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peachigummi · 2 months ago

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bite 𓆚 tom riddle. p2.

summary: [read part 1 here!] after you almost break up with tom, you decide to give him another chance (and thank god you did too). you force him into communication because that's how a healthy normal couple should come together, right? tom concedes, letting you take the lead, but only for a bit. old habits die hard. he also has a surprise in store, though it’s more for him, than you.

pairing: tom (if you squint, he's rather sensitive! and insecure!) x fem! slytherin! reader

warnings: 18+, more fluff rather than angst, soft-boiled sex? (LOL, like not too soft, not to hard),

BUT before I lose you freaks: eye contact!, sum praise, begging, mating press *blush* (piv, unprotected), creampie, reassurance!!, nipple play, biting, blood magic/play/consumption? (😵‍💫). saying ily for the first time, with some after care :)

note: uhhh enjoy?

word count: 10,527 (so excuse me why it took so long >.<)

(trust i will never perfectly proofread my work at this point)

reblog, like & comment if you'd like tom to claim you!

~ @amongstthehollows , @blxuqueenie , @queenanababy , @lovellies , @urmom101 , @lolalleins

There was a soft rapt on the door. You slowly pry your eyes open, they still felt so incredibly heavy. Swollen. Crusted over. You couldn’t remember falling asleep, you must have tired yourself out from crying. You felt drained.

“Y/N?”

You recognized the voice to be Astoria’s. There was another tap.

“I know you’re in there…” she said softly again. You got up off the bed, your body cracking in all sorts of places. You slowly pull the door open, Astoria peeked her head through. You saw how her eyes widened as she took in your red-rimmed eyes and your tear stained cheeks. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“We didn’t see you last night…or this morning…” she hesitated, “or lunch.” She gently sat down on the edge of your bed, her expression was one of concern as she turned to face you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, it didn’t feel that long. Though you couldn't decide if it was too long of a time passage, or too little since you fled from Tom. You walked to your window, peeling back the curtains, the sun was starting to make its descent.

“We asked Tom where you were, but he couldn’t really speak. It was like he was recovering from something. Just kept whispering ‘room’.” Astoria explained. “It's strange behavior from both of you. I can tell something is off.”

You nodded. Of course he didn’t tell him that we had an argument, Tom would never admit that to others.

“I also know that you don’t usually seek out people, but if you do need someone to talk to, you know I’m here.” She continued.

“I know you are.” You turned away from the window to smile at her. It was Tom that you needed to talk to, but you already reached out to him. You wanted him to come to you.

“It would mean a lot to us if you came down and ate.” She stood up, and reached out to touch your hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but she interrupted, “not in the dining hall. We all pitched in to have a house potluck. We got tired of the school’s food.” She laughed lightly.

“Okay fine, you’ve got me interested.” Your stomach growled at the thought of food.

Astoria grinned when she saw you soften, she gave your hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. She opened the door, the warm, inviting smell of food drifting into the room. Your stomach let out another grumble.

You took a step back, “I should freshen up first.” You quickly began to run your fingers through your hair.

“You look fine, really. No one is dressed up.” She did reach out to hover her hands above your eyes, she whispered something and you immediately felt a cool relief in the area. She pulled back.

“What was that?” You ask, blinking. Refreshed.

“I’ve been working on cosmetic magic.” She smiled, “I usually do that to help with swelling.”

You felt yourself blush, “thank you.” Your eyes must have been really affecting your overall appearance. You found yourself glad that Astoria didn’t try prying into why you had been crying.

Astoria gently pushed you toward the door, leading you down the hallway and down the stairs. As you got closer to the common room, the sound of chatter and laughter grew louder. The smell of food became even more irresistible.

A few people noticed as you came down with Astoria, you waved at them. Leading you to a long table with a variety of foods, Astoria grabbed a plate for you. You glanced back briefly, your housemates were sitting around in a circle playing some game. You felt a heavy stare, your head ached. You flinched away from the feeling, shaking your head as if it would help. Tom. You told him time and time again to not attempt to get in your head. It was an invasion. He had eventually respected it, but apparently not now.

“You need to try these sliders…” Astoria grabbed your attention again, “and these fruits here are so ripe.”

Tom sat across the room, a ways outside of the immediate circle of students, his eyes locked on you. He had been watching you since you turned the corner down to the common room. Seeing you interact so warmly with another person made his heart clench, a mixture of pain and jealousy. Astoria was just taking care of you, so why was he so irritated by it?

“Astoria..I know I missed a couple of meals but-” Now you began to protest, flinching again when you felt another sharp pain of Tom trying to use Legilimency.

“Oh stop it, we have to nourish your body. Don’t ever skip out like that again. It’s bad for you.” She kept filling the plate.

“Okay Tori, it’s really enough…really. I can always refill if need be.” You say holding her wrist back as she tried to grab another item.

She looked at you trying to gauge your honesty. Then conceded, “okay fine..at least try those puff pastries at the end over there, they’re to die for.”

You nod as she gracefully hopped around people until she reached the spot next to Draco. Draco shifted as Astoria took the seat. He put his arm around her, and kissed her temple, all while looking at you. His eyes shifted to Tom, then back to Astoria.

Taking a seat on a couch near the back of the group, you look over at the center of the room. Blaise and Theodore were at the center, wearing blindfolds. Giggling like idiots as they tried to guess what they were feeling inside a box. You look down at your plate of food. You could also feel as Tom tried to read your expression, again. It was starting to irritate you. You continued to try and push him out.

You took a deep breath, taking a stab at a potato, putting it in your mouth. It was delicious and soft. You dared to look at Tom, blankly. Almost daring him to do something else but stare.

Tom smirked as you looked up at him, defiance written all over your face. He was taken back for a sheer moment, not expecting you to want to look at him, especially so directly. His jaw clenched, mind racing with the things he wanted to do, needed to do. Things that he should say. He thought about it all night and all day after your last meeting. Tom was also keenly aware that anyone could see him if he decided to act out on it. He couldn’t risk revealing his dark, possessive side of himself. He needed to wait and pull you aside in order to gather his thoughts and tell them to you.

You rolled your eyes, subtly shifting over on the couch. You rest your hand on the seat directly next to you, tapping on it with a single finger. You lift your hand back up to stab through a piece of meat, putting it in your mouth, looking away.

Tom recognized the invitation in your gesture, his heart began to pound in his chest. He was torn between his need to protect his reputation and the temptation of being next to you. Being able to touch you was too strong to ignore. He got up from his spot, slowly making his way towards the couch you sat on.

You watch as Tom got up, disappearing into your blind spot. Then a few seconds later you felt his presence directly behind you. You carefully chew, placing the fork in front of your mouth as if you were getting ready for another bite. “Kind of rude for you to just stand there when I invited you to sit.” You say, now taking the bite off your fork.

Tom’s lips twitched again as he heard your words. You were always so demanding at times, so forward. It both annoyed and intrigued him. He leaned over the couch, his breath warm against the nape of your neck as he whispered in a low voice. “I was just observing. Taking time to enjoy the view from back here.”

His warm breath, the smell of his cologne. It almost made you twist with delight, but you held your own. “The back of my head?” You look down at your plate deciding what to eat next. Astoria had a good selection. Everything was delicious.

Your comment only made him lean forward some more, his chest brushing against your back. “I was looking at your neck, the way your hair falls over your shoulders.” He could barely resist the urge to reach out and touch you, wrap his arm around your neck and pull you against his chest. “It’s quite beautiful.”

“You flirt.” You almost sigh at his subtle touch, “nice to know you have your voice back from that creation we made.” You point out. There was an eruption in the center of the room as Theo began cursing in Italian about who put a damn spider in the box to guess.

Tom chuckled softly, his breath sending goosebumps down your spine. “Yes, I do have my voice back, and I plan to use it to my advantage.” He slowly rested a hand behind your shoulder, gripping the back of the couch. His knuckles are just barely touching you. He was even so bold to reach out and rest a single finger on said shoulder. How scandalous!

“And I doubt you’ll actually talk face to face with me in public.” You try to take the irritation out of your voice. Thinking about how he couldn’t even touch you even when you were near damn ready to break things off with him the other evening.

His frown returned upon hearing the edge in your voice. You were right, he couldn’t fight that. Hiding his feelings from everyone came as easy as breathing to him. But he had to change that if he were to keep you. “I have my reasons.” He ventured out to actually put his whole hand on your shoulder, tightening it, as if to keep you in place. He was afraid you would walk off again. “But this is between us two. No one else. So no sense in talking about it in public. Want me to make a speech out of it and include everyone?” It was his nature to come off snarky. He shook his head regretting having said it like that.

You shrugged his hand off your shoulder, despite how much you needed his touch. “Sit, Riddle.” You watch as the next pair of housemates were being blindfolded to guess, it was Pansy and Enzo.

Tom…was beginning to like how assertive you were being. He hesitated, but ultimately obeyed. Taking the seat next to you, your weight shifted toward him causing your legs to touch. You didn’t dare move it, you wondered if he would. You slightly turn your head to look at him, casually. Tom looked down at you, his eyes dark, mixed with a desire and uncertainty.

“Did I give you enough time to think and brew up any excuses?” You say sarcastically. You actually couldn’t believe you nearly slept through a whole day after your last interaction.

He sighed, he actually sighed! Tom ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You have.”

“Really? Spill.” You stab another piece of meat, offering it to him. Seeing if he would have the courage to bite into it, to try and let you feed him with his peers around. You could see Tom’s eyes flicker down to your fork before looking back into your eyes. He saw through your challenge to push him to show some form of affection in public.

With another sigh and hesitation, even with his pride flaring up, trying desperately to hold his ground. He ends up leaning forward slightly, opening his mouth to take the bite you offered to him. His desire to be close to you ultimately won. Tom chews very slowly, his eyes flicking around the room. He just had to quickly reassure himself that no one cared to notice what was going on between you two.

You fought back a smile. “Waaaow.” You remark in surprise, watching him lean away from you to swallow. “You must have really been thinking about stuff.” You knew if Tom hadn’t been trying to improve himself, he would have probably smacked the fork away from your grasp.

Tom licked the bottom of his lip, instinctively his thumb went to wipe the corner of his mouth as if he had some sort of crumb. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His cheeks were actually showing a bit of pink. He couldn’t control how his body reacted from something so mundane as letting someone else feed him, especially in a room full of people. To a regular person, Tom still had a poker face. But to a trained eye like you, you noticed it right away.

You nod, “maybe a little too much.” It was the most you’ve gotten him to do in the months you’ve been together. “So…do share. What has been going on in that mind of yours?” You nudge him with your elbow. Bringing him back to the issue at hand.

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny that your persistence was starting to wear him down. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Tom looked at you, his gaze softening slightly.

“I did all the talking when you were mute. It took a toll on me. So I'm going to really need you to spill your own heart out.” You explain as you shake your head.

“Fine. But this really is not a conversation I’d like to have here.” His chin rose up pointing to the group.

You look down at your near empty plate, “help me with this and you can take me elsewhere then.”

Tom, did feel the now familiar pang of guilt at the mention of your exhaustion. The weight of your words. So he didn’t fight that request. He took the plate from you, “Fine. Once I finish this, I get to choose the place.”

“All yours Riddle.” You nod. There was another explosion of laughter from the room, but he had all your attention. Waiting for him to finish the food. It made you feel better that he was being fed too. Even if it was basically forced.

When he finally got around to it, Tom set the plate on the small table near the couch. He stood up, offering you his hand. “Come on.”

You had to bite back your smile when you saw his hand out. No way in hell were you going to pass up this opportunity. You took it, his touch cold as ever, despite how warm the room was from the everlasting fire. Why he always ran cold was beyond you. It was actually quite concerning sometimes.

With your hand clutched tightly between Tom’s, he led you out of the common room, past the group of rowdy students, and into a quieter hall then down another. He came to a stop at an empty window nook, tugging you into the secluded area. The refracted moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft blue-green glow on both your faces as he turned his body toward you. His face glazed with something unreadable.

“Is this where you usually come to think?” You ask looking out of the window at the dark shadows. Since the Slytherin dormitory was halfway into the Black Lake, this part was truly submerged in the water.

Tom nodded in response, he followed your gaze. The underwater plants gently swayed with the current of the water. Creating an oddly soothing atmosphere, as if it was just for you two. He shifted closer to you, his body almost touching yours once more. His voice was low and quiet as he began to speak, “Yes. It’s peaceful down here.”

“I like it.” You try to study him. “I can really picture you here.”

“Can you?” He liked the idea of you imagining him when you were alone. Tom hoped that version of himself that you conjured up in your mind, was much kinder to you than he actually was.

You try to refrain from sighing, “Don’t try to change the subject, we came here to talk.” You remind him.

“So we’ll talk.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to already keep his frustration at bay or from even daring to come out. “But I would hate to say something you wouldn’t like to hear.”

You just stare at him. It couldn’t be as bad as you breaking up with him…unless he came to the decision that agreed with that notion. But Tom’s sudden flirting and closeness indicated otherwise.

With a deep breath, he took a moment to steel himself for the conversation. For the talk about…these so-called stupid feelings he had to address. He knew he had to be honest with you, even if it meant putting a larger gap in this newly fragile relationship you shared. “Alright. Firstly, I owe you an apology.” He looks at you with regret.

“About?” You prod.

He hesitates, his eyes flickering back to the shadows in the window. “About…pushing you away. About not allowing myself to be close to you in public. About hiding my feelings and pretending that I don’t care.”

You reach out and put a finger under Tom’s chin so he could turn back to look at you. “Tommy…I don’t want you to think it’s bad to be private. I admire that…I do. But I just…it wouldn’t hurt to know…that you aren’t ashamed of me in public. Or to know that you really do like me.”

Tom’s eyes widened at your touch, god he so desperately wanted to defend his actions, to explain why he preferred to keep private. The look in your eyes made him think twice, he took another deep breath. His voice was low and sincere, “I do like you…so much more than it seems. More than anything. And I don't want to hide it..but..” He trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain his conflicted feelings.

“But?” You ask, letting go of his chin. You let your hands fall onto his lap, fiddling with the end of this sweater. It was oddly comforting to Tom. “Let’s meet in the middle…tell me.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find some words to explain. He couldn’t keep hiding behind excuses and half-truths. “It’s complicated.” He finally lets out, voice strained. Uncertain.

“I’ve got time.” You look between his dark eyes. You’ve never seen him so conflicted. Tom was always so sure of what he did and wanted to do. You could tell he was actually trying to see how you might react and feel. To be conscious of your needs.

“I’ve never done this before.” He cleared his throat. “Openly liking someone, having feelings…being…vulnerable. I’ve always been closed off, keeping everyone more than arm’s length away. It’s easier that way.”

“Tom…You’re like one of the greatest wizards out there and you’re so young too. So much more to learn and do which is insane to think about.” You pause, “liking someone won't and doesn’t make you weak. Being alone and stony only makes things hard.”

Tom listened to the truth in your words. You were right, he was being stubborn and foolish, but he couldn’t help the fear that gripped him at the thought of opening up fully. “I know. I just…don't want to lose control. I don’t want to depend on anyone. I don’t want to let my emotions rule me.”

“Balance. It’s about balance. Too much of something is never good.” You shift to grip onto one of his hands that was actually beginning to grow so pale with his death clench he had. You make his fingers sprawl out, releasing the tension. “You can still be in control and have balance.

His heart raced as you touched him. The feeling of your hand on his, sent a shiver down his spine. “Balance, huh?” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip. “You make it sound so easy.” Tom let out a tsk.

“It’s not, god I wish it was. It’s a lot of work to find balance. But I want us to try that. Baby steps.” You bring his hand up to your face, leaning into his palm. “Tommy…I want to try with you, please try with me.”

His breathing stalled at the action. At your plea. He felt some defense of his crumbling, his guarded demeanor almost at once deteriorating. Just for you. The tenderness in your eyes, your own vulnerability showing to him. “I’ll try.” He rubbed his thumb over your soft, plump cheek. “For you.”

“Please.” You felt your sight begin to blur. You drop hold of his hand so you could lean in and cup his face with both your hands. Without hesitation you press your lips against his, slowly kissing him. Tom’s own eyes fell shut, the feeling of your hands on him sent a rare wave of warmth through him. He brought his own hands up to your hips, holding you tightly as he returned the kiss. Pouring all of his pent-up emotions into it.

Tom was the one to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours as he tried to convey all the things he still couldn’t say. Things he was too afraid of coming to terms with. He nearly felt like praying to some almighty being that this would be enough, even just for now, to keep you.

He pulled you closer to him, his hands sliding up your back. Leaning you onto him. He savored the taste and feel of you in his arms. You’ve kissed before, but this was different. Much different. It was driving him to the brink of insanity. Tom wanted more, needed more. It took all of his self-control to keep from taking it further in that moment. He couldn’t stop thinking about how your body fit against his.

There was a thud of a door down the corridor. Almost like you both were electrocuted, you parted away from each other. Settling in the opposite ends of the window nook. No part of either of you touching. You both were even looking in different directions. You looked out of the window, while Tom looked at the person who began to walk down the corridor to the other end of the hall.

Tom took a deep slow inhalation, trying to steady his racing heart and calm his jagged breathing. He could feel the heat lingering on his lips, your taste still fresh. He shifted in his seat, too easily he appeared nonchalant and unaffected by the moment that had just passed. He even gave a brief nod to the student that passed.

There was another slam of a door, the footsteps subsided. You looked at Tom and smiled, holding back a laugh. You bit on your thumbnail. Once again, since you were familiar with his mannerisms, he still looked quite flustered. Tom shot you a sideways glance, noticing the amused look on your face.

He cleared his throat. “What’s so funny?” He asked, even though he had a pretty good idea of the reason for your amusement.

“Can you tell me one thing, Riddle?” You ask, smiling at him. You turn your body back towards him.

With a raised eyebrow, and a smirk forming despite his efforts to keep a straight face. “One thing?” He repeated, folding his arms across his chest. “Depends on what you’re asking, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered at the pet name, he hardly ever used any. It was always just your name. “Can you wish me a belated happy birthday…?” You ask oh-so sweetly, batting your lashes at him, crossing your own arms. The reason why this whole thing happened.

Tom rolled his eyes, but rather playfully, at your request. Pretending to be annoyed by your sweet demeanour. “You’re still hung up on that? It’s just a birthday. Not the end of the world or anything.”

“But it means the world to me…coming from you.”

He looked at you, your expression held. He softened again, “fine, fine. Happy birthday, darling.”

You smile, “thank you, Tommy. I’ll take it.” You stand up out of the nook, offering your hand to him this time.

Tom lets you pull him up. He dusted off his sweater, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re insanely stubborn, you know that right?” But he didn’t really have any bite to his words. He rather admired how determined you were to hear that from him. He stepped closer to you, his hand still holding yours.

“I like getting my way.” You give him a playful scowl, squeezing his hand. “But I also don’t like liars. And you lied about having a surprise for me.”

Rolling his eyes, “It wasn’t a lie, per se. Just…a delay in the plan.” He couldn’t keep the hint of defensiveness out of his voice. He knew he had screwed up, but it was hard to admit it outright. “I had something planned, I just…” He trailed off, suddenly looking embarrassed.

“Yaddayadda…” I start tugging him down the hall, “just don’t make an empty promise again. Especially not with me.”

“I know..I know..” He huffed, following your lead. He would admit he kind of liked the way you were taking control. He couldn’t help but look down at your perky ass as you led him. Tom couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at him.

You pushed open the door out of the hallway, there were still a good amount of people in the common room. You felt Tom’s hand twitch in yours. You couldn’t blame him for still feeling uncomfortable with showing public affection, it was much too soon to be expecting that. So you let go of his hand.

With that, Tom couldn’t help but feel immediate relief, but maybe also a mix of disappointment. He quickly shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to appear as if he had just taken a leisurely stroll with you. Tom scanned the room, his expression betrayed nothing.

You both climbed up the stairs, at the top you ask, “let’s call it a night…mine or yours?” You run your fingers on the railing waiting for his response.

“Mm..” he mused, leaning against the railing. “Mine.”

With a quick nod, you already start walking toward his side of the dormitory. Once you passed a corner out of view from those below in the common room. You turned around and grabbed Tom’s hand again, “C’mon you’re so slow..” You whine and tug on him.

Tom chuckled at your impatience, allowing himself to be pulled along. He laced his fingers through yours as you took hold of his hand, savoring the feel of your touch. He quickened his pace to walk beside you, “Eager?”

“I’m not that clingy, but two and a half days without you sucks!” You say waiting outside of his door, waiting for him to unlock it with his touch.

“Is that right? You missed me?” Tom once again felt a warmth spread through his body at the thought. It was still a foreign feeling, but not an unwelcome one. He took a step closer to you, his body just millimeters away, he raised his hand towards the door handle. Hearing it click unlocked, he gently pushed the door open.

“Nagini!! I’m heeerrree!” You playfully sing out, giving Tom a teasing look, as if you had been talking about her and not him. He rolled his eyes, knowing you were messing with him.

“Yeah sure, of course you miss the snake more than me. Why am I not surprised?”

You go up to Nagini’s tank, she already began to go up, pushing against the lid wanting to come out.

“Has our Tommy been feeding you and letting you bask in the natural sunlight?” You coo. You take the lid off, offering your hand for her to climb onto. Tom leaned against the wall, watching you with amusement and affection. There was something oddly domestic about the sight of you loving on his snake. He raised an eyebrow as you asked about Nagini’s well being.

“Of course I’ve been feeding her and letting her out. What do you think I am? A bad owner?”

“I wasn’t asking you.” You say to Tom, shooting him a look that still feigned on playfulness. You look back at the little snake, “has he?” She slithered further up your arm. You look at the small swell of her belly.

He ignores your comment. “She seems pretty content and healthy to me.” He responds either way, his voice tinged with pride. “I think that’s all the answer you need.” Tom pushed himself off the wall, stepping toward you and Nagini.

Nagini looked back and forth between you and Tom, nodding. She continued to slither up all the way to your shoulder. You couldn’t help but laugh at the feeling. It tickled. You even felt her slim tongue flick at your cheek. “Nagini!” You laugh much louder.

Tom couldn’t help but let out a low laugh at the sight. “Careful now. She has a mind of her own, and won't hesitate to bite without warning.” He said this despite the surprising amount of affection she was showing you.

“Yes I know. She didn’t like it when I didn’t bring her home quickly enough to her tank. She bit my finger because it was too cold for her.” You patted the top of her head with a single finger. “Can’t blame her. She knows what she likes. I respect that. I’m the same.” You smile at her, then at Tom.

“You’re quite the snake charmer.” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“Only because you taught me. Otherwise snakes are kind of scary. Plus it helps that she’s so cool.” Nagini took the opportunity of Tom’s outstretched hand to start coiling onto his wrist.

“Yes. She is. Sassy too.” He smiled at her as she settled with him, he went to stroke down her scales. The small snake closed her eyes, she looked content indeed. Almost like she was smiling back. The little tongue came out and flicked occasionally.

You take a step toward Tom, closing the distance. “She’s like our baby, huh?”

Tom rolled his eyes at the comment, he never really saw Nagini as a baby in that way. Now that you mention it, he couldn’t help but see her in a different light. He only grunted in agreement, a small smile formed on his lips.

Leaning over, you plant a kiss on top of the snake’s head. Her tongue hitting your chin as if kissing you back. You giggled at the feeling once more. You looked up and kissed Tom on the cheek too. It was a small gesture, but it held a surprising amount of significance to him.

With his freehand, he lifted it to cup your face, “You’re spoiling her.” He teased, his voice low and soft. His gaze relaxed as he locked on yours.

“I think she deserves it.” You challenge back. You lean in again, but this time you kiss him on the lips.

He leaned into it, his hand coming to curl around the back of your neck. He broke away reluctantly after a few seconds. His eyes darkened as he looked down at you. “You’re spoiling me, too.”

“I think you deserve it.” You don’t let him answer because you plant another kiss, giving a small nibble on his bottom lip. You felt Tom’s breath pause.

Tom felt his control slip the longer your lips locked. His hand tightened around your neck. “Careful, love. You might be getting yourself into trouble.” He said against you.

“What? I’m not asking for trouble.” You half wine. You feel him pull back. Watching him walk over to Nagini’s enclosure, he allows her to slither back in at her own pace. He puts the lid back on, before placing a small blanket on the top to cover it. “Oh?”

A sly smile formed on Tom’s face, it made you excited but also had your heart dropping. He comes close to you, coming close in order to whisper in your ear. “It won't end well, now that you’re all mine. Just us two.”

“All yours? Show me.” You close your eyes at the feel of his lips near your ear. The excitement growing.

“You’ve been quite pushy as of late.” He murmured, nipping lightly at your earlobe. Teeth grazing your skin. It sent a sharp chill down your body. Tom brought a hand around your waist, pulling you against him. “You’re getting close to crossing a line.”

You let out a small yelp when he pulled on you. You could feel his heart beating in rhythm with yours. It was fast. “I wasn’t aware there was a line. A limit.” You respond, sighing when he licks the edge of your ear slowly. You shivered again, holding onto his sleeve.

Tom smirked at your physical response, it made him feel powerful. He pinched at your waist, “oh you have limits. Trust me.” He murmured against your skin, lowering his head. His breath was hot against your neck as his mouth moved along your jaw. He left a trail of soft kisses. He nuzzled the edge of your neck, feeling your pulse against his nose. It only fueled his desire.

“Enlighten me on what the limit is.” You manage to say between shallow breaths. You tilt your head further to the side to allow him better access. Absolutely relishing his attention. It only made you keenly aware of how your core began to stick to your panties.

Tom took advantage of your exposed neck, giving a sigh of approval of your action. His mouth moved along your skin with growing urgency. He couldn’t get enough of you, the way your hair smelled, the slight sweet salty taste of your skin, to the sound escaping your lips. “Your limit is when I say it is.” He murmured against your skin. His teeth grazing against your collarbone.

You shake your head, “Please don’t…” You whine, yet you push him toward his bed until he falls slowly backwards onto it. He didn’t resist the action. You follow him, not daring to create distance. You kick your shoes off, making your way to straddle him. Your thighs on either side of his lap.

He watched you with hooded eyes, feeling the weight of yourself on him. His hands came to rest on your hips. His touch was almost reverent as he stared up at you. “I want to do whatever I want.” You explain. It was your turn to savor him. With one hand you gently grasp onto his jaw, and begin to pepper kisses down his neck. You offered small licks and nibbles on his cool skin. His cologne was intoxicating, you wanted to smother it.

Tom involuntarily tilted his head away when your lips found his neck. He wanted more of this attention, and he found that he wanted to give it to you. “You want free rein, hm?” He thought about it for a moment, barely opening his eyes to look at you. “Do as you will then.” He relinquished his power to you. Tom gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into you.

“Let me take care of you..” You whisper against his skin. You find his lips and kiss him harshly. With this new distraction, you allow your hands to explore him. You feel his slender yet toned body. You carefully, almost cautiously, move your hand under yourself. Just between your legs, feeling him through his pants. “Please let me take care of you.” You repeat, begging.

His body tensed immediately to your touch, he hadn’t expected it to go in this way? Did he? His muscles froze with anticipation as your hands felt him. It has actually been a long time since he was touched in this manner. He couldn’t even remember the last time he relieved himself.

Tom let out a low hiss as you pressed against him, his arousal growing with every passing moment. He just stiffly nods, “okay..” The single word came out much more strained due to his inner conflicts of relinquishing what he always held. Power. Independence. But god damn, did he need you to keep doing that with your hand. He lifted his hips, grinding against your grip. This new need is becoming evident to both of you now.

Your foreheads touch as you kiss him once more. You feel his arms wrap lightly around your waist, the pressure and security felt amazing. Yet you wanted more, and you knew he did too. You could feel him through your own jeans. With one hand you were able to fluidly work through the button of his pants, before slowly dragging the zipper down.

Tom’s grip tightened, almost pinching you. “I need you, don’t tease me now.”

You shook your head, “I’m not trying to.” You laugh, but he bucks himself up again, pushing you away for a moment. You catch yourself on his chest.

“Take them off.” He commands. You were going to roll your eyes, you were already going to remove them before the command. You rebalance yourself in order to pull his pants down. Tom’s gaze never left yours, he groaned when the pressure released and his cock sprung forward.

Shit. You thought, feeling it was one thing, but seeing it was another. His dick was big and you could never wrap around that truth.

“What?” Tom said, propping himself up on his forearms, bringing your attention back to his eyes. That smirking bastard. “It’s all yours.” He flashes you a wicked smile. It made your cheeks begin to burn. You liked that reminder.

“I’m yours too.” You look away from him as you roll over onto your back and swiftly pull and tug at your own jeans. You arch yourself and look to him for help.

He understands and immediately stands up and loops his fingers through the belt loops. As he starts to pull them over your thighs, his knuckles grace your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “All mine. Forever.” He leans over and pulls your shirt up, just enough to expose your stomach. He begins to kiss the skin there, his tongue barely touching you, yet making patterns along the curves of your body. “For all of time. I won’t let you walk out on me again.” You barely understand him. His mouth was pressed so closely to you.

You were too focused on his mouth to realize that he had also pulled your panties off. You blush at the exposure, almost embarrassed. Your eyes meet, he looks down and he too realizes what he’s done. His pupils dilated at the sight below him. There was that light shade of pink on his cheeks again. Tom pulled himself up so he could attack your neck with the new powerful possessive wave that shot through him. “You’re beautiful..so fucking beautiful. Made just for me.” Voice thick with what seemed like an insatiable need. He roughly pushed your legs apart and eased himself between the empty space.

