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f1byjessie · 3 months

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HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part five.

You’ve never actually been to Monaco. It was one of the few Grand Prix you’d had to miss. Logan’s retelling of how it was had been slightly skewed by disappointment and frustration at his less-than-stellar results that weekend, but his descriptions of everything had still painted a picture of lavishness and excitement in your mind, and you’d been dreaming ever since for the chance to experience it yourself.

You’re here now, and even just the view from the plane had lived up to the hype. On the ground, it’s enough to leave you breathless. The deep blue water of the Riviera glitters with the golden glow of the afternoon sun, the mountains stand tall off in the distance, and the grand opulence of the city makes you feel like you’ve stepped foot into a whole new world.

You’re not unfamiliar with the lifestyle of riches and luxury, but Monaco is on another level entirely.

Lando, the reason you’re here in the first place, appears beside you. On the ride back to his place from the airport, he’d caught you marveling at the marina and had pulled off onto the side of the road to let you get out and take a longer look. The boats look like miniature cruise ships, sleek and elegant where they rest in the water, swaying gently with waves. It reminds you, vaguely, of back home.

“Ready to go?” He asks, fiddling with his keys.

You spare the marina one last glance, then nod and turn on your foot with the knowledge that you’ll be here for a week longer still and will have plenty of time later to take in the view as much as you want.

Lando’s house, when you arrive, is just as expensive looking as the rest of Monte Carlo.

The exterior is expertly landscaped and maintained, with hedges perfectly trimmed and flowers flawlessly pruned. It’s slightly lacking in regards to the personality you imagined Lando having. His car is personalized and his wardrobe is a look into who he is, but the outside of his house looks… normal, for lack of a better term. It’s beautiful, nonetheless, but it’s simple all the same.

When he opens the door, you take it all back. The interior screams Lando Norris. It’s extravagant in a way that mirrors what you know of his personality, but it’s comfortable. You’ve been to homes that look more like show houses, where the furniture seemingly exists to be viewed but not used, and all the decorations are vague and impersonal enough to fill blank space and do little else. This is the opposite.

There’s a blanket folded haphazardly over the arm of the couch, and mismatched pillows. On the coffee table is a half-empty bottle of water, a book with a scrap piece of paper hanging out from the middle, and an opened pack of batteries. There are pictures on the walls in mismatched frames— friends and family and achievements from throughout Lando’s career that tell a story of his successes and proudest moments.

It looks like a real home. When you tell him, he laughs.

“With how little time I actually get to spend here, you’d think it’d be the opposite,” he comments.

He helps you bring your bags up to a guest room and then gives you a tour of the rest of the house. Letting you ask questions and answering them sincerely.

When you’re back in your room, unpacking your clothes, it occurs to you just how crazy all of this is. You know Lando, but you haven’t known him for very long. Your friendship has only developed over comments on social media, texts, and the occasional phone call over a few weeks. But you’re here, across the ocean in a country you’ve never been to before, spending a week in his house just because he asked you here and offered to help you with your love life dilemma.

Your life is beginning to feel more and more like a movie, and all you can do is hope it has a happy ending.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 31,871 others

yourusername a pretty girl with a pretty car in a pretty city

view all 3,832 comments

logansargeant think you might need to get your eyes checked bc all i see is a pretty car sooo

↳ yourusername you have six days. run. hide. i don’t care. but enjoy your time while it lasts

↳ logansargeant i’m telling mom

↳ yourusername she can’t save you now.

user STUNNING STUNNING AND STUNNING 😍😍😍

user all three things i don’t have

user WE NEVER GOT Y/N IN MONACO DURING THE SEASON BUT I AM LIVING FOR IT NOW

landonorris *prettiest

↳ yourusername you’re only saying that cuz it’s your car

↳ user yea we definitely missed smth cuz wTF IS THIS 👀

user lando up in here stealing oscar’s girl

user OSCAR COME GET YOUR GIRL

user is she in monaco??? with lando??? 👀👀

user mclaren boys fighting over the same chick was not on my bingo card

user i need these men to make up their damn minds like bffr first oscar and now lando??? bros get it together pls 😮‍💨😮‍💨

user i think we should stop speculating about the relationships between real ppl bc they’re adults and can do what they want, plus they could just be friends and ppl saying they’re together could make things awkward for them

↳ user nah they’re totally together

“The comments are going crazy,” you tell Lando, staring down at your phone and scrolling the long chain of comments beneath your most recent post.

Some are supportive— people who knew you before your brother got involved with Formula 1 and don’t care about the drama, or they’re other models you’ve become tentative acquaintances with after years of working in the industry. Some are speculative, wanting to know if you’re with Lando, what happened between you and Oscar, theorizing about fights, messy breakups, and revenge rebounds. Some, however, are just mean, calling you a slut for leading on two guys at the same time, or a bitch for ruining their imaginary chances with their favorite driver.

You wouldn’t claim that you’re used to this type of negative attention, but you’re not unused to it either. So much of your job requires a social media presence and with your life in the limelight as a byproduct of both Logan and Dalton’s own very successful careers, you’re no stranger to internet trolls and people who are vicious just because they can be.

That doesn’t make some of the comments hurt any less.

“None of them matter,” Lando answers from beside you, his eyes focused on the road. “It’s just people who don’t know what they’re talking about.” He recites it like it’s something he’s had to say hundreds of times before, and it occurs to you that he probably has, to himself if not anyone else in his line of work.

You’re sat once again in the passenger seat of his car as he drives you back to his place. The streets of Monte Carlo at night are dazzling and even more beautiful than in the day with twinkling lights and a raging nightlife scene, but you’re distracted still by your phone, checking and rechecking to see if there’s any hint of Oscar in your notifications.

There isn’t.

It feels like a dismal ending to what had truly been such a lovely night.

You’re in a gorgeous dress, in a gorgeous car, in a gorgeous city, with a man who’s fun and relaxing to be around, who doesn’t make you feel like a side piece or arm candy, and who is genuinely a friend to you. You went to an amazing restaurant and ate some of the best food in your life with some of the best company, got slightly tipsy off of wine you didn’t have to pretend to enjoy for once, and it’s only the beginning of your time here in Monaco.

But rather than enjoy what you have here in the present, all you can think about is the one thing that would make it that much better— Oscar.

“Maybe I should just give up,” you mutter, finally turning your eyes away from the screen. “He probably kissed me, realized he wasn’t interested, and the reason he hasn’t brought it up is because it was all just a big mistake that he wants to forget.”

Lando makes a sound that you’re not quite sober enough to place. “I think the only way you could know that is if you talked to him.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “that’s not likely to happen any time soon.”

He makes another sound, but you’re too disappointed to really pay it much mind, and by the time he’s pulling into the garage you’ve forgotten all about it.

He helps you out, ever the gentleman as you’ve learned tonight, and then you’re following him to the door, trying not to let your bad mood ruin things too much. You’re still incredibly grateful and appreciative to him for helping you so much despite not having known you very well when it all began.

“Seriously, though, Lando.” You speak up suddenly, just as he’s about to open the door. “Thank you for doing all this for me. Even if nothing comes of it, I’ve already had a lot of fun and you’re a good friend.”

All he does is offer you a smile over his shoulder, before pushing the door open.

When you step in through the doorway after him, you’re momentarily confused by the luggage waiting in the entryway. For a split second, you think you must have left some of yours down here, but then you look a bit closer and realize that it definitely isn’t yours.

There's movement from your peripherals as someone in the living room stands from the couch and crosses the distance to the entryway's threshold.

“You’re back earlier than I thought, Lando—” you snap your head up in surprise just as the voice cuts off.

You stare at him in shock. “Oscar…”

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal

━━ a/n: tada! i have the rest of this fic entirely planned out from here and i am so excited to get to the juicy parts finally! hope you all enjoy!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #logan sargeant #alex albon #lando norris

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kyloherrera · 3 months

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۫ 𑄼ల۫ ۪ FEB 8 — PROPOSE

featuring: dot, , abel, rayne, odler, mash, lance. finn, abyss x gn! reader

note: hope you like, this is very fluffy, and a big comfort for me <3

summary: how would mashle boys propose to their s/o

genre: fluff || event || patreon

✦ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇

-Mash has decided that its time to take the next step in his relantionship with.

-While grand gestures and elaborate plans aren't mash style, but he wants to make this moment special nonetheless.

-One day, Mash takes you on a walk to their favorite spot in the forest, a serene clearing surrounded by towering trees

-As you stroll hand in hand, Mash's heart pounds with anticipation, but he tries to keep his composure.

-Finally reaching the clearing, Mash pauses and turns to you , his eyes filled with unwavering love and determination.

- He takes a deep breath and begins to speak from the heart, expressing his gratitude for their unwavering support and the happiness you've brought into his life.

-Then in his characteristic straightforward manner, Mash kneels down before you and reaches into his pocket,

-He pulls out a small, crudely crafted ring made from twigs and vines. It's not flashy or extravagant, but it's a symbol of his sincerity and devotion.

-With a voiced emotion reflected in his voice, Mash asks you to spend the rest of their life with him, promising to always stand by your side and protect you with all his strength.

✦𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

-Lance would orchestrate an extravagant evening at the most luxurious venue in town.

-He would spare no expense in creating an ambiance of opulence, with twinkling lights, fine dining, and a live band playing romantic melodies in the background.

-Lance would take your hand and begin to express his feelings, weaving words of love and admiration with his signature charm and wit.

-Then, in a moment of theatrical flair, Lance snaps his fingers, and fireworks burst into the sky outside, illuminating the night with a dazzling display of colors. The crowd gasps in awe, and you look on in astonishment.

-With all eyes on you, Lance drops to one knee, producing a velvet box from his pocket. Inside gleams a stunning diamond ring, reflecting the brilliance of the fireworks above.

-In a voice filled with sincerity, Lance pours his heart out, expressing his unwavering devotion and his desire to spend eternity with his beloved. He asks the all-important question, his eyes shimmering with anticipation.

✦𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍

-Finn most likely would propose in a place that holds special significance for both him and you.

-A serene meadow where they often go to unwind and connect with nature. He carefully chooses the time, waiting for the perfect sunset to cast a warm glow over the landscape.

-A vast expanse of wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze, with the colors of the setting sun painting the sky in hues of gold and pink. show in front of your eyes.

-With a gentle smile, Finn takes your hand and leads you to a spot in the meadow's center, where a picnic blanket is spread out under a towering oak tree

- He invites you to sit beside him, taking a moment to savor the tranquility of the moment.

-As you watch he sun dip below the horizon, Finn begins to speak from the heart, expressing his love and gratitude for you.

-Then, reaching into his pocket, Finn pulls out a small, intricately carved wooden box. Opening it, he reveals a simple yet elegant ring, crafted from a rare wood found only in the deepest parts of the forest.

-With trembling hands, Finn takes your hand and gazes into their eyes, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He asks you to be his partner for life, promising to cherish and support them through every challenge and triumph.

✦𝐃𝐎𝐓

-Dot decides to propose in a place that holds sentimental value for both them and you.

A quaint café where they shared their first date. He chooses a time when the café is relatively quiet, allowing for an intimate and personal moment.

-He leads you to a secluded corner of the café, where a table is adorned with flickering candles and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Soft music plays in the background, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

-With a nervous but determined smile, Dot takes your hand and begins to speak from the heart. They express their love and admiration, recounting the moments you've shared together and the ways in which you had enriched their life.

-Then, reaching into their bag, Dot retrieves a small, beautifully wrapped gift box. Inside lies a carefully crafted scrapbook filled with cherished memories—photographs, ticket stubs, and handwritten notes documenting your journey as a couple.

-As you flipped through the pages of the scrapbook, tears of joy well up in your eyes. Each memory serves as a testament to the depth of your love and the bond you share.

-With trembling hands, Dot takes your hand and gazes into their eyes. They pour their heart out, expressing their deepest desires and their unwavering commitment to your happiness.

-Finally, with a nervous laugh, Dot presents a velvet box containing a delicate ring—a symbol of their love and devotion. They ask you to spend the rest of their life with them, promising to stand by their side through thick and thin.

✦𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒

-Abyss chooses a secluded and mystical forest shrouded in mist and shadow. They choose a moonlit night when the stars are bright, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape.

-When you reach a clearing deep within the forest—a place untouched by time, where magic seems to linger in the air. In the center of the clearing stands a stone altar, illuminated by flickering torches and adorned with mystical runes. Abyss takes your hand and leads them to the altar.

-Their eyes gleam with determination as they begin to speak in a voice that resonates with power and authority.

-Abyss expresses their love and admiration for you, weaving words of mystery and intrigue with a hint of vulnerability. They recount the moments you 've shared together, the challenges you've faced, and the bond that has grown between you.

-Then, reaching into the folds of their cloak, Abyss Razor retrieves a small, intricately carved box—an artifact of ancient origin. With reverence, they open the box to reveal a ring unlike any other—a band of blackened metal adorned with a single glowing gemstone, said to hold the power of the abyss itself.

-With a solemn expression, Abyss Razor looks into your eyes and speaks from the depths of their soul. They ask you to join them on a journey of darkness and light, of mystery and adventure, promising to stand by your side through every trial and tribulation.

