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baka-bakeneko · 8 months

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Enmesh - Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x Fem Spider Scientist reader (afab biology)

a/n: venom venom venom miguel is the dirtiest and slimy but i'm loving this alot. also i ain't copin' to shit. (part two)

tags: Minors DNI, NSFW, Spiderverse hopping, scientific discovery, symbiotic relationship (kinda), references to self-harm (destruction and/or suicide), obsessive Venom, just as obsessive and possessive Miguel O'Hara, consensual non-consent, breeding kink, missionary, oral sex, tentacle (not tentacles), anal fingering, no use of lube, creampie, hint to cervix penetration

wc: 4.24 k

synopsis: Miguel asks you, fellow scientist and spider-in-training, to investigate an anomaly that popped up on the radar.

Miguel had tasked you to follow a couple of Spiders out on patrols, due to the spike in anomalies on Earth TRN688. He’d attempted to go out to that verse himself, but was called to aid Spiderwoman.

You did as ordered, keeping close remarks in the New York you appeared in. Following the Spider you were partnered with, you kept up with your own built-in web slingers and scanned over the landscape with your anomaly tracker.

Miguel followed your tracking, monitoring the spikes in the radar and mapping the New York geography. He was distracted in his own task, enough so that Jessica pocketed his personal tracker on you.

You managed to stop on the same rooftop as Reilly, catching your breath with another scan of the radar.

“What’s up?” He asked, pulling off his mask to catch his breath.

You shrugged, narrowing your eyes at the tracker as a spike rose up in the landscape. “We need to get over there.”

You pointed across Central Park, directly over the water. “There’s a spike out there.”

Reilly exhaled, returning his mask back on and kicking off of the rooftop. “Let’s go.”

You scampered after him, looking over the ledge of the rooftop to see your companion free-falling into New York traffic before catching himself on a web at the last second. You released a shaky breath, shooting out a web and jumping from the ledge, swinging after the Spider.

Upon reaching the anomaly spike, you landed roughly on the scorched grass in Central Park. You pulled yourself up and walked around the crash site of the meteorite. Reilly landed carefully behind you, watching as you slowly approached the cracked open, smoking space rock.

You leaned forward to look at the rock, plain of anything significant.

A splash of shadow lurched out at you and, in the split second of you lurching back in shock, Reilly shot a heavy web out to stop it. The captured ooze writhed on the ground before your feet, slowly soaking in Reilly’s web until you stamped a foot to cut it off.

You dug through your research bag to find a vial large enough for the thing to fit in and bent to stuff it in. You screwed on a tamper seal, holding the vial up to your face as the ooze, dark as night, began to float within the glass like a lava lamp.

Your thumb folded over the front of the glass, watching as the ooze lurched in the direction of it like it tried to attack you.

“The fuck is that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. But it’s alive.”

“No shit. It almost ate you.” Reilly said, standing to fold his hand over the back of his neck. “O’Hara would’ve killed me if something happened to you.”

You tore your gaze away from the ooze to look at Reilly. “I appreciate you babysitting me. I’ll tell Miguel your contribution to my safety.”

Reilly dropped his arms to his side, then crossed them over his chest. “Is that all we came for?”

You pursed your lips, bringing the vial into your full hold. “I think so.”

You gave the ooze another curious look then straightened up the contents of your bag to put it in carefully.

“Let’s go show him what we found.”

As soon as you were back in headquarters, you bounded towards Miguel’s office. You held onto the strap of your bag carefully, slipping between the countless number of Spider-people in the direction of the epicenter.

You paused at the gate of Miguel’s office, catching your breath once again when you noticed it was occupied with a group.

“Hone— Miguel,” you corrected yourself, pushing yourself forward to Miguel’s platform.

Miguel was directed at the front of the group, looking down at them in pause of giving orders. His eyes slowly shifted over to you, noting your ragged breathing and flushed face.

“Dismissed.” He waved off the group in an instant, lowering the platform to allow you up. “What did you find? Are you okay?”

You nodded, immediately digging into your bag to retrieve the ooze vial. “Your anomaly…was a meteorite. This was found at the crash site.”

You held the vial up between the two of you, your view crossed between it and Miguel’s gaze. Your fingers held the top of the vial and the two of you watched as the ooze lashed up at where your fingers touched the glass.

“Shocking,” Miguel whispered, gripping the bottom of the vial in effort to get the ooze to react to his touch.

The ooze paused, homing itself at the top of the glass where you touched before drooping a glob down as if to test the waters at Miguel’s touch. The two of you watched as it stretched along the vial, touching both ends of the glass and thrumming slightly.

“What do you think it is?” You asked, wanting to hear another scientist’s theory.

“I’m not entirely sure. Is it dangerous?” Miguel asked, tugging the vial from your hold and rolling it in his palm.

You winced softly, watching your discovery slosh about the vial. “It lashed out at me when I arrived but Reilly caught it.”

Miguel’s brows furrowed, pulling his eyes from the ooze before meeting your gaze. “You’re okay?”

His free hand reached out, retracting his claws, and caressed your cheek. You grinned briefly, leaning into his touch.

“I’m fine. Web-slinger’s coming along great.”

Miguel hid a gulp, mirroring your grin before retreating his touch. “You did great, hermosa. I’m dismissing you.”

You nodded, your eyes cutting to the ooze vial in his palm. When you looked at it, the ooze reacted and lurched out in your direction.

“Okay. Will you be home for dinner?”

Miguel folded his lips together, looking down at the ooze vial then back at you. “I may be a bit late. Gonna see what makes this thing tick.”

While you wanted to stay to conduct research with Miguel, you knew that Lyla would be just as good as you in that aspect. You reached for your shoulder, tensing the muscle that throbbed in its place.

Raising on your toes, you leaned forward with bracing Miguel’s thick forearm. “Don’t be too late, okay? You need your sleep.”

You kissed his stubbled cheek, rested your forehead to his temple. “And I miss you.”

Miguel fought the deep exhale from his chest, turning in the direction of your mouth. He was tempted at your soft lips, his nose nudging yours. “I miss you too. I promise not to overdo it.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you whispered, pointing your pinkie finger out for Miguel to cross with his own.

He did so, noting your thumb circling the silicone band on your ring finger. “Get some rest.”

Miguel managed to find another container to move the ooze into. He tapped it into the jar and immediately flipped it over.

Watching the sludge dart to the bottom of the jar then below to the table. He forced his hand over the bottom of the jar to keep it from slipping free and marked its response to light.

Nothing.

Its response to water, a quick drop next to it made the ooze not react. Miguel glared at the sludge, shifting the jar back and forth for some sort of response from it.

"You're alive, I know you have a weakness."

When he spoke at it, the ooze seemed to perk up in the direction of his voice. Miguel quirked a brow, tilted his head. "You can hear."

The ooze fashioned its glob in the direction of Miguel's tilt, as if to mimic him. Miguel peeled the jar up and tentatively poked out to the ooze.

"Are you..." Miguel began, watching the ooze lash out to his finger and worm quickly up his arm.

"Whoa, slow down." He reached to stop the sludge but it disappeared under his palm.

Miguel still felt the crawl of the ooze on his body, over his skin and, then, under it. He fashioned his claws, ready to tear into his skin but took a deep breath.

"Lyla!" Miguel called out, looking around his office for his AI. "Run a diagnostic. Quickly."

Lyla blipped into being, scanning over Miguel as he took a few deep breaths in before he felt a sudden onset of heat.

"Mierde," he released in a pant, waving for Lyla to dissipate his suit for the full scan.

"What's wrong, Miguel?" Lyla asked, zipping around Miguel's head as she produced a virtual tablet. "Your temperature's raised to 125."

Miguel's stomach rumbled slightly, his throat growing dryer by the second. His mouth was drying, his tongue aching from the lack of moisture.

"What do you have so far?" Miguel asked, resting his hands on his hips and following Lyla round his head. He kept his breathing steady, blinking slowly while his heart pounded hard against his ribs.

"I-I'm checking," Lyla cut out her attitude, running through her tablet at the scrolling diagnostic. "What is this, Miguel?"

"The-the anomaly," Miguel muttered, snapping his fingers in the direction of the empty jar. "The thing understands words, cognizant of what I say."

Lyla nodded, looking up from her tablet. "I see. The thing is trying to make a nest in your chest, Miguel. It's attaching to your spinal cord."

Miguel gulped, straightening his stature. "Is it...aggressive?"

"Not as I've seen so far. The...thing is trying to inhabit your spleen and draw nutrients from it."

"No," Miguel grunted, immediately clenching his side and puncturing his skin with his claws. "Not if I have a say in it."

Hungry.

Miguel heard the word echo through his head, the word husking into his ear. He tilted his chin, raising his hand to Lyla. "It speaks."

Lyla raised her brows, scrolling through the tablet and stopping at a blip. "It appears to be receding from your spleen. Quick, say something."

Miguel deadpanned at Lyla, cocked his jaw as his body grew in chills. "What are you hungry for?"

Anything.

Miguel looked to Lyla as she turned the tablet towards him. He noted the ooze retreating back to his spinal cord, housing itself between his vertebrae.

"Do you have a name?"

We are Venom.

Miguel exhaled and Lyla resumed her final diagnostics.

"You say you eat anything, yet you garner for my spleen. Why?" Miguel asked, retracting his claws from his skin.

We eat anything. Humans are food.

"Why not eat me immediately?" Miguel asked.

You are with the woman. The scientist. We are symbiotic. We want the woman.

Miguel grit his teeth. "You can't eat her."

We do not wish to eat her. We want her to host us.

Miguel scoffed, waving for Lyla to retrieve his clothes. "Never going to happen. You want to stay with me, that's fine. But you're never getting her."

The ooze within him hummed, the noise reverberated down his spine and he tensed his top lip.

"That's the only way you'll stay. Otherwise, I will destroy you."

Not before destroying yourself first.

"So be it." Miguel cocked his jaw, unfolding his pants after they blipped into existence on his workstation. He gave a nod to Lyla. "I have nothing better to do anyways."

What about the woman?

"My woman," Miguel stressed, pulling on his pants. He reached for his shirt next, folding it over his head and pulling it over his torso.

Mi amor, you call her that. What does that mean?

Miguel scoffed, suddenly glancing to Lyla. "It tapped into my brain stem too?"

Lyla solemnly nodded. Miguel hid a roll of his eyes.

"It means 'my love'. My second language."

And hermosa?

Miguel shook his head. "'Beautiful'."

She is.

"Hey." Miguel snapped his fingers as he stared straightforward. "Venom, right? You...stay out of the way of her. If I recognize a single drop of you in her, I'll dissect myself to kill you. Do we understand each other?"

Venom laxed within Miguel, the closest form of contentedness he felt after the being melded into him.

Fine. We go home to her, though?

Miguel shut his eyes in slight disbelief. "Yes. We do. She's my fiancée."

Lucky.

You tried to stay up for Miguel, even after you climbed into bed. There was nothing to keep you in the meantime, after eating dinner and cleaning up the apartment, you waited.

It wasn't until your head jerked back up that you realized you had dozed off. And there was still no sign of Miguel. Shutting off your light, you returned to bed and soon fell asleep.

Miguel appeared in the bedroom when you were finally gone. He waited at the door, listening to you rustle between the sheets.

Venom demanded to be fed as soon as Miguel left headquarters. In order to keep his part of the deal, Miguel stopped at a convenience store and stocked up on roller hot dogs.

The taste of rolled-over grease settled wrong on his tongue, he gagged over not hacking the food back up.

"Why not chicken?" Miguel asked, on his way back to the apartment while suppressing a belch.

Chicken, no.

Miguel stepped into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, staring at you splayed over the mattress. He chuckled, tugging at your big toe.

She's pretty.

"She's my everything," Miguel offered, kneeling onto the bed and moving over you.

She smells delicious.

Miguel cut his face to the side, snarling at the darkness of the room. "You stay out of my mind. She's private."

Venom growled within Miguel. He felt a soft wiggle in his side, acknowledging the familiar ooze that emanated from his skin.

We feel how you do about her.

Venom's appendage caressed Miguel's chin and his nostrils flared.

"I'm not open to sharing." Miguel retorted, his top lip peeling up to reveal his fang.

Who said anything about sharing? We share your body, Miguel. Everything else is one.

Miguel leaned down and rested his forehead to your stomach, nudging his nose along your skin. You stirred, your hand tensing.

"She's mine, only mine," Miguel whispered.

You wish to impregnate her.

Miguel slammed his eyes shut, teeth grit harder as he folded his bottom lip to your skin. "I want her through and through."

Touching.

Miguel tsked, kissing up your body as he applied his weight over you. Venom's appendage slithered over the bed and ghosted over your pillow.

"You don't get to touch her," Miguel ordered softly. "Not unless it's through me."

Your rules.

Venom retracted the appendage and Miguel kissed behind your ear.

"Hermosa, I'm home." Miguel whispered. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Your tired hand reached up to comb through Miguel's hair. "You're burning up, baby."

"I know." Miguel rolled his eyes, his hands planting at your hips. "Cool off with me."

You grinned, working up to waking. "Keep moving like this, I'll break out in a sweat too."

Miguel hummed, kissing across your cheek. "I miss you."

You arched into Miguel, feeling the heat of his body all over you like a rash. His crotch was raving with heat, pressed just over your panties.

"I missed you," you hissed back, feeling your body awaken to his touch.

Her sounds, they are delicious too.

Miguel bit at your earlobe, earning your coo. He bowed his head, forcing out a remark to Venom. "Stop it."

"I can't help it," you moaned, raising your leg.

"Mi amor." Miguel returned to your mouth and kissed you, feeling the anomaly within him ebbing up his throat.

He pulled back with a harsh swallow. His jaw cocked, Miguel reversed back down your body with kisses.

In your shirt, he muttered at Venom to stay in their lane. He bit at the waistband of your panties and peeled them down, lashing his tongue out to stripe your pubic bone.

You sighed, raising your hips for Miguel to pull your panties down. He did so, grinning devilishly as he did. The heat rose under his skin, feeling a prickle at the sight of your sex.

Miguel selfishly leaned in to kiss your inside thigh, dragging his lips along your skin before descending on your pussy. He didn't waste a moment, making a meal of your clit.

You edged awake, sitting up to tighten your grip on his hair. "Baby."

Miguel moaned into you, staring across your body to meet your tired eyes. Venom rattled in Miguel's chest, the ooze ready to lash out and gain his own taste of you.

Miguel pulled away, bit his own tongue to draw back the anomaly. You groaned, shifting your hips up to gain his mouth back.

"Stay," he hissed.

We want to taste.

You purred, grinding your hips back to the mattress. "So bossy."

Miguel flashed a grin at you, bowing back to resume between your legs. "Not a chance. Live in my wake," he muttered against your lips, kissing them before parting you with his tongue.

He forced his crotch to the bed, trying to work out his own pleasure while focusing on yours.

You want her. We want her too. We can help.

"Get bent," Miguel slopped, suctioning his mouth over your clit.

You crooned, breath picking up with each soft lap to your bundle of nerves. "Miguel, please..."

She begs for us.

"Not for you," Miguel offered, popping your clit from his mouth with another heated glare at you.

He shifted, grinding his pelvis against your heat. Your face pinched, a breathy groan escaping your lips. Your hands went to Miguel's hair, combing it from his face to see the lust driven in his eyes.

Instead of crimson lashing through his irises, it was obsidian. The black that pooled his pupils flashed then receded and you swallowed.

Miguel met your lips, allowed you to taste yourself on his tongue. Venom's appendage reappeared, slipping against your thigh as Miguel shifted out of his sweats.

His mouth occupied his demand for Venom to take a backseat. While he didn't understand the anomaly's obsession with you, he knew the need.

Hissing away from your kiss, Miguel bowed his head again. "Stay out of her," he whispered to himself.

She wants you, let us help please her.

"Not a chance," Miguel whispered, angling his stiffened cock against your entrance.

He sank in an inch, allowing you to adjust to his size. You squirmed, your hips lifting to earn more of him. "Please, baby. More."

You rocked your hips in effort to gain his friction. Miguel's hands at your hips held you still, hissing at the heat in his body. Venom ran laps along Miguel's spine, snarling and biting inside for a chance.

Miguel grabbed at the stray appendage of Venom slithering towards your ass and tossed it aside. He sank another inch into, adjusting to your clenching walls.

The heat from within you and the rising temperature of Venom made Miguel sweat out of his pants.

"Miguel, you okay?" You asked, taking note of the rivulets of sweat that doused his face.

The obsidian flashed in his eyes again, making him shed his shirt before going for yours next.

"I need to feel all of you," Miguel grunted, suddenly a man possessed.

The film of sweat on him slicked over your body, his hands gripping tighter in your hips as he sank further until you tensed. It was too much too soon, his size always being something to ease into.

Miguel ducked his head to your shoulder and recanted his hips. "Forgive me, mi amor. I'm starved for you."

His voice was laced with filth, the tone of him so needy and rough. He felt his throat was dragged through desertion to end at the fountain of you.

Miguel's arms caged over you, centering you in the middle of the bed while his skin dripped over yours. So open and naked, his eyes primal while he gulped at the sight of you.

She's so ripe.

Your legs melted further apart at Miguel's hips, your knees easing up while your stomach curled at the carnal stare that bore into you. You shared a soft swallow, feeling Miguel's throbbing cock nestled in your beating walls.

Venom's appendage snaked up your inner thigh, making your walls clench tighter, until a warmth settled between your cheeks.

Your hand reached down to examine the feeling, only to be caught by Miguel's hand on your wrist. You quirked, glancing between your bodies to acknowledge the warmth as Miguel's other hand wedged under your body and traced down your back.

He rested his palm to the small of your back, angling your hips to allow him more. You panted before his lips, feeling Miguel's fingers part your cheeks with a timid grin.

"I want to make you..."

Ours.

"Mine all over," he finished, leaning into your lips to peck. "Is that okay?"

You released a shaky breath and arched into Miguel's body. "Make me yours."

She's filthy. We like her.

"Stop me if it's too much," Miguel offered, finally relenting to Venom's appendage to take lead at your tighter hole.

At the same time, Miguel began to thrust softly into you. He readily eased your mind while Venom lapped the flexible appendage against your hole, making a movement like licking.

"Miguel," you gasped as Venom pushed in softly, testing the pucker of your ass.

Miguel nodded along with you, thrusting with your breaths and intoxicating himself between the two of them. He could taste Venom's excursion on his tongue, feeling the tight muscle slowly give way to the tip and thrust in.

The three of you vibrated on a similar wavelength, Miguel snarling as he fucked into and tasted you all at once. You wiggled at the slow drag of Miguel's assumed dry fingers in your ass, the feeling giving way to your slick being used as lube.

Venom pushed in softer, wiggling in soft half-circles to caress every sensitive wall. You cried into Miguel's mouth when both his fingers and his cock collided within you and sent a shockwave of pleasure to your system.

