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luvmila444 · 1 year ago

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SWEET RELIEF - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: Chris can’t help but get a bit worked up while on a tutoring study call with you, when you realise what he’s doing, you only pushing him further to the edge.

content warning: male masturbtion; dirty thoughts; praise kink

word count: 2.8k

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Chris was a little embarrassed with how fast he had picked up the phone call from you, not to mention the blush that had spread across his cheeks and his quickly paced heartbeat when he heard your sweet voice ring through the speakers.

“Hey, Chris!” You smiled as you spread your small pile of assessments and study papers across your desk to get yourself prepared. This had been a regular thing on Wednesdays and Saturdays for the past two months. You guys would set up a phone call together as you would help him study as Chris was falling behind in class…a lot. You guys had to do it over the phone as both houses were always so busy due to Chris’s brothers and your family always occupying your living spaces, making it difficult to have privacy and quiet to help him focus and bring his grades up. Therefore, you resulted in two easy phone calls across the week, which Chris always enjoyed a little too much.

Chris loved that you could never see him and what he was doing at the sound of your voice over the phone. The sweet ring of it through the speakers. The way you ramble so passionately about the work. Yeah… he definitely liked having the privacy of his room for these calls more then he’d like to admit. Although he can never help but imagine what you looked like, what you were doing. Fuck… he’s been on the call for no more than ten second and he’s already getting himself worked up.

“Chris…?” He heard you voice agin. Fuck that voice.

“Yeah... I’m here, hey y/n.” He couldn’t help the smile that rose onto his lips hearing hear giggle at his slow usual response.

“Okay well glad you're here,” you say readying the paper you had recently got giving by your teacher, on to the top of the pill of books you had been working on, “why don’t you fine the paper that mr Hudson gave us today and we will work through that one today, yeah?” You say cutely but trying not to talk so fast so Chris could take in the information.

“Yeah, yeah sure…” he buries his way through his overflowing piles of unfinished homework to find the paper that was given to him today by his teacher “why did he give us the paper today, anyway?” Chris huffs, flipping to the first page that you wanted to start working on.

“I have no idea, it’s not like we don’t already get enough work given to us on Mondays and Fridays, but now on Wednesdays too? It’s getting a bit intense at this point!”

Chris hums in agreement, loving the way you get worked up about things. However, once you were done with your small rant, you let out a sign that was so quiet only the most observant person would notice it, lucky for you, Chris was that person. As you made the noise Chris felt a familiar warm feeling in his lower stomach, just imagining you making that noise in a very different scenario…

“Did you see jenny today?” You interrupted his quickly drifting dirty thought, referring to girl who passes every class, not using her smarts but her body instead, fucking her way to good grades.

“No, why? What was she doing this time?” Chris asked slowly, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and suppress his dirty thought of you.

“Woah I’m surprised you didn’t see her! She was practically pushing her tits out of her very tiny top to try and get out of this paper…. practically had all the guys drooling,” you huffed. You’d always been quite jealous of Jennifer. She could literally get any guy she wanted and could always get out of these stupid papers. It was irritating to people like you who tried their very hardest in their schoolwork and seem to go zero appreciation for it, when all jenny does is gossip, do her obnoxiously babyish laugh and pop a tit, therefore having the whole classroom wrapped around her finger. It was pathetic.

“Nah, guess i don’t really care that much about her,” Chris was very aware of Jenny’s usual inappropriate behaviour, yet he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you all through that class. He was sat near the back of the class, so he had a good view of his surroundings and could easily see you sat a few rows in-front of him, at the perfect angle so her couple see you left side perfectly. Chris simply couldn’t understand how anyone could pay attention in that class knowing that you were in there, not jenny but you.

Your short denim mini shirt that accentuated you ass and hips so perfectly and highlighting your legs. However, to keep yourself warmer and seem more modest, you through a knitted sweater over the top, making Chris’s eager to rip it off and see what you hid beneath the layers of warm wear. God, if there was nobody else in that classroom, he would not hesitate you lift you up on the desk and kiss up your legs to your perfect thighs and up your body. He would make sure to take perfect care of you, bring his lips underneath your sweater and bring his hand to you perfectly round and covered tits.

Full, he could barely take it anymore. He could feel his harder member quickly growing underneath his get sweats, but he didn’t want to stop. No… he couldn’t stop himself.

“Huh, thats surprising, i could’ve sworn that the guys next to me literally had dribble on his chin, it was crazy.” You laughed.

Fuck that laugh. Chris brought his hand up to his crotch and felt where he had grown harder just thinking of you. He began to palm himself, trying to relieve the growing soreness between his legs.

"We should get started now." You unintentionally break his train of thought, as he gulps, silently cursing at himself. "Because I you barely understood what was going on it that class."

"Uh, yeah." Chris coughed, forcing himself to focus. "What did you want to start with?"

You voice begins to drift into an explanation of what was said at the beginning of the class, only worded in a simpler way, yet Chris could barely take in any of this information. You speak so innocently, brows furrowed, as Chris furrows his own for an entirely different reason.

He continues to palm his dick through his pants while your voice was sending small electric jolts through him. All the way down to his dick, which has begun to strain painfully against his pants beneath his hand. Christ, i can’t actually be doing this right now-he thinks to himself. He licked his lips, quickly responding to what you were saying with a hum and an "ah, that makes makes more sense."

Chris doesn't mean to drown out your words. Because he's listening. But more so to the hilt of your voice, and how it would sound much breathier, as you gazed up at him. One of his fantasies had you on your knees, teasingly licking at his cock, as your devious eyes held his. He had orgasmed extremely quickly, multiple times, when he found this imagine in his head.

“So thats basically the first part,” you continued to explain, unaware and completely oblivious to Chris’s hand rubbing at himself on the other end of the line.

He won’t do more. He can’t, this is just so wrong of him Just…relieve a hint of tension. You continued to speak, and your words began to sound like something he wished he could grab, as his hand tightened on his bulge, his rubbing growing messy. His breathing had grown heavier, but he covered it up by saying ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, answering your questions.

“Sorry, I’m rambling. Did you have any questions?” You ask, feeling as if Chris wasn’t getting everything he needed out of your words. He had to spare a glance at his incomplete work, scanning to see if he’d written down any problems, trying to remember if he had any. Because the only problem he could think of right now is how his over-the-clothes rubbing was doing little to satisfy his need.

His cock was now rock hard, it was torturous. His mind began to glaze over with lustful thought of you “I—I don’t think so.” He mutters out, his fingers reaching into the waistband of his sweats and briefs, pulling his cock, which was now leaking with drops of pre-cum and the tip was a bright rosy, red, much like his cheeks.

He imagined the way you would touch him. Would you be gentle and slow, or would you edge him and make sure he’s extremely overstimulated as you milk him dry. Chris’s breathing stutters as he strokes himself. The little hums you make when you think have begun to make his hips thrust up into his palm. His other hand had tightened around the sheet, praying that you can’t hear him jerking off to you. Chris becomes lost in your tone as his cock twitches.

“Chris?” You slowly ask, making his hips jolt at the utterance of his name from your lips, but he tries to keep his voice of some composure.

“Yeah?” He had to press his lips together after a needy whimper nearly falling.

“Are you…okay?”

Your question makes him halt, much to his cock’s dismay. “W-what?”

“You sound… i don’t know, out of breath?” You say, behind the line trying to think of why.

“Really, you think?” He hums with a small smirk on his face enjoying the uncertainty in your tone and how innocent you mind must have been. You nod to yourself, but then you catch the smallest of sounds fall straight from Chris’s lips. You had to be mistaken, as it had almost sounded like one full of pleasure that could have only been as a result of one thing...

Your mouth opened in shock as you realise. He’s out of breath because he’s…

“Chris.” You say again, hearing a stuttering whimper from him before he tries to cover it up by asking ‘yes?’ again.

“What are you doing?”

Chris curses himself because you sound suspicious. “I’m studying obviously. Being tutored s-so well... by you.” He says, really forcing down his cock’s wanting to just ask you to keep talking so he could reach his orgasm, attempting to stop himself from stuttering his words, but he just couldn’t help it.

“You’re sure you’re good?” You asked unconvinced, as a small smirk rose to your lips.

“No. No, I’m all good, i swear.” He says, really forcing his words to sound normal, as he had slowly begun to stroke himself again, his cock angry.

“Ah huh, yeah…okay,” you knew what you were going to do, this was going to be fun. “Did i tell you how good you looked today?”

Chris’s eyes opened, looking at his phone slightly trying to keep a steady pace of his raging cock but if you were going down this road of compliments, he probably wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters pathetically, somehow unaware of the game you were playing.

“Well, you did, your hair…wow. I could just run my hands through it! How do you always get it looking so soft?” You paused momentarily, hearing Chris’s surprised whimper. “Sorry thats kind of a goofy thing to say…sorry.” You were basically just teasing him now, the basic matters of the studying gone.

“I- no i don’t think its goofy. a-at all…” his words are broken up by that heaving panting.

“God. really? You’re so sweet chris…wow,” You hum, making Chris’s hips thrust up into his hand, his legs having widened as you spoke.

“R-really?” His eyelids began to feel heavy again, wanted nothing more but to see the darkness and use it as a canvas to paint his dirty images of you in his mind.

“Yeah, i mean you’re the literal sweetest” you hum lightly, “you always make sure i havea seat in class, you listen to me when i speak and when i help you i study, you defend me in-front of your friends! You’re so sweet! Such a sweet, good boy for me” you were practically grinning at this point.

Chris could have sworn that your words could have sent him spiralling over the edge.“I a-am?” He asked, almost to clarify that this was real, that you were actually saying this to him.

“Well of course, and you’re always so busy as well, yet you always make time for me in your busy schedule. You must be stressed a lot of the time. I could always help you…relax sometime, relieve some of your…tension.” You had lowered your voice now in order to have a more seductive tone to your voice now.

Chris chokes on a whimper as he places his hand over his mouth, still thinking you don’t know. “My tension…?”

“I mean, yeah… i could alway give you a massage, rub you down, you know I’ve been told I am very good at giving…massages.” It was becoming blatantly obvious what you were doing now but Chris must’ve been blinded and in a lustful haze because he still seemed to be completely oblivious to what you were doing. Continuously pumping his dick eagerly and chasing his release.

The thought of you sat on top of him, rubbing all down him in order to relax him was definitely doing the opposite effect and only working him up more. Fuck. He had almost come from the thought of you taking care of him. the tone you had dropped to makes his hand quicken as his hips had begun to grind into his palm.

“You’d do that for me?” Chris whined, only imaging what else you would do for him almost sent him over the edge.

“Of course, i would baby, you would tell me where it feels good before i drag my hands down your body…” Chris let out a pathetic whimper at not only the simple thought but at the nickname as well. Baby? Baby??! Oh, my lord he was going absolutely feral at this point, “however, through your clothes it mind be hard to properly get that tension out.”

Chris moans through his teeth, as his hips pathetically thrust at your words. “No clothes?”

“No clothes.” You confirm. “Would that be, okay? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable— “

“Yes.” His answer was immediate, cutting you short. He coughs. “That would be fine.”

You grin. “Good. Because that way I could really relieve some tension. I’d have to straddle you of course.” You pause to hear chris’s heavy breathing and the faint sound of his hand gliding along his cock. “You may even have to flip around, because I’ve heard that the most tension can be by your collarbones and neck.”

Chris nearly orgasmed at the thought of you straddling him, as your hands wandered his body. “As in straddling..my front?”

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“Uh huh.” He hums, his cock twitching with a soon need to release.

“I could give you that massage the next time we study.” You say, making chris’s breathing quicken at the possible reality of all that. “I could come over to yours.”

At this point he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Yes. Please, come anytime.”

“Or maybe you should cum?” You ask, your innuendo strong, as pleasure began to rock through chris’s body.

“W—what?”

“Come to my place, i know yours is always super hectic.” You play it off, listening to the wet sounds his cock was making as you could hear how close he was to his orgasm.

“Fuck…yeah that sounds good, i-if you’re happy then s-so am i…” he was no biting his own lip so hard he could’ve sworn he was drawing some blood. He now had his back so far arched up off of his bed and was practically fucking up into his own hand.

“See, again, you are alway thinking…of me,” oh he was definitely thinking of you, thats for sure, “you are such a good boy.” And that did it. His orgasm wracked through him as quiet whimpers and moans left his lips his hips grinding into nothing. Wishing the air was you. He watched as the white strings of cum coated and stained his dark shirt.

“Fuck” he let out a relieved groan, now not even hiding the action that he had just did.

“Maybe next time we study i should just jerk you off instead,”

Chris’s eyes widened at what you had said, before realising how blatantly obvious what he was doing was. You giggled once again hearing Chris’s heavy breathes, pleased to know that it was you who had pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck, you can do whatever you want to me,” Chris let out with a deep breathe.

Oh, you certainly would…

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A/n : thank you so much for reading, this is literally my 3rd time trying to post this because I keep making mistakes 😭😭I really hope you enjoy and if there are any more mistakes pls lmk

ily my angels 💞 (especially @gamermattsgf)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you

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bloomzone · 3 months ago

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10 signs that you're totally disorganized and how to fix it:

📓. Your notes are scattered everywhere – You have piles of papers, sticky notes, and notebooks, and you can’t find what you need.

Fix: Start by spending 10 minutes organizing what you need for the day n group everything by subject, and toss what you don’t need.

📓. You forget to pack your stuff the night before – You’re rushing in the morning, and you forget books, pens, or even your calculator.

Fix: Prepare your bag the night before. Lay out everything you need and check it before bed to avoid the morning scramble.

📓. You can't remember what subjects you have the next day – You keep checking your schedule last-minute and feel behind.

Fix: Write it on a visible spot—use a planner, whiteboard, or sticky notes to remind you of your schedule. Keep it somewhere you see every day.

📓. Your study materials are not separated by subject – You’re mixing up your revision notes for math, history, and science all in one place.

Fix: Use different folders or binders for each subject. If you don’t have that, color code your notes so it’s easier to grab what you need. ( I personally use binders for subjects with detailed notes like philosophy or french and normal plastic folders for other subject notes cuz I don't trust digital notes 🤫)

📓. You can’t find your previous exams or assignments or some past papes u did – You want to go over old exams, but you can't find them because they’re lost in a sea of papers.

Fix: Set up a folder for past exams and keep them organized by subject. You can even use digital apps to scan and save them.

📓. You end up studying the same chapter over and over – You keep revisiting the same material instead of moving on to what’s next.

Fix: Make a study checklist pleaaaase. List all topics you need to cover and cross them off as you go. Stick to the plan, even if you want to revisit things.

📓. You never know what your next task is – You jump from one thing to another without any clear direction, and everything starts to feel like a mess.

Fix: Create daily to-do lists and prioritize tasks. Break your study time into manageable chunks and u will feel productive

📓. You procrastinate organizing your study time – You think “I’ll organize later” and keep pushing it off until you’re overwhelmed.

Fix: Set aside 10 minutes every morning or evening to plan out your study session, even if it’s just a rough outline of what you’ll focus on.

📓. You keep putting things off until the last minute – You’re leaving study materials scattered until the exam is nearly here.

Fix: Start with the basics ,set small goals, like organizing one subject per day, to get back on track before you get too stressed.

📓. You end up cramming without any clear plan – You try to study everything in a rush, but it doesn’t make sense because you haven’t organized anything.

Fix: Use a timer (I highly recommend an app calls FLIP) put a goal for each 1h session and only focus on one thing at a time. This will help you study in chunks without feeling overwhelmed and understand more the topic u are studying .

@bloomzone

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mo-aiki · 1 year ago

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I now love you, is it too late? (Yandere Fiancé x F. Reader)

Summary: Heartbreak and romance are two sides of the same coin. They both deal with love between another. Your heart is broken but you are trying to move on, but someone is preventing you from doing so.

Notes: I never thought that the previous story would blow up like it did. You can read the first part here.

Warning: alcohol consumption, drugging someone, forced love, obsession, stalking, mentions of violence, I don't condone it, I just write it.

The days after his conversation with you, he should had been elated. For the first time in his life, he wasn't bothered by you and your antics. He could finally get work done without you bother him at every corner to come visit him or play with him. For the first few days, he was able to finish everything for once in his life instead of having a pile to do the next day. But overtime, somehow he was dreadfully bored.

His office felt quiet. Almost too quiet. The only sounds he could make out were the papers shuffling, the clock ticking, and the the voices that came in and out of his office.

Also, overtime he had completed work for the month. He was used to working more the next day and having work stacked up to the point that he needed to catch up, that now he has no idea what to do once he finished work for a month or two.

Alaric thought he could read. He has always enjoyed reading in his free time. But once he got to reading, he felt bored once again. He never realized that the books he read were nothing but boring. The books were full of political theory, history of the most boring topics, and informative information.

His lunches were quiet, his dinners were quiet, and his stomach often rumbled when he forgot to eat.

Life felt repetitive, boring, and dull. He was stuck in a routine of eat, work, and sleep. Nothing ever happened.

When (y/n) was here, she would always drag him somewhere, she had wanted to go to. To go shopping, a picnic, a play, an opera, to watch duals, or to eat. He always felt tired after those things, but at least it brought him excitment.

(y/n) often made sure he would eat flavorful foods and her favorite foods, to the point that he knows everything she likes.

(y/n) often made a ruckus in his home. Always talking, calling servant’s, squealing at her romance novels, and chatting with everyone.

'At least the manor was never deadly quiet whenever she was around...' he thought of as he smirked.

Wait. Why is he thinking about her?

He should be happy that she is no longer bugging him as often as she did.

He saw you outside. He was shopping for new cufflinks. His were "getting out of style" his secretary had told him. Maybe it was just a ploy to get him out of the manor, but he still went out nevertheless. He was in a jewelry shop. Unconsciously, he went to the one you often visited. The man knew who he was anyways, so might as well cut to the chase.

"Ah?! Your Grace!"

The man seemed to be looking for (y/n). "Where is Lady (l/n)? Doesn't she often accompany you?"

He just stood quiet for a moment before his secretary popped in. "His Grace is here to get cufflinks."

The man's eyes brighten. "Ah. Lady (l/n) has already thought of that for you. Please wait here Your Grace."