✦𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

-Like Dot, Rayne decides to propose in a place that holds sentimental value for both them and you.

-a secluded beach where you often go to find solace and tranquility. They choose a time when the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the sand and sea.

-As you arrive at the beach, you are greeted by the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the salty breeze, and the soft hues of the setting sun painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

-With a gentle smile, Rayne takes your hand and leads you to a quiet spot near the water's edge.You sit together, watching the sun dip below the horizon, enveloped in the serenity of the moment.

-As the last rays of sunlight fade away, Rayne begins to speak from the heart, expressing their love and gratitude for you. They recount the moments you've shared together—the laughter, the tears, and the deep connection that binds you.

-Then, reaching into their pocket, Rayne retrieves a small, intricately crafted shell—a token of their affection. He, offers you the shell, explaining its significance as a symbol of their love and devotion.

✦𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐑

-He selected a a serene botanical garden filled with exotic plants and flowers. He choose a time when the garden is in full bloom, bursting with vibrant colors and intoxicating fragrances.

-With a warm smile, Odler takes your hand and leads them along the winding pathways, pausing to admire the beauty of each flower and plant you encounter. You share stories and laughter, lost in the magic of the garden.

-Finally,you both reach a secluded spot in the heart of the garden—a hidden alcove adorned with blooming roses and twinkling fairy lights.

-With a tender expression, Odler begins to speak from the heart, expressing their love and admiration for you. They recount the moments you've shared together—your conversations, your adventures, and the deep connection that binds it.

-Then, reaching into their pocket, Odler retrieves a small, leather-bound book—a collection of poems and love letters they've written for you. With trembling hands, they read aloud a passage that captures the essence of their love and devotion.

-In a voice filled with sincerity, Odler looks into your eyes and speaks the words they've been longing to say. They ask you to spend the rest of your life with them, promising to cherish and support them through every moment, both joyful and challenging.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@stvrlightt123 @Mysticalpersonpoetry @mailkyeom03

#mashle x reader #mashle x you #mashle fluff #mash x reader #lance x reader #dot barrett x reader #abyss razor x reader #finn ames x reader #rayne ames x reader #odler x reader #dot barrett x you #rayne ames x you #mash x you #lance x you #odler x you

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aphroditelovesu · 4 months

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Winter Solstice | Yan!HOTD

❝ 🐉 — lady l: Merry Christmas, my dear readers! I wish you a great day and a prosperous New Year! I hope you enjoy this Christmas special with our yandere family from HOTD! Good reading, forgive me for any mistakes and once again, have a great holiday to you ❤️🎄.

❝warnings: yandere themes, mention of death and obsessive and possessive behavior.

❝🐉word count: 1,941.

A long, long time ago, when the Earth was young and the days were short, people looked up to the sky with wonder and awe. They watched the Sun rise and fall over the horizon, its heat bringing life to the earth and its dark nights bringing a deep sleep to the world.

In the ancient realm of the seasons, each cycle marked the eternal dance between light and dark. As winter approached, a whisper spread through nature. Leaves fell from the trees, animals sought shelter and the nights extended, enveloping the world in a blanket of darkness and cold.

It was the time of the Winter Solstice, a magical moment when the Earth seemed suspended between extremes. People gathered around campfires, telling stories of times gone by, sharing warmth and hope amid the impending darkness.

On the eve of the longest night of the year, eyes turned to the sky, waiting for the miracle. Slowly, the Sun began its journey towards the horizon, fighting the darkness with its golden light. The stars twinkled above, bearing witness to the celestial spectacle.

And then, in the most sublime moment, the Sun began to rise, rising majestically into the sky. The colors of dawn painted the landscape, and people celebrated the rebirth of the Sun, knowing that light and warmth would return to the world. It was a symbol of renewal, hope and the continuous cycle of life.

On the Winter Solstice, people came together to celebrate the courage of the light that faces the darkness, remembering that even in the darkest moments, there is always the promise of rebirth and the light that returns to warm the hearts and illuminate the souls ways.

It had always been your favorite time of year, you loved how the snow fell from the sky and painted everything white, the food, the exchange of gifts and most importantly, it was when your whole family was together. You appreciated more than anything the few moments of peace that your family spent during that date, all happy and together. Like a big, loving family.

Having them all together was what you loved most as you grew up. All the disputes, the fights seemed to disappear during this time of year. Your heart and mind were at peace.

The green of the forest and the fiery red of love and passion. Its fabric was as soft as a spring breeze, a harmonious blend of silk and cotton that moved like leaves dancing in the wind. The predominant green was reminiscent of treetops, its hue varying from a lush emerald green to softer nuances, like newborn buds. The waist was accentuated by a deep red belt, as if it were the blush of the petals of a passionate rose. The intense tone stood out, creating a magnificent contrast with the lush greenery, and a decorative bow added a touch of elegance.

Something beautiful and elegant, with both of your family colors. Of the Targaryens and the Hightowers. There was some small, discreet blue embroidery that symbolized the Velaryon, subtle but standing out in its own way.

You turned to your maid who was looking at you with affection, you smiled at her, ''What do you think, Diane?''

She smiled widely, ''You looked incredible, my princess/prince. A suitable choice for a dinner with your family.'' There was a hint of worry in her tone, but you just held her hands and squeezed them gently.

''Don't worry, Diane. Everything will be fine.''

She nodded, ''Yes... Do you want me to accompany you to where the banquet will be held?''

You politely denied, ''No, but thank you.''

A hint of disappointment flashed in her brown eyes, but she just smiled and after a simple bow, she left the room. You took a deep breath and looked at the ring that adorned your finger, a gift from your grandfather, Viserys. He was sick and you swore to yourself that you would do everything to make this dinner enjoyable for him. He deserved it.

Just as you expected, everything was impeccable and your family was already waiting for you. A majestic dining room, adorned with golden chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft light on long solid wood tables.

The walls were covered with richly embroidered tapestries, depicting scenes from Targaryen history and grand festivities. The polished stone floor gleamed in the light of the torches that adorned the walls, reflecting the grandeur of the space.

In the center of the room, a long table stretched out, covered in an immaculate linen tablecloth and decorated with wildflower arrangements and heraldry of noble families. Silver candelabras exuded a soft glow, while golden goblets glittered in the dancing light of the flames.

Music filled the atmosphere as skilled musicians played lutes, flutes and harps, entertaining guests with happy melodies and lively dances.

''(Y/N)!'' Your mother's excited voice called out to you and you smiled at Rhaenyra, who quickly hugged you, placing her head against the crook of your neck, ''You look great, sweetheart.''

''Thanks, mom. You look great too.'' And indeed, she did. Rhaenyra wore a dark red dress decorated with gold that fit her perfectly. She pulled back a little and smiled at you.

''(Y/N)! We're here.'' On one side of the table, your younger brothers sat. You looked at Jacaerys, Lucerys, and little Joffrey, who were smiling at you. You kissed Rhaenyra's cheek and went to sit next to your brothers. Or you tried, for that matter.

For you were quickly pulled to the side as Aegon grabbed you and pulled you closer to him, Aemond, and Helaena. You smiled at your aunt and uncles and greeted them.

''Sit with us.'' Aegon asked and pointed to an empty chair next to Helaena who was smiling sweetly at you. You looked nervously at your brothers, who were staring at Aegon with disdain.

Aemond frowned and placed a hand over your shoulder, ''Come, stay with us.'' His tone said there was no room for argument.

Luckily for you, the doors opened and revealed Viserys along with Alicent, both smiling when they saw you. You apologized to your aunt and uncles and quickly walked over to your grandparents, helping Viserys sit down.

''Ah, (Y/N)... You look great!'' Viserys praised you, as soon as he sat down. You smiled at him and kissed his cheek in thanks.

Alicent pulled you into a tight hug, ''My husband is right, you look great. This shade of green suits you very well.'' She murmured and walked away hesitantly, adjusting your clothes. You kissed your face.

''Thanks. You look amazing too.'' She smiled in response and held your hands, squeezing them gently.

After a few minutes of talking to your grandparents, you walked over to your father and uncle, who were sitting next to each other. Laenor smiled widely and pulled you into a tight hug, not wanting to let go. He only let go when Daemon cleared his throat, irritated.

Laenor rolled his eyes and let go of you, staring at Daemon with an iron gaze. Daemon returned the same look and you acted quickly before they fought.

''Happy Solstice to you both.'' You said, twiddling your fingers nervously. Daemon smiled and patted you on the shoulder twice, pulling you into a hug. You hugged him back.

''Happy Solstice, my child.'' Laenor said after you and Daemon parted ways.

''Happy Solstice, (Y/N).'' Daemon said, looking at you softly. You thanked them and apologized as you left them, wanting to greet your other family members. You spotted Baela and Rhaena sitting near your brothers and quickly walked over to them.

''Finally. I thought you would never come and talk to us.'' Baela complained and got up from the chair and hugged you tightly, ''I missed you, cousin.''

You returned the hug tightly, smiling at her words, ''I missed you too, cousin.''

Rhaena cleared her throat and stood up, hugging you as you and Baela separated.

You smiled at the squeeze and said, ''I missed you too, Rhaena.''

Joffrey got out of his chair and jumped into your arms, laughing loudly when you caught him in a tight hug.

''You're getting too big for me to keep doing this.'' You laughed and rolled him over, placing him on the floor. Russing his dark hair, you smiled when he laughed. You hugged Luke, who seemed especially clingy today. Jace also hugged you tightly and wished you a Happy Solstice.

After talking for a while with your brothers and cousins, you went to greet your paternal grandparents. Rhaenys and Corlys were sitting next to Otto, oddly enough, and the three of them looked at you with affection.

''Grandmother.'' You kissed Rhaenys's cheek who kissed yours back.

''Grandpa.'' You hugged Corlys and he hugged you back and complimented the blue details on your outfit.

''Otto.'' You greeted your great-grandfather, who smiled warmly at you. He seemed relaxed and calm, more so than he normally was.

''Shall we have dinner in honor of this happy day?'' Viserys's loud voice sounded in the room and everyone focused on the King. There was a bit of tension about where you should sit, but you chose next to Viserys and Rhaenyra, who shook your hand under the table.

Servants brought silver trays loaded with delicious delicacies. Large roasts of meat browned on skewers, exuding a tantalizing aroma of exotic spices. Tables were adorned with fresh fruit, from crimson apples to juicy grapes, and freshly baked bread that looked like it had come straight from the oven.

Plenty of wine circulated among everyone and soon everyone was laughing and talking. Your heart felt lighter when you saw your entire family happy, getting along for the first time in a long time.

After the banquet, you all went to one of the rooms of the castle, where the gifts were. The exchange went well, you received gifts from everyone individually and you presented them with what you carefully chose. Ser Criston was present and you gave him a gift too, under the watchful eye of your family, a pure Valyrian steel sword. He smiled in thanks and said he would give you a gift later.

When it seemed like the exchange of gifts was over, Otto said, ''We have a special gift for you, (Y/N). From all of us.'' He gestured to your entire family, who looked on expectantly. You took the gift from his hand, a wooden box with gold details, which was well packaged.

As soon as you opened it, all the color in your face disappeared. It was a head, a human head. You felt like you were going to throw up when you recognized the head. Diane, your servant.

''W-What is this?!'' You groaned, the words stuck in your throat as you held the box, your legs shaking as terror invaded your body. Everyone seemed calm, even Viserys.

''This is our gift to you, my child.'' Rhaenyra said and approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder, ''To remind you not to approach anyone.''

''They can't be trusted,'' Alicent began to say, ''Diane couldn't be trusted. Criston was the one who cut off her head and Rhaenyra, Helaena and I cradled her. The choice of the box was Daemon's.''

They looked at you expectantly, as if they hoped you really liked the gift. Your hands were shaking so much that the box fell to the floor, Diane's severed head falling to the floor.

A perfect ending to a loving Winter Solstice with your family, from their perspective.

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ghostreblogging · 8 months

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Damian stands before the corpse of his brother.

Is it a corpse? He doesn't know.

They had come to this lonely stretch of land that was once called amity park because something something. Damian hadn't really cared. It was supposed to be a simple get in and get out situation . They were already much busier with their own cases .

Eerie ruined houses and buildings seemed to paint a rather depressing picture. Because you could feel that people used to live here. Half drunken bottles and stollers were out. Just like if everyone just disappeares while walking. But the rotting flesh In the strollers seemed to suggest that darker things have happened here. The everyday norm seemed to frame the gateway to hell. The green glow was the only thing that was truly out of the ordinary.

Perhaps it's just an opening to another Lazarus pit.

But It doesn't feel like a normal Lazarus pit . Damian would know that better than anyone. It somehow felt brighter. And an electric buzz permeated the air. It felt sickening. The destroyed sign makes somewhat of an archway for the entrance. It says Fen- something something? The letter had long fallen off from the elements

"God, bloody hell. This place just reeks of infinite realms," the laughing magician commented before pulling another cigarette from his pocket.

"Infinite realms?" Father grunted

"Don't get your panties twisted. There's a reason I didn't tell you about them, the more you know the harder they are to deal with"

There were more mindless chatter between his family. But Damian ignored that in favor of staring down the archway . It felt like a cold shiver on his back and a horrible burning sensation on the palm of his right hand. Weird.

