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the-flaneur · 3 months ago

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erm...who the f*ck is that?

pairing: f1 grid x reader [headcanon]

ft. lewis hamilton, max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norris, oscar piastri, george russell, yuki tsunoda, pierre gasly

summary: well well well...it seems like there's an uninvited (or maybe not so uninivted) guest in your bed tonight

warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut ft. sex dolls, kinda exhibitonism/voyuerism

[masterlist] [requests]

you straddled the lifelike sex doll modeled after your boyfriend, your heart racing with excitement and arousal. the silicone skin felt so real beneath your fingers as you explored his muscular chest and abs. you ground your hips against the rigid shaft protruding from between his legs, already slick with lube.

"fuck, i can't believe i'm doing this," you moaned softly, positioning yourself over the thick cock. with a deep breath, you began to sink down, letting the doll stretch you open inch by delicious inch. your walls fluttered and clenched around him as you took him deeper.

"oh god yes, so big!" you cried out once he was fully sheathed inside you. you started to move, rolling your hips sensually at first before building up to a faster pace.

the sex doll's silicone body felt incredibly realistic as you rode it, every contour and muscle perfectly replicated from the real dick of him. its massive, girthy cock stretched you deliciously, filling you completely as you bounced on top of it.

"yes, fuck! your huge cock feels amazing!" you moaned shamelessly, throwing your head back in ecstasy. sweat glistened on your skin as you picked up speed, slamming your hips down to meet each thrust. the obscene wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room.

reaching down, you furiously rubbed your clit, pushing yourself closer to the edge. "fuck, i'm gonna cum!" you wailed, your pussy starting to spasm and quiver around the thick intrusion. just a little more…

lewis

as you frantically rode the sex doll, lost in pleasure, the sound of the door opening made you freeze mid-thrust. your eyes widened in shock as your boyfriend himself walked into the room, his handsome face registering surprise before darkening with lust as he took in the erotic sight before him.

"what do we have here then?" he drawled, stalking towards you with a predatory gleam in his brown eyes. "looks like my little minx has been having some fun without me."

he reached out to caress your face tenderly, contrasting with the intense hunger in his gaze as it raked over your naked, sweat-slicked body. "why don't you climb off there and come sit on daddy's lap instead, love? i think i need to show you what the real thing can do.”

“you’re not mad?” you whined, as he slipped his thumb between your lips, before dragging in against your cheek.

lewis chuckled lowly, his hand sliding from your cheek to tangle in your hair possessively. "mad? oh no, pet. far from it. seeing you so desperate for my cock, even in doll form, is bloody hot."

he tugged gently but firmly, guiding you off the sex doll and pulling you onto his lap. his strong arms encircled your waist as he settled you astride his muscular thighs, his impressive erection pressing insistently against your core.

"i'd much rather have the real thing wrapped around me though," lewis purred, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. "now be a good girl and put that sweet mouth of yours to work, yeah? show daddy how much you've missed him.”

max

you're startled out of your lewd reverie by a sudden pounding on the door. "open up!" a familiar voice demands, making your heart race. with a sinking feeling, you realize it's max. panic sets in as you scramble to cover yourself and the life-like sex doll replica of him you were pleasuring yourself with. the knock comes again, more insistent this time. "come on, i know you're in there! we need to talk."

your mind races with possibilities - should you try to sneak out the back window? make a run for it? but before you can decide, the door unlocks, revealing max standing in the entranceway, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the compromising scene before him.

your face flushes bright red as max takes in the sight of your post-orgasmic glow, the realistic sex doll poking out from beneath the haphazardly thrown blanket. his gaze narrows when he recognises the scarily familiar head, before turning into an intense look of shock, curiosity, and something else you can't quite decipher.

"well, well," he says, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "looks like my little darling has been keeping secrets." he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you as he reaches out to gently stroke your neck.

"i have to admit…," max continues, his eyes never leaving yours. "i didn't peg you for the type to... indulge in such activities." his fingers trail lower, brushing against your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine despite the embarrassment coursing through you. your breath hitches as max's touch sends sparks of electricity through your body, rendering you momentarily speechless. the rational part of your brain screams at you to push him away, to insist this was all just a misunderstanding. but another, deeper part of you craves his proximity, longs to feel his hands on your bare skin instead of the cold plastic of the doll.

slowly, almost involuntarily, you spread your legs further apart, giving max an unobstructed view of your arousal. the heat between your thighs is palpable, and you can't help but wonder if he notices the dampness dripping down your thigh.

max's gaze lingers on the intimate display, a slow smile spreading across his chiseled features. "it seems my little baby isn't so innocent after all," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

emboldened by max's reaction, you reach out to trace the contours of his muscular chest, feeling the hard planes of his abs beneath his shirt. his eyes flash with desire as your fingertips dance along the edge of his collarbone.

"you're not so bad yourself," you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement. max chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest. "flattery will get you everywhere, schatje," he teases, his hand sliding up your inner thigh to cup your heated core through the thin fabric of your underwear.

charles

"well well, what do we have here?" a familiar monegasque accented voice called out. you froze mid-thrust, face flushing crimson as charles himself stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised quizzically at the compromising scene before him.

your heart raced as you slowly turned to face him, still impaled on his hyper-realistic doppelganger. the driver looked equally stunned and intrigued by the sight of you shamelessly pleasuring yourself with his likeness. "i... i can explain..." you stammered, mind reeling for an excuse. but words failed you as you remained stuck in an embarrassing position, the doll's phallus buried deep inside you.

a slow smirk spread across charles' handsome face as he sauntered closer, green eyes roaming appreciatively over your exposed body. "no need to explain, cherie. it seems you have quite the... appreciation for me. although i didn’t realize you had such...imaginative hobbies," charles groaned, his deep voice rough with desire.

he took a step closer, drinking in the sight of your naked, sweat-slicked body still impaled on the doll's thick cock. a throaty chuckle escaped your lips as you rolled your hips languidly, stirring the synthetic shaft inside your dripping cunt. "mmm, i have many hidden talents," you purred sultrily. "why don't you come join us and show me what the real thing can do?"

"i must say, seeing myself put to such good use is rather flattering.” his large hands gripped your hips possessively, thumbs kneading into the soft flesh. slowly, teasingly, he began to rock the doll (and by extension, you) back and forth, matching the rhythm to his thrusts. pleasure sparked through your core with each movement.

"mmm, you're so tight around it," charles groaned appreciatively. "i wonder how you'd feel wrapped around me instead..."

carlos

you're startled out of your lewd reverie as the door swings open, revealing none other than carlos standing in your entryway. his eyes widen in shock as he takes in the sight before him - you astride a life-like sex doll, your hips undulating in rhythm with the vibrations of the toy between your thighs. your cheeks flush crimson, and you scramble to cover yourself, but it's far too late for modesty. the damage is done, and there's no denying what you were up to mere seconds ago. carlos's gaze remains fixed on the spectacle, his jaw slackening as he processes this unexpected encounter.

"what...what are you doing?" he asks hesitantly, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

your heart races as you meet carlos's gaze, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. "oh, um, just...um, experimenting with some new toys," you stammer, trying to downplay the situation. however, the seeping wetness of your panties betrays your arousal, and carlos's eyes flicker downward, taking note of your obvious excitement.

he steps closer, his presence commanding attention despite the awkwardness of the moment. "a sex doll, huh? i never took you for the type," he remarks, his tone tinged with amusement rather than judgment. there's an undercurrent of intrigue in his words, as if he's genuinely fascinated by this side of you. carlos reaches out, his fingers grazing the synthetic skin of the doll, sending a shiver through you. "mind if i join in?" he asks, his voice low and husky with suggestion.

you swallow hard, your pulse quickening at the prospect of having him participate in your private fantasy (albeit also involving him). the idea sends a thrill straight to your core, and you find yourself nodding almost involuntarily. "i...i'd like that," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

as carlos moves behind you, his hands gently guiding you to stand, you feel a rush of anticipation. he positions himself beside the doll, his eyes locked onto yours with a smoldering intensity. without a word, he begins to undress, revealing a chiseled physique honed by years of athletic training.

once naked, carlos climbs onto the bed, settling between your legs as you straddle the doll once more. he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "let's give this toy a real workout, shall we?”

lando

his eyes widened at the lewd sight before him. "well, well... looks like someone's got a new playmate," he quipped, his voice dripping with amusement and something else. he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching intently as you continued to bounce on the doll's cock.

your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and excitement. "uh, lando! i was just... um…”

"testing out my new toy," you managed to stammer out, still moving your hips in slow, sensual circles. the doll's plastic flesh felt cold against your heated skin, but the vibrations of its motor sent jolts of pleasure through you.

lando chuckled low in his throat, his gaze never leaving your writhing form. "a toy, huh? looks more like a real man to me." he pushed off the wall and sauntered closer, his eyes roving over your body with an appreciative gleam.

you swallowed hard, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation. this was so wrong, yet so incredibly tempting. "i, uh, i might need some help getting this thing warmed up," you suggested breathlessly, glancing up at lando through your lashes. he grinned, reaching out to trace a finger along your collarbone.

"mmm, i think i'd be happy to assist with that," lando purred, his hand sliding down to cup your breast through your shirt. his thumb brushed over your nipple, making it pebble beneath the fabric.

you gasped, arching into his touch as a surge of desire shot straight to your core. "then what are you waiting for?" you asked, voice husky with need. with a swift motion, lando yanked your shirt open, sending buttons flying everywhere. he tossed the ruined garment aside and palmed both breasts, thumbs teasing the sensitive buds. "fuck, these are perfect," he groaned, leaning down to capture one in his mouth.

as he suckled and nibbled, his other hand worked to unfasten your pants. you lifted your hips to aid him, desperate for relief from the throbbing ache between your thighs.

lando's fingers hooked into your panties and tugged them down, exposing your slick, swollen pussy to his hungry gaze. "christ, look at you," he breathed, dragging a finger through your wet folds. "so ready for me."

oscar

lost in the throes of pleasure, you failed to notice the bedroom door creak open. your heart skipped a beat as oscar stepped inside, his piercing eyes fixed on the lewd scene before him. he stood frozen for a moment, taking in the sight of you impaled on the doll, your legs wrapped around its waist as you grinded against it with abandon.

oscar's gaze then drifted down to the doll's face, which bore an uncanny resemblance to his own. his lips curled into a smirk, and he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"well, well, well," oscar drawled, his deep voice dripping with amusement and a hint of arousal. "looks like i've caught you in quite the compromising position, haven't i?"

your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and excitement, unsure how to respond to his unexpected intrusion. you could feel your body reacting instinctively, the heat between your thighs intensifying as oscar's intense stare made you acutely aware of your nakedness.

slowly, oscar began to prowl closer, his athletic build moving with a predatory grace that sent shivers down your spine. "i must admit, i'm intrigued," he murmured, reaching out to trail a finger along the curve of your breast. "aren't you going to offer me a ride?”

you bit your lip, torn between the desire to maintain your dignity and the overwhelming urge to surrender to oscar's magnetic presence. as if sensing your inner conflict, he leaned in, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, "don't worry, darling. i promise i won't judge... much." with a playful nudge, oscar gently pushed the sex doll aside, causing it to tumble onto the floor with a soft thud. he then slid onto the bed, positioning himself between your spread thighs. his calloused hands roamed your heated flesh, mapping every contour as if committing them to memory.

as oscar's fingers delved deeper, teasing your sensitive folds, you let out a whimper, your back arching off the mattress. "mmm, so responsive," he purred, his thumbs circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes.

with a mischievous glint in his eye, oscar captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging past your parted lips to tangle with yours. the taste of you seemed to ignite something primal within him, and he growled low in his throat, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core.

breaking the kiss, oscar sat up, his muscular frame towering over you as he grasped your hips and pulled you flush against him. the hard length of his erection pressed insistently against your belly, making it clear just how affected he was by the intimate scene unfolding.

"you're absolutely gorgeous like this," oscar breathed, his gaze drinking in the sight of you, flushed and wanton, sprawled beneath him. "but i think it's time we switch things up, don't you?”

george

the door creaked open, revealing george standing in the threshold, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before him. there, on the living room couch, was you, caught in the act of passionately grinding against an uncannily lifelike sex doll replica. your short skirt had ridden up around your hips, exposing the lacy edges of your thong. the black fabric clung to your plump rear, highlighting every curve as you moved. your chest heaved with each thrust, straining against the buttons of your blouse.

george's mouth hung agape, his gaze fixated on the obscene display. he seemed frozen in place, unable to look away from the lewd spectacle unfolding before him.

"blimey... what the fuck?" george stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

as if sensing george's presence, you slowly turned your head to face him, your lips parting in a breathy moan. your glassy eyes were half-lidded with lust, pupils dilated as they locked onto george's stunned expression.

without breaking eye contact, you reached back to fumble with the fastenings of your blouse, popping free a few buttons to reveal more of your heaving cleavage. the soft flesh spilled out, adorned with a lacy white bra that did little to conceal your rosy nipples, now stiff with arousal.

"can't a girl get some privacy around here?" you purred, your voice husky with need.

george's jaw clenched, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. his eyes darted between your face and the sex doll beneath you, a mix of disbelief and dark fascination etched on his features.

"i... i didn't know you were home," he managed to choke out, his voice cracking slightly. he took a tentative step forward, as if drawn to the forbidden scene like a moth to flame.

the movement caused you to glance down, noticing the prominent bulge straining against george's racing heartbeat in his trousers. a wicked grin spread across your face as you met his gaze once more.

"oh, i think you're starting to get the idea," you whispered, trailing a hand down your stomach to toy with the waistband of your thong.

george's eyes followed the path of your fingers, his breath hitching as he watched you tease the damp fabric of your panties. the air grew thick with tension, heavy with the unspoken promise of debauchery. with a sudden burst of boldness, george closed the distance between you, his hands coming to rest on your hips. his touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fresh wave of desire within you.

"you're such a naughty girl, aren't you?" george murmured, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. "wasting this perfect body on a lifeless doll."

his words sparked a fire in your core, and you rocked your hips back into his touch, craving more of his attention. with deft fingers, you released your bra clasp, allowing the garment to fall away and expose your breasts to george's hungry gaze.

yuki

yuki walked into your house, tossing his emergency keys on the entryway table. he called out, "i'm here!" but was met with an eerie silence. frowning slightly, he made his way towards the living room, curious about the strange noises coming from that direction.

as he approached, the sounds grew louder - rhythmic creaking and soft, breathy moans. yuki pushed open the door, and what he saw made his jaw drop. there, sprawled out on the couch, was none other than you, his roomate. but it wasn't just you that caught his attention. beneath you, moving in sync with your hips, was an incredibly lifelike sex doll replica.

he stood frozen, eyes wide as saucers as he took in the lewd scene before him. you, lost in the throes of passion, continued to ride the sex doll replica without noticing yuki’s presence initially. the doll's silicone skin felt so real beneath your hands as you gripped its shoulders for leverage. each thrust sent waves of pleasure through your body, the doll's internal mechanisms providing delicious friction.

soft whimpers and gasps escaped your lips, growing louder as you chased your impending climax. the obscene wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, mixing with the creak of the couch under the intense pace you set. lost in your own world of ecstasy, you remained blissfully unaware that someone had witnessed your private moment of debauchery... until yuki cleared his throat loudly behind you.

startled by the sudden sound, you froze mid-thrust, a yelp of surprise escaping your lips. your heart raced as you slowly turned your head to look over your shoulder, still straddling the sex doll. when your eyes landed on yuki standing there, mouth agape, a deep blush spread across your cheeks.

"oh my god, yuki! i... i can explain..." you stammered, mortified yet oddly excited to be caught in such a compromising position. the cool air hitting your exposed lower half made you shiver.

despite the awkward situation, you couldn't help but feel a thrill run through you, knowing he was witnessing your wanton display. the doll's phallus remained buried inside you, keeping you deliciously full. his eyes roamed over your disheveled form, taking in every intimate detail - the flush of your skin, the glisten of sweat on your brow, the way your thighs trembled around the sex doll. yuki swallowed hard, trying to process the erotic sight before him.

"i, uh... wow," he managed to say, voice rough with surprise and poorly concealed arousal. "i didn't expect to come home to this." his gaze flicked back to your face, noting the mix of embarrassment and guilty excitement in your expression.

yuki took a step closer, drawn in despite himself. "so, um, care to tell me what exactly is going on here?" he gestured vaguely at the lewd tableau, curiosity and something darker simmering in his eyes. the tension between you crackled with unspoken possibilities.

your heart pounded in your chest as george approached, his intense gaze sending shivers down your spine. the heat of his body seemed to radiate against your bare skin. you licked your suddenly dry lips, mind racing for a coherent explanation even as your body thrummed with need.

"i…i just couldn't resist trying it out," you admitted, squirming slightly on top of the doll. the movement caused it to shift inside you, drawing a soft moan from your throat. "it feels so good, yuki. i got carried away..." your tongue darted out to wet your lips again as you looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes.

yuki’s pupils dilated as he watched your little show, drinking in every detail - the way your tongue flicked over your plump lips, the breathy quality of your voice, the subtle roll of your hips grinding against the doll. he could practically feel the heat radiating off your body.

"that's quite the discovery you have made," he murmured, voice low and husky. he took another step closer until he was looming over you, one hand braced on the back of the couch. his other hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face almost tenderly.

"if you wanted to tried something like this, all you had to do was ask me," he said with a grin, fingers trailing down the side of your neck. "i would've been more than happy to assist you... personally.”

pierre

your heart raced as you locked eyes with pierre, standing in the doorway with a mixture of shock and curiosity etched on his handsome face.

"p-please, don't tell anyone," you stammered, trying to cover yourself with a nearby blanket while desperately hoping he'd leave without making a scene. but the frenchman took a step closer, his piercing blue gaze fixed intently on the lewd display before him.

"i…” his touch ignited a fire within you, and you leaned into his hand, craving more of his warmth. pierre's fingers trailed down your neck, across your collarbone, and came to rest on the swell of your breast, teasing the fabric of your top.

