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sunniskyies · 24 days

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 || 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Domestic fluff as you both settle back into life together <3 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ford Pines x fem!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: - 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Literally just fluff, a bit of being a guardian figure to the kids 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k 𝐀/𝐍: You guys are SO SWEET about the last one, so here's more fluff for you beautiful old man addicts <3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

The kids are in bed— well, mostly. You can hear the chirp of excited conversation through the ceiling. It was late, Stan and Ford’s explanation taking a long, long time. It didn’t help that the retelling got as thick and awkward as wet cement when it came to talk of Ford’s portal, and the events leading up to his departure.

Exhaustion tugs at every battered bone in your body, but you’re so content you might as well be purring like a kitten in front of a roaring fire.

You're curled up bridal-style across Ford’s lap, his arms enveloping you; warm, cradling, completing. He’s donned an old red knit jumper he fished out of his old chest of drawers. It smells like it belongs in a museum, sort of dusty and woodsy. Your face is pressed to his chest, and you feel much younger than your age. It feels like your first day in this house, the two of you huddled on a sagging mattress giggling and talking of futures and other such nonsense; youthful, hopeful, infatuated.

Now the two of you are more than thirty years on, enfolded together like the pages of a book left on an old yellow reading chair. You don’t speak, saving that long conversation for a lick of sunlight and mugs of coffee cupped in hand. No, right now you just sit in silence, Ford’s large hands stroking dust from your hair, a thumb gently soothing the bruise forming on your temple where you struck the wall.

Still unaware of the time except for the inky night hanging in the air, you feel Ford shift. His arms move, body ready to stand up with you. He stops when he notices two large pupils staring up at him curiously.

“You’re still awake, dear,” he smiles, voice quiet. “Let me take you to bed, I must lock up downstairs, make sure nothing vile is seeping through that blasted portal.”

“Ford, no, let’s go to sleep. You can do that in the morning,” you say, trying to ward off the edge of desperation edging into your tone. You can’t help but remember the miserable months of nights in a cold bed while your lover hid away in the basement, sleeping on his desk rather than with you. It has to be different— he’s better now.

Ford doesn’t share your fretting. “No, it’s not stable. Reopening the portal… it’s not safe to leave these things.” He continues to stand up, your body delicately draped over his arms. He seems to notice your expression. “I’ll join you soon, love.”

You doubt that. He’ll probably be there ‘till morning, his simple task snowballing as his keen eyes notice the slightest things amiss. “No, that won’t happen. No, no, I’ll join you. I’m rather accustomed to the portal myself after all this time with it.” You dismiss, stretching a leg to try and stand on the floor.

Ford bundles you up closer, “Absolutely not! You need rest, I swear I will join you.” He begins carrying you to the hall. Your fingers clutch the red fabric of his sweater.

“Please don’t leave me,” you murmur plaintively, the corners of your mouth downturned. You miss the way Ford’s heart stutters, your eyes all hopelessly syrupy and mournful through your lashes.

He hesitates.

“Please? You can stay down there any other night I promise, just stay this time.”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want that. Not again,” he says firmly. “Okay… I’ll… I’ll come with you.”

You immediately relax again, at ease in the rhythm of Ford’s steps as he carries you to your room. A stupid grin hijacks your face as he ever-so-gently places you under the sheets (he remembered what side of the bed). You watch from your nest of sheets as he gets ready for bed in the soft lamplight, lifting up the duvet for him to slide in next to you.

His arm around you, frothy sheets up to your neck— you think you might die here and now for how perfect everything feels. You feel his nose bump the top of your head as he presses a kiss to your hair.

“If you’d have told me this morning that… that today would be the day I would’ve never believed…” you say, heavy eyelids closing as you're interrupted by a yawn. You feel his chuckle reverberate where you lean into his chest.

“Go to sleep, sweetness.” He murmurs, tone laced with a smile. There are his hands again, rubbing soft circles on your arm, your hair. He might as well be rubbing in anaesthesia, his touch lulling you to sleep. Darn you Pines.

Before sleep pulls you under, ��I’m so glad your back, Stanford,” slips quietly from your lips. Ford’s heart skips again. Arms tighten around you as if you’re a precious photo about to float away on the wind; skin softly creased from a lifetime of loving, hair matte and grey like faded ink from thirty years of waiting.

“I’m more grateful than you could ever know, my dear,”

A stretch trembles through your warm limbs, the aches from last night dulled by a deep slumber and the warm morning sunlight soaking through the window. A thrill passes through you, your arm sliding through the sheets to Stanford’s side and—

A cry pours from you as your hand meets cold, empty space. Your body is jolted upright, perspiration glistening on your forehead. Your heart is hammering, lungs gulping in buckets of air. Where is he? Where is Ford? Did he come through the portal? Did it really happen? You don’t register the wail emanating from you, nor do you register the pound of heavy boots down the hallway.

“____ are you okay?!” Ford exclaims, almost slamming into the door as he hurries in. His hand is tense, hovering above the gun strapped to his belt.

The sight of him— the feeling you get is so overpowering it’s nauseating. Your paralysed limbs untense, body slumping in relief.

“Goddammit Stanford Pines, you just gave me the fright of a lifetime,” you bemoan, uninvited tears swimming beneath the sieve of your hands. You don’t see as his face goes from confused to slack with realisation.

“Oh,” He groans. “Oh sweetness I’m so sorry.” Feeling horrible, he leans on the bed to pull you into him, rubbing your back. “I should’ve waited for you to wake up, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I probably scared you half to death.” You mumble, slightly embarrassed. As much as you are connected to Ford, thirty years has changed both of you, and you find yourself —embarrassingly— feeling like you need to impress him, like a teenager with a crush. God forbid he thinks ill of you!

You relish his rumble of a laugh. “I thought a monster slipped by me or something! I’m grateful you're okay.”

“Yeah, well, I think you might’ve just taken a year off my life, Ford.” You roll your eyes lovingly, a few of the last of those silly tears escaping.

After getting up and pulling on some summer-friendly clothes, you slip down to the kitchen to find the morning well underway. The sun is beating through the windows, and Dipper is sat cross legged on the floor reading a book. He’s reading with the cover down, but his furtiveness is wasted on you; you know he's reading A Good Girl's Guide to Murder. ‘Mature murder mystery books’ indeed, Dipper!

At the kitchen bench, Mabel is haphazardly balanced on a stack of books, multiple propped open at once. From the batter congealing the pages together and the fact that most of the books are iced, you know they are cookery books. And a cookbook in Mabel’s hands is either as dangerous as a matchbook to a forest, or as useless as shoes to a fish.

By the looks of it, it is the latter. Although, is there a faint… burning?

“Great Aunt ___!” Mabel squeals, revealing sprinkle-harbouring braces. “I'm baking, look I’m baking! See, I had this great idea to try and substitute the liquids in my Mabel Cakes with Mabel Juice because Grunkle Ford has never had either —can you believe that? Me neither, so I thought I could kill two birds with one stone and make them together… but I didn’t realise the plastic dinosaurs in the juice would melt in the waffle iron!—” You try to cut off the young girl’s 100-mile-an-hour babble, but that girl is unstoppable.

You wince as she holds up two fists of semi-cooked, eye-wateringly bright gobdules of cakey dough. You, pained, notice the half-melted dinosaurs, faces in liquified agony as strings of molten plastic drip from their bodies. Matchbook in forest, matchbook in forest!

“—So now it’s a bit of a Jurassic Park, another reason why I think Grunkle Ford will love it, even if it’s a bit of a.... disaster. But if you think about it it’s more like a Magical Mabel Disaster! And oh, I added extra sprinkles because you can never have too many sprinkles! Do you think the hardened dinosaurs will make up for the uncooked dough? Or should I cook it more? Doesn’t matter, it’ll taste great!”

You give her a wobbly smile, mostly because you fear what might happen if you open your mouth.

“I tried to stop her,” Dipper mutters from between his pages, voice smug and matter-of-fact.

“Oh don’t act like you're so grown-up, you’re reading a little girl's book,” she retorts in a sing-song. Dipper slams his book closed, the tips of his ears matching the cover.

“I think you’ll find it’s very sophisticated and easy to digest—”

You let the twin’s bickering fade into the background as you begin to tidy up the carnage Mabel’s baking attempt has left. Usually, she gets distracted by things quite quickly, leaving Mabel-messes scattered around for anyone to find. You don’t mind it though, all too glad to slide the Mabel Cake into the bin. You shiver. Those plastic faces… they haunt.