Your knees shook at Miguel's sides; he stared down at you, drinking in your demeanor while he and Venom made work of you.

She's beautiful.

"You're so beautiful," Miguel stole his words back from the anomaly as they echoed.

You smiled, drunk from the pleasure that vibrated through you. Miguel huffed against you, kissed your lips again as he ground his pelvis against your clit.

You felt another shock to your system, your toes curling as his fingers curved up to meet the thrusts of his cock.

Give her something good.

Miguel cut his eyes behind his lids, finally ignoring the alien and picking up his thrusts to meet your level of high. He was going to take you both over, not the anomaly obsessed.

Your hands gripped at Miguel's shoulders, not able to help the desperate clawing to his massive back to gain your standing. It was a fruitless effort, finding your hips rocking as Miguel's fingers ruined your ass and his cock paved through you.

"C-cum in me," you choked out, resting your forehead to Miguel's.

Make it good. Breed her.

Miguel ignored Venom's disturbed wants, only listened to you. He ground into you again, this time earning your body trembling as an orgasm tore through you.

It made a mess of you, your stomach heaving while your knees knocked at Miguel's sides. Your palms flattened to the small of Miguel's back, forcing his hips further into you. You rocked your hips to ride out your ecstasy, attempting to drive Miguel over at the same instance.

She's a keeper, alright.

Miguel mirthlessly scoffed, following the rock of your hips until the sweat broke out in another wave. He pushed into you, to the hilt, touching the white hot soft ring inside your pussy and came.

He doused your cervix with his cum, kissing at the womb's entrance with the desire to drive deeper into you. Miguel's mind raced, thinking of spelunking further, making you a whole new his.

At the same time, Venom slinked back to its recesses. Reeling back into Miguel, sated and quiet.

Miguel caught his breath over you, losing the strength in his arms and resting his full body against you. You panted just the same, staring up at the dark ceiling while your fingers combed through the nape of his hair. Your other hand traced up and down his spine, inadvertently petting the anomaly housed inside him.

"I," you began, lining your dry throat with a new coat of saliva. "I take it research wasn't a bust."

Miguel kissed at your neck, nuzzling his face in the crevice of your shoulder. "No, it wasn't. You...you brought me a blessing."

We're a blessing?

You edged your chin in to glance down at Miguel. "Really?" You asked, incredulous.

Miguel shook his head. "No, it's an actual pain in the ass. But worth further study."

You laughed softly then, resting your head back to the mattress. "Yeah, speaking of ass..."

Miguel tensed against you, ready for you to catch onto his secret play underneath the skin.

"I liked that," you admitted, rolling your eyes at the raw feeling of your hole, your walls still throbbing around Miguel's still-hard cock.

Of course she did.

Miguel grimaced at the anomaly's cocky nature echoed through him. He pecked at your skin. "I'll never do it again unless you want."

You blushed, shutting your eyes. "As long as I'm yours."

#miguel spiderman #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara one shot #miguel o'hara smut #venom symbiote #venom #symbiote #across the spiderverse #spiderman #marvel 2099

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regretmedaisy · 6 months

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i can see you - tom riddle x fmc/reader

part II

loosely inspired by "i can see you" by taylor swift.

“I've been watchin' you for ages

And I spend my time tryin' not to feel it”

summary: She had always fancied Tom Riddle. It was an infatuation that bordered on love and obsession, that she had secretly grown and cared for, content with indulging in her fantasies and never bold enough to try and make them become reality.

When she meets him again in her adulthood, dormant longings resurface together with a newfound desire to be the object of his own devotion.

As their paths keep crossing, she starts to think he feels the same.

tags: afab mc, use of female pronouns and no descriptors (i tagged it as x reader because i guess it could be read as such if you use the same pronouns), somewhat period-accurate clothing, courtship (just a little because it's still tom riddle), fmc has a crush on tom, she's a bit anxious, a bit of fluff, explicit sexual desire, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, woman is on top.

please note that mc has a crush on tom, therefore the way she refers to him could sound a bit cheesy and exaggerated. i edited this last night and didn't read it again before posting. i'm sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes i missed.

bear with her in this one, she's a little anxious.

words: 6.7K

you can find part I here, I strongly recommend you read that one first.

this is me crawling out of my hole of shame to post this chapter.

i'm really sorry for this very late update, but the smut chapter is finally here after many days of writing (but still in time for smutober lol).

it's not crazy smut, but i hope it was worth the wait.

Part II: And I could see you up against the wall with me

She tapped her foot, pursing her red lips as she jotted a few numbers down on a parchment. She sighed, taking another folder from the pile on her side and checking if the reports corresponded.

When Serena, her boss, had showed up that morning with two delivery men in tow, she already knew her day was going to take a detestable turn.

Serena had dropped three boxes full of last year's reports in the office and sprinted out of the door before they could say anything and try to stop her.

Apparently she had hired a cheap accountant to save money and now she had to review everything before the Ministry noticed and demanded an audit. Or rather, Serena had asked her to do it.

She was now holed up in the backroom while Will had taken her place in the main office, since Serena didn’t pay her enough to care about customers and save her from bankruptcy at the same time.

She glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost time for her usual break. She chewed the inside of her cheek and returned to the reports.

She wasn’t in the right mindset to meet Tom.

The day she had gone to see him had been like the calm before the literal storm. In the past week it had rained so heavily that she had had to give up on going out and he hadn’t come to post his letters. What had happened between them had been left unresolved.

She had replayed it so many times in her mind, at night and during idle moments in the office, picturing different ways in which it could have ended, desperately wishing she could indulge in his warm lips again.

The first few days she had fretted about it, but as the week had gone by without a word from him, she had just started to accept it as the normal course of things. Perhaps it had just been an extraordinary event, a moment that wasn’t going to repeat itself and that she needed to find contentment in. Perhaps it was supposed to be one of those memories she was going to return to in twenty years, thinking about everything she could have had, or it will sour in her mind, turning into regret while her lamenting soul grieved the possibilities of youth, the chances she had been too scared to take.

It didn’t matter that she was conscious of the anxious butterflies leading her decisions, she still didn’t want to find out if what she saw in him was just a product of her infatuated imagination.

She immersed herself in numbers, refusing to go down that rabbit hole again.

Fifteen minutes after the end of her break, a customer walked in. A beat of silence followed and then Will said, “She’s in the back.”

She almost jumped out of her seat, her heart rate picking up. She quickly smoothed her hair and sat straighter, crossing her legs.

Tom appeared in the doorway, his arm half raised as if he had wanted to knock. She pretended she had just noticed him.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hello, Tom.” She gave him a mellow smile.

He was so good-looking, with his perfectly styled curls and black coat in the muted light of the cloudy morning. Her heart fluttered painfully.

He looked hesitant as he made his way to her and handed her a folded magazine. It was the weekly crossword.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it as her gaze met his. The way he was looking at her was so compelling it was impossible for her to divert her eyes.

He had been thinking of her, she realised, he had noticed her absence, perhaps even missed her.

“I hope I’m not disrupting your work.” His gaze trailed to the numerous papers scattered on the table.

“Not at all, a distraction is more than welcome.” The distraction of his presence was most desirable.

He drew closer, reading through them as he casually rested his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Maths mostly,” she replied, fiddling with the parchments to hide her nervousness.

He reached out over her shoulder to grab a folder but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s still work.”

He dropped his arm. “You’re right, I apologise. I don’t wish to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“It’s fine.”

He stepped to the side, tickling her neck.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from grinning.

“Of course.”

She watched him with desirous parted lips as he left. He said goodbye to Will and she heard the door closing. It was only a matter of minutes before Will came to pry.

She grabbed the crossword, flipping through the pages. He had bought her her favourite one.

As she got up to put it next to her bag, a small note fell to the ground. It was a plain piece of parchment. But as she picked it up, ready to throw it on the table with the rest of the documents, words started to appear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew to whom that elegant and neat handwriting belonged.

She read the note. Then read it again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

“I hope to see you more often in the future.

You look stunning with that lip colour.

T.R.”

She brought her fingers to her mouth, staring at the words until each swirl of ink etched into her mind, terrified they might disappear.

Instead his message remained there, visible, tangible, real. He had taken time to write her a note, to think about something he knew she’d appreciate.

Something warm diffused in her chest, a new version of a familiar feeling, and a giggle escaped her as she realised the ridiculous effect he had on her.

She was so engrossed in her reverie that she didn’t notice Will standing in the door until he cleared his throat.

She quickly hid the message in her purse and he was so considerate not to comment on it.

“How is it going?” he asked.

“Awfully slowly, these numbers are all over the place,” she huffed, returning to her chair.

He dragged a chair and sat across from her. He started bouncing his knee. “I know you’d prefer not to talk about this, but how are things between you two?”

She stopped twirling her quill. “What do you mean?”

Will shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you but I’d hate to see you hurt.”

She tilted her head to the side, disliking the territory the conversation was heading towards.

He was struggling with his words. “He never- I never saw him interested in a girl. I just want to be sure you know what you can expect from him.”

She averted her eyes. “I have considered all the options.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know, Will!” she bursted out.

Her flare of annoyance suddenly deflated, making room for embarrassment for what he probably saw as naivety.

“I know I’m probably getting ahead of myself.”

“You are smart, I just can’t stand watching you smile at the things he writes to you.”

She feigned offence and threw a balled up paper at him.

“When you find someone, you’ll be just as ridiculous.”

He laughed and steepled his fingers in front of him. “I’m curious to know, when did it start?”

She scrunched her eyebrows, thinking about how much she wanted to reveal. “I don’t remember exactly. It was more like a sequence of events, until one day I was anxiously waiting for him to sit at his usual spot at breakfast,” she replied with a smile. Will was smiling too.

“You and half of Hogwarts,” he said.

She chuckled. “I miss those years sometimes. Everything was simpler.”

“I used to worry about everything,” he admitted. “But fears always seem so big.”

They really did.

“What do you like about him?” he asked after a beat of silence.

It was her turn to be at a loss of words. “He’s handsome…and always so mysterious. I think I always liked him because it was easy to imagine him being exactly what I wanted.” She looked at him hesitantly, fearing judgement, but he was just listening. “But I think it’s impossible for me to dislike the real him.”

They shared a small moment of closure. She had always wished for someone she could confide in, someone that could help her see beyond the fabrications of her wary heart, and perhaps she had finally found them.

The bell chimed and Will got up.

“Do you want to come for lunch on Sunday?” she asked.

“I’d love to. I’m sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His gaze shifted between the door and her. “Just make sure you both want the same thing.”

He went back, leaving her at the mercy of her insidious brain and foolish heart.

Throughout the afternoon she had opened the note at least three times, giggling like a schoolgirl everytime she read his words.

Her mind kept straying to what he had said.

“I’ll see you later.”

She wasn’t sure what he had actually meant. Was he just going to stop by or was he going to wait for the office to close? She wasn’t even sure she could see him today, since she expected to stay late to solve Serena’s mess.

Will popped in. “I have to check something at the owlery. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.”

The door opened and closed and then she was submerged by stillness. It was soothing almost.

She had found out long ago that she enjoyed being alone, it freed her of any kind of expectation.

She turned up the heating with her wand and took off her jacket. Since they couldn’t light a fireplace in a room full of paper, they had refined a spell that kept the room warm and the humidity away.

It was a few minutes after the usual closing hour that the door opened again. She knew who it was.

He walked in, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold and his lips reddened.

“Are you still working?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m afraid it’ll take a while before I’m free to go.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, grabbing her crossword and a quill and sitting down on a chair, bending one leg so that his ankle rested on his other knee.

Her face heated as she watched him but she didn’t say anything.

As she returned to her work, she realised that silence was a strange assistant. It felt like every sound was heightened and she was becoming keenly aware of everything that was happening. The scratching of their quill on parchment, paper being flipped as she checked the numbers or he looked for a crossword he liked, his soft breath threatening to pull her close like a magnet, her absentmindedly chipping her nail polish.

She kept throwing glances in his direction and she could feel his eyes on her from time to time.

An unspoken craving was growing between them again. She had waited long enough.

She slowly got up, gathering her reports and stacking them in a neat pile. She then took them and walked over to the shelves, conveniently passing by Riddle in doing so.

As she stored them, his chair scraped on the ground and she felt him draw closer. She deliberately turned around, meeting his eyes.

His gaze was deep, like he was trying to read every thought that crossed her mind just by looking at her. She wasn’t going to lay them bare for him.

He raised his hand, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you get my message?”

“I did,” she replied, stepping forward and trailing her fingers down his suit jacket, feeling the fabric. “You keep mentioning it but this is the first time I’ve seen you all week.”

“It was storming all week,” he pointed out.

She tilted her head, finding his eyes again. His eagerness was palpable. “Still,” she said.

He grabbed her waist, pressing her body flush against his. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

She had thought about that moment since then.

“Tell me what you desire the most.”

What could she tell him? That she had been pining for him for so long she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else? That she was jealous of even thinking about him with someone else? Will’s words played in her mind.

She leaned closer, murmuring against his ear. “Not until I know why you’re here, Tom.”

She left a kiss on his jaw, phantom lips brushing against his flawless skin.

“It’s a really uncomplicated answer,” he said, caressing her back.

“Explain it to me, then.”

Tender amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. “Do you really think I came here because I don’t own an owl?”

His words pulled at her heartstrings with raw delight and her mind went blank. Adrenaline was rushing through her as she listened to her impulses. It was enough, at least for now it was enough.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her hand in his hair, involuntarily tugging at the strands as she leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath as he pulled her in, gripping the silky fabric of her blouse.

She met his lips halfway, the burning touch consuming her as he pressed her against the shelves, one hand lost in her hair, the other splayed around her ribcage.

She bit his lower lip, smiling as it elicited a groan from him and the kiss became more demanding.

It was a moment frozen in time, where she wanted to stay forever, like the scenery in a snowglobe.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice abruptly pulled them apart. She was breathless as she realised she had forgotten to lock the door. Was this a conspiracy?

Tom was slightly panting and she left a small kiss on his neck.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

She used a finger to fix her smudged lipstick and went to see who had just dared to interrupt them.

There was a man standing in the office.

“We’re closed,” she said.

“But I saw the light on.”

There was a twitch in her jaw. “We are closed to the public. I must ask you to come tomorrow morning.”

He rolled his eyes and she ignored his grumbling as he left, locking the door behind him. When she went back, Tom was leaning against the table.

He turned his head towards her as she languidly got closer. She forgot pleasantries, immediately grabbing his face to kiss him again. He was quick to react, wrapping his arms around her.

His mouth trailed down, kissing her cheek, her jaw and then pressing against her neck, soft lips and the occasional scrape of his teeth.

He grabbed her waist and spun her around, flattening her back against his chest and brushing her hair away from her neck to bite and lick her skin. His hands travelled down and he started gathering the fabric of her skirt.

Merlin, it was finally happening.

He caressed her inner thigh, tracing patterns and snapping the nylon of her stockings as his fingers moved excruciatingly slow.

Finally he pulled her underwear to the side, feeling the wetness between her folds with his fingers as his other hand cupped her breast.

She threw her head back against his shoulder as he stroked her clit, eliciting a sigh out of her, and she grabbed his thigh for support.

“I won’t drop you,” he murmured, amused, against her ear. He rubbed his palm over her clothed breast, the friction causing sparks to jolt through her body.

None of her fantasies came even close to what she was feeling right now.

“Should I trust you?” she asked, biting her lip to suppress a moan as he sunk one finger inside of her, his thumb still applying pressure on her clit.

“Such a great timing to ask me that,” he replied. She felt him smile on her skin.

“We don’t really know each other, Tom.” She dug her fingers into his flesh as he slipped in a second finger and started fingering her, stretching her as pleasure morphed her features.

“And yet you are letting me do this.” He squeezed her breast, lewd wet sounds filling the room as he kept moving his fingers inside of her.

She leaned her body weight completely on him, her legs unsteady as it was precarious the beating of her heart.

He let out a low moan as she yanked his hair to catch his mouth, biting his lip hard to gain better access, their tongues tangling together.

He curled his fingers inside of her, an unrelenting wave of pleasure washing over her.

She stopped to imagine what it would be like if he dropped to his knees again, if he started kissing and licking her, if she could watch him at her mercy between her legs.

She realised in that moment that the fall down the precipice was inevitable. Tom had threatened to push her but she had allowed him to succeed, jumping into an abyss that felt unending but that could only allow two conclusions to her story.

What she had told Will was true. She loved the fantasy, all the glances, conversations, gestures that had never happened, that she had delighted herself with when the reality was harsher, but as she kissed him she knew that falling for the real Tom was unavoidable. Not if he kept touching her like that.

It was bound to happen, it was part of her story, the decision she was brave enough to take.

She focused on him, on the circles his thumb was drawing on her clit, on the indecent sounds falling from her lips, on his groans on her reddened skin, on him growing harder against her back.

He pulled her hair back, tilting her head to meet her gaze. His eyes glimmered with rapture while hers were heavy-lidded, tension building inside of her.

He didn’t take his eyes off of her, as if he wanted to memorise each detail of her, the way she looked at him, the way her lips parted slightly and the way she panted as she was nearing her orgasm.

“Just like that, darling,” he murmured, a pleased smile on his lips as he noticed she was still blushing.

She threw her head back, losing herself in the motion of his fingers, surrendering herself as blissed moans spilled out shamelessly. She squeezed his soaked fingers, and he kept moving, stroking her throughout her climax.

She panted, coming down from her apex in a flurry of emotions and flustered thoughts. He raised his wet fingers to her lips and she opened her mouth, tasting herself on her tongue as she sucked on them, never breaking eye contact.

“Good girl,” he said, holding her jaw and kissing her.

It was a slow kiss, meant to explore her depths in a different way from the breathless and unrestrained passion from before. She leaned into his palm, her hand closing around his wrist.

His arms snaked around her waist and he turned them around, pushing under her thighs to lift her on the table.

The kiss transformed again.

Teeth and tongues met with vehemence, burning urgency guiding their movements as he brought her legs around his waist and she quickly started to unbutton her blouse.

But at the third button, she stopped.

Tom noticed the shift in her demeanour and drew back, observing her. Her eyes flew to the clock, as she had just remembered about Will.

She noticed with disappointment that they had no time.

“What is it?” he asked. She didn’t miss the urgent tone of his question.

“Will will be back any time now,” she replied, leaving a peck on his lips.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, composing himself. She got off the table and

cool hands unexpectedly reached her again, adjusting her clothes and stockings. She shivered at the contact.

He smoothed her skirt and put his coat back on, watching her as she scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to him.

“If you want to stop by one of these days.”

“I remember where you live,” he replied, reading the address she had written down.

She shrugged, holding out one finger to wipe away the lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you have to go back to work?”

