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ciciyup · 5 months ago

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Pack Wolf X Fem! Reader who doesn't reciprocate his feelings headcanons.

Summary: In their wanderings, they find their imprint as soon as they see her for the first time; However, she doesn't seem to feel the same way.

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Sam Uley:

Seeing you for the first time, he would have almost involuntarily gotten down on his knees if it hadn't been that they were in a public place and you were accompanied. It was something unique, something he didn't expect, but there you were, and Sam felt the need to get close to you no matter what. Him approaching you to talk about whatever as an excuse to get to know you wasn't rough enough; he needed to see you again.

As soon as he brought up any kind of topic he noticed how incredibly kind you were when you addressed him, but he also noticed how you didn't even seem to be feel the same. There was no spark in your eyes, no accelerated breathing, no special something that seemed to unite you. You were supposed to be soulmates, weren't you? You were supposed to be perfect for each other, so why as time went on did you seem to treat him like any other normal person? Why wasn't there "that" something in your eyes when you looked at him? Sam had imprinted himself on you, he knew it, everyone knew it, but they also seemed to notice his constant attempts to be closer to you, his constant silent pain.

You treated him well of course, you were friendly to everyone on the reservation, you were sweet to Sam more than he could ask for, but he still didn’t seem to be strong enough with his advances for you to see him the way he was expected. Even after explaining his secret and about the imprint, you seemed to try to feel a connection with him; you spent time by his side, you did everything you could, but the feeling just didn’t seem to be there. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t feel the connection and as time went on you began to wear yourself out and try to find something that just wasn’t there. Finally explaining to him that you couldn’t go on and giving him a clear rejection.

Even though your rejection seemed to hurt him much more than expected, he decided to suffer in silence, prioritizing your feelings over his. Sam would become understanding and calm, not losing his temper, even though he knew how painful it would be, knowing that imprinting shouldn't be forced. Though promising that if only you wanted him, he would be there for you, a good friend or brother, even a companion. Imprinting would involve prioritizing your well-being above all else, so Sam would do everything he could to make sure you were happy and safe, even if that meant keeping his distance so as not to make you uncomfortable.

Though Sam would try to be understanding, the pain he felt was indescribable. Even though you hadn't cut him out of your life completely, just being so far away from you would be hard to handle, starting to feel internal conflict due to the intensity of the imprint itself, having moments where it's hard for him to deal with the lack of reciprocity, seeking support in his pack or those closest to him to handle his emotions.

If you allowed them to stay close, even without a romantic bond, Sam would try to be a reliable friend, being there for you when you needed it, a shoulder to cry on, someone to tell your problems to; whatever you wanted, he would do it. Acting quite mature and empathetic, focusing on what's best for you, even if it meant giving up his own feelings.

Paul Lahote:

Being someone with an explosive temper, Paul probably wouldn't handle rejection well. Trying to get close to you intensely as soon as he meets you, mistaking your lack of reciprocation for shyness or fear towards him, as if you weren't looking at him confused enough since you barely know him and he already seemed to know you all your life. Even though you treated him friendly, he could immediately tell that there didn't seem to be that emotion in your chest upon meeting him, leading to frustration with the pack, following him on the way home, trying to reassure him and explain to him that it would take some time and you would finally agree. It didn't.

Despite his frustration, the instinct to protect you would be greater, as seeing you every few days wouldn't be enough to calm him down, frequently showing up to make sure you were okay, even without you asking, which could seem invasive.

Over time, Paul would have several changes in attitude; The great irritability would be clear to everyone in the pack, and the growing, unstoppable pain would lead him to have fits of rage at anyone who crossed his path, though he would avoid taking it out on you, deciding to walk away, which only made it worse by being away from you. He would feel hurt and disoriented, not being able to understand how it was possible that you didn’t feel the same; you were made for each other, he had imprinted on you. Why was nothing happening? Why was it different with you when you were supposed to be the perfect match for each other?

You tried, you seemed to try many times, more than you could imagine, wishing you could feel the same so that both of your suffering would end, but it wasn’t like that; you couldn’t manage to feel anything and you couldn’t force yourself any further.

Although Paul was unconditionally devoted to you because of the imprint, he would also begin to realize that forcing your feelings was not only unfair to you, but painful to both of you. Trying to stay away and trying to figure out how to handle the situation. Even though Paul was stubborn, he wasn't completely insensitive. His loyalty to the pack and its values would drive him to show respect for your feelings and be a silent support for you. Understanding that imprinting didn't mean control or obligation for you, he would start to act more understanding and respectful, prioritizing what you wanted. Still, he couldn't help but care about you, protecting you whether silently or not from any danger, be it supernatural or human, trying to do so discreetly so as not to make you uncomfortable.

With time and the help of Sam or the other pack members, Paul could accept that their bond cannot be forced. Choosing to be close to you as a friend or support in your life if you so desired, and if so, he would remain as someone protective and loyal, focusing on your well-being and happiness. Although rejection would not be easy for Paul, as he would feel a void in not being able to live the fullness he expected from imprinting, he would learn to accept it with resignation and maturity and less impulsiveness. Even without reciprocation, Paul would continue to feel a connection and be willing to do or be whatever you wanted without expecting anything in return.

Embry Call:

He had always heard about the stories of imprinting and its importance; most of his companions in the pack already had their imprints, although he understood it, he never really understood it, until he met you. It was a very strong pass on the ball, making his companions ask him to go get it, being the closest, and at the edge of the water there was you, who quickly grabbed the ball that was hitting your feet to give it to its owner.

The first contact was different, very different from what Embry had imagined; everything seemed to stop after seeing you, the waves of the sea and the noise of his companions playing seemed far away and took a backseat; everything was reduced only to you. Approaching somewhat nervously, not knowing how to act, he managed to have a brief chat with you, internally hoping that you would agree to see him again. Yes, of course he had noticed your great lack of emotion or bright eyes; It wasn't how his companions had told him in their own experiences, but Embry wanted to believe that maybe it was different with you, maybe it would take a little longer.

Although he approached it with patience and understanding, he would still be confused after not noticing any change in his advances towards you without achieving anything, trusting more than he should, with a silent hope that, with time, you could come to feel something for him. However, he would never act selfishly to force this possibility.

Embry would begin to experience an internal struggle during the following days. Sure, he felt a deep and unbreakable connection towards you, but, on the other hand, the lack of reciprocity on your part would cause him emotional pain. Although he would not be upset with anyone, much less with you, the feeling would squeeze his chest tightly. At those times he would try to seek help from the pack, trying to understand and deal with his pain, some of them even trying to advise him or encourage him to focus on your needs instead of his feelings so he wouldn't suffer so much.

In the face of your rejection, Embry would react immediately; the pain was inevitable, but the imprinting would lead him to accept this reality, putting his personal feelings on the back burner. Even if you didn't feel anything towards him, Embry would dedicate his life to protecting and supporting you, your well-being being his priority. Behaving gently, making sure not to cross boundaries that would make you feel uncomfortable. Being close to you when you needed him, acting as a calm and reliable guardian. He would try to establish a friendly relationship with you if you wanted it. Trying to understand your interests, your passions and the things that made you happy, adapting to your needs. Probably looking to spend time with you casually, so that the pain of separation in the bond that united you didn't hurt him too much, but at the same time he would try not to suffocate or overwhelm you. Trying to maintain a fun and relaxed attitude to make you feel comfortable and maintain a good atmosphere.

If you were to express at any point that you needed space or didn't want a close relationship, he would accept it, even though it would inevitably hurt him. Embry would completely respect your wishes and feelings, as well as your boundaries. Imprinting would guide him to be patient and understanding, willing to wait or just accept whatever you decided. Even if you didn't feel the same way, it would be hard for Embry to stay completely away because of the bond. Trying to be close in indirect ways, helping you without you realizing it, or making sure you were safe.

Although Embry would accept anything you asked him to be or do, he would act with great devotion, dealing with his own pain with dignity, striving to be positive in your life. The situation would be somewhat complicated and painful, but his character would allow him to find ways to cope with it without ceasing to be faithful to the bond that has been created, putting your happiness and well-being above all, only wishing the best for you, even if that meant seeing you with another person.

Quil Ateara:

At first, he might not fully understand why he was attracted to someone in particular, as it wouldn’t be something that happened consciously, but rather something instinctive. Seeing you for the first time only makes him feel confused and disoriented; he knows that he is something strong, something unique, needing to be closer to you.

His protective and caring nature would come to the fore, making him inclined to do everything he could to get closer to you and interact in some way. His pack mates would explain this to him as the poor boy seemed to still be just as confused, though unable to answer their questions as to why you didn’t seem as interested or why you didn’t seem to view him with the same affection and devotion as he had when they had first met; perhaps Sam would step in explaining that it would all be a matter of time.

While Quil would be understanding because of their bond, he would quickly become aware that you didn’t feel the same way. He could tell just by looking at you; When he arrived, There wasn't that emotion when I saw it, even if it had only been a few hours since you'd seen each other, noticing your gestures and your efforts to try to find something that didn't seem to be there, that tiredness of continuing to try something you couldn't force and that sudden distance.

This initial rejection could make him feel hurt, even if your actions weren't intentional. The pack members would be a constant support for him, but he would experience the pain internally. The impression is a powerful thing; this would make Quil put aside his regrets and feelings in order to understand you, beginning to respect your wishes and not force a relationship; however, his emotions would still be intense. He would become more attentive and protective, trying to help you in any way he could, trying to gain your trust without rushing things. He would show himself as a close friend or even a brother, doing things you liked, showing a more relaxed part of himself so you wouldn't feel pressured or uncomfortable. His desire to take care of you might be something that expresses itself in less obvious ways, such as making sure you're okay in everyday situations or trying to make you feel special.

If you were to continue to reject any attempts at closeness, whether romantic or emotional, Quil could go through severe pain due to imprinting. His nature would push him to fight for you in whatever ways necessary to even have some sort of relationship with you, even if it was minimal, but his respect for your own boundaries would keep him in check. Acceptance would be difficult, but over time, Quil could learn to live with the deep connection he feels towards you, without trying to pressure you. Making it clear to you that he would be there for you if you wanted it, like a brother or a friend, taking your health and happiness as a priority, and if you were to continue not wanting any interaction with him then Quil would accept it, prudently staying away, even trying to take care of you silently, since the bond would not let him go away completely.

Although he would approach the subject with enough maturity and patience, the pain would still be there and would not go away completely, affected by the events and why it had not worked out as expected with him regarding the imprint. He would leave room for you to make your own decisions without interfering and accepting what you wanted, but even deep down wishing that one day you could feel the same as he felt for you.

Jared Cameron:

He's confused. The imprint was supposed to be an unbreakable and deep bond, something that makes you feel like the person you're imprinted with is the only one who can fulfill your deepest needs, just as the other person should feel, in a way, the same, practically incomplete if the other wasn't there. What had gone wrong? You make him feel a great desire to protect and care for you, but in the face of this the reality check comes faster than he could prevent, realizing that you don't actually share the same feeling.

His astonishment was inexplicable, since it was incredible how in one moment he was playing with his companions and in the next seconds he saw you and everything seemed to stop. The experience was transformative and overwhelming, but it also came with the weight of understanding that you didn't feel the same. Jared can realize it, perhaps not quickly enough to notice it the first time he sees you, trying to deal with his own feelings in between, but as the days go by and as he gets closer to you, he could tell. He understood it immediately; He couldn't force you to love him on the same level. It seemed to hit him like a bucket of cold water, trying to process it as maturely as he could, but with it came frustration due to the unbreakable connection he felt and the lack of reciprocation from you; it was a constant, throbbing pain that he never imagined feeling.

The imprint bond would make him understand in part that he couldn't rush or force your feelings, just as his own personal integrity would make him understand and cope with it. He would make him respectful of your space, being kind and calm. Adopting a supportive stance, hoping that, in time, you would come to understand and accept the connection between you with or without a relationship in between.

Jared would feel a strong need to protect you due to the imprint. Driving him to be close, more than you would want. Despite his desires to be close to you, Jared would be aware of his limits, avoiding being evasive, but intervening discreetly if you were in danger. Even though the imprint makes him feel like you are his “everything,” he would understand the need to not be dominant or possessive, given that you don’t share the same feelings. Even though your rejection was already expected by him, when it comes, it seems harder to digest than he had imagined. Knowing that this was what you wanted, Jared would respect it by putting aside his thoughts and feelings to please you, trying to balance his desire to be close to you with the need to give you space and time to process what was happening.

Over time Jared would learn not to idealize this in a destructive way, even though the bond makes him think that you are the person he is meant to be with, he also understands that nothing can be forced. And even if you weren’t ready to feel the same or directly didn’t want anything with him, Jared wouldn’t pressure you, but he wouldn’t stop being there, waiting patiently.

Seth Clearwater:

When he first saw you, the world seemed to stop. The connection was instant and overwhelming; the imprint completely transformed him. Of course, he had heard of his pack mates and often saw them with their mates, but this seemed to be something much more intense than Seth could have imagined. You become the center of his universe, not just as a potential mate, but as someone to protect and care for no matter the consequences. The intensity of the feeling overwhelms him, but also fills him with hope and happiness.

Being sweet and genuine, Seth would not force his presence in your life, but would instead seek to approach you in a natural way. Starting with a few casual one-liners about the day, following it up with a few topics that led him to ask for your name, as well as his presence and humor, would have him confidently asking you to see him again. The following days he would show his kinder and more generous side: helping you with small things, making you laugh and spending time by your side as someone unconditional.

Over time, Seth would notice that, although you appreciated him and enjoyed his company, you showed no signs of feeling something deeper. Perhaps he would have noticed it much earlier, but he wanted to lie to himself believing that it was just a matter of time. Although his advances continued to be noticeable, you seemed to no longer enjoy the more intimate approach, which led you to confess that your feelings were not the same as those he had for you. This would be devastating for Seth, since the imprint was not something he could control or diminish. Despite this, Seth would not allow himself to blame or pressure you, understanding that everything should be free and mutual.

He would begin to go through an internal process of sadness and acceptance; his innate kindness would keep him focused on what was best for you. Although it would be painful for him to observe how you did not feel the same, he would commit to staying in your life in the way you wanted. In private he would lean on the pack, who comforted him and gave him advice, especially Leah, who would understand his pain due to her own experiences, helping him deal with the emotional burden.

Seth would continue to be a part of your life if you wanted him to be, and if not, then he would accept it with great internal pain, but accepting of your wishes, watching over you from the shadows. He would never impose his feelings on you or expect you to reciprocate, seeking the best for you. And if you wanted to cut contact completely, then Seth would accept it without complaint no matter how much pain it caused him, putting your feelings before anything else.

Despite the pain, Seth would maintain his hopeful nature by looking for ways to adapt, learning to handle his unrequited feelings and channeling them into something positive. He would dedicate himself to protecting you from a distance or focusing on strengthening relationships with his family and pack. Over time he could learn to balance his imprint with his own need to move on, although the connection would never completely disappear.

Jacob Black:

He had always found the subject of imprinting strange and even aberrant; seeing how his companions seemed to abandon themselves so that someone else could practically take them as if they were their own to do with as they pleased was simply something Jacob didn't seem to or wanted to understand. Everything changed when he saw you; he now understood what everyone was talking about. He feels the powerful pull of imprinting, an unbreakable bond that reconfigures his world around you. His senses sharpen, his heart beats hard, and the need to be close to you becomes overwhelming. In that instant you become his absolute priority, overriding any other connection or concern.

Jacob would look for ways to approach you naturally, using his charisma and sense of humor as tools to gain your trust. He would try to become a close and constant friend in your life, willing to listen to you, support you, and protect you from any danger, even if you weren't aware of the extent of his commitment.

Over time, Jacob would probably manage to become an important figure in your life. He would accompany you in your everyday problems, offering you solutions or simply his presence. His actions, driven by imprinting, would be selfless and focused on your well-being. However, as the relationship progresses, he begins to notice that although you appreciate him and feel comfortable, you show no signs of developing feelings towards him. Although you try hard to give and surrender to him, you know that you cannot match his commitment; despite your constant attempts, you just don’t succeed.

Once you confess to Jacob and give him the clear rejection, he would experience an emotional storm. His pain would not come from the rejection itself, but from the inability to fulfill what he perceives as his purpose: to make you happy. It would make him rethink and ask himself if he is doing something wrong or if he is meant to live with those one-sided feelings. Even though he wants you to see him the same way, he wouldn’t try to pressure or manipulate you due to imprinting forcing him to prioritize your desires and well-being over his own. Even though you didn’t feel the same way, Jacob wouldn’t be able to emotionally detach himself. He would continue to care for you, making sure you were safe. He would try to find comfort in friendship, focusing on being a support in your life without expecting anything in return.

If you wished instead to have no relationship with him at all, wanting to cut off contact, even though he would feel deeply hurt, Jacob would respect your decision. Having to fight his own instincts to not constantly seek you out, even going so far as to feel great constant pain and guilt, would lead him to isolate himself from the pack and his friends, constantly morphing to release pent-up tension and emotions, feeling unable to explain his suffering or find comfort.

Even though others in the pack couldn’t fully understand the pain of an unrequited imprint, they would offer comfort and support; Even Sam would try to guide him to handle his feelings so that the bond wouldn't be so painful.

Jacob would learn to deal with frustration and pain, taking comfort in secretly caring for you if you didn't want him around, and if that wasn't it, then he would settle for being a good friend in your life. Despite the lack of reciprocity, the bond wouldn't fade. The imprint is eternal, and although the pain might soften with time, he would always feel a special connection to you.

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spiderb00bs · 4 months ago

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- Faith In Me

Anora x (g!p) reader

“You thought you and Anora were living an impossible romance, but someone always has to get in the way of the fairy tale.”

Genre – Smut Warnings – unprotected sex, mutual masturbation

(request)

Now playing – Again, by Noah Cyrus, XXXTENTATION

Working in a law firm was like a dream at first, having your own money and being able to work all day in front of a computer seemed incredible. You saw that things didn't work out like that later on, you certainly weren't complaining about the good life your job gave you, but every now and then tiredness always took over. Fortunately, you always had friends to share your happiness, frustrations and achievements with.

Ted was your closest friend at work, you always went out together for lunch and drinks after work, he was what you would call a good friend. He was always there when you needed him and always helped you with your work, and even though he was a bit too free-spirited, you could never say no to an adventure with him.

“A strip club? Dude, are you serious?" you hurried through the building, late for an important meeting with your clients.

“Bro, trust me! You need to relax a bit and this is definitely the right place.” He said, Ted was on your tail, talking about how you should have some fun after work.

“I don't know.” Passing your coworker's desk, you greeted her with a smile, which made the woman blush and reciprocate with a 'good morning'.

“Come on, Yn. When was the last time you really had fun?” Opening your mouth to answer, you were immediately cut off by Ted again. “No, building legos while watching all the Spiderman movies is not fun.”

Rushing forward, Ted stopped in front of you, putting his hands on your shoulders, making you stop walking. “I'm talking about real fun, when was the last time you had sex?”

“That's none of your business!” You say, pushing Ted aside and putting your hand on the door handle where the meeting was probably already taking place.

“Come on Yn...”

Sighing, you let your tense shoulders relax, looking over your shoulder at the blond man with the brown eyes. “You're an idiot.”

“You won't regret it!” It was the last thing you heard before closing the door in his face and facing your meeting.

The bright lights made your eyes hurt a little, but Ted's excited jumping next to you distracted you from the slight pain. The club was very well decorated, there were half-naked girls walking up and down and the space itself was very cool.

Despite the countless girls laughing and chatting around, the only thing that caught your attention was the bar, making your throat dry up almost instantly. Leaning on the counter, you asked the barman for a beer, unbuttoning the top two buttons of your shirt before looking around once more.

“Oh my God! This is all so cool!” Ted said excitedly, watching the girls walk past, winking at them and looking as excited as anyone else there. “Do you see how many beautiful women there are here? Man, this is awesome!”

Shaking your head, you took a sip of your beer, nodding in agreement as you let the cold liquid run down your throat. “It's a pretty place”

“ Pretty? The women are pretty, the place is at least okay.” Ted said, coming up to you and asking the barman for a shot.

Taking the beer from your lips and placing it on the counter, Ted put his hands on your cheeks, slapping you twice and making you jump in your seat.

“What the fuck? Are you crazy?”

“Listen here! You're going to have fun, pick up a girl and have a private dance. Do you hear me?”

“Did someone say they want a dance?”

Hearing the voice, your head turned, Ted following the movement, only to see a beautiful brunette standing next to you. The woman had skin so white it looked like porcelain, her eyes were enchanting, and she was blowing smoke out of her lips, which were showing one of the most beautiful smiles you'd ever seen.

Tapping you on the chest, Ted smiled at you, then left for another part of the club, while you stood there uncomfortably next to the most beautiful stranger in the world.

Laughing slightly, the woman approached you, taking the seat that the blonde had previously occupied. “So, cutie, what's your name?” The woman asked.

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn. I'm Ani.” She said, moving closer to you, coming face to face with a look that could melt you to pieces. “Do you really want a dance, or did your friend make you come here?”

Raising her hand, Ani began lazily fiddling with your hair, combing it back with her fingers. Her big nails made you want to moan with satisfaction.

“It's my first time here...” Her head tilted to the right, just waiting for you to continue, but the look in her eyes made you want to drop to your knees. “I just came for a drink, but...”

Smiling at you, Ani moved a little closer, taking your hand in hers without taking her eyes off yours. “Now you kind of want a dance, don't you?”

Her hips seemed to have a life of their own, swaying majestically on top of you. You wanted to grab Ani's hips, to take control just to feel powerful, but you couldn't deny that you also loved the way she looked when she was on top of you.

“Are you enjoying that, pretty girl?” Her smile made your heart skip beats, and that felt strangely good.

Your dick was starting to come alive in your pants, and as much as you didn't want it to, it was kind of inevitable. With so much work, you didn't have time to build up any romantic attachments, and it was never really your thing to go to bed with someone you'd only just met. So put that together with the fact that Ani's hips were the eighth wonder of the world, and it was inevitable that your little friend wouldn't show any signs of life.

Rubbing herself harder against you, Ani put her hands on your neck, biting her lower lip as she looked into your face. “You come with a nice little surprise, don't you?”

Shaking your head, you gripped the armchair you were sitting on tighter, your knuckles turning white with the force you applied. “Is that a problem for you?” Ani could sense the slight tone of desperation in your voice

Reassuring you as quickly as possible, the brunette shook her head with a smile. “I think you're going to make me fall in love.”

Before you knew it, Ani's lips were glued to yours, the kiss was a little messy, but you could clearly feel her soft lips, the taste of strawberries and alcohol on her tongue made you feel dizzy. Inevitably, your hands ended up on her hips, as you had wanted from the start.

“Can we do this?” You asked between kisses. You had never known that you could kiss girls who worked in clubs, even if you were paying for a dance.

“Not technically...” Ani said, looking at you with those mesmerizing eyes before giving you a smile. “But I liked you...” stroking your hair and moving her hips slowly over your bulge, Ani continued: ”Did you like me too?”

Shaking your head positively, you grabbed her ass, pulling Ani back into a thirsty kiss.

Things went well, hell, things were going very well. You went back to HQ a few times, just to see Ani. You ended up getting her number weeks later, which only brought you closer and closer together. Now you were going out together on Ani's days off, having dinner in nice restaurants - which Ani was sure she would never go to alone - and walking down the street holding hands like teenagers in love, dropping her off at home after her shift at the club and making phone calls to talk about the smallest things on your minds, you even found out that Ani's real name is Anora.

“So I'd rather people didn't call me by my name.” Ani finishes explaining, sitting on your lap in one of the club's private dance booths.

By this point, you weren't even interested in the dances anymore, just paying to hear Ani speak. You loved the way she rambled on about everything while playing with your hair or comparing the size of your hands. It was all very comfortable and you both loved it.

“But you tell everyone your name is Ani...” Seeing your confused countenance, Ani tilts her head to the right, a sarcastic look passes through her eyes before the brunette starts laughing, making you laugh along, even if confused.

“I thought lawyers were smarter.” Ani says, leaning in and leaving a kiss on your lips, hearing you let out a small “ HEY!” at what she said. “My name is Anora.”

“Anora.”

You tested the name on your lips, savoring the sensation of discovering more about the woman on top of you. Ani never really liked people who weren't her family calling her by her real name, but something about the way you said it, the tone of your voice when you said her name, made her shiver. Maybe she didn't hate it when you called her by her real name, at least not the way she does when others call her.

The important thing is that things were going well, and after a hectic day at work, you couldn't wait to see Ani again.

When you arrived at the club, things seemed different, the lights seemed less bright and something seemed wrong, even if you had no idea what. It was only when you got deeper into the place that you saw, now you knew why things were grayer, the world was preparing you for this.

You didn't know who the boy was, but you certainly wanted to break his face. In the middle of everyone, Ani's lips were on his, his hands on her hips, aggressively pulling her close, a stark contrast to how you put your hands there. Ani's hands were on his neck, and it honestly felt very different from anything you'd ever experienced.

It was aggressive, fast, amateurish, without passion, without love.

Turning around, you started walking towards the exit. Was it all a lie? Did Ani do this with anyone, just for the money? You didn't want to think like that, you didn't know Ani like that, Ani was never like that, Anora wasn't like that.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, sweetie?” Making you stop your hurried steps, the woman in front of you put her hand on your chest, making you jump back slightly.

You knew her name was Diamond, you'd heard Ani complain about her being a pain in the ass once or twice.

“Just because Ani's busy doesn't mean you can't have fun with someone else, someone better than her...” Approaching you, Diamond grabbed your hands, making you hold onto her waist while she put her hands on your neck.