Ford was back down in the basement, the sounds of clanging and buzzing drifting up through the weary floorboards. You want to go down there, but that silly part of you doesn’t want to disturb him again today. No— that’s ridiculous! Ford loves your company, you don’t get in his way —it’s not like it was when Bill was around.

Five minutes later, you're standing in the small room in the basement holding a cup of coffee and a salvaged Mabel Cake. You see Ford through the glass, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tools being used and replaced back onto his belt. He’s hauling colossal slabs of metal from the sides of the portal, the machine slowly being stripped down to bone. Like a massive carcass, it creaks and groans as Ford’s tools slice away at its flesh, and you hope he’s staying well out the way each time pieces of it fall to the floor like toppling trees.

After a few moments, Ford seems to notice you through his welding mask, though you can’t see his face through the tinted visor. He perks up though, dropping a massive saw to the ground and hurrying over.

“Hello, my dear! Is it too noisy?” He says as he slips through the door, pulling off his helmet and drawing you in for a sheepish kiss.

“No, just bringing you some of Mabel’s baking efforts— you don’t have to eat it, but she was awfully excited.” Ford surveys the cake with a smile, and you resist the urge to wipe the smear of soot from his cheek.

“Thank you. For the sustenance, and for, uh, for checking in,” he says sincerely. Is that a flush you see? Your suspicions are confirmed when you set the coffee aside and bring him in for a deeper kiss, blouse-clad arms sliding around his neck, and you feel his pulse thrum beneath his skin.

The relief you feel! You’re not the only one navigating these unknown emotions, that the man who’s mapped the multiverse is also feeling the giddy nerves you are. Your skin prickles where his degloved hands bear your skin.

It feels strange to be held romantically after so long of loneliness. It’s not that you haven’t found love with the kids and Stan, but you could never bring yourself to even look at another in the way you used to look at Ford. Even if you never finished the portal, you would’ve spent the rest of your life alone, satisfied at least in the knowledge of how it felt to be loved, once. It excites you childishly knowing just by his kiss that Ford felt the same, the way he cradles you in his gaze and with his hands as if he’s trying to reabsorb every inch.

When you break away, his eyes open after yours, and he seems to be at a loss for what to say.

“Do you, um, want to go for a walk this evening? You haven’t left the shack yet, and we haven’t truly caught up…” you offer shyly.

“Yes! That would be… splendid! Spectacular. This evening. Perfect.” He blurts. The calm of last evening has clearly floated away in the daylight for both of you.

“Perfect.” You repeat.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sleeplessdreamer14, @2hiigh2cry, @taffycandyqt, @papi-machucha, @muffin1304

#gravity falls #ford x reader #stanford x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls x reader #fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls stanford #one shot #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #fanfiction

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reminiscingtonight · 4 months

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Joyride

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Only Fletcher can help get me out of a writing slump

[WOSO Masterlist]

You’re not sure how this happened.

You’re supposed to hate her, supposed to despise the very ground she walks.

But here she is, Leah Williamson, in your kitchen at hours so early they would be considered blasphemous to the normal everyday person. Dressed in nothing but one of your boxers and ratty college t-shirts, you can’t help but rake your eyes over her figure.

Leah’s got half of her face buried in your fridge, looking for some food, but still, you’re not sure if you’ve ever seen anyone more beautiful.

Letting out a quiet sigh, you tear your eyes away and refocus onto the spoon in front of you. Given that you weren’t really expecting any company last night, Leah can’t really blame you for not having much in your fridge to offer as breakfast.

You were quite nearly asleep yourself when you heard the knock on your door. An extra long training session paired with the club you went to the night before left you with barely enough energy to shower and microwave some leftovers when you got home. Only about half of it was eaten before you decided to call it a night and trudge up your stairs, your bed already calling for you. It was there, halfway up the stairs when you heard the clear rap of knuckles upon the door.

Though you were bone dead tired, the second you opened the door to see Leah, suddenly all traces of sleep flew out of your mind. You fisted a hand in her shirt, dragged her in for a bruising kiss, and the rest was history.

You look back up when Leah lets out a cry of triumph. There’s an air of smugness around her as she takes a bite of the peach she found, somehow looking so goddamn attractive even as the nectar drips onto the table. If Leah was literally anyone else you would be up in arms about keeping your kitchen sanitary. But given the less than PG things she did to you here last night after showing up unannounced… well let’s just say it would probably be a bit hypocritical of you to tell her to be more mindful of your kitchen counter.

And there you have it. A very domestic scene with Leah, the two of you enjoying the minimalistic breakfast whipped up on the whim.

God, how did you end up here?

Before a couple years ago, you only knew briefly of Leah. And then the Euros happened. The second England knocked you out was the second you decided to make an enemy of the English captain. It was bad enough your own captain tore her ACL moments before the entire tournament began. All hopes of making her proud ended with your own departure from the tournament.

In your dreams the quarter-final ended differently. You and the Spanish girls tore up the field and ended up bringing the trophy home. But then you woke and news of the pending transfers broke, and then you were sat with the idea of having to share your every breath with two Euros winners at training every day.

And thus came the beginning of the end.

In all honesty, you didn’t hate Leah long.

With the addition of her best mate to your squad, it was no surprise how often Leah came over to Barcelona. Keira’s appearance paired with Lia’s relationship with Mariona left Leah with a multitude of excuses to continue showing up to games and nights out with the team.

It sure didn’t help that after one particular night where the two of you drank a little too much, the two of you woke up tangled in your sheets wrapped up around each other. Despite your attempts at calling it a one night thing, one night turned into two and two into three and then suddenly every time Leah came to Barcelona the two of you ended up spending at least a couple hours together in bed.

Neither of you have really broached the topic much. Somewhere along the lines, everything changed. Though the sex was still very much there and still very very good, you guys began going on what could be considered dates. You showed Leah all the best places in Barcelona. She introduced you to her best friends at home in London. You surprised her by going to a couple of her games, she returned the favor just as quickly. In all pretenses the two of you were dating.

But you are a girl with standards, and those standards meant waiting until Leah came up with the nerve to actually ask you out before explicitly turning this into a real relationship.

And here you are, still waiting.

“I’m hungry.”

You’re broken out of your thoughts by a sheepish looking Leah. Clearly the peach wasn’t filling enough by the guilty look still on her face.

It’s honestly more evidence of your failure as a host, but you can’t help but poke fun at her a bit.

“Well that seems like a you problem. I’m still eating.” As if to prove your point, you give your spoon another lick.

Leah raises an eyebrow at your clear challenge. “I want actual food.”

“What, peaches aren’t enough?”

“Peach. Singular. And I need more than one to be full. I’m an active girl after all.”

You snort. “Oh are you? I could’ve sworn I’ve seen you kicking balls around with the rec team down the street.”

Leah’s mouth drops open. You swear she actually looks offended at your jest. “Rec team? I’ll have you know Arsenal is the best football club anyone could play for.”

“Yet you’re here. In Barcelona. We actually have a big girl’s team here if you want to join.”

“As if I would ever,” she scoffs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It’s your turn to be on the defensive. Having come up through La Masia, you were Barcelona bred through and through.

“Oh hush you, I know Kei has been trying to convince you to manipulate me to join. You guys may be my favorite people but I’ll leave Arsenal when hell freezes over.”

Your heart makes a strange flutter at Leah’s admittance of fondness for you, but you do what you do best and deflect instead. “And here I was, thinking you came to see me.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to believe you hopped on a flight to Barcelona in the middle of the season just because you wanted a quick fuck?”

“Well I…” Leah looks a bit awkward as she tries to explain her presence. “Lia didn’t want to fly over here alone. So like a good friend…” she trails off with a wince.

Having too much fun to leave this alone, you continue to prod at her. “You call hooking up with me being a good friend to Lia?”

“Psh, semantics. She’s here to see her girlfriend too. It wasn’t like we were going to see much of each other anyways.”

“Oh, so we’re girlfriends now? Don’t think I ever got that memo.”

Leah’s face flushes a bright pink. “That’s not-- I wasn’t saying-- Don’t get me wrong--”

She buries her face in her hands when you burst out laughing, clearly having caught on to what you’re doing now.

“Stop teasing me! I barely got any sleep last night!”

“And whose fault is that?”

Leah rolls her eyes before breathing out a long breath.

When she sets her shoulders, you can almost see the return of cocky Leah. She rounds the counter, coming dangerously close to you.

“Put the spoon down.”

