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menagerofmischief · 7 months ago

Note

Can I please have cold stuffed cherry tomatoes, sausage rolls, tomato soup and kebab with boba, rose and mocha coffee served by Lando Norris? And a little dessert too 💕 my favorite track is Zandvoort

stuffed cherry tomatoes sugar daddy cold appetizer rough sex sausage rolls "I'll make it fit" tomato soup "Running away from my dick? I don't think so" kebab "Look at that, my cock is splitting you in half" boba anal rose spanking mocha coffee degradation dessert aftercare + matcha toys

Lando Norris x sugar baby!girlfriend!reader

TW: unprotected sex, cumming inside, PiA, anal, fingering, toys , size kink

WC: 2.1k

A/N: sugar daddy lando implied but not specified. also anal is like my biggest opp so I hope this doesn't suck

I stared at the track ahead of me from the comfortable space of McLaren’s hospitality. Everyone was quiet from the moment the last lap started, waiting for the result. I twisted the Cartier love bracelet Lando bought me a few weeks ago, insisting I needed to match with him, as I watched the race.

But my thoughts were somewhere else. All I could think about while watching Lando approaching the finish, heading for a win, was a conversation the two of us had last week at Lando’s (mine as well, I suppose) Monaco apartment.

✿ ✿ ✿

“You know, I’ve been thinking about something,” Lando said, breaking the comfortable silence we had fallen into right after sex, both of us too tired to move.

“Oh, have you?” I asked, sucking in a sharp breath when I felt his fingers run through my folds, collecting some of his cum that spilled from me. “Lando,” I said, my voice breathless as his fingers slipped and moved down to my ass, rubbing around my other hole.

He hummed, his fingers, lubed with his own cum still tracing circles around my anal opening. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you here.” He said, his voice deep and dripping with desire. “Taking you fully. Your ass is the only part of you I haven’t fucked yet, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying my best to keep myself composed. “I’ve never done that before.”

He growled, placing a kiss on the side of my neck. “That makes it all the sweeter, baby. That I could be the first to have you like that.”

I looked at him, we were laying on our sides, facing each other. His eyes were dark, intensely focused on me. I was quiet for a moment, thinking about his proposition.

Lando waited, patiently. But his hand never moved away.

Finally, I swallowed, opening my mouth to speak. “I’ll make you deal,” I said, my voice cracking. “You win the race next week, and I’ll let you fuck my ass.”

Lando smirked, moving his fingers away from my hole, and grabbing my ass. “Deal,” he said, the tone of his voice letting me know he was already planning the whole thing out in his head.

✿ ✿ ✿

The whole garage erupted in cheers when Lando crossed the finish line. Everyone was up on their feet and screaming in happiness as the signs displayed Lando as the winner. Bringing him another 25 points and further confirming McLaren’s position in the constructors championship.

I was still lost inside of my own head as I made my way outside just in time to see Lando getting out of his car. He took off his helmet and balaclava, shaking his head to move his hair that was stuck to his forehead.

He turned towards the crowd and his eyes met mine. A smile stretched over his lips as he ran up to me and hugged me over the fence. His hands wrapped around me possessively, his lips brushing my ear. “I hope you’re ready for tonight,” he said, his breath hot against my skin. “Because I’m excited for my reward.”

He pulled away, lips drawn in a smirk and eyes gleaming. Lando leaned down, giving me a hard kiss before moving along to shake hands with the rest of his team and then going to do interviews.

✿ ✿ ✿

Lando was impatient. I knew that from the moment he found me after the interview and dragged me back to the car, throwing some bullshit line about how he was too tired to go clubbing and would rather have a nice evening in, to his friends.

His hand stayed on my thigh the whole time he was driving us back to the hotel, making me squirm in my seat, and once we made it to the elevator his lips were on me as soon as the door closed.

“Lan,” I said, trying to catch my breath as the elevator finally came to our floor. “Come on, this is our floor.”

Lando dragged me out the moment that the elevator doors opened, his grip tight around my wrist. He swiped the card and pushed me inside of the door, slamming the door shut.

“Fuck, you don’t know how long I wainted for this.” He said, pressing his lips against mine in a bruising kiss as he groped my breasts. “Been hard ever since I got out of the fucking car.”

His fingers moved to unzip my dress, fingers fumbling with the zipper before he roughly tugged at it and the sound of material ripping filled the room.

“Lando!” I said, as he pushed what was no longer a wearable dress down my body and onto the floor. “The dress -”

He cut me off by roughly spanking my ass, the sound of it echoing through the room. “I bought it, I can rip it.” He growled, his hands squeezing my ass. He pushed my panties off, his fingers dipping between my ass cheeks and then he froze and I knew he felt it.

He pulled away slightly, his eyes meeting mine, the expression on his face unreadable. “What’s this baby?” He asked, his fingers brushing the edge of the butt plug I was wearing.

I giggled, placing my hands on his chest, my fingers working on unbuttoning his shirt. “Let’s say,” I started, pushing his shirt off his body and running my hands over his naked chest. “I was confident you were going to win today.”

Lando groaned, leaning towards me enough for his lips to brush mine but not actually kissing me. “I’m going to destroy you,” he said, his voice rough and leaving no room for argument.

Before I could even begin to think of my reply Lando pushed me towards the bed. He pulled off his jeans, leaving himself in his boxers, before sitting down on the bed. I looked at him, confused but the confusion was quickly gone when he pulled me over his lap.

“Lan, what are you doing?” I asked, not entirely used to this position. Sure, he had spanked me over his knee before but I was totally unprepared this time. He brought one of his hands down roughly, smacking one of my ass cheeks, making me yelp.

“That’s for making me wait.” He said, then hit my other cheek with enough force to make me jolt slightly forward. “And that’s for being a naughty girl and wearing a butt plug under your dress this whole time without telling me.”

He spread my ass cheeks and for a second he was silent before he spat between them, causing me to gasp at the feeling. “Look at you,” he said, his fingers running along my ass, collecting some of his spit. “Such a dirty little whore - and all for me.”

His fingers wrapped around the top of the plug, before he pulled it out of me, making me whine at the loss of fullness. I heard squirting of liquid and barely managed to turn around enough to see Lando putting lube on his fingers.

With no warning he pushed two of his fingers inside of my ass, replacing the plug. He started thrusting them into me slowly, dragging out each movement. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me and take my cock?” He asked, slightly speeding up the movement of his fingers.

I nodded, my hair falling over my eyes and blocking my vision. “Yes!” I whined, feeling my clit rub against his leg when he flexed his thigh, making me even more desperate. “Please Lando, need your cock! Need you to fuck my ass.”

That seemed to be enough for him. Wasting no time, Lando pulled me up and manhandled me onto the beg, pushing me onto my hands and knees. He stood behind me, gently rubbing one of his hands along my back while he squirted lube onto his dick with the other.

Once he lubed himself up, he moved the hand on my back so it was holding my waist, and then started slowly pushing himself inside of me.

The head of his cock slipped in and I found myself moaning out into the pillow below me. “Hurts!” I whined, because while I had stretched my ass a bit to prepare for this particular thing I had forgotten exactly how big Lando was.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, the dominant facade cracking. I knew that if I wanted to stop he would, no questions asked, but that wasn’t what I wanted.

I shook my head, “No, don’t stop.”

He chuckled, slightly gripping my waist. “Then what’s the problem, baby?”

“Too big!”

“Too big?” He laughed, his tone mocking. “Oh, don’t worry sweet girl, I’ll make it fit.”

He waited a moment before pushing himself inside an inch more. I moaned at the feeling of him stretching my ass but the moan was quickly replaced by a scream as he roughly thrust the rest of his length into me.

Lando’s hand grabbed my hair, pulling my head up from the pillow I had buried it into. “See, I told you it would fit. I’ll always fit in you, you’re my whore afterall. Made to take my dick perfectly.”

He started out with an experimental thrust and when I moaned he began slowly speeding up. “Fuck, look at that,” Lando groaned. “My cock is splitting you in half.”

His thrusts became rougher and faster, his slapping against mine with each thrusts, his balls hitting against my clit. The stimulation was increasing and I hadn’t even realized I was trying to push myself towards the headboard until Lando’s arm wrapped around my stomach and he pulled me backwards, impaling me on his dick.

“Running away from my dick baby?” He questioned, his voice holding a mocking edge. “I don’t think so.”

I felt like my body was burning from all the stimulation I was experiencing and when Lando’s hand sneaked around my body and his finger started rubbing my clit my arms turned into jelly. No longer having the strength to support my upper body, I let myself fall deeper into the mattress, my face buried in the pillow.

“Lando, so good!” I whined, the sound of my voice muffled by the pillow. “Gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!”

Lando’s fingers started rubbing circled on my clit faster, his hips speeding up as well, his thrusts becoming feral and desperate as he brought me closer to my orgasm while also chasing his own.

I knew Lando was close when I felt him twist inside of me. One of his hands grasped my hair, lifting my head up. “Cum for me, baby!” He said with a slight growl.

That was all it took to tip me over the edge and I was cumming, tightening around nothing as Lando filled my ass up with his cum.

“Fuck baby, that was so hot!” Lando said, pulling his softening dick out of me with a wet pop once he slipped all the way outside. “Think we can do it again sometimes?”

“Yeah,” I said, finally allowing my body to collapse onto the bed. “We should definitely do it again sometimes.”

I heard shuffling and felt Lando getting off the bed. He slipped inside the bathroom, leaving the door open and then I heard the sound of water running.

He came back, offering me his hands and I grabbed them, allowing him to pull me up into a sitting position, slightly wincing at the ghost of pain. “I don’t think I can quiet walk yet, Lan.”

“That’s okay, baby.” He offered me a gentle smile before picking me up. Lando carried me to the bathroom and then gently put me down into the bathtub.

I moved a bit forward, making space for him to get in behind me which he did, and then leaned back, pressing my back against his chest. I hummed at the warm water, running my hands through the bubbles.

“You even made bubbles,” I said, my voice hoarse from how loud I had been.

Lando laughed, his hands gently caressing my skin as he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss onto my cheek. “Of course I did. How could I forget how important the bubbles are for my girl? I love you, baby.”

I smiled, melting back into him, “I love you too, Lan.”

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1-800-kami · 1 year ago

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how to (properly) make tomato soup | gojo satoru

.. it’s three pm, you’re sick, and satoru takes it upon himself to take care of you (except there’s one problem: he does not possess any shred of culinary ability whatsoever).

content: 1.7k words, no explicit gender mention but pet names like angel and baby are used, gojo being silly while geto is absolutely done w his bullshit, reader has a migraine, mainly a self indulgent comfort/crack fic

when you feel the pounding in your ears again, tears start to form in your eyes. fuck, you just can’t help it.

you’re tired. so tired of the constant headaches–the migraines that plague your days and make staying awake completely unbearable.

the familiar ache settles in, but you can tell that this time, it’s much worse than usual. the nauseating pressure that can be described as thousands of needles pricking the back of your eyes, the blinding light in the room that’s assaulting your vision, the overwhelming sounds around you that are so intense to the point where you want to do nothing but cry.

so… that’s exactly what you do.

you succumb to the pain, letting out a choked sob that arguably just makes everything worse. tears slowly make their way down your cheeks, and you put your head in your hands to simultaneously muffle your cries and shield yourself from the light around you. you want to turn off the light. your head screams at you to turn off the light, but you’re so dizzy that you can barely even move.

“y/n?”

the first call of your name barely registers amidst the ringing in your ears. you hear it when your name is said a second time, though, and you feel yourself coming back to your surroundings.

he’s… here.

your boyfriend, satoru. yeah, he’s here.

head still buried in your hands, you carefully move one of your fingers to peek at him. he’s crouched down in front of you, a look of concern on his face. he’s saying something…

“where does it hurt, baby?” you’re still so stunned that you can’t find the strength in you to speak. so you close your eyes and point to the area where it hurts the most, sniffling. “is it okay if i massage that area, angel?”

throughout the midst of all your pain and tears, your heart manages to swell. it swells for satoru, because he’s here–he’s present, and he cares about you.

you manage out a small nod, eyes still shut. you let out a shaky breath—a breath that you just found out you were holding, since everything hurt so much that you forgot to breathe.

satoru massages your temples gently, even making an effort to softly wipe the tears off of your face. he feels your forehead with the back of his hand and frowns at your temperature. you’re starting to burn up. “s more than a headache, baby. i’m gonna take you to the bed, okay?”

this was going to be a long afternoon.

he carries you bridal style to your bedroom and gently places you on the mattress. he turns off the lights and draws the blinds shut, providing a welcome respite from the sensory assault just moments ago. you exhale a sigh of relief, slowly opening your eyes as you wipe the dried tears off your face. he climbs into the bed with you, and you instinctively cling to him for support as you wrap your arms around his neck. it hurts. everything hurts, but satoru’s presence makes it slightly more bearable. “my poor angel. have you been overworking yourself lately?”

you bury your face in his neck, finding comfort in being close to your boyfriend. he presses a feather-light kiss on your forehead, and it makes you want to cry again. “maybe. the headaches are getting worse.”

