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merakiui · 10 months ago

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simply business.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight nsfw, misogyny, power imbalance, workplace misconduct, abuse of authority, ceo azul, secretary jade note - you'll do anything for this job. mr. ashengrotto wonders if there are limits to your anything.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Ashengrotto. Thank you for making time for me today. I can’t begin to imagine how packed your schedule is,” you admit with a gentle laugh.

Just as you practiced with Trey and Riddle, you shake his hand firmly and confidently. Even if most of your poise is feigned to hide a mountain of anxieties, it manages to fool the CEO of Mostro, for he mirrors your amiable greeting with one of his own. Or maybe he sees right through your act and is choosing to remain quiet. You’re not going to think too deeply about that.

“The pleasure’s all mine. You have no idea how startled I was when your application found its way on my desk. Why, I thought I was dreaming.”

If he brings up childhood memories, talk about it. Why not? Trey advised hours earlier, serving you and Riddle individual slices of strawberry tart. Friendship is just as good a connection as the one made through sweets.

Which is very solid guidance coming from a baker.

Even so, she shouldn’t rely solely on past connections. In business, that means nothing if the connection itself isn’t stable and worthwhile enough, Riddle, ever the realist, added with a grimace. We should know. We went to school with him.

Hey, don’t sweat it. You’ll do great, Trey added when he noticed the despairing look you’d given your tart. I’ll bake you something to celebrate, so do your best, be yourself, and bring home good news.

With his and Riddle’s encouragement, you had been so certain of your abilities before, in which you proudly proclaimed you’d get the job and charm Azul in the process, but now you’re not sure. Standing here in his office, thirty-something stories in the clouds, you can’t escape the suffocating fear as it saps the oxygen from the room and renders your lungs vacant.

“I aim to surprise.”

“And surprise you have. Pleasantly, might I add.” He motions for you to sit, to which you comply and lower into the seat across from him. A mahogany desk separates you from a sparkling future. Your gaze pans from him to the man standing a few inches behind, a clipboard and pen held in both hands. Standing isn’t the right word, actually. With his height, all lithe limbs dressed darkly, he looks like a bodyguard ready to escort you to your execution should you make the wrong move. You can handle one pressed suit, but another is too much. And this one looks even more intimidating than Azul with his sharp, stoic stare. “Pay him no mind. Jade’s merely here to make note of our discussion.”

“Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jade.”

He nods his silent acknowledgement, two-toned eyes filling with light.

“Shall we begin?” Azul gathers a few documents, straightens them, and then dives right into the rigmarole. “I must preface this by stating our past friendship has no influence on my decision or the outcome of this interview.”

“Completely understandable,” you blurt, trigger-happy with agreement.

Don’t be a yes-man, Riddle’s words from before float through your head, stern like a parent. You’re human, not some gear meant to strengthen their corporate machine. If they can’t see that, then that’s no environment for you.

“I… Actually, it feels a little awkward talking like this,” you add with a nervous sigh. “With the stakes being so high and everything… It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I’m happy you’re doing well for yourself. Oh! I’m not saying that to butter you up or anything! That’s my honest opinion.”

He chuckles. “I’m also pleased to see you again. Although going forward I would like to keep this matter separate from the task at hand.”

“Right. Sorry. We got off topic.”

He flips through the papers—likely your resume and application and any other information he has on file—and hums. “It says here that you have experience managing an online platform. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Oh, that. It was for my friend’s family business. He’s a baker. The shop has a nice reputation in the neighborhood, but they don’t really have any social media presence. My friend and I thought his family could benefit from a website and a Magicam account, so we put both together. I was in charge of creating and managing the website.”

“I see.”

You notice Jade scribbling something and your heart drops into your stomach. “S-So I have experience in design and…stuff.”

Relax. Don’t pay attention to him.

“Then may I assume you’re passionate about photography and graphic design?”

“Very.”

“It’s good to have an eye for aesthetics. I can clearly see that from the samples you submitted. Your portfolio is impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashengrotto. I take pride in all of my work.”

“In that case, would you mind walking me through your portfolio?”

“I’d be happy to.” You scoot closer to his desk without thinking, gesturing to the prints he’s laid out for you. “That’s the website I designed for my friend. He wanted something simple, family-friendly, and easy to navigate. I had to appeal to both customers from the neighborhood and customers who might be visiting for the first time. Finding a balance was a little difficult, but I made it work after lots of dedicated effort.”

He gestures to another sample and you delve into the lore behind it. This carries on twice more before he indicates his satisfaction with a beaming smile.

“Aren’t you diligent?”

The delivery is more backhanded than you’d care to hear, but you choose to brush it aside. “Thank you.”

“Your baker friend… Are you employed?”

“Oh, not currently! It was just a side gig. A one-time thing.”

“Is that all?”

You open your mouth to reply and then stop. Did you hear him correctly? “Is… Is what all?”

“You may not work for him in that capacity, but you might in another capacity. ‘One-time things’ could snowball into—”

“It didn’t and it never will,” you interrupt. You realize your error seconds later and smooth out the abrasiveness in your tone. “My apologies. I meant to say that I’m not affiliated with him in any of those ways. I’m merely a friend who helped out where she could. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Azul hums flatly, as if disappointed. Jade scribbles. You swallow mounting dread.

What was that about?

“Very well. Moving swiftly on… Can you tell me about yourself? What drew you to this job?”

“I’ve always wanted to manage a social media account for a business like yours. There are so many branches. I think it’d be a very fulfilling experience.”

“Is there a particular branch you’re interested in?”

“Definitely one of your restaurants. I’ve worked with food websites and accounts before, so I have the necessary qualifications you might be seeking.”

“Social media is no easy task. It can be stressful to manage any platform in which you have a following. With that in mind, may I ask how you normally handle stressful or challenging situations?”

“I don’t get stressed very easily. I’m normally very level-headed.”

Liar. I’m so stressed right now. Sweating like crazy and everything!

As if listening in on your thoughts, Jade drags his pen across paper.

“But in the event that you might face such a situation?”

“If such a thing were to occur, I’d take a step back, analyze everything objectively, and see what I can do to mitigate the stress or difficulty that’s cropped up. If it’s a team effort, I’d gather everyone involved for a meeting so that we could discuss together.”

“And if it was an individual effort?”

“It depends on the severity of the stress. If it comes down to it, I’d have no problem notifying my supervisor or manager of the issue firsthand. The sooner you’re made aware of something, the easier it is to draw up a plan of action, right?”

“That can be true, yes.” Azul shuffles his files. “How would others describe you? From the perspective of a friend, perhaps? Or a spouse? Are you married?”

That’s…way too personal. Is that even an interview question? So far he’s asked everything Riddle went over in our mock interview. What’s up with this sudden shift?

You force a stiff laugh. “Not married yet, no…”

“Do you plan to be?”

“Um… I…don’t know. I’m focused on my career right now.”

“Ah, a career woman. Most women your age often settle down. Not you, though. Ambitious thing, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitch into the beginning of a scandalized grimace, but before you can allow your tactful façade to slip you hurry to paste an unruffled grin on your countenance. “I’m passionate,” you smoothly correct. You don’t miss the way Jade’s pen halts before he continues his duty as scribe. “If I may, Mr. Ashengrotto, did you not say you wanted to keep work and personal matters separate?”

“Forgive me. I was only testing you.”

Just what kind of test is that?

“O-Oh. Well, I hope I passed.”

“With flying colors.” He clears his throat. “Now then, what motivates you, Miss (Name)?”

“My friends and family. Myself. The food waiting for me at home.” He quirks a slight smile at that. “I always strive to do my best.”

“A fine attitude to have.”

“Mhm! I like what I do. Every day’s exciting and I love a good challenge.”

No, I don’t. I almost cried on the way here. This is too much of a challenge for me. I didn’t even think I’d get an email back from you…

“You seem like quite the optimist.” He straightens the papers once more and then clips them together. “I appreciate your insightful, honest answers.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, right! Of course! Thank you for your time.” You practically jump out of your seat to shake his hand.

That was good, right? It felt so fast, but I did well. Right?

“If I may ask one final question…”

“Sure thing!”

Azul smiles. “Just how badly do you want this job?”

More than anything. I need this job. I’m unemployed and desperate. Please, Azul. You have to help me out.

Obviously you can’t phrase it like that, even though the spineless side of you wants to.

“I…would benefit greatly if I was hired. Working for you and your successful company would be an amazing honor.”

“Is that right?” He releases your hand. “All right. The job is yours.”

You blink at him, shocked. “Wait. It is?”

“On one condition.” Azul sits back in his plush office chair. It’s the expensive type. The one with cushions and reclining abilities. “Strip for me.”

Your blood crystallizes in your veins; your heart almost stops. “Excuse me?”

Surely he didn’t just say that. Surely he meant to say something else. Something like…strip all of your worries and accept this position? Your eyes drift over to Jade. He blinks back at you, a razored smile hidden behind his clipboard.

“If you’re willing to go to extremes for this job, prove it.”

“Mr. Ashengrotto… I…” You laugh, but nothing about this is funny. Bile rises in your throat, scalding with sickening acid. “I…”

“Go on then.” Azul waves his hand impatiently, deceptively youthful features twisting with annoyance. “I haven’t got all day.”

Your hands curl into fists, and you dig your nails into your palms so roughly that you break skin. He can’t be serious. He really can’t.

And yet he’s watching you like he expects it.

Again, you look to Jade for help. He lowers his clipboard. “It’s not polite to make one wait, Miss (Name). We pride ourselves on timely efficiency here.”

“But…” You swallow thickly, your hope slowly waning. “But this… This is absurd! I… You must be joking. I can’t possibly—”

“You can,” Azul interjects. “If you want this job, you will do just as I’ve said. Well? The choice is yours. I’ve played my hand.”

Warmth drains from your person until all that’s left is creeping cold.

Oh, you think with devastating resignation, it’s this kind of management. So this is how everyone survives here.

Inhaling through your nose, you steel yourself. Your fingers twitch towards the buttons on your blazer.

“Will I truly get the job?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” you ask, dreading the answer.

“On how far you’re willing to go.”

“C-Can he leave?”

Azul glances at Jade, a sticky smile spreading his lips wide. “Oh, you’ll hurt his feelings with that. How cruel. I can already see the tears brimming in Jade’s eyes.”

“Heartless,” Jade echoes with a sniffle.

You school your scowl into something friendly. “I… I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with him here…”

“And you do with me? I’m flattered, but our past has nothing to do with this. I’m grateful you bothered to give me a Valentine every school year, but those days are behind us. So stop wasting my time. It’s money, and every second you spend stalling is a Madol lost.”

Your lip trembles, but you don’t cry. You won’t give either of these rotten monsters the satisfaction.

“H-How much do I have to undress to get the job?” You toy with a button, regret pooling in your stomach.

It’s not worth it. I should leave.

You should, but can you?

“We’ll see. I’m feeling generous today, so your fortune may just be favorable.”

Hopeless, you shut your eyes, exhale a defeated breath, and harden your features into something unshakeable.

I’m sorry, Riddle. I’m not a gear here. I’m not even human.

Slowly, while holding unbreakable eye contact, you undo each button on your blazer. You shrug out of it seconds later, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. Azul and Jade follow your movements like expert predators ensorcelled by prey.

Here, in this hellish bathyal zone, I’m just a whale fall.

From there, you move to your blouse next. You untuck it from your pencil skirt, allowing the fabric to fall freely. Deft fingers work at the buttons, traveling further down until there’s nothing left of the garment protecting your nudity. That, too, joins the slowly forming heap on the floor. The action leaves both men transfixed, and they eye your lacy white bralette as if attempting to sear the sight into their retinas. At one point, Jade decides to write something down. You fondly contemplate all the ways in which he should die.

“Will that be all?”

“Keep going.”

“Haven’t I done enough?”

“If you have room in that mouth to voice complaints, you can stuff it with my—”

You yank your pencil skirt down, silencing the sin that was ready to spill from Azul’s lips. Jade doesn’t muffle his snicker. Again, you fantasize about pushing him out the window.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

With trembling hands, you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra. It’s peeled from your chest then, exposing your tits for their ravenous leering. Their silence says enough. After what feels like an eternity, Azul stops you when you start to slide your panties down.

“I’ve seen enough.”

“On the contrary, I’ve yet to have my fill.” Jade smiles at you, hiding behind his clipboard like the coy bastard he is.

You stand there, clutching your bra so tightly your knuckles ache. “Is… Is it over?”

“For now.”

At that, you fall to your knees, wrap your arms around your chest, and suck in great gulps of air. Fixing your stare on the floor, you find yourself unable to meet his azure hues. If you do, you may just vomit. Footsteps click their way over to you. He pauses; you can feel his gaze burning through you. And then his fingers ghost over your bare shoulder, dancing like playful puppets.

“You start Monday. Bright and early,” Azul says. There’s a detached, clinical edge to the fluff. “I expect wonderful things from you, Miss Marketing Manager.”

As if his words have materialized to topple you—to shatter what’s left of your dignity—you almost collapse. Your arms shoot out to catch you; your palms press against the icy tiles. Still, you don’t cry. Jade’s leather shoes enter your line of sight, which immediately dries your ducts. You don’t have to look to see the satisfied smirk sharpening on his lips because you hear it.

“I must thank you for the entertaining show. Perhaps you should have considered a career in acting.” He drapes your blazer over your shoulders for added effect.

It’s the loudest fuck you in the quietest sentence.

I hope you die a million painful deaths, you despotic, disgusting dickhead.

When you finally stagger out of the building—fully clothed and gutted—dropping thirty-something floors from heaven to the sensible earth below in a compact lift, you fish your phone out of your bag. You’re moving on autopilot when you press his contact. Trey answers on the third ring.

“I was waiting for this call. So what’s the news? Am I baking a celebration cake or a consolation cake? I’m ready for either one. Just say the word.”

The tears are already streaming down your face. You wipe them away, smudging your makeup in the process. “No consolation needed. I… I got the job…”

“See? I knew you’d get it. This’ll be the best celebration cake you’ve ever tasted. Just you wait and—hey, you okay? You don’t sound good.”

You open and close your mouth, unable to pull a reply from the dry depths of your throat. For one minute, Trey listens to your soft, hiccuping sobs. “I’m just—” you sniffle— “I’m so happy… I can’t wait to eat cake.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw

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drawlfoy · 1 year ago

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the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.”

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin.

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it.

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable.

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy.

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring.

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it.

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal.

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you.

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands.

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?”

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.”

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer.

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark.

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point?

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys.

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder.

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version.

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market.

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943.

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please.

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal.

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below.

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s.

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train.

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it.

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces.

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had.

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink.

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you.

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin.

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty.

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it.

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you.

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects.

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand.

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects.

Huh.

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either.

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest.

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away.

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?”

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.”

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.”

“Right, right.”

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.”

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise.

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly.

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.”

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all.

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.”

Y/N.

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out.

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added.

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow.

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you.

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions.

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing.

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here.

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though.

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.”

“See? Useful.”

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot.

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away.

Well, goodnight you wrote.

Goodnight

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit.

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy.

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.”

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!”

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way.

There you are. I thought I’d bored you.

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight.

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around.

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink.

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts.

Then the lettering appeared again.

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me.

You lived in a muggle orphanage?

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming.

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to.

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth?

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn.

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair.

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class.

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets.

Surely you do.

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this.

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection.

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.”

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then???

Ancient.

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage?

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled.

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out?

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious.

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction.

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought.

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail?

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause.

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly.

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again.

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section.

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake.

Not until now.

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands.

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here.

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more.

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it.

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary.

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead.

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again.

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal.

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again.

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes?

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive.

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend.

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day.

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give.

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke.

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help.

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied.

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world.

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze.

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.”

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent.

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it.

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.”

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.”

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok.

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling.

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook.

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable.

“Hi.”

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin.

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.”

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered.

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering.

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning.

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.”

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.”

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.”

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away.

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch.

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless.

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.”

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate.

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.”

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron.

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut.

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly.

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?”

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices.

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory.

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness.

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?”

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling.

He didn’t say anything.

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes.

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air.

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing.

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.”

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised.

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you.

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm.

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?”

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.”

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders.

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling.

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well.

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine

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backwzzds · 1 year ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ take the reins, ichigo kurosaki (nsfw)

slightly sub!ichigo loves letting you fuck him back to sleep.

it was such a late night. you knew ichigo was tired the way the boy literally slept like a rock beside you. you were still awake though. you’d got in from work just a few hours ago when it was ichigo’s ‘day off’, one he used to practically sleep for twenty hours straight. you’d settled on just watching the features of your lover as he slept through the rest of the night, but was confused when you heard him let out an awakening yawn before you.

suddenly, ichigo’s beautiful eyes opened up, clearly surprised at your sudden presence beside him. ichigo yawns and speaks. “didn’t know you came home. what time is it?”

“little after three. your heavy ass was knocked out like a log when i got home,” you laughed lightly. “you know how hard it was getting just one of your legs to move over?”

the strawberry blonde let out a tired smile as he bought a large hand to cup your face. naturally, you mirrored his actions and ran your acrylic nail over the smooth of his porcelain skin. you two lovingly stared at each other like you did every night. “sorry, princess,” he raspily chuckled, running his own thumb against the terrain of your mahogany skin. “missed you today.”

“missed you too,” you smiled at him. “you ate the food i cooked for you papa? or did your ass sleep all day?” your eyebrows flattened as you gave him a knowing look.

ichigo chuckled as he scooted your body closer to his. by now, your noses were almost touching, and your bare body was against his. all you were clad in was one of his older shirts and panties. he was only wearing his boxers to bed like he usually did. but the time of night didn’t keep ichigo from bothering to hide the growing boner that was poking your stomach right about now.

“i did, i did. it was really good,” he breathed out. “i went back to sleep after though.” you playfully rolled your eyes at his response. you already knew from the way he completely cleaned out the pots you had left the fresh food in before you left for work.

you both are left in a relaxing silence before ichigo’s eyes falter down to your full lips. “lemme get a kiss.” his voice was hard and tired; but that didn’t stop it from letting his request come out as a very soft demand.

without a second thought, you leaned into his touch and pressed your lips against his. you physically felt ichigo’s hardened body, tired from all his protective soul reaper work, melt into the grasp of your soft hands. you took care of him without even trying; you always did.

you stayed like that for a few minutes, just swallowing each other whole in the pitch black room. you have no complaints when you feel ichigo grab you by the waist and use the very little strength he could muster up to pull you onto his chest. at first, you’re fearful that you may be too heavy for his injuries that were still healing. but at the twitch of you about to get off of him, he grips your hips and slightly forces you down against him.

“‘m fine,” he whispered against your lips. “just let me fuck you.”

you speak in between the pecks of your kisses and give him a stern look. “you need to rest.”

“mama i’m fine,” he whined, coyly rutting his pelvis up into your thin clothed cunt. “rested all day, been wanting to be inside you all damn day. let me, will ya?” you roll your eyes at his sassy attitude before lightly lifting up the shirt you wore, silently giving him permission to continue.

in one swift move, ichigo slides down his boxers before moving your own panty to the side. he runs his wet tip against your even wetter pussy, barely groaning at the easy comparison. the strawberry blonde bites his lip tightly as he slips in you with complete ease.

you audibly gasp as you feel ichigo fill you up within seconds. his large hands press down on your back so your chest is flat against his own, lightly rocking into. “just relax—fuck,” he encouraged.

you moan, lightly lifting and dropping your ass down against him to meet his thrusts. “i s-should be telling you that.”

“shit—i’m supposed to relax when y’er grippin’ me so tight?” ichigo groans, running his hands along your sides. “feel like i’m boutta cum already.”

“don’t nut quick like a teenage boy,” you roll your eyes.

ichigo mirrors your actions, slightly quickening his pace. “tch. might cum way quicker than that.”

at the sound of this, you could tell he’s straining himself, so you rest your hand on his chest and sit up a little. “let me do will the work before you pull a muscle. again.”

ichigo’s face turns red as he exclaims, “that was one time!” but you shut him up with a quick bounce of your hips against him. by now, you were fully riding him, putting all the control in your knees and ankles that were flat against the mattress.

