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andypantsx3 · 5 months

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𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 : 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑖

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike. All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother,steps in and blows it all to pieces. 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: omegaverse, no quirks au, alpha!shouto, beta!reader, mating rituals, age gap, best friend’s little brother, older reader, afab reader, some class differences, aged up characters, semi-public sex, slight small town romance vibes, background implied dabihawks for some reason, smut, 18+; mdni! 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 4.7k | chapter 2 of 4

Then

The Todoroki house was the most interesting place you had ever been.

At home it was just you and your mom, and most of the time she was working, or recovering from working, but the Todoroki house was packed with children from wall to wall. There was almost never a dull minute—except when Todoroki Enji came home and everyone got stiff and weird—but when he wasn’t around, you found you preferred the Todoroki mansion to the loneliness of your own empty house.

Touya seemed to sense this, and deigned to invite you over often, enough that you found yourself following him home after school at least once a week.

After the first time, you’d been introduced to his other siblings, Fuyumi and Natuso, who were both much nicer than Touya, and notably far more talkative. Shouto was a near-constant too, almost always propped on his mother’s hip when you arrived home, and always eager to be handed off to you, enough that you could tell Touya was annoyed.

“You’re not even related,” he complained, and you hid a smile at his barely-couched jealousy.

“I’m just better than you,” you told him, sticking your tongue out, dodging when he tried to grab it. You’d never had siblings, and you’d been forced to learn quickly that nothing was off-limits to people with younger siblings. Revenge would always be exacted.

Even when Shouto got older, old enough to talk in complete sentences and toddle about on his own, he seemed to prefer your company. You and Touya were almost never left alone to play on your own, Shouto always in the room with you, almost velcroed to your side.

He was on the floor next to you in the living room on one such occasion, Touya absolutely destroying you in Super Mario, when Rei called Touya in from the kitchen.

Touya rolled his eyes, pausing and flinging his controller at your head with the manner of someone who hoped it actually connected. “Don’t restart while I’m gone or I’ll kill you.”

You saluted him as he stomped out, taking a minute to stretch out from where you’d sat hunched over your controller. You bumped Shouto as you did, and he looked up at you from his coloring book, where he was shading in a pair of penguins in hot pink.

“Nice choice,” you told him, and Shouto looked a little bit like he was trying not to preen.

“Izuku in my class says penguins mate for life, like us,” he said, authoritatively.

You blinked, your brain snagging on the like us. Alphas, betas, and omegas could mate for life, and were generally expected to, but that didn’t always quite play out if you didn’t find your life mate. Your mother was a near-hand example, your father having left her while you were still in swaddling clothes, only to pass away a short few years later. They hadn’t been life mates, you’d come to realize recently—though your mother still believed in them. You hoped she’d find hers still, someday.

You thought maybe, however, that you were not going to hold out hope for your own, if it was as tricky as it seemed.

“You know not everyone does, right?” you asked, peering down at Shouto.

Wide, guileless eyes stared back up at you. Shouto had lost a little of his baby fat recently, but absolutely none of his sweetness.

“Who does not?” he demanded, sitting back on his haunches.

You fiddled with the controller in your fingers, wondering suddenly if you should have brought this up with him. “Some people. My parents didn’t,” you said, cautiously.

Shouto’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Your parents?”

You shook your head. “Sometimes people don’t find them even after all of the mating runs.”

Shouto did not look pleased with this. His eyes roved over you, pinning on you with a sort of sudden, unnerving intensity. “Sometimes people go on mating runs. And their life mate is not there because they are too young to go yet.”

You blinked, surprised by the specificity of this conclusion. “Sometimes, probably, yeah.”

Shouto’s tiny frown deepened, and he carefully arranged himself up against your side. “You will wait though, right?”

Your hand found its way unthinkingly into his hair, ruffling it. He was a sweet kid. “I mean, people usually go through more than one mating run, right?”

Shouto pressed more insistently into your side. “You will keep going until your life mate is there, though.”

You had an image of yourself, greying and eighty, slowly wobbling on your cane through the preserve. You suppressed a laugh. “I’ll go as I can until I age out, how about that?”

Shouto nodded, satisfied. His crayon resumed on the penguins, fiery pink streaking across the page. “I will be there,” he pronounced definitively.

His decisive tone startled a laugh out of you. You grinned down at him, unable to help the urge to ruffle his hair again. “I’ll stick around until we can run together. Although you better get good at climbing trees.”

Shouto blinked, his mouth pursing in puzzlement. “Trees,” he repeated to himself.

You nodded. “If I’m not an alpha, and I have to hide somewhere, I’m going to find the best tree in the preserve and go up it and not come down until I find my life mate.”

You would not be like your parents. You would not settle, and you would be realistic about your prospects.

Shouto’s eyes tracked across your face once more, like he was committing the statement to memory.

“You’re welcome to come up with me,” you said. You couldn’t imagine Shouto as anything other than an omega like his mom, not with that sweet little face. You didn’t like the idea of some alpha trying to get at him, so it was better he stay safe in your tree with you.

The thought suddenly rankled, and you decided you were done with this discussion. Better not to think of Shouto all grown up and spirited away from everyone until you absolutely had to.

You tapped a finger on Shouto’s coloring book, turning him back to it. “Anyway. Tell me about the other animals in here? Did Izuku tell you about any of these?”

Shouto looked down at the page, his expression shifting seriously. “This is a killer whale,” he said, pointing to a corner of the page he’d colored in with a blob of forest green. “They are related to dolphins. They are the biggest dolphin in the world.”

You nodded, relaxing back on your hands, gesturing for him to go on.

Shouto took his job very seriously, explaining solemnly and in great detail all the animals on the page, the way he sometimes described all his toys to you. You let him go on, finding that you liked listening to Shouto talk—he was rarely so wordy, but he was easy and familiar and funny in how seriously he took everything.

You laid back and listened to him, hoping Touya took a little extra time in the kitchen. Shouto looked pleased to have your attention, and soon enough you found yourself dozing, your head against his little thigh, content with Shouto’s sweet little voice washing over you.

In Shouto’s company, the Todoroki house felt a lot like home.

Now

Your beloved mother woke you in the morning ramming the vacuum into the door of your old bedroom-turned-storage room.

You groaned from your air mattress, your old bed frame sold off already to pay a gas bill. You missed that thing.

“Only a week together and you were out all day yesterday,” your mother said when you emerged from your old room, shooting you a look that immediately made you feel like a teenager again. She was wearing one of your old sweatshirts, that she’d clearly commandeered because she’d missed you.

Your heart squeezed a little at the familiar sight of her, but not enough to curb your morning fussiness.

“Maybe I was out scoping alphas to pounce on during the run,” you said, shuffling towards the kitchen and the promise of coffee.

“You were out with the mayor’s son,” she said, sniffing. A small smile pulled at your mouth—she had pettily refused to call Touya by his name for years.

She’d been thrilled by your friendship with him when you were kids. From the outside, Touya had looked like a beautiful little boy from a well-to-do family. You knew she’d once held out hope for your friendship to turn into something more, to see you settled into a well-off family and taken good care of.

For your part, however, you’d been drawn to Touya but never interested in that way, and you knew Touya felt the same. And things had only gotten more complicated when Touya’s mental health had crumbled like dirt under his father’s heel, and even worse when the Todoroki family fire broke out; Touya’s extensive burns damaged his glands and destroyed any evidence of his secondary gender before he’d even presented. Though, personally, you’d always suspected he was an omega. He was showy, flashy, possessed of that classic omega need for praise and attention—not quite to your tastes.

You thought you probably preferred someone a little more lowkey, someone steady and easy. Definitely not Touya.

There was also the fact that his efforts as of late seemed directed at the one quarter of your friend group with blonde, fluffy hair. Though you knew Touya would rather burn his remaining skin off before admitting it.

Either way, your mother’s hopes of a marriage into the Todoroki family were dashed, along with her opinion of Todoroki Enji when things finally came to head, and she’d never quite forgiven Touya for it.

“Touya says hello,” you answered distractedly, fiddling around with the coffee machine, though of course Touya had said no such thing. “I saw Rei though, and Natsuo and Fuyumi and Shouto. Did you know Shouto is a firefighter now? He’s gotten so big.”

“An alpha?” your mom’s voice floated out from the living room, her eagerness not quite suppressed.

You laughed, though a tiny, strange sort of spark lit up your spine. “Mom, I’m a couple years too old for him. I’m like his grandma.”

“Oh you are not, you dramatic thing,” you heard her sniff.

“Our first date could be at my bingo hall,” you carried on over the hiss of the water boiling, the dribble of coffee into the pot. “And we could get drunk on our prune juice, and I could slide out my dentures waiting for him to kiss me—”

“I’m going to sell you,” your mother said, her vacuum starting up again pointedly. You heard the distinct thump of it being rammed into a couch leg and grinned.

You knew she wanted to see you settled because she loved you, wanted to see you taken care of in all the ways that she hadn’t been. Your father had let her down years before he’d even passed, which you thought should have besmirched any alpha’s good name in your mother’s book. But she was determined to believe in love and life mates despite it all, and you admired her for it. She was a stubborn thing.

You spent the morning helping her do chores, clambering up onto the counters and getting all the places she couldn’t regularly reach, hauling out her trash and googling your way through some low-level repairs. You shared a quick breakfast in between, dodging more questions about the mating run, before returning to cleaning.

You were covered in dust and a thin layer of Lysol by the time you remembered you’d promised to meet Shouto at the fire station for lunch. There was not enough time to change or shower if you wanted to pick something up on the way, and you supposed it was well enough that Shouto did not actually possess the level of interest in you that your mother might have wanted him to.

“Going to see my child bride,” you told your mom on the way out, laughing and dodging a sponge.

The walk to the fire station took the better part of forty-five minutes, including a long interlude spent hemming and hawing over the prepared foods section of the grocery store before you finally settled on cold soba—Shouto’s favorite from when you were younger, if you remembered correctly.

The fire station itself was an older, whitewashed multi-story building, set back from the main road. The garage doors were open in the warming spring air, the bright red of the fire engines clearly visible from blocks away. You must have been visible from blocks away, too, because Shouto stepped out as you turned onto the drive, the dark blue of his stationwear stark against his skin.

Your heart did a strange lurching motion in your chest, and you pointedly did not let your eyes linger on the way his uniform belted in at his hips, highlighting the trimness of his waist and the breadth of his shoulders. Nope.

“Hi Shouto,” you said, holding up your bag of spoils. “You still like soba, right?”

Shouto blinked, his eyelashes fluttering. Long fingers touched the bag, hefting it carefully from your grip. “You remember.”

You grinned up at him. “How could I forget? Especially because I was there when you had it for the first time. You flung some at Touya from your high chair and it ended up on me instead.”

Shouto looked embarrassed, a pink flush spreading prettily across the tops of his high cheekbones. “I do not believe you.”

“Uh huh,” you said.

Shouto’s mouth pulled into what might have been a nonexpression on anyone else, but was most definitely a pout on him. Cute.

“I can reassure you there will be no soba flung today,” he promised, his deep voice earnest. Then he paused. “Touya is not in range.”

A surprised laugh escaped you, and the edge of Shouto’s lips pulled. He looked pleased with himself for having drawn it out of you. He’d always made you laugh, even as a kid—though mostly for how incongruously serious he was as a child, even about the silliest things. But also for how he seemed able to press people’s buttons—Touya’s especially—just by existing.

Shouto gestured you inside, and you studied the firetrucks as you passed them, mostly so you did not watch the way Shouto’s shoulders shifted beneath his shirt.

When he caught your look of curiosity, Shouto led you over to one, opening the door for you to take a look inside. You peered at all the knobs and switches interestedly, leaning into the cab. It looked complex, and yet very familiar. It actually looked a lot like the toy fire truck that once spent a fair amount of time occupying the inside of baby Shouto’s mouth.

You glanced back, opening your mouth to tell Shouto as much, when suddenly two large hands were at your waist, warm and sure. They lifted you right into the driver’s seat like it was absolutely no effort.

You fell into the cab, suddenly winded. You whipped around to stare at Shouto, heart hammering with the casual display of alpha strength, unable to help the wide-eyed look you knew you were giving him. That was—that was—not allowed.

“Am I—can I be—in here?” you garbled out, trying not to make obvious the real reason for your sudden disorientation.

Shouto stepped up onto the wheel plate to lean into the cab beside you, bringing in a puff of that scent like campfire on a cold day. “Yes,” he answered, looking unbothered with how close his face was to yours.

You watched him helplessly, brain fogging with his proximity and his scent. He was very, very pretty up close. He’d grown into what had to be the most beautiful person you’d actually ever seen—his mother’s looks, dialed up to an eleven. The deliberate alpha edge to him should have been at odds with that delicate sensuality—but instead it was like his secondary gender sat on him like a beam of sunlight, highlighting his beauty.

It was totally at conflict with the round, pudgy little thing he’d been when you’d first seen him, the lanky preteen you’d left him as.

He felt so familiar and yet so strangely new. It was disconcerting.

You quickly averted your gaze, making a show of leaning in over all the dials and buttons. Shouto leaned right over your lap, his chest warm against your legs, patiently explaining what each one did in his low, calm tone. The depth of his voice was so shocking, but the tone so similar to what it had been—you could remember him explaining animals in his coloring book to you in much the same level of careful detail once.

Your head spun with the dichotomy. Baby Shouto, a lifetime away, and adult alpha Shouto here in front of you—

You hurriedly pushed the thought of adult alpha Shouto down before you could think too deeply on it. That was off limits.

When you’d had your fill and Shouto had managed to make sure you didn’t accidentally deploy the ladder in the station itself, he helped you down from the cab, his hands hot on your waist.

“I’m old but still spry enough to get myself down, young man,” you told him as he settled you back on the station floor. Your heartbeat felt like it was somewhere around your throat.

“I did not hear your bones creak at least,” Shouto said, startling you into a laugh again.

His mouth twitched as he led you further into the station, giving you a short tour of the gear racks, the office, the laundry room and fitness room stuffed with several of his coworkers, a room that smelled overwhelmingly of clashing alpha scents, none nearly as good as Shouto’s.

A cheery red head waved to you from the leg press, that Shouto introduced as Kirishima, and a blonde alpha greeted him with a towel whipped directly at Shouto’s face. Shouto ducked it with the ease of long practice.

“Oi halfie, who the fuck told you you could eat the cookies I brought in?” the blonde demanded, barely sparing you an acknowledging glace as he reracked a mind-bogglingly enormous set of weights.

Shouto introduced him anyway, in a deliberately bland tone that you immediately recognized as one he deployed to rile up Touya. “This is Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Answer the damn question,” Bakugou said.

Shouto blinked long and slow and absolutely meant to annoy. You hid a smile. “Am I expected to fight fires on an empty stomach,” Shouto said, flatter than a question.

“I’ll fucking show you an empty stomach when I rip out your—”

“You must be Y/N,” Kirishima said loudly from the leg press. You instantly clocked a beta disruption technique at work and smiled at him.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, searching for something to reply with, uniting in his peace-keeping mission. “That’s—an impressive amount of weight.”

“Thanks!” Kirishima said brightly.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught Shouto’s head snapping towards you, and you looked back to find his eyes narrowed on you.

“I can press as much,” Shouto said, his tone insistent. He crowded a little closer to you.

Your eyebrows crept towards your hairline, mystified. “I—that’s—great?”

A tiny frown pulled at Shouto’s mouth, and a disgusted sound issued from Bakugou’s corner of the gym. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. Take this shit right outta here,” Bakugou demanded.

Shouto ignored him, still staring at you. He pressed closer, his shoulders shifting so that he was angled between you and Kirishima, obscuring most of your line of sight.

“I—mean you definitely look like you can press, um, a lot,” you continued, bewildered. “The only pressing I do is, uh, french press.”

The frown evaporated from Shouto’s expression, something suddenly pleased descending over it instead. Beyond him, you thought you could see Kirishima smiling, mouthing you look like you can press a lot to Bakugou, and an answering eye-roll from Bakugou. Oh god. Had you said that?

Your face heated, and you immediately decided an evacuation was in order. “Well thanks for letting us interrupt you. Nice to meet you guys. Shouto—should we—?”

Shouto’s hand found the small of your back, gently guiding you. All thought of Kirishima and Bakugou suddenly evaporated under the feeling of that hot palm, and you barely managed another wave as Shouto shadowed you out of the room. He led you up a flight of stairs to the dorm area, where several more of his coworkers were arrayed, chatting over their own lunches.

Face still sort of warm, you helped Shouto unpack the soba and the various side dishes you’d grabbed. He disappeared further into the kitchen and returned with glasses of water and the appropriate utensils, arraying everything in front of you.

“So this is going to be your first run,” you said conversationally, after you’d taken your first bite of soba. “Got any lucky omega in mind?”

Shouto’s eyes darted up from his chopsticks to your face, grey and blue pinning you. “I have… someone in mind,” he said, after a moment.

A strange twinge made itself known in your chest again. You ignored it, shoving more noodles into your mouth determinedly.

“I am sure you will have absolutely no trouble, but I am happy to give you a quick rundown of all the usual hiding spots anyway,” you said. “Most omegas actually end up not too far into the preserve because they want to be caught, so it should be pretty easy.”

One of Shouto’s brows quirked the tiniest bit. “I have reason to believe I’ll need to follow at least a few miles.”

