#solitary refinement

[snowshinobi]

cleared the Spire in under a minute today (;

[windvexer]

My current vibe is that the book meaning of tarot cards are the most refined level of a reading, and therefore should be interpreted last, if you even want to use individual card meanings at all.

Reading tarot:

Identify major patterns in the spread (start by looking at groupings of card types, such as element, number, court, majors, general vibe or emotion of the cards; use these concepts as a jumping-off point to form your own pattern. What if a lot of cards have horses on them? etc.).

Use patterns to establish flow (low # cards to high # cards; groups of solitary elements; every court is paired with a major; where is the interplay?). If the patterns are boulders, how does the water of narrative flow through this river?

Use flow to link cards. (This group seems disconnected from that group. This card is an outlier; a break must happen somewhere. Energy slowly builds in this series of cards. There is a sudden shift in pattern, a big change must occur).

Use links between cards to determine which book or picture meanings apply. (This outlier card only links up if it means there was a break in the good event. I will choose meanings that relate to surprise and disappointment, and discard contradictory meanings).

At any point in the process, you can stop and call it a day.

Identify major patterns only: "Well I drew a shit ton of Pentacles cards so I'm going to say that your problem right now is that work is taking up all your time, but also you feel like everything is going super slow. Hope this helps."

Also identify flow: "Well I drew a shit ton of Court cards so I'm going to say that your problem right now is a ton of people all competing to have a say in your life, but at the end you have the Tower and the Sun, so I guess this situation is probably fated towards disaster and then a decent outcome."

Also link cards: "These three court cards face the Tower, but they are also all either Sword or Wand cards. In my practice, Swords and Wand cards are most associated with conflict. These three people, whoever they are, will cause the most conflict."

Also read book and picture meanings: "Out of these three problematic people, this person will try to control how many responsibilities are on your plate. They probably make you feel bad for not being responsible enough."

If you are getting low on energy, or do not have the focus to complete the entire spread, start with broad overview (pattern) and slowly narrow it to flow, then linking. Last of all, if you still have the time/energy, use book and picture meanings to add fine detail to the reading.

No point in adding fine detail to a rough block of wood.

First, shape the reading with broad strokes by finding patterns, and slowly add shape.

Only when you have the smooth, polished shape of your reading should you add the fine detail.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Sixteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Jealousy, Angst, Possessive Behaviours, Syltherin!Boys, asshole!Berkshire, Kissing, Threats Of Violence, Weaponizing!TomRiddle, Dirty Talk.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

As darkness shrouded the castle on the overly-anticipated Saturday evening, Tom guided you into the lively heart of the Slytherin common room, a space pulsating with carefree energy and laughter. Students adorned in their finest attire swirled around you, their faces flushed with excitement, their voices mingling in a chorus of revelry. The air crackled with the tang of burning embers, and the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow emanating from countless floating candles overhead.

Amidst the joyful chaos, Tom's friends sat at a secluded table, an oasis of calm amidst the storm. Their demeanor was poised, their laughter soft and controlled, setting them apart from the exuberant crowd. As you stepped closer, you felt like a solitary figure navigating the maze of social intricacies. Emily, who had promised to join you shortly, was notably absent, leaving you feeling like a fish out of water in this sea of unfamiliar faces.

Tom's hand in yours provided some semblance of comfort, grounding you in the midst of the lively chaos as he introduced you to each one of his friends individually. Every introduction was a meticulously choreographed ritual, marked by the graceful dip of heads and the soft rustle of silk against polished leather. Their smiles, though polite, held a hint of calculated charm, concealing a labyrinth of secrets beneath their composed exteriors.

In this enclave of refinement, Tom's circle stood apart from the rest of the common room. The casual revelry of the other Slytherins felt distant, their laughter and chatter forming a separate backdrop to the sophisticated symphony of Tom's world. The room seemed to bend to the will of this select group, accentuating the stark contrast between their cultivated refinement and the more carefree atmosphere of the rest of the room. Here, every gesture and word was carefully curated, preserving an aura of exclusivity. You could tell this was not something they did very often, so when they did, it was absolutely noticed--the rest of the room seemingly more tame in response, a stark comparison to the last party you had ventured in on.

This group represented everything you had ever dreamed of being a part of, all the aspirations you had ever hoped to achieve. Yet, your focus--or rather, your entire fucking mind--was elsewhere.

And the very reason it was elsewhere was seated amidst a circle of his elite friends-- Nott, Berkshire, Black, Zabini, and Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson at his side--Mattheo's intense gaze bore into you from across the room. His dark eyes, like orbs of obsidian, were sharp and penetrating, dissecting the scene meticulously, and no matter what the fuck you tried to do, there was absolutely nothing that could distract you from the feeling of his gaze, burning flesh wounds into your skin with each passing second.

While his friends engaged in lively conversations, Mattheo's attention was solely fixated on you and Tom. His focus, both laser-sharp and predatory, traced every movement, every touch, every nuance of your interactions with his brother. The air around him crackled with an unspoken tension, his lips pressed into a thin line, a manifestation of the restrained emotions churning beneath his composed facade. It was as though he was dissecting the scene before him, his mind processing every detail with the precision of a master strategist, all while his dark eyes remained fixated on you, as though he was scared that he'd miss something if he looked away.

As the night bore on, you began to grow more comfortable amidst the sophisticated chatter--getting to know a few of Tom's friends fairly well, discussing ambitions and graduation plans without even being offered a single drink. You honestly thought things had been going well, almost far too fucking well--until Tom excused himself momentarily, his eyes meeting yours from the seat next to you as he prepared to make his exit.

"I need to handle something," he said, his voice low and confidential, his eyes flicking to his brother across the room, before returning to you. "I noticed Mattheo watching you...why don't you go say hi? I should only be a few moments, I'll join you when I'm finished."

"Oh, no-uh..." you hesitated, knowing that Berkshire was present, a fact you couldn't ignore. "I don't think it's a good idea, Tom, me and-" you began, attempting to voice your concerns, but he cut you off with a soft, reassuring kiss.

His lips pressed against yours, brief yet meaningful, before he pushed up from the table, leaving you in the midst of the party, alone.

As Tom's figure disappeared from view, you caught another glimpse of Mattheo from across the room, his gaze intensified, his stormy eyes ablaze with a potent mix of irritation and complete fucking fury--something you've seen in his eyes a few times before, but never like this. He sat slumped in the chair, his form swallowed by the shadows, his tousled curly hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The dim light caught the sheen of frustration on his sharp features, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw and the determined set of his mouth. His fingers tightened around his drink, the muscles in his hands flexing with the effort to suppress the simmering anger bubbling within him.

You knew him all too fucking well at this point to know that he was not bloody happy, and you weren't entirely confident that approaching him was at all the right move at this moment. Yet, you weren't sure what else you were supposed to do.

But before you could dwell any further, Blaise's eyes, a glimmering shade of obsidian, met yours from across the room. His lips curled into a playful smile, beckoning you over to his group with a subtle yet irresistible gesture. Despite your inner turmoil, the unavoidable feeling of dread pooling in your stomach, you excused yourself from the table and began to hesitantly make your way through the crowded room, every step feeling heavier as you approached the circle of Slytherin boys.

Mattheo's presence never relented, slouchily seated in the love seat, legs spread far too fucking wide, his intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes, like twin storm clouds, seemed to dissect every movement, scanning every inch of your body as you moved, as if he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin. It sent shivers down your spine, and you fought to maintain your semblance of composure.

As you drew closer, Berkshire, always the instigator, couldn't resist the opportunity to unleash his venomous tongue. "As if you're going to call her over here," he sneered, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. "Didn't know our circle was open to charity cases."

The rest of the Slytherin boys, visibly inebriated and riding the wave of arrogance, chimed in with smirks and condescending remarks, reveling in their camaraderie at your expense. It was a calculated display of power, a reminder that you were the outsider in this exclusive circle, a pawn in their powerful game.

Suppressing your frustration, you took a seat next to Blaise, your eyes darting briefly to Mattheo, who watched your every move with an intensity that sent your heart racing. The air crackled with tension, and you felt like a lamb surrounded by hungry wolves, each one waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Yet, amid the arrogance and hostility, Blaise's charm provided a temporary shield.

"Ignore them," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody amidst the discord. "They're always like this. Besides, you look stunning tonight, little raven. Don't let them get to you."

Despite Blaise's efforts to calm you down, to deescalate the situation as best as he could, Berkshire persisted, seemingly unable to control himself.

"I hear you're quite the favourite of the prodigy," he sneered, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Must be thrilling, being the chosen one for a night."

Malfoy, ever the arrogant asshole, added his own twist. "Or maybe she's just a distraction," he said, his tone conspiratorial. "You know how Tom likes to keep himself occupied, especially when the stakes are high."

You parted your lips to say something, to defend yourself in any sort of way, when another voice cut through the air, cutting you off before you could even attempt to force out a syllable.

"Tom's little plaything, isn't that right?" Regulus’ words were laced with arrogance, his voice like a low growl. "Who would have guessed."

Blaise shot Regulus a warning glance, his eyes urging him to rein in his hostility, but the damage was done. The room felt suffocating, the weight of their words pressing down on you, threatening to crush your resolve, and you couldn't hold your tongue any further--if they wanted to play with fire, you were going to make sure you were the one holding the matches.

A derisive chuckle escaped your lips as you assessed the Slytherins before you. "Jealousy, gentlemen, is a rather unflattering shade on anyone," you remarked, your gaze settling on Berkshire. "I'd refrain from it if I were you, Berkshire, you're already hard enough to look at as it is."

Berkshire's lips curled into a sneer, his arrogance on full display. "Well, well, we've got ourselves a little spitfire, haven't we?" he retorted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Someone really needs to fix that attitude of yours...perhaps I'll let Tom know, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to fuck it out of y-"

Mattheo's eyes turned icy, his rough voice slicing through the air like a blade of frost. "Berkshire, I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut before someone decides to shut it for you," he said, his tone frigid and devoid of any warmth. "Let's start the fucking game, yeah?"

Mattheo's attempt to restrain his anger only made his words sharper, emphasizing the dangerous edge lurking beneath his composed exterior--Blaise, seemingly sensing the danger rolling over the horizon, nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat as he scanned around the circle.

"Absolutely, let's get on with it," he chimed in, his tone more playful now. He turned his attention to Nott, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Nott, truth or dare?"

Nott, appearing unfazed by the tension that had just unfolded, raised an eyebrow and smirked back at Blaise.

"Dare," he replied confidently, his demeanor cool and collected.

Blaise's grin widened. "I dare you to snog the next person who enters this common room."

Nott chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the challenge. "Piece of cake," he said, leaning back casually, his eyes scanning the room for potential targets.

You caught yourself smiling at his causality, but when you noticed a familiar blonde haired girl walking in, her eyes scanning the room as though she was looking for someone, your heart stalled.

Blaise's voice cut through the silence. "Hey, isn't that-"

"Yes." You said, raising a hand to wave her over as her sight finally landed on you. "It is..."

Emily hurried over, her eyes widening in curiosity as she settled into the seat next to you, giving you a small greeting. The room seemed to hold its breath as Theodore stood up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ah, perfect timing," Theodore said, his voice smooth and confident. "Emily, was it? Lovely name. I've been dared to kiss the next person who enters the room, so I must inquire, do you have a boyfriend, and would you be amenable to participating in this little game?"

Emily blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Um, no boyfriend," she stammered, her gaze shifting nervously between Theodore and the expectant faces around her. "I guess...I mean, if it's just a game, sure, I guess that's fine."

The tension in the circle seemed to heighten as Theodore closed the distance between them, his eyes fixed on Emily's lips. The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath as he leaned in, his hand finding her chin, tilting her head back as his lips met hers in a brief, almost chaste kiss. The atmosphere crackled with a strange mixture of anticipation and awkwardness, your eyes meeting Mattheo's for a fleeting moment--one that felt as though it lasted forever, noticing his jaw tense and his eyes darken as he glimpsed your mouth, and then, as Theodore pulled away, a sly smirk played on his lips.

"There we go, a perfect dare fulfilled," he said as he reclaimed his seat, leaving Emily looking slightly dazed. "And that's how it's done, boys."

Theodore's triumphant tone hung in the air, echoing his satisfaction at successfully completing the dare. Emily, looking slightly embarrassed but surprisingly amused, exchanged a bewildered glance with you. It seemed like Theodore had a natural talent for both charm and mischief, a combination that made him rather unpredictable.

Blaise let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Well played, Nott," he said, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and approval. "I think we could all take some fucking notes."

Theodore's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned his attention to Malfoy, who sat back, looking unfazed despite the intensity of the situation.

"Malfoy, truth or dare?" he asked, his voice dripping with calculated curiosity.

Malfoy, never one to back down from a challenge, arched an eyebrow. "Dare," he declared, his confidence unshaken.

"I dare you to serenade the group," Theodore proclaimed with an impish grin after a few moments of thought, his eyes flicking toward Pansy. "And Pansy here gets to pick the song."

You couldn't stifle the smile that crawled its way across your face as Malfoy's expressions dropped, Pansy sitting up straighter against the back of the couch as though she'd just been abruptly woken up from a slumber. As she pondered her thoughts for a moment, a sly smile crawled across her lips while she turned her attention to Malfoy.

"I heard this charming Muggle song recently. 'Can't Help Falling in Love' by Elvis Presley, do you know it?" When Malfoy groaned, reluctantly nodding, her grin widened. "Perfect. Sing it, Malfoy, let's see if you can capture the essence of a true romantic."

Malfoy, never one to shy away from a challenge, dropped the grumbling act and accepted the dare with a smirk. He stood up gracefully, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt with an air of confidence. The room fell into a hushed silence, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

With a deep breath, Malfoy launched into the Muggle love ballad, his voice slightly off-key but filled with an unexpected sincerity. Each word spilled out in an earnest attempt, and despite the imperfections, there was a genuine effort in his performance. The room was soon filled with laughter as Malfoy's melodramatic rendition took an unintentionally humorous turn.

His eyes, though, couldn't escape the challenge in Pansy's choice of song. As he sang, they occasionally flicked toward her, acknowledging the audacious choice. The laughter and amusement echoed around the room, mingling with the bittersweet undercurrent of emotions that danced in the air.

Amidst the laughter, Mattheo remained as serious as ever, his eyes continually locking onto you. For a brief moment, your gaze met his, and in that exchange, a torrent of memories flooded your mind--past moments shared in secret, a connection that had once felt unbreakable. The juxtaposition of Malfoy's performance and Mattheo's unwavering stare stirred something deep within you, a mixture of nostalgia, regret, and an unspoken longing that lingered in the pit of your stomach, leaving you both captivated and unsettled.

As his show finally came to an end, Malfoy took a bow, the circle erupting into a laughter-filled applause. As he returned to his seat, Pansy wore a satisfied grin, clearly happy with her choice, and Theodore looked especially pleased, reveling in the success of his dare.

"Quite impressive, Malfoy," Theodore remarked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Your secret talents never cease to amaze us."

Malfoy simply shrugged, his usual arrogance back in place. "Naturally," he replied, the corners of his lips quirking up in a subtle smile. "Now, who's next? How about you, Ravenclaw, truth or dare?"

You felt a sudden knot tighten in your stomach as Malfoy turned his attention toward you, his silver eyes sharp and calculating. The weight of the room seemed to press down on your shoulders as the spotlight shifted onto you. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each more precarious than the last. Truth might lead to questions about Tom or Mattheo, both topics you desperately wanted to avoid.

So, with a forced nonchalance that barely masked your anxiety, you replied, "Dare."

You hoped against hope that the dare he gave you wouldn't plunge you into deeper waters, although the mischievous glint in Malfoy's eyes suggested he had something particularly devious in mind--and of course, you most definitely were fucking right.

"I dare you to go into the broom closet with Berkshire for fifteen minutes."