Damian knew that what awaited him was death. He didn't know whose though.

"Do you feel that?" Damian asked before he could stop himself

Grayson turned to look at him, raising his eyebrow. "Babybat, what? What feeling?"

Damian knew he already walked into communication.

"The cold shiver, and the burning sensation on your right palm"

"Ha! Just sounds like your scared demon brat"

"Forget it"

And they promptly walked into hell.

Damian I've missed you so much! But it's dangerous here. You'll get caught by him

Inside Damian felt as if he was walking for years. All with that , horrible disgusting smell. Burnt flesh and plastic. So overwhelming that his eyes stung even through his mask. He had to wake with his eyes half closed. Stumbling his way through the uneven terrain.

Winding corridors made out of crushed rubble.

Damian , be careful there is sharp glass there

Eerie glow that never seems to get closer.

Damian? I really don't like the Lazarus pits

It was dark and an encompassing ceiling above him felt like spiderwebs, a trap. But beyond that you could see the sky.

Hey Damian? Let's go stargazing again!

Hey Damian please don't go further

Something kept bothering him but he didn't know what. But he kept on walking.

And eventually they found themselves in a big chamber. Lazarus pit waters filled the caver like a lake. Beautiful flowers that seemed misplaced grow up to the sky.

The sky.

Maybe that was the source of the discomfort?. They came in at dawn.

It shouldn't have been dark .

And the stars were wrong. How long did they walk for?

Long enough. Just go please

There was a huge rift. Beyond were Lazarus green lands with floating landscapes. Sometimes you could see something big float by . Damian wonders if they were living or just a part of the landscape.

Beautifully enchanting. Like freedom, feeling of wind on your ski-

And then Damian's eyes fell on the thing. How could he have not noticed that.

Please get away that is not me that is not me that is not me that is not me

Like some kind of a lost puppet it was hung in front of the rift. That was the source of the smell. A white suit that once had been sterile, burnt and fused with the flesh below. Dark burnt hair that hung and thankfully concealed the empty eyes.

For once Damian was thankful he couldn't see something. He just felt that if he saw the thing's eyes, he would never recover.

Because that face.

He knew that face

It was one of he had forgotten a long time ago.

Damian please that is not me plEase. I aM LOSiNg my SeLF

A brother that went missing during a mission.

"God what the fuck is that" Grayson's voice broke Damian's trance.

Damian frowned. It didn't feel appropriate to talk here.

Hide. Hide hide hide hide

A voice broke the silence soon after.

"I advise you to leave immediately" a familiar voice. From the oh so familiar corpse . It grated against his ears. And the corpse moved in tandem. Exaggerated and cartoonish but in a horrid way like a machine struggling to run in their later years. It felt like it was coming from everywhere at once.

Hey Damian let's not go here

Damian it's not a good idea to be here take you family and leave

Damian, let's go another route

I can barely maintain luciedicy please listen to me

"I advice you to leave immediately" just like clockwork. The exact same tone, the exact same horrid little dance.

"Well we can't. Well we can't before we know why In the everliving earth there is a direct portal to the infinite realms here." Constantine seemed to have nonchalance as he spoke but Damian saw his cold sweat. And eyes darting , trying to look anywhere but directly at it .

The corpse directly ignored Constantine. It turned to him . Each movement sharp and gutted.

"Damian we are finally together again :) "

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #danny phantom au #is this done yet?#dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #huh #a moment of inspiration led me to this #i wanted to draw but i couldnt rwnder the picture in my head out so ehhh #i dont even know what is happening here #but twin dami and danny #uhhhh so loike danny instead of getting super powers while dying #gets turned into an eldritch monster instead like the other kids #so like timeline here #danny dami as kids in the league -> danny goes on mission -> gets adopted as a fenton -> the portal incident -> instead of turning into #a cool hero he becomes a monster -> at first because he and everyone thought he was just a meta he was just the normal phantom shit -> then #realized he was dead -> everyone realized these werent the normal ghost themed metas -> bcuz they revealed to be ghosts more of the hidden #FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE is seen by the people #like in this au i was foliwing that one au where the infinite realms is actually the primodial chaos #so there ought to be like consequences to knowing that shit #danny splinters into two parts #one montstrous and manipulative part and one kind and protective part #danny tries to protect everyone from himself but oh shit everyone is insane arleady!#leading most people to do the oneway trick to the otherside with just a rope #danny wants to leave but like there is a demon there like he cant leave it or itll be able to leave

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hisui-dreamer · 28 days

Note

Okay I spent a while thinking of flowers and decided that I'd rather be simple, and give Jamil a bouquet of Gladiolus and Morning Glory based on our birth months ^^ (also, a thought- there's no reason for these same flowers from our world to exist in TW, maybe similar looking ones, but not the same. So imagine prefect cultivating flowers to look like flowers they know, specifically for their beloved 😭💕)

clandestine meetings and longing stares

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: your love for each other was never allowed, but that never stopped your feelings for each other

Tags: secrets relationship, pining, fluff, reader is not yuu

Word count: 1k+

Notes: so sorry this took so long kirexa!! my assignments put me in an a really bad slump,,, i hope you'll like the direction i took for the flowers hehe <3

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

gladiolus: secret meeting

morning glory: reunion of lovers

The gardens of the Asim estate hold secrets woven into their very essence, secrets that only unveiled themselves beneath the soft shroud of night.

Tonight, like many nights before, you tread the familiar path, the same path you’ve always walked with your heart pounding with anticipation. With bare feet, you move briskly, aware of each step, careful not to disrupt the delicate silence of the night.

Anticipation and adrenaline run through your veins like wildfire, fuelling your steps as you ventured deeper into the heart of the gardens. The moon casts its ethereal glow upon the landscape, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. Each rustle of leaves, each whisper of the wind, seems to beckon you forward, urging you to hasten your pace.

Arriving at the secluded alcove, your heart soars with elation as you behold Jamil standing amidst the ethereal glow of the moon. His silhouette seems sculpted by the soft radiance, a vision of serenity amidst the night's embrace.

"Jamil," you breathe his name like a prayer, relief flooding through you at the sight of him.

"Ya amar," his voice, soft as a breeze, wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

In mere moments, you find yourselves entwined once again. You melt into his embrace, his touch enveloping you in a comforting warmth, a sensation that instantly makes you feel at home.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a silent symphony of emotions cascading between you, conveying depths of love that words could never adequately express. In the stolen moment, you allow yourself to forget the rigid boundaries imposed by your stations in life, the weight of your familial expectations, and simply exist in the blissful sanctuary of Jamil's arms.

All the weariness of weeks spent apart dissipates like mist under the morning sun, replaced by a sense of wholeness that only his presence can provide. As you reluctantly pull back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, your foreheads pressed together in a silent affirmation of your connection.

"I've missed you," Jamil confesses, his words a balm to the ache in your own heart.

"And I, you," you reply, reaching out to cup his face, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features as if committing them to memory. With a soft smile, you pull back slightly from his embrace, gazing into his charcoal-grey eyes with tender curiosity. "Tell me," you urge gently, your voice barely more than a whisper in the tranquil night air. "How has school been? Are you adjusting well to the second year?"

Jamil's expression softens as he meets your gaze, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes. "It's been... challenging," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

Each word he utters is painted with the hues of his experiences, drawing you into the vivid tapestry of his school life. He begins to weave intricate tales of his persistent classmate, the one who incessantly seeks his assistance in his business ventures, caring for your older brother, ensuring his well-being and academic progress, and many other intriguing classmates.

You listen intently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips from time to time as you find yourself captivated by his tales. His voice, smooth as silk, washes over you like a gentle caress, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort and familiarity. It's a voice you've always cherished, one that resonates deep within your soul, and in this moment, no recording could ever compare to the warmth of having him speak softly into your ears.

“I feel a lot better now, being back home, with you..." He trails off, a fond smile gracing his lips as he squeezes your hand gently.

In response, you tighten your grip on his hand, leaning in to nuzzle your face into the curve of his neck. "I'm so glad you're back," you murmur softly, your words a whispered prayer of gratitude.

Oh, how you ache for the freedom to love him openly, to cast aside the heavy cloak of secrecy and fear that weighs upon your shoulders. To intertwine your fingers with his in broad daylight, to lose yourself in the depths of his gaze without the lurking shadows of doubt. To bask in the radiant glow of his affection beneath the sun's golden rays, unencumbered by judgment or retribution.

But how could you? Your families, entrenched in generations of tradition, would recoil at the mere suggestion of your union. To reveal your love openly would be to invite catastrophe, risking the fragile harmony of their world. You know all too well they would send Jamil away, far, far away to somewhere you could never reach, before marrying you off to someone else they deem suitable to fully extinguish the flame of your love.

And yet, you still find yourself yearning for more – for the liberation to proclaim your love from the highest rooftops, to unveil the depth of your devotion to the world without hesitation or constraint. It’s not lost on you how attractive your lover is, his captivating dark features that could ensnare anyone’s heart, and his perfect competence in all facets of life. He would make a brilliant husband.

Just the thought of him marrying another, belonging to someone else, ignites a fierce flame within your soul. The thought of him caring for another sets your heart ablaze with an intensity you cannot ignore. You find yourself holding him tighter, as if by sheer force of will, you could keep him tethered to you.

“Jamil?”

"Hm?" he paused, placing tender kisses into your hair.

"How much longer?" you murmured into his neck, the words carrying the weight of your shared longing, your shared struggle.

He didn't need you to elaborate. Jamil understood the depth of your question, the ache that echoed through every syllable. How much longer must your love remain hidden, relegated to stolen moments beneath the cloak of night, until he could proudly declare to the world that you belonged to him?

"... I don't know, ya amar," he replied, his arms tightening around you.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#✧2k! blossoming bouquets✦#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x mc #twst jamil viper #twst jamil viper x reader #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader

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wheeboo · 1 year

Text

seasons | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which you experience the four seasons of love with jeonghan. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff and domestic fluff, a lil angst, suggestive content (but its VERY brief n soft), just two humans loving nature, established relationship, au WARNINGS. one scene of implied smut, reader feeling a lil insecure in the relationship which leads to a small argument, mentions of drinking, overuse of the term “angel” WORD COUNT. 3.5k

notes: i honestly just wrote this as a comfort fic tbh and didn’t mean for it to be so long

In the season of spring, the cherry blossom season had come into full bloom. A delicate floral fragrance filled the cool, afternoon air as cherry blossoms painted the terrain with their soft hues of pink and white. The trees transformed into breathtaking canopies that cover the skies above, decorated with delicate petals that danced away in the gentle breeze.

As you and Jeonghan walk under the looming trees together hand-in-hand, it felt as if you were both walking into a dreamlike fairytale. You’ve always enjoyed walking through the cherry blossoms by yourself, but ever since you started dating Jeonghan two months ago (you wanted to go at your own pace, which he graciously accepted) he helped you embrace the beauty of nature even more. Being remotely next to him felt like you were finally seeing the world through its natural colours.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” You ask, your arms unnoticeably swinging back and forth as you gaze around the picturesque landscape. “Everything looks surreal!”

Jeonghan couldn’t help but admire the glowing smile on your face as you immerse yourself in the mesmerising scenery behind. Beams of sunlight filter through the leaves of the trees and cast down onto the ground below. The two of you keep your steps slow and steady, yet it felt light, almost like walking on thin air.

“It truly is,” Jeonghan replies calmly, voice carrying a hint of awe. "But you know what's even more beautiful? Being here with you."

His simple words send a flutter through your heart. You catch sight of that subtle smirk to his lips and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” You say his name with utmost seriousness; it catches him off-guard for a moment as well. “You know this is not good for my heart.”

Jeonghan just chuckles mischeviously. "Oh, but isn't this my job? Making your heart race and bringing a little bit of excitement into your life?"

You playfully nudge him with your elbow, pretending to be annoyed but failing to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Well if that's the case, then you're doing an excellent job, you heart thief.”

He feigns to be shocked, his hand coming to rest on his chest as if offended by your words. "Me? A heart thief? I think you have the wrong person, Y/N. I have been nothing but a dutiful boyfriend to your copious endeavours.”

You let out a laugh, the sound blending with the delicate whispers of the afternoon breeze blowing through the trees, almost like nature itself was entrusting promises of a beautiful journey ahead for the two of you.

Even though it was only the beginning of your relationship, you couldn’t help but wonder the desire at the start of something beautiful with him, how life would progress with him by your side.

The two of you stop before the ends of the path of cherry blossoms. You turn towards Jeonghan, taking both of his hands in yours and squeezing gratefully.

“Thank you for taking me here, Jeonghan,” You tell him, feeling like the world around came to a brief halt just for these few intimate seconds. “I... really enjoyed spending time with you.” I’m so grateful to have met you.

Jeonghan cups your face lightly with his hand, leaning in to press a small kiss to your forehead, letting it linger a moment too long to have you yearning for more. “Of course, Y/N. I enjoyed spending time with you too.” We don’t have to part ways just yet, right?

