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guyfieriii · 1 year

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Get Us Strung

We're back to our regularly scheduled programming with another angst-y piece. Inspired by the song Dirty Love by Mt. Joy comes the tale of John Price and his best friend. My apologies if it seems a bit disconnected, it was originally much larger but I decided to scrap a lot of it (See? I can be nice sometimes.), but I tried my best. Also, this was edited on pure audaciousness, a bottle of wine, and a pitcher of margaritas. Do with that what you will.

Lastly, the biggest thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck for once again tolerating me bombarding her with snippets galore and supporting me as she always does.

(Can we consider this as a somewhat happy ending? My original one was A LOT worse.)

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes and a gallon of pain :)

Nostalgia is a cruel consonance of sentimentality and longing. A honeyed trap you could easily get caught in if you aren’t careful.

You weren’t.

All it took was one precarious step forth into its birdlime confines and you’re stuck, forever adhered to moments gone by. Try as you might to break free, to rid yourself of the persistent fog that looms and live in the present — you’re simply unable. The struggle of it brands ropes into your skin. A chemical burn that scabs eventually, but it leaves you debilitated of every ounce of strength you have to leave.

With time, you make do.

You adjust to the circumstances you’ve found yourself in. It’s easy enough — to simply give in. It’s like the call of a warm bed on a cold winter morning. The arms of a man you love held open in an invitation. It’s the perfect balm to your stinging disappointments and embittered thoughts.

Witness, reminisce — rinse and repeat.

A moment here. An admission of love there, just not the right kind. Not enough to keep you satisfied, just enough you keep you—

There. Still. Stuck in time. Recycling the same out-of-date echoes through your trench of despondency till they fossilize.

It’s his eyes that do you in, really. Lapis set in moonstone white reminding you of the ebb and flow of deep ocean currents that gently coax you inwards to drift among the waves.

They were the first thing you noticed about him.

A skinny kneed boy of eleven, head full of bistre-brown hair, and the bluest eyes you ever saw that suddenly wanted to be your friend. He was loud and brutish in contrast with your more reluctant and constrained demeanour and yet—

He was your best friend. Your first. Your only.

Is your best friend.

Five years later, he left to join the infantry.

He departed, eager to prove his worth. While you stayed back with a poor facsimile of a supportive smile as he promised his eventual return.

I’ll be back on leave before you know it.

But—

I’ll be back.

And I’ll be here.

You clung to him when he told you he was enlisting, fingers curling into the sleeves his Fleetwood Mac t-shirt — a gift from you for his fifteenth. He’d asked if you wanted to keep it, as a reminder of him.

Wouldn’t need to if you just stayed, Johnny.

In the fortnight leading up to his departure, you prayed for a last-minute change of his mind. Maybe the realization that he couldn’t stay without you would finally come to the surface.

It had to. Eventually.

You couldn’t bear the thought of walking up the morning after he left, just missing a part of you. Feeling a crater right in the middle of your chest grow wider and deeper as the distance between you and him extended.

But as the days counted down, his excitement grew nearly as fast as your despair.

It began with you pulling out all the stops, reminding him of the comforts of home, of you. To him, it was only the perfect gift farewell.

It wasn’t until just the day before that you decided to take the cheap shot and just beg.

Don’t leave. Just— please just stay, okay? You don’t have to go. You don’t have to leave me— please, Johnny. I can’t—

He stood at an arm’s length and listened to you in silence, watched you scrounge every ounce of emotional ammunition you could, until your voice ran hoarse, and your tears ran dry.

The pained expression that your outburst gradually chiseled onto his face left you shamelessly hopeful, and you took a step forward to close the distance between you and him.

He wordlessly took a step back.

The time slowed, and the seconds hemorrhaged until he finally spoke.

All he responded with was—

I have to.

You saw him standing out on my pavement by your house the next morning, walking across the same yard over and over. He’d glance upward at your window every now and then in such excruciating hope that you might grace him with something as simple as a wave goodbye.

But you didn’t. You simply stood there, watching from the shadows, trying to find some relief in tears shed, but you came up dry.

And he left.

When he returned, he came as Private Johnathan Price.

Nearly half a foot taller since you saw him last. Mostly the same in disposition if only a bit more self-assured.

In the 18 months of his absence, all you had was a shoebox full of unopened letters and that chasm left behind that grew deeper, still. Every week, unquestioningly, there’d be an envelope addressed to you. And every week, you’d hold it with measured trepidation and excitement. The first one brought you relief to know that you hadn’t lost him in your near ruinous parting of ways. But as you felt the weight of it in your hands, your fingers prudently tracing the ink, you couldn��t bring yourself to read what lay inside. It felt it would be ripping the bandaging off of a wound that had barely begun to heal.

So, you kept it aside.

18 months. 72 weeks. Every corresponding letter that followed underwent the same approach. You held them, appreciated them for their infallible arrival, and locked them away with repentance as the pile grew.

The letter that followed, came hand-delivered.

“You could have written back at least once, y’know.” He says with a smile.

“I’m—”

Sorry, Johnny. Forgive me. Forgive me. Please—

Your ensuing apology dies at your lips, and you nearly suffocate under the weight of it until—

“It’s okay.” He promises.

“It’s not.” You assert back.

His gaze softens and he tries again. “Hurt ya when I left, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“So, it’s okay.”

He means to placate. You know this and an infinitesimal part of you appreciates it. But what takes more prominence is one blazing question left behind.

It blisters and leaves behind the blackened soot of your unmatched expectations. A skeletal impression of his well intended albeit anticlimactic confession.

All you’re left wondering is—

Why didn’t it hurt you to leave me, too?

You met him in London to celebrate your collective 21st birthdays some time halfway in between them.

It took some coordination, between your school and his training in Sandhurst. He never told you — said he wanted to keep you detached from that part of his life.

How’re the— I don’t know what to ask, John. You never tell me anything.

I tell you plenty.

He does well— his mother informed you as much. But the details remained vacant. You try to fill in the blanks, hazard a guess — a poor approximation of the real thing, you’re certain.

It wasn’t something you liked, but never fought him on it. It felt as though your paths diverged at too steep of an angle and you were the only one trying to get them to realign. He seemed content in this compartmentalization, while you worried your margin in it would grow smaller still.

The disconnect it created left you unsettled. Like a trail down the woods that suddenly ends midway. You’re disoriented and unanchored, forever caught in an abridged narrative with his part missing.

But you couldn’t keep waiting around—

Something you tell yourself to make it better.

“Didn’t bring him with you, then?” He slides a glass of ale across the table to you, the bottom of it catching on the adherent buildup of many a spilled drink, causing the foam at the top to dribble over.

“You asked me not to, John.” You mutter, indignant.

You wouldn’t have asked to begin with, but for appearances sake—

“Didn’t want to have to share you with some other bloke, is all.” His self-satisfied grin tells you he sees right through it.

The implications that simmered beneath that statement cut through you instantly.

He didn’t want to have to share.

What would happen if you told him that it was never even brought to question? That you were his, and his alone.

Would he make it come true?