“fuck, daddy,” you let out as you roll yourself against him. “that feel good, pa?”

pleasure is written all over ichigo’s face as his eyes roll to the back of his nodding head. “just like that mama. feel so good—shit.”

leaning forward just a little bit, you turn your head back behind you and you and ichigo watch as your ass bounces up and down against his painfully long cock that was stretching you so good.

minutes pass by when you’re still riding ichigo. your knees were burning as a sign of them starting to give out, but you kept going as a way to treat ichigo for everything he did for you. by the sounds of his low whines—too tired enough to fully be vocal—you knew he was close.

you felt yourself cumming out of nowhere. the knot in your stomach slowly came undone as you looked down and saw a ring of your arousal forming around ichigo’s girth. “baby, ‘m close,” ichigo breathed out heavily. “so fucking close—“

“i know baby,” you cooed, rubbing your hands all along his chest. “you like it when i fuck you back like this? when i take control?” your voice is soft and sensual as you begin to shown praise to ichigo’s body. all the scars and marks on his skin telling a different story. you only saw the effect his job had on him when he was beneath you like this.

“mhm,” ichigo hummed in response. his hands found solace on your clit and began rubbing it in small circles, stimulating you as well. “lemme cum in you—please—shit.”

you can’t help but smirk at his begging. “go ahead baby, nut in this pussy, daddy.” your words are the only confirmation ichigo needs before he’s halting your movements by the hips and rutting his own into you at lightning pace. he was moving pretty fast for someone who needed rest.

“oh fuck, ichi!” you cry out, feeling one last orgasm approach. in the midst of it all, ichigo slips his hand down beneath ur legs and scoops of a mix of both your cum before placing the fingers in his mouth and sucking on them as you began to come down from your high.

with a cheeky grin, the orange haired boy smiled at you. “desert?”

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐#ichigo x black!reader #ichigo x black reader #ichigo kurosaki x black reader #ichigo kurosaki x reader #ichigo smut #ichigo kurosaki #ichigo kurosaki smut #kurosaki ichigo #ichigo x reader #ichigo bleach #bleach x black reader #bleach smut #bleach

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gejo333 · 1 year ago

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A Misunderstanding

Father Miguel O’Hara x Mother Spider Reader

—> pt. 2

Summary: Your relationship with Miguel was doing amazing. But when you find out your pregnant Miguel begins to close himself off . You decide it’s best not to tell him and end things. But what happens when you see him again after five years and learns that he is a father?

There is a sensual scene, if you feel uncomfortable just scroll past it.

I was going to write it all in one post but I decided to do a part two. Part 2 will be posted tomorrow. I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Hope you enjoy🤗

Wc: 3.2k

____________________________________________

A heavy breath leaves your lungs; sitting on a piece of rubble, you stare at the anomaly being taken away by another spider back to HQ. On a mission like this one, an anomaly of this low stature wouldn’t make you sweat. But for some reason, you had a hard time defeating it.

Peter B comes up to you, lending you a hand. You gladly take it rising from your makeshift seat. After walking through the portal back to HQ, Peter puts his hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/n?” Peter looked concerned about your tired complexion.

“I’m fine. I must not have slept well last night. But thanks for checking in and for your help with the mission.”

“No problem. Are you reporting back to Miguel?”

“Yeah. I should tell him about the mission getting out of hand. I’ll see you around.” You wave goodbye before making your way to Miguel’s office. When reporting missions that didn’t go exactly to plan, spiders asked you to report to Miguel.

Before you began dating him 6 months ago, you still had a close relationship with him. Ever since he recruited you, he’s had a soft spot for you, never once getting mad with you.

Walking into his “lair,” as most spiders called it, you tried to shoot up a web to him, but your web shooter malfunctioned.

Miguel jumped down from the platform, walking towards you. His gaze crossed your entire body, checking to see if you were hurt.

“I heard the mission went a bit south.” Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. He lifted your chin and leaned down to kiss your lips lovingly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, lifting your toes to press deeper into the kiss. Breaking apart, you caress his cheek as he leans into your touch.

“Yeah, I needed to call backup. The anomaly was more to handle than I thought. I’m not sure why. I just don’t feel my best today.”

“How about we get some delicious empanadas near my apartment and watch a movie. How does that sound? We can leave right now if you want?” A smile graces his lips as he gazes at you with so much love waiting for your response. You smile back at him as your e/c meets his mahogany eyes. You were the only person to see his true eye color.

“That sounds perfect.”

Pressing a few buttons on his watch, Miguel opens the portal back to his universe. The two of you walk through, entering an ally a block away from Miguel’s place. Both of your suits dissolve underneath casual clothing hiding underneath.

The two of you walked into the little store that sold the best empanadas in all of Nueva York, as Miguel had told you multiple times.

“Miguel! Mi cliente favorito. Cómo te va?” An older woman walked around the counter, hugging Miguel, which he gladly accepted.

“Estoy bien. Y usted?” Miguel said as he led you fully into the store. You loved seeing this side of Miguel. He only revealed his true warm side when he was back in his world or alone with you on missions or at HQ.

“I’m doing good. Business is good. And who is this gorgeous woman by your side Miguel?” The woman looks at you with a bright smile. You look up at Miguel as he looks down at you with a smile.

“This is Y/n. My girlfriend.” Miguel’s response made the woman beam with joy as she hugged you.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n. It’s so nice for Miguel to find such a nice woman as you. The usual order Miguel?” The woman returns behind the counter, grabs a box, and puts in empanadas.

“Sí, plus a few extra.”

“Of course!” She adds a few more before handing them to you. Miguel pays her before adding $500 to the tip jar. The woman looks astounded and takes the money out, trying to return it to him. He closes her hand, pushing gently back towards her.

“Miguel, this is too much.”

“Nonsense. You make the best empanadas in all of Nueva York.” The woman hugs Miguel again as tears brim her eyes.

“Thank you so much. You truly are a good man Miguel.”

“Until next time!” He waved goodbye before leading you out of the store.

Miguel opened the door, letting you go first before making your way to the kitchen, setting the empanadas down on the counter. Miguel places both arms at your sides, trapping you against the counter. You turn to face him, leaning back a bit against the counter. Hands run up his chest and wrap around his neck. You run your hands through his hair as he leans his back, enjoying the sensation of your hands through his hair.

He leaned down, lips centimeters from yours. His gaze goes to your lips, his eyes starving for your touch. You give him a quick kiss.

“Let’s choose something to watch.”

“Yeah.” Miguel calms down his breathing before letting you go. The two of you grab an empanada and head to the living room as you get comfy on the couch, putting a blanket over the both of you. You rest your head against him.

Almost halfway into the movie, your gaze is directed toward Miguel as he stares ahead. He shifts slightly, uncomfortable. Your gaze falls down to his lap, where a tent appears. Sliding a hand to his lap, you pull down his sweats, setting him free as you give him a handjob.

Miguel’s head leans back, a groan escaping his lips.

“Y/n” You continue your movements as you feel your hand getting covered in precum.

“You like that?” You lean towards him as you kiss his neck towards his lips, where he hungrily captures yours.

“I need more of you, mi vida.” He groaned before removing the blanket. He grabbed you by the waist, sitting you on his lap as he ripped your panties off, thrusting himself fully into your wet folds.

“Those were my favorite.” You moaned out. A pout was on your face before Miguel captured your lips.

“I’ll buy you all the new pairs you want,” Miguel whispered into your ear as he thrust his hips into you.

“Miggy!” Your moans grew louder as his pace quickened, sending you into euphoria.

You awake from your bed in a sweaty state, your breath uneven. Sitting up from your bed, you place your head against your knee as you calm your heart. Why that memory again? You’ve had that same memory plague your dreams for the past week.

Looking at your phone, it was 8 am. You get up from your bed and go to the room next to you. Opening the door, you walk up to the small race car bed. Leaning down, you brush the dark brown hair from your son’s face and press a kiss to his forehead.

You watch his eyes flutter open, his big brown eyes tiredly staring at you.

“Good morning.” You say, gazing at your five-year-old as he wakes up. He jumps into your arms as you pick him up.

“Are you excited for today? It’s your first day of kindergarten!”

“Yes!” His arms went up in excitement. You set him down as you grab the outfit you prepared for him today. After the both of you got dressed, you went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

“What would you like?”

“Pancakes! With chocolate chips!”

“How about pancakes with blueberries? Make it a bit healthier.” You suggest as you already begin making the batter.

“I love blueberries!” He cheered.

You place the small pancakes in front of him as you finish getting ready in your room. After you finish putting on your makeup, you see your son walk in with a face covered with syrup. You chuckle at the cute site as you get up and bring her to the bathroom to wipe her face and hands.

“Mommy, can you do my hair how I like it?”

“Of course!”

You set her on the bathroom counter as you brush his hair. You combed your fingers through his hair. You look at him through the mirror. Distinct brown hair and eyes. Warm honey-toned skin. He was the spitting image of his father.

It’s been almost six years since you last saw him. Ever since that fateful day, you wonder if you made the right decision. But he made it clear to you.

“Mommy?” You’re brought out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, sweetie.” You finish the combing his hair. You grab your purse and his brand-new fire truck backpack. Grabbing his hand, you walk out the door and towards the school.

Arriving at the school, you walk through the front doors to his classroom. You see the other 5-year-olds entering the classroom or clinging to their parents. Arriving at the door, you see the teacher come out.

“Hi! My name is Ms. Williams. And who might this be?”

“This is Mateo (L/n). Say hi, Mateo.” You say to your son, who clings to you. Hiding his face behind your leg.

“Hi.” Mateo slowly waves to the teacher. Ms. Williams holds out her hand toward Mateo. Mateo looks up to you as you smile.

“It’s ok, Mateo. Go make some friends. Mommy will be here to pick you up in a few hours.”

“Promise?” He holds his pinky out to you, which you hook with yours.

“Promise.” Mateo smiles at you before taking his teacher’s hand, walking him into the room. He turned to wave goodbye before disappearing into the room.

A tear escapes you as you wipe it away. You couldn’t believe he was already 5. It went by so fast.

After drying your tears, you make it back to your apartment. Sitting at your desk in your bedroom, you stare at the drafted article before you. Since you quit Spider Society, you got your job back as a journalist.

Your mind drifts off from the work before you.

Sitting on the edge of the toilet seat, you stare down at the small object in your hands.

Two lines. These two lines answer the question that was in the back of your mind all day.

You were pregnant. Your body jumps up when you hear someone walk into the bathroom. Unlocking the door to the stall, you quickly wash your hands and clean off the stick before hiding it in a secret pocket of your spider suit.

A beep from your watch tells you to go to Miguel’s office. Miguel… what would he think? You rush out of the bathroom and towards his office.

Ben Reilly and Jess are talking with Miguel about a mission. Standing next to Miguel as he continues talking. However, everything he said was unheard as your thoughts raced.

“Y/n?” You came back to reality as Miguel placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Yep! Understood.” You say, hoping he didn’t notice you drifting off into space. Miguel dismisses Ben and Jess as he turns to face you.

“Is everything ok?” His eyes grew concerned as you weren’t your usual happy self. You decided not to tell him yet. You were too nervous to tell him. Since movie night, Miguel has been nonstop busy and stressed from work. You didn’t feel you should stress him out more with your news.

And it’s only been 6 months since you started dating. You didn’t know if he wanted children, especially after what happened to his daughter.

“Yeah! I’m good. Just tired. So my mind is a bit off.”

“How about you go home and rest. I’ll do the mission with Jess and Ben.”

“It’s ok. I can still go on the mission.” You try to reason with him.

“No mi amor. Go home and rest. I don’t want you getting hurt on the mission if you’re tired.” You decided to listen to him as he would not change his mind.

“Ok, fine. See you later tonight.” You give him a kiss before saying goodbye.

…

“You’re 2 months pregnant.”

The doctor’s words shocked you. You didn’t think you were that far along. It’s only been two weeks since you found out you were pregnant.

After leaving the doctor’s office, you head back to HQ. Going to the doctor at HQ was free, but you knew word would get back to Miguel, as everyone knew you two were in a relationship.

Spider HQ felt off today as barely anyone was here. You go to Miguel’s office but find all the lights turned off except one of his monitors.

Miguel sat in his chair, his head resting in his hand. He looked so sad. You never had seen him this way before.

“Miguel?” You walk closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. You look at the monitor. It was a video of him and his daughter.

“Y/n? I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

“I wasn’t. But I’ve barely seen you for the past two weeks. I wanted to just check in on you.” He moved his chair to face you. As he opens his arms to you, you sit in his lap. Wrapping his arms tight around you, he nestled his head in your neck. You comb your fingers through his hair to help comfort him.

“Today’s her birthday.” He mumbled against your skin. His words clenched at your heart.

“Miguel…” You lifted his chin to look at you as you softly caressed his cheek. He leans into your hand, looking at you with red eyes. Not his normal ruby red, but red from tears.

“She would have been ten this year.” A tear slipped from his eye, trailing down his cheek, which you gently wiped away. You never have seen him in such a vulnerable state before. It made your heart break seeing him like this.

Would it be ok to tell him now about the pregnancy? To try and lift his spirits? Maybe it was too sudden. It was Gabriella’s birthday, after all.

“The thought of having another child is unbearable. I couldn’t handle the pain again if something happened.”

His words shattered you. He didn’t want to have more kids. You placed a hand on your stomach. It would be pointless to tell him. He didn’t want to be a father again.

His watch suddenly beeped, indicating that there was an anomaly he needed to deal with.

“Maybe you should let someone else do the mission.” You got up from his lap as he continued to sit in the chair.

“No, I’ll do it. He stands from his chair as he opens the portal. Before he leaves, you gently grab his arm.

“I can go with you.” He smiles at you as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m going to do this one myself, Hermosa.”

“Oh, ok. Be safe.” You say before he walks into the portal.

…

You gaze at the surroundings of HQ, seeing various spiders interacting with one another. Ever since Gabriella’s birthday, you’ve barely seen Miguel. He buried himself in work. You tried several times to see him, but he was so distant from you that you decided to stop visiting him.

That was a month ago. Now 3 months pregnant, you have a baby bump, so when you came into HQ today, you decided to wear casual clothes that hid your bump. For what you’re about to do. You didn’t want anyone to know, especially Miguel.

Anxiety blossomed at the bottom of your stomach as you walked to his office. Were you being selfish? Maybe you should wait until he’s better. But time would run out in 6 months, and you didn’t want to face the truth of him rejecting his child. You wouldn’t be able to bear it.

You reach his office, where he talks to Peter B. and Jess about past missions. The three turn when they notice your presence.

“Y/n! It’s been so long! You’ve barely been to HQ this past month!” Said Peter as he went to hug you. You quickly give him a side hug so he wouldn’t find out your little secret. Peter gave you a confused look at your gesture but decided to ignore it.

Your gaze shifts to Miguel as he looks back at you. He’s barely seen you this month. Longer even.

“Jess, Peter. Is it ok if I talk privately with Miguel for a few minutes?” Your serious tone makes the two briefly look at Miguel and back at you before leaving his office.

Miguel walks up to you and places his hands around your waist.

“Is everything alright, cariño?” His gaze turned serious when you didn’t wrap your arms around him like you used to. Bile felt like it was threatening to come out of your throat. Not from the pregnancy. But what you were dreading telling him the past few days.

“I’m quitting Spider Society.” His eyes widened slightly before worry and confusion replaced them.

“What for?”

“Other life commitments need my attention back in my universe.”

“Like what?” He pushed you to tell him.

“Just other things.” You can see hurt in his eyes by your answer.

“You don’t have to quit. You can take a break if you need it.” He suggested.

“No, I’m sure of my decision.”

“Fine. But we’ll talk about it later. I don’t think you should quit. You’re an amazing Spiderwoman. I’ll come over after work with some food.” He wasn’t happy about your answer, but he let it slide.

“Miguel…” His heart dropped when you moved out of his arms.

“I have loved every second we’ve spent together…”

“Y/n?” You held up your hand to stop him from talking to let you finish. Tears began to threaten to spill out.

“But our lives are starting to go in different directions. I think we should stop seeing each other.” Tears spilled down your cheeks as you saw how hurt he looked. You felt terrible.

“Mi amor…” He tries to caress your cheek, but you move your face away, breaking him further.

“It’s for the best, Miguel. I hope you find someone who brings you happiness and love.” You turn away from him. But he grabs you by the arm and pulls you into an embrace. He kisses gently up your neck.

“You brought me that. I’ve never been happier in my life when I’m with you. Please don’t leave me.”

You wanted to melt into his arms and forget everything you said. But you couldn’t let your guard down. Removing his arms from your waist, you walk away from him. You turn to look at him one more time.

“Goodbye, Miguel.”

Tears fall onto your computer as you relive those memories. Even after five years, the look in his eyes broke you. Your heart still aches for him. There were times when you thought of reaching out. But you remembered he never came to your universe to fight for you both. To say he wouldn’t accept you breaking up with him.

You knew you told him it was over. But you still hoped he would run after you. Looking at the time on your computer, you realize you need to pick up Mateo.

You wipe your tears before grabbing your wallet, phone, and keys. As you were about to open the door, you heard a knock. Your spider-sense was going off, which you didn’t know why.

Slowly you open the door. The air from your lungs briefly left you as you dropped everything in your hand.

“Miguel?”

____________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed it.🥰

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel x reader #oneshot #oneshot requests #jessica drew #miguel o’hara fanfiction #sadnees #romance #relationship issues #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #spider woman #pregnant

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rosedere · 5 months ago

Text

Flames of deception

(Rollo Flamme x Fem! Reader)

CW: implied noncon, implied stalking, Drugging, writer did not play Glomas-

“You aren't at all who you say you are (Name)”

Facing the antique fireplace, you didn't turn around towards him, merely focusing on the embers shooting to life in the fireplace, illuminating the dark winter sky outside.

“What if I wasn't anyway?” You simply slipped out, rolling your eyes.

"Are you going to tell my parents or what?”

Rollo only watched you, his eyes illuminated by the fiery embers of the coals.

His eyes were on you like a target meets an arrow.

Rollo stayed looking at you with silent judgment. Good, you hated being bossed around by him anyway, only being chosen to be apart of the student council because of your unique lack of ties to twisted wonderland. It seemed they had to pick you for being so unique, as the council put it.

At least you could go back to being invisible.

“I find it most entertaining,” he chuckled, still sitting firmly in his armchair before him in the cavernous room.

“You (name) the unmagical prefect with a secret,” he grabbed his colored handkerchief promptly moving it in front of his mouth.

“I never kept anything a secret anyway,”

“You just never asked,” you shrugged, keeping your hands clasped in front of your uniform.

The silence befell the room once more.

”Why so much anger (name)”

He leaned in, seeming like he was going to get up from his seat.

But instead of hearing his feet firmly stand up on the ancient mahogany wood beneath him, you felt his hands reach your hips.

stiffening, you only turned to the side to then feel the bottom of your robe lift up abruptly.

”Just as I thought,” he began to tsk; You only tried to pick up your now exposed underwear, only for Rollo to swat your hands away.

”You fucking pervert; get your hands off of me,” you yelled.

You were about to slap his wrist when you felt the smoldering heat radiating from his hands.

Pulling back with haste, your hand closest to the hand using fire magic was convulsing, trying to fan the now-burn blossoming on your tender skin.

Rollo only smiled up towards you, his expression contorting into a sunken darkness.

”So, on top of using foul language, the intel I’ve received might also be true about you,” he shook his head back and forth with a nasty glare of judgment.

”Unless, when I take your very feminine-looking underwear off, I see you told me the truth, then I will only reduce your punishment for doubting you.” His fingers began to curl under the waistband of your underwear.

You mentally cursed yourself for not wearing your boxers today; every damn day you wore those things, but you woke up later than usual.

“Well? Not even trying to fight the allegations before you.”