You felt your own eyebrows lift. Not too many omegas went super far in, unless they were looking to avoid someone or pose a real challenge. You went miles in specifically for that reason as well—to steer clear of the action, not that it was likely to find you anyway—and get up your tree before anyone came looking.

“There’s fewer spots that far out because the brush gets all scraggly at the coast,” you said. “There’s a few outcroppings though that I’ve seen omegas go for. You really think your intended will go that far?”

Shouto considered you for a long moment, those mismatched eyes roving over you. “I do.”

Whoever it was, they were going to make him work for it, huh? You suppressed a growing spot of offense on his behalf.

“And you’re sure about this person?” you asked.

Shouto nodded. “I have been sure since I was very small.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the same time as your stomach seemed to drop. That was very sweet—and also strangely disheartening to hear.

Why was that disheartening?

“Then—do you think they’re for sure your life mate?” you asked, taking a careful, studied sip of water.

“I do,” Shouto answered. The simplicity of his statement spoke for itself. You were a beta and did not have quite the same capacity to detect your mate as an alpha, but you knew alphas always knew. You wondered if he’d always known he was going to end up an alpha if he’d had that instinctive understanding since he was young.

You wondered why he’d never said anything, all those years you’d grown up together.

Your heart did a strange dip, sinking at the same time it lifted for him.

“I’m really happy for you Shouto. I’m glad I came back just in time to see you find happiness, when it feels like I have already missed so much else,” you told him.

Shouto leaned forward, catching your eye. His gaze was serious where it caught yours. “I am glad you came back, too. You have been… missed,” he said.

Your heartbeat fluttered, and you gripped the edge of the table, trying to quell the feeling. It would not do to be too overwhelmed by Shouto. Not now.

You managed a smile, and quickly rerouted the conversation back to the hiding spots you knew, and the forest trails you’d seen most omegas utilize. Shouto watched you carefully, and you hoped he was committing the information to memory.

After that the conversation turned to more innocuous topics, a rehashing of some of your shared childhood memories, some picking on Touya. The soba disappeared between the two of you, as well as all the side dishes you’d brought. Shouto was incredibly easy to talk to, you found—a fascinating blend of the earnest, slight shit-stirrer of a little boy you’d known and a blandly funny adult man. He had some of Touya’s underlying propensity towards intensity, and some of his mother’s thoughtful sweetness—and you liked the way the familiar traits blended into something faceted and interesting.

He really had grown up.

After lunch he let you explore more of the station, showing you all the compartments on the fire engines, explaining all the equipment. On the way to the door he also let you rifle through the gear bays, showing you his own rack of turnout gear.

He even let you try his jacket on, looking like he was suppressing a smile when the heaviness of it weighed your arms down, watching you flap your arms around, marveling as what was easily twenty pounds of heat-proof fabric resisted you.

No wonder he needed such an intense workout routine.

You couldn’t help but be amazed by it all—who Shouto had turned into, and the fact that he had such an impressive job, one that fit him so well. The fact that he was an adult now, with goals and ambitions that were a lot more grounded than yours. The fact that he was an alpha of all things, and could lift you up into a firetruck as easily as you’d once lifted him off Touya’s hip.

It was so much to contemplate, and you watched him, helplessly fascinated, as he led you around.

You lingered for long enough that the sky was tinging pink and orange by the time you left, and Shouto saw you to the door, insisting on plugging in his number to your phone so you could text when you got home. You could still feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner down the street, a strange warmth suffusing you as you walked. It kept you warm the entire way home, despite the cool evening air.

It was only when you arrived at your mother’s front door, shooting off your promised text to Shouto that you realized that you were mooning like a girl returning home from a date—a completely embarrassing, inappropriate tact for your mind to take with someone who had been your childhood friend. Your childhood junior.

Besides, Shouto had explicitly said he had someone in mind already, someone he intended to follow during the run. And you were too old for him, and a beta as well. Alpha-beta couplings were rare—and if Shouto had known who his life mate was since he was very small, and never given any indication it was a beta—well that spoke for itself.

You shook your head as you let yourself in through the door, trying to slough off the feeling as you called a greeting to your mother. It was sad you’d never get to haul him up a tree after you, the way you’d promised when you were kids. But such was life, you guessed.

Shouto may have grown up into an admirable man and a beautiful alpha—but he was off limits to you. You’d make sure you treated him with nothing but the respect and friendly fondness he deserved. Nothing else.

Absolutely nothing else.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x midoriya #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #shouto x y/n #shouto x you #shoto x reader #shoto x you

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cardansriddle · 10 months

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Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little <3

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Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him.

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour.

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside.

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet—

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it.

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle.

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind.

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left.

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer.

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised."

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this."

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine."

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers.

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to.

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book.

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done."

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped.

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something.

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up.

Tom placed the book on the counter.

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader."

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat.

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality."

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum."

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse."

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse."

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say.

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface.

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee.

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September.

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin.

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened.

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze.

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind.

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her.

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed.

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink.

It was maddening.

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination.

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there.

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling.

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration.

“It’s five minutes until closing time.”

She would not be swayed so easily then.

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses.

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.”

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.”

“Tom, I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.”

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf.

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.”

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster.

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk."

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed.

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances."

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology."

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like.

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer.

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her.

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see.

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat.

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them.

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight.

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to.

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

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#tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x muggle!reader #tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle x you

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omgsuperstarg · 2 months

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Could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader? The team had a photoshoot based on 2024 Team Photoshoot and there is one woman that kept helping him by fixing his clothes, hair, always touching him. And she saw what happened, but she decided to repaint silent, not wanting to cause a scene. Everyone could see how close she was to snap especially the drivers. Eventually she snapped because she saw how Toto was feeling uncomfortable. You decide how it ended. Tag me later!! hanks!! :))

Ooh a Lil jealousy, as a Wolff wife I must do my Duty. i hope you like the One Shot @pear-1206

Touch Ups- Torger 'Toto' Wolff x Jealous Wife! Reader

As the wife of a very respected and influential motorsport individual, your life has been a whirlwind. Most days out of the year or the entire year to be frank, Toto and you are on opposite sides of the world only communicating via devices and getting only a fortnight together when the season break occurs or whenever time and the job allow.

This year was going to be a rollercoaster of emotions. Lewis was departing the team at the end of the year and moving to Ferrari and George was being prepped to be the new team leader while Toto was hunting for a driver to fill an iconic but now vacant seat with fresh talent. All these aspects were to be considered, but today was a necessary evil for all teams involved in F1, promotional photoshoots. Every year the teams doll up their drivers and in some cases leaders to shoot pictures to hype the fanbase up for another wild ride of racing and with the Silver Arrows having the more eye-catching men of the grid, the communications department was more than willing to pander to the evergrowing female fanbase.

Some fans have dubbed the Mercedes men, the M4 which consisted of their drivers Lewis, George and Mick, led by their fearless Leader, the head of the Pack, Toto. The driver photos were already completed and it was time for the leader to have his chance to shine, Toto had asked you to accompany him for moral support and being the supportive wife, you jumped at the opportunity.

You observe the set which was a stylish Mercedes AMG car with Teal Neon light illuminating the background. Hair and Makeup stylists fluttered around him doing their jobs to make him as camera-ready as possible but you did notice there was one who was a bit too close. You were not a jealous person but you couldn't help but catch a feeling you ignored it for the time being figuring that you were just being paranoid. So the cameras began clicking as Toto got into his model mode, trying to look as cool as possible. Even though this was clearly not his forte, from what you observed he was doing well and the pictures appeared amazing. You then look up to see him put on his shades in a very manly manner and you can't help but blush.

The photographers take a pause so they can change lenses and the makeup staff can do more necessary touch-ups but there was a particular woman who was about the same age as you if not a bit younger who was getting a bit too close to your husband. Yes, these individuals must assist in making him 'LOOK GOOD" but this one's hands were lingering on him a bit longer than usual and touches that were nearing close for comfort.

Toto was a man who wouldn't say his disgust or discomfort out loud (depending on the situation)but more in his body language and it clearly showed that he didn't want this woman near him. Still, he couldn't fault her for doing her occupation although she took advantage of her position. After the touch-up was done, the photos continued and you couldn't help but get even more mad.

After the next change, you decided to confront the woman,

Oh, Mrs Wolff. How can i help you?", she asks almost smugly but she hides her deceit well. 'Oh, nothing. I've just been observing the way you assist Mr.Wolff," you say to her.

"Ah yes, Mr. Wolff has been such a delightful subject," she continues. "I agree, the extra touching really shows that off,'', you bite back.

"I get it, he's a very influential and distinguished individual. I also know how many women gravitate towards him, I saw your interactions with him" You bite slightly as you turn your head to face her.

"Mrs. Wolff, I assure you it's not like that," she says with a bit of fear.

"Touch him like that again, I'll have you escorted out of the venue," the response a bit dark.

She then nodded put her tools down and then approached her colleague and conversed. After which she leaves.

She definitely got the message.

After the shoot, Toto finally approached you and then he responded. "Do you like the photos?", he asked

"I do, but I didn't like the way that woman who was assisting with your makeup was touching you," I respond honestly.

"So what should I do?" he inquires.

GIF credit to Pinterest

#toto wolff #f1 #toto wolff x reader #mercedes amg petronas #formula1 #f1 x reader

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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Isagi is golden retriever behavior. Tell him to bakr he will do it. Tell him to kneel he will. He will protect you with his whole being even if he seems to be nice guy. He isn’t afraid to throw hand s

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— as close as strangers + yoichi isagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — while at a bar with your sister, a stranger comes to your rescue and he’s not afraid to come to your defence.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, fluff, strangers to lovers, meet cute, reader has a younger sister, weird men at bars (harassment kinda? but it’s minor), pro player!isagi, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 1.4K.

⭑ notes — thank you nonnie for sending this in!! I got a little itty bit carried away but i hope you like it !! - m.list ✩

unironically, a bar can be one of the most dangerous places on earth. with its overpriced and watered down drinks, loud and disruptive patrons, and not to mention the countless number of men that can’t seem to take a hint. you find the sticky table tops gross and the peanut shells on the floor uncouth but you’re here for your little sister — who wanted no more than drinks and to catch up, filling you in on the details of her latest fling (who she’s sure is the one, despite it being the fifth time) since you returned to Japan.

you work a lot, you travelled abroad for college too so it’s been ages since you’ve last breathed the same air and walked underneath the same sky. you’d feel bad for missing this opportunity to meet someone important in her life while you still had it.

and you love your sister, so while she powders her nose in the bathroom as you both wait for her boy toy, you’ll put up with the stench of beer and the sleazy stranger arms length away from you who just can’t seem to get it through his head that you’re not interested.

“c’mon sweetheart, just one drink. lemme buy you a beer.” the stranger slurs over the top of his own beverage that threatens to spill into you as he encroaches on your personal space.

shaking your head politely, you lean away. “no thank you. i’m not to keen on beer.”

“then whas’ your drink of choice, cutie. let me know what i can get’cha.”

nothing. you refrain from rolling your eyes. nothing that he could afford. grabbing a handful of peanuts to distract yourself, you de-shell them with ease and chew on them to avoid speaking any further.

“no thank you.” you say plainly, reiterating yourself.

he still doesn’t seem to understand, cosying up to your side — his alcohol tainted breath cascading over the shell of your ear. “then let’s get out of here, i’ll get you somethin’ you can really enjoy.”

“i’m waiting on someone.”

“who? a boyfriend?”

“yes,” you lie as easy as breathing — you’re almost certain he wouldn’t leave you alone if he found out you were with your sister. “he’ll be here any minute.”

the stranger lets out a chuff, “i don’t see him, gorgeous girl—“

he reaches for your hand and it causes a wave of uncomfortable goosebumps to rise along your skin. you shudder, hold back a gag, and if only the bartender was closer you could signal for some form of help but you can’t bring yourself to move.

that is until a warm arm slips around your shoulders— and instead of being slimy and unsettling, the presence of this stranger behind you is comforting and safe. “there you are precious, sorry for being so late, i got caught up with work.” this man’s is smoothe like molten chocolate or rather honey running through your ears, and you find yourself enticed — leaning into him as if he’s a safety net.

you turn, only just, catching a glimpse of the stranger’s handsome side profile — his skin is golden, glowing as if it had been blessed by the god’s of the son. his eyes are a blue im a shade that you cannot match, it’s almost unreal to you. his hair his soft, his face calm and again, he feels so safe.

“i missed you,” you breathe the words into existence as if they’re natural, allowing a smile to overtake your features. “it’s okay.”

the dark haired man gives you a firm nod before looking over your head at the drunkard who had been bothering you. he offers a hand to him. “hi isagi… the boyfriend. do we have a problem, here?”

you recognise the name from somewhere but say nothing, letting isagi handle the situation from here.

“n-no sir! i-i’m so sorry i didn’t realise that—“

“good,” isagi’s voice lowers an octave, far less welcoming and kind than when he had initially addressed you as your fake boyfriend. “then next time you’ll take a hint and learn to leave women alone when they tell you no the first time. fucking creep.” he spits, squeezing you into his side protectively.

the stranger’s eyes blow wide and he lowers his head apologetically but you’re too focused on how flustered isagi’s whole act is making you feel. “a-again! i’m really sorry! i’m a huge fan i would never—“

“are you just that dense or do i have to repeat myself? scram.” isagi growls once more and does so until the man that had been bothering you flees the scene. within an instant, the tall dark and handsome man jumps away from you with an apologetic smile — and you embarrassingly admit to yourself how much you miss his embrace. “i am so sorry for touching you without asking. i-it’s just that i could see he was making you uncomfortable and no one else was jumping in so i just—“

turning around to face isagi fully, you shake your head and offer him your brightest grin. “it’s okay, if it hadn’t been for you i don’t know what would have happened. thank you…”

you pause to give him time and isagi trips over his words to give you his full name. “yoichi. yoichi isagi!”

you respond with your own name, trying not to dwell on the familiarity of his.

the pair of you spend the next few minutes chatting about everything and anything. you find out that yoichi likes soccer and has since he was a child. that he was an only child as well, travels a lot and has seen the whole world, though he thinks it gets a little lonely. you shyly admit that you feel the same — especially when work drags you across the globe and away from your family here in Japan.

the flow of your conversation is only interrupted by your little sister emerging from the bathroom excitedly, her nose effectively powdered as she waves an arm at you. “i see you’ve met isagi already!” she beams, sliding into the bar stool on your left while isagi takes your right.

“wait, you two know each other?” you squeak — how mortifying would it be that your younger sibling’s new boyfriend is the man you’ve been crushing on for all of fifteen minutes. “is he…the one?”

the duo share an amused look over the drinks that your new friend had ordered, your sister shaking you as if to snap you out of your trance of crazy. “god no! isagi is way too polite to be my type. my bachira is a little more adventurous!” she rambles, all love sick like. “no offence yoichi!”

“none taken,” he laughs before focusing all of his attention on you , making you squirm under the surface of his ocean blue eyes. “i’m just here for moral support. bachira was nervous about meeting you so i told him to take a lap around the parking lot to calm down before he came in.”

“wait bachira— as in meguru bachira? that one player from the blue lock team? i just styled him for my magazine in the US last month? that’s who you’re dating?” you ramble, eyes wide — which only seems to amuse isagi even more.

“uhuh, and this,” your sister grabs you by the shoulders and rotates you to face isagi, who’s cheeks flush red with nervousness. or shyness. “is yoichi isagi. blue lock’s heart and soul and your date for this evening. you’re welcome!” she sings.

“oh my god! i thought i recognised you! s-she used to have posters of you in our room back when bluelock was streaming!”

“you’re the one that used to kiss them!”

“you’re the one that’s dating his best friend!” you counter her stubbornly, but her attention is quickly stolen away by the world famous dribbler that slips through the doors — bachira’s own face lighting up when he spots her from across the room. your sister melts, running over and jumping into his arms. you can’t help but swoon, realising that whatever she has going on with bachira is obviously more serious than whatever chance at love she’d had before.

they look happy. you’re happy for her. “they’re cute together, aren’t they?” isagi mumbles, elbowing you gently with the wisps of a smile on his lips.

“oh yeah, big time.” you agree, taking a sip of your drink as you scoot closer to japan’s beloved striker. “you’re not mad that he swiped her from right beneath your feet?”

“nah,” yoichi responds simply, scooting closer to you as well. you let your gaze drift over from the happy couple to meet isagi’s fond one, looking down at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “i’d rather have that kind of happy with the girl who was making out with my merch.”

you punch isagi in the shoulder out of embarrassment, and when his timbre laughter fills the room — you can’t help but think you’d want that happiness with him too.

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

#jake smut #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin fic #jake seresin #Glen powell #Jake hangman Seresin #top gun: maverick

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 year

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Adventure: Through the Vine

Surrounded by some of the most coveted vineyards on the continent, your party sits in the shaded garden and listens to the old alchemist explaining why she needs your help getting drunk enough to see the face of god.

Every adventurer knows the name Ultani, at least those with coin and taste enough to order bottles of wine when they and their friends hit up a tavern after a delve. What an irony then for one of the Ultani family to ask for THEM at her table, and with a business proposition of all things.