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief at Malfoy's audacious dare, your voice laced with incredulity.

"Are you completely mental?" you scoffed, glancing at Berkshire, who seemed equally stunned. "There's no way I'm voluntarily locking myself in a broom closet with him for fifteen minutes. We will undoubtedly end up tearing each other's heads off."

Berkshire, never one to miss an opportunity to mock, chimed in, "Yeah, I'm not signing up for a murder-suicide pact tonight, thanks."

"What's the matter, Raven? Afraid of a little close quarters?" Malfoy, clearly enjoying your discomfort, taunted, "you two certainly have no problems running your mouths at each other in public. I think a little private meeting might be good for you."

You clenched your fists, trying to rein in your irritation. "I promise you, I'm not afraid...I'd just prefer not to be expelled a few months from graduation."

"Fine, fine...you're a bloody baby," Malfoy retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since you're so picky, how about Mattheo instead. He's not scared of a little closet, are you, Riddle?"

Your eyes darted to Mattheo, his expression stoic, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. The room seemed to tighten around you, a sense of foreboding settling in your bones as Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his eyes glittering with concealed anger as he put down his cup and stood up. The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken hostility. His voice was low and steady, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Fifteen minutes," he said curtly, his gaze fixed on the broom closet. "Knock when it's up."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his determined stare. There was a whirlpool of something in his eyes, something you couldn't quite decipher--anger, frustration, or maybe something entirely different. As he gestured toward the closet, you felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

With a deep breath, you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. You walked toward the closet, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on your back. The door creaked open, and you both stepped inside, the darkness enveloping you as it closed shut behind you with a soft click. Inside the closet, the air was close, your breaths mingling in the confined space as you stood facing each other with hardly enough room to turn around if you tried to.

The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the tension between you almost suffocating. It was a daring game, one neither of you had expected to play, and now you were trapped together, the world outside the closet slipping away into nothingness, the tense energy in the room vibrating through your bones as the  silence grew to be unbearable, neither of you daring to speak.

Finally, Mattheo spoke, his voice rough like gravel underfoot, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder in the night. "You let him kiss you."

His words weren't a question, but weren't really a statement either--it was as though he was repeating something, reading something off a sheet of paper, trying to make sense of it, each syllable carrying a weight of disbelief, as if he was grappling with a reality he couldn't quite accept. Your pulse increased, your lungs stalling, his tone laced with something you couldn't quite place--accusation, curiosity, or maybe a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes," your throat felt tight as you admitted your actions. "I did."

It was a confession, a truth you couldn't deny, even if you wanted to. The darkness seemed to amplify the weight of your words, and you could almost feel Mattheo's gaze piercing through the shadows, seeking answers. And even though you could hardly see Mattheo's face in the darkness of the closet, you could smell the hint of alcohol radiating off of him, not as strong as it usually was, but still enough to make your head spin. Mattheo's breath, warm and laced with the remnants of the party, washed over your face. His next question sliced through the air, sharp and accusatory.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, echoing with frustration and confusion. "You said you don't-"

"I don't." You cut him off, already knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Not at fucking all."

The words spilled out, tinged with defiance, but beneath that was a current of vulnerability. You knew the truth of your feelings, but convincing Mattheo seemed like an insurmountable task in the darkness.

"Then why?" he pressed again, his tone more insistent, as though he needed you to unravel this mystery for him. "You're playing him...you're playing him like a fucking flute, yeah?"

His accusation hung in the air, a challenge, a plea for an explanation that made sense of the tangled web of emotions between you, and for some reason, all it did was further your anger.

"Does that bother you, Riddle?" you hissed, your voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. You shifted your weight, locking eyes with him, your gaze narrowed and intense. "Did you think you were the only one capable of playing games? Or maybe you think it’s only okay when you do it?"

The words carried a raw edge, a blend of defiance and accusation, challenging him to confront his own actions and hypocrisy. Mattheo's throat worked as he swallowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Raven, you're playing with fire-" he began, his voice a low warning.

"Don't even go there," you cut him off, your words dripping with venom. "I am the shape you made me, Mattheo...filth teaches filth..."

Your voice trailed off, the darkness of the closet adding weight to your words. You tilted your head, catching a glimpse of his parted lips and furrowed brows, a mix of frustration and barely-restrained anger etched on his features.

"And even still," you continued, your tone biting, "I could only dream to be as skilled at it as you are."

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn't quite place, as your words hung in the air like a heavy fog. The anger and dread that had gripped you moments ago seemed to dissipate, replaced by an almost palpable tension. His energy shifted, seeping out of the closet through the cracks in the door, leaving a lingering, painstaking atmosphere in its wake.

You stood there, anxiety coiling in your chest, completely unaware of how close the two of you were until this very moment. His presence loomed over you, a silent force that you couldn't escape, and yet, a part of you didn't want to. His chest rose and fell with each intense breath, the confined space amplifying the weight of his proximity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and even if there were, you found yourself rooted to the spot, knowing that not even a fucking fire could force you to move.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, either." He whispered.

You paused. “You-“

"You haven’t left my mind…not even once." His words hung in the air like a sinful confession, catching you completely off guard. “Do you know how fucking annoying that is, Raven? Having to act like you’re not haunting me at all seconds of the fucking day?”

Utter shock seized you, your body tensing involuntarily. You stared at his face, desperately searching for any signs of deceit, but found none.

“The mind works in funny ways,” he said. “Memory…memory taps a fucking gun to your skull and demands you bring back the dead…meanwhile, the dead is out kissing my fucking brother in front of me…”

His gaze bored into yours, raw and unguarded, leaving you utterly defenseless against the truth he laid bare.

“I know we called things off, I know I used you in the beginning, I know I was a fucking asshole to you, and I’m…I’m fucking sorry..." his body seemed to vibrate with restrained emotion, his fists clenched at his sides, as though he was waging a war within his mind. "There’s so many girls out there, Raven...so fucking many that I could distract myself with, but it would do nothing...it's your body, it's your fucking pussy on my mind..."

Each word hung between you, heavy and charged with unspoken longing, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. "Matt-"

Mattheo stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his chest almost brushing against yours but not quite daring to touch. The tension between you crackled in the air, your every nerve on edge. His eyes, dark and searching, drilled into yours, seeking answers to questions you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

"Were you thinking of me?" His voice was a low rumble, an undercurrent of intensity underscoring his words. "When you're with him...every time you close your eyes, who do you see?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers trembling at your sides. The room seemed to spin, the air growing thin as your lungs struggled to draw in oxygen.

"You." The word escaped your lips, a fragile admission that hung between you, heavy with the weight of truth. "Always, always you."

Mattheo exhaled, his breath rushing out like a dam breaking, as though he had been holding it in, afraid of your response. His lips parted, wetted by a tongue that seemed to have forgotten how to form words.

"That's right..." he murmured, his voice barely audible over the racing of your hearts. "You know I'm your best-kept secret, Raven...why don't you show me like you know and believe it..."

His words lingered in the charged atmosphere, a challenge and a plea, leaving you suspended in the moment, torn between the past and the present, between what was and what could be.

Your voice wavered with a mix of concern and disbelief. "You're drunk, aren't you, Mattheo..."

"I'm not drunk." His reply was swift, like a crack of lightning. "I've barely had one fucking drink, I'm as sober as I've ever been...and even if I hadn't quit all that shit, there'd be no way I could drink tonight anyways."

Your breath hitched, your eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign that this was some kind of sick joke. "Why?"

Mattheo emitted a low chuckle, but it lacked any warmth, carrying a sinister edge that sent shivers down your spine. "Because, if I was drunk, I wouldn't have been able to control myself...I would have knocked my own brother out fifty fucking times over without even a second thought…not a fucking soul in that room would have been able to stop me..."

His words hung heavy in the air, an ominous promise that draped over you like a suffocating cloak, leaving you with a chilling realization that the tangled web of your past was far from unraveling.

"You fucking ruin me, Raven..." his voice was a low, guttural whisper, dark and haunting, sending a shudder through your limbs. "That stare...it makes me fucking want things..."

Your eyes widened, his words wrapping around you like a vice, constricting your thoughts.

"Things...like what?" you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible.

Mattheo ran a trembling hand through his tousled hair, the veins in his hands standing out in stark relief, a silent testament to the intensity of his emotions. His eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, were now clouded with a raw, primal desire, a longing that had been hidden for far too long.

"Things like my fist in your hair and my cock in that pretty fucking mouth..." he growled, his voice cracking with the weight of his desire. "Things like bending you over in the middle of that party just to show every asshole out there who you belong to..."

Your mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spinning out of control, unable to comprehend anything except the burning desire that consumed you.

"Holy fuck..." the words escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, a testament to the overwhelming intensity of the moment. "Mattheo, I...."

Mattheo's eyes, darker than you'd ever seen them, searched yours desperately. "Can I touch you, Raven?" he pleaded, his voice a raw, heartfelt plea. "Please, let me fucking touch you."

In response, you barely managed to nod, your throat tight with anticipation. And then, his lips crashed onto yours with a fervor that made up for all the lost time, all the weeks of distance and silence. His kiss was passionate, demanding, a fiery reunion of lips and souls that ignited a wildfire between you two. His hands, warm and possessive, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, sealing the gap that had kept you apart for far too long.

In that moment, every wall you had built around your heart crumbled, the fragments falling away like ash in the wind. You surrendered to the storm that was Mattheo Riddle, his touch setting your skin ablaze, his kiss a tempest that swept you off your feet. He was your drug, your haunting addiction, an irresistible pull that defied reason and logic. No matter how far you tried to run, no matter the crazy measures you took to stay away, you always found yourself right back where you started--entangled in his arms, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of his presence.

Mattheo broke the kiss, his hands gripping you as if he feared you might vanish into thin air. His lips trailed down to your jawline, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against your skin. "I can taste your fucking pain, Raven...is that because of me?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes," you admitted, your vulnerability laid bare before him. "Having experienced both, I'm not sure what hurts more...intense feeling, or the absence of it..."

"The absence...without a fucking doubt," he whispered, his touch on your skin sending electric sparks through your veins. His presence felt overwhelming, his breath warm against your neck in the dimness of the closet. "I know he's good for you...I know he's every fucking thing that you need...but I-"

"No." Your hands tightened around his neck, nails digging into his skin. "He could be fucking everything and more...he's just...he's not you."

Mattheo's teeth grazed your earlobe, a shiver running down your spine as your words spun in the silence between your bodies. Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the dark curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline in the midst of a storm.

"Better men could have you, Raven...I won’t deny that," he admitted, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. "But they'll have to get through me, now...I will leave such a fucking imprint on your soul that anyone you entertain after me will have to physically know me in order to fucking attempt to understand you..."

His declaration felt like a promise, an unspoken commitment that bound you to him in a way that transcended mere words. In that moment, you realized that you were not just giving in to desire; you were surrendering to something far more profound and all-encompassing. Mattheo wasn't just another flame to be extinguished; he was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, leaving behind scorched earth and a desire that defied reason.

You pulled him closer, sealing the unspoken pact with a fervent kiss, letting the intensity of your emotions guide your actions. In that dim closet, amidst the whispers of Slytherin secrets and the echoes of your tangled past, you found solace in Mattheo's arms, embracing the chaos that came with wanting someone you shouldn't, knowing that in the end, the heart wants what it wants, regardless of the consequences.

The air in the closet felt charged with a potent blend of desire and desperation as you pulled away, gasping for air. The intensity of the moment coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless and exhilarated. Your eyes locked onto Mattheo's, your voice raw and unsteady, yet laced with conviction.

"You might be bad…so fucking bad for me, Mattheo," you whispered, your words hanging in the small space between you, "but I fucking want you...there's no one else..."

“Fucking hell, Raven…” Mattheo let out a low, guttural groan, his hand slithering up to grip your face gently, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. His stormy eyes bore into yours, his voice a gravelly murmur, carrying the weight of his emotions. “You’re my little devil, aren’t you?”

You smirked. “Yes…I am…”

"I'm in deep, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath warm and sweet. "Merlin knows we both feel it...you hold my fucking fate, so seal it…”

With those words, you closed the distance between you yet again, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, his hands slithering down to grip your backside with enough force to make you groan into his mouth. And just as things began escalating, just as your hands were trailing their way down the front of his body, reaching for his belt, there was a knock at the door.

"Fifteens up."

————————

Find seventeen->

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 50

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: getting close.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hate the smell of hospitals. It clings in your nose even after you leave. You can taste it. It dries out the mouth. It stains like the blinding lights against the sterile walls. Your vision is washed out in the hangover of your outing. 

The doctor took your blood. He asked questions too but you didn’t answer them. Ann did. Even if you had tried, you wouldn’t have gotten a word in. 

You left with another appointment scheduled and an endless list of rules. No caffeine, no lunch meat, no hot baths, only sleep on your side... Your body is a prison. It always has been but now, it’s like solitary confinement. Dark and isolating. You can’t see the way out. 

You sit in the back of the car, staring at the seat in front of you. Like a child. She didn’t stop you from sitting back there but you can’t sit beside her. Maybe she prefers it too. Her touch has always said more than her words. She despises you. 

The colours of the city blur. Pallid and dull with the late dregs of winter. You hug yourself and a new tide of nausea overwhelms you as you touch your stomach. You try not to. It’s a reminder. You’re not showing yet, not there, but in other ways. You can feel it even if you can’t see it. 

Ann sighs as she rolls slowly down the suburban street. You recognise the brick house. You rarely see the outside of it. She hits the button below the rear view mirror and the garage door opens. You know what they do. They don’t let you out of the car outside, only in the garage. They’re hiding you. 

As she pulls in, you slump against the door. She unlocks the doors and clicks the button on her belt. You unhook your own seat belt and follow her at a delay. It’s easier to just do everything she wants. 

She hums as she stands, “oof, I’m sore,” she complains, “will you get the door.” 

You nod and go to the button mounted on the wall. Before you can hit it, a grizzly voice wafts through the frigid air, blowing in with the wind under the open garage door. Your hand lingers before the close button but doesn’t hit it. 

A man ducks to see through, “hi, excuse me,” he says as he raises a hand above him to grip the metal, “I’m looking to deliver a package...” 

“Oh, a package?” Ann echoes, “I’m not expecting anything.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s for... Dr. Steve Kemp?” He shifts the flat box under his arm to read it. “It’s pretty cold out here. Think you can take it off my hands?” 

“Why, of course,” she strides along the length of the car, “I’m his wife.” 

The man nods as she approaches and his grey blue eyes wander over to you. His dark stubble refines the angle of his jaw as a tuque covers his hair. You squint. He’s familiar but you don’t know how. He stares for a moment then hands over the package, “just sign here.” 

He takes out his phone and presents it to her. She drags her finger over the screen then pulls back to examine the box, “thank you, sir. Bit late for a delivery.” 

“Got backed up with the ice up on the freeway. Everyone’s taking the back roads today.” 

“Ah, makes sense,” she says, “well, you have a good day.” 

“You as well, ma’am.” 

He backs up and marches off without another look or word in your direction. She looks down at the box and rolls her eyes. She backs up.  

“Close the door. It’s freezing.” 

You tap the button and the door descends with the thrum of the motor above. You wait for her to go inside first before you follow. You hear the kids and Steve’s low timbre. You wonder why the courier didn’t knock on the front door. Maybe he did but couldn’t be heard. The TV is blaring as the kids giggle and holler. 

“Steve,” Ann calls out as you leave your shoes on the mat, “you got a delivery.” 

He doesn’t answer. She keeps on down the hall and drops the package on the side table against the wall. She stops to peer into the front room. 

“Honey,” she says curtly, “package.” 

“Alright,” he says, slightly agitated as he helps Harper build blocks into a castle. “Thanks. Any idea what it is?” 