“I was supposed to meet with a potential supplier, so yes.”

“I’d stop by the bathroom before,” she advised, gesturing for him to go as she herself needed to compose herself again.

She braced herself against the threshold, leaning her head on the hard wood as she watched him unlock the door and leave.

Then she was alone, finally finding an answer in the cluster of hypotheses that had tormented her mind.

Two days later, as she was returning from her meeting with Serena, she found Tom waiting for her.

He was talking to Will and they both turned to her as she entered, feeling tremendously self-conscious.

“How is Serena?” Will asked.

“Dim-witted as always,” she replied, earning a laugh from Will.

Her eyes trailed to Riddle, holding an unspoken question.

Will seemed to notice because he stepped forwards.

“It’s quite late, you can go if you want, I’ll close.”

Tom didn’t wait for him to repeat himself, pushing down the handle and holding the door open for her.

She mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him and followed Tom outside. Once in the street, she huddled herself in her coat and took the arm he was offering her.

“May I walk you home?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, a little breathy, still not immune to the chivalrous manners he always had with her.

They strolled through the streets, passing by scarcer and scarcer people as the stores emptied and everyone returned home seeking a tranquil evening.

She held his arm tightly, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of his coat.

The first time they had walked together it had felt like an accident, a singular mistake in the already waved threads of her life. This time, she yearned for so much more than she wanted for the error to repeat itself; she was willing to cut the strings herself and tie them back together, as messy as it might have looked.

They crossed the road and he gently put a hand on her waist, pushing her away from the pavement.

“Would you fancy dinner?” he asked. There was a foreign quality in his voice and when she turned to look at him, he averted his eyes. She blinked bewildered. Was he nervous?

“I’d love to,” she replied and she noticed his chest rising like he had just begun breathing again. “But not tonight.”

An almost imperceptible smile cleared his expression at her answer and she leaned her head on his shoulder, basking in his mere presence.

When they reached her front door, she looked for her keys with embarrassingly clammy hands.

As she lifted her head to ask Tom if he wanted to stay, she found his eyes impatiently boring into her bag.

“Would you-”

His gaze snapped to her, serious and scorching. “Don’t even ask.”

Something coiled between her legs at the way he was looking at her. She nodded and walked up the few stairs to her door, unlocking it.

“Second floor,” she said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

They stepped into the building, the sound of her heels and the soles of his shoes hitting the stone ricocheting through the empty hall.

She turned to gesture to him to follow her when he grabbed her face, kissing her as he pushed her against the wall by the foot of the stairs. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it just as she suspected he loved by the way he always pressed himself harder against her.

He curved his palm around her cheek, better angling her face as their tongues met.

“I have a nosy neighbour,” she said after they pulled apart to catch their breath. “She is probably spying on us through her peephole.”

Tom didn’t think twice about it, taking her hand and leading her up to the second floor. She stifled a laugh as she unlocked the door, Tom’s lips skimming against her neck as she did, and was left breathless when he closed it unceremoniously behind them, resuming from where they had been interrupted.

As she dropped her bag and grabbed his waist, walking backwards into her living room, she remembered there were clothes somewhere - perhaps in the bathroom but she wasn’t sure - that she had forgotten to put away yesterday.

In any case, Tom didn’t look particularly interested in how tidy she was.

They quickly took off each other's coats and discarded them on the floor.

He sat on her sofa, pulling her down with him.

She was straddling him, her knees digging into the plush cushions as his hands appreciatively caressed her back, moving up and down and occasionally squeezing. She lit the fireplace with a wave of her hand.

She rocked her hips, rubbing against him and eliciting a long awaited moan from him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, their lips collading so hard she was sure she cut him.

She helped him out of his jacket and vest and undid his tie, smoothing her hands on his white button-down.

“I’ve waited too long,” she said, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and grinding against him. Her hands disappeared under his undershirt and ran over his pale chest, lightly scratching his skin.

“Slowly, my dear. We will get there,” he replied between kisses.

His palms kept tracing her thighs and his face buried in her neck, nibbling at the thin skin.

When she was a small girl, before she discovered sex, Tom Riddle was just a boy she liked. During puberty, sharing stories and questions with her friends, she started to understand what was the sensation that passed through her everytime she was close to him, the one that made her cheeks redden and her mind go somewhere she wasn’t yet comfortable with.

As an adult, sexual relations weren’t unfamiliar to her, but this carnal longing, the need of a physicality that went beyond her skin touching his, was.

He opened her blouse, revealing her silk slip and bra underneath.

She wanted to touch his soul, to hold it and comprehend it.

Her eyes fell on the tattoo on his forearm, black tendrils of ink in the shape of a serpent slithering out of a skull.

“Does this have a meaning?” she asked.

He followed her gaze, blinking surprised at her question. “It does.”

“Am I prying too much if I say I’m curious to learn it?”

He bit his lip, opening and closing his fist as if he was scrambling for words. Or perhaps he was just determining if he could trust her.

“It’s a reinterpretation of the ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail,” he finally said. “It symbolises eternity and the renewal of the being after rebirth.”

She traced her fingers on his skin, following the outline of the snake. “And what does your interpretation mean?”

“There is time to talk about it later,” he whispered, his teeth biting her neck and sinking lower, kissing her collarbone and her sternum, moving the fabric covering her breasts to the side.

She let go of the subject. She knew what it meant not being comfortable sharing your life.

He held one breast between his fingers, latching his mouth over the other, sucking her nipple and twirling his tongue around it.

She moaned, rolling her hips faster as he revered her bosom, the cold air hitting her moist skin and making her shiver as he took her other nipple in his mouth, lightly tugging at it until she reached the point where pleasure and discomfort mixed.

“Since we are in the mood for confessions…” she said between moans. He raised his head and looked at her waiting for her to continue. She hesitated, collecting all her courage.

“Why did you pursue me?”

His eyes softened, glimmering with fondness. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Because there is something extremely valuable in your devotion.” His voice was an intimate murmur, a confession no one else could hear.

She freezed, turning her head to the side to hide her mortification.

He took her chin, searching for her eyes until she finally gave in.

“Don’t be embarrassed, darling, I respect it, I understand it. Obsession keeps us alive, it’s what drives us.”

She swallowed the lump of embarrassment in her throat. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Being the object of the desire of such a woman? Of a witch? I do,” he replied, and he was so direct and earnest that her heart swelled.

He lifted her to sit on the sofa, sliding down on his knees on the floor and taking off his shirt and vest. She remained silent as he rolled down her tights, his lips gliding down her smooth skin. He unbuttoned her skirt and helped her out of it, tracing patterns on her inner thigh as his other hand felt her damp underwear.

She tensed, something tightening in her lower abdomen and her eyes fell down to his trousers.

He kissed the crease of the thigh, like he had done that one time at Borgin and Burkes, but this time she wasn’t letting anyone interrupt them.

He took off her underwear, his movements deliberately slow, and kissed her everywhere, except there.

His lips felt hot on her skin, searing her flesh like she had often dreamed about, carving his way into her body the same way he had done with her mind and heart, until her entire soul was consumed by him, until he could finally close that fist and feel her in a way nobody had before.

Her breath hitched as he delicately kissed her mound, spreading her legs apart. She leaned her head against the backrest, licking her lips with anticipation, and she couldn’t contain a whimper as he felt his tongue dragging down her slit, sweet and cruel.

He took her clit in his mouth, sucking on it as his hand splayed on her abdomen to keep her still.

She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed.

“Look at me, darling,” he murmured against her folds. His breath was warm and pleasant.

She obliged, meeting his devilish grinning figure between her legs. She was incapable of looking away as he resumed his work, she didn’t want to look away. She wanted to watch him, finally allowing herself to fully indulge in him, in what he wished to do for her.

She observed his curved eyelashes, the way his perceptive eyes followed her reactions, refining his movements to please her better.

He sucked her labia and she moaned loudly, the idea of him enjoying this as much as her being exhilarating.

He threw her leg on his shoulder, resulting in her figure sliding down the cushions and him gaining better access to her.

His tongue probed her entrance as he coated his fingers in her wetness. He slipped one finger in, working her thoroughly as she gripped his hair, keeping his head in place.

He inserted a second finger, his tongue on her clit moving accordingly to the delighted sounds she emitted.

“Tom,” she cried urgently as she tried to press herself harder against him.

He curled his fingers inside of her and her hips jolted upwards, arching her back to an uncomfortable angle as she reached her orgasm with lascivious bliss, her obscene moans matching the wet sounds he produced by licking her until she came down from her climax.

“Tom,” she said again, so breathless her voice was a raspy whisper.

“I know,” he said, kissing her leg and inhaling deeply, like he was trying to commit the moment to memory.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean as she let her watch.

She gently pushed him onto the carpet, bracing her hands on his shoulder as she sat on top of him. The fire was burning, enveloping their almost naked figures in warm orange light, heating their already scalding skin.

She took off her blouse with quivery hands, his gaze tracing her naked form that was slowly revealing itself. She hooked her fingers into the straps of her slip, pulling it down and then getting rid of it altogether. His hands on her waist tensed as she did the same for her bra.

Her lips parted as he touched her breast with both hands, kneading the soft flesh, tracing her areolae.

She undid his trousers, pulling down the fabric until they were both completely naked. She took him in her hand, her fingers closing tentatively around him. Her hand started sliding up and down, her pace getting quicker and more confident as moans escaped him. She brushed her thumb on his tip, her eyes admiring what was in front of her. His lips were swollen, residue of her lipstick still on them, his hair was tousled, curls falling disorderly on his forehead, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looked at her. She felt a rush of satisfaction in knowing his current state was her doing, that she had enough power over him to ruin his flawless exterior, to make him want her to do it.

His lips caught hers and he gently pushed her hand away.

What happened after felt like rehearsed choreography, something so familiar it was impossible to forget. Their bodies moved together, their movements responsive to each other, doing and touching exactly where it mattered.

She pushed herself up on her knees, slowly lowering herself until she sank down on him completely, shuddering breaths escaping her lips.

His jaw was tense as she placed a hand on his shoulder for support, positioning herself better.

She didn’t break eye contact as she rolled her hips, soaking in the hazy blue of his eyes, in every twitch of his jaw and emotion he was feeling as she increased her pace, in his voice murmuring her name against her ear as his hands squeezed her tights and traced her back.

Skin slapped against skin, his touch inebriating as he felt every part of her, caressing her, massaging her, kissing her until she couldn’t take it anymore. Almost.

His hand dipped between her legs again, stroking her clit as she rocked her hips, eliciting groans from both of them.

Sentiment and pleasure fused together in an exhilarating moment, seared in her mind and flesh forever.

She kissed him again - she could never get tired of that - and bit his lower lip roughly as his other hand went to her breast again, pulling at her nipple.

She threw her head back, letting his mouth scrape over her neck and chest, leaving behind scorching wet kisses. Or perhaps those were marks reddening her skin, she didn’t particularly care.

He gripped her waist, thrusting upwards as she held onto him tighter. Her nails drew half-moons into his back and she bit his neck, the fibres of the carpet scratching her knees.

The lights in the flat fluttered momentarily.

His fingers increased the pressure on her clit as his thrusts grew in intensity with one purpose in mind.

She bit her lip, trying to hold back, to prolong this instant of pure bliss before she inevitably plummeted onto the other side.

She arched her back, moving accordingly to his rhythm, her hips bucking erratic as she rubbed against his pelvis.

And then she fell down, unrestrained, her walls closing around him as she moaned uncontrollably. He didn’t stop, drawing circles on her sensitive skin until her breath found a semblance of steadiness again.

“You did so good,” he whispered against her forehead, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away.

She slumped against him, her hands grabbing onto his biceps as he chased his own pleasure, his movements turning frantic, losing his rhythm.

She found herself murmuring against his skin the same things she had never had the courage to say out loud, not even to herself. She wasn’t sure he was even listening to her, engrossed as he was, but it didn’t matter.

He squeezed her tights once and she understood, rolling to the side as he deftly touched himself, fast strokes that culminated in white spurts all over his hand. She watched him mesmerised

He turned to look at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The fire casted shadows on his gorgeous face.

They stayed like that for a long moment, gazing into each other, trying to guess what the other was thinking, making sense of what remained of themselves after what had just happened.

Did it have the same momentous effect on both of them? Or was it just her that knew she couldn’t go back to being acquaintances after this?

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” she asked. Her voice sounded faint and husky to her own ears.

“I do,” he replied without a second of hesitation.

They didn’t get up, instead resting against the foot of her sofa. She curled up against him as his hand traced indistinct patterns on her skin, remaining in this haze of indiscernible unspoken feelings they were both still trying to find a name for.

When she woke up the next morning he was gone. As she took in the cold sheets and missing clothes, her heart threatened to crack.

She got up groggily, conclusions already forming in her mind, building the most pessimistic of pictures.

She felt anxious as she wore her robe and opened the door, heading straight for the bathroom. Halfway down the corridor, the sound of someone flipping through a newspaper halted her in her steps.

She stepped into the kitchen, finding Tom sitting in a chair with his legs crossed.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said back, adjusting the belt of her robe.

She noticed he had made breakfast, a steaming coffee pot, kept warm by magic, and some pastries she had never bought waiting for her on the table.

She turned to take a mug from a cabinet so that she could hide her smitten smile. When she closed the cabinet, she found him looking at her.

There was no need for words.

“Where did you get that?” she asked as she poured herself some coffee, referring to the newspaper.

“I stole it from your neighbour, I hope she won’t mind.”

She laughed. “So you know how to make a joke.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She sat next to him, crossing her legs. She perhaps needed to rethink her choice of slippers.

“You were always so serious growing up.”

She put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee.

“That never seemed to deter you.”

“It doesn’t.”

He took a sip of his own coffee. “Good.”

“Does it deter you, knowing how I feel?”

He blinked. “It never had. It makes it more interesting if I have to be honest.”

She blushed, scared to ask the next question.

“How long have you known?”

He got up, brushing his knuckles on her cheek.

“Long enough to see you for who you truly are.”

He bent to give her a chaste kiss. “I should go, the shop opens in half an hour.”

He put on his coat and grabbed his leather gloves from his pocket. She turned in her chair, treasuring the last few moments of him in her apartment.

“There’s still a lot you haven’t learned yet.”

She refused to be an open book to him. There was so much about her that was still incomprehensible even to her and too much she wanted to show him on her own terms. She wanted to be enigmatic, to drive him mad.

“I know.”

Her disappointment was visible on her face as she was met with his silence. She had wanted to continue that conversation, to learn what he had observed.

Instead he opened her front door, throwing her one last glance, heavy with unsaid intention she hoped she wasn’t imagining, before leaving.

She had almost finished her breakfast when she noticed a small note under the newspaper he had left behind. She grabbed it faster than she was willing to admit, almost knocking over her cup in the process, and unfolded it.

“Dinner tonight?

I’ll pick you up at eight.

T.R.”

the last part is a bonus scene i wanted to write to apologize for my tardiness. tom is a little different, but I hope he isn't too out of character.

i honestly had so much fun writing this short story and exploring a different tom from the one i usually read and write about. i hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading!

#tom riddle x fmc #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter #hp fanfic #tom riddle x oc

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fengxun · 8 months

Text

NOTHING IS LOST (YOU GIVE ME STRENGTH) – FUSHIGURO MEGUMI & READER

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side. Or, the one where you find your way back home.

TAGS.⠀gender-neutral reader; ambiguous relationship; childhood friends; aged-up au/canon divergence; brief smoking; angst & hurt/comfort; mental health issues, talks of death/suicide ideation, implied past suicide attempts; mild gore; near-death experiences; drifting apart and coming back together. hopeful/happy ending. SFW. 3,9k words

A/N.⠀my first work after so long and it's just a ventfic LOL sorry i have been looping phoebe bridgers and lorde for ages.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always felt things fervently.

One moment you’d feel euphoric, like you’re walking on air and nothing can get you down, but then everything crumbles and you’re left as nothing but an empty husk. It’s ironic how emptiness can feel so heavy, a constant weight on your shoulders, constant tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite all the things you hate about yourself, there’s still one part of you that you’ll always remember with pride: there is no limit to the unconditional love you can give to people. It’s taken some time for you to decide you want to live and love as much as you can.

But for some reasons you couldn’t fathom, these days, you feel as though your love is forced. Unnatural. Ingenuine. Like it’s just something you’ve gotten used to doing passively. Like you no longer believe, like you are living a lie.

In a way, maybe you are. The longer you are surrounded by your fellow Jujutsu sorcerers, the more aware you become of how rotten this world can get. Plagued with death, unhappiness and turmoil on every corner, and with humans repeating the same mistakes, you’ve begun to believe that this is all hopeless. You’re well aware that it’s quite a pessimistic view to hold, but in the world that you are in, you find that it keeps you grounded. A realist.

Or, as your beloved teacher Gojo Satoru would call you, a downer.

The sound of his voice referring to you as such makes you click your tongue in irritation. There’s not much you know about him, but the bitter part of you believes that he of all people should at least understand how you feel. You hold your position as a jujutsu sorcerer in high regard and with honour, but as time passes by, you’ve started to contemplate if it’s even worth it at all.

You wonder if people know that you weren’t always this way — as a child, you were bright-eyed and innocent, full of love for people and the world. Growing and going through life shattered it all, making you a husk of what you once were, and even now, you still don’t know who you’re supposed to be.

You lie and you cheat, tricking people into believing that you’re independent and fine on your own, but you are lonelier than words can describe.

And just what do you live for? You’ve survived time and time again by sheer instinct and reflex, but you still don’t know what your purpose is. You fight and you risk your life to keep other people safe at the cost of your wellbeing. Every day is a task to complete for the greater good, but what’s in store for you? You’ve grown distant from your parents — on your end, anyway; it’s difficult to read people — and your once close friends rarely contact you anymore. All you have are your peers, but you still feel so out of place among them.

The cigarette burns between your fingers as you stare off into space by the edge of the river. At the mere age of nineteen, you feel as though you’ve lived several lives, all of which have harrowed you to no end. Nicotine flows in your system as you take yet another drag, wondering if this is what your youth was meant to be. Years of saving the city in favour of feeling like you’re wanted, needed should’ve made you feel happy. Yet here you are, alone in the streets of Tokyo, all because there’s nothing waiting for you at home.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” a voice says from beside you. It’s deep and quiet, almost monotonous, but you’d recognise the hint of concern anywhere. Megumi slightly grimaces at the sight of you exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t.” With a scoff, you put out the cigarette in the ashtray and turn to face him instead. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

He frowns. It amuses you how it seems to have been a permanent expression etched on his face since you were kids. You don’t remember if you’ve ever seen him with a different look, but that’s on you, you suppose. You haven’t spent much time with him for a while now. Time ages you and your weariness distances you from those you wish to stay close to.

When he doesn’t reply, you speak up again, “I'm trying.”