Bent with age but bright of eye, Ivilia Ultani needs their help tracking down the location of an abandoned druid sanctum in the far wilderness and retrieving fruit sacred to the god of vintners and healers left over from a disastrous ritual. Her reasons? Apparently after decades perusing the alchemical mysteries Ivilia got her hands on a bottle blessed by the wine-god himself, and spent four days in a state of drunken revelation pencilling out her magnum opus. The bottle and her inspiration dry just before she finished, so rather than waiting years trying to trial and error the last piece or searching for another bottle she's decided to make some of her own.

Along the way the party will contend with family drama, the cutthroat politics of the wine trade, and the long echoing consequences of stealing from merciful gods. For their troubles they'll not only earn the thanks of a talented alchemist, but also potentially a new home should they hold true to their task.

Setup: Though she is the oldest of her of her merchant clan Ivilia is not the head of the Ultani winery. Her younger brother Valtar had the talent for cultivation and business while she veered towards eccentric scholarship, now Valtar's adult grandchildren run the business and the numerous sprawling vineyards associated with it while she lives in learned obscurity on the original family homestead.

While she occasionally helps out whit a new formulation of fertilizer or pest repellent, Ivilia is rather distant from the rest of the Ultani family who view her as a bit of a kook, who all to often uses her inherited share of the enterprise to buy obscure texts or finance futile experiments.

Challenges & Complications:

Actually finding the sanctum is going to be half the problem. Druidic orders are notoriously protective about the location of their secret clubhouses, and this order was scattered to the wind more than a century ago. Ivilia has tracked down the vague location where she thinks the sanctum might be, but unless the party wants to spend days combing the dangerous wilderness they're going to need to track down a more reliable source. Parsing through local rumours and records gives them three leads, an elf who still provides council to the local Count (goodluck getting an appointment), a vaguely helpful ditty that was recounted to a local bard (since dramatized in endless retelling), and an elder of the order who flew back to his home village in the shape of a falcon. Investigating the latter finds that the elder was apparently so scarred by what he'd seen at the sanctum that he transformed himself into a tree and has spent the intervening decades letting his mind and memory lignify.

The Sanctum itself and the landscape that surrounds it has been scarred by an act of divine wrath that still lingers in the form of dangerous fey and choking vines. Roots have undermined the walls and foundations, making chambers all to easy to collapse. In the centre of this ruin lays the undead corpse of Elmgrace , a once famed elven healer who sought the boon of the god Litirenn only to try and use that gift to reign the god towards his own purposes. Resentful at this deception Litirenn unleashed havoc on the sanctum, cursing Elmgrace never to die, never to rot, and never to rejoin the cycle of nature. Forever vinebound to the same altar he intended for the deity, Elmgrace's few last fanatical followers still tend to his broken body, attempting to brew up more potent poisons that will finally "free" their teacher from his torment.

Unfortunately, the fruit the party needs to pluck grows only from the plants impaling Elmgrace's body, which his followers are very protective of. Even after the party races through the wilderness and back to civilization with their prize they'll need to look over their shoulder for toxin obsessed cultists stalking their trail.

Further Adventures:

Milo Ultani has something to prove, the oldest of four siblings and a gaggle of cousins poised to inherit the winery he was raised to value hard work and loyalty to the family above all else. All his life it has irked him that his great aunt was allowed to dwell in their ancestral home, some of the nicest land his family owns, leaching off their enterprise like a withered limb. What finally drives him to act is Ivilia offhandedly mentioning that she intends to sign over her house and land to the party as a reward for helping her drink her way to enlightenment again. Resentment turns to rage in the young man's mind as a plan begins to form; A vine must be pruned in order to be fruitful after all.

When the party return with the godly fruit they're going to find Ivilia gone, her home broken into during the night her bed a mess of red that at first seems to be blood, but is infact wine. Surrounded by experts it doesn't take long for the vino in question to be identified as belonging to Jadash Hill, one of the Ultani's oldest rivals who are known for their unscrupulous business practices. It's at this point that Milo comes forward, reporting that some of their carters had gotten into brawls with those from Jadash Hill at a local tollhouse, sending the bastards packing and ignoring their threats of reprisal as idle boasting. This did indeed happen, but only because Milo is in charge of part of the family's delivery operation and instigated the fight himself.

The clock is ticking, the party has a bushel of miracle fruit that's going to rot and the alchemist they were supposed to deliver it to is nowhere to be seen. They can either find Ivilia quick, figure out a method of preserving the fruit, or read through her notes and attempt to concoct the divine wine themselves.

However badly he thinks of her, Milo would never kill his great aunt, having instead had his loyal carters drag her off to a small cottage on the edge of a property the family was keeping fallow for the year. In his reckoning the old woman won't live much longer, and while the emerging feud with Jadash hill keeps the family busy he can figure out a better place to keep his great aunt locked up. He wasn't delicate in his planning but he moves fast and the influence he has with the workforce as the presumptive heir cannot be overstated.

Art 1 Art 2

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #adventure #dungeon #player home #Alchemy #mid level #low level #Litirenn #field #Forest #druid #patron merchant #dungeon forest #dungeon jungle

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months

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Silver Lining 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

After some correspondence, you agree to an interview. It feels a bit shady but the potential employer agrees to meet in public. Conveniently, you're given the choice and there's no argument to the cafe by the bookstore with its delicious seasonal treats.

You resist the draw of the bookstore as you approach, gripping tight the folder with your printout of the sample you submitted. You enter and think of ordering but figure it might be better to focus on the task at hand. You check your phone as you felt a message buzz only a minute prior.

'In the corner, blue plaid jacket.'

Their message is straight and to the point. You can appreciate that. You lower your phone and look around, blue, blue, blue.

You see a head of silver hair above the plaid collar and near them. You hug the folder, your purse dangling from your elbow as you come to the table. You summon a greeting but it dies on your tongue before you can let it out. Oh no. Your shoulders slump as the man's blue eyes find you, they're a shade brighter than his coat.

"Oh," you let out the single syllable.

"Oh," he grunts and stands. You try not to cower as he does. "You're..."

The timbre of his voice turns your blood cold as he says your name. You cringe and nod. You sway and look through the window.

"I-if you w-want to cancel--"

"Sit," he ignores the suggestion, gesturing to the other chair as he waits.

You obey, too stunned to come up with any resistance. You sit with your back to the window, feeling the cold seeping from the glass. He lowers himself and stares at you. He's equally as speechless as his face creases. Disappointed, just like everyone else.

You push yourself straight. You told Lisa you're going to try. Even if you and this guy got off to a bad start, you've worked with many people you didn't get along with.

"James," you begin, "I-I th-think maybe we g-got to a b-bad start."

"Bucky," he corrects you and looks down at the brown leather folder in front of him, "let's just go over the script."

"U-um, okay, I--"

"Are you alright?" His eyes flick up, "you cold?"

"N-no?" You're taken aback by his concern.

"Nervous?"

You frown. Oh, he's asking about your stammer.

"J-just how I t-talk," you shrug and swallow tightly. You're not ready for this. You're stupid for even trying. "I--" you look around, no, you won't let him scare you away. You might have to put up with him but he also has to put up with you. "I'm g-gonna grab something t-to drink, is that a-alright?"

He nods and sits back. You leave your folder on the table and stand as he opens the folder, his eyes scanning the page. You hesitate before you pass him. Despite his age, he's not entirely repulsive. You imagine when he was younger, he was probably a catch. Maybe less grumpy too.

You join the line and wait your turn. You think of ordering more of the candy cane hot chocolate but opt instead for the toffee latte. Your drink pops up quickly at the pickup and you return to the table, still not ready to face this man.

You sit down again and hug the cup between your hands. You can be normal. It's not about whatever happened before, it's about money. It's about moving on. Lisa says that's most important.

"S-so, I'm open to n-notes--"

"I have a few," he says discerning as he slides a pair of glasses out of his front pocket and unfolds them. He puts them on and you try to ignore the snarky comment needling in your brain, "first of all, you make the argument that the Tiger tank is mistakenly branded as the most effective tank in the Second World War but I'd argue it is. No mistake."

"W-well, you'll see from my argu-m-ment that there i-is no b-best tank. Overall, tank w-warfare was more a l-liability. The discussion isn't w-which is best, it's merely an examination o-of t-tanks in b-battle."

"You know, I have a degree in this. Several. I've studied Tigers, Shermans, Panzers. Your script, it's well-crafted by your evaluation is off."

You blink. Your heart is once more thumping away. You look down at your cup and take a sip from the frothy top.

"I d-disagree. I d-did my research. Every tank had substantial p-pitfalls. E-even the t-tiger. M-maybe better th-than the e-end of the First W-War, b-but still a d-danger in the field. A-Again this isn't t-to say they w-weren't useful--"

"And what background do you have to make these statements? What degrees?"

"I know h-how t-to r-read," you eke out.

"Mmm, oh, you read and drinky cutesy drinks. Got it."

"I-It's coffee."

"Doesn't look like coffee. Smells like pure sugar."

You resist rolling your eyes. You look away. You don't even know if finishing your drink is worth staying. Clearly this isn't going to pan out.

"Th-thank you for meeting w-with me," you say at last, "s-sorry to waste your time."

He lifts his cup and slurps noisily. He lowers it again, the porcelain clinking, "you didn't. You've submitted the most coherent script I've received. I'll send you my notes. Fix it and we'll go from there."

"R-really?" You perk up.

"Sure, why not? I've wasted enough time trying to get this done."

Your cheeks twitch but you don't let yourself smile, "th-thanks."

"Yeah," he grits out and stretches his neck, giving a long look around the cafe. His eyes focus on the door before he faces you again and clicks his tongue, "I'm not that old."

"Wh-what?" You stutter.

"You called me an old man. I'm not." He puffs out and shakes his head, "whatever, doesn't matter."

"Okay, I t-take it back."

"You what?"

"I t-take it b-back," you repeat, "Lisa s-says it's g-good to admit w-when you're wrong a-as much as i-it is to b-be right."

He squints and takes another gulp. "Lisa?" He wonders.

"M-my therapist," you explain.

"Ah," he accepts crisply and sits forward, draining the last of his coffee. "Well," he slips the glasses off, "I'll head out. Got work to do."

You nod as he stands. He buttons up his plaid coat as he looms. You finally get the nerve to look up at him. His brows draw together and he dips his chin again.

"Bye."

The curt farewell allows no response as he twists on his heel. He's halfway to the door before you can react. You stare after him and lean over your cup. The world has a strange way of throwing you curveballs and you're not very good at hitting them.

#dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #series #silver lining #silverfox #au #mcu #marvel #avengers #winter soldier

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jokeringcutio · 7 months

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The Grabber x Hufflepuff (f) Reader [1] (Explicit, warnings)

Because I noticed an astonishing amount of my Grabber readers have this one thing in common. It's the house. Hufflepuff. They all have Hufflepuff on their profiles. Summary: You're a Hufflepuff student and you get caught by the Dark Lord's infamous snatcher known as The Grabber.

Fandoms: The Black Phone, Harry Potter Rating: Explicit Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, clad touching, non/con or dub-con touching, Reader is a Hufflepuff, Reader is Innocent. Reader is a virgin, Reader is a Mudblood/Muggle-born, use of little witch/littlegirl/little one, Reader is of age, Grabber has an innocence corruption kink, Reader gets kidnapped. Harry Potter 2nd Wizard War AU.

Grabber x Hufflepuff [ 1 ]

The Room of Requirement shimmered with the focused intensity of young witches and wizards, secretly preparing for the fight against the Dark Lord and his followers. You were among them, your wand tracing arcs in the air as you practiced defensive spells like all others. Some students here were younger than you, some slightly older. But everyone was practicing with the same passion. The air was thick with concentration, punctuated by the occasional crackle of magic gone awry.

"Hey," Ginny's voice cut through the hum of activity, pulling you aside. She was in the same year as you, although you hadn’t truly talked until you joined Dumbledore’s Army. Her eyes held an edge of urgency. "I need you to fetch some Hellebore Herb from the Forbidden Forest."

You nodded, a quick, sharp motion. "I can do that," you murmured, feeling the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. Slipping out of the school was a grizzly task nowadays. Students weren’t allowed to leave as it was said to be too dangerous out there now that the Dark Lord had returned. But you knew danger lurked inside the walls of your school as much as it did outdoors. Most of the staff at Hogwarts was sympathizing with the pure-blood radicals. If one of them caught you sneaking out of the school, they’d be taking their time punishing you with heavy torture spells.

Luckily, you were quite skilled at being silent, always alert, and excellent at not being noticed. Ginny knew this. It was why she usually asked you or Clementine Felley, a Ravenclaw with similar skills but a year below you two, to do these sorts of assignments.

Because you’d been doing this for a while, you had grown confident in your skills. In the shadowy corner, you slipped into your school robe to protect yourself from the cold outside. You made sure to flip your hair from underneath it before donning the hood and hiding it again.

The yellow and black of Hufflepuff covered you, and you were glad you belonged to that house. Somehow, the yellow became just another shade when you were out in the dusk or dark, resembling green or brown and adapting to your surroundings. You ran your fingers over the emblem, feeling the rough embroidery against your skin, before you grasped a wicker basket, its weave tight and firm.

Creeping out of the Room of Requirement, you clutched the fabric of your robe close. The corridors loomed silent and watchful. You knew the stakes — capture meant punishment, Crucio, or worse if the Carrow siblings got their hands on you.

As the doors groaned closed behind you, you drew a deep breath. Every shadow could hold a spying eye, a guard, or an enchantment meant to betray your step. But like so many times before, you made it out of the school with practiced ease. The Forbidden Forest loomed, a dark maw ready to swallow you whole. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, but you pushed forward, feet whispering over fallen leaves and twigs.

Like you had hoped, nothing happened. You weren’t spotted. There was no alarm raised. And the deeper you got into the forest, the more at ease you started to feel. Not that there weren’t countless of dangers here, but with your wand and your knowledge of spells, you felt you could handle the forest’s creatures.

The underbrush crunched beneath your knees as you knelt, fingers sifting through the damp soil. You found the Hellebore — a sinister beauty with its deep green leaves and delicate blooms that belied the poison lurking within. Your breath came in careful puffs, visible in the twilight of the forest.

"Aren’t you a brave girl?" The voice was like gravel, grating against the hushed whispers of the trees. It struck a chord of fear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your gaze lifted, heart beating high in your chest. There, a few feet away from you, a devil's mask leered down at you, eyes hollow pits of malice. You instantly recognized the foul creature from pictures in the newspaper. Moving images of the same mask, two hands raised next to it, showing the same rings you saw now glinting on his fingers in the light of the moon.

The Grabber.

His name slithered through your mind, conjuring images of snatched souls and vanished faces. His jacket hung open, revealing a swath of bare chest, skin pale in the moonlight, betraying he was just another man.

“What are you doing, lovely?” The voice was so deep and low that you felt it deep in your core. You squeezed your legs together uncomfortably, hoping the man didn’t notice the gesture, as you slowly rose from your knees.

Even standing, the man was at least a head taller than you. If not more.

“Well?” He tilted his head, the mask mocking you as it slanted.

"Collecting herbs," you managed, voice a mere wisp of sound. You tucked the Hellebore behind your back discreetly.

"Oh,” the man made a mocking sound that was almost called gentle. “Sweet thing, aren't you? Voice like honey." The Grabber cocked his mask, angling it in such a way that his eyes could trace you up and down. You could feel it, felt his gaze as it roamed over every inch of your body. It felt intimate, the way he studied you.

He stepped closer, the scent of earth and something darker emanating from him.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell the big bad man what kind of herbs you are collecting out here, on your own, at the cusp of midnight?”

You knew he had you there. No student was allowed in this part of the forest or indeed allowed to roam outside at night. In fact, no students were allowed out at all. And by your robes, he could easily tell you were still a student, that you belonged to the school nearby.

A man like him, working for the Dark Lord himself, would not let you go unpunished. He would either hand you back to the school, or he would dish out the punishment himself. But with his reputation for being a man who tortured his victims and made innocent people disappear, you had a feeling which one it would be. The others wouldn't get their herbs today. You had failed them. For a short moment, you wished one of the Carrow siblings had caught you on your way out instead.

“I-I will,” why was your voice trembling? Why did you stutter? Were you truly this scared of the legendary snatcher who was said to be more demon than man?

“Very cute all the stumbling,” the man interrupted you. “I don’t care what you came here to collect. All I care about is that you are being naughty. Being out here, on your own, late at night. There are all sorts of bad men prowling about. Hadn’t you noticed?”

You blinked, clearly confused by his words because he obviously was one of these bad men himself. Why else would he trod around wearing a demon’s mask, bare-chested, in the middle of the night? He was out here, hunting.

Did that mean that others were nearby? That you somehow had been unlucky enough to cross paths with the ones he was chasing. People the Dark Lord wanted to see dead.

“I-I am s-so sorry. The H-herb I needed only grows at night and I thought-" you lied.

“Hellebore Herb,” he interrupted, cutting you short yet again. Of course, he must have caught sight of it. You nodded, realizing that although you had been trying to hide it behind your back, there was some more Hellebore near your feet. It would have been an easy guess.

"Well, well” he muttered, and you watched as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The way his jacket swayed about revealed a hairless stomach with trained abbs, slightly pudgy but you supposed that came with age.

“Are you a full or half-blood?"

Huh? It was a sensitive question, but you could guess why he would ask it. The Dark Lord wasn’t keen on anyone not considered pure. You could lie to him. You knew you should. But something about the glint behind the dark holes of eyes in the mask told you he already knew the answer.