He brought out a box that he had gotten from a certain part of the store. He opened it, and there were square shaped, dark blue jewels, bordered with small diamonds, the metal gold. It looked like it suited him. Very well. She knew his taste well. She knew what he liked.

"If Your Grace does not like it, you can commission another..." said the man selling him the product.

Alaric shook his head. "No, it's perfect."

He signaled at his secretary to give him a generous check in his name as he left the shop, only to find you, looking at the ocean view from across the shop.

Why did it look like you were looking for something?

More importantly, why did it look like you were looking for someone?

You wore a bright dress, your favorite lace gloves, your prettiest sunhat and carried your favorite parasol.

He was confident that he was the only man who has ever had a very close relationship with you, other than acquaintanceship.

Wait, why was he thinking this?

Why should he care if you saw another man. This is an engagement of convenience anyways. There is no point in scrutinizing every man that either comes or came in your life.

But if you were going to be talking to men after him, they better be better than him. He was not going to be beaten by some half-rate man, who has never held a sword in his life, who has never had to train often to live up to your a standard(s), who has never had to deal with the responsibilities of being a duke from the moment he was born, who has not needed attention from you, and who has never lived up to your ideas of love.

He wasn't going to lose to a man who never even knew you like he did.

But he saw you were being accompanied by a maid after his thoughts had raged through his head. He walked closer towards you. He saw you.

Your eyes had seemed like the eyes that often looked his way when he greeted someone. Not like their lively selfs that he was so used to from you. Your eyes always shone brightly when he was in your presence.

Your smile, one of formality, not your genuine one. You smiled the brightest whenever he was around. Anyone could tell with that smile that you loved him.

You looked like any other person he had interacted with. Formal and in-line with etiquette.

Even your speech was formal. It was no longer bright and cheerful. It was no longer, "Alaric! What are you doing here?", it was now, "Pleased to see you, Duke Caius."

"It's pleasant to see you too, Lady (y/n)." he responded back.

You nodded you head while a wave of silence came through. He didn't talk, you didn't talk, both of you were looking at the distance of this port.

'She is rather quiet. Too quiet..." he thought in his head. Often she was the one who started up a conversation.

"I'm very sorry Duke Caius, but I must leave. I am shopping with a friend, and I wouldn't want them to keep on waiting for me, so, please excuse me."

You started walking off slowly, but then he spoke. "Would you like for me to escort you?"

You turned your head. He thought you would be smiling and agreeing to his suggestion immediately, holding his arm in a loving manner and chatting with him the entire way, like you used to do whenever he had brought out that idea.

But you had shook your head. "No, but thank you for your suggestion, Duke Caius. My guard is nearby here anyways."

You walked off as he could only look at you and your maid walking. He didn't even realize that his secretary had came back, as he only chased after you in the same direction.

He saw from a distance, you holding the arm of some man. A dull man. He was mad at that moment, but his anger wasn't towards you, it was towards the man you were with.

You had became more distant with him. Avoiding him at every moment, like he was the plague. Every time he noticed her, she had seem to always step away from him, with every step she had taken, walking away from him instead of towards him like they used to do.

At parties, you would often avoid him, while his arm was being stuck onto by Lady Thompson.

Social events had you talking to the ladies, sparring no time for him.

Outings with no small talk.

Every little thing you had done to distance yourself from him, almost drove him insane. His head now full of questions for your sudden change in personality. In the span of a few weeks, you had all of the sudden became the most formal person on earth, to the point people started questioning the legitimacy of the relationship.

"It seems like they will break up soon..."

"Are we sure they are engaged? Lady (l/n)'s sudden change in personality must mean something..."

"How sad this relationship had to come to. It feels like they are in a married’s quarrel!"

"I heard that Marquis (l/n) is planning on annulling their engagement..."

"Really?!"

These nobles and their chatty lips. These rumors meant nothing. (y/n) would never let something like an annulment happen to them.

He was bewildered. Shocked. Almost appalled with this letter.

He thought that she had delivered a letter to write to him once again, but this time, this letter was from Marquis (l/n).

Dear Duke Caius,

I regret to have informed you, that I am making a selfish and personal decision to annul this engagement between you and my daughter. I have came to this decision after her reaction and my bewilderment at the Royal Ball from 4 months ago, after you had escorted Lady Alina Thompson instead of my daughter.

I could see the heartbreak in her eyes, and as a father, it is painful to constantly see your daughter in constant heartbreak from the very boy you had known since he was young.

When your late father and I had planned this engagement for the both of you, I knew I would have to give up my precious daughter to a man I could trust, not a little boy who has yet to grown up.

You have yet to proven to me that you could be a man I could trust you with my only child, my daughter.

I wish you well and hope you will continue to collaborate and see the (l/n) house positively and as allies.

Sincerely,

Marquis (l/n)

The letter came with the annulment papers with it. He quickly looked through the papers too see your signature on them and your thumb print.

He stood quiet for a minute, before chuckling. "(y/n)...oh (y/n)..."

He felt like ripping the papers to shreds in the very moment.

You were happy for once in your life. You had met someone special to you. Arthur Johnson.

A stableman who engaged in conversation with you when he was working for your family. He always had a kind demeanor. soft spoken, and was often willing to hear you. Despite your age gap with him (being 10 years), his status as a commoner, and his rugged appearance, you felt like for the first time in your life, you had actually met your prince charming.

He took on dates to the crowded places like small festivals and the farmer markets. Your first present from him being a cheap pendent necklace from him.

His personality was well liked by everyone as he seemed to have a good relationship with everyone.

His voice was deep and attractive, smothering your ears and causing you to blush around him whenever he talked.

He always called you 'princess' or 'my lady' whenever out and about with you, causing you to be flustered at such comments.

He had introduced you to his ailing mother. You never felt so bad for anyone. You had offered to help him, but instead he rejected such offers from you. "My lady, you really don't need to help us..."

"Nonsense Arthur! Your mother is sick and-"

He always shook his head. "I do not want to rely on my lady to always help us. Thank you for the idea though."

Elliot was boring.

Gregory was pretentious.

Adonis was suspicious.

Adrian was paranoid.

But Arthur, was a gentleman.

Until you never heard back from him one day.

He had holed up in his manor until something had happened. He had gotten news of you being spotted on dates with other men.

Afterwards he had a reason to leave the manor from this point onwards. You were with a man after man often times. Talking, chatting, flirting, and being brought around with. He had his secretary look at the backgrounds of those men.

Low-ranking noblemen, and sometimes even commoners.

The perfect people to direct his anger at. After all, what are those families and people associated with them, are going to do against the wrath of Duke Caius and the Caius Duchy.

All of the sudden, these men had been riddled with debt and their families in financial ruins.

A son of a baron, tricked by a scammer he had paid for. He had fell for it, meaning he was too naive and not needed for (y/n), who was just as equally naive.

A son of a viscount, conned and arrested for the possession and the selling of forged art. The real artwork, costing millions, and in his own manor. He "might" had hired an artist to help him with it, paying off their own debt and giving them money. He was too irresponsible that he didn't even check to see if the artwork was genuine. (y/n) would had lived a life of cleaning up after him.

Another son of a baron, swallowed by loan debt after taking out loans to do his playboy schemes. He often bought expensive stuff in order to impress the women he was trying to bed with. Where did he get the loans from? He sure doesn't know, does he? He had troubles with infidelity. He will he constantly cheating on (y/n) if Alaric didn't catch it early enough.

A son of an earl, swallowed in gambling debt by him. He had seen him in the casino houses, and he thought why not taunt him. Plus, he paid off the casino house to always make him win no matter what. He was a gambling addict, spending his days holed up and gambling his money away. (y/n) would be left to die on the streets with nothing if she had been with him.

A stableman, in loan debt as well, after he had offered to help him with his ailing mother. But now his mother dead, and the loans still needed to be paid off. Otherwise, he could just kill him and sell his organs to the black market to get all the money back from him. Guess what option he did. He was poor, and poor men don't deserve her love if they cannot give her what she wanted. Plus, he might just brag often about his now, new lifestyle if she were to be with him.

The stableman was the most annoying in his eyes. His last words before he had slain him were, "Protect her for me, please, for this old bachelor..."

All of these men strengthen his point overtime. That he was the perfect man for her.

He is skeptical and less naive.

He is responsible.

He has never had issues with infidelity that he has known of.

He has never been financially irresponsible with money, nor has he gambled.

He has always had the ability to give her everything she has ever wanted.

He came to the eventual conclusion.

No man could replace him.

You felt trapped.

A rumor had spread around about Duke Caius's wedding day coming up. You thought he was just going to get married to Alina, but instead you and your father were summoned by His Majesty.

He was congratulating you and your soon to be wedding day. "Congratulations Lady (l/n)! You must be a happy bride. And you too Marquis (l/n)!"

You and your father were confused, but still acted like everything was normal, until you brought it up. "Excuse me Your Majesty, but who has told you about this. I thought I had wanted it to be a smaller event..."

His Majesty let out a gleeful laugh. "Duke Caius came to me last week, talking about how now he had decided to plan his wedding. I thought it was a splendid idea! And thus I had given him permission to use the chapel. He seemed elated at the idea, and thus was willing to plan the wedding himself."

Your eyes widen as you nodded. Your head blanking out the entire time. 'Isn't that impossible, unless...'

You went running out of the palace, finding a carriage to use to get to the Ducal Manor. You needed an explanation of what was going on.

Once you got there, you immediately asked the butler where he was, only to see Alaric, looking happy to see you as he came down the stairs to the front of the manor.

"(y/n), my bride! You are just in time for your dress fitting."

He snapped his fingers to have the servants taking you somewhere as he followed, you resisting. "Wha-? No! Alaric, I have to ask about something!"

He smiled in front of you. The previous you would had elated and been happy at his smile. But now it felt uncanny. Like something was off.

"You have finally called my name..."

You gasped as the servants kept on dragging you to your dress fitting. His hand over his heart as he looked like a sad puppy all of the sudden. "Do you know what it feels like to be called one name for my whole entire life with such endearment, only for it to be taken away?"

"No! That's why I'm not here! LET GO OF ME!"

He snapped his fingers as the servants let go of you. He walked towards you, as he placed his hand on your cheek. All you could feel was how cold it was. Like it was ice. You looked directly at him. "I am here to ask, why are we getting married?!"

His puppy face came back, as both of his hands cupped you face. "(y/n), I thought this is what you had wanted..."

Your eyes widen as he looked directly at you. "A big fairy tale wedding, your dream dress, your knight in shining armor sweeping you off your feet, true love's first kiss...isn't this what you had wanted all your life?"

This is what you had always wanted, but not like this. Not while Alaric had this sudden shift in personality and when he felt completely different form the Alaric you had knew.

But also, when your feelings for him had wavered like tides in an ocean. "But I thought the annulment had gone through..." you had said to him.

He chuckled, soon going onto full blown laughter. "(y/n), I know you still want to get married to me. So let's have the wedding of your dreams." he said while placing a kiss on your forehead, something you would had blush at, if everything about this wasn't sketchy.

"But! But!"

"No buts. We are getting married in 9 days anyways. Now, let's go to your dress fitting!"

Everything was too sketchy these past 7 days. Alaric had a sudden change in personality. An extreme one in fact. He all of the sudden became loving.

Following you everywhere.

Bringing you onto his lap while he works.

Having picnics with you.

Having tea with you.

Being your dance partner for practicing.

Locking you in his manor and giving you a splendid guest room while at it.

Coming into your room and reading you to sleep.

Increasing security around you.

Feeding you himself, personally.

Disciplining the male servants if they had touched you.

And the most weird one, not leaving your room, even while you slept.

He had changed, but for what? Now all you felt was creeped out by his sudden shift in behavior. Every single little thing done by him almost felt suffocating. Like he so desperately needed you to either be beside him or to in this manor.

You wanted to see your friends again. You wanted to talk to people again. You wanted to see your father again. You wanted to go shopping again. You wanted to see Arthur again. You wanted to do the things you did. You wanted to leave this suffocating manor for once and do something other than being restrained by him.

So you snooped. When he left, you went around his office. Previously, you had always barged into his office, always running your mouth in a tasteless way. But this time, you had avoided his office, unless he dragged you to it to be with him.

You looked around with something on your mind. "He must have the annulment papers somewhere..."

There was a family portrait of him and his father in his office. A portrait must mean that there's something behind it. Touching the frame, you opened up a secret compartment that was full of bank statements. "Elliot Lancaster, Gregory McClain, Adonis Lovesett, Adrian Hill, Arthur Johnson..."

All the men you had been with. The bank statements had shown how their wallets had gone empty in the span of a week or two.

Elliot and his family had gone bankrupt and sent to an island in the north.

Gregory had been charged with forgery and sentenced to 3 years in prison.

Adonis had been bankrupt and charged with assault against a Marquis for mingling with his wife.

Adrian had been cut off from his family due to his gambling addiction, and has now gone further in debt.

And Arthur. The nice man Arthur. His body was never founded when his mother reported him as missing.

Your eyes widened in horror as you looked at the other pages. He had planned it. From the financial debt to killing Arthur and selling his body parts on the black market. Each paper described the reports of the deeds he had done.

Especially for Arthur. His was the most gruesome one. Chopping him up into bits and selling his innards to the black market while dumping the rest to the ocean on Beckett's Beach, where you took your first date with him.

You couldn't help but squat out of fear immediately. Were you responsible for all of these mens' demise?

Would Elliot and his family still be living in the capital in peace if he never met you?

Would Gregory go back to being his artistic and art loving self if he didn't buy from that one painter you had told him to buy from?

Adonis was already kinda shitty.

Would Adrian change if you had stayed with him?

Would Arthur still be alive if you never noticed him?

You didn't know, and that's when you started crying. Your tears fell down rapidly like waterfalls. The papers, the bank statements, the pieces of news, the reports, all of them now wet with your tears on the paper. You couldn't help but feel for them, especially Arthur.

Arthur was now dead, and his mother soon meeting him.

And it felt like it was all your fault.

"We'll always be together, my lady, this old stableman promises."

Crying alone in Alaric's study, you thought about the moments you had with Arthur. They were all going to be a faded memory of the past. If only you weren't so naive and if only you knew.

"Why is my bride crying?"

Your head turned to see Alaric at the door of his study. You gulped as you got up, dusting your dress while at it. "I-it's nothing, Alaric..." you stuttered, trying to hold back your tears.

He came close towards you as he looked at all the papers on the ground and the portrait, open. He chuckled for a bit. "Did you read these?"

You shook your your head. "I just...found them, that’s all. I swear I didn't read them!"

He looked at the papers, then at you. You could tell he knew that you were lying. He always said you were an open book and how you wore your heart on your sleeve. "Don't bother lying (y/n)."

He pointed to the part on which you had stained with your tears. The paper transparent as he put the papers down on his desk, walking closer to you. Each step growing closer, each step he took feeling like he was mad. Each step felt like an eventual punishment for your actions. "Why were you snooping around in my office, (y/n)?"

You answered with the first thing on your mind. "B-because! I just...w-wanted to l-look around, Y-your Grace..."

"I told you..." He gently pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "Call my Alaric once agin, (y/n)."

His words laced with anger. He was speaking almost like he was threatening you. He looked at the pendent around your neck. Almost like he never noticed it before. Taking the pendent in his fingers, he looked at it obsessively. "Who gave you this necklace, (y/n)?"

You gulped instead of speaking. His hands felt cold when he touched your cheek, looking at you with his angry eyes. "I said, who gave you this necklace, (y/n)?"

"A-Arthur..." you mumbled.

"Who?"

"ARTHUR!" you said even louder before he started laughing hysterically.

"That peasant? Why bother keeping something cheap around your neck. I thought you hated these things?"

You used to, but now this necklace represented Arthur. "I-it's none of your b-business, Alaric!" you yelled out.

"It is my business. Considering you are to be my wife soon, something like this is unacceptable for a Duchess..."

He slowly got closer to your ear. "Especially if it came out that a peasant gave you such a thing...I wonder what would happen to your father...for allowing you to be romantically involved with a man of dirty origins..."

Your eyes widen. "Arthur isn't like that! You don't know him!"

You tried to walk out, only for Alaric to hug you from behind, holding you in a tight grip. You felt like you were losing air by the second once he held onto you. "He's never told you? His mother was apart of a brothel..."

You breath stopped as he whispered more into your ear. "He was the illegitimate son of a noble...people like that deserve to be killed for grasping an ounce of your attention..."

You tried to get out of his grip, but instead he had ripped off the necklace on your neck, letting it fall onto the floor and walking off to his desk, letting you go. You cried as you turned back to look at him. "You-you monster!"

He opened a velvet box with a diamond and sapphire necklace, placing it around your neck, smiling. "My beautiful (y/n)..."

He gripped you arms tight, dragging you to the mirror in the study while putting the necklace together, smiling.

"We will be together forever and this necklace, is to symbolize your new life as Duchess."

You only looked at yourself wearing the necklace as Alaric's hands kept you still.

"You can never leave me now..." he said, as he kissed your cheek.

You in your wedding dress as he went out into the hall.

Walking down the aisle with your father.

The flower petals dancing around you.

The songbirds singing their songs.

And your once dream husband at the alter.

"Do you take Duke Caius's hand, in sickness and in health, in wealth and or none, in forever lasting love?

"...I do..."

The final words of your previous life.

A/N: A part 3 for married life or not?

Taglist

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#yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere x reader #x f reader #yandere childhood friend #yandere duke #yandere duke x reader #yandere #tw yandere

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reidarkholme · 6 days ago

Text

PROLOGUE — synopsis | Owen Taylor, a new professor from your class assigned a thesis project right at the start of semester and due next week. Burdened by the amount of paperworks to do, your only solace is a pack of cigarette and your secret “spot”.

CONTAINS❕: age gap, owen taylor × reader, smoking, forbidden attraction, teacher’s pet, vivid description of matured contents, no use of y/n, erotic fanfiction

WORD COUNT : 3.4k

WARNING❕: MDNI

▫️ AUTHOR’S NOTES : Based on “The Starling Girl” played by Lewis Pullman. This is my first time writing a fanfiction with R18+ contents. English is not my first language, please do understand that there may be ungrammatical errors made. BEST VIEW ON DARK MODE !

other social: @d4rkholme on tiktok — an edit based on this story is posted already on my account, you can check it out. <3

It’s been a hell of a week and I haven’t even finished my thesis yet. I am so piled up with schoolworks that I even forgot what it was like to socialize with people, but I don’t have many friends who I can talk and banter with. So, I just sit here in my room with my laptop and a cigarette on hand to lessen the stress that I’m feeling while working on my paper that I have to pass next week.

