#but again i could simply be too much in my own experiences and those of the people i cultivate relationships with

[sylusmistress]

Run Kitten... Run

Chapter 4: Muscle Memory

Those four simple words. Yes sir, I understand. Four words that Sylus thought he would never hear again. Yes sir, I understand. All it took was four little words to cause all the puzzle pieces to connect and finally jog his memories about the past lives you’ve lived together.

As if he was having an out of body experience flashes of your sweaty bodies intertwined in the past playing in front of his eyes. Memories of you on your knees begging to taste his essence while he looks upon you with contentment and him hovering over your restrained body pushing you to your physical limits. Everything came flooding back all at once and for a moment Sylus simply just stared at you in silence. But despite him regaining a priceless piece of himself that was temporarily lost in the bottomless sea of heartbreak, he can tell that everything hasn’t clicked for you just yet.

Your lack of remembrance is seen as nothing more than a simple task to Sylus as he begins mentally mapping what must be done to help you remember the love you two once shared together. Besides having questions about your Aether Core, he now has a laundry list of questions about why and how someone like you could become a hunter. In your past life you were as cunning and as ruthless as him and stood by his side as his Queen. To see the love of his life in the position of a goody-two-shoes rookie hunter that is not only bad at her job but also lacks the physical robustness that he now fondly remembers is something he will rectify later.

Refocusing his attention, Sylus lets out a low groan of approval before allowing his black and red energy tendrils to wrap around your wrist and hold you in place as he places calculated kisses along your ear and down your jawline. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, darling.” Compared to the kisses he gave you a few minutes ago, these ones seem to hold a sense of nervousness as if you were a delicate mirage that might vanish if he kisses you too fast or too slow.  

Listening to Sylus whisper in a deep sultry voice while expressing his yearning need for you causes your insides to burn with longing. The only men you’ve longed for is your trio back home and in the back of your mind you can feel a small voice yelling at you, but you can’t quite hear what is being said. Currently you are distracted, and you aren’t sure what he means when he claims he missed you and how he’s waited a lifetime to be reunited with you again, but none of that is of concern to you. At the moment, your mind is too frazzled with the need for release and pleasure.

“I searched everywhere for you…” Another kiss is trailed down your throat until Sylus lands on the pulse point in your throat. “I should have known who you were the moment your body reacted to my eye…” He feels his own mind grow heavier with hunger the more his lips connect with your skin and soon the gentle love bites turn more possessive as he sinks lower down your body until his head settles between your quaking thighs.

You are a breathy mess with your chest heaving up and down at a rapid speed and your breast jiggle with each motion. The trail of kisses and saliva Sylus trickled down your body brings no relief to your scorching skin and instead adds to the heightened sensitivity you’ve been experiencing since you entered the bath with the red eyed devil. You feel like you are in limbo between falling and floating and you don’t know which one to reach for. Although it’s only been a few minutes you have been teased to the point where your love juices are effortlessly flowing from your sacred fountain and all Sylus wants to do is drink you until he becomes drunk on your essence. “Fuck… I’ve missed you so much, Kitten. So… So… much…”

The second his long tongue drags against your clenching core you let out a silent scream that gets caught in your throat as you attempt to tug on the tendrils that are tightly holding your wrist above your head. You can feel your inner walls tighten and clench around nothing as you desperately wish you were being filled and stretched to your limit. By being immobilized by Sylus all you can do is graciously take whatever he gives to you like the good girl he knows you to be.

Up and down his skilled wet muscle flicks as it tastes every inch of you while humming in delight. You are just as sweet as he remembers and if he could he would spend an eternity buried between your thighs, allowing your pussy to serve as his only source of nutrients until the end of time. The tightening and unclenching of your abdomen doesn’t go unseen as Sylus wraps his left arm around your stomach to keep you locked in place and uses his right index and middle finger to spread your slick folds open to reveal your glistening pearl. Encasing his lips around the small bud of sensitivity, he begins to steadily twirl his tongue counterclockwise around your clit while simultaneously sucking your bundle of sensitive nerves into his mouth.

Everything about this moment is intoxicating and Sylus wishes he could make this moment last forever but your eagerness to reach your peak causes him to put his plans of sexual torment aside – for now. It has been over a century since he’s last tasted you and had you within his grasp. And since Sylus is a patient man, he understands that it is going to take some time to retrain his kitten back into his perfect little pet. One that understands it is her role in this life and the next to beg, serve, and pleasure him without complaint.

Chuckling darkly the red eyed devil of seduction lifts his head from between your thighs and stares at you with his glowing right eye. When you look into his glowing right eye you can feel your chest tighten and anxiety that a panic attack is about to happen begins to settle in until Sylus nips at your inner thigh to bring your attention back to him. “Focus Kitten. Don’t fight what you feel. Allow the pleasure to consume you…”

Taking a moment, you listen to Sylus’ instructions, tightly closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before hesitantly peeling them back open and looking deep into the fierce red orbs of temptation in front of you. Finally, after mentally going back and forth on what you should allow your body to feel, you decide to finally choose to fall deep into the pit of your desires.

“Such a good girl…” The small praise from Sylus causes you to whine and twist around in his grasp before he retightens his hold on you and continues to devour you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his middle finger enter your tight opening and wiggle its way inside until it finds that spot inside of you that drives you wild.

Flicking his calloused finger back and forth in a come-hither motion while alternating between licking and sucking on your now swollen clit you feel your stomach muscles constrict with delight. As a warm sensation begins to spread throughout your body you begin to rock your hips against Sylus’ mouth silently begging him to bring you to completion.

Climbing higher and higher up on the peak of pleasure your silent cries become more audible, and you finally find your voice as you pull and tug on your restraints. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire and ice cold at the same time as sweat begins to form in the crease of your brows. Experiencing an orgasm is nothing new to you, but something about this scene is familiar to you. You can feel just how intense your climax is going to be as Sylus continues to consume your pussy like a hungry beast that hasn’t eaten in years while keeping his gaze on you with that glowing right eye.

“S-S-Sylus… I’m so close…”

Sylus didn’t need to be told that you were seconds away from an orgasm, but the announcement is appreciated as his hums of acknowledgment can be felt through your core. Increasing the speed and intensity of his ministrations he adds his index finger inside of your dripping and convulsing honeypot before holding his breath as he continues to lick and suck your sensitive bundle of nerves. Releasing a loud moan of satisfaction, you toss your head back against the pile of pillows below your head while your shuddering thighs lock him in place. You feel as if you are transcending through different dimensions as your orgasm ripples through your body. From the tip of your toenails to the ends of your hair you can feel the eruption of euphoric pleasure soar through you, and you are glad you made the decision to fall.

Nothing can compare to how you feel right now, or at least that’s what you believe as Sylus laps up the last few droplets of your juices before crawling back up your body and tightly gripping your throat before smothering your mouth with a kiss. You whimper as you taste yourself on his tongue and share in the drunk sweetness of your nectar. While your tongues swirl around in each other’s mouths like this is the last kiss each of you will ever share before the world ends, you feel his neglected member poking at your entrance pleading for entry.  

Breaking the kiss, you gaze up at Sylus and attempt to try and catch your breath. Both sets of your lips are swollen and the pupils in your eyes have dilated to the point where only a thin ring of your iris is visible. To Sylus you look almost picture perfect, but there is still one more thing that needs to happen to give you the complete fucked out expression he plans on burning into the back of his mind for all eternity.

With a simple nod of your head, you slowly spread your still trembling thighs open to give Sylus more access to your needy core. Biting down on his bottom lip to contain his groan of approval he grabs the inside of your thighs and roughly presses them down until they are completely flat against the bed, and you are fully exposed to him. Keeping intense eye contact with you Sylus slowly begins sliding his rock-hard shaft inside of your now gummy walls. Inch by inch he fills your aching little hole and can get to the halfway mark before reaching your ‘happy button’.

Grinning roguishly Sylus watches as the moment of realization hits you that not only is he a lot bigger than expected but you are already on the verge of another orgasm and all he’s done is place half of his dick inside of you. “You are being very greedy tonight kitten… Cumming again for me already? I’m only half way inside.”  

Taking in how much of an ego boost your sensitivity has given Sylus, you refuse to acknowledge him vocally and try to look away from his knowing expression. But looking away just eggs him on even more as he slams the rest of his length inside of you until your swollen clit brushes against his pelvis. Suddenly you feel like you are seeing stars as your premature orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks.

Despite being in euphoric bliss, you can hear how the sex god hovering over you is silently cursing to himself as your walls convulse around his length. If it wasn’t for his pride, he would join you in climaxing prematurely but being who he is he refuses to finish until he’s brought you to your peak two… or five more times.

It is as if your body is an instrument, and Sylus is a conductor that knows exactly how to play you until you sing him praise. Rocking his hips in a steady motion he lets out a loud sigh as he watches your face twist in pleasure. All the years he spent searching for you and he almost forgot about your existence because of the amount of time that passed between you two. But now that he has you back, he is never letting you go and will do everything in his power to bring your memories back. From now on every day will be spent reminding you how great your life was underneath him as he effortlessly brings you godly pleasure.

Every single day he will remind you why you are his and his alone. Sylus believes that with every pump, lick, thrust, suck, bite, spank, etc. your memories will come back, and he doesn’t mind going through the daily effort. With flashbacks from the past Sylus decides to test out some of his old moves to see if they can still pull the same reactions out of you. If he angles his hips upwards you let out small whimpers. If he angles his hips to the left and focuses on your g-spot you let out loud moans and try to pull against your restraints. And if he angles his hips to dive deep into your walls and press against your cervix your eyes roll to the back of your head, and he must constantly remind you to keep breathing.

“Perfect… and all mine…”

Moaning loud enough to where you are sure anyone in a 50-mile radius can hear you, Sylus releases you from the energy tendrils around your wrist so that you can cling to his neck as he begins to increase the pace of his thrust. He can feel that you are on the verge of another earth-shattering orgasm and wants to feel all your reactions as he brings you to the crest of pleasure once again.

Leaning down to close the distance between your two bodies Sylus tightly wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your love bitten neck before placing your wobbly legs around his waist. “Let go princess… Let go and cum all over my dick… use me… use me like the perfect little slut I know you can be…” Biting down onto your earlobe he continues to whisper husky words of degraded encouragement and revels in how tight you become each time he calls you his ‘slut’.

Between Xavier, Rafayel, and Zayne you’ve never had either of them call you anything outside of respectable pet names and in this lifetime, you’ve never craved being called anything degrading before. But the comforting edginess of Sylus’ tone when he address you as his ‘slut’ does something to the wires in your brain and it doesn’t take long as another deep thrust against your cervix causes you to dig your nails into his back before shuddering like a leaf on a winter day beneath him.

“Such a good girl… you are so good for me kitten... My perfect girl…” The switch between being degraded and words of encouragement makes you feel as if you are losing your mind. Satisfied that you are a perfect overstimulated mess, Sylus begins focusing on his own pleasure and holds your hips tightly to keep you in place as his calculated thrust becomes more feverish and animalistic as he chases his own high.

Reaching down between where you are connected Sylus rubs circles around your swollen clit with determination to bring you to one more orgasm as he reaches the grand finale. His strokes are becoming sloppier by the second and his grunts in your ear sound like heaven while he continues strumming your sensitive pearl. Feeling him slam deeply against your ‘happy button’ a few more times is enough to pull another orgasm out of you and your chest tightens as you arch into his touch.

“FUCKKK!” Both of you moan in unison when you feel his cock begin to twitch and swell inside of you before shooting ropes of hot seed inside of your quivering wet cavern. Finally, after allowing his release to swim inside of, you Sylus crashes his body down on top of yours and relishes in the moment.

A beat of comfortable silence passes between you and Sylus as you both come down from ecstasy. The feeling of his heavy body slumped over your delicate form brings you comfort the weighted blanket would as the aftershocks in your body finally subside and you are able to breathe somewhat normally again.

Reluctantly Sylus pulls his now softened dick from out of you and rolls off you to land on his back besides you while staring up at the ceiling. Again, another beat of silence passes between the two of you and you aren’t sure if you should speak up first or if he should.

Sensing your dilemma Sylus climbs off his bed and enters his bathroom. When he returns, he has a warm towel in his hands and tenderly grasps your thighs before cleaning up the mess he made between them. Once he is satisfied with ensuring that you are clean enough, he looks up at you with those ruby orbs you are starting to become addicted to staring into. “Do you remember who I am?” His voice is deep yet soothing like a warm hug from a long-lost lover.

Gazing back at him you suddenly feel the consequences of your choices come crashing down against you. Immediately your mind thinks of your trio of lovers back home that must be worried sick about you and then you think about what the consequences would be for sleeping with someone you were sent to arrest. Quickly looking away you attempt to scurry from out of Sylus’ bed and put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

Although you didn’t verbally answer his question, Sylus can tell from your now frantic and regretful expression that not only do you not fully remember who he is, but you also feel shame about what just transpired between the two of you. Keeping his face passive and his hurt emotions at bay, he tightly clenches his jaw before walking over to his wardrobe and grabbing a sweater and pair of sweatpants for you to put on before dressing his naked frame in a robe. “Get dressed and get out.”

The sudden cold shoulder Sylus gives you pulls you out of your mini existential crisis and you glare at him like he just committed a crime far worse than being King of the Wanderers. “Excuse me? You don’t get to just kick me out of your room after everything we just did!”

Pulling the sweater over your head and the sweatpants over your bare bottom you stomp over to the mini bar Sylus is now standing next to and defiantly cross your arms over your chest. Technically you did want to leave his room and put some distance between the two of you so you can think clearly and dissect what just transpired but you wanted to leave on your own terms. “Is this how you treat all women? Huh? You just use them to get what you want and toss them when you are finished?”

Apparently, your accusation seemed to cross an invisible line of boundaries as Sylus cuts his eyes to you and swiftly wraps his left hand tightly around your throat before dropping his tone to a menacing growl. “Use you? Is that what you think I did? I would do anything to keep you by my side and yet you have the audacity –… GET OUT!”

Carrying you over to his bedroom door he wastes no time opening it and tossing you (fondly) out of his room before slamming the door in your face. Frowning at his now closed door you are tempted to bust through it and find out what Sylus meant by keeping you by his side or what he meant when he claimed that he ‘missed’ you. Instead of allowing your emotions to take over you remember that you are a hunter that has been sent on a mission and make your way back to his office where your hunter watch is located.

Entering his office you didn’t expect to see Luke and his twin Kieran sitting in the office attempting to look like intimidating guard dogs. Rolling your eyes and ignoring their existence you walk over to the large desk and furrow your brows in confusion when you don’t see your hunter watch sitting there anymore. “Okay, which one of you guys took my watch?”

Kieran tilts his head to the side and if he wasn’t wearing a mask you would be sure he was smirking in a cocky fashion. “Boss gave us strict instructions to keep that device away from you and to keep our eyes on you. No tricks this time.”

Luke perks his head up and straightens his back to make himself seem larger than life. “Yeah! No tricks this time little kitten. Now follow us and we will show you where your bedroom is.”

Squinting your eyes in disbelief you take a step back and place your hands on your hips. “What do you mean you’ve been instructed to keep your eyes on me? Your ‘boss’ said that I can leave here if I want.”

Luke and Kieran exchange a silent look with each other before Luke faces you again and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah… that offer is off the table now that the bossman has an actual interest in you. Sorry little kitten but you aren’t going anywhere.” 

[a-hollow-forest]

actual genuine question despite the tone this will probably read as but do people actually think that putting things like 'you HAVE to reblog this' and it's ilk will get more reblogs?

actual, worse genuine question. does it? is that why people put that shit everywhere? i mean clearly people still reblog things with that but does i've honestly just been assuming that people reblog despite of them or because they're immune to the bullshit & don't recognize it as a problem; not because of it and if i'm wrong i'd like to know i guess?

[hiddenbeks]

so many thoughts abt how schewpid the jedi council is in kotor but also not sure if i should write abt any of them before i finish the game because it's entirely possible that i'm still missing some critical information,

[aromantic-pantyanarchy]

It's me. I'm the cis, heterosexual, aromantic man. I will never marry, I will never be married, I will grow into middle age and elder age and I will die unmarried. I will be forced to support a household of myself on only my wages alone for the rest of my life. I will be asked about women and marriage and children by my family for the rest of my life (or men, the progressive ones might say). I may not ever come out to them. I feel like I burned my coming out on something stupid. I don't want to explain it. I don't want to run them through the definitions and intricacies. I don't want the acceptance without understanding, placating me with ceased questions and poor explanations to other, drunk adults.

I like my hair to be long, I spent a year with it dyed a golden blonde with dark roots because I like the trashy party girl aesthetic. I want to dye it again with pink tips. I like painting my nails, black and blue are my favorite colors. I like wearing chokers. I also like wearing baggy jeans and ratty hoodies. I like having stubble. I like having chest hair. I like having a square jaw and broad shoulders. I wish I had a flatter stomach and a thinner profile frame. I don't know what this makes me, perhaps this is something no more GNC than Machine Gun Kelly. I think about this a lot, how queer my appearance truly is. I should think about it less. I have thought long and hard about if I could be trans or if I could be non-binary or if I could be genderqueer and the conclusion I ultimately came to is that I most enjoy being a man open to whatever self-expression I want.

I don't date, but I've thought about it. I would like to meet people, and I would like to have sex with them. But I don't want to hurt them. I fear if I explain what I am beforehand it'll scare them away. I fear if I explain after they'll feel manipulated or abused. I don't know how many people in the dating scene want what I want. I fear my own lack of experience will make me a bad lay, an embarrassing story to tell to confidants in hindsight. I fear my own virginity, a boundary to those I wish to be like. All of these fears are baseless, as I've not been able to even begin a single relationship in my life. Despite this I still heavily identify with terms like "slut" and "manwhore" and "thot" because my interests lay so deeply within casual sex, sex without great intimacy or emotion. This may be some form of stolen valor. I hope the true sluts are not too mad at me.

I made this blog several years ago because a mutual of mine reblogged memes making fun of aro and ace people, making fun of the concept of aphobia, and in addition well known aphobes. I didn't feel comfortable talking about aro stuff on my main blog, for as little as I talk about it. Living through the ace discourse of the 2016 era has largely caused me to cringe in embarrassment any time I am forced to discuss my orientation with people who aren't aro or ace themselves. I no longer follow this person. I unfollowed many people I was mutuals with from that time, most of them because they posted too often about how much they hated men and I didn't want to see that, some because our interests simply drifted too far apart, only one for explicit aphobia reasons. (Also one because they became a "both sides are bad, any vote is wasted" libertarian, but that's unrelated.)

I guess at this point I don't care deeply about what strangers on the internet think of me. If a trusted friend told me that they don't think I'm truly queer that may hurt. But I am going to continue to use the word for myself. I take up no resources. I go to events that are open to me. If an event was not open to me, I think I'd not want to go anyways. I am not a hypothetical, I am not a strawman, I am a person with lived experiences both within and exterior to the queer community. If you hate me, I will permit you to continue to do so. But ultimately, I am who I am, I cannot change these facts, and I would not choose to do so even if I could.

[wandaslittlebird]

Her Special Girl

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

After being away at college for three years, you finally come home for the holidays. And no one is more excited to see you than your stepmom.

CW: Stepmom/Stepdaughter, MOMMY ISSUES, slight daddy issues, mommy kink, cheating, breastfeeding, fingering (R receiving), mentions of strap usage, flashbacks, mentions of past: suicidal thoughts, loss of virginity, ghosting

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: I think if I keep this up, they’re going to revoke my degree in psychology and bury me for defending psychosexual development.

A/N: I could be talked into making a part 2 for this. And by talked into I mean approximately 1 person needs to ask. I had way too much fun with this.

Part 1 of Her Special Girl

——————————————————--

She knew something was wrong when you had called her to pick you from your mom’s house a week early. You weren’t supposed to be coming home till Christmas Eve, but here you were, curled up in her passenger seat only three days after being home for Christmas break. 

Wanda wasn’t supposed to be the one picking you up. You originally called your father, but he was, unsurprisingly, unavailable. Apparently he was off playing ‘not the world’s worst stepdad’ with Wanda’s boys for the week. Probably some bonding time enforced by Wanda. He was never terribly keen on spending time with his family. Plus it got the miserable old man out of her hair for a few days. Merry Christmas to Wanda.  

“Mom’s house was that bad, huh?” she asked. You simply nodded in response. She made a sympathetic noise and rubbed the back of your head. “I’m sorry sweetheart. We’ll talk about it when we get home?” 

You nodded again, thankful she wasn’t going to fill the car with awkward small talk. You reached for the radio, turning up the quiet christmas music. You rested your head against your knees, absently humming the familiar music to soothe yourself. You didn’t notice the way Wanda’s heart absolutely melted everytime she got a glance at you. As much as it broke her heart that you’d had a bad experience at your mother’s house, she was glad to have you home for Christmas. 

—------

Wanda and your father had married when you were around 16. In the first years, you weren’t close. In fact, you had hated Wanda at first. The kindness and gentleness she offered you was so alien and unfamiliar. Everytime she did you a favor without being asked, or made a move to give you physical reassurance, you felt like your inside would turn to mush. By that point, you were old enough to decide when you wanted to go to your dad’s house, and it felt easier to avoid her entirely than confront the gnawing feeling in your chest that arose whenever you interacted with her. So you spent those years at your mom’s house.

But as time passed, something shifted. 

In what was supposed to be your last semester of high school, it became pretty clear you were not going to pass. Your life, the one you had planned for at least, fell into a tailspin. You watched all of your friends move on without you. Both of your parents were extremely disappointed with you and seemed to give up on you in favor of the new families they’d created. All of your hopes and dreams of finally escaping to college were put on hold. You had completely lost all direction. 

And one night in late July, when there was no school to look forward to in August and no hope of starting a life of your own without a high school diploma, you hit rock bottom. You were lying down in the shower at your dad’s house and you found yourself unable to get up. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do it anymore. And just when you thought your body would decay into the blue tile, you heard a knock at the door.

“Honey? Are you okay in there?” 

It was Wanda. You wanted to yell that you were fine and you'd be out in a minute, but you couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. So you didn’t respond. 

You heard the sound of a key pressing into the lock, and the hesitant steps of your stepmother making her way into the bathroom. “Honey?” she called again. She gasped when she found your limp body in the shower. She threw the glass door open, turned off the shower that had long since gone cold, and wrapped you up in a towel. You were too far gone to be embarrassed that your stepmother was seeing you naked at 18 years old. All you could do was throw your arms around her and sob and babble apologies. 

