#my decade long relationship is failing :^) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshigray · 1 year ago

Text

𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲, 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐅@#𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲!? | suguru getō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Next time you wanna do something nice for your boyfriend, how about making sure he doesn’t see the package – let alone OPEN it! – before you? Especially if it’s something with bunny ears…!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! you and Geto are college sweethearts - implied that you and Geto are early 20s - lingerie + bunny outfit - oral (m! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - use of an anal toy; butt plug - backshots/doggy style + deep impact positions - impact play (spanking) - clitoral play - praise - finger sucking - cervix fucking - unprotected sex (psa: don't be silly; wrap the willy) - pet names (angel, baby, bunny girl, little bunny, good girl, my love, princess, sweet baby, sweetie) - cameos: Utahime, Mei Mei, and Gojo - reader is very shy but is trying their best! - kind of freaky! Geto awakening, lmao - humor - mention of drool/spit and tears - will be proofread l8r.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.2k (sigh..)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on this ask!! haven't done a suguru fic in a long while so ehh, why not? && tysm for 8.8k, my loves xoxo

“…”

Oh no.

“…Well,”

I have to be dreaming…

“Needless to say, I brought your package inside, Y/n.”

THERE’S NO WAY!!!

Being an introvert can have its trivial times; you should know that. Looking back on your life, you can’t seem to say you had the drive to stand out, an expertise you regret not putting effort into. You couldn’t do it; you’ve tried but to no avail! Going out of your comfort zone is too scary, shivering or freezing on the spot whenever you’re being spoken to or fumbling with words when trying to make a point. Man, it’s so embarrassing! It sucks — you’re a grown adult, and yet you can barely get through any gathering without anxiety rattling your bones.

Some are good at talking with others or are lucky enough to be naturally blessed with a social spirit. Some people like your boyfriend, for example.

Yes, you have a boyfriend.

Suguru Geto, your partner, wasn’t a complete extrovert. Honestly, he’s comfortable keeping to himself if he could choose. After meeting you, he preferred dates when you visit each other’s dormitories and enjoy each other’s company. However, compared to you, his people-pleasing skills outclassed yours unquestionably. Geto knew how to talk, drawing people in with his mellow tone and inviting aura. He was good at mingling and making everyone feel comfortable around him. You were a victim to it, lured in by his charm and soft ambiance.

He was terrific, a role model to you. How he would efficiently put himself out there while you stayed close in his shadow never failed to inspire you. The way he spoke, how he listened intently to others’ concerns, and his maturity seen as a dependable figure to lean on. It’s absurd to think that such a marvelous man fell in love with you and asked to court you.

You and Geto have dated since your junior year of college; what you once thought would be a tiny crush on one of the school’s notorious heartthrobs became your first and longest-running relationship! How did that happen!? You couldn’t tell; one moment, you two were paired up for an end-of-semester project, and he managed to have you relax and talk with him daily. The next thing you know, he’s asking you to live with him in his apartment the second you finish graduation. Now, you two have been a couple for nearly half a decade. It’s unbelievable to think about.

But even with how long you two have been together, there are moments where you feel as though you weren’t doing your part. Being in a relationship is such a hurdle for an awkward person, aka you, such as going stiff whenever old friends of Suguru pop up and greet him or him inviting you along to parties only for you to stay glued to a corner in silence. You felt as though you were…boring? Dull? Deadweight!? The list goes on, and the guilt never tires you out.

And Geto – God bless him – has repeatedly expressed and assured you that you didn’t have to feel as such. His alluring purple eyes and soothing voice vouch that he doesn’t mind standing in as your sponsor and speaking for you, and you are eternally grateful to the stars above for gracing a loving and understanding boyfriend your way. Nonetheless, the stress that churns your stomach doesn’t go away. He’s always been the one to voice for you, attend to you, and look out for you. Hell, even in the bedroom, he’s doing most of the work. Again, he’s never complained nor seems to ever will, but still!

He’s done so much for you, and you want to meet him at least halfway and make him feel appreciated. So, you took matters into your own hands and decided to do something special for your man!

Here was the plan: going out and buying stuff meant talking to people, and talking meant letting strangers know about your business; merely thinking about it had you trembling a storm. So yeah, nope. You went on the Internet and found sites catering to your search. You can’t say you were the type to wear anything risqué, especially in the bedroom. So, you dialed up your two best friends, Mei Mei and Shoko, to help you find stuff that they thought would look nice for you to wear.

Luckily, they came in clutch and found something for a beginner like you! It’s not something you’d wear in public—you’d rather die—but it’s a good start when implementing new things into your lifestyle. You added the item to your cart, purchased it, and waited silently for your package to arrive. To say you were anxious about this new step of adulthood was on the nail, but you beamed with glee once you got the notification that your bundle would be delivered today!

Before then, you decided to nap and wait for the item to be delivered to your apartment door. You woke up to that once you saw the notice on your phone, yawning your way out of the shared bedroom to retrieve it.

However, what you saw as you entered the living room stopped you dead in your tracks, and your eyes widened with absolute horror.

What you should have accounted for was that today was a Thursday, meaning Geto would usually come home from work on weekdays. So, while you were snoring in the comfort of your blanket, your boyfriend was the first to see a mysterious box with your name on it at his doorstep. And to add more salt to the wound, you caught him in the act unboxing the package and inspecting its contents, and you’re too shocked to fall on your knees at what he has in his hands.

Geto sat on the living room couch, the box perched on the coffee table opened with the wrappings decorating the brown table surface. His eyes find your figure to latch onto, but yours honed on what he was inspecting. In his right hand was a black lacy top meant to be worn around a chest—the other holding onto a headband with bunny ears of velvet material.

This is where we lay our current scene; astounded, you could only stand in place — like Geto — at the sight before you. And with every passing second, you wanted nothing but to explode into bits. Your boyfriend had found your package and opened it!

Of course, you’d be stammering your words! “W-Where did you get that!?” What a silly question; where else would he have gotten it, dumbass?

Nonetheless, the dark-haired man answers after a forced cough. “Well, umm, I saw it at the door coming from work. I brought it in and was going to let you know, but you were asleep, and I…didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Why did you open it if you knew it was mine??”

Geto raised his hands defensively, still holding onto the items. “I–I’m sorry! I thought it was something different, like the cute glass cups you liked and ordered last week. I figured I would set those up on your behalf. I had no idea it would be something…” Your feet suddenly felt heavy, watching your boyfriend scan the lace top. “Like this.”

Any attempt to fight the mini shakes of your knees was impractical, and your throat was going so dry that you were scared to swallow.

“This doesn’t seem like something you would buy; could someone have accidentally sent this with the wrong information?” He inquires with furrowed brows. “Better not be some fucked up prank or whatever.”

“N-No, it’s, I…” Fuck, this had to be the worst scenario to admit this. “….I did mean to buy it.”

Have you ever had those moments where people would look at you after saying something that you wish you hadn’t? You indeed hated those moments; they made you feel so scrutinized by the public judging you. And seeing your man’s eyes widen and his expression morphed his lips to a small “o” shape? Oh, you couldn’t breathe adequately.

“You bought,” your quivering lips worsen when his left wrist flicks with the bunny-eared headband. “This?”

Your hands come to your face, shielding yours from his as you silently squat down with the weight of your humiliation. The shakes rock your entire frame, and you can sense your tears forming. This officially was the worst day ever; out of all the dilemmas that could happen, why did it have to be the worst one of all?!? Your partner had found out about the out-of-the-norm purchase you made without you present to explain yourself first. Now he probably thinks he’s dating some freak into weird shit. Can this day get any worse!?!

You wanted to cry, hoping the floor beneath you would give way and ingest you out of this cold, cruel world. But alas, you’re still here and can hear the footsteps approaching your crouching state, and you jolt when Geto embraces you.

“Y/n,” God, why did he say your name like that? His tone was smooth like honey, and he rubbed your back as he brought you closer. “It’s okay, baby. I didn’t mean to judge you or anything; I was just curious, is all. Sorry, I opened your package without letting you know, okay?… Ahh, did I make my sweet angel cry?” Raven brows scrunched together at the view of you burrowing into his chest more. “Aww, Y/n, I’m sorry…”

Yes, you were indeed sniffling into his sweatshirt. Although, it’s not that he opened your stuff without your consent that upset you the most. You whine while moving your face, “I just…wanted to do something different.”

“Hmm?” Geto’s hand doesn’t stop rubbing your back, speaking to you in a low mode. “What’s the reason, sweetie?”

“Because, well,” you chewed the inside of your cheek as they warmed. “I just felt like I wasn’t…Like—sigh, you’ve done so much for me in this relationship, and I’m so lucky to have you as my boyfriend. But I feel like I don’t do my part as I should, you know?” Nothing is said from the other, so you continue. “I just–sniff–want you to know that I appreciate you and all you’ve done, although I didn’t know if my words would do me justice. So, I, uhh,” your thumbs find their way to fiddle with themselves. “I asked Shoko and Mei Mei for help and bought…..this to wear for you.”

Three seconds pass without saying anything, then six. At ten seconds, the silence suffocates you and probes your unease more and more.

However, his chest’s sudden rise and fall startles you, along with his pleasant laughter. “So that’s what this is all about, huh?” Your body’s rigid compared to his lively motion. “My angel was gonna doll up for me?”

“Yeah, and you ruined it!” You fuss, your cute teary face all hot and puffy as you complain. “I just wanted to do something special for you after I finally muster up the courage to go out of my comfort zone and do something nice and…well, sexy,” you cringed internally at the final word. Yet, it was true.

Geto hums through your explanation. “You’re always sexy to me.”

“That’s not the point!” He laughs at your remark, the sound filling you with warmth. “I–…I’m different compared to you. Whenever we’re out, you’re so much more social than me; I feel like I’m a burden or make it seem I need you to watch over me or something…And I know you’ve said you’re okay with it and don’t mind, but it’s….sniff–I don’t know, like I’m putting more on your plate when it’s more of a ‘me’ problem…”

Your eardrums pick up low chuckles. Then, like the Prince Charming he is, Geto uses his hand to bring your chin up. Your face warms up at his handsome face in your vicinity. “Baby, although I appreciate you going out your way to do something for me—believe me, I could jump over the moon right now—you don’t have to go outside what’s comfortable to you to impress me or anything.”

“But I—“

“I mean it; I really don’t mind that I have to be some voucher for you. It’s not a burden; that’s just who you are. And if that’s the case, you’re too cute as hell the way you are.” You didn’t see his small smile grow because your eyes bashfully averted away from his gaze. “Now, if you want to build your confidence, don’t be afraid to ask me for help, okay? No need to force yourself to change up for the sake of ‘appeasing’ me or feel as though you’re not fitting whatever bullshit mold of an appropriate partner you’re expected to be.”

“Suguru…”

“Y/n,” your name pierces your heart like an arrow as his hand prompts your face back to him; God, he’s so dreamy. “I like you no matter what. You’re my princess; your troubles are my troubles. I’d tell you long ago that you’re bothersome if it wasn’t. But you’re not, so don’t put too much weight on yourself. Promise not to stress yourself over this, okay?” He boops your nose, “Remember: communication is key, right?”

Once again, you’re reminded how lucky you are to have such a man like Suguru Geto to court you. So understanding and attentive to your feelings and wrapping you in his blanket of love constantly makes it hard not to fall in love all over again. Chewing your bottom lip doesn’t even help the heat of your cheeks creeping onto your ears.

“You’re right,” you almost melt under his lips as he kisses your forehead. “I promise.”

“Good girl,” your heart skips a beat. “But what are we gonna do with all this?” He points to the open package with his chin. “Now I feel kinda bad for having you buy this for me and ruining the special occasion.”

Wincing at the box, you remove yourself from Geto’s embrace to inspect the contents. “Honestly, looking at them in real time, I regret buying them. I’ll return them tomorrow or Monday, seeing I don’t necessarily need—”

“Woah, woah,” you stop in your tracks at your boyfriend’s exclamation. “Why are you returning them?”

Huh? “Well, I mean, there’s no need for them, no? It was meant to be a surprise.”

“Yeah, but you already spent so much money for my sake. Plus,” Geto picks up the bunny ear headband from the package. “If this is what you were gonna wear for me, then it would be kind of upsetting if I didn’t see you wear it at least once.”

Oh, God, no. “S–Suguru, it’s totally fine; I can just—“ Oh no, he’s looking at you with that face, his eyebrows slightly trenched with a minuscule sad glint in his expression. Your stomach was doing flips out of guilt and concern, and the formidable gets worse when he asks the following:

“Y/n,” you swallow spit thickly as the man dangles the headband around. “Would you please wear this tonight?”

The question nails you to the ground, frozen in place as it rings within your mind. You? Wearing this for tonight?! “N–No, I can’t!!”

“Why not? You bought it to be worn!”

“Yes, but t-that was before you looked through my package and didn’t give me the chance to try it on myself!” When you thought your face couldn’t get any hotter than before, the embarrassment of this predicament humbles you. “And thanks to you—“

“T-Thanks to me??”

“—I don’t wanna wear it anymore!!”

Geto raises his other hand in defense. “Okay, okay! Look, I’m sorry; it’s my bad. But, to be honest, I’m thrilled that you went out of your way to think of doing something for me out of nowhere, and as I’m looking at this outfit,” He glances at the rest of the materials in the box. “I think you’d look beautiful and hot in it.” You can’t tell if your heart is thumping from his words or because you’re about ten seconds away from combusting. “So…One night to test it out, yeah? And if you surely don’t like it, then you can ship it back tomorrow.”

He’s so good at that, using his charm and words to shade you into rational thought. You take a huge breath and exhale through stressed nostrils, and your wish to dig a hole and rot away increases.

Of course, you bought the items to treat your boyfriend for something out of the norm; that was the entire point of the plan! But what is the use of following a plan when you’ve let your guard down, and the element of surprise backfires in a way that you had foolishly unforeseen?! There’s no way you could put that stuff on you now that you’ve been exposed. Absolutely not!

“I think you’d look beautiful and hot in it…”

And yet, Geto’s words repeat like a broken record, each time making you as timid as the last. He wants to see you wear what you had bought, so eager to marvel at his partner adorning such risqué clothing that you don’t comprehend how you put said purchase in your cart! The thought of wearing such a thing in front of your man bubbles an excitement that is borderline frightening yet new; picturing his expressions and imagining his compliments is dangerous for your brain to form a headache.

But not as dangerous as the slight friction of your inner thighs pressing close to each other.

With a stare downcast and fidgeting thumbs, you ask, “…Just for tonight?”

And Geto assures you with a nod.

“Only for tonight.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Geto sat on the bed in silence, listening to the ticks of the bedroom clock on the wall as he waited patiently.

As you two entered the bedroom, the man found his place on the bed, a still figure in the dimly lit room. You, on the other hand, made a beeline straight towards the bathroom. “Wait here…D-Don’t peek inside!” You commanded him, your voice betraying a hint of shyness. He obeyed, settling on top of the comforter.

Minutes soon went to double digits; nervousness wasn’t something that usually struck Geto. But the more he sat on the bed and listened to your mutters behind the door–distancing the two–the more he couldn’t help but feel an itch to worry for you. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Y–Yes!” That didn’t sound convincing… “I’ll be out in just a second!”

“Okay…”

And so he waited for a minute. Which turned to two minutes…Three…..

Anticipation transitioned to unease, calling out to you once more. “Y/n?” No answer; not a good sign. The tall man gets up and strides to knock on the bathroom door. “Baby? Everything alright?” Nothing, even if he knocks on the white surface again.

CREAAAAK…!

But his frets are handled once he hears the sound of the door opening slowly. He steps back to make way for the person on the other side of the door, and lo and behold, you stand.

There are things in Geto’s life that never cease to amaze him—you being one of them. From the moment he saw you, he swore that in his life, there had never been something that looked so mesmerizing and captured his eye in an instant, and Gojo and Shoko are always sure to tease the guy for such a confession. And the time you reciprocated his feelings and accepted being his domestic other half, words could not describe the elation his poor heart couldn’t handle.

Right now, he is experiencing those same feelings when he’s with you. His expectations were blown out of the water once you entered the plane again.

Your face was the first thing he looked to, a sheepish yet cute expression that went with the adorable white bunny ear headband you adorned at the top of your head. Your casual attire had been withdrawn to the bathroom tiles, substituted with the outfit you had been fussing about until now. Your chest harbored a black lacy negligee with intricate designs that had Geto’s purple eyes dance and trace around; the faint drapes of the gown cascaded down to your upper thighs, yet your underwear could still be seen. It matched the lacy black thong that made your boyfriend gulp thickly at how gorgeous your hips looked–not to mention the tiny bow at the top center. And to complete the look, black stockings come up your knees.

“…”

There is silence between you and him. The only sound you can use to distract yourself is the beat of your heart.

“…”

But the longer you wait for a response, the louder the rhythm.

“…”

The lack of his voice was killing you – eating you alive – and you’re sure that you’re bound to faint if this kept going. Did I wear it wrong? Do I look weird?! Oh God, please say some—

“Y/n”

You squeaked. “Y-Yes?”

“Can you please,” Geto takes a few steps closer, enough for his hands to come around your waist and pull you in. You almost choke on the air. “Remind me to thank Mei Mei and Shoko first thing tomorrow, okay?”

“Wh–What the—What does that mean—?”

“You look amazing.” Three simple words have you still. “Like, seriously. Hold on, let me get a good look at you.” He leans around to look at the details of your sides, and your brain short circuits when he moves behind you and lifts the negligee to see the rear of your panties. What is happening… “Holy shit, this suits you so well.”

“Re…Really?”

“Really.” You can see the sincerity in his gaze as he surveys every physical thing about you. “I’m so tempted to grab my phone to take a picture.”

“Oh my God, please don’t!!” Your frightened hands grab his sweatshirt with a vigorous grip, contrasting the trembling owner. “Don’t take a picture, please!!”

“I won’t, I won’t!” the dark-haired partner assures you through a fit of laughter, his warm, slender hands finding your fists and pounding him. Again, you are frozen stiff when he kisses your temple. “Besides, I prefer not sharing something as beautiful with anyone else.”

You don’t know how many compliments you can take before spiraling into a puddle. “You really do like it.”

“I love it,” another kiss to your cheek while his hands now find purchase on your waist. Oxygen suddenly feels foreign when you’re so close to him to pick up the cologne on his clothes. “It looks so much better now that you’re wearing it. You really know how to spoil me, huh, angel.”

Was it him being spoiled right now or you? How he spoke to you had your heart racing uncontrollably since you left the bathroom. You’ve been a complete nervous wreck from the moment your friends probed you to buy this outfit up until now, and now you can honestly feel that you’re feeling a sense of glee wearing it because your boyfriend likes it so much. Regrets no longer linger in your bones, goosebumps calm down on your skin, and you hum as you return the embrace.

That is…until you feel something pressed against you. Something….hard.

Curiosity sprinkles your pretty little head until it snaps and your hips sway to experiment. A subtle jolt rocks Geto—confirming your hypothesis.

“Su..Suguru…” You don’t know why, but the following words felt prohibited to leave your lips. “Is that—“

“Hnnm…Sorry,” he purrs abjectly. “Guess I got a little too excited.” He lifts his head from your shoulder to look at you, and your stomach churns at the sight of his stare, holding a misty, lustful glint. You don’t even mention his hands silently moving to cup your ass. “Is that too much, baby?”

Violet eyes latched with yours make you shiver, suppressing a gasp when he throws a slick rut to grind the tent of his dark sweatpants on you. “N–No!” You squeaked, feeling small when his smile got broader.

“So sweet like always,” a chaste, gentle kiss to your lips feels like clouds. He then steps back out of your arms, pulling down his sweats to reveal the erection contained by the boxer briefs. Geto sits on the edge of the bed and tilts his head. “So, will my sweet bunny girl care for me tonight?” Seeing you gawk at him, he stifles a chuckle, and it takes a good mental slap to bring you back to reality. A few seconds pass, and you finally build up the courage to walk forward and crouch between his spread legs.

Mini prayers replay in your brain as your hand hesitantly touches the clothed shaft, the firmness of it getting stiffer and stiffer as your fingers touch thoroughly. When you’re ready, you bring the hem of his underwear down, welcoming his cock to the open air for it to intimidate you with its girth. Precum trails from the urethra, traveling down from the corona, foreskin, and underside. God, it’s been a while since you were up close and personal with this thing; its sheer size is enough to reconsider the regret you threw out minutes ago. Too late now, though.

Come on, Y/n, you use your inner thoughts to motivate you. You’re doing this for Suguru; don’t chicken out now! So, you bring your lips to meet the head of his cock, earning a hum from the man above. Blowjobs have never been your forte; again, it’s been a while since you’ve had his cock near anything outside of your lower regions. But today was different as you used your tongue to lick the lip of the cockhead, the salty flavor of his fluid teasing your tastebuds. And with the sounds of him whimpering, you begin to remember the routine as the seconds go. Your mouth takes in his tip with hollowed cheeks, and your hands grasp around the shaft before you glide up and down.

“Hahhhh, yes, sweetie,” Geto soothed, biting his lip at the display of you pleasing him with your plump lips. “Just like that…Nnngh…!” His words fuel more confidence in your motion, using this to move to the next step and take in as much of his shaft as you can. You don’t go all the way to the hilt–a task that you’re afraid will have you choking– but once you reach halfway, your head starts to bob up and down at a gradual pace. Black brows furrow at the movement; fuck, you felt so good for him. So nice and warm on his dick; he wouldn’t mind having his whole evening dedicated to this. “Fuck, my love, loosen your jaw for me…Mmmm, good girl, that’s it. Keep sucking like that.”

It’s not before long that you find the groove; albeit sucking on Geto amateurishly, he places a hand on your head, which you can only assume is that you’re doing a decent job. Saliva coats the limb busying your oral cavity, mixing with the excess come that escapes and spreads with your lips going to and fro. Your tongue goes on to flick and lap on his tip some more, evoking the hottest moans you’ve ever heard from him. And while you stroke his member, your free hand finds his scrotum and massages the pair in unison, a buck of his hips as your thumb presses down on the testicles with a curl. Your bobbing becomes frequent, a mediocre cadence that has your partner throw his head back. The veins scraping along the upper walls of your mouth are too erotic for your mind to comprehend

“Shiiiit, I can’t—Nnnmm!” He hisses before he cups your wet cheeks. “You’re doing so good, princess.”

Your eyes open and peer to the person talking above you. With a soft ‘pop,’ you release his length before placing sloppy kisses and licks. “Yew fink shoow?” You speak with a mouthful of his dick to his frenulum, humoring the dark-haired man.

“Yes, little bunny,” he teases, and you can sense the throbs between your legs getting worse after referring to you with that title. “Wait, I just remembered something…Hold on, lie on the bed for me.”

You’re gently pushed off him as Geto stands up from the bed, confused. You take your place atop the bed, and he grabs something from his sweatpants and heads into the bathroom. The sound of running water from the sink fills the silence before it’s shut off. He then returns to the bedroom holding a bottle of lube you’re familiar with in one hand, and the other with a wet, metal…fluffy…looks like a kind of—

Eyes shoot wide open when you finally register what he’s holding, and the anxiety hits you like a punch to haunt you. “Wh–W-Where did y-you get that?!”

“I saw that you left this in the box before dressing up,” no, you didn’t forget a damn thing. You deliberately avoided the very item that Geto was holding because looking at it was embarrassing enough; it would be horrifying to have this in the same room as you now! Between his thumb and forefinger was a metal butt plug–a small one, nothing too major–with what appeared to be a white fluff ball at the end. It’s meant to be worn with what you wore, but these bunny ears already trampled your dignity. Adding an anal toy to the frey might as well have you sign up for assisted suicide! “I figured we needed it to complete the look.”

“N-No! No, no, no, absolutely not!” Rejections fly out of your system. “That’s too much!”

Geto blinks. “You think so? It’s pretty small from what I’ve seen.”

You’ve seen these before!?!? “Even then, I don’t wanna—“

“Didn’t you see this with the set before you bought it?”

You almost choked on your tongue. “W-Well…Y-Yes, but,” your thumbs find themselves fidgeting, anything to distract the humiliation that overshadows your nervous state. “That doesn’t mean I wanted to…wear it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s—” embarrassing as hell! A bunny tail as a butt plug!? Just kill me!! “—It��s…..It’ll look weird on me.”