“I know.” He glances at you. As blunt as he sounds, you know he means well; that’s just the way he is. He looks like he has more to say but he doesn’t, instead opting to hand you a packet of your favourite mints. Any other time you’d take it as an insult, but you find yourself getting sentimental over the fact that he still remembers what you like.

“Thanks,” you mumble, popping one into your mouth. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The corner of his lips quirks downward for a split second. With a quiet sigh, he lightly flicks your forehead, not reacting at all to the indignant yelp you let out.

“Where’s your jacket?” he asks in a chiding tone, though there isn’t any venom in it. “You’ll get sick. I don’t want you sneezing on me.”

“You always take care of me, though,” you grumble without thinking, putting on the jacket that was previously tied around your waist. Another beat passes before you realise what you’ve blurted out. Were you being too familiar with him? You’re not sure if he still wants to be friends after all that isolation you’ve been doing. You part your lips to apologise, but he interrupts with a huff and a flick to your forehead again.

“Shut up.” The pink flush on the tips of his ears betrays the irked expression he wears. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the chilly air or if it’s because he’s blushing, but it brings a smile to your face nonetheless. “Let’s go back.”

You were only twelve when you started seeing Curses everywhere you went.

You’d never been the type to get scared too easily, but there was something about those creatures that unsettled you to the core. They seemed horrifically disfigured and hungry, ready to pounce at any moment, and you could only be brave for so long. You tried telling your mother and your friends only to be met with suspicious and concerned looks.

They thought you were crazy. You didn’t blame them for that. You never believed in the paranormal, so this sudden change must’ve been quite a shock. It wasn’t until two years later did you learn what they were and that you could exorcise them, somehow like they did in the horror movies. Your memory of your recruitment is hazy, but you did remember sitting with Megumi and Gojo in the car and asking the most questions you’ve ever asked in your lifetime. Your new teacher found it amusing; your classmate, however, did not.

Your mother didn’t seem to mind sending you to a boarding school. With an elaborate lie about your full scholarship told by Gojo, she’d beamed in joy and helped you pack your bags. She’d be too busy to actually notice your absence, but that didn’t stop her from sending a message to check in on you every once in a while. At some point, you stopped responding. Not because you were annoyed, but rather, you just didn’t have the energy to.

Ironically, for a school with quite a handful of staff and students, you never felt lonelier in your life. You stuck by Megumi’s side for the sole reason that he was the only one you felt comfortable enough to approach. You didn’t talk to him much, but he was good company and you came to consider him a friend. Eventually, he started approaching you as well, and you’d spend time together like regular friends would do. It felt nice to be able to be around someone and not have to explain yourself all the time.

In hindsight, you think it’s your fault that you’re so distant from everyone now. You don’t quite know when it all began—the depressing thoughts, the near-uncontrollable impulses, the lack of care for your safety and well-being. Every time your teachers or a peer brought it up, you’d simply dismiss it as just a ‘hormone thing’ which seemed enough to make them stop asking. Megumi didn’t believe a thing. He doesn’t have to tell you for you to know that.

But what else could you do? You’re alone, and it’s not like anyone can help with whatever the fuck is happening in your head. Your mother got you in touch with professionals to help with your troubles, and even if she doesn’t say it much, you know she’s always worried sick and thinks you should just come home. You’ve been able to keep yourself in check since then, but with the sadness now mostly gone, you now have to deal with the void in your chest that plagues you constantly.

The forest surrounding the dormitories is quiet save for the leaves rustling in the wind and the cicadas chirping their evening tune. You’re not sure how long it’s been since your last official mission. You haven’t been good at keeping track of the time for a while now. But at the very least, you know that it’s been too long.

There’s no doubt Gojo had something to do with it, you think bitterly. Otherwise, you’d be as busy as your peers right now. If there’s one thing you hate about this place, it’s the fact that no one here ever really gives you a proper reason. You feel trapped, ignored, and maybe if you were more carefree you’d look past it, but you’re not. If they didn’t believe in your abilities, you’d show them; you don’t think being the underdog is that bad, after all. Maybe they’ll finally recognise your prowess and respect you.

With your heart pounding hard against your chest, you grab your ootachi and flee, letting your instincts guide you to wherever feels the most dangerous, exciting. The more rational part of you tells you that you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t turn back now, but you find that you really couldn’t care less.

You need to feel alive. You need to feel afraid, to feel something, anything. While you don’t mind resting, you also didn’t overwork yourself to the bone just to remain stagnant. You didn’t spend weeks training with every weapon the school had to offer just to let them rust. You didn’t hone your cursed techniques only to not use them at all. So punishment and criticism be damned, you’re going to do what you want whether people like it or not.

You find yourself standing in front of a dingy abandoned shrine in the woods. Unease settles in the air as you slowly creep into the light of the moon. It’s dim, incredibly so, but you can’t afford to be afraid of the dark now —you have something to prove, and you’re not going to let yourself be intimidated by something so childish. There are blood splatters on the cobblestone steps, both fresh and dried, and your grip tightens on the handle of your sword. Your instinct to fight rears its head within your body, adrenaline and the humane need to survive rushing through your veins, but you breathe and try to rein it all in.

You have to think.

(It’s quite ironic how for someone who doesn’t give a single shit about their life, you always fight your hardest so you can live.)

You take another step. A twig snaps beneath the weight of your foot. The dried leaves crunch and rustle like someone (or rather, something) is sizing you up, keeping itself unseen to take you by surprise. Incomprehensible gargled sentences echo from within and the stench of death and decay grows stronger. Even when fear starts to wrap you in its cold embrace, you walk through the gate and into the dark shrine. Your blood runs cold and your breath gets caught in your throat, but you force yourself to face the task at hand.

You’re met with a grotesque mass of green; all of its endless bloodshot eyes leer at you as its tendrils slither in your direction. Misshapen hands protrude from those tendrils and reach for you, taunting you with the blood and entrails stuck to their skin and nails, telling you that you are next.

Not today.

An aura of black and purple coats your sword as you withdraw it from its sheath. It’s not the best space to utilise such a long sword—the shrine is somewhat cramped and is lacking in space for mobility, much less combat —but you grit your teeth and decide that you will adapt. Electricity crackles from your blade, and without any more hesitation, you charge. Its tendrils are faster than you had anticipated; they come close to wrapping themselves around your legs until your cursed energy latches on to them and forces them to disintegrate.

The curse glares at you in fury. You can practically hear your heartbeat as you slash through its tendrils, splattering the wooden floors with its steaming blood. A guttural growl leaves the curse and the air feels thicker; it’s getting hard to breathe and your vision is starting to fade.

Am I going to die here?

There’s a sharp pain in your gut. The sword slips out of your grasp and blood sputters out of your lips. When you look down, you realise that the curse has pierced through you.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it fucking hurts.

But you can’t die here. Not like this, not without a fight.

Shakily, weakly, you put your hands together, breathe, and with the last of your strength, you fire a powerful blast that hits the curse square in the centre, making it screech in pain. Vapour rises from its form as it melts into the ground and eventually dissipates. A relieved sigh leaves you, but then the world spins, your body hurts even more, and before you know it, everything goes dark.

You fall into nothing.

(Somewhere not too far from the shrine, apprehension crawls into Fushiguro Megumi’s system.

He doesn’t hesitate. He follows the curse residue and he runs.)

You wake with a dull ache between your ribs.

The first thing you see is never-ending walls of white. There’s a generic decorative painting on the wall along with an old clock that tells you it’s a quarter past noon. Blearily, you realise that you’re in the infirmary, and judging from the soreness that spreads through your body and into your limbs, you’re still alive.

Somehow, you’re not as happy about it as you should be.

You feel like you’ve been through hell and back. In a way, you did. You’re too tired to regret your poor decisions from who knows how long ago, and you’re not a stranger to deliberately ignoring whatever makes you feel like shit. So you do just that all while staring blankly at the wall in front of you, hoping that you’ll eventually fall asleep again and forget. Maybe even not wake up until the month ends.

(You’ve come to a realisation that you don’t want to die anymore; you just want to stop existing for a while, get yourself together then come back when you’re ready. Like pausing a game or a video being played, you don’t lose the progress, but you sure as hell forget what the hell happened earlier.)

The door slides open. You contemplate pretending to be unconscious again, but your ears pick up heavy footfalls on the tiled floor and you decide maybe you shouldn’t.

“Hey, Ieiri-sensei,” you croak out, weakly raising two of your fingers in a peace sign. “I’m alive and moving.”

She hums, amused as she makes her way over to your bedside. “Yes, you are. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit?”

“Good. You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. Can you stand?”

She gently urges you off the bed, hoisting you up by the shoulders as you try to maintain balance after being bedridden for hours. Or days. Or even weeks. You’re not sure.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

The concerning duration of your bedridden state goes completely ignored. All you can think about is the mention of Megumi.

You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you.

“What do you mean he found me?”

She smiles wryly. “That boy’s been worried about you. Ran off from Satoru as soon as he felt a ‘weird pressure.’ What were you fighting?”

You shrug and wince at how stiff you feel. God, you hate this. Your legs are shaky as she helps you walk out of the infirmary and on the familiar path back to the dormitories. The school is quiet, making you wonder where everyone’s gone for the day.

“Some curse thing. Had tentacles and slimy skin. It was gross.”

“Well, that thing punctured you right there.” She gestures toward your chest. “Surprisingly it didn’t hit any vital organs, but you still lost a lot of blood. Did you exorcise it in the end?”

“I did.” A beat of silence passes. “Am I in trouble?”

“Yaga-sensei’s suspended you for a month. Oh, Fushiguro-kun. Just in time.” She helps you sit on a stone bench as Megumi approaches, his fingers furling and then relaxing by his sides. “They still need some support when they’re walking, but they’re healing quickly. They’ll be fine..”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m still in my thirties, silly.” She ruffles your hair affectionately. “Be careful, hm? Come see me if there’s anything else.”

As Ieiri-sensei takes her leave, Megumi sits down next to you on the bench. His brows furrow the same way they always do when he’s thinking of how to say something nicely. He opts for silence instead, eyeing you cautiously. It almost feels offensive, but it’s only then that you’re aware of the bandages that cover essentially your whole upper body, so you brush it off. If someone else were in your position, you’d be worried sick too.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this visibly upset (well, for someone like Megumi anyway) over anything, and knowing that it’s because of you strikes you with a pang of guilt. With your lips pursed, you avoid his demanding look and glance at your hands instead. The bruises have almost faded away by now. Ieiri-sensei must’ve worked herself to the bone to patch you up.

“I’m not happy, Megumi.” Your throat closes up and your nose burns as the tears start to form and fall. “I’ve been trying to force myself to feel something. It didn’t matter what it was. I just hate being like this all the time.”

It hurts to cry. It hurts trying not to. Your state of mind is in tatters and you’re desperately doing your best to hold yourself together, but the way he’s looking at you makes you drop your guard completely.

“I know I’m surrounded by people, but I still feel so alone.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything. That’s fine, you think. The last thing you’d want to do is pressure him to speak his mind. He takes every word into consideration and thinks a lot by default, and if he’s still the same boy you knew all those years ago, he’d prefer to let his actions speak for themselves.

“You didn’t have to come for me,” you murmur. “I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

“No.” He pauses for a moment as if he’s trying to formulate what he wants to say into words that won’t feel like jabs. He huffs quietly. “I want to stay with you.”

Hearing him say those words practically has you melting on the spot, your heart fluttering as warmth rushes to your cheeks. You reach for his hand instinctively and with the slightest bit of hesitation, he responds by lacing your fingers together.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. You don’t know if it’s because you’re still exhausted or if it’s because you’re worried you’ll upset him somehow. Either way, it takes so much out of you just to talk anymore. “I’m trying.”

He squeezes your hand softly. “I know.”

“I say that to you a lot, don’t I?” you chuckle, leaning against his shoulder. I’m trying. You tell it to him every time you don’t have anything else to say, but it hardly feels true. Or maybe you’re just overly critical of everything you do, expecting yourself to reach certain heights before you consider yourself enough.

“You are trying,” Megumi says. “Even now.”

You smile weakly. “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He lets go of your hand and your heart sinks, wondering if you’d done or said something wrong, but then he gently flicks your forehead the same way he always used to do when you were kids. “I found you bleeding out on the ground.”

“Pretty gnarly, wasn’t it?” you joke, laughing nervously. He shoots you a glare that shuts you up immediately.

“We were worried about you,” he continues, ignoring your interruption. “I was worried about you. I thought you were going to die.”

“Is this the part where I tell you that all jujutsu sorcerers die at some point?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I didn’t know I was that important to you.”

“We grew up together.” You feel a slight weight as he rests your head on top of yours with a sigh. “You’ve always been with me. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there.”

It’s unusual for him to be this open about his feelings; he’s never been the overly sentimental type like you are, so to have him be this vulnerable with you makes you feel like you’re going to burst. The cool breeze passes by as you hesitantly take his hand again, and for the first time in so long, you find yourself genuinely smiling. He cares about you. He loves you, despite what that voice in your head tells you otherwise. It’ll take a while for you to change or get used to knowing these things, but for him, you’ll do everything you can. You’ll live — if not for yourself, then for him. And as slow and tedious as your path to recovery may be, both physically and mentally, you think that it’ll be worth the endeavour because you’re not alone.

You are loved.

You are loved by him, and for now, that is enough to quell every anxiety in the back of your mind.

You glance at him. “Wanna watch a movie later?”

Almost imperceptibly, he smiles back. “Sure.”

(You never end up finishing the movie.

Halfway through, exhaustion gets the better of you, and you fall into a deep sleep on the bean bag you borrowed from the recreation room. When you wake in the morning, you’re sore and aching all over, but the blanket draped over your frame and the arm around your waist makes you forget about it for a moment.

With a content smile, you curl closer.

He’s still the same Megumi you’ve always known.)

#all #bitchcraftinc #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #megumi fushiguro x reader #tw: sui ideation #cw: body horror #? kind of. i describe a monster #cw: death #cw: smoking #yippiee

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xreaderbooks · 1 year

Text

All I breathe (2)

Pair: Azriel x Vanserra Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: language, violence, mentions of abuse, trauma, and torture

Summary: Could a mission to Y/n’s childhood home, the Autumn Court, spark a friendship between the night courts spymaster and the newest emissary? Or will they let their hatred come between, what could be, a strong bond?

A/N: I made Nuan from ACOWAR heavily OC in this, I haven't read the books in so long so please forgive any reference mistakes. I haven't read ACOSF either so keep that in mind, I did try to do my research for storyline purposes when it comes to the first 4 books. I also do not know how to describe dresses very well lol. Send me a message or comment if you want to be tagged in future parts.

Also available on Wattpad and AO3

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

An Illyrian bastard! you could not stand him. He was a contemptuous brute as you knew most Illyrians were. Cassian and Rhysand were just fine, if only he turned out more like his brothers. Although the comment the former had made had you reeling. In no world do you see yourself sharing a bed with the Shadowsinger. What was worse was knowing the days to come were going to be filled with hours of what had just occurred. In the safety of your room, you had released the flames that begged for freedom, letting them kindle on your hands, careful not to get too close to the furniture.

The power you and your twin had shared assuming it had come from your mother's distant bloodline. Your mother was another factor that you had thought of constantly during your stay at this new court. While you dealt with your own struggles mentally, you and Lucien had a better life here in Velaris, you were free from all the males who once dominated your life. You couldn’t say the same for your poor mother. She was the one person you looked forward to seeing.

“He’s not right you know?” A smooth casual familiar voice echoed from behind you. Your power jolted, letting out a blast of controlled flames in your hands.

“I could have burned you, you idiot!” You shoved your brother away from you once you recovered from the shock.

“No, you really couldn’t have.” He chuckled. There Lucien stood a few feet behind you, he just left yesterday morning, there was no reason for him to be back so early.

“What are you doing here anyway?” You crossed your arms and shuffled closer to your bed, sitting on the edge.

“I heard Rhysand gave you a tough assignment, with an even tougher partner.”

“Do not call him my partner and he’s weaker than any of you give him credit for,” You snarked back.

Lucien put his hands up in surrender, “Relax I’m just here to ease the tension.”

“Like you ever,” You glared at him playfully.

“He has a way of making you tense so easily, Sister.” Lucien sits beside you on the edge of the end of your bed. “Despite your hatred for him, you need to place your trust in him fully while you’re there.”

“Why can’t you come with me?” You put on your best puppy dog-like pleading eyes, Lucien stopped falling for it once you both came to an age where life was not so easily bought by a sweet smile or those perfect doe eyes you were able to mimic.

“I would if I could, I have business elsewhere” He ruffled your hair pushing your head away lightly when you scowled at him. “Important business in the mortal realms of all places.”

“Oh please, you can feign annoyance all you want but you’ve found an interest there.”

“I don’t have much keeping me here anyway Y/n, better to keep busy.” A sad disposition had formed within him whenever he was near Elain, he couldn’t do more than he was already doing to make Elain comfortable around him.

The words stung, and suddenly the statement Azriel made didn’t seem so far off the truth. You knew you could make yourself useful enough to be of value but what did any of that mean when your own twin couldn’t find your company worthy. Obviously, he did have places to go and people to meet but you did too and if he ever needed you, you would drop everything to be there for him. The scar on your left cheek was a testament to that.

You sat there side-by-side for a couple of minutes, enjoying each other's company in silence. Lucien tapped your knee twice before declaring he walk you out before your journey. He wrapped a loose arm around your shoulders, “I will be here when you get back.” He squeezed you into his side.

Reaching the last step Azriel was there waiting for you, he gave Lucien a nod before looking away to give you and your brother privacy. You squeezed his middle, “You better.”

He gave you a kiss on your forehead, “Stay safe, sister.”

“Goodbye brother,” You whispered back to him before he disappeared into thin air. Cassian came out of the kitchen and nodded for you to come to him.

Once in the kitchen Cassian peeked out of the door and spoke in a hushed tone, “Listen, I know it’s gonna be hard but the only way this plan will work is if you both find a way to set aside your differences and learn how to communicate.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair giving him an exasperated look, you thought he was going to give you some advice or something more useful than a lecture. “Unlike him, I believe I can be civilized. Besides we’re about to have plenty of bonding time.”

You caught him wince at the word bonding, “Let’s hope so.”

“Was that it?” You asked. Cassian hummed in response and with a finger flicked your head up by your chin.

“Remember Y/n, don’t hesitate. Hesitate and you're dead.” The same advice he gave you throughout training, a feat you had consistent trouble with; hesitation. You were decent, despite being out of shape with the lack of training and with what little you knew of combat. Illyrian training was different than what you were used to but it was better and you learned enough to be of use if you were needed. Maybe a little clumsy and lacked some confidence in your skills but in a life-or-death situation you expected your survival instincts would kick in.

