the conversation and your cue to leave. Except there’s one last thing you need to get off your chest - quite literally, in fact. Slipping off the chain around your neck, ring still safely attached to it as always, you approach him and place it on the surface of his workbench. To your utter surprise, he actually interrupts his work and picks it up with careful fingers; his face might be hidden from you by his mask, but he radiates confusion so you explain before he has a chance to ask. “When I first came here, you told me I could pay you in scrap metal if it made me feel any better about encroaching on your space and time. You can melt this down, throw it out, I don’t care; I’ve carried it around with me long enough and it was always meant to be yours.” You truly don’t have the strength to wait for his reaction, or probable lack thereof; this means nothing to him now, you mean nothing, and that thought makes you hurry towards the exit, tears burning in your eyes.

Despite better judgment, you pause in the doorway, fingers tight around the strap of your bag and swallow around the growing lump in your throat. “Thank you…” It’s barely above a whisper and it’s not enough. You were the one who wanted a proper goodbye this time, weren’t you? So you turn to fully face him, met with the same blank, hollow eyed stare you’ve grown oh so used to and you smile, genuine and grief stricken. “Thank you for everything, Viktor.”

Part of you wonders when he last heard his own name. If he even still remembers it.

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in his quiet lab, with only his research to keep him company, just as it should be.

The front door is as far your shaky legs get you, bag slipping from your shoulder as you slump against it, forehead pressed to the cool, worn wood as you press a hand against your mouth in a desperate attempt to to stifle the sobs. The man you’re leaving behind is the love of your life no matter what, you’ve known that for ages; there was a before him, but there was never supposed to be an after. And yet now you have to figure out exactly what that after is going to look like, because he’s gone and at the same time he’s still here and that, oh that aches something awful. It’s unfair and it’s cruel and it makes you want to claw your own chest open to strangle your heart with your bare hands just to make the pain stop. It makes you envy him for the first time, no heart left in his chest to ail him. And it makes you despise him, because how dare he leave you alone with the burden of this love you were supposed to share?

The heavy footfalls behind you should jumpstart you into action, make you wrench the door open and get out or at the very least compose yourself, but you can’t. You find that you simply don’t care anymore either. Let him see what he’s done to you, what he’s turned you into, even if he wouldn’t shed a single tear over it. A mechanical hand comes to rest next to your head, his presence right at your back, so close and so very much like the first night you came to this place and yet everything’s so incredibly different now.

“What? Did you forget some kind of last diagnostics test on the new hand or something?” The tears are obvious in your tone. “No. But you should know that the people you plan on taking revenge on are already dead. I made sure of it.” Breath catching in your throat, the memory of your first morning in this house comes back to you: the bruises, the blood on his armor, the way everything about him had screamed violence and death that day. “You… Why?” It makes no sense whatsoever and it’s making your head spin and he’s not answering, until, “That’s hardly a concern for you now. I simply thought it consequential for you to be made aware of the fact that if you wish to depart from this city you may do so. There is nothing—“ It’s the first time you’ve heard him falter and fumble in all your time here and when he speaks again there’s an edge to his voice that you can’t quite place, accompanied by the hand against the door clenching into a fist. “There is no one keeping you here anymore.”

The clock in the corner counts down the seconds, loud and echoing in comparison to the quiet that has befallen you both. A quiet you decide to break, tentative and scared.

“Isn’t there? My tormentors might be gone, but what of the man I love? Could he still find it in him to love me if I stayed?”

“I don’t believe that still matters, does it? You’ll leave either way.”

And something inside of you snaps.

You brace your forearms against the door and shove backwards, catching him so off guard he stumbles back a step or two, creating just enough distance for you to rear back your hand and punch him square in the jaw. His mask gets knocked clean off his face, loudly clattering to the floor; your freshly operated hand sparks and creaks ominously, fingers now bent at odd angles while searing pain shoots up your entire arm, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the white, hot fury that’s boiling you alive from the inside out.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you?!”

He doesn’t even deem it necessary to look at you; completely frozen to the spot, head turned away from you and hair covering his eyes from your view. He will have to listen to you either way, wether he wants to or not. Wether he still cares or not.