Oh, how you didn’t know how much of a switch that flipped for Geto, the other quietly thought to himself before speaking again. “Y/n,” you perked at the mention of your name. “Turn around for me.” Chewing on your lips, you shook your head—you knew what he was doing. “C’mon, now, I thought you were my sweet girl.” You flatten your lips when he comes close to squeeze your cheeks. “Please? Wear this for me, my little bunny?”

Oh, for God’s sake, this night was getting more challenging to get through with the hour. Inner dialogue can’t even bring you to a consensus, as your conscience is getting in the way of coming to a decision. On the one hand, you feel as though you’re venturing out of your comfort zone enough, wearing this flustering nightgown and these damn bunny ears. Yet, at the same time, this isn’t about you; this is all meant to be for your partner, something entirely out of the norm to make him feel special. And you being reluctant to accept his wishes is just pushing you back to square one and defeating the purpose of this entire dilemma, right?

Your hands find your face to shield, releasing a long sigh that should have stretched to your final days. Nonetheless, you slump your arms down in defeat, and a short nod is given: “.......okay.”

Without being told again, you feebly follow Geto’s request and turn around. Your lower half is the only thing in his line of sight. Your lips can’t stop quivering in such a position, and breathing becomes arduous once you feel your boyfriend’s weight dent the mattress. You jolt when his hand comes to the top of your laced thong, bringing the material down to expose the bare skin of your ass to him. Damn it! A pillow within your proximity is brought to your face, using it to hide yourself from the world.

However, “Aww, don’t be so shy on me, baby,” Slender fingers faintly brush from your spine down to the very crevice of your bottom, making your body shudder. “Shouldn’t be hiding that pretty face from me.” The sound of your gasp, when his lubed fingers teeter around your rear entrance, ignites a flame, and now he has a thirst he’s itching to indulge with. “Shhhh, breathe, my love. Gonna go real nice and slow for you, okay?”

The pillow muffles your moans as Geto begins to push one finger inside your puckered hole slightly. The stretch of the digit is a pain you have never experienced, making you whimper like a poor babe. Your boyfriend coaxes you through it, adding more lube to ease your ass as his finger goes back and forth to prepare you. Adding another finger causes you to shake your head, and your entrance accommodates the insertions, whether you like it or not.

A full minute or more passes where your ass is played with, and Geto smoothes you with a rub of your buttcheeks as he removes his digits out of your lubed hole. “Now, time to test this out…” A sudden chill has your arch, and the cold metal of the butt plug has you clamping involuntarily, yet the raven-haired partner reminds you to relax your body while he pushes the toy inside you. It doesn’t invade with the snap of the finger; thirty seconds in, and your butthole is slowly but surely adapting to the alien plaything. And before you know it, you feel the whole thing finally be swallowed into your rear walls; you grip the pillow as your mouth releases silent cries.

“Haaah…I-Is it in?” You lifted your head to inquire.

“Yes, angel,” he playfully smacks your ass, and you jerk at the unexpected contact. “Damn, now you look all cute and sexy with this on.” Geto then shifts to stand on his knees before maneuvering above you, removing the pillow from beneath you so you can’t hide yourself from him any longer. And more trembles crawl all over your body when you feel his solid cock create friction on the rift of your ass. “Lift your butt a bit for me,” your hips follow his hands, guiding you upward until you meet his pelvis. “Good girl…Gonna start putting it inside, okay?”

You nod leisurely, grabbing the comforter beneath you as Geto pulls the thong to the side. It’s no surprise to see that your cunt is covered in your slick, the tip of his member queued to kiss your labia. The lascivious man hisses at the sensation, anticipation climbing up as he pushes himself unhurriedly. The same goes for you, your mouth agape with quieted shrieks when the cockhead makes it inside your vagina, gripping the sheets as he slowly pushes more of himself, every inch of his penis becoming greater and greater, inaudible babbles once the base meets your folds.

Geto allows you a couple of seconds to stabilize your breathing, starting with excruciatingly slow thrusts–so painfully slow that you can feel every dent and vein that ventures inward and outward your chasm; it’s hard for your hips not to move on their own. With every pull, your inner walls clench on the shaft as if wanting more as he leaves your warmth. And every push makes you full to the brink of tears, and your brows trenched together as your fists ball the sheets.

“Mmaahh…Nnahaah…!” The brush of your velvety channel feels good within the minute, and the insertion pain is now being replaced with pleasure. Your roll to the ceiling at the graze of your G-spot, the butt plug made your nerves more sensitive with how busy your lower half was. And once he’s warmed up enough, your companion turns up the speed of his ruts. “Taahhh, I, ohhhGod…! Sugu—Oooo!!” Did he just poke your cervix!? You sobbed out loud.

“Nnmm, holy shiiit, you feel so good, sweetie,” Geto moans, taking in the view before him. The lingerie you were wearing gave a beautiful image of your backside, his indigo orbs survey from the muscles of your back to your prompted ass. Holy hell, it was driving him crazy, watching how the flesh of your butt reverberates with the smack of his pelvis. It makes him want to go ever faster, harder. And don’t get him started on the white bunny tail butt plug; shit was too cute to resist and toy with, pulling on the item lightly and turning it around.

The action had your holes clenching simultaneously. “Shh–Shhtop, Suguuu!!” You wailed out, toes curling as he taunted your anus with light pulls and pushes. “D-Don’t do that…!”

“Heh, sorry, my bunny girl,” God, the way he was teasing you was literal hell on Earth with how he’s using your body right now. “You know I can’t help myself when it comes to you…Aiisshh! Fuhuck, you’re squeezing me so hard…Hmm? You like it when I tease you, huh, baby?”

You shook your head no in a rushed manner, the heat of your face already coursing to your ears. But then your frame jerked along with the sound of something, and it was a hand smacking on the skin of your butt.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Geto chuckles above you as you cry. The same hand he used to slap you soothes the blow. “You know you can be honest with me. At least your body is…Don’t you like being close to me like this?” You don’t reply, too busy squealing at another graze of your sensitive spots. So, he slaps your buttocks once more. “Don’t ignore me, love.”

“—Mmmph! Ahh-hahh, I-I,” You swallow spit before choking on it. “I can’t…Hic, it’s shoh embarrassing…!”

“Aww, is the little bunny still scared?” He then bends down to your ear, a big move on his part as you swear you’re bound to shut down from the closeness. “Hmm? What’s so embarrassing?”

A sluggish pull back before Geto snaps his hips into you harshly, another jab to your cervix practically has you seeing stars. “Hoooh!! Be–Becausee!!” God, it’s so hard to think right now, the pound of your head getting harsher with the increased heat. “Y–You—Ahhaa! Youu make me…s-sound sho dirt—Eeeyahh!”

“Oh?” He licks your ear before nibbling on the helix. “You don’t like it when I fuck you like this? Don’t like it when I whisper to your ear while you scream for me?” You shake your head no, which is extinguished once Geto stuffs your mouth with his fingers. Your tongue, played with by his fore and middle finger, has you mewling like no tomorrow. “Hmmm, that’s a funny thing to say when your pussy can’t stop twitching on me. Make it seem like you’re not embarrassed to milk my cock dry, huh, princess.”

“Nnoohh, it’s not—hic—not like that!” A tear trickles down a hot cheek as you suck on his fingers, his thumb there unaware to wipe it. “Don’t say stuff like that…!”

“Why? Too crude for my angel’s ears?” He keeps teasing you, “Even though we’ve fucked lots of times, you still act like such a cutie.”

“Stooop,” Lord have mercy. Any more than this, and you’re bound to melt away sooner rather than later. “D-Don’t tease me…”

He can’t help it, not when you sound so cute and flustered because of him. It makes him think of an idea and straightens himself off of you. But not away from you — he then grabs your leg and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other, changing the position so you can look at each other. Something a lot more intimate as he goes back to drilling his length into your heat. With a smug grin, he asks, “Is this less embarrassing for you, sweet baby?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your throat; no, this is much worse! Your shrieks returned to erupt out of your figure as Geto’s pace increased. The new angle achieves having his dick venture deeper inside your throbbing channel, pounding to you until the hilt meets your southern lips, and the bump and grind of your clitoris with the motion is enough to have you winded. “—Ohoohh!! Dooahh! N-Nooo, d-don’t look…!” You try to shield your face with your forearm.

Yet Geto instantly refutes that, using his free hand to move it while he bends back down; his added weight has you whining aloud. “Don’t do that,” he groans at the contract of your walls, retaliating with more rough plunges. “No more hiding from me; I wanna see that pretty face always.”

“Suguu, pleasee—Nnnn!” Scrapes to the walls of your vaginal walls are even more dangerous in this position. “T’oo faaast!!”

“Hnngh! FFfuckin’ shit…But you feel so good,” Geto presses his forehead onto yours. “You feel so good, you look so good, like holy fuck! You drive me too crazy; it’s–Ghhh!- just not right how you can make me go wild. I wanna see it all, wanna see how cute you look, how dirty you look, and how fucking hot you sound because of me—and only me.” A kiss to your nose before placing one on the corner of your lips. “Starting now, I wanna see all these sides of you, so don’t hide them from me…”

You are given no room to reply to his statements as a kiss to your mouth finally seals the deal for tonight. Light pecks gradually dwell into steamy, longing smooches, tongue and teeth classing for intimacy. It’s all it takes for you to sink into his touch finally and the comforter beneath you, submitting to him as he finishes you off.

Geto then rolls his hips at an erratic cadence, and relentless hits to your cervix have you blubbering helplessly into his lips. Ungovernable throbs around his girth are ineluctable, the climb of your orgasm climbing up tenfold with the brush of your clit up against his pelvis. OhhhGod! It’s coming, I’m gonna—“Mmmmph!”

The peak of your crescendo has you moaning deep into the kiss, your writhing figure submitted to the end of your session as your cunt flutters around Get’s girth as the shocks of the climax rock your entire body. And your contraction is all your partner needs to let go of the reins and cease to his own release, his pulsating shaft expelling his load deep into your palpitating vagina. The two of you continue to kiss as your bodies heave and jolt, with the last of the aftershocks coursing through your nerves.

He breaks the kiss, the two of you gasping for air in sync. Drool slips from your lips and comes down to your chin, and Geto smiles before kissing your cheek. “Thank you for the gift,” he commends you. “Ya sure I can’t get at least one picture of you?”

You’re undoubtedly out of breath, yet your facial expression doesn’t fail to display unease. “Please…stop teasing me,” you sniffle with hooded eyes.

“Okay, my sweet bunny girl,” he chortles. “Well, at the very least, let’s go another round, ‘kay?”

“Wha—H-huh!?!?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…I will never listen to your advice ever again.”

“Wow, rude?”

“Right, like whatever happened to ’thank you’?”

As far as mornings go, this one was ultimately out of the norm. When was the last time you woke up with your body sore to the bone? Because the moment the sun’s rays peaked through the curtains and landed on your eyes, you couldn’t move a single finger or toe without feeling a sense of heaviness. Or maybe it was because you found that your tall boyfriend was still sound asleep; his slim frame was spooning you close to him. You could hear his light snore as he rested in the crook of your neck and arm to your shoulder with a strong leg between yours.

Your face warmed up at the realization that he was so close to your proximity, and it only worsens when you realize that you both are in the nude, which rarely [if not NEVER] happens! Where’s your pajamas? At the very least, an oversized shirt and panties!

But you couldn’t find them anywhere. All you could see was a black negligee and a white bunny-eared headband, and memories of last night finally started to swim into your brain. But the true horror was when you saw the butt plug from before down on the comforter, and it slipped past your mind not to scream and kick the item in humiliating terror while abruptly waking up your partner. WHAT THE FUUUUCK!??!?

And to add the nail to the coffin, your body didn’t look like how you left it yesterday. As you got up to head for the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and felt like you witnessed a scene from a horror movie. Your skin was covered in light bruises and bitemarks, discoloration where it’s implied there were hickeys received all around your neck, stomach, and inner thighs. You were still wearing the black knee-high stockings. However, those looked utterly different from how they looked initially; tears and holes were found all over, but most prominently, the inside of your upper thigh area.

Speechless was the word to describe your puzzlement—appalled, dumbstruck, void of thinking as your reflection showcased an entirely different person. Th-…There’s no way… That’s all you could say to yourself, but it was the way.

Once Geto left for work, it wasn’t any easier for you to work around the house. Working remotely suddenly became an obstacle, as every time your mind recalled the events that transpired the night before, you’d become too flustered to continue your work. You couldn’t even walk into your shared bedroom, too rattled to the point that you just used the guest bathroom! The notion of embarrassment was getting challenging to function today; had you known this would’ve been the effect of buying that damn outfit, you would’ve stopped yourself!

Hence, you’re now complaining to the people who probed you to purchase it in the first place. “A ‘thank you’? I could barely enter past the threshold of my own room, and you want me to thank you!?”

It was late afternoon. You were washing dishes and drying them in the kitchen while putting them aside. But you weren’t alone; your laptop sat at the kitchen island with an application running. On the screen, a window harbored two screens with different faces: one woman with brown hair appearing to smoke out her balcony, and the other with pale blue hair styling her hair to a bun.

The brunette, Shoko, responds to your words. “Y/n, calm down; all you did was have sex in a bunny costume; nothing radioactive happened there.”

“Yeah, well, I feel like I did something radioactive!” You retorted, wiping the sponge across the wet plate concerningly fast. You pick up the headband from last night and grimace. “Damn this headband…God, I’m so sore.”

“Having sex for an hour straight will do that to a person,” a nerve is stricken when the other speaks; Mei Mei is now done styling the back of her hair with a sly smile. “Pfft, I still find it funny that you passed out.”

“It’s not funny!!” To your dismay, you only make your two best friends laugh even harder. “This is not how this is supposed to be; I don’t even recognize my own body…You saw the pictures!”

Shoko titters, “Yeah, I saw, and it looks like Geto couldn’t keep his hands off you.” She takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales the smoke. “Isn’t that a good thing, though? It means that he liked the gift and appreciated it tenfold.”

“Exactly,” Mei Mei agrees. Your complaints seem to suggest that we completed the mission of making him feel special—which was, you know, the main reason you wanted to do it in the first place.”

“Oh, he felt special, alright,” you said, placing a dry plate on the rest. Although you’d been in a constant state of indignity, what they were saying was true. The whole point of making a fool of yourself and wearing a costume was meant to be outside the norm. It’s exciting for you and Geto, and you can assume that the outcome brought a satisfying end for both parties.

…However, it would be nice if it didn’t cost you a lot of hickeys and soreness. You sighed heavily, “You’re right…I’m just happy that he enjoyed it. He even said I looked cute dressed as his little bunny.”

“I bet!! Why didn’t you take pictures!?” Shoko complains, her device coming closer to her face to emphasize her disheartened tone of voice.

“I would rather die than have photos of that of me around,” the thought alone causes an unsettling quiver.

But Mei Mei also voices her grievances. “Ehhh, but I bet you looked so adorable~. You better take pictures the next time you do something like that!”

You could’ve sworn your neck was nearly to break when you snapped your head to look at your laptop screen. “Are you insane; what do you mean next time?”

A silver brow rises. “Oh, be real, Y/n; you really think this is some one-and-done type thing? I bet you ten dollars that Geto would love to pull those bunny ears out again.”

The brunette chuckles after exhaling more smoke from her pretty lips. “Aye, maybe we should find you some more outfits to wear for him. Maybe we should have you in a fox costume next.”

Your mouth drops in displeasure, but Mei Mei beats you into saying something. “Mmm, now that’s a good idea; I saw something online with cute ears and a skirt. And,” her lavender eyes narrow with a scoff. “I’m sure you’d love to wear the butt plug tail of that one too, Y/n—“

“GOODBYE!!”

You slapped your laptop screen down as your farewell to your best friends, whom you’re sure are probably laughing to themselves for witnessing your reaction.

Your cheeks are so hot that they are in discomfort; unbelievable. A next time!? You couldn’t comprehend the possibility that you’d be wearing something like last night again. Could you even look at bunny ears the same again after what just happened?! Bunny tails, too; what you primitively thought was cute and pure has now been tarnished to a suggestive and erogenous image. No, there’s unquestionably no way you would be put into that position ever again. No, no, nope, and no!!

DING-DONG!!

The sudden noise of the doorbell diminishes your reluctant energy within milliseconds. You checked the kitchen clock — Geto should be coming home right about now, but why would he be ringing the bell? Inquisitiveness draws up to your shoulders as you dry your hands, taking light steps to the door and opening it after unlocking.

You leave a small opening to peak through, “Y-Yes?”

“Is that the lovely Y/n I’m seeing~?”

That voice…Not Geto’s, but familiarity sparks up, and recognition prompts you to open the door wider.

Pure snowy white hair is the first thing that captures your attention, along with the dark shades concealing its owners’ eyes—a signature look of your partner’s friend, “Sa–Satoru?”

“Aye, you remembered to call me by my first name that time!” The named man was dressed down in his work attire, his hand holding his black blazer while he brought his sunglasses up for his azure eyes to throw a wink at you. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“It has!” Your perplexity was evident in your tone; you had forgotten just how tall the man was. “Wh-What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was finally able to catch your boy-toy here before ditching me at work,” Gojo brings your boyfriend into view with the tug of his collar, the raven-haired man expressing nothing but total irritation. “Dude owes me dinner, and I heard someone is cooking a nice meal tonight! Have room for another person?”

“Who said you were invited?” Geto questions his best friend after getting out of his hold.

“I did!” The white-haired man answers. “You owe me for saving your ass yesterday with that file scare—you’re welcome, by the way,” he ignores the glare of his friend. “And just be glad I’m asking for a home-cooked meal, or else I’d be draining your pockets at that new steak place that opened up recently.”

“Unbelievable…” Geto sighs exasperately. “Hurry up and get in.”

You move out of the way so the men can enter your abode. “Excuse my intrusion~,” the blue-eyed man says as he takes off his dress shoes in the foyer and happily walks to the living room.

Your boyfriend shakes his head, “Sorry ‘bout this, baby.”

“It’s okay; I was done washing dishes anyway.”

“Mmm,” he brings you in for a hug, part of the routine when he returns home. “How’re you feeling now?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I feel…okay, still sore, but, you know…” He smelt so good, his cologne pleasantly sinking you in.

“Heh, sorry,” he kisses your temple. “I had a good time; you really spoiled me.”

The heat in your cheeks ventures to your ears and nape, and your heart returns to racing at an irregular dance. The memories of last night all come back to haunt you once more; images of you being bent into different positions and crying out for Geto hit you one after the other. The lewd thoughts are too much for your pretty little head, especially when you imagine the tall, dark-headed man all sweaty and panting above you with a grin on his face like last night.

At this point, your face will need an ice pack because it’s getting hot. “I’m..really glad you liked it.”

“Loved it,” he takes your hand and after removing his shoes. “Can’t wait to try it again next time.”

And with those last two words, the world suddenly fell to a standstill. You didn’t hear what you just heard—no, you didn’t. “N-Next time?” You repeat.

“Of course!” he leads you down the hall to the open space. What, you thought you’d spend all that money on me for just one night?” No, I HOPED so! “Besides, I was looking online during my break at work, and I saw this fox variant look that I think would look real good on you—”

You couldn’t believe your ears; not only did Mei Mei prove you wrong, but now you have to deal with your boyfriend’s interest in wanting to indulge more in this idea you’ve brought into the relationship. What you thought and hoped would be for one night is now bound to haunt you for many days to come, and that thought in itself had you shaking in your slippers.

As well as the fact that you now owe your best friend cash for jinxing this situation. Damn her!

“Yo, Suguru.”

You perk up when you hear Gojo’s voice as you two enter the kitchen area. And just when you thought this world couldn’t chew and spit you out enough, the image of the white-haired man standing beside the kitchen island holding something in his hand mortifies you to the core.

“What’s with the bunny ear headband? I thought Easter went and passed already.”

10K notes · View notes

champagnefountains · 1 year ago

Text

LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Genre: Angst and hurt; somewhat fluffy (but only for a brief while). Warnings: Swearing. Unhealthy relationship/coping mechanisms (?). Word count: 2.2k+

Lucifer had been courting you for a couple of months already, the King of Hell finally deciding it was time to make the two of you official. The tension was so incredibly thick, that even the hotel’s patrons were growing sick of having to watch the two of you dance aimlessly around each other. Charlie included.

The past couple of months were more than delightful – Lucifer treated you like a Queen, taking you out almost every other night, having nice candle-lit dinners, and dancing the night away. And if you weren’t really feeling the glamour, the both of you would stay cuddled up against one another whilst watching some cliche rom-com. It was like a dream. It was perfect…well, almost.

The very source of your concerns was the golden band that remained in Lucifer’s ring-finger.

You knew about the heart-break and torment that Lucifer underwent following his separation with Lilith. Understandably, having been together for many decades and centuries, the King had a difficult time trying to move on. Even in the earlier stages of your relationship, when he had been comfortable confiding in you, it was evident that he still deeply cared for Lilith, despite her absence.

You tried to be understanding – you really, really did. But every time you held his hand, the cold metal feeling against your fingers set a painful reminder that maybe he still hasn’t moved on completely.

It filled you to the brim with self-doubt. Perhaps he was just keeping you around just to fill in the void she had left. And if that were the case, were you even doing a good enough job in that? Hypothetically, if Lilith were to waltz in front of the hotel’s doors one day, was he going to throw you off to the side and run away with her? What if he’d grow bored of you all of a sudden?

Questions such as these would linger at the back of your head constantly, and as they did, you would cast a longing gaze in his direction. When he catches your eye, he would automatically send a smile your way, pearly-whites in full display. It would make you smile without fail, because how could it not? You loved that dashing smile of his. But everyday, you wondered if you could continue to maintain that smile in your life.

One night in particular, during dinner at one of Hell’s finest establishments, Lucifer noticed that something was off. Your smile hasn’t been reaching your eyes, and you seemed like you were anywhere but here. Your eyes had a distant look to them and whenever he’d ask if something was wrong, you would become dismissive. It concerned him a lot.

“Darling, are you alright?” Lucifer carefully asked once you both made it to the front porch of the hotel. “Was it the food? Was it not to your liking? Because the chicken was a bit off to be honest, it could’ve been a bit more seasoned–”

“Luci,” you intervened and grabbed his hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “The food was great, really. It’s just…” As your voice trailed off, you were quick to feel that damn ring around his finger. Because, of course you did, and it didn’t help your mood at all. You force out a huff and pull away, causing the demon’s frown to deepen, “I’m feeling a little under the weather tonight – probably just lacking a bit of sleep.”

Lucifer scanned your face all over, his brows furrowed in worry. “Well…I guess you have been working harder for the hotel recently.” There had been some truth in that – after all, there had been an influx of sinners in the hotel since the cancellation of this year’s extermination. But he didn’t seem to stop there, not fully convinced by your reasoning, “...But are you sure that’s all, my dear?”

You looked at him, surprised, as if suddenly caught red-handed. He was quick to pick up on that too, confirming his suspicions and making him all the more nervous.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask.

“Well, i-it’s just that I noticed that you’ve been acting a bit off recently,” he splutters. “And not only tonight. You’ve become a bit more…I don’t know, distant with me. And it worries me, y’know? I just…I really, really care about you. A lot.” He almost looks defeated as he rubs anxiously at his nape, “And if I’m being honest, it scares the absolute shit out of me that what I’m doing now isn't right."

Your brows crease in confusion, “...What are you talking about?”

Lucifer closed his eyes, dragging a palm against his face as an exaggerated groan leaves his lips. “Look, I’m not exactly experienced with all…all this – the one woman I’ve ever been in a committed relationship with left me. Just like that!” He lets out a humourless snort. “A-And I don’t know what I did to make her leave and I for sure don’t want to make that same mistake again. I…I want to be assured that I’m making you happy.”

Lucifer looks up at you, eyes filled with warmth, as he places a gentle hand against your cheek. He breaks the distance between you to press his forehead against yours. You automatically lean against him out of habit. “I don’t want to lose you. And if I’m doing something wrong, tell me. Please, don’t shut me out.” He pleads, his voice almost falling into a whisper. The unexpected confession left you speechless, your chest feeling all the more tight. It was making you feel worse than you already did.