I rolled my eyes out of frustration and shut my laptop. I checked the time and it’s already two in the afternoon, I have a class at three.

This professor that I will be attending class on has only been here since the second semester started and just casually gave us a thesis to work on, isn’t he just a bundle of joy? But, I’m not going to deny… He’s kind of attractive compared to other professors I had for the past two years I’ve been here at this school. Tall, maybe he’s about six feet, muscles are perfectly defined and doesn’t look exaggerated, slicked back hair, wears a polo shirt that fits him just fine, smells like… I don’t know what brand he’s using but it’s definitely not cheap. Looking at him from head to toe, he’s the accurate figure of what a man should look like. Not some guy who thinks full of himself while looking like trash and treats people, especially women, as some kind of punching bag.

As soon as I stepped foot in the hallway, I instantly went to my class and sat on an empty chair far from everyone. I don’t want to socialize–I am overstimulated because of this paperwork.

Before I even put my earphones on, he came into the room, “Good afternoon.” His voice was mildly loud and sharp enough to make me roll my eyes once again because of irritation. I only hate him because he gave us paperwork like this, but what else could I do? Throw hands at him? Only if I could, I would.

I didn’t even notice that he caught me eye-rolling at him. “Is there any problem?” He said, looking directly at me while placing his book and papers on the table.

Of course I play dumb. “Me…?” I said. “Yes, you. Who else might I be referring to? You’re the only one who’s sitting there far away from your classmates,” he replied.

I sarcastically replied, “There is, in fact, no problem.” I faked my smile.

He seemed not to be content with my answer, but he just went lecturing about a new lesson for today and added some suggestions to put in our paper just in case we haven’t done it yet. But, did I mention I listened to everything he said? Right. I didn’t, because I was busy studying his figure… I don’t know what’s gotten into my mind but I feel like I’m being slowly pulled to him, like some kind of magnetic force that an equation or anything about science could not even explain. I’m still irritated by him, though.

It’s already five o’clock and his class just finished. Before I could even step outside of the door, he called my name and asked me, “How’s your paper?” Really? Why not ask how I am instead of the paper, I thought. “Going pretty well,’’ I replied. “Good, because that will help you to finish your studies,” he said, as he put his book and papers inside of his crossbody bag.

I nodded and gave him a bitter smile. “Yeah, I know.” I didn’t even wait for him to say anything back and just went outside already.

A cigarette could really be a good use to free myself from stress. I have a perfect spot to smoke after class whenever I feel stressed, which I do every time. It’s been a coping mechanism since I was in high school and I could never seem to get it out of my system.

Without hesitation, I lit my cigarette and covered it with my left hand so the fire won’t be blown by the wind.

After inhaling it three times with my eyes closed while leaning on the brick, I was startled by a familiar voice. “Still got some?”

I turned around and recognized it’s my professor from my class… Owen Taylor. I almost threw away my cigarette when he saw me. “Holy shi–” I paused, “I’m… I’m really sorry, I won’t do this again. Just promise me you won’t tell it to the dean.” I pleaded. I feel embarrassed that I want to be eaten alive right now.

He looks unfazed. “I just said if you still got some but you straight up get worried.” He paused for a second, maintaining eye-contact, “So, are you going to hand me one or not?” He handed out his hand from his pocket.

Still startled from what just happened, I grabbed a pack of my cigarettes in my pocket and handed him one of it.

He puts the cigarette on his lips, but he’s still not lighting it up. “Are you just going to let it be like this or will you light it up for me?” He asked, putting away the cigarette from his lips.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Here.” I said as I handed him my lighter.

He took the lighter from me and lit up his cigarette. Oh, God, I’ve never seen a man who lit up a cigarette effortlessly making it look… I don’t know. Hot? Maybe. But, that’s weird to be fascinated by. He’s my professor and it’s wrong to think of him that way. God forbid a woman who finds anything attractive, especially if it’s acted out by an attractive man, I thought.

There’s a minute of silence before he speaks, “When did you start?” He said as he took a puff.

I instantly understood his question. “Since high school. Just a coping mechanism and not just to be seen as cool by other kids.” I said as I inhaled mine.

“I see.” He nodded.

We didn’t do much talking and just went to finish smoking. We just stand beside each other as we inhale every nicotine we have.

He breaks the silence, “Thank you,” he said. “Yeah, no problem. Just don’t tell anyone from school then we’ll be fine.” I nodded.

He chuckled. “Is that a threat?”

I answered, “No, but if you perceive it that way… Maybe, yes.”

As we were walking away from that “spot” the rain started to pour. Shit, I forgot to bring an umbrella with me, my bag is going to be soaked and my laptop’s inside, I thought as I frowned my brows and looked at the ground getting wet.

He stopped walking and looked at me with concern. “You don’t have an umbrella with you?”

As much as I hate to admit it. “Yeah… I forgot.”

“I have my car with me parked near here, you want a ride?” He offered.

I really wanted to refuse but I am caught with this situation with nothing but his offer. “Okay… sure.” I said as I followed him walking towards his car.

He opened the door for the passenger seat, I didn’t know he’s a gentleman. I thought he was just some kind of teacher to put some stress on his students. Judged him too far, I think.

He closed the car door for me and went to sit on the driver’s seat. I’m too focused on checking my laptop forgetting that I need to put my seatbelt on. “Buckle up, the road’s slippery.” He commanded.

After I buckled up, he started to drive. His attention was too focused on the road so the ride just went silent until the rain started to pour heavily so that he had to idle his car.

“We have to wait for the rain to subside, I can’t risk us getting into an accident,” he said.

I didn’t say anything, I just rested my head on the window beside me, watching and listening to the rain downpour.

Minutes passed by and the rain is still ongoing. When will this end? I need to go home and finish my thesis, I thought.

I noticed him moving from my peripheral vision, he turned the music on.

The mirror’s image tells me it’s home time

But I’m not finished, ‘cause you’re not by my side

And as I arrived I thought I saw you leavin’

Carryin’ your shoes

Decided that once again I was just dreamin’

Of bumpin’ into you

“You listen to Arctic Monkeys?” I asked as he hummed along with the music.

“Hmm, yeah. How ‘bout you? A fan of ‘em?” He asked, turned to look at me after staring at his front windshield for God knows how long.

Now, it's three in the mornin’

And I’m tryna’ change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls

And to my message, you reply

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

“Hi, why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

“Yeah, I am.” I said, as I looked into his eyes. Those eyes… those eyes that could make you crippling your sheets–Oh, oh, no. Enough, I thought. I covered my face with shame.

He looks confused. “What’s wrong?” He frowned his brows.

“Nothing… Just shrugging a thought,” I nervously replied, but I somehow managed to hide my nervousness. If I really did…

“And what those thoughts got something to do with looking at me for too long?” His voice snapped me back to reality and made me realize I stared at him for too long.

Somewhere darker, talkin’ the same shite

I need a partner, (High) well are you out tonight?

It’s harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

Incapable of makin’ alright decisions

And having bad ideas

His voice echoed in my ears. “Are you having ideas?”

I gulped, not knowing what to answer. I looked away from him but he cupped my chin with his left hand. The hand that he used to smoke earlier, it still smells marlboro red.

“What ideas…?” I asked weakly.

“You know what,” he said, his voice became deep and raspy.

Now, it’s three in the mornin’

And I’m tryna’ change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls

And to my message, you reply (Message, you reply)

I chuckled shakily. “Are you high?” I asked.

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

(Why’d you only call me when you’re)

His tone seems confused at the same time. “High?”

“Hi, why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

We stared at each other, waiting for one of us to make a move. The tension is palpable inside of his car. I can smell his breath, his perfume, I can see the details of his hair looking soft with a sense of rawness in every strand. The way his eyes blink at the same time as mine. The way my heart pounds at every second his face gets closer with me. I’m not turning away from him which made me question myself. He’s thirty-two years old and I’m only twenty-one. This can’t be happening–I am dreaming but I’m not…

In a flash of two seconds, his lips pressed on mine. I can feel its softness and the way it devours me. I kissed back… I know I shouldn’t, but here I am.

And I can’t see you here, wonder where I might

It sort of feels like I’m runnin’ out of time

Our lips continue to savour every taste, not wasting any saliva. He slides his tongue inside of my mouth. The way our tongues dance with each other is enough to send shivers down my spine. I can feel my entrance getting wet as he touches my left leg with his right hand and his left hand at my nape while making out with me.

His kiss gets deeper and deeper at every second and I fear I might run out of breath. The music still plays while we’re doing an unholy act. What a perfect song for a perfect time.

I haven’t found all I was hopin’ to find

You said you gotta be up in the mornin’

Gonna have an early night

I let out a huge breath after he released his mouth to mine, his lips went down on my neck… A part of my body I considered to be more sensitive than my entrance. I grip his hair signaling for him to suck deeper which he did. This man is going to be the end of me.

And you’re startin’ to bore me, baby

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

He stopped for seconds to pull my shirt up and threw it away at the backseat. I did the same thing with him, I unbuttoned his polo shirt and saw his majestic deliciously carved body. He has the perfect shape I wanted.

“Why’d you only ever phone me when you’re high?”

“Why’d you only ever phone me when you’re (high)?”

The song stopped, then we realized what we were doing. “Are we going to continue this?” He asked, breathing heavily.

I nodded unhesitatingly. “Are you sure?” He asked again.

As soon as he got the answer which I think he wanted to hear, he scooted over in the backseat. I did the same as well.

I laid down and found myself being dominated by this man. He started to unbuckle his belt and unzipped his pants. I also started to take off my underwear but I still haven’t unhooked my bra. He leaned over me and I can feel his manhood bulging and ready to be released from being caged in his pants.

His breath is hot as fire as he breathes, I can feel it in my ears as he kisses my neck again. His right hand slowly went from holding my hair to going down on my abdomen to tracing my legs using his middle and ring finger, teasing my insides.

I sighed out of frustration at being teased. “Touch me…” I said, breathing shakily.

He seems to not have heard what I said. I grabbed his wrist and put it in my center, started grinding and made it more wet than ever.

“Ohh… Slow down.” He said between the kisses.

He breaks the kisses and rises up. “Unhook your bra.” He commanded.

I arched my brow, teasing him. “Why don’t you unhook my bra?”

He looks at me seriously. “Are you going to follow or not?” He said, voice low and raspy.

I took a little sigh and unhooked my bra. It felt like freedom to remove this thing from me. I’ve never been a fan of wearing a bra, so I only wear a shirt whenever I’m at home.

He leaned back again, but this time, it’s my chest that he’s starting to violate. He sucks my nipples as if there’s no tomorrow. His mouth on my left chest, his left hand on my right. Massaging it slowly.

I can feel the metal of his watch touching my skin, sending shivers to my body. The way his tongue twirls on my nipple makes me crazy like an animal. My thoughts are full of lust. This man is breathtaking.

He paused, sliding down his pants. He stroked his manhood three times before entering my insides. I let out a soft moan, feeling every inch of him in my body.

He started to thrust me slowly at first, giving me time to adjust from his hard length. Every single thrust he makes, I can hear him whimper even though he’s trying not to make any sound.

His hair touches my face, giving me a tickling sensation. I brushed and grip the back of his hair. I put both of my feet behind his waist, holding on to his nape as he goes faster and deeper than he did minutes later.

I can feel my core throbbing and pulsating, like a morse code spelling his name repeatedly—like an echo in my mind.

I gripped his back using my fingers to support the force he’s giving. My nails are long enough to leave claw marks on his skin, leaving trails of my scratches.

He licked his lips and started to explore my mouth again. Sliding his tongue in me, sharing heat and feeding each other’s hunger. His kiss gets deeper and deeper as he thrusts me harder and faster. This is the first time a man has given me this kind of pleasure. This is heaven.

He got up carrying my back with him, still not breaking the kiss. Our bodies shifted, I hovered over him—breathless and wanting more.

I began dancing on his lap, my lips traced a path along his throat, sucking hard like what he did to me.

He groaned. “I—I’m close…” He gasped, chest rising.

“It’s okay… I’m taking birth control pills,” I said, gasping for air.

He shut his eyes, each of my thrusts met me with equal intensity. My hips are bouncing by the way our bodies move together in sync. The atmosphere became more tense and hotter as we felt our climax built with every thrust.

We couldn’t hold back much longer anymore. Our bodies collapse together as we breathe against our skin, bodies trembling.

My head resting against his neck, hands hugging his back. His hands stroked my hair, giving me a sense of comfort.

I lifted my head up and leaned backwards, holding on to the passenger seat behind me, I grabbed my bag.

I put down my bag on his right and started to look for my cigarette. I took one and put it between my lips as I lit it up in front of him.

He watches me smoke and blow it, not minding the suffocating feeling it might cause us. I once again inhaled and held it in for three seconds, I leaned onto him, my lips coaxing his mouth open as I exhaled into his.

He grabbed the cigarette from my fingers and inhaled deeply, not breaking an eye-contact.

“You’re good, huh?” His voice, dark and smooth.

I smirked. “And you’re bold,” I replied. I snatched my bag beside him and looked for gum, still not leaving from our position. I peeled the packaging and started to chew.

He frowned his brows slightly. “Are you chewing gum?”

I let out a small smile. “No,” I replied, sarcastically.

“Spit it out.” He demanded.

I stared at him, not doing what he requested. I just started to chew this tasteful gum, there’s no way I’ll throw it away this soon, I thought.

He handed out his other hand close to my mouth, signaling me to spit it out. He looked down at his hand, then he met my gaze again and he slightly arched both of his brows.

I gave him a confused reaction because I can’t understand why he wants me to spit this out, maybe he’s irritated by the sound it makes? I don’t know.

“Spit it out and I’ll give you a high grade on your paper,” he added.

Without a further thought, I spat out my gum. I’d rather waste a gum than waste my grades.

“There you go,” I said, looking at the gum I just sacrificed for a grade. But, whatever.

“We should go, the rain just stopped pouring. I’ll drive you home.” I nodded. I got off of his lap and we picked up our clothes and wore them like nothing happened. I opened the car door beside me and went outside to go back to the passenger seat. He did the same thing and went back to the driver’s seat.

He started to drive and focuses on driving. I broke the silence, “So… what are we going to do now?” I asked.

His left hand on the steering wheel, while his right hand squeezed my thigh, still not breaking his attention from the road. “Meet me at my office tomorrow. I’m going to give you something,” he replied.

I just nodded and let him continue driving until I reached home. It only took me five seconds before I reached for his face, giving him a kiss. I went outside of his car and watched him drive away.

▪️ AUTHOR’S NOTES : DO NOT STEAL❕

#lewis pullman #marvel #bob thunderbolts #smut #mcu #owen taylor #the starling girl #owen taylor × reader

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thollandsgirl2013 · 3 months ago

Note

You and Peter are trying to power through your homework together at his place, but the exhaustion starts kicking in. First, Peter falls asleep with his head on his textbook, then you do the same, your head eventually resting on his shoulder. Aunt May walks in to check on you both, only to find you both snoozing in the most adorable tangled mess of textbooks and papers. She can’t help but smile and snap a photo for the memory before gently covering you both with a blanket.

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Fluff, exhaustion, academic stress.

Summary → Exhausted from studying, you and Peter fall asleep together in a pile of textbooks. May finds you both and snaps a photo.

You sit cross-legged on Peter’s bedroom floor, surrounded by a chaotic mess of textbooks, loose papers, and a few forgotten snack wrappers. The dim glow of his desk lamp casts soft shadows across the room, making the stacks of homework look even more ominous than they already are.

“I swear, Mr. Harrington assigns extra homework just because he enjoys watching us suffer,” you groan, flipping through your calculus textbook with little enthusiasm.

Peter, who is sitting beside you with his back against his bed, sighs dramatically. “I think he’s secretly a supervillain. Like, the Calculus Crusher or something.”

You snort. “Wow. That’s gotta be the lamest villain name I’ve ever heard.”

“Fine, what about… The Derivative Destroyer?” Peter offers with a grin, tapping his pencil against his notebook.

You pretend to consider it. “Marginally better. But still lame.”

Peter presses a hand to his chest, feigning deep offense. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know I’m a certified genius.”

“Certified in what? Bad puns?”

“Among other things,” he says smugly before his eyes flicker back down to the problem set in front of him. “Ugh, my brain is fried.”

You lean over slightly to peek at his notebook. “You did that one wrong.”

Peter blinks at his work, then at you. “No, I—wait. Are you serious?”

You nod, pointing at a step where he’d fumbled a negative sign. “Yep. Here.”

Peter lets out a dramatic, exhausted groan and lets his head fall back against the bed with a thud. “I quit. This is where I die.”

“RIP, Peter Parker. Taken too soon by calculus,” you say solemnly.

He peeks at you through one eye and smirks. “Will you tell my story?”

You place a hand over your heart. “I’ll make sure everyone knows of your valiant battle against advanced mathematics.”

Peter chuckles, sitting back up to attempt the problem again. You try to focus on your own work, but the numbers on the page start blurring together. Your head feels heavy, and you rub your eyes, trying to push through the exhaustion. You’re not the only one struggling—Peter’s movements are getting slower, his notes sloppier.

“I’m just gonna…” He trails off, resting his cheek against the open pages of his textbook on his bed. “Rest my eyes for a sec.”

You smirk. “Peter, that’s not—”

But his steady breathing answers before you can finish. He’s out cold.

You shake your head fondly. “Genius, huh?”

Deciding to power through, you keep working. But before long, the weight of exhaustion pulls at you, too. Your eyes flutter shut, and at some point, without even realizing it, you lean into Peter’s shoulder, his warmth and the quiet of the room lulling you to sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

May walks in a while later, expecting to remind you both to take a break. What she finds instead makes her pause in the doorway, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

You and Peter are fast asleep, tangled in a heap of textbooks and papers. Your head rests against his shoulder, his head still tilted against his open book. It’s an adorably exhausted mess, and May can’t help herself—she pulls out her phone and snaps a quick picture.

Shaking her head with amusement, she steps closer and gently drapes a blanket over both of you. “Sleep well, nerds,” she whispers before slipping out of the room.