"you're so beautiful like this," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin material. "and the way you look at me, or almost me... it's intoxicating."

emboldened by his words and actions, you reached up to tug his shirt free from his pants, revealing the chiseled expanse of his chest. pierre's skin was warm to the touch, and you couldn't resist exploring every inch of him, mapping the contours of his muscles with eager hands.

as you kissed along his jawline, nipping and sucking at his earlobe, pierre's grip on your breast tightened.

"ah, fuck," he groaned, his cock twitching in his pants as your lips worked magic on his sensitive flesh. "you're playing with fire, darling."

with a swift motion, pierre shed his clothes, revealing his magnificent erection, thick and long, already leaking precum at the tip. you gazed up at him, mouth watering at the sight, and felt a surge of possessiveness wash over you.

mine, you thought, even as a part of you wondered if you could truly handle a man of his caliber.

but then pierre's hands were on you again, sliding under your skirt to cup your ass, squeezing the plump globes and pulling you flush against his hard body. his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, tongues dancing and tangling as he devoured your moans.

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theealbatross · 9 months ago

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marry me (s.s.)

Plot | The 3 times Sebastian thought about marrying you and the 1 time he asked.

Tags | miscommunication, mentions of murder and poisonings, fluff, implied smut, dangerous idiots in love, fluff, 6k-ish words

A/N: sorry this took so long i went on a vacation! One of the funniest line about Ominis locking the two of them up was written by @/shinzhon in our discord server!

Series Masterlist - the rest of the chapters here

“Seriously Sebastian, how many times has it been this month?”

“It’s not my fault this time, I swear!”

“So, you slipped and somehow ended up in the Restricted Section? Is there some secret passage I hadn’t known about? Care to share to the class?” Ominis pinned him with a look and despite knowing his friend was blind Sebastian still raised his hands in surrender. Ominis sighed, there was no point really. When he had agreed to be friends with the troublesome boy in their first year he had signed up for this. It’s his fault for not seeing the mischievousness in those innocent brown eyes.

“I’m surprised,” Ominis continued as he started the trek back to their common room, the painful small talks he had with the headmaster in order to prevent anything getting sent to Solomon already fading as he got further away from the office. He could only imagine the absolute hell the old man would’ve sent their way if he had heard of his rendezvous in the Restricted Section. “It just isn’t like you.”

Sebastian scoffed, “To be in the Restricted Section? Where have you been the past year?”

“No, you idiot,” he hissed. “It isn’t like you to be caught.”

The falter in Sebastian’s steps had him raising an eyebrow, neck snapping back in accusation. “I’ve been caught once,” Sebastian reminded him quickly of the time Scribner first put the anti-Alohamora charm in the doors of the Restricted Section.

"I'm not finished," He’s hiding something. “It isn’t like you to be caught twice.”

He stopped on his track at the sound of Sebastian’s wince. “Okay, don’t be mad –”

“Oh no.”

“The new fifth-year needed some help to get in the restricted section because – well, I actually can’t tell you, she made me swear – and it’s bigger than the both of us and it was going so well! But Peeves caught just as we were about to –”

“Honestly, Sebastian, enough!”

He didn’t need to hear any of this.

Sebastian was right. Whatever great big mess that new kid was in the middle of was bigger than the both of them. And he has had more than enough on his plate trying to keep his friend out of trouble without the additional presence of another mysterious adrenaline junkie being thrown in the mix – one who was worryingly a magnet for big trouble. It was no wonder Sebastian was transfixed; he was looking at the damn mirror.

“Whatever fascination you have with that girl ends now,” It doesn’t escape him how much he sounded like a father getting in-between two lovers. He would’ve laughed in incredulity at the current situation he had found himself in if he wasn’t so bloody frustrated. “You get in enough trouble on your own, she doesn’t need to be sucking you up in her own problems.”

Sebastian makes a sound that doesn’t sound like a ‘yes, Ominis’ and the blond’s blood vessels nearly pop. He cannot believe this.

“Come on, it wasn’t like that. Honestly, she was brilliant! You should’ve been there; she took to the Disillusionment spell so quick that if we hadn’t let out guard down, we –”

“Oh, Merlin’s Beard, why don’t you marry the damn girl and the both of you leave me out of your tomfooleries!”

That would be ideal, he thinks. In a perfect world, he’s going to lock the two of them in a room and eat the key. There he would have no daily nuisances, won’t have to worry about sneaky Slytherins and the explosion of troubles they bring with them, and won’t need to suffer through Headmaster Black’s presence to get them out of it. A thankless job that brought nothing but headaches.

It was only when he was out of his blissful reverie that he realized his headache had stopped walking behind him seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

No.

“Sebastian … “

The other boy audibly flinched, his breath now irregular, and Ominis will bet all the galleons in the Gaunt’s vault that if he could see his old friend’s face would be as red as a Gryffindor’s arse right now.

He could almost cry, his palms producing embarrassing cold sweats at the absolute worst-case scenario unfolding in front of his unseeing eyes. “Please – I am begging you – not this one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh no, no, no.

Suddenly, the prospect of Sebastian and this troublemaker getting together was not that idyllic. In quick successions, all possible worst-case scenario popped in Ominis head. Sebastian was bad enough, if he had someone who was equally as reckless and rash as him it would be something out of his worst nightmare.

Ominis is a good person. This can’t be happening to him.

“Sebastian, listen to me –”

With only a breeze as his answer Sebastian skipped right past Ominis and up the grand staircase. Ominis could feel the heat of his face. “No time to talk. Got somewhere to be –”

“Sebastian, no!”

Why must it keep happening to him?

Sebastian was pretty sure the house in Feldcroft has not heard Anne’s laughter in a long, long time. Yet, here you were, huddled together with his sister, whispering giggle-worthy stories about him no doubt by the way your gaze kept fluttering back to him, and lifting the dreadful ooze that has monopolized the small space since his sister’s illness.

“Nice girl,” He had nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized his uncle had been sitting on the spare bed hidden by a curtain.

“Y-Yeah,” Merlin’s beard you even got his unpleasant uncle’s favor in such a short time – a miracle worker, truly. “She’s … quite something.”

Talking to him has always been awkward.

Even before Anne had gotten sick, he found it difficult to converse with the man who looked too much but was simultaneously nothing like his gentle, kind father. And maybe it was also the childish insistence that if he had let the man into his heart, he would betray his parents – his father – that he just couldn’t let him in. It would feel too much like replacing him so he just opted in letting Solomon linger at the precipice of his life and the man was more than happy to do so.

After all, if Solomon was nothing like his father, Sebastian was everything that reminded Solomon of his dead brother. And those were holes none of them could fill for each other.

“You know, your mother was the same,” Sebastian’s eyebrows raised, never hearing Solomon talk about her till now. “When she was a 7th year I was just starting in Hogwarts and let me tell you, I had little hope for that brother of mine of ever getting her attention.”

His uncle continued to stare at you like he was seeing a ghost – the good kind – not the kind he sees when he looks at him. “She was brilliant, loved by even the firmest professors. And was always willing to hold out a helping hand, even to lost first years whose ass of a brother left to go fend for himself in the confusing moving stairs of Hogwarts.”

Even Sebastian let out a chuckle at that ridiculous image. Sometimes he forgets that even his old uncle had once been a child. The thought is uncomfortable, especially looking at the man he is now. “I always told him he was out of his mind for courting your mother but did my crazy brother listen? Absolutely not.”

Where was he going with this?

Sebastian returned his eyes back to you.

Brilliant, admirable, courageous you.

With your bright smile that feeds his ego by always shining brighter with him. The recklessness that never fails to infuriate and impress on his last nerves. The kindness you innately had in you that makes him want to wrap you up in the finest silk then lock you up in an impenetrable room so nobody else may ever touch it – so nobody else may have you.

That would be best, he thinks.

“It would seem even that insanity he had passed on to you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths so all his blood doesn’t go to his face, unable to look at the older man. “It’s not like that,” he cleared his throat, now unable to look at you. “We’re … friends.”

“A good … companionship is built upon friendship,” Sebastian’s head whipped to this uncle as if to say ‘how would you know?’ but his uncle just grunted, shrugging before standing up to busy himself in the kitchen, calling you out to assist and telling Anne to take her medicine.

A good companionship. He knows it’s a bit too early but the thought of it wasn’t as horrifying as he thought it would be. The budding interest he had in his new friend was pushed and shoved into the deepest nook of his brain – he had more pressing things to tend to, one that was more important than discerning why he could recognize the sound of her laughter in the middle of dinner in the Great Hall.

But if he really thinks about it, takes a moment to breathe and considers it … it would be nice. She’s had research interest but with her grades and skill being a renowned curse-breaker or even an auror isn’t out of the question. If he works hard, he knows he’d be able to keep up and support her and Anne – maybe even set up an apartment in the city, they can just visit his sister when they have the chance.

Of course,he will try to encourage her to settle back down in Feldcroft if Anne still lives here but Irondale is quite beautiful too, a good place to practice flying when they have a family, let his children experience a true childhood surrounded by peace and quiet – two kids would be nice. Twins run in the family so maybe he could convince her for another one if their first pair are of the same gender. He would really like a daughter who looks just like --

“I like her.”

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian jumped when he realized his twin sister was now right in front of him while he was deep in his embarrassing delusions. (When did the members of his family become so sneaky?) She grinned at him as if she knew exactly what had him so distracted. To avoid her piercing stare, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he guided her in the little nook of her bedroom where all the vials full of her medicines were stored.

“I knew you would. ‘s why I brought her here.”

“Oh?” Anne nonchalantly drank a disgusting-looking fluid in one gulp. “So, it wasn’t cause you wanted to monopolize her and get ahead of your competition back at Hogwarts?”

Sebastian gawked, his entire body heating up from the accusation. “What – no, it’s not – I thought she would cheer you up!”

He quickly took a quick peek at the corner, relieved that you were too busy charming his uncle off to hear such absurd allegations against him. He wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression of him at all. After all, for how wondrous those visions are, he puts your friendship on a pedestal above anything else.

He thinks he’ll be more than content to be just your friend. Maybe.

“How gracious of you, brother,” Anne smirked, in this light it was almost like the old Anne.

Sebastian smirked at her, masking indifference, “I try.”

He should’ve known. Anne would be the one who might just see through all of him, even the things he likes to keep from his head. Even his most impossible dreams of cozy cottages and soft days.

“Sebastian!” The twins straightened up at your voice, both felt like they had been caught red-handed as you cheerfully rounded the corner. “Oh, was I interrupting –”

“No, not at all!” Anne pushed Sebastian firmly, making him stumble and catch himself just as he was about to crash into you. The proximity forces him to stare as your eyes crinkled when you smiled. He stops breathing.

You’ll look dazzling in white; he thinks.

“Your uncle told me your neighbor had some mint in their garden, said you could help me find it? It would go well with the juice.”

Sebastian’s eyes fell to your lips as you spoke before physically ripping his eyes out to look at your eyes, nodding, as his brain tried to keep up between his imagination and the reality of your face in front of his. You grinned, already walking towards the door. He lets out a breath, the faint traces of your perfume that he gave you wafting an enchanting trail that kept his gaze on your retreating back.

“Get on with it,” Anne pushed him again and this time he gave her his deadliest glare as he followed after you. “You can’t hide her in Feldcroft forever.”

“Zip it.”

Solomon stood next to Anne as they stared at the two sweethearts in their own worlds as they made an adventure out of the small trip. Anne couldn’t help but giggle when Sebastian tripped because he was too busy looking at you instead of the road.

“Are men always this stubborn and stupid?”

“No,” Solomon grumbled, heart aching fondly when in a blink he could almost see a different mirage of figures that were both familiar and strangers at the same time. “He’s just his father’s son.”

“It’s over.”

Sebastian turned his head, straying his eyes away from the night sky framed by the room’s glass ceiling to look at you. “It’s over.”

The two of you lay down on the floor of the room of requirement, sneaking away from the graduation party to spend the last moments of your life as a student in Hogwarts together. It wasn’t intentional, you had sneaked out for a proper goodbye to the sentient room and thanked it for everything it had provided for you but, like always, Sebastian had gotten ahold of your sneaking form before you could take two steps away from his side.

Sebastian can see that the inevitability of it all is making you emotional, a Hogwarts-shaped hole already forming in the crevices of your heart. The thought of no longer having this haven to escape the world's cruel realities makes him sigh.

“I’m terrified,” your whispered confession surprised him.

His gallant darling? Scared?

“What for?”

You smiled at him sheepishly. “It feels stupid but … I’m scared of things changing. I feel like that little girl again – 15 years old and alone in this great, big world I was thrust into.” Sebastian noticed a shudder crawl over your body. “And this time I won’t have a cheeky Slytherin lad to show me around.”

Sebastian frowned, unsure if he was more disappointed at you for thinking you would lose him that easily or at himself for not nailing that the two of you were tethered forevermore in that bright head of yours.

Instead, he took your shaking hands that you tried to hide and held on to it tight.

You smiled up at him. “Promise to stay in touch?”

He could almost scoff at such an understatement of a request. Do you know I’m never letting you go?

“You’re not getting away from me that easily,” he grinned, hoping to charm the rest of your remnant fears away. “I expect weekly letters while I’m away from training.”

You scrunched your nose, which he thinks is just adorable “What? So you can brag to your fellow trainees you have a lovesick lady waiting for you at home?”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling and heart racing, “Maybe I should keep a photo of you plastered on my wall then, really commit to the part. A pretty face like you on my walls should make me the envy of my entire group.”

Her laugh came out nervous, her grip on his hands tightened. She’s still scared.

If only he had been sorted in Gryffindor maybe then he would’ve been daring enough to say something. To fall to his knees in this room and let his forehead kiss the ground and beg you to stay with him, run away with him, marry him. To let him spend the rest of his lowly life making sure you will never be lonely again.

But the fates were cruel and for all his pretense of confidence, the gods’ honest truth is he is a coward. A coward with no prospects.

If he wants your hand he needs to prepare, to follow the plan he had mapped out since the night he had realized he would very much like to spend the rest of his life with you or die trying. He might not be worth anything for now but he’ll make himself enough. He just needs to hold on … just two more years – it’s all he asks.

Just two years for him to establish himself, to become someone, to earn the right to ask you. He knows it will be hard, you’ll be engrossed in your own research and won’t be able to see him as he trains to be an auror. And there was always a risk of you meeting someone else but he’s already made Poppy swear to report everything to him while she accompanies you in your travels, a contingency plan for any hurdle that may put a wrench in his plans.

If all of this fails then so be it, but he won’t lose you from a lack of planning or trying.

“Why are you looking at me like that?

He didn’t realize he was staring at you while his thoughts ran wild. The dark of your eyes reflected the ceilings you had charmed with the sky of the Forbidden Forest. The dim hue of the room made you look ethereal, like a forest fairy sent to lead him to a beautiful doom. He’d follow you anywhere.

Is it too soon to tell you I love you?

Is it too late?

“Have I ever told you that you’re the only one I need?” Sebastian suddenly whispered, vulnerable.

It’s the closest thing he’ll allow himself to say for now, placating the intensity of his need to be close to you by properly laying on his side and pressing a firm hand on your cheeks as you followed his lead, your own loosely dangling on his waist.

“Don’t you think Ominis will be quite offended by that?” you teased, your fingers tracing patterns on his spine.

He couldn’t help but match your grin, “He’ll live.”

“Sebastian,” your words quiet but he moved his hand at the back of your head to pull you in closer, muffling your following words on his chest. “Promise me nothing will change?”

Sebastian’s hold on you tensed, pressing the gentlest kiss at the top of your head to silence his protests.

No, he wants to scream. Everything has to change.

He’ll change everything for you.

“I promise,” he lies.

He’s no Gryffindor, after all.

[ 5 years later ]

“I almost fucking killed you!”

You rolled your eyes, which was a bad idea considering the curse that malfunctioned in Gringott’s brought upon a gaggle of Inferis along with a mutated one that grew about ten feet tall. Before it could lunge straight at your head, Sebastian – Merlin’s beard, he was still as handsome as the day you had left Hogwarts – pulled you into him before casting a Protego followed by a Confringo, blasting the undead’s arm away.

Still his favorite after all these years.

“What? You become a bigshot Auror and forget my face?!”

With an Incendio, the rest of the Inferis were now weakened enough that Sebastian was able to finish them all in one go (bloody hell!). Giving you time to gather yourself and lash out a heavy burst of ancient magic to take care of the giant Inferi once and for all.

You wobbled from the effort but firm hands and a chest caught you. When you looked up you were greeted by a cantankerous Sebastian covered in dust and dirt.

“As if I could see your face in those ridiculous glasses you’re wearing. Is that a lizard’s eye?”

You pulled on the offending thing, turning and standing on your tiptoes to put it on him, then he could see that it helps with seeing the traps laid out around the vault. “Satisfied your inquiries, Mr. Auror?”

He pushed the glasses to the top of his head, still looking down at you with a suspicious glare. Damn him and damn the entire male race for their inability to stop growing their limbs. “I should have you arrested. Illegally breaking into Gringots? What were you thinking?”

“Please, any curse-breaker you sent this way would’ve been eaten by that curse, I barely got out with my life if not for my ancient magic.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows twitched in the familiar way when he wasn’t particularly fond of you – which usually only happens when you throw yourself in danger … like today. Old habits die hard.

“I –”

“Save it,” he raised a palm. You sucked your lips into a thin line comically – it has been half a decade since you last saw him after all, you’re not entirely quite sure If this Sebastian in front of you would hesitate in throwing his prodigal best friend into the cold stone walls of a ministry ordained prison. “You owe me.”

Before he could, you fired off a blast of ancient magic behind him, crushing the lone Inferi that was bidding its time under a rock. You smirked. “Are we even now?”

“Not even fucking close,” His face was blank, unamused. Sebastian’s patience has never been the longest but this is one of the few times his ire was aimed at you, the novelty of it would make you blush if you weren’t so guilty. “Where have you been?”

This time it was your smile that fell, eyes dropping with it in shame. Straight to it, huh.

