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deebris · 2 months ago

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The Misteryous Visitor 6

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Being alone with Damian after so many years didn't lead to the ideal conversation you two should have had, but every little word seemed to have helped you two get closer at least a little bit. However, the chaotic turbulence of the night returned when your mother decided to leave.

Warnings: Family discussion; mention of kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4k

Note: I wanted to post this and part 7 together, because they are the last two, but it didn't turn out as planned. I hope you like it.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Damian walked to the end of the hallway and turned right, heading toward the living room. His only goal at the moment was to find you and try to prepare you for the catastrophic revelation he knew would come at some point. He was already tired of seeing you so unaware of everything; you weren’t an idiot and didn’t deserve to be treated like one.

But it seemed he didn’t have to try too hard because as soon as he turned the corner and walked a few meters, he abruptly stopped upon seeing that you hadn’t disappeared. In fact, you were there, sitting on the floor next to an old portrait of Martha, your grandmother, curled up as if just waiting for someone to come and get you. Someone who wasn’t your brother, apparently.

“There you are.” He took a few steps back and made no effort to crouch to your level; instead, he stood staring at you with a reproachful look that made you pull your legs even tighter to your chest. “Get up, quickly. The floor is for rats.”

He was trying to ignore the tension, but you were giving him the silent treatment, which made him uncomfortable, though he would never admit it to himself. You had done this to him many times before, but it was always over silly reasons, so he never minded.

You also could never hold a grudge for long, and when you were younger, within an hour, you would have forgotten any disagreement between the two of you and would then come to annoy him again. But now you were older, it wasn’t a tantrum anymore, and the reason was much more complex than any other. You weren’t ignoring him because you were simply irritated, and he feared it was different now.

Damian couldn’t ignore the irritation he felt seeing how ashamed of yourself you seemed since he first saw you. He hated that trait of your personality, always very aware of everything and everyone around you, though it was contradictory to your incredible ability to do unthinkable nonsense.

From where you both were, he still had a view of the bedroom door. The boy couldn’t help but glance over there, curious about what kind of discussion your parents were having. At the same time, he was contemplating various ways to say something or maybe try to fix the awkwardness between you two now, but your guilty voice caught him off guard:

“I didn’t mean to cause harm.” You sounded hoarse, and you two stared at each other, and unlike his sharp eyes, yours were wavering. He gave you a hard expression, but not because of the aversion you thought he had for you, but out of confusion.

It was a pity that Damian’s feelings weren’t easy to read, so you thought he was angry because that night you found out Bruce was someone very important to your brother now. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Wayne. I really don’t know what I did to make him like this. I’m sorry.”

So you thought you had done something wrong to make your father that way, Damian concluded. He hadn’t reflected on how you might feel that way, and fighting against his own callous nature, he made an effort to relax his posture and crouched down in front of you. Damian didn’t dare sit the same way you were, balancing on his toes and leaning his torso forward.

“It wasn’t anything you did.” You’re not sure, but you risk saying this was the first time you heard your brother so soft in your entire life. Damian had always been very loud and was almost always yelling or offending someone, but now, combined with the gravity his voice had gained with puberty, it was tender.

He was going to say something else, but suddenly a strange noise sounded. It was muffled, but it seemed like something had fallen, and you both could feel the ground vibrate. It came from the bedroom, which made you become alert. You started to get up, worried, but your brother’s firm hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“It must have been nothing. Don’t worry about them.” The tenderness had been replaced by harshness, but it wasn’t directed at you.

Sliding your back against the wall again, you rested your chin on your knees while admiring your own shoes, and just like always, you couldn’t maintain your silent treatment with Damian for long:

“I think I bothered Mr. Wayne by coming here. Mom will be mad at me for this later, I know she will.” You were obviously nervous, seeking refuge in Damian as you always did when you had to face her. Your mother didn’t have a good relationship with Batman, and now having to deal with you for disturbing his evening would make her furious. The little relief you felt earlier had vanished, suspecting she had only been affectionate before not to show Bruce.

“Mom is mad all the time.” He tried to calm you down. It would be unbelievable for someone who knows Talia only through her assassin image to hear such a thing. She was a cold and calculating woman, but you both knew when she was upset. She didn’t express it in a conventional way, and Damian had already gotten used to it. Your mother’s mood didn’t concern him much, but it was still scary for you.

“You were mad…” Your statement made him sigh because it was true. A few minutes ago, he had reacted that way, but there was context he couldn’t immediately explain to you. “Maybe I can apologize to him? If he forgives me, I promise I won’t do it again, and then mom-”

“Y/n.” Your brother cut off your frantic speech sharply; you were almost hyperventilating. “No one is mad at you.” He said it as a statement, leaving no room for you to contest him.

“He was calm.” you started to ramble, picking at the fabric of your clothes with your nail. “He read something he took out of his pocket and started feeling sick, I was trying to help…”

Damian frowned. He had seen Dick give a small piece of paper to his father downstairs. That idiot wouldn’t have been stupid enough to write on it that you were his daughter, right? What a wonderful way to tell something like that.

“Idiot.” Your brother muttered aloud without meaning to, feeling immense anger at the thought that Dick had done that. And only after he blurted out the word did he realize you were still beside him, listening. “Not you.” He tried to explain hastily, still with a furious expression on his face.

It was strange for him to talk to you that way. He had called you an idiot many times during childhood, and you used to call each other much worse things, as siblings do. But your relationship now was delicate, like a strand of cotton candy, since that intimacy you once had was lost.

“By the way, Bruce is just stressed about Strange.” Damian analyzed your reaction at the mention of the name. To you, Strange was just another enemy of Batman, never suspecting that the man who appeared at your house years ago could somehow be him.

The League of Assassins had many enemies scattered across the globe; at that time, you thought it was just another one of them. You also never asked or wanted to talk about it, which was unusual for how chatty you could be sometimes. For you, Hugo Strange and the person who kidnapped you back then had no connection.

“There must have been something about our investigation there. I’m sure it was Dick who gave him that card. You didn’t do anything.” He said.

Your heart returned to its normal rhythm, but it grew heavy again as you understood the facts. Damian was blaming Dick for that thing Bruce was holding onto, but it was you who had given it to him in the first place. Bruce became distressed when you mentioned the gift and quickly pulled it out of his pocket. That must have been the object Strange gave you.

“Dami.” He heard the nickname leave your lips, and a flicker of hope hit him. There was still a certain closeness between you there. “I was the one who brought the card here; it’s not Dick’s fault. Strange gave it to me to give to Mr. Wayne.”

Damian abruptly stood up, returning to an upright posture. “Strange did what?” Neither Tim, Dick, nor Jason had mentioned this. They said they were telling the whole story, but none of them mentioned any kind of message. Was that why Tim had been acting so strange when he arrived? He remembers seeing him throw a box in the trash and getting all nervous when Damian got irritated and asked what it was. “Was it a small gift box, by any chance?”

“Yes, the same size as the card.” You made a square with your thumbs and index fingers, trying to show the shape of the object. “Just like this. But Mr. Wayne didn’t let me read it; I acted badly by trying to see what was in there too. I shouldn’t have been nosy.”

So Bruce didn’t let you know on purpose? Maybe he just didn’t want you to find out this way. He should have told you. Damian was about to open his lips to take the initiative, but the sound of someone approaching stopped him.

Alfred paused for a moment, finding it odd to see the two of you here. He had returned to make sure you were okay once more and then leave you alone until later in the day. “Master Damian,” He said the boy’s name as a form of acknowledgment, “I thought you were asleep.” The butler added, addressing both of you.

“Alfred!” You got up and walked over to him, who rested a hand on your head expectantly. He saw the way you looked hesitantly at your brother, seeking some kind of approval before returning your attention to him once more. “Something bad happened to Mr. Wayne; he wasn’t well.”

Alfred's eyes widened, looking at Damian for an explanation or just confirmation that it was true. He was obviously tense and speechless for a moment but quickly composed himself.

“What happened, dear?” He asked, and once again you sought your brother’s approval, who took the initiative to explain in your place.

“He…” Damian began, trying to find a way to say it. “Bruce discovered something about Strange.” He said with a suspicious tone and the butler quickly understood the underlying implications.

“Where is he?” Alfred asked, worried.

Damian wasn’t planning to answer, knowing Alfred’s aversion to Talia, but you jumped in: “He and my Mom are talking.”

The butler was obviously displeased and furrowed his brow. He had planned to tell Bruce privately about his supposed daughter, but apparently, things had moved ahead of him. But Alfred knew Bruce well and understood that despite his instability, he would handle things as rationally as possible. Or at least he hoped so.

It was unsettling how a simple night so suddenly turned into yet another Wayne family drama.

“Well,” he sighed, “It seems it’s too early for breakfast, but also too late to go back to sleep.” He gave your hair a gentle tousle with the hand that still rested there, and you appreciated it. Indeed, the sky was already beginning to lighten. “How about some tea to start the day, miss? Or maybe coffee?”

“That’s fine.” You said, accepting that he would guide you through the mansion once more, but stopped when you realized your brother wasn’t making an effort to follow. “Damian, aren’t you coming?”

Your hopeful tone made him huff and approach to follow you. “Let’s go then.” He joined you, heading downstairs.

Damian was deeply irritated by how easily you let your emotions come and go. To him, it was inconceivable that you weren’t resentful, even hating him, as he had presumed you would be just moments ago. The way you let your emotions dissipate so easily bothered him, and he couldn’t understand how you could forgive so simply.

This behavior had always been the target of Damian’s criticism, as he didn’t have the same ease with forgiveness. What ate him up inside, however, was the certainty that even if you found out everything he and Talia had done, you would still be able to forgive them.

Damian suspected that this readiness to forgive came from a lack of options. Throughout your life, you had only him and your mother, and breaking away from either of them would be devastating. Perhaps that was Talia’s greatest fear; even if she tried to convince herself that she kept you hidden for your own good, away from the League and Batman, Damian knew that deep down, she wanted to ensure a safe harbor, someone who would always be emotionally supportive.

Although you might appear to be an very naive girl, your morals were unwavering. And incredibly, Talia managed to keep you loyal to her. Both of them knew that you secretly hated criminals and dreamed of a perfect justice that would never exist, at least not in Gotham City.

Damian knew that his mother’s real fear was that you would find someone else beyond her, people with whom you could connect, not out of obligation or lack of other options, but because you genuinely wanted to. This emotional dependency, nurtured by Talia, made you more spoiled than Damian, who in turn always confronted Talia with stubbornness and resistance.

“Do you like any fruit?” Pennyworth asked you, who were with your arms crossed on the counter, while your brother sat at the end of the table, just keeping watch over your figure.

“All of them.” You replied, and Alfred laughed contentedly. It was nice to hear something like that, especially as he opened the kitchen cupboard and saw the colorful cereals inside, all from Tim’s never-ending stash of treats.

“Master Damian?” The butler asked the boy.

“No, thank you.” He declined with a grimace.

You watched with curiosity as Alfred grabbed a bunch of colorful fruits and began cutting them. There was some kind of dough resting in a container nearby, which you noticed when he moved a cloth to check, and it smelled so good. It was comforting to see him there in the kitchen, even doing something as simple as cutting fruits.

Talia was a very busy woman, and cooking definitely didn’t suit her elegant demeanor. Housework was not part of her routine, so you often ended up eating at expensive restaurants. That’s why every move Alfred made captured your attention, and he noticed.

“Do you want to help me, miss?” He asked, intrigued.

“Can I?” You asked back, already moving to stand next to him with excitement. The butler nodded and instructed you to wash your hands in the sink on the other side of the kitchen.

You were distractedly scrubbing soap on your hands and far enough not to hear Damian whisper: “Bruce isn’t going to let Mom take her home.”

Alfred looked up, not at all surprised by the news. “Does your sister know, Master Damian?” He kept his voice at the same low tone as the boy’s.

“No, Pennyworth. That’s why I’m telling you.” Damian checked to see if you were still far, seeing you drying your hands and hurrying: “When they both come out of that room and Mom leaves, she’s going to make a fuss.”

“What should I do?” You came back, interrupting their conversation and asking for instructions.

Alfred set you the task of removing the stems from the strawberries until a noise from upstairs alerted all three of you. It sounded like glass, and it didn’t take long to hear Talia’s voice calling for the butler, who moved to go to her.

“I’m leaving,” Talia said with a firmness that disguised well the inner turmoil she was facing behind her attitude.

You were stunned, and a rising panic took hold of you. Alfred hadn’t noticed you had followed him until you heard: “I’m going to get my shoes and coat.” You declared. Your mind was spinning with the idea that your mother was angry with you, seeing how she was acting.

Talia turned slightly to you, but the look she gave was impassive. “You’re not coming,” she said. The coldness in her voice wasn’t unfamiliar but struck deep in your chest. “You’re going to stay here with your brother.”

“But…” You tried to process what was happening, needing to look at Damian next to you for a moment until reality hit you back. “Why?” You asked with a trembling breath, already approaching her and grabbing your mother’s hand in desperation.

“For heaven’s sake, Y/n. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She rolled her eyes and looked at you with impatience. “You and Damian will get to spend time together again.”

“But what about you, Mom? Why can’t we all be together?” You clung to her hand even tighter, trying to keep her there forever, but all you received in return was the look she gave when you upset her.

“I’ll send your things with someone. Be obedient.” She said, but her real desire was for you to be rebellious, especially towards Bruce. Your mother crouched to your height and pinched your cheeks with her hands while whispering so the other two wouldn’t hear: “But remember, you’re mine daughter, understand? Your mother will always be here for you. I’ll get in touch.” She gave you a strong kiss, leaving a perfect lipstick mark, and grabbed the coat that was already in Alfred’s hands with haste.

“I want to go with you!” Talia felt your arms around her waist and sighed.

“You're old enough to be acting like this, Y/n. Let go.” She tried to wriggle free on her own, but your grip was so strong that her fingers barely moved. “Y/n, enough!” She shouted genuinely furious, and you jumped back in fear. The sight made her wilt, but she still suppressed it and opened the door.

You were in shock, never imagining that your actions could have led to this. It was as if she hated you for it, and you felt a pressure on your forehead, unsure if it was from the anger you felt at how your mother treated you or from the desperation.

“Don’t go after her,” Damian ordered, knowing you would do it anyway, which is why he held you in place.

You couldn’t accept it. The idea of being left behind, the feeling of being rejected by the only family you knew, was overwhelming. “Mom!” You shouted, struggling to free yourself from Damian’s grip in fury, the sadness totaly replaced by a burning rage. “Don’t leave! I’m sorry for disobeying! I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!” you screamed. “Why are you like this with me?!” You shouted louder, not caring about making a scene.

Talia’s feet were already buried in the snow, trying to hide the pain she felt, but your muffled voice didn’t help. The sound of the door closing was like a final blow, and her heart sank even further. She didn’t care whether Bruce was right or not; she hated him like hell now.

You were sobbing and gasping, the pain of rejection still present in your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t want you to leave…” You murmured lower, feeling your throat ache.

As she took more steps towards her own car, her thoughts raced. She knew that sooner or later you would need to know the truth, and deep down, she wished the news had come from her.

She tried to keep her mind clear during the brief walk to the car, passing by a snow-covered tree where ravens had gathered to rest. She was so distracted for a few seconds that when she felt an arm pull her back, she instinctively threw the stranger away, who hit the trunk and caused the birds to start flying erratically while cawing discordantly.

“What the hell is this!” She shouted furiously, shocking the boy who immediately began to apologize while getting up, feeling pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me?!” She was outraged by his assumption. As if she would be scared by a kid like him. “And which of Bruce’s little pests are you?”

“My name is Tim.” The boy assumed a serious tone now, abandoning the polite courtesy he had before.

“And are you going to stand there like an idiot, or are you going to tell me what you want?”

Despite her hurry, Tim stared at her and looked back, checking if there was anyone outside the mansion and taking a few seconds to do so. Talia’s arrogant look didn’t intimidate him, and he spoke firmly:

“A few years ago, in that alley…” The phrase made her eyes widen, but she still took a deep breath to compose herself. “It was you.”

Talia never thought she would have the opportunity to face that boy again after that day. When Strange fled, she followed him and caught up with him. She remembers how she grabbed the man by the collar when she didn’t see you there. After wringing the truth out of that pathetic man, Talia had to let him go as she rushed desperately to where you were, but not before leaving a beaten face as a gift. But that night, that boy... Tim, had heard your call for help.

“So, you were the Robin.” She let out a curious laugh, looking Tim up and down. “And so what if it was me?”

“You tricked me. Pretended to be a helpless person.” He frowned while narrowing his eyes at her. “I remember the little girl I saved; it was her.” Tim turned his face towards the mansion again, as if to point at you.

“You just had the luck of arriving before me. And what did you expect me to do? Tell you who I was?” She took her gloves out of her pocket and began putting them on. “Do you think you could have caught me, kid?” She laughed sarcastically this time, belittling him.

“You could have told me the truth. You had the opportunity to tell Bruce about Hugo Strange all this time. We could have protected her.” Tim’s eyes moved around, trying to process. “After I left there, Bruce and I continued on patrol and found him passed out. If we had known who he really was, he might be in jail now.”

“Spare me your laments, kid. She’s going to stay here, isn’t she? So what else do you want?” Talia said, and Tim wasn’t surprised by the information. He had already assessed the scene while waiting to approach her outside. He had jumped through the bedroom window, having not been able to sleep after recognizing your face.

Tim remained silent. It seemed that Talia had a very concrete idea about everything, and it made no sense to try to circle her with assumptions about how things could have been. He couldn’t help but feel foolish, realizing that you had been so close to him at some point, and he couldn’t do anything for Bruce since he didn’t know.

“Listen.” Talia’s surprisingly soft voice caught him off guard. “Thank you for helping, even though I didn’t exactly need it.” Despite trying to be understanding, she couldn’t help but emphasize. “She means everything to me, you understand? Put some sense into your father, or I’ll find a way to take her back, and I promise you’ll never see her again.”

Tim swallowed hard at the mention of Bruce but snorted indifferently soon after. “He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“I noticed.” She murmured with irony and turned to walk away, with Tim not interrupting her this time. The boy watched her go to the car, but suddenly she stopped at the gate. She ran her fingers over the electronic lock, and suddenly some loose wires became visible. Tim found it strange, and Talia looked at him with a smile, which even from a distance, he could see.

“I think you’re going to need someone to fix this.” She shouted for him to hear, and for a moment, Tim thought if she had done it, but only now did he wonder how you had gotten past the front gate. It seems that your innocent face hid some skills. “Don’t pamper her, and tell your father and Pennyworth not to let her eat too much sugar.” She let the wires go while grumbling, slamming the car door, and driving away.

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius @rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs @idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden @spideybv28 @faimmm @cherry-peach-flavored @godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable @masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage @homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21 @kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink @lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark @notahappystan @nebuluma @thetiredtoad0-0 @tmt-alexis @anuttellaa @strawberrymangoes @lorastone-000 @starryhiraeth @worldussysblog @urminebutidontwantyou @herondale-lightworm @nyra-42 @ohnoivefallen @an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @ellie-x0xo @blkmystery @formula-space @sparks0918 @cosmicqueenieb @rukia-uchiha-98 @leeleecats @camilo-uwu @phoenixgurl030 @rosegardenpatsu @nickey-diano @wpdarlingpan @xxrougefangxx

@m4chine-girl @kellyyn02 @urminebutidontwantyou

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eddiethebrave · 2 months ago

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secret admirer part twenty-two

759 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one

Eddie do you ever think about what you’re gonna do after high school? like how am i expected to know what i want to do with my life? i mean, i have another year to think about it but not that much can change in a year you probably wanna do something with music, right? make it big with your band and have people screaming your songs i’d go to every show if i could be your own personal groupie who knows? maybe that’s my calling p.s. have a good time at hellfire tonight i hope you win !!!!! -H

You’d think the win last night would put him in high spirits, and it did. At first. He celebrated with the guys, passed on the get together someone suggested, and drove home feeling proud. It was when he was laying in bed, though, that he started thinking. When he graduates, how often will he be able to ride a high like that? From pure accomplishment?

Steve puts on a brave face for morning practice. He doesn’t wanna drag anyone down with him. He goes through the motions of accepting congratulations and pats on the back from his peers and teachers alike all morning long.

It only makes him think, though.

Seriously, what comes after this? More school? Does he accept that internship at his father’s soul sucking company? Does he get a gob and jump right into adulthood?

What it really comes down to is the fact that Steve had never thought he’d have a future. Honestly. He’s getting closer and closer everyday to the next stage in his life, though. The years snuck up on him and now he has to deal with it.

On a lesser scale, Steve doesn’t like thinking about what life will be like once Eddie graduates this coming May. How is Steve meant to tolerate this hellhole without him? Sure, he’d gone years without really noticing him, but now that he knows what it’s like to have a taste of him in his life, he doesn’t think he could go back.

The whole thing makes his pulse quicken and sweat begin to bead at his hairline. By the time he makes it to art class, there’s a tension forming at his temples and he’s not looking forward to the headache. He doesn’t think he has it in him to act like everything’s normal.

For once, Carol doesn’t acknowledge his foul mood. She’s too busy staring at Robin. For the portrait, of course.

The teacher had informed them today the class is basically a free period and they can choose what to work on or what to not work on.

Steve sits slumped over the table with his head resting on his folded arms. He kind of wishes Eddie hadn’t put the divider up and also that he had his sunglasses so he could stare at him without feeling weird about it.

Instead, he rests his eyes and tunes into the sounds of pencil on paper surrounding him. He dozes for a while and has nearly fallen asleep when he’s awoken with a poke to his cheek.

Steve peels his eyes open, but no one seems to be wanting his attention. There is, however, a piece of paper placed next to his left arm.

It’s a drawing.

A stick figure with tall swoopy hair and eerily realistic eyes.

Steve looks to his left, only to find the culprit still hard at work with his face tucked behind the divider.

Steve visually fills in the blank and surmises Eddie’s smile probably matches his own.

Steve doesn’t dare fold the paper. He tucks it into the notebook he has to keep it safe. Throughout the rest of the day, he opens the book just to look at it. When he takes it home, he tapes it to a wall in his bedroom, somewhere he can always see it.

Eddie did i ever tell you how sweet it is that your club has matching tees? i haven’t seen anyone who doesn’t do sports or the school band have a uniform but it makes sense that other clubs would, too you look good in black, don’t get me wrong, but GOD i thought i was gonna die the first time i saw yours so thanks for that also, while we’re on the subject of how hot you are, you should wear your hair up more often p.s. sorry about the existential crisis on friday i wasn’t doing too good but i got a pick-me-up eventually <3 -H

twenty-three

tag list (closed)

@sofadofax @noodle-shenaniganery @queenie-ofthe-void @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @devondespresso

@dreamingtheimpossibe @plutoshelm @jaywhohasthegay @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie

@dreamy-jeans137 @justdrugsformethanks @estrellami-1 @travelingtwentysomething @sleepy-steve

@wheneverfeasible @bisexual-and-broke @lil-gremlin-things @n0-1-important @xxbottlecapx

@tinyplanet95 @dannys-guilt-ridden-cockroach @theohohmoment @corvus-perplexus @hippieg1rl420

@blurryjoji @bookbinderbitch @arthurianace @dragonmama76 @thesuninyaface

@tillystealeaves @p0lybl4nkk @sageclipse @mugloversonly @chameleonhair

@thedragonsaunt @yesdangerpls @sanctumdemunson @slv-333 @loguine-linguine

@resident-gay-bitch @anaibis @moomkin77 @thrashbatx @salchica

@flustratedcas @ajeff855 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @pearynice @imaginary-maggie-waggie

#he doesn't wanna grow up #ugh #i am once again projecting onto this poor kid #passive suicidal idealization #gosh #but hey!#eddie made him a corresponding drawing #:D #these weirdos #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #carol perkins mention

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kasagia · 8 months ago

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Game of survival

Pairing: young president! Coriolanus Snow x fem!rebel! reader Summary: The worst enemy is the person who betrayed you when you trusted them with all your heart. The person you told all your secrets to, the person you loved more than your life—the best friend who suddenly turned on you and stabbed you in the back and right through your heart, using your weaknesses they learned with the time they spent with you. You and Coriolanus have been each other's worst enemies since that fateful day at the lake in District 12... Inspired by: Game of survival - Ruelle Warning: 18+; a little smut; Coriolanus chases you around his presidential palace; I had a completely different idea for it, but it turned out that way...; Enjoy!; Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

You hold your breath as you sit on the roof of a building.