You feel warmth blooming from within, knowing that these moments𑁋while being surrounded by the enchanting beauty of nature and blossoming feelings for the man right beside you𑁋is something you both will cherish forever.

The sight of Jeonghan's serene expression, his fingers intertwined naturally with yours, does nothing but amplify the magic of the cherry blossoms and the heartfelt, romantic season of spring; the season of love marked by new beginnings.

In the season of summer, the warm air that seeps through the window of your apartment carries a sense of relief and contentment. The landscape appeared vibrant and lively, an explosion of evergreen in the swaying trees in the distance. The setting sun cast its golden glow upon the landscape outside, painting the the sky with an array of purple and orange.

“Call me when you both get home. Drive safe, okay? I love you.” You tell your parents through the phone. After hanging up, you let out a tired sigh, feeling the weight of the day resting on your shoulders. Exhaustion flowed through your body as you grasp the counter of your kitchen sink and peer outside the window longingly.

It was a moment of peace that captured your tired mind and eased the lingering tension. The sheer exhaustion from the preparations, the anxiety of introducing Jeonghan to your parents, and the energy spent had left you more drained than you expected.

Yet you were also incredibly relieved. Introducing Jeonghan after nearly six months had been a huge milestone to your relationship. Fortunately he was there with you every step away𑁋reassuring your nerves and helping you prepare for their visit by cleaning and assisting with cooking dinner, his calming presence soothing and filling you with confidence.

The day had gone exceptionally well, perhaps even beyond your expectations. Conversations flowed effortlessly, laughter echoed through the walls, and a genuine connection seemed to have blossomed between Jeonghan and your parents.

As you turn on the sink and take a plate into your hands to wash, you feel something from behind enclose tightly around your waist. A shiver runs down your spine as Jeonghan's warm breath tickles your ear, his arms enveloping you in a loving embrace.

“You did amazing today, angel,” Jeonghan whispers lowly in your ear, his voice sending a surge of goosebumps up your skin as he presses a few kisses to your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for letting me meet your parents.”

Smiling warmly, you instinctively lean into his touch the slightest bit, trying not to let him distract you from washing the dishes. However, Jeonghan reaches effortlessly over your shoulder from behind to turn off the water, his hands lingering over yours as he helps you dry the plate.

Whatever he was planning, you didn’t stop him. Once he puts the plate away, he brings his attention back to placing lingering kisses to your shoulder, slowly trailing them up to your neck.

“Hannie...” You sigh, only hearing him hum in response to his name. “What are you doing?”

“I know you’re tired from today,” He brings his hands down to your waist and spins you around to face him, his gaze firm with care. “so let me take care of you tonight, please?”

You give him a warm smile, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lean in to capture his lips with a deep kiss. The kiss is a sweet fusion of tenderness and desire, a silent affirmation of your trust to let Jeonghan take the lead. As your lips move together in unison, time seems to slow down, the outside world ceasing away into insignificance.

Once you both pull away, Jeonghan doesn’t waste a moment in taking your hand and dragging you into the bedroom, your eager chuckles filling the air as he closes the door behind.

“You deserve all the love and care in the world, you know that, right?” Jeonghan rubs his hands soothingly over your arms, guiding you ever so slightly back until your calves hit the bed behind.

You swallow a nervous lump in your throat, giving a small nod to his words. Gosh, he always knows the right ways to make you feel so vulnerable and just so seen𑁋to make your heart feel so full and so safe.

“Good,” He guides you down on the bed until your back falls onto the mattress. “Lay down and relax, angel. I’ll make sure I won’t miss a spot.”

His hand slides into yours, your fingers interlocking with his as he presses his weight against you carefully, evidently pinning you down to the bed. Though you’ve shared these intimate moments with him before, he still holds that same gaze in his eyes like the first time he has seen you so vulnerable for him.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin as his lips ghost over the sweet spot behind your ear, feeling satisfied from the gasp that leaves you. “Can’t believe I can call you mine.”

Like the warm caress of the sun, Jeonghan’s touch ignites your body with a burning fire, his quiet whispers of I love you heightening each of your senses. The tips of his fingers dance tenderly across your skin as you bask in his love and care like the pleasant air of the season of summer; the season of love where intimacy reaches its peak.

In the season of autumn, the vibrancy of summer had fallen slumber, and the leaves of the trees are now painted a mixture of fiery red, crisp orange, and golden yellow. The quiet pitter-patter of rain tapping against the window creates a comfortable bubble that relaxes you as you try not to focus on the empty spot directly in front of you.

You let your gaze falter out the window of cozy café, eyelids slightly heavy as you hold a cup of steaming coffee to your lips, watching as the mellow breeze rustles through the slender branches of the trees outside. The temperature was neither too cold or too warm; it was the perfect weather for your body to be enclosed by the comfortable sweater that Jeonghan had gifted you a few months back.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. You both were busy (stressed, specifically)𑁋you were reaching the limits of this internship you got accepted into and Jeonghan was busy working on pursuing his master’s degree. The hectic schedules have been dragging you away from each other. There was barely any time for the two of you to spend time together anymore. Conversations were kept brief before one had to go, time together held more periods of silence than before, and the alone time has been making you question everything.

You both still love each other... right?

Deep inside you knew you still love him, but you can’t help but reminsce the times where you felt that sense of yearning whenever you both were alone together. When he would kiss you and the excitement would feel built up in your chest, or the way his touch would send shivers down your spine. But lately, those moments have become replaced by late-night phone calls and text messages filled with apologies for missed and forgotten dates.

You remember the promises and dreams you both shared with each other and how the future seemed so certain for the two of you. But now, as the autumn rain continues to fall, doubts seep into your heart like the water seeping into the cracks of the sidewalk outside.

And coincidentally, your phone vibrates on the table. You hesitantly take it in your hands to read over a text sent from Jeonghan.

[hannie 🐇🤍] sorry angel, i don’t think i’ll be able to make it to our date. this study session w seungcheol and jihoon is lasting longer than i thought

You already expected it, so the outward disappointment wasn’t that noticeable. But on the inside, you feel your heart sink just a tiny bit more.

[y/n 🤍] it’s okay hannie. i’ll see you tonight then. i love you Delivered at 4:25 p.m.

He doesn’t reply, even after the few minutes that pass of you staring down at your phone. You take it as a sign that he was busy before standing up and finally leaving, arriving at your apartment with the rain gradually getting hard.

It’s probably around eleven at night when Jeonghan arrives home. The rattling sound of keys startle you awake on the couch, but you don’t get yourself to stand up. A headache pounds in your head as you stir around in the cushions, and a quick glance at the barely empty bottle of alcohol on the tables makes you groan.

“Angel?” Jeonghan calls out for you, keeping his voice low. His tired eyes meets yours on the couch, taking in your disheveled appearance and the empty bottle on the table. “How much did you drink?”

“Not that much...” You sit yourself up on the couch, your head feeling ten times heavier than usual.

Jeonghan sighs, placing his belongings on the kitchen counter. “This isn’t like you.”

You scoff irritatedly. “Well, what else am I supposed to do while waiting for you to come home almost every night?”

His eyes widen to your sudden shift in tone. “Y/N𑁋”

“You... You’re always out for study sessions with Seungcheol and Jihoon and come back at almost midnight,” You continue, cutting him off. “and this internship has been breathing down my neck from day to night. We barely see each other anymore; we come home at different times. It just feels like...”

Jeonghan's face tenses up. A thickening tension surrounds the two of you and fills up the room like fog. "It just feels what, Y/N? You're not making this any easier for me. I'm doing my best to juggle my studies and us.”

You can feel the frustration penting up inside. "I know you're busy, Jeonghan, but so am I. I just... I miss us, and what we used to have, you know?”

He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I miss it too, Y/N. But you can't expect me to magically have more time. I have to prioritise my studies and have my own life to deal with too.”

A surge of anger rises within you. "But what about prioritising us? We used to be a team, Jeonghan. Now it... it feels like we're drifting apart, and I don't know how to fix it."

This time, you notice how his face seems to soften in the slightest way. He walks over to you and places himself next to you on the couch, leaving just a bit of space between the two of you. “I can't just drop everything for you, Y/N.”

“I never said you had to.” You shake your head. There were too many things orbiting around you that it was only building up the frustation even more, on top of you being exhausted. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me𑁋”

“Angel.” Jeonghan reaches over and takes your hand in his. “Don’t feel sorry for talking about your feelings. This... it was bound to happen at some point.”

His touch never fails to calm you down, and you feel a mix of relief and vulnerability as his warm hand covers yours. You take your gaze away to hide the slightest amounts of tears welling up in your eyes, but Jeonghan rests his other hand gently on the side of your neck, guiding you to look back at him.

He gives you a soft smile, as if trying to convey his apologies through his expression, and you swear you felt something inside your stomach jump. There was that giddy feeling you remembered reminscing about. It seems like it hasn’t disappeared.

“W-What?” You stammer out, a hint of panic in your voice.

“Nothing, it’s just...” I wish I can show you how much I’m still in love with you. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay? I know we’re both tired right now.”

You nod half-heartedly, already standing up, with Jeonghan right behind you. He follows closely behind, keeping a hand on the small of your back to keep you steady as the two of you walk into the bathroom together. You both get ready for bed in silence, ignoring whatever tension had been lingering in between.

You both knew that in order to fix things, you needed to communicate together. It’s the key component to a relationship.

As the two of you slip into bed on your separate sides, you can’t help but flip your body over to look at him.

“Hannie?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you hold me?” You ask him, feeling the nerves hitting you. “Please?”

He doesn’t let the moment waste, and scoots himself closer until your body presses against his. He sneaks an arm around you and pulls you gently into his embrace, letting your head rest against his chest. The familiar warmth and scent of his body engulfs you, offering the comfort and love you've been yearning for. It feels like a reminder of the connection that still exists between you, even in the midst of your current struggles.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to drift away to sleep. In that same moment, the rain outside decides to finally seep into slumber as well. And just like how nature undergoes its own transformation, so does your relationship with Jeonghan. You don’t know how to define it exactly, but it felt domestic, and comforting in a way that it frightens you. But maybe this is just how it’s supposed to progress, and you just need to accept it.

As love progresses from its vibrancy to a stage full of growth and maturity, it’s a reminder of the season of autumn; the season of love where imperfections are recognised and challenges are tackled together.

In the season of winter, the world around seems to come to a steady halt. The seasonal colours of autumn have faded and replaced by a blanket of white snow. As you look out the window and listen to the crackles of the fireplace, you see snowflakes gently descending from the sky.

“Hot chocolate?” You turn to the source of the soft voice, beaming up at the face of Jeonghan peering down at you with an extra cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

You reach up and take it from him carefully, settling it between the tips of your fingers to wait for it to cool down. “Thank you.”

Jeonghan settles himself beside you, his presence bringing an added layer of comfort to the homey ambiance of the room. The fireplace casts a gentle glow on both of you, highlighting the softness in his eyes and the features of his face. The two of you look out the window together, watching as the white snow paints the ground below.

“You know, I never really liked the winter,” Jeonghan confesses out of the blue, sipping out of his hot chocolate.

“Really?” You ask in a way as if he said the most abominable thing. “Why?”

You feel him shrug helplessly from behind. “I dunno. Just never really liked the cold in general.”

“I guess that explains why you keep hogging all the blankets𑁋”

“I get cold really easily!”

"Oh, I see. So it's not that you dislike winter, it's just that you're secretly a blanket thief."

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head to your words. "I prefer to think of it as being proactive in ensuring warmth distribution."

“Whatever you say,” You turn back towards the windows, taking a sip of your hot chocolate before leaning over and placing it on the table. Jeonghan does the same. “I only let you get away with it because you’re handsome.”

There’s a momentary pause and you glance back to see that stupid yet endearingly cute smirk to his face.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head, I still expect my fair share of the blankets.”

Jeonghan just places a loving kiss to the back of your head, embracing an arm around you and pulling you closer to him. "My angel, I assure you that I will always make sure you’re warm.”

The term of endearment never fails to make you melt inside. Jeonghan knows the effect it has on you. He has the power to melt the iciest of hearts with just a single smile, a single deep gaze to your eyes, and a single kiss to your lips. He manages to remember all your sweet spots that make you weak, the small quirks that make you unique, and the little things that bring you joy. But he also remembers your little flaws and the small imperfections that make you who you are.

It’s at that moment you realise this is your first ever winter with him. How did time manage to go by so quickly? Together, you've embraced the beauty of spring, watching the flowers bloom and the cherry blossoms overlook the world from above. The long, lazy days of summer were filled with laughter and new profound intimacy that will forever be cherished in your hearts. And during the days of autumn, you relinquished in the crisp air and the changing foliage, finding tranquility in nature's transition and reveling the inevitable growth of your relationship with Jeonghan.

And now you fully understand the growing desire bubbling within𑁋that maybe just maybe, you want to spend more seasons with him. The thought of experiencing countless springs, summers, autumns, and winters by his side fills your heart with an overwhelming sense of joy and anticipation.

“What’s got you smiling so hard?” Jeonghan’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You only chuckle, cuddling yourself closer to him on the couch and placing a small kiss to his jaw.