“Sebastian … I left a lett –“

“A letter! You call that a letter?!” He guffawed, turning his back on you and started pacing just at the ledge that led to a very, very, long fall to the bottom of Gringotts. Your fingers twitched to reach out for him but you had a feeling he wasn’t particularly interested in getting mothered right now as he spiraled out the words you’re sure he had surely been holding the past years. “My dearest friend, one who fights trolls for practice and is the most wanted woman of all dark wizards in the country disappears without a trace even when I spent an entire year searching for her –”

He looked for you?

“—but oh no! All is well Sebastian, she left you a bloody note!”

You felt like a reprimanded toddler but maybe (just maybe) you deserved it. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”

Something in your words snapped the last of Sebastian’s nerve. The gall of you – to stand here like it was nothing. The days he had spent tracking you, dreading the moment he would be greeted by your corpse.

How dare you leave? How dare you leave him? Of all the people in this world you were the one who was supposed to stay on his side.

‘I’ll be back. I promise. I just need time’

He marched to where you were standing, cupping both of your shoulders so you can look at him. “I will be given an explanation.”

Instead, your eyes fell on his left hand. He followed your line of sight, the gold band around his finger making all your cruelest nightmares come true.

How did it come to this? You scoured your memories of your entire friendship – how had the two of you come from being unable to keep a single secret from each other to strangers that have too many unspoken grievances in between them?

Was this inevitable?

Finally, you gathered your strength. He did deserve the truth from you of all people. And you could truly never keep a secret from Sebastian even now – which is also why you left. The shame, the unjustified anger, the hurt in your chest when you looked at him – you couldn’t handle it.

“I … I heard from Leander.”

His frown deepened. What does Leander have anything to do with this?

“I was going to visit you on the last weekend of your training. Then Leander caught me in town and he said … he said that after you had finished your auror training you were planning to propose, that you were already looking for a ring.”

He is going to kill that orange blabbermouth fuc –

“I couldn’t – surely, you couldn’t be that daft. I … I loved you, Sebastian! And I know I’m your friend and I should’ve been there for you. And I really am – I am happy for you,” you took his hand, your gentle touch shakily running through the gold band around his ring finger as you tried to hold back the tears. It felt like it was mocking you, like it could burn a mark on your skin. “If anyone deserves to build a family it would be you. I just … in that moment I couldn’t be happy for you. I needed to remove myself from the situation and I couldn’t say goodbye – you wouldn’t have let me! I panicked and I was hurt and … I really am sorry. I’m so sorry, Sebastian.”

As humiliating as it was to say all the hurt that you were carrying with you as you traveled the world to escape your love for him it did make you feel lighter. Were you a coward? Maybe so. But you will not shame your past self for what she did out of hurt and fear. It was painful but necessary.

It wasn’t until Sebastian was cupping your face and wiping your cheeks with his thumb that you realized you had been crying.

“Darling, who did you think the ring was for?”

You blinked, “What?”

You could tell he was trying to lengthen his patience with you, clearly as he was the more emotionally stable one at the moment even though it looked like he was at the precipice of choking you. "Have I ever told you that I was courting anyone?”

The conversation was taking a turn you weren't expecting. “N-No, but Leander and Everett used to keep teasing you about the Ministry girls that was always at your tail so I just assumed …”

He raised his eyebrows, holding onto your cheeks tighter so you had to look at him. For the first time in your entire friendship, you couldn’t read him at all. “I assumed you became interested in one of them.”

He sighed, “No, sweetheart. I did not become interested in any of them.”

You frowned, still feeling the cold ring on your cheek. “Then who did you marry?”

“I’m … not married.” This time it was him who seemed to blush, actually breaking eye contact to chuckle. When he looked back at you it was like you were getting a peek of the boyish Sebastian you once knew. “I would have been if the beautiful witch I had been chasing did not disappear on me right when I was about to propose.”

His words sunk into you like molasses, the wrinkle in between your eyebrows disappearing as your eyes widened in realization. Surely, he doesn’t mean –

“I just wore it since I would’ve been wearing it either way if someone had said yes. And it’s a more effective way to ward off any hopefuls. A little white lie to cover up my bruised heart and spare their egos”

“Wait, wait –“you tried to push him away but one of his arms just wrapped around your back, pushing your chest to his. He wasn’t going to let you get away this time, if he has to cast a binding spell on you without your knowledge then so be it.

The past five years had been torture enough.

“I guess it’s what I deserved. Letting the love of my life wait around just because my pride wanted me to earn the right to ask for her hand. The Hero of Hogwarts, the brightest witch of our age – surely, I couldn’t just ask her, could I?”

The abundance of information threatened to drown your head in. Pieces of the grand puzzle that never seemed to fit right clicking and clacking in your head as you slowly pieced together the blanks in the history of your relationship because you didn’t bother to ask and he didn’t bother to say anything.

He means you right? He was going to propose to you? The bloody ring you’ve been having nightmares about was for you?!

But he had never … I mean sure you flirted here and there but it was nothing … official. No words were ever shared, no announcements, nor formality.

It was all very … murky and ambiguous.

“Hey, back to me, darling,” he gently pressed his thumb that was still holding on to your cheek. “I swear even when we’re together it’s like you’re still running away.” As if suddenly lost in thought himself he murmured, “Should I charm a chain on you, after all?”

You blinked and the dark glint in his eyes that you had only seen in his darkest moments in your fifth year disappeared, now replaced with a small cheeky smile.

“Sebastian, the ring was it – surely it wasn’t –”

“For you?” He was so close now that you could count all the freckles in his face, his lips running through your cheeks, even pressing a kiss on your temple. “Then riddle me this, my love – if not for you then who else would it be for? Hmm? Who else would I be begging to be my wife if not my most treasured friend? The one person who stood beside me through it all?”

Another kiss on your cheeks. “The only light in my life?”

The underside of your jaw. “The beautiful witch who had rudely stolen my heart when we were children then had the nerve to run away with it just as I was able to gather all the courage I had to ask for hers in return?”

He moved both of his hands to wrap around your waist, pulling and pulling and pulling as if he wanted to meld the two of you together. “Who else but you? There was and would’ve been nobody else but you.”

A shadow of a kiss at the edge of your lips. “You’re the only woman I have ever loved.”

Your heart threatens to explode.

“And you’re the only one I will ever love,” he whispered, but the quiet of the caves of Gringotts made his voice echo inside your overheating skull.

You had been aware of Sebastian’s charms when you were younger but now that he was using his pretty face and raspy voice at its full extent while professing his love for you in the murky caves of Gringotts and pieces of Inferi corpses scattered on the ground – you could almost feel your brain malfunctioning.

“I had resigned myself to a life of isolation if you had never come back,” he declared. “But you did. Why?”

He was not going to accept anything less than the truth. The intensity behind his eyes, the grip he has around you was so firm you were almost hanging off the ground. The unbearable weight of your guilt for almost driving this man to insanity even if it had not been your intention had you letting go of your defenses.

“Because I missed you,” you admitted, eyes looking straight at him to finally bare your soul. “And I couldn’t find anything the world could offer that could compare to you. Even if we just remained friends I –”

His chuckle cut you off.

“We could never just be friends,” he whispered, you couldn’t agree more. “We were never just friends. Darling, I’m not a religious man but if soulmates are real then yours and mine have always been tied to each other. And if whatever god is up there was cruel enough not to have done that then I would’ve knotted it myself.”

You giggle through your tears – you had played out so many fantasies of Sebastian’s confessions and yet now that you were living your wildest dreams it felt like your heart was trying to escape your chest.

“If you hadn’t come back, it would’ve done nothing short of killing me, you have to know that,” a ragged breath escapes him as if the mere memory of your escape were enough to cause him physical pain. “Because I love you and I have always loved you even back when I didn’t know what love is. Even when love was a mere flutter in my chest every time I looked at you. Even when I was a fool in a path to destruction I … I have always, always loved you.”

You nodded, almost gasping at the intensity of his words. “I love you too, Sebastian. So much. I would’ve always come back. I couldn’t – I would’ve honestly poisoned your wife if you had married another.”

A laugh exploded out of his mouth at your sudden proclamation, echoing through the eerie corners of the caves. “And I had more than enough daydreams of torturing any lovers you might’ve taken in your travels.” The sickly-sweet tone that contrasted such horrid words had you giggling.

“Think we should stick to each other then?” You roped an arm around his neck, letting him carry your dead weight. “Spare some poor suckers from poisons and murders.”

He grinned, leaning in closer and closer, “You always had been the one with bright ideas.”

You smiled just as he finally pressed his lips into yours. Even your wildest dream couldn’t compare to this. Sebastian’s greedy grip on your waist, his familiar scent, his taste – him. It wasn’t perfect – a bit too rough, too needy yet somehow never enough – it was better, a perfect amalgamation of your entire relationship.

“Marry me,” he commanded in between kisses, too desperate to separate from you for more than a second. “Tell me you’ll have me.”

“You’re mine,” You gasp when he suddenly turned you around and pressed you on the jagged wall of the cave. “Always been mine.”

You’ve never not been mine.

Suddenly, Sebastian ended your kisses, a whine slipping out of your throat which he placated with a quick peck before he haphazardly pulled a necklace of some kind around his neck, snapping it to let the pendant fall into his palms.

Only it wasn’t a pendant. It was a ring. The ring.

“Oh my, Sebastian,” your vision blurs with tears as he gently takes your shaking hand, slipping the beautiful jewelry on your ring finger where it shall sit forever. “It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to marry you.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead to your temple as you continued to admire the ring on your finger.

“You keep buttering me up like this and I’ll have to kidnap the first priest I see when we get out of here.”

“I wouldn’t object to that, we’ve never been one for propriety.”

“I can’t believe we had our first kiss in Gringott’s of all places,” he muttered, the vibration of his voice tickling your chest as he buries his face in it.

“That wasn’t my first kiss.”

That had his head snapping, eyes murderous at your words. "What?”

“It wasn’t yours either.”

“Huh.”

You nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact as he tries to scour through his memories.

“Remember our fight in the Room of Requirement? About the Triwizards game?”

He winced. “I’d rather not remember that.”

You shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You settled back, knowing him well enough to know his mind was rapidly working through his memories to figure out the cryptic declaration you had confessed.

It had been frustrating when you had remembered such important event days after it happened. All it had taken was a faint whiff of Sebastian’s shampoo in your pillow in the room of requirement before you were shooting up in your bed at the memories trickling in your brain as you tried to figure out if it had been one of your more apparent daydreams only to scream when you had realized it had happened and the two of you completely forgot about it.

You had become wary of Sebastian then, staring and studying his face at any hint that he also had the luck of remembering such bold confessions from you. You aren’t sure if you were more relieved or disappointed when he showed no inkling of gaining the curse of such knowledge like you.

But at your sudden engagement to him, you believe you have suffered enough of such vexations alone. You are to be married after all which means the two of you shall share every burden from now on -- even the most embarrassing and frustrating ones.

Sebastian’s muscles locked, pushing himself up to cage you in bed as his frantic eyes widened.

You grin. He remembers.

“No fucking way.”

“Yes way.”

He slumps back down in your chest, groaning. “Are you sure you're okay with marrying a bloody idiot?”

Your body shakes with laughter. “Lucky for you, idiots are just my type.”

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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azrielwingspan · 1 year ago

Text

SOON (THEO NOTT X READER)

Summary : Theodore Nott was just another Slytherin asshole to most of Hogwarts. But to you, he was something much much more.

Themes : Mild kissing and swearing.

A/N : This is my first Theo fic AHHH. Just thought I would give it a shot. Let me know how it is!

P.S.- This is strictly a one shot. There will be no part 2.

"He is quite charming isn't he?" Ginny commented sneaking a glance at Theodore Nott. Seated at the Slytherin table between his usual rowdy gang of friends, he smirked at something Lorenzo had said.

"I think the word you're looking for is enigmatic, Gin. For all we know, he could be Voldemort in disguise." you stated flatly, stabbing a piece of potato on your plate. Earning a smack on the arm for using You-know-who's name so boldly, you ignored Ginny's attempts at convincing you to attend the party being thrown tonight.

"Help me understand why you're so bloody against the idea?! Is it because you have to bring a date?" she raised her eyebrows in question.

"That may be a part of the reason." you refused to meet her owl like stare, instead choosing to focus on the copy of the Daily Prophet in front of you.

"Why would that be an issue ? I can name five people off the top of my head who would say yes instantly." she prodded further, thankfully choosing to redirect her gaze towards the mail she'd received. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, you snuck a glance at Theodore again. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled upto his elbow and you greedily took in the sight of his veiny forearms.

"What are you looking at?" Ginny broke you out of the reverie, your eyes immediately flitting towards the shawl Pansy was wearing.

"Pansy's new shawl. I can't recall which store I've seen it in but it looks very familiar." The lie rolled out smoothly, misleading Ginny. The pang of guilt ,that never lessened in impact, hit you yet again.

"Oh. Yeah, it does look quite familiar now that you mention it." She went off on a tangent about clothes and you let out a relieved sigh.

Ginny couldn't know. Not for now atleast.

The morning went on, your focus elsewhere during most of the classes. Ginny hadn't brought up the party again but you knew it was unavoidable. You were definitely acting quite strange. Not being the one to turn down an invite, your sudden refusal to attend this massive party did come as a surprise to your friends.

You had your reasons. Utterly selfish reasons.

However as the evening rolled by, Ginny had cornered you into agreeing. On bringing up the issue of the date, she'd simply shrugged and said "I took care of it."

That did not sound very reassuring.

It was worse than you had expected.

"CORMAC MC FUCKIN LAGGEN ?!?" you hissed at Ginny , your back to the boy in question.

Ginny looked away sheepishly and said "He told Hermione who told me that he had a thing for you. So I thought you guys could talk? I mean you don't have to really. Just drop him off in a corner."

"Drop him---" pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you whipped around to face Laggen and gave him a saccharine smile.

"Nice to meet you Laggen but I'm not interested."

He looked astounded, trying to wrap his head around the rejection. After a few seconds, he managed to sputter out "We haven't talked yet. How can you--"

"Yes. Yes I can. You have my permission to tell everyone I'm your date but please don't approach me again. Bye." you sauntered off into the party, Ginny keeping up behind you.

"Where's Harry anyways?" you asked, straining your neck to see past the crowd.

"Running late. Neville set his pants on fire so Ron and Harry are helping him out."

Shaking your head in amusement, you let your eyes run around the room searching for him.

There.

Theo sat on the couch near the fireplace, one arm thrown around the back , a glass of amber liquid in the other. The smoke from Mattheo's cigarette made his figure hazy.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink." Ginny said her voice floating by. You nodded distractedly , your attention held captive by Theo.

As if sending your presence behind him , he turned his head around and met your eyes. Slight confusion marred his face making his eyebrows furrow. He hadn’t expected you to be here.

Signalling to you with a quick nod of his head, he excused himself from his group of friends and made his way to his dorms. You stayed down for a couple more minutes , getting yourself a drink to throw off suspicion.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d come tonight. Ginny change your mind?” Pansy popped out of the blue , startling you.

“Uh.. Pansy, hey. Yeah you know how Gin is.” Pansy was a bit of a talker. Aware that this conversation could go on forever , you tried to come up with an excuse. “Hey listen, I’ve got to use the bathroom real quick. I’ll find you again alright?”

Not waiting for a response , you made your way in the direction of the bathrooms and took a sharp turn in the opposite direction once you made sure Pansy had redirected her attention. Sneaking up the stairway to the boys dorm, you took a moment for yourself outside Theo’s dorm room, straightening out your clothes.

“Took you long enough.” His voice drawled as you entered his room, the familiar surroundings providing a sense of comfort.

“Pansy almost started a conversation.” You said laughing lightly at his wide eyed expression.

“Didn’t take you long then.” He corrected his previous statement , prowling towards you.

“No. I guess it didn’t.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you into a searing kiss that had you holding onto his shirt for balance. The words 'I missed you' played at the tip of your tongue struggling to be let out.

He nipped at your lower lip , a breathy sigh leaving you as you tangled your hands in his hair.

"Cormac Mc fuckin Laggen? Seriously?" Theo muttered , lowering his head to place soft kisses across your jaw. Leaning your head back to give him more access, you let out a soft laugh. "That's exactly what I said. Ginny is the real culprit."

A strangled moan left your lips as he sucked at your neck, immediately soothing it with a sloppy kiss. "T-Theo..you idiot. That's gonna leave a mark." He just hummed in response seemingly lost in the pleasure. Tugging his head back, you made him meet your gaze head on.

"If we stay up here for any longer, they'll suspect." A shiver passed through you as his hands trailed lower and cupped you arse, pulling your hips to his. "Let them." he said dropping his head to capture your lips once more.

"THEO, YOU IN THERE ??" Blaise Zabini's voice boomed through the door making you jump. A string of Italian curses left Theo's mouth as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah give me a minute!"

Cupping your face in his hands, he leaned down to your face placing you at eye level. "It'll all be over soon alright? We won't have to hide anymore. We can be free." The promise in his eyes lit a spark of hope within you, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Soon." you whispered , your eyes fluttering shut as you placed a kiss on his Dark Mark.

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x fem!reader #theo nott x fem!reader #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #slytherin x reader #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys x you #fanfic #fanfiction

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aemondsbabe · 10 months ago

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Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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🌟add yourself to my taglist!

“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers.

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied.

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it.

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels.

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side.

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head.

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now.

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand.

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.”

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil.

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise.

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely.

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest.

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her.

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you.

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you.

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible.

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot.

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning.

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back.

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat.

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans.

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin.

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other.

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets.

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark.

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm.

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty.

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust.

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time.

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine.

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end.

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright.

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching.

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –”

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.”

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before.

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined.

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side.

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders.

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat.

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh.

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw.