She’ll tease Peter about this later. But for now, she lets you both rest.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tom holland spiderman #thollandsgirl2013 #spider man #tomholland2013 #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker spiderman

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cherie-doll · 10 months ago

Text

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You're A Bookworm

𖦹 i apologize profusely for my absence, time and writer's block decided to team up against me

༢ུ· Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Ghost

Buys a reading light for you so you don’t keep the ceiling lights in the room on and disturb his sleep

I actually think he’d be a reader, like if he got to pick between watching tv or reading a book he’d choose a book

I’d fr be salivating if I saw this man resting on the couch, pick up a book and reading while stroking our shared pet cat

Is actually a good conversationalist about topics he’s read up on

Soap

If he had long hair he’d be twirling it in his finger as he listens to you babble about books

It doesn’t matter if it’s a cute romance book, something intellectual, a classic or even a gory horror book, he’d listen to you go on ALL DAY

Whenever you visit the library/bookstore he’s ready to carry the piles of books for you

No longer asks “Want to watch a movie together?” But instead “Want to finish reading that book together?”

Emotional support cuddling when the ending is angst

Gaz

He remembers the first time he saw you it was at a cafe

Thought you looked so cute invested in your book, a drink on the table, glasses (if you wear them) that you had to keep pushing up

He had bought you a pastry and politely come up to you and ask about your book

Even now he likes finding new cafes to take you to and buys you a book everytime

Likes to write poetry or romantic notes on little slips of paper and tucking them into the books he buys you for when you open them later <3

Alejandro

Made you a book bouquet (y’all seen that one vid of this guy who instead of buying or having someone else make the bouquet he figured out how to make it instead???)

Once you complained about not having a proper place for your books which were kinda just lying around in piles on the floor, you thought it strange that he’d spent long periods of time outside until he brought in a bookshelf he built and painted for you

Helps you pot plants to add as decoration for your bookshelf

Keegan

Sometimes he worries you’re going to ruin your eyes staying up late reading

“Did a character do something stupid?” When you throw a book across the room

Gets startled when he turns to your side of the bed only to find you on the last pages of your book, “Did you seriously stay up all night reading that?”

König

He likes keeping track of your progress and constantly checking your wishlist for books he can buy for you

He makes sure you’re always stocked up on booktabs and pens + markers to underline your fav quotes with

You somehow always lose your bookmarks and he replaces them

Sometimes he likes to make them himself! <3

Horangi

Likes to distract you while reading by teasing

Finds out when your favorite author (if they’re alive lol) has events and takes you to them

Buys the special editions of your favorite series + signed by the author

Takes you to the movies when the book gets an adaptation and listens to your rant afterwards about how badly/good they adapted it

Nikto

He likes that you enjoy reading because it keeps you quiet and in one spot

He does get annoyed when you’re absorbed into your book and you go too long without giving him attention

Bought you an ereader after you begged him for one because it was more “practicable” and after he borrowed it a few times he now uses it more than you do

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #alejandro vargas cod #alejandro x reader #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #konig cod #konig x reader #horangi cod #horangi x reader #cod nikto #nikto x reader #cod headcanons #cod fanfic

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thelonestarinthesky · 4 months ago

Text

². ᵖˡᵃʸᵈᵃᵗᵉ

⁺₊✦₊　　

pairing: senku x f!reader

chapter 2 of 2/2-i.senku series

a/n: I'll be doing a poll soon regarding this series later in the day, I'll keep it up for a couple of days

⁺₊✦₊　　

Senku was well aware of how much in awe the [h/c] haired girl was, practically shining glitter. He was sweating bullets but tried not to let it show; after all, he needed to make sure this playdate went well so he could get his end of the deal.

"A leek." She says in awe, shaking in her seat.

His eye twitched at this.

Her butler was writing something down upon hearing this. The girl stood up and this made him flinch. "Is your hair always this pretty?" She says with a high-pitched voice excitedly, gushing about his strange but cute, leek-shaped hair.

'This girl can't be a year older than me.' The 6 year old thinks. 'Much less the heiress of a big company like her old fart.'

"Senku, can I design a robot based on your hair?!" The older girl says as he's just annoyed from hearing her voice.

Her butler didn't waste any time measuring his hair and gently plucking out a piece of his hair.

"My apologies, Master Senku." The bulter says, bowing before handing him a small envelope as compensation.

The older girl was happily doing something on her stretch book before handing it back to her butler. Senku, having enough of this, stood up, knocking down the cup of tea onto the tablecloth. "Can we do something else? I hate playing princesses with you." He says bluntly.

The girl blinks at this before nodding. "Oh, okay." She gives him a smile, standing up, she goes over to him and grabs his hand. "We can go look at the flowers outside." She beams, tugging him forward.

They only lasted an hour outside the gardens in the backyard before Senku got bored. Instead of letting her suggest what to do next, he made his mission to stroll inside the mansion like he owned it, the [H/C] haired following behind, holding onto his shirt, which he tried several times slapping away but no luck.

He knows that her family is still moving things in so the library they must have, like all rich people do, should be around here somewhere.

"What are you looking for?" She asks him, which he ignores. Looking around corners, he finally finds the library; it is filled with books from top to bottom. Without thinking, he runs in, making the girl flinch, she runs after him. "Wait for me!" She cries out.

Senku had found a load of new books on topics he'd read, but these were clearly much better since they actually went into deeper detail. With a pile of books he carried.....more like the [E/C] haired girl carried moved to a corner, Senku sat down and began to read happily.

"Are we just going to be reading books?" The girl asks, sitting down on her knees, tucking in her dress, very ladylike as she stares at him.

When she doesn't receive an answer, like a cat waiting for its owner, she sits there, staring at him until he finally finishes a section.

Very patiently, she waits and listens as he passionately rants, like a kid on Christmas. Blinking, she stares into his eyes, which remind her of the brightest apple she's had in the morning which makes her hungry again.

When she finally lets out her opinion, it seems like she sparked more from him. "Woah, you know about this too?!" He exclaimed.

"I thought you were just like all the other kids my age."

For the rest of the day, the two spend the time in the library, her butler often bringing in snacks.

".... I made these blueprints." She says shyly, rolling the paper in between them. Senku finally took a break and stared down at the paper, reading all the notes and looking at the designs.

"I want to make robots like my Dad makes machines." She says, pointing. "But he says I can't use any grown-up machines because I'll get hurt." She pouts at this. "So my butler follows my blueprints and makes the equipment for me. And I put them together like a LEGO set." She beams at this.

"So this is like Science but with robots," Senku says, clearly impressed. "Pretty amazing."

"Yeah, I guess so."

It was clear the two were bonding from the revolution of this, and of course, Senku ruins it. "What's your name again?" He asked, which made the [H/C] haired blink at him before looking dejected.

"....it's [Name]." She mumbles with an emotionless voice.

"Right, [Name], can I keep coming over-" She perks up at this, she's never had a friend, could he maybe be the first- "so I can read more books." And she's back with that dejected expression.

"...."

"...and maybe I can see you work on that cool robot you're making." Senku finishes off, looking up at her with a grin before choking upon seeing her expression. "Oi, what's wrong?!"

࿐⸻༺ ෆ ༻⸻࿐

The playdate ended with [Name] finally coming out of her dejected state when Senku actually tried to cheer her up, and he was just being blunt like always. Kids tell the truth after all.

"Mister Byakuya!" She squeals happily, running into the man's arms as he picks her up, spinning her around.

"[Name]! It's nice to see you're doing great now!" Byakuya exclaims.

Senku watches this interaction with annoyance.

"Papa isn't home right now because he's at the office," the girl says as soon as she's let down.

"Can Senku and I have another playdate?" She begs his dad.

"Sure, sweetie." Byakuya petted her head gently. "I'll drop him off next weekend." She smiles at this before thanking him.

While walking to the car with Byakuya, Senku looks back to see [Name] waving at him frantically. "Bye Senku!" She says loudly as her butler bows at them.

࿐⸻༺ ෆ ༻⸻࿐

Sitting in his room, exhausted as hell. Remembering the envelope that Butler gave him, he opens it, expecting it to be a stupid thing, but he's in awe when the envelope is filled with money. A chunky, pile of cash.

masterlist taglist- @frootloopscos @itsnotsh1v4n1

#thelonestarinthesky #dr stone #dr stone senku #dr stone x reader #ishigami senku #senku #senku x reader #senku x y/n #x reader #2/2 i.senku series #senkuu ishigami #senku ishigami #senku ishigamixreader

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bruhstories · 6 months ago

Text

Muse III

p.1 && p.2

minors dni

summary: one way or another, the inevitable happens - circumstances force you to talk to viktor

pairing: viktor x painter!reader

warnings: some angst, swearing, super slow burn, p with plot?? unprotected p in v, kind of creampie, reader on top, fluff, comfort, afab!reader with she/her pronouns, some mentions of y/n (i think maybe once), canon divergent, bickering and banter

w/c: 6k...

a/n: there we go, the series is now complete! i do hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! liking and reblogging are encouraged! thank you for being on this journey with me haha

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The constant ticking of the clock irked Viktor and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The downside of becoming a professor were the exams — sitting down, waiting, wasting hours was unproductive. He could've taught, could've researched, could've experimented with new elements. Instead, he was stuck in a classroom with a handful of students who looked like they were about to shit themselves.

And then there was you. In the back of the room, watching said students like a hawk, circling them like a predator, like you wanted to catch at least one of them cheating. He hadn't spoken to you since the academic year started — two months and two weeks, to be precise.

Viktor tapped his cane, impatiently counting the minutes until the exam was over. It felt like an eternity, watching the sand in the hourglass flowing ever so slowly. The thought of counting each particle of sand amused him. It probably would've been the most productive thing in the past hour.

The sudden noise of a book being dropped caught his attention. Viktor got up from his chair, but you were already at the source. Some little shit thought he could cheat his way through the semester, but not with you there.

"Get out." You told the student, your rigid voice reverberating in the classroom.

"Professor, please-"

"Get out of my classroom." You repeated, eyes burning holes into the poor student's head.

Trembling with fear, he gathered his belongings, tripping on his way out. You just knew the gossip that would start around the campus about you being a bitch, a horrible teacher, the worst he'd ever seen. But you only had one single rule — no cheating. That was it. You allowed your students to eat during your lessons, to call you by your first name, to approach you with any issues they had, whether academic or not. But you did not tolerate cheating.

No one dared to move until the end of the exam, and even Viktor was shaken by your hostility. He remembered you so differently, still visualising how you knelt between his legs to take off his brace, and how sweet your scent used to be whenever you visited him in the laboratory. But now you built metaphorical walls around yourself, changed your clothes, your hair, even your perfume — jasmine, bergamot, musk. Anything but sweet. And Viktor couldn't help but blame himself for that.

The grandfather clock in the classroom struck once, and every single student put their quills down. No one wanted to get on your bad side. Still watching them intently from the back of the classroom, they gathered their belongings quietly and placed their papers on Viktor's desk on their way out. With the last student out, you walked up to the desk and counted half of the papers, stacking them in a separate pile.

"Can we talk?" Viktor caved in. He couldn't stand seeing you like that anymore.

"Here's your stack of exams." You ignored his question. "I'll mark my part, then drop them off at your lab once I'm done. Tomorrow or the day after."

"Of course. I shall try to finish them as quickly as-" He watched you leave, hips swaying as you walked out the door without even saying goodbye. "-possible."

There was no denying that Viktor found your attitude insufferable, albeit it being his fault. He misunderstood you, he got that now. But you refused to give him a chance to explain himself, to apologise, and that drove him mad. The worst part? He couldn't blame you. You basically saved his life, and he repaid you with disdain. Viktor would've probably done the same if the roles were reverse, really.

You walked back to your apartment with the papers neatly organised in a leather bag, careful not mix them with other files and textbooks. The air was getting colder, winter was approaching, and you rushed to get home before the wind froze you to death. You appreciated the warmth of your apartment more than ever, and began marking the papers as soon as you took off your coat and boots.

Thinking back at how you reacted when you caught that boy cheating, you began to consider it might have been too harsh. He still had the chance to retake the exam in summer, but you scared him shitless, you could see that in his eyes. And you didn't want to be the bad professor. You didn't want Viktor to be the good one. The mere idea of him being loved by students while you were hated by them made you cringe.

No, you needed a different approach, one that wouldn't compromise your position at the Academy, or your title of Master of Arts. You needed to kill them, and especially Viktor, with kindness. But you only had two options to be able to do that. You could tell Viktor you got over whatever happened in the lab last year, which was unlikely that he would believe you, or you could actually talk to him about whatever happened in the lab last year, which was highly improbable of you to do.

Okay, so maybe being a spiteful bitch was the way to move forward, only it wouldn't work on the long run. Not when the exams were half science, half arts, and you needed to speak to Viktor about them. Or when the curriculum needed to be revised, and you needed to speak to Viktor about that, too. Or when there were staff meetings, or half term parties, or social gatherings.

The bottom line was that, one way or another, you would end up in a situation which required you to speak to him more than just hellos and goodbyes, and the longer you avoided him, the harder your life would be. And what could you even say? Sorry? Fuck no. Viktor was supposed to apologise, not you.

True to your word, like you had always been, you visited the lab to drop off the papers. Some things stayed the same — same doors, same walls, same floors. But there was something new within the laboratory, something you did not expect. A woman.

She smiled at you, a sickening sweet smile that made you gag, but out of politeness, you nodded, acknowledging her presence. Her tight curls were neatly gathered in a top bun, and she pushed back her half-moon glasses that hid the freckles on her cheeks.

"Hi." You clutched the exam papers at your chest. "Is Viktor here? I need to give him something. "

"He should be back any minute now. I can give him whatever it is you need." She still smiled.

"No, I can wait."

Why? Why did you say that? You could've given her the damn papers and left. You and your stupid mouth. Silence echoed in the lab as you shifted your weight from one leg to another, impatiently glancing at the door in the hopes that Viktor arrived sooner. She, on the other hand, tidied up the place, careful to not throw away anything useful, organising tools and materials that belonged to him. You knew Viktor didn't like it when others touched his stuff, so why was she just casually picking things up like she lived there?

"And you are?" The words came out before you could stop them.

"Oh, silly me, where are my manners?" She shook her head and walked towards you, a hand reached out to shake yours. "Sky Young. I'm Viktor and Jayce's assistant."

"Assistant?" You nodded, stunned by the newfound information. Since when did Viktor need an assistant? "Y/N Y/L/N, Master of Arts." You shook her hand, gripping it a little too tight for her own liking.

"Ah, you're the painter who saved Viktor's life!" Sky looked at you in awe. "I used to be his nurse. Whatever you did baffled the medical community! I became his assistant to help around, but to study him as well."

Study him? You studied him for your portrait, that didn't earn you a spot in his lab. Why was she any better?

"How... nice." The fake smile on your lips betrayed the jealousy in your heart. "On second thought, you can give him these papers. There's no need for me to be here."

"Are you sure? Vik should be here any minute now." Sky's nod of encouragement only added fuel to your desire to leave.

Vik?? They were on a nickname basis now? Bullshit, she wasn't just his assistant.

"I'm sure. I need to prepare the lectures for next term anyway. I don't suppose you know if he finished marking his part of the papers?" You kept your cool.

"He did, actually! Let me get them for you." The girl rushed into an annex of the lab and came back with the stack of exams.

You took a quick look through them to make sure they were all marked, so you wouldn’t need to come back, and shoved them in your bag.

"Thanks."

"No problem! What you are doing is groundbreaking! If there's anything I can assist with, please let me know!" Sky smiled.

Okay, you got it — she was nice and you weren't. Was that how she got under Viktor's skin? By being insufferably nice and sweet? It didn't matter. She was there, in the lab, working with him. And you? You went back to your apartment, alone and upset.

Viktor spent his holiday revising the curriculum for the next term. While Sky was a brilliant assistant, she could be quite overwhelming sometimes. He learned his lesson about not assuming that anyone who treated him with an ounce of respect wanted to secretly mock him, but he forgot about boundaries. As a consequence, Sky waltzed into his lab every day, talking, singing, bringing him food, coffee, tea — Viktor took your silence for granted. He missed that.

He missed you.

Snow crunched under his feet, each step heavier than the previous one. Viktor should've known better than to go to the Academy during a blizzard, but he needed to return a few books back to the library and to write down the grades in the register. Sky offered to do that for him, but there were personal details about his students that she wasn't allowed to see.

He locked the back door to the staff entrance once he was inside the Academy, wiped the snow off his brace and boots, and walked straight to the library. It was hauntingly quiet and dark, and although he appreciated silence, the empty hallways of the University gave him anxiety. Viktor was a rational man, he knew there was nothing there, but the lack of students and staff simply sent a chill down his spine.

With the books returned, he traversed the library and walked downstairs to the staffroom. He would have to write down the grades quickly — the blizzard was getting worse, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in an empty University for who knows how long. It would be ironic, poetic even, to die of starvation in a place where he starved for knowledge.

The door to the staffroom was ajar, and the lights were on. Strange, he didn't think anyone else was there. Not in this weather, anyway. Pushing the door open with his cane, Viktor froze on the spot when he saw you sitting down, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, forehead creased as you copied the grades into the register. He would never get another opportunity like that. He needed to finally clear things out with you.

"Hello-"

The wooden chair fell to the floor as you recoiled in fear, one hand on your thumping heart. You sighed in relief when you saw Viktor standing in the doorframe, the panic stronger than the hate you held for him.

"For fuck's sake, Viktor." You grabbed the chair to put it back in its place and sit down. "You scared the shit out of me."

He wasn't used to your colourful vocabulary, not when you posed as an elegant, educated professor. But he couldn't deny the joy it brought him to hear you say his name.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you." Viktor propped himself on his cane.

"No, it's fine. What are you doing here?" Averting your gaze, you looked down at the register.

"I came to return some books and register the grades. I see you're doing the same."

"Yes, well, no rest for the wicked, I suppose." You shrugged. "Why in this awful weather, though?"

"I thought you'd do it when the term started and I didn't want you to feel obliged to speak to me then." Viktor said.

Ouch. His words made you feel horrible. You had been horrible to him. It was a deserved jab at your behaviour and attitude.

"I can come back later-"

"Don't." You almost launched yourself across the table. "You walked all this way in a snow storm, don't leave because of me. If anything, I should leave."