Nodding your head, you broke away from the woman, not having the patience or sanity for this shit right now. Leaving the woman behind, you left the club. You thought things would be different, but it was business as usual, just you putting expectations on impossible things.

Hey, I didn't see u this week are you okay?

I have a day off, wanna hang?

I saw Ted today he pretty much ran away when he saw me What's going on w u?

It's okay if you're busy but why are you ignoring me???

Anora stared at the phone screen, wondering why you hadn't replied, even after so many months.

Things weren't going well for Ani, after a month, she stopped messaging you, seeing that you didn't reply, she focused on something else, or rather, someone else.

Vanya seemed like a dream at first, he was charming, funny, had a lot of money, and Ani ended up getting carried away. She didn't fully understand why she did it, she thought that maybe, if you had replied to her messages, she wouldn't have taken things seriously with that Russian boy. She wouldn't have allowed herself to like him, she wouldn't have allowed herself to marry him, fuck, she wouldn't have allowed him to make her life a living hell.

Ani didn't know where you were, when she went back to work at the club, she thought she'd see you occasionally, but things weren't like that. She never heard from you again, she didn't know where you lived or where you worked, she only knew that you were a lawyer, but that was it. She always looked at the photos she had on her phone when she was down, the photos she took when the two of you went on dates, or a photo of you standing in front of her house after dropping her off, or simply a photo of your hand holding hers as the two of you walked down the sidewalk.

Anora always loved how you never tried to hide her from anyone, how you were always proud to walk with her by your side and take her to fancy places even if those mean people judged her for the clothes she wore. Anora loved that, Anora loves you, and the thought of how quickly things ended, without her even being able to tell you, makes her chest ache.

“Get over it.” Diamond's annoying voice rang in Ani's ears, giving the woman sitting in the rest room a fright.

“Jezz! Get a bell, don't you ever let people know when you're coming?” Ani says, the annoyed look on her face not making Diamond move an inch.

“You know, you should get over her. One failed marriage at a time, right?!”

Rising from her chair, Ani advanced on Diamond, frustrated enough that any comment would be enough to set her off. “Repeat what you said, you slut, I dare you!”

The surrounding girls watched without getting involved, they certainly didn't want to be among Ani and Diamond's bloody war.

“I'm just saying that you've already lost her. She even tried something better than you while you were gone.”

Ani's eyes filled with fury, anger bubbling up inside her body. How could you? You had sex with Diamond? Did you just look for another woman to replace her as soon as she left?

Stomping her feet, Ani hurried towards the exit, unable to spend another minute in Diamond's presence without punching her. Passing all those disgusting, stupified men, Ani bumped her body hard into someone's. When she looked up, she could see that someone was there. When she looked up, she could see the stupid blond hair she knew well. Ted.

In one swift movement, Ani pushed the tall man hard into the nearest wall, trapping the blond boy, who was now slightly wide-eyed. “Where does Yn work?”

“I can't-”

Cutting him off, Ani resorted to violence. Ted's body froze completely as he felt Ani's knee collide with his lower body, and he fell to his knees and groaned in pain against the corner of the club wall.

“WHERE DOES SHE WORK?”

“Upper West Side!” The poor man said, holding back the tears in his eyes.

“Is she still there?” Ani asked, even though she knew it was seven in the evening, the brunette also knew you were a workaholic, so she tested the waters.

“Yeah, she's staying late tonight, dammit!”

Grabbing a napkin from the drinks counter, Ani asked the bartender for a pen, throwing the objects at Ted. “Write down the address. And you'll pay for my Uber.”

After almost an hour in the car, Anora finally arrived at the building where you work, not interested in the stares she would receive for only wearing a very short dress and pretty heels. She entered the building without looking back, the reception quiet, probably because of the time of day.

Approaching in strides, Ani leaned on the counter cheekily. “I want to speak to Yn Russel.”

The receptionist looked her up and down, judging the inappropriate dress, the bright make-up, the exaggeratedly high heels and the points of light in Ani's hair. Unfazed, Ani looked at her expectantly, as if wondering if she had heard what she had said.

“You know what, forget it. I'll find her myself!”

Heading for the elevator, Ani heard the receptionist's protests, saying something about not being allowed in without permission. Anora didn't care, she wanted to see Yn and she wanted to see her now!

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Ani clashed head-on with a tall woman. The woman she was looking for.

"Anora?" you asked, surprised to see the woman after so long.

"YOU STUPID BITCH!" Without giving you time to protect yourself, Anora began to slap you, making you walk backwards until you touched the wall of the elevator.

You tried to cover yourself, using your document folder as a shield, but the slaps from the shorter woman seemed to hit all the right spots.

"STOP IT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Dropping the bag on the floor, you tried to dodge Anora, finally managing to hold her wrists in place and immobilize the woman.

"YOU FUCKED DIAMOND!" Trying to free herself from your grip, Anora kicked and writhed.

By this time, the secretary was just standing outside the elevator, looking at the scene with a shocked expression and making sure the automatic doors wouldn't close.

"What?" You asked softly, while Anora was still struggling in your plight. Losing your temper, you wanted to understand what was really happening, and that wasn't going to happen if Ani continued with her small attack.

"ANORA!"

When you screamed, Ani shuddered, stopping moving immediately, staring at you panting and angry. "We need to talk."

The car was extremely quiet, at that moment, it was as if only you and Ani existed in the world, the empty parking lot you parked not doing much to change your thinking. It was almost ten o'clock at night, the place was half dark, but nothing compared to the darkness that was Anora by your side, the question mark, the doubt of the century. "So..." With a sigh, you started not being able to say anything else when Ani took the lead. "Why did you disappear?" Anora had her head down, as if the floor of your car was the most interesting thing in the world. "I was busy-"

"Cut that off, Yn. Too busy to answer a message? I sent you all the messages possible, and you didn't answer any!" Anora spoke, turning her head and body towards you, she had unbuckled her belt a while ago, and you couldn't lie in saying that you weren't scared that she would slap you again. "I thought you were too busy with the white boy to miss me." You said. The bitterness in your voice made Anora want to step back a bit. "Wait a minute... Vanya, are you talking about him?" Anora asked, her brows furrowed in confusion and disgust that she was remembering that idiot. With no response, Ani could see the jealousy showing through her face, making her laugh and lean back in the passenger seat. "Oh my god, you were jealous of Vanya."

Despite all the mess Ani managed to get into in the last few months, knowing that you were jealous of her was a huge relief, as it meant that she was not alone, you also felt something for her, something beyond the carnal. "I'm not jealous!" You said, crossing your arms like a spoiled child who hadn't gotten the candy she wanted. "You know the funniest thing, I didn't really like Vanya, and if you had answered my messages and not been an idiot, I wouldn't have had anything to do with him." Looking in the direction of the window, Ani wiped the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "What happened? You know, between you both..."

"I married him, and then I separated in less than a month." Her tone made you worried, the sarcastic giggle, the denial with your head, the disgust in her voice, everything made you feel bad. "I had the worst months of my life and I regretted every second of that shit." Turning her head to you, Ani let you see her sensitive side, the tears that stained her eyes. "Nora..." "It's not your fault. I was just desperate to get out of where I was, I ended up rushing in." Placing your hands on Ani's cheeks, you wiped away her tears, kissing her salty cheeks right after. "No, I have a little guilt too. I should have told you how I felt from the beginning." You said, leaning your forehead against hers.

"I love you, Anora. From the day I saw you, I felt better with you, a better version of myself." Anora's eyes were glued to yours, occasionally stealing glances to your mouth. "I don't want to lose you ever again." As soon as you finished the sentence, Anora's lips glued to yours, a calm and tender kiss, sharing the unspoken feelings and the time they were apart. Your hands went to Anora's waist, like in the old days, the brunette's hands reaching for your hair, that feeling of love and lightness that she never felt with Vanya. In a clumsy movement, Ani quickly sat on your lap. With agility, you pulled your seat back, more space freed up for Ani to be comfortable. The woman's hands going against your pants, unbuttoning the button and opening the zipper, and then, BOOM!

"Wait!" Looking at her expectantly, you waited for what she was going to say, only for her to grab your cock through the fabric of your boxer shorts. "Did you have sex with Diamond?" Opening your mouth, you couldn't say a word if you want, the squeeze Ani had on your cock was making you lose your breath, and Ani saw your face turn red before her eyes. "Nora, this is hurting..." You spoke in a thread of voice, just making the woman squeeze your private area harder. "NO! I SWEAR I DIDN'T HAVE SEX WITH HER." "Then why did she say yes?"

"SHE TRIED, THE DAY I SAW YOU AND VANYA KISSING, BUT I PUSHED HER AWAY. I SWEAR!" Seeing the sincerity and desperation in your eyes, Ani let go of your cock, making you gasp in pain and relax your shoulders on the leather bench. Coming close to your ear just to let her warm breath tease you. "I believe in you, but don't go near her again." Shaking her head positively, you saw Anora smile contentedly, only to kiss your cheek and grab your cock again, gently this time. "Let me take care of you, baby girl."

Freeing your cock from the fabrics that bound it, Ani spat on her hand, before quickly grabbing your cock again. Spreading her saliva well, she started masturbating you with slow movements, making your friend start to get excited again. "Damn Nora, I missed you so much." You say, putting your hand under her dress, putting her panties aside in one quick motion and starting to make slow movements on her clit. The moans you two let out echoed through the car, the heavy breathing of both of you fogging up the car windows, making it difficult for anyone to see what was happening inside, but not stopping them from imagining. Luckily, you knew that there would rarely be anyone around this time, and even if it was dangerous, you couldn't think much of it with Anora on top of you. "Baby, I want you inside me." Anora said, starting to settle on your lap.

Your hands were on her hips, helping her find a position where she was comfortable. When Anora finally grabbed your cock, she lined up the tip with her pussy, impaling herself more and more with your length. Your moans echoed together, and the brunette kissed your lips to feel even more intimate with you. "Fuck baby, you're so hot when you take my cock like that." You say, making Anora wrap her arms around your neck, throwing her hair to the left side and starting to bounce on your cock. The contact was perfect, skin to skin, the souls of the two of you connected, it was everything you two ever wanted. Anora's moans echoed through the car, the movements of her hips doing wonders for you, as your cock reached all the right places inside her.

Kissing you, Ani felt your big hands grab her ass, lifting it a little before starting to hit her relentlessly. Anora's eyes rolled, and her nails slid with a pleasurable pain down your back. "FUCK, BABY!" Anora screamed, piercing her nails on your back while you continued, practically, piercing her uterus. "I'M GONNA CUM." Going faster, you held Ani closer. Your body was sweaty, and you could feel your balls weighing down as you buried yourself deeper and deeper into the brunette, and then in one swift motion, you felt Ani's pussy tighten your entire length, making you slow down but continue with the deep thrusts. "Fuck baby, you're so beautiful." You said, brushing Anora's hair from her face and kissing her cheeks as she trembled on top of you, having the strongest orgasm she's ever had in her life. "Oh, I'm gonna cum too."

Unable to speak, Anora shook her head in confirmation, moaning when she felt you lift off you with the strength of your biceps, making your cock come out of her. Putting Ani back in your lap, you grabbed your cock, masturbating until your cum stained Ani's abs. "Fuck..." You moaned as you tried to extract every last drop of cum possible. Yah, fuck. I really love you." Anora said, grabbing your cheek and kissing your lips passionately.

"I love you too, Nora."

Hi guys, what's up?

man, I'm SO tired, seriously, college is killing me.

Luckily I don't have classes this week, so I'm here writing to you.

Drink water, stay safe

xoxo, spider.

#gxg imagine #request #g!p reader #mikey madison x reader #mikey madison x you #mikey madison x f!reader #anora x reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #spiderb00bs

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tangerineastronaut · 4 months ago

Note

Can we get some fluff jongho takes care of reader on her period plsssss

soft 🐻 c.jongho

Let him take care of you. He insists.💕

Pairing: Jongho x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, Drabble, Texts + Written imagine Requested: Yes w.c. 780 Warnings: period cramps, reader is on her period, medicine (OTC pain meds) A/N: a jongho request? c'mere anon i'm gonna kiss you. I'm sorry this is short and sweet. I'd love more Jongho requests, I don't see enough content for our bear and I'd like to add to what we've got 😩 Anywho this hits home for me bc idk about y'all but my periods are HELL. I could definitely use a jongho 😭 This is my first time adding texts to a story, so I hope it's alright! Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs

Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

You open one eye as someone knocks on your door, though quickly close it again as a swell of pain steals the air from your lungs. Your insides feel like mush, and everything below your belly button aches.

You feel something soft on your face, and when you open your eyes again, you’re embarrassed and incredibly relieved at the same time to find Jongho running his knuckles down your cheek.

“Jongho?” you ask weakly. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was on my way, didn’t you see my last text?” he asks. You realize he’s crouched in front of the couch, where you collapsed an hour ago and haven’t moved since. You shake your head.

“N-No, ‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay. What do you need?”

“A hysterectomy.”

“Funny. What else do you need? Have you taken anything?”

Jongho clicks his tongue as you shake your head. He leaves for a few moments, so you close your eyes again. But then you’re being urged to sit up, and your face crumples in pain.

“Here,” he says, sliding onto the sofa beside you. You take the glass of water he’s holding, sipping it down as he drops something in the palm of your hand. Two tylenol; you take them, finishing off the water.

“Why didn’t you take anything earlier?” he asks, lifting a hand to your cheek. His palm is warm and you lean into it. Your head hurts. Your face hurts. Your back, legs, stomach. All of you hurts.

“I just kind of curled up to die,” you admit, looking up at him. “Didn’t wanna move.”

Jongho sighs and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his firm chest. Your arms go around his neck as you bury yourself against him.

He’s soft and warm and smells so good; his cologne isn’t overwhelming, just a note of something that could only be described as “manly.” It's amazing how a person could make you feel safe with just a hug, but that was Jongho.

“What can I do for you, baby?” he asks, brushing hair away from your face. He presses a kiss to your temple, letting his lips rest there. You nuzzle your nose into his shoulder and inhale, making him chuckle.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Just be here.”

You open your eyes, blinking and rubbing at them. You're a little groggy and confused, but feel something firm and warm behind you. You tilt your head back, and Jongho kisses you below your ear.

"Hi," he hums softly. You groan, feeling a little more human but mostly still mush.

His fingers twitch and your face flushes—his large hand covers the softness of your lower belly, thumb gently brushing your skin. You were holding his wrist, very obviously not wanting him to move even in your sleep.

“What time is it?” you ask. You finally release him and move your hand to your stomach, resting it over his—still hurts, though not nearly as bad as before. Could’ve been the medicine, but you suspected it had to do with a certain someone as well.

You roll over so that you're facing him, squished together on your small couch. He doesn't seem to mind and wraps his arms securely around you, pulling you snug against his form.

“It’s close to 1 a.m., you haven’t been sleeping very long,” Jongho says, rubbing your arm. “How are you feeling? Need more medicine?”

You shake your head.

“It’s better now,” you say with a shy smile. Jongho smiles back, so cutely that you have to lean forward and kiss him. You move your hands to either side of his face.

He sighs against your mouth and hugs you tight, pulling back just enough that your noses are still touching.

“Wanna go to bed?” he asks, stealing another chaste kiss. He moves his hands down to your lower back, fingers firm yet gentle as he massages either side of your spine. You nearly melt with relief, moaning as you tuck yourself against him.

“No. Don’t wanna move. Feels good,” you mumble. Jongho hums a laugh. You rest for a few seconds until he begins to sit up. You grab his hoodie for purchase until he stands, smoothly lifting you up bridal style and adjusting you in his arms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him, pouting at the sudden disruption.

When you open your mouth to protest, he kisses you, using soft lips to steal whatever complaints you may have wanted to file.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your cheek as he speaks. “Let's go to bed."

"Can you hold me?" you ask quietly. Jongho nods.

"Of course, baby. That's why I'm here."

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golden-cherry · 4 months ago

Text

deal - cl16 (49/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Climbing up the mountain can be very freeing.

Warnings: angst (self-doubt, insecurities, mentions of abuse in a relationship, Charles is very insecure about himself), the end is a bit fluffy, but don't expect too much

Word Count: 4.1k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I feel like this describes Charles well. I cried when writing this chapter. I hope you like it. feedback is appreciated.

It is the first time in years that Charles has no desire to climb the mountain on those stupid skis.

His feet hurt, he is cold even though the jacket he is wearing is suitable for even colder temperatures, and his hands are so stiff from the frigid air that they painfully curl around his ski poles.

The snow blinds him because of the bright sun, his bones feel heavy, somehow his mouth is so dry that he would like to rinse it with water every five meters.

But maybe that's just because he'd rather be at home in Monaco. Because that's where you are. And there is no place he would rather be right now.

Closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in the apartment was incredibly difficult. He would have loved to put you in his bag and take you with him, but you would only have distracted him from training.

And if he wants to be world champion one day, he can't afford to make any mistakes.

It's been two days since he's seen you and heard your voice. In the morning, when he wakes up and gets ready for the day, you are still fast asleep, and during his training, Andrea has his phone so that Charles can collect his thoughts and stay focused. Only in the evening, when Charles is in bed, he manages to text you a few messages before falling asleep, cell phone in hand, completely exhausted.

He misses you every second.

Before he met you, he would never have imagined that he could miss someone he had only known for a few days so much. He had missed Annika from time to time, after all, he had definitely loved her at some point, but he had never longed for her or anyone else the way he did for you now.

As soon as he has a moment to himself, whether it's in the shower or on the toilet or when Andrea isn't bothering him with calories or carbohydrates or protein for a moment, he misses you so much that he can almost feel the physical distance between you.

But most of all, he misses you in the morning when he wakes up. When he is in that one second when he is neither sleeping nor fully awake. Snuggled up warm in the blanket and against the pillow, where in the evening he imagines it would be your body that he is snuggling up to. And in the morning, for a brief moment, it feels as if you are actually lying next to him, which is why the second he realizes that you are miles away from him hurts the most.

“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, who has slowed down a little to run up the hill next to Charles. ”You're suspiciously quiet.”

Charles, who hasn't realized that he has slowed down at all, looks at his trainer in confusion. “Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Andrea shrugs. ”Usually you're chattering away at me during training. That usually helps you to distract yourself from how exhausting it is.”

He has a point there. Charles pushes himself forward on his skis. “I don't know. This time I don't feel like you're torturing me up this mountain. It's still the same route we usually take, isn't it?” He looks around as if he can recognize the surroundings.

Andrea raises his eyebrows and also picks up the pace. ‘We're in a completely different area, Charles.’ He points to another mountain with his gloved hand.

If his friend hadn't told him, the man from Monaco would never have noticed, so absorbed is he in his thoughts about you. The mountain Andrea is pointing to seems more familiar to him than the one in front of them. And a lot smaller. If they had taken the familiar route, they would have been at the summit long ago.

“You asshole,” Charles curses and wipes his face. ‘Why did you choose a different mountain? And especially one that's higher?”

Andrea can't help but grin. ’You came in second in the championship this year. I'm hoping that if we increase your training, you'll come in first next season and...”

“And what?” Charles interrupts his trainer. "The whole thing is useless if my strategists and the whole team mess up so much during the race. I can train as much as I want. It won't work." He gets so caught up in it that he doesn't notice how quickly he pushes himself up the mountain on his skis.

“Charles –”

“No, Andrea. This whole thing cost me the title. Wrong tires? Last-minute changes in the pit? What the hell?” he gets worked up. He knows that his anger is unfairly directed at the wrong person, after all Andrea is only there for Charles's well-being and not for what happens on the track, but it just comes spilling out. And he can't stop it.

His ski poles dig deep into the white snow, which Charles barely notices. He only sees the summit in front of him and hears Andrea breathing loudly next to him as he continues to complain.

“It's not right that I come in second because of such little things! If I had caused accidents, then at least it would have been my fault and I could have dealt with it more easily,” he says, annoyed. ”But what kind of stupid plans were these, anyway? Even a toddler could come up with a better strategy!”

Andrea, who knows full well that Charles needs to vent his anger, walks quietly beside him and lets the storm pass over him. It's not often that Charles gets this angry. And normally he blames himself, but he certainly doesn't take such serious mistakes on his head.

Charles knows that making mistakes is an inevitable part of competition, and sometimes, they're the difference between standing at the top of the podium and finishing second. Being the runner-up in a championship can feel bittersweet – so close to victory, yet just short of it.

Being second in the championship feels like a mix of pride and frustration. On one hand, Charles has achieved something incredible – outperforming almost everyone, proving his skill and showing that he deserves to sit in the red car with the horse on it. But on the other hand, there's that lingering thought inside of his head – he was so close. The tiniest mistakes, the small miscalculations in his strategies, or someone else having a slightly better day made the difference in the end.

There's this ache inside of him, knowing he was almost the champion. The podium felt different when he looked up at Max Verstappen holding the trophy he desperately craved. Charles felt a lot of things in that moment – disappointment, regret and even anger – at himself, the situation, the team and at the margin that kept him from winning.

“I could have won the title. Max will definitely win the next season too, as strong as Red Bull is. How will I ever live up to my reputation then?” He clenches his jaw. ”I feel like I'm stuck with what I'm doing now. And I'm doing my best, Andrea. I really am. But it's apparently not enough. Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is?”

Being second carries a unique weight – a strange middle ground between triumph and heartbreak. And hell, Charles heart broke with every race that put more distance between his and Max's points. He feels like a failure, like he failed his team, his family and friends. He failed his fans, that support him through every decision he makes on and off track, that defend him whenever he makes a mistake during races.

And it haunts him. What if he had pushed just a little harder, made one less mistake, reacted a second faster? What if he made a different decision that would've outweighed the mistakes his team made? What if he became world champion in the famous red car he worked so hard to get into? The famous red car that his dad loved so much?

Disappointing his dad was the worst part of it all. It was a different kind of pain, heavy and crushing. It's not just about failing at something – Charles feels like he simply isn't good enough. Like he let someone down who believed in him. He could have been champion this year – he was so close to standing on top of the podium. What if he never gets this close to winning? What if he never holds the big trophy in his hands, dedicating it to his dad, who always wanted to see him drive in the Ferrari?

Charles' anger has been building up for so long that he doesn't know where to put it. If only he had concentrated more on the season and hadn't been so distracted by his personal problems -

“And Annika. What a waste of time the whole thing was. I should never have gotten involved with her. I should have ended the relationship when I realized that she wasn't the one. When I realized that I couldn't give her the attention that a healthy relationship requires.”

Charles would never admit it, but Annika’s betrayal in their relationship cut deeper than expected. It’s not just about broken promises – it’s about broken trust, the foundation of any meaningful connection. It shook everything Charles believed to be true about Annika – or love in general.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself or that he caught them right in the act, but the realization that someone he trusted with his heart made the choice to hurt him. After the break-up he questioned everything – was any of it real? Was Annika lying to him the whole time? Even after everything, the wounds linger.

Some betrayals are survivable with time and effort, but others leave scars that never fully heal. They change people – it changed Charles. It hardened his heart, made love feel dangerous to him and made him create walls where there once was openness.

He guarded himself like a survival instinct. At first, it was solely for protection – he told himself that if he didn’t let anyone in, nobody could hurt him. The walls became his shield, keeping out disappointment, rejection, and the risk of being vulnerable again.

But over the course of the weeks, Charles noticed the walls he put up brick by brick didn’t just keep the pain out – they kept everything out. Love. Connection. The chance to feel something real. Hell, he didn’t even tell his Maman that he was back home in Monaco. He pushed his family away, his friends, acting cold and distant – not because he didn’t want love, but because he’s so scared of what happened when he let someone else in.

It took Charles some time to figure out the truth, that the walls didn’t keep him safe and sound – they kept him stuck. They stopped him from healing, from growing, from experiencing the things that make life meaningful. But he was so scared of breaking them down when it took him so long to put them up, that he didn’t know what to do when he met you.

It was terrifying, letting you in slowly and hesitantly. He’s spent so long guarding himself, convincing himself that no one except his close ones can be trusted, that it almost felt unnatural to let you in. At first, he resisted, kept his distance. But the fact that you didn’t even know who he was felt so good, made him feel safe to share his story with you and then – you stayed. You didn’t push too hard, but you didn’t walk away either.

Surely, this friendship has had it’s ups and downs, but this is what happenes when two people, who protected themselves so much that they become too careful, too hesitant to let someone in fully.

And instead of forcing your way through, you waited. You were there. You proved in small, consistent ways, that you’re not like the woman who made him built those walls in the first place.

And then, without realizing it, he stopped expecting the worst. He let you see his wounds, his fears, his past, and instead of running, you stayed. You stayed with him through awkward dinner conversations about his ex, you stayed with him when he didn’t correct his family about your relationship status, you stayed when he overstepped the boundaries of your friendship. Your gentle touch, your honest conversations while burning Annika’s things.

You stayed when he revealed to you who he really is. You see him – the real him – and don’t flinch at what you see. Little by little, cracks form in his defenses. He finds himself wanting to trust again, to love again, even though it scares him to death.

When you look at him, it feels like sunlight creeping through the cracks in the fortress he thought were unbreakable. It was unsettling at first after being in the dark for some time. But you didn’t break down his walls in a dramatic, earth-shattering way.

It was quiet. Subtle. It sneaked up to him in moments he didn’t even realize – they way you looked at him when he played your song on the piano in the bookshop, when you let him hold you while you cried like his arms were the safest place in the world, when you showed him that you want him for who he is.

But even though you broke down most of his walls, he still can’t admit that you’re all he needs.

He can’t let you in fully after what Annika did to him, he can’t let you touch him like he wants you to. He can’t let himself feel so much for you because what if those feelings he has for you – the feelings he swore he’d never harbour for anyone again – are not enough for you?