“Tommy…” You softly moan out, biting against your finger. You felt a hand come around under your thigh, just below your ass. His nails scratched into your skin and he groped. “Ah..” You shut your eyes, it was borderline painful. But in a good way, it was almost confusing. You wrap a hand around his wrist to try and make him release his grip, even slightly. At the same time you also attempted to move your hips against his, thus rubbing your slickness on his dick. You could feel the veins that ran over his length.

Tom whispered next to your ear, “Fuck. That’s it…move for me, darling.” His grip only tightened, it would definitely leave a tender bruise. He didn’t want to hold back any longer, he needed you. Now. Yet he was willing to wait, just to hear you beg for it. He planted wet hot kisses down your neck. He loved how you began to shake beneath him, breaths shallow.

He removed his hands for a split second to pull your shirt further up to your chin, exposing your tits to him. “Mmm…so pretty.” He smiled at the sight. “No bra?” He clicked his tongue while pinching at your nipples, making them harden. You let out a long moan as his fingers rolled the swells back and forth. Tom grinded his hips slowly, enjoying how his dick was in between your folds. You were so warm and soft. “So damn wet..” He said aloud. He leaned down, cupping and squeezing your breasts together, his tongue licking around the skin of your nipples. Giving each proper attention, before circling to the hardened tips. Taking them between his teeth and giving them a nice slow tug before letting them fall out of his mouth. He continued this pattern, you watched as there was a line of spit forming when he switched breasts. The sight alone made you want to faint. Or even just cum with that mere stimulation.

“Tom!” You cried out, “I want..” You put your hands on his shoulders. You tried to push him back and give you a quick break so you could gather yourself. Your body betrayed you because it was an incredibly weak push. “More…more.” Your voice faltered as if you were about to cry. His dick kept rubbing against your clit.

“You’ll have it. I can give you it all. As long as you’re mine. All you have to do is ask.” Tom murmured against the skin of your tits, still holding them close. Sucking on them whilst looking up at you.

You had a feeling he meant a variety of things. Maybe he meant his pulsating cock. Maybe he meant the world. Maybe he meant his heart.

“Say it. I want to hear you say it.” Tom shifted, holding himself with one arm up, so he could hold his dick with the other, he aligned it at your entrance holding it there for a moment. It indeed did earn him a whimper and a thrust by your hips again, making him almost slip in for a moment but he pulled back quickly. It almost killed him to do so. “You’re mine…say it. Say it now.”

“Please Tommy give me all of you. I’m yours. I’m yours. I belong to you.” You kept nodding, looking into his eyes. You broke it momentarily to look down between you, you let out a sigh at the sight. His dick pressed so closely to your pussy, you could even see the bead of precum leaking from his tip. You wanted to reach down, run it against your finger so you could taste it.

You felt Tom’s cool finger pull up against your chin, lifting your gaze to him again. Looking quite expectant, as if he wasn’t satisfied with your words. He felt that you were saying it just for the moment.

“Tom, you can do whatever you want with me. I’m yours.” You try to pour your feelings into it, you didn’t know how else you could convince Tom. You thought he’d be more trusting with you by now.

Your words did not go unheard after all, you see the corner of Tom’s mouth slightly twist. He shifted his grip to pinch your cheeks together with his hand, forcing your lips to come together in a pucker. He leaned down to kiss you that way. You stop breathing momentarily, your eyes widening as you feel him slowly sink himself further into your wet hole. Tom was watching your every reaction, but still holding your face in his hand. “Ah shit..Tommy..” Your words come out semi-muffled.

Tom’s lips gave in and erupted in a devilish smile. He relished the feeling of your submission, the knowledge that you belonged to him and him alone. He breathed slowly, feeling your body twitch and seemingly hesitate to take him. Your grip on his biceps told him a different story. Your nails were making crescents into his pale skin. He had to show some careful restraint to your pussy, he needed to slowly ease himself inside. Tom didn’t want to hurt you. Not physically and surely not emotionally again. “Shhh…just breathe, darling. Breathe for me…I’ll take care of you..” He murmured.

Tom watches as you breathe in, providing him temporary relief that you weren’t going to pass out. At least not until he was finished with you. He tried to pull out of you, give you a chance to relax and regroup, but he smirked at the feeling. Your pussy was needier than he imagined, it was gripping onto him with such force. Almost making it hard for him to pull out.

You shake your head, “I want this.” You reassure him, “It-” you swallow as Tominches back into you, his eyebrows furrowed together as he studied you. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Liar.” Tom flatly said.

“It’s..It’s just a lot of you…” You let out a strained laugh. You weren’t one to back down from a challenge, especially if it came to getting your guts rearranged. “Use me..” You whisper, your gaze never leaving his eyes this time. They falter in relief when you finally feel his hips collide with yours, him being thoroughly buried deep. You felt his dick twitch inside of you, brushing against your cervix, causing you to twitch too. You laugh, but the movement only made you both moan in unison. “Tommy...”

“Merlin, so help me if you keep calling me by that name.” Tom finally says something about it. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, his hand letting go of your face. Only for his fingers to slither into your mouth. Your tongue immediately starts to glide across them, sucking on the tips of his fingers. You reach to his wrist, pushing his fingers further into your mouth. It made Tom laugh. It was as if the heavens above parted to witness the sound, despite the lewd cause. “You’re starting to get greedy. It’s such a pretty sight.” He says, starting to pull back from your hips, only to roughly smack himself back into you.

With Tom’s fingers properly lubricated with your saliva, he pulls his fingers away from your mouth. You whimpered, especially when you felt where they went. They went right between your legs, rubbing your swollen clit in lazy circles, then around your pussy’s lips. “Use you..yes..I think I will. Do with you as I please.” He would do anything to keep you his. “Say it for me again.” Tom growled, his body starting to tremble with the effort to hold back his pace to just pound your weeping little cunt. He wanted to hear you give him the permission he craved.

“Fuck Tommy, please! I’m yours in this life, the next one, and the one after that..and-” You began to mindlessly say, especially as he began to move once you adjusted to him. His pace was consistent, the weight of his body was holding you in place. You felt him move his hand, so that it was just the pad of his thumb pressing against your clit while the other four fingers moved to press down into your lower tummy. Adding more pressure. You felt so full, you let your eyes go cross.

“That’s right.” He smiled, watching your face. “Take me like a good girl.” Tom’s thrusts began to become ruthlessly hard. He knew he should be gentler with you, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed you too badly, and the thought of you belonging solely to him had him seeing red. “Say you want me…tell me you need me.. Tell me how much you need me..”

You peaked at him through your lashes, his eyes were dark. A possessive desire was emanating from his being. You felt a ball of pressure tighten within you. You felt so incredible. “I want you bad, I need you….mmm oh god!” You mutter when you feel Tom’s dick hit that spot inside you repeatedly. You bring your hand to your mouth, biting on a finger to keep yourself from screaming in pleasure. “I need this, I need this so bad! I d-don’t want anything else but t-this. You’re all I need.” You began to babble the same thing over and over.

Tom nodded, “That’s it, pretty girl. I’m your god. You’re taking my dick so well. Your pussy feels s-so good.” His voice came out a ragged husk, his breathing sharp. It was all too much for him to handle. He just wanted to make you feel good. Tom wanted to fill you up with his cum, watch it spill out of you, only to fill you up again. He groaned at the thought. “You’re mine..my prize. My princess. My trophy. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll give you everything. You won’t ever have to ask or need anything else. I’ll take care of you. Let me spoil you. You don't have to worry about anything. Please let me do this for you. Make you feel good.”

“Anything! Yes. Yes!” You agree, head bobbing backwards into the cushioned bed. You feel him slow down.

You were going to whine, when he began to suck at your neck again. You heard him mumble again, “Buy you whatever you want. Do whatever you want. Anything to make you happy. I’ll get it for you. I’ll do it for you.” His voice was soft yet thick with desire. You hadn’t heard him talk so much. You weren't that materialistic, honestly. But goddamn was he making you want to ask him of the universe just to watch him do it. Knowing him, he would probably give you that and the next universe closest too.

You were pulled back from that train of thought when you felt him quicken again. You were so close to releasing the tension, you wanted to cum all over his dick. You flattened your hand over your mouth to stifle your sounds. You might have been muffling your moans and cries, but the sounds your pussy was making could not be muted, not by a fraction.

You opened your eyes, you saw a familiar flash of irritation in Tom’s eyes. He shook his head. “Don’t do that. I want to hear how good I make you feel.” He pulled your hand away from your mouth. You made the motion to use your other hand, but he caught that one as well. He brought both hands up above your head, holding them there, at his mercy.. Tom was too strong to pull them away. The action made you clench around him. Tom groaned and cursed under his breath. He was getting lost in you, completely taken over by his desires to own you. “I need to hear you fall apart. I want to hear your sweet sounds. Don’t ever try to hide your pleasure from me.”

You moan at his words, for someone who so protectively fought for his privacy, he really was not caring who heard this affair going on. It only made your face heat up in a fierce blush.

You watched as Tom’s eyes flashed, not from irritation this time. It was the same look he had when he had a breakthrough of a new method of altering magic to his needs. In this context a wave of panic shot through you. Though it was hard to center on that concern when Tom was making you feel this good.

Tom’s eyes were focused, taking every little detail of you. He could see the panic in your own eyes, so he dipped down to kiss you. A form to comfort you. He broke from it, “Don’t be afraid,” his voice was low and dangerous. “I’ll take care of you.” He let go of your hands that were still above your head. You knew better than to try and cover your mouth again. His pace slowed, you mentally cursed. He wasn’t exactly trying to edge you, but damn! Why did he rob you of an orgasm again? You watched him carefully, for a nanosecond sadness registered in his dark eyes.

“You mean it right? If we weren’t doing what we were doing right now…you’d mean it?” He suddenly asked. His dick stalled inside you.

“Of course! I-I lov-” You began to confess, tring to sit up on your elbows. Tom pushed you back down, maybe a bit too harshly.

“Don’t say it unless you mean it.” he said sternly, his eyes watching your lips.

“Tom. You’re going to scare me..” You started, but he suddenly thrust once into you. You yelped and reached out to pull on his neck, bringing him in to kiss you. “I love you!” You said against his lips. You did mean it. It was the first time you said it without him interrupting you. He never allowed you to say it. It was probably because he was afraid it would be a cruel lie. Tom truly believed he was incapable of love. Incapable of finding and receiving true, honest, unrelenting love.

He couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched at your words. Hearing you say them with such conviction, such sincerity. It was a moment he’d been both waiting and dreading for. Afraid of the power the words held and relinquished. Despite this dark pit inside him, he trusted you. He believed that you meant it.

“Say it again,” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held you tightly in place. “Please.” Tom was desperate to hear you speak those words, to believe he was worthy of you.

“I love you, Tom.” You hold his face, you feel him twitch inside you as you repeat: “I. Love. You.” You say slowly, emphasizing each word. You watch as he closes his eyes, pulling himself in and out painstakingly slow. Your pussy ached, already feeling sore from the size of his dick. Your walls strained to keep him buried inside.

“Say it again.” He repeated, barely wavering. New emotions threaten to overtake him. “I need this.” Listening to you declare yourself was shattering every doubt he’d ever had about this world he existed in.

“I love you. I’m yours.”

Tom turned his face in your hands, he began to slowly plant kisses into your palms. You felt his lips moving like he was muttering something. You couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Again.” He said louder, opening his eyes and locking them onto yours. This was a different Tom. Your heart began to match the quickened pace Tom was taking up once more.

“I love you.” You moan out, not breaking the eye contact he was holding with you as continued to mouth something quickly against your palm as you continued to cup his face.

“Say my name.” He commanded.

“Tom.” Your fingers jerked against his smooth skin.

“My. Full. Name.” He said slower. You felt his nails dig into your back from where he held you at the waist, the hold was harsh. Painful.

“I love you Tom Marvolo Riddle.” You almost lazily let out between breaths. He stopped mouthing, and peeled one hand off your waist bringing it to your hold your wrist. The knot was getting tighter and tighter, making it harder to concentrate on what exactly he was doing. “I’m y-yours.”

When Tom heard you say his full name, saying that you loved him, that you were his. Something snapped, the wave of possessiveness washed over him. It reassured him, what he was about to do was the right thing. To keep you from leaving. To keep you together forever. Just like you said. Just like you kept repeating what you wanted. And Tom wanted nothing more but to get reassurance and security, in the only way he knew how. Magic.

Bringing your wrist next to his lips, he felt its warm, vibrating pulse. “Do you feel that?” Tom asked, his voice gruff as he watched you intently.

You just nod, unsure what he really meant because you were just about to come around his thick cock. You were so fucking close. Your eyes were rolling back. Your head threatened to just bob to the side but Tom quickly held the back of your neck. Still not letting go of your wrist with the other. He wanted you to watch him.

“Tommy…I’m..I’m gonna..!” You cry out, due to the pleasure that was releasing through your body. Your eyes were starting to turn into slits with how heavy they were getting. Tom grunted one last thing before you saw him part his lips. His teeth…! You could have sworn you saw snake like fa-

“FUCK!” You cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure, your back arching into Tom. Your attention was split, shaking uncontrollably underneath him. You watched in a semi-horrified, semi-fucked out trance as Tom sunk his teeth into your wrist. There was a warm feeling starting to run from where he bit. It was your blood, dark and thick. As it slid your skin, it felt like it was burning, like it was different somehow. As if he had injected something into you.

Tom’s eyes languidly open to meet yours, they were clouded in his own pleasure. “I’m never letting you go.” He moaned against your skin, “No one else can have you. No one else can touch you. My property. Mine.” He pulled back from your wrist, lifting your now limp arm up. Tom barely held his tongue out of his mouth, licking up the line of blood that had stopped just before your elbow. His breath was hot as he removed evidence of having momentarily hurt you. His tongue ran all the way up to the holes that began to shrink and disappear. His lips were red, slightly swollen as he sucked on the area before pulling back with a pop.

You whimpered. The corner of his lips turned upwards, just enough you knew he was satisfied with what he had done to you. Whatever he had done, you’re not quite sure of. All you did know was that your orgasm was different. It felt like it was dragged out of you, lengthened for too long, though you weren’t complaining about that. Your whole body felt numb with some tingling starting at the tips of your fingers and toes. “Tom..” You tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. You weren’t sure if you even moved your lips. It felt like you were looking at yourself from a third person perspective, you didn’t exactly feel inside your own body.

“Shhh.” Tom cooed, brushing your hair out of your face. “It’s okay, stay still.” He chuckled to himself. You felt Tom pull slowly out of you, he let out a small curse along with another chuckle. “I really made a mess out of you, darling.”

“Hmm?” You wanted to cry, you felt empty without him inside. Watching him step away from you was almost unbearable. Tom went over to his dresser, then his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out his wand. You wondered why for a moment, before you heard a squelching sound come from your pussy. You couldn’t lift your head all the way up to look at yourself. From your current state, the warmness of Tom’s cum that was making its way out of you was a stark contrast. You were so distracted from your own high and him fucking biting you to notice how he finished.

You tried to sit up and cup yourself, embarrassed at the thought of potentially causing a stain on his bedding. Tom’s voice stopped you, “Don’t move.” You obeyed. He took a step towards you and barely flicked his wand. You felt what seemed like a cool breeze wash over your body. You shivered, feeling the tingling over your body intensify before subsiding. You then noticed how he had sweats on, making you feel insanely exposed. “I could stare at you like this forever.” Tom broke the silence.

“Don’t-!” You squeaked out, moving to cover yourself however possible.

Tom shook his head with a smile, he had moved closer to loom over you. He grabbed your arm away and you were about to protest when you felt him pull down your shirt, bringing it over your chest. Your nipples felt sensitive against the fabric. “Tom, what did you do to me..?” You finally questioned.

“We’re connected, on a molecular level now.” He answered plainly, too casually. He reached down on the floor, keeping a hand on your thigh to steady himself. He picked up your panties, another flick of the wand, cleaning them too, and slid them halfway up your legs.

“I..I can do it.” You quickly stood up to pull your panties all the way on. The rush of standing up made you feel dizzy. Tom had held onto your sides, bringing you back onto the bed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain it in the morning.” Tom smiled down at you. He pushed you further into the bed, propping your head with one of his pillows.

“But-!” You held up your wrist, in the area where he had bitten down on, there were two dark moles in its place. Ones you never had before.

“You should rest up.” He interrupted again, sliding next to you. He held his head up against his arm, staring at you. Compared to moments before, his eyes softened. Tom reached with his other hand to bring up the blanket, covering your bare legs. His hand rested beside your hip, patting it every so often. “Maybe it’s time for you to keep some of your things in my room.” He phrased it as something to-do, rather than a suggestion.

“I thought you liked having our things separated?” You look between his eyes, to his lips.

Tom shook his head, “it was a way to distance myself from you.” He confessed. You smiled, it seemed like there was a change in his attitude. Him being honest and open with himself, and you. “What?” He questioned your look towards him.

“I’ll explain it in the morning.” You broke out in a toothy grin, using his words on him. His smile copied yours, but it was paired with a pinch on your hip.

“Brat.” Tom pulled you against his bare chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady. You felt him plant a kiss on top of your head.

As you laid next to him, you couldn’t help but notice the heat radiating from your wrist. What had he done to you?

“Before you say anything about it…” Tom began, distracting you once more from examining the two moles. “I love you too.”

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shimmershifts · 4 months ago

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how to reality shift

method two: destabilized awareness

these methods basically boil down to two steps. destabilize your awareness, and then shift. basically, you'll be trying to discombobulate yourself to the point your awareness is not focused on 3D reality, and trigger a shift. if you have trouble getting into the state of pure awareness or lack of awareness or it doesn't feel natural to you, these methods may be good to try out! this post is also for my lucid dreamers, meditators, hypnogogia lovers, or people who struggle with 3D distractions, and anyone who likes or feels the need to experience "symptoms" (ie, sleep paralysis or hypnogogia.)

honestly, most shifting methods i see online are in some way doing this. lucid dreams, the hypnogogic state, SATS, self-hypnosis, and also all those iterations of the "raven method" the "staircase method" the "alice in wonderland method" etc are all basically ways to destabilize your awareness from the linear perception it is so used to in this point of reality, offering the opportunity of triggering a shift to a different one. they're all sort of either distracting or subverting your focus on the 3D here in this point of reality.

why does destabilizing awareness help with shifting?

when we reality shift, our goal is to find a way to trigger our awareness into a movement in the 4th and 5th dimensional directions. for some, this is easier to do when your sense of the 3D in this reality is a little distorted. this isn't because it's impossible to shift while aware of the 3D! on the contrary, lots of people shift while totally awake and aware in the 3D, in either their CR, or their DR, or even both. but for most of us, our awareness is really used to and really comfortable piloting our 3D body here. so perhaps try destabilizing or distracting your awareness to help trigger a shift.

how do i destabilize my awareness?

there are many different ways to destabilize your awareness, so you just need to find one that works for you. i'll put a few ways to try out here, but if these don't work for you, do not despair. you can find other ways, or tweak them to your needs however you'd like. my goal is to put the ones that work for the most people, and explain them in a way you may not have seen before so make it more accessible. hopefully, i can! i think that everyone is fully capable of all of these methods, some just will come more naturally to each person.

method 2(a)

hypnogogia. this is, or was, probably the most common "method" on shifting communities for a long while. all those shifting "symptoms" you heard about? those are hypnogogic sensations. now, one important note is that i do not believe hypnogogic sensations are directly "symptoms of you shifting", because many people shift without ever feeling any, and many people feel them without ever shifting. hypnogogia is merely an experience when your awareness is in this reality, but somewhat disrupted from its focus or perception of our normal physical senses. this is what causes you to feel as if you are floating, weightlessness, numb, flying, falling, spinning, vibrating, phantom sensations of someone touching you, hearing sounds or words, seeing or smelling someone or something that isn't there, sleep paralysis, muscle jerks, etc. etc.

these symptoms can also be paired with feelings of anxiety or impending doom, or even a visit from the "sleep paralysis demon" but they're not always! personally for me when i started my journey, hypnogogia made me terrified, and i couldn't figure why because i wasn't scared of hypnogogia in general. it reduced over time with practice.

how to cause hypnogogia: hypnogogia is a natural transitional state between wakefulness and sleep, which we usually don't experience because as we fall asleep our mind sleeps before our body. so, in order to cause hypnogogia, all we need to do is allow our body to fall asleep while our mind stays aware. people tend to over think this, and the most common pitfalls i see are people falling fully asleep, or keeping themself completely awake by accident, so i'll troubleshoot those below! this method will be a meditation method, but if you struggle with meditation then please check out this post for ways to get into hypnogogia without meditation, and just come back here for how to shift from hypnogogia instead of dropping into pure awareness from there.

step one: choose the space you want to do this in, and i recommend choosing somewhere safe where you won't be disturbed. you can either do this in bed where you normally sleep, or in a different place like sitting up on the couch, and there are pros and cons to both. in bed, the upside is that your body is very used to falling asleep here. the downside is that your mind is also very used to falling asleep here, so if you struggle with accidentally falling totally asleep when trying to get into hypnogogia, maybe try a different place, during the day, or a different pose.

step two: relax your body. for some meditations or shifting methods it's not consequential whether your body actually relaxes or not, but if your goal is to reach hypnogogia, it sort of is. don't overthink this though, because your body naturally gets to exactly the right relaxed state every single night when you go to sleep. the only complication is that you need to basically trick your body and mind into thinking you're going to sleep so it naturally lets your body fall asleep, but secretly, your mind is still aware. some ways to ease this process are body scans (ie, focusing on each part of your body one at a time, allowing each section to relax as you move your focus to the next. i prefer toe to head, but you do you.) or progressive muscle relaxation, (ie, tensing each muscle, and then releasing it to deepen relaxation. this means like tensing your lower leg as hard as you can, counting to three, and then letting go. this can help especially if you're naturally tense!) key notes: it's okay to move. do you hold yourself completely rigid and still when you fall asleep each night, refusing to scratch and itch or roll over because you think you'll never ever be able to sleep if you move even once? probably not. it's okay move, it only disrupts the process if you let it.

step three: keep your mind aware. this is the key to hypnogogia here, but don't overdo it. some people have the issue of accidentally falling totally asleep, and this is because they're struggling to keep their mind aware. it may take practice, or trying different things to see what keeps your mind just awake enough to stay aware during hypnogogia, without just keeping yourself the normal type of awake and lying there for an hour while nothing happens. you can hold your focus on your breathing, a mantra, put on a soundtrack or white noise, counting, a visualization, or even a physical sensation. i used to place a small stone on my forehead and focus on the weight of it, since it was a sensation just unusual enough to hold my focus without being entirely distracting. if you struggle with slipping into sleep (or have adhd), try something slightly more engaging or add more than one thing to keep yourself aware.

step four: let your body fall asleep. there is no need to force it. your body naturally knows how to fall asleep, you've done it every day for your entire life. just let it, and don't get in the way. if you struggle with trying to get into the hypnogogic state and ending up just laying there with no results for hours, it's because you're getting in the way (sorry!) you do not need to try to force yourself to start having hypnogogia (i think this is a pitfall for some, keeping their body too awake while they engage their physical senses too much) or push it to fall asleep or force it to fall asleep. that will generally keep it away. it's more of a letting go and allowing your body to fall asleep. key notes: your body may test you to see if you are actually sleeping. during the day, there may be many periods where you are at rest (sitting watching tv, in class, at work, etc) where you're still and calm but it would be highly inconvenient for your body to simply slip into sleep at the drop of a hat. so your system may test you, checking if your body is actually supposed to be going to sleep before allowing it to. this is where you'll get muscle jerks, or hallucinations that make you flinch. think of these like the "are you still watching?" pop up on netflix. your system is trying to check if your body should go to sleep or not, so let them pass. you do want your body to go to sleep.

step five: hypnogogia. at some point, you'll start to experience the tell tale sensations of hypnogogia. you don't need to fabricate or create these sensations, they'll come naturally. let them. congratulations, you are no longer grounded in the 3D sensations of this reality. hypnogogia is already the bridge between wakefulness and sleep in this reality, but it can also be a bridge from this reality to another.

how to shift from hypnogogia: there are two ways you can go about this. you can either focus on the hypnogogic sensations and use/direct them to trigger yourself to shift, or let them pass and focus on the fact that you're not grounded in the 3D of any reality in that moment, allowing that to trigger yourself to shift. generally, the hypnogogic sensations people experience seem sort of "random", so you might get floating or spinning or vibrating, etc, etc. if you're trying to use the sensations you're getting, then gently direct the sensations. meaning, direct your hypnogogic sensations to correlate with your desired reality. you don't need to force or control them, just feel them and line that up with experiences or a visualization of your DR. weightlessness? visualize how soft and light you feel in your DR bed. tingling sensations? direct your attention to the tickling, waving long grasses of the field you're becoming aware of in your DR. hallucinating lights or sounds? think of the sounds or light sources of your DR as you become aware of it. if you're trying to focus on the detachment from 3D (helpful if hypnogogia is scary for you, you can stay calmer by not focusing on the sensations) try to relax and let the sensations continue but pass you by. recognize and understand you are not grounded to the 3D experience of any reality at that moment, your awareness has already loosened its grip on this reality, and turn your attention towards thoughts of your DR, mainly on returning to full awareness there instead of here.

method 2(b)

lucid dreams. ive posted before about how to do reality checks to confirm you're in a lucid dream (check out my pure awareness methods for that tidbit) so here i'll focus on how to have lucid dreams in the first place, since these methods focus on how to get into that destabilized awareness. now, a lucid dream is just a dream. the only difference is that in a lucid dream, you are aware. not of the physical 3D in this reality, but of some of the goings on of your mind while your body sleeps. this means that certain parts of your usual functions here are inaccessible because those parts of your physical brain are "off" or performing alternative functions, so you won't be able to read, and you will be in a dreamlike state even tho you're aware. this dreamlike state is enough to loosen the tether your awareness feels to this reality. now, my other lucid dream method focused on how to get into the state of pure awareness from a lucid dream, and that's not necessary for this method. your goal here is to shift directly from the lucid dream to your DR, which is a little different and has its own pitfalls. the major one: accidentally just moving to another lucid dream instead of shifting. i'll address that below!

step one: have a lucid dream. you can wait for one to happen naturally if you get those, or you can increase the chances of having one in a few ways.

start practicing and repeating your "reality checks" throughout the day. repetition is key, because when you're dreaming your brain naturally processes memories, thought patterns etc and that will reflect in your dreams. the goal is to repeat your "reality checks" so often that your brain does one while dreaming, so that you have the opportunity to realize you're dreaming and become lucid. another way to do this is throughout the day, pause what you're doing and visualize yourself noticing that you're dreaming and becoming lucid in a dream (ie, think about it.) do this often enough you start to do it in your sleep too.

you can meditate before bed. choose any meditation you want, and really try to get at least into a light meditation state, because it really does increase the rate of vivid and lucid dreams for a lot of people, maybe even you!

wake back to bed. this is a common technique, where you go to sleep, wake up, and then go back to sleep. the reasoning is that you are more likely to enter an REM cycle quickly enough that your brain is still somewhat lucid, increasing the chances of a lucid dream.

keep a dream journal. as soon as you wake up, write down as much of your dreams as you can remember, even if it's very vague or half a thought. strengthening your dream recall also seems to increase the chance of becoming lucid in a dream.

how to shift from a lucid dream: now, the most common trouble with this method is when people accidentally just go to another lucid dream instead of shifting. be aware that this is a possibility, and practice your reality checking skills so that you can become confident in your ability to tell the difference. reality check while you're awake, and reality check while you're lucid in a dream. do this so often you become able to notice the differences, because when you do a reality check while awake in your DR it will feel exactly as real as it does here, no exceptions. if there is anything dreamlike, muddled, or "off" about the experience, you likely have not shifted.

anyways, with that in mind, i'm going to give two different ways to shift from a lucid dream. the most common i see online is the "create a portal and imagine your DR is on the other side," but very often i see this cause people to step through the portal and just enter another lucid dream instead of shifting. that's because when you're lucid in a dream, youre capable of creating and changing the dreamscape however you want, so your brain is just creating a lucid dream instead of your awareness shifting. if that's happened to you, try the ones here instead!

1) travel to your DR, do not create it. the instinct to "create" your DR around you can tend to lead you to create a lucid dream. when we reality shift, we do not create the 3D world of our DRs or invent it with our minds the way we do dreams, we shift our awareness from this 3D, to another. when you've firmly established lucidity, think about your DR but do not alter your dreamscape to look like it. just think about where you want to go, and begin to think of your dream self (the body or whatever form you take) as your awareness. use your dreamscape however you'd like to travel to your DR (train, flight through space, falling down a pit, it doesn't matter, do what feels right.) just don't create the destination. when you get there, you should become aware of your DR, but make sure to reality check and ensure you're not still lucid dreaming.

