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canichangemyblogname · 2 years

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Syril Karn is never going to realize he is expendable to the fascist power structure. He is never going to realize that he is replaceable and that he didn't matter. He desperately wants to be important. He desperately wants so bad to *seem* like he matters. That's why he tailored his suit. That's why he took on the case that- quite literally- blew up in his face.

And someone might argue, "He cannot see the galaxy beyond how he is impacted, right? But, look at Arvel Skeen or Lieutenant Gorn. Once someone they loved or they personally were affected by regressive or oppressive imperial policies, their love for the Empire dried up. What's to say Syril won't follow that same path? The theme of the episode was that everyone has their reasons for fighting, no matter how big or how small."

And, sure... I guess. Yes, Syril cannot see the galaxy beyond how he is impacted. Yes, the episode was about how everyone has their reasons for fighting. But, the episodes have been split between 3 story-lines. Cassian. Luthen & Mon Mothma (the "Coruscant" Story Line). Syril Karn. In the different story lines, we see different reasons for agitating for the end of the Empire, for being a moderate who operates within the system rather than working to dismantle it, and for fighting on behalf of the Empire.

Skeen started out never having any love for the Empire and Lieutenant Gorn had a love or community outside the Empire to fill that human need for a sense of significance or community. When both of them lost that love and acceptance-- seen in Skeen's brother and Gorn's significant other-- that love they had for these individuals turned against the empire. All those Rebels are motivated by love in their fight and we're slowly learning about the love that pushed them to take up arms against an entity that is cold and cruel; that destroys love and community.

But the only "acceptance" and "approval" Karn has ever received is from people who toe the ideological line; is from his "brothers" on the "front lines." Syril clearly comes from a household where he is very used to being torn down. Parental and communal approval and acceptance are very necessary for a child's development. But he grew up constantly fearing that his actions would deter parental love and approval. Children chisel and shape their personality and choices according to what they believe will result in approval and thus love and care from their parents.

There is literally nothing-- not even working for the Empire-- that will gain his mother's (her name is Eddy?) approval, as evidenced by her telling him that police work never suited him and the fact she never visited him (he had a guest room, so he was both waiting for her and doing well for himself). Syril never learned self-identity. He never learned "Who am I apart from an authority figure?" He never learned that his decisions are his own, only that they are made to gain the approval and favor of an authority figure. That first authority figure was his mother-- who no doubt used physical means to reinforce this hierarchy-- and the final authority figure is the Empire.

(Insert some commentary here about how parenting which is strict and stern and characterized by high demands and low responsiveness affects a child's willingness to acquiesce to dictatorial systems given it creates children who are socially inept, dependent, and unable to think on their own or think critically. They often have poor self-esteem and are poor judges of character.)

Do not mistake this as me saying that you should feel sorry for Syril or start treating him as some sympathetic and pathetic little meow-meow just because he grew up in a household were his parent's love was conditional. Being raised by emotionally immature or neglectful parents; even narcissistic parents, does not make kids fascists. His decisions are still his own. While his emotionally neglectful and overbearing and overly critical mother has lead him to seek approval elsewhere-- specifically in police work-- his decisions are still his own.

When he loses "everything" and has to return to an emotionally toxic environment and then day-in-and-day-out listen to his mother tear him down and disparage his choices and ridicule his "misfortune," he looks for an scapegoat for his anger; someone beside himself to blame his position on. It hurts to admit you were wrong and you failed, even though his internal monologue is probably something to the likes of: "useless, failure, pathetic, disappointment," on repeat. He's only ever been a disappointment and a failure to his mother, and now he's also one in the eyes of the Empire. So what is he going to try and do? Strive harder for their approval.

This is going to make him more dangerous. He is going to double down on his misguided sense of right and wrong. He is going to dig his heels in. This is going to solidify his ideology and his commitment to establishing order. His “misfortunes” are going to convince him of the absolute righteousness of his crusade. His ambition, dedication, and commitment to order and rules as well as a strict sense of right and wrong have thus far played an important part in him upholding an authoritarian regime. But now you can add a feeling of personally being slighted to the list. And he is going to continue to blame his “misfortune” on people who are less politically advantaged.

Who is he going to scapegoat? Cassian. The people of Ferrix. Anyone but himself and the system. He isn't going to blame the Empire for him being cast aside (by the Empire). He isn't going to blame himself for his own incompetence and lack of foresight or consideration for literally anyone else in the galaxy. Syril isn't going to blame his former employer or his men. He is going to primarily blame Cassian.

Cassian is Syril’s version of Skeen’s brother or Gorn’s lover.

He is never going to see himself as expendable to the authoritarian power structure because he *can't* be in his mind. He desperately needs to matter to someone because he has never mattered to anyone, and maybe, he thinks, maybe he can matter to "history," maybe he can matter to others by upholding the "rule of law" and "order in the galaxy."

The lighting in these scenes perfectly highlights this, too. It highlights his feelings of stagnation and dejection. And then note his action figurines in the background of that final shot of him. He was raised surrounded by "subtle" military and nationalistic messaging. Those were the "heroes" he grew up on.

In real life when you talk to anyone who joined the military or a police force, and even a "militia" (a right-wing terrorist group), you'll hear the men- often cis and straight and white- cite brotherhood, community, and a sense of feeling like they matter and have influence (power) as their reasons for joining. They believed they could "matter" to others by throwing their weight behind "law and order." They believed they could (and should) take society’s “fate” into their own hands. When these men get out of those militias, specifically, and start cult deconstruction (yes, they have cult mentalities), one of the predictors of relapse is feelings of isolation and loneliness. They need a feeling of community and acceptance to be secure enough to walk away and keep away. Syril does not and will never have that.

(DO NOT take this to mean that these people deserve some poor meow-meow sympathy or something. Please! They did objective harm to other people and should be held accountable for that and should answer for that. Their decisions are still their own. There is a difference between hate and oppression apology and understanding the psychology of the people who join and support these groups.)

###

I have never seen such an accurate portrayal of a working white family. Syril's relationship with his mother reminded me of my relationship with my mother. Down to the way they spoke to each other-- from her passive-aggressive insults to Syril's seemingly self-aware sarcastic jabs. During the pandemic, I was let go from my job and lost my housing, forcing me to move back in with my mother. Unlike Syril, I didn't scapegoat an immigrant for my troubles (again, having emotionally immature parents does not a fascist or bigot make). Nothing taught me that I was expendable to the capitalist class more than being literally discarded. Unlike Syril, I was a low wage worker who was working one of the only available jobs following graduating. Not a day went by where my mother didn't make passive-aggressive jabs about my lack of ambition or lack of prospects or disappointment, both while I was employed as a fast food worker and after I was laid off. ("You have no prospects." "I'll figure something out!" "I'll call your cousin. She got a job at that call center. Or maybe that family friend. See if she has any opening." <That was a daily conversation. And then once I secured myself a job, it was: "I got you this job. You're successful because of me.")

Also, contrast Syril's dynamic with his mother with Mon Mothma's dynamic with her child. In the wealthy white household, children are more props than anything. The parents are quite uninvolved and the children are often raised instead by a team of staff. In working white households, the children are seen as an extension of the parent. The parents are often more involved at least in terms of their children's activities and decisions (like what sports, what instruments, everything the child does is dictated by the parent). But in both families, it is all about outward appearance (See: Eddy's comments about Syril slouching and Leida's comment that Mon Mothma just wants to appear involved).

#Syril Karn #Andor (2022)#Mon Mothma #Cassian Andor #Arvel Skeen #Lieutenant Gorn #Andor Spoilers #Anyway... I enjoyed this episode too

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rocorambles · 3 years

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Surprise Interview

Pairing: Kenma x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Verbal Humiliation, Manipulation

Summary: Kenma sees if you have what it takes to be Bouncing Ball’s newest employee.

A/N: This is for @sugawara-sweetheart ‘s Decadence Collab. So excited to be a part of this collab and to be able to indulge in such a delicious prompt and theme. Be sure to check out everyone else’s works! As always, thanks for beta-ing @sawamooora ~

There’s a familiar peace and a new nervousness about coming back home for the holidays. Mostly because home isn’t quite the same home it used to be. You can feel warmth blooming in your chest at the thought of seeing your mom, telling her about everything and everyone (as if your daily phone calls aren’t enough), and just lounging around while she fills you up with her cooking. But you can also feel a certain shyness as you approach the house, a building that still feels brand new and strange to you.

Your mother had gotten remarried during your earlier college years after your father’s passing and you were elated for her. If anyone deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s her. You had met Mr. Kozume quite a few times and you have no qualms with the man. He treats your mother like a queen and even though you playfully gag as they sweet talk and kiss in front of you, you wholeheartedly approve of their relationship.

However, what you aren’t quite as prepared for is having a new step-sibling.

You don’t know much about Kenma Kozume. Well, not much more than the rest of the world does.

Professional gamer. Successful stock trader. Popular YouTuber. Founder of his own corporation.

You know exactly who your new brother is, but other than seeing him a few times in person at family gatherings and exchanging polite greetings, there’s no real connection. Which is why your heart races as you nervously ring his doorbell, anxiety already making your leg twitch as you wait for the door to open.

Your mother and step-father are on a couple’s vacation and won’t be returning for a few days.

(“We just want some romantic time together before we have a full house again for the holidays. Plus this is a great chance to get to know your older brother better!” You hadn’t even been able to get a word of protest in before she had laughed and hung up on you, leaving you speechless and on your own as you hesitantly texted Kenma, letting him know what day to expect you.)

Kenma is quiet as ever as he nods in greeting, silently leading you to your guest room before quietly telling you to make yourself at home and leaving to do his own thing. You let out a huge sigh of relief as the door closes behind him.

There’s nothing wrong with Kenma. He’s smart and successful. Maybe a bit on the quiet side, but that only adds to his down to earth charm. You know your mother and step-father adore him and you can’t blame them. Yet, you can’t help but feel scrutinized, seen so clearly in a way that terrifies you when his feline eyes gaze at you. It takes everything in you not to immediately scurry away whenever you’re in viewing distance of him, desperate to hide all the flaws you imagine he’s noticing and calculating. Your step-father had mentioned how Kenma used to be the strategist of his high school volleyball team, and has always been able to evaluate and accurately break down situations and people. And you believe it.

You’re just grateful the house is large enough to avoid each other and that Kenma tends to reside mostly in his home office and bedroom.

But even the founder of a company needs a break from time to time. Kenma shuffles towards the gaming room, only to blink in surprise when he sees you already inside of it, happily smiling as Animal Crossing visuals and sounds fill the space.

He had known you owned a Nintendo Switch, a piece of information your mom had shared to break the ice a bit. And it’s really no surprise that this is your go-to game. But knowing and seeing are two different things and he can’t help but let his own lips twitch upwards at how calm and relaxed you are tending to your garden, decorating your home, choosing your outfit.

Kenma’s never been good with people, has never been the one to initiate a friendship. He knows he should have made more of an effort to be friendly and welcoming to you as your new older brother. There’s a slight pang of regret in his chest when he sees how at ease you are while you’re unaware of his presence. His eyes are as sharp as ever and he locks in on the way your body slightly stiffens, fingers nervously fidgeting when you finally notice his figure in the doorway, words already stuttering an apology for using his game room without explicitly asking.

You look like a scared mouse about to flee from the claws of a cat. And it pisses him off.

He hasn’t made the best efforts to bridge the gap between you, but for you to fear him? That seems a tad unnecessary, and more than a tad insulting. It’s more than enough to make the sadistic streak in him want to give you something to be scared about.

But he’s never been impulsive and he just quietly sits beside you on the floor, reassuring you it’s fine to play, smirking when you sneak little side glances his way as you continue collecting fruits.

“Kozume, do you want to play-”

“Just call me Kenma.”

Entranced eyes watch as you grow flustered at his words, mouth silently testing the weight of his given name in your mouth. For once, Kenma could care less about playing video games when a shaky timid “Kenma” slips past your soft lips.

“Kenma, do you want to play something together?”

You have no idea how badly he really does want to play together, but it’s a game you’re not ready for. So he calls upon any restraint he has to pluck your device from your hands and change the game to Mario Kart.

It’s amusing how easily you soften besides him, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes intently and eagerly following the screen, any anxiousness quickly forgotten as you get into the game. He greedily watches as you pout when you make a mistake, as your eyes light up every time you pass someone.

If he had known how easy it would be to make you warm up to him, he’d have done this sooner and he genuinely laughs when you whine and fake glare at him as he wins yet another round.

He asks about school. You ask about work. He tells you about his childhood. You share your own stories.

It’s a comfortable rhythmic back and forth and he’s afraid of ruining it, but a certain question nags at his mind, a question he knows may ruin the entire flow of the conversation.

“You’ll be graduating soon. Have you decided what you want to do after college?”

“Kenma not you too!!!”

His shoulders relax at how well you react to the question, smiling at the way you flop onto your back and groan about how mom and dad are already on your case about future plans.

“I’ve been applying to places, but who knows. Maybe I’ll just work for you at Bouncing Ball.”

There’s a playful lilt in your voice when you say it, a giggle and teasing smile accompanying the words. But there’s nothing funny about it to Kenma and your smile falters a bit when you see how tightly Kenma’s gripping his controller, the way his eyes pin you down.

“Kenma? It’s just a joke. I would never take advantage of-”

You try to get up from your reclined position, only to whimper in confusion when Kenma’s hand on your shoulder forces you back down. And suddenly you’re pinned down by more than just his stare as he moves to straddle you, knees on either side of your body, hands next to your head, his whole body caging yours.

It’s a lighthearted joke in the family that if all else fails, you could always work at Bouncing Ball. A joke your step-father and mother always dish out when the arguments get too tense as the three of you talk about your future. But it’s become less in jest for Kenma, especially after Kuroo sent him a scandalous picture of his newest secretary kneeling between his long legs, lips wrapped around his cock.

It wasn’t the first picture, nor was it the last incriminating photo the older businessman had sent him. Kenma merely rolled his eyes before deleting the image from his phone, wondering when Kuroo would grow bored and find a new toy to play with. But he freezes when he sees the following text message from his long-time friend.

“You’re the CEO of a company, Kenma. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone convenient around? A pretty warm body? I bet that cute new step sister of yours would look really good under your desk. Doesn’t she graduate from college soon? If you don’t make a move, maybe I’ll snatch her up right from under your nose. I’m due for a change of secretary soon.”

There’s absolutely no reason for the hot anger that lances through him at Kuroo’s taunting words and he grimaces at playing right into his ex-captain’s hands, already hearing Kuroo’s braying laughter in his head if the older man saw just how much his words affected him.

But initial irritation aside, he lets himself really think, really imagine what a life with you at his beck and call would be like. And he likes what he sees. He doesn’t delete Kuroo’s photos as quickly as he used to, replacing the female faces with yours in his imagination as his hands slip under the hem of his boxers.

He knows it’s a longshot, knows there’s a high chance you’ll continue your lives as is, never destined to exchange more than a few polite greetings at family outings. But now...now hearing you voice the idea out loud yourself, hearing the way his first name sounds from your lips…

Maybe it’s not the silly pipe dream he had believed it to be.

“I’m in need of an assistant if you really do want to work at Bouncing Ball, but you’d need to prove why it would be worth hiring you.”

He almost laughs at how you perk up despite the precarious position you’re in, almost ready to launch into an elevator pitch of your qualifications flat on your back underneath him. You’re quite the multitasker already and he groans at the thought of having you cockwarm him while he tests out a new video game, making you answer all his calls stuffed full of him and desperately trying to hide the lustful tremble in your voice.

But he’s not here to listen to your carefully crafted speech. (Guess you really were practicing for job interviews like you said you were. What a good girl.) And he firmly presses his lips against yours to silence you, taking his time to immerse himself in the way your mouths mold against each other.

Your taste, your smell, your warmth. It’s all intoxicating and he slips his tongue inside your parted lips, subtly rutting his groin against your body. He can feel your body jostle as you lift your arms and he waits for the weight of your arms to lovingly wrap around his neck, only to be shocked when you weakly press against his shoulders until he finally relents and pulls back just enough to look down at you in irritated confusion.

“We- we shouldn’t be doing this.”

It’s not the words that have him clenching his fists, not even the way your palms still timidly press against him in a laughably weak show of defense.

It’s the fear in your eyes, the way you look at him like he’s some monster. It's the way he can almost palpably feel and hear your desire to be anywhere other than here, with anyone other than him, wishing to put as much space between the two of you as possible.

It’s your rejection.

It hurts to know that he isn’t enough just as he is, that he needs to resort to less...savory and straightforward ways to entrap you. But he’s not Hinata or Kuroo. He doesn’t have an electrifying personality or roguishly handsome features and charm to woo you. He only has his cunning and sharp tongue.

And he fully intends on maximizing his gifts.

“Of course, you don’t have to. You can just keep on applying and getting rejected by every company you speak to, if they even bother meeting with you after seeing your pathetic resume. Average college. Average grades. Average major. Tell me, how many interviews have you actually been reached out to for?”

He’s going out on a bit of a limb, but his suspicions are right and he cruelly smirks at the way tears bubble in your eyes at his words, no comeback or denial rolling off the tip of your tongue. He had a feeling you were struggling from the bits and pieces he’s picked up as your parents quietly talk and fret over you actually being able to find a job after graduation.

“Our parents are too nice to say anything about it, but you know they’re disappointed in you, right? Have you noticed how they always avoid talking about how school is going or asking you about how job hunting is going? How they only ask me how work is going? It’s because they know you’re just a loser whose life is going to amount to nothing.”

“That’s not true! They love me-”

“I’m not saying they don’t love you, but doesn’t that make it even worse? Making your loving and caring parents worry and stress over you when they should be preparing for retirement, an easy life? Instead of letting them finally enjoy a carefree life, you’ll be their freeloader daughter who uses up all their remaining funds. Is that what you want?”

You really are too easy and his lips curl in satisfaction at the way you frantically shake your head side to side, fat wet drops streaming down your face, adorable sniffles filling the air.

“If you become my assistant, I’ll compensate you well. You can live here with me, have your own room, a roof over your head, all the food and clothing you need and want. Think about how relieved and happy our parents will be seeing you provided for, seeing us getting along. Isn’t that what you want? For them to be happy?”

He knows how close you are to your mom, how important this idea of a perfect family is to you. He knows how insecurity and doubt about your own capabilities torment you. And he knows you’re hooked on his claws when your hands that are still pressed against his shoulders drop limply besides you, not even a hint of resistance left in you when he leans down once more to rest his forehead on yours, one hand cupping the side of your face.

“This is all you’re good for anyway. Working underneath me.”

If you notice his pun, you don’t acknowledge it, too busy wincing and squirming as he harshly nips and bites a trail from your lips to your neck as he pushes up the hem of your shirt until your chest is on full display for him. There’s something experimental, cold, meticulous about the way he gropes and fondles your breasts.Your face heats in humiliation at how he treats you like one of the many game consoles he’s reviewed for his audience.

But you don’t do anything about it, telling yourself that this is just his version of an interview as he pinches and prods at you, meanly twisting your nipples and chuckling at your yelp of pain. You obediently let him spread your legs apart, only letting out an agonized cry as he tests your flexibility, staring at him with a trembling lower lip as he sharply tells you to shut up while scrutinizing your panty-covered sex.

“You really are made for this, aren’t you?”

You whimper as he nudges the small wet spot on the thin fabric, clenching your eyes shut in denial at how hot and wound up your body feels from his touch, unable to hide your gasp as he pulls the layer aside and rubs your aroused clit.

There’s something so different about the way his fingers slowly sink into your wet pussy, almost lazily curling against your soft walls, his thumb never stopping its careful massage on the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. So different from your own fingers desperately thrusting in and out of you. So different from the drunk partners you’ve hooked up with at college and their sloppy, rapid, frantic movements.

You can feel something large, something intimidating slowly rising from deep inside of you, a volcano about to erupt compared to the bright and fast to fade shooting stars you’re used to. You’re scared. Scared of the intoxicating feeling, of how easy it is to grow accustomed to Kenma’s presence, of how his cat-like eyes are all you can see and think of.

How can something feel so wrong and so right at the same time?

That’s the last coherent thought you have before your world goes blank, pleasure rocking through you as you soak the carpet and your step-brother’s hand with your juices. You’re moaning as Kenma continues to rock his fingers in and out of you, fingertips insistently massaging your clit and g-spot as you ride out your orgasm, body trembling and convulsing.

But even when the tremors slow, when pleasure becomes something sharper, more overwhelming, he doesn’t stop. You wail, begging him to stop, to let you rest, slumping in relief when he finally drags his hands away from you, carelessly wiping the mess you’ve made of his hand on your skin, covering you in your own essence.

Your heavy eyelids threaten to flutter shut as you let exhaustion wash over you, already dreading having to get up and wash yourself. But you’re shocked back to reality as something hard begins to nudge at your still fluttering entrance.

“Kenma! No! Too much-”

You break off into a sob as surprisingly strong hands dig into your hips, holding you still as he pushes and pushes until he’s fully settled inside of you, balls resting against your ass.

You’re still so tight, your quivering walls clamping around the intrusion, and he groans at the thought of being able to sink into this hole every day, multiple times, whenever he wants. His cock is already aching from holding off for so long, from watching your body and face contorted in pleasure. Kenma can feel his end quickly approaching as you scream and wail underneath him, eyes rolling back in your head, drool trickling from the corner of your mouth. You look absolutely obscene and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this side of you.

But despite the way his balls are tightening, despite the stutter in his hips, he’s determined to watch you fall apart once more, to see you shatter to pieces yet again. He grits his teeth, fingers reaching down to furiously rub at your already oversensitized clit, reveling in how your back arches, thighs shaking in overstimulation, and then you snap.

He wonders what his parents would think of their dear dumb daughter now, looking nothing like their silly angel, looking like a wanton used whore, incoherent garbled noises slipping past your lips as you twitch uncontrollably, your pussy milking him dry as he cums inside of you.

There’s only silence mixed with your pitiful whimpers as he slides out of you, grimacing at the sticky mess you’ve made of yourself and him. But that’s what your other hole is for and he orders you to suck him clean, admiring what a quick learner you are, eager to please as you noisily slurp and lick him clean, moaning at the taste of your combined fluids...

Maybe too eager and he shoves you off of him when you become too enthusiastic, his cock beginning to twitch in interest once more.

You look so lost, still sprawled out on the ground, staring up at him with wide imploring eyes as he pulls up his pants. So vulnerable and in need of guidance.

Good thing you have such a great boss to manage you.

“Not bad. Consider these next few days your internship and if all goes well, I’ll be more than happy to hire you as Bouncing Ball’s newest employee this summer. Now clean up this room and show me that my future assistant can do more than just be a slut.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kenma #yandere kenma x reader #haikyuu smut #kenma x reader #kenma smut #haikyuu x reader #sweetheart decadence #tw: yandere #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

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Hvítr gown, nýr life (Ubbe x Reader)

This is my contribution to @geekandbooknerd 2k followers challenge! Congrats again, my dear!

My prompt was: "People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." - Cassandra Clare, City of Glass.

Couple notes for this fic- Bjorn & Torvi are still together because reasons. Italics mean speakers are using Old Norse.

The title means ‘White Gown, New Life’ in Old Norse.

Also, this is my first time writing Ubbe so.... hopefully its not OOC?

Words: 4800

Warnings: one or two swear words. implied sex. I think that’s it???

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius

"You cannot truly be considering this!" Bjorn thundered in the small, enclosed room.

Ubbe observed his elder brother- a man he had aspired to be like his whole childhood, a man he still looked up too, regardless of his faults. "Of course I am."

Bjorn slammed his hand on the wooden table, making it shake, as his voice shook like thunder in the room. "You are throwing your future away!"

"I am protecting our future!" Ubbe snapped, finally rising to his feet, irritation leaking into his tone. He met Bjorn's incensed blue eyes with his own resolute gaze. "We need allies, alliances, everything to make father's dream come true. If this is the price I must pay to fulfill Ragnar's dream, then I will gladly do it. It is not about me. It's for our people."

After a long, tense moment, Lagertha pushed off the wall she and Torvi were leaning against. Gliding closer, she moved to stand in front of Ubbe, tears swimming in her eyes. Gently, she cupped his cheeks. "Your father would be so proud of you, Ubbe. I pray the gods bless you with happiness in this."

"Thank you, Lagertha." Relief swelled in Ubbe's chest. If he had Lagertha's support, he knew Bjorn would come around.

Since they fled Kattegat and came to England, he had watched the shieldmaiden age before his eyes. He could not help but wonder if her soul yearned for Valhalla and to be reunited with Ragnar. Not that he could blame her. To hear her speak of Ragnar and his approval of Ubbe's actions, it only further solidified his choice.

Torvi spoke up, surprising him. "I think Ubbe should do it." When Bjorn opened his mouth to interject, she snapped her gaze over to her husband. "This is his decision, Ubbe. He has asked for our advice but it is up to him. We need security and this, though we don't trust them, this can provide that security."

Bjorn huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine! Do what you want!"

"Thank you." Ubbe softly said, looking at all the family he had left in this world. "I'll go inform King Alfred now."

With a firm stride, he left the quarters they had been given in Wessex. After some time trying to locate the young king, a passing servant was able to tell him Alfred's location. Thankfully the king was in his private study, reviewing petitions from the worker's guild. The guards at the door allowed Ubbe entrance only after the king called out to allow him entrance. With a look of unrestrained animosity, almost begging him to give them a reason to throw him out, the guards opened the door for him to pass. Ubbe nodded his thanks, but never removed his hand from the sword at his side until the door closed behind him.

Straightening in his chair, Alfred looked up from the papers spread out over his desk. "Good afternoon, Ubbe. I suspect you have sought me out because you have an answer for my proposition."

"I do, your highness." Ubbe paused, knowing how his life was going to irrevocably change once he answered. "And I will accept. I will take a Saxon wife to further the alliance between us."