“you should take it easier on yourself. i can’t have you cryin’ like this. not on my watch,” he remarks, making sure to keep his voice low as not to overwhelm you. “y’know, if your migraines were a person, i’d make sure to hollow purple ‘em. no hesitation.”

a soft laugh escapes you, but you regret it almost immediately as it just intensifies the pain. he lets out an apology, but you just huff.

you close your eyes again, exhaustion taking over as your eyelids grow heavier. satoru slowly releases himself from your vice grip, much to your chagrin. you try and weakly protest, but he just shushes you gently. “just go to sleep, baby. i’ll be right back, okay? when was the last time you ate?”

“hm… i remember having a little bit of breakfast when i woke up-”

“alright.” he says, making a mental note that he should make food. “i’m going to go make you something, okay? i promise i’ll be back soon.”

“...don’t burn down the kitchen, please.”

“i can’t promise that, though.”

“you found the soup packet? okay, finally. now you just turn on the stove…”

satoru’s a little embarrassed to say that he doesn’t know how to cook.

growing up, he’s had practically everything served to him on a silver platter, so he never had to worry about making his own food. and frankly, despite your statement earlier being a joke, he is genuinely afraid to burn the house down. so, he has his best friend suguru on a video call right now, teaching him–gojo satoru, a twenty-eight-year-old man–how to make instant soup.

“the stove?”

“yeah…? don’t tell me you don’t know-”

“-no, no. i know how to turn the stove on. of course i do.” it feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than suguru. the camera shows satoru in his kitchen, sweating profusely and glaring at the stove like it’s his biggest enemy. satoru has fought countless curses in his life, has had near-death experiences multiple times, and even faced the king of curses himself, but he thinks that everything pales in comparison to this task. he tries to turn the knob, but it won’t budge. “what the hell?-“

“satoru-” it seems like the azure-eyed man doesn’t hear him as he keeps trying to turn on the stove (suguru swears he hears him muttering the phrase “with this treasure i summon”, but that’s not even his technique). he can’t help but facepalm for the hundredth time during the duration of this call. “satoru!”

he finally gets his attention, and satoru looks at his phone and sees geto with a look that screams “are you fucking kidding me?”—or really, just a look of utter disappointment. “you’re turning the stove the wrong way.”

“...”

he turns the knob the opposite way, and the burner sets ablaze instantly.

“oh, yeah… um, i definitely knew that.”

“satoru, how do you survive whenever you’re not on a mission?”

“sometimes i think about that too, really. i think it’s because y/n is the one who always cooks.”

“you think i can’t tell already?”

much to both of their surprise, satoru managed to make a pot of tomato soup. it only took him approximately forty-five minutes. satoru seems so proud of himself, meanwhile suguru looks so ready to block his number and never talk to him again.

he pours some of the soup into a bowl, and places it on a tray. he also takes a few painkillers from the medicine cabinet–along with a bottle of water. he thanks suguru for helping him, and is about to hang up but stops short when his best friend freezes. “wait, hold on. did you turn off the stove?”

and after making suguru swear on his life to never speak of this event to you and airing out the house to get rid of the smell of smoke, gojo satoru, “the strongest”, thinks he’s the first ever man to somehow burn a pot full of soup.

“it’s an impressive feat, really.” he claims.

suguru just says that he should never be allowed near a kitchen ever again, and satoru actually finds it in himself to silently agree.

an hour has passed, and he sets the tray on the nightstand, relieved that the past hour of his life is finally over, never wanting to do that ever again. you’re sleeping soundly on the bed, and he almost doesn’t have the heart to wake you up, but he knows that you have to eat something. he turns the nightlight on and gently taps you on the shoulder as you wake up with a stir. “toru? s’that you?”

“it’s me. can you wake up for me, baby? i promise you can sleep again after, but you need to eat.” when you slowly sit up from your sleeping position, he places the tray on your lap and softly coaxes you to eat. you take a spoonful of soup into your mouth, relishing in the flavor as you’re just now realizing how hungry you are.

“this is good,” you say, letting out a smile. the nap helped you come back to your senses a little, and you can finally breathe a little easy now that the pounding in your head has eased. “didn’t know you could make this.”

“yeah, well, you better savor it.” cause i’m never making that again.

when you finish the soup, you swallow a few painkillers while taking a greedy gulp of water from the bottle on the tray.

just in case the pain comes back, you think. though you really, really wish that it wouldn’t.

satoru sets the tray on the nightstand, and you settle back into the covers, wanting to just sleep the rest of the day away. satoru follows not long after, turning off the nightlight and letting out a yawn.

you bury your face in his neck once more, kissing him on the cheek. “thank you, for um—for all of this.”

“s nothing. just promise that you won’t overwork yourself again, okay?” he says, carefully caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“i’ll try not to.”

“hey, you can’t say just that. you have to say, ‘i promise not to overwork myself again, toru. i love you, and thank you for the tomato soup.’” he says while poorly imitating your voice, and you can’t help but laugh.

“okay, okay. i promise not to overwork myself again, love. i love you so, so much.” you say while peppering kisses all over his face, and he’s so glad that the lights are off so that you’re unable to see how his cheeks are beet red. “thank you for taking care of me… and for the soup. it was good.”

and as your eyelids begin to grow heavy once more, satoru thinks that his efforts aren’t in vain after all. because the sight of you, finding comfort in his presence, stirs a little bit of determination from within him. and maybe, just maybe, he’d take it upon himself to learn how to properly cook, not just (partially burnt) instant soup, but a real meal for the next time that you’re feeling like this.

and as he watches your chest rise up and down as you sleep, he can’t help but whisper, “yeah. next time, i’ll make you more than just soup. i’ll cook something special, just for you. ‘nd i won’t burn the pot again, either.”

because for you, satoru would do anything as long as he gets to see you happy. and part of that includes learning how to (properly) make tomato soup… and more.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru comfort #gojo comfort

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salmonballsss · 25 days ago

Text

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 9)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Masturbation

You didn’t protest when she shifted again, this time sliding her arms fully beneath you.

“Don’t—” you started weakly, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“I said you’re not fine,” she muttered, voice low. “Stop arguing.”

Before you could respond— not that you had the energy—she lifted you like you weighed nothing. You felt your limbs dangle, loose and uncooperative, your head falling lightly against her shoulder.

She was so warm…

The walk back to the bedroom was slow and steady. Agatha’s steps were careful, every movement measured, her grip unshakable. She nudged the door open with her hip, eased you down into the covers like she’d done this a thousand times before. You sank into the mattress with a trembling sigh, blinking up at the ceiling as she adjusted the quilt over you.

Then she lingered.

She sit near you, watching you with that same unreadable focus—like she was listening for something beneath your breathing. Waiting to see if you’d puke again. Pass out again.

Your eyes drifted closed, just for a second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Quiet. Firm.

You cracked an eye open, surprised by the softness in her tone. Agatha reached out, brushing a hand through your hair, fingers searching for something behind your scalp. You winced when she hit a sore spot near the back of your head.

Her fingers paused.

“Hold still,” she murmured.

She parted your hair gently, tilting your head. You heard her make a small sound in her throat—half relief, half annoyance.

“No blood,” she said finally. “You didn’t tear anything.”

You blinked up at her, dazed.

She raised an eyebrow. “So unless you managed to vomit up a demon, I’m guessing the noodle theory’s bullshit.”

Your lips twitched, despite yourself. “Just… really bad soup.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Please. My soup’s divine. You probably summoned something and tried to eat that .”

You didn’t laugh. But you didn’t deny it either.

That made her squint harder.

But instead of pressing, she pulled the quilt higher up your chest, smoothing it over your shoulder. Her touch lingered there a moment too long.

Then she sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. Guarded. Quiet.

Waiting.

Like she knew the real story was coming eventually.

You shifted on the mattress with a wince, your voice rough. “Did you find my things?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at you—head tilted, brow furrowed slightly, as if you’d started speaking in tongues. Her eyes flicked over your face, unreadable.

Then finally, a hum. Low. Noncommittal.

You frowned. “Is that a yes or a no? You can’t just hum at me and expect me to read your mind.”

Her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything soft.

“You’ve been trying to read me since the moment we met,” she said, stepping closer. “Thought you liked puzzles.”

You stared up at her, not quite matching the fire in her voice.

“…I like answers more.”

Agatha didn’t answer. Just squinted at you, like she was trying to xray your soul.

You scowled, suddenly too raw to hold her gaze. “Stop looking at me. Did you find it or not? That’s all my research and—”

“Yes,” she cut in sharply, voice flat. “It’s downstairs. In the living room.”

You blinked. The answer landed harder than expected—not because it was what you wanted, but because she gave it so easily. You nodded, then closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. You were starting to feel better… slowly. Less nausea. It was like that notebook had caused this reaction.

Agatha’s notebook.

Did you dig too deep? Had you finally gone too far with your research? And why did Agatha seem so dead set on keeping you safe all of a sudden?

You sighed and looked back up—only to find her still staring.

“What is up with you?” you asked, not used to this behavior from Agatha , of all people.

She muttered a small, “Nothing.”

Then, after a pause, “Did you take the pills I left for you on the counter?” When You shook your head slightly, Agatha sighed, rubbing at her temples like you’d just told her the sky was on fire.

“You never listen, do you?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Well excuse me for fucking fainting on the floor and not being able to move!”

Agatha stopped, her eyebrows furrowing.

“…Right.”

Silence.

You and Agatha just stared at each other. Eyes locked. Neither of you moved. You held your breath, heart starting to race as her blue eyes bore into yours—sharp, unreadable.

Then she tsked her tongue and stood up.

“I’ll get you the medicine. And your things.”

You barely got out a quiet “Okay” before she disappeared from the room.

As you waited, your thoughts drifted back to the notebook. Before the pain—before you hit the floor—you were on something. A trail.

Several trails, really.

Especially the one that screamed, Agatha wasn’t in her 40s. Not even close. You could ask her. But that’d only make her more suspicious. Of what happened. Of what you’d seen.

Did she know you snooped?

You had left the notebook on the floor after you dropped it… and probably the study door wide open like a damn neon sign.

You shifted upright and coughed.

Something landed on your sleeve—well, Agatha’s sleeve, technically, since these were her clothes.

A thick smear of bloody, black gunk.

You stared at it, confused. What the hell was that ? Was it something you ate? But the only thing you’d had in the past two days was soup. Just soup.

Was it… from the beast?

You didn’t remember much from that night. Everything was still hazy. Maybe you could call Irene and ask? Though… that might be a little weird.

"Hey, I know I tried calling you a few days ago. I saw something terrifying in the woods, blacked out, might’ve thrown up demon goo. Anyway—what did the police find in your husband’s corpse?"

You snorted to yourself at the absurdity of it all.

Just then, Agatha walked back in, youtr duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Oh… thank you,” you mumbled, as she approached and set everything down near the nightstand.

Then she turned to you again. “Here’s some medicine. Then I just need to check your stitched up side. If you were throwing up like that, the heaving might’ve pulled something.” Her eyes scanned your form, sharp and methodical. You shifted, wrapping your arm back under the blanket—too late. Her gaze zeroed in on your wrist. On the mess you’d coughed up.

“Yeah, okay. Just let the medicine kick in first,” you said quickly, already moving to hide your wrist again—only for her hand to snag it mid motion.

“ Really ? On my sweater?” she asked flatly.

You gave her a sheepish look. “…It was an accident.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. Just held your wrist, eyes locked on the gunk like it had personally insulted her.