"Eeh, we've both been pricks." Viktor shrugged.

There it was, the crucial, inevitable conversation you dreaded for so long. The one that kept you up at night and stopped you from functioning. The one that would make or break you.

"Listen, Viktor, I-"

"I'm sorry." He cut you off. Taking advantage of your shock, Viktor pulled a chair and sat down, his leg hurting too much to stand. "There's no excuse for the way I reacted, but you must understand that I haven't met a lot of people who genuinely wanted what was best for me. Most people either mocked me or pitied me for my disability. No one really saw past that, with very few exceptions, like Jayce or Heimerdinger."

Shit, you didn't think about why he reacted the way he did. You just assumed he had a god complex and thought your art wasn't comparable to his science. You really took it the wrong way, and drowned him in pettiness and loathing. How could you not think he must've been bullied his whole life? Just because you saw past his illness didn't mean others did. Oh, you were an idiot.

"You don't need to apologise, I need to. I just thought you considered art to be beneath science, and by extension that I was beneath you." You cringed at your own ignorance.

"Why would I ever think that?"

"I don't know, I've been stupid, alright?" You scoffed. "I'm sorry, Viktor. Peace?"

"Peace. Do you mind if I register these exams? That snow storm looks terrible and I’d like to finish before it gets worse." He took out the papers from his bag.

"Not at all! I'll make us some tea, it's bloody cold in here."

When you turned on the stove, Viktor dragged his chair next to yours, and your heart skipped a beat. Rationally, you knew he did it so you could both access the register, but the idea of sitting so close to him gave you heart palpitations. You stirred the honey in his tea, and you smiled to yourself at the memory of you doing the same thing a year ago, when you were in his lab. Who knew you would do it again?

"There you go." You placed two mugs on the table and sat down.

The scent of roses, cinnamon and vanilla filled his nostrils, and Viktor couldn't think anymore. It was the same perfume you wore when you spent time in the laboratory, when you put all your blood, sweat and tears into his portrait. He wondered if wore the other perfume, the one that didn't suit you as much, just to spite him? No. Surely you weren't that petty. But if you did, it stroked his ego to know you cared so much. And just like you did in the lab, you jotted down the grades in complete silence, both of you focused, and so close to one another. It felt normal, and he realised how much he needed your presence around him.

Between writing and sipping tea, you occasionally glanced at Viktor's profile, and it sparked something within you — a burning desire to sketch. He didn't know, but you finished registering the exams a while back, and reached out for a pencil and a scrap piece of paper. Your other hand shielded the lines and circles that began to take shape and look more like him, and as inconspicuous as you tried to be, it was futile.

"I know you're drawing me."

"Damn it!" You huffed.

The staffroom echoed with your laughter, and how could you not laugh? It was such an innocent moment between the two of you that both you and Viktor found it amusing. You really couldn't stop yourself from drawing him — your muse. But all good things had to come to an end, and Viktor finished writing down the last grade in the register. You didn't know why, but the idea of having to go home left you feeling hurt.

You walked with him down the dim hallway and unlocked the back door, but were unable to open it. Something was in its way. Viktor looked out the window, amber eyes wide in genuine panic. When he didn't say anything, you scoffed and moved in his way to try and look outside, but you couldn't see anything but white. The thick snow was blocking the door. You were effectively stuck. One more push, and the door didn’t budge. Another push, and you hurt yourself more than you moved the door.

"Well, looks like we're going to have to dig our way home." You mused.

"You're joking. We'll freeze to death!" Viktor leaned again the window for support.

"I don't see you coming up with a better idea, Mr. Scientist."

"Oh, and digging through snow was your master plan?" He snorted. "I'm sure me and my leg are going to make it back home safely."

"What would you rather do, then, if you're so clever?" You folded your arms across your chest. "Go on, genius."

"We can just... wait for it to end." Viktor pondered. It was definitely better than going out in the cold, and you hated to admit that he was right.

"Ugh, fine. But it's getting late and it doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon. We need to find a place to sleep in."

"My office has a sofa. I can sleep on the floor." He suggested and you stared at him in shock and disbelief.

"Office? You have an office? All I got was a fucking closet."

"Well, I was the Dean's assistant." Viktor chuckled.

You didn't reply, for fear of saying something you might regret later, and instead huffed, puffed and stomped up the stairs, trailing behind Viktor like a lost puppy. That part of the University was foreign to you, and you stopped to examine the portraits of some members of staff — Professor Heimerdinger had one, Jayce had one, Viktor had one, but whoever painted it couldn't capture his real grace.

"Hm, I could do this with my eyes closed." You judged the technique, the colours, the proportions. It was a fantastic portrait, it just missed Viktor's essence.

"Is it not up to your standards, Miss Painter?" He tapped his cane. You got the hint and carried on walking.

"No, the painting itself is fine, but it didn't do justice to your beauty." You said with so much nonchalance that it made Viktor short of breath.

Did you really think that about him? You probably meant it as a painter — most artists found beauty in ugliness, or in the mundane. But there was no possible way you meant it as a woman, not when you were so perfect and he was so broken.

Viktor stopped in front of an oak door with a thin tinted window in the middle of it. He pulled out a set of keys, all of them identical, but he knew exactly which one unlocked his office. Curiosity got the better of you, and with inquisitive eyes, you began examining his study. The first thing that caught your attention was the bearskin rug on the floor. A bit distasteful, you thought, but it looked soft enough to sleep on it. In front of you was a brown velvet sofa, and to your right was a fireplace. The mantle was decorated with trophies from competitions and a picture of Viktor and Jayce, which brought a smile to your face.

On the other side of the office, across the fireplace, was his desk — a few papers were scattered on it, but otherwise it was tidy — and behind it were a bookcase and a wardrobe.

"What's there?" You asked, head tilted towards a door.

"The shower."

"You have a shower, too? I'm sorry, do you live here, fancy pants?" Your reaction to his answer made Viktor chuckle, but he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for that.

"Eeh, Professor Heimerdinger found that some of us spent so much time buried in work that he had showers and toilets installed. They're powered by hextech, so regardless of the weather, there's hot water. Feel free to use it if you want." He shrugged, hanging his coat by the back of his desk chair.

"There's only one problem, Mr. Scientist. I don't have any spare clothes." You saw the grin on his lips. "Don't tell me you have that, too."

"Plenty of clean shirts in the wardrobe. Please help yourself to one." Viktor nodded.

"Wouldn't your girlfriend mind if I wore your clothes?" The hint of jealousy in your voice betrayed your nonchalance.

"Girlfriend?" He looked at you dumbfounded. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Come on. Pretty girl with glasses and freckles and a sickeningly sweet smile? Sky?"

"Ah, Miss Young!" Viktor remembered. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but she's not my girlfriend."

It did not disappoint you at all. In fact, it made you hopeful. You weren't sure what you were hoping for, but it felt as though a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders to know that Viktor wasn't involved with Sky.

"Very well. I shall take that offer, then. A shower will warm me up." You walked up the wardrobe and examined the collection of identical shirts. "I suggest you do the same, you shouldn't stay cold." You chose a top that looked a little bigger than the rest, as you didn't want it to be too tight and uncomfortable around your chest.

"I'll start a fire for us, then. The office should warm up by the time you're finished." Viktor dragged his feet to the fireplace.

You thanked him and entered the bathroom, searching through cabinets and drawers for a clean towel. You found one and brought it to the shower, then stripped down and let the hot water clean your body. There was nothing wrong in what you were doing, right? You were two professors stuck in a university until the snow storm settled down. Nothing wrong with taking a shower. Nothing wrong with scrubbing your skin with his body wash. Nothing wrong with drying yourself with his towel. Nothing wrong with wearing his shirt. It was just a professional predicament, nothing more, nothing less.

Gathering your belongings, you exited the bathroom, tugging at the hem of the shirt to cover your thighs. It was shorter than you had hoped, but you knew Viktor was an honourable man. He understood the situation you were both in and it wasn't as though he would jump your bones. Mostly because he didn't like you, and while that comforted you, it hurt your ego. He was an attractive man, and his mind was complex and intriguing — of course you had certain feelings for him. You didn't entirely understand those feelings — respect, admiration, adoration, leftover spite. It was an amalgam of emotions and you didn't have time to process them because you spent a whole year being a bitch.

Viktor's heart throbbed when he saw you awkwardly pull down his shirt to expose less skin, even if it was to no avail. He pretended not to notice your bare thighs and how tight his shirt was around your chest, the buttons barely keeping your breasts from spilling out of it. He poked the fire instead, and you walked around the desk in the hopes that it would cover your lower body.

"I don't suppose you have a blanket I could cover myself with."

"I only have one blanket." Viktor said, back facing you to give you privacy. "Top shelf in the wardrobe. You can use it tonight, I'll sleep in my coat."

"Absolutely not." You stretched, tiptoeing to reach the shelf and he could not stop his head from turning, eyes darting at the shirt that did nothing to cover your lace underwear as you struggled to grab the blanket. "We'll sleep on the rug, back-to-back."

If Viktor didn't know any better, he would've thought you did everything you could to get closer to him. But that was just his imagination. He had no chance to be with you, and understood you were only trying to protect him from the cold. You snatched the blanket and wrapped it around your body, and while it irked him that he couldn't see the skin he would never touch, Viktor found the way you looked all snuggled up to be adorable. It was a stark contrast from the heartless mask you wore for so long.

He left to take a shower, and you guarded the fireplace, cast iron poker in one hand like some knight of flames. The blizzard wasn't getting any better, and the darkness of the night coupled with the snow made it impossible to tell when it would stop. One thing was certain — you were grateful you brought food, and enough for both you and Viktor. Who knew how long you would be stuck there for? Surely Jayce would come looking for Viktor considering he wouldn't be in his lab any time soon.

A great friend he was, you thought. Not just to Viktor, but to you, too. It was Jayce who forced you to draw again, who managed to get you out of the house and who brought some sort of stability in your life. You should thank him at some point. Him and Mel. Things were somewhat back to normal, and it wasn't because of you, but because of them and Viktor.

As if he knew you were thinking about him, Viktor walked into his office, wearing only a pair of loose linen trousers that barely clung to his waist. Beads of water glistened on his pale chest and a few strands of wet hair stuck to his flushed cheeks. You assumed he would put a shirt on, but instead he crawled on the bearskin rug, wincing at the pain caused by his leg, even if it wasn't as bad as it used to be.

You reached out for the leather strap of your bag and pulled it into your lap, taking out the bread you baked that very morning. Breaking it in two, you offered one half to Viktor, who eagerly took it.

"We make a good team, don't you think?" He said and you looked at him with inquisitive eyes. "I provide shelter, you provide food."

"We even make a whole outfit together. You have the pants, I have the shirt." You joked and Viktor rolled his eyes at your attempt of a joke, but his smile was there.

With food in your bellies and the fire dying down, you lied on your back and pulled the blanket over you and Viktor. You could still vaguely distinguish the patterns on the ceiling in the dim light — leaves and vines, flowers and curved lines.

"Back-to-back, yeah?" You told him, turning on your side.

"Yes." Viktor murmured, doing the same.

In the silence of the night, he could hear his own heart pumping blood through his veins. Viktor could've sworn he heard your hear beat, frantically thumping against your ribcage, but he blamed it on his imagination again. You were probably sound asleep, dreaming the sweetest dreams.

You weren't sleeping, you were staring into the darkness of his office, eyes wide and refusing to stay closed. There wasn't an ounce of tiredness in your body, but you thought Viktor had already fallen asleep, and didn't want to bother him with late night conversations about the meaning of life.

His left side was going numb from the pressure of his weight, pins and needles in his arm and shoulder. Viktor sighed, uncomfortably sighing at the sensation. He turned on his back, feeling better already. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, vaguely distinguishing the shapes around him. He raised his head to look at the fireplace — the last thing he wanted was to set fire to the Academy. His mind spiralled, thinking about the next term, about the work he still had to do in the lab, about how his interactions with you would be from now on. Viktor was so used to you ignoring him that he couldn't even imagine you smiling and greeting him in the morning.

"Are you sleeping?" You whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"No, not really." He said. "I don't feel tired."

"Me neither." You turned on your back and faced the ceiling.

"What happened to back-to-back?" Viktor playfully mocked you.

"I got pins and needles in my arm." You admitted. "Can I ask you something?"

"You already did."

"Oh, wow, okay, fuck off." You frowned in the darkness and he laughed.

"I'm only joking. You can ask me anything."

"Would you model for me? I swear on my life I'm not making fun of y-"

"Yes." Viktor cut you off with no hesitation in his voice. "If that will make you happy, then yes.

"Oh. Since when do you care about my happiness?" You laughed, hoping he was jesting, praying he would say something witty.

"Since I lost you." Came his all too serious response, enough to make your blood freeze in your body.

He meant that platonically. He must've meant it platonically. There was no way in hell Viktor cared for you more than a friend, not after the way you treated him. You waited for him to chuckle, to say he didn't mean it that way, but he was quiet. Only one way to find out how he meant his words.

His breathing was heavy, like he had a weight on his chest stopping him from functioning properly, and Viktor flinched when he felt your hand touch his under the blanket. He brushed it off as an accident, until your pinky found his, hooking around it.

"I'm here now." You told him, voice sweet and soothing. "If you'll still have me."

Viktor boldly intertwined his fingers with yours, and you could feel your cheeks burning. But friends held hands, didn't they? It wasn't out of the ordinary. The room was getting colder, and the thin blanket barely offered you any warmth. When your body shivered, Viktor dared to scoot closer to you, his body radiating heat. How was he so hot when he looked so pale?

"Do you want me to hold you?" He asked — platonically, of course.

You didn't reply, but instead crawled under his arm, resting your head on his chest, feeling his frantic heart beats. Friends did that, didn't they? Particularly in such a situation that required you not to freeze.

"I missed you so much." Viktor confessed, burying his face in your hair. You smelled less of you and more of him, and it drove him mad. You were so close, and so far at the same time that his heart almost exploded in his chest from the overwhelming emotions.

"Missed you too." You mumbled, intoxicated by his scent and warmth. "I don't ever want to be a petty bitch to you."

"I promise I won't give you any reason to be one." He smiled into your hair. "Although I must admit, it was quite exciting."

"Mm, how so?" You looked up at him, even if you could barely distinguish his features in the pale moonlight.

"Well, as frustrating as you were, I really wanted to put you in your place." Viktor purred, fingers combining your hair. "I still do."

There was nothing platonic about his words, nothing platonic about the way he held you, and nothing platonic about how you lifted your leg to straddle him, hovering over his body.

"So do it, then. Put me in my fucking place."

His hand slithered behind your head, pulling you into a wet, feverish kiss with newfound strength. Toes curling, you let out a guttural moan, grinning against his lips — you needed him, not as a muse, not as a model, but as a man.

Viktor's hands travelled up your thighs, up your hips, pulling the shirt over your head. There was no time for foreplay — he wanted you, and he wouldn't stop until he had you. With the shirt tossed on the floor, you leaned back for another kiss, another taste of him, and he gladly obliged.

The room wasn't cold anymore, not when you could feel him hard against your clothed cunt, and you automatically rolled your hips, aching for any bit of friction.

"So needy." Viktor's lips curved into a grin, and he dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs, earning a whimper from you.

"Not needy." You shook your head and pouted. "Greedy."

He couldn't see the lust in your eyes, but he felt your hand slip between your bodies, under the fabric of his trousers as you tugged on the waistband, yanking it down. That same hand found his cock, fingers gently wrapping around his shaft and Viktor bucked his hips, yearning for much more than just your fist.

"So needy." You mocked his words, and he found your panties, sliding them to the side.

"Greedy." Viktor corrected you, his digits poking at your entrance, slick coating them.

Lifting yourself to manoeuvre his aching cock, you pushed his fingers away to slip the tip inside of you. Inch by inch, you sunk lower, feeling him stretch your spongy walls. He was bigger than you had anticipated, and you sat there for a good minute to get used to the girth, hissing at the pain caused by the intrusion. It had been a while since you did this.

"Tight." Viktor bit back a moan, struggling not to move — he wanted you to take the lead when you were ready. Perhaps skipping foreplay wasn't such a good idea.

You placed a hand on his chest for support, slowly rolling your hips, his cock reaching deeper than you thought was possible. It was no easy feat taking him all in, but what little stinging pain you felt was soon replaced by pleasure, and the hissing turned into whimpering, weeping.

Viktor was on the verge of a panic attack when he heard your quiet sobs, almost pushing you off him until you bounced up and down his cock, riding him like it was the last time you would see him.

"Fuck- oh, fuck, Vik-" You broke when he held you in place by your hips, fucking you deeper, harder, and you were pliant for him. Obedient for him. Good for him.

Viktor wouldn't last long, not when you chanted his name like a prayer, cunt clenching around his cock. You were made to take him, he thought, his hand on the back of your head pulling you into another sloppy kiss.

"I'm close-" He shamefully admitted, wanting this moment to last forever, but his stamina was weak, and you didn't want to push his body over the limit.

Your fingers reached out for your clit rubbing frantic circles over it to help you climax. Not that his cock couldn't do that, but you could feel it twitching inside of you. He lost himself when your orgasm crashed down like a tide, having the privilege of finishing inside of you. Your body was limp as you struggled to get off him, falling backwards on the rug, his fingers firmly wrapped around yours.

The silence in the office wasn't haunting anymore, but rather peaceful, natural. You didn't feel the need to fill it with meaningless conversations, or petty bickering, or silly jokes. No, it felt good just lying there next to Viktor, holding hands and breathing. Two lost souls — mind and heart, logic and feeling, science and art — coexisting, completing each other, fusing with one another to create something so delicate — love.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #afab reader #viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #viktor smut #arcane smut

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act-nat-ural · 7 months ago

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@madlyney: Hii! Hope your day’s been good!! Could I request for smth cute with Akaashi Keiji? Preferably in a time skip!

word count: 883

The warm, inviting scent of old paper and freshly printed pages filled the quiet bookstore, where the soft hum of distant music made the atmosphere all the cozier. You had wandered in during a rainy afternoon, hoping to find a peaceful escape from the downpour outside. You pulled a few novels from the shelf, their bright covers and intriguing titles inviting you in, and you tucked them under your arm as you navigated your way through the aisles, looking for a place to sit and start reading.

But as you moved toward the quiet reading nook, a catastrophe struck.