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to keep the pending tears at bay. “Luci, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I-I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Trust me when I say that you’ve been nothing more than a gentleman, and every moment we’ve spent together has been magical. I appreciate you so, so much, and I could never, ever ask for anything more.”

You shut your eyes tight, shame filling your very core. “I’m just being a little silly–”

“No, no. Don’t say that, darling. Please tell me what’s going on. It’s okay,” Lucifer encourages softly, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against your cheek.

You grab his wrist and gently pull your face away from him. With the hand on his arm, you slide it down to grab at his own, bringing it up into view and in-between the both of you. Almost instantaneously, both your eyes lie on the golden band on his finger – to Lucifer, it suddenly clicks. But he couldn’t help but feel an internal conflict brew within him.

“I-I know how much that ring and Lilith means to you. I really do and I feel awful having to feel this way, but I just…I can’t help it,” you mutter, finally allowing the first couple of tears to fall, “I-I often find myself counting the days and hours when you’ll suddenly realise that I will never be good enough for you. It feels like I’m constantly having to compete with her–heck, what am I even saying? I know I’ll never be able to compete – because, I mean, come on. I'm a nobody!” You chuckle tearfully whilst gesturing to yourself with a free hand.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you’d ever settle for someone like me. I’m not nearly as important, nor am I the best-looking demon out there. I’m just me.”

“But Lucifer, whenever I’m with you, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I smile more. Laugh more. I even enjoy the little things more. And I don’t want that to go away. And I’m just hoping– Satan, I’m fucking hoping that it’s the same for you. And if it is, then how long is that going to last with me?”

Completely shocked, Lucifer watched in silence as his love sobbed their heart out in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to go and wrap you in his warm embrace, and whisper reassurances and hush down your cries. Because, you were right – you did make him happy. So unbelievably happy. You had been the light that casted away the shadows in his darkest times. And yet, why? Why did he remain where he stood, unmoving as tears pathetically poured from his eyes? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

There was a brief, stagnant moment of contemplation where the both of you just stood there. It was the realisation that Lucifer didn’t make any effort to formulate some form of response, that disappointed you even further. It only made the doubtful voice in your head louder.

It was you who ultimately decided to make the first move, wiping tiredly at your reddened face as you glanced at the hotel’s door. “I’ll be heading off first. I’ll be in the guest room tonight – it’s been a long day,” you raspily say, hiccuping as you pushed through the doors and disappeared into the hotel, leaving Lucifer alone outside.

As you entered the hotel, you immediately noticed Husk’s presence by the bar, who had been polishing some glasses by the counter. In front of him was Angel, who was making some sweet, small talk with him. They were both alerted by your entrance as the doors flew open, and as Angel was about to greet you in his usual playful fashion, his voice fell flat when he saw the depressed state you were in.

“Woah, there. What the hell happened to you? You look like shit,” Angel asked, standing to meet you half-way, “I thought you and Short-King were out on a date. Did something happen?”

“We were but we had a fight or something,” you tiredly shrugged as you walked past the arachnid and plopped yourself down on one of the bar stools. You swirled yourself on the seat to face Husk. “Give me the strongest shit you have. And make it double,” you waved absently at the feline-demon, who raised an incredulous brow at your bluntness. “Damn, it must be that serious considering you don’t even drink,” he grumbles as he turns to start brewing a glass of something, “...do you wanna talk about it?"

You contemplated his offer for a second and realised that you did. For the next five or so minutes, you ended up recounting everything that happened earlier tonight, all the while shedding even more tears. Angel was kind enough to supply you with a mountain of tissues to cry into.

“Well, it sounds to me that your man’s got a whole lot of thinking to do,” Husk clicks his tongue. “But what you’re feeling is completely valid.” “Yeah, who the fuck wears their ol’ wedding ring while dating someone else? What an asshole,” Angel hisses.

“S-So you guys think there’s a possibility that he might consider ending things with me?” You question dejectedly. Husk and Angel share a look of uncertainty, suddenly feeling the need to be careful of their words. Because they genuinely weren’t sure.

“I–Look, that’s not something we should be focusing on at the moment– I mean, of course, let’s hope that that’s not where this is going. I just think he needs some space to think things through properly,” Husk says.

“And I know I was talking a whole lot of shit before but let’s take the benefit of the doubt and look at things from his point of view. He was in that boat for more than a couple thousand years. And shit, that’s a lot of fucking years.” Angel points out. “It might take him a while longer to adjust to that, y’know?” Angel places a hand on your shoulder, grinning at you reassuringly, “But there’s one thing for sure that myself and everyone else knows: the guy loves yah, toots. Anyone with eyes can see it, and you guys are really fucking disgusting about it too–ow!”

Angel suddenly lunges forward against the counter as one of Husk’s wings swipes down to slap the back of his head. “‘The fuck was that for?! It’s true, ain’t it?!” Husk rolled his eyes at his dramatics, before turning back to you. “He’s right, though. Just…just give him a bit more time. I’m sure in the end, the both of you will be fine.”

Meanwhile, Lucifer decided to head back to his own castle, wanting to be alone to sort through his cluttered thoughts. He was beyond upset with himself for making you cry like that, because it was the last thing he wanted. But he was more upset at the fact that he didn’t know how to navigate through his emotions, despising that he found himself second guessing his feelings.

As you explicitly implied, was he really still unconsciously longing for Lilith? Was that why he kept wearing his ring? Why was he still wearing it? Was it just for his own comfort? But why would he need it anyways? You were there, weren’t you? All he had said to you tonight, he was contradicting himself, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’s scared. Maybe he isn’t ready yet. But, why would he be with you if he didn’t think so? What exactly were you to him? And what exactly was Lilith to him now?

Lucifer was a complete mess, and that night he couldn’t find a single blink of sleep as these thoughts plagued him. And neither could you, as you scrutinised every aspect of your relationship, thinking of what this could mean for the both of you, moving forward.

Yeah…perhaps you both needed some time.

Chapter II [x]

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel

5K notes · View notes

starryeyed-apple · 24 days ago

Text

everything you need

summary: Due to your period pain, you have to cancel a date with Xavier. He stays by your side and comforts you throughout it.

★pairing: Xavier x Reader ★wc: 2.8k ★content: Reader has menstrual cycles (no mention of gender), description of periods (cramps, nausea, brief mentions of blood, taking medication for pain/nausea). Hurt/comfort, very soft, teeny bit of angst. Xavier takes care of Reader during their period, is generally supportive and the sweetest boyfriend. Xavier calls Reader Starlight, sweetheart, baby. Xavier's phone nickname is bunbun bf. References to Horizon’s Pulse. ★a/n: I finally played Horizon’s Pulse and cried. And then I wanted to write my first Xavier fic as a little follow-up to it, but it turned into a totally self-indulgent period comfort fic? But I love it, and hope it's comforting to others too <3 (I haven't played Feverish Attempts yet, so there's no spoilers for that in here) masterlist ★ read on ao3

Periods had always knocked you the fuck out.

It was something you had to gently make Xavier aware of once your relationship really progressed into something serious. Something that meant nights spent at each other’s place, which could bring with it issues if his apartment wasn't well-stocked for your monthly needs.

He hadn’t even blinked when you first brought it up. He only asked you what types of products you preferred, nodding intently when you listed off your favorite brands along with the other necessities—painkillers (most of his were unopened and expired, as he neglected his occasional injures and “never got sick”) and a heating pad (again, old, as in it's like he’s had the thing for decades old, just like the one Gran had back home).

“I can get bad cramps,” you reply, a bit awkwardly as you notice his brows furrow, light eyelashes fluttering with a look of concern. You weren’t embarrassed—you just didn’t want to worry him. You were used to it, but he wasn’t. “Like, really bad. Back in high school I’d miss classes, or full days. All I could do was lie down in the bathroom until it passed.”

“Does it still get that bad?” His voice is soft, his eyes pained. There’s something that flashes through them too quick, but the only evidence of the fleeting, haunted expression is how he reaches for your hand and holds on tight.

You hesitate. “Sometimes.”

He stares down at your hand in his, tracing his thumb down over your veins. It rubs over your pulse point, and he’s so quiet for a moment, you wonder if he’s counting the beats.

Why, though, you’re not sure.

“I won’t die from cramps, Xavier,” you laugh, and his face pinches again, turning downwards until all you can see is his fluffy hair.

He presses a kiss to where your heart races underneath his lips, then peers up at you through his long, elegant lashes. You stroke your free hand over his cheek, gazing into those pools of serene blue. He nuzzles into your hand, getting as lost in you.

“Promise?” he mumbles quietly, and you fail to stifle a snort at his cuteness.

“Mhm.” You nod, giggling again at his petulant pout towards your noncommittal answer. “Promise.”

He walks to your favorite convenience store a few blocks away that night, picking out all the things you’d listed, and more. There’s electrolyte drinks and little cookies, and three heating pads in the bags he brings back. They all have different cloths and settings, and he insists you try out each to decide which one helps best.

A couple mornings later is when the cramps hit. It’s a lighter period, pain and flow wise, and you’re grateful he doesn’t have to see it so bad that first time.

Xavier wasn’t exactly the type to hover—even if he got clingy, he knew you were capable. But maybe that was the reason why your menstrual cycle always seemed to stress him out a bit. He just didn’t seem to like the idea of your own body taking you out of commission.

Curled around your favorite heating pad on the couch—one with a cute little star pattern on the fabric, you were happy at the coincidence since you liked its heat settings the most—you sip at one of the juice boxes he’d gotten for you, while he gently massages your feet in his lap.

For a moment, he seems to hesitate. Then he asks, softly, the words almost lost in the calm air of the moment, “Do you want me to track it?”

You blink, glancing at him. “Track it?”

“Yeah.” Xavier shifts, pressing his thumb into your heel in pleasant circles before meeting your eyes. “If that would help you be prepared for when it comes. Only if you’re comfortable with it, though.”

You smile, heart swelling with affection for this man who’d stumbled into your life—or maybe you’d stumbled into his.

Or maybe everything had been leading you to each other all along.

You’d agreed, and that was that. Xavier tracked your cycle alongside you with your consent, gently reminding you of its possible effects on you when your emotions were too high, and realization may slip.

Somehow, those moments didn’t frustrate you. Maybe it was just the gentle ease with which Xavier spoke, his boundless patience and genuine grace, especially when it came to you.

So you weren’t really sure how you both managed to miss it this time.

You were glad it had fallen on the weekend, at least, so you didn’t have to either waste a sick day or be forced to tough it out, going into fighting Wanderers while already bleeding. But you were also pissed as hell that your cramps kept you bedridden for both your days off.

Worse, you had to cancel your day trip with Xavier out to a popular new hotpot restaurant on the farther edge of the city.

Even worse than that, he knew right away that something was wrong.

Xavier was never one to be upset over canceled plans. He was just as happy curling up on the couch with you, enjoying some favorite takeout with a cheesy movie on in the background.

You usually weren’t so upset at waylaid plans either. You could be as much a homebody as your cozy boyfriend, especially considering just how cozy he could be when you were all snuggled up.

(Recently, you even had to make a rule to keep him in another room as you were getting ready to go out, so you wouldn’t be pulled into a cuddle session that ended up in missed dinner reservations.)

But this date, you had been looking forward to. You’d set reminders on both your phones, and a heart nestled next to a star on the old-fashioned calendar hanging in his living room.

The food had sounded so good for the week leading up to it, and maybe that strong craving should’ve been a hint to check your own calendar system, in hindsight. But there hadn't been a mark for it on his, either. It had slipped both your minds this time around.

The pinching, throbbing pain in your abdomen waking you up on the Saturday you were set for your date let you know the gravity of your mistake.

“Fuck,” you hissed, clutching at your stomach as you pulled yourself up and into the bathroom, doubled over from the added nausea the pain brought with it.

It was a good thing you were sleeping in your own apartments that morning. Better not to scare Xavier with the potential of blood on his spotless white sheets or, worse, give him a heart attack if he woke up to find you curled up on the bathroom floor.

You don’t know how long your forehead was pressed to the cool tile, until you were able to pull yourself up enough to force down some pain reliever from the medicine cabinet. Stumbling back to bed with a cold washcloth pressed over the back of your neck, you grabbed for your phone to send him a quick text.

You blinked in surprise to find he had already sent two messages about an hour ago.

Morning, Starlight. Can I come over early Can't wait to see U

Your phone pings again, and you rub your eyes.

bunbun bf poked you R U awake

You poise your fingers to type a reply, pondering your excuses, but stop when another message bubble pops up from him.

It says read. U feeling okay

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. How does he already know?

I'm okay. Hey, think we can do our hotpot date another day? Just feeling tired. I think yesterday's mission wore me out more than I realized.

Mid-typing another response, your phone pings again.

Liar I'm coming over now

You groan, wondering if you wanted to push back on this, before tossing your phone to the side.

Maybe he could grab your soda crackers from the kitchen. You were still nauseous, and you didn’t have the strength to go crawling for them right now.

What felt like only a few seconds later had Xavier knocking on your front door, even before he used his thumbprint to let himself in. You wonder if he teleported down here.

“Sweetheart?”

His footprints lead straight to your bedroom, and you hear his breath catch the moment he sees you from the doorway.

Now you really wonder if he teleported, because he’s by your side in an instant, hand pressed to your forehead, gently turning your face so he can see you.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is hushed, sweet and gentle as ever. But you hear the undercurrent of worry that rushes his words just a bit, even quicker with panic the more he talks. “Are you sick? Are you in pain? Did you get injured yesterday? I didn’t notice anything.”

You shake your head, and his assessment scans down your body. He gently nudges away the sheets curled around your sweaty, clammy skin.

“Oh, Starlight,” he whispers, rubbing his warm palms around where you clutch at your abdomen. “I’m sorry, I must’ve forgotten to note it down. Shit.”

You manage to arch an eyebrow. Sure, Xavier could have quite the dirty mouth on him when the mood struck—especially when a certain mood struck—but something about this felt especially frustrated. An irritation turned inwards.

“Hey,” you murmur, nudging his thigh with your knee once you get it free of the sheets. “Don’t be mad at yourself. It must’ve come early. Or late, who knows. It happens.”

He sighs, focusing back in on you. His eyes are big and caring, blond hair shining with a golden sheen in the morning light that peeks through your curtains.

“What can I do for you?”

You just about melt at that, smiling weakly up at him.

“Can you get my crackers?”

He’s nodding, already moving towards the door. “Nauseous? Do you have your—”

“No, I’m out,” you sigh, pinching your nose as you remember you’d put off refilling your anti nausea medication. “Can you check for—”

“Gatorade, yeah, if there isn’t any I’ll order some,” he calls softly from rustling around in the kitchen, a place where you’d usually dread Xavier spending time in.

You don’t need to ask to know he’ll pay for rushed delivery if there isn’t any of your favorite flavor in your fridge. You also don’t need to tell him you’ll pay him back for it, knowing he’ll frown deeper and deeper at you until you relent.

Unfortunately, it’s a period that knocks you out. You’re out of commission for most the day, and that general feeling of malaise lingers into night.

Xavier refuses to leave your side. It lets him see firsthand how much you droop the closer you get to when your dinner reservation was, now canceled. Like a flower without sunlight, curling in on itself to drop all its petals, one by one.

He rubs his hand down your back or massages across your abdomen when you want it, and pulls back to give you space when you don’t. He plays your favorite music on his phone when you sniffle in the silence, and continues to hum the songs when his phone runs out of battery.

Xavier doesn’t comment when you turn over, just silently sets his book aside to hold you when you curl up on his chest. He doesn’t complain when the warmth of the heating pad begins to sear between you, doesn’t pull back when your tears stain his favorite white hoodie.

“Are you sad?” He asks quietly when your crying begins to ease. It may seem a silly question, but you know he wants to hear it from you, if there's anything in particular upsetting you.

You sniff. “No,” you mumble into his chest.

His thumbs massages circles into a tense muscle on your hip, and you sink into him. “Really?” He hums.

You stiffen, then sigh. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. Then, a moment later, you confess anyway, feeling like you'll explode if you don't, “I just…I was looking forward to our date.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We can always go another time.”

You feel the tears brimming again. “I know. But I—I wanted to go today.”

“I know,” he murmurs again, soothing and unbothered by your jumbled feelings.

“I wanted to go so bad and I’m just so mad—I hate when this happens, I hate how it just knocks me out.”

Xavier continues to run his soothing touch along your back in circles, letting you talk until you start to make sense out of your emotions.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not,” you confirm his gentle reassurance, sniffling again. “It still sucks, though.”

“It does,” he reaffirms. “It’s not fair.” Then, quieter, “I hate seeing you unwell.”

You hold him tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He hooks his finger under your chin, lifting your face for a gentle kiss. It’s chaste, a familiar, unhurried gesture of affection. “I just wish I could help more.”

“You do more than enough.”

Xavier just hums again, stroking your back and humming your favorite songs until you fall asleep.

In the morning, you wake to find him gone.

You frown, confused and more than a little sad at the empty side of the bed. At least the cramps have eased enough that you can actually pull yourself out of it.

After changing your product in the bathroom, you stumble out into the living room only to find you weren’t so alone after all.

On the counter sits a little flower pot, and Xavier fusses around it, trimming bits of yellowing leaves and gently drizzling a glass of water over it.

“Xavier?”

The water sloshes a bit at your sleepy voice, and he sets the glass down, turning to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he calls, reaching his hand out to you. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You take his hand, letting him tug you closer, returning his quick kiss of greeting. “What’s this?”

“Oh.” He turns back towards the flower, scratching the back of his head. His hair was still a bit messy with sleep, even if he must have gone out to see Jeremiah for this flower, because you don’t recognize it from his apartment’s collection. “It’s a surprise. So, uh…surprise?”

You smile up at him, curiously stroking at the plant’s leaves. “What kind is it?”

“You.”

You blink at him, tilting your head.

“Well, it looks like you. The flower you were on the planet.”

Oh, you think, turning back toward the flower, now seeing its little closed bud. The exhibition.

“I showed Jeremiah the picture book a little while ago, to try and get an accurate version.” Xavier places his hands on your hips, resting his chin on your shoulder. “It hasn’t bloomed yet, but I wanted to cheer you up.”

His grip on you tightens, and his hands slide forward to hug you fully from behind.

“I don’t like it when you’re sick,” he whispers, and your heart aches. But he's gotten better at openly expressing his emotions to you, and you're so proud of that.

“It’s just—”

“I know,” he murmurs, hiding his face into your neck. “Still, I hate seeing you like that. I hate seeing you in pain. It…”

He falls quiet for a moment, and your hands find his, holding them as tightly as he holds you.

“It scares me,” he whispers, breath shaking.

You turn in his arms, palms cupping his cheeks. Xavier tries to look away, and you gently nudge his face back to you, waiting patiently until he looks into your eyes.

“I just want you to get everything you need to bloom, and be healthy.” His eyes flicker away briefly, then back again. There’s something shy in his gaze, and you get to witness it shifting into a confident determination. “I want to give you everything you need.”

Your eyes begin to water, and you try to blink the emotion away. You remember that planet that never existed, how he had given you his own light to bloom under. How he asked you to come with him when you called for him with all your soul, how his own soul answered.

“Well.” You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the tear-choked knot in there. “Good.”

Your fingers trace his face, and you stare at him with so much adoration until he begins to faintly glow. You keep staring, until his light burns into your retinas. Until you can see him in the dark. Until he's all that you can see.

“It’s good, then,” you say again, smiling at him, and feeling like a flower that's finally blossomed when he smiles back. “That you’re everything I need.”

#xavier x reader #xavier x you #xavier x mc #lads xavier x reader #lads xavier x you #lads xavier #xavier lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace xavier #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads fanfic #lnds x reader

409 notes · View notes

quickestgold · 3 months ago

Text

Masterlist | The Pitt ♡

Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Goodbye, My Lover (Four-Part Series)

Inspired by the 'Four Things that Matter Most', this series deals with the unspoken truths of your past and present. Having shared your life with both Jack and Robby at different stages, it's a bittersweet goodbye to the love that once was, but also a hopeful beginning for what might be.

Chapter 1: I Love You

Chapter 2: Please Forgive Me

Chapter 3: I Forgive You

Chapter 4: Thank You

After the Dust (Ongoing Series / Backstory to Goodbye, My Lover)

Chapter 1: Darkness

Chapter 2: Light (TBC)

Chapter 3: Peace (TBC)

Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Strip Her: Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?

Say It First: Jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. But when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren’t fought on the field or in the chaos of the ER, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.

Someone New: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Still Life: Jack always expects the unexpected, both as a doctor and a partner. But when your water breaks during a citywide blackout, the pressure to deliver your baby safely grows with each contraction, trapping you, him and Robby in a single, still moment of life and loss.

Still Alive: (Still Life Part 2) Delivery complications during the birth of your son leave Jack caught between grief and hope, life and loss. In the stillness that follows, those who witnessed it begin to confront their own silent trauma, navigating recovery, healing and bonding with a newborn.

Say Something: A decade of falling in and out of love has turned you and Jack from lovers to strangers. But when a difficult case hits too close to home, you might finally be calling time of death on your marriage.

Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

(TBC)

#dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt #jack abbott #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #noah wyle #shawn hatosy #dr michael robinavitch #dr robby imagine #michael robinavitch #dr robby #the pitt hbo

421 notes · View notes

altruisticalastor · 1 year ago

Text

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, smut, implied established relationship, full demonic form!alastor, power imbalance, (alastor owns reader's soul), size kink, dacryphilia, creampie, begging, tentacle usage

☒ Word Count: 1,654

Selling your soul over to Alastor wasn't all that bad.

The Radio Demon proved to be cordial. As long as you stayed in line. You hadn't planned on relinquishing your soul. Let alone to the heartless son of a bitch, Alastor.

But the dapper man presented you with an offer you couldn't deny. Your soul in exchange for protection and power. As a new demon perusing through hell, you knew some help would be needed during the yearly reapings. So, you shook on it. Sealing your fate.

Over the decades of being chained to Alastor, he began to grow a soft spot for you. It was gradual, but before you knew it, The Radio Demon had you hanging on to every word he said.

You assumed your little crush for Alastor was one-sided. But one evening, Nifty blabbered to you about Alastor's habit of slaughtering any demon that even looked at you funny. Your heart skipped a beat. From then on, you picked up on all the glances he shot your way.

Anytime you were in a room together, his crimson gaze was on you. Alastor watched you as if you were his prey. You didn't fail to notice how he only allowed you to touch him without repercussion. The Radio Demon often eased up from your warm embraces, which solidified your suspicions.

It didn't take long after that for Alastor to call you out on your fondness for him. You were more than flustered when he admitted to knowing all along. But The Radio Demon quickly eased your spiraling thoughts. He admitted to the feeling being mutual.

From that day forward, your relationship only flourished. But Alastor always made it a point to highlight that he was the one in control at all times.

Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

Eventually, you had no choice. It had been weeks, and no one had heard from Alastor. The hotel patrons pleaded for you to bring him out of his workspace. You denied it vehemently until those fuckers peer-pressured you into caving.

You muttered curses as you marched up to Alastor's radio tower. You cleared your throat before calling out to him. Your balled-up fists trembling beside you. "A-Alastor? May I come in?"

As the seconds of silence flew by, your anxiety increased. A few minutes passed before the door flung open. Revealing an unmistakably irritated Alastor. "What is it?" His sharp tone sent a chill down your spine as he stepped aside. Allowing you to enter his sacred space.

"E-Everyone's worried about you. So I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," Your voice was timid as you fixed your gaze on the floor. You heard a deep sigh escape Alastor before you felt his hands on you. He grasped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"You doubt my competence, my dear?" You froze, desperately racking your brain for a response. Alastor's other hand held your hip firmly. His grasp on you was bruising, no doubt. "Of course not! I just- with all the stress you've been under I... I want to help you in any way I can!"

You saw the wheels turning in Alastor's mind from your declaration. His hand at your jaw slithered down. Clutching your other hip as he pushed you backward. You stumbled slightly, and a gasp escaped you as your backside came in contact with his control panel. "Anything, you say?"

Alastor's voice was low as he hoisted you up. You now sat atop the control panel as The Radio Demon slotted himself between your parted thighs. You nodded fervently in agreement. "Anything, use me how you see fit."

That was all the conformation he needed. Alastor wasted no time hiking your skirt over your thighs. A blunt gasp escaped you as his sharp nails dipped between your legs, tearing your panties to shreds in one swift motion. Your eyes widened as you noticed The Radio Demon begin to morph into something more sinister before your very eyes.