You shifted awkwardly, trying to pull back. She didn’t let go.

“Well,” you muttered, voice dry, “it’s not like I aimed for your sleeve.”

Still nothing from her.

The tension in the air shifted. She wasn't bickering. Not rolling her eyes or making one of her usual backhanded comments about how delicate you were.

Just staring. You squirmed.

Finally, she released your arm with a strange sort of gentleness—like she hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding on. Agatha stood up straighter, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Let me… check your side now.”

You blinked at her. “Now?”

“Yes. Before you puke up anything else corrosive and rot my mattress.”

There she was.

But even with the bite in her voice, something felt… off. Her eyes didn’t match her tone. Her hands hovered for a beat too long before she moved closer to the bed. You didn’t argue. Just nodded faintly and began shifting awkwardly under the blankets, untucking the edge of the sweater to expose the stitched side.

Agatha crouched beside the bed, a hand resting on the sheets for balance, the other slowly moving to lift the hem of your shirt.

Except it didn’t.

Her hand paused.

Unlike before—back when she’d changed your bandages, this timeher fingers hesitated.

She didn’t touch you.

Just hovered.

Your breath hitched.

“Are you gonna—?”

“I’m looking,” she said, cutting you off, but it came out low. Not annoyed. Almost like she was trying to convince herself of something. You felt her knuckles graze your ribs. Just barely. And then she pulled the fabric up. Her breath caught before yours did.

The stitches were still in place. Still holding. But around them, spidering out from under the neat line of thread, were veins—dark, not red. Not bruised. Black. Like ink. Or tar. Crawling under the surface of your skin like something alive was pressing from underneath.

You stared. Blinked once.

Then twice.

“…That’s not normal,” you said, way too calm.

Agatha didn’t respond. She was still crouched, still holding your shirt up, but her eyes had gone wide.

Wide for her.

Her jaw was tight.

“Is it… infected?” you asked, voice wobbling now. “Because it doesn’t feel infected—”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Not infected.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your stomach twisted.

“Agatha,” you said, slowly, “what the hell is it, then?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Her hand was still frozen near your side, the fabric of your shirt clenched between her fingers. You could feel the tension in her knuckles, the strange war in her expression—like she was trying to hold something in. Like she was trying not to panic .

“…Agatha?”

Finally, she blinked. Stood up fast.

Too fast.

“I’ll run you a bath.”

“…What?”

“You’re sweating. And you’re pale. You should soak,” she said briskly, already turning on her heel. “It’ll help.”

“I don’t think soap is gonna fix my black demon vein infection, ” you snapped.

“Do you want to feel worse or better? ”

That shut you up.

She was already halfway to the bathroom, not looking back. You stayed frozen in place, arm over your middle, fingers pressed near the weird mark like maybe you could stop whatever it was from spreading if you held it hard enough.

The nausea came back, but slower this time. Duller. Still—your heart was sprinting. The sound of running water echoed from down the hall. The pipes in this house moaned a little, creaking like they hadn’t been used in years.

You tried not to hyperventilate.

What the hell had you summoned?

And more importantly—what the hell had it left inside you?

You stared down at the marks on your side, breathing fast.

This wasn’t normal.

This was not academic, historical weirdness. This was… other.

Footsteps padded back into the room. Agatha again. She stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, eyes flicking to your arm, then to your face, then back down. Her jaw tightened again “Come on,” she said softly this time.

Not commanding. Not annoyed.

Just… there.

You stared at her. “What?”

She extended a hand.

“I’m not gonna carry you.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Then move.”

You stared another beat longer before sighing and peeling yourself off the bed with a dramatic grunt.She didn’t help, but she also didn’t walk away. You winced with every shift of movement, side screaming in tight pulses. The dark veins were still there, still quiet, like something sleeping just under your skin.

You tried not to think about it.

Agatha waited until you were mostly upright before gesturing stiffly toward the bathroom. Inside, the room was already full of steam. There was something herbal in the water—you couldn’t name it, but it smelled sharp, calming. Not quite mint. Not quite lavender. Something else…

Weird.

You stood by the edge of the tub, blinking down at the swirling heat. Agatha lingered in the doorway.

“…Do you need help getting in?”

You turned slowly to face her. “Do you want me to get naked right now and die of embarrassment on your bathroom tile?”

One of her eyebrows twitched. “You fainted in your own vomit less than an hour ago. Let’s not act like there’s any dignity left between us.”

You let out a snort, despite yourself.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “Just… hand me a towel or something.”

She did. Wordlessly.

Her fingers brushed yours again. Brief. Warm.

Your breath caught.

She didn’t say anything else, just nodded and turned to leave. You watched the door close, listened to the soft click of it latching behind her.

You didn’t move for a second.

Just stood there.

Steam curling around you, the veins on your side pulsing with slow, sick rhythm. Whatever this was—it wasn’t normal.

But Agatha knew something, and you weren’t sure if that made it better… or much, much worse. You hesitated, hand gripping the towel at your side, the other still pressed against your ribs.

Slowly you set the towel on the sink counter, and slipped off agathas sweater, then came the sweatpants. with a grunt that felt way too dramatic for your age, you lowered yourself in. The heat bit at first. Sharp and too much—your breath hitched—but then your body adjusted and—

Oh.

The pain didn’t vanish. But it shifted. Blunted. Like the edges of it were being shaved down by something thicker than water. You slumped back, jaw slack with shock.

Okay. That… shouldn’t be working.

You let your head fall against the cool porcelain lip of the tub and exhaled through your nose, slow. Long. You hadn’t realized how hard you were clenching every muscle until they all started to unclench at once.

The water moved around you, thick with whatever Agatha had dumped in—herbs or salts. It helped. You shifted slightly, letting one arm float near the surface, the other trailing fingertips along the inside of the tub—just to anchor yourself. Something about the silence was louder than it should’ve been.

Your fingers brushed a rough edge.

You blinked, looking down.

Nothing.

But when you touched the spot again—just under the waterline—there it was. Faint. Like shallow scratches. You couldn’t see them. Not really. But you could feel them.

Not names. Not shapes, exactly. Just… lines.

Marks.

Your stomach turned, but you told yourself it was probably from age. Old porcelain or cast iron. Just wear and tear. Not carvings. Not something deliberate. Still. Your hand moved over them again.

Slow.

The water shifted in response. Not violently. Just… knowingly. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Relax,” you muttered. “Jesus.”

And then— A sound outside. You opened your eyes again, breath catching mid chest. Not loud. But clear. A door. Somewhere down the hallway. Soft click of it closing.

What room did she go into?

Agatha hadn’t said a word since helping you in here. She hadn’t come back. But she was definitely moving around out there. And if that sound really was what you thought it was, then—

She was hiding something.

No. Not hiding.

Retrieving.

Preparing?

You leaned back again, shaking your head. You needed to calm down. Just relax. You took three deep breaths and closed your eyes. Maybe Agatha went into her study? Would she know you went in there and snooped around? Perhaps she’ll see the notebook of hers you’d dropped on the ground and burst in to yell at you… though that means she’d have to see you naked.

A little blush hit your cheeks thinking about that.

You relaxed back a little, thoughts drifting to the bathroom. Those flashes. What had they been about? There was some at the Salem witch trials… one of Agatha sticking your head underwater… or was that Agatha? You didn’t know. The whole thing was one big fever dream.

Then there were the ones of you and Agatha together.

You shifted in the tub, your hand resting on your thigh… Visions of you raking your nails down her back… You gulped, your breathing coming in a bit quicker.

Her eyes locked onto yours… violet, not blue… Violet like people had said throughout history… You groaned softly, your core tightening with simmering arousal. The one where she’d kissed you as if she’d been starved… it all felt so real.

So— good.

A small whimper left your lips.

Would she kiss you like that? Desperate… overwhelmingly possessive with a mix of longing… Slowly, your hand rubbed up your thigh and to your navel.

A bed. Moonlight. Her fingers ghosting over your skin.

Her mouth trailing lower.

A moan—yours. Half sob, half prayer.

“Mine,” she breathed against your stomach, voice shaking with something far deeper than lust.

“You’ve always been mine.”

The vision replayed in your head. Your hand trailing where her mouth had been. Imagining it was her.

Agatha.

As if continuing it for her. You imagined her mouth trailing further down. Kissing her way lower, eyes locked onto yours as you squirmed under her. God—her stare. That violet glint. Like she owned you. Like she’d always owned you. Not just your body, but your thoughts, your breath, your pulse.

In your mind, she kissed your hip bone. Soft. Lingering. Then the other. Her hands smoothing up your sides, slow, almost reverent.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she'd whisper against your skin.

You whimpered, tilting your head back in the water. The warmth of the bath now nothing compared to the heat pooling in your gut. You could feel her breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh—close. Too close.

Your toes curled against the porcelain. She wasn’t even real right now, and still—you were falling apart for her. Her lips brushed your skin, teasing. Deliberate.

Drawing you out, pulling soft gasps from your mouth.

Agatha...

You could almost feel her smirk. See the way she’d tilt her head, fingers digging into your legs just enough to anchor you.

“Is this what you wanted?” she’d say, voice low, smug and breathless all at once.

Your back arched in the tub, neck tipping, the vision so strong you swore it was real. Every nerve lit up. Everything inside you begging for more. And still she didn’t move. Not yet.

Just mouth after mouth, kiss after kiss—your thighs, the crease of your hip. Circling around the place you needed her. Refusing to give it. Your hand clutched the edge of the tub, knuckles white. You gasped, shaky, breath fogging the air around you.

“Please,” you whispered aloud.

Small. Barely a sound. But it echoed anyway. As if on cue, you imagined Agatha’s mouth on your sopping cunt. A moan slipped out, soft and shaky, at the first brush of your fingers rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clit.

You tried to keep it gentle—tried to savor it—but your body couldn’t take it. Not after everything. Not after a whole day spent on edge, nerves frayed and every glance from Agatha leaving you aching. You thought of her pinning you against the couch.The way her eyes bore into yours. The heat of her breath so close to your mouth—

“Fuck,” you whimpered, hips jolting.

Your fingers moved faster, each stroke dragging pleasure out of you like a tide pulling at the shore. In your mind, Agatha’s tongue worked in slow, torturous circles, flicking, sucking, her mouth relentless as she moaned into your pussy like she was starved for you. Your back arched sharply, the ache in your side forgotten. Drowned. Only the pleasure remained.

She was everywhere in your head. Murmuring filth against your cunt, lips glistening, voice thick with hunger—

“So wet for mommy…”

You could feel her fingers now. Long, veiny, deft. Sliding under her chin before plunging into you—And you mirrored it, slipping a finger into yourself. Thrusting in quickly. Then slowly. Curling. The heel of your palm catching your clit just right. A breathless moan tumbled out. Your head tipped back. Eyes fluttered shut. You imagined her watching you like that. Half-lidded gaze. Smile curling dark and knowing.

“Keep your pretty eyes on me, baby.”

You cried out, biting your lip hard to stifle it. Just in case. But the risk—the thought of her hearing—it only made the heat worse. Your cunt clenched around your fingers, wet and desperate. Your other hand slid up to your breast, pinching softly, then harder.

You gasped.

Would Agatha moan when you touched her like that? Or would she stay quiet—stern, commanding, her voice like gravel and sin? Would she guide you with gentle praise, coaxing you deeper? Or demand it?

“Faster. Deeper. Don’t stop until I say.”

The image shattered your restraint. Your fingers worked harder, faster, the water splashing around your hips as your thighs tensed tight around your hand. All you could think about was her. Her mouth, her hands, her voice—

Agatha.

Your breath hitched as the pressure in your stomach coiled tight.Your chest heaved, heartbeat pounding in your ears. The bathwater was too hot. Or maybe th at was just you. You turned your head, panting into your shoulder, your skin slick and flushed.Whimpers spilled from your mouth—helpless, involuntary.

Then—your fingers curled. Right against that spot.

And the whole world splintered.

You keened.

Your entire body tensed—

And then you shattered.

“Ah—f-fuck!”

Your orgasm crashed over you in violent, rolling waves. Twitching. Writhing. Gasping for air. Each wave more intense than the last, cresting until you had to clamp your hand over your mouth, smothering the cry tearing from your throat. You kept going, riding it out, chasing every last drop of it.

Until it was too much. Too sensitive.