2) become your DR self in your dream. instead of focusing on your surroundings (helpful if you tend to just go to another lucid dream,) you can instead focus on yourself. visualize that you are your DR self, having a lucid dream in your DR. the dream can become whatever you want, whatever your DR self is dreaming about, because you are your DR self having this dream. visualize that when you wake up, you'll be waking up as your DR self. you can either keep dreaming and sleeping as your DR self, or intentionally wake up. either way, you should wake up as your DR self. (check for false awakenings and ensure you're not still lucid dreaming.)

method 2(c)

distraction. our awareness can seem to be quite stubborn, and we can feel like we struggle to direct it to what we want. if that's the case for you, try distracting it. think of it like jangling keys in front of your awareness, or the subway surfers clip at the corner of a video to help stimulate and distract your 3D senses attention just enough you can shift your awareness where you want it. lots of methods involve trying to decrease your 3D sensations as much as possible, calm your mind and body, and be still, quiet, etc. this method is kind of the opposite, because some people need stimulation in order to let go. ever zoned out while fidgeting, daydreaming, or getting distracted? the goal here is to gently distract yourself so your awareness loosens the reigns a bit on this CR, and that's your window to shift.

below are some distractions you can introduce, and a pro tip is that whichever sense tends to be the one that you feel "holds you back" from other shifting methods is probably a key one to try to distract with this stuff.

sound. you can choose any sound, maybe a playlist of songs that fit the vibe of your DR, white noise, binaural beats, environmental ambiance noises, ASMR, whatever. it also doesn't have to be calm or quiet stuff. pick the screaming metal rock band album, or put on jackhammer ASMR if that's what suits you.

sight. almost all methods involve closing your eyes, but this one doesn't have to. put on a movie you've seen so many times you don't actively watch it anymore, a Pinterest board, a handmade vision board, a painting you like, a collection of gifs of your S/O, it doesn't matter.

touch. lay somewhere you usually wouldn't, like outside, on the floor, on the stairs. hold something with an interesting texture or temperature in your hand. put on a weighted blanket. hug a stuffed animal. dip your hands in water.

smell. cook food that smells really good. light a candle, or incense. use a perfume, cologne, or scented soap. grab a fist full of soil, or a sprig of herbs.

motion. this, i feel, can be key for some. pick a repetitive motion, like a fidget. roll something in between your fingers, click a pen, tap your foot, bounce your knee, walk, spin in a chair, etc.

your CR body can stay completely awake. you don't need to be meditating (although you could argue this level of distraction is somewhat meditative? but. you know.) you don't need to be focused, or still, or calm. while your 3D senses are distracted, let them be. think about your DR. visualize where you are, what you're doing. think about what you're going to do. really let your mind wander, the same way it might when you're just thinking about stuff here. at some point, the goal is to reality shift when your 3D CR self here is too distracted to notice you even did it. You'll start thinking as your DR self, and when you "come back to your senses", it's your DR senses instead of your CR ones.

#reality shifting #reality shifter #shifting community #shifting #shiftblr #how to shift #shifting meditation #shifting methods #shifting guide #distraction method #lucid dream method #hypnogogia method

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admiringlove · 5 months ago

Text

➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. you yearned for adventure, but the thrill you sought quickly spirals into a web of secrets as dark forces converge on hogwarts. with cryptic notes mysteriously appearing and a shadowy figure wielding parseltongue, your identity as a marauder hangs precariously in the balance. as you grapple with mounting responsibilities, the tension between you and the infuriating gojo satoru reaches a boiling point. can you unravel the mystery before it consumes you, or will the weight of the truth prove too heavy to bear?

➵ warnings. gojo being gojo; profanity; dueling; toji ripping people off; mentions of gambling or placing bets; mentions of theft; pureblood gojo being a dick at times; reader being stupid; causing physical harm (burning someone's hand, specifically gojo); fictional slurs mentioned once (1); etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; etc.

➵ word count. 13k.

➵ author's note. as usual, ty for proofreading, my dear aspen. AND on that note, here is chapter two where the real show begins :)

➵ navigation. previous, masterlist, next.

One month had passed in agonizing monotony.

The requests had been laughable: a missing toad, students floundering with their grades despite the term having barely begun, and petty attempts at hexing one another in the name of Quidditch rivalries. Even the bludger debacle had been little more than a blip on the radar. Nothing gripping. Nothing exhilarating.

Now, on an unremarkable Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up in the common room, the faint crackle of the fire your only company. Your eyes scanned the dense text of The Rise of Pureblood Families—a tome so ancient it felt like it might crumble to dust in your hands. Professor Fig had insisted it was essential reading for his next lecture, though you suspected he delighted in tormenting his students with the driest material imaginable.

The quiet is abruptly shattered by the sharp snap of the book right in front of your face. You blink, startled, only to see Utahime standing over you, disheveled and very much unimpressed.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing up this early?” she grumbles, collapsing onto the sofa beside you and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

“Reading,” you mutter, holding up the hefty volume as evidence. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

She yawns, sprawling across the cushions like a lazy cat. “You’re a menace. It’s Sunday. Go back to bed like a normal person.”

“Some of us actually care about our classes,” you tease, leaning your head against her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “Fig’s got us studying the bloodlines of the founders. Pureblood supremacy and all that delightful rot.”

Her eyes narrow at the title of the book, and she plucks it from your lap with a scoff. “History of Magic: The Rise of Pureblood Families? What on Earth is wrong with you?”

“It’s for class!” you protest, half-whining. “You’re the one who bailed on History of Magic last year. Ancient Runes was your grand pursuit of knowledge, remember?”

“Had I known they’d give me a time-turner if I took both, I’d have made better choices,” she mutters darkly, flipping through the brittle pages. Her eyes catch on a familiar name, and a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Oh, look. The Gojo clan. How utterly predictable.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Of course they’re in there.”

“Of course they are,” she drawls, setting the book down with exaggerated delicacy. “The question is, how many pages do you think he’s read about himself?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you silently wished the universe would send you something, anything, to break the tedium of this slow-burning school year. Something big, or dangerous, or impossible. Something worth remembering.

The book slides from your lap, landing on the sofa with a muted thud, and that’s when you notice it—a sliver of something protruding from between the pages, barely discernible against the worn parchment. Utahime is saying something about Quidditch, her words lazy and half-formed, but your attention has already shifted. Slowly, you reach for the book, the weight of its age settling into your palms, and tilt it toward the light.

There it is again. Something thin, fragile, and out of place. You pinch it between your fingers, the texture unmistakable—parchment, slightly waxy and crinkled at the edges. You pull it free, and as you do, your heart gives a faint, involuntary flutter.

The piece of parchment is blank. Utterly unremarkable at first glance, the kind of thing you’d toss aside without a second thought. Yet, there’s a heaviness to it, a peculiar presence that makes you pause. You trace its edges, the uneven cut of the paper catching against the pad of your thumb.

“Hm?” Utahime mumbles, stretching beside you. Her voice is sluggish, sleep-heavy. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” you reply, but your tone betrays the lie. You fold the parchment in half, slipping it into your pocket as casually as you can manage.

She doesn’t press further, yawning mid-sentence as she shifts in her seat. “You’re weird. Anyway, did you hear? Itadori's been selected as the new Seeker of our team—”

“Iori,” you interrupt, glancing toward the clock above the fireplace. “Is it alright if I head out? I’m starving.”

“Now?” she asks, blinking at you like you’ve grown a second head. “It’s barely sunrise. The Hall’s probably empty.”

“I’ll check the kitchens, then,” you offer, already reaching for your robe. “House Elves always have something ready. Coffee, maybe a pie or two.”

“Suit yourself.” She waves you off, her voice dissolving into another yawn. “Bring me back a treacle tart if they’ve got one.”

You smile, grateful for her indifference. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As you step through the portrait hole, the cold stone of the castle’s corridors greets you. The folded parchment burns faintly in your pocket, its blank surface somehow heavier now, as though it’s watching you, waiting for you to notice something you’ve missed.

You crouch briefly, tugging your wand from its hiding place in your boot, the smooth wood a comforting weight in your palm. "Lumos," you whisper, your steps echoing unevenly against the cold stone floors, sharp and deliberate in the stillness of the castle at dawn. Reaching the Reception Hall, you hesitate, your gaze sweeping the expanse of shadowed corridors around you. Too early for students to wander. Too suspicious if you were caught.

The Floo Flame waits ahead, green embers crackling faintly in the dark fireplace. You move toward it, fingers brushing the small bowl of Floo Powder resting on the corner table. For a moment, you simply stand there, listening—nothing but the distant groan of shifting stone, before sighing out softly, "Nox."

Satisfied, you take a measured breath, gripping a pinch of the silvery powder, and step into the fireplace.

Your heart thrums like a drumbeat, resonating in your chest, in your fingertips, in the tips of your ears. “Room of Requirement,” you murmur, the words precise, deliberate, the syllables sharp in the still air. You release the powder, and the world blurs in a flash of emerald flames.

When you open your eyes, the Room greets you in its usual, haunting splendor. Shadows dance across towering bookshelves and stretch over the cavernous ceiling. The faint scent of parchment and the warmth of the ever-crackling fireplace mingle with the quiet, electric hum of something unseen—something alive. The air here always felt charged, like a secret waiting to unfold.

You walk toward the long table and its pinboard, the polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Then, a voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and lazy all at once.

“Didn’t think you’d be here this fine morning.”

The sound makes you flinch, your pulse skipping. You turn, already preparing a cutting retort, something sharp-edged and brimming with profanity. But the words die on your tongue the moment you see him.

Satoru. Of course. His silver hair catches the flickering firelight, the perpetual smirk curling at his lips as infuriating as ever. But it’s what he’s holding that freezes you in place. Between his middle and index fingers, he dangles something thin and yellowed—a piece of parchment, eerily familiar, catching the light like a warning.

“You got one too,” you say, your voice low and surprised as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the parchment you’d found earlier. It feels heavier now, though it shouldn’t.

He nods, the motion slow and deliberate, humming under his breath as he strolls toward you. “Indeed. Blank, isn’t it? Curious little thing.”

His gaze flicks to yours, bright and unreadable. He spins the parchment in his fingers lazily, before adding, “Come with me, Fawkes Junior. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“Do you think whoever sent it knows that we’re—”

“Highly likely,” he interrupts, voice maddeningly nonchalant. He brushes past you, the faint scent of mahogany and something sharper lingering in the air. “But let’s see what it is first, shall we?”

You trail behind him toward the long table, your steps hesitant, the weight of the parchment in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. Satoru reaches the table first, his movements unhurried, almost theatrical. He places his parchment down with a casual flick of his wrist, then steps back, fixing you with an expectant look. His pale eyes gleam with something unreadable, his smirk daring you to ask the obvious.

You stare at him, confused, your brows knitting together as you clutch your own parchment tighter. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though you’re not sure why.

“Don’t just stand there like a stunned pixie,” he says, his tone dripping with exaggerated exasperation. “Put your parchment down and do the honors, you toad.”

Your lips part in indignation, a sharp retort already forming. “I’m not a toad! You’re the toad.” But even as you say it, you step up to the table, cheeks warm, and place your parchment beside his.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, steadying yourself. Your fingers twitch as you pull your wand from your robes, pointing it toward the two scraps of parchment. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he’s daring you to mess up.

Sucking in a breath, you focus, the words spilling from your lips with careful precision. “Aparecium.”

For a moment, nothing happens. The fire crackles softly in the hearth behind you, the sound stretching into the silence like a taut thread. And then, it begins.

The ink blooms slowly, almost hypnotically, across the surface of the parchment. Black tendrils unfurl like vines, weaving their way across the waxy paper in intricate patterns. You watch, transfixed, as words begin to take shape, each letter etching itself with deliberate grace. The air feels heavier now, charged with something alive, something ancient.

Your breath catches, and you barely notice Satoru stepping closer until his shoulder brushes against yours. The warmth of him is startling, a contrast to the chill that seems to radiate from the parchment. He leans in, his eyes fixed on the ink as it scrawls its secrets onto the paper, and you can feel the faint buzz of his presence, like static against your skin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with fascination.

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away, the strange, hypnotic motion of the ink consuming your thoughts.

“It’s a riddle,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over the parchment as you absorb the message. “Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.”

“A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night's veil by the serpent's decree,” Satoru intones, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. For a heartbeat, his expression is inscrutable, his gaze penetrating, as if he’s searching for answers hidden within the very air around you. Then, without another word, he strides over to the pinboard, his movements fluid and graceful, as he plucks a pin from its holder.

With a deft flick of his wrist, he secures his piece of paper to the board, then extends his hand toward you, the gesture inviting yet commanding. You hand over your parchment, and he makes a point of placing yours before his. He studies the board, the tension in the air thickening as he furrows his brow, lost in thought, his usually playful demeanor replaced by an unexpected gravity.

“It’s so early in the damn morning, so I can’t think of anything coherent,” he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. “You think this could be a prank?” He turns back to you, one eyebrow arched in skepticism.

You shake your head, your resolve firm. “Whoever sent this knows our identity. They know we’re the Marauders. This is serious. Whatever they’ve uncovered can’t be known by anyone else in the school—only us. That’s why the notes are so mysterious and the riddle so convoluted.”

“Right,” he murmurs, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Unfortunate for us that whoever this shithead—”

“—Language,” you interject, shooting him a mock disapproving look.

“This very mysterious person, bless them, clearly knows who we are and has the ability to slip notes into our things at will.” He leans against the edge of the long table, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he considers the implications. “Can I ask where you found yours?” His gaze sharpens and you feel a thrill run through you at the weight of his attention.

You nod, recalling the moment with clarity. “A textbook about purebloods and their family history—lineages and whatnot. We’re studying it in Fig’s class.” The words hang in the air, charged with the gravity of the situation, as Satoru’s eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Mine was tucked away in my quill case,” he replies, his gaze flitting back to the pinboard, where the riddle still looms ominously. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, an idiosyncratic gesture that somehow amplifies his charm. “Specifically, the one with my family’s crest.”

You furrow your brow, a mix of curiosity and anxiety knotting your stomach. “You think it’s linked to you? To the message?” The anticipation thrums within you, a palpable energy that makes your fingers clench and unclench, as if in a desperate attempt to control the tension building in the air. He casts his eyes downward, the intensity of the moment settling over him like a cloak. “Honestly, Fawkes, I have no clue. But I'd say, to start with the people in that class.”

Just then, the resonant toll of the bell reverberates through the stone corridors, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Sighing, you glance at your wrist, where your watch glints in the dim light. “It’s eight.”

“Breakfast,” you murmur, realization dawning. “Oh, I promised Iori I’d stop by the Kitchens to snag some treacle tarts before coming here. I really should—”

“Just head out first and cut through the dungeons,” he interjects, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I don’t want to be seen with you anyway. It’s highly suspicious, and let’s be honest, you're you.”

His tone twists the knife of irritation deeper into your gut, and you roll your eyes, exasperation rising like bile. What an absolute git. This was precisely why you loathed him—the unnecessary comments, the incessant teasing, the way he seemed to revel in making your skin crawl. He exuded an aristocratic aura, a smug confidence born from privilege, and it infuriated you how someone so insufferably arrogant could also be undeniably captivating.

“I’d challenge you to a duel, Gojo,” you declare, striding toward the door with renewed determination, your voice steady and defiant. “But I’d be wasting my time on someone I’ve already beaten multiple times.”

“Then you should practice, Fawkes,” he smirks, a glint of challenge dancing in his eyes, revealing the sharpness of his teeth like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ll be losing soon enough.”

“In your dreams,” you retort, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, even as frustration simmers beneath the surface.

You're nearly at the library doors when a voice calls your name, sharp and high, like a bird swooping down to catch its prey. You turn to see Professor Flitwick hurrying toward you, his small frame bouncing with an urgency that makes you pause. His wand is clutched tightly in one hand, and his robes billow awkwardly around his ankles as he paces forward.

"[L/N]! I've been meaning to catch you about the Dueling Club since yesterday!" he says breathlessly, halting just short of colliding with you. His cheeks are flushed, and you can't help but feel a pang of concern as you swing your bag off your shoulder and pull out a bottle of water, handing it to him without a word.

He looks surprised for a moment but then beams, taking it with a small bow. "Thank you, thank you," he says, uncapping it and taking a long sip. When he hands it back, he dabs at his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, his energy seemingly renewed. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the first meeting of the Dueling Club must happen tomorrow. I've compiled a list of second-year students I believe show great promise, and I trust you'll take the lead in getting them started. I'll announce it to them in class tomorrow morning and send them to you after lectures."

"Of course, Professor," you reply, your tone steady, though you feel the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. "I'll make sure everything is ready."

"Excellent, excellent!" he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. "Here’s the list. Do give it a look—very talented young witches and wizards on there."

You unfold the parchment as he bustles away, scanning the names quickly. Most are unfamiliar to you, but three jump out like ink bleeding through the page: Maki Zenin, Mai Zenin, and Inumaki Toge. The Zenins, of course, were legendary among pureblood families—sharp-edged and shrouded in rumors of internal rivalries. And Inumaki, though quieter in reputation, carried a name steeped in mystique.

Your thoughts drift to Fushiguro Toji, the senior who had once borne the Zenin name before renouncing it—a choice that was as infamous as it was mysterious. You’d seen him around the castle often enough to recognize his tall, brooding figure, his presence more like a shadow slipping past than a person. His reputation was formidable, a quiet storm of skill and restraint, known for his precision in dueling and his unsettling aloofness. You knew him from the Slytherin Quidditch team and the Dueling Club, though he’d only joined the latter last year under McGonagall and Flitwick’s persuasion. They’d promised recommendation letters and credits to help him secure a spot at the Auror’s Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It wasn’t ambition that drove him—or at least, not ambition anyone could easily understand. The way Utahime spoke of him didn’t help; her tone was always a mix of admiration and unease, as if he were a force to respect but not to trust completely.

You tuck the parchment into your bag as the heavy oak doors of the library come into view. The anticipation of sorting through tomes and chasing down obscure references pulls at you, even if you know it might take hours.

Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.

The riddle loops in your mind as you step into the hushed sanctuary of the library. You’d spent most of the day—after completing your homework—trying to decode it, poring over textbooks in your dorm and whispering the lines to yourself like some sort of incantation. Still, nothing clicked. There were no voids you could think of. Not unless it was about the Forbidden Forest.

You hoped the restricted section held the answers. If not, you were out of ideas.

Madam Pince’s gaze catches you the moment you step inside. She’s perched at her desk like some sort of malevolent statue, her sharp eyes narrowing behind thin spectacles. With her pale, hollow cheeks and the way her lips press into a disapproving line, she looks less like a librarian and more like an avenging specter. Asking her for permission to enter the Restricted Section is a gamble, but it might be one worth taking—after all, you are a Prefect. You move deeper into the rows of shelves, steeling yourself for the conversation to come.

Your throat feels dry as you wander toward a shelf near the left corner of Madam Pince’s desk. The polished wood bears an engraved plaque: Atlases and Maps. You step into the section, glancing over your shoulder to check on her. Madam Pince’s sharp eyes remain fixed on a pile of returned books, her thin lips pursed in bitterness, as though even their presence offends her.

Maybe, when her mood isn’t quite so sour—which, in truth, is almost never—you’ll muster the courage to ask for access to the Restricted Section. You rehearse excuses in your head: something for History of Magic? Or maybe Magical Theory? Whichever sounds more plausible in the moment. Just imagining the conversation makes your palms damp, the thought of her vulture-like gaze boring into you far worse than any hex.

Pretending to browse, you let your fingers trail lightly over the leather-bound spines of the books on the shelf. The titles blur past, meaningless as your eyes flick back to Madam Pince every few seconds. She hasn’t noticed you yet, and for now, that’s all you need. You try to appear absorbed in the neatly arranged volumes, but your heart thuds against your ribs, loud enough to feel like a betrayal.

Then, a voice breaks the silence—low and far too close for comfort.

“You know you’re not fooling anyone.”

You flinch, the sound startling you so much that your hand knocks into a book, sending it teetering on the edge of the shelf. You barely catch it, spinning around to face the source of the interruption.

“Fushiguro,” you hiss, placing a hand over your chest as you whisper his name, “Whatever do you mean?”

“‘Whatever do I mean?’ Really?” He raises an eyebrow, the scar on his lip catching your gaze as he smirks, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge. “You’re standing near a shelf designated for second and third years, and you’re asking me what I mean?”

“I—I,” you stammer, your cheeks growing warm under his scrutiny, “You’re here too!”

As if on cue, Madam Pince’s ears seem to perk up, her sharp gaze snapping to you with palpable disdain. She raises a bony finger to her lips, a chilling “Sh!” escaping her thin, pursed mouth. You cringe, your shoulders instinctively tensing as Fushiguro grabs your arm just above the elbow and pulls you deeper into the library, away from her watchful eyes.

You walk in a daze beside him, your heart racing like a caged bird as you try to maintain some semblance of composure. The curious glances from a few fellow students make you feel like a fish under a magnifying glass, and you find that looking down at your feet is the safest option.

After weaving through the labyrinth of towering shelves for what feels like minutes, he finally pulls you into a secluded corner where the dim light casts long, flickering shadows. The hush of the library seems louder here, wrapping around the two of you like a heavy cloak. Fushiguro releases your arm and leans casually against the wall, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.

“Care to explain why you’re spying on that ugly old hag?” he asks, his tone laced with amusement and challenge, the corner of his mouth curling into the faintest smirk.

Fuck. What were you supposed to say? That you were one half of the Marauders? That you found yourself here, drawn by a peculiar riddle that felt far too suspicious to be dismissed as a harmless prank? You blink for a moment, your lips pursing as you grapple with the weight of your words. In that fleeting silence, he tilts his head at you, a mix of annoyance and curiosity etched across his features. “Can’t tell me?”

You nod vigorously, your expression filled with both determination and trepidation. His expression shifts slightly, looking as if your shenanigans have piqued his interest. “What do you want, anyway? You don’t have to give me details, but now I’m curious.”

“Restricted Section,” you croak, the admission slipping from your lips with an embarrassing crack in your voice. You cringe at the sound, disappointment flooding over you like a tide of shame. He huffs, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

Your eyes widen as you narrow them at him, summoning the Gryffindor stubbornness that runs in your blood. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It’s not allowed for students to go there.”

“Just because something isn’t allowed, [L/N], doesn’t mean it’s not possible. I've been there loads of times,” he replies, smacking your forehead lightly with a book he had been holding. You hadn’t even noticed it until now. Blinking in surprise, you rub the spot on your hairline where the tome had collided, gazing at him with the indignation of a rule-following goody-two-shoes. “I should report you.”

“You were going to ask Pince for access to the Restricted Section; that’s like inviting detention,” he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re quite stupid for a Prefect.”

“I am not stupid!” you exclaim, heat rising to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Your hands grow clammy with frustration, and as he tilts his head, an amused glint in his eyes, you can’t help but feel like a fool caught unguarded. You pause for a few moments, before pursing your lips, “How would we even go in?”

"Ah, you know, just snag a few Invisibility Potions from Snape's office during dinner. He'll likely notice they’re gone, but I’ll replace them by the next morning. Being a seventh-year has its perks—I passed the exam last year and have my license," he says casually, his tone almost teasing. "Though I do need some money for that."

"Money?" you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. "I don’t have much. I’m not a pureblood like you."

"Then it's a no-go, princess," he shrugs, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Forget about it."

"Wait, no—"

"Five hundred Galleons. The potion will cost me four hundred to replace those in Snape's office, and I need a hundred for the trip to Hogsmeade just to fetch you anything at all," he says, sounding as if he’s been haggling his entire life. You scoff, incredulous. "That's a ridiculous amount! Where am I supposed to get five hundred Galleons?"

"Seems like your problem, not mine," he replies, his jaw set, the faintest hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "This is what I do, [L/N]. Get used to it."

With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving you exasperated. Where on earth could you possibly gather five hundred Galleons? Your allowance barely stretched to a couple hundred for the entire school year, just enough for a few trips to Hogsmeade. Gringotts was where your parents usually exchanged Muggle money for wizarding currency when they visited.

And then, like a lightning bolt, realization strikes you. Gojo. That insufferable white-haired twat probably received more of an allowance than you could even imagine. You gasp softly at the revelation, a plan forming in your mind as you break into a run. Ignoring Madam Pince’s shout, urging you to stop running, you dash toward the only place you think he could be—the Great Hall. Dinner would be starting soon, and with it, a glimmer of hope for your desperate situation.

And there he is, just as you suspected—Gojo, strolling alongside Suguru, his hands shoved carelessly into the pockets of his trousers. Laughter dances between them, a sound that feels foreign to your ears as you call out his name, “Oi, Gojo!”

He turns, an eyebrow arching in that infuriating way of his, as if your presence is a sudden, unwelcome surprise. “Oh, look who decided to grace me with her presence. Fawkes, I really didn’t want to see your face today.”

You huff out a breath, feeling the heat of exertion flush your cheeks. “I need to speak with you,” you manage, your voice tinged with urgency. “It’s important. Prefect things. Please.”

For a moment, he regards you with a bemusement that makes your insides twist. His gaze flickers to Suguru, exchanging a silent conversation that leaves you feeling slightly out of the loop. You nod at Suguru, a brief acknowledgment before your attention snaps back to Satoru, who seems to be weighing the gravity of your request.

“Go on, Suguru, I’ll meet you at the Great Hall,” Gojo finally says, his tone softening as his friend walks away with a casual “Alright.” With Suguru gone, Gojo turns his full attention to you, exhaling a resigned sigh. “What is it?”

“I need five hundred galleons,” you state, your heart racing at the enormity of the ask. “It’s for solving the riddle.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity flickering across his face. “Why do you need that much money to solve a damn riddle? I mean, I’d give it to you because I have it, but I want to know what it’s for.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, catching your breath before continuing, “It’s Toji. He said he’d help me get into the Restricted Section of the library if I give him that much. He’s going to steal Invisibility potions from Snape’s office tonight if I say yes, and then buy them back from J. Pippins in Hogsmeade by tomorrow to replace them.”

Gojo scoffs, rolling his eyes in that trademark manner that both irritates and fascinates you. “That conniving asshole. Why do you want to go to the library? Just think about it, you nag. The answer will come to you. I already solved my part.”

“Because there might be clues- wait, what?” You blink slowly, the revelation dawning on you like a flickering candle. “You solved it? How?”

His gaze sweeps the empty corridor, ensuring the coast is clear before he closes the distance between you, grabbing your arm in a gesture that feels oddly possessive. “Someone with black hair at Hogwarts can speak in Parseltongue,” he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial. “I don’t remember your bit by heart, but if you want, we can sneak into the library tonight. Although,” he adds, his expression shifting to one of playful mischief, “I don’t think we’ll need to go in the restriction section at all for this. Remind me what your part was again?”

“Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy,” you recite, the words falling from your lips like the echo of a half-remembered dream. They feel foreign, unwieldy, yet they carry the weight of something unspoken, something inevitable.

Gojo stares at you, his expression teetering between incredulity and amusement. He tilts his head, a hum escaping him—a low, resonant sound that vibrates in the air between you. It’s maddening, the way he always manages to make the most mundane gesture seem deliberate, practiced. You shudder, half at the sound and half at your brain for noticing it. This was Gojo Satoru, after all—the bane of your existence, the splinter lodged in your side since the moment you’d collided with him on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago.

He finally speaks, his voice thoughtful but tinged with that insufferable self-assurance. “Don’t go with Fushiguro. I have a better idea if you really want to sneak into the library.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes. “No prefect duties tonight, but the others will be about,” you say, your voice laced with skepticism. “What about them?”

His grin widens, that familiar glint in his eyes—a spark that you’ve learned to both anticipate and dread. “You remember when I told you I was working on something? For us? To make our lives as Marauders easier?”

Something twists in your chest. You know that look too well, the sharp edges of mischief cutting into his usually polished demeanor. Despite yourself, you feel the pull, the gravity that always seems to draw you into his orbit, no matter how fiercely you try to resist. “Yes?” you say, your voice tinged with hope despite the knot of hesitation in your chest. There’s something about him—something that unsettles you. Maybe it’s his intellect, sharp and unrelenting, always outpacing yours no matter how hard you tried to keep up. It wasn’t fair, but then again, nothing about him ever was.

He was always going to be better than you. The pureblood, the chosen one, the untouchable and glorious Satoru Gojo. And you? You were just a mudblood. The word still stung every time it surfaced in your mind, an unwelcome echo of whispered taunts from years past. You hated it, hated how it lingered, how it shaped the way you measured yourself against him. But no matter how much you loathed admitting it, he would always outshine you.

“It’s ready,” he announces, stopping your train of thought as he grins like the Cheshire Cat, every tooth glinting in the dim light of the corridor. “Think you can set aside your idiocy for one night and meet me outside your common room at midnight?”

“For your very kind information,” you say, your teeth gritting with irritation, “I happen to be better at you than a lot of things. But fine. This might be worth it.”

He groans theatrically, rolling his eyes with all the drama of a starlet in distress. “Gryffindors and your ‘knight in shining armor’ act—it’s unbearable!”

“As if Slytherins are any better,” you retort, your voice rising with indignation. “You’re all anarchists! You tried to poison our Quidditch team last year!”

He laughs, the sound sharp and incredulous. “How long are you going to hold that over my head? You hexed me before I even got the chance to do anything! I was in the infirmary the entire night because you made the bones in my arm disappear. Do you know how painful it is to grow bones back?”