“You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

You slump back against the door for support, chest heaving and unharmed hand coming up to cover your face; a desperate and all but pointless attempt to hide the tears and stifle the sobs.

He’s a scientist, an engineer. Solving problems, fixing things, improving lives; it’s what he does. What he thrives in. Yet he doesn’t know how to fix this. So he zeroes in on the one thing he can fix.

“Let me see your hand.”

But you don’t let him. Curl in on yourself and angle your body and injured hand away from him; it makes you seem so much smaller. So vulnerable. So defeated. Good. Maybe if he can drive you away even further then…

“You are… a distraction. A hindrance to my work that I can not tolerate. You do not belong here and it would be better for the both of us if you left and never returned.”

With the mask gone, the mechanical edge to his voice is missing as well, but every word still stings like the cut of a blade.

“So turn around and let me go. You’ll never have to see me again, I promise.”

He knows all too well how seriously you take that; every promise, no matter how small or menial, a solemn oath, never to be broken. He can not let you make this one; every part of himself rebels against the very thought of letting you walk out that damn door, even if it would be the logical thing to do. Drive you further away, he’s not capable of that any longer, who is he trying to fool? Himself, most likely.

Stepping closer he gauges your reaction and when you don’t recoil from him any further, he rests his hands on either side of you and drops his forehead against the old, worn wood above your shoulder.

“I can’t.”

It’s spat through grit teeth, like it physically pains him to admit it. But it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in his voice during all the time you’ve been here.

“I removed every function that wasn’t vital; every memory that was redundant to my work. Affection, jealousy, admiration, anger, joy, sorrow; any emotion that would’ve proven an aberration sooner rather than later. I clawed and prodded and scraped at my own insides until nothing remained and yet you refused to let go.”

Your sobs have reduced to sniffles, your body still beneath him; except for the hand you’ve dropped from your face that he now feels running up his back, titanium fingers gliding over the metal ridges that make up his spine until they settle at the nape of his neck.

“Your face, your laugh, your favorite color, the way you’d look cooking breakfast in the mornings, the way your body would feel against mine; every detail, no matter how minute stayed. Etched into the fissures of my brain, burned into the steel I used to rebuild myself, regardless of how many times I replaced it. Carved into my being, my very soul; I could not remove you any more than I could remove the engine beating as my heart. And I can not go back to how things were before you came here. Before you found me again.”

“Why not? You seemed perfectly happy in your solitude with your work.” Your voice is small, but genuine. And you almost squeak in shock, wind knocked out of you, when his arms come around your middle to hold you tight, almost too tight, flush against him as he buries his face into crook of your neck.

“Because you are in every fraction of skin, in every blood vein that still remains within me. In every bolt, every wire, every piece of metal I welded to myself. I do not… function properly unless I know of your whereabouts. Unless I know you’re safe and cared for. And it was maddening, to surpress it, to ignore it all these years; a clear error constantly rearing its’ ugly head, telling me that I will never get any further in my research, my work, my vision, unless it’s resolved. Constantly running on loop in the back of my head, reminding me that I am incomplete. I need you, you are an essential part of me, right down to my very atoms and it makes me, all of me, no matter what else I might become, yours.”

There’s fresh tears streaming down your face, because he sounds so tired. So desperate. So upset. So painfully human. You find yourself doing the same thing you’ve always done when you’ve had him in your arms, worried and anxious about something; gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and lean your head against his carefully. “Viktor, if you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask. You know that; if you want something all you ever had to do was ask it of me. But I need you to ask me, all right? I need to hear you say it.” He doesn’t answer right away, only draws patterns into the small of your back in thought; a habit of his you remember all too well. This close, you can feel the heat coming off him, generated from the several engines powering him and a barely there hum and whirr of machinery against your chest; a sound that comes in regular intervals, akin to a heartbeat. When he does speak, his voice is weary. Conflicted. Unsure. Scared.