He guided you to where Azriel was sitting on the couch, fiddling with his knife.

~~~

Winnowing to the dawn court went smoothly. You and Azriel winnowed separately, neither of you willing to touch each other, opting to travel alone rather than conserve energy to save time. The first big jump had you stopping for a break at the Day Court, you felt your power falter, the surge of fire from earlier draining you a little. The law of your power, where one of your powers is strong the others weaken.

You stopped by a lake for water, careful of your surroundings. A quick minute stop and when you had winnowed away to the point on the other side of the border where you knew to meet Azriel, he had given you an earful.

“Where were you?” His tone was nothing short of accusatory.

“I felt like I needed a short break so I stopped for some water,” You spoke casually so as not to alarm the always-on-edge spymaster. It took a toll on your patience but you needed him to be calm.

His eyes were narrow as he stared you down, “Where?”

“Near Day Court border Azriel, Where else?”

“Specifically where did you stop for water?” He pushed, “Shocking there were no sentries nearby.”

“I assure you whatever your mind conjured up about my whereabouts, is not true.”

“I just find it curious how you were not intercepted,” He crossed his arms and tilted his head “unless there is something that you’re not telling me.”

You were beginning to feel anxious by his interrogation, you didn’t have anything to hide but this felt familiar in the ways your brothers would question you after a night out or worse when you were on your little missions for them. Tamlin would do the same, jealous even though you knew he never truly loved you. Even when he had Feyre.

“I told you all there is to know,” You grit your teeth. “We’re wasting time on this useless topic when we would have been at Dawn already.”

“I don’t trust you.” He begins to walk in the direction of the border of the Dawn Court.

“Oh really?” Your voice is frivolous as you follow him, “I hadn’t gathered that. I can feel your shadows, they are not as obscure as you think they are. Even so, I have nothing to prove to you Shadowsinger.”

His jaw clenches, “You somehow have fooled everyone in my court that you are innocent but I will find a way to break you Firewielder.”

“And you will fail,” You stop walking when you step in front of him, blocking his way. “You think of me as some villain Azriel when I am just someone who is trying to get by in whatever way, whatever place I can. That is all I have been trying to do, all I have ever done. Gods, if your High Lady could forgive me, why can’t you?”

“You have caused my High Lady enough harm,” He says simply and starts to walk again but you block his path. “You do not deserve the forgiveness, Rhysand and Feyre have so graciously granted you.”

“I have paid for my sins just as I’m sure you have and will continue to do so, I do not need a constant reminder of my fuckups any more than you do.” Your words were like venom, you may not know all of what the Shadowsinger was made of but the whispers throughout the world of what he does to people, rumor or no- you knew would haunt him til the end of his days. “You are no better than I am Spymaster, you should do well to remember that next time you sink that knife into someone’s flesh.”

An astonished look featured on his chiseled face, you’d wager no one but his brothers dared to speak to him in such a way. You weren’t one to speak so flippantly, but Azriel brought out a side of you that you had to admit you reveled in. You hadn’t felt as strong as when you let all your anger out on him. Your brothers, your father, and Tamlin had made you cower into yourself so much so that you didn’t dare argue. Azriel lit a fire within you that fueled you to shed the weaker parts of your soul and fight back.

~~~

You were within the walls of the Dawn Court castle only minutes after your discussion with Azriel. Not a word was spoken after you said your peace, you stood next to each other with a generous amount of space between you as you waited for someone to attend to you at the front steps of the palace.

A friendly face appeared from behind the doors urging you both to come inside, the healer of the Dawn Court was a long-time friend of yours. You hadn’t seen or spoken to her in years yet her countenance was still the same. She hugged you in greeting and gave the Shadowsinger a nod.

“The High Lord is otherwise engaged unfortunately but he sends his regards and me of course,” Nuan clutched your arm that was already looped around hers. “I’ll be showing you to your rooms.”

“Thank you,” You smiled. Azriel repeated what you had said and followed close behind you. She guides you through a series of hallways with large pillars framing the view of the mountains.

“It’s not a problem, though I do ask that you join me for dinner tonight.” She pauses in front of a door, she’s still holding your arm so you assume this is Azriels room. “Both of you, it’ll be at that restaurant in town that we used to go to Y/n, you know the one.”

You nodded with pursed lips, “Yes, I do but I’m sure Azriel has other ideas on how he’d like to spend his night.” You tried to hint at her to leave him alone, you needed a break from him and his attitude.

“I’ll be there.” Was all Azriel said before bowing his head at her and closing himself in his room for the night.

Nuan raised her brows at you with a slightly agape mouth, dragging you through the long corridor lined with near-opalescent golden stone pillars. Once she had shown you your room a couple of doors down from Azriels, she shut the door behind her. “I had to give you this room so that I can talk to you without him hearing, Cauldron that male is astonishingly gorgeous.”

You snorted, “For a bat.”

She placed her hands on her hips, “Now I know damn well you have taste, Y/n and I know that you wholeheartedly agree with me.”

“I might have once upon a time, I’ve changed.” You smirked and strolled around the room, taking it all in. Your room had a balcony overlooking one of the many gardens, you would have chosen to stay at the Dawn Court if given the opportunity.

“Surely not because of the husband!” Nuan gasped. She reminded you of the one you were fake married to, Fae cannot lie but when one is desperate, the loopholes you find are wild.

You raised an eyebrow at her dramatics, “No, of course not.”

She walked toward you and reached out with her mechanical hand tracing the scar on your face, “Do you think he is that superficial? I have seen the scars on his hands Y/n, he is beautiful but not completely unmarred.”

“I forget how forward you are Nu,” You stepped out of her reach. “Have you heard the news of the faebane? It’s traveling all across the lands, the reason why we’re here.”

She nodded grimly, “Yes, I have heard but my information is limited. And you’re deflecting but that’s no matter, we shall continue that topic at dinner.”

“For an alchemist, you sure do like to gossip.” You teased, “You should seek out Azriel before dinner to discuss the faebane situation.”

“Why do you think I’m friends with an emissary? you make the most pleasant company for gossip.” She reached for the door handle and slipped out of the room.

~~~

You forgot how free-flowing Dawn Court fashion is, as you dressed you felt yourself grow self-conscious. The dress exposed your thighs, arms, and stomach with shibari-like knots around the torso and neck with layered sheer nude material covering. A huge difference from what you were wearing before. You reminded yourself of the fact that the fae of the Dawn Court were not judgmental people and they made dresses like this for all shapes and sizes and they saw every being as radiant. They were peaceful and kind and as you walked into the restaurant, you and Nuan had found one night, Azriel was sitting there in conversation with the dark-haired beauty.

Her dress was similar to yours, and her upturned eyes and olive-toned skin were complimented by the lavender color she was wearing. Azriel was talking intently, the loud chattering of everyone around you clouded your ability to hear what he was saying. Nuan was right, he was gorgeous. Beautiful in a way you could not compare to a male or female, he was otherwordly.

You scolded yourself mentally, as beautiful as he may be, his personality was not. His calculated, smooth-toned, encapsulating speech- your mind wandered again. You could not catch a break from him. Mentally or physically and you were sick of it. With a huff, you lifted the hem of your dress so that it would not catch onto your heel and strutted over to the table where Azriel was out of his chair and holding it out for you to take his place.

In the time you took to admire him from the entrance, you failed to see that they were sitting at a table for two. There was room for two more but you’d have to steal a chair from another table and he had given his chair to you. Your eyes flickered from the chair to him and hesitantly took a seat, he tucked you into the table, and you didn’t miss the way Nuan’s lips turned up on one side.

He pulled up a chair and sat. A Cheshire grin spread upon Nuan’s face, immediately nerves took over you.

“Now that we’re done exchanging information,” She nodded once to Azriel and directed her attention to you. “Y/n about that husband, how is he?”

Your jaw ticked, “I wouldn’t know, I don’t speak to him.”

She hummed, “Interesting. And your brother is he well?”

“Yes, he is, though I suspect you know that considering he visits you often.”

Her laugh came out in a bark, Azriel's eyes and shadows watched you two in a dance, silently observing your postures and hidden messages. He wouldn’t understand the game you and Nuan played, especially not the one Nuan was playing right now, you were beginning to lose track of yourself.

“So Tamlin is completely out of the picture now?” She went back to her original target. You coughed a little bit of the water you sipped a second before she asked. “No, Nuan.” You cursed. “I live in the night court now, everything's changed.”

“Just curious, Y/n/n-” She said lightheartedly. “Do you live there with him?” She glanced at the male sitting next to you. So this is what she wanted to know.

Azriels eyes widened, “Absolutely not!” You both exclaimed at the same time, creating looks coming from nearby tables.

“Apologies, really I thought you two were together, possibly in secret. I got a sense that you both were involved, please forgive me.” Nuan’s cheeks reddened as she stammered her apology.

You were entirely upset knowing that she was embarrassed by her display. You switch the topic as smoothly as you could, asking about how the faebane works and if there was any way she could create an antidote without knowing the exact ingredients in the newer version. She answered each question with ease, Azriel asked a few of his own and finished up the conversation they were having earlier about the theories on who could have made it. At that time your dinner was cleared, and the three of you lingered to pay for your meal.

“Excuse me, I believe I see a patient of mine who isn’t doing what he’s supposed to-” Nuan rushed out of her seat to an older-looking male.

You caught Azriels stare when you turned back into your chair. He looked pensive as he opened his mouth to speak, “How did you and Nuan…”

“Meet? Under the mountain.” You responded though you weren’t so sure why considering you still wanted to be petty for his interrogation. “She healed and made Lucien's eye, also helped me heal when I got the scar.”

A few moments of silence.

“I’d like to-” He cleared his throat “I’d like to apologize for earlier.”

Your eyes search his in suspicion, he continues. “I should have believed you. My shadows told me that you were speaking the truth and I didn’t believe you.”

“I have had enough overbearing males in my life dictating my life and questioning my every move without you being added to the list.”

“I’m trying Y/n,” He sighed clenching the table napkin.

“By telling me that your shadows tried to plead my case and even then you wouldn’t believe me?”

“When you put it that way.” He breathed out a laugh, the closest one you’ve ever heard from him that was meant for your ears. It was a small gesture, one that did not go unnoticed by you. Around you, he was always so tense.

“What is it then?” You inquire, “Do you hate me or could we call a truce?”

“As if you could hold your tongue for long enough for me not to hate you.”

You allowed yourself a small smile, “You are truly unrelenting, if this is how you are with me I wonder how are with the people you bring to your chamber.”

“You talk of my work with so much ease,” He grimaced. “You wouldn’t be able to actually stomach it.”

The humor that hung in the air was gone, you sensed a challenge. “I can’t do what you do but I am not afraid of you Shadowsinger.”

His hazel eyes beheld yours, exploring them, you weren’t sure what he was searching for but the intensity with which he stared unnerved you. “If you weren’t the sister of the male I despise the most and if you weren’t once married to the one who caused my lady so much grief, I could be inclined to like you.” His smooth low toned voice was hypnotic.

You reached for your glass of wine, the energy too much for you to take sober taking a sip before replying “If you weren’t such an insufferable bastard, I could be inclined to say the same.”

“I still don’t trust you,” Azriel said slyly.

You rolled your eyes, “Do you have mind healers in Velaris? Cause you desperately need one, you all do.”

That brought out a deep laugh from him, you looked at him in awe at the melody that came from his mouth and it was as if you were seeing him for the first time. Your stare fixed upon his smile, bright and angelic made your heart jump. He was suddenly aware of you and the wall he had when he was around you built up again.

Your mind felt the need to know if what he said earlier was true, “Is that really why you hate me?”

“You can’t just let a moment be, can you Firewielder?” He no longer carried that sharp grin that had you melting for a second.

“I am not my brother, Eris I mean, what he’s done. I have no part in it.”

He nodded slowly, “Now tell me why you hate me.”

You picked at your cuticle as you spoke- a nervous human habit that you picked up throughout your years. “I don’t. I don’t particularly like you but you have done nothing but make my life miserable since the moment you rescued us from the ice and every moment after that.”

You were being chased by your brothers along with Feyre and Lucien when Cassian and Azriel had come to Feyre's aid. That was when you had found out that Feyre was the High Lady of the Night Court when you and Lucien had been brought to Velaris and saw the city you’ve grown to love. It was the start of everything. Before and after the war.

You and Lucien were appointed as emissaries to the night court, Lucien had his assignments and you had yours. You served as both emissary and spy (occasionally), while Lucien had to send bi-weekly reports to Azriel, you had to report to him for every single assignment unless specified otherwise by the High Lord. This is the cause of the clash you had with the Spymaster.

That day was the only day you had peace from him, if only because nobody in the inner circle had warmed to your presence yet.

“My whole life I’ve heard of the monstrous fae who served the Night Court, the Court of Nightmares was real to me but I was never afraid of the stories- of you. All you did was prove that the stories were true, like the act you all put on when you go there, is real.”

“You should know that I do not find it easy to be around you Y/n.” You were about to ask him what he meant when Nuan’s figure came into view, pulling a lesser fae male along with her.

“Y/n I’d like you to meet Damian- Damian this is the friend I told you about.” Nuan shoved him your way as you stood, you stumbled into him and he steadied you by your elbows. “I took care of the bill by the way, I told Damian he should walk you to the palace. Azriel and I still have loads to discuss.”

You smiled shyly at the blond-haired guy in front of you and turned your head to where Azriel was once sitting, you were about to protest but Nuan was already dragging Azriel out the door. You appreciated your friend's efforts to set you up with the attractive male that was nothing short of a gentleman as he made easy conversation during the walk to the palace, but after dinner with Azriel, this guy wasn’t going to cut it. It would be too easy for you to bring him up to your room and spend the night with him but you were on a job and you were not going to give Azriel another to scold you.

~~~

Next Chapter

Taglist: @americancowgirl19 - @feyres-fireheart - @brekkershadowsinger - @marina468

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how-very-salty · 5 months

Text

masterpost of my jdonica fic <3

royally fucked up

J.D. gets another chance. It's Sherwood in September, and Veronica is smiling at him again. This time, he'll do anything not to fuck it up.

status: completed / translated: in progress

!!!new the forest (warnings!!! tags are reeeally spoilers, but the fic includes disturbing content)

Veronica ran down the stairs, hurried to the school bus - and suddenly woke up on the road in a completely silent forest. There doesn't seem to be a soul around... but someone's predatory gaze is fixed on her back. (references to The path)

status: in progress / translated: in progress

let's have some fun

Three years ago, J.D. went back to hell, but he comes back for the same reason: to make Veronica say his name three times. But something's changed.

status: in progress / translated: in progress

stay at the very edge and way he prays

Before she says no, Veronica sees Bud humiliate J.D. And it makes her change her mind and try one more time to change something for him. And that leads to a promise that will be broken.

(tw: bdsm)

status: completed / translated: completed

Veronica Sawyer decides to die

The bomb exploded. They both survived, but at a high price… Time has passed, and Veronica Sawyer finds comfort in imagining that she is gone. Her peace of mind is shattered by the doorbell.

status: completed / translated: completed

St. Calvin told me not to worry about you

They're broken up, but still need each other. She has the keys to his apartment, he wants her back. And there are rules between them that neither of them has ever learned to follow. (there is a new male character, but honestly, he's just one of the plot obstacles in this story).

status: in progress / translated: in progress

!!!new lavender

Just a scene from married life and problems that they have to deal with through conversation ( long-married JD and Ronnie)

SHORT STORIES (complited)

dearly beloved

jdonica one shots (If you want, you can give me prompts. i sometimes write them long, but i try to write all of them. except with agnst sometimes i skip them)

other way

Veronica Sawyer hurts herself to deal with her emotions, and a new guy notices. She's scared, but he just wants to talk to her ...and maybe help.

syndrome - the story of cotard syndrome

who is she - he meets her on a crowded subway and misses her… and meets her again

first of thousands - their paths cross because of a car accident

insomnia - he just can't sleep (partially refers to St. Calvin's au)

best gift ever - happy married life

we're locked in, right? - fate brings them together in a locked elevator

trace of a touch - J.D. is long gone from her life, but his every touch keeps to burn on her skin. No one else can, until one day…

let's get out of here - a wedding story in which J.D. steals a bride from his own wedding

turn on the radio and the braided bracelet - au!childhood friends, where J.D. is hopelessly in love with Veronica. or not so hopeless?

about a girl - Nick has been in love with Veronica since they were kids. but it seems he should have confessed earlier, because the new kid is about to steal her away from him

peek-a-boo - very hot zombie-boy and a pretty smart Ronnie? who just can't resist his charm (pure au with a twist)

white oleander - au!hanahaki where Ronnie has to choose between Chandler and J.D.

pick me up - a wasted Ronnie needs to be picked up from the bar, and even though they broke up, J.D. is the only one who can do it.

happy anniversary - nobody has visited J.D.'s grave for five years

what a night - J.D. climbed into her window that night, before the bombs and the petition.

a few more minutes and there is no cure - the bomb didn't explode, and it seems that J.D. completely failed // he returns to Veronica's life years later

an act of mercy - J.D. was dead in the explosion, but that night a familiar voice is heard on Veronica's phone

like burnt brownies and play with loaded dice - the story of Nick Sawyer and Jesse Dean

#heathers #jason dean #heathers musical #j.d.#veronica sawyer #jdonica #heather fic #my fic #ao3fic #heathers fic

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asherheed · 1 year

Text

sunsets of our youth

⚘ ‹ featuring › alhaitham x fem!reader

⚘ ‹ tags › lighthearted, fluff, meeting for the first time, partnerships, banter, they're schoolmates, in my head the six darshans have a point system like in hogwarts, reader is trying to be civil and keeping it together but fails anyway, implied pining

⚘ ‹ note › i'm back from the hell that is uni (sorry for being v ia my priorities are all over the place) with another alhaitham fic to commemorate his arrival in the next update <3 good luck to everyone who will be wishing for him!!

Today will be a good day – this was something you’ve been trying to tell yourself lately as your final thesis defense for the current academic quarter scheduled by the Herbad assigned to your field of study was drawing near. Not only were you plagued with one major academic deadline, but you were also required to participate in a paired final debate for a school event with a guy named Alhaitham that made you question your sanity.

Most of your days were spent inside the House of Daena double-checking if your references were dependable, so with each question asked of you would be answered with brevity and a certainty that your responses would leave no room for further questioning. You weren’t the type of person who would break under the interrogation of your own research. You’ve dedicated time to understand it, cultivated methodologies to achieve near-perfect results. Although your classmates might repeatedly say you were doing too much already as one of the leading students in the Akademiya, you simply would not settle for less, especially when the final deliberation of grades was just around the corner.

It doesn’t help that competition among your peers is as toxic as an unmonitored game of TCG. If you were to simply not go above and beyond, you would hardly be able to hold a prestigious position reserved for Vahumana scholars and have the academic freedom to pursue your own research without having to consider the ethics involved (not that you would do something illegal).