He gripped the top of your underwear.

”Maybe you secretly get a thrill thinking about me looking at your bare fruit.”

He only snickered as the blush grew on your face as you tried, in vain, to pull your robe over your thighs.

”hoping someone comes in to see you so exposed; the magic-less prefect of Nobel College.”

"S-stop,” you finally snapped; you didn't care who he was anymore.

You kicked behind you blindly, aiming for his seated knee, causing a blowback between the two of you.

Eyes stunned, he looked up at you, but you didn't stay long enough for him to say anything, bolting past him into the hallways, covering yourself once more.

Coming to the barren hallway with the antique decor and brown wooden walls, you finally caught your breath.

He wouldn't be crazy enough to follow you, possibly…

Looking around, you didn't see any student council members in the area at all. You pondered to yourself, assuming he had probably sent them away for the evening since it was the winter break anyway.

Only you and him remained strangely enough.

Shaking your head, you went down the isolated staircase you’d taken many times. The polished wooden steps leading down to a secluded courtyard at the bottom were your destination.

or what should have been where you ended up.

You didn't miss your step; you felt your foot land on the third step to the landing in the chambered staircase.

But the next minute, you felt someone grab you from your side.

It was supposed to be impossible. There was a wall there.

but unbeknownst to you in your time at Nobel Bell College The school council president had extensive knowledge of all the corridors and passageways that had been in the school before Fluer City was founded.

Fighting in desperation, you were no match for the person in the wall as you felt your mouth become covered with a handkerchief. You tried to claw into the thick material draped around his forearm to let go, but this only led to a fiercer fight as he pressed the handkerchief into your face.

The smell coming off of it was putrid as you tried your best to resist inhaling and taking shallow breaths, but unfortunately you succumbed to the smell.

You just felt a horrible wave of drowsiness overcome your eyes.

Your limbs went weak, and your tongue was numb within your mouth, unable to protest anymore. You only felt yourself being carried back up the horrid stairs you had just come down from below.

Rollo knew from the start you were a female.

The hesitancy to strip for gym class in front of the others because you were “too embarrassed” by a scar you had on your chest.

The few times he did see you wear your robes tighter, he could see the volumptious form your hips had as you swayed, going back and forth carrying on with duties in the council room.

He was already quite fond of you, already seemingly docile like he was, keeping to yourself in the side courtyard beyond the statue of the righteous judge.

And, of course, having no filthy magic in your blood.

It was just a bonus when he found out you were female.

He only knew since he waited patiently behind a statue in the walls of the dressing room for athletics.

He heard you walk in his breath, baited in anticipation, as he saw you look around to be sure no one was around.

After a couple of seconds, you carefully took your hair down from under your hat, followed by unbuttoning and shifting your robes.

The finale, he thought.

He hoped his observations were right; to be wedded to a magicless being would be his dream come true.

Submissive and ready to start a family with him to begin his purification.

his eyes lingering on your chest as you finally reached the last layer of your uniform.

And, of course, a plain binder and laced corset were what he was greeted with.

Your chest carefully wrapped underneath it, saddened that there wasn't more underneath. He got his wish when he saw you strip your lower robes.

You wore laced underwear, which is only seen in the most famous boutiques in the city.

It seemed you wanted to look cute sometimes, he thought to himself with a smile.

In that moment, he had decided to betray his values.

Why tell everyone the magicless prefect was a girl? They would all salivate over you, and he’d never have a chance to be with the one he knew was the key to purifying the magic from twisted wonderland.

He knew he had until winter break to convince you to be his.

but it was clear you weren't interested in any of that. Yet.

”I'm sorry it had to be this way (Name)”

Rollo stood over your unconscious self as you lay against a wooden pillar in the beloved clock tower.

bounded in scarlet ropes against the worn pillar, he began to undress you as he had when you were in that room all those months ago.

Carefully peeling your numerous layers on top of your torso, finally reaching your tender, exposed chest, he undid your binder and corset.

Your plumb breast being exposed to him; it was unbelievable, he was able to see your symbol of being a woman.

He told himself it wasn't weird to stare, as you would be his bride soon.

but he had to feel you.

He reached for your slowly rising chest as he felt your squishy mound underneath his palm.

It was heaven.

Too heavenly.

A touch became a squeeze, a squeeze turned into a kiss, and eventually you were completely naked as Rollo began to let his hands wander.

After an hour of coitus together, he realized what he had done.

laid underneath a blanket he had brought, still bare and unconscious.

He only laid beside you in the cold tower, heaving from the energy it took him.

But it was okay, he told himself he knew you wanted this.

You were just as lonely as him in this world. No one understood you as much as Rollo flamme did.

Suddenly, he heard you mumble.

It seems someone was awake.

Note: btw I wasnt lying literally only know Rollo is based off my favorite disney movie 😭

Btw Requested by: Sallade on AO3 <3

#yandere twst #rollo flamme x reader #reader insert #yandere rollo flamme #yandere x you #yandere x reader #tw noncon #yandere twisted wonderland #rosederereqs

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aggro-my-beloved · 2 months ago

Text

Long In The Tooth (LaskoxDear)

note: happy soulmate september! my heart’s probably still beating out of my chest with excitement when you’re reading this. brb, i’m off to listen to the milo panic attack audio but interact with this if you wanna (pretty pls) summary: *aging stops at 18 until you meet your soulmate* [lasko’s been eighteen for six years now, and frankly, he’s becoming sick of playing a juvenile. what makes his endeavor for a soulmate even more bewildering? they’re one of his students.] pairing(s): LaskoxDear (romantic), GavinxFreelancer (romantic), LaskoxDamien (non-platonic?) warning(s): none word count: 3k estimated reading time: 12 mins

taglist: @ther3alsweetheart @darlin-collins @professionallyyappinabtangst @elles-roses

“SO BE LOOKING FOR AN EMAIL FROM ME f-for your class schedule. Again, I'm sorry about not having a…physical copy on hand.” Lasko combs a clammy hand through his disheveled hair, sparing a discreet glance at his leather satchel lying by his feet. It defends an entire ream of charred papers, originally for the pool of students that Lasko has been bestowed the responsibility of meeting today, but instead, it mocks him. “My printer ran out of ink.”

His run-in with the stubborn fire elemental without patience for one's troubleshooting of his agenda went worse than the guidance counselor envisioned—a surprise to Lasko, who always depicts the worst scenarios before plunging head-first into any social situation. Guess what Freelancer said was true: you think better on your feet than in the air, he reflects.

“No worries. It’d be my luck,” The student laughs awkwardly, silently inviting Lasko to muster one of his own.

“Well, before I send you off, do you have my questions for me?” His hands press onto the thick desktop glass, shielding the wood. One spilled cup of coffee too many, and a sputtering request to the Dean was all it took to gain that.

“I do have one.” Lasko’s heart begins thumping uncontrollably, and he thanks every deity above that the water elemental is also not an experienced telepath. What will they ask me? Maybe they want to pick my brain about the theory of shade resurgence. How much research have they done on me as an alumnus? Perhaps they find me unfit to be a counselor and a professor, being human-reared. They don't think I have the history, nor the fundamental teachings from my unempowered parents. Oh, who are you kidding Lasko? They’re probably wanting to know which food from the cafeteria won’t give someone massive—

“You look a little young to be a counselor, don’t you?” As if intrigued by their curiosity, the student creeps forward in the armchair sat opposite Lasko’s, and finds respite for their folded arms on the mahogany desk between them. Before Lasko’s lips could part, the pupil emits a gasp at their presumption. “I’m so sorry, please take that as a compliment. Your soulmate must be lucky to have someone with such a…youthful glow.” The excruciating cringe on their face is palpable (and noticeably lacking age lines), but Lasko revels in the sight of it. For once, he is not the one digging a grave mid-conversation.

He could only muster a chuckle, eyes settling on his chewed-down fingernails and fidgeting knuckles—the only visible skin on his body that had wrinkles. This presumption is one he’s been unwillingly catering to for his past six years under the university, and his answer, like his relationship status, is unchanging.

He offers a modest shrug. “Y-yeah, counselor, and professor. B-but you…you’re not wrong. I only look this young because I haven’t met mine yet—soulmate, I mean.” The pinch on the bridge of his nose from his glasses feels abnormally tight as he gauges the student’s reaction. A curious raise of the brow, slow nod—awed. And rightfully so, with how capable and convenient the modern age has made it to scout for one’s “better half.” Apps and chat rooms galore in addition to personal soulmate seekers (a bunch of glorified PIs with hopeless romantic tendencies, as Lasko refers to them) for hire. These things leave a person little reason to go more than a year after eighteen with no celebrated crow'sfeet or growing pains. People think he’s inept or simply non-committal. Lasko considers himself stodgy for yearning to encounter his soulmate organically.

“Well, if it’s any reassurance, you aren’t the only one.” They don’t elaborate, and Lasko doesn’t pry. He remains seated, silently watching them wrangle each strap of their backpack over their shoulders. “Thank you again for the chat, Mr. Moore.”

“Ah, just Lasko is fine. I’m not near old enough for all that 'mister' stuff.” At least, I don’t look like it, he tacks on mentally.

“Right. I guess I’ll see you around then.”

He clarifies, “Monday at ten,” which earns him a tilted head. “For DAMN 101, which should be on the schedule that I'llemail you.” A small, upward twitch of their lips leaves Lasko satisfied with the conversation but prepared for the tens of other students who will receive the same news.

“I can’t wait.”

He hopes for his sake that the rest are as understanding as this one.

“Well well, professor, how was orientation today?” Had the man still not reeked of liquid smoke and sweat from his earlier encounter with the fire elemental, or suffered from cramping fingers and aching wrists from the barrage of emails he sent out today, Lasko’s answer may not have been so curt.

A trace of a scowl lingered in his voice, “Not in the mood, Gav.” At the evil hiss of his name, the demon transferred his gaze from the television to the strung-out university employee entering the den. Lasko makes a show of shrugging off his blazer and settling his fatigued body into the armchair perpendicular to the sectional Gavin and his soulmate were occupying. His roommate proceeds to turn his attention to him, chorting sarcastically, “Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?” Freelancer takes the opportunity to bury their face in the bared crook of Gavin’s neck, releasing a languid sigh of contentment.

Lasko strives to obscure his frown, but the envy boiling in the depths of his stomach wins while the muscles of his jaw tighten. “Some fire elemental with serious anger issues almost sent me up in flames with my office, destroyed all of my paperwork, and cost me two and a half hours of emailing students their schedules and trying not to sound passive-aggressive. Do you realize how hard it is to type ‘Please see attached for your semester schedule. Thank you.’ without sounding like the biggest assho–”

Amidst his rant, Freelancer’s head pops up from the den between Gavin’s neck and collarbone. “You met Damien?”

The question Lasko volleys is an answer in itself. “You know him?” Wide eyes with a visible twitch urge Freelancer to dig through the sofa cushions for their phone.

“Yeah, he texted me earlier. A whole string of back-to-back messages about some university nobody screwing him over with his schedule. I didn’t think anything of it until…” They purse their lips. Lasko watches his friends’ eyes soaking in his appearance–blackened shirt cuffs, tousled tendrils of hair, and all. Should Lasko be expecting some vengeful threat? A stolen personal belonging replaced with a ransom note? A dead sprite in a wrapped box outside his office door?

“How mad was he?” He scrubs his hands against his face, hoping to wipe the day away with his sour expression.

“I wouldn’t check your Rate My Professor anytime soon.” Lasko throws his head back in defeat. Tarnishing his paperwork and his reputation in a single day? The ransom note wasn’t looking as unfavorable in comparison.

“I thought it’d be water that didn’t get along with fire,” Gavin muses with a smirk. Lasko’s mind trails away from the soot-stained carpet of his office to the friendly water elemental he had the pleasure of speaking with earlier. Their curious nature and self-loathing sense of humor is something Lasko would have never considered himself attracted to, seeing as Gavin’s unyielding confidence and inflated ego always put his stomach through a spin cycle.

A sharp inhale from Freelancer resounds through the house. “Oh my goodness, Lasko!” Instantly, he was patting down his body, checking his pulse, and looking around for the nearest mirror. He already knew he looked like shit, what was the big deal?

“What, what is it?” Still, he turned his head every which way expecting a large bug or “kick me” sign on his back from Damien—perhaps the earlier onslaught of flames was merely a distraction. Or, the man’s just paranoid, per usual.

“You have smile lines!” As if imitating a mirror, Freelancer offers a ballooning grin of their own, presenting the faint creases surrounding their lips to him. “You thought you could meet your soulmate and just not tell us?” They motion excitedly between themselves and Gavin, who was absorbing the scene before him.

“I-I didn’t though, did I?” Did he? He thinks back to all of the students he spoke with earlier in the day, Damien included. A shiver courses down his spine at the thought—he’s always heard the saying ‘opposites attract’ but having a soulmate who wanted to momentarily kill him seems like a stretch. Having a soulmate be one of the many bodies in his class is equally as horrific, but—as he now recognizes—a possibility. “Holy shit, I-I met my soulmate.”

Gavin inquires after a few seconds, “Who are they?”

Lasko's head darts up, donning a veil of “oh fuck” on his visage. “I have no idea.”

Much to Gavin’s chagrin and Freelancer’s enthusiasm, the couple agreed to aid him in compiling a list of the students he’d met in the last twenty-four hours, and omitting the ones who’ve been blessed to find their other half, according to Freelancer’s in-depth “research” when inputting their names online.

“Sami Tryst is in my Thursday lab! They’ve got an engagement ring, though.”

“Hudson Lang won a medal in the E&E games last year. He thanked his partner in his acceptance speech.”

“Jacquelyn Gardner?” Freelancer snorts with a shaking head. “Definitely not your type.”

Lasko’s head hinges up from the sheet of paper he was eyeing—scrawled with names, and taken straight out of Freelancer’s DAMN 101 notebook. With furrowed brows and an insulted scowl, he beckons “How would you know?”

“She has an eyebrow slit and ‘grade-a carpet muncher’ written in her Instagram bio next to her girlfriend’s name. You really wanna try competing with that, professor?” Lasko stays quiet, even through the contagious mixture of laughs flying around the room from the couple.

He finally mutters, “Whatever”, and is nonetheless satisfied with a name being crossed off of the list. Four hours and one order from Max’s Rustic Pizza later, the trio is splayed across the living room carpet. Three names remain uncrossed on the sheet, staring back at them tauntingly.

“Wait, you forgot about Damien.” Freelancer reminds Lasko with a small nudge. Not that he needed the reminder, but a small part of him was hopeful that leaving him off of the list would rule out the chance of them being soulmates entirely. His hands are reluctant when grabbing the pen set beside him, but are deft when writing the fire elemental’s first name below the rest. A last resort.

“This is-it’s so…so stupid! I mean, aren’t you s-supposed to feel something when you first meet your soulmate? Like, I don’t…I don’t know, butterflies in your stomach or-or, or lightheaded?” Lasko exasperates, tossing the paper aside. It flutters to the ground and lands face-down on the carpet.

“My jeans felt a little tighter when I met you, deviant.” Gavin’s admission is not lost on Freelancer or Lasko. The professor shields his face from the luminous ceiling fan whirling above him, both his arms locked over his eyes. As he does this, he jerks up and emits a harsh grunt.

“Agh, my neck. What the hell?” He sits up to allow his fingers to assess the tight skin. The invisible knot is yanked once more when he tilts his head too far to the left. “Ow!”

In unison, Gavin and Freelancer are quick to diagnose it. “Growing pain.” Freelancer adds with a fond smile, “It means they’re thinking of you.”

His head snaps towards them excitedly, and this time, he grits his teeth and bears the stiffening of his muscles. “That’s it! I know exactly how to find them.” An accomplished smile overcomes his face. Complemented by his bloodshot eyes, something unsettling brews in the pits of Freelancer’s stomach.

“Okay, can you stop looking at me like that now? It’s creepy.”

“I would, but I don’t think I can move my neck anymore…”

The awkward quiet grows thicker with every student that files into Lasko’s classroom the following Monday morning, broken occasionally by a squeaking chair or thump of a bookbag colliding with the floor. He studied the roll call list the entire weekend like he was presenting a dissertation, but now that he had reached the time to present, only four names were on his mind.

“G-g-good morning every-everybody. My-my n-name is Lasko Moore, and I’ll be your professor for DAMN 101 this semester. Don’t think of this as a refresher course of things you may have learned in past institutions, b-but an opportunity to gain knowledge of…of Dahlia’s magical entities, specifically.” He’s afraid if he breathes too deeply, the hefty silence will suffocate him. “Now, I-I’m aware it's a bit—it’s a bit rudimentary to take attendance, but this is only for me to become acquainted with all of you. I’ll only do this for the first few classes until I’m comfortable putting names to faces.”

The professor wastes no time going down the list. Each name he uttered–even ones that had been crossed off from the list–he let settle into the silence while concentrating his thoughts specifically on that person. It is the most foolish theory he's tested in a while, but he is desperate to know who could complete him so marvelously, and remain so subtle about the fact. The further down the list he goes, the tighter his airway constricts when he sees no visible flinch or sign of pain from any of his students.

Hesitantly, he chokes out the next name on the sheet.

“Damien Rhone.” He looks up to find no hand raised, nor the rest of Damien’s body. Seconds tick by without a response, and Lasko feels even more on edge due to the lack of his presence. If the names that follow elicit no reaction from any of the students, either his “fool-proof” plan would be marked a failure, or he’d have to settle with the fact that he and his soulmate wouldn’t have the cutest “how we met” story amongst his friends. There’s a lot that can beat a late-night run into seven-eleven, but almost going up in flames might have to take second place.

As he feared, the last name on the list gets crossed off when he marks the student present (and taken) judging by the early age spots marking their skin. He huffs but doesn’t make his agitation any more visible. After all, he is at work and his soulmate…who knows where they are. Hosting this lecture felt more taxing than all the others he’s taught within the last six years at the university. Discussing DAMN’s cornerstone neighborhoods for different magical beings is something he merely cites, amid his daydreams of arriving home to a relaxing cup of tea and a lengthy video essay to put him to sleep on his couch. The thought became so enticing, that he cut the class short by a whole twenty minutes and sent each departing student with instructions to acclimate to the university campus. While shoveling manilla folders and stray pens into his bag, he gets interrupted by a tap against his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Lasko?” He cranes his neck at the voice, dripping anxiety. They offer their name and elaborate when Lasko furrows his brows. He swears he can feel a crease in between them that wasn’t there last night. “We met yesterday. I made a fool of myself, and then you said you’d email me my schedule. You never called my name when you were taking attendance, though. This is DAMN 101, right?”

Lasko recalls their conversation vividly. He was post-adrenaline rush and flustered as all hell, but somehow their blunders were enough to take the edge off of him and his “broken printer”. Now, he studies the crease between their eyebrows. It wasn’t there when they met originally when they inquired about his age and backpedaled into embarrassment trying to fix their mistake. “Yes, it is. And I’m so sorry for leaving you off the roll call sheet, I’m not sure what happened.”

Halfway through their understanding nod, they emit a wince and introduce the nape of their neck to their hand. “I-it’sokay, I just wanted to double-check.” Lasko tilts his head, blue eyes turning into twinning seas of concern.

“Are you feeling alright, dear?”

“I think I may have slept wrong.”

“What are the chances of it being a growing pain?” Lasko voices his internal demand, throwing caution to the wind, as it were.

“I’d say fat chance because I don’t have a…” They lock eyes with the man before them. Sleeves buttoned to elbows and crooked frames and smile lines. Crow’s feet decorated his orbital rims like fireworks and the creases of his hands mimicked scored clay. “Oh.”

“That's about the reaction I was expecting.”

“I’m sorry, but to be fair, this is new to both of us. Tomorrow I might wake up beside you but I’ll have gray hairs sticking out. Nobody prepares you for that kind of stuff.” Was this a rejection disguised in a prophecy? Lasko will have to hand it to them, it’s one of the more poetic ways to turn someone down.

“If-if y-you’d like to wait b-before we j-jump into…jump into anything, that’s fine. I just, I uh…I just wanted to find you. So bad.”