Alastor's antlers tripled in size, as did his frame. A glowing red X marked the middle of his forehead, and his pupils turned into radio dials. His body completely enveloped yours as Alastor freed himself from his trousers. You bit your lip in anticipation as you admired his length. His antlers weren't the only thing that tripled.

His cock was an angry red, leaking a copious amount of precum as he bullied himself into your welcoming walls. "A-Alastor!" You whined as the tip of his hard length pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. You outstretched your arms to wrap around his twisted neck. But before you could get that far, Alastor's tendrils came out to play.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my dear. I'm the one in control. Do I need to remind you of that?" Alastor's radio static was heavier on his tone than ever. A gasp escaped you as his tentacles tangled around your limbs. Your arms were now bound, and your legs were spread wide, giving Alastor better access to your dripping heat.

But that wasn't all. Your glowing green choker appeared before your very eyes. Alastor removed one hand from your hip to clutch the chain leash that dangled off your collar. A loud moan escaped you as Alastor plowed the rest of his cock deep inside your pussy.

"You speak when I say you can speak." He groaned, thrusting into you deep and tugging you closer by the blunt green chain.

"You touch me when I say you can touch me." Alastor pulled back, leaving only the tip of his ruddy cock nestled inside you.

"And you come when I say you can come." His hips snapped sharply, prodding your g-spot faultlessly. "Understood?" Alastor's smile took up nearly half his face as he peered down at you.

You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, waiting for the green light to speak. Alastor granted you another quick thrust. "Look's like someone was paying attention, good girl. You may speak now, darling."

Your lips trembled as Alastor began fucking into you wildly. "Y-Yes! I understand, I'll be good!" You babbled as one of his tendrils dipped between your thighs. The slippery tentacle flicked teasingly over your clit. You couldn't help the way your pussy clenched around Alastor's cock from the delicious sensation.

Alastor grunted from the feeling, but his hips never eased up. The Radio Demon fucked himself into you with reckless abandon. Chasing his own high above all else. The prodding at your sweet spot and the slippery tendril swiping at your clit was nearly too much to bear. You knew the coil within your tummy was merely moments from unraveling.

"Alastor! P-Please, I'm so close... please can I-" You babbled, giving him a pleading look as his sharp claws dug deep into your hip. Your vision blurred as tears spilled past your lash line. Your neck ached from the collar chafing your delicate skin, and your arms went numb from how long they were bound for.

His tongue darted out to lick the tears that ran down your cheek. You felt him throb deep within you from how you cowered beneath him. "Hmm... not good enough. You need to try harder than that, my dear." His pace was ungodly at this point. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

Your mind was fuzzy as you tried to form a coherent thought. Alastor chuckled wickedly above you as his tentacles tightened around your limbs. His grip on your leash was unwavering. "Please, Alastor! Please may I come? I'll be so good I-I promise... I beg you!'

Your pleading voice was hoarse as more tears slipped past your waterline. Bottom lip quivering as you peered up at him desperately. Alastor's pace faltered for a moment. Your pitiful plea riled him up more than he cared to admit. His release was near, it was only a matter of time.

"Much better. Go on, come for me!" The moment Alastor uttered those words, you were gone. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, legs trembling wildly as your white hot release overtook your senses. Your pussy gushed around Alastor's cock as he fucked you through your high.

Alastor groaned loudly above you as he slammed himself to the hilt inside you before stilling. A whine was pulled from your throat the second you felt Alastor's cum painting your walls white. His grip on your leash eased up, the green collar dissipating before your eyes. The Radio Demon slowly began to shrink in size as the last of his load filled you up.

You took a shaky breath as the tendrils slithered away from your limbs, finally allowing you to stretch them out. Alastor took on his normal appearance now as he slowly pulled himself out of your spent pussy. Embarrassment flooded your body from the aftershocks of what transpired. "Well, that was effective copulation, my dear! I feel as right as rain now!"

All you could do was stare at him dumbfounded as you pulled your skirt over your thighs. Alastor was back to his somewhat usual self. Who knew all he needed was to fuck you to get him out of his stressed state of mind. He offered you a hand as you slumped off the control panel, trying to stand on shaky legs.

"Glad you're better, Al. Now that we settled that- can we talk about how you never told me you could do that with your coc-" Alastor's finger pressed against your lips, silencing you.

"Now, now. No need for such vulgar talk! What my body can do is for me to know and for you to find out."

tags; @danveration @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix@littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @chewbrry @nonetheartist @zombiesnips-blog @stargirlplanet @twistedkisses

leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

please have your age in your bio or i cannot add you.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine

3K notes · View notes

paladinhearts · 6 days ago

Text

Whenever I get Byler doubt I just try to picture a scene where Will gets rejected and all I can come up with is..

Mike: “er sorry man I don’t feel that way. Thanks for saving my failing relationship tho. Btw becoming your bff is still the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Will: “👍” *moves on*

Like 😭 is this the big satisfying conclusion to Will’s arc that’s being dragged out till the last season and is supposed to “tie the whole story together,” no, no it’s not.

“☝️🤓 oh but moving on from unrequited feelings for your best friend is a common queer experience and would make Will realis—” who gaf 😭😭 This is a show about d&d monsters coming to life and the power of friendship and allat girl is ‘realism’ really the argument we wanna go for here.

This show is so heavily focused on the outcasts winning for once, not only this but there are countless examples of ST ‘not being realistic’ (i.e Steve not being homophobic, lumax thriving despite being an interracial couple in the 80s (even facing racism from Billy), Dustzie thriving despite being long-distance and Suzie’s family being Mormons and heavily restrictive, Rovickie giving each other such clear signs despite how dangerous it was to be openly queer in the 80s (as proven by multiple characters insinuating that Will’s disappearance in s1 could’ve been due to a hate crime)). So do we really think they’re gonna go with the ‘realism’ route and choose to use the gay main character’s feelings in favour of the typical het relationship?

If this still isn’t enough, try to come up with an ending for Will that is satisfactory and brings the story full circle that is not just “oh he moved on from his almost-decade-long love for his best friend and suddenly found someone else.” Don’t even try to do the “he found peace with himself” because that trope would only work with someone who was forced to be reliant on others and is now learning to be independent (sound familiar?), not someone who was forced to have to fight through everything on their own. If they pull that shit in the end with Will then it would simply just be boring.

Imagine they do that LMFAO, Will in the end being the only person in the entire main cast except for like Murray and Erica to not have a partner, a soulmate. Does that sound like a good ending for him? Exactly.

Of course this is not to say that Mike is some sort of trophy that Will deserves to have, it’s just that it’d be a strange choice for the writers to put Will through so much trauma and only add things to the list with no proper conclusion even as the story ends. Mike’s sexuality is a whole other discussion, but even he deserves to have someone in the end that he is on the same wavelength with, and that person is no longer Eleven. ( Read: “Because without the heart we’d all fall apart. Even [me], especially [me]. … You make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all, like [I’m] better for being different, and that gives [me] the courage to fight on. … So yeah, [I] need you Mike, and [I] always will.” I don’t think there is a single scene in the show where El says anything even remotely similar to Mike, and I think that’s really telling. )

That’s all I’m gonna stop rambling now 🚬🚬

#byler #byler tumblr #byler nation #byler s5 #byler brainrot #byler analysis

155 notes · View notes

wntrswolf · 1 year ago

Text

love mirage

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!secret-lover-betrothed-to-a-bracken

✧ theme/warning(s): slight/implied smut, angst, forbidden romance, star-crossed lovers. — (all characters mentioned are of age!) 18+

✧ word count: 1.8k

✧ author's note: hello! this is my first writing! this one-shot was spontaneously written as it was meant more for self-indulgence but i thought why not share it to others who also has a current obsession with the rising blackwood character, right? :-) anyways, reading fics under the benji tags manifested many scenarios in my head, and gave me inspiration to write something. lastly, forgive me for any possible grammatical errors, i still am an amateur in fictional writing. enjoy!!!

It was the dead of night. The sky had been painted in its darkest hue, the moon stood nearly at its peak, offering its gentle glow along the riverbank. The distant chatter that could be heard during a long day's labor was no longer present, replaced by the solemn silence of nature's symphonies—the flowing river, the rustling of leaves as they danced in breaths of wind, and the lullabies of insects as they clicked and buzzed.

The forest was no stranger to you; befriending the woodland for the passing moons. You often wondered if anyone would, or had, grown an inkling of your periodic disappearance following the hours of supper—what others would think of your father’s only daughter growing a rather sudden interest beyond the walls of your family's stronghold. You always made your way out stealthily, though his words echoed in your mind,

“You are our only hope, daughter. Do not fail us.” A stark reminder of your duty, which would soon bring honor to your family's name.

If it means anything, you knew it was wrong from the start. You had never intended anything as such to happen. For the name of a nobleman was bound to yours, yet your lips would chant whispers of another.

Time became irrelevant right before you met him on this cool summer night. There the young man stood, one hand steady on the hilt of his dagger, ever vigilant should danger lurk in the tranquil embrace of the silent woods; his tense body relaxing upon the sight of your cloaked figure before him—a beacon of familiarity. You had planned to tell him about your betrothal tonight.

Although it was not much longer that you would find yourself a whimpering mess under the Blackwood boy. Your sighs mingled with the saccharine words Benjicot spoke, adding harmonies of moans and gasps of pleasure in the serenity of the haven you both made. You often feared getting caught but Benji assured you in these remote lands, he doubted anyone would be near enough to witness anything— not even the treacherous act you both selfishly indulged in. You still pray to the Gods that they grant you both the favor that no eye spies this clandestine meeting; and the many before.

You never really questioned yourself on why you couldn't confide in your father about your betrothal; had you already envisioned the conversation—mayhem would ensue. It was simple, it was the decision he made—securing your family's position through a marriage pact, a political alliance they called it. Duty, you thought yet again.

You didn't know what, or whom, to shift the blame on—or maybe it was the complexities of guilt. your guilt. You knew the inevitable, yet your selfishness, your greed, your immature desire for love; tainting your rationale. Or that maybe you should feel resentment that your father and the Lord of Stone Hedge, Humfrey Bracken regarded their relationship as close as to being kin. Maybe then you would have the strength to ignore your obligations, this once.

You cursed yourself for thinking the way you did, and you cursed the Gods for the decades-old rivarly between the ancient houses—a hatred and feud born long before either of you were born; beyond your father's time, and his father's before him, yet its roots grew, multiplying the petty divide among those that followed after them.

It made you question what started the war between the two in the first place, as sin begets sin begets sin; however, unwavering was the tryst between you and Benjicot—untouched by the strife and grudges.

He knew. You were aware of his knowledge with the woven webs you had with the Brackens; about your father's bond with the red stallion lord. Your thoughts do not come to a plausible explanation as they endlessly spun in your mind.

And all it took was Benjicot's hips to lower into yours, silencing these whirling thoughts.

Your cloak drapes over you, offering its warmth from the breaths of wind, coming from the riverbank. It spared the watchful eyes of the forest spirits from your unneeded bareness. At your side, Benjicot lays as he adjusts his breeches.

“There’s a war soon to come,” he says as he stares at the sky, hands behind his head, ”And I ought for you to know that given the growing wars, you have not left my mind since.” he nervously confessed.

You hum in response, the weight of his words settling heavily in the quiet of the forest. "I fear what lies ahead, Ben" you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, filled with both longing and apprehension.

He turns to you then, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that spoke of unspoken promises and uncertainties. "No matter what comes, my love for you will endure." he vows, his fingers gently tracing the contour of your cheek.

You turn your head and sit up, feeling around for your discarded garments to dress.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, sitting up, his expression betraying confusion at your abrupt reaction.

"No, it's not that." you breathed out, your back faced to him. It was this very moment you had feared since the first: the inevitable.

"Well, did you not finish as I had?" he ventured in jest, a playful side of him that you loved. "Or is it because I professed my love for you?", hoping his declaration had not caused you to pull away. "Trust me, I will make sure there's nothing—"

"My betrothal..." you did not let him finish, "it's to Aeron Bracken." you said, still facing away from him as you rose from the ground. You picked on your fingers picked in nervousness of his next response. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air.

At first he thought he had not heard you clearly, as if the world had gotten awfully quiet. It was when you repeated once more, realizing his ears did not fail him as his blood got hot—of you saying the name whom ignited an unexplainable fury in him.

"Aeron Bracken," Benjicot repeated in disbelief of your sudden confession, "The Bracken twat, eh?" — the very same Bracken he encountered in fresh conflict, near the mill's boundary stones. Although he did not show it, the tension in the air was strong enough to burn and linger its flames; his knuckles turning pale as he clenched his fists at his side.

"A craven false king follower... is bound to your name, to you." he chuckles incredulously.

He paced in the clearing, his footsteps heavy as he turned to you. "And what are you to do about it?" He posed the question, pain plain upon his face, though hope bled through the mask of his composure. Deep down, he already knew the answer. He could scare tell if asking you such question was to self-inflict torment, or just a desperate need to face the harsh reality of your confession— not a difference between the two really.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, "It's my father's decision," you explained softly. "I... I cannot defy it." You stood before him, as your tears glisten in the faint light. Torn between love and duty.

"Ben," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "You know the stakes. It’s my duty. My family's honor—”

"Fuck honor!" he interrupted, his voice thundering through the forest. He strides towards you, "It was long gone the very moment we first met—" he huffed out. He knew in his heart that despite the love he developed towards you, the tangled web of your kinship with the Brackens would soon unravel the bond you shared— still, he gambled with the odds, just as you had.

He had ever hoped that the old Gods would bestow the blessing of his fervent wishes—that it would be you, not some other maiden, whom he would take to wife. He often dreamed of you bearing the heirs of his house, growing gray together, and watch as your blood flow through the veins that would carry on his legacy. Yet, it was only ever a distant dream.

You reached out to him, to calm the storm raging within him, but he jerked away. "Tell me, then," he challenged, stepping closer with fire in his eyes. "Where do your loyalties lie, beyond this," he motioned between the two of you. "Are you suggesting that your father, and even yourself, are to declare for the usurper cunt of a King?" he whisper-yells to you. “Or is this some sort of arrangement with those Bracken fucks, to get back at us Blackwoods, simply just using me as a pawn, 'cus you know I'm now Lord?" His words spitting at you like venom;

“Oh, you know where my loyalties lie," you spat, your voice filled with heartache, "But I won't stand for you questioning my integrity nor my family's honor to secure a future." You glared at him as your heart stung with hurt, "And to accuse me... I would not dare to commit something so heinous even if i could; I'm not cruel, Benji."

Benjicot's jaw clenched, shaking his head as he stood facing the river, incomprehensible words muttered under his breath.

"I never asked for this," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. "But I have responsibilities. We both do." you sniffled, swallowing the tension of your throat away, "And I know you know..." you wiped your tears, "we know... that this was bound to occur, sooner or later, Ben." your voice was barely audible, even with the deafening silence the forest came to be. "There's a war coming."

The silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and the weight of impossible choices.

Benjicot stood before you, his expression torn between love and anguish. His hands trembled as he gathered his scattered belongings, his movements reflecting the turmoil in his heart. You mirrored his actions, silently picking the remnants of what you felt is to be your last fleeting moment of happiness.

"I swear it," he finally spoke, "would that we were not bound by the enmity between our folks, I would have already vowed myself to you. Long before your father would have you promised to another."

His words pierced your heart with longing and regret, the bitter truth of your circumstances hanging between you like a veil of sorrow. “And I would have gladly accepted it,” you replied with a heavy sigh. "—my Lord."

The Blackwood male nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. With a heavy heart, you both silently acknowledged the futility of your love.

Benjicot turned away first. The distance between you both grew; and his silhouette became one with the dark forest.

You knew that somewhere, amidst the pain and heartache, you would find a way to carry on—a life of uncertainty but fraught with duty. As you walked away from the happiness and love that the forest had given you, the ache in your chest spoke of a love that was lost but will never be forgotten. It would be a bittersweet reminder of what once was, and what could never be again.

#hotd x reader #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #bloody ben #davos blackwood #davos blackwood x reader #forbidden romance #star crossed lovers #hotd angst #i love me some angst #mmm mmm mmmmmmmm #i hope you guys like itttt!!!#kieran burton fancast #hotd fanfic #hotd

738 notes · View notes

hollandsfavbabe · 20 days ago

Text

Stupid, Bloody Beaters

pairing: fred weasley x reader

synopsis: in which your sudden, unwilling participation on Gryffindor’s quidditch team leads to a connection you didn’t know you needed with the only person you never expected to fall for

warnings: umbridge being umbridge, r is female and gryffindor, unjustified hatred, slight anger issues, cringey dracotok pickup line (please tell me someone will understand), slightly suggestive at the end

word count: 8.1k

masterlist

a/n: This is my contribution to the fandom in hopes that there will be another fic boom, I miss my ginger boyfriend. Consider it the first of many as I have literally thousands of WIPS for him, I just never finish them. I also read in the official Quidditch manual that boys are often preferred over girls for the Beater position due to their 'strength' and I think that's just another stupid example of smelly Rowling's disgusting gender ideology so this is sort of a response to that... Here you go Fred army, be fed!

When Hermione had worn you down enough to finally agree to attend that morning’s quidditch match with her, never in your most unprompted fantasies would you have guessed how horribly it was destined to end.

It wasn’t worth her satisfaction nor the high mark on your upcoming potions paper that she promised to help you with. But you’d agreed, defenseless against her constant harping until you couldn't take it anymore. You figured there’d be no harm, only unfathomable boredom. Merlin had you been wrong.

You were reluctant to go for many reasons. Even if the overstimulation of the roaring Gryffindor crowd alone wasn’t enough to deter you, as a skilled flyer yourself, you didn’t find any of the plays in the slightest bit remarkable. There was no move performed in a simple Hogwarts game that you couldn’t conquer on a slow, windy Tuesday at your house. However, you commiserated with Hermione’s wishes of supporting your mutual friend, Ron, in one of his first games on the team as the boy bore the habit of unbearable nerves.

You’d known Ron and his family for longer than you had even studied at Hogwarts as many warm summers at the Burrow supported your deeply founded friendship. The Weasley’s home was always buzzing with life, much preferable over your own lonesome home where your parents, busy Muggles, worked day and night. There was just one notorious foil in your perfect paradise and his name was Fred Weasley.

It didn’t matter the length of your relationship with the Weasleys, the twin never showed any promise of getting along with you. Perhaps if he possessed more qualities that likened him to George, who possessed the capacity for occasional compassion and some level of benevolence, there may be more common ground to trod on. But he wasn’t, Fred was conniving, cruel, and always conspiring on how he could milk more galleons out of the Hogwarts student body. Sure, some of his inventions could be considered useful (like the delightful daydreams charms that you had enjoyed more times than you were willing to admit), but most proved to be a money making scam in your opinion. And after more than a decade of knowing Fred, you had found nothing in the slightest bit redeemable about him. You had been victim to too many of his pranks as a child.

And you hated him for it.

By no means was this your first quidditch game, but it was your first attendance in a long while especially considering the absence of games the year before due to the failed Triwizard Tournament.

With all the action on the field, it was difficult to focus on one player. You tried to watch only Ron, but your wandering eyes couldn’t resist the action around the tall hoops he was guarding, moving with the Quaffle from robes of scarlet to emerald and back again. Then there were the Beaters who’s sharp blows could be heard roaring from each side of the pitch. They swooped in and out of the mass of brooms that guarded the main ball, protecting their own colors and striking the opposite.

You were so transfixed by them, like an avian dance, you didn’t realize you were only following Fred for several minutes until Hermione broke you out of your trance. She pointed towards the Slytherin crowd, mumbling about a chant that had broken out in the stands with the most atrocious lyrics all attacking poor Ron.

The tension came to a head when Harry at last found the Snitch, narrowly avoiding a Bludger to win the game, but the song only gained volume and intensity. You were dragged by Hermione out of your seat to console your friend, chasing after her as she flew through the stairwell to the center of the pitch. Neither of you made it in time to hear what Malfoy, no doubt the leader of the chorus, was spewing to Ron. It wasn’t just him anymore as Harry and the twins were in the midst of the scene.

You couldn’t hear anything the boastful blonde said, but you knew very well after four years sharing a castle with him that Malfoy never gave up the opportunity to make your lives miserable. So as George’s fist suddenly collided with his pale sneering grin soon joined by brutal hits from Harry, you could only assume it was a strike well deserved. In all honesty, no amount of violence was enough compensation for the suffering he had caused you and your friends.

You noticed Fred wasn’t far behind, only missing the action by force as it took restraining by all three Gryffindor Chasers to keep him out of the fight. Even then he was making gains on the turf, inching forward with his hands set on strangulation.

You wished it had only been Madam Hooch and McGonagall to break up the fight. At least they would’ve been fair, perhaps a brief suspension and a week of detention. But of course, enabled by the misguided authority of the Ministry, Umbridge inserted herself into the matter.

That’s how you ended up on a bench outside her office, nestled between Ron and Hermione as you waited for the final verdict of how the involved should be punished. Hermione had offered to walk you back to the tower, but you insisted on staying for support. Frankly, your curiosity overpowered your desire to leave and you figured Hermione would appreciate having someone other than the boy she was mad for, not that she’d ever admit it.

“And that’s when Malfoy started talking absolute filth, saying rubbish about my parents and Harry’s mum. So they pounced on him, Harry and George. Only way to shut him up really,” Ron wrapped up his explanation of the event, filling in key context where it was missing. “I reckon they’re getting the whole team suspended. That Umbridge doesn’t give a damn about quidditch. It already took us ages to register.”

“Let’s hope all they get is detention.” replied Hermione.

“I don’t see what she had against Gryffindor anyway. Other than Harry, of course, but why should our whole team have to suffer?”

“You do know she was a Slytherin, right?” you informed.

Ron only gave a low moan, shocked, but not at all surprised. He believed more than anyone that all evil is born in Slytherin house and Umbridge was more evil than most billionaires. There was no telling as to what punishments her sadistic mind could come up with. You were left only to speculate.

Many minutes ticked by before the grotesquely pink door that guarded Umbridge’s equally intense office creaked open, spitting out Harry, Angelina, McGonagall, and the twins. By the melancholic look on each of their faces, you could tell Umbridge decided on the worst possible scenario.

Before any of you could ask for an explanation, McGonagall rushed ahead of her students and much to your surprise as well as your dismay, she turned directly towards you.

“Am I correct in assuming you have a broom and ample flying experience?”

You froze out of utter confusion, unsure of why the Head of your house suddenly cared about your flying skills after three of her most valuable players were likely up for expulsion.

“Come on,” she chided, scolding you by your last name. “I haven’t all evening.”

“Uhh yes, Professor,” you sputtered. “but I don’t-”

“Good.”

There wasn’t any time for inquiry as the infamous Dolores Umbridge slithered from her office not a moment later, her plump face complimented by her signature smug grin. She exuded an air of satisfaction as if pleased by her decision and much to your horror, she looked directly at you.

“Congratulations on your new role, my dear. I do hope you’ll be prepared for next week,” she smirked wickedly, providing absolutely no context. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find Kirke. Let’s hope he’ll be an adequate replacement.” though by the insincerity in her tone you could tell she was in fact against whatever she had claimed.

You felt your breath again return to you as she sauntered off, disappearing into the next corridor.

“What’s she on about?” Ron asked what all of you were wondering once he was sure the woman was long gone.

“Well,” Harry began, unsteady as he met your anxious gaze. “There’s been a certain adjustment… to the team.”

“What kind of adjustment?” Hermione repeated.

It was George who spoke now, each word dashing from him in a frustrated explanation.

“That bloody woman banned us from flying the rest of the season! Locked up our brooms and everything.” George complained.

“Actually, she banned us from flying for life and gave us a week detention, but yes. That is the general gist of it.” corrected Fred who was actively concealing his own anger much better than his twin.

“And since we had to register each player with that old hag,” Angelina rolled her eyes as she gestured towards Umbridge's office. “we don’t have a reserve team to pull new players from.”

“Who’s in then?” Ron asked.

His question was met with silence and it didn’t take you long to notice why. Heart beating wildly within its cavern in your chest, you realized in horror as each person who had been forced to meet with Umbridge, Angelina, the twins, and even McGonagall.