What if he gives you his all and you decide that it’s not enough? That he is not enough? He can’t tell you why he doesn’t want you to touch him, because what if you’ll see him differently? What if the things he wants, he needs, are different from what you want?

He feels like he isn’t good enough. The scars Annika left on him made him question his worth, his value, his ability to be loved. There are moments where he feels too far gone, too damaged, not strong enough to break free from the fear of losing you that he’d rather keep you at arms length hurting himself than push you away and out of his life.

He can’t let you touch him after Annika, because sex with her felt wrong, like he was broken because he wanted different things than her. Because he craved intimacy like his life depended on it, the safety that comes with it, but it always felt like he needed to deliver, even if he didn’t want to. It felt like a chore, no gentle touches or loving words, only demanding hands and lips and thighs and he swore to himself he’ll never let it happen again.

If you don’t touch him at all, there’s no chance you could hurt him like that.

He’d rather give you all he’s able to give instead of letting you return anything.

“I could have waited for…”

“Charles.” Andreas‘ voice is gentle and soothing, in contrast to Charles’. When the man from Monaco looks at his friend, he smiles at him. ”We're here.”

The wind howls at the summit, biting and cold, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel it. He can’t feel anything except the weight that presses down on his chest. He stands there on top oft he world – and all the space in the world couldn’t quiet the chaos inside him.

Andrea chose this route to help Charles clear his head, the mountain was supposed to be his escape, his victory. He climbed every inch of it, each slide of his skis pushing him further from the mess he feels inside. The view from the top is actually breathtaking: endless stretches of jagged peaks, skies that feel closer than ever. He should feel something – pride, accomplishment, freedom. But instead, there’s only the overwhelming silence that gnawed at him.

For a moment, everything is still. He pulls his beanie and glasses from his head, closing his eyes and trying to ground himself in the beauty around him, but the images, the memories, everything – it all comes flooding back. The things he can’t outrun. The words that had been sad. The choices that had left him fractured and alone.

A sob caught in his throat, sharp and unexpected and he falls to his knees in the white snow at his feet. The tries to fight it, but the tears come anyway – slow at first, then faster and harder. They burn against the cold wind, mixing with the salt of the sweat on his skin – and he can’t stop them.

They stand for everything he hasn’t been able to say, everything he has be scared to face. He thought he could bury it, hide it behind the walls he built, behind the distance from it all.

His hand tremble on his thighs, his chest tightening with every broken breath. His vision blurred, the edges oft he mountain fading into the background. It doesn’t matter that he’s at the top – he feels smaller than ever. The tears slip down his cheeks like a rush of a river too long dammed.

„I’m not enough“, he whispered almost unaudibly. A confession only the mountains and his friend could hear. „I’m never going to be enough.“

The world stretched out before him, magnificent and indifferent, and in that moment, he realized that being on top oft he mountain didn’t mean escaping it all. He had climbed all this way, but he couldn’t outrun himself. The hurt, the mistakes, the weight of everything he’d buried deep inside.

He doesnt flinch when he feels Andrea’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and reassuring him that whatever he feels right now is okay. That the tears that fall down onto the snow have their right to exist after being bottled up for so long.

The sobs faded, leaving him gasping for air in the stillness of the summit. He wiped his face, trying to wipe away the brokennes, but it lingered in his chest. His hands still trembling from the release, from the rawness that had bubbled to the surface. For a long moment, he just sits there, the wind biting at him, the emptiness inside him as a vast as the world stretched out before him.

And then it hit him, like a sudden punch that knocked the breath from his lungs.

You.

Your laugh. Your smile. The way you always seem to know what he’s thinking, the way you care in the quietest ways – how you’ve been there for him, even when he pushed you away. How, despite everything, you stayed.

He tried so hard to tell himself that he’s better off alone, that he doesn’t need anyone else to fill the empty spaces inside him. He thought he could bury his feelings, run from the truth. He has told himself that love was something to fear, something that could trap him, break him, leave him just as broken as he’d been before.

But now, sitting on top of the world, it all makes sense.

He loves you. He always has. He can feel it in every part of him, the truth that has been there all along, buried under layers of fear and pride. It’s not something he can outrun, not anymore. He can’t ignore the way his heart always beats faster when you’re near, the way everything seems to fall into place when you smile at him, the way your presence has been the one thing that feels like home.

The moment of realization hits him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. It’s undeniable.

He loves you.

Not in the casual, passing way he once tried to convice himself was enough for his relationship with Annika, but in a deeper, truer sense. It’s always been you – only you. Right from the start when the both of you stood in the small apartment.

But the weight o fit, the sheer force of that truth, felt like it could crush him, especially when he realizes how long he’s been running from it.

His heart races, pounding hard in his chest, but it isn’t the kind of excitement he thought would come with such a revelation. Instead, it is quiet terror. The terror of feeling too much. Of feeling anything at all.

His breath comes in shallow gasps as the cold mountain air cuts through him. It isn’t the altitude or the wind that chills him – it’s the fear of being too vulnerable again. Of letting anyone close enough to hurt him. The thought of telling you, of exposing his raw, vulnerable part of himself, feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to climb back down.

He stares out over the vast horizon, the world stretching out endlessly beneath him, and for a moment, he considers it. The possibility of going back, of telling you everything he has just realized. But the thought of your eyes on him, the weight of the words, the vulnerability—it‘s too much. Too raw. Too dangerous.

So, he stays silent. He stays with the truth, buried deep inside of him. The love he feels for you is now his secret, locked away like a fragile thing, too delicate to share. He can‘t find the courage to let it out—not now, not after everything that had happened.

But there is something about knowing, about feeling it — just knowing that he can love again — that makes the world feel a little less heavy. It isn’t perfect, and it doesn‘t fix everything, but it is enough. For the first time in a long time, he doesn‘t feel so broken. He isn’t empty. He is filled with something — something soft, something he thought was gone forever.

Maybe he isn’t ready to tell you. Maybe he will never be ready. But the knowledge that love still exists in him — that it can still find him, even after everything — is enough to hold onto for now. It isn’t a victory, not in the way he wants, but it is a beginning. And in that, there is a quiet peace. A peace that, despite all the fear and hesitation, he coul still feel, still hope.

And that, for the moment, is enough.

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kitkatkitzune · 5 months ago

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MUSE

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!witch!reader

Summary: Always the artist, never the muse… until now that is… sorta?

Warnings: A tiny bit of Angst, Death, Mentions of painting with blood, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (whoopsie)

Notes: First post of the new year!

After a lot of consideration I have decided that I am not going to be making a tag list at this point in time. I am simply not organized enough for it, maybe sometime in the future but not now! I’m sorry! If you’d like to be notified when I post you can turn on notifications… sorry again!

Word Count: 1.5k

———————

You hum as you walk around the Mikaelson home, stopping every few moments to admire the paintings hung around the house. Some of the paintings were incredibly old and some were only made a few years ago, and all of them had been made by the hybrid.

There was at least one of each sibling, Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and even Finn. Freya had also gotten a painting after her return. However, there was someone missing.

There was not a single one of Klaus hung around the home, he wasn’t even in the large family portrait at the end of the hallway. You come to a stop in front of it, tilting your head in confusion.

You don’t get long to ponder the thought as a familiar voice cuts through the silence, “Admiring the artwork, love?”

Turning, you face Klaus with a small smile, “Yes, everything is so beautiful… you’re incredibly talented.”

He hums, taking a step backwards, “Come, I’ll show you my studio.” he beckons you to follow, holding out his hand for you to take.

After a moment's hesitation, you take his hand, allowing him to whisk you away to the art room. The room was isolated, far away from the rest of the rooms in the house. You could tell that this is where Klaus goes to clear his head, when he needs a moment to himself. You couldn’t help but feel honored that he brought you here.

He smiles, “Take a look around…”

You begin to look around the room, admiring the different paintings and drawings all around. Every one was unique in its own way but they were all so Klaus.

There were even paintings in blood, you assumed that the blood used had come from one of Klaus’ many victims. You hover your hand near the canvas, it was of an angel. Ironic. There was something about the painting that you couldn’t shake though, it looked so familiar.

“An angel of death? Since it’s in blood?” you question, quietly.

“Sometimes,” Klaus murmurs in your ear, causing you to jump, you had been too distracted by the paintings to notice how close he had gotten, “inspiration strikes at the strangest times, even while I’m slaughtering my enemies.”

“It’s beautiful…” you smile softly, tilting your head to look at him.

“It’s yours,” he says instantly.

“Oh Klaus, I couldn’t…” you trail off, your eyes catching another painting behind him.

You quickly move to the other side of the room to get a closer look, it was of you.

You look back at Klaus, who, for once in his life, looks a bit nervous, “You weren’t intended to see that yet…”

“You painted me?” you ask in a whisper.

Klaus smiles, regaining his confidence, “Well, I paint you quite often,” he makes his way to you in a split second, “Your beauty is something I enjoy capturing… although, no painting will ever compare to the real thing.”

Your face heats up a bit at his words and you sputter trying to find a response, Klaus however grins, responding before you can, “I don’t know if you picked up on it… but the frame on this was is the same as the other ones displayed, I plan to hang this one in the hallway with the rest of the family portraits….”

Your brows furrow, letting out a small laugh, “I’m not a Mikaelson, Nik.”

“No, but you practically live here, practically family at this point.”

“I suppose that’s true.” you let out a little laugh before frowning, “but what about you?”

“What about me?”

You roll your eyes at his question, “All these paintings, Nik, and not a single one of you.”

He smiles but you swear you see a flicker of hurt pass his eyes, “I’m the artist.”

“And?”

Klaus sighs, “I’ve simply never had the urge to paint myself… I prefer to paint other things.”

You knew there was a deeper meaning to his words and reading between the lines you were quickly able to figure it out. Klaus painted beautiful things, even in his most chaotic works there was beauty, whether it was landscapes or a pretty girl— he painted things he liked, things he loved.

His whole life, Klaus had felt like an outsider in his family, he was the half-sibling, the hybrid, the bastard child. He felt that he did not deserve to be painted, to be hung on the wall with his siblings, and you would make it your mission to show him just how wrong he was.

As it turned out, painting was a lot harder than it looked. You had gone through at least ten canvases over the past week, all containing painted scribbles of the original hybrid and you were growing increasingly frustrated. Klaus always made it seem so simple but it was anything but.

After numerous attempts at recreating his face and failing miserably, you decided to cheat.

There were spells for death, aneurysms, memory, you name it— there was a spell for it. It took time but eventually, you found one for painting. It helped you create a spectacular painting of Klaus. You use the term ‘help’ when in reality, the spell did most of the work.

You were ecstatic to show him the painting, holding the canvas close to your chest as you reached the art room.

“Nik?” you call out quietly, entering the room.

He hums, setting down his paint brush, he was working on a landscape painting. He turns to you, raising a brow when he sees you’re carrying something.

“I’ve brought you something…”

“You’ve got my attention.” he stands up from his stool as you hand him the canvas.

He flips it over and reveals the painting of himself, a small smile appears on his face. Suddenly, his brows furrow, causing you to gulp.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s excellent, love, I just wasn’t aware that you painted.”

“Oh,” your face heats up, “I don’t, not really… it’s just, you deserve a painting too… just because you’re the tortured artist type doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be captured and immortalized in art…”

Klaus surprises you by pulling you against him in a tight hug, “Thankyou.” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your head.

You freeze in shock but, after a moment you relax, “Of course…”

When he finally pulls back, he stares down at the painting before finally looking at you, “I know that you did not paint this though.”

“I- What do you mean?“

He clicks his tongue, “Artist, remember? I assume you used a spell, little witch?”

You sigh, “Well yes, but I just wanted to paint you and I couldn’t do it! It’s incredibly difficult! I tried my best but everytime I just ended up with scribbles!”

“Scribbles?”

“Yes! Scribbles!” you grab his hand, dragging him to your room to show him the failed paintings.

As expected, Klaus cackles at your failed attempts making you pout, “I did try!”

His laughter quickly subsides at your protest, “I know you did, it’s just… I think we should hang this one up,“ he holds up one of the paintings, “although, people may think Hope painted it.”

“Don’t be mean…” you cross your arms, looking away from him.

Klaus frowns, setting the paintings down, he approaches you and places his hands on your arms, uncrossing your arms, “I’m only teasing, I think that it’s quite sweet.”

Finally, you turn back and look at him, trying to hold your angry expression but fail. The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, just staring at each other until finally, Klaus moves. He dips his head, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns heated, his hands find their way to your waist and he pulls you flush against him.

You tug on his hair and he groans at the feeling, sliding his hands to the back of your thighs. He picks you up with ease, pushing you against the nearest wall causing a few things to rattle, including the painting made in blood. It fell to the ground, making you both break apart at the sound.

“That painting…” you mumble, out of breath, “It’s still so familiar…”

Klaus smirks, setting you back on the ground, “I thought you’d have figured it out by now…” he brushes some of the hair from your face, “It’s you, you’re the angel… I made that the day we first met. When you were surrounded by those vampires… and with a flick of your wrist all of their heads exploded, coating you in their blood. I had never seen a sight so beautiful…”

“That is… so messed up…” you breathe out, “but so hot.”

And with that, you grab his face and slam your lips to his. You truly were his muse, and he was yours… sort of?

Bonus!

You sit at the dining room table, coloring with Hope and Klaus. Rebekah was braiding Hope’s hair and Elijah sat at the head of the table drinking his coffee while looking over the newspaper when Kol came waltzing into the room.

Kol smiles, “I saw your new painting Hope, it’s lovely.”

Hope tilts her head, “What painting?”

Elijah answers before Kol can, “The portrait of Niklaus in the hallway.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately look at Klaus who is smirking at you.

“You ass!” you take the crayon you were currently holding and throw it at him, causing him to cackle.

“I told you I’d hang it up!”

#kit kat writes <3 #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #hope mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #fluff

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lgbtlunaverse · 1 year ago

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Fandom is so nice to Jiang Cheng's inferiority complex because in reality every single thing he gets accused of is something Wei Wuxian is better at than him.

Jiang Cheng killed Wei Wuxian? Nope. Didn't even get close. Wei Wuxian's own spirits tore him apart before jc could even get there. wwx:1 jc:0

Jiang Cheng tortures people? We get two and a half rumours and a mention from jin ling that jc has 'captured' demonic cultivators before, but who is also apparently confident that just letting wwx run off will kill the issue even though those earlier rumours said ~no one who sandu shengshou captured was ever seen again~

The word jiang cheng uses when he tries to talk big game about 'beating the truth' out of Wei Wuxian's is a word that carries the context of pestering someone to do their homework. Doesn't exactly strike fear into my heart.

Wei Wuxian? Excellent at torture. A prodigy. Did you fucking see what he did to Wen Chao? Dude didn't have fingers anymore because wei wuxian made him eat them. He ripped out his hair, burned his skin off, and then stalked him for several days just to prolong the pain. He forced Wang Lingjiao to bite Wen Chao's dick off and then made her shove a stool leg down her own throat! 10/10, no notes. Absolutely horrifying.

Meanwhile Jiang Cheng's idea of torture is getting a dog to bark at Wei Wuxian for a few seconds. Weak, unoriginal, I bet fairy was literally wagging her tail the whole time. 2-0

Jiang Cheng made the entire cultivation world believe Wei Wuxian was up to no good on the burial mounds and ultimately orchestrated his downfall? lol. lmao, even

It's a big thing in certain corners of the fandom to really zoom in one one particular phrase at the end of chapter 73, where after wwx and jc have their staged duel to make the world believe they hate each other jiang cheng tells everyone wwx has defected and become "a public enemy'' or "an enemy to the cultivation world" or whatever the translation you're familiar with decided upon.

(As an aside, something I really like about this line is that the last half of it is almost exactly the same, like verbatim, as what wwx told him to say. like, the chapter is really hammering home just how much jc is speaking from a script here. wwx tells jc to say "今后魏无羡无论做出什么事，都与云梦江氏无关." and jc says "今后无论此人有何动作，一概与云梦江氏无关" the only meaningful difference is that he says 'this person' instead of wwx's name)

I've seen it said that this bit, the use of 'enemy' was said without wei wuxian's approval, that jc deviated from the script just to hurt his ex-shixiong for leaving him. And that this is what caused all the other clans to turn against wei wuxian. Regardless of if this is what jc and wwx discussed, or if jc had malicious motivations for it (considering my conclusions above, you can guess where i fall) it doesn't really matter, because the novel tells us when the clans completely freak out and become convinced wei wuxian is out to get them (though of course they've been wringing their hands about it since the literal day wwx ran off with the wen, months before jiang cheng visited) very neatly in chapter 75!

It's when they find out about Wen Ning.

And how do they find out about Wen Ning?

Because Wei Wuxian took him on nighthunts! And they kicked ass!

...Wei Wuxian, my man, why are you on nighthunts??? Why are you showing off your incredibly cool sentient fierce corpse buddy, who is way better and stronger than all the other fierce corpses, in front of the whole cultivation world??

Whatever his motivations (extra money, maybe?? they were strapped for crash) I can only draw the conclusion wwx had already given up on appearing calm or non-threatening and didn't care if the clans thought he was a threat, because they'd believe whatever they wanted anyway. Which he seems to clearly be aware of the whole time.

Regardless, we know that this is what created the myth of the Yiling patriarch. It's literally when the title first shows up!

Even if you really believe jc was secretly plotting against wwx in chapter 73, he's clearly doing a shit job of it because nothing he said made anywhere near as big an impact as this. Flopped!

The other point people use to argue Jiang Cheng caused wei wuxian's downfall is Jin Guangyao's speech in Guanyin temple about how jiang cheng could have saved wei wuxian if only he stood by him. Setting aside that jin guangyao is trying to get into jiang cheng's head here, and isn't necessarily saying what he really believes (though it very well might be! who knows with a character like jgy. assuming he's always lying is just as misleading as assuming he's always saying the truth) the fact is, if you read the speech closely, what he's talking about is not the 'public enemy' line, he's talking about the bond between them. The fact that people wanted wei wuxian out of yunmeng jiang, because the two were too powerful together.

He's talking about that one time Jiang Cheng very publically kicked wei wuxian out of the sect!

Which, unbeknownst to Jin Guangyao, was in fact Wei Wuxian's idea the whole time.

final score: 3 for you wei wuxian, you go wei wuxian! And nothing for Jiang Cheng bye.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #yunmeng shuangjie #i have never been more tempted to tag something as 'canon jiang cheng'#i don't really believe in the whole 'reclaiming the tag' thing i kinda roll my eyes at it and stay out of there #but I AM explicitly talking about fanon misconceptions about jiang cheng... and is that not what that tag was for?? oh well #let's not antagonize people #i am giggling at the realization that jgs must have thought all his pointed comments about wwx's 'disrespect' hit their mark #when wwx defected #only for jc to sneak his future daughter in law to yiling and letting wwx name his grandson a few months later #LMAOOO GET REKT OLD MAN

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crueltyserpent · 8 months ago

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When she introduces us, she’s either my girlfriend or my mom. She’s neither of course, she killed my mom and my girlfriend so long ago at this point. Sometimes I think she chooses whichever she thinks will make me more uncomfortable; it’s not like whoever she introduces us to will live long enough for their thoughts on it to matter. If I were to choose a name for what I am, I would probably go with captive. Victim also comes to mind, but it’s hard to feel like I’m the most victimized person in the room when she’s cutting off the fingers of a naked woman one by one. At least she’s not making me eat them this time. The “here comes the airplane” bit with raw human flesh isn’t nearly as funny as she thinks it is.

If I guess why she keeps me around, why I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere like every other poor bitch who get’s her attention, I’d guess it’s because simply torturing attractive women to death every other day doesn’t fully sate her appetite for cruelty. Sure, her ability to wring physical pain out of a stranger is staggering, but there’s a special type of satisfaction she gets from the form of psychological torture that is only possible to inflict on someone she keeps close for an extended period of time. I don’t know if she chose me because something about me was uniquely appealing to hurt or she just liked how my dick felt inside her, but at this point I’m fairly confident she’s sunk too much work into messing with my head to casually replace me.

The woman bleeding out on the floor is the owner of the Air BNB we’re staying at, a chipper blonde thirtysomething who was now karmically paying for the fact that nothing in her life had ever gone wrong before. I used to vomit seeing a girl taken apart like this. Now it’s boring enough that I can sit on the bed reading a romance novel while barley acknowledging the poor cunt’s slowly decreasing number of body parts. This is an easy one, relatively speaking. I don’t really have enough emotional energy left to feel bad for well to do women a decade older than me who’d never give me so much as a smile if I weren’t a customer.

I call myself a captive, but it’s not like I couldn’t walk out of the room if I wanted to, physically speaking. She wouldn’t stop me, she’d continue her ruthless execution and not even remark on me leaving. I was never bound (except for sex), never locked in a room, always free to go where I wanted. It had just been incredibly clear to me that if I ever made an attempt to do something she disapproved of, she could make my life so much worse than it already was as her unwilling partner in crime. One time she had left me alone for three months, letting me think I was free, only to return and kill every single person I had met and liked to any degree. I was trapped with her because she had created a situation where helping her murder people every few days was the decision I could make with the lowest innocent body count. And it meant that sometimes women like this died instead of the cute queer girls my age who used to blow me in alleys. Seeing someone I might have been friends with in a different life die was a whole different story to something like this.

I turn the page, working my way through a particularly arbitrary love triangle as I hear the death rattle. I don’t remark on it, but I’m not at all surprised when my bloodstained captor sits at the foot of the bed, looking at me with those hungry eyes. Don’t get me wrong, this woman is evil, the worst person I could even imagine who I would do anything to be free of.

She’s also probably the hottest person I’ve ever met. She was the first woman ever to be hot enough to make me cheat on my girlfriend, in what was either the greatest mistake of my life or the sole decision that kept me alive, depending on what would have happened if I turned her down. Her nude body sprayed with fresh blood is a powerful sight, and her toothed smile makes me shiver as blood rushes between my legs.

“Anything spicy happening in your book, honey?” She asked in a soft, motherly tone, her hands moving to undo my belt buckle. I hate how much her sexy mom routine works on me. It’s humiliatingly effective. I should be anywhere else right now, doing anything else, doing anyone else, but as she rides me, her other victims blood dripping off her chest over my face, I can’t do anything but whimper in enjoyment.