Through Sniper Rifle, you watch carefully as the president of Panem gets out of his car. You only see the outline of his bleached blonde hair before he disappears into his presidential palace. The car drives away, and peacekeepers start circulating around the building again. An impregnable fortress. Seemingly.

"I hope you have a plan." Joseph mumbles next to you, moving into position next to you. "We must act quickly tonight. Get in and out before the peacekeepers find out what are we going to do."

"First, you have to shoot him. I won't leave there without seeing the life drain from his eyes." You reply, preparing to leave the roof.

"Do not worry about it. Everyone would like to be in my place. I don't miss the target." He replies confidently, with an arrogance in his voice that you don't like. But you won't lecture him. The other hunter never liked being told how to do his job. You caught animals; he caught real people. He had more experience in this area than you. But could Coriolanus still be considered human?

"That's not what I'm thinking about. It's a game of survival. Him or us. You have to play it smart. Don't underestimate him just because he's from the Capitol, Jospeh."

"I bet he didn't even hold a gun in those well-groomed hands of his." You shudder. The screams of Sejanus and Lucy Gray echo in your head. Coriolanus' screams. The sounds made by mockingjays...

"I doubt it." You answer briefly and go out to the staircase.

You pass through several of its inhabitants before reaching the basement. Before you open one of the rooms, you look around to make sure you are alone in the residential basements. You quickly open and close the door behind you. You move the painting, some kind of marriage portrait of a general and his wife, and go through a hidden passage. It was a tunnel dug under the building, which led to a small room where the most important members of the rebellion slept. The rest were to arrive during the day. For a special evening event.

"You need to be more careful." Meg tells you as you return to base. "The peacekeepers seem to be breeding in their barracks. I saw twice as many of them on the streets as yesterday. And guess what?"

She slaps her hand flat on the table. You walk up and lean down, seeing the wanted poster for you. Alive, not dead. Whoever turned you in would get a ridiculous amount of money.

"I have a nicer jaw shape." You comment and pick up the wanted poster. You throw it in the air and aim the dagger at it, nailing it to the earthy wall of your shelter.

"I don't know what you did to Snow, but even his advisor, who ran his presidential campaign and defected to join us, isn't so... passionately wanted by him and his men as you are." She says, wincing when she can't get the dagger out of the wall. You roll your eyes and walk over to her, pulling out the dagger easily and handing it to her with a mocking smile.

"Old disagreements and a minor difference of opinion." You tell her, walking over to the map of the Capitol and the plan of the presidential palace. "I doubt he even remembers why he's so pissed at me. That was ages ago. 10 years. Maybe more. But as you can see, bastards like him hold grudges for a long time."

"People gossip, you know. That you are not suitable for this job. That you had some feelings for him that would make you hesitate to pull the trigger when necessary." She says, walking towards you. She places her hand on your back, making you look at her. "If you don't want to, don't say it. But I need to be completely sure that you won't betray us."

"I'm not the one who is supposed to kill him. We have Jospeh to do that. But believe me, if necessary, my hand won't shake. I am a hunter. My job is to kill. And an animal like him is well within my hunting range. He... he has done too much for me to feel sorry for him. And believe me, if anyone has a reason to kill him, it's me. I have something to take revenge for. So if you don't trust me, then trust my rage. After all, there is nothing like a mad woman, is there?" You ask, sending her a meaningful smirk.

And even though you pretend to be so confident in front of her and any other rebels, deep down, you know that it's not all that simple. Things between you and Coriolanus... were complicated. And anyone else in your situation would hate him with all their hearts, but you couldn't just stop loving him. Maybe you were actually weak, but if you learned anything from Coroilanus Snow, it was how to pretend to be stronger than others. Even when you were in a shitty situation.

"Good. Prepare yourself. We start at dusk. For the Districts."

"And for all the fallen. Let the odds be forever dead." You finish.

Meg nods and leaves you alone with the maps and plans. Your task was simple. Sneak through the guests at a masquerade party, get into his office, and plant a bomb. Just in case. Only if Joseph hadn't managed to kill him. You were also supposed to set a few other traps for President Snow. And since you were the best hunter in Panem, there was no one better for that job.

You've been preparing for this for months. You have figured out all the escape routes, emergency exits, peackeeper patrols, and their plans to secure the reception at the presidential palace.

Tonight, everything will be resolved, your past will be finally a closed past, whether you want it or not.

Either he or you will die tonight. And if you were sure about something, you were sure that you wouldn't pass away so easily.

You never expected that Coriolanus Snow would become your worst enemy.

Or at least that's what you think as you drive through the Capitol. You sit in the backseat, staring at the streets and people passing by, as your chauffeur and fellow rebel take you to your destination.

Ever since Lucy Gray returned from the Hunger Games, she has been praising her mentor. She said that the boy she met gave her invaluable support and help, and that if it weren't for him, she wouldn't have survived on her own in the arena.

Her stories make you imagine him as an angel. Blond curls, sky blue eyes, helping a poor girl from the district, a man with a good heart—everything fit. And you were confirmed in that belief when you saw him for the first time and realised how handsome he really was.

How were you supposed to know then that Coriolanus Snow was really an angel, but a fallen one? How could you recognise the devil through the disguise he had created for himself?

You were certainly not the first or the last to fall under his spell, to believe in the façade of a good man, to see him as a hurt boy who needed love and tenderness. At least you wanted to believe you weren't the only one naive enough to ignore all the clues and signs that he wasn't such a saint after all.

It started inconspicuously. Like all disasters. And you, having lived in District 12 for so long, knew very well what bad fate, misfortune, and catastrophe were.

But nothing could have prepared you for the coming of Coriolanus Snow.

He was charming. Oh God, and how much he was. Sejanus didn't pay much attention to his surroundings, but Snow picked up on every little detail, no matter how insignificant it may have been at first sight. Lucy Gray fell into Plinth's arms. And you became infatuated with a devil who seemed to be as observant as you.

"Lucy Gray's friends are my friends." The brunette guy says that and takes a step forward. You shift your cautious gaze to him, but he doesn't seem to notice that you're wary and reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Sejanus. Nice to meet you."

"Y/N." You say, removing your hand from his grip. "I used to say that too. And then she took me to feed her snakes. The poisonous ones. The worst 3 minutes of my life."

"3 minutes?" He asks curiously. You notice someone moving behind him—another man—who is whispering something to Lucy.

"She ran away screaming." Your friend giggles and throws her arm on Sejanus' shoulder. You roll your eyes at her as she laughs at you, not hiding the smile that begins to form on your lips.

"That's not true. I didn't scream. I saw a rabbit and went hunting." You mutter, feigning offence, which only intensifies her laughter.

"A hunter who is afraid of snakes?"

Someone's question distracts you from Lucy Gray. Behind her, you notice the man who was whispering something to her earlier. He steps out of her shadow and stands a few steps away from you. You look him up and down, and by the way Lucy is comfortable with the other peacekeeper and his appearance, you assume he must be her mentor. Coriolanus Snow. And damn her, he was really hot.

"I am afraid of what I have to be afraid of, private Snow. Just like a hunter should. You never know when the danger will come that you will turn from a predator to a prey." He watches you carefully, listening to your every word. And by the small smile he can't contain, you know that you've managed to make him curious and defend yourself enough for him not to discredit you.

"It's Coryo when we are among friends." He says this, nodding at you. He does not extend his hand to you like Sejanus did, nor does he attempt any other greeting that requires physical contact. Weird. You wonder if he would be attentive enough to sense your discomfort.

"We should get going. The Covey is probably waiting for us. Will you come tomorrow? I think we have a lot to talk about." The brunette asks them with a smile and stands on your other side, taking your arm.

"Su..."

"We will escort you." Coriolanus interrupts his friend, still looking at you. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to you. There are... quite a lot of people hanging around here tonight." His gaze shifts to Lucy Gray for a moment, and he nods for her to lead.

"He may be a rebel, but he is also chivalrous. Come then, gentlemen." She laughs and places her other hand on the crook of Sejanus' elbow. Coriolanus adjusts and walks on your other side, maintaining an appropriate distance, so he is close but not touching you or brushing his arm against yours.

At one point, the crowd of people won't let you walk four in a row, so Lucy and Sejanus take the lead. You and Coryo follow behind them, a little apart. There's a strange silence between you. You shift your gaze to his, and you see that he is already watching you.

"I think I should thank you for saving her. It's not that easy to keep that tramp out of danger. And believe me, I know what I'm saying; I've known her since we were children."

"Yes, she is very… alive. But that was just my job as her mentor." He says this as you both walk down the dark streets. The moonlight and a few lanterns illuminate it so much that you can walk freely in the dark without tripping over any protruding stones.

"Was it also your duty to become a peacekeeper and come to 12?" Your question clearly surprises him. He didn't expect anyone to connect... the events or have the courage to ask him about it. Lucy Gray didn't do it. But you weren't Lucy Gray. You were better. And he was starting to see it.

"It wasn't... planned." He says this and clears his throat, looking at Lucy Gray and Sejanus laughing together about something. "But I'm not going to stay here long."

"Did you come here for her or for him?" You ask, seeing his jaw clench as he watches them both.

"None. I just had to do it." He responds dryly, clearly not wanting to talk about it further. You didn't know who he was jealous of, but you could recognise that feeling in others' eyes perfectly. And he was definitely jealous. You only wondered about what. About Lucy Gray, Sejanus, or just about what was between them?

"A lonely wolf. I see." You comment and turn your head towards the Hanging Tree.

Coriolanus takes the opportunity to get a better look at you. You don't have an outfit as bold and colourful as Lucy Gray. You were rather quiet and thoughtful. He couldn't' say that he wasn't captivated by the aura that his former tribute had around her, but he somehow found himself feeling better in the silence between the two of you than he ever felt around Lucy Gray and her wild personality.

You had also really beautiful eyes.

"And what about you?" He asks, wanting to get your attention again.

At first, he stayed close to you just to spite Lucy Gray, but after she obviously ignored him, he had no intention of talking to you anymore. But something about you drew him to you. And maybe it was your caution; maybe he wanted to break it and set it as a challenge, a distraction while he was in District 12, or maybe he just wanted attention? He did not know. It irritated him how much he wanted to see your eyes sparkling teasingly in the lamplight again.

"Me?" You looked up at him, giving him your full attention. He almost smiled. Almost.

"Are you remaining here for her or for someone else? I know there is a need for good hunters in many other and better districts. Why are you stuck here when you could be hunting somewhere else? Have a better place to live?" He asks, unable to understand you.

You obviously didn't feel comfortable in District 12. No one could. And he knew from Lucy Gray's histories and his brief observation of your actions that someone like you, with your skills, could easily get a transfer to a wealthier district. But you didn't. He wanted to know why.

"What if I like it here?" You ask with a shrug. He frowns, looking around. You are passing by mouldy buildings, some houses are made of ood—you say it while they walk down the poorest alley in 12. Coriolanus believes he saw a rat running in front of you, but he doesn't want to think about it.

"Here?" He asks with disbelief and a hint of disgust in his voice, to which you giggle, almost laughing.

And instead of Coriolanus being offended and threatening you (he's a peacekeeper after all; he could make you spend a day in detention, and if you were anyone else, he definitely would do that), but somehow Snow can't do anything but smile, while admiring you.

However, he takes his eyes off you, even though he's tempted to look at you longer. He can't afford to have another weakness. To have another Lucy Gray. Although he doesn't think you'd push him away that easily for Sejanus or anyone else, like she did.

You and he were similar. Both of you were withdrawn, silent, observers, taking into account the threats. You did not play heroes with bravado and did not count on good luck, only on their own minds and skills.

"No, not here. I am not mad yet." You say, snapping him from his thoughts."The forests are beautiful. The fields. Rivers and lakes. The rest of Panem is industrialized. Concrete and factories everywhere. There is... a kind of peace here if you close your eyes to certain things. Maybe you will stay here long enough to find out about it by yourself." And something about you—the warm tone of your voice and the sparkles in your eyes as you talk about your favourite places—makes Coriolanus feel a sudden urge to stay here for a while—just as you suggested. Since he was going to be here for a while anyway, he might as well have some fun... right?

"I could use a guide." He says this before he can even think about it, as he sees Lucy Gray slowing down, obviously getting closer to your house.

He didn't know why he cared so much about seeing you again. You were nothing. Just a district hunter. He would leave the 12, find a way to get back to the Capitol, and forget about everything that brought him here. But damn, that little smile of yours made him feel butterflies in his stomach. He was pathetic. And he hated himself for it.

"I can be one."

"Aren't you afraid that people will see you with the peacekeeper?" You raise your eyebrows, shocked by his words. "I saw you looking around. Don't worry. She specifically directs us to streets that are... less frequented." He reveals his observations to you, and for the first time since you two introduced yourself, he sees that the note of fear and caution has disappeared from your eyes for a moment.

Your curious look causes him to have heart palpitations. That was weird for him. Maybe he was sick? He just hoped he hadn't caught anything from those bar rats.

"You really are perceptive, aren't you?" You ask, and he shivers, feeling your analytical gaze on him.

Coriolanus can't say he doesn't enjoy the thrill of excitement as you both try to solve the secrets the other is hiding. Talking to you was… nice. Most of the peacekeepers were as dumb as nails. Muscle mass and nothing else. And he had grown tired of Sejanus's moralising talk a long time ago. Talking to you would be good for him in some way. He wouldn't go completely crazy here. At least that's how he tried to explain to himself his strange and sudden desire to meet you again. And often. Very often.

"I was told so." He says this as you arrive at the door of your house. Coriolanus looks around carefully and is pleased to see that this is one of the better, quieter alleys. He makes a mental note to take more night shifts here. Just to keep an eye on you.

Before you walk into your house with Lucy Gray, you turn to look at him one last time.

"Well, I hope you won't miss the Capitol too much... Coryo." And when his nickname leaves your lips, he knows that this won't be the last time he sees you.

He watches as the door closes behind the two of you, taking in the last sight of you. He returns with Sejanus to their unit, completely ignoring his chatter about Lucy Gray as he thinks about you. Over time, he will find that he will do this more and more often. Thinking about you.

But neither of you knows how much you will regret this night in the future.

You walk up the stairs of the presidential palace wearing a beautiful white dress. Your mask fits to the top of your face, revealing only your mouth, chin and part of your jaw. You feel terrible, but you have to somehow blend in with the crowd of rich assholes who are enjoying their president's birthday party while district children tremble at the thought of the upcoming 22nd Hunger Games.

The only thought that comforts you is that he will die before dawn. And that you can have a glass of champagne.

You give your cloak and fake invitation to some peacekeeper the poor avox who are waiting at the entrance to serve everyone gathered. It makes you want to vomit when you think about how the man you let touch yourself became such a monster who decided to sew their mouths shut instead of cutting out their tongues.

Of course, with a red thread.

You go deeper into the room. You try to stay in the crowd, not on the outskirts, so as not to catch anyone's eye and so HE won't be able to see you. It may have been 12 years, but you're not sure if he forgot about you enough to not recognise your figure in the crowd. Maybe you tormented his nightmares as much as he tormented yours. You hoped to. Bastard didn't deserve to sleep soundly like a baby.

You're standing in a group of people, listening and laughing at the stories being told, and you're about to excuse yourself and browse around the big villa a bit and place some of the traps when suddenly you hear a tapping on a glass. You turn around with the rest of the people, making sure you're neither in the front nor the last row.

You freeze as Coriolanus' voice echoes through the room.

You have prepared for this moment many times. You predicted thousands of different scenarios for your first meeting, after... that special, rainy day at the lake when you went your separate ways. And you thought you were ready to bear the sight of him. But as soon as you look up at him, you feel your heart beat nervously. And not in that exciting way when you see your prey and are ready to attack.

As you sing a forced 'Happy Birthday' with other people after his speech, you allow yourself to steal one brief glance at him. He looks different.

More mature. More dangerous. Stronger. Powerful.

The golden mask, the only one of its kind in the room, covering his nose and just a small part of his face, the part around his eyes and eyebrows, only emphasises this more clearly.

And the red colour of his suit, along with all his... dominant attitude that emanates from him, are enough evidence of the red flag he was that you didn't notice when he was a peacekeeper in a blue uniform. His hair is longer and slicked back with gel, emphasising his rough, hard jawline and piercing blue, icy eyes. The man who stood in the middle of the room was dangerous. So much so that you felt nervous, thinking about how the hell you were going to kill him today.

You had a plan, but you knew that in every pursuit of prey, there were risks that could not be predicted. When hunting a bear, you don't face it with all your strength. You are waiting for the moment to attack. And now, looking at Coriolanus Snow in all his glory, you began to have doubts about your plan and the abilities of the other rebels. Maybe you will have to play the first violin this evening and aim a gun at him yourself. You shiver at even the thought of it.

And then his eyes find yours. For a very short while, but enough to make you shiver under his glance.

He blinks at you, then shifts his gaze to something or someone else. You feel a lump building in your throat, the words of the song being forced out of your mouth with a more and more trembling voice. He recognised you. Or not. You did not know. His subsequent actions didn't indicate it, but he had been staring at you for far too long to be sure of anything.

You don't like how quickly you're losing control.

That's why you leave at the first opportunity, hiding in the bathroom upstairs. You wait for the peacekeeper patrol to pass, and when they go to the second floor, you start setting up traps at the different spots of the presidential palace. You decide to forget about the events from a few minutes ago for a moment. Only peace will save you. You know about it. That's why you do everything to forget about his icy irises.

Well, at least until you have to go back to the ballroom again.

"A little higher." He whispers in your ear behind you, his hand wrapped around yours, as you aim his shotgun at the deer. "Eyes open, breath held, muscles tense."

You shoot and hit the animal. The gun bounces slightly, but Coriolanus holds you close and tight enough that you barely change your position, only trembling slightly as the gun clicks off.

"I prefer arrows, but thanks for showing me how to use it." You say cheekily as you approach the deer you have aimed perfectly at.

He shakes his head at you, slinging the gun over his shoulder. He watches you as you kneel next to the deer, preparing it to be carried to the district.

"You know, my teachings aren't free." He says this as you get up and walk towards the river to wash your hands. He takes the deer's body and obediently follows you.

He had the day off today and decided to use it to spend time with you. Lately, he's been running away from everyone more and more often to walk in the forest with you. You were talking and fooling around. Coriolanus has never felt so... free as with you. He could get used to this. If he hadn't experienced the comforts of the Capitol. He knew you would get used to the capital. Maybe he'd even let you go on little trips and escapades in the woods once he got back there with you as his wife. Of course, only with him. And with peacekeepers guarding you two, he didn't want to end up like his father.

"Isn't it?" You ask with that mischievous smile of yours, washing your hands in the river. "And here I thought you were noble, private Snow."

"Stop it." He growls menacingly as you don't call him by a nickname he loved to hear from your lips. But you can see by the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. A smile spreads across your face as you continue fooling around.

"Only that? You know that I love to tease you too much to just stop..." He cuts you off mid-sentence, leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss.

You freeze for a moment, feeling his lips brush against yours and his hand run through the back of your hair. Even if you wanted to pull away from him, you couldn't because of the way he wrapped his hands around you. You should feel trapped and outraged by his behaviour, by the fact that he didn't ask for your permission or leave you the chance to pull away. But all you could do then was grab him by his dog tag and pull him closer to you.

You moan into his mouth as you find out that kissing Coriolanus Snow is the most pleasurable thing in the world.

You place your hands on either side of his neck as he grabs your waist gently, pressing your bodies as close to each other as possible. His lips caress yours gently at first, testing the waters. When he sees that you're not pulling away from him, he deepens the kiss, completely taking over the control that, surprisingly, you willingly give him. You've never been kissed like this in your life. So desperate, so needy, so possessive. And you know that you will never feel this way with anyone else in your life.

And for the first time, you have the opportunity to feel that moment that has been repeated so often in books—kissing someone until you have no more oxygen left in your lungs. Because before him, no one wanted you enough to give you half the sensations that Coriolanus gave you. And you suspected that he felt the same.

"I had this type of payment in mind." He whispers hoarsely, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed, giving you the opportunity to admire his face up close. And god, he's perfect. In all his ounces, you can't even imagine how ethereal he must have been in the Capitol. (The perfect devil, tempting you until you fall.)

"Oh... um... well... be careful… with such a low payment you may be… taken advantage of by some girls." You manage to gasp, gathering the remnants of your mind that weren't occupied with the thought of him and the heavy breathing he was taking because of you.

"There is only one girl in this terrible, musty place, for whose special attention I can get anything she whishes." He says this, opening his eyes and cupping your cheek tenderly. And if your nature were any different (or if he would use a little more of his charm on you), you would melt under his touch, but you couldn't resist the opportunity he gave you.

"Anything, you say..." You mutter in mock thought with a smirk. And all Corilanus can do is smirk stupidly when he sees the familiar spark of malice in your eyes.

He enjoyed challenges, and he liked it even more when he beat you every time in your 'little fights and teasing'. He liked that you weren't completely submissive and that you could fight and banter with him instead of trembling in fear and trusting him blindly. You were almost his equal. Not that he was searching for one. But of all the girls, he knows you were the closest to his perfection. He just needed to work on your compliance a little bit before he could take you with him to the Capitol. After all, you couldn't tease him in public.

"Don't tease." He warns, humming as well, a smirk blooming on his lips despite his attempts to fight it off. He could afford a little... frivolity in the district. He would act completely differently in the Capitol, but for now, he enjoyed every carefree moment with you he could get. He couldn't remember the last time he had had to worry about the opinion of society.

"Oh, but that's the funniest thing to do now..." You continue with a smirk, leaning in to steal a kiss from him. He accepts it with a smile that quickly fades as you pull away from him and run away, laughing.

"And what is this?!" He shouts, running after you.

"A hunting lesson! I won't kiss you for yours in return, Snow!" You reply with a laugh, speeding up.

You ran away from him for an hour until you got tired of it all and ran into him laughing, deciding that he'd had enough of him chasing you for now. He immediately took you into his arms and kissed you, holding you tightly to his chest so that his rapidly beating heart was palpable to you. You placed small kisses on his snout as he held you tightly in his embrace, panting.

"Promise you'll never run away from me. That you'll never leave me." You raise your eyebrows in shock at his request, but you don't question it. You simply nod and press a kiss of promise to his lips as he pushes you against the nearest tree.

Your kiss becomes more feverish, more urgent as you feel his hardness through his peacekeeper uniform. Just a few weeks ago, you would have despised yourself for being so close to him. But it was your Coryo. That's why you don't interrupt him when he unzips your pants and takes them and your underwear off in one move.

You hold your breath as he kneels in front of you and grabs your hips with an iron grip. He presses a kiss on your thighs, teasing you and leaving little bites and bruises there before graciously shifting his attention to where you really need it. You moan, biting your lip to keep from screaming as he slowly circles your clit with his tongue, teasing you to no end. He pushes your hips against the tree every time you try to push against his tongue from a different angle. This frustrates you even more, especially after the gun slung over his shoulder shifts, causing the barrel of the shotgun to dig into your stomach.

"Coryo..." You moan, scratching his head as you try and futilely try to grab his close-cropped hair. He moans at the feeling, stimulating you even more.

He takes pity on you, putting more effort into his work as his fingers start to hit the spot that made you lost your mind. The bark of the tree digs into your back, but all you feel is Coriolanus; your entire world is limited to the movements of his fingers that bring you unimaginable pleasure that cannot be described in any words. All you can do is moan his name, which he finds flattering enough to make you cum around his fingers. Although he had no plan to let you cum when he started to play with your sweet cunt. You were making him too soft for you...