"I am greatly pleased by your decision." The dark-haired man pushed away from his desk. He moved to a nearby table to pour them both a cup of wine, something these Saxons seemed to favor, as he continued speaking. "Alliances must be built on trust and understanding. A political marriage certainly helps solidify that trust."

Ubbe received the cup, missing the taste of ale from his homeland. After taking a small sip, he stared at Alfred. "So what do we do now? Do I meet some potentials or is there a matchmaker?"

"No, I already have someone picked out for you. My cousin." Alfred answered without hesitation before pausing in contemplation. "What your father and my grandfather would think of this arrangement….our families tied by blood."

"Yeah…. What is her name?"

"My cousin? Lady Y/N. Fear not, she comes from a well-respected family and with a substantial dowry. She has spent most of her life at a nunnery, so there is no fear of her virtue being tainted."

"Great." Ubbe sighed out. Though he knew Alfred meant all that to be reassuring….it felt anything but.

*****

It was not until almost a month later, Ubbe met his intended bride; with the wedding set for three days after her arrival. Apparently King Alfred and some of the Saxon noblemen were keen on the arranged marriage happening as soon as possible.

Ubbe stood off to the side in the throne room. With his hair freshly braided and pulled back and wearing one of his nicer tunics, he hoped he appeared princely. Even if by Saxon standards, he knew he fell woefully short. Lagertha had given him a nod of approval as they waited in the throne room. Though outwardly he kept his face passive and calm, his insides twisted into knots and his hands were clammy.

"Are you still certain about this, brother?" Bjorn clapped Ubbe on the shoulder as he whispered, eyeing the Saxons standing around.

The flaxen-haired Viking glanced over at King Alfred, who sat on his throne, talking in hushed tones to one of his advisors while his mother looked on with a sour expression.

Ubbe answered solemnly. "Aye, we need this alliance."

With a grunt, Bjorn removed his hand but stayed at his brother's side. Something Ubbe appreciated. Although Bjorn had no issue airing his thoughts on this foolish alliance and how Ubbe was making a mistake in regards to choosing a wife again, he kept his complaints behind closed doors. In front of the Saxons, they presented an united front.

The large doors to the throne room opened with a groan. All eyes turned to witness as a sole figure cautiously yet gracefully walked forward, head held high and hands clasped in front of her.

"Cousin!" King Alfred exclaimed, rising from his throne, arms spread wide. Immediately, he descended the few stairs with a fond smile on his face. "Your presence has been missed here at court."

The woman dipped into an elegant curtsey, her dress gliding around her like water. "You are far too kind, my king."

As King Alfred embraced his cousin in a warm hug, Ubbe could only stare in shock. Standing there in a deep red gown, the woman looked like a goddess. Ubbe had prepared himself mentally for his intended bride to be marginally pretty like most of these Saxon women, but someone he easily overlooked. Not her though. Without even saying a word to him, he felt beguiled by her. It was more than just her physical beauty, it was in the way she carried herself, with grace and a nobility. It reminded him distantly of his mother. A woman who knew her place and dignity. This woman, his intended bride, was truly stunning. He could not help but wonder if the true reason for her prolonged residence at a nunnery was not because of piety but to preserve and protect her. Something he was suddenly immensely grateful for.

"This is your betrothed." Alfred walked her over to where the Vikings stood, at the bottom of the steps leading to his throne. With a pleased smile on his face, he introduced the two. "Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, this is my cousin, Lady Y/N."

She curtsied to him, her movements so graceful like they were part of a dance. When she spoke, he was further enchanted, for even her voice was beautiful. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ubbe."

"It's just Ubbe. Since we are to be married, we can skip the formalities."

A coy smile played on her lips. "As you wish….Ubbe."

"Excellent." King Alfred beamed. "Perhaps a walk in the gardens to better acquaint yourselves would be desirable?"

Before Ubbe could whole-heartedly agree, wishing to learn more about his intended bride, a sickly-sweet voice interrupted.

"Y/N has only just arrived. We have wedding plans to finalize and she must try on her dress." Princess Judith interrupted, wrapping an arm through her niece's while pointedly ignoring the Vikings. "Maybe another time, but I am sure y/n will be quite busy with preparations. Come, my dear."

With that, she swept her niece out of the throne room as if the Vikings had the plague and she refused to breathe the same air as them. But before y/n disappeared, she peeked over her shoulder and met Ubbe's gaze with a tender smile teasing her lips, then disappeared from view.

"There is much to finalize and my mother wants to ensure the wedding will go smoothly. You and y/n will have time after the wedding to become acquainted." Alfred said, studying the direction his mother and cousin vanished. With a sigh, he pulled his gaze back to Ubbe. "Now that introductions are made, I have matters with the clergy to attend to."

Ubbe barely paid attention when Alfred walked away, returning to his throne and listening to some priests whine about something petty.

A bump of a shoulder against his own drew Ubbe's attention back from thinking about y/n.

Bjorn leaned over to whisper conspiracingly in his ear. "Well, at least you won't have a problem bedding her."

*****

The wedding ceremony was outlandish and dragged on for entirely too long. Between the many prayers of the priests and the rigid formality of everything, Ubbe was ready to draw his sword and spill some Christian blood, just to break up the monotony. Even Lagertha appeared ready to fall asleep from where she stood.

The only aspect that kept his attention was his bride. Watching her walk down the aisle, he almost swallowed his tongue, leaving him gaping at her in a slack-jawed awe as she slowly approached. In her flowing wedding dress, a crown of flowers in her hair and eyes alight, she appeared ethereal. Standing in his nicest tunic and pants, he knew he paled in comparison to her, but he did not mind.

When the priests tried to forcefully convince Ubbe to dress in Saxon clothing for the wedding, he not-so-subtly threatened to decapitate them if they mentioned it once more. He was a Viking and would dress as such. Besides this was to be a physical representation of an alliance between Saxon and Viking, it would make no sense for him to dress as a Saxon.

Thankfully Alfred agreed with his thoughts, so the clergy kept any further comments to themselves.

Once the wedding concluded with Ubbe and y/n proclaimed man and wife, the couple was escorted to the celebration. The following feast was beyond lavish, with drink and food in overflowing abundance. To his dismay, Ubbe found himself unable to converse with his new bride. Either Alfred was introducing him to someone new, some nobleman pestered him with questions or worst of all, Judith purposefully continued to make excuses that pulled y/n away. When their eyes met, he could see the apology in them, which lightened the stone in his heart.

As the feast progressed, Ubbe found as more time passed, the more his gaze drifted to his bride. The gods had truly blessed him with this marriage. Watching her, he was captivated. Although, he found his hand frequently shifting to reach for the hilt of his sword no longer strapped to his side. All the appreciative or lustful looks she received from other men did not go unnoticed, and if one of them tried to lay a hand on his new wife, he would not be held accountable for his actions. His fists could be just as deadly as any weapon.

Finally, the time was called for the bedding ceremony.

Alfred and some of the clergy explained to Ubbe what happened during a bedding ceremony when he was learning about the wedding's customs and the vows he would have to recite. To say the Ragnarsson was shocked was an understatement. It sounded barbaric…. and him and his people were called the heathens. But he understood the need to maintain protocol for building the alliance and the trust of the Saxons.

So that was how he found himself walking down a corridor with Bjorn at his side, while the feast and celebrations continued on without him.

"Are you sure about this?"

Ubbe rolled his eyes at his elder brother, his stride never faltering. "You did not have to agree to it."

Bjorn scoffed, keeping pace. "And miss out on all the fun?"

The two brothers laughed, the sound loosening some of the tension in the bridegroom's body. When Alfred told Ubbe he needed a witness to represent his people at the bedding ceremony, Bjorn was the only option. When Ubbe initially told his brother about the tradition and asked for Bjorn's presence, the hulking Viking had doubled-over in laughter, followed by making several crude comments about the need to instruct Ubbe on how to properly bed a woman. The discussion ended in a brotherly tussel but Bjorn agreed.

Especially when Ubbe explained his plan.

The bedroom was in the wing of the royal families' rooms. Since y/n was related by blood, she was given a room there whenever she came to visit and naturally, this meant it was where the marriage would be consummated. Several candles were lit but the bedroom was kept dim to give an illusion of privacy. A quick glance at the bed made Ubbe raise an eyebrow at the generous size and the curtains draped around it. A fire burned in the fireplace providing warmth in the bedroom, a sharp contrast to the stern, cold faces of the clergy who waited.

The bishop who married them stood off to the side with two other clergy, all in their robes and barely suppressed looks of disgust on the priests' faces. Two female attendees fussed over y/n, clearly everyone waiting for Ubbe and Bjorn. Once again, Ubbe had to force himself to keep his eyes from staying glued to his new wife. She stood there in a thick robe, with her hair falling about her shoulders loosely, free from the bridal veil. Her gaze jumped from Ubbe to the clergy and back as she nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly nervous about what was to occur next. Cheekily, he sent her a quick wink, hoping that would help settle her nerves. If the blush that grew on her cheeks said anything, at least she was not repulsed by him.

The bishop stepped forward. "Are you prepared to consummate your marriage to Lady Y/N before God and man?"

"I am." Ubbe defiantly met the man's eyes.

"Then by the power given to me by the Holy Church, let the two become one in the sight of God and these witnesses and the marriage shall be complete." With that, the man drew their strange cross sign in the air and stepped back to rejoin his fellow clergy.

The two attendees helped y/n out of her heavy robe, revealing a thin, white nightgown that seemed to only enhance her beauty and innocence. Desire thrummed in his blood at the sight of her, but Ubbe ignored the sensation for the moment. The heavy robe was laid on a nearby chair and the two women left the room with a quick curtsy, leaving only the men and y/n.

After a shared look with Bjorn, Ubbe walked over to his new bride, keeping his movements slow so as to not startle her. Her hands were clasped before her, but even as he approached, he could see the faint tremble in them. Her gaze never strayed from the floor. The confidence seen previously in her seemed to have melted away into anxiety, making him think of a skittish colt. He could not help but wonder what changed, if it was due to him or what was supposed to occur between them.

Standing before her, he gently reached out to take her soft hands in his own larger, calloused ones, pleased when she did not flinch at his touch. Although her gaze remained downward.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, aware of the four pairs of eyes watching their every move.

"Of….of course, my lord husband."

"Remember, I told you to call me by my name."

That caused her head to snap up and meet his gaze. Now he could see the tears welling up in her eyes and her swollen bottom lip from constantly worrying it.

"It'll be alright." He tugged her bottom lip from between her teeth. The way her breath hitched at the intimate touch made his heart pound. He gave her hands in his, a quick squeeze. "Trust me, yeah?"

After a moment, she gave a faint nod, still eyeing him warily but appearing less like she wanted to flee, mutely squeezing his hands back.

A voice broke the stillness in the room, immediately causing her to tense again.

"The two of you must proceed to the bed to finalize the union. We do not have all night to wait for confirmation of her virginity and consummation." One of the priests drawled with an apparent undertone of disdain.

"Then it is a good thing you don't have to wait any longer." Ubbe retorted, narrowing his eyes at the priest. The man huffed but a quiet rebuke from the bishop had the priest pressing his lips together. With one final, assessing scan, the flaxen-haired Viking shifted, pulling his new bride into his side and wrapping an arm around her waist. He felt her tense against him but ignored it to stare at the three clergy with a mocking smirk. "Bjorn."

At the sound of his name, his brother moved from leaning against the doorframe. A scowl on his face, and with the shadows cast over him, made him appear more looming and menacing. "Everybody out."

The three clergy looked back and forth between the two Viking brothers, clearly confused and intimidated.

"You can't….we must witness…."

"I SAID EVERYBODY OUT!" Bjorn roared, pulling the axe from his side and waving it in the air. "OR DO I NEED TO SPLIT YOUR SKULL TO HELP MY WORDS REACH YOUR TINY BRAINS?!"

The three scrambled, eyes wide in terror, tripping over their long robes in a pathetic attempt to reach the door faster. The bishop turned around, hands grasping the golden cross hanging from his neck. "King….King Alfred will hear of this." He stuttered out in feigned confidence.

A deafening war cry from Bjorn practically shook the room in answer. That was enough to silence the bishop and have him flee, following his companions.

At Bjorn's roar, y/n began shaking like a leaf, her hands tightly holding onto Ubbe's arm wrapped around her. He further pulled her against him, providing shelter from his brother's fury. Even as the room fell back into silence, he could still feel her trembling in his arms. He prayed to the gods that this did not darken her view of him and cause her to fear him.

Once the room cleared and the pounding footfalls of the clergy could no longer be heard, Bjorn turned around with a grin, scratching the back of his neck with his axe. "You know Alfred will be upset when he finds out."

Ubbe smirked. "We can't let him have everything he wants, yeah?"

That made Bjorn chuckle. "I'll go guard the door." He pointed his axe at Ubbe, still grinning. "You owe me for this."

"Scaring priests shitless isn't enough for you?"

Bjorn scoffed. "I can do that whenever I like."

"We'll name our firstborn after you."

Bjorn waved him off, opening the wooden door and stepping out. When the door closed, the echoing sound seemed to fill the empty space in the room.

Ubbe peeked down at the woman in his arms. "Are you alright?"

"Your brother….is….frightening."

"Aye, don't tell him that though. It would only inflate his ego more."

Once he was certain she was steady on her feet and would not faint, he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her head before striding away to the other side of the bedroom. Quickly he pulled off his tunic and boots, tossing them onto a nearby chair and then flopped onto the massive bed in only his pants. If nothing else could be said for tonight, he knew he would sleep well. The bed was comfortable, even rivaling his own bed back in Kattegat. With a pleased groan, he tucked an arm under his head and settled under the covers. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, his eyelids sliding closed. Even though he felt like he spent most of the day standing around and kneeling for the wedding, it was still tedious and draining. Thank the gods it was over.

"Um, my lord…."

"Ubbe." He interrupted, lips twitching in amusement. "Or husband. Whichever you prefer."

"Ah, Ubbe….are we not….?" Her hesitant voice trailed off, but the unspoken question lingered in the air.

He snorted. "I have no plans to force myself upon you just to appease your priests and bishop."

"But we must consummate the marriage."

"I will only have sex with you if you desire me as your husband and not just to fulfill an obligation."

The following, prolonged silence caused him to open his eyes and look over at his new wife. It was apparent she had not moved from where he left her. He expected to see fear on her lovely face or revulsion at the idea of her ever willingly wanting him to touch her. Instead, she seemed to be studying him with a mixture of curiosity and respect. That confident woman he had previously met, making a reappearance.

After holding her gaze for a moment, he patted the bed next to him. "Come lay down. I doubt standing there all night will be pleasant."

With a soft smile, she stepped over and crawled under the covers, but maintained an arm’s length distance between them. They both laid on their backs, together yet alone. The only sounds were of the crackling fire and their breathing.

Before he realized it, Ubbe found himself speaking, filling the silence with his babbling but strangely felt he needed to share these thoughts with the woman beside him, the woman whose life was now tied to him, whether she wanted it to be or not.

"I doubt this is the marriage you were dreaming of as a little girl. Probably expected some prince or lord….not a Viking. Your people only see us as heathens, as barbaric devils, at least that's what one of the noblemen said. That we cannot stop the evil and destruction we cause because we are possessed." He snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. After a deep breath, he turned his head to look at her, amazed to find her already watching him. His tone softened as he continued. "I'm sorry you were forced into this marriage. I know it might not mean much to you but I vow I won't ever physically harm you or force myself upon you. After all the wedding ceremonies, you can return to the nunnery if that is what you want."

Her eyes widened momentarily, then drifted away as she worried her lip once again. As he waited for her to speak, his gaze traveled over her face, taking in the small details that until now he had not been able to observe. It would be a blatant lie to say he did not desire to lie with her, to touch and taste her. The current state of his manhood was evidence enough of how simply gazing at her beauty affected him. He made a vow to her. If nothing else, he hoped they could be friendly to one another.

To his shock, she rolled onto her side, facing him completely, hands tucked under her cheek. Without hesitation, he mirrored her action, but kept his head cradled on his arm.

"I have not traveled much," she quietly said, almost shyly, "but there is one thing I've learned through my studies and the observation of others. People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." She paused as if choosing her next words carefully. "I do not think you are a barbaric devil or….or possessed. I think…."

"What?"

"I think you are very brave and strong. Not many would seek an alliance with those that fervently claim them as an enemy….nor be kind to a simple noblewoman."

He smirked, finding himself charmed by her honesty. Carefully, he reached over and brushed a thumb over her cheek. "You are no simple noblewoman, my lady."

"If you are just Ubbe, then I request you call me, y/n."

An unexpected, loud banging on the door startled them both. Y/n gasped and rushed to sit up against the headboard, eyes wide with fright. Ubbe immediately pushed himself up, making sure to put himself between his wife and the door, unsheathing a dagger he had subtly slipped under his pillow.

"Are you two done yet? Some ugly priest out here wants to know!" Bjorn shouted through the door.

Ubbe groaned, putting the dagger away, before calling back. "No! This woman is insatiable! Tell the priest to come back in the morning! Hopefully I can still walk!"

A harsh bark of laughter preceded loud arguing, which could be heard through the door. Raised voices crept underneath the door frame, the loudest being that of Bjorn. Ubbe stayed perched on the bed, to assist his brother if the need called for it. No matter what Alfred or those whiny clergy ordered, no one would be witnessing any consummation of his. Ever. Eventually, the voices dwindled like a dying flame until only silence could be heard from outside. Ubbe figured Bjorn must have won the argument, or used enough threats of bodily harm, since no one entered the bedroom.

The dagger returned to its sheath under his pillow. A habit he had since childhood. A glance to his side showed his wife still shifted as far away from the door as possible, hands clutching the sheets in a tight grip. He reached a hand out to her. "It's alright. Bjorn won't let anyone in."

She took his hand, still eyeing the door warily. "What did you say to him?"

"Ah, nothing important. Just to keep the priests away."

"Ok."

"We should go to sleep. Today has been long." He stated after he coaxed her back under the covers and no longer sent glances towards the door. Only after she was settled did he relax. Laying on his back, an arm behind his head, his eyes closed almost instantly. He could hear her shuffling occasionally but he paid it no mind. Sleep slinked into his mind, hovering on the edges.

"Ubbe…." A barely-heard whisper pulled him from the brink of sleep.

"Yes?"

"What if….what if I want to."

"Mmmm?"

"Um, fulfill our marital duties."

Well, that got his attention. He turned his head to the side, noting how her gaze traced over his bare chest slowly then lifted to meet his gaze. "Are you asking me to have sex with you?"

"Yes." She bit her bottom lip, even as her eyes never strayed from him.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Hmmm….well, I may be convinced but….you have to kiss me first."

Cautiously yet deliberately, she scooted closer until they lay side by side. In a graceful movement, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his in an innocent, chaste kiss. Her lips were softer than even the pillow beneath him and by the gods, she was going to be his undoing. After a moment, she leaned back, gazing down at him with a nervous yet endearing smile. Before he could say anything, to encourage or instruct, her lips descended on his once again, but this time hungrily. His initial surprise transitioned to a carnal satisfaction when a soft moan slipped out of her after he tugged on her bottom lip. Their mouths connected with a needy kiss, sending a jolt of electricity through him. All thoughts of sleep forgotten.

Suddenly, he flipped them over, pinning her underneath him, taking charge of their love-making. She giggled at the abrupt action but that was quickly silenced by his mouth crashing against hers and thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

As she kissed him back passionately, he wondered if maybe this marriage was not such a bad idea. If the way her lips eagerly sought his, her hands gripped onto biceps as if to keep her steady, her back arched as he trailed open-mouth kisses down her neck….maybe the marriage could be more than just political.

Soon enough, all thoughts vanished from his mind that were not related in regards to exploring the exquisite body of his Saxon wife and listening to her moan his name repeatedly.

#vikings #vikings fandom #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe x reader #ubbe x you #ubbe lothbrok #ubbe ragnarsson x reader #vikings bjorn #torvi vikings #lagertha #alfred the great #king alfred #hayleys2k #mzwrites

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msjokesgf · 2 years

Text

Love Match-Part 8 (Shoto Todoroki x Reader)

Summary: You were hopelessly single. Between working full time and caring for your aging parents, romance was never much of a priority. That is, until your mother suggests seeing a nakodo, a traditional Japanese matchmaker. Curious, you agree, and are matched with none other than Shoto Todoroki, the famous Pro Hero. At first, you think it's a joke, but as you grow closer, you begin to wonder if a marriage between two strangers could really work.

Were you making a mistake? Or had you found your perfect match?

Word Count: 3,980

Ao3 Link | Masterlist

You were glowing with happiness.

Quite literally, in fact. When you and Shoto separated from your embrace, a golden light radiated from your chest, bathing the two of you in a warm glow. You squeezed your arms together in an effort to hide it, a little embarrassed and flustered by the situation. It had been a long time since this had happened.

“Um, your Quirk,” Shoto said, “Are you cold?”

You smiled, charmed by his concern. “N-no, sorry, sometimes this happens when I feel really strong emotions. Usually, I can keep it under control but right now I’m just so—”

“So happy?”

You nodded. “Yes, I’m so happy, Shoto. Tonight was perfect.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and briefly looked down at the ground as he admitted, “I’m happy too.”

You held out your left hand and gazed fondly at your engagement ring. “My parents will be overjoyed, I’m sure, especially kaasan. She adores you. Honestly, I thought our engagement would be a surprise, but I think they already know.”

“They do. I came over before you got home because I wanted to ask for their approval. You mentioned they were kind of old fashioned so I figured they would appreciate it,” Shoto replied.

Judging by the looks on their faces, they had. His consideration for your parents only made you grow fonder of him. Soon enough, they’d be his parents as well, and Enji and Rei would become your in-laws.

“I bet your parents will be excited too,” you said. “After all, you’re going to be the first to get married.”

“Yes, that’s true. Actually, I meant to ask if you wanted to come over tomorrow, so we can start making wedding plans and they can see the ring. The jeweler just finished it this afternoon.”

“Of course! That sounds like a great idea, Shoto.”

He seemed pleased by your answer and took your hand in his once again. “Then let’s get you home. It’s late.”

The return to your apartment building was spent mostly in silence. Nothing else needed to be said that couldn’t be discussed tomorrow and you wanted to enjoy this time together with your new fiancé. When you arrived, Shoto squeezed your hand and pressed a light kiss to your forehead before muttering a quiet “good night” that sent shivers down your spine. You managed to breathe out a “goodbye” and then ran up to your apartment, where you were immediately accosted by your parents, mostly your mother, with a thousand questions you were more than happy to answer. She awed at the ring when she saw it, her eyes sparkling just as brilliantly as the ruby in the center.

The memory of his kiss still lingered on your lips. As you laid in bed, admiring the way the gemstones glittered in the low light of the room, you replayed every moment from tonight again and again, relishing in the affection Shoto had shown you. He made you feel so special, so cherished when he slid this ring on your finger and you told him how you couldn’t wait to be his wife. His wife! That’s what this ring symbolized. You were going to be his, forever.

Perhaps that is why he chose to design it himself.

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting a ring. It seemed such a romantic gesture for a man who made it plain on several occasions how unsentimental his view of marriage was. But every time you looked at this ring, you were reminded of Shoto. The diamonds were like tiny crystals of ice and the ruby was the same shade of crimson as his hair, his perfectly soft hair that you could still feel tangled in your fingers.

You sighed. How had you gotten so lucky?

At work the next day, you kept mostly to yourself, preoccupied by thoughts of the previous night. You wanted to be done with the day so you could go see Shoto and be fussed over by his parents and sister. Had they known his plans beforehand, you wondered. Endeavor seemed like the type to know everything going on in his son’s life and since they were such a prominent family, a wedding would be more than just a fancy party for family. There’d probably be lots of Pro Heroes on the guest list especially ones from Shoto’s U.A. class. Apparently, they all kept in touch after graduation and were still rather close, even though they all worked at different agencies. Your side of the guest list would be much smaller than his, not that you minded. As long as your parents were there, you’d be happy.

Despite being happy and excited about your proposal, you didn’t tell any of your coworkers the news or show them your ring. For now, you wanted to keep things regarding Shoto and the engagement private. It felt more special that way, an intimate secret known only to a few trusted people. Besides, you didn’t want to be the subject of office gossip once word got out who you were marrying.

Every minute that passed felt like an hour. Could this day just be over already? You wanted to see Shoto and have his parents fawn all over you and your new ring. Maybe you could even steal a few minutes alone together. After all, that kiss had been so nice. You were eager to do it again.

A new message popped up on your phone.

“What time do you want to come over?” it read.

You smiled when you saw Shoto’s name. He was thinking of you too. You quickly texted back a reply and then stared at your ring. It was impossible not to look at it, so new and shiny, always catching the light perfectly. Keeping it to yourself was harder than you thought. Hopefully, after tonight, you could start sharing the news of your engagement with others.

Later that evening, you found yourself in front of the Todoroki estate once again, waiting for Shoto at the front door. To think you might live here soon, with your in-laws. Even with all this space, it felt weird to think about living with so many people, including Endeavor. That man probably had no concept of boundaries when it came to his children. What if he burst into the bedroom when you and Shoto were…?

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Shoto’s voice interrupted your thought. “Come in.”

A small “mhm” was all you managed as you stepped inside the entranceway. He was alone, which was unexpected. You thought his parents would be there to greet you as well, given the occasion. You blushed. Or maybe he’d arranged this moment alone together on purpose. Would he kiss you again?

You looked up at him expectantly, parting your lips in preparation. He just looked at you, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Did you…need something?” he asked.

Your blush deepened and you looked away, disappointed and embarrassed. “O-oh, I just thought, maybe, you would kiss me.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised by your suggestion and when you looked up at his face, you saw the faintest pink tint on his cheeks. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to this. I do want to kiss you.”

There was the smallest smile on his perfect lips as he gingerly touched your wrist. “Can I do it now?”

“Yes,” you breathed, looking up at him with half lidded eyes.

He leaned in for the kiss when suddenly, he stopped, and his head snapped in the other direction. “Wait.”