You wince despite yourself. You might loathe the boy with every fiber of your being, but even you can admit—albeit silently, buried deep beneath layers of pride—that you may have gone too far that time. Still, Gojo’s grin persists, maddeningly bright, and you find yourself standing in that strange liminal space between rivalry and camaraderie, where annoyance and admiration blur together in a way that leaves you dizzy.

“Midnight,” he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Don’t keep me waiting, Fawkes.”

You huff, crossing your arms even as your resolve wavers. “I’ll think about it.”

But you already know you’ll be there. You always are.

It is a quarter to midnight, and the dormitory is cloaked in shadows, save for the faint silver sliver of moonlight sneaking through the half-drawn curtains. You sit up in bed, the ache of sleep pulling at your limbs, and lift your head from the scattered parchment on your desk. Your gaze drifts to your owl, a small tawny creature perched in quiet repose within his cage.

He’s quite small, and no louder than a whisper. His feathers, a soft patchwork of golden brown and deep earthen hues, are flecked with the faintest hints of black and white—an accidental constellation brushed into his down. He looks as though he belongs somewhere else entirely, a creature born of twilight and mystery, yet tethered to you by six steadfast years of companionship. His dark, endless eyes blink once in the low light, and you think, not for the first time, how much you love this bird.

He’s carried your words across distances great and small: letters home to your parents, scribbled notes to friends during summer holidays, even last-minute assignments dropped hastily into professors’ inboxes. And on those long nights when unspoken worries press heavy against your chest, he perches on your desk, watching you with an unfailing patience that no human has ever shown. On the rare nights when sleep overtakes you mid-assignment, he naps beside you, a quiet, feathery sentinel.

You smile softly at the memory, yawning as you stretch, the cool air brushing against your skin when you swing your legs over the side of the bed. The dormitory is still, filled only with the muted sound of soft breathing. You glance around, ensuring no one else is awake, before slipping to your feet and padding silently toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice stops you mid-step, sharp and sudden like a lit match in the dark. You turn to see Mei Mei sitting upright in her bed, her arms crossed and her posture exuding the kind of lazy authority that only she can manage. Her calculating smirk catches the faint light, and her eyes glint as though she’s caught you red-handed.

“I—uh,” you stammer, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I’m just… going out?”

“Out, why?” she asks, arching one elegant brow. Her tone isn’t stern—it’s amused. You can tell by the way she studies you that she isn’t actually upset. Mei Mei never bothers with rules unless they entertain her. Unfortunately, watching you squirm seems to qualify.

You sigh, the sound heavy with resignation. “Just a stroll. Nothing exciting. Maybe the Astronomy Tower.”

She makes a low hum of consideration, clearly unconvinced, though her expression doesn’t waver. You’ve gotten better at lying since this whole Marauders business started. At first, it was small white lies—just enough to fend off suspicion from Shoko or Utahime. But now? Now you lie like it’s second nature.

“Alright,” Mei Mei says at last, waving you off with a languid flick of her hand. “But don’t stay out so long that Filch catches you.”

Relief rushes through you like a dam breaking, and you nod quickly, mumbling a thanks as you tiptoe to the door. You descend the staircase with painstaking care, placing each step on the balls of your feet, wincing at the faint creak of wood beneath your weight. The common room is still, the embers in the fireplace glowing faintly like the last sigh of a dying star.

When you finally step out into the corridor, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a moment, the world is utterly still—just you, the cold stone beneath your feet, and the faint hum of magic in the air. Your heart pounds in your ears, each beat louder than the last, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. You’re alone.

Until you’re not.

A hand grabs your arm, firm in its suddenness. Panic surges up your throat, and your mouth opens to scream, but another hand clamps over your lips, silencing you before the sound can escape.

“Shh, Fawkes,” a voice hisses, low and urgent, close enough that you can feel the warmth of their breath against your skin. Your heart leaps as you recognize the voice, even before the speaker pulls you closer, draping something over your shoulders in one fluid motion.

“Don’t make a sound,” Gojo whispers. His voice is soft but carries a sharp edge of command, and even through the haze of your panic, you obey.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, as the closeness of him settles over you like a weight. It’s almost unbearable, how near he is. His face hovers inches from yours, his breath steady and warm in the cool corridor air. He moves with precise, deliberate motions, draping something—a shroud?—over both your heads with one hand while clutching a lantern in the other. The golden light from the lantern flickers between you, casting soft, wavering shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He hands the lantern to you in a rush, his fingers brushing yours briefly, before gathering the edges of the fabric and adjusting it around you both.

You stare at him, utterly still, wide-eyed and transfixed. There’s something almost childlike in the way his tongue pokes out slightly between his lips as he concentrates, but it doesn’t diminish the sharpness of him—his cheekbones catching the light, the unruly mop of white hair falling just over his brow. Gosh, he’s beautiful. You hate to admit it, but all those girls who follow him with dreamy eyes aren’t entirely wrong. There’s something about him, something beyond his charm, that’s infuriatingly magnetic.

And with his hair disheveled like this, caught in a quiet moment of focus, you think for a split second—before shaking the thought away—that you understand them.

You keep blinking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck, before realization strikes like a jolt of lightning.

“Is this what I think it is?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glances at you sidelong, huffing out a soft laugh, though his hands don’t stop their work on the edges of the fabric. “If you can tell, I’m impressed.”

You stare at the material draped around you, eyes wide, then back at him. “An Invisibility Cloak,” you breathe, the words almost reverent. “For Merlin’s sake, this is an Invisibility Cloak. Oh, my God. Why do you have an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Careful, Fawkes,” he says, his tone as sharp as it is teasing. “It’s an Invisibility Cloak, not a soundproof one. Stop being so loud.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice even as he pulls the fabric tighter around you both. It feels absurdly intimate, standing so close beneath its folds, like you’re two conspirators bound together by something larger than yourselves.

“Why do you have this?” you whisper again as the two of you begin your slow descent down the stairs.

“Because I do,” he replies simply, his voice laced with that infuriating nonchalance. “And because you’d be hopeless without me.”

You want to scoff, to argue, but you can’t quite summon the indignation. Not when the echo of his voice, low and teasing, sends an unfamiliar warmth unfurling in your chest. “I’m being serious. Why do you have this?”

“It’s a family heirloom. Now, stop pestering me,” he says, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then, as if compelled by the weight of his own words, he continues, “Pureblood families are weird. They isolate you, treat you like some twisted artifact, and then, when you’re older, they suddenly expect you to make connections, form alliances, carry the name. And just when you’re ready to resent them forever, they hand you gifts like this. It’s as if they think a shiny object will make you forget everything you suffered through.”

He stops abruptly, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before adding, “Wait. I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

You can’t resist the grin that spreads across your face. “Oh, please, go on,” you tease, the words slipping out like a reflex. “I like it when you’re the one having a bad time for once.”

His glance is sharp, though not unkind. “Of course you do.”

The two of you walk on, your steps echoing softly in the quiet night as you pass the Quad Courtyard, heading toward the vast hallway that leads to the West Tower. The immensity of Hogwarts often feels like a burden during late-night escapades, every corridor stretching endlessly, but in moments like these, the castle’s haunting beauty makes the trek feel almost worth it.

“I really shouldn’t have brought this stupid lantern,” Gojo mutters, holding it out in mild disdain. “My wand would’ve been enough.”

“Look at you, learning from your mistakes,” you say, glancing up at him with a smile that threatens to linger too long. “Seeing the consequences of your actions for once.”

He shakes his head, a small, knowing grin on his lips. “Laugh all you want, you nag. This is the only time I’m letting my guard down.”

“Wait,” you say, your steps faltering slightly. “Is this the thing you were talking about? The one you were working on? For… our little secret?”

“Oh, I completely forgot,” he says, coming to a halt so abruptly that you almost bump into him. “Stop walking, I’ll show you.”

And so you do. You stand there in the dim corridor, the lantern’s warm light casting long shadows across the stone walls. He shuffles for a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what looks like a simple piece of parchment.

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s it? What’s this supposed to be?”

He shoots you a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Watch,” he says, shaking his head at your skepticism. He points his wand at the parchment, his voice suddenly lower, more focused.

“I solemnly swear,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eye, “that I am up to no good.”

You gasp as the ink begins to spread across the page, winding like tendrils of ivy until intricate patterns form. Your breath hitches as the lines weave together, revealing a sprawling map—detailed, alive, and impossibly magical. It isn’t just a map; it’s the castle.

In bold, elegant letters, the words Messrs Fawkes and Ashen are proud to present the Marauder’s Map appear at the top of the parchment.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice an octave higher, a mixture of awe and disbelief. “And who’s Ashen?”

“A nickname I gave myself,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Because of my Patronus. I’m not telling you what it is yet, but it’s cool, right? Here, hand me the lantern and open this.”

You pass him the glass lantern, its warm light flickering against the curves of the flame within, casting shadows that dance along Gojo’s features. He cradles it effortlessly, his other hand gesturing for you to take the parchment. You obey, gingerly grasping it as though it were a relic, something impossibly delicate. Your fingers brush the edges, feeling the fine texture of the material, old but imbued with something alive.

As you carefully unfold it, the words spill from your lips in a voice barely above a whisper, yet brimming with wonder and affection. “This is Hogwarts.”

He hums in confirmation, a small smile playing at his lips, but you barely notice. Your attention is pulled elsewhere. You squint at the intricate lines and patterns, noticing something unusual—the map seems to move. Small, deliberate shifts catch your eye.

And then, there they are. Tiny footprints, trailing delicately across the paper.

“And that,” you begin, your voice hitching in disbelief, “is it really—”

“Filch,” Gojo interjects, his grin widening into something wickedly triumphant. “Stomping the hallway outside the Great Hall this very moment. Do you see the way he turns every four steps? It’s maddening. Oh, and did you know Dumbledore paces a lot in his study? Back and forth, back and forth. I never took him for the restless type, but apparently, even geniuses aren’t exempt.”

Your eyes widen as you scan the parchment, finding the tiny figure labeled Dumbledore indeed moving back and forth within the boundaries of his study. Your fingers press lightly against the parchment, as if the connection could make it any more real. Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet Gojo’s impossibly vivid blue eyes.

“It shows everyone?” you ask, the disbelief still lingering in your tone.

“Everyone,” he confirms, his voice dropping to a lower, conspiratorial register.

“Everyone?” you repeat, needing to hear it again, as if the weight of such a thing can’t fully sink in on the first try.

He nods, his expression turning smug. “Everyone. Where they are, what they’re doing, every minute, of every day.”

“Brilliant,” you breathe, the word slipping out in a hushed, awestruck whisper. You eagerly unfold another section, the map expanding under your careful hands. New details spill forth—more corridors, more staircases, more figures. Your heart races as you spot the prefects, their tiny forms marked by their names, retreating one by one to their respective dormitories. The intricacy of it all feels overwhelming, as though you’re holding the very soul of the castle in your hands.

“How did you even make this?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “Trade secret,” he says, winking down at you. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the cloak around you both, ensuring the edges stay snug. “Now, be so kind as to lead us safely to the library, yeah? The map’s not just for show.”

You glance up at him, still clutching the parchment like a lifeline, feeling its magic through your fingers. “With this?” you tease, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I’d hardly call it sneaking.”

“Call it what you want,” he replies, his grin devilish as ever. “But let’s not get caught.”

The walk to the library feels like a stolen moment, effortless and exhilarating all at once. The hallways are deserted, their vastness echoing only with the muted sounds of your footsteps. Along the way, you suggest leaving the lantern behind—its light now more of a liability than a necessity. You extinguish it carefully, placing it on one of the desks tucked into a shadowed corner. Gojo nods in agreement, and together, you slip into the back of the library, where the shelves hold the deepest secrets of Hogwarts' history.

"I can't tell you how happy this makes me," you whisper, your voice laced with an almost childlike giddiness. The sheer joy of being here, surrounded by endless rows of books, makes you shiver. The scent of old parchment and binding glue fills your lungs, intoxicating in its familiarity. It feels sacred—this darkened library, the weight of knowledge hanging in the air, and the only thing marring its perfection is Gojo, standing there with his usual smirk.

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about you being a "proper nerd," but you brush it off. “Okay,” you begin, turning serious, “I think we can put the cloak away for now. Let’s focus on finding books about voids at Hogwarts. It has to be something connected to the dungeons. Or, maybe, a secret passageway leading out of the castle? There are only six that I know of, but there could be more—”

“There are seven, actually,” Gojo interrupts, his tone maddeningly smug. He pulls the Invisibility Cloak off the two of you in one fluid motion, the fabric slipping through his fingers like liquid moonlight. With a practiced flick, he spreads the map out on the nearest desk, tracing a slender finger over its intricate details. “This one here, the One-Eyed Witch Passageway, leads straight to Honeydukes’ cellar.”

“Bloody hell,” you breathe, your voice tinged with awe. Your eyes light up as you take in the map’s delicate markings, and a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “Can I keep this?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, snatching it away with exaggerated indignation. “You’d rip it or spill tea on it by the end of the day.”

“Rude,” you retort, glaring at him half-heartedly.

He ignores you, folding the map with care as though it were made of glass. “I’ll guard it with my life. Oh, and, Fawkes, when you’re done, don’t forget to give it a tap and say ‘Mischief Managed.’ Otherwise, anyone can read it.”

He taps it with his wand, and the markings disappear just as fast as they'd come. You gasp a little, but then, you nod, mentally noting the precaution. “Right, got it.”

He then motions to the left. “Now, quit gawking and get to work. You take that side of the shelf,” he says, gesturing to the bookshelves nearby. “I’ll start over there.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips as you turn to the towering shelves. The library, vast and infinite in its secrets, stretches before you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re on the brink of discovery. Or mischief. Or both.

Quickly, you spring into action, eagerly pulling out several thick tomes from the shelves. The first one you grab, "The Hidden History of Hogwarts: Tales of Adventure and Intrigue," is intriguing, though not quite hefty enough for your liking. With a determined huff, you rise onto your toes to reach for the illustrious "Hogwarts: A History," along with a few more notable titles, before finally settling into one of the chairs with a soft creak. You spill the books across the table, their spines cracking open like secrets waiting to be unearthed, and begin flipping through their pages as rapidly as you can manage.

Moments later, Gojo occupies a chair two seats away from you, a stack of his own books piled high beside him. You can’t help but steal a glance at him, an inkling of admiration tugging at your thoughts as he immerses himself in the research.

Time slips away, the world around you fading into a blur as your tired eyes scan each page with fervor. You skim through portions that may hold no relevance to your riddle, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. And then, there it is—a recurring echo of the word “void.”

“Void, void, void,” you mutter to yourself, a spark of recognition igniting in your mind. As the realization dawns, you quickly turn to Gojo, tugging at his sleeve and other parts of his shirt with a sense of urgency. “It’s the Black Lake! The Black Lake is where someone with dark hair was speaking in Parseltongue.”

Gojo leans in, a spark of intrigue lighting his expression. “Not just dark. Black hair. A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night’s veil by the serpent’s decree. Someone with black hair might be practicing dark magic at Hogwarts. They can speak Parseltongue, and they've been doing it near the Black Lake for some reason. Whoever sent us that message wants us to know that something terrible could be happening at Hogwarts anytime soon.”

The next day, in the afternoon after lectures have concluded, you're setting up in the dungeons for the Dueling Club meeting—specifically, the chambers reserved for the club. These dungeons were far removed from the ones you and Gojo often snuck into, the ones so off-limits that even the most daring students steered clear. As you position the last training dummy along the far side of the dimly lit room, the murmurs of students arriving behind you begin to fill the air. Then, you hear a familiar voice, smooth and teasing.

"So, I’m guessing you got what you wanted one way or another," Toji says, leaning against the wall with his signature smirk.

You turn to him, your expression knowingly smug. "I did, actually. Got exactly what I wanted."

"I’d say I’m bummed I didn’t get a chance to rip you off," he begins, pushing off the wall and brushing past you, "but it’s okay. I rip off enough people to keep my reputation intact."

"You have a reputation for more than just ripping people off, Fushiguro," you shoot back, a playful lilt in your voice. But as the words leave your mouth, something about his expression makes you hesitate. Before you can apologize, though, he waves it off casually.

"It’s hard to survive on your own after ditching a shitty pureblood family," he says, his tone a strange mix of bitterness and pride. "Well, not that you’d know, but still."

"I’m sure growing up rich had its perks," you tease lightly, testing the waters.

He smirks, a glint of mischief lighting up his dark eyes. "Not at all. Maybe someday I’ll tell you all about it."

"Maybe," you reply, grinning as you move to the center of the room. Across the space, Shoko waves at you, her face a rare picture of enthusiasm as the younger students file in, awe and excitement radiating off them in waves. In one corner, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall stand together, observing quietly, their mere presence a reassuring reminder.

You clear your throat, stepping forward to address the room. "Alright, everyone," you begin, scanning the group and catching sight of a familiar mop of silver hair amidst the crowd. "Welcome to the Dueling Club. My name is [L/N] [Y/N], and I am the Head of the Club. Before we get started, we need to go over some rules."

Your voice is steady and authoritative, carrying over the hushed whispers.

"First, all participants must adhere to safety protocols to prevent injuries," you say firmly. "Every duel will be supervised by either a senior student or a professor. Physical altercations or the use of magical items like cursed artifacts is strictly forbidden. Standard dueling etiquette is a must, and we’ll demonstrate it shortly for those who are new. The duel ends immediately if one participant is incapacitated, yields, or if a professor steps in."

You pause, ensuring their attention is fixed on you.

"Spells that cause lasting harm, such as permanent transfigurations or irreversible effects, are strictly prohibited. The supervising professor has the final say in all duels, and their decisions are final. Younger students—those in first through third years—will only duel peers within their age group for safety reasons. Grudge matches are forbidden. Each duel is limited to ten minutes unless a professor decides otherwise. Spectators must stay behind the safety barriers and are not allowed to interfere."

Your gaze sweeps the crowd, ensuring everyone is following. "Unauthorized dueling outside the club is strictly prohibited," you continue, your tone sharper now. "Finally, missing three consecutive sessions without prior notice may result in suspension from the club."

"Are we clear?" you finish, your voice resonating with authority.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group as anticipation builds, their excitement palpable as they prepare for the first duels of the term.

"Alright," you begin, your voice cutting through the low hum of chatter, "I need a volunteer, preferably fifth year and above, for a demonstration of how a duel is to be conducted for the younger members. Anyone?"

You didn’t need to wait. You know before the words even left your mouth whose hand would rise first.

Sure enough, Gojo Satoru’s arm shoots up, almost gleefully, his speed outpacing anyone else's reaction by several beats. He wears that same maddeningly smug expression you’d grown far too accustomed to, his silver hair catching the low light in a way that made him impossible to ignore.

You narrow your eyes at him, a silent warning, and gave a brief shake of your head—a clear no. His eyebrows furrow in mock offense, a whine already forming on his lips. But before you could say anything, Professor Flitwick's enthusiasm intervened.

“Ah, Gojo Satoru! Excellent choice!” Flitwick exclaims, motioning him forward with a flourish. “Come on up. A real treat for everyone, this is! We’ll see two of our finest students in action. A duel between Ms. [L/N], our reigning champion—unsurprisingly, given her Headship of the club—and Mr. Gojo, who isn’t far behind her in skill. Pay close attention, everyone!”

Gojo practically saunters his way to the center, brushing past you with deliberate ease, his smirk growing wider as he passed. The sheer arrogance radiating from him was almost palpable, and it took every ounce of restraint not to roll your eyes. He'd lost to you twice last year before the term ended, and you really weren't planning on breaking that streak. You clench your jaw instead, ignoring the simmering irritation pooling low in your chest.

This wasn’t how you’d envisioned the demonstration going. You’d hoped for someone else, anyone else—someone who wouldn’t make such a spectacle of the moment. But now you were here, and there was no backing out.

The two of you take your positions on opposite ends of the room, the circle of students around you buzzing with anticipation. The younger ones leaned forward, their eyes wide with awe and barely suppressed excitement, while the older students exchanged knowing glances, whispering wagers under their breath. You couldn't lose, especially not now, in front of the second-years that held you in such high regard.

“Wands at the ready!” Professor Flitwick calls out, his voice bright with excitement, and you raise your wand with deliberate precision, your movements sharp and controlled.

Gojo mirrored you, of course, but he did it with an infuriating grace, as though the act of lifting his wand were a performance in itself. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and as his lips curl into a smirk, he lets out a soft snicker.

“You scared, Fawkes?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “Think I might beat you?”

“Absolutely not,” you hiss in return, your tone low but laced with steel. “I have an image to uphold.”

The two of you lower your wands briefly, turning to walk the traditional ten paces back. Each step feels heavier than it should, the air between you thick with unspoken challenges. When you finally turn to face him again, your stance is resolute—offensive, calculated.

His, however, is wide, open, almost careless. He was baiting you, leaving himself vulnerable in a way that made your blood boil. He wanted you to strike first. He'd throw quick attacks your way and eventually disarm you. Fine, you thought. You’d play his game. The count started in your head.

Three... two... one.

“Immobulus!” you call, your voice slicing through the room as your wand slashes through the air.

Gojo moves with infuriating ease, dodging the spell as though he’d anticipated it. With a quick, fluid motion, his wand flicks toward you. “Impedimenta!” he counters, the jinx used for slowing things down hurtling toward you faster than you'd expect.

You sidestep just in time, your breath catching as the spell crackles past you. The near miss sent a rush of heat down your spine, but you recovered quickly, slipping into a defensive stance.

The two of you begin circling each other, the space between you electric. He wears that same smirk, taunting, while your face stays set, determination etched into every line.

The duel escalates quickly. Spells ricochet off the dungeon walls, filling the room with flashes of light and sharp cracks of sound. His attacks come faster than they did last year, his movements sharper, more refined. Somewhere deep down, you register his improvement—damn him for it—but you don’t have time to dwell.

This isn’t going to be easy. He’s caught up to you in skill, and though you hate to admit it, that fact makes your blood run hotter. But you aren’t going to lose. So you smirk, sending aggressive attacks one after another, chasing him so he won’t have time to think. “Stupefy!”

You wait, watching for the smallest mistake, the slightest hesitation. And then it comes, just as he dodges your disarming spell—his fingers tighten on his wand for a fraction too long.

You focus as much as you can, your grip on your wand steady as you whisper, “Flagrante.”

The curse hits its mark instantly. Gojo yelps, his wand clattering to the floor as he clutches his hand. The circle of students falls silent, their awe-struck faces illuminated by the faint glow of the curse’s residual heat.

You straighten, lowering your wand and undoing the curse immediately, satisfaction blooming in your chest. Victory, though slightly bitter, is still victory.

Professor McGonagall steps forward, her expression cool and disapproving. “Newer students,” she says, her voice clipped, “are not to attempt what Ms. [L/N] just demonstrated. Flagrante is an advanced curse, highly dangerous, and entirely unsuitable for this setting. Even the most experienced duelists could easily miscalculate.”

You cringe at her words, the satisfaction of your win dimming under her sharp tone.

Gojo, however, seems entirely unbothered. He retrieves his wand, his injured hand cradled lightly in the other. When his gaze meets yours, it holds something you can't quite name. Pride? Annoyance? Maybe both.

But then his lips curl into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. Not his usual smirk, but something gentler, more genuine. It sent a strange, unfamiliar warmth through your chest, one that lingered far longer than you expected.

As the students pair off and separate into groups, Gojo saunters up to you with his usual grin. “Well, looks like your streak is now up to three. Impressive, Fawkes Junior. Although… weren’t you the one always preaching about following the rules? How’d you manage to use a curse on me?”

“When it comes to you,” you smirk, taking a few deliberate steps back while pointing your wand at his injured hand, “I just have to be better than you. Episkey.”

He winces slightly as the healing charm begins to mend the red burns on his pale skin. Slowly but surely, the angry marks fade, leaving his hand looking unscathed, the same snow-like perfection as before. He mutters a quick thanks under his breath.

“Now go,” you say, dismissing him with a flick of your wrist, “Practice with someone else instead of wasting my time. I’ve got to oversee the second-years with the professors.”

“Babysitter duties, huh?” he replies with a smug grin as he steps back toward his group. You have no doubt he’s either about to duel with Shoko or find someone younger to pester for his own amusement. You roll your eyes and turn away, heading toward the younger students to fulfill your Head duties.

The day unfolds in a haze, the heavy weight of your thoughts never quite lifting. Dueling Club wraps up hours before dinner, leaving you with an uneasy stretch of time. Time to rest, perhaps. Or to think—which, as it turns out, is far more exhausting.

The revelation from yesterday refuses to leave you. Someone, somewhere within these walls, was practicing dark magic. And the thought sends shivers down your spine. Hogwarts had always been a sanctuary, a place of learning and wonder—safety, even. But now, its shadows felt longer, its corners darker.

You try not to dwell on it, but how could you not? The line from the riddle echoes endlessly in your mind: A raven-haired calls what none can see. And with how many black-haired students roamed the halls of Hogwarts this year, the task of uncovering the truth felt impossibly daunting. Parseltongue wasn’t exactly something people casually advertised, after all.

Lost in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the familiar figures ahead. Turning down the hallway toward Gryffindor Tower, you spot Shoko. She’s leaning against the wall next to an arch, chatting casually with two others with a cigarette between her fingers. As you draw closer, you recognize Nanami and Utahime. Shoko waves you over, her ever-relaxed smile widening as she sees you.

“Hi,” you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you lean into hers. There’s comfort in her presence, steady and grounding, something that soothes you. “I haven’t gotten time to see you at all so far. How have you been?”

“Irritated, mostly,” she says with a half-smile, resting her head lightly against yours. “You know I’m stuck dealing with two idiots.”

You huff a laugh.

“And you two?” Shoko continues. “You’ve both gotten way too busy, huh? Managing the Dueling Club and the Quidditch team? I’m surprised you’re still alive. And Kento, Prefect duties on top of everything else? How are you even here right now?”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Nanami mutters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“And her,” Utahime chimes in, jerking her thumb in your direction with a teasing grin. “She’s been trying to cozy up to Snape, of all people. That sourpuss! I still don’t know why.”

The mention of Snape jolts you, a moment of panic flashing across your face before you remember why she’d say that. Right. Your excuse the first night of the Marauders meeting. You grimace, shifting awkwardly. “Y-yeah. That… uh, hasn’t been going too well. Still isn’t, actually.”

“Don’t bother,” Nanami says flatly, crossing his arms. “He hates all Gryffindors on principle. And you? With the way you’re always trying to one-up Gojo? You’re his least favorite.”

“Speaking of that,” Shoko cuts in, nudging you with her elbow, “Nice job at the duel today. First time I’ve seen you break a rule to win. Miss Perfect, finally showing her rebellious streak.”

Her words pull a soft laugh from you, but the weight in your chest tightens. If only she knew the half of it. If only they all knew. One month in, and you’d already broken enough rules to keep Filch busy for a year. An Invisibility Cloak. The Marauders Map. Sneaking around the castle’s most restricted areas. You’d told yourself it was all for a greater purpose, but still, the guilt lingered.

“Yeah, well,” you say lightly, masking your unease with a grin, “It’s hard not to pick up some bad habits when I’m surrounded by the worst influences.”

Shoko smirks again, flicking the ash from her cigarette. “I aim to please. Speaking of bad habits, don’t think I didn’t notice you and Fushiguro Toji today.”

Your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t flirting!”

“Never said you were,” Shoko says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “That exchange in the Dueling Club? Definitely flirting. Saw it with my own two eyes.”

Utahime gasps in mock outrage. “Didn’t I warn you about him? Ever since he renounced his family name, all he’s done is hop from one pureblood girl to another. That, and making money off of shady bets or ripping people off. I even heard he’s got connections in Knockturn Alley.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “He’s actually quite nice, even though he did try to rip me off. And I wasn’t flirting with him—”

“My eyes say otherwise,” Shoko interrupts, grinning.

“Get them checked,” you retort, narrowing your eyes. “It was a friendly conversation. Nothing more.”

Nanami chuckles, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I only wish I’d been there to see you let loose for once.”

“Let’s not talk about him anymore, please.” You sigh and steer the conversation to safer ground. “Are you lot going to Hogsmeade next week? I might have to stay back. Flitwick’s been breathing down my neck about the second-years—especially the Zenins and Inumaki. He wants me to give them, you know, special attention.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow as she flicks the stub of her cigarette out of the stone archway, muttering a wordless charm to dissipate it mid-air. You watch as it vanishes completely before touching the ground. Shoko’s casual mastery of wandless magic always left you in awe. It was effortless with her, a talent you couldn’t help but envy. But before your thoughts could linger on your inadequacies, she speaks.

"Have you seen them?" she says, her tone sharp with incredulity. "They're ridiculously good at everything. Honestly, you might end up dragging them into your Quidditch team, alongside that Itadori kid. I caught him practicing the other day—just a casual glance—and it scared me. But for now, I think we've got Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge in our House. And, well, Gojo and Suguru are there anyway. Oh, and me."

"I’ve only made it to practice once," you admit with a wince. "Too much on my plate this year."

Utahime’s brow arches sharply as she folds her arms. "I can excuse the Dueling Club meetings since you're the Head, but miss another day of practice, and I’m benching you."

"I know, I know!" you groan. "I’m just... stressed, okay? Prefect duties are insane this year, and I’m falling behind on assignments too."

That draws an audible gasp from Shoko. "You? Behind? Bloody hell, what’s the world coming to?"

