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christinebloodwrittings · 1 day

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To hunt or be hunted #10

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Just a window to what the beginning looked like, before the deal, and wine and dine with Luci. Warnings: Angst, blood, Charlie being a divorce child.

I'm brewing something good here, a very special friend of mine is writing the smut for the next part, so please be patient.

Hazbin Taglist: @sakuraluna2468 @boogiemansbitch @mysterypotatoink @sibsteria @cherry-cola-100 @readergirlstuff @phoenixica24 @martinys-world @alientee @jellyroom2 @jewelsrules @ladyzaunis @zealousllamawolf @kittycat246 @shamblezzz

Young, idiot and most of all, blood lusted.

“They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a fell demon from hottest hell” you laughed repeating your own word written in blood.

How could you explain death? Its smell, sandalwood. Its feeling? Warm, ember heat-like. After hitting 2000 victims, your mind drifted to a state of noise. Multiple voices drove your senses to anger, wrath, the influence of your hate had incinerated your reason, and made you seem like a monster in the night.

The coarse sound of the metal dragging the street was all the New Orleanians could hear besides the jazz playing, because that was the only condition you put to spared those who claimed themselves innocent. The list in your hand seemed infinite as re enforcements settled in your city.

Walking around the bayou reviewing the same, you found the gentleman image of your desires eating some lady’s arm behind a willow tree, such nauseating devotion made your core feel butterflies.

Endless names, nonending blood flow. Suddenly food didn’t satiated you, water had the contrary effect on you, this had to stop. Your axe in hand, in the cold of your marital bedroom, you lit a candle, its dim light barely managing to fight the gloomy atmosphere. And you laughed, for the first time after having cried so much death and pain.

For the first time your hands shook on your axe, but that didn't matter, as soon as your vision blurred, you moved automatically, forcing the blade against your face, right in the middle. Again and again hard and breaking sounds, blood on your dress and sheets, by some supernatural force you managed to split your own skull in two before losing your life completely. The last thing your eyes saw among the blood that fell from your eyelids was the candle that started a fire.

You died at the hands of the Axe-man.

Everyone pictures purgatory in a different way, usually something they would hate, in your case that was a Hospital corridor, with a red lighted number count, waiting to be your turn.

"Miss Lionheart, I must say that we were waiting for you, we had a predicament about where to put your soul," the secretary, a lamb with pink fur like cotton candy, examined documents all with images of you without your face, "On the one hand you freed many girls from sexual slavery, she also lived being honest, fair and in her moments benevolent" her bitter tone contrasted with the reading of your judgment.

"However a life is a life, the good deed will not be praised because it was stained with violence, insanity, wrath, vengeance and pride" she rearranged her glasses as a fifty-year-old lady would, "Also, you renounced God and his teachings, I fear that hell awaits you" she gave you a pious look, if it were up to her, you would be enjoying eternal life in heaven, but the decision was made by a power greater than her.

Would you have lived better if you had known that heaven was real? You asked yourself, seeing the shiny door contrast with the dark and red sky. On the other hand, did you regret cutting those girls' chains? No.

You fell, the hot wind hissed on your skin, slowly engulfing you like embers, the ground shook and a great roar was caused by the impact of your new body on the dry, sulfurous soil on the outskirts of pentagram city.

Years before the technology impact.

Relatively young, addicted to the tingle of consuming a soul. It is a sensation like no other, making deals with souls for asylum and care. You took advantage of those who didn't know a better alternative, the faceless monster they called you, a faceless chimera. One of the first Overlords you met was Zestial, who repudiates you, he’s disgusted because he thinks you’re a rebel without morals.

You would rather die than admit that you were almost killed in your first extermination, an angel who returned home with her mask broken, just because you understood too late that the edge of your axe didn’t make cuts on her skin, instead the holy blade rose your arm, making your blood sizzle like when you but bloody meat on the grill.

Barely managed to escape her. It's funny that a being considered divine is more bloodthirsty than a serial killer, it is but it doesn't cause you much fun.

The pain of the wound clouded several of your senses for years, the good thing is that with a total count of seven million souls and the tobacco business taking over years after your arrival, the souls gave you enough strength to overcome the pain.

Call it destiny or divine mercy, but the hotel was your refuge when the acid of the rain began to melt your skin. Among the cobwebs and the rats you slept, you let the power help with the wounds. "Hey, that looks bad, do you need help?" soft and sweet, Charlie tried everything to seem that way, "How much is it going to cost me?" She didn't mean to laugh at you, but the princess knew little about what was happening on the streets of her kingdom.

"Nothing, I just want to help, I can't promise you perfection but the scar will be great?" she tried to make you feel better. A ray of sun in the dark Charlie is, in your eyes she resembled a lot of your own daughter, the slight curve of her smile, the golden locks, the warmth radiating from her mere presence.

You were far too much of a fool to admit you loved that, instead you wanted to destroy her.

Weakness, in your path to the power, it was a term that couldn’t exist. Letting you help her, even seeing that she was in a worse state than you, put a patch in your heart, it had been there for a long time, caused by time. Although it's true, she offered you her hand and you snatched it from her, figuratively.

But what started the fight itself? Going down the hill from where the hotel is established, into the hole where it was rumored the archangel and his wife had fallen, with dagger in hand you heard her talk about how much it hurt her that her mother had turned her back on her, not a word had she said to her before. to take his suitcases and leave. Without really listening you raised the object, her back an open target, but when you were about to end her, she disappeared from your view.

The air around became dense, almost tangible, the dagger flew from your hand and embedded itself far from your reach, that was when you turned to see the monster that could become the princess of hell.

Two months of knowing her, down the drain.

And then the deal was given, despite how angry she was, she helped you with your injuries and you with hers, with the few powers that she allowed you to possess you fixed the hotel to look less in ruins, you paid to fix it a little even if it was not the best workmanship.

"Can you say something to make me feel better?" She said with a blanket over her body, looking at the fireplace, "It's raining acid" you sat next to her, leaving her cup of sweet tea in front of her, with a small plate of cookies, "How does that help me?" She said discouraged, "Instead of focusing on the acid, just notice that we no longer have leaks, and enjoy the sound" She took your advice, closed her eyes and listened.

“You’re right” she smiled, first in a while.

You snapped out your trance when the king kissed your cheek, his breath was warm and minty.

Lucifer had promised to take you to one of the best restaurants in his kingdom, without taking into account the terror that his presence and yours would cause, of course. The poor group of waiters watched attentively as Lucifer chose a table that he liked, one near the stage where a comedian occasionally appeared. The group looked with pity at one of his companions, that was his assigned area.

The king took the chair and gallantly invited you to sit, after you did he could’ve sat in front of you, but he decided to be by your side, at a distance in which he could have your hand in his. “Welcome your majesty and miss Axe-man, can I get you started on anything?” the waiter was sweating himself to death, as Lucifer ordered some entrees and drinks while they cooked up some kind of demon lobster.

He promised you’d love the taste, and he weren’t wrong, “I have no idea why I haven’t tried this before” he was delighted he could show you new things, he even introduced you to absinthe, which is an anise flavored liquor that can in fact cause severe intoxication when consumed a large quantities. That is why it is served in very tiny glasses.

“So, how is it?” he threw a laugh when he saw your frown as soon as the liquid went down your throat, “Tastes earthy, with a kick, I think I’ll stick to either fruit cocktails or whiskey” he made a signal to the waiter, who brought you a glass of a single malt type of whiskey, “Was your idea knowing that I wouldn’t like it or the waiter’s insight?” he smirked “Both” you kissed his cheek then motioned your hand so the boy would come near you enough to slip a 50 hell buck in his pocket, “Good thinking”.

An inner part of yourself thought it was funny the amount of respect or fear you got by yourself, but with his hand on yours, people saw you as an asset not worth the chance of getting killed for even see you in a wrong way. It gave you sensations down your crotch, right in your sadism side.

“You love it don’t you?” he knew you knew what he meant, “It became my new guilty pleasure” he chose your dress, well rather suggested, he wanted to match with you.

He didn't know whether to change his style or give you something that matched him, he didn't want to disrespect you in any way, you chose to get out of the black for a day and try to open yourself up to a new possibility. With a snap of his fingers he materialized a dress on your body that you really liked.

From the bust to the waist it was white adorned with embroidery of flowers of different sizes and flowers, all white. The skirt was long and uncut, falling perfectly to your ankles, a beautiful scarlet red that matched his wings. It was a very conservatory dress, fit to the time you were born in, but that accentuated your features in a perfect way.

“You look beautiful” “All thanks to my designer” 'Did she liked this sort of dresses too?' You thought, “Lilith liked things that would show off more skin, in case you were wondering” you were, he knew that as soon as he looked at you, while taking a sip out of his drink, “I couldn’t help it” he gave you a gentle squeeze on your hand, “I know” he wasn't angry, at all.

“Do you read my mind?” A type of tension in the air, breathable, yet he had you tied by your hands and feet in his gaze, let them damn you, because the devil is beautiful. “I don’t need to; your eyes are pretty sincere” He wondered what your eyes would look like without your soul being owned by someone else, he was grateful that someone as good as his daughter had you instead of a heartless overlord that could use you as he pleased.

“I hate the way you read me” you whispered close to his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, “No you don’t” he offered you a cocky smile and a soft kiss to the hand he was holding.

“Thank you for being for me last night” his voice was soft, still carrying a lot of pain. With a smile and a soft caress to his cheek you spoke, “Anytime, Luci” his name rolling down your mouth was heaven to him.

Later that night the rest of the hotel was awake and hanging out in the parlor, “Hey Y/n, how did it go?” Charlie waved at you from the fire place, while Vaggie asked “Where’s the king?”, you laughed and showed a little of your neck under your coat that he had conjured, showing a sleeping white snake, “He had a little too much to drink, suddenly he was snoozing and a snake” Charlie let out a chuckle, “I’ll take his royal self to bed if you guys don’t mind“ Angel went running to your side to take a photo of sleepy Luci, “He looks so cute like that” he cooed excitedly, “I know, right?”.

He in a puff of golden glitter he turned back to his adorable self, just as you were setting him down on the bed, “Don’t leave me” me muttered, deep asleep, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, I promise” he snuggled against your plushie, purring slightly at your caresses. His light snoring was your signal to pull his boots off and finish tucking him in.

Now, what you promised to Alastor, indulging him in a few drinks.

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roll-for-gaslight · 3 days

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for whosoever believeth in him (shall not perish but have everlasting life)

An exploration of the older Applebees siblings' relationships with religion tw // religious trauma, child abuse, let me know if I need to add anything else

AO3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55677883/chapters/141332254

Part One: The Prophet

Part Two: The Proselyte

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight."

-Proverbs 3:5-6

Bucky has a lot of memories throughout his childhood of hearing Kristen repeat that verse, so quiet he’s not sure whether or not he was meant to hear. He wasn’t Chosen by Helio the way she was, but that only served to make him more devoted; he had to make her proud and do his best to not embarrass their family. Kristen never did anything wrong, not like he did. Since it was her favorite verse, it was his as well.

"I can do all this through Him who gives me strength."

-Philippians 4:13

It’s nice when your sister is Chosen. It means she gets magic before anyone else her age, and she always does the coolest tricks when you ask. It also means you rarely have to feel sick or hurt for more than a few moments before it’s fixed. Bucky appreciates that last part probably more than anything. Bricker and Cork are the two who get themselves hurt a lot, especially as they all get older and Bucky grows out of some of his clumsiness, but ever since Kristen got her spells he can remember the nice, warm feeling that accompanies each one.

Riding a bike is hard. Kristen never fully got a handle on it, too unsteady and incapable of keeping her sandals firmly planted on the pedals. On the other hand, Bricker is already speeding down the street and asking if he can ride his bike to school instead of riding with everyone or taking the bus. Bucky’s fine at it, but he’s learning a lot slower, and Bricker is currently literally riding circles around him in an attempt to get him to hurry up since they’re not allowed to go off alone. Kristen is out in the front yard to keep an eye on them, laying on her stomach taking notes and highlighting verses for her next bible study group. She glances up at them occasionally as they go up and down the street shouting at each other, but doesn’t get involved.

“Come on, Buck! I’m tired of waiting for you!” Bricker says on his right, preparing to take another lap around him. Bucky can see the top of the hill at the end of their street coming up, and prepares himself to rocket down it once they turn around so Bricker will stop complaining.

“Just chill! I’m going as fast as I can!” He insists, turning with Bricker still by his side. He kicks off hard as Bricker groans in annoyance. He cuts in front of Bucky the same as he has been, but Bucky’s going much faster than he was on the way up the hill and suddenly they collide, tumbling one over another with bikes left sliding on gravel behind them. There’s an unbearable pain shooting up Bucky’s leg, starting at his ankle. He’s screaming loudly, unable to keep it in as he cries for help. Bricker stands up, seemingly scraped up but otherwise fine, and his eyes go wide when he looks at Bucky’s foot twisted the wrong way.

The sound of Kristen’t bare feet hitting the pavement comes first, then her shouts of concern as she gets a little closer. Bucky isn’t fully aware of any of it until she’s kneeling down right in front of him.

“Easy, Bug. You’re going to be okay, I promise.” she says softly, a small smile on her face. She takes some slow, deep breaths and Bucky mimics her. She pulls him close, running her hands through his hair until he’s calmer. He remembers, distantly, a time when it was just the two of them who were around, a version of Kristen who called him Bug because she couldn’t quite say his name. That version of her couldn’t heal him, but she held him like this when he fell down anyway. The pain is still there, but the panic isn’t by the time she pulls away. “Okay! I’m going to set it, then heal it. It’ll only hurt for a second, then you’ll be better so fast you won’t even remember what you were crying about.”

Bucky nods, and Kristen readjusts to do as she said she would. She lifts his leg to put his foot in her lap first, then quickly sets it into the correct place before Bucky feels it. There’s a slow-spreading warmth, different from the swelling that had already started, and it eventually flows through his whole body. He smells the familiar scent of popcorn and every part of him relaxes. He didn’t notice when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them he sees Kristen, smiling at him.

“All better, Bug?” she asks, and he nods again.

“All better. Thanks, Kristy.”

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is Sol’s will for you in Lord Helio.”

-1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

It’s his first Harvest Festival. Not necessarily the first one he’s ever been to, but the first one that counts: it’s the first time he’s joining in on the big kids' continuous prayer. Last year, he had to stay with the little kids like Bricker and Cork. This year it’s just him and Kristen! He knows that last year she stayed out longer than anyone, he helped her by bringing her water and stuff, but he hopes he can stay out as long as her this year. Maybe if he’s here beside her, if they’re doing it together, it’ll be easier.

Kristy is standing to his left, and he has to admit, just privately, that he’s not focusing so much on his prayers anymore. By the time they’re a day in, his eyes keep wandering just slightly to check on her, and he can’t quite keep his legs underneath him the way he needs to. He’s focusing more on the need to keep himself upright than the words he knows he’s still saying. There’s a river of sweat pouring down his back, and in his peripheral vision he can see his own hands a burnt, lobster red.

All at once, it becomes too much. He feels his ankle roll and both knees buckle, sharp pain hitting him right before he falls. He hits the ground hard, all strength gone from his body. He knows if he stays like this, he’ll be kicked out, but right as he thinks someone’s going to come get him he feels a rush of strength and the air takes on a buttery popcorn scent. He looks up at Kristen, but her face is turned up towards the sun. He mimics her pose from his place on the ground and it doesn’t take long for her to fall to her knees beside him. He watches the crowd around them ripple outward, others taking her cue. The Book of Helio says to hold no idols above him, but Kristen is about the closest any of them will get to feeling his light until they cross those golden gates. Many of the people at these festivals treat her like she speaks only with Helio’s tongue. Maybe she does.

The break comes, but Kristen doesn’t move. She passes him her water bottle, and he knows her request before she has a chance to vocalize it.

“Can you fill this for me, Bug? I’m going to pray through the break. As much ice as you can crush in there, please.” she asks.

He nods in response. “Yeah, Kristy, I can do that. I’ll let mom and dad know,” he says, offering her a smile he knows she can’t really see before he hurries off. Mom and Dad question him about Kristen’s absence only once before turning their attention to why he did decide to come back. Was he quitting? If Kristen was staying out there, so should he.

He drinks a lot of water and refills both of their bottles before he heads back. There’s no chance that he’ll make it through another day, and he dreads their disappointment then.

He’s the first to return to the field, to Kristen, and as he approaches, others follow. It feels, inexplicably, like there's something pulling them all closer the same way gravity pulls them to the earth. The moment everyone starts to get within earshot of Kristen’s prayers, louder now in the empty space, they begin to crowd in a little circle around her. Bucky feels her familiar magical warmth and recognizes what’s happening a moment before she begins to glow. Within moments, her feet are off the ground and the holy light surrounding her almost hurts to look at. She doesn’t seem phased by the magic, instead she’s placed back on her feet with the grace of an angel. It makes her seem strange and otherworldly, nothing like the clumsy Kristen who trips over nothing and stubs her toes on every table leg.

The glow fades but the feeling remains, and it takes him several minutes to work up the nerve to approach her again. Everyone else takes turns paying their respect to her, so he lets them finish before he takes his place beside her. He wants, desperately, to reconcile his sister with this impossibly perfect version of her beside him now. He reaches out to grab her hand and give it a squeeze and make her feel real again, but her skin is too hot to the touch and he has to yank his own away before he’s burned. He kneels down, placing their water bottles down between them, and he doesn’t stand up again.

He makes it through who knows how many more hours on muscle memory alone, but the darkness is too much. His eyes keep falling closed, his limbs shaking, and then there comes a point where he just can’t keep up with it anymore. All at once, he can’t help but collapse in on himself as the world goes black.

He wakes only when he has to for the next few days. He wakes when Kristen does, lets her know he’s okay, and she hugs him tightly. She’s back to her normal self, her comforting warmth a far cry from the searing heat she had been radiating during prayer. He falls asleep leaning on his hand a few minutes later, and he feels her gently help him lay his head down properly so he’s not at such an awkward angle. He wakes up when they pack up their things into the camper and when they arrive home, then sleeps again until it’s time for day camp on Monday.