“I’ll be right back, Enji. I think I left my phone in the other room.”

A few seconds later, Rei appeared, looking extremely comfortable in her black leggings and long, light blue sweater. She startled when she saw you and Shoto, stopping dead in her tracks. The three of you just stared at each other until Shoto broke the silence.

“Hi mom,” he said casually.

“Sh-Shoto, I didn’t realize you were home,” she said. Her gray eyes flickered to you. “Or that you were having company. I’m so sorry, if I had known you were coming, I would’ve put something else on.”

“No, no, it’s fine, this is your home. Don’t feel like you have to go to any trouble for me. After all, we’ll be family soon, right?” you reassured her.

She stared at you with a shocked expression, and you worried you’d been too overfamiliar and offended her somehow. But then, you realized she looked more confused than offended, almost like she had no idea what you were talking about. You both looked to Shoto for an explanation.

“She’s right. We’re engaged now, mom,” he said, so nonchalantly, like it was no big deal.

Rei’s jaw dropped. “What? Shoto, when did you—”

“He proposed last night!” you interjected, unable to contain your excitement. “It was absolutely perfect. And look at my beautiful ring.”

You went over to her and extended your left hand so she could see it up close. Her eyes sparkled and a smile brightened up her tired face as she examined the ring. “Oh, what a wonderful surprise. Congratulations, you two,” she said.

The next thing you knew, you were being tugged along by the hand down the hall as Rei cried, “Enji! Enji! You’ll never guess what happened.”

“What?” came Endeavor’s booming voice. “What is it? Is everything okay, Rei?”

When you emerged in the living room, Endeavor was standing up, also dressed in very casual clothes. Had Shoto told neither of them? Because it seemed like you were intruding on their date night or something. His eyes widened when he saw you and he said your name aloud.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Before you could answer, Rei eagerly thrust your hand out. “They’re engaged, Enji. Shoto proposed!”

“SHOTOOO!” Endeavor bellowed, making you jump a bit. “You got engaged and didn’t tell us? Why not?”

“This is why, old man,” Shoto replied coolly, as he strolled in and wrapped an around you. “You’re too damn loud. Don’t scare her.”

“Oh, he’s just excited,” Rei said and then went to her husband’s side. “We were hoping this would happen but didn’t expect it so soon. What an amazing surprise. Right, Enji?”

“Of course, it is, but I knew he wouldn’t wait too long. Shoto knows what’s good for him. The matchmaker made a fine choice,” said Endeavor.

“Yes, he did. I would’ve asked sooner but I didn’t want her to feel pressured by my wealth or status to make a decision she’d regret,” Shoto replied in a rather pointed tone, looking straight at his father.

Endavor flinched, though you weren’t sure why. It was sweet he was so considerate and mindful of his privileged background. Plus, it made your heart flutter hearing he wanted to propose sooner, just like tousan had.

Rei put a hand on Endeavor’s arm. “Yes, I’m sure no one wants that,” she said in an equally icy tone. “Why don’t we all sit down?”

You and Shoto sat on one couch while Enji and Rei sat on the one opposite.

“I would offer you tea or something to eat, but since someone didn’t tell us you’d be coming, I don’t have anything ready,” she said.

“It’s fine, mom. We just wanted to talk about our plans and show you the ring,” replied Shoto.

“Well, what did you two have in mind?” Endeavor asked. “Have you thought about where you want the wedding? There are plenty of nice venues to look at or the temple is always an option.”

“We’ll have to have your parents over soon so we can all plan and share ideas. Did you pick a date yet?” Rei added.

You were about to reply when Shoto cut in. “Why do we need to do all that? We can just go to the registry next week to fill out all the necessary paperwork. Isn’t that enough?”

“No!” All three of you cried in unison.

“We are not doing that, Shoto,” you told him in the most forceful tone you could muster. “I want a wedding. A real wedding.”

“We do too,” Rei agreed. “Where did you even get an idea like that, son?”

“That’s all you and dad did, isn’t it?” Shoto answered.

“It most certainly was not,” Endeavor said. “We got married at a temple.”

“Oh.” Shoto looked more confused than usual. “Really?”

“Yes, I’ll have to bring out the albums to show you sometime,” Rei said.

“Oh, I’d love to see pictures!” you exclaimed. “My parents had a temple wedding too, but I was thinking of something a little more modern. I can’t wait to look at dresses. I hope you and Fuyumi will come shopping with my mom and me.”

“Where is Fuyumi?” Shoto asked. “I want to tell her the news. She loves things like this.”

Endeavor sighed. “She’s out with her boyfriend.”

Oh, so she did have a boyfriend. You were wondering if she did. He hadn’t come to the family dinner so maybe it wasn’t that serious yet. Though it seemed Endeavor wanted it to be.

“You never know, Enji. Sometimes weddings are contagious,” Rei said in a lower tone.

“It’s been eight years, Rei.” Endeavor sounded tired.

“Well, I don’t want to wait eight years,” Shoto interjected. “If we can’t get married next week, then how soon can we?”

Once again, your heart fluttered at his eagerness, and you couldn’t help yourself. You grabbed his hand and leaned against him. “I can’t wait either, Shoto. Soon we’ll be together all the time.”

Rei smiled. “I understand you’re excited but there’s a lot of details that go into planning a wedding. Give us time to sort things out.”

“Yes, like living arrangements. Have the two of you discussed where you��ll be living? Of course, you’re welcome to move in here. There’s plenty of room, it’s close to your work and the agency, and you’d still be near your parents. I think it’s ideal,” Endeavor said.

Rei’s smile widened. “Enji, that’s a great idea. There’s those couple of rooms near Shoto that would be perfect. We could renovate them, decorate them however you like, and it could be private so we wouldn’t be a bother, unless you needed something, of course. There’ll be plenty of space for the two of you but if you need more when the time comes, one of those rooms could easily be converted into a playroom or nursery for the baby.”

As soon as that word left her mouth, Shoto stiffened and inhaled sharply. You let go of his hand and sat up straight, startled by his sudden change in demeanor.

“We’re not living here,” he snapped.

Rei flinched and her face fell, her eyes trailing down to the floor. “Oh,” she muttered quietly.

You looked at him in utter shock. Did he really just say that?

Endeavor bristled and his eyes flashed as he drew himself up. You braced for his fury that never came.

“There’s no need to speak to your mother like that, Shoto. She’s just trying to make things nice for you and your fiancée. We want her to feel like part of the family.” His voice was strained, like he was fighting to keep it even.

At the sound of his voice, Rei seemed to snap out of a trance. She touched his arm and he visibly relaxed. “Oh no, it’s fine. I know, a young couple needs their privacy. It was just a suggestion.”

There was a defeated look on her face that spurred you to speak up. “Thank you, that’s such a generous offer. We haven’t actually discussed our living arrangements yet, but you do have such a lovely home. Shoto, why don’t you show me those rooms?”

You nudged him and his hard stare turned towards you.

“Fine, I’ll show you around,” he said with a sigh.

Before you left the room, you took one last look back at Rei, who still stared blankly in front of her. Endeavor put an arm around her shoulders and that was the last thing you saw as you turned the corner. When you felt you were a safe distance away, you spoke.

“I’d never speak to my mother like that,” you said, crossing your arms. “What’s going on?”

You could see the tension in his shoulders as he led you down the hall. “It’s nothing,” he replied without looking back. “It’s just—I don’t want to live here anymore.”

“Okay, fine, but don’t you think we should be making these kinds of decisions together?” you asked.

Shoto stopped and exhaled, then turned around to face you. His expression had softened considerably. Now, he just looked tired.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. We will decide together,” he replied, taking your hands in his. “But don’t you want a home of our own? Maybe one with a garden. I want it to be just for us.”

Oh. He looked so sincere it was almost impossible to stay mad at him. You did want to be together. And maybe the proximity would help you grow closer.

You sighed. “Yes, I would like that, Shoto. But let’s at least look at the rooms. I don’t want to hurt your mom’s feelings.”

He surprised you with a peck on the lips. “You’re right, and I’ll apologize to her later. I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

You followed Shoto in a dream like state as he pulled open panels that led to mostly empty rooms.

“This one was Natsu’s room before he moved out,” Shoto explained.

“Have you thought about moving out before?” you asked. He certainly had the means to do so, and his parents didn’t require help like yours did.

“It’s crossed my mind a few times, but I’ve never seriously considered it. I like being here with my mom and sister and with my dad’s job, he likes knowing I’m close by in case the agency needs me,” Shoto replied, stepping out of the room and sliding the panel closed.

You gestured to one of the others. “What’s this one?” you asked.

“Oh, that’s my room.”

“Can I see it?”

“No, it’s messy. Maybe another time.”

He started leading you back to the living room when something else caught your eye. One of the sliding panels had been left open just enough so you could see inside. There were a few colorful toys and a soccer ball on top of a child’s dresser.

“What’s in here?” you asked, breaking away from his grasp. “Is it an old playroom?”

Before he could stop you, you slid open the panel to enter and glimpsed something tall and wooden in the corner. At first, you thought it was just a dresser, but upon closer inspection, you discovered that was not the case. A shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t a dresser.

It was a shrine.

“This is Toya’s room,” Shoto’s low voice right next to your ear spooked you. “My parents never had the heart to pack his things away.”

You looked up at him. His expression was impossible to read. He went over to the shrine, and you followed. In the center, there was a picture of a white-haired boy wearing a middle school uniform, his big blue eyes staring deep into your very soul. A pang resounded through your chest. He was just a little boy? The way Rei had spoken about him made you think he’d been a teen or young adult when he passed, not that his age made it any less tragic.

“This is how my parents like to remember him. They visit every night together. See?”

He pointed to the still smoking incense sticks at the base of the shrine.

“I’m so sorry, Shoto.” It was all you could think to say. “It must’ve been so hard. Were you two close?”

He shook his head. “No, we weren’t. I wasn’t close to any of my siblings growing up, so I don’t remember him well. I only have stories from Natsu and Fuyumi, but it hurts them to talk about.”

“May I ask how it happened?”

With how cagey he’d been, you didn’t expect him to answer yet he did. “He burned. His Quirk…it went out of control and his body couldn’t handle it.”

You stared long and hard at the boy in the picture, unable to look Shoto in the eye. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s something we don’t talk about. My parents blame themselves so it’s best not to bring him up,” Shoto explained.

“O-of course I won’t. I apologize for bursting in here like that,” you murmured.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know but we should get back to my parents.”

You left Toya’s room when Shoto’s phone rang. He squinted at the name on the screen and sighed.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he said. “Can you see yourself out?”

“Um, yeah, but let me say bye to your parents first. See you soon?”

Shoto smiled. “Yeah, text me when you get home.”

“Okay.”

You turned and were about halfway down the hall when you heard a very loud, gravelly voice yell. “Icyhot, you bastard, I can’t believe I got stuck with your patrol again!”

“Bakugo,” Shoto replied calmly, “Yes, thank you for switching with me on such short notice. I had to take care of something personal.”

“Bang your girlfriend on your own time, damn it. You know I hate night patrols.”

“She’s my fiancée, actually.”

That was all you heard before you rushed out in embarrassment. Turns out you didn’t know Shoto’s house as well as you thought because somehow you ended up near the kitchen instead of the living room. You stopped to try and remember how to get back when you faintly heard a woman crying.

“Of course, he doesn’t want to live here with me,” she said, “And he certainly isn’t going to want me around his children.”

Clearly, it was Rei, and Shoto had obviously underestimated how much his words hurt her. You couldn’t help yourself and drew closer to the wall in order to hear more.

“Shh, no, you know that’s not true. If anything, it’s because of me,” a man replied, and it took you a moment to realize who it was. You never imagined Endeavor could sound that gentle.

“But after what I did to him? You know I’ve never forgiven myself, Enji. Every time I see his face, I’m reminded of it,” she sobbed.

Your mind flashed to the scar on Shoto’s face. Had she caused it?

“You were sick. It was my fault. Everything was my fault. Shoto knows that, he always has, he never blamed you,” Endeavor replied.

“I-I guess I’m just worried he won’t want me around. And I already missed so much of his life.”

“Well, he was here tonight. Focus on that, Rei. He brought over his fiancée to tell us he’s engaged, they’re going to have a wedding, and he wants us to be a part of it. We never thought we’d have this. Things aren’t perfect, but they’re better, and we have to focus on that,” Endeavor said.

Rei sniffled. “You’re right. This is a good thing. Everything will work out and Shoto will be happy. That’s all we want for him.”

“And maybe when they see how happy his marriage is, Fuyumi and Natsuo will warm up to the idea. I know our own hasn’t been the best example and that’s my fault.”

They both fell silent before Rei asked, “What do you think she knows?”

“I wonder about that too.”

Nothing. You knew nothing, apparently. All you knew was this family had some weird dynamics that Shoto hadn’t bothered to explain or even mention. You looked down at your ring and a sense of dread washed over you as Natsuo’s voice rang in your ears.

What kind of family were you marrying into?

This one’s been up on Ao3 for a while but I was lazy and never posted it here so, sorry! I know some of you only read on tumblr so here it is. Chapter 9 will also be up today, which is the latest chapter. Hope you enjoy!

#bnha #mha #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #cross posted on AO3 #love match fic

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akingdomofswordsandstories · 4 years

Text

Unrequited

azriel (acotar) x reader

Summary: takes place during acofas, you and Azriel are mates but he doesn’t know it yet, angst, fluff, and everything in between

*Also this is my first imagine ever so I'm sorry if it sucks lol! There will be a part 2 to this, but I am still working on it!!

word count: 3927

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The winter solstice was in a few days and you weren’t sure what to get some of the inner circle. You walked briskly down the streets of the Rainbow, chilled to the bone due to the wind. You had made the dumb mistake of rushing out of the townhouse - to avoid any questions of where you were going - without taking your scarf. Your current outfit, which was a chunky knit blue sweater with leggings and boots, wasn’t enough to keep the chill away. But the cold wasn’t the most important thing on your mind. You had already bought presents for Rhys, Feyre, Amren, and Elain, but that left Cassian, Mor, and Azriel. Mor and Cass would be pretty easy to buy for, but you put it off knowing they would look through your room trying to find their solstice gift. But Azriel, that would be much harder.

Every waking hour, the shadowsinger haunted your thoughts. Something you had come to conclude was unrequited.

You had realized the mating bond between you two before he did.

It had clicked a few months ago while on a diplomatic mission. The aftermath of Hybern had left things chaotic, and if you were being honest, it still was. Rhys decided to send Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and you to travel to some of the other courts to bring back reports on the recovery after the war. However, traveling did have some dangers. While you were on your way back to Velaris from the Winter Court, your group was ambushed by a group of Hybern soldiers who had been hiding out in the mountains. Had it not been for Azriel’s wings shielding you from the initial arrows, you would’ve surely been dead, and that’s when it clicked for you. But like an idiot, you didn’t say anything.

You had thought if the bond had clicked for you, it would've clicked for Azriel too. You realized your mistake when Azriel hadn’t acknowledged any change between you two. You hoped that he would figure it out in the coming weeks, but he didn’t. You knew the same sort of situation happened with feyre and rhys so you still held out some hope. But as the months went by, and you realized the bond still hadn’t clicked for Azriel and it felt too late to tell him.

At least that was the excuse you made up. Truly, you were also afraid of the rejection that could have followed. You weren’t a fool, you knew him and Elain had some sort of connection, and that shattered your dreams even more. The possibility that he wouldn’t accept the mating bond to be with the fair skinned, doe eyed fae. Everytime Azriel was in the same room as Elain, she was the only thing he would pay attention to. During gatherings, you would plaster on a smile and act as if you were happy, but Cassian and Mor, your best friends, could sense your discomfort. They tried to ask you about it, but seeing as you would shut down anything they said, they decided not to pry too much. Amren ended up figuring out the source of your discomfort had to do with Azriel, but kept your secret until you would be ready to share it.

You came to the conclusion that distancing yourself from him would be the best option, so that's what you did.

You walked down the street till you got to one of the finest seamstresses is Velaris. Since you were an artist like Feyre, you decided to draw out a dress and have it made for Mor. The color was blood red, her signature. It was a silk slip dress that would come down to her mid-lower calf and it would be embroidered with a brilliant gold thread. You drew out a pattern of the sun, stars, and moon, which you hoped she would like. To go along with Mor’s dress, you got a jeweler to make a custom necklace and bracelet set to go with it. You designed more dainty jewelry that had gold stars with diamonds, since she was a dreamer.

You decided to design Cassian’s gift as well, creating a beautiful silver and black dagger with a moonstone on the hilt. It was a beautiful dagger, but you also made sure it was usable, because you would hate for it to go to waste. To add onto the combat theme, you also decided to buy him new fighting leathers with touches of red embroidery to match his siphons. Lastly, you bought Cassian a bottle of fae wine, which definitely wouldn't last long.

The last thing you got for all three of you was a friendship necklace. Although that sounds corny, the two of them had become such a positive force in your life and you couldn’t imagine life without them. Keeping with the celestial theme for the friendship necklaces, you bought a sun, a moon, and a star. The sun for Cassian, the moon for Mor, and the star for you. Although they are opposites in some ways, all three need each other, just like the three of you needed each other.

Now that you had gotten Mor’s and Cassian’s solstice gifts figured out, it was onto Azriel’s gift. You honestly had no clue what to get him. Due to distancing yourself, you weren’t sure if there was something that he wanted. You were positively stumped. Lucky for you though, you ended up spotting Mor in another shop a few stores down from where you were, most likely getting the rest of her solstice gifts. You decided to sneak up on her as a friendly prank. Grabbing her shoulders, you yelled in her ear, making her jump.

“Oh mother above, it’s just you, y/n! You scared the life out of me” Mor said.

“Doing some last minute shopping?” you asked. “I could ask you the same thing”. Giving her a playful smack on the arm, the corners of your mouth curled upward, even the simplest remark from her could make you smile.

The two of you were currently standing in front of a jewelry shop, looking at the collections of necklaces and earrings through the window. “Wow” you breathed out “These are all so beautiful”

“Indeed they are, although they’re quite pricey”

“How pricey is pricey?”

She whispered the amount in your ear and you stopped breathing for a second, “Holy Mother wow, that is quite the price tag. At least we can admire it from a far”, you laughed out. Even though you got a very generous salary from Rhys, you still felt guilty spending so much money on materialistic things.

After a moment you said, “Actually, since you’re here, I do need help finding a solstice gift for Azriel”, softening your voice at the end, “Any ideas?” you asked, drawing out the syllables.

“Well, I always get Azriel some cool towels, clothing, or a dagger!” Mor said. A small scoff came out of my mouth as I shook my head and raised my eyebrows. “Fine!” she exclaimed, “I may have overheard him needing a new leather sheath for Truth Teller.” grumbling towards the end. “Oh that sounds great, thank you for the help! Now let’s go off to the closest leather goods store and find a sheath!”.

“y/n! I still have shopping to do” a scowl appearing on her face. “Fine, I guess I’ll just call Cassian, cause his judgement might be better than yours, when it comes to knife related things of course” you said, baiting her.

“Ugh, I hate you y/n”

“I hate you too Mor”

“Fine, let's get going before I change my mind” she grumbled. Then we took off down the streets of the Rainbow to find a sheath.

The task was easier said than done, for you at least. Being indecisive and a major over thinker, you had looked through close to 100 sheaths, but none of them seemed good enough to hold the blade that Azriel never let anyone else touch. Except Elain.

While you were lost in your thoughts, you laid your y/c eyes on the perfect sheath. It had a bright cobalt blue stitching to match Az’s siphons. Along the tip and lining the top of the leather was a thin coat of silver plating with little sapphires embedded in the metal. You quickly snatched it up and paid a hefty price for it, but it was perfect.

“Thank god you finally picked one, it felt like we were in that store for centuries”. Mor sighed, probably a sigh of relief for getting out of the store, “But y/n, it’s perfect, I know Azriel will love it”

“Do you really think so? I just want it to be the perfect gift and I’m scared he won’t like it because what if it’s too simplistic and what if-”

“Hey! It's perfect! Don’t stress too much y/n. And for the record, I think that you’re an amazing gift giver - the amount of thought you put into gifts make it all the better.”

You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and mumbled a small thank you.

“Anyway while we’re here do you need to get anything to go with your solstice outfit?”

“Oh Actually, I was so stressed about getting everyone’s solstice gift that I forgot to buy my dress” your voice falling off at the end. You felt yourself being yanked to a harsh stop and the saw Mor’s face staring at yours, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

“Are you crazy?? Solstice is in 3 days and you still don’t have anything??? Oh honey, our shopping isn’t done yet.” And with that statement you found yourself being pulled into the nearest dress shop. After trying on nearly 20 dresses you finally found the perfect one, which Mor approved. It was a light blue silk dress that was more fitted at the top but flared down at your waist. It had a cowl neckline, a slit going up the side to the mid upper thigh, and accentuates your curves beautifully and has a slight shimmer to it. You looked ethereal in it

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

After your exhausting day of shopping, you couldn’t wait to get out of the cold. You swiftly walked back to the townhouse. Once inside you made your way to your room to set down the gifts, change your clothes, and grab your book. Then you quietly headed down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and sat on the couch to read. The house was quiet since all of the others decided to go to Rita’s tonight. You decided to stay home for some much needed relaxation. You opened your book and started reading. After a few hours, you felt your eyes drooping and eventually, sleep consumed you.

The loud noise of the front door caused you to stir and your eyes fluttered open. You were too exhausted to look so you just laid your head back down and tried to go to sleep. You could hear Mor whispering something and then felt yourself being lifted off the couch and being held close to a chest with your blanket still draped on you.

“Cass?” you whispered hoarsely along with a string of incoherent words

You heard a slight laugh “Not Cass but It’s ok, go back to sleep”. Then you felt yourself being gently placed on your bed and the sleep hit you before you could mutter a thank you.

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

The sun was setting towards the sea as you sat in the sitting room of the town house. You were in your blue silk dress with a glass of wine in your hand. Rhys and Feyre were by the mantel, quietly talking while Mor and Amren were across the room. Near the window I saw Elain, and from the corner of my eye I could see Azriel making his way towards her. My face fell but I quickly plastered on a smile, not wanting to concern anyone. Especially since today was also Feyre’s birthday and we had planned a surprise for her. Feyre thought she could slip her birthday past us, but we hadn’t forgotten. After a few minutes, Cassian made his way from the kitchen with the enormous cake.

You floated towards Feyre and gave her arm a light squeeze. “Happy Birthday, make a wish before the candles melt!”

She blew out the candles and then we ate cake before opening up the presents.

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

Rhys snapped his fingers and piles of brightly wrapped bags and boxes filled up the sitting room. Amren was the first to open her presents. Naturally, everyone got her something jewelry related. Amren opened mine and you saw a wide smile set across her face, she picked up the diamond necklace and nodded a ‘thank you’ your way. You returned the gesture back, a small smile forming on your face.

Next, Cassian handed Mor her present from him and she pulled out a-. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He bought her red lingerie. Your face turned slightly red, but the Mor said “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them.”

Then, you heard one sharp knock at the door.

Nesta.

You saw Cassian tense up a bit. Nesta walked in, linking arms with Elain. She got a glass of wine before heading to sit in a chair in the back of the room. The silence was deafening. Finally Varian started talking and the present opening resumed.

From Amren, you received a new calligraphy set. It was so beautiful and you loved it. From Rhys, you got some books. It was perfect since you loved to read, and they were ones that you had been wanting to read for a long time. From Feyre, you received a painting as well as a new paint brush kit.

Cassian made his way to you and set a gift down in your lap. You opened the dark blue box that Cassian had placed in your lap. He had gotten you a sky blue hardbound journal with a gold embossed star on it. You desperately needed a new one, and this was perfect. You walked over and gave him a hug, whispered “Thank you, I love it.”.

Next you opened Mor’s present. You nearly choked when you saw what she got you and your whole face heated up. She got you a matching navy blue lingerie set like the one Cassian bought her.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too sure what to get you so I thought we could twin”. You looked around the room and saw the others holding in their laughs. You could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of red on Azriel’s ears. You just smiled and mouthed a silent “I’m going to kill you, but thank you” at her.

There wasn’t anything from Azriel. Your heart twinged. Had you not been important enough? It was just a present you reminded yourself, fixing your composure before handing Cassian his present.

He ripped it open like an animal, squealing when he saw it. A promising reaction given the amount of thought you put into it.

“Did you design these? They look amazing!”

“Yeah, I’m glad you like it. It took a long time to figure out what to get for your dumb ass”

“You mean my cute ass”, you smacked his arm and then got up to give Mor her present.

You closely watched her reaction as she opened her dress and jewelry, a large smile spreading across her face.

“You really buy the perfect presents y/n, I love it”.

“Oh Cass, Mor. One more thing.” You pulled out the small boxes with the friendship necklaces and bracelets handing it to them. “This was just a little something extra I thought of, I hope you like it”. You knew you would have started stuttering and crying if you had said the meaning to them, so you just handed them notes instead. They read over them, eyes glossing over, and pulled you into a hug.

“This is the only time I’ll wear jewelry” Cass stated, causing you to chuckle

Then Mor said, “I am never taking this off” causing you to laugh again.

Finally, Azriel opened up his presents. He had opened up all the others. All that was left was yours and Elain’s gift to him. He found his way to your present first, opening it.

“A new sheath for Truth Teller. I heard you needed a new one” you quietly said.

He held your gaze and smiled, “Thank you, it's great”. Suddenly feeling exposed, you quickly gave him a nod.

Then he went to open Elain’s gift. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” she said.

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

You hadn’t heard him laugh before, and mother above it was gorgeous. You had never heard a sound so deep and joyous, a sound which made your heart clench. A part of you wished you were the reason he was laughing. You forced on a smile and spent the rest of the night drinking away the slight pain in your chest.

You were exhausted by the end of the night, sitting on the couch with Cassian and Mor, Azriel and Rhys seated on the opposite side of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement towards the door, and craned your head to see what was going on. It was Nesta making her way to the door. You felt the couch lift next to you.