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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morganas-pendragons · 5 months ago

Text

disbelief | elrond peredhel

gif by goodsirs

this is the hurt/comfort elrond fic I promised. enjoy!

summary: you and elrond mourn. Elrond asks something of you.

please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future elrond or celebrimbor fics! this one may get a part 2 because the ideas are FLOWING!

tagging: @celebrimbormylove

SPOILERS FOR 2x08

You know your place is not in the heat of battle. Your gifting has always been music, the lithe fingers of a violinist meant to create beauty within the confines of Lindon's hold. You have made your peace with that.

it does not get any easier when you find out that The High King is having Elrond lead the Elven army to Eregion. Eregion, which is under siege, with Lord Celebrimbor right at the center.

Your heart aches. Celebrimbor is one of Elrond's most beloved kin, and you dread what he may find upon arriving at Eregion.

"He is best suited for this role, and you know it," Gil-Galad remarks as he strides across his study, leaving you to linger by the door as you nervously fiddle with your hands. It is the first time you and Elrond will be apart since your confession of feelings. It is not surprising you are apprehensive to watch him leave. "I do not make promises idly. If I promise that I will return him to you. You do trust my word, do you not?"

"I do, High King."

There's little you can say to Elrond when you meet him at the gate at dawn, still dressed in your nightrobes and tugging messily on your loose hair. It is a nervous habit that you have kept for quite some time that Elrond has tried to break you of by offering to braid your hair every night before you sleep.

You let him. If anything, you are always going to let Elrond treat you with that gentle love he only reserves for you. With those tender touches that cradle you as if you are his most precious, with those eyes that always seek out your own as if he finds respite within your gaze.

As if he finds the ability to embrace the Half-Elven he has hated for so much of his life.

"Meleth nin." Elrond's voice breaks through your reverie as he approaches to cradle your hands in his own. Your aspect softens as you shift closer to press your forehead to his. "You did not need to come see me off. The sun has barely risen over the hills."

"I wish to say goodbye to my beloved," You reply quietly. Reaching into your robes, you produce a handkerchief with your initials pressed into the corner and curl his fingers around it. You'd carefully doused it in the perfume you often wear since your first date in the gardens. "And to tell you to come home to me."

Elrond lifts the handkerchief to his nose and inhales deeply. It is a pleasant scent. One that provokes intimate memories bathed in light.

It is more than enough to keep him fighting.

"I will come home to you." His words are a declaration, a promise written between you both that is sealed with a handkerchief and a kiss shadowed by twilight as you part. "Until then, namárië, my love."

You are left alone at Lindon's gates to watch him depart with the rest of the Elvish army and Gil-Galad. He has specifically asked you to tend to the others who remain while they are both gone, claiming that your ability to create beauty amid such darkness and death was commendable.

The Elves would need it if they were to survive Sauron.

***

The word reaches you through one of the couriers that stumble through Lindon's tree line, bloodied and bruised but carrying a hastily scribbled note from the High King.

Eregion lost. Celebrimbor slain. Return to us with whoever remains in Lindon to this location.. protected by the 3 Rings of Power.

You hold your breath as you scan through the rest of the note.

Elrond is alive.

Relief floods through your body as you scramble back through the gates and begin calling orders to the healers and remaining survivors who remained behind to begin packing their belongings to travel. The group you lead is few, but many of them are in good spirits and are ready to tend to the wounded who fought bravely on the front lines of battle against Sauron.

You're halfway to Gil-Galad's disclosed location when you realize that he's said Celebrimbor has been slain. "Oh, Celebrimbor," You whisper, running the backs of your hands across your eyes as tears blur your vision. You had great respect and a deep admiration for the Elven Smith. He was one of the only elves you'd ever come across who could really understand the depth of your passion for the arts. "Be peaceful, my friend."

Elrond was surely beside himself with grief. You had to find him, and you had to find him soon.

Your party ventured into the cliffs of Gil-Galad's newest sanctuary, guarded by what Elven royal guards remained who guided you toward the waterfall where a makeshift medical tent sat proudly against the rays of sun that fell upon it.

Galadriel is the first to greet you. "It is good to see you, old friend," She greeted, wincing as you pulled your hand away from her shoulder like you had been burned. "I apologize. I was wounded in battle with Sauron."

"You were what-"

She shakes her head and motions to the smaller tent behind the main one. "I know that you have little in the gift of healing, but Elrond could use your care. I had him moved to the secondary tent for more privacy. He is.." Galadriel bowed her head and exhaled quietly. It was only then in that moment that you remember how old she really is. "Wracked with grief over Lord Celebrimbor."

Ah.

"Will you communicate to the King that I have arrived with the remainder of the survivors and healers from Lindon?" You ask. Galadriel complies, murmuring her goodbyes under her breath as you remove your belongings just beside the medical tent and begin your trek up through the center aisle to enter the one Elrond occupies.

You're nearly knocked off your feet by the smell. You have been spared violence and despair for most of your life. To be witness to such devastation brought upon by the hands of Sauron, and to your Elven kin, stirs an anger deep in your belly that you've never felt before. It hurts. It aches.

He sees you before you see him.

"My love?"

Your eyes flicker through the gap in the tent to find a head of matted, bloodied curls and red-rimmed, sunken eyes staring back at you. Elrond looks exactly like Galadriel has described him to look. He looks like the picture of grief.

That ache in your heart festers at the sight of him as you rush forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling yourself up and into his embrace. Elrond grasps you with all the force of a man desperately trying to anchor himself to the world when he'd so easily rather disappear.

"Elrond," You whisper. It is your assurance to know that he is here by that whispered repetition of his name, by feeling the warmth of his skin and the press of metal against your body as he clings to you. "My love-"

"Celebrimbor. Sauron, he-" Elrond snarls quietly into your shoulder as you begin to fumble with removing his armor. You have done it enough times now that the practice is coming more easily. "He took Celebrimbor and killed him. My father said his life was supposed to be in my hands. I tried.. I tried so hard to save his works, but the Uruk burned it and Celebrimbor is dead-"

You can hear the shame he directs at himself as you remove his armor and set it to the side. Elrond has so often taken the weight of other people's responsibilities and expectations upon himself. He wants to be remembered for something other than being Elros' brother, for being the Half-Elven who resides in Lindon. Many of the full-blooded elves have held disdain and contempt against him for something completely out of his control.

He could not control this. Could not control Celebrimbor's decisions or Sauron's actions.

"I mourn Celebrimbor with you, Elrond." You said. You move to step away and grasp the rag and water basin beside you, but Elrond's grip on your body makes it difficult to move. You pause in your place and turn to face him once again, surprised to find his eyes hidden from you and face cast toward the floor. His fingers shake where they lay against your body. "Elrond?"

"His legacy went up in smoke. The Nine are gone, Feanör's statue desecrated, his prints and his works ashes. We don't even have a body to bury. How do we honor him?" His voice breaks as Elrond, for the first time in all the time you have known him, admits defeat. "How do I honor him when I failed?"

You manage to reach far enough to grasp the wet rag between your fingers and turn to face him as you drag it over the stained skin on his face. Elrond's silent tears track down clean, softened skin, and you wipe those away with your thumbs as they come.

"What if we have a funeral?" You suggest. "I will play at it, but I think you need to orchestrate and speak. Galadriel and the King would be grateful for it as well. We all loved Celebrimbor. As did I. He was one of few who could appreciate my artistry as I could his. Let his grave mark the new beginning we have here. Let that be the way to honor him."

Elrond doesn't break the silence for several minutes. He simply allows himself to bask in being alive, in you being alive here with him in this little tent far away from the war and from Sauron. You could build a life here. A home.

That is what he wants to do.

He does not dare speak until you are finished and washing the rag used to clean his arms and face. "I would very much like to do that with your assistance, nin mel. You are the only one I know who could create such beautiful things out of such darkness and travesty."

You playfully roll your eyes and tap the end of his nose with your finger. "You humor me, Commander." You muse. Elrond lets you go long enough to watch as you move his armor to the corner of the room and motion to the tub of hot water the healers had prepared while you were cleaning him. "Now humor me more and get in the bath. You smell foul."

Elrond's laughter is a balm to the ache in your heart. You too will miss Celebrimbor dearly, but you cannot afford the luxury of grief when he is so deeply engrossed in his own.

"Humor me. I have a request, aside from the funeral."

"That sounds more like a demand." You tease. "Go on."

"Remain here with me when the rest of Lindon's elves return home. Build our home here. With me. Build Imladris. Help me honor Celebrimbor."

The shock of his statement sends the objects in your arms clattering to the floor. He wants to do what?

#Elrond x Reader #Elrond Peredhel x Reader #Young Elrond x Reader #rings of power #rings of power fanfiction

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sobbingscripter · 3 months ago

Text

DAY 5: Five Golden Rings

☃️Snow☃️

Tags: [mlw][mdni][squirting][praise][make love not war][mating press]

❄️☃️❄️

"I like snow."

Alucard's voice is quiet, and you stir, eyes wide, and you clutch your covers to your chest, watching as he stands at your window, crimson jacket tossed over the backrest of the chair of your vanity, bloody gaze locked on the tumbling snowflakes outside the glass.

"So... Pure. Untouched by any—"

"Why are you in my room in the middle of the night?"

Your question rips Alucard away from his reverie, but he simply narrows his eyes, gaze hardening just a bit but he keeps his gaze on the tundra storm.

"Everything seems so far away during these winters. They're nothing like the winters before my Master. These ones.... They're..."

He pauses, searching for a word.

"Warmer."

Shaggy black hair cascades down his back, unkempt, and wild, bangs hiding portions of his face, everything else only being lit by the faint moonlight that pours through your now open window.

And he turns to you, eyes glowing like the embers of a dying flame, shadows playing on his features in the most joyful way ever. Like children in a schoolyard.

"These winters—"

"Alucard, I'd really love for you to continue your soliloquy but it's 2 in the morning and it's cold outside. This is prime time sleeping weather." You huff, pulling the quilt higher up, covering your chin in the promising warmth. "Plus, I've already got my special socks on."

Alucard raises a perfect brow, a twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth. "Special socks?" He repeats and watches, as you poke your woolen toes out from under the thick blankets. Blue wool with white snowflakes knitted sparsely, very clear winter themed, especially when he catches a glimpse of those puffball tassels attached to the socks.

Alucard's mouth forms an 'o' shape, his head tilting and he takes a seat at the end of your bed, frosty fingers creeping up the leg of your sweatpants, wrapping around your calf and jerking you roughly towards him.

You yelp, when you find yourself straddling Alucard's lap, broad thighs still clad in tailored suit pants, keeping your legs spread and his nose brushes against muscles of your neck, stopping to inhale the scent at your pulse point.

Strong hands bracket your hips, thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of your hips and Alucard forced you to sit down, a silent order that you knew better to obey.

He could suck you dry, faster than you could him.

"You smell..." Alucard trails off, and your lips part in offense.

"The fuck you mean I smell?" You scoff, brows knitting into a frown but all that aggression melts away when he lets out that melodious chuckle.

It pairs with the dim moonlight so well, each bubbly change of cadence accompanying the dappling moonlight.

"I was going to say, you smell like cinnamon and sunshine." Alucard hums lowly. "But you had to go and be the impatient little thing you are."

Cool hands move to rest on the small of your back, and Alucard tilts his head back, meeting your gaze with a look that could almost be mistaken for a lovesick puppy.

"Can I have my Christmas present early?"

Alucard's got you locked into place, knees spread, face pressed against the unruly covers. One arm is pinned to the small of your back, the other tucked beneath your cheek, causing you to drool mindlessly as he coaxes the next orgasm from your already sensitive body.

"Alucard... Please.." Your plea is desperate, your ass pressing against him because once more, he's teasing you with the rosy and flushed crown of his cock, ridged head brushing and wading between your slippery folds, nudging at your needy clit.

"Still so impatient, aren't you?"

He teases, notching his cock at your fluttering entrance, pushing in just halfway before pulling back, tutting you playfully while his free hand rests on one fat globe of your ass.

"Not wet enough." Alucard feigns disappointment, as he pushes your fat apart, leaning a bit lower and spitting. Cool saliva travels down the cleft of your ass, joining the mass of wetness between your thighs and your legs nearly shake at the sensation.

Alucard roughly reaches for your ankle, shifting your position until you're on your back, eyes wide and bleary, your chest heaving and nipples pebbled from the frosty air and body flushed.

And he looks down at your slippery cunt, slick and glistening with spit and your cum, and he shakes his head.

"Not nearly wet enough."

He shifts, lowering himself until Alucard's broad shoulders are pressed against your thighs, one thigh tossed over his shoulder and the other laying to his side.

A long tongue slivers from between his lips, sweeping up the fluids that make a puddle against your hole, before spitting them back, and your back arches at the sensation.

Fingers find their way into his hair but you're not sure if it's to push him away, or pull him closer, but when his lips latch around your sloppy clit, your eyes roll back in your head and you claw at his scalp.

You shake your head, hair messy and eyes watering as his hand creeps up your thigh, gloved and he tugs the fabric off with his teeth, spitting it across the room before his palm presses to your swollen folds.

And he rubs his hand fast, side to side, like he's trying to give you a friction burn in the best way possible.

And you gasp, nails digging into his flesh and your legs shake, eyes glazing over as droplets start to splatter, against your inner thighs, against his awaiting tongue and his face.

Alucard makes you squirt with ease. A fact that's almost scary.

But you don't have time to dwell on it, not when he's sinking into you while your body's still pliable and easy.

"So perfect."

Alucard shifts your body beneath him, your toes touching the wall above your head, his face hovering over yours and his hair falls forward, an obsidian curtain hiding the stolen kisses Alucard snatches while you're too overstimulated each time he bottoms out.

Alucard's hands rest above your head, his forearms supporting his weight as he makes you take the deepest and slowest thrusts known to man. Each movement made to have you feel every single inch, forcing your insides to commit his shape to memory, and he groans, low in your ear.

"You take me so well, pretty." He praises, pressing a kiss to your temple as he shifts, angling his hips until his cock head brushes against that spongy spot that only he seems to be able to hit.

Your voice is a mess of moans and mewls, a cacophony of lewd sounds accompanied by the sound of sticky flesh hitting sticky flesh, and Alucard rolls his hips, his tip grinding against the plug of your cervix and you gasp.

"I'm so deep, aren't I?" He teases you. And you merely nod your head, fat tears rolling down your cheeks because it's just so fucking good.

"You're such a perfect thing." Alucard whispers. "Bathed in moonlight, crying because of how good it feels."

His tongue laps up your tears and if you were any more coherent, you'd whine about the fact that he's getting pussy juice on your face but you can't.

Not when he's kissing you so softly (internally and externally) and he's coaching you through another orgasm.

"One more."

Alucard coos softly, hips rocking into you with such a sweet gentleness, dragging against your inside over and over, as his pelvis bone presses against your needy clit. And your eyes are watering before you know it.

Your cum leaking out around Alucard, drool running down your cheek but not for long before he laps it up like a greedy mutt, crooning praises into your ear.

They've started to meld together. The "so pretty"s, the "good girl"s, the "that's it". All of them.

All you can really focus on is when Alucard pulls out of you, his cock resting on your lower belly to give you a visual of just how deep he was.

And scientifically speaking, you shouldn't even be alive. But then again, should any of us?

No.

But you survive it, because like Gloria Gaynor said, 'I will survive', because as long as you know how to love, you know you'll stay alive.

And if you didn't know how to love, you knew how to take it because Alucard wasn't fucking. He was making thorough love and by God, were you taking it like a champ.

"Alucard..."

You breathe out shakily, eyes rolling back in your head as he slips back inside, pulling out all the way, before slowly sinking in once more.

"Hm?" He hums, crimson gaze locked on where you take him so easily, amused and enchanted by the sight.

"You don't— have to pull out... Like... When you need to finish.."

You mutter softly, eyes barely open but your legs are open enough for the both.

You've never let Alucard finish inside. Always forcing him to pull out because of the fear of pregnancy and the worry that vampire cum may not adhere to the laws of a NuvaRing, an IUD or even a condom.

Alucard's shoulders stiffen when you speak, head tilting and you almost wish you didn't catch that glinting smile through the teariness of your eyes and the shadows of your lashes.

"Oh really?"

#alucard #alucard x reader #sobbingscripter #smut #x reader smut #hellsing ultimate smut #hellsing ultimate x reader #hellsing ultimate #alucard hellsing ultimate #Alucard x you #12 days of christmas

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okay-babe · 9 months ago

Note

word count: 1100 (probably too high-)

break me. basically just reader catching human!alastor murder someone and alastor desperately trying to calm his darling down, only to realize that reader isn’t listening as they are way too scared.

tyy!!! :DD

Easy Prey

tags: alastor x reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, mild gore, angst, possessive behavior, dark themes, murder, human alastor

The evening air was dreadfully thick as Alastor made his way through the underbrush at his feet, legs carrying him in a manner that suggested he'd walked these woods many times before.

He had to make this quick.

Eyes darting from left to right, the young radio host hummed to himself quietly in an attempt to quell the rushing thoughts within his mind, many of which implored him to turn back the way he'd come.

"She's waiting..." one reasoned.

"He's gone!" another panicked.

"There's no time. Return to her!" a third begged.

Though, notably, others commanded he do otherwise.

"Find him." the first snarled.

"Leave nothing more than a corpse for the dogs to find!" a second raged.

"And when it's done," the loudest coaxed, "return to her."

Eyes glaring as he trekked confidently onward, Alastor couldn't help but give in to the darker demands rattling off inside his brain for what was far from the first time.

It was like this on nearly every occasion that he dared take you with him to visit the cabin located on the hunting grounds he'd purchased a few years back. One of those foolish mutts would catch a glimpse of those pretty doe eyes of yours and begin their wretched hunt early, staring at you as if you were a lamb and they a forgotten god, desperate for a sacrifice.

Staring at you as if you were not his.

And beyond anything else he had ever experienced, Alastor Hartfelt found that infuriating.

And so, as he always did when transgressions like these occurred...

He waited.

And waited.

Until finally, he would catch a glimpse of whichever uncouth wretch had dared gawk at you on that particular occasion as they walked into the woods, defenseless, doubtless scouting out the land for the best spot to hunt grazing doe the following day.