A precarious stack of books beside you teetered dangerously. Before you could catch it, the entire pile tumbled forward, scattering across the floor with a loud thud. You cringed at the sound, knowing you had disrupted the peace of the little bookstore.

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks as you quickly crouched down, gathering the fallen books and trying to make as little noise as possible. But as you reached for a particularly heavy hardcover, another hand appeared beside yours, picking it up before you could.

You looked up to see a young man with dark hair, a calm expression, and intense deep blue eyes. He was tall and well-dressed, with a hint of curiosity in his gaze. The stranger didn’t say a word, only offering a small smile as he handed you the book.

“Thank you,” you managed to mumble, your cheeks still burning. You took the book from him and started stacking it with the others, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he crouched down beside you, silently helping you collect the scattered volumes.

Once you were both finished, you stood, brushing imaginary dust from your knees. “I’m so sorry for disturbing everyone,” you said, giving him an apologetic smile.

The young man shook his head slightly. “No need to apologize. These things happen.” His voice was soft but steady, calming in a way that put you a little more at ease. He set the last book back in its place with a careful precision, as though handling something fragile.

“Thank you again,” you said, feeling a bit flustered under his calm gaze. “I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.”

“Not at all.” He looked at you with a faint glimmer of amusement. “Most people don’t take the time to put them all back the way you did. It’s nice to see someone who cares.”

You offered a sheepish smile, trying to brush off the compliment, but something about the way he looked at you—so quietly attentive—made you feel as if he genuinely appreciated it. His eyes drifted to the books you held, and he tilted his head just slightly. “You have good taste,” he remarked, gesturing to the novels in your arms.

You laughed a little, surprised by his insight. “Thanks. I’m trying to catch up on my reading list before school starts up again.”

“Studying literature?” he guessed, his expression curious yet respectful.

“Yeah. I’m actually majoring in English lit,” you replied, feeling your shoulders relax as the conversation flowed naturally. “I just transferred here, so I’m still getting used to everything. It’s kind of overwhelming.”

He nodded, as if he understood. “New places can feel like that,” he said. “But if you need any help navigating, I’m familiar with the area. I’d be happy to show you around.”

“Oh, really? That would be amazing, actually. I’ve been a little lost since I got here,” you admitted, laughing a bit at your own expense. “Thank you…?”

“Akaashi,” he said, extending a hand. “Akaashi Keiji. And it’s no trouble at all.”

You shook his hand, feeling a faint warmth in his gentle grip. “Thank you, Akaashi. I’m (Name).”

His smile softened, as if he were pleased to finally put a name to your face. “Nice to meet you, (Name).”

The two of you spent the next few minutes talking about the campus, your favorite genres, and the nearby coffee shop that, according to Akaashi, had the best pastries in town. His voice was calm, soothing, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say. There was a natural ease in the conversation, as if you’d known each other far longer than the few minutes you’d actually spent together.

“Do you have a favorite book?” he asked eventually, his expression thoughtful.

You pondered for a moment, then named a title that was close to your heart, watching as his eyes lit up. “I’ve read that one too. It’s incredible,” he agreed, and his genuine enthusiasm only made you want to talk to him more. “It’s rare to find someone who appreciates it.”

“Well, I’m glad I ran into you, then,” you said with a smile, feeling a bit bolder.

The afternoon drifted by as you chatted, completely lost in conversation, the awkwardness of your first encounter melting into an unexpected connection. Finally, after checking the time, you both headed out together, agreeing to meet up sometime soon for coffee and maybe a little campus tour.

As you stepped outside, the rain had finally stopped, leaving the world fresh and shimmering under a gray sky. Akaashi walked beside you, and you felt a little more grounded, a little less out of place, knowing that someone was there to help you find your way.

note: almost forgot to post this ngl….

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq x reader #hq #haikyuu x female reader #fem!reader #hq drabble #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi x fem reader #akaashi keiji x reader #request

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just-a-creep-babe · 1 year ago

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A Demon’s Ache — Part 19

Eyeless Jack x Reader

A Demon's Ache Masterlist

Dedicated to @cookiereblogss --- tysm for all the support you've provided, this series wouldn't be here without you <333

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Just like always, parting from you is difficult

He’s helped you clean up after everything’s been said and done, but even then, he just can’t bring himself to leave

He doesn’t want to abandon the warmth of your body, doesn’t want to abandon the indulgence of your scent surrounding him

And he can almost trick himself into believing it’s mutual

Your gaze lingers on him for a split second longer than usual, and your lips part, almost as if you want to say something

Jack’s never really been a religious man, but he’d pray to every god under the sun if it meant you’d stay with him

Tell me to stay, tell me you want me as badly as I want you

But then you press your lips back together, like you’ve reconsidered your words, and part of his black heart shrivels up and dies just a little bit more

“I should get back to my room,” you say, and when you bite your lip as you say it, all he can think about is kissing you until you’re both dizzy all over again

He swallows thickly, nodding

He wants to say something, but he can’t think of the right words

Tension mounts, filling the sparse distance between you

He can’t bring himself to move

And, from the very first moment he met you, he’s almost always felt like there was something pulling him towards you

But right now, that feeling’s amplified tenfold, and God, the mere thought of parting from you is nauseating

All he can think about is how badly he wants more of you

He’s so fucking hopeless

He’s about to lean in to kiss you again, acting purely on some base impulse within him

But then, you blink, as if snapping yourself out of some trance

And you mumble out an excuse, turn away, and leave him behind again

He has to fight every ounce of his being screaming at him to follow you

A few minutes later, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying his hardest not to think about going to your room

It’s pointless, he knows it is

With one final breath, he sighs, summons the willpower to get up, and tries to find a way to make himself useful

He avoids the hallway that leads to your room, instead opting to take the longer route to the library

Doing research is going to help keep his mind off things, he thinks

Well, it’s either going to distract him, or make things even worse by reminding him of what he did to you

But, at this point, he’s willing to try almost anything to stop overthinking

The warm smell of old books greets him as he enters the familiar room

Rows and rows of imposingly large bookshelves press up against the walls, each of them holding hundreds of colourful books—novels, encyclopedias, bibliographies, scientific studies—whatever topic you could possibly want to read about is kept in this very room

Despite being what could almost be considered the “heart” of the mansion, however, it’s almost always empty

And today is no exception

Jack takes in a deep breath, enjoying the honeyed scent of aged paper and the intimacy of the large empty space

He takes a second to orient himself amongst the rows of information, and then it doesn’t take long for him to find the section on all things demonic anatomy

As soon as he gets settled into his research, he doesn’t notice the time going by

And every time his thoughts drift back to you, he forces his attention back to the task at hand

All he allows himself to focus on are the paragraphs upon paragraphs explaining the compositions of demons

Mating rituals, sexual reproduction, anatomical differences, cultural and generational distinguishers—

He knew the demonic world was complex, but he never realized just how complex it really is

He ends up with a pile of heavy books stacked up next to him at a secluded table

Finding specifics is more difficult than he realized it’d be, especially because he doesn’t exactly know where he fits into things

Does he classify as possessed? A cross-breed? Some kind of undead?

He knows the very basics of what the cult was trying to summon when they created him, but clearly, they didn’t know the ritual properly, or it wasn’t a functional ritual, because he’s damn sure they weren’t planning on ending up with whatever he is now

He’s a fucking walking abomination because of those incompetent assholes

After what feels like arduous hours of research, he only finds anything useful in a mere two of the books he’d initially pulled out

And with his limited information on the specifics of his “breed,” he only manages to gather a couple of points that might be relevant

One; mating marks are much less common between a human and a demon, so both the available information and known effects are even more limited to begin with

Two; the intensity of a mark’s effect generally reach their peak anytime within the first to fourteenth day, and it gradually stabilizes after anywhere between three months to a whole year

Three; the intensity of the effects further depend on the type and strength of the demon, which, while useful to know, is ultimately a null point because, again, Jack’s a fucking abomination of a monster

Four; there are no known ways to reverse the effects of a mark

Reading that fourth point leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he tries not to dwell on its implications too much

Finally, the fifth point; because shared marks between humans and demons aren’t common, depending on the type and strength of the demon, there’s a high likelihood of the human not surviving the initial peak of the effects—which, again, makes cataloguing the anomaly all the more difficult

That last point is all he can take before snapping the book shut

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck

He stands, his thoughts racing a mile a minute

He’s about to rush back to you to make sure you’re ok, but as soon as he takes that first step, he stops dead in his tracks

Wait

What’s he supposed to say—he fucked up and bound you to an eternal arrangement, without your consent, and now there’s a chance it’ll fucking kill you?

The implications of it all crash into him like a tidal wave, and he suddenly feels like he’s drowning in a million and one thoughts—each one worse than the last

How badly did he fuck up?

He doesn’t realize how hard his heart’s pounding or how quickly he’s breathing until the room starts to feel like it’s shrinking around him, and he’s not sure if he’s about to puke or pass out

Keep it together, keep it together for her sake

He swallows thickly

Deep breath in, deep breath out

After years of managing his instincts, he, at the very least, has gotten decent at controlling himself when his emotions spiral

Deep breath in, count backwards from ten, deep breath out

It’s ok, he’ll figure something out, he tells himself, and he doesn’t know if he’s blatantly lying to himself, but it doesn’t matter right now, anyways

Right now, he needs to think clearly

He needs a plan

He doesn’t know how much longer he stays at the library, either pacing back and forth, wrestling his frantic thoughts, or standing deathly still with his sight zeroed-in on the books splayed out on the table

It’s like he just can’t think of anything useful—his mind’s a fucking mess

He’s too tense, too high-strung to think properly

He needs to calm down if he wants to get anywhere productive, he realizes

He pauses one last time to weigh his options

And then he blows out a frustrated breath of air, picks up the useful books, and heads out of the library

Straight to his room, he dumps the books on his desk, leaving them open to re-read later, then heads out of the mansion

He tries not to think about you, but it’s just about impossible to stay distracted for more than a few minutes at a time

He registers that it’s dark and cloudy outside when he steps out, but he’s otherwise too absorbed in his own thoughts to focus on his surroundings any more than that

Hunger

If there’s any feeling strong enough to compete with the thought of you, it’s his hunger

He lets it take over, lets himself surrender to his baser instincts, and the rest of the night is basically a blur

You still resurface in and out of his mind, but whenever he sinks his teeth into that squirming human flesh, the sweet burst of blood filling his mouth snaps him out of it all over again

He’s not proud of what he does, but in the heat of the moment, he’s too indulgent to care

He’ll regret it in the morning

He always does

Surely enough, by the time the sun is creeping along the horizon, he’s satiated, yet nauseous with guilt

He returns to the mansion, makes his way to his room, and almost immediately collapses into bed

He’s filthy, covered in dried bits of blood and gore, but that’s a problem for future Jack

Having spent most of his energy, he expects to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but sleep doesn’t come so easily

Instead, he simply lays there in the dark, waiting

And, waiting one minute turns into fifteen, then fifteen minutes turn into half an hour, and before he knows it, the hours are slowly but surely trickling by and he just can’t seem to fall asleep

A dull ache of exhaustion settles in his now-sore muscles

He huffs, rolling over, trying not to let the thought of you permeate his mind yet again

But he just can’t help it

How could he live with himself if something happened to you—how could he live knowing he’s the one who killed you?

He can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen; he needs to confront you and figure things out

But first, he really needs a shower

He gets up, grabs a towel and a change of clothes, and makes it to the nearest bathroom

He throws his shirt off over his head, yanks his filthy pants down, then steps into the shower and lets the warm water wash away his sins

He stands there, motionless, for a few minutes as the water running off his body turns from black, to red, then almost pink as the mess of gore is rinsed off

He grabs the soap, runs it over his ashen skin, and tries to think of a way to broach the subject

He’ll have to be open, honest and genuine; no bullshit, no hesitation, no leaving any information out

And if you hate him for it, then that’s that

It’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it, anyways

Even if you come to loathe every fibre of his being, he needs to stay level-headed enough to handle it

He needs to find some kind of solution with you; he’ll do anything to fix his mistake

The more he thinks it through, the more he’s able to rationalize things

He still feels like total and absolute shit for what he’s done, but at least now, he feels somewhat more in control of himself—at the very least

He finishes rinsing off the remaining soap, steps out, wraps a towel around himself, and returns to his room to get dressed

One last look at the demonology books splayed open on his desk is all it takes for him to finally straighten himself up and head out his room to find you

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he’s too lost in thought to remember to check, but he knows you’re not in your room anyways

Like a strange sixth sense, he feels a tug pulling him towards the kitchen, almost as if there was an invisible string guiding him right towards you

And, surely enough, there you are, sitting at the table with a warm mug of coffee between your hands

On instinct, he takes in a deep breath—and that’s when he smells it

He freezes, stopping dead in his tracks

Feeling someone in front of you, you look up from the coffee between your hands, and your eyes lock with his

Every muscle in Jack’s body tenses

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way

He takes another deep breath—just to check, just to see if somehow got the wrong impression

But there’s no denying it, no masking the scent

Hoodie and Masky—their odour is all over you

He almost doesn’t know what to think

Those fuckers

Those fuckers slept with his mate

“Jack—“

You say his name, but he doesn’t even hear it over the blistering rage pumping through his system

Something within him snaps

The demon takes over again

And all he can suddenly think about is one thing

Kill

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #eyeless Jack #eyeless Jack x reader #crp ej

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madameisaacpereire · 9 days ago

Note

First off I just want to say I love your writing, I’ve reread it sm tbh, and can I ask for a fic where Henry helps the reader when she’s in a depressive episode? Sorta like the one you already wrote where she’s ill but, here she doesn’t rlly speak and her mood is rlly bad, and struggles with everything and having a will to do it etc?

ok hiiiii i hope this is ok! unedited first draft, might go over it again later, might not. i had some fun with this one, hopefully he isn't too OOC because i think this is the sweetest thing i've ever written about henry.

a month of winter

henry x reader, standalone.

It starts gradually, the way these things so often do. A late assignment, a single class skipped in favor of lying in bed all day. But these things always snowball so rapidly. Late work turns into work left undone, a skipped class into weeks worth of missed classes, and you very soon aren’t leaving your bed for anything.

You’re not even cognizant of it happening until you’re drowning in work, graduation on the line, and you haven’t so much as brushed your teeth in... an amount of time you’d rather not disclose. You haven’t showered, or changed clothes. Your dorm room reeks of dead skin. Your sweater is covered in crumbs leftover from days ago, when you finished the last of your snacks.

The thing is, you know your classmates would help you in any way they could, if you only were to ask. They’d take down extra notes, sit with you until each paper has been written, or a particularly difficult passage translated. You’re sure they’d drive you out to the country in hopes of the fresh air helping your sensibilities. They operate much like a dysfunctional little family, in that way.

But everything has spiraled so far out of control that you’d find it embarrassing; it might strike pity into their eyes. You absolutely detest being pitied. And along with that, you’re having a difficult time truly caring whether you graduate or not.

Which leaves you at a sort of impasse for awhile. Work piling up, dehydration building, personal hygiene virtually nonexistent. The first day without food or water is nearly unbearable enough to snap you from your stupor, animal impulse seconds away from overriding this dead feeling. The following two days, however, you mostly spend asleep. It’s dreamless, painful and dry. But you find this type of emptiness more bearable.

This is how Henry finds you. He wouldn’t typically drop in on you in such a fashion– you don’t tend to get along very well at the best of times– but Julian asked that he make sure you’re alright, and he’ll do anything Julian requests. You aren’t conscious of his presence at all, allowing him to survey the damage with a pinched expression you’ll never be aware of.

Your room’s level of disorder is incredibly disturbing to him. Things seem to surround your bed in circular layers. Circle one is mostly dust, circle two used clothes, circles three and four the wrappers of any and all snacks you managed to choke down (as though you threw your refuse as far from you as you could.) Circle five is more clothing, a much thicker carpet than before, six a heap (or several,) of different books, seven your school supplies. And the worst circle, in his opinion, is the one closest to you. Circle eight, fittingly enough, is little more than a wasteland. Two empty soda cans, an empty chip bag, crumpled school work, and you.

You’re the most terrifying sight in this room, if he’s honest. You almost look dead. He considers leaving but you shift in your sleep, movements weak; he catches sight of your cracked dry lips and sunken in eyes. That’s what kicks his sense of responsibility into high gear. If he were a less respectful son, he’d curse his mother for this internal obligation to assist distresssed women. Instead, he begrudgingly begins to pick up the pieces.

He heads to the hall, bringing a few handfuls of trash along with him, and dials Richard to ask for advice. Richard suggests he bring you to the hospital. He even offers to come along, which Henry shuts down. This feels personal, somehow, and he’d rather not involve more people than strictly necessary.

Henry clears a path to your bed, picks you up as carefully as he can, and brings you out to the car. He ignores the curious, half alarmed stares he gets from other students. They’re irrelevant to him. What matters is ensuring that you’re alright; because what good is an academic rival if she isn’t well enough to actively challenge him?

You wake a few times on the drive, but dehydration has you so delirious that you don’t comprehend what’s happening. You think it’s a strange dream and you don’t speak, so he doesn’t know you’ve woken. You fall back to sleep again, and only wake once more when nurses are fussing over you. The IV fluids filling your veins are making you shiver. It’s disorienting and more than a little terrifying. But it isn’t the worst part of your hospital stay.

The worst part is Julian’s visit. He looks sorry that you’re ill, tells some long winded story about a time he was ill himself, and then mentions Henry. Offhandedly, as though it doesn’t matter or you must already know, he lets you know that Henry happens to be the one that found you. Your favored intellectual sparring partner. The classmate you love to hate. The man with the worst superiority complex you’ve ever witnessed.

You could pass away right then. Melt through the bed and into your grave. Since you aren’t chatty in response, Julian doesn’t stay long. A relief if ever you’ve felt one, and the rest of your stay is quite tolerable in comparison.

They rehydrate you over the following few days. You’re cold for most of it, thanks to the near constant stream of fluids. They feed you clear liquids the first day and work you back up to solids painstakingly slowly. They try to make you talk with a counselor. Words still won’t come out of your mouth, but your doctors throw around a lot of words all on their own: psychiatric unit, facilities, transport, major-depressive-disorder, catatonia. They start you on a pill of some sort called Amitriptyline as soon as you can keep liquids down, which you take without question because you still don’t fully care what happens to you.