“Why are you all staring at me?” you asked.

But it was obvious. Deep down you already knew. You shook your head before anyone could answer you, denying your fate as if it hadn’t already been written for you.

“No!” you cried as your professor stepped forth to lay a hand against your shoulder. “I can’t play!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, dear,” she informed you with a lament. “Umbridge threatened to suspend the whole team if we couldn’t name anyone. And I’m told you're the best flyer left in Gryffindor.”

“What about Ginny? She’s much faster than I am.” you suggested, though you had a sinking suspicion it wouldn’t matter.

“Ginny will be taking Mr. Potter’s place as Seeker.”

You’ll be replacing Fred.” interjected Angelina and of all the news you’d been told in the last five minutes, her statement alone had to be the worst of it.

In place of a response, your eyes widened and you had to focus in order to keep your jaw closed. Gryffindor giving away the cup altogether was a preferable alternative to relying on you as Beater, though both would have the same consequences.

“I’m aware of your lack of expertise in the position you’ve been assigned,” McGonagall began, her tone changing to one of comfort. “But I’m afraid you’re the only student in Gryffindor who’s close to qualified for playing in our match next week. That is if you’re truly as talented as Mr. Weasley had implied…”

Of course. You should’ve known it was Fred who dragged you into this mess. You searched behind your professor to shoot him a confused glare, one that he dodged. Despite her attempt at consolation, no comfort could slow you’re spiraling as the words drifted out of your scurried mind and into the world.

“But what if I can’t? I’ve never even held a bat! And I’ve never played with a real team, only in scrimmages.”

”Fred’s agreed to help you adjust before you start with the team,” answered Angelina, elbowing the twin as she spoke. “I'm sure you’ll be just fine once you get the hang of it. At least I hope so.”

“But-“

“I’m sorry, but we can’t debate this unless you want to go up against that awful woman,” McGonagall nodded towards Umbridge’s foul pink door. ”It’s been decided. Now if you excuse us, Ms. Johnson and I need to find poor Mr. Kirke before Umbridge can break the news to him.”

Then they were off, hurrying away in the direction Umbridge had gone in only moments before, Angelina only pausing to shout at you over her shoulder. “Training on the pitch, ten o’clock tonight. Be there.” And then she was gone.

Fred stepped forward as you turned back to the group, red from what you could only assume was guilt. Not for what he was putting you through, but most certainly because he got called out for it.

“I-”

“Don’t.” you snarled before he could spew any insincere garbage, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I guess I’ll see you on the field.”

With nothing more to say, you set off for the tower. And no one tried to stop you.

Now with practice, you only had a few hours to chisel down your very real and growing pile of homework before your mandatory training with the only person you wouldn't choose to be around even if you were paid in Honeydukes vouchers. And you knew he felt equal disdain towards you.

Despite assurance from Hermione as she brought you back a plate of supper, you couldn’t accept that everything would work out for the better. You couldn’t even enjoy one of your favorite meals at the Gryffindor table seeing as you were preoccupied with the final draft of your herbology thesis and ridded of any appetite.

“Listen, it’s really not that bad,” Hermione tried, taking your plate after you swallowed the only morsels you could stomach. You supposed the rest would go to Ron being the bottomless pit that he was. “At least it’s with Fred and not someone like Cormac McLaggen.”

“Honestly, I’d take McLaggen,” you argued. “I’d take anyone over Fred.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I absolutely do.”

In lieu of proper wear, you pulled a simple outfit out of your closet, just enough to keep you warm in the night air. You weren’t trying to look impressive.

“Try to remember what the goal is,” suggested Hermione. “You’re doing this for Gryffindor and for Harry and George. Don’t let your feelings prevent that.”

“I’m doing this because of that devil woman ruining our school, Hermione,” you seethed, frustration pouring out of your. “Now I have to deal with him on top of it all.”

“I know,” she empathized. “Trust me, I hate Umbridge as much as everyone else, but you just can’t think of it that way. It’s easier to see it differently.”

“And how am I supposed to see it?” You were flipping through the contents of your trunk now, searching frantically for your favorite jumper.

“You don’t have to admit it, but I know how badly you’ve been wanting a place on the team,” Hermione smiled knowingly. “Ever since 2nd year and now a spot’s been practically gifted to you.”

Without any sort of rebuttal, you turned to face your friend who was holding your jumper out for you. Of course it was out of your trunk.

“He’s gotten better since you guys were younger,” she explained. “Who knows, he might even be nice to you.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

Unsurprisingly, you were forced to wait on the field for several minutes before Fred arrived. Seconds ticked by as you leaned against one of the towering goal posts and fiddled with the splintering tip of your broom. It was a quarter past ten by the time his figure formed through the distant fog and his familiar smirk came into view.

“Sorry I’m late,” he called, hurrying over to you. “Detention ran over, brutal by the way, and I had to find a spare broom since mine is chained up in that old bat's office.”

You looked at the worn broom in his hands, almost sorry that he had to go to all the trouble for a lesson you didn’t see as necessary. No one deserved to suffer under the wrath of that woman, but perhaps if anyone did, you would want it to be Fred.

“Whatever,” you shrugged, unyielding to any empathy that tried to force itself up to the surface. “Let’s just get this over with. You have the stuff?”

“What am I, your Alihotsy dealer?” he chuckled, though you had no amusement to spare for his otherwise pathetic humor.

Your silence washed over Fred like a blanket of bluntness and he immediately grew more serious.

“Angelina said she left a couple paddles and a bludger for us to use over there.” he pointed behind you where as promised, a box was poorly concealed behind one of the thick poles. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed it before, but you watched closely as Fred retrieved it, popping the lock as he dove into explanation.

“From what she told me, Ange wanted me to go over everything, but I’ve seen you play a mean chaser more than once at the Burrow, so I know you already understand the basics.”

He bent down to pick up one of the paddles, twirling it around his fist as it fit comfortably in his perfect grip like the right ring around a finger. His experience was evident in the way swung it, every move precise after years of playing.

“I’m just going to refresh your Beater memory, maybe help you hit a couple since it is a partner position.” he stated, tossing you the other paddle.

You caught it easily, ignoring how unnatural it felt in your own hand before mounting your broom with impatience.

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get on with it so I can go to bed, okay?”

You took off from the turf before Fred could protest, circling above him as you soared to level with the hoop of the highest goal. You couldn’t see it through night and fog, but he shrugged as he released the squirming bludger out from its bindings and hurried to meet you in the air.

Though it sprung on you without warning, you were quick to hit the vicious ball away as you slammed it into what you realized too late was Fred’s direction. Luckily, he dodged the hit with ease.

“Woah, careful,” he chided. “The point is to send it towards the other team, not your partner.”

“I get it, Weasley, just hit it back. Spare me the lecture.” you glared. It was an accident, afterall.

Fred sighed as he waited for the ball to return and struck it his expert way, without the need to look at it. Instead his eyes were focused on you. The Bludger flew upwards and bounded towards you on its descent and while your deflection wasn’t quite as effortless as your companions, it was decent enough to send the thing away. Only for a few seconds.

“Always try to hit with the inside of the paddle,” Fred spoke, jumping into another lecture. “A backswing in the air is too hard, even for the most experienced and especially if it’s a windy game. Instead, try to reorient yourself so you can-”

“I GET IT!” you shouted, fed up with the unsolicited explanations. You were successful at so many other positions in Quidditch, you didn’t think you needed it. You narrowly avoided the next attack as the bludger sped towards you again. It was a miracle that you could lift your paddle in time to slam it away, the force sending a sharp pain through your arm. But it wasn’t enough.

“Woah!” Fred shouted, eyes wide. “Careful, look out!”

You were adjusting to the blow when disaster struck. You couldn’t see it, but it hit all the same as the bludger struck your side with such a force that it knocked you from your broom and sent you spiraling towards the grass far below. You didn’t even have time to scream.

You could faintly make out a shout of your name as Fred flew straight for you, catching you just before you could splatter on the ground like a ripe watermelon. You clung to him instinctually, holding back tears and heavy breaths. You leaped onto the turf the moment he touched down on solid ground sulked away trying to shake off the fall.

From behind you, the snarling ball sank into the grass, dirt flying, and was soon caught by Fred before it could rebound and cause anymore destruction. He held it tightly in the crevice of his toned arm as if it weighed no more than a snitch.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Rendered by some form of speechlessness from the descent, you didn’t respond. Your face was turning red with frustration that only worsened with every word that left Fred’s mouth. You knew he didn’t care, so why was he pretending to?

“Maybe we should take a break,” Fred suggested, hoping to elicit any kind of a response from you. “Or we can move this to tomorrow? Clearly tonight is not the night.”

“No,” you refused, waiting for your broom to fall and catching it by the handle. “I want this to be over.”

“I know, but maybe we’ll be more productive after some rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” you scowled. “Just need you to tell me what I have to do so I can be done.”

“Hey,” Fred exclaimed. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!” you shouted. “Maybe after years of suffering from your stupid pranks, I don’t think you have the ability to be helpful in ANY capacity and I would much rather you go back to leaving me alone!”

Silence.

It was a rare occurrence in the presence of a Weasley twin, but your harsh words had accomplished it.

You almost felt sorry when Fred turned from you, sure that your outburst had driven him away for good and that he was walking out of the pitch and forever out of your life, but he only made it to the goal posts. He leaned his brom against the center post and quickly secured the Bludger back into the box before making his way to the edge of the pitch where the stands were draped in Gryffindor scarlet and gold. He lifted it, ducking a shoulder under before he turned back to nod you over.

“You coming?”

You hesitated, wondering if you were really welcome after your fit, but after a second of deliberating, you nodded and followed ashamedly. Fred waited for you to set your broom beside his and held up the fabric for you as you dipped inside.

You were bewildered.

You’d never thought of what the underside of the stands looked like, but if you had, you would’ve pictured dusty wood frames and darkness. The setting that lay before you couldn’t be more of the opposite. Nothing short of a scene from one of those old, famous Muggle Hollywood movies you tried to watch whenever you could access a television. Though there indeed stood wooden frames, moonlight coated each block and illuminated the space. You were shown to the center where grass grew to the perfect length despite a lack of trimmings.

The change in your mood was instantaneous and suddenly your frustration melted into tranquility as you started so much calmer than before. As if the very sky soothed your fury.

“I come here a lot during Quidditch season, or I guess I used to.” Fred began, sensing your change in mood as he offered you something much more valuable than a taunting smile or a playing tip. An explanation. He gazed around the space as if it was his first time seeing it too.

“Is it allowed?”

“Probably not, but as you know, rules aren’t often a factor in my decision making. Sometimes I just needed to get away from it all, just for a moment. There's so much bloody noise out there, especially when Wood was captain, being in here blocks out the rubbish. Helps you remember what’s important.”

It was hard to picture Fred as someone who needed a break, who had a breaking point of his own, but under the fabric you could feel it.

“It's perfect for games too,” he grinned, pointing down a line of wood towards where you knew the Gryffindor pathway lay. “The entrance into the field is just over there and no one ever thinks to come under here so it’s nice and private.”

Silent seconds ticked by steadily as you continued to observe the area, spotting a marking on one of the tallest wood beams. You reached out for it, slowly tracing the carving of Fred’s name and a #2, his flying number.

“It’s helping isn't it? Or did I just give away my favorite hiding place for no reason?”

You turned to him, looking him in the eyes for the first time that night.

“No, I feel better now.” you agreed, taking in a steady breath. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“I only want to help, you know? I swear I’m not trying to talk down to you.”

It hit you then, how all this must’ve impacted him. You knew Fred didn’t want you to replace him anymore than you were willing to and from what you’d see of Harry’s lacerations from lines with Umbridge, you couldn’t imagine punishment was easy for him. But he showed up anyway and was happy enough to help you in any way he could.

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just so frustrated by this - this whole situation. And I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“It’s alright,” Fred smiled. “I didn’t take it personally. You’ve always done that when you get angry.”

You often forget how long you and Fred have known each other, how many times you’d stayed over at the Burrow, in most cases for weeks at a time. Of course you were only there to visit Ron and Ginny, but it was his home as much as theirs. Years speed by when you're busy hating someone. But you weren’t sure you hated him anymore. And if he had enough heart to show you his secret serenity space, he certainly didn't hate you.

“I bet you even like my pranks sometimes.” Fred smirked.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to admit though you had a feeling he wasn’t asking you to confirm. You were sure he already knew.

“Sometimes I thought you were just being mean. But I don’t think you’re really like that. I just never took the time to understand.”

“I think we’ve been off on the wrong foot all this time,” Fred smiled, as if he hadn’t revealed that he understood you almost as well as you understood yourself. “Maybe it’s time to start the night off fresh?”

“I think I’d be okay with that.” you chuckled, growing fond of this new, reimagined version of the boy you’d always loathed. Clearly you had mistaken him.

“Great well,” he extended his hand. “I’m Fred.”

“Lovely to meet you, Fred,” you felt silly as you met his grip, shaking his hand as you re-introduced yourself.

“I think it’s time to practice some Quidditch.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “I think this time, I’m open to listening.”

“Good,” Fred beamed. “And don’t think I underestimate your skills. I was there when you broke Ginny’s nose with our Quaffle.”

“That was an accident!” you exclaimed, in disbelief that he even remembered the incident from many summers ago during a good old fashioned Weasley match.

“Well, regardless, that’s exactly the energy I want you to harness for beating. As long as you're okay with me giving you some pointers?”

You nodded, crawling under the fabric again and back out into the night to continue your training, the rest of which went fairly smoothly considering you had been set on despising Fred only minutes prior. With every piece of advice, every slightly helpful hint, and especially every encouraging compliment when you were able to learn and adapt quickly, he started to win you over. And you started to see him in a completely new light.

Suddenly, all the annoying characteristics about him became only charismatic. His jokes were no longer cruel and insensitive, but hilarious to the point where you had to cover your mouth to prevent laughing so hard. New traits that you hadn’t bothered to notice before shone through like his familial loyalty and pride. And deep, deep under his surface, you saw a certain kindness in him that you wouldn’t have believed existed days ago.

It was only an hour before the two of you could successfully pass a Bludger back and forth across the entirety of the field, hitting objects in place of players and diving to save them from enemy blows just as you would be required to in a real game. Fred was undoubtedly impressed.

“You’ve still got some Chaser in you, but I think you’re ready to play. That’s all I have anyway.”

He flew to the ground, dismounting smoothly and holding up a hand for you to follow, but you were still adjusting to this new perspective and you didn’t want to head into the castle just yet. More accurately, you didn’t want to walk alone with him.

“I think I’m going to stay out for just a while longer.”

“Sure, right,” Fred chuckled, lowering his hand to scratch the ginger hair on the back of his neck instead. “I don’t think Angelina needed us to do this again, but if you need some extra practice with a decent partner, I'm always available.”

“You sure you can fit me in your schedule with all your detentions and scheming?” you grinned.

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “I doubt Umbridge would miss an evening with me. I don’t make them easy on her.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“Right well, I’m off to bed,” Fred waved, warranting your send off. You shot up into the night, not wanting to stare at him a moment longer. “Just be careful of Filch when you come in!” he shouted up to you, unsure if you had heard as you looked very preoccupied flying about. He grabbed his broom and idly stalked away, sliding off of the field and in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

Little did he know how your eyes followed his every move as you watched him go, so utterly conflicted and unfocused. In all honesty, you didn’t need to practice any more, in fact, you felt too exhausted to even go through another exercise. But you just couldn’t leave with him, not when you could feel the warmth of attraction blooming in your chest. The world as you knew it was starting to spin the wrong way and all because you discovered Fred Weasley was a decent human being. More than decent really.

The rest of the week prior to your first match was a nervous blur. While classes were the same as always if not more unbearable, your life had been flipped in every possible way. You spent every waking minute on the quidditch field whether it was practicing with the rest of the team (and earning Angelina’s respect when you picked up the sport so quickly) or flying around on your own and trying not to think about Fred.

Oh Fred. He was another problem all on his own. The energy between you shifted so rapidly, it started to become obvious to everyone else. You tried to go on as friends, as if everything was exactly as it was before, but you weren’t fooling anyone. Especially not each other.

You could feel his eyes on you during every meal in the Great Hall, catching his gaze as easily as catching a Quaffle and much more frequently. He started talking to you more, nothing grander than a hello when passing you in busy hallways or snide comment about Umbridge after a rough class with the witch, but it was always pleasant and each time he earned a smile.

You found yourself avoiding him the moment Hermione finally broke her silence on the matter, asking if you two had finally gotten over your years long battle.

“It was always one-sided, you know,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve talked it over with Ginny. He’s never felt the same disdain towards you.”

“Nothing has changed, Hermione. He just helped me with one little thing, that’s all.”

“If you insist…”

All your worrying and hard work made a week feel like only a couple of days. And suddenly, before you could summon the wherewithal to mentally prepare for competing in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, game day was upon you.

Dressed appropriately and grounded on the field, you looked up to the sky as various moving shapes of red and royal blue soared high above before the official commencement that was to take place in minutes. You knew you could do it, all of your training had far prepared you for the task at hand, but you were unbelievably nervous. There was always the chance of messing up and those voices in the back of your mind were impossible to quiet. Not wanting to over exert yourself, the thought of a break popped into your head. Somewhere where no crowd could watch you and you could be on your own for a while.

You noticed the edge of the field, the portion where Fred had taken you under the fabric and just when you were sure many of the spectators were focused elsewhere, you made a run for it.

The space was even calmer in the daylight, bright and airy and utterly empty. Exactly what you needed. You slumped against a wooden beam, reaching up to trace the inscription of Fred’s name, grateful he had revealed this little sanctuary to you.

“Game day nerves?” a voice rang from behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Only one person could’ve known where you were.

“A little,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to live up to expectations.”

“It’s not you we have to worry about,” Fred assured. “I’m more anxious to see if Kirke can play. I reckon he’s not half as good as you are.”

“He’s not all bad,” you defended your Beater partner. “But there’s certainly some truth to that.”

“I brought you something,” he smiled and your eyes travelled down to his hands which you realized were clutching something behind his back. “It’s just a little help, if you want it. Thought you could use some confidence.”

You shot him an inquisitive look.

“That's suggestive.” you teased.

“Nothing like that, get your head out of the gutter.”

You watched as he revealed his gift, pulling out a familiar scarlet cloth that shone with promise.

“Here.”

He handed it out to you, an offering you simply couldn’t refuse, purley out of curiosity if nothing else. You plucked the fabric from his hands, letting the cloak unfurl from a wrinkled blob into a magnificent robe, his own Quidditch wear you realized. Last you’d seen them, he had been wearing them proudly while trying to kill Malfoy. You fingered the small embroidered number two on the chest.

“Is this-”

“You bet.”

“You’re giving me your number?”

He shrugged as if it was a small favor rather than a grand gesture. He didn’t need to admit it for you both ro know how much it meant.

“It’s better than 18, innit?” he referred to your current, less than ideal robes. “I’m never going to need them again and I figured they’d fit better than whatever Angelina could scrounge up.”

He was right. The only robes available to you were far too big as they slumped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet. Angelina had claimed that it wouldn't make a difference in the air, but all the extra fabric felt heavy, leaving a burdensome strain. But your Captain had enough stress weighing on her shoulders. So you didn’t make a fuss.

You raised Fred’s robes to your nose, taking in the nostalgic smell of the Burrow, hints of Molly’s baking taking you right back to summers with the family and a new spice that must’ve been Fred’s addition. Cinnamon and firework powder. You refrained from grinning as your nose inadvertently scrunched in delight.

“It’s been washed, I swear.” he promised, worried that your reaction was out of disgust.

“I know,” you acknowledged. “It doesn’t carry any kind of hex though, right? I’m not going to be blown off my broom in midair?”

“Not this time, no. Unfortunately, I care too much about the outcome of this game, but thanks for the idea.”

You rolled your eyes, turning it over to find that his name was still sewn into the back just above his former number.

“This is my favorite addition,” he beamed with excitement, inching closer to adjust your hold as he tipped the fabric into one of the red tinted rays that managed to slip into your hideout. Suddenly, black letters began to form in inky black magic and spelled out your last name atop of the maroon sewed, making it the only readable name.

“It’s a sunny day outside. I thought everyone should get to know who they’re rooting for.”

“Thanks.” you mustered, though it didn’t capture even a fracture of what you were really feeling. So many conflictions fluttered around at once as you fought off your feelings for him before they could invade your mind. It scared you, even more than the impending threat of the game just ahead.

But you could tell he felt it as silence fell upon the two of you. A comfortable understanding of finally being on the same page only now you wanted him closer.

A sharp whistle sounded in the background as Madam Hooch signaled for the game to begin. You didn’t have any more time to spare as you were expected on the field.

“I better let you change, unless you want to go through with your first offer or you’ve become unnaturally attached to those giant things-”

“Get out of here.” you chuckled, pulling on the length of the strings that held up your current attire. Though you had on other clothes, Fred turned as the old robes slipped off you easily, pooling in a pile by your shoes. Stepping out of the mess, you pulled on Fred’s and though it took some adjusting as they were still bigger than your true size, they served as a much preferable alternative to the spares, lighter and exceedingly more breathable.

“They look good,” Fred admired, turning back to face you one last time before you had to leave. “You don’t look like you’re playing dress up anymore.”

“I’ll try to live up to the name.”

“You will. You’ll make your own.” he promised, slipping under the fabric in the direction of the spectator area. “Good luck.” he wished, and then he was gone.

You grabbed your broom and headed for the opposite end, waltzing to where the rest of your team was waiting to make their entrance. Though it took some effort, you were sure to rid your step of its gleeful skip by the time you reached the public eye.

“Looking good, Weasley.” Angelina joked, no doubt already aware of Fred’s surprise. “Nervous?”

“No.” you lied.

“Good.”

“And here I thought I would be the only remaining Weasley on the team.” Ron interjected, stepping up to stand beside you.

“That was presumptuous,” Ginny laughed from behind the two of you, clad in her own Seeker gear.

“You aren’t,” you stated, placing an encouraging hand on your friend’s shoulder. “But you are the only Keeper. So do the best you can.”

Another whistle blared outside in the center of the pitch and soon enough you were up in the air, one hand clinging to your broom and the other wrapped tightly around your bat. It didn’t take long for you to find Fred in the crowd as your eyes searched the stands for him and your other friends. They all sat nestled beside one another, lost in a sea of scarlet. You resisted the urge to wave at him.

Instead you met his gaze and gave him a subtle nod, warmth blooming in your chest again as you swore his smile grew wider. You had to force yourself to snap into focus and avoid looking at the Gryffindor section as other flyers spread out all around, readying themselves for the first play.

“And also new to the team,” your name was started by Lee Jordan who despite being barred by McGonagall in years prior, was acting commentator. “Though she’s a different number than what Captain Angelina Johnson informed me, don’t be fooled folks. I’m told she’s very good for a newbie. At least I hope that part is the truth.”

Each second felt like a millenium before the game had finally kicked off, you were suddenly much too caught up in the action to give any thought to the stirring feelings inside, batting each Bludger like your teammate’s life depended on it. In some kinda way, it did.

All those hours spent refining your skills were now out for everyone else to see and you were absolutely magnificent. Saving every teammate that required assistance and scoring every Bludger that threatened to disable your Chasers, you swiftly became a crowd favorite and the ultimate replacement for the usual spectacle of the Weasley twins.

“There she goes, a near hit from lucky number 2 against Ravenclaw Chaser - Blimey - and a brilliant save as she dives to protect Chaser Alicia Spinnet! And Spinnet scores a goal!” Lee exclaimed, shouting into his mic. “That’s 10 more points to Gryffindor. She really is good! Maybe even better than the twins - whoops - never mind. I’m getting dirty looks.”

As the game went on, you proved yourself as a worthy opponent time and time again, even stealing saves from the other Beater when he could get to where he was needed in time. Though Kirke was a decent partner as you learned in practice, he wasn’t nearly as experienced as you and much less able to adapt to his new position (you felt you had Fred to thank for that). But it all worked out as you were quick to compensate for all his losses, fast and strong enough to erase all his mistakes before they could cause a problem.

“Looks like new Seeker Ginny Weasley found something, she’s descending into the center. This could be it ladies and gentlemen, the tie breaker and oh no! Looks like Ravenclaw is having a go!”