Would he—

“I’d like for you to meet him eventually, y’know.” You opted for a safer route. Something more dependable. Everything John isn’t.

That’s a lie. He’s nothing but.

“If he stays around long enough.”

“Johnny.” You snap, irritably.

“Been a while since you called me that.” He murmurs, his grin slipping into something less presumptuous and more unshielded. Vulnerable.

“We’re not kids anymore.” You turn your gaze downward, nails digging into the chipping laminate on the cheap bar top until he flicks the side of your palm to make you stop.

“No, we’re not.” It’s his tone that makes you look back up— hinting at some kind of unspoken understanding that you recognize right away.

Let’s not pretend, then.

It’s in the dimming obscurity of alcohol when it finally happens. With your dress hiked up over the curve of your ass, and panties pulled to the side — he fucked you in a rush, outside in the cold fall air. The grain of the brick wall scratched your cheek with every thrust he buried himself in you. His ale-laden breath at the cusp of your ear, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing — they were your only source of warmth.

“Fuckin’ hell, I’ve wanted to—” He confessed.

“So have I, Johnny.” You matched his revelation with your own.

But this wasn’t how it was supposed to—

You’ll take what you’re given. Even if it’s just this once, just tonight. A fleeting taste is better than the fantasy of him you’ve held on to.

He’s better than what you’ve had in the past. Better than what you’d thought he’d be like.

Or maybe, it’s just how well knows you.

He knows how deep you need to feel him, no matter if it hurts just a little. It’s the kind of hurt you enjoy.

How many women have you been with, John?

Does it matter?

Yes. No. Maybe?

It was you that crossed the line. A temerarious lapse in judgment, a flick of a wrist that knocked down an already precipitous house of cards when suddenly your lips descend upon his. He tastes of stale beer and the cigarette you bummed off an old man at the pub. With a grunt of surprise, he reciprocates, his tongue invading past your lips.

In a flash of somewhat sloppy adjustment, your back remained firmly pressed against the brick wall of the side of the pub, while his hands to the side of you effectively cage you in.

It’s not soon after that he takes the reins.

His mouth is everywhere — your lips, glossing over your jaw to the underside while he firmly grasps a fistful of your hair at the root, tilting your face upwards. He lays siege to the delicate column of your neck, armed with a stinging bite and the consolatory swipe of his tongue after.

John. Johnny.

The straps of your top hang loosely off your shoulders as he pulls the front of it down haphazardly to latch on to your nipple. You helplessly mewl beneath him, fingers trembling as they undo the buckle of his belt.

“Tell me to stop, love. Tell me, or I’ll—” He groans. Your hands sink in past the zipper to palm his erection. Warm. Solid.

“Please, don't.” You sink to your knees with the excitement, the need to taste him chafing at your rib cage with every beat of your heart.

“Fuck— fuck, okay. Just slow down—”

“John. Please.”

“I’ll make it good, yeah? For you. I will.” He swears.

I know you will.

You moved to Liverpool a year later. Something about staying in Hereford without him just kept you trapped in a state of inertia. Spending your time waiting more than anything else. It was time to move on.

Or try to, at any rate.

Humble beginnings for you — a modest apartment, a job that paid the bills and nothing else.

You settled into a routine — oscillating between work, home, and bisected friendships that you formed.

It’s not the same. It’s not the same.

It’s hard not to hold him somewhat accountable for your perpetual state of futility. There’s an essence of banality that follows you wherever you go. A life lived in half measures, mediocre and prosaic. It isn’t fair, and yet—

Why couldn’t you just stay, John?

It’s usually at night when the bitter tendrils of your regret slink up your limbs, like stalks of Golden Pothos, that collect around neck and squeeze.

A fire that kindles all too easily.

Can you even call it your own, when it’s caused by the choices of another?

It’s when you think back to that night in London, the weight of his cock in the palm of your hand— the way his eyes pinched shut and his head tilted back as you attempted to take him all the way in.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” He’d asked in a choked groan.

Had the head of his cock not been pressed against the back of your throat you’d have answered with:

Upset you weren’t the one to teach me, aren’t you Johnny?

Whatever remnants of that night that weren’t washed away by the glassy comber of one drink too many, replayed themselves a hundred times over. Every reiteration leaves you breathless and wanting — the evidence of it clearly shining on the inside of your thighs and the tips of your fingers.

Until—

A knock.

“You moved.” His voice was weight down by many an unspoken accusation.

“I did.” There’s no point in an apology— he’s here now.

“You never said.” Anger. Hurt. Betrayal — all in coalescence that lacerates you so deeply, you might stain the walls blood red.

“I— Do you want to come in—?”

He walked across the threshold, brushing past your shoulder before you even finished inviting him in.

“You— it’s not much. I’ve only just—” You stumble your way through some kind of explanation as he sheds himself off his duffel and coat. Any reasoning you were able to muster trickles back down your throat as he makes himself comfortable on your sofa, the floral embellished cushion sinking under the weight of him like it’s his right to be.

“It’s nice.”

You’d have expected him to feel out of sorts in this new home of yours, but he finds his place in it so naturally it fucking stings.

It really could have been that easy— a life with him. It’s a dangerous thought experiment but you wonder if he also aches for that near miss of a surrogate life. A peripeteia of decisions that might have led you down a different path entirely.

“How long are you on leave this time?” It’s a jibe and he notices. There’s an unmistakable clench in his jaw, a steely look set in his eyes at your question like he’s willing you to challenge him.

You almost do.

Good of you to waltz by after a year, Johnny. I’ve been waiting.

You really have.

“Two weeks. If you’ll have me.”

You considered turning him away simply out of spite. A laughable thought, really. An egomaniacal deliberation you pretend to have.

You’d never—

“Aren’t you going home?”

Don’t say yes. Please, don’t say yes.

“Would’ve — yeah. But you moved.”

Fuck. Don’t—

“You make it sound like I’m the only reason you come back.”

The words decamp themselves from you without any realization. Subdued embers relight themselves. Veiled desires now unwrapped — a festering infection that itched beneath near-mended dermis now touching air simply because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

“Would— would it be so bad if I said yes?” He asks, wavering slightly in his footing only to gauge your reaction, and you pray you’re not giving anything away.

Yes. Yes, it fucking would, John. Because—

It means nothing in the scheme of its payoff. You don’t know what he expects, because to you his disclosure only exacerbates the acridity of his absence tenfold. It makes his eventual departure seem like a harsher slap to the face.

You could accuse him of pretense. Tell him how hollow it makes you feel.

Or simply—

“No. Of course not.” You lie with a smile, instead.

He believes you.

His parents pass within a year of each other. He attends both funerals in uniform — having only singular days granted to him in lieu of bereavement.

It might have been a personal choice in his father’s case, which happened to be the latter.

The first was an open casket, the second closed — both lowered into the ground while his hand firmly grasped yours.

And after—

On both days, he found himself buried in you, however in polar opposite ways.

It began gentle, with his need to be held and your need to oblige. You straddle him in the backseat of your busted-up Mondeo Estate, soaking in his silent grief as you whisper condolences. He finds his home in the crook of your neck, bedewed with the warmth of his breath and his tears.