His tongue teases you as he licks along your knee, up your thigh, to stop a few moments before the place where you really needed him to reach your peak of pleasure. He smirks and suddenly bites into your thigh, causing a scream of his name from your lips to echo through the forest. He grunts, licking and sucking the spot on your thigh that he bit, feeling how he hardened in his pants by simply sucking your skin and fingering you. He loved every single sound you made because of him. If tasting you on his lips wasn't as tempting for him as it was for now, he would just kneel there and watch how you kept chasing your orgasm on his fingers.

"Scream for me, my little hunter." He says this and leans forward. His nose teases your clit before he finally licks you, testing your taste. He moans as his favourite flavour spreads across his taste buds. If he had you in the Capitol, he would never starve, he thinks as he begins to fuck you with his tongue, collecting everything that his skillful fingers caused to flow from your little pussy. For him. Because of him. His.

You grip his arms tightly, his gun somehow twisted so that it was pressed against your leg and stomach, but you don't care as he kneels in front of you and sucks the senses out of you through your cunt. You can only moan loudly and scream his name, digging your nails into his shoulders as you pull him closer to you as he makes you come. He licks up everything he gets for his work, leaving nothing to leak from your thighs onto the forest floor.

Coriolanus feels his hardness pressing against his pants, but chooses to ignore it. He won't take you like some district barbarian in the woods. He will do it well. Maybe even in the Capitol... you would look beautiful, wrapped in the most expensive sheets. And while you catch your breath and try to recover, he wonders how he's going to get his little hunter with him back to the Capitol when Dr. Gaul replies to the message he sent her.

He adjusts the gun hanging on his shoulder and stands up, licking his fingers off of the remains of your sweet juices. Unimaginable pride rises in his chest, as does a feeling of possessiveness when he sees your knees shaking and you barely standing, leaning on the tree behind you. He chuckles, remembering the sight. He will definitely think about it, while jerking off himself when he will be alone at the barracks.

"I will always catch you. No matter how long it takes." He says, taking you in his arms when he sees that you're unable to stand on your own in your post-orgasm haze. Another thing that increases his ego.

You didn't know how much that sweet promise would turn out to be a bloodthirsty threat. So you let him carry you through the forest as you both headed back to 12.

The next day, you were delivered money in exchange for the deer you and Private Snow had hunted together. From his superior, Commander Hoff. Even then, he was using you for his own gain.

"Are you lost, miss?" You stop in your quick steps. You curse internally when you hear his voice in the hall. You were about to go downstairs and go to the ballroom. But no. Coriolanus Snow always had to screw up your job.

"Mr. President." You say, trying to change your tone of voice as you turn around and see him. "I was just looking for a spare bathroom."

"Ah yes. Women's ones seem to be… very crowded. Have you made it, little bathroom hunter, or do you need help?" He asks, walking over to you. He shouldn't be here. Certainly not that close to you. Meg was supposed to focus his attention on her and flirt with him. You didn't know what the hell he was doing on the first floor instead of in the ballroom celebrating his birthday.

And when he called you a hunter, you tried your hardest not to shiver in fear at the thought of him seeing through you. But if he recognised you, would he act so... calm around you? Peacekeepers would probably have surrounded you long ago if he had...

"I did it, Mr. President. Ah! Happy birthday! May you watch over us for a very long time." You wish him well, and he just smiles. This isn't one of his forced, political smiles. No.

It was a wolfish smile, a dangerous one. The one that he had a habit of showing you when he managed to outsmart you tracked you down in the forests of District 12.

"Thank you, my darling. You wouldn't deny a man his birthday wishes, would you?" A shiver runs through you as his irises focus on you. His tone is quieter and darker as he asks you a seemingly innocent question. But you know very well that nothing about Coriolanus Snow is innocent.

"Of course not, Mr. President." You reply courteously, already afraid of what he might want from you.

"Great. May I then?" He asks, sticking out his hand as he asks you to dance with a polite smile (if the devil can wear one).

"With great pleasure." You say, placing your hand in his. Without knowing why, you feel like you're putting it in the mouth of a lion... or in this case, a snake.

He holds your hand tightly as he helps you down the stairs. He doesn't let go of you for a second, and once you reach the dance floor, he wraps his arm around your waist and presses you against him, making you feel all his muscles hidden under his clothes. His eyes also never leave yours, which makes you very uncomfortable. Your anxiety only gets greater as you can't see the faces of the other members of your rebellion in the room.

"Nervous? Don't worry. You dance great." The smirk never leaves his face. And that's the kind of sly smirk. Of course, you dance great. After all, he taught you that himself in District 12.

"Thank you, Mr. President." At one point, the dance requires him to turn you around and press your back against his chest. You shiver as you feel his breath on your neck, then on your ear as he leans down, so he is very close to you.

"Do you think I'm stupid enough not to recognise you, Y/N? That I don't dream about you every night? That I didn't notice you when you and your ridiculous group of district dogs burst into my presidential palace?" You struggle, trying to break free from his grip, but he only grips your hip tighter, enough to surely leave bruises in the form of his fingers.

Coriolanus presses his lips against your temple and nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent. You shiver in his arms at the familiar feeling of his closeness. You feel the gun hidden under his vest press against the back of your back. A tender reminder of how you both were still enemies and a deadly threat to each other.

His hands roam over your body, exploring you as much as he can manage in a crowd of people. But you doubt anyone would dare point out how he presses his crotch against your ass, forcing you to feel every last bit of him as he continues whispering darkly into your ear. "I've been hunting you for so many years... only for you to come running straight to me, as always. I honestly couldn't have asked for a better birthday present. Let's play a game. Our favourite, darling. Try to escape, my little hunter." He hums as he finally lets go of you.

You're not wasting your time.

You don't turn to see him smirking mockingly, to see the way his cheeks have turned slightly pink from the adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins, or to see the way the bulge in his pants has become slightly more visible.

You run away from him without looking back, pushing through the crowd of people who are leaving in panic after the announcement that they must leave the villa immediately as a result of the detection of an attempted assassination of the head of state.

But not everything is lost yet.

You saw a few familiar faces in the crowd of people, including Meg and Joseph. And you know that if you want to save your plan and the members of the rebellion, then you have to get Coriolanus' full attention. Make him drop his guard and focus entirely on you.

That's why instead of trying to escpae you stop at the foot of the stairs leading to the first floor.

You watch the crowd of people storming towards the exit. Peacekeepers are pushing through them, some trying to catch the more suspicious ones and interrogate them; everyone is focused on the exit door. So you had to go upstairs. You see Coriolanus slowly walking out of the ballroom. He looks around for you, and when his eyes catch yours, he stops, examining you. You kick off your high heels and run upstairs.

You run forward, hearing the clatter of his shoes close behind you.

You avoid all the traps you have set and hide in one of the rooms. Your feet feel icy from the cool marble you're walking on, but you don't pay much attention to it. Your heart is racing, and you try to breathe as quietly as possible as you hide behind the curtain, listening.

The first thing he does is open all the doors. Of course, carefully and not by himself. He was fully aware that you might have some unpleasant surprises in store for him. He was made very aware of it by one of the peacekeepers who went with him and unlocked the mechanism that caused his beautiful crystal chandelier to fall on the soldier's head.

The maids will have to clean the blood from the white marble again. The next time he renovates the villa, he will have to think about a more... useful floor colour.

"Guard the remaining floors and all exits. Two of you stand by the stairs. I'll take care of this one myself. You go and catch the rest of these street rats." He orders them in a dry tone.

He knows full well that he can fight you alone, and he will do it much better than this bunch of idiots. You weren't just a pure force. You were the mastermind. And only Coriolanus was smart enough to follow your way of thinking and catch you. Just like he always did.

You hold your breath as you hear the footsteps of the peacekeepers spreading across the floor. Only Coriolanus remains. You hear his breathing and his slow, methodical steps. You can imagine him analyzing the hall, looking for traps and potential threats you could prepare for him.

"You know you can't escape, right?" he begins, his footsteps echoing off the walls of the empty, silent corridor. "You've been slipping out of my hands for too long, little hunter. Do you think I don't remember our lessons? That I don't know your systems and customs? I don't know that you packed the entire presidential palace with your little surprises. What a pity that you will never catch me in any of them..."

You hear him enter the room next to you. He drops something to the floor and steps away, closing the door with a bang as the mechanism activates, spreading corrosive gas across the room that was intended to hurt him.

"Really? Such a school trick? I thought you knew better than to test such... childish methods on me, darling. I remember you telling me about something like this after a particular night at your apartment. Can you believe that I remember much better those lessons during which you were moaning and screaming my name?" He chuckles, sinisterly, darkly at the memory.

And then you hear a step. And another one. And another one. Slow, unhurried, and careful. It was so quiet that you wouldn't have heard them if the villa wasn't as quiet as it is now.

He was approaching you slowly and saliently, just as you taught him all those years ago. As usual, he turned out to be a very talented student.

"I never thought you'd be a rebel. After all, you were always so submissive to me... especially under me. And wanting me dead... you know I've killed and turned into Avox for lesser crimes against me and the Panem? But don't worry... your mouth and tongue are too useful for me to take the pleasure they can give away from me ever again."

He starts whistling, checking another room. As you hear him pulling the covers off the bed, you slowly emerge from your hiding place. You take a small step closer to the bathroom and freeze as the floor creaks beneath you.

"Spikes embedded in the mattress? Were you hoping to seduce me and put me on this deathbed? We can always try this... on a less lethal mattress, of course. What would you say, little hunter? Pardon. My sweet rebel?" You close the door quietly behind you and look around the dark room. Window. Maybe if you could open it...

"All these years, and you still use the same perfume." He grunts and closes the door behind him. You shudder, realising that he knows you're in this room. You tighten your hand on the knife hidden in the sleeve of your dress and wait in the cold bathroom for his next steps. "Don't you have a little Deja vu? It reminds me of when you and Lucy Gray ran away from me. That bitch is still hiding. I suspect you don't know where, but you are in contact through some letters or something. As soon as I find her, I will kill her on the spot. I know very well that she was the reason you left me. Don't get me wrong, I'm also angry at you for that... but not as mad as I am at her."

After Sejanus was hanged, he and you planned to escape together. And God, you loved it. You would have sacrificed your whole life for him if it weren't for Lucy Gray, who told you the truth about your beloved devil. So when he came out of the cottage near the lake, worrying about how you had been gone for too long and looking for you with a gun in his hand, you ran away.

"Y/N! Y/N, where are you?! Y/N! Y/N! I will find you! There is no fucking place you can hide from me! Can you hear me, hunter?! NO FUCKING PLACE! YOU ARE MINE! YOU WILL BE ALWAYS MINE! I will mark you like cattle and tie you to my side forever!"

You dream of his screams at some night.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me! You lying bitch!"

You hear his footsteps in the other room as he opens the curtains and checks to see if you're outside the window.

"You think I won't find you?! That you can crawl into a hole that I can't get you out of?! YOU'RE MINE, Y/N! Alive or dead, I don't care! YOU BELONG TO ME!"

You hear him take steps towards the closet, opening it and throwing things out, making sure it's empty. You hear him knocking over several items—the bed, the armchairs. You hold your breath as there is complete silence. He's probably looking at the bathroom door.

You feel your heart beating in your chest just as fast as it did that day when you hid from him as he walked around with a gun, screaming and calling for you. And you almost left. You almost left, wanting to fall into his arms as he kneeled in the middle of the forest and cried, smelling his mother's scarf that he gave you and which was saturated with your scent. But before you could, he screamed and started shooting at the mockingjays in the trees. So you ran away.

And you've been running away since then, hoping that you were a terrible teacher to him and that he would never find you...

"If you leave willingly, I will spare you the unpleasant part, my little rebel. Maybe you can even convince me to forget your transgressions completely… well within reason. However, I suspect that my bed is more comfortable than the floor of a prison cell. Don't you think?"

Maybe if he had used a less mocking tone, if you hadn't heard the pleasure dripping from his voice at his superiority over you and the excitement at catching you, then maybe you would have left willingly. You shake your hand, holding the knife tighter in your hand. No. You wouldn't leave and let him catch you without a fight. He has done too much to you and to other district people to pretend he's not a monster.

"I count to three." You hold your breath, stopping yourself from shaking. The cool air gives you goosebumps as you wait for him to take a step closer to the bathroom's door. "One."

You hear the rustle of fabric; he must have taken off his jacket and probably his mask too. You reach up to your face and untie your own mask, taking it off with a trembling hands.

"Two." Before he enters the room, you hide, so you're standing behind the door, which Coriolanus opens before he counts to three.

Another trick you taught him. Act unpredictably. Don't warn the prey about your next step, and don't let it catch you by surprise.

That's why Coriolanus stands still when he sees the bathroom window open. Your mask lies on the windowsill, taunting him as the moonlight reflects off the silver thread from which it was sewn and glows, tempting him to follow the trail.

That's why, as soon as he comes to the window, you quickly step out from behind the door and close it behind you with a bang.

A moment later, you hear his curses and quick footsteps. You run forward and enter the next room, being careful not to activate any mechanisms. Just as you close the door behind you, you feel him grab the handle on the other side.

In a panic, you do the same and pull the door towards you, wrestling with him. You know it won't get you very far. Coriolanus was stronger than you. He would get inside quickly. You had to think of another way to escape and create distance between you.

"That's enough, Y/N! We had fun, but that's it. You have no way to escape. You know it damn well! Be a good girl and get out." He growls at you, trying to push the door open and get inside.

"So you can kill me?! Hang me like Sejanus?!" You ask angrily, wrestling with him at the door. You feel yourself getting weaker, so you make an instinctive decision. You let go of the door and ran to the window, opening it. You turn around as the door slams shut. You two are standing in the same room again.

You look at each other carefully. You both breathe quickly, analysing each other's possible movements.

"You know I would never hurt you." He starts by taking a small step towards you. You step back to the open window, and he freezes. You may have been on the first floor, but the presidential palace was huge. If you jump out, you will smash into the asphalt and die. And he won't win. Coriolanus cannot afford this. That's why he's standing still for now.

"You killed people. How was I supposed to know I wouldn't be next?" You accuse him, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Your mind analyses all the possibilities. You're tempted to jump. Free yourself from him once and for all. Make him lose. Although this time.

"You could have trusted me. Just a little longer."

"Sorry, I have a survival instinct. Very strong survival instinct." You say this, avoiding his gaze. He takes advantage of your distraction and takes a step towards you, which you don't notice because you are too busy thinking of an escape plan.

"Not that big since you came here. For what? To kill me? Will you stab me in the heart, Y/N? Will you shoot me? Will you poison me?"

"You left me no other choice." You growl at him, furious, tightening your grip on the dagger.

"You don't want to do this. I know you. If you really wanted me to fall into a trap, you'd make it so that I couldn't move my damn foot an inch without activating something. So I'll ask again. Why did you come here?"

You do not know. Really. You can't answer his question.

Because... Yes, you hated him. And yes, you despised him. And yes, you were afraid of the monster he had become. But nothing could change the fact that, deep down, you loved him. You cried hundreds of tears because of him, which ricocheted off the walls of the wall you so eagerly built around yourself and your stupid hearth so no one else would be able to hurt you again. You didn't let anyone else get to know you. Not like Coriolanus did. He was the only one who saw the real you. The part of you that you were so afraid to show anyone else or to even look at them by yourself.

"Y/N. Look at me." It's not a request. This is a command. Subtle, but still. And you know, that's all he'll give you. Commands, expectations.

Never look your prey in the eyes. The first rule you taught him. The only one he always broke.

Maybe because of sadism? Maybe he enjoyed watching realisation shine in his victims' eyes as they realised he was winning. But you can't resist following his command and looking into those icy irises you once knew so well.

Or maybe he really cared about you more than anyone else. You'd like to believe that.

"I can give you everything. The whole world. All you have to do is trust me." He says, taking a few steps closer to you. You bite your lip. You can try to run away, but you know he will catch you. You weren't on your own turf. And he had a hundred tracking dogs, ready to find you. Crook.

"Trust you? After everything you've done?" You mock him. But he doesn't answer. There is perfect silence in the room.

Before you know it, he runs towards you. He activates the mechanism, causing a crossbow arrow to pierce his arm. He ignores it in favour of reaching out to you. He quickly injects something into your neck, holding you tightly against his chest. You stabbed him in the stomach. His blood spurts onto your dress as he makes sure you can't move, ignoring his wounds for a moment. Of course, he retaliates by tightening his grip on you, leaving his fingerprints on your skin.

"So you chose the hard path. Too bad, my little hunter. For you. I'll be damned glad to have the opportunity to train you. I will make you the perfect first lady, my darling." He whispers in your ear, and as you fall unconscious in his arms, you realise one terrifying thing. He caught you. He won this round.

You have to put plan B into action all alone.

You foresaw that your plan might fail and that someone would betray you. That's why you and Meg came up with... a contingency plan. After all, you had to keep your promise.

You're not leaving this presidential palace until you see the life drain from Coriolanus Snow. It will be your prison until then. A golden cage. No matter how long it will take... Or at least try to convince yourself that you have to do it. Because you know you must do it for the good of Panem. That you can't back down from anything at the next opportunity. You can't hesitate. No matter how much you will be drunk on the blame and pain of killing him.

It was a game of survival. A game only you and Coriolanus knew how to play. You had to win. For the good of people. To stop the suffering he caused.

After all, the caged wolf was still a threat. Even for poisonous snakes.

PART 2 (last)

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #young coriolanus snow #oneshot #coriolanus snow #tbosbas #coriolanus snow x you #corionalus snow #toxic relationship #dark coriolanus snow #smut #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #snow lands on top #coriolanus x y/n

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lilrainbowcloud · 9 months ago

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Pairing: Percy Jackson x Reader

Genre: Comfy cozy fluff

Word count: 567 [masterlist]

a/n: i live for soft percy fics🩵

[13:23]

Sitting during lunch period together, both leaning on the trunk of an old rain tree at the campus park, you both enjoyed the company of each other in silence. Well, not in complete silence, there was the buzzing of passing conversations of the other students and the sound of the rustling leaves from the gentle breeze of wind.

But you and Percy were in your quiet bubble together. You felt like it was your own world. Being with him, sharing earbuds as your favourite playlist played on shuffle, it felt as if the bubble was a vacuumed space, shutting out the outside world. For like, an hour.

Shoulder to shoulder, you sat sketching on your little sketch book. Determined to commit to finishing the entire book for the semester and not abandoning it like.... the last 4 times. Hey, it wasn't your fault that artist block came knocking on your dorm room's door after a couple of days. Keeping up with the motivation to do something can be challenging okay!

As your pen scratched the paper with black ink, you were sketching a portrait of a woman you saw from your trip to the flower market yesterday. Mind in deep focus as you tried to recall the angle of her face, the deep hooded brown eyes, and the dark curl of her hair. She was very pretty enough to be your subject of art.

Being deep in your creative headspace, the person who was leaning himself onto your shoulder took hold of your non dominant hand which didn't catch your attention at first, but the cold and blunt tip of a pen gliding on the skin of the back of your hand sure did.

Tilting your head down to your intertwined hands, you smiled at the sight of Percy drawing an outline of a star on your hand, matching his blacked out one.

Glancing at his face the best you can, given your position, you could see the little smile on his face as he carefully traced the star's outline, darkening it.

You thought he was done, but under the star, Percy being Percy, wrote a cliche line of "You're the star of my life." Which got an amused scoff out of you. And a proud smile on his face as he let go of your hand only to take it in his other one to hold them up beside his as he examined his 'masterpiece'.

"You're such a dork, you know that?"

"At least I'm your dork," Taking your hand in his again, he brought your knuckles to his lips, "M'lady."

Groaning, you rolled your eyes as you pushed him, making him fall to the side. His melodious laugh filled your bubble.

"Oh my god Percy, I swear on your dad I will-"

"What? You will what, hm?" Giving you a raised eyebrow in question. Sometimes, your mind can't think of a fast retort to him, you stutter, thinking of something.

"I'm telling him that his son cheated on a carnival water gun's game to win a stuffed bear." With a proud face, you crossed your arms over your chest. Feeling defeated already from your poor attempt at a clapback.

You hoped he didn't notice the change of subject matter?

"Okay, I won a stuffed bear for you!" Okay, he didn't notice, "If you don't want him, I'll kidnap him back from you."

"No! He's mine!"

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson timestamps #percy #pjo #pjo tv show

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shanieveh · 1 year ago

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HAUNTED BY THE GHOST OF YOU *ੈ✩‧₊˚

no matter what he does, he can never deny that you were the greatest love of his life

KAMISATO AYATO who scarcely shows real emotion, who puts on a facade of masks and fake gestures was now charming his new bride to gain her favour. He can describe his new bride with just one word. Perfect. Unlike you, who messily eats the sweets that he stole from the tea house, or laughs crazily when you tease him so. The life he now lives was one from paintings and models, standards and perfection. But it was all fake, a charade, and only in the nights in the place where you said your goodbye, can the cowardly man finally put off his mask and reveal what he truly was. A lie.

SCARAMOUCHE who did everything to have a heart, even if it meant to discard you, to never see you ever again. And now he did, but the feeling of emptiness had never been so obvious. He was now a God, just what he wanted, but he no longer can be with you even if that's what he needed. To be with a person that actually cared, that never abandoned him. Not when he was the one who left, and he always denied that he was the reason why you're gone. That you were the reason his heart now restored, had never felt this empty. But deep down he knew, that a life with you was better than this.

KAEYA who spends all his time in the tavern, doing everything to erase the pain, to escape reality. His once carefree and seemingly sly like nature was now reduced to tatters who hoped that everything that has happened was only a dream. You didn't leave him, but you did. Who wouldn't leave a loser, a coward and inferior to his brother? He couldn't even face his past nor future, he couldn't even be the man you deserve. It was so clear as to why you left, but you never knew how he would risk all for you. His identity, his titles, his very life. You didn't know how he will leave it all behind, just to see your smile again. Just for you to break his heart again.

DILUC was someone that everybody knew, and everybody was scared of.. But when you gave him that look of fear, that look of judgment, he can't help but be jealous of the ordinary townsfolk that just run up to you and be with you. But sometimes he believed it was right to scare you off. To make you think that he didn't love you. At the very least you won't be tied into the danger that comes with being with him. Even if every corner of his mansion was filled with your memories, he will survive this pain. The pain of seeing you so happy with another man, and the consequence of knowing that the both of you can never be together.

KAVEH who made you his muse. His very existence was dedicated for you. His dreams, his passions, his love it was all for you. And now he orders two ice creams, remembering how you weren't there to eat the other once. Making a portrait for the wedding you both will never have. Maybe just like last time, it was all his fault. Maybe his fate lies in always being alone, in being a failure to everyone he loves. To always say the wrong words, and doing the wrong things. And he will act like nothing happened, that nothing bad was there. Because he doesn't deserve to grieve when it is his own undoing.

ALHAITHAM believed that dreams are never real, that they are just a gist of imagination by childish youngsters. But being with you finally made him realize the beauty of it all, and losing you made him see how it can make him crazy. Seeing you there, but never touch nor feel. Loving you from afar, but never up close or near. He stands as a lone man, that had his life all planned out, who knows what he wants to do and don't. But he never planned to love you, but he did, he never planned to lose you. Easy they come, easy they go a wise man said but never added how hard it is to let go.

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world-of-wales · 5 months ago

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❥ 14 JUNE 2024 | The Princess of Wales has issued a moving personal message thanking people for their support during her ongoing cancer battle, revealing she will attend Trooping the Colour with her children.

The portrait features her standing in front of an IVY climber, which symbolises fidelity and eternal life. In ancient Egypt, it was dedicated to Osiris, who represented immortality and in ancient Greece, Ivy was the plant of Dionysus because of its vigour. It has played an important role in the past, during long winters with little light, it offered a spark of hope that spring would come again.

The tree in the picture is the WILLOW which symbolises strength, adaptability and resilience. It's ability to grow and survive in adversity show how we can thrive even in challenging conditions. In ancient European folklore, it was believed that the willow tree brought good luck, and people would knock on its trunk to bring good fortune.