#my writing

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thatneoncrisis · 3 months ago

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ok so im not going to directly reblog that john post with my rebuttal because it is. very long. but i will link to that post for context

here are all the reasons people feel very strongly about john being a shithead, and while reducing him to merely Flat Out On Purpose Evil flattens him as he is an incredibly complex character, the man does cartoonishly evil shit on the daily. it cannot be more obvious, in fact. and if he did all of this with good intentions, we cannot forget what the road to hell is paved with. john has been hurting people for ten thousand years

i cant entirely tell if this is a legitimate defense of him, but im going to treat it as such and offer a good faith rebuttal

"they were already going to die" is not a defense of his actions. it is an excuse. a very poor one in fact. i can recognize the amount of stress he was under, but killing every living person on the planet in the pursuit of revenge- because thats what this is about to him, revenge- is not something you can handwave away. would it be fair if someones entire family was gunned down because they happened to be in the same building as a very bad man? john has a very extremist way of thinking, and often conflates his sense of morality with the only way that is correct

you can recognize that he wants to be good, but wanting to be good and doing good are two entirely separate things. plenty of actual evil is committed in the name of "protecting children," however we can plainly see many cases of bigotry and abuse happen under the umbrella of that supposed cause. if john says he wants to protect the earth and saves humanity, and is directly the thing that kills them, not only with nukes but by snapping the necks of everyone the bombs didnt kill first, is that not antithetical to his entire mission? he killed the entire solar system just to fail to even kill his targets

additionally, he was granted great power by alecto. we see that not only can he prevent the rot of bodies and puppet them among other things, such as curing cancer and other illnesses, he grows roses for his friends wedding. he can manipulate plant matter. he could solve the food shortage if he wanted. he could do any number of constructive things, but instead the only thing he could keep his attention on was what bad people were doing, and how to hurt them the most.

later on in the timeline, we are plainly shown the world hes made when hes left to his own devices. hes crafted a feudalistic system powered by the death of his own people. his armies employ child soldiers, some as young as 11. there is a severe population crisis, many people suffer from furtility issues, the sixth house has to keep close records of their geneology just to prevent too much inbreeding. as a reminder, john has a stash of the dead from earth he kept tucked away, and gave some to harrow when she asked him to renew her house. he could fix this problem at any time, but he doesnt

planets outside the nine houses are routinely killed just so his necromantic soldiers have more fuel for this power. this is is shown to have devestating ecological consequences- every plant, animal and microorganism sentenced to death because necromancy eats through it so quickly. this also results in any people living on those planets to have to relocate quickly, or face starvation or any other number of horrors from one mans actions. oh, and speaking of the people

corona mentions in nona the ninth that she finds it odd that john does not integrate any of the non house people or their resources into their empire. it has been ten thousand years. BOE has guns, cars, televised announcements. our main characters grew up in a world where paper and real wood were expensive novelties because john keeps killing everything that can sustain a renewable resource. in the john chapters of nona the ninth, he makes a glib joke about how him destroying the internet was a good thing, but isnt it strange that in a world with spaceships capable of travel between planets in a matter of hours, no one in the in houses has found a way to wirelessly transfer digitized information? they still have to send letters on shuttles to communicate from planet to planet

with BOE mentioned, his treatment of them is particularly vile. they are a small, disorganized resistance group trying to unclench the fist that has been choking non house people for ten thousand years. the ones we meet on a personal level (mostly wake and pash) are vicious and uncompromising in their methodology- namely reducing necromancers and those who collaborate with them to non people, zombies, but the fact of the matter is they have to be. there is no polite way to resist fascism. there is no asking John to pretty please stop killing planets and illegally occupying our settlements to declare his authority that is only recognized bc he has the history and manpower to back it up. they are fighting an enemy that literally gets stronger the more of them they kill. they are fighting someone who can puppet the corpse of your friend and use it to attack you, or even blow you up. their extremism doesn't exist in a vacuum, and johns dislike of persists because they 1. undermine his authority and 2. are, in the haziest sense of the word, possibly kind of connected to the trillionaires he was mad at a myriad ago. people who are literally fucking dust. their wealth was not passed down to their descendants, their wealth means absolutely jack in the current situation. John is literally the rich powerhungry self preserving asshole he was pissed at when earth was alive. speaking of earth

John has been hoarding the planet earth for ten thousand years. obviously we never saw much of it due to everyone on the first in Gideon the ninth being confined to Canaan House, but it appears hospitable to life. no extreme temperatures, no food shortage, cythereas sitting under a tree outside so there appears to be no issue with vegetation growing. at any point, John could stop having his long suffering populace living in holes on Pluto and space stations next to the sun move to earth and live out more humane lives and he just doesn't. he keeps it as a holy ground. a place he himself doesn't even live on. he hoards it, this innate object, its soul kept trapped in a body it hates billions of miles away, and we can't even say why. given everything else he's done, im not inclined to believe he has a good reason for this, or even a particularly rational one. some people just like squirreling away their favorite things where no one else can touch

the handwaving of johns treatment of the cavaliers leapt out to me as very strange. it is that very lie that condemns him to death in Augustine and mercymorns eyes, his oldest and closest friends besides g1deon (who was dead at that part of the grand reveal, who knows how he would hav reacted). its not just a lie, it is The lie, a lie that exposes how expendable he sees the people around him. based on harrow the ninth alone, its pretty clear John is a terrible friend and mentor. his advice to harrow having a months long break in her sanity is to tell her to get a hobby and some rest. he is interested in the idea of her, but puts no effort into materially helping her (does his empire even have antipsychotics?) she is left alone and terrified for ten months, everyone around her assuming shell die in the conflict with the ressurection beast and he makes it all the worse with g1deon. not only telling him to kill her, but denying any involvement to her face

as for his other new Lyctor, he all but neglects Ianthe, abandoning her to augustines clear contempt. as vile and weird as Ianthe is, she has also experienced a pretty severe trauma. she has no clue where her sister is, is losing her sense of self after the consumption of her cavalier causes him to slowly start integrate into her personality (again, her own fault, but I imagine it feels weird) and she had her arm cut off by a woman who was driven half mad by johns apathy towards any of his lyctors suffering. he may claim to care for his friends, but it is entirely possible he just resurrected them to have some people from his old life to talk to, or to have powerful soldiers to fight his battles, or to have some scientists on hand help him workshop the early days of necromancy. we can never be sure, but what we can see is that he allowed seven people to be killed and eaten when he knew he had achieved the same result in a way that preserved both souls, and told none of them. its possible he thought he was doing this for their own good, whatever that means in this circumstance, but they were all adults, and should have been given all information possible before making their choice

even the way he treats his daughter is very. earnestly misguided. he immediately appoints her to be a soldier and sends her off on the front lines to fight the soul infecting devils crawling up form hell. he(allegedly, kirionas words) also tells her to open the tomb and kill Alecto, thus making her her fathers new cavalier. we have seen extensive treatment of cavaliers in this series- pack mules, batteries, body guards, even partners, but it is usually understood that the life of the necromancy is prioritized even at the cost of the cavalier. it is the foundation upon which lyctorhood is built, why Gideon killed herself in the first place. if he was serious about making her his cavalier, he's allowing his daughter to enter a very dangerous and potentially fatal position for no particular reason. he of course can resurrect her, but using your own kid as a regenerating meat shield is what some may consider scummy. on the other end, there is the possibility he was lying, he just wanted Gideon to open the tomb and face the very real possibility of Alecto killing her on sight. which there is a good chance of- johns power is borrowed from her, we have no clue what she can really do.

so three options here, two John is endangering his long lost daughter, one she was lying about what he said or if they even talked about it and just wanted a go at Alecto. while I do find the third option to be the most incharacter for Kiriona at this point, we've already seen he's named her and ianthe his tower princes and basically have them act as his proxies. he really really doesn't seem to care about actually protecting her

overall. John is certainly a guy who talks about doing things the right way, about caring for people and the world. and in every instance where he was given the chance to, he immediately hard pivots into the most destructive, manipulative route possible. everyone who has ever been close to him is either dead or has attempted to kill him or both. he committed an extinction event on a scale that is unheard of in human history. he gaslit and lied to harrow when he was the only authority she could appeal to, while being hunted by a man John told to kill her. he took the soul of a planet, wrapped it in the skin of some random childhood object, and shut her off and packed her away on a cold dark distant planet to be forgotten about until the end of time because she was too inhuman to control. he's declared a never ending war against people who died thousands of years ago, the now living people who have grown up only knowing the horror of undead soldiers and planets dying under their feet. he's cultivated a culture that disrespects the dead, that cannibalizes it, that uses the bones of its people for free labor

people are harsh on John because John does harsh things, and thats putting it lightly. he IS a deeply complex character, and I think the odd time I see someone trying to reduce what he's doing to basic heteronormative white supremacist ideals is uh. tone deaf. lets not call him a white guy just because he sucks thats insane. but many of the points you make in your post either take what he says about his motivations at face value, when he is a known liar, or presume good will on his behalf.

or the whole "they would have died anyway" defense which is uniquely terrible. you can say that about anyone, were all dying all the time. is it cool if someone kills the elderly or a cancer patient because they were already going to die and the rich people hoarding the resources such as affordable healthcare and housing are really to blame because it could have bought them more time? no. you stabbed a guy, thats murder. John killed ten billion people, most of whom are either stuck in a permanent sleep until he decides to defrost them so his empire can have more people, or who's souls are literally trapped because as htn and ntn heavily imply/straight up show, something is wrong with the river. this is an objectively bad and his motivations for his actions will never outweigh the ten billion he sacrificed while blinded by his own rage. this makes him an interesting character, not a good person

#john gauis #tlt meta ig

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covenofagatha · 5 months ago

Text

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 3)

A new murder with a different M.O. has you feeling confused

Word count: 4100

Warnings: fingering, murder

It takes you all of five minutes to leave the motel room after you dig more clothes out of your suitcase.

You looked everywhere for the clothes you were wearing before your nap, but they’re nowhere to be found.

It would be incredibly bad if you had stripped down and then left the room to put them somewhere else.

But you don’t have time to dwell on that right now.

You go fifteen over the speed limit to get to the location Agatha had texted over after she hung up the phone.

To the location of another murder.

You had foolishly hoped that maybe The Witch and Lady Death would slow down once you had gotten to town, maybe out of fear of being caught.

Clearly you had done little to deter them.

It’s only ten minutes away from your motel, near a creek on the edge of town.

Police cars are already parked there, yellow caution tape closing off the perimeter. You slam the door shut to your sedan and hurry over to Agatha. It’s late in the afternoon, but the sun is already setting, making the colors of everything look muted.

“Was it them?” You ask, a little breathless. Agatha glances up and down and looks like she wants to comment on your outfit change, but doesn’t.

“Come see and tell us what you think,” she says ominously and you follow her into the trees. “Good doctor’s appointment?”

You stop walking, forcing her to pause too. “You’re married to Dr. Vidal?”

She chuckles. “She told you that, didn’t she?”

“Did you know that’s who I was going to see earlier?” You ask, not sure why it matters.

“I had my suspicions,” is all Agatha chooses to say. She’s taking you further into the woods along the side of the creek and it’s getting colder, but the air starts to feel…alive, almost.

Like it’s crackling with something. You somehow know you’re getting closer to the body.

Are you imagining it, or can Agatha feel it, too?

And then she stops so quickly you almost bump into her and she points up ahead.

In the middle of thin, small trees is a big willow tree. It’s a beautiful sight, if you’re being honest.

You’re transfixed by the icicles gleaming from the barren branches and it takes you a bit to notice the pool of red snow by the roots.

You stumble forward to get a better look in the last rays of daylight, eyes traveling up the tree trunk and you gasp.

A man is tied to it, his pants cut open halfway down his thigh and there's a deep gash through both of his femoral arteries. Most likely the cause of death. The only reason you know what color his pants were supposed to be is because the part near his hips is unstained.

But that’s not all.

His flannel shirt has been ripped as well, revealing his bare chest, where a heart has been drawn with a knife. It’s a shallow cut, not too much blood, but it’s clear this was meant to be a message, rather than fatal. His eyes are gray and lifeless.

“I don’t understand, this isn’t their M.O. at all,” you say, the snow behind you crunching as Agatha walks to stand next to you.

You can feel her eyes on you, regarding you carefully. “So what do you think?”

You think that you’ve never felt this way before. Something is happening to your body, a heat is spreading through it, and it’s like there’s electricity under your skin. Your scar tingles, but doesn’t hurt.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” you say in frustration. “Maybe they’re switching it up, it’s like they’re taunting me! It doesn’t make any sense to change tactics now, though. All the other bodies were found in homes and now this one is tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere? Doesn’t seem to be poisoned and they didn’t carve out his heart. I don’t – I don’t know.”

You’re so suddenly aware of the hot blood pumping through your veins and you want something. You can’t put a name to it yet, though.

“Do you think it could have been someone else?” She asks and you shake your head immediately.

“No, this was them. I know it, I can feel it.” There’s a thrumming in your head now, behind your eyes and you just want to get rid of it.

Agatha’s lips stretch into a slow smile and you can see the darkness in her eyes. “What else do you feel?”

The question makes you freeze. Maybe you’re not going crazy. “Can you feel it, too?” You whisper; you’re afraid to say it too loudly, like it’ll break the spell.

She slowly walks around and advances on you and you walk backwards until you hit a tree. Your heart races and you can feel it everywhere, like your entire body is beating in time with it.

“You feel the adrenaline, don’t you? Being this close to death, yet you feel more alive than ever?” She asks, and you choke out an affirmation. “It’s addicting, isn’t it? Tell me how it makes you feel.”

Agatha leans down again, just how she did in the evidence locker, but this time, she drags her teeth up your neck and nips. The pounding in your head gets worse. “It feels…powerful,” you admit, both to her and yourself, maybe for the first time.

“There’s an ache inside you, right?” She asks, now sucking bites into your neck and your stance widens just the slightest.

Hearing her put a name to it makes it ever so clear to you now. “Yes,” you gasp, molten heat growing between your legs. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for, but Agatha does.

Lips still on your skin, her hands fumble with the waistband of your new pants, trying to unbutton and unzip. She’s finally able to slip her fingers in and when she moves your underwear to the side and cups your pussy, you hiss at the coldness.

“Fuck,” you swear as she starts to swipe at your clit. You’re so sensitive already, and if you weren’t so needy, you’d take a good, long look at yourself to figure out why you’re so turned on right now.

“Why don’t you think it was them?” She asks, pushing a finger inside you and your head falls back against the tree. She doesn’t move it, waiting for an answer first.

The ringing in your head comes back with a vengeance. “They’re messing with me,” you stutter. “They want me to be thrown off their game.” She starts moving, slowly thrusting and curling, and you gasp. The mix of pleasure and pain is a combination you never thought would be a good one.

“You think they’re doing this just for you?” She muses, shoving another finger inside you and twisting lazily and it pulls a groan out of you.

“The murders were all the same until I showed up,” you whimper. It feels like your body is about to burst. “Agatha.”

Her thumb finds your clit again and rubs it. “Shh,” she soothes. “I know, superstar. I’ll give you what you need.” She mouths at your neck, lips traveling upward until she reaches your chin, and then her face pulls away from yours.

“Please,” you beg again.

“What if it wasn’t them?” She asks in a low voice, fingers stilling in you. You whine and frantically buck your hips to get some stimulation. You just need more.

You can’t even think straight. “It had to be them. Who else could it have been?”

There’s just enough sunlight to see the wicked smirk on her face. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

And then her lips are on yours and she’s ferociously kissing you like she’s trying to devour you, and the pain in your head completely stops.

She sets a bruising pace inside you and you’re panting into her open mouth while her tongue thrashes against yours. Your teeth clash and it’s messy and hot and everything that you need, and her fingers are hitting exactly where you need. Your hands are rough as they scramble for purchase around her shoulders, desperate to keep her exactly where she is. You dig your nails into her and she moans against you, and you’re so close.

Your orgasm is building, only this time, it’s heightened and feels way more intense than any you’ve ever had before. You’re throbbing around Agatha’s fingers, clenching and trying to draw her in even more, and she fits a third one into you. It makes you keen and you babble nonsensically about how you’re going to cum.

“Cum for me, pet,” she orders and you sink your teeth hard into her lower lip as you do. It’s like a dam breaks all over your body, tension and pleasure exploding through every crack and crevice and it’s easily the best orgasm you’ve ever had.

It takes a minute for you to recover and when you’re able to think clearly again after Agatha takes her fingers out of you, you notice that her lip is bleeding.

“Fuck, did I do that?” You ask and she chuckles, tongue darting out to lick it up. You follow the movements and feel the heat inside you coming back.

She holds the fingers that were inside of you up to your mouth and you suck on them without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. Not the first time it’s happened,” she teases with a wink and your stomach sinks. Your head moves back so her fingers slip out of you.

“Oh my god, you’re married,” you say and Agatha raises an eyebrow as if to say obviously. “And we’re at a crime scene, what did we just do? There’s a dead body right over there.”

Agatha raises up her hands to disarm the situation. “Hey, don’t think too hard about it. You have a very stressful job, sometimes you just need to blow off some steam.”

“How are you so calm? You just cheated on your wife!” You snap, quickly zipping and buttoning your pants. The electricity in the air is now gone, completely replaced by cold and fear. You have to get out of here. The Witch and Lady Death are two steps ahead of you and you need to stop them. This was them, and you know it.

You don’t even wait for Agatha to respond, you pick a direction and start walking. She calls your name a few times before you whirl around, tears in your eyes. “Rio and I…have an arrangement of sorts. Trust me, she is completely okay with this.”

Her words do little to calm you down, but you’re getting closer to the detectives and officers and the coroner’s car has pulled up. “It doesn’t matter. This can’t happen again,” you say sternly.

“Whatever you want, superstar,” she says and it almost makes you furious. It feels like she’s teasing you, for being with the FBI. Almost as bad as the guys around the station calling you Miami.

But you don’t argue, you don’t speak at all, you just stand there, a bone-chilling emptiness inside you as you watch the body get wheeled out from the woods after about twenty minutes. Detectives keep searching the surrounding area for any clues, but they find nothing.

Which doesn’t surprise you at all. Lady Death and The Witch are clever. It just means you have to work harder to catch them.

“Alright, we got everything here. Forensics is going to do some tests on the blood, see if maybe we can get a DNA match for the killer. Photos of the scene will be printed and ready for us tomorrow,” Agatha says gruffly, walking over to you, the picture of professionalism after being three fingers deep in you not forty-five minutes ago. “You should get home, get some rest.”

You shake your head and clutch your jacket tighter around you. “I’ve been sleeping for the past few hours. I’m not tired. I can head into the station, if you want. Get a head start on work for tomorrow.”

Something flickers in Agatha’s eyes, something you don’t quite recognize. “No, that’s okay. Go back to your motel. Even if you don’t sleep, you should still try and relax. Take a warm bath or something. That always helps me clear my head.”

You frown, but before you can ask what she thinks you need to clear your head from, she pats you on the shoulder and walks to her car. The scene quickly clears out, but there’s something still nagging at you in the back of your mind.

You can’t leave just yet.

Grabbing a flashlight from your bag in your car, you wander back through the woods, desperate to find something the officers missed.

The night passes while you tear up every single rock and leaf and clump of snow on the ground near where the man was murdered. And then you expand the search, walking along the creek edge, flashlight sweeping right and left. Your hands are bright red from the stinging frost, having taken off your gloves ages ago to better dig around, and you’ve lost feeling in your face. Tears are permanently frozen in your eyes it seems, and as the sun starts to break through the darkness, you defeatedly drop to the ground on the bed of the creek.

You don’t know what you were expecting to find, it was a stupid idea. You’re just about to call it a day and trek back to your car to go into the station, when you see a log just a few yards away.

Brows crinkling, you wince when you stand up, your joints aching from the cold, and stumble over to it. You shine your flashlight into the opening of the hole and you gasp.

The light reflects off something shiny.

This time, you’re smart about it. You put your gloves back on, flashing between your teeth, and you carefully reach inside and brush away the moss to grab onto it and pull it out.

It’s a knife.

The discovery makes your heart leap. You found something! This could be your first real break in the case, one step closer to bringing the pair of serial killers down.

You turn the blade over in your hands to inspect every part of it. Strange, you think. It seems almost like a kitchen knife. The serrated edge isn’t as sharp as it should be if it were meant to be a murder weapon. But when you hold it closer to your face, you can make out specks of blood on it.

And then there’s something else, an emblem of sorts on the bottom of the blue handle. It says WM with a circle around the letters.

The first thing you think of is Wanda Maximoff and terror spikes through you. Has she gotten out of jail and come to find you?

But you are absolutely certain that Tony would’ve called you immediately, so that helps calm you down. Still, you suddenly don’t feel safe in the woods, almost like you’re being watched, so you pocket the knife before sprinting back to your car.

You slam and lock the doors immediately and you turn the heat all the way up to coax life back into your frozen body. It’s still early, barely even six-thirty am, so you decide to go back to your motel room and shower before you head into the station.

Your stomach rumbles and you can’t remember the last time you ate. You just pulled an all-nighter (although, you could argue that because you took a nap for about five hours yesterday, that counts as sleep) and you haven’t showered since you’ve been here.

Tony would kill you.

Once you get back to your room, you turn on the bath, still feeling the chill deep in your bones. You carefully take the knife out of your coat pocket with a paper towel and lay it on the counter so you can remember to bring it in so Forensics can test it.

You strip off your sopping wet clothes and get into the bath, moaning out loud at how good the warm water on your tired and shaking body feels.

Sinking into the tub so every part of you except for your face is submerged, you lean down to turn off the faucet and settle back down. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing you know, you jolt awake and splash about a gallon of water over the edge.

“Fuck,” you cough, trying to get out of the tub, but your entire body is sore and your head feels awful.

Apparently there’s consequences for spending over eight hours out in the snow with no gloves and then falling asleep in a bath with water that’s now lukewarm.

You manage to maneuver yourself out and you quickly grab the robe that was hanging on the bathroom door to wrap around your shivering body. Your phone is on the sink counter and it starts buzzing. It’s Agatha.

A hand grips the vanity to stable yourself before picking it up. “Hello?” You rasp, grimacing at the effort it takes to speak.

“Yikes, you sound awful,” she says, teasing tone in her voice. “You okay, superstar? Get a little too much rest last night?”

“I think I’m a little sick,” you admit. You’re usually able to tough it out, but you feel like you died and barely came back to life. “Is it okay if I–”

“Yes, stay there,” she orders and you almost collapse with relief.

But then you remember the knife. If you don’t go in, that means it’s another day that The Witch and Lady Death remain free. “I found something last night, in the woods,” you say. “I really need to bring it in.”

“Whatever it is, it can wait. You just need to take some medicine and get some rest. Do you have anything you can take?”

You search through the items in your toiletry bag. “I have some Advil.” You pop two in your mouth and swallow it with water from the sink.

“I’ll text Rio and ask if she can bring over some medicine and maybe some food, too. Go to sleep. I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” she says, and before you can insist that Rio does not come here, she hangs up.

Groaning, you find that you don’t have it in you to be petulant, so you make your way into bed and you fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.

Snow.

It’s just started falling, there’s barely an inch on the ground.

The branches reach for you as you walk through them, trying to grab on and not let you go. The thicket is getting denser and darker, but there’s something calling out to you, so you keep walking.

There’s a melodic hum, and it lulls you into feeling safe. Is it real? Is it in your head?

Is there a difference?

You can barely see three inches in front of you and everything is going black and you can feel wounds being torn into your face and you should really turn back now –

– you break into a clearing.

Only this time, there’s a willow tree in the middle. You can hear something, it sounds like two women laughing.

Are they laughing at you?

It must be the killers, they must be taunting you, rubbing it in how you can’t catch them.

More people are going to die, and their blood is on your hands.

The cackling gets louder and louder and then it’s all you can hear and you clamp your hands over your ears begging for it to stop, please, god, let it stop –

– there’s a hand on your shoulder and everything is silent.

You turn around slowly. Is it them?

Instead, it’s a man with his eyes closed. He looks vaguely familiar, where have you seen him?

He opens his eyes and they’re gray and it hits you.

It’s the dead man.

He grabs you by the shoulders and his jaw drops to scream, but no sound comes out. And then his hands grab your throat and he starts to squeeze.

The knocking on the door to your room wakes you up and you fly out of bed, gasping for breath, still feeling the pressure around your throat. It takes a moment to collect your bearings before you realize that you’re safe and the man is dead.

Still a little shaky, you walk to the door and unlatch it to find Dr. Vidal standing there.

“Oh, hi,” you greet, stepping to the side so she can come in. It’s hard to meet her eyes after being fucked by her wife the day before. She holds up a container of chicken noodle soup in one hand and a box of cold medicine and a plastic grocery bag in the other.

“Agatha said you were feeling a little under the weather,” she says, plopping the stuff down on the counter and thankfully avoiding the mounds of photos and case evidence you have right next to it. Including the knife from the woods. “Did I wake you up?”

You rub your face and feel the pillow indentions in your cheek. “Um, yeah, I was having a bad dream though, so I don’t mind,” you joke and motion for her to take a seat.

“I would heat up the soup first before eating,” she suggests and you pour it into a bowl and put it in the microwave. “Bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?

“Would it count as a session?”

Dr. Vidal waves her hand. “Not at all. Consider it free advice. So, what happened?”

The microwave beeps and you open it, the soup steaming. You set it down to cool off a little. “It kind of lines up with those images I had with you and another dream I had yesterday, I think. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I think they’re memories of something? I just don’t remember it. But then there’s some things that change, like today, there was this new dead man. That was recent, so maybe they’re not memories? Maybe I’m just losing my mind.”

“You’re not losing your mind,” she chuckles. “Dreams and memories, the real and not real, it’s easy to blur the lines. Maybe your unconscious is trying to tell you something, maybe trying to remind you of something that happened to you.”

That makes you think for a moment. You can see the woods, the snow, whatever you keep seeing, but it’s more of just flashes in time, rather than the whole thing. You can’t see what happens before, or after. “I guess I’ll just have to see if more pieces start coming together,” you say.

She sighs. “I know it can be confusing and probably really frustrating, but I’ll help you get to the bottom of this. I have some techniques we can try during your session in a few days. I’ll help you claw your way out of whatever this is.”

“Thank you,” you say gratefully. “What’s in the bag?” You point to the grocery bag and she nods to give you permission. You open it and with a gasp, you find your clothes from yesterday in it, all neatly folded. “How…what…you…” There’s no words.

“Don’t worry, it’s our little secret,” she says with a wink.

You have to grab onto the edge of the counter so you don’t pass out. “Wait, did we…”

“Have sex?” She asks bluntly and you’re too afraid to move. “No, we didn’t. If we did, you would remember it.”

The thrumming starts to come back behind your eyes, despite the blush at her flirtatious words. “So, how do you have my clothes?”

“You better eat your soup before it gets cold,” Dr. Vidal sidesteps the question and it’s clear that you’re not getting an answer.

You slide open the drawer next to the fridge and pull out a spoon from the silverware caddy. A sharp pain sears through your head and your heart starts to race.

The spoon has the same blue handle and emblem as the knife does. WM. Westview Motel. The spoon clatters to the ground and you begin furiously counting. Six forks. Six spoons.

Five knives.

When they were in your room your first night in Westview, they must’ve taken it from here.

They’re trying to frame you.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha x rio #agathario x reader #agathario #rio vidal x agatha harkness #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #covsfics

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writeriguess · 3 months ago

Note

I have kind of a hyper specific request if that's okay!

Prohero!Reader x prohero!Bakugo where they dated for a bit in hs and she had super long wavy hair, and they broke up like a year or 2 into being pros because she wanted him to be able to focus on his career. The breakup really fucks him up so he just throws himself into working his ass off and rising the ranks not because he has the time to focus on it now, but because it kept his mind off of her. Aside from the occasional collab mission with their agencies, they havent seen each other.

Years later at the reunion, Bakugo and reader meet again, reader cut her hair short and it's just a really bittersweet reunion, both of them changed so much but the love is still very much there. Afterwards, he insists on driving her home and then before going up to her apartment, she asks if he wants to come up and watch a movie or something. They like immediately end up having really passionate, loving sex, and then they talk about how they thought of each other all the time and confess they're still in love, then end up together again.

Ofc no pressure!! It's just been brain rotting in my noggin and I immediately thought of you because your writing is incredible <3

Love you sm ty for taking the time to read this! I hope you have fun and get lots of rest <333

Fading Echoes

You never thought that breaking up with him would hurt as much as it did. Then again, you never thought he'd bury himself in work the way he did, either. It felt like the more space you gave him to focus on his career, the more it pulled him away from everything else—everything that had once mattered to him. You had to go your separate ways, but it didn't mean it didn't tear you apart. You needed him to chase his dream. You couldn’t be the reason he faltered.

But the silence left behind felt like an ache that never fully went away.