He tastes of grief.

Regret, even.

Maybe, one day, you’ll tell him it didn’t have to be that way.

Imagine what we could’ve been, John.

Only seven months later, you find yourself in circumstances alike only in one solitary way. This time, it’s his anger that transcends the grief. You’re turned away, bent over the disjointed desk in the corner of his childhood bedroom. His fingers etching your skin in a mosaic of blue and purple, willing you to acquiesce to his baser instinct rather than envelop him in comfort. He fucked you, brutally — bare teeth, white knuckles. A lacquer of vitriol to coat you in. Only apologetic in the aftermath.

And—

He wouldn’t let you kiss him.

Change is a weight borne poorly by most relationships.

You try to blame the distance between his visits, and the fact that he always seems more worse for wear than the last. A chronic transformation with every visit, like rust on iron — sandstone shaded corrosion bleeding into his edges.

He tries to shed himself of it when he’s in your company but it’s ever-present, like a phantom limb. An undeniable extension of himself.

You tell him not to pretend.

Not with me, John.

You might as well be white noise.

What started out as concern he’d brush off with a ‘this isn’t something you need to be worrying about, love’ slowly evolved into disregard which concluded with blatant contempt.

This isn’t what I—

He stopped himself a moment too late.

“This isn’t what I came back for.”

“Glad we’re both disappointments to each other.”

Finally, some truth spilled out. It felt oddly cathartic, even if it meant having your worst fears confirmed.

He makes an implicit plea to retract what’s been said, undo the hurt caused, and return to your perpetual state of synthetic decorum. Two people who tip-toe around each other, chat about the weather, and when all redundancies are through and done with—

Let’s just leave it be. Dinner’s nearly—

He feasts on your cunt like a man starved.

It’s funny how rarely you consider the sheer probability of his safe return. Is it simply denial? Is he so deeply rooted within your being that imagining him not being there isn’t an ending you can enumerate?

To you, there is simply no finality to John Price. Forever seems like a paltry presumption to have in his line of work and yet, you can never imagine the alternative.

You’ve tried. You even asked him once.

Just once.

“You’ll be informed if— I — they know you’re my— you’ll be informed.” He spoke with such unambiguous apathy like he was reading it off a manual.

Ten different ways to prepare your loved ones for your eventual demise.

“I’ll be informed?” This isn’t the hill to die on, but you just can’t help yourself.

“I don’t know how else to—”

“I’m glad to know I’ll have the privileges of being your widow without you having to marry me, John.”

He recoils away like you just struck him.

It was an unscrupulous remark to make. Atonement is futile, he’d see right through it. All you can do is wait for the dust to settle and carry on.

But he—

“I’d marry you tomorrow if I thought it would fix things.”

It wouldn’t.

Some things are just predestined to remain broken, you suppose.

“I know you would.”

You find yourself at an impasse. Anyone pragmatic might think to cut their losses and retreat. Start anew.

That’s just not who you are.

You find other ways to meet each other halfway, on an equal plane of vulnerability and certitude. Nothing to hide behind in the arms of one another. There are shared breaths, harmonies of impassioned confessions and you find yourselves in the other once more.

You shed the pain you wear like a second skin, disrobed in ways both actual and metaphorical.

He’s kinder and you’re more forgiving.

He tells you it’s his last night with you for a while and you request your goodbye before the morning. You need something to remain unsoiled.

He leaves before you wake.

Sometimes, he leaves a note.

I’ll be back soon, darling.

Empty words. Hollow promises. An interminable echo in a cave that ripples in the subterranean waters you float in.

Except—

I’m doing the best I can.

And that’s enough.

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hiddengryffindor · 1 year

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Wrapped around my finger (Sebastian Sallow x F!MC) WARNING: HARD SMUT

Summary: MC is currently in their seventh year, but during her fifth year, she made the fateful decision to betray Sebastian by turning him in. Now, it appears that he has managed to escape from Azkaban and has returned, seeking revenge. Will he make her pay for her betrayal, or is there another twist in store?

So yeah... I'm jus going to leave this here... Have a nice day <3

This one shot contains: bondage, a little too much of noncon, biting, fingering, p in v sex, spanking, choking, and a very dom sebby, use of the imperious curse for sexual intentions

ALL UNDERAGE CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!

Word count: 10,455

I'm sorry if you see a few mistakes on the writing, English is not my first language

enjoy

Finally, after an extensive period of time, she had achieved mastery over her ancient magic, utilizing it to bring to life things that had once only resided within the confines of her imagination. Occasionally, she would venture to Hogsmeade, offering assistance to fellow witches and wizards in need. Her sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts were occupied with numerous responsibilities, as her professors were well aware of her exceptional abilities, and her classmates held her in high regard. Her proficiency in ancient and fundamental magic far surpassed her years.

The chilly autumn breeze tapped gently on the windows of the Gryffindor tower. It had already grown quite late, well past curfew. She found herself sprawled atop the large couch, positioned in front of the roaring fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Her eyes remained closed, her face serene, while the dancing flames above her silhouette illuminated the room. Despite being the coldest of nights, the Gryffindor common room always exuded a warmth and coziness that she found irresistible. Although she had the option to utilize the Room of Requirement at any time, she couldn't resist the homely embrace of those walls and rugs surrounding her. A book rested upon her chest, rising and falling gently with her calm breaths, as she lay on her back.

Suddenly, her tranquility was disrupted by faint, rapid knocking sounds. She let out a groan and grasped the pillow beneath her head, covering her face with a wearied expression. This was her way of indicating to the prefects and head boys and girls that she desired peace and rest. She was well aware that it was late, but the comfort of the common room couch was too enticing. It was as if the couch would beg her not to depart whenever she attempted to rise, whispering, "Wait! Don't leave me! Let me embrace you a while longer!" A small smirk escaped her lips as she imagined the couch pleading for her company.

However, the knocking sounds persisted, quick and persistent, causing her to realize that this interruption might not be the work of a prefect or another student in the common room. She removed the plush pillow from her face and sought the source of the knocking. A cry from an owl drew her attention to one of the windows, where a black owl with golden eyes peered at her from outside the glass. She narrowed her gaze at the creature and approached the window, her expression marked with confusion.

With a swift flick of her wand, the window opened on its own, and the owl promptly flew into the common room. The girl could sense the bird's relief as its feathers were enveloped by the room's warmth. It perched itself on a small table filled with books and quills, fixing its gaze upon her. As the creature emitted a soft sigh, she noticed a message secured to one of its legs. She carefully took hold of the letter with one hand, while her other hand gently stroked the owl's black feathers. She attempted to open the letter, but it eluded her grasp, evading her every attempt. She let out a sigh, realizing that this was not the time for such games. Surely, it was Everett, attempting to prank her with bewitched letters. She seized the letter once more and directed her wand toward it. "Finite," she whispered, and the letter ceased its struggle against her grip.