“A false witness will not go unpunished, and whoever pours out lies will not go free.”

-Proverbs 19:5

Kristen hasn’t been home for a few days. He doesn’t know much about what’s going on with her, just that she had a really hard first day of school, but something seems off about her. It’s Friday, and she hasn’t been home since Wednesday. He wonders briefly if she’s going to be back in time for Church on Sunday, but he dismisses the thought because he can’t imagine her missing it.

It hasn’t been that long, but he really misses having her around the house. Without her, it falls to him to mediate between Bricker and Cork each time they argue, and to cook dinner when their parents work their nightshift. He feels lonely, like there’s too much empty space in every room. He didn’t realize how much they had all relied on her before, but it only took a few days for him to notice the difference. For every minor issue, his instinct is to call out for his sister’s help. He barely stops himself each time.

Kristen misses Church and for the first time ever, Bucky wonders why they worship Helio. He asks his mom, and she puts it in no uncertain terms: because it’s either worship Helio or go to hell forever. It’s their job to try and help as many people as possible find the light, but only those who have the potential for holiness, like other humans. He remembers Kristen, earlier in the week, talking about how her adventuring party has two elves and a half-orc and a goblin and even a tiefling. He can’t help but feel worried about her. Selfishly, he thinks that if three days without her have sucked this bad an eternity would be torture.

She doesn’t come home for more than a night at a time for weeks after that.

She said she’d always be there for him.

How could she lie like that?

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

-Psalm 34:18

Church camp is fun, for the most part. It’s not like the Harvest Festival, where everything is extreme to prove true devotion. It’s more fun, teaching them about Helio without having to hang out with their parents and getting to swim and play games to do it. He enjoys the nightly campfires and the songs they sing, though he wishes that Kristen could be with him. He brings some of the gold she left for him for the vending machines, and he makes friends in his cabin.

They make Sol’s Eyes crafts and friendship bracelets, do a daily prayer circle, and spend a decent amount of their time in the lake. They rose early every morning for Dawn Sermon and stayed in the sun almost all day, staying up late each night after their nightly sermons talking to each other and growing close. On the last night of the week, they’re brought out for a campfire after dinner and told that things were going to run a little differently that night. The sermon was going to last longer than usual, and they were encouraged to add their own testimonies as well in order to give themselves over to Helio completely.

It starts out fairly normal, even a little slow as most people are hesitant to share. Bucky doesn’t even think he has anything to share, anything he’s overcome that’d be worth talking about. It doesn’t take long for things to pick up, several people crying as they deliver testimonials about struggles within the faith and temptations away from the holy light. He thinks of Kristen, about how she was supposed to be Chosen and how she was supposed to be there for him. He hasn’t seen her in almost a year. He stands up next time they ask for volunteers, and he can already feel his eyes prickling with tears as all attention turns to him.

“My big sister, Kristen, was Chosen by Helio the second she was born. I grew up really looking up to her and depending on her. She said she’d always be there for me and that she would never do anything to hurt me. She could do amazing things with her magic, like heal people, so she went to be an adventurer. On her first day of school, she got detention and started an adventuring party with the people in there with her. They started to lead her away from the light.” he says. Tears start rolling steadily down his face. It feels like he can’t catch his breath, the words falling out of his mouth faster and faster the longer he goes on.

“She left the faith, and left our house. There’s a part of me that misses her, but I’ve been working on accepting that she’s a sinner now. She’s even telling people she’s gay and she moved in with a werewolf. I’m really scared for her and I want her to find her way back. I can’t help but think that maybe there’s something more I could have done to stop her from leaving in the first place.”

By the time he’s done telling his story, he’s overcome by the sobs that shake his whole body. He can’t stop himself from crying, and several people he had become familiar with over the course of the last week all surged forward at once to comfort him. It felt good to finally put a voice to his deepest anxiety, the idea that he had somehow pushed her away and that he would never see her again. He felt hands on his back and someone running a hand through his hair to comfort him, like Kristen used to do, and suddenly it’s all too much, he can’t breathe as a deep sadness swallows him. He would trade each and every person here to have Kristen be the person comforting him right now, but that’s impossible. She’s gone from his life in a way he can’t fix.

It’s a strange feeling to grieve someone who’s still alive.

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.”

-Proverbs 22:6

Being the oldest kid in the house sucks. Bucky has never felt so much pressure, not just to take care of his brothers, but to be perfect in every way. Kristen abandoning them means that he’s supposed to help represent their family. His parents decide that he’s going to be a paladin, like them, and he ignores the ache in his chest. He thought he’d learn to be a cleric like Kristen, but being a paladin is good enough. He can still heal people, even if his light is nothing like hers.

He spends a lot of days sparring with the practice dummies in their basement, their dad’s old sword strapped to his side. It’s too big for him right now, but his parents say he’ll grow into it. They push him to be better, so he pushes himself harder than he ever has before.

When they’re at home, his brothers turn to him to resolve every little disagreement. At Church on Sunday, it’s his job to keep them quiet. He trains every night in the basement. He’s in the top of his class in every subject. (If this is what it was like for her, he almost understands why she would want to leave. Almost. That doesn’t mean he’ll actually do it.)

Maybe, if he’s good enough, his parents will stop wishing he were Kristen.

Maybe he will too.

Maybe, if he’s good enough, Kristen will just come home.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to Sol. And the peace of Sol, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Lord Helio.”

-Philippians 4:6-7

Bucky’s first day of high school is the best day he’s had in a while. He was hoping, in the smallest, quietest part of his heart, to see Kristen again. He didn’t say anything to his parents about it because he could hear their disappointed voices in his head: Kristen is a sinner, you need to stay away from her. Don’t let her influence you.

He sees her the second he makes it on campus, surrounded by her friends for a brief moment before most of them head off to class. Beside her are the goblin and the tiefling, who he knows is Fig Faeth from her band, but he ignores them.

She talks to their parents.

It doesn’t go well. He’s not sure he’ll ever understand her again.

He doesn’t really see her again until Spring.

“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?”

-Romans 8:31

His adventuring party doesn’t seem to like him very much. His dad says it’s because they’re sinners, too deep in their own self-centered desires to see the goodness of Helio’s light. He wants, more than anything, to be friends with them. He sees Kristen and her other “Bad Kids” around school, and they always seem to be having fun together. He cuts back, as much as he can morally justify, on telling them about Helio’s word. It doesn’t have to be the only thing he talks about, especially if it’s making them uncomfortable.

Two months in, they brush off his proselytizing with nothing but an eyeroll and the occasional polite smile.

Three months in, he mentions the Harvest Festival and his friends look at him with wide, horrified eyes. The wizard in his party, named Cordelia who everyone calls just Del, pulls him aside.

“Bucky, are things okay at home?” she asks gently. For someone who spends so much time with her head in a book, she’s surprisingly perceptive of the feelings of those around her. He’s surprised by her question, so she rephrases. “I’m only asking because the Harvestmen have kind of a really bad reputation, and I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Bucky nods in response. “Of course I’m safe!” he says, but there’s something hollow in his chest that makes it feel like a lie. He hesitates for a few moments before he speaks again. “What kind of a bad reputation?”

Del frowns slightly, though it doesn’t seem judgemental. She takes his hand and starts to lead him farther away from the rest of the party, off towards the library. She takes him straight towards the religion section, which he’s familiar with from class, but she moves past the books on Helio and onto the secular section. She pulls out a book titled On the Subject of World Religions and hands it to him.

“Here,” she says, a kind smile on her face. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with your faith, I just think there’s a chance you weren’t told the whole story about everything Helioic people have done. This might help you get a little more perspective.”

He opens it that night and sees Kristen’s name in the log of people who have previously checked it out, several times in a row covering the last few years with the most recent check-in only a week or so ago. It must be her favorite book now.

He’s never read a book so fast.

“I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh.”

-Ezekiel 11:19

Kristen’s new god is dead and made of crystals that have a gravity of their own. She’s all about doubt and mystery and, according to his parents, all of the scary things Helio’s light is supposed to protect them from. They have a meal together, the first one in almost two years, and she says she wants to go to church with them.

A little part of his heart breaks, when she says that, for the goddess relying on her. Kristen sure does make a habit of abandoning people.

He dedicates a prayer her way next time he’s alone, and he likes the cool, quiet breeze that follows.

“In the same way that your heart feels and your mind thinks, you, mortal beings, are the instrument by which the universe cares.”

He starts praying to Cassandra whenever he thinks of her because he doesn’t want her to feel alone. Then he starts praying to Cassandra whenever he has something on his mind. He starts replacing his morning prayers to Helio with prayers to Cassandra, Her silvery star light replacing the sun’s heat that usually sits behind his spells. He does his best to hide it, but his parents are bound to notice eventually.

There’s a part of him that feels guilty. There’s a much bigger part of him that feels free for the first time in his life.

Everything comes to a tipping point when Mac sees the book that Bucky (foolishly, stupidly, how could he ever think he’d get away with this) left on his bedside table.

“How dare you bring that filth into our house? Do you not remember Kristen, how books like that led her away from the faith? Do you want to burn in Hell along with her?” his father is shouting at him before school.

Bucky feels a familiar panic grip his chest, but not the same way it used to. It doesn’t hold the same weight as the first time he heard it. He thinks briefly of Cassandra, of her comforting darkness and the forest he’s seen flashes of as he prays. It couldn’t be further from the hell he’s been told about. He shoves the book into his bag, keeping his head down so the frown on his face can’t be seen.

“I’m not like Kristen, and I’m not betraying Helio. I’m just doing some reading for class,” he lies, and he feels something pull away from him. A wave of regret hits him immediately, and a new fear takes hold. He doesn’t want Cassandra to be upset with him.

Mac is still shouting, but Bucky isn’t listening anymore. He knows his dad will have to stop soon for work anyway, so his eyes slip shut. He sends out a silent prayer to Cassandra, expecting to feel the wrath of a goddess in return. He’s met instead with that same cool breeze as before, wrapping around him to soothe his fear.

When he eventually makes it to school that day, he picks up a copy of the deity change paperwork in the office.

“Bad things happen to good people because things happen all the time, and it is up to people to determine whether they are bad or good.”

Of course Mac and Donna find out. It’s a late-Spring evening, right at the start of dusk when the sky turns to vivid shades of pink and purple. All three boys are in the backyard doing their own individual things. Bricker, because of course it’s Bricker’s fault, gets himself hurt trying to ride his bike off the roof and into their cheap above-ground pool. He saw some viral video of Aguefort’s beginning of the year party that Bucky hadn’t attended and decided he wanted to do a “shrimp jump” of his own.

He misses the pool. He screams, and Bucky is the first one out by his side.

“Hey! It’s okay, just try and calm down, I’m going to heal you, okay? I’m just going to heal you and you’re going to be okay.” he says urgently.

He carefully ghosts his hands over each injury, each one fixing itself as he does so. His magic glows faintly purple and his eyes flash with silver, a familiar cool breeze whipping up around them for a few moments. Before he knows it, Bricker is staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Bucky backs away, but when he turns to go back inside his parents are watching him from the doorway.

Donna’s voice breaks the silence after a few long moments. “We need to speak to Pastor Amelia.” she says, and Bucky feels the fear like a spike of ice in his chest. He knows, with certainty, that if he lets them bring him to Church he’ll lose Cassandra. He’s not sure what to do, how to escape, and he screws his eyes tightly shut for a moment as he tries to think it through.

When he opens them again, he sees a twilight path on the ground ahead of him, trailing out the back gate and away to somewhere he can’t see. He knows, instinctively, that this is Her guidance. He glances over at Bricker, still staring up at him with that same expression, and his parents, who look more angry than anything.

Then he runs.

He follows Cassandra’s light not just away but past the hospital, past the school, and past the Far Haven woods until he reaches a place he’s only heard about in passing: Mordred Manor.

He stops short at the front door, taking a moment to work up the nerve before he knocks. When Jawbone, the school’s guidance counselor, opens the door he pushes down his immediate impulse to step back.

“Hey there, Kiddo, is there anything I can do for you?” he asks in a kind voice, a soft smile on his face. Bucky takes a deep breath.

“I need to talk to my sister.”

"Then if people want to believe in the nighttime and that you can stand in the woods alone in the dark and not have to be afraid because you're united there with everything else that's in the night there with you, and that the world is a mystery, and that's beautiful, I would be happy to do that.”

Kristen isn’t home, so he waits in the living room for her. He talks to Jawbone for a little while, and is finally starting to relax when several people come tumbling through the front door. The Bad Kids are as they usually are every time he sees them, completely caught up in each other. The Goblin, who by now Bucky knows as Riz, is perched on the shoulder of Fabian as the two talk over each other. Their wizard Adaine is chattering excitedly with their barbarian about something vaguely arcanotech-y. Bucky’s attention zeroes in, all at once, at Fig and Kristen in the front of the group, shouting louder and louder as they get excited about the presidential campaign. He sees the moment Kristen notices him in the way she stops dead, her voice cutting out mid-sentence. Fig follows her eyeline and grins when she sees them, and at the sudden quiet all other eyes turn towards him as well.

“Hey, Adaine, do you want a snack? Yeah, you do, we should all go to the kitchen right now except for Kristen!” Fig announces, and then they’re gone. Kristen recovers quickly, her eyebrows scrunching together like they do when she’s worried. She approaches and sits down beside him on the couch, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder as she looks him up and down in search of anything wrong.

“Are you okay?” she asks, offering him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here, of course, but it didn’t seem like you were very interested in ever being here considering what our parents have to say about it. Did something happen? Do you need help?” she asks.

Bucky pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m okay. I’m better than okay, I think. Can I stay here for a while?” he asks, and she nods immediately.

“We have plenty of rooms. We’ll get it all figured out,” she assures him. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

He hesitates for a few moments, then resolves that he’ll have to say it out loud eventually.

“I’ve been praying to Cassandra,” he admits softly. Immediately, Kristen’s eyes well up with tears. “Is that okay? I think I maybe like Her a lot more than Helio. I think she’s who I’ve been getting my magic from for a while.”

Kristen pulls him into a tight hug. She’s murmuring something reminiscent of prayer as she holds him there for a few long moments, and he feels her magic wash over him, so similar to his own now. She pulls away after a few long moments.

“Of course that’s okay, Bug. That’s more than okay. I’m so glad you’re out of there, I’m so sorry I left without being able to explain anything to you but I’m happy you came to me. I love you so much.” she says.

“I didn’t know what to do, but then She led me to you. She showed me the way here.” he explains, and Kristen smiles brightly through her tears. “I don’t think I can go home again.”

Kristen shakes her head. “No, you’re not going back there. My friends and I will go get anything you want us to, and you don’t even have to worry about it. I’ll handle our parents.” she assures him. There are a few long moments of silence before she nods, seemingly to herself, and meets his gaze determinedly. “I have something to show you.”

She takes his hand to guide him away from the living room and into what looks, on the outside, like an abandoned chapel. Inside, it’s clear that it’s been transformed into a bedroom and worship area for her. Kristen takes him past her bed to the altar and sits cross-legged in front of it. He mimics her position, facing her, and she takes his hands.

“Have you seen Her forest?” she asks, and he nods in response before she continues. “Good. If you want to, we can pray together and go there now. Cassandra hasn’t been doing well recently, but I think together we could help her. Would it be okay for us to do that together?”

“Of course it would,” Bucky responds immediately. Almost in unison, they close their eyes, each praying silently to Cassandra.

Their eyes open at the same time and suddenly they’re both in the twilight forest he’s only ever seen flashes of. There’s a dirt path that leads deeper, and they follow it side-by-side until they see Her. She’s in a small clearing, sitting cross-legged on a solitary tree stump in the center with her eyes closed like she’s asleep. There’s a small black cat in her lap that blinks up at them before leaping down and coming to circle their ankles.

Cassandra’s eyes open suddenly, and the goddess lives again.

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moonbaby26 · 1 day

Text

Title: Abduction

(Chapter 9 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Doflamingo x Sir Crocodile

Chapter Warnings: language, violence, blood, murder (not main characters), toxic/controlling relationships, reader’s implied past abuse

Chapter Synopsis: You chose to interfere and save the life of someone who had nothing to do with you. But like plucking one strand of a spider’s web to call the predator to its prey, an irreversible chain reaction has now started. Doflamingo is goaded by his own past as well, forcing him to refuse even your temporary release from him this time.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

——————————

At least you hadn’t had to wonder long on if you’d misjudged the strangers’ intentions with the girl. Though if you hadn’t been so sure, your own body wouldn’t have reacted near as strongly as it had.

The look in that girl’s eyes was the same fear you’d seen on the faces of girls and boys just like yourself so many times. That last glance before they’d be pulled away into rooms with strange men, or onto ships with chains then around their wrists and ankles.

You’d been a rare survivor of that kind of childhood. And just like in Sabaody with the little merboy, you could never walk away once that realization of another child’s fear hit you.

And of course, all your intent was so clear in your own body language as well. Even in a sleek and beautiful dress you never would have chosen. Even in the mask, the heels, and the expensive jewelry you now wore, you were right back to being a fighter.

So the very moment you’d slid in front of that group to block their path and announced yourself as a marine captain with questions for them, they had also not hesitated in the slightest to deal with you.

But the flash of gunmetal and blades all at once from beneath so many equally expensive clothes also unlocked your last restraints.

Because they weren’t World Government contractors then. Even Cipher Pol agents would have just told you to stand down and mind your own business once knowing you were a marine.

These strangers willingness to kill a marine officer without you so much as laying a hand on them first made the situation more than clear.

They were either pirates or some kind of mercenaries then, and everything was completely fair game as the ballroom erupted into the echoes of gunfire and screams.

It actually helped you by the way they aimed only for your chest as well. You didn’t have to worry about bystanders being grazed then and could focus your armament as strong as able in that one place to catch those first shots.

Not that it didn’t hurt immensely though. The force from the bullets spread out like miniature shockwaves through your rib cage and organs regardless.

You missed the freedom of movement of your normal skirt and the weight of your usual boots too. But you had to improvise, working as fast as you could with no weapon but your hands and feet as you tried for one or two hit KO’s against them.