When you first met Bakugo, his confidence was loud. Not just in his words but in everything about him. His every movement practically screamed that he was going to be someone, something important in the world. He didn’t need anyone to help him with that—certainly not you. But still, when he’d pull you close at the end of the day, hair still wild and face streaked with dirt from the most recent fight, you felt it. The way he would lean into you, his eyes soft, showing the side of him that only you got to see. The side of him that, even now, sits behind your eyelids, no matter how much time has passed.

You made sure he knew you loved him in every way possible. Every touch, every lingering glance, every shared quiet moment in between battles.

But your love for him wasn’t enough to make him see that his passion for being the best pro hero would take him away. You were there, his teammate, but you weren’t what he needed to be great. And you couldn’t let him slow down, not for you.

So, you broke things off.

He didn't take it well, even though he never said anything, not to you or anyone else. His pride wouldn't let him speak about it, so he threw himself into his work instead. He worked like a machine. No breaks. Just rising, ranking, moving up. Until it felt like it was the only thing that filled the empty space.

Every time you saw his face on a news report or heard his name on the radio, you felt it, the painful reminder of the relationship you tried to hold onto while doing what you thought was best.

But it wasn’t just his achievements that caught your attention. There were the little things—like the way his eyes would dart to your agency’s reports in every collaboration mission. How even when you were both surrounded by your teams, there was always that odd pull, a space between you two that no amount of work could fill. You weren't meant to be in each other's lives anymore, not like that. But somehow, you kept finding yourself searching for his gaze among the crowded halls, watching for his reactions in press conferences, hoping for a glimpse of that spark that had been there before.

But it never came.

You focused on your own career, pushing through the same hustle he did, moving up through the ranks and doing your part in the chaos that was the world of pro heroes. You had your missions, your team, your responsibilities. You couldn’t let his absence swallow you whole, no matter how much you wished you could see him again. Not for closure, not for old times' sake—but just to know that he was okay.

You wish you could tell him that, but what good would it do? He’s moved on. Just like you were supposed to. The silence between you both stretches out endlessly, neither of you willing to break it. And yet, the memory of him lingers in your chest, heavy as stone, constantly weighing you down.

It’s strange—how something so small, a decision that once seemed so clear and right, can ripple out into the world with so much weight, so much force. And now, all that’s left is the sound of silence, filling up the space between you both.

It had been years. Too many years to count on one hand. And yet, when you walked into the reunion, it felt like time slowed down—like everything, even the bustling chatter of old classmates and the clinking of glasses, paused when his eyes locked onto you.

Bakugo had changed. His hair was a bit shorter, his jawline more defined with age, but there was still the same fiery intensity in his gaze. The one that once used to soften when it met yours, now hidden beneath the polished exterior of a pro hero who had seen and conquered so much. And you... you had changed, too. Shorter hair, a clean, crisp bob that framed your face differently, and the same resolute look in your eyes. You were no longer the girl who was afraid of letting go of him. You were stronger. Still, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder—did he still see you the same way?

His eyes lingered on you for just a beat too long, and for the first time in a long while, you felt that familiar tug in your chest. Something between you two had never really faded, no matter how far apart you’d drifted. The love, the history... it was all still there, buried beneath the surface. Neither of you had moved on fully.

You both tried to act cool, pretending you didn’t feel that magnetic pull. Small talk ensued, polite and distant, but there was an undeniable heaviness between you both. It was like stepping into a room that was filled with things you were too scared to touch, too scared to face.

At the end of the night, when everyone else was leaving, Bakugo lingered by the door. He looked at you, his voice low but steady, a little more vulnerable than usual. “Need a ride home?” he asked, like it was nothing. But it wasn’t.

You swallowed, nodding, your heart beating faster than it had in years. "Yeah. I’d appreciate it."

The ride to your apartment was quiet, the air thick with unspoken words. Neither of you seemed to know how to break the tension, but there it was, unavoidable.

When he pulled up to your building, you both lingered for a moment, unsure of the next step. You hesitated, then looked over at him, searching his expression for some hint of what to say next.

"Hey," you murmured, voice shaky despite your best efforts to stay composed. "Do you... want to come up for a bit? Watch a movie or something?"

He didn’t respond immediately, but the look in his eyes softened, and without saying a word, he nodded. Something unspoken passed between you two in that moment—a mutual understanding that things were about to shift, and there was no going back.

Once inside your apartment, you didn’t even make it to the couch. The years of silence, the quiet longing that both of you had buried deep down, surged to the surface like a tidal wave. It started slow—an innocent brush of hands, a glance that held too much meaning, and before you knew it, he was kissing you, fierce and needy. His hands gripped you with urgency, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You felt it all—his warmth, his desperation, the love he still had for you, pulsing through every touch, every kiss. You let go of everything in that moment—every bit of guilt, every hesitation—and just let yourself be consumed by him. By the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

Clothes hit the floor, discarded carelessly as you both tumbled into your bed, lost in each other. The passion, the love, the fire—it was all there, just as it had been when you were younger, only deeper, more intense. There was no time for hesitation now. No more barriers. No more fear. Just you, him, and the moment you’d both been waiting for.

Afterwards, as you lay beside him, your breaths still shaky, Bakugo’s voice broke the silence. "I thought about you... every fucking day," he admitted, his voice rough, but full of that familiar vulnerability. "I tried to move on, tried to tell myself it was better this way, but I was lying. I’m still... I’m still in love with you."

You turned toward him, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. "Me too," you whispered, the words feeling heavier than you expected. "I never stopped loving you. Not for a second."

Bakugo’s expression softened as he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I’m sorry," he murmured. "I should’ve fought harder for us."

You shook your head, gently cupping his face. "We were both so focused on our careers. We didn’t have time for anything else. But we’re here now. And that’s what matters."

His eyes searched yours, and for the first time in a long while, you both smiled. It wasn’t just the relief of physical need—it was something deeper, something far more real. You weren’t just two pro heroes anymore. You were two people, rediscovering each other, reclaiming what had been lost.

And this time, when he kissed you again, it wasn’t filled with the urgency of past regrets. It was filled with hope, with the promise of a future together. A future where you didn’t have to choose between him and your career. A future where you could have both.

The past was behind you. The silence had broken. And the love that had always been there... was finally ready to grow again.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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mind-intheclouds342 · 7 months ago

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Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly

Previous - Part 9 - Next

You banged on the door of the room where that man was locked up, waking him up abruptly.

"Let's talk"

Jimmy: "I thought visiting hours were over."

He complained, turning around to turn his back to the door.

"Don't try to be funny with me, Jimmy. What the hell did we do to deserve so much hate from you?"

Jimmy: "Don't play innocent, you know very well what you did!"

"Honestly, I have no idea! That's why I'm asking you!"

Jimmy: "Of course, because I was always the shadow of your dear husband. You never turned to look at me again after you got with him, you never smiled at me like you did with him, you didn't even speak to me. It was as if I were invisible to you!"

"Oh, of course I was looking at you!"

Jimmy: "Then why didn't you ever tell me anything?!"

He shouted that, getting up from his bed to head towards the glass that separated them, watching your face to see you when you replied.

"BECAUSE I'VE ALWAYS HATED YOU!"

You screamed with all your lungs, to the point of making your throat hurt.

"You always brought trouble to Curly! He was always so naive, a sucker for approval, of being the good guy in the story, of not letting anyone down! That's why he never abandoned you! I knew better that's why i stopped talking with you! Because you were and are a piece of shit!"

Jimmy: "Oh, but you talk as if I were the only fucked up one in the story."

"Yes! I admit it! I was also a mess when I met Curly, but I did something, I was able to see beyond that mess I was, he showed me that I could improve, he gave me opportunities that I knew how to take advantage of and become a better person! In someone who could make his mother proud instead of making her cry because she didn't know if he was coming home or not!"

There was a silence when you finished saying that, until you saw him smirk, that reaction you didn't like at all.

Jimmy: "You're right, Curly loves to please, you should know that very well."

"Ugh, for the love of God, I don't know why I try to reason with you, it's impossible."

Jimmy: "But you were the only one who refused to give in to make me happy."

You opened your eyes wide upon hearing that, turning again to the man who still wore that smug smile.

Jimmy: "Just as beautiful and messed up as I am, I thought you would understand me, but then you became a good girl, yet I still hoped you would look at me..."

"Shut up-"

Jimmy: "Oh, and the damn way Curly talked about you, how incredible you are, so kind, hardworking, so beautiful."

"I tell you to shut up-"

Jimmy: "Those lovely moles in the center of your chest that look like a constellation"

"He wouldn't talk about those things with you!"

Jimmy: "I saw it myself"

You felt like you were going to puke at that moment, you didn't want to believe that he had really done something like that to you while you were unconscious, you didn't want your suspicions to be confirmed, you refused to believe it.

"Liar. Anya wouldn't leave me alone, she would lock the nursery door-"

Jimmy: "Yes, yes, she did that, it was a pain in the ass. Every night when she went to sleep, she locked the nursery with that code that only Curly and she knew... But that place wasn't closed while someone was inside."

"She wouldn't let you get close to me!"

Jimmy: "They were so sweet, Anya staying by your side saying she had to make sure all your signs were okay, and when she left, she would ask Swansea if he could keep an eye on you. But he was so depressed that he didn't dare to stay with you for long, so... I took his place to make sure you were okay."

"In front of Curly..."

You murmured at having to imagine the scene your husband had to witness without being able to do anything about it other than watch.

Jimmy: "That was the funniest thing"

You hugged tightly, feeling a horrible tingling all over your body, as if you were dirty.

Jimmy: "Swansea had no idea about anything, Anya didn't want to talk about it with anyone else. Thanks to her silence, I was able to finally look at that body that you always hide from me, thanks to Swansea's stupidity and feeling sad for his little captain, feeling all guilty and shit."

Swansea: "What did he just say..."

You turned to see Swansea at the end of the hallway, carrying Jimmy's rations, holding an axe firmly in the other hand; he had managed to hear everything.

"Swansea-"

Swansea: "Open the door, captain"

"Listen - it's not worth it, do you have any idea what they'll do to you if they find out you hurt someone from the crew? Please, I don't want them to lock you up."

You said immediately, positioning yourself in front of him, trying to get him to see you, but his eyes were glued to the door where he could see Jimmy's face.

Swansea: "How are they going to know? Let's say it was an accident. Open the door!"

You wanted to keep reasoning with him, but you couldn't deny that you also wished he would face consequences for his actions.

You took the axe from his hands, making him look at you annoyed.

"I won't take the risk of you killing him."

Those were your last words before opening the door, Swansea didn't take much more than a few seconds to fully open the door, step inside, and throw himself at Jimmy.

You could hear the sound of the blows, the insults, and the screams.

You stood at the door wide open, axe in hand, watching as the blood spread across the floor with each blow Swansea dealt.

You watched Jimmy and tilted your head, waiting for him to defend himself.

You wouldn't hesitate to cut off his hands if he touched Swansea.

#mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #anya mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #captain curly #do it for them mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing curly

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definitelynotabirthblog · 8 months ago

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A School Birth

This is a story I've been working on for a few days now. While the birthing character is a school girl, she is still intended to be aged 18. I hope you enjoy it.

---------------------------

"Jessica Bailey, is that you? Jessica, you've not been seen since third period. What on earth is going on? Jessica - Jess?"

James hurried into the empty classroom and found the sobbing girl crouched on all fours in the corner, half hidden by a desk. Her flushed, terrified face gazed as him as she rocked back and forth, her school uniform drenched in sweat. Her legs were bare but her shoes and tights were nowhere to be seen. There was puddles and splatters of liquid all over the floor and her belongings had been flung to the side, the contents of her bag spilling out.

He had hurried into the room presuming a telling off and possibly a detention for sneaking away from class would be all he would need to give, but he had chanced upon a scene he could not have expected. The girl was clearly incredibly distressed, her tear-streaked eyes pleading for help.

He half jogged over to her and squatted down by her shoulders. She flinched when he touched her.

"Jess, what is it? Why are you screaming?"

"Oooooh! Oooooh!" she shrieked, rocking her hips slowly. Her breathing was coming in quick, shallow breaths, as though she was hyperventilating.

He noticed blood had pebbledashed her calves as she hunched over and wondered it she was menstruating.

"Jess, did you get your period? Is that what hurts?" he asked, silently thinking that this charade was a bit of an over reaction for a period.

As her breathing eased, she shook her head, tears still falling down her cheeks.

"Jess, sweetheart, if it's not your period, then what on earth is it?"

Jess continued to cry, shaking her head desperately.

"Jessica, sit up. I can't help you if you don't tell me what is wrong. Come on now." Starting to feel frustrated, he took her arm and tried to ease her into a sitting position. Reluctantly, she forced her body to stay upright, clutching the desk for support.

"That's better. Now tell me what the matter is. I can see you're in a lot of pain." He rubbed her arm reassuringly.

Jess burst into fresh floods of tears. However, at this angle he could get a better look at her. She hadn't been in any of his classes this year so he hadn't spent much time with her recently. As he assessed the situation, his eyes moved down to her school shirt. She had always been a slender girl so why was it fitting her so tightly all of a sudden? And, as she was normally as flat as a pancake, why was her belly stuck out so much? With a jolt of realisation, as suddenly as someone had turned on light switch, he put the blood on her legs, her bellows of pain that he had heard from another building and the puddles of liquid on the flood together with her round belly and found a single question forming on his lips.

"Jess, are you pregnant?"

Screwing her face up in pain as another pain overwhelmed her, she nodded and got back down onto her hands and knees, where she began rocking her way through the contraction. "Arghhhhhh!"

Panicking, he felt for his phone in his trouser pocket. He stomach sank as he realised he had left his phone in his own classroom when he came to investigate. No one ever came in this building now, not since the new building opened in September so the chances of someone else coming across the scene was low.

"Can you feel baby coming now?"

She nodded again, her breaths ragged between her cries.

"Okay... okay... you're okay, it's alright, I'm here," he said, more to reassure himself than her. Trying to not spiral into panic, he thought back to his only experience of childbirth, his own childrens' births. His wife refused to let him be down at the business end so he spent most of those days rubbing her back and having his hand squeezed. He looked at Jess now, her body close to convulsing with pain, the sound of fluid dripping onto the floor between her shaking legs and knew he had had to act. It was time to play midwife.

"I need to take a look at you, just to see if I can see anything, Jess. Do you mind if I lift your skirt up?" he asked hesitantly.

Too deep in her own world as the pain overcame her, Jess barely heard him and could not respond. Acknowledging that a baby was coming within a matter of minutes, he got up and repositioned himself so he was kneeling directly behind her and gently lifted up her skirt. Between her two pale buttocks, he saw her brownish-pink asshole which bulged with the pressure of her baby's head in her rectum. Beneath her stretched perenium, the inch-wide, dark patch of her newborn's head was slowly forcing its way out of her body. More fluid spurted from under the head onto the floor between her legs as the contraction peaked.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, quickly taking off his jacket and putting it between her knees. He thought back to his youngest son's birth, scrambling for anything in his memory of it which might help now. As the contraction tailed off, her breathing eased again.

"Jess?"

"W-what?" she panted.

"I can see baby's head. Erm, when the next pain comes, I want you to push as hard as you can, alright?"

"I didn't realise it was going to hurt so much!" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"I know it hurts, sweetheart. But you've done so well already and I promise I'm going to do my best to help you have this baby safely," he reassured her.

As the next contraction pulled Jess back into her world of pain, she bore down. The noises coming out of her mouth, raw and primal, could only be described as roars as, inch by torturous inch, the baby came slowly out of her body. As the head emerged further, her labia stretching more with each push, James had a flashback to something the midwife told his wife as she was about to crown.

"Jess, instead of pushing, can you just try to blow for me. Like you're blowing out candles. Like this - hooo, hooo, hooo," he demonstrated.

"Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo," Jess breathed.

The head descended futher, swirls of wet hair now visible on the infant's head.

"Good girl, Jess!"

"Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo... Arghhhhhh!" she screamed, the widest part of the head of now slipping out of her vagina. "Oh god, it burns!"

"Just keep breathing for me."

Finally, the whole head popped out with another splash of fluid.

"The head's out! I'm ready to catch, okay?" He carefully balanced the head in his hands. Seconds later, the baby turned so it was facing Jess's left thigh. Another contraction came and she started to push, grunting and groaning. The first shoulder slid out closely followed by the second as he carefully supported the slippery body. The rest of the baby then dropped into his arms with a gush of fluid. The baby cried lustily, feeling fresh air on its body for the first time.

"Jess... Jess... you did it. It's okay," he said, looking down at the squirming infant. Jess could only cry in relief, as she crouched on her hands and knees.

James lowered the baby down on his jacket between Jess's legs.

"I'm bringing the baby through your legs, okay?"

He pushed the screaming infant through its mother's legs. Using the desk leg to support herself up into a sitting position, she pulled her firstborn from between her thighs and up to her chest. James repositioned himself so he was knelt by Jess's side, where he found himself putting his arm around her shoulders.

'My word, Jess Bailey, you've lead us a merry dance today!" he exclaimed.

#birth fiction #fem birth #birth kink #birth fic #inconvenient birth #labor kink #labour kink #fpreg #school birth

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vevobly · 6 months ago

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Yellowjackets Reactions To Your Death! [Peri-Crash] (1)

A/N: Heads up! This is written with you in mind as their romantic partner, but you can always just interpret it as whichever you want. Your death is left unspecified because I want it to be left open for you to decide (when and how). Jackie and Laura Lee didn't die in this just as they originally did in canon early on.

Jackie Taylor:

When you die, Jackie is crushed. The moment you die and leave her, it's as if everything around her just dissolved into nothing. She'd be in denial of it at first, thinking maybe when she sleeps at night and wakes up the next day, she'd find you awake beside her. But it doesn't happen, and the longer Jackie tries to ignore it, the deeper she spirals down.

She wouldn't know how to process any of it, much less cope with the fact that you're no longer around anymore, other than putting up a front with everyone else and pretending she's got everything composed even though she clearly doesn't. When she's all by herself, she'll just break down suddenly and cry; all while holding onto something that once belonged to you.

When Jackie begins accepting that you're really gone, she only sinks deeper. She becomes a mess, barely able to hold herself together. She takes out her feelings on the other yellowjackets, more judgemental and controlling. Doing everything she can to avoid grieving you more. She clings to your belongings, even when they serve no purpose. It's due to this that she becomes distant from the others.

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna's grief is quiet, yet it speaks more volumes than anything. She'd try to rationalize your death as something inevitable, but knowing her, she'd always mourn you even when she thinks like that. Not knowing how to get the pain of losing you out of her, she'd project it outward. She'd keep something of yours—anything that belonged to you once—close to her as a way of coping.

It doesn't matter how or to whom you died, Shauna would be consumed by guilt no matter what. She would just shut down emotionally, and replay the moments she had with you before your death. Second-guessing everything she said or did when you were still around and alive before. She'd wonder endlessly if she could have done something, anything to prevent your death.

Your death would become this silent but omnipresent wound for Shauna because she would constantly just ruminate about the what-ifs, and blame herself for not being able to do anything before your death. It really doesn't help that one of her coping mechanisms to live with the fact that you're dead is just daydreaming that you're still alive and with her.

Taissa Turner:

Taissa would just bury her feelings and emotions, compartmentalizing them to stay focused on keeping the other safe. She'd just double down on tasks, and insist everyone on moving forward. But she can't fool anyone, because it shows. Sometimes, she's just staring blankly at something that reminds her of you or snapping when someone questions her out of nowhere. She's spiraling, she knows.

Losing you would devastate Tai, especially if she felt like she couldn't stop it from happening. She wouldn't be able to let herself grieve you properly at all, and things only get much worse when because of that, it manifests into these nightmares or hallucinations where she sees you alive. She would know that it isn't real, her eyes are just deceiving her. But that wouldn't stop her from wanting it to be real.

Aside from those, Tai would become super focused on survival, almost as a way to honor you somehow. Your death makes her sleepwalking way worse than before because despite being asleep with her subconscious mind being the only thing leading her in her sleep, she's seeking you out unknowingly despite everything else.

Van Palmer:

Van would take your death incredibly hard. And one of the ways she would try coping with your death is just by making some light-hearted jokes. It hurts her to think about you, especially after your death, but it hurts her way even more to not think of you. In some way, she ends up thinking your death was a sign. Maybe even a punishment for something she did, something they've done.

Aside from humor, Van would try her best to deflect anything that involves you. She would avoid places (though it can't be helped that she still would come there from time to time) or objects tied back to you, not wanting to confront her own loss directly. If someone on the team questions her about how she's feeling, she will just brush it off with a strained smile and a weak reassurance in response.

Usually at night, when everyone's asleep and when she's all by herself, Van would talk to you as if you could still hear her. As if you were still alive. And despite how pathetic it may seem, she hopes for some sign that maybe you're watching over her. Whether she was involved fully or not with your death, she would blame herself, somehow ending up thinking that her own survival came at your expense.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Whether she could have done something to prevent your death or not, Natalie would feel overwhelmingly helpless. She would be so angry at everything because of your death. She would blame herself, the crash, and the whole universe for your death. It's because of her grief that she would be a bit reckless and take risks for her survival, almost as if she doesn’t care about dying or not because of it.

Nat after your death would be like a ticking time bomb. You were one of the few things grounding her, and with your death comes the push into self-destruction. During desperate times of need with the team, she'd end up lashing at them. More so to those she blames for your death, whether or not they had anything to do with it.

If she had anything that reminded her of you, you can bet she'd be holding onto it tightly. Maybe even sometimes talk to it as if you were still alive. For a while after your death, she'd be bitter towards everyone before begrudgingly just accepting that you're dead and there's nothing she could have done to prevent it. Nat would put up barriers again between herself and the team, just to isolate herself.

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie would try her damnest to convince herself that your death was part of a larger purpose. Something that the wilderness planned (was it even necessary? why did it have to be you out of everyone else?). She would insist on making the whole team follow a certain ritual or just something—anything—symbolic in your honor. If some of them didn't want to, she would become defensive or more insistent with it.

Whether you actually stayed around to see each of them slowly but surely lose their mind more after your death, Lottie will have this belief where she thinks your spirit is around and lingering with her. And this only worsens when she starts having visions of you that are vivid because she interprets them as signs that you're not truly gone.

It doesn't matter if she actually believes in it herself or not, it comforts her. It gives her a sense of purpose despite your death. While she tries to make it seem like your death was kind of a good thing, she's hurting more than she lets anyone see. When the group starts getting more divided, she unintentionally ends up using your death as something to inspire the rest to actually be a team and work together.

Laura Lee:

She's so torn to the point that she leans into her faith about the man from above and believes that maybe in some way—somehow—your death was something that he had planned. That your death wasn't just something done by the universe to be cruel towards her, make her more miserable than she already is. She would try comforting others about your death, but it would be more like she's comforting herself than them.

Despite her belief, she'd wrestle so hard with guilt about your death; wondering almost endlessly if she could have done something—just anything to save you. Over time, she convinces herself that your death was maybe a test of her own faith in him and so. But just like everyone else in the group, she's spiraling. She's falling apart just like all of them are.

Your death challenges Laura Lee’s faith. She'd begin struggling to reconcile why the man from above would ever allow this to happen. But she’d never admit it, she would never admit her doubts and just keep it all to herself instead. She becomes so focused on praying and just having these memorials for you that she becomes hopeless to the point she starts thinking maybe there isn't any higher being out there in the world, it's all just us people ourselves out here.

Misty Quigley:

Misty copes with her grief about your death by hyper-fixation, unable (she's kind of numb to your death) to move on from it fully and accept that you're no longer around. She'd refuse to let go of anything that belonged to you, keeping those things close to her and constantly talking about you as if you were still alive.

Misty would lash out terribly hard at anyone that tells her to move on, she would go on about how they're being disrespectful of your memory by being like that. To punish them in her head and just to be petty, she ignores them for some time completely when they need her. Only actually getting over it once Nat tells her she's being ridiculous for that.

She throws herself into keeping others alive after your death, claiming it's what you would’ve wanted. But she doesn't know that. She just thinks it's what you would have wanted. At some point after your passing, she'll start telling the others she can feel you and that you're guiding her. But no one really believes her. Things only become worse when she becomes more manipulative, using you basically as a reason to justify her behavior.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x you #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x you #taissa turner x reader #taissa turner x you #van palmer x reader #van palmer x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x you #laura lee x reader #laura lee x you #misty quigley x reader #misty quigley x you

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wosola · 7 months ago

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French kisses .1 - Lucy Bronze x French!Reader

Hey everyone! I’m J. I used to write fanfiction on Wattpad for another fandom, but for a while now, I’ve mostly just been reading. Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time on AO3, where I started reading WoSo fanfics and fell into @bruhnze’s incredible works. After reading everything she’d published, I found her on Tumblr.

Recently, @bruhnze announced she was taking a break from writing. We connected, and I had the absolute honor of reading through her WIPs. One of them really inspired me, so I asked if I could finish it—and she said yes!

Originally planned as a single fic, this story grew into a 3-parter as I worked on it 🫣😅 Long story short: WIP by @bruhnze, finished by me, and proofread by her.

Summary: This is during Lucy Bronze’s time playing for Lyon, she's just gotten into a relationship with R, a 22-year-old student. For R it is the first time sleeping with someone. Based on this request, from the☀️anon over on @bruhnze.

Warnings: This is an 18+ fanfic with explicit content, so minors do not interact.

You had grown up in Lyon, lived there all your life. It had never been particularly eventful—your life was great, really. You loved your studies, had a close-knit group of friends, and there wasn’t much more to it.

The only thing that seemed to be missing, or at least it was something that was out of sync with your friends, was your love life. At 22, you had never really had one. While everyone around you seemed to be hooking up left, right and center, it never quite worked out that way for you. Not that you didn’t want to; you did.