Taking a seat beside the owl, she acknowledged that Everett had never employed a black owl to send her anything. In fact, none of her friends had ever done so. This newfound avian acquaintance was entirely unfamiliar to her. She peered at the owl while it groomed its feathers, a smirk appearing on her face. "Who has sent you, little one?" she inquired, receiving a faint howl hoot in response. She fixed her gaze on the letter, sensing a familiar aura and recalling memories from her fifth year.

A sigh escaped her lips as she reminisced about a missing presence among her friends. Sebastian Sallow, the Slytherin boy who had taught her the unforgivable curses, now resided in Azkaban. She and Ominis had made the difficult decision to turn him in—an action that had cost her a friend, someone with immense potential who had succumbed to the allure of dark magic and his own impulsive nature.

The echoes of Sebastian's screams lingered vividly in her mind.

"You both will regret this!" Sebastian's voice reverberated as he struggled against the aurors holding him in place. "I will come back, and I'll make you pay!" he bellowed, his voice strained. Ominis paid him no heed, refusing to even look in his direction. As for her, she locked eyes with Sebastian, witnessing nothing but rage and hatred burning in his brown orbs. "Especially you… I'm going to come back and make you—" Before he could finish his threat, an auror silenced him, and both he and Sebastian vanished from her sight.

She could have shed a few tears, but they never came. She knew that Sebastian's obsession with his research had put his best friend in danger. And considering she had known him for only a few months before he began to push her toward the dark arts…

No, he hadn't forced her into anything.

A gasp escaped her lips as a realization struck her. Throughout all the missions and perilous adventures, she could have said "No," avoiding all the troubles. Sebastian had never coerced her; he had merely extended invitations. It was her insatiable curiosity that had propelled her forward.

Shaking her head, she brushed aside those thoughts. The past was the past, after all. She shifted her focus to the letter and finally opened it. The paper was neat and the handwriting instantly recognizable.

"We must talk right now. Meet me in the Room of Requirement. Sebastian has escaped from Azkaban."

-Ominis

Overwhelmed by the contents of the letter, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity swelled within her. Sebastian's escape from Azkaban was a shocking revelation—one that ignited a cascade of unanswered questions in her mind. Why had he escaped? What did Ominis want to discuss? What role did she have to play in all of this? And why meeting her in the Room of Requirement instead of the Undercroft?

The flickering flames in the fireplace cast dancing shadows across the room, heightening the sense of uncertainty. She glanced at the black owl perched on the table, as if seeking guidance from the enigmatic creature. With a determined nod, she made up her mind. She couldn't ignore the call to action, the opportunity to confront the past and find closure.

Standing up, she gently patted the owl on its feathers before retrieving a cloak from the nearby hook. Wrapping it around herself, she concealed her identity and intentions as she ventured into the castle corridors. Each step carried her closer to the Room of Requirement, her mind racing with anticipation and a touch of trepidation.

The castle was eerily silent as she navigated the hidden passages, her footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone walls. Memories of past encounters with Sebastian flooded her thoughts. The dark arts, forbidden curses, and the inner turmoil he had instigated—each recollection reminded her of the price they had all paid for their choices.

Finally, she reached the seventh-floor corridor and approached the barren stretch of wall concealing the entrance to the Room of Requirement. Taking a deep breath, she focused on her intent, picturing the room she desired—the place where she would meet Ominis.

As if responding to her thoughts, the concealed door materialized before her, revealing the mysterious chamber within. Pushing it open, she stepped into the room. This time, the room manifested as a study, dimly lit with shelves lined with ancient tomes and parchment scrolls.

She gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the room before her. It bore no resemblance to her expectations. Gone was the familiar space she had envisioned, replaced by a chilling darkness that sent shivers down her spine. A sense of unease settled over her, freezing her in place. Before she could react, the door behind her slammed shut and vanished, trapping her inside.

"Ominis?" Her voice trembled with nervous anticipation, reverberating through the empty room. Her footsteps echoed, the only sound in the oppressive silence. In the center of the room stood a solitary table, devoid of any other objects. Her hand instinctively reached for her wand as Ominis' voice remained absent. She felt a surge of relief that she hadn't changed her attire before leaving the common room.

"Everett… Garreth… If this is another prank, I swear I'll unleash Rictusempra on both of you until you beg me to stop," she declared, her tone attempting to sound mature and intimidating. However, her words hung unanswered in the air, intensifying her growing unease. A few seconds passed, and a shiver raced down her spine as she sensed a presence behind her. A soft chuckle filled the room, causing her bravery to waver. She recognized that mocking, raspy voice instantly, even if it had matured over time.

"You…" Her words faltered, barely escaping her lips. "How did you…?"

"Escape?" The voice interjected, cutting her off. "I can't reveal all my secrets now, can I?" A mix of nostalgia and fear washed over her, leaving her frustrated. Finally gathering the courage to face him, she turned around, taking a few steps back, ready for any unforeseen actions. "Sebastian, where is Ominis?" she demanded, her voice laced with a threatening undertone.

Sebastian didn't answer immediately, his gaze locked onto hers. He looked almost the same, albeit taller than the last time she saw him. His expression remained neutral, his hair still disheveled. His unwavering gaze reminded her of the threats he had once made before the Aurors apprehended him.

"He is fine," he stated bluntly, his tone devoid of emotion. Her eyebrow arched in response. Sebastian chuckled, sighing as he shook his head. "I realized his family is punishment enough for him," he continued. She frowned at his words. "Allowing him to live, tortured by his family, is a more fitting fate than ending his misery with a quick death," he added in a cruel, detached tone. Relief washed over her; it seemed Sebastian was unaware that Ominis had reconciled with his family. At least he was safe.

However, she now realized that she herself was in great danger. Trapped alone with Sebastian in the Room of Requirement, which seemed unresponsive to her needs, it became evident that Sebastian's desires held greater sway over the room.

"Go on," he challenged, his arms crossed over his chest, his unwavering gaze fixed on her. There was no hint of a smile or his usual cocky smirk, only an expectant look. "I highly doubt the room listens to you anymore," he finally remarked. She shot him a defiant and enraged glare. "That's not how it works," she retorted. He shrugged, remaining motionless.

She wanted to demand what he wanted from her, but the answer seemed painfully obvious. Instead, she managed to ask, "Are you going to kill me?" Sebastian's expression shifted from neutral to one of intrigue, reminiscent of how he used to look at her during their first Herbology class, when Professor Garlick introduced her. He began to pace the room, his steps measured and deliberate, his eyes locked onto her. "No," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation.

Her relief was short-lived, for it was clear he had more to say. Sebastian retrieved his wand, deftly performing intricate wand movements as he advanced slowly toward her. "I want to torment you," he whispered, his words sending a chill down her spine. "I want to make you weep," he continued, taking another step closer. The room seemed to grow colder with each passing moment. "I want to hear you scream."

She tightened her grip on her wand, her apprehension mounting as Sebastian closed the distance between them. The atmosphere was thick with tension. "Then go ahead," she whispered defiantly, turning to face him with a challenging expression. "If you want to use the Cruciatus Curse on me, go ahead. I won't--"

"But I haven't finished," he interrupted, his voice rising above hers, halting her words in their tracks. "What would Professor Fig say if he knew what a spoiled girl you've become?" His words were laced with anger, but he quickly composed himself. Her fury intensified as he mentioned Professor Fig, as if he knew anything about her conflict with Ranrok.