Cassian. He had swiftly pushed past Feyre and went after Nesta. This wouldn’t end well.

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

Cassian had come back quiet and brooding, walking straight to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of liquor. You got up off the couch and followed him straight into the kitchen.

“Cass, let’s take a walk, yeah?”

“I just took a walk”

“It wasn’t a question”. You grabbed a white shawl and his hand and led him outside. “What happened?”

“What’s there to talk about? It was like all the other times. Why did I have to fall in love with someone who doesn't even love me back. Who looks at me like the Illyrian born bastard I am. Who hates the idea of being in the same room as me.”

You grabbed Cass’ hand, lightly squeezing it. “Don’t say that. Nesta, she,” your voice stopping for a second “She’s different. The way she handles pain and copes is different. Give her time. She just needs time. I know how much that may pain you, but you can’t rush healing”

You pulled him into a hug

“And for the record, I know the feeling more than you know” you quietly said “unrequited love”, head pointed at the ground.

Cassian tilted his head down to look at you, his face painted with confusion. You could tell he wanted to know more, but didn’t want to pry too much.

You hesitated before continuing, not sure if you wanted to reveal your closely guarded secret. “I-“ your voice faltering, “I found my mate”. The words seemed to have rushed out of your mouth and tears pricked your eyes as you said that. After months of hiding it, you had finally gotten it off your chest.

Cassian stood shocked, staring at you. “You found your mate? And you didn’t think to tell any of us? How long ago was this”

“I-, I found out who he was around the same time Rhys sent us on that diplomatic mission. And I didn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t even know yet.”

“That was almost 6 months ago, and you didn’t say anything?”.

The tears had started flowing at this point, “I thought he would figure it out. But by the time I realized he wasn’t going to figure it out, it was too late. He had already set his eyes on someone else. And I know I could never compete with Elain, even if I am his mate.” the last part slipped out without you realizing.

“Elain? What does she-“ his eyes widening “Does that mean Az is-“

You slowly nodded, tears welled up, threatening to spill out.

“Oh, mother…”, he pulled you into a tighter hug and that’s when the gates broke. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you sobbed into Cassian's chest, his hand stroking your back.

you must have been there for 15 minutes before you realized the other might start getting suspicious. Regaining your composure, you dried your tears and tried, to the best of your ability, to hide that you had been crying.

Looking back at Cassian, you gave him a slight smile before muttering, “Thank you. I’m sorry for dumping that on you, but please promise me you won’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Of course y/n, and don’t apologize, if it makes you feel better, it helped to take my mind off of Nesta and my own problems, which I desperately needed” he chuckled out.

With the smile still on your face, you linked arms with Cassian before saying, “Oh mother above it’s freezing, let’s get back inside before we turn into popsicles!”

He let out another laugh before the two of you made your way back into the house.

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

You walked into the house and your sliver of happiness was crushed as you saw Az and Elain sitting at the table smiling and laughing quietly to themselves. Elain had her sketchbook out, showing Az her plans for the garden.

Your distraught had been clear to anyone who saw your face, and you were too tired to realize you weren’t able to hide it fast enough. Not being able to view the scene anymore, you quickly got up, muttered happy solstice, and grabbed your coat and purse before heading out the door to your apartment.

While walking home, you were consumed by your thoughts. You hated the pangs of jealousy that coursed through you. You often found yourself jealous of her soft spokenness and kindness. You also found yourself jealous of her effortless beauty. It was something that kept you up at night. She was so likeable and easily approachable, something you wished you were.

You were so drowned in your own thoughts that you hadn’t noticed a male following you till it was too late. One of his hands clamped on your mouth while the other grabbed your waist and pushed you into the nearest alleyway.

The male pulled out a knife and your tears started to fall. You were terrified about what he would do to you. This could be the last time you would have seen your family. You were struggling and kicking against him but it was no use. Your senses were groggy from the alcohol and drowsiness.

You had been so stupid to walk home alone at 2 in the morning. No matter how angry you were, you should’ve just stayed at the town house.

Before you could realize what was happening, you felt a sharp pain shoot through your side.

The sound of a clatter.

Receding footsteps.

A crimson stain blooming.

Your body crumpled to the ground and your vision started blacked out. This was it. Nobody could hear you and nobody could save you.

#azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel #cassian #imagine #sarah j maas #azriel acotar x reader

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animeomegas · 3 years

Note

Number nine for saiki kusuke please.

9 Territorial + Kuusuke Saiki

Yours and Kuusuke’s relationship had one major point of contention: He wouldn’t let you meet his family.

In fact, despite talking about them to you fairly frequently, he admitted that they didn’t even know you existed.

And Kuusuke didn’t appear to be in any rush to tell them.

Well, until you got upset and decided to withhold affection from him.

There is nothing that riles Kuusuke up like being ignored, he’s also very clingy and he likes physical affection. So, let’s just say he isn’t very happy with this turn of events.

He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him, but eventually he caves and books two tickets back home from university to Japan.

He’s moody the whole journey, but he won’t tell you why.

He eventually perks up when you get to his parents’ house, but more in a fake way than anything else.

“Mother, it’s good to see you again,” Kuusuke said coolly, breezing into the house with no warning and leaving you to awkwardly follow behind him.

“Kuusuke!!” His mother squealed, running over to him. “You came all this way to visit us?” She teared up, gripping him by the shoulders.

She caught a glimpse of you over his shoulder and tilted her head.

“Oh? And who’s this?”

You took that as an invitation to introduce yourself seeing as Kuusuke clearly wasn’t going to do it.

“I’m courting your son, ma’am,” you said, trying your hardest to avoid letting your nerves slip through. She seemed awfully nice, but if she didn’t like you, it could be the end of your relationship with Kuusuke or the end of Kuusuke’s relationship with his family.

His mother simply blinked at you. An unpleasant feeling settled in your stomach at her lack of response. Did she not approve?

But then she promptly burst into tears.

Before you even had time to be surprised, she ran forward and grabbed you by the hands.

“Thank you so much for loving my son,” she wept. “I know he can be difficult, but it means so much for me that you look after him when I can’t.”

“Please, don’t cry,” you panicked, waving your hands back and forth. “I’m the lucky one to get to love someone as amazing as your son.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because the tears only got heavier. You had never seen an alpha parent react to their omega child bringing home a strange alpha like this. The stereotype was quite the opposite after all, you had expected an interrogation at the very least.

Kuusuke simply sighed and led his mother to the sofa and went to fetch her a tissue. This was not how you thought meeting his family would go, but this seemed to be a tentative good sign. She was crying from happiness, not mortal offence, so things could have definitely gone worse.

“Who are you?”

You jumped about half a foot in the air at the sudden voice from behind you. Turning around you were met with a pink-haired teenage boy clutching a school bag. You laughed in relief, holding your chest as you calmed down.

“Sorry, you frightened me,” you laughed. “You must be Kusuo, Kuusuke has told me a lot about you. I’m Kuusuke’s intended mate, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Kusuo’s eyebrows shot up at your claim. Was it really that unbelievable that Kuusuke would be in a serious relationship? It took him a moment to collect himself, but then Kusuo simply bowed at you and went to move past you.

“Wait,” you called out, halting him in his tracks. You desperately wanted to get to know his family and his mother still appeared to be incoherent, so Kusuo was your only chance. You racked your brains to think of something he would like. What did teenagers like?

“Do you enjoy video games?”

Kusuo blinks at you but clearly decides to indulge you with a single nod.

“That’s great!” you brightened, glad to have an in. “Have you played any good ones recently? There have been some major releases this month.”

Before Kusuo had a chance to respond, Kuusuke was suddenly back behind you, a hand clamped around your waist and his lips pressed into a thin line. You couldn’t smell him past the insane number of blockers he used, but you’d wager a guess that he would smell rather aggressive right now.

“Now, now, dearest, Kusuo probably has some homework to do upstairs, he’s still in high school after all,” Kuusuke spoke with a strange tinge to his words that you couldn’t place.

Kusuo clearly didn’t take offence, merely rolling his eyes and bowing to you once more before making his way upstairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, Kuusuke started pressing kisses against your neck and face, using the grip he had around your waist to pull you tightly against him. You accepted a few of the kisses before you pushed him away, slilghtly frustrated at how he was treating you in front of his family.

“Am I not allowed to talk to your brother?” you questioned, crossing your arms. “Are you worried I’ll embarrass you or something? That’s low, Kuusuke, even for you.”

“What?” Kuusuke replied, appearing genuinely baffled by your reaction. “No, it’s just that… Kusuo is complicated.”

You searched his face for any hint of a lie and found none, but it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t being entirely truthful with you. Unless he was… Your jaw dropped as you figured out his problem.

“You’re jealous of your brother, aren’t you?”

Kuusuke sputtered, denying the claim immediately.

“You are!” you laughed, a little hysterical. “Do you really think that I am suddenly going to fall in love with your teenage brother? Seriously, Kuu?”

Kuusuke had the decency to flush, but still denied the accusation.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he grumbled, looping his arms back around your waist.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you laughed. “I’m in love with you, Kuusuke, for as long as you’ll have me, and you should never forget that.”

You could feel his chest puff up with pride against you and hid your smile against his shoulder. Kuusuke really did thrive on genuine praise.

#500 follower celebration #which is hilarious because I just hit 800 #saiki k #headcanons #alpha!reader #kuusuke x reader #saiki kuusuke #reader insert #omegaverse #abo #a/b/o

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sconnie-doesnt-know · 4 years

Text

So Wrong

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Reader, Jane Bodecker, assorted OCs, also gonna go ahead and say Lee is kinda soft/dark in this one

Word Count: 8000

Warnings: Infidelity, alcohol usage, smoking, somewhat dub-con sexual stuff, but not really

Summary: The Reader is a young single mother and widow new to the town of Meade. She gets drawn into a social circle that includes the Sheriff’s wife, while also being drawn to the Sheriff himself.

A/n: I truly don’t know where this came from or why I wrote it. I watched TDATT and suddenly this whole thing just popped into my head complete with a Patsy Cline soundtrack. There’s infidelity on Lee’s part, and his wife is terrible, and these are fictional characters so I am trying to not feel guilty for making that happen.

There’s more to this story, probably extending into 1 or 2 more parts. I don’t know what to say for myself, I cannot pwp. Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome. Not beta-read, so please let me know if there’s an error.

Hope you enjoy!

Meade is as good a place as any to settle. Surrounded by wilderness and small towns, it’s quiet, far from anyplace and anyone you know. A welcome adventure and a place to dispose of your grief, finally - hopefully.

You pull up on a quiet street and sit there just a moment to breathe, to look at the life you had that is settled in between the few boxes and suitcases of belongings, the folded up flag, and the little boy you buckled into the seat.

Through a tangled web of connections, you are able to rent a little upper duplex apartment from the widow in town. She claims she doesn’t mind a little noise as your son stomps up the stairs and gives you an open invitation to join her at church on Sundays.

It is six days into your new residence, the first Monday in town when the apparent welcoming committee shows up at your door. She wears a gentle smile on her face and presents you with a warm pie still wrapped in cloth.

“My name is Jane Bodecker, my husband’s the Sheriff. I wanted to introduce myself…”

You know the routine after moving around a few times already. You imagine the conspiring during the luncheon after church yesterday, the ladies munching on dry cookies and deciding who would be the first to talk to you.

You nod and smile, and accept the offering.

“Some of us like to get together to play cards and socialize on Tuesdays, it would be nice to have you join us and let us get to know you.”

Of course she means that they are chomping at the bit to know why a single woman with no family ties has moved into town. You’re familiar with the ritual and know you need to go along if you want to make it work in this place.

You return her smile, “That would be so kind of you, as long as you don’t mind my son coming along.” You gesture to the little boy hiding in your skirts behind you.

“Of course he can. He can play with my boy, Robert. We will see you at two.” She leaves you with her address and directions over, telling you to look for the house with the red shutters.

Their house is in one of the newer, more developed parts, with some manufactured homes lining the street and looking boxy compared to the traditional farmhouses, but it's charming. The red shutters stand out, that’s for certain. It doesn’t take long to figure out that Jane is a proud host, head of the gossip chain, and is required to mention “My husband, the Sheriff” at least once per conversation.

You let the ladies ask their questions and nod politely as they give you the required chorus of condolences. You feel the shift when Jane steers the conversation to what they all want to know. “Now, I don’t mean to spread gossip, but some folks were wondering why you rented a place here instead of goin’ home to your family.”

Your shoulders stiffen, ‘so much for not putting me on the spot’ you think, but you still smile politely as you answer. “I have no other family. My daddy was gone when I was a girl and my momma dropped me off with an aunt and uncle when she was with husband number three and I don’t know where she is. They said it was the first thing she did that made a lick of sense,” you try to joke. “Well, they didn’t exactly approve of me and Jimmy, so when we married they told me not to go back.”

“And the boy’s other kin?”

“Ain’t no other kin. Jimmy’s family was small, they’re gone now.”

“Well, ain’t you a tragedy,” she says in a chirpy, high voice.

Your face tightens and you stare at your lap, “We get by,” you weakly mutter.

They all assure you that they have some nice gentlemen they can introduce to you, and go on about how fortunate you are they are pulling you into their group. You hear about faceless people and their minor transgressions, but get bored with it fairly quickly and use the time to look over the Bodecker home. It’s nice, a mixture of modest and a few state-of -the-art updates. There’s more dust than you expect, the sofa cushions look worn down, with only a few photos on display. The sheriff’s face shrouded in shadows in the one you can see, but you figure their son must take after him since he doesn’t have the pinched look his mother seems to naturally have.

You don’t even meet ‘her husband, the Sheriff’ until your third Tuesday afternoon of cards at their home. Jane herself is practically giving a campaign speech since the election so close. You never paid a lot of attention to local politics, and you try to give her your attention, but when she starts to ramble on it’s just too much. You happen to look to the side to avoid rolling your eyes and catch just when he strolls in, as if on cue with the uniform all perfectly in place. He scans the group of women until he stops on you, eyes lighting up with interest.

Your own breath catches in your throat at the sight of him as he removes his hat and looks you over.

“Well,” he drawls, “You must be the sweet new thing that’s got all the fellas in town rioting.”

You have to look down, lest the embarrassment make you combust.

“Now, Lee,” Jane scolds, “That’s no way to say hello. Come over here and introduce yourself properly.” She guides him over, and you almost say it with her when she recites, “This is my husband, the Sheriff.”

“Apologies, miss. I know you aren’t trying to get them all riled. Janey told me ‘bout your husband. War is Hell, shame to be losing boys like that.”

He holds his hand out to shake yours, his hold firm and warm and you are hesitant to let go.

“I appreciate that, thank you, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods, eyes flicking over you one more time. “What are your plans in this lovely town of ours?”

“Oh. Well,” you freeze up for a moment, it’s the first time someone’s asked and you don’t have your answer prepared. “Well, I was thinking that I would get a job. We get by right now, but once my boy is in school, I would like something else to do.”

Jane jumps on your answer, “Let’s just see if we can’t find you a bachelor around here. Plenty of boys can use someone to take care of ‘em, but if you want a man who will be home on time, you stay away from any of the deputies. I can’t remember the last time Lee wasn’t busy with something or other from the county. I suppose that’s the life we’ve chosen though, isn’t it?”

Her voice sounds overly sweet, but you can sense the daggers in her words. It’s the way he reacts, shifting on his feet and rolling his jaw like he’s annoyed. Jane doesn’t even pay attention to anything but the cards in her hand. Some of the other ladies nod, but the sheriff just lowers his head before he pulls Jane to the side to talk to her quietly.

You track his movements, fascinated until you shake yourself out of it. It’s been years since you felt like that or even saw a man that caught your attention - not since Jimmy. It’s alarming, unnerving.

The wave of guilt that washes over you is more than you can handle.

“Please excuse me, but we must be going.” You get up without waiting for any response and practically yank your son right out of the house as Jane calls after you that she will see you again soon.

You brush off the incident after having some time to think, convinced that it is just because you were caught off guard, and try to go on as normally as you can.

Your days end up filled with social calls, running errands or helping your landlady, and keeping your son busy. He asks to play with the Bodecker boy nearly every day, but you try your best to keep your distance when you can, especially when she starts trying to arrange dates for you even when you politely decline.

You look at the other ladies sometimes and wonder how many of them are just tolerating her the way you do. There’s just something grating about the way her voice goes especially nasally when she has something not-very-Christian to say, or the way she talks so openly and obscenely about the apparent whorehouse in town. She doesn’t even seem the least bit shameful when she begins to complain about her sister-in-law and the trouble she gets up to despite her brother being the sheriff.

Sheriff Bodecker, on the other hand, is a bit more friendly than you anticipated, expecting him to be cold or rude, but usually he’s the one pushing his wife to extend a coffee or supper invitation your way and making small talk when you are still around when he gets home from work or if he catches you around town. Your own mind suspects that it’s maybe just a sense of civic duty to know his neighbors, but it’s nice to have company nonetheless.

Conversation with him comes easily. He talks with you about interesting news stories, about the boys, about some of the other towns, and even plans for the county. It’s interesting, not just debate on whether the new curtains chosen by someone or other are tacky. There are times you get lost talking with him and need to be corralled back in by Jane or Steven getting antsy.

The way he draws your eye is a mixture of curiosity and interest. It makes you notice when he’s driving the patrol car or when you see him around town. You catch how tired he seems at the end of the days, how he’s usually got a piece of candy to slip to kids when they come by and are brave enough to ask. You notice how he knows everyone in town and seems to have an eye on everything, checking in at the shops and breaking up the young men when they start to roughhouse.

In a place like this, Jane Bodecker is far from the only gossiper in town, so while she might not share much about herself or her husband, plenty of others do. Some of the things they say are just nitpicking and you try to drown it out. They’ve been decent to you since your arrival, but it’s hard to ignore the constant whispers of how power went right to their heads.

When the election is over and she gets the right to continue to say “My husband, the Sheriff” you start to really see what they say. She loses the facade of playing the good wife, but still hosts her weekly card meetings to keep up to date. Instead of just coffee and tea, she starts slipping sips of whiskey and gives her opinion a bit more freely than before, and often hurling insults anywhere they can land.

It’s painful to watch her put down everyone, but especially the sheriff when he gets in her way. When you catch him sending a frustrated look at her turned back or rolling his eyes at her complaints about the town and its people, you pretend not to notice and remember to keep a smile on. Her outbursts get more and more unhinged and brazen, and the defeat and exhaustion in his stance makes you ache. There’s a hurt you can’t vocalize without overstepping, but it eats at you, chips at your patience bit by bit.

When the sheriff pulls the cruiser over one day while you’re walking between stores to say hi and make some small talk, you’re pleased. He seems less worn down, it’s nice to see.

“Oh, Sheriff, you’ve got some good timing,” you reach into one of your shopping bags, pulling out a paper bag of hard candies you bought from the candy shop. “While doing the washing, I found a handful of wrappers. Turns out the boys were getting into your candy stash. Thought you might need a refill.”

You hand him the bag and the smile he gives you in return makes your chest tighten up and ache.

“Sweet things from a sweet thing, thank you darlin’.”

You bit down on your lips, desperate to not react to his flirtatious words. “It’s nothin’, Sheriff.”

“Not to me.”

You start to sway from foot to foot, looking down at the sidewalk with a hum and trying to come up with something else to say. Silence hangs in the air for a moment before his radio crackles with a call from the station. You take the opportunity to make your exit.

“I’ll be seeing you, Sheriff.”

He shoots a glare at the radio, but looks back at you with what you could only describe as longing. “Sure will, Sweets.” Usually something like that would sound condescending, but from him it sounds endearing. He winks and pulls the car away, talking to the dispatcher while he drives.

‘Sweets...sweet thing...darlin’’ his voice repeats over and over in your head, fingers trembling and clumsy with the rush they give you and the way your heart races.

You get nearly sick when you recognize the feelings you’re having. It’s like it was when you were first with Jimmy. When you couldn’t even look him in the eyes because you felt too overwhelmed by your feelings for him. When you flushed and overheated when he got close and said pretty things. When you used to hold onto his hand and promise yourself that you would care for him every day and prove your love to him.

That’s when you realize you’re coveting another woman’s husband.

It’s Thursday, which means you need to head down to Main Street to visit the pharmacy for your landlady, Mrs. Martins, and gather some groceries for the week. You had made plans with Jane to let the boys play together while you took ran errands. You don’t have a good excuse to change the plan, but you can’t help but ask again, “You sure you don’t mind him being here?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, a bit wider and more manic than usual, “Now if that handsome Wilford boy happens to ask you for supper, don’t you worry about rushin’ back, ya hear?”

You laugh at her latest unsubtle attempt, “I will keep it in mind, thanks.” She and a few others had started to meddle, putting eligible bachelors in your path and setting up dates on your behalf. You do try. You talk to them, let them flirt, but none hold your interest. They’re boys - lanky and lean, still all reckless and rowdy. Not what you’re looking for, nothing like the solid, filled-out figure of a man, someone secure and stable and in a uniform. But that’s something to think about another day.

Wilford does indeed ask.

You do not feel so inclined to take up the offer, especially when he pinches the round of your ass as he asks you to consider dessert before any supper.

He has you pressed against the wall outside the hardware store, letting the sun blind you and bring tears to your eyes as the bricks snag the delicate threads of your dress.

He only backs away when a loud voice booms out, “There a problem here, son?”

He turns his head to find Lee pulled to the side of the road, window down and arm resting on the frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No sir, Sheriff, just makin’ some supper plans, ain’t we?” Wilford looks back at you with a leer. Your hands press flat against the building and your knee twitches with the urge to jerk up and hurt him.

“I thought we were expecting you tonight, isn’t that right?” Lee asks you pointedly.

Your attacker looks back at Lee, then to you, and you nod. Finally, you’re given some space.

“I imagine you need to be moving along then?” Lee checks, waiting impatiently for Wilford to answer.

“Yessir.” He gives you a wicked grin and spins away to go back down the street. “Maybe another time when you’re free.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowed at his back as you glare.

Lee taps the side of the cruiser, “C’mere.”

You take a shaky breath and gather yourself with a nod before taking the few steps across the sidewalk. Leaning down you take a moment to look him over in his uniform, the badge gleaming in the sunshine and eyes clear blue as the sky.

“You alright, Sweets?” he asks, voice low and gentle. He’d taken to calling you that since the candy incident, always in that same tone - like it’s precious and important. The way it hits you right in the center of your chest hurts more than the physical damage done a moment ago. You know he isn’t asking if your heart is aching, or if you’re alright being lonely, or any of the ways you’re feeling it right now, but it strikes you in an unexpected way.

“I’m fine,” you smile tightly, “Thank you for checking.”

“These boys just don’t know how to handle themselves when they see a pretty lady.” Your cheeks ache as you try to keep from beaming at the off-hand comment. “Ya know, I’m getting ready to head on home, you need a ride that way? I’m guessing your boy is stirrin’ up some shit with mine?” He turns and scans the road and sidewalk around you, fidgeting a bit as he asks.

“I still have to make another stop and my car is at the end of the block, but thank you.” You stand up.

“Well, I mean it, you and Steven stay for supper tonight, I’ll square it with Jane.”

“You don’t hav’ta do that-”

“No worries, darlin’.” He winks, taps his fingers on the shell of the door by the painted logo and waits until you nod in agreement. “See you soon, then.” And with a nod he pulls off the curb.

You watch the cruiser drive away, then look up and down the street, but no one else is there. You finally manage to draw in a full breath, and rush to get to the cool air of the pharmacy to ease the flush burning you from the inside out.

You make it back to the Bodecker’s before the sheriff, glad to have a few moments to smooth things over with Jane since she clearly had not expected you to turn down the date she arranged for you.

“He wasn’t too much of a handful, was he? I told him before I left that he better mind you today.”

She waves you off, sitting back down at the table with her abandoned cigarette in the tray and a small glass of brown liquor.

“Well, the boys’ll sleep tonight, that’s for sure. They’ve been running circles round the whole damn house.” She ashes the cigarette before taking another puff and settling against the backrest of the chair.

You take a moment to look over the kitchen, a pot is just about to boil over so you make your way to it. “Can I help you out with anything? Give you a moment to freshen up ‘fore Lee gets home?”

“I suppose that’s the least you can do.” Her cheeks draw in another puff and she hums, taking her glass with her as she goes to their bedroom.

The boys run inside, breathless and sweaty, both shouting while they tell you about a nest they found outside before you order them off to get washed up themselves. You look down the hall, waiting to see if Jane was on her way back or if she was expecting you to finish her cooking. Rather than let it burn, you do just that, taking care of the potatoes, adding a few seasonings as you go, and pulling out the meatloaf from the oven.

The screen door squeaks and boots thud through the house when Lee enters and makes his way to the kitchen. You nervously look over your shoulder, catching him leaning against the door jamb, spinning his hat in his hand, a soft smile on his lips as he looks your way.

“This is a sight. If I didn’t know better I’d think I wandered into the wrong house.”

You let out a bit of a nervous laugh, then look back down to the greens you were tending to, “I am so sorry, I kept your wife busy longer than I should’ve. She’ll be out in just a minute.” You go back to busying yourself with finishing up the meal.

“Not complainin’,” he mutters under his breath, but you still hear it and it makes your breath hitch. Jane could set you on edge with her snide remarks, so could Lee, but for completely different reasons - some that had been dormant for so long you didn’t know what to do.

Just then Jane makes her grand reappearance, hair freshly combed and lips tinged with a touch of color; her cheeks look ruddy, but you can’t tell if it’s rouge or flush from the alcohol she’s been sipping.

“Don’t you go adding too much milk to my potatoes, nobody likes ‘em all runny. Here, let me,” she says and nudges you out of the way, “See you gotta mix in just a little bit right there.”

She overpours anyway, her hands moving unsteadily as she mashes the potatoes up, making them runny just like she warned you about.