“Oh! My sweet girl. How long have you been in here? I just woke up to use the restroom and I heard the water still running. You poor thing, have you been in here all night? You’re freezing. Your poor lips are purple! Come on, let's get you warmed up.”

With impressive strength, she was able to pick you up and carry you to bed. She threw all of your softest blankets around you cocooning you with warmth on all sides. Then she sat on the bed next to you, wiping the cold wet hair from your forehead. 

And for once, you were too weak to push her away. Too weak to fight the magnetic draw you had always had towards the woman. You needed her more than anything in the world. You wanted to be surrounded by her. You craved an impossible closeness with her. The hole in your heart had grown so big it nearly devoured you, and she was here to patch it up and kiss it all better.

So you melted into her touch, inching your body closer to where she sat on the bed until you were wrapped around her. You almost expected her to inquire as to where this was coming from, the sudden closeness after avoiding her for so long. You thought maybe she would even reprimand you for your childish behavior, or call you weird for acting like this with her. But she didn’t. “Aww my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m not going anywhere. Mama’s here.”

And she didn’t call you weird when you tugged on her nightshirt, silently asking her to lay down with you. She simply crawled under the covers, kissed your head, and pulled your still naked body into her arms. “You poor thing, you're still freezing. It’s okay, mama will keep warm.”

And she didn’t reprimand you when you decided there was still too much separation, so you pulled her nightshirt up over her head, leaving her bare in bed with you. “Mmm, you’re right this will get you all nice and warmed up. You're a very smart girl.”

“I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

She tangled her body into yours, enveloping you in the warmest embrace. Her skin was so incredibly soft against your, pressed into every inch of your body. You could feel the way her heart overflowed with contented joy with you between her arms. 

And nothing was ever the same after that. In the span of twenty minutes with her, you’d gone from believing you could die on the shower floor and no one would care, to feeling like the single most important thing in her entire world. You were hers. 

And you were hers when she gave you your first kiss over an episode of “Legend of Korra.” You’d been so over eager, it’d felt like you were trying to eat her face, but she didn’t make fun of you. She just calmly pulled back, giving you all the instructions you needed to make your second kiss perfect. 

And you were hers when she took your virginity while your father was away on a business trip. She had laid you out on the bed, kissing slow trails down your stomach while you gasped and shuttered at every new sensation. That first night, she treated you like you were made of the finest glass, beautiful and delicate. 

And you were hers when she cried into your arms, begging you not to go so far away for college. With her help, you’d finally gotten a high school diploma. You had the funding from your father to go anywhere you wanted. She wanted to want you to go, she really did. She wanted to want whatever was best for you, but she wasn’t ready to let go of you yet. 

But when you packed your bags and left anyway, you couldn’t be hers any longer. There were no phone calls, no texts, no apologies or explanations for why you left. You were simply gone like you’d never existed in the first place.  

—------

“So,” she asked, helping you carry in your luggage and dropping it in the foyer, “do you wanna talk about what happened with your mother?” She knew you and your mother had never gotten along. She was honestly more wondering why you even decided to go home in the first place. You had spent Christmases with your friends since you’d left for college, but this year you had inexplicably decided to come home. 

You shrugged. “Same as always, I guess. There’s never been a group of people I’m so palpably unimportant to. She and my stepdad have a family of their own, ya know? And I’m just… not part of it. Every time I’m there I feel like a ghost haunting a happy family.” Tears welled up in your eyes, falling down your cheeks. 

“Oh, honey,” Wanda sighed, cupping your cheek with her hand. You only cried harder at the gesture. It was so kind. So gentle. So familiar. You fought your every instinct to not throw yourself against, clinging to her like a petulant child. You wanted to be close to her again.  

The look in her eyes made you feel like you were going to explode. She was listening to you, like actually listening to you. You couldn’t help but pour your heart out to her. “I don’t even know why I tried to come home this year. I just had this idea that I was gonna come home after being gone for so long and she was going to have magically changed. I just had this, like… fantasy that she’d wrap her arms around me and apologize for not being there for me, say that all this time away has made her realize that she can’t live without me, tell me how I’m her most special little girl and she’ll do anything to make it right.”

You turned away from her, suddenly very embarrassed of all the things you’d just confessed. “It was stupid. Whatever. It’s never been like that and it’s never going to be like that. I’m fucking 22, I wasn’t going to be mommy’s little princess anyway.” You felt the urge to run away. You couldn’t bear to look at your stepmother’s face any longer. You made a quick break for the stairs, but Wanda caught your wrist.

“Honey, wait!” she said, pulling you back around to face her. Your head spun and your skin tingled when she touched you. “You know you're still my special girl, right?” 

“Of course, but you have your boys and they’re your whole world. And that’s a good thing! They’re really lucky to have you, I just…” You trailed off, unsure of what to say next. 

“You just?” she asked after you didn’t speak for a minute. 

Another torrent of tears stung your eyes. “I can’t be your special girl. I’m not even really yours.”

Wanda tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean by that, honey?”

“I’m not your baby,” you said, choked up by your failed attempt to not let your tears fall. You ducked your head, avoiding her gaze at all cost.

She took a step towards you. “Hey,” she started, reaching for your chin to make you look at her. “I’ve missed you, you know? While you’ve been gone.”

“You did?” you asked in almost a whisper. 

“I did,” she reassured. “I thought about you all the time. I never let your father get rid of your bedroom, even though he wanted to move his office there. And there’s still a chair at the end of the dining table for you. And in the winter time I always buy that peppermint creamer for my coffee because it was always your favorite.”

Your resolve finally crumbled and you threw yourself around her, clinging to her desperately. “I missed you too, mama. I wanted to come home to see you, but I didn’t think you’d ever wanna see me again. After I… I thought you’d hate me forever!” you were sobbing in her arms, head tucked under her chin as her long nails scratched your scalp, just how you like. 

“Shh, baby it’s okay. I could never hate you. You’re home now. Mama’s got you,” she cooed. “Let’s get you a nice warm bath, get you all cleaned up, and then we can watch a movie in my room. Does that sound good?”

You nodded, reluctantly removing yourself from her. She reached out for your hand and smiled when you grabbed her arm with both hands, clinging to her awkwardly as you made your way up the steps. She led you to the master bathroom that had a fancy corner tub. She ran the water, checking the temperature to make sure the water was just right. 

“Alright pretty girl, arms up,” she said, lifting the hem of your shirt over your head. She neatly folded your shirt and placed it on the counter. She turned around to find you with your arms bashfully crossed over your chest. She took your hand. “None of that, sweet girl. It’s just you and mama, you don’t need to cover yourself.”

“‘s cold,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising across your chest.

“I know,” she said, bending down to unbutton your pants and push them down around your ankles. You wrapped your arms around her neck, using her for balance as you kicked out of your pants. “We’re gonna have you all warmed up in just a second, sweetheart.”

As soon as you were naked, you scrambled over to the warm tub. Steam was rising from the water’s surface where it met the cool air. You hissed as your cold feet met the water. Wanda giggled at your eagerness, folding your pants and underwear and placing them on top of your shirt. “Careful, pretty girl,” she chuckled. 

You sank into the tub, slowly allowing your body to adjust to the temperature. You sighed in contentment, resting your head back against the ledge of the tub. You rolled your head to the side to face Wanda, who had stripped off her jeans, leaving her in a long gray sweater that barely covered her ass. Your eyes glimmered at the sight of the beautiful woman. “Will you get in with me?” you asked. “Please?”

“Not tonight, honey,” she said, sitting down on the ledge of the tub behind your head. She stuck her feet into the water on either side of you, leaving your head between her bare thighs. “Mama’s already had her bath. Now keep your head tilted back for me. I don’t wanna get any soap in your eyes.” Any protests you had were quickly cut short when you felt long fingers massaging your favorite coconut shampoo in your hair. Wanda worked cautiously, careful not to get any soap in your eyes. She somehow managed to keep your face almost entirely dry throughout the entire process. 

You nearly started to cry when she started applying soap to your body with a soft washcloth. It had been so long since someone had touched you so gently. You could feel how much she cared for you as she softly scrubbed the day's grime from your body. Each caress left trails of goosebumps rising on your soapy skin. You felt like you might melt into the bathwater. 

“Alright little love, kneel up nice and straight for me so I can get you all clean,” she calmly commanded. You hesitantly got up on your knees and turned to face her, reluctant to pull your body from the warmth of the water. Now that you were looking up at her, you felt suddenly exposed again. It was much easier to be naked in front of her with your back turned. 

You took in a sharp inhale when the washcloth landed between your legs. “Mama…” you whined, looking up at her with worried eyes. Her touch felt so good you couldn’t help but buck against the cloth while a knot still coiled in the pit of your stomach. You had the fleeing thought that you should tell her to stop and that this was wrong. But as she continued her ministrations, your head seemed to empty itself of any such thoughts. All you could focus on was the growing sensation between your legs. 

“Aww, sweet girl,” Wanda cooed. “It’s okay that you like it when you like it when mama touches you like this honey. You don't have to be embarrassed, angel.” She made slow, teasing circles around your clit through the thick cloth. You grabbed her arm, keeping her in place until she finally had had enough of the teasing and gently freed herself of your grip. 

“Mama,” you whined again as she continued to wash down the curve of your ass and the inside of your thighs. You weren’t sure why, exactly, you found yourself chanting her name, but it seemed to be the only word you could find. 

She smiled. “You’re okay, angel. Mama got you. I love you so very much, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you, just like I used to. There’s no need to be embarrassed or guilty or scared. You’re still your mama’s special girl, okay?” She leaned down to kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes and allowed her complete control over your body.  “We’re all finished, detka. You can sit back down now.” She guided you back down into the water, turning you back around and resting your head against her inner thigh. She gently started to dry your hair as you settled back into the water. You found yourself wrapping your arms around her calf, clutching at her like she might fly away.

“Mama?” 

“Yes, little love?”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“How do you mean, angel?” Her voice was laced with concern. You weren’t exactly sure how to respond, so you nuzzled your face into her thigh in embarrassment. “Hey little love.” She bent down so she could see your face. “It’s okay. You can tell mama. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

You shifted around uncomfortably, unsure of how to phrase what you wanted to say. “I need you really badly mama,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m too old, but I wanna be your special little girl forever.” 

“Oh honey,” she soothed, “you’re never too old to be my special little girl. Even if you wanted me to take care of you forever, I’d love every second of it.” She laid back against the wall, closing her eyes and allowing herself to fantasize about what it would be like to have you back. Forever, this time. A faint smile painted her face at the thought. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re too old to need your mama. They might not understand it like you do, but you are a very very special girl and your mama loves you very very much.”

You nodded against her, shyly tucking your face back into her thigh. You sat like that for a minute, letting her fingers scratch your damp scalp while you smiled in contentment. 

But you could only rest naked between her bare legs for so long before the little pings of arousal took over. You turned around to face her, this time straddling a single one of her legs between two of your own. You sat back on your feet, resting your head on her knee. 

“Mama, please. I need to feel you again,” you sighed. You desperately craved the feeling of closeness you’d once shared. The feeling that you and her were the only two people in the world, and that you were as important to her as she was to you, and that was the only thing that mattered. 

You wanted her inside of you, touching all the parts of you no one else got to see. You yearned for the way she made you feel like the most precious thing in the universe, chasing your pleasure like it was her own. She felt good when you felt good. 

Conversely, you wanted to be inside of her, pushing into her like a puzzle piece that had always meant to fit together. You felt like you could rewrite time, finally inside your mama like you were supposed to be all along. 

She reached down beside the tub and pulled up a fluffy pink towel. She stretched it out with her arms, welcoming you into a soft embrace. She took such care in drying off every part of you, down to your calves that still stayed in the water. 

You sat in between her legs, her arms wrapped around your bare body. She pulled you close to her, your back flush against her chest. Then she wrapped her legs around yours, effectively pinning them open against the wall of the tub. 

You pulled at the sleeves of her sweater, desperate to get closer to her. There was still too much fabric between the two of your bodies. 

She shushed you pleas with gentle hands. “Not right now, detka. Let mama show you how much she’s missed you, okay? Then we can cuddle up all naked under the soft blankets on the bed just how we like to. Does that sound okay?”

You let out a displeased whine. You were extremely impatient. It had been years since you’d had her so close. But as she stroked your hair with one hand and your clit with the other, you found yourself more amenable to suggestions. “P-promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” she reassured. 

She kept her pace just steady enough that talking, and thinking for that matter, became difficult. “A-and we stay like that all-all night?”

“All night, angel.”

You finally nodded in agreement, relaxing against her. You kept a ironclad grip on her bicep, feeling the muscles flex as she played with your most sensitive parts. 

She moved her fingers down through your folds, teasing your entrance. You tried to force your hips down onto her fingers, but her legs kept you from moving. You settled instead for whining like an injured puppy. “Please mama, please.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in your ear, circling your entrance with the tip of her finger. “I’m so lucky. I get to have my most special girl and all her most special parts,” she sunk her middle finger into you, eliciting a mangled groan, “all to myself.” 

“All yours,” you assured, feeling her finger curl and twist inside of you, making room for more. She was always so calculated with the way she pleased you. You were like a present she was methodically unwrapping, peeling each piece of tape off, careful not to damage the paper. She was in no rush to tear you apart. She kept her painfully slow pace, but sunk a second finger into you. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I’m all yours, mama.” 

She leaned your head back onto her shoulder and kissed your cheek. You didn’t even notice the uncomfortable strain the position should’ve caused your neck. There was just her everywhere, caressing each part of your body with a tenderness you’d never experienced anywhere else. Her hand explored your chest, teasing hard nipples with gentle pinches and soft touches. Nails scraped their way down the soft expanse of your stomach, paying special attention to the curve of your hip bone.

“Mama, I love you. You feel so good inside of me, please don’t stop. Oh god please never stop,” you whined. You didn’t even care that she was moving her fingers too slow to make you cum. You were so content with just her filling you up, touching the parts of you no one else got to touch. You got to be hers all over again.

You thought back to your days with her, home alone. She’d let you sit on her lap in her office, arms and legs wrapped around her like a koala bear, her strap nestled inside of you. She was always so impressed by your ability to stay still for hours on end. But how could you want for anything more than to be full of her?

“You’re so tight and warm for mama,” she cooed. “I love feeling you around my fingers, baby. You make such pretty noises.” She sped up her movements, highlighting the sound of the wetness between your legs. You were nearly dripping a trail down the side of the tub. 

You tried to buck against her hand, but her legs kept you perfectly still. “Ooh mama. I love you. I love you mama,” you cried, unable to escape the building pleasure of her fingers. She slipped a third finger inside of you, only further spurring your desperate cries. “Please mama!  Please, I'm so full. Mama I wanna cum for you. I wanna cum on your fingers. Please! Please let me cum on your fingers.” 

Her fingers twisted and curled in all the ways that drove you crazy. You knew you couldn’t cum until she touched your clit, which she was tactfully avoiding for that exact reason, but you still felt nearly out of your mind with pleasure. You were jerking against her now, causing her to wrap her arms around your waist. “Calm down honey. Mama’s got you. You’re doing so good for me sweet girl.”

“Good girl for mama,” you mumbled brainlessly. The continuous pounding of her fingers made your head spin. There was nothing in the whole world but you and your mama. Nothing else mattered. 

“That’s right, angel. You’re mama’s good girl,” she praised. 

You nodded dumbly, unable to muster any more thoughts than “mama” which you chanted repeatedly. She shoved three fingers in your mouth, making the word come out even more unintelligible. You whined around her hand, but obediently sucked her fingers. 

“Can you touch yourself for me princess?” She asked, both her hands too occupied to finally put an end to your abuse. You both knew that just a little pressure to your clit would finally push you over the edge. 

You didn’t even acknowledge her question, just hopelessly cried around her fingers. “Aww sweet girl, you need mama to do it for you? That’s okay, honey. Mama will take care of it.” She pulled her fingers from your mouth, now covered in your spit, and reached down between your legs. She kissed the side of your head while she finally attended to your neglected clit. “That’s it, princess. Cum on mama’s hand.”

You were nearly silent as you fell over the edge, unable to do little more than jerk and squeak. She gently led you down from the high, removing her fingers and bracing you against herself so you didn’t tumble back into the now cold bathtub. She cleaned you up with a washcloth and wrapped you back up in the soft towel. 

She chuckled when she picked you up and saw your face, blissed out and stupid. She thought back to before you had left for college, when you were 18 and it took a lot more than three fingers and 20 minutes to get you here. “Nobody has touched you like that for a long time, have they angel?”

You shook your head against her chest. “Only you mama.” 

She smiled at the admission. Laying you down at the center of her big bed. You pawed at her sweater when she pulled away. “I’m just taking this off. I’ll be down there in just a second.”

She crawled under the covers only a moment later, pulling you closer and discarding the towel onto the floor. You nuzzled into her neck, wrapping your arms around her waist. You were so warm and so loved. You felt so important again, just like you did the fateful night she’d pulled you from the cold shower. In that moment, you couldn’t wrap your head around why you’d ever left. How could you ever have left anything so perfect?

“Mama, can I be inside of you next time?” You mumbled into her chest, unwilling to completely separate yourself from her. 

“Of course you can,” she replied, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. “Anything for my special girl.”

You smiled. “Can I use the dark red toy? The one that gives you the little bump right here?” You touched her lower stomach in indication. 

She couldn’t help but laugh at the request, recalling the only other time she allowed you to use that toy right before you left. Seeing the bulge in her lower stomach had gotten you so excited you’d pathetically rutted into like a teenage boy. “Only if you can be gentle with mama.”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Gentle with mama.” 

She smiled down at you, noticing your eyelids start to droop. “That’s enough for tonight, little love. Rest now and we can talk some more in the morning, okay?” She gently guided your head down to her chest. She smiled when you almost immediately took her nipple into your mouth, suckling contentedly, just like she’d taught you to do. Oh, how she loved you.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off into a daydream. Maybe she could convince you to move schools so you could come back, live at home with her. Every stressful assignment or class or situation with your friends could end like this: in this intimate act that drowned out both your stress and hers. Maybe if you’d stay, she could get on hormones and start actually producing milk again. All for you. All for her baby girl. And she'd remind you how loved you were everyday, and you never take her for granted again. 

Yes, she’ll have you back in her arms just like it used to be. You’ll come home to her, and you’ll finally see that you’ll never need anyone else ever again.

[komitomi]

Hihii!!

Idk if your reqs are open but could you plsplspls make a part 2 of "just ask" with childe, thoma and scara?Thank uuu :3 If they're closed just ignore :)

Oh my god yes! I absolutely thought of doing childe and scara in the first part but I wasn't able to cause of the images limit, I wanted my blog to look pretty HELP, BUT HERE IT IS ALONG WITH THOMA <3

“Just ask.” — childe, thoma, scara (separate) x afab!f!reader

;; if you feel yourself wanting to community label this, please kindly just block me instead, it's fucking stupid how people ignore the warnings.

NSFW WARNING, MDNI: afab!f!reader, p in v sex, clit stimulation (childe, scara), orgasm denial (childe, scara), teasing (thoma), cock riding (childe), scara is extremely mean, tiddy succin (thoma), dacryphilia(?)(scara), cumming inside (childe, thoma), p*rn without much plot, sexual tension, missionary (thoma), squirting (scara), reader is too shy to ask, I'm not sure if this counts as dubcon because the reader isn't vocal at first but only consents through her actions but be warned. + not proofread cause we die like men. // part one.

By clicking read more you are consenting to view this explicit content, you are responsible for your own experience.

CHILDE is always gone from home most of the time due to his work with the fatui harbingers, so when he's back you only ever spend time doing normal things like going out on picnics, dates etc, well that left both him and you sexually frustrated yet you can't admit it cause you felt too shy.

You don't know how long it has been since you both had sex, but it was probably too long since each of his small innocent touches is enough to set you alight, the way he lays his head on your lap had you wishing you can't sit over his face.

He noticed, the way you would squirm, gasp at little touches, so what did he decide to do when he noticed? tease you even more, those seemingly innocent touches turned more inappropriate as time passed by, his arm 'accidentally' rubbing against your nipple, the way his hands trail up your skirt from time to time, when you sit on his lap and feel his member rubbing against your ass, but he never acts on it unless you ask.

“C-childe.” you let out a breathy gasp when you feel his fingers rubbing small circles on your inner thigh, so close to your core but so far away, “What's wrong?” he says in a teasing tone, no fucking way he's choosing to be ignorant in this situation.

“I- childe please.” you turn your head to the side to look at him behind you, but he simply rests his head in the crook of your neck and kisses you “please what? what do you want?” his kisses trail down to your shoulder, you shudder when you feel his hand brush against your clothed cunt.

“P-please stop teasing— I can't take it anymore.” you whimper when you feel his hand pushing your panties aside and drags his finger over the length of your core, “what do you want me to do?” he says lowly, in your ear, trying to contain himself when he feels how wet you are, fighting the urge to just turn you around having your legs wrap around him and bury himself in your cunt.

You let out an airy moan when you felt his fingers pressing on your clit, slowly rubbing circles, “I- I want you– inside me.” you manage to say in between gasps, you feel his fingers speed up, rubbing even faster, you felt your stomach tighten, but before it could snap childe quickly retreats his fingers making you whine, he quickly changes your position, having you face him as he unbuttons his pants before giving his hardened cock a few pumps and lining it up against your entrance.

He guides you down it by your hips and you hold on to his shoulders panting, as you seat yourself on his cock, slowly you start to move up and down, bouncing on his cock, his hands remain on your hips as he thrusts upwards into your cunt, trying to set a rhythm. You feel your stomach tighten once again as the tip of his cock hits a certain spot inside you.

One of his hands travels up your body to grope your tits, twirling and flicking your nipple causing you to whimper at the sensation, “Haa— fuck I've waited so long for this.” childe says in between thrusts, you felt yourself near your edge causing you to grab his shoulders for support and set your own rhythm, making his dick hit the sensitive spot inside you.

“F-fuck baby— you gonna cum?” he asks and you nod, “Y-yeah fuck!” you shakily say, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock.” as soon as those words leave his mouth that coil that has been winding tighter and tighter finally snaps causing you to moan out loud.

Childe thrusts into you a few more times before he comes undone inside you, painting your walls white with his cum, he groans as he rides his orgasm out watching you scrunch your nose due to overtimulation.

“Speak up next time okay?”

THOMA is just as flustered as you are, he knows what you want but he's shy to speak up as well, he wants to bury his cock deep inside your cunt but he can't do that, not until you ask him to, not until you tell him that you want it.