“I don’t know. Looked like more of those magazines. Aren’t those supposed to go to your office?” 

“Could be an old subscription,” he shrugs. You stand back in the shadows but he finds you, “how’d it go?” 

“Fine. She’s on track. She’ll have a scan next week,” she sniffs. “You made a mess in here.” 

“The kids are bored. It’s too cold to go outside,” he grumbles. 

“As long as I’m not the one cleaning it up,” she tuts. 

“Love you too, honey,” Steve says dryly.  

“Got enough to worry about with the baby...” she mutters, “I’m thinking of sending out a card as an announcement.” 

“Ann, really? No one cares about a third kid,” he chuckles. 

“I care,” she snips. “Aren’t you excited?” 

“Of course I am. I just don’t see why it needs to be a whole broadcast.” 

You shrink away from their argument as the children give pause at their parents’ tones. They might be young but there’s an obvious tension there. You don’t dare interrupt. 

“It’s a big deal,” she growls. “It’s almost dinner time. Did you take out the chicken like I asked?” 

“I promised the kids pizza. Figured we’d order.” 

“Pizza? It’s so expensive these day--” 

A knock cuts her off and she winces. She huffs and shakes her head. “Busy day.” 

“Could be Jeff. He borrowed my drill.” 

“Tell him to keep it,” she ignores the door and struts back down the hall. “You never use it anyway.” 

You flatten yourself against the wall to let her pass. You stare up the stairs, wondering if you should just go and hide. When they need you, they’ll find you. 

“Get the door, will ya, sweetie?” Steve says. 

You hesitate. That’s all you are these days. A thing to be used. You’re not a person to them. Just a means to an end. You nod. 

You go down the hall to the door. You’re nervous. You don’t like strangers. You’ve had enough of them for the day. All those nurses poking and prodding and preening over that thing inside of you. 

Just get it over with. You make yourself open the door. 

Before you can say a word, you’re name whispers with the wind. You’re seized and pulled into a hug. You barely catch a glimpse before the woman has you in her arms. You can smell her. She always smells of cinnamon. 

“You’re alive,” she says. “Oh my god, you’re alive.” 

“Huh?” You wriggle in confusion, “Amber?” 

“I’ve been...” she loosens her hold but keeps her hands on your arms. “I’ve been looking for you. All these months. I’ve been...” her eyes gleam with tears. “I’ve been so afraid.” 

You’re frozen by more than the chill creeping in around her. Something cracks. Like a toothpick between your fingers, you feel it. All those weeks of hiding behind a wall, of telling yourself not to feel, to just get through it. It’s more than her being there, it’s the care and gentleness in her touch. That’s different. 

She lets you go and holds you at arm’s length, “hey, bub, what’s... you okay? Come on, let’s go home.” 

You blink at her. You look around at your eyes burn with a glimmer of tears, “what?” 

“Home, bubba. Please.” 

“Why?” You breathe. 

“Why? Because...” her voice trails off as you sense a shadow behind you. 

You turn as Steve stands in the doorway, his hands on his childrens’ shoulders. His eyes narrow and his jaw squares, “kids, go find your mother.” 

“Daddy?” Avery says. 

He hushes her and nudges them both down the hall. They run up the stairs and he turns to face you. And Amber. You don’t like the way he looks at her. 

“Ah, took you long enough,” he steps up next to her. “Right, dove? She really took her time. Almost like she doesn’t care at all.” 

You look between them, a sinking sensation rising in your chest. “What?” 

You can’t understand any of it. That wall is slowly crumbling. The only protection you have from any of this. The only thing keeping you from destroying yourself. 

“As if you do, doctor!” Amber snaps.  

He snorts, “as far as I have it, I’m the only one who ever tried to help you find her. Thanksgiving wasn’t that long ago, was it? You can’t blame me for your lack of follow up--” 

“Bullshit,” Amber snarls, her tone and words frightening you. “I’ve been searching for months. I’ve been tearing my hair out and you’ve had her all this time. Do you understand what that man’s been doing? He just sits outside my house and--” She throws her hands up, “you’re just like him.” 

“I’m helping this poor woman escape years of abuse and neglect. Neglect of her mental wellbeing, narcissistic abuse, using her to prop yourself up--” 

“I never—she's my sister. I take care of her.” 

“You do, Amber? So where have you been?” Steve chuckles. 

She lunges forward but doesn’t reach Steve as he steps back and she’s caught from behind. Another man stands behind her, his arm hooked around her middle as he restrains her. It’s him, the delivery man. You recognise him now. He was on her Insta. 

“Amb, please, calm down,” he holds onto her, “shhh, come on. Everyone, let’s be calm.” 

His voice alone puts his words into effect. You feel calm. He slowly releases Amber and squeezes her sleeve. He looks between you and Steve.  

Steve grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, “I should call the police. You’re disturbing my family--” 

“She’s my family,” Amber growls. “Bub, please, come home.” 

“This doesn’t have to be hostile,” the other man says. “We came here to bring her sister home. That’s all.” 

“She is home--” 

“Ask her,” Amber cries out. “Look at her. I know she wants to come home. Right, bubba? Ask her. Ask. Her.” Amber’s close to tears as she begs, “please. Listen to her. Why does no one listen to her?” 

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. She’s right. No one listens, not if you don’t say what they want. No one but her. Your sister. The only person you ever had. The one who kept you behind her when your mother was having one of her fits, the one who told you to lock the door when the screaming got loud, the one who held you even when it hurt too much to be touched. 

The one who loves you.  

“Home. I want to go home,” you say and try to push past Steve. He turns and holds you, an arm across your chest. “No, home. With her. Amber--” 

You reach for her but he keeps you from getting to her. Amber extends her arm as you wriggle against the restraint. You stomp your feet and thrash. 

“This isn’t my home!” You holler. “This isn’t--” You’re breathless and dizzy. “Amber, help! Amber!” 

“Let her go, man,” the other man says. He’s taller than Steve. He steps up, filling the doorway. 

“Curtis,” Amber whines. 

“She’s not fit. She’s manic. Having an episode. You don’t understand. She’s in treatment. I’m a doctor--” 

“She says she wants to go.” That man, Curtis, grits through his teeth. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ann snarls sourly as she comes down the stairs, “there are children in this house.” 

“Shouldn’t be,” Curtis sneers. “The meaning is simple. We came for her, we’re not leaving without her.” 

“And who the fuck are you, pal?” Steve puts himself between you and the door. Ann latches onto your wrist and tugs you back. 

“Let her go!” Amber cries out. 

You twist your wrist free as the room tilts and spins around you. Your head bobbles as you look around at the hazy figures. You back up and turn, racing away from the chaos. You hear your sister wail and that man she’s with snarls. There’s footsteps and a clamour. A mess all around. 

You hurl yourself upwards and stumble over the top step. You’re not thinking, just doing. You burst into the guest room and tear open the drawer in the nightstand. You grab your sweater and your journal and a few random pieces of clothing. You bundle it all up and charge back out. 

“Fuck off of her!” Curtis barks. 

“She’s trespassing,” Steve snarls. 

“Oh, stop it! Stop it!” Ann shrieks, “would you stress a pregnant woman like this? Oh my, oh my!” 

You barrel back down the stairs and stop at the bottom. You look at Ann as she touches her stomach. You curl your lip and the realisation startles on you. Locking you up in the room, not letting you out front, keeping you inside all day long... 

“What is all that?” She turns on you. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Come on, bub,” Amber shouts as Ann grabs your ear. “Let her go, you bitch!” 

Steve slips in his socks as he tries to hold her back. He flies back as Curtis throws him into the wall and stomps forward. Ann cries out and cowers away as the sting of her pinch throbs in the shell of your ear. 

“Shoes,” Curtis snarls, “go get em.” 

You look down as he glances at your feet. He turns back and grabs Steve by the back of his sweater and drags him away from Amber. He spins him by the shoulder and pins him to the wall. He snaps his fingers. 

“Amb, help her find her shoes.” 

Amber squeezes by and Ann moves toward you. Your sister puts her arm across you and steps up to the other woman. 

“Touch her again and I’ll rip your pretty hair out,” Amber lurches as if she might actually do it. Ann shies away with a screech. 

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she keeps her hand on her stomach, “you wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.” 

You shrink away and scuttle down the hall to the mat by the garage. You bend down the back of your sneakers as you step into them. You come back as Ann sobs. 

“Oh, please, we were only helping her,” she rocks against the wall. “Please, don’t hurt my husband. Steve, baby, are you okay?” 

“Fucking take her,” Steve shoves Curtis off of him as he kicks his foot into the wall. “She’s broken anyway. Can’t fix that.” 

Curtis staggers a single step and tilts his head dangerously. His hand balls to a fist. “That’s fucked up, doctor.” 

“Curt,” Amber puts her arm around your shoulders and ushers you forward, “let’s just go.” 

“Yeah, fucking run like you do from everything, Dove. Isn’t that how it goes?” Steve snarls. 

You stop beside him and waver. Amber stops too. You look at her and nod. You pull away and she lets you go. You face Steve with watery eyes. 

“You’re evil. I hate you.” You say. “You don’t deserve those children. Or mine.” 

His eyes flare and he stands straight. Curtis looms and you turn away. You walk forward and Amber follows. You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re going home. 

[cuprohastes]

Ludicrous speed.

Let me tell you about humans. They’re shit. No exoskeleton, they need to pour water into their face all the time, no plumage, they can’t even sense magnetism.

They’re wobbly squishy things who walk around looking at the world with jelly blobs, leaking their most important resource out of their skin.

And you hear that they’re the Galaxy’s most dangerous species.

And they’re not, they really aren’t.

The Ixnar are. The Ixnar will get halfway through a genocide before they start to wonder why they’re doing it. The Ixnar will fire relativistic weapons and not give a solitary nnuniq what they’ll hit later on down the line.

Humans? They start by coming up with a reason to be terrifying, and then they refine it as they go. See? They give you fair warning. They think about stuff. They’ll talk to you first, then do something horrifying.

But if you don’t give them that chance, then… well, that’s on you.

And I never believed that reputation. I’d worked with humans for years, and I’ve never seen them do anything more than carry stuff, sing songs, eat barbaric food and sleep. About what you’d expect from a pack animal - Useful, affable, but…. dangerous?

It is to laugh.

Anyway.

The Ixnar.

They sent a raiding party to my homeworld. I couldn’t believe it, I was in shock when their ships entered atmosphere and started firing on our cities.

I was ready to go down and help the survivors - Of course I was!

The Humans?

Well they got angry. Like angrier than they had a right to be. And they’re humans, right? They get angry, they do something with it.

They didn’t want to go down and help the survivors, they wanted to go down and murder the raiders.

You know… they actually hailed the Ixnar and asked them, begged them, even tried to trade with them to stop their attack.

The Ixnar hung up and… the Humans dropped hell on them.

In a cargo freighter. A human cargo freighter.

They love their aerobraking. So they have these huge shields and magnetic fields to manage plasma: They come in, and they trade speed for heat and then coast and shed the heat.

Not this time. I thought we were going to die - They pointed the ship at the planet, and they came down so hard I could hear the air through the hull.

We didn’t even need cabin lights.

And then… they lit the main drives. A thing no sentient would ever do in atmosphere. Because it’s suicide. Absolutely: We were already moving at fifty times faster than the speed of sound, and then they decided they needed to be faster.

And they got it. Because they were angry on behalf of people they never met. They just decided that physics didn’t matter. The hull wasn’t important. Fuel? Engines? Ha! Who cares, right? They’ll just get out and flap their arms if they need to, with a kitchen knife between their teeth.

You know what happens if a fighter skiff gets hit with a shockwave like that? They go away. They stop being anything you could call a thing.

And you know, Humans don’t send out Cargo ships without protection. I mean, their hulls alone are insane. But they also like to carry a little punitive hardware.

About as much as most species warships.

Beam weapons, ballistic slugs, missiles, Field spinners, and those fucking Polaron cannons.

Yeah, nobody has worked out how that works. They’re Polarons. And the humans figured out how to make them hurt.

And they were firing on these little warships from inside a cloud of plasma. And really that shouldn’t work at all, And they just did it anyway. It was terrifying, and I was on the inside, looking out and I was scared.

Then the humans aimed the nose at the mothership. The captain said… And I won’t stop hearing those words ever: “If the Polaron cannons won’t do it, let’s see if ramming speed will do the trick.”

And the crew cheered. They cheered!

I can only imagine the Ixnar command looking down and seeing a hole ripped in the atmosphere, seeing their skiffs flash into non existence and then a boiling finger of cloud just reaching up to point at them.

Did they even remember the human cargo ship that reached out to them? Did they even recognise the glowing white-hot dot of pure fury coming for them?

And when the Polaron cannon lit up, did they even recognise what was happening before their bridge melted?

I hope so. I hope that for a moment they realised they’d fucked up so badly that they got everyone killed and the humans were Big Mad at them.

Me? I was trying not to scream. I was pretty sure that I was going to die, but also? Die like a human. You really understand what blaze of glory means when you’re actually on fire and it doesn’t matter.

Anyway we didn’t have to kill the Ixnar by slamming into them, but the Captain had to eject the engines, and most of the hull because uh, well it was kind of on fire.

Two days later the rescue and relief team picked us up and let me tell you, we were all really drunk at that point.

But yeah.

Humans aren’t dangerous. And yes I would very much like another drink, most kind of you to offer.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 71: Alexander's Appreciation

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: body control, torture, assault, solitary confinement, mind breaking

April 1815

The music didn't sound like music any more.

Lex had been playing the same piece, again and again, part by part, for what was probably several hours, which meant he still had most of the day left to go. He was occasionally afforded a glass of water -- as much as Lex sometimes wished he'd simply be too ill or injured for training, his master had a way of ensuring that he was just alive enough to continue.

And so he played his piece, which had ceased to sound like a song to Lex weeks ago. That was how long he had been practicing it, he thought. It wasn't a song, but rather a series of thousands of mechanical movements that all needed to be carried out with exact timing and precision.

It didn't even matter that Lex was so bone tired. It used to matter, back when he trained at the music school, back with Master Laurent and Master Nelson. They always encouraged Lex to play and sing with passion, with energy and feeling, and that was easiest to do when he was well rested.

The Maestro didn't want any of that. His idea of perfection was to strip Lex's performance of any semblance of personality, so that it may as well be the piano playing itself. And Lex had found that it was easiest to do when he was too tired to fight it, too tired to do anything but lose himself in the rhythm of the song and the feel of the keys under his fingers.

That didn't mean he didn't make mistakes, though. There were always mistakes.

"Three. An improvement," said his master.

Lex silently stood up, stepped away from the piano, and kneeled in the designated spot for his teacher to lay his blows upon him. They were mercifully light, today, and he barely noticed the pain, just grateful to have a chance to rest his fingers.

"That's enough for tonight. You're dismissed."

Lex kept his head bowed low to hide his surprise. "Thank you, master," he said, taking soft, measured steps out of the room before his master could move his legs for him. That training session had seemed much shorter than usual. Or perhaps his sense of time itself was off. Time held no meaning in this place, despite the tick of the clocks on the wall that dominated Lex's nights. Everything in the manor seemed frozen in an eternal, unchanging moment, much like his master.

As Lex walked down the gloomy hallway, carrying a flickering candle, he heard the sound of the piano behind him, playing the same piece that Lex was working on. His master often did this, and Lex was never sure if it was supposed to be instructive, or make Lex ashamed of his own deficiencies in comparison, or simply out of frustration that Lex's abilities would never meet his impossible standards.

There was a time when Lex would be glad to spend hours working out his mistakes in a piece, improving and refining it. Now, his playing was technically far better than it ever had been, but there was no longer a purpose to it. Even if he did achieve some nebulous perfection, there would be no one to hear it, no one with a heart.

It didn't matter any more. It wasn't music. It was a series of commands to carry out to escape punishment.