You watched as it happened, heart sinking as one of the Beaters in blue sent a Bludger straight for Ginny and you didn’t even have time to think before you rushed to save her. You had to dodge several players, weaving between them like wool on a loom as you hurried towards the center with the speed of a Chaser. You soared past Ginny, rearing up to hit the Bludger and sending it spiraling downwards with so much force, it sank into the dirt.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Sneaking towards you like a torpedo, you didn’t have time to listen to the warnings of the crowd or more of Lee Jordan’s before you could sense another Bludger aimed at you. Swinging with all of your might and praying you could sense its position, you successfully backhanded the attack and spared yet another life.

The Gryffindor stands roared with excitement.

“Impossible move by 2! A fully backhanded save. I’ve never seen anything like it, at least not in a school league. And what’s this? Ginny Weasley’s got the snitch! Gryffindor wins and the game is over!”

You landed, exhausted, but beaming with pride as the stands screamed, but when you looked for him, the only person you wanted to see cheering for you, his spot was vacant. Lee spoke over your thoughts.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she started playing.” he joked, though it was true.

A sudden applause broke out from behind you as a figure emerged from your special place, his special place. Your smile widened as you met his proud stare, clapping for his brilliant protege. Fred smiled at you and instant warmth returned to you and forced your feet to move and your grasp to release your equipment. You couldn’t stand it any longer. All you knew was how badly you wanted him, so you ran straight into his open arms.

“Woah, where’s she going?” Lee questioned into the mic, not that you could give a Devil’s Snare. You were laser focused. “Has all that flying made her mad? Her team is the other way! I wonder, oh, OH! Well, that explains it. In case you’re wondering who she’s tackling folks, that's ex-Beater Fred Weasley. Or is it George? Nope, definitely Fred. I don’t know what the rules are on kissing on the pitch, but those late night tutoring sessions are starting to make a lot more sense….”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall scolded, tugging at the mic.

“That’s all from me I suppose. Here’s to a new game and a budding romance!”

“I thought she hated him.” Harry leaned to whisper to Hermione as they stood from their seats, making their way down much slower than Fred had. They didn’t have the same kind of motivation.

“She did,” Hermione shrugged, although she had long ago figured that with the right push, the two of you would eventually collide in such a manner. “But things change. She got to know him.”

It felt like hours before you and Fred finally pulled apart, but you hadn’t gotten your fill when the moment finally came. Lips twisting into a bashful smile, your arms clung to his neck while his hands curled around your waist. Dizzy from the rush of the game and having him so close, you found yourself leaning into him. His freckled face flushed as he grinned at you like he had just pulled off the proudest prank of his whole life, finally getting to kiss you.

“I take it you liked the robes?” he smirked.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward,” you uttered, though by the way he pulled you closer, you knew it wasn’t. “I’m really glad we decided to start over.”

“Actually, I’ve sort of been waiting for this,” he admitted. “Been mad for you for ages, you know.”

“I’m starting to understand that.”

Noses brushing, you were set on leaning in again until a throat cleared from beside you as other spectators started to flood onto the turf. Your friends and George had joined your side and much to your chagrin, Umbridge had taken hold of the mic.

“A reminder that girls and boys are not to to be within eight inches of each other!” she shouted, her voice booming inside the pitch as if she had forgotten that it was already amplified.

You reluctantly removed yourself from his grasp, not wanting to get yourself banned from playing though you wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms. He bent to whisper into your ear.

“Lucky for us, I have nin-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I've heard that way too many times since she instilled that rule.”

“Fair enough.” he shrugged, relishing the delighted look plastered on your face as he moved with you to join your loved ones.

It wasn’t until much later during the peak of celebration that you were able to reconnect.

The night had long taken over as the twins threw one of their famous Gryffindor parties in your honor, setting the common room ablaze with drinks and music and a bustling, eager crowd. You bid your time, taking in the praise and celebrating with all of your friends, but as soon as you were sure no one would miss you, Fred managed to smuggle you away into his dormitory where he held you as his willing captive.

He pressed you against one of the sturdy stone walls, lips slotting together behind closed doors where no prying Dolores Umbridge had any chance of forcing you eight inches apart.

“You sure you don’t want to miss the party?” you gasped through shallow breaths between kisses, eyes fluttering shut as Fred moved to your jaw.

“Are you serious?” he chuckled. “And miss my one shot with the girl of my dreams? Not a chance.”

“It wouldn’t be your last chance.” you assured him, but you were grateful he wanted to stay. You weren’t anywhere near ready to stop as your fingers twirled into his bright hair. You weren’t sure what you would do if he had never brought up your name as a replacement and you were glad you’d never have to find out.

“And to think last week you hated me,” he muttered, raising his head back to brush his lips against your own, words slipping in between kiss after fervent kiss.

“Shut up, Weasley,” you retorted, melting into him as he obliged, allowing the night to take its pleasant course.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #quidditch #it cant just be me that remembers the 9 inches thing #please #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n

124 notes · View notes

perlelune · 1 year ago

Text

Creep | Oliver Quick

Though you can’t grasp exactly what, you know something is very off with your boyfriend’s peculiar new friend.

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, Stalking, Voyeurism, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Drinking, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamic

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Felix’s long digits drum over your back as he pouts, “You really brought me here just to study, babe?” His raspy, flirtatious tone tugs your lips skyward. Still, your attention doesn’t stray from your laptop screen. Sentences bleed from your fingertips at a quick-fire pace. A little under three thousand words on Bentham’s theory of utilitarianism, due by Monday. The topic isn’t exactly thrilling but you have to hand it over in time.

“If I don’t ace this essay, I’m going to fail this class,” you absently reply. Failure. The one thing you literally can’t afford right now, though you forbear sharing that particular bit with Felix. Best he perceives your single-minded determination as a core stare of your character rather than what it actually is…a necessity, one born of dire circumstances.

He takes a long drag off his cigarette. Grey smoke floats around you, smudging the words on your screen. You repress tears as your eyes burn. You wished he’d curb the nasty habit. You’ve dropped hints before.

But no one tells Felix Catton what to do. Many would kill to even breathe the same nicotin-infused air as him. Felix is the sun and everyone on campus craves to be in his orbit, eager for the slightest chance to bask in his warmth, shower in his light.

You’re no different. The day he asked you out, a little over a year ago, you pinched yourself twice to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Felix Catton wanted…you? It couldn’t be real.

This was the boy you held in your heart for a decade, the only one you ever had eyes for.

And while your relationship suffered its share of hardships, namely Felix’s wandering eyes, you couldn’t picture life without him at your side.

He’s your everything.

He could hurt you a thousand times and you’d forgive him each of those times.

Felix’s bare shoulder grazes yours as he states, “They won’t fail you, not with who your dad is.”

Your stomach knots with his comment. Still, you shrug, pretending away the guilt steadily gnawing your insides.

“I don’t want to get special treatment just because of my family name, Felix,” you say, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

Though his smile never falters, his jaw ticks. “And I do?”

The ice in his tone scatters in your veins. Immediately, you discard your homework, concerned gaze finding his.

“I’m not saying that.” When Felix doesn’t respond, panic roars inside you. You touch his exposed chest to bring his attention to you. He doesn’t move. “I didn’t say that.”

A thick blanket of silence engulfs the room and your airways constrict. It feels as if your heart is on the verge of collapse as you wait for a reaction from your boyfriend, his chestnut gaze glued to the ceiling.

His head turns to you slowly. He releases a large puff of smoke in your face. Tears rush to your eyes, filling them to the brim.

Felix shrugs.

“It sounded like you did. A little. But that’s okay.” His tone is mellow in that way that oozes displeasure. “I’m just a legacy kid getting by on his trust fund and good looks, right?”

Your mouth quakes and he bursts out a chuckle. He cups your cheek, a wide grin breaking onto his face. “I’m just fucking with you, babe.”

You swallow your budding tears, wiping your eyes swiftly as Felix reaches around you to put out his cig in the ashtray.

You punch him in the chest, your own laughter bubbling out.

“You’re an arsehole.”

His grin expands. Twining your fingers with his, Felix’s tone gets softer.

“I wanted to ask…” He trails off, brown gaze clinging to yours. “Can Ollie come to the party you and Anabel are throwing tonight?”

You tilt your head in befuddlement. “Ollie?”

He traces the lines in your palm, adding absently, “Yeah, Oliver. I told you about him. Saved my arse when my bike broke.”

“Right, bike guy,” you say, remembrance hitting you. You tilt your head. “What’s he like?”

Felix sighs.

“He doesn't have too many friends. He's also had a rough upbringing. So I thought we could help him a little, you know?” You study him. However casual your boyfriend attempts to sound, you instantly recognize what this is. Yet another try at playing knight in shining armor. Whoever this Oliver guy is, he’s now become your boyfriend’s side project. His charity case possibly.

“He’s not like us so we could try to be nice.”

Not like us. You mask your discomfort with a bright smile.

About a year ago, your dad’s company filed for bankruptcy. Thankfully your scholarship still allows you to attend Oxford, but your lifestyle has drastically changed. No more shopping sprees. No more casual leisure trips to Europe. No more frivolous spendings with daddy’s black card.

The last straw was when your father emptied every account, including your trust, and left the country without as much as a goodbye text. Since those events, your mother has taken refuge at the bottom of a whisky bottle. You can barely get a hold of her these days.

So not only are you penniless, you might as well be an orphan.

Felix is all you have left. You can’t risk him finding out the truth. He can never know about the part time jobs you’ve had to take to cover tuition costs or the small flat your mum had to move into after your father had to sell the family manor. He might think you’re beneath him now, working class, destitute. Or worse, he might pity you, treat you like a charity case too.

You follow the curve of his dark brow with your thumb, sweeping over his silver stud.

“Hm, sure. I can be nice,” you promise.

“I know you can,” he teases, large hands pulling on your thighs to spread you across his lap.

You squeal before scolding him, “Felix…I really really need to finish this essay.”

His eyes darken with lust as he licks his lips. He wiggles his hips, causing the bulge in his jeans to rub against your clothed center. Your breath hitches. “And I really really need you to take care of this for me.” His hoarse, desperate inflection makes your core clench. His palms run over your thighs beneath your short dress. “Just five minutes? Come on, I’ve been hard for like an hour, babe.”

He hums, already playfully fiddling with the edge of your lace panties.

“It’s your fault for wearing this fucking pink dress. You know the way your ass looks in it drives me crazy.”

You resolve crumbles beneath Felix’s heated stare. You can never tell him no. And he knows that. Releasing a deep sigh, you relent.

“Five minutes,” you offer.

He slides one finger inside your weeping core. As you draw a sharp breath, Felix beams.

“It’s all I need,” he coos.

The party’s at his height, loud music blasting from the gigantic speakers and glow sticks waving in the pitch blackness of the underground cellar. You thread your way between tipsy students, carrying two cups of beer in your hands.

As you reach the VIP corner, you hand Annabel her drink. The redhead mumbles her thanks as she bobs her head to the music. You peer at your surroundings, glad to see everyone having fun.

It’s a frank success. Pride trickles inside you at that. It’s been hard collecting pockets of free time to put it together between classes and assignments. But you did it.

Truthfully, you’re also craving some fun tonight. All you’ve done lately is studying. You miss the days when you were more carefree, unconcerned about your grades deciding the course of your future.

You glance down at your watch, scowling as you notice the time. He was supposed to be here three hours ago.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask Venetia. Your boyfriend’s sister lazily opens her eyes, a drunken smile spreading onto her lips. She shrugs. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him around.”

You pivot to the rest of the group.

“Have you guys seen him tonight?”

Annabel shakes her head apologetically while Farleigh brings his blunt to his mouth with a taunting smile.

“Desperate much?” he teases.

“Farleigh, come on,” Anabel chastises. She bumps her shoulder into yours, her expression sympathetic. “Don’t mind him, you know he’s always a jerk after a few drinks.”

Farleigh sighs. “Darling, you know I love you. It was just a joke.”

“A joke, right…” you mumble. Your cheeks heat though you try not to let your feelings show. Still, Farleigh’s words linger in your head. Maybe you’re being too clingy. It’s something you should mind. What if you became too needy and Felix grew bored of you? It’s not like he wouldn’t find a replacement for you in a heartbeat.

You lie back on the plush couch, sipping from your beer cup as your friends continue their chat. The conversation has long since stopped making sense, fueled by drug-inspired ramblings. Your attention is halved by your straying train of thoughts, the current whereabouts of your boyfriend still at the forefront of your brain.

Another hour flies by before Felix’s towering frame finally pierces through the crowd. A smaller boy trails behind him, his expression mirroring that of a lost puppy. He adjusts his glasses, awkwardly avoiding the drunken bodies around him. The word “Sorry” doesn’t stop pouring from his mouth.

You realize this must be Oliver. Astonishment flows through you. This isn’t the kind of company Felix traditionally keeps. But you elect to try your best to be nice and welcoming.

It’s what Felix asked of you after all. Besides, entering a new group of people cannot be easy, your tight-knit circle having known each other since kindergarten for some.

You don’t miss Anabel’s fleeting, condescending glance as she takes in Oliver though. Getting her assent to let him come had been a hassle, as she regards him as some weird, scholarship kid who’d just bring the mood down. But you insisted and she finally caved.

You trade a meaningful look with her, silently nudging her to be nice. The redhead practically rolls her eyes but squeezes her lips shut. Annabel may be one of your best friends but even you’re aware that she can be quite snobbish at times.

A sullen expression decorates your face as Felix enters the private booth.

“You’re late,” you blurt out. Farleigh snickers behind you and your cheeks flare. But everything around you fades as Felix grabs your face and presses feverish lips over yours. Your irritation melts in the heat of the passionate kiss.

When he frees your mouth, his thumb runs over your swollen bottom lip as he explains casually, “Yeah we were just hanging out and we lost track of time.”

He then introduces the shy boy.

“That’s Ollie.”

“Nice to meet you,” he stutters.

“Likewise,’ you reply smiling.

You gauge him. Beneath the large glasses, you note the slanted blue eyes and soft, round boyish features. Felix’s friend is cute. If only he weren’t so painfully awkward.

“You should sit with us. There’s plenty of space,” you say.

Felix draws you onto his lap as he sits. Oliver takes a nervous seat next to the two of you. His eyes keep rising to Felix, as if seeking perpetual approval from your boyfriend. You’re a little perplexed. Farleigh hands Felix a spliff and he lets his hand rest on your thigh while taking a long drag from it.

“So, where are you from exactly?” you ask Oliver.

His gaze on you and Felix is sharp, somehow constantly darting to where your boyfriend’s holding you.

“Prescott,” he answers.

You mull over his response. It’s a few hours away from Oxford. You don’t know much about it. Though, based on what Felix implied about the way he grew up, you expected him to originate from a rougher area. Prescott doesn’t seem too awful.

“Prescott? They must be proud of you back home, especially your parents.”

“Probably not, actually.”

Your curiosity is piqued. “Why are you saying that?”

Oliver shrugs. His eyes find the floor before meeting yours again.

“Just don’t talk to them much,” he mutters. “They got problems and stuff…”

You slant your head. “Problems?”

Felix’s hand tightens atop your thigh. “Babe, that’s enough prying, don’t you think?”

“I’m just making conversation, trying to get to know him.”

“You’re embarrassing him, babe.”

Oliver’s blue gaze lifts to yours, his face unreadable.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, though you detect a slight edge to his timbre that wasn’t there before. A small smile tugs his lips. “I don’t mind questions. Got nothing to hide.”

You nod. An icy tickle blooms at the base of your spine, scattering outward as Oliver’s intense focus doesn’t leave you. You turn away, shifting your attention to your boyfriend. Throughout the entire night, a strange sensation thunders through you, like the lightning before the storm. You can’t explain it. It’s like the world shifted off its axis, though you can’t pinpoint the reason.

Thankfully the strangeness is cast aside by Felix’s soft lips and heady, masculine scent. As the party goes on in the background, the two of you sneak away. You end up making out in a dark corner, Felix’s greedy hands slipping beneath your short skirt to grab a fistful of your ass. He pinches your flesh and you squeal.

A warm chuckle spills from his lips as he peppers tender kisses alongside your neck.

“Let’s go back to my dorm,” he whispers.

You readily agree. He takes your hand and the two of you hitch a ride back to campus. The two of you giggle in the backseat of the car every time the driver berates you for getting too handsy with each other. You laugh it off all the way back to his room, lips locking as you cross the threshold. You jump to wrap your legs around Felix’s tapered waist. He purrs, his hands latching around your hips, pulling you closer. He pushes you against a wall, tracing a scorching path in the valley between your breasts. Moaning, you toss your head back.

As your eyes flutter however, you catch sight of a silhouette standing outside Felix’s window. Your heart bounces, your eyes growing saucer-wide. You gasp and leap away from Felix.

“What the fuck?” he curses as you race to the window. Chest pulsing with your quick heartbeats, you peel the window open to peek outside. The cold night air whisks inside the room. Goosebumps break out on your skin.

Your gaze wanders, searching the darkness. Confusion swells within you as you find nothing. Nothing but greenery, the same trees and grass flanking your path whenever you stroll through campus.

“There was someone outside, w-watching us,” you stammer.

Felix’s frustrated breath grazes the back of your neck. “Babe, there’s no one out there.”

You squint, dumbfounded when nothing but pitch blackness stares back at you. For a minute, you really believed someone stood there. In fact, whoever they were bore a peculiar resemblance to…

You catch yourself before finishing the thought.

Now that’s just crazy.

“But I saw…”

Felix shifts your body towards him. He cups your cheeks and rasps, “Hey. Hey, look at me. There’s no one but us here.” His lips collide with yours. He starts groping you again and you push him off you, stunned that he wants to have sex at a time like this.

“No, Felix, I-I can’t.”

He stumbles back and scoffs, “Oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you inquire, glowering at him.

His gaze flicks over you, his expression cold. “All that teasing just to leave me high and dry?”

“Felix, wait…”

He avoids your touch, collecting his jacket from the bed when your fingers stretch towards him.

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna have a smoke. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Your stomach sinks.

“O-Okay,” you say as your hand retreats to your side.

The door slams shut and you collapse on Felix’s bed. Your eyes veer to the window once more. You could have sworn you caught a glimpse of someone. Maybe all those late nights writing essays and revising for the upcoming exams are slowly catching up to you, dragging you to the brink of madness.

Felix doesn’t call you the following day. Of course he doesn’t. You broke the mood. You acted weird. What reason does he have to want to be around you again? It’s bad enough you neglected him in favor of your assignments and club activities for the last few weeks. Now you can’t even enjoy the sparse time you have together.

Still, you flip your phone open all day long, longing for a word from him, any trivial, insignificant word.

You get nothing.

You gloomily drag your feet around campus and somehow find your way in one of the empty student lounges, save Farleigh and Venetia. Lying flat on the carpeted floor, eyes glued to the ceiling, the two of them are sharing a spliff. You wedge yourself between them, lying on your back also. You steal the roll from Venetia’s fingers and bring it to your lips. Your throat burns and you cough as you inhale a puff. Venetia’s lips curve upward as your eyes water.

“You gotta take it easy the first time,” she says, amusement lighting her olive orbs. “Tiny inhales.” She shows you how and you mimic her gestures. You go slower the second time and a pleasant numbness sets into your limbs. Your eyes shut. You kind of get it now. For the first time in several weeks, your mind’s almost at rest, your stormy thoughts quieted.

“You don’t smoke,” Farleigh notes near you.

“I am today.”

“You guys will be fine,” Venetia assures. “You’re always fine.”

Your eyes open, settling on the pristine white ceiling.

“I fucking hate him sometimes.” You pause, sucking a deep breath. “But I love him more.”

“Yep, that’s Felix,” they utter in unison.

You heave out a weary sigh. They grew up with him. They know better than anyone, how sweet and wonderful he can be, but also cruel and careless sometimes.

Just like the sun, Felix’s light can also burn whoever gets too close.

For a while, the three of you hang out in silence, the spliff switching hands every once in a while. Eventually, each of them rises, leaving you to your mopey thoughts.

Before taking his leave however, Farleigh whispers in your ear,

“Oh and darling, next time you wear a rental…make sure the price tag isn’t sticking out. It gives you away.”

You sit up immediately. A smile dances on the boy’s lips as he disappears. You grab the back of your neck, face warming as you feel the tag poking through the collar of your shirt.

You nearly forgot you’re due to return the designer piece in two days’ time. You can’t believe someone noticed. Though you suppose if anybody would, it’d be Farleigh. Nothing gets past his keen eye. You surmise it was a necessity with the way he grew up. Learning to read people, knowing what makes them tick, being able to spot a pretender from a mile away…which you are now.

Maybe it’s ludicrous, acting like you can still afford to live like this, like your life wasn’t turned upside down.

Still, you can’t fathom the alternative. The judgement, the pity, from your friends…from Felix. The thought alone makes you sick. The echo of Anabel’s voice as she disparaged Oliver’s background a few days ago never left you.

Dunno what Felix even sees in him. He’s some weird scholarship kid who buys his clothes at Oxfam.

That was harsh…and made you wonder what your best friend would have to say about your current situation.

So you’d rather lie, even if you sometimes look like a fool doing so.

You swallow a wide lungful, willing yourself to be calm. You repeat the mantra, again and again. You’re okay. You’re okay. You just need to keep your grades up and get through the semester.

The rest of the week is hell. Felix all but ignores you, not even sparing you a glance when he brushes past you in the university corridors. The itch to talk to him sears inside you. Unfortunately, he’s always surrounded by a swarm of people, the center of attention as usual, making approaching him near impossible. You can’t picture bringing up your relationship problems in front of so many eyes.

Besides, you don’t want to project desperation, Farleigh’s pointed gibe still resonating in your mind. You need to play it cool, wrap yourself in a disguise of indifference…despite the way you wither away every second he’s not texting you back.

The agonizing wait is made worse by him. He’s everywhere now. Wherever Felix goes, he goes too. Oliver Quick has essentially become your boyfriend’s shadow. Whether in class, at pub meetups, at parties, the quiet, nervous boy never abandons Felix’s side, always peering up at him with those round baby blues of his, a strange mix of admiration, devotion and…something else you can’t pinpoint etched on his face.

It’s sort of creepy in your opinion.

Though you’d never say it aloud. For some reason, Oliver’s his new toy. And you’re acutely aware of how Felix is with his toys. He plays with them for a while then moves on to the next fancy, shiny new one. He did it to Eddie before. Now Oliver.

And maybe it’ll be your turn one day…if you don’t do something.

It’s how you end up in front of his dorm one night, already tipsy from half a bottle of vodka. Liquid courage to get you to knock on his door. It’s pathetic. Of course it is, but you just can’t wait anymore.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and shaking off your nerves. Your knuckles are less than an inch from the door when a broken whimper reaches you from the other side of Felix’s door.

Brows furrowing, you place your ear against the wood. You hear a moan this time. Deep, distinctive, masculine…familiar. Your heart stops.

You plummet to your knees, peering through the keyhole. You feel wrong for doing so, for invading Felix’s privacy like this. But guilt crumbles beneath the weight of heartbreak at what you witness.

You almost find yourself wishing you hadn’t looked. Almost.

Rivulets of anguish flow down your face as you watch your best friend and boyfriend lip-locked, practically swallowing each other’s faces. Their clothes aren’t off but the urgent way they’re grinding against each other is a dead giveaway as to what’s to come.

Legs trembling, you stumble back from the door. You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. You’re a fool.

You drunkenly stagger through the corridors, clinging to the walls each time you almost trip over your own feet.

You wind up slumped on some stairs, too inebriated to carry yourself much further. Your lids sag as you exhale. More hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest aches, a knife piercing through your heart as the memory of Annabel and Felix lost in the throes of passion fleets across your brain. Why are you even shocked? It’s not like you never caught Anabel leering at him while she thought you weren’t looking. And it’s not like Felix is some kind of saint. Still, you can’t help but feel massively betrayed. You thought you meant more to him. You thought they wouldn’t…not with each other.

When your eyes flutter open, you find a pair of intense cobalt orbs studying you.

“Oliver…” you mumble. In your drunken stupor, you don’t bother wondering how he got here, seemingly materializing from thin hair.

He hunkers in front of you. His scent tickles your nose and it twitches. The smell of his cologne is so strikingly reminiscent of the one Felix wears. A wave of emotion engulfs you. Sobs shake your frame as you shrink against the wall.