“What? No, of course, I want this! I want you—I mean…this is just a lot to take in. Aren’t you supposed to feel something when you meet the person? Like increasing body temperature or…” They carry on rambling, with Lasko admiring no more than a foot away. A fond smile adorns his face, pink lips settled high on his cheeks and draped like a streamer.

He had found them.

“Excuse me, Professor Moore?” A panting voice interrupts their discovery as the two watch a student barreling toward Lasko with clear desperation. “I’m so sorry about being late. Did I miss anything important?” His eyes flutter around the room, finding all of the seats bare. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“Hey, Dames! Meet my soulmate, Lasko. Lasko, this is Damien, my stepbrother.”

“Soulmate!”

“S-stepbrother?”

soulmate september schedule | main masterlist | abt author

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fluff #redacted angst #redacted damn crew #redacted damien #redacted lasko #redacted dear #redacted freelancer #redacted gavin #soulmate au #redacted headcanons #redacted fanfic #redacted fanfiction #redacted imagine #redacted imagines #redacted oneshot

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skellseerwriting · 3 months ago

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Pirates and Prejudice (and Dragons)

James Hook x GN! Dragon Rider!Reader Part 4

Part 1

Reader is disabled (prosthetic foot) and I am not disabled, so if anyone who��s reading this is please let me know if anything is written weirdly or wrongly

Word Count: 2,970

Warnings: mentions of different prosthetics, mention of scars, reader is momentarily self deprecating about their face, Hook (consensually) takes off reader’s prosthetic, brief panic from others, romantic tension

Summary: Hook gives reader a look into his life as a pirate

What do you mean you’re ‘going to take me on an adventure?!’”

Hook let out a free laugh as you approached him at the gate. His eyes glittered something mischievous.

“That’s something you’ll have wait for.” He teased.

You made a fake annoyed face, hoping to have gotten some answers after mulling over all day what he could have possibly meant. He lifted his head in laughter again, eyes closed and elbows up with the back of his hand to his face; an open gesture of being comfortable with you. How could he be so annoying, yet so endearing?

“Well,” He wiped a tear from his eye, gesturing to the path in front of the both of you. “Care to find out?”

You didn’t know whether to be surprised or not at “finding out” that the adventure was at Auradon’s main harbor.

Merlin’s Academy was built extremely close, thank goodness, otherwise you would have never made the trek. The whole time, Hook pulled you along by your hand, barely allowing you to keep up with him. He seemed way too excited to take you on this “adventure”, so you couldn’t help but let his eagerness infect you. It wasn’t until you actually tripped that he slowed down enough for you to pace along next to him.

He didn’t let go of your hand, however.

You tried not to think on that too much.

Arriving at the edge of the busy town, you stood on higher hills and took in the sight.

Yellow houses with blue-tiled roofs were irregularly placed in the area, slowly descending into the the docks that spread along the coast, the widest part of it all. Birds that you presumed to be seagulls called out in the skies, accompanied by the dings of bells far away. A distance farther in the water that sparkled in the sun sat a decent-sized island. It all smelled like fish, you realized with a smile. It smelled like home.

When you deal with giant lizards with even larger appetites, it can be hard hunting enough meat. Due to the land’s lakes, fish was an easier sustenance to obtain. The whole place didn’t smell like this, but the dragon pens and the area during mealtimes certainly did.

Making your way through the bustling town, you dodged and weaved through people trying to make their way somewhere. At one point your hands got pulled apart, so with a giggled “no!” you both instantly tried to reattach them.

The stench of fish got even stronger once you arrived at the docks. Some of it looked brand new, while the particular boards you stood on creaked and groaned.

Placing his hands hands on your shoulders from behind, he finally gave you a splinter of an answer.

“My ship is here today.” He had a boat?

“Which one is it?” You asked, turning your head to look at him behind you. He made a funny look.

“Guess.”

Bringing your hand to your chin in thought, you browsed the large array of boats. Some were new, some were old, some small and some ginormous. You pointed at a tiny dingy.

“Is it that one?”

Shaking his head, he exasperatedly went “Do you really think I’d be caught dead in that? Try again.”

Deciding to continue messing with him, you brought your finger to one covered head to toe in mildew, seaweed, and rot. It looked like it had been anchored there longer than you’d been alive.

Getting a bit fed up, Hook reached his arm over yours to grab you hand and swivel it somewhere else. It landed in front of what could only be described as a very grand, very beautiful ship.

The sides of it gleamed of a dark, rich wood, with rails at the top highlighted in red; Mahogany? Windows near the back sported inlaid, diamond-shaped glass of a spectrum of colors that dazzled, leaving you to wonder how it looked inside when the light shined through. Multiple mast poles held up cream sails that flowed slowly in the wind, promising freedom. To top everything off was a small, dark flag with what appeared to be a skull on it, set high in the sky.

You were in awe.

Hook sucked in a worried breath through his teeth.

“Well, what do you think?”

You turned to look at him, struggling to even think of what to say about the absolute piece of art you had just witnessed.

“It’s beautiful.” You managed to get out.

“Really?” He beamed.

“Yeah!” You nodded.

“Well all right then. Let’s go meet the crew!”

“‘The crew’?”

After he led you to the massive boat, your confusion was quickly dispersed. Once he helped you climb up the rope ladder (you were well experienced with ropes, you told him, so it was no struggle), cheers instantly erupted on the deck. It was packed with men of all ages; some as young as you, to some old enough to be your grandfather. All appeared to have a variety of backgrounds; no two men looked alike. The one thing tying them all together was their shared lifestyle as pirates. They swarmed Hook, clapping him on the back and barking out all sorts of questions of well-being.

“What new treasure have you’ve gotten in my absence lads?” He asked them, before being bombarded with various tales of chases and running from authorities. As they all essentially shouted over each other for his attention, you could just see in his eyes how happy he was to be with them.

It was kind of shocking, if you were being honest. How did a boy like that come to relationships like these?

Once things died down a tad -Hook’s grin still splitting his face, along with those little crow’s feet- he gestured towards you.

“Men! This is my classmate and friend! Make sure you’re kind and welcoming!”

Right after that, many of them started to surround you. You began to feel a little overwhelmed, only more so by the fact that Hook had called you his friend. Looking at these men who started prodding you with questions, you noticed a similarity.

The balding one in front of you wore a black eyepatch on his left. The young one next to you had a simple, small hook on his right hand. Behind him, another man stood on a wooden peg-leg. And to your delight, one with beautiful features proudly wore nicks and scars all over his face and arms.

These people, you realized. These people are like me. James doesn’t pity me, he understands me.

Before even attempting to answer anything they had asked, Hook pulled you away with a “that’s enough questions” and brought you to a barrel to sit on. Next to him stood a jolly-looking man with white hair covered by a red bandana.

“This is Mr. Smee.” He explained. “Smee is my first mate.”

You looked at the middle-aged man before looking back to the young man in front of you.

“…You’re the captain?”

Hook nodded.

“But how? You’re one of the youngest people here?”

He must have found something about your confusion amusing, because he let the expression on his face show without restraint. Then, it faded into something more solemn.

“Smee used to be first mate to my father; former captain of the Jolly Roger.” He said slowly. “Then I took on the title a couple years ago when…” he trailed off.

Oh.

You reached for his arm.

“James, I’m sorry for your loss.”

His glum countenance immediately turned into one of amusement, eyebrows high and lips pursed.

“Oh, he’s not dead. He’s retired, in Fiji.”

You gawked a little. “Oh.”

“I inherited the title from him, but the crew’s been without me this past year while I’ve attended Merlin Academy. Smee here’s been keeping them in check for me.

“Oh! Before I forget…” Hook’s eyes lit up before bringing his attention to one of the many containers that were strewn about the place. He pried open a crate lid with his hook before lifting something out of it in his other hand. After approaching you closely and sitting in front of your feet, he held out a wooden peg leg.

“May I?” Was all he said, and you noticed his eyes held that secret feeling you were coming closer and closer to putting a name on.

“Yes. Please.”

Leaning forward, Hook began a slow, yet warm and soothing process. He cuffed your pant leg up enough to uncover the base of your prosthetic, followed by touching the piece with his hands. He froze, looking into your eyes with a silent question. After you nodded, he proceeded again, gently undoing the straps and slowly taking it off before handing your foot -with the shoe still on- to Smee.

You felt slightly uneasy having a piece of yourself with someone you didn’t know, but since Hook trusted him so much, you decided to do so as well. After that, Hook was very swift with the rest of the job, finishing it moments later.

“Now you’re a real pirate.” He stood up, offering his hand out to you.

“I like the sound of that.” You responded, taking his offer and getting up off of the barrel.

The second you put weight on your left foot, your footing gave out and you tripped right into Hook. He instantly caught you, arms wrapped around you securely, promising safety.

“Easy there.” He cooed. “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face of yours.”

You blinked at him, trying to will the blood not to rush to your face at his compliment. “But my face is already ruined.”

Gingerly, he brought a thumb to your cheek, rubbing it against a rather thick scar.

“No,” he hummed, his eyes anywhere but yours. “The lines that adorn your face are a beautiful map, telling me of your journey in life and who you are as a person. Except I don’t need to follow it to find a buried treasure.”

Pulling away from him a bit -and totally not out of embarrassment- you said you wanted to get some walking practice in. With an “of course”, Hook took your hand once again and led you around the deck; providing little tips and tricks on how to handle the narrow point of the wooden leg. It was even harder with the slight rocking of the boat, but to your delight, you got the hang of it right away. And hey, if you stumbled a few more times, needing Hook to grab you by the waist to hold you steady, who’s to say it was intentional?

For a little while you both hung out on the deck, spending time with the other men there and listening to new and interesting stories they had to tell; real adventures. You were positive that everything Hook had done with you today was nowhere half as interesting as the things he had probably done, but you considered it an adventure nonetheless since it was something exciting you had never experienced before.

Everything was lively and jolly as the wind carried up your spirits and your hair, gifting you the scent of salt. While continuing to hear with eager interest to the impossibly outlandish tales the oldest men had to offer about their travels, Hook eventually nudged you and motioned with his head towards the set of doors beneath the higher deck.

Following him, he led you to a room filled with wonders and things of otherworldly beauty. Silk cloth strung from the ceiling, many with little beads that could cling against each other. The walls were covered with extravagant paintings and mounted heads of mythical creatures. Filling up the room were different kinds of furniture that had gems, jewelry, and apparel sitting on or hanging from every visible inch. Near the back wall sat a garnished heavy desk in front of what you recognized to be one of those beautiful colored windows. The sun had neared dusk and sent the perfect warm rays through it, setting many things in the office alight and glittering like a dragon’s den. Tiny pieces of rainbow blipped around the room, coming from the dangling necklaces that moved to the sway of the boat.

“This is beautiful, James.” You told him for the second time that day, carefully reaching out and touching a necklace chain made out of what you could only presume to be gold. “I don’t see how you could ever leave this room. All the artwork in the world couldn’t compare. It must have taken a lifetime to acquire it all.”

“You’re right, it is hard to leave.” He told you, grabbing something near him out of the corner of your eye. Then, he grinned, adding “But then I’d never get to feel the ocean breeze on my face or the sun on my skin. The rush of adrenaline as I make yet another daring escape. That’s what I live for. Freedom.“

“That’s what I live for too.” You said absentmindedly as you meandered and ran your fingers through various goods. “That’s why I fly.”

“We’re the same in that way. Although, most of this was acquired by my father. But steadily, I’m making it my own.” He moved in front of you and revealed the item he snatched. It was a necklace with a leather string; not nearly as dazzling as everything else in the glittery and shimmery room. At the end, however, laid a single, dark pearl encased in twisted silver wire.

“This was my first addition.” He began, forehead nearly touching yours as you both looked down at it. “I was eight. Nearly drowned getting that oyster.”

You moved your palm under his so you could feel the pearl with your thumb. Your breaths started to mix together.

“It must be really special to you.”

“It is.” He said honestly, then slowly tilts his hand so the necklace landed in your palm. “Which is why I want you to have it.”

You quickly scanned his eyes but found no hints of guilt or regret. You wanted to refuse, but you knew he would never take no for an answer. Instead, you let yourself feel honored at such a gift.

“Thank you.”

You wanted to return the favor, but you didn’t have anything to give him. On the other hand… your brain thought dangerously, and before you could take a second to question the idea, you leaned forward to reward him with a tender kiss on the cheek. His skin felt so soft, and it smelt like the ocean.

Hook gasped.

He gripped your arm tightly, and before you could wonder if it was for a good or bad reason, he tilted his head towards you; aiming for your lips.

A loud thud, along with what sounded like wood splintering, occurred above you. Shouting arrived after it. Hook pulled away, and with a look of annoyance and fear, ran out of the room to figure out what it was. You followed right after, trying to ignore the flustered feelings welling up in your stomach.

As soon as you reached the deck, it was instantly clear what had caused those sounds. The wood splintering came from several crates that seemed (thankfully) empty, and what so happened to make those sounds was a giant, winged lizard.

“Beastie!” You cried, launching yourself towards her. She was snarling and growling at the pirates around her pointing weapons at her, who were terrified out of their wits at seeing a dragon for the first time.

She near instantly calmed down upon feeling your hands on her snout and neck. Mouth closed and heckles lowered, she made a deep purring sound.

“It’s okay,” you told her reassuringly. “It’s okay.” Then, you turned around to the others. “It’s okay,” you declared loudly. “Beastie’s my dragon. She must’ve tracked me here, and likely thought I was in danger. Please put down your weapons; I promise she won’t harm you!”

This seemed to put the mean at ease a bit, but they mostly only lowered their weapons.

“Do it!” Hook shouted, although not unkindly. “Or are you going to question a trained dragon rider?”

Hearing the command straight from their captain seemed to put them into motion, as they followed suit right after that.

“Is this her?” Hook asked, slowly approaching with his arms up. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful creature.” He added in awe.

Beastie prickled a bit, but with Hook’s behavior and compliment, she allowed him to come closer. You took his wrist and placed it against the warm scales.

“Wow.” He breathed.

“Yeah.” You said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

He nodded absentmindedly. You sucked in a breath, still reeling internally over what had just happened -or didn’t happen- in Hook’s office.

“I have to head back now, James.” He looked at you with sorrowful eyes. “It’s getting late.”

“Right.” He said sadly, glancing down at the floor.

He had Smee bring your foot over as you hopped on Beastie. While your brain screamed at you all the reasons you should stay, he took off the (your?) peg leg and replaced it with its true counterpart. He looked at you like he was about to beg you to not go, to beg you to be with him just a little bit longer. But you knew it was getting late, and he knew that too.

Bringing the pearl necklace quickly over your head to rest at your collar bone, you gave Hook one last look of that secret feeling before flying back to Merlin’s Academy; way too far from the boy you fell in love with.

James hook was like you in too many ways to be healthy. So, you decided then and there that you were going to give him a taste of your freedom.

Part 5

Taglist

@lesbpotmurdocklokistan

#rise of red #james hook x reader #descendants 4 #descendants x reader #descendants rise of red #james hook descendants #gender neutral reader #james hook x gn reader #my work

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bellyyearner · 1 month ago

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Feedist Kinktober 2024 Day 7: Magic Mirror

Word Count: 931

Thank you to @fatguarddog for the theme list!

Gender Neutral POV, solo, no stuffing, rapid body change

Didn't have as much time today as I would've liked, so it's a bit rushed

Sliding the heavy tall mirror with a thick mahogany frame into your room you knew just where to put it, the small corner next to your closet had always felt empty. So when you saw this mirror at the thrift store you knew you had to have it. It was pricey but it was an heirloom piece, about 2 1/2 feet wide and nearly 6 feet tall, no scratches across its surface, the trim was this sprawling floral design carved across the entire wooden frame. It was obvious a lot of effort went into making it.

Once you have the mirror in the corner where you want it, you tilt the frame and slide out the towel from under one side, before mirroring the process to remove the towel completely. Making some final adjustments to the angle and exact position you want it in, you step back and admire its beauty. Feeling satisfied with your purchase and decision you decide it's time for a fashion show.

Opening your closet you pull out a few outfits, and begin to try them on, posing in the mirror and striking poses. The mirror was beautiful but you found flaws in what you saw reflected back at you. Little comments spilled from your mouth about "I wish I filled this out a bit more" "would be nice if this hugged my curves more here".

A low hum emanates through the air around you, almost imperceptible, you just write it off as the neighbors AC turning back on, returning to your fashion show. Striking a few more poses, you place your hand on your hip only to realize the fabric that was once slightly loose is pulled taut.

"Posing really works wonders huh"

The high waisted jeans you have on slowly begin to fill, you don't notice at first but when you try and take them off to try on the next pair of pants you're met with resistance.

"Oh so putting them on is easy but taking them off is hard?! I swear..."

And that's when you notice, your top that was clearly loose before is resting atop your newly enlarged middle, not taut, but just enough for your belly to show through.

"I fucking knew tapas were a bad idea, I always get so bloated after"

You weren't a skinny individual, always carrying an extra 40lbs that your friends had been badgering you for years to lose. But you didn't mind it at all, you liked to eat what you carved without fear. As you take off your top and shimmy your pants off of you, you take in your form. Inspect your body with your eyes as your hands travel across the soft skin you religiously maintain with moisturizer. Pinching and grabbing all over before both hands settle around your belly button, you push your hands deep into your gut and turn to the side in an attempt to appear thin. The hum in the room grows louder as your belly begins to swell.

Releasing your hands from your belly it plops down in front of you, an extra 5lbs of fat jiggles as it falls. You gasp, wondering what's happening to you as you try and form the words. Quickly your hands go back to your belly and you grip it hard, only to feel it swelling slowly, your hands go to your hips as you look into the mirror. Completely shocked and mouth agape you stare at your belly, unsure of what's happening. The hum grows again and you feel your hips begin to swell as well. Starting to fold over your underwear beneath your palms. Your hands cover your mouth as you watch what's happening to you, stumbling for words all you can find is

"what the fuck!"

You grab your belly again and shake it up and down in disbelief before noticing it grows larger every time you allow gravity to drag it down. An extra 20lbs of belly and 5 on both sides of your hips, you fall backwards to the ground on your previously chubby but only to notice the landing was not as hard as you expected. Gripping an ass cheek now you realize why the jeans felt tight.

You dive out of the mirror's gaze, unsure if you want to look at yourself, and have a mini panic attack while you try and figure out what's happening. A few minutes of heavy breathing later and more inspection of your body, you realize the swelling has stopped. But as you inspected your body you realized you didn't mind the extra curves that much, it was just the suddenness of it all that scared you. You caress your chest, it was unaffected by the previous swelling and you were convincing yourself to make it proportional because right now you just looked pregnant and unusual.

Stepping back in front of the mirror you inspect the damage once more as you place your palms on top of your nipples, and dig your fingers in. Almost immediately you feel them begin to grow, the swelling felt good this time though, it felt like you were taking ownership of your situation. Your hands traveled further down, to your newly added over hang, and you massaged the fattened mass knowing exactly what was going to happen. It was scary but thrilling but you had one clear thought in your mind

"I'm gonna need a new wardrobe"

Followed quickly after by another new thought

"but.... that can wait for a little bit at least, I don't even know my size right now"

#feedism writing #feedee story #feeding kink #feedee encouragement #violet stories #feedist kinktober #feedist kinktober 2024 #fat belly #fat piggy

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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The Curveball Part 10 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Molly hates the feeling of each day slipping away, knowing Bob will be leaving soon. But there are cowboy hats to be worn and grandparents to talk to. And when Bob sails off into the Pacific, leaving Molly truly alone, she understands how much of her heart he's taking with him.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swears, pregnancy, smut, 18+

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

"I had all these things planned that I wanted to do," Molly complained. "What am I supposed to do with this cowboy hat while you're deployed, huh? You expect me to just use my fingers or a vibrator for weeks on end? This is bullshit, and you know it, Lieutenant Floyd."