It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “Make me.”

Leah’s grinning when she gladly does as you say. One hand comes to grab at your wrist, the other finding purchase on the tabletop behind you.

You watch with half lidded eyes as she guides the spoon to her mouth, hand never touching the silverware itself. Before you know it, she’s licked clean the peanut butter, leaving you with nothing but a new kind of hunger burning in your veins.

Leah hasn’t even let go of your wrist before you’re hooking a hand behind her neck and dragging her in for a kiss.

If Leah wanted to see just how good of a girlfriend you’d be, you would just have to show her.

And what better way than to introduce her to your bed again?

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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jessamine-rose · 11 days

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˚⋅౨ৎ Ribbon Knots ೀ⋅˚

Inspired by these posts!! I just like to imagine Capitano and his lover wearing fancy corsets as part of their formal/ regular outfits <3

Note:: Fem reader, domestic fluff + yearning

Capitano and his wife lacing up each other’s corsets as part of their dressup routine…….

Each morning, Capitano carefully pulls your corset strings and ties a secure knot. There is something so tender about the gesture, his gentle touches, this small moment of daily intimacy.

It does beg the question: Can’t he put on his corset by himself? That is true, but he simply prefers your assistance for the same reason you seek out his. You have a distinct way of tying his corset knot, he notices.

This routine is especially intimate on the days of his departure. Before he leaves for his mission, Capitano will lace up your corset one last time. He will think of the long days ahead, of the dresses you will wear in his absence, of corset strings tied in solace. When it’s his turn, he will savor the moment and silently thank you.

And hours later, when he undresses for bed, he will stare at his reflection in the mirror. At the distinctive ribbon knot of his corset, tied by your own hands. He has long memorized your technique but he can’t replicate the weaker force you exert, the feeling of your touch, your concentrated expression followed by a soft smile directed at him.

Slowly, he unties the strings and calculates the earliest possible date of his return. Until then, he will just have to be reminded of your separation each morning.

#capitano #il capitano #capitano x reader #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #genshin x reader #genshin impact #fem reader #jessamine-writing

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bandcampsnoop · 1 year

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4/5/23.

Twofer Wednesday. If you like your music influenced by Marine Girls, The Raincoats, Life Without Buildings or Wire, look no further than divorcer (Vancouver, British Columbia) or Yfory (Berlin, Germany).

These bands are not related in any way, but both came across my radar on the same day. Yfory's Bandcamp page states that there is a physical release on Static Age Musik, but I couldn't find it yet. Yfory's music is sung in Welsh and there is a member who also plays in Diät.

Domestic Departure is releasing divorcer's "Espionage" 7". You'll need to order directly from the label.

#divorcer #Vancouver #British Columbia #Domestic Departure #Yfory #Berlin #Germany #Static Age Musik #Diat #Diät #Marine Girls #The Raincoats #Wire #Life Without Buildings #Bandcamp

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futuresandpasts · 6 months

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Added Dimensions – Time Suck / Hellbent EP

Time Suck / Hellbent is the first vinyl EP from Richmond, Virginia’s Added Dimensions (the home recording project helmed by Sarah Everton of Blowdryer and Telepathic), following a self-released, self-titled cassette released in 2022.

Sarah’s trebly/jangly guitar riffs and sneaky bass lines are backed by a charge of unfussy, driving drums from Rob Garcia, all cloaked in the perfect amount of Tascam grit, as she lyrically pares down the heavy psychic weight of modern living (the social cost of convenience and connectivity, the inane routine of labor as a means of survival, etc.) into five disarmingly hooky mini-manifestoes—even the sugar-coated melodies can’t hide the harsh truths behind lines like “every day, same as before” (“Interruption”). Wire rubbing elbows with the Shop Assistants as a C86 band? A Kim Deal-fronted Urinals? Charms you can’t resist!

300 copies pressed, three-color risographed fold-over cover, includes download code.

Listen / buy here.

#domestic departure #added dimensions

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delulustateofmind · 5 months

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Marriage-Life (One-shot)

A/n: Thank you all for all the love on the Between Worlds series! I promise an update next week. This is just something I thought about while on my walk with my dog :) SUPER FLUFFY!

**Also, it is unedited so fair warning, like a rough draft!**

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Collections of domestic life with Azriel, married/mated for fifty years.

Warnings: Fluff & crack at times, drinking, some intimate moments. Pet names (Sweetness, My Love, Baby)

Azriel the spymaster was your mate, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Balancing life with a spymaster was no easy feat. Azriel’s frequent absence on risky missions tested the boundaries of your marriage at times. Yet, amidst the challenges, you found solace in the ways he made up for his prolonged departures.

Like sleepless nights in bed after a long mission…

As you settled in settled into bed, with Azriel lying on your chest, his breathing growing heavy as his eyes were closing. A question tugged at your lips. “Would you…’ you began, hesitating for a moment. ‘Yes, I would love you if you were a worm,’ Azriel hummed, his warm breath grazing your skin.

“Love me if I was a snail” You finished, feeling Azriel’s smirk form against your chest. He gave a soft nip on your breast. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he opened his eyes to look up at you. The hazel eyes looked up at you with amusement you could see his smirk turn smug.

“Oh sweetness, that changes things” he drawled as he sat up a little, pushing himself up to see your face. You bit your lip trying not to giggle as he continued.

“I mean, are you a normal snail? Like could I tell you apart from all of the other little snails?” Azriel began, his deep voice filled with a teasing tone. His hand roaming your bonds, fingers caressing your curves.

You stifle a laugh as his fingers find ticklish spots, “I would be a cute snail, one that you could distinguish from the others”

“A very cute snail…but the fact remains. You would still be a snail” Azriel hummed as he ran his fingers across your curves again. His gaze goes down to your body and back to your lips and then your eyes with a playful grin. A grin that only you ever saw. “I would feel so guilty if I stepped on you by mistake. Can’t have that, can we?”

Giving him a playful pout, you look at him innocently. “Are you saying…that you wouldn’t love me if I was a snail?” you whisper to him in a soft gaze, as you notice his movements. Azriel grinned again, pushing himself onto his elbows against you as he moved closer to you. His wings continued to drape across the both of you.

“What I’m saying is I would always have to worry about stepping on you if you were a snail. Which would make being married to you quite the headache.” His hand once rested on the curve of your waist, moved its way to your collarbone then your jawline, and finally to your chin. Tilting your head as he brings himself closer to whisper on your lips. “How about you stay fae my love, maybe in another universe we could be snails together. But this one, I would love to be fae with you.” A gentle kiss was planted on your lips, which led to you both having a very sleepless night.

****

Azriel never really had much of a sweet tooth, in fact, he typically stayed away from sweets until he met you. When you both got married, you would try out a new cafe once a month, sometimes going to the same one if their seasonal menu changed.

“Let’s get ice cream today, it’s starting to get so warm out.” You whined as you slipped on a sundress. Azriel in the middle of brushing his teeth as he shrugged and gave the confirming nod.

One of the best things about Azriel was that he always tried to match your outfits. If you wore a blue ribbon in your hair, he would wear a blue button-up shirt. If you wore a floral sundress, he would find a shirt that matched one of the colors. Today wearing a blue floral sundress, he opted for a light blue button-down and khaki slacks. One of which, he never owned any colorful clothing or anything other than his leathers and a few formal outfits until you two met.

Once you were both ready, Azriel took you on a flight down to the Palace of Hoof and Leaf. A district is known for its food. Once landed, you both walked hand in hand. Shadows trailing the both of you as you walked. Azriel’s huge hand compared to yours as he guided you to a cafe.

“Feyre mentioned this place the other day” he began as he guided you through the busy streets. His wings were tightly tucked in. “I guess they make the ice cream look cute, like little bears and pigs” he gave you a warm smile as you trailed next to him, giving him a confirming squeeze with your hand.

The streets were packed today, the market was selling spices, the smell of delicious food filled the air, and merchants trying to gather attention as people walked past. It wasn't until after a few blocks away, that you noticed a cute pastel pink building that had “Ice Cream” written in a beautiful cursive font on the window. You moved your hand from his, moving it towards his bicep as you both walked to the front doors. When you grasped his muscle, he flexed. The pastel-pink building exuded a quaint charm, its exterior adorned with delicate floral motifs that seemed to dance in the sunlight. Inside, the decor was equally inviting, with plush cushions and paintings on flowers on the walls. Along with cute stuffed animals on shelves around the parlor. A beautiful fae girl led you both to a table and placed a menu in front of you both. Azreil looked at you. “Order anything you want. I will just share with you”

The menu was filled with a tempting array of ice cream parfaits, each more enticing than the last. Ranging from little animal-themed ones to flower ones You ended up ordering the panda, and right when you ordered you noticed there was a drink menu that showed an adorable foam cat latte. You order it as well obviously. Azriel smirks as he looks at you with a smile. People in the ice cream parlor glanced over. A smile from the threatening looks of the spymaster was quite rare.