"Neither,” you reluctantly admitted, hanging your head in defeat. The herb dropped from your hands, fingers outstretched behind your back. “Muggle-born," a reluctant whisper and most definitely a death sentence. To lie was folly; he would know. To think all your bravery and good intentions would end here, tonight. That your defiance would be squashed down by one man and an unlucky encounter. Fear danced along your nerves, yet you forced stillness upon your frame.

"Charming," he murmured, surprising you as he closed the gap between you. The brush of his fingertips against your hair sent an unwanted tingle down your neck. "I would love to take you home."

You stiffened, the words wrapping around you like chains. There was no mistaking the implication, the threat veiled as a compliment. He wanted to snatch you the way he had done so many others. But there was something else underneath, something thick with arousal.

His presence loomed, a specter of dread. His breath grazed your cheek, slipping out from underneath the mask as he studied you with a sidelong glance. You let him touch your hair, let him believe he held sway. Inside, your thoughts raced — plans, strategies, hopes all tangled in a desperate knot.

"Would anyone miss a sweet little muggle-born witch?" he cooed, playing with a lock of your hair. His closeness disgusted you, but you tried to use it to fool him. Your hand slipped into your robe, ever so carefully, and searched for your wand, mentally preparing to knock him back with a spell.

"Everyone is missed by someone," you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

"Ah, but will they look for you?" The Grabber's tone was a taunt, a predator enjoying the quiver of his prey.

They would. They had to. Ginny and the others would notice if you didn’t come and deliver the herb. They would alarm the others, start a search for you, make sure your parents were informed. And then, the true search would start. No matter how influential the Dark Lord was, he couldn’t stop your loved ones from searching for you. They would, you just knew it. You were loved. You clutched your wand in your fist, preparing to attack.

"Let's find out," the moment the whisper reached your ears, his hand left your hair. You felt how his hand slipped into yours, disarming you by taking your wand. How had he known that you'd reached for it? That you held it? "You don't need that, little girl. Wands are for grown-ups," he teased, voice sing-song. And you silently fumed because you were an adult. Even if it hadn't been for that long. How belittling the man sounded, how he seemed to take pleasure in making you feel small. Then, his mask came closer again, forcing you to lean a little more backward.

"Run, little girl," the Grabber hissed, and without a second thought, you spun on your heels and you ran. With a twist of your body, you broke free from his grasp, feet pounding against the forest floor as you sprinted toward safety.

You could hear him, the laughter that bubbled up from his throat, rich and deep and terrifying.

"Run, little witch, run," he taunted, delight evident in each syllable. "I do so love a chase."

Branches whipped against your face, leaving hot, stinging trails in their wake. Your lungs burned with exertion, the distance between you and the safety of the school shrinking with every desperate stride.

You could reach it, you had to. At this point you didn’t even care if any of the guards spotted you and if they crucioed you until you wished you had never been born. Anything was better than this. Anyone was better than this man. This demon who you’d read about.

Kidnapping. Torture. Unethical spells.

If he got you, you’d never see the light of day again. You’d be done for. You'd die a horrid death.

The outline of the school loomed into view. Just a little further. You pushed yourself beyond your limits, limbs stretching, going faster than you ever had, before your freedom was snatched away. An arm snaked around your waist, making you tumble. His hands clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape. Together, you crashed into the underbrush, his chest, a wall of heat and hardness, pressed against your back. The scent of him enveloped you—earth and sweat and something darker, unnamable.

You fought to breathe, feeling the strain of his fingers against your lips, pushing tightly so they couldn’t even part. You tried to wiggle out of his grip but he only tightened it, hissing in your ear as something hard poked against your butt and you instantly came to a still, eyes wide open. That wasn’t…?

"Shhh," he hissed as a guard's lantern light flickered in the distance. "Not a sound."

You had no choice but to wait in his embrace, feeling his chest heave rapidly up and down behind you. His palm warm against your lips, his heart hammering against your spine. Sweat from his naked chest brushed against your robe.

The moment stretched, an eternity wrapped in seconds, until silence returned and the light of the lantern disappeared into the dimness of the night. Then he rose, pulling you with him, his grip ironclad and unyielding.

"Be silent. Don't make this difficult," he commanded, his hand was upon your arm, gripping you tight, as a wand was raised by the other. It took less than a second for you to realize what was about to happen, but you didn’t have time to counter his spell or try and get away.

You knew what came next—the sensation of being squeezed through an impossibly tiny space, the world blurring into darkness. Apparition. A forced journey to an unknown hell.

You now stood somewhere else, in someone’s living room by the sights of it, too busy taking in your surroundings to stop how the Grabber replaced his hand from your arm to your neck. The squeeze was painful, bringing tears to your eyes, and your hands darted up to try and alleviate his grip. But to no avail.

The man forced you to walk from the living room to the kitchen. Standing in front of a white door, you couldn’t distinguish the soft muttered words that were muffled by the mask, but it was clear he was using some kind of magic to unlock and open it.

A deep and dark room appeared, a staircase leading down to it. Like a basement full of concrete. Then he pushed you through the door.

The grip he had on your neck was firm enough that it became difficult to breathe, as he guided you down the stairs and into what seemed to be a grey and mostly empty room.

The basement was a tomb of dampness and decay. You were thrown onto a mattress that reeked of rot, each spring groaning in protest. He loomed over you, a shadow stripped of humanity.

"Let me have a look at you," he demanded, settling before you and reaching out without expecting an answer.

You felt like a trapped animal and tried to crawl away, but your robes obstructed your movements. And where would you go? There was only a wall behind you, the grey concrete looked chipped and filthy, but also sturdy. You’d need your wand to get out of here.

The man’s hands were already untying your robe, pushing the cloak aside at both sides. Fear twisted inside you, a serpent coiling tighter with every passing second. Veins were visible on the male’s hands. He must be an older man, you thought. And strong.

You tried to struggle and pushed your hands against his arms in an attempt to stop him. But he only stopped his movements to shush you, angling his mask your way before his hands slid past the fabric of your clothes once more.

"Yellow and black," he mused, fingering the edge of your school robe with a touch that was both reverent and mocking. "I always had a thing for Hufflepuffs... loyal, kind, innocent. Wouldn't harm a fly." His voice dripped with sarcasm even as his fingers delicately parted the fabric to reveal your uniform beneath.

You held your breath, trying to shrink away from his probing gaze, but here there was no safety for you. He leaned in closer, heat radiating from his body as you deliberately tried not to look at the bulge he was sporting in his pants. "But innocence is often just a facade... physically they are pure. But mentally," here he chuckled.

"Please..." The word escaped your lips as a whisper, a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity.

A low growl rumbled from the depths of his chest and his nails pressed into your skin as his grip on you became more bold. “I like it when you beg. Makes you look cute, honey.”

You whimpered sadly, realizing that begging wasn’t going to save your life.

"Quiet now," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. "You won’t need this."

The robe was pushed down your shoulders without a fight.

"Shh," he hushed you, his fingers sliding up the sensitive flesh of your bare thigh, just above your stockings, causing an involuntary flinch.

His coarse fingertips traced dangerously close to your skirt now. You couldn’t help it. You weren’t a fighter like the Slytherins or Gryffindors were, but you had your boundaries. With a sharp movement, you brought your elbows down to harm the man, but the Grabber was quicker. He caught your wrists with just one hand. A sad realization that his hands were large and strong enough to subdue you. You wiggled ineffectively, feeling the grip around both your wrists tighten.

"Cute," he chuckled darkly, taking pleasure in the shiver that coursed through you.

"See," he breathed out, his hand venturing beneath the pleated skirt, touching you where no one had ever touched before. "You are going to love this." His words were poison, staining the rawness of the moment with vile certainty.

"Stop," you tried to command, but it came out as a whimper, your own body betraying you under his invasive touch.

His fingertips stroked past your covered folds, the crotch of your panties dampening with each intimidating stroke. The pressure was just right, pressing down tightly enough to stimulate your clit through the soft cotton layer until he had you squirming. Soft mewls escaped your lips instead of pleas while he still held your wrists up with one hand, making it impossible for you to fight him off or crawl away from his touch.

"Ah, there it is," he whispered triumphantly as his finger traced over your damp core. "Your mind's as filthy as they come, little witch."

Panic clawed at your insides, yet amidst the terror, a spark of rage ignited. You hated him, hated his touch, his violation of all you held sacred. You loathed the way he made you feel; exposed, vulnerable, and worst of all, responding despite yourself.

"Doesn't this prove your point?" you spat out with venomous defiance, despising the trembling of your own voice. You were wet, you could hear it now. You felt your nipples peak underneath the fabric of your blouse, their tips pressing through the layers of clothes you were still wearing. But you had no doubt he had caught sight of it.

“Who said I wanted to prove anything?”

For a moment the two of you sat in complete silence while his fingers still rubbed your clothed core. Slick sounds emerged from between your legs while the Grabber stared at you. Was he waiting for an answer?

You tried to control your breathing, thankful when he finally lowered his other hand and with it your wrists. Your arms were starting to feel sore. Yet, that didn’t distract you from the warmth that was slowly building up inside your core. A tight coil was inside your tummy, your legs started to tremble. Whatever function your panties were supposed to have was rendered nihil as he flicked and fondled your clit through the now-soaked-through piece of garment. The fabric clung to your folds, making it easier for him to brush his fingers and the cloth deeper inside, even being as bold as to try and dip a fingertip in until you moaned and thrashed against him.

You turned your head aside, unable to look at him and his devilish mask as an orgasm was rapidly approaching. Your body trembled under his touch as the finger pushed against your entrance once, twice. And then suddenly withdrew.

Shaking, you sat there, blinking confused before you turned your head to face him. Your body felt hot, between your legs, it was burning with desire. The orgasm was so near that you could feel the first tremors already racking through your body. But he had stopped on the cusp of it, withdrawn as a form of pure torture. Leaving you undone, a trembling and whimpering mess on the dirty pale mattress.

You looked up at him, cheeks red and eyes full of arousal. Even forgetting to lower your arms now that his hold on you was gone. Not that you wanted him to have sex with you, but you were the epitome of a woman on the cusp of ecstasy - eager to have your bodily desire fulfilled. You wanted to feel good. Your mind was now conflicted, torn between wanting him to finish and wanting him far away. You looked at him, flushed, eyes begging him to finish what he started. No wonder a low groan escaped him while he squeezed the bulge in his pants as he rose to stand tall again.

“So innocent,” was all he announced before trying to run a hand through his shoulder-length hair. It must be a habit, you realized, mind still hazy with lust, because the movement had no purpose. The man’s mask was clasped behind his head with several bands. His fingers couldn’t properly run through his hair, and he had to halt his movement and lower his arm again.

You smirked up at him, as if you’d just found out a secret about him.

If you could undo those clasps, you could see his face. If you could escape, you could pass that information to the others. He’d finally be an easy prey.

A sudden movement shook you out of your thoughts when he suddenly dipped his hand inside the pocket of his own jacket. Your wand slid out, the hand in which he held it still glistening in the dark from your juices.

"M-My wand," you whispered, the sound barely escaping your lips.

"Shhh, little Hufflepuff," he cooed mockingly before holding your wand up high, seemingly to study it.

And you finally propelled into action. Your wand was an extension of yourself, of your magic, and it shouldn't be in his possession. You scrambled onto your hands and knees in an attempt to jump up and snatch the wand out of his hands, even if he was that much larger and even if you probably couldn’t reach it when you jumped anyway. But you had to try it. You had to get it back.

Your wand was the only thing that could get you out safely.

The Grabber seemed to have predicated your move. It only needed a whisper of his lips, and you sat frozen.

“It works well,” he muttered, words muffled by the mask. And you had no choice but to watch as he lowered his arm. Your breath caught as his fingers, rough and calloused from years of unforgiving work, slipped into the pocket of his dark robes, taking with them your wand—your lifeline.

He patted the pocket of his jacket as if to taunt you, the jacket smacking against his hip as it still hung open to reveal his naked chest. You could see his belly roll with each deep breath taken. He was still aroused, taking delight in playing these games with you.

A whimper escaped your lips, unbidden, raw with the fear of helplessness.

"Isn't that just adorable," the Grabber mused, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the cavernous basement. You watched, heart pounding, as he prepared to leave, the satisfaction in his stride unmistakable. "Don't worry, pet. You won’t be needing that while you’re here."

You watched him as he made his way to the door. If only he hadn’t put that spell on you and you could still move… But as it was, all you could do was sit and watch as he carried your only hope for survival with him.

“I think I’ll just add your name to the list of deaths," the low husky murmur of the Grabber surprised you. It came unasked, just another way he was mentally manipulating you, you guessed. "No one’s gonna ask for you. But you know, future reference. In case anyone decides to start prowling,” he paused, turning his mask to face you from over his shoulder. “It'll just be another whoops. My hand slipped. Killed a pretty little girl out in the forest. Mud-blood witch. I had my orders.”

Anger raged inside of you, boiling under the frozen surface. You wished you could grit your teeth, curl your hands into fists, growl even. But you could do nothing.

He'd report you as another casualty, another life claimed by the darkness he served.

"It’s a cheap trick, but it works every time," he said casually. "Mostly had boys before you. This will be new." The implication hung heavy in the stale air, a sentence without an end, and it was suffocating.

Why? You wondered. Why not just kill them? Why take them home?

The Grabber paused, the mask changed direction until it almost looked like the demon grinned. "I like to play a game. Only with the cute ones though.”

Panic seized you and you felt like you suddenly couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t just read your mind, had he? Merlin, please don’t let him be a Legilimens.

The Grabber fully turned back to you, the demonic mask’s expression seemed to have changed. But surely, that must be your imagination. Or had he cast a spell on it?

“Want to know what it’s called?” he taunted. And you thought. No. No, I don’t want to know what the game is called.

But instantly after, a different voice inside your head said otherwise. What game did he play with his victims, you wondered?

You almost heard the smirk that was hidden underneath the mask. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, confirming your fear that he was someone who could read minds.

“It’s called the naughty game.”

Then he smoothly turned on his heels while a thousand thoughts clouded your mind. You watched him, his back to you as he ascended the stairs, leaving you to contemplate the twisted rules of his game. What happens if you're naughty? you wondered, a desperate plea for some semblance of understanding.

He halted, his silhouette framed by the dim light at the top of the staircase.

"You lose," he answered, the words echoing ominously off the walls.

And with that, he disappeared from sight, leaving you alone with the chilling silence, your wet panties, and your racing thoughts. ~ AN: More? ~

~~ Support me on Ko-Fi - Masterlist - Request Box ~~

#Reader x The Grabber #Grabber x you #Grabber x reader #the grabber x reader #the grabber x hufflepuff reader #the grabber x hufflepuff student #the grabber #Black Phone #Harry Potter #albert shaw #Albert shaw x reader #albert shaw x you

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linneri · 2 years

Text

navy blue

aged-up!neteyam x fem reader

no warnings; spoiler free

non-english speaker

His skin had a much cooler shade than yours; that was the first thing you noticed. Bright navy blue, deeper, heavier, almost impossible to get from marine nature. The pair of amber eyes were scanning the surroundings, checking for potential dangers, confirming if his family is safe here among strangers, and this gaze had you glued to the ground, feet grown in sand when these eyes accidentally went looking directly, straight into you. Tsireya was talking and smiling, and you wanted to scream at him, "Hey, look at her, she's the prettiest girl here," but he was still and almost hypnotized, ears trembling nervously. He's mesmerizing, you thought. He's so pretentious, it's almost scary. He must be brave enough for those kinds of stares, brave or frivolous—you couldn't decide.

Stranger from a land where trees touch the sky and levitating mountains have no ground beneath them, it was poetic; he must have seen the highest of altitudes.

His father came from the star, as you'll be told later. It makes sense; he is a cosmic boy, the comeliest of the aliens, and you found it truly beautiful. You two didn't talk after; he melted from this frozen gaze and went with Tsireya, Ao'nung, and the whole group of his younger siblings with big eyes and thin tails, and they all were adorable, really, you could feel the strong, unbreakable connection in this family. It was a bit painful to look at them from the side, but you weren't the daughter of the Olo'eyktan, surely, you were just a part of the clan, just a watcher. That is what was most surprising to you this morning. You weren't in the first line; you never are. Looking at forest guests from someone's shoulders, hiding patiently just to watch from the side, and still being noticed like this—strongly, gripped with the gaze. He caught you like a hunter catching a thief. Overthinking these few minutes made you feel like you were the one who was either brave or frivolous.

It's not like you two got closer over the weeks; you haven't even shared a word. You weren't ready to go talk to him; it was almost like a fantasy, but you were already too curious for him, almost glued to him, so you couldn't leave the beach while he was somewhere in the water. Call it embarrassing or romantic—it doesn't matter. He was still the son of Toruk Makto, and you were still just a weaver sitting on the sand. It was simple to bring all the materials onto the beach and hide the eyes behind the tapestry. He was learning how to ride an ilu once, which was pretty hilarious to be honest, but he knew you were there, and you knew that he knew, and this was calming. It's all about the looks: there were looks in the morning when you were arriving at your beach spot; there were looks in the evening when he was returning from his long distance swims; you two were always searching for each other's eyes, just to know, just to feel this kind of warmth and keep going. It was your little game in comfort, and it always ended with a win for both of you.