And just like childe he decides to feign innocence, yet his way is different, he kept those accidental touches fairly innocent, and it made you more frustrated because you couldn't understand whether he wants to touch you, maybe you were the only one feeling horny from them? it made things worse, you now felt even more embarrassed.

And he caught on, so he decided to become a little bit more bold, his hands lingered a little bit long on you, whenever he would wrap his arm around your shoulder his hand grazed your breast, or when you would hug him he would have you tightly pressed against him, feeling your breasts against his chest, you felt his hard cock rub against you whenever he held you that tightly, so now you knew.

And you started to become impatient.

When was he going to touch you properly? bring you relief from all this pent up sexual frustration, you knew you just had to ask but you were too shy for your own good, and it wasn't until one of the nights, when you finally decided to ask.

“Thoma, I've had enough.” you said, which made him stop his current actions, which were literally just him rubbing himself up against you, he paused his movements, and slight panic began to settle in, were you breaking up with him?

Before it could get worse, you turned to face him, grabbing him by his cheeks, before kissing him passionately, he realises what you had meant and reciprocates your actions by wrapping his hands around you waist, pulling you close.

You pull away panting, “P-please just take me already.” you say, breathing deeply, “Take you where?” thoma teases which makes you groan, “You know what I mean.” you look at him and he shakes his head, “I have no idea.” he continues to tease you, wanting to hear exactly what you wanted.

“Archons— for fucks sake thoma, fuck me.” you say frustrated, and that's all it took for thoma to finally snap, he quickly picked you up and carried you to your bedroom, throwing you on the bed as he undid his pants. You did the same, you removed your clothes, trying to get them off as quickly as possible.

Thoma grabs you by your ankle and pulls you towards the edge of the bed, where he stands, he lines himself against your slit, rubbing his cock against your clit, “Fuck— I wanted this so so much.” he gasps when he pushes his cock inside you.

You moan in pleasure, your cunt was already wet, he didn't even need to prepare you. All that pent up sexual frustration for weeks had driven you insane.

Thoma slowly picks up the pace, parting your legs wider, his thrusts were desperate, needy, and fast, he had been wanting this too, how long had he had to control himself? He groans when you clench around him. He could die like this and he'd be happy.

The bed shakes as he thrusts into you, your breasts bouncing up and down, he grabs one in his hand before leaning down to take it in his mouth, suckling on the skin and biting it as he ruts into you, you grip his hair when his tip hits a rough part inside of you.

“F-fuck! Yes there— oh archons!” you moan as his tip continuously hits the spot, making you arch your back and rut your hips against him as well, all while he's focused on your tits, “I'm cumming! T-thoma I'm cumming!” you inform him, feeling the band in your core tighten and snap, causing your cunt to flutter around his cock which makes him moan with your nipple in his mouth.

That made him come undone as well, shooting ropes of his cum right inside you, he didn't have the time to pull out, but you didn't mind, he pulled back immediately, pulling his cock out from your cunt and watching his cum drip down, mixed with your juices as your cunt fluttered.

“Fuck, I wanted this so badly.” he whimpers.

“Then why didn't you ask?” you say.

“I wanted you to ask first.”

SCARA is fucking mean, he's so mean towards you, he knows immediately what you want but won't give you it, not until he's satisfied, he knows how shy it makes you, how embarrassed you get, how your expression changes, yet he revels in it.

He will touch you, making you think he won't make you ask because he's aware, oh he doesn't want to make you ask actually, he wants to make you beg for it, everytime he fingers you, eats you out, he stops right when you were about to come undone, earning a frustrating grunt from you.

You thought it would pass and he would eventually make you cum, but he doesn't, he never lets you finish, constantly denying you of your orgasms until you ask, no, beg him to fuck you and make you cum.

“Sc-scara please—!” you yelp, gripping his hair and shoving his face back into your cunt, he stopped his ministrations when you were about to cum, which lead to this moment now, he shut his lips tightly refusing to do anything else, his gripped your hand, which was gripping his hair, tightly, causing you to loosen the hold as he pulled your hand away and crawling on top of you.

He tuts mockingly, “You know darling, this could be easily over if you just asked.” he says and you swallow thickly, “But you won't, will you? You are so stubborn.” he places a sharp kiss against your neck, causing you whimper.

“P-please.” you cry out, “Please what hm?” he pulls away, looking at your face and your expression, the way you bite your lips in preparation, the way your eyebrows furrow as you feel your face heat up at the thought.

He sighs, and tries to get off of you but you grab him and he's taken aback by surprise, and you look him straight in the eyes before you swallow, and push away all the shyness that you felt creeping up your body. “Fuck me.” you whisper.

“Sorry, what did you say? Couldn't hear you.” he says feigning, 'fucking son of a bitch.' you curse inwardly, before once again asking him, “Just fuck me.” you say loudly this time, which causes him to smirk.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks and you nod, frantically shaking your head up and down, “You want me to make you feel good? Bury my cock deep inside of you?” he asks and you nod, “Very well, beg.”

what?

He wants you to beg, and you look at him, his annoying smirk never once having left his face, oh how you wanted to slap it off his face, he lined his cock against your entrance before shoving it in roughly, causing you to groan at the burning intrusion.

You thought maybe he changed his mind, but a moment passes and your cunt adjusts to his cock, but he doesn't move, in fact, he looks at you, waiting for you. You swallow thickly, “P-please fuck me.” you say with your eyes closed.

“No no, look at me, look at me when you beg, tell me how you want me to make you feel good.” he cooes and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, before his slowly pulls his cock out of your cunt and thrusts it into you once again.

“F-fuck- please, please— please make me feel good, want you to make me cum around your cock.” you beg, fighting the urge to close your eyes, tears welling up in your eyes as you cry from embarrassment, he smiles.

“There we go.” he says triumphant, before he thrusts into you roughly, setting a pace at such a brutal speed, your face contorting as he shoves his cock inside and out roughly, he finds joy in your discomfort, trying to adjust to the rhythm.

He pushes your knees to your chest, spreading your legs wider and making him go deeper, he thrusts continue to be violent and rough, it took you few moments to adjust to the rhythm, but when you did, you found pleasure coursing through your veins.

His hand came to stimulate your clit, scooping the slick that leaked from your hole upwards and coat it with it before he rubbed harsh and fast circles.

He moaned when he felt you clench around him, making him go feral and even more faster than he already was, he rubbed fast short circles unto your clit while his cock found your gspot and continued to hit it roughly, the double stimulation drove you crazy.

You felt a coil in your stomach starting to form, you moaned and whimpered below him, before you can process what was happening you came undone, a painful pleasure ripped through you and you felt something wet drip down to the sheets, scara groaned at the sight before he finished with a loud moan as well.

“Fucked you so good that it had you squirting.” he said with a mean chuckle and you felt shy, you just squirted. Of course you did, how could you not? All the pent up orgasms he denied you of was too frustrating.

He propped down next to you on bed and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, gestures like this always confuse you, he's so mean vocally and when he fucks you, but gentle and soft sometimes. You get a mix of everything. But hey you aren't complaining.

“I liked seeing you beg.” he says cheekily, and you look up at him with a playful annoyed face.

“I want you to beg often.”

[stxrysnow]

— your wounds make me bleed.

synopsis. you, being the oh so powerful sorcerer you are, did not even realise the extent of your injuries until you found out that you couldn't stand without the support of something— after defeating the curse, of course. shoko's busy, so, satoru, being the gentleman he is (and also the strange source of comfort you have) decides to take matters in his own hands— while being a pain in the ass, obviously.

however, you joking about your death does not help— and satoru's carefree façade manages to slip, bringing back some memories he had tried to forget.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x reader, hurt/comfort, satoru and reader are highschool friends (frenemies ?), satoru and reader bicker a lot, satoru being a menace, reader is also a menace (lmaoo), mentions of blood (reader is injured), mentions of satoru's past, reader comforts satoru.

jiah’s notes. i miss him so much that it physically hurts me. send help LMAOO—

word count. 1.8k

“tsk. and here i thought that you could take care of yourself, at least,” the white-haired man tuts, and you feel yourself roll your eyes to the back of your head for god-knows-what time again— and that of course earns a smirk from him. “how disappointing. and ah, don’t roll your eyes so much. you might just have a view of your non-existent brain and pass out on me. jeez, i wouldn’t want you to dirty my couch.”

“how fascinating to hear that you care about something, satoru,” your voice feigns bewilderment— a simply amazed look in your eyes as you heave a blissful sigh. “at least you’re not as heartless as i thought. hang on there, expensive leather couch.”

“so you’re admitting you’d pass out, and the fact that you don’t have a brain,” satoru huffs out a laugh, finding amusement in the way you let out a small ‘tsk’ of annoyance.

something about satoru comforts you.

no, it isn’t the comfort that people idealise— no physical contact, no silly gifts or acts of service— it was his mere presence that soothed you, while irritating you at the same time. every word that flowed between you two was either a sugary sweet taunt or a blunt insult— yet, you two found solace in each other in a way that was beyond the comprehension of everyone around you.

including you two.

“if not having a brain will make me cope with your ass, then so be it,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch satoru wrap the bandage in a firm, yet gentle grip around your arm, relishing in the way his eye twitches and his usual shit-eating grin widens in annoyance.

“at least i didn’t get my ass handed back to me by a grade one curse,” the man lets out a scoff. “seriously, how do you even get this beaten-up?”

“hey, ’t wasn’t my fault i only noticed my blood after defeating it,” you say, shifting your position on that damn couch of his, as you felt a sudden urge to fidget with something, “at least it got exorcised.”

“sure,” satoru says, and you swear you could feel him rolling his eyes even through the confines of his blindfold, “very impressive. at least it got exorcised.”

hearing him say those— your— particular words in that mocking, sing-song voice makes an irritated scowl break out into your face, and oh how it makes satoru smile so smugly— making you want to curse the hell out of this menace of a sorcerer.

“you’re applying too much pressure, dumbass,” you mutter, trying not to wince as his fingers tightened the bandages which covered the skin of your hands.

satoru raises a brow, tightening them even more. “deal with it,” he deadpans. “ ’s your fault, ya know? if i keep it loose you’ll start to bleed. again. over my couch.”

the damned couch again.

honestly? you knew that he couldn’t give lesser shits about the furniture, and that he was just saying that to piss you off. and what was even more infuriating was that it was working.

really, years of experience with satoru gojo had changed nothing— and everything in your feelings towards him.

“get it over with the couch, will ya?” it’s your turn to let out an annoyed scoff, which undoubtedly makes the sorcerer let out a snicker of his own.

“sometimes i wonder how you even ended up becoming a sorcerer,” satoru wraps a band-aid around your scratched fingers, “thought you’d leave the job and become a farmer or somethin’, y’know.”

“unlike you, i had spent too much of an effort in the projects yaga gave us in highschool, so there’s no way i’d let it go in vain,” you shake your head, “it would be too embarrassing.”

besides, you’d rather die than see satoru’s laughing face if you ever decided to change your profession just because you weren’t able to handle a curse or two.

“you never change, do you?” satoru huffs out a laugh, and oh god if he didn’t wipe that agonizing smirk off his face within the next second, you’d gladly do the honours— if only you weren't in so much pain, though, “always so damn reckless. it’s a miracle you have me to tend to your wounds, or else just where you be?”

“dead, most probably,” you say with sarcasm dripping down your words, expecting a scoff of amusement in response— but it never came.

you tear your gaze away from the dried gash on your arm to meet satoru's piercing, piercing stare— it was really a wonder how that guy manages to make you feel his eyes bearing into the depths of your soul even though you couldn't quite actually see them because of the shield his blindfold created.

satoru feels a whirl of emotions in him— eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and you just know that he is not, in fact, amused.

not even in the slightest.

his heart is racing— and if he had his blindfold off, you’d see how his usually bright, azure eyes had a darkened glint in them— something which just screamed out the fact that he was unsettled, uncontrolled— afraid.

as the tense seconds pass, he gives you a little glare, his expression hardening.

“. . that’s not funny,” he utters, before averting his gaze down to your arm. his efficient hands wrap the gauze around your limb almost in a mechanical movement— the little frown never leaving his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

oh.

your gaze softens, watching the sorcerer quietly tend to your wounds, noticing how his gaze lingers on a particularly deep gash on your leg— how his fingers tremble ever so slightly when his touch stays on the burn for a little too long— you notice it, of course you do.

he's thinking about suguru again.

there wasn't quite a time when he didn't— at least he didn’t show it to anyone. but you, you see him for who he is— the lonely man who’s just wanted some love, and not just the title of being ‘the strongest’— the man who still yearns for his best friend to come back, even though he's . . . gone.

you always see through him.

you should've considered your words before joking about something like that, really.

no matter how much of an annoying bastard satoru may be to you, but still, he was satoru to you. not 'the strongest', not the guy who always had that stupid smile plastered on his face at all times, not the guy whom the world saw as undefeatable— no, he was something much, much more.

you watch his tense demeanour threaten to consume him alive— how his hands shake no matter how much he tries to make them steady, how his shoulders go rigid when they were usually slumped carelessly, how his bottom lip quivers— it was just a tiny movement, yet you manage to see.

how could you not see earlier that you words would've affected him? god, you felt so stupid.

“ . . hey,” hearing the soft tone in your voice makes something inside satoru snap— raising his head to forcefully avert his gaze from your injuries to your face— heart beating so loud that he’s unsure whether you wouldn’t have noticed.

but then again, you were you, and satoru was, well . . . satoru.

his eyes widen— seeing you open your arms with that soft, apologetic smile— and before the sorcerer knows, he’s burying his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tight around your injured frame; his lower body on the floor as he nuzzles into your arms on the couch.

most people would’ve hesitated, casted him a wary look of disbelief— the satoru gojo, reduced to a trembling mess just because someone joked about their death? the satoru gojo, who still blames himself for his best friend’s death? the satoru gojo, who’s known as ‘the strongest’— being vulnerable?

indeed, it is the satoru gojo, clinging onto you like a lifeline, large hands of his gripping you so tightly that he's afraid that you might disappear the moment his hold loosens.

your satoru.

arms wrapped around his neck as you shush him, bandaged fingers running through his snowy white strands whilst his shoulders shake— oh how you regretted saying that.

“ . . i hate it when you say stuff like that,” he mutters, and if you didn’t have a knack for noticing subtle things about it, you wouldn’t have seen a barely audible crack in his voice.

“ ’m sorry,” you say in a quiet, soothing tone, pulling away a bit to stare at his face, and god did your heart wrench— satoru's bottom lip was red from him biting on them so much.

gingerly, one of your hands unlatches itself from around his neck, going to gently slip under the hem of his blindfold — as you slowly pull it down, revealing those mystical eyes of his— so terrified that you feel the fear radiating off him.

he seems so, so vulnerable like this— a desperation and fright seizing his entire soul as he stares at you. you cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing his soft, warm skin.

“don’t . . . don’t joke about stuff like that,” he says in breathless, shaky whisper— eyebrows furrowing even more as his breath stutters, and from this moment on you swear to yourself to never say something like that again. not if it hurts satoru.

ever.

“i won’t,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “ ’m sorry, satoru.”

you pull his head down so he’s laying it on your chest, arms wrapped around his neck as you massage his scalp soothingly.

satoru’s shoulders relax, his heart easing a bit from hearing your gentle tone, panicked eyes fluttering close as he lets out a small, shaky sigh, burying his face into your chest— so desperate for comfort, for some kind of reassurance that you are okay, that you won’t leave, that you’ll . . .

stay.

you run your hands through his fluffy locks, gently easing the tension that had accumulated within him with simple movements of your fingertips— earning a soft, relaxed sigh from him.

“keep doing that,” you hear him mutter, and you let out a hum in response, continuing to massage his scalp. “don’t . . . don’t stop. please.”

this is how two you seeked comfort from each other.

something that was beyond words— something that was beyond everyone.

including you two.

as you two lay on the couch— two souls craving reassurances from the other— time ticks by, but oh do you care? not even a bit.

“don’t leave me,” satoru whispers, and you find yourself letting out a murmur of approval, caressing his hair. “i was so scared, i can’t lose you too, i—”

“i’ll stay, satoru.”

and so, you do. as long as you’re here with satoru, he has nothing to fear.

as long as you stay.

☆ @stxrysnow on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

[ateliersss]

Blooming Family Part 3 - He Shan‘t Lose

Pairing: Yautja x F!Reader Summary: Mere two months ago, you returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 6,716 Part 1: here Part 2: here Masterlist

⇨ Oh, I missed my Mi‘ytiar.

⇨ I can't believe I finally got this done and I'm able to present this to you. Also, my birthday, guys! God, I'm 20 and I already feel old. Please spoil me with comments, re-blogs and likes.

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

“Be'jaa, go! Go! Good boy.” You laughed as you watched your four-legged companion chase after the trail he had scented.

Hell Hounds, they were called, and probably the closest thing to a pet you could get on Yautja Prime. You learned quickly, after your first encounter with them, that they were similar to the hounds on Earth, and like hounds on Earth, they had one purpose — hunting prey.

Unlike a curious Beagle, a devoted Pointer, or a stubborn Basset Hound, Hell Hounds were more similar to Yautjas than dogs, both in looks and characteristics. But you still could recognize some traits that reminded you of your childhood dog.

You didn’t hunt with Hell Hounds often — it was more special and intimate when it was just you and Mi‘ytiar — but your mate had insisted that at least one of them should accompany you. As experience showed, the two of you had to split up at times; sometimes he also kept in the shadows, high on top of a tree, to watch you hunt on your own. It was simply a safety measure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle the prey on your own. The creatures you hunted were either as small as a cat or as big as a horse. They were insignificant opponents, laughable for a Yautja and not nearly on their hunting standard, but Mi‘ytiar felt different. He didn‘t care how tiny or weak the prey was compared to him.

It wasn't about him, after all.

Those hunts were solely for you, so you could be a part of his culture without him having to worry about endangering your life. 

He had been ecstatic when you voiced your wish years ago for him to teach you how to hunt, how to track, and kill as it was custom on his home planet. And even now, after you had exceeded his expectations, he still was immensely proud of you every time you succeeded.

No, Be'jaa wasn’t only there for tracking or for flushing out his targets, but also for guarding. You were in the final stages of your pregnancy, and your strength, your speed, and your stamina had decreased, leaving you more vulnerable should prey ambush you. 

Speaking of him, he had been gone for quite some time.

“Be'jaa?” You called, whistled, and waited for a moment for him to return to you.

When you neither could hear him bark, or see him running towards you, you tried calling him again, “Be'jaa?”

And again.

“Be–”

The other half of his name turned into a strained whimper as a stabbing pain pierced through your body, coming from your stomach. You stifled a scream, but when something wet suddenly ran down your legs, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

You knew what this meant.

Your water just broke.

“Oh no. Not now, my sweetling.”

Clutching your stomach, breathing in and out, you slowly approached a tree and practically slumped against it. One of your hands gripped the meaty texture of the tree trunk for support, the other snaked down and between your thighs. When you pulled your hand back, it was coated with the clear substance of the amniotic fluid.

And blood. There was also blood on your fingers, but it was nothing too alarming. When you had been pregnant with Akail, there had been blood too, but it was still an unsettling sight to you.

“Ahhh!” You cried out as another wave of agonizing pain washed through you, your head thrown back.

As much as you had enjoyed the mostly perfect pregnancy, you had completely forgotten about birthing the pup at the end. Maybe you had just pushed the whole thing aside since the mere memory of Akail‘s birth was still able to instill that deep-rooted dread within your body.

You went into labor when both moons were at their zenith.

Mi’ytiar, who had slept peacefully next to you, was hovering over you the second you tried to wake him up. 

It took one panicked look from you and he knew what was going on. 

He got up from his lying position on your nest and knelt beside you.

You had already pushed the furs you used as a blanket to the side and he saw your legs shining with moisture in the moonlight.

“My water broke.” You faintly answered his silent question. “Our little one is coming.”

Mi’ytiar was on high alert as he knew what that meant. 

He tried to lift you into his arms, his mind fully set on bringing you to Cahrein, the healer, but unfortunately, a contraction hit you right at that moment. The pain plus the one you felt as Mi’ytiar lifted you up ripped a heart-wrenching scream from your throat. 

It hurt so very much that you punched him out of instinct, an instinct telling you to do anything to stop the pain, hitting him right in the face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Mi‘ytiar. I’m so sorry.”

His heart clenched at that. 

You shouldn’t apologize. He’d barely felt the impact anyways, your human strength too weak to actually hurt him, but he didn’t deserve to not feel anything. 

He should have felt pain, should have been knocked from his feet.

He had hurt you, had caused you more pain than you were already feeling.

You noticed the guilty expression on your mate’s face and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, tahní. It‘s o–”

You cut yourself off as you pressed your lips together while another contraction hit you.

“–kay. It’s okay.” You panted, “Just get Cahrein.”

Mi’ytiar shook his head determinedly as he placed his free hand on yours, which clasped his other hand in a death grip. 

“Cannot leave you.” He growled.

Another contraction made you cry out, “Mi’ytiar, please!”

It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally leave your side to get the healer.

You understood that he didn‘t want to leave you on your own, out of fear something bad would happen to you if he let you out of his sight only for a second, but you needed Cahrein to deliver your son safely.

The healer had gotten to work as soon as his eyes met your tiny, withering body. Putting aside the various instruments he had taken with him — you recognized them from one of your visits where he had shown you which ones he used for births — he helped you to remove the panties that you wore with the little piece of clothing you called nightie, which you had already pulled up, over your bulging stomach, and out of the way.

Usually, you and your mate slept naked with nothing shielding you from each other’s skin, but since you got closer and closer to due-day you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to keep at least a little of your dignity, not wanting to lie completely bare in front of Cahrein. 

Even though you knew he wouldn‘t care, taking his job far too seriously for that, your body in all its naked glory was meant for Mi’ytiar‘s eyes and Mi’ytiar‘s eyes only.

With your mate on one side and the healer on the other, you spent hours in indescribable agony.

Mentally, you were so far gone, blacking out for a second here and there. You barely caught how Mi’ytiar was insistently talking to you, or how Cahrein alternately injected you with a transparent and a bright green fluid.

It felt like a miracle when the unbearable pain decreased bit by bit, but not fully disappeared. Your fuzzy mind and your blurry view started to clear. 

With the pain now more bearable, you could finally focus on the natural instinct that told you to push.

What you didn’t know was that the following screams and cries woke up the clan in alarm, gathering almost everyone in front of your home, eagerly awaiting the new addition. 