And every single time, Alastor simply glanced down at his watch, waited his customary fifteen minutes, and then walked casually to grab his rifle from the gun cabinet in the mudroom.

Except this time was different.

This time, it had been long past dark when he watched the man who was renting the cabin next door walk silently toward the woods.

This time, he'd had almost no excuse to follow eagerly after him.

This time, you were awake, confused, and waiting back in your shared bed, having asked repeatedly for an explanation that never came as your husband changed from his sleepwear to his hunting clothes before insisting you stay put and stalking out the main entrance, the impact of the gun cabinet slamming shut shaking your dwellings just before the screen door did the same.

Yes, Alastor most certainly needed to make this quick.

The radio host continued onward silently, ears pricked for any kind of sound besides that of the deep and warm waters that made up the nearby bayou, into which he often tossed sacks of bloodied clothing weighed down by rocks, never to be seen again.

At the subtle reminder of his gruesome crimes, Alastor couldn't help but grin wider, his thoughts drifting briefly to all of the evidence lying unknown at the bottom of the nearby body of water.

There had to be relics of nearly ten or more kills in those depths at that point, some of them punishments for an indecent look your way, and others for acts entirely unrelated yet equally as worthy of being dubbed transgressions in the mind of your husband.

Suddenly, Alastor was drawn out of his reverie by the dull snap of a trampled upon stick sounding out from his left. He chuckled eagerly at the noise, readying his rifle and making his presence known as he sauntered in its direction.

"What a shame," He started, grin growing wider as he heard the hunter curse under his breath before scrambling to stand upright once more, no doubt having hoped to hide until his pursuer gave up the chase.

Alastor laughed outright at the ridiculous display of fear playing out just a few yards in front of him, the visage of his target little more than a shadow as he raised his weapon and steadied his eager hands.

"I was really hoping to take my time with you."

There was a mock pout to his tone as he spoke, finger now poised above the trigger.

He sighed,

"Oh well."

——————

You gasped, nearly jumping out of your skin when a gunshot rang out loud and clear from your left, flimsy house shoes almost tripping you up until you had to lean against a tree for purchase.

Fearfully, you clutched your hand against your heart, holding back a whimper of fear at just how close that had sounded, only a hundred yards or so away from the main trail where you stood based on its volume.

Swallowing thickly, you gave your poor heart a few seconds of respite before hiking your nightgown up to your knees and pressing onward through the underbrush, ignoring the stinging pain caused by the thorns that caught you on the way.

In the back of your mind, a voice called out for you to turn back and return to your soft bed and quietly droning radio, but as nice as that may have sounded, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

There had been something present in your husband's eyes when he'd told you to stay put, a crazed and concerning joy with an edge of fury to it that made your blood run cold.

You needed to know what was happening, for better or for worse.

So slowly, carefully, you followed the sound of occasional movement and the increasing volume of the nearby bayou that Alastor insisted had gone rotten and putrid until you caught sight of a familiar man, though the vision of what he was doing made you wish he was anything but.

First, you faltered.

Then, you whimpered,

And finally, you screamed.

At the sound of your cries, Alastor's head whipped around, his bloodied hands dropping the warm pair of eyes they'd been holding as he turned to find you standing there, utterly petrified.

Immediately, the man stalked toward you, hands raised as if in surrender, only for him to halt all movement the moment he saw you flinch back in response.

Alastor floundered slightly, sticky fists clenching and unclenching as they fell back down to his sides.

Never once had he lifted a hand to harm you, nor had he ever even truly scared you before. It was almost like you didn't recognize him anymore, tears building in your lower lash line before dribbling in fat droplets down that pretty face he adored so much.

Your husband had never made you cry before, not once.

As if worried that you simply didn't understand who you were truly standing in front of, Alastor called out to you gently, your name a soft and familiar prayer on his lips as he took another few steps closer, cautious.

This time, in your haste to move away, you stumbled and fell, head shaking rapidly from side to side and breaths growing panicked as you began to crawl backward away from the man you'd married.

"No,"

You gasped out in a whisper, chest heaving as your body was wracked with sobs,

"nonononononono!"

You were shouting now, delirious with confusion and fear as you continued to propel yourself away from the radio host standing before you.

Shocked at your reaction, Alastor hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. You had never been afraid of him before, not in all of your years together, and he had no idea how to soothe this type of fear out of your poor, racing heart.

He stared for several seconds, awestruck, before you tilted your head back just enough in your retreat that he caught sight of the way that your tears shimmered in the moonlight, pooling wetly beneath those doe eyes he loved so, the image like a dagger to his chest.

He had to make this better, there had to be a way.

All certainty gone from him now, you watched in terror as your husband stepped forward, his confidence and determination only growing as he got closer.

There was a sickening and almost crazed looking fear in his eyes as he watched you attempt to move further even as your back pressed into a tree, as if you could bore a hole through the center of it with the strength of your terror alone.

"Chere, it's me."

Alastor said pleadingly, his gaze upon you hardened with disbelief and something like anger, though who it was directed at you couldn't guess.

You whimpered, shaking your head more,

"Stay away from me! Idon'tknowyouIdon'tknowyouIdon'tknowyou!!"

Your words were blending together now, hardly even understandable as you struggled to speak between strained sobs, heavy gags, and gasps for air that was suddenly far too stifling, the sensation of it in your lungs oppressive and not unlike choking on thick humid steam.

Your head felt cloudy and full with the weight of what you'd witnessed paired with the burden of what you knew, and as every memory rushed back to you and the entire picture came together, you couldn't stop yourself from leaning into a nearby bush and vomiting up your dinner.

Your husband was a murderer.

The man you loved, whose last name you had taken, and whose children you had so desperately wished to someday have, was killing people left and right wherever you went under the guise of hunting.

You sobbed heavily, spitting up bile into the leaves and whimpering fearfully as Alastor moved to grab your hands, fighting you as you struggled to break free of his grip.

"Let go of me!" You cried, kicking and flailing to no avail as your husband simply watched you with sad, knowing eyes.

"Oh my sweet, foolish doe," He crooned soothingly, the sound low and rumbling inside his chest in a way that would have surely soothed you in the past.

You flinched away from him as he adjusted the positioning of his hands so he could hold both of yours captive in only one of his far larger ones, the other coming up to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he spoke.

"you know I could never do that."

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor angst #.writes #requests

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bunnyreaper · 1 year ago

Text

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈

𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), mentions of cheating (not from reader or john), age gap (older male younger female), future daddy kink, mentions of blood

notes - back at it again in dilfville, hopefully, this chapter is worth the wait! ♥ also on ao3! ♥

How easy it is to forget about the outside world with John by your side is startling. Everything other than him melts away into the background, and in the safety and comfort of his home, the two of you exist in your own little peaceful bubble.

In the back of your mind, you know it'll eventually sink to the ground and violently pop, but for now, the two of you float—suspended in tranquility. Your day goes by so easily, as you rest on the couch and watch TV with John—phone forgotten about, troubles set aside.

John makes it easy to forget. He's always had this way about him, like his mere presence lifts a weight off your shoulders while he carries it, carries you, just for a while, and allows your world to be a little lighter.

It's later into the evening when you finally find yourself compelled to get off of the couch and actually do something with your day, when John pulls you out of the reverie you'd settled into together.

"I should get on with dinner." He says, slapping his thighs before he rises from the comfort of the couch and the warmth of being your human footrest.

You're quick to rise too, sitting up straight as you try to recall him to the couch before he can make too much of a fuss. The guilt of taking advantage of his hospitality is already eating at you—regardless of how illogical it may be.

"Let me do it." You plead. "You're kind enough to let me stay here, at least let me repay you."

John pauses, his eyes narrowing at you briefly before one of his thick eyebrows arches. "Darling, aren't you bloody sick of cooking?"

Even when he's giving so much, he's still exceedingly considerate.

"Only when cooking for a man who doesn't appreciate me, otherwise I enjoy it." You climb to your feet with a smile, making your way over to John to gently push him in the direction of the kitchen. Whilst he moves with a stubbornness, you know he's still letting you push him, otherwise you know you wouldn't be able to move him an inch.

A smirk tugs at his lips, hidden behind his thick beard as he finds himself amused by your antics. The levity you bring to his otherwise burden-filled life is not something that goes unrecognised by him—not now, not ever.

Finally, he truly relents, letting you direct you both into the kitchen, moving himself enough to make your job of pushing him easier. "If you want to help, I wouldn't mind your company."

Your hands withdraw from the warm, broad expanse of his back and settle by your sides, as you feel the need to pull away from him the second it's no longer necessary—scared by how good the physicality felt, even if it was entirely playful in nature. It's been so long since you felt so light and got to share it with someone else, an age since you indulged in light-hearted touch.

"What's on the menu?" You ask as you move to the sink and force yourself into doing something to keep you busy—tackling the dishes seems like a good idea for being both helpful and suitably occupied.

John makes his way to the fridge, swinging open the heavy door of the American-style fridge-freezer with ease, and immediately moving to grab fresh ingredients. "Spag Bol."

"Ooh, your signature dish." You coo, recalling fondly the many occasions he has hosted you for dinner in the past.

Dinners had become a regular thing when John and James had been getting to know each other, with you often there as a buffer—not that you did it begrudgingly or ever minded so much. Getting to know John was an unexpected delight, and as the two of you recently agreed, a friendship had formed—regardless of your relationship with his son. You'd spent many nights over at his for dinner or drinks—good food and delightful conversation, memories you treasured.

Even in the beginning, John's protective and caring nature had extended to you almost immediately—a natural extension, you’d presumed, of his growing bond with his biological son. He'd dropped off meals for you when you were sick, memorised your tea and coffee preferences, always took the time to buy you a thoughtful gift for Christmas and birthdays.

John cuts through your trip down memory lane with the thud of him putting a pile of ingredients down on the countertop. "Well, I know you love it so much. Went to the shops last night to get everything."

An exasperated sigh leaves you. For a man so good at taking care of others, there were times when John Price's self-care was severely lacking. As the sink fills with sudsy, hot water, you pin John with your most intimidating glare. "When do you ever even sleep, John?"

He returns your look for the briefest moment, then smirks at your attempt to look authoritative. "I sleep plenty, don't you worry."

A realisation seems to strike him a moment later.

John heads over to the record player in the corner, flipping the switch and setting down the needle.

It's easy for John to succumb to the relaxed atmosphere of his kitchen—music playing and you by his side. His fingers drum against the turntable stand as the opening notes of the rock-reggae fill the room and quiet any further chastisement from you.

"Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy—" John's voice carries louder than the vocals, a smooth tone you've heard so rarely before—John only sings when he feels most at peace.

Whilst his voice is beautiful, the subject matter of the song almost feels inappropriate in the moment, though the way your cheeks flush makes you think it's just you projecting.

"Oh my god, John." You groan playfully, rolling your eyes and watching as he sways his hips ever so slightly as he makes his way back over to you, still softly singing the words.

He stops singing as he steps beside you at the sink, leaning onto the counter slightly with a hint of a smirk on his face and an incredible amount of mirth in his eyes. For once, he seems so light.

"Never had a crush on an older man?" He asks, his tone light and yet still with a hint of teasing. Perhaps he thinks your opposition to the song is your lack of relating to it, rather than the fact you relate a little too much.

You're not sure when it really started, or when it escalated uncontrollably, but lately, you've been looking at John in a different light. It's probably the combination of the heartbreak, the sleep deprivation, and the beard. You were always a sucker for a gruff-looking, unavailable older gent.

And now here one is singing a song about forbidden love, lovers separated by age—like he knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling.

"Obviously I have." You scoff, almost dismissively, as you turn to slip the first few dishes into the water. John stays silent for a moment, and curiosity gets the better of you. "Ever had a crush on a younger woman?"

He barks out a laugh, pushing himself away from the counter as you see him shake his head and suck in his lips. "No comment."

Your mind starts to wander, as you try to think about what kind of woman catches John Price's eye. His circumstances are difficult and his standards clearly high, as he hasn't been in a relationship in the years you've known. John nudges you with his hip, as he leans over the sink to start washing his hands.

His warmth is overwhelming beside you, and only spreading further. You try to focus on anything but his large hands, as he covers them in the suds he works up from the soap. You try not to stare at the way he grips the bar, and practically chokes the block with his fingers, nor how he works the creamy lather up his hairy forearms.

But you’d be lying if you said the plate in your hands got any cleaner. Of course, you could blame your stillness on courtesy—you're just giving him the space he needs to wash his hands so he can get on with cooking, nothing more.

"Zenyatta Mondatta is a classic." He all but whispers from above you, as if he still feels the need to justify his album choice.

"Best album the year you were born?"

"I was born 81, not 80, bun." He tuts, shaking off the excess wetness from his hand before he reaches around you to grab the hand towel from where it's threaded through the handle of the cupboard beside you.

Your grip on the plate tightens exponentially despite the slippery surface, as a cascade of shivers passes over your body and pools low in your gut.

The tension in your body feels like it's ready to snap at any moment, and yet just before it can, John pulls away, and a cold sweeps back in.

"Don't stand, don't stand so close to me." His singing almost taunts you as he saunters back over to his ingredients and gets to work.

You try to focus again on the dishes in the sink. Yet, you couldn't wipe the wide smile off your face if you tried, exhilarated by life's simple pleasures—by the way, it seems that colour is starting to bleed back into your life in all these little moments. A flurry of feelings you haven't felt in so long floods you, too.

"Forgot how much I love being in the kitchen with other people." You laugh, verbalising your happiness in a fairly throwaway comment.

"Kitchens are the heart of the home, as they say." John replies, and you can tell he's smiling fondly, probably recalling the nights spent at his kitchen island with you, James, and the other people lucky enough to be in his life.

After a moment, he continues on, yet his tone is more somber than before. "You know, sweetheart, I wish I'd have known sooner how he really treated you."

You wonder if it would've made a difference.

"He's just not for me, he's not necessarily bad just... okay, I mean besides the cheating." You say, wrinkling your nose with disgust—still, you find yourself making excuses for him, finding ways to soften the blow.

John sighs. "You give him too much credit, love."

It feels wrong somehow to open up to John about this, despite his soothing on the matter. "It wasn't fair for me to talk to you about that stuff, even if you do give the best advice. Still doesn't feel fair, really." You grumble as you scrub at a bowl, removing the dirt.

"And what about what's fair and best for you, hmm?" John's chopping grows louder, more erratic, as his frustration flows through his arm and his wrath is taken out on the raw onions. "For crying out loud, the lad cheated on you. I have half a mind to go over there myself to finish what we started earlier."

You shrug, entirely uncertain of how to untangle the messy web that is your emotions. Guilt, relief, anger, and peace all swirl together, with no one feeling jumping out clearly and continuously beyond the others.

"Look at me," John calls your attention to him, only speaking again once you do. The look on his face is deeply sincere, his eyes betraying the emotion within. "Once you're on your feet again, if you want nothing to do with me, all you have to do is say. Otherwise, I'll be in your life for as long as you let me."

Fuck.

"That's reassuring." You nod, smiling genuinely, yet you try to restrain it lest you betray how much it really means to you. "Yeah, I guess, as you said earlier, we're friends."

You say it more to convince yourself, as it's a truth that isn't going to change regardless of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Not planning on changing that unless you are, love." John smiles.

See, you say to yourself, he's all but confirmed it too. "I'm glad some things are going to stay the same..." You mutter, though there is some sincerity and reality to your statement. "Especially when everything else is about to get turned upside down."

"I suspect you'll be better off when the dust settles."

"I hope so."

You turn back to the dishes, trying to focus on the music rather than the thoughts that battle against John's soothing words. His quiet company helps stave off some of the discontent, the sound of him cooking and singing quietly providing a safety blanket around you.

"Do have to let you know I got the call, leaving sooner than I would've liked."

"When?" You feel yourself stiffen. Every time John leaves, you're always a little on edge—and yet, with the circumstances, this time just feels worse.

"Tomorrow." He admits softly.

"You've only been back a matter of days." Your heart pangs.

He scoffs. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

"It's gonna feel weird getting settled in here, but especially alone." You offer up your honesty, in the hopes it'll alleviate the gentle crushing of your chest, yet you try to remain stony-faced.

"One big change at a time, love." John's voice is soothing, as he attempts to reassure you. "Change of scenery, then change of roommate. It'll give you a chance to just be free of Price men for a moment."

"He's not really a Price..." You sigh, because maybe if he were, things would've been different. If John had raised him... would he be a better man? Not that you believe his mother is to blame for his issues, but you know from James' occasional rants that he didn't have a male figure he respected growing up.

"I suppose not." Behind your back, John shrugs. "Point still stands, though. While I'm not thrilled about the idea of you being all alone, at least it gives you some space to think of what comes next."

"I guess it does." You sigh and try to focus on that thought—time to figure things out and feel the relief of being free. A wry laugh leaves you when you realise John has managed to reframe his departure as a positive thing. "Fuck, I hate how you always make me feel better."

"Hah, add it to my list of crimes."

A beat passes before a stray thought pops into your head. "If you're headed back, does that mean you'll be shaving?"

You crane your head around just in time to see John pause, turn, and stroke at his beard.

"Don't know. What do you think?" He continues to stroke at the grown-out brown hair, as you get lost taking in his features and the way that they seem to look so different with his new, fluffier style.

"Feel like you've been staring at it a lot, not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing." He chuckles, his smile tight-lipped and a touch self-conscious in a way that only you can bring out of him.

"Somehow, it makes you look..." Your brain scrambles for an adjective that isn't 'daddier'. "... younger?"

On anyone else, a full beard would likely age them, but compared to John's usual old-timey war general look, it gives him more of a casual, handsome look. You remind yourself to ask for pictures of what he looked like before he grew facial hair.

"Ageing myself prematurely with the mutton chops, then?" He frowns ever so slightly, though you know his pout is completely playful.

You throw your head back with a laugh. "Thought that's why you did it, to really solidify your authority."