Walking up the stairs to the library, you made your way to your favorite spot in the room: the table near the shelves containing books for Haravatat students. You smiled as you saw your seat was unoccupied, placing the books you’ve borrowed the week prior and the scrolls containing your notes on the empty table.

Today you were unsurprisingly earlier than your habitual schedule. Then again, given that there were only four weeks left until the defense, you wanted not to waste any time dawdling in the comfort of your bed. Being painstakingly neutral with that time limit made you restless. You were glad most of your classmates opted to finalize their work a week prior to the deadline, as you have most of the library all to yourself.

Well, and to the gray-haired man who just walked in, eyeing you distastefully.

You raised an eyebrow and opened your scrolls as he approached your table. Skimming through the unmarked references you needed to check, you took out the books necessary for examination, and was about to get started when an irritated sigh made you turn away.

You looked at the man, tilting your head to the side. “Can I help you with something?”

He pursed his lips, frowning. “You’re in my seat.”

Glancing around the room, you replied, eyebrows furrowing, “There are plenty of empty seats nearby.”

“Yes, and you’re in my favorite one.” He replied like this was public information.

A dazed look of bewilderment crossed your face, and you schooled it into impassiveness, uncertain of your next approach. “You don’t own this library.”

He rolled his eyes as if you were being unreasonable. “Obviously.” He replied, pulling out the seat opposite to yours and placed his scrolls and books with a huff.

Narrowing your eyes, you glanced at your scrolls and pressed a hand to your temples.

Today is going to be a good day.

Remarkably, everything was going well between you and the man. You kept to your side of the table, and he did the same. His gaze was intent on his work, and you found his undoubtedly unpleasant presence to be tolerable than you expected. The sound of rustling parchment from the occasional shift of position and the turning page of a book filled the air between you two, and you felt a sense of relief from the interaction you had with him earlier did not escalate to further unpleasantries.

All good things must come to an end, though, as you surreptitiously eyed the books, he had with him.

“You’re from Haravatat, aren’t you?” You asked as he glanced at you and nodded. “What’s your research all about?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to disclose that at my own discretion,” he muttered, and you clenched your jaw.

“I can assure you that I’m not someone who would stoop so low and steal the subject of someone’s thesis.” You grumbled, discomfited by the fact that he could just accuse someone of such a thing so blatantly. How rude.

Leaning back, he pursed his lips in thought, then sighed. “I’m defining how the approach of Haravatat and Vahumana on the study of history has its consequential influence on the interpretation of the universal rules and various ruins.” He answered, raising a brow expectantly. “I’m certain you’re well-acquainted with this argument, seeing as your school is part of my study.”

You shifted in your seat at his scrutiny of your presence, contemplative. “How did you know I’m from Vahumana?”

“You are Y/N, aren’t you?” He cleared his throat and rested his chin on his hand. “Part of the Akademiya’s Top 10? You’re practically famous.”

A flush crept across your cheeks and he avoided your gaze. “That’s not relevant. Those records are purposefully concealed to the public for confidentiality, unless there are exceptions.”

He leaned away from the table, suddenly resuming his work. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“So?”

“So what?”

You sighed heavily. “How do you know me?”

“I hardly think that information is valuable. After all, the Akasha Terminal exists, and I’m clearly wearing one right now.”

Touché.

Grimacing, you turned on your Akasha Terminal. You didn’t really like using it because it often provided you with headaches in the morning, but you felt foolish for not trying to know who this person was while he knew all about you. Apparently, even from the moment he saw you. Despite your negative sentiments towards the technology, you accepted the fact that you might be plagued by a migraine tomorrow for a solitary question.

Your vision swam as the words appeared in front of your eyes, and your mouth went dry as the man’s face emerged beside it.

“You’re Alhaitham?”

“Congratulations.”

“How is that possible? My Herbad said you were the most pleasant student he’s ever had to work with, and I’m supposed to–” your mouth fell open. “Oh, god.”

“Ten points to Vahumana.” Alhaitham mumbled, stealing a furtive glance at your flustered appearance. He looked away again, clearing his throat. “Would you want to discuss the terms of our partnership for the debate, or do you need a day to compose yourself?”

Today was not a good day. Today was not a good day at all.

Clasping your hands together, you straightened in your seat, taking note of Alhaitham’s inconspicuous way of hiding his unease at the thought of being your partner. You couldn’t blame him. You also would have preferred to meet with your partner professionally than whatever both of you did.

To be fair, you weren’t the one spouting claims for probable theft.

“Let’s strike a deal, then.” You declared, gathering your composure, and Alhaitham finally looked at you, appearing relieved. “We work on our sources for the debate and practice for the next two weeks, and then we’ll leave each other alone once we’ve won. You won’t ever see me again unless certain circumstances arise.”

He pondered for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yes, and I want my chair.”

“No, I get to keep the chair, and you’ll get to have the seat you’re on right now,” he crossed his arms, about to retort. “But we get to keep this whole table. Well, at least for as long as we cross paths unintentionally.”

“You do realize that is highly improbable considering that we go to different schools.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t own this library.” He echoed your words at you, and you see the quick upturn of his lips.

You hid a smile of your own, forcing your face to remain stoic. “Obviously.”

For a moment, you wondered if he’ll reject you as his face scrunched up, but then he nodded. “I agree to the terms of your deal.” Standing up, he reached his hand out. “I hope we can work together professionally.”

You highly doubted that. You shook his hand, and it enveloped your whole hand. “I hope so, too.”

The sound of more people coming inside the House of Daena made you glance at the entrance, and Alhaitham followed your gaze. He gathered his scrolls and books. “That’s my cue.” He said, and you watched him disappear from your sight.

#genshin impact #ashe.writing #genshin #genshin impact fluff #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x fem!reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham x you #al haitham x fem!reader #al haitham fluff #alhaitham fluff #i would die for this man #not really but i would hypothetically #genshin impact hc

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god-complex-12 · 11 months

Text

Paraprosexia

— Paring; Nathan Bateman x male reader. Fandom; Ex Machina

Quote; “You won’t regret this, doc.”

Description; Board meetings are boring. Or at least that’s what Nathan thought until he found someone to cure his meeting boredom. Disclaimer; Reader has a PhD so he’s referred to as ‘Dr.’ and ‘doc’. Interpret your own ending. If you squint, it has some sexual intention in it. IF YOU SQUINT.

Word Count: 1.0k

Ex Machina Masterlist, Oscar Isaac Masterlist

A/N: I did it. I made a Nathan Bateman story. Ya-hoo. Also, my requests are gonna remain closed. Unless it’s for one of Oscar Isaac’s characters because I seem to only be writing for him.

Nathan could feel his eyes growing heavy from pure boredom. He was slouched in his chair, spinning side-to-side. He had a blank expression as he tuned out the entire board meeting. This was one of those rare occasions he’d get away from his house. He would have groaned and sighed, but he wasn’t that big of a dick.

Nathan let out a small almost inaudible sigh as he looked around the room, without turning his head. That’s when his eyes caught someone. For a moment, his gaze remained the same simply because he was zoning out from boredom, but then he actually started to observe him. The man had black framed glasses that he’d occasionally push up with the back of his hand. He had a navy suit, with a red tie. In his blazer pocket was a silver name tag that read, “Dr. L/N”.

Nathan grinned and turned back to the meeting. He’d occasionally steal glances from the cute guy down the table. He looked way more invested in the meeting than he was. His legs were crossed and his hands were neatly folded in his lap.

Nathan took a deep breath as he sat up and leaned back in his office chair, his elbows on the arm rest, but his hands in his lap. He looked around the table more only for his search to meet the same destination. He looked at this “Dr. L/N”. He looked down at his attire again, as he thought. He wondered what it would be like for them to be alone together. What they would do. He looked back up at the guy's face and smiled again. He then wondered if the man was single and noticed the lack of a wedding ring and nodded. He made a mental note to strike up a conversation with the doctor.

As the meeting went on, Nathan’s focus waned. His attention constantly switched from the boring meeting and the less boring guy down the table. When the meeting came to an end he cleared his throat and pushed himself down the table, rolling in front of the man. He leaned his elbows on the table and caught the man’s attention. “Pardon me, doctor.” He said with a grin as he faked some formality. “Do you have any free time later today?”

The man looked at Nathan with surprised eyes. He wasn’t expecting for the CEO of Bluebook to strike up a conversation with him. “I’m sorry, sir. What did you say?” He asked politely, trying to make sure he heard Nathan correctly.

Nathan chuckled softly and nodded. He knew he was pushing his luck at the moment. “I was wondering if you had some free time later today.” He repeated. He tried to keep a serious expression, but something about the man made him smile. “If I’m not making myself clear, I’m trying to get to know you on a personal level.”

The man thought for a second. He looked Nathan up and down with a quick glance. He smiled. “I don’t see why not.”

“Great!” He held out his hand from the man to take it. “Nathan Bateman by the way.”

The man chuckled and took his hand. His hand was soft and his grip was firm and professional. “Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Bateman.” A playful smile graced his lips. “Dr. Y/N L/N.”

“You know who I am?” Nathan was just being cocky now.

“Of course. You’re the CEO of Bluebook. You’re a genius. You’ve made quite the breakthrough on our journey in building the perfect artificial intelligence.” They were both standing now. Y/N was gathering his things and putting them in his briefcase.

This gave Nathan an ego boost as he stood more proudly now. “You’ve piqued my interest, doc. I’d like to get to know you and more about your work.” Nathan said with a confident smile.

Y/N stood up straight as he spoke about what he does proudly. "I am just the brain. I aid in testing the experiments and how to create and aid any artificial intelligence we have here at Bluebook. I do not build though."

Nathan nodded. “Testing is a very important part of technology, and I’m sure your expertise is much appreciated.” He gave the man a smile. He then got an idea and his smile turned into an mischief filled grin. “If you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind showing you some of my work. My house is quite a bit away, but I’ll pay for all your expenses. I like when people appreciate my work.”

Y/N gave a chuckle, thinking the mischief was just about Nathan being cocky instead of him planning something. “Am I interacting with your work or just looking?”

“Why don’t you stop by and find out?” Nathan said, giving a smirk. “I’ve been working with one of my AI’s for a while now, and,” he paused and looked Y/N up and down, ”you can see how she responds to people.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll bite. I heard your house is very isolated.” He pointed out as they began to leave the meeting room.

“Yeah, but aren’t we all isolated? I mean, we are all nerdy computer scientists.” He said with a chuckle. Then he realized he was kind of insulting himself. He shrugged it off, he had bigger things to worry about. Bigger, better things. The thought brought a smirk to his face as he and Y/N and him walked out of the meeting room.

“You won’t regret this, doc.”

#NORMAN’S; writing #god complex 12 #x reader #x y/n #x you #x male reader #nathan bateman #ex machina #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman x reader #Nathan Bateman x male reader #Nathan Bateman x y/n #ex Machina x you #Ex Machina x reader #Ex Machina x male reader #Ex Machina x y/n #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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psychic-refugee · 6 months

Text

“You start by realising all these ridiculous childish theories and conspiracies are wasted time and energy and then just throw the chicken in the oven to be fair,” Louis wrote.

Back in 2017, Louis revealed in an interview with The Sun that the persistent theories about himself and Harry had affected their friendship.

Louis later added: “It created this atmosphere between the two of us where everyone was looking into everything we did.”

I do hope people in the Wednesday fandom, particularly Wenclairs, take this to heart. I am pointing Wenclairs out specifically, because from my own experience they are the ones who take the shipping beyond just the fictional duo of Wednesday and Enid to applying to their real-life counterparts of Jenna and Emma. The Wenclairs have been the most aggressive in their shipping and are the ones more likely to actually attack people over other ships.

I’m aware that Percy and Jenna have some speculation, but in my observation those shippers have not been weirdly aggressive about it.

Hunter and Jenna have not had any due to Hunter's homosexuality and husband.

In the brief time I was on IG, I was seeing comments of people declaring that Jenna was for sure a lesbian and they act as if they have insider knowledge. It’s weird and creepy.

I think when the “theories” are in their infancy, most can brush them off and even laugh about it. The actors might joke about it and even reference it in interviews. But then the theories become bigger, and people become more unhinged and start to cross boundaries. People create explicit art or fanfic and then tag the actors in it. They start fights in comment sections. It crosses a line and its sexual harassment, plain and simple.

Louis point blank says the Larries affected his friendship with Harry, and I don’t blame them for wanting to distance themselves from each other. I agree with Louis, it was super childish to press the issue.

Same with the “Gaylors” who were aggressive in saying she was a lesbian.

There are many reasons why people might stay in the closet. People have a right to keep certain things private. Hounding them for the “truth” shows a serious brainrot in our society. It’s especially disrespectful when the celebrities point blank deny the allegations and the rabid fans double down.

If we want actors to have at least cordial relationships with each other, much less have a friendship, then we have to cool it with the aggressive shipping, especially IRL shipping.

#larries #shipping wars #wenclairs #jenna ortega #emma meyers #percy hynes white #hunter doohan #harry styles #louis tomlinson

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stoopid-turtle · 8 months

Text

Timeline of GGDD Love

Hi yall. This is the index post for the BTS in Order posts. This is the post to bookmark if you want to refer to it later! (The first chunk is just copypasta from the April intro. Read More to get to the links)

I've looked for timelines of the bts before, but what I've found relies heavily on video clips, many of which I don't have access to. So I decided to make a text-focused timeline in English for the bts because I'm all up in my hyperfocus.

I mainly used this playlist on billibilli, though I also looked at a few other playlists (I didn't keep links, I suck). If I came across a video/reference w another date listed for the clip, I added the alternate date in parenthesis at the end. I chose to primarily follow this playlist bc it has a LOT of clips, has clips for every day, and doesn't have anything that immediately jumps out at me as wrong. I also cross-referenced with accio-victuuri's BJYX Timeline bc it's the most complete English timeline I've seen, and I respect the effort involved. And I ultimately I triple-checked against this weibo timeline. Again, alternate dates noted in parenthesis. Not all sources always agreed.

(the note on the primary playlist has this as its explanation of its dating: 广告以官宣日期为整体依据,若跨年度拍摄,则以最新发布日期为依据整理。Which Google translates to "The advertisement is based on the official announcement date as a whole and, if shot across the year, on the latest release date." I can't parse that so *shrug*)

I've listed out the bts scenes by date. I try to describe the known scenes, though I don't list out in detail EVERYTHING that happens (if I say "Xuanwu cave, bondage conversation", I assume you all know everything else that happens around that moment)(Though sometimes I get hype and fangirlish in the descriptions). A lot of scenes were unknown to me, so I tried to describe the setting, costumes, and vaguely what's happening. Most of the scenes I did recognize had more to the clip than the ones I've seen translated.

As none of what I watched had translations, I can't provide much context with that, I'm afraid. I also do not think these are in order within a day. I don't have any way to tell, so the timeline within the day, itself, is probably wonky.

I only included bts for the most part, not stuff the boys were doing outside the production. Everything's color coded. Scenes with only gg are in red. Scenes with only dd are in green. Scenes with both are orange (yellow just isn't readable, sorry). (If there's text with no color, just assume it's the same as the last colored text)

I wrote this literally by going back and forth between billibilli and Google Keep, so the notes are a little off the cuff. Let me know if you have questions or if you don't understand something. Or if you can't identify a particular bts scene you're curious about.

People are also completely free to take this and flesh it out if they want by adding the non-bts stuff. Any mistakes are mine. People are free to correct it as well. Basically, consider this public property for other turtles. So take it, make it your own, create a comprehensive google sheet that details everything in pretty color-coded order with media links that are cross-referenced, filterable, and sortable or whatever (PLEASE SOMEBODY DO THIS).

No need to credit. If you feel you have to, just say a stoopid turtle did it.

The timeline of ggdd love yue tag

April BTS In Order

April Summary + Takeaways

May BTS In Order Pt 1

May BTS in Order Pt 2

May Summary + Takeaways

June BTS In Order Pt 1

June BTS in Order Pt 2

June Summary + Takeaways

July BTS In Order Pt 1

July BTS in Order Pt 2

July Summary + Takeaways

Aug BTS In Order Pt 1

Aug BTS in Order Pt 2

Aug Summary + Takeaways

Overall Summary + Takeaways

Addendum 1

Addendum 2

#bjyx #yizhan #the timeline of ggdd love yue #prezzie for turtles #free resource #my brain just does this stuff #turtle service #adhd+autism is a helluva drug

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regretmedaisy · 7 months

Text

i can see you - tom riddle x fmc/reader

part I

loosely inspired by "i can see you" by taylor swift.

“I've been watchin' you for ages

And I spend my time tryin' not to feel it”

When she meets him again in her adulthood, dormant longings resurface together with a newfound desire to be the object of his own devotion.

As their paths keep crossing, she starts to think he feels the same.

tags: afab mc, use of female pronouns and no descriptors (i tagged it as x reader because i guess it could be read as such if you use the same pronouns), somewhat period-accurate clothing, courtship (just a little because it's still tom riddle), fmc has a crush on tom, very light foreplay (fem!receiving, clothes stay on), a bit of fluff, explicit sexual desire, mention of masturbation.

words: 5.9K

More smut in part II

Part I: You brush past me in the hallway

She couldn’t recall when her obsession with Tom Riddle had started. Perhaps she had always felt that way.

She thought about him as she got ready for school, walked to breakfast or sat in the Great Hall to study, her heart fluttering every time his eyes wandered in her direction. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t actually looking at her - the fantasy was enough.

She felt herself blushing every time he walked past her in the corridors, her gaze sometimes daring, sometimes hesitant, careful not to look at him for too long in case he realised her feelings, but enough to not come off as completely indifferent. Just in case he felt the same.

She had become an ever-present shadow, one he could have moulded into whatever he desidered, as her heart, easily-fooled by an irresistible pretence that had shaped her passion and longing, didn’t know any other affection.

She ignored everything there was to know about him, as he only existed in her fantasy, beautiful and clever and mesmerising. She started following him everywhere: watching him as he sat reading in the courtyard, getting detention when he was the one supervising.

They had once talked and he had smiled at her. Oh, what a moment that had been. She had laid in bed, her face in the pillow, giggling as her roommates asked her what had happened.

But she had never wanted him to know. She liked to dream about him but never expected him to make those dreams come true.

After they graduated school, she felt empty. Her fantasies were vacant of their predominant character and she had spent a few nights crying about never seeing him again, although she didn’t like to wander in that part of her memories that much.

Then, through a series of coincidences she liked to think were fate’s doing, she had gotten a job at the post office.

She had been on her way to deliver a missive to Flourish and Blotts - a favour she did to the old owner - when he had walked past her.

Time had stopped.