The sooner you could down each opponent, the less chance of additional hostages being taken or a stray bullet burying itself into one of the other nobles.

Tables were crashing over, glassware shattering, and floors cracking as you all chased one another around. Six of them versus one of you.

But you still felt like a dog on a short chain, moving in a tight circle to still keep yourself between them and the girl all the while.

Besides their weapons, you were just lucky at how weak they really were. But it did take so much haki to fully stop those bullets every time. A resource that was absolutely not limitless to you, as you still counted the enemies down as they fell one after another to your hardest hits.

By the time only one of the attackers was still standing, it wasn’t a coincidence that he’d been the last one up. He was stronger than the others you realized, and he hadn’t been hiding behind a gun. He had a sword that’d come from within his long coat.

All this entire battle had transpired in just moments though. From the time the first shot rang out to the time it was just you and him as you understood that his mission had changed.

He was going to strike the girl down, call this transport botched, and that be the end of it you were sure. And he would absolutely cut you down to get to her.

You’d been an idiot to leave your rope dart behind with your things at the villa. Weapons had been checked for at the doors here as they weren’t allowed. But obviously those rules could be skirted as he came for you with that long blade.

The first strike you did block anyway. His sword contacting your forearm as the girl trembled in shock behind you. But with the way it still did sting just barely through your armament coating, you already knew how in trouble you really were. That hit had actually kissed your real flesh.

Your coating was quickly thinning. You’d used too much, too fast in the speed of this incident.

And this man actually knew how to use a sword. Or maybe he was a fruit user. Something already felt off in your arm then as you still had no choice but to let the next swing of the weapon come. If you had truly dodged it, the girl would have been struck instead.

As it was, the blade missed your waist by only the thickness of your dress’s fabric that time. Not breaking your skin, but tearing a large swipe into the material as you’d backed into the girl as her shield.

On the resulting downswing, that falling sword did not miss your leg however.

But that was also the one chance you’d seen for your opening for a counter strike. Even as you felt the searing pain as he did break through your armament over your thigh, you’d still punched as hard as you could while his sword was down. The last bits of your haki diverted into your fist to make it count.

You felt your attacker’s nose break as he went flying backwards. The bloody sword along with him as you immediately fell to one knee while your leg went completely numb.

“No!” The girl was sobbing aloud at last then. You felt her pulling at your dress as if to catch you. But she’d fallen down too of course, and was then crawling to come around you.

She must have thought he’d fully succeeded in amputating your leg. But that leg was still there as you were already trying to put pressure on the massive gash atop your thigh. The blood was flowing out readily, so warm against your hands.

But she would have been killed if you hadn’t done exactly this.

You realized she knew that too as she desperately started to try and tear pieces from her own dress. “Please…I can make a tourniquet. I’m so…I’m so sorry.” Her face was absolutely contorted in fear, grief, and guilt as you watched her in a bit of surprise.

For her age, that girl now doing anything other than just sitting there in continued tears and shock was unusual. She was actually trying to help.

But your heart was racing yourself. You realized you couldn’t feel your arm any longer either even though it had only been nicked. Everywhere that sword had broken the skin had gone fully unresponsive now. It wasn’t normal. But you needed to concentrate on the blood loss first. You didn’t think it’d gotten into any artery, but if you couldn’t close the wound…

As you were thinking all of this, still trying to slow the bleeding with both your hands and the makeshift bindings from both your dress and the girl’s, you saw her eyes widen again as she looked back up from your wound.

The sound of footsteps crunching over broken glass behind you had you immediately trying to stand and turn in defense. Who had you missed? As if you could even fight one on one now though.

You couldn’t even stand to your own surprise, body so uncooperative as the girl got between you and those footfalls instead.

“Leave her alone! Please! Just take me! Don’t hurt anyone else! I won’t run again!” She was begging as she tried to hold her arms out as if that alone could shield you.

You would have used your still working arm to grab and throw her honestly. She was thin and light enough. You would have yelled at her to go for one of the exits. But as you looked over your shoulder to see what was coming, your resolve wavered.

Every other bystander had fled in the chaos. Doflamingo alone now stalked across that field of broken glass, looming with his hands in his pockets as you first saw the deep scowl across his face.

Your own mind did not react with any relief to that aura which preceded him. You understood the girl’s fear innately. Everything in that man’s body language now spoke of danger, not rescue.

So much so in fact, that you nearly threw her anyway.

But there wasn’t enough time. You grabbed the girl and pulled her back behind you instead as she yelped. Still at least keeping yourself between her and the warlord before that man’s long legs brought him to stand easily before you again.

The sheer contempt in his expression only felt like the pirate from years before though. The same one you’d once watched from binoculars on Tsuru’s ship as he’d slit the throats of rival pirates with one swipe of his strings before you could reach them.

You were absolutely at his mercy.

“And what was your plan after all of this?” His cold voice finally asked as you still shielded the girl.

“Doffy…” The word left your mouth before you had even bid it. As if he had physically drawn it out of you while your heart still pounded.

The feeling was indescribable. Fear, but something else too. You knowing full well what the sight of blood did to him, but trying to call him in to you all the same, to wake him up. You had no one else that could help you now. The only one who could save you from him…was him.

You saw that resulting twitch of his mouth at the sound of your plea too. His involuntary response to your own voice.

And suddenly he was crouched down right in front of you even with a then emerging sneer.

The girl gripped to you harder in her surprise, still behind you as Doflamingo roughly pulled the scraps of fabric away that you and she had tried unsuccessfully to put over your wound.

Your blood smeared thick across his hand as his fingers moved across the deep gash. But you could feel none of it, just watching as his strings emerged.

His movements were so precise, fingers edging in a criss cross pattern to pull the wound slowly back together with those same strings.

And once it was closed, he used both hands to surprisingly gently reposition your leg. Making the limb extend and raise, circling his hand above and below your thigh as more strings laid down around it. In the same texture as the softest cotton bandaging actually as your good arm moved to touch it lightly with your hand in curiosity once he was done.

He stared at you afterward and you could still feel that tension radiating from him. But it was gradually changing.

“You’ll really throw your body away for any brat in need won’t you?” He asked, with his face so close to yours again.

And you felt like he was either going to bite you or kiss you in that next moment as he remained so conflicted, confused even.

But with the way his mouth still shifted as he tried to choose between the two, you saw even one more emotion. Something you hadn’t noticed before.

And you were sure you must be misreading him.

Because he couldn’t. He didn’t. Not for you at least. Warlords didn’t show weakness that way. Pirates didn’t even care. And a true monster would never feel fear or panic. Not just for watching a nothing like you be cut down right in front of them anyway.

Was he actually shaken? Even the slightest afraid?

His hand was still so protectively grasped to your leg after making that bandage. Even as you did close that last gap for him on your own instinct, kissing him quickly before that complicated feeling he was trying to understand could be buried with further violence.

And that poor little girl must be so confused herself. Maybe she’d even regret being rescued by such a mess of a human being like you.

Doflamingo didn’t break the kiss once started either, even as you all heard more people coming. He actually only leaned in further, capturing you by the back of the head to press you in tighter to his mouth as the new voices finally came.

“Princess Vivi!” They shouted. “Oh thank fate, she’s here! Tell the king! She’s alive! Princess!”

Royal guards were running in one after another as you and the pirate finally ended that intimacy to look towards the commotion. But he didn’t let you go fully, with his hand still on your thigh. Nor did he stand.

He was absolutely still looking defensive, staying close as the guards surrounded you all.

But the girl did walk forward, quick to yell back to them. All those fresh tears were still wet on her face, even if they were now those of relief. “Stand down! This marine saved me! It’s alright. Everything is all right!”

And you did see the guards lowering their weapons immediately at her words. But in that distraction, apparently your most recent victim had been playing possum all the while.

You heard the additional sound as a few guards fell, the swordsman that had nearly taken your leg then up and muscling past them. But only with the intent to flee, quickly disappearing through the doors to the outside before any other could stop him.

At that, Doflamingo did growl and immediately stood to follow. Which you were still surprised by that intense of a response from him. They hadn’t done anything to him directly after all. And he certainly didn’t care about any random princess.

But again, you saw that strange moment of hesitation in him. The reflex to chase new prey so strong for him. Yet he glanced back at you, still seated there on the floor with those stains of blood around you. And you visibly saw as he changed his mind, tension shifting in his shoulders as he raised his hand instead.

It was the bloody hand that had tended to your wound.

Strings flew out from those red fingertips as the guards looked to him in renewed concern. But those strings only coiled tightly, falling to the ground. They formed feet, then legs, a torso, and quickly an entire copy of the warlord himself as he unleashed it with an all new scowl and the hiss of the words, “Black knight.”

You had never seen the creation of one of his string clones. Amazed how truly you could not tell the visual difference as the clone took on Doflamingo’s same current expression, leaping right over the stunned guards and disappearing out of the ballroom on the same path as the escaping stranger.

——————————

The agent had hidden themselves in a nondescript alleyway. Pleading in the dark to the one on the other end of that transponder snail as blood still ran from his broken nose.

“You were supposed to kill the girl immediately if she could not be transferred to the harbor. But I needed her dead by the end of all of this regardless.” That heartless voice responded coldly once more.

Followed by the sheer desperation from the subordinate, tone both nasally and muffled by his still bleeding face. “We tried, boss! I don’t even understand. The princess wasn’t supposed to have any other bodyguards. It was some bitch, I don’t know. She said she was a marine. But we had the girl. We took out the princess’s attendants just like you said to and took her. I paralyzed them with my power. It was all six of us. That should have been plenty, but-“

“You all couldn’t shoot or cut down even one marine after that?”

“I only got two hits on her with my paralyze cut. She fell, but she wasn’t alone either. Some tall ass guy showed up.”

“Then you should have finished the job. You said your devil fruit never fails.”

“But boss, really…I mean, They shot her so many times. It did nothing! It was like haki or some shit. What was I supposed to do?”

“You keep shooting and cutting, you fool! No marine short of an admiral can keep up armament forever. It would have broken, and she would have died. But now the princess will be under much heavier guard going forward. Your incompetence has cost me dearly today. It won’t be happening again.”

“No! Boss, please!”

“I’ll be sending other agents to clean this up. Run if you wish like those before you. It will be pointless. Consider your contract terminated.”

But a new voice had joined in just as suddenly before the call could disconnect. “Oh, I’ll save you both the time and effort.”

“Boss! It’s the tall guy, the one from-”

The sound of a person being sliced into pieces in mid sentence was certainly a distinct one. Followed by the briefest silence as Sir Crocodile’s contemptuous expression hardly changed.

He merely stared down at his snail, cigar smoke wafting up from his place at his desk within the basement of the Rain Dinners casino in Alabasta.

For a single moment, he’d hoped he hadn’t actually recognized that new voice. But that hope immediately died on the vine like all else in the next words from the uninvited.

“You picked the wrong night, you greasy prick. Take your cheap ass agents elsewhere. I’m working this island right now.” The string clone grumbled, now standing over its handiwork of the fresh kill.

“Doflamingo.” Crocodile bit further into his cigar. Body bristling with that physical abhorrence to just the confirmed sound of the other’s vile tone and everything it still represented to him. “Why are you even there? You goddamned freak. And helping marines no less…”

“Why are you trying to pick up little girls for quick cash? Are you that destitute again already? Do you need another loan from a real businessman, Croc?”

“I owe you nothing anymore. And I won’t ever again.”

The resulting dark laugh at that indignation reverberated low and menacing from the string clone. “Oh, like you didn’t enjoy paying it back to me…and with interest. You miss it don’t you? No one can fill you like I did.”

“You never get any less disgusting.” Came the hateful reply. “And you aren’t half as good as you think you are. But do stay delusional, Heavenly Demon.”

There was no quicker way to get under Doflamingo’s own skin of course. Even through proxy as the clone sneered, that ego prodded as he straightened up immediately. “Your moans for me said different, you sandy bitch. But here’s the thing. You do owe me something again now.”

“For goddamn what?” Crocodile growled. “I haven’t taken a single beri from you in years.”

“Your stooges shot the woman I was there with. You drew blood from something that belongs to me. How are you going to make that up to me?”

And Crocodile scoffed immediately. “Sounds like a mercy killing if some poor woman only had your company to endure. Just go buy another like you always do. Enjoy the complimentary syphilis or chlamydia to go along with it.”

The string clone hissed, even the forehead veins bulging in a realistic way. “You dumb motherfucker…you’re still not understanding. I wasn’t there with some call girl. I’m not talking about a worthless bystander. Your dead idiot already told you. They shot and cut that marine. It didn’t kill her because your men are trash. But you’re on my claim now. And you know I don’t let anyone take what’s mine. If you want me to fix this how I see fit, then that’s fine. Vice Admiral Momonga’s nearby. I can have a nice chat with him tonight about that dance powder you’ve been looking for can’t I? As if you could really buy it from outside of my network. And that Nefertari bitch you thought you could ransom and kill? I’m sure they’d love to know that too. Or were you going to ‘discover’ and defeat her killers yourself to get more on her daddy’s good side? I swear you might as well be fucking him too. You kiss ass, traitor.”

And Crocodile sat there for a moment. Truly awestruck at this mix of idiocy and true madness that had just graced his ears. “…Do you even goddamn hear your own words anymore? If only you’d drown yourself one day like the original Narcissus story.” He grumbled, the sheer audacity of it all as well seeming overwhelming. “So you’re now bedding marines too? As if that won’t blow up right in your face, you pathetic nymphomaniac.”

Crocodile kept on though, just getting louder in his responding anger, “You still think your cock alone can turn anyone into another of your sycophants? Please. You’re no gift from the gods, I assure you. You’re just another pirate who got lucky one too many times. And that over confidence will bite you in the ass someday. You’re going to fall like a house of cards then. And I hope we’re all still alive to see you hit every rung of that ladder on your way back down it.”

“Keep dreaming. Everything you do is only an imitation of what I’ve already accomplished!” Doflamingo spat back. “You should have given in and just become my subordinate ages ago. You’re going to bite off more than you can chew and choke on it without me to bail you out anymore.”

Crocodile was truly furious then. That implication of still not being responsible for his own success pushing him over that final edge of his composure. “Do not think for one fucking second that I owe anything I’ve achieved to you!”

“You tried to sleep your way to the top with me, Croc. Fucking own it! You got paid well for it, didn’t you!? But you stopped too soon. I could have taken you even higher.”

“I’d sooner gut myself on my own hook than ever come back to you, you degenerate bird!”

“Well, mess with that marine again and I’ll do it for you! I never minded rearranging your guts. But I can tear them out to show them to you just as fucking easily!”

“Go back to hell! If she has a functioning brain at all, that marine will escape you at first opportunity. Just like I did! You’ll be in Impel Down when she inevitably betrays you. In fact, I’ll be rooting for her now. I may even send her sympathy flowers, despite what she’s cost me here! There’s nothing wrong with sharing a common enemy. Because I’m sure she’ll see it my way soon. Your charms are all too fleeting. You’re just a disgusting, clawing, parasite! And once that mask falls for good, no one would even be caught dead with you!”

And the string clone was trembling in its own resulting rage of course. Because it would always come to this. They could never keep from each other’s throats for long. So very different in their personalities, but all too similar as well in that competing pride which had bled into full blown hatred after this long. Neither would ever forgive the other. “You’re wrong as always. And I’m going to prove it. Watch for the news! She’s mine, like you could have been. You ungrateful shit!”

And the connection was broken as the string clone crushed the receiver from off of that snail before the doppelgänger unravelled back to nothing in the alleyway.

All that raw emotion went straight back to the original who’d been aware of every word the entire time. Like the ultimate ventriloquy act through the power of his devil fruit.

Doflamingo’s real hands were still trembling in anger as he dug his fingers into the top of his pants over his thighs, sitting beside you in the ballroom still.

He wasn’t walking away this time, regardless of when the other marines would finally come. You could be as pissed as you wanted to be. He’d had enough of hiding and being told what he could or couldn’t have…and being judged as the kind of man he was or was not.

This was his life, his choices. He’d been pushed too far tonight.

———————————

“Sir…I mean your highness, it’s perfectly alright. Really. I’m just waiting for my commanding officer and then we’ll get all these creeps put in his brig for you and be on our way.” You tried again, attempting to fend off King Cobra’s continued insistence on having you checked out by their royal doctor.

Even after Doflamingo had said cryptically that the last assailant was ‘taken care of’, that dark implication still hadn’t dampened the new mood in the ballroom.

King Cobra couldn’t stop thanking you, and everyone seemed to be worrying over you like some kind of selfless hero in return now that things had settled while waiting for the marines.

And honestly, it was kind of refreshing to realize that there was a king that could act this grateful in public. He did seem to truly love his daughter and be beside himself with relief that she had nothing more than a few scuffs and scrapes after the whole ordeal.

It’d definitely been a targeted and brazen attack as she hadn’t even been alone when she’d been taken either. Her father had been at a meeting elsewhere on the island when their villa had been raided and her attendants and guards all overcome.

Apparently the kidnappers had run into more guards responding to those initial distress calls though, and their group had had to detour through the crowded ballroom to try and escape detection. As oblivious as the average noble was, it absolutely would have worked. Only you, as unsophisticated as you were, had noticed the trouble for what it was.

And you had no regrets at all for what you’d done. Vivi too had remained close afterward, fussing over you as well and asking question after question about how you’d learned to do these things. Princess or not, she was still eager and curious now that the danger had finally passed.

“Do you think I could kick like that one day?” She asked with that kind of sincerity that could only come from youth.

“I don’t see why not.” You smiled, picking on her about that blue and green feathered masquerade mask of her own. “Call it the peacock slice or something. I’m terrible with move names though.”

“Ah, hmm. The peacock kick maybe?” And she did raise her leg a little, just laughing as the two of you continued to joke.

Of course you hoped this devil fruit nonsense you’d been hit with would wear off soon so that you’d be kicking again too. After waking in the guards’ restraints, one of the other attackers had confessed how the power set of the one who had cut you worked.

That fruit user had cut you twice, which apparently numbed and paralyzed whatever they cut for at least hours at a time. So you had one useless leg and one useless arm for now. If he’d cut you in the chest though you may have stopped being able to breathe all together.