You both talked about what other errands you both needed to run, a market trip was due. Luckily Azriel won’t have a mission for a while but will be training with the Valkyrie and having to go to Hewn City soon. As you both talked, you very impatiently waited for the dessert, Azriel held your hand across the table. He was rubbing his finger across the top of your hand.

“I appreciate you” He whispered so softly that you almost didn’t catch it. You give him a warm smile “I appreciate you too and everything you do.”

After what seemed like forever!

The ice cream and latte finally arrived, you looked at the ice cream with a pout and looked at him.

“I don’t think I can eat it, it’s too cute” you pout as you look down at the panda ice cream staring up at you. Azriel had already taken the latte and was about to sip it. As he raised a brow.

“Shall I eat it for you” he teased, flashing a playful grin as he took a sip of the cute cat latte. Something about this intimidating creature sipping a cute cat latte caused your heart to flutter. A blush made its way across your face, even after fifty years of marriage, he still makes you have butterflies in your tummy. You reluctantly used your tiny spoon that was given to you, to poke the face of the little panda ice cream ball on top. Tasting the ice cream, it was a cookies and cream flavor. So cute and so delicious. Azriel teased you by claiming you’re murdering him. You would flash him a playful glare which would cause him to laugh. It was moments like these, that you enjoyed being married to him.

***

Drunken nights, meant drunken mates.

Azriel arrived at Rita’s to find his mate giggling drunk next to Feyre who was being led away by Rhysand. Azriel’s mate however was still sipping on her drink as he walked over.

“Sorry, I have a mate,” you slurred, raising a hand to Azriel’s face as he approached.

“Oh, do you? Is he handsome?” He teased in a low voice, taking a seat next to you. His wing brushing against your shoulder.

“The most handsome man in the whole world, let me tell you if he caught you right now, you would be catching his hands” You drawled with a drunken grin as you sipped the rest of your cocktail.

Azriel covered his mouth covering a laugh, “Is that so? So he’s like super powerful.” He teased, his tone holding amusement. One of his shadows trailing around your arm.

You notice it and giggle, “Yeah, my mate has these little shadow things too” You point at the shadow and show it to him. He laughs a bit harder and leans closer to you. You almost immediately recognize him.

“Hello! My mate!” You giggle as you lean your head on his shoulder. His arm slipped around your waist. “When did you get here, there was such a strange man here” you giggle as he holds you close, placing his chin on top of your head.

“Just now, how about we head home? Hm?” He hums as he plays with a strand of your hair, leaning back a little to slide a hand under your chin to tilt your face to his to see your drunken smile with a red flush on your cheeks.

“Can we walk a little?” You smile up at him as you slur a little.

“Can you even walk?” He teases in a low tone, “If you can then sure”

He pays the tab and walks with you out. A hand firmly on your waist to stop you from stumbling when you both walk the streets of Velaris. If anyone even looks at you stumble they’re met with the glare of the spymaster. You notice a pigeon leaving his arms and make your toward it.

Tears stream down your face.

Oh fuc- Azriel almost thought you were about to throw up but here you are giving the pigeons coins while crying.

“Baby please, he’s homeless” You give Azriel a longing look as big alligator tears stream down your face.

“The pigeon?” Azreil covers his mouth from laughing, there’s no way his mate is crying about a bird on the street. This is one of her more normal moments.

“Yes, and he’s so poor. I mean he had no pockets!” you slurred as your voice cracked feeling so bad for the poor pigeon.

“I’m sure he’s fine love, please leave the pigeon alone,” he says quietly as he pulls you up. Perhaps, winnowing home would be for the best.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #acotar azriel #shadowsinger #pls I need this man

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sansaorgana · 6 months

Note

So I loved the way you wrote Buck with his scars! My heart was breaking! Could you maybe write one where he hates them and the reader comforts them and kisses his scars?

hi, sugar! 🥰 I am trying to write these requests chronologically but I couldn't wait to write this one, especially after seeing today's episode because domestic Buck is something I just NEED 😍 I added a whole plot around it, so you can also expect some of jealous Gale 👀 basically, his wife befriended some man when he was away and now he's jealous and insecure that he's not so handsome anymore lol like it's even possible

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

Buck stepped on the stool to take off the last of the Welcome Home signs as his wife stood below with her hand gently put on his thigh, making sure he wouldn’t fall. She didn’t want to miss any opportunity to touch him ever since he had come back.

Buck smiled to himself. It still felt odd to be back home and to be around his wife’s comforting presence, surrounded by her love and affection.

He furrowed his brows at the ceiling’s colour, though. It was oddly snow white and he remembered that it had been needing a renovation when they had moved in a few weeks before his departure to Europe.

“The ceiling’s been painted,” he pointed out as he handed his wife the paper sign and she took it from him to put it away.

“Yes. Ritchie’s done it,” she answered casually.

Buck froze for a second before stepping down from the stool and taking a better look at his wife. She didn’t look as if she was hiding some secret, though.

“Who is Ritchie?” He tried to remain cool. He had no right to be jealous. He didn’t want to be one of those husbands who didn’t want their wives to have any male friends.

Still, he was jealous.

“Oh, Ritchie, he’s just a… Just a friend, I mean…” (Y/N) chuckled and he could see her eyes sparkling. Buck’s jaw clenched at that reaction. “He’s a doctor, a local doctor, you know.”

“Do I know him?” Buck asked, trying to remember if he had known any Ritchies.

“No, no, honey, he was sent here when you had been… away,” she sighed. “I met him at the party…” (Y/N) got nervous explaining and Buck furrowed his brows at her. “I didn’t want to go, my friends forced me, I swear, Buck. It gave me no pleasure to dance and have fun knowing that you were… at some camp, I…” She shook her head and her eyes filled with tears.

“Shh,” Buck put his arms around her and brought her closer to place a kiss on the top of her head. “I hoped you would go out sometimes and have fun. I never wanted you to sit at home alone and cry all day and night. I hoped you’d know that, baby.”

“I know… Well, Ritchie was there. He wasn’t sent to Europe because we need doctors here, too,” (Y/N) sniffed her tears back and looked up at her husband. “He offered me help around the house. He painted the ceiling and took care of that spare room that might be a nursery one day… He fixed the drain and helped to mow the grass. You know, that sort of stuff,” (Y/N) explained. “I don’t know what I’d do without him, Buck. And he did that all for free!”

“For free, you say?” Buck raised an eyebrow. She looked so sweet and innocent, he didn’t want to accuse her of anything but he didn’t trust other men as much as he trusted his girl.

“Completely!” She assured him and nodded her head. “I wanted to pay him, I really did. But he told me that my husband was serving the country and it was his duty to help. He’s a sweetheart, really, Buck,” she tried to convince her husband. “In fact,” (Y/N) took a step back and smiled, “I think you should meet him. I think you’ll adore him! And you should thank him, too.”

“Thank him?” Buck asked, surprised. Perhaps she was right. He should. After all, that man had helped his wife enormously. But the ugly jealousy was too overwhelming.

“Of course!” (Y/N) gave him a scolding look. “Don’t you think he deserves to be thanked? Let me call him! I’ll invite him for dinner. He’s usually free on Sundays,” she ran to the telephone.

Buck only watched as she excitedly dialled the number she had memorised by heart. After a short while, someone on the other side of the line picked up and she smiled widely.

“Hey-ho, Ritchie, darling!” She started and Buck chewed on the inside of his cheek. He leaned on the wall, trying to look cool about it but he was exploding inside. “I was thinking that perhaps you’d join us for dinner tonight? I’d make that lasagna you like so much!” (Y/N) told her friend.

Buck tried not to look surprised that the mysterious Ritchie had his favourite dish already.

The truth was, Buck didn’t have any favourite dish (Y/N) made. And he hadn’t done much around this house before his departure either. They had gotten married two months before. He had been away for more than a year. That Ritchie guy had spent more time with his wife than he had. And it was killing him inside to realise that.