This occasion was special, after all. Their fierce and mighty leader was expecting his first pup, something no one had expected to happen. Ever.

The tense uncertainty inside and outside of your home dissipated as soon as the whiny squeals of your newborn pup finally filled the air.

“Such a bad timing, my sweetling.” You mewled.

Tears were gathering in your eyes and you quickly blinked them away. You didn’t know if it was because of the pain of the contractions, which were now four minutes apart, or out of fear of being all alone in a hostile environment.

With your tongue between your teeth, you waited until the pain subsided, fully intending to call for your mate, but when you did, his name only escaped your lips in a short-winded whisper.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

Biting back a sob, you formed your hand into a fist and hit your chest repeatedly, trying to get yourself to breathe regularly again. And when you thought you had enough air in your lungs, you bellowed, “Mi’ytiar!”

Your breath hitched and tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You bend your upper body forward, towards the tree, and pressed the palms of your hands against the tree trunk. With your head facing the ground, tears left your eyes, and rolled down the bridge of your nose before dripping down the tip to the forest floor.

You were crying and panting, your body clenching every time another contraction hit you.

“Mi’ytiar, please, please… I need you… please, please.” You begged, your voice barely audible.

Contentment.

That’s all you could feel as you adjusted your lying position on the soft fur and the woolen and cotton fabrics of your nest. It was living up to its name as it reminded you of an actual nest, a bird’s nest; just as round but with more comfortable materials. Mi’ytiar had been very picky, something that amused you to no end.

That and the fireplace embedded into the floor, enclosing the round platform the nest was on, kept you warm and cozy.

You and the pup that was sleeping on your chest.

Little Akail let out little purrs while he enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s body that kept him tranquil and happy.

Only ten hours old and he already had such a significant place in this clan and his parent’s hearts.

You hummed quietly to your pup, only looking up from the endearing sight when Mi’ytiar entered your home and came to a halt in front of your nest, taking in the very welcome view of his (tantalizing naked) mate and his newborn son.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You warned him playfully when you noticed his heated gaze racking over your body.

“Back on Earth, some parents hold their babies like this. The skin and warmth forges a strong bond between them and the baby can get used to its parents’ touch.” You explained, your fingers slowly caressing Akail‘s back.

Mi’ytiar only clicked his mandibles in acknowledgment before he started to take off his armor and his traditional clothing as clan leader. 

You had to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself of your own scolding words only seconds ago, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. Your mate was a fine specimen, a strong and gorgeous Yautja. You were one hell of a lucky woman.

You watched him get on the nest, now only dressed in his loin cloth, and he moved on his knees towards you. 

You wrapped an arm around Akail — still curled up into a ball with his head tucked under your chin and his feet resting on your belly — and got up into a sitting position.

Mi’ytiar grabbed you by your thigh and hip, lifted you up, and pulled you to him so you were sitting on his thighs while your legs were wrapped around the width of his hips.

He looped his arms around you, drawing you into an embrace, so little Akail was now nestled between both of his parents’ warm bodies.

The smile that had grown on your lips since the moment Mi’ytiar had entered your home was now so bright and wide your cheeks started to hurt. 

But you didn’t really care. You couldn‘t hide the sheer happiness you were feeling right now at this moment.

You felt movement against your throat and above the valley of your breasts, and when you looked down as best as you could manage, you saw Akail nuzzle his face into your skin while his tiny hand was now lying on your chest where your heart was beating.

You wanted to cry happy tears.

You had never expected to become a mother, never planned on it, never even remotely wanted it if you were being honest, but having your baby now in your arms made every antipathy disappear. 

You placed a soft kiss on Akail‘s head, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t wake up.

“He’s perfect.” You whispered and looked up at Mi’ytiar who was already watching you intently. “Are you happy?”

He cocked his head to the side, his chest vibrating when he confirmed, “Happy.”

He felt Akail‘s small body against his own, felt his tiny body press against his every time he was breathing.

Breathing.

A beating heart.

Alive.

He loosened the embrace of one of his arms around your body to reach between the two of you and for his son, his fingers tracing from Akail‘s forehead to the back of his head — there, he had the same scale pattern as his father, only with reversed colors — and from his temple over the hints of dreads on each side of his little head with his thumb.

Akail was indeed perfect, just like his mother, and he loved him with all his heart already, but the price he almost had to pay for having him here…

“I thought I would lose you today.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

“For a second, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never meet our son." You nodded, thinking about the sharp pain and the feeling of life leaving your body as your pup fought his way out of you. “But Cahrein had prepared me as well as he was able to. He helped me through it. Who knows, hadn’t he injected me with your blood…”

You trailed off when Akail began to stir. You quickly started to rock him up and down, luring him back to sleep.

“He’s a very gifted male. I’ve trusted him with my life since the first time we visited him together after my arrival here so many moons ago.”

You adjusted your arm and its hold on Akail, the other reached up and cupped Mi’ytiar’s cheek. You let your fingertips glide over the scaly texture of his skin and dragged them over his jaw to his chin, down his throat to the middle of his chest.

“He also told me that I would be able to give you another pup in a foreseeable future…”

Mi’ytiar frowned, asking skeptically, “After what you gone through today?”

You shrugged and leaned your head forward, your cheek pressed against his pec. “I’m not talking about now or tomorrow, my love, but someday. In a few years, maybe.”

Mi’ytiar bristled, a loud rumble shaking his torso. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He shook his head, a very human gesture in your eyes. “You almost died.”

You smiled into his skin. Protective through and through, even when it came to his own offspring.

You were incredibly lucky to be chosen by a Yautja like him. 

It was rare for them to be interested in a human. It was rarer for them to treat that human-like an equal instead of a slave or one of many lovers. It was the rarest for a human to be injected with Yautja blood to largely adapt to their DNA and enable life on their planet.

And Mi’ytiar told you himself — you were the only human ever being Life-Mated to a Yautja who carried his offspring and had a similar leading role as him as the mate of a leader; all in one.

You were the rarest of the rarest, a uniqueness, something completely new.

But humans had birthed Yautja-Human-hybrids long before you, most of them more than one or two.

“The next time will be different, Mi’ytiar. My body will be stronger and mentally I will be more prepared.” You told him and peppered his chest with feather-light kisses before you looked up at him again, a loving smile on your lips. “You shan’t lose me.”

You whimpered in relief when you finally heard the familiar growling bark of a Hell Hound. 

“Be'jaa!” You called, “I’m… here!”

You felt something move under you and fill the free space between your bend-over position against the tree. You opened your eyes, which you had closed to calm yourself and your breath, and looked down to see the Hound’s face already fixed on yours.

“N‘yaka-de. Get him.” You panted and watched as Be'jaa turned around to run.

When he suddenly stopped to walk hesitantly back to you, not liking the fact he was about to leave you behind who was obviously in distress, you stomped with your foot and yelled, “Be'jaa, fucking now!”

He darted off and you felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out. After all, he was loyal and a surprisingly good cuddle partner.

“Argh!” You cried out when another stabbing sensation almost made your legs give out.

Once again it felt like you were being torn apart, but at least you didn‘t feel like you were closer to death than life like at Akail‘s birth over 30 years ago. You were kind of proud of yourself, actually, considering you were still able to stand. 

Yeah, standing against a tree for support instead of lying in your warm and soft nest where you had actually planned to deliver your second pup. You didn‘t want to give birth in an unsafe environment, with no Mi’ytiar and no Cahrein. 

But who would have expected that your pup was ready to be welcomed into the world on a hunt?

You did. 

You had felt premature labor pains for two days now, but you hadn’t paid them any mind as Akail was born only six days after those pains had started. 

But even those pains had felt different in those two days, so why hadn‘t you just listened to your body when it undoubtedly told you “No!” while you answered Mi’ytiar‘s question “Hunt?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” ?

You knew the answer to that, too. 

While women on Earth had to stop certain activities at one point in their pregnancy and were limited in their doings, Yautja females could still follow their everyday lives throughout their whole pregnancy. Meaning, they could still jump from one obstacle to another, chase their prey, and kill it. 

Thinking that you were able to do that too had been utterly stupid and arrogant, but you just didn’t want to seem weak. Yes, the clan had accepted you and saw you as one of them, as the mate of their leader, but you couldn’t stop the suffocating need to prove yourself again and again.

It was unnecessary. Mi’ytiar had told you that, Cahrein had told you that, the Females you liked to spend your time with and considered friends told you that and, hell, even a few Males that were close to your mate told you that.

But here you were, crying and groaning when another contraction cursed through your body. You regretted leaving your cozy home, regretted not being pampered by your loving mate in your nest, and regretted leaving your son behind, who had been by your side all the time, hovered over you in case he had to step in should you need anything in your state, followed you around like a lost puppy if you weren’t napping in your nest.

It reminded you of the time when he had been much younger and much smaller. He had been practically attached to your hip and everywhere you went, he was there. He had been such an adorable and shy little boy. Who were you kidding? He still was, but you missed those times anyway. He had grown up too fast.

You were nervous.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, you watched the hustle and bustle in the distance. They were preparing for the departure of the five Young Bloods who would soon leave for a faraway world to hunt and complete their initiation into Adulthood.

Among them was your son, your Akail, who would leave you for who knows how long to presumably search for the largest and most dangerous beast and kill it to prove himself.

Just like his father, you thought.

In the first year of your relationship, Mi'ytiar had told you everything imaginable about himself, and one evening about his own initiation ritual. He had told you how reckless and sure of himself he had been as a Young Blood, how he threw himself into danger to impress his clan.

Although that had secured his position as leader, he’d summoned his son the day before to admonish him to proceed with caution, to be logical and strategic, and to not let arrogance control him.

Lost in worried thoughts, you didn't notice as Mi'ytiar approached you, dropped to one knee, and pulled you to his torso with his strong arms. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his mandibles running through it.

He loved your hair. It was just as soft as the rest of you.

“What on your mind, yawne?” He asked.

“I’m scared.” You breathed.

“On your home planet, oomans worry too when child leaves?”

You put your hand on one of his arms that was wrapped around you. “They do, but not like this. On Earth, human children leave the safety of their homes every day to go to school, to learn, and then they will return. In a few hours Akail will leave the safety of his home to finish school, so to say, but will he return?” You told him absentmindedly, your attention still fixed on the ship. “Human parents don't have to fear that particular day when their children go on a journey to possibly get killed just because of a custom.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Do not be scared.” He said.

“I can’t help it. I’m his mother.”

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle that sounded more like a growl than an actual laugh.

“And I his father.” He said and turned you around, not loosening the close embrace. “I trained him well. Made him strong and made him smart. Doubting my skills, yawne?”

Although he had already lowered himself, reducing his height to be closer to you, you still had to raise your head to look at him.

God, you loved his eyes. Even though there were rare variations at times among their kind — sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes a darker shade, sometimes more orange than yellow — the eyes of all Yautja had the same color.

But to you, Mi'ytiar’s eyes were different, even though one couldn’t possibly spot a difference when he was standing next to other Yautja. To you, they were brighter, more intense, more expressive. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you, with so much gentle affection and love you wouldn't credit a beast of his stature with.

“Of course, I’m not. I could never.”

You suddenly could feel large arms engulfing your body from behind, pulling you into an upright-standing position, and you just let yourself instinctively fall into their embrace.

You knew those limbs, knew their warmth and their strength.

“Mi’ytiar, the pup… the pup is coming.” You panted and dug your fingernails into his forearm.

You felt him move behind you. He lifted you up, his arms supporting your back and the back of your knees as he held you to his torso. He briefly registered how you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck before he took off.

He ran like he never did. At the same time, he was careful not to let your body jolt around too much as he jumped over fallen tree trunks and climbed rocks to reach the Scout Ship while you clung to him.

Every time a contraction hit, he could feel your body tense in his arms and your mouth press against his chest as you muffled another scream.

Oh, how he wished he could take away the pain, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it was at Akail’s birth.

Mi’ytiar remembered your glistening tears and your little withering body, how you had squeezed his hand so hard that even he had felt pain, and how you had begged both him and Cahrein to stop it. Especially the fear of death in your eyes haunted him to this day.

He had almost lost you — you, his precious human — all those years ago and it had been his entire fault.

The possibility of becoming a father had been zero, non-existent, and at one point in his life, he had accepted the fact that he may be not meant to be a father. He stopped caring and someday just forgot about it entirely. The wish to continue his line like any proud leader faded away and instead he settled for the idea of passing on his knowledge and experiences to the pups and Younglings of his people.

Then he met you, this petite beautiful thing, when he was lounging on a building near an alley. He heard you before he saw you, heard you and them.

They were calling you strange names and were whistling after you before they decided to follow you down the street. Trying to escape them, you took a left turn and quickened your strides as you crossed the alley.

Mi’ytiar, who was attracted by the noises, slid down the rooftop and soundlessly landed on the metal balcony of one of the apartments. Even from the third floor, he had a perfect view of what was happening down in the alley as the men grabbed you, pushed and pulled on you, and he felt mildly impressed when you started fighting back; kicking, scratching and screaming.

The men’s playful, taunting behavior quickly turned fatal when one of them, fed up with your attempts to flee, slapped you so hard across the face that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and fell backwards to the ground.

Your screams quickly turned desperate when one of them pushed up your skirt and tore on your panties, mumbling something about teaching you a lesson, while his companions held you down.

At this point, Mi’ytiar knew something had been wrong. Mating between a Yautja male and female consisted of fighting each other, too, but not like this; not with more than one male and not with the female resisting long after the male fought the female into submission.

Your behavior told him everything he needed to know — you weren’t even close to being interested in mating with those males — and before things could get any worse, he jumped down and killed those who forced themselves on you.

By the time four bodies in various morbid states of dismemberment were littering the alley, your whole body was trembling as you stayed on the ground, cowering.

He had crouched down to your level and one of his bloodied claws reached out to touch your face, your horror-widened eyes watching him with caution.

To him, you were what a kitten was to a human. You were so small, he noted, so small and soft and pink. He also thought you were beautiful, contrastive to what Yautja usually thought about your kind. He took you with him that night and the rest was history.

Even though you weren’t a suitable mate, his clan begrudgingly accepted the idea of a human being with their leader. He couldn’t have pups anyway, so why not just let him indulge himself and let him seek happiness and pleasure in other things?

And then, one day, you told him about your wish to carry his pup. He had been excited, absolutely ecstatic, but not about the image of your rounding belly with his offspring — he knew he was unable to have one — and rather about the fact that you were willing to mate with him in a way that could lead to a child. The fact you loved him and trusted him enough was all he cared about.

As much as he loved his son, he should have done something the second both of you learned that you were pregnant. He had been so overjoyed his human mate was extraordinarily able to have his pup that he never thought about possible consequences.

Anyone would have had serious doubts and would have objected because there was no way a human would survive that, but Mi’ytiar didn’t, too blown away by the prospect of becoming a father.

That changed as the day of the pup being due crept closer and closer, and slowly worry and fear set in.

And to make one thing clear: if you hadn’t been injected with Yautja blood from the beginning — first daily, then weekly, then monthly, until it stopped years ago — you wouldn’t have made it and Akail would have torn you apart from the inside out.

He was glad that Cahrein had kept a cool head and realized that his blood would help you when all other means had failed.

It was like history was repeating itself as he tried to focus on the task at hand — getting you to the ship — and not let the fluid running down his arms and body distract him. He wished he hadn’t dared to look down, to look down and see the blood you were losing, coming from a source that was his fault.

Why did he let you convince him to have a second pup? Why did the mere thought of getting you pregnant again make him so ignorant of your near-death experience? Why did he listen to Cahrein when he told the both of you that another pup was possible? Why did he forget that you weren’t like his kind?

His heavy, thumping footsteps suddenly sounded different, and when you pulled your face away from his chest to look around, you noticed the soft earth of the forest had been replaced by the cold metal of the ship.

As careful and gentle as he could in his rattled state, he put you down on the closest surface he could find — the table used for planning, briefing, and orientation with several holo-maps — and slammed his fist down on the surface. He growled and hissed a few words you couldn’t understand. Your translating earpieces were perfectly fine, but your brain was only picking up the pain shooting through your body instead of noticing any stimuli from your surroundings.

You were so out of it, the tears blurring your view, that you missed the conversation between Mi’ytiar and the holographic image of Cahrein.

“Mi’ytiar.” Cahrein greeted his leader in the customary way of placing his left fist on the right side of his chest while slightly bowing down his head.

“The pup is coming.” Mi’ytiar said without hesitation, straight to the point.

Cahrein rounded the table to stand next to him and he leaned over you to get a better look at you. He reached out to grab your calves to open your legs, but his hands went right through you.

“Pauk. I can’t help her like this. You have to bring her here.”

“No.” You cried out, answering before Mi’ytiar could even open his mouth. “The pup is coming now.”

Cahrein looked conflicted, contemplating about what to do next as he was restricted in his actions. He could already tell that this was going to be hard.

“Mi’ytiar, I packed a Medicomp for emergencies when you said you two would go hunt. Get it.”

You let out a whine when your mate disappeared from your side, which was quickly occupied by the healer who noticed your distress. “Calm, (Y/N), calm.”

“It hurts so much.” You cried out.

“I know.” He retorted and eyed the red fluid running down your thighs to your calves, dripping down your toes. “You need to take off clothes.”

With trembling hands, you started to open the pants-like cloth that hugged your legs like a second skin and circled them from your ankles up to your hips. You struggled with the complicated lacing and cursed as you began to rip on them out of frustration.

Bigger hands replaced yours and when you looked up, you saw that Mi’ytiar had returned and stood between your legs. He used his sharp claws to cut the cords open and he pulled the rest of the garment down. He was more considerate with the bloodied panties underneath and tried not to rip them, although you believed that they were irreversibly ruined.

The first and last time he had torn your panties to shreds, you had scolded him for it after he was done fucking you from behind like a dog in his rut. You didn’t have much of your human clothes left — most of it had been replaced by self-made clothes of local fabrics inspired by their style anyway — but what you definitely wanted to keep was your underwear. So when Mi’ytiar returned to you one day from a spontaneous trip to Earth with a dozen new undies, you had been more than thankful.

Mi’ytiar grabbed your ankles, placed both of your feet flat on the table, and spread your thighs apart, stepping aside for Cahrein to finally take a look at you.

The healer’s holo-image got down on his knees and peered between them at what was happening between your legs.

You wanted to hide and press them back together, but you knew that it wasn’t much of help and just let him do his thing. Instead, you let your head loll to the side and looked at your mate.

Mi’ytiar had his hands in fists, keeping them tightly pressed to his sides, and he watched Cahrein with concern and something else in his eyes. You knew he was worried about you. He tried to hide it, tried putting his true feelings behind the mask of a collected and strong leader and warrior like he always did in dicey situations, but you could see right through it.

“And?” He urged Cahrein to finally give him an answer.

“She is ready. She has to push.”

“What about the blood?”

“Incidental. She has to push.”

So that’s what you did.

Taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the table for the support, you strained every muscle in your body. The resulting, blood-curdling scream even got the two Yautja to flinch and Mi’ytiar lunged forward. He pried your fingers away from the table where you had been holding on for dear life, and intertwined them with his. You instantly squeezed them and Mi’ytiar let out a surprised hiss.

After a moment, your tense body slumped down. It simply gave up after not being able to endure the pain any longer.

“You need to keep going.”

“I can’t.” You hiccuped, choking on your tears as you shook your head vehemently.

“You can. You did this 30 years ago. It was impressive. I never expected such a tiny creature to survive, but you did. You will again.” Cahrein turned to Mi’ytiar and pointed to the Medicomp. “Take the syringe, take your blood and inject it.”

Rather reluctantly, he loosened the hold you had on him and opened the Medicomp. He rummaged through it, found the syringe, and jabbed it into the flesh of his arm, uncaring of the following pain. You were far more important than anything else right now.

While he filled the syringe with his fluorescent-green blood, Cahrein was talking to you and encouraged you to keep going. He tried to distract you and keep your mind from drifting off to a place of no return.

“Something is wrong.” He murmured after a while.

He had watched Mi’ytiar inject you with three doses of his blood already, but you still were in agonizing pain. You even had lost consciousness twice, something that hadn’t even happened when you birthed your first pup.

You squeezed your eyes shut and only opened them again when the pain subsided a bit. “W-What?”

“You should have started crowning already, but you don’t.”

“Why?” You asked in a long-drawn cry.

Cahrein, for the first time in over thirty years, looked baffled and completely clueless. He couldn’t explain it as he had no idea himself. There had never been complications when the females of his clan gave birth. You were the only exception.

“What are typical problems that arise for oomans during childbirth?” He asked, not knowing what else he could do.

It took a moment until you became aware that you had been asked a question.

“Am-Amniotic fluid e-enters the bloodstream… the u-uterus tears… the ba-baby is in an abnormal p-position… it’s s-stuck…” You offered between pained huffs, trying to come up with as many options as you could think of. “In most emergencies, w-when a natural birth isn’t possible, they d-do a c-section… they cut into t-the woman’s belly a-and get the baby out... and then…”

Mi’ytiar wanted you to stop talking. He wanted you to stop putting images of your cut-open body in front of him. He wanted you to stop making him think of your lifeless form after the pup was pulled out of it.

“You have to incise into her abdomen. I will instruct you.” Cahrein finally said.

Mi’ytiar immediately straightened his back and let out a roar. “No!”

“If you do it, either the pup and (Y/N) survive, or just the pup... but if you do nothing, then they will both die.” Cahrein pressed and eyed you for a second.

You were running out of time.

“I… I can’t.”

He sounded defeated. You had never ever expected to see him like this — so vulnerable, so hopeless, so broken. He was the definition of strength, of courage, of accountability, of resilience, and now only a hollow shadow of the man he was was standing in front of you, thinking about the chance of losing his entire world.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t.

How could it be possible for him to live, breathe, without you?

He had a taste of a life he never wanted to leave, a life he wasn’t able to quit, a life only something as extraordinary as you could give him. Not because you were human, although that was probably one of the aspects, but because you were you.

He loved you.

You had taught him that love was the most valuable thing to a person. Love was worth more than anything else in life. It was such a strong, overwhelming feeling no one could put exactly into words until one actually felt it.

And he loved you.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.” You urged him between panting breaths. “Save our… our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Mi’ytiar looked down at you as you begged him to do something he wasn’t willing to do in a million years. Cahrein would have hesitated in his stead, but he wasn’t your mate and would have cut into you. Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, could never do something that would harm you.

But he already did, though. He had doomed you the second his seed took.

“Mi’ytiar!” Cahrein barked and pulled the male out of his thoughts.