Oliver’s gaze rises to your weeping face as he questions, “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…” you slur, wiping your snotty nose. You must look a fright, a pathetic heap of tears aimlessly wandering the university corridors.

He tilts his head. “You don’t look fine.”

You consider Oliver. He is cute, which you noticed before. And in the dimly lit stairway, his blue eyes burn even brighter. You loathe that Felix is allowed to hurt you the way he did and can just…keep on. If your friends aren’t off-limits, why would his be?

You bat your lashes at Oliver.

“You got any alcohol?”

His lips curve upward as he rasps, “Would you like me to have alcohol?”

How did you end up there? The question keeps swirling in your head as Oliver’s mouth hungrily devours yours, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. He trails fevered kisses down your neck and you squirm. As his teeth sink into the flesh at the crook of your neck, you let out a sharp cry. You tug on his dark locks and Oliver growls against your skin. The pain mixes with pleasure in your haze. His tongue then circles where he punctured your flesh, dragging slowly as an elated purr rises from his chest. His hard-on presses into your thigh. Alarm bells ring inside your mind.

It’s all a little too real, you realize. You got carried away. You draw back, pushing against his chest. “Oliver, wait…”

You might as well have said nothing, your words falling to unlistening ears as Oliver grabs your wrists and nudges you on the bed on your back. You peer up at him. Lust darkens his blue gaze, making him appear almost inhuman in the darkness.

Your mouth wobbles.

Pinning your wrists at your sides, Oliver kisses you senseless. Soon his lips are tracing a scorching path down your body, his hands moving to peel off your short skirt and panties.

His attentive gaze doesn’t leave yours as he sluggishly drags the tiny layer of lace down your legs.

His throat bobs when your bare cunt is exposed to him.

Biting his bottom lip, Oliver crawls his way to your core. Your legs quake. There is a strange glow in his eyes that sends chills down your back.

“Oli-” you start, but the protest dwindles in a helpless whimper when Oiver buries his head between your thighs and flicks his tongue against your bundle of nerves. Oliver’s firm hands clasp around your thighs, keeping you in place when you attempt to close your legs. He greedily eats you out, fingers digging into your soft flesh. He suckles your tender button in his mouth and your eyes roll back. Your fingers get lost in his dark mane as your back arches against the sheets. Oliver’s feverish tongue sweeps around your folds and you grow weaker, slumping against the pillow.

Quickly, stars dangle in your vision. Your fists tighten around the sheets while your legs turn to jelly. A long breath flows from your lips.

You don’t remember ever coming that hard before, not even with Felix.

Tingles are still dancing over your legs as a sliver of clarity returns to you.

Oliver’s tongue slowly moves, collecting the remnants of your essence off his lips as a look of sheer bliss decorates his face. You shiver.

You try to move off the bed. “I think that’s enough,” you say, folding your knees.

Oliver’s mouth quirks lopsidedly. “Oh, we’re nowhere near done, luv.”

Much quicker than you, Oliver slithers his way up your body and cages you beneath his frame. He steals your lips in a hungry kiss, trapping your wrists above your head. His fingers are tight enough that you just know it’ll bruise. You taste your own bittersweet flavor on his tongue. His hand creeps under your shirt, groping your tits. He plants urgent pecks on your face, dragging his teeth along your jaw.

“Oliver, please…” you beseech, shock making your voice shake.

He sinks a finger between your slick walls. Your stomach tightens.

Oliver releases your swollen lips and twists his finger inside your core. Your breath hitches.

He smiles down at you.

“But you’re gushing down there, luv. This is what you want.”

Your face warms. You hate that he’s right, that your body clings to him, making space you wish it didn’t…almost inviting his actions.

But Oliver’s mouth and hands are far too good at knowing which buttons to press to turn you into a whimpering mess. Shame pools in your gut as sharp keens leave your lips.

He pumps inside you at a steady pace, his thumb teasing your heap of sensitive nerves every once in a while, pressing until you cry out. He adds another finger and the air in your lungs falters. His hands feel everywhere at once, his teeth and mouth scattering marks all over your body.

He doesn’t stop until you clench around him, soaking his hand with your juices when you shatter with a high-pitched wail.

You crash over the pillows. Your body is still coming off the high. Half-lidded eyes blindly rise to the ceiling. Oliver yanking off his shirt and discarding his pants doesn’t register, not fully, the entire bottle of vodka you emptied before making your mind slow.

He’s suddenly inside you, his thick length splitting you apart as he places his forearms besides your head.

Your lips part in a quiet shout. It feels like if you might break, your walls aching as they stretch around him.

He begins to rail into you, each of his thrusts blunt and animalistic. As if he were possessed by some beast. You know it’s ludicrous. But as the lewd clapping of your damp skin against his rises each time he buries himself balls-deep inside you…it’s how you feel. Like a wild animal somehow broke free and started rutting into you.

Your head lolls against the pillows, your thoughts going blank every time he grazes your sweet spots. Your fingernails rake down his back.

“Does Felix fuck you like this?” he rasps. He presses his chest against yours, his cock hitting an angle that draws a lengthy moan from you. A crooked smile ghosts over Oliver’s lips. “Or maybe more like this…”

His warm breath fans over your earshell.

“Tell me luv… How do our cocks compare?”

When you don’t respond, he roughly shoves inside you, his fingers cinching around your windpipe. You gasp in horror, gaping at him through tear-filled eyes.

“Answer me,” he instructs, his voice deeper than before.

“Y-You’re bigger than he is,” you sputter, struggling to get the words out with his hand squeezing your throat.

A peculiar blend of excitement and disappointment swims in his gaze when you answer.

You weakly claw at his chest, squirming beneath him. He doesn’t let you go, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth. He drags his tongue over your face, licking your hot tears. Sobs jostle your frame.

“Oliver, please,” you repeat.

He shushes you, framing your chin. His thumb follows the outline of your bottom lip, bleeding and swollen from all his rough kisses.

“Stop fighting it. Be a good girl.” He showers tender pecks across your collarbone before softly whispering against your temple, “Or I’ll tell Felix everything. That you came onto me, begging me to fuck you.” His devilish smile sears into your skin. “I’ll tell him what a good little slut you were for me.”

Your stomach drops. Oliver collects your tears with his fingertips. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, emitting a throaty moan at the taste of your despair. He then dips those same fingers in your mouth, his pelvis snapping into yours.

“It’s beautiful, how much you love him,” Oliver mumbles, growing harder inside you as a fresh wave of tears brim beneath your lashes. “You’re beautiful. I can see why he always comes back.” He rests his forehead against yours, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll keep you for myself when this is all done.”

The awakening in the early morning is rude, the wicked headache and ache in your limbs reminding you of last night’s events right away. Strips of sunlight sneak between the curtains, caressing your face. The usually pleasant warmth does nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Your stomach clenches as you peer at your side. Oliver’s completely naked, only wearing the silver chain always around his neck. His arm is lazily spread over your belly. You don’t dare move, fearing he’ll wake up.

What would you even say?

This is a disaster. You somehow ended up in Oliver’s room and…had sex with him.

You swallow a shaky sob as your gaze travels low. Your panties are torn, which you didn’t notice last night. At least your clothes can still be worn, lying in a messy heap at the bottom of the bed. Carefully, you writhe your way out of Oliver’s hold and grab your clothes.

You hastily put your skirt and shirt back on, trying not to cry when you realize you’re going to have to walk back to your dorm without your knickers. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

You toss a glance behind you, relieved when you find him still sleeping soundly.

You climb off the bed. Your heart leaps when the mattress squeaks as you rise.

Pulse quickening, you head for the door.

Pain radiates through your lower body when you move. You stagger the rest of the way, constantly tugging on your short skirt as you pray not to encounter any strong gust of wind on the way back.

Before leaving, you look back.

Oliver’s still sprawled on his side on the bed but his eyes are wide open now.

No word leaves his mouth as he studies you in silence.

A wide, lazy smile slowly unfans on his lips.

Your blood turns to ice. Fumbling with the doorknob, you scurry outside the door.

Once you’re outside, you slam the door closed.

You dart panicked glances around the corridor. Relief fills you when you note that it’s empty. For now. It won’t be long before students start milling about.

You shamefully return to your dorm. The entire walk back, paranoia lurks at the edge of your mind. You keep wondering if every stranger you come across can tell what you did.

And you keep hoping not to run across anyone you know.

When you reach your bedroom, you lock the door. You make a beeline for the bathroom. You need a shower, expeditiously. Oliver’s smell still lingers on you. When you catch your disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror, you’re shocked. You approach the mirror on unsteady legs. You crane your neck, your fingertips skimming over the two puncture wounds on your neck. A cool wave ripples down your back. It’s twisted. You feel like a character in a Polidori’s tale. Except this is reality somehow.

The one where you have to face the fact that you shagged your boyfriend’s new friend…and you’re not even entirely sure that you wanted it. Your mind throbs as you search through your memories. You changed your mind midway through. Oliver did not care.

Oliver did not care…

The ghastly realization has you keel over the toilet bowl to empty the meagre contents of your stomach. You slump to the floor and start quivering over the bathroom floor.

A sudden knock on your door has you rising from the floor.

Your heart skips a beat when you glance through the peephole.

“F-Felix?” you stutter, panic hitting a peak inside you.

His deep voice penetrates through the door.

“Hey, can we talk?” he asks.

He sounds heartbroken, desperate. You almost unleash a sigh. You recognize this. You’ve been there before. This is a rollercoaster you can never get off of, the thrill when you’re high up entirely too intoxicating.

“Right now is not the best time.”

He heaves out a deep sigh. You can literally picture his kicked puppy expression, even with the door between you two. Your heartstrings flutter as you lean against the door. The craving to toss yourself in his arms wars with the sizzling betrayal still sitting in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck. Are you still mad at me?”

Swallowing the surge of tears, you reply, “No. Just feeling a bit rough. Had a tad too much to drink last night.”

“I could take care of you…”

You nibble your lip. It’s tempting. He’s done it before. Bought you pastries and showered you with kisses and cuddles until you got better. When he wants, Felix can be the perfect boyfriend. When he wants.

“No,” you say firmly. “What do you want, Felix?”

“Can’t you just let me in, just for a minute, babe?” His pleading inflection shatters your meek fences.

“The park. In two hours,” you concede. “I got microeconomics right now, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

He’s overjoyed. You can’t bear it anymore. You race back to the bathroom as another wave of queasiness engulfs your insides.

Jittery steps lead you through the park as you rejoin him under an oak tree. You spent the last hour in class totally unfocused, your chest tight as you dreaded how this conversation would go.

“Felix,” you greet.

He wraps his arms around you. You remain still in his embrace, the distinctive scent of his cologne floating around you. You feel sick. Now it doesn’t remind you of Felix anymore.

“I really missed you.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” you mumble coolly.

His long exhale tickles your shoulder. “I know. I’m a wanker.”

“More like a selfish arsehole.”

His hold on you slackens as he draws back a little.

A look of hurt and shock covers his face. He isn’t used to you speaking to him so harshly. To him, you’ve only ever been sweet and forgiving. His brows crumple.

“I deserve that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Listen I… I almost did something awful last night.”

“What thing?” You fiddle with the scarf around your neck. It’s the sole last minute resort you found to conceal the mark decorating your throat.

Of course you know exactly what thing Felix is referring to. You saw it with your own eyes, that thing. If it weren’t for that, you may not be a complete wreck today.

“Doesn’t matter, cause I stopped. It’s not who I want to be anymore.” He cups your face, warm brown gaze diving into yours. “You make me better.”

Words leave your mouth without forethought.

“Who was it this time?”

He hesitates, his jaw tensing. But beneath your heavy stare, he finally caves in.

“It was Annabel.”

“Oh.”

The knife inside your chest twists. It’s one thing to know, to have seen. It’s another to hear it confirmed from your boyfriend’s own mouth. Last night wasn’t some dragged out nightmare; it was reality. When you turn your head, Felix pivots it back to him.

Sincerity vibrates in his tone.

“I ended up kicking her out though.” He wipes the single tear that spills down your cheek. “All I could think about was you, the entire time.” He strokes your face. “You’re the only one for me, babe. This is the last time. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Fuck…”

You spot something you never heard in Felix’s voice before. Fear. And instantly, you break.

He leans his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he states.

You’re dumbstruck. Those words have crossed Felix’s lips at least a thousand times. He’s said them to so many, even strangers…but never to you.

He came close a few times, but never has he been this clear, firm, his meaning unmistakable. Butterflies swarm your stomach.

“I love you,” he repeats.

Felix plants a feverish kiss on your lips, leaving them tingling when he releases you.

“I love you too,” you whisper as your hot breaths mingle.

A sunny smile breaks out on his face.

“No more lies from now on.”

A sinking feeling spreads through you, but you ignore it, returning his smile.

“No more lies,” you echo. Guilt eats at you the second you utter the words.

Felix’s attention veers from you as he waves at someone behind you.

“Hey, Ollie,” he shouts.

The air around you plummets to a few degrees. You go still against Felix, nudging a shaky smile onto your lips.

“I need to go to class,” you chime.

You don’t even turn around, his presence alone sending your senses into alert.

Confusion scrunches Felix’s features.

“Your next class isn’t for another hour.”

You pat his chest, willing yourself to sound more cheerful than you feel.

“Just got some studying to catch up on beforehand.”

Felix’s fingers cling to yours as you try to leave.

“I’ll see you tonight at the pub?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t let you go until you give him another lengthy kiss. You’re uncomfortable, the weight of a certain somebody’s stare drilling holes into your back.

Things recede to relative normalcy, in some ways better than before, and in others worse. Better because of your relationship with Felix. It improves tremendously. He dotes on you more than he ever has, showering you with gifts and small attentions.

Worse because he’s still there, his unsettling presence the dark cloud over your rekindled romance. Each time you’re forced to be around him, there’s a knowing, smug glint dancing in his eyes, a subtle smile tugging his lips skywards. Perpetual fright eclipses your happiness, all because of Oliver Quick.

What if he told Felix everything? This was a mistake and you’re fairly sure you tried to stop it. You still have nightmares about that night, the way he held you down and wrapped his hand around your neck, stealing your air and ability to defend yourself.

You were helpless. Even letting Felix touch you is hard now, the memory of what Oliver did to you seeping through the cracks whenever you expect it least.

He branded you. And while the marks on your body may have faded, the ones engraved on your soul won’t vanish so easily.

It’s a blessing when Felix finally grows bored with him. You have no idea how it occurred. You simply know that they seem stitched at the hip for months then, suddenly, Oliver is gone. Felix shows up at group meetups without him and stops mentioning him altogether.

As if he took an eraser and wiped him from existence. Just like he did to Eddie back in the day.

You’re relieved…for an ephemeral while alas.

Oliver’s dad's abrupt passing changes everything overnight.

Once more, Felix feels the need to be Oliver’s knight in shining armor.

And once more the two of them are inseparable. Two peas in a pod.

You elect to take some distance. While you understand that Felix wants to help him, it doesn’t mean you have to. Thankfully, with summer fastly approaching, you won’t have to bear with Oliver Quick for much longer.

As usual, James and Elspeth urged you to come spend the summer at Saltburn, particularly Elspeth who couldn’t stop gushing about what a gorgeous couple you and Felix are. And while you may have tried to decline every other year, finding his family to be an awful lot, this year is different. This year, more than ever before, you long for an escape.

Even the pits of hell would be a suitable vacation spot if it meant not having to run across Oliver Quick for two whole months.

It’s a thrilling prospect. These days you can’t be around Felix as much because being around him means being around Oliver, and you just can’t do it. You look forward to having your boyfriend all to yourself. All day long, you dream about lazy afternoons by the pool and cloud-gazing in the grassy fields.

These are the balmy thoughts floating through your mind as you return to your dorm that day after classes end. A carefree smile decorates your face. You can’t wait to finish packing your suitcase. You saved every penny from your part-time job to buy a new swimsuit. And while it made a small dent in your savings, imagining Felix’s face the first time he’ll see you in it makes the tiny sacrifice worth it.

But the smile on your lips dies when you cross the door to your bedroom. Your jaw drops, the stack of books in your hands crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper. You shrink against the door, maintaining as wide a distance as the small room allows.

Oliver doesn’t even spare you a glance, casually lying on your bed with one knee bent like it’s his.

“Your taste in books. A bit of a letdown I gotta say, luv,” he says, flipping the yellowed pages of one of your favourite novels.

You lick your lips. “Look, I’m sorry about your dad…but you can’t be here.” He doesn’t leave your bed, engulfed in his reading. Your brows knit. “Get out of my room, Oliver,” you repeat, folding your arms as you approach the bed.

His cobalt gaze finally settles on you. He places the book on the night table, slow and unhurried as he gets to his feet.

Your pulse soars as he inches closer.

“Or what? You’ll scream?” he challenges. He circles you, gauging you in a way that summons a picture of a lion stalking its prey in your head. Your blood curdles when Oliver’s breath caresses your nape. “Then you’ll have to explain what I’m doing in your room and make a scene.” His voice lowers to a taunting rasp. “Do you want to make a scene?”

Your voice comes out shaky. “What do you want?”

Oliver takes a deep breath while placing his hands on your shoulders. His thumbs trace a slow path along the column of your neck. His lips graze your earshell.

“I want you to come over here, lie on this bed and spread your legs like a good girl for me.” You suck in a sharp breath. His fingers drag down your arm as he adds, “I’m feeling…peckish.”

When you don’t move, he releases a deep sigh.

“...Or I can tell Felix everything.”

Your heart starts hammering in your chest. “What?” you exhale, spinning to face him.

Oliver smiles.

“You guys are great right now. He says you’re the best you’ve ever been. No more lies. No more secrets.” Oliver bends close to you, his smile expanding. “How do you think he’ll react when I tell him that we fucked…” He pauses and you hold your breath. “And that you’ve lied to him about your family this entire year.”

Goosebumps spread across your flesh. You stumble back, your eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. “H-How do you know about that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, Oliver takes small steps forward, causing you to retreat until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He places his hands on each side of you. His gaze traces the motion of your neck as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“I…It’s not the right time of the month right now,” you lamely offer.

Oliver’s blue eyes rise as he sinks to his knees in front of you. Tingles bounce over your skin as he rolls your plaid skirt up your thighs.

“And you think it’s something I’m worried about?”

A moan tears from your throat when he buries two fingers inside your core without a warning.

“From now on when I tell you to spread your legs for me, you do as I say,” Oliver informs, his fingers curving inside you. You choke on your breath. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Do you understand?” The threat laced in his tone scatters ice in your veins.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, Oliver,” he corrects.

“Yes…Oliver,” you sputter, legs tensing as his digits reach deeper inside you.

“I’m sure it’ll be a summer to remember.”

Between uneven breaths, you stammer, “W-What do you mean?”

He strokes under your thigh absently.

“Oh didn’t Felix tell you?” He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been invited to Saltburn, as a guest.”

When Oliver leans away, he’s smiling from ear to ear. Excitement sways in his cobalt orbs as he studies your crestfallen expression.

“I know. I’m looking forward to it too.”

#saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #dark!oliver quick #dark!oliver quick x reader #dark!fic

2K notes · View notes

weemssapphic · 5 months ago

Text

I've looked around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with

Larissa Weems x f!reader

It's been years - decades, even - since Larissa Weems broke up with you. Running into the shapeshifting principal at the Weathervane all these years later, she's just as striking as you remember.

This is sort of a part two to my fic do you get deja vu when she's with you? but it can definitely be read as a standalone (which is why I ultimately decided to post it this way).

Words: ~2.7k | ao3 link in title Hurt/comfort with a little angst but a happy ending

For all of the times you ran into Larissa in the year or two after your break-up, you somehow managed to completely lose sight of her in the years to come. Years have passed without so much as a whisper of the woman you once loved - the woman you’d have once given up everything for turned to nothing more than a distant memory.

Moving helped, of course - no longer feeding your daily caffeine habit at the Weathervane, giving up your Jericho library card, taking up a new job out of town, spending your summers traveling and trading your usual haunts for theaters in New York, cafés in Paris, parks in London - never stopping, always looking ahead. Towards a better life, you told yourself, towards something new and exciting. Towards a future worth living for.

You didn’t realize that you were actually running away. Away from heartache, away from her.

A failed relationship and a wave of nostalgia has brought you back to Jericho. It's fall, and there’s a pleasant chill in the air, and you’re craving a latte - for old time’s sake. You haven’t been back here in years, and you’re almost shocked at how time seems to have stood still for the sleepy little town. The interior of the Weathervane has been renovated, but just barely, looking so similar still to how it looked the last time you were here that it sends an uncomfortable chill down your spine. You ignore the overwhelming wave of deja vu threatening to pull you under and step up to the counter, ordering a latte from the teenage boy at the till.

“For here or to go?”

You shouldn’t stay. You shouldn’t indulge your nostalgia. You shouldn’t risk running into anyone you used to know.

“For here.”

If you hadn’t been so lost in your thoughts, you might’ve noticed her sooner.

As it stands, you’re watching the kid steam some milk, watching him pour it into a glass - the espresso at the bottom of the glass mixes with the milk, creating rich brown swirls that wind their way up the walls of the glass. You thank him and take your coffee, heading back to the corner booth you used to sit in - old habits die hard. You’re so preoccupied looking around the little café, taking in the change in upholstery that had apparently taken place at some point during your absence, that you don’t notice that someone is already sitting in the booth until you’re right in front of it, until it’s too late to turn around.

Thin, white eyebrows raise in shock, blue eyes go wide before she’s able to school her features into a look that you’ve seen on her face before, usually when dealing with difficult parents - a polite but vaguely disinterested smile, seemingly relaxed yet with an undercurrent of irritation, evident in the way the muscle between her brows twitches. It’s truly been ages - how long, 10 years? No, definitely more like 15 - but the years have been kind to Larissa. Of course they would be, you think, unable to help the twinge of bitterness pricking at your tongue at the realization. You wonder, vainly, if Larissa will think that the years have been kind to you, too. You hate yourself for caring in the first place.

She’s clearly aged though, you note, the wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes more pronounced, fine lines etched into her skin - skin that’s a bit looser around her neck, her jaw. Her nostrils flare slightly, and you can tell she’s uncomfortable beneath your scrutinizing gaze. You’re sure she’s growing self-conscious - it brings you a fleeting sense of satisfaction before the guilt sets in, a heaviness deep within your bones. It shocks you to realize that you’re nearly, though not quite, the same age that Larissa was when you first met her, and that she, in turn, must now be nearly old enough to retire.

Retire. Is Larissa capable of such a thing? Surely she’s still at Nevermore. Surely she must be married by now - surely she must have children of her own, like she once admitted to you she’d dreamed of having. She’s alone, you note, but you quickly remind yourself that that doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Larissa.” You hate how smoothly her name rolls off your tongue, like the melody of a beloved nursery rhyme, not sung since childhood yet stubbornly ingrained in the recesses of your memory. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” It's a flimsy lie - Larissa knows it, and you know it, but neither of you addresses it.

“How fortunate I am that you did,” she replies with a bit of a sardonic bite behind her words, no doubt a reaction to your own distant tone. To both your shock and hers, it makes you grin.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” you retort, your smile wide, and Larissa's mouth twists at the corners as she lets out a haughty chuckle - she can’t tell if you mean it as an insult or not and, honestly, you’re not too sure yourself.

You’re expecting her to wrinkle her nose in disdain and tell you she must get going, or perhaps even have the audacity to tell you to leave. Instead, she utters the words “care to sit with me?” with a look of surprise in her own eyes, as if she hadn’t meant to ask you to sit with her at all.

She has, though, and she doubles down on her offer when you hesitate by arching an eyebrow and gesturing to the seat across from her.

“Why not?” You shrug and sit opposite her, annoyed by the way your hand trembles as you place your glass on the table, by the clumsy way your knee bumps against the edge of the booth and sends a shooting pain through your leg, making you grimace. Larissa pretends not to notice.

Her own hands rest on the table, her fingertips grazing the porcelain of a large, white coffee cup. The backs of her hands show her age more than her face does, and a lump rises in your throat - you look away, focusing instead on the faint print of deep red lipstick on the edge of the cup, watching as those hands raise the cup into the air, towards pursed, painted lips, with fine lines stretching out into pale, incandescent skin.