"Regardless," he continued, his tone returning to its previous calmness, "as I was saying…"

"Expelliarmus!" she screamed, her wand pointed directly at him. In an instant, his grip on his wand weakened, yet it didn't flew off his hand. Sebastian's expression transformed from surprise to serene, a small smirk playing upon his lips as he nodded subtly from side to side. "Are you going to let me finish?"

"Sebastian, you have ten seconds to leave this room, leave Hogwarts, and leave me alone," she yelled at him, her fury drowning out his question. Sebastian leaned against a wall, his body relaxed as he smiled at her. "Or else?" he inquired, his old cocky smirk returning, as if he held the upper hand.

"You may not have the guts to kill me--"

"But I had the guts to turn you in, and I can do it again," she interjected. Sebastian's smirk vanished, his mind seemingly grasping the gravity of the situation. "Indeed… you did," he conceded, his voice now a low, whispered admission.

Sebastian's admission hung in the air, the tension between them palpable. Their eyes locked, each trying to gauge the other's next move. The room seemed to close in on them, amplifying their confrontation.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her—anger, fear, and a sliver of doubt. As much as she despised Sebastian, there was a part of her that remembered their shared past, the moments of camaraderie and laughter before everything went awry. But those memories were overshadowed by the darkness that consumed him, the cruelty he had shown. She couldn't let sentimentality cloud her judgment now.

With a resolute expression, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Sebastian, you're walking down a dangerous path," she warned, her voice carrying a mix of concern and determination. "Whatever twisted sense of justice you think you're pursuing, it won't lead you to anything but more pain."

Sebastian's face contorted into a bitter smile. "Pain is what I've come to embrace," he retorted, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "You have no idea what I've been through, what I've endured." His gaze hardened, reflecting the turmoil within him. "But you will."

A surge of defiance coursed through her veins. She couldn't let him break her spirit, not after everything she had fought for. "I won't be a pawn in your game, Sebastian," she declared firmly, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her.

Sebastian's eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and admiration. A hint of the old spark that used to exist between them seemed to resurface for a brief moment. "Very well," he conceded, a glimmer of respect in his gaze. "Let's see if you're as formidable as they say."

The room crackled with an electric intensity as they circled each other, their wands raised in anticipation. Spells flew through the air, clashing with bursts of vibrant colors, filling the room with flashes of light. Each parry and countermove showcased their skill and determination. It was a battle of wills, a clash of two former allies turned adversaries.

Despite her best efforts, she found herself gradually being pushed on the defensive. Sebastian's prowess was formidable, his every strike precise and calculated. His determination to break her was evident in each spell he cast. She fought back with every ounce of strength she possessed, refusing to yield.

As the intensity of the duel reached its crescendo, a sudden surge of power emanated from Sebastian. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent glint as he unleashed a spell she had never encountered before. A dark energy crackled around him, swirling and twisting like a vortex of shadows.

Time seemed to slow as the spell raced toward her. Instinctively, she tried to conjure a protective shield, but it was too late. The spell struck her with a force that sent her sprawling backward, her body crashing against the cold, unforgiving stone.

Pain seared through her, each nerve screaming in protest. She struggled to regain her footing, her vision swimming with a mixture of pain and determination. Gasping for breath, she glared at Sebastian, her voice barely a whisper. "You… won't… break me."

Sebastian's eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and regret. His wand remained pointed at her, his grip unyielding. "We shall see," he hissed, the words carrying a chilling finality.

As darkness closed in on her consciousness, she fought to stay awake, clinging to the last vestiges of her strength. She vowed to herself.

Summoning her inner resolve, she tapped into the depths of her being, drawing upon the ancient magic that flowed through her veins. A surge of raw power emanated from her, swirling around her in a dazzling display of ethereal energy. It crackled and danced with an intensity that even Sebastian couldn't help but be momentarily taken aback.

With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a torrent of ancient magic toward Sebastian. The force of the spell sent him hurtling backward, crashing into a nearby wall. But as the dust settled, he emerged, his expression twisted with a mixture of fury and determination.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. He had anticipated her hidden well of power, and he knew he needed to neutralize it if he stood a chance of overpowering her. Drawing upon his own knowledge of dark arts, he began to weave a complex counter-spell, designed to disrupt and freeze the ancient magic coursing through her.

The air crackled with an intense clash of energies as Sebastian's dark counter-spell collided with her ancient magic. Sparks flew, casting an otherworldly glow across the room. She fought with every ounce of strength she possessed, trying to maintain control, but Sebastian's spell was relentless, seeking to bind and suppress her power.

Slowly, inexorably, her ancient magic began to falter. Its vibrant radiance dimmed, flickering like a dying flame. The weight of defeat settled upon her shoulders as she realized her efforts were in vain. Sebastian had found a way to subdue her most potent weapon.

With a surge of desperation, she launched one final, desperate attack, aiming to catch Sebastian off guard. But he was prepared, sidestepping her spell with an almost effortless grace. In that moment, her energy depleted, her defenses shattered, she knew she had been outmatched.

Time seemed to stand still as Sebastian closed in on her, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "You fought well," he sneered, his voice laced with a mixture of triumph and derision. "But in the end, your ancient magic was no match for my cunning."

Her body trembled with exhaustion, her muscles refusing to obey her commands. She tried to summon a defiant retort, but her voice came out as nothing more than a strained whisper. The cold, unforgiving stone floor beneath her became her final resting place as Sebastian stood over her, his victory assured.

As darkness enveloped her, she couldn't help but wonder where it had all gone wrong. How had Sebastian, her once-trusted friend, fallen so far? And what would become of her now, trapped in his clutches?

Her breath caught in her throat as she observed him drawing nearer, the shadows deepening around them. The weight of the situation bore down upon her, suffocating her hopes. Sebastian's countenance remained impassive, a mask of indifference, until a sly grin etched itself upon his face, mirroring the twisted dance of shadows. She passed out.

A surge of consciousness flooded her senses, and her eyes fluttered open. Gone was the comforting embrace of the common room couch, and the cold stone floor of the Room of Requirement. She found herself sprawled upon a table at the heart of the room, its hard surface chilling her to the bone. Her desperate search for her wand was interrupted by a haunting whistle that sliced through the air, directing her attention to Sebastian. He stood a few paces away, toying with her wand, manipulating it with a deftness that mirrored his sinister intentions.

Rising with a mixture of defiance and fury, she longed to confront him, to unleash her pent-up anger with a well-aimed blow. Yet, an insidious force seemed to tether her to the table, an invisible chain constricting her movements. Sebastian's voice, dripping with both amusement and malice, cut through the silence, prodding her discomfort. His gaze lingered upon her attire. Reflexively, she tugged at her shirt, only to discover the metallic links of a chain encircling her waist. Attempting to grasp it, her fingertips passed through the ethereal barrier, the physical and the intangible locked in an unsettling dissonance. "What have you done to me, Sebastian?" she demanded, her voice teetering on the edge of desperation.