"Don't need any kind of facial hair for that, love." He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

You force your attention back to the dishes and school your expression into something more neutral, dunking in all the cutlery in at once as you desperately begin to clean. It's a clear attempt to make sure John doesn't notice your reaction to his words.

"Whatever you say, John." You mutter, trying to end the conversation before it spirals any further out of control.

He laughs, hums, then casually says something you never expected. "Mmm, now that's what I like to hear."

"Ow, fuck!" You yell as pain sears through your skin, a knife hidden in the soapy water slicing through your skin at the momentary distraction.

John is over in a flash, coming to your aid and pulling your hand into his grasp so he can inspect the wounds. "Christ, love, are you alright?"

"Fine, I mean, it's only small." Each word is through gritted teeth, as you try to tough it out in front of John.

Despite the fact the incisions across your fingers aren't particularly deep, they bead with crimson blood and pulse with stinging pain.

"Right, that's enough. Sit down." One of John's hands remains holding your hand while the other settles on your shoulder, and he manoeuvres you to one of the stools at the kitchen island. He pays no mind to the way your soaked arm drips onto his t-shirt and jeans, too focused on his mission.

"Yes, sir." You say absentmindedly, feeling like one of his men—you don't notice the way he stiffens, his touch getting a fraction tighter, as his body and mind jolt at such simple words.

He doesn't meet your eye, instead inspecting the cuts before turning to grab the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. "Doesn't look like it'll need stitches."

"This isn't a battlefield injury, John, and I'm not a child!" You can't help but pout exaggeratedly, as not only does it convey your meaning, but it helps disguise your wince as John cleans, dries, and dresses your cuts.

"No more washing up. Don't give me that look." He fixes you with a look and a stern point that just dares you to challenge him, and for a moment, you glare right back at him.

In the end, you know you stand no chance of winning against the formidable foe that is protective, Papa Bear John Price. One time you insisted on washing up after he cooked, and he followed you into the kitchen to turn off the water main, just to show you how serious he was that you sit down and fucking relax.

"Fine." You sigh, as John's moment as a nurse comes to a close, with him finishing your dressings and packing away the first aid kit.

"Sit pretty. Food won't be too long." He tells you before he returns to the pans on the hob, checking on the spaghetti and stirring the bolognese.

The fragrance from the stewing sauce surrounds you, making your mouth water in anticipation of John's signature dish. It doesn't distract you from the pain completely, but it at least gives you something to focus on as you try to ignore it.

"Can I... ask something that I've been wondering about for a while?" You ask, propping your head on your non-injured hand as you watch John work.

"Of course." He nods, eyes flickering to meet yours briefly.

"Have you and James' mum ever talked about... you know, everything?" You resist the urge to pick at the medical tape securing the bandage to your skin, as you know that eventually it's going to come off. "I don't know why I never asked before, guess I felt awkward, and I tried asking James, but he never wanted to talk about it."

John pauses, taking a moment to think. "We met for coffee once, after I first found out. She was very apologetic, explained her side of things."

It's easy for you to tell, having grown accustomed to his expressions, that there's more to the story than he lets on. John always tends to play his cards close to his chest when it comes to his inner workings, asking more questions than he ever answers, but you're used to that look in his eyes whenever there's something he's holding back.

At least, you like to think so. If you're good at telling when he's withholding, you're even better at not pressing him, at least under usual circumstances. Today, something compels you to ask more.

"Do you... resent her for what she did?"

"No." He answers, a little too quickly, before rolling his shoulders and straightening his posture. "Maybe I should, maybe I should resent the fact I missed his childhood. I suppose I do, but I would never have had the life I've had otherwise."

"Figured I might still have the chance to be a dad, but would've never had the chances I did had I not joined the army."

The insight into John's mind is fascinating, intoxicating, even. It's hard to imagine him as anything other than a captain, even if father and family man suits him quite well too.

"You wouldn't have joined up if you'd known?" You ask, questions still tumbling out of you as curiosity about John leaks out of every pore.

"No." He pauses, pressing his hands into the counter. Finally, he looks at you with stormy, emotion-filled eyes. "Would've stayed, married her. Done the right thing." It looks like it pains him to admit it, as his brows furrow and his lips tighten.

"Wow. Must be weird seeing her now, knowing she could've been your wife." You probably shouldn't have said it aloud, but the thought of that different reality is so jarring to you that it slips before you can stop it.

"She's a stranger, really." He shrugs.

"A stranger you had sex with... once upon a time." You say, squinting as you try to imagine John and James's mum sharing anything beyond pleasant smiles and polite small talk.

"Barely." A dismissive scoff leaves him, as he picks up the wooden spoon and returns his attention to his cooking.

"Barely? What does that mean?"

"Well, it was only once, and even then... every man has to learn somehow, love." John says the words as if they're so casual, yet they cause heat to rush to your cheeks.

"Your son still hasn't learned at all." You say the words without thinking, a tinge of bitter resentment bursting through. "Sorry, fuck."

"S'fine." John tries his hardest to stifle the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, practically throwing himself into grabbing bowls and cutlery to serve up the meal. "He really didn't know how to handle you, did he, love?"

Your chest seizes once more—guilt, indignation, amusement, confusion. There's a hope within you that when the dust is all settled, you'll end up with someone like John, someone who can treat you better.

"No, he didn't..." You admit weakly, before checking yourself. "Sorry, I think the pain and the blood loss are making me woozy. I'm gonna stop talking now."

John only smiles understandingly, eyes shining with mirth, as he passes you an oversized bowl filled with delicious spaghetti. He takes a seat beside you, knee knocking into yours as he makes himself comfortable— his warmth feeling too close for comfort and yet not close enough at all.

"Eat up, darling girl."

********

You and John finish up your meal in companionable silence, accompanied by the rest of the tracks on the current vinyl. As always, John's cooking leaves you full and satisfied, warm from the inside out.

Once more, you're banned from washing dishes and were only able to get on drying duty after begging John and pulling out your most convincing doe eyes. The night ended with you both turning in sooner than usual, in anticipation of John's departure the next morning.

Usually, you last saw John off when he came to visit you and James, putting on a brave face and wishing him well. You're thankful that with the new proximity, you can at least fret in the privacy of your new bedroom, away from John's worrying eyes—the last thing he needs to see before he leaves is your tear-stained cheeks.

Sleep doesn't come easily, as you toss and turn in bed and try not to think of being alone in the coming days, or the possibility of something happening to John.

When sleep finally does come, you wake in a panic—sweaty and dry-mouthed. The nightmare that plagued you is hard to recall, the only thing burning in your mind is the final scene. You have to flee into the night, and you're desperate to grab something to cover up with so you don't freeze to death—you can't find anything warm anywhere. The image quickly fades away as you blink your eyes open.

You roll over to the side of the bed, clutching your phone and practically burning your eyes when the screen blares into your corneas.

3:59. 16 minutes to your alarm.

With John's departure fast approaching, you throw yourself out of bed, grabbing your cardigan and wrapping it around yourself before you head in the direction of John's room.

The door is closed firmly, likely to quiet any noise he makes from rustling around in preparation. You knock lightly on the wood, waiting for John to call you in.

You step in, taking in John's appearance. It seems he decided to keep the outgrown facial hair after all, the fluffy beard leading down to the chest hair poking out from the top of a soft grey cotton tee.

The dog tags around his neck are the only nod to his upcoming deployment, as he leaves John behind and heads off to become Captain Price.

He smiles as soon as he sees you, though it doesn't escape your notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, can't sleep." You explain, as you make your way further into the room and perch yourself on the end of John's bed gingerly. "Figured I'd make you sick of me, so you're glad to be away."

You peer into the holdall that John's currently packing things into, inspecting his contents and mentally ticking items off a checklist.

"Don't think anything could make me glad of that, love." He frowns, pausing as he expertly folds a t-shirt and places it in his bag. "Especially at a time like this."

"I'll be fine." You say it for his sake, even if you don't entirely believe it. Your number one priority right now is sending him off with a smile.

As you spot one of his signature beanies poking out of a side pocket, you pluck it off the duvet and pull it over your bedhead. "Maybe I'll just run riot while you're gone, throw all your cigars in the bin, and steal every beanie you own."

That brings a smirk out of him, the worry clearing from his eyes. "Evil girl."

"Yeah, I'm a right menace." You confirm, a gleeful smile spreading across your face unrestrained.

Several things stand out to you in the bag or surrounding it—the sunglasses case, a tan-coloured rag, and John's beloved boonie hat. Your quick inspection gives you an insight into where John is headed—flip-flops again, you joke to yourself.

"Guessing you're off to some shitty desert then." You comment, not intending to pry any further.

"Feel like I never leave them." He notes—that wry smile returning to his face as he meets your gaze.

"Have you packed your sun cream?" You ask, half joking and half serious.

"Wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't, hmm?" He chuckles knowingly, likely recalling the last time he came home with a sunburn and was met with your impassioned rant. He'd learned his lesson at least.

"And the moisturiser we got you for Christmas?"

"Already packed." He pats the toiletry bag on the bed, and you rush to pick it up, unzip it, and verify his claim.

"Lip balm?" You ask, peering up at him with a mischievous grin, just waiting for his reaction.

"Now you're just taking the piss."

You pull your beanie down low on your forehead, just as you've seen John wear it, then you cross your arms across your chest and drop your voice. "Sorry lads, cover my six, gotta get my Burts Bees on."

At that, he belly laughs. "I'd never live it down, and you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

You rise from the bed, laughing with him, before you remove the beanie and reach up to place it over his head instead. "No, Captain." You whisper, grin bright.

"You're a handful, love." Despite his words, the fondness in his voice is clear as day.

You tap his cheek playfully before stepping away. "Well, fear not, like I said, you're rid of me for a little while."

"Desert doesn't seem so bad now you mention it." John rolls his eyes playfully, before turning to add the final items and zipping up the bag beside him.

"Have you got everything you need?" You ask, instinct taking over as you begin to fret over ensuring everything is perfect for John's departure.

"I do know how to pack for myself, but if you want me to humour you..." John's hands fall to the zip, ready to tear the bag open if it would rid you of the concerned frown growing on your face.

You back away, hands raised. Point taken, you think to yourself. "I'm used to fussing, okay."

"You and me both." He nods, then shoulders the bag and gestures for you to head out of the room.

You lead the way like heading up a death march, slow gait and head lowered, knowing what's to come. With each step, a sense of dread grows within you. John is leaving, and there's seemingly an unspoken agreement between you both that something about this time feels more severe.

When you both reach the door, John shrugs on his sherpa-lined jacket, ties up his boots, and stands as he summons up the nerve to leave.

Once again, a half-hearted smile graces his face, as he reaches out to rub at your arm. "I'll call you when I'm headed back from base, yeah?"

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to bead in your eyes, once more putting on a brave face. The mention of his call makes your mind flicker to your usual routine.

"Will you be going to see—"

"No love. I'll be coming straight home." He interrupts, squeezing you before withdrawing as if it burns to touch you.

"Stay safe, John." You whisper, the words you say every time coming easily. You swear to yourself that the words act as protection, or at least, you hope they do.

"Always, love." He nods, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. Then, he opens the door and steps over the threshold. "Anything you need, I'll get back to you when I can, yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, struggling to get out even a word as your throat tightens.

"See you soon, darling girl." He calls out, and you watch him until his truck pulls out of the street and off toward danger.

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #nobody does it like you do #call of duty fanfiction #spotify

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hail-brod · 8 months ago

Text

The Days To Remember [1/2]

Jack Sparrow x FReader

MASTERLIST || Part 2

Summary: What if Will had survived Davy Jone’s attack? And in return, the captain of the Black Pearl got what he wanted—to sail the seas for eternity. But as much as he desired the thrill of that curse, he was torn between a longing sentiment and his greed for exploration. It was either that or honor his chances. Well, he is a mad pirate. Why not settle for both?

WC: 3.1k

Warning/s: Mentions of gore, battle, and consummation, light cursing, light angst, suggestive themes, kissing, madman Jack, sexual tension, smut (next part).

The battle with Cutler Beckett has met its end. The Black Pearl still stands as your fellow crewmates rejoiced with each other’s cry, voices rumbling out of their chests. Even in your previous state of panic over Jack’s actions to carve his heart out, and ramming it shut into the good ol’ dead man’s chest, your lungs cried out in victory. It was a battle that no man could have ever imagined to happen right before their eyes.

Well, at least maybe just in your case. But you’re damn well sure your mates had the same thought.

This is history.

And as much as you wanted to cling in this moment’s joyous reverie, a single look at the other ship floating right next to yours reminded you of what else your party had gained.

The Flying Dutchman carried itself with a new light, and at the helm stood its new captain, all with his sloppily grandeur demeanor and a wildly pleasant grin. He looked satisfied, and you can’t blame him. This is what he had his eyes on the moment he learned what the ship had to offer; immortality with his beloved sea.

You’re glad that he’s alive and will be around for a very long time and that he got what he desired. That he’s there standing in the presence of his new crewmates who will definitely treat him as a revered captain, heeding his command for it is he who sails it. But as he crossed the deck and towards the plank to bid his farewells on the trusty Black Pearl, his long time darling ship, as well as his loyal crew, you start to feel how much it pained you to see him go as your earlier mirth wisped away into shards of yearning.

You already knew what he planned to do. You were made aware so. And yet, why does it seem like you aren’t prepared yet for this outcome?

There was a falter in your emotions. You have half the mind to not let your bitter smile turn upside down. This is not how you wanted your dear captain to see you one last time.

“No point in hiding it, can ya?” a murmured-like voice speaks next to you. The one-eyed pirate, Ragetti, looks upfront at the sight you were looking at, and points a finger at Jack who’s making the most of his banter with Mr. Gibbs. “If you don’t say it now, ‘tis but a moment you’ll look back on with only regret to accompany it. Well, personally I think you’d regret it more if you’re looking to be with the captain. The Dutchman ain’t worth o’ it all, I tell ya.”

Next to him, his bald-headed companion added. “What the bloody hell do you know? We could take on the ocean and be immortal beings. I’m sure the captain wouldn’t mind us boardin’ in.”

“Go on then! See how it feels to be alive for centuries. It’s just more work ferrying souls—endlessly,” the man bites back with a wisdom you never thought he’d have.

The two bickered on, but you went back to Ragetti’s words. No point in hiding it, can ya? Exactly. At this very moment, you and him are now on a very different footing, on vastly separate worlds. Even if you meet each other at sea whilst he carries on his duty as captain of the Flying Dutchman, it’d be but a fleeting memory that will only tear you away from him before you could even touch the man. So it’s now or never.

It’s either you pursue him or not at all. You have to do it. With only regret to accompany it.

But a line has been drawn, so what in the hells could change once you did so? Wouldn’t that leave you with a broken heart that could easily shatter more into bits?

Jack got what he wanted. What else could he want from you? The helpless woman he saved once from the ocean’s wrath. The torn woman who became a part of his crew even when she had a family waiting for her at shore. The awed crewmate who was only grateful to be a part of his adventure. The teary eyed crewmate who tended to his fatal wound, thinking he would die at her hands.

The appalled crewmate who questioned his choices for choosing her over a hill of wealth—which was very unlike him.

And those were just that. A bond that you will never forget, much less something that you’ll regret. This is what he clearly chose, and you don’t plan to disrupt it. Just like you thought earlier; he’s satisfied.

Yet you see him almost drop his smile from across the deck, a passing gloom that felt so wrong to see on him. It worried you. Nevertheless, his loose smile still hung on as he ran his eyes around the crew, before landing it on you. There was only one thing you could give him, a lopsided smile that you know he’d always return. But this time, it didn’t reach the creases of your eyes and for a moment there, Jack’s expression was that of a relieved one. As if being able to navigate your presence amongst all of the other people onboard was a shining starlight in a vast dark sky. Though, it wasn’t long before he was back at his countenance of flaccidity, elbows at his sides as he sauntered over to you.

“And my darling partner in crime. How could I forget about you?” he teased.

“I’m honestly thinking you did,” you quipped. You then gestured to the docked ship beside the Black Pearl. “With that marvelous thing waiting for you? I’d be over the moon. Well…it could use a bit of color if you ask me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replied, eyes seemingly not leaving you. There was something about his gaze that felt intense, and you couldn’t help but meet it, engraving those gleaming dark brown irises into your memory.

As if he was examining you the same, a slight tilt of his head made you aware of the seconds passing by.

“The sea is yours to sail, captain. There’s a lot waiting for you out there,” you said. Your tongue felt bitter.

“Well, yes.” He nodded nonchalantly. “Dead souls precisely.”

“And an endless round of treasures I suppose,” you added as you smiled. And he returned it all the same as the corners of his mouth stretched up into a genuine grin, his golden tooth peeking through. The way he looked at you—it was heartfelt. Not the usual mischief he'd wear. Not a prickle of anything unserious. But it didn't last long as his grin slowly dropped to a melancholic one, his eyes never leaving your own.

Some swell of pride resided in you, seeing that this separation also bothered him. But you won’t assume the extent of such sentiments. You were a team, and that’s where it lies just as it ends.

“Yes…” he hesitantly says. “I believe so.”

For a second there, the world stopped. It was only him that you could see. And in the process, something cracked within you, but you held yourself up with a tilted and pathetic attempt at an amicable smile.

It was time.

“Fair winds, captain," you bade.

His eyes fell from yours, taking him a moment to respond. “Farewell, love.”

And the next thing you saw was his back turned as he strutted far out of your reach.

This was it. This is your choice, and his. No matter how much it hurts, you know that he cherished you as a crewmate just as much as you cherished him as your captain—the savior who made you see light again into this world.

Jack Sparrow was your beginning, and now it’s time to venture forth where that will take you. You owe it all to him.

But, as the said pirate headed towards the plank ‘proudly’, then catching a glimpse of both Elizabeth and Will, that demeanor of his quickly changed with a tilt of his head, annoyance settling through himself like the many times he had to change his course of action. He was one step up the plank when he stopped, seemingly contemplating on the choices he just made.

You had no clue what irked him so. And as you wondered, he turned to you.

What?

The next thing you know he was already striding towards your way, and soon smashed his lips into yours.