For a split second, you consider telling them the truth—that you weren’t just behind because of typical school stress. That something far darker was unraveling at Hogwarts, something that made your sleepless nights and frayed nerves feel trivial in comparison. But how could you? The weight of it, the potential to cause panic, was too much. Instead, you shake your head, plastering on a weak smile.

"I don’t know," you say quietly. "I’m just not managing things well this year. But I’ll come to practice tomorrow. I promise."

"You’d better," Utahime warns, but her tone softens slightly. "I need a Chaser. I’m making Itadori our Seeker this year, and since I’m Keeper, I’ve got to step up too. Maki Zenin is quite the Beater, though."

"How’s practice going with him? Itadori?" you ask.

"Bloody amazing," she says, her eyes lighting up. "Kento was there the other day. He can back me up."

Nanami nods in agreement. "He’s... an interesting character. Relentlessly enthusiastic, which is exhausting, but his skill is unreal. Playing by the rules, though? That’s his Achilles’ heel. Iori and I are drilling that into him."

Shoko smirks, crossing her arms. "Speaking of stepping up, Gojo’s been upping his game too. He, Suguru and I were training after lectures yesterday. And then, long past curfew too. Almost till midnight. Although, Satoru left because he had some errands to run."

You pause for a moment. So that's where he'd been before your spontaneously decided meeting last night.

Then, you groan dramatically, throwing your head back. "I’m drowning over here, barely keeping up, and that smug little git is already pulling ahead?"

Your friends erupt in laughter, Shoko shaking her head as she teases, "Seems like beating him might be the only thing to pull you out of your slump, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but a reluctant grin spreads across your face. "It just might," you admit, chuckling softly.

"Okay, Fawkes, hit me," Gojo bursts into the Room of Requirement, a little late after your prefect duties that night. You had arrived directly after rounds, and he was about fifteen minutes behind schedule. He rushes to the long table, shedding his robe in one swift motion and flinging it onto a nearby wooden chair.

You sigh, "Well, I did some research while doing homework today."

He motions for you to begin, and you walk over to the pinboard, tacking up a copied page from a library book. "Parseltongue, as you probably already know, is hereditary and spoken by the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. So my guess would be that all pureblood students at the school could potentially be Parselmouths, regardless of their House. There have been exceptions in the past, although the textbook I got this from didn’t name them explicitly."

"Are you saying it couldn't just be a Slytherin pureblood?" he raises an eyebrow. "This just makes our job harder. There are so many possibilities now. If it were just Slytherin, we’d only have around thirty people in that House to investigate. If we rule out anyone without black hair, that narrows the count by half!"

"I know," you sigh again, feeling the weight of the task. "The book was about Salazar Slytherin, and it mentioned that there have been exceptions where purebloods were sorted into other Houses and still retained the ability to speak Parseltongue. However, we could probably rule out Hufflepuff; the cases discussed only Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

"There's only like two purebloods in Hufflepuff anyway. They wouldn't be able to speak Parseltongue even if they had it in their blood," Gojo rolls his eyes, his elitism palpable. You say, "Don't be a dick."

"I'm just saying," he defends, raising his arms. "If your entire lineage is Slytherin and you end up a Hufflepuff, it’s a shame, really."

"Focus on our work," you interject.

"Let’s narrow the list down first to all black-haired students. That should make our job easier, right?" he suggests. "Then we can check their ancestry one by one."

"How does one even do that?" you mumble, glancing at the pile of student requests on your desk. "There’s no way—"

"I can handle that part," he replies, straightening his lips as he looks at you. "My father works at the Ministry, remember? I can pull some strings. Or we could find books on magical genealogy in the Restricted Section of the library. It’ll take time, though—probably at least a month."

"We have no way of knowing what this person is doing in the meantime," you sigh, still looking at the requests. "I also have to be at Quidditch practice tomorrow."

"A little overworked, are you?" he teases. "Our little Fawkes is finally having a hard time keeping up."

"Screw you, Gojo," you retorted. "It’s hard being Head of the Dueling Club, a Prefect, and playing Quidditch while doing this with you, nonetheless."

"Quit something, then," he shrugs. "It’s not like Quidditch is going to help you get to St. Mungo’s as a Healer."

"Shoko's doing it," you counter. "So I must too."

"Shoko’s doing it because her family is ridiculous. She’s not a Prefect, if you haven’t noticed. And she’s not Head of a club or Captain of the team. She’s just along for the ride while you’re taking on everything that’s wearing you thin. She’s a pureblood; you’re not."

"Are you saying I’m lesser because I’m a muggle-born?" you ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

He groans. "Are you even listening to what I’m saying? Purebloods, like me, Shoko, and Suguru, are forced to do things we don’t want to! You, however, have the choice. I don’t! I have to be the best at everything because I have the ‘Gojo’ name on my back and the clan on my ass. Shoko has to do Quidditch because she’s a pureblood. She has to take on extra things she doesn’t want to because of her family pressure. If it were up to her, she'd be in her dorm for half the day, smoking away. Do you think I want to be a Prefect? Or that I want to be a scholar? I just am because I am supposed to be. I have to be the greatest—you don’t!"

"But what if I want to?" you say, your nerves fraying. "I want to be the greatest. I want to be as good as you at everything I do, if not better!"

"That’s your choice, Fawkes," he laughs incredulously. "All you have to do is drop one thing, and you won't be so stressed. You can’t possibly do everything you want all the time."

"Maybe I can!" you reply, your voice rising. "And maybe I will."

"Whatever," he scoffs, standing up and grabbing his robe. "Just have the list ready. And work on the normal requests. If you want, ask for my help. If not, piss off."

"Fuck you," you spit, the tension thick in the air. "I don’t need your help."

"That makes my life easier anyway," he retorts with a sarcastic smile as he leaves the Room.

You sigh, feeling the weight of your decisions pressing down on you. What had you just brought upon yourself? You were going to be wrung dry, and it was all your doing. With your head hung low, you start pulling parchments and a quill toward you. You would stay here all night if it meant getting everything done. And the requests? You’d tackle them all. You’d prove Gojo wrong with every fiber of your being.

And perhaps, tomorrow, you’d steal an Invigoration Draught vial from Snape’s office after class to keep up. Yes, that would do.

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wolverinesbuttcheeks · 14 days ago

Text

“not your fault.”

logan howlett x g/n reader

rating: pg

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, sad logan, scott being an ass, explicit language, comforting reader, logan’s soft hair.

a/n: this is after a req i did, and i couldn’t wait. sorry ts is booty. here’s the request.

update!! i made an edited/better version here.

it’s not your fault.

another failed mission.

you and the x-men had gotten back from the 6th failed mission in a row.

people? dead. mutants? dead.

too many people- dead.

the x-men (mostly scott) was blaming it on logan for ‘charging in head first’. but you could tell that he was at least trying. you always had loved him for not really having a thought in his head while saving people. he was just doing his job.

it was late, you were about to go to bed. anger boiling over. it was about midnight, the kids were in bed, and you could hear scott pacing the hall way. you were about to stick your head out and yell at him to shut the fuck up. you stood up, and padded towards the door. you reached your hand to the doorknob- but then got interrupted by logan’s footsteps walking around the corner and scott screaming at him.

“YOU KILLED PEOPLE LOGAN, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US?!”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! THIS IS YOUR FAULT- IF YOU HADENT JUST CHARGED IN-” logan cut him off.

“DO YOU THINK I PURPOSELY LET THEM DIE?!”

you could hear his voice wabble.

you heard footsteps thunder into the distance . then a thump at the door. logan’s voice came through again.

“can i talk to you… please?” he said, you could hear his voice waver slightly.

you cracked open the door door to reveal logan. he was in his classic tank and sweatpants.

logan seemed ashamed. his eyes directed at his feet. when his eyes finally came up and met yours, there were tears trailing down his face. his eyes scrunched closed, you stepped forward wrapping your arms around him. one hand finding a place on the back of his neck. you pulled him into the room, kicking the door closed behind you.

you both plopped down onto the edge of the bed. logan was now weeping.

“i-it’s my fault- i -i killed them.” logan’s arms wrapped around you as he sobbed into your neck.

“shh- no it’s not. it’s not your fault.”

you started to rub slow circles on his back. he leaned into you, the cloth on your shoulder now wet from his tears. him crying made you want to cry with him. to see the toughest person you know this vulnerable… it’s… scary.

logan’s breath slowly began to go back to normal, and he shifted- then laid his head onto your lap, his face pointing away from you. one arm around your back, and the other hand was resting on your thigh. his breathing smoothed over as he began to play with the fabric that loosely covered your thigh.

“it’s not your fault logan. it never is.”

you say softly, almost like your comforting yourself as well as him.

he turned, his hands now resting on his tummy. you looked into his golden green eyes. they were shiny, a stray tear still running down the side of his face.

“i’m sorry.” he said weakly.

you nodded in response. his eyes scanned your face, then landed on your lips. his hand reached up and tucked a string of hair that had fallen into your face.

“you always have time to be romantic huh?”

he chuckled, “someone’s gotta”

he sat up. your hands falling out of his thick brown hair. the dim light making the ends glow slightly. then he leaned in slowly, his lips catching yours in a kiss. you kissed back. your hands snaking their way back to his silky hair that you were dangerously addicted to.

the kiss ended when you pulled away for oxygen. but you wanted more.

“thank you” he whispered against your lips. his forehead now resting on yours. his calloused hands came up to either side of your face before he planted one last kiss on your lips. when you pulled away this time, you hugged him. you both fell against the bed, falling asleep in each others arms.

•••

the next morning you woke up to logan’s arms around you. this time his shirt was nowhere to be seen. you smiled. content. he was still knocked out, so you used this time to just admire him, and the fact that ‘the wolverine’ is currently in your bed right now. his eyes fluttered open- eyelashes catching the golden sunlight being filtered through the blinds. your reached up, your hand caressing the stubble on his chin, then pulling him into another kiss.

“it’s never your fault.”

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan xmen #logan howlett #james logan howlett #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fluff #logan wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #x men #gender neutral reader #no y/n #request

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belovedgyu · 16 days ago

Text

teaser - normal people || kim mingyu

⚬ pairing: architect! kim mingyu x fem! reader (she's a med student) ⚬ word count: 1k (this is just a teaser) ⚬ warnings: alcohol, drinking, spice/nsfw mentions and smut, mentions of revenge porn and other mature themes MDNI ⚬ genres: slowburn, angst, HEAVY MUTUAL PINING, friends with benefits/no strings attached, hurt/comfort, autumn in nyc, corporate!au ft. Joshua, Vernon, Lisa and a few OCs.

a/n: tentative release date: early/mid July let me know if you'd want to be added to the taglist.

playlist for this teaser: illicit affairs by taylor swift cinnamon girl by lana del rey love in the dark by adele

The first thing Mingyu notices after waking up is the silence—not the type that emerges from wordlessness, but one which falls down on his chest, choking out any sound he wants to make.

Its like someone has stuffed sand in his throat.

Even while he’s half asleep, he doesn’t wanna do something that might stir the girl lying on his pillow, a curtain of midnight strands sprawled over half her face and shoulders.

You.

Your small hand is outstretched, too far from your own chest, too close to his but not touching. Like you wanted to reach out for him sometime during the early hours before daybreak, but even in your sleep, you knew not to.

Mingyu wonders if you had any sleep last night, not that he was hyper aware of the winces you made whenever your hips moved even a little on the bed. Or the way that your other hand was lying idle over your pelvis, as if it had gone tired soothing the area.

He took all the precautions, not just sexual but once that could shield you both emotionally, last night. Then why is his heart clawing at his ribs every time your chest rises with a breath deeper than the one before?

In theory, he should be smug…maybe even pat himself on the back. This was you whom he had successfully bedded.

You, who would make strangers stumble on their words each time you smiled that soft, disarming, guarded smile of yours. You, whom half of his friends were already knee deep in love with. The untouchable, and untouched y/n.

But no such cheap pride flutters within him.

Mingyu might be a player, a flirt, someone who loves attention which comes without any strings attached. But he’s not cruel.

No matter how much people try to box him in the same category as those fuckboys, he can never think of any girl being a milestone to achieve or a mere name added to his list.

And this was you, afterall.

He debates if he should wake you up to ask if you have work today, it's almost ten already. But then he decides to mind his own business.

Flunging his legs off the bed, he fluffs the duvet around your periphery, not daring to touch or disturb you in any way.

He fishes for the shirt he wore last night from the tangled heap of fabric on the floor, not for himself but for you.

Then, he places it carefully next to your ripped dress on the bed, as if offering you to put it on if the tear on the hem of your dress was too bothersome.

An invisible cloud of citrus and fresh shower follows as he pads out to his kitchen—grey sweatpants riding loose on hips and wet hair flopped over his head, almost getting in his eyes. The scratches on his back, courtesy to you, sting a little when he stretches in front of the open cabinets to grab two ceramic mugs.

He pulls out the remaining two eggs from his refrigerator, thinking how would you like them. He rakes his head for a memory of any of your several hangouts with him which should give him the answer to the dilemma of making it scrambled or boiled.

So far, nothing turns up.

Sure, he knows what cuisine is Lisa’s favorite, what mushrooms cause Joshua to flare up, what brands of instant ramen Vernon places superior to Buldak. But he has no idea about you.

Not because he doesn’t listen to you even when he’s pretending not to. But because of your casual guardedness.

You give what you want to give, never succumbing to peer pressure of the group hangouts where it's a competition to see who says the most interesting thing.

“What are you even doing? Remember, this is casual, right?” A voice in his head, which sounds suspiciously like you, but more mature…like a ghost of you from decades ahead, travelled past in time to whisper that in his ear.

The haunted rebuke jerks him out of this daze. The scent of you from last night invades his senses.

He slams the refrigerator door and flinches at his own reflection. There it is, that ghost of you. Not in your shape or physicality. But in the lovebites blooming on his chest where you had buried your teeth over and over. On the trails of dug and drawn out nails that start from his back and end on the broad expanse of his shoulders from when you had tried to cling on to him as he drove in and out of you.

God, he thinks, it seems like someone plucked the now twenty six year old Kim Mingyu out of his current timeline and chucked him to a random Saturday morning at his frat during college days.

He should put on a shirt before you arise.

With that thought, he creeps back into his bedroom, carefully enough to not cause any commotion.

But you are already stirring up—rubbing your closed eyes with one curled palm while the other latches on to the bunched up sheet on your chest. Even unguarded, you do not fail to knock all the air out of his system with your beauty.

Something in his gait shifts.

He seems taller now, his demeanor more lousy—a stark contrast to the caution with which he had entered.

Its like a switch flipped within him.

He hides his strange nervousness around you under curtains of fake indifference.

“Sleeping beauty’s finally up, I see.” he can’t help but mumble with all the nonchalance in the world.

But it isn’t enough to veil how unnecessarily hard he is gripping the door of his closet. Or how his fingers tremble when they grab the first shirt they can feel.

“Morning…” you almost whisper and it takes everything in him not to whip around and check if there’s anything lingering on your face which could indicate regret.

“I hope I didn’t snore.” your voice sounds clearer now and it makes the ache in his chest dissolve with the next exhale.

Good, at least you’re still talking to him.

His smile is lopsided when he’s done unnecessarily smoothing out the fabric on his abs. “I would have thrown you out if you did.”

He instantly regrets saying that.

You don’t look too hurt, your face doesn't fall, but you laugh like you’re unsure about how to respond. For some reason, he doesn't like that he confused you, even with a joke.

For a moment, he considers ridding you of any possible future confusions about last night by leaning down and kissing your forehead. By telling you just how much last night meant for him and he doesn't want you to think it's casual.

But Kim Mingyu hasn't done the "not casual" in a long, long time. And the last thing he wants you to be is an experiment, a trial, a guinea pig.

Besides, didn't you tell him that you didn't want this to mean anything? That you just wanted to borrow one of his nights?

Then why is he even thinking about overwhelming you by complicating this?

You wouldn't even believe him if he told you the truth, though.

He pretends to not even see you when you're around, never responds to your jokes, never asks for your opinions. He shuts up about his problems the moment you walk in the same rooms as him.

You'd think its because he doesn't want to share his life with you. He knows that its because he doesn't want you to see the ugly parts.

So he chooses to focus on pretending to be enamored by something else, again. This time, the clasp of his watch.

"I...uh, I gotta go, work thing."

There is no work thing.

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear, not even a sliver of dejection on your face.

"Do you want me to call you a cab?" He offers, then quickly adds, "You can stay as long as you want. There's some food in the fridge."

You smile at him, the soft, honest one which brought him here in the first place. "I need to do some studying."

"Yeah, right." He nods, grabbing his car keys from the dresser beside you. This is the closest he has been to you since the morning.

You turn around, watching his every moment. Not curious, not nervous. Just there. Like you had been there several times. But you hadn't.

"Mingyu," you mutter, "...thanks for last night."

"Anytime." He smirks, allowing his hand to ruffle your hair.

On his way out, he switches off the kettle simmering next to the two ceramic mugs he had pulled out earlier. Dumping the tea bags...your favorite earl grey that you ordered at every brunch, he pretends not to listen to his heart thudding in his ears.

let me know if you'd like to be added in the taglist for when this gets published <3 meanwhile, you can check out my previous work, "Fashion Show" here. or, you can take a look at the moodboard for this fic here.

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captain039 · 8 months ago

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Heal your hurt

Viktor x reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, mental health issues, light swearing, chubby reader, intimacy, sexual, friends to lovers, reader has chronic pain

I just need to take care of Viktor and for him to take care of me xD

It’s a quiet day, rain gently pattering on the window of your shared apartment. Viktor’s been your roommate for three years now, but you’ve known him since you were little. You’ve always loved Viktor, lately though it just seems different, you catch yourself staring at him, watching the way his eyes scan over journals, notes and blueprints, watch the way his jaw sometimes clenches a little too harshly or his high cheekbones. Watching him slowly grow tired while you read on the bed making sure he doesn’t fall asleep at the desk, or how he makes his tea in the morning, his hair a mess his eyes barely open. It makes your cheeks heat and your thighs clench. You want to throw yourself out the window some days at how bad it gets, you can’t help but wonder, let your mind wander to thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking about him, you imagine straddling him, making sure he’s comfortable before slowing sinking-

The door opening makes you startle, your book falls to the floor and you stare blankly before you register.

“Welcome home” you call to Viktor who just hums and heads to his desk lying his things down. He looks tired today more so than usual, his limp is worse than normal and you can see the tense lines in his jaw and brow.

“How was your day?” You ask. You know better than to ask if he’s ok, always being brushed off.

“Good” he answers simply sitting down and resting his cane against the table, it wouldn’t be a talking day then. You sigh softly picking up your book and lying it on the table head in hand, elbow resting on the table as you look out the window, watching the rain fall.

“Did you have a good day?” Viktor’s voice comes and you look to him, he’s looking at you to which surprised you.

“It was boring” you shrug and he nods.

“Jayce says hello,” he says and turns back to his desk.

“Tell him I say hi back” you say and he nods. You stand up deciding to take a shower instead of sitting, your hips protest and you swear you feel like someone just stabbed you in the tailbone. You want to curse but keep it in and awkwardly go to the bathroom. You run a bath, put in a few drops of oil and a scoop of bath salts, it’s your damn fault for sitting in that chair too long. You want to slap yourself but don’t as you strip and struggle with your pants and socks. You sit on the toilet seat jaw clenching. In times like these you missed your mother, her helpful hand her warm words and her caring touch, she made you feel less useless. You force your legs up and take off your socks one by one it takes you too long and you’re rushing to turn the taps off before you even get your pants off. You sigh shimmying your pants off before you settle in the bath with a small sigh of satisfaction. A temporary subdue of pain, you figured by now they’d invent something to stop this kind of thing, but no, we’re just inventing blimps and hextech. You sit in the bath eyes closed head resting on the small bath pillow that Viktor bought you. It’s… nice the small things he does, he’ll buy you a small gift you use every day like a new bookmark, a blanket or something you need, he’ll leave one of your jackets hanging by the door if it’s cold, he always knows how to make the best tea.

“Are you alive in there?” A gentle knock echos from the door and you open your eyes realising you were lost in thought.

“Yeah I’m alive” you call out hearing a soft rare chuckle from Viktor.

“Would you like a tea?” He asks and the thought of hot tea makes you smile.

“Yes please” you answer. Getting out of the bath seems to be harder than getting in, you feel ten times heavier and drying your body feels like running a marathon. You struggle to your room, listen to the kettle boil as you take some pain meds and get dressed carefully. You leave your room and collapse on the couch ungracefully and sigh. You’ve never outright told Viktor of your problems, you figure he can see them even though you try to hide, sometimes it’s too much to hide, but you don’t want your burdens on him when he already has his own.

“Tea” Viktor says and hands you the cup. You thank him and sit up properly sipping the herbal drink with a small sigh.

“Viktor?” You ask as he sits at his desk and he hums back. You pause for a moment sighing and shaking your head.

“Sorry, don’t worry” you brush off picking up a book instead. You don’t see him falter and stop what he’s doing till you hear his voice.

“How is your book?” He asks.

“S, good” you hum.

“What’s it about?” He adds and you flick your eyes up seeing him writing something down.

“You don’t like my silly romance novels” you snort softly.

“Indulge me” he answers and something in your stomach flutters.

“I- ok. It’s about opposing kingdoms the Prince and the Princess must marry to form an alliance between each kingdom, they hate each other though and she’s been planning to murder him to get revenge for mother’s death. They’re forced to be together for appearance and she slowly finds out that it wasn’t in fact the prince that killed her mother but someone else, I think it was one of the king's assassins and the prince had no idea about it, anyway, she realised that the prince is not the evil mastermind he appears to be, he’s a soft-hearted gentleman who cares for the people in secret and tries to save the kingdom from collapsing” you explain only halfway through the book.

“Has either one confessed?” He asks.

“No, she’s still learning about her feelings but he’s head over heels just doesn’t want to push her” You shrug sipping your tea again and reading the page you were on.

“An enemies to lovers? Is that what you called it?” He comments and you smile to yourself.

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called” you answer.

“With a slow…burn?” He tilts his head and your smile widens even if he can’t see it.

“Also correct” you let out a small giggle.

“I am slowly learning your… book language” You feel your stomach do a flip with butterflies at his words and you force yourself to stop smiling. You clear your throat and nod.

“Yeah, you’re doing good” you mumble focusing on finishing your tea and page.

Next part ->

#x reader #Viktor x reader #Viktor Arcane #Viktor #fluff #hurt/comfort

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diamonddaze01 · 8 months ago

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[3:27 AM]

Pairing: lc x reader | wc: 1.1k au: criminal minds au | warnings: mentions of people getting hurt a/n: based on an ask from my 101 drabble prompt game! // surprise i have decided to turn this into a drabble series bc i love criminal minds and i love lee chan so it’s only natural

The insistent knocking at your door at 3 AM could only mean one thing: Lee Chan was about to ruin your night. Again.

You groaned, the harsh thumping reverberating through your bones. It was past 3 AM, and you had a flight to catch in a few hours for another high-risk case. The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on your chest. You had been barely catching a few hours of sleep in between case files, strategy meetings, and debriefings. But of course, Chan—your insufferable, impossible rival at the BAU—had to make an appearance now, ruining whatever tiny shred of rest you could scrape together.

You briefly debated ignoring it—he’d leave if you waited long enough, right? But the knocking only grew louder, more demanding, until it felt like the walls themselves were shaking with the force of it. With a frustrated sigh, you shoved the blanket aside, letting the cold air of the apartment hit your skin as you dragged yourself out of bed. The room smelled faintly of coffee and stale paperwork, the remnants of a long day.

“God, I swear to God, if it’s another case…” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your tired eyes.

You swung the door open, barely suppressing the irritation that bubbled up in your chest. The sight of him, standing there in a BAU hoodie, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes, made your blood boil instantly. His hoodie smelled like his usual cologne mixed with the scent of a rushed flight—a mix of sweat and caffeine—and you realized, with a sinking feeling, he hadn’t even bothered to look presentable.

“What the hell, Chan?” you snapped, your words a little sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. The exhaustion was wearing on your nerves.

He blinked, his wide eyes—normally so full of cocky arrogance—filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Worry? Guilt? His usual bravado was nowhere to be found.

“I... I needed to make sure you’re okay,” he said, his voice unusually low.

You blinked at him, confused, still half asleep. “What?”

His gaze flickered away for a moment, and you noticed the way his hand fidgeted with the edge of his hoodie. A nervous habit, something you’d never seen him do. "I had a nightmare,” he admitted, almost sheepishly.

“A nightmare?” Your brow furrowed. "And you thought waking me up at 3 AM was the best solution?”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself, his eyes shadowed by something darker than the fatigue you both shared. "It wasn’t just any nightmare." His voice cracked slightly, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was going to continue.

But then he did, his gaze never leaving yours. “It was about you.”

You felt a chill run down your spine, despite the heat of the apartment. You tried to brush it off, but it was too late. His words lingered in the air, thick and heavy.

“Me?” you repeated, incredulous. "You had a nightmare... about me?"

Chan nodded once, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets as if he was trying to hide from something you couldn’t quite understand. The cocky, competitive Chan you knew so well—the one who always put you in second place on every case, who made you fight tooth and nail to keep up with him—was suddenly nowhere to be found.

“Yeah. It felt... real,” he muttered, his gaze flickering away. “We were chasing that unsub last week in that warehouse, and you—you got hurt.” He paused, the words choking him slightly, and for the first time, you saw that the normally unflappable Chan had something real on his mind. “I couldn’t get to you in time. I couldn’t protect you.”

You froze. The air between you felt suddenly thick, charged with an emotion neither of you had ever voiced out loud. He was standing there, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable, and you—well, you weren’t sure how to respond. You opened your mouth to say something sharp, something biting, but nothing came out. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, not sure where to place the sudden tenderness you felt creeping up.

“Chan, this is insane.” You crossed your arms, though the action felt more like a defense than anything else. You couldn’t quite make sense of the situation. “We’re agents. We know the risks. This is what we signed up for.”

He shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But you’re not just anyone. You’ve had my back when no one else would. You think I’m just supposed to act like I don’t care?”

His eyes met yours, something raw and unspoken passing between the two of you. The usual banter, the sharp edge of competition, had dissolved into something... softer. You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all seemed, but you couldn’t. You felt your heart thud, unexpectedly heavy in your chest. You had spent years trying to keep things between the two of you cold, professional—just another rivalry between agents vying for the same promotions, for the same cases. But this? This felt different.

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. “You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” you said, trying to sound like you normally did. But the words came out more strained than you intended. "I’m fine, Chan. I’ll always be fine."

He didn’t flinch, didn’t back away like you expected. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze steady, unyielding. His presence in your apartment felt almost suffocating now, like the tension between you was finally breaking, like something had shifted—and you weren’t sure if you wanted it to.

“I don’t want to be just your rival anymore,” he muttered. “Not with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know how to process that. You wanted to argue, to shove him away and pretend nothing had changed. But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

“Well,” you began, the words coming out slowly, unsure, “I don’t need you to baby me.”

Chan’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I’m not trying to.” His voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper now. “I’m trying to say that I care.”

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, in the dim light of your apartment, staring at the man who had been your rival for so long. The cold air from the hallway had long since seeped inside, but you were no longer cold.

Finally, you let out a sigh, stepping back, breaking the tension, just a little. “Fine. But only because you're annoying.”

He chuckled, the sound softer than usual, more genuine. “I’ll take it.”

You watched him stand there for a moment, before the gravity of it all hit you. Lee Chan—the arrogant, cocky agent who always outshone you in the field—had just shown up at your door at 3 AM, not with a case file or a new lead, but with something deeper, something raw. And maybe, just maybe, it was time you stopped pretending it didn’t matter.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

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sweetbans29 · 1 year ago

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Bowling - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Date night with Caitlin - headcanon (based on THIS request)

Warnings: nothing, fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: I am a huge fan of bowling. Am I good? No. I used to go weekly with friends and had gotten progressively worse.

You told Caitlin you wanted to go out for a date night but wanted to do something normal. Caitlin, of course, was completely on board and said she loves normal. You laughed at her and know the two of you have a different idea of normal. Your idea of normal was going out and having a fun night with your girl - maybe some sort of activity like bowling or an escape room. On the other side of that, your girlfriend is the single most competitive person you know. Sometimes not to her advantage. She hates to lose. And you don't blame her but she takes it to a whole other level. You thought it would be different with you, but you were very wrong.

"Okay, you owe...$320," you say and you hear her puff. "No way in hell do I owe that much," she says as her blood begins to boil. "Do you think I am lying?" You say with a laugh, you pass her the property card and point out the hotel cost. "I own this property and it had a hotel on it, therefore it is $320. Pay up, babe!" She reluctantly hands you the fake money and she rolls the dice again, landing on doubles again. She moves her piece the number of spaces and lets out another angry groan when she lands on another spot of yours. You tell how much she owes you but she refuses. "If you refuse - that means you forfeit and therefore lose," you tell her and she gets up. "This is stupid," she says and walks away from the table. "Hey, you are the one that chose the game - I am just playing it with you. It is not my fault that you don't know how to play Monopoly," you call out to her. She mutters a string of profanities and waves you off. You packed up the game and went to find your girl. She was lying in bed with a replay of a game on the TV. You come over and poke at her leg. She moves it away from you. "Babe, come on," you say and sit facing her. She doesn't say anything and keeps her attention on the game. Sighing, you move to sit next to her and try to cuddle into her side. She doesn't initially move as you wrap your arm around her waist and put your head on her shoulder. It was only when you began to fall asleep that you felt Caitlin's arm shift, bringing you to her side and rub your back. You know she isn't mad at you and you learned how her drive to win wasn't only on the court - it was in all areas of life.