Lex tried to put his rumination out of his mind as he entered the kitchen. He was generally permitted to make himself a meal after his practice, except when his master arbitrarily decided he wasn't. Tonight, with the Maestro occupying himself at the piano, Lex felt somewhat confident in his momentary safety.

He made a plate of what was in the pantry -- bread, a bit of cheese, some dried meat -- and sat at the table. None of the other thralls were around. They usually gave Lex a wide berth, and Lex got the impression that they were pleased that their master had been so focused on his newest acquisition. Perhaps that would be his only escape. Perhaps he'd grow old, and the Maestro would find another young man with the qualities he sought, and Lex would collect dust in a forgotten corner of this forsaken place.

As Lex ate, he realized that he wasn't shivering and had no need to try and warm up his hands near the meager flame of the candle. The kitchen was significantly warmer than usual. Lex wondered if that meant it was warming up in the world outside his prison. It would have to eventually, wouldn't it? By his crude reckoning, it had been at least four months since the fateful night of his capture.

Spring… it would be spring in the outside world, in the places where time moved like normal. The snow would thaw and melt, and buds would appear on the trees, and flowers poke their heads out of the ground. The days would be longer and lighter, and the people of the city would emerge from their winter hibernation.

And Lex wouldn't be there to see it. He wouldn't see it ever again. He wouldn't see the fairs and festivities of the summer, he wouldn't see the riotous color of the autumn leaves. The freeze of winter would arrive again, and Lex would still be here, trying to eke out some warmth from a meager candle in the dark.

He'd never properly appreciated those days, always looking forward instead of stopping to enjoy himself. He'd always preferred to stay indoors with a good book. If only he'd known what was ahead of him, he would have soaked up as much fresh air and sun as he could.

He was startled by the loudness of his sob, only then realizing that he was crying. Stupid, stupid -- any unnecessary noise, any noise at all, would be punished. Practice had been light, there was food in the pantry -- this was as pleasant as it ever was for him, and he had to ruin it with his pointless ruminations.

Lex did his best to quiet his breathing and strain his ears, to listen for the approach of his master, the rhythmic taps of his feet down the hallway. Several minutes passed, and none came. Perhaps he hadn't heard Lex crying? That seemed impossible. His master's hearing was supernatural, and on previous occasions he'd heard Lex's smallest whimpers even when Lex was locked in his bedroom.

There was something else odd. The faraway sound of the piano had also stopped. Where was his master? The dread was getting to him.

His next chore this evening was sweeping, a chore which always took hours due to the size of the mansion and the fact that any missed spot that his master noticed would incur a punishment. Sweeping offered a thin excuse to look around to see where his master was and possibly how he was disposed. So, despite the warning in his mind, he walked back down the hallway towards the music room under the pretense of sweeping.

The dread chill in the air as Lex approached the music room made it clear that his master was still inside, but there was still no sound at all. Even the cleaning and maintenance of the instruments would produce some small noise.

Lex poked his head barely into the doorway, just enough to try and make out what was happening. The gas lamp was still lit from Lex's lesson, and as Lex's eyes adjusted, he could see the silhouette of his master at the piano. He was hunched over strangely, a far cry from his customary ramrod-straight posture. Lex had never seen him slouch or relax even slightly.

It looked as though one of his hands was covering part of his face. And was he shaking? Actually trembling?

Was he crying?

The more Lex watched, the more certain he became. It was a sight Lex never thought he would see, and it made him absolutely furious. Oh, he suspected almost from the first that his master was miserable -- it was written in every withering glare and disapproving word. But he couldn't stand the idea that the Maestro was crying in secret, as though he didn't hold all of the power, as though this wretched excuse for life weren't entirely of his own making.

Without warning, the Maestro whipped around to stare directly at Lex, eyes filled with unbridled fury. Before Lex could even scream, the wind was knocked from his lungs as he was thrown to the floor with invisible force, elbow cracking against the wood. Two slender, bony hands grasped the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall, the impact especially painful due to the enthrallment holding his body absolutely rigid.

"You were crying," the Maestro said.

So were you -- Lex bit his tongue before he could say it. "Yes, sir," he said, knowing that even the hint of a lie would earn him more punishment.

"You were feeling sorry for yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"What cause have you to feel sorry for yourself?"

Lex despised this, these questions that were always traps, where his master demanded answers and every answer was wrong. He had to pretend that missing his family or longing to see the sun again were transgressions that he must repent for and not the natural state of any man in his situation.

"I noticed that spring must be on the way, sir," he said, "and I was thinking of how much I'd enjoy seeing the outside world again."

"You wish to see the outside world?" his master said evenly. "You want to feel the sun on your face and the grass beneath your feet, smell flowers in the air and hear the laughter of people?"

The way his master described it almost made Lex start to cry again. "Yes, sir."

"And is that more important than achieving perfection in your musical studies?"

Music had been Lex's chief passion in life, and he'd thought he'd valued it over almost anything. But now, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd give it all up, never play the piano or sing or even listen to music ever again, if only he could be free.

"Yes, sir, it is."

"And what good do those things do you? What purpose do they serve?"

"They make me happy, sir."

"And this is why humans can't be trusted with their own fates. They'll choose an ephemeral notion of happiness over their own potential every time." He lowered Lex to the floor and forced him to kneel with his hands behind his back and head bowed low. "Humans so often fail to appreciate what they have, wouldn't you say?"

It felt like a trap. "Yes, sir."

"Then we agree that you need to be taught this valuable lesson."

Lex's body began to march stiffly down the hallway, with his master following along behind in lockstep. Terror filled Lex's heart. They weren't headed to the room where the Maestro kept the bulk of his tools of punishment. Whatever was going to happen, it likely wouldn't be an ordinary flogging or burning or carving of his skin. It would be something new, and in this place of stasis, novelty was always a threat.

The rickety spiral staircase leading into the basement creaked under Lex's feet as he was made to descend down, down, down into the dark. Lex's candle had been left at the entrance of the music room, and the Maestro carried no light. If Lex were not being puppeted by his master, he would certainly have fallen down the stairs.

Lex walked further into the inky pitch of the basement. He heard the rattling of chains, and an iron shackle was placed around one ankle, followed by the closing of a heavy metal door, the footsteps of his master, and then nothing.

Nothing.

Even as the minutes ticked on, Lex was entirely blind, as there wasn't even the smallest sliver of light to allow his eyes to adjust. The basement was completely silent as well, except for the sounds of Lex's own breathing and the clink of the chain on his ankle. He cautiously walked forward, outstretching his hands, and found a rough concrete wall on two sides of him, and thick iron bars on the other two sides. The floor beneath him was cold, and there seemed to be nothing else at all in the small amount of space that had been left to him.

His master wasn't returning to flog or beat him. His master wasn't returning at all. Lex realized with growing horror that the cell itself was the punishment -- his master intended to leave him here in the pure darkness, with no comfort and nothing to occupy his mind but his own dark thoughts.

"Master? Sir?" he called out. "Master, I'm sorry, sir."

There was, of course, no answer.

With nothing else to do, Lex did his best to make himself comfortable on the cold floor. At least, perhaps, he could sleep without being disturbed. If he could sleep through most of his punishment, it would be bearable. He closed his eyes and tried to dream of home.

---

His master's footsteps awoke Lex from his uneasy sleep for what might have been the hundredth time. So far, each instance had been a hallucination produced by his wary mind, on guard even in sleep, dreading his master's return but also dreading the thought that he might be left here in the dark forever.

It wasn't until the familiar power gripped his limbs, forcing him to kneel on the cold, hard concrete floor, that Lex knew the footsteps were real this time.

"Have you learned your lesson?" his master said. "Have you learned to appreciate what you have been given?"

His master could always, always tell when he was lying, and Lex certainly hadn't learned to appreciate the bleak hell of the manor just because he was alone in the basement. In some ways, it had been a relief. The floor was uncomfortable and cold, but he could rest and let his mind wander freely. His master wasn't flogging him or puppeting his body around or sinking his vile teeth into his flesh.

"No, sir, I haven't."

"Very well."

Lex heard the sound of a tray being placed on the floor.

"Bread and water, so that you don't perish before you've been educated."

"Thank you, sir." Lex had pushed his hunger and thirst from his mind as best as he could, but now it flared up again. As Lex carefully fumbled in the pitch darkness, careful to not upset the pitcher of water he'd been given, the rhythmic footsteps receded from his hearing and he was plunged into silence once more.

The bread was stale, but he gobbled it anyway. He'd learned not to be precious about his food early on. He'd never experienced actual hunger beyond being so engrossed in a book that he forgot to eat, but here, food was only provided at the whims of his master, and his master was so often displeased with him. So he ate whatever he was given without complaint. He was more careful with the water, reasoning that he would need to ration it.

Perhaps this is how it would be from now on. Perhaps he'd never go back upstairs and live the rest of his life in the dark. Perhaps he could endure it.

---

Lex dreamed.

He dreamed of sun and rain and wind, of the crunch of leaves under his feet and of soft snowflakes landing on his coat. He dreamed that the pitch blackness of the basement was actually a night sky filled with stars, and the concrete floor was actually a meadow blanketed with flowers, and that he was free.

He dreamed of his family, of his father's loud laughter and his mother's gentle smile. He imagined coming home to them somehow, bruised but unbroken, and being met with embraces and tears. He'd be swept up to his old bedroom as though he were a child, given a warm bath and tucked into bed, and the world of vampires would once again be no more than a frightening story.

He dreamed of going back to school, singing in the choir, attending to his studies, reading, reading, reading. He dreamed of seeing Anders again, as jovial as ever and ecstatic to see his old friend. He dreamed of a bright smile and strong arms and of other things that he'd rarely let himself entertain.

When he was unable to control his hunger, he dreamed mostly of food. His mind would conjure up a grand Christmas feast, the dining table filled to the brim with roast goose, fish, and mutton, mince pies and warm bread and butter and plum pudding. The wine flowed as freely as the laughter, and he could eat until he was stuffed and contented, falling asleep by the roaring fire. There was hot tea and wool blankets and candied fruits and nuts.

The dreams which always surprised him were the ones of gentle touch. Lex had never been the sort to desire caresses, even as a small child. He was often alone and preferred it that way. But here in the dark, that unfamiliar desire for touch became a desperate yearning. The thought of an embrace, a pat on the head, a soft hand in his -- it all set his nerves aflame as though it were something he needed more than food. Even his dreams did not sate him.

He dreamed of being a child again, of being in his mother's arms. It was the sort of thing that would have made him ashamed once, thinking he was too old for such things. It didn't matter any more. Few of the things that had filled his mind with worry then had truly mattered.

When his master arrived with his fourth tray of food and water, Lex once again said that he hadn't learned his lesson. He could bear being left alone with his dreams.

---

The precious boon of sleep that had made this punishment tolerable had left Lex, and he couldn't seem to retrieve it. He slept in fits and starts now, his anxious mind continuously jumping at illusions of noise.

His ability to direct his dreams went away along with his precious sleep. He no longer dreamed of friends and family and food and comfort. Now, when he dozed, he saw his master in every shadow, ripping him away from his home again and again. Even the imaginary comforts were torn from his grasp, leaving Lex shaking and gasping for air. The embraces he so wished for were replaced by blows from crops and fists, and the scar on his chest seemed to burn once more.

He was wrong. He couldn't take it any more, couldn't last one more minute alone in the darkness and silence. He could hardly even tell the difference between waking and sleeping, as both were plagued with nightmares, and the world was even darker with his eyes open than with them closed. And there was nothing, nothing, nothing to distract his mind or prevent him from slowly going mad.

He dreamed of being let out of the cellar, of being taken back upstairs and sitting in front of the piano once more, of being berated and flogged for his mistakes.

And in those dreams, he was happy to be out of the dark.

When he woke from that dream, he wept, because he knew then that his master had broken him.

He was still weeping when his master approached, unable to stop himself.

"Have you learned to appreciate what you have been given?"

"Yes, sir," he said, and he truly meant it this time.

"More than the sun and the grass? More than the spring? More than the outside world?"

"I don't understand, sir."

"You've learned to appreciate my instruction more than the void. Do you appreciate it more than the sun?"

No. The answer was no, of course. How could he ever prefer those bleak and torturous nights to the sunshine? But he couldn't bear to say that, to tell his master no and be left alone in the dark again. He heard the tray being set down and his master starting to walk away.

"Please, sir!" he cried out. "I appreciate what you've given me! Please take me back upstairs! Please teach me, sir!"

His master left, and Lex wailed into the empty basement, utterly wrecked. If that was his master's condition, then he'd never leave this place. He could never learn to value the bleak manor and his master's torture over his freedom. It was impossible. Not only would he never see the sun again, he'd never even see the warm light of a flickering candle.

Unless…

Unless he could convince himself of the truth of it. Down here, he had all the time in the world to convince himself of anything.

---

Lex sat up as straight as he could against the concrete wall, placing his fingers precisely on the imaginary piano, practicing his musical piece in the air, the sound of the keys so clear in his head. He played it over and over again until he was too weary to go on, and when he made mistakes he slapped and pinched himself.

He would appreciate his master's instruction. He would. He did.

He sometimes still dreamed of his family and of Anders, but the dreams had turned sour. He dreamed of Anders forgetting him, moving on with his life, joyously greeting a summer that Lex would never see. They were out there, and they were happy, and they would never understand what Lex needed to do. They'd never understand that his perfection was more important than his happiness.

Lex continued to play even as he saw the flicker of a gas lamp, certain that it was just another illusion to distract him from his studies. He didn't stop when the flames illuminated his master's face. He only stopped when his master's power took his hands and stilled them.

"It's time for your lesson," his master said.

"Then… then I can return, sir?"

"You may."

His master bent down and unshackled Lex's leg. Lex could never stand on his own, weak as he was from his imprisonment, but his master's magic graciously forced him to stand. He followed his master out of the basement, as docile as a lamb, eager to serve.

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week, Oliver takes ill.

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[acapelladitty]

chance encounter (Scriddler fic)

Summary: Based on this stunning artwork by @finzphoenix which asks what would happen if Edward and Jonathan stumbled across each other earlier in their careers as costumed criminals?

Fresh off an extended shift, his hours having been dragged out by a suicide attempt from one of the solitary inmates - a thoroughly selfish choice in his opinion since it had delayed his personal plans - Jonathan Crane was not feeling particularly forgiving as his feet trudged through the empty streets of Gotham while he made his way home.

His plans for the evening were simple; consisting of picking up a cheap dinner and locking himself away at his desk to refine the hypothetical formulas for his most recent compounds. Something was necessary to strengthen the molecular bonds and he had no doubt that a full belly, warmed by at least two fingers of gutrot whisky would prove the key components to assist him in finding success.

Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't see the other man pounding towards him on the sidewalk until it was too late to prevent disaster.

Colliding at the chest with matching grunts of surprise, Jonthan was only just able to maintain his balance as he swayed precariously for a moment before planting his left foot behind him to stabilise his frame. The other man was not so lucky as his grunt of surprise dissolved into a hiss of pain as he fell backwards onto his ass; the papers in his hands spilling out to the dry ground with a panicked flutter of movement.

Jonathan took a moment to catch his breath as the fallen man quickly switched positions, his legs swinging around to allow him to bend forward on his knees - his hands rapidly collecting up his disjointed documents.

"Perhaps a visit to the optometrist if you are unable to see where you are going."

Jonathan heard the words as clear as day from a voice which held a showman quality, a smug clarity writhing within each syllable, and his expression soured as shock quickly turned to dismissal as his gaze dropped properly to the fallen man.

Hair a rich shade of darkened brown, the shape of it was coiffed into a comfortable style that kept the strands free of his frowning forehead. A dull white shirt paired with a blue vest jumper and dark slacks spoke of a career in technology, probably some form of IT from the lanyard which hung around his pale neck and remained unreadable from this angle.