At first you didn’t know how to react, but by then it was instinct to shut your eyes close as you felt him deepen the kiss with his hand cradling your head from behind. There was no room for rejection, so you melted into it as his other arm banished all distance between your bodies. He held you closer like nothing before. As if this particular split bothered him just as much as you did.

Out of all the women he wouldn’t be seeing for a long time, it’s you he chose to cherish. And you dreadfully feel lucky right now.

Somehow, the kiss felt like flying as you feel yourself slightly tilt back with his support, his lips a passionate maneuver. Not even his beard could hinder anything as it only served a far more thrilling sensation.

Who would’ve thought your dear captain felt the same?

For that single moment, the pirates around you didn’t matter. Although, you didn’t miss the comment given by one of them, pride dripping in their tone. “Aye, the captain must’ve heard me advice.”

Honestly, you’re fortuitously thankful if Jack actually did hear. And even if not, you’re not really complaining. Perhaps you should start listening to Ragetti’s words of wisdom more from now on—if you ever see each other again, that is.

But you didn't dwell on that further; you’re far too busy at the moment.

When he slowly pulled back, the hand behind your head trickled down to your neck as you met his blazing dark brown ones, and you simply couldn't tear yourself away from them. Your poor heart rammed in your chest wildly.

Gods, your thoughts ran. Mum never forbade me to fall in love with a pirate, didn’t she?

And as if he could read your thoughts, that charming smirk of his surfaced.

Which is actually a sign that he's about to do something mad.

You frown. "Jack, what—"

Before you could complete the question, the pirate beat you to it as he diverted his attention right past you, his voice booming across the ship. "Hector!"

"Oh, mercy," the said man sounded displeased as he replied, seemingly knowing what Jack had in mind. "No."

From a second's moment of confusion, you eventually realized what Jack was trying to ask the feathered hat pirate. And if your memory serves you right, this almost feels like the one you’ve witnessed during the battle in the maelstrom. With the look Jack chanced at the two newly wedded couple earlier, you started to register where this was leading.

And you can’t believe it yourself. He is Captain Jack Sparrow for a reason, and he's as mad as ever.

The said man simply stretched out an accommodating smile at Barbossa, and with his arms still holding you close, you tried to look behind you only to see that the latter was staring down his nose at your captain.

“Come on, mate. Do it for an old friend, will ya?” pleaded Jack.

You immediately turned back to Jack. “Please confirm it to me that you’re asking him what I think you’re asking him.”

Jack averts his attention back on yours, his smile turning soft. “I think it’s perfectly obvious now, love.” His hands held you closer from behind just like before, thrill stirring in his dark-pooled irises. Though, it quickly changed as his brows folded. “Unless you don’t fancy the idea.”

You almost wanted to laugh at that, but you refrained. “With me? Now?”

“Aye.” He courtly nodded, as if he was telling you the obvious. “And I doubt your village would want you to join the Dutchman’s crew, so there’s no other day, is there?”

You chuckled at that. “Yes. Yes, I suppose they wouldn’t.”

There’s a part in you that’s begging to digress—that this is your choice. But you also know that they are waiting for you; the rapport of kinship to your homeland is what you also held dear. Besides, piracy was not your first option into livelihood. You already had your fill of adventure, even though it was only a matter of debt. To you, the soils of a land and the buzz of a lively village is where you belong.

Yet you stall here, thinking of bounding yourself to someone who’s now forbidden to step on land. Even so, you believe marriage has more to it than just living together.

“Marry me?” Your words came out quite impulsively than you let on.

Jack’s brows deepened a frown as he tried to process your question on whether you were asking him about his point—or that you’re actually asking him to marry you. But it wasn’t long before he eventually caught on, the corners of his lips upturning.

“Yes,” he answered, a compulsion he can’t turn away. “Marry you.”

You hear Barbossa mutter something as all the other heads turn to his annoyed form, who’s now stepping down from the quarter deck. Stance as intimidating as ever, the feathered hat captain sneered at Jack. But when he landed his attention on you, it at least subsided.

If you blink, you could’ve missed the somewhat compassionate expression he almost fully wore.

“Are we doing this or ya lot already regretting it?” he plainly asked, standing a few feet away from you and Jack, looking like he’s already regretting it himself.

“Oh, no,” Jack started. He pulls away from you, but his palm met yours, and bends down to place a kiss on your backhand without breaking an eye on yours. “No regrets here…nor will I ever.”

You should’ve been shrinking in embarrassment by then, knowing that you were surrounded by a crowd of all kinds of pirates, or melting on the wooden floor from the way Jack ravaged you with his gaze. But none of that prevailed in overwhelming you when Barbossa started his officiation of this middle-of-nowhere marriage.

Jack gave you all of his attention, and it was clear that whatever Barbossa was saying didn’t matter to him any more than you were. You hadn’t even realized how quiet everyone was—maybe just out of respect. But you thought wrong when you glimpsed both Ragetti and Pintel leaning at each other in a heartfelt manner as they eyed the occasion. It was sweet of them. Even Elizabeth herself regarded you with a wide smile as she rested her head on her newly wedded husband’s shoulder.

“Just get to it, mate,” Jack called out to Barbossa. “Skip it to the ‘I do’ part?”

You swear your officiant looked like he was one word away from shooting Jack. You couldn’t help but lightly shake your head, smiling. Jack didn’t even spare his first mate a look.

“Jack Sparrow,” Barbossa mentions the name venomously, and soon after, actually heeds Jack’s request.

When he was finally asked the question, he answered it in less than a heartbeat. “I do.”

There was no teasing at play, nor the walls he puts up as a captain. This time, he sounded as serious as he could have ever been. The smile he hung wasn’t the same ol’ frisky one he’d give you when he’s wrought with excitement. It was different, and you know where you'd seen it before.

A time where he decided the fate of something he couldn’t bear to lose.

And at that moment, he took your breath away.

You had not even heard what or how Barbossa asked you the question, nor the words you unleashed from your mouth. But you know it’s what your heart desires.

“I do.”

Your officiant didn’t even have to say anything else when Jack himself leaned in, catching your lips on his.

I could get used to this, you said in your head. For whatever time we’ve got at least. You couldn’t think of anything else, aside from realizing that Jack had such softer lips than you would have thought of.

“Somehow I’m surprised I haven’t gone and tried to kiss you before all this,” he says as soon as he breaks away, his forehead leaning closely to yours as his hat casts shadows over your faces.

“Did I actually leave you wanting, Captain?” you replied, reminiscing the ghost of his lips on yours.

“No captain, no,” he folded a brow. “Darling would be rather appropriate, wouldn’t it? And yes. Should I demonstrate my love for you again? Because I’m willing to take me single day at shore with just you.”

His gaze didn’t waver as he said that. Sure, you could identify the lingering sexual desire in the door of his soul, but there was also vulnerability. If this was anything like the ways of his seduction to other women, it was not. Because he isn’t trying to seduce you—you’re already his.

Though, with the weight of what the future holds, along with the fact that he’s bound with his new cursed ship with ten years worth of service, there is only one day of respite given to him from the harshness of the seas.

And to be with you.

Well, you mildly think he’d view the seas as harsh when for all his life he loved it. But only a day on land is just as harsh. A longing desire even.

And it certainly doesn’t change the fact that this is the last day you’ll ever hold each other again like this. Not for the next year, nor five. But for a decade. And just until that single day comes again, will you two be able to burn your hearts out.

Your hold on him tightened without you noticing. Getting eloped so suddenly without thinking it through first was certainly not on your list for today. It was all about surviving Davy Jone’s Locker and the battle with the pirate lords. But by the time Jack incited his desire of marriage, it was pretty much clear you both wanted no regrets. For even how too mad it was for you, it is a decision that you will look back on with gratitude for yourself.

Whatever may come, you know that you love and will love this madman.

So as you brushed past the flutter his words had given you, shamelessly suggesting the idea of consummation, your toes pushed you up as you tasted his lips once again. “Shall we make it worthwhile for the next ten years then?” you softly muttered to him after.

Recovering from the kiss, he fluttered his eyes open, grinning. “As worthwhile as can ever be, love.”

>> Part 2

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! As what I've typed above, this will have a pt. 2 which I've already written and been moving onwards to finishing it with a wee bit of editing (jk not wee actually). Here's to hoping I'll be able to settle that next week. I'm just excited because it's been fun writing this >.< Especially the next spicy part— Do don't expect too high on my smut prowess. It has been awhile since I wrote one but it isn't for naught. Because even I shocked myself with what I've just written (´。＿。｀) And lastly, if anyone wants to be tagged for the next one, feel free to comment about it or anything!

Ko-fi?

#potc #jack sparrow #jack sparrow x reader #female reader #pirates of the caribbean #potc ff #fanfiction #smut #jack sparrow fanfic #canon divergence #what if?#johnny depp

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edward-munson · 10 months ago

Text

trust you - Anakin Skywalker x f! reader

Summary: You work as a tech for the Jedi Temple and end up having to fix Anakin's robotic arm, once again. He starts having trust issues when she and his son, Luke Skywalker, become close to each other.

Warning: Angst, hurt, mentions of injury, cursing | Ps: Luke is his only child in this story. Anakin doesn't become a Sith (for now hehe)

Word count: 1.7k

Anakin arrived in the tech room with a frown plastered over his face, as always. His cheekbone was bloody and his metal arm was loose as well as malfunctioning.

She was sitting on her table, writing down on a piece of paper when his name was announced. She turned her head around and watched as he silently sat down on a chair across from her. One of her droids excused itself, leaving them both alone.

Anakin had his blank stare at some random point in the room, not bothering to look at her, who dragged the chair closer to him. (Y/N) gently grabbed his metallic arm, looking at the prosthetic.

"What happened this time?" She asked, trailing his limb. He still didn't look at her, or even mentioned to do so. "Tough assignment today?"

He sighed, rubbing off the dripping blood from his chin as he tried to close his fake fist. The motion failed, and he pulled his fingertips as he's supposed to feel the touch.

"Got a blast shot on it" His husky voice was almost a whisper, she nodded. When (Y/N) looked at again, she noticed how tired he looked. He had bags under his eyes and his forehead seemed to have more wrinkles to it.

She nodded and got up looking for her tools. It wasn't actually strange for her to fix his arm, because this wasn't her first time doing it. Maybe it wasn't even her first time seeing him coming back from a mission all beaten up.

Sometimes, he would look less upset or mad. But it was hard to decipher how he was feeling because Anakin was a pro at hiding his emotions ever since he lost his love interest. Perhaps having Luke around him would make him seem less disturbed, but also, having a kid wasn't easy for him.

(Y/N) took a closer look and noticed the robotic articulations were almost melting. It was going to take a while and she was afraid of telling him the bad news. Most people are always feeling intimidated by him, especially by the way he looks at everyone.

She let out a quiet sigh, catching his attention anyway. Since he became a stronger Jedi, his hearing had improved a lot. "What?"

It was the first time Anakin actually looked at her, wondering just what the fuck happened now. Slowly lifting her gaze at him, she gathered all of her courage to speak up.

"Your robotic articulations are "injured". And we're going to need some time to fix it, I'm sorry". She gave him a sympathetic look, to which he scoffed and shut his eyes.

"How long?" His voice carried some sort of rage and (Y/N) saw him making a fist with his other hand.

"Uh, we don't know. But I'll make sure it won't take too long".

Anakin grunted and ran his fingers between his hair. It was quite hot to see him like that, she thought to herself. At the same time, (Y/N) scolded herself for even thinking of something like that.

He didn't look at her when he released his fingers from his curls. "I'll give you a day".

While detaching his faux limb, she tried not to roll her eyes. He was always giving orders to people, not ever caring who they were. "We'll try our best Master Skywalker", she said bluntly.

(Y/N) placed the robotic arm above another table and reached for a first aid kit. She approached the man cautiously while holding a wet cotton. Anakin, who finally looked at her after snapping out of his reverie, furrowed his eyebrows when he saw what she was doing.

(Y/N) gently placed her hand on the Jedi's cheekbone, who remained still as she wiped the almost dried blood from his face. Anakin didn't flinch, even though he felt his skin burn from the contact with the stinging product.

He closed his eyes tightly to avoid eye contact with her, he didn't want to show any fragility at that moment. He was forced to face (Y/N) in front of him anyway, when she walked away to throw the material in the trash.

"You should get some rest, Master. Take this as an excuse to cool off for a bit". (Y/N) gave him an ice pack for his wound, smiling at him.

Anakin stood up from his chair holding a serious expression on his face while nodding. "Yeah, thank you".

He left the tech room without looking back. She scoffed. It was his thing to be the least polite ever and not even look at anyone.

(Y/N) considered it a win having caught his attention twice that day. He never does that. Not ever since he lost Padmé anyway.

Anakin

Luke came running straight to me as soon as I got to the loft. He was doing his homework with C-3PO before I arrived.

"Daddy!" He shouted as his small arms hugged my legs. "Your arm is missing, what happened?".

Little guy never failed to actually notice things. I crouched down to stay on his level and messed up his hair. "Dad was on an assignment, and it got shot with a blast".

He frowned for a second before messing my hair back. "Hey, little one!"

Luke started laughing as he ran back to the Droid, hiding behind him. "Are you alright, Master Skywalker? Do I need to contact the medical bay?"

I shook my head and flopped down on my bed. "Thank you, 3PO. I just need some rest".

The Droid nodded and walked back to the table, so my son could finish his homework. I sighed, it was weird to have a missing limb. It has been so long, I don't even remember how it felt like. I could still feel my ghost fingers moving.

I felt a throbbing pain on my cheekbone as well as my ribs, making it harder for me to breathe properly. My single hand went straight to my hair as I ran through it nervously.

I tried to dial down the stress, but couldn't even keep my eyes shut for what felt like half an hour. Luke had left the loft with C-P30 for whatever reason, which made me feel relieved. I didn't want my kid to see me like that.

"Fuck", I muttered under my breath. I wasn't sure I had painkillers lying around, and I didn't feel like going to the medical bay for an appointment.

I only found a bottle of liquor and decided to pour some into a glass. The strong taste burned my throat, and it hit my stomach briskly. If that doesn't numb the pain, I would have to drag myself out of the house. It was enough already I didn't have my metal arm, I wouldn't want to deal with that excruciating pain.

I didn't realize I had laid my head down on the kitchen countertop. The muffled sounds coming from my door woke me up, and I quickly grabbed my lightsaber, holding it next to me.

It was already dark, and only then I noticed Luke wasn't there. He wasn't watching TV or playing with his toys. Nor was he trying to sneak on me looking for my weapons that he fancied.

My fingertips became cold as I carefully walked towards the living room, still hearing low whispers. The giggling made me drop my shoulders and put down my lightsaber when I realized it was Luke.

"Luke! What the hell were you doing out? It's dark" My voice came out louder than I intended, and it scared him. He was using both hands to hold (Y/N)'s left arm, like he was trying to drag her inside.

"I'm sorry, Master Skywalker. He went to the tech room with 3PO. He wanted to see your arm". Her voice sounds apologetic and a bit apprehensive, even.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, watching as Luke reluctantly let go of her. "Sorry, dad. I just wanted to see how your arm was. I asked Miss (Y/N) to show me around as well, and 3PO said it was ok if she watched me".

"I didn't mean to bother, I'm really sor-" I cut her off before she could even apologize. My gaze met his and he nodded, knowing he should go to his bedroom.

"You should've brought him right away. He's not supposed to be out when I'm not with him". (Y/N) bit her lip and brought her hands together. "Don't do that again, please. Or I won't let him go near you".

She got taken aback, her eyes met the floor as she crossed her arms. "I really am sorry. I didn't know". I could barely hear her voice, it felt like she had a lump in her throat.

All I did was nod and watch as she turned her back to me and walked out of my door. I was about to make my way to Luke's room, when I found him propped up on the door stop, looking at me with fear.

"Buddy, I said you should only stay with C-3PO" The boy looked down at his feet and sniffed.

"But I wanted to look. I wanted to see how your metal arm is. It's pretty cool, by the way! Dad, don't be mad at her. She was nice to me, and she stayed with me the whole time!" He pleaded, he had his small hands holding the hem of my under tunic.

I released a drained sigh and sat close to Luke. "You can't trust everyone, Skywalker. It's a different world out there, we need to watch ourselves".

I didn't want him to trust anyone, I didn't need to see him trust every person who's nice to him. I've been there before, I know what it was like. I lost my girl. I trusted someone and I got stabbed behind my back.

I don't want Luke to be like me. I know who I became after losing Padmé. And I can't trust anyone anymore, either. I have issues trying to trust Obi-Wan again.

And more importantly, I don't want to fall for someone and lose them again. Because at some point, it always happens.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #star wars fanfic #hayden christensen imagine #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker #usersavana #clonecaptains #userlace

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aster-oid · 9 months ago

Text

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red.

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!"

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut.

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life.

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall.

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!"

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes.

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention."

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day."

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it.

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again.

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned.

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up.

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was...

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams.

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust.

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles. It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—"

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?"

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away!

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense."

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought.

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers.

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl.

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to."

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation.

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible."

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent?

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate.

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word.

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?"

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories."

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!"

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow.

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing.

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!"

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks.

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified.

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?"

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat.

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable.

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself.

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him.

"If you say so."

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge.

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change.

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened.

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago.

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?"

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me."

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side. He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects.

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze.

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest.

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life.

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

#scaramouche x reader #platonic genshin x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gender neutral reader #scaramouche #Wanderer #genshin fanfic #Platonic genshin impact #Platonic genshin

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thestrangepoet · 5 months ago

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The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 2/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.) ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

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The weekly Monday team meeting had never inspired much in the way of passion in the past, but then, the topic of Champion the cat had never been raised before.

“If you’re adamant about it living in the archives, Jon, then my requirement is that it be useful!” Elias repeated, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and discreetly wiping his eyes. He kept a healthy distance from the Head Archivist and the armful of ginger-and-white fluff he held, but the creature’s shedding fur seemed determined to attack him all the same.