You sleep for a large chunk of that stay, and this is the main reason why you aren’t aware of how much arguing Julian and Henry do with the hospital on your behalf. You’re unaware of their insistence upon your release into their care, and how adamant they are that you don’t get shipped off to some facility or other. You’d be mortified if you did, so perhaps this is for the best.

You still can't speak as you’re being signed out. Henry’s the one bringing you back home. Shame and defiant anger prickle beneath your skin. He brings you fresh clothes that look suspiciously like your own. You’re sure they couldn’t possibly be yours, because they’re too soft and clean. You wear them anyway. It gives you the slightest hint of pleasure, however dull.

The car ride is fairly quiet. You’re still on verbal strike, and Henry isn’t really sure how to handle a version of you so silent. The only time he does speak is to give you some more humiliating news:

“Julian and I agreed that you’ll stay with me until you’re well.” Henry says, pulling to a stop in front of his place.

Your face is redder than a stoplight, you’re sure of it. How can you stand staying with him for any significant length of time? Especially without speaking? You’re even angrier about this, but you let him usher you indoors all the same. He directs you to what seems to be the only bedroom in the place. The bed itself is perplexingly small. You toss him a questioning look.

“I don’t sleep in here,” He answers as if you've spoken, “Now. Some of your things have been brought over, so you should find yourself plenty comfortable.”

He explains that he is to be your companion for a few weeks, as if this is some sick Daphne Du Maureier novel, and only leaves your side long enough to allow you to settle into bed. The thing that makes you angriest is the fact that you’re already beginning to feel slightly better. You sit in silence that first evening, Henry reading to himself in a chair he unceremoniously places in the corner. You fall asleep glowering at the wall.

The next day isn’t much better. Henry brings you tea and toast once he notes that you’re awake, as well as a cup of water and an empty cup besides. This, he explains, is so you might brush your teeth without wasting energy to get up. In the end, you do brush your teeth, and feel better for it. But there’s still a sullen, silent sort of argument beforehand. He hands you a pill, too. The same thing you’ve been taking at the hospital. An antidepressant.

“Julian doesn’t think you should take these. He says all they’ll do is make you worse. But I’ve spoken with Richard and the doctor about it, and they both say you’ll get well much sooner if you do.” He doesn’t give you any further input.

You get to decide whether you continue on with this course of treatment, one which won’t even be semi-destigmatized for another thirty or so years. He files your choice away for later, once you've made it, and doesn't ask again.

Today, he begins to read to you. He reads selections you’ve missed from classes. You find his voice comforting despite the cool monotony of it, which sickens you. Every now and again he pauses and launches into some of his own thoughts on the selection. You have plenty of thoughts yourself, but you don’t contribute. You do, however, make rather nasty faces at him when you disagree. It’s hard to tell, but you think he finds this amusing.

You have a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, along with some sugar-sweet coffee. For dinner, there are two foil covered plates delivered. It’s Sunday, you realize when he sets it in front of you, and this is a special delivery from the twins. There’s a glass of your favorite wine to go with it, chilled and set on the bedside table.

“I thought you wouldn’t like to see anyone yet.” He explains.

The next day passes similarly. Tea and toast. Coffee and tomato soup. Wine and a suspiciously full plate of food. Tonight, however, Henry runs a bath for you. You sit in it, wearing your underclothes, and let him mechanically wash your hair. He doesn’t seem to enjoy this any more than you do. That brings you some solace, at least. The only thing you have to do is peel your wet underthings from your body and replace them with pajamas.

You bathe this way once every other day. Breakfast is always the same, lunch and dinner only slightly more varied. The readings change as he catches you up on classes, but they always last the same amount of time. You’re dragged into a comfortable routine with absolutely no responsibility to uphold it. Sometime after day four, you begin to make noises in response to things. A derisive grunt, a loud huff, even (once) something that sounds laughter adjacent. He gives you a moleskin and a pen to write with, which you do, and this is your first real communication with another person in two months.

He asks why you didn’t come to anyone for help. You don’t answer this. But you do answer other questions, like ‘Would you like ham on your grilled cheese?’ Yes. Or: ‘Which sweater would you prefer to wear today?’ The black one. You also use this notebook to emphatically disagree with his musings on Plato. And it doesn’t even seem like he really minds, which puts you on edge. He’s rather indulgent. He actually pretends to consider your points.

These disagreements are how you begin to work on overdue translations in the afternoons on week two. You work through them quickly, because there’s very little else to do, and find that you’ve caught up with the class in record time. You eat Sunday dinner alone in your room again. But he promises whoever's actually bringing these plates by the apartment that they’ll be able to see you soon. Quietly, of course, but you hear it all the same.

Week three is when he catches you smiling at something for a fraction of a second. He begins bringing you out to the yard for thirty minutes every morning. You take your tea and toast out there, bundled in enough sweaters and coats for at least four of you. The fresh air does you good, though you won’t admit it. This Sunday, he sets out proper clothes, and you make a physical appearance at Sunday dinner. You’re overwhelmed by all the hugs and well wishes you’re met with. But it’s in a good way.

This Sunday, you say the first thing you’ve said in nearly three months.

“Pass the salt?” You aren’t even fully aware that you’ve said it.

A hush falls over the table, anyway, and the salt appears before you in record time. This Sunday, you laugh at an awful joke Bunny makes. You’re still very clearly a shell of a person. But you’re getting better. You fall asleep in the car on the way back to Henry’s, exhausted from the excitement. He carries you in, carefully undresses you to your under-things, and tucks you into bed.

You continue to take your tea and toast outside in the mornings. You bathe every other day, with Henry’s clinical assistance. You talk more. You still won’t tell him why you never told anybody how poorly you’d been doing. But your lips are far from cracked by now, eyes no longer sunken in. You’ve begun to wander the apartment some.

You help him make lunch on Sunday, and you go along to dinner again. This dinner is less stilted and awkward than the last. It’s normal, or something like it. You chime in your usual amount and drink Charles under the table. And even though you fall asleep shivering on the car ride back, you feel warm all over.

The following week is spent moving back into your dorm room. You find that it’s pristine when you first show up, which surprises you most pleasantly. You bring your things back in small increments. Your first night back, Henry stays over. He doesn’t sleep, but works on something or other at your desk. It’s a comfort to have him there. If he weren’t, you’d likely be anxious about falling back into that pit of despair. He stays a few more nights, leaving earlier and earlier until he isn’t visiting your room in the evenings at all.

Your arguments, once hot and spiteful, have managed to fizzle out. What you have now is a calm enough friendship that you miss his presence. He misses yours, too, so once a week, he shows up at your door with tea and toast. When it’s nice enough, you take a leisurely half hour walk outdoors. You contradict him far less during classes, now preferring to bring up your differing opinions on those weekly walks. The resulting discussions are far more civil than they ever were.

You still have bad days, of course. Days where getting out of bed seems pointless. Where you hope it’s true that smoking causes cancer. On these days, you spend the night in the bed Henry doesn’t use. You'll never address this, but you suspect it's all, somehow, Julian’s doing. The way his eyes twinkle when he watches you and Henry speak after class suggests as much.

#henry winter fanfic #henry winter x reader #henry winter #the secret history #[ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞; x reader fic.]#[ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢'𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦; henry winter. ]

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blessedbyahuntress · 5 months ago

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Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Eighteen: Nevermind, Curse the Gods for Eurylochus

Prev/Next

Warnings: Like maybe two suggestive lines? Overprotective Eurylochus, fist fight, swearing

Word Count: 1.2k

“What happened?” Eurylochus’s voice was demanding, yet soft at the same time. Polites crashed into you, wrapping his arms around your torso in a hug that nearly strangled you. You patted his back.

“Polites,” you said. “I have to breathe.”

“Oh!” He stepped back, arms falling back down to his sides. He turned his head to the side sheepishly, revealing the side of his flushed face. “Sorry.”

You chuckled, feeling slightly better about your… discovery; you hadn’t realized how attached you had gotten to Eurylochus and Polites.

“We saw you fall,” the second in command explained, taking a step closer to peer at your face and neck. “How did you even survive?”

You looked to Odysseus who was standing beside you.

He shrugged.

“Uh…” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but your two friends’ faces as you raked your brain for a lie. You straightened a bit, hand going to rest on the satchel tied around your waist. “That potion Circe gave me. It can mend broken bones and heal wounds beneath the surface.”

“Remarkable,” Polites breathed.

“But,” you continued hastily. “Uh, I’m still not feeling well, so I’ll just… be below deck.”

Eurylochus opened his mouth, but Odysseus shot him a warning glare.

“Alright, Y/N.” Your captain gave you a curt nod, gesturing to the stairs. “We’ll see you later.”

You raised your chin, trying to regain the air of confidence you’d once carried as you crossed the deck. It was eerily silent, and you felt many pairs of eyes on you. Your eyes flickered to a man who had just spilt a few boxes of rations all over the deck and weren’t even bending to pick them up- instead staring at you like a gaping fish.

You sighed and knelt down, grabbing a crate and stacking a few pieces of fruit inside. After repeating the process for a few minutes, you glanced up, annoyance flashing in your eyes. “Stop gawking and help me,” you grumbled.

Instantly, your crewmate dropped to his knees and started helping you. You felt the lingering glances, though, and your frustration was evident in your every move.

You finished quickly. You shoved the crate back into the man’s arms before storming off.

You weren’t sure why you were mad, but fury swelled inside of you anyway as you stomped down the stairs.

You’d been given a private room, having insisted that a woman, warrior or not, still did not deserve to bunk with the rest of the crew. Yours was the second door to the left, right beside Eurylochus. Odysseus slept in the room across from you.

You marched in, slamming the door behind you with enough force, it rattled on its hinges. Your room was a comforting sight, something familiar when it seemed as though the rest of the world had been flipped upside down. On one side, there was a table which you used as a desk, but it was much larger than Odysseus’s. Books were piled on top of each other, others scattered across the room. Paper, some blank and some covered in your thoughts, spilled off of the table and onto the dark floorboards.

Your bed had been shoved to the side for more space to work and pace, the thin sheets made perfectly despite the rest of the rooms’ disarray.

You hurried to the other side of the room, grabbing a dagger and a hairbrush from the table on your way to your least favorite part of the room: the mirror.

Stopping in front of the round, shiny piece of metal, you stared at yourself in disbelief. You were… beautiful.

“No,” you murmured, eyes widening. Why did this goddess thing have to affect your appearance too? You liked yourself just how you were before!

But no, your hair was perfect, every detail of your face prominent and striking. Your eyes seemed to be more noticeable, perhaps bigger. You could see the flecks of other colors swirling around in your iris’s.

Holding your breath, you stepped back. You were leaner, and- you sighed in relief- your arms were more muscular and toned. “Well, at least it’s not all bad,” you said to yourself.

You had a death grip on the hairbrush as you brought it up to your locks. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tugged the brush in a way that you knew would mess it up. Your old hair would’ve gotten staticy, or at least knotted, but not today. You opened your eyes, and your hair was the exact same, better, even.

You groaned, flopping down on your bed.

You didn’t even bother changing; you couldn’t find the strength to get up. You didn’t even unbuckle the sword from your hip, nor the satchel that contained the golden liquid Circe gave you.

Above deck, everyone seemed to snap back to reality.

“Whoa,” Eurylochus heard one man murmur to the sailor beside him. “She- I- Did you see?”

“Did I see?” The man answered. “I will see more. Mark my words: I plan on getting into her room pretty soon.”

Eurylochus felt his gaze grow colder by the second. This man would never touch you the way he was suggesting. The second in command would make sure of that.

He started to march over, only to be stopped by a hand to his shoulder. Eurylochus whirled around, fist more than halfway to Odysseus’s stomach before the captain caught it.

Odysseus raised his eyebrows. “Who’s got you on edge this time?”

“All of them,” Eurylochus answered, gesturing to the whole crew. “Y/N shows up with some superhuman beauty, and now they all want her.”

The captain snorted, looking at his friend. “Don’t like the competition?”

“I hate it,” Eurylochus grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the stiffness.

And then the same crewmate's voice reached his ears, more suggestive comments getting shot around. Eurylochus’s mouth twisted into a scowl.

“Belerphius,” Odysseus said in disapproval, pointing to the man. He raised an eyebrow at Eurylochus. “If you want to go beat him up… I might turn a blind eye.”

When the second in command opened his mouth to protest, Odysseus held a finger to his lips.

Another remark drifted into Eurylochus’s ears, this one dirtier. It set him off.

The captain turned away, acting as if he was about to go below deck.

Behind him, Eurylochus threw the first punch, fist landing square in the center of Belerphius’s chest.

The man stumbled back, looking up at the second in command in rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, backing up slowly as Eurylochus took deliberate steps closer to his crewmate.

Eurylochus grabbed the collar of Belerphius’s shirt, lifting the smaller man off of the ground.

“Take it back,” Eurylochus said harshly.

“Get your hand off of me!” Belerphius spat. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Eurylochus threw him to the deck with enough force to shake the floorboards. He planted a foot on Belerphius’s stomach, leaning down with bared teeth. “Someone who knows her better than you do. And she’s not up for grabs.”

Belerphius opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by you.

“Stop! Both of you, just stop!”

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world @fallenh34art @itzkingbo @sabrina-senpai @smartiepants217 @doodle-with-rhy @trashcannotbealive

#epic musical #epic the musical #blessed by a trickster #polites #polites x reader #epic odysseus #epic fandom #epic the musical underworld saga #epic the musical x reader #eurylochus #eurylocus x reader #jorge rivera herrans #hermes x reader #hermes

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 year ago

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 29 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You dare not put it down on the big tablet on your easel where John will see, but you can’t stop yourself from drawing it out in your smaller sketchbook-journal that is easier to squirrel away under clutter, putting down marks like you mean to exorcise her from your memory. You draw her like a ghost in her field of happy white flowers, and write in the margins in your looping script, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make him forgive you. You want me to save him but I don’t know how. I don’t fucking know how.

Maybe she’ll actually hear your plea and do something useful about it, like haunt John’s dreams instead of yours.

Maybe you’re losing your damn mind.

You find that either way, you’re not brave enough to mention her to your captor again.

She becomes an obsession, and you keep drawing her in your little sketchbook. You’ve only ever seen one picture of her. It was in the den, but has since disappeared. Still, you feel you know the lines of her face, the brightness of her eyes. You go back to your old fixation with the ladies of Mucha, sketching her out as the Lady of the Daisies with flowing auburn hair surrounded by her stylized flowers and flowing lines.

You strive to cover your true fixation by putting down anything as quickly as you can on the easel, knowing your captor will be by for inspection. You draw sunflowers, your favorite summer bloom, something fun but you can do with your eyes closed with colorful, juicy strokes of oil pastels. You hope to keep John off the scent of the book that holds your heartfelt neuroses that you bury under piles of all your new art supplies and anything else you can find.

It was stupid, of course, to think you could really hide anything from him.

One day you find him in the chair with his legs crossed, perusing your sketch journal with one of those magnificent thunderheads of a frown.

You are certain you are fucked, when he asks, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Trembling as you imagine what he’s going to do to you for this infraction, you answer truthfully, “No.”

He closes the book with a snap, crossing the floor to stand before you, his powerful body moving deceptively slow, the way a tiger appears slothful in the jungle.

You know he can snap you up with one bite.

You cannot stop shaking, as he peers down that straight nose at you, pinning you with black eyes that somehow burn. He does not touch you, but God. He sees everything. You just know that he sees everything, and you find you are terrified of how he’ll react.

“Have you been snooping through my things?”

“No.” The irony of him holding your sketch diary is not lost on you, but wisely you hold your tongue.

“How did you know what she looked like?”

“You had a picture out of her, ages ago.” At least, it felt like a like a lifetime ago.

“How did you know about the daisies?”

Now you know he’s going to flip his shit. It sounds fucking absurd, even to you. Your voice can barely rasp past what feels like dried twigs in your throat to whisper, “I saw them in a dream.”

You expect him to scoff and call you a liar. But he just searches your face, his eyes a little too wild for your liking. Here we go. He’d been damn near stable the past few days, but surely this will set him off.

You close your eyes, unable to watch the unfolding of your doom. This is it. He’s going to lock you up forever. You’ll never see the light of day again. The trembling in your frame kicks up to ten, and you hug yourself just to have something to hold on to.

When his next question comes, he could push you over with a feather.

“What does she say?”

You shake your head, realizing your cheeks are wet with tears.

“Nothing. She just…offers me the flower.” Going for broke you add, “She looks so sad.”

It is the sound of tearing paper that opens your eyes; with horror you find John making confetti of your art nouveau sketch that took hours to do. However, any protest dies on your lips—if destroying the drawing appeases him, maybe he won’t take it out on you.

Without another word, just a hard look, he stalks from the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall do you let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your knees quivering like leaves in a storm.

However, you are not foolish enough to believe you’re in the clear just yet.

-Later, there is no dinner. You find the kitchen cold and empty. Not sure what to make of this, you graze in the fridge, before returning to your bedroom. Not sure where John has gotten off to, you shower, then go to bed, finding yourself lying awake in the dark without him beside you, almost itchy without his steady presence in the evening at your side.

Part of it might be that you fear something is brewing, and you can’t stand the waiting…but part of it might simply be that you miss him, as fucked up as that is.

In the end, against your better judgement, you go looking.

You search the house, until the only room that is left is the garage. Silently you open the door, slipping through without a sound. You too are learning how to move quiet as a wraith. The smell of rubber and oil assaults your nostrils. Classic rock is playing low on the radio. In the far bay, the hood of the Mustang is open, and John is bent over inside, wrenching on something and muttering to himself. There is a partially empty bottle of Blanton’s Bourbon on the workbench behind him, and an empty glass.

Unable to stop yourself from committing what perhaps might prove to be suicide, you creep to the other side of the Land Rover, using it as cover as you eavesdrop on this man grumbling to the ghost of his deceased wife.

“What do you want from me? I loved you. I loved you with every fucking fiber of my being, but you left me. I died with you the day you left me, and she is the only thing that makes me feel alive again. I need her, and she never would have come to me on her own. She never would have stayed. She never would have stayed.”

He says this to himself over and over, and it wrenches your heart, because you know it isn’t true.