Sebastian silenced her with a mere gesture, his voice a hushed admonishment. "Hush now... I merely sought to ensure that you couldn't rely on your ancient magic to extricate yourself from this predicament." Her feet found the ground once more, each step carrying her farther away from him. A profound emptiness settled within her, her magical essence snuffed out like a flickering flame in a gust of wind. The scene played out before her like a cruel mockery, for even if her wand were within reach, it would be an impotent tool against his malevolence.

"Stay away from me," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. She retreated further, his hand quickly relinquishing its grip on her wand, casting it into the abyssal darkness. "Why bother stifling my magic? The Cruciatus Curse alone would have sufficed to--" Once again, his laughter severed her words, an icy reminder of her powerlessness.

Sebastian's laughter echoed through the room, resonating with a chilling malevolence. It reverberated within her, fueling a mix of frustration and anger that threatened to consume her. She watched him, her eyes burning with a fiery determination despite the shackles that held her magic captive.

"Oh, my dear," Sebastian taunted, his voice laced with wicked delight. "Do you truly think I would rely on such a mundane curse to break you? No, no, I have something much more exquisite in mind." He approached her with a calculated stride, relishing the power he held over her.

Her heart pounded within her chest, a defiant rhythm that matched her unyielding spirit. She knew she had to find another way, a way to outsmart him, to break free from his clutches. Her mind raced, searching for a solution amidst the encroaching darkness.

"You see," he continued, his voice dripping with sinister amusement, "I have spent years studying dark magic, delving into ancient secrets that most wizards fear to touch. And now, my dear, I have discovered a method to suppress even the most formidable of magical abilities."

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance igniting within her. She refused to accept defeat, even in the face of overwhelming odds. With a surge of determination, she called upon her innate resilience, drawing upon the reservoirs of her ancient magic that remained dormant within her.

As she channeled her energy, a faint glow enveloped her body, like a shimmering shield against the darkness that threatened to consume her. She extended her hand, a torrent of raw power surging forth, aimed directly at Sebastian. But to her dismay, her magic dissipated into thin air before it could reach him, as if swallowed by an unseen force.

Sebastian's laughter intensified, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "Did you truly believe it would be that easy? Did you think your ancient magic could overpower me?" His tone dripped with disdain, reveling in her futile attempt.

Defiance turned to frustration, frustration to desperation. She needed to find a weakness, a flaw in his plan. Her mind raced, piecing together fragments of knowledge, memories of ancient texts and forgotten spells. And then it hit her—a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the world around her. Focusing her thoughts, she tapped into the deepest recesses of her being, drawing upon a forgotten incantation whispered by long-lost ancestors. The words formed on her lips, infused with a resolute determination.

The room trembled as her incantation reverberated through the air. A surge of energy pulsed from her, rippling outward in a wave of raw power. The chains that bound her magic quivered, their ethereal hold weakening with each passing moment.

Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise, his smug facade crumbling. He stumbled backward, momentarily disoriented by the force of her counterattack. The tables had turned, if only for a fleeting moment.

Sensing an opportunity, she seized the chance to act. Summoning every ounce of strength and willpower, she lunged forward, aiming to reclaim her wand and regain control over her destiny. But just as her fingertips grazed the hilt, a surge of dark energy emanated from Sebastian.

A wicked smile curled upon his lips as he pointed his wand at her, uttered a single word—a word that held unimaginable power.

"Imperio."

The air grew heavy with malevolence, and an invisible force seized hold of her, forcing her body to freeze in place. Her eyes suddenly now glowing when the spell hit her body, feeling a weird peace embracing her body.

Sebastian let out a frustrated sigh. "Surely, you have many tricks up your sleeve," he said, stopping right behind her. His head was now placed on top of her shoulder, his breathing touching her ear as he spoke. "But I also know a few old tricks."

Meanwhile, in her mind, she couldn't understand how, even under the Imperius curse, she was able to notice everything around her. However, she couldn't control her body anymore, only the warm and threatening breath of Sebastian on her ear. The sensation was too good, yet it felt so wrong. The spell gave her a peaceful sensation, while her conscience made her fear her surroundings. Her body wasn't hers anymore, but at least she still had her mind.

"Look at me," he demanded in a raspy voice. She slowly turned around to see him, her eyes shining with the curse upon herself. Sebastian smiled, but this was different from any other smile he had made before. It was a victorious smile, a dominant one.

"Sebastian," she managed to whisper. He placed a hand on her cheek, slowly rubbing his thumb on her face. She wanted to move away, but she couldn't. "What are you going to do to me?" His expression changed when she asked that question. She couldn't sense his plans now.

"Get back to the table," he demanded, but she fought the spell. Her body insisted on moving. "No," she said, giving the answer she should have given him three years ago on their first adventure. But suddenly, she was caught by Sebastian's hand around her throat, squeezing it just a little. "Get back to the table," he repeated slowly to her. Her body moved towards the table, and she sat on top of it.

She gasped for air as Sebastian let go of her throat, his hand now gently rubbing the spot where he had just held her. "You don't have a choice in this," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her mind. "I'll never be yours," she spat out, her eyes flashing with defiance.

Sebastian's grip tightened on her arm. "You'll learn to obey me," he said, his eyes glinting with a cruel light. "Or you'll suffer the consequences."

She gritted her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid. "I'll never obey you," she said, her voice trembling with anger.

Sebastian chuckled darkly. "We'll see about that," he said. "For now, I have other plans for you."

He pushed her down onto the table, her body splayed out before him. She tried to resist, but the imperius curse was too strong. She was powerless to stop him as he began to trace his fingers over her body, starting on her chest and then move slowly down her belly. A cruel smile appeared on his lips.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sensations, but it was no use. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own body, forced to endure Sebastian's unwanted advances.

He had her trapped, pinned against the table, his arms forming a barricade on either side of her trembling body. She fought to maintain her composure, her legs pressed tightly together, attempting to create a barrier against his advances. But his persistence was unyielding.

Leaning in, he traced a path with his lips, trailing delicate kisses along the warm skin of her neck to her chin. Each touch sent ripples of sensation through her, causing her to writhe involuntarily. His arrogant chuckle reverberated against her now sensitized flesh, stoking the fire of desire within her.

Sebastian, attuned to her body's reactions, swiftly discerned her feeble attempt at resistance. With a knowing smirk, he remedied the situation without the need for his hands. "Spread your legs," he commanded, his voice a velvet rasp against her heck, close to her ear. In response, her traitorous body obeyed, granting him access to the intimate space between her thighs. The room filled with the sounds of their mingled breaths and her whispered whimpers.

"Sebastian…" she pleaded once more, her voice a plea tinged with a mixture of desperation and hope. Her words hung in the air as his fingers traced a tantalizing path along her waist, descending down her leg, making her gasp at his touch. The fabric of her skirt, a cruel accomplice to her misfortune, offered little resistance as his finger tips journeyed toward her bare skin. Each inch of progress elicited a shudder and a sigh from her quivering form.