You knew when you told Caitlin that you wanted to go out and do something that it would have to be something that she was decent at. So when you suggested either bowling or an escape room, she chose bowling.

It was a Thursday night and the two of you had just gotten to the bowling alley. You both got your shoes and headed to your lane, grabbing your choice of ball on the way.

You finish putting your shoes on and look over at your girl. "Ready love?" You ask and give her a hug. She kisses the top of your head. "You'll still love me regardless of how this game goes, right?" You ask in a joking manner. "Mmmhmm," she responds but you are not satisfied with her answer. You pull away and look at her. "Caitlin, you will love me regardless of who wins, correct?" You are looking her dead in the eye now as you wait for her response. "Of course, babe. Of course," she says as she leans down to give you a kiss. You turn your head so she kisses your cheek instead of you lips. "Good, because you are going down." You say sweetly and begin your turn.

The two of you took every frame like it was the championship game. You had made your tone clear that this wasn't going to be a friendly game but rather a full-blown competition - completely abandoning your initial stance of a 'normal' date. You knew that any time the two of you did something competitive it would never be normal. The game is neck and neck.

You step up, ball in hand. It is the last frame and Caitlin is up by 13. She got a spare in the final frame putting her comfortably in the lead. You would need to do the same to put yourself within winning distance. "Don't mess up," your girlfriend says in a teasing tone. You know she is nervous when she tries to get in your head. You take a deep breath and bowl. You get a strike. A smile dawning your face before as you walk to grab another ball to finish the game off. You finish off the frame, beating Caitlin by 4. You walk over to shake her hand but she just sits there with her arms crossed. "Babe, you did good - that was the best game either of us have bowled." You tell her as you squat in front of her, putting your hands on her crossed arms. She rolls her eyes and lets out a cute little huff. "Come on - there is still time for you to beat me in the arcade," you say and she stands. She begins walking to the arcade area but not before grabbing your hand to make sure you are with her.

Before you get too far you bring her back to change your shoes out. She was so focused on going to the arcade that she forgot she was still wearing her bowling shoes.

Once you both return the shoes, Caitlin and you walk hand in hand to the arcade games. As focused as she is on winning - she makes sure you are next to her.

You follow her around and play all the games that Caitlin wants. You don't take it easy on her but you do let her take the lead every now and again. You love winning but you love your girl more.

She ends up winning more tickets than you and is happy with her win. The two of you head over to the prize counter and she chooses a Nerf basketball while you choose candy and a little plastic dino.

When the two of you get home, you lounge on the couch. She turns on some game highlights and you curl up next to her. "I love you, but we should never do anything that involves a winner and a loser for a date ever again," you say. She lets out a little laugh and rubs your shoulder. "I think we can - we just need it to be on a group date and we need to be on the same team," she says and kisses the top of your head. "Ooo I like the way you think, I can call Lexi and her boyfriend - maybe we can go on a double date next weekend," you say scrolling through your phone. Caitlin laughs and brings you closer to her. "Whatever you want, babe," Caitlin says.

AN: I can't imagine Caitlin not being competitive but let me know what you think. And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist

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rezwrites · 24 days ago

Note

part two of serial killer agatha x innocent reader? 🥹

-> part one

Warnings: 18+ mdni, noncon, stalking/kidnapping/being held hostage, forced intoxication, violence, police, therapy, fingering

You awoke with a pounding headache and stuffy nose from crying the night before. You aren’t sure how you managed to fall asleep after everything that happened.

Agatha was sat between your legs, her hands calm as she ran them over your knees. She propped your leg up leaning her cheek on your knee, “I drafted up a resignation letter for you.”

“You what?” White, hot anger boiled beneath your skin. How dare she. Not only is the woman you loved a murderer and holding you hostage, but completely ripping your life away from underneath you. You glared harshly, mentally shooting daggers at her.

“It won’t change the fact that it already happened. Get over it.” She scoffed, pressing her lips to your inner knee.

You reared your leg away from her, kicking her square in the chest. Pushing her with all the force you could muster, Agatha fell to floor with a hard thud. She huffed as she pulled herself off the carpet, “You know I hate it when you’re upset with me.”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel.” You spat back at her.

Agatha brushed herself off before stomping out of the room. Attempting to free your wrist from the handcuffs only backfired, the metal digging deeper into your skin with each pull. You huffed in defeat just as Agatha returned with cup in her hand.

She sat beside you placing the edge of the cup to your lips, ordering you to drink. You could smell the stringent scent of the alcohol swirling in the glass, turning your head away.

“Drink.” Agatha roughly grabbed your chin lifting your head. Tilting the cup you could feel the burn of vodka on your tongue and hit the back of your throat. Sputtering up the alcohol, Agatha clamped her hand over your mouth forcing you to down it. She repeated that process until the cup was empty. Lying back into the pillows your head felt fuzzy, tears prickling the edges of your eyes. Agatha hovered over you smiling as she caressed the side of your face. Pressing a kiss to your lips you felt her murmur a ‘good girl’ before leaving again.

Days past in a blur with Agatha keeping you in a hazy, buzzed state most of the time. You were slow to register most things until after they have happened. Agatha seemed to enjoy your deliriousness, laughing when you struggled shrug her hands off when they roamed your body; the shirt and shorts she put you in gave her better access. Looming over your body Agatha treasured the sweet moans that escaped your lips as her fingers thrusted into your dripping pussy. Delighting in the confused faces you gave her as you watched her suck her fingers clean of your juices, just see the realization plaster on your face as you felt the delayed thrum of your orgasm spread through your body.

Agatha only kept you sober enough for small conversations, if your tongue felt like it didn’t weigh a ton. Each day that passed your hatred grew every time you looked at her. It was sickening to see Agatha act as if everything was normal.

In your small bits of clarity you tried to find anything to make a weapon or a tool to free yourself, but nothing turned up. Your wallet and small belongings on the far side of the nightstand, except your phone.

You watched with delayed reactions as she scurried about the cabin, shuffling in and out of the bedroom. Agatha was moving too fast for you to keep up so you closed your eyes, opting to listen to her footsteps rise and fall. You registered a pressed kiss to your forehead before you heard the front door click shut and the faint engine of Agatha’s car start up. You felt like you could breathe, now that she left.

The house was silent for a while until a faint knock rapt on the door. It was light enough that you thought you had imagined it. Opening your eyes you strained your ears to see it if happened again. When it didn’t, you deflated, damning wishful thinking.

Outside the window you heard soft crunching in the snow. Agatha had left the blinds up letting you watch the snow fall. A fleeting flash of red wisps of hair passed by. A hope.

“Help!” You strained loud enough for the person to possibly hear you.

The figure backtracked and you swore you never felt your chest so light seeing the face of your friend. “W- Wanda!?” The shock and panic on her face seeing you through the window could be equally compared to yours. Peeling off her black hoodie she wrapped it around her fist, the thickness of her hoodie saving her hand and arms from the glass shards as she broke through the window. Brushing the shards away she climbed through the window, glass crunching beneath her boots.

“How..” the words died on your heavy tongue, still in disbelief. Unpinning her hair Wanda stuck her bobby-pin in the keyhole of the cuff, twisting it to free you. The bruises on your wrist pulsated with returning blood flow.

“We shared locations before you left, remember?” You blew a puff of air as she helped you sit up. Her hazel eyes ran over you, checking for other injuries. Vaguely, you remembered her pressing you to share locations. Relief washed over you realizing that that was your saving grace.

“We have to get out of here.” You mumbled, slowly sliding to the edge of the bed.

“I know,” She stated, “The car is running. Come on.” Wanda helped you stand up, your inactivity has caused your legs to weaken slightly. Quickly swiping your wallet, she carried you over to the window, helping you out of it.

The chilly fresh air in your lungs felt surreal despite the freezing snow numbing your feet. Wanda hopped out the window pulling you on her back, briskly walking to her car. Setting you in the passenger seat she covered you with a blanket to keep you warm.

As Wanda peeled out the driveway, the cabin growing distant, dread pitted your stomach. It felt too easy. It was too easy to get away. A whirlwind of emotions stirred within. Tucking your knees to your chest your body wracked with sobs. Wanda drove as quickly as she could to the police station. You kept looking back in the side view mirror every few minutes.

Spending the rest of the day at the police station was exhausting, to say the least. Wanda sat with you the whole time as you told the detectives what happened, including the secret room in the basement. Wanda saved the location of Agatha’s cabin on her phone, handing to the police for the investigation. Wrapping up all the details you were free to leave. Wanda drove you to her apartment, you and her both knew your place wasn’t safe anymore.

Nowhere where Agatha had been was safe. Completely altered by the presence of her. Her memory tainting, twisting, and warping anything that had been good. You really would have to leave everything behind: your job, your apartment, just to feel a shred of safety.

You hadn’t realized tears were falling until Wanda wiped them away, her soft voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” She gently held your hand, reassuringly, “They are going to catch her.”

You just nodded, leaning into her. Wanda turned on the late night news, the first thing that you saw was the breaking news headline. You perked up, listening closely. Your heart instantly plummeted, face drained of all its color.

The news reporter stating that the detectives have searched the cabin only to find it cleaned and stripped of everything with Agatha no where to be found. No sign that she was even there to begin with.

No. No way she’s gone.

Breathing became a struggle as the tears reappeared again. Wanda made sure you watched as she locked the door and windows. Every slight noise you heard through the thin walls of the apartment made you jump. Wanda didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night. Even when she needed to get up she brought you with her.

Putting in your official resignation was difficult. Wanda had urged you to take the much needed time to recover, going as far as to spruce up a spot for you in her apartment.

—

The next two weeks were terribly agonizing. You played news played nearly constantly, afraid to miss any headway in the investigation. It only fueled your fear when they recounted the gruesome ways each victim was found. Sleep wasn’t an option. Agatha had infested your dreams, distorting them into violent nightmares. Frequently, you would wake up screaming, backed into a corner.

Finally, Wanda had enough. Too many sleepless nights for the both of you had been her breaking point. Wanda had often come home to find you hiding because you heard a noise that scared you. She had sat you down to discuss therapy, unable to continue to bear witness to the paranoid, sleep deprived state you’ve slipped into. Agatha had utterly destroyed the person you once were.

Once you agreed Wanda set up an online therapy session, sitting in on the first one with you to ease your anxieties. The bathroom had become your private space when you were in sessions. Though you slowly progressed, it was ugly. It greatly disheartened you when the detectives and news began to move away from your case. Wanda would hear your voice raise through the walls as you vented. One day you feel like you were getting better just to crash back down again. There were times where you would verbally lash out at Wanda, immediately regretting afterwards. Wanda understood, never judging. Always gently reminding you to take it one step at a time. That healing isn’t linear.

Gradually, Wanda had watched the light slowly revive in your eyes, your smile returning as well. Still struggling with social anxiety, you’ve settled into a remote position. When the nightmares flared up you were able to overcome them with the coping techniques you’ve learned, sleep able to return to you once more. Wanda had helped you get a new phone, though you avoided social media.

Food delivery had been a blessed discovery. When the days dragged on and work seemed never ending delivery had kept you going. You set the preferences to no contact, so the deliverer would be gone by the time you got your food.

Leaning back in your chair you stretched out, alleviating the slight ache in your lower back. The blurred screen of your computer stared back at you as you rubbed your eyes. Your phone pinged. The alert on your screen telling you that your food had arrived.

Opening the door your eyes widened in shock. Not only was the deliverer still standing there but Agatha’s hard eyes were staring straight into yours. A deceptive smile on her face, hiding her monstrosity underneath. Rushing to close the door Agatha stuck her foot in the doorway keeping it from closing, forcing her way inside.

Gasping you stumbled back, gazing at her in disbelief. How the fuck did she find you? A harsh wave of nausea washed over you, a chill running down your spine. Your hands shook, intensely.

“Did you have fun? Did it feel good to think you’ve won and were rid of me?” She tilted her head, stalking forward.

“Leave me alone, you sick fuck.”

She just laughed, lunging at you. Tightly gripping your arm she yanked you towards her. Her arm wrapped around your neck, sweeping your legs from beneath you, cutting off your airway. One of your hands came up the claw at her arm trying to tear it away, your other arm elbowing Agatha in the ribs. Agatha grunted withstanding your blows, her hold coiling tighter. Darkness blotted the edges of your vision as your body steadily lost its fight.

“I told you I needed you.” She pecked the outer shell of your ear, whispering, “I intend on keeping you.”

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha x fem!reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x you #agatha harkness x y/n #agatha x y/n #dark!agatha harkness #dark agatha harkness #rezwrites

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alexiethymia · 2 years ago

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Boiling Hot Iron vs Lukewarm Water

Maomao's Way of Affection Part 2

[LN 12 spoilers]

I AM ACTUALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. I mean I read it somewhere, but apparently yes, Maomao does initiate the kiss in the light novel. Even if she did accept his feelings, I always thought that it might have been too fast the way she was ready for a night visit already, but I always chalked it up to her upbringing in the pleasure district and her being fifty-fifty that Jinshi wouldn't actually try anything. But the fact that she is the one to actually instigate a kiss, and quite a sweet one at that, while Jinshi was sleeping. This scene in LN 12 really is in contrast to the scene in LN 5 where it was Jinshi who forced the kiss, and even to later on when Maomao ends up falling asleep and Jinshi restrains himself to a kiss on the forehead for replenishment.

It's hard to be coherent with my ramblings but one of the reasons why I love this series is the slow burn on Maomao's part which is really fulfilling, and the slight angst we get because of that, and not just on Jinshi's part.

Below is a translation from the Spanish translation of LN 12:

She just doesn't get it. He wants to step down from his position near the top of the country for a purpose. If that purpose was MaoMao himself, he would definitely have gone mad.

It's as hot as cast iron.

Maomao is not interested in such blazing heat. The only thing she can give back is a warm temperature.

Slowly puts his hand on Mr. Jinshi's cheek and feels his body temperature, which is the same as warm water. Her cheek was slightly colder. His eyelids were completely closed and he rubbed his cheek against my hand like a kitten to be pet. Looks like he sleeps, like he feels safe.

Maomao seems to struggle with the inequality of Jinshi's feelings and hers. She compares Jinshi's feelings to hot cast iron, and hers to warm water. And no wonder, to her, Jinshi willing to give up everything, including his position, for her, seems to be such a passionate love. As much as she snarks and would rather say that she could just do without all of Jinshi's gestures (*cough branding himself for example, this damn masochist cough*), she recognizes how much Jinshi has given up and is willing to give up for her, not to mention all that he has in fact given her.

She even goes to say, "I don't even have anything in return for you." When she says this line, I think that she isn't just referring to being unable to return the depth of Jinshi's feelings, but even their difference in position. As Suiren observes, despite Maomao's forthrightness, perhaps because of the environment they're in, she is very much aware of her station.

It's such a melancholic line coming from her. It seems to me as if she really is afraid of hurting Jinshi. She already doesn't like the thought of Jinshi being hurt like Luomen, but now she also doesn't want to be the one to hurt him. On top of that, for the normally aloof Maomao, it may be that she's starting to feel unconfident precisely because of the difference in position.

Maomao strikes me as a person who wants to be used. Even when she wasn't in love with Jinshi yet, she always seemed to want to be praised for doing a good job. So for her to think that it's just her who keeps receiving and receiving, while not being able to give anything back, the inequality (this time going in the reverse direction) must bother her a lot. She never used to care so for her to feel different from how she usually does because of Jinshi - caring about him, being unsure of herself because of him - oh she must hate how that feels so no wonder she wants to remove herself from the equation. But alas, it's too late.

Unlike Maomao though, I don't think that there's such a disparity between her feelings and Jinshi's despite that she describes his feelings as boiling hot and hers as warm. Yes definitely I feel that Jinshi's feelings may be stronger, but I feel that Maomao's is actually closer to his than she thinks. I think it may be because the nature of their feelings may be strongly influenced by their past.

Jinshi has always had the things he's loved taken from him. He wasn't allowed to prioritize a single thing or a single person because of the responsibilities he's had to assume from such a young age. Sure he's childish now but that may be because he had to grow up fast. Of course he would be desperate and slightly bit manic when it comes finally falling in love. He'll always feel that Maomao will be taken away from him unless he does something about it with his own hands.

Meanwhile, because of Maomao's complicated past with her birth parents, it's no wonder that Jinshi's passion unnerves her. Remember it was that same passion that caused her mother to hurt her. No wonder she doesn't want it. But when it comes to that feeling called love, that's the only version she recognizes because that's what she's been surrounded with in the pleasure district and even in the rear palace - lust imitating love, or even if it was love, a passionate and all-consuming love that destroys everything in its path.

But what does Jinshi make her feel? Trust. Safety. Even if her rational mind tells her that people's feelings change, Jinshi's constant proclamations that he will make everything be ok so that the both of them can be together may in fact actually reassure her. Heck, perhaps that was why Maomao goaded him to make that verbal confession a while back, precisely so she could have that assurance. She doesn't recognize it because she's never seen or had it, but perhaps this stability is something she's wanted her whole life. And I would say her feelings for Jinshi are nearly as strong as his for her, precisely because she feels for him the same way he makes her feel. Nothing passionate but also uncertain. But rather something warm and can be relied on. It's a feeling that pushes her to want to see him safe and healthy. It's a comforting and homey feeling that allows her to relax. And for Maomao who's always considered herself frigid, for her frozen heart to feel that warmth is also a tiny miracle in a way.

Jinshi is childish. Maomao is weird. But apart from their extremes, they're actually a lot alike - engrossed in their work, willful, but ultimately just. Apart from anything else, they're at ease when they can talk to each other. It's actually interesting for me to see how those emotions develop from Maomao's side since Jinshi is giving her space to take things at her own pace, another slow burn in a way. But while Jinshi's love is loud, Maomao's love is quiet. Even before this admission, it was always there, in the soft touches to the hair or cheeks, in being a refuge for rest and sleep, in her worry when he was overworking himself. The moment I would pinpoint that Maomao had actually already fallen in love with Jinshi was when she was contemplating Enen and Yao's relationship. She thinks to herself, "the more you cared for someone, the more you wanted a say in how they behaved - especially if that behavior involved hurting themselves." Now doesn't that sound familiar?

*Note - because I loved it and I'm impatient I'll share the translations for that particular scene in LN 12 in the comments section. One is translated from the Spanish version, while the other is translated from the Korean version. I got all of this from facebook. I'm quite interested to see how it'll come out in the English version.

#kusuriya no hitorigoto #the apothecary diaries #jinmao #maomao x jinshi #maomao #jinshi #knh #knh spoilers #I've reached the stage where I'm rambling about them #there are just so many layers in the ln #especially when you consider power dynamics and social constructs and agency

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gingerbreadmonsters · 2 months ago

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oyster eater

or: ask, and you shall receive.

gn!reader, brief and casual descriptions of blood, injury, and corpses, but really it’s just ooey-gooey vampire family fluff. there was a star danced, and under that was i born. inspired by there’s nothing too good for my baby (alt version here). william eating more than just his words in 9200 words or less.

the record alexis is listening to is the supremes a’ go-go, which came out in august 1966 and was the first album by an all-female group to reach number one on the american billboard 200. hm, i wonder who might have been around back then to buy a first pressing of that album…? vincent, on the other hand, is listening to danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys, because he’s a diehard pop-punk truther and we all know it.

if you’ve read glass jaw then you know the drill, but if not: longtime readers may be aware of my sinophone!solaires hc, so ENGLISH SPEAKING READERS – please have a look at this pronunciation guide i made! it’s not too long, and i PROMISE it’ll help <3

It’s Wednesday, which means the Solaire house is busy, as usual.

The housekeepers have been in since early this morning, which woke all three of them up – he could swear he’d barely fallen asleep before the intercom started to buzz, quiet to a human but painfully loud to vampire ears. Blearily, he’d reached for the control pad on the bedside table that opens the driveway gate, clumsily pushing his long hair out of his face and dragging himself out of bed to get dressed so he could go and let them in.

It’s not worth letting them use the keypad lock. He’s tried before, but it just makes him paranoid, if he’s honest – something doesn’t feel quite right about allowing other people to come into the house whenever they like. Who knows what they might get up to, or who they might tell the code to? Better to just wake up early, and deal with the inconvenience later.

He’s not entirely convinced he’d had all the buttons of his shirt in the right buttonholes, but by the time they’d driven up to the house, he’d just had enough time to run a hand through his hair and throw his housecoat on over his shirt and trousers before opening the door. Nobody seemed to notice, so no harm done, hopefully.

The children hadn’t come down for breakfast straight away, but they’d definitely been awake. He’d heard Vincent groaning into his pillow at the sound of the doorbell, and he’d felt the phantom sting of Alexis falling out of bed all down his left side when the vacuum cleaner suddenly came on in the study. Even though their bedrooms are upstairs on the other side of the house, he’d still been able to hear the pair of them fussing about how cold it was, so he’d adjusted the temperature up a few degrees from the thermostat in the kitchen.

Ordinarily, he’d feel a little bad about waking them up – housekeeping normally comes just after noon, so it doesn’t interfere as much with the nocturnal hours – but he did tell both of them yesterday that the maid would be coming early today, so it’s hardly his fault they didn’t go to bed early enough.

Yawning, he adjusts the heat on the hob and reaches into the cabinet for some bowls. It’ll still be a little while before he needs them, but he’ll get them out now so they’re ready.

Actually, he may as well just set the table now. He keeps the bowls by the hob, but lays out the placemats and spoons on the kitchen island, along with some coasters to keep the surface clean. The kettle starts to rattle on the stand, nearly boiled, so he takes the tea cups out of the cupboard and starts to make the tea – perhaps it’s just his age, but he can’t stand tea that’s too hot. If he makes it now, it should have cooled down enough by the time everything else is ready.

The blinds are closed against the weak winter’s sunlight outside, and it’s bright and warm here in the kitchen. The smell of jasmine is light and pleasant as he breathes in, mixing with the sweetness of the ginger he’s already chopped, and he closes his eyes as he leans against the counter.

The maids are cleaning in the living room next door, quietly enough that he can still hear Alexis and Vincent moving around upstairs. One of them must be brushing their teeth, if the sound is anything to go by, and there’s the soft sound of slippered feet walking back and forth across soft carpet. Someone in the walk-in wardrobe, perhaps?

Eventually, the soft ping! of the hob timer going off shakes him from his daydreaming, and he hurries over to check on the pan. It looks good, so he reaches over to get a spoon from one of the tablemats, and tastes a little just to make sure that the texture is right. Satisfied, he adds the ginger, the spring onions, the stock, and a little bit of salt.

Perhaps just one more taste, only to check – yes, that’s just right. Now, to fetch the decanters from the fridge…

“À table!”

He calls up to the children, knowing they won’t be long, and pulls open the fridge door. The tray is cold in his hands as he slides it off the shelf, carrying it over to the kitchen island and setting it down in the middle of the three table settings. His is on the short end, facing away from the door, while the other two are along the long edge to his right.

Ah, the tea must have cooled down by now. As he walks over to the counter to get the teapot, he can hear the soft slap of slippers on hardwood, slow footsteps coming down the stairs, and he smiles to himself as his son peeks sleepily around the doorframe.

“Good morning, xiaozhi.”

“Zao a,” Vincent mumbles, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand as he sits down at the kitchen island in his pyjamas. “Tired.”

“I can see,” William replies, and puts a cup of tea down in front of him. “Too tired even to hold the hairbrush, ah?”

He laughs as Vincent sticks his tongue out at him, dark hair sticking up in all sorts of strange directions, not even bothering to try and disguise his truly spectacular bedhead. “Eat, and you will feel better.”

Alexis comes around the corner just as Vincent picks up his spoon, bundled up in her fluffy yellow dressing gown, eyes narrowed against the bright lights overhead. She ignores Vincent entirely as he tries to trip her up with his foot when she walks past, instead choosing to unceremoniously walk straight into her father, pressing her face against his chest and immediately leaning all her weight on him.

“Lili, still asleep?”

She grumbles wordlessly into the lapel of his housecoat, letting him wrap one warm arm around her as his other hand holds his tea cup. The Maker’s bond between them thrums contentedly with her closeness, the two of them fitting perfectly together as they always do.

The tea is a good temperature now, hot but not painfully so, and he takes a sip before leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “You should eat before it gets cold, mon ange.”

“Mmnh.”

Slowly, Alexis manages to tear herself away and goes over to sit next to Vincent, drooping over the bowl in front of her. He nudges her with his elbow, and without looking she knocks the side of her foot lightly against his ankle. William, watching them, brings his bowl over and sits down next to Vincent as Alexis picks up the decanter of O positive in the middle of the table, and pours a hearty splash of blood into her jook.

“Your appointment is at nine o’clock, yes?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replies through a yawn, stirring around and around until the pale cream colour of her breakfast has completely disappeared, dyed a vibrant, appetising crimson instead. “Said the silk’s from a different supplier, so it’s thicker than usual. Means they want an extra muslin fitting, and then it’ll be done by next week.”

William nods, and waits for her to put the decanter down before taking it himself. “When you finish, then we can go out.”

There’s a lot they’ve got to get through today, and all three of them are quite tired, so breakfast is a mostly silent affair. The soft click of the windows being opened in the study is faintly audible over the low drone of the vacuum cleaner out in the foyer, accompanied by the faint sound of a spray bottle. For the console table by the door, perhaps?

Although there’s nothing much happening this week, the calendar for next week is packed. He and Vincent have dinner at the House of Baz on Monday, then all day on Tuesday the children are up at SkySide to meet a prospective client while he finishes up the buyout on that new property in Florida. Alexis will be out in downtown Dahlia on Wednesday morning for brunch with the Aguilar ladies, then in the evening she’s meeting him at the Pham estate for an informal dinner while Vincent has drinks with some of his friends from the social club.

“Ba?”

On Thursday, it’s set to be a nightmare. A timezone mix-up by the new secretary means he has a call with the SPM office in Hong Kong scheduled for some ungodly hour on Thursday morning, then a shareholders’ meeting in town to discuss the merger that was supposed to happen before Christmas but he suspects is being pushed back to May, and then all three of them are meant to be flying out for the biannual charity fundraiser in McKinley.

…God in heaven, it’s going to mean that dreadful local wine they all seem to love. He’s never tasted anything so painfully sweet, and the worst part about it is that he can’t even discreetly refuse, because he’s fairly sure the hosts own the vineyards that make that awful stuff in the first place. Make no mistake, the houses out there are generally very pleasant to be around, but it really does make you wonder – can they really not afford to get anything good, or do they just ch—?

“Baba, do you…?”

“Hmm?” William startles, looking up to see that Vincent’s brought the pan over from the hob, offering him some more. “Oh, yes…”

He adds a splash of A positive to his breakfast while Vincent spoons some more jook into his sister’s bowl, and sips a little more tea as well. “Thank you, chéri.”

At the very least, the venue should be interesting enough. It’s apparently a new build up in the mountains, designed by some superstar new architect they’d shipped over from Switzerland or Sweden or whatever. Despite the acres of glass windows it’s undoubtedly got, the event starts in the early evening so nobody will have to worry about the sunlight – which would all be very lovely if the mountain setting didn’t mean that there’s also no airstrip. Instead, everyone’s having to fly into the closest airport, which is still several hours’ drive away in the middle of nowhere in Colorado.

Time will be tight, but they should make it in time. The hosts are sending a driver to collect them, so he doesn't need to sort it out himself, thank goodness. He and Alexis are leaving the next morning for a few days at the lake house in Maine, which will be a nice chance to relax. One of the young gentlemen from the house that’s hosting has a birthday on Saturday, so Vincent’s staying out there to ski with them for the long weekend before coming back to Dahlia on Monday afternoon.

Speaking of, he needs to make sure all of the suitcases are sorted and ready ahead of time for when they head to the airport on Thursday. The timing of this birthday excursion is a little inconvenient, seeing as it means they’re having to get all of Vincent’s skiwear out of storage now instead of in a few weeks’ time, when they’re going to Hokkaido together, but they’ve had worse itineraries before. Last year, he was falling over Alexis’ snowboard in the hall for what felt like months, after the trip to Switzerland had to be pushed back at the last minute.

In any case, the situation is the same. It’s going to be a hectic week ahead, which means an awful lot of work to be done now, before the deadline gets too close. He’s never liked cutting it fine if he can help it – preparation is the only proper way, after all. Intense preparation, perfect execution.

Today is for sorting out clothes, which shouldn’t be too bad if everything goes to plan. There’s meant to be a delivery from the milliner’s in about an hour, so that should arrive during Alexis’ dress fitting, and after that they’ll head into town. The children both have some shoes to collect, and then he and Vincent are going to the tailor’s to sort out a few last-minute things while Alexis has her nail appointment. He’s got that new suit jacket that just needs an extra dart or two, and there are a few buttons on Vincent’s waistcoat – the nice silk one from Malaysia that’s got all that lovely embroidery – that are starting to come loose.