Everything about Larissa reminds you of how much time has passed since you last saw her, and you quickly look out the window to your left instead, taking a strange solace in the fact that the view is exactly the same as the last time you’d sat here.

“You don’t live here any longer, do you?” Larissa asks, her voice a deep, soothing rumble, her accent smooth and pleasant as ever, and you chuckle in response, focusing your gaze back on her face.

“Astute observation.”

“I haven't seen you here in a very long time.” Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but she sounds a little bitter, as if displeased that you had the audacity to try and move on.

“Well, I haven't been here in a very long time…” You sigh, taking a sip of your latte - it burns your tongue. “You’re right, I moved.”

Larissa nods, sapphire eyes mapping out your features, no doubt assessing the visible passage of time against your own skin. Her expression remains neutral - it borders on disinterest, though the twitch of her lips betrays her. At one time, long, long ago, she might’ve asked you why you’d moved. Where you’d moved to. What brings you back. Something, anything, that shows an interest in you, in your life. Today, she doesn’t. And you don’t even think it’s because she doesn’t care, but because you both know it doesn’t matter. You both know that you left Jericho because of her, and no amount of small talk is going to erase the past. It doesn’t matter if she cares now or not - not anymore.

“You still at Nevermore?”

Larissa smiles - it almost upsets you. You wish that she’d smiled at you when she first saw you, as she once did - instead it takes a mention of her career to get her lips to curl up into that familiar grin you once coveted.

“Yes,” she replies, both pride and fondness evident in her tone.

“I don’t suppose you’ll retire soon…”

Larissa’s mood seems to sour a bit. It's a fragile thing, her mood - it always has been, but it seems a little more so today. You can’t blame her, you suppose, not when her ex is ruining her lunch break.

“I don’t think it’s quite time for that yet,” she says bitterly, and you realize that she’s self-conscious of her age, of you recognizing that she’s gotten older in the time you haven’t seen each other. You can see the resentment slowly growing in her gaze, a tiny flame that could turn into a roaring inferno at the slightest gust of wind and burn down everything in its path. Turn you, yourself, to ashes. You smile in spite of yourself.

“Nevermore wouldn’t be Nevermore without you anyway, would it?” you hum thoughtfully, placating her, and it works. A calm washes over her features and her knuckles unclench and she cocks her head to the side as her gaze sweeps over your form.

That gaze makes you feel so small. It makes you feel so worthless, because it reminds you of that time she looked at you in the bar on New Year’s Eve, the first New Year’s Eve after she’d broken your heart - like she was looking at a stranger, like she was looking straight through you, like you didn’t exist to her. And it’s been 15 years and you shouldn’t feel that way, still, after all this time, but you do. And you can tell that she knows. You can tell by the way something in her expression changes that she can see the subtle way you shrink down in your seat, the anxiety swirling in your pupils even as you keep your own expression as impassive as you can.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to sit with me,” she says in a sudden, uncharacteristic bout of honesty. The words are so matter-of-fact, said so abruptly, that they go through you like a cold shower.

She’s probably right, though it angers you to admit it.

“Then why did you?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. “I wanted to know how you were doing,” she says, after a long period of silence.

“You haven’t asked,” you grumble.

Larissa looks down at her cup, twisting it this way and that on its saucer, seeming to study her own lipstick print for a moment. “I don’t suppose you think I deserve to know.”

Her answer infuriates you even more, because, once again, she’s right. She doesn’t deserve to know. But she has a lot of nerve assuming how you feel after all this time.

“Do you think you deserve to know?”

Larissa doesn’t answer - you clench your teeth.

The silence that befalls your little corner booth is almost too heavy to bear. Except it’s not a silence, not completely - there’s music playing over the radio, and the song that’s just started hits you like a punch to the gut.

It’s “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel, and for a moment you think Larissa hasn’t made the connection. That’s what sets you off - that what you and Larissa had could mean so little to her that she barely remembers any of it - barely remembers something that shoots straight through you and makes you feel, for a single, fleeting second, as though you’re still madly in love, as though you could just reach out and grab her, kiss her and feel her smile against your lips as her arms wind around you and shield you from the world.

“How’s your girlfriend? Or is she your wife now?” you ask - you might as well start asking her questions until you find one she’ll answer. This question is a bit childish, a little petty - you know that before you’ve even opened your mouth to ask it, but you can’t help yourself. You can tell Larissa thinks so, too, by her raised eyebrow. To your surprise, she answers.

“I don't have a partner.”

You’re not sure if the emotion bubbling up inside of you, licking greedily at your insides, is glee or pity - surely it’s a strange, ugly mixture of both seeping into your expression at her admission.

“Did you get bored of her, too?”

Larissa’s lips part ever so slightly as a blush colors her cheeks - a faint pink hue that’s gone faster than it came. You hate that you know Larissa well enough still to immediately recognize what she’s done: shapeshifted away the visible evidence of an unwanted emotional reaction. You hate that you can’t shapeshift away the redness in your own cheeks.

“That isn’t fair,” Larissa says quietly.

You don’t know what’s more interesting - the fact that she doesn’t deny your statement, or the fact that her eyes are swimming with guilt, even as she frowns at you.

“Isn’t it?”

Larissa doesn’t answer - again - and the song seems to get louder and louder as it goes on, filling the space between the two of you, and your hands clench into fists on the table.

“This fucking song…” you mutter bitterly, and Larissa freezes as a flicker of recognition crosses her face.

“You really liked this song,” she says, as if it’s some sort of revelation to her as she sounds, for the first time, a bit regretful.

You can’t help the hollow laugh that vibrates in your chest at her words. “I really liked you, Larissa.”

Larissa seems taken aback at your statement. She runs a hand over her pristine updo, smoothing down imaginary fly-aways, turning her head to look out the window as tension seems to grip her at the shoulders.

“I know I don’t have much of a right to say this,” she says finally, her voice just a bit softer than it was before. “But I liked you, too. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

You’re stunned into silence. In a way, it’s more of an apology than you ever dreamed you could get. On the other hand… she’s making it sound a whole lot like she hadn’t had a choice in the matter, like she didn’t leave you as if it were the easiest thing she’d ever done.

“You’re sorry it didn’t work out?” you repeat, your voice strangely hollow, and Larissa shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “You’re the one who left, Larissa. You’re the one who made it seem like I was nothing to you.”

“I know I did, and there’s no excuse for that.” Larissa pauses, deliberating. “One thing I never did get the hang of was being in a stable relationship.” She pauses again. “I regret hurting you in the process.”

“But do you regret leaving me?” The words tumble out of you before you can stop them, and you could choke yourself to death, you really could, for sounding so helplessly pathetic after over a decade of unsuccessful mourning.

To your surprise, Larissa doesn’t laugh or shrug off your comment. She tilts her head, meets your gaze. “Yes, I do.”

Larissa takes one final sip of her coffee and stands. Red-tipped fingers slowly disappear into a pair of tan, leather gloves that fit snugly around her wrists. One hand reaches for her handbag, lying on the bench beside her, as the other is placed firmly on the table, used to steady herself as she rises from the booth.

It’s not that you’d necessarily forgotten how tall she is, but you’re somehow struck with the realization anyway, as if seeing her for the first time. Her kitten heels add an inch or two to her already towering height, and she tilts her head down to look at you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Where are you going?”

Larissa smoothes a hand nervously over her hair. “I need some fresh air.” Her voice sounds the slightest bit hoarse. “It really was lovely to see you.”

“You’re not leaving again?” you ask incredulously, pushing yourself to your feet and stepping up to Larissa, craning your neck back to get a good look at her face. Her eyes widen and, to your surprise, her lips quirk up at the outer corners.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a walk, then?”

“I would, actually.”

Something within Larissa seems to relax, and she leads you out of the Weathervane with a hand on the small of your back.

Taglist: @alexusonfire @pro-weems-places @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69 @fictionalized-lesbian @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @http-sam @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @niceminipotato @thevillagegay @barbarasstar @jadewolf22 @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @lilfartbox1 @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @thesamesweetie @theonefairygodmother @lvinhs @rainbow-hedgehog @daydream-cement @im-a-carnivorous-plant @milfomaniac @ilovetlcc @lesbiahonest24 @wastdstime @gwens0girl @larissa-weems-chokehold @makemyworldworthliving @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr @nightingalespen

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa x reader #principal weems x reader #principal weems

247 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Hii, I absolutely love your Hotch fics in which he meets his adult daughter. Could we get one in which she is feeling down about something and he helps/reassures her?💕💕

It’s difficult to foster a relationship with someone when you don’t get to see them. Even harder when the relationship is with your father who didn’t know you existed for over two decades, and who works as a Special Agent in the FBI, spending half of his life in other states.

Lately it feels impossible.

He’s just never home. When he is, he can't make it to dinner. You start to feel exactly as you had before you knew him, alone again, working hard to keep up in class, drained from your part time job, and always tired.

You should stay home and sleep, but tonight, your dad is free for dinner.

You wait on the corner of the street in the golden light of the restaurant. It’s chilly out, and the sky is slowly darkening. You watch the road for the shape and bulk of Aaron’s SUV, relieved to see him on the way past. He parks in the parking lot, making a small stop into the trunk of the car before he makes his way toward you.

He’s carrying a little white teddy bear wrapped in pink heart cellophane.

You know it’s for you, but it’s still sweet enough to surprise you when he smiles at you and encourages it into your hands. “Hello,” he says, wrapping one arm around you quickly as he kisses your cheek.

It’s always a shock, but never unwelcome.

“Hi, Aaron.”

“Let’s go in, yes?” he asks. “It’s too cold to stay out here. Were you waiting a long time?”

You let him walk you to the entrance, where he gives his name to the hostess for the reservation, and together you follow her to a small table near a bay window. The trees outside are strung with tea lights. The restaurant smells like nutty chocolate ganache. You mentioned that you liked the desserts here the first time he brought you, and he’s continued to bring you here ever since.

You are undoubtedly getting to know one another. You’ve met Haley three times, and Jack five. You had dinner together only two weeks ago where he tried to show you how to keep spaghetti on your fork while failing to manage it himself. He was sweet, and Aaron was really good with him.

You’d been jealous.

“What’s the bear for?” you ask.

“I’m trying to buy your forgiveness. Is it working?”

You laugh without thinking. “My forgiveness?”

“Sometimes, when I don’t see Jack for a long time, he gets frosty with me. I know it’s poor parenting but I’ll bring home a souvenir in the hopes he won’t stay mad.”

“This is a souvenir?” you ask.

He sits with good posture, but his face is ducked apologetically. It’s a kind sort of look, like he really is sorry. “I think I owe you more than that.”

This regret he’s expressed before. You truly believe that he wishes he could go back in time and be there for you, which might be why it aches to think about it in detail. He wanted to be the loving, doting father. He just didn’t get the chance.

“It sort of… breaks my heart sometimes, when I see you,” you say.

It’s a lot. You haven’t even ordered your drinks.

“It does?” he asks gently.

“I wish…” You bite the inside of your cheek. Shake your head when you can’t finish.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I think about it a lot. I resent your mother.”

She’s your mother, but yes. “I do, too.”

You listen to the clatter of the kitchen somewhere deep in the building and the indistinguishable chatter of other families and dates where they sit around you. Your hand closes tightly on a napkin.

“Are you okay? You look tired, honey.”

“Must be a Hotchner thing,” you say.

He laughs like you haven’t just slighted him. “It definitely is. I’m getting the sense that you’re upset about more than your mother, though.”

“How would you know?” you ask genuinely.

It’s his party trick. You’re expecting a rundown: your hand moves a quarter inch to the left and shows your upset, or your nose twitches to betray your true feelings. But he doesn’t need to use his special set of agent skills on you tonight.

“You won’t look at me for very long. It’s exactly like your brother.”

You sniff ineffectually. “It is?”

He looks especially solemn, then. “I wish we didn’t miss out on so much with each other, but I’m here now, if you want me. You can tell me what’s bothering you. I promise I’ll listen.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve always heard worse.” He manages a smile. “Not that what you’re feeling isn’t important.”

“Well, I… it’s mostly the little things. You know school is hard.”

“At GWU? It’s gruelling.”

“It’s awful. I probably need a tutor.” You laugh. “Maybe. It’s not so bad, and once this year is over, I’m done, but I have my internship lined up for the summer, so I’m trying very hard to– to work as much as I can now. But working and studying all the time makes me tired.” Your cheeks heat at having spilled it all without finesse. “Sorry, I know you work twenty three hours a day.”

“How many hours are you working a week?” he asks.

“Uh, usually twenty-four. I try to do three shifts a week. Sometimes they want me after school, so it’s more like twenty-nine or thirty-four.” Or forty-four.

“And you’re studying–”

“Every spare minute.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. It sounds hard…”

“What?” you ask.

“I’m just thinking about something.” He licks his lips. “And you’ve always worked? Since high school?”

Your flush worsens. “Yeah. I have to pay for school somehow, and to eat.” You quieten.

“What if you didn’t have to work, honey?”

You shake your head vehemently. “Aaron.”

“I’m serious. What if you didn’t have to do so much? You need time to do nothing. Overworking yourself will give you an ulcer, trust me, and that’s the last thing I want. I could–”

“I can’t take your money–”

“It’s not just my money. Does Jack ‘take’ my money?”

“You signed up for Jack–”

“And I’m signed up for you. I want to be here for you, and this is what father’s do, okay? If they can, and I can.”

“Unnecessary brag.”

He ignores your joke. “Even if I could just pay for GWU. I know those textbooks are burning a hole in your pocket.”

You refuse. Aaron promises to return to the subject when you aren’t exhausted, and maybe you’ll let him. It would be beautiful to wake up on a Saturday with nothing to do.

It would be nice not to miss your dad. You’ve done it your whole life, but now he’s real, and he seems to really care about you. When he hugs you after he’s paid for dinner, you want to be allowed to cling, and, as he tightens his hold, you realise you are.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, rubbing your upper arm.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

You ease back. “Really?” Because you hadn’t mentioned that you missed him, but he already knows.

He pats your arm. “You know I’d see you every day, if I could? I’ve missed out on enough already. We’ll take Jack to Olive Garden again and you can think a bit more on what I proposed.”

“I can’t take your money,” you repeat quietly.

“Not that, though you should. You can tell me anything, okay?”

You breathe out as he steps away. “Okay.”

He touches your cheek briefly. “Okay. I’m proud of you. You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Aaron.”

“You’re welcome. Text me when you get home safe, all right?”

You look at him for too long. “Thank you,” you say again, moving in for another hug.

He props his head atop yours carefully. “You’re welcome, honey.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

847 notes · View notes

melancholymetropolis · 3 months ago

Text

Please Please Please

plot: Marriage Law AU In which two best friends partake in a marriage of connivence to appease a marriage law placed on Piltover. However, one party is no longer satisfied with that arrangement and proposes a divorce.

pairings: Adult!Claggor x Reader

genre(s): Hurt with Comfort; YEARNING; childhood friends to lovers

warnings: unedited (mostly). MUTUAL SILENT PINING. friends to married idiots to lovers. lots of tears from both parties. love confession for the ages. no smut, just feels

a/n: I promised this months ago, but burn out is real. I am fully aware that this might make no noise, but I needed to get this out. I needed to write something where two people are so hopelessly in love with one another that they almost sabotage it. this is for the sad girls-- they need love too

w.c: 2.0k

“I think. . . we should get a divorce,” I said, looking up from the steaming pile of mashed potatoes on my plate.

Claggor lowered the serving spoon back into the bowl, before placing it on the table. His hands clenched and released repeatedly, just as his mouth started open before snapping shut. He was trying, and failing, to find the right thing to say. Thoughts played out on his face like subtitles, yet they managed to be jumbled together. After a few seconds, the taller gentleman inhaled sharply and raised the glass of wine to his lips. He took several gulps before waving his hand for me to continue.

I didn't know how I expected him to react, but it wasn’t like that. Clay was flustered and speechless. Two reactions I've hardly ever seen him portray in our decade long friendship together. His demeanor was that of confidence and security. There wasn't anything he couldn't achieve with his hard work ethic and enlightened mind. It was one of the reasons why he was a decorated engineer at such a young age. Why he had a seat on the Council, discussing the worries of undercity residents and bringing further unity to Piltover.

“Well,” I said, nervously tapping the table. “When the Marriage Law was announced, you suggested a union between us to avoid becoming entangled with strangers. A platonic union.”

“Are you not. . . happy with this arrangement?” Claggor chose his words carefully. As if he were lighting a match next to a powder keg.

“I . . .” I turned away from him, almost too embarrassed to express my wants. I mirrored his actions: grabbed my glass of wine and took several gulps from it. I sighed heavily and looked back up at him. His brown eyes were trained on me. Watching my every move, dissecting every expression on my face.

There was a look of panic behind them, of desperation.

He didn’t want this to end.

“I am happy with the arrangement,” I replied. “You're my best friend and confidant. My right hand. You know me better than anyone else. So, it was a no brainer to enter this union with you. I love the home we created and spending time with you. It's just. . .”

“Tell me, Y/N,” he said gently.

“I . . . want more,” I said softly. “I want a romantic partner more than a platonic husband. And I know you're not interested in romance. You made that notion very clear with our separate rooms and such.” I paused for a second and chewed on my bottom lip. I waited until the words arranged themselves in a neat pattern before speaking again. “I am watching my homegirls go on dates, buy engagement rings, have giant weddings with their spouses. It didn’t bother me in the beginning, since this whole mandated marriage thing was so fresh. But, it’s starting to. I feel like I am missing out on something wonderful. And I don't want to pressure you into having that kind of relationship. So, I'm suggesting a separation. A no-fault divorce.”

Claggor nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I replied with a raised eyebrow. “‘Okay’ as you understand? Or ‘Okay’ as in "let's get divorced””.

“More like “Okay, let's go on a date””.

“You don't mean that,” I said, shocked.

Claggor took another swig of his wine before leaning forward. “I do.”

“You're joking.”

“I'm not.”

“Bullshit”.

Clay chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “What? Are you scared to go on a date with your husband?”

“Well. . . yes”, I said, earning a deeper laugh from Claggor.

“Come on, sweet pea,” he teased.

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“I won't bite. . . unless you want me to.” There was a smirk on his lips. Dangerous and seductive, just like the rest of him at that moment.

“Clay, what are you doing?” I said with narrowed eyes. “What's your angle?”

“No angle,” he replied with a shrug. “Simply flirting with my wife.”

My body froze. My eyes scanned his face. Once. Twice. Three times to find the joke. To find humor behind that gaze. There wasn’t any. He was being completely serious. The realization caused me to slump back in my chair. Out of all the things I’ve been expecting, his proposition for romance had not been one of them. He was a man of solutions, or facts. To me, he saw our marriage as a means to an end. I was the only straight, single woman left in our friend group. We had enough history to know all sides of each other. The good, the bad and the annoying traits that graced our person. The fear of the unknown had always plagued my consciousness. The uncertainty of the future had given me crippling anxiety. Marrying a stranger would’ve been too risky then; Claggor was the safest option. He made me feel secure and seen. There had been many nights that he simply held me during a panic attack, or called out of work because I wasn’t feeling too well. But, when I was all better, he’d never mention those times again. Almost like they didn’t happen. Almost like they meant nothing to him; which was why I thought romance was completely off the table. It was why I thought I needed to find someone else.

Because loving someone who doesn’t want me has gotten too painful.

The buzzing of the timer brought me back to reality. I snapped to my feet and took quick steps to the kitchen. I hastily shoved on the oven mitts and opened the metal door. I removed the cobbler from the top rack and placed it on the stove. In one fell swoop, I turned off the oven, took off my mitts and placed them back on the designated hook by the stove. After taking several deep breaths, I turned on my heel and intended to head to the dining room. But Claggor was standing in the kitchen’s doorway. A wary look on his face.

“Did I do something wrong?” There was hurt in his voice, a pain I have heard before.

“No, of course not,” I said a little too quickly. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re crying, sweet pea,” he said, softly.

I pressed a hand to my cheek and immediately felt damp skin. “Oh.”

“You have to talk to me, Y/N,” Claggor states, taking small steps in the room. “Because clearly something is bothering you and it has to do with our marriage. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Marriage.

It was one of the few times he referred to our agreement with that word.

It was always “union” or “arrangement”.

Hardly ever marriage.

Hardly ever a word that insinuated more than a platonic relationship.

A friendship.

“Do you. . .” I heard myself asking. “Love me. . . romantically?”

A somber smile formed on his lips. And, despite my blurry vision, I could see his eyes begin to gloss over. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He was about an arm’s length away from me, then. But, he didn’t dare touch me. Afraid of how I might react; knowing my history and skittish tendencies.

“Baby, I have loved you every day since we were fifteen years old,” he confessed, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “And just when I think I can’t love you anymore, you do something that makes my heart grow three sizes.” A tear rolled from his left eye and rolled on his cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I haven’t loved anyone the way I love you. I couldn’t. I won’t. You are the love of my life. So, please. . . please don’t leave me now. Not when I just got you all to myself.”

More tears escape their ducts and slide down my cheeks. “But you said you wanted this marriage to remain platonic. Hell, you didn’t call it ‘marriage’ when you proposed. You said it was an “arrangement”, like some sort of business deal.”

“Come on, sweet pea,” he teased. “If I told you I felt, you would’ve run for the hills. We both know that.”

A small giggle fell from my lips. “True.”

Claggor took a step forward, our bodies mere inches apart. “I had to present this marriage in the most non-threatening way possible for you to even consider it. Hence, the separate rooms, separate bank accounts and separate lifestyles. The “marriage” couldn’t be more than a legal obligation in the beginning.’

“You wanted me to trust you,” I declared, stepping forward.

“Exactly,” Claggor replied, closing the distance between us. “There wouldn’t be a relationship if we couldn’t trust each other.”

The rise and fall of his chest was quick and almost panicked. The complete opposite of his calm demeanor. His glossy eyes were beginning to make my heart weep and my mind sing with lyrics from sappy love songs. I could feel my heartbeat quicken, matching Claggor’s. I placed a palm on his cheek; he immediately leaned into my touch. His eyes seemed darker than before, almost like his pupils dilated at the sight of me. I felt myself lean forward and my eyes drift close. His lips hit mine a moment later. Claggor groaned loudly and wrapped his arms around me. I gasped at his strength and he took that opportunity to slither his tongue in my mouth. It was my turn to groan, then. Somehow, his palm was at the nape of my neck with his fingers in my braids. His other hand hooked around my waist and lifted me off the ground. My rear collided with the marble countertop and jerked back in surprise.

Claggor immediately pulled away. “D-Did I go too far?” His eyes searched my face for any sign of discomfort. “I apologize if I did.”

I shushed him and opened my thighs for him. Claggor’s soft middle was in between that open space in moments and his lips were on mine again. There was heat behind the second one. A ferocity I never expected from him. His hands were everywhere. Rubbing my thighs, clenching my waist, tangled in my braids. Claggor wanted to touch me anywhere and everywhere. He wanted to feel every part of me. Almost like he was making up for lost time with the quickness of his touch. It seemed like he had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Maybe, by his own admission, for almost a decade. My heart glowed at the thought. Claggor’s longing for me had reached its limit. The love he kept shielded from me was slipping out; spilling onto my body via gentle kisses and quick touches. He wanted me so bad it was beginning to hurt him.

Clay inhales sharply before pulling away from the embrace. His forehead is still pressed against mine and his arms hold me tighter than they ever have. His breathing is rapid and his exhales fan my face. His entire body was trembling, almost as if it were coming down from a high. When his brown eyes finally open, they are darker than they ever were. Deeper in shade and emotion. He drinks me in, reading my every expression before opening his mouth.

“I love you.”

The words are like an arrow to my heart and I feel tears begin to well in my eyes.

“Please don’t leave me.” The plea was stronger that time, sharper in tone.

It demanded an answer.

“I won’t,” I said. “Because I love you, too.”

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

a/n: I have an idea for an Arcane Marriage Law series with different characters. Y'all just gotta be let me know how you feel about it.

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

Taglist

@chubbygrimpanda20 @slutforurmom575 @kermitlaffrogg @vanillasundaeblob @appapasta @miniaturepenguinkryptonite @navisakura @majonla @simpfl369 @celineloves2dmen @lyn-soso stormster111 @glitterforashes

140 notes · View notes