His wife had been everything that made his will to survive so strong. To see her again, to smell her, to touch her, to hear her laugh. She had saved him hundreds of times without even realising. And of course, as he had said to her, he hadn’t wanted her to spend all her days crying after him. But it still stinged his heart that she had some gentleman friend around. Cooking for him, renovating the house together, God-only-knows what else…

“Oh, no, you won’t be a bother!” (Y/N) shook her head to the receiver. “Buck wants to meet you and thank you for everything,” she turned around to smile at her husband. “Well, in two hours perhaps? Great!”

She put the receiver down and approached Buck to hug him and kiss his cheek.

“I can’t believe you’re here with me again… It feels so surreal,” she admitted.

He only hugged her closer, trying not to say anything. All he could feel was jealousy and he didn’t want to open his mouth and accidentally hurt her with his words.

Doctor Ritchie Nelson was older than Buck had expected – around 40. And much more handsome, too. Buck had naively hoped it would be some senior man living down the street or something like that. But no, he looked like a fucking actor. He had shiny black hair and bright blue eyes. He was a few inches taller and his clothes were very elegant.

Buck shook his hand to greet him when he opened the door.

“Major,” Ritchie saluted and then he gave Buck the most wonderful smile. Buck swallowed thickly.

Fuck me, he thought.

“Just call me Buck, doc,” he only said.

“And you call me Ritchie, son,” Ritchie walked inside as if the house had been his.

Buck closed the door behind him. He didn’t like being called son by that man even if he was older. But he didn’t want to start an argument and make his wife sad. She seemed to be very excited about the two of them finally meeting.

“(Y/N)’s in the kitchen now. She will serve the food in a moment. Follow me,” Buck headed to the dining room, painfully realising how stupid his words must have sounded. Of course Ritchie knew where to go.

But Ritchie didn’t say anything to that and took his place by the table.

“Hello, (Y/N)!” He raised his voice in the kitchen’s direction.

“Hello, sweetheart!” (Y/N) greeted him back and Buck took a seat across the table so he could face the man.

Before he could open his mouth to ask about something, his wife went inside with the plates. She put the food on the table and joined them, sitting right in between.

“So, your wife told me that you went down over Bremen,” Ritchie started so naturally. He had to be born with this charm and charisma. “That was hell of a mission, I’ve heard on the radio.”

“Oh, Ritchie, let’s not talk about the war, can we?” (Y/N) batted her eyelashes at him. “Please,” she laid her eyes on her husband and Buck nodded at her.

He also didn’t want to talk about the war. Especially with a man who had not been there.

“Of course,” Ritchie cleared his throat.

“I’d rather listen to your stories,” Buck told him. “What did I miss ‘round town?”

He quickly regretted asking that question. (Y/N) and Ritchie were telling him all sorts of stories and gossip about local women, drunkards, policemen, priests, divorces and marriages, new children getting born... He wouldn’t mind that itself but the way they interacted with each other made his heart sink deep in his chest.

(Y/N) was mostly looking at Ritchie and her eyes were sparkling whenever he said something funny. She would often touch his wrist when she was laughing and they had a ton of inside jokes that Buck didn’t even want to ask about.

“Oh, you tell that story. You tell it the best!” She would say often and then she would interrupt Ritchie all the time to add her own details. But Ritchie didn’t seem to mind.

Buck couldn’t handle it anymore. He stood up suddenly and they looked up at him, questioningly.

“Are you alright, darling?” (Y/N) asked him, worryingly.

“Yes, I just… I want water…” Buck said and she nodded her head.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass before leaning on the counter and watching his wife still talking to Ritchie. They looked so natural together, so comfortable around each other.

In fact, she looked more relaxed around Ritchie than around Buck. The truth was that things had been awkward between them. When they were alone, they would sit in silence most of the time. And she didn’t look as relaxed as she did now.

Buck clenched his jaw and joined them by the table again, even though he felt as if he was a third wheel.

“Oh, Buck, baby, I forgot to tell you,” (Y/N) grabbed his arm and then she pointed at Ritchie. “Ritchie used to be a model.”

Fucking wonderful, Buck thought. But he pretended to be surprised as he laid his eyes at the other man.

“Oh, please,” Ritchie rolled his eyes and chuckled.

The worst part of Ritchie was that he was not mean. He wasn’t teasing Buck or trying to show off. He really was a nice man... who just happened to have a good relationship with Buck’s wife.

“I mean it! Back in the 30s. He was on the cover of the magazine!” (Y/N) finished the story. “I mean, look at him,” she laid her eyes on Ritchie. “40 this year and face so smooth,” her voice sounded almost dreamy.

Buck moved uncomfortably in his seat. His face was far from smooth now with a few scars scattered on his cheeks. They were not deep but he could see them every time he looked in the mirror. A painful reminder of what he had been through. He would never have a face like Ritchie fucking Nelson. He had already been uncomfortable with the scars but now he hated them.

He took a better look at his wife. God, she was so pretty. So full of life. She deserved someone like her. Not a man broken by the war like him.

“I actually could sign a contract and go to Hollywood,” Ritchie confessed, a little shyly.

“But he chose to refuse and become a doctor,” (Y/N) shook her head and looked at Buck. “Can you believe that? I’d choose Hollywood,” she joked and Ritchie laughed.

Buck forced a chuckle. He couldn’t focus on her words anymore anyway.

“It’s getting late,” Ritchie took a glance at his watch. “I’m opening my cabinet tomorrow in the early morning. I should be going now.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) nodded and stood up to walk him to the front door. Buck remained in the dining room and waited for her to be back.

It took her quite a long time to say goodbye to her friend. He almost stood up himself to check on them but that was when she finally joined him and sat back by that table.

An awkward silence occurred between them.

“Isn’t he lovely?” (Y/N) started as she played with the food on her plate.

“Yes,” Buck nodded. “Damn, I forgot to thank him.”

“It’s alright. He doesn’t really expect that. You can do that next time, too,” she took his hand in hers and caressed it gently.

He hated to see her more stiff and awkward around him than she had been around Ritchie.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” she sighed and stood up, taking the plates from the table.

Buck stood in front of the mirror in the morning and looked at his freshly shaven face. Last night he had a nightmare again and he didn’t get a lot of sleep. His eyes missed the spark he had had before his departure to Europe. They were tired now and sadder, no matter how much he tried to be the same man as before. There were a few new wrinkles on his forehead, too. And those awful scars on his cheeks. His face was definitely not smooth.

“Knock, knock, baby,” (Y/N) opened the door gently. “What is taking you so long? I thought you were shaving,” she smiled softly at him. “I started to worry.”

“I got distracted, sorry,” he reached out for the towel to wipe the remaining shaving cream off of his face but (Y/N) approached him to do it herself.

“Aw, look at you, my handsome husband,” she gave him a warm and loving smile.

He hated that little voice in his head telling him that she had said that out of pity.

“Not anymore,” Buck chuckled nervously and put an aftershave on.

“What are you talking about?” (Y/N) furrowed her brows as she stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He only shook his head, scared that he would start crying if he said something now.

“Gale?” She asked softly as she delicately put her hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at my face now,” he turned around to face her as his voice trembled.

“I am looking, baby,” she bit on her lower lip and placed her hands on his cheeks to caress them gently with her thumbs. “Do you mean those scars, love?” She asked, nervously.

Buck only nodded as his eyes filled with tears.

“Can I be honest with you, my darling?” She asked and he nodded again. “Well, I didn’t want to mention them when you came back home. I didn’t know if I could, I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or sad… But I wanted to tell you…” she hesitated for a moment and his heart skipped a beat.

He expected her to tell him now that they were indeed ugly or making him less attractive. Of course, she would later tell him she loves him despite them and all that jazz. What else would she say?

“I know that they’re on your face because you’ve been hurt and in pain, so I don’t feel good saying this but… Well, I think they make you look even more handsome,” she admitted and Buck’s eyes widened a little. “Am I a bad wife for thinking that?” She asked, nervously. “I’m sorry if I am. But you look so brave, my darling. And so handsome. They make me feel so proud to be your wife when I see them,” she leaned in to place small kisses up and down one of his cheeks and then the other.

“I thought you liked Ritchie’s soft face…” Buck muttered out.

“Wh-what?” (Y/N) took a step back to look deep into his eyes, her hands still caressing his cheeks. “Oh, you’re jealous?”

“Well, how can I not be?” Buck held her wrists gently and moved them out of his face to place soft kisses upon her knuckles. One at the time. “He spent more time with you than me. You’re so comfortable around him. I’m glad you had a friend when I was gone. But I can’t help not to be jealous,” he confessed. “He’s not as broken as me.”