"By all means," the man continued with a scathing tone as he remained facing the ground and snatching up his papers, "continue to watch me clear your mess as you stand there doing noth- oh."

His knees cold and uncomfortable as they pressed against the uneven ground, Edward was uncharacteristically lost for words as he finally glanced up at the tall man who loomed over him like the night sky. His body blocking most of the limited light available, Edward had to squint to truly make out his appearance and doing so had momentarily robbed him of his silver tongue and scornful words.

A shiver ran down his spine and it had nothing to do with the cold evening air. Icy, dark eyes met his own and the intensity of them was not marred in the slightest by the wire-rimmed glasses which perched atop the proud nose which sneered down at him. Thin lips and jagged features paired with a similar frame but Edward found himself unable to draw his gaze away from those eyes - the darkness making them seem almost predatory as a glint of something sparked a warning from the gloom.

With clothing which appeared old-fashioned and almost frayed in places, Edward's keen powers of deduction told him that his man worked as a doctor, more likely some kind of psychiatrist, as his appearance and the vague scent of hospital which clung to him suggested a clinical air that was hard to disguise.

"You seem to have it covered." Jonathan spoke after a moment, the younger man's silence having hung in the air for an awkward moment. "Surely picking up some paper is a one man job that you're more than capable of." Meeting the verbal disdain in kind, Jonathan allowed himself to indulge in his own appraisal.

The face of the kneeling man was young, almost boyish, but beset with an older man's worries as something heavy hung across his brow; a weight which gave voice to unspoken stresses. His mouth was fuller than his own and hanging slightly agape, his surprise seeming to have robbed him of some of his dignity, as his fingers splayed across the ground. Bright, emerald eyes shone from behind his glasses, the dark frames only enhancing the sparkling green below and Jonathan felt the dullest twinge of arousal as he tilted his head like a hawk.

Both men stared the other out for a long moment. It wasn't lost on Jonathan just how interesting it was that the other man seemed content to remain on his knees before him, making no effort to get up and try to even out the playing field by placing them on equal footing. For someone so clearly prideful, it held implications that he couldn't help but consider. Hell, it felt almost natural and Jonathan surprised himself with the odd thought; such base considerations typically beyond him as he focused on the things in life which mattered.

But his mind wandered.

Even with their short meet, he could smell the arrogance rolling off the other man and the small, dark part of him that only seemed to grow with age wished to see it broken. He would find himself silenced, that smart mouth put to better use as it serviced him willfully - his knees reddened and bruised by repeated use as he was shown how best to meet his wants. And if the lessons didn't take then perhaps he would benefit from testing out one of the experimental compounds he was developing in secret within the asylum, a toxin which would bring fear to light in any who consumed it.

Half-hard and thankful that the dark slacks and billowing hem of his tenchcoat would be enough to distract from it, Jonathan pushed past his wicked thoughts and held out a single hand to help the man to his feet.

Edward, broken out of his reverie with a startled glance at the thin fingers, accepted without thanks as he placed his papers in his free hand and stood to his feet.

Without another word, Jonathan released his hand and brushed past the openly flustered man with a staunch pace that brooked no further interactions. His offer of assistance was one born of selfishness as the rapid adjustment of his body gave him the perfect opportunity to gaze at his lanyard with a hawk-like precision.

Edward Nashton. GCPD.

Cyber Crimes Div.

With a name and a location, Jonathan pulled his coat tighter against his chilled frame as he refused to turn as take one final look back at Mr. Nashton.

Edward.

Smiling against the darkness which was quick to envelop him as he slipped down a side-alley, Jonathan had no doubt that he would be seeing him again.

[lurking-latinist]

👀👀 wanna say more about your eusocial timelord theory?

when you sent this ask like a year ago apparently I did not, for which I apologize.

now it's the wee small hours and I'm trying to clear out my asks. but eusocial time lords are so fun. forgive anything that doesn't make sense/jars weirdly in this, I'm trying to explain some quite spitbally worldbuilding.

among other things, it's an explanation for (1) why are there so few time ladies on screen and (2) that very strange thing in I think it's in Gallifrey where Pandora was 'the first female President' and apparently that's a big deal? but like why would a different planet (where they regenerate!!) have the same manifestations of sexism as we have? and also vaguely riffing on the VNAs lore that Gallifrey used to be a matriarchy and Rassilon overthrew it, but also kind of completely transforming that lore.

so forget gender, this is not about gender. "male"/"female" is at best a very rough translation of the binary that Gallifreyans are concerned with, which is worker/queen. They are bees!

The Time Ladies (i.e. Gallifreyans played by female human actors) that we see in the pre-War era (all of this applies to the pre-War era)--Romana, the Rani, Flavia, Inquisitor Darkel--are biologically the equivalent of insect queens. (And the Doctor, the Master, Borusa, the Floating Time Lord, Commander Maxil, etc. etc. are the equivalent of worker bees. The fact that the former all present as female and the latter all present as male is just sort of a translation convention/useful coincidence, I guess.) Gallifreyans evolved from a eusocial species and their early political structures were developments of the hive structure, with reproductive capacity strongly linked to political authority.

Presumably this is what Rassilon, or whatever revolutionary Rassilon stole credit from, is supposed to have overturned--the link between reproductive capacity and political authority. But in my version, it was before that that Looming became a thing: the queens had control of the Looms, so it was the ultimate refinement of their arts and sciences, and it was their way of getting rid of whatever drone class there used to be, if they weren't already parthenogenetic.

And that's why there's the stereotype in Gallifrey--mentioned in connection with Pandora, suggested as a concern about Romana--that a "female" (queen) President will be autocratic. It's seen as a potential return to "how things once were."

And then I did a lot of worldbuilding for how government worked at a stage in history when there was a sort of uneasy balance between reproductive and political power, but that was for a fic Moki was working on and I think she's still working on it, so no spoilers!

So what you end up with is a hive structure where the role of the queen has been sort of abstracted away into... well, the hive itself. The power at the heart of Gallifrey is Gallifrey. I feel like that explains a lot of what's wrong with them.

There might be another branch of the species that evolved away from eusocial structure into something more like solitary bees and that's the Shobogans, possibly, since nobody seems at all clear what the Shobogans are.

Also I read that with naked mole rats, the only eusocial mammal, there are a few in each colony that are predisposed to not fit into the colony and instead go and wander and find other colonies, to promote genetic diversity, and I'm just saying, renegades.

And after the War when there are often maybe two Gallifreyans left, that's why whatever's left of the hivemind keeps trying to get at least one of them to turn out as a Time Lady. Fortunately for the universe, neither of them seems that interested in reproducing.

[alilixx]

Hugh Laurie X FEM!READER

Hello, hello everyone! As promised, I'm making a SHORT Hugh Laurie x Fem!Reader which will be more NSFW for my girls <3 because I'm working on a longer one alongside with a James x Fem!Reader, so this is more of a "teaser." I PROMISE TO STAY AS ACTIVE AS POSSIBLE. WRITE SOMES SHORTS STORYS ARE THE BEST THING FRRR (i'm not struggling). Don't forget my request are open. Love u <3

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

After a tiring week at the office, you need to unwind, to escape. Deadlines have piled up relentlessly, interminable meetings and tensions with colleagues have turned each day into a marathon. Tonight, you decide to give yourself a well-deserved break. Slipping into your favorite dress, the one that always boosts your confidence, you head to a chic bar downtown, known for its pleasant ambiance and refined cocktails.

As you enter the bar, a wave of relief washes over you. The dim lighting, soft music, and relaxed atmosphere are exactly what you needed. You settle at the counter and order a Martini. The bartender smiles and serves you promptly, and you start sipping your drink, savoring each sip.

Your gaze sweeps across the room. You see groups of friends laughing together, couples whispering sweet nothings, and a few solitary souls, like yourself, enjoying their own company. That’s when you notice him. Seated a few stools away, a man alone, sipping a whisky. He has a familiar look, but you can’t quite place him immediately. His features are both charismatic and understated, exuding an intriguing presence without being overbearing.

Your eyes meet, and you feel a spark. Maybe it’s the effect of the Martini, or perhaps it's simply the desire to feel alive tonight, but you decide to make the first move. Taking your glass, you stand up and walk over to him, your heart beating a little faster with each step.

"Good evening," you say with a smile, sitting next to him. "I couldn’t help but notice you’re enjoying a whisky. Would you recommend it?"

He looks up at you, surprised but pleasantly so, and responds with a warm smile. "Absolutely. It’s one of the best I’ve had in a long time. And what about you, what are you drinking?"

"A Martini," you reply, holding up your glass. "It’s my favorite cocktail to unwind after a long week."

"A long week, huh?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "I know that feeling. I’m in town for the filming of my latest movie, and days on set can be exhausting."

"Oh, you’re an actor?" you ask, feigning surprise while finally recognizing him. "That’s fascinating. What kind of film are you working on?"

"A drama with a few touches of comedy," he explains. "It’s an exciting project, but very demanding. I needed to get out and change the scenery tonight."

"I completely understand," you reply, nodding. "Sometimes you just need to escape the routine and find a place where you can relax and be yourself."

The conversation continues, smooth and natural. You talk about your respective experiences, passions, and lives. He shares funny anecdotes from the set, and you tell him about your own work challenges. Time passes unnoticed, and you feel increasingly at ease in his company.

"So, what brings you here tonight?" he finally asks, looking deeply into your eyes.

"I just needed to get out, to escape," you answer honestly. "I love this place because it has a relaxing vibe and I can meet interesting people. Like you, for instance."

He smiles, clearly flattered. "That’s kind of you to say. I’m glad our paths crossed tonight."

"Me too," you say with a smile in return. "I didn’t expect to have such a great evening."

The chemistry between you grows stronger. The exchanged glances become more intense, and the mutual attraction is palpable. You order another round of drinks, and the conversation continues, a mix of laughter, confessions, and subtle flirting.

"You know," he says after a moment of comfortable silence, "I don’t want this evening to end. How about continuing the night somewhere else? Maybe in a more intimate spot?"

Your heart races at the thought of extending this moment with him. "I’d love to," you reply, taking his hand as he offers it to help you up.

You leave the bar together, the night air adding a refreshing touch to the excitement building inside you. Hugh leads you to a quieter street, slightly away from the lights and noise of the city. You walk side by side, your hands brushing against each other from time to time, each touch heightening the mutual attraction.

"So, where are we going?" you ask, curious.

"I’ve heard about a small lounge not far from here," he says with a smile. "It’s quiet and perfect for continuing our conversation."

You quickly arrive at a discreet yet elegant little establishment. The interior is cozy, with velvet armchairs and soft lighting. You settle into a more private corner, out of sight, and order drinks once more. The conversation picks up naturally, now with a more pronounced touch of flirtation.

"You know," you say, sipping your cocktail, "I really didn’t expect to have such a pleasant evening."

"Me neither," he replies, looking at you intently. "I’m thrilled that our paths crossed tonight."

You talk about everything and nothing, sharing anecdotes from your respective lives, laughing together, and discovering unexpected commonalities. Hugh tells you stories from the set, funny moments, and challenges faced. In return, you share snippets of your life, your passions, and your dreams.

"Tell me a bit about yourself," he says suddenly. "What are you passionate about in life?"

"I love literature," you reply with a smile. "Reading, writing, escaping into stories. It’s what helps me escape from reality, just like tonight."

"That’s fascinating," he says, nodding. "I’ve always admired people who can create worlds with words. It’s a talent I don’t have."

"Oh, but you create worlds with your acting," you counter. "You bring characters to life and transport people into stories. That’s just as impressive."

He smiles at you, touched by your words. "Thank you. It’s nice to talk with someone who understands and appreciates what I do."

Hours pass, and the atmosphere becomes increasingly intimate. At one point, Hugh leans slightly closer to you, his gaze locking with yours.

"You know," he murmurs, "I don’t want this evening to end."

Your heart races, excitement and desire mingling. "Neither do I," you reply softly.

He moves even closer, and before you can say anything, his lips find yours in a tender yet passionate kiss. You lose yourself in the moment, forgetting everything else. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you and this intense connection.

When you pull apart, you feel a pleasant warmth overwhelming you. Hugh looks at you with a tenderness and passion that makes you melt.

"We could go to my place," he suggests softly. "Continue this evening away from prying eyes."

You nod, unable to refuse such an invitation. "Let’s go," you murmur, ready to follow this unexpected path to the end.

You leave the lounge hand in hand, excitement and anticipation skyrocketing. Tonight, you’re ready to fully embrace this adventure with Hugh, without worrying about tomorrow.

Hugh hails a taxi, and you both climb into the back seat. The tension between you is palpable, each glance, each smile, each brush of hands heightening the intensity of the moment.

The ride to Hugh’s hotel seems both too short and interminable. You feel his gaze on you, and every time your eyes meet, a wave of desire washes over you. You exchange a few words, but it’s the unspoken promise in the air that dominates your thoughts.

When you arrive at the hotel, Hugh confidently leads you through the lobby. You take the elevator, and as soon as the doors close, he turns toward you. His hands gently rest on your hips, pulling you closer. Without a word, he lowers his head and captures your lips in a deep, longing kiss.

The elevator doors open on his floor, and you part just long enough to exit and walk to his room. Once the door is closed behind you, the intensity escalates. Hugh gently pushes you against the wall, his lips finding yours again. His hands explore your body with a restrained urgency, sliding down your waist, caressing your hips.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck.

You shiver under his touch, your hands exploring beneath his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. Your clothes fall away slowly, piece by piece, as you move towards the bed. Each movement is charged with desire, each kiss deeper, hungrier than the last.

Hugh guides you to the bed, gently laying you down on the sheets. He leans over you, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with passion. His hands continue their exploration, discovering every curve, every contour of your body.

"You drive me crazy," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I want you so much."

"I want you too," you whisper, your body responding to every touch, every word.

Hugh slowly descends along your body, his lips and tongue tracing fiery paths on your skin. Each kiss, each touch ignites you further, drawing you closer to ecstasy. Hugh takes his time, savoring each moment, each reaction of your body under his expert hands.

His lips leave yours, trailing gently down your neck. He lingers on this sensitive area, placing light kisses that make you shiver. You feel his warm breath against your skin, each exhale heightening the intensity of your sensations. He nibbles lightly at the base of your neck before continuing his descent.

He lingers on your collarbones, tracing circles with his tongue, leaving a trail of warmth behind. His hands follow the movement of his lips, gliding down your arms before returning to your hips, caressing them gently. Each touch is like a spark, igniting a fire of desire within you.

Hugh moves further down, his lips finding the hollow between your breasts. He plants soft kisses there before venturing further. His hands rise to caress your breasts, his thumbs tracing circles around your nipples, hardening them under his expert touch. You let out a moan of pleasure, your body reacting to each caress, each kiss.

His lips continue their descent, tracing a fiery line down your abdomen. He pauses for a moment to place a lingering kiss there, his warm breath against your skin. You feel your desire rise, each touch bringing you closer to ecstasy. His hands slide gently over your hips, caressing you, preparing you for what’s to come.

Hugh finally reaches your lower abdomen, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of skin. He looks up at you for a moment, his eyes glowing with desire, before leaning in to place light kisses on the inside of your thighs. He takes his time, savoring every reaction from your body, every shiver, every moan.

"You’re beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his words making you shiver even more.

His lips and tongue continue their exploration, slowly moving up the other thigh before finally finding their destination. He kisses you with infinite tenderness and passion, making you lose your mind with pleasure. You feel his tongue tracing circles, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy.

Hugh wraps his arms around you delicately, his hands gently caressing the inside of your thighs to keep you open and exposed to his attentions. His kisses become more intense, his tongue playing with your warmth, alternating between soft licks and firmer pressures. Each movement sends waves of pleasure through you, making you sigh and moan under his expert touch.

"Hugh…" you murmur, your voice trembling with desire and pleasure.