In a statement she said,

I have been blown away by all the kind messages of support and encouragement over the last couple of months. It really has made the world of difference to William and me and has helped us both through some of the harder times.

I am making good progress, but as anyone going through chemotherapy will know, there are good days and bad days. On those bad days you feel weak, tired and you have to give in to your body resting. But on the good days, when you feel stronger, you want to make the most of feeling well.

My treatment is ongoing and will be for a few more months. On the days I feel well enough, it is a joy to engage with school life, spend personal time on the things that give me energy and positivity, as well as starting to do a little work from home.

I’m looking forward to attending The King’s Birthday Parade this weekend with my family and hope to join a few public engagements over the summer, but equally knowing I am not out of the woods yet.

I am learning how to be patient, especially with uncertainty. Taking each day as it comes, listening to my body, and allowing myself to take this much needed time to heal.

Thank you so much for your continued understanding and to all of you who have so bravely shared your stories with me.

- C

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thesunloveschips · 4 months ago

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Eye of the Storm - Chapter 13: Dreams and Desires

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Azriel dreams of love and lust and then he finally dares to hope. Nyra's desires begin.

Warnings: not pure smut but still 18+, angst because we see baby Az and his mum, fluff, fluff, SHIRTLESS Azriel and the Truth Teller!

Word count: 9.1k (Enjoy!!)

A/N: @feerique thank you!! for waiting for weeks for this chapter and for giving me your heart in the comments as you reviewed it!! 💜✨✨

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Azriel couldn’t believe it. Nyra was in his arms, looking up at him as if he’d brought the world to her feet. She was content with everything and he could feel her satisfaction through their bond.

But this was a dream and he was a spectator living in his own head.

“Everything was wonderful today, wasn’t it?” Her voice was a gentle affirmation over some happy thing he did not know.

“We had a very nice morning.” She looked at the collar of his shirt, biting her lip bashfully. Azriel wanted to tilt her chin and kiss her right there. One of her palms was situated over his chest, right where his heart rested beneath the shirt and his skin. Her fingers started tapping on his chest.

“A good breakfast. Work finished early. And the dinner! Gods. Az, I didn’t realise how much I needed that dinner with you. It’s been a while since we went on a date.”

Azriel felt his heart soar at her words. He leaned towards her and kissed her cheek. Nyra’s eyes closed and her answering smile was a bright thing filling him with more love and energy than he ever believed he would hold in his heart.

The shadowsinger realised that he had never seen Nyra smile like that in real life. A smile so unrestrained and bright. There was always something that she carried and this Nyra in his dream was so free of everything, so happy. And she was happy in his presence, smiling at his kiss.

“We will, my love.” He heard himself speaking.

How did he even reach here? To the point where he could call her his love? And this slice of happiness that they were sharing right now—oh, what wouldn’t he do for her happiness.

“We'll go on many dates.” His kisses descended to the area beneath her ear. “Go to many places.” He pressed a featherlight kiss to the nape of her neck and she craned. “We’ll do a lot of things.”

“Today was exceptional.” She turned around and led him by the hand to a door.

A bedroom.

Oh shit.

Azriel had no experience with this. No experience with any sort of intimacy with her. He was a mere spectator in his own body as the words flew out of his mouth and this tender moment between them continued.

He was surprised to find that it was not a room he was familiar with nor was the view from the window. He followed her inside and closed the door behind them. He looked around as if seeing the room for the first time.

Their scent was all over it and he inhaled in delight. He also saw many personal effects ranging from clothing to weaponry. The bookshelves were filled. Papers were stuck on the wall. Portraits of the two of them. He swore he’d spotted a blue silk gown of hers lying on a chair.

“Upset at not being able to rip it like you’d wanted?” Nyra teased. His eyes snapped back to meet hers. A mixture of mirth and lust danced around her as she turned to look at that gown. “I do like it. The colour, the fabric, the design—everything makes it too precious for it to be subjected to destruction.”

Her left arm was crossed beneath her breasts while the other’s elbow rested on the wrist of the left. Her fingers played with the loose strands of her hair, her neck and Azriel was aching to taste her skin.

“It does suit you well.” Azriel admitted. The onlooker in his head did not even remember Nyra’s blue gown. Was this something only the Azriel and Nyra in his dream shared? “And you continue to wear it, knowing what it does to me.”

He blushed at his own words. This dream made him feel like a voyeur in his own life.

“Is it the gown that does it to you or is it me?” He had never heard that tone from her. Azriel learned that he was somehow always ready to kneel before her—for her.

“Always you. But the gown speeds things up.” Nyra laughed at that and Azriel felt his own mood lighten at being the cause of her joy.

The last few minutes had so much happiness, so much love—the male he was before could have this much happiness and love over the span of weeks. And everything was with her—between them and gods, he was loving this dream.

The sudden realisation that this was a dream brought him back to another fact that he was a mere spectator, watching this scene through the eyes of the Azriel who was here. The one who said the words he would never have the courage to say.

Envy coursed through him, at how much the Azriel in the dream could freely be with Nyra, love her, touch her. And gods damned his fucking soul but if the talk about that blue silk had any truth in it, then this Azriel was definitely having the time of his life with this lovely female.

“I’ll be a very happy male the day I tear that gown.” He declared. Nyra’s brows raised and she walked towards him and kissed his lips softly.

Azriel wanted to close his eyes or at least look away. This was an intimate moment and he did not want to seem like a pervert indulging in voyeuristic tendencies but gods did he want more of her touch. More of her kisses. More of her.

“Not that gown, Az.” She pulled back and turned around with a hand holding the periwinkle skirts of the gown she was wearing. “Rip this one.” And she threw him a look he immediately classified as erotic, inviting him for a salacious night. “That is, if you can.”

Azriel felt his soul darken at her challenge. He stalked forward, ready with the strength of a predator. His mate stood right where she was. She raised her hand for him to take and found herself flush against him as he kissed her, his other hand grabbing her chin with the palm resting on the side of her neck.

He walked her backwards to where a table was. There was also a chair and Nyra’s legs would’ve hit it but Azriel had grabbed the obstacle and flung it to some other part of the room. His shadows caught the chair mid-air and set it down somewhere without any destruction to the room.

And while the shadowsinger flung the chair elsewhere, his mate grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. Her hand came to where the shirt was beginning to cover him with its buttons and descended with enough force for the buttons to pop off. And with that, he felt the touch of her fingers through the planes of his chest to his abdomen.

“I thought you said I looked good in that shirt.” Azriel, the spectator, couldn’t believe that this was Nyra.

“And you were taking too long to remove it.” She now had a view of Azriel’s bare chest even as he was wearing his shirt and blazer. She looked like she could not decide if she wanted him like this or in a state of complete undress.

“Patience is a virtue.” He chuckled. Azriel loved the way she looked at him. Like she wanted him.

“I’m anything but virtuous right now.” Her hand found its way to his pants as if to prove her point. Four of her fingers found its way inside his pants and his undershorts, and Azriel’s heart almost jumped up to his throat. He clenched his fists for some semblance of control.

“Take off my belt, Nyra.” And her hand left him, trailing just a bit upwards with her nails. Nails he wanted to feel on his arms and back as she held him while he fucked her senseless.

She moved forward, pressing her clothed breasts against his bare chest, feeling him breathe against her. Nyra kissed his lips softly before she whispered. “Make me.”

Azriel woke up, sweating like he’d been subject to a heatwave. Despite the night being cooler than was normal for the season, he sweated enough to have the sheets dampen. The smell of his own sweat was a reminder of the dream he’d just woken from.

Azriel was familiar with nightmares. He had a routine of escaping them by drowning in his work, late night training or maybe a night of sex.

The last one was no longer an option. Maybe he should’ve never bedded anyone, ever. Yes, that would’ve been a wise choice. But the past couldn’t be rewritten and so for now, he’d be celibate until marriage.

Azriel knew he was hard and it was pain and pleasure and such sweet pain he dared not touch it. Mother curse him, Nyra was simply existing in one of the rooms in the House of Wind, completely minding her own business, dealing with her own trauma, probably sleeping since it was so late. She probably saw him as a friend at best and an acquaintance at worst and he was already dreaming of a life with her.

A life where he’d go on a dinner date with her, retire to the privacy of their rooms, kiss her for her smiles and indulge in his desires with her.

That dream which showed the possibility of a life with her—that was the sort of dream people look up at the night sky and wish for. The sort of dreams that one would wish for in the most desperate of moments.

He remembered a conversation with his mother the day his hands were burned. The sweet female that she was, his mother told him something he kept in his heart for all this time.

A female held her son so close to her, so afraid of letting him go. The flames had hurt her son’s hands. He couldn’t even hug his mother back with how much his hands were hurting.

Rain poured that night, heavy and cold. She saw herself in the rain and thanked whatever power that made the clouds weep. The rain had begun falling just as his hands had started burning and was the only reason why there was still a chance his hands would remain functional.

And even though it rained outside their small, dirty cottage, the female could not stop crying. As a mother, she wanted to be strong for her son but what could she do?

She was weak and that was her reality. So weak that she couldn’t even keep her son with her. So weak she couldn’t stop him from being imprisoned from the day he’d been taken from her as a toddler.

She should’ve fled the camp but she’d been worried about how they’d treat a female and babe with no male protection. But her poor son, her darling son, this wonderful boy she’d been blessed with. Perhaps the only blessing she’d ever received in this world and the only one she’ll ever have.

She couldn’t go with this again. She’d go to Windhaven the next time the High Lord’s visit was due. She was once a friend of the female who was now the Lady of the Night. She’d beg for her son’s freedom if need be. But as she felt the tremors of her son who sobbed in her arms, her newfound determination and strength faltered.

“Will it always be like this?” Azriel’s voice was so small, so unpractised in conversation.

“No.” That was the only thing she’d wanted for him. For his life to not remain like this. She didn’t know if it could be better or to what extent it could be better but his life had to be outside that damned cell. “It won’t be like this. You’ll be out in the world, flying. My boy will be strong.”

His mother hoped that the mandatory training for the Illyrians would bring him freedom. War was coming soon and there could never be too many soldiers now. Not with the High Lord’s own son approaching the age of training and whispers of whether the Heir would come to Illyria to train.

“And you’ll have a family of your own and-”

“Please don’t leave me.” Azriel begged, fat tears flowing down his cheeks. “Please. Please. Please. Please.” He’d thought that a new family of his own meant that his mother would be far away. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, my boy.” She kissed his forehead. “I’m here for you. Always.”

“I don’t want a new family.” Azriel sobbed and hiccuped and it was agony not being able to hold his mother or to even clench his own fists. “I only want to live with you.”

“Soon, Azriel. What I meant was that we will have a new family.”

“We?” Azriel peered up at his mother, vision still blurred by his own tears.

“Yes. You, me and the one you love.” His mother sounded hopeful and hopeless at the same time. “And all three of us will be a family together.”

Azriel’s mother had meant to explain romantic love to her son. That she’d prayed for every single day of her life that he’d meet someone good and kind and wonderful and that person would love her son and that her son would love that person and they’d have a happy life together whether or not she’d live long to see that. He knew that now because this conversation had been revisited a few times after he entered adulthood.

His mother had harboured reservations against the mating bond due to how bad it had turned out for her and for many others around her with the former Lady of the Night being the only exception but even then, that wasn’t a legendary romance. It wasn’t until Rhysand himself visited her for her blessings that she felt a little good about it but even then Feyre had yet to meet his mother.

Azriel supposed he was lucky. He was the only one in the Inner Circle with a living parent who was good and kind and so much more. And now, Rhys was the first one in the Inner Circle to have a family of his own with Feyre. And Azriel had the mating bond with Nyra and he wondered and hoped and prayed so badly that he could have something with her.

Something.

Anything.

He would be content with friendship even if she fell in love with another. No matter how much it would kill him.

Liar! The shadows hissed and continued to chant it.

Of course, he was a liar.

A liar because the thought of another male near her making her smile and laugh. Another male kissing her, naked with her. Nyra’s eyes half closed in desire, her hair untied and curls free, completely disrobed as her shoulders and curves for that faceless bastard. . .

The Truth Teller landed on the bookshelf with a thump. The force behind his favourite dagger had caused a long crack on the side of the shelf. The wooden structure would probably fall if he took the dagger off.

The dream triumphed over him again.

And now he was imagining things rather vividly. Images of loving her. Of going to places with her. Kissing her and making her smile so brightly. To rip that gown and make her take off his belt. . .

He needed to get up. He needed a good release, some late night training but his aching cock reminded him how much he needed another kind of release.

****

Nyra woke up from a dreamless sleep in the middle of the night. She found herself in an unfamiliar place but it took time for her to process everything that had happened and realise that this was her bedroom in the House of Wind.

There were a few notes on the bedside table. She guessed that Nesta might’ve written one of them but what about the others? The first note she picked up had Nesta’s name on display. She unfolded it and read its contents.

You became angry at the mention of Hybern and lost control of your power. No one and nothing was harmed. Azriel brought you to bed. I accompanied him.

The two of you disappeared into his shadows right before you completely lost control and when he brought you back, you had fainted from exhaustion.

Food is on the study table if you need some. Your nightdress is on the chair should you feel the need to change.

Rest well.

Nyra found the food and the nightdress. She decided to reread the note in the morning and then meet Azriel to talk to him about whatever happened in the shadows. She was starting to recollect some things but it was mostly her own power trying to release itself.

She took the next note with Azriel’s name and unfolded it.

We can talk about what happened in the shadows over some chocolate cake. After all, I did lure you into attending dinner and you did not even get your reward. I’ll meet you after your lessons with Amren.

Azriel.

Nyra read and reread that note. Azriel’s handwriting was cursive and therefore a little difficult to comprehend since she was seeing it for the first time. The letters that were supposed to be capital letters were small ones written in a bigger size. The Ys looked like they had a tail, the small Ds and Bs had feather-like extensions. The only crinkle on the note was in the middle from where it had been folded. Very fancy handwriting indeed.

There was another note with no name. She took it and opened it.

Hey! I just wanted to know if you were okay. If you need anything, we’re here.

Nyra frowned upon seeing no name. She looked at the entire page and then flipped it and there was still nothing to identify its writer. The handwriting was an unfamiliar one and rather bad according to her standards. Nyra looked around and rose from bed, heading over to the table where Amren’s books were neatly stacked. A little note was on top of it.

Read.

-Amren.

Nyra took the first book and opened it. She skinned through the pages and then closed it. A lidded bowl was placed next to the books with cutlery wrapped in a napkin. It was a bowl of hot soup and the steam carried its aroma. She closed it and looked at the nightdress on the chair—a thin, white thing. She had to change.

She removed her dress where she stood and removed her undergarments and quickly put on the nightdress. She found a full length robe in the wardrobe which was more extravagant than practical with the silk and lace but at least, it reached the floor and was full sleeved.

The first book was a general introduction to magic. She read that rather easily and quickly. The next was on types and uses.

And hours passed. She’d woken up at eleven at night and it was now nearly four. She’d finished three out of five books and had had that soup at some point.

A yawn escaped her and she stood up to stretch her arms and twist her body. Nyra looked around and decided to sleep. In response to her wishes, the magic of the House turned off the lights and that was when she noticed the shadow outside her door. It was prominent due to the lighting outside her room.

The lights turned on again and she finally noticed the wisps of darkness creeping in from under the door. She walked over and opened the door. Azriel stood there, his hand in a fist as if he was going to knock, his eyes widening as he met her gaze.

“I. . .” He swallowed. Azriel saw her, what she was wearing and the way her hair was untied. The warm light seemed to accentuate her features—the softness of her hair, the smoothness of her skin, those lips he’d only kissed in that dream.

And that robe that was wrapped around her frame only because Nyra held on to it like that. She hadn’t tied it and had opted to simply hold it tight against herself. The way her breasts moved with every step as she walked out of that door and he realised that she was probably not wearing her undergarments. At least not her bra.

He made all of these observations within the first second and by the next, he was looking at her face, desperate to kiss her after the dream he’d just had. He needed her touch.

“Are you okay?” He finally asked and exhaled deeply.

Nyra looked at him not knowing why he looked so nervous. Was there something on her face? “I’m fine. I think. Are you alright? You look rather. . . flushed.”

Azriel felt the warmth in his body increase. He looked to the ground, suddenly shy and Nyra had no way of knowing that this incredibly beautiful male could be so enchantingly adorable.

“What happened?” She asked softly. “Do you have a fever?”

Azriel looked at her. Oh fuck, he looked bad enough that she was worried for a fever. “Why are you worrying for me when you’re the one who’s been awake for hours?”

“I have no reason not to be worried for you. And have you not been awake for hours with the way you’re dressed? Did you come back from somewhere?” Nyra replied. “And how long have you been standing outside my room?”

“I’ve been awake. . . for some time. I was training.” He mumbled, averting his gaze once again. He did feel rather warm at her worry for him. “It’s only been a few minutes since I’ve been outside your door.”

Ninety two minutes. The shadows whispered mockingly.

“Do you want to come in?” Her invitation was an innocent one but the one Azriel did not trust was his own self.

He’d had a partially erotic dream about her and had woken up with a very hard cock that seemed to have an issue calming down. He’d been forced to take care of it and it seemed to have a mind of its own and with a very clear obsession. And now that he knew that Nyra was in her nightdress with that pathetically thin robe and no underwear, he couldn’t trust himself around her in a bedroom of all places.

“No, thank you.” Azriel was mortified by the way he spoke. Did his desire reveal itself through his voice or did he sound pathetic? “It’s late. We need our sleep.”

And he’d scare her if he said he wanted to sleep with her. Wanted to know her skin and the feel of it against his own. He wanted to be deep within her, her bare breasts against his chest as he pounded deep and hard into her. To suck on her neck and have her lose her mind enough to make her cling to him as he pleasured her.

He wanted to tell her that he was attracted to her. That he liked her. That he loved talking to her when she was a human and that he missed those talks. The way she showed interest in this world and how she’d eagerly listen to his stories of Velaris and his life. The stories she told him about the human lands. The scare he got when she coughed blood in front of him as a weakened mortal.

She was weakened. She was not born weak. The shadows raged. She was harmed.

Azriel knew his shadows had stalked her like the creepiest of beings and had been dead set on obtaining every morsel of information on Nyra that existed. They’d found the old cottage where they lived, the ruins of their former estate where the sisters spent their childhood, and investigated every corner.

The bed has answers. The shadows whispered. Let us investigate. The bed on which she was born. Azriel knew exactly what the shadows were talking about. They were psychometric like that but some of their abilities required his express consent. And that is precisely what he granted.

Meanwhile, Nyra looked at Azriel who wore his leathers, the weapons strapped to different parts of his body revealed that much. But god knew why he was training in the middle of the night. He was behaving rather oddly. He was staring at her face.

“Is there something on my face?” Nyra touched her cheek and frowned.

“No. Why’d you ask?” Yes, your face is beautiful. I want to hold it and kiss it. Please don’t frown. He couldn’t say any of that.

“You’ve been staring at me for so long.”

“I apologise for making you feel uncomfortable” Azriel looked away.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Nyra quickly spoke. Azriel was rather shy right now and it was new to her. It was different from the male who visited their estate late at night to tell them stories of the fae. But Azriel was still Azriel. He was. . . divine. “I thought I had food or something else on my face.”

“Your face is. . . fine.” It was a struggle not to compliment her face. That adorable face. She was a dainty being compared to his powerfully built self even when she was taller than most females. And she looked so inviting in a homely sense, ready for bed with that nightdress and hair down and the dim lights.

And he wanted to be with her.

From the moment he first held her, he wanted her in his arms all day, everyday.

But he had to focus on the conversation right now. She’d said something about food on her face. “That means you’ve had the food?”

“Yes?” She looked at him, pleasantly surprised that he’d made that observation.

“You mentioned you couldn’t sleep.”

She simply nodded, her gaze now far away.

“If you need anything—a tonic, or a healer or someone to talk-”

“That’s the thing.” She whispered, a pained look haunting her eyes. She was looking to his left. Maybe at his siphon. “I don’t know what I need.”

“What do you feel?” Azriel focused on the bond and found it beginning to close but with whatever was still open, he took a peak. The storms in her mind had grown.

“Why do you keep asking so many questions?” Nyra looked at him defensively. He could feel the power of her mind, her storms and felt her walls build up more.

“Because I do not wish for you to remain where you are right now.” He hoped he was saying the right thing. If not the right thing, then he did not want to make it worse.

“I’m here. In your city. In your home. I’m no longer. . . at liberty to return to my own. I am stuck here.”

Azriel decided to pretend that her words did not break him and continue this. To provoke her so that she’d talk. It was the only thing he knew how to do. To make people talk. This would help her acknowledge. Talking out loud could be a step to acceptance.

“I don’t know if I’ve gained anything and I’ve lost everything.” She was trying to control her tears. “Nesta feels like she’s in the middle of a war and everything about Elain feels like she’s ready to float away into nothingness.” And the tears began falling. “I. . . I don’t. . There’s so much and. . . So much information and everything is jumbled and all over the place and I don’t even know if. . . And there was so much miasma in the Cauldron—it was so unbreathable and. . .”

Azriel walked forward and laid a hand on her cheek and wrapped another around her middle and rested it on her back. There was one duty he had right now—to help her through this.

His instincts roared at him to care and he was more than ready to do that. The shadows gently caressed her, taking away the strands of hair on her face. And Nyra still held her robe tightly even as he was now closer.

“Why are you here?” Azriel knew she would ask this question. She would probably never stop asking this question.

“Because I want to be.” He answered. This is where I want to be—with you. You are who I want to take care of.

Because there was no lie in that. His desires aside, he’d been waiting for his mate solely because he wanted to take care of her. He didn’t know what species or what sex or when his mate would be reborn. He just knew that the next time she was in the same realm as him, he wanted to take care of her.

Even when he did not know for sure that there could be any form of attraction between them, he only wanted this. For five centuries, the only thing he clung onto was his wish to take care of his mate. And he’d be damned if he let something like sexual attraction cloud his mind while she was confused and upset.

Not that he was denying that he wasn’t attracted to her. He was. Nyra was a beautiful female as a human. He’d noted that. She was a female unlike any other. And when she became fae, it became a struggle to be in her presence so that he wouldn’t fall to his knees in front of her just like that. And not even twenty four hours had passed since she woke up.

But the one thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to take care of her. And he would do that no matter what. Her tears had cleared his mind and there was a purpose now—to nurture and protect.

Nyra pulled back from the hug, eyes still tearful and cheeks redder and puffier. He wiped the tears on her cheeks and released her from his touch. She could do nothing but watch as Azriel and his gentle behaviour reached something within her. She wanted this. More of his softness. But her mind was too disoriented at the moment to ponder more on that.

“Go to sleep. Alright? No reading books or convincing yourself that you’d sleep after one more chapter. Hm? We’ll have that chocolate cake tomorrow. I’ll meet you after your lessons for Amren.”

Nyra nodded at him and yawned. She covered her mouth with a hand and then looked at him again with that sleepy face. “Good night.” She waved her hand. “Go to sleep, Az. You need it just as much as I do. If not more.”

“Good night.” And the door closed and was locked. The lights went off and Azriel could hear her breathing as it slowly evened into a slow melody.

Azriel walked away. He went to his room, tapped his siphon to remove his leathers and wore the sweatpants and settled in for sleep. It was easy. He thought of her. The progress both of them had made and soon, he fell asleep. The shadows remained quiet, letting their master sleep, even with all the things they were planning to investigate. There was much to uncover and a few of them slithered away into the night to begin their task.

****

Morning brought clarity and doubt. Nyra remembered so many things now. Her own memories from the earliest days of her life including her life as a babe. Her memories from other lives that were scattered like sheets of paper stacked in dusty piles, ready to fall down and make a mess. She had to sort through all of them.

She looked at her hands. The right hand had the tattoo after her bargain with Rhysand. The left was, well… Her scar remained but it had become a bit faint. Just a bit. She remembered her own insistence that it remain as her body was weaved inside the Cauldron.