“I just love this,” You murmur lowly, quiet enough for him to hear even if it was just the two of you alone. “Spending time with you like this. It feels like home.” You feel like home.

And maybe at that very moment as well, Jeonghan realises that you are his home too.

As he embraces you ever so closely, the air becomes still and time seems to slow down in the season of winter; the season of love where love has began to settle down and the pace of life has become steady.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan fluff #jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan imagines #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen angst #jeonghan angst #yoon jeonghan angst #svt fluff #svt angst

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storiesoflilies · 2 months

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Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: Aaand he’s here!!!! Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, spread the love and feels, enjoy the chapter! <3 Ko-Fi.

Next Part - Chapter 5

-•-

Chapter 4

In the stillness of the dead of night, she felt it. An aura that somehow cast a veil of darkness so profound that it deepened the already foreboding sky of Hell. It was a spine-tingling symphony, a waltz of electricity, setting her heart pulsating with tantalizing anticipation. Unfolding in hues of emerald and midnight, it crept towards her, fueled by desire and urgency.

He’s here.

Y/N could feel him acutely, a phantom presence that transcended the actual physical distance between them. In the hushed serenity of her room, she sensed his approach to her – for her. Was she to be gathered and taken to his kingdom like a cherished flower? Or was she to be claimed and ripped away from Geto like a debt owed? It was as if she was a coveted prize rightfully won for eternally silencing the very thunder and might of the Angels.

Only a few hours had passed since her conversation with her brother, and she had only experienced bouts of fitful sleep amidst the pulsating back pain. So she had been awake well before she heard the door creak open and the light pitter-patter of footsteps approaching her bed. A hand placed itself on her shoulder, softly shaking it, and Y/N opened her eyes to look at who had disturbed her.

“Apologies for waking you,” a young girl with dark brown hair whispered softly. Another, her twin, with caramel hair, stood silently behind her. “Your presence is required, and we have been instructed to dress you.”

She knew these girls; she had seen them in Heaven not two moons ago. They were Geto’s young protégés, taken under his wing after their parents had died: Nanako and Mimiko. They must have chosen to follow him on his mission to rain hellfire upon Heaven. Y/N nodded her head, slowly rising from the bed, the sheets rustling as she moved. The twins hurried over, their arms hovering around her to support her while she found her footing. Despite the fiery pain in her back, she managed to stand, albeit shakily. Nanako swiftly moved over to the deep wooden wardrobe opposite the bed, and retrieved a black yukata from within it. Together, the twins donned the garment on her, and tied a simple white sash belt around her waist to complete the ensemble. Guided to the vanity table, Y/N settled onto the small wooden stool before the extravagant mirror, allowing the girls to brush and smooth her hair into a style reminiscent of Geto’s.

Indeed, she almost laughed at how similarly dressed she was to her brother. Had the twins done so intentionally of their own accord, or perhaps they had been ordered to? It was a powerful statement regardless; as if her and Geto were bound together by blood woven into the same familial tapestry, boldly asserting that she wouldn’t be so easily surrendered to him - to Toji. The twins seemed unperturbed by the charged atmosphere; Nanako looked almost irritated, while Mimiko displayed no particular emotion on her face.

Impatience.

“Mimiko, where is Suguru?” Y/N asked, hastily rising from the stool, spurred on by his emotions coursing through the bond, while the girls hovered close by her as she took urgent steps outside the bedroom.

Mimiko raised her eyebrows, perhaps surprised that Y/N even remembered her name, “He’s waiting for you in the throne room. We’ll take you there.”

The trio walked wordlessly down the seemingly endless corridors of Geto’s halls. The walls were made of dark stone, adorned with grand paintings depicting portraits, landscapes, and great battles fought both in Hell and on Earth. Memories of Gojo’s tower came to mind, but where his abode was pristine and crisp, Geto’s palace reflected his new enigmatic and frosty personality. Windows lined the top of the walls, yet no light shone through them, and Y/N doubted any ever had before. Perhaps no light could penetrate this deep into the Earth. How then, were they able to detect the passing of time? Did the residents of Hell simply yield to their passing whims, indulging in eating and sleeping whenever they felt like it?

She didn’t dislike that thought, it was almost liberating.

His aura intensified the longer they walked, and Y/N knew they must be approaching the throne room. She swallowed a thick lump in her throat, the gravity of impending events settling deep in her stomach. Her scar seemed sinister, a damning signature of Toji’s ownership; physical evidence that would be hard to deny his claim. After enduring her seemingly impending death in Mahito’s prison, she was going to face him again. Could he feel everything she experienced during her imprisonment? The air thickened in anticipation as Nanako opened the doors to the throne room, and they all stepped forward.

Y/N eyes immediately locked on to him.

The tension was palpable, charged with both peril and allure as they faced each other. His deep green eyes bore into her, dangerously enticing, moulding a direct connection between them that cut through the space separating them. His whole essence exuded power; his burly build commanded attention as he stood a considerable distance from Geto’s throne. His midnight hair was tousled, framing the contours of his jawline, and she couldn’t help but notice the scar gracing the corner of his lips; as deep and violent as he was. She was magnetized, her soul yearned for her body to be close to him, and yet she stayed put. The twins placed her to stand a step below the throne where her brother sat pensively, then quickly scuttled out of the room. The atmosphere seemed to have finally provoked a reaction from them, and perhaps they were wise to run from the scene.

Toji’s eyes hardened as he took her in, his jaw tightening, and his thick forearms flexed with barely restrained fury. A peculiar, worm-like Curse coiled around his build like a snake, reacting to the movement of its master. Y/N looked down, unable to bear the anger in his gaze, while Geto shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Bring him here,” Toji commanded lowly, prompting her to look up sharply at the sound of his voice.

He sounded like the rumbling of a distant thunderstorm; Y/N thought she could listen to him forever.

Geto nodded and waved his hand at an unseen servant lurking in the shadows behind the throne. Within seconds, a flaming portal materialized in the center of the room, and a disheveled Mahito tumbled through as if he had been forcefully shoved. He fell to the ground, undignified and pathetic, yet his eyes gleamed with all the madness of a cornered animal about to strike.

Rage.

A black flash tore through the air.

Toji reacted instantaneously, a violent burst of movement as he closed the distance between him and his prey with supernatural swiftness. He struck Mahito in a symphony of uncontrolled chaos, the ferocity of his brutal blows leaving no room for even an ounce of mercy. The air crackled as the tension broke through the whirlwind of Toji’s relentless attack, and Y/N felt an unsettling, sick sense of satisfaction, entranced by the visceral ballet of vengeance unfolding before her. Every strike echoed not only physically but also emotionally, as her kidnapper and Nanami’s killer finally faced his punishment. It was thrilling to even think that Toji was driven to such a profound level of violence just for her.

How much had she had changed since descending into Hell? Y/N found herself actually wishing pain upon a living soul – even one as black as Mahito’s – and it was a startling realization.

“You’re. A. Fucking. Child. You don’t know. What. The word. NO. Means,” Toji hissed between blows, his fury punctuating each word as he struck right into Mahito’s throat, robbing the Curse of any possibility of a reply.

His onslaught ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the air heavy with the remnants of violence. Toji stood over the broken form of Mahito, his broad chest heaving; displaying a calmness that starkly contrasted against his previous fury. An uneasy stillness seeped back into the room, and Geto leaned forward on his throne, meeting Toji’s expectant gaze.

“What exactly did you have planned for this one?” Toji inquired, his voice now resonating like a loud thunderclap.

“I thought I would leave that decision to you, given the circumstances,” Geto replied carefully, his words deliberately measured.

Her brother appeared uncharacteristically reserved, walking on eggshells, carefully considering every word and movement in the presence of the superior king.

“Smart, but the question still remains of what to do with him,” Toji hummed, giving Mahito’s crumpled body a pointed kick. The Curse made no sound, lying there almost lifeless, yet his eyes and mouth were wide open, staring at Toji in shock.

“You can kill him if you wish, I have no objection,” Geto suggested.

He chuckled darkly and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with her brother, “I don’t need your permission or approval. Do you need another reminder of your place here?”

Geto said nothing, and Toji’s threat settled heavily in Y/N’s chest. What sort of torment had he inflicted on her brother? Moreover, what had Geto done to warrant it?

“I can’t kill him, the others would ask too many questions,” Toji muttered, crossing his arms. “I assume you haven’t told anyone else about… this situation.”

“As far as everyone is aware, you are hunting Satoru Gojo’s wife to eliminate her and his possible spawn. Nobody is aware of Mahito’s involvement in all of this… or your bond with my sister,” Geto replied smoothly.

Toji’s eyebrows raised once more, and he smirked, “Sister, huh? What a happy family reunion.”

His forest green eyes swept over Y/N again, and she sucked in a breath as she felt her body sway under his intense gaze. Their connection snapped into focus again, and she could sense all the churning emotions within his soul swirling like a stormy sea. It was so curious how he somehow managed to maintain his cool and collected exterior, while she was crippled and barely able to speak. Geto cleared his throat, visibly irked, abruptly interrupting their moment. Toji’s eyes flicked over to her brother, annoyance flickering in his irises, and his anger rose steadily like a wave building momentum to crash onto the shore. She tensed, fists clenching, readying herself to bear witness to another episode of violence between him and Geto. Yet, she refused to stand by idly and watch; Y/N would defend her brother just as he had defended her. He had saved her life more than once, and she was worth less than nothing if she didn’t attempt to do the same. Of course Toji noticed her shift in energy, his eyes flashing as he let out an exaggerated sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Effort… dwindling anger.

“Mahito is to remain in prison for the rest of his days,” Toji gritted, eyes opening again to glare at Geto. “You say to the others that he deliberately hid her from me, despite knowing about the bounty, and this is his punishment. Is that clear?”

“Agreed,” Geto said, waving his hand once more. The same fiery portal appeared once more, sucking Mahito’s battered body back through it and zapping closed.

It was deathly silent now, and the pair watched and waited for Toji to continue his demands, the gears in his head turning as he deliberated.

“As for your sister, well… I have no cause to kill her. She is not pregnant with the Six Eyes’ child, and has obviously become one of us now. That’s what you and I will say if any of the others ask about her,” he continued.

Toji stalked towards the throne, his steps deliberate and menacing, until he stood a mere foot away from Y/N. He towered over her, staring deep into her eyes. Geto stood up abruptly, clearly unhappy with his proximity. What exactly he planned on doing she didn’t know, but her soulmate ignored her brother this time.

“Hey you, what’s your name?” Toji demanded, voice deep and haunting, lingering like smoke, as he addressed her directly for the first time.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

He licked his lips, savoring her name like a sweet, and a jolt of energy rushed through her as he hummed, “Do you want me dead, Y/N? For killing your husband.”

Oh, how she loved the sound of her name on his lips; it was divine. She could listen to him forever.

“He wasn’t my husband.”

Interest… relief.

Toji smirked, head tilting to the side as he continued. “I corrupted you, little angel. My sinful soul is bound to you now, and you’ve been cast out of Heaven because of me. Are you sure you don’t want to kill me anyways?”

Her heart hammered as he took a step closer, and she thought he might just reach out and touch her. Toji had figured out the reason for her becoming a curse quicker than she thought, but it wasn’t the only reason. Geto’s energy shifted dangerously, Y/N could feel his power gathering; dark shadows gathering beneath his feet like a serpent ready to strike if Toji took so much as another inch forward – who wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He stood taller than them all; a storm that wouldn’t be deterred from its course. She knew if he wanted to take her away by force, he absolutely could.

“No,” she finally said.

“Hmm, good. In that case, I think it best we have a little arrangement, you and I,” Toji said, finally turning his head up to acknowledge Geto.

“Such as?” Her brother asked, suspicion lacing his words, as his eyes narrowed, his power subsiding just a fraction.

“Consider us allies from here on out. I will not attack you, nor you me, although I doubt you even have the strength to attempt that. So long as Y/N remains here with you, she is not to ascend to Earth for any reason, and in return I expect that your doors are always open for me.”

Toji continued, his words reverberating throughout the room like thunder. “Us three in this room will not speak a word to anyone else of Y/N’s bond with me. You have enough enemies as it is Geto, and my old family aren’t exactly fond of me either. They all don’t need much excuse to kill a Fallen, you know.”

“You may be sending us both to war with this secret alliance,” Geto said. “The others will not appreciate an agreement like this. We are far too powerful united.”

Toji snorted. “We are by no means united, but let them try. If you both keep it together, nobody will figure it out.”

It was silent, and Y/N looked up at her brother, who met her gaze. She could discern any hint on his face as to what he would decide, but was it really a choice? If he said no, what would Toji do? Would it be considered war if he denied another King? In a way, it was just as when Gojo had proposed; only offering an illusion of choice.

“Well?” He huffed impatiently. “Do you agree?”

“Agreed,” Geto gritted, his jaw stiff.

Toji smirked, and looked down at her once more.

“Well then little angel, I’m assuming you would like to stay and catch up with your brother. I’m sure there’s so much you still have to talk about,” he mocked, sly and cruel, his scar stretching as he spoke down to her.