Soon or later, it started to hurt somewhere under the ribs, his apartness. You low-key felt like a traitor; your little staring game was unbreakable and already much more than you could ever dream of, but somehow it still wasn't enough, and you had no idea if this feeling was mutual. In this case, wouldn't he come? This silence started to get overwhelming; it was almost feral. You weren't the one; you never are. He might generously gift you these looks and still choose someone else—someone prettier and louder, someone with a brave and adventurous soul, someone who speaks instead of just looking.

But he saw you, you thought. Shouldn't it mean something?

You didn't come the next day. And the next too. It all felt too silly, and you decided that you had romanticized this whole experience much more than you should have. It's probably been a week or something; you just tried to come back to your life: quiet weaving at home, family dinners, learning, spending time alone with your thoughts. The tapestry was almost ready, though. You took it in your hands, finishing all the details, slowly sewing the ends, and adding the shells as buttons. It was wonderful, yet it still felt like a failure. You packed it under your pillow like the most hidden of secrets.

It was your birthday a few days later. Never a party, but rather a little celebration with the closest hearts around. You loved it quietly. You never expect a lot, just some little gifts, mother's meals, forehead kisses, and soft evenings inside the village. Nature greeted you as well. It was one of those sunsets in silence when everyone rested in their places and the island was a little liar for saying that it was all yours for tonight. Water greeted you respectfully, and air touched your face with the slightest kisses; you were a dreamer, and this planet loved you.

The village was turquoise, the warmest shade of the surrounding wet air. That's why this cold navy blue in front of your eyes almost got you tricked. Heart dropped immediately; for a second, you forgot you even had one. In the darkness, his skin was starting to glow a bit with these little sparking freckles, and you weren't just staring; you were stargazing him carefully. He was a cosmic boy, you remember.

And somehow, he came. It was him just in front of you, on your little secret birthday. You found it surprisingly easy - to look at his amber eyes once again like your gaze never leaved his, not for a second.

"You're here." You broke the silence. It was almost possible to hear the crack of the rules that were finally breaking.

"Let me know if coming here will ruin everything." He said. His voice was strong and yet trembling. "Let me know if it was already ruined."

Ruined?

If you only had an answer. It was dreamy, but yet so impossibly real. The tension could be touched and grabbed in your fist if you ever raised your hand. He was here and close enough to radiate warmth from his cold-shaded skin. Ruined? It's a farce. You were the one who put an end to this game, overwhelming and terrified of fear, and he came here equally terrified as you but infinitely braver.

Lips opened for a word, but came with nothing. You prayed for your eyes to say it all.

"I should have come earlier." Shaking his head, he said."It hurts to lose this certainty that if I turn around, I will meet your eyes there."

It hurts. It feels then, you thought. It feels then, and not only you were the one to feel.

And it's all about the way this boy speaks: expectedly tenderly. You always wondered what his voice sounded like.

"And yet it feels newly seeing you this close." You said, breaking for a little smile. It was boldly for you, but you felt happy to see him here, really did. It was a confirmation that he indeed felt the same way about you.

The sunset tried its hardest to shine brightest this moment, but it was overshadowed by the smile growing in front of you.

You said your names to each other right after. The bond made in your heads got a little stronger with this smallest step, and you loved his name endlessly—Neteyam sounded perfect for his indomitable spirit and such soft, tender eyes, and it felt even softer to say it out loud.

"It's your birthday." He said, dropping his gaze away from your eyes, probably for the first time in these minutes. "It's not the best, but I took some clothes from my village before coming here and now unraveled one of my capes because I never saw such color in your tapestries and Tsireya said that--"

"We don't have this pigment on our land." You finished.

He was holding his hands in front of you, and there was a beautiful skein of cold blue thread in them, navy as his skin but brighter than you've ever seen. It was the color of their nights, you thought, the shade their forest generously provided only for its citizen. And now you're the one who can take it as if you were one of them. It was lovely. Neteyam felt you without asking any questions. It left you breathless.

"How could you know? It's so perfect." It was a childlike awe in your tone that made him smile and look into your eyes once again. "Thank you."

You were scared to even breathe because this little gift felt so personal and let you know that he really cared and noticed, and he really tried to know you as well as he could, from the side, just like a watcher, just like you. You raised your eyes, and you knew they were shining.

"I have something for you as well." You told him. Neteyam looked confused, ears straightened quickly. "Please, just stay here."

"Hey, why would I leave?" He smiled wildly after failing at fake pouting. You loved how his eyes were surrounded by a few wrinkles in this moment. It was torture to turn your head away and go fast to your place.

It was near; you weren't far away, and you knew that he was waiting for you. It made you feel something real. It excited you. There were minutes, probably, funny or not: a few words to your parents, a few steps to your bed, a few moves to your pillow, grabbing the tapestry, and almost running back to him.

When you arrived, breathing barely, you looked at him with the silliest smile. You held it proudly in your hands, your heart racing. You remember finishing it hopelessly and feeling like you were just a fool for him, and now the soft material warmed your hands.

You were weaving him a cape at the same time he was unraveling his own for you.

It was in light marine colors, with threads of silver and bronze, a pattern reminding you of water, and glowing shells as buttons—truly good work. You weaved it with all your feelings for him, and it actually turned out to be the best tapestry you've ever made.

And it was so intimate—changing the gifts that connected so strongly without even knowing.

He went silent—not a silly joke, not a single laugh. Neteyam took it so carefully, like it was fragile. He didn't expect it, you could tell, and it was an intriguing show to watch, to notice all the changes in his mimicry and looks. So warmly. He looks at you so warmly all the time. He placed it on his shoulders slowly, putting the shell in the loop with one careful movement. Like a prince, you thought. His skin made the cape almost shine in the sunset lights.

"It's not my birthday today, you know?" He said.

"I know, but it's mine. Keep it if you want to cheer me up a little more than you already did."

He looked up at the colorful sky and laughed loudly. "You're perfect. And it's the work of art that I didn't deserve but that I will definitely be carrying with me till the end. Thank you." He lowered his head back at you. "Thank you."

Making him happy. That's all you wanted after this moment.

You both sat on the sand, and the conversation finally felt natural and unhurried; he was the sweetest and shyest person you could ever imagine.

You were the one to break this shy wall between you two and tell him honestly that you did, in fact, miss him and that you were, in fact, coming to the beach just to see him. He laughed softly and placed his hand on your head compulsively, probably because of the oldest brother's habit of messing up his siblings' hair, but took it off immediately. You wouldn't mind, though. His accidental touches were giving butterflies.

He was honest as well; you believe that he was always honest, but it was still surprising to hear him tell you about all these feelings you two shared but both had no idea you did. You were a little poet with threads as words for him. He felt it somehow—maybe it was some kind of connection or just admiration—but watching you alone with something you love was beautiful. It was natural; you were on your own and never complained about it. That's why he never talked to you; he was afraid to ruin something in this idyll, break your comfort zone, and lose the opportunity to look at you every other day. But you were always looking back, and that gave him this blind courage to come here. He didn't know your name, he never asked. He could just go to Tsireya or anyone, but he liked to keep you as his little secret. Neteyam was not embarrassed to publicize his little addiction; he simply loved the intimacy of it all. And it was passionate; you felt the same kind of desire to keep this away from everyone in order to keep it as magical as it had always been.

You couldn't dream of this answer. He gave you much more than you thought you ever deserved.

And he was perfect in the darkened skies; it felt like they were trying to make him glow as much as possible. It was a moment when you raised your hand carefully after your conversation stopped in the comfortable, soft silence, and it was almost possible to hear the sound of the air cutting under your palm; everything was slow.

You touched one of his sparkling freckles between his eyes, stopping their light. His skin was satin. It was as warm as his gaze, much warmer than how this cold-shaded skin was looking. He stared at you so intensely—nobody has looked at you like this.

Nobody has ever seen you like this.

Your fingers moved by themselves, braver than you ever were, going down, remembering all the caves on his face, the silhouette of his nose, the little pit above his trembling lips. They stopped there, covering his mouth with the slightest touch. Neteyam was watching your eyes following this way. You knew the night was hypnotized as well; the clouds were completely still in the skies, looking down at both of you.

You moved forward impulsively. It was a moment; you lost yourself, and your eyes closed without your permission. Blame the date; you had a few minutes before your birthday ends and it was the courage that fogged your mind. Or it's just him: beautiful, beautiful cosmic boy under your skin with an intense gaze and the warmest amber in his eyes.

And you kissed the tips of your fingers like there were just his lips uncovered for you. So close. So "almost". You didn't see it, but you felt it—he flinched, his hot breath burned your fingers, and he opened his mouth a little, instinctively.

The moment got stuck. Time could get faster or just stop; you wouldn't tell. It was just your noses touching, shared loud breathing, and trembling fingers between you two, like the strongest and largest barrier you've ever felt. You had no right for more, you wouldn't ask for it. It was the closest you could get, and you slowly tried to move back to face reality. But he caught you. He caught you, like he always does. His fingers wrapped around your wrist so fast and tightly, almost scared, that you couldn't help but open your eyes in a daze and meet this melting amber.

You couldn't forget the way he looked at you—in awe. Conserved sparkles in this gaze because of fear of hurting you, grip relaxing around your wrist. He nearly told you with his eyes: "Let me." Fingers moved higher to meet yours, carefully fitting between, where your lips almost touched.

He nearly asked you with his hand: "Please."

Was there any other answer you could give him instead of yes? You closed your eyes slowly, sipping down your entwined fingers, and it was louder than any of your possible words.

He kissed you.

Blindly and passionately, as if nothing else mattered more than your lips on his, your holding hands under your chins, your little gasp after he finally touched you in ways you both couldn't even imagine. It was forbidden, and yet so freeing—a little secret that got you both breathless. He moved slowly, taking his time on you, and it was so intimate that you felt the goosebumps running down your back. His other hand covered the back of your neck, trying to be closer—the closest he could ever get. It's doubly that he could at this moment; you wanted him somewhere under your skin. Glued permanently like a tattoo.

The seeingless line between, the little navy blue thread on your fingers, the gazes that could find each other even in the most crowded of streams—there was something so real tying you both together. Knotting like a weaved braid.

It was something real and beautiful, the way your lips perfectly fitted, breaths combined, and skin smoothly touched each other.

He torturously, unbearably moved away in an instant, breathing heavily on your lips, your foreheads touching. Leaving a little peck on the corner of your lips before talking: "You should teach me." He took your entwined hands on the material of his weaved cape.

You laughed softly, making a little effort to bring his hand back to your face: "You would be much better in it with this extra finger your siblings have." You said, kissing his palm and hearing him chuck.

"Indeed. But I have much more motivation to learn than all of them."

"Yeah? Always wanted to weave?" Your lips were still on his fist, touching his skin anytime you talked or smiled through it.

"Always wanted to have a reason to be around you." He said unexpectedly seriously. You found it quite adorable; this boy was pure in his feelings for you, and this is all you ever desired. You put your lips back on his, kissing him softly instead of answering.

He's got all the reasons to be around now, and you both knew it. Before it got too dark and late, he was kissing your face everywhere, leaving some silly playful pecks on your forehead and cheeks through the smile, holding your face tightly with his palms.

The comeliest of aliens that came from the place with mountains that saw no ground, he was just about to show you all the altitudes, and you were ready to fly the highest with him if he ever asked you. You both were laughing and finally felt so free with all the unhidden feelings you both tried to hide.

"Cosmic boy." You whispered between his little kisses, and you knew he adored it.

And it felt lovely to let yourself be happy.

#neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x oc #neteyam fic #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar twow #avatar imagine #avatar fic #avatar x reader

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gryphonlover · 2 months

Note

psssssst you got any other angsty ideas for opossum!Hyrule?

(don't tell Jes)

- hero-of-the-wolf

Hiding secret opossum things under this nice read more. Nothing suspicious here. Just keep scrolling, Jes.

Supposedly, opossums taste kind of like pork. (Stephen Winnick) I am not suggesting anyone should actually eat him, I'm just saying one or two individuals may be familiar with the idea of eating opossums. Personally, I would not recommend eating one, but I would also eat greens from the lawn, so... yeah.

Opossums have also been compared to pigs by some very old, very dead famous colonists, but I don't really see the similarities, myself. Seems like the most they have in common is what they eat and what they taste like. (I would like to point out that their diet is terrifyingly diverse. Opossums have been seen eating just about everything, including "skeletal remains of rodents and roadkill animals.")

I think some parallels can be made regarding estimated lifespan. The generally agreed upon average lifespan in the wild is 2 years. 2 years. That's not very long. Of course, people say that it's short because of predators, and opossums can live up to 10 years in captivity, but the average lifespan in captivity is usually closer to 4 years.

If you assume that there are lots of monsters and barely any support for Hyrule in his home era, then I think it's reasonable to assume that he's going to slip up and die young. As much as I want him to live a long, happy life, in that situation I think he'd inevitably die around the age of 25. Maybe a little older or younger, but he definitely wouldn't make it to Time's age.

Now, I don't know exactly how Dark World forms work, but given that Twilight has a lot of experience with that sort of thing (and Magic Wolf Senses), I rather like the idea that he has some kind of intuition about it.

This is utterly horrible to do to him, but you asked for opossum!Hyrule-related angst, so here you go. I'm finally getting to the point.

What I'd like to see is that Hyrule ends up in his opossum form and encounters Twilight, who figures out what's going on and wants to fix it. (Bonus points if he plays dead and fools Twilight.) One way or another, he puts two and two together and figures out that Hyrule's an opossum because they're terrifying and don't live very long. Maybe they're generally considered a symbol of people who die young or something like that in Ordon. I don't know. Whatever works. This causes a whole long existential crisis because he knew Time would eventually die (see: Hero's Shade) but he didn't realize Hyrule probably would as well and now here he is as a freaking opossum and everyone knows they're dangerous, but they also die all the freaking time. Anyway, at some point stuff happens, and the subject is actually brought up and Hyrule tries (and fails) to reassure Twilight by telling him he always knew he'd die young, and it doesn't really matter anyway because he already died once or twice (see: dolls) so really he's living on extra time and once he dies it's actually for the best for his era (see: Ganondorf ritual). Twilight, being a normal person, is not reassured at all. This would also be a good opportunity to insert one or two random historical documents/folk stories from after Hyrule's era about what actually ends up happening. (Bonus points if he dies even younger than Twilight expected.) Also, they are heroes, so an attempt to change fate is going to be made sooner or later. What happens next is up in the air because that just puts us back at the "is determinism real" debate, and no one has solved that in the last several centuries anyway.

So that's my proposal for an opssum!Hyrule angst fic. :)

#askbox chats #askbox hero-of-the-wolf #linked universe #lu hyrule

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missmielyhoran · 2 years

Note

dad's best friend!! Sorry it wasn't supposed to be so confusing 😭😭😭😭

It wasn't! I'm just an indecisive person in general😭. Thanks for requesting♡

First of all can we talk about this suit? Why haven't I seen this? He looks so fucking good😩

(dbf!harry or gangleader!harry and plussize!reader)

Harry- 40, Y/N- 22

[Warning- Smut, mentions of Mafia and gangs, 18 years age gap, dad's best friend, mirror sex, teasing, choking, fingering, edging, orgasm denials, fluff in the end and angst if you squint enough to close your eyes]

You knew teasing Harry was like poking sleeping bear with stick but you couldn't help it.

It was one of the monthly dinner party hosted by your parents. All of your dad's colleagues and friends were at his house dressed to nine. The hall was filled with people in designer suits and dresses.

It was a colour theme party so most of them were in shades of red and black. You were in a short dark coloured off shoulder dress with statement sleeves matching with the long dark red satin dress of your mom and the red shirt of your dad.

Harry hugged his best friend, your dad first thing when he arrived then your mom and then he stood in front of you. He was wearing a dark red suit which fitted him nicely and you already thought of taking pics together later.

"Hello Mr. Styles" You said teasingly being the minx you were. He laughed and hugged you, your face tucked into his chest while his hands subtly slid down to pull you closer to him discreetly so, no one can see.

"Hello princess" He greeted back and pulled from hug. His signature smirk adorning his lips and you were surely red in face, flustered by his deep voice.

"Styles c'mon lets get some drinks" Your dad called Harry. He gave him a nod and shot you a subtle look.

Your parents didn't knew, no one did about you and Harry cause you couldn't even think of what would happen if they got to know that their only daughter was in a relationship with their good friend.

Harry and you met at golf club. It was one of the rare days you decided to join your dad to his golf game and you praise yourself everyday for doing that cause that's how you met him.

You still remember the yellow polo he was wearing. It snugged around his biceps and broad shoulder, the blue pants showing off his fine ass. You felt guilty for thinking he was hot and feeling yourself being turned on. If he was your dad's friend it meant he was closer to his age. He might have a partner or be married.

So, you subtly brought him up in conversation on your way back home and your dad told everything about him. He was your dad's boss some kind. He never goes into details about who or what he works for and you never asked.

Harry was 39 then much younger than your dad who was in his late 40s and drumrolls please....he was single!

Although for a while it didn't change anything but it made you feel less guilty when you touched yourself thinking about him.

Harry was same on the other hand. He shouldn't have been thinking about one of his main hand and best friend's daughter that way but fuck you were something else. The crop white sleeveless polo tshirt you were wearing that day made your boobs bounce everytime you walked and especially when you hugged him and he felt them rub against his chest. Jesus Christ!

He had to excuse himself so he could run to washroom and collect himself (by that he means wank).