So it could have definitely been worse. But you still worried about one other thing entirely now.

Even after dealing with that one escapee, Doflamingo had chosen to remain here beside you. And you’d already used one of the guards’ snails to call Momonga who was on his way.

Of course Vivi, her guards, and even King Cobra had already seen Doflamingo here. Vivi and the first guards to arrive had even seen that kiss you’d given him that he’d also returned. But you weren’t sure they realized who he actually was.

Yet even in the mask instead of his sunglasses, and the dark suit instead of all the hot pink feathers, you had no doubt that the marines would know him when seeing him up close.

Because no one looked like Donquixote Doflamingo…but Donquixote Doflamingo.

And then what were you to say? You didn’t understand what his plan was. He just seemed agitated. Brooding over something still, but tolerating everything in silence as you played with Vivi and repeatedly politely declined Cobra’s offers of assistance.

You felt like you were still being guarded by the warlord right now in front of these others. Which wasn’t fully insulting considering your current state. You wouldn’t even be able to walk on your own right now.

But this current silence from him just left you hoping that that trademark smooth talking bullshit of his would emerge whenever the marines did arrive.

Couldn’t he just say he’d been here on his own and that any sudden fight or violence was always going to pique his interest? That wouldn’t be so far fetched would it? He was already a king in a place for royalty. One who loved fighting so much that he personally oversaw brutal colosseum matches in his home country. So that story might work.

You wished he would have at least said something more to you though after that short word of him taking care of the escaped assailant. When he didn’t, you had just kept on with Vivi.

But kids weren’t stupid. Especially her you were finding as she did lean in and finally whisper in your ear. “I think your boyfriend is still really mad you got hurt maybe? My friend Pell says boys are bad at feelings.”

You felt the heat in your face immediately. But you still laughed at the surprise and innocence of it, making Doflamingo’s head at last turn at the rare sound of your laugh as he looked at you both.

“Your friend Pell sounds smart.” You responded at normal volume, knowing the warlord had not heard what the girl said.

“He is. He didn’t come to Scylla with us. I bet he comes next time after this though! He’s a good fighter too.” Vivi smiled back.

She was helping you relax. But for all your worrying about what to say or do when Momonga and the others would at last walk in, that didn’t end up being what you had to contend with first anyway.

Not at all as new voices erupted as you’d all been awaiting only the marines.

You were finding that these supposed royal guards weren’t really worth a damn as several more people slipped right past them. Not with guns or swords this time. But in a way, almost something far worse as you saw that first flash bulb go off.

“King Cobra! Princess Vivi! We’re with the World Economic Journal!” The reporters clamored.

Cobra wasn’t far away at that moment, just with his guards again, confirming that all the remaining attackers were remaining properly restrained.

Vivi was right beside you however. Doflamingo on your other side, all three of you sitting on chairs in a row now as the press swarmed in to first get pictures of the scuffed up princess.

Fuck. You thought, albeit straightening up in your own seat immediately. You could see Vivi doing the same, but she grabbed your hand just as fast. And you realized she was helping you hide the fact that your arm was so limp for the cameras. Making it look better just that simply with her quick thinking to reposition it and hold your hand in clear solidarity.

She’d been trained as a princess, and you as a marine to both give a certain appearance to the public. Two completely different ends of the spectrum, but evidently complimentary here at least.

And their hunger for a story was as bad as anytime you’d ever been at the mercy of these vultures. Though normally never with such a direct role. After noteworthy or controversial deployments, the press would sometimes be found hounding for a picture or an official marine quote as you’d all be trying to reload Tsuru’s ship in port. The reporters hanging around the gangplank like scavengers, making the crew have to chase them off in order to actually depart.

You’d never spoken to them directly.

“They said you’re a marine! Was this a planned undercover operation then? Did you rescue the princess alone!? Did a kidnapper escape!?”

And you were about to open your mouth only to say that they could direct all questions to Vice Admiral Momonga once a full investigation had been completed…the standard canned answer you’d been taught when not sanctioned to speak to them.

But the man at your other side finally came back to himself in that moment. At least on the outside as he had shifted in his chair. One of his legs subtly touching against yours when he did so. Against your paralyzed leg that you couldn’t move away from him as his arm then stretched out over the back of your chair as well.

His body language said everything of possession and your one working hand absolutely clenched against your knee in your shocked reaction. Your mind was beginning to panic even if your expression didn’t yet change.

He still wasn’t smiling though. But his voice was easily that charismatic, strong tone you’d hoped for again. The one that made everyone stop and listen as the camera lenses turned to him immediately.

But you hadn’t wanted it like this. He was feeding into them instead of helping to play this down. What was he trying to do?

“Her name is Captain (Y/N).” Doflamingo spoke. “She defeated them all unassisted. One was not properly detained by these guards. I handled him after his escape.”

And you were hearing the camera shutters clicking all the while as he spoke for you.

You could even see the focused looks in the reporters faces. They were trying to place him. They all knew by now that he was someone important. With that aura again forming, this sway he had over the room as soon as he’d chosen to be present and back outside of his own head again.

“Your name, sir!?” One reporter finally asked.

And even Vivi was looking past you in curiosity then as you took a breath.

That smug smirk did cut across his face in response. He was letting the drama build.

You felt his fingers grace across your bare shoulder with the style of your dress too, from his arm that was over the back of your chair as it actually moved down. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing you could do about it in that moment.

“Donquixote Doflamingo.” The warlord announced himself.

The gasps went around the room as the camera flashes absolutely went wild again. The reporters were writing furiously in their little notebooks as well.

“King Donquixote!” “Are you here with the marines!?” “Was this a warlord assignment!?” “Has Dressrosa allied with Alabasta Kingdom!?” They all asked in competing shouts for his attention.

And as you stared across the room, you saw Vice Admiral Momonga now standing with his stunned officers beside an equally surprised looking King Cobra.

Doflamingo’s hand only tightened even further on your bare shoulder at Momonga’s arrival however. That bit of your dried blood still coloring those long fingers.

The pirate was giving you no option, no warning as the fear grew further in your chest. How far was he going to go? You couldn’t stand from the chair, you couldn’t even walk away from him.

He knew that.

“I was here on pleasure, not business.” And he was beginning to smile truly then, fully understanding everything that he was doing to you now. “Dressrosa needs no alliances to prosper. We’re already wealthier and thriving more than we ever have been. But-“

His head turned to look down at you with renewed emphasis.

“This particular marine has impressed me as of late. Saving Princess Nefertari here is just the tip of the iceberg I assure you in what (Y/N) is capable of. So in recognition of this, I’m formally inviting her to Dressrosa. That’s the only alliance I’m interested in right now.”

He hadn’t even called you a captain there. He’d just said your goddamn name like it was already so informal. Which of course it was to him…but not in front of everyone. Not in a fucking press conference as you felt how uneven your breath was becoming. Momonga and his officers were still outright staring now, completely taken aback.

Was this what the beginnings of a panic attack felt like?

And Doflamingo must think that even then his intentions weren’t obvious enough here.

He wanted everyone to know.

Because with that quick dexterity that so few could have managed, his other hand had already grabbed yours. Specifically your paralyzed one, slipping it right from Vivi’s grip as if the girl had never had it at all.

He was that entirely smooth in that quick movement. You couldn’t pull your arm back away from him if you’d tried.

“Doflamingo.” You finally hissed.

And you saw that dark smile in response. “Too late.” He whispered back.

And the King of Dressrosa brought your hand to his lips as he kissed the top of it in front of the flashes of those cameras. “Dressrosa would be lucky to have you.” He said louder for them to hear again. “What do you say, Captain?”

You heard Vivi make a noise to your other side. Not a negative one either. It was almost an excited squeak. But the girl was too young to understand. This was not a romantic gesture on his part at all. This was not a fairytale or any proposal of lifelong happiness.

You could lose everything you had fought for just from this abrupt power play.

But if you humiliated Doflamingo in such a public forum by fighting back or even verbally rejecting him at all, the outcome would have been as certain as signing your own death certificate and likely those of your friends as well.

You knew that every single click of those cameras could be an image that Big News Morgans might print for the entire world by morning. Anything you did now would be eternal on the printed page. You wouldn’t be able to take it back.

But for all your own fear and anger for being singled out this way…you still didn’t hate him.

And you couldn’t hurt him.

“Warlord Doflamingo…King Donquixote.” You said so very carefully. Somehow finding your own voice by adrenaline alone, as he still held your hand in that illusion of the interested gentleman suitor before the world.

“You are already my ally by the balance of powers that the marines have made and maintain with the warlords. And as the leader of the World Government nation of Dressrosa as well…of course it is also my duty to support you and your people however requested.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of your chest. You were waiting for him to still be angry. You knew the neutrality and almost cowardice you were choosing in your words here. But you were still trying to save yourself without sacrificing his pride.

But that false warmth in his response did not hesitate. Not for even a moment. “Then I’m asking you to head a new marine post that we’re going to establish in Dressrosa, Captain. Actually…I’m asking you to return to Dressrosa with me when my ship leaves port tomorrow. We can scout locations for this new post immediately once we reach my home country.”

He was going to take you anyway.

And he was telling everyone here in real time, daring a soul to do a thing to stop it.

Vivi’s attempted kidnapping had been accompanied with all the dramatics of fighting and gunfire, and still been thwarted by you alone.

Yet your own abduction was now happening with only hollow words and camera flashes in front of an entire crowd who had every eye on you and this pirate. And no one moved to help you at all. No one even tried.

———————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x crocodile #crocodile x doflamingo #doffy x y/n #doffy x you #doffy x reader #one piece fanfiction #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #doffy #doffy one piece #dofuwani #doflamingo’s marine

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talesfrommedinastation · 10 hours

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Redneck Doug on ALL the other Clones in Star Wars!

As promised, for reaching a new number of followers, here's Doug's list when I asked him to name off all the clones in 'The Clone Wars' and 'The Bad Batch'!

Some are obviously repeats of other posts, and some are brand spanking new.

I'm using my autoethnography skills to their fullest extent, here, people.

This is LONG but hey! 7 seasons of The Clone Wars and 3 seasons of The Bad Batch means animated Star Wars in the Days of our Lives of animation.

If I'm missing someone, let me know! I'll reach out to Doug!

Enjoy, everyone!

CW: Redneck Doug just rambles needlessly about people.

And Clermont Lounge is one of the scariest and yet, most fun places in the ATL and I could 100% see one of the 501st working there.

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

Bly: That’s a boy, his name’s Miguel. Got his friends, they drink Pabst, shoot the empty cans behind the garage when they done, and hit on every woman that walks by. But Miguel’s got his eyes on Babe-the-Blue-Jedi and steals flowers from people’s yard and gives them to her. Babe-the-Blue-Jedi knows the man’s not that bright but his heart’s in the right place and that’s all that matters, right?

Rex: That's Rex. He's a king. Respect him.

Cody: That’s Obi-Wan’s Boyfriend, he’s sad all the time. We know why. (Confirmed that Doug is a Codywan shipper and I don’t know what to do about that)

Howzer: That’s my niece’s boyfriend, Jorge. We all love Jorge, nice guy, owns an auto repair shop and always remembers plates and napkins for the cookouts after church.

Gregor: Jorge’s cousin, Manny. Met him once at Christmas in Miami, nice guy, only drinks brown liquor and insists everyone arm wrestle him. But he’s got a good job as a PE teacher, we respect education, come on now.

Hardcase: Wiggles. He laughs at everything and never wears a helmet both on his big head and his lil head and that explains everything about the man.

Kix: Nurse Mark. He's tired and sick of your shit, sick of the creeps trying to get the Fentanyl, that's a crime now, ain't it.

Echo: "Eh, Toaster Strudel. Homeboy looks like his daddy had an affair with a convection oven on shore leave and forgot to pay child support."

Mayday: Aw, I liked this guy so much! That’s Sassy Park Ranger, he’s the type that gives you your camping permits, warns you about the bears, and then is all disappointed when you don’t properly stow your food and the bears destroy the campsite. I need to go back to Little River Canyon, that place was pretty.

Scorch: The Son of Robocop. His daddy told him to get off his lazy Robo-son ass and go get a job, so he works for the Empire now, because no one can get a job in Detroit. That’s why he’s a bad person. (Because he works for the Empire? “No, because he’s a Lions fan and that ain’t a good look for anyone.”)

Fives: Alex-from-Manitoba. He reminds me so much of this awesome guy I knew, Alex, was from Winnipeg, we worked in oil together. Smart, knew his shit, loved guns and getting his hair did. No one listens to him, management hates him, and he gets fired. Man I was so pissed off when that happened with that damn alien that ran the ocean on the mall! He deserved better, damn it!

(Fives or Alex-from-Manitoba?

“BOTH!!!”)

99: 99!

(You actually remember his name?

“Hell yeah! He’s one of the most important characters! Why would I not?”

::cue me, quietly staring at all the weird-ass names over texts and saying NOTHING in response::)

Wolffe: Bernando. I dunno, man, he got that Bernardo energy. I’ve met three and they all looked like they wanna run off into the woods and come out when they got a deer they need to process and take a shower and find a lady before running back into the woods. Also Bernardo never has a girlfriend that lasts more than 6 months with him. Don’t know why. Just trust me.

Gree: Carnie Joe. Man, he looks like the type of guy who drives an ice cream truck but there ain’t no Bomb Pops inside if you know what I mean.

Cut Lawquane: Not-Wolverine. He ran away from the Empire, grew out his muttonchops, wanted to join the X-Men, Charles Xavier said ‘Nah son you need super powers for that’, and then Not-Wolverine stomped off into Tremors-land and started a pot-and-chicken farm like every other hillbilly in Kentucky. But he got a hot wife out of the deal and some nice kids and lots of guns, and ya know, that ain’t a bad ending for the man.

Commander Fox: Red-Chief-of-Police. He’s absolutely on them Ticky-Tack videos my nieces and nephews watch where the cops are doing bad things but they ain’t gonna get fired over it. Man. It ain’t right.

Tup: Alex’s-Friend-Matt. Aw, Matt, good guy, but too much brain damage after that time he fell off the roof while laying down tar. He grew out his ponytail to hide the dent in his head and talked funny afterwards, but he real good at roughneck work and I can’t fault the man, nope.

Hevy: That’s Ross. He’s always mad because he’s insecure. He’s got a lot of Nerf guns and only eats stuff you can find at 7-11.

Jesse: That’s Jesse, he’s a trucker, was a bouncer at Clermont Lounge in Atlanta, and has three ex-wives who all hate him. He shaves his head because his hair hates him too.

Crosshair: So that there's Daddy Warcrimes. All you need to know is he lives on beer and Slim Jims, has more guns then Jesus got faith, and that he does your mom on the weekends, and then you thank him for his service.

Hunter: Aw man, we got Rambo up in this place. Daddy Rambo. He looks like he's got some hot wife with a huge butt who makes amazing biscuits, but he only showers on the weekends for reasons he won't tell you.

Wrecker: I know, I KNOW, he's got some cool Star Wars name, but in my head, he's Julio. He looks like a Julio, ya know? Every Julio's been the nicest guy with a truck and a million friends. I swear. I bet he's a contractor and lays pipe like you wouldn't believe. ::winks::

Tech: Hm, yeah, I know him. That's Ryan-from-Accounting, somebody's hipster dad. You know, everyone knows a Ryan who works in accounting, he's quiet, only drinks IPAs, and has a bitch wife named Laura who drives a Kia and is always yelling at him. Poor man. I hope Julio saves him from his bitch wife Laura.*

Omega: Little Orphan Blondie. I hope she gets real parents or something besides those freaky alien things running the mall on the ocean.

Emerie Karr: Stepsister-Beth. She’s got a stick up her rear, was in a sorority known for bitchy Daddy’s Girls who wouldn’t touch below the belt but are all about using other places for their date’s hoses to put out the fire, and only drinks almond milk lattes. She’s a bitch to waiters and drives a Prius.

(“Doug I drive a Prius.”

“Yeah, but you ain’t a southern sorority girl so y’all forgiven.”)

Nemec and Fireball: Trigger and Nutsy. They’ve been in a survival militia in the Florida Everglades and that’s all you need to know.

CX-2: The Guy from Tron. He’s a guy, and he was in the movie Tron. That’s it.

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strljaem · 3 days

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“it's just a contract...”

inspired by : “My Demon”

💿 : our night is more beautiful than your day, newjeans

💿 : say you love me, sam kim

It was one of those late-night board meetings. The kind where everyone wears grim faces and pretends they're still interested in the quarter's projections. You were seated at the head of the mahogany table, flipping through endless reports, nodding intermittently as your assistant whispered key details into your ear. You were the youngest CEO in the history of the company—sharp, focused, and notoriously hard to read. But tonight, you couldn't concentrate. Not because of the numbers, but because of the empty seat at the other end of the table.

Na Jaemin. The demon you'd entered into a contract marriage with. The demon who was supposed to be by your side, helping you navigate the treacherous waters of corporate politics. Yet he was nowhere to be seen.

The meeting ended, and you headed home to the penthouse apartment you'd unwillingly shared with him for the past six months. The high-rise view of the city was spectacular, but tonight, it felt hollow. His absence made you restless, uneasy. The moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the living room's minimalist decor. You loosened your tie and sank into the plush white sofa, hoping he'd walk through the door any minute.

It wasn't always like this. The contract marriage had been a strategic move—your father had struck a deal with Jaemin's clan, seeking their support for a major business deal. Neither of you had been thrilled about it. Jaemin, with his cool exterior and smug attitude, had made it clear he wasn't interested in playing house. His dark hair was styled to perfection, his sharp jawline accentuating his distant gaze. And those eyes—deep and enigmatic, like he could see right through you. A demon's eyes.

Your relationship was a constant battle of egos. Sarcasm, snide remarks, and endless teasing. Yet, there were moments when you'd catch him staring at you with an unexpected softness. Like the time you tripped over a power cable at a company event, and he caught you just before you hit the ground. He'd smirked and said, "If you wanted to fall for me, you could've just asked." But his grip on your arm was gentle, almost tender.