Jon readjusted the cat in his arms, his stubborn scowl set despite his difficult load. “Champion is useful!” he retorted, earning a loud and happy purr from a delighted Champion. “And he will remain useful in the archives, yes. Not in the tunnels!”

In the what? Martin thought to himself, snapping out of his happy reverie of Jon complimenting him. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to the meeting as he ought to have been. It was difficult when he’d been allowed to sit on one of the comfier chairs, and Jon had been scratching behind his ear the whole time.

“He’ll not be locked in there.” Elias sniffed and narrowed his eyes at Champion, as though he’d like nothing more than to keep the cat underground at all times. “I’m not that cruel. But I have reason to believe there are rats in the tunnels…or at least one…” A smirk played on his thin, pale lips. “It would be a better use of resources to have the cat flush any out.”

“Of course there are rats in the tunnels! This is London! And the tunnels are underground! You can’t expect Champion to rout out every bloody rodent this side of the Thames!” Jon squeezed Champion a little harder than was comfortable, but Champion didn’t protest.

Tim, however, spoke up from where he was lounging behind them, his chair rocked back onto two legs. “He’s got a point, Elias. Have you seen Champion chase a laser pointer yet? Honestly, it’s pretty tragic. I don’t think he can see all that well, you know.”

“It’s a cat,” Elias drawled, looking down his nose at Tim. “I’m sure its eyesight is fine. Look, this is not up for debate. Either the cat is put to use in the tunnels during the day, or it goes to a cat sanctuary. Tonight.”

Champion wriggled in Jon’s grip, panic surging. If he ended up in a cat rescue centre, then what? He’d have absolutely zero chance of anyone realising something was wrong – a normal family wouldn’t even know things could be paranormally wrong about their cat! If he was going to have any hope of changing back, he had to stay in the archives!

“Shh, shh, it’s all right, Champion, don’t listen to Elias,” Jon said, petting the wiggling giant in his arms. “We’d never put you in a rescue centre. You could live with me! Or Tim!” “Err, actually Boss, my landlord—”

“Or Sasha! Or even Rosie! No one’s going to abandon you here, don’t you worry.”

Champion settled somewhat, if only because his heart began to swell at the very notion of not being abandoned. Joy and sorrow in equal measure – Martin had never been so noticed and cared for before. And yet…he wasn’t Martin, was he? They didn’t care about Martin; they cared about Champion the cat. In fact, Martin’s absence had only been brought up in passing at the meeting to ask if anyone had heard from him, and to agree Tim would swing by his flat again that night.

“The point stands, Jon.” Elias gathered up his files from the meeting and began to head to the door. “If that bloody cat is here when I next visit, it’ll be thrown out the front door. If you’re going to insist on it being here during working hours, it goes in the tunnels.”

──── •✧• ────

The trapdoor closed behind them, plunging both Jon and Champion into a moment of gloom. Jon rustled around in his bag for a moment, then something clicked; he’d pulled out a flashlight, and its bright beam pierced the dark ahead of them with ease.

Champion looked up at Jon, bashing his head lightly against the man’s thin leg.

Please don’t do this! Don’t leave me down here! I can hide under the desk, o-or under the bookcase, or hell, Tim’s car all day, I don’t mind! Just not down here on my own!

Jon, evidently sensing Martin’s distress, crouched down and petted his head lightly. “Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine. If Elias wants you down here, well…we’ll have to do that. But he never said you had to be alone.”

The head archivist straightened up then, taking a few tentative steps further into the tunnels. “I-I’ll be here with you. And eventually, Elias will realise this is a grand waste of time. Besides…there’ll be horrible echoes in the statement recordings I do down here. He’ll have to give in.”

He turned to offer a smile to Champion; yet another Martin had gained this week despite months of trying as a human. Still, the reassurance that wouldn’t be alone down there meant Champion trotted after Jon, keeping close to the light and to his companion.

Jon chuckled. “There we are, see? It’s actually not so bad down here, is it? It was worse a few months ago – full of worms. A-and a worm-woman. But she’s not here anymore. Don’t you worry.”

Jon led them both to one of the many doors leading off from the main tunnel. He paused, pulling out a piece of chalk from his bag and marking an arrow back the way they’d come. Then, he opened the door.

He peered inside – by his feet, so too did Champion – checking for any sign of danger. Seeing none, Jon pushed the door further open. “Right! This can be our office, then. You don’t need to be wandering the tunnels, Champion – Elias said nothing about that. Only that you had to be in the tunnels.”

Jon headed inside, setting his bag down on the ground and then sitting himself down. Champion hurried after him curling up as close to Jon’s leg as possible, shivering a little. A comforting hand came down once again to stroke his fur. “Oh, I know…It’s not as nice as the archives, but hopefully, we won’t have to endure this for too long. Just until Elias gets sick of the echo.”

He pulled out a tape recorder from his bag, giving it a little wiggle to highlight his point. “He’ll have to cave eventually.”

Champion wasn’t so sure. What was to stop Elias simply demanding Jon return to work in the office and then chucking him down in the tunnels and locking the trapdoor? What if Elias got the locks changed? What if he got stuck down there, lost among the twisting corridors – oh God, what if Michael found him again?

Champion shivered, lying down flat on his front and putting his paws over his eyes. It didn’t last long, however, before a worried Jon scooped him up, tape recorder and statement forgotten on the floor beside him.

“Oh, Champion, it’s all right! I’m here!” he said, bringing him up for another cuddle that threatened to smother Jon in fluff. “I know, this place is horrid, isn’t it? It won’t be forever, I promise. A-and maybe I can bring some more things down every day to make it comfortable? I wonder if Martin would mind if we borrowed his emergency jumper stash to make you a little bed in here? We can ask Tim to check with him tonight when—”

Jon’s reassurances were deftly severed by a loud bang from further up the tunnels that made both of them jump. Champion in particular yeowled and scrambled up from Jon’s arms to wrap around his head, knocking his glasses and latching on like the world’s weirdest woolly hat.

“Gak! Champion, I can’t see if you do that!”

Still, Champion wouldn’t let go. He stared at the door to their makeshift office in the tunnels, waiting to see what horror had caused that sound even as Jon’s hands tried to unpeel him from his head.

The hands stopped as the door to their room began to creak open…

──── •✧• ────

#cat!martin #tma cats #tma fanfic #the magnus archives

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gogobootz1 · 11 months ago

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The Mentor Pt. 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Five more years of victordom have passed, but the Capitol is still throwing surprises at you.

Part Five | Part Seven

A/N: SURPRISE! This is coming back because I felt like it and some lovely folks left comments recently ♥️ we can blame my absence on this semester, but thank putting off a 14 page final paper for this bout of productivity! (Also I was going for a ranch vibe with this pic? I'll start putting his face back on these soon lol)

Warnings: description of blood

Tears welled in your eyes as you finished dicing yellow onions, and you wiped your face with the back of your arm as you turned to scrape them into the pot. Caesar Flickerman’s voice floated in from your living room, the TV playing in the background so you could keep an eye on the quarter quell special. Count on Caesar to draw the whole thing out, emphasizing the significance of the anniversary and whatnot. You couldn’t help but be curious, though. The last quarter quell had fifty tributes, and you weren’t even alive to see it. You had, however, seen its effects on your occasional drinking buddy, so you were certain this year would be a doozy.

It seemed Caesar was finally getting to the point as you began chopping a red pepper. He introduced the President, and your hand tightened around the knife as Snow began his address. That voice haunted your dreams, and hearing it at home was far more unpleasant than anywhere else. You did your best to tune him out. That was, until he announced it.

“As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tribute are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.”

Your ears began to ring, and suddenly, you couldn’t hear the rest. Existing pool of victors. Existing pool of victors. Sharp pain brought your vision back into focus, and you blinked to find blood from the backs of your knuckles spilling over your pepper. Though your brain stopped moving, your hands hadn’t.

You took a silent step back from the counter, staring at the ruined cutting board. Tearing your gaze away, you started rifling through cupboards trying to find a towel. The ironclad grip your dominant hand kept on the knife wasn’t helping, but it certainly hadn’t occurred to you to let it go. Out of options, you shoved your hand under the faucet and watched water carry excess blood away.

Vaguely, you registered the pain in your hand as your water heater got to work, but your eyes stayed locked on the drain. A loud ring of the phone startled you out of your reverie, to the point where you’d launched your still-dirty kitchen knife into the wall next to it. But it pointed you in the direction of some towels, at least, and you snatched a clean one from the laundry basket on the stairs.

Sat on the second to last stair, you hunched over to wrap your hand. The world felt surreal as you stared at your shoddily covered wound, only looking up when your door burst open. You weren’t surprised to see Darla. Her scraped knees, bloody nose, and breathlessness didn’t shock you either. She probably fell when running over, but you were sure you looked just as frazzled. Grabbing her a towel from the basket, you nudged her with it before she could sit.

“Answer Finnick.”

She picked the phone up from the receiver, doing a double take when she registered the kitchen knife.

“Howdy,” she huffed, licking her top lip and clearing some blood.

You could barely hear Finnick’s resigned tone from the other end. “Hey, D,” he breathed. “How’s…” he trailed off.

“Well, there’s blood on the cabinets,” your head popped up when she said it. You hadn’t even noticed the trail you’d left in your wake, “Water on the floor, and a knife in the wall.”

The faucet was still on, too, and you definitely hadn’t turned off the stove. It was a relatively generous assessment from her.

“Will you put her on?”

Darla stuck the phone straight in your face. When you grabbed it she reached for another towel, and pushed it along the floor with her foot.

“Finnick,” your tone was almost too even for the circumstance.

“Don’t do it,” Finnick warned, knowing you far too well.

“Save it,” you shot right back, “I know you’re thinking it too.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said firmly. "They all have kids. Who would I be if I didn’t?”

Though Darla was busy cleaning up after your spell, you weren't stupid enough to think she wasn't listening. “You know I feel similarly,” you chose your words carefully.

Finnick did know, he’d seen what you’d given up for Darla. How you’d put yourself through the wringer for years just to spare her. He had no doubt you’d act just the same now. Only he didn’t want you to. He would’ve hated seeing Darla in there, but he’d be a dead man if you were in the arena with him. Your stubbornness didn’t stop him from making a final plea.

His soft call of your name cut your heart worse than you’d cut your hand. Suddenly, you could no longer bear speaking to the man who’d been your constant for the past five years. “I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll see you soon, Fin. Take care of yourself.” You stood and shoved the phone back on the receiver before he could say another word. Talking to him, thinking about him, neither would help you hold yourself together.

You stepped away from the phone, but stopped in your tracks to look at the knife. Some of your blood still lingered.

“Leave it,” Darla called from the kitchen, “it’s a bold new piece of decor.” She’d taken up interior design in the wake of her victory. You shook your head with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lip.

Coming to her side, you both looked down into the pot she’d taken off the stove. Burnt onion wouldn’t make much of a base. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge,” you offered, sadly.

“Yes please,” she nodded quietly. You passed behind her to heat some up, and she settled onto one of the stools at your counter. It took you a minute one-handed, but Darla seemed too absorbed in quiet reflection to care.

She dug in as soon as you slid her a bowl, but you stopped short before sitting down with your own. She raised a brow.

“I’ll be back,” you shook your head, taking your dish and slipping on shoes. The wind whisked straight through your clothes as you crossed the street.

Darby had never been close with you, nor Darla. He was there when she won, and you could tell he was somewhat relieved to only bring home one casket. But you weren’t close enough for him to tell you that, because he wasn’t your trainer.

He wasn’t even there when you’d won. The story was that Darby was too ill. It was true, only the illness was drug induced. District Ten had only one trainer that year.

The woman who had trained Darby had trained you, and you were the last District Ten victor she’d lived to see. Sam was kind but incredibly sharp. Gentle, yet challenging. Observant and astute, she’d assessed you for all you were and marketed a more palatable version to the good citizens of the Capitol. Beyond helping you survive the games, she helped you navigate the aftermath. Without Sam and without your Nana, you wouldn’t have lasted a month outside the arena. She picked you up and dusted you off again and again like your mother had when you were a girl who thought she was invincible. No time had hurt as badly as losing your first tributes, though, but Sam saw you through that too.

Before your second try at mentoring, however, she’d died. A horseback riding accident was the official story, but Sam had left the leather watch she loved at your house just before. She insisted on doing the dishes after you’d made dinner, and you later found it by the sink. Sometimes you swore you caught glimpses of her long silver braid. Each time it happened, you opened the drawer of your nightstand to stare at her watch.

Her death hit Darby hard, they’d been the only two Ten victors for a while. He hardly held it together during Darla’s games. Afterwards, he fell apart.

You’d been mentoring with Darla ever since, comforting her with each loss as Sam had with you. But you knew Darby had seen this announcement, and everyone in the district knew what it meant.

You stood at his door a few minutes after knocking. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt compelled to come over anyway.

A blue eye peaked from where the door had finally opened a crack. You held up the still-steaming bowl as an offering. Darby pulled the door fully open and stalked off into his house. Trailing after him, and closing the door behind you, you noticed how skinny he’d gotten since you’d last seen him.

“Thanks,” he said, raspy, when he took the bowl from you finally. You could only nod.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, knowing full-well how little it meant. Darby only sighed and shook his head.

He shrugged, stabbing a fork firmly into the bowl. “I always had that feeling,” he shook his head. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and he went on, “that it wasn’t over. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. They own us, of course they’d want us back.”

His passe tone rattled you. You nervously wiped your non-covered palm on your pants, “Right.” You looked around his dusty home awkwardly, “Well, see you soon.” Trying to leave him in peace and for your own, you made for the exit.

“I’ll say hi to Sam for you,” he said from behind you, mouth full. It stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t even look back at him.

“Thanks.”

————————

The months leading up to the reaping were hellish, with you and Darla trying to shed your rustiness. You insisted you both throw your all into prepping for this, but that was mostly a ruse. Volunteering for her had been your plan since the announcement. At the very least, you enjoyed your time at home with her. You hadn’t gotten any calls about trips to the Capitol, and Finnick told you he hadn’t either. At least they were letting you enjoy your last few months alive.

As Winter went, and Spring too, the day had finally come. Off to die for the second time.

You zipped the fly on a pair of jeans you hadn’t ever worn. Your stylists had shoved them in your closet a long time ago- since they looked exactly like the ones you’d won in. The head gamemaker your year had a background in fashion, and gave tributes plenty of chances to change dirty or worn clothes in for unique ones. People loved the look so much that denim had been a brief Capitol fashion trend. You figured it’d send a message to anyone who knew. After all, you’d cheated death in these once, you could do it again.

You were up early, and since you and Darla had agreed to arrive separately, you took a long walk around your home district. Your long lap, with sights you’d grown up loving and smells you’d always scrunched your nose at, was met with a few pitying glances. Eventually, it lead you to the Justice Building, and you took an extremely early seat. People took their places as the hours passed.

"Remember, it’s just for show," Sam’s voice rang in your head. It was the last thing she said to you before you entered the arena.

“Hey,” your head snapped to your right where Darla took her seat. She looked tense. You took her hand and squeezed it, a silent reassurance. It’s not you. You’ll be ok. I’ll miss you.

The district filed in for the ceremony, unusually unorganized. The only people the Peacemakers were concerned about policing, however, were already on stage.

Your annoyingly vibrant district escort began the ceremony, and you ignored her for as long as you could bear it. “Ladies first,” you blinked to attention, head held high. This was it. Dug your nails into your palm to stop your hands from shaking. You swallowed. I volunteer as tribute. You willed the words to the front of your brain, hopefully convincing your mouth to form them when the time came.

But you didn’t have to. She had called your name. You willed your face to remain impassive as you squared your shoulders. You forced yourself to take a proud step forward. Perception was everything here. You couldn’t look weak, not to the capitol, and not to your fellow tributes.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Your well-crafted mask fell with the words. Shoulders sank as you turned to her in shock. Not once did you think she’d volunteer for you. But you could almost hear Finnick’s voice reminding you how similar you were. It was why you got along like a house on fire. Only, this time you had been so recklessly loyal to her you’d miscalculated. And it would almost certainly cost your tribute her life.

“Darla,” you breathed, quiet enough for only her to heard, and sharp enough for it to come across as scolding.

She didn’t even turn your way.

You were escorted straight to the train before Darby could even be picked by default. The new (old) District Ten tributes were escorted straight to the train as well. Only then could you confront your mentee.

“What the fuck was that?!” You stood in a rage. She walked right past you toward the couches, but you caught her wrist.

“You don’t get to scold me for saving your life,” she shook her head, and tugged her wrist free.

“Sure I do, when you’ve acted like a fool! It was random, D! We agreed to let it be random!”

“Oh, that’s rich!” She scoffed.

“Excuse me?!”

“You’re still lying! You really think I didn’t know you were going to volunteer for me?” Darla asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. She fell back onto the couch.

You stepped back, anger fully dissipated. “What?”

“You hung up on Finnick nearly every time I’d walk in,” she shrugged, “you’re brave not subtle.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you lowered yourself onto the luxurious Capitol sofa next to her. For a second, you let your head fall into your hands.

“Still,” you persisted, looking straight ahead, “it was going to be me. You didn’t have to-“

“I know what all you’ve done for me,” she said simply. You sat straight up, finding her face with wide eyes. No.

“Finnick?” He wouldn’t.

“Johanna,” she shook her head. Your shoulders sagged. It made sense that Johanna knew, she was almost in the same situation. And you wouldn’t have expected them to keep things from each other, not before they broke up at least.

“Darla,” you started. Why hadn’t she confronted you when she found out? How long had she been holding on to this knowledge? Did she think differently of you?

“You’ve been falling on your sword for me for five years,” Darla said solemnly, “it’s high time I took it away from you.”

Your stomach ached, and tears blurred your vision, “D.”

She pulled you in for a hug when your voice broke. “You gave me my life back,” she whispered, “I’m only doing the same.”

You pulled away from her, wiping vigorously at your face. “I won’t watch you lose.”

She sniffled a wry laugh, “then make me win. Maybe this time it'll stick.”

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