Time went by, you stayed in Harry's mind and he in yours. It was your apartment move in party that you met him again. Your dad bought apartment for you cause you were itching to move out and he couldn't let you live in some small, cheap and filthy apartment. You were always daddy's girl considering you were the only child, he spoiled you a lot.

He invited everyone including Harry. Whole time during party both of you made eyes for each other and when party ended Harry stayed after to "clean up" and he sure did clean up.

At first everything from his side was strictly sexual but you were already falling for him after sleeping for second time. You confessing led to a big argument but it went fine as now, a year later you both have been in relationship for 8 months after hooking up for 4 months.

*****

A hour later you were wine tipsy enough to have your cheeks flushed but also be aware of your surroundings. You were searching for Harry not seen him for quite some time.

You walked out in backyard seeing people mingling together. You politely smiled at some of your dad's coworkers your eyes frantically searching for a mop of curly hair.

When you did find him, he was with Sharon. Her manicured hand on his bicep as she laughed way too loudly on something he said. You rolled your eyes feeling jealous, even a blind person could see she had eyes for Harry. Your dad joked about it a lot to Harry in front of you not his fault, he didn't know his daughter was digging nails in her palm so, she wouldn't cry or get angry.

Harry always told your dad he wasn't interested in her and to Sharon also but to everyone he was single. So, your dad kept teasing him about settling down constantly telling him about possible dates. It made you sad but Harry always comforted you telling he doesn't want anyone but you.

You believed him and trust him with your everything but that doesn't stop you from wanting to pluck those flirty eyes out of Sharon's head any less.

Few people walked past them making them shift from their position. Now, Sharon's back was to you and Harry in front of her. You smiked brewing plan in your head. You walked towards them sipping your wine, Harry eyes found yours and he knew something was going on in your brain. He straightened up seeing you walk towards him.

"Mr. Sty-" You cut yourself off and pretended to trip over the stone in front of you. The wine splashed on Harry's black shirt and some on his pants and you "accidentally" collided with Sharon making her fall into the pool. Harry caught you in his arms even though he knew you were safe, it was like a reflex for him.

Sharon screamed sounded followed by splash of water. You bit your lips trying not to laugh as she came above he surface of water looking like a wet dog.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked for confirmation, your eyes softened looking up at his. You gave him nod and then a cheeky smile.

He shook his head and moved towards Sharon to help her get out but before she could touch him you called the guards and made them help her out.

"I'm soo sorry Ms. Sharon. Are you hurt?" You asked her faking innocence. Harry rolled his eyes internally and wanted to laugh at your jealous antics but refrained himself.

Her hardened eyes snapped at yours but she couldn't say anything cause you were her boss's daughter and one wrong word she would have been fired.

She gave you the best fake smile, "No ma'am it's fine mistakes happen"

"I know next time don't stand beside dangerous places. I'm a bit clumsy you know, who knows where you might end up falling" You pouted and passed her towel brought by one of servants. Her smile faltered and she excused herself.

"You want you clean that up Mr. Styles?" You asked him pointing towards his shirt and pants. You looked up at him with doe eyes batting your eyelashes as if you didn't just pulled a stunt.

"You're a brat you know that?" He whispered darkly, his voice getting deep. You kept your eyes on his, "Your brat though" You pouted making him laugh.

"C'mon princess help me get this stain off" He said walking inside. The music was playing loudly now as dinner was served and people were drunk dancing their asses off. You saw your dad chatting with few men so, he didn't see you. Just as you were to slide inside the guest bathroom with him your mom saw you.

"What happened?" She asked looking in between you two. You panicked thinking she caught you but Harry saved your ass.

"Oh nothing Mrs. Y/L/N, little miss here accidentally spilled wine on my shirt. I told her I could get it off myself but she said she felt guilty." He said waving off and pretending to walk inside the bathroom.

"No no. She will help you. ¡Cuántas veces te he dicho que no bebas tanto!" (how many times I have told you not to drink so much!) she said her spanish accent thinking as she got mad.

"Sorry ma I will help him" You said and you really felt like a child getting scolded. You mom hummed and walked back towards the party.

You quickly pulled Harry inside and locked the door. His back was against the door as you started to kiss him. You were a starved woman not being able to kiss your boyfriend for so long.

Harry smiled at your eagerness, his hands sliding down to your ass groping it, pulling them apart then letting them go. He started walking and pushed your back towards the sink pulling you up and sitting down.

He pulled apart to breathe. Both of your lips red, glistening and swollen, your red lipstick smudged around your lips making his heart skip.

"You look so good baby" Harry cooed at his girlfriend. Your cheeks heated up but you kept the eye contact playing with his curls at the nap of his neck.

"You don't look bad yourself Mr. Styles" You teased giggling. He shook his head at your childishness but that's the thing he loved about you most. You were serious, a strong headed woman but also playful, brat and full of life.

Harry leaned down just inches away from your face, "Is that how we're going today? Mr. Styles?" He asked running his nose along your jaw. You closed your eyes and tilted you head to the side as his breath tickled your skin.

"We don't have much time-" You got cut off by a whimper as he started to leave wet kissed down your neck, "People might get suspicious" You said fully losing control of your body to him.

"Mhm I will be quick" He said as his fingers slid down your silky dress to your lace thong barely covering anything. "You're in for it when I get my hands on you later" he groans moving down to your cleavage biting and sucking on them.

"Harry please" You moaned desperately wanting for him to relieve the pain. He stopped moving his fingers but before you could whine in disapproval you earned a sharp slap to your clit. Even though it was covered his rings were enough to have you doubling over.

"Try again sweetheart" he said resuming the slow assault on your clit. Your head was tucked into his chest and only thing you could do was whimper.

"Please Mr. Styles" You begged making him hum in appreciation. He started rubbing your clit faster the thin fabric getting soaked in your arousal. You let out a loud moan getting closer to your climax. Your noises were getting louder and if anyone to pass by the door would know what's going on.

"Shh sweetheart don't want anyone to know you're in here making a mess do you?" He tsked tilting his head. You shook your head not being able to say anything or comprehend. Even if someone did heard you both you couldn't care.

"But I think you would also love for someone to hear you getting of just by me rubbing my fingers on you" He chuckled, "Such a pathetic baby"

You pouted at his words even though his words were making you more wet.

"Don't pout. How would your dad react when he gets to know you pushed that poor woman in pool cause you were jealous" He taunted his fingers still making tight and slow circle on your clothed clit making your hips buck up from time to time.

"Please! Please! Please!" You whined for more. You were incredibly wet and it was aching, you just wanted your release but it never came.

Harry removed his fingers from your clothes pussy making your eyes snap open. You looked up at him frustated and confused while he just smirked.

"You think I would let you cum after you've been a brat" He asked bringing his hands near your shoulders. In one go he flips you around, your back to his chest and his hands over your stomach keeping you against him firmly.

"What you're soo mad I pushed your side chick in pool?" You mocked rolling your eyes at him, starting to get frustrated. So what if you pushed her in pool she had it coming.

"Don't give me that attitude princess" He spanked your ass hard making you moan loudly in return, "It's my duty to remind you of manners you have seem to forget" He pinched your butt then leaving another slap.

Then he pushes him away from you all together, the sudden loss of contact had your body in shivers from cold air.

"Now how this will go princess is I will go is I will fuck this tight warm pussy of yours, get my orgasm" He said his hands roaming all over your body as if he was memorizing every curve.

"What about me?" Your voice faltered as his hands found your boobs. Harry loved your boobs although you told him many times you felt insecure about them he was obsessed. Always holding them, sucking on them like his personal stress ball.

"What about you hm? All you're to me right now is a fuck toy baby" He said his lips sucking on the spot near your neck which can be hidden by hair.

His words should have hurt you but only thing hurting was your cunt for his dick.

He pushed you down your forehead resting on cold mirror as he fumbled with his belt and pants. Once his pants were down his knees he pushed your dress up. Both of your holes were in full display in front of him and he wanted to ruin you right there but they didn't have time.

he pushed your panties to the side and slid inside you without a waning. You moaned loudly from the intrusion, he was so big stretching you out filling you up.

Harry brought his hand to your mouth and covered it. "As much as I would love to hear your maons babygirl, I don't think your father will appreciate it" he spoke in your ears his breath tickling your skin, "What would he think if he finds out his daughter fucking his best friend huh?" He taunted you.

Your brain felt like mush and all you could do was nod. "Such a dumb baby" He spoke and then started pounding in you. Your hips were constantly hitting the sink and you knew you will have bruises there.

You were so close to getting off when you heard the knock on the door. Harry stopped for a second confirming someone was indeed knocking and it wasn't something his brain made up.

"Mr. Styles? Y/N? Who's inside and why is it locked?" You mom asked trying to open the door. Your whole body was rigid and for a second you thought you might get caught. You looked up and found Harry's eyes in mirror and he gave you a shrug and started moving again slower but deeper.

"Go on reply to her" he whispered in her ear.

"Helloo" You mom called out again. You whimpered slightly but got yoursf together.

"It's me mom" You said and bit down on your lip as Harry hit the right spot inside you.

"Y/N? What happened are you okay?" She asked concerned from hearing your weak voice.

"Yeah Yeah just threw up a bit. You know me and-" fuck "wine" You said stumbling over your words.

"Where is Mr. Styles?" She asked. "uh I think he went outside I don't know" You said that in one go amd brought your up so you could moan.

You don't know if she brought it or not but she left after telling you to call her if you need anything. Harry pulled you up by your hair your head falling back on his shoulder.

His pace was flattering but still firm, his hand either groaping your ass or your boobs.

"I'm close Harry can I come please" You begged but he didn't listen.

"No. On knees now" he said and pulled out. You fell on your knees in second, you hand holding his thighs for support. He brought his cock near you lips smearing the precum and your juices on your lips and then pushed inside.

You sucked like your life depends on it. You were a pleaser with no doubt and Harry loved it.

"Yes fuck keep going baby" He said, one hand gripping the sink and other your hair. He was fucking your mouth with same intensity as yiur cunt. You swirled your tongue around him and brought your hands up to massage his balls. He let out another moan and a curse.

"Such a good girl" he moaned out andgripped your head more tightly. "I'm going to cum" he announced and soon you felt him shooting warm thick ropes down your throat. You sucked and cleaned him off until he went soft inside you.

Harry brought you back up and sat on the counter. His lips back on yours tasting himself.

"I'm going to leave and you will leave behind me. 20 minutes I want you in my bed" Ge said and pecked all over your face making you giggle.

"Did so good going to reward my baby" With a wink he opened the window and jumped out landing in front of shed. He fixed his suit and went like nothing happened.

*****

I'm thinking of making this a trope. Gang leader dbf, sounds fun lol.

You can request more here♡

Like, Comment and Reblog please!

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donotpush · 1 year

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Bumpin' in Europe, 1

Monica wasn’t your aunt, and to be honest, you were never really sure what she was doing in your house.

The few memories you had of her were like a fuzzy dream, disjointed bits with a touch of a few very specific sensations, like the smell of her perfume or the exact shade of tan she always had.

She was Mom’s friend, that was it. You couldn’t remember for how long she was around, and if anything, she probably had been your mom’s friend more than she was your auntie.

The most vivid memories you had of her flourished around your teen years when the way you looked at her started to slowly shift.

She would come around a few times a year, typically around the holidays and it always meant gifts, exotic trinkets and the extremely physical affection that the people from somewhere in Southern Europe always carried around with them. She would always bring good wine with her and that meant that mom would be a little less grumpy and that you were allowed to stay up past your bedtime, sitting in the dark in the backyard with them.

But she wasn’t around that much for you to consider her a constant, an important part of your life as you did with some other of your mom’s friends, who you would actually call aunt.

Monica was just the woman that would get all the horny teens in the neighbourhood to conglomerate in your backyard to watch her sunbathe.

Cause she was pretty hot, too. As you grew older, the less you cared about if she brought you gifts and more if she was going to wear those shorts or tank tops that showed off way more skin than your conservative neighbourhood was used to.

All the fond memories you had of her seemed to remain buried deep into your little box of wonders, until yesterday.

You shook your feet in the air before smacking them gently against the wall, trying to get rid of the sand that got into your sandals, grazing the bare skin and making you groan silently. Something tickled the back of your sweaty neck, and a small blood spot smudged your fingers when you killed the mosquito that landed on your skin.

This far, this part of your journey has been hell on earth.

It had looked nothing like what the influencers on Instagram showed, and yes, you were aware that if there was something this trip wasn’t going to be, that was glamorous.

But, come on! This was too much even for you.

The owner of the hostel you were staying in ended up being a total asshole, to say the least.

The place was nothing like what it advertised on Airbnb, the posted pictures made you think that there was a cozy, safe, friendly and clean place that couldn't be less far from reality in competition with the building that stood in front of you.

And of course, you did expect to share a room with people. Maybe nine, ten at worst. Not fucking 25 other people in the most cramped place you have ever seen, and for the price you were paying might as well pay for a hotel room.

You could hear your mother’s voice saying I told you clear as daylight.

Long short story, there was no way you were getting your money back that day, you were without a single penny in your pockets and waiting for some divine Airbnb intervention to come and rescue you.

But it didn’t happen, and your mom was the godsend creature that served you the solution to all your problems on a silver platter, after the scolding of the year over the phone. It truly is a small world, and Monica, her friend, happened to live in the same hole lost in the middle of nowhere where you ended up.

Another argument with the hostel owner and a few more calls later, you were heading to Monica’s house, who gladly allowed you to spend as much time as needed at her place.

There were a few little details that didn't escape your eyes at first sight, not the most obvious, perhaps. Her hair was shorter—no longer waist long, and a shade lighter, a nice caramel brown instead of black. And God, she looked younger than her actual age. Even when there were new wrinkles around her eyes and there was proof that she smiled too much on the corners of her lips.

Well, she was still a beautiful woman.

As a kid, you were bewitched by how kind and funny she was and what amazing gifts she always gave you. Now your interests were drafted to how fucking hot the woman in front of you was.

She wasn’t exactly like the vivid image you hold in your memory, she surfed the transition from young adult to mature woman smoothly and hot as hell. And you liked it, but as your eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in every inch and trying to remain as neutral as possible, it wasn't possible to contain the way your eyebrows raised and your lips parted, your face crumpling up in total surprise.

Firstly your gaze shifted front the way the skin that revealed the risky neckline shined against the warm sun to lower, and all the curves were great. But the curves didn’t stop there, because the modest black shirt she was wearing clung tightly to the gravid stomach that protruded in her middle, stretching the fabric dangerously.

Your mind went blank and you weren't sure if you let out an audible gasp, but your eyes seemed to be glued to her heavy, big midsection. Not only she looked— she was pregnant. She was pregnant, and fuck, you were sure she had more than one bun in the oven.

Huge. She was huge. Swollen breasts and round, firm stomach that made you wonder whether she already was in the last trimester.

Lucky the bastard that knocked her up.

It took a moment for your brain to reboot and return to function normally after you almost drooled.

The fabric barely covered the curve of her stomach, leaving a bit of the skin of her underbelly exposed, soft and inviting and you wanted to touch. In an unconscious manner, Monica pulled the shirt down in a useless try, because it lifted again, exposing even more skin.

Her hands moved to your forearms, gripping softly at them before she pulled you closer into a hug, her arms circling your body. You hugged her back automatically, burying your face between her shoulder and her neck and she was wearing the same perfume as always.

“Oh, Y/N! Look at you, dear". Monica laughed quietly.

The weight of the backpack you carried didn’t help you to remain stable, and soon you found yourself almost leaning completely against her in a closeness you didn’t intend. The gravid roundedness of her stomach pressed against your thin middle in comparison, and for a moment all you could feel was your own body getting hotter by the second, not knowing what to do with your hands.

Thank God you already looked flustered and sweaty when you got there.

You knew where you wanted to put your hands, but that would be not respectful at all. You wanted to touch, run your fingers over the bump, to touch and grasp but God, you had basic human decency to not be that much of a creep.

She pressed a kiss to your right cheek, and you shivered at the feeling of her lips against your hot skin and the way her gravid body pressed against yours, then another kiss on your left cheek.

“Please, come inside”.

You didn’t remember it, but she had an accent.

She held the door open for you, and she had to turn sideways facing you to get her belly out of the way and let you fit past her into the house.

The place was surreal, with high ceilings and spacious rooms, floors that conserved old tiles decorated with handmade colorful details you were sure weren't made anymore these days, paintings on the walls and art pieces that reminded you of abstract art pieces you had seen online.

Everything was taken care of, every little decoration carefully placed, every detail double-checked, and your attention should be there, but your eyes couldn't leave Monica’s body.

“Look at you, you’re…” she smiled, walking into the kitchen, “God, you’re so… different. All grown up, now."

Leaning back against the countertop, one of her hands traveled to rest over her growing stomach, and the other one to rest behind her back for support. A drop of sweat rolled down her neck and slid down her collarbone, disappearing between her breasts. You realized she wasn't wearing anything under the shirt, and you got it, being all hot and bothered while being so pregnant didn't seemed like a good idea.

And for a moment your brain flashed with images of her naked on top of you, breasts full of milk bouncing and gravid bellies contracting under your touch. Then you shook your head vigorously, forcing yourself to remember why it was wrong and you shouldn't be looking at Monica in that light.