You'd both shared small glimpses of vulnerability, but neither of you had acknowledged it. And then, tonight, the argument happened. It was over something trivial—he'd left his shoes in the hallway, and you'd tripped over them. But it quickly escalated into a shouting match about respect, boundaries, and how neither of you wanted to be in this arrangement. He'd stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Hours passed. You'd checked your phone a dozen times, but there was no message, no call. The city buzzed with life below, but it felt distant, disconnected. You'd never admit it, but you were worried. Where could he have gone?

At 2 a.m., you heard the door creak open. You stayed perfectly still, the room cloaked in darkness. Jaemin tiptoed in, his steps barely audible on the hardwood floor. He thought you were asleep, and you could tell he was trying to be quiet, not wanting to disturb you. But you were wide awake, waiting.

You clicked on the lamp beside you, and the sudden light made him jump. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he looked like a child caught sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight snack.

"Where did you go?" you asked, but the words came out sharper than you'd intended. Na Jaemin stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the soft light from the hallway. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a hint of vulnerability, something you rarely saw in him.

He froze, his usual bravado melting away. "Just out," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but his eyes darted around the room, avoiding your gaze.

"Out where?" you pressed, your arms crossed.

Jaemin stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. It was infuriating—he wasn't defending himself, wasn't arguing back, just staring with those deep, dark demon eyes that seemed to see straight through you. The longer he stayed silent, the angrier you became. You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.

"I don't know what your deal is," you stood and continued, unable to stop yourself, "but you can't just disappear whenever you feel like it! This is supposed to be a partnership!"

Jaemin didn't respond. He simply stood there, his posture relaxed but his eyes softened. The contrast was maddening. You knew he was listening, but his calm demeanor only fueled your anger. You threw your hands up in exasperation and turned to leave, storming past him toward the bedroom.

As you walked by, Jaemin's hand suddenly grabbed yours. It felt like time slowed down—the warmth of his touch caught you off guard. The apartment was dimly lit, with only the faint glow from the city outside filtering through the windows. Lights from the other high-rise apartments twinkled like distant stars, casting a romantic yet tense atmosphere in the room. Your hair, flowing over your shoulders, brushed against his face as he pulled you back. He grabbed you by the waist, his grip firm yet gentle.

Jaemin's eyes bore into yours, and you felt a flutter in your chest. He noticed your nervous look, then he smirked slightly, his usual cool expression softened by the intimate moment. "Are you flustered?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. “No…can you just let me go?” you said. But that didn’t affect him.

You tried to regain your composure, but his proximity made it difficult to think clearly. Your heart raced, and your hands instinctively rested on his shoulders. The way he looked at you—it was almost as if he was seeing you for the first time. His warm breath caressed your skin, and you could hear your heartbeats syncing together. He leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips were so close that you could feel the heat emanating from them.

Before you could process, he kissed you, gently at first, then with more intensity as if he was testing the waters. You stood still, unsure of how to respond, but when he pinched your waist softly, you gasped, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid into your mouth, exploring with a passion that caught you off guard. The kiss was intense, his movements smooth and confident, and you felt yourself getting lost in the moment while both your bodies were moving in sync. as if both of you were slow dancing.

You pulled away, slightly pushed him while gasping for air, and Jaemin backed off slightly, wiping his lips with his thumb. He chuckled lightly, tasting the hint of your chapstick. "That was..." he began, but you were too shocked to let him finish. What was happening? Why did it feel like this? You hit him on the arm, not too hard, but enough to make him wince. You tried to walk away, Jaemin snickered at your actions so he just followed your back. Then you ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

"Aigoo! Let me in!" Jaemin called from the other side of the door. "Why are you so shy? We're married, remember?", he said in a playful tone. That actually pissed you off, in a good way.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the door, and touched your lips. It was just a contract marriage, wasn't it? But why did it feel so different now? You flashbacked to the first time you'd met Jaemin, when you’d accidentally stolen his tattoo—the mark that connected him to his demonic powers. He had been furious, grabbing your wrist and demanding you return it, his eyebrows furrowed in anger, his eyes flashing with irritation. But now, those same eyes looked at you with a warmth that was completely unexpected. What had changed?

"Open the door!" Jaemin shouted, knocking persistently. "You know you liked it! Don't be like that!"

You sighed, unsure of what to make of this new dynamic between you. The kiss, the way he pulled you in, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you—all of it was a stark contrast to the cold, distant Jaemin you'd known at first. Were you falling for him? Was he falling for you?

"I'll sleep outside if you don't let me in!" he threatened, but you knew he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. You whispered to yourself, "It's just a contract..." But your heart told you otherwise.

As Jaemin continued banging on the door, you wondered what the future held for both of you. Would you find a way to reconcile your differences, or was this just a fleeting moment? Either way, you knew one thing for sure: nothing would ever be the same again.

“y/n…let me in…” but you chose to ignore him.

#jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin scenario #nct dream #jaemin imagine #nct dream imagine #jaemin fluff #jaemin ff #nct dream fluff #kpop #my demon

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chaos-in-one · 4 months

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People who comment "gentle parenting at it's finest" on posts of kids having a meltdown in public and their parents not doing anything about it do not understand what gentle parenting means at all and it makes me want to put my head through a wall

#'gentle parenting is for gentle children' how do you know if your child is capable of being like that or not #if your first reaction to them doing normal child things like getting upset is to hit them?#also gentle parenting isnt doing nothing when your kid is having a public meltdown #that is neglectful #and pretty much the entire premise of gentle parenting is NOT abusing your kids and treating them like actual human beings #also I guarantee you no matter how much your kid sucks hitting them isn't making them better #it is teaching them to fear you #and it teaches them that violence is the way to get obedience #which will not be good for them down the line #the ONLY reason you should EVER put your hands on your kids is if it is the only way to get them out of immediate danger #such as if your kid is about to walk into traffic and you grab them so they dont get hit by a fucking car #other than that? you are not in the right for hitting your child #ESPECIALLY if you are doing it as punishment #gentle parenting #tag rant #abuse #abusive parents #abusive parenting #anti abuse #child abuse #child abuse awareness

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cockringhoratio · 1 year

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im not gonna lie i expected wendell and wild to be,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, better,,,,,,,

#smashy the cache #murder your babies henry selick good lord lol #they needed an exrta 20 minutes or smthn bc that shit was just like #oof #it was a lot of ground to cover for 90 minutes and unfortunately they decided hitting all the story beats was more important than like #making characters with inner worlds. that feel things. and do things based on their feelings. and not Because The Plot Needs Them To #also theres stuff like. fairly early on they introduce that kat went to juvie and im like yeah sure this is a common trope #her trauma and insufficient tools to process it lead to her Acting Out in some way #maybe stole something breaking and entering graffiti maybe arson for some Symbolism idk It Doesnt Matter really bc its shorthand #NO SHE KILLED SOMEONE???#and this information is dropped LITERALLY SECONDS BEFORE SHE 'lets go' AND 'makes her peace with it' LIKE WHAT????#like first of all she INSISTS she is the reason her parents died when it is pretty solidly her dads fault sorry delroy #and its like okay her Angst stems from the survivors guilt and grief and all that and then when she is facing #A LITERAL MANIFESTATION OF HER OWN GUILT AND TRAUMA #the film is like No Actually it stems from all this other shit that weare only showing you JUST NOW MOMENTS BEFORE THIS WILL BE RESOLVED #like idk i feel like a child blaming herself for the death of her parents AND THEN ACCIDENTALLY CAUSING THE DEATH OF ANOTHER CHILD would idk #FEEL A BIT MORE ABOUT THAT than just offhand mentioning right before it doesnt matter anymore #also just EVERYTHING about hell maidens lmao #'hey youre a hell maiden' 'sounds cool i have no further questions im gonna summon demons which is something i can do'#'also i can see the future which is connected to that somehow'#literally what the fuck is a hell maiden and why do they have different powers and why does swearing an oath matter #and more importantly WHAT THE FUCK DID HELL MAIDENS EVEN DO BEFORE THAT GUY MADE THE EVIL TEDDY BEAR???????#like idk its a very Telling Not Showing story but like theyre telling you stuff you just watched happen and not like. necessary context lol #also idk why they bothered w siobhan's 'wait prisons are bad actually :(' arc or the dj dad demon coming to the surface #hes literally chasing wendell and wild down to punish them and then sees a mural and is like 'am i a bad dad :(' and lets them go #why did that need to happen like they coulda just ran away and thats it damn sorry yall had a shitty dad like the story doesnt change #xcept maybe wendell and wild have to do some actual soul searching and penance to get back in kat's good graces #god im gonna stop myself here lol i just keep thinking of other stupid shit they wasted runtime on instead of making a compelling story #anyway lol #i liked the visual design and the hell themepark

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hauntingblue · 3 months

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Seeing how they even use the white spots covering a back frame and even in the to be continued end screen law should have kept his white spots in his skin too

#like yeah the undereye bags.... that's too little....#and not to get like technical but removing the toxins from his body with the devil fruit would not take the damage back #look at sabo he still has his scars.... i figure the spots would be something similar #making people shut up is kinda of a weak fruit lmao #the most ridiculous part of yourself is the only one thats true ahdkahak drag him law!!!!#he just keeps doffy controlled i knew he protected the children oof #doffy not being human but as in being so vile and not in a better than the others tenryuubito way... yeah yeah #doffy wearing glasses kinda goes off.... eyes are the windows to the soul etc and he doesnt have any #the first corazon was vergo omg #he doesn't want law to become like doffy yeah!!!#D CLAN LORE D CLAN LORE #YEAAAAH I WAS RIGHT THE ENEMIES OF THE GODS (TENRYUUBITOS)#cora might not hate kids but he won't hesitate to hit a child lmao #baby 5 omg lending law money so he can blackmail the the other child lmao #why were you moving your mouths so much #what a little shit law lmao corazon was about to run away adhkashsk #law prob thinks cora is going to murder him and throw him in the sea ahekahjs #rocinante in kahoots with sengoku????#SEEE HOW HE WAS PROTECTING THE KIDS AHDKAHSKA I KNEWW!!!!#i am having so much fun i love lore #teniente comandante rocinante??? damn #vergooooo what kinda hair is that lmao #'are you a marine? i hate them' 'then i am not a marine' <- practically what they said #oh he fucked up with the hospital lmao... and he fucked them up #corazon the hospital terrorist damn #did they go to drum???? dr kureha????#talking tag #watching one piece #episode 703 #luffy screaming like that noooo :( i know he is gonna be fine xd

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chuluoyi · 8 days

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✎ throughout heaven and earth

- gojo satoru x reader

a sudden mission. a curse beyond your grade. all hell breaks loose when gojo realizes that there are hidden machinations behind the incident that befalls you

genre: feral!gojo, injured!reader, hurt/comfort, exponential fluff !

note: we need a gojo who will go ballistic against the higher-ups for dragging you in their mess :) refer to this for the reader's CT, and this loosely takes place after the events in heaven's fury, and the epilogue is based on this very brilliant idea :))

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Something isn’t right.

You should’ve known it was strange when they assigned you with a sudden mission with little to no briefing. You should’ve gone through with your gut feeling and informed Satoru about it.

Because if you did... now you wouldn’t be running for your life like this, frantically dodging the hacks and slashes of this chainsaw-like cursed spirit that was evidently not a Grade 2 as what you were told.

“Ah!” you yelped as the sharp ends of its body struck your shoulder, leaving you bleeding openly. This was no small wound—it was deep enough to make you stagger.

You had to do something about this because merely avoiding wouldn’t save your life. You had to come back in one piece. You have to— for your baby and Satoru.

What if I can’t? The sheer thought made you tremble. Your baby boy was still so little and he needed you more than anyone, and Satoru...

God, you couldn’t bear to leave him alone. Not again. He couldn't handle losing someone again, not after all he had already lost.

You gripped your whip—your cursed weapon—tightly amidst your bleeding hand. You had barely enough cursed energy for a domain expansion that guaranteed a sure-hit effect. You have one shot. This was all or nothing.

But you weren’t sure if it would work, because you were on the verge of exhaustion, and this was a special grade curse. Your domain expansion was definitely not as refined as the Satoru’s, and this monster was an enemy of his class.

“Satoru...” your voice came out in a sob. You were terribly scared, and honestly you were entitled to. You weren’t even sure you would survive this at all, and all you could think now was your husband’s silly grin and how much you loved him.

And right afterwards, you saw the cursed spirit lunging at you, and with everything left that you had, you screamed—

“Domain Expansion: Transcendent Veil!”

“Gojo-sensei, p-please come back... Nee-san is...!”

Satoru was in Kyoto when he received that call from Megumi— and that moment shattered his world as he knew it.

“Megumi, what is it?”

“She w-was sent on a mission... but then it's a special grade— a-and... she... she e-exorcised it b-but—!”

He teleported without second thought to Tokyo. His mind was blank, the only sound he could hear was his own violent heartbeats, and his fists were clenched so tightly.

“The cursed spirit got her too… It made a cut on her neck.”

His most precious wife... the one person he must protect at all cost, was now possibly—

“Megumi.” He saw him sitting on the hallway of the headquarters’ hospital the with his son on his lap—you had asked him to look after your baby—and the boy looked up to him.

“Gojo-sensei...” Megumi appeared shaken, and seeing that, Satoru immediately took his child from his hands, pulling the little kid into his embrace.

“Go back home, I’ll stay here.”

In all his life, Megumi had never seen Gojo Satoru as calm as he was now. He looked fearsome, as if he was in the battlefield.

“Ichiji.” Satoru turned to the other man rigidly standing next to Megumi, causing him to stiffen up even more. He didn’t say anything further as he pat his little son’s back, and yet Ichiji knew all the same what he wanted from him.

“It’s from… the higher ups, Gojo-san.” Ichiji gulped as he said it. “Y/N-san was suddenly called in yesterday night, and she was told it was an urgent mission.”

“Who called her?”

“It was…”

When Ichiji told him the name, suddenly Satoru barked a snort, and his lips curled into a manic grin. It was a menacing sight for both Ichiji and Megumi, as he looked almost unhinged if not for his secure grip on his son.

But contrary to what they were thinking, what filled Satoru at that moment was pure, unadulterated fury. A righteous sense of being crossed—because, how fucking dare they?

Those higher ups first pressed him to execute Yuji, and when he paid them no mind… now they staged this atrocity against you, most definitely to serve as a warning to him.

“Ichiji, tell them that I’ll pay a visit tomorrow. And drive Megumi home tonight.”

He would make his point loud and clear. He would show them how wrong it was to ever test him. But…

The plan barely satisfied him. They hurt you. His heart finally lurched as he processed the fact… when he heard his baby’s soft whimper against his shoulder.

. . .

You sustained serious injuries, but finally, you were out of critical condition.

When Satoru was allowed to see you, you were still connected to many monitors and breathing machine. He brought your baby too inside, and upon clearly seeing both of them, suddenly your eyes welled up with tears.

“Hey…” his hand gripped yours reassuringly. You sniffled when the strain of your broken ribs made you almost cry out in pain, and Satoru immediately calmed you down.

“Sweets— hey, don’t cry, yeah? You did good.” He pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “You did freaking good. You’re okay now. You’re going to recover, yeah?”

You gave him a tearful little nod, feeling so grateful that you could see him again. And unbeknownst to you, seeing you like this broke his heart too.

“Mwa...” your baby, cradled in your husband’s arms, suddenly stretched his tiny hands towards you, and Satoru handed him over for you to hold.

With the little strength you possessed, you reached out to stroke his soft cheeks. Your son... the thought of how close you came to death brought another tear rolling down your cheek.

All sort of thoughts went through Satoru’s head at the sight. His wife, the mother of his son, who is proud of him for everything he does—

—and their sorry asses dared to hurt you.

Suddenly all he saw was red.

And he swore he would make it right to you. Soon.

“Ah, Satoru-kun… to what I owe the pleasure?”

“…I’ve heard that it was you who assigned that special grade mission to my wife, correct?”

“Oh, that. First of all, I must apologize for my... oversight. We were misinformed... Our scouts made a mistake while filling the files.”

Satoru was trying not to lose his composure first thing after coming here. Really.

But the knowing tone of the elderly Jujutsu Commander only fueled his rage, growing stronger the longer he stood behind this stupid paper divider.

“So it’s a mistake, huh?” he repeated in a satire manner. “Then do you know that my wife has just gotten out of her maternity leave this week?”

The man behind the divider chuckled quietly. “Satoru-kun… I know the sentiment. Of course you’ll be worried, and it did end in a rather… unfortunate incident. However, jujutsu sorcerers are bound to their duty, and your wife cannot rely too heavily on her status as a member of the Gojo clan to be excluded from—”

Fuck it. He had no patience any longer.

“Seems like I need to be a lot rougher, after all.”

Suddenly the room crackled with electricity and the Jujutsu Commander gasped at the sense of foreboding he felt. “Gojo, you can’t—!”

“Heh, but I can.” He let out the most satisfied laugh before opening his palm and chanting in a lower voice: “Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

In a matter of seconds, the audience chamber of jujutsu headquarters turned into a pile of destruction. The commander barely made it out the deadly vacuum vortex with a shriek.

“Ah! N-no! Get a-away from me!” Satoru stared down at him coldly through his unobstructed heavenly eyes, as he pitifully tried to crawl away. He took one step towards him, stomped on his hand ruthlessly—causing the man to scream, before he got down to his level.

“N-no! Please, s-spare me...!”

“This is my first and last warning to you.” It was beyond terrifying, to see those six eyes in this close proximity. But even more dreadful was the tight chokehold on his throat—

“If you ever try to pull this idiotic stunt again on my wife, know that I can and I will snap your neck.” Satoru’s face split into a sinister grin as he tapped the man’s nape, before he crushed the bones of his hand with a crack and made him howl. “Remember that, yeah?”

. . . that day, none in jujutsu headquarters dared to spread any word about Gojo Satoru’s outrageous conduct, even when it was an attack against their own highest ranking leader.

“Satoru, you don’t have to, really—”

“Nuh, uh! I’ve promised you I’ll nurse you back to health!”

Unaware of anything and everything, you thought that your loving husband was a silly jester trying to make you feel better. On the fifth day of your stay in hospital, you were well enough to eat solid food, and Satoru insisted on spoon feeding you the fruits he cut himself.