You think you manage to creep back out again without him noticing, Led Zeppelin on the radio disguising the sound of the door.

When at last he comes to bed and wraps you in his arms, holding you too hard for comfort, you feign sleep, smelling the bourbon fumes on his breath. You can’t help but tense, wondering if he will forget his promise this deep in his cups.

But he just sighs into your hair, crushing you as he pulls you even closer, and you don’t know why it breaks your heart all over again.

#heyyyy it happened!#bittersweet john wick imagine #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick

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localplaguenurse · 2 months ago

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Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 11

We're back! Finally after four months we're back! I appreciate your patience, I promise you all, the really good stuff I've been dying to write is coming up real soon. I've also updated the masterlist to include some of the fanart I've gotten in the meantime and a couple oneshots/requests.

(To the anon who requested the fic about sick Helina I WILL eventually write it, I promise, it's still in my inbox)

No warnings today, really. I hope you all enjoy!

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris @antartzz @your-local-furby

The clacking of keys slows to a stop, and the office is momentarily quiet, save for the winds outside the window. You take a moment to stretch, your spine aching from your horrific posture the past few hours. You sit up straight and let your eyes scan over the freshly typed ink.

I can only imagine how he looks right now, but I know for certain he’s looking at me. I know the warmth of sunshine shining on my face, and how his hand wraps so protectively around mine. I feel the smile on his lips when he brings my knuckles to them.

I feel my heart blooming in my chest, a symphony of words too loud and too many to come out all at once. I want to sing his praises, chant in holy prayer, make the world my stage for a performance no composer or director can ever match, but tonight’s antics have left me too tired.

Instead, I lean in close, and I tell him I love him.

Gently, you begin the process of removing the page from the typewriter. You pull it free and smooth out the paper. Your hands move to the top of the page and you rip it in half. You turn the ripped pieces to the side and rip them into quarters, then eighths, so on and so forth until you have a little pile of homemade confetti sitting on your desk. At that point, you place your head in your hands and let out a frustrated yell.

This is the End. The finish line is within sight, and it feels like every time you try to write the final lines to this book, you’re finding new ways to trip and fall face first into the dirt in this proverbial race. Endings are always the worst part of writing any story, and you still haven’t figured out how to actually end this story. You know how and where it ends, you’ve known for years, but your efforts feel fruitless. The words you thought sounded great in your head read like nonsense when physically typed, and do not give justice to everything else you have written down. You love your other books, you do, but with those ones, they were more formulaic, more cliché, simpler. They were not unique, and your readers did not care so much as they could imagine themselves in the arms of a loving gentleman or prince or noble or whoever they wish would love them. This book is different, and as such, there is high reward and even higher risk if the audience gets to the end and is greeted by disappointment.

Or maybe, and this is a very big maybe, you have spent too much time writing and not enough time sleeping or eating? A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B. All this to say you are in desperate need of a break.

Your father is at work and your mother is out of town for the day to visit your extended family. You like the peace and quiet it gives, especially considering last week’s public spectacle with your father. He hasn’t said a word to you, not since the argument was recounted in the paper (though it did not make the front page, thankfully). You heard your mother scolding him for making an ass of himself by nearly brawling with his own son for days, though she didn’t say much about how it started because he threw a fit over homosexuality. You think she should have maybe focused on that a little more, but you’re not in the mood to bring that up again.

It should be break time for the staff, so the kitchen is empty. You use the opportunity to make yourself a late lunch, or really late breakfast. It’s a simple sandwich that’s mostly ham and cheese, though it’s tempting to grab some of the pastries your mother bought as an apology on your father’s behalf. You’re saving those for after you finish your book.

You’re halfway through scarfing your sandwich down when the kitchen doors open. You look over and see Colleen, looking mildly frantic and then shocked when she sees you leaning against the counter with a sandwich. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. I was worried when you weren’t in your study.”

You swallow. “What is it?”

You’re biting back into your sandwich when Colleen informs you “Lord Pantalone is here.”

“... Wha?” you ask, with your mouth half full.

You see the man’s face as he peers over Colleen, smiling as he is one to do. He says nothing, simply waving. You barely avoid choking on your food, and don’t imagine the sight of you narrowly spitting up a half chewed lump of ham, bread and cheese is a flattering site. You swallow the lump down, and it’s not a pleasant feeling.

You stand up straight, face flushed. “Regrator! I… did not think you would be here!”

Pantalone laughs, taking in the sight of the kitchen. “Good afternoon to you too,” he says, “I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all,” you say. It’s not lost on you that you probably look terrible right now. Your clothes are clean, but entirely too casual for a meeting with Pantalone, you haven’t slept, haven’t shaved in a few days and wait, shit, when was the last time you showered? You think it was a couple nights ago, but you secretly fear it’s actually been several weeks. (You know it hasn’t, but your unkempt appearance in front of a pretty man is making you internally panic.)

You offer a very clearly tense smile. “So! What brings you here?”

“I was curious as to why you haven’t replied to any of my letters,” he explains. “I know you’re busy with your book and all, but I figured surely we have enough rapport that you would write me back.”

“... What?”

He tilts his head. “My letters. The letters I’ve sent you.”

“I genuinely do not know what you’re talking about,” you reply, “I have not received any letters, and no one has mentioned anything about you sending us mail.”

“How strange,” he remarks, “I have my staff personally deliver it all, so it’s odd you haven’t received any of it…”

You conjure the mental image of either your mother or father, possibly both, angrily sorting through the mail and confiscating anything that has your name on it. That’s something you’re going to have to bring up at some point, or you can just snoop through their room. You’re fairly certain you know the safe’s code, but it’s not like it would be hard to guess if you didn’t know. You’re one of five siblings, after all, one of your birthdays has to unlock it.

You put a pin in that for later. “So… is there anything specific you need me for? Since I haven’t replied to any of your letters.”

“Well, I had cleared my schedule to invite you for tea,” he says, “but I can assume by your appearance that we’ll have to reschedule?”

Ouch. You force out a laugh. “Yes, today is unfortunately not a good day for me.”

“Clearly.”

“Can I offer you anything?” you ask. “I’m not sure what we have as far as tea goes, that’s more my mother’s thing, but ah…”

Pantalone watches the figurative light bulb go off in your head, and you immediately begin rummaging through the cupboards. He looks to the maid next to him, silently asking if this is normal, and even she seems confused by your behaviour. There’s something mildly amusing about it, so he continues observing you.

“I just got these yesterday,” you say, then turn around holding a small dish in your hand. Sitting in the centre is a small fried cake with some sort of cream and jam swirled on top of it. You walk over and offer it to Pantalone. “Here, I hope a little vdolek will suffice as an apology for not writing to you.”

Graciously, your unexpected guest accepts your offering. “Why, thank you, my dear writer.”

You don’t see Colleen slip out of the kitchen, but you’ve also forgotten she was there to begin with. Pantalone brings the little pastry up to his lips and bites into it, humming cheerfully. He licks some of the cream off his lips and you turn your attention back to your lunch lest your mind linger on that image too long.

“Delightful,” he comments, “I’ll have to get some next time we meet. I know a marvelous blend of black tea to pair this with.”

“S-Sounds good.”

Get it the fuck together.

There’s a minute or two of quiet as the two of you finish eating. You hear Pantalone set the dish down, and you’ve now grown very familiar and very fond of how audible his smile is. “So, how is the book?”

“You’ve got better eyes than me,” you joke, gesturing to yourself, “I think you can tell how it’s going.”

“They’re really not that much better,” he says, pointing at his glasses.

“They’re correctable.”

“Fair enough, now do you mind answering the question?”

“It… It’s going.”

Pantalone gives you an odd look. “Going? Good or bad?”

“It’s going to kill me,” you tell him, “I am right at the end, and I’m stuck on the last few lines and have been for two days now.”

Pantalone smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that. What is it specifically that you’re stuck on?”

“I just can’t think of anything that isn’t really underwhelming compared to the rest of the story,” you explain, “it either brings down the quality of the story as a whole, or it feels like the story just stops rather than ends.”

You feel Pantalone studying your appearance, and once again feel self conscious. It doesn’t help when he smiles cheerfully and says “I think you’re well overdue for a break.”

You shake your head. “I am this close to the end, if I stop now I’ll lose the little momentum I have.”

“And how is that working out for you?”

“It hasn’t stopped me yet.”

“In all seriousness, you really should take some time to adequately rest,” Pantalone tells you. “I am very much the pot calling the kettle black, but my occupation has much higher stakes. You don’t gain much from all-nighters or working through your meals compared to me. Or, rather, I suppose it’s more accurate to say I stand to lose a lot if I don’t put all my effort in, but that’s all semantics.”

“Thank you, mom, I’ll remember to eat my veggies too.”

Pantalone chuckles. “Goodness, you’re rather petulant when you’re tired.”

Your face flushes again. You look at the ground, and imagine this isn’t helping the petulant accusations. Shaking your head, you look back up at Pantalone and stand up straight again, like a good and mature host would.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” you ask. “I’d be happy to spend time with you but I do have a deadline to meet in a few days.”

“So eager to kick me out,” he teases, “but I guess I won’t take it too personally. I suppose I did drop in rather unexpectedly for you.”

You make your way out of the kitchen, Pantalone following behind you. “To be honest, I don’t think I would have been able to meet up anyways if I did know.”

Pantalone looks over his shoulder and sees the maid from before standing next to the door, clearly listening in. Her face flushes, and she promptly walks the other way while you are none the wiser. “That’s a shame. I was rather looking forward to talking to you without your family interrupting.”

“You can still do that,” you tell him, “just not for long. Deadline aside, my mother will have an absolute fit if she hears you came by.”

“Then I’ll make it quick,” he states, “I want to know more about your typewriter.”

You pause, and turn around. “My typewriter?”

“It’s been on my mind for some time now,” he explains, “I recognize the brand as we use their typewriters at the bank, but I’m not familiar with that specific model. Now granted, I don’t typically use typewriters, so I’m sure there’s a gap in my knowledge there, but in the times I have gone looking for new typewriters, they’ve never had that model as an option.”

Moments ago, you looked tired, frustrated, and drained. Your appearance is still a little unkempt, but you noticeably perk up as soon as Pantalone explains himself. The bags under your eyes are dark, but the fatigue has faded. Your posture, slightly hunched from your time at your desk, has straightened. You smile.

“Oh, that’s because mine is from a now discontinued line,” you explain, then pick up your pace. “I believe there was also a limited stock of them, but I don’t think they were necessarily limited edition. They were just very expensive to buy and even more expensive to make, not to mention they required very brand specific tools and repairs, hence why the line was eventually discontinued some… twenty-five years ago?”

“Fascinating.”

“That’s what I can recall off the top of my head, anyways,” you tell him as you begin climbing the stairs to the second floor. “There aren’t very many of them around now. They were difficult to repair as is, but they don’t even make the parts for them anymore. The only way you can fix them is if you somehow find another one that hasn’t had the part you need harvested. Despite that, it works beautifully when it’s in good condition.”

“It sounds like more hassle than what it’s worth,” Pantalone comments, “but I suppose it must have some value among collectors. My question is why you would use such a delicate piece of equipment as opposed to anything else.”

You reach the top of the stairs, and turn to address Pantalone. “Why would I need a new typewriter when mine works fine?”

“I respect that approach,” he says, “what I meant was there are surely better typewriters out there, ones that aren’t a pain to maintain and completely useless if something breaks. Why not use one of those ones?”

“... Sentimental value.”

Pantalone raises a brow. “Oh?”

You guide the man to your study. You push the door open, and he takes a moment to observe the crumpled pages littering your floor. The door clicks behind him. You take your seat at the desk and motion for Pantalone to come close. He does, standing right behind you. Before you can continue explaining the story, you see his hand reach over and pick at the pile of ripped up paper in front of your typewriter.

“Ah, sorry. Forgot to clean that up.”

“I love him.”

“What?”

Pantalone hands you the torn scrap of paper, which sure enough reads I love him. You laugh. “A-Ah, right.”

“So about the sentimental value,” Pantalone says as you begin sweeping up the ripped pieces.

“This belonged to my grandfather,” you tell him as you dump the pile into the trash, “my mom’s father, he’s where I got my condition. He got the typewriter as a gift from a friend in Fontaine, I believe. He died two years later, before I could meet him. A couple years after I got diagnosed, my grandmother found it, and gifted it to me as a memento of sorts, and I’ve used it ever since.”

“Really now?”

“My grandma said he’d want me to have it,” you say, “and she smacked me when I made a joke about him giving me his bad eyes too. Lightly, of course, but still.”

“You were making fun of her blind, dead husband,” Pantalone remarks.

“If what my family says about him is true, he would have made an even worse joke,” you retort. “I’m giving my nephews and nieces permission to make fun of me if they have it, my grandfather would probably do the same.”

Pantalone chuckles. You turn your head to continue speaking to him, and see he’s looking at you instead of the typewriter. It sort of catches you, mostly because of his eyes. You didn’t really notice it when you met him for tea, mostly because you were more focused on the feel of his fingers holding your face and how close he was, but his eyes are really, really pretty. The light from your window hits his face just right, making his eyes shine like gemstones.

You realize you’re staring again and snap out of it, and you doubt it’s all that subtle. “I am also giving you permission to make blind jokes around me.”

He gives you a bewildered, but amused look. “What? Now why would I want to do that?” “Because they’re funny,” you answer, “that’s why I make them.”

“Yes, but you’re actually blind, or going to be blind.”

You lean back in your chair a bit. “I promise you, whatever you think of, my siblings will have said something infinitely worse and gotten away with it,” you say, “excluding Adéla and Gala, my younger sisters. Gala feels bad making fun of me, and Adéla means what she says.”

(Which is rather hypocritical of her, if you’re to believe your siblings’ words about her getting her son tested for your condition. That and her ongoing pregnancy might be why she hasn’t tried picking a fight with you in a while.)

“If you insist,” he says, “but I suppose I should get going now.”

“Oh, wait, really?”

“You said before that you have a deadline, no?” Pantalone asks, his expression almost curious until you see the way the corner of his lips twitch, how his eyes seem a little too knowing. “It wouldn’t be right to keep you from your work. Hopefully we can better coordinate a visit or outing some other time.”

The only thing stopping you from insisting that it’s okay for him to stay a little longer, really, please stay, is the knowledge that your parents will eventually be home and Pantalone’s presence will cause absolute chaos. That, and the fact you look like shit. Probably worse than when he gave you the letter from Guuji Yae, because you were clearly hungover, but at least you had cleaned yourself up.

You swallow.

“I wish you could stay a little longer.”

Pantalone tilts his head.

“... but yes, we should, ah, probably pick this up another time.”

He smiles, entirely too knowing for your comfort. “Hopefully next time you actually get my letters.”

You bid Pantalone farewell, but he is already leaving your office without another word. He opens the door, and you briefly see either Colleen or Adelaide staggering back before the door closes.

You load a fresh page into the typewriter, and you stare at it. You stare at it like that is what is going to make the words appear, and somehow you’re always disappointed when it doesn’t. You wish you didn’t rip up the last page now, just so you can make sure you won’t write something as equally terrible.

After some time, your office door opens again. You step into the hallway, now vacant and cold. There’s a weight in your stomach, a growing pit of anxiety as you begin walking down the hall. You pass your room, then Gala’s room, then the bathroom, your siblings’ old rooms, and stop when you reach the door at the end of the hall. The master bedroom, your parents’ room.

The door opens when you twist the knob and push forward. You shiver as cooled air passes you. The fire must have gone out some time ago. It doesn’t stop you from entering though, not when you have a pretty good hunch on why you mysteriously haven’t gotten any letters from Pantalone.

You waste no time in investigating. You spy an old painting hung up on the wall depicting a younger version of your mother and father on their wedding day. You carefully pull it down from the wall, revealing their safe. You don’t remember what the code is, just that it’s one full turn left, one full turn right, and then left until it’s the last number. You’re fairly certain it’s either their anniversary or one of their children’s birthdays.

It doesn’t take long for you to be proven wrong. Brow furrowed, you try to think of something else they would use for a code. You consider the day they met, or the day they fell in love, but you have no idea when that would have been. You consider your grandfather’s death date, but that’s entirely too morbid. You’re about to start twisting the dial in any direction until you hopefully hear a click, and then it hits you; they’re grandparents. You quickly try your nephew’s birthdate, and you hear a distinct click sound unlike the turning dial’s. You pull on the handle, and it opens.

You almost celebrate until you see there aren’t any envelopes or letters addressed to you. You see photo albums, some jewellery and trinkets, as well as a few other odds and ends of sentimental value, but no letters.

You sigh, and begin putting everything back in place. Maybe it’s hidden in the study or something, or maybe in your father’s desk at work. You’ll have to ask Lydia to have a peek, though there’s a good chance she would have mentioned that to you already. You’ll still ask her about it next time you see her.

You’re hanging the painting back up when you feel another shiver up your spine. Usually the staff try to keep the fireplaces lit throughout the house to keep everyone from freezing, but for whatever reason, they’ve forgotten your parents’ room. You decide to do that yourself, as your conscience is making you feel guilty about snooping.

You sigh, crouching down in front of the fireplace. You grab the door handles and pull the doors open, seeing the charred remnants of firewood long gone cold. You pick up the fire poker and begin prodding at the wood until you catch sight of something sticking out of the ashes. It almost looks like kindling, but your gut tells you to investigate further.

You reach inside, and you immediately know it’s paper. You pull it from the ashes and sit back. It looks like the corner of a page at first, and then you realize it’s part of an envelope. You flip it over, and your blood runs cold.

You recognize that address. Not too long ago, you were invited to afternoon tea at that exact location. You realize there’s still a bit of paper inside, and you pull it out. The paper falls apart in your dirtied hands, but you can make out the first few characters of your name in familiar handwriting. You feel sick, you feel angry. You don’t know which one of your parents is responsible for this, but this is too far for either one of them.

It takes you a few moments to compose yourself. When you eventually get off the ground and storm out of your parents’ room, you make sure to leave the burned remnants of your letter in an obvious spot for your parents to find it. You leave ash on the door when you slam their door shut. You want to scream, you want to ask what the hell their fucking problems are, but they’re not here right now. You have new energy to burn, new emotions you need to vent in some way, but most importantly, you have a book to finish, and you’re going to finish it.

#pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #blind reader #my fic #falling head over heels

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