“Gale,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’re the only man for me. I’ve been waiting for you here, each day and night. And those silly scars you’re so bothered about? Goddamit, I was praying to all the gods in the world to bring you back to me, even without arms or legs, so what do they even matter? They’re nothing. I just wanted my husband back with me!” She began to tear up.

“I know,” Buck brought her closer to hug her. “I’m not accusing you of anything, I know.”

“Oh, you’d be an idiot if you accused me,” she chuckled through the tears.

“Why?” He asked and rubbed her back.

“Because Ritchie… He…” She tried to find the right words. “Well, he doesn’t like women, if you know what I mean.”

Oh.

What a burden had just left Buck’s heart. He chuckled out of relief.

“Yeah, I should have… I should have known. There was something about him,” he admitted.

“He’ll be flattered that you thought of him as competition. It means you find him attractive,” (Y/N) giggled and Buck rolled his eyes before hugging her even tighter. “I love you, Major Cleven,” she squeezed him tighter too. “All of you, all the scars and all the breaks you claim to have.”

Buck was left speechless for a moment. He just kept holding her and kissed her temple before finally speaking up.

“I love you, too, Mrs. Cleven.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

#sansaorgana: Answered #lovely anons #*buck #lilysfiction #gale cleven x reader #austin butler x reader

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belqva · 12 days

Text

₊˚⊹౨ TAKE ME TO CHURCH [T.M.R.] ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: domestic violence, mentions of murder (it’s tom riddle are we even surprised?)

summary: At the hour of the owl, driven by anger and hurt, you left your dorm and wandered towards the Black Lake. There you encounter Tom Riddle. Your enigmatic conversation with your academic rival took an unexpected turn, leaving you with more questions than answers as you headed back to the castle.

pairing: tom riddle x ravenclaw fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is a draft that I didn’t plan on posting but I’m so busy atm I don’t have time to write anything else 🥲 again english is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes! as always my inbox is open and I’m happy to hear any criticism or requests as long as you are polite 🤍 not incredibly proud of this but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless <333

It was the hour of the owl when you left your dorm room. Strictly forbidden, yes, but as a prefect—even if off-duty that evening—you were willing to risk detention. Quite unusual for an obedient Ravenclaw like yourself, but here you were, sneaking out like a thief in the night.

“Oh, bloody hell,” you muttered, consumed by anger that clouded your thoughts. Hatred and adrenaline coursed through your veins. The Ravenclaw common room was empty; everyone else was already in bed, even those who usually stayed up late. No one would see or question your departure. It was nearly three in the morning, dark and silent.

You made your way across the empty common room and down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, not entirely sure where you were going, but driven by a need to escape everything. The ancient Hogwarts castle was cold and empty, its walls whispering secrets. Some might find the silence unsettling, but you found it oddly comforting. The cool evening breeze was soothing against your warm skin, though you would likely regret leaving your sweater behind later. Dressed in your usual uniform—a skirt, a white button-up, and the silver-blue tie— you moved carefully through the deserted halls, avoiding even the faintest creak.

The castle felt unimaginably vacant. Your anger had begun to ebb, replaced by a gradual calmness. The walk and fresh air had helped. As you meandered through the halls, you decided to venture outside the castle. It wasn’t entirely safe, but you had your wand and weren't afraid of the dark anymore. The stars shone brightly above, and your worries seemed to drift away.

Heading towards the Black Lake to clear your mind, you noticed a figure on the shore. Your heart raced with fear. Quickly gripping your wand, you crept closer, only to recognize the familiar figure of Tom Riddle. His jet-black hair, piercing dark eyes, and imposing stature could not be mistaken. The sight of him was both intimidating and oddly magnetic.

“Riddle,” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet. As he turned, his wand aimed at the ready, you saw his defensive stance relax.

“Y/L/N,” Tom said, his tone sharp as ever. “It is rather uncouth to approach someone unannounced.”

You had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. What began as a snarky rivalry in your first year had escalated into a fierce competition. Each of you tried to outdo the other, pushing boundaries and limits, reveling in victories and defeats. Despite your mutual animosity, there was an undeniable, if twisted, connection between you. Tom was not like other boys; he was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Yet, he maintained a facade of the humble, ambitious scholar. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and though you would never admit it, you found his intensity compelling.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t my intention, Riddle. My apologies,” you replied sarcastically.

As you approached, you noticed Tom’s irritated expression and the cigarette he had dropped. He took out another one, lit it with his wand, and took a drag before addressing you.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Y/L/N,” he said, ignoring your remark. “It’s never easy with you, is it?”

“You’re the one to talk,” you retorted. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Tom’s unimpressed glance betrayed his indifference. “Well, I’m delighted to catch you off guard.”

The sight of him indulging in such a muggle habit was unexpected. Given his staunch pureblood beliefs, it was surprising. But you supposed it made sense, considering his upbringing in a muggle orphanage. Where he got the cigarettes from was another mystery.

His reaction to your mention of muggles was intense. “I have nothing to do with those filthy creatures. The mere idea is offensive. Muggles are obsessed with pleasure, indulgence, and waste. They are nothing but animals in disguise.”

Tom’s passionate tirade was one of his defining traits. His ability to articulate his disdain with such fervor was both disturbing and strangely admirable. You had learned to disregard his over-the-top responses, focusing instead on his more genuine moments.

“Merlin, Riddle, calm down. It was just a question,” you said, trying to remain unfazed.

“And I am just answering you,” he countered, his demeanor quickly reverting to his usual composed facade. He took another drag of his cigarette, and a heavy silence settled between you.

After a moment, he broke the quiet. “So what is an obedient Ravenclaw like yourself doing out at this hour? I thought breaking the rules wasn’t your style.” His smirk was maddening.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, the earlier anger fading, replaced by an uncomfortable shudder of vulnerability. Tom noticed the change in your demeanor and his expression grew serious. His perceptiveness was unnerving, a reminder of why you found it hard to trust him fully.

“Well, it’s stupid really. Foolish,” you admitted, defeated.

Tom raised an eyebrow, puffing smoke as you locked eyes. A silent understanding passed between you, a mutual recognition of the truth. You began to speak, revealing the turmoil behind your nighttime escapade.

You sat on the edge of your bed, struggling to focus on your assignments late into the evening.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your quill scratching parchment and the occasional rustle of pages. All your dormmates were out at a Gryffindor party celebrating their victory over Slytherin in the Quidditch match. You weren't worried about their early return; it was Friday, and with no classes the next day, they were likely to be out until afternoon, lost in firewhisky or other indulgences. They'd tried to drag you along, but you'd claimed a severe headache and a need for rest. None of them believed you, dismissing your excuses with rolled eyes and playful jabs.

As they left, one of them teased,

"Have fun trying to turn rubbish into a raccoon dog," and they all laughed.

You rolled your eyes, knowing their words were harmless. You were close friends who respected each other deeply; this was just part of your dynamic.

Just as you were settling into the quiet, a sudden interruption shattered the peace. Someone opened your dorm room door, and annoyance flared at the disruptive noise. "Jane, is that you? Because I swear on my mother's-" you began scolding as you turned, but your words faltered when you saw the dark mop of slicked-back hair. It was your boyfriend, Wiglaf Siggurdson.

"Sorry to disappoint," he chuckled, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You were relieved it wasn't one of the girls, but his presence did little to uplift your mood. You liked Wiglaf; he was smart, confident, and everything a girl could wish for. Yet, you often questioned if you truly loved him, if you loved him enough to be with him. He was the one who had asked you to be his girlfriend, and being the polite person you were, you had accepted. He came from a wealthy family, had impeccable manners, played Quidditch, and was almost perfect in every way. But you appreciated him more as a friend and couldn't bring yourself to admit it. You tried hard to convince yourself that he was the one, but your heart wouldn't comply. He was kind, brought you flowers, carried your books, walked you to classes, and treated you like the most special girl on earth. Yet, his presence stirred a surge of irritation.

"I was studying, you know, before you decided to interrupt me unannounced," you said stiffly, turning back to your work. Wiglaf stood in the middle of the room, unsure of how to proceed.

"So, no greeting? No 'Hello, my dear boyfriend who decided to ditch a party to come and see me'?" he remarked sarcastically. "And it's not like you're not always studying.

Nothing new really," he muttered under his breath. The tension in the room was palpable.