From behind you, you see Lee go to the table, picking up the liquor bottle and examining the contents, making marks with his fingers against the side of the bottle and shaking his head. He takes a swig himself and sets it back down.

He mumbles something about being sober, then walks down the hall to where Jane disappeared, stopping to say something to make the boys giggle on the way before they wrestle each other at the bathroom sink to wash up for supper.

The meal starts off quiet, just the utensils scraping along the plates, but Jane being the gracious host, finally tries to perk it up with conversation.

“I know Wilford might be a little rough ‘round the edges for someone from a bigger town, but there are still several other young men I can introduce you to,” she offers, unprompted.

You choke a little before you recover and finish chewing your bite of food.

“You needn’t go through the trouble, Mrs. Bodecker. Really.”

“It’s just, you’re so young to be widowed already and all alone. What kinda home will it be for the boy with no man around? And don’t you want more kids? I bet you just glow. Some of the ladies at my bible study wouldn’t mind setting you up.”

The idea makes you squirm. No, you aren’t dead inside, but there’s no way for you to get what - who you really want.

The sheriff speaks up then. “My old man took off on my ma, sister, and me. That’s just the way shit happens sometimes,” he says and you feel the dark cloud start to clear just a bit. You nod at him, acknowledging the little bit of affirmation.

“What was your husband like?” Jane presses, digging a little further into that painful wound. “Maybe that will help me out.”

Your Jimmy didn’t have much to give you, but he gave you all he could. He gave you the kind of love that made your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your stomach swoop with butterflies. Your eyes flick toward Lee and you think again about how alike they seem to you, handsome, intuitive, assertive, strong-willed. He catches your gaze and pauses his chewing for a brief second while he waits for your answer.

“He was a good man, strong and fair. I’d like to think he and Mr. Bodecker would’ve gotten on quite well,” you finally say, smiling kindly at them both in turn.

Lee’s lips curl into a smile while he finishes chewing, then sits back with a stretch. “You’re makin’ me sound like an old man,” he whines, “Call me Lee when I’m not on duty.”

“Yes sir,” you automatically reply. “Lee.”

His smile grows. “Say, Janey? Why don’t you go get that jug of wine up for us?”

She nods and gets up.

“Wine?” you ask, surprised.

“It’s nothin’ special, someone up the road makes it. Tastes better than that church wine, but don’t burn like the shine some other folks are brewin’ up.”

Jane comes back with three glasses and pours generously for you all, her own motions increasingly sloppy from her afternoon drinking.

You sip at it, the taste a little tart, but not as acidic and thank them for their generosity.

“Jane, you do something different with the seasoning tonight?”

“No,” she answers, then goes right back to her chat with you, you think about speaking up, but she goes back to leading the conversation. “So, you still thinking about becoming a working gal?”

“Not right away, but yes.”

“Oh?” Lee asks, “Something at the diner? I think the grocery is hiring?”

“Nuh uh,” her voice takes on a nasty tone, “Nothing like that for her. She went to secretary school.” The lilt in her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t care for that little fact. “Can you believe that? School just to learn to file a paper or take a message.”

“There’s more to it than that,” you quietly defend.

“Jane, what the hell do you know? You haven’t worked a day in your life?” Lee asks.

Jane rolls her eyes, body slumping a bit in her chair. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure you don’t go working at the Tecumsah.” She snorts into her glass as she takes a sip. “That’s where Lee’s sister works. I told you ‘bout her before.” She gives you a look. “That place is a den of sin, if you know what I am gettin’ at.”

“You’re are gonna spoil my appetite talkin’ like that,” he says. He drops his fork and you startle, his glare at his wife making clear this is another sore subject.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she mutters. “I’m gettin’ tired of mending the buttons on your clothes.”

Your jaw nearly drops. You wring your napkin on your lap and scramble for something to change the subject and break the tension, “Jane, there are such lovely flowers planted right by the library, is there a gardening club around here that you haven’t told me about?”

She’s bored by the topic, but it does enough to distract her and send her on a tangent. You nod and hum while you pick at your food. Occasionally you glance to Lee at the side and find him looking at you appreciatively.

You keep turning the conversation away from yourself, getting her to talk about anything you can as she keeps refilling and sipping down more of her wine.

You use the next lull in conversation to make your exit.

“This has been lovely, and I am so thankful for everything today, but we really oughtta get back home. I need to make sure Mrs. Martins gets her items from the pharmacist and I need to try to fix the old projector she’s given me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Lee asks, leaning forward.

“No idea,” you laugh. “I was hoping to puzzle it together.”

“I can take a look for you,” he offers.

“If you have a moment,” you turn to Jane, “And you don’t mind sparing him.”

She scoffs and waves her fingers, “Nah, take Robert with you.”

He grunts in response while the kids leap up, excited for more time together. You do what you can to clean up and ease the load for Jane, but she’s getting more irritable by the minute, so you shuffle to the door to leave.

You head to the driveway where your car’s parked, waiting for him outside while the boys chase each other around the cars. He steps out the door, swinging his key ring on his fingers, looking at ease without the uniform on, but still strutting with an air of authority. It makes your stomach swoop.

“The Martins place? What road is that on again?” he asks jarring you out of your staring.

“Just follow me, Sheriff. I mean - Lee,” You nod as you get into the driver’s seat, Steven climbing in on the other side.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He mutters it loud enough that you hear him. The tilted, teasing grin on his face as he climbs into his own car almost makes you certain it was his intention.

When you get out, there’s a lump in your throat and the air suddenly feels heavy. Thankfully, the short walk up your drive is quiet, the sheriff walking leisurely next to you and laughing at the boys as they race each other down the sidewalk.

“I gotta go in the back way,” you swallow thickly as you tell him while you open up the gate, “There’s a private staircase for us there.”

He nods and follows.

When you enter the small apartment, you’re grateful that you don’t have much to fuss over and that it is tidy by default.

“Why don’t you boys go play with the Lincoln Logs or race cars? Nothing too loud right now,” you suggest and push them off toward the small room Steven occupies. “I got the parts all together right here, but I think something is missing.” You point to the box with the projector parts and reels.

“No problem,” Lee’s voice is quiet in your small space. He takes out the parts and starts to fit things together, checking a few switches here and there after a couple of minutes before patting the top of it with a, “There you go.”

You smile widely, “That’s it? Really?”

“That’s it, Sweets,” he matches your smile.

You suddenly hate the idea of him leaving so quickly, so you look around for something else.

“Coffee?”

He nods. “It’s like you read my mind,” there’s a glint in his eye as he gives you a generous once-over.

You feel a flush and quickly turn away to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill the kettle with water and scoop grounds into the press.

The boys break into a fit of giggles and before you can call after them, you feel the warm presence of Lee shuffle up behind you. His boots scuff against the floor as he stops, then seconds later his arms cage you in from behind, his palms resting against the edge of the countertop.

His breaths are deep, his nose just tickling along the neckline of your dress and you feel your back stiffen at the rush.

“You’re so lovely Sweets,” he whispers.

Your breath shakes as you suck it in. “S-sheriff,” you swallow thickly, “Lee? What’re you doing?”

“You’re beautiful, y’know.”

You remain still, unable to whisper anything but his name again.

“I see the way you look at me,” he presses a kiss to your skin that’s so gentle and tender but nearly makes your knees buckle. “Like you want somethin’.”

“I’m not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you weakly deny.

One arm leaves the counter to wrap around your middle, pulling you even closer to him while he steps right up behind you, the whole front of him up against your back. The movement makes you gasp and arch just slightly. You’re unable to catch yourself from rolling your head back to lean against him fully and feeling him grunt.

“You don’t need to make any excuses. You want me, dontcha?” he talks with his lips pressed right against your neck, heavy breaths tickling at your hairline.

God, do you want him. The sudden feeling of a warm, masculine body against you is something you didn’t realize you missed so much. For years it’s just been you and your boy and focusing on the day to day, not thinking about the way a strong arm feels pulled around you with fingers just tickling at your sensitive skin - until suddenly that’s exactly what is happening. And how you’ve missed it, your muscles nearly seize up with tension as you try to fight how good it feels.

It’s like trying to drag yourself from a dream, slow and muted as you try to make sense of everything at once; a sharp clarity punches through hard and fast.

“Your wife,” you reach down to cover his hand with your own, ready to try to pry him off.

“That fucking pig? I don’t love her, I don’t want her. She don’t want me either.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that,” you tell him and start to pull away, squirming away but getting nowhere since he doesn’t budge an inch. He allows you to spin around between himself and the countertop. “Lee? What is this? What’re you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. You know what this is. You can remember moments like these with your late husband, but Lee is not your husband. You know his wife. You just spent the evening with her in their home.

He doesn’t answer. Instead his free hand starts to skim up along your side until his thumb catches at the curve at the bottom your breast, then slides up so that he can rub his thumb back and forth over your dress, teasing at your hardened nipple.

It makes you whimper and nearly fold in half with how sensitive you feel.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he coos, his lips parted and eyes tracking the movement of his thumb.

You lift your arms to his shoulders, uncertain yet if you’re planning to push him away or pull him close when you hear the quick footsteps of the boys.

Lee steps back to give you some distance and your hands flutter mid-air as you try to compose yourself.

The boys start to whine over each other-

“Momma. Robert keeps knocking over my building.”

“No, he keeps takin’ the blocks I’m using.”

Some kind of clarity forms and you rush out a solution for them, “Why don’t you get out your TinkerToys and split it all up? Alright? Go back to the other room,” you nudge them away.

Problem solved, they run back to the room, leaving you standing in the kitchen, Lee lingering just feet away and the half-finished coffee press on the counter.

“Jane must be expecting you home by now.”

He grunts and shakes his head ruefully, “She’s probably passed out by now.”

“Oh,” you nod. You search for something, anything to excuse yourself and catch your breath, “I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me a moment.”

You slip out of the kitchen and into the door just down the hall. Taking a moment to relieve yourself then press a cool rag to your cheeks. You’d nursed the glass of wine Jane had poured, so you knew deep down you weren’t tipsy, you were just overrun by the feelings the sheriff gave you. Once you get your first full breath in minutes, you feel better, calmer and more controlled. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide - you just need to send him on home.

You barely crack open the bathroom door when it’s pushed open wide, Lee wedging in when it’s wide enough and nearly slamming it shut behind him.

“Don’t hide from me, Sweets,” is all he says before he’s got one arm around your middle again, and the other holding the back of your neck while he presses his lips against yours. After gasping in surprise, you instinctively return the kiss - your tongue and lips tentative against his dominating mouth.

It’s strange - all of it so strange after so long. It’s been years since your last kiss and you feel clumsy, out of practice, but he doesn’t hesitate one bit, doesn’t seem turned off by your uncoordinated motions and hands that can’t keep still over his middle and shoulders.

He takes in a deep breath, pausing for just a second to position himself better, then he’s back on you, and you feel ready for him this time. One hand resting on his chest while the other hooks up around his neck, your fingers stroking through the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. He turns the both of you, pressing you against the vanity sink.

“Lee,” you whimper when he wedges a leg between yours.

“Shh, shh, sshh. I got you.”

His kisses are relentless and make you light-headed, gasping for breaths every time he slightly lets up. His hands push and pull, struggling against your dress and your undergarments until he’s freed one breast and can drop his head to suckle at your hard peak.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, mind painfully aware of the children in the room nearby. You crack open an eye to make sure the door is still closed and try to focus on the sounds the kids are making, but his tongue and lips are too distracting. He pulls as much of your breast into his mouth as he can, greedily swirling his tongue all over the sensitive bud, and pulling away with a loud pop.

You slap at his shoulder while he just looks up at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Feels good, right?” He places his hand to cup your breast, thumb flicking at your nipple. “Let me have you, I’ll make you feel so good, my sweet girl. Please?”

His own eyes close as he ruts up against you, his hard length pressing against your hip and sending a tremor through your body, practically shaking your bones. You don’t move though, your hands stay frozen where you hold onto him, but he continues to lead and coax you along.

One wide hand holds you at the back of your neck, just holding you in place. His mouth moves across your cheeks and at the hinge of your jaw. He whispers quiet promises of satisfaction, telling you how lovely you are and confirming every word with a kiss. His other hand leaves your breast after one final and quick pinch and grabs at the bottom of your dress. The fabric bunching in his fist as he gathers it until he can feel your thigh.

Then he teases you with just the tips of his fingers, sliding right up and over til he meets where your thighs meet. It tickles, makes you shake a little, and then you’re sucking in a hard gasp when he keeps going until he pets and presses over your sex with the pads of his fingertips.

“So wet,” he says on an exhale, pressing right where you feel your excitement leaking. “You want me too. It’s alright.”

To prove his point, he presses harder, flattening his hand until he’s cupping you and making your body jerk between him and the sink. You bend your knees to open your thighs wider with the touch, and he groans and presses hard against you again, the heel of his palm putting pressure to your throbbing clit. You struggle to not hook your leg right over his hip to let him in.

“Lee,” you start to beg, “Please. Oh my god, please.”

It’s so overwhelming you start to sob, the tears already prick at the corners of your eyes. Just being touched, feeling the warmth of him, and the words - it’s all that you remembered being with a man to be and more. His hand keeps a rhythm against you, driving you higher. You hadn’t had a man’s touch in years, but suddenly you need Lee like you need air.

“Please,” you say again. Your body tingles with electricity that has nowhere to go.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, baby. I’m gonna take care of ya. Am I what you need?”

“Yes,” tears start to roll down your cheeks. He pulls back slightly until he can slip his fingers underneath your panties, gliding right through your arousal. You feel two of his fingers slide into you, and you squeeze around them instantly.

“Fuck,” he grunts. Your wetness drips down his fingers into his palm. He presses the heel of it against you again, right against your sensitive clit this time. “Come on my fingers, sweetness.”

He fucks you with his hand, his thick, solid fingers caressing you while he sends jolts of pleasure through you with pressure on your sensitive button. You squirm to get away, but the hand still at the back of your neck tightens and holds you down, making you take it.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “It’s alright.”

And that’s it. You freeze for a moment as the pleasure peaks and then you’re trembling as the shocks of it rush through you in a blaze. You can hear the wetness drowning his fingers as he keeps pumping them into you while you clench over him repeatedly and sob as quietly as you can, which must not be very quiet because he starts to shush you and slow the movement of his hand, gently attempting to calm you down.

“You’re okay, s’alright baby, just breathe, c’mon,” you hear him coach, but all you can focus on is the thumping beat of your heart as it races and trying to catch your breath between sniffles, the tears falling freely down your cheeks.

His hand slides out from your panties to grab you steady at your waist, the hand from your neck moves so he can use his thumb to wipe away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours and tells you to breathe with him.

You blink your eyes open, eyelashes glittering with wetness and you take a minute to focus. Once things are clear, you tilt your head back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, lips wet and rosy, and his eyes - they nearly glow as he looks you over. It’s something to see - awe, tenderness, pride all in the twitches of his lips as his lips turn up with a smile.

“Sweets, will you touch me?” he asks. For such a big man, his voice is suddenly so small.

“Lee, I can’t-I haven’t…” you struggle to find the words.

“It’s alright, that’s alright,” he assures you, circling your wrist with his fingers still sticky from your arousal, and guiding them to the bulge in his trousers. You flinch, but don’t pull away, your arm tenses, but goes with the motion. He presses your palm against the solid length, pushing down to give him some relief. His hips press against you in return and once he’s sure you aren't going anywhere, he lets go of your wrist, then starts to undo the belt and button in quick movements. He tugs the waistband of his trousers and boxers down together, just to release his cock.

You feel the fabric move under your palm, but keep pressing against him, your hand sliding just slightly out of remembered instinct. When the fabric of his boxers slides away and you’re met with the heat of his cock, you gasp. Your hand wraps around him, fingers circling around his shaft to hold him and pulling a strangled moan from him.

“Shit-fuck,” he hisses. “Won’t be long.” He wraps his hand over yours, pulling your fist up and down over him while he pumps his hips into it. Precome drips down from the slit, easing the glide.

His eyes close and he presses his temple to yours, his face pulls up in concentration, focusing on the pleasure, “You’re so soft, so sweet,” he rasps, “Want you so bad, want you all to myself.”

You can imagine it, if you’re ready to be totally honest, you have imagined it.

“Kiss me?” you whisper.

His lips meet yours roughly for a long press, then he tilts his head and licks at the seam of your lips, making you open up to him. His hand and yours start to speed up, he keeps guiding you up and down, just the slightest twist at the head with each stroke.

The kiss turns sloppy, more sharing air and pecks than anything as he spirals with the pleasure you’re helping to give him.

“You’re gonna -you’re gonna make me-” with a pained expression, he nudges you away, his hand stroking frantically as he leans over your sink until he starts to come, streaks hitting the porcelain as he chokes down groans. You watch his neck and face go red, trying not to watch, but you can’t help yourself and catch the way his cock twitches with his release, all swollen and red. You don’t think you could possibly blush more, but still fire burns underneath your skin.

When he finishes coming, he reaches for you again, pulling you into another hard kiss. “God, darlin’. Fuck,” he whispers while he attempts to catch his breath. “Fuck. Haven’t been tugged off like that since I was a deputy.” He chuckles, the laugh coming out in hard puffs of air.

You struggle to look at anything in the bathroom, eyes straying back to Lee, to his softening cock, to the come dripping slowly in the sink basin. Just then you hear the boys start to giggle and reality hits you again, making your chest seize up in panic.

“Oh, Lee. No,” you raise a hand to your mouth and quickly rush out the door, piecing your wardrobe back together as you walk back into the kitchen. You hear the water run in the bathroom and murmuring as Lee talks to himself.

Your movement must have distracted the boys because they manage to sound like a stampede heading toward you. You wipe at your nose and eyes as best you can before you turn to see what they want.

Both the boys pause, but it’s your son that speaks up, knowing how you look when you cry. “Momma, you alright?”

Lee exits the bathroom then, shirt tucked back in, belt and trousers back in place - only the flush from the neck up giving anything away. His eyes bore into you with heavy emotion that you are ashamed that you can read so well - concern, sympathy, desire. A mixture that you remind yourself you don’t deserve.

“Yeah, baby. I am. You know I get sad sometimes, I’ll be fine. Are you boys ready to say goodbye for tonight? I think it’s well past your bedtime.”

You grab Steven and fuss with his hair, with his messy shirt, and then turn him around and hold him against you like a tiny human shield. “Say thank you to the sheriff for fixing the projector and for letting Robert play.”

“Thank you, sir,” your son dutifully responds.

Lee can see what you’re doing and he’s not happy with it, his mouth going flat and shoulders heaving as you pressure him into leaving.

He just nods, then nudges at Robert’s shoulder, “Say thank you for indulging us.”

“Thank you,” Robert quietly says.

You send Steven down the hallway to get ready for bed, and then you follow behind as they step toward the door, Robert too tired from a full day of play to put up a fight. Lee opens the door to the back steps, telling Robert to be careful going down. When the boy starts down a few, Lee turns back to you.

Before you can react, he’s giving you another kiss, quick but meaningful. “We’re not done,” he whispers.

“We are. Go home, Lee.”

He gives you a long look before stomping down the steps. “Til next time, Sweets.”

...

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker angst #lee bodecker fanfiction #hoedecker club #hoedecker cult #tdatt fanfiction #my writing #fic title so wrong #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader

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laequiem · 3 years

Text

kiss you off my lips - folktober day 5

Jurdannet Folktober 2021- Day 05. She who pulls the strings @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar but seen through Nicasia/Cardan Greenbriar? lol

Rating: mature

Word count: 2,532

The Puppet King, my subjects call me. Allegedly, the Living Council pulls the strings, controlling me from behind the scenes. They think themselves subtle, but I hear their whispers. Their words, however, slide off my armor like rain. After all, I have heard them countless times, from other’s lips or from my own mind. I was my mother’s puppet, then Balekin, and now I am Jude’s.

read on ao3

Masterlist • She kills my self-control masterpost

Most days—more than a King, more than a marionette—I feel like a courtesan. Dabbling in steamy displays with courtiers I am barely interested in, all to keep the façade of the immoral king. I pretend at power, desperate for a nod of approval from my seneschal, while she does all the work. Of course, she had never asked me to whore myself out.

Until today.

I do not know who started our tumbling. Maybe I did, my anger blinding me to the foolishness of what we were about to do, in that small room behind the dais. Forgetting that touching Jude again would remind me of everything I have tried to forget since that day she rode me in her rooms. When I kissed her, that anger melted away, replaced immediately with the desire I have been helplessly fighting against for years.

Or maybe this was Jude’s plan all along. She is more faerie than she seems, at least in the way she schemes and bargains. I will charm Nicasia and get her the info she wants. In exchange, she gave me what I want: her.

Her tart taste lingers in my mouth. I did not kneel for her this time, but licking her taste off my fingers made me regret not indulging that particular thirst.

I find Nicasia easily, splendid in a pearl white gown, talking to Randalin. The small sprite does not stand a chance against her. His goat eyes shift towards me, then he bows deeply. Nicasia turns to me, unable to hide her surprise and delight that I have come to her.

“Cardan,” she croons.

Randalin chokes on nothing, animal eyes going wide. I raise a brow at Nicasia and cross my arms.

“Your Majesty,” she corrects herself, a purplish tint blossoming on her cheeks. I will never tire of this.

“Princess Nicasia.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “Would you accompany me on a walk? For old time’s sake.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she beams up at me.

We make boring small talk as we walk, her arm looped around my elbow. The path leads us away from the Palace, towards the beach separating the Shifting Isles. Jude seemed to think Nicasia still liked me, and I suppose I can see it. She looks up at me with clear interest, though the conversation is as weary as can be. I work my charm up even more. A small hibiscus shrub blossoms as we walk past and I pluck a flower, tucking it in her hair with a calculated graze of my knuckles against her cheek.

The sea does not rise to greet us as we set foot on the sand.

“The sea is unnaturally calm,” I say.

I chuck off my shoes and Nicasia’s eyes dart straight to my bare feet. I hope Jude does not ask me if she was right that Nicasia still holds feelings for me, I fear I would not be able to lie.

“It is,” she says, turning back towards the sea.

I slowly uncuff my shirt for the second time today. I chase away the memories of Jude’s curious fingers on me. The way she explored and grabbed at me like she needed to figure me out, to plan out how to efficiently unravel me next time.

Next time.

I hope there is a next time.

“I must admit I am surprised,” I tell her nonchalantly, "I thought the Undersea always made true on their threats.”

I will the nearest tree to stretch out a branch towards me. I unbutton my shirt and remove it, then hang it on the branch.

“What do you mean?” Nicasia asks.

She turns to me. The way she devours me with her eyes takes me back to a time of shared wickedness and complicity. A time when it was us against the world, a time when she chose me over my siblings.

Until she chose Locke over me.

Now do you believe me that she wants you? Jude had asked. I suppose I do.

At one point, this look on Nicasia’s face would have set all my nerves on fire. Now, I feel the same as when strangers ogle me.

“Cleave together lest you face the rising tide,” I singsong, reciting the words from Queen Orlagh’s minion at the Hunter’s Moon revel in the same melody they used. “Yet the sea stays quiet. I take it your kind has another plan.”

I reach for the lace holding together my breeches and pull at the knot. Nicasia looks down at her hands, suddenly captivated by her nails.

“Perhaps,” she says too quickly. “Or perhaps we hope you will come to your senses.”

“We all hope so.”

Including me. Just not about this particular issue. My issue is of the mortal kind, the kind who deals in secrets and knives.

I hang my pants next to my shirt. Nicasia is still fully dressed, standing with her back straight and her lips tightly shut. I stop in front of her and trail a finger up her arm before slipping it under one of the straps of her dress.

“Will you not join me, Princess?”

My tail brushes up her spine and she arches towards me. I don’t wait for her to answer, though. I run into the sea.

The water is cold, unwelcoming. Before becoming High King, the salt water would not have bothered me as much. With only minor magic, only ingesting salt would have hurt me. Now, it grates at my skin like sandpaper, as if eating away my skin to get to the magic within. My magic recoils from any part of me in contact with the water. It’s heinous. I would rather take a dip in the Lake of Masks.

On the shore, Nicasia strips off her dress, hose, heels, tiara, everything. Then, she runs towards the water in a wave of blue-tinged skin and blue hair. She dives under, agile and more in her element than I could ever be.

She resurfaces next to me, a smile on her painted lips.

“Like old times,” she says.

“Like old times, but so much more complicated.” I sigh, then cast my line. “It used to be so easy.”

She takes a step towards me, biting the bait. “What was?”

And I reel it in.

“Everything,” I say with a frown. I take a step towards her, and put my hand on her cheek. “Us.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly.

“It does.” I sigh again. “Do you realize how hard it is to please everyone? The Living Council is always on my case. And my seneschal—”

She groans. “Why do you even keep her around?”

Because she commands me. Because she is the true ruler of Elfhame. Because I love her.

“I have to.”

Nicasia puts her hand over mine. Her fingers are webbed now, I notice. No gills, however. I suppose she knows I have no desire to ever follow her under again. Now that I am High King, I don’t have to—unlike when I was no more than the lover of the Future Queen of the Undersea.

I wonder if Nicasia notices the way I look at Jude. I wonder if I used to look at her like that, or if it was something else. I did love Nicasia, once, but it was never as labyrinthine.

I try to emulate that look just now, I try to look at her like I used to. Nicasia is still the same beautiful creature she always was: a perfectly symmetrical face composed of sharp angles and large, deep eyes. She is beautiful in the way a painting is, a piece of art to be admired. Just like art, she can make you feel things—but it’s nothing as primordial as what I feel for Jude. Like she is the beating heart I am tethered to.

“There are things I can choose for myself.”

I stroke her cheek with my thumb. She leans into my touch, angling her head towards my hand.

“… things?” Nicasia asks.

“Lovers. Consorts.” I lean in towards her ear and whisper, “A Queen.”

The words sound so wrong, they claw at my throat as they come out. I am surprised I can even say them, but they are not lies. I simply have no desire to make Nicasia any of these things.