“Yeah, you’re...” you let out a shaky breath, your hands gesturing first to yourself, then to her before you shrugged. “I mean, you look-”

The words got tangled on your tongue before they could even try to get past your lips; you knew exactly what you wanted to say, but you weren’t sure if you should. You swallowed, taking a deep breath under the attentive gaze of Monica.

“I know, different. Different is good.” you forced out, smiling and waving your hand.

You hoped the blush that painted across your cheeks wasn’t noticeable, that she hadn’t noticed. How to say anything without it coming off the wrong way?

You wanted to compliment her so badly, but there were so many risk factors here, you didn’t even know where to start.

She was hot. More than you remembered and even more than you expected, and pregnancy... suited her so well. Like she was born to be like this, to have a gravid body and carry a huge stomach, with a baby growing inside of her. Full and heavy breasts, glowing from the inside out, soft thick thighs and perfect curves everywhere, meant to be a mommy.

"Y/N?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, her hand rubbing the curve of her abdomen tenderly. "Everything alright?"

As you know, the future of this story is up to you ;) so vote, comment, or whaterver you like babe. I hope you enjoyed the start of this journey so far, and I hope we can get even more of this 👀 as always, criticism is always appreciated and likes feed my ego, so feel free to smash that little heart :)

#pregnancy #pregnancy fantasy #fpreg #stories #interactive story #polls #labor #birth kink #m1lfs #this probably needs to be EDITED #later tho #also #sort of not a pwp #this #has a plot #👀#or at least i intend to #BIE

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emiplayzmc · 10 months

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Y'know what, frick it - random post to add onto my previous Addison ref sheet with random Addison / Spamton headcanons, complete with worldbuilding stuff as well :D

Long post under the cut, ^^"

Part 1: Body Reference Sheet + Anatomy Headcanons

Part 3: Main 4 Designs

-Addisons are highly advanced AI models based around human / Lightner minds. Because of that, they are VERY social people! It's rare to see any Addison that doesn't have even a single person it considers a friend or family member or SO, and those end up being pretty tight-knit relationships.

-Being robots, Addisons are unable to have any biological relations. However, it's very common for Addisons to have family members - just in a nonbiological sense! Basically, if they form a strong enough connection with someone and spend enough time with them, their CPU's are wired to think 'oh hey. this person is my sibling :)' Sibling relations are the most common familial bond between Addisons, but occasionally there are some with parent/child relations.

-Adding onto the last one, I like to see the main Blue, Yellow, Pink, and Orange Adds as being siblings to Spamton, :D The blue and yellow Addisons are the eldest, Spamton and the pink Add are close in age (Spamton being the younger one), and the orange one is the youngest.

-Addisons all use the name 'Addison' as their last name, along with a first name that reflects the type of advertising that they work in / represent (Examples: Click, Banner, Radio). Naturally, this results in a lot of similar names if there are Addisons who work in the same advertisement field. Thus, Addisons have middle names as well, and those function like last names for them.

-----

-Not all Addisons have the same shade of colour to their casing, so that's a defining feature that many of them have - no two Addisons are the same colour (besides an Addison and their Copycat. More on that later in the post)! (Example image below)

-When stressed, different colours of Addisons have different ways of their systems starting to overcompensate - Orange Addisons overheat, Pink Addisons overfrost, Yellow Addisons produce a lot more static electricity that can occasionally jump to other people and objects, and Blue Addisons are the only ones out of the bunch that can actually perspire! White Addisons / Glitches just overheat.

-Different colours of Addisons are typically glitches in the system - in other words, the Cyber World got confused when making the code for a specific Addison, thus making their colours glitch and mix with two or more Addison colours, resulting in Green (Yellow and Blue mixed colours), Purple (Pink and Blue mixed colours) and White Addisons (all colours at once). White Addisons are the rarest glitches, and only one White glitch is known to exist - Spamton. However, the other glitch colours are still less in population than the other main four colours. There are no other known glitch colours.

-Addisons don’t really age! Physically or mentally. As long as they have consistent repairs and take good care of their bodies, they essentially are immortal. Dented leg? Just get it repaired! Destroyed faceplate? They have replacements available! Faulty CPU? Tricky, but the Ambyu-Lances should be able to get it fixed up properly! They spawn in when the Cyber World creates their code as fully functional adult-minded Addisons.

-Adding to the last one, that only difference between a newly created Addison and an Add that's been around for a while is that new Addis pretty much have a one-track mind - find a job and start working. Over time, their minds develop more of their personalities, life views, opinions, etc. It usually takes about three to four months for an Addison's CPU to be like that of a fully operational adult human.

-When working a job, Addisons usually own their own storefront websites by themselves, but a few other Addisons have employees or work for other people - the ones with employees are usually the more successful Addisons in the city, like 'Big Shot' era Spamton.

-Yellow Addisons are filled with static energy as a result of their electrical magic. Therefore, their magic is a lot more physically damaging than other Addisons’ magic, and it’s quite easy for them to use. And, even without using magic, they can usually use that static electricity anyway like a reserve of power. Basically? Be friends with a Yellow Addison, and you'll never have to worry about losing power again. They can just come over and jumpstart a dead battery or turn the lights back on in your house :)

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-The Cyber World has a Dark Web side to the city - basically, it's a shadier part of Cyber City that's less in population, but the large majority of its residents are scam artists, criminals, et cetera. The Dark Web has its own Addisons as well, though they don't occur naturally.

-The Dark Web Addisons are known as Copycats / Trojan Addisons (though Trojans are a less common term for them). They only spawn in if a naturally spawned Addison enters the Dark Web side of the city. Basically, they're mirror versions of the Addison themself, usually holding most of the same personality traits, advertisement types, and personal styles as the Addison they copied, though in a way that's meant to scam and trick people.

-Copycats usually spawn with the same name as the one they're copying, but some change their names to better fit THEIR OWN purposes (example: an Addison named Click has a Copycat of themselves - the Copycat decides to name themselves 'Clickbait'). Not all Copycats are scammers, but most are.

-The only physical difference between an Addison and their Copycat is a marking on the Copycat's shoulder - they usually have a symbol like the Web Browser (the globe made of blue lines?), but with a neon green eye in the center of it.

-----

The brainrot over these fictional salesmen is enormous right now, thank you for coming to my TED talk

#deltarune #spamton #addisons #deltarune addisons #art #pink addison #yellow addison #blue addison #orange addison #headcanons #deltarune chapter 2 #the addisons #my brain. it is completely rotted with addison hyperfixating.#i have a 14 page google doc that grows by the week with headcanons of these guys

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reevesdriver · 2 years

Text

Spilled Wine (NSFW)

Word count: 2756

Character(s): Bronn of the Blackwater

Reader: Female Lannister reader

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Eventual Smut / Age Gap (Reader is of age) / Oral Sex (M & F Receiving) / Drinking / Vulgar Language

Support Me: Kofi

(AN: I literally cannot find that many Bronn fics so I decided fuck it I'll write my own. Also I can’t remember exactly how it all went when Tyrion made it back to kings landing, cause I watched that ages ago, so just ignore any mistakes in the plot 😂)

News of Tyrions arrival back at Kings Landing was music to your ears, you’d spent more than enough time trying to converse with your older sister Cersei but it wasn't the same. The banter you had with your younger brother Tyrion was far more interesting than whatever twisted drama Cersei had to offer.

You got on with Cersei yes but when you heard Tyrions voice passing by your door as your Handmaiden helped you get ready for a great feast at his return you couldn't help but grin and hold back your urge to rush just to go and see him. When you were dressed you dismissed your handmaiden and quickly headed to the hall with your assigned guard in toe to try and catch up to your brother before he was bombarded by the rest of your family and friends.

As you enter the room you see a small crowd of knights stood with your brother, along with a man you’d never seen before. Quickly approaching the youngest Lannister you clear your throat. “How rude of you to pass by my chambers without saying hello little brother.”

“Ah here she is, this beautiful creature is my older sister. Lady Y/N.” Tyrion says making you roll your eyes.

“Oh Tyrion how I’ve missed your compliments.” You say with a smile.

“I’m sure you have sister. Let me introduce you to this handsome man. This is Bronn of the Blackwater, he is the one who helped me on my travels.” Tyrion says motioning to the dark haired man who was currently eyeing you up and down as though you were some rare creature.

“Well Bronn, I’d like to thank you for bringing my brother home safely. Though I'm sure his endless talking made you want to throw him out of a window.”

“Aye my Lady, it had its ups and downs. Though it’s nice to see his tales of your beauty are true.” He replies and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks turning them a nice shade of red.

“Well my brother may be a liar at times and spin a false tale or two but I’m glad to look as you expected.”

“If you two don’t mind.” Tyrion interrupts. “I am starving and in need of some food and wine to fill my belly.”

“Of course brother, will you be joining us Bronn?”

“Aye, I could do with a drink.”

Instead of sitting at the main table with you and the rest of his family Tyrion sat amongst the crowd of knights with Bronn at his side. The pair shared tales of their travel to anyone who would listen whilst drinking and eating though Bronns chatter seemed to falter here and there as though he was distracted.

Tyrion looked to his new friend when he drifted off mid reply to some trivial question and gave a knowing smirk at the sight of the Sellsword gazing over to you. He knew that after the countless stories he’d shared about his older siblings Bronn would most definitely be eager to see you in person.

“You like her.” Tyrion said nudging Bronn almost making him spill his wine.

“She’s nice.” Bronn replies quickly.

“Nice enough to bed?”

“She’s your sister.” Bronn replies sharply. “And a lady. Doesn't she have some rich lord waiting for her hand in marriage?”

“That normally wouldn't stop you.” Tyrion said with a laugh then continued. “She was intended to be wed, though her future husband was killed in a battle so now she waits until our father finds her a new suitor. I’m sure she won't mind having her bed warmed for the night by the man who brought her beloved little brother home safely.”

Bronn laughed nervously and downed his wine before signalling for the cup-bearer to fill it up again. Throughout the night Bronn watched from his seat next to Tyrion as you ate, drank and then stood and chatted to your Handmaiden and some of your friends at the back of the room.

“It’s getting late, why don’t you escort my sister back to her chambers? I’m sure she could do with being rescued from the other lords in the room.”

“If that’s what my lord wishes.” Bronn finishes his drink and stands from the table which he has to hold onto momentarily as all the wine he’d drank hits him. When Bronn walked towards you and your friends he looked around nervously when he saw the small group of women looking to him before they muttered something to you. “My lady-” Bronn began as he approached you but when you turned and your eyes met his you grinned and interrupted him.

“Oh Bronn, come dance with me. I’m tired of hideous lords wanting to spin me round the room.” You say and refuse to wait for an answer. Instead you take hold of one of Bronns calloused hands and drag him through the crowd to the centre of the room and pull him towards you as you hold his hand and rest your other on his ribs.

The rhythm is uplifting and you can’t help but giggle as Bronn fumbles to keep up with you. “My lady. Your brother has asked that I escort you back to your chambers.” Bronn says when he finally finds his footing and dances with you in time to the music. His hand is holding yours tightly whilst his other is resting on your waist.

“Is that so?” You ask with a slight slur and quickly shift your gaze to your little brother who smirks and winks at you before downing the rest of the wine in his mug.

“Yes m’lady, he said to rescue you from the stuck-up cunt lords trying to ask you to dance.” He says in annoyance making you laugh at his choice of words.

“I assume some of those are your own words and not my brothers.” You say and he shrugs. When the song finishes and switches to that of a slower rhythm you stop dancing. “Escort me back to my chambers then. If my brother commands it.”

Bronn immediately turns and releases your hand allowing you to slip your arm around his and hold his bicep as he walks you through the crowd of lords and ladies that littered the room. You slipped out of the room, managing to avoid the prying eyes of your sister and her children, and walk down the corridor away from the loud music and chattering.

You walked with Bronn in silence down the corridor and further away from the celebration. The night air hits you both as you pass by the open windows of the corridor. “You’re a quiet one aren't you.” You say breaking the silence as you near your chambers.

“I’m a better listener than a talker.”

“A good quality for a man, I can’t tell you the amount of times I've been approached by lords who can never shut the fuck up.” You say and Bronn laughs.

“I imagine it’s more times than you can remember.”

“Most likely yes. All part of being an unmarried woman I suppose.” You sigh as you reply though Bronn does not add a comment. Soon you were standing outside of your chambers and looking up to the taller man as you relate your arm from around his. “Would you like to come in for a drink, as a thank you for returning my brother back in one piece? I think you deserve to try a more expensive wine than that served at the feast.”

“If that would please you m’lady then I will share a drink with you.”

Opening your door you step inside and head over to your table where a fresh jug of wine sits in the centre along with some goblets and lit candles to decorate. Bronn sits down at the table opposite you and watches with intense eyes as you pour two cups of wine and slide one over to him before taking a sip from your own.

“What do you make of it?” You ask watching as Bronn takes sip after sip of the liquid.

He gulps down the rest of it and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before putting the cup down on the hard surface of the table. “It’s the best wine I've ever tasted.”

“I’m glad you like it. Care for some more?” You ask taking the jug into your hands as you re-fill your cup. Bronn nods and watches as you move around the table towards him, bending at the waist ever so slightly to pour the expensive liquid into his cup. Your breasts threaten to spill from the top of your dress and Bronn can feel his breaches growing tighter as he blatantly stares at your chest.

“See something you like?” You ask when you catch Bronn staring. His eyes don’t move from your chest as you expected that they would, if it had been anyone else they would be fighting to look anywhere but your exposed skin but Bronn continued to keep his gaze fixed on the area at the top of your dress.

“Aye, I see two things I like.” His eyes flick up to your face and he smirks before taking a sip from his cup.

You place the jug on the table and swallow down a mouthful of wine before putting your cup down and moving over to the Sellsword. Bronn watches with eager eyes as you lift your dress up to straddle his thighs and plant yourself on his lap with your chest directly in his face. His hands quickly move to your waist whilst your own wrap around the back of his neck. You can feel the twitch of his cock pressing through his trousers and against your pussy.

“You’re a bold lady aren't you?” He questions making you smirk as his blue eyes look up to catch yours.

“I’m a lady who knows what she wants.” You say and before he can reply you press your lips against his. Bronn grabs your ass and pulls you closer against his body as he stands and slams you down onto the table, the force causing the jug and cups to fall and shatter on the floor below. “That was expensive wine.” You complain after hearing the pottery breaking and rich wine spilling onto the concrete.

“Fuck the wine you can buy more, there’s something else I'd rather taste anyway.” Tugging your dress and under-garments up Bronn pushes you down onto the table and kisses the insides of your thighs that are now hooked over his shoulders before diving his tongue between your labia. The Sellsword works his tongue like magic, licking and sucking exactly how you like it which has you clawing and arching against the table as you cum.

Giving a rough tug to his hair you pull him away from your privates and jump off the edge of the table to kiss him, your juices were coating his lips and dampened his facial hair and the thought that your scent would be embedded in his moustache for days drove him mad. Bronn unsheathes one of his knives from his belt and turns you around so he can slice the intricate lacing on the back of your dress. The sharp blade cuts through the knots with ease and the tip of the blade delicately grazes your back until Bronn returns his knife to its holster.

Turning back around you kiss Bronn again and the pair of you fight to undress one another whilst crossing the room to your bed. You can hear the ripping of fabric as he tears the dress from your body before pulling his own shirt over his head whilst you unlace his breaches to free his cock. Pulling away from his lips you quickly drop to your knees despite Bronns grip trying to stop you. “A lady shouldn’t be kneeling for a Sellsword.” He says with panted breaths.

“A lady can kneel for whoever she pleases.” You reply with a smirk as you unlace his trousers and free his cock.

Bronn looks down at you as you take his cock into your hand and begin to stroke it until it’s standing fully erect. Gathering saliva in your mouth you wrap your lips around the tip and suck it making Bronn groan and push a hand through your hair. The girth of his cock makes your mouth ache as you stretch your lips around the shaft to accommodate him.

“Never had a noble lady on her knees for me before. Think I can get used to this.” He sighs with a lazy smile as he watches you with hooded eyes whilst you suck his cock. When Bronn is close to cumming he begrudgingly drags you up from your kneeling position and throws you onto the bed against your pillows with little to no effort. You lay with closed legs watching him as he removes his boots and trousers to join you in the centre of the bed.

Bronn kisses one of your knees and slowly pushes his hands between your legs, opening them just enough so he can kiss his way up to your thighs until he reaches your pussy again. “Best cunt I've ever tasted, better than any wine I've ever tasted too.” He says between lapping deep strokes against your clit with his tongue.

You moan as he sucks your clit causing jolts of pleasure to hit you. “Come here.” You say grabbing at his sculpted arms and Bronn happily moves to kiss you once more as he hovers over you. His dick is thick and dripping with pre-cum as he grinds it between your folds and against your clit. “I take it you’re not a maiden.” He says taking ahold of his cock and tucking it at your entrance.

“Unfortunately no, though I hope that’s not off-putting.”

“Never, means I don’t have to be gentle with you.” He pushes into you, the stretch his cock gives makes you fight back a scream of pleasure. He continues pushing into you until his cock is fully sheathed in-between your sopping walls though before you have time to adjust he begins pounding into you.

“F-Fuck.” You stutter as you dig your nails into his back making him grunt. Bronn watches with pride at how your face contorts with pleasure while he hammers into you at a brutal pace. His hips slam against your body and he reaches a hand up to hold your face and kiss you whilst his other is braced at the side of your head to keep him from collapsing on you.