She couldn’t hear or feel anything. Not the wind brushing through her hair and cooling her cheeks nor the jumbled chatter of the street. Everything was muted and still, except for him.

He was dressed in a tasteful black suit, his jacket buttoned, and his stride was long and confident. He stopped in front of the newspaper rack, picked one up, paid and left without a glance to her or anyone else.

It was only when he had disappeared down the street that she had snapped out of it, realising she had been crumpling the letter in her hands.

Back in the office, she had discreetly asked Will - who had been working there longer than her - about him. He was almost certain Tom had been working in Knockturn Alley for a while and an errand in that part of the city had confirmed his presumption.

The next day, as she was trying not to shout at a customer that if he wanted his package delivered to France in one day he could’ve delivered it himself, she had seen him walk by through the glass door.

And the next day as she was busy sorting through the deliveries.

And the next one again.

On the fourth day, she had taken her break around the time she had calculated he was going to pass by. She had to suppress her giddiness when she saw him.

Since then, she duly waited for him as he punctually went to buy his newspaper.

“Isn’t it a bit cold to be outside voluntarily?” Will asked one day, standing up from his seat to return to the storage room as she went back inside. She hung her coat and scarf, fixing the collar of her jumper.

“I like the fresh air.” She sat down at her desk, getting back to her tasks. It had been an unexpectedly slow morning, leaving her time to write the report she usually needed to cram between customers.

She leaned back against her chair, absent-mindedly twirling her quill between her fingers as her mind went back to the same subject that had filled her younger years.

Since that fortunate day of September, her infatuation with Tom Riddle had returned to burn like a wildfire, but it had also felt different. It wasn’t the childish crush of a teenager anymore, unbridled in her fantasies and hesitant in her action. It was a different type of fixation, more subdued, more restrained, perhaps more mature. He felt familiar and new at the same time, and she was content with watching him, appeased by his mere existence.

But lately she had felt the compelling need to to draw closer, to enter his orbit without actually being pulled in by it.

Those were desires she succumbed to during other times of the day.

She anxiously drummed her fingers on the desk, her eyes urgently checking the clock as the man in front of her couldn’t bother to fill out his form. If she wasn’t going to do it today she wasn’t sure when she’ll find the courage again.

She hurriedly signed it as he handed it over and retrieved her coat.

“I’m going on break!” She didn’t even wait for Will to answer before stepping out in the street.

She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she walked, her heels clattering on the cobblestones. Perhaps high heels weren’t a good idea, her legs felt less steady than she had anticipated. She adjusted the silk scarf around her neck and smoothed a hand over her curls as she went straight to the magazine rack.

Alright, she needed to stay calm and look relaxed. Nothing of importance was happening. She was just there to buy a magazine.

She browsed through a few, incapable of actively reading the headlines since her mental capacity was too occupied waiting with him.

Minutes passed inexorably, her tension growing imposing until it exploded into a million butterflies the moment she noticed him. She didn’t turn, instead subtly moving in front of the stand where they sold his newspaper, pretending to skim, deep in thought.

She could hear him walking closer until he was right next to her.

He was wearing his coat, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched to read the headlines. His presence was impossible to miss and became even more breathtaking when he scooted closer to her, his arm stretching out to grab a newspaper right in front of her. His side brushed against her arm and she couldn’t stop herself from taking in all she could. His scent, his warmth, the mere occasion of being so close to him.

Her eyes moved to find his of their own volition. His expression was slightly surprised, like he wasn’t expecting her to consider him. He held her gaze for a second, his blue eyes glinting in her morning light, lively like she had only occasionally seen them.

He pressed his lips together and nodded to her in greeting, folding the newspaper under his arm before entering the store to pay.

She was breathless. The wind had picked up, biting against her cheeks that she knew must have turned flush. She forced herself to divert her attention, deciding on a crossword magazine just as he left the store.

“Five letters, it starts with an S,” she read, “It can be found at Hogwarts.”

“Stars?” Will attempted, his voice muffled from the thud of some boxes he was moving.

It had been a few weeks since her last encounter (if it could be called that) with Tom. Since then, once a week she would dress more attentively and get to Flourish and Blotts in time to wait for him. She would choose a different magazine or newspaper every time, although crosswords were her favourite to waste her time between customers.

She had come to the conclusion that one trip a week was enough to satisfy her persistent yearning without drawing too much attention to herself. The rest of the week she spent her break outside, unperturbed by the changing of the seasons and the chilly weather.

“Yes, because stars are a prerogative of Hogwarts,” she jested. She could hear Will grumble something through the open door that separated them.

“I think it’s ‘Squid’,” she said triumphantly, writing the word down. She held up the paper like she was reading it for an entire audience. “Next, it tells you the truth you might not want to hear. Eight letters.”

“Veritaserum!” Will enthusiastically suggested.

“That’s eleven letters. Honestly, did you even go to school?” It was like this every time, he would just throw out the first thing that came to mind. It was still funny, though.

“Honesty maybe? No, it’s seven letters. Let me get the dictionary.”

Sometimes she wondered how he had managed to run the office alone until they had hired her.

“Synonyms with eight letters, let’s see.” She could hear him quickly turning the pages. Why did he have a dictionary in there she could not say.

“I don’t think it’s an-” She lifted her gaze as the doorbell chimed and her sentence got cut off by a sudden rush of heat that didn’t allow her to think clearly for a few seconds.

Tom Riddle crossed the threshold. He took off his leather gloves and turned down the collar of his jacket.

She was embarrassingly wide-eyed as he approached her desk.

“Hello,” he said.

She blinked a few times, trying to remember the customs of the society she got raised in.

“Hi, how can I help you?” She gave him her usual bright customer service smile. Thank Merlin habits were stronger than feelings.

“I have a letter to post.” He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out an envelope.

“Sure,” she said, her tone professional and experienced. “Just fill out this form, please.”

She offered him a quill and her eyes lowered on his long slender fingers as he skillfully gripped it. She could have watched him write all day, but instead pretended to be busy sorting through a cabinet.

Will came out of the backroom, holding his beloved dictionary. He gave Tom a tight cordial smile and set the dictionary in front of her, pointing to a specific word. “Morality”.

She glanced quickly at Tom before focusing on Will.

“What does that have to do with the truth?” Her tone was an aggravated whisper.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but it has eight letters,” he whispered back. She held in the laugh that threatened to escape her as she looked at him.

She gestured for him to leave before Tom reported them as unprofessional and turned to him as he handed her the signed papers.

“Thank you.” Why did her voice suddenly sound so shrilly? She cleared her throat, trying to regain some dignity.

She checked the address and noticed it was in England. “It will be dispatched with the afternoon owls and will probably reach your addressee by tomorrow.” She was not required to give him this information, but she just wanted to keep him there a little longer.

He nodded and smiled warmly at her. Butterflies bloomed again like flowers. “Perfect, thank you.”

“Have a good day,” she said.

“You too.” He turned but then halted, like he had just changed his mind about something. “It's ‘Prophecy’ by the way.”

She frowned, confused on what he meant, until she remembered the crossword. “Oh, thank you.”

She watched him open the door and leave. And then watched him some more through the window as he returned to Knockturn Alley, something warm diffusing through her.

“I knew it!” Will's exultant voice broke her reverie.

She whipped her head around. “What?” By the way he was looking at her, his eyes gleaming like they had just witnessed the most engaging of gossip, she could guess exactly what he was talking about.

“When you asked all those questions I thought nothing of it, but you spend all your breaks outside, and it’s so windy in this part of Diagon Alley! I knew there was a reason. Especially after you started coming to work looking very lovely.”

“So, since I care about my look and spend my break outside, you deduced that…what exactly?

He leaned against the doors with his arms crossed and raised an eyebrow. His expression was so self-assured she knew she couldn’t deny her way out.

“Are you telling me you don’t fancy Tom Riddle? Because if I liked men I would definitely fancy him.”

“Don’t even start,” she sighed, covering her face.

If someone had told her years ago what would have happened in the next few weeks, she would have thought they had more imagination than her.

Aside from Will forcing her to buy another crossword, since the one she had chosen was part of some sort of divination conspiracy - his words.

“What does it have to do with the ‘truth you don’t want to hear’?” he had said. “Divination is just a scam, let me tell you.”

Tom had been coming and going from the post office. The response to his letter had arrived three days later and he had personally showed up to collect it.

She had always assumed that Riddle and the people he corresponded with had their own owl, but perhaps she had mistakenly presumed who he was exchanging letters with.

In school she had often dreamt of receiving a letter or a simple note from him, something to keep next to her bed and occasionally reread, wishing for things she didn’t have the courage to take for herself.

An insidious thought had crept into her mind after the first letter, instigating jealous feelings she had never felt. In school he had never shown interest in romantic liaisons, but his intentions could have changed since then.

The morning after, checking who he had sent the letter to was the first thing she had done once she had stepped into the office, professionalism be damned.

It was now a gloomy day, kept bearable by the prospect of talking to him.

“Good morning,” he greeted her as came in half an hour later, closing his umbrella and leaving it by the entrance. The sound of pounding rainfall on the street filled the silence. His coat was dampened around the sleeves and shoulders and his curls fell haphazardly on his forehead. “I believe you have something for me.”

She smiled at him. “Let me just get your letter, I think it arrived today.” She got up and reached for one of the shelves next to her. She knew he was coming today, so she had worn her nicest pair of work heels and a flattering skirt. Her curls had also turned out prettier than usual.

She perused the envelopes but didn’t find any addressed to him.

In the backroom, Will was reading a book with his legs crossed on the table. She searched through the newest delivery but couldn’t find it.

“Where is the letter?” she asked under her breath.

Will lifted his eyes from the page and adjusted his glasses. “What letter?”

“His letter, Will,” she hissed. “I saw it earlier.”

“If it isn’t there I don’t know what to tell you. Perhaps he switched up the dates.”

He noticed her accusatory expression and prudently held up his hands. “I’ll send a note to see if the owl got lost. Will that help you relax?”

Her features distended. “Yes, thank you. I’ll tell him to come by later.”

“Did you ask if he wants tea as well?”

She rolled her eyes laughing, relieved he wasn’t mad at her - she was feeling guilty for her unfair distrust - and went back to Tom, who was flipping through a brochure.

She threw him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we had some troubles with the owl carrying your missive.”

She couldn’t read his face as he listened to her.

“It’s fine, I’ll return before you close.” He grabbed his umbrella, completely unperturbed.

“We are really sorry,” she said, resisting the urge to start chipping away her nail polish.

His eyes bore into her. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault.”

Lightning struck in that same moment, a blast of wind slamming against the windows as thunder made her swallow her redundant apologies.

“Let’s hope it will stop raining by then,” she mumbled more to herself, watching the raindrops fall quickly and heavily.

After lunch, Will brought her the envelope she had been desperately looking for. The paper was surprisingly pristine, not even a drop of water or a crease on it.

“It just arrived,” he announced with a wink.

“You’re telling me an owl flew with this rain?”

“I always told you I believe those animals have superpowers.” He shrugged and returned to his duties.

She stacked it on top of a pile of papers, smiling involuntary. She was embarrassed by herself.

An hour later, Will stepped out of the office with his coat and scarf on.

“I’m leaving for today. Do you want me to wait for you?” he asked. Rain was still pounding on the glass.

“You can go. Hopefully it will stop.” He nodded, retrieved his umbrella and disappeared among the flock of passersby.

She glanced at the clock, wishing time could just run faster so that she could go home. The light had dimmed over the afternoon, engulfing the office in a dull atmosphere with drowsy undertones. She was drawing a flower on a piece of parchment when the bell chimed. She already knew who it was.

He gave her a small smile and her heart fluttered.

“Here it is. The poor owl lost his way in this storm,” she said, holding his letter. He grabbed it and signed the usual form.

"Are you always this accommodating?" he asked casually.

She felt her cheeks heat at the question as she cleared her desk. "It's my job."

"Do you live far from here?"

She faltered as she was reaching for her coat and cleared her throat.

"Why do you ask?" She followed his gaze to the empty umbrella stand.

"Oh."

“I don’t mind escorting you home, if you’d like,” he said promptly.

Was this actually happening? She was sure she had fantasised about something like this once.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” This was what she was supposed to say, right?

“I insist.”

She surely wasn’t going to let him change his mind.

“Alright, then.” She smiled coyly as he took her coat from her hands and helped her with it. His hands brushed on her arms in a gesture that was oddly intimate in the fading light of the office. He opened the door for her and waited for her to lock it.

Around them people hurried to get to their destination, but she was in no rush. He offered her his arm and she took it, a little out of breath. She hid her hand in the crook of his elbow, hoping it would not betray her nervousness and gently guided him in the right direction.

“How was your day?” he asked after a few steps, just as nonchalantly as before.

“It was good, perhaps a little boring.”

“Do you enjoy working at the post office?” He turned his head, watching her with those rich eyes of his.

She shrugged lightly. “It’s better than other jobs, and I like my colleague.”

“I met him the other day. You weren’t there when I went to post my letter,” he explained in response to her surprised look.

“Oh yes, it was my free afternoon.” She couldn’t believe Will hadn’t told her about this.

Tom nodded as if it was a fact he wanted to remember.

“Do you like your job?” she asked, greedy for anything he wanted to share with her.

“It might seem strange but I do.”

“Where do you work exactly?” Not even Will had been able to tell her what it was that he did.

“Borgin and Burkes.”

“The antique shop?”

He chuckled. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

She mirrored his grin. “How would you describe it?”

“You can call it that if you’re into cursed music boxes and a wide selection of skulls.”

“Perhaps I am,” she replied foxily. “I’ll come and take a look one day.”

“Are you?” The inflection in his voice told her he didn’t quite believe her.

“You don’t really know me, Tom.”

As her words were met with silence, she turned to him. She had never seen him look at her like that, his lips slightly curved and his eyes glinting with intrigue.

“So I gather Diagon Alley wasn’t in your ambitions?” he asked after a while. He must have seen her discomfort at his question because he immediately apologised.

“Don’t, please.” She put her free hand on his arm before registering what she was doing and he followed her motion as she composedly dropped it.

“You’re right,” she said with a sigh, averting her eyes. “I don’t know what I expected from the future.”

“But?”

“But I suppose it could be worse.” That’s it, that’s all she had to say. No big dream everyone required her to have.

“You could make it better, you have endless possibilities to choose from.” He sounded so sure, but of course he was. He had the world in his palm and he could change the course of existence at every moment.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that’s true.”

She steered him to the right to cross the street. They were now out of Diagon Alley, walking through the small inhabited island that separated Muggle London from the commercial area. He rested his arm on her back and respectfully pushed her away from the street, switching their places. She pretended it didn’t affect her.

“You could have had any job after graduation,” she pointed out.

“I chose the one that I believed would give me more benefits.”

“Did you choose correctly?”

He smirked. “I did.”

She wanted to ask more but didn’t dare and a comfortable silence fell between them.

She noticed Tom was extremely careful and observant. He tilted the umbrella to the perfect angle to shield her completely and moved to the side every time she needed to sidestep a puddle.

It was the first time she had had the opportunity to be close enough to him. His arm was firm and she could sense his warmth through the layers of his clothes. She thought of how good it would have felt to nestle against him.

It felt like something it wasn’t, an intimate routine, and she soaked in the moment. His body heat, the coarse wool of his coat against her hand, his soft breath, the pumping of her enamoured heart, the swaying movement of their figures as they walked, the raindrops hitting the asphalt.

She wanted to drown in it.

“We are almost there,” she announced, sadly noticing they were nearing her neighbourhood.

“Do you live alone?”

She nodded. “I used to have a roommate but then I moved to a smaller apartment. I enjoyed the quiet more.”

“I suppose you don’t have a lot of guests, then.”

“Will comes for lunch sometimes, he’s also alone.”

“And your other friends?”

She hid her surprise at his question. She didn’t expect him to remember any details about her.

“I hardly see them nowadays, we kinda lost touch over the years.” There was a soreness that couldn’t quite go away everytime she thought of the companions she drifted away from. No matter how hard she had tried to fight against the currents, there had been an insurmountable wave between them. Everyone said it inevitably happened with age, but no one ever talked about the solitude that it brought with it.

His finger grazed against her wrist, capturing her attention.

“Being alone isn’t always a curse,” he murmured.

“Are you alone?” She couldn’t remember a day when he wasn’t surrounded by his friends or admirers. She had always considered he enjoyed the attention of people hanging from his lips, but perhaps she had judged him wrongly. “Or do you still see your friend sometimes?”

His expression was clever as he answered. “The two things can coexist.”

She looked at him, ardently wishing she could figure him out. It was her torment, never quite managing to step into his field of attraction long enough to decode him, forever relegated to a bystander. Why was he telling her that? Why was he there with her?

His profound eyes searched for something and the idea of being just as incomprehensible to him made her shiver.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

She fiddled with the sleeve of her coat. "I'm fine. We are almost there."

They walked the last few metres to her front door and stopped in front of a set of stairs.

"Thank you for accompanying me." She didn't mention she could have easily apparated.

"Don't mention it."

She made to step away from him but he hesitated to let go of her arm, his fingers lingering over her skin. She watched as he raised his hand to her face, tenderly brushing a loose strand away from her face, curling it with his finger.

"Thank you," she said, her voice breathy.

His hand dropped and he stepped back. She didn't want him to go.

"Do you want to come in?"

She only processed what she had said after the words had left her mouth. Was she being improper? It was pouring and he had made her the courtesy of walking her home. The least she could do was to invite him in, it was a display of gracious manners.

If she was worried he might have misinterpreted, he instead looked unperturbed.

"I think it is best if I get back. It's getting quite late."

She didn't show her disappointment. "Of course. Have a good evening."

He returned her wish and waited until she unlocked her front door before leaving.

Within the cosiness of her home, she spent all night thinking about him. She replayed her whole afternoon while she was sitting in the bathtub, brushing her hair, making dinner. His feathery touch lingered like a phantom hand, the memory of his gaze followed her in everything she did, and, as she laid in bed, the ache of his rejection - that she knew to be insignificant - turned into fear she had ruined everything, a creature threatening to devour her as her mind grew tired and the night grew darker, the ticking of the clock an incessant reminder of everything she could crave but never have.

She looked at the dangling sign, the golden letters carved into dark wood, and entered the shop trying not to look at the stuffed fox by the entrance.

The interior was just as sinister. She ignored an undoubtedly haunted portrait and passed in front of an array of body parts she was sure had belonged to Frankenstein at one point.

“Those are for the more eccentric customers,” Tom said, coming out of the backroom and spooking her.

“I’m not going to ask what they need them for,” she replied with a nervous laugh.

He stopped to take something from a shelf and showed it to her. “I think you’ll like this more.”

It was a wooden cube with a glass surface on the top. Inside there was a simple maze and a small marble. She took it and tilted it to the side, trying to make the ball roll forward. The light reflected on the glass and when she looked again the puzzle was different and the marble was in the opposite angle. She inclined it a few more times and the maze kept shifting repeatedly.