And she remembered Azriel’s voice telling her to let it all out as her power roared like an untamed beast within her. The darkness that had surrounded them and him holding her. All that pain and relief as the storm within her was unleashed. Lightning followed thunder and so did the shadows and winds.

Nyra remembered hearing a very soothing sound. She remembered trying to focus on it and eventually telling him how tired he was. He did say something after that but Nyra was far too close to sleep at that point to be able to remember right now what he said.

The memory of Azriel holding her felt too intimate. And she’d touched his chest and grabbed his shirt. She felt his touch on her head and waist—how she had leaned on to his chest as she caught her breath. And that soothing sound was so clear at that moment. It finally felt like she could breathe.

And when he’d visited her not more than a couple of hours ago, Nyra remembered her own nervousness. Things had changed between them since she became fae. Whatever friendship they’d forged while she was still human was now a forgotten painting in the background. Now, it was as if they were familiar and yet so distant with one another. And she did not like that.

Azriel was her first friend outside her little circle which comprised only of her sisters. He was the first person unrelated by blood who had begun to inch closer to her circle. And suddenly, he was no longer there.

These thoughts continued to haunt Nyra as she bathed and dressed for the day. The mirror kept showing her a resplendent female, brimming with health. But her mind began whispering of the broken, wretched woman she was. The scar on her left palm reminded her of the past she had attempted to bury. Would things be better if she accepted this? A life as a fae? The future of an immortal?

Nyra exited her room and saw Nesta and Feyre engrossed in a very serious conversation.

“We shall resume later.” Nesta declared in a low voice, allowing no room for opposition and walked towards Nyra, followed by Feyre.

“I take it you did not rest well.” Nesta was still walking over and when she finally reached her, she cupped Nyra’s face and examined her.

“Did you have soup?” Feyre asked.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Nyra took Nesta’s hands and removed them from her cheek but continued to hold them. She was supposed to be mad at Nesta for not properly addressing things between her and Feyre but the way the two of them were fussing over her first thing in the morning did calm the skies in her mind.

“I had the soup. It was delicious.” She looked at Feyre. Nyra didn’t have it within her to smile but she hoped her expression was appreciative enough. “Thank you.” She added for good measure.

“I read the notes. Yours.” She turned to Nesta. “Azriel’s. Amren’s. And an anonymous one.”

“That was me.” Feyre smiled sheepishly.

“Write your name the next time so that I know it’s you.” Nyra watched her beam with a smile. Truly, her youngest sister looked radiant like the brightest star.

Nyra noted that Feyre looked happy. She was happy. So carefree. Like the wind was blowing and Feyre only needed to enjoy the pleasant breeze on her cheek than worry about any worn out clothing on her back. And despite not being able to recognise her, Nyra did feel relief. Feyre had no more responsibility to provide for the family.

“This is good.” She took Feyre’s hands in her own and the latter knew that Nyra was not talking about dresses or pants. Nyra felt something warm and cosy rising within her. Feyre was starting to be recognisable.

Nyra lifted a hand to touch her sister’s cheek. “You’ve done so well, my dear. Thank you for everything.”

Feyre inhaled sharply, tears pooling in her eyes but she craned her face upwards and shut her eyes tightly to prevent the tears. Nyra felt like she shouldn’t hug Feyre. As if the tears she was trying to control would fall if she did hug her. And if Feyre did not want to cry, then Nyra was not going to make her.

“The two of you should wear pants.” Feyre breathed. “Amren’s flat is in the city. Pants are more practical for flight.”

Nesta turned her body to look at Feyre, her coldness melting into nothing. “What’s a flat?”

Feyre blinked and then let out an awkward laugh. “A flat is a residence in a building. A building usually has multiple flats. You’ll get a better understanding once you visit Amren.”

“Flight?” Nyra was confused.

“You’ll be flying to reach Amren.” Feyre smiled brightly. “Cassian and Azriel will take you.”

“And how will we fly?”

“They’ll carry you.” Feyre looked a little lost.

Nesta’s spine straightened at the mention of being carried. She would choose Azriel unless he walked over to Nyra. She had no interest in being touched by Cassian lest she combust from the contact alone. Nesta could barely breathe in his presence. Concentration was something else she lost in his vicinity. Nesta hoped Nyra would be fine with Cassian. They seemed to be normal around each other. As normal as could be considering the present circumstance.

“Pants. Alright.” Nyra’s voice brought Nesta back to the present, away from her own head. She looked at Nyra, appreciating that effect she had on her. “We need to wear pants.”

The sisters went into the rooms, scoured the wardrobes, found appropriate clothing and wore them.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Nyra turned and looked at the mirror, seeing how nicely the pants fit her and how cosily the fabric rested from behind. “And this won’t be too improper or anything?”

“I’m wearing pants.” Feyre pointed towards her own pair of brown pants and twirled once.

“You’re used to life here. We’re not.” Nesta gave that reminder. The twins were still unsure. They were not used to something that showed the shape of their legs no matter how much they liked how the pants looked on them.

“If you’re uncomfortable with it, you can still change.” Feyre offered. Nyra knew there were enough gowns for her to wear each day of the month without repeating any of them. But she couldn’t stop admiring herself and how good she looked in these clothes. Especially the behind. Nyra could not stop admiring her legs.

“Yes, your legs look particularly good.” Feyre teased. A thought popped up. She immediately connected with Rhys over their bond and simply told him to bring Azriel and Cassian for breakfast no matter what. “Now, I’m hungry. If you are comfortable with your outfit, shall we have breakfast?”

The three Archerons exited the room and then stopped outside Elain’s room. When the door remained unanswered after they’d knocked and waited, they finally went inside. Elain was sleeping unexpectedly peacefully. They decided not to disturb her and moved ahead.

As they descended the stairs, they discussed Amren’s books. Nesta had also been given the same set of books which she found in her room after dinner. She read it through the night and now, the sisters were discussing its contents.

“It’s all theory.” Nesta explained to Feyre. “Books on history, introduction, types. Mostly the classifications according to Courts and the other types for daily use. Then there was combat magic with a brief mention of the Illyrians’ killing power.”

“That section had less information compared to what Azriel already told us.” Nyra recalled.

“Azriel told you?” Feyre was now curious like a cat. Rhys had just informed her that he’d told Azriel and Cassian to come to breakfast. Or he’d drag them anyway.

“He did frequent us when we were still humans.” Nyra sounded upset. “And he told us a lot and we told him a lot.”

“Good morning! Oooh! The pants look good.” Morrigan’s cheerful voice was far too loud. Nesta nodded at her once and then headed towards the dining table, ignoring Rhysand’s curious eyes as she searched for something. She finally found it and took a mug full of it for herself. One sip and she found herself at peace.

“Had your coffee?” Nyra’s voice came from behind. Morrigan had caught hold of Nyra’s free arm and led her and Feyre to the dining table with much enthusiasm.

“So that’s what you were looking for.” Rhysand noted, a little amused.

“Yes.” Nesta looked at both of them in turn. She then took another sip and felt some sense of peace within her. “I feel like a new woman.” Nesta looked at the coffee as she remembered that she was in fact a new woman after becoming fae. A new female. She did not understand how to deal with that.

“Have a croissant, Nesta Archeron.” And Rhysand was now walking towards them. He took a stop to pick up a plate and a croissant and then walked ahead. He extended the plate to Nesta who looked at him questioningly but took it from his hand. She found a seat, set her mug and plate on the table, broke a piece of it and dipped it into the coffee.

Nyra watched the odd interaction between her twin and Rhysand. She was sure that the two of them did not like each other and would only be civil for everybody else’s sake but this was not mere civility. Nyra looked at Feyre who was equally shocked at this behaviour from both of them. Even more shocked when Nesta thanked him for the croissant.

“Fancy some coffee, Nyra?” Rhysand turned to her with an easy smile.

“Or some wine? You missed a few good bottles last night.” Morrigan was far too excited this early in the morning. “The two of you definitely need wine if you’re going to Amren’s for lessons.”

Feyre simply let go of Nyra’s arm and went to a side of the table from where she produced a mug. It was a hot beverage but it was not coffee. “Here.” And she extended it to Nyra who recognised the aroma after ages.

“Hot chocolate?” Mor looked confused but by then, Nyra had taken a sip and sighed in content. She hugged Feyre from the side and then turned to Mor.

“It’s far too good.” And then she turned to Rhysand. “Superior to coffee.”

“Nothing is superior to coffee.” Rhysand declared.

“It breathes life into the body.” Nesta’s words had them all surprised. Not only was she siding with Rhys but the High Lord seemed pleased by her answer.

“This would be good with chocolate spread too.” And Nesta stood up, searching the long table for that. A bowl with the same flew over to her, carried by night. It was settled right in front of her croissant and she looked up at Rhys and offered him an awkward word of gratitude.

“I find good wine to be an elixir for the soul.” Mor declared.

“Will you be saving some space in your stomach for anything other than this elixir? A healthy breakfast, perhaps?” Nyra asked, looking rather amused. Mor smiled brightly, took her arm and brought her to the table where a good array of breakfast foods were served.

“With all of this, I most certainly will.” Mor set her wine glass on the table and grabbed three plates, before handing one to Nyra and Feyre. “Take a round and pick your pick.” And Mor led the way as three females circled the table, chose their foods and finally sat down.

“How’s Elain?” Mor asked, genuinely worried.

Nesta looked up at that question, took a sip of her coffee and finally answered the question. “Asleep with no nightmares.”

“You should sleep at night, Nesta.” Mor spoke seriously.

Nesta glared at her as an indication to be quiet.

“You purposefully kept yourself awake to escape your own nightmares and ensure you’d be there if they had any.” Nesta believed that Mor had a death wish with the way she wouldn’t stop speaking.

“Wait. What?” Nyra turned to her and then looked at Mor and then at Feyre. Everyone knew that this revelation before Nyra had been purposefully made because she was the only one Nesta would ever listen to. Nyra marched over to Nesta and sat next to her and just as she was about to start lecturing, they heard Cassian’s voice from the doorway.

“Who has nightmares?” The general asked as he sauntered into the room, half naked and sweaty. Nesta stared into her coffee mug, absolutely determined not to look at Cassian or even contemplate how delicious he looked.

“Nesta.” Rhys answered, frowning at Cassian. Something other than coffee seemed to be breathing life into her twin’s body and Nyra knew she’d have the time of her life teasing Nesta about this.

But all that mirth seemed to dissipate into thin air as Azriel walked in, shirtless and equally sweaty, with the Truth Teller spinning between his fingers. His chest seemed to be a work of art with his sweat providing it with an additional layer that had Nyra’s mind blank within the next second.

With his black curly hair sticking to his face at the side, the shadowsinger walked in oozing raw power and a level of satisfaction he had only after a good spar.

He had a light beard and the more Nyra looked at him, the more she felt something in her stomach. Did she eat something bad? But she had yet to have breakfast and even then that tingling feeling in her stomach rose. Her breasts felt warm and heavier and she did not understand this at all. Was this some effect shadowsingers had on the people around them?

And Nyra did not know where to look. His very umm. . . nice chest? With all those muscles and uh. . . . A little hairline that disappeared into his pants? Nyra knew she had to look away from his unreasonably attractive chest and the pants and. . . oh gods, she was also wearing pants today. But his muscles seemed to be such a delicacy. She wondered whether she could take a bite and. . . no. She had to breathe and be normal.

Nothing wrong with Azriel and the lack of a shirt. Except, it was the first time she’d seen someone without a shirt because Cassian walking in ten seconds earlier clearly slipped from her mind. And Azriel already had a very beautiful face—the kind of face you’d imagine for the male leads in historical romances. So swoon worthy that the ladies would have to fan themselves constantly lest they faint from the heat upon watching him.

Nyra took a sip of her hot chocolate, effectively hiding her face behind it for all of seven seconds before she had to put the mug down for appearance’s sake.

There was something strong in the air and it became stronger as Azriel walked towards the table. Nyra slowly realised that the smell of Nesta’s coffee, Mor’s wine and her own hot chocolate had somehow parted the way for something. . . woody? She had yet to identify it but this was not the scent of any of the foods or drinks on the table. She began focusing on people. Nesta smelled like snow touched by the sun. Feyre was like water from a stream. But this scent was cold. What was it?

And Nyra was transported back to a time when she and Nesta snuck out to the lake near their estate back when they were seven. It was a misty night and they held each other’s hands. Nyra held a lantern for the way and Nesta held a stick. They realised far too late that they had neared the lake until Nyra took a step and they heard the water beneath her foot. They had wanted to see the stars but the mist was too thick. And Nyra loved it. She loved the lake situated in the middle of the woods.

And that was the scent she recalled as Azriel walked in. And just as she realised it, Nyra tried to look away only to notice something else.

His hand—what was his hand doing and why was it doing that? Why was it playing with the Truth Teller like it was just a stick or something? She could rotate a pen in her hand like that but that was a bloody dagger. A dagger darker than the shadows, crafted from something greater. She could feel its power and how it submitted to the one who was effortlessly playing with it and what did she want with these thoughts? And his fingerless gloves with the siphon at the back of it. . .

Azriel’s face was probably the most lethal feature at the moment because this male’s face was something else entirely. Thick well-shaped eyebrows, a beautiful nose, and lips and that tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looked around with a plate for whatever he wanted for breakfast. And Nyra inhaled sharply when something tugged at her wrists.

Somewhere between looking—it was only looking, she had only seen him, it was not like she’d observed him too closely, no, no, no. Anyway, the shadows had already approached her and had secured themselves around her wrists.

Nyra looked at them and her thoughts about Azriel poofed away. She felt all her being soften for these wonderful little darlings. The shadows danced around her hands and the moment they became ticklish, she let out a laugh. The shadows seemed to take that laugh as encouragement and continued to tickle her. “Stop it.” She couldn’t stop laughing but it did end when the shadows retreated.

Nyra watched as the wonderful beings floated back to their master, realising that Azriel commanded them to retreat after she’d told them to stop. Azriel was watching her and his lips spread into a grin. Nyra suddenly felt a jolt of joy within her and she grinned back.

“Read your books?” The shadowsinger took a seat in all his bare-chested glory, finding a pear and taking a bite. The shadows poured him something she did not notice.

“Do they tell you about all that?” She spared a glance at the shadows and then returned her gaze to his. . . eyes. Of course, she was looking at his eyes. Not at his. . . the rest of his phenomenally statuesque body that she suddenly started having unspeakable thoughts about.

“That they do.” Azriel nodded. He had been surprised at seeing a wall blocking the bond from her side but Nyra this morning was somewhat of an open book.

“Are you spying on me?” Nyra asked playfully and Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise. Not much of an open book, it seemed.

“They waited outside your bedroom. They’re worried after last night.” For someone who was the Spymaster, he was openly revealing how he spied on her. Or how the shadows spied on her. Rhysand watched with a smirk hidden behind his glass of juice. Feyre hit his leg before telling him mind to mind to control his expressions.

“You waited outside my bedroom last night” The words escaped her before she could even think and once it did, she felt free and she wanted to feel like that. Nyra raised her eyebrows and smirked like a cat. Azriel choked on his beverage, not at all expecting Nyra to be flirtatious first thing in the morning. This female was never predictable.

By then, Nesta slid a plate towards Nyra, filled with toast and eggs. A bowl of fruits soon followed and so did Nesta’s piercing glare. “Eat.”

Nyra knew Nesta was probably horrified at her recent comment at Azriel. “Yes, mum.” She began with the fruits, enjoying all that she previously could not.

“Don’t ever call me that.” Nesta glared at her, taking a sip of her coffee to calm herself.

“All right.” Nyra had another piece of melon. “Mum.” At that, another plate of toast was slammed in front of her.

“Have a variety, my dear.” There was something wicked in Nesta’s voice. And Nyra knew that her perceptive twin had probably noticed her after Azriel had entered. “You need not worry about a strict diet from now on anyway.” Nesta grinned impishly. Nyra faltered, feeling like a child wary of her mother’s scolding if she did not comply. “Eat till you’re full.”

Nyra did eat. Conversation floated with Mor from Nyra’s right telling them about Amren and how cranky the old witch was and how she might end up threatening to drink their blood for lunch. The old story of Rhys and his failed flirtation with Amren came up.

“I just remembered.” And Nyra turned to Azriel. “We need to talk about last night.”

Nesta spat her coffee to the side and looked between the two of them. “What?” She asked, partially mortified at what Nyra’s words seemed to imply.

“When I lost control of my powers. I need to know more about it.” Nyra looked at her. “Don’t look at me like that.” Nesta was looking at her in complete mortification despite her clarification.

“That sounded like something else.” Nesta spoke, taking a napkin and dabbing at her chin.

“How is it my fault that those smutty romances are messing with your head?” Nyra shot back.

“Your words seemed to insinuate something.” Nesta countered.

Nyra continued to look at Nesta, unimpressed. “A whole load of your delusions, I imagine.”

“Well…” Nesta trailed away, blushing slightly and it was the horror of the morning when she accidentally met Cassian’s gaze and saw how he was looking at her. Like someone had punched him in the gut. And then he grinned like a buffoon and Nesta looked at her mug. It was empty but her mind certainly wasn’t.

“You fell asleep when we were in the shadows. I brought you back to your room.” Azriel spoke, his voice a little too deep that Nyra did notice. She looked at him. Azriel wanted to reach out and touch her cheek and hold her. Last night had been a wild stroke of luck. Not only had he held her but she had also clutched his shirt. And then he’d been privileged to embrace her again outside her bedroom. Outside was the key word here. “Nobody was hurt. You’re unhurt. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Nyra repeated, unconvinced and stared at him. Azriel held her stare, adamant at making her believe that everything was fine. Nyra broke their eye contact. “Fine.” And she resumed her meal. Azriel had finished his pear and was now moving on to the contents of his plate. Neither of them spoke or even looked at each other for the reminder of the breakfast.

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria @5onedirection5 @hanitastic @sevikas-whore @krowiathemythologynerd @myladysapphire @freyagallileaevans @azrielrot

****

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thecuriousbeauty · 4 months ago

Note

Thank you so much! Yes, I will take requests🫶🏼

So Harry and yn are in a relationship but his family doesn't approve their relationship cause they thought yn is all uptight bitch as media has portrait her and it will be angsty like his family will fight with yn but in the all fluff and smut between harry and yn?? If only you want to write thank youu.💗

Harry Styles Oneshot- His Family Doesn't Like You

Word limit: 3,030

Author's note: Thanks for the request! I hope you like it:) Requests are open, guys. Feed back appreciated and please re blog if you like my writing!

Warnings: Smut, sweet sex, fluff, angst.

___________________________________________

You looked at yourself again and again in the mirror, making sure you looked perfect. You wanted to look flawless tonight. You were meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time. Harry always talks about them. He tells you about how kind his mom is, how she raised Harry and his sister Gemma all by herself. Harry's very close to his mother and he loves her a lot. He loves his sister too, he always calls her after a show, or if something exciting happens in his life. You were going to meet the two women who shaped Harry to who he is now.

"You ready to go, baby?", Harry asks, coming into your bedroom, and you turn around to look at him. Harry looked handsome as always, in his patterned shirt and black pants, his hair neatly kept, a few strands falling over his face. His face breaks into a beautiful smile as he takes you in. "You look so pretty!"

"Yeah? Are you sure? Should I change into a dress or something?", you ask him, nervously running your hands down your skirt. Harry comes to you, placing his hands on your hips and tugging you closer to him. "I'm sure. Are you okay? We don't have to meet them today if you don't want to, no rush." Harry kisses your temple, and you sigh. You two were already in a six month relationship, and Harry had met your parents who absolutely loved him, but you hadn't met Harry's family yet. You both were busy. You work in the industry as well, and whatever free time you both get, you spend it with each other.

"No, I want to meet them. I'm just nervous.", you tell him. Harry strokes your hair away from your forehead, his gentle green eyes reassuring you. "Darling, they're really good people. You don't have to be nervous about anything. I love you, and they'll love you too."

"Okay.", you whisper, nodding slowly as he lifts your chin up for a kiss. "Yeah?", he checks, and you nod some more, pressing a kiss to his lips. He cups your cheek, and his lips envelop yours in a sweet kiss. His kisses could heal everything. You felt a a tiny boost of confidence, and you finished getting ready, then got in the car. Harry drove and kept his free hand on your thigh, talking to you about his sister and his mom.

You got to the house, and Harry grabs your hand, sensing your nerves again as you stand outside the door, waiting. "I'll be right by your side, baby. Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay, sorry, I just really want them to like me.", you whisper, and he smiles, kissing your cheek. "How can anyone not like you y/n? You're an amazing person."

Just then, Harry's mom gets the door, and you smile at her. Anne was beautiful. Her brown hair laid over her shoulder in waves, bright eyes and a big smile took over her face as she sees her son.

"Oh come here my handsome boy.", she coos, opening her arms and Harry walks into them, embracing his mother tightly. "Hey mum." They kiss cheeks, and Anne starts telling him about the neighbour's cat, but Harry interrupts.

"Mum, this is y/n. Babe, my mom.", Harry introduces with a smile, and Anne looks at you for the first time, giving you a small smile. "Hello, y/n."

"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Twist." You wanted to go for a hug, but she put out her hand before that, so you just shook it.

"Call me Anne, please. Come on in!"

She holds the door open for you guys. "Gemma! Harry's here."

Harry takes your coat to hang it behind the door along with his. "She just came in a few minutes ago.", Anne says as she walks to the kitchen.

"It smells so good in here, mum.", Harry says, and it did. The lovely smell of hot stew and something buttery in the oven was wafting through the air.

"All your favorites, of course.", Anne answers and Harry grins.

"Can I help with anything, Anne?", you ask, and she shakes her head. "I've got it handled, thank you."

Another woman comes down the stairs. She was beautiful too, you saw the similarities between her and Harry. "Harry!", she smiles and rushes into his arms. "Hey Gem!", Harry squeezes her tight, kissing her cheek. "Long time no see!"

"You're the one who's always busy!", she says back, and he laughs. "Say hi to y/n!"

She turns to look at you, and you smile. "Hi Gemma."

"y/n.", she nods, her smile erasing a bit, and your heart drops. She doesn't seem to like you, you think. Harry saw that, and he comes back to your side.

"What do you do, y/n?", Gemma asks you, even though she knew from Harry.

"Uh, I work in the industry. I'm a music producer.", you say.

"You work for Harry then?", Anne asks you from the kitchen.

"I have worked with Harry, yes, but I work with a lot of people in the industry. Not confined to anyone.", you say, and she hums. That's how you met Harry. You worked on a song together.

"She's a brilliant producer, anyone who gets to work with her is lucky.", Harry pipes up, kissing your cheek and you smile, squeezing his hand. "Thanks babe."

They ask you more about your work, and people you've worked with. Then Harry whisks you away to show you around the house, and you can't help but wonder whether they like you. They seemed pretty sweet when talking to Harry, but all you got were cold responses.

"They're nosy, love, I'm sorry.", Harry says apologetically and you shake your head. "No it's okay, I like talking about work."

"I did tell them everything they need to know, I don't know why they're still asking you.", he frowns. "Why don't you take a look around while I have a chat with them?"

You nod. After you looked at Harry's childhood photos and smiled to yourself, took some photos on your phone to look at them again later on, you went back to them. On the way you stopped in your tracks, when you heard them talk about you.

"Mum, she's not like others!", Harry was saying.

"You don't know that yet, Harry. Everything starts out like this and ends up with you heart broken."

"Besides, it's just been six months, are you really that serious about her?", Gemma asks him, and you feel your heart tighten in your chest.

"We did our research on her, and you have to see what the media has to say. She's so stuck up, and rude!", Anne said.

"And she might be secretly messing with your music, she could use them for her ideas.", Gemma says, and you resist the urge to scoff out loud. That would be the last thing you would do to Harry.

"You mean she's with me to steal my music?! Mom, Gem, she's so talented, she doesn't need to steal anything! She wouldn't do that, either. She's such a good person. I don't care what the media portrays her as, she's not rude. She's quiet, but not with me. She trusts me, and loves me, she's her real self with me. She's funny, and beautiful and a lovely person.", Harry said, and you felt your eyes tear up.