“You ever been fucked like this before?” He asks whilst pressing his forehead against yours.

“No, never.” You moan. “Best fuck I've ever had.” Your blissful smile makes Bronn smirk with confidence and soon he has you cumming around his cock. Your walls constrict around him and he knows he has to fight the urge to pump his cum in you. Instead Bronn opts to pull out and plaster your belly and tits with thick white ropes of his seed.

With a moan and a grunt Bronn jerks his cock until it’s drained. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to your lips where he eagerly kisses you as he had done before. “Let me get a cloth m’lady. Can’t be leaving you in this state can we.” He says and moves from on top of you to go to your attaches washroom and retrieve a damp cloth.

Bronn takes his time wiping his seed from your body as well as delicately cleaning between your legs before wiping himself and returning the cloth to the other room. When he re-enters he sees that you’ve turned onto your side and pulled the covers over your naked body. He crosses the room and leans over to kiss you once more. “Goodnight Bronn, thank you again for saving my brother.” You say softly, voice clearly full of exhaustion.

“Goodnight m’lady.” He smiles, revelling in the fact that he knows you’re going to be struggling to walk in the morning. Bronn dresses quickly and leaves your chambers after peering out of the room and checking that the hallways were clear from any prying eyes. Unbeknownst to him Tyrion had been passing the end of the corridor when he saw the Sellsword leaving your chambers, he smirked at the sight of his friend closing your door and taking off in the opposite direction.

#mine #mywriting #game of thrones #bronn #bronn of the blackwater #bronn x reader #bronn x female reader #bronn imagine #bronn smut #bronn of the blackwater x reader #bronn of the blackwater x female reader #female reader #reader insert #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones smut #Jerome flynn #Jerome flynn imagine #Jerome flynn smut

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years

Text

Trouble in Paradise | 1.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Epilogue | Masterlist

Synopsis: After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

Warnings: no use of y/n, age gap (rooster is in his mid-30s, reader is in her early 20s), mentions of sex and betrayal, pregnancy scare. Angst

…

Rooster’s thumb strokes back and forth over the back of your hand. It’s slow and delicate, he’s got his head leaned back and he’s looking at the ceiling. His chest rises and falls softly.

He seems so calm.

You’ve stopped crying now, but you’re still far from calm. You’ve been staring at the spot on your wall where the paint is a slightly different shade from the rest. It’s from a night that you came in drunk with Kit and she accidentally fell and kicked a hole in the wall.

It wasn’t that long ago.

You’re not ready for a kid. The girl that sat on the floor, laughing hysterically at her friend’s foot stuck in the drywall, she isn’t ready for all of this. You wonder if he is. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that he’s so much older.

Sure, it’s an easy enough observation that the two of you aren’t the same age, when looking in a mirror. But the way you love him, the way he loves you - it’s easy to forget.

You think of the time he called you childish. You had just been extremely childish, but it had made you feel so small. So much less than him. Maybe it’s easy enough for you to forget that you’re younger. You glance across. Maybe it occurs to him often.

You wonder if he ever made her feel that small, made her feel like she’s worth so much less than he is. Probably not, what kind of woman would plan a future with a man like that?

It would make sense for Rooster to be ready, he was ready for marriage not that long ago. The two of them had probably discussed children.

It makes you nauseous, thinking of their plans for the future, and the grinding halt you put in them. It isn’t your fault, it’s his. You keep telling yourself that, but it just doesn’t feel right.

Somehow, you don’t feel blameless in all of this. Though, realistically, you know that Rooster wouldn’t be blaming himself if he was in your shoes. Your mother always blamed herself too.

Leaning your head back against the bed that you’re sitting against, you follow Rooster’s gaze and look up at the poster on the ceiling. It’s from a music festival he’s never heard of. Something you might never go to again once these six minutes are up.

You swallow softly.

Rooster drapes an arm around your shoulder and presses his lips tenderly to your hair. You hear him sigh softly. He rests his cheek on the top of your head. You aren’t sure how he feels about all of this. You didn’t really take time to ask.

He hasn’t asked how you feel about all of this either, but the sobbing told him exactly what he needed to know. He pulls you closer against his chest. You close your eyes, resting your cheek against the fabric of his shirt.

You’ve never thought about being a mother before right now. Even without a set plan, you hadn’t ever really incorporated kids as an option - why would you, after the upbringing you had?

You’re glad that his cheek is resting against the top of your head, that you can’t see his face - you’re certain that if you could, you would burst into tears again. You’ve been so stupid.

Joe and all of his deployments, all of those women - those separate love stories across three different continents. You had noticed the similarities, but before now, Amy had always played your mother’s role in the story. The woman left behind at home with a broken heart and the pieces of her own great romance, shattered and torn apart but still worth holding onto.

You weren’t playing that part.

You were one of the nameless women worth throwing it all away for. But it hits you now: one of.

You remember the arguments between him and your mother. Him insisting that he loved each one of them. That it wasn’t his fault, that this time was different. That she had to forgive him. - And she always did.

Just like you did. You forgave him.

Not Joe, you’ve made his life difficult pretty consistently for as long as you can remember, and he has always reminded you of that. But Rooster. Anger simmers softly in the pit of your stomach. Not at him, not at your father.

You swallow, refusing to cry.

The way Abigail has been looking at you recently sits in the front of your mind. It’s the exact same way you would look at your mother each time she forgave him. You never understood it.

Even back then, standing at the same height as the kitchen counter, wearing pyjamas with kittens on them, listening to her apologise for not being there like he needed her to be - you understood that she was being walked over. It made you angry, watching her be such a doormat.

You could see right through his lies. Each of them, even back then.

Sitting at the dinner table, your feet dangling below the chair, looking at her like she was so stupid. Wanting to scream ‘I told you so’ in her face when he eventually did leave for good. Hating her when she spent an entire week in bed, crying for him to come back. Watching her resentment towards you grow as you grew up, looking more and more like him.

Thinking that you would never be so stupid.

The timer goes off and your heart sinks. You press your face into his chest, fighting back a heavy sob. He wraps both arms around you, kissing the top of your head softly.

“Baby, can I check them?” He whispers, holding you tight against him. You nod your head, there’s no way that you could bear to check for yourself. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Rooster takes one hand off of your back, turning over each of the tests silently.

You hold onto him like it will change what’s coming, like if you can just keep him this close for a while longer then you’ll change your mind. You wish for something to change. Your heart aches, wishing things were different. You sniffle into his chest.

You love him, he loves you. He’s willing to stay here with you forever, and build a future together. In your heart, you know that this isn’t right. The puzzle doesn’t fit together quite right.

This isn’t your future. This isn’t yours to share with him. It’s hers. It was theirs. You don’t want it.

“It’s negative,” Rooster says quietly, his eyes firmly on the single pink line on each of the tests, he lifts his gaze to look you in the eye and nods to confirm, “All three. They’re all negative.”

His face doesn’t reveal much about how he feels about this answer.

Yours does. You let out a shaking breath of relief, tears burning your eyes as they rush forwards. You look back up at the ceiling, breathing hard. Rooster squeezes his arm around your shoulder and leans forwards, pressing his lips to your cheek, then your temple. He kisses your hair.

You cover your face with your hands. Rooster’s brows furrow as you shiver, your breath shaking. You try not to, you hate crying in front of people, but you sit at his side and sob.

“Hey, hey,” He wraps his arms around you, sighing softly, “What’s the matter? - I thought-“

Rooster takes your wrists in his hands, pulling them down so that he can see your face, “Are these happy tears?”

You should say yes. You are happy, in a sense, this is the answer you were hoping for. It’s just that now you know. Those six minutes of waiting have made you sit and think of every wrong choice you have made.

Your gaze meets those soft brown eyes and you crumble, throwing yourself into his chest, sobbing. Rooster wraps his arms around you once more. He kisses your temple tenderly and lets you cry for a few moments.

It’s a big thing, it’s scary, he knows that.

It’s just when you’re still sobbing, almost hyperventilating against his chest almost ten minutes later, he shakes his head and squeezes your shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get some air.”

The two of you walk down to the beach behind your house. Rooster lays down first, lifting an arm to shield his eyes from the sun. He jerks his head, motioning for you to join him.

You lay down in the sand at his side and let the remnants of the afternoon pass in silence. He was right, it does help. You stop crying and just keep thinking. You’re trying to find a loophole.

A way out of the course he has set the both of you on.

“You wanna talk about it?” Rooster asks, turning his head to look across at you. You stare at the sky and shake your head softly.

“Can I talk about it?” He asks with the same tenderness.

You turn your head, meeting his gaze, giving a soft nod. You’ve fallen for his words before, maybe you’ll do it again. You want him to fix this. You want to want him to stay.

“I’m happy they were negative,” He declares, turning his chin back towards the orange sky, tucking an arm behind his head. “Call me selfish but I want you to myself for a while longer.”

Your throat tightens and for a moment, you aren’t sure if you’re going to start crying again. He’s getting it wrong. You close your eyes and hold your breath. You’ve never really been one for faith, but you’re laying in the sand and praying for some kind of divine intervention that will make this path the right one.

“It’s too soon to be thinking about all of that stuff.” Rooster muses.

You open your eyes before he turns his head. You have time to erase your pained expression before he sees it. He wants a future with you - that’s what he’s saying. It might be too soon now, but it won’t be one day.

One day he’ll get down on one knee and promise to love you forever, and he’ll hurt you like he hurt her. He’ll hurt you like your father hurt your mother.

He’s looking at you now, his eyes a shimmering caramel with the orange cast of the sky. The faded scars on his cheeks, the slight bump to his nose, the smile lines that seem to have doubled since you met him. You stare at him with an aching heart, wondering if it’s worth it to endure all of the too soon time you have left with him.

You can love him like this. You can let yourself be loved like this.

But one day, it isn’t going to be enough for him.

Fucking in the backseat of a car from the seventies, walking down to the beach and sitting in the sand, being able to see the stars better than he ever has - it’s more fun than Rooster has ever known. But he’s going to want more.

A year, five years, maybe ten - if you’re lucky. Rooster’s going to wake up, forty-something, with a girlfriend who is more than happy to just mix drinks and talk to lonely patrons - and it won’t be enough for him.

“Do you really want kids someday?” You ask him quietly. Your voice is a little hoarse, you’re still trying not to cry, but it can be passed off as a remnant of your breakdown from earlier.

Rooster nods as he slips his hand into yours, his fingers between yours. He lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles tenderly, then rests your hand against his chest. His heartbeat is so steady. Yours is thunderous.

“Yeah, I want a family,” He’s certain about it. He has thought about this before. He hasn’t ever been ready, but his choice has never faltered. He looks across at you once more, sun soaked and smiling softly. “I want us to have a life together.”

“We already have one, this one,” You say quietly, your voice shaking as you speak. Rooster doesn’t seem to follow. This isn’t a life to him. This will never be enough. Still, you tell him what you need from him, “This is what I want. Us, here, together. I don’t want it to change.”

He chuckles softly and rolls onto his side, pushing himself up on his elbow. He leans over you, tenderly brushing his thumb over your warm cheek.

“I like this too, but y’know,” You watch him intently as he speaks, willing him to change his mind, to not finish his sentence. He shrugs his shoulders, “Someday.”

You shake your head softly.

Your heart aches as you realize that this is it. The two of you are never going to make each other happy. Either you give in, and become the paranoid, heartbroken woman that you left behind when you moved here. Or he lives a life that isn’t enough.

Rooster’s brows furrow slightly, he squeezes your hipbone and his features soften as he tries to make this playful.

“What? - You don’t want to marry me one day?” He teases, brushing a strand of hair back off of your face. He’s been thinking about this more and more.

All of the doubts he had with Amy make sense when he’s with you, because she was never the girl that he was supposed to spend his life with. You are, he’s sure of it.

Your lip trembles as you give a soft shake of your head.

Bradley’s smile falters just slightly, he brushes his fingertips across his cheek and shakes his head, “Come on, never?” His tone is soft, he’s still trying to keep things lighthearted.

You shake your head at him.

“Okay.” He says quietly, sitting up. He shrugs his shoulders, “Alright. So, we don’t get married.”

It’s not a big deal. Plenty of couples don’t get married. It’s probably outdated. Here and now, he doesn’t mind. Looking down at you as you’re pushed up onto your elbows and staring at him with such worry in your eyes, he would say anything to make you feel safe again.

But his mind will change.

You know him. You know that he would say anything to make this better. As much as you would like to listen, you know that his word means nothing. You need him to understand.

“I don’t think I’ll ever trust you enough to want to marry you.”

Bradley’s brows knit together.

All of the arguments, the screaming matches and hurtful words with Amy - never hit him quite as hard as that. He watches you for a few moments. It’s clear that you mean what you said.

He frowns slightly as you sit up and rest your hand over his.

“I love you.” He tells you. It’s sincere, his chest heaves as he speaks, he reaches out and cups your jaw with his hand, keeping your eyes on him. “I want to spend my life with you. I’m never gonna hurt you again.”

You don’t make an effort to pull away, even though looking him in the eye right now feels like holding your palm over an open flame.

“You wanted to spend the rest of your life with Amy once.” You say quietly.

Rooster shakes his head again, more urgently this time, “This is different. I’ve never been as sure about anything as I am about my feelings for you.”

You sigh softly and shift forwards, he opens his arms. You press your face into the crook of his neck, his arms squeeze tight around your middle. You breath him in and kiss the skin of his throat once softly.

Rooster’s palm presses to your back, firm and strong as is trails from the tip of your spine to the base.

“I love you so much,” He tells you gently. You close your eyes and rest your cheek against his shoulder, looking at the waves rolling onto the sand. “We don’t have to talk about this right now. It’s gonna be okay.”

You wish you believed him now as easily as you did before.

His heart beats steadily against yours, your fingers curl gently around the nape of his neck as you hold yourself close to him. You sit in silence for a few moments, letting yourself be held by him, just for a little longer.

Rooster frowns as you pull back to look at him finally. The look on your face says it all.

“I’m never going to give you the future that you want.” You say softly.

He shakes his head, his hands finding your hips, holding you like it’ll keep you there forever.

“Doesn’t matter,” He breathes out, “I’d take any future you would give me.”

You swallow, running your fingertips across his shoulders and down his arms. Your lip trembles slightly.

“I can’t do it,” You say quietly, willing your voice not to shake. A muscle in his jaw ticks. You shake your head again, “This isn’t - this isn’t fair.”

You look at him and anger bubbles inside of you. This is his fault in every sense of the word. It didn’t have to be like this.

He didn’t have to lie to her, to you - he didn’t have to trail his fingers along your spine, or kiss your temple, or hold you tight against him as he slept. He didn’t have to make you fall in love with him. He didn’t have to ruin everything.

But he did, and now you’re here, tearing your hearts out and leaving them in the sand. It’s not like they’ll be any use to either of you after this anyway.

“Please,” His hands squeeze around your hips, he raises his brows and wills you to give him another chance. “Please don’t.”

Watching the hurt in his eyes, you want to scream at him. To tell him that this is all his fault, to call him every name you can think of. Instead, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your body into his. He hugs you.

“It’s been a really confusing day,” Bradley murmurs, his hand resting against the base of your skull as he holds you against him, “Let’s talk about this another time, okay?”

You kiss his jaw tenderly, he turns his head and you kiss his lips.

He looks into your eyes when you pull back and knows that that was the last time. He glances down, letting out a heavy breath, cursing himself for being such an idiot. Rooster feels the weight of this settle down and take its place on his chest, he takes another heavy breath and swallows, knowing that it’s going to be there for a long time.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him quietly, blinking as you fight back tears.

Rooster looks up at you, eyes shining. He won’t let himself cry in front of you. He brushes your hair back tenderly off of your shoulders and gives a small nod.

“Me too.”

You push away from him and sit in the sand, pulling your knees up to your chest, turning your attention to the sea so that he doesn’t have to see you break down again today.

Rooster pushes himself to his feet and hesitates for a moment. He racks his brain, thinking of anything he could say to make this better. He opens his mouth, searching for the right word.

You wipe at your eyes, then turn your head away from him.

He closes his mouth then leans down and presses his lips delicately to the top of your head, “I love you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes stinging with tears. You force yourself not to turn around. He walks away. You watch the sun disappear behind the tide, your throat burning - you don’t cry.

Rooster has twenty-seven days left on the island.

Jake doesn’t know the specifics of how or why, but he does know that Rooster is gone twenty-four days earlier than he’s supposed to and that it’s something to do with you.

It’s not a coincidence when Jake runs into you a week later. He stops by the liquor store that Kit works at on purpose, you’re there like he wanted you to be.

Jake’s intention was to push his luck and ask, but when he sees you sitting on the counter with Kit wiping your tears and telling you that it’s going to be okay, he knows not to. He leaves without buying anything.

Amy’s stuff is gone from the apartment when Rooster gets back. It’s what he expected but it doesn’t feel like any less of a punch to the gut. He sits on the floor in the entryway and leans his head back against the wall.

This is his punishment, he knows that. He accepts it.

He knows that reaching out to you would just hurt you more. It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. Even after two weeks, it’s the only thing that gets him to sleep at night. After three weeks, when he’s back at work, it’s the only thing that gets him through his work day.

Rooster’s certain in his belief he’s going to be holding onto what it felt like to be loved by you, perhaps for the rest of his life.

…

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