After that… oh, what was it they needed to do? Ah, yes – Vincent said he’d ordered something for Alexis that they have to go and pick up. He’s not said what it is, so presumably it’s meant to be a surprise for her. Probably some new jewellery, if the address he said yesterday has anything to do with it, but knowing Vincent, it really could be anything. A new tennis bracelet, perhaps? The clasp on her favourite one needed repairing, so she’s been wearing one of her charm bracelets instead while it’s being fixed.

Once all that is sorted out, whatever it is, perhaps it will be time for lunch. They haven’t been back to the Rosewood for so long, and it would surely be nice to go and sit down in the tea room for a little while. Maybe it’s the fault of his old-fashioned sensibilities, but it really is one of the best places you can go for tea in Dahlia.

The service is very pleasant and prompt, the pianist is excellent, and everything is always so delicious – oh, the scones with the lemon curd are particularly good. Bitter things do taste so lovely with blood.

He sighs, faintly aware of Alexis and Vincent bickering about something or another. The selection is reasonable, but if only there was a little more variety. The establishments in Dahlia that keep blood are fairly numerous, considering its cornerstone status, but he does miss Paris. Not Paris now – he’s there far too often to have the chance to miss it, really – but Paris back then, in the days before he’d ever even thought of travelling to America.

The blood clubs they used to have around the turn of the last century – no, perhaps it was the century before…? Yes, yes, it must have been. He can still remember the smell of the gas lamps they used to use in the days before electrics, the tiny basements they used to be packed into like sardines in a tin. You never left without a headache, they used to say, for one reason or another. His throat dry from laughing, his tongue sweet from the wine, stumbling out onto the cobblestones in the hours just before daybreak.

Ah, they were always so much fun. What a thrill! There’s nothing quite like that now.

They’ll certainly go for lunch, he decides. At the very least, it will be good to get out of the sun, weak as it may be at this time of year. It’s not ideal that they’re having to go out in the middle of the day, but at least it’s not as bad as it will be in summer – when it’s cold, all the layers and layers of clothes and hats and scarves they have to wear don’t look as unusual. Granted, the car windows are all tinted, and all the places they’ll be going to are very used to their sort of clientele, but it is nice to blend in a little.

They must enjoy it while they can, after all. The summer is so dreadfully hot and bright here in California, somehow more torturous with every passing year. Palm leaves riffling in the midday breeze, soft cotton clouds drifting gently past. How it wears on you, how exhausting it is in the heat, sneaking fearful glances up at the blue sky and worrying always about the blistering terror of the sun.

“Gloves, today.”

The two of them nod, still half-heartedly kicking each other under the table in a way that would surely break any human’s ankle, and Alexis scoops up one last mouthful of blood from her bowl.

“I thought it was meant to be cloudy.”

“Lace will do.” William shrugs, eyes closing momentarily as he dips his head slightly to the side. “Cloudy, yes, but bright as well.”

He sighs, satisfied, and pushes his chair back to stand up. “You should get ready for your fitting, mm? They will be here soon, I think.”

The housekeepers can sort out the dishes – it’s far too early to be worrying about all that. Vincent takes a final gulp of tea before abruptly getting up out of his chair, and Alexis nearly knocks the empty jook pan off the table with one fluffy sleeve as she accidentally smacks face-first into his back.

“Hey!”

Vincent hisses when she pokes him in the side in retaliation, his thin pyjama shirt no defence against her sharp nails, but settles for just narrowing his eyes at her. “Jiejie!”

She just rolls her eyes as he fights to get his slippers back on, having kicked them off next to his chair while he was sitting down, and breezes straight past him towards the door. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for breakfast, ba.”

Honestly, the pair of them. He smiles as Alexis kisses him on the cheek as she passes, before disappearing around the corner and upstairs in a flurry of soft yellow cotton. “You’re welcome, chérie.”

“Thanks, ba.” Not to be outdone, a newly-slippered Vincent shuffles over to kiss him as well, wrapping his arms around his father’s waist and settling into his embrace. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” William replies, words muffled slightly by Vincent’s bedhead but no less heartfelt. “I love you very much, xiaozhi.”

He says it a lot, truth be told, and it’s such a comfort to be able to say – it wasn’t always an easy thing for Vincent to hear, much less accept. Alexis was the same, when their family was still so very new, but he thinks it’s got more to do with the state of Vincent’s human life than anything else. It wasn’t easy to come to terms with his death, the knowledge that his human family would never know what had happened to him, that they were still alive, but unreachable.

At least for Alexis, she always knew that there was nothing she could have done – she would have bled out on the floor, alone, and nobody would ever have known. He would never have admitted it, but Vincent was the same. It wouldn’t have mattered. Even if he’d been found alive, William had seen enough of the dead and dying to know immediately that he wouldn’t have survived for long.

It’s almost funny to think about, now, considering what’s become of him. Who would have thought that the boy who fought so fiercely to hold onto his human life would have found such happiness in his undeath?

He always thinks of that gala, the dinner at the Giuffrida estate in Sicily. It must have been ten years ago, or maybe fifteen? He’d not really been paying attention, engrossed in discussion with one of the Lombardy cousins that he hadn’t seen for decades, when a sudden spike of sickening terror flared in his chest, cold blood running even colder as his head whipped around to where he instinctively knew his progeny was in danger.

Lijie—!

The horrible thud of Alexis’ head hitting the floor, the stem of her wine glass crunching in her involuntary grip as she fell. Vincent, sprawled across the marble floor at the end of the bannister, champagne shattered on the floor where he’d been standing a half-second before. Clutching his sister to his chest as she lay limply in his arms, stunned – William had shivered at the howling torrent of protective rage that seared through their Maker’s bond as Vincent’s eyes found the pathetic, trembling shape of the man who had dared to trip his lady sister down the stairs.

A moment of madness, the stupid animal had stammered, nothing more than – than an accident, just a mistake, sir, I swear! My – my deepest apologies, sir, forgive me, forgive m—!

He hadn’t even lived to hit the floor. The room seemed to sway with the telltale vertigo of telekinesis as Vincent reached out a furious hand to drag the man down towards him, and like a flash of lightning in his fingers the stiletto knife hidden by his ankle had already cut the man’s head from his body, and was buried to the hilt in the sticky mess that used to be his heart.

Cored, like an apple. Vampiric blood, thick and bitter, leaking onto the tile.

Lexi – Lexi, jiejie, I…

William had excused himself from the conversation, quickly scooping up his daughter and ushering her and Vincent into one of the quieter adjoining rooms before anyone could say anything. Alexis had been fine, more surprised than anything as the tender bruise on the side of her head quickly healed over, but the two of them had been inseparable for the rest of the night.

And just like that, it was a fact – a rule, something that everyone knew. Perhaps it hadn’t been clear, but now nobody could possibly doubt it. The Solaires have always had a unique talent for retribution, and Vincent Solaire would do anything for his sister.

Footsteps on the hardwood. They stay there for a little while, eyes closed, until the housekeepers come in to start cleaning up. “Come on, chéri. Time to get ready.”

Vincent huffs, opening his mouth to say something, but—

Bzzzz!

“I’ve got it!”

The intercom goes off, and a fully-dressed Alexis comes racing downstairs to the control panel, pressing the button to open the gate with one hand while the other taps rapidly at her phone. “God, I thought they were coming later…”

Briefly, her eyes flick over to where her father and brother are still standing in the kitchen doorway, before going back down to her phone. “Didi, they’re not here for a pyjama party.”

She starts walking towards the door as the sound of a car coming up the drive gets louder, and Vincent scrambles towards the stairs before she can open it. “I’m going, I’m going!”

Laughing to himself, William goes to follow him, already thinking about what he’s going to wear today. “Don’t have too much fun, xiaoli.”

“Whatever.” She opens the door, and he feels the smile spread across her face more than he sees it. “No promises.”

It doesn’t take long for him to get dressed, all things considered. They’ll be going out for lunch, so he ought not to look too haphazard, but there’s no sense in overdoing it – no need for all the fuss of a frock coat when a morning coat will do perfectly well. His shirt is cream, not white, and his tie is a relaxed, dusky shade of pink to contrast his sky blue, paisley pocket square.

He’s just taking his waistcoat off the hanger when Vincent pops his head around the doorframe, unbuttoned jeans hanging off his waist as he fiddles with the earring in his right ear.

“Ba, are we doing anything this evening?”

William shakes his head, trying not to look too suspicious. “Not that I know of.”

“Cool.” Just like that, he’s fishing his phone out his pocket, tapping away at the screen and swearing under his breath when his earring falls out again. “Gav wants to go to some club he found in Central.”

Oh, Gavin. He’s so glad Vincent met that boy. They do get on so well, and even Alexis – well, Alexis hasn’t killed him yet, which is promising. “As long as you’re back for lunch tomorrow.”

“Can he come?” Vincent asks, scarlet eyes bright with excitement. “He’ll bring his partner too, probably!”

“His partner?” William pretends to think about it for a second, before he nods with far too much solemnity for the situation. “Well, why didn’t you start with that? Of course.”

Call it what you will, but he does adore Gavin’s little partner, the Freelancer who has the apartment downtown near that bar Porter likes. He remembers the rabbit-fast rhythm of their heart the first time they met, looking nervously around the foyer of the Solaire house like they’d accidentally wandered into a lion enclosure, almost jumping out of their skin when Vincent appeared behind them and held out a hand to take their coat. That must have been, what, two or three years ago?

Thankfully, they’re not nearly so skittish now. They’re hilarious, once you get them going, and remarkably insightful for someone who only found out about empowered life such a short time ago. They might as well be family, to be perfectly honest – there’s always a dinner invitation in the post for them, and Alexis almost tore Vincent’s arm off when he accidentally spilt coffee on their jacket, like she was their sister and not his.

Vincent grins, and scoops up his stray earring from the carpet as he wanders back down the hallway. “Merci!”

Ah, young love. Or whatever it is that those three have going on.

He really ought to go down and see how Alexis is doing, so he fetches his gloves from the drawer – dark kid leather, today – and drapes his waistcoat over one arm to take downstairs. He’ll just put it on in a minute. Briefly, he considers a hat, but he really can’t be bothered today, so he picks up the fa zan that’s still on his desk from a few days ago on the way past. It’s gold, with a little bit of jade for decoration, so it should go well enough with the rest of his clothes.

As he goes downstairs, he leaves his gloves on the side table in the foyer, but keeps his waistcoat with him. Decades ago, he would have been horrified at the impropriety, the idea of leaving his room without it to keep his trouser braces covered, but recently he’s stopped caring so much. Besides, it’s not like Alexis hasn’t seen him in them before, and he couldn’t give a damn what any of her tailors think of him when he’s the one who pays their wages.

There’s music coming from the living room, and the low sound of the record player spinning. He can’t quite put his finger on what the song is, but it’s frustratingly familiar. One of Alexis’ old records, maybe? It certainly sounds like it.

“Chérie?”

William knocks softly against the doorframe, and smiles as his daughter’s face lights up when she sees him. “May I come in?”

Alexis nods, arms out to her sides as one of the seamstresses neatly pins and re-pins the two raw edges of muslin closed, all the way down the side of her ribs, while another adjusts the measuring tape around her thigh.

“Can you just, uh…”

She waves vaguely at the mantelpiece over the fireplace to his left – he sighs, shaking his head fondly even as he goes to pick it up for her. It’s half-empty, cherry-scented lip gloss stamped sticky around the rim. “Magic would be too much, I assume.”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles into the offered glass of wine, “easier to do it normally.”

“Yes, for me to do it.”

“Yeah.” She grins, a little arrogant and ever so charming, and thoroughly ignores it when he rolls his eyes. The woman kneeling in front of her ducks out of the way so she can lean forward, as much as the half-constructed dress she’s being sewn into will allow, depositing the glass back into his outstretched hand.

“How much longer?”

“Not much. I already chose the pankou, so it’s just the rest of the measuring and then that’s it.”

He hums in acknowledgement, sitting down on the sofa opposite her to put the glass down on the coffee table. There’s a display box already there, so he leans over to inspect the selection of pankou the seamstresses have brought – there’s a particularly lovely set shaped like plum blossoms, along with an utterly adorable set of white rabbit-shaped pankou that he’s very tempted to have added to one of Alexis’ summer dresses.

One set is separated from the rest in a small plastic case, and he picks it up to examine the design. The knots are neat and clean, stiff silk ribbon folded into elegant golden sunrises, classic but not tacky. Yes, these should go well with the fabric she’s chosen. It’s not here today, but he saw the box of samples she’d been choosing from last week – if he remembers rightly, she’d picked a lovely blue silk, all light and airy. There had been a book of embroidery patterns as well, and she’d immediately taken to one of the more complicated designs, full of delicate orchids and butterflies.

Just thinking about it reminds him – didn’t she have another dress with orchids on, not that long ago? Or perhaps it was wisteria… yes, that might have been it. Some sort of purple flowers or other, to match her purple birthday cake. It was really quite a sight, tier after tier covered with so many edible flowers that it had been hard to find space for all the candles. Fifty on the top for all the years since her Turning, and the rest scattered across the other tiers wherever there was space.

She’d been so pleased with it when it arrived, insisting that everyone at the party ought to have a slice, only for Porter to conveniently disappear out onto the balcony for a smoke a few seconds later. Goodness, he wishes he’d had a camera with him – he remembers the panicked look on Porter’s face when she’d descended on him with a plate stacked high with desserts, swiftly crushing his cigarette in her fingers and all but forcing a forkful of lilac-coloured frosting in his mouth before he could escape.

Oh, how the time flies. If he concentrates, he can almost hear the sound of the champagne fizzing in his glass that night, almost smell the drifting smoke of blown-out birthday candles. All those years, decades and decades now, swallowed up fast and slow at the same time. Fifty years. Has it really been that long? It only feels like yesterday when she was young – she and Vincent, both.

…Well. Young, he says, as if that means anything at all. Everyone's young compared to him. An entire desert in an hourglass, the slow perfection of a snowglobe. Suspended in amber, pickled in formaldehyde. A statue gathering dust.

His children are everything to him. That's just the way it is. They're his whole world, the most important creatures to ever walk this earth – and of course they are, they're his family. William Solaire will never be alone again. A father, he's a father, and it's the most splendid and wonderful thing that ever was or will be. There is no House of Solaire without its son and daughter.

Big eyes in a little face. That doesn’t mean it’s not painful.

Because it’s not real, is it? It was never real, it could never have been real. Mine, they’re mine, he thinks – but born to what mother? William Solaire has no wife. They’ve always been mine, he insists – but wearing whose face? The only features he gave them were the fangs.

He never knew his children as children. He didn’t name them. He didn’t raise them. They were already fully-formed when he found them, already grown up without him.

A dying woman on a filthy floor, shallow breaths like mist in the freezing night, crawling away from the sticky mess of organs that had once been her attacker. One hand clutching the ruins of her neck, thick blood pouring sluggishly over her fingers and down her chest as she tried in vain to hold her throat together tight enough to breathe. A dying man, struggling weakly against the seatbelt that kept him pinned to the chair, dark blue bruises painted over crushed ribs and a collapsed lung. The last one still alive, souvenir sunglasses dangling from his collar, still clutching the wrist of the splintered corpse hanging limply next to him.

It’s just a fact. Blood relatives. A night without clouds, the great eye of the moon peering down from the sky.

But how else can he explain it? How else could he know? It doesn’t make sense. William Solaire closes his eyes and sees it all, sees a whole life a thousand times over, unfolding forwards and backwards and over itself like a great kaleidoscope. Crystal shapes and endless colours crashing over him, vast and grand and gorgeous – the lead-lined window of a cathedral raining down in a million slivers of stained glass, glittering in the creases of his skin and catching in his hair.

He sees his little girl, no more than knee-high as she toddles past him through the living room, tiny fingers curled around the soft stuffed bunny she refuses to put down. He sees the colourful flower clips in her short hair, the miniature ruffles around the tops of her miniature socks. The blanket she likes to lay on is spread out in front of the armchair where he sits, an island of blue and green squares atop the cream-coloured carpet, and the books he likes to read to her are already next to him on the coffee table.

Sugar and spice, the cinnamon swirl that runs right through her like sweet rock. She’s oh so lovely, so small and soft and giggly – honey Alexis, perfect in miniature. Darling creature, the tiny angel that fell to earth and landed in his lap.

Remembering is so easy. The precious weight of his little girl in his arms, only ever a daydream away.

It’s not just her, either. Suncream smeared across a tiny little face, white streaks smeared into black hair by messy little fingers. He remembers the garden as it used to be, the scarlet shade of the acer tree by the patio, the smell of honeysuckle thick in his throat the day they took the stabilisers off and Vincent rode his bike across the grass for the very first time. The blue plastic plate he insisted on eating from for every meal, the pair of yellow velcro sandals that always used to fall off no matter how tightly you did them up. His gorgeous boy, his only boy. Vincent and his megawatt smile, blindingly bright and instantly adorable, the treasure of his bleeding heart.

It must have been real. It must have been. Alexis, rucksack in hand, surreptitiously rolling up the waistband of her uniform skirt in the hallway before she leaves for school. Vincent, almost unrecognisable under a thick layer of face paint, gleefully holding up a plastic pumpkin full of sweets. Birthdays and Christmases and summer holidays, trips to the cinema and splash fights in the bath.

They’re his children. He’s their father. Nothing else could ever make sense.

And no matter what anyone says, hasn’t he taught them well? The Solaire siblings are the golden darlings of society, charming and clever and ever so beautiful. They’re well-travelled, they’re eloquent, they’re good with money. There’s a sort of gravity in the way they move, an easy charisma that’s impossible to resist. Funny, but never foolish. Kind, but never naïve.

Every single day, he’s nothing but proud of them – the way they talk, the way they dress, the way they dance. It’s like helium, filling him up and up and up until he thinks he might burst, lightheaded and fizzing and terribly dizzy. If it were up to him, he would do nothing but adore them, not a single other thing than kiss them and kiss them and kiss them for forever, until his unbreathing lungs ran out of breath and his unblinking eyes tired to look upon them.

MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD. It was an impossible choice, but it wasn’t a coincidence. The kidnapped woman and the stolen man, his children that are hostages that are corpses. It’s too much, he feels too much. Can’t swallow it down, can’t make it go away, coughing and spluttering around the sugar-coated shape of my darlings, my darlings, come here and never leave me.

Stuck in his throat, choking him. It’s painful, the stomachache of a sour death and a spoilt future. His eyes water, tears curdled like milk, but he doesn’t notice – because the cloying smell of sweet decay turns into something rich and vibrant, something filling and tempting and irresistibly moreish.

Four hundred years is a long time to starve. He can’t help it, he can’t help it, he’s so hungry. A weak and starving creature, clawing at its own flesh for something to eat, turned inside-out with loneliness. My children. His teeth tearing through a stranger’s neck, hot muscle and cold skin, baked Alaska brain freeze. Blood on blood on blood, cheesecake on mille-feuille on tiramisu.

And that’s just what the problem is, isn’t it? William Solaire is a dead man, a handful of dust in an unmarked grave, gorging himself on good things. It feels good to eat, so he fills his stomach with formaldehyde – it feels good to breathe, so he reaches up through the earth for some fresh air. Hedonism, it turns out, is a beautiful thing. It feels good to be rich and it feels good to be powerful and it feels good to never ever be alone again.

Yes, the sugary sharpness of afterlife everlasting. Pastry flakes all down his shirt, buttery and golden, a sticky smear of strawberry jam all down his sleeve. Ice cream and banana slices, jelly and sprinkles and chocolate sauce, stacked up in a tall parfait glass with a wafer on top. There’s sherbet powder all over his fingers, vanilla custard dripping down his chin. A candyfloss boy and a crème brûlée girl, with red velvet eyes and crêpes suzette smiles, and the caramel sticks his sharp teeth together.

He can’t love them in a way that’s human. Die now, or live forever. Toffee apple sweet and lemon curd bitter, sugar and chocolate and sweet, sweet cream.

“Does this look alright?”

A muslin-clad Alexis twists from side to side, dressmaking pins catching the light as stray threads of cotton float silently to the carpet, laser-focused on her reflection in the standing mirror to her left. All William can think is that she is the most beautiful princess that there has ever been or will be.

What he actually says is a little less complimentary.

“...Hm.”

“Baba!” she huffs, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “Is it okay or not?”

“You would look beautiful in anything, mon ange,” he laughs, left hand absentmindedly fixing the folds in his shirt where it’s tucked awkwardly under his braces. “But is it comfortable? Can you walk in it?”

Obediently, she goes for a lap around the living room, walking on her tiptoes to imitate the high heels she’ll be wearing. As she walks, each step in time with the music playing softly in the background, he suddenly remembers what the record is called – of course! This is one of her really old ones, isn’t it? From before she was Turned, even.

None of his possessions from his human life had survived. Standing over her twitching, gasping body, flushed with the heat of her blood and dizzy with the rush of the Maker’s bond sewing their minds together, he’d known even then that he didn’t want the same thing to happen to his new daughter.

For obvious reasons, she hadn’t been able to go and pick her things up from wherever she’d been living, so as soon as she’d woken up he’d had to ask her for the address. Luckily, she hadn’t been declared missing yet, and he hadn’t let the Department know that they needed to fake her death, so it had been fairly easy to sneak in the next night. Her apartment had been in a mostly-unempowered part of town, and there were no surveillance cameras or electronic locks in those days. Just a window, a key, and as many of her belongings as he could take before the sun rose.

He’d have gone back to get it all, if he had the chance, but it was difficult to tell what was hers and what wasn’t. If only her roommate hadn’t been such a light sleeper…

Mm, he’d almost forgotten about that girl. What was her name again? She’d heard the window opening and called out for Alexis, loudly enough that the next-door neighbours had surely heard her through the wall. William had frozen, only halfway through the window frame, and she must have seen his shadow on the hallway floor – Christ, the sound of her scream had been so terribly, painfully shrill. As fast as he could, he’d scrambled into the apartment and forced open her bedroom door, grasping her face in his hand and staring into her terrified eyes so that he could Trance her.

He’d made her go back to bed and forget that she’d seen or heard anything, but it was too late to do anything about the neighbours, who he could hear whispering nervously to each other through the wall. The risk of breaking covert was just getting higher and higher, so he’d cut his losses – quickly, he’d packed up as much of Alexis’ room as he could, and swept through the apartment for anything that looked like it belonged to her. It hadn’t been easy to get it all out through the window, but he’d been gone before the knocking at the door started.

Never mind. Once she was declared missing, the police seized some of what was left, and it was no trouble at all to steal those out of the evidence packets. And once she was declared dead, her human family came to collect the rest. They’d even put it all into boxes so it was easy to carry.

Alexis had been so happy when he’d come back home with all her missing things, eagerly rifling through the boxes like a child on Christmas morning. So happy, in fact, that she hadn’t even noticed the Invocation setting in.

It wasn’t much. Just enough to take the edge off. Enough to make it a little less painful, enough for her to not miss them quite so deeply. The face of her roommate would fade into a gentle blur, the memories of her family and her friends and her whole human life would settle into soft focus. She’d remember her best friend’s name, but not quite recall her voice – she’d know her mother’s birthday, but not how she liked her coffee. She’d remember the colour of her boyfriend’s car, but not his last name, not the dress he’d bought her for her birthday, not the bouquet of flowers that were still sitting on her bedside table, not the date she was supposed to go on the day after she died.

…Well, perhaps he’d got a little overenthusiastic when it came to the boyfriend. Never mind. Not much to be done about it now.

“How does it feel, mm?”

Alexis nudges her calf with his foot as she walks past. “Seems like it fits.”

“Good.”

He nods contentedly, idly shrugging on his waistcoat as she totters over to collect her glass from the coffee table, gulping down the rest of her wine. It’s lucky that human alcohol can’t get them drunk, else he’d surely need to have words with her—

“Do you remember Sylvain?”

William pauses, unblinking. Alexis stares at her empty glass.

“...Sylvain?”

“The Amaranthe boy.”

A fleeting image in his head, the trembling tingle of their Maker’s bond. A young man dressed in silk, blonde hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon. Low wooden heels clicking on the terrace of a forgotten house, an almost-unnoticeable tear in the cuff of his jacket. A cousin of a nephew of a sister-in-law, or some vague impression like that.

All the blasted Amaranthes look the same. William shakes his head. “No. I don’t.”

“He gave me this bottle as a gift,” Alexis muses, tipping her hand from side to side to watch a single, lonely drop of wine slide around the bottom of the glass. “Said I should save it for a special occasion.”

She smiles faintly, and William can taste the memory on his tongue. Perhaps you and I could share it sometime, Princess Solaire.

He raises an eyebrow, glancing at the empty bottle on the mantelpiece. “How cruel of you, xiaoli. He’ll be disappointed.”

“No,” she says evenly. “He won’t.”

Footsteps from behind, feigned casualness. Your boyfriend has terrible manners.

Does he?

Mm-hmm. The beginnings of a headache starting to form, hairpins digging in too tightly. Thought you’d be the type to train them better, really.

This one’s different.

How so?

Well, considering he doesn’t exist, it makes it pretty difficult.

Doesn’t exist… Red eyes narrowing, then a shrug that comes too easily. My mistake, then. I’ll have him boxed up for you to take home.

You’re too kind. William can feel Alexis getting more and more suspicious, her recollection coloured with mistrust. Give him to my brother, then, if you see him. His car has a little more room than mine.

Your…. A sudden silence. Your brother?

“Was this the first one Vincent was there for, then?” he asks, as the seamstresses start to help Alexis out of the muslin dress.

She nods. “Yeah.”

He winces, the impression of bright lights in the corner of his eye, the shadow of Alexis’ hand gesturing to one side. He’s in there somewhere. Haven’t you met him, yet?

A pause. Cold blood turning to ice.

That depends.

On what?

An infuriating smirk, and a pulse of fearful rage that makes William’s hand twitch with Alexis’ urge to slap the Amaranthe boy right across his ridiculous face. You never struck me as the sisterly type.

You wouldn’t want me to strike you, I’m sure.

Funny. I said the same thing to your brother, but he doesn’t listen as well as you.

He feels Alexis opening her mouth, but the remembered voice interrupts before she can speak. You don’t have to lie, you know. If you want a guy around, there are easier ways than making daddy give you a little brother to look after.

William’s fangs drip with Alexis’ venom, laughter short and sharp and furious. You think I’m keeping him as a whore?

Not a very pretty one, spits the boy. He’s not good enough for you.

And you are?

Of course. I’m the only one who’s good enough, and you know it as well as I do.

He turns to leave, gold brocade glinting in the low light, and William feels his heart rate spike as Alexis sees red.

Lay your hand upon my brother and you lay your hand upon the House of Solaire, Alexis hisses, sharp tongue like the savage crack of a whip. Even you couldn’t be that stupid, could you?

And you wouldn’t be stupid enough to threaten me, would you? Or has House Solaire forgotten the debt it owes to House Amaranthe so quickly? The legacy of our—

Legacy? Alexis spits, and there’s a flash of a mental image – a high-heeled shoe, crushing a human skull into powder. Like you even know what that means.

More than you, the boy scoffs. You’ve not even hit your first century yet, dolly bird. Left your miniskirt at home, huh?

I’m surprised you know what a miniskirt is, she replies archly, and William feels her silently cursing the fact that he knew she was turned in the sixties. Not like anyone lets you under them these days.

I wouldn’t want to be under yours, certainly.

She pouts, mockingly. No? You’re missing out, then.

“What did he mean by that?”

William blinks, shaken from Alexis’ recollections to see her out of the muslin and half-dressed already, pulling her shirt over her head. “Pardon?”

“The… that debt,” she says, voice tinged with confusion. “Did they do something for us?”

Has he really never told her?

The Amaranthes are Old Blood, technically, although not by that name. The current head lives somewhere near Deauville, as if that fools anyone. They’re not even French, at least not originally – they’re actually a branch of House Abendroth that managed to escape the frenzy of vampiric persecution that swept across Europe in the mid-eighteenth century.

If there’s a debt he owes to anyone, it would be to House Abendroth. His Maker’s blood still soaked into his clothes, half-dead from exhaustion after crossing the border into – well, it wasn’t even Germany at the time, just a duchy he hadn’t cared to learn the name of, as he fled the smoking, screeching ruins of that awful clan. He still remembers looking up at the manor house by Lake Starnberg, freezing and hungry as Elisa dragged him through the gates, and thinking that he must have found heaven.

It’s a debt he never got the chance to repay, a debt that burned along with the Abenroths when the human hunters came for them. A splinter branch of a family tree that’s nothing more than deadwood. House Amaranthe are nothing like Elisa.

“Nothing of note,” he manages to say. “Nothing worth remembering.”

Alexis clearly doesn’t buy it, but she just blinks and looks away. “Okay.”

A minute passes. The seamstresses finish packing up and quietly excuse themselves with a bow.

“Did you kill him, at least?”

Alexis huffs, and it’s nearly a laugh. “Obviously.”

“How?”

For half a second, he’s back in her head, leaning over a balcony and picking dead skin from under her fingernails. A blonde corpse leaks blood into the fountain on the terrace below, twisted and crushed until it’s almost unrecognisable, fine silk sodden with water.

“I do hope that’s not our fountain.”

“It was at some party in Budapest, so no.” She’s dressed now, fiddling with one of the charms on her bracelet. “We left before they even finished clearing it up. It was fucking boring, anyway.”

“Who’s partying in Budapest?”

Vincent’s voice is muffled slightly by the walls and the ceiling, although both of them can hear the rattle of his jewellery case as he rifles through it in his bedroom. That boy wears so many rings, it’s a wonder he can even lift his hands out of his pockets.