"Well, I didn't ask you to come see me," you said matter-of-factly without turning around. His frustration was evident as he moved closer to you.

"And not all of us have a rich father to secure a job at the Ministry as soon as we graduate, you know," you said, tone sharp. He sat beside you and sighed heavily. Dressed in a blue sweater and casual dress pants, he looked dejected.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he said softly. You still refused to look at him. "Sure," you mumbled, uninterested.

"And anyway, if you marry me, you won't have to worry about things like that," he added, beaming with self-satisfaction. You froze, trying to process his words. "Excuse me?" you said, clearly offended. It wasn't unusual for women not to work after graduation, but you had made it clear that you intended to. His casual joke about it now was hurtful. You had hoped he understood you better. Even if you did marry him, you wanted to work and maintain your

independence. You didn't want to rely on anyone, especially not someone you weren't sure you truly loved.

"What's up with you?" Wiglaf groaned. "You're always so wound up and offended by everything I say.

You're always busy studying, and it's always some excuse for why you can't go or can't do this or that. You never actually want to spend time with me." His voice rose with anger. "So far, I'm the only one putting any effort into this relationship It's supposed to be a two person job.”

You frowned and buried your face in your hands. "Wiglaf, I'm not in the mood for this right now. I want to study and go to sleep. Can we please save this lecture for another time?" you said wearily.

"No!" he thundered unexpectedly.

"You don't get to do this. You don't get to treat me like some dog on a leash," he hissed. You sighed, exasperated. "Oh, come on, stop acting childish, Wiglaf," you said, rolling your eyes as you began packing up your papers. You had no intention of continuing this argument; all you wanted was to go to bed.

"I come here, ditching all my mates to spend time with my girlfriend, who doesn't even bother to greet me, and now I'm the one acting childish?" He stood up, his frustration reaching a crescendo. "Oh, please," you muttered, standing up as well. As you tried to gather your papers, they slipped from your hands as Wiglaf gripped your wrists. The sudden contact shocked you, and your eyes widened in surprise.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson," he said with a dangerous glint in his eyes. You could see the lust taking over his gaze. "Wiglaf, let go of me. I'm not in the mood right now," you said, your patience fraying.

But he was too enraged to listen. He pulled you closer, his grip painful.

"Wiglaf, let go! You're hurting me!" you protested, struggling against his hold. Instead of relenting, he pressed himself against you and forcefully kissed you, gripping your face and preventing you from breaking free. In a desperate attempt to escape, you kicked him in the shin. The contact caused him to release you, and he hunched over in pain. You stood there, stunned by your own actions while he grunted, recovering from the kick.

The room was silent except for his pained breathing.

When he regained his composure, his eyes burned with rage. "Wiglaf, I-" you started, but before you could finish, he slapped you across the face.

The force of the blow left you reeling, and you felt the sting and warmth of blood on your lips. Wiglaf stood there, stunned, as if he couldn't fully grasp what he had just done.

Your fight-or-flight response kicked in, and you pushed past him, fleeing the room. He didn't try to follow you.

After a few moments, he collapsed on the floor, staring at the floorboards as he grappled with the gravity of his actions.

As you ran through Ravenclaw Tower, a whirlwind of emotions swept through you: shock, shame, disgust, guilt, sadness, and finally, red-hot seething anger. The only thought that brought you any comfort was the imagined cold, lifeless body of Wiglaf.

How could he do this after everything you had shared? It was unfathomable.

And that's how you found yourself sitting beside Tom Riddle on the shore of the Black Lake.

...and then I just left," you finished quietly. A heavy silence followed your explanation, and Tom's features darkened. You chuckled at the irony of it all. "Well, I suppose that's what l get for thinking that I-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence as Tom interrupted you. "I'm going to kill him." He stated plainly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You flinched at his violent intentions.

"What?" You quaked hoarsely. He couldn't be serious... could he?

"You heard me." Tom's eyes were sharp as he took a few steps closer. But you never knew Tom Riddle to be the type to joke about things like that.

"He dared lay a hand on what's mine, and now he's going to pay for it." His tone was cold.

What's his? By day, you were nothing but an academic rival to Tom Riddle, but by night, you were suddenly his treasured possession? What a twisted mind indeed. You sighed at his words, rubbing your temples, trying to make sense of everything. "Tom, you can't just-"

"Yes, I can and I will. Because tell me, do you not think about me when he's inside of you, when you touch yourself, when you wake up in the morning? You don't love him, Y/N. We both know it. And don't try to deny it. I see right through you." His voice was dark. "And don't tell me what I can and can't do. That's not for you to decide."You were stunned, your mind blank.

Tom Riddle was a confusing enigma.

One moment he hated you, the next he was willing to kill for you. For him, it was all the same. Wiglaf would just be another addition to his growing collection of Horcruxes. It was a win-win for him: a Horcrux, the removal of an annoyance, and you-all in one plan. Three birds, one stone.

Tom's body was now facing yours, and his cold hands brushed a stray hair from your forehead. "Don't waste your mind on people like him. I don't even know why you're with that dimwit..." he muttered quietly. His fingers traced the curve of your lip and the bloody spot Wiglaf's assault had left. As he touched you, the fire in your body reignited, and the magic you only felt around him came to life.

You never felt this way around Wiglaf.

With Tom, it was like you were alive for the first time. You burned for him.

You loved him. He knew it, and you knew it. Yet both of you understood it could never work. Your ambitions were far too... different.

You let your head rest on his palm, closing your eyes for a moment, letting all your worries fade away. Dreaming about a world in which Tom was capable of loving you. Or perhaps a world in which you were able to go against your moral compass and accept his twisted mind. You kissed his palm gently and then pulled away.

"I ought to get back to the castle before someone catches us. We'll both be in trouble." You cleared your throat and spoke.

Tom simply hummed in response.

Reluctantly, you moved away and started for the castle. Before you got too far, you turned to speak softly so he could hear you. "Good night, Tom."

His gaze was on you, but he didn't reply. You continued your way back to the castle, his eyes following your retreating form. When you were far enough away that Tom was sure you couldn't hear him, he spoke softly,

"Good night, my love."

The next morning, you didn't see Wiglaf at his usual spot at the breakfast table. You approached one of his mates to inquire about his whereabouts, wondering if he was hungover or something. But as you spoke to him, a look of concern crossed his face, and he regretfully explained that Wiglaf had ended up in the hospital wing the night before. No one knew how or why.

You felt a pair of eyes on you and turned to the Slytherin table. There they were: two onyx eyes staring back at you, deep into your soul, letting you know that once again, he had emerged victorious.

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

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itstheghostofmypast · 7 months

Text

15.07

Choi San x (f)Reader

Summary: At this point, he didn't know who she loved more, him or Byeol, either way, he was happy. What else could Choi San ask for other than his two favourite girls in the world getting along?

Genre: PURE FLUFF

Warnings: NONE

Word Count: 2.1K

Est. Read Time: 10 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels

A/N: No- see @edenesth 💗 did this to me. This timestamp is for my saviour, the one and only @edenesth 💗 , like we should totally blame San for posting such domestic core pics- no wonder we get all delulu- PS THIS COLLAB HAS ME DYING

@edenesth version: [12.58]PM

"San?" she called out, walking down the hallway as she paused in front of the wall-length mirror, fixing her hair once more and checking out her outfit, simple, crisp and a dash of purple. Very different from her usual office attire, very colourful too- after all the first time he had seen her she was in a plain suit, a white dress shirt and slacks, running around collecting printouts for the upcoming spring magazine. That also being the first time he had realised how much he loved the word 'simple'. Okay, fine, perhaps she was dressed on the softer side, but was it so bad to play cute for once? Especially, if she was doing so to please her man. Call it her way of simping.

Truth be told, she wasn't even sure if he was going to show up, after their extensive tour, when he had mentioned the upcoming off days he was to get, she had suggested going to his home town to relax, leaving the city life for a while and although it pained her to know that she would be too busy with her own work at the office, also known as the company he too worked in, she wanted him to rest and relax away from the hustle bustle of his idol life, what she did not expect that after a week of his departure to Namhae, the very next weekend her fluff of a man would be ringing her doorbell in the late hours of the weekend.

"Byeol wanted to see you and so did I, I spent a week there and I'll spend a week here."

Was all he the dimpled man had made his way inside to the living room, opening the carrier to let Byeol out, the living room already a place of her liking. She had been here with San a couple of times; she had also been a very important part of their relationship. Especially on their third date where he had delicately brought up the topic, "Are you allergic to cats?"