His body was on autopilot when his hand reached for a scalpel-like tool from the Medicomp.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried out.

The only thing you felt was relief as your body slowly went numb, tears clouding your view. Everything around you became blurry and Mi'ytiar started to disappear. The world around you grew darker and darker as he set the sharp blade onto your skin and slowly applied pressure, cutting into you until blood flowed onto the table, and down to the floor of the ship, creating a red puddle.

You never even registered the feeling of him cutting you open.

Your body shut down before you could.

continue with the fourth part He Shall Prevail

[ms-snape]

Jealous severus x reader? maybe involving lockheart

Title: Someone Like Me?

Warning: Angst, jealous severus, lockhart

Words Count: 3000+

Masterlist

---

The air in the Hogwarts greenhouse was thick with the scent of soil and herbs as Y/N moved gently through the rows of plants. She had always found comfort here, among the vibrant greenery and the soft hum of magical growth. Herbology was her sanctuary, and each day she poured her heart into tending to the rare plants and teaching her students how to care for them with the same tenderness.

It was peaceful, or at least, it had been until recently.

As of late, her tranquility had been invaded by a certain new presence at the school—Gilderoy Lockhart, the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His arrival had caused quite the stir, especially among the female students and even some of the staff, but for Y/N, his constant attention was becoming more than a little uncomfortable.

At first, she had thought it was just harmless friendliness. Lockhart had swept into her greenhouse on the first week of term, his toothy smile gleaming as brightly as the medals on his robes.

"My dear Professor Y/N!" he had exclaimed, clasping his hands together in a gesture that was all too theatrical. "I must say, you have the most enchanting little space here! It’s no wonder the students speak so highly of you."

Y/N had blushed, embarrassed by the attention, and murmured something about the plants deserving the praise, not her. Lockhart, however, had waved away her modesty with a laugh that echoed too loudly in the intimate confines of the greenhouse.

"Nonsense, nonsense! I can see that you put as much care into your work as I do into my own," he said, leaning in just a little too close. "You and I, we have much in common, I think."

She had smiled politely, trying not to shrink under his overly familiar presence. She wasn’t used to people being so forward with her. It wasn’t that she was oblivious—Y/N had noticed Lockhart’s flirtations—but she simply didn’t know how to respond. Confrontation wasn’t in her nature, and she didn’t want to create awkwardness among the staff. So, she had smiled, and tried to extricate herself from his attention as gracefully as she could.

But it didn’t stop there.

Lockhart’s visits to the greenhouse became more frequent. He would find reasons to come by during her lessons, interrupting her with flamboyant anecdotes about his supposed adventures. The students would giggle or roll their eyes, but Y/N found herself growing more and more uneasy. His compliments had become more pointed, more personal, always accompanied by a lingering touch on her arm or a too-familiar smile.

"Professor Y/N," Lockhart had said one afternoon, as he appeared at her greenhouse once more, his robes billowing dramatically behind him. "I was just telling the Headmaster how much we make the perfect team, you and I. Perhaps we should write a book together! Herbs and Heroics, don’t you think? It would sell like that." He snapped his fingers, leaning toward her again.

Y/N’s discomfort had risen, her hands twisting nervously around a sprig of dittany. "I—I’m really not a writer, Professor Lockhart. I don’t think—"

"Nonsense!" he interrupted, his tone dripping with charm. "With your knowledge of plants and my experience, we’d make quite the pair. Don’t you think?"

His hand brushed her shoulder as he spoke, and Y/N stiffened slightly. She gave a weak smile, hoping he’d take the hint, but once again, she found herself trapped by her own politeness. She didn’t want to upset him, didn’t want to cause a scene, but Merlin, how she wished he would leave her alone.

Across the castle, in the dimly lit Potions classroom, Severus Snape stood over a cauldron, stirring the mixture with precise movements, though his mind was far from the task at hand.

For weeks now, he had been watching. Watching as Lockhart fawned over Y/N, as he invaded her personal space with that nauseating smile and those absurd stories. It was infuriating. Severus had always been protective of Y/N—more than he would ever admit. They had worked together for years now, and though their relationship had never ventured beyond professional, he had long harbored feelings for her that he kept buried deep inside.

He had always told himself that Y/N deserved better than him, better than someone as broken and cold as he was. She was kind, too kind for the likes of him. So, he had never acted on his feelings, content to watch from the sidelines, to enjoy the small moments when they shared quiet conversations about rare herbs or discussed the latest potions ingredients she had gathered for him.

But now, with Lockhart constantly hovering around her, Severus found his resolve crumbling.

At first, he had tried to ignore it. Lockhart was a buffoon, and surely Y/N would see through his ridiculous posturing soon enough. But day after day, Severus watched as Lockhart showered her with attention, and worst of all, Y/N didn’t reject him. She didn’t push him away. She didn’t seem to be upset by his advances.

And that was what hurt the most.

Perhaps, Severus thought bitterly, she liked Lockhart’s attention. Perhaps she enjoyed the compliments, the flirtation. Why wouldn’t she? Lockhart was everything Severus wasn’t—charming, outgoing, and confident. And while Severus could see through the man’s facade, perhaps Y/N couldn’t.

Perhaps she was falling for him.

The thought sent a cold wave of pain through Severus, and he found himself withdrawing from Y/N more and more. It was easier that way. Easier to distance himself before he had to watch her fall into Lockhart’s arms. He started avoiding her, no longer lingering in the staffroom when she entered, no longer stopping by her greenhouse to ask for ingredients. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to watch her be swept away by someone so unworthy of her, and yet… someone she seemed to be accepting.

Y/N had noticed the change almost immediately.

Severus was avoiding her.

For weeks now, he had been cold, distant, and she couldn’t understand why. She had always admired Severus, despite his stern demeanor and cutting remarks. There was something about him that intrigued her, something deeper, and over the years, she had come to value the rare moments when he let his guard down, even if just for a second.

But now, it was as if he had built a wall between them. She couldn’t even catch his eye in the hallways, and whenever she tried to speak to him, he dismissed her with a curt nod or a sharp word. It hurt more than she cared to admit. She missed him, missed their quiet conversations and the way he would surprise her with his vast knowledge of plants and potions.

At first, she thought she had done something to upset him, but no matter how many times she went over their last conversations, she couldn’t find anything wrong. It wasn’t until she saw the way Severus’s eyes flickered with something close to anger when he caught her speaking with Lockhart that she began to piece it together.

Could it be… jealousy?

The thought was almost too much to believe. Severus, jealous of Lockhart? The idea seemed absurd, and yet, the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She had seen the way his expression darkened when Lockhart was near, the way his jaw clenched whenever the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor tried to engage her in conversation.

But if Severus was upset, he wasn’t going to tell her. He was too stubborn for that.

So, after weeks of being brushed aside, Y/N decided she needed to confront him. She couldn’t take the cold distance anymore, and if he was angry with her, she needed to know why.

One evening, after a particularly long day in the greenhouse, Y/N made her way down to the dungeons. She had seen Severus slip out of the Great Hall after dinner, his usual shadowy presence retreating into the depths of the castle. She followed him, her heart pounding in her chest with nerves, but she was determined to get answers.

She found him in his office, sitting behind his desk, a quill in hand as he scrawled something into a large, leather-bound book. He didn’t look up when she knocked softly on the doorframe.

"Severus," she said quietly, stepping into the room.

He didn’t respond at first, his eyes remaining fixed on the parchment before him.

"Severus," she repeated, a little more firmly.

With a sigh of irritation, he finally glanced up, his dark eyes cold and unreadable. "What do you want, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated, her fingers twisting nervously together. "I… I need to know why you’ve been avoiding me."

Severus’s expression didn’t change. He set his quill down, leaning back in his chair with a look of cool indifference. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Yes, you do," Y/N pressed, stepping closer to his desk. "You’ve been avoiding me for weeks now, and I don’t understand why. Did I do something to upset you?"

He let out a harsh laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Upset me? No, Y/N, you didn’t upset me. I simply have no interest in wasting my time with someone like you."

The words hit her like a physical blow, and she took a step back, her eyes widening in hurt and confusion. "Someone like me? What does that mean?"

Severus’s gaze was sharp, his voice colder than she had ever heard it. "You know exactly what it means. I’ve seen the way you prance around with Lockhart, letting him fawn over you like some lovesick puppy. Clearly, you enjoy the attention."

Y/N’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. "I—Severus, it’s not like that. I don’t—"

But he cut her off, his words laced with bitterness. "Don’t insult my intelligence, Y/N. I’ve seen how you let him flirt with you, how you blush and smile like a schoolgirl..I don’t have time for someone like you. If you enjoy Lockhart’s company so much, then by all means, continue. But don’t expect me to waste my time on someone who can’t even see past his ridiculous charm."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, the weight of his cruel words crushing her. She had never seen Severus like this, so angry, so hurt. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but the words wouldn’t come. All she could do was stand there, frozen in place, as Severus’s cold gaze bore into her.

When she finally found her voice, it was barely a whisper. "I never wanted his attention, Severus. I’ve only ever—"

"Enough," Severus snapped, standing abruptly and turning away from her. "I don’t want to hear it. If you wish to continue entertaining that fool, that’s your business. But I will not be part of it."

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart shattered and tears spilling down her cheeks. She had come for answers, but all she had found was pain.

The following days were a blur for Y/N. She avoided the staffroom, avoided Severus, and kept to herself in the greenhouse. She couldn’t stop replaying their conversation in her head, his harsh words echoing painfully in her mind. I simply have no interest in wasting my time with someone like you.

She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this hurt, this rejected. For the first time, she found herself dreading the start of each day, dreading the possibility of seeing Severus in the halls. The spark of happiness that usually came with her work had dimmed, replaced by a hollow sadness that seemed to follow her everywhere she went.

Even her students noticed the change in her demeanor, though they were too polite to mention it. She tried to hide her feelings, tried to put on a brave face, but it was difficult. Every time she passed Severus in the corridors, her heart ached with the memory of his words, and every time Lockhart made his usual visits to the greenhouse, she felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat.

It didn’t take long for Minerva McGonagall to notice.

One afternoon, as Y/N was tending to a bed of mandrakes, Minerva appeared at the door of the greenhouse, her sharp eyes studying Y/N with a knowing look.

"Y/N," she said softly, stepping into the room. "May I have a word?"

Y/N looked up, startled, and quickly wiped her hands on her apron. "Of course, Minerva."

Minerva approached her, her expression softening as she saw the sadness in Y/N’s eyes. "You’ve been rather quiet lately, my dear. Is everything all right?"

Y/N forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m fine, just… busy."

Minerva didn’t seem convinced. She took a seat on one of the nearby benches, folding her hands in her lap as she spoke. "You’ve been avoiding the staffroom, and I can’t help but notice that you haven’t been your usual self. Is there something going on? Does it have to do with Severus?"

The mention of his name sent a sharp pang through Y/N’s chest, and she looked away, her hands trembling slightly as she fussed with the dirt on her fingertips.

"I… I don’t know," she admitted quietly. "I thought we were friends, but lately… I think I’ve upset him. He won’t talk to me anymore."

Minerva’s brow furrowed, concern flashing across her features. "I see. Severus can be… difficult, at times. But I know he holds you in high regard. It’s unlike him to act this way without reason."

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her voice tinged with sadness. "I don’t know what I did wrong. He said I was wasting his time, that he didn’t want to deal with me anymore. And now… now he won’t even look at me."

Minerva’s eyes softened, and she reached out to place a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm. "I don’t believe that’s true, my dear. Severus may not always show it, but he cares deeply for the people in his life. Whatever has caused this rift between you, I don’t believe it’s something you’ve done."

Y/N shook her head, her throat tightening with the weight of her emotions. "But he’s so angry with me. He thinks… he thinks I like Lockhart."

At the mention of Lockhart’s name, Minerva’s expression shifted into something closer to exasperation. "Lockhart? Merlin, that man has been more of a nuisance than I expected. But Severus should know better than to assume that you have any interest in him. He’s clearly projecting his own insecurities onto you."

Y/N blinked, surprised by Minerva’s words. "You think… you think Severus is jealous?"

Minerva smiled faintly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I do, Y/N. It’s quite obvious to those of us who know him well. Severus may not be the most forthcoming when it comes to his feelings, but it’s clear that he has feelings for you. He’s just too proud—and too afraid—to admit it."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Minerva’s words. Could it be true? Could Severus’s coldness and bitterness be a result of jealousy?

Minerva gave her a knowing look, standing up from the bench. "I suggest you talk to him, Y/N. Really talk to him. He may not make it easy, but I think you’ll find that he cares more than he lets on."

Severus paced his chambers, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He had hurt her—he knew that much. The look in her eyes when he had spoken those cruel words haunted him, and yet, he couldn’t stop the bitterness that had fueled his anger.

It was easier this way, he told himself. Easier to push her away before she had the chance to reject him. Easier to convince himself that she wanted someone else—someone like Lockhart—than to face the truth of his own feelings.

But the truth was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

There was a knock at the door, and Severus’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw Y/N standing there, her eyes red-rimmed but determined.

"Severus," she said, her voice soft but steady. "We need to talk."

He turned away from her, trying to compose himself, but the sight of her standing there, vulnerable and hurt, made his resolve crumble.

"Y/N, I—" He paused, his throat tightening with guilt. "I’m sorry."

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I don’t understand, Severus. Why are you pushing me away? Why are you so angry with me?"

Severus closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t keep lying to her—not anymore.

"I’m not angry with you," he said finally, his voice low. "I’m angry with myself."

Y/N frowned, stepping closer. "What does that mean?"

Severus hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He hated this—hated being vulnerable, hated exposing the raw, aching feelings that he had spent so long trying to bury. But he owed her the truth.

"I saw the way Lockhart was… pursuing you," Severus began, his voice tight. "And I thought… I thought you were enjoying it. That you wanted his attention. It hurt, Y/N. It hurt to think that you could fall for someone like him when…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Y/N’s eyes softened with understanding. "When what, Severus?"

He met her gaze, his dark eyes filled with something raw and unspoken. "When I’ve been in love with you for years."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and vulnerable. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest.

"I never wanted his attention, Severus," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I never wanted anyone’s attention but yours."

Severus stared at her, stunned by her words. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. And then, slowly, he closed the distance between them, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out to cup her cheek.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry for hurting you."

Y/N smiled through her tears, leaning into his touch. "I forgive you, Severus."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Severus allowed himself to hope.

[dotster001]

Those are the Eyes...

Summary: Jack Howl x gn! Reader. Jack discovers a new magic that will finally free you from those who wish to use you. (It's not that serious. He's just being Jack)

CW: Crowley is an ass, but what else is new, silly fic, nothing serious

This fic was sponsored, for the Fics for Gaza Project! Find out how you can sponsor a fic here.

Jack was sick of you getting pulled into terrible situations by your other friends. When the two of you had started dating, he had hoped he would have a little more sway when it came to your decisions of whether to listen to an ADeuce idea or not, but he had had no such luck so far. 

And it wasn't just them. You were too kind to everyone in this school often at the expense of your own well being.

"Y/N! We haaaave to add more money to the tuna budget."

You looked exasperated. "Grim, I've already told you, we've put all the money we can into the tuna budget."

Grim pouted and crossed his arms. "Do we really need to fix the stairwell this month? I think it's fine the way it is."

It wasn't. Honestly, Ramshackle should have been condemned in the shape it was in.

"Yes, Grim, we really do," you sighed.

Grim suddenly held a paw to his forehead. "Oh! The Great Grim feels faint!" He fell backwards and whimpered. "I'm starving because of my cruel Hench human. I may die right here."

"You're not starving Grim, your tuna budget is fine," Jack finally cut in. But when he looked over at you, he could see that you were going to cave.

And then it happened. It came from deep down inside of him, like a second unique magic. His pupils expanded, his eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and his bottom lip stuck out in a little pout.

Suddenly, the look on your face changed. You looked at him with concern.

"Aw, c'mon Jack, don't give me those puppy dog eyes!"

But his face held his expression, and now his tail was drooping for good measure. "It would just tear me up inside if you weren't able to live in a safe environment, Y/N."

That did it for you. You placed your hands on his cheeks and hastily exclaimed, "If it means that much to you, I won't change the tuna budget." You hugged him and nuzzled into his chest whispering a "sorry". Which was fine, because it meant you didn't see his tail wagging up a storm.

He had thought maybe it was a fluke. But after running a few experiments, he realized you were weak for what you called his "puppy dog eyes". No longer could Ace get you to paint the roses for him. No longer could Ruggie get you to give him some of your lunch for nothing. No longer could Grim guilt you into buying more tuna than you needed. Finally, the two of you didn't have to play parents to everyone and you could spend time together.

But with great power comes great responsibility.

He was sitting in Azul's office, sizing him up across the desk.

"What did you want from me?" He asked finally.

Azul gestured dramatically. "There's a rumor going around that you can make a certain prefect do whatever you want."

He snapped his fingers and Jade pulled out a contract.

"I am prepared to offer you…."

But before he could even finish the offer, Jack was leaving the room.

It wasn't a one off thing.

"Ay, Jack!" Ruggie sidled up next to him on the way to class. "You think you can do me a solid? See, I have a lot of chores to do for Leona, and I was hoping you could ask Y/N to…"

And Jack was gone again.

The headmage had summoned Jack to his office. He placed a plate of delicious food in front of him, and was staring at him with a serene smile on his face.

Jack did not trust that one bit.

The headmage leaned back in his chair, simply watching Jack. Jack stared back, not touching his plate.

“Mr. Howl, I was hoping you could help me with a situation. I, and the entirety of the student body, will be eternally grateful.”

Jack said nothing, continuing to stare. Normally, he would assist the headmage in any way, his sense of honor always looking for a way to help the school. But, with the recent attempts to use his new ability for selfish ends, he was extremely suspicious.

“I have called the prefect in for a meeting. You see, it's the time of year where the dark mirror provides us a list of names for potential incoming students. I need a secretary, who will write down the list of names, compile the addresses, send out the acceptance letters, etc. etc. You understand, surely.”

Crowley leaned in conspiratorially, a sly grin on his face.

“You will help me convince them to take on this task, for the sake of our esteemed university, won't you?”

Jack stood angrily, slamming his hands on the table as he leaned into Crowley's face.

“This power I have been given is strong. And if I waste it on things that are to the detriment of my partner, then I do not deserve to even be with them.”

Crowley's smirk turned down right sinister.

“A shame, truly. Too bad. Because they are already here.”

A knock rang from the door, and Jack's head whipped over in time to see you walk in. Your eyes lit up when you saw him, and Jack had to fight off the embarrassment of not having anywhere to hide his wagging tail.

“Perfect, welcome! Have a seat!” Crowley said, and Jack felt a guilty sense of pride as the light left your eyes upon hearing his voice.

You walked to the empty seat next to where Jack was standing, taking it. You raised a brow expectantly.

“What do you want, headmage?” You asked tiredly.

And Jack knew he couldn't simply be a witness. If he couldn't protect you from one crow, then what was his new magic ability for?

“I need you to be my full time secretary until the end of the school year-”

“Am I getting paid?” You asked, bluntly.

“No, but-”

“Then no.”

At that moment, Jack realized he was not the only one with a secondary unique magic that was capable of manipulating you. Crowley's expression shifted into one of a cruel, terrifying, debt collector.

“Night Raven College is an esteemed university, one that is exclusive to only the best mages. And yet we have provided you with a home, and an invaluable education. All for free. The least repayment you can give is selflessly serving our university.”

He watched as you deflated. The truth was, you'd become invaluable to NRC. There was no reason Crowley would logically kick you out, especially for a job he had done alone for years before you had popped into this world. He was bluffing.

But the move was working. You were opening your mouth to accept the job, when Jack knelt before you, placing his hands on your leg to get your attention. Then he activated his power.

Your mouth instantly closed, your expression shifting to one of distracted adoration at his “puppy dog eyes”. 

“The budget we would need to hire a secretary will, unfortunately, have to come out of the renovation budget for Ramshackle.”

Your face immediately flicked back up to Crowley. Jack had underestimated how strong Crowley's powers were. The crow had had years to grow his abilities, while Jack had only had a few months.

Jack pawed at your leg, forcing his ears to droop as he intensified his “magic”.  Your look of dejection melted, your lips parting in a silent “aw”. 

“We may even have to get rid of an extra student. Providing for two of you is an unnecessary expense, to the board.”

You whipped back to Crowley, but Jack knew that was his last card. But if he smiled smugly now, he would lose. So he dug deep within himself, pulling at an inner supply of strength.

His pupils expanded even further, glitter and hearts filled the air, and he watched your face split into a dopey grin, your hand moving on it's own to scratch behind his ears.

“Sorry headmage, I don't think I can,” you said, your voice sounding loopy and lovesick.

The headmage scowled, but Jack held firm, the sparkles and hearts floating in the air twirling for good measure.

“Fine. You win this round Howl. But, next time, I'll be prepared for you! Mark my words!” Crowley shouted.

Luckily, you were too caught in Jack's spell to even hear his words, as he escorted you from the room.

You were halfway to the mirror chamber to return to Ramshackle, when you turned to him, cupping his cheeks, and exclaiming,

“Sevens! You just look so cute!” Then you kissed the tip of his nose.

His embarrassment caused him to drop the puppy eyes spell. He looked away, rubbing his neck for something to distract himself. When he looked up, you were blinking in confusion.

“Where am I? I thought I was in Crowley's office. How did I get out here?”

Now he was more embarrassed. He'd gone too hard, too quickly, with his magic.

He was about to apologize, when you smiled at him sweetly.

“Wait, it was my perfect, handsome wolf who protected me, right?”

Oh.

Oh no.

He wasn't the only one with magic to make someone lovesick.

....

Tag list- @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll @strawberrystepmom

Lemme know if you want to be added to my regular tag list. I lost my original list, so this is just the one I could find.

[sleepyangelkami]

so sorry you've been having a poor experience recently, i totally get it and i'm hoping to see you back in future, you're my favorite ellie author <3 sending love!

DON'T BE SHY e.williams

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.1K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - for as long as you've known, you'd always been shy, off put to any social setting. however, it's come the time in your relationship that you have to branch out and meet all the people ellie always talks about, shy or not.