"You're blind, Harry. I hope you remember all the drama and rumors you caused with your previous relationships.", Gemma says.

"I don't see a difference, she's just like everyone else you've dated before. I don't like her, Harry, I'm sorry.", Anne said.

"You didn't even talk to her! You asked her about work! How can you decide that you don't like her?"

"Because this isn't the first time you've brought a girl like her to meet us!", Gemma said, and that was it, you had heard enough. You walked out, making everyone freeze and look at you.

"Babe-", Harry starts, knowing you heard it all by taking a look at your face.

"-I-I got a call, something came up. I-I have to go, Harry. I'll get a cab.", you say to him, your voice shaky as you go to the door.

"No, no baby, they didn't mean it like that-" Harry grabs your arm.

"-I have to go.", you whisper, looking Harry in the eyes and taking your arm away from his grip. "Okay. I'll come with you, you're not taking a cab."

Before you could stop him, he turned back to his mom and sister. "I don't know why you both behaved like that towards someone I love and respect, but that was awful. You taught us to respect and treat people well, that's not what you did to y/n today, mum. I feel so bad for bringing her here, she didn't deserve to hear all that shit. You can't just assume she's like everyone else. And she's not, I know her. I love her. She has been with me through tough times, my loses and my wins. I feel sorry for you both that you failed to see her. I don't want to hear anymore of this from either of you, don't talk to me until you apologize to y/n."

"Harry no-", you start, you didn't want to break up the family.

Harry took your hand, and your coats. "Let's go, love."

"Harry-", Gemma calls behind you, but he doesn't look back. He opens the door for you, and you get inside the car. Harry started driving, silently. He was fuming too. He couldn't believe they would talk like that about her, in front of her.

Now you're the reason for messing up their family. Then all the shit the media says about you. Everything hit you together, and you couldn't stop the tears.

"y/n.", Harry whispers, moving his free hand to your knee. "Darling."

"I-I'm so sorry.", you croak, covering your face with your hands. "Y-You shouldn't have walked out and said all that."

"I shouldn't have stood up for you?", he asks, pulling over to the side. "What kind of a boyfriend would I be then?"

You sob into your hands, and Harry gets his seat belt off, reaching over to remove yours, and he scoops you into his lap without effort. "Hey, hey..sweetheart, look at me.", he speaks softly, all his anger melting away watching you cry. He hated watching you cry. Knowing that his family was the reason for your tears made him feel so guilty. He wanted you to meet them.

"I-I don't want to get in the way of your family. M-Maybe we should break up.", you tell him, and he pulls your hands away from your face so he can look at you. He looked hurt. "B-Break up? No, I love you!"

"I love you too, Harry, but I can't do this. T-They obviously hate me and they're all you have as family, I don't want another label. Family wrecker? I-I can't, Harry..", you cry, and he cups the back of your head, pushing your head into his chest. He rub his hand up and down your back, comforting you.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, please don't cry..", Harry coos, pressing kisses to your head. "This isn't gonna break my family apart, babe. I was angry, and they are naive, they read what the media says. But I know the real you! You're such a beautiful person, in and out. And anyone who knows you will say the same about you. The media says I'm a womanizer, I like older women, I have sex with everyone I see and what not! They just like to make people feel bad. I'll make mom and Gem understand. And if they don't get it, it's fine. I love you, right?"

You pull your head back, and look at him. He smiled softly, stroking his thumb on your cheek. "I love you so much. I can't live without you, y/n. I need you in my life. I will fix this, I promise. Please don't give up on us, baby, I can't go on without you."

You couldn't either, that was the truth. You put your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. "I love you too, Haz."

"I'm sorry.", he repeats, kissing your neck.

"It's not your fault.", you tell him, closing your eyes. Harry held you for as long as you needed. You gave him a kiss and got off his lap once you were alright.

"I'll show you just how perfect you are after we get home.", he promises, before he starts driving again.

You wondered what he meant. When you got to your place, he took you up into his arms as he kissed you. This time, with more passion. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he took you to your bedroom, and laid you down on the bed, all while trailing kisses down your jawline and your neck, his teeth leaving love bites as a reminder.

"Harry..", you moan as he his hand palms your breast over your bra, slipping his hand under your top.

"I'm gonna make you feel good, baby.", he whispers, gently tugging on your top and you raise your arms for him to slip it off of you. Your bra follows, and he kisses your breasts, lips sucking your nipples, and his teeth gently nibbling on it. You get his shirt off, running your hands over his chest and his abdomen, eyes raking over his tattoos. You've seen it a lot of times, but you're always so astonished at how beautiful everything is. He is so beautiful.

"I need you inside.", you whisper, moaning as his fingers feel around your wet folds. "Please Harry.."

"Whatever you want, baby." He slips your skirt down your hips, and your panties, before spreading your legs. "So pretty for me.", he praises, looking at your pussy. He brings his fingers to his mouth, getting some saliva on his fingers before rubbing it over your folds. "Everything about you is gorgeous, y/n."

You were tingling, aching for him. You needed to feel full. Harry slips his boxers off, and doesn't waste anymore time. He pushes into you, keeping one hand on your shoulder and the other hand holding his dick. You moan at the feeling as he pushes inside, completely, and he pauses, waiting for you to adjust.

"You can m-move..please..", you whisper, closing your eyes and he moves in and out of you slowly, but deeply. They were hitting just the right spots, making you grab onto his shoulder, and whimper. "Open your eyes, let me see those pretty eyes y/n.", Harry grabs your jaw and you open your eyes, meeting his green ones.

"You are perfect, you're my best girl.", he whispers before attaching his lips to yours, groaning as it felt so good. His tongue explored your mouth as you kissed, all your worries melting away as he made love to you. He kept kissing you and whispering praises until you both got close to your releases.

"Oh fuck, baby I won't last longer..come on, cum for me..", he groans, and you moan his name out loud as your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head. Harry also cums, and he continues his momentum, carrying you both through your orgasms before he lays on top of you, still inside.

"I love you.", you whisper, running your hand through his curls.

"I love you more.", he whispers back, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Don't ever doubt yourself due to what someone else might say."

______________________________________________________________

"Love?", you hear Harry call as you go through some emails, and you hum. "Yeah?"

Harry comes to you, and holds out his phone. "It's mom, she wants to speak to you."

"What?", you whisper shout, and he was smiling, nodding as he pushes his phone to you. "Just hear her out for me, please?"

You nod, taking his phone from him and pressing it to your ear. "Hello?"

"y/n? It's Anne, love. I would like to apologize for what happened last night.", Anne says. "Gemma showed me the magazines and what the media says, and I believed them. I just want the best for Harry. I've seen his girlfriends cheat on him, drain his pockets, use him and then just walk out. I'm just protective. And I guess that clouded my brain. I shouldn't have made a judgement like that, without even getting to know you. I'm so sorry, y/n."

"It's okay, Anne.", you immediately say, and Harry smiles.

"Harry talks about you all the time. You mean a lot to him. And I'm happy with anyone who makes my son happy. Would you want to maybe get lunch tomorrow? Gemma's sorry too, and we both would like to get to know you a bit, yeah?"

"Of course, I'd love that.", you smiled. "I understand your worries Anne, but I'm not like them. I love Harry for the person he is, not for anything else. He's an incredible person, and it's you behind who he is now."

After you finish talking, Harry hugs you tight. "Thanks for giving them another chance."

"They're your family, and I care about you, a lot. So yes.", you say, and squeal as he attacks you in kisses, making you fall back on the couch. "Babe! That tickles!!"

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misscammiedawn · 4 months ago

Text

Plurality on the Disc

CW: Fatphobia, euthanasia

One thing you can always say about Pratchett was that he did not believe in prejudice. The man saw the world through a lens of satire and yet in all things he attempted to see the humanity in all things and tried to bleed that compassion into the world he created, especially with the modernization of the central city, Ankh Morpork.

Pratchett's works as early as the 90s were showing positive trans representation in Cheery Littlebottom, a dwarf who opts to present femme within a culture that treats displays of gender other than the "default", without acknowledging the inherent bias that the "default" gender presentation within Dwarf culture is masculine. It seems Pratchett was able to display "Male or Political" as a fallacy long before toxic gamer culture.

Sensing that the audience may have found this too subtle he went on to write Monstrous Regiment in 2003, a story about a group of women who take up arms, disguise their gender and live as men to fight in a war. As many things on the Disc it was written with fantasy and satire in mind and yet was incredibly detailed in historical accuracy. As trans-folx continuously remind: "We have always been here"

Today's topic, though, is on plurality. Typically in Media, Myself and I essays we focus on depictions of DID with an emphasis on psychopathology. Pathology and mental illness do not really factor into the fantasy world of Discworld. One need only look at the "Sideflashes" depicted in Monstrous Regiment, those being moments where a vampire character has traumatic hallucinations of the Vietnam War of our world, to know that Pratchett is more interested in satirizing the genre mediums he is working within rather than depicting accurate portraits of real mental illness.

That said, in one of his final books, Thud! Pratchett did have a character with two distinct personalities who could withhold information from one another say "It's supposed to be an illness, but all I can say is, we've gotten along well."

Pratchett always leads with compassion and in all of his work he does his research. Though he never wrote much about the supposed illness mentioned in Thud!, he has written plural characters and we're going to focus on one right now.

The books in question are Maskerade (1995) and Carpe Jugulum (2003). These books heavily feature the characters Agnes Nitt and Perdita X Dream.

The first of the two stories is a parody of The Phantom of the Opera with a heavy emphasis on the real life stress and drama behind the scenes of any stage performance. A must read for any theatre kid who wishes to see 'the show must go on' taken to ludicrous extremes.

Agnes is a young witch who has talent as a singer. So much so that she is able to sing in harmony with herself. She decides to move to the big city and join the opera house in hopes of turning her talents to become a star.

Agnes is a prim and proper young witch, raised to think and act a certain way. The problem is, of course, she wants to act in ways unbecoming of who she is perceived as. So growing up when she misbehaved and acted outside of these rigid expectations she would compartmentalize all of her behaviors into Perdita X Dream, "the thin woman trying to get out"

She'd caught herself saying 'poot!' and 'dang!' when she wanted to swear, and using pink writing paper. She'd got a reputation for being calm and capable in a crisis. Next thing she knew she'd be making shortbread and apple pies as good as her mother's, and then there'd be no hope for her. So she'd introduced Perdita. She'd heard somewhere that inside every fat woman was a thin woman trying to get out[3] so she'd named her Perdita. She was a good repository for all those thoughts that Agnes couldn't think on account of her wonderful personality. Perdita would use black writing paper if she could get away with it, and would be beautifully pale instead of embarrassingly flushed. Perdita wanted to be an interestingly lost soul in plumcoloured lipstick. Just occasionally, though, Agnes thought Perdita was as dumb as she was.

It is not uncommon for those with dissociative disorders to have these idealized personas that take on lives of their own. Though the Fae beauty known as Dawn is a name and identity that I have forged through decades of actualizing, my humble roots will always be the performance of what we thought a strong and capable woman would look and sound like. The fact we borrowed the blueprints is neither here nor there.

In moving to the city of Ankh, Agnes decides that she is free of those who have told her what to do and able to live as she has always desired. She adopts the name Perdita as her own and signs up to sing.

After moving in to the opera house she becomes entangled in the plot of Phantom of the Opera. The central story of the book is a retelling of PotO but with the Disc's patented absurdity added on and Agnes being used as a perspective character. At a point Christine, the only woman capable of exclaiming a whisper, switches rooms with Agnes because she is keeps hearing voices while she's trying to sleep. That night the voice from behind the mirror calls out into the darkness, thinking it is speaking to Christine, and speaks to Agnes instead.

There is makes it very clear as to why Agnes cannot be the central figure of the book.

Agnes pulled the bedclothes up higher. 'In the middle of the night?!' 'Night is nothing to me. I belong to the night. And I can help you.' It was a pleasant voice. It seemed to be coming from the mirror. 'Help me to do what?!' 'Don't you want to be the best singer in the opera?' 'Oh, Perdita is a lot better than me!!' There was silence for a moment, and then the voice said: 'But while I cannot teach her to look and move like you, I can teach you to sing like her.' Agnes stared into the darkness, shock and humiliation rising from her like steam.

Fatphobia is real and is on The Disc, I am sad to say.

But it is after this incident that Agnes begins to recognize the prejudice that has been levied at her the entire book and the prim and proper Agnes politely thinks calm and pleasant thoughts when she is insulted, it is Perdita who thinks rude words.

This gets worse as the plot goes on and the managers cast Christine as the lead and have Agnes sing the lead from the chorus.

The humiliation and compartmentalized resentment continues on and...

What she was about to do was wrong. Very wrong. And all her life she'd done things that were right. Go on, said Perdita. In fact, she probably wouldn't even do it. But there was no harm in just asking where there was a herbal shop, so she asked. And there was no harm in going in, so she went in. And it certainly wasn't against any kind of law to buy the ingredients she bought. After all, she might get a headache later on, or be unable to sleep. And it would mean nothing at all to take them back to her room and tuck them under the mattress. That's right, said Perdita.

Passive Influence is a term used for when a part/alter pushes for action while another part is fronting in the system.

In this example Perdita is steering Agnes to perform actions that are not congruent with her nature and her beliefs. Agnes is not capable of plotting revenge against someone and enacting a scheme and so even while performing the actions she is rationalizing to herself that she is not actually doing anything untoward because it is not in her nature to do such a thing.

The traits exist but they do not belong to Agnes and at this point she has not yet realized that the Perdita identity that she has formed is capable of asserting her own will.

The formation of a dissociative disorder typically occurs when a child is in a situation of constant trauma and need to adapt contradicting realities in order to function. Most common of which is the contradiction of needing protection, nurture and safety from the caregivers who provide terror and pain. To function within that framework a young mind will compartmentalize experiences in order to maintain a reality where both these truths are compatible.

Agnes, in part due to the prejudice she faces for her weight, has to have a wonderful personality. Her acceptance within society requires her to act the part and be a kind and sweet girl with a wonderful personality. Always be the best version of herself in spite of her looks because without that wonderful personality she will only be regarded as a large woman and will be discarded.

So she puts away all the thoughts that run contrary to that narrative. Anything that doesn't fit in the Nice Girl persona.

Aren't you just tired of putting up with it, though? Don't you want to go apeshit?

If you were someone like Agnes Nitt, wouldn't you long to be someone as dark and mysterious as Perdita X Dream?

As the book goes on Perdita continues thinking things from behind Agnes' eyes and the narrative begins describing their differing perspectives. The schism growing wider and wider throughout the story.

At the start of the book, when Perdita began becoming more prominent, the prose would say "Perdita thought a rude word" then, as in the passive influence section, "Perdita said" is included in the text. Later still Agnes and Perdita converse within the prose.

The candle burned with a greenish-blue edge to the flame. Somewhere, said Perdita, there was the secret room. If there wasn't a huge and glittering secret cavern, what on earth was life for? There had to be a secret room. A room, full of. . . giant candles, and enormous stalagmites. . . But it certainly isn't here, said Agnes.

The further on the story goes the more comfortable both character and author are in sharing the back and forth between Nitt and Dream.

If Maskerade was the introduction to the concept then Carpe Jugulum (2003) is where Agnes Nitt and Perdita X Dream's shared mind and body become central figures in the story and are allowed to explore themselves a little more. In the previous story Perdita is treated as where Agnes puts all of her unseemly actions and desires.

In Carpe Jugulum it is treated very emphatically as a dissociative disorder where two parts of the same mind share control over the same body.

She simply sang in harmony with herself. Unless she concentrated it was happening more and more these days. Perdita had rather a reedy voice, but she insisted on joining in. Those who are inclined to casual cruelty say that inside a fat girl is a thin girl and a lot of chocolate. Agnes’s thin girl was Perdita. She wasn’t sure how she’d acquired the invisible passenger. Her mother had told her that when she was small she’d been in the habit of blaming accidents and mysteries, such as the disappearance of a bowl of cream or the breaking of a prized jug, on “the other little girl.”

The tone is set early on with Pratchett working to codify that which already existed by including Agnes putting the pieces together as an adult based on what others had told her she did as a child, something all too common with those with dissociative disorders.

The pair are living in harmony for the most part, Perdita enjoys getting to sing with Agnes and is fiercely defensive of her host. She does not enjoy it when people are mean to Agnes. It is why she focused much of Maskerade on scowling at Christine. Though Perdita herself seems to enjoy bullying Agnes, as she does delight in cruelly calling her a lump.

The story this time is about a group of Modern Sexy Vampires moving in to the witches' town and deciding to take over. Much of the book's satire is a comparison of the Anne Rice and World of Darkness ethos on vampire lore and comparing it to the more gothic and classic depictions such as Nosferatu and Bram Stoker's Dracula.

As well as the complete and utter violation that is "treating people like things".

The story also introduces Mightily Oats (who Perdita will squee about having a cool ponytail), a parody of the catholic vampire slayer trope. He, himself, has a "rifted personality" like Agnes and Perdita due to his adherence to the contradicting commandments and beliefs held within the religious texts of his faith, Om.

Unfortunately, Perdita's alliance with Agnes is harmed when the vampires move in and Perdita finds herself largely attracted to them. Perdita is the very essence of a scene kid, after all, she'd listen to Evanescence if they existed on The Disc. Throughout the early phase of the vampire plot Perdita finds herself internally shaking Agnes and screaming petulantly at her that she is fumbling the ball so hard when faced with them.

Ask him his name! Perdita yelled. No, that’d be forward of me, Agnes thought. Perdita screamed, You were built forward, you stupid lump—

I am certain many reading this will empathize. I certainly do.

But all too quickly the plot of the vampires is revealed and they begin using their vampire hypnosis to control the town. All while Perdita is screaming rebellion and demanding they be given garlic enemas.

Perdita is unimpacted by the mind control. What's worse is that the vampires can read minds and can tell there's something odd about Agnes but not quite what.

Ur…” She stopped it turning into a giggle. “Not really. Not very well…” Didn’t you listen to what they were saying? They’re vampires! “Shut up,” she said aloud. “I beg your pardon?” said Vlad, looking puzzled. “And they’re…well, they’re not a very good orchestra…” Didn’t you pay any attention to what they were saying at all, you useless lump? “They’re a very bad orchestra,” said Vlad. “Well, the King only bought the instruments last month and basically they’re trying to learn together—” Chop his head off! Give him a garlic enema! “Are you all right? You really know there are no vampires here, don’t you…” He’s controlling you! Perdita screamed. They’re… affecting people! “I’m a bit… faint from all the excitement,” Agnes mumbled. “I think I’ll go home.” Some instinct at bone-marrow level made her add, “I’ll ask Nanny to go with me.” Vlad gave her an odd look, as if she wasn’t reacting in quite the right way. Then he smiled. Agnes noticed that he had very white teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Miss Nitt,” he said. “There’s something so… inner about you.” That’s me! That’s me! He can’t work me out! Now let’s both get out of here! yelled Perdita.

Up until now Perdita has been a very internal experience for plurality, itself a rarity within fiction. Perdita never fronts in the entirety of Maskerade. She is a sharp and judgmental voice in the back of Agnes' head and shaped much like her repressed desires.

After escaping the clutches of vampire mind control and escaping from the dangerous circumstance Perdita yanks control of the body and outs herself to fellow witch Nanny Ogg, leading to the first time either Nitt or Dream have had to describe their situation to someone outside the body.

“It’s all right,” said Agnes. “It’s me again, Agnes Nitt, but…She’s here but… I’m sort of holding on. Yes! Yes! All right! All right, just shut up, will y— Look, it’s my body, you’re just a figment of my imagina—Okay! Okay! Perhaps it’s not quite so clear c—Let me just talk to Nanny, will you?” “Which one are you now?” said Nanny Ogg. “I’m still Agnes, of course.” She rolled her eyes up. “All right! I’m Agnes currently being advised by Perdita, who is also me. In a way. And I’m not too fat, thank you so very much!” “How many of you are there in there?” said Nanny. “What do you mean, ‘room for ten’?” shouted Agnes. “Shut up! Listen, Perdita says there were vampires at the party. The Magpyr family, she says. She can’t understand how we acted. They were putting a kind of…’fluence over everyone. Including me, which is why she was able to break thr—Yes, all right, I’m telling it, thank you!” “Why not her, then?” said Nanny. “Because she’s got a mind of her own! […] Nanny rubbed her chin, torn between the vampiric revelation and prurient curiosity about Perdita. “How does Perdita work, then?” she said. Agnes sighed. “Look, you know the part of you that wants to do all the things you don’t dare do, and thinks the thoughts you don’t dare think?” Nanny’s face stayed blank. Agnes floundered. “Like…maybe…rip off all your clothes and run naked in the rain?” she hazarded. “Oh yes. Right,” said Nanny. “Well…I suppose Perdita is that part of me.” “Really? I’ve always been that part of me,” said Nanny. “The important thing is to remember where you left your clothes.”

This is the compassion in Pratchett's writing I'd mentioned. In this story Perdita is revealed to be part of Agnes and though Nanny Ogg is confused and a little ignorant of the whole affair, going as far as to yell "is she treating you alright in there?" into Perdita's ear, she is caring and understanding. In Maskerade Nanny was the one person in Lancre who accepted Agnes changing her name to Perdita, reasoning that "people ought to call themselves what they want."

In approaching the abnormal circumstance with compassion in the fiction it helps those reading get a broader and better understanding of how to be kind and treat those impacted in real life.

Also, as a side note, Agnes yelling at Nanny while "currently advised by Perdita" may not be an overt piece of representation but there is a concept called Blending within plurality. It's not mentioned in textbooks I've read but is often discussed in support communities. At times when two parts are co-conscious in front their traits will become a little blended.

In a way parts of a dissociative system are simply a way of storing traits necessary to function but dividing them to prevent emotional harm and damage or to maintain a form of continuity of self. To give an example we were ejected by our caregivers and internalized it as our own fault for being undesirable so part of us cannot fathom doing anything which would make us disposable and unlikable but our circumstances required becoming cold and focused for survival and so the sweet kind and lovable empathy driven part and the cold and angry survival part are kept in separate boxes. Likewise we have trauma related to eroticism but there is still an attraction to such material within us and so in order to function I handle that aspect of our life and shelter the others from being impacted. At first due to heavy dissociation and denial and these days due to practice in therapy allowing us to let parts "opt out" and retreat inwards when they do not want to be involved in what is happening with the body.

In a way blended parts are closer to what a person would be like if they were singlet, though blurring does not often involve the entire system if there are more than 2 parts.

And though I say 'closer', I do not mean entirely as typically when blended people are in an activated state. In the above case where Perdita and Nanny had triggered Agnes' frustrations about her weight being bullied, she was unable to control the emotion of her reaction.

We refer to such days when we are blended and incapable of controlling our emotional reactions as "thin skinned days". They were more common prior to diagnosis.

As the story continues the pair need to see-saw their consciousness to avoid vampire mind control and we are treated to moments of Agnes being the "invisible passenger" in the situation, going as far to show her ability to focus attention on reading is not as sharp as Agnes'. Something I can assure you is quite true within parts of a dissociative system. Goodness knows Cammie would never have the patience to do the reading and typing necessary for these essays.

The story continues on and though there are moments of casual misunderstanding which are a par for the course in such tales, such as Nanny telling Perdita to "give Agnes her body back, you know it's hers really--" before knocking her out to ensure Agnes has control. They throw out lines like:

“Yes, that’s Agnes,” she said, standing back. “Her face goes sharper when it’s the other one. See? I told you she’d be the one that came back. She’s got more practice.”

And let me say, when someone knows you and loves you enough to recognize a part by the way they wear their face alone, it's something. I am simply incapable of reading a moment like that and not breaking into a smile and thinking of the many times our long distance love has tried to explain how she can just tell without a word when we have switched.

But as always. Pratchett leads with compassion. Where Nanny Ogg says that she thinks people should be called what they want to be called in Maskerade, regarding Agnes' wish to be called Perdita (not Perditax), it is Granny Weatherwax the beating heart and soul of the Discworld who says it best

Ah...one mind, split in half. There were more Agneses in the world than Agnes dreamed of, Granny told herself. All the girl had done was to give the thing a name, and once you give the thing a name you give it life...