"No, why?"

"Do you like cats?"

"Yeah, why?"

He never really answered her question that night, only smiled at her, leaning over the table to add more meat to her plate considering the late hours of the night, her hunger had distracted her from asking more questions, already too emotional at the thought of this angel of a man sacrificing his portion of protein for her - especially after grilling it so well. The only thing that did change was that the next morning she received around 400+ pictures of San's first love, Byeol.

The first time he had brought Byeol over, he was cautious and attentive, making sure both his girls were happy. He asked her cute questions all day- maybe she just found them cute because it was him, or perhaps it was because he was letting her in, into his domain, which is the little kitty roaming around the house.

"Can I put the litter here?"

"All your windows are locked right?"

"Do you mind if I keep the food bowl next to where we eat? She feels lonely otherwise."

"Can she sleep on your bed? I brought her cat mat just in case."

"Can we leave the bedroom door open a bit, so she can come and go without waking us up?"

He stopped when he realised, she wasn't even responding, panicking he looked up from the cat supplies. Maybe she felt like he was intruding or invading her privacy but was too afraid to tell him. Maybe bringing in Byeol was a big step he shouldn't have taken so quickly. What if she meant like she liked cats, at a normal level, like 'oh a cat.' Not like cuddling them or baby-talking to them. Turning around his eyes scanned the room to spot her holding onto Byeol, carrying her like a baby and cooing at her. It was only then he realised how loud his cat was purring loud enough for it to echo in the silent room.

"Hmmm? You say something, Sannie?" she looked up from Byeol to him, eyes as curious as a cat's, hand resting on the cat's tummy, letting Byeol grab her hand with her soft paws. His heart felt as if it were about to burst out of his ribcage, running to her and landing on her palm, beating in it with an intensity that would borderline scare her. Licking his chapped lips the feline-eyed man shook his head, a genuine dimpled smile forming, one that would send thousands flipping with joy- or in her case have her gushing over it in solitude.

Thus, giving birth to a ritual, often he would spend his free days at his own home, sometimes calling her over, and gratefully his family welcomed her with open arms. On other occasions, he’d drop by to her apartment, bringing their 'daughter' with him.

She remembers the time Byeol had gotten sick. Unfortunately, San was busy that evening, and his parents were out of town so Byeol was to stay with her. Not an issue, at least it wasn't until the third night when San checked his phone after hours of practice late at night. He had decided to stay at the dorm, travelling would be more tiring she understood, but as the man checked his phone his heart almost stopped.

"Byeol is sick, she's vomiting. "

"I'm taking her to the vet."

"She's shivering."

"Okay, my car isn't working!"

'"I ran here, dw, made it in time, they're checking her."

"They say she has a fever, some bug?"

"They want to keep her overnight, idk I mean I can't just leave her here. She looked scared."

"I'm not leaving, but she's sedated. They say she'll be fine."

"San plz reply soon."

"San I'm scared."

Choi San had never run faster in his life he was sure of it, because the moment he burst into the 24/7 pet clinic his lungs were burning worse than a forest fire, his eyes red and blurry, the world around him extremely out of focus as he stumbled to the reception, about to take the patient's name but someone called him instead.

"San!"

His head snapped in her direction, running to her, enveloping her in a tight embrace, trying to calm her down as she began to shiver in his embrace, her words coming out with choked sobs. Hand pressed against her head, he rubbed her back up and down with the other one, looking through the glass window at his cat, sprawled on the table with an IV tube attached.

"It's gonna be okay, it'll be okay."

It took almost an hour to calm her down, he had tried to convince her to go home, she had work the next day but she refused, instead blaming herself for Byeol's health. Though the doctor had assured him it was not because of her incompetency, but the cat food, the cat food Sanhad insisted on changing. Once she found that out, Choi San had to get an earful the remainder of the night, “How can you- I told you not to do that!”

“Babe I- “Don’t babe me! She doesn’t even like salmon! She prefers tuna.”

After the wonderful argument, that through the eyes of an elderly couple waiting for their dog looked like a cute domestic quarrel, came to an end. San remembered sitting next to her sulking as she gave him the silent treatment, though a few moments later her head had landed against his shoulder with a thump, followed by her snores. That night Choi San had realised two things, firstly that he was in love with her and secondly, she probably loved Byeol more than she loved him.

Hence, today they were supposed to go to a cute cafe she had been eying for a month. They had planned on taking Byeol out but since the cat had decided to stay up all night, running around the apartment she was tired today. San had just mocked her, claiming that Byeol knew it was Valentine's Day so she wanted her parents to spend the day together. However, he later countered himself with a, "Though each day is like Valentine's Day with you, love."

Clearing her throat, she dusted off the invisible dust, adjusting her cardigan before making her way to the living room once more, calling out to her significant other, "San! I'm ready to let's go." though his lack of response was confusing her, so she called out again, "Sannie where are you-" her word stopped as soon as she turned the corner, into her living room, spotting a giant starfish sprawled out on the wooden floor. Next to him was Byeol, staring down at him, San's hand pressed against his cat's back in a soothing manner, but she knew what he was doing, making sure his cat didn't move because Byeol was not only pretty but smart too, she knew what her dad was doing.

Sighing she walked closer to him, standing next to Byeol who looked up at her, blinking slowly, before turning back to stare at San. She stared down at him, arms crossed before slowly poking his side with her foot, watching him pretend and stretch, groaning as he cracked an eye open, "Oh~ you're finally done?"

"Mhmmm." Raising a questioning brow she nodded, "And?"

"Oh, I mean" Sitting up he stretched his legs, much similar to how Byeol would do so, "Byeol said her mommy was taking so long in the shower that we fell asleep, waiting for you…" his words trailed off when he turned to look at her, his breath hitching at the sight of the soft pastels, the pretty purple, purple really was her colour. Clearing his throat he quickly got up, standing to talk in front of her, merely a few inches away from her as he stretched his arms over his head before casually bringing them down, not so discreetly wrapping them around her and slamming her into him, smirking when she whined.

"The dress will wrinkle Sannie." she tried to push him away but he pulled her closer, leaning down to peck the tip of her nose, "You can't look like a pretty pixie and not expect me to hold onto you like Captain Hook kidnapped Tinkerbell."

"What an analogy." she mumbled, letting him squeeze her into his warm chest, feeling the vibrations as he chuckled, "You look very pretty…I like your cardigan."

"Thanks, your mom gave it to me last birthday. " Her arms wrapped around his waist, letting him gently sway them from side to side.

“Who do you think chose it?” he smiled down at her, finally meeting her with a gentle kiss, one she savoured greatly, hands fisting his shirt as his palm pressed against her back before slowly trailing down, though their little moment came to halt sudden when a high-pitched squeak caught their ears. Pulling back, she looked down at Byeol, frowning before turning to look at San, “Why isn’t she wearing her leash?” “What do you mean?”

Tutting at her gorgeous idiot of a man, she pulled away completely before crouching to grab the cat and walking towards the door where they hung coats and her leash. “I said we’re going to the café.”

“I know,” he mumbled scratching his head, a bit confused as to what she meant, “I got a booking for it, no? Why are you – we can’t take her there and it's almost time for our reservation.”

“Aww~ don’t listen to daddy, Byeol” San watched her talk to his cat instead of him, watching her put on Byeol’s harness and leash, somewhat impressed because Byeol never let him do that this easily, though the next statement had him blushing mad. “He’s a bit slow, handsome, but slow, he forgot we’re going to a cat café, you’ll have fun there~ Won’t you baby~”

Letting out a hearty chuckle he closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, of course she’d come up with this idea on her own. She had mentioned earlier how leaving Byeol home wasn’t fun especially when the cat was their ‘child’ and leaving their child unattended was cruel. He watched the cat jump off the table and onto the floor, meowing up at his lover who sent Byeol a flying kiss, San didn’t know what heaven was, but if anyone were to ask him to describe what it looked like, the view was right in front of him.

“Any kisses for me?” He asked walking up to his two girls, who were almost out the door, pausing when she winked at him, “depends big boy. Might need to send our baby back home for a while if that’s what you want.” And that had the man shivering with excitement running after her as the two made it to the elevator, already planning on asking someone or one of the guys to watch his little baby for the night, so he could have a night with his kitten.

“Don’t worry, I think that can be arranged, kitten.”

Taglist: @edenesth @mlysalt @spooo00oky @cereal-simp @yessa-vie

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