“Ca—Your Majesty,” she gasps.

“We’re in private. Cardan is fine.”

I kiss the soft spot under her ear, then pull at the lobe with my teeth. Her skin tastes salty. Like seawater, of course, not the salty tang of sweat drying on skin after an exhausting training session. The point of her ear is unsettling, sharp like a blade.

“Cardan.” She slides a hand behind my neck, toying with my hair the way she knows I like. “Why refuse me so often then?”

I pull back to look at her, my hands roaming down to settle on her small waist.

“My subjects think me… young. Foolish.” I look towards the Palace, the grassy hill looming over the trees. “They already say I am a puppet.”

“They are the fools,” she spits.

I shake my head. “I am a fool. Regardless, if I were to marry so early after being crowned, they would think you the mother of puppets. The one who pulls my strings.”

“Especially given my mother’s insistence,” she says and I nod.

I pull her to me, her hips pressing against mine. Bone against bone. Wildly different from the soft but strong body I was exploring hours earlier.

“Politics, you know.” I sigh. “Tedious.”

I think I am overdoing it on the sighs, but what can I say? I am quite dramatic, even when I am not acting.

“Still,” I lean in, barely a hair’s breadth away from her face, “I have a say in whom I woo.”

Our lips crash together like waves on rocks. Hers are cold, which is fitting seeing how unaffected I am by this. It’s the kind of lustful kiss I give my partners, no feelings other than desire. My body is not fooled, however—kissing Nicasia has about the same effect on me as listening to Fala’s ramblings. I tip her head backward and she complies, malleable and utterly bewitched. My other hand slides from her hip to her buttox. I squeeze a barely-there cheek and she giggles against my mouth.

One of her hands is tangled in my hair while the other one slips from my shoulder down my back. As she has always done, she avoids my scars like they are made of iron. When we were together, I thought it was for my own sake that she never acknowledged them. That she was being kind, in her own way. When I had fresh wounds and I refused to take off my clothes, she understood. But when I ended it and my mind stormed to figure out what went wrong and led her astray, it started to feel more intentional. Like she sees my scars as weakness and she fears that touching them would contaminate her.

“I miss us,” she whispers against my lips.

I only hum an agreement, pulling away to kiss at her throat. Her hand continues its careful trek down my back, until she gets at the base on my spine. A dreadful shiver goes up my spine as I anticipate what she is about to do. Sure enough, her fingers circle the base of my tail. She strokes it, letting it slip between her fingers for the whole length of it. I jerk away, take a step back. As if to spite me, the sea places a slimy rock right under my foot and I slip, falling backwards into the water with the grace of a drunken redcap.

I spit out no less than a gallon of water as I resurface, choking on the salt that is sure to take days to leave my system. Nicasia’s mouth is twisted up in remnants of a smile, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“What happened?” she asks as I stand.

“Something… touched me,” I grumble, a faerie truth if nothing else.

She reaches out, moving a wet strand of hair away from my face. “The High King is afraid of a little fishie?”

I scowl, then splash her with water. “I am not afraid.”

Nicasia chuckles. I shrug her off, starting towards the beach.

“Leaving already?” she teases.

“My guards will start looking for me soon enough, if my seneschal isn’t already on her way.”

Nicasia grunts, probably rolling her eyes dramatically as she follows behind me. “That mortal has too much power.”

I stop in front of the branch I left my clothes on. I still feel the salt on my skin, drying there as the water drips away. I grab my tail and wring water from the tuft at the end of it.

“Does she?” I ask, bored.

“Yes!” Nicasia steps around and puts herself between me and the branch. “What will our world become if mortals do not learn their place? As their power grows, we ought to unite. The Land. The Sea.”

“Nicasia—” I start, but she interrupts me.

“The sea is growing impatient, Cardan,” Nicasia continues, a hint of irritation hidden under the usually pleasant lilt of her voice. “My mother thinks the Land is weak, she might act any moment.”

I inspect my nails, picking a grain of salt from under one of them. “If the Crown is so weak, why try to unite with us at all?”

“I want us to be united,” she spreads her hands, palm up.

“And I want to bathe. Your regnal birthright is quite cold.”

I step around her and start dressing up. Behind me, I hear her stop, then the rustling of fabric.

“Do not jest,” she scolds. “What she’s planning—you should take it seriously.”

“I do. And I will think it over, once I am warmed up.” I finish cuffing my shirt, then hold my arm out for her. “Will you accompany me?”

Arm in arm, we return to the Palace. Even without their High King, the Folk still partake in their traditional merriment. Unheeding of my vague promises and empty words, Nicasia spends the rest of the night at my side. We trade kisses and caresses for everyone to see. Later, we move to the rooms assigned to her to do more of the same, to bathe and exchange soft whispers. When I leave Nicasia’s chambers, she hands me notes regarding her mother’s plans to attack during Taryn Duarte’s wedding.

As I collapse on my bed, finally alone, I curse Jude’s name for being right. Still, her name is the last thing on my mind as I drift asleep.

tag list: @thefolkofthefic @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn

If you want to be added to my tag list, DM me!

#jurdannet #jurdan #nicardan #tfota #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #folktober2021 #folktober #jurdannetfolktober2021 #the wicked king #cardan greenbriar

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starfirette · 4 years

Note

maybe for a part two for mother!reader x armin is when armin is like 15 and she visits the scouts to see him and she ends up embarrassing him??

New Life: a direct sequel to New Start | part three is out!!

The big, round eyes you once swore would be green turned out to be blue.

And they were so eager to leave you and be a man.

It was the hardest choice you’d ever made, allowing your son to leave the village and join the cadet corps. It was what he seemed to want, so so desperately. You couldn’t tell if he wanted it as much as he wanted to follow Eren Jaeger and the Mikasa girl. Both were pleasant enough children. They stood up for your Armin more than enough times to be allowed in your household. You didn’t mind if they both showed up unannounced to take Armin on an adventure or even to eat dinner and spend the night.

Carla was a sweet enough woman who seemed to have the same concerns for Eren that you had for Armin. She wanted them to be friends and be normal children that didn’t have to worry about death and disease. It was a common scene for Carla to walk Eren and the young girl to your house with a freshly baked cherry and butter pie, made from the fresh picked cherries in the shared village orchard.

Hosting the two children was never an issue. You liked having the house filled. The boys even seemed to get Mikasa on her feet, running around and doing some sort of adventure.

Armin’s wide, blue eyes always taunted you, taunting the color green you’d imagined they’d be.

Armin had grown up to be a better young man than you could have ever hoped for. He was a sweet young boy who enjoyed his studies and never forgot his mother’s birthday. He never argued, never disobeyed, (though you like to think he naturally agreed with your set of rules).

It was one evening that he’d burst into a fit of yelling and crying when he broke the blue, crystal vase that had been your obvious favorite piece of decorum in the house. He was a smart child. He noticed how you doted on your vase. It was always filled with fresh flowers, always dusted and cleaned, and never moved from the spot on the credenza in the center of the living space.

You felt a strange sadness as you swept the pieces of thin glass up. You did your best not to let it show. Seeing Armin blubber and apologize profusely with bleeding palms from where he’d tried to mend the vase back together was a sore sight. You weren’t angry. You assured your son as much, holding him and assuring him it was only a ‘thing.’

But you cried that night in your small cot, when you were sure that he’d fallen fast asleep in his own room.

Tears were never a stranger to your household.

You were familiar with them, as you had been all your life.

You’d burst into hysterical tears when, one day, the dishes shook off the counter, clattering and crashing to the floor like an earthquake. You knew like you knew the sky was blue that there were titans. Invasion was on your mind since you’d left the Interior, but you never suspected it would be this way.

You raced to the city square to find Armin. Your boy was with Eren and Mikasa somewhere. But he was small, and tender, and he could be hurt. Your heart fell at the sight of any blond head in the nearest proximity of danger. When you found your boy, you scooped him into your arms, and you ran like you’d never run before.

It was only at the safety point when you’d set Armin down and spoke. You examined him for wounds, asking if he was alright in a straight voice while tears streamed down your face.

It was the beginning of a cruel five years. Eren Jaeger and Mikasa had become your newest children. You cared for them as best as you could. Your discreet funds of money that was stored in banks all across the walled lands did a good job of keeping you all safe and protected. You lived with Armin and the kids for seven months at the new house. It was considerably smaller, but everyone had their own bed, and they never had to worry about food being on the table.

Eventually, the time came for the children to make their choice. You’d sensed it coming from a mile away. How could you not? They were not slick. Eren spoke loudly in the nights about his plan for vengeance and justifying poor Carla’s death. And where Eren would go, Mikasa would. Then Armin would be following close behind, only stuttering when he had the least bit of hesitation.

It was easily, without a doubt, the hardest choice you’d made in your entire life to give Armin your blessing. Even after all he’d been through...he still wanted his mother’s approval.

The time came to leave the children. Their enlistment was eagerly accepted. It wasn’t assuring how quickly they’d been enrolled and cataloged. You knew that the regiments were looking to fill the mass gaps of dead soldiers.

The days of an empty house passed to months. Those winded into years.

You made the three beds every week, re~fluffing the pillows and shaking off the dust. If any of them ever wanted to come back home, you’d have to make sure they had a clean, comfy bed.

It was the motherly part of you that wished for any of them to knock on that door. Where one went, the other two followed, like the stars followed the moon.

Some days you thought of Armin. Armin, the departed husband that is. What a jovial man. You missed him often. He would have approved of the life you’d built. He would have liked Armin, the younger. He might have had better furniture choices.

Letters weren’t enough to keep you from losing your mind. The years just kept adding on, leaving you to wonder what the future held. But one particular letter caught your attention, signed and sealed with the Scout regiment’s signet. Commander Erwin called for an immediate family reunion at one of the safe castles. It would happen while it still could.

Oh, what a relief, you’d thought. You practically threw your clothes in a traveler’s case and took all the paths you could to the castle.

It was clearly a rare occasion. Several wagons and carriages were offering rides to the castle, and every passenger was a parent, aunt, or uncle, with the occasional younger siblings of the other cadets. You hadn’t considered it before, but you’d realized that you weren’t just going to see your son. You were filling the roll as a parent for two others.

Every passenger had a story to tell about their children. You all bonded on the journey with the shared thought, is their child friends with mine? Did they cry together? Train together?

One mother expressed how badly she’d hoped it would be an annual event. Soldiers hardly got leaves of absence. Who knows when you could see your child again?

The last of the wagons rolled up to the castles grandiose pathway. It was quite overgrown with shrubbery, but the look it gave was stupendous. You’d wondered if such a look could be mimicked by growing your own plants at home.

The thoughts vanished as the soldiers were brought out to the courtyard, lining up to find their family. You stood patiently. You waited for the familiar trio to appear. They wouldn’t be the exact same. You caught yourself watching for small children. Everyone here were soldiers, the real kind, albeit most being cadets. You anxiously watched. You tried not to think, “What if they’re dead?”

You’d gotten a letter from all three at least a month ago. And there was no issue of death from the corps. Still, the thought lingered.

You swayed in the breeze, smoothing your dress as you tried to remain patient.

“Mother?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you heard the familiar voice call out to you. You looked around, trying to pinpoint the voice from the crowd. You were hardly able to take a good look when you were rushed by two muscular figures. They both pounced on you, pulling you into a giant hug and delightfully exclaiming something you didn’t understand from your heart beating loudly in your ears.

“Oh, Mother,” Armin said into your head, kissing the top of your hair. He was tall.

He held onto you longer than Eren did, who had pulled back and looked down at you with a gleeful smile.

“You’re both so...tall,” you exclaimed as you pulled away to look at them both. Armin was tall and slender, but his shoulders were broad. His blond hair was clean cut to his chin as it had always been. He was always a neat person. You imagine he would be keeping up with his routine hair trims as usual.

Eren stood even taller than Armin, if that’s possible. His unruly brown hair was wavy and too long, as if he didn’t care to cut it when it grew to the tops of his ears. His shoulders were twice as broad as Armin’s, and you could see even under the uniform he’d grown quite muscular. It figures. With him being a titan, and all, it makes enough sense that he’s muscular.

It’s the first time you’d seen Eren in person since learning via letter he was one of the first of what Armin dubbed a ‘shifter.’ You tried not to let the thought show on your face. Besides, no one here seems to be giving him a hard time.

You couldn’t help but feel the tears form along your eyelashes like dew drops on a spider’s web. You had once held that little blond boy close to your chest, telling him how he had made you the happiest you’d ever been.

You meant it, and you mean it now. You couldn’t help but sniffle at the thought of your little boy all grown up.

Eren laughed while Armin smiled bashfully. “Oh, mother, there’s no need to cry,” he said, bringing you close for another hug.

You wiped your eyes with your thumbs, trying not to embarrass Armin further. “Well, young man, where is that sister of yours?” you asked Eren.

Eren’s gleeful smile faltered just slightly. “She’s not feeling well. She decided to use the day off and catch up on some rest. But she’ll join us for dinner.”

You couldn’t imagine the pain she’d be feeling right about now. It’s no surprise that she’d not felt up to the task of greeting a mother that wasn’t even her own.

Even in Eren’s eyes-who was doing his best to be strong-had a distant sort of grief that lingered in his eyes, especially at the sight of you adjusting Armin’s clothes.

“Mother, I’ll show you to your room,” Armin said, linking his arm in yours. You fondly accepted Eren’s offer to link your other arm in his own. You asked the boys thousands of questions, intently enjoying their answers.

The castle towered tall above you, the rooftops that arched up being blushed with the shadows of the bushy tree tops. You were only one of the many mothers being escorted gently through the vast castle built with limestone that was polished down to perfect edges. Parents and siblings were being taken on grandiose tours, all while being hugged and pulled by their solider children.

“This is where the survey corps lives?” you asked. Armin nodded ambitiously, a smile curved wide on his mouth. “We move around sometimes depending on where we’re being deployed, but this is where we usually are.”

“It’s huge!” you awe. The castle seemed ancient. Every turn had a piece of character that felt ageless and wiser beyond even your own years. Thought vast, the castle was well kept. You couldn’t find a single cobweb, even if you wanted to.

“Tell me about it,” Eren groaned as he touched his forehead. “It’s a real bitch to clean.”

You looked at the boy in shock, your mouth open. “Why, Eren, where have you heard such language?”

Eren looked to Armin for help as he floundered for an answer. He couldn’t quite form one, so his mouth contorted uneasily. “I-Well I mean...I...I’m sorry.”

You playfully told him you’d allow it this once.

You felt so happy to see the two boys grown and healthy. Armin’s soft hands had doubled in size. He once had such chubby, little hands that gripped your finger tightly for comfort. Always sticky, even one thumb tucked in his mouth.

Though his face was the same, he looked so different in every other aspect. But, this thought was comforted by the matter of Armin being the same in personality as he has always been. He still wore the little timid smile of someone bursting to the seams with words he wants to share. He always has something interesting on his mind. His intelligence had even taken you aback when he was a child. He certainly didn’t get that from you.

You figured it was a trait inherited by his birth mother or his biological grandfather. Truthfully, those are the only relatives of his that you know. After adopting him, you tried to dig up more information about his family. You would have liked for him to have the answers to the questions he’d one day ask.

“Walk faster,” Eren said in an urgent voice.

“Oh, God,” Armin said under his breath. “Let’s go back that way.”

The two young boys-young men- were now trying to steer you in a jarring direction. “What’s wrong?” you asked, starting to pull your arms away from them.

“Mom, he’ll see us!” Armin urged you in a loud whisper, attempting to push you into walking.

“It’s too late, he’s coming,” Eren said in a stiff voice. “We can’t-He’s looking right at me. He’s looking right at me!”

“Who’s looking at who?” you asked desperately trying to understand.

“At ease, cadets,” a smooth voice said. It came from the figure you finally spotted striding towards you, encased in a not so tall, but lean figure. “I presume this is Mrs. Arlert?”

The words struck you in the chest. Armin’s face became screwed and red as he looked down at his feet. “That’s not her name, captain,” Armin quickly said. “But yes, she is my mother. Y/n L/n.”

You didn’t let the hurt bleed into your expression. “I am Armin’s mother. It’s wonderful to meet you. What’s your name?”

“Levi Ackerman, ma’am,” the man said, holding out a hand to shake yours. You realized why the boys had wanted to run away. The famed captain Ackerman was mentioned in plenty of your letters from all three of the children, even Mikasa’s. Though Mikasa mentioned him only when she asked for favors for you, namely ancestry research. She wanted to know if she could be related to the man at all, since she’d never met any other person with the name. While your efforts proved weak, she’d appreciated the attempt.

Meanwhile, Eren and Armin mostly wrote about the man to complain. He was mean, you’d heard. Stern and, as Eren put it, “A major jerk.”

The captain Ackerman doesn’t leave me side; ever. I’d say he’s obsessed with me, but I know it’s because he doesn’t trust me. My power is one that has to be heavily monitored. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish that, at least, my supervisor could be someone nicer. Someone taller, at least, so I don’t have to look down all the time. It’s strange to be chewed out by someone two heads shorter. Note, auntie, this is an estimate.

You shook the captain’s calloused hand. It was a stark difference from the curtseying and bowing from when you were among the society in the interior. The thought of a woman shaking a man’s hand without wearing a glove was ghastly; it was intimate. This part of etiquette was so deeply engrained in your mind that you blushed at the feeling of the captain’s skin against yours.

It was enough to keep you from thinking about Armin.

You’d given him the information about his true name just in case he ever wanted, or needed, to use it. You didn’t expect him to ever go by it. It did hurt, though, to think of your boy being Armin Alert, and not Armin L/n.

“I can easily see where Armin gets his grace,” the captain said in a smooth, deep voice, looking almost proudly to Armin.

Eren looked shocked at your left side, and even Armin’s mouth fell agape. “Your son is quite the tactician,” the captain continued.

You chuckle. “He certainly is. Armin’s been impressing me with his brain since he was a baby.”

Armin laughed nervously. “Mother, we don’t need to share that,” he said in a shy voice. You couldn’t help but continue to gush. You rarely bragged about your child, mostly because your neighbors at home had lost their children and it was a sore subject to speak of.

“Well, captain, I’ve heard so much about you,” you said, offering the man a warm smile. He was awfully handsome with his dark hair that grazed the edges of his jaw.

“If I had realized I’d meet the beautiful famed mother, I would have dressed for the occasion,” Levi said with a remarkably steady voice. You felt your cheeks rush with warmth while Eren forced a loud, awkward cough. It sounded as though he was hacking up a piece of his lung. “We’d better get aunt Y/n to her room, ey Armin?”

“Yeah,” Armin said in a short voice. “I mean yes! Yes, yes, we-yes. She’s tired.”

“She’s exhausted,” Eren added, holding his hands over your shoulders and massaging them for good measure. You raised your eyebrows.

“She’s also so hungry,” Armin added loudly. “She’s starving.”

“There’s a buffet going in the mess hall until mid noon,” Levi suggested. “And then tomorrow there will be a large breakfast party.”

You looked at your son with a teasing look of shame. “Why, you boys never mentioned a party. I would have brought my good dress.”

“As if you’d need a good dress,” Armin teased. “We can go out to town. There’s going to be available transportation all day for your visit. It’s very exciting. I’ve even been dismissed from my chores!”

Eren sent a small glare to the captain. “I wasn’t dismissed from my chores,” he grumbled.

“Unfortunately, Jager, you’re one of my favorite cadets. I just can’t spend a minute without you,” the captain said humorously. It made you laugh, to Eren’s horror. “I hope to be seeing you again during your stay, Missus L/n.”

“Oh, it’s just Miss, captain. I am widowed.”

Armin took a pause in his breath. “...Widowed?”

You realized then that you slipped, too. “Unmarried, I meant,” you corrected yourself, albeit too late.

You could see that even Levi knew the well intended flirting was over. Clearly you and your son had things to talk about, and soon. The matter of the surname would likely not compare to Armin’s questions, especially considering that you never spoke of your old life, or your family (this very well may be the reason Armin chose to use his other name in the first place).

“It was a pleasure, Miss,” the captain said before taking a small bow and walking away. You didn’t have time to notice that the bow was not common for people beyond the interior. “I’m going to go meet Connie’s family,” Eren said calmly, though you felt is was more directed to Armin than you.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Eren,” you softly bid the boy as he prepared to walk away, leaving his best friend to the awkwardness that would ensue.

You looked up at your son with half a smile; he looked uncomfortable. Your boy was doing that thing he did when he was too afraid to say or admit something--he rubbed his palms together nervously, as if he were trying to start a fire. “I’m not angry with you,” you told him before you said anything else. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you added.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Armin explained, sounding shaky as he averted his eyes to the floor. “You haven’t told me anything about your family. Your life couldn’t have started only when I was adopted. I just-I just want to know my history.”

You took a breath. “My days living in the Interior were not something I enjoyed. It was a vastly different lifestyle that I did not enjoy, and likely couldn’t ever enjoy again. Yes. I was married. To a man also called Armin. The marriage was arranged, and he and I held no romantic feelings for one another.”

“Did you have children with him?” Armin asked, his voice quiet.

“None, my love,” you assured him, wishing you could just stroke his hair and cuddle him tight like you did during his infancy. “I am so sorry that I haven’t...That I have failed to be more forthright with you.”

Armin failed so say anything. He stood motionless. “May you please not flirt with Captain Ackerman again?” he finally said, looking exasperated.

Your eyes widened. “O-Oh. I’m so so sorry, honey, I just-You-Of course. I swear to not flirt with anyone. Although, I can’t say that I started that. Rather, you should tell the captain not to flirt with your mother again.”

Armin went beet red in the cheeks. “You can’t just tell the captain what and what not to do, mother,” he said in a low and eerie voice; it was as if someone had made such a mistake before, and Armin had witnessed the consequences first hand.

“Armin,” you said quietly.

“I mean it, mother, he once kicked Eren in the face!” Armin went on to exclaim.

“My dear, I could care less about the captain,” you tell your son firmly. “I admit that I was surprised to hear that you use your biologicals name. And for a split second, it did hurt. But, you are your own person. You have been through things grown men haven’t seen. I am so proud of you. No matter what name you go by, you will always be my dear son. I will always love you with all my heart.”

Armin’s eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth turned into a dimpled smile. “I love you, too, mother,” he said. He brought you close for a hug. He kissed the top of your head as you had always done to him during his youth.

Some things were bound to never change.

Armin would always be your intelligent, kind hearted, good tempered son. When he walked, you could only see his toddling down the hallways of your old home. When he laughed, it reminded you of his gasping giggles as he was fondly amused by something some insignificant.

Armin linked his arm with yours one more time. “Let’s get to your room, now,” he said with a happy grin.

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nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice · 4 years

Note

I couldn't really get into Azula, tbh. I mean, she is a Whole Look and I appreciate her lack of chill, but she felt like she needed more dimension.

AIGHT! LOOKS LIKE IT’S TIME TO WRITE SOME MORE AZULA META. Because I’m not about to have one of the most complex antagonists in television history slandered like this.

If you want to talk dimensions, let’s start there. From the basis of her actions, we can characterize Azula as many things: manipulative, ruthless, ambitious, and lacking in empathy. We see her as a military strategist: commanding the drill to go through the wall, conquering Ba Sing Se by staging the coup, and planning the destruction of the Earth Kingdom with Sozin’s Comet. We see her as a master manipulator: convincing Mai and Ty Lee to join her hunt in season 2, convincing Zuko to betray Iroh, lying to Ozai about Zuko killing Aang, and stalling Sokka at the invasion by taunting him about Suki. We see her trying to kill her brother and uncle all throughout season 2 just on her father’s orders, shooting Aang with lightning in the season 2 finale, almost killing Zuko multiple times in season 3, and nearly killing Katara in Sozin’s Comet.

So from her actions, we can characterize her simply as power-hungry and lacking in empathy, sure, but it’s in her motivations that her dimensions lie. And everything, everything Azula does in this show is to prove to her father that she’s worthy of his favoritism.

We’re introduced to Azula in season 1 indirectly via Zuko and we know some things about their father already. The two main things being the whole ‘burned half of Zuko’s face off and banished him for speaking out of turn and refusing to fight him’ and the whole “[their] father said [Azula] was born lucky” and “[Zuko] was lucky to be born.” At the end of season 1, Ozai calls Zuko “a miserable failure” and we see him about to send this mysterious sister figure to do something about that. We know that Ozai had absolutely no sympathy whatsoever for his son and horrifically, publically abused him over what exactly? Showing weakness.

That’s what we know from season 1. With Azula’s introduction in season 2, it’s clear that their upbringing was way more messed up than just this one instance. We start to see that there are these cracks in the royal family and the manipulation and callousness goes way beyond Zuko’s banishment.

From the Zuko and Iroh plot of The Avatar State, there are a couple key moments where themes of favoritism, perfectionism, and jealousy enter. It starts with the three-year anniversary of Zuko’s banishment where he’s sitting in self-loathing just wanting his “father not to think [he’s] worthless,” holding onto Ozai’s approval as the achievable thing that will mean he’s worth something. We see Azula practicing lightning bending (something we have never seen a firebender do on the show before, it is clear that she is incredibly talented) but still berates herself for being ‘one hair out of place’. We see Zuko lash out at Iroh for implying that Ozai might not really want him to come home despite what Azula says, and we know that Iroh genuinely cares about Zuko and wants him to be safe, but Ozai doesn’t. Iroh introduces the concept that “things in [their] family are not always as they seem, but Zuko reduces this to sibling rivalry, and there’s a reason why. Zuko and Azula have been raised under a competition for their entire lives, and for that entire time, Azula was winning. And by this point she’s still winning. She’s ecstatic that she’s the favorite child while Ozai wants to “lock [Zuko] away where he can no longer embarrass him”. By the end of this episode, one thing is clear: Azula and Zuko are competing with each other. Only one of them can be good enough for their father. But while Zuko takes his first step to cut himself off, Azula doesn’t want to stray from this competition that she’s winning.