Y/N could only nod, his proximity both exhilarating and debilitating, but she was surprised. Toji had given her a choice, like a fleeting and fragile bloom that lingered just within her grasp. Geto had made it seem Toji would come plundering through his halls to whisk her away, dragging her deeper into his layer of Hell and all his sins. Y/N loathed herself in that moment, her injuries left her incapable of defending herself, and her grief silenced her from speaking up for herself. She was just a pawn in a chess game between monsters and gods; completely out of her depth, like a lost child, not much better than Mahito condemned in prison. Her back started to throb painfully, perhaps because she had been standing too long, or perhaps her self-depreciation had reminded her of the pain that had been there all along. Toji cocked his head at her, his eyes flashing, questioning her without words.

… apologetic?

“I suppose it’s getting late,” he yawned widely, fake and exaggerated. “Take care of yourselves and stay out of trouble, yeah?”

Toji snapped his fingers, and a flaming portal opened up behind him with a thunderous roar. He strode towards it, his back turned to them, the worm slithering menacingly around his arms in loops. Suddenly, he stopped just before the portal, his presence casting a looming and ominous shadow over the room.

And then, he was gone.

-•-

Soon, Y/N discovered, was entirely subjective to Toji’s passing whims.

Two months had dragged by since she, and even Geto for that matter, had seen her Curse in the flesh. Every morning, her heart leaped and mind raced, wondering whether that day would be the day she saw him again. But it never happened, and her brother thought it strange too, considering how fast Toji had arrived when he found out where she was. She couldn’t feel any of his emotions through their bond; perhaps it only sparked to life like a wildfire when they were about to stand face to face. Still, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling a piece of his puzzle had slotted comfortably into her being – a constant and comforting presence that she yearned for, but remained in the background just out of reach.

Despite Toji’s absence, Y/N threw herself wholeheartedly into her recovery process, taking it one day at a time. Her wounds had healed over nicely, leaving two large scars resembling whip lashes on her back where her wings had once been. Though they twinged from time to time, she was no longer crippled, and that was what mattered most. Geto had even resumed sparring with her, trying to help strengthen her muscles and body again, which stirred deep memories with her of her old life.

“You and Nanami fight exactly the same way, and you don’t even use anything I taught you,” he had commented under his breath, as he easily dodged Y/N, preventing her from landing a critical blow.

“That’s not a bad thing,” she huffed, irritated that she had not managed to land a hit on her brother yet. She was still too stiff and wildly unbalanced, partly due to the missing weight of her wings. However, she found she was far more agile than she was before – if only she could control it.

“Hah, you’re like a baby learning to walk,” he snorted, as she fell over quite hard into the dirt, having overestimated how far up into the air she could leap.

She glared at him hard, wiping the sweaty grime from her forehead. “It makes no sense. How can I jump higher without wings?”

“It’s a blessing about becoming a Curse,” Geto smirked, holding a hand out to help her up. “I like to think it was done to help us fight Angels flying in the sky, although most of us learn how to fly without wings with cursed energy.”

“I know that already, but why can’t I control it?” Y/N snapped as Geto hauled her up. She wasn’t really angry; it was more annoyance of her own failings, and her brother’s perfection: his perfect robes, his perfect hair with not a single strand out of place, and his perfectly annoying ability to excel at everything.

Geto laughed gently, “You will sweet sister, one step at a time. Now… let’s try again.”

And such was the routine most days. The mornings and afternoons were spent with sparring, while the evenings were dedicated to swimming in a large, deep pool underneath the palace. It was connected to different rooms within the palace, like her bedroom and Geto’s room, via secret passageways carved into the foundations of the mountain where her brother’s abode was built. It led to the center of the mountain, where there was a large pool, and another small, narrow passage that led directly out of the mountain. Y/N enjoyed it; the water was warm, perhaps even scalding, but her body had well adjusted to the heat of Hell. It was also secluded, which she greatly appreciated, allowing the pair to swim without any other Curses overlooking them.

It was during these evenings that Geto taught her the politics and ways of life of her new world, and it was not long after Toji’s visit that Y/N had asked him about the threat against him.

“In Hell,” Geto began, a dark look ghosting his face like a fog. “If you challenge a King to a fight to the death and they lose, you have every right to take their place. And that’s what happened. I won against the previous King – Kashimo Hajime.”

Kashimo had commanded the very lightning of storm clouds; Y/N had seen his portraits still proudly hanging in the hallways of the palace. With hair as vibrant as a cyan sea and eyes to match, he looked every bit as crazed and untamable as the power he wielded; a force of nature confined to a Cursed form. Their battle would have been a sight to behold, a spectacle beyond compare.

“You challenged him when you first turned?” Y/N asked, surprised, her eyebrows raised as her arms rested against the edge of the pool while Geto sat with his legs in the water.

He shook his head. “No, he tried to kill me. I killed him first.”

“Why’d he want to kill you?”

Geto kicked his legs in the water, splashing her from the side. “How do I put this? Not all Curses here seem to think beings like us are equal to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that true-born Curses do not deem Fallen Angels to be proper Curses. They think we are inferior to them, and they do not trust us or respect us because we were born in Heaven.”

“So… he tried to kill you for being an Angel? But you chose to fall, and other Fallen Angels are no different to true-born Curses energy, they’re all the same.”

“I know that sister, but how can you try and explain prejudice? Because that’s what it is, and that is the way Hell is. There are more true-born Curses nowadays than Fallen than in the olden days of Sukuna.”

Y/N was perplexed. “Well, what about Sukuna then?”

“What about him?” Geto asked, using his arms to push himself off the ledge and propel himself into the pool. His broad strokes cut through the water, and he leaned his head back as he swam, soaking his silken hair.

“He is a Fallen, or have they all forgotten?”

“They conveniently forget, I suppose. Sukuna’s power as a Curse is so great to the point that one forgets who he ever was before. It simply doesn’t register that he is anything other than a Curse. He was the original Curse, from where they were all born, even if his origin wasn’t a true-born.”

They were silent for a while, and Y/N did a few more laps of the pool before taking a break and swimming back towards Geto.

“So Hajime tried to kill you for being a Fallen?” she asked, bringing the conversation back around.

“Not exactly,” Geto said, letting her hang from him behind from him in the water, her arms draped over his shoulders like a cloak. “He claimed he didn’t like my plans for the war against Heaven, but I think he undermined in front of the others, so he tried to kill me to teach a lesson to other Fallen about what happens when they try to lead.”

“That obviously didn’t work,” Y/N remarked quietly, leaning her chin on his shoulder.

“No… no it didn’t.”

“So, how did you manage to anger another King of Hell during your first month here? Idiot.”

“Hmm, I admit after killing Hajime that I became a little… cocky. I challenged Toji for the rule of the Second Layer, my reasoning being that it would be easier to wage my war if I had two of the most powerful armies behind my back. I’d acquired power rather quickly, I wanted more, and I suppose it got to my head.”

Geto grimaced, and looked down at the giant ragged scar that reached all the way from his torso to his chest. “This is the result of my said idiocy.”

We’re both marked forever by his brutality.

“Why he let me live, I don’t know,” Geto continued, gently shaking her off his shoulders and exiting the pool. “Maybe you can ask him the next time you have a chat.”

Her stomach churned and bubbled with nerves at the thought of meeting Toji again, but she said nothing.

“Is he… a Fallen?” Y/N asked uncertainly, apprehension in her voice. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“True-born, traditionally procreated between Curses,” Geto replied smoothly, squeezing the water from his hair. “He belongs to the Zenin Clan of the Fifth Layer, where his cousin Naoya is King. Toji left the clan hundreds of years ago; I think it had something to do with his lack of cursed energy. He changed his last name to Fushiguro some time after that.”

“I see.”

Geto motioned with his hand for her to come over. “Come, let’s go and eat. I’ll tell you more about the rest of the Kings.”

Her brother was true to his word. As they ate later that evening, he told her everything he knew about them all. Sukuna himself had never ascended to Earth since the day he fell from Heaven, keeping much to his own kingdom – the Malevolent Shrine was his palace where he was almost a recluse. He apparently only bothered with Curse business within Hell, and even then he rarely emerged. Whenever the Kings of Hell decided to meet all together, Sukuna himself never came – instead sending his representative Uraume to watch, listen, and report back to him. What he did with that information, nobody knew, for there never was a reaction or repercussion.

The Fourth Layer King was called Jogo, a cruel and ill-tempered Curse that seemed to be born from the very volcanic mountains that spewed the Earth in ash and malice. Him and his retinue were the most mistrustful and hateful of her brother, turning up their noses to him as if they smelled something foul. Geto guessed they would be the first to declare open enmity toward him if it ever came down to it. Meanwhile, Naoya Zenin was a smug and pretentious bastard, according to Geto, who spread venom and lies with his honeyed words. The Zenin’s had ruled the Fifth Layer for nearly as long as Sukuna had been a Curse, and their prejudice was by far the worst, especially against those they deemed lesser than themselves.

Choso Kamo was King of the Sixth Layer, and Geto didn’t seem to know much about him. However, he was the first instance of the product between a Curse and Angel procreating together. Therefore, he had received much abuse from the other Kings before Geto had arrived – who was now the new target of their malice, but his strength as King kept them from overstepping thus far. He ruled both the Sixth and Seventh Layer; the latter not really a kingdom, more so a breeding ground for Curses to be conceived and born. It was Choso’s duty to root through the dirt and find gold, and more often than not his prodigies were taken away by other Kings to join their armies instead of his. Y/N couldn’t help but pity him, wondering what became of his parents, for she’d never heard of his story before.

Until it happened to her, Y/N never even thought a Curse and Angel could become soulmates.

-•-

Y/N pushed open the door to her bedroom, her fingers absentmindedly twirling her freshly washed and smoothed hair. Another thing she couldn’t get used to in her new life was the twins. Nanako and Mimiko waited on her, helped her bathe and dress every morning and night, and changed her bandages whenever her wounds were more severe. They helped her to navigate Geto’s palace, a blessing; the amount of times Y/N got lost was too numerous to count, and the twins had somehow known where she was every time. From what she could tell, the twins seemed to like her well enough, though perhaps that was only due to her relationship with Geto, whom they adored. Which was fair enough – trust and respect had to be earned. But she couldn’t help but feel they all shared the same battle of being Fallen amidst true-born Curses, and therefore she felt some kinship to them already.

Y/N hadn’t faced open disdain from any of the other Curses in her brother’s court. Perhaps some hesitant and suspicious looks, but nobody really went out of their way to speak to her. However, they weren’t entirely opposed if she came up to them with a question – mainly about her brothers whereabouts, or about the identities of the faces in the portraits on the wall. It was strange; she hadn’t considered the possibility of prejudice until Geto had mentioned it, and now it weighed heavily on her mind. Y/N felt she had to tread even more carefully to avoid inadvertently causing offense; her brother had already risked enough to save her life and keep her hidden.

She shut the door behind her, and clicked the lock shut for the night. Her eyes had somehow sharpened over the past two months, and she could now discern the slight darkening of the sky, signaling night had fallen on Heaven and Earth. It helped to structure a rough routine for a time to sleep. The twins had changed her bedsheets for her, opting for a deep mauve color instead of bla–

Y/N froze.

Her balcony door was swung wide open, definitely not as she or the twins would have left it.

She cautiously approached the door, her senses on high alert. Had someone managed to breach through all of Geto’s defenses and entered her room? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and her mind raced with terrifying possibilities. Had the real reason she was in Hell become public knowledge, prompting an assassin to come and kill her? She lightly stepped just before the doorframe, peaking out onto the balcony.

Toji stood leaning casually against the bronze railing of the balcony, an air of nonchalance about him as he gazed out into the dark expanse beyond the mountain.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N exclaimed, apprehension and relief flooding her, her paranoia crashing down like a waterfall. His presence was equal parts alarming and comforting.

He turned to look at her, shrugging casually. “Just passing through,” he replied cryptically.

His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Does my brother know you’re here?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as if he was going to burst through her bedroom at any moment.

“Probably not,” Toji smirked, turning his body completely towards her, his green eyes gleaming. “I did say I would be paying you a visit, didn’t I?”

“Yes, it’s just… been a while.”

“I’ve been busy, little angel. Hell doesn’t run itself you know? I would have come sooner if I could.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, trying to detect any deception or malice in his expression or through the bond, but could discern nothing but familiarity and a strange sense of intrigue. However, here was her chance; now that she was stronger and more resilient, she wouldn’t let him dictate the course of this situation any longer.

“Well, whatever it is you want, next time don’t surprise me here. These are my private quarters,” she said, injecting irritation into her voice, a spark of bravery edging her on.

Respect.

Toji raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not expecting her to respond that way. “My apologies. Next time, I’ll make a formal announcement and wait for you in the throne room where everyone can see us together.”

It was silent for a moment, a little bit of tension seeped through the air with his sarcastic response. He cleared his throat, leaned his arms behind him, and tightly gripped the rails.

“Well, I hope Hell has been up to your standards. I know it’s probably not as nice as to what you’re used to,” he said bluntly, an underlying tone of nervousness in his words that satisfied her.

“It’s… different,” she said, not really sure what else to say and not wanting to cause offense. “But I’m content, if that’s what you really want to know.”