A feigned concern danced in his eyes as he feigned ignorance to her escalating arousal. "What's the matter?" he inquired, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Is it too overwhelming for you already?" he whispered into her ear, his breath teasing against her delicate lobe. Her breaths grew louder, more ragged. He invoked her name, a calculated maneuver to reclaim her attention. "I asked you a question," he murmured, his thumb grazing her exposed skin with a painfully slow deliberation. She instinctively turned her face away, seeking to evade his proximity, while simultaneously responding to his inquiry with a voice laced with a unique blend of longing and protest. It was a tone that only fueled Sebastian's sadistic pleasure, coaxing a wicked smile to form on his lips.

"I cannot… please," she implored, her voice barely a whisper, laden with a mixture of defiance and desperation. However, Sebastian's unrestrained hand seized her chin, forcing her back into his grasp. "This is my first--," she murmured, her voice tinged with resignation.

His fingers traced up her skin, tantalizingly slow, and then he pulled up the fabric of her skirt. Her heart raced as he reached her thighs. She was so lost in his touch that she didn't even notice him pulling out his wand. His biting and licking on her neck left red marks and bruises, and she couldn't resist the pleasure it brought her.

With a swift motion, the tip of the wand pointed towards her skirt and a ripping sound filled the room, accompanied by a gasp from her as she felt her clothing tearing apart on its own. "Seems your attire won't be much of a defense this time," whispered Sebastian with a sly grin.

He scrutinized her body, his mind contemplating his next move, until his gaze fixated on her eyes. "Do you want to hear something intriguing about the Imperius Curse?" he remarked, his hand gripping her thigh tightly, causing her to flinch from the sudden strength of his grip. "I can make you say whatever I want..." Her cheeks flushed with fear, and a look of apprehension washed over her face. "Wait, Sebastian!" she exclaimed, attempting to raise her voice, knowing he was about to make her speak against her will, but he silenced her by placing his hand over her mouth. "Shhh… there," she whimpered, attempting to pry his hand away from her mouth. "Calm down," he whispered, his tone so intimate and tranquil that it brought tears to her eyes. "I simply want you to look at me and beg for my forgiveness," he demanded, and she looked bewildered. "You know what I'm referring to." He removed his hand from her mouth and then placed it on her cheek.

His other hand began to slip beneath her blouse, but she promptly halted him with her voice. "I'm sorry…" she whispered, causing him to redirect his gaze back to her eyes while his fingers lingered on the warm skin of her stomach. "I'm listening," he stated, still desiring a more sincere apology. "I'm sorry for… betraying you," she whispered, avoiding his gaze. "For what? I didn't hear you," he taunted, resuming his movements. "I'm sorry, Sebastian! I shouldn't have betrayed you!" she shouted, and he abruptly ceased, allowing her to exhale and feel a sense of relief as he withdrew from her. "Good girl," he whispered.

"But you see," he continued, his tone almost conversational, "I don't just want you to say sorry. I want you to mean it. And to show me just how sorry you are."

Her heart rate quickened as she realized the true nature of his intentions. She tried to push him away, to fight back against his advances, but he was too strong. His hand covered her mouth once more, muffling her protests as he leaned in even closer.

"Let me show you what it really means to be sorry," he whispered, his free hand sliding up her blouse and tracing the curves of her body.

She whimpered, feeling trapped and helpless in his grip. But despite her fear and confusion, a small part of her couldn't help but feel a growing sense of excitement at his words. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be enjoying this, but she couldn't help the way her body was responding to his touch.

And as he continued to dominate her, to make her feel things she had never felt before, she knew that she was his. Completely and utterly his, and that there was nothing she could do to resist him.

With a sly grin, Sebastian waved his wand, causing her blouse to rip apart, exposing her bare chest. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, relishing in her vulnerability. "Seems you made a poor choice today by not wearing a bra," he murmured in a deep, seductive voice. She didn't resist this time, which intrigued him. "Oh, how I adore it when you cease to run away," he taunted, but she paid no attention, trying to ignore is glare. He rolled his eyes, growing impatient. "Very well, if you insist on playing hard to get…"

He forced her gaze to meet his, their eyes locking intensely. "I would be delighted to hear you beg me to fuck you," he stated, and the curse took hold of her voice, knowing exactly what he desired.

"No…" she began, only to speak again, her voice now laced with desperation, "Please, Sebastian--" Her words were cut short as his fingers traced a path back down her thighs, lingering at the edge of her panties. "Go on, I'm all ears," he prompted, a wicked gleam in his eyes. She attempted to speak, the words barely a whisper, "Do it…" she pleaded, but he feigned ignorance, making her intentions clearer. Slowly, his hands eased her panties down her legs, exposing her most intimate self. "Fuck me…" she uttered, her voice filled with a mix of desire and defiance. "What was that?" he teased, his fingers now tracing along her inner thigh. "Fuck me!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the room. His smile grew wider, relishing in the power he held over her. "How do you want me to fuck you?" he inquired, his voice dripping with anticipation.

"I don't care," she retorted swiftly, her voice filled with urgency as the curse made her be honest. "Just get it over with." He chuckled, finding amusement in her impatience, and his fingers delved into the wetness between her legs, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as she bit her lip to stifle a moan. "I've barely touched you, and you're already a mess," he teased, taking pleasure in her vulnerable state. She glared at him with a mix of desperation and anger, but he merely shook his head with a smile. Using two fingers, he gently parted the lips of her throbbing sex, then began to caress her clit in slow, tantalizing circles, causing her legs to involuntarily close in response.

"Hey, I never gave you permission to close your legs," he commanded, spreading her trembling limbs wide open once again as her pleas and whimpers escaped from her trembling lips. "Stop fighting it..." She ceased her struggling when one of his fingers entered slowly inside her warm insides.

Moans of pleasure escaped her lips in tandem with each thrust of his fingers, a seductive rhythm that drove her wild. His gaze fixated on every nuance of her face, relishing in the symphony of expressions that played upon her features. The sound of his ragged breath tickled her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Each penetration of his fingers elicited a delightful squirm from her, her body surrendering to his skilled touch. Feeling how his finger went in and then out with a painful slow motion, along with the waves of pleasure each time his thumb pressed her clit.

As she attempted to utter words once more, he swiftly silenced her with a cocky smile, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, surprising her... but she just closed her eyes, the softness of his lips felt even better than the imperious curse. The warmth of their mouths melded together, and through the exchange of breath, soft whimpers escaped, blending with the fervent exchange. While his thumb continued its slow dance upon her sensitive clit, his finger explored the depths of her being with an achingly slow tempo, a tempting tease that heightened her desire. She could feel the mischievous curve of his lips against hers, his teeth gently biting at her lower lip, making her open her open her mouth, letting his tongue meet with hers, all while her head rested upon the cool surface of the table, her tousled hair framing her face in disarray. Aware of her unrestrained arms, a surge of hope surged within her, and she attempted to push him away, but the allure of the curse whispered in her ear, questioning her resistance. The pleasure he bestowed upon her was too intoxicating to deny.