Too everything .

Finally, finally—you stilled. Blinking your eyes open. Your fingers sliding out slowly, soaked and trembling. Chest still rising and falling in sharp, ragged breaths. You slumped against the tub, spent and dazed. Then you lifted your hand, watching the wetness glisten on your fingers. Still catching your breath.

All of it for her.

All of it because of her.

---

You stayed in the bath for another ten minutes, your body slack and warm, eyes half-lidded as the steam clung to your skin. Every inch of you still hummed. Eventually, your limbs started to feel heavy with the kind of fatigue that came after something… intense. You sighed, finally pushing yourself up, wincing slightly as the cool air kissed your flushed skin. Wrapped a towel around yourself. Tucked it tight.

You paused in front of the bathroom door, hand hovering over the knob, trying to smooth your face. Your breathing. You didn’t look like someone who just moaned Agatha Harkness’s name while fingering herself in her bathtub, right? God. You ran a hand through your damp hair, trying not to groan into the steam-thick air. Your legs still felt a little shaky beneath you, towel clutched in white-knuckled hands like it might somehow protect you from the sheer mortification if she—if Agatha—

No. She hadn’t heard anything. Hopefully.

You slowly cracked open the door. The light outside was dim, just a soft amber glow spilling from a candle on the dresser. Her room was hushed and still. No movement. No footsteps. Just the steady sound of a page turning.

Agatha.

There she was. Sitting in the same chair she had when you’d begged her to stay. Crossed legs, ankle dangling over a knee. A light brown sweater clung lazily to her frame, sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. Her hair was mussed in a way that felt… effortless. Like she'd run her fingers through it once and left it that way.

You wanted to go right back into that bath and put your hand to work again—just from the way she looked at rest.

You wrapped the towel tighter around yourself. The steam still clung to your skin, leaving you flushed and far too warm. You cleared your throat—not because you wanted her to look at you. Not because you wanted her to see you in a towel. Just so she’d leave. So you could change. Into your clothes this time. Not hers.

Though… you wouldn’t mind wearing hers again.

Agatha looked up slowly, unhurried. Her eyes moved from your face—then down. Down the slope of your neck. Over your damp collarbones. Further. Down. Then lazily back up.

A smirk played on her lips. Subtle. Barely there. But enough. You felt it like static running over your skin.

And for a moment, you were completely convinced.

She’d heard you.

You froze where you stood. Eyes locking on hers. Heat climbing from your chest to your face. God, she had to have heard you. That tub wasn’t that far from the door. Her bedroom was connected. The walls weren’t exactly soundproof. And you hadn’t exactly been quiet. You thought back—flashes of your voice, your moans, the breathy way you’d whispered her name. Her name.

Your stomach flipped. You pulled the towel tighter.

She heard you. She heard everything. And now she was sitting there. Looking at you. With that look on her face. The smirk. The silence. The casual page turning like she hadn’t just listened to you fall apart for her in a room away.

Oh god. Oh god.

You took a small step backward. Unless—unless she’d gone to her study. You’d heard the door. Earlier. That soft click in the hallway. She’d said nothing since. She hadn’t come back in until just now. Had she?

Maybe she’d been in the study the whole time.

You clung to that. Yes. The study. Far enough away. Maybe the door had been closed. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything.

You nodded once to yourself, desperate for that reality to be true. That had to be it. Right?

You lifted your chin. “I need to change,” you said quickly. Your voice sounded small. Strained.

Agatha raised a brow, the corner of her mouth still tilted, but said nothing.

You motioned toward the door, your voice a little firmer this time. “Can you give me the room for a minute?”

She blinked once. Then uncrossed her legs slowly, closing the book without hurry. That unreadable expression on her face never shifted. No teasing remark. No protest. Not even a joke.

She stood. Her gaze slid over you one last time—slow and heavy. Then she moved toward the door, And then she was gone. Door clicking shut behind her.

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding, towel still clenched in both hands. Heart hammering. Mind racing. Skin still aching from the memory of your own touch.

You were not going to survive this woman.

You headed to the duffel bag she’d brought up for you, pulling out clothes and setting them on the dresser. Dropped the towel. Your eyes went straight to the blackish veins blooming faintly across your ribs.

You ran a hand over them, wincing slightly. Why was this happening?

You slid your clothes on, mind still reeling. Why was it that the second you arrived in Hollow Wood, everything strange had started happening to you? Back in Washington, you got to study in a library… write your thesis. Maybe go out with Billy. Life was normal.

But now?

Now it felt like you’d been shaken upside down and wrung out to dry.

You glanced at the bed. Agatha’s bed.

Were you allowed to sleep in it?

Did she have a guest room?

Was she expecting you to just… crawl under her sheets like it was nothing?

God.

You weren’t sure what was worse— sleeping in her bed or asking if you were allowed to. It’s not like you hadn’t slept there already. The past two—maybe three—days? You’d been passed out cold in those same sheets, body aching, mind fogged, her chair pulled up close like she’d kept watch.

But this time you were actually awake . Actually aware . Not sick or unconscious or halfway to the other side. She hadn’t tucked you in. You’d have to do that part yourself.

You stared at the bed a long time, still clutching the edge of your shirt, frozen. Not breathing. Not blinking. Brain looping with the quiet static of What now? What now? What now?

You could… go downstairs?

Yeah.

Meet Agatha there. Eat something. Pretend like you weren’t thinking about her bed. Or her voice.

Your stomach rumbled faintly, like it agreed with the idea.

Right. Food. Distraction.

You could even grab your other things—she’d said they were in the living room, hadn’t she?

Yes. Yes, that was a plan. A good one.

Anything but standing here like some overheated ghost haunting the edge of her bed.

You exhaled slowly, wiped your damp palms against your sweatpants, and moved toward the door.

You walked quietly down the stairs, the wood warm beneath your feet. The house was dim, cozy—just the crackling of the fireplace and the faint sound of kitchen drawers opening and closing. You followed the smell before the sound, something buttery and familiar drifting toward you. Comforting.

Agatha was in the kitchen, back turned, sleeves still rolled up from earlier. Her hair had fallen a little more, soft waves brushing the line of her shoulders. She moved around the kitchen with unhurried confidence—light touches, small glances, like she was half listening to music only she could hear.

You hesitated at the edge of the room, one hand skimming the wall, trying not to startle her. She didn’t turn, but her voice reached you all the same.

“Back from your dramatic bath exit?” she asked, almost idly, like she was just pointing out the weather. “Or did you come down here to steal more of my clothes?”

You blinked. “I—I was just… I thought maybe you said my things were down here. And I was kind of… hungry?”

Agatha finally turned, leaning a hip against the counter, one eyebrow arching in clear amusement. “Hungry,” she repeated, like it was the most suspicious word in the English language.

You nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble. I can make something. Or, I don’t know, scavenge. You probably have crackers.”

“Crackers,” Agatha said dryly. “What do I look like, a raccoon in a retirement home?”

You smiled, awkward but soft. “It’s okay. I can forage.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. “Sit down before you humiliate yourself. Again.”

You pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, sinking into it with quiet relief. The wood was warm, just like everything else in her house. It didn’t feel like a place meant to impress anyone. It felt lived in. Real.

“You’re making something?” you asked, watching her work.

“Mashed potatoes,” she said. “Easy for you to digest. Thought I’d spare your delicate constitution.”

Your brow furrowed. “That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

Agatha turned just enough to flash you a grin over her shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”

She went back to peeling something, the scrape of the blade rhythmic against the sink. You sat in silence for a moment, listening to the soft thud of her movements, the clink of a spoon, the low bubble of water on the stove.

It was… peaceful.

Domestic.

And somehow that made everything worse .

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d done in her bathtub less than an hour ago. How your thighs had trembled. How her name had sounded in your mouth.

You bit your cheek.

And then—there it was.

Agatha lifted her left hand to sprinkle something into a small bowl of melted butter, fingers flicking with a precise, almost elegant motion. Her wrist rolled just so. Her fingers moved with intent. Sharp and fluid and—

Your throat dried.

That exact movement. Her fingers. That—

You looked away fast, face heating.

Nope. Not thinking about that. You were not going to think about the way she could use her hands. Absolutely not.

Agatha didn’t look back at you, but you swore there was a flicker of something—amusement?—in the set of her shoulders.

You tried to recover. “So, um… do you always make mashed potatoes at night for exhausted houseguests, or am I special?”

Agatha snorted. “You’re lucky I didn’t feed you toast.”

You smiled into your sleeve. “I would’ve accepted toast.”

“Of course you would’ve,” she murmured, tossing the peeled potatoes into a pot. “You’ve got that desperate, polite thing going on. Like if I told you to go chew on a paper napkin, you’d thank me and ask if it was gluten free.”

“I would not,” you said, indignant. “Probably.”

Agatha finally turned around again, crossing her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Mm. I’m not so sure.”

You looked up at her, the kitchen’s warm light making her hair catch gold at the edges. She was watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression again—like she already knew what you were thinking before you thought it.

You shifted in your seat. “I’m not that polite.”

“Oh?” Her brow quirked, lips twitching.

“I mean,” you tried again, “I don’t let people walk all over me.”

Agatha hummed. “Just let them cook for you, clothe you, bring you home, give you their bed…”

“That’s different,” you mumbled. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

“No,” she said, moving back to the stove, “but you didn’t exactly fight me, did you?”

Your mouth opened. Closed. You had no idea what to say to that.

She chuckled to herself as she stirred the pot, then added softly, “Relax. You’re not that easy to take care of. I’m just good at it.”

You blinked. Something warm curled in your chest.

You watched her in silence as she mashed the potatoes with fluid, practiced movements—quiet, unhurried. Like it was the kind of thing she did every night.

Maybe it was.

You sat back in your chair, head tilted slightly.

This woman was impossible. Sharp tongued and unreadable. But then she made you mashed potatoes at night. Worrying about your stomach. Worrying about you , even if she’d never say it aloud.

And god help you, but it was kind of the most attractive thing you’d ever seen.

You cleared your throat. “Can I help with anything?”

She didn’t look up. “You’ve helped enough for one day.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Agatha just smirked, spooning a heap of soft potatoes into a bowl and sliding it across the table toward you.

“Eat,” she said. “Before I change my mind.”

You looked down at the bowl. Steam curled gently upward. Warm. Comforting. Safe.

You smiled.

“Thank you,” you said, voice soft.

Agatha leaned her hip against the counter again, folding her arms as she watched you take the first bite.

“That polite thing again,” she said, shaking her head.

You just shrugged, mouth full of buttery goodness. “Told you. I’m not that polite.”

She laughed once. Low and warm.

Agatha plopped down across from you with her own bowl, but hers was noticeably fuller—steak, vegetables, a glisten of something richer than potatoes.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” you said, pouting dramatically.

Agatha rolled her eyes with exaggerated patience, already taking a bite. She chewed leisurely, eyes half-lidded like she was doing it just to spite you.

“It is fair,” she said around her fork, “because I’m not the one who tried to summon a beast and almost got myself killed doing it.”

You huffed. “That was an accident.”

“So is eating glue, but we don’t hand out medals for it.”

Without thinking, you shot right back, “I wouldn’t be so sure—I heard from a little bird you and Harry—”

Your words caught midair.

Your eyes widened. Your mouth snapped shut.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

Agatha froze for the briefest moment, fork still hovering near her mouth. Her eyes narrowed just a bit—sharpened, but not hostile. More… curious. Watching you like she’d just found something shiny beneath a rock.

“Care to finish your sentence?” she asked, voice light but deceptively smooth. That silk-over-steel tone that made your spine straighten.

You shook your head, suddenly very interested in the potatoes. “Nope. I’m good.”

She leaned forward just slightly, chin propped on one hand, elbow on the table. “Come on. You can’t just dangle a mystery like that and not follow through.”

You stabbed your fork into the potatoes, desperate for a distraction. “It was nothing. Just… some old notes. From Irene. I didn’t even read all of it.”

“Irene?” Agatha repeated, her tone shifting ever so slightly. There was an undercurrent now—something tight beneath the casual lilt, like a bowstring being drawn just a hair too far.

“Uh, yeah… just some… lady I met. Well, actually, on the bus to Hollow Wood and—” You glanced up. Agatha was staring at you, still as stone, those sharp blue eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Then I met her at a coffee shop,” you went on, trying not to fidget, “and… kind of went to her house.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, like that might ease the heat crawling up it.