 ☆ WARNINGS - pda, shy!reader, reader obviously has social anxiety though it's not explicitly said, mentions of dadish joel to ellie, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

if ellie had to describe you in one word, she'd have to go with the word 'flower'.

that's what you were. as delicate as they come. you would hum so softly and then turn pink when you'd been caught. you were always very much out of the way, making sure you were never deemed as overstaying your welcome or overstepping in any way really. and ellie on the other hand, she was nothing if not that large piece of grass in everyone's way.

you always told ellie that she was wrong.

she was well loved in jackson, whether or not she was inserting herself places that she did not belong. you didn't mind, in fact, you were right next to her, getting strung along the entire way. yet you never opened your mouth to complain.

because how could you? you'd be a fool to complain about anything while in the arms of ellie williams.

you and ellie's relationship was the most open yet private relationship in the entire town.

everyone knew you were dating, and i mean everyone. and yet, nobody knew anything that went on behind the closed doors of your home. that was partially your fault, always shying away and stating that you liked to keep things private for there was no reason for anyone to be in your business.

ellie would have stood on the tallest building of the entire town and yelled until her lungs went raw how much she loved you dearly, if you'd asked her to.

but she knew those kind of things didn't come easy to you.

when joel met you, he swore you were a mouse in disguise of a human. you stood sort of awkwardly, practically hiding behind ellie in any way that you could, fumbling with your hands and only speaking when it was damn near necessary. and when you did speak, the words came out quiet, sort of hushed.

"so, uh." joel cleared his throat, eyes scanning his own house as if to think of questions to ask you. his eyes landed on the desk that he kept the shotgun hidden in. "do you... work?"

he sounded unlike any parent you've ever heard before. he wasn't the type of parent to grill you, question what you do and how you do it, wonder if you can even do it right. he was simply making conversation.

and though you could see that there was no judgement in his eyes, you still felt yourself practically cowering away. "I garden." you mumble, caught by surprise when he questioned a louder "huh?" not hearing you behind your frail voice.

"she said she gardens." ellie spoke for you, giving joel a sort of look. "what? are you deaf?"

joel could only stare at ellie in bewilderment. there was no way she'd heard you so clearly? he couldn't hear you any more than he heard a flower sway on the grass.

joel soon learned to watch your lips as they move and strain his ears as hard as he could. it took a little getting used to but as he grew more comfortable around you and you doing the same, you too began making changes. you didn't hide behind ellie so much and you spoke at a normal volume. well, as normal as you could.

now, you sat stranded at the tipsy bison.

ellie liked to drink now and again which was why there sat a glass in front of her filled with whiskey. you sat at her side, fumbling with your fingers as she downed the glass without so much as flinching.

you always wondered how on earth she could do that.

you glanced away, soon finding the feeling of her fingers wrapping around yours. your head turned back to her, worry swirling in your eyes. "don't be shy." she spoke, practically cooing in your face. "they're really nice, i promise."

"okay." you breathed out though your nerves didn't calm. you really hoped ellie was right about these people.

"you'll be fine." she mumbled, pressing a kiss to your head. "my brave girl."

ellie had been with you for what felt like forever and yet you'd never had the courage to meet her friends, especially not the infamous dina and jesse that the whole town always fussed about. you were nervous, scared even and when ellie's hand came down on yours, you couldn't help but feel your face inevitably heat up.

the two came in not too long after that. and to your disbelief, they truly were all they were cranked up to be.

jesse joked a lot which made you much more comfortable and dina put him in his place when any joke got a little overboard which only made you feel all the more safe.

however, the feeling of ellie's hand sat on your upper thigh had your face and body feeling all tingly inside. you wondered if the others were judging you, you really hoped they weren't.

you were speaking, ellie's fingers dancing on your thigh making your words come out a little lower. "sorry, didn't catch that last part." dina spoke, her eyes sort of wide. you could tell she was listening and that she truly was interested.

as much as you tried, you couldn't stop the way your eyes flickered towards ellie. "gotta speak up, baby." giving your thigh a little squeeze. "they can't hear you."

you cleared your throat, face pink as you did what you were told, speaking up so they could hear you better.

ellie stayed by your side for the entire thing, fingers dancing around your thigh and hands gently tracing your waist. you knew how much the girl loved physical touch and she knew how much you loved it too. whether or not you were shy, it calmed you. sure, you were worried about pda and people seeing but there was much comfort in the way her hands danced around you, holding you close.

you waited until the two left to go get another drink from the bar before sighing, puffing out all the air from behind your cheeks.

all the nerves finally let loose as you realised it was all going according to plan. they liked you, or so it seemed and nobody had said anything mean. that's all you could have hoped for.

feeling the strain on your head from all your worrying, you found yourself pushing your face into ellie's chest, finally relaxing. "see? everything's fine. you did so good." her fingers moving towards your hair, petting you as if you were an animal.

"they're really nice." you spoke, trying to ignore your hot face from her praise.

"yeah." she nodded. "they are."

you turned your face up at her, giving her the smallest of smiles. her beautiful girl. "you should have let me meet them sooner." you joked.

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

[justporo]

Be my remedy

Being in an established relationship is still very much uncharted territory for both Astarion and you. Thankfully, your companions arrange for you to have a moment of privacy.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Well, this was supposed to be nothing but a little warm-up drabble. But by now I doubt my ability to write anything below 2k words... So here you go with some fluffy fluff, enjoy!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: talk of past trauma if you squint Wordcount: 2,2k