He responds with a satisfied growl, continuing his touches with total devotion. His tongue glides along your folds, finding each sensitive spot and exploiting it with precision that drives you wild. Your hands grip his hair, encouraging him to keep going, to push you even further.

He intensifies his movements, his hands becoming bolder, his fingers caressing your entrance as his tongue focuses on your most sensitive point. He alternates between gently sucking and vigorously licking, keeping you on the edge of ecstasy. You feel your breath quicken, your body responding to each stimulation, tightening under the growing intensity of pleasure.

"Oh my God, Hugh…" you gasp, your body arching under his attentions.

Feeling your pleasure building, he gently slides one finger inside you, then a second, his movements synchronized with his tongue. He penetrates you slowly, preparing you with infinite tenderness, his fingers quickly finding a rhythm that makes you gasp with pleasure. His touches are precise, his movements expert, pushing you further, keeping you on the edge of orgasm without ever letting you come down.

Ecstasy rises within you, each movement, each caress bringing you closer to the point of no return. You feel your muscles tensing, your body ready to explode under the intensity of pleasure. Hugh feels it too, and he intensifies his movements, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to take you to the peak.

When the orgasm hits, it’s like an explosion of sensations, overwhelming you completely. You cry out in pleasure, your body arching under the intensity of ecstasy. Hugh continues his movements, guiding you through each wave of pleasure, keeping you in this state of pure bliss. But fortunately or unfortunately for you, it wasn’t over, and it was far from finished.

After your breathing settles, your lips meet, and the kiss you share is gentle, imbued with the passion of the moment you’ve shared. Hugh looks at you, his eyes shining with unsatisfied desire.

"I want you," he murmurs, his voice rough with longing.

"Then take me," you respond, the burning desire still within you.

He positions himself above you, and you feel his desire pressing against your entrance. He looks at you one last time, making sure you’re ready. You nod, and with a moan of pleasure, he slowly enters you, filling you completely.

The rhythm he finds is perfect, each thrust bringing you closer to ecstasy again. Your bodies move in harmony, each movement heightening the intensity of pleasure. Hugh leans in to kiss you, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss, your breaths mingling.

The sensations are intense, each touch, each kiss, each movement bringing you both closer to the peak. You feel your pleasure rising once more, each thrust pushing you a little closer to the edge.

"Hugh, I’m going to…" you murmur, unable to finish your sentence.

"Me too," he growls, his movements becoming faster, more urgent.

The orgasm hits you again, overwhelming you with pleasure. Hugh follows almost immediately, lost in his own bliss. You both cry out together, your bodies tensing under the intensity of shared ecstasy.

As your breathing calms, Hugh remains beside you, his intense gaze never leaving you. His hands gently caress your skin, his fingers tracing light circles along your arm. He shifts slightly, his eyes glowing with renewed desire.

"I’m not done with you yet," he murmurs, his voice deep and promising.

Before you can respond, he gently turns you over, positioning you on your stomach. His hands glide along your back, massaging your tense muscles before settling on your hips. He lifts you slightly, positioning you on all fours in front of him. You feel his burning gaze on you, making you shiver with anticipation.

"You’re beautiful," he says, softly caressing your backside. "I want to make you scream with pleasure again and again."

He positions himself behind you, and you feel his hardness pressed against you once more. With a slow but determined motion, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, each movement making you moan with pleasure. Hugh begins to move, finding a fast and powerful rhythm, his hands gripping your hips firmly to keep you in place.

"Oh yes, Hugh," you cry out, your body responding to each thrust, each contact. "Harder!"

He obeys, his movements becoming faster and more intense, driving you with every thrust. His hands glide from your hips to your breasts, gently caressing and pinching them, adding to the intensity of your sensations. You feel your pleasure rising again, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

"You’re so tight," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "I’m going to make you come again and again."

He continues to penetrate you, his movements becoming more and more frantic. You feel your orgasm building, inevitable and powerful. Your moans turn into cries of pleasure, your body tensing under the intensity of ecstasy. Hugh doesn’t slow down, pushing you even further, bringing you to a second orgasm even more intense than the first.

"Hugh, I'm going… I'm going to come!" you cry out, unable to contain your pleasure.

"Me too," he growls, his movements becoming faster and more powerful.

When the orgasm hits, it’s like a crashing wave of pleasure, overwhelming you completely. Hugh comes shortly after, his hands tightening on your hips, his groans of pleasure echoing in the room. You remain there, your bodies tensing and contracting under the intensity of shared ecstasy.

You then collapse onto the bed, your bodies exhausted but fulfilled. Hugh holds you in his arms, his hands gently caressing your skin, allowing you both to enjoy the calm after the storm.

To calm down, you decide to watch a short series. Eventually, as he caresses you, his touch becomes more intimate, and you take the lead. You position yourself on top of him, sitting on his thighs. You feel his hardness pressing against you, and slowly, you lower yourself onto him, taking him deeply inside. The sensation is electrifying, making you moan with pleasure.

"You’re incredible," he murmurs, looking at you with admiration.

You start to move, finding a slow and sensual rhythm, savoring each movement, each sensation. Hugh watches you, his hands on your hips, guiding you gently. You establish a perfect rhythm, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy.

Minutes pass, and you feel your pleasure building again, inevitable and intense. Hugh shifts slightly, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. His hands slide along your back, caressing and guiding you.

"I'm going to come," you murmur, your voice trembling with pleasure.

"Me too," he replies, his movements becoming faster and more urgent.

When the orgasm hits you again, it’s like an explosion of sensations, overwhelming you completely. Hugh comes shortly after, his hands tightening on your hips, his groans of pleasure mingling with yours.

The next morning, you wake up in Hugh’s arms, the daylight gently filtering through the curtains. You turn to look at him, a satisfied smile on your lips. Hugh opens his eyes and returns your smile, his fingers gently caressing your cheek.

“Every movement counts,” you murmur, recalling the previous night, your eyes sparkling with desire.

Hugh leans in towards you, his lips brushing your ear. “Especially those of my hips against yours,” he murmurs in a husky voice, making you shiver.

He then gets up, leaving you in bed as he heads to the kitchen to find something to eat. You watch him, admiring his muscular back and the way he moves with grace. A few moments later, he returns with a tray of fresh fruit and coffee. He sets it on the nightstand and joins you on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I brought you something to recharge,” he says with a sly smile.

“Thank you,” you reply, taking a strawberry and bringing it to your lips, the sweet taste exploding on your tongue.

Hugh watches you with renewed intensity, and before you can react, he pulls you back to him. “But before we eat,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours in a burning kiss. “I’m still hungry for you.”

He gently pushes you back onto the bed, his hands sliding over your body with palpable hunger. You feel his desire against you, and your body responds immediately, desire surging again. Hugh positions himself over you, his movements urgent and determined.

“Ready for another round?” you ask, your voice trembling with desire.

“Always,” he replies with a smile, his eyes shining with mischief and desire.

Hugh enters you with renewed urgency, his movements fast and powerful. Each thrust is filled with passion, making you moan with pleasure. You quickly fall back into the rhythm of the previous night, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

“Hugh, this feels so good,” you murmur, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails leaving light marks on his skin.

“I want to see you come again,” he growls, his movements becoming even faster and deeper. Even though he had to go to a shoot soon, he didn’t care. He wanted to stay with you for as long as possible, so he drew out your orgasm to the maximum, tormenting you until you begged him to let you climax, which he finally allowed with a satisfied smile.

After the shared ecstasy, your bodies collapse onto the bed, exhausted but fulfilled. Hugh holds you tenderly in his arms, his hands gently caressing your skin, letting you both enjoy the calm after the storm. You stay like this for a few minutes, savoring the warmth and closeness of your bodies.

“Come on,” he murmurs eventually, gently getting up and leading you with him to the bathroom.

He runs a warm bath, the steam quickly filling the room. Hugh helps you into the tub, gently settling you between his thighs. The warm water gently laps against your back, creating an intense feeling of relaxation.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his hands softly massaging your scalp.

You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation of Hugh’s hands in your hair, each movement gentle and attentive. He takes his time, lathering and rinsing your hair with infinite tenderness. The warm water and Hugh’s expert hands plunge you into a deep state of relaxation, each tension slowly melting away from your body.

“You’re incredible,” you finally murmur, your eyes still closed, a contented smile on your lips.

“So are you,” he replies softly, placing a light kiss on your shoulder.

After the bath, Hugh helps you out of the water and dries you off gently with a fluffy towel. You return to the bedroom, and he offers you one of his shirts to wear, which is far too big for you but incredibly comfortable.

“It looks great on you,” he says, looking at you with a tender smile.

You lie down on the bed again, and Hugh takes you into his arms, your bodies entwining in a soft and intimate embrace. You talk about everything and nothing, sharing anecdotes and laughter. The connection between you is palpable, every word and every glance reinforcing this special bond.

"I could stay here forever," you finally murmur, snuggling against him.

"Me too," he replies, placing a kiss on your forehead. "But I have to go to a shoot soon."

"I know," you say with a slight sigh, savoring the last moments before he has to leave.

Hugh gets up and starts getting ready, but before he leaves the room, he bends down to give you one last kiss, tender and passionate at the same time.

"I'll be back tonight," he says with a smile.

"I'll be waiting for you," you respond, your heart light despite the inevitable temporary separation.

After he leaves, you curl up in the sheets, his comforting scent still lingering. You feel incredibly lucky to have shared these moments with him, and you already look forward to the evening to come.

Looking for something comfortable and practical, you choose to wear one of Hugh’s shirts. It's far too big for you, but its softness and familiar scent comfort you. Wearing it makes you feel close to him, even though he's far away. You do a light makeup and fix your hair, ready for a busy day at work.

Upon arriving at the office, you receive a few curious glances from your colleagues. It’s clear that the slightly oversized shirt doesn’t go unnoticed. You laugh it off with them, explaining with a smile that it's a piece of clothing borrowed from a special friend, without going into details.

The workday passes quickly, filled with the usual tasks and a few professional calls. Despite the pressure of work, you feel calm, thoughts of Hugh and your morning together floating in your mind like a sweet melody. As evening approaches, you wrap up your tasks and prepare to return to the apartment. Your mind is set on the evening ahead, hoping to see Hugh again and enjoy a quiet moment together after a busy day.

Returning to the apartment, you find Hugh already there, looking tired but still as charismatic as ever. He smiles warmly when he sees you, his eyes lighting up with a joyful gleam. "You’re back earlier than expected," you say with a smile as you see him enter.

"I got lucky with the shoot," he replies, moving towards you with open arms to welcome you into a comforting embrace. He pulls you into his arms, and you snuggle against him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. His hands gently caress your back, making you feel safe and loved.

"I'm glad to see you," he murmurs against your ear.

"Me too," you reply, lifting your face to look at him. "Today felt long without you."

Hugh places a tender kiss on your lips before gently letting you go. "I was thinking we could have a quiet evening. Maybe have dinner together and watch a movie?"

"That sounds perfect," you say with a smile.

You spend the evening preparing dinner together. Hugh turns out to be an excellent cook, and you have fun making simple yet delicious dishes. You share anecdotes and laugh, the meal punctuated by small moments of tenderness.

After dinner, you settle on the couch, snuggling under a cozy blanket. You pick a movie that you both want to see, and as the images play on the screen, you get lost in pleasant conversation. Hugh wraps his arm around your shoulders, holding you close. His fingers gently play with strands of your hair, his touches light and affectionate.

"This evening is perfect," you murmur, eyes half-closed, enjoying the comfort of his arms and the warmth of the moment.

"I agree," he says with palpable tenderness. "I couldn’t dream of a better evening."

The movie ends, and you stay there, savoring the silence and the tranquility of each other's company. The hours pass, and you feel increasingly connected, the bond between you strengthened by this simple yet wonderful evening.

Before going to bed, Hugh pulls you into his arms again, holding you close. You share one last soft and sincere kiss.

"Good night," he murmurs, kissing your forehead.

"Good night," you reply, your heart full of gratitude and happiness. You fall asleep in each other's arms, hearts light and serene, ready to face a new day together.

tags: @nerdyfangirllife @kittenlittle24

[hunnysnoops]

₊˚｡⋆❆ 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕟 𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 ❆⋆｡˚₊

Chapter Two: Vanilla Baby

Kenny McCormick x fem reader

Pages after pages I write for me and no one else. Standing tall, no brick in the wall, I take care of myself. Fickle is as fickle does as solitary links. My, oh my, it's hard because she says just what she thinks

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: Family dinner diverts a bit from what you’re used to.

Warnings: crude language and humour / EDNOS alluded

MASTERLIST

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You reluctantly step out of the car into the crisp winter evening, your breath visible in the cold air. The restaurant in front of you is grand, its large windows glowing warmly against the dark night. You pull your coat tighter around you, wishing you could just stay in the comfort of your room with your dog and a nice playlist. But Todd had been pushing both you and your mother to come to the restaurant he frequented with his buddies from work.

As you walk through the heavy wooden doors, you're immediately greeted by a wave of warmth and the sound of clinking glasses and murmured conversations. The noise swallows you, making you feel even smaller and more out of place. Your mom gives you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and leaves her hand to rest there.

Todd was already rambling, deep into a story about his day at work. "So, there I was, in the middle of this big presentation, and wouldn't you know it, the projector decided to quit on me!" he says, chuckling. "Had to wing it with just a whiteboard and a marker. Felt like I was back in school, you know? But hey, I think I nailed it!"

"I'm sure you did," Your mother smiles in return. The restaurant is beautiful, with chandeliers sparkling above and elegant decorations adding to the festive atmosphere. But all you can think about is how overwhelming it all feels, the lights dimmed to the point it could've been a nightclub.

Todd is still talking, his voice rising above the din of the restaurant. "And then, Jim, y'know, Nancy's husband- oh man, that guy's a character, he-" Todd cracks up in a laugh before even finishing his story "He said-" He tries to speak between his muffled giggles "He said 'did you hear about the guy who dipped his balls in glitter?' and I'm like 'no, what the heck, that's weird,' and then Jim says 'pretty nuts, right?'"

You weren't sure how your mom ever came about liking Todd, she was standoffish, albeit not as quiet as you. She always wrinkled her nose in distaste at loud and obnoxious people, and then she married one and was happier than she had ever been.

A hostess with a sleek black dress and a bright smile approaches, Todd breaks apart from you and your mother for a moment to speak to her, he's still stifling giggles as he does so. The hostess your group to a table near the center of the dining room. You cringe internally at the spot, feeling far too exposed for your liking.

You sit down and try to focus on the menu, though the unfamiliar dishes and elaborate descriptions only add to your stiffness. The menu is printed on heavy, cream-coloured paper, the kind that speaks of luxury and refinement. As you scan the options, your eyes widen at the prices. Everything is so expensive. The entrees are listed with descriptions that go on for several lines, each word seeming to add another dollar to the price.

"Jeez, enough about me," Todd finally caps off yet another story, turning his attention to you "How was your day, kiddo?"

"Good," you reply, glancing down at the menu.

"How was skating?" He asks and then lowers his voice, a little smile on his face while he raises a brow "How's Craig?"

"Oh, Craigs gay," Your mom gives him a little swat on the arm.

"Really? That's awesome," Todd does a little fist pump under the table "He's way nicer than that guy you were dating. What's his name? Y'know the one with the horse teeth."

"Spencer," Your mom fills in the blank and you feel the heat rise to your face, sinking deeper into your chair, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Yeah, Spencer. What an asshole." Todd mutters as he surveys the drink menu. "He was very ratty."

"Wouldn't be surprised if he was in that kitchen under a chef's hat."

Todd huffs a loud boisterous laugh, slapping his knee and wiping tears away from his eyes. With a shaky breath, he steadies himself and looks up at you through his brows "You're driving tonight."