Bob watched Molly pace around the bedroom wearing a sports bra, a pair of his gym shorts, and the mahogany brown cowboy hat she just took out of the Amazon box that was delivered today. Her bump was so adorable, he just wanted to touch it all the time. But right now he was watching her absentmindedly running her hands along her belly as she walked back and forth in front of where he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Why did you buy a cowboy hat in the first place, Mo?" he asked, honestly hoping he'd come home to find his girlfriend asking him for uniform time. Now that she was in her second trimester, she was practically begging for him around the clock. If he was able to get hard, then she was ready to go.

She let out a cute little whine as her fingers grazed her tattoo. "Because you grew up on a ranch, Bobby. In Wyoming. You're a cowboy. My boyfriend is a bona fide cowboy."

"Weapons systems officer, actually," he replied as she came to stand between his spread legs. Bob placed his big hands on her little bump and kissed along her tattoo.

She stomped her bare foot on the floor. "I want a cowboy."

Bob looked up at her pretty, pouting face as he ran his thumb along the bottom of her sports bra. "You really want a cowboy?"

"Yes." Her hands were on her hips now, and he knew he was about to give her what she asked for. He stood to his full height, brushing against her as she looked up at him with needy eyes. Then he gingerly removed the hat from her head.

"Get in bed, Honey."

With a little giggle, she jumped up and down and then crawled into bed. Bob shook his head and went to dig around in the walk-in closet for his oldest pair of jeans. He paused his search for a moment to reach behind his duffle bag and feel for the little box that was holding the ring he picked out. It was perfect, and he let himself hold it in his palm for a few seconds before tucking it away again.

"Bobby?" Molly called, and he rolled his eyes with a laugh. She couldn't even wait two minutes for him.

"I'll be there in a second."

He quickly stripped out of his uniform and underwear and gently pulled his jeans on. Very carefully he zipped them up and then put the cowboy hat on his head. He knew he must look ridiculous like this. He was probably the furthest thing from a rugged cowboy that ever existed. Now, if Molly wanted to fuck a nerd in his thirties who liked to play Dungeons & Dragons and was really good at math, he could probably dial that up to an eleven.

But as soon as he walked back into the bedroom, her eyes went wide, and her lips parted. "Fuck," she whined, and Bob watched her dip her hand inside the waistband of the gym shorts. Her back arched off the bed as she moaned his name over and over, and she kept her eyes glued on him while she touched herself. Maybe he didn't look so bad after all?

He grinned and tipped the hat for her. "Well, howdy little lady."

"Jesus Christ," she gasped. Bob watched her yank down the gym shorts and kick them onto the floor as she said, "Call me little lady again, and I'll probably cum everywhere."

Bob's eyebrows quirked up as she pulled him into bed with her. He pushed her gently back until she was propped up on her elbows. What a sight. Pregnant Molly, running her smooth leg up around his waist and pulling him closer until her pussy was pressed against the denim.

"Your cock looks huge through your jeans," she said, biting her lip. "Now call me little lady again," she demanded. Bob could practically hear the earlier stomp of her foot on the floor as he remained silent.

Instead, he reached for her sports bra and gently pulled it up above her breasts. Those little silver barbells and her perfect tits greeted him. They were already bigger now, and as soon as Bob tipped the hat back on his head and tasted her, she was keening.

Unintelligible noises escaped her lips as she leaned back against the pillows and braced her hands on his shoulders. Bob pulled those little barbells between his lips one at a time, tugging gently, but her breasts were so sensitive now, he felt her nails digging into his skin. He sucked gently and then a little harder on her left nipple until he felt her squeezing her thighs together beneath him.

"Oh, oh fuck," she gasped, back arching slowly as she started panting. When Bob ran his rough thumb back and forth across her right nipple, gently pulling on her piercing, she bucked against him. And then she started shaking, so he replaced his mouth with his fingers, giving her a good pinch as she came for him.

With a satisfied smirk, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "I barely even touched you, little lady."

"Bobby!" she shrieked, rubbing herself against him as her orgasm peaked. Next thing he knew, he was the one on his back. Molly's bra was on the pillow next to his head, and his jeans were yanked down to his thighs. And she was the one wearing the hat.

"You look adorable," he said as she adjusted the hat which was way too big for her head. And then she sank down around him, and rode him hard. The teeth of his zipper dug into his leg every time she ground down. The bite of pain mixed with the pleasure that was purely Molly, and Bob was completely lost in the moment. "Sexy cowgirl."

She bent a little closer until her bump was rubbing against his flat abs every time she rolled her hips. "I love riding you cowgirl. I love riding every which way. And I love these jeans. And I love your big cock. And I love our baby. And I love you."

Bob came almost immediately, knocking the cowboy hat off her head and pulling her down to kiss him. "I love you," he murmured, barely releasing her lips as he bucked up into her. "So much." He ran his hands along her belly and her tattoos and her barbells, and then he thought maybe he was being a little too rough. But when he released her, she took his hands in hers and kissed him until she had her fill.

"Will you make me dinner in your snug jeans, Cowboy Bob?"

She didn't actually need to ask him that. She must already know he would.

-----------------------------

Molly was now counting down the meager time left until Bob's deployment started. "Only one hundred and sixteen hours left," she said as she ate a chocolate chip pancake. It was Sunday. He was leaving on Friday morning. "I hate it here."

"I'll be back home before you know it. This is actually a short one. More of a special mission."

"This is a short one?" she asked, looking scandalized. "They can't just... like keep you away from us whenever they feel like it." She gestured to her belly as she licked chocolate from her fork.

"Actually," he said with a sigh, "they sure can."

She started pouting, instantly angry that their son or daughter was going to have to deal with this level of bullshit. She would teach the child to pout just like her, and then Bob would have both of them to contend with. It usually worked for her.

"Mo... I need to go out for a few hours," he said softly, drawing her attention back to him.

"Are you going to Costco? I started a list, and it's my turn to pay for household necessities. But I wanted to watch a new murder documentary later today."

But he was shaking his head. "I need to go to San Bernardino. I need to tell my parents that you're pregnant."

Molly was silent. She hadn't really even considered this. She didn't have parents to tell anything to. If it wasn't something her sister or Bob should know about, then she generally kept it to herself. And now she felt like she was going to vomit, something she hadn't done in weeks.

"Do you really have to tell them?" she asked, setting her fork down.

Bob eyed her skeptically. "I think they should probably be informed that they have another grandchild on the way, Honey."

Tears stung her eyes. "But your mom really liked me," she whispered, rubbing her fingertips along her lips, trying to stay calm. "She was so warm and motherly, and now she's going to know I corrupted her sweet, only son. She'll think I'm a filthy harlot! Only after your mountains of money! You can't tell her I'm pregnant!"

Bob chuckled. "Do we have mountains of money that I'm not aware of?"

"I'm being serious right now, Cowboy Bob!"

"So am I," he said, kissing her lips softly as a tear slid down her cheek. "They aren't going to think anything bad about you. I promise. Rebecca wasn't married to Todd yet when she had Piper."

Molly sniffed and wiped at her nose. "Really? They seem to like him?"

"They do," he said, and he sounded reassuring to Molly's ears.

She took a deep breath. "I'll come with you. To see your parents."

"You don't have to, Mo."

But she reached out and straightened his glasses on his nose. If Rebecca got married later, after she had Piper, then maybe there was hope. And now Molly was thinking about that wildflower wedding. She could practically smell the flowers as she whispered, "I'm going with you."

The ride seemed to take forever, and Bob's truck was mostly quiet. Molly had changed into a snug dress that definitely didn't leave her belly up for debate. They would know she was pregnant as soon as they looked at her. That way there would be less for Bob to have to nervously string together. Molly would take the brunt of the dirty looks, and he could just hold her hand quietly.

"You ready?" he asked in a soft yet strong voice as he parked his truck.

"Yes," she replied. She had no idea this is where she would end up today when she woke up this morning, and she'd rather be almost anywhere else. But she was ready to get this over with.

"Well this is a surprise!" Bob's mom called as she came out onto the porch when she heard the truck door close. She looked delighted. Absolutely delighted to see them. But as Bob wrapped his arm around Molly's waist and started to lead her up to the porch, his mom's eyes dropped down to her midsection, and she gasped.

"Oh no," Molly whispered, swallowing hard against the onslaught of fresh tears.

"Mom," Bob said in a warning tone as Molly tripped along next to him.

"You're pregnant." Her voice was like a gunshot to Molly's ears.

"Yes," Bob replied. Molly had promised herself she would be the strong one here, but now she was collapsing in on herself like a house of cards.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Floyd," she whispered, hand shaking at her side. "It was an accident." But she watched as Bob's mom pulled her son in for a hug as she cried.

"A baby!" she practically shrieked in excitement. "Just wait until I tell your dad! He's going to be overjoyed. Roger!" she screamed into the house as Bob collected Molly against him once more.

"You okay?" he asked, and she nodded against his chest as Bob's dad bounded out onto the porch.

"I was trying to start the grill. What's wrong?"

"Bob and Molly are having a baby!" she screamed at her husband who was only five feet away.

"Another grandchild?" he asked, and Molly was soon sandwiched in a hug between both of Bob's parents as his mom asked a list of questions.

"When are you due? Do you need anything? Should we buy a crib for our house? I wonder if Beck still has Piper's pack n play. Are you hungry? Is Bob cleaning so you don't have to? The chemical smell of cleaning supplies might make you nauseous. Bob, are you cleaning everything?"

And then Molly burst into happy tears as she went inside to eat some grilled chicken and corn on the cob.

----------------------------

When Bob got home from work the day before he was to leave for his deployment, Molly was already there in her scrubs. She presented him with several pairs of gray sweatpants on their bed. "What are these for?" he asked, watching the way she bit her lip in anticipation.

"Try them on," she said, reaching for the first pair. "Without underwear."

He knew better than to argue with her, so he got undressed and pulled on the sweatpants.

"Yes," she said, nodding and stroking her chin with her fingertips. "Absolutely."

Bob looked down his body to where her gaze was transfixed on his crotch. "What are these for?"

"My personal enjoyment. And the enjoyment of others. I can see your dick through the fabric."

"Molly," Bob groaned, reaching for the waistband, but she stopped him with both hands.

"Please? Just wear them while we go pick up dinner! And you can take them on deployment with you."

He shook his head at her earnest expression. "Why would I take pants away with me when you can see my.... you know."

"Why not?" she asked, kissing his cheek.

He knew he was blushing as he softly said, "You know there will be other women on the aircraft carrier, right?"

"Yep," she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sure they'll love the sweatpants, too. If you got it, flaunt it, Coach Bob."

He just gaped at her. "You wouldn't feel nervous about what might get said to me?"

Molly kissed along his bare chest, and Bob closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her bump resting against him. "Like something another woman might say? No. I trust you."

Bob let his hands rest on her lower back. "I'm going to miss you so much, Mo."

She nodded against him and whispered, "When those other women try to chat you up, you just tell them that your girlfriend is a goddamn delight. And that she was the one who bought the sweatpants to try to bring more happiness to the world."

"I will," he said with a smile, unconvinced that anyone else would look at or talk to him at all for the full duration of his deployment. But he appreciated the way Molly seemed to trust him. And he also appreciated the way her hand was gliding down the front of his new pants.

"Let's go pick up dinner," she whispered. And then she groaned. "The fact that I can't even eat real sushi right now is absolutely ridiculous."

"The cooked stuff is okay though," he said as she led him out of the bedroom.

"Stop lying to try to make me feel better."

Once they were at the sushi restaurant, waiting for their pickup order, Molly was getting a little handsy again. "Mo," he warned, his voice deep and a little raspy, but that just seemed to spur her on more. She ran her hands down the front of his tee shirt and let them skim along the elastic waistband of his pants.

"Bobby," she crooned softly. He thanked the hostess three times when she handed him their food, causing enough of a distraction to get Molly to pull her hands away from him.

But out in the parking lot, it was a different story. And at least it was dark now as Bob set the food on the passenger side floor before he held out his hand to help Molly climb in. But she just ran her hands all over his abs as she said, "You know what I was thinking? Since you're going to miss the anatomy scan ultrasound?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, barely able to pay attention to anything as Molly's hand dipped inside the front of his pants and stroked his hardening length.

"How about I take a video of it? And then you can watch it later? Or if we get to have a facetime call, I could try to play the video for you? You'd like that?"

Bob just throbbed in her hand as she slowly jerked him off in the middle of the parking lot next to the In-N-Out like it was nothing. Her earnest gaze let him know she had asked him a question.

"Huh?" he grunted, reaching for her pretty face with both hands.

"Would you like that, Bobby?" she asked, smiling as he leaned down to kiss her lips.

"Mo, I have no idea what you're talking about, Honey." It was the truth. Something about the baby? An ultrasound? He wasn't sure, and he couldn't think straight with her hand on him like this. And he was absolutely startled to find how much he liked the idea and the feel of her doing this in a semi public place.

Molly let her fingernails scratch gently down along his balls before she withdrew her hand and said, "Get in the truck." A second later, Bob was standing there outside the closed passenger side door, trying to hustle around the cab with a huge erection. When he climbed in the driver's seat, Molly had her hand on him again.

"What are you doing?" he asked, starting the truck and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Road head," she muttered casually. Then Molly leaned across the seat and took Bob between her lips. He had never done anything like this before. He'd never even been with a woman who liked to give head as much as Molly before. Not only that, she loved teasing him. Her breath ghosted along his skin before she took him deeper, and Bob was afraid he might drive off the road.

"Molly," he begged, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. "Please."

She popped him out of her mouth and said, "Of course, Coach Cute Glasses. Anything you want."

But instead of stopping, she sucked and bobbed and licked him, working him up into such a frenzy that he nearly wrecked into her parked car when he got back to the condo. Mrs. Evans was out walking her poodle, and Mr. Walters was taking a brisk jog, but that didn't stop Molly. She stripped out of her scrub pants and crawled across the seat. Then she rode Bob while he held her hips and belly.

Bob didn't care if the neighbors saw him. In less than twelve hours, he was going to have to be without the love of his life for weeks on end. So he didn't stop her from coming apart in his lap and making a mess all over his new pants.

"I love you, Daddy," she panted, running her hands through his already messy hair and tugging on him as he came. His hands were covering her belly, and Bob felt the sting of tears in his eyes knowing how much he was going to be leaving at home.

------------------------------

Molly couldn't do it alone. She already called for backup. The morning that Bob left on the aircraft carrier, her sister was waiting a short distance away on the dock. Molly watched as she and Bob exchanged a hug, after which her sister pressed a quick kiss to Bob's cheeks like a civilized person.

But not Molly. No, she was sobbing uncontrollably and clinging to her boyfriend like he was her lifeline. As if he was her only reason for living. "I love you," he whispered against her lips, his metal glasses cold against her cheek. "Both of you."

"I don't want you to leave," she sobbed, holding him so tight, her belly was smashed and uncomfortable. "Just stay."

Bob wiped her tears away and she looked at him in his khaki uniform, all ready to get to work on a mission she didn't even want to know about, because she was so scared.

"I can't, Mo," he whispered, kissing her forehead in the early morning sunlight. He looked so handsome with his tidy hair and his serious expression.

But she knew she looked like a messy little wreck, face streaked with new tears as she said, "I thought I would hold up better than this. I thought I would be okay." She didn't want to go back to the empty condo and have to figure out how to cook for herself. She didn't want to watch murder documentaries and eat gummy bears alone now that she knew what it felt like to have Bob with her.

"You will be," he reassured her. "You'll be better than okay." And then he sank to his knees in front of her, and Molly had to brace her hands on his shoulders. He kissed her belly though his white undershirt and looked up at her. "When you find out if we're having a son or a daughter, email me right away, okay? I can't wait to know."

"I will," she promised him, closing her eyes to memorize how lovely his hands felt on her body like this. Memorize how much he loved their baby.

And then he stood and kissed her so well and for so long, his fingertips holding her still, digging into her neck until he got his fill. So she decided to memorize how loved she felt, too. And then with a few more whispered words, Bob was walking away from her as she shook with tears.

When an arm wrapped around her shoulders, Molly jumped, surprised to find her sister there even though she'd begged her to skip the first hour or so of work. "I can't do this," she hiccupped, accepting the warm mom hug. "I'm already too lonely."

"You're not alone," she replied, kissing Molly's hair. "If it gets too hard, you can come stay with us."

Molly scoffed and wiped her eyes on her sister's work blazer. "I'm not staying with newlyweds. That's just rude. And also kind of disgusting. Like what if I accidentally heard Bradley blowing your back out or something?"

She rolled her eyes, and Molly turned to watch Bob waving from the carrier deck. She waved back and said, "Look how perfect he is."

"He's pretty great," her sister replied, linking their fingers together. "And he loves you."

Molly stood there as the sun grew hot against her back. The carrier left the San Diego harbor as she held her head high. Bob loved her, and she was the one he'd be thinking about while he looked sexy in his gray sweatpants and when he flew his mission. Well, her and the baby of course.

Her phone pinged with a text message as she was turning to go back to her car.

I miss you already, Mo.

-------------------------

What are we thinking about baby Floyd? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing!

PART 11

@theamuz

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#bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd smut #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #the curveball #batting practice

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euripidestrousers · 4 months ago

Text

The Bridget Jones Wolfstar AU that No One Asked For

Dear Diary,

Even writing those words makes me physically ill so I’d like to start this off by disclosing that getting a diary was not my idea.

You see, my best friend, James - excellent, wonderful best friend who has recently become a family man by choice, and has therefore become one of the most insufferable people on earth - gave me this diary and said it’s either this or he’s buying me therapy because one more rubbish one-week relationship of mine is going to kill him.

And I don’t need a fucking therapist, so here you are, and here I am. I feel better already.

(haha)

Dear Diary,

James might be onto something. Today I found myself smoking my third morning cigarette while drinking my coffee and muttering that the drive to work is going to be hell because of the rain.

I’ve become my father.

Of course, I asked James if he ever looks in the mirror and sees Monty staring back and if it makes him want to buy a motorbike and he replied, ‘Uh, I’m literally his son, we look alike. Are you okay?’

My thirty third birthday is coming up.

Please don’t let this be a mid-life crisis. I’m not in a relationship because I don’t want one, and haven’t had one in over ten years because the men in London either want to meet you in the park or meet your parents. It’s the last hour of the buffet and all that’s left is the salad. And I don’t need a relationship either. James and Lily are a match made in heaven since the first time he told her ugly friend he was ugly (rightfully so, the man is still hideous and a complete prick), and she told him to watch his fucking mouth. Made for each other.

But the last time I met a guy that made me laugh and was any sort of attractive and not a complete knob about being attractive, was over three years ago.

Ie, it’s not for me. End of story.

I bought a motorbike

Dear Diary,

I’m going to do away with the whole ‘dear diary’ thing, it makes me feel like a schoolgirl and if James ever finds you when we’re drunk he’s going to read out at least one embarrassing entry at me. They’re all embarrassing.

I went on a blind date today.

“Long black for… Sirish?”

What? Oh. That vague jumble of mush must have been his name. Sirius grabs the takeaway cup and makes for the door briskly. He has the Binkley case to catch up on and write a piece on by the end of the week and he’s still not clear who the man is. A football star perhaps? He’s still being sidelined into the sports area of the paper because he did football for a year. Nevermind that he has an interest in politics and would very much like to report on where the country will be in ten years if it keeps going-

J: You busy after work?

Sirius grins, flopping his jacket over one arm to type back to James Potter, best friend and inarguably lesser half of Lily Potter.

S: drinks?

J: I have a one year old

S: too early for him to start?

S: kidding. Don’t tell Lily. She’s already started making him take his helmet every time I take him for a day.

J: It’s not for drinks. Lily has a friend who’s just come to town. I thought maybe you could show him around.

S: Worst lie ever.

J: I haven’t had coffee yet.

J: It’s actually true though. He just came to town and doesn’t know anyone other than Lily, and Harry has a cold so we’re both staying home.

J: He’s quite attractive I’m told. Lily told me to say ‘tall Martin Freeman’, and that you’d know what it means

S: Potter, if I was so desperate that I would open to a blind date, I definitely wouldn’t start with any of Lily’s friends, they’re all college professors and about 50 years old.