Song: Be My Remedy - House of Say

~~~

It hadn’t been that long since Astarion’s confession at Moonrise Towers and your promise to each other to actually try and be in a real relationship with each other. You’d agreed to take it slow and especially allow Astarion to have all the space he needed.

You couldn’t be happier. Your heart was overrunning with love every time you looked at him. Wanting nothing more but to see those soft happy smiles from the vampire again. Those he gave you in these moments when he felt comfortable and content while being with you – even if those were still short and mostly quickly overpowered by other stuff: worries about the next day, insecurity, fear of the future in general, Gale being annoying.

And the way it’s been almost chaste with him since you’ve committed yourselves to each other almost broke you. With how gentle and tentative this budding relationship was this far.

You’ve gotten used to spending the evenings and nights together in one of your tents. And you enjoyed the time spent simply talking or cuddling endlessly.

You’d also stolen small little touches and kisses time and again when the others were around. But you were still cautious with it. Partly, because this was first and foremost for the two of you to share and keep. But mostly because a sudden shyness had somehow befallen both of you, now that it was more than just sultry flirting and sneaking off into the woods at night. Now that you were both sure that real feelings were involved on both ends, it was suddenly so different. And – without specifically putting it into words – you both felt a lot more vulnerable about what it was the two of you shared now. And the thought of someone carelessly putting strain on it scared you.

Not that the others didn’t know already. Of course, they had noticed. Although Astarion and you might have been wrapped up a little too cozily in your new little bubble of tender affection - to notice that they had noticed.

But the others had more or less silently agreed to not pester you about it although Gale could hardly hold back all his comebacks he’d painstakingly come up with. Karlach had needed to be elbowed more than once to not squeal out happily when she, for example, had seen Astarion cautiously grab your wrist, lifting your hand and pressing a small kiss to your knuckles. Coincidentally at the same time that Lae’zel had to be pinched in the side to stop making loud gag noises observing the same scene.

The day had been long and exhausting. Everyone had been happy when you had finally set up camp and barely even spoken when you’d sat around the campfire enjoying the latest of the wizard’s dinner creations.

You were sitting next to Astarion – like always as of late – and were softly talking to him. You were both excited to finally see your hometown again, no matter what more horrors might await you there. Sharing bits and pieces about different places in the city you each liked and how your experiences of being Baldurian were both so utterly different, you didn’t even notice how anyone else had been quietly getting up and leaving for their own tents. A few understanding nods and glances had been exchanged and now it was just you and the vampire sitting next to the warming fire.

“I really need to take you to my favourite tavern some time, you’re absolutely going to hate it”, you said to Astarion with a huge shit-eating grin while the vampire answered with a pained grimace.

“I’m beginning to ask myself why I volunteered myself for this relationship”, Astarion muttered mockingly under his breath and dramatically rolled his eyes at you.

You laughed and softly slapped his arm. And then you realised that you were the only ones still sitting by the fire. You looked around and found that no one even was in sight – very suspicious.

When you pointed that fact out to Astarion, he smirked: “Well, maybe our friends all got a sudden lesson on privacy.” “Astarion!” “What? I have nothing to do with this, I swear!”

You gave him a look and crossed your arms over your chest while he kept insisting that for once he was totally innocent (“Actually quite like most of the time, love, you are – all of you – just way to used to just, of course, conveniently blame everything on the big bad vampire!”).

The vampire pouted now, making these big red puppy eyes at you. You were pretty sure he’d already figured out that they made you positively melt and give him just about anything – bastard.

And it got you now, too. So you scooched a little closer to your vampire on the log you were both sitting on and embraced him tightly. You could hear the sigh Astarion loosened when he felt your arms around him, and you could really feel how he relaxed into your touch. His shoulders relaxed and his usually very straight and tense spine was allowed to bend towards you as he wrapped his arms around you in return.

Your thighs and knees were mushed together as you held each other. You buried your face at his chest – directly at the point where his shirt was opened, and you could feel his cool and smooth skin. You sighed as well now. Meanwhile Astarion put his chin on top of your head.

Ever since the first hug you had shared you lived for these moments when you could just hold him. Just knowing how much comfort it gave him, even though he himself might not yet be ready to admit to himself how touch-starved he was for non-sexual intimacy that had to go nowhere but the present moment.

And you were right there with him – basically never really in your life having had someone who would have held you to just console you or just because.

You remained in the embrace for quite some time. Astarion’s hands softly moved up and down your back as you held onto him desperately and tightly – not willing to ever let him go again.

After a long while you felt how the vampire’s hands sneaked both downwards. And then with his roguish quickness, Astarion grabbed you – one hand under your knees, one on your butt – and lifted you on his lap.

You yelped and clawed your hands into his shirt as you stared at him in surprise.

Astarion grinned playfully at you, adjusting you on his lap until you were both comfortable. You were still flustered by this sudden change of position and your mouth opened and closed helplessly a few times. Not because you didn’t like it – quite the opposite. But this was a sudden step up in public display of affection for him – at least the possibility of someone seeing you like this was existent.

When the vampire saw your reaction, his smirk dropped and he started fidgeting: “Oh uhm.”

He cleared his throat a little, his eyes darted around. And it was only made more awkward by the fact that you were so close to each other and he was firmly holding you so you didn’t slide off his thighs.

He coughed again and you felt that he struggled with holding your gaze. By now you had adjusted to the new situation and were quite endeared by how shy Astarion had gotten all of a sudden: overwhelmed by his own courage.

“Ah, I hope this”, Astarion finally began and wiggled his arms and legs around (which in turn made you wiggle around and giggle), “this is alright with you?”

You looked straight into his eyes once he had found it in himself to hold your gaze again. You softly cupped his cheek and let your thumb wander over his cheekbone: “It is – more than alright even!”

For a quick moment you softly dragged his face down to yours, so his forehead touched yours shortly. “I will just tell you if something’s not fine with me, Astarion. And…”

Now it was your turn to fidget awkwardly. You were only barely more experienced in this relationship thing than he was, but you were absolutely keen on giving him the space to find out what all this meant for him.

You took a deep breath and leaned back a little. You saw a single curl fall onto his forehead when you moved away a bit – you looked at it when you spoke again.

“And I’m more than happy to let you explore and experiment with what you want and expect from all this - whatever it is”, you finally finished and felt how a blush crept up your neck and then onto your cheeks. Although it might not seem much this had cost you some overcoming. Too many times had you had bad if not downright horrendous experiences with people you had offered too much before. But you were completely sure of doing this with Astarion. He had your full trust and you wanted him to know that and be as free as possible to explore this new chapter in his life.

You were still mesmerized by the soft strand of hair on Astarion’s forehead. So you lifted your hand from his cheek and lightly, between two fingers, moved it up again. A tiny sigh left the pale elf’s lips at the innocent gesture.

The vampire looked at you as your hand now lightly wandered through his hair. His eyes were shining like rubies in the warm, flickering light of the campfire. He carefully lifted one hand up to cup your face with one hand. He let his thumb wander over your bottom lip and that was also where his gaze dropped.

“That means an awful lot, my love”, he replied softly. “I promise to always tread carefully with the trust you’ve put in me.”

His eyes found yours again. “And I guess I know what I want to do with this trust right this moment.”

He leaned in to kiss you. His soft, cool lips met yours tenderly as any remaining thought in your brain just vanished. Your hand in his hair softly curled around one of his pointy ears, your thumb gently wandering over the edge of it.

You let him set the pace, patiently allowing him to decide how much he wanted. But you didn’t need to wait for long: Astarion’s lips parted and he eagerly deepened the kiss, making you sigh into his mouth yearningly as your other hand, that had been on his chest, now balled up in his shirt and unconsciously tried to drag him even closer.

Astarion’s hand was still cupping your face and now spread out. Caressing you lightly from your cheek, down your neck and almost reaching to your collarbone with his long, elegant fingers. His other arm was holding you securely on his lap but also subtly pushing to lessen the space between you even more.

It was passionate but delicate at the same time. Inducing a fire that was burning brightly, powerfully and, most of all, warming while not being all-consuming or destructive. And you were sure that this fire would keep burning unyieldingly – especially if it was fuelled passionately like this.

After a while of getting lost in the kiss Astarion’s hand wandered slowly from your face to where your hand was still clawed in his shirt – desperate to hold onto him forever – and softly loosened it, so he could hold it. He very tenderly pulled back as your mouth left his with a long low sigh leaving your still parted lips now swollen from kissing.

Your eyes were probably still glazed over but you saw how Astarion too only slowly seemed to come back from that particular cloud you’d just been on.

“I hope that was alright as well?”, he answered with his signature smirk and a teasing tone after a few more moments of regaining composure. You were just about to scold him for ruining such a romantic, emotional moment, when you heard something.

Somewhere behind you, you heard something squeal – almost as if someone was torturing a squirrel? You turned around on Astarion’s lap and quickly spotted… Karlach peeking out from behind her tent flap, her hands balled up into fists and lifted to her mouth. You could feel her giddy, happy energy from over where you were sitting. But you were too flabbergasted by what the tiefling had obviously just observed.

You felt yourself flush from head to toe. “KARLACH!”, you shrieked as you heard Astarion laugh (albeit a little nervously).

Karlach’s eyes widened as she realised that she might’ve been a little insensitive about this all.

“Uh – I’m sorry. I just…”, she started and then stopped again. “I’m just so happy for you”, she blurted out and you saw some of her joy return. But then she remembered that she should probably leave you alone. “Alright”, she muttered while she made to disappear into her tent again. Quickly she lowered her tent flap down again and was gone.

But then she stretched out her arm once more, offering you a firm thumbs-up.

“But just so you know, we’re all rooting for you two”, were Karlach’s final words before disappearing for good. You blushed again and turned back around to find Astarion smile genuinely at you. He softly started to laugh, then more and more. His head fell back and his eyes closed and you couldn’t help but join in.

And then that was settled.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

[tomriddleslove]

Forgotten once again.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Tom isn’t capable of love, but you thought you could change that. Alternatively: Possesiveness and Love become the same thing.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one because Tom’s character is sm fun to write. It’s interesting because despite my delusions I couldn’t ever imagine him being capable of loving someone, and if he did it would be like this. Also this is probably the last time i’ll post for the next three weeks!

Warnings: Toxic Relationships, mentions of manipulation, violence (towards others). Generally about a very toxic and unhealthy relationship so please do not read if you’re triggered by anything to do with this! My inbox is always open if you ever need someone to talk to 🫶🏼.

Songs: Leaving Tonight - The Neighbourhood

Spectre - Radiohead

Tom Riddle was many things.

For one, he was ambitious. He would achieve whatever he so desired. If he had the means to do it, it would be done immediately. If he did not, well...

He would find the means to do so. Because Tom Riddle achieved whatever he so desired.

He was also charismatic.

Tom had a natural charisma that drew people to him. Whether through his charm, intelligence, or a combination of both, he had a magnetic presence that captivated those around him. This charisma played a significant role in his ability to influence and manipulate others to further his ambitions.

Tom Riddle was brilliant. Gifted with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of magic, he excelled in his studies. His intelligence, coupled with his ambition, allowed him to delve into dark magic and ancient mysteries, seeking knowledge and power that others might shy away from.

Tom Riddle was many things, but there was only one thing he lacked.

Perhaps it was karma, some form of divine intervention, his hamartia, that it was this very thing that would be his downfall in the years to come.

Tom was many things, but loving was not one of them.

Tom Riddle was not loving. No - he was not capable of love.

Tom Riddle, was incapable of experiencing genuine love due to being conceived under the influence of a love potion, not true love. The circumstances of Tom’s conception were marked by coercion and manipulation, as his mother, Merope Gaunt, used a love potion to attract and bind Tom Riddle Sr. to her. It was artificial and devoid of true affection. This was a concrete and inexplicably tragic detail that meant Tom Riddle simply was not physically capable of reciprocating love.

Key word, reciprocating. For, it was very much possible for someone to fall in love with Tom. A cruel thing it would be, for one cannot simply love Lucifer himself and expect to be loved in return. Tom Riddle's incapacity for reciprocating love stemmed from a profound emotional void rather than an inability to elicit affection from others.

This fact was a cruel truth that you only chose to accept once it was too late. One does not simply get involved with Tom Riddle, and come out unscathed.

Tom never cared for love, really. To him, it was just some sort of transaction or tool, something to be manipulated for his own benefit. Love, in Tom Riddle's eyes, was a means to an end rather than an intrinsic value. It was a sentiment that he observed in others but never truly felt himself.

Love, however, seemed to be the most raw, human thing in existence. It was everything we hated, yet also everything we loved. It unravelled our deepest insecurities, it brought things to the surface that we had long pushed to the side. It required us to lay ourselves, bare, for the other to see. Love made us tolerate the very worst of things, love made us hate the very best of things.

Many things can be complementary in life. Love was not one of them. It was overpowering, consuming. It changed who you were.

Love was the beginning of life and the end of it. Love was part of being human.

Tom lacking this fundamentally crucial aspect of the human experience may have been the very thing that led him to despise his humanity.

When Tom had met you, it was slightly different. A puzzle piece that didn't quite fit but intrigued him nonetheless.

You were undeniably talented, a mind that had its worth. You had this air of arrogance, and whilst Tom hated unbacked arrogance, you had the means to justify it. You were self-assured, and he found it to be somewhat refreshing compared to the other people he knew (who unashamedly sucked up to him.) You didn’t fall for his tricks immediately, which made him all the more agitated, and intrigued. Rather, you seemed to enjoy being with Tom most when he’d drop the ‘perfect and polite’ facade he had. You valued honesty and bluntness, two things Tom did not do (After all, how would he gain the trust of others if he truthfully told them he planned on using every single one of them?)

However, the more time he spent with you, the more he found that he fed into what you liked. And somehow, to his dismay, he found some sort of sick satisfaction in it. He enjoyed seeing you actively seek out his presence, and as much as it went against what Tom believed, he liked the validation of having people want to be associated with him. It was a testament to how he longed to be known, to be admired. He observed, learned, and dissected your intricacies, seeing you not as an individual but as a canvas upon which he could project his desires.

He soon grew very used to you, and he didn't absolutely loathe you. As the days unfolded into months, and the months unfolded into years, a semblance of tolerance took root. He played the part, masking his true intentions beneath a veneer of charm. Tolerance morphed into a twisted form of acknowledgement — an acknowledgement that you held a role in his future ambitions, his ultimate goal.

After all, that's all he ever did anything for, right? His goals, His desires. His needs.

The evolution was subtle but insidious. What began as a detached fascination transformed into a possessive need. Tom, driven by an insatiable hunger for control, found satisfaction in manipulating the threads of your existence. Obsession seeped into every crevice of his thoughts. Your every action became a challenge to him, something for him to understand, something he wanted to have control over. His infatuation stemmed from a desire to have control, to claim your very being, to possess you like some sort of artefact in his prized possessions.

Whilst you may have been immune to Tom’s charm when you first met, you certainly weren't without your weakness. After all, Tom always got what he wanted, and if he didn't have the means to do so, he'd find it.

He became fluent in his ways of understanding you, observing every little thing you did. He dissected the very core of your being till he was sure there was nothing he wouldn't know. Casual conversations about schoolwork in the depths of the library turned to confessions about your life as the hours passed. Tom preyed on your vulnerability, sowing seeds of doubt into your mind.

He agreed with you when you expressed your frustrations at your friends, he encouraged your rash actions. He told you what you wanted to hear, and made it seem as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

As everything he did, each word he spoke was carefully calculated, a thread sewn in the fabric of your fucked up relationship, binding him inexplicably closer to you without even realising.

He pointed out things, seemingly from a place of concern, making you distance yourself from your friends. He highlighted instances where your friends might have let you down, carefully framing himself as the only steadfast pillar in your life. Tom was everything you could have needed; he understood you, and he made you feel seen.

He was selective about what he let you know. He let you know he had grown up in a children’s home, and that his mother had died. Trust was a two-way thing, and you were smart enough to detect when it wasn’t being reciprocated. He let you see what he wanted to see, for no human was perfect, and he needed you to see he had his imperfections if he wanted you to trust him.

He needed to make it seem as though you made him feel seen too.

Tom had been sitting in your room, working with you on a transfiguration assignment you both had been set. Cross-legged on your bed, he still remembers how you had sat down next to him, visibly frustrated.

Tom, ever attuned to you, asked whether you were ok because that's what someone who cared for you did. He didn't care greatly though, not in a selfless way. Rather, he needed you to know that he was the only person who knew you, the only person you needed.

You opened up about what had happened, explaining how your friends had betrayed your trust, and how they seemed to misunderstand you, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable. Tom, feigning empathy with expert precision, listened intently, absorbing every detail like a sponge. You began crying because it all became too much.

You never thought Tom would comfort you. You believed he'd perhaps pat your back, or assure you it was all fine. What you didn't expect, was for Tom to draw you in, to wrap his arms around you, and pull you into his chest. You didn't expect him to soothe you, and rub your back as he uttered words of comfort into your ear, seemingly shielding you from the emotions that had been weighing you down.

You didn't expect to feel safe, to feel protected. If only you knew the only thing you needed protection from, was Tom himself.

You felt special. You knew it was not in Tom's nature to do so. You had no idea how vile of a person he truly was, but you understood he was avoidant of sentiment or affection. For him to have been so tender, made you feel loved.

It was only ever bound to go downhill from there.

It was only natural that you had fallen in love with him. From there it all somewhat became a blur. In between the lines, the illusion of love was beginning to waver. Graduating from Hogwarts, you no longer held those ambitions you once had. Your plans seemed now to be a distant memory, a past life. You had Tom, and that was all that mattered.

Tom had gotten his job at Borgin and Burkes. You moved in with him. You ignored the pleas of concern from those who were near and dear to you, who Tom hadn’t managed to isolate you from.

Tom convinced you that they did not have your best interest in mind, that they didn’t like him because he was a poor orphan, working a salesperson job. He had earlier convinced you he had his insecurities about his past, and he used that to make you believe the people around you were prejudiced, that they didn't care for your happiness but rather their status being affected by who they associated with. No one would want to be acquainted with the girl who loved the charity case.

You believed him. You couldn't fathom why they didn’t like Tom. You shut them out.

It was rather terrifying seeing how quickly Tom could snuff out your fiery flame, and reduce you down to someone who became dependent on him. You rarely left the house, your life revolved around what Tom wanted, and how Tom felt.

He left you teetering on the precipe of unhappiness, fulfilling your needs to the point where you couldn’t complain for fear of seeming ungrateful, unloving.

He would neglect you, coming back from work to lock himself in your bedroom, pouring over books and writings. He wasn’t who he used to be, caring, affectionate, loving.

Shame on you for assuming you could make Tom capable of love.

His neglect pierced your soul, and when you mustered the courage to voice your needs, he snapped at you for bothering him. Tom's transformation into an emotionally distant stranger left you in a state of perpetual uncertainty.

At times, you resolved to leave him, but Tom had a knack for sensing your unrest. As though he could read your mind, he returned with offerings and apologies, painting himself as the troubled victim and casting you as the ungrateful perpetrator. Guilt became the shackle that bound you, and his apologies only deepened the wounds.

Tom, in those fleeting moments of remorse, would momentarily embody the man you had fallen in love with. You cooked dinner together. He’ d play with your hair as you read, and he fucked you as if he truly did love you. Yet, the morning after, the bed would be empty, and the reality of your entangled existence with Tom would once again sink in.

He began leaving for work earlier and coming back later. You began to doubt whether it was because of work, the day he came back reeking of dark magic.

You were undeniably clever, after all, that was what had sparked Tom’s obsession with you in the first place, and so it didn’t take long for you to connect the dots. Tom’s friends back in Hogwarts seemed more like devotees than anything else. This, coupled with him spending countless hours reading through books he wouldn't let you see, and his sudden late hours suggested to you he was dappling in dark things.

You weren't wrong, per se, but Tom was far beyond dappling in dark things. He had become the image of corruption itself.

The cycle persisted, a disheartening repetition of highs and lows that left you questioning your worth and the authenticity of the connection you had with Tom. His intermittent displays of affection, punctuated by periods of neglect and manipulation, became the norm. The more you yearned for stability, the deeper you sank into the quicksand of your toxic relationship.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly where neglect turned into heated words. Arguments turning more and more intense. Slammed doors became broken porcelain, yet the remorseful embraces remained the same.

The outside world, once filled with friends and dreams, now seemed like a distant echo. Tom had successfully eroded the foundations of your past life, isolating you from the support systems that could have provided a lifeline. His poisonous whispers had convinced you that only he truly cared for you, painting the rest of the world as indifferent or antagonistic.

The empty mornings and hollow apologies continued, and you slowly began to realise the love you once believed in had become a warped caricature, and the person you had fallen for had let his obsession manifest into your relationship, seeping through the feeble foundations.

The crisp air of Hogsmeade offered a welcome escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the shared home with Tom. As you strolled through the quaint village, a familiar face caught your eye – Elizabeth, your closest friend from Hogwarts. A twinge of nostalgia mixed with apprehension as you approached her.

"Hey, Elizabeth," you greeted, attempting a smile.

Her response was guarded, her eyes revealing a mixture of concern and wariness. "Hello. Long time no see."

You sensed a tension in the air as you tried to engage in small talk, but Elizabeth's words soon cut through the facade. "Look, What happened? You dropped off the face of the earth, and it's like you vanished after graduation. In our last year, you completely ignored all of us."

A knot tightened in your stomach as you fumbled for an explanation. "I... things have been complicated. I've been busy."

Elizabeth's expression softened, and she sighed. "Busy? More like completely consumed. We all missed you, you know? But you acted like we don't even exist. What happened to the person we used to know?"

You frown, crossing your arms. “Missed me? I only stopped talking to you because you all acted weird around me.” You respond, defensively.

“No, we didn't. You got angry at us when we told you we were worried for you. You rarely went out with us, you were always too busy elsewhere.” She corrected, and you felt a frustration bubble within you.

“No, it didn’t really seem like that. You all isolated me and the only person I had left was Tom. It was only natural that I wouldn't want to go back to being friends with you after that.” You snap.

Elizabeth's eyes widened, sympathy replacing her earlier frustration. "Tom? Are you serious? He's the one who isolated you, not us. We've been worried sick about you. You're not the same person anymore."

Who did she think she was? She knew nothing about the two of you, let alone what your relationship was like. Tom was right, these people had it out for you. They didn't care for you, not at all.

“You don't know what our relationship is like Elizabeth, so I suggest you stop making assumptions.” You hiss, glaring at her.

"We cared, but you pushed us away," Elizabeth explained gently. "You were so wrapped up in whatever was going on with Tom that you stopped caring about anyone else. It's not healthy, and we were genuinely concerned."

Elizabeth reached out to comfort you. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you need to reevaluate your situation. Staying with Tom isn't healthy, and you're not alone. My door is always open if you need somewhere to stay or someone to talk to.” She says, fumbling around in her pockets. She pulls out a receipt and hastily scribbles down an address, thrusting it into your hand. She gives you one last look of pity, and you feel enraged. You immediately apparate back home, you didn't have time for this foolishness.

You apparate back home, the confrontation with Elizabeth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The hastily scribbled address clutched in your hand feels like an unwanted invitation, an intrusion into the carefully constructed reality that Tom has woven around you.

As you step into the shared home, the atmosphere is unsettling. Tom is hunched over a dark tome, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as you enter.

"Where have you been?" he questions, the softness of his tone belying the underlying intensity.

You toss your coat aside, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Out. I needed a break from all this," you retort, the words laced with the anger that has been building up.

A dangerous glint enters Tom's eyes, his composure slipping. "A break? Is that how you see it? Is it a burden to you?"

"Yes, Tom! I don’t know what’s gone wrong? One day you’re fin and the next you’re acting as though i’m a nuisance to your being," you snap, the resentment in your voice cutting through the room.

His posture stiffens, and a quiet threat laces his words. "Oh really?"

Your anger flares, a defiant fire pushing back against his dominance. "Guess who I saw today, hmm?" You seethe, venom lingering in your tone.

A momentary confusion flickers in Tom's eyes. "Who?" he questions, wondering how this could be relevant to the conversation.

"Elizabeth," you declare, watching his reaction closely.

Tom's expression darkens, and a cold tension settles in the room. "What does she have to do with anything?" He retorts, stepping closer to you.

"She told me a few things, Tom. About how I've distanced myself from everyone, how they were worried, and you know what struck me?" you press on, your anger finding a new target.

His eyes narrow, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "What?"

"That I believed it was my friends who had abandoned me, but in reality, it's been you isolating me all along," you accuse, the realization fueling your rage. You jab your finger into his chest as you speak.

Tom's composure wavers, but he quickly recovers. "I've been protecting you. You can't trust them. They're trying to pull you away from me."

"Stop. Stop it, Tom. Have the decency to acknowledge I'm not that fucking stupid. I know what you're trying to do,” You say, voice cracking. You resist the urge to shield your ears, his words burrowing their way into you as he attempts to trivialise your worries, making you out to be the irrational one.

Tom frowns, and the sight of you beginning to doubt him had bile riding in the back of his throat. H reaches out, hands holding onto your shoulders as he urges you to look at him.

“They’re lying to you. They’re trying to pull you away from me again! Can't you see this? Why do you believe them over me?” He says, voice pleading with you in fake desperation, the lengths he was willing to go to to ensure he could continue to possess you were unthinkable.

“Enough. Im fucking done. You’re so fucked up, Tom. You never loved me, did you? You only ever wanted to own me, to control me. Tell me, was it worth it? Was it ever fucking worth it, spending 5 years of your life weaving this tapestry of bullshit just so you could keep me locked up in here?” You snap, grabbing your coat.

Tom's pleading expression transforms into a cold mask, and a sinister calm settles over him. "You think you can just leave? You're mine, and you'll stay. I won't let you go." He utters.

The realization of his true nature, the toxicity of the relationship, fuels your determination. "Watch me,” You hiss.

As you move toward the door, his grip on control slips further, and an unsettling mix of rage and desperation flashes in his eyes. "You'll regret this. You'll come crawling back. You always come back." He says. You take a single look at him before slamming the door and walking off.

One cannot simply dance with the devil, and change him. He always changes you.

Tom Riddle was far beyond the devil.

You wondered if for once in your life God had been on your side when you had that chance encounter with Elizabeth. Despite your harsh words, she had accepted you into her home with open arms. The weight of the past five years settles heavily on your shoulders, and the enormity of what you've lost becomes painfully clear. You were young, so damn young, and you’d been living as a glorified prisoner, trapped by the very thing that was meant to liberate you.

But love was ugly, wasn't it? It made you tolerate the bad, it made you irrational. Love could bare its teeth into your neck, and you'd let it, for love was ugly.

It was ugly, but it was not macabre.

Tom knew where you were. Tom always did. It was already established that Tom always got what he wanted. He wanted you, and he found a way to ensure that.

At first, he did not bother you.

He believed you would come back to him, as you so often did. But when a week had passed and you had not reappeared as you always did, beautiful face flushed red, eyes glossy with tears as you wordlessly stepped in and fell back into normality, he began to worry.

If it came to any relief to you, which it might have, Tom believed he loved you. What you had was a far cry from love, an echo of what it should have been. But in the mind of he who cannot love, this is what he believed it to be. One could only wonder whether everything would have been different if he actually knew what love was. But he didn't, and he never would, so he was left with some sort of fucked up obsession that he believed was love.

Tom felt a gnawing emptiness that only intensified with your departure.

Again, he loved you, if one could call it love. It was a sick, twisted version of affection that demanded ownership. In his distorted reality, your existence became an extension of his own, a possession he couldn't bear to lose. The mere thought of you breaking free ignited a desperate panic within him.

He needed you like a drowning man gasping for air, clinging to the last vestiges of sanity.

Schopenhauer believed that the will, a blind and irrational force, dominated human behaviour. Love, according to Schopenhauer, was an expression of the will's desire.

Tom felt this indescribable gap in his life without you there, as though he simply wasn’t complete without you. The old him would have hated to admit it, but he needed you, and his need for you grew from a sickly infatuation to a desperate yearning. Love, in his distorted reality, meant ownership, and he was losing his grip.

It was a rather bleak evening, and you had a horrible feeling in your stomach as you sat on the sofa of Elizabeth’s living room, where you had been presiding for the past week.

How cruel it was, that you and Tom were so attuned to one another.

You somehow knew it was Tom without needing to see them.

As Tom had resonated with the words of Schopenhauer, you had resonated with the words of Plato. For you, love could not be controlled. Instead, it was a divine madness that took hold of individuals, transcending rational thought and choice.

You had often thought that was a beautiful thing. However, when it was love that was causing your demise, it no longer felt beautiful.

Elizabeth comes down the stairs and raises a brow when she sees you perched on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly off into the distance. She eyes you apprehensively as she opens the door.

That voice. It simultaneously sent dread coursing through you, and butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Come back now. It's been far too long.” Tom says, his voice oh so tempting.

“Seriously? You think you can get her back with that bullshit?” Elizabeth snaps, standing at the door.

Tom, however, remains fixated on you, as if Elizabeth's words were mere background noise. Ignoring her comments, he continues, his eyes piercing into your conflicted gaze.

"Stop this. Come back. It's where you belong," he urges, the words carrying a persuasive weight that had once held you captive.

Elizabeth's frustration peaked as she turned to face you, pleading in her eyes. "Don't listen to him. He's toxic, and you don't need that in your life. You deserve so much more."

Tom's eyes bore into yours, his tone silky but insistent. "You don't belong in our business, Elizabeth. You’re as meddlesome as you were in school. She knows where she belongs."

You remain silent.

"He's killing you. Can't you see that?" Elizabeth's voice held a mixture of concern and frustration.

But Tom's voice slithered through the air once more, persuasive and relentless. "Come to me.” His words echoed a twisted sense of possessiveness, yet held such allure, spoken tenderly, enough to convince you it would be fine.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your skin. You stand up, letting out a shuddery breath. You walk towards the door.

“Fuck, stop! You don't need to go! Don't act like you have nowhere to go! I've given you my home, I’ve let you stay. Stop going back!” Elizabeth says, frustration laced in her voice.

How easy it is to claim you simply need to just “stop”, and it would all be fine.

It was never that simple. Tom's presence was poison, yet it was also the air you breathed. You had only known Tom for what felt like aeons, and you had shut everyone who questioned you out. All you had was Tom, all you ever would have is Tom.

He was home, a twisted kind that keeps you warm while slowly suffocating the life out of you.

As you walked back into his outstretched arms, a sense of numb acceptance settled over you. The outside world ceased to matter; the only reality was the one with Tom.