Agatha clicked her tongue softly and went back to eating, her expression unreadable again.

You blinked. Was she jealous?

No… no. No way.

Still, something about her silence begged to be poked at. So, you did. Carefully.

“She said she knew you…”

Agatha didn’t look up. She didn’t flinch. But you caught the faintest pinch between her brows. Just a flicker.

“She mentioned the moonflowers, too,” you added, voice light, tilting your head. “Sounded like it meant something.”

That got her.

Agatha’s eyes met yours again, the weight of her stare immediate. Her lips were parted slightly, like she might say something—but she didn’t. Not at first. Her gaze drifted, just for a second, toward the far end of the kitchen. The window? The corner? You weren’t sure.

And then, with a sigh that sounded like she’d finally decided not to launch a fork across the table, she set it down and leaned back in her chair.

“She talks too much,” Agatha muttered, dry as dust.

You stifled a grin. “So you do know her.”

Agatha gave you a look. “I know a lot of people. Doesn’t mean I want them giving out my résumé to every history major with a soft voice and a pair of wide eyes.”

Your face flushed, but you tried to keep it cool. “I don’t have wide eyes.”

“Sure you don’t,” she said, smirking into her water glass.

You scoffed. “Don't deflect. You do know her. Meaning you know her husband… Harry. Right?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

Her fingers, idly curling at the rim of her bowl, stilled. You watched her jaw shift slightly—subtle, but tense. She blinked once. Slowly.

You pushed. “The one that was mauled just past the cemetery? The same one you just happened to find me near... hm? You still won’t tell me why you were out there…”

Still no answer. She just set her spoon down with an exaggerated, delicate clink. Her posture didn’t change, but something behind her eyes flickered. Something old. Something tired.

“Why does the little historian care?” she asked, the corner of her mouth curling upward again. But it didn’t reach her eyes this time. “You seemed pretty happy to see me then.”

You stared at her.

“I know you know Harry,” you said, firmer now. “Because you were mentioned in his notes. And his research. Far too many times to be a coincidence.”

That got her.

Agatha didn’t smile this time.

She sat back slightly, folding her arms across her chest. Her fingers tapped once, twice, against her bicep. You watched her weigh something—words, maybe. Or the risk of speaking them.

“Harry liked to dig,” she said finally. “Dig too deep, if you ask me.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

She looked past you then, her eyes unfocused, somewhere else entirely. “Some people… get obsessed with the wrong questions. They think if they pull apart enough threads, they’ll find something meaningful underneath. Something real. ”

Her gaze snapped back to yours, piercing. “Usually, all they get is tangled.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut in before you could speak.

“I didn’t hurt him.”

The words came out flat. Final.

You blinked. “I didn’t say you did.”

“No,” she said, voice a little softer now, “but you’re thinking it.”

“I—” You faltered. “I just… want to understand.”

Agatha exhaled, slow and heavy. She reached for her glass again, turning it in her hands without drinking. “You won’t. Not yet.”

You looked down at your plate, appetite gone. The mashed potatoes had gone cold around the edges.

There was silence. Not heavy, but something close to it. Like the kind that settles between two people who are suddenly very aware of how much they don’t know about each other.

Then Agatha stood up with a small huff. “You want more potatoes or what?”

The question was so abrupt, so domestic in its delivery, it knocked the breath out of you.

You blinked. “What?”

She raised a brow at you like you were the unreasonable one. “You barely ate. If I’m going to be accused of conspiring with dead men and dragging grad students into murder plots, I at least deserve a clean plate in return.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Just a little. A quiet breath through your nose, more a release than anything else.

“I guess… I could eat a little more,” you muttered.

“Good,” Agatha said, already turning toward the kitchen. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“For what?” you called after her.

She looked over her shoulder, that smirk back in place. “Surviving dinner with me again tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart—traitor that it was—fluttered anyway.

Next Chapter

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whispereons · 2 years ago

Text

Oracle!Reader Part 20

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 19, Part 21

1K special

Warning! This is yandere, sagau imposter au so expect lots of gore in the series. This chapter is tame in comparison to the others.

The moon glimmers in the starlit sky as a hand brushes against your newly scarred skin. Eyelashes fluttering, your vision begins to focus on the plain ceiling above you.

A coarse groan leaves your cracked lips as you flinch from the sudden pressure on your stomach. The hand quickly retreats as a pale green blob comes into view.

"...are…eeling?" The voice is barely picked up as your ears ring. Squinting your eyes, you swallow the dried saliva tasting faintly of blood.

"W-Who?" The word is coughed out as your throat struggles to form the words. Before you can ask for water, a cup is brought to your lips. The cold water brings sweet relief to your parched body.

Your senses begin to sharpen and clarity is brought back to your vision. Baizhu stands next to your bed helping you drink from the cup, though Changsheng isn't wrapped around his neck like she normally would be.

The water runs out and he draws the cup away. "How are you feeling? Your body is technically healed of its major injuries but it's still trying to adjust. The pain will continue to persist for a long while."

"I feel better than before." The reply is automatic as your hand twitches in an effort to move your muscles. The recollection of what had even brought you to Baizhu's care is a slow trickle as you process his words.

Shenhe, Yelan, the treasure hoarders, the fall and Qiqi are slotted into your memory like perfect puzzle pieces. The small pitter-patter of footsteps coming closer to you and the sound of metal being set down goes unheard by you as you focus on sitting up.

Soreness and exhaustion are impossibly heavy weights as you struggle to lift your body a few inches away from the mattress. Gentle hands support your body, along with much smaller ones on your other side.

"Thank you…" Your words are choked out between your bitten lips as a dull ache plagues your body. Clenching the blanket in your fists, you sigh in relief as a cold compress is applied to your bare back.

Wait, your bare back?

The strangeness is not lost on you as you look down at yourself. A thin hospital-like gown is all that you seem to be wearing with the blanket pooled around your waist. It takes a second for you to properly process what this means for you before you’re frantically reaching up to your face.

“No need to fret, your mask was left untouched during the treatment.”

It seems to be the truth, as your fingertips are met with cool porcelain and flaking blood. Not to mention the casual way Baizhu is speaking to you and the lack of Millelith guards swarming you.

Licking your chapped lips, you eventually arrive at the question: where do you go now? Ningguang would surely kill you if she finds out you’re still alive. Zhongli is still expecting an answer, god knows what Yelan would do and Shenhe is a wild card-

The thoughts racing in your mind are abruptly cut off as a metal tray is plopped onto your lap. A warm bowl of soup and yogurt with a soft pastel color greeted you. The refilled cup of water placed on your bedside is ignored as your mouth waters at the sight of the meal.

“Clear chicken carrot soup and fruit-flavored yogurt.” A child-like, monotonous voice comments with a deeper melodic voice following up. “I would have had food suited to your taste, but you hadn’t awoken until now. Are you allergic to anything?”

“Nope.” You replied by popping the ‘p’ before pulling the tray closer and picking up the utensils. Allergies didn’t concern your ravenous mind, as your dormant stomach awakened painfully at the smell of food. Who knows, maybe your creator buff will also prevent any allergic reactions.

An upside to being the creator was something you desperately needed after the saga of pure bullshit you’ve been through.

Baizhu gently directs Qiqi out of the room after instructing her a message you couldn’t bother to hear as you gulp down the food. When he returns, he sits next to you as the moonlight shines down from the window.

“Let me explain your previous and current state while you eat. Qiqi brought you in with multiple minor injuries, a few stab wounds, head trauma, elemental damage, with fractured and broken bones. That’s not even mentioning the severe blood loss and infections beginning to manifest on your poorly healed past injuries.” Each description is like a stab to the heart, with the visualization of your passed out body arriving to Baizhu on death's doorstep crystal clear.

“Thankfully your body reacted well with my elemental healing so the life-threatening wounds were healed, without infections, and your critical condition was toned down. That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.”

The soup and yogurt is picked clean, leading you to gulp down the water next. Looking at him, you open your mouth to ask for more food when he cuts you off firmly. “Don’t bother asking for food, the arrows didn’t hit your lungs or heart, but your abdominal organs weren’t spared. You’ll be stuck with light meals until I’m positive it’s safe.”

Resisting a scoff, you ask him. “So what’s my current condition? Will I have to stay here overnight? Hold on, can I even afford that? How much did this treatment even cost?!”

“Please calm down, Y/N.”

“How did you-”

“Your name was etched onto the bag that Qiqi brought along. As for payment, there’s no need to worry. You had a rather generous benefactor that has given us more then enough mora to cover your total cost in every possible scenario.”

That was suspicious beyond belief, but you didn’t have a reason not to believe Baizhu either. Baizhu would have healed you even without payment, but not being in debt was ideal.

This benefactor either wants something from you, wants to kill you themselves, or knows you personally.

A few people come to mind that could fit your suspicions but with so little knowledge you couldn’t confirm anything. Instead, you asked. “Isn’t doctor-patient confidentiality a thing? Did they leave any message for me?”

If Baizhu was surprised, then he hid it well. “She knew your name and appearance, though I never confirmed that you were here. She simply left the money and a verbal message asking you to have dinner with her tomorrow at 1800 in Xinyue Kiosk. But please be aware that I’m not forcing this, whether you would like me to refund the money so you can avoid interacting with her or not is completely up to you.”

Shaking your head, you declined it. “I’ll go. Since everything is paid for by her, does that also include any medicine I have to take for whatever current injuries I still have?”

��That’s right. I’m mostly prescribing supplements for the blood loss and fluid imbalance. Some are for the bones that broke, even repaired they might cause problems, so calcium intake is also important. A simple drug for your immune system, as your body's defenses are relatively low from the wounds. As well as per needed fever and pain medications.”

… You didn’t want to imagine the cost of those medications, let alone the treatment. A dinner in the most expensive restaurant in Liyue within the city with an unknown woman isn't that bad.

You've met people in worst locations and survived this long.

Pushing back the lingering worry, you focused on Baizhu’s explanation over what condition your body is in, what time to take the medicine and any other problems that could arise. It was boring, but you weren’t looking to get sick from your own stupidity.

The conversation had gone as you expected for a while until he brought up a strange topic. Flipping through a few papers, Baizhu steered the topic onto your- “Scars. Many of what you suffered from will leave new scars on your body. It’s the old scars that were peculiar.”

Knowing your luck, your scars must also be known to them. But you weren’t going to bring it up if he didn’t.

“They are imbued and cultivated with a power that is strikingly familiar, yet foreign. It actually perfectly correlates with my researched point of interest. I wanted to ask your permission on getting a sample of it before your discharge.”

That was a risky request. Your face stayed neutral as you thought to yourself. The consequences could be minor, but what if it became another situation of an accidental connection to the Creator again?

Looking back at the smiling snaked eye man, you opened your mouth to respond when he suddenly gave the fakest gasp.

“I almost forgot to mention that your old scar formations are the exact locations of the Creator’s real scars! This along with everything else I’ve seen is almost enough for me to report this to the Mille-”

“For fuck's sake just take it.” You could be excused for not playing mind games this time, being nearly dead should be enough reason for a day off.

“I want some form of compensation, though!” Being stupidly tired is a different matter then being just plain stupid.

“That’s not a problem. I’ll most likely take the sample sometime tomorrow before your discharge. So please, tell me what you have in mind by noon tomorrow so I can fetch it in time.”

In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that Baizhu would ask this of you. Your body has clearly undergone some changes as you lived in Teyvat and Baizhu is dead set on finding a way to be immortal.

There was a time you had wondered if you might be immortal due to being the creator, so maybe Baizhu can figure it out with your sample.

“The last thing I want to address before you rest is-” Baizhu is cut off by a knock on the door. He glances at you, asking permission to open the door with his eyes before you nod firmly. Qiqi walked in earlier without knocking, so maybe it’s a visitor? But considering how late it is, maybe you were wrong…

“Come in Qiqi and bring the visitor in too.”

The door opens slowly as you watch Qiqi walk in stiffly with a yawning girl following her in at a similar height. Long light brown hair is loose as the girl rubs her eyes tiredly.

“Hello Dr. Baizhu, I came back to check one last time if the oracle- Oh!” Caramel colored eyes widen at the sight of you sitting on the bed, and the girl hurriedly gives a polite bow. A yellow plush bunny is smooshed in her arms in the process.