"What?" Your heart picks up. Driving never came easy to you, it made you nervous. You had to go through driving school twice and take your N test three times before you were finally given a license, you thought that they let you pass out of pity.

"I'm drinking, your mom's drinking. Everyone's drinking except you,"

You don't say anything, eyes going wide as you look to your mom for confirmation.

"Yup, I'm getting wasted," She says, looking down at the wine selection "That's why we brought you."

"Not quite," Todd holds out a finger "Speak for yourself, I brought you for some quality family time and some thick juicy cuts of steak."

"Honey, you should get the tomahawk," Your mom murmurs leaning into Todd on their side of the table and pointing at her menu. "What are you getting?" Your mom asks to which you shrug.

"Did you paint your nails?" Todd looks up from his menu, you nod in return. He reaches across the table and grabs your hand, holding it up and inspecting your nail art skills, "Wow, pretty, right?"

"Very," Your mom smiles at the pair of you.

"Should I get this colour?" He asks your mom, comparing your hand to his own. He turns his attention to the waiter who now hovers by the table, Todd holds your hand up "What do you think?"

"Great colour," Kenny says with a smile, his voice smooth and professional, but with a hint of friendliness. Your face drops at the sight of him, eyes going wide like your roadkill caught in headlights. He's wearing a white button-up rolled up to his elbows, a black apron tied around his waist, and you can see the tattoo on his forearm that you never even knew existed. At first, you thought it to be a butterfly but on a second glance, you can see it's a moth with stars on the wings where spots should be. "Good to see you again, Todd."

"Likewise, Ken," He smiles, slinging an arm over your mom's shoulder "This is my gorgeous wife and my beautiful daughter, well step-daughter, same difference. They're pretty quiet but it's okay, I talk enough for the three of us." That statement was surely ringing true as he grinned brightly at Kenny. His voice is loud, and confident, and carries across the room, contrasting sharply with the quieter murmur of the surrounding conversations.

"You must have beat men off with a stick," Kenny grins at Todd, casting a brief glance at you.

"You'd think, right?" He laughs "She doesn't leave the house long enough for the boys to even see her!" Silently, you curse him. Your mom pinches her nose bridge, gently tapping Todd on the thigh as a signal to reel it in. "Anyways," Todd clears his throat "This is Kenny, best guy around."

It was moments like these you wished you wished that Todd wasn't so extroverted. While you thought it was sweet he and your mom balanced each other out and he always had good intentions, his mouth moved faster than his thoughts and he was never able to stop himself from talking at a mile a minute. "Thank you, thank you," Kenny tilts his head in the slightest "Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Red wine please, malbec, if you don't have that then the merlot," Your mom gives him a thin-lipped smile.

"We do indeed have Malbec," Kenny jots it down onto his notepad and looks to Todd "Let me guess, soma?"

Just when you think it isn't possible for Todd to smile anymore, he does "What did I tell you?" His gaze flicks between you and your mom "Best guy around, he knows me."

"I try," Then, Kenny turns to you, and you can feel your cheeks heating up. "And for you?" he asks, his eyes meeting yours.

You look down at the menu, your mind racing. "Um, water, please," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kenny nods, scribbling it down. "Alright, I'll get those right out for you."

When Kenny retreats back to the server station by the bar to fill in your orders your mom nudges Todd "Can you calm down a bit? you're embarrassing her."

"Me?" Todd asks, looking at you with a hand pressed flat over his heart. Todd chuckles. "Kenny doesn't care! he's a good kid. Plays hockey, works hard. And he's cute, right?" Clearly, you had underestimated how close Todd was to the staff here. You would've thought he had known Kenny for years but in reality, he was just an overly friendly regular.

You bury your face in your hands, wishing you could disappear. "Please, stop."

"Someone's blushing," Todd leans over and pokes your shoulder. "You got a crush?" You quickly shake your head, no. Todd waves you off "You go to the same rink, y'know?" He sits up like a brilliant idea just brushed his mind "You should be friends with him!"

Just as a deer might freeze at the slightest rustle of leaves, you tense at the unexpected words as the conversation turns toward you. Your eyes, wide and panicked, dart around nervously, searching for an escape route or a safe place to retreat and silently pleading that he doesn't push the conversation further.

"Honey, you know she doesn't make friends easily, she can't just become buddies with the waiter," Your mom says. It seemed like every word that came from their mouths was worse than the last. If you were loud enough you might scream from frustration.

"I know but it doesn't hurt to try," He says "How did the brownies go at school? Did everyone like them?"

"Todd, she's almost an adult, not a child." Your mom answers for you "Brownies don't make friendships in high school."

"Why not?" He asks "Everyone loves brownies, if someone gave me a brownie, we would be friends right away. Make twenty brownies and you have twenty new friends."

"She has Craig, and I'm happy with that. Just be glad she isn't crawling the streets with junkies and shooting up heroin."

"Okay," Todd raises his hands in defence "I'm glad."

Kenny comes back to the table, placing your drinks down in front of each of you. Your mom wastes no time in reaching for her glass and taking a sip. "So, how's figure skating going?" he asks casually, surprising you as he places your father's beer down.

Your heart skips a beat. "Fine," You mumble. Your parents look at you expectantly "Uh, how's hockey?"

"Pretty good," he says with a smile. "Got a tournament coming up so there's extra practice on the table."

Your mom and Todd exchange amused glances, clearly noticing the exchange. Todd grins. "Ah, so you two know each other from the rink, huh? Small world."

"Yeah," Kenny says, still looking at you. "She gave me some pointers the other day, she's really good."

"Why didn't I hear about this?" Your mom asks with a smile though there's something brewing in her eyes that tells you that you'll be discussing this later. You answer her with a brief shrug.

"Are we ready to order dinner?" Kenny breaks the unspoken tension between you and your mom.

"I'll have the grilled salmon with lemon butter sauce," she says, handing her menu back to Kenny. "And could I get a side of roasted vegetables with that, please?"

"Absolutely," Kenny replies, jotting down the order. "And for you, sir?" he asks, turning to Todd.

Todd grins, clearly enjoying the interaction. "I think I'll go for the tomahawk steak, medium rare," he says. "With a side of garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed spinach."

"Great choice," Kenny says, his pen moving swiftly across the notepad. "And for you?" He looks at you, his smile softening as he meets your eyes.

Frantically, you scan the menu again, searching for the cheapest thing. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just the garden salad, please."

"Any protein in that?" He asks "We've got chicken, salmon, kidney beans, goat cheese, edamame, tofu, prosciutto, mozzarella, tuna, shrimp."

"No, thank-

"Yes," Todd cuts you off "You need to eat more, you're an athlete. Do you remember what I told you about lean proteins?" He says "Can you throw some chicken in there?"

Kenny looks to you for confirmation "Do you want chicken in your salad."

"Sure," You press your lips into a thin line and hand him your menu.

"That's my girl," Todd nods, taking a swig of his beer. Todd decides to take his teasing to a new level. "You know, Kenny," he starts, leaning back in his chair with a grin and motions for Kenny to come closer. Kenny leans down slightly to hear Todd "My daughter thinks you are SO cute."

You freeze, eyes shooting to avoid making contact with anyone at the table face carefully blank and growing hot. Kenny looks momentarily surprised, but then a wide, amused grin spreads across his face. "Is that so?" he asks, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he looks at you.

Your mom chuckles, trying to smooth things over but clearly enjoying the moment. "Todd, that's enough."

You sink lower in your seat, wishing you had faked an illness and were curled up under your duvet. Kenny, however, seems to be enjoying every second of your embarrassment. He leans slightly closer, his grin never faltering. "Well, I'm flattered," he says softly. "I'll go get your orders in," he says, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer. "But I'll be around if you need anything else."

"Why did you say that?" You exasperate, keeping your voice hushed "You were the only one who called him cute and you're a fifty-year-old man."

"You need to face these things head-on sometimes," Todd says, his tone light-hearted though you felt heavier than you had ever been "You can't just put your headphones in and run off to hide somewhere-

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say abruptly, pushing yourself from the chair and begin navigating your way through the tables. As the initial embarrassment from Todd's comment hits you like a wave, you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. The friendly chatter around you fades into the background, and your heart starts to race.

"Oh," Todd raises his eyebrows in slight surprise "I stand corrected."

You catch Kenny's eyes while fleeing the scene, he looks at you and opens his mouth to speak but for once you beat him to it "Imsosososososorrypleaseignoremyparentshesmakingthingsupthanks." You say so fast that he doesn't even process the words and in the blink of an eye you're gone.

Once inside, you lock the door behind you and lean against the cool tile wall, taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself. The soft hum of the restaurant is muffled here, giving you a brief respite from the chaos of your thoughts. You start to pace back and forth, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Why did Todd have to say that? You run your hands through your hair, feeling the frustration and embarrassment bubbling up.

You replay the moment in your mind, cringing at the memory of Todd's teasing and Kenny's amused grin. Pacing around the small bathroom, you try to calm your racing thoughts. You focus on your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, willing your heart to slow down. Despite your best efforts, the blush remains stubbornly on your cheeks.

It's not that you don't like Kenny. In fact, the opposite is true, and that's what makes it all the more overwhelming. His clear advances in days prior- it's all too much to handle at once.

You stop pacing and lean against the sink, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks are still flushed, your eyes wide and uncertain. You splash some cold water on your face, hoping it will help cool you down both physically and emotionally.

Had you been on your own, you wouldn't be worked up. That's how you liked it. Everything was easier when you were able to cut out what you didn't want but Todd's boisterous laughter was ringing through your head like a fork shoved into a blender.

Everything was embarrassing; Todd's rushed and unthoughtful comments, your mom's reminders to quiet down, and your reaction to all of it were only making it worse. You compose yourself the way you would a song or a speech, trying to remember who you were away from all of this humiliation.

You had been hiding in the bathroom far longer than you would've liked, to the point your mom was texting you to see if you were okay. You look back up at yourself in the mirror, giving a little thumbs up before pushing the door open and navigating back to your table.

As you return to the table, you find Kenny already there, the food has been dropped off and he's chatting easily with your mom and Todd. He's standing with a confident, relaxed posture, his smile bright and engaging. It's clear that your parents are thoroughly charmed by him.

"-and that's how I managed to get the puck into the net at the last second," Kenny is saying, finishing up a story. "It was a wild game."

Your mom laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "That sounds amazing, Kenny. You must be a great hockey player."

Kenny chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck modestly. "I try my best."

Todd nods appreciatively. "That's the spirit. Teamwork makes all the difference. So, how do you balance hockey with school and work? That must be a lot to handle."

Kenny shrugs with a smile. "It keeps me busy, but I like it that way. Plus, it teaches me discipline and time management. And honestly, I enjoy all of it."As you take your seat, Kenny's eyes flicker to you, and he gives you a subtle, knowing smile. "Welcome back," he says warmly.

Todd, not missing a beat, leans forward with a grin. "You know, Kenny here was just telling us about his plans after high school. Sounds like he's got a bright future ahead."

"Oh?" you say, trying to sound casual "What are your plans?"

Kenny's smile widens as he looks at you. "I'm hoping to get a hockey scholarship. I've been talking to a few colleges, and things are looking promising."

Your mom claps her hands together, delighted. "That's incredible, you must be so excited."

"I am," Kenny admits, his gaze steady on yours. "But it's also a bit nerve-wracking. There's a lot of pressure, you know?" Kenny then shifts the conversation smoothly, including your parents again. "But enough about me. How about you all? Do you have any holiday plans?"

Todd laughs. "Just the usual family gatherings. Lots of food, lots of noise. You know how it is."

"Sounds like fun," Kenny says genuinely. "Family time is the best, especially during the holidays."

"Do you have a big family?"

"I do but I don't see them much, my older brother moved out and my sister lives in another city."

"That's too bad," Todd frowns exaggeratedly "Well, I hope you visit them."

"Yeah, as much as I can," He says, glancing around the restaurant "I really should check on my other tables but I will be around if you need anything at all."

You tune out of the conversation entirely, picking at your salad while Todd asks you questions before he answers them himself. "Why do you think it's called New Zealand? Was there an old Zealand or just Zealand?" He laughs "I'm just being silly."

The anxiety from earlier lingers at the edges of your mind, making it hard to fully enjoy the evening that you weren't fond of from the beginning. Your parents are engrossed in their conversation, Todd animatedly discussing a recent project at work while your mom listens attentively. You stay quiet, letting their voices wash over you as you try to push through the discomfort.

As you spear a leaf of crisp lettuce with your fork, your appetite feels as elusive as a whisper in the wind. Each bite is a struggle, the vegetables seeming to lose their crispness and flavour as soon as they touch your tongue. Your appetite had been curved by everything around you.

You try to force yourself to eat, pushing the fork through the salad. But each bite feels like a chore, the act of chewing becoming laborious and unenjoyable. Swallowing becomes a challenge, the food seeming to stick in your throat despite your efforts to wash it down with sips of water between each bite.

Your mom casts you a long glance, her eyebrows drawn in and lips downturned as she watches you place your fork down and push the remainder of your meal away, she bookmarks this little moment and decides to table it for another time.

Todd absolutely ravages his steak, tearing into the meat like a wild animal devouring what it could without knowing when it would eat again. You fought the urge to gag, instead turning your attention to your mom who elegantly sliced off bits of her salmon.

Just as you think the meal is winding down, Todd claps his hands together with a grin. "Alright, what do you say we order some dessert for the table? Can't leave this place without trying something sweet!"

Todd signals Kenny over, who arrives promptly with that ever-present smile. "Sounds like you're ready for dessert."

You immediately shake your head "No-

"You need to eat more," Todd says "Eat, eat, eat," He tries to create a little chant which your mom thankfully doesn't join in on. After silence falls over the table at his failed attempt to start a rally he clears his throat "Two chocolate lava cames and one tiramisu for the wife. This one bakes all the freaking time so she's a bit of a dessert connoisseur," He points at you and tilts his head.

A few minutes later, he returns with the desserts. The rich and enticing chocolate lava cake appears to have a molten centre just waiting to be found. The tiramisu is exquisitely layered, featuring creamy mascarpone and delicate ladyfingers dipped in espresso.

Kenny places the desserts on the table, but when he sets down the chocolate lava cake in front of you, you notice something extra. Right next to your dessert, on the edge of the plate, is a dollop of whipped cream shaped into a smiley face. You couldn't keep a straight face, your lips curved just the slightest though it doesn't go unnoticed by Kenny.

[rxqueenotd]

The Verdict- Chapter One

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: None (as of now)

A/N: I have eleven chapters of this written so far but a slew of changes to make and things to add. In order to not burn myself out, I won’t be posting this on any sort of schedule. None of this has been beta’d and I’m posting in the midst of a covid fever dream so if there’s any mistakes, simply ignore them.

The morning fog hung low over Paris, a delicate shroud that veiled the city in mystery and whispered of stories untold. Among the ancient streets and grand boulevards, a tale was about to unfold—one that would intertwine the lives of two distinctly different souls.

In the heart of the city, Vincent Renzi stood before the towering edifice of the Palais de Justice. His silhouette, a solitary figure against the sprawling architecture, was a testament to the weight he carried. At forty, Vincent had the kind of presence that commanded attention—not just for his refined appearance, but for the intensity that simmered beneath his calm exterior. Today, that intensity was sharper, fueled by the stakes of the case that awaited him inside.

Vincent was not merely a lawyer; he was a defender of justice, a role he embraced with unwavering dedication. The case he was about to undertake was personal, representing his friend Sandra, who had been caught in a nightmare she claimed was a fabrication. Accused of a crime as sensational as it was tragic—pushing her husband out of a window—Sandra's innocence was a truth Vincent held unshakeable.