“Not you,” Alexis yawns, “unless Gavin’s planning on flying you out tonight.”

“He might.”

“The clubs in Budapest aren’t that good.”

“They’re good!” Either Vincent is more attached to Hungarian nightlife than he lets on, or he’s finished picking out his jewellery – either way, he comes lolloping down the stairs and saunters into the living room, dropping himself onto the sofa right in his sister’s lap. “You’re just bad at languages.”

Alexis wrinkles her nose haughtily and pokes him in the side. “Everybody understands vodka Red Bull.”

“They understand that you have shit taste in drinks.”

“You drink Buck’s fizz! Like a fucking teenager!”

“I drink it ‘cause it comes with th—”

The intercom buzzes, and thank God, it must be the milliner’s delivery. Discreetly, William stands up and heads for the control panel in the foyer before they start biting each other. If he doesn’t see it, it never happened.

The delivery is swift, only two crates this time, so he leaves them by the bottom of the stairs to sort out when they get back from their shopping trip. Speaking of which, they really ought to get going. There’s an awful lot to do.

While he’s there, he uses the landline to call ahead and tell the Rosewood to expect them around one o’clock. They know to always give them a table away from the windows, but he makes a point of asking for the eventide menu, regardless. You can’t be too careful.

He goes back into the living room to find the children glaring daggers at each other, which would probably be more meaningful if they weren’t also curled up together against the arm of the sofa like puppies, pointedly ignoring the low murmur of satisfaction that William can feel through his Maker’s bonds.

God, they’re so adorable.

“Zou ba.” He shakes his head fondly, and goes to get his coat from the hook by the front door. “We’re already late.”

“What?”

“Wait, really?”

…They’re not late at all. It’s just funny watching Alexis scurry upstairs to get her handbag when he knows she left it in the kitchen last night, and Vincent tripping over his own feet as he tries to put his shoes on without having to undo the laces.

Smiling to himself, he reaches into the console table drawer and picks out a random set of car keys, before heading out to the garage. To his delight, it’s Vincent’s red Purosangue that lights up when he clicks the button.

“Lili, are you driving today?”

“Yes!” She comes racing out to the garage, Vincent in hot pursuit, and plucks the keys from his outstretched hand. “I’m driving!”

“What? Ba!”

It’s too late. William snickers as he opens the passenger side door, delicately adjusting his gloves as he sits down. “Too late, chéri.”

“It’s my car!”

“Get in, then,” Alexis says through the thick tint of the driver’s side window, and grins as Vincent grumpily opens the door behind her and slides into the back seat. “So fussy.”

She starts to reverse out of the garage, but it’s quite obvious that she’s not really sure how big this car is, getting dangerously close to the wall when—

Thump!

“Didi!”

Vincent just cackles to himself as Alexis stamps on the brake, hand still resting against the doorframe he’d just hit. “That’s never going to not get you, is it?”

“I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you!”

“You said that last time!”

“Savages,” William mutters, mostly to himself, “my house is full of savages…”

The bickering between the front and back seats quickly turns into a heated argument over who gets to choose the music, and William closes his eyes as Alexis finally gives in and lets Vincent connect his phone to the car Bluetooth while she drives down towards the gate. He ends up choosing one of his favourite albums – it’s some sort of rock-pop something or other from about ten years ago, maybe twenty, the story of which he’s tried unsuccessfully to explain to William about a hundred times.

My darlings, my darlings. A plate of lilac-coloured frosting that’s more candles than cake. Tiny yellow shoes, Velcro straps undone, lined up by the door. The little brother who’s not so little, the older sister who never gets older. He could never love them less, only more and more and more.

William smiles. The gate opens automatically as they get closer, and Alexis turns the volume up as she drives through. Vincent just sings even louder.

link to the oyster eater pronunciation guide <3

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fluff #redacted solaires #redacted vincent #redacted alexis #redacted william #redacted fic #redacted fanfic #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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ashascoven · 1 year ago

Text

❃☆ showering w/ the pyromaniac rat man ☆❃ pt. 1

☆ so hi!! um!! welcome to my first fanfic lolz (im nervous about posting this can you tell ?!?! o(*°▽°*)o)

☆ im rlly new to posting on tumblr, but ive been reading fanfics on here for a WHILE!! it's inspired me to write a silly one about my favorite lanky robber <3 if theres any mistakes, PLEASE hit my line abt it (i beg)

☆ here is part 2, which is smut/nsfw, also on my profile!

☆ FANFIC DEETS! junkratxreader ☆

reader is a female who's known for working with plants

VERY lengthy build-up fanfic (LOTS of reading, buckle up yall)

fluff??

emotional stuff, but nothing intense (??)

first time writing an australian accent, pls lmk if anythings weird!!

hope u enjoy :,D

“Hggshmmshh.. peeaachh c-c.. cobbler.. mmh.. eeheeheeheh!! Piee..”

“Dammit! Move over, rat-ass!”

You felt as if you had finally managed to doze off only a couple minutes ago.

One second you're about to drift away into a somewhat decent sleep, counting flying sheep and letting your drool start to fall.

The next, you're getting whacked in the head with a metallic hand or shoved by a wooden peg in one of your sides.

Having to share a bed with a loudly snoring pyro-freak who reeked of gunpowder and body odor was not a promising night of rest, especially in a room of pure humidity and sweat.

The mattress beneath you two was unbalanced and squeaky, the walls surrounding it adorning overgrowing vines and tears in its paper.

His twisting, turning, n’ noises didn't make it any better, but it was kind of reassuring in the sense that you weren't sleeping alone.

When was the last time he even showered anyway?

Does this man know how to?

How does he sleep like this?

The more you questioned the Australian in your head, the more his body managed to keep sprawling across the queen sized mattress you two shared.

Both his normal and prosthetic limbs jabbed at your back, his armed belt straps and gauntlets not contributing to your comfort whatsoever.

“Fucking- MOVE!”

You gripped at the bed and gave him one kick in the ass with your bare foot.

The maniac yelped himself into a giggling fit, somehow still remaining asleep.

God, what's his secret to being such a happy sleeper?

With one last scoff, you nearly pushed him off of the bed, but you didn't think twice about it.

Rolling your eyes, you returned to your previous position with your back facing him, crossing your arms and trying to let your eyes close again.

You thought about the mission you two were given together, recalling it hundreds of times in your head to hopefully quench at your inability to have a comfortable sleep.

Back at one of those Overwatch HQ meetings, they discussed wanting to try something new while still maintaining everyone's duties.

Experimenting with how different heroes and scientists worked one-on-one with one another for “observational purposes,” they said.

Gibberish about increasing the rate of productivity within our cause by cutting down our dispatched team sizes..

“More groups of heroes can get sent out on more missions if distributed differently..!”

Blah-blah-blah..

You ignored all of the blabbering at the time, your ears only ever being open for what sounded most important and intriguing.

“It'll be an educational experience for great future references-”

You reaaaallyy didn't think you'd be in one of the duo dispatches, yet here you were, somehow still in the flesh.

All that was asked of you both was to keep a watch out for anything suspicious at some abandoned town in the middle of who-even-fucking-knows.

Wooden huts n’ houses that were falling apart, yet they somehow still formed and held a small community of humble elders.

Supposedly, this place was a possible target of some well-feared terrorist group, and “Grandpa Jack” wanted you two to scout.

Discussion about exposed plans for making sure as many innocent people as possible experienced war “too” made your blood boil.

It didn't make sense to you, the whole “no pain, no gain” mindset.

Clearly these people chose to live all the way out here to get AWAY from the danger, why force that on some old people anyway?

With their lack of clean drinking water and functioning power in an empty desert, you were sure they've already seen enough.

“Haven't we lost thousands of innocent civilians already? Omnic or not, they can't just keep coming up with all of this frivolous shit and throw it at us..!”

You grumbled to yourself outloud, unconsciously turning to face the ultimate rat that was laying behind you.

“Why would they send us here if they KNEW there were people out here who needed help? Wasting precious time by sending two of us out here instead of a whole team is beyond me, honestly! We'll just keep getting killed and..”

Your eyes ended up catching onto your distorted reflection on the goggles that Jamison wore to bed.

It made you trail off and unball your fists, causing you to think about the old people again.

You thought about how much you were gonna get onto HQ's ass to seek a better home for them all.

They were sweet to you and Jamie, and you were pretty sure he would try to take one or two to keep as parents of his own.

Considering he didn't have any living ones anymore, it would check out.

Your eyes wandered off onto the flickering of the dying light bulb hanging bare off the ceiling.

The bulb hung right behind mister sleeping beauty, holding on by torn wires.

You were surprised your sleeping partner hadn't managed to somehow pull it down in his sleep yet. The thought made you smile for a bit, letting your face rest.

Then, your hand reached up to Jamison's face.

You didn't think much about it since your mind was more on other things still, but you unconsciously held his cheek.

You watched as he smiled in his sleep, gently putting his own hands on yours and nuzzling into your touch.

The feeling of his rough palm against your skin along with the metal of his other one sent a chill through your body, but you didn't pull away.

Just looking at him resting like a baby put your mind at ease for a bit.. It helped calm your grumpiness from not being able to sleep these past few nights.

It’s been the longest mission yet, and also the first one that you’ve slept together with a person you were sent with.

You ran your thumb over his lightly chapped bottom lip, your mind finally winding itself down.

You two had somewhat of a record of being assigned missions together, but you were never as close to each other as this.

Something about the way your silly acquaintance slept carelessly in front of you was strangely inviting.

You swallowed your emotions and repressed your urges to suddenly hug the rat man, drawing your thumb lower to his chin.

You ran it over his speckled face hair, still letting him hug your arm.

“Mmmmh.. G-gosh, so.. so waaarmm..! waarmm like a maarshmaallooww.. eheeh..!!”

He chuckled in his sleep as his hugging turned into more aggressive snuggling.

It made you wonder if he'd remember anything once he woke up.

Outside of those thoughts, you were heavily caught off guard.

You didn't know if you wanted to comfortingly rub at his hair, continue holding his face, or try to hug him entirely.

Internally? You wanted to do all of those things, but it didn't feel right yet.

Despite all the deep talks you've had with Jamie on the drives and flights to missions together, you guys were still just friends at work, right?

Would it be weird to treat a friend as such?

Did he think you two were even friends?

You always had a tendency to overthink the simplest of things.

Questions would fog your mind the split second a minor inconvenience popped up, you struggled to help that “problem” all your life.

Yet, your time spent with him so far made it feel like your questioning wasn't a problem at all.

You always wanted to know the specifics and the “why” or “how” in anything that interested you.

Jamison was similar. He fed into your talks about figuring out what's after death, your master-list of alternatives to milk JUST for enjoying it with cereal. your wonders about what being an omnic felt like, and even your rambles about plants having feelings.

He was so invested into the plant talk that he now avoids stepping on anything green to show you that he cared about nature's heart too.

He admired your outlook on everything, the way you approach things by being your real self.

He also liked that you didn't look down on him for having an explosive personality.

Everyone else at HQ had something against the lanky robber, but you didn't hate him at all. You two matched each other in the way that you were both transparent and almost always had a fixation or a story to share.

His eyes practically turned into sparkles whenever you two got into your deep conspiracy talks because no one else bothered to entertain his yappering about bombs, especially with mutual ranting about something else.

It was nice, soo..

You guys had to at least be friends, right?

“Mate! Earth’s waitin’ for your grand return! Ya aren’t dead yet.. Are ya, plant woman?”

Friends.. Yeah. You thought you two were cool buddies for all it’s worth.

“Aye! I knooow, me charmin’ physique’s too much to take in aaall at ooonce but-!”

It’s crazy how you were thinking about his eyes sparkling because.. Huh, how come they’re doing it right now?

“I can’t have ya dyin’ on me yet.. Ain’t no doctors around to come and shock ya awake!”

Gosh, who knew the local bombardier had such a twinkle to his eyes anyway?

“Is yer brain workin’? Want me to.. rewire it for ya?”

Twinkle.. twinkle.. twinkle..~

“Well, she’ll be apples! Ya goootta snap outta it mate! What is it ya want this time? An autograph? Some lollies? Aye! Aye..!”

You were so zoned out into the thought of his eyes, you didn’t even register that you were now actually looking at them; he had woken up.

Your hand was still on his face too, but he wasn’t hugging it anymore.

His robotic right hand was knocking the top of your head lightly while his skinned left one was holding your cheek.

His facial expression was one of concern despite his messy blonde hair and some drool glistening off the side of his mouth.

With the way he clearly scooted closer to you, you two were actually really close to each other this time.

“Woaahh.. Ooh.. Oh..? OH!!” You froze up again, covering your mouth and (almost literally) getting knocked out of your trance.

“Whew!” Jamison sighed in relief.

“There's me’ plant woman! Turns out me charm was too much for ya to handle afteraaalll!” He chuckled, quickly shifting into a lounging model pose and striking you a sly grin.

“O-Oh.. Oh my gosh! H-How long was I like that?” You panicked a little, wiping sweat from your forehead and quickly rubbing it into the tail of your shirt.

“Since me eyes opened up! Let's say.. ‘bout half a’ hour?”

“H-half an hour?!?”

“Yeah! Are ya alright? Did ya think me eyes were THAT gorgeous?” He chuckled, rubbing his chin.

“Pshh..” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms once again.

“It’s alright if ya think so! I think so too! But, ya aren’t allowed to tell me fans that! Ehehe~!” He grinned, suddenly wrapping his arms around you and jokingly snuggling his head against the top of yours.

“E-eugh!! Fans my ass! Wait until they find out that you probably don't even wash yours, you stinky!” You exclaimed, trying to push your way out of his arms but to no avail.

“S-stinky?!?! Hey-! There's a’ supa’ top secret special essence in me junker way o’ livin..! T-the cleanest ya'd ever know!! How 'bout ya take a smell~!??” He challenged, immediately shoving his arm pits in your face and keeping you in his grasp.

“GOD! Quit it!! You smell terrible-! Ugh!!! Let me go right now!”

“Nuh-uh! Hatin’ on me wondrous magnificence ain't nice!”

“Your breath's gonna kill me, you bastard! Agh!! You literally need a bath!!!” You were muffling into his arms, trying to push him away even harder.

You managed to push yourself upwards, but you still were trapped in his grasp as he giggled n’ snuggled away.

As much as you hated to admit it, his silliness was really comforting, charming in it's own way even.

Yeah.. he didn't smell the best, but!!.. He was kind of fun to be around. It was hardly ever boring around the rat man.

“Fine, whatever,” You sighed, no longer fighting to leave his sweaty arms.

“Your eyes are.. nice to look at. Anyway, I'm tired and somehow comfortable in this position so if you move weirdly, I'm pushing you off the bed.”

He loudly gasped, his eyes widening and sparkling so much so that you could've sworn staring directly into them would've blinded you.

“Y-ya really m-mean it?!!?!! A-about.. me eyes?!? OoooOOoohh~! I.. H-How I could jus’ kis-”

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his head. His face was buried into your chest while his arms were still around you.

You felt him freeze, his immediate blush against your chest practically able to burn through you. He didn't scream or pull away, just sat there for a bit, shocked at someone hugging him back for once.

You sighed out again in content, now leaning your face on top of his head. His hair felt surprisingly soft against your cheek, but he still smelled bad.

“God, you smell so terrible.. but.. you're kinda.. comfy and..- Okay you're actually very comfy what the hell.”

You gushed, your leaning turning into you practically snuggling against his hair.

The rat man stayed frozen in his position, shock taking over his body. For once, it wasn't one of those triggering shocks that turned his trauma into adrenaline; it was a.. refreshing kind of shock? The kind that was making him realize how starved from affection he really was for so long.

He felt like a deer mesmerized by headlights.

“If only you didn't move so much in your sleep, tsk tsk.. I can totally get over the strong burnt tire smell for how snuggly your hair is thoug-”

“Ihh shay..”

He suddenly muffled through your chest, but quieter than his normal tone.

“Eh?”

One of his fingers twitched.

“..Ihh shay shihh!”

“Fucking- Get out of there and spit it out!”

You pouted, pulling his face out of your chest’s cave to look him in the eyes and hear him properly.

“I-I’ll stay.. still! m-mighty still.. i-if ya keep on.. rubbin’ that pretty face on ma’ skull.. p-please? please mate!!”

‘Absolutely the fuck not!’ is what you almost instinctively said, but something about this weird man’s vulnerability around you gave you a feeling his request wasn’t ill intended.

He nudged you into a softer tone towards him for the night, so you silently raised a brow. He kept pleading, his sparkling eyes bouncing between you and the rest of the room.

“I-I ain't had anyone.. touch me ‘air, l-let alone me whole body i-in years! Feels comfortin’- so- i- uh- p-please mate! i won't be buggin’ ya’ rest any longer i-if ya felt kind ‘nough to.. perhaps grant me thee honor-!?”

“I’m doing it, so hush up.”

“Y-yes m’lady”

He quickly blurted out, before burying his face back in-between your chest with a relieved giggle.

“Hah, for someone who goes by being a rat, you're sure acting like a puppy right now.”

“Y-ya really think so!?”

“Yeah sure, but- hmph, the ‘junk’ part still applies. I'm so close to dragging you into a bath myself..”

“>:(“

“Wait.. This kinda gives me an idea..”

A mischievous grin growing on your face as you mumbled to yourself.

“Whaddya say?”

He grumbled, oblivious to your scheming. You slowly tried pulling away from him, but to no avail.. He unconsciously scooted closer into your arms with each pull.

“..nothing, ratty-poo.”

You pushed him away quickly with your hands now gripping his shoulders.

“A-ay mate! W-whaddya push me away foorrr? I was enjoyin’ me time in there.. :(“

He yelped in response, his arms now crossing with a pout.

“No more snuggling until you take a bath!”

“W-whuh!?”

“I'm not cuddling your hair until you wash it.”

“..noooo :((“

“No shower, no snuggle!!”

“:(((... Fine..”

“W-wait- You're giving in that easil-?”

“JUNK ATTACK!!!!”

He yelled, diving back into your chest with his arms around your waist once again. You scoffed, not cuddling or holding him back.

“Rat-ass.”

“Y-yes m-m’lady..??”

“I'm giving you five seconds to get off of me, or I'll kick you off.-”

“N-no!! P-please mate!-”

“I'll go and grab a bucket of ice cold water to throw at you so help me you don't mov-”

You've never seen a tall grown man back up to the edge of a bed so quickly.

“GO.”

You yelled, pointing violently at the bathroom door.

“NEIN!”

“I SAID GO!”

“NO!”

“You want more cuddles from me, right, ratty-poo..?~”

Your tone softened as you twirled your hair and pleaded your eyes at him.

“I- u-uh- y-yes m-m'lady but-”

“THEN GO BATHE!”

He whined another ‘no’ in response, crossing his legs and arms while looking away.

You sighed, before crawling across the bed and hooking your arm around his.

“Lord.. What am I gonna do with you..”

“W-well I- AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!”

“GET YOUR ASS IN THAT SHOWER JAMIE!!”

You yelled again as you held him in a headlock position.

As he whined, you held him there for a bit, thinking.

“Hmm..”

“You l-let go of me t-this instant mate! T-the junkers back in me home town w-wont be pleased with how you're behavin’ towards me greatnes-”

“What if we took a bath together?”

“-and once they find out what you've- huh-!?!”

“You and me, we bathe together. I'll literally help you clean up if it means you won't stink in bed.”

You said casually as you quickly faced him towards you and dropped him onto the bed. He landed on his back with his arms above his head while you sat on top of him.

Questionable position if you may, but you dare not complain about the view.

He was too in shock to notice it either.

He stared at you wide eyed.

He opened his mouth and put a finger up to say something multiple times, only to close it with more thought and look away, his finger curling up and down with each pause.

He thought about the offer for the long time.

Then, he rubbed his chin. You watched carefully, not letting your guard fall in case he felt like randomly wrapping himself around you again.

“Hmph.. if t-that’s what it'll take.. then I suppose a.. mighty handsome fella like me.. wouldn't mind bathin’ with a.. pretty.. f-flower woman like you!”

“Uh huh..-”

“B-but under one of me’ own conditions!”

“.. you're what now-”

“Bath cuddles?”

He clapped his hands together in a praying motion, pleading with those damn sparkly eyes again. It's like he just does it in command at this point..

“God, what are we, a couple?”

You yawned with closed eyes.

“I-I.. W-well! Your one an’ only gentleman of’uh bombardier wouldn't complain!”

He nervously smiled and blushed, his gold tooth shining comically as he said that.

It earned a giggle out of you, followed with covered mouth mumbling.

‘You’re so silly, it's kind of attractive..’

“Whaddya say, me’ pretty plant-y mistress?”

“I said, you're so silly, it's kind of.. u-uh- cool-? I guess??!? I don't- Mistress!?- I- W-whatever- C’mon, let's go! Into the baaathh we goo..! C’mon c’moonn..”

You spurted out, getting up and dragging him by the arm into the bathroom.

You didn't really think through the fact that.. this man would be so close to you while you two were undressed.

Oddly enough, he didn't give the vibe of someone who'd try anything, but it was still weird.

One second you're forced to share a bed with this guy.. And the next? You've convinced him to take a shower with you??? Weird..-o!!

When you two made it, you both kind of just stared at the bathroom and each other for a minute.

It was a decently sized room, but the entirety of it was a shower.. literal shower room?.. whatever.

There wasn't a sink or toilet like the bathrooms you were used to.

Instead, there was just one large shower head in the center of the room, a drain in a corner, and tiles that patterned the floor and walls in a creamy gradient. The two handles for the shower were next to the doorway, labeled for their temperatures.

There were also two slim windows higher up on two walls facing each other, slightly cracked for the steam.

The only light you guys had came from either these windows, or from the doorway to the room you shared, so it was acceptably dim.

Some vines creeped through corners here and there, but it was surprisingly much cleaner than the rest of the hut you guys stayed in. The non-direct warm lighting really set the vibe.

As you turned both of the handles halfway, you watched in surprise as the rat man happily stripped at whatever he had on, going for a dive on the shower floor as if it were a kid’s waterslide with a ‘yippee!!’

It immediately followed with a groan of pain from him, and a reactive facepalm from you.

With a sigh of ‘Oh, what I'll even do with him..’ (ironic), you quickly undid your hair and stripped off your clothes while he wasn't looking.

He swiveled around right as you finished, watching in awe as you awkwardly shuffled onto the floor next to him with a travel sized bottle of soap and a mini loofa.

“S-ssheesh..” he gaped, “what a beautiful woman..”

“T-thanks, b-but don't look too hard, silly guy.” You joked lightheartedly and rolled your eyes, your initiative agenda from before going out of the window because of the attractive man in front of you.

The hot steamy water combined with how it washed away some of the rat man’s dirt made his revealed skin slightly harder to not drool over..

..but you fought any urges or sudden fantasies you had right then and there.

‘It’s just the lack of sleep getting to me,’ you quickly scolded yourself in your head, ‘.. there's no way I shoul- COULD see him like that, yep..’

“You're.. not too shabby yourself..” You muttered to get it out of your system, painfully controlling your hands from wandering. Thankfully, he probablyyy didn't hear you.

With that, you were getting to work with your soap on his arms, trying not to think too hard about the man before you.

“Caaan I have me cuddlin’ time with ya noooww, plant womaaan?”

“Noo! I just started with you and I'm not done yet, rat-head.. Be patient n’ be quiet.” You grumbled, finishing his arms and scrubbing his back like a concerned mother.

“Pleeeaaaaseeee…????” He covered his eyes and whined as you made way to his torso with your loofah. The scrubber was barely holding on and you weren't anywhere near finished..

“Don't make me tie you down in here just to get you clean, bastard..” You threatened, moving from his back to his front side. You held at one side of his torso, scrubbing away.

He moved his hands from his face to his sides, looking down at you with that puzzled gaze once again. You glanced up at him with a raised brow before looking back down at your work.

You weren't actually all too irritated. Tired, yes, but it was actually kind of destressing being able to work your hands at something like this.

You were also literally.. bathing a grown ass man, but you'd be lying if you said anything about preferring to be at home, bored and alone.

At least this mission gave you some kind of purpose, and alongside an entertaining goofball as well. It could be much worse, but it really wasn't bad at all which you liked.

Suddenly, he started patting your head, a close eyed grin on his face.

“Oouuhh… M-mate, ya know.. Thanks a lot for this! I appreciate ya’, I really do!”

“Don't sweat it, poo-face, you were already sweating enough in bed anyway..” You chuckled with another playful eye roll.

“If you weren't gonna bathe yourself, something had to be done for BOTH OF us to catch some rest for the mission, and goddess KNOWS I can't sleep with a loud stinky man..” You responded mindlessly, gently grabbing his face by his jaw and scrubbing his neck.

“It gets.. hard sometimes,” he threw his head back with a sigh, “I know I'm supposed ‘tuh.. do it all me’ self but, I lose me’ mind to the world o’ bombs!” He chuckled.

“You don't say…” You coughed with sarcasm, still listening and cleaning. He's used to your personality by now, and he knows you never really mean any harm.

“Oh, but I do! Even with me’ prosthetics, it jus’ makes it harder n’.. I could never fancy the time to.. uh.. keep takin’ em’ on n’ off..”

“..It bugs me, the pain, it's a reeaall.. buggin' feeling, both in me’ arms n’ legs.. n’.. the mind. It does somethin’ to ya, makes people call ya crazy!” He gestured by wiggling his normal arm, then his robotic one in comparison.

You put his arms down like an annoyed cat, but you weren't actually annoyed, just trying to reach over him to attempt washing his hair.

“..but really ‘m not.. I.. I just resort to.. expressin’ what takes it all away.. and uh! bein’ me!, ya’ kno- Aauh.. T-that feels.. holy..” He cut himself off, sighing in relief. You had bowed his head under the running water for you to better reach him, unknowingly giving him a more direct view of your bare chest.

“A-Anything to take me’ mind off the.. A-ahem-.. the uh.. rot.. the distinct feelin’ of not bein’ the same as everyone else.. anymore.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly trying not to stare as he spoke, but you didn't think much about it.

“People stay clear of me all the time! N’ they think I don't be noticin’ b-but I do!” He ran a hand through his hair after you moved down to his legs.

“It hurts, but.. I just keep doin’ me’, I try not to stay in me’ past, live for me’ mum, n’ keep it movin’!”

“Oh! That's also why I like ya’ mate!” He smiled, throwing up finger guns.

“Whuh- Really?” You looked at him.

“Yeah! You don't treat me funny for me’ quirks! You always seemed like.. a couple screws loose in somebody’s noggin never bothered ya’! Me’ motors don't drive ya’ wild, do I?”

“Pshhh… You definitely drive me crazy, but that doesn't mean I'm never down for a wild adventure with you, rat-ass.”

“See? Ya’ get me! I know your tired n’ all, n’ I'm sorry for takin’ away from your beauty rest like this but..” He scratched his chin and sighed, looking to the side.

“Thanks mate, r-really..” He mumbled, shuffling closer and wrapping his arms around you for a genuine hug.

“I- U-uh-.. Your.. welcome? All I've done was treat you like.. a normal human being? As you.. should be?” You awkwardly hugged him back, confused.

You pulled away, your hands on his shoulders.

“Despite our friendship, I don't know what it is you've REALLY really been through, but no matter how tired or over it I may seem, I still think you're hella cool of a guy.” You warmed up to his hug, patting his back.

“Whenever you wanna chat about.. literally anything in the world, you know who to come to, silly.. Seriously, don't ever sweat it.” You smiled and yawned, going back to washing his upper body off for a second, more gentler time.

You were surprised he didn't question the hot water in hot weather or how quickly it managed to cool you guys off. It was definitely making you more sleepy though.

“T-thanks, plant woman..” He wiped away a tear, sighing with a contentful “aah” as you tended to him. He leaned back, taking in the feeling of your care.

“Ya know, you're reeaaal good at this.. are ya’, perhaps, experienced ‘n bathing other people?”

“Wh- This is.. how baths are meant to be taken, no?”

“T-together??!? Mate, I’d kill to have this luxury of bein’ cleaned by ya’ like this all the time!!”

“Whuh- No! I m-meant.. the soap and water, you fucking peanut.”

“Ooh.. W-well!” he pointed a finger up, “I don't care ‘bout standin’ under some lousy water for a’ hour! But.. ya’ make me want to if it means you'll be the one cleanin’ me!”

“You're an adult, Jamie.”

“Don't forget me’ prosthetics-”

“They're literally waterproof sealed..”

“How would ya’ even know that!?”

“You told me this in our past rant sessions, twice I might add.. Something about avoiding radiactiv-”

“Screw you, mate! ( ` ﾛ ´ )”

“..You probably would though. (>ᴗ•)”

☆ if anyone actually makes it this far, tysm for reading!! feedback is 100% welcomed and appreciated <33

☆ i promise ill get the smut out for this eventually.. ill also make a pinned request post soon!! with graduation coming up, im a bit busy :((.. BUT ITLL ALL COME!

☆ ^^ update, here it is!!

☆ enjoy ur day/night yall! eat, stay hydrated, and keep loving junkrat fr ♡( ◡‿◡ )

#jamison fawkes #junkrat #junkrat x reader #ow2 #overwatch #ow2 junkrat #fanfic #overwatch x reader

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