It was just that you had never met anyone who stirred something in you in your everyday life. Sure, you’d kissed people now and then, but whenever things started to go further, you found yourself pulling back.

As time passed, being a virgin at your big age started to feel a bit strange. You were well past the point where a one-night stand felt like the right way to lose your virginity. Maybe it was because you didn’t know how to navigate all of that, or maybe you were worried that whoever you were with wouldn’t expect it and you’d feel awkward.

But in the blessed year 2017, as fate would have it, everything changed when you met a cute English girl in the local supermarché.

She had been struggling to find something on the shelves, her expression a mix of confusion and determination, when you decided to offer her a hand. The girl, who introduced herself as Lucy, explained in broken French that she had just moved to Lyon.

You helped her find what she was looking for, and as a thank you, Lucy asked for your number. You laughed and teased her, asking what she planned to do with it.

She had grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and in her charmingly imperfect French, she replied, "the least I can do is buy the pretty girl who helped me a dinner." That made you laugh harder, and when you joked about her not knowing any good restaurants yet, she just shrugged and said, "then you can decide where we go."

She had this boldness that was as charming as it was disarming—and, okay, maybe her being absurdly good-looking didn’t hurt in swaying your answer either. It was a yes without doubt, however towards Lucy you stayed a bit more unfazed.

That was a few months ago. Now, Lucy was much more comfortable with her French, picking it up quicker than you’d expected.

And not only was the woman smart, she was also incredibly athletic, which you'd noticed from the start. But on your fifth date, when you two had gone swimming, you couldn’t help but be floored by how fit she really was.

It wasn’t just her body, though—Lucy was thoughtful, kind, funny and so much more. You saw that side of her when she came with you to visit your grandpa in the hospital, bringing him a Lyon shirt signed by a player as a gift. You almost cried, you’d only mentioned that your grandpa was a life long fan of the club and here she was, gifting a signed shirt to him?!

That’s how you found out she was a footballer. Lucy had handed the signed jersey to your grandfather, grinning with that mischievous spark in her eye. “Hope you don’t mind it’s from a pretty new signing,” she’d teased. Then, with a playful glint, she added, “But I’ve heard she’s world-class. Do you know any players from Olympique Lyonnais Féminin? I can get another autograph if this one doesn’t impress you.”

Without skipping a beat, your grandfather, his face lighting up, assured her he did, mentioning that he always tried to catch matches, even if he mostly had to listen rather than watch due to his eyesight. “This is number 22, Bronze. She’s a great defender,” he said with pride. “I was thrilled when they signed her. Do you know her from England, or how did you manage to get this autograph?”

Your jaw nearly dropped as you glanced over at Lucy, who was barely holding back a smile.

“Yeah, you could say I’m close with her. Some say we’re practically twins,” she joked before reaching out to shake his hand. “But actually, I am Lucy Bronze. Nice to meet you, sir.”

Your grandfather’s laughter was as genuine as you’d heard in ages, his disbelief quickly turning into a delighted grin. It was as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I won’t let you down,” she told him, her voice softer, promising. “We’ll bring home the Champions League for Lyon.”

You’d been dating for three months now, and things were going great. Lucy had met your friends, and they adored her. You told her early on that you wanted to take things slow, and she had been nothing but understanding. She didn’t want to rush things either, but she wasn’t afraid to show you how much she liked you. Everything felt so natural with her, as if it was meant to be.

There was a dinner planned with your parents this Sunday, tomorrow she had a match, but today was one of her rest days after a Champions League game.

After a relaxed afternoon strolling around the city, shopping for a birthday gift for a friend, Lucy insisted on stopping by the supermarket. She wanted to cook at home, saying she wanted a romantic night with you. You agreed, and soon, you were back at your apartment, where you spent more time kissing than actually cooking.

It had been happening more and more recently—lingering touches, playful kisses that turned into longer, deeper ones. Every time, though, it stopped before it could go too far. Sometimes it felt natural, like you both were happy to just be together, but other times it felt more abrupt, leaving your heart racing. You wanted her, of course—how could you not?—but there was still that one thing you hadn’t told her yet, and it held you back.

Lucy had noticed. She’d asked a few times, worried that you might’ve had bad experiences in the past, but you assured her that wasn’t the case. You just wanted to take your time, and she had been so patient with you, always respecting your boundaries. Sometimes recently, it was even Lucy who would pull back, smiling at you sweetly, her eyes filled with desire but also understanding.

You loved her. You wanted to share everything with her, every part of yourself.

Twice now, she had stayed the night at your place. She had offered to sleep in separate beds, but you had waved that away, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep cuddled up next to her.

And now, after watching her play last night and lying awake, tossing and turning, you had decided that you were ready to tell her what had been holding you back.

You wanted, ached, to explore this part of your relationship, and tonight, with the romantic dinner she planned, felt like the perfect moment.

Now you were here, a lovely dinner behind your belt.. fidgeting with your wine glass, noticing that strangely enough, Lucy seemed a bit nervous too.

You both spoke up at the same time.

“Y/N—” “Luce—”

Breathy laughter filled the air, easing some of the tension you both seemed to be holding. “You go,” you said in unison again, which only made you laugh harder.

You gently took her hands in yours. “No, you go, baby.”

“Baby..,” Lucy repeated slowly, as if she was rolling the word around in her mouth, trying to make up if she liked the taste of it, her eyes searching your face.

Your heart skipped a beat. Shit. Did she not like that? You had been using the term more and more recently, thinking you were both building toward something more, maybe even thinking of her as your girlfriend already. Panic crept in until Lucy's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts.

“I thought,” she began, tightening her grip on your hands, “that it was about time… that I asked you to be my girlfriend.” Her words tumbled out quickly, like she was nervous. “I know you want to take things really slow,” she added, rambling a little, “but I just really, really, really like you. More than that even.” She let out a breathy laugh, glancing away for a second, before her gaze settled back on yours. “But I won’t scare you with that just yet. What I’m trying to say is... I want to call you my girlfriend. So, um… if you—”

“Oui!” you cut her off, the word bursting from you with so much enthusiasm that it took you both by surprise. You felt your face flush with heat as you quickly added, “Uh, yes, Lucy, I love you too—” You stopped mid-sentence, blushing furiously. “I-I mean, I’d love to be your girlfriend,” you corrected, your voice softer but no less sincere.

Lucy’s smile stretched from ear to ear as she stood up from her seat, and you rose to meet her. The moment felt so perfect, so right.

She kissed you, a kiss filled with warmth and love, and you returned it with all the affection you’d been building up for this woman for months now. God, you were in love.

After a few long moments, you pulled back, your heart pounding. You knew you still had to tell her the other thing. But Lucy was looking at you with such softness in her eyes, her face lit with joy. You couldn’t help but brush your thumbs along her cheeks, feeling the heat of her skin under your touch.

“Love me huh?” Lucy teased at your little slip of the tongue earlier, her voice low and playful.

You chuckled, your nerves easing slightly. “Yes, I love you, Luce, je t'aime” you admitted, voicing the words felt like lifting a weight off your chest.

“Hmmm…” Lucy hummed, her grin widening as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. “That makes me really happy. I love you too,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin.

Before you knew it, Lucy’s hands had moved to cup your ass, lifting you up effortlessly. You squealed in surprise, even though she had done this before—it caught you off guard. Maybe because you still had to tell that other thing. But you couldn’t help but laugh as she carried you over to the couch, sitting down with you perched on her lap.

Both of you dissolved into giggles as you peppered each other’s faces with kisses, one after another. “I am so in love with you,” you murmured between kisses, your forehead resting gently against hers as you gazed into her eyes.

Lucy laughed, her nose brushing against yours. “It’s funny that we both wanted to tell each other that tonight,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Your cheeks flushed again, this time not just from the affection but from what you knew you had to say next. “I… I also…” you stammered, trying to find the right words. Lucy tilted her head, a curious smile tugging at her lips as she waited patiently.

“I also wanted.. uh no.. needed.. to tell you something else,” you finally managed, your voice a little shaky.

“Oh?” Lucy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, her expression soft. “Is it… a good thing?”

You bit your lip, unsure. “I’d…uh.. I’d say it’s more of a neutral thing?” you said, trying to ease into it.

Lucy smiled, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze as she leaned back against the couch. “Okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, I know. It’s just… hard for me to say, I guess.” You could feel your nerves bubbling up again. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Lucy’s gaze was steady, encouraging. “Hey, there’s nothing to apologize for,” she said softly. “Take your time.”

“I… I have never…” You struggled to find the right words, but they just wouldn’t come. “I mean, I know how everything works, of course, but I’ve just… never actually… done it.” The words tumbled out awkwardly, and you quickly looked down, embarrassed.

Lucy was quiet for a long moment, so long that you finally forced yourself to glance up at her. To your surprise, her expression hadn’t changed—she was still looking at you with warmth and understanding.

“Hey,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over your lower lip, gently freeing it from between your teeth where you’d been nervously biting it. “Thank you for telling me.”

You groaned, your forehead dropping against her collarbone. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and relief.

Lucy chuckled softly, her hand smoothing over your back. “Sorry for what? Like you said, it’s a neutral thing. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She tilted your chin up so you could meet her eyes again. “I’m just happy you told me. Now I understand why we always stopped when we did.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled shyly. Lucy’s hands found their way to your cheeks again, cupping your face with such tenderness that you couldn’t help but feel safe.

The two of you stared at each other, the weight of the moment sinking in before both of you burst into soft, breathy giggles, the tension dissolving.

You both had ended up lying down on the couch, nestled against each other in a comfortable silence. Lucy’s arm was around your waist, your head resting on her chest as you listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing. The warmth of her body and the way her fingers absentmindedly traced small circles on your arm made you feel calm, safe.

It must have been at least half an hour before you finally worked up the courage to speak.

“So… how do you, uh, want to do things?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Lucy tilted her head slightly, meeting your gaze with a curious look. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she responded, her voice gentle, as if she were afraid of pressuring you. “I mean… I want to do whatever you want, however you want, and when you want it.”

Her words made you smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. She was always so thoughtful, so patient. But the truth was, you had been thinking about this for a while now. You swallowed hard, trying to push past the embarrassment rising in your chest. “I feel like I’m ready,” you began, but the words felt heavy in your throat.

Lucy’s expression softened even more, her hand rubbing soothingly along your back, waiting for you to continue.

“That’s… I…” Your face flushed bright red as you tried to find the right words. You couldn’t tell her just how ready you were without blushing even harder.

The truth was, ever since you and Lucy had started dating, you had never felt this kind of desire before. In the past few weeks, your own body had been betraying you, and the thought of Lucy, had been invading your mind, especially when you were alone. You had never been so… wanting. It was like something in you had awakened. It wasn’t just the emotional connection—you physically craved her.

“Uhm… it’s been hard,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “not going further than kissing with you.” Your cheeks burned even more as you confessed, “But I felt like I needed to tell you this first before we went further… it was hard for me to confess.. I feel a bit.. uhm.. behind?”

Lucy’s thumb gently stroked your cheek, silently urging you to continue, her face calm and open.

“I’ve been thinking about… you,” you admitted, your voice faltering slightly. The vulnerability of the statement hung between you, the air thick with it. “A lot.”

Lucy’s lips curved into a small, tender smile as she listened. She didn’t laugh or tease you like you might’ve feared. Instead, she looked at you with a warmth that made your heart flutter in your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” she said quietly, her voice sincere. “But I didn’t want to push you, and I didn’t want to rush into anything until you felt ready. I wanted to respect your boundaries and I am really happy you told me this before we went further, and you’re not behind at all by the way, everyone does things at their own pace.”

You nodded, appreciating her patience but feeling the need for honesty. “But really I… I’ve been more than ready,” you repeated, the words rushing out now that you had started. “It’s been hard for me to hold back. I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to… you know, go further with you. I’ve just never… done it before.” You didn’t know why you were repeating yourself, maybe to bring over to Lucy how much you meant it.

Lucy nodded, her hand moving to intertwine with yours. “I get it,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you told me. I want you to feel comfortable with whatever we do, and I don’t want you to feel like there’s any pressure.” She paused for a moment, searching your face. “But when you’re ready, whenever that is, I’m here. We’ll take it slow, together.”

You smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you,” you whispered, resting your forehead against hers.

Lucy sighed contentedly as she lay beneath you on the couch, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. After a moment, she cleared her throat, breaking the comfortable silence.

“So, um… your parents,” she started, her voice tentative. “Sunday dinner, huh? What’s that going to be like?”

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “What about it?” you asked, propping yourself up slightly to look at her.

Lucy gave a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t know, like… have you told them anything about me? Do they know we’re dating, or is this going to be a complete surprise?” She bit her lip, clearly a little anxious. “I just want to make sure I don’t mess this up.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Why are you thinking about that right now?” you asked, your tone playful as you began trailing soft kisses along her neck, nuzzling into the warmth of her skin.

Lucy let out a breathy laugh, though her body tensed slightly under your touch. “I—uh… I just don’t want to screw it up. Are you sure you really want to do this right now?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

She turned her head to look at you, concern flickering in her eyes. “I don’t want to rush you, y/n.”

You giggled against her neck, pressing a kiss just below her ear. “Three months isn’t enough of a wait for you?” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

Lucy chuckled, her body relaxing slightly as she looked up at you, her nerves fading a little. “Okay… so the dams have really broken now, haven’t they?” She raised her eyebrows, amused.

“Well, now that I’ve told you, and you didn’t get scared away... I have to admit, I’m kind of excited. I mean…” you grinned sheepishly. “I find you really attractive.”

She smiled as you moved your hand under her shirt, your fingertips brushing against her warm skin, you whispered, “I’m in love with you, Luce. I want to share that part of myself with you, too. And you know…” You paused, leaning down to kiss her collarbone. “Je sais à quel point tu es bon au football, alors je ne peux qu’imaginer que tes talents athlétiques s’étendent au-delà de ce jeu…’’ You whispered.

Lucy giggled, swatting at you playfully. “Oh, you’re cheeky,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. But she glanced up at the ceiling with a grin and added, “Are you sure you’ve got no experience at all? It feels like I’m more out of it than you are right now.”

You sat up a little, shifting so that you were straddling her hips, your hands resting lightly on her stomach. You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh?” you asked, smirking slightly. “Has it been long for you?”

Lucy bit her lip, her gaze dropping for a moment before she admitted, “Maybe… half a year? I don’t know.”

“Versus 22 years,” you teased, rolling your eyes giggling. “I think I win.”

Lucy grinned, sitting up to face you, her hands resting on your waist. “Mmm, no. I think I win.” She leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I’ve got the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life sitting on my lap right now.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm, your heart swelled in your chest. But instead of letting yourself get lost in the emotion, you smirked, leaning in close until your lips hovered just inches from hers. “Mmm, really?” you teased softly. “Tell me more…”

Lucy’s expression turned serious, though her eyes were still playful. “I mean it, y/n. Now that I know how much this means to you, I want it to be special… really special. I always wanted that for us, but now it feels even more important.”

You rolled your eyes in playful disbelief, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Mon chéri,” you whispered, brushing a kiss over her cheek, “we just had the most romantic dinner, confessed our love—I'd say that’s pretty perfect already, wouldn’t you? Besides, it’s already special because it’s with you, my love, you are the only person I could think of doing this with.”

Lucy’s smile deepened, and she reached up to brush her thumb along your cheek. “Perfect, sure,” she mused. “But… candles, flowers, fresh sheets…” She bit her lip, ‘’in my head I was going all out for you, I am not even wearing my good underwear, amour.’’

You chuckled, thinking of your preparations for today. ‘’I am.’’

You watched her pupils dilate, her eyes widening in surprise, and she swallowed hard, clearly taken aback. “Oh,” she said in a breathy tone, as if she had just forgotten how to speak.

You chuckled, watching her shift, almost flustered. “Are you getting shy, Luce?”

“No! It’s just that… I don’t know,” she stammered, running a hand through her hair, clearly struggling to keep her composure. “I really want to keep things slow, to be respectful and everything, but when you say things like that…” She scratched her neck, her voice barely a whisper, “it’s… hard to...”

“Hard to what?” you asked, delighted to see her cheeks flush, a sight you didn’t often get to see from her.

Lucy groaned, leaning back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s hard for me not to think about… taking things a little faster than planned.” Her voice came out all at once, as if she’d been holding it back.

You leaned in, your lips just grazing hers. “Well, what’s wrong with those thoughts, then?” you asked, teasingly brushing your fingers along her neck.

She exhaled softly, biting her lip as she hesitated. “Let’s… wait until after I’ve met your parents,” she finally managed, pulling back slightly, though it was clear that it took effort.

Your smile faltered, confusion and a hint of disappointment washing over you. “Oh… I thought…” You shifted off her, sitting up and moving to your own spot on the couch, feeling uncertain.

Lucy’s hand instinctively reached for yours, her expression tinged with a hint of panic. “No, no—y/n, it’s not that I don’t want to! I do, more than you know.” She looked down, as if gathering her thoughts. “I just thought, well, when you mentioned meeting your parents on Sunday, I figured it was important to you to wait until after that step.” She paused, glancing up at you with earnest eyes. “I actually had… this plan in my head for next week. Thursday, to be exact.”

You blinked, intrigued and slightly amused by her meticulousness. “You have… a plan?”

“Yeah,” she said, scratching her neck in that adorable way that always made you smile. “I even talked to your housemate to make sure she’d be out for the night. I thought, you know, after we’re official and all…” She laughed softly, glancing down shyly. “I was going to surprise you with candles, flowers, everything. It’d be in your own bed, so you’d be comfortable.” She pressed a hand to her chest, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t want to pressure you, of course, but I wanted it to be right for you—like, um… create a perfect moment for us.”

Your heart melted as you listened, and you could hardly contain the adoration shining in your eyes. Here was this amazing, thoughtful woman who loved you so deeply, wanting everything to be perfect.

“Luce, you’re… adorable,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss her, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude for such an incredible girlfriend.

You could feel the heat and intensity building between you, like two magnets drawn together. Your mouths met in a deep, fervent kiss, a silent conversation of everything you hadn’t said and all the things you were both holding back. It was a kiss full of promises, anticipation crackling in the air around you.

As the kiss deepened, Lucy’s hand slipped to your waist, and you let yourself sink into her warmth, into her presence.

After a moment, you pulled back just slightly, a small smirk crossing your face. “Are we sure we want to wait until next week?” you whispered, your voice low. “Today is a Thursday too.”

She took a deep breath, nervous laughter lighting up the room. “Well, I don’t know if I want that, but I think it would be best, so yes, I think I want that.”

“Thursday can’t come soon enough,” you groaned.

You both laughed, the intensity giving way to a moment of lightheartedness as you laid together, feeling secure, knowing that when the time was right, it would be everything you both had been waiting for.

After a while Lucy scooped you up into her arms effortlessly, grinning as you let out a surprised laugh. She headed toward the bedroom, ignoring your glance back at the kitchen.

“We really should clean up first,” you protested lightly, glancing over her shoulder at the table still set with empty plates and a bottle of wine.

Lucy shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “Nope,” she said, nudging the bedroom door open with her hip. “Tonight we can cuddle, tomorrow we’ll worry about that again.”

Once in the bedroom, Lucy set you down at the edge of the bed.

You felt your cheeks warm as you began to undress, carefully slipping out of your top, suddenly hyperaware of her eyes on you. You hesitated, noticing she’d turned her head away slightly, as if trying to give you privacy, even now.

“No, you can look,” you murmured softly, smiling as her gaze shifted back to you, her eyes meeting yours with such warmth that your heart fluttered. “You’re my girlfriend,” you added, the last word feeling new and sweet on your lips.

Lucy’s gaze traveled over you slowly, and you felt a blush rising to your cheeks as you slipped out of your top and bra, letting them fall softly to the floor. For the first time, her eyes settled on the bare skin of your chest, and you could see her breath catch for a moment, her lips parting as she took you in.

You felt a mix of warmth and shyness under her gaze, but her expression was so open, so purely admiring, that you felt at ease. When her gaze lifted to yours, her eyes held a soft awe that made your heart skip. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

You smiled, feeling both vulnerable and cherished in that moment, before turning to her closet and reaching for one of her oversized shirts to slip on. As you lifted it over your head, Lucy let out a little chuckle, recovering herself, and as she undressed down to her boxers and sports bra, her cheeks were pink.

Once undressed, you both climbed into bed, buried under the comforter as you found each other in the dim light, legs tangling together. She pulled you close, and her mouth met yours again, warm and gentle.

The kiss deepened, lips moving slowly, savoring each touch, each taste. Lucy’s hand rested on the small of your back, sliding upward with a feather-light touch that sent soft tingles across your skin. You felt a pleasant, fluttering warmth in your stomach as her fingers brushed over you.

Your own hands explored her too, grazing the line of her jaw, the smooth skin of her shoulder, and then down to her waist, lingering as you took in every detail. With every kiss, your heart raced faster, your body responding to her closeness, feeling both electric and calm at once.

But just as things were growing more intense, you felt a faint pulse of nerves, next Thursday was maybe not so bad. “Wait,” you whispered, smiling softly, though your cheeks were warm. “We haven’t brushed our teeth yet.”

Lucy paused, her eyes immediately searching yours, understanding lighting up in her gaze. She brushed a gentle hand over your cheek, offering a reassuring smile. “Totally forgot,” she said softly. Her hand found yours as she guided you to the bathroom, fingers intertwined as you both stood side by side at the sink.

You shared smiles as you brushed your teeth together, Lucy’s shoulder bumping lightly against yours, and even things like this simple routine felt special in her presence.

As you finished, you turned to find her already smiling, her hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Back in bed, Lucy wrapped her arm around you as you nestled close, her hand resting comfortably over your hip. You let yourself settle, your head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart, your own hand resting on her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

In the quiet, with Lucy’s arm wrapped around you and her hand softly resting on you, sleep came easily, and the last thing you heard before drifting off was the sound of her breathing, steady and warm, and the quiet, whispered words she murmured just before you both faded into dreams; “Goodnight, my love.”

I hope you guys like this, I felt a bit rusty writing again, but I think in the future I might be writing more woso fics.

Part 2 of this will follow soon!

-J.

#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze smut #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze fanfic #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #chelsea women x reader #woso smut

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kquil · 9 months ago

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DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER FOUR

04 : BEGINNINGS

CHPT. SUM. : beginning new things is always fun. getting to know your sons, them finally being able to experience having a loving mother, sirius going to school, and you planning for everything that was yet to come so that everyone gets to the happy ending they deserve.

LENGTH : 11.8k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; orion being a bad father ; original walburga being a nuisance ; reader being an amazing mother and an amazing cook ; regulus has food preferences ; brotherhood between sirius and regulus ; marauders spotted in the wild ; sirius and regulus being precious babies ; reader disrespecting walburga ; mentions of infertility ; mentions of divorce ; lots of future planning

← PREV. 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) | SERIES M.LIST

9th August 1971

It, surprisingly, took very little to get past Orion on the topic of changing Sirius and Regulus’ private tutors. However, when you truly looked at his workaholic tendencies, your initial surprise should have been the more startling reaction — of course, he wouldn’t care, he’s too fixated on the happenings with his position on the Wizengamot to be aware of much else, discounting the protective wards he put up around the property. Nevertheless, it was good news for you and your boys. Finally, they would be getting more suitable tutors, who catered to their learning needs in a more digestible way. You had only recently sent out the notice, though, so you don’t expect many replies to be coming in soon. Your only wish was to have fallen into this universe sooner, that way you would have had more time with Sirius before he left to attend Hogwarts as a first year.

Walburga didn’t have a formal occupation other than monitor her boys so having Sirius leave for his first year would mean less work for her and, subsequently, you. However, it’s not as if she needed the money; she’s the matriarch of an incredibly privileged family, meaning that her financial worries are close to non-existent. Both, the affluent family fortune and her lack of professional ambitions have you stumped, it’s something you’re not used to at all. Perhaps that’s why she’s so obsessed with control and the activity of her two sons; it’s not healthy and you don’t even want to attempt to understand what she was thinking—

“Of course you won’t!” Walburga snarls from the depths of your consciousness, her tone dripping with malice and a hint of something sinister. “I don’t expect someone who failed at becoming a mother to understand the right and true tribulations of bringing up children,”

“…how did you know that?” you ask aloud, no longer satisfied with simply trying to call for the bitch - Walburga’s - attention in your head. She didn’t seem to want to reply, which only made your blood boil; her prolonged silence, the trigger to releasing your rapidly escalating rage. How dare she?! How dare she strike you where it hurts the most, only to turn completely unresponsive when you demand answers, “Answer me!” Thick tensions fill the room when she does not answer, the silence suffocating and poisonous. Taking a slow, deep breath, you engage control over your anxious heart and trembling hands once more.

Work. You need work. Something to focus on so that you don’t dwell on memories that will only bring you heartache. It worked before so it’ll work for you now. It had worked so well, in fact, that you were able to build an empire out of it, perhaps you could replicate the same results this time.

“Screw you then, ugly pig, I have more important matters to attend to anyway,” pulling out a drawer, you scatter your notes across the desk and move with fretful fever but, also, enthusiasm above them. No matter the change of environment, you can always trust in your habits to push you forward. Walburga mainly worked on keeping the boys in line as the official matriarch of the Black household but that’s all her world revolved around, she had no hobbies or any close friends other than her relatives whom she communicated with, somewhat, regularly. With a guilty ache in your chest, you kept a gradually growing stack of letters in the bottom-most drawer of the hard oak desk, not yet knowing how to respond to people you barely knew. However, you suppose their relations to a character like Walburaga make it slightly easier to ignore their communications. The affiliation doesn’t warrant your precious time. If you could send a passive-aggressive email, you might be more willing, but the extended process of having to write out the letters and then send them via owl wasn’t worthwhile.