“Hello, pardon my rudeness. My name is Yaoyao and I was sent by my master to check on you! It’s my honor to make your acquaintance, Y/N, or would you rather me call you by the oracle title?”

The ‘little adult’ looks different without the decorative bells she usually wears in her tied up hair, but the bunny was a dead give away. You smile at the nervous girl while wondering just who told her about you being an oracle.

Baizhu was giving you a look that basically screamed suspicion.

“You can just call me Y/N. By master, you mean Madame Ping, right?” Yaoyao beams at that as she steps closer.

“That’s correct, we learned about you from the other Adepti and Xiangling.” You should have known. “When we heard that you were here, I was sent on my Master's orders and Ganyu’s concern. Visitors weren’t allowed earlier, but I wanted to check one last time.”

Ganyu too? That basically guarantees Ningguang, Keqing, Zhongli and even more knowing that you’re here. But more importantly was the fact that Baizhu investigated anything connected to the Adepti for his immortality quest.

You could only hope that Baizhu would be happy with a basic explanation and the sample of your scar tissue as promised.

“Visitors was the last topic I wanted to address.” Baizhu smoothly joins as he gets up from his seat and heads toward a desk on the far side of the room. A small pile of letters and a pile of gifts sit on the table next to your bag. How didn’t you notice it before?

“After a patient here noticed you before she was discharged, she and her guardian left you a letter with a present. I believe she may have been the one to spread it, but I ask you to kindly not hold anger against her. She’s rather young.”

So the little leaker was a child? It could be one of the kids you saved, but none of them could really afford to go to Baizhu. Not that he would have denied them but most children in that situation don’t go unless on the verge of death or pushed by an adult.

“It’s okay, I’ll look through the stuff in the morning.” As if on cue, Yaoyao fails to hide a yawn as she walks to stand next to your bed.

“Auntie Cloud Retainer and the rest of the Adepti told Master what happened on Mt. Aocang. Master really wants to meet you, so if you have any time to spare, please pay her a visit here at the Yujing Terrace near the Yiyan temple.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you make a mental note of that before asking Yaoyao a question in return.

“Just how many people in general know that I’m here? I know quite a few people and Qiqi being here must have been quite a spectacle… But surely it must not have been too much considering that it was the middle of the night.”

The nervous expression on Yaoyao face dashes away any hopes you had.

“Sorry Y/N but a lot of the city was speaking about you. Even nature and the animals kept mentioning you! Though they were a little more vague. If it helps, most people know you as a masked person rather than your name.”

Sighing, you don’t even bother hiding the distaste on your face. Changing masks wouldn’t do much and you sure as hell can’t remove it either, leaving you with the sole option of leaving.

Leaving before anyone else can attack you in this fast-pace city filled with greed and ambition. If you stayed here any longer, you’ll surely be pulled into whatever new situation happens and only get more attention.

The dinner you had first worried about is almost miniscule compared to the threat of Yelan and Shenhe knowing your location. More so, Yelan as she has an obligation to get rid of you due to her job rather than Shenhe’s emotional motive.

Your mind replays the last bit of your fight where you had touched the waypoint and- Oh fuck. Groaning, you dumped your face into your hands as Yaoyao watched you worriedly. Her worried calls rolled off you like waves as you remember how the teleport waypoint glowed in front of everyone.

That’s a complete group of people, treasure hoarders nonetheless, that saw you activate it. Yelan could use that information and the witnesses in whatever stupidly clever way she wants!

Yaoyao looks back at Baizhu confused as he shakes his head silently. Qiqi picks up a glass of coconut milk and begins to walk towards you with it before Baizhu blocks her way.

Fingers digging into your scalp, you resist the urge to pull your hair as you bite your still slightly bruised lips. The realization of what kind of ammo you gave Yelan was killing you.

Baizhu takes the glass from Qiqi and puts it back down before handing her a glass of water. Qiqi stares blankly at Baizhu before switching the glasses again. As the two continuously switch cups, Yaoyao rummages in her bag.

A sting of pain begins to grow as you get dangerously closer to the recently healed head wound. The smell of something sweet yet earthy snaps you out of your stress-fueled self depreciation as small hands pry your rough ones away.

“Please be careful Y/N, Dr. Baizhu is a great doctor but you shouldn’t hurt yourself like this. Have a candied date, it's golden honey flavored and works great to get rid of the bitter medicinal taste that he prescribes.”

It didn’t smell too bad, so you hesitantly took it from her hands and glanced back at Baizhu in case he tries to confiscate it. With his back safely turned, you pop the candied date into your mouth.

It’s a nice taste and it does work well as a distraction from your worries. “Thank you Yaoyao.” Your hand reaches out instinctively and pats her head. “The Creator views you fondly and one day your fate will intersect with the creator’s just like it did with the Adepti.”

The lie flows smoothly from your mouth as she smiles brightly up at you. Her eyes move down to the blanket as she responds. “I still don’t quite know what that means, but I’m sure I’ll be able to properly appreciate it once I’m older.”

Qiqi joins you both and hands you a glass of water that you take from her gratefully. Your hand leaves Yaoyao’s head to rest on the bed, making Qiqi look away with a pout. Before you can question the unexpected reaction, Baizhu redirects the conversation.

“I understand that you hold some valid concerns over your safety, Y/N. This situation isn’t one we deal with frequently, but we do have measures in place.”

The look you send him speaks a thousand words as he sighs and adds. “Free of charge, of course, as it counts as patient confidentiality.”

“Bubu’s Pharmacy has tight security measures and Millelith frequent the area due to it being near the Yiyan Temple and the Welkin Temple.” You were 100% sure that the second temple did not exist before you came here. “Me and Qiqi both reside here and as experienced vision holders, you’ll be in safe hands.”

Nodding in understanding, you can’t deny that it felt safer knowing you weren’t going to be left alone. Your body was still exhausted and in the midst of healing so you didn’t have much energy to defend yourself with if Ningguang were to send another person after you.

“Qiqi doesn’t sleep much, so she’ll keep an eye out for anything amiss.” And you were right back to feeling anxious. Baizhu was relaxed as he tidied up the room, while Yaoyao spoke softly to Qiqi.

Glancing at the zombie child, you repeated the mantra to yourself that anyone could be a DPS in Genshin. You just needed to check her equipment before bed.

Yaoyao turns back to you with a sleepy smile. “I’ll be taking my leave now. I wish you a swift recovery, and I look forward to seeing you again with my Master.” With a casual wave, you let that be your only farewell as you drink the glass of water Qiqi handed you earlier.

Baizhu pats his clothing down as he calls out to Yaoyao right as she opens the door.

“Oh Yaoyao, since you’ll be relaying the message to Madam Ping and Ganyu, please have Ganyu tell Ningguang about Y/N’s acceptance to dinner for me as well.”

The water you were drinking goes down the wrong way at those words.

Coughing, you yank the glass away as you look back up to the surprised Baizhu. “Did you say Ningguang? Was she the one who paid for everything and asked for the dinner?”

Baizhu smiles pleasantly with little regard for your shaky tone as he nods. There goes every flicker of hope you had that Ningguang wasn’t your benefactor.

Every drop of blood your body synthesized to restore you back to normal is drained as you pale at the confirmation. Just how the hell did you manage to meet Zhongli, Yelan, and Ningguang!?

They are all people you wanted to avoid, and you definitely shouldn’t have met, considering the fact that people pay to even get an hour with Ningguang, let along a whole ass dinner invite!

Was there some stupid rule that goes along with being the creator making you meet nearly every acolyte that exists?

So busy cursing yourself and the entirety of Teyvat out, you don’t notice how Baizhu corrals Yaoyao out of the room before heading to you, as Qiqi watches from the sidelines.

“My, my you’ve gone pale at the news Y/N.” Baizhu’s glasses glint a little from the flickering lantern illuminating the room. He smiles down at you with half-lidded eyes that stare at you strangely.

“I didn’t realize that I forgot to tell you who it was. If you decide to, we can always cancel it and send a priority letter before discussing a payment plan.”

Squinting your eyes, you shake your head ‘no’ as you try to read the simultaneously shady yet reckless doctor. It didn’t seem like he had any malicious intentions, as he very much did mean to hide it. But you can’t be sure that he had any good intentions either.

“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to discussing alternate ways of paying that don’t require mora.” …Yeah, no matter what way you put it or how clean Baizhu keeps his reputation. One can not simply not be seen as shady while going around saying stuff like that.

So not only is Baizhu showing signs of that strange attachment in a matter of hours, but Ningguang decided to suddenly switch her tactics. From ‘investigate and kill if deemed a threat’ to ‘generous wealthy person that totally isn’t covering up a crime’.

Could you possibly get Yanfei to sue Ningguang if you aren’t poisoned at the dinner?

Maybe, but that’s all riding on the chance that you aren’t killed in some coincidental accident before then. Waving away the pessimistic and slightly comical thoughts, you look up at Baizhu as he dims the lantern.

“The pharmacy opens at 0900 in the morning. Are you willing to take visitors from that point on till your discharge at 1300?” Briefly looking at the letters and gifts, you nod silently.

Baizhu’s smile doesn’t waver as he responds casually. “Many people will be happy to hear that Y/N, you seem quite popular.”

He opens the door before kneeling to Qiqi’s height. “The last order I have for you tonight is to keep watch over Y/N and protect them if need be. Understand?”

Qiqi tilts her head at that and blandly states. “Order received. Order cannot be processed. Original intended function still active and in place.”

Baizhu frowns at that as you look at Qiqi curiously. His expression quickly smooths back to a calm smile as he stands up. “As long as the ending is the same, then I don’t mind.”

He glances at you one last time as the door creaks open to show the dark hallway. Slitted eyes meet yours, full of curiosity and intrigue. They almost glow as he steps into the hallway with Qiqi in tow before the door closes softly.

Sighing in relief, you flop back onto the bed and roll in the covers for a position that won’t put pressure on your aching muscles. Baizhu’s increasingly strange behavior slithers back into your mind as you close your eyes.

Just why didn’t he ask you about being an oracle yet? Is he planning on getting the Millelith? No, he would have done so much earlier. Maybe he’s trying to gather some blackmail on you?

The possibilities torment your exhausted mind as you finally settle on just explaining yourself tomorrow when you get the scar sample from you. When you open your eyes, the flame has already burned away, leaving your only light as the moon.

Staring at it, you think back to the waypoints. Are they finally fixed? Can you use them again? You couldn’t test it out now, but you could do so when you leave after the dinner with Ningguang.

Which region should you travel to next? There was no may you could stay or go back to Inazuma, so it’s either Mondstadt or Sumeru as they are the closest.

Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what traveling through the terrain would be like to arrive in the city. Frowning, you continue by imagining what it would be like traveling in that region for the weekly commissions.

It’s a simple decision really as Sumeru had a wide range of animals and poisonous plants to fight past. While Mondstadt had that sweet peaceful greenery from being the starter city with the lowest amount of treasure hoarders thanks to a certain Cryo user.

Deciding that you’ve picked your brain enough on the topic, you shut your eyes for some actual rest.

A moment passes, and then another, as the wind rustles the leaves on the tree outside the window. The faint sound of a sweet croon reaches your ears as you stubbornly keep your eyes closed.

As your mind is slowly consumed by the heavy exhaustion and the dimness of the room, two thoughts come to mind.

One, you forgot to check Qiqi’s equipment. Two, just what made you be locked out from the teleport waypoints if it counts as a game mechanic from Genshin Impact itself?

—---------------

“The moon is quite beautiful at this time of night.” A kind and knowing voice says as wrinkled hands pick out the bits of leaves from long white hair. The moonlight illuminates the silvery strands as it gradually is picked clean to its former glory.

“Child, just what has happened that you come to me out of all the Adepti for assistance?” A red rope is cut into perfect portions and tied to form the perfect braid. A Cryo vision sits innocently as the centerpiece, while a monochrome ornament adorns the top.

“I cannot advise you on the matter that troubles you if you do not speak, Shenhe.” Iridescent eyes finally move up from the ground to meet the elderly woman’s warm ones. Shenhe struggles to speak as her head dips forward.