It wasn't love as the poets wrote or the philosophers pondered. Yet, in its ugliness, it was the only reality you knew.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around. Like a serpent, his embrace constricts around you, possessive and suffocating. You lean into him, feeling the coldness of his touch seep into your skin. It's oddly warming though, as paradoxical as it seemed.

"Where else would you go, my love?" he whispers, the sweetness of the endearment masking the toxicity beneath.

The serpent and its prey, bound in a perverse waltz of dependence and decay, disappear into the shadows, and the world outside is forgotten once again.

[ghost-proofbaby]

kissing lessons, pt. 2

summary: you and robin face the music that maybe the kissing lessons aren't just lessons after all.

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: even more sapphic yearning than the first one (in my opinion), lots of religious imagery scattered sporadically, and a lots of hints/passing mentions of homophobia (no talk of violence, etc.) that was normal in the 80s. there's even more discussion of reader conforming to the usual and dating a boy. once again, reader is explicitly female.

wc: 3.3k+

a/n: i cannot explain how healing writing this has been. shout out to younger me for surviving the way my own experience ended with a lot more heartbreak - you deserved a robin buckley, baby ghost. and thank you to everyone who read the first one and was so very kind. i am eternally grateful <3

part 1 here

It was your own damn fault, probably. 

Robin may have been the one to ignite the fire, so prettily asking to start having those godforsaken kissing lessons, but you’d be the one clutching a bottle of gasoline. You’d been the one fanning the flames with each arrangement you’d insist upon, Saturday after Saturday always being spent one predictable way: kissing your best friend. 

In your bedroom, in her living room, behind the slide at the park. 

Mid-afternoon, early mornings, in the dead of night. 

Any time that you can find an excuse for it, your lips were attached to Robin Buckley’s, chipping away at your own demise, and it was all your fault. 

There wasn’t a handbook for this, though. There was no pamphlet to explain all the butterflies that would erupt in your stomach every time she’d smile at you slyly just before she’d lean it to initiate the kisses, no how-to for stopping the shake in your hands as you’d cradle thighs and cheeks alike as if they were the most sacred of sacrifices, no survival guide for all the heartache that now haunts your every waking moment when you think about the smell of her perfume. You had no one who could explain away your obsession with the taste of passion fruit lip smackers these days. 

You were in love with your best friend, and it sort of felt like some type of terrible shipwreck done by your own recklessness. 

And if she felt even an ounce of the same way, you couldn’t see it. You simply couldn’t allow yourself to read any further into the brushes of her hand in the hallways that had grown more consistent. If you daydreamed too long about the way she’d been so overly supportive of you wearing skirts to school more often these days, you’d quite possibly self-implode. It was all a dangerous game, a hopeless drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, and you were just letting it happen. 

“Why was that Connor guy talking to you in the hall today?”

And if you read too much into what you so desperately wanted to describe as jealousy in her tone right now, you’d certainly combust in the blink of an eye. 

It wasn’t even a Saturday – it was a Friday. Saturdays were the holy days, the days in which you could guarantee you’d taste her all over your tongue and be allowed to gather all your offerings in the form of worshiping whispers and guiding movements as she straddled your lap. The rest of the week, the two of you were nothing more than the best of friends. On Fridays, you should be nothing but two girls who find innocent and platonic solace in one another. 

It’s just hard to do when all you’re capable of thinking about is how soft the skin of her neck was nearly a week ago, when your lips had trailed down to her pulse point in such feathery light brushes. 

“Oh!” you sit up from where you’d been spread out on her bed, looking up at her with sudden excitement as you watch her spin in her desk chair, “I forgot to tell you! Holy shit, you’re going to love this.” 

The moment it had happened, you’d started mentally counting down the moments until you’d have the chance to tell Robin of the awkward conversation. You can’t believe you’d forgotten about it so easily once you’d gotten the girl alone. 

She pauses her spinning immediately, blinking rapidly as she was clearly dizzy, “What do you mean? Why am I going to love it?” 

“He asked me out to milkshakes.”

You wait. And wait. And wait. Nearly quaking with all the anticipation for your best friend to burst out into laughter with you over the irony of it all. 

You just keep waiting. 

The laughter never escapes Robin, her face stoic as she doesn’t even smile. All the giggles and rolling of eyes you’d expected to share is completely erased with that look on her face currently. A look you almost mistake as hurt, a look that reaches far beyond jealousy.

The look of someone standing amongst the wreckage of an abandoned ship. 

When she finally speaks again, with deflated shoulders and the corners of her mouth down-turned, it’s soft enough you almost miss it. “Did you say yes?” 

It was the one question you hadn’t been expecting – you’d assumed it had been a given that you’d turn the poor boy down. 

“Obviously not,” you snort, uneasy as you rifle through your mind, a sudden desperation to make Robin smile or to lighten the mood immediately rearing its head. 

“Obviously?” 

This conversation is very much not going the way you had seen it play out in your head. Robin’s missing all of her lines, none of her expressions lining with the directorial vision you’d been gifted with when the moment had happened. 

No saccharine laughter, no sweet joy. None of the sugared reactions are rotting your teeth out. 

Instead, there’s just a strange and hollow ache. The vacant expression of Robin’s face that twitches ever so slightly with something more below the surface, and a tension in the air that wraps around your throat tightly. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you choke out, trying to stave off your discomfort, “We both know how I feel about milkshake dates. And besides, he wanted to go tomorrow, and we already have plans-”

“You could’ve said yes,” she blurts out. As soon as the words fall in the space between you two, she’s wide-eyed, staring at you like a scared deer caught up in your headlights, “Our plans- They-” she pauses, and takes a deep breath that almost looks painful, “You could have said yes if you wanted to. I’d live. Plus, it’d give you a chance to put our lessons to use.” 

No sweetness, only a sour on your tongue that makes your face twist. “Why would I use our lessons on Connor from pottery?” 

Why would I ever want to kiss somebody that isn’t you? 

The thought easily makes you sick to your stomach. The lips of someone who isn’t Robin Buckley pressed to yours, the hands of someone who isn’t your best friend tracing the curves of your body. You think you’d rather die. 

“I dunno,” Robin is mumbling now, almost looking ashamed. The last thing you’d wanted to do was shame her. You’d just wanted to share a laugh with your best friend, “That was sort of the point, right? You wanted to get good at kissing-”

“We,” you correct her.

“What?”

“We wanted to get good at kissing. You can’t tell me there’s no boys in the band that have asked you out or you’d have a chance to kiss. You’re…” Even as the words are ash in your mouth, sticking to the roof of your mouth and making it hard to breathe, you force it all out. The only words left are the truth, anyways, “Beautiful, Robs. You’re fucking stunning, and funny, and so kind. Who’s your Connor from poetry, hm?” 

It’s a dagger to the heart. It’s alcohol on a paper cut, salt in a throbbing wound. Every cliche and morbid pain in the books is racing through you at what you’ve just said. Asking her about boys is worse than simply accepting it as a hypothetical. Having to actually hear about boys chasing after the girl that’s occupied you irrevocably is worse than imagining them all. 

At least in your imagination, they could all be fumbling over their feet, falling to the dirt as Robin cackles and arrives straight to her original destination – you. At least in your imagination, you stand a chance. 

“God, no,” she scrunches her nose up, immediately standing from her chair, “Oh my God, no. Ew. I don’t- I’d never-” 

“You’d never?” you raise an eyebrow, watching as she nearly starts to pace. 

“We were talking about you!” she bursts out, arms flailing out beside her, spinning so she was stood right in front of you, “You and Colton-”

“Connor.”

“-and how you should go get milkshakes with him! You should’ve said yes, okay? You could say you have a boyfriend when you get to college if you’d said yes.” 

Boyfriend. A word that will never, ever leave your lips. Not just when it came to Connor – when it came to all the boys in your school. All the boys in your town. All the boys in the goddamn world. 

That word doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, too confining. Strangles you in all the wrong places and makes your chest constrict in the worst way. 

You don’t want a boyfriend. 

You want your best friend to stop pacing, you want your best friend to hold your hand, you want it to be Saturday and for your best friend to kiss your fucking face off.

Pathetic, only because you don’t think you’ll ever find the nerve to say it to her out loud. 

“Who cares if I have a boyfriend when I go to college?” you spit out, struggling to even say the damn word, “I could give two shits if I-”

“I care!” Robin is turning erratic, wild as she tugs at her hair and looks at you with such misplaced desperation. You don’t know what she wants from you – you can’t give her what she’s asking of you, “I care, because you deserve to have that normal experience. You should be out there, kissing boys and going on dates to share a milkshake and- and- and… not spending your Saturdays with me, hiding away and kissing me and sharing chapstick and making me feel all these stupid feelings-” 

She cuts off roughly, a small gasp leaving her lips as she realizes what she’s just said. 

Making me feel all these stupid feelings. 

“What do you mean by that?” you whisper, sharing at her, shocked, “What do you mean by stupid feelings-”

“Forget it.”

“No.” 

“Yes,” she pleads, taking a step back when you stand up in front of her, “Dear God, please forget I ever said that. I’m literally begging you.” 

Stupid feelings. 

What does she even define as stupid feelings? 

Is it that her heart races whenever you suggest another lesson? Is it that warmth that spreads head to toe every time you grab her hand casually? Is it all that pain with nowhere to go at the end of the day, when you bury your face in a pillow and scream out all the what-ifs you assume you’ll never explore in this lifetime? 

You think about your parents. The ones who are never home, or are oblivious in the kitchen as you shut your door and quickly return to your bed, where your best friend is awaiting you eagerly just to get her tongue down your throat. You think of Robin’s parents, who force her to go to church every Sunday, never realizing she can still taste the strawberry chapstick all over her lips come morning. Whispering all their prayers in the same tone she’d whispered your name the night before. You think about all the peers your age who spend their Saturday nights in diners, sharing milkshakes and planning their futures – their normal futures. 

White picket fence, a mid-size dog to run around the yard. Two and a half kids, and a wedding ring gleaming on the finger on their left hand directly connected to their heart. The same one that Robin always fiddles with while the two of you sit and do homework together, the same one Robin once slipped an old coin-machine ring onto as a joke when you were thirteen, cackling about some sort of marriage pact that had every adult in vicinity glaring at the two of you. 

All the things you can’t dream about. Because when you do, it’s never the nice boy your father points out at the grocery store. It’s never that boy your mother finds absolutely darling, who lives two houses down and has offered to mow your lawn numerous times. 

Every time you try to picture it, it’s with Robin. 

Her with a matching ring you’ve bought for a quarter, her lipstick staining the matching mug on your kitchen counter during a quiet morning. Kids with her freckles, kids with all her spunk. A dog she’d name something incredibly niche, and that you’d fight her on endlessly, but end up giving in simply because you love her. 

Whenever you try to look to the future, it’s with the girl before you, who has tears gathering in her lash line now. Embarrassment painting every inch of her exposed skin, and her chest stuttering with every gasping breath. 

Stupid feelings. You’d become entirely acquainted with stupid feelings, you just hadn’t realized that Robin had as well. 

“What do you mean by that, Robs?” your voice cracks, begging all but on your knees at this moment. Everything you could possibly want right in an arm’s reach. 

You don’t even need the picket fence or the dog. Kids could vanish right from the dream. The house could become a quaint apartment in the city. The morning coffee could be traded for peppermint tea. As long as the thing that never changes is her, you don’t really care where the visions lead. 

She says your name so softly, you nearly break down entirely. You want to hear it for the rest of your days. The way the shape of your name curls around her tongue and falls from her lips, “You should just forget I said anything, I mean it. Go home and call Connor-”

“Fuck Connor!” you suddenly raise your voice, so entirely done with all the boy talk. All the expectations and all the definitions of normal. Your finger on your left hand, connected directly to your heart, throbs. “I don’t want to share some half-melted milkshake with that… with that… idiot! I want to share it with the idiot in front of me right now. I don’t want to practice kissing on him, I want to practice with you. I don’t want him, and I don’t want that boy who bags groceries at Melvald’s, and I don’t-” 

Robin Buckley is the brave one. She shuts you up about all the ones you don’t want, by giving you the one thing you do want. 

Soft palms, soft lips. Gentle hesitation to soothe the scars of a future you never really cared for. Fruity lip balm that somehow perfectly matches airy perfume. 

She’s kissing you like her life depends on it. Like she’s feeling an ache in the joints of that finger connected to the heart, and she just can’t take it anymore. Like she loves you. Or at least likes you. 

And you’ll take what you can get when you reach up to grab onto her anywhere you can find. Bunching her shirt at her hip with your first, fingers curling around her forearm that’s connected to the hand cradling your cheek. You can’t possibly lean into it all enough; can’t press your lips any tighter against hers, can’t have any more of your limbs bumping into hers as you stumble backwards and onto her bed. 

She’s crawling over you, little puffs of breaths escaping between kisses, hovering above you with a halo of sunlight leaking in through her bedroom window. 

She looks like a God you don’t believe in, and one she can’t be spoon-fed to worship anymore. All holier notions are focused on you. Fingers trailing their way up under your shirt and hips bumping against yours as you both try to learn what to do with this new position. 

It’s better than your best friend seated in your lap, timidly moving her tongue. It’s nicer. 

“Stupid feelings,” you breathe out when she moves to pepper kisses on your cheek, on your jaw, on your neck, “Stupid fucking feelings.” 

“Sometimes, I wish we’d never started the lessons, you know?” she whispers when she pauses at your collarbone, peering up at you with those glossy blue eyes. Oceans deep, ready for your ship to roll right into. Ready for your ship to crash in. “It made all of this so much harder and complicated.” 

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging at the sporadic pieces that you’d helped cut a year ago. The saddest excuse for layers ever, “Made what harder?” 

You want to hear her say it. You need to hear her say it. 

“Liking you.”

If hearts could burst, yours would be fluttering shreds behind your ribs. Nothing more than the aftermath of finally, finally, hearing those words fall from her lips. 

“You like me?” your cheeks ache immediately from your grin, so wide it occupies your entire face. You swear you can see its reflection in her eyes. 

Her head lifts and you see some of the fear still lingering behind her own smile, “Yeah, doofus. I like you. A lot, actually. And I just always assumed you liked that Cooper boy-”

“His name is Connor.”

“I know,” she laughs, face contorting as she bites back more giggles. It’s no use though, as her head falls forward and her forehead lands on the center of your chest, “I just- God, I sort of hated him. I heard him ask you out for the milkshake and I just wanted to punch the dude-”

“You heard?” you’re laughing now, head thrown back, “I’m sorry, you knew why I was talking to him, and you still tried to play all coy and ask me?” 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” 

No. No, you really couldn’t. You can only imagine the ridiculous plans you’d elaborately conjure if you’d ever overheard a boy asking Robin out on a date. All the jealousy ploys and childish schemes, born out of all the sunshine she’s been instilling in you since the first day you’d met her. 

And imagining that is fine. But what you no longer have to imagine is a Robin who chooses you, the scenario in which you can simply grab her and kiss her until you’ve run out of breaths and your lungs have shriveled into nothing more than feathers in your chest. 

So you do. 

You tug her back up to you and kiss her, far more languid than she’d initially kissed you. The slow movements of lips with all the time in the world. The steady movements of hands that belong as you run them over her shoulders and down her back, bring them to those hips you’d been adoring every Saturday. 

You kiss Robin Buckley on a Friday, simply because you can. 

Nice, your mind rings out. Nice, nice, nice. 

This was nice – this was right. None of that discomfort at the thought of letting Connor kiss you, no strangulation at the word boyfriend. You feel like you can breathe for the first time in your life as you kiss your best friend serenely and let all of that love seep out of your skin when it presses to hers. In the background of it all, a new word forms, a soft blanket of comfort rather than something to wrap around your throat. 

Girlfriend.

Now that? That sounds nice. 

“Hey,” Robin says when she pulls back slowly, tip of her nose still bumping yours, the weight of her still between your thighs, “Do you want to…. I don’t know, go get a milkshake with me or something?” 

You don’t think about either of your parents, or any of the self-righteous vipers who might be prowling the town on a Friday night. You know it won’t be the same as going to the diner with a nice boy – you know you won’t be able to kiss her on the street or cuddle up quite as obviously, keep her quite as close as you so desperately ached to, but it was okay. 

It was enough. For now. 

“Only if we can get strawberry,” you quip, unable to help yourself as you lean up for another brief peck. 

The peck isn’t enough. You don’t think any amount of Robin’s treacly kisses would ever be enough. You’d probably spend an entire lifetime just trying to get your fill. 

“Deal,” she rasps, clearly sharing the sentiment as she leans back down, kissing you right back. Eager lips not quite satisfied. 

There would be no screaming or crying into pillows tonight. 

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0

@neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2

@cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724

@madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos

@dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone @alwayslindie @royale1803

@onegirlmanytales @whyamiheresomeonehelp @mrsjellymunson @live-love-be-unique @hazydespair

@gothvamp1973 @kennedy-brooke @kittydeadbones @hollysleeps @hellojameshowyadoin

@munsonzgf @browneyes8288 @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @siriuslysmoking @mandyjo8719

@d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @acenby-weirdo @hazydespair @royale1803 @batkin028

@ninejlovebot @charliewb1996 @imwaytoolazyforthis @definitionwanderlust @idkitsem

join my taglist!

[eros-kisser]

Could I ask for headcannon for Dottore with a partner who is interested in his work? And doesn’t mind the dissection and organs?

( wowow we have a lot of dottore fans here dont we~ i hope its okay if i put my own yandere-ish theme on this... dottore is a real delusional guy anyways..! feel free to request again if it doesnt meet your expectations ahaah... )

NSFW.

— of course, it'd come to dottore as a surprise if you didn't mind all the guts and gore. this line of work certainly isn't for anyone... but this revelation surely shouldn't shock him this much, should it? this tight, elated feeling in his chest that's bringing him such pleasure is in no way affection, nor is it admiration - no, it's the tinges of obsession.

— you don't mind it if he dissects a mangled corpse before your eyes? his heart just beats faster as his face contorts into a twisted smile. if that's the case, of course you'd be more than willing to help him with some of his darker experiments, wouldn't you? you wouldn't be like those ignorant fools, who'd gag and laugh at his work ...! little by little, dottore is falling unwittingly in your trap, trailing after your every move, not wanting to leave your side... ah, that's exactly it. why should he have to endure the empty, terrible feeling he receives whenever he's not in your presence? it's a sin that simply shouldn't be allowed.

— then you really can't blame the man when you wake up one day, eyelids heavy and limbs strapped down to a table? nor can you blame him if he pumps "medicine" into your veins, his face red with desire as he claims it's all for "research?" you can't move at all? that's fine, you won't have to for what he has planned. all you have to do lay there and sing those all too pretty moans from your lips as he slides himself into you, his pace erratic, needy, desperate. an oversensitive body isn't a concern, why should it be? doesn't it just mean that you're having as good of a time as he is, busy using you for his perverted pleasures and not paying heed to the number of times you've cummed on his cock? there won't be any need to worry - after all, dottore handles his patients with sickening care, and you won't be any different. <33

[writersblockiskillingme]

I Bet You Think About Me | Coriolanus Snow

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader (District12!reader)

Summary: On the day of his wedding he had everything... except for the bride that he wanted.

Warning/s: angst, kind of like hurt/no comfort kind of thing, wedding, marriage without love, Coryo is drinking alcohol, reader is basically Lucy Gray in this situation, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I'M BACKK!! I missed writing so much, to be honest. All those Coryo and Lucy Gray edits to this song, plus the music video, inspired me to do this. Enjoy!

3 AM and I'm still awake, I'll bet you're just fine

Fast asleep in your city that's better than mine

And the girl in your bed has a fine pedigree

And I'll bet your friends tell you she's better than me, huh

Coriolanus Snow. The young president of Panem. He truly now felt like he had everything. He did an outstanding job as the Gamemaker. In fact, not long after, his work was praised so much that he could finally take that last step to get what he always, truly wanted. And he, in fact, did it. He was the newest president of Panem, and he knew that that was going to last for a very long time.

He had the title. He had the riches. He never had to starve ever again. He never had to wear poorly made clothes. He had the trust of the people in the Capitol, and he had the control of those in the Districts.

But as a president, everyone expected of him to choose his First Lady of Panem as quicklyaspossible, and he knew that it couldn't be just anybody.

So here he was today. Dressed up in a traditional but quite modern black tuxedo with a white undershirt and a purely white rose tucked into his suit on the right side of his chest. Standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, preparing his wedding speech that he will have to say once he and Livia Cardew are standing on the aisle.

Livia Cardew. She was truly perfect for him. He didn't love her, of course, but that was also his own choice. That's what made her perfect for him.

Once he was forced to find himself a bride because every elite in the Capitol kept pushing, he realized that he truly had no choice. He had to keep up his reputation respectable. So, of course, he knew that his wife, the Future Lady of the Panem, couldn't be just anybody.

Livia Cardew was rich. Her family was too, of course. Their family was respected and considered quite important. Plus, she was pretty. He couldn't really deny that, really.

He chose power, money and reputation that Livia had instead of the love, kindness and compassion that came with you.

He chose it that day that he left you in the woods of District 12. He never knew what happened to you. Did you die? Did you manage to run away in the storm that somehow messed up his head. And perhaps High-as-a-kite-Bottom was telling him some sort of truth when he said that mysteries had a way of driving people mad. And perhaps, if he stayed with you, he would marry someone for love.

Coriolanus let out a groan, shaking his head in a poor attempt to shake those thoughts away. His love for you made him weak. Weak in a way that he never wanted to experience ever again.

Livia didn't have his heart like you did. He doesn't love her. Therefore, he shall never feel weak ever again. He wanted that. He wanted to never love Livia. It was easy, though. It was easy not falling in love with her. Easy compared to you.

But no! He simply refused to think about you on this day. The day of his wedding. He refused the thoughts of you to consume his mind once again. Coriolanus wouldn't let that happen.

So he turned back to the giant mirror that stood in front of him and started to go over his vows once again.

"My darling Livia. You are the most beautiful person I have every encountered." Coriolanus felt his breath shorten at his own lies. "And today, I am honored to be your husband."

It was so fake. It was so cheesy. It was so untrue.

He had to prepare the speech for his bride. For the bride that he never loved.

"Mr. President?" One of the servants came in and addressed him shortly. "It's time."

"I will be there shortly." Coriolanus replied coldly, and the servant closed the door behind him.

Once the door was closed shut once again, he let out a quite loud sigh. In just a few minutes Livia will become a Snow and he will have to proudly show off his little wife that tormented and made fun of him for years during his academy days.

With that thought, President Coriolanus Snow stepped forward towards the door. On the doorway, he lingered. He looked out of the window across his room. He looked out on the city of the Capitol and its glamor and riches and he once again came to a realization that Livia was a perfect fit for his lifestyle unlike you. But he won't ever think of you again.

With the thoughts of you that once again swarmed his head, he loudly closed the door behind himself. Slamming it shut.

Well, I tried to fit in with your upper-crust circles

Yeah, they let me sit in back when we were in love

Oh, they sit around talkin' 'bout the meaning of life

And the book that just saved 'em that I hadn't heard of

After the priest said everything that needed to be said and after Coriolanus, and Livia, did everything that needed to be done the young, freshly married couple walked towards the reception, quickly being surrounded by the Capitol's elite that eagerly introduced themselves like they were one of the most important people there.

Perhaps they were, not that Coriolanus cared even a slightest bit.

Livia was standing in the middle of the circle made by the numerous Capitol's elite while he was standing next to her, a glass of posca in his hand. He knew that drinking that liquid in his glass was not the smartest thing for him considering the fact that the alcoholic drink was perhaps a bit too strong.

Not like he considered it worth giving a damn. He needed something very strong to wash away the feeling of Livia Snow's lips on his once the priest said that he can now kiss his bride.

And now, as he took yet another sip from the tall glass, he still felt disgusted by her. Himself. The whole situation.

A few more minutes, that to Coriolanus felt like hours, passed by. The people's excited chatter. The joy of the new President and the Panem's First Lady was over-the-top evident on everyone's face, except for his.

Livia was bathing in attention that were given to her, smiling, quite pleased with the whole situation. Coriolanus felt like he was going to throw up as he watched the scene unfold in front of him as he, too, had to pretend to be happy with everything.

And perhaps it was to much of the posca that he drowned that night or perhaps it was all of the whiteness of the entire reception that made him think what he thought. Hear what he heard.

As he took another sip from the glass, he could have sworn that he heard that melodic voice that haunted both his dreams and his worst nightmares.

But now that we're done and it's over

I bet you couldn't believe

When you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave

And I bet you think about me

Coriolanus watched with wide eyes as you stood a few feet away from him, dressed in the blood-red dress that reached the floor barely as it hugged your frame perfectly. You, in your red dress, stood out so perfectly among the white clothes that every guest was required to wear. You stood out so much, he wondered how nobody but him noticed you.

You stood tall and proud by the enormously big wedding cake, which required the front door to be taken away so it could be placed where it was. Snow remembered watching the staff bringing in the cake, the door laying on the grass behind the servant as they carried the said cake. It was ridiculous.

You turned towards the cake, not noticing his ever so blue eyes trailing on you as you moved.

Coriolanus felt his breath shorten once again as he watched your everlasting beauty. He was suddenly very aware of the cool glass that contained posca in his hand and the cold sweat that was sliding down his spine. Was it panic? Was it anticipation? He didn't know.

He watched you as you stretched your hand out towards the top of the cake as you stood on the gigantic table where it was placed, your red heels clicking as you did so.

Suddenly, you knocked over two figures, one of himself and one of Livia dressed up for their wedding. He let out a quiet, barely audible, gasp as you did so and then slowly lowered yourself to the ground.

A little girl, dressed in white, a guest, appeared you as Coriolanus watched. You quickly froze, standing completely still. After a very short while, you slid your finger over the icing of the cake and put the finger in your mouth, tasting the cake.

The little girl smiled and did the same. You and the girl shared the smile before you struck your hand into the cake, ripping one piece out revealing the red color under the purely white cake before you shoved it into your mouth, eating it. The little girl ran off after getting the taste of the delicious cake as you chewed on your piece.

As you did so, Coriolanus and you established eye contact. You made a grimace that clearly indicated that you were disappointed that you had been caught.

Coriolanus Snow allowed himself to blink for a moment to compose himself, and once he re-opened, you were gone.

You grew up in a silver-spoon gated community

Glamorous, shiny, bright Beverly Hills

I was raised on a farm, no, it wasn't a mansion

Just livin' room dancin' and kitchen table bills

Coriolanus and Livia sat down at the front of the reception as the entertainer did his job. He entered the guests of the Capitol’s elite with the microphone in his hand, tight grip on it, which showed Coriolanus that he was nervous.

Coriolanus brushed it off because, all things considered, he was doing quite a good job. He even found himself laughing along to the jokes that were being made.

After one more joke, he turned to one of the Capitol’s elite to quietly, with a smile on his face, discuss the joke that was made. However, the moment he turned back around, his smile disappeared at the sight in front of him.

You were standing there, in a red suit, with a red microphone on your hands, making jokes.

"And then," you spoke in the fit of giggles. "He left me in the woods to die after he told me he loved me."

You laughed after it, and every single Capitol’s elite followed. Coriolanus felt like he wanted to die at that moment, the look of pure horror planted onto his face.

"And best of all was that he HIMSELF tried to kill me with a gun!" You smiled as you tapped a few times on the table near Livia as you pointed at him with a smile, and every single guest of the wedding reception broke into laughter once again.

This can't be real, can it? Coriolanus thought to himself as he watched you.

But you know what they say, you can't help who you fall for

And you and I fell like an early spring snow

But reality crept in, you said we're too different

You laughed at my dreams, rolled your eyes at my jokes

After that, you, out of nowhere, pulled out a little red box as you made your way towards Livia, who was looking at you with anticipation and excitement.

You handed her your gift as Coriolanus found it harder and harder to breathe.

Livia quickly, but gracefully, opened the box as she removed the ribbon on top.

And as she pulled out the shawl that belonged to Coriolanus' mother, he felt like he was going to scream at the top of his lungs.

It was the shawl that Coriolanus gifted to you back when the two of you took off into the woods. That was the only thing that he found once he started to chase you through the woods. He never found you, though.

Livia placed it around her as she thanked you for the gift. Everyone around you swooned at your sweet gesture as they clapped pleasingly.

You bowed your head down slowly after you drowned the glass of alcohol, falling into the crowd of guests. Disappearing once again.

Now you're out in the world, searchin' for your soul

Scared not to be hip, scared to get old

Chasin' make-believe status, last time you felt free

Was when none of that shit mattered 'cause you were with me

Coriolanus chased after you, trying to catch you. He was suddenly blinded by the light because of the photographer that was taking pictures.

After the photographer went away, Coriolanus rubbed his eyes as his vision, thankfully, turned back to normal. He looked ahead.

And there you were. In a while wedding dress. The back of the dress was trailing behind you. The dress was also graced by white roses all over it. Your hair was in a type of hairstyle that was holding it all up. Your eyes were watching his every move as you stood in front of him.

Coriolanus felt like he couldn't breathe, and so, for a moment, he felt himself longing to cherish every moment of this.

It was just like Coriolanus had imagined it. You as his bride, himself as your groom. It was everything that he truly needed. Everything he ever wanted. Just you and him. You two of you having your first dance as a freshly married couple.

Suddenly, all lights but one went away. The white light above you shined as Coriolanus tried to catch his breath.

He slowly stepped forward, and you immediately followed his lead. Soon, you were standing in front of each other. Chest to chest. So intimate. So perfect.

He slowly reached for your hand, placing it onto his as he soaked up the feeling of your soft skin against his.

He slid his other hand around your waist, bringing you closer to him as you placed your other hand on his shoulder. For a moment, everything stood still. For a moment, the only thing that Coriolanus could hear was his breathing and the beating of his heart.

Coriolanus and you leaned your foreheads against each other, noses brushing. Coriolanus closed his eyes. He never wanted this to end. Then you started to dance.

You were moving with such grace as he spinned you around. His hand in yours as you slided around the dance floor.

"Coryo," your soft voice that whispered in his ear broke the peaceful silence, and his eyes snapped to yours. His eyes. His ocean blue eyes that were always so cold now looked at you with so much gentleness and pure adoration.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, my love." Coriolanus answered without any hesitation.

"Does it make you feel sad that the love that you're looking for was the love that you had?"

Coriolanus was speechless. The look in your eyes caused the lump in his throat to be stuck there forevermore. He didn't say anything. He didn't protest to your claim. How could he? You were right. On the day of his wedding, he wished to marry you, not Livia. He never found in Livia what he did in you, and he, let's be honest, never will.

Suddenly, before he could stop you, you moved away from him, letting go of his hand and shoulder.

But now that we're done and it's over

I bet it's hard to believe

But it turned out I'm harder to forget than I was to leave

And, yeah, I bet you think about me

You lifted the front of your dress a little bit so you could walk without tripping over. You gazed over your shoulder at Coriolanus before you continued to walk away.

Once you were far away from him, you turned around, quickly causing your hair to fall down your shoulders as you leaned towards him.

All of a sudden, your dress turned red, and as you took a hold of your guitar that he knew all too well (hihi, get it?) the white roses on your dress were painted red.

The white curtain behind you fell, revealing the red light and the Covey as you played your guitar, softly swaying to the music you made.

"I hope you get what you deserve, Coriolanus Snow," you spoke softly, meeting his eyes once more. "But I don't need to worry. You will get what you deserve one day."

With a soft smile, you started to sing.

I bet you think about me when you're out

At your cool indie music concerts every week

I bet you think about me in your house

With your organic shoes and your million-dollar couch

I bet you think about me when you say

"Oh my God, she's insane, she wrote a song about me"

I bet you think about me 🌹

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @10ava01 @regulusblackcore @writesleah @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @caroline-books @runningfrom2am