“Good girl,” he praised with a wholly playful smile as you chewed on the watermelon. You looked at him with a mock frown, pursing your lips.

“You’re making me look like a kid.”

“You are, in fact, my second kid, so I have all rights to baby you.”

You let out a giggle, but then suddenly your throat felt like it was closing in and you coughed. Instinctively, you reached for your neck— your fingers tracing the scar there.

You still could remember the sense of paralyzing fear you felt as soon as your neck was cut. The heavy bleeding that followed, the way the world blacking out around you…

“Sweets…?” Satoru put down the plate and got a grip on your trembling figure. He gently pushed your chin up to meet his eyes. “Hey, look at me. Look at me, hmm?”

Your frantic eyes locked onto his, and your rapid breathing steadied. Your clammy hand reached out to touch his face... before you lunged forward, throwing your arms around him.

“Sweetheart…” Satoru hugged you back in return, sighing against the nape on your neck, as he planted a soft kiss there.

You tried your best not to cry but it was hard not to while remembering everything.

“I-I was so scared…”

“Mhm.”

“I-I kept thinking… w-what if I c-can’t see you… or baby again…? I… I s-still want to do a lot of… things… w-with you…”

The way you shook in his arms like a fragile leaf made something inside him burn. He was supposed to provide you with security, give you a life far removed from curses—

Having left that warning against the higher-ups wasn’t enough, he should’ve made him beg for his life more—

“Listen to me,” Satoru said as he broke the hug, the deep frown in his grave expression made you almost sob. He gently wiped your overflowing tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“Stop thinking that. You’re alright. You’re going to get better. You and me—we are going to raise our son together.”

You took in each of his words fully, even as your lips quivered.

“And mark my words…” Right in this moment, you thought that your husband was most dashing as he gave you his promises—as his blue eyes glimmered under the light. “They won’t ever lay their hands on you ever again. Not while I’m here. Not ever. I already made sure of that.”

You were curious about what he did, but you chose not to press further when Satoru leaned in suddenly and brushed his lips against yours in a soft kiss, melting your heart into mush.

When he pulled away, it was his usual teasing grin on his handsome face. “Now, I only have one duty left— that is to get my cute wife back on her feet. So, be a good little wifey and have lots of fruits and sleep, okay?”

You giggled freely this time, feeling tremendously safe and loved, and instead of answering, you chose to peck his lips instead— hoping that he’d know that you trusted him with your whole life.

. . .

“By the way… Satoru, where’s our baby?” you missed your pumpkin, and while being with your funny husband lifted your spirits, you wanted to cuddle him too.

He chuckled in response. “Ah! Since Megumi is on an assignment, I left him with Ichiji earlier! Don’t worry, I’ll come pick him up soon, ‘kay?”

Epilogue

“I’m going out for a bit, and if you ever make him upset or cry… I can and I will sense it! So Ichiji—do your best!”

“Bwa…”

“Eeek!”

Ichiji stared at Baby Gojo with literal sweat on his forehead, as the little being curiously looked up at him.

By all means, this baby was adorable. Even more so when his father dressed him in a shark onesie. It was a peculiar choice—just like any of Gojo’s choices were—but it sure made the baby look even more endearing.

But the thing is… he didn’t feel secure enough to hold him! Especially when he didn’t know if Gojo’s claim of telepathic connection with his son was true or not!

Amidst his thoughts, suddenly Ichiji felt a soft touch on his arm and immediately turned to find the little munchkin putting his little hand on him and staring at him with such pureness unbefitting of Gojo Satoru’s son.

How can this baby be a stark contrast to his father? Ichiji was almost tempted to snuggle him, but he knew better.

“O-oh… d-don’t touch me…”

And as he retracted his hand back, the baby suddenly widened his eyes, feeling betrayed apparently, as his little lips wobbled and face scrunched up, so ready to burst into tears—

“Hic…”

“—!! Nooo! Don’t cry! Your father will fry me! Eeek!!”

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sunnami · 4 months

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❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders x reader. (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.”

You blink.

“Get the fuck out of my room!”

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making.

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls.

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!”

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze. Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!”

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly.

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.”

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.”

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies.

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—”

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.”

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you.

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”)

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—”

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.”

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.”

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.”

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home.

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that.

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”)

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.”

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze.

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.”

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much.

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile.

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.”

“I know.” Harry grins.

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.”

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally.

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.”

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow.

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers.

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.”

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.”

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you.

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast.

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.)

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?”

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.”

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you.

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.”

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze.

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.”

“Oi!”

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.”

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.”

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary.

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.”

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”)

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.”

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.”

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!”

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?”

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically.

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name.

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now.

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?”

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.”

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right?

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.”

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily.

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.”

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.”

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable.

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced.

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear.

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.”

Harry’s eye twitches.

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.”

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly.

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.”

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?”

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.”

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.”

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.”

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading.

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands.

“In your dreams!” You shrill.

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.”

Harry nods. “Is it time already?”

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.”

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?”

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.”

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?”

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?”

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat.

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.”

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this.

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes.

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.”

“One date, then.”

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?”

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.”

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.”

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you.

“And I want to—”

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—”

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration.

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases.

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words.

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.”

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.”

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.)

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance.

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.”

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm.

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.”

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.”

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.”

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth.

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.

He falls in love.)

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.”

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?”

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.”

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.”

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.”

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.”

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader

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luv4freddie · 4 months

Text

Fools - T.N

in which the only Hufflepuff friend in the group of slytherins develops a crush on Theodore Nott— something only fools do.

fem!hufflepuff reader, bff Pansy, use of euphemisms and teasing yn for being innocent but sfw, reader is very emotional, jealous theo, 2800 words

"Y/n!!"

After a year, you'd think that people would get used to seeing the same Hufflepuff go over to the Slytherin table, but alas, half the Great Hall turned to watch you approach the table and take a seat next to Pansy.

She sticks her middle finger up behind your back, aiming it at all of the people who are still staring, and they quickly turn away. It was an unlikely friendship, but she was not going to let anyone make you feel bad about it.

"About time you get here," Draco huffs, "I've had to hear Pansy's 'girl talk' while you were sleeping."

You smile sheepishly at him, you had taken your sweet time this morning, hitting snooze a few times before listening to your favorite record and doing more singing than actually getting ready— resulting in you being extra late to breakfast.

"Sorry, Draco."

"Don't apologize yn, he doesn't deserve it."

You can hear the teasing lilt in Theo's voice from across the table, and Draco throws a handful of grapes at him.

"Whatever," Pansy turns her back to them, "did you hear, apparently the Hufflepuff chaser has a crush on you."

Your eyes flit between her face and your hands, and you wonder where she got her information from.

The boys around you seem to perk up at this, and Draco chides Pansy for deeming that piece of information unimportant compared to all her other, much more useless, girl talk this morning.

"Where on Earth did you hear that?" You cut in, not enjoying the way everyone is suddenly interested in your (nonexistent) love life.

"From a very trustworthy source," is all she'll give away, and you cringe.

"Can we change subjects, please?"

Theo narrows his eyes at you, as if he's searching your face for something.

"You don't care about it then? You're not jumping at the chance to ride his broom?"

The Slytherins around you snicker at his euphemism, but you go bright red.

"I- what! Why would you say- no!"

This only makes them laugh harder, but Pansy collects herself enough to place a reassuring hand on your arm.

"Don't worry, we all know our little puff would never."

You slap her hand away, upset at them treating you like a child.

"Well if you guys are only gonna tease me, I'm gonna go back to my own table."

"Y/n, we didn't mean-" Theo starts, but he's still got a smirk on his face, so you ignore him, leaving before he can try and stop you.

You take a seat at your own house table, and the Hufflepuffs around you immediately welcome you into their conversation.

You don't know why it bothered you so much. They were right, you weren't going to be "riding someone's broom" anytime soon, but hearing the way they talked about it— like you were just some silly, innocent baby— really bugged you.

If you were being honest with yourself, you also knew that deep down you've been repressing feelings for Theodore, because you knew enough stories about him to know it would never work. He was a heartthrob, and had no issue finding girls to entertain him at night— to him you were just a little girl. That conversation was just more proof. There's no way he'd be interested in you.

You unintentionally make eye contact with Zacharias Smith when you finally get out of your head, but you immediately look away, turning back to your friends just as Hannah asks about your Christmas plans.

You don't see your Slytherin friends again until Charms class, and Pansy immediately brings up what happened at breakfast.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that. I don't want you to feel bad, that's just how we are."

You give her a tight lipped smile, shrugging your shoulders. You've realized that most of the anger came from the realization that Theo probably saw you as a child, not actually their teasing.

"No biggie, it's forgiven."

She eyes you suspiciously but decides not to question it, instead starting to talk about her next party idea until she gets shushed when Professor Flitwick starts explaining directions.

You use the quiet moment to sneak a look at Theo, who's leaned back in his chair smirking at something Draco said next to him.

Pansy turns to you and you quickly shift your focus, but it appears she's already seen you. She gives you a raised eyebrow, and you play dumb, looking back at the teapot on your desk and trying to give it legs.

"What was that about back there?" Pansy asks as the two of you walk out together.

"I know it took me forever to get those stupid legs," you cringe, hoping to throw her off course.

"No I meant your staring."

You try not to look guilty, just shrugging your shoulders and explaining, "figured the boys might have figured it out faster. Should have known better."

She grins at that, muttering "you really should have." But something tells you she doesn't quite believe your story.

Your thoughts are only confirmed the next day when she invites you over to her dorm and then immediately suggests the two of you take veritaserum to play a game of truth or dare.

You let out a sigh.

"I'm not doing that Pans, just ask me whatever you want to know."

She grins, "you know me so well."

"Unfortunately," you tease, and she slaps your arm but asks her question anyway.

"Do you have a crush on Draco?"

Her face drops into confusion when you start laughing hysterically.

"That's what you thought? Merlin, you had me scared for no reason. No Pans, I absolutely do not have a crush on Draco."

She lets out a small sigh of relief, but you can tell she's a little peeved you laughed at her.

"Well what was I supposed to think? You got all grumpy yesterday when we were teasing you about your love life, and then the staring. It was either that or you're secretly in love with Nott, which, lets be for real."

She leaves it at that, but your cheeks flush pink. Be for real what? Be for real, he'd never want you? Be for real, what universe would the two of you work out? Be for real, he hates you?

The thoughts keep coming one after another, and suddenly your vision is blurred.

"Hey, woah, what's wrong?"

You cursed Pansy for being so observant.

"Nothing, I think my allergies are acting up." You say, but there's sadness in your voice, and there's an inch of snow outside, which isn't exactly pollen friendly.

"Don't lie to me y/n."

"I'm sorry for being so stupid and emotional." You cry, and Pansy rubs your back slowly.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being emotional! You don't see us do it much, but a lot of that's got to do with how we were raised. I wish I felt things as deeply as you do."

Your tears seem to slow, and she smiles.

"Now as for stupid, that depends on where that fit came from."

You look up at her in embarrassment, more hot tears threatening to fill your eyes.

"I... what did you mean?" You ask instead.

"Huh?"

"When you said be for real about me secretly being.." you couldn't bring yourself to say it, as if saying the words would make it true and something you could no longer push away and pretend wasn't there.

Realization dawns on Pansy's face, and she immediately wraps you up in a hug.

"Oh yn, it all makes sense now."

You continue to cry, and she looks at you with what you assume is pity in her eyes.

"I know, I'm such a fool! I know it would never happen, I know half of Hogwarts has a crush on him, I know he'd never want a girl like me." All of the things you'd been keeping to yourself and secretly thinking come spilling out of your mouth, and Pansy rubs your back while you continue to cry.

"Hey don't talk like that! Theo doesn't care about those people, and I know he cares about you. Not to mention, "a girl like you"? You're the exact type of girl that Theo needs. He practically never smiles the way he does when you're around. Just calm down okay?"

You nod through your cries, finally settling down as Pansy throws a magazine at you and the two of you lay across her bed.

Unknowingly, you end up falling asleep, tired from the amount of crying you did. Pansy notices but decides not to wake you, heading down to the common room where the guys would be getting back from quidditch practice soon.

When you wake up the room is dark, and a quick looks around reminds you you're in Pansy's room and not your own. You check the bathroom attached to the dorm, and when no one is in there you head down to the common room, assuming that's where she's gone to.

The whole group is sat on leather couches and armchairs when you make it down the stairs, and you rub the sleep out of your eyes as you approach the group.

"There's our assonnata bella," Theodore purrs, and you immediately flush even though you only understand half of his phrase. (sleeping beauty)

"Sorry for falling asleep." You apologize as you take the seat Pansy offered you, coincidentally landing between her and the reason for your crying.

"Stop apologizing so much," Theo whispers in your ear, and you refuse to look at him in fear of him seeing exactly the effect he has on you. Instead you continue to look at Pansy.

"No biggie, you needed it after that." She says, and you nod.

"After what? What happened?" Draco asked, ever the nosy weasel.

Pansy looked at you, obviously waiting for you to answer so she could go along with whatever you say.

You consider lying, but figure there's no point. They all know you're an emotional person, no one would find it unusual.

"I- uh- cried a little bit. Tired me out."

The boys (that you can see) all nod their heads in understanding and decide to switch topics, finally letting you relax.

However, since you'd turned your back to Theo, that now meant when you leaned back to get comfy you leaned directly into his chest, as he had one arm on the back of the couch behind you.

"Oh I'm so sorry!" You whisper, shooting back up and speaking only to him in an attempt to not draw attention from the others.

"Don't be silly," he says back, pulling your shoulders so you're back in the relaxed position against him, "you're welcome in my arms any day ragazza dolce." (Sweet girl)

You flush red again, but this time you do look up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes.

"You know I have absolutely no idea what you're saying, right?"

He grins, "that's part of the fun."

"Whatever," you turn back away from him to look at the group, your head resting right over his heart, "as long as you're not calling me a troll."

"I promise I'm not." He says, ruffling your hair before the both of you rejoin the main conversation.

"Zacharias Smith was at our practice today," Draco tells Pansy, and she looks at him in surprise.

"Really? Maybe he was looking for yn. She does sometimes keep me company in the stands."

"Oh he definitely was." Blaise smirks, and you feel Theo tense behind you. "Walked right up to Theo and asked where the pretty little one we're always hanging out with was."

"What?" Pansy shrieks, looking over, although you're unsure if the intentional target was you or the boy behind you. Her eyes momentarily widen at seeing your position before she notices something and smirks.

"Theo," she drawls, "I didn't notice those cuts on your knuckles earlier, is that new?"

Everyone turns to look at Theo, and you sit up in alarm, turning to look at his hand that's laying behind your spot on the couch.

"Theo! What happened? Why didn't you go get this checked out?"

He averts his eyes from your gaze. "Just wasn't thinking about it," he shrugs.

You frown. "How could you not be thinking about it, that looks painful!"

He shrugs again, grimacing when you grab his hand, insisting he let you heal it.

"Just let me go get my wand okay? I left it in Pansy's room."

You get up to leave, and with your back turned you don't see Pansy whisper to Theo and then him get up and follow you.

"I'll just come with." He announces, following you back to your friends room.

You try not to think about the intimacy of being alone with Theo while you tend to his wounds, trying once again to shove all your feelings down far in your heart.

Thankfully none of Pansy's roommates had come back, and Theo sits on her bed while you grab your wand from her nightstand before standing in between his spread legs.

"Give me your hand."

He complies, and you try not to blush at the warmth of his, much bigger, hand resting on your own.

"This is nasty Theo, did you punch a wall or something?" You ask, beginning to heal a few of the cuts. Luckily most of them were clean from where he'd washed them when he showered after practice, but they were scabbed over and his knuckles were blue with beginning to form bruises.

He lets out an amused huff of laughter and you stop your ministrations, looking up at him immediately.

"Tell me you didn't actually punch a wall."

He shrugs, "it was either that or Smith, and I know you don't like when I get into fights."

You feel yourself heat up. He didn't hit someone because of your preference, and the person just happened to be the guy who supposedly has a crush on you.

"Well I'm glad you didn't send my housemate to the hospital wing at least, although I wish you wouldn't have hurt yourself," you sigh, continuing to heal his hands.

Out of nowhere he pulls it away.

"Theo?"

"Look, I-" he cards a hand through his hair, contemplating his next words. "I didn't like it that Smith came looking for you. Especially that he asked me."

You look at him in confusion, "what? Why?"

He looks distraught, but he can't help the crooked smile that etches itself on his face.

"You're damn oblivious, you know that?"

You continue to look at him, no thoughts behind your eyes.

"Uh, I mean I guess? I've been told that a few times, though I'm not sure how it's pertinent to this situation."

Suddenly Theo's hands are on your cheeks, and his face is inches from your own.

"What- what are you doing?"

"I want to kiss you." He states plainly, as if it's the most normal thing in the world— as if the five words didn't have you spiraling out of control.

"Wait- do you want to kiss me because you think I'm like pretty or do you want to kiss me because you like me?"

You'd never even thought he would consider you pretty, but at his words you had to rethink a lot of things you thought you knew.

"I like you, amorina." (Little love)

"Really?" You know you should be celebrating, but you can't help the doubt that creeps into your mind. "You don't think I'm a silly, innocent, little Hufflepuff?"

He grins, "you can be my silly little Hufflepuff. And no I don't care that you're not jumping at the opportunity to go broom hopping."

You can't help but laugh a his phrasing, but you're glad he knew what you meant.

"I like you, amorina, I don't care about anything else, as long as I get you."

You smile, and Theo swears he could die happy if it's the last thing he sees.

"Well in that case, I want you to kiss me too."

He can barely hold back his own smile as he places his lips on yours, cradling your jaw with one hand while the other holds your hip.

He kissed you gently, not at all like what you'd expected, but you feel his adoration flowing out of it, and you can't help but break it to let out a giggle.

"And to think I was crying over you a few hours ago."

He grins, standing up and grabbing your hand to walk back down to the common room together, where your friends were waiting for you to go to dinner.