J: He’s 37

S: He has elbow patches. Guaranteed. Bet he says ‘but the Torries are actually not as conservative as they’re made out to be.’

S: Bet he has a mahogany desk and wanks to Aristotle

J: Jesus christ

J: Photo sent

Sirius glances down uninterestedly and sees a photo of a man. But instead of the expected stuffy looking balding man with a sour face, as most of Lily’s fellow professors are to be fair, instead he’s looking at a tall, brown haired man with flecks of grey at the temples and smiling softly at the camera, and he’s well, he’s not not handsome. Tall Martin Freeman is actually quite right. Hello.

He brings the phone closer to examine the photo as he blindly barges into the office building with the large Get Up, Britain sign gaudy and bright above him.

The man is younger on second glance, although he is wearing a suit jacket with elbow patches (told you, Jamie), and standing a little awkwardly, like he’s not used to photos being taken of him, and it’s entirely likely that he’s more accustomed to being nose deep in a book ninety percent of the time.

He’s shagged worse.

S: I was right about the elbow patches

J: I really tried to find one without them too

J: But he sounds nice. Funny. Lily likes him, she talks about him all the time. They were prefects together in school and used to bunk off and smoke behind the bins

One the one hand: prefect. Disgusting. Hall monitors. Pigs-to-be, snooty, law-abiding to the most irritating degree (Lily being the exception, of course). On the other hand: smoking behind the bins is more his style. Speaking of, he’d love one right now-

J: I really think you’d like him. Even just friends. Moving cities is lonely and he sounds alright. He likes Manchester U?

S: Fine, I’m free after 6

S: Don’t yell at me if I shag him, work has been shit.

So that’s how Sirius finds himself, half past six, swearing up a storm and running with his tote bag over his head in the pouring rain, late for his blind date (or something).

He slams into the restaurant door, shaking himself off like a wet dog, his casual Friday jeans and black t-shirt soaking wet, his shoulder length, black hair is dripping around his face, hoping his laptop has survived, and shivering like a chihuahua at a children’s party.

“Uh, I’m here for uh-” he consults his phone again and reads the name to the maitre d, “Reh-mus?”

“It’s Remus, actually”, comes a soft voice from his left.

Sirius turns quickly and immediately drenches the man standing at his elbow in droplets of water from his hair and coat. Tall Martin Freeman indeed - he has one of those faces that’s even better in person, where the way he stoops his shoulders and holds himself makes him look soft and welcoming, and the warm lighting gives him that attractive, cozy professor look, rather than an uptight old man.

“Oh”, Sirius grins quickly, hoping his dazzling smile will make up for their flimsy introduction, “Right, Sirius. Are you still waiting for a table-?”

“I er, well, I was about to leave actually”, Remus says, glancing at the maitre d awkwardly, “You’re quite late.”

Sirius’ smile freezes. Well, then.

“Got caught up at work”, he replies stiffly, brushing his hair back and letting his eyes go cold, “If you’d prefer we don’t-”

“No, no, of course not”, Remus appears to snap back, as if remembering his manners and seeming oddly distracted, “Please, let’s sit. You look like you could use a drink.”

Sirius runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he follows Remus to the table and wonders if that was a slight about him looking like a drowned rat. He notices the man has worn an absolutely hideous brown jumper that wouldn’t be out of place in an aged care home, so he doesn’t really have the right to judge Sirius’ appearance.

“Wine?” The waiter offers politely. It’s a nice place - James said Lily had picked it because she thought Remus would like it. It is a little stuffy, honestly. Something his parents might have stopped by and deemed adequate, which is to say, the beer is fucking overpriced, Jesus-

“I’ll have the Stout again, please”, Remus answers briskly, nodding at Sirius to order his.

“Uh, yeah, Stout. Cheers”, Sirius adds, dumping his bag beneath the table and trying to surreptitiously dry his hair in the napkin. Remus looks away as if embarrassed by him. Swot.

“So, you know Lily through school?” Sirius starts, unable to keep the boredom completely out of his voice.

“Yes. I take it you know James through yours”, Remus answers, very politely but also sounding just as bored.

“Yeah, grew up together”, Sirius nods.

Remus doesn’t say anything to that, just hums and sips some water.

It’s fucking awkward. Normally, Sirius would give him an ultimatum - ‘look, do you want to liven it up a bit and turn this into a fun one-night thing? Because otherwise, I’m not feeling it and I’ve got work to do.’

But Lily knows this guy, they have mutual friends, and if this isn’t what makes blind dates the most excruciating, hellish thing on earth, worse than job interviews, worse than-

“I don’t really do blind dates”, Remus says suddenly, and then blinks as if he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.

“Right”, Sirius says, bewildered.

“I, er, the dating scene. Not really my thing”, he says quietly, still not looking Sirius in the eye, “But I just moved here from Wales and I don’t know anyone, so this doesn’t have to be… anything. Just-”

“Oh- oh yeah. Fine with me”, Sirius finds himself swallowing down a touch of regret, offended really, because he’s not used to someone not immediately being ready to come home with him. “I’m not really looking for anything and blind dates are, well - eugh, you know? Like, thanks, my friends think I can’t get laid on my own or something so they set me up with whoever they think isn’t a serial killer, like any gay dude will do-”

“Yes, well”, Remus says tightly, taking another sip, “I rather thought Lily knew me better than that.”

His tone is rather pointed and Sirius realises he’s let his mouth run. Well… to be fair, the guy is kind of a snob. What was Lily thinking anyway?

“Yeah”, he agrees through his teeth, crossing his arms and legs and sitting back in his chair to wait for his beer. Maybe he can make an excuse after one drink. He can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t have a sense of humour and if this bloke doesn’t want to be a one-night stand, then he’d much rather be home. Alone.

“Is there anything around here you’d recommend?” Remus tries, voice clipped and still sounding slightly offended, “Restaurants? More importantly, ones you don’t recommend?”

“There’s a place that does turkey curry. It’s awful.”

“What? What curry?” The tightness in Remus’ face slips momentarily and he looks genuinely bewildered. He’s actually not a bad looker when he’s not frowning.

“Turkey. It’s as bad as it sounds. Actually it’s worse, like eating a lamb burrito, it’s just not right. Shittest fucking curry and it’s as bad going in as it is bad going ou-”

“Two Stouts.”

The waiter delivers their beers and they fade off into silence as they drink.

Remus sips delicately, in a way that’s completely inappropriate for a beer, and says awkwardly, “Yes well, thank you for the tip. I’ll rest easy never knowing what turkey curry tastes like.”

“Yeah, I mean, if you can avoid it then I guess this date wasn’t a waste after all.”

Remus blinks, expression dropping.

Oh. Oh fuck. Double fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom”, Remus says abruptly and stands. He stalks away quickly and leaves Sirius gnawing at his lip and furious at both himself and this infuriating man who seems to loathe him, minutes after meeting him and who Lily apparently thinks is nice.

He’s got other shit to be getting on with, he decides. And this bloke probably shags like a limp fish anyway, an Oxford type that thinks poetry is foreplay and once a month sex is scandalously frequent.

He drains his beer and half of Remus’ for good measure, and heads to the bathroom so he can catch Remus on his way out, only to hear his own name hissed furiously. He sees Remus standing out the front of the restaurant, shoulders raised against the cold and holding the phone to his ear. He steps closer and half opens the door to tell him he’s going to head off when he hears the conversation.

“... how did you think someone like Sirius would be good for me? After the hell I’ve had in the last year? Going on a date with someone like him? He showed up thirty minutes late, dressed like he’s going to a bar playing exclusively Metallica, and insulted me immediately. I told you, I don’t mind being alone for a while, especially after the divorce. I certainly don’t want to be shown around London by a rude, arrogant berk who dresses like a teenager and doesn’t seem to have a filter between his brain and his mouth. He probably thinks the bar scene is-oh”

Remus catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and he spins. They stare at each other for a few excruciation moments, Remus still holding the phone to his ear.

Sirius breaks the tension with a forced laugh, “Right. I’m definitely going home.”

“Wait, shit, I’ll call you back”, Remus mutters into the phone and hangs up, stepping forward but Sirius pushes past him, temper steadily rising into a roaring bonfire within his chest.

“Sirius, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You’re absolutely right, I wouldn’t know the first thing about showing a bloke like you around London”, he turns and says loudly so it carries over the sounds of the cars driving by on the busy street, “You’d be more comfortable in a fucking graveyard, honestly. There’s one ten minutes that way-” he turns his back and points over to the left, calling back over his shoulder, “You’ll find someone much more your speed there, Remus.”

Blind date disastrous as expected.

Remus fucking Lupin, a professor extraordinaire who wouldn’t be able to find his funny bone if it conked him on the fucking head, is not an exception to the blind date rule, even though he’s easy on the eyes at first glance. At second glance, he is a miserable, dried up academic whose own self-importance has completely consumed him despite dressing like his grandfather for Halloween.

If this is what my friends think of me, I need to sort my fucking shit out.

I should have asked him to shag before he opened his stupid fucking mouth.

#i have too many WIPs and I should NOT be doing this #am I doing this?#idk if this is just something I think is a wildly good idea at 1 am and then wake up in the morning like what #what have you done kat #anyway pls enjoy the snippet #this is the weirdest AU idea I've had tbh #Wolfstar but make it bridget jones?#And you know I had to make Remus Lupin the awkward #well dressed gentleman who says all the wrong things until he doesn't #sirius black #wolfstar snippet #wolfstar #remus lupin #wolfstar fanfic #sirius black x remus lupin

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hotdilfs11 · 10 months ago

Text

.　　. 　 ˚　. Have we got our lines crossed? - Don’t waste my time, Victor Lundberg (pt 2)

✩ parings. (blk!reader x Rio)

✩ summary. Valarie was secretly a gang leader, and no one knew about it; however, she retired due to the FBI following her around for the past five years. Rio is a gang leader that her best friends work for; however, he has feelings for Valarie, but she doesn't really have them for Rio. Is she going to fall in love with him, or will they be at war?

✩ warnings. cursing, threats

.　　. 　 ˚　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　. 　 ˚　.

We went to this cute little bar Rio says he always goes to. It's old, vintage and there's not that many people here today, especially at 5pm. It's weird but I don’t care because honestly I’m trying to get this shit over with. The floor and its tables have an old yet modern dark mahogany hue to it as for the stools and booths are burgundy with a bit of shine to it. Anyway we walk into the door and he nods to this mysterious guy standing at the bar. We sat down at a booth across from each other. I sit up straight and intertwin my fingers together as for Rio, he just sinks into the booth, relaxing like he’s on a vacation not giving a care in the world. We sit in silence for a minute until he says. “So…” he pauses trying to gather his words together. He looks up at me “what do you need Valerie”

“I want you to let us back in” I said nonchalantly without breaking eye contact. He lets out a soft laugh “So you think…you can come around barking orders like that?”

“Yup what's so funny about it” I said cockly, shrugging my shoulders. “You really think this is a game,” he says. I shrugged my shoulders again at him with a mean look on my face still making serious eye contact with him. “No I don-” I announced but he cuts me off in the middle of my sentence “yes you do because you bitches are amateurs and I’m not risking my business for amateurs”

I look at him with a smile forming on my face as I start busting out laughing in his face. His eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly to the side with confusion smeared on his face. I put my hand to my face, covering my smudged smile as my giggles echoed throughout the empty bar. He rubbed his face in frustration “what's funny?” he demanded.

A few chuckles escaped from my mouth “so you think this is my first rodeo huh?” I said as I pointed at him for a second. He dismisses what I said by shrugging his shoulders in a cold manner. “What makes you think that doing something like this only once makes you a pro? Baby you got this twisted if you think-”

I cut him off as I let out a small chuckle “nah you got it twisted Rio, do you realize that I’m bigger than whatever your fucking doing, you’re an amateur to me” I start leaning towards him “you’re staring at one of the biggest gang leader youve ever. fucking. met”

He looks away from me “oh really?” he looks back at me as his voice depends. I let out another small chuckle “yeah Christopher don’t get this shit twisted” He looks at me with a blank stare trying to fathom what I just said to him because the thing is that he never told any of us his first name or anything about

him at all. So seeing him looking at me with his eyes slightly widened and surprised about what I said. He looks away from me for a quick second as he straightens his posterior, nodding his head slowly at me. He turned his head back around and looked me in the eyes again. “Ok so here's the deal…how about I let you guys back in but in return I get a date” he demands in his husky voice as he shifts a little in his seat.

My eyes widened and my cheeks started to form a warm red hue as my body grew tense.“You want a what?” I questioned him in a low voice. He nodded his head slowly with a smudged smirk on his face. “What are we in fucking high school Rio!” I exclaimed

He let out a low degrading laugh, shrugging his shoulders “it’s up to you ma” he said and all I did was give him a blank stare.

Beth's House-

I got to Beth's house around 7:30ish and the sun just went down. It was practically dark and the murky streetlights came on as I walked up Beth's longing brick stairs. I was kinda tired and I just wanted to relax, however, I had to tell them what Rio said to me. I opened the shiney creaking knob to the deep oak tall door revealing the entryway to her house. My heels echoed throughout the surprisingly quiet house, entering the living room seeing the girls sitting on the off white chair with blue patterns on the pillows. There was another off white chair with the same pattern to it and they both had pillows in the middle of the both of them. Annie was on the smaller couch while Beth and Ruby on the lounger couch, a glass of wine in all three of their hands, relaxing with blissful smiles on their faces. When they heard me walk in the living room slowly they both cocked their heads towards me with smiles still on their faces.

“Hey Val” Ruby exclaimed with excitement on her face. I looked at her with a lazy smile on my face as I took my black trench coat off, throwing it on the coach carelessly. “Hey guys” I said as a low sigh poured out my mouth. I plopped down on the couch beeside Ruby, laying my head down on her shoulder. I felt a cold hand softly touch my back.

“What's wrong?” Beth said in a semi serious tone.

“He said that he’ll let you guys back in,” I mumbled. I saw Annies head pop up in the corner of my eye with her arms pointed in my direction. “That's good though right?” she questioned. I lifted my head up in a swift motion looking at her “However…” They all groaned at those words, knowing that there's a twist to it.

“He wants me to go on a fucking date on him”

I looked at all of them, seeing the confused yet surprised look on their faces as they looked at each other one by one. “What?” Beth screeched as she tilted her head in confusion.

Ruby gave me a blank stare “Are you serious?” she shouted. I nodded my head at her with a dumbfounded expression plastered on my face.

I mean…” Annie said hesitantly with her eyebrows furrowed with worry as she started anxiously wrestling with the tip of her sleeve . She paused for a moment looking at the ground trying to gather her words as we just all looked at her waiting for a response to fall out her mouth.

She sighed harshly looking at me “I mean you have to right? we all need the money and it's only one date, Valarie.” Everyone looked at me as worry filled their eyes rapidly and when I stared at them I started to frown in anger and also in panic. I wasn’t scared of Rio, it's just the idea of going out with him. Everyone was just staring at me in a blank stare waiting for my response. I rolled my eyes “no…not with him”

They all look at me with a sadeend look on their faces with a dash of worry and now I’m full of guilt. I felt bad so I agreed to go out with Rio. I know they’re desperate for the money, especially my sister and at this point I don’t want my pride to get to me because I tend to do that. So now I’m getting ready at Beth's house for the date. We’re apparently going to this fancy restaurant like I care less, however when I called him that day he sounded so amazing on the phone and to be honest I hope this date goes a bit well.

I'm in Beth's bedroom, putting on my heels. I’m wearing a black fitted dress with a gold necklace and black stilettos. I have a soft brown smokey eye and red lipstick on—not too much or too little. All I’m trying to do is impress him a little so my girls can get some money. When I finished putting on my heels, I heard a soft knock on the bedroom door. “You ready?” Beth announced as she entered the room slowly with a small smile on her face. I looked up at her, nodding my head with a weary smile on my face. Beth walked closer to me, and I stood up quickly. I try to fix my dress, tugging the slides of my dress down, trying to make myself more comfortable. She looks at me with a smile still painted on her face. “You look great, Val,” she sincerely says. I looked down to my feet. “Thank you,” I said quietly, looking back up at her. My stomach started fluttering chaotically, making me feel sick. The piercing ring flew throughout the whole house, and as we both heard that sound, we looked at each other dead in the eye, full of worry and anguish. My breath starts to accelerate, and my eyes widen while I stare at Beth with a semi-shocked look on my face. Beth's head turned quickly towards the sound of three bells, staring out into the hallway for what felt like hours, but it was only a couple of seconds. The aching pitch of the doorbell echoed throughout the house again, causing me to feel nauseous. Beth looked back at me and gave me a gentle nod as she guided me downstairs. I took baby steps towards what felt like a magnanimous door. I grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, revealing him. Rio, and to be honest with you, he looked better than he ever did. He wore a black button-up that hugged around the curve of his arms, showing off his well-defined silhouette. The fabric of his shirt wrapped around his shoulders without being overly tight. His confidence went through the roof with his back straight as he stood there calmly at the door. He also wore some black dress pants that fit his lower body, along with a pair of dress shoes and a black trench coat. His facial expression was soft when I opened the door. His eyes swept my body, sending a chill through my spine as the butterflies in my stomach grew bigger and bigger. I let out a big breath as I gazed into his cold, hard eyes.

“Hey Ma." I stood still when I heard the sound of his raspy voice flutter rapidly in the air. His presence slightly suffocated me, and I wasn’t sure about going, but I was doing it for my girls, not for me. I looked back at the girls staring at me with a worried frown on their faces, but I reassured them with a weary smile. I grabbed my coat, fixed my posture, and looked back at Rio with a cold glare on my face as I

walked towards him “Lets go” I sighed harshly, walking out the door and past where he was standing. I felt his presence creep up behind me as he started walking beside me.

When we got to his car, I tried to open the door myself; instead, he got to it first and opened the door for me. I nodded “thank you” and hopped in his car. He got on the driver's side and started the car. The engine roared as we raced down the highway. I glanced at him, and out of curiosity, I asked, “Where are we going anyway?" He looked at me and just smiled. I tilted my head in confusion about why he found me so amusing. "What?"I just want to know where we're going.”

"It's a surprise."

I rolled my eyes. “I hate surprises. I hope you know that.”

He chuckled. “I guess now I know." I stayed quiet, waiting for him to tell me, and he did.

"Fine, since you want to be stubborn, we’re going to this restaurant where we can eat, dance, and listen to live music.”

"Seems…fancy,” I said, looking back at him. He glanced at me and looked back into the darkly lit road. “Yeah, we're not far from it."

I stared at him for a little bit longer, watching his rough hands confidently and strongly grip the wheel as we raced down the dark, empty highway. My gaze lingered on him, looking at his facial features and how powerful he looked behind the wheel. My stomach starts to flutter with curiosity and the desire to want him right now. As my trance went further, he spoke, “We’re here.” I was breathless when I looked away from him, and my cheeks were burning red as I stared out the window, noticing we’re right in front of the restaurant. The door opened and revealed a man in all black needing to park our car. I got out and nodded to this man as Rio walked next to me and into the building. As we stepped into the restaurant, we were in this dimly lit foyer with only three people sitting on black benches. It was a small-looking foyer with white marbled floors and off-white walls with art and pictures all over them. There were cute little lights attached to the walls, making the room look safe and comforting. It was a room that I could look at forever. We were greeted by a man in an all-black suit who took our coats and hung them up for us in this cute coat closet. With all the money I have in my bank account, I have never experienced anything like this before, and I was only in a fucking foyer. Anyway, the man in the suit talked to Rio and then guided us to one of the doors in the foyer. When he opened the door, the thick fragrance of sweet desserts and spices brought joy to my nose. The warm beats of music blasted through the air and echoed through the entire building. The sound of music brought me a sense of comfort as a heartfelt smile spread across my face rapidly, taking in all of the elements of this place. I loved this place, and Rio knew I did.