“I… I hurt someone badly. But they hurt me too.” Shenhe holds her hands together in a prayer like motion as her eyes flutter close. “But at the end, they showed me something I couldn’t believe. No. That I refused to believe and even helped me.”

With a hunched back and patience learned over thousands of years, the old woman stays quiet. Giving the oh-so apathetic disciple time to put her thoughts into words.

“I don’t know what to do, and master isn’t the most adept when it comes to humans. But you, Streetward Rambler are, in more than one way. You constitute as a human more than me.”

Shenhe closes her eyes as she thinks back to her encounter with you. The truth you didn’t hesitate to spit in her face, the raw anger you expressed at her delusions and denial.

“I just want to understand these emotions. Are they a witch’s, an Adepti’s or a human’s emotions? Not even these ropes are stopping them!” Shenhe tugs at the newly bound rope in frustration but stops at the touch of light fingertips.

Madam Ping smiles warmly down at Shenhe. “None of those answers are correct child. They are simply your emotions. And I believe deep down, you already know what you feel. You just don’t know what to do with them.”

Shenhe looks at the ground with a mixture of guilt and self-loathing swarming inside her. It was true, wasn’t it? That day you spoke her feelings in the bluntest way possible, but here she was, still trying to deny it.

“Then what do I do? Is it really okay to love someone that hurt you? I don’t want a repeat of my childhood… I just want to treasure and use this new chance at connecting with my entire self that the Creator has graced me with.”

The hand that pats her head is familiar and warm. Childhood memories of her shedding those human emotions she once thought weak come to mind before Madam Ping’s voice brings her back.

“Trusting in the Creator and following the path they opened for you, no matter how scary or concerning, is always the right path. Follow me Shenhe.”

Madam Ping is quick to walk away toward the two temples, as Shenhe follows her swiftly. The Yiyan Temple for the Geo Archon is laughably small in comparison to the huge Welkin Temple behind it.

They climb the stairs past the Yiyan Temple and enter the luxurious archway leading into the Welkin Temple. Decorations laced with jewels, paintings of the highest caliber, and statues of the rarest minerals are a common sight in it.

As Liyue Harbors sole temple, the city and its citizens spared no expanse in making sure it was top-notch. That included the deceased Geo Archon who left it in the care of the Liyue Qixing before his passing.

The pair walked through the halls as many people prayed and worshiped within the dead of the night without care for the passing onlookers.

Everyone gathered here at this time of night is here to do the same thing after all.

A couple of people amble past the determined Adeptus and disciple into the barren clinic as physicians begin to care for them. The blood, bone, and missing parts of skin are applauded before quickly being catered to.

Madam Ping enters the hallway where many citizens wait outside the rooms for their turn. Yet instead of stopping like Shenhe expected, the old woman brings her to a hidden staircase around the corner.

The two climb up and up, till they reach the rooftop where an alter sits. Shenhe is well aware what she must do for the answers she desires. Kneeling before it, Shenhe gratefully takes the ceremonial spear handed to her by Madame Ping.

“You have matured enough to earn the privilege of giving a piece of yourself to the Holy One. I can only excitedly wait for the day my own disciples can have this honor.” With a calm yet cheery chuckle, Madame Ping moves away from the grave faced Shenhe.

“Oh Holy Creator, God of all that has lived, lives, and lives on. Listen to this acolytes prayer and grant me but a crumb of your wisdom. Though I am foolish and mortal, your mercy shines down on in the form of that person.”

The spear is raised into the air as Shenhe stays kneeling and points the spear down.

“Please, Divine One, show this wretched girl just how I’m supposed to make it up to Y/N.”

The spear drives down and the crimson droplets stain the altar like a dazzling flourish of rose petals.

Well this took a long while. This time it wasn't school but just personal stuff. Between house hunting, family feud, car problems, and just trying to keep up with school. I haven't got much of a break. But things have finally calmed down somewhat so I used it to get this done. What also helped was making the outline for the 1k special. I think I should have it done for the next update instead of the regular chapter. But I did notice that a good chunk wanted regular chapters instead so I got a compromise. The special features Mondstadt (as most sagau start in Mond so I thought it would be fun) and it'll be a teaser to what Mondstadt has in store for you all. I'm not sure how many of you have noticed but each region has a certain theme when it comes to worship. Inazuma with sacrificing, Liyue with self mutilation, and Mondstadt will be hinted at in the special. My editor, @serpent-benediction, did this super late last night so props for once. But if there are claims to being anything more than an editor then don't listen. I keep basically everybody in the dark. Kinda feel like death so if you have any questions or comments I will answer them as soon as I can read again. Taglist: is open for anyone so just comment if you want to join <3

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus, @silverstarred, @iamapotatoe

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httpiastri · 11 months ago

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jack doohan x female reader, ft one lowkey 18+ joke

"don't you trust me?"

the question burns through jack's chest. the playful smile on your lips tells him that it's all just for fun, but still, there's something stinging about it. he wants to answer with an 'of course', or a 'with my entire life and heart', but he settles for something to match the tone of your voice. "do i have a choice?"

your answer comes in the form of a groan and an eye-roll, settling on the edge of the tub. "just lean back, loverboy."

loverboy. of course. how can he not follow your orders when you talk to him like that?

jack leans back against the wall of the bathtub, tipping his head back to rest his neck against the edge. it's much more uncomfortable than he'd thought, he soon realizes, but he hopes what's about to come is worth the pain.

your best friend has been sick for over a week now, with an annoying fever that seemingly just doesn't want to go down no matter what he tries. when you followed him to the doctors, they said everything looked alright and that he should be getting back to normal in just a few days. you're beginning to believe that that was complete bullshit, though.

you're pretty sure you're wishing for jack's fever to disappear as much as he is himself. not only do you not enjoy seeing him in such a bad state, but he also becomes such a baby when he's sick, as you've recently learned. it's not all that easy to take care of a tall australian manbaby, but someone needs to do it, you suppose. and who better than you?

the other day when you stopped by his apartment to refill his fridge with some necessities and cook him some soup, you just couldn't stop yourself from insulting the greasy hair he was sporting. he answered that he's not got enough energy to wash it properly when he showers, and in a moment of weakness, you found yourself offering to do it for him. so, here you are, showerhead in one hand as the other begins to slowly turn on the water.

you wait for the water to reach a good temperature, not icy but cold enough to hopefully soothe his burning scalp, before shifting to pour the water over his forehead and down over his hair. jack's first reaction is to let out a low hum, eyes fluttering closed at the chillness in comparison to his hot skin.

"you really are an angel, did you know that?" his accent has always had a certain effect on you, though you've always tried to deny it, and your heart skips a beat as he speaks again. "truly someone sent from above."

"shush," you say, shaking your head as you lean over to turn the water off, his hair being completely soaked by now. "just doing another part of my best friend duties."

"just as best-friendly as cooking for me for a week, and tucking me in for my naps, and..." he doesn't need to go on; you know how long the list is.

you reach for his bottle of shampoo – thankfully not a 3-in-1 type with body scrub and car wash included, but still a type that scares you a little – and pour some onto your hands, rubbing them together to spread out the liquid. "i'm just doing what i know you would do for me if i were in your position."

jack's eyes open when you start going through his hair, fingertips working their way across his scalp as you try to reach every inch of hair. he watches you with a thoughtful gaze, studying the concentration on your face intently. suddenly, he's reminded of why he's so goddamn smitten with you in the first place.

you're a total opposite of him – you're so soft. small, too. not just in size, but in personality as well. everything about you is warm and gentle; a huge contrast to his hard, rugged edges.

there's a feeling in his chest again. a tightening, fluttering sensation that feels strangely pleasant. one he's very familiar with by now, one that only appears around you.

it never takes much for your cheeks to grow red around him, and today is no exception. you think you've lasted a long time, though, with the way he's goggling up at you, but it's getting too much. "shut your eyes," you tell him. "you know i can't take it when you stare at me. i can't do my job."

he doesn't answer, and your heart flutters again. your fingers stop moving in his hair.

"i'm going to get shampoo in your eyes, they're going to sting."

"i don't mind."

it isn't until you tug on his hair, enough to go from relaxing to painful (though jack instead finds it quite arousing), that he finally obliges, eyes falling closed and a defeated sigh leaving his lips. "much better."

you begin to wash out the shampoo, and other than the sound of the water now dripping from his hair and onto the floor of the tub again, the room fills up with a hollow silence. he wants to speak up, but can't find any words – which are the right ones when the girl you like takes so much time out of her days to take care of you when you're at your lowest?

jack feels almost strangely... loved. the way that you're doing all of this for him, just because you want to make sure he feels good and clean. in reality, it's such a small gesture, yet it means something.

and a hint of anxiety settles into his chest at the realization that he's actually falling for you.

it's not just the silly little crush that's been brewing inside him for the last twelve months; it's something much more. and much scarier.

"are you kidding me? do you not have any conditioner?" your voice breaks his train of thought and he peeks at you with one eye, still slightly afraid of that whole shampoo-in-his-eyes threat. a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth when he sees the expression on your face, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows raised in pure shock.

"i guess you'll have to go shopping with me to buy a bottle, then."

anything to have a reason to spend more time with you.

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lordofthesoups · 2 days ago

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I was working on a drawing and decided i didnt like it. I then misspelt triangle. Gentlepersons, friends, enemies, vagabonds, liars and theives i present to you, the trongle

#Its acctually a thing in submarines #i just looked it up to check it was not a slur i accidentally stumbled across #soup speaks the bullshit

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web-novel-polls · 11 months ago

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WN Women Bonus Polls #2: MXTX

[Propaganda below] - Spoilers Warning!

A-Qing from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation / MDZS

Submission: Incredibly clever. Fakes blindness to survive as a street orphan and pickpocket people. Successfully deceives a magnificent liar into believing she's really blind for years. Tries to hinder said liar's schemes and save people from him even after she's dead and actually blind and unable to speak.

Jiang Yanli from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

“Madam, A-Xian is my younger brother. Him being humiliated by others, to me, isn’t just a small matter.”

Submission: She is the sweetest person to ever exist. She's a wonderful big sister to her brother Jiang Cheng and her shidi/adoptive brother Wei Wuxian. She is not just a sister but also very maternal to them, as her parents are not the best. She is also the mother of Jin Ling, but sadly died before she could raise him. Her husband, Jin Zixuan, died in a confrontation with Wei Wuxian, but she did not blame him and even sacrificed herself for him. She would've made the best mother to Jin Ling, just as she was the best sister to Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian. She also makes the best soup ever. I would die to taste her soup. Then I would come back to life because that's how much the soup nurtures you.

Jian Lan from Heaven Official’s Blessing / TGCF

Submission: She has unconditional love for her very disgusting and disturbing undead fetus child. That's a mother right there.

Wiki Link

Ling Wen from Heaven Official’s Blessing / TGCF

[No Propaganda Submitted]

One of the Three Tumors - three Heavenly Officials that have some of the worst reputations after Xie Lian (“the laughing stock of the three realms”) - and was accused of, like, killing a dude or smth but was accepted back into Heaven on the sole basis that she’s the only administratively competent god

Liu Mingyan from The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

Submission: Head disciple of Xian Shu Peak. Said to be so beautiful she wears a veil over her face so as to not distract others. Writes popular erotic fanfiction about her older brother's shixiong/her shibo and his male disciple.

Luo Qingyang (Mianmian) from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

Submission: She stood up against a whole bunch of powerful men and dared to speak a different opinion. Then she just up and left the cultivation world because she had no more time for their bullshit. At the end of the novel, she's a rogue cultivator married to a former merchant with her own daughter named Mianmian. We should all be like her.

Mod Propaganda:

Highly principled and strong-willed. Immediately left her clan after they mocked her for supposedly having feelings for Wei Wuxian when she literally just mentioned he didn't kill indiscriminately. Now living her best life as a rogue cultivator with her husband and child.

She saw the injustice of her own clan firsthand and decided, “I'm not going to be a part of this. You're not listening to me, so fuck y'all.” And honestly, based.

Wiki Link

Ning Yingying from The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

Submission: She goes through great character development. At first, she's dense and kind of annoying, even a little selfish. But she grows up to be a strong, intelligent, and intuitive woman.

Additional Propaganda

Sha Hualing from The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

Submission 1: I can't stand her and yet I love her. What does that tell you?