“Hmm, I’ll bet. Your brother being good to you, yeah?” He pressed, his arms rocking him back and forth against the rail.

“Always.”

“Good good. I’m glad. You both staying out of trouble?”

“Is that why you’re here? To see if I’m behaving?”

“Sure, why not?”

This side of Toji was a stark difference to when he was in front of Geto in the grandeur of the throne room. Now, in the quiet and suddenly intimate setting of her balcony, he was almost… softened. Did he not feel the need to flaunt his power in front of her? His apprehension was surprising, but Y/N felt almost empowered by this unguarded side of him. It gave her a newfound sense of control she didn’t have before, and she was growing into her new world, like a fragile blossom emerging from the soil trying to reach for the sun.

“You seem… much better than before,” he said slowly, gruffly, snapping her out of her train of thought. “Stronger.”

“Yeah, I’m managing,” she admitted. “All my wounds have nearly fully healed. Geto has started training me again, it’s been good for me.”

Toji smirked at her, “Good to hear, you ever beat him?”

She smiled, a real one, and his green eyes sparkled at the sight of it. “Not yet.”

More.

“Hmm, maybe I can teach you my way to fight,” he suggested, a playful tone lacing his words.

“Maybe,” Y/N mused, walking slowly towards the railing and leaning against it, still keeping some distance between them.

She felt Toji looking at her with interest, making her face burn, and he turned around to lean against the railing once again. ““Humor me on this, though. How did you actually fight properly with wings? I mean, surely they’re just in the way.”

“Not really, I just did I suppose. The same way you can tell when night falls in Hell, even though it’s always dark.”

They stood together in silence, the warm night air carrying the distant sound of the city below the mountain. Toji wasn’t here to stir trouble, Y/N finally decided, as her earlier apprehension melted away. There was no hint of anger from him; instead he seemed almost… relaxed.

“I don’t think I would wish for them back though,” she continued, not sure where the urge came to open up to him, but it was there nonetheless.

“No?”

“No, I think I’m too used to being without them now. I feel… different, but it’s better.”

“I see.”

It was quiet again, before Toji asked slowly, “Did it hurt when you lost them?”

“I think so… I don’t really remember. I was in a fever dream; I couldn’t really feel or see anything at all really.”

He tensed, gripping the rails tightly. Y/N almost swore she could see the bronze metal bend just slightly.

“I could feel you were sick, you know?” He stated, his voice hard.

She was surprised at this. “Really? I can only feel you when you’re close.”

“I don’t really know how all this works, maybe it’s different for each of us.”

“Maybe…”

“Anyway, I could feel it. I didn’t know exactly what it was. It makes sense now you’ve told me, but at the time I thought your mind had broken.”

Y/N sighed heavily, “It did… I think I saw strange things. I don’t really want to remember.”

“I can imagine,” Toji muttered, his tone almost gentle.

They were silent for some time, comfortably so, watching the horizon. Y/N was the one to break the silence this time.

“I don’t think our bond was the only reason I became… a Curse,” she admitted, her voice trailing off.

“How so?”

Y/N bit her lip nervously, grappling with the sheer weight of what she was about to admit. Toji tilted his head at her curiously, patiently waiting for her to answer, his rapt attention making her even more shy. She took a deep breath in to steady herself before continuing.

“I was willing to stand with you against Satoru… I didn’t want you to die by his hand.”

Interest… surprise.

“And that’s enough for you to get exiled?” Toji asked slowly, digesting the information. “That’s harsh,” he added, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes, because I made the choice to betray my own kind, and I would have been in between you both if Nanami hadn’t stopped me. He would have done it too, I think, if I wasn’t… injured.” she said the last part slowly, carefully, softly. The memory of Nanami still brought her to tears if she didn’t steel her heart against the onslaught of emotions.

His emerald orbs softened, and he moved just a fraction closer to her. “Your friend must have cared a lot about you to risk condemning himself to Hell.”

“He was the best of us,” she sniffed, her firsts tightening, holding her breath to steady herself.

It was quiet for a long time after that. The gravity of Nanami’s sacrifice weighed heavily on her shoulders, and Y/N doubted she would ever be free of it for as long as she lived. She stole a glance at Toji, trying to find solace in his presence, but the question remained – was he going to prove himself worthy enough to justify Nanami’s death? The wind whispered mournfully, lamenting everything she had lost to bring her to this moment: her home, her wings, Satoru.

“Listen, I-,” Toji started, closing his mouth abruptly, clearly searching for the right words to say as he avoided direct eye contact with her. “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for what happened.”

He was tense; clearly this was new to him – apologizing. She whispered, “What for exactly?”

Toji rolled his eyes and huffed, “For nearly killing you, what do you think?”

The scar on her stomach tingled with a faint, phantom-ache, and she instinctively placed her hand over it. Toji’s gaze followed her movement, his frown deepening, and his fists clenched the bar even tighter this time.

Shame… self loathing.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, and you didn’t know any better,” she said, her voice soft as she placed her hand back on the railing.

He pursed his lips but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the city below. The air fell thick with tension again, heavy with both their emotions, as they both grappled with the weight of their unspoken regrets. Y/N wanted to change the subject to lighten the solemn veil over them, and to unravel the stories and battles that had sculpted the myserious Curse standing beside her.

“So you can feel me, huh?” Toji said suddenly, nearly making her jump, but there was a lighter tone to his voice. “What does it feel like?”

Y/N smiled shyly, searching for the right words. She couldn’t possibly tell him that he felt like smoke and lightning – powerful and elusive, utterly out of her grasp, and she doubted she would ever understand it.

“You feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you for a very long time,” she finally said, settling for a much less daunting truth.

His gaze became kinder, and he rested his head against his hand, staring at her and making her feel shy all over again. “I know what you mean.”

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Hmm… like you’re there all the time now, in my head. It’s like you know what I’m doing all the time, and you’re watching me. I feel I don’t have to tell you things because I think you already know everything.”

“I actually don’t, and I have been wondering what does a King of Hell do all day long?”

Toji’s lip twitched, “Oh? Does your brother not tell you what he gets up to?”

“I’m asking you, not about him,” Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Well,” he grunted, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I mainly handle my armies strategies and organization. I make sure they’re running well, and if they’re not, well, then that’s where I come in.”

“And when all is well in war, what then?”

“And then… maybe I’ll lend an ear to whatever squabbles the other Curses are having, but if I can avoid it, I will.”

“So that’s what you’re doing here then?”

And he finally laughed, a glorious and heart-stopping smile spreading across his face. Y/N was transfixed, her soul suspended in time at provoking such elation from her soulmate.

“No,” Toji chuckled. “Your company is just so much better than theirs, obviously.”

“Obviously?” She teased, feeling a flush of heat grace her cheeks.

He hummed in agreement, “Of course.”

An endearing and shy silence filled the air, and they enjoyed each other’s presence in comfortable tranquility, a paradox to the supposed suffering and agony in the depths of Hell. Toji shifted beside her, lifting his weight from the railing, and cleared his throat.

“Well… I suppose I better take my leave,” he announced softly, taking a few steps backwards from her.

“Might be best, I’m sure your subjects are wondering where you are,” Y/N jested, smiling. Her inner soul was jumping, and she tried her best to ignore it. She knew it wanted him to stay, screaming don’t go in a silent cry through their bond.

Toji’s eyes glittered, a genuine smile quirking his lips as he chuckled lowly, a gesture just for her. “You might just be right.”

He lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers together, conjuring a sizzling portal of flame that opened up behind him in a mesmerizing display. Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from him as the warm orange glow of the portal enveloped him, casting him in an ethereal light that illuminated every contour of his face. She felt a pang of longing as he stood there, a transient and fleeting embodiment of sinful allure against the obsidian backdrop of Hell.

“Sleep well, little angel,” Toji mumbled, soft and rumbly, his green eyes almost glowing.

“Goodnight, Toji,” Y/N replied, her voice quaking with all the unspoken feelings of her soul that she couldn’t possibly express in that moment.

He smiled at her and disappeared through the portal, leaving her grasping at the lingering wisps of his presence.

-•-

taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max

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gh0stlyfixation · 1 year

Text

I hate it

Paring: klaus mikaelson x fem!reader

Summary: you’ve had enough of the Mystic Falls gang.

Warning: anxiety, grammar mistakes.

You never wanted this life. You never wanted to be wrapped up in the supernatural world. Your anxiety wasn’t doing well. All you wanted was to graduate and move so far away.

When Klaus came into the picture, it was life and death. It seemed that everyone was dying now. But despite Klaus being the bad guy, you couldn’t help but have feelings for him. This was a broken man, a man who would do anything just to be himself. How could you deny that from a person?

Klaus also held deep feelings for you. He did everything he could to keep you away from the bloodshed. If you were around one of the Salvatores or Elena, he’d stay away for the time being. Your safety was his top priority.

You sat on a bench near a pond in the park late at night thinking about your current life. You hated it, you hated this small town and you hated the people in it, especially the people who brought you into this awful supernatural world. You angrily threw rocks into the lake.

“It’s kinda late to be angrily throwing rocks isn’t it love?” A familiar voice spoke.

You didn’t bother to look up at him, “what do you want Klaus?” You grunted as you threw the last rock into the lake.

He didn’t respond so you looked up at him, he could see the dried tears on your face, he felt sorry for you. His heart felt a tinge of sadness, “may I sit?” He asked.

You nodded carefully moving your sketchbook out of the way, you brought it to keep your mind busy but the amount of anxiety you felt gave you no inspiration, you haven’t had inspiration in months.

“You draw?” He asked trying to come up with a conversation.

“Yeah,” you quietly answered looking down at the book.

“Me too, and paint.” He replied.

“Really?” You asked looking up at him. He could see a little bit of sparkle in your eyes. He nodded and looked back to the lake. He could tell you didn’t want to talk, maybe this was a mistake, he thought, I should leave her alone, But before he could get up, you had nudged him lightly. He looked down at you to see you holding your sketchbook to him.

He carefully took it and looked at you to make sure you were sure. You gave him a nod and he opened it to the first page. It was a simple drawing of a lake, the more he flipped through the more impressed he was. Different drawings of landscapes, portraits, and objects, but he was curious when he saw the last date, July 7th.

“It’s been months.” He said.

“Yeah, it happens when you have crippling anxiety.” You scoffed at yourself. “I never wanted to know this other world existed but annoying needy Elena just had to pull me into it.” You said with clear bitterness.

“Looks like we have some more things in common.” Klaus said.

“I want to move away. I hate this place. I hate everyone in this town and the air I breathe in it.” You said with tears. Klaus wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Come to New Orleans with me.” He said.

You laughed at his suggestion while wiping away the tears, “seriously? As great as that sounds, I don’t know you and you don’t know me.” You said.

“It’s either me or needy Elena,” Klaus said with a chuckle trying to make you smile.

You cracked a small smile, “anything to get out of this hell hole.” You said leaning a head on his shoulder.

—

#klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson #klaus x reader #the originals klaus #klaus mikealson x reader #niklaus x reader #niklaus imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus imagines #the originals imagine #the original imagines #the originals

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youandtom2 · 10 months

Note

Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P

(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!

a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???

Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.

MASTERLIST

"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"

The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.

Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.

You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.

"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"

The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.

"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."

The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.

"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"

As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.

"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."

As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.

You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.

"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"

Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.

"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.

"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"

He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."

"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."

"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."

You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.

"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."

Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."

"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."

"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."

You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.

~~~~

It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.

It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.

"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.

Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.

The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?

After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?

Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!

You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.

People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.

You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.

"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."

Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!

A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.

Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."

Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.

But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.

"Sure. Thanks."

You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.

Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.

It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.

~~~~

"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.

"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.

"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.

"Still can't allow you back--"

"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.

The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.

The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!

"He's in here."

"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.

Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?

Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"

You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.

He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."

What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...

Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.

"What was it you said again...?"

"You listened to it." He ignores you.

"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."

"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.

Tom's brows furrow inward.

"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.

"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"

There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.

Ha. Yeah right.

"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."

"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."

Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.

"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"

"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."

You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."

"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."

Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.

Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."

"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."

"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."

Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.

"You look strong."

"Elaborate."

"You clearly work out."

"What in particular?"

"Your arms."

"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...

"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."

"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."

Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.

You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.

Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.

"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...

"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."

"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."

He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.

Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.

Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.

"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."

"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."

As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.

It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.

Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.

He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"

Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."

"Good girl."

You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.

You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.

Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.

As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.

So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...

He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."

Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.

"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."

He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.

But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.

As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.

"You wanna taste?"

Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.

"You want me to?"

Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."

Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.

Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.

Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.

"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.

You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."

"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"

Oh, this fucker.

"I prom-"

"Say it like you mean it."

How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.

"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"

He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.

"Okay, I promise."

The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."

How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.

With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."

He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Taking me so well. Good girl."

"Just like that, shit."

"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"

Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.

His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.

Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.

When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.

"Detail." He simply says.

"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."

At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.

You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.

"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.

"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.

"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."

Oh fuck.

It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.

Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.

His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.

Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Fuck, I--"

"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."

"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."

Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."

In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.

The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.

For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...

Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.

Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.

"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."

Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."

"Oh, and congratulations."

He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...

Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...

Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"

Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."

"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.