"No more crying over me okay?"

You nod your head, and he pulls you in for one more kiss before you rejoin the rest of your friends.

#theodore nott #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott oneshot #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fluff #slytherin boys #theodore nott angst #slytherin x hufflepuff #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n

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slytherinslut0 · 5 months

Text

enemies w/ tension. | slytherin boy headcanons

author's note: feralism inside. readers be advised. eighteen plus.

- your enemies reaction to you bending over in front of them.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, as your enemy, was an absolute arsehat.

He’d purposely go out of his way to make your life a living hell whenever he bloody could.

The teasing and pranking was relentless; from accidentally spilling a particular shimmering potion on your white uniform blouse, rendering it perfectly see-through and exposing your bra to everyone in potions class, to pulling out your seat when you weren’t looking; he’d done it all.

He was an absolute menace, but you also knew there was something more to it than that, something possessive, something obsessive.

And you thought this for a multitude of reasons, but the main one being that he admitted he was into you while drunk at a common room party. which of course he denied the next day, and every other day since, choosing instead to be as annoying as ever.

but on this particular late evening, assigned as partners for a class project, you found yourselves alone together; the tension high and the banter relentless.

“Draco, please stop acting like a bloody child for five seconds.”

He’d roll his eyes, fighting a smirk. “Pleading for mercy are you? How adorable.”

You’d huff, staring at him with your arms crossed out of frustration as he held your quill above his head, just out of your reach.

“No, I’m pleading for you to stop being so goddamn insufferable. Give me my quill.” You’d hiss, entirely irritated.

Of course he’d just laugh, wetting his lips as he analyzed your frustration, revelling in the fact he’s so clearly gotten you going.

“Here.” He’d sneer, all before tossing it half-way across the room. “Go fetch.”

by this point, your blood was boiling, but you wouldn’t miss the glint in his eyes, the one that told you he was enjoying this a little more than he should be.

With a frustrated sigh, you pivoted sharply, seizing the perfect opportunity. As you closed in on your quill, a deliberate hair flip cascaded over your shoulder. Slow and sensuous, you bent at the hips, hands trailing down your sides, tracing the subtle sway of your body reaching for the quill. Picking it up achingly slow, on the ascent, you locked eyes with Draco over your shoulder, a sly smirk playing on your lips.

Draco’s typically poised demeanor faltered as he watched, an involuntary pause freezing his features. His steely gaze, usually cloaked in arrogance, softened into a momentary bewilderment.

The realization hit him like a revelation, and before you could even process it, he was up and out of his seat, one hand gripping the back of your head as he loomed over you.

“What the fuck was that?” His voice was torn, shredded. “Quite the fucking tease, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You blinked, grinning. “I simply picked up my quill.”

His grip on the back of your head tightened, his pupils blown wide with lust. All his restraint was gone.

“You’re a fucking filthy little thing “ he leaned in closer, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. “Do that again and I’ll fuck you right here, right over this desk.”

Blaise Zabini.

Blaise fucking Zabini. Your enemy? You guessed you could call him that.

Mainly because all the guy ever did was sabotage your bloody love life. Every single damn chance he got.

And not even in a traditional asshole type of way, like by scaring dudes off or threatening their livelihoods--oh, no.

he scared them off by just being himself.

You’d known Blaise since first year, being that the two of you are from the same house and share the same friend group,

but, all the two of you have ever done, since day bloody one, was banter and bicker like a pair of fucking first years.

But as you matured, that friendly banter slowly transitioned into something more, something that neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.

Something that you knew was about to boil over, at any given moment. and perhaps, that moment was today.

you sighed in frustration, watching as the guy you’d been talking to all night began to make his way through the crowd, finally taking the hint and excusing himself after Blaise had just ever-so-kindly invited himself into your conversation.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” You took a sip of your drink, glancing at a smirking Zabini through narrowed lids. “Do you not want me to find love? Do you truly hate me that much?”

“I did you a favour, trust me,” he’d quip, flashing those perfect pearly teeth at you. “Dude would have bored you death.”

“The great Zabini, doing me a favour?” Your eyes widened, and you’d stifle an amused scoff. “Sure you’re feeling okay?”

As Blaise was poised to respond, you fumbled with your wand, inadvertently dropping it onto the wooden floor of the common room. Acting on instinct, you bent down to retrieve it, sensing Blaise's eyes lingering on your backside for an unnecessarily long moment as you slowly straightened up.

And when you finally looked over, you watched as he brought a hand up to his mouth, attempting to hide his grin as he shot you a knowing, wide-eyed glance, his body tensed as though he was fighting to restrain himself.

but after only a few seconds, he’d step closer, his hand grazing your arm as he leaned in.

“Excuse me miss, but I think you’ve made me drop something,” he’d pause, watching your eyes as you met his.

“I’m sorry?” You snorted. “what are you-“

he’d pull you closer, bringing his mouth toward your ear. “you made me drop my fucking jaw…”

you’d blink, caught off guard. “Blaise-“

“That ass is fucking perfect,” he murmured, wetting his lips. “cant hide it anymore, princess…i want you bad.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

“Enzo-earth to bloody Enzo,” you emitted an audible groan, sinking back down into the chair beside him.. “can you please at least fucking attempt to help me?”

Enzo was uninterested in your pleas, truthfully, he was uninterested in anything you had to say. Paying no heed, he sat slouched, head nestled in his arms on the desk, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

you sighed. this was going to be a long damn class.

“Enzo, please? you can sleep after class-“

He grumbled softly under his breath, neglecting to raise his head from the desk. However, he pivoted it towards you, his bleary brown eyes meeting yours.

“can you knock it off?” his voice was a shredded rasp. it was clear he was exhausted. “don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?”

You scoffed, irritation evident on your face. This was the typical Enzo conversational experience--a constant exchange of snark and jabs. It baffled you how a man so fucking attractive could also be so damn daft at times.

“i don’t, actually,” you huffed, trying to keep your composure. “but i certainly get tired of your ignorant attitude.”

that managed to get at least a chuckle out of him, even if it was a half-assed one.

“spicy today, i see.” his lids fluttered back closed as he muttered, “bite me, darling.”

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you teased, your voice taking on an arrogant tone. “masochist.”

Enzo emitted a snort, a hearty chuckle escaping from his chest in response to your suggestive jab. Progress was evident, and you sensed the need to elevate things to the next level if you intended to secure his assistance.

Making sure his eyes remained closed, you slyly nudged your quill, sending it tumbling off the table and onto the floor. A mischievous smirk played on your lips as it hit the ground, and Enzo's eyes snapped open, fixing on you.

Maintaining the intense eye contact, you slowly leaned over in the chair, letting the seductive sway of your movements accompany your reach for the fallen quill.

you could feel Enzo's gaze following your every movement as you retrieved the quill with a lingering touch--all while a subtle, suggestive smile danced on your lips.

the second you straightened out, Enzo sat up straight, clearing his throat, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he fought to collect himself.

“what’s the matter, Enz?” you quipped, unable to control yourself. “thought you were tired?”

“don’t play with me, angel.” he muttered, leaning closer. “please, Merlin, don’t fucking play with me.”

you’d snicker. “help me with this assignment and i’ll let you touch it.”

“deal.”

Mattheo Riddle.

you and Mattheo were enemies for one reason, and one reason only--his suffocating arrogance.

perhaps you were the only girl in the school who called him out on his bullshit, perhaps you were the only girl in the school who didn’t fall flat at his feet anytime he simply breathed.

and Mattheo, well, he wasn’t used to this type of treatment. and he certainly wasn’t keen on the fact he couldn’t get you in his bed with a mere second long glance.

of course, you were fully conscious of the fact he was hot as fuck, but your self-respect and dignity outweighed your sexual desires, which in turn, created fiery spats every-time the two of you were near each other.

And so, here you were, paired with him for a research assignment; the two of you alone in the library on a Sunday night, while he was totally hungover. And as insufferable as ever.

“Mattheo, give my fucking textbook back.”

He’d groan, rolling his eyes as he tucked the book under his arm, hugging it to his chest while seated sluggishly.

“Come and get it back, then.” He’d utter, smirking. “I promise I don’t bite…hard.”

You fought back a scoff. “You won’t be able to bite at all if you don’t cut it the fuck out…it’s almost ten o’clock we need to start this.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, again, his tongue piercing the inside of his cheek as he pulled the book out from under his arm, and stood up, moving over to the bookshelf behind your chair.

With suffocating snark, he knelt down, shoving the book onto one of the shelves lowest to the ground, all before turning back around and smirking at you, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging casually as he cocked an eyebrow.

“You told me to give it back.” The arrogance in his tone was nauseating. “You didn’t specify where.”

“First of all, that’s the wrong shelf,” you’d mutter, watching his eyes follow you as you pushed up from the chair, veering closer. “And second of all, you’re not funny.”

Mattheo poised for a sharp retort, ready to counter with his usual biting wit. However, his words stumbled into silence as he observed you drawing near.

With a swift, almost calculated movement, you bent at the hips to retrieve your book beside him. The fabric of your skirt dared to venture higher up your thighs than convention allowed, leaving Mattheo momentarily entranced and rendering his intended response obsolete.

But the second you straightened out, meeting his eyes, lips teasing a knowing smirk, he was on you.

Your back slammed against the shelf as he grappled your hips, shoving you back. he towered over you, his lips pressed directly against your ear as he growled;

“You shouldn’t be bending over like that in front of me,” his voice was torn, shredded, and he finished the sentence off with a sharp “ever.”

your heart was hammering. “Why not, Matty? Didn’t enjoy the show?”

“You have no idea what that ass of yours does to me,” he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Every fucking day I imagine railing it--I imagine fucking the attitude right out of you…you should know better than to tempt me.”

Theodore Nott.

“Look at that,” Theodore quipped, his snarky grin practically evident in his tone of voice. “top of the class again. how does that L feel, huh?”

you grumbled, rolling your eyes so far into the back of your skull that you were seeing white.

“don’t get cocky, Nott.” you nearly snarled, the frustration seeping from your lips like breath. “it’s not a good look on you,”

theodore merely chuckled, knowing that was a complete fucking lie.

cockiness was an infuriatingly good look on him, and that was solely due to the fact that the objects of his arrogance were damn impressive achievements that could make anyone green with envy.

the man was unfathomably smart for an arrogant jock whose life was dedicated to being the best quidditch player to ever exist.

clucking his tongue, he’d shoot you a knowing glance. “you sound jealous, bella. what’s your grade?”

as he tried to lean over to glimpse your mark, you pulled your paper away from him, scowling. “how about mind your own business, hm?”

he’d chuckle. “never been known for that, have i?”

Before you could formulate a response, Theodore snatched the paper from your hands, leaning away to sneak a glance at your mark. Your groan of irritation resonated, signaling your exasperation with his antics.

Annoyed, you reached over to grab your paper back, your low-cut blouse exposing more of your chest than you’d intended.

As soon as Theodore’s eyes fixed on your chest, noting your breasts practically spilling out of your shirt, he paused; his fingers involuntarily releasing the paper without further fight, his lips parting and eyes darkening.

“merlin,” he’d breathe, his voice torn. “you trying to give a lad a fucking heart attack, wearing a shirt like that?”

your cheeks grew warm, his eyes not once breaking from your chest as you straightened back out in your chair, adjusting yourself.

“it’s rude to stare, Nott.” you’d say, fighting a grin. “didn’t your mommy ever teach you that?”

Theodore let out a low groan, edging his body closer to yours. His lips dangerously neared your ear, and he couldn't resist sneakily glancing down your shirt, unable to control his wandering gaze.

“it’s rude to tease, Bella,” he’d purr, his voice a dark murmur. “and truth be told, i can’t quite help myself…”

you huffed, unable to stifle your smirk. “sounds like you need a refresher in manners.”

“Oh, principessa,” he’d retort, his voice laced with need. “you can refresh me in anything you want as long as i can see more of those perfect tits of yours.”

Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle was an absolute brilliant genius;

a good man. a private, by-the book type of student.

and if you were being completely honest with yourself, this was precisely why the two of you didn’t quite get along.

it seemed as though Tom had it out for you, as though he had some sort of personal vendetta to make your life a living hell.

At every opportunity, he wielded his prefect powers to land you in trouble for something. Perhaps, in all fairness, you should have known better than to sneak into the restricted section of the library or prowl around the castle late at night,

but, gods. couldn’t he just cut you some bloody slack for once?

Admittedly, you were afraid to cross Tom. You weren't eager to be on his bad side, but at the same time, you weren't prepared to entirely abandon breaking the rules and having fun just because you were aware he could catch you.

so instead, you learned his schedule, where he’d be and at what times, knowing how to effectively avoid him.

the man was a cunning genius, you knew he could effectively destroy you if he so pleased.

but, on this particular night, he was set to be patrolling the dungeons for at least another two hours, giving you plenty of time to sneak into the library and do a little research.

and everything was going extremely well, hidden in the restricted section, blanketed by the nights encompassing darkness, when you noticed your shoelace was untied.

Bending down to address the matter, a peculiar sensation tingled through your senses as you completed the task. A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at an approaching presence, and just as you straightened up, the hushed cadence of footsteps drew closer.

Before you could pivot to face the intruder, their looming silhouette materialized behind you.

A towering figure, their breath, warm and palpable, brushed over your ear as they leaned in, setting your nerves on edge.

“you shouldn’t be bending over like that in public,” the voice was a deep, dark rasp in your ear, the arrogance in the tone unmistakable. “some people might think you’re a little slut.”

heat rushed you, your thighs clenched. “and what if i want some people to think that?”

immediately understanding your suggestive remark, Tom wasted no time before grappling your hips and spinning you around to face him, one hand slithering around your lower back and grasping a palmful of your ass.

“filthy whore,” he’d growl, his voice shredded now, barely restrained. “breaking the rules and showing off that perfect ass for anyone to see…calls for punishment i’d say.”

his teeth found your neck and you whimpered, clutching onto him. “i’m-“

Tom pulled back, meeting your eyes. “bend over the desk, now.”

#sorry #i got extremely carried away #18+ au.

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anantaru · 5 months

Text

GENSHIN + HOW LONG THEY LAST DURING NNN

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — how long they last during no nut november

— ꒰ including ꒱ — childe, heizou, wriothesley, scaramouche, alhaitham, neuvillette

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), petnames: baby, princess, darling, good girl, doggy style/prone bone, hitting it raw, pussy drunk genshin men & touch starved, very filthy & loads of cum, mean boys and teasing you a lil

SHORTEST

— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱ + one hour

in the early stages of your plan, meaning when you first proposed the brilliant idea to childe to try out this little challenge and see how long you'd be able to make it work without being all over each other, you were confident that the two of you would at least make it till the two weeks mark— and much to your delightful surprise, the eleventh harbinger turned out to be quite motivated to prove not only you, but prove to himself that he can get through it.

fundamentally speaking and going from childe's point of view, crossing dangerous paths with a resilient fighter on a blood-thirsty battle field surely must be the same thing as resisting his darling princess day in and out— resist the urge to pin you against the mattress and fuck the living hell out of your body.

well, before moving forward to what had happened to be the worst hour of childe's entire life, so only a pure and simple hour into this, he catches the first glimpse of you in a dress as you walk towards the desk in your room, staring all dazedly over the bewitching garment that was framing your pretty figure just the right way and hugged you tight on just the best places.

alas, that's all it took your boyfriend to forget what no nut november was all about in the first place.

"ugh, you know what?" before you can even properly register it, childe had risen up from his seat to move closer to you, and under what felt like a split second, you could already smell his maddening fragrance, namely a costly perfume purchased from fontaine, crossing over your flaring nostrils as he greets you with a handsome, smirking face— so much more handsome than you have seen him before, it's like he really tried his best to get his way now.

the thought of the challenge died with the rasp of a groan scraping alongside your lips as he presses you between the furniture and his strong chest, initiatively making you sit on the wooden desk.

"you're fucking making me lose my mind, you know that?"

he hides the rich blush on his cheeks as he slants into your neck, the hint of teeth in the open-mouthed kisses on the thin skin turning you into a mere tremble, pouty lips breaching due to a faint mewl slithering past your tongue as you notice how one large palm slowly cups your clothed sex and rubs small circles on your little bolts of nerves.

you sigh deeply through your mouth before following the fragile breathes by a slow roll of your hips meeting his moving hand all scattered across your sensitivity, "we— we're about to lose the challenge, ajax," you whine out and try to reason, even though all you wanted was for him to just continue— the way you said it to him as well, sounding like you're trying to keep yourself from making it go any further yet at the same time, wrapping one arm around childe's neck to keep him secured against your quivering body at all costs.

"hm? what challenge?" the man feigns a sweet innocence with a smirk as you roll your eyes at him, "you're unbelievable," and shake your head with a smile as you let yourself lean into his blistering touch, the vibrations of his flaming trace on your cunt thrumming right into your complete bloodstream.

"well, yes," ajax whispers against the wet flesh of your neck— gratefully gathering your clothed pussy on his finger pads to play with your fluttering hole, eliciting a harsh sob of arousal from you.

"unbelievably sexy, you mean."

before he quickly pushes two fingers into the waistband of your panties to reach into your wet sex— exploding his hot digits over your wetness with a sudden snap of his fingers into your hole, a deep, guttural groan that nearly sent you into a daze buzzing into your ears.

fuck, you were just so adorable, so utterly alluring when you attempted to do the 'right' thing, miserably pushing through the challenge as good as you were able to, while also giving childe those dreamy and sweet doe-eyed glances through under your lashes when he freely roams his fingers through your slicked pussy, groaning into your neck when your hole spread so pretty for him, practically waiting to be taken.

— ꒰ HEIZOU ꒱ + three days

it's almost infuriating with the way heizou was teasing you all calculated and especially throughout the complete next three days into the challenge you had proposed to him— without even giving you one try to catch your breath from him, how he deliberately made sure to always give you his bright, unnecessary insight on all the lewd fantasies he'd absolutely love to do right now.

although of course, sadly he couldn't!

until now at least, you see, your boyfriend heizou was a hypnotic, not to mention clever individual, and he made sure to tease you just enough, just right to have you practically twitching and pressing your thighs together as you're attempting to fall asleep next to him— his hot crotch brushing over the expanse of your ass when he pseudo-innocently leans into your neck, slowly sliding the tip of his tongue to tease the shell of your ear and listen to your quickened pulse.