Once you give a thing a name, you give it life.

That is compassion. To not fully understand something and how it forms and how it presents, but to respect it all the same. To know it has a form and should be treated as real because by virtue of being named it is real.

That is what so much of Pratchett's work is focused on. The humanity of seeing others as they wish to be and respecting them. It's such a low bar to clear in our world and yet sometimes it really does need to be emphasized.

Typically when Granny says something it's from the perspective of age and wisdom. It may not always be without bias but it is with a weight of knowledge and respect.

The final book in the series contents with Sir Pratchett's knowledge of his own death. He knew for years. He even did a documentary on medical aid in dying. He poured it all into depicting a tale that includes Granny's death.

The works of Terry Pratchett have long been a companion in our life. We've been reading them our entire life. To this day we have refused to read beyond Granny's death scene in Shepherd's Crown. We broke down crying when we saw the "I ATE'NT DEAD" call back. We couldn't pick up the book again after that.

It's too difficult to think that one of the voices that taught us morality is gone from this world. Our tag for Discworld is GNU Terry Pratchett. As long as the name is spoken he is never really gone.

As long as Shepherds Crown still has pages yet unread, the book series isn't really over.

For more of my essays on positive DID representation in media, please check out my Media, Myself and I tag.

#dawn posting #media myself and i #discworld #gnu terry pratchett #did #plurality #agnes nitt #perdita x dream #media essays

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szkunas · 4 months ago

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KNOCK KNOCK, GUESS WHO! ౨ৎㅤsuguru geto.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤwhen things in your life go well for a long time, there will undeniably be a problem knocking on your door. this time, the issue is your ex-boyfriend, wanted by the jujutsu society — who is very angry with you, even after he stole your money. || PART ONE (previous)

featuring ♱ㅤsuguru geto (jjk0 / 2017 version) x FEM reader.

warnings ♱ㅤ NSFW ♡︎ ㅤporn with very little plot ! toxic behavior ! suguru (GENOCIDAL man) ! unprotected sex (wrap it up) + unrealistic portraits of sex ! creampie ! reader and gojo are not in a relationship, but mutually interested in each other ! coercion / dub-con (both consent but just to be safe) ! genocide / death mentions (geto) ! stalking and breaking in ! bondage + choking ! spanking ! edging ! obsessed suguru agenda ! delusional suguru (you will see) ! seduction !

honorary mentions (inspirations, please read) ♱ㅤthis ask, by anon! all credits to them, i was not planning a part two, haha. whoever you are, i hope you enjoy it.

author’s note ♱ㅤso, today i was sitting down and thinking “im going to finish that yuta draft and probably start the sukuna draft for the event, since he’s winning the poll”. guess which of these two things I did? exactly. none. so, here is more suguru geto for you. i apologize in advance — i am not good at writing seduction. this is a bit rushed lol. repost because i can't see my post in tags

THERE IS NOTHING SCARIER than discovering that the person you love most is hiding a dark secret. it could be a lover, a second family, a dark past or a real, rotting present. that’s the feeling you get: everything is rotten. the walls around you and the space are shaped into a molten mist that rots as time passes, as you read the letter that someone slipped under your door.

the highly wanted criminal, suguru geto, was seen in your apartment two weeks ago, as shown in the photos below. we ask for your full and complete cooperation in the investigation, and soon some sorcerers will need to interrogate you. expect their visit at any time and answer the door when the time comes.ㅤ— the higher-ups from jujutsu society.

oh, hell. no. this cannot be happening.

as the procedure says, you burn the letter and get rid of the ashes.

although your situation is absolutely desperate, the secrecy of jujutsu comes before your disastrous love life. you turn to look for your cell phone, and the delay hurts your bones.

it seems like the object disappears when you need it most. when you find the damn phone, you don’t even hesitate. as you type the number that, at this point, your head knows by heart, your hands shake. this cannot be true. they are lying, they are trying to deceive me and defame suguru. but why? why would society need to do this?

of course, mentally, you suppress yourself. and a rational part of your brain — the part that isn’t driven by the love you feel for a man who’s been with you a long time — slowly realizes that this is the truth.

that’s why the disappearances in the middle of the night, the slight disregard for non-sorcerers touching you or him. the preference for privacy and not allowing you to post photos of the two of you together. he doesn’t have social media, he said. it feels very public. what a lie, he was actually a wanted criminal and cult leader.

no one answers the call, and you press the button once again. and again. and again. by the sixth time, you’re not sure if your hands are shaking with fear, disgust, or hate.

your money. your savings, built up after you left the witch life behind. a small guarantee of your future, a future you planned to have with suguru. a future stolen and lost, by the same man who once stole her heart. beautiful black hair and purple eyes really make a girl forget to pay attention to the red flags.

you leave voicemail after voicemail, until the box is full. then, messages. text after text while your fingertips digit furiously. it didn’t take long for you to realize that a response from him would be even worse, so your last messages were simple, direct. do not talk to me anymore. don’t ever appear in front of me again. and don’t you dare involve me in your affairs, you bastard.

pressing the send button through tears was one of the hardest things you’ve ever done in your life. and so, blocking the number seemed like the most sensible solution. it’s not like he would respond, even if you gave the number to the investigators — your exact intention.

so everything went as it should. 39 missed calls, 104 unanswered messages that changed her perspective of him forever, along with a letter that turned to ash, like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. your life took a new direction, an unpredictable metamorphosis that made you move to another address after the entire legal process on your part was concluded. you didn’t know, and you had no involvement, as hard as it was to believe. and then the sorcerers left you alone, and this was your second new start to normal life.

lonely and with a betrayed heart, in a new apartment far from your ex. unloading the last box does not bring the relief of releasing a chain, but the pain. the pain of losing something. as if the chain had tied itself to one of your ribs and ripped it away, taking a part of you.

but the tears dry. time passes. the pain diminishes, and the space that takes it in the heart is hatred. you become your priority again, and in time, you rise again only to fall again. one last effort, a call to a certain sorcerer you once knew, satoru gojo. this was his noah’s ark, his last hope before resorting to more desperate methods.

he answered. and since then, a lot has changed.

it’s been almost ten months since suguru stole your money and trampled on your love and dignity. almost ten months in which you had your heart broken, and you slowly put the pieces back together. now, your latest relationship — it’s not really a relationship.

six weeks ago, you and satoru had sex in your apartment for the first time. since then, he has been very helpful in all aspects of your life and visits you regularly. he takes you on dates and even carried you when his feet got sore from walking. it sounds crazy, feeling so comfortable with someone after just six weeks, but that’s what happens.

gojo is more than an arrogant boy who uses humor in every situation he sees, he has a heart, and a very generous one at that. despite his insistence, the credit card that was entrusted to you is rarely used (and you managed to convince him to change the password, too). his intention was to ask for help, not to become a parasite that will take as much from him as he can. not when he’s a much better person than you expected. a kind of clumsy white knight, in a cute and a bit of a loser way at the same time.

so, of course, the dates have become routine now. cinemas, walks in the park, roller skating, going for ice cream. these experiences stand out in your memories, as sweet as scenes from clichéd romance films. kisses in the rain, desperate hands pushing you into the apartment — maybe this time, you might be able to tease him a little, make him lose it and have you right there, in a dark corner? the idea is exciting, dangerous, and so stupid it makes your heart flutter.

he still owes you a new bed, though. you keep fucking on your couch because you two broke your single bed the last time you did it.

checking yourself in the mirror before a date is, naturally, what everyone does. the red dress that adorns her body is a little short, the kind of thing you see on a seductive movie character. but satoru asked for this tiny — as tiny as the dress, in his words — favor and promised anything you wanted later if you wore that and hung on his arm all night. even when he’s being a pervert, he’s just a guy who’s whipped for you.

the idea makes you take a step back. satoru can’t be in love with you. yeah, okay. he does cute things often. he takes you on dates almost every week. he’s always trying to make you laugh and has already learned most of your quirks, likes and dislikes. he remembers you throughout the day, at random intervals, and buys you things so casually that you had to beg him to stop and not max out his card bill — he just laughed and said it was all cheap anyway. heirs…

but he can’t be in love. it’s all new, recent. perfect, but maybe it’s just hidden by the love fog at the beginning of a relationship. it has already blinded you to bad signals once, and you internally wonder if you are using gojo.

of course, part of you has already thought about it. having sex with your ex’s best friend and solve your financial problems. two birds, one stone. but satoru is everything suguru is not — true. intense and real, without a mask of sweet truth that covered a rotten truth.

honestly, you don’t want to think about it too much right now. this is a conversation that should be between you and satoru, not between you and your intrusive, insecure thoughts. he deserves to know the truth and he deserves to know that you’re just as interested as he is — not on the money, but on him.

a text message makes you smile right after spraying a sweet perfume on your neck. the screen lights up with that contact that has now become your favorite.

toru <3; ㅤ already in the dress? photos or else ill die (seriously)

a small laugh escapes your throat, and you immediately prepare to take a photo. stepping back a little and posing in front of the mirror, you could swear you heard something near your apartment door while simultaneously hearing the soft click of your cell phone.

one pose to show the front, and one for the back, with a soft, evil smile. satoru isn’t your boyfriend, but with his attitude, he could very well be. he looks at you as if you were the only woman in the world, and as if he wanted you forever. it’s beautiful. it’s such a beautiful emotion to see in those blue eyes that you can’t wait for the next time you look.

after texting back, asking what time the movie starts, your eyebrows come together in a frown. omnisity takes over the environment quickly, and you swear your heart stops beating.

this energy— it cannot be.

“hi princess. missed me?”

the whisper in your ear is so sudden that you immediately turn your face to look. a hand grabs your chin and forces your head to turn back to the mirror, and you gasp, immediately struggling.

suguru geto, on the flesh, the greatest traitor to have walked the earth since judas. traitor to the jujutsu society, criminal and mass murderer, and of course — your ex-boyfriend. right behind you, and forcing you to stare at the mirror as his free hand snatches your phone away.

you hit him with your elbow, but he barely moves. humming, as if he is amused. as if you are some game. geto’s hips press forward against yours, and he efficiently traps you between the sink and him.

this cannot be happening.

what suguru doesn’t find amusing, though, is your text messages with satoru. long or short, little flirtations or obvious nudes, these messages are simply something that makes him turn his nose up in disgust. how dare him. how dare satoru take the one thing suguru truly loved that way?

“get off me.” you murmur, your eyes widening. like any sorcerer, you know the basics of defending yourself, but panic runs through your veins like poison. your muscles feel like solid stone, and you can’t stop your breath from hitching when his hand stops cupping your cheek to grab you by the throat.

he’s a criminal who definitely must have had his share of fights. you are a sorceress who has not been in the field for almost ten years. in a real fight? he could drown you in that sink and satoru would only find out hours later.

satoru. the thought makes you immediately ramble.

“don’t you dare lay a hand on me. satoru will—” he squeezes your neck softly, a silent message for you to keep your mouth shut. suguru sighs, annoyed he needs to explain it to you, word by word. he really, really likes you, but he’s not in the mood after all these games.

this small action — squeezing your neck gently — makes you remember old times. old times, not good days. because, although they were good, the memory was effectively corrupted when he left you, almost a year ago.

“satoru will not do a thing. he doesn’t know i’m here, and he won’t know.” a break. “yet.”

your eyebrows shoot up, before your face contorts into confusion. what does he mean, yet? if anyone knows he’s here, he will be executed. why would he risk it, just to see you? is he here to kill you?

the thought brings visible panics into your eyes — the wonderful, pretty eyes you have. the window to your soul. your soul and body, which suguru would like to possess again.

again, what a ridiculous term. he never stopped owning it, in the first place.

maybe if you buy time, satoru will come see what’s taking so long. he will help. you’ll be safe.

but the date is only thirty minutes, and for satoru to come in person, you would have to wait another forty. one hour and ten minutes with your genocidal ex-boyfriend. wow. this must be some kind of twisted lottery of fate, where winning makes you unlucky.

you force your voice to remain calm, composed. he does not deserve the satisfaction of your fear.

“why are you here?”

“oh, look at her.” he mocks, as if you’re not even just there, listening. “asking why i’m here as if she has no idea.”

“i don’t.” you grit your teeth. “this is why people ask, imbecile. they want answers— ugh.” he squeezes your neck again, making you grow quiet until he relaxes.

“darling.” suguru smiles softly, but some veins are popping up on his hand. he is absolutely pissed, using that sweet voice to smooth you. “you know why i’m here. don’t play dumb. you— let satoru touch you.”

his tone is still soft, affectionate as the boyfriend you once called yours. but beneath the sweetness, there is an anger, a possession. like an animal whose territory has been pierced.

“did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he leans in, his hot breath making shivers run down your spine violently. “you underestimate me, my love. i’m a bit offended. coming from you, i expected so much more.”

his hand snakes all over your body, and close as he is, you’re sure he can hear your erratic heartbeat. thump-thump. thump-thump. thump-thump.

like the engine of a machine, accelerated to its limits. if your organs are your gears, you believe you are malfunctioning right now. a poorly functioning machine due to information overload.

it’s a lot to handle. his hands are warm as they gently pull your dress up, groaning. “i barely had to move it away. what, you enjoy dressing like a slut for satoru?”

it seems like your voice only works normally, as it should, when you feel your panties being pulled down, gasping. “suguru, no! you can’t!”

“oh, i can’t? why? c’mon, darling, just the tip.” he throws your phone away — the sound the device makes when it breaks against the wall is blood-curdling. he wraps both his arms around your waist, pressing his hips to yours. “pretty please?”

you grit your teeth. why the hell is this attractive? perhaps it’s because you barely heard geto beg before. but, no. you can’t. satoru, your satoru, he’s waiting for you — instead, you have your freak ex humping slowly against you. no way, is he wearing buddhist attire? like a monk or something. but these thoughts don’t matter. his words take you out of your head.

“i saw everything that day, you know. and a little before, and after that. getting all cozy with satoru, because i’m not here? you offend me, sweetheart. i’m a bit hurt.”

“oh, i’m not hearing this.” you curl your hands into fists, slamming them on his arms. “not after you lied about who you are, stole my damn money, and left! fuck you, geto! fuck. you.”

he smirks against your ear, grabbing your wrists and pulling your arms behind your back. you groaned, and he quickly decided to hit two birds with one stone.

tugging at the clothing strip that holds his robes together, he rips it off and uses it to tie your hands together as you squirm. he gives it a little tug, confirming it’s not too tight, and throws his clothings to the other side of the room.

“i know i haven’t been here.” he pauses, and you can watch him through the mirror as he forces you a bit down. “and i’m sorry. i wanted to tell you, i did. but i couldn’t. i know what you would think, and— i couldn’t lose you.”

it’s like a sincere admission, but you’re not foolish enough to feel sorry. not for him, definitely. throwing salt at the wound is your strategy right now.

“you lost me anyway. y’know, satoru really has a way with backshots that—” your words are cut off by a gasp, when he rips your panties off you and holds you down by the back of your neck. your back does a pretty arch for him like that, but suguru is not nearly amused enough.

“don’t be a brat. i made mistakes, but you, too. whoring yourself for my best friend? are you kidding me, love?”

“i’m not your love, don’t call me that.” he grabs you by the hair, tugging your head back up to look at his eyes through his reflection.

a pause, and suguru decided against what he was going to originally say, softening his grip on you.

“i missed you. i did. can’t i show it to you? just a little, baby, please?” he presses his hips into yours a bit more gently, and you can feel it.

his rock-hard erection, rubbing softly against your warm pussy. it makes you shiver and hum against your will. a part of you misses it. nothing wrong with satoru — he’s a great learner for an inexperienced guy — but geto knows just how to blow your back and be soft at the same time. an art satoru hasn’t mastered yet.

the idea of doing this to that white haired man who is so good to you — it brings tears to your face. how dare you want to say yes? but also, how could you say no when suguru’s head is rubbing deliciously against your entrance?

you close your eyes in defeat, not able to look at yourself.

“be quick. and don’t ever ask me anything again. you get this— and you disappear from my sight. forever.”

a deal with the devil. sacrifice something and gain something. your body for peace.

he chuckles, throwing his head back with a smirk. “oh, you and i both know that’s not happening, sweetheart. i’ll be here, forever.” he slips his hands down your waist, grabbing it gently and pushing his cock in.

the feeling is— exquisite. geto could try all he wanted, search in all the world, but he never could find someone like you. your body is almost poisonous — intoxicating is the right word. he just bottomed out and he’s already mixing his thoughts. that’s the effect you have on him.

suguru’s hips start moving at a restless pace, not giving you time to breathe or a warning. he can’t waste time with words, not now. not after being pulled away from you, his beloved, for ten torturous months. just when he was planning to come back and convince you to join his cult — or just grab you and lock you up, whatever —, he found you riding his best friend. sinking down satoru’s cock and making him cream all inside you.

the idea makes him huff, thrusting harder.

and you, under him? with your wrists tied up? well, you’re a mess. you’ll have to try bondage with satoru later, it’ll surely make his cock explode. your eyes widen, and you babble something — what’s wrong with your head? why are you thinking about satoru, then, suguru, then satoru again?

oh, lord above, maybe both at the same time? it’s a fantasy that makes you blush more than what you’re doing right now.

suguru guides your head up again, holding your neck gently.

“what are you thinking about, love? you keep—” he grunts. “clenching down on me.”

“nothing,” you stammer out. okay, there is something seriously wrong with you for enjoying this so much. a moan escapes you before you can stop it. “nngh— satoru!”

his eyes widen at the same time as yours. if your hands weren’t tied up, you would have brought one up to your mouth. the squeezing on your neck is firm, enough to not cut air circulation, but present. surely. the whisper of your name echoes through the bathroom.

“what did you just say?”

he looms over you, blushed cheeks and vulnerable expressions changing all the time, staring at your dumb little face in the mirror. suguru has a soft frown on his face, his eyes wide in horror, and his lips are slightly parted. but there’s a dark shadow oozing off him, a rage that cannot be contained.

he’s hurt. he’s mad.

you try to justify it quickly, to do damage control. “suguru! i said— i said suguru!”

but it’s a little too late for that, and lies only make it worse. he pins you down harder, his hips moving back at a ruthless pace this time. harder, faster — no mercy or trace of the sweet man who used to make love with you as if you were made of glass.

now, he fucks you as if he hates you, he hates your guts.

your moans and whines are muffled by the obscene sounds escaping where your hips meet. plap plap plap, mixed with a softly, slightly wet whisper of some sort. suguru lets go of your waist and brings his hand up.

you gasp when it hits the back of your thigh in a loud smack!

he forces you to look up, breathless as he murmurs.

“start counting.” he groans, harshly. and he smacks you again, right on the ass. he’s hitting so hard that you believe his intention is leaving a red mark — a present for satoru to look at later. and you’re right. his friend knows no boundaries and keeps taking what is his. what choice does he has, unless to mark you up?

smack.

you shiver, trying to squirm away and kick before he pins you down again.

“behave, brat. now start counting.”

smack.

“one—” you moan when his heat hits your sweet spot, huffing. smack. “two.”

“good girl.” smack. smack. smack. “how many is that, princess, mm? ohh, that’s the good pussy i missed so much. so— tight.”

“ngh! three! four! f—five?”

“is that a question, or are you answering me, my love?”

he chuckles meanly, thrusting into you again. you both grunt — near the edge already.

“suguru.” you throw your head back, whimpering. “i’m— i’m gonna—”

“ohh, you’re going to cum? that fast, honey? satoru hasn’t been good enough to you, i see.” he thrusts harder, laughing meanly at the way your eyes widen and tear up. “aww, he can’t treat you like you want. he fucks you like a good girl, i bet. but you want to be fucked like a slut.”

he leans down, peppering your neck with kisses and hearing your deep breaths. “it’s okay. i’m close, too. you have this effect on me, my love.” he grunts again, grabbing your hips. “throw that ass back on me, baby, yeah? yeah, juuuust like that.”

he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up as he presses his lips to yours in a upside down kiss. it would be romantic if it weren’t so possessive, visceral, crude. carnal. desperate.

when your lips part, he grunts and sighs softly, while you’re moaning loudly. nearly at the same time, your orgasms hit you both with everything.

suguru’s thrusts become messy, sloppy, and his skin feels a bit sticky against yours as he fucks himself using your pussy, pushing in ropes of cum to paint your insides.

you let your head fall forward when it’s your turn, squirming and whimpering softly. his forehead would have hit the sink if he weren’t holding you up. some more seconds, to dry out both of your highs. slowly, gently, he pulls out of you, watching the fat drops oozing out of your used hole.

suguru smirks as he undoes your restraints, kissing the back of your neck tenderly and adjusting your dress.

“don’t forget who has you first, mkay? i left a little gift for you and satoru here.” he sighs, sounding a bit sad. “i’ll have to go again, i’m sorry. but i’ll be back soon. don’t miss me too much. just leave your window unlocked, and i’ll be here again.” he grabs your face to turn it again, brushing his lips against yours. “unlocking them is a chore.”

geto leans back, and you shiver, confused. the sound of clothes being adjusted and thrown back into a body makes you turn your head moments after you heard it, still a bit too slow.

and he is gone. as you fix yourself up on your feet, you shiver as the realization hits you hard as a stone. no, no. satoru. no.

you stumble to the corner of the bathroom, picking up your phone. the screen is broken, but a call icon appears. you accept immediately, nearly sobbing.

“hey, senpai,” the nickname is soft coming from his lips. a small joke, playing with an honorific that he does not use with figures he should use. “you’re— a bit late. did something came up, or?”

“satoru.” you sob, and even through the screen, you can feel him tense up. his voice becomes more serious.

“what happened? are you okay? where are you? i’m on my way.” the scraping of a chair can be heard in the background of the call.

“i’m— my apartment. i have something to tell you. we need to talk, seriously, we—”

you shiver, and for some reason, you can picture your ex perfectly — walking proudly, with his nose up, the wind making his black hair flow behind him and cruel, purple eyes accompanied by a soft smirk.

“i made a mistake.”

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MISTAKES.ㅤthank you for reading! <3

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ellecdc · 8 months ago

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can i request a poly!marauders where the reader just tends to wonder off, like she’s suspended to be in class but she just talking to one of the portraits or just outside staring at the sky and sometimes james and/or sirius follow her so remus has to round them up

so stinkin' cute - thanks for your request lovie!

~please note: my requests are currently closed as I work through some of my older requests~

poly!marauders x fem whimsical!reader

“I don’t mean to alarm you boys,” Marlene started, not looking at all concerned about alarming them in the slightest. “But I think you might be missing a member of your group.”

Sirius and James looked to each other in horror as Remus let out an exasperated sigh.

“Where is she?” Remus asked impatiently.

“I swear she was just behind me...” James admitted, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“She cannot miss lunch, she hardly sat down long enough for breakfast this morning.” Remus commented mostly to himself as he headed back the way he came, hoping to quickly find wherever you’d wandered off to.

Although your whimsy and excitement in life was one of the things the boys most admired about you, it did make Remus worry from time to time that you’d forget to look after yourself.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, however, seeing as you had three boyfriends here to help you out on that end. Though, it didn’t speak very highly of them when they kept losing you.

There were very few moments in his life he was particularly grateful for his lycanthropy, but this was perhaps one of them.

He could smell you before he heard you, and he heard you before he saw you.

He rounded a corner which was disturbingly far from the Great Hall, meaning they’d lost you quite some time ago, and saw you conversing with a portrait of the Fat Friar.

“From what I’ve learned both in life and in death, forgiveness is not only for the other person, but also for yourself.” The Fat Friar said to you. Remus paused in his steps to enjoy the uninhibited smile that graced your face.

“Have you ever met someone unworthy of forgiveness, Friar?” You asked, your serene voice drifting down the hallway and gracing Remus’ ears.

“Not in my nearly 1000 years.” He answered.

Your smile grew impossibly wider at that. “Me either.”

Remus couldn’t take it anymore, he resumed his trek towards you, and though he’d been going for stern, he knew his face looked impossibly lovesick as you turned your beaming smile onto him.