In Zuko Alone, this favoritism goes deeper. Just like with Ozai, Ursa’s approval and love is conditional, but these are conditions Azula isn’t meeting. She’s not as empathetic or sweet as Zuko and their mother isn’t shown treating her with the same affection as she does with Zuko. It’s not just Ozai favoring Azula over Zuko with that one scene of Ozai smiling when Azula performs her firebending and frowning when Zuko performs his, it’s Ursa favoring Zuko over Azula. It’s Ursa treating Zuko with gentleness and care and only reprimanding Azula for the way that she is.

Despite the fact that she’s obviously getting all her ideas from her father. This mentality of ‘I must do anything for the throne, even throw my own sibling under the bus,’ is all from Ozai. And when Ursa leaves, there’s no one to keep her in check. There’s only one parent to win the affection of and she’s already succeeding because all she has to do is be a better firebender. All she has to do is follow Ozai’s example of callousness and ruthlessness in order to be the favored child. And keep in mind, being ‘the favored child’ under this roof isn’t something petty, it means ‘one of you gets to be the heir and the other might not be allowed to live.’ This episode reveals what’s been going on in Zuko and Azula’s head this whole time. It reveals that they’re both constantly thinking that only one of them is going to be seen as worthy in their father’s eyes, as they were taught to believe that Ozai was more ‘worthy’ than Iroh since Iroh retreated from Ba Sing Se after Lu Ten died. And the other one, the one that wasn’t seen as worthy, that one was ‘disposable.’ And for most of their lives, the ‘disposable’ one was Zuko.

But while Zuko spends most of the series slowly learning, with Iroh’s help, that the situation shouldn’t have been like this, that parental love and protection shouldn’t have to be conditional, Azula is still stuck in this mentality. And season 2 is full of examples of Azula doing everything in her power to prove herself to Ozai. Her task was to just bring Zuko and Iroh home for imprisonment, but along the way she added ‘capturing the Avatar’ and ‘conquering Ba Sing Se’ as additional tasks for herself. Why? Because those were the things Iroh and Zuko failed at doing. And she needs to prove that she’s better than them, otherwise what’s going to stop Ozai from deciding that she’s the person who he’s going to be disappointed in next? But if she does these things, if she conquers Ba Sing Se, if she finds the Avatar, that means she’ll still be considered useful to him, right? That means she’s the one who “has father’s love,” right?

Because that’s what Azula strives to be over anything else: useful. She wants to be the person he relies on. The child he believes in. There’s a really good example of this early in season 2 when Azula goes to Omashu to get Mai:

Azula takes control of the situation. She doesn’t really have anything to do with this city or the fake plague or the hostage trade. This is entirely the governor's responsibility and she’s just there to pick up her friend, but since she’s there, she has to make sure things are in order for her father. So she strips the governor of his power, takes control of the hostage situation to ensure that Bumi doesn’t slip through her fingers, and renames the city ‘New Ozai’ just for good measure. We see Azula as the actual proactive villain for all of season 2 and she would be well within her rights to name the city after herself. But she doesn’t. Because that’s not why she’s doing anything she’s doing.

The flashback showing where she suggests burning down the Earth Kingdom reveals a lot with her body language. She suggests this by interrupting Zuko, who’s more resistant to the idea to ‘destroy their hope.’ He doesn't agree with Ozai’s idea, but she needs to show that she’s on her father’s side. She’s the one who can be as ruthless and destructive as he is. So she suggests this and looks to Ozai for approval, and once he gives it, that’s when she looks pleased. The actual plan to destroy the Earth Kingdom isn’t what brings her joy at this moment, it’s Ozai’s approval of her suggestion. We didn’t see her clap once his back was turned. This isn’t about the plan itself, it’s about Azula’s ability to be the heir she thinks Ozai wants her to be.

And it’s in this moment in Sozin’s Comet shows exactly where Azula’s been coming from this whole time:

This whole time, it hasn’t been about the destruction. It hasn’t been about what she wants. It’s been about being the favored child. It’s about being better than Zuko. In Azula’s eyes, she’s done everything right. She’s master lightning. She wasn’t the traitor like her brother or uncle. She conquered Ba Sing Se. She showed her father that she was on board with the destruction of the Earth Kingdom and proved her loyalty. She did everything right. But there’s a part of her that was waiting for this shoe to drop for years, ever since she watched her brother get his face burned off for not meeting Ozai’s standards. And she sure as hell remembers that all throughout the series and it shows: she can’t afford to be imperfect because she knows the consequences if she’s not.

But in this moment, her fear shows. Her fear of not being good enough. The fear of being imperfect, disposable. She’s been terrified of this moment her whole life and has done everything to delay it. This moment: where Ozai casts her aside, where she isn’t good enough to come with him in her eyes. There’s no one left but her: no Iroh, no Zuko, no Ursa. Everyone else left and there’s no one else to compete with. And she’s left alone with this meaningless position of Firelord now that Ozai’s about to declare himself ‘Phoenix King’ and she clings onto that position because it’s her last chance to prove herself after this rejection.

She goes off the deep end because she’s all alone. She’s snipped out anyone who was imperfect. She cut off her friends once they betrayed her. Azula isolated herself on the throne and demanded perfection because that’s what she saw her father do. Family wasn’t important to him. Loyalty and perfection were. So that’s the example she follows but it’s lonely and terrifying, so she loses herself. All her fears about not being good enough come back up after Ozai leaves her behind. That’s why she mentions Mai and Ty Lee. That’s why she sees Ursa. These are the people who didn’t choose her, and now that her father has left her behind and she hasn’t met his standards for the first time in her life, all those vulnerabilities and insecurities come to the surface. The thing Azula fears most over anything else is rejection, which is why she’s obsessed with perfection. Because she’s been taught that if she’s good enough: if she perfects her firebending technique, if people fear and respect her, and if people choose her, then that means she’s not disposable.

And at the end, she’s the one who challenges Zuko to an Agni Kai. To prove one last time that she is worthy. That she was worthy all along and that her father was right to choose her to be Firelord.

And there’s an interesting parallel to consider here. The first time we ever see Azula is at Zuko’s Agni Kai with Ozai in the season 1 flashback, and at that one she’s smiling at her brother getting punished because it signifies to her that she won. Ozai picked her. Zuko was the disposable one. And in the end she wants that to still be true and finds that it’s not. In the end she loses and she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she’s the one cast aside.

And that’s the tragedy of Azula, really. This entire time she was conditioned to think that her value and the value of the people around her rested in perfection and she spent the entire series trying to prove herself. She was convinced that love was something that needed to be earned and that if she didn’t get results, if she didn’t win, then she didn’t deserve it.

And that’s just a small piece of her character if we’re being honest. This doesn’t get into the details of how Ursa’s treatment shaped her, how her relationship with Zuko was ruined by their parents, how her bending is a reflection of her mental state, or how he relationship with Mai and Ty Lee reflects her view of herself and others. Azula is one of the most complex villains in television history not only because she has a rich backstory, interesting motivations, or unique persona, but because underneath everything, she’s just a teenage girl who doesn’t wants her dad’s approval and is so deeply terrified of being cast aside. She may be ruthless and she may lack empathy, but those traits stem from deeply rooted damage and vulnerability.

(For some more Azula meta I did a deep dive into how The Beach foreshadows her breakdown and reveals her vulnerabilities and here where I talked about how she and Zuko were pitted against each other and had their relationship damaged by parental favoritism.)

#hot leaf meta #azula #atla #zuko #ursa #ozai #iroh #avatar the last airbender #sozin's comet #zuko alone #the avatar state #the babes are asking #I kind of feel that this ask might have been a joke #but I needed to get some meta out of my system #long post #what does that tag even do?#does anyone actually have 'long post' as a blocked thing?#tw: abuse

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liptonsbabe · 3 years

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Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! reader

Chapter 1,

Chapter 2,

Chapter 3,

Chapter 4,

Chapter 5,

Chapter 6

Summary: The Weasley family have traditions about marriage and Bill has to respect them if he truly wants the reader become his wife. In the attempt to respect his family wishes the weasleys have to visit reader’s grandparent Tim Grant who has a lot of things to say

Word count: 5K TOO LONG I’M SO SORRY

Warnings: none(?

A/N: Hey! part 6 of this thing. I’m so sorry to update this late but it was a complicated chapter and the longest so far. I’ll try to make small chapters from now on and the wedding is aproching, you guys!! i’m sooo excited to publish that part but we have to wait a little more for that.

So, as i’ve said in the last chapter, i changed some things from de canon like Bill being attacked by Grayback and such. it’s just for the plot of this series ok? hope you don’t mind guys.

Anyways, like always, english not my mother language so pls let me know if somethings wrong. Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Your life is not enough

You needed a couple of weeks to fully recover, even if it meant having Bill on your back every hour and taking you away from your duties with the Order. The mission that Remus Lupin gave you had to wait until further notice, all for William's excessive concern about your wounds

The task of keeping you away was complicated, more so when the Death Eater attacks had gained strength that no one expected. The members of the order spent twenty-four hours a day on watch with no time for breaks, even Bill went three days without sleep until you, still recovering , left the room and dragged him back with you regardless of his constant complaining. Molly supported you in the decision - thank god - telling her son not to worry that the rest of the Order would keep their eyes fully opened and he could rest comfortably next to you

The drastic change in Mrs. Weasley's behavior confused you because there was no reason for it, but the relief helped make your recovery quicker and less painful. The healer who you the morning after the accident with the Death Eaters took too long to close the wound as it was a curse wound and it needed a counter spell to heal properly, but not having one, he used other tactics and Dittany to help it heal. However, the help had come too late, and the scar was a throbbing fact that stung terribly when you made the slightest move. The healer said the burning and discomfort would go away with time, but the redness would stay forever. You thought that would be the last of your problems until you got your first glimpse of the result of the attack.

It was a disastrous thing, but it could have been much worse. You sighed as you looked at your disheveled image in the bathroom mirror. You had just taken a shower and Bill was still dressing in the bedroom. You took off the robe Ginny had given you a night before, watching the scar glisten across the valley of your breasts ending above your ribs. You sighed again, if you didn't consider yourself pretty before, at that moment you felt awful.

A new figure appeared in the reflection accompanied by a bright smile. William wore his white shirt tucked into his pants, his bow tie dangling from his collar and his suspenders placed perfectly flush against his shoulders. You smiled, looking at him through the mirror.

“Getting used to your dazzling new short hair?” You asked as you noticed Bill's nervous hand run over his head for the fifth time after the shower. Bill groaned, burying his face in your neck.

“I hate this style”

“And why did you cut it off, then?”

“Mom made me," he stated, tightening his hands around your waist, "She wants me to make a good impression, and for once I wanted to please her in something”

“Wow, your mom wanting to impress my family? That's new”

“Well, not every day you get to visit Lord Voldemort's brother," you gave him a bad look, smacking his hand, "Too soon for a joke, sorry”

You shook your head, escaping from Bill's embrace putting perfume behind your ear, on your wrists and neck. You gasped when a small drop of perfume touched your wound, reddening it. Your eyes lost in the scar again, knowing that even if your dress managed to cover most of it, the initial edges would be exposed like the body of a worm crawling through your clothes. Bill discovered your discontent. He hugged you again, running his fingertips over your sore skin as he kissed your bare shoulder. Maybe you couldn't see it, but for Bill you were perfect. Not just for the way you looked, but the beautiful heart that, even if he didn't deserve it, you had given him without any qualms. You deserved to be appreciated by the rest of the world, not just by him.

“I love you. You know that, don't you?”

“Even with the scar?”

“With the scar even more. It shows how brave you are and you should be proud of it. You saved Mad-Eye”

“The others will see it”

“It's their problem, not yours. You're still the most beautiful woman in this world.

You smiled, stroking the short hair of the man behind you.

“Not as much as that”

“You're right. I stand corrected. You are the most beautiful woman in both worlds”

“William...”

“I'll help you get dressed," he said, noticing that you were blushing up to your ears. William smiled without understanding why a sweet comment could make you blush, but not the fact that he was looking at you naked from the waist up. He picked up the dress hanging on the dresser reaching over to help it over your head pulling it down gently so as not to hurt you. Then, he zipped up your back leaving a wet kiss on your neck.

Bill's false calm didn't go unnoticed by you. As you smoothed the folds of your dress you noticed the trembling in his hands and the way his feet drummed on the floor. He was playing with the zipper of your dress pulling it up and down, trying to calm his nerves

“Bill, it's not necessary to do this”

“It is!” He replied looking up. You turned to him, crossing your arms around his neck, "I want to respect the traditions, to do things right. I want to show everyone that we mean business. It's just that...”

“My grandfather scares you?”

“What? No” You raised an eyebrow “Okay, maybe a little”

“You don't need to talk to him. He'll understand”

“I want to”

You gave in to Bill's pout. A few days ago, just after he asked you to marry him, Arthur Weasley spoke to his son asking him how he would go about keeping the traditions of the family. Bill didn't seem to understand what he was referring to when his father explained that the Weasleys used to always, always, visit the bride's parents' home right after the engagement to ask for their approval. Offerings were usually brought in a show of respect and the parents in question would respond by offering dinner for the guests. Bill's eyes widened, was that a real tradition?, he didn't know, “why didn't you ever tell me about it!” he questioned his father in a shout. Arthur knew about his son's untimely ignorance, returning the accusation, “Would that have made any difference on your desire to have her as your wife?” Bill didn't have to think too hard. “Of course not!” he shouted and his father laughed, patting him on the shoulder. His son was brave and would have asked for his bride's hand even from Voldemort himself. Bill was lucky tho cause he only had to talk to the old alchemist Tim Grant.

Your grandfather was the only one in the family who seemed to be neutral in the war caused by his brother, but above all he was the person who loved you most as you had both been banished from the Grants for standing up for your own convictions. Maybe Tim wasn’t an active member of either side, however, the blood connection with his brother Tom Riddle sent shivers down the spines of those around him. The man isolated himself in the Galapagos islands dangerously close to a volcano, where he was sure his brother wouldn’t dare to look for him. The Weasleys, hearing the story from your lips didn’t understand why.

You used a portkey to get to your grandfather's house. Arthur had communicated with Tim hours earlier and the two of them managed to establish a connection undetected for the ministry thanks to the old Grant's powerful magic and his skills as an alchemist. You couldn't hide your excitement at seeing your grandfather again, which encouraged Bill's eagerness to formally introduce himself to his next.... grandfather-in-law?

“Well then, but you don't have to worry. Grandpa is a very understanding man”

“Yeah, I'm sure he is”

“Bill Weasley, who knew talking to an old man would make you so nervous?”

“Very funny” he rolled his eyes, gluing his forehead to yours “I just want him to like me, (Y/N)”

“He likes everyone”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“It will when you talk to him and see there's nothing to be afraid of” You stood on your tiptoes cause even with your high heels you couldn't reach his height. You kissed his cheek, snatching a warm smile from him “He's not like the rest of my family”

“I didn't mean to imply that, I'm sorry”

“It's all right, I know you didn't mean it. Now let's go downstairs, your mother must be going crazy”

“As if she wasn't already”

You slapped his arm as you descended the stairs. You didn't want Molly to hear them and relive her recently dissipated discontent with you

The rest of the family were already near the portkey with their arms full of baskets with offerings for your grandpa and the twins carrying some strange ornaments. Bill's sister Ginny greeted you with a smile, handing one of the baskets to her older brother. Molly and Arthur approached their children, both hanging on the opposite arm dressed in their best sunday clothes to make a good impression. You smiled without waiting for Bill's mother to smile back.

After the accident at Little Whinging Molly's rudeness disappeared. Not that she accepted you with open arms, but she stopped making bad comments and avoided looking at you in a bad way. Bill didn't know what Mad-Eye said to his mother that night when he told everyone how you had saved him knowing how much he owed you, but Bill didn't understand the size of the changing till he saw his mother offer you a piece of litchi pie the night after the attack when you were recovering from the wound. It was not that big of a deal really, but it had left you with a permanent smile on your face.

It was Molly herself who had taken the initiative to encourage Bill to fulfill the family tradition. If a Grant was going to come into their home as their son's wife then she should do it the way they knew. Her first piece of advice to her son was cutting his hair to a normal length. Bill was horrified by his mother's words cause he knew she was taking advantage of the moment to make him suffer with his precious mane. He did it anyway, because there wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for you

It was a drastic change, but it was worth it. Molly saw your eyes sparkle at the sight of her son so changed, with his hair cut short and his beard shaved. Your fingers danced over his face appreciating the effort Molly, not yet convinced of your influence at home, had made for you. Molly stifled a smile, unaware even to herself, that you were slowly beginning to win her heart.

You touched the shuttle at the same time falling precipitously in the sand and Harry helped you up with a smile. Then you walked straight appearing in front of a huge house that was sheltered by the foothills of the bubbling volcano on the other side of the island. The twins, like the rest of the family, let out an exclamation of astonishment as Ron, harried by the huge spiders hovering in the sand, ran for the door.

The smell of freshly cooked food escaped through the cracks in the door before it was opened. The twins' eyes widened as they recognized the delicious smell of cooked prawns and coconut sauce wafting over their heads. You knocked on the door three times, then stopped and resumed the knocking four more times. The Weasleys watched you, did you have a special code to communicate with each other?

"Come in" You gave way to them closing the door behind you and sealing it with an unknown spell. Bill waited for you at the threshold as his family was already making their way to the table where a very well dressed Tim Grant was waiting for them sitting in the main chair. Bill looked at him from his position, shaking “We still have time to run away” you joked “If you're not ready...”

“I am," he said confidently.

“Okay”

You both walked toward the dining room. Tim was greeting the rest of the family enthusiastically. Bill sighed. At least Tim seemed to get along with his parents, so that was good. They all filled a seat, with Tim occupying the head and Arthur the opposite end; Molly sat on Tim's right side and you sat on Mr. Weasley's right side. The twins, Ron, Harry and Ginny took the middle seats leaving Bill the only vacant spot on Tim's left side. Bill took a breath before taking the seat and receiving a curious look from the man.

“Ah, how wonderful is to have more people to fill the empty spaces! A table this big doesn't serve any purpose unless it's fully occupied, does it? That's what I always say!”

“Don't you usually get many visitors?” asked Molly, breaking the ice. Bill felt sweat trickle down his back. Tim guffawed, patting the back of Molly's hand on the table.

“I’m afraid so. I think that is cause I'm the only one crazy enough to live near an active volcano and my family's fame doesn't help me much either, I'm generally a lonely man. Most of the time it's frustrating, but I can deal with it. You are a big family from i can see, are they all yours, Arthur?”

“Only the redheads," he replied. You recognized in his tone of voice a slight pride “The other one is...”

“Harry Potter” Tim Grant's eyes sparkled with recognition. He looked at Harry with a smile, bowing his head to him in respect. Harry did the same “I know him. He's the guy who's been giving my brother headaches”

Tim's laughter echoed through the house being followed by the twins and you cleared your throat to get his attention. Tim spotted you from across the table waving his hand dismissively.

“Grandpa, please”

“A little joke to lighten the mood, my dear, oh, are these for me?” he questioned, bringing closer the baskets offered by the Weasleys resting on the table. Bill's basket was in front of him waiting to be properly delivered, so he stood up and did as he should. Tim Grant gladly received it, complimenting the selection they had made “What a cute boy, did you see him, dear,? he's gone red!”

You let out a chuckle, nodding at your grandfather's words. Bill's face was flushed as he returned to his spot and looked down at his hands. Tim guffawed again and banged the table.

“I appreciate the gifts, Arthur, I've never been part of a tradition like this before”

“It was important for my son and the rest of us to do it, to introduce ourselves properly”

“Sure! It's what a family with honor does. I'm not surprised. No, not at all. The Weasleys were in the book of the sacred twenty-eight for a long time until they were struck off the list. Tell me, that was quite a blow, wasn't it?”

“Not so much, my family has never cared about that sort of thing”

“Of course! It never did, I could see it up close. Did you know I was friends with your grandmother, Lysandra Yaxley?”

Arthur's eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Really. My family also once belonged to the most important pureblood families until I was born, of course. Lysandra and I became friends because her family also got kicked off the list when Cedrella, your mother, married your father Septimus Weasley. Even your grandfather Arcturus was removed from the Black family tree which was an embarrassment for him being that the ancestral Black family is too proud and such. Anyway, that's part of life, right? Creating new families, bringing people together...”

“Was your family always purebloods?” Fred asked. Tim shook his head

“It was. As I mentioned, before I made my appearance in this world”

“Why?”

Tim was suddenly silent. You scanned your grandfather's face waiting for an answer. Dinner plates flew in from the kitchen and positioned themselves at each guest's place setting while a huge chocolate fountain was set up in the center accompanied by a plate overflowing with assorted fruit. The baskets took a turn and took a place on your grandpa's shelves. Tim sighed, looking at the Weasleys asking to begin dinner.

“I’m the son of a witch, but not of a pure blood wizard”

“Don't you and Lord Voldemort share the same father?”

“Harry...”

”It's all right, Molly, I can answer that” Tim rubbed his chin, thinking “I understand your concern boy, being hide here doesn't make me ignorant to what's going on out there and I know better than anyone what you're going through. You need weapons against my brother and you do well. Tom is a big threat, a very big threat indeed. You're right, Tom and I don't share a father, but that doesn't make him any less my brother.

“I think we're straying from the subject that brought us here” mentioned Arthur feeling a sudden warmth. You supported him, but Tim continued to speak

“I was the son of Merope Gaunt and Aleister Grant. My father was a famous son, grandson and great-grandson of brilliant alchemists, and unsurprisingly he was one himself. Merope Gaunt was... a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin and a Parselmouth. She had a brother named Morfin and my grandfather was Sorvolo Gaunt. My parents met when the Gaunts had just moved to Little Hangleton after their exile and needed a place to stay. They became the owners of a squalor ridden shack on the edge of town and well, my father was a young alchemist who lived near the Gaunt abode”

You sipped from your wine glass as you listened to your grandfather speak. Never, even with the rest of the family, had he ever struck such a chord as he was doing with the Weasleys. The truth was that you didn't understand why he was telling them all that, however, you weren’t interested in interrupting the story as you knew your grandfather had a purpose with him.

“Those of us who are dedicated to alchemy have never enjoyed an enviable reputation because our transmutation abilities are mostly underestimated by the things that magic in general can produce and it makes a science like alchemy reserved for muggles in their attempt to approach the power that the wizards possess. Personally I think there is something right about that, precisely cause the transmutation in the Muggle world is divided into subjects they taught in schools like chemistry or physics, but alchemy goes beyond that, it’s a connection between the wizard and the spirituality that each one possesses...” the man's gaze was lost in a place at the table, pausing the story. Harry settled back on the seat waiting for him to continue “But it's very difficult to erase the deep-rooted ideas about it, so the best is ignore that and continue doing what we believe is right. Anyway, ah! I got off topic, didn't I? Okay, okay, well my parents ended up meeting and my father fell in love with my mother as fast as my socks get cold at night, but that infatuation wasn’t well regarded by my uncle and even less by my grandfather, of course, for the fame of the alchemists at the time”

“So what happened?” you asked. Tim smiled at you, taking a bite of the rye bread on his plate.

“My mother was treated worse than a house- elf by her father and Morfin, so she decided to run away with my father to France where he had several alchemist friends who could protect them. The Gaunts might have been exiled, but they were still dangerous and to be honest I think my father was terribly afraid of uncle Morfin. They eventually made it to France, but they encountered an infamous muggle who tried to hurt my mother”

Everyone stopped eating to pay attention to Tim as he drank his third glass of wine. You thought that your grandfather wouldn't even be able to stand up by the end of the night.

“He was known as Gilles De Rais. He was a sadistic muggle who tried to become a wizard even though he wasn't born a wizard and used my father to tell him secrets of alchemy. One night they were having a conversation when my father revealed him that there were certain amounts of gold in people's bodies. Gold is a very valuable component, as you already know, so the man's greed didn’t take long to show itself and he questioned my dad how it could be obtained. My father told him that the only way to obtain the gold was by draining the blood and dividing it with a very complicated procedure, however, the gold of an ordinary adult was quite scarce. The real wealth was in the blood of children of no more than ten years old because they possessed a great amount of gold and other components that could be transmuted into riches. The muggle did so, and when he learned that my mother was a real witch, he wanted to know if golden blood ran through her veins, which would make him richer than he already was. My father refused, and decided to leave the place before he hurt us, because they knew she was already pregnant. The muggle went mad and unleashed in him a fury that spread throughout France”

The Weasley twins chorused an astonished murmur as the others moved up to the table so as not to miss a word of the story. You sent a glance at Bill as he hadn't stopped sweating and going over his words all evening.

"They wanted to go back to Little Hangleton but my uncle and grandfather were still in a rage waiting to see them arrive, so my father sent my mother alone while he found another place to stay as he could not expose her to the cold streets of France while on standby, so they had no choice but to leave her with her family avoiding revealing my existence to them. Uncle Morfin didn’t want my mother back, but my grandfather convinced him because they needed someone to take care of the house and their needs. Time passed, my father didn’t come back and I was born in the garden of the house while my mother watered the plants”

“My birth was a surprise to everyone because my mother knew how to hide me well until my father's arrival but, as that didn't happen, I couldn't stand it any longer and made my triumphant appearance on my grandfather's favorite bushes. Uncle Morfin was furious and even tried to get rid of me immediately, but my mother clung to me like a lioness.

“Really?”

“Really," he replied with a broad smile, "I think a part of her was still holding on to my father showing up at some point and getting us out of there, but again that didn't happen. Mom had to endure her brother and father's abuse for me and that's a debt I can never repay”

The whole table fell silent, thinking. Dinner continued as a heavy thunderstorm rumbled overhead, accompanying old Tim Grant's story as if it were yesterday. The man paused to eat and the others did the same with no desire to miss a word. Harry's eyes sparkled in wonder and Mr. Weasley's strong hand on yours helped to soothe your fervent anguish.