“I am not the man you fell in love with, my heart. Not gentle, nor kind. There is no coming back from the lines I’ve crossed and I don’t— I can not love you the same way I used to. The way you’d deserve. And yet… I want to be selfish.” He pauses for a bitter, ridiculing bark of laughter and shifts in your hold and it’s only then that you realize the skin at the slope of your neck and your collarbone is wet. Shame threatens to choke you when it occurs to you that up until now you didn’t think he still could cry. “I shouldn’t want for anything. Machines do not want or desire or long for things. But… they need all their components to operate as they’re supposed to; to perform at their full potential.” He’s rationalizing it, you know and you’ll be fucking damned if you interrupt him. “And I need you to stay. Here, with me. Then maybe in time you’ll be able to love me as I am now.”

Your chuckle is weak; you’re exhausted physically and emotionally. “What a silly thing to say. That’s assuming I ever stopped loving you in the first place.” It should be impossible, for his embrace to become any tighter, but it does and it’s almost starting to hurt - good, because the pain makes it real.

It’s in the way he buries his face against you further, a noise oh so very similar to a sob escaping him, and how your gaze catches on his mask left discarded on the ground that it finally dawns on you: he’s hiding. From you or from himself, you’re not certain, but you’re not having it any longer. “My love, let me see you.” He doesn’t move; if anything he freezes up. “Please?” You try again and are met with the same result, except for, “You will not like what you find.” Irritation flares up in your chest, manifesting itself in a harsh tug on his hair and, “That’s for me to decide.” It takes him a few very long, agonizing seconds, but eventually, he sighs in defeat and pulls back enough for you to be able to get your first proper look at his face after all these years.

No wonder you managed to break your hand, his jaw and cheeks are all solid, dark, smooth metal, connecting to the column of his throat. Your fingers are moving before you can stop yourself, trailing along his cheek bones where hard steel meets soft, scarred flesh. Still as pale as always, almost deathly so, faint blue veins under his skin now in plain view and the contrast to the two moles you adore all the more prominent. The ever present dark circles under his eyes have evolved into lasting bruises. And oh his eyes. The same beautiful gold you remember, except now they’re rimmed with a thin ring of bright pink, courtesy of the Shimmer you’ve seen in his lab no doubt, bright against the deep, dark, purple-ish black that now makes up his sclera. But dissimilar from your memory as they may be, the look in them is one you recognize: careful, poised for rejection, but the remaining tears betray him. It’s strange, how he can look so utterly different yet so hauntingly the same.

He had imagined this moment plenty of times, but never in his wildest dreams could he have come up with this. Yes, there’s several emotions at once crossing your face when you finally see him, yet none of them negative. It’s genuine, innocent curiosity at first, reflected in the careful fingers that reach out to touch him. And before he has time to fully register your touch against his skin, your expression shifts and it’s nothing but pure, unadulterated admiration and affection. “Still so beautiful. Still all mine.”

Just like that, all the tumult and chaos and noise in the back of his head that hadn’t once stopped in the last few years finally seems to silence and he can actually fucking think in peace again for the first time - and the first thing he thinks to do, the most logical thing to do, really, is to curse under his breath before crashing his lips to yours. It’s needy and filthy and all tongues and teeth, your back making abrupt contact with the door again as he shoves you against it, hands coming up from your waist to cup your face. The gesture is tender and sweet and entirely contrasting to the way he’s kissing you; to what he claims to have become. It’s more than welcome nonetheless, giving you a sense of security you didn’t realize you needed as your intact hand moves away from his hair to cover his. It just so happens to be the one that’s still mostly flesh and blood, warm against your skin, except for a thin, cold sliver of metal you feel that you can’t place at first. You don’t remember seeing any augmentations that would feel like this on his hand before. Curious despite the adoring, addictive haze that’s starting to cloud your mind, fingertips try to make out more detail and you find it in tiny little ridges in the metal sitting specifically on his ringfinger that feel suspiciously like letters. Letters that spell out one word: Unconditional.

Your ring. He’s wearing your ring.

It makes you kiss him harder, wanting him so much closer even though it’s hardly possible. You could stay like this for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t ever need for anything else. How unfortunate it is then that one of you both still needs air to fill their lungs to live. How unfortunate that that someone is you; personally you gladly would’ve suffocated against his lips, but he seems to have other plans as he pulls back to let you take some much needed deep breaths, chest heaving while he settles for leaving chaste pecks against the skin of your face.

“Still all yours,” he confirms and you mirror the smile you can hear in his voice. “Now and always.”

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