Anyway, I felt a warm hand softly settle on my lower back, guiding me through the crowd and towards our table. We got seated at this small table facing the huge band and the little dance floor in the front of the dimly lit room. There were four couples slowly dancing in front of everyone, having a good time, and it brought me joy to look at all of them being madly in love with each other. I slowly creeped out of my trance and realized Rio was looking at me with a smirk on his face. I chuckled softly. “What?”

“I see that you like this place."

"Yes, I do. I was really surprised if you wanted to say that.”

He nodded. “Well, do you want to dance?”

I arched my eyebrow. “Dance?” I said, tilting my head. I laughed, “I don't dance; trust me.”

But of course he didn’t understand that, because after I said those words, he stood up and put out his hand. “I don’t believe that, Ma; I know you can dance.”

His voice made me cave in, and I took his slightly cold hands as he guided me towards the simple, polished floor in front of the band. The soft glow of the light warmed my skin as his hand lingered down my body and onto my waist, pulling me towards him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, but I still didn’t feel comfortable with him, so I kept my distance. I tried to steer away from his eyes; however, he caught on to that.

“Can you at least act like you don’t hate me?” he mumbled in his deep, husky voice. I steered my attention toward him and glanced into his deep, hickory eyes.

“I don't... hate you, Rio,” I said softly.

"Well, you haven’t talked all night."

“I don’t know what to talk about or ask you... I basically know everything about you."

Rio chuckled and looked away from me, and when he did that, I didn’t realize how close we'd gotten. I felt his strong chest against mine as our bodies moved in unison. His heat bounced off his body and on to mine. Rio's hands grew tighter around my waist, giving me a sense of security. My body grew tense, and my breath was ragged when I noticed what he was doing to my body. I deeply sank into his body, and everything grew still in the room.

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fizzy-fuzz · 1 year ago

Note

hello! I've been reading your SCP work and saw you add OM to your writing list.

Can I please get Lucifer with an adoptive teen reader? Sibling relationship please

AN: I wasn't sure what you wanted as far as like headcanons or oneshots go, So I just went with a short oneshot because that's what I'm most comfortable with writing. Hope you don't mind!

I took some creative liberties with the plot, since your request kinda left it open. I also left the age non-specific, except implying that the reader is a teenager... I may have gotten carried away, soft big brother Lucifer incoming.

TW: slight angst

Different yet the same... (Lucifer & Adoptive teen sibling reader)

Your shoes thud softly against the ground in the carpeted halls in the house of lamination. Your pace is slowed though you already have your destination in mind; Lucifer study. Your sure he's in there, he always is during the afternoon. Often doing paperwork assigned to him by diavolo that day.

This routine isn't unusual for you. The house gets too rambunctious, so you seek the tranquility and comfort of the eldests workspace.

It's the arguably quietest place in the house. with spells and enchants to make sure that the only thing heard within the space is the gently thrum of whatever cursed vinyl Lucifer happens to fancy that day.

Lucifer never seemed to care if you were there as long as you were quiet and didn't disrupt his work.

Yes, this isn't unusual for you... Yet today the circumstances for your visit are different.

The house isn't bustling. in fact, this is the most calm it's been in awhile: Mammon Is out gambling with the money he made from modeling, Levi is holed up in his room playing some new video game that just came out, Satan is out reading in a newly built library, Asmo is clubbing with Solomon, Beel is out at an all you can eat buffet, And belphie is napping in the planetarium.

You pause your thoughts when you make it to the grand mahogany door that holds Lucifer and his office behind it. Hand raising to knock on the door but falling short and stopping just before it makes contact.

Does he even want you in there? Maybe this whole time he hasn't, and is just too polite to tell you off.

Part of you realizes that that sentence sounds ridiculous. Lucifer never has a problem telling his siblings to leave him alone when he needs private time...

But you're not really his sibling, are you?

They're all so close to each other... They fought together, fell together, and survived together when devildom refused to accept them.

Your hand that was hovering just before the office door drops to your side, and you turn around the glance at the mirrors lining the hallway behind you. If you look hard enough, you can still picture the beautiful and pristine white of your wings.

.....

It was a few dumb decisions that got you banished from the celestial realm and made you fall from grace.

You were growing weary with the standards you had to constantly upkeep. The realm values excellence over anything, and they won't settle for any less. Angelic voices always ringing in your ears pushing you to be something you weren't; perfection.

It was that same weariness that blossomed into intrigue when you first heard the name 'Lucifer' be uttered. His name was always spoken with a hushed voice, as if he was some sort of deadly curse.

And when you begin poking around for more information about him you were quickly shut down...

Until you spoke to Simeon about it. Simeon had always been one of the most relaxed and understanding of all of the angels. And because he was so well liked and respected they let it slide.

So when you spoke to him about your curiosity, he was happy to divulge as much as he saw fit for your younger mind. Contrary to every other angel you talked to, he spoke about Lucifer with high regards. Often speaking about how kind and giving the morning star was, and still is, even if he doesn't always show it.

When you asked what happened to him he told you the truth. He fell from grace along with six other angels he was closest with. Though simeon told you he wasn't allowed to speak of why they fell from grace, he did however give you a key to access the vaults that held files on what you were looking for.

That's when you first began properly learning about the great celestial war.

It dazzled you're young mind, the thought of seven angels taking on the entirety of the celestial realm with such bravery. And although you weren't about to try and start a rebellion like Lucifer did, seeing him fight for what he thought was right encouraged you to begin declining the high expectations of the realm.

Everyday when you got free time, you would sneak back off to the vault to read more on the rebellion and war, while sneaking conversations with simeon in between.

It kept you content...

Until one day, you made the mistake of getting too comfortable and sloppy while sneaking off. Unfortunately, you were blissfully unaware of the fact that you had been spotted and were being followed the whole time.

It's safe to say the higher ups weren't pleased...

So they gave you two choses:

Stay and be held on trial for treason. Which who knows what would happen after you were inevitably found guilty.

Or be stripped of your grace and be banished to devildom...

You choose the latter...

So you fell...

And fell...

And fell some more...

Devildom was beautiful, and it's Prince was nothing short of gracious. A far cry from the pompous aristocrats of the celestial realm, and of course diavolo knew just where to stick you. Where else if not with the demon brothers? Considering your circumstance, you should get along swimmingly.

Yeah, no... it's safe to say they were not happy about the idea of a freshly fallen angel teenager stuck living with them. For the first couple of months they either avoided you like the plague, or were confrontational.

All but one... Lucifer.

He wasn't peachy with you, but he held an air of understanding with your situation. He allowed you to express your woes, and offered a guiding hand when you seemed stuck.

Eventually all of the brothers warmed up to you, and came to view you as their eighth sibling. Though you always had a hard time feeling like you fit...

.....

"I can see you standing out there, Y/n. Come in." Lucifer startles you out of your thoughts as he calls out to you from behind the door.

You grip the door handle and open the heavy wooden door. It squeaks on it's hinges, the sound normally doesn't bug you, but today it makes your anxiety spike. You look up from the ground and see Lucifer at his desk writing away at some paperwork, he raises his none occupied hand and gestures for you to have a seat on the leather chair off to the side in the room.

As you scuttle over and plant yourself in the chair, you fidget nervously with your hands. The room is quiet, too quiet. The only thing heard is the scratching of Lucifers quill against the paper.

"I take it you'd like to talk? You seem tense" Though he acknowledges you verbally, he continues to work on his paperwork. Despite this you know you have his full attention.

"I guess?.. I'm really not sure." you shuffle around in your seat to get comfortable. He hums in thought.

Maybe you should've just gone to your room and dealt with your feelings yourself... He seems so busy, he shouldn't have to deal with your self-consciousness.

"tell me what's on your mind, Y/n..."

His voice has that certain tone to it, the closest it gets to 'soft'. You feel your self doubt fade away slightly... So you decide to spill your guts.

"I guess I've just been feeling a little out of place lately? Like I don't really fit in anywhere in the family..." Your voice falls to a hesitant whisper at the end.

Lucifers writing halts but he doesn't look at you yet. It feels like he already knows where this conversation is going. A light sigh falls from his mouth.

"elaborate."

You pause and think about how you want to respond. the topic is uncomfortable for you to approach, but it weighs heavy on your shoulders, so it's better to talk about it then let yourself stew...

"it's just... the seven of you are so close, you've been together for your entire life. You guys didn't even know me when I was still in the celestial realm, I was kinda just placed here after i fell from grace because there was nowhere else for me to go..." You pause for a moment and look to the ground, avoiding Lucifers gaze. "I feel like I don't belong..."

There's a silence that falls over the room as you finish your rant, only thing heard is your shuddery breathing and the scuff of Lucifers chair being pushed away from his desk. You hear here the sound of his dress shoes approach you, but you don't look up from the ground. Scared you'll meet his gaze and be ment with a lecture about how you need to be more secure with yourself.

You fidget a bit more when he stops in front of you, his shoes now in your vision as you continue to avoid looking at him properly. Two gloved fingers swoop into your view as well when he gently places them under your chin, tilting your head up carefully.

When you meet his gaze, your surprised to see his eyes half lidded with sympathy and understanding. His other hand coming up to gently run through your hair to clear it from you face, before falling to rest your shoulder in a grounding grip.

You both stay silent for a short while, before Lucifer speaks.

"how long have you felt like this?" His words are simple, but encourage you to delve deeper into your feelings.

"For awhile... I have a hard time feeling like I'm even slightly related to you guys sometimes" to your surprised, a light laugh falls from Lucifers mouth at this.

"none of us are related by blood, When has that ever made a difference?"

"that's not what I mean... Not biologically, more like our experiences feel so different, and you're all so close in age... I don't know" Lucifers gaze grows serious as he addresses you with a firm tone.

"Y/n, I know we don't always express it, but we all cherish you greatly. We may not share the same experiences, but we're still cut from the same cloth... We're family, Y/n" he pauses for a moment and sighs. "Why didn't you come to me if this was bothering you? We could've spoken about it sooner"

You gently push his hand away and he backs up to allow you to stand. Once standing, you hug your arms close to your body and shift your weight around nervously.

"it shouldn't be your job to deal with my emotions, you already have enough to deal with-" he quickly cuts you off.

"as your eldest brother it is my job to help you through things like this, my duties come second always. Y/n, you can always rely on me."

his firm response leaves no room for argument, and with his unusual sentiment, a dam breaks in you.

You take a few steps towards him and hug him close, sniffling lightly.

"I love you, Lucifer..."

His hands hover for a second, before gently pulling you closer.

"I love you too, Y/n"

#lucifer obey me #lucifer x reader #Lucifer x reader platonic #teen reader #Platonic #Obey me x reader #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #lucifer x you #obey me lucifer x reader

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priestessame · 2 years ago

Text

The Emperor's most favored II

FLUFF Part 2. As requested by 🎐annon ^^ I'm for sure making this a series of one shots~

Warnings: Slightly suggestive (^^) Fluff, angst, slight violence, name-calling, mentions of blood, and bullying. Sleepy mornings~~

Summary: The preparations of the lantern rite, bring unwelcome ghosts of the past.

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You rolled awake, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your eyes adjusted in the dimly lit chambers. You turned so that you were resting on your side, your sight catching the familiar silhouette sitting across from you.

The desk was only a few feet away from your shared bed. Now it had almost become routine for you to stir awake, only to find him like this. The mahogany silks pooled around his waist. You watched as your husband leaned over his desk. Your eyes followed the vast expanse of his bare back, golden and black scales trailing down the spine, the muscles flexing as he continued to work on his scrolls. Dark and gold arms constantly at work.

It was only the early hours of the morning, even before sunrise. But even gentle morning light wasn't allowed in. Even if the emperor was writing, special care was taken so that the curtains in his chambers were shut tightly. The only light allowed, was the dim lantern placed close to his desk. Strong enough to just illuminate the papers scattered around him. His hand was gentle as he wrote, careful not to wake you from the noise of the ink pen scratching on the scrolls. So much care, just to make sure you wouldn't be disturbed.

But the absence of his warmth would make you stir from your sleep nevertheless. Most of the time you would fall back asleep again. But some mornings, just like today you couldn't help but gathered the silks around you, wrapping them around your body before sliding off the bed.

You sunk into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You murmured against the crook of his neck as the emperor chuckled. "Did I wake you again, beloved?" He asked.

"No," You replied, pressing down the urge to drag him back to your bed. If it was up to you, you would have rolled around in each other's warmth, limbs entangled until late afternoon. Fortunately for Liuye and unfortunately for you, the emperor had more discipline than that. Once awake, the emperor would be consumed with his duties. Not that you felt neglected because of it. He always found time, especially for you.

You pressed yourself against him tighter, his skin felt feverishly warm this early in the morning. You looked over his shoulder, at the scrolls pulled open along the desk. The whorls and runes on it were enchantingly beautiful, and the strange script he seemed so fluent in was completely alien to you.

Although now your husband, there was so much of him that was still alien to you. How many languages was he fluent in that you couldn't even begin to understand? You would wonder. There may always be a certain distance between you and his past. Something you wondered if you could ever transcend. But most of your reservations would melt away the moment you felt his touch.

Morax pulled you into his lap and you went willingly. His arms guide you to straddle him. His fingers cupped your face before he pressed his mouth on your forehead. His breath brushed against the hollow of your throat. As he murmured sweet praises, you couldn't help but laugh against his mouth. For a man known for his restraint, he couldn't seem to keep his hands off you. His fingers slid under the silk sheets you had pulled, sliding up your torso. He kissed you between your breasts, lips lingering just above your heart. "You should get more rest beloved," He said,

You brushed the hair framing his face, "Come back to bed Morax." You said through a pout, throwing your hands around his neck, "It's cold." His fingers dug into your hips, it was insane how his slightest touch would send your mind reeling. The scrolls on the desk were long discarded as he scooped you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you towards your bed, setting you down while sinking down himself.

His fingers brushed your cheek lovingly, after all, who was he to deny the empress of Liyue?

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It was late in the afternoon when the news reached you. With the emperor and his general out, you and Shi Lian sat in your study, trying your hand at another game of chaurang. The game board was spread out before the two of you, colored tiles arranged across it. Your lady-in-waiting rolled the dice, too engrossed in the game as Ganyu continued to narrate the finished details for the upcoming Lantern rite.

As excited as you were for the festival, you could hardly keep up with all the details. Especially now when Shi Lian was getting increasingly good at forming her tiles.

“And so Lady Nigguang wished to know your preferences.” Ganyu reported.

You gave the Adeptus an endearing look, “Ganyu, tell Ningguang that I completely trust her… aesthetic judgment.” You said, “Swans, deers, frogs- whatever she deems fit.”

Shi Lian moved her rose-carved tile forward, an intelligent attempt at defense but you saw through it immediately.

“As you wish, Your highness,” Ganyu replied.

“T-that’s not fair!” Shi Lian wailed, as you replaced her tile with your own. You laughed at her, feeling so at ease at the moment that nothing could have prepared you for the message the Yuheng had for you.

Keqing walked in just as Ganyu was about to depart, her gait as nonchalant as Ganyu’s was respectful.

“The Mililith have reported early visitors for the lantern rite, apparently.” Keqing continued, her tone as unbothered as ever.

“Visitors already?” You asked, although the lantern rite wasn’t that far away, you weren’t expecting any visitors at the palace for at least another week.

“From your homeland your highness.” Keqing said, “The carriages that brought them to the royal palace both bore the royal emblem.”

Your ears rang. Unconsciously you had dug into the gold-cut pawn so hard, it cut into your palm drawing blood.

Keqing's face twisted, "Clearly they didn't even bother sending a raven to announce their arrival." She started.

But you weren't listening, your hands going very very cold. "Who is it?" You asked, breath shallowing as you spoke.

"The 2nd princess and her Lord husband, your highness," she replied, her tone sensing your sudden discomfort. The two watched as the walls of safety you had built around yourself shattered like glass. You felt as if you were underwater.

"Your highness?"

Your eyes snapped towards her, “Take me there.” You said breathlessly.

Ganyu shifted on her feet, “Your highness, it might be better to wait for the emperor to return-

“No,” You replied at once, a morbid silence falling in the study. You stood up, placing the tile back on the board. Shi Lian followed your suit clumsily. “M-my Lady-“ she started. But it was like your mind had gone entirely numb.

“Take me to her, now.”

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She was already in your chambers, her tall silhouette reaching to inspect the ornate draperies.

Saili turned towards you, lips pulling themselves in a perfect smile. "Sister!" She exclaimed, reaching a hand out as if she expected an embrace. You felt as if you were about to throw up. Anger and disgust clouding your mind. Why, why after all these years was, she here again? Hadn't she made your life miserable enough?

You gave Shi lian a quick nod, dismissing her. Your lady-in-waiting gave you a concerned look but obliged. She scurried outside your chambers, leaving the two of you alone.

Your fingers curled, and you closed them in a fist, trying to hide the tremble. "I hope the weather was kind to you, sister." you tried.

"Look how lovely." She said, dismissing you entirely. Her fingers glided through the ornate curtains in your chambers. She inspected the fabric like she wanted to rip them up. She turned towards you again,

Her face was as beautiful as you remembered. Chestnut hair and wide eyes. The kind of beauty that makes people falter their steps. But those who could see past that really saw her crudeness. Out of the ones making your life miserable back home, the 2nd princess was one of the worst.

She walked towards you. You unknowingly took a step back for everyone she took forward until your dresser hit the back of your legs. "I'm afraid my husband, was rather upset at not receiving at least an invitation for your first Lantern rite." She said.

Her smile was razor sharp, "I thought they held high regard for family here in lieuye."

Family? You wanted to ask her, strong words for people who basically sold you off for convenience. Her face was close to you now. She smiled painfully wide as her fingers reached for your sleeves, "How long would it have taken to dye the fabric this deep blue?" She mused.

"I wouldn't know." You replied, mouth going dry. For that moment, you were back in your homeland. Fear coating your insides, your fingers dug into the dresser behind you.

They had called her the nation's first love when she was born. Lovely even as a child, she was perfect in everything she did. Even her most venomous words and actions were simply endearing to everyone else. Her violence was written off as harmless tantrums, especially because they were all directed toward you.

It had never mattered to her that her sapphire accessories were way more precious than yours. That given your status, you never were any competition to her, you couldn't be. Maybe it was that very reason that gave her a kick out of it, knowing you couldn't fight back.

Like ripping apart wings of insects, she liked to yank anything you were wearing off of you. Ripping out clumps of your hair as she pulled off your moon-stone hairpin in one tantrum, or tearing out the skin off your ear lobes when she demanded she wanted to wear your earrings instead. Her fingers would dig into you ruthlessly, nails scrapping your skin, the grip leaving marks across your hands.

Her mother, the princess consort would just pull her in her arms and laugh her tantrums off. Coaxing her with talks of sweets or new silks. Leaving you hunched over yourself, blood trickling down your face. Even then what hurt more was that you didn't have anyone to cry to. So, you had just stopped the tears or pain and anger, pulling on an emotional armour even her nails couldn't carve out.

As you two had gotten older, her violence towards you had receded, and she had just discarded you like a toy she no longer wanted to play with. To your own disgust, you were more than happy to be unseen. Elated that she had finally grown tired of you. But the fear would crawl up now and then. That one day as she saw you brush past her in the halls, she would remember the old doll she had thrown away. Wanting to rip it apart again.

"Didn't you get lucky Y/n?" She mused, backing away from you.

She gave out a sigh looking around your chambers. She walked around curiously, her long robes flowing behind her. You felt pinned under her gaze, pushed into a corner just like you used to when you were younger. Suddenly seen again. The shadows that you thought you had left in your past, crawling back. You pushed through the pain, pulling your eyes away from her figure.

"Does your ship leave tonight sister?" You asked hating how your voice still wavered. Saili let go of the amulet she was inspecting, letting it clatter to the floor.

She had the audacity to look offended, "Why Y/n, you make it sound as if you want me gone." She laughed, her dazzling smile cutting into your skin. You felt the disgust coil in your stomach, although honey-tongued now, you remembered her morbid smile as she had told you about Morax's ugly scales and horns. How his talons would rip through your skin when he tried to touch you.