Submission 2: her cringefail losergirl swag <3 girlie constantly in situations and she put herself into most of them

Mod Propaganda

A fierce demon who attacked the Cang Qiong Mountain sect in SVSSS and became one of Luo Binghe’s wives in Proud Immortal Demon Way who often fought with Liu Mingyan and Qin Wanyue

My fav description of her is something along the lines of, “trying to be the steal-your-man girl who fails about it so badly”

She’s ambitious, she’s ruthless, she’s intelligent - If you support women’s rights, you should also support women’s wrongs (/light-hearted)

Su Xiyan from The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

[No propaganda submitted]

Additional Propaganda #1

Additional Propaganda #2

Wen Qing from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

Submission: She is everything! She doesn't get enough screen time in the novel, but that proves just how amazing she is to make such an impression in spite of it. She is a great big sister, to both her brother Wen Ning and the protagonist Wei Wuxian. She is stern but kind. She's a doctor. She throws needles at people. She's everything!

Previous Propaganda (MXTX Side Characters Tournament):

Submission 1: Doctor, mad scientist, war criminal, protective big sister... she has the range!! Submission 2: Wen Qing my beloved!! She did surgery on a grape. Mad genius for real. Also a loving sister with a very sharp tongue and maybe no sense of how far is too far. Can't wait for them to find her alive in a Koi Tower basement! Submission 3: Justice for my girl!!!! Submission 4: She's bitchy and pragmatic and cares deeply and did an unprecedented operation (experimental and nonconsensual!), what's not to love? Also she deserved better.

Yushi Huang from Heaven Official’s Blessing / TGCF

Submission: She slit her own throat to save her country. She's very compassionate and always willing to help others. She also gives people vegetables.

Additional Propaganda:

Additional propaganda for Yushi Huang: She's so competent that she's got the womanzier of the series consistently on the back foot, and she doesn't even care to notice. She's here to dish out rain and that's it.

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pilot-boi · 5 months ago

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It’s been a week since Ren’s brother returned from the dead. He’s been keeping an eye on his leader since normal life resumed.

He isn’t supposed to know as much as he is, he’s not supposed to know more than Nora, Oscar, and Emerald (and the adults) were told by team RWBY and Jaune during their debrief. But he does. It’s apparently been decades for Jaune, and from his perspective Ren has only had his evolved Semblance for a few hours, so he isn’t shocked that his leader has forgotten.

But under his intense gaze, Ren sees more than the others do. Even without his Semblance.

When they’re a group together, Weiss’s eyes shift from Jaune to the door so often that Ren doubts she’s paying any attention to the meeting. Ruby is watching her uncle as he speaks, but her foot is tapping so fast it’s about to spawn rose petals and Ren doesn’t even think she’s aware that she keeps leaning towards Jaune every time he flinches.

And Jaune…

He’s leaning over his notes, but his eyes are glazed. He fidgets in his seat, visibly stiff from frustration or pain, and Ren knows that often those two things are mutually inclusive for his brother.

Watching Jaune is painful.

Ren sees Oscar ask him a question about their recent patrol and Jaune’s response seems a fraction quieter than usual. He starts to speak and then pauses, clearing his throat, still not used to his new voice. His old voice. He seems to want to gesture as he usually does, but after underestimating his newly-returned range of motion the other day and smacking a hot coffee straight into Marrow’s face, Jaune’s hands stay clenched at his sides.

The longer he sits, the more tense his shoulders get. Petals in a thousand colors swirl around him, making a stark contrast to the white in his hair.

After Qrow dismisses them, Jaune is up and out of the room without helping clean up or wait for them. Alarm bells clang against Ren’s skull and he’s out of his chair before he sees Weiss jogging after him.

Pink petals drift after her.

Ren sits back down. As much as it hurts, he’ll let his friend handle it for now. And keep watch from a close distance.

---

This is the third empty space Jaune has hid himself in today.

First was a supply closet, where Weiss found him.

Next was a bathroom stall by the cafeteria.

This is tucked in the corner of an empty classroom. Abandoned as all the students have been drafted into their apocalypse.

His limbs are ice.

Crushing, crashing, breaking into shards. He’s going to cut himself on the sharp edges of Alyx’s knife, of the broken pottery of a dropped soup bowl, on the Cat’s claws. And they glint, it’s piercing, he’s frozen in the ice of crushing pain and the chill from Weiss’s Semblance crashing in.

You’re going to get your friends killed. Just like Alyx, just like Pyrrha, just like Penny. They are here because of you and they are going to die because of you.

They are going to die, they’re going to die, they’re gonna die, they’re gonna-

“They’re gonna die.” Jaune’s voice bursts from his lips, the pain can’t be kept in his head any longer. The words scratch his throat on the way out.

“They’re gonna die, they’re gonna die,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and watching Ruby fall through the ground. Neo-Cat is on the ground, and Jaune raises his sword, but it’s Penny, and he’s shaking and shaking, and he can’t move, and Pyrrha is there with a blade like he should’ve been for her, and he’s paralyzed, and he’s falling, and they’re all going to die, and it will be Jaune’s fault, it’s all his fault-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He’s curled into himself, scratching at his arms, digging nails in but too cowardly to break skin. Too cowardly to let the story play out, too cowardly to let the Paper Pleasers ascend, too stupid to back down from the self-righteous bullshit that nearly dug his friend’s grave.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jaune can’t make his lungs breathe right, because he can’t do so many things right. Can’t even be the make believe hero, he’s going to die here and they’re gonna die too.

Jaune crumbles.

It’s no less than what he deserves.

---

Jaune hasn’t arrived for their meeting at five o’clock, and Ren waits only seven minutes to go and look for his brother. As far as Ren knows, ever since returning Jaune has only ever been two minutes late to anything, and that was because he got caught up in a meeting with Qrow. Getting forcibly ripped from time has made his brother painfully meticulous about schedules.

This is the first room Ren looked for Jaune in. He’s been trying to be the glue holding their family together, but introversion dies hard, and Ren still very occasionally retreats to empty classrooms, so he knows the best spots to go.

Evidently, Jaune knows as well.

When Ren finds him, Jaune is scrunched into the furthest corner of the room. Jaune is no longer the gangly teen from Beacon, he’s filled in the few years since leaving the Academy to be nearly six and a half feet of pure, friend-shaped, muscle. His brother is currently occupying a space about a third of his size.

None of the desks seem disturbed, so Jaune must have carefully picked his way across the room and tucked himself into the corner purposefully. Somehow, this makes Ren feel even worse.

He makes his way quickly over to Jaune and crouches beside him, cataloguing his brother’s movements. His breathing is erratic and he’s mumbling words through pulling gasps. Words that vaguely sound like, “They’re gonna die.”

“Jaune. I’m here. You’re not alone. Everyone is safe.” Jaune’s red-rimmed gaze snaps to him. Even during a panic attack, his brother still tries to give Ren all of his attention, something that is so exasperatingly Jaune.

“You’re in Vacuo,” Ren reminds him in case Jaune has forgotten, which based on the way he’s scratching at his arms and the dazed look in his eyes, he has.

Ren’s seen the same look in the mirror after Atlas.

It’s only been a week since Jaune and the others returned from the Ever After. Jaune hasn’t spoken to Ren about it, he definitely hasn’t spoken to Nora or Oscar about it, but his shoulders have been stiffening into a tenser set, darker shades of petal have been surrounding him, and he’s disappearing a lot more frequently.

“Jaune? I’m going to take your hands. You can squeeze mine as hard as you need.” Ren would like Jaune to stop scratching up and down his arms, stop leaving red marks on freckled skin. He waits a moment and Jaune reaches out to him, his eyes wide and his face nearly green with what Ren recognizes as nausea.

He longs to use his Semblance, to end this right now. But would that make it worse? Would forceful calm just compound Jaune’s belief that he’s in a world where nothing makes sense?

“Jaune. Let’s breathe. You’re going to get through this. Whatever you’re seeing isn’t what’s happening right now. We just have to breathe.”

Ren sits with Jaune, their hands clasped and Jaune’s painful pulls of breath gasp, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

---

Ren is never going to respect him again. He's peeking behind the carefully perfected facade that is Jaune’s factory setting since returning. He’s watching Ren, and his brother has never looked more open in his life. His mask is nowhere in sight, and it’s clear now why Ren always relied on it because his brother is trying and failing miserably to hide his worry.

Jaune’s vision tunnels and his stomach is being hollowed out by an ice cream scoop. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Jaune, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” That’s Ren’s voice. “You just need to focus on your breathing. You’re safe, Ruby and her team are safe, and it’s going to be okay. You’re not there, Jaune, you made it out alive.”

Only because Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang saved his ass. Only because a little girl died because she wanted to help him. Jaune scoffs out loud. He’s so tired and sick to his stomach. It’s been his fault all along and Ren knows, Nora knows, Oscar, team RWBY, Qrow, they all know.

He tastes blood and is tempted to spit it out. Right there on the classroom floor. He swallows it instead and gags.

It’s salty. They’re tears.

“Jaune.” Ren’s voice is urgent. He wonders why.

He’s drifting from one choked breath to the next. The Cat will kill him any minute. He can’t muster the energy to care…

But Ren is putting a hand on his chin and tugging sharply, and Jaune’s bleary gaze meets Ren’s perpetually calm eyes. And Jaune sees fear there.

He’s doing that. He’s scaring his brother.

Pure instinct of “do not hurt others, do not let others get hurt” makes him suck in a much needed breath.

Ren’s voice is saying something like “Breath, Jaune. Don’t hold it in.”

Holding it makes his chest balloon and the world goes all soft and floaty. But Ren squeezes his hand, and Jaune can feel them shaking. He can’t make his brother feel safe, his mouth stays useless and clamped shut.

“Useless,” he spits.

Ren makes a sound of disagreement. “Don’t say that, Jaune. Just listen to the sound of my voice. That’s all you have to do.”

And Ren starts talking. Stringing sentences together like it’s nothing, like there was never a time when a few words were his quota for a full day.

Jaune tunes back in at, “Nora and Emerald have been having contests of how many beetle bars they can eat in five minutes. I think Emerald’s record was 15 but Nora’s is currently sitting at 19.” And Ren chuckles, and Jaune sees a grin on his face instead of that fear, his hands still squeezing Jaune’s.

And Jaune feels something other than mind-numbing terror because that smile on his brother’s face is… novel.

“Did you know that Emerald smuggled a stray cat into the dorms?” Ren is looking at Jaune and his eyes check Jaune’s before continuing. “She found a stray tuxedo cat on patrol, starving and looking sick. We got back from a meeting and found her swaddling it in blankets from Nora’s bed. She really had to try to convince Qrow to let her keep it, something about birds and cats, but over the next few days she and Oscar brought home four more and Nora another one, so I guess she won. They live in the kitchen now.”

“What are their names?” Jaune chokes out. His breaths come slightly easier.

“Bella, Draco, Hellspawn, Rosie, Nora Jr, and Noodle.” Ren’s lips tilt upward as he replies, although the smile is wistful. “Bella is the tuxedo, she still sleeps on Emerald’s bed. Turns out she missed Blake. Noodle and Draco are a pair of orange tabbies courtesy of Oscar, he missed his older siblings. And Rosie is small and black with the biggest eyes ever. You can guess who she’s named after.”

“H- Hellspawn?” Jaune asks.

“Yes. She’s a white shorthair, originally named Princess for Weiss, but she’s the devil so that name was quickly dropped.”

A smile quirked Jaune’s lips. It hurts more than the terror does to know his family missed them all that much. But the thought of Weiss’s face when she found out what her namesake was rechristened almost makes up for it. “Nora Jr?” Jaune asked, curiosity replacing the sheer terror by a fraction.

“He yells all the time. Nora says he’s like the son she never had,” Ren says with a sigh.

“My sister… Saphron she…” Speaking tears at his throat. “She named our barn cat Zoomer.” Ren, for some inexplicable reason, looks interested in hearing about Jaune’s cat so he goes on. “I wanted a dog, but the twins are allergic.”

Ren hums. “Dogs have a lot of energy, and your house has a lot of people. Besides, you’re basically a human golden retriever already.”

Jaune feels laughter bubble in his chest and lets it out. It comes out as a wet, quiet thing, but it feels good. Anything to not feel like this again.

For today at least.

#rwby #jaune arc #lie ren #mine #my writing #healing rust au

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