The priority on your list of important affairs is ensuring your boys’ happy and safe future. Sirius will not have to choose between Regulus and his friends, he will not suffer being blasted off the family tree, he will not have to be ashamed of his family, he will not have to witness his close friend’s death through another’s betrayal, and he will not be forced to go to Azkaban. Similarly, Regulus will not have to suffer Sirius abandoning him, he will not have to face his prejudicial parents alone, he will not be forced into getting the dark mark, he will not have to make the sacrifice he had to make at such a young age, he will not die a miserable and lonely death, and he will not be forgotten! You will make sure of it.

Coming into the world as a Harry Potter and Marauders fan, you’re well-equipped with all the knowledge required to make the right decisions. The only problem is that the Marauders era has been a largely vague timeline that most of the fandom filled in for themselves so you’ll have to tread carefully. This will require meticulous planning, a steady rise to power and a conglomeration of useful allies to help set your plans into motion. Modern-day knowledge and business etiquette will serve you well here. You’ve survived toxic work environments, won in the race to riches, and dealt with all manner of manipulative, sexist swine you could ever think to encounter. If you play your cards right, you’re sure to win.

“As if a muggle like you could conquer the wizarding world!” Walburga finally makes her appearance once again. And, of course, it’s for the sake of belittling you whilst making your head throb painfully from her distasteful screeches.

“Shut up,” you hiss unapologetically, resisting the urge to smirk, “Unlike you, I know the future—” breathing the words aloud brings a blaring, singular thought to the front of your mind. The vision you witnessed at the Owl Emporium replays in your head once more…

How in the world did Walburga know about the biting habit of Sirius’ future owl?…

Several moments pass achingly slow as you anticipate the aggravating screeching of Walburga to return. When no such wailing occurs or interrupts your train of thought, your mind immediately begins to spiral.

How could Walburga remember being at the Emporium, shopping for Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts when she had yet to go shopping with him in the first place? They couldn’t have already gone, right? Orion would have said something if they were being inefficient enough to go a second time. That or the boys would have definitely made some comment…

This felt like an urgent matter that needed your immediate attention but you had to prioritise other things for now. It’s not like the original Walburga was going to give you the answers you needed so it wasn’t any use pressing on the matter. It’s best to turn your focus and efforts elsewhere. Peering back at your scattered notes, you raise your newly acquired wand and utter the crafting spell you had learned recently.

“Libeligare,” As you wave your wand over the desk, activity springs forth. In a flurry of animated pages and whistling currents in the air, your disordered notes compile themselves appropriately before binding themselves into a fresh notebook. It doesn’t have a hard cover and you debate on transfiguring a decorative letter set piece into one but think against it. This will do nicely for the moment.

Finally, all your detailed plans are in one place.

10th August 1971

With nothing better to do and desperate for a decent meal, you address the home-cooked meals situation. Every dish served at the Black household was so unappetising and bland, that you couldn’t believe that the family was one of the most influential and richest families to exist in the wizarding world. You’re beginning to believe that the Blacks were the type of family to indulge in unpalatable spreads with the reasoning that they refuse to eat the same meals as those lesser than them. How childish. Even in your city-centre penthouse, you ordered take-out frequently and ate ordinary home-cooked meals that were comforting and warm. The memories make you compare all the meals you’ve had in Grimmauld Place and blanch abhorrently. This wouldn’t do, especially for your growing boys. They need to be well-fed so that they grow up healthy and strong.

“Mistress!” Kreacher shrieks behind you, making you jump and spin around all at once. The hunched-over house elf dashes through the kitchen space clumsily and with much vigour, he pulls painfully at his drooping ears as his eyes bulge out from seeing you, his mistress, the matriarch, in the kitchen cooking! Without magic!

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kreacher,” you chuckle softly and turn back to your food prep, “I’m just trying to cook an easy breakfast for my boys,” if you could truly have it your way then you would cook enough only for you and your two darling sons to eat. Orion would have to sort his own plate. But you’re not divorced yet so you suppose this is a compromise you’ll have to make.

“I-It is not mistress’ job, let Kreacher do it—!” the house elf, reaches forward to take the kitchen utensils from you but you’re too swift.

“I want to cook the food Kreacher,” you argue and continue pottering about the kitchen as if it was just another Tuesday morning, all while Kreacher follows you around helplessly. He’s clearly stuck between letting you have your way or forcing you to let him cook instead. Both felt wrong in different ways considering his position as the house elf, and he was brought to a standstill. The poor guy looked ready to throw himself off a cliff from the indecision and panic.

Having sympathy for the elf, you call to him over your shoulder, “Kreacher can you please pass me the eggs?” this feels like a good even ground to dance on. Soon enough you’ll be teaching Kreacher how to finally relax. Kreacher appeared happy to finally be doing something but as soon as he hesitantly handed over the eggs, he was back to being anxious all over again. Even though you are the matriarch of the household, you supposed you’ll have to share the kitchen with a very distressed house elf for the foreseeable future.

For the rest of the morning, you’ve asked Kreacher to help you with crisping up the beacon, cleaning the mushrooms, opening up the can of beans, toasting the bread and laying out the table. No more tasteless, boring porridge for breakfast with no toppings, today you’re serving a Full English. Admiring the spread, you thank Kreacher for his assistance before undoing your apron and putting the finishing touches to the dining table just as the rest of the family make it down for breakfast.

“What is all this?” Orion asks in slight surprise when catching sight of breakfast for the day, “Is today very important?”

“No,” nonchalance keeps your tone controlled just as your precious babies walk through the door and hop into their designated seats at the table, one more enthusiastic than the other, “I’m just tired of plain old porridge every day,”

“Porridge is delicious,” Orion defends.

“Every day?” from the look in his eyes, you don’t know whether or not you’ve bested him so turn a serene smile his way instead, “I can always ask Kreacher to make you porridge if you really want,”

Orion takes a moment to observe the full, vibrant plate of bacon, toast, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, sausages, black pudding, scrambled eggs and beans. If he takes any longer to play indecisive, the food will get cold and your precious babies are waiting on his dainty, princess-ass to make a decision— can you hurry the fuck up?! you want to scream at him. Every meal is started after his first bite (the pretentious, narcissistic douche) so he needs to make up his mind quickly or else you’ll lose yours waiting around!

“…it’ll be a waste, this will do,” he finally picks up his knife and fork to begin eating and you have to reign yourself in before you roll your eyes too noticeably at his conceited behaviour. Your babies behave better than him. The prick!

Turning to your boys, you observe Sirius and Regulus digging into their own meals before finally taking a bite out of yours. It felt good to see their eyes light up like that, especially Sirius’ — it makes you want to giggle at how obviously he had been wanting to devour his beans and toast the instant he laid eyes on them.

Breakfast continues pleasantly as everyone enjoys their meal until you begin to notice some peculiar movement in the corner of your eye. You try to be as subtle as you can, considering the uncommon calm that has fallen over the dining table; it isn’t usually this comfortable around the table so you wanted to preserve the ambience as much as possible. The source of your curious gaze was Sirius and Regulus.

Covertly, Regulus sneaks spoonfuls of his scrambled eggs onto Sirius’ plate, who proceeds to eat up his younger brother’s share as quickly as possible. Regulus was doing this willingly despite this morning’s breakfast being the first appetising meal he’s had yet. It won’t be the last either. However, from the way Sirius is scarfing down the food whilst trying to remain as silent as possible, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sirius eventually suffers from a stomachache later on. You wonder what could be the matter with the scrambled eggs. Was the seasoning off? Kreacher helped taste test every element of the meal and gave his stellar praise for your unrealised culinary skills so you’re more than a bit confused at the scene. After swallowing all remnants of food in your mouth, you gently raise a question.

“Regulus?” your youngest freezes up immediately, making your brows furrow but still, you continue in a soft voice, “What’s wrong?” Deep in your chest, you feel your heart clench in worry at the deer-in-headlights expression plastered across Regulus’ cherubic face.

You are met with only silence, “do you not like your eggs, darling?” you try meeting your youngest’s eyes but he’s terrified to even face your direction. Instead, he’s firmly steered his gaze down to his lap and keeps it there, frozen in place.

There’s a slam of the table and everyone stiffens. At the head, Orion stares disapprovingly at Regulus, who begins to tremble like a leaf, “How rude!” the patriarch spits with such force and bite that his saliva lands halfway down the lengthy dining table. He’s so scandalised by his son’s behaviour that the cold from his freezing gaze drops the temperature in the room lower than it already is. “How many times have we talked about this Regulus? Finish your plate at once or else it’ll be the last meal you eat today!”

“He’s not being rude!” you counter, flying out of your seat and making your way to Regulus, “And he shouldn’t be forced to eat something he doesn’t like nor punished harshly for disliking something,” Crouching down, you position yourself to block Orion from Regulus’ line of sight despite his frightened doe-eyes remaining transfixed on his lap. His small hands are turned into small, knuckle-white fists, gripping fiercely at the fabric of his trousers. A paralysed statue of fear incarnate, your little boy doesn’t deserve this! If you could ‘Avada Kedavra’ Orion’s pathetic, prissy ass, you would in a heartbeat.

From your peripheral, you notice how Sirius had placed a comforting hand over one of Regulus’ closed fists and the sight made your heart bloom with pride and joy — seeing how well they take care of each other was so heartwarming. “Tell me what’s wrong, Reg…I promise I won’t get mad,” you make sure to keep your voice in a low whisper so that only your son can hear but also loud enough that Orion’s distant grumbling is disguised.

“Do you not like eggs?” your prompting remains gentle and patient, hoping for a fraction of understanding. That’s all you really want.

Sensing no antagonistic feeling in your tone, Regulus finally wills himself to speak, although barely audible from insecurity, “I….I don’t like scrambled eggs…”

“No? What about them don’t you like?”

"They feel weird in my mouth, I don’t like chewing them,” he explains shyly, his confession dripping with shame. His grey eyes look into your own remorsefully and, before he can utter an apology, he is stopped by the shaking of your head.

Smiling warmly, you pat his small hand and voice your reassurance, “That’s a reasonable preference to have. Do you not like the texture?” Regulus nods in confirmation as his small, tense shoulders slowly ease up, “Do you not like eggs at all or do you like them cooked in a particular way?”

Regulus’ eyes widen with surprise. Never before had his mother been so attentive to his preferences like this. On the contrary, His mother was always the first to make him feel embarrassed for his picky tendencies when it came to food, especially over dishes that make him lose his appetite entirely, oysters and shellfish being the main culprit. He really didn’t like them at all. Many times, they were the appetiser to multiple-course meals hosted by pureblood, elitist wizarding families so Walburga was determined to season her son’s palettes early on in life. It was good etiquette to eat such foods and to know how to eat them properly. If he didn’t display appropriate dinner etiquette at the table then he is lesser, he is unworthy of the Black family name and blood running through his veins, he is unbecoming of his heritage, he is a disgrace—

“I can cook eggs in many other ways,” you suggest thoughtfully, voice remaining soft and comforting, “I can fry them for you? Or I can boil them? Do you like your yolk runny or firm?”

Regulus, spurred on by your softly placed questions feels the corners of his lips tug upwards, “fried eggs, please…”

His innocuous answer makes you beam, “with a runny or firm yolk, darling?”

“Runny, please,” Regulus finds your bright expression infectious and begins to smile a little wider too. Over the slope of his little brother’s small shoulders, Sirius is grinning from ear to ear; finally, Regulus isn’t going to be forced to eat something he doesn’t enjoy. The elation makes Sirius’ chest swell as his heart pinches slightly at the memory of his little brother retching up the contents of his stomach in the bathroom. Those disastrous, past meals started badly and they ended badly too. Peering at you with smiling eyes, Sirius knows that he won’t need to worry about that any more.

“Of course, right away," you’re eager to leave and fix up Regulus’ plate but you also worry about leaving him with Orion at the dinner table; your husband wasn’t too pleased with Regulus having preferences — the pretentious prick could choke on his food and die for all you cared, “how about we go to the kitchen together?” you offer smoothly as you begin to stand, “that way, you can watch me cook and make sure I do them just the way you like it,” smiling brightly, Regulus nods and easily offers his hand for you to hold, “Siri, would you like to come?” if one brother was coming with you so was the other.

“Yes please!” Sirius happily walks to the kitchen, hand-in-hand with Regulus, whose other hand is fully wrapped up in your own.

From the head of the table, Orion stares with his mouth agape at what he had just been a witness to. What was happening to his wife?!

11th August 1971

Sirius and Regulus stand by the fireplace, waving off their newly appointed private tutor as they floo away before eagerly making their way to your home office. Usually, their session catch-ups would make the two freeze up and drag their feet along the plush carpets of their family’s proud home but not now. Ever since your irregular activities leading up to your fainting spell and subsequent switch in demeanour, they’ve felt safer and happier at home. But only around you, their father still frightened them. The patriarch’s grey eyes swirled with a mounting turbulence that they would greatly prefer to avoid so they quickly make themselves scarce around him but not around their mother. Not anymore.

“I can’t wait to show Mother my cursive practice,” Regulus has a skip in his step as he walks beside his older brother, who beams at him proudly.

“Yeah, you’re getting really good at that Reggie,” Sirius praises, a slightly envious tone edging into his words, but it all remained playful, “say, how do you do your swirls so good?”

“Practise!”

Sirius rolls his eyes at his younger brother’s cheek, “There has to be a secret to it that I don’t know about,” Regulus only giggles at his older brother’s shortcomings. This had been a rare happiness to experience at 12 Grimmauld Place but, gradually, it was becoming common between the two brothers. Suddenly the walls weren’t so drab, the furniture not as boring and the decorations not as hauntingly placed. The atmosphere was much brighter as sunlight always seemed to pour magnanimously in from the windows.

“Sorry Siri,” from Regulus’ free-flowing, tuneful words, he isn’t sorry at all but Sirius can never will up any hatred for his younger brother. They’ve been through it all together and now that their recent joys were also being shared, of course, they would partake in harmless teasing — teasing that was usually frowned upon by their mother but was no longer a worry. They can’t remember the last time their mother frowned — the two greatly prefer this new version of their mother’s expressions much more.

As they approach your office door, the brothers’ footfalls quicken and they barely catch themselves from bursting through the door without knocking. But not before they catch sight of your figure through the crack of the doorway. Curious about your activity, Sirius hushes his younger brother softly and holds him back so that he can lean forward to observe your figure closely. Inspired by his older brother’s nosiness, Regulus leans forward also and the two peer at you through the doorway crack.

You’re not at your desk but are, instead, seated on the plush, cushioned seats of the emerald sofa placed in front of your desk. Black robes and other familiar attire are piled up beside you on one side while the other gradually assembles the neatly folded aftermath of your sewing…embroidery? Was there even a difference? Nevertheless, you had a needle and thread in hand without your wand or the use of magic in sight!

“Mother’s sewing your name tags herself,” Regulus concludes in a whisper following a muted gasp of surprise.

Sirius’ eyes widen ever so slightly, “and she’s not using magic…” he doesn’t know how skilled you are at sewing but Sirius doesn’t care, the gesture alone is enough to make his chest swell. Even his face began to warm up from the heat climbing up his neck as it tried reaching his ears.

“…do you think she’ll sew my name tags too? When I start my first year, I mean…” Regulus asks shyly, the clear insecurity in his timid voice making Sirius slightly defensive.

“Of course, she will,” he huffs before grinning widely, “and if we tear up our uniform ‘accidentally’ I’m sure she’ll sew those up herself too!” Regulus doesn’t know whether he likes or dislikes his brother’s train of thought but smiles anyway; he’s just happy thinking about his mother paying as much attention and care to his first-year robes too. He can’t wait until he starts attending Hogwarts as well.

Finally willing themselves to stop eavesdropping and return to their earlier task, Sirius and Regulus straighten their posture before knocking on the heavy wooden door. They don’t have to wait terribly long for an answering call to grant their entrance.

“Come in,” you set your tools aside and smile when the door reveals your babies stepping into your office, “hello, my darlings,” from your periphery, you spot the time on the clock face and jump into conversation with them, “how was your tutoring session? Did you like your new tutor?”

“Yeah!” the two answer simultaneously and with the same amount of enthusiasm — it makes you smile with content. Happiness looks good on them; their characters shine brighter and their faces are more child-like. They’re honestly the cutest little boys you’ve ever seen and now they’re your sons to love and protect.

“That’s wonderful news,” you open your arms for each of them to jump into, “Tell me all about it,” you’re just about to magic away the robes and sewing equipment so that they can sit beside you but not before you spot Sirius inspecting your handiwork, “I’m afraid I’m not the best seamstress,” your confession comes out bashfully, “I should have had Madam Malkins sew the tags on for me—”

“No!—” Sirius interrupts, looking almost offended that you would consider such a thing, “I like your sewing,” you raise a brow and, together with Regulus, inspect your uneven, treasure map trail of stitches before turning to the eldest brother once more.

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Yeah, only you can do the stitching on my uniform, no one else,” his firm answer makes your embarrassed expression melt into a warm smile.

“Alright then,”

“Thank you, Mother,” he gives you another hug that you happily return.

“You’re welcome, my dear,”

Looking over your plans, you sigh in restrained frustration. This is going to be a little hard. Yes, you know what to do but it’s all about recruiting the right people, trustworthy people and ones who are right for the role you’re choosing to give them. There’s a lot on your plate too, with your most urgent goal being divorce. You’re convinced that it isn’t going to be easy, considering the controversies that will surround the separation of a prominent wizarding house. The laws surrounding marriage, divorce and custody at this time are also largely unknown to you. Thankfully, you’ve had the privilege of living in a modern ‘muggle’ society where marriage and custody laws were pretty equal and fair. Perhaps there’s a book you can read up on about these things. For now, it’s a safe bet to say that custody will favour Orion as a man in the 1970s — it’s better to over-prepare than be underprepared for any outcome.

Despite the importance of this particular undertaking, you’ll have to wait until both, Sirius and Regulus, are attending Hogwarts to commence the divorce proceedings. You don’t want your boys to be front-row witnesses nor do you want them to rollercoaster through the typical, rough emotions of children caught up in their parents’ divorce. You’ve been through that already… and you barely made it out on the other side. You’re an adult and they’re just children; if you can protect them from the brunt of it, you will.

A stray thought pushes forward into your consciousness — it would be too optimistic to confidently wager on the boys siding with you. Although under abusive parenting, children are very loyal and you’re benefiting from that loyalty now; even though Walburga was incredibly cruel to her sons, they were still eager to give you a chance as soon as you took over and began treating them kindly. You need to be cautious. The silver lining of it all is that you’ll, at least, have some time to prepare affluently before starting the separation process. That, on its own, however, will require another bout of planning.

Saving Regulus is another priority on your list. That requires getting rid of the Horcruxes and killing off snake-faced Voldy but you don’t want to be too hands-on with that, especially because you’re not very adept at casting spells yet — there’ll be more experienced and more willing people (Aurors) who would be able to handle this type of mission. All you have to do is pull the right strings and connect with the right people. Eyeing another task on your list, you spot a small connection and smirk to yourself. The nib of your quill dips into a pot of ink and bridges two of your obligations.

“This could be quite beneficial on both ends,” if you play your cards right…

Making some more careful notes, you gradually begin to piece everything together. But then there’s the issue of Sirius being sent to Azkaban. It’s healthy to have faith in yourself but if someone’s life and wellbeing are in danger, especially if it’s your son’s, you need to have a second, third and fourth plan at the ready. There needs to be a second, third and fourth plan for Regulus as well. Luck and misfortune will always have some influence on the dice you roll, there will never be an exception to that. You’ve learned this enough times in your previous life already, not just in business but everything else too.

Your quill stops and rests beside your plans as the cogs in your brain turn with more purpose. Sirius still needs to become an animagus and Regulus needs to learn how to be a strong enough swimmer so that he can cast a spell to repel the Inferi. It would be beneficial if they both become well-equipped in duelling. That’ll require your lack of interference (maybe even your support) until Sirius’ fifth year, getting Regulus sorted with swimming lessons and encouraging both on their Defence Against the Dark Arts skills. You make a quick note of both solutions and their reasoning before linking both back to your list of obligations.

The progress you’re making with these intervention plans is making headway. You just hope that you won’t tip the scales too far so that what little control you currently have slips right through your fingers and you’ll be left floundering.

20th August 1971

You’ve fully taken over the cooking for all meals and your boys are looking much healthier. It warms your heart every time you see them happily eating your cooking, it was hard work keeping up with the pantry inventory, planning meals and catering to their individual tastes but it was good work that filled your heart with so much content, you hardly felt the fatigue creeping into your bones.

Regulus isn’t a picky eater, he simply has a preference for some foods over others. He doesn’t like his eggs scrambled, only fried and with a runny yolk; he can’t stomach oysters or shellfish; he doesn’t like pulp in his juice and he’d rather eat a raw onion than have any trace of offal trimmings in his food.

Sirius can practically eat anything and does so healthily, however, he’s more of a savoury person, leaving Regulus to own the sweet tooth palette by himself. Both adore cheese and you often create mini charcuterie boards for them to snack on. It was so adorable. There was plenty of time on your schedule to assign towards aesthetic food presentation so you’ve mastered the creation of salami roses. You’ve also found that Sirius prefers caramelised onion chutney to go with his mature cheeses whilst Regulus goes for a sweeter fig chutney.

Currently, you were making them their own mini charcuterie boards. Both were displayed on a circular board with their favourite chutney at the very centre, held in a small ceramic container. And, with decorative prowess, you place their selection of meats, cheeses, crackers and grapes around it.

“Do they look good Kreacher?” the house elf peers over the countertop surface and gives an affirming nod with a barely noticeable smile.

“The young masters will be very happy, Mistress,” helpfully he suggests bringing the carefully prepared boards and crust-less finger sandwiches up to the boys’ study room for you but you shake your head.

“Thank you, Kreacher, but I think I’ll bring up the food this time,” you’ve met their new private tutor several times already but she was always so tense around you; you’re determined to improve her impression through some good old exposure therapy. “Please prepare some tea and bring it up as soon as you’re done,” with your wand and a softly uttered ‘locomotor charcuterie boards and sandwiches’, the items lift into the air just slightly and you begin to move them out of the kitchen.

“What tea should Kreacher be brewin’ this noon, Mistress?”

“Oolong would be lovely today. Be sure to brew some Earl grey for Orion too but deliver the Oolong to us first please,” Kreacher’s struggles with your utterance of the polite ‘please’ persists but he continues with his set tasks regardless. The hunched-over house elf has noticed you’ve been prioritising the young masters much more than Orion recently; whenever you want to do something thoughtful, you always think of your sons first. Only last minute do you finally remember your workaholic husband and leave the snack preparations for Kreacher to fulfil and deliver alone. It’s a peculiar shift in attention, the wrinkled elf admits, but seeing his young master Regulus so happy, he doesn’t complain. Kreacher also admits that he’s growing a slight, mutual fondness for the elder Black brother, the two share in their love for Regulus and loyalty to you; now they’ve become friendly acquaintances. The house elf is a little happier and much more willing than ever before to stay loyal to his mistress and young masters’ sides. And Master Orion too, of course.

Making your way up the stairs, the pretentious cow stuck in your head makes her presence known with inconsequential complaints.

“You’re spoiling those boys far too much!” Walburga shrieks and immediately makes your temples pound, “Sirius and Regulus don’t need this much attention, if you continue this they��re going to grow up soft and weak and unable to carry on the Black family name with the proper dignity and class!” For the sake of avoiding the horrid healing potion Kreacher’s having you consume after every fainting spell, you’ve been training yourself to build up as much resistance to her incessantly obnoxious yapping as much as possible — you’re getting there but you still need some practise. Currently, you are traversing the stairs so you’re taking every step with extra caution.

“Bitches should be seen and not heard,” her confounded gasp doesn’t escape you, “so kindly shut the fuck up,” the sarcastic cheerfulness in your tone makes her gasp once more and, like a coward, makes herself scarce. It seems as though you’ve gotten better at shutting the shrew up but she has yet to acclimatise herself to your shameless disrespect towards her. Hopefully, she never gets used to your comments; it’s always such a pleasure being able to render her utterly speechless.

With a pleased smile, you give a soft knock on the boys’ study room before entering. The boys gasp happily as soon as they see the levitating charcuterie boards and the plateful of crust-less sandwiches float closer and closer.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I think you all deserve a lunch break,” the boys cheer and happily dig in while you face their tutor with a small smile, “please feel free to have as many sandwiches as you want, we have plenty on offer,” her smile is hesitant and slightly trembles under your hold so she’s quick to look away and fix her focus onto the plate of sandwiches — her own, personal reprieve from having to interact with you.

Peony Knight. She’s an incredibly timid individual who seems to be in her element only when teaching children rather than in the company of said children’s adult parents — she has yet to look you in the eye for an extended period. Her head is an organised plight of feathery, strawberry-blonde hair and her eyes are a pair of opal pendants, so brilliantly blue but incandescent with a kaleidoscope of other jewel colours. Her resume was astounding but her family wasn’t very notable so you could only imagine her surprise when she received your response to her application with a test run of her skills. It was important to you that she comes from an uncommon house and family, you didn’t want to draw too much attention over switching tutors. At her tutoring trial run, she started very shaky but eventually found her confidence when focusing on your two boys rather than your lurking figure from the corner of the study. She was a good runner-up and quickly became the perfect choice when your boys showed favour towards her – the other candidates appeared to have been more affected by your presence in the room and taught the way they thought you wanted them to.