"It's a long trip back home." You replied, "It would be terrible if you got caught in sea-storms."

"It is a long trip, isn't it?" She said, your stomach dropped at her tone, "It's days and days on the sea, so much of the same blue makes you sick. You start wondering if there's anything alive this far into the ocean at all." She gave a chuckle, "Doesn't it feel like the ship would sail off the edge of the earth? She continued, suddenly sounding a lot more malicious.

You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for the mask to fall.

"We threw you away to the remote end of the earth and you still managed to wobble up like the trash you are." She sneered out.

"Sai-" You tried to reason with her, but you knew your words wouldn't matter. Her expression became more erratic, thoughts of who she was and where she was standing clouded by her rage.

"Just because they gave you a pretty jade crown doesn't really make you a queen, low-born." She growled out, her hands reached for your face and you flinched. She curled her fist into your thick hair, yanking you hard.

For the first few seconds, your body shut down from habit. Going limp against her anger, mind retracting within itself taking you away from the situation entirely. You were far too used to it. Far too used to just shutting your eyes close until her tantrum was over.

"Don't forget your mother was just a common musician whore." she said, her breath putrid on your face. For the first time in years, you reached for your anger. And the beast leaped up like it was waiting for your one command all along. And just like that, you snapped.

She gasped as you threw her down, your jade ornament clattering down with her. Your hair tumbled down, falling around your face.

Her eyes were wide with shock. Her figure sprawled on the floor, looking up at you, mouth stuck half-open.

"Enough." You breathed out. Your body practically convulsed from the pent-up rage. Unlike her haphazard rage, yours was composed and cold. "Touch me again," You spoke through the tremble, your voice dangerously low "And I’ll have you thrown off Qingyun Peak. "

In the moment of silence and shock, you thought you had actually won.

"How dare you?" she said, "Do you think you can command me? You wrench?" she screamed at you.

In that split second, the door flung open. Keqing was a blur of violet. She moved so swiftly; your own eyes couldn’t keep up with her. Her blade was pure lightning. Within a split second, she was between the two of you.

She wrung the 2nd princess’s wrist behind her as she cried out in pain, "Daring to touch the Empress will cost you much more than just your hand." She said.

"Let her go Keqing." You said sadly, much to your Yuheng's surprise. "She poses no threat to me." you completed.

Before you, she really looked pathetic. The frizzled hair, fingers still tightly curled around your jade crown, her eyes wide and whimsical. She pointed it accusingly at you, "You have no right," she sneered.

"Get the princess's ship ready." You commanded, "She will not be staying for the lantern rite."

"Making an enemy of your own kingdom, do you think your Beloved emperor wouldn't cast you away if he knew your true bloodline?" she whimpered at you, already lost.

"Is that so?"

The sudden voice surprised you too. A voice that could move mountains.

Morax stood at the end of the room, flanked by Xiao and Bosacius by his side. He wore traditional liyue clothes, gold and ebony robes, with a rounded neck. They fell across his tall frame like a waterfall of dark colors. Dragon scales were sewn in along the elaborate sleeves, the beast made of gold thread, curling around the bodice.

He walked inside the chamber, unforgiving eyes pinned on the 2nd princess. “Slander against the Empress herself is high treason.” He said, "Just the thought of profane words against her is subject to Lingchi."

Her face dropped with horror.

His voice was still low, yet stripped of any kindness. Urging, beckoning her to try and challenge his authority. It sent chills down your spine. "You will ride the ship willingly, or I will have you and your husband impaled to the mast on the way back."

Silent tears ran down her face as she dared not looked up at any of you, surprisingly you felt no real satisfaction. Finally realizing how little she had always been compared to you. Keqing moved to take your ornament from her hands but you stopped her midway.

"Keep it." You said to her, hold its weight for the rest of your life. Let it remind you of where you really stand. "It's the closest you'll ever come to holding true power."

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His fingers moved deftly as he fixed your hair. It was just the two of you again, your silks pooling around your frame as he placed you in front of the mirror. Experienced fingers running through your locks gently. The afternoon had bled into a crimson evening, painting your shared chamber a deep auburn. The failing light caught the scattered gold embellishments around you, making them glitter faintly. Not wanting to break the somber silence, you couldn’t help but stare at the gold pieces instead. The beading of the draperies, the curved points of the chandelier, and most of all the molten-gold color of his irises.

You winced as his fingers brushed against a particularly sore part and he halted at once.

"I'm sorry." He said finally.

Morax wrapped his arms around your frame, "I promised that I would protect you." He said, sounding broken. He hung his head on your shoulder, and the lamp in your room flickered. "And yet I have failed you." His voice was heavy like you had never heard before. He hugged you lightly, as if he put any more strength in this touch, you would shrug it off.

The whole thing was so absurd that you laughed as you leaned back into him. Wrapping your hands around his arm. It echoed around the room, you looked up at him, his eyes wide with confusion.

“You’re a bit of a fool aren’t you emperor?” you said.

“I couldn’t even stop them from hurting you.” He replied.

You sighed against his warmth, shaking your head softly.

"My past was mine to confront," you told him.

“Y/n-“ He began again, “Even so..”

“All my life, I have only had bruises.” You replied, “Some of hurt and some of shame.” Your fingers ran over his as you inspected the bump on your head, “For the first time, these don’t feel so bad.”

“If it wasn’t for the peace you give me Morax, I would have been ashamed of them all my life.” You said, sinking back into his warmth.

Being held like this was the safest you had ever felt in your entire life. “The kind of safety I feel with you cannot be measured in actions.”

“So,” You picked up the ornate comb beside you, “Just go back to brushing my hair.” He finally chuckled, deep voice ringing in his chest. He lifted your hair from the name of your neck, pressing a feverish kiss on your skin, “As you wish.”

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Ayyy I finally finished this one ^^

#zhongli scenarios #zhongli #zhongli genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli fluff

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mxigo · 2 years ago

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soul sick | part 2

SERIES SYNOPSIS: It’s hard enough watching the male that holds your heart pine for another woman, one that is the definition of beauty and grace, but to watch him fall for another yet again after you feel the mating bond snap into place is its own hell. A hell that makes you dangerously ill.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: lucien pays you a visit to ask a favor, and things come to a head with azriel

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, graphic descriptions of vomiting

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: FINALLY. oh my god i finally figured it out and was able get the plot done and chugged through the angst. as usual, please let me know if there are any errors. enjoy!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

Your mood improved ten-fold after having lunch with Cassian and Mor. They did everything they could to get you to forget your miserable night, and they did for the most part. Although, they caught you staring off into space once or twice, and they knew you were trying to understand where you went wrong with your relationship with the Spymaster.

The remainder of the walk consisted of the three of you talking about senseless things until they each give you a hug before they leave, Mor winnowing out of the street with a pop.

When you walk through the door, you can’t help but sigh, letting the rest of the tension fall off your shoulders. Blessed relief floods through you as you shuck your shoes off in your room near the wardrobe’s door, pushing past clothes to find a sleep set to wear.

You throw your hair up out of your face, padding into your bathroom to wash your face of the little makeup you did wear today. It doesn’t matter that the sun had just set behind the horizon. Once your pajamas were on and you took off your face, you were not stepping foot outside again today, and you planned on shutting yourself in your study to continue your work for the priestesses.

While you were not a priestess, you feel at home in the library in the House of Wind, and you loved helping them with rewriting and translating anything new or old for them. Before you had friends of your own, you had books and the stories that they told. And although you have made some friends throughout your life, your love for books has never waned.

In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of rosé before making your way to your study, letting the door close behind you with a soft snick. The entire room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books of just about every genre of fiction and nonfiction, organized carefully so that you know where every book was right off the top of your head. Cassian likes to poke fun at you and call you anal, but it literally drives you crazy if a book is put back in the wrong spot and then you can’t find it the next time you need it.

The dark mahogany shelves exude warmth throughout the room, pairing perfectly with the desk of the same material, gifted to you from Rhys when you bought the townhouse. This place is your safe place and has a perfect view of the dazzling lights of Velaris at night through the double glass doors leading to a balcony.

The hardwood floors are cool beneath your feet as you walk over to the desk, sending chills up your spine. You grab a blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders before settling into the comfortable chair. The stack of books that you need to work on is tall, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The first book is thousands of years old and seems to be a second edition one as well. The spine is nearly falling apart, holding together by sheer will alone, like merely touching it could make it disintegrate into dust. Dust and dirt is caked into the scratches and grooves of the cover, but you can still make out the title. Orys: Prythian’s Fourth High Lord of the Night Court. A smile tugs at your lips. You’re almost excited to read about one of Rhysand’s distant relatives.

A sharp knock at your door interrupts you, pulling an annoyed sigh from you. You grab a sweater to throw on before you walk down the hall to the door, praying that it’s not Azriel. You just don’t have the strength to talk to him about last night just yet.

But you’re surprised to see Lucien at your door instead of the shadowsinger.

“Lucien? To what do I owe the pleasure,” you ask, completely taken aback.

He is noticeably distraught, his hair looking like it needs to be washed along with forming dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he has not had a good sleep in a few nights.

“I—I need some help.”

For a moment, you are speechless. There could only be one thing that he would need help with, and you are a bit afraid to confront it.

“I just opened a bottle of rosé from my favorite winery on the Sidra. Would you like a glass while we talk,” you try, earning a nod from the lordling in response.

You stand back, opening the door wider for him to step into your home, suddenly self-conscious about how you are dressed in the presence of a male that you hardly know. You wrap your sweater around you a little bit tighter at the realization.

Lucien follows you into the kitchen where you left the bottle, telling him to get comfortable while you go to retrieve your glass where you left it on your desk. When you return, Lucien is staring off at the table, a pained expression shrouding his face. His hands are curled around each other, supporting his head as they rest under his chin. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the counter where the bottle sits and pour a generous glass for your guest before settling across from him, tucking a leg under yourself.

Neither of you speak first, and you wait so Lucien has the time to gather his thoughts and think about what he might say. After a moment, he finally unfurls his hands to rest them in his lap.

“I fear that I may be losing my mate to the shadowsinger.”

Oh dear gods. Your heart aches for the male in front of you, suddenly understanding his pain, and feeling your own at the same time. You wet your lips, shifting as you try to come up with something to say, but you suddenly feel sick, and your heart is beating too loud to hear anything.

“Could it be possible that their relationship is just platonic,” you ask, your voice airy.

You take a long draw from your glass, watching as Lucien shakes his head, finally looking up at you, and his golden eyes find your own.

“No. I catch glimpses of her emotions and feelings occasionally, especially when they’re together. It’s not platonic.”

Your eyes fall shut, attempting not to panic at the thought that Azriel might share the same feelings for the Archeron sister.

“I’m sorry this is happening. I can’t imagine the pain that you might be feeling.”

“But I think you can.” Your eyes snap open, freezing on him.

“What?”

“You have feelings for Azriel, do you not?” His straightforwardness makes your mouth drop open.

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

“You are quite obvious about it. It’s puzzling that he hasn’t caught on yet,” Lucien says, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip from his glass.

Your face burns, undoubtedly red. This time, you take a gulp of the wine.

“I’m hoping because of it, you can try to persuade him to turn his efforts elsewhere, perhaps yourself.”

“Lucien, I understand you are upset, and rightfully so, but I think you should talk to Elain, not me.” You shake your head, unbelieving of what he is asking of you.

“Then try to talk to Azriel and explain what he is doing, even if he doesn’t realize it,” he fights, his desperation seeping through. “He is taking what is supposed to be my moments with her.”

Neither of you speak, the tension having peaked.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit much,” he whispers, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s ok. I’ll try to talk to him the next time I see him. Although, we’re not really on good terms right now.”

“For the same reason?” You nod.

“Hm. Well, thank you for listening to me, but I should get going. Mother knows that Rhysand will start to wonder where I slinked off to.” He stands, knocking back the rest of the rosé. “Thank you for the drink. You have lovely taste,” he adds with a smile, which you return.

“You’re welcome, Lucien. My door is open whenever you need me.”

He nods once before winnowing out of the house, leaving you to think about his proposal.

Just the very thought of talking to Azriel about relationship with Elain makes your stomach roll, and there is a very good chance that Azriel won’t take your advice the right way either. Historically, he is not one for getting over someone that he cannot have.

A knock from behind you makes you jump, nearly screaming when you see a shadowed figure outside your home, but you sigh when you see a pair of great leathery wings. Your heart thunders in your ears as you try to decide whether to go out and talk to him or ignore him and send him away. You decide on the former.

Taking a blanket from the living room, you walk out the door and onto the patio, allowing yourself to lean against the wall. The night has quickly turned brisk, a sharp wind ripping through the balcony, and you pull your blanket tighter. It’s silent for a moment, waiting for him to speak first.

He is dressed casually tonight, the swirls of his tattoos spilling from underneath the hem of his short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants loose around his thighs. Not that you’re looking.

But as you look to meet his eyes, you blink in surprise at their seriousness, staring at you with a look that you can only describe as distraught.

“Why was Lucien here?”

You blink again, not quite sure of what you heard.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did Lucien come to you at this time of day?”

“What? Can a friend not come for a visit?” you ask defensively, crossing your arms.

“We both know that he’s not a friend, Y/N. There’s a reason that he came here, and I need to know what it was.”

You stare at him, mouth agape in disbelief. Is this really happening right now?

“He came to me for help.”

“Help for what?”

You take a breath. “Az, I think you should take a step back from Elain for a while.”

His face screws up instantly, offended by what you have said.

“Is that what he came here for? Because he’s jealous?”

“Azriel, think about what you are doing. Regardless of what the two of you think, there is a reason they are mates.”

A feeling of unease is palpable from him as he switches his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“You know that Rhys’ parents were mates and look how that turned out.”

“But Lucien is not Rhys’ father, Az. He is so far from that, or Feyre wouldn’t have brought her with him to Velaris. He is a good male, and you are actively standing in the way of their relationship.”

Azriel’s mouth is agape, at a loss for words, but he quickly turns to gather himself.

“I’m just trying to help her assimilate into our life, Y/N. She lost a lot when she was Made, and I’m helping her understand that there’s a whole new world that she can explore now.”

A weightless feeling begins to overshadow you, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“That is Feyre’s job as her sister to do that. She is also mated to someone that happens to be living with us and is dying to get to know her, Az, and you’re taking that away from him and stealing those moments that are meant for him for yourself.”

Azriel scoffs, his gaze sour.

“A mate that had a hand in having her kidnapped from her home. Of course she doesn’t want anything to do with him, Y/N, and she doesn’t have to.”

Silence stretches between the both of you as you allow the gravity of his words sink in, a cold terror gripping you.

With a blank face, you ask, “what do you mean by that?”

He just shakes his head, letting his wings unfurl. In a desperate attempt to get him to stay, you grab his hand, and your eyes meet once again. Then, suddenly, you feel it. You feel the bond snap into place as your soul realizes that male in front of you is your mate, and your heart breaks for the second time tonight. Your eyes go wide, breath catching in your throat as your skin erupts into chills. Hope fills you as you wait for any recognition from him, but there’s nothing, only his face screwing up.

He shrugs your hand off, just as you did to him. Your heart is thundering in your ears, and you struggle to figure out what to do next over the onslaught of emotions, both yours and glimpses of Azriel’s.

“Az, wait—”

“I love her, Y/N.”

Everything goes numb, your hearing cutting out. There is no possible way you heard him right. He can’t be in love with her because he’s your mate, it can’t be right.

You must look pitiful, staring unbelieving at him, waiting for him to say something different, but he only looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before launching off of the patio and into the sky, disappearing into a black spec in the night, leaving you alone to unravel the fresh bond that will never be returned.

†

Sleep evaded you the entire night, having left you to your thoughts and to relive how your mate essentially rejected you without actually knowing what he was doing. All because you didn’t have the guts to tell him how you felt, and now he is no longer yours in any sense of the word. You had centuries to tell him but waited too long, and he took the opportunity that opened for him to have someone of his own, despite her already having a mate.

A headache sprung up as well, bursting right behind your eyes, throbbing with intensity. You haven’t had a headache spring up like this since before Rhys was Under the Mountain, but the stress of the past few days could definitely have caused it, especially from last night. The morning brings no relief, as you remain curled up in bed with the blinds pulled shut to prevent the harsh light from attacking your eyes. You managed to make yourself a cup of tea to sit on your bedside to drink, but you are so exhausted that you have not been able to muster the strength to sit up and drink it.

A groan slips from you as you roll over to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but as you do, your stomach turns, and your mouth suddenly fills with saliva. Eyes snapping open, you scramble up from your bed, bolting to the bathroom to make it to the toilet just in time for your stomach to reject everything that was in it. You grip onto the cool porcelain, choking on the painful onslaught. The rejection is so strong that after each contraction, you sag against the seat, heaving. Even after there is nothing left to come up, your body keeps rejecting, causing you to gag and cough until you are gasping for air like a fish out of water. After an eternity, your stomach finally lets you rest, allowing you to sag to the floor, sighing against the cool tile upon your flushed cheek.

This continues the entire day, waking for bouts of dry heaving until tears leak from your eyes, and your chin trembles as you fight back a sob. You have no clue as to what time it could be, surely deep into the day, but you are confined to the bathroom in fear that your stomach will revolt again. You finally submit to whatever has a hold of you, deciding that you will sleep in the bathroom, you carefully pull your duvet from your bed to drag it into the bathroom to have some kind of comfort on the hard tile floor. Finally, sleep peacefully takes you.

†

A soft touch pulls you from your dreamless sleep, your eyes peeling open to look blearily at whoever is kneeling in front of you. The headache persists, and the light causes you to clamp your eyes shut again, hissing at the light.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Cassian’s voice whispers in your ear. You nod but don’t open your eyes again.

“Rhys has been sending you notes all day inviting you to dinner, but you never answered them. Have you been here all day?” Another nod. “What has you so messed up, sweetheart?”

“I dunno. Just woke up like this. Can’t stop throwing up.” Your voice is scratchy from the abuse it has suffered, and it hurts to swallow. “Just put me in bed and set a bucket next to it. I wanna sleep.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the House?”

“No, no House. I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be fine, just stressed out,” you insist, still not opening your eyes.

Despite his better judgment, Cassian carries you back to bed, tucking you in and replacing your cup of tea with a glass of water and brings the bucket that you wanted. You haven’t moved from how he laid you in bed, and his eyebrows furrow in concern. It’s not often that fae get sick, especially with whatever you have.

He kneels next to the side of the bed you are on, letting a hand run itself over your head.

“I’m going to get going. If we don’t hear from you in a few hours, I’m bringing you to the House and we’ll get Madja. Do you understand?” Yet another nod.

Cassian sighs, registering that you have a slight fever. He stands up, leaning over to tuck you in before he leaves. With a last once over of your room and leaving a scrap of paper and a quill on your bedside, Cassian leaves.

He still doesn’t feel right about leaving you at your home, but he will be going back if you don’t write back within a few hours to check on you.

Everyone has moved to the sitting room by the time he gets back, each with a drink in hand. He notes that Elain is sitting in a chair next to Azriel but refrains from saying something. He settles into a seat next to Rhys, and Feyre notices that Cassian is back, but without her friend in tow.

“Did you see her?”

“Mhmm. She’s sick. Found her asleep on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, all wrapped up in her sheets. She refused to be brought here, so I told her I would be back if we didn’t hear from her.”

“Oh Mother. We just saw her yesterday, Cas. How could she have gotten sick so quick?” Mor asks, face warped with concern as she leans forward.

“She said it’s from stress, but I don’t know how stress could make her throw up so much that she had to sleep on the bathroom floor,” he sighs.

Across the room, the Spymaster listens intently to Cassian’s words, his heart dropping as he realizes that he is the “stress” that has physically manifested as a sickness.

TAGLIST: @positivewitch @brekkershadowsinger @baebeepeach @toobsessedsstuff @lucyysthings @marigold-morelli

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel angst #mxigo.azriel #mxigo.masterlist.soulsick #mxigo.masterlist.azriel #mxigo.masterlist.acotar #mxigo.soulsick

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