“How am I supposed to finish this?”

“It is designed to create a sequence. You have to understand the pattern to know where the marble will be everytime and move accordingly.”

“If I don’t go mad first.”

Tom pressed his lips in an amused smile as he took the cube back and placed it on a random shelf.

She lost herself in his mesmerising gaze as he drew closer like a shadow. The tension between them was tauter.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said, his voice a smooth whisper.

“I told you I was coming to take a look,” she replied, her lips expertly curling into a sweet smile.

“Is that all?” He stretched his arm to remove a speck of dust on the shelf to her right, enclosing her between his body and a ladder leaning against the bare wall.

She tried to remain poised as she took something out of her purse. “This came for you.”

He took the letter with a frown, turning it in his hands to read who sent it.

“Who writes to you?” She already knew there was no name on the envelope. She wondered how the sender had managed to mail it.

“I’m just as clueless as you are.” He carefully ripped the paper as she stared at him wide-eyed. He read the signature at the bottom of the message and folded it back, putting it in the pocket of his jacket.

Of course he knew, it was obvious she wasn’t able to mind her own business.

“Who do you imagine writing to me?” That captivated gleam lit up his eyes again.

“Malfoy looks like a prolific writer.”

“But Malfoy always signs his letters.”

“Is there someone in your life that prefers to remain a secret?”

She shuddered as he trailed his fingers down her arm, gently holding her wrist. “Like a secret liaison?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Is there anyone?” There was no turning back after this.

His fingers brushed against hers and she let out a small sigh. She didn’t miss his pleased smirk as he stepped forward, her figure moving back until she rested against the wooden rungs of the ladder. They were standing behind a wall that hid them from any peering eyes, concealed by the shadow’s silhouette.

“Perhaps there is,” he murmured, taking her handbag and setting it down. “Perhaps I should reply to her promptly.” He started to slowly unbutton her coat. She could not take her eyes away from him.

“But the fact is, I am not sure what I should tell her.” He locked his eyes with hers and got down on his knees. Her breath hitched in her throat.

She stared down at him, her stomach knotting as a familiar yearning pervaded her. She had thought of him in that position, she had wanted him like this. Her heart was thundering.

“How do I fit in all of this?”

“Perhaps,” he said, holding her calf to push her foot on the first rung, “you could advise me.” She followed his movements until she was propped on the first step and grabbed the ladder, watching him.

“You could start by writing what you like about her,” she suggested. He started massaging her ankles, his hands slowly drawing over her nylon tights from her heel straps to her calves.

“I like her beauty,” he replied with ease, tracing his finger over her seam on the back of her leg.

“I wouldn’t start like that.”

“How so?” He looked amused as his hands reached below the hem of her skirt and he brushed his lips over her knee.

“You will never win her over if she thinks you only appreciate her for her beauty.” Her lips parted as he looked up at her, strikingly handsome, and she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the texture of his curls. They were softer than she had expected.

“What should I tell her, then?”

“Do you see her often?”

“Not as often as I’d like.”

“You could mention the small details of her person that you miss.” He languidly pushed up the fabric of her skirt, exposing her tights.

“Like what?”

“Like the way she does her hair or how she holds her quill as she writes. Or something that made you think of her.”

“You do like the details,” he muttered, more to himself than her, looking transfixed as he hooked his finger into the band of her stockings, giving her the physical contact she had painfully craved.

“What about her intelligence?”

She nodded and tried to swallow but her throat was parched. “That too. Are you impressed by her?”

“I am. She looks remarkable.”

“Could she rival you?”

He smirked and undid her garter, tugging the nylon partially down. “I’m waiting to find out.” He pressed his lips onto her skin, kissing her bare leg. She brought her head back against the hard rung, letting out a whimper she didn’t want to contain.

His lips were slightly chapped from the cold weather but his breath was warm as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses all over her scorching skin. Her hand found his hair again, pulling it as sweet breathy sounds came from her lips.

He focused his attention on her other thigh, digging his fingers into her flesh like a starving man and pressing his mouth harder into her skin.

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. There was so much she wanted now. It was urging, impossible to ignore. She was looking down the edge of the precipice, unable to tear the gaze away from the looming danger. Someone was behind her threatening to push her. She was sure it was Tom.

As he kissed the inside of her thigh she felt the need to tug his head further up. He was hers for a moment, one secret moment, surrounded by a still silence that could not betray them.

He grazed his teeth over the sensitive spot and bit softly, hiking up her skirt and her suspender belt with an urgent motion. She gripped his hair tighter, ready to lead him where they clearly both wanted to be.

She shifted her weight, the wetness between her legs so pressing it was becoming uncomfortable.

“Tom,” she breathed as his hand gripped her waist and his lips reached right under the crease of her tight.

“Tell me what you desire the most,” he murmured, bending her knee and putting her foot one rung up to gain better access.

You.

She couldn’t tell him that. She would have never told him that, yet she was sure he already knew. Perhaps he had always known, and he had savoured each furtive glance and each stolen detail preparing for this moment.

The thought was less mortifying than expected.

“Right now I just want-”

The bell chimed, followed by the creaking of the door opening. Tom immediately got up, letting go of her leg and concealing her with his figure until she made herself decent again. Then he scurried to assist the new customer.

She collected herself and pretended to scour the shelves for a while, waiting for the flush on her cheeks to fade and for her heart to slow down. Tom’s eyes met hers as she left, carrying anticipation and a promise.

As her hands dipped between her legs that night, she wondered if he was doing the same.

Afterwards, questions crowded her restless night. Had he always known what their encounters were going to lead up to or was he just as surprised?

He had been hers for one long burning moment. She yearned to touch him again and she knew he desidered the same, to protract those flames until skin glowed and flesh smoked, until he could squeeze her beating organ. But how long was it going to last until he decided to crush it?

sorry for the cockblocking.

#tom riddle x fmc #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter #hp fanfic

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zhongrin · 2 years

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𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓅 𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒

❝ 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌! 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋. ❞

𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐬

ー ’ageless blogs’ refers to blogs who don’t have any age indicators in your bio or pinned. carrds do not count - if you have the time and skill to make a carrd, you have the time and skill to put it on your bio or pinned. 'adult' or 'not a minor' do not count either - your definition of 'adult' or 'minor' may differ from mine and i'm not taking any risk.

ー ’minors’ refers to people below 18 years old.

ー 'interaction' refers to: asks, replies, mentions, and messages. asks and replies violating the rules will be deleted. mentions and messages violating the rules will be ignored. likes and reblogs are an exception, simply because i don't have time to go constantly monitor those.

ー ’selfship’ refers to the act of shipping oneself (it can be me or my friends) with a fictional character. it may be romantic, platonic, familial, or otherwise in nature.

ー ’tone indicators’ refers to things like /j, /lh, /silly, /amused, etc.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

✼ if you are an ageless blog or a minor, i will not be interacting with you. you can still follow me, since most of my works are still sfw by nature, but please don't interact with me or my content.

✼ if you send n.sfw or dark topics on anon, i will not answer them and they will be deleted.

✼ minors are required to block/filter the tag #minors dni.

✼ i write and consume n.sfw and dark topics (yandere, gore, blood, horror). still, i do have a few topics i am not comfortable with: gatekeeping, cheating/infidelity, one-sided love, vomit, scat, extreme eating disorder.

✼ i selfship (zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley) and support my friends' selfshipping endeavors a lot. if that's not your thing, it won't be a good idea to follow me. if you don't want to "share" f/os, you do you, but please dni (explanation here). also, don't talk about 'stealing' my f/os or anything along that line, even as a joke.

✼ i don't allow reposts, translations, feeding my works to ai, or any kind of plagiarism.

✼ i'm not a roleplay blog primarily, but some of my content can be considered roleplay (selfship, ebg content, my s/i's interactions, etc.).

✼ dni you're unable to differentiate between fiction and reality. dni if you think that someone is inherently "bad" just because they create / consume dark content or for liking "problematic" / morally grey-borderline-black characters (e.g. childe, dottore).

✼ dni if you're in my dni list (duh), and dni i'm in your dni list (i can't believe i need to say this).

✼ i don't accept writing requests and i have no plans of doing so.

✼ i don't accept criticism / complaints about my writing. i understand that my works are lacking, especially compared to other amazing writers in tumblr - but i only write for my own self-indulgence and fun. i just want to enjoy what i do; if you don't like it, block and move on.

✼ i don't want character x character content in my blog. i only write character x reader content. most of my sfw contents involve gn!reader, while most of my n.sfw contents involve afab!reader.

✼ don't trauma dump in my inbox if we're not close.

✼ don't ask to be mutuals.

✼ please don't put me on a pedestal (i don't want any parasocial relationship in this blog) or treat me as your friend if we don't even talk regularly. if you have a discord but don't know my discord, chances are, i am not your friend. please keep that in mind. in the same vein, i can only hope you don't see me as a content creating robot.

✼ i personally believe that there's a max limit number of consistent typos a message could have for it to be crossing the line of 'just plain disrespectful'. if you can't find enough care in you to type properly before sending it to me, i'll assume that it's a reflection of the amount of respect you have for me.

✼ tone indicators are required if we're not close, especially if you say stuff like "i'll kms" / "i want to die" / (insert degrading nicknames e.g. bitch, slut, etc. as 'endearment').

✼ i block freely and believe that i have the right to do so for a lot of reasons. you might be in my dni. i might be in your dni. you might be blatantly ignoring my rules. i might not vibe well with you or you make me uncomfortable. i might suspect that you're lying about your age. these aren't an exhaustive list. if i do block you, just ignore or block me back and move on.

✼ i appreciate every comments and reblogs on my work. please know that i read all of them even if i can't reply to them all.

#byf #dni #rules #navi

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ruiniel · 2 months

Text

Remember

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no yaiba

Pairing: Kokushibō x fem!Reader

Rating: 🔞

Count: 1.7k

On AO3

Part I

Tags & Warnings: Multichapter, Darkfic, Angst, Ambiguity, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Reincarnation, Toxic relationship, Codependency, Blood kink, Flashbacks, Kokushibō's wife, her name is Hisami, References to childbirth but nothing graphic, POV Second Person, Tsugikuni Michikatsu POV, Emotional Sex, Mild Smut, is it gratuitous yes and no, Human!Kokushibō, Kokushibō | Tsugikuni Michikatsu-centric, Sengoku Period (1467-1590), if there's anything Upper Moon One fears it's his memories, Making promises he can't keep

Author note

My hands, they slipped this chapter... rating changed, see the tags.

Naginata: a versatile, conventional polearm, mainly favored for its length, which can compensate for the strength and body size advantage of male opponents. It was a weapon-of-choice of the onna-musha or female warriors in pre-modern Japan.

Ashigaru: in a samurai household their primary role was that of protectors and warriors but were also responsible for various tasks around the estate.

Koshimoto: the personal attendants to the samurai. Among others, their tasks included dressing the samurai in their elaborate armor.

III.

Worry is a deeply human trait. You know this, and you know the world will never give without taking just enough to keep one fighting on. You’ve tried mastering your breaths as you’d been taught, but your grasp is clammy on the naginata which never tasted spilled blood.

When he left, you wished to go, too, but buried your desires at the feet of duty for the good of your clans, your futures and the precious, rare spark that flourished from nothing in such short a time between you.

Michikatsu has always been talented in the way of the sword, dedicated and perseverent. All traits required of him, ingrained in you too. You’d watch him train when you were too small to join, you toiled to reach a skill level enabling you to protect your own if things took a turn for the worst in the land.

He promised he’d be careful. He promised. You cross the engawa countless times, watching the night for a sign.

“Hisami-sama, the tea is ready.”

You thank the girl, who lingers, hesitates to speak further, but you can feel her unrest. She retreats, and you are unable to tear your eyes away from the outside.

The neighing of horses bursts upon the beaten path like omens from a distance, louder and louder. Sweat beads on your forehead. You ought to remove yourself and go inside, but invisible weights latch around your ankles. Your shoulders stiffen, and the remaining ashigaru become alert until you see a familiar standard, known faces, and finally him, dismounting fluidly as the household are swift to approach their lord and returning retainers.

Your weapon set aside, you exhale a deep breath then draw another.

His gaze locks on you as you rush to reach him but before you can throw yourself at him, custom and all be damned, his hands are on your shoulders, holding you firmly at arm’s length.

In the torchlight, you see the blood on his face is dry, and the same stains match those on his chest, his armored sleeves, and his shin guards. His violet stare is distant, its dark depths empty. This was his second military incursion as a kogashira leading his squad in battle.

You greet him as befits custom; Michikatsu is silent. His eyes never leave your face, and now something new lurks behind them, something you’d not seen there before. Slowly, he releases you, turning and—curious—dismissing the koshimoto.

What is this? You don’t understand.

Michikatsu then looks your way with the kind of expression that bears meaning: a beckoning. Worried, compelled, you let the steward handle the rest and follow his heavy tread inside.

Once there, he removes one gauntlet, then the other; silent, so silent. You near, aiding with the removal of the armor piece after piece. So many questions, that you nearly bite your tongue to force them down. His gaze follows your movements, again always returning to your face.

“Will there be anything else, Michikatsu-dono?”

With just the two of you together, here, you wonder at your choice of address: the only way you allow yourself to express the hurt, the rejection of that one gesture outside after so many weeks of uncertainty. He must see it, and still, nothing.

His eyes meet yours, as though surprised you’re there at all. “No, Hisami. Thank you.”

He says nothing else. He rises, turns away, and leaves the room.

The space by your side is cold and empty, all the emptier the more you stare, the more your mind drowns in rumination. A demon of silence, has forced its way into a corner of your chamber, lurking and layering doubts like nightshade over your spirit.

The slow slide of the fusuma panel interrupts this torturous reverie.

Michikatsu nears, kneels by the futon even as you rise to sit, facing him. The glow of the lamp plays over his features and his unbound hair, still wet from a bath, shining like ink. He wears nothing but a carelessly fastened yukata, and droplets of water shine golden as they drip down his pale chest. You see a bruise, large and dark, beneath his collarbone. There must be others.

You stare, unsure what to say. Michikatsu has always had a gentle, withdrawn nature, but he’s never acted quite like this before. If someone didn’t know him better, one would think he is his usual self, albeit spent mentally and physically after weeks of immense strain that only warfare can cause. His breaths are labored, though, as if he’d crossed a great distance on foot and not merely the path to your bedroom. The fact that he even is here should gladden you, after his earlier manner, but… be that as it may, you will try again.

“I missed y—”

Your words are severed. He knows how to be gentle; but like deep waters with roiling currents that drag one to the depths, he also harbors an unpredictable side: and now his hand is heavy on your thigh, the other gripping the nape of your neck, bringing your face closer none too gently. His lips are hot, crushing against yours; it’s close to pain, and the weakness from the time spent apart only allows you to feebly press your palms against his chest.

His breathing is still harsh against your mouth, and with this his earlier peculiarities seem so insignificant. If this time has been difficult for you, a thread of understanding dawns as to what it must have been like for him.You slowly sway together back and forth as you kiss, your fingers gliding through his sable hair and him releasing you seems out of the question, the hand on your thigh snaking up and around your waist, forcing your body flush against his. He ends the kiss, sucking on your lower lip with an abandon that will surely leave a mark, and goes still; panting, silent, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“Michikatsu, please, say something…”

He bares your shoulder, the wet warmth of his mouth gliding over your skin, along your neck and there he lingers, kissing and licking a spot he learned has you shivering—and it does, sparks of pleasure rushing waywardly through you, dispersing all and any fears or troubles; a soft sigh leaves him when your fingers tighten in his hair.

If he chooses to speak this way rather than using words, you mind it less and less, lending yourself to the careful way he cups your head, the tickle of his wet strands on your skin as he descends with you in his arms. His weight presses you into the futon and hungrily he still nips at your neck, your chin, licking a warm stripe between your breasts before staring at the hardened tips peaked through your yukata. He looks… adorable, you think, like one might when coveting a ripe fruit. He meets your eyes as his roughened hand carefully undoes your garment, palming one breast; the softness of his mouth closing around one hardened tip leaves you dizzy with need.

With urgency you slide his garment down his shoulders. He moves as to make it easier, his naked hips shifting against yours, left, right, left, right… languid and slow.

A hand runs through your hair; your eyes open, finding his. “Forgive me for earlier,” he whispers, watching you in that manner again, the way he did earlier at his arrival, the way no one ever did. His hand reaches between your bodies, slow and with intent, exploring; his lashes lower when he finds you. His finger traces slow, soft circles, covered in your slick. You know he loves this, takes pleasure in seeing all the ways he affects you. “I was… for one, I did not want to soil your clothes,” he jests.

Your back arches off the futon as he plays, your sight lost in the black centers of his eyes, rimmed with faint ribbons of amethyst; he is hard already, and your sense is reduced to the memory of how he feels when he pins you down, takes you and takes you and takes you. You relish in the thrum of his voice, low and sincere, your hands running up and down his tense back—the work of art that is his body honed by training, by all the ways he’s always pushed himself until his hands bled on his sword.

“It is difficult, out there, and I was relieved…” Michikatsu smiles drunkenly at the slow sway of your own hips against his, retrieving his hand and rising enough to cage you beneath him. “... to… to finally be home.” Without warning he rises, flips you over on your abdomen and lines his body against yours, his knee nudging your legs apart even as he keeps speaking in your ear. “... with you.”

You’re long past reason, lashes fluttering and core tightening as he finds you, and a coil of primal delight unfurls in your body from the warmth of his arousal slicking inside—so easily, such a perfect fit. He pauses halfway, met with your desperate little mewl of protest.

“I know… I know…” He kisses your cheek, licks your ear. “Hisami, listen to me,” he murmurs, sucking on your earlobe; your assent comes in the form of a sigh, which seems to be enough for him. “I am a flawed man but I will…” he rises, propping his fists against the futon on either side of your shoulders. “I will do my utmost to leave as seldom as I can…” His hips press against you, pushing deep; you turn your face into the quilt, stifling your moan. “I will protect what we have for as long as I live…” His voice is hoarser, words hitched with the effort to control the tremble of pleasure in his own body.

He moves not at all, but you’re already unraveling and undone at the mere thought of him doing so. He places shallow kisses to the nape of your neck, the crown of your head as his back arches, and the first thrust relieves you of all thought, all but him.

“I promise,” he repeats on the second thrust, and the third, building a rhythm that has you tilting your head up, hands blindly groping at his forearms until he eases down against you. He moves deeper, slower, reaching to lace your fingers with his, his scent and lips and voice weaving with that ethereal thread now drawn impossibly tight between you.

Part IV

#kokushibo #kokushibou #kokushibo x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer x reader #michikatsu tsugikuni #kny #ruiniel:fanfiction

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