“She’s nice and patient,” Regulus commented when you went to him after her trial lesson.

“I like the way she explains things,” Sirius added beside him.

That was all you needed to hire her as their private tutor. Peony’s timidity of you as an authority figure played in her favour very well.

Hidden within a thick pile of stacked parchments and a small mountain of miscellaneous scrolls, you found Walburga’s carefully curated curriculum for the boys and handed it over to Peony. Walburga would know better than you what would be useful for her sons to learn. However, you were surprised at the amount of ‘muggle’ topics on her curated list. Admittedly, you were only expecting foundational wizarding lessons maybe on wands or classic pureblood etiquette so your shock was justified. Walburga’s reaction, however, wasn’t.

“I teach them proper pureblood etiquette myself, you useless girl! And how can I expect my sons to grow up well if they aren’t taught the basics?! They’ll be able to advance as better wizards of the Black family that way. Moreover, muggles stick to and remain in the basics so don’t get smug with me, you filthy mud-blood!” Walburga screeched without restraint and with much offence after your initial revelation, leading to another fainting spell — the disgusting bitch…

In addition to Peony’s private tutoring, you’ve taken to providing your own private lessons to the boys, much to their surprise and slight hesitancy. However, as soon as you began the extended lessons after their usual morning session with Peony one day, they’ve since grown to love it. This didn’t happen every time, however, only on Tuesdays and Fridays. Today was one of those days, a Friday, and you’re so excited to see their reactions to what you have planned.

Their schedules typically consist of Peony coming over a couple of hours before noon and she teaches them for two or three hours sessions every day except weekends. Mondays were for English language and literature (wizard and muggle), Tuesdays were for Economics, Numeracy and Financial literacy, Wednesdays were for French and Cursive handwriting practice, Thursdays were for muggle sciences (basic biology, physics and chemistry) and Fridays were for history and philosophy (wizard and muggle).

You reserve the fun lessons for your boys with yourself as their teacher. These were composed of lessons that typically challenged their problem-solving, creativity and other fundamental skills to set them up with a good foundation for school and life in general. This included fun puzzle-solving, art (in every medium the boys wanted), some written/scenario problem-solving and role-play scenarios. The first Friday you did this, you had the boys act out from rough, child-friendly scripts you drafted inspired by the Shakespearian play, Macbeth. It seemed like an innocuous lesson but you wanted to gauge their ethical understandings and reasonings.

Throughout the scenes, you would spontaneously make them freeze frame to ask prompting questions that typically go along the lines of, ‘what would you do in this situation?’, ‘do think that was the right thing to do?’, and ‘why did you think your character did this even though they knew it was wrong?’. Both engaged very well with their own perspectives on the situation.

At one point they got into a small argument that you needed to break up due to slightly differing standpoints on the scenario. It became slightly more heated than you expected but you were thankful for the opportunity to teach them how to communicate well with each other despite their differences. The lesson ended after that because tensions were still high and they were equally very stubborn about who should apologise first.

It was going to take more than one lesson to be able to make them understand the rules and the importance of healthy communication, but that was to be expected. This was just the beginning so you’re hoping that if you stay consistent with fostering their ethical reasoning, communication and problem-solving skills, they will be able to remain brotherly despite their opposing Hogwarts houses. In the end, you made them apologise at the same time (to the count of three) and had them hug it out before telling them to say one thing they like about the other person. Evidently, they weren’t used to your new way of doing things and making amends but they (grumpily) did as they were told — and looked absolutely adorable doing it, their pouty faces were too much to bear!

Approaching the two boys indulging in their individual charcuterie boards and occasionally exchanging bites of their share, you kneel between them and begin pleasant conversations about their current lesson.

“Are you two having fun so far?” you could practically see Peony stiffen up like cement behind you, just from the telling gasp she lets out in the background. Being so high-strung isn’t going to be good for her health so you hope she gets used to your presence soon enough. You do feel slightly apologetic for her but she needs to know that people can change no matter how drastically. Hopefully, she takes this opportunity to grow some confidence in herself too. Someone so intelligent should walk with broader shoulders and a higher chin.

“Yeah! Did you know Pythagoras had a cult?” Sirius was practically bouncing in his chair.

“No, he had a school of very intelligent mathematicians and musicians,” Regulus countered after swallowing his bite of cracker, cheese and grapes.

Sirius rolls his eyes but immediately jumps into another topic, “he discovered the theory of pitch which is surprising coming from a guy who’s scared of beans,” he cracks himself up laughing at the statement.

Again, Regulus interjects in defence of the philosopher, “he wasn’t scared of beans,” the two brothers exchange narrowed stares, “He just believed that beans were the vessels for dead people’s souls and didn’t want to disrespect them by running through a bean field,” a small argument ensues but you don’t act, instead, you watch as a bystander in the hopes that your presence alone can keep them in check. If you ever feel the need to jump in at some point, you will.

All too well, Sirius and Regulus remain aware of your lingering attendance to their quarrel and make the silent agreement to not escalate things too far. For a moment, they share a knowing look after briefly glancing your way and glaring at each other once again. You watch them huff and inhale a slow, shaky breath. They actively turn their voices down whilst continuing with their argument. It didn’t seem to go anywhere but both concluded it with less heat and more of a calm acknowledgement of each other’s differing sides.

“Two people can have different opinions and still be friends. They only need to respect that the other person holds a different view and that it doesn’t make them a bad person,” they remembered your sage advice from their first extracurricular lesson with you. It was a massive shift in perspective to their growing minds and the impact it had on both of them was enough to permanently imprint the message into their heads.

Unprompted, you lean forward and press a kiss to each of their foreheads, Sirius first and then Regulus, “I’m so proud of you two,” you watch as their cherubic cheeks flush an adorable, pink hue. Sirius scratches the back of his head bashfully whilst Regulus fiddles with his pen, both of them equally biting back a small smile from the praise, “you remembered what I taught you,” they look upon your elated smile with shy fulfilment as they nod slightly. “Another person’s opposing opinions might be something we don’t share or appreciate as much as they do but…” they lean forward ever so slightly, wanting to consciously heed your elaboration on the topic, “hearing or witnessing a different view will expand our perspective on the world and help us grow as people. We need to keep an open mind for these sorts of things because they can teach us so much. It might be hard to do sometimes, but I want to ask you two for a small favour,” they nod silently, not questioning or hesitating at your words, fully trusting in your sensible knowledge — their mother was always a brick wall when it came to the opinions of others, they couldn’t penetrate her, especially when it came to opposite views on blood purity so, to see her encouraging such undogmatic behaviour, is peculiar but in a strangely motivating way. They find that they want to do whatever it is that you want to ask them to do no matter what, “I want the two of you to try to understand the other side of any argument or opposite view. The world isn’t as black and white as we think it is. We have to try to be understanding and empathetic people. There may be reasons someone sees the world a certain way and even if we don’t agree or like their opinion, the least we can do is try to understand them. Just try. That’s all… that’s enough,”

It was a lot to take in and it was a lot to ask of such young minds that were still developing. But you weren’t asking for them to be perfect at it. All you want them to do is try.

“Alright, Mother,” Sirius nods with solid determination in his eyes.

“Whatever you wish, Mother,” Regulus says at the same time, also glowing with resolve.

Smiling happily, you bring them into a group hug, your arms easily curling around their small shoulders as you press another kiss to their temples, “you don’t have to be perfect, just try,“ you reiterate in a whisper, “I’m so proud of you, my darlings, you make mommy so happy,” you don’t see it but you feel their bright smiles press into your neck from either side as they return your embrace and nuzzle their faces into the junction of your neck and shoulders.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Their lesson ended a few minutes ago and, like routine, they wave off Peony at the living room fireplace while you set up the study with all the things you planned on having them do for the afternoon. You asked them if they wanted to take a break before your lesson but they said they were happy to begin right away. They were able to detect the sparkle of excitement in your eyes as you left after their lunch break and were now filled with the same eagerness to begin your lesson.

Setting up their table with tools, aprons and a protective mat warmed your heart. You had planned so many things to do with your future children in your original life, read so many books and attended so many talks, lectures and groups on how to be a good mother that your heart was finally able to heal the scars that resulted from the infertility diagnosis you were slammed with years ago. You felt like a failure, not only as a mother but as a woman to be told that. It wasn’t until you were able to recover from that debilitating news that you finally began to consider adoption. It took years and years and the building of a corporate empire to finally get to that point but then, you were doomed once more. At the centre of a collision in the busy city streets, you lost consciously accepting your fate only to end up here…it was all quite a blessing really. Now you have two beautiful sons to call your own and to love with all of your heart. As an added bonus, they’re also two of your favourite characters from the Harry Potter universe.

You could barely contain your excitement when you heard a small knock at the door to the study. They were here.

“Come in, darlings,”

Stepping into the room, Sirius and Regulus gasp in awe and begin jumping on the spot ever so slightly from feverish anticipation. In your outstretched hands were two small, grey aprons, one displaying Sirius’ name and the other Regulus’ along the upper seam of the apron’s breast pocket. Without being asked, they step up to their aprons and reach forward to put the article on themselves. As they do so, you announce what you will be doing for the afternoon.

“Clay sculptures?” Sirius almost squeals in excitement as Regulus bounces on the balls of his feet.

“We’ve never done that before,” Regulus chimes as you kneel behind him to help with tying up his apron, eventually moving on to redo Sirius’ clumsy knot as well.

“It’ll be fun,” you giggle, “fun and messy,” Sirius appreciates the hint of mischief in your voice and rushes to take a seat at the table with Regulus toddling along close behind him. You take a seat too and begin to talk them through the little sculpting tools they have beside them, the small mountain of clay at their disposal and the use for the bowls of water within reach.

Regulus is listening but he can’t help glimpsing down at his stitched-on name tag every few seconds or so. His chest feels warm and so so tight that he feels like he’s about to burst. You had hand-stitched his name tag onto the apron yourself. He recognised the inexperienced, inconsistent stitches but he thinks it’s the most beautiful display of embroidery he has ever seen. There’s also the revelation that Regulus didn’t need to wait to go to Hogwarts to know that you would be attentive enough to do the same thing for his clothes as you did to Sirius’. He feels special and he loves the affectionate attention you were giving him, all the motherly love he and his older brother had always dreamed of experiencing was finally happening, not only through kind words but in warm hugs, soft kisses and silent acts of service too. He feels a surge of wanting to do well in everything, from studying to writing to eating to sleeping — all of it! He’ll do well in all of it. He only wants to make you proud.

“Let’s begin with rolling out a piece of our clay,” you start, encouraging them to get messy, keep their clay hydrated and not worry about the state of their tools because you’ll all be washing them at the end together. After that, you had them make little balls using their hands and then roll out one ball into a flat sheet using their small rolling pins. With another ball, you instructed them to attempt making it flat using their hands instead, which helped you explain that moving around the clay with their hands makes the clay easier to mould.

“Have you two been learning about muggle sciences?” you gently ask as the two go about flattening their spheres a little more so that they can carve patterns into them using their small wooden tools.

“Yeah, I like the one called physics,” Sirius grins, eyes still focused on his clay.

“Me too!” Regulus chimes and the two brothers grin at each other, which makes you smile.

“That’s very good,” you nod, spotting an opportunity, “so where do you think the heat comes from when we roll out our clay?”

“From our hands,” Sirius immediately answers.

“That’s right, anything else?”

The question is open for the two of them but Regulus is the one who answers next, “From all the moving around,”

“Brilliant, my darlings,” you praise and they grin pridefully.

“Now, can you name the types of energies those are called? If you’ve learned about them, that is,” The brothers look at each other before beginning to ponder separately. The silence draws on so you decide to give them a little help, “What are all the energies called?” They do just fine with regurgitating the ten different energy types and that seems to be enough to prompt Regulus.

“The moving around is kinetic energy,”

Sirius jumps to answer as well, “and our hands transfer the thermal energy,”

“Good good!” you give them a small round of applause, which they bashfully smile at, “you two are so clever!… What did I hear about this ‘transferring’ of energy, Siri?” your question comes out in a nonchalant tone.

“Peony says that energy is stored and transferred,” Sirius answers, “and that they sometimes turn into another type of energy,”

“I see,” you look down at your own clay spheres and sheets, “where is the thermal energy from my hands coming from?” once again, they’re silent, “I think this can link to biology, specifically our biology,” that gets the cogs in their brains turning again and you can’t help but coo at their adorable thinking faces.

“It’s from…” Regulus begins, immediately catching both yours and Sirius’ undivided attention, your eyes equally encouraging him to continue with his answer, “It’s from the energy in our food,”

Eyes sparkling with delight, you prompt him once more, “And what energy is that called?”

“…Chemical!”

“Good job!” Sirius claps for his brother’s success and reaches up for a high five that Regulus happily hits and once again, they’re grinning at each other.

“What about for the movement?” This was a trick question but your boys are clever so you have full faith in them. Regulus already answered his share so he silently backs out from the arena by looking up at Sirius who begins to ruminate. “…well the movement has to come from somewhere, doesn’t it?” you thoughtfully point out, beginning to play around with your clay and trying to look innocent about it despite it being a definite clue.

“It comes from us!” Sirius explains and looks down to play around with his clay too. You stay silent as you let him think and reach the conclusion on his own but you’re already so so proud of their intelligent displays, “…so it’s the same answer, it’s also from chemical energy…” he seems unsure from his tone but the minute he looks up to meet your eyes, the smile on your lips and the applause from you and Regulus has him beaming.

“My sons are so so clever! I’m very proud of you both!”

That was enough of that — you only remember so much from your younger science education — so you move on to teach them about hatching and being able to stick two pieces of clay together with a little bit of water in order to make a small box with no lid. Thankfully, that was the final thing you intended to teach them before letting them make their own creations.

“Now, you can make whatever you want with your clay. After this, I’ll bake them so they become solid, and then, we can paint them together. If you run out of clay, just ask and I’ll get you some more,” the two buzzed in their seats from the excitement and you were just as eager to let them loose with their creativity. “You can also make more than one thing but limit yourself to just two or three, please. Also make sure that whatever you make suits a function, it can be anything at all; you can even get some ideas from this muggle book on clay crafting,” you present them with the children’s clay craft book and place it where they can easily reach, “don’t mind getting the edges dirty, as long as the main text and pictures aren’t too muddied up by clay, it’s fine. It’s supposed to get used earnestly anyway,” they smile at your proactive reassurance but only Regulus goes for the clay book while Sirius goes about making his desired creation right away.

For a while, Sirius cannot decide what to actually make. His speediness into action makes his younger brother peer over at him anxiously quite a few times but his initial unease gradually fades when he realises his older brother keeps changing his mind, flattening a scarcely sculpted creation just as quickly as he begins a new one. You don’t want to interrupt their independent creative flows and get to work on something you’ve already planned to create, a modest gift for your darling boys.

Some time goes by in silence before you call for Kreacher to play one of the vinyls you managed to buy from a record shop when out on errands to muggle London. You had bought several along with the gramophone at the shop. When you first bought it home, the boys were eager to find out what it was and spent a lot of time happily winding it up so that you could all listen to the records together. It would have been preferable to get the electrical one but it would have been useless in the predominantly magic-operated house.

“Great choice, Kreacher,” you smile at the house elf who nods timidly by the gramophone and promptly disappears when he feels as though he is no longer needed. The Beatles’ Abbey Road album plays in the background as the soundtrack to your clay sculpting session for several songs-worth of minutes before you finally get up to independently ask the boys about what they had chosen to make. ‘Oh! Darling’ sings in the distant corner as you kneel beside Sirius and quietly ask about his creation and what its function would be. In a whisper, he replies without turning to look at you, far too focused on his creation to divert any significant attention from it.

“I’m making plant pots,” he begins, his pink tongue slightly poking out of the corner of his mouth, “for the cooking herbs you said you wanted to grow in the kitchen, but I’m also making one for Reggie since he says he wants to grow a plant in his room,” after his nonchalant explanation, your heart soars. It would be a fair assessment to say that Regulus has spoken to him about exploring gardening. You didn’t know your youngest wanted to grow a green thumb but it was a pleasant surprise — you’ll see about taking him to a muggle plant shop soon, you don’t quite trust wizarding plants in the household. A succulent or mini cactus would be a good choice.

Pressing a kiss onto Sirius’ cheek, you whisper a soft thank you and praise his thoughtfulness before moving on to Regulus. For a moment, the elder brother wishes he could grow out his hair so that you are less likely to notice his flushed cheeks and red-tipped ears. You also kneel by Regulus’ side to whisper the same questions about his creation.

“I’m making a little jewellery dish for your rings and necklaces and earrings, Mother. And I’m also going to make one for Siri since he’ll be getting the family ring when he’s older. Sirius’ one is going to be star-shaped because he’s named after the brightest star and yours is going to be heart-shaped because…well…” Regulus can’t finish his sentence as his blush floods his entire face with heat. But he doesn’t need to finish his explanation, he’s said all you needed to hear to coo over his thoughtfulness and press a kiss to his cheek also. They’re such sweet boys. That bitch Walburga was blessed to have them and yet she mistreated them so much, they didn’t deserve any of that. Tender love and care is what they truly deserve and that will be your sole mission and life’s purpose for this existence.

“What are you making, Mother?” Regulus asks unprompted when you finally sit back down by your humble creations again. The youngest’s question makes Sirius perk up and eye you with interest, his grey eyes flicking between you and the carefully shaped clay by your hands.

“I’m making little star-shaped pendants for my little star boys,” smiling at their flustered expressions, you elaborate further, “I’m going to poke a hole near the top point so I can thread it through a chain and you can wear it as a necklace or a bracelet — you can choose,” you show them one with a carved ’S’ on it, “this one is for Siri,” next you present the one with an ‘R’ on it, “and this one is for Reggie,” they beam in happiness at the getting such a personalised gift from you and continue their clay projects with new-found vigour.

It was relatively easy to create the small star pendants so, inspired by Regulus’ creations, you proceeded to craft minimalist ring bands, one each of you. Sirius’ you carved the same sort of archaic patterns as that of his wand, for Regulus, you did simple lines with an occasional dot and for yours, evenly placed mini daisies. At first, it was purely for making sure that Regulus didn’t feel left out from Sirius getting the family ring but, looking at your modest creations, your magnate mind begins to manifest an innovative idea you’re itching to begin. Your schedule is going to fill up very quickly and soon — there isn’t a chance that you’ll wait on this.

1st September 1971

Today couldn’t have crept up on you quickly enough. One minute you were settling into a cosy routine with your darling sons and now you were sending the eldest away for wizarding boarding school. It was happening too fast and your heart was constantly breaking from being torn between freely letting him go and childishly begging him to stay so that you could spend as much time with him as possible. Even the novelty of rushing onto platform 9¾ through the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 couldn’t keep the tears from filling your eyes. However, your unhappiness and woe were quickly wiped away when Sirius expressed muted sadness at the idea that his father was too busy to see him off to Hogwarts. That morning, try as you might you couldn’t convince Orion to be there for his son. The git was lucky Sirius had interrupted your argument to express his acceptance and neutrality over the situation or else you would have clocked the pretentious asshole’s jaw. You would be surprised if the hypothetical punch landed hard enough to dislocate both of his temporomandibular joints. He would be eating through a tube if it weren’t for your little boy’s interruption but you’ll be sure to sink your teeth into your git of a husband as soon as you get home.

Regulus seems to be whispering something to his older brother as they share a hug of goodbye. There was plenty of time for Sirius to get onto the train - you made sure of that - and you promised to wave him off as the train left the station so none of you were in any rush to leave the other. You kindly smile down at their wholesome interaction, completely drawn in by their innocence and heartfelt brotherly love for each other. Their relationship was worth preserving and building up. You were once saddened by Sirius and Regulus’ torn apart brotherhood but now, you’ll be devastated if your sons ever broke their bond like in the movies and books. So distracted by your loveable sons’ endearing display, you miss the shocked looks you were receiving from fellow parents of other children who were also boarding to attend Hogwarts — they simply couldn’t believe it!

Everyone knew the matriarch of the Black family. However, the very picture of her now was not what was to be expected. Rumours of her cold and unsympathetic disposition appeared as slanderous lies when they took in your warm smile and fond stare, looking solely upon your two sons. It was well-known amongst the wizarding community that the famous Black family’s eldest son, Sirius Black, would begin attending Hogwarts this year. They expected to see a conceited and substantially reserved display of the family by the platform but not… not this! This is something for the papers! Had the matriarch of the most ancient and noble house of Black always looked this beautiful and kind? Surely not!… But their eyes weren’t being deceived, they were seeing the truth! Many gasped and openly stared, thankfully hushed down by the nosiness of the platform, whilst others didn’t know how to interpret the display and opted to avert their eyes.

Around his small wrist, Sirius keeps your clay star pendant around his wrist, which had been painted a deep black per his request while the ’S’ is marked with metallic silver paint. He has such good taste for aesthetics despite his young age. Every day there was something new to be proud of him for, no matter how little. You love being a mother!

“Oh darling, I’m going to miss you so so much. You must promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, don’t be scared about making friends,” you look him in the eye as you say so, combing your fingers through his hair and pushing away the curling locks from his forehead, “they’re going to love you just as much as I do,”

“Me too, Siri,” Regulus’ soft interjection brings out a mutual laugh from you and the eldest Black brother. Sirius brings Regulus into another hug that you are also brought into.

“And if they don’t like you then they can suffer having none of those mini pies I baked for you,” the two of you share a smirk and a wink. Sirius had requested some shelf-stable foods to bring such as his favourite chutney, jams and jerky, all homemade by you, especially for him. Of course, you didn’t say no. You even suggested bringing along something yummy for the train ride despite already providing him an allowance to spend on the trolley.

“Regulus and I will write to you as often as we can so be on the lookout for our letters, okay?” he nods, eyes already sparkling from the anticipation and thought of receiving mail by owl solely for him. A letter addressed only to him, with his name on the envelope, and meant only for him to read — his feverish anticipation was to be expected. He couldn’t wait for his first letter.

“I’ll write back just as much, promise!”

“Good because if you don’t,” you scold playfully as Sirius bites back a cheeky giggle, “I’ll go to Hogwarts and demand a written letter back myself, I’ll bring Reggie with me too so that’s twice the heat you’ll be under young man, don’t forget,”

“Never,” Sirius whispers as he throws himself into your embrace once more. There’s never going to be enough hugging to satiate your aching heart, nor squash the sadness of watching your baby grow up too fast but, knowing the mischief and fun he’ll be getting up to, makes you almost giddy with excitement. You want to read all about it in his letters home!

As much as you’d like to have said your farewells for longer, Sirius still needed to board and needed help with his luggage. Thankfully there were plenty of staff to help him lug it all around, which you smiled gratefully for. They seemed stunned by your courtesy but tipped their caps in acknowledgement and whispered a quick ‘thanks’ in return, regardless.

Stepping back from the platform with Regulus at your side, the two of you try to follow Sirius along the train compartments as closely as you can until you finally see him settling into a box by himself. You wonder if he’ll be meeting his fellow marauders soon — god! You wish you could see them as adorable 11-year-old babies like your Sirius right now.

Regulus toddles up to be closer to the window, opposed to the thought of separating from his brother and tries to hold one last conversation with Sirius as everyone waits for the train to depart. To hear him clearer, Sirius reaches up to open the window. Smiling at the pair fondly, you almost miss a heart-stopping sight. From your left peripheral, you spot an untameable mess of dark hair and round hazel eyes sparkling in jubilation, framed with an adorable pair of round glasses — you barely withhold your gasp of surprise. But all too soon, from your right, you glimpse a head of neatly trimmed but slightly grown-out brown hair, belonging to a rather spindly boy swamped under a cosy autumn-brown jumper. On his softly curving jaw is a light, nicking scar and when he turns his head ever so slightly, you see another more prominent scar marked across the pudge of his cheek. You’ve seen a wild, baby-ish James Potter and Remus Lupin. Almost all of the marauders were spotted getting onto the Hogwarts Express but do you even want to see the final member? No! Of course not! It was then that you noticed sandy-blonde hair weaving through the crowds of parents wishing their children farewell – a last-minute attempt at getting onto the train on time. Behind him, he is followed by a similarly blonde woman, his mother. Goodness, both share such startling similarities, both have curved edges to their silhouette, pink cheeks and sea-blue eyes. They looked like an adorable pair and you had to admit that Peter’s portly appearance made him incredibly endearing for his age. They looked like an ordinary, harmless mother-son pair, much like you and your boys…

A whistle pierces through the station and snaps you out of your daze. Finally turning back to your Sirius, your eyes tear up again for the umpteenth time that day. Regulus had rushed back to your side, clinging onto the long, black skirt of your dress with one hand as he used the other to wave goodbye. Silently, you mouth an ‘I love you’. He isn’t as surprised as when you whispered the same affection to him whilst still on the platform so he was able to mouth it back — ‘I love you too, Mother,’ — your heart pinches. Picking Regulus up, you sit him on the curve of your hip and wave Sirius off together. You see the slight shimmer of tears in Sirius’ eyes too just before the train moves too far and takes Sirius away with it.

You miss him already.

SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 05 : SIRIUS : FIRST DAY →

A/N : surprise! goodness, this was a really big chapter hehe~ i hope you darlings enjoyed the read! i also would like to gently remind everyone that i am no longer doing taglists but to be notified whenever i post something, please follow and turn on notifications for reblog side account: @thekqipond where i will be reblogging every new fic as soon as i post it! the reason i was able to post this chapter a month ahead of my official come-back in October was to test my taglist solution and the order of chapters i want to post by Christmas ;) i hope you enjoy!

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

#marauders #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders era fix it fic #the marauders era #mother reader #sirius black #regulus black #the marauders #divorcing orion black #dob : series

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