As he made his way through the corridors of justice, Vincent's thoughts were on the battle ahead. The case was complex, tangled in a web of evidence and emotion, and it demanded not just legal expertise but a deep understanding of human nature. It was a challenge Vincent was ready to face, driven by a conviction that the law, in its purest form, was about protecting the innocent and uncovering the truth.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, an ambitious American lawyer was preparing for a journey that would change the course of her career. With a keen interest in international law and a hunger for experience beyond the confines of American courtrooms, she viewed the opportunity to shadow a French lawyer as a doorway to a new world. Little did she know, her path would lead her to Vincent Renzi, and together, they would embark on a journey that would blur the lines between professional collaboration and personal connection.

Paris awaited her with its charm and challenges, a city ripe with history and alive with the promise of adventure. As she packed her bags, she imagined the streets she would walk, the cases she would explore, and the people she would meet. Among those imagined faces was Vincent's, a partner in law she had yet to meet but whose reputation had preceded him.

The stage was set, the players drawn to their marks by fate and ambition. As the American lawyer's plane touched down on French soil, the first chapter of their story began to write itself, against the backdrop of Paris and the looming majesty of the French Alps. Little did they know, their encounter would be a confluence of minds and hearts, a trial of their beliefs and convictions, and a testament to the unexpected paths life can take.

____________________________________________

The chambers of Vincent Renzi were a world apart from the skyscrapers and modern glass facades that the American lawyer, Leah Bardin, was accustomed to. Nestled in a historic building whose stones whispered tales of centuries past, the office was a reflection of Paris itself—timeless, elegant, and steeped in stories waiting to be told.

Leah stepped inside, her senses immediately enveloped by the rich aroma of aged books and the subtle hint of espresso—a stark contrast to the sterile bustle of her New York firm. She was greeted by walls lined with volumes of legal tomes, certificates of commendation, and an array of photographs capturing moments of triumph and camaraderie.

At the heart of this sanctuary stood Vincent, his back to the door, engrossed in a mountain of case files that sprawled across his desk. The morning light streamed through the window, casting him in a silhouette that accentuated the deliberation in his posture.

Hearing the soft click of the door, Vincent turned, his gaze meeting Leah’s for the first time. In that moment, an unspoken assessment passed between them—a lawyer's instinctive evaluation of an opponent, colleague, and unknown entity all at once.

"Mademoiselle Bardin, I presume?" Vincent's voice broke the silence, his English tinged with the melodious accent of his homeland.

Leah extended her hand, the firmness of her grip belying the flutter of anticipation she felt. "Leah Bardin. It's an honor to meet you, Monsieur Renzi."

Vincent's study of Leah was brief but thorough. Despite his initial reservations about allowing an American lawyer to shadow him, he couldn't deny the determination that shone in her eyes. It was a look he recognized—a reflection of his own passion for the law.

"Please, call me Vincent. 'Monsieur Renzi' makes me feel like one of those ancient tomes on the shelf," he said, a hint of humor softening his features. "I understand you're here to learn about international law, but I must warn you, the case we're embarking on is not for the faint of heart."

Leah’s response was immediate, her resolve clear. "I didn't come all this way for an easy lesson. I'm here to learn, to contribute in any way I can."

Vincent regarded her for a moment longer, then nodded, the initial barrier of formality giving way to a burgeoning respect. "Very well. Let's get to work."

As they delved into the details of Sandra's case, Vincent was surprised by Leah’s insightful questions and her quick grasp of the complexities involved. Leah, in turn, was captivated by Vincent's depth of knowledge and his passionate advocacy for his friend.

Their first meeting, initially marked by caution, evolved into a dynamic exchange of ideas and theories. It was clear that despite their different backgrounds, they shared a common dedication to justice. As the day wore on, the foundation of an unexpected alliance was laid, their mutual respect a testament to the potential of their collaboration.

As Leah left Vincent's office that evening, the streets of Paris bathed in the golden hue of sunset, she felt an exhilarating sense of purpose. And for Vincent, watching her silhouette disappear into the maze of the city, there was an acknowledgment, however grudging, that Leah Bardin might just be the ally he needed in the battle ahead.

[akutasoda]

I have to see a Chuuya x Rosaria-like! Reader

frozen solitude

synopsis - chuuya with someone who is rosaria-like

includes - chuuya

warnings - gn!reader, reader based on rosaria, fluff, minor mention of alcohol, maybe ooc??, wc - 487

↪originally chuuya barely spoke a word to you. it's not that he didn't want to, in fact he thought you'd be a change if pace to talk to compared to whohe converses with regularly, it's more the fact that he found it quite hard to find you.

↪you were more of a solitary person and didn't spend much time with anyone for anything - even you're missions were often solo due to your preference for working alone. therefore chuuya would see very little of you over the time of working alongside you.

↪you come and go, even act, in complete solitude. so much to the fact that alot of people forget you even were their colleague, only ever occasionally catching a glimpse of you practically once every month. however those brief glances were still enough to catch chuuya intrigued.

↪from the very little encounters people had with you, they noted how you were quite adversed in cold, sharp words and manners. chuuya would come to find the rumours to be proved very true after finally managing to catch you in-between missions.

↪most people were quite obviously put off by your harsh nature and unavailability but at this point you seemed like much better company than most, so chuuya didn't mind the extra effort.

↪more so when he realised you had quite the refined taste when it came to drinks - although he probably would've guessed that you wouldn't be that fussy but atleast it was some kind of common ground.

↪when he actually managed to get somewhat closer to you, he'd convince you to hang out with him and a couple of other mafioso. he didn't mind at all that he did most of the talking because he could tell that you were still somewhat paying attention to his chatter.

↪he had to admit that your fashion sense was certainly more unique, but it had it's own charms to it. certainly wasn't his style but he wouldn't be one to judge as it was clearly what you preferred.

↪as stated before, you preferred your missions to be solo. therefore chuuya had rarely seen you and your ability in action but he was too curious not to know. the very first time he watched you in action caused him to be quite impressed with your skill.

↪your capability at handling a pole arm was admirable, your movements were very swift and precise - perhaps if he ever got curious enough he would ask to learn the basics but he doubted you'd actually teach him.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @vi-chan07

[haakaan00502]

Dodgy Intel, a terrible mission, and crucial changes in the extraction point left Ghost and Soap in a worn state. After finding a relatively safe space, but still miles away from comfort, they faced a solitary bed.

Of course sharing a bed is no problem, they aren’t the first case to huddle up for survival — they aren’t the first case either for other reasons. However, the bed itself was literally quite too small for two people. It barely fits one of them.

“You rest.” Ghost motions towards the bed.

“Aye, and what, leave you be?” Soap says, in a slightly offended tone. Soap looked at Ghost up and down once, he didn’t need to look twice to know how fatigued Ghost is from the recent mission. Of course, he too is tired, but to him Ghost would always be more.

More experienced in the battlefield, decisive, quick, calm and centered. More focused, refined, always an informed decision. A rumor between elites, but a real terrifying force to face against, and having rightfully earned every title he has ever received.

More than a coworker, a great person off field, kind and quite dashing. The man who works almost 8 days a week, dedicated but content. More than a friend, anything but what two of them would define as intimate, but always more than a friend.

So now, to Soap, Ghost is more tired.

“You rest.” Soap says.

Without much resistance, Ghost took the offer. As soap sat by a chair in the room, looking at Ghost who barely even managed to prop himself properly on the bed sleep soundly.

[yoonavii]

Influencer

Context: Mihawk as a social media influencer

Mihawk’s social media presence is enigmatic and mysterious. He rarely shows his face, often posting artistic shots of landscapes, his iconic sword, and glimpses of his luxurious lifestyle.

His captions are often cryptic and poetic, leaving his followers intrigued and guessing their meanings. Mihawk enjoys playing with words and leaving an air of mystery around his posts.

Mihawk’s content is a blend of high fashion, art, and elegant aesthetics. He shares photos of his exquisite swordsmanship, demonstrating his incredible skill and precision

espite his reserved nature, Mihawk occasionally posts short videos of his sword techniques, mesmerizing his followers with his mastery over the blade.

He has a small but dedicated fanbase that admires his elegance and prowess. Many fans try to emulate his refined sense of style and incorporate it into their own lives.

Mihawk’s hashtag game is strong. He uses tags like #Swordmaster, #EleganceDefined, and #MysteriousMihawk to enhance the mystique around his persona.

He occasionally hosts live Q&A sessions, but instead of directly answering questions, he poses riddles and challenges his followers to think deeply and creatively.

Mihawk’s influence extends beyond social media. His fashion choices, sword techniques, and even his choice of food become trends that some of his more daring followers attempt to imitate.

He never hesitates to clap back at trolls or critics with witty and cutting responses, showcasing his sharp tongue and unwavering confidence.

Mihawk rarely collaborates with others on his posts, preferring to maintain his solitary image. However, when he does collaborate, it’s always with artists, photographers, or creators who align with his aesthetic.

His social media presence is an extension of his enigmatic personality, making him a unique influencer who stands out for his distinct style and air of mystery.

Mihawk’s followers are captivated by his elegance, skill, and the sense of grandeur he brings to everything he does. He remains an enigmatic figure who leaves a lasting impression on those who follow him.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[degenerateworm]

please may i have a crumb of romantic marina headcanons 🙏 yandere or otherwise

I HAVE HEARD YOUR CRIES MY CHILDREN AND I ANSWER. MANY A PRAYER HAS BEEN SCREAMED TO THE HEAVENS FOR YANDERE MARINA, AND TO THIS I SAY; I HEAR YOU. AND I LIVE TO PLEASE!

---

You met Marina on the train ride into Prehevil; a solitary girl who exuded mystery, but was friendly enough for you to introduce yourself.

"Hey, what's up?"

She notices your nervousness immediately, and, being the cute thing you are, she doesn't mind toning down a little on the sarcasm and cynicism if it would help you be a little less flighty.

When the group decides to split and investigate the town, you cling to Marina's side like a limpet, and she doesn't mind one bit.

She can't help but bite back a snarky comment about you being a rather clingy little side piece she had just acquired, and it makes her giggle at the fact that she doesn't mind it one bit.

She actually likes the fact that you stay with her, cower behind her whenever something spooks you.

Marina is your main defense from the monstrosities inside Prehevil, but with how funny and friendly she is, you can barely distinguish her from a normal friend of yours.

She makes you smile, fascinates you with her magic and knowledge of all things occult, and cleans you up whenever you manage to get dirty, as she seems to stay spotless throughout this strange nightmare of a town.

While Marina finds you so amusing, adorable, really!

Wrapped around her finger, scared of everything like a little puppy.

She's addicted to this control, but also to the company she finds in you. Despite her charm, her interest in the dark arts is usually what turns people away from Marina.

But you..?

You embraced it. Thanked her for protecting you. Gasping in wonder at her vast knowledge, keeping you up late into the night with conversations about everything and nothing just to comfort you in the face of the nightmare that is the outside.

While you sleep, comforted by Marina's jokes and witty remarks, she stands over your bed, a faint smile on her lips as she caresses your cheek.

Maybe she could tether you to herself. You wouldn't mind that, would you? You already loved her, right?

Your skin is so soft, it would yield easily to her scalpel, and she already knows what she would draw onto it.

A pattern that would cause your love to blossom, a pattern that would make you her's...

---

This was a little rushed, I will admit. I'm not very happy with it. But if you ask for any more Marina, I'll make sure it's a bit more refined!! Thank you to all three anons who asked for Marina, and I hope you liked it!

[twizzyburger]

Redemption

caught..

part 1!

tags!❀

Captor!König x Engineer!F/NB!Reader

In a digital cataclysm, documents erupted like an insidious storm across the vast expanse of the web, their clandestine contents laying bare the identities of thousands—soldiers, scientists, and amongst them, you were exposed to the unforgiving scrutiny of the virtual tempest.

“We got them…”

Amidst the orchestrated messiness, the room unfolded akin to an engineer's inner sanctum. Commanding the space was a substantial desk, its gleaming surface marred solely by the scattered remnants of papers strewn across both the desk and floor in a harmonious symphony of unbridled inspiration. A glass whiteboard, embellished with a maze of equations and intricate models, stood guard against one wall, bearing witness to the perpetual cerebral ballet that unfolded within. Blueprints graced the encompassing walls like revered manuscripts, revealing the chronicles of meticulously devised weaponry. Delicately crafted miniature weapon models, elegant yet potent, adorned the shelves, murmuring stories of functionality and design.

You sighed, the weight of frustration heavy in the air, as you furiously scribbled on your pad, attempting to rectify a flaw in one of the prototypes you had been diligently working on. The room echoed with the rhythmic dance of your pen against the paper, a silent symphony of dedication. Suddenly, a disruptive banging shattered the cocoon of concentration around you. Annoyed, you tossed the pad onto the desk, irritated that anyone would dare to interrupt your solitary focus. The door swung open, revealing a soldier who entered in haste, speaking at an accelerated pace, leaving you bracing for the unexpected intrusion.

“Everything!Everythingwasleaked!Wecan’tgetaholdofDr.Leon!Everythingwasleaked!Soldiers,scientists,everyone!”

You stared at the soldier in confusion, the rapid stream of words leaving you struggling to grasp the urgency in their message. Frowning, you held up a hand, a silent plea for them to slow down and articulate their message more clearly. "Take a breath and start from the beginning," you urged, a mix of irritation and genuine curiosity flickering in your eyes as you waited for the soldier to unravel the reason behind their sudden intrusion.

“They leaked everything! Dr. Leon is in another country, he can’t take deal with it and our signals have been cut off!”

Your inquiry about the leak causes your mind to race with the sudden revelation. The soldier swiftly details that all classified information, including yours, has been compromised. A surge of concern tightens your chest, prompting both of you to hurriedly head to your computer. With a flash drive from Dr. Leon, you deftly maneuver through the digital maze, inputting a protective code to shield the exposed information from prying eyes.

A sense of triumph illuminates your face as the safeguard activates, preventing unauthorized access to your sensitive data. "Dr. Leon provided this for emergencies," you share, your voice tinged with a blend of relief and gratitude. The once chaotic room now stands as a fortified defense against the digital intrusion that loomed, threatening to unveil your identity to the world.

With a nod of gratitude, the soldier acknowledges your efforts and swiftly exits the room, leaving you to reclaim the sanctuary of your workshop. As the door closes behind them, you return to your desk, picking up your notepad with a renewed focus. The urgency of the situation lingers in the air, but you find solace in the familiar dance of pen against paper as you continue to modify and refine your designs.

…A sudden bang startles you, and your eyes dart towards the door. A fleeting thought suggests it might just be routine shooting practice, but before you can dismiss it, another loud bang echoes through the air. Alarmed, you yell, uncertainty gripping your senses. The unmistakable thud of boots pounding in the hallway draws your attention, the cacophony growing louder and more chaotic. A tense realization settles in, shattering the illusion of routine, as you brace yourself for the unexpected tumult that now encircles your once-quiet workspace.

"Where are they?!" a voice with a distinct German accent echoes, a hint of urgency cutting through the air. The voice, slightly high-pitched yet carrying a rough edge, raises your concern. A series of more bangs and a thud against your door intensify the chaos. Reacting swiftly, you stand and make your way to a nearby closet in your room, seeking refuge and concealment amidst the unfolding uncertainty. The echoes of commotion linger in the air as you brace yourself for the unknown presence outside your door.

Another resounding bang reverberates through the room, and with a sickening crack, the hinges of your door surrender to the relentless force. The door bursts open, hanging precariously from the damaged frame. Panic courses through your veins, and you instinctively hold your breath, pressed against the back of the closet in fear.

As the intruder strides into the room, you catch a glimpse through the crack in the closet door. The man is tall, towering over the space with an intimidating presence. A hood shrouds his features, casting a veil over his intentions. Your limited military training pulses through your veins, a meager defense against this imposing adversary, knowing that you could not beat this mammoth of a man. The closet becomes a fragile sanctuary as you silently pray that the looming threat passes without unveiling your hiding place.