“I guess that's what mothers do, isn't it? Anyway, the years passed and I had to live under uncle Morfin's shadow and at the mercy of his growing wrath. When I turned five I started helping the market men with their chores in exchange for a couple of pounds which we had to exchange later for galleons and sickles to survive for two weeks. Mom helped bring money into the house, but it wasn't enough. Then, at seven, the Dream Messengers showed up one night telling me I was required to study at the Uagadou magical college in Africa so I couldn't refuse”

“Wait, Uagadou takes students from the age of seven?”

“Oh I see," the man settled back in his chair, wiping the corners of his lips with a napkin as he stared at Ron, "I forgot that the rest of the magical schools aren't very well known around here, are they? Well, yes, some schools take in very young students as is the case with Uagadou or the Japanese school. It depends a lot on the traditions in each region i guess, because in the African school they select only descendants of alchemists or who have had at least someone in their bloodline whose spirituality helped them to become one. It wasn't all as easy as that, of course, because each student had to pass a test before having a permanent stay, but....

“What kind of test?” Harry questioned when dinner was over and they start dessert. The twins were the first to help themselves a piece of fruit, playing with the chocolate fountain in the center of the table.

“One that only wizards with alchemist ancestry could pass, Mr. Potter. I passed the test so I had no choice but to move to the castle immediately. I didn't want to leave my mother alone, but she convinced me to do it. Going to Uagadou was a great opportunity for me and for her cause it meant I could follow in my father's footsteps” Tim's face suddenly darkened as he pushed away the overflowing plate of fruit Molly offered him. He folded his hands on the table and thought for a long moment. The twins continued to play with the chocolate fountain but a fierce look from their mother made them stop. Then Tim Grant sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow with the handkerchief on his coat “I regret that decision to this day. I could have gone to Hogwarts like any other wizard, but I suppose my ambition got the better of me. Maybe... if I hadn't left Little Hangleton she never would have met Tom Riddle”

You tensed as you felt the pressure of Mr. Weasley's hand on yours a little too tightly. One glance at the others was enough to understand the dread the name struck their nerves. You even caught a glimpse of the hiss on Molly's lips and saw the sting in Harry's scar. Tim let out a chuckle, taking another drink from his wine glass.

“My brother’s father. I didn't hear from him until a couple of years later, when my mother wrote to me saying that uncle Morfin was in Azkaban and that my grandfather had died. She didn't give me many details, however, she did very vaguely mention the presence of a muggle who was quite striking to her. For better or worse, my mother was already forgetting my father, believing that he had abandoned her or, at worst, that he had dropped dead somewhere in France. I didn't believe the same, but it was logical that she got tired of waiting. I would never have grown tired, at least not having loved the way they did”

Your gaze rolled to meet Bill's eyes as he looked back at you. He smiled at you, causing you to blush. Then you both looked back at your grandpa who was sipping a new glass of wine.

“It was a couple more years before I stopped hearing from my family. Mom never wrote again and with uncle Morfin in Azkaban there was nothing that could be done. When I was eleven i returned to Little Hangleton only to find that my mother had married Tom Riddle, got pregnant and he had thrown her out on the street like a dog. She was left with nothing, unable to return to her father’s old house, and was forced to wander in the streets for months, until one rainy december night she went into labor in the middle of an alley. I helped her as much as I could, dragged her to the door of an orphanage where my mother no longer even had the strength to save the three of us. She had her wand in her hand, but she never used it. She gave up in front of me, the baby was born and asked me to name him after his father. She put him in my arms, the door of the orphanage opened, but mother had already died”

“Grandpa-”

“As you can understand, it's kind of hard for me to remember all that," Tim Grant's reddened eyes closed, choking back tears, "I was just a little kid taking care of a baby and I didn't do my best job of raising him. I was upset with my mother for a long time after she died, but I don't judge her now. After living an almost totally miserable life, my mother had no hope and not enough courage to make her want to keep trying, even for the sake of her newborn son. That decision had a considerably negative impact on Tom's psyche as he was growing up I suppose cause I had to go back to school and I couldn't take him with me, I would have! Of course I would have. I tried, but Tom wasn’t descended from any alchemist and there was nothing I could do about that. I tried, Merlin knows I did. I felt the need to leave him in that orphanage. I visited him whenever I could. For a year I went back and forth from continent to continent to see him, but that wasn't enough for Tom to grow up feeling loved. Orphanage life is hard, dear friends, we shouldn’t judge others too harshly, much less a lonely mother” Tim Grant's irritated eyes were fixed on Harry, reflecting deep pain “She was weakened by her long suffering and she never had Lily Evans’ courage. Everyone sacrifices for those they love in different ways, and my mother did it in her own way”

“Why didn't you ever talk about this?” you asked from across the table. Everyone looked at you “when dad asked you so-”

“Your father didn't need any more reasons to support Tom's follies” Tim shook his head “My brother is a very convincing person not only with his family members but with anyone who gets in the way of his plans. He has a very affiliated serpentine tongue, he inherited the gift of gab from our ancestors and your father grew up under his influence”

“We're very sorry for what you had to go through, Tim, but there's nothing that can be done about you-know-who and all that's left for us to do is to fight him”

“I understand, Arthur, but that doesn't stop me from blame myself. I did what I could, but an eleven-year-old can't take the place of his parents. When I graduated from school and wanted to take care of him Tom was already at Hogwarts and completely disappeared from everyone's eye," he lamented, scrunching his eyelids together, "That was the last time I saw him as the real Tom and not the ghastly grayish mass he is now”

The twins and Ron laughed at the comment and were immediately silenced by their father. Tim scrunched up his eyes, took a breath and let out a laugh looking around the room.

“Well, enough whining, that's not what you guys are here for, is it?” Bill, that had kept silent, denied when the man turned to see him, "What's done is done, and lamenting won't do any good, but I hope that what I've just told you will help you to see Tom's human side if he still has it, which I doubt it very much”

“Thank you, sir”

“You're welcome, Harry, dear, well? What was you wanted to tell me, my boy?”

Tim Grant turned his full body towards Bill, almost climbing up on the table fixing his huge opaque eyes on Bill's. Bill held his gaze noticing that the man was drunk since the beginning of the evening. He looked to you for help, but you were too busy watching Mrs. Weasley's reaction to hearing the reason for your visit.

“Come on, boy, don't be shy”

“I... well, I wanted to-”

“Oh, Arthur, your son is so cute!” he shouted as he squeezed Bill's cheeks. His brothers and Harry laughed and even Molly hid a mischievous smile by putting a piece of apricot in her mouth “Poor frightened boy. But, come on! I'm not going to make it harder for you, I know you're here to ask for my granddaughter's hand in marriage, aren't you?”

“Yes, that's right, sir”

“Well, that's a great gesture of you, but this is a job for (Y/N)’s parents”

“It is, but you understand that under such circumstances we couldn't pay a courtesy visit to the Death Eaters," Arthur interjected with an amused smile.

“Indeed”

“So...”.

“So..." repeated Tim. You sighed, "You love my granddaughter?

“Yes, sir”

“How much?”

“A lot”

“Are you going to protect her, take care of her, and love her?”

“With my life, sir”

“Your life is not enough for me, William” Tim smiled at him, tapping Bill's chin with one of his fingers “My granddaughter is still a Grant, descended from very powerful wizards. My hand will not tremble to revenge the suffering you put her through, am i being clear?”

“Y-yes, sir. Crystal clear”

“Good boy," he replied, patting his cheek. Then he turned to Molly, took her hand and kissed the back of it, giving her a beautiful smile. The woman blushed, but it didn't last long because the man turned to her husband and bowed his head in respect. Arthur pressed your hand on the table and also kissed the back of your hand, making a promise “Well, then. Arthur, your son has my blessing to marry my granddaughter”

Mr. Weasley raised his glass, offering it to Tim.

“Thank you, Tim. We promise to take care for (Y/N) as a member of our family”

“I hope so." The man rested his chin on his hands, watching the huge smile form on your lips and kissing Arthur's cheek. He turned to Molly lightly patting her shoulder offering her a sweet roll which she accepted with a giggle “It's nice to see you accepting my (Y/N) so well” Molly wrinkled her nose “Since who she is and coming from a family as complicated as ours...it was hard for me to believe that someone from the outside could fall in love with her someday. I always knew my little girl was different from everyone” Tim's brown irises clouded over. Molly fell silent “You could put her in a basket of rotten apples and she'd make them blossom, so I'm glad to hear you've taken her in as one of yours. Being a Grant is a very complicated task, i never had a problem with people speaking shit about me, i was never ashamed to be recognized as Lord Voldemort's brother, but my yoke should not fall on my granddaughter” Molly Weasley listened carefully “I have always been a faithful supporter of being judged individually and not by the others actions, that would be like punishing children for their parents mistakes, wouldn't it? That wouldn't be fair and it wouldn't make us any less guilty than my brother, isn't that what he’s doing? Punishing Muggle-born wizards just because they weren't born under Merlin's blessing? I like you, Molly, I know you understand.

A pain in her chest made her look down, embarrassed. But then Tim lifted her chin at just the right moment for her to catch the moment her son rose from his place to walk over to you and lock you in a breath-stealing hug. Arthur was at your side watching you and then his attention focused on his wife giving her a beaming smile, the kind she hadn't seen in a long time. Even the rest of their children had joined in the celebration and Harry rose to congratulate you while you and Bill happily sealed your engagement with a kiss. Tim moved Molly's chin towards him, their gazes colliding.

“Yes," Molly whispered, "I understand.

“Good” Tim let out a laugh, pulling away from Molly to toast. The woman watched you as she smiled thinly ”Then my story was useful somehow”

Tag list:

@purple-vodka-99

@vampirestrawberries

@accio-remus-lupin

@pennyllanne

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter cast #Harry Potter imagines #fred weasley imagines #domhnall gleeson #domhnall gleeson x reader #domhnall gleeson imagine #hogwarts

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peter-parcoeur · 4 years

Text

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“ Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower. Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house. The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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

You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland #frat!tom #enemies to lover #tom holland x reader

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Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 19 of 27: Cursed

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST CHOOSE ME INSTEAD PLAYLIST

A/N: Better late than never lol! Here it is! Thank you for being patient though! ilysm <3 This was a difficult one, I hope you like it! Btw, I recently found out that Dracos mum is called “Narcissa” and not “Narzissa” in the english version. She’s called “Narzissa” in the German Books. However, I’ll keep calling her Narzissa in this story (because I’m lazy and don’t want to change it). Enjoy!

Words: 3.4k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post war Warnings: tw eating disorder (mentions of it) --> please be aware that the way eating disorders are approached by the purebloods in this story is not something i (the author) approves of. I just thought it’d be a more realistic way for them to act like this.

It felt wrong.

Draco only used the Room of Requirements to be with you. He never went here on his own. Not that he would ever admit it – but the room scared him. The last time he’d been here alone was at the beginning of this school year. He found out then that it didn’t change for him anymore. All he saw when he walked in were the dirty, cracked windows and the flies and spiders that died in front of them. Old furniture, forgotten books and dirt was scattered around, piling up and towering over him.

As he stood there, his gaze was drawn to the end of the room. Hiding behind the corners, buried under black linen, there it was. The vanishing cabinet. He felt its presence. Looming, waiting, calling for him. Alright, to be fair, the last part was probably only in his imagination. It didn’t change his feelings towards this particular room of Hogwarts though.

It was different when you were with him. It changed for you and turned the monster that it was for Draco into a purring housecat. With you, it felt like a vacation. As if he had travelled to a small cottage, far away from roaring cities or ancient castles.

However tonight, you were not here. Astoria Greengrass had taken your place. She sat on a couch across from Draco, back straight, hands neatly folded in her lap. Her black hair was tied up in a bun and not a single strand of hair was out of place. The spitting image of her mother, Draco thought. He had always wondered about how different the Greengrass sisters looked. Astoria inherited the sharp features, thin lips, and slim figure of her mother. Daphne resembled their father a lot more with her round face, long blonde hair, and the doe-like eyes. The both of them were like night and day. Yin and Yang.

Draco looked around the room which had turned into a smaller version of the Slytherin common room. All the important details where there – from the green colors to the Slytherin emblems on the pillows and carpet. Only the windows were out of place. They didn’t offer him a view inside of the lake but were the same cracked ones, he had seen one too many times in his life. It reminded him that he wasn’t here with you.

It felt wrong.

***

Draco leaned back against the chair. He crossed his leg and his fingertips tapped a non-recognizable rhythm on his right upper thigh. Astoria didn’t look up at him when she spoke. He could tell that the words had been carefully chosen in advance. Remembered and recited in front of a mirror. Yet she couldn’t meet his eyes. Draco noticed the way she plucked at the skin on her thumb.

When you’d ask him tomorrow for how long the conversation went on, he wouldn’t have an answer. Time seemed to stand still the moment Astoria opened her mouth for the first time.

“Say something,” she whispered when she finished, and the silence became unbearable.

Draco noticed that there wasn’t a fireplace. Another thing that the Room of Requirement had gotten wrong.

“Say something,” Astoria repeated herself, her voice shaking a little more this time.

Draco stopped the tapping. “Is that why?”, he finally asked.

She hesitated and then nodded. Draco sighed and looked out of the window.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while.

Astoria scoffed. “Me too.”

“I am,” he looked back at her.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Astoria lifted her head. When her eyes met his, he saw the anger in them. “I’m dying and all you have to say is ‘Sorry’?”, she spat out.

“You don’t know that,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

Astoria raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“That you’re dying.”

She looked at him as if he was a little slow in his head. “I … I just told you.”

“You told me about the family curse,” Draco corrected her. “No one can say if it will happen to you.”

She let out a huff, stunned by his reaction. Had he not listened to a word she said? “I told you about the clairvoyant at Knockturn Alley!”

“Seers say a lot of shit.” He shrugged and added: “Especially when you pay them.”

Astoria lost her posture – with wide eyes and a shake of her head, she let herself slump back against the pillows. “I can’t believe you’re not taking me seriously.”

Draco sighed and began tapping on his thigh again. The same rhythm from before. “I am, Astoria. I believe you.”

But I don’t want to, he added in his mind. He had heard rumors of the Greengrass curse before – only once, when he was maybe eight or nine years old and while he pretended to be asleep on an armchair, he listened to his mother and her friend.

“The poor woman,” Narzissa had said. “And those girls …”

“We don’t know if it will happen to them,” her friend replied softly.

“Why risk it though?”, he remembered his mother ask. “And decide to give birth to not only one but two girls?”

“Well, if one dies, she will still have the other.”

Looking back, the joke was tasteless and not the least bit funny. He didn’t remember how his mother responded to it. Back then, Draco didn’t understand what the women were talking about. So he had shoved the memory back and forgot – until tonight.

When Astoria came up to him at the Winter Dance, she was more … vague. Talking about how something had changed in her life, how decisions were made for her and that she was left with no option but to finally confine in him. Merlin, Draco had thought she was pregnant. This was worse – for obvious reasons.

“If you believe me, why are you like this?”, her voice ripped him from his thoughts. Draco hadn’t notice that he was staring out of the window again.

He cleared his throat and focused back on the Slytherin girl. “I believe you’re overexaggerating.” It was the truth. Or better – it was a truth. The one he was able to share with her.

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not!”, he replied with a sharp voice.

Astoria flinched.

Draco sighed and leaned forward. “Look,” he continued, much softer now. “I’m sorry. You’re obviously very scared of this – and honestly, who wouldn’t be after receiving such news.” He paused. “But didn’t you just say you never experienced any symptoms?”

She looked to the ground. “Yes.”

“See?”, a smile played around the corners of his lips. “Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Astorias gaze stuck to the ground. His words didn’t ease her pain, he saw that. “I … Look at me, Draco,” she then mumbled.

Draco tilted his head. “I am.”

“No, truly look at me!” She lifted her head. “What do you see?”

He stared at her for a while. What do you want me to say? He refrained himself from asking that. Instead, for the first time in years, he truly looked at her. Her school uniform was in perfect condition, no spot or loose thread in sight. The diamond earrings sparkled in the soft light and around her neck hung a delicate golden necklace. Her outer appearance was perfect. As always. The only thing that was different were her eyes. He frowned when he saw it. The fire in them. Gone. The arrogant spark, challenging every Ravenclaw and Gryffindor that didn’t get out of her way fast enough. He wondered when it had left her.

“I resemble a corpse! I swear, my grandmother had a better complexion than me on the day she died!”, Astoria continued after another minute of silence.

Oh. Draco blinked. She meant that? He wouldn’t have noticed that in a hundred years.

“And I’m so thin and –”

“Because you’re starving yourself,” Draco interrupted her and immediately scolded himself for it.

Astoria, who was in the middle of shifting to a different position, stopped, and stared at him. “What?”

Draco pondered for a moment about his next words. Astoria and her fucked up relationship towards food wasn’t a secret. Well, not since fourth grade when rumors started spreading about the true reasons of why she was always so eager to get to the nearest bathroom after meals. And then her bones began to stick out underneath her school uniform. Everyone noticed it. Everyone looked the other way. Problems like hers … they weren’t uncommon among their circles. Yet, they were problems to keep to behind closed doors. They were private. Nothing to talk about.

“Everyone needs an outlet for the stress that comes with living like we do,” his father had once said. “Women are just worse in finding the right one.”

Oh, how he hated his father.

Draco smiled sadly at Astoria. “Everybody knows, Astoria.”

“Knows what?”, she asked sharply.

“That you have issues with food.”

Astoria blinked. “I … you’re such an asshole,” she then exclaimed. “You’re an asshole, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco sighed and shifted positions. “Anyways,” he tried to change the subject. “You’re scared, I get it. But so far, you don’t have any symptoms. In fact, you started feeling ill once your mother went with you to see the seer, right? It frightened you and now you can’t stop focusing on that fear.”

Astoria scoffed. “Thanks, Mr. Therapist. You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m just guessing. It doesn’t make sense to care so much about something that might not even happen to you.”

“Doesn’t make sense to you, you mean”, Astoria corrected him.

Draco frowned.

“Because your problems are much more important.”

“My problems are real.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say in this situation. Even Draco realized that. The words had just slipped out. He hated to admit it but the egocentric, narcissistic part of himself believed them.

Astoria stood up abruptly. She smoothed over the fabric of her skirt and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. She then looked at him, no expression on her face. When she spoke, her voice was calm and quiet: “Fuck you.”

With long steps Astoria made her way towards the door.

“Shit,” Draco mumbled under his breath and got up as well. “Astoria!”

She didn’t turn around.

“Astoria, wait! Please!”

The last word made her stop, hand already reaching for the doorknob. As she turned around, there was a bitter smile playing around her dark red lips. “Why?”, she asked him. “I trusted you with something and all you’re giving me is shit.”

Draco looked down to the ground and then back up. “I don’t know how to respond to this.”

“With empathy, Draco,” she folded her arms in front of her chest. “You might want to look that word up.”

Draco let out another deep sigh. A part of him secretly wished she would ignore him and just leave. It would be easier for him. Knowing this wasn’t an option for her, he finally walked towards Astoria. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. His words had failed him, they had made everything worse for her and he hoped from the bottom of his heart that this would ease her pain just a little. Astorias body went stiff at first – only after a few seconds did she let her body relax. She leaned into his embrace as if someone took a weight off her shoulders.

“You know I’m here for you,” Draco whispered. “And I will be there in case …”

“In case, I’m dying after all.”

When Draco breathed in, he could smell her lavender shampoo. “Yes.”

Suddenly, her petite body began to tremble. At first Draco mistook it for giggling, then he heard the soft whimpers against his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine. I promise.” He hugged her tighter.

“You can’t promise me that,” she sniffed.

Draco let go of her and took a step back. He put a hand to her cheek, making her look at him. “The curse hasn’t been around for decades. It might skip your generation again.”

Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy, silent tears running down them. “I’m so scared.”

“I know.”

“Please marry me.”

Draco closed his eyes at her plea. His head suddenly hurt and he wished you were here. You’d know how to handle situations like this.

“Astoria …”

“I know you don’t love me,” she interrupted him, her voice still trembling. “You couldn’t.”

He opened his eyes, looking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You love her.”

Her. You. Draco blinked. “What? No, I –”

“I realized it on New Years Eve.” She wiped the tears from her cheek, still holding on to him with her other hand. Astoria cleared her throat. “I didn’t believe it in the beginning but … it’s so obvious. You love her so much, how could I ever expect you to look at me the same way you look at her?”

Draco shook her head. “Astoria –”

“But you know the relationship has no future. Neither of your families would ever agree to it. You know it. You know it in your heart.”

The piercing pain in his forehead grew stronger. When he’d remember this moment, Draco wouldn’t be able to describe his feelings. Her words barely managed to get through to him. You love her, he heard her say over and over again. You love her.

No. He didn’t love you.

He couldn’t.

“Marry me,” Astoria repeated herself and took a step closer again. She had to lift her head to look into his eyes. “My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.”

“I …”

You love her. You love her. You love her.

“What do you get out of it?”, he finally managed to get out and tried to focus back on her, feeling weirdly out of breath.

Another tear rolled down her cheek. No sobs this time. “Once people will be able to see the sickness …”, she hesitated. “I won’t be looked at as the second daughter who’s living in her sister’s shadows.”

You love her.

Draco furrowed his brows at her words, utterly irritated by them. “Nobody thinks that, Astoria.”

She laughed. “Yes, they do! Daphne has always been prettier, smarter, more desired. I can’t compete with her. I am the leftover Greengrass that no one wants and that’s now dying from a family curse. Because of fucking course it would hit me and not my picture perfect sister!”

Draco stared at Astoria.

“But with you,” she continued. “With you people would see that I’m more than that. That I’m worthy of attention and of love despite … being me.”

This is wrong on so many levels, he could hear your voice in his head, clear as day.

“Have you met with the therapist yet?”, Draco suddenly asked out of the blue.

“What?” The Slytherin was thrown off by his question. “Yes.”

“Did you talk to her about this?”

Hearing this made her drop his hands, taking a few steps back. She buried her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. “Oh, fuck you, Draco!”, Astoria muttered. “Stop trying to analyze me!”

“I’m not!”, he assured her. “But … Astoria, this is so fucked up what you just said to me.”

She looked back up at him. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

She chuckled. “You spent a few months with a Gryffindor and now you act like our values mean nothing to you when you are the one who used to scream ‘mudblood’ the loudest.”

Draco swallowed.

“Merlin, what is wrong with me,” Astoria sighed. “After everything I just confessed, you don’t find it in you to show me a little mercy and change your mind?” She smiled at him sadly. “Do you want to marry me?”

“No.”

You love her.

***

The talk with Astoria left him feeling uneasy.

It handed after she asked Draco to marry her a second time and he declined. She nodded when she heard his answer, sniffled, wiped the remaining tears away and left. Not without saying “You’ll change your mind sooner or later”. When she was gone, she didn’t take the anxiety with her. Draco had to deal with that on his own. Now, as he walked through the halls of the old castle, his steps were stiff, and he had deep lines between his eyebrows.

“Calm down, she has no symptoms,” he mumbled to himself as he turned another corner.

Yet.

What if he would be wrong after all? What if the curse wouldn’t skip another generation of Greengrass women and fall upon her? What if she would die and he made her last remaining years even more miserable in her eyes because he turned down the proposal?

What if, what if, what if.

He wanted to talk to you about all of it. You’d tell him he didn’t have to feel bad. He didn’t owe Astoria. He shouldn’t be put in this position in the first place. You would find the right words. To be honest, Draco knew all of this himself. He just wanted to hear you say it out loud. Hear the words from another person to ensure that he was right. That he wasn’t crazy or selfish for not sacrificing his life, his future, for a dying girl.

“She’s not dying,” he reminded himself. A Hufflepuff boy passed him and frowned.

“My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.” It was the argument his mother had used against him countless times. He was certain that he’d hear it a lot more often soon. He was aware of how strong the argument truly was. His family could return to their former glory with all the luxury that came along with it. Fancy parties, status, high-paying careers – something he had been promised his whole life and that was stripped away the moment he was forced to become a Death Eater. The promise of a good life. An easy life.

Maybe life shouldn’t be easy for them. At least not so fast. Maybe his father shouldn’t come home from Azkaban one day to live like nothing ever happened. No, Lucius Malfoy deserved to suffer longer than his time in prison. And ultimately, so did his mother and Draco.

Draco gritted his teeth at his thoughts. He couldn’t marry Astoria. Not for that reason. Not to make the life of his family easier. His parents needed to work and plea for their redemption. Just like he did.

“Watch it, Malfoy!”, Seamus Finnigan hissed when he bumped into him. He came out of the library, a stack of books in his arms.

Draco didn’t look at him. Until now, he hadn’t even noticed that he was walking towards the library. It made sense though. The bag that hung from his shoulder seemed to become heavier with every step. The black notebook. He needed to write.

***

You sat alone on a table, hunched over a book. More of them piled up next to you, accompanied by an overused quill and bottle of ink.

Exams, Draco remembered. How easy it was to forget those mundane things in the midst of all the sadness. Exams, followed by entrance tests to become an Auror. Draco smiled at the thought of you fighting evil. He was certain that you’d excel at it.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, not caring about the annoyed huffs and curses from students who almost ran into him. He watched you. The way you sometimes licked the tip of your finger before turning a page. How you sighed and frowned when you didn’t understand a passage.

You love her. The words shot through his mind.

It was different to the scenes he had read in books when he finally saw it. When he blinked and it was suddenly so clear to him. His heart didn’t stop, his knees didn’t become weak, he didn’t hear violins around him. No, a ray of sunlight that fell through the window and hit your face, caused you to lift your head. In that moment, your eyes found his. A smile played around your lips as you waved at him and pointed at the seat next to you. And it was so clear to him, that he wanted this all along: to be with you. To come home to you.

You love her, Astoria had said.

And he knew she was right.

***

A/N: How did you like it?? I’m so excited to hear from you!! <33

CHAPTER 20

HP Masterlist General Masterlist

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If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know! <3

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