"hmm, what's wrong?" heizou dares to ask you, and it's shameless when he idly hooks one hand around your hips to pull you deeper into his semi hardened erection, a breathless laugh falling from his pretty lips as he pretends like he didn't know that it was because of him and only him that you're in such sensitive state, unable to recollect yourself, catching how your ass was grinding back to place little, desperately movements on him— pressing into him much deeper and precise, your neglected and puffy folds sliding to the shape of his clothed cock now visible through his boxers as you messily soil the fabric, leaving behind a film of sheen whites.

heizou drawls at you, teasingly rocking into your heat which was fluttering around nothing at all, but wishing to just feel him instead— a constant longing to have his thick shaft roam freely through your walls and mark you through within with his warm cum oozing down your used hole.

"oh baby, my baby," he slurrs into your ear, "you're so wet, i thought you were a good girl, you know?" he continues in accessory to ruthlessly dragging the length of his dick across your weeping cunt sensually, the sudden twitch of your figure and a desperate mewl making him hiss out his hot breathing through clenched teeth.

"what do you want, princess? you gonna say it or not?"

FAILED HALF-WAY THROUGH

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱ + one week

"wriothesley—ahh, please.." you babble out as wriothesley forces one of your thighs up to bend and rest against his shoulder, while now, opening you wider with a nudge at your other leg— the delicate scent of you was certainly much more penetrating now, and he easily rolls his tongue between your folds to collect your messy slick, dangerously tempted to just press his face off your cunt so he could fuck you like he means it, like he wanted to this entire week.

a deep moan slips past his lips as he frames his hot mouth over your aching clit, the deep vibrations of his noises nowhere near as powerful to him as they were to you as they continuously bounce off and course through your bloodstream.

you're practically riding his face and it's something wriothesley always needs you to do— until his rosy cheeks were stained in your warm arousal and his chin dripping of it, revealing desire curling in your lower stomach when he fucks his sloppy muscle into your hole and parts it effortlessly, forcing you memorize just how impossibly fine it felt to be pleasured by him, focused on the overstimulation he'd thrust into you.

"never doing this a-again," he groans, "fuckin' never,"

his dark hair falls over his eyes as he pushes his tongue back and forth your pussy— being so filthy to you and a hot mess when he collects your dribbling slick on the flat of his tongue before parting his mouth, letting it ooze down his bottom lip while he glances up through a hungry gaze, a mix of his spit and your arousal drooling onto your swollen clit before he digs his face back into you again.

your hole moulds after the shape of his pink muscle as the deepened coil in your stomach begins to tighten each time wriothesley would shake his head from left to right, suckling away your last hard spasms— your vision thoroughly blurred now, your thighs beginning to ache from the position wriothesley had you bend in as he places his hands on your ass to greedily squeeze and press you into his face.

he's so pussy drunk now— the soft tip of his tongue is kissing every part of your silken walls and you feel it become faster, parting your clenching hole to coax out every single orgasm you could give him.

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱ + two weeks

as one might know, your boyfriend scaramouche had a habit of overestimating his strength in quite a few scenarios— and even after two weeks of consistently dodging every little possibility to touch and kiss that lovely body of yours, he thinks its cute how eager you were to make him fail.

on top of that, kuni was always pushing his own pleasure aside, meaning, before he would allow himself to cum, he'd have to make you climax at least two times— apart from that, what made him ultimately fail the challenge you placed on him was when you started to drown him in sudden praises, randomly add petnames to each sentence, forming them so slurred and sensual, whispering them against his ear shells before he couldn't take it anymore.

"f-fuck, that's what you wanted, huh?" scaramouche desperately tries to keep himself together, but how was he able to do this after two weeks of resisting you, his words now subdued in a whimper and his hips stuttering into your hole when your walls finally wrap around him again.

it was intoxicating to feel your body change whenever he fucked you, it's like someone really wanted him and it strengthened his ego— when he senses how your muscles were beginning to relax at the precise candid squelches of your warm pussy slobbering around his sensitive cock, your mouth parted as you rasp into his ear, dropping your head into his neck before kissing and nibbling down to his collarbone.

despite that, you were honestly surprised that you were able to resist your boyfriend in the first place— that realization coming to you now that he's back at pleasuring you, his hands squeezing at your tits before he thrusts into your plushy cunt, his rigid length throbbing inside of your sensitivity until your sensitivity was weeping, squeezing and oozing out slick as his hands clung bruisingly to your hips to move you on his shaft.

the voice in your ear was deep, rough with lust, "take it— that my fucking cock, fuck,"

scaramouche groans and was on the brink of crumbling into one million pieces, his eyes fluttering close as you moan shamelessly into his neck with his entire weight pressed into your chest. relentlessly fucking his twitching shaft into you until he's sure you're seeing stars, until scaramouche knows you're becoming addicted of his cock again and on how nice and good it felt whenever he split you pretty and open, another greedy rock of his hips making you tremble, but you're squeezing finer still— because he was simply irresistible.

LONGEST

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱ + the entire month

“fuck love, fucking finally," alhaitham groans, for once, in a tone bathed in gravel and so shameless that it made you squeeze your hole around him as he fucks you hard, your face pressed into the soused pillows and your ass perked up high with the help of two strong palms keeping you up.

his hips repeatedly slam against yours in an animalistic pace, a feral perception that forced its way through your hole that it certainly knocked the hot air off your lungs— and aside from that, he's so impossibly thick and heavy in you that it's almost a little too difficult to keep him in, especially after going without sex for an entire month and taking him raw tonight.

to note, alhaitham was quite fond of foreplay and wouldn't just make you take him without preparation, but the two of you had been impossibly touch starved— and even after he tried to reason and tell you that, "you know it will hurt if i don't prep you," you urged him to just slide himself in, just tonight, and you cannot wait until you're burning from the thick cock stretching your pussy.

in truth, you're pretty much certain you won't even last this single round and from what you can tell from mannerism alone, you aren't even sure if alhaitham was able to get through this one either.

the grip on your hips was almost bruising, and your ass repeatedly bounces back and forth his cock as he rewards your pussy with the heavy spread of his dick coaxing out multiple squeezes from your hole— and alhaitham's hips stutter ever so often, even with all the filthy arousal dribbling down from your hole to all the way his base, the grip you continuously had on him making his mind grow in a haze, warmed by your body nestled underneath his bigger one.

"gonna cum— gonna make me cum," you whine into the pillows and without further warning, alhaitham leans his entire weight forward so you could swallow him as deeply as you could, your velvety pussy sucking mercilessly hard as he groans into your neck, your whines so deliciously loud from the new position— that not only made you tighter, but much more difficult to resist that his mind spins and clouds before him, repeatedly sinking his erection into the needy twist of your cunt, his thickly coated dick stretching you from behind.

fuck, this whole situation was so raw, so unrestrained, it drove you on, made you needier, made you redouble the efforts to take him deeper and better until he brushes over all the sweet spots in your cunt— and you hope for alhaitham to try and please you like that, to work his cock faster because he simply had to, especially after taking this challenge so fucking serious, knowingly teasing you about it and making you live without his perfectly shaped cock for over a month.

— ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱ + the entire month

no one, and i mean no one could ever make neuvillette go against an agreed upon rule— speaking of which, you proposed the idea to him and wanted to try it out, and as a response, the index agreed.

of course he agreed, neuvillette would agree to anything you'd ask him to do, yet for some reason you really believed he would go against something he promised you not to do— and to say it drove you absolutely crazy would be an understatement, the sudden missing of the way his calloused hands would worship your body and curves, placing wet kisses on your skin before spilling sweet nothing into your ears.

it's unfair on how easy he was able to do it while you were weeping and burning from inside and out— up until now, until one month passes.

you rock your hips into him when he presses you down with his hands squeezing the bouncy flesh of your ass, his cock digging deep inside of you with each fresh thrust of your cunt languidly rolling across his entire shaft. neuvillette watches you from underneath through precious eyes, and your breathing begins to stutter when you slant your body forward so your perked up nipples would brush over his chiseled chest.

"w-why did you go on for a month?" you ask out of breath, as well as shakily but curious, feeling his hands squeeze your ass before he rolls you over his length himself, your foreheads resting against each other, your puffy nipples rubbing across his chest and making you mindless in your ministrations with your lips parted and a sheen string of spit oozing along your chin.

"y—you, you wanted it," he drawls back and looks a little confused, "you— ugh, say something and i will fulfill your wish," neuvillette adds earnestly— and he's right, he always will be and that's when you’ve realized that he must be so fucking touch starved right now, it being utterly obvious when his back arches off the mattress to repeatedly rut his hips into your heat, your tits hurdling up and down and going hand in hand with every intoxicating slap of his hips into your neglected cunt, driving himself further.

his words were muffled against your pouted lips as he helps you bounce of his cock— the wet squelches of smack smack smack echoing through the humid room and adding fuel to the fire burning through your passionate desire.

neuvillette's hands greedily squeeze at the plush flesh— fuck, he missed kneading your ass and worshipping your behind just how you deserved it, grunting when you wiggle your hips to engulf him and relieve him of the desperation that built up throughout the entire month, his leaking cockhead grazing inside of your pulsing splotches, making his pace stutter and twist desirably.

"you're breathtaking— i missed this," he grunts at you, a little whispery this time that ended in a crumbling tremble when your walls hug him tight, the movements of your bodies sloppy and without any form of control anymore, the erratic pace having your frame jiggle back and forth his figure as he spreads you apart with the next thrust of his heavy cock,

"missed doing this, so much,"

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flseur · 6 months

Text

꒰ 𐙚 keeping warm — genshin men ꒱

⟡ synopsis : as the days get shorter and the weather gets colder, your boyfriend has other ideas on how to keep warm.

⟡ characters : diluc, wriothesley, childe ( he's referred to as ajax in the fic )

⟡ content warning : nsfw ( 18+ ), fem!reader, soft sex, riding, praising, size kink, squirting, creampie, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, gagging, edging

౨ৎ note : winter time shenanigans with genshin men ૮ • ﻌ - ა ‘tis the season !

୨୧ DILUC

❥₊ ⊹ after a late meeting with the knights of favonius in the dead of winter, you had unfortunately been caught in one of mondstadt's worst snow storms to date. the wind was blowing harshly and it burned your cheeks. when you had reached dawn wineary, diluc was already anxiously waiting near the front doors with thick blankets, clearly worried about you.

you were shivering, a lot, and diluc feared that the blankets may not do enough for you. so he led you by hand to the washroom to take a warm bath and sitting right behind you in the porcelin tub, pushing stray hairs away from your bare back to wash it. eventually when the two of you got out of the bathtub, you went to diluc's bedroom, hoping that skin to skin contact will warm you up once again.

it started off as innocent cuddling surrounded by blankets, with diluc being the bigger spoon but feathering touches turned into wanderering hands which turned into diluc's large hands leading your hips up and down his thick cock.

"ah... that's it baby..." he moans into your neck, moving one of his hands to your lower back, pushing you closer into him.

he was warm, whether it be from his body conserving heat better than yours or his pyro vision resting on the bedside table to the right of you, you don't know what it is but the warmth felt good.

you continue to ride him, your pussy milking his cock for all it's worth while your clit is rubbing against his abdomen deliciously. soon, a layer of sweat formed on both of you bodies.

"mphm! diluc..." you whine softly, pulling away to look at his face and his crimson eyes are filled with lust but also love, so much love.

"yeah? what is it, love?" he asks, his hands coming up to gently hold your face between them and his fingers brushing some hair away from your eyes. "is something wrong?"

"kiss me, please." you beg.

and he obliges, pressing a sweet kiss on your soft lips then moaning in your mouth when you resume riding him. "fuck, love you so much."

"l-love you too, diluc. s'much. love you so much!" you cry out as diluc lifts you up and starts pistoning his cock erratically in your oozing cunt. your back reacts to the overwhelming amount of pleasure by arching, causing your chest to press against his.

diluc's grip on your waist grew tighter as he neared his orgasm, now all he needed was to feel you cum on his cock. "so good, sweetheart... love your pussy... love you..." he mumbles, pressing open mouth kisses to your collarbone. then his cock hit that spongy spot deep inside you and caused you to spiral into your once impending orgasm.

you sobbed as you came, grabbing a hold of diluc's hair as you shook from the sheer amount of pleasure he gave you. from feeling your body shake and your cunt contract around him, diluc's orgasm reached it’s peak and you felt his cock twitch inside of you before his seed flooded your womb.

୨୧ WRIOTHESLEY

❥₊ ⊹ once winter hits in fontaine, there tends to be less to do in the fortress of meropide. there's no work to do, no herbs to gather for sigewinne because all the plants on the surface are dead for the season, and the production of parts for mekas has slowed down immensely. the sanctum becomes dull, boring, and cold. extremely cold. which is why you're thankful for the fireplace that wriothesley had installed in his office.

the warmth from the burning wood accompanied by the warmth, and pleasure, your boyfriend was providing you was perfect.

"doing so good for me, princess..." he groans, he has you on your back on the blue chesterfield placed in front of the fireplace, legs resting around his wide waist while he splits you open with his thick cock.

"hng... w-wrio, shit!" you moan, wriothesley's pace was unrelenting. he didn't care if anyone heard how loud you were being, the messy sounds of him fucking you amazingly was already reverberating throughout the room.

wriothesley had a strong grip on you, fingertips digging almost painfully into your hips. you felt fucking incredible, your sloppy little cunt was practically dragging him deeper and begging for him to cum inside. to fill you completely, to mark you as his.

each thrust into your pussy was calculated, precise, and accentuated, making the mix of your arousal and wriothelsey's precum ooze out from inside of you. he could tell that you were going to cum soon, you were moaning louder, your fingers were leaving red, hot, angry lines in their wake on the lateral muscles of his back, and you were clamping down impossibly tighter on his cock.

"y'gonna cum soon, baby? good fucking girl. cum all over my dick. make a mess." he coos, pulling his cock almost completely out, leaving only his tip in before ramming it back inside of you.

"mhm! gonna cum! wrio, oh m'god!" you hiccup, then moan louder as he brings one of your legs to rest on his broad shoulders with one hand while the other reaches down and toys with your clit.

the knot in your stomach finally snaps and you cry out as you cum hard, and everywhere. your arousal covered wriothesley's cock and lower abdomen, nearly soaking him completely. tears begin to flood your eyes at the intensity of your orgasm and wriothesley continuing to fuck you, "please, please cum inside." you babble.

"oh, fuuuck." wriothesley moans, fucking into you at a quicker pace to reach his orgasm. then when he cums, warmth spreads across your stomach and you feel him covers your walls in white.

when wriothesley pulls out of your messy pussy, a string of yours and his arousal is connected to his cock. "i really made a mess of you, huh?" he chuckles.

"shut up!" you laugh, sitting up and throwing a pillow at him.

୨୧ CHILDE

❥₊ ⊹ while it's well known about the rigid extremities of winters in snezhaya, and not being from there, they felt particularly more... harsh, on you because you're not used to them.

so when childe asked you to come with him to visit his family for the holidays, you thought you were prepared by packing and wearing extra layers but you were proved very, very wrong. and because your boyfriend is ever so caring, he realized how much you were struggling to conserve heat and brought up another idea on how to keep you warm.

"a-ajax... we shouldn't, your family is in the other room." you weakly protest, clearly not completely against his idea because when he pulls down your panties, almost pathetically a string of arousal is connected to them.

"yeah?" he chuckles, "your pussy says otherwise, babe."

"don't say things like that!" you whisper-yell.

"mhm... whatever you want..." childe mumbles, too enamored by your glistening cunt. "i'm putting it, okay?"

"'kay..." you say, your hands tightly grab at the counter in the washroom when you feel how his thick cock sinks into you. "o-oh..."

"shiiit... you sure you didn't want to do this?" he teases before bottoming out completely.

"hng!" you begin to moan out before childe puts two fingers in your mouth.

"i know baby, i know... but you gotta stay quiet..." he lightly scold, still thrusting his cock in and out of your sopping pussy. "so fucking pretty. prettiest girl in the world. so lucky you're all mine." childe watches the way the your ass recoils at each snap of his hips like he's in a trance, truly you were a sight to see.

he was reaching so deep inside of you and you wish you could scream it to the high heavens. your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the stimulation, you could feel your slick and his cum make a mess between your thighs and you didn't know how much longer your legs could hold you up.

as if he could read your mind, childe pulls out abruptly and you whine at the loss of contact before he manhandles you into turning around and picking you up to have half of your ass on the edge of the counter.

"wrap your legs around my waist..." he whispers in your ear and you do so. childe thrust the entire length of his cock back into your cunt and your arms fling around his neck, grabbing at the short hairs of his head.

"o-oh my god... ajax!" you sob, trying to grab onto anything or everything to keep you anchored onto him. his pace was erratic and you swore at the angle he was fucking you at, you could feel him in your stomach.

"so. fucking. tight." childe growls in your ear. even though the two of you were trying to be quiet, the sounds of skin on skin was filling the room with your silent moans. and the tie in your stomach was about to snap, you were about to cum, hard.

"fuck, fuck, fuck... 'm cumming, a-ajax! oh my go—-" and then he stopped.

"what? why did you do that?" you begin to question until childe put his finger to his mouth and hushing, then thats when you heard it.

knock! knock! knock!

"ajax, sweetie? is y/n alright in there?" you hear childe's mom on the other side of the door.

"yeah, mom!" he yells back. "she's just a little cold!"

#𐙚 works #genshin impact #diluc x reader #wriothesley x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #diluc x you #wriothesley x you #tartaglia x you #childe x you #diluc smut #wriothesley smut #tartaglia smut #childe smut #genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.

König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.

Evolve, or die.

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.”

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.

The Lieutenant is one of them.

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.

Your finger slams into the trigger.

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König.

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.

Anyone but you, that is.

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”

He freezes, muscles going taunt.

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.

König kneeled to you and bared himself.

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.

You find none.

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.

For you to come back to him. His partner.

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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