"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."

~~~~~

It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.

It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?

But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.

Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.

Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.

What do you do?

#ngl the ending was a little rushed #cos this was way longer than i wanted it to be #oh well #enjoy!#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #golfer!tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x y/n #anon asks

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Don't Speak 36

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

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

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

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: we got that xmas hangover.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

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

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The living room is silent as you enter. Andy remains as he’s been, sitting at the corner of the couch, beer in hand as he stares at the television. Amber distracts herself with a hanging landscape on the wall, seemingly trying to disappear into that photographic world. Steve clears his throat as he follows you.

“Do you we have a truce?” The doctor asks.

He doesn’t get much of an answer. Andy slurps loudly from the neck of the bottle and Amber shrugs and grumbles. You hug yourself and stop at the end of the couch. Why can’t they get along? They both love you, don’t they?

“Bub,” Amber spins away from the framed picture, “were you going to show me your painting?”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” you rub your neck, cradling your elbow as you peek over at Andy. He stays transfixed by the television. It’s deliberate. He’s tuning you out.

“Can I tag along?” Steve asks.

You nod and make yourself stand straight. You point them through the door before flitting through yourself and lead them down the hall. You sigh as you escape the tension of Andy’s silent sulking.

You fumble with the garage door, you can feel the cold through the metal handle. You get it open and the light inside flicks on as the sensor triggers. You stand back and wait for them to go first.

Amber takes the lead, then Steve passes with a gentle smile, and you trail after them. They descend the few steps as their breath clouds visibly in the cold air. Your stomach flips as they turn their attention to the painting. They stop as they consider your work.

You near the edge of the easel and chew your lip, “do you like it?”

“Bub, it’s so good,” Amber claps her hands. “You did this all by yourself?”

You nod emphatically and smile. She marvels at the large canvas as Steve steps closer with narrowed eyes. His cheek dimples as he gives the pigment an inquisitive stare.

“How did you do this?” He asks breathlessly, “the feathers…” he raises his hand but doesn’t touch the canvas, “they look real.”

“Well, um, I just… did my best,” you sway back and forth, nearly squealing in delight.

You step away from the easel and turn to take in your work. A few days ago, you wanted to paint over it all but now, you wouldn’t dare change a stroke. It really is nice. And you did all that!

“It has personality,” Steve continues, “I can tell you made it for Andy… it looks a bit angry.” Steve chuckles and you give him a sheepish look, brows rising high, “not in a bad way.

“It’s cold out here,” Andy startles you as he stands at the top of the stares, filling the doorway with his tall figure.

“Not that bad,” Amber rubs her hands together. “Colder outside.”

Andy sighs and rolls his eyes, “not arguing, just saying.”

Steve sniffs, “we’ll come in soon. We’re just admiring the art.” He brings his hand to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully, “what are your rates?”

You look at him in surprise as Andy lets out a ‘huh’.

“Might want something small for the office,” he muses, “I know they’re kinda plain but I always thought nightingales were pretty.”

“I like nightingales,” you chirp.

“That sounds like a fun project,” Amber encourages.

You still feel a bit cloudy but your heart swells happily. A new project is always a new adventure. In the back of your mind, you think it's a good distraction. You glance back at Andy as he glowers.

“I should have time since I’m all done this,” you say.

“I’ll be more than happy to compensate you for that time,” Steve assures, “do you offer lessons? I always wanted to get into painting. I recommend it to so many patients, I might just take my own advice.”

“I’m… oh, I could…”

“You don’t need to make up your mind now,” he crosses one arm, cradling and elbow as he stretches his other hand wide, “I’m thinking out loud.” He shudders and wiggles his shoulders, “brr, it is cold out here.”

“Let’s go warm up with some tea,” Amber suggests as she pats your back, “huh? Tea always helps.”

“Sure,” you walk beside her toward the door.

Andy looms as you approach, not backing up until you get to the top of the steps, Amber just behind you. He inches away, stern as he watches you pass. He doesn’t move until Steve comes inside and he reaches to slam the door behind him.

“Don’t wanna leave that open,” he mutters, “heat bill’s high enough.”

🕊️

Amber lingers at the door. Steve stands behind her, neither eager to be away. Your sister clings to your hand, swinging your arms between you. You see the worry in her smile.

“I’ll miss you, bub,” she says, squeezing your hand.

“Miss you too,” you eke out, “you could come back again. Maybe tomorrow?”

She hesitates and glances past you to the doorway. Her lips slant, “yeah, that’d be nice. Or maybe… you can come visit.”

“Oh,” you blink, surprised by the offer. You hadn’t thought of going home; to her house. You were too afraid to invite yourself, “maybe. That’d be nice.”

“I still have all your things, you know? You could grab some stuff,” she offers.

“Sure, I… yeah,” you pull your hand from hers, twiddling your fingers. What about now? You don’t ask but you want to as you hear Andy in the next room.

“Have a good night,” she croaks and pulls you into a hug. It’s so tight, you can’t breathe, “please… be careful.”

“Amb,” you touch her side, “I’m okay.”

“I know,” she holds you close and rocks you, “I know, you’re strong.” She parts and keeps you at arm’s length, “you can call me. Any time, you know?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, “Amb, really…”

“Make sure you call my office too,” Steve intones as he steps up behind her, “should get a time in before next weekend.”

“Alright,” you chew your lip, “I’ll… call. Both of you. Promise.”

“You better,” Amber’s lips quiver, “please, I… I worry.”

“I will,” you avow firmly, “okay?”

“It’s late,” Steve touches her shoulder, “we’re all tired.”

You clutch your hands together, sinking your nails into your skin as you squeeze tight. You’d been so happy to see Amber, the thought of her leaving hadn’t even crossed your mind. Now the reality of it hits you like a bus. You can go with her.

Andy coughs from the other room. Your hope dissolves and you make yourself smile. You should stay, make sure he’s okay. After all he’s done for you, you owe it to him.

“Good night,” you squeak.

“Night, bub,” Amber says, “love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“See ya,” Steve waves over her shoulder as he pulls open the door, “get some sleep. Oh, and drink water.”

“Thanks,” you murmur and come forward as they sidle out the door.

You hesitantly shut the door in their stead and lock it. You stay and watch them leave through the window. The headlights of the car flash as it chirps and their doors open and close sharply. As long as the day’s been, it’s not over yet.

You shiver as cool air wafts up from under the door. You back up, crossing your arms, and turn slowly to face the empty house. You take careful but uncertain steps down the hall and stop at the threshold of the front room.

Andy’s head leans against the back of the couch as a sports recap shows plays on the television. You inch closer and peek around the side as you approach. His eyes are closed as his arm drapes over the armrest.

You ponder leaving him there. You’re tired and you’re starting to feel a bit sick to your stomach. The wine coats your stomach sourly and rises in acrid belches. You stand stuck in indecision. You could lie and say he wouldn’t wake up.

“They gone?” He startles you with the question.

You nod and gulp. His head drifts over and he looks at you, expression drawn with discontent. You pick your thumbnail and bounce on your heels.

“Amber helped me clean up,” you say, “so… we can go to bed. It’s late–”

“It’s nine,” he stretches his arm out, “come here.”

He latches onto you, pulling your arm up, trailing his hand down to your wrist. He guides you around the front of the couch as he sits forward. He lures you in as his beer-laced breath tinges your nose.

“I’m tired,” you take his hand in both of yours, “we should lay down–”

“We don’t have to go to bed,” he insists.

“I want to, Andy, please? My head hurts–”

“Because you drank too much wine,” he reproaches, “who’s fault is that?”

You wince and your eyes flick over to the empty bottle on the end table, then back to him. He sighs and curls his lip, “beer isn’t as strong as wine, did you know that? Hmm? Of course you don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I…” you quaver, “I’m trying–”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he sneers, “to embarrass me.”

“What?”

“All day. Humiliating. You chose everyone but me. You hurt me, dove.”

“No, I wasn’t– I didn’t–”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head and looks away, “you said you love me but I think you’re lying to me.”

“What?” You pout.

“Just like you did with Amber. You’re using me,” he accuses.

“No.”

“Then what are you doing, huh? Dove,” he reaches forward and frames your waist, pulling you in as he slides to the front of the cushion, “if you love me, prove it.”

You bat your lashes as your mouth falls open. You don’t understand. You did everything he wanted all day. You cooked, you cleaned, and you tried to spend time with him but he pushed everyone away. Somehow it’s all your fault again.

He runs his hand up your arm and tickles your neck. He holds your chin between his thumb and index as he stares you down. You surrender. You’re too tired to fight. You lean in and kiss him.

The taste of him makes you sick. It’s wheaty and alcoholic, not as sweet as the wine. His arm hooks around you as he pulls you against him. You press your hands to his chest. His hand dips down your back and he gropes your ass, purring into your mouth.

His touch wanders further and he bends your leg, lifting it over his as his other hand travels down to mirror the movement. He urges you into his lap as he leans back. You part from his lips, straddling him awkwardly as you keep your hands flat to his chest.

“Andy,” you babble, “please, let’s go to bed–”

“We’ll stay here,” he reaches to grab the back of your head, yanking you close. Your arms bend but you keep your lips away from his, “what’s your problem?”

“Andy, please,” your stomach swims violently, “I don’t feel good.”

“You’re fucking drunk,” he slurs, “of course you don’t feel good.”

“Let me go,” you wriggle on top of him.

“What does it fucking matter?” He hisses, “you can lay on your back and do your duty.”

You flinch and slap his chest with one hand, “that’s mean. Andy, let me–”

You yipe as suddenly you’re scooped up and swept onto your back. The impact on the cushion knocks the air out of your chest as Andy quickly puts himself over you. His hand goes to your neck as he holds you down, pinning you as he lays between your open legs.

“Andy,” you beg as you grasp his thick arm, “you’re scaring me.”

“I just want a kiss,” he growls.

You close your eyes as he leans in again. You let him kiss you. He smothers you with the sticky lips as you squirm. A kiss isn’t much. A kiss won’t last long.

His knees shift as he raises himself slightly. Your heart leaps. His other hand creeps along the short hem of your dress and he tickles your thigh. Your stuck splayed beneath him as you writhe. He feels along the lacy edge of your panties and you whimper into his mouth.

You hit his shoulders as you try to push him away. You turn your head and gulp in air, “Andy, please, get off.”

“Baby, I need you,” he nuzzles your temple as he tugs aside your panties, “please, I’ve been waiting all day.”

Your chest pounds and your ears ring. You shove him helplessly as your chest racks painfully. No, no, no. The word echoes in your head. ‘You can tell them no…’

You ball your hands and hit Andy harder, “no!” You shout, “Andy, no! I don’t want it. I don’t want you!”

He ignores you, nibbling on your ear as he roughly jams his fingers between your folds. You squeal as your breath hitches. You can hardly puff it out as your heart hammers faster and faster.

“No, no, no…” you chant as you struggle beneath him, “no, get off… no, no…”

You reach above you and grab onto the arm rest. He hardly notices as he touches you, violates you. His fingers slip along your entrance, poking you dryly as you whine and plead. You grunt and pull yourself up with all your strength. You manage to drag yourself up only a few inches.

“Dove,” he snarls as he lifts head, his fingers delving into your cunt, “be good—”

You swing your elbow down. Not a thought, not a doubt stops you from cracking the pointed bone across his head. You’re not thinking, you’re too scared for that. His hand slips from between your legs as he cries out and cradles his head.

You wriggle under him, kicking and flailing until you slip free, falling heavily onto the floor. Your skirt is around your waist as your panties cling in the crease of your leg. You pant wildly as you crawl away from the couch, trying to get as far as you can.

You stop only as you hear a strange noise. You look back, sitting on your knees as you fold your hands to your chest, trying to calm the swell of fear. Andy stays on the couch, folded over as he holds his face. His body shakes as he sobs.

“Dove,” he croaks and sniffs, “how could you?” He slowly pushes himself up, a hand over his eye, “you hurt me. Why would you do that?”

You flutter your lashes as the pain in his voice stabs deep into your heart. You didn’t mean to hurt him, you never wanted to hurt anyone. But you were afraid and he wouldn’t stop. You just wanted him to stop.

“I– I said— no…” you eke out.

He bends forward, holding his head as he curls his shoulders. He looks small and weak. You shakily get your feet under you and stand. He wipes away tears as he hides his face from you. As you come close, you reach to touch him and he recoils.

“Andy, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t touch me,” he swats you away, “don’t—” He looks up at you, his blue eyes swirling with fear, “dove…” his lip trembles, “you’re scaring me.”

You rip your hand back and grip your wrist against your chest. You back up as if you’ve been struck. You? Scaring him? But…

He stands, watching you as if you might lunge. His shoulders stay rounded and hunched as he staggers, his hand still on one side of his face as he whimpers in pain. You reach your hand out and he winces again.

“Stay away,” he holds out an arm to shield himself, “dove, please, don’t hurt me again.”

He backs up, his gait uneven, almost stunned. He drags himself around the couch, sniffling loudly as he warily passes through the doorway. You look down at your hands, the throbbing still in your elbow from hitting him. You… hit him.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #steve kemp #fresh #dark fic #dark!fic #au #library au #series #don't speak #defending jacob

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