“Hi Rem.” You called softly, turning away from the portrait and towards your boyfriend.

“We thought we lost you, dovey.” He reprimanded as he reached for your face, resting one hand on either cheek and tilting your face up towards him.

“I’m never very far.” You answered. Remus was torn between wanting to roll his eyes fondly and thanking you for ensuring that this was true.

“Any amount of space is too far, my love.” He said instead, placing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyes closed and you let out a pleased hum.

“Why’d you wander off, dove?” He asked as he pulled back, keeping your face secured in his hands and rubbing your cheekbones with his thumbs.

“I saw a dedalian key fly by, but as I was following it, I saw the portrait of Ferdinand Octavius Pratt who was very upset because the Fat Friar’s ghost insisted that he let go of old grudges. So, I figured I’d ask the Friar his side of the story. And, well, here we are.” You finished, smiling up at him like having him find you here had been your master plan all along.

“Here we are.” He murmured back, wondering how on earth he and his boyfriends managed to land something as impossibly sweet as you.

Speaking of said boyfriends, Remus’ thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two heavy footfalls as the sods came running up to the two of you.

“There you are dollface! We were worried sick.” Sirius proclaimed as he all but shoved Remus out of the way and took his place, holding your face in his hands and peppering your head with kisses.

You giggled and pulled back slightly, which Sirius allowed but kept you safe within his grasp.

“You needn’t worry, Sirius. I was in wonderful company.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow and Remus translated for him.

“She was busy talking to the Fat Friar when I found her.”

Sirius nodded in understanding before he narrowed his eyes at you. “He wasn’t making moves on you, was he?”

You laughed as if Sirius had made some very funny joke, and Remus laughed along with you even though he could tell Sirius wasn’t entirely convinced.

“I’m sorry we lost you, angel.” James said somewhat meekly. Remus knew though that he was mostly apologizing to Remus and less to you.

“That’s quite alright Jamie.” You assured him. “I would have found you later.”

Some tension left James’ shoulders as he smiled at you, sharing a shy glance with Remus before continuing. “You didn’t eat much for breakfast since you were so excited about the Grindylow’s hatching, so...” He said as he pulled out a tote bag from behind his back. “Pads and I ran to the kitchens and packed a picnic. Would you like to head down to the Black Lake now?”

If Remus’ heart grew two sizes at the sentiment, yours must have grown three.

“Oh, Jamie!” You nearly squealed, pulling him into a hug that he eagerly reciprocated.

“I’d love that! Thank you!” You cheered, stepping back towards Sirius who quickly hooked your arm in his – a guarantee that he wouldn’t lose you this time.

“After you then, m’lady.” Sirius said seductively with a wink, causing you to giggle again as the two of you turned and headed towards the school grounds.

Remus quickly pulled James up against his side and pressed a kiss into his hair.

“You’re such a sweet boy, James Potter.” He murmured, feeling the fondness ooze right out of his being for this man he somehow got to call his.

“Yeah?” James asked, sending Remus a beaming smile.

Remus smiled and accepted a searing kiss from the quidditch chaser.

James let out a pleased sigh as he pulled out of the kiss and walked in step with Remus, looking ahead to watch you and Sirius nearly skip down the hall. It was incredibly lighthearted, though Remus noticed Sirius possessively pull you into his side as you two walked past the ghost of the Fat Friar who exchanged nothing more than a polite head nod with you.

“We’re so lucky.” James commented.

Remus couldn’t help but agree.

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vampirenigh · 1 year ago

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i hope this isnt weird or too specific--- (ignore this if u dont wanna do it!!)

i was hoping you could write about ciel and alois (blck btlr) with a very dreamy s/o? like, dreamy in so many aspects. like they look like they jumped out of a painting in a museum, or they could look identical to some figures they've seen in paintings. and their voice would be very calming too, quiet but clear iygwim.... like s/o is basically angelic and all that and their presence feels surreal to the boys

gn! reader if that's fine:DD

You are my everything

Hey. No problem at all. It's totally fine and thank you for your ask. I like when people send me specific asks because it helps me understand better and not mess up. At first I didn't understand what you meant by dreamy but because of your explication I think I got it. I will try to do gn but I never tried so if something is not right don't hesitate to tell me. And if you have any more ideas don't hesitate to send an ask.😁

Summary: Ciel and Alois whit a dreamy reader.

Characters: Ciel Phantomhive, Alois Trancy.

Warnings: gn!reader, some posesiveness in Alois?

Masterlist

Ciel Phantomhive

He first saw you in town. He was with Sebastian to take some things and investigate a new case given by the queen. But the care was totally forgotten when he saw you. You were the most beautiful person he has ever seen. He knew that you are from an aristocratic family from your clothes and your maid but didn't know which one.

So he puts Sebastian to do some research on you and he learns that you were Elisabeth's cousin. He couldn't believe it. Even more when he first talked to you at Elisabeth's birthday party. You were just so calm and welcoming that he felt safe in your presence. Your quiet but clear voice made him feel like he could tell you everything and you wouldn't judge him.

And because of that he broke the engagement with Lizzy and started to court you. Elizabeth's mother was a bit mad but couldn't stop Ciel because he loves him as her own son and he deserves to have happy memories.

So you two start to date after some time whit a new engagement made between Ciel's family and your's. He started to call you often at his mansion and talk to you. He could've sworn that you were an angel from heaven when you first comforted him after he had a nightmare and you stayed at his mansion overnight. You were so gentle with him like he was made of glass and would break at the slightest touch. It was such a different feeling that he felt he doesn't deserve it.

All this time he thought that the only thing that counts is to revenge his family and to reestablish his family name but now he starts to doubt it. The only thing that he can think of is that he doesn't want to lose you ever like he lost everyone else. He will protect you whit his life and will make sure that you are always comfortable.

God forgive anyone that hurts or embarrasses you because Sebastian will take care of him.

Ciel would often come to you to talk about what is bothering him and would be grateful for who you are that he sends you different dresses and jewelry that he knows will look good on you.

In conclusion he will love and cherish you till the day he dies and will always be grateful for your presence even in the darkest times.

Alois Trancy

He saw you in a museum in the art section. He couldn't believe how much you looked alike whit a portrait of a very beautiful women that lived over 200 years ago. He couldn't take his eyes of you so he made a move. He came to you and introduced himself in the hope that you will see him as fascinating as he sees you. And you did. You introduced yourself and engaged in a conversation whit Alois.

Your voice and your looks made him not want to leave you alone at all. He feelt like he is talking to an angel who came to safe him. He learned that you are the grand grand granddaughter of the woman in the painting and that she was one of the most beautiful women that lived in that time and that you are happy that you could resemble her.

He started to court you and made the engagement whit your parents. He asks Hannah some things that you would like and if you don't he will punish her severely.

He will eventually tell you everything about his past and about Claude. He feels so safe with you that he couldn't bring himself to hide it. And the moment when you just tell him that it doesn't matter, it doesn't define him he swore he could die right then and there as a happy boy.

He would tell Claude to protect you and to kill anyone who comes too close to you whit bad intentions.

He would be very clingy. He doesn't like being away from you. He feels like you are his lifeline and can't leave you.

Do you remember the time when Alois was on his knees in front of Claude to prevent him of leaving? He would do that when you wanted to go have some tea time whit another girl. (What can I say he has abandonament issues.)

He feels that he is the luckiest boy on the planet because he can have such a beautiful and calm lover who sees him for who he is and not for his money.

#black butler #ciel x reader #ciel phantomhive #ciel phamtonhive #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel black butler #alois x reader #alois trancy #kuroshitsuji alois #black butler alois #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji ciel

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camarocarfight · 9 months ago

Text

Alastor's Bloody Valentine

Human Alastor x Reader late Valentine's Day special

Rated very mature with sexual content, murder, blood, and gore. Set in the 1930s with human characters. I suppose you could look at this as being a little Alastor back story.

Maybe there'll be a part deux?

It's kinda edited, but I got lazy and lost interest, and I just wanted to finish it. I hope all of you dear readers enjoy!

New Orleans, 1932

There was a chill in the air, carried in on a breeze that whistled through the old willow trees, and rustled their long, spindle-like branches. The trill of grasshoppers and crickets and the occasional screech of a night owl were customary of the bayou. Only interrupted by the nightly steam train, whose whistle echoed for miles until it faded like a whisper. There was no moon - only an ebony sky accompanied by its thousands of starry hosts.

As serene as it all seemed, the bayou was one of the most dangerous places to be in 1932. Not just because of the alligators, snakes, and venomous spiders. The neighboring town was full of talk about the Louisiana serial killer, who lured their victims into the darkness of the bayou to slaughter them, leaving no trace or remains. People simply vanished, though it seemed to be mostly men of diverse age and status. Innocent and not so innocent. The most recent being a younger gentleman who had just gotten married. The papers did fail to mention that he'd nearly beaten his new wife within an inch of her life not long after the wedding, but news traveled fast. He was the thirteenth person to go missing.

With Valentine's Day came the fear of who the next victim would be. Mothers and wives kept tight leashes on their sons and husbands, and the police put in place a mandatory curfew. Temporary police sentinels were stationed on street corners, keeping watch over the streets day and night. Which subsequently made it more difficult to get to and from the only speakeasy in town. The police were happy - killing two birds with one stone.

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, don't let this curfew get you down. Take your gal out on the town for some swing and make the most out of your Valentine's Day. Ladies, keep your gents close, and stay safe-”

“Y’see,” Mimzy turned the cathedral radio off with a huff and crossed her arms over her voluptuous chest. “This curfew is ruinin’ everything!”

You rolled your eyes and leaned your elbow on the bar and rested your cheek in the palm of your hand. Mimzy had been on a tangent for the last week for having to close the speakeasy. Being that it was in the basement of an old sugar mill, it was too risky to keep it running with the police snooping around. In one night, with the help of Husker, all of the liquor was moved under the cover of darkness to the crawl space of Alastor's hunting cabin deep in the bayou. The liquor would at least be safe if the police felt it necessary to search the sugar mill. The only thing they'd find would be an empty stage and bar.

With no speakeasy, the regular meet and greet for you and all of your friends was the cabin. It was a comfortable space, at least. Alastor had used the extra money he made from his radio show to install new, polished wood floors, a nice bar, and even a loft with a decent sized bed when he would stay for the first week of hunting. It also had a decent kitchen, which was Alastor's favorite feature. As for you, Alastor made sure to give you your own bit of space. In the corner of the main room was a stone fireplace with book shelves flanking either side. The shelves were filled to the brim with books of every genre. Hanging above the fireplace was Alastor’s prized Stag - previously occupied by Alastor’s portrait from when he was in the service. You never did tell him just how creepy you found the stuffed creature. Alastor loved the hunting sport, but you appreciated wildlife as just that; alive.

Mimzy sauntered over from the radio and sat herself on a rickety barstool, her brows pinched. “How am I gonna make money? Who knows how long this whole thing will go on for. And where's Alastor? His show ended an hour ago. His ass better not be dead too.”

You sighed and stood from your barstool to round the bar. There was a bottle of, ironic enough, Red Stag that was already open. It wasn't your first choice, but prohibition made everyone less picky. You poured yourself a generous glass, only for Mimzy to swipe it from you, and gulp it down in one swig. Your eye twitched in irritation as you glared at the woman through your lashes. The relationship between the two of you was decent enough, but as of late, she'd been grating your nerves and testing your patience. Mimzy's flamboyant personality didn’t jive well with your own in an enclosed space. You were more reserved, shy, and softly spoken. Not to mention that the cabin had always been an intimate space for you and Alastor. It didn't seem so intimate now - being that it was now shared space with Mimzy and Husker.

“Would you like another drink before I pour my own,” you asked, your voicing clipped.

Your head was pounding now, with a migraine blooming behind your eyes. The little grin that slid over Mimzy's lips told you that she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Actually, Doll, I would,” she flashed you a grin with her nose wrinkling as she did so. “You're such a good friend,” Mimzy cooed and thrust her empty glass in your face.

Your grip on the bottle of Red Stag was white knuckle, and you opened your mouth to give her a piece of your mind, but the words caught in your throat when the cabin door opened. Both you and Mimzy looked over to see Husker coming through the door with Alastor trailing behind him. Your shoulders visibly deflated when your gaze met Alastor's.

Mimzy put her glass down on the bar and threw her arms up in glee. “Alastor! I'm so glad to see you!”

“And I you,” Alastor grinned. “Thanks for holding down the fort and watching over my darling for me.”

“I don't need a babysitter,” you grumbled and nodded your head at Husker when he gave you a sympathetic smile. “Hey, Husk.”

“Cher,” Husk greeted in that deep, baritone voice.

Alastor laughed boisterously and leaned on the bar in front of you. Upon meeting his gaze, his chocolate brown pools started to melt away all of the tension in your body. It was so easy for you to get lost in his eyes.

“I jest, my dear. Husker here is going to drive Mimzy home, and we are going to celebrate!”

Mimzy quirked a brow and made a sound akin to a high-pitched scoff. “I ain't ready to leave yet. I want to celebrate too! We could have a round of drinks!”

Husk had noticed that you and Alastor had yet to tear apart your gazes and were seeming lost in each other. Alastor flashed you a dazzling smile and leaned over the bar to press a chaste kiss to your lips. That was enough for your cheeks to flush and become a brilliant crimson.

“C'mon,” Husk grabbed Mimzy's fur coat off the coat rack and all but threw it into the woman's face. “Before I drag your ass to the car.”

Mimzy put her coat on in a huff, then fussed over her hair, throwing insults at Husker as she did so.

“Thank you,” you mouthed to Alastor and waved to Mimzy as she was all but pushed out the door by Husker. You could hear her nagging as she walked all the way to the door. “Poor Husker.”

“He'll live,” Alastor hummed and gave you a wink. “Mimzy, however,” he chuckled.

“That would be too good to be true,” you mumbled and grabbed the bottle of Red Stag to pour yourself that long awaited glass. “How was work?”

Alastor set about removing his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress. Your gaze was drawn to the newly exposed, tan flesh of his forearms. “Same as always, my dear. I'm sure you were listening?”

“Until Mimzy turned the radio off,” You walked into the main sitting area and sat in your favorite rocking chair.

In your left hand was your glass of bourbon that you then took a sip of. From over the brim of the glass, you continued to study your partner as he made himself comfortable. Alastor's bowtie was now untied, and the top button of his dress shirt undone, exposing a delicious expanse of his neck. Being that it was Valentine's Day, you hoped that it meant that Alastor wouldn't mind taking everything farther than usual. The man would tease you here and there, whispering dirty things in your ear, because he knew it riled you up. The act of sex, however, just didn't fit his idealism. Any affection from Alastor would include kissing and touching, maybe heavy petting, but the two of you had only had penetrative sex a handful of times. Each time it happened was mind-blowing, leaving you craving more and waiting on bated breath to feel him the same way again. You could feel yourself beginning to flush just thinking about it - the heat slowly building up in your chest and rising until your cheeks were crimson. At least you could blame it on the bourbon, which you quickly threw back and tore your gaze away from Alastor.

“So,” Alastor sat down on the couch and crossed his legs, and draped his left arm over the back of the couch. “Quiet evening with a shared drink, my darling?”

Honestly, the man was entirely too distracting. It didn't help either that the bourbon was affecting you far sooner than you anticipated. Your mind blanked, seeing Alastor sitting there - sleeves rolled up, bowtie undone, the red vest that matched his trousers that fit him entirely too well. Alastor was your perfect definition of a sex-god that had a distaste for the very thing that you craved. His smoldering gaze and satisfied, closed-mouth grin told you that he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

“Are you alright,” he cocked his head to the side. “You look bothered.”

“You're a tease,” you swallowed.

Alastor’s brows rose in surprise. “Me? I'm just sitting here,” he laughed and beckoned you over with his finger. “Come here, my darling.”

A bolt of red-hot arousal shot right up your spine, and your body moved automatically, seemingly out of your control and under Alastor’s. Alastor moved to uncross his legs and seized you by the hips with his strong hands. You now stood in between his spread thighs, looking down into his brown eyes as he gazed up at you. His lips quirked in a crooked grin, making him look like the cat who got the cream.

“Tell me how I'm a tease,” Alastor whispered huskily.

You brought your hands up to cup his face and ran your left thumb along his bottom lip. “You know what you do to me, Alastor.”

Alastor grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Oh, I'm well aware,” the man's pupils were now blown with his own need. “Would you like me to do something about that?”

Relief flooded you, and you nodded eagerly. By now, the bourbon was really beginning to have an effect on you and how much you needed the man before you. “I've been waiting so long, Alastor.”

“The wait makes it worthwhile,” he growled.

Before your tipsy mind could even comprehend what was happening, Alastor stood, effortlessly hoisting you up by the hips, and bounded towards the spiral staircase of the loft Your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his slim waist. Alastor’s arousal was very noticeable against your own pelvis. The heat from his girth radiated through his slacks. When his lips met yours in a fevered kiss, your mind blanked with arousal. Your senses quickly became overwhelmed by his touch, his scent, and his taste as his tongue coaxed your own in a scorching kiss. Alastor eagerly devoured your mouth and every subsequent moan he drew from you. He broke the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip as he did so. His lips then trailed down to the column of your neck where he sank his teeth into the supple flesh. You hissed from the pain and carded your fingers through his brunette hair until you had a handful and tugged, earning a groan from him.

“Fuck it,” Alastor growled and sat you on the steps of the spiral staircase.

Alastor’s hands snaked up your dress to pull your panties down your legs, leaving the silk garment dangling from your left ankle. You gasped when he cupped your dripping sex in his left hand and breathed against the side of your neck.

“I’ll have you right here,” he growled and claimed your mouth once again.

You moaned wontanly into his mouth when he penetrated you with two fingers and curled them against your g-spot. Even though sex was a rare occasion, Alastor had memorized your body from the inside out. Knowing every sensitive spot to kiss, lick, or bite. Alastor groaned and pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, ripping the most delicious moans from your throat. Each and every sound you made went straight to his cock that was now straining uncomfortably in his slacks. With a tweak of his fingers, Alastor had you coming with his name falling from your lips like the most beautiful prayer.

“Alastor,” you were breathless, chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. “I need you inside me.”

Alastor’s eyes darkened, and he carefully withdrew his fingers from your quivering sex. “You’ll have me,” he whispered and kissed you chastly.

The sound of Alastor’s belt buckle was like music to your ears, as your body was finally getting the attention that it so badly craved. With your left hand, you reached between you and Alastor and took his now freed, sizeable length in your hand. You bit your lip and looked up at Alastor through your eyelashes. Alastor held your gaze as he guided himself into your tight heat, slowly splitting you open and seating himself inside you. Both of you panted, attempting to adjust to the almost foreign sensation. No, you weren’t a virgin, but Alastor had been your first, and since sex wasn’t a regular occurrence, it took both of you longer to adjust. You, more so than Alastor.

He was thankfully patient, waiting until the pained look on your face was no longer before slowly pulling out and thrusting back into the hilt. The man clenched his teeth painfully and screwed his eyes shut, completely drunk off of the feeling of you fitting around him so perfectly.

You held onto Alastor tightly, with your nails digging into the flesh of his back, even through his dress shirt. Alastor’s hands had your hips in a death grip, and you hoped that you would have bruises left in their place. You wanted Alastor to claim you - mark you - so that everyone knew you belonged to him.

“Come inside me, Alastor,” the words fell from your lips in a pathetic whimper before you even realised what you said.

The look Alastor gave you startled you, and his hips stuttered to a pause. You stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity, Alastor’s eyes searching your own as if looking for truth behind that request. You feared your moment of intimacy with Alastor was ruined until he started moving once more. This time, he moved slower, taking his time pulling all of the way out and sinking back into you. He continued to hold your gaze and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Is that what you want,” Alastor asked, but it was barely above a whisper. “To be mine, forever?”

Of course it’s what you wanted. Alastor had been your first, and you wanted no one else. It was difficult for you to imagine your life any different. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about starting a family with Alastor. You brought your hands up to Alastor’s face and looked into those chocolate pools.

“Make me yours, forever, Alastor.”

~~~

You awoke the next morning, nestled in the king-sized bed of the loft alone. Alastor was nowhere to be found, with his side of the bed neatly made. Between your legs was an ache and a stickiness in the inside of your thighs that served as a reminder of the previous night's activities. What little bourbon you had, had also left you with a slight headache that settled over your temples. Coffee would be a good fix, and you wondered why you hadn't smelled it perking if Alastor had already been up.

There was a fire going in the fireplace when you made your way down the staircase, confirming that Alastor was around, but nowhere to be seen. You thought nothing of it and went over to the kitchenette to get coffee perking and breakfast ready for whenever Alastor returned.

You sat down in your rocking chair by the fireplace when the coffee was ready to enjoy your cup. The chair rocked rhythmically on the hardwood floor, nearly lulling you to sleep until you heard a god awful noise coming from the crawlspace under the cabin. Your first thought was that a stranger or the police had found the liquor stash, and you bolted out of the chair to get the pistol hidden among your books.

The door to the crawlspace was in the kitchenette and was flung open, revealing a blood covered Alastor. The man looked up at you with blood splattered across his face and chest, staining his white dress shirt. There was enough blood that you couldn't tell if it was coming from Alastor or not.

You dropped the pistol that was in your hands and rushed over to him, and hooked your arms around his arm. “A-alastor, what the hell? Are you-”

“It's fine!” He laughed and looked down at you with a grin. “It's not mine.”

Your eyes widened, and you took a tentative step away from him and shook your head. “Then, whose is it?”

Alastor ignored your question and casually walked over to the pot of coffee on the stove. He poured himself a mug, all the while humming a song with that same grin on his face.

“Alastor,” you demanded. “You're scaring the hell out of me.”

“I'm sorry,” he put his coffee mug on the counter and turned back to you. “This,” he pointed to his stained shirt. “Is just the latest victim.”

“The latest…,” you paled, with the details finally coming together. “You're him.”

Alastor flashed you that dazzling grin and opened a drawer next to the stove. Without even looking, Alastor pulled a massive knife out and studied it.

“Did you know, my darling, that in order to inflict a fatal wound, you need at least fifteen inches of penetration?”

“Please put the knife do-”

You gasped. Before you could even react, Alastor lunged forward, plunging the knife deep in your abdomen. He stood in front of you, holding the blade in place with his smile never faltering. Pain blossomed throughout your body, and you began to choke on the blood that bubbled up through your throat. You coughed and watched the blood mixed sputum splatter across Alastor’s already stained shirt. Tears fell freely from your eyes, staining your cheeks, and your trembling hands grabbed onto Alastor’s arm that still held the knife inside you.

Blinking up at Alastor through your tears, you saw no remorse on his face. Just that twisted grin that you had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“You should know I'm too much like my father to have children,” Alastor said darkly. “That's a risk I cannot take.”

Alastor pulled the knife out of your abdomen and stepped back as you crumpled to the floor on your knees. The pain was white-hot, but it was nothing compared to that of your broken heart. Your body screamed for his closeness and wanted to hate him for everything. Even after the previous night, after telling you he would be with you forever. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, you held pressure on the wound, but you knew it was no use. You were dying. At the hands of your lover.

“It won't be long, my love,” Alastor got down on one knee and brushed your hair out of your face. “I'm sorry I had to do this.”

“F-fuck you,” you gasped and choked.

Your vision was beginning to fade in and out, along with your hearing. The weight of your body suddenly became too much and you fell to your side. Before your head hit the floor, Alastor had caught you and laid you down gently. The last sensation you felt, other than the pain, was Alastor kissing you. It was a passionate kiss, similar to that of the kiss you shared while making love. He didn't care about the blood that pooled from your mouth, but seemed to enjoy it more than anything. When he broke the kiss, you met his gaze, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I'll see you in hell,” you spit, using every ounce of energy you had left before going still.

Alastor smiled down at your now lifeless body and ran his fingers through your hair. A single tear ran down his cheek, and his smile grew into a grin.

“It's a date.”

Part Two

#alastor x you #alastor x reader #human alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader

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