A smirk danced upon his lips as he acknowledged her futile struggle. He paused the kiss, leaning back as a thin thread of saliva was the only thing that connect their mouths "Oh, how could I forget about that?" he remarked, observing her futile attempt to repel him. With a swift motion, he seized her wrists with the hand that had been orchestrating her pleasure, leaving her with a hollow ache as his finger abruptly withdrew. Resistance proved futile as he retrieved his wand, its tip gliding sensually along her leg, grazing her skin with tantalizing precision. From her leg to her waist, the wand traced a path of anticipation, then moved with a delicate shift to her belly, until finally, it pointed directly at her wrists. The words poised to escape his lips were familiar to her, their implications heavy with restraint. His fingers brushed against her wrists, now imbued with the wetness of her arousal, as he whispered, "Incarcerous." In an instant, a rope materialized, skillfully binding her wrists together. He guided her bound wrists to rest behind his head, drawing him closer to her, heightening the intimacy of their connection.

He reclined against the velvety expanse of her collarbone, his lips tracing a trail of fervent kisses along the slopes of her breasts. Her hands clenched the fabric of his shirt collar, her grip desperate yet filled with a longing that mirrored his own. A flicker of mischief danced in his eyes as he dipped his hand between her trembling thighs, fingers grazing the delicate flesh.

With a deliberate slowness, he penetrated her depths with two fingers, luxuriating in the sensation of her slick warmth enveloping him. Each movement was a carefully choreographed symphony of pleasure, orchestrated by the rising cadence of her ragged breaths. He curled his fingers inside her, angling them to elicit a gasp of pleasure, while his thumb caressed her swollen nub with a tantalizing rhythm.

The resounding symphony of her moans reverberated through the room, a testament to the electric current that pulsed between them. He relished the raw power he held over her, each stroke of his fingers evoking a crescendo of desire. Just as her climax drew near, he abruptly ceased his ministrations, savoring the exquisite frustration etched across her face.

A few seconds of maddening stillness hung in the air, teasing the edge of her yearning. And then, like a maestro returning to his opus, he resumed his movements, expertly navigating the contours of her pleasure. With each calculated pause, he reveled in the plea that escaped her lips, an intoxicating melody of need and surrender.

"Why..." she breathed, her voice laced with a mixture of confusion and desire. "Why are you doing this?" Sebastian halted his kisses, his gaze locking with hers, their lips a hair's breadth apart. A mischievous smile played upon his mouth as his warm breath mingled with hers.

"Do you mean why I deny you release before the pinnacle of pleasure, or why we find ourselves entangled in this intricate dance?" His voice was a seductive murmur, an invitation to delve deeper into the realms of their shared desire.

"I... I thought you said you wanted to torment me... to hear me scream," she murmured with innocence, prompting a chuckle from him. "Oh, I do want to torment you," he replied, his fingers delving deeper into her, moving with deliberate grace. "So... so intensely." Her back arched, and a sensual moan escaped her lips, tempting him to take her right then and there. "We're only just beginning," he paused for a few seconds, sensing her imminent climax. "I could prolong your pleasure each time you approach the edge..." His voice barely reached her ears amidst her pleas and whimpers. "But since I'm a gentleman... I'll allow you to choose your torment." Withdrawing his fingers, he moved her wrists away from his neck. Stepping back, she watched him in confusion, only causing her expression quickly transform from uncertain to a mixture of surprise and flustered anticipation as he removed his shirt. Now she beheld the body of the one about to consume her, covered with battle scars and freckles. Sweat already glistened on his skin, causing her to instinctively close her legs once more. She felt too vulnerable, too insignificant, too easily manipulated.

Drawing near, he placed his hand gently on her cheek. His expression evoked a disconcerting sense of wrongness, his desires felt tainted, and she never imagined him like this, not even once... and she was certain he hadn't either. Yet, as his thumb tenderly brushed her cheek with care and attentiveness, she couldn't help but become lost in that mix of ambition and determination reflected in his eyes. His caring countenance abruptly turned cold, reminding her of the reality that she was still ensnared by the imperious curse, still yielding to his will, still trapped with a murderer.

"Turn around and lay yourself on the table," he commanded, and this time her body yielded without resistance, as if under the sway of a new master. "Good girl," his words sent shivers coursing through her entire being. "Since someone is so eager to discover how I shall torment them..." He trailed his hand along the skin of her back, gradually descending. "Let's embark on the enjoyment right away." His hands came to a halt on her buttocks. Swiftly, she discerned what would happen next, snapping out of her trance. She looked over her shoulder, only to see him raising his hand. "S-Sebastian! Wait! Please!" The resounding slap filled the air, accompanied by a sharp gasp, reddening her cheek. "Fuck... you have no idea how much I longed to do this since the day they took me to Azkaban," he whispered, before another slap abruptly cut her off.

The exquisite pain electrified her senses, each contact of his hand against her skin sending tremors through her legs. "Not so powerful now, are you?" he whispered, surprising her with another slap. "Without your precious ancient magic... I wonder where that witch everyone idolizes has gone." His name escaped her lips as the next slap landed on her other cheek. "For here I stand, staring at her... so small... so weak." She bit her lip, suppressing another moan. "So exquisitely obedient," he finally remarked, delivering another slap that resounded in the room, yet she managed to remain silent. He raised an eyebrow, observing her, then smiled. "Ah, so you still put up a fight," he said, striking her once more, but even as her legs trembled, she refused to make a sound. "Even if I can't fight..." She whispered, turning her gaze to him. "I won't let you have me so easily, Sebastian

"Very well," he responded calmly. Then, his gaze shifted to her tightly closed legs, and a slow chuckle escaped him. "I'm starting to think you enjoy having me command you to open your legs." Her cheeks flushed as the imperious curse obeyed Sebastian's desire. Merlin's beard, she couldn't fathom why she felt even more nervous now. Despite already being penetrated and slapped, this position, presenting her red and sore cheeks to him, felt unbearably intimate. She sensed him lean closer between her spread legs once again, and instinctively, her gaze met his. However, he seized her hair and forced her face away, towards the wall in front of her, pressing her head against the wooden table. His other hand gradually moved from her legs to her inner thigh, discovering her profound wetness, with her juices starting to trickle down her trembling limbs. "Oh, darling... Are you that desperate for me to claim your virginity?" Her gasp at his words elicited a lip-biting response from him. Now in such close proximity to her body, she startled slightly as she felt something hard pressing against her throbbing center. Her heartbeat quickened as the sound of something unzipping reached her ears.

"Do you recall when I granted you the choice of your torment?" His voice resonated with a deep, urgent rasp. It was clear that a mere nod wouldn't satisfy him; he needed to hear her answer. And so, she nodded, seeking that intoxicating sense of pain, and it was delivered. His palm collided with her already tender skin, and this time, she didn't suppress her moan. "Oh, my..." Genuine surprise laced his tone. "Seems someone has embraced her rightful place... What prompted such a swift change of heart?"

She attributed it to the imperious curse—or at least, that's what she tried to convince herself. Deep down, both she and he knew that the curse had become superfluous; her body and mind had willingly surrendered to him. But she fought, not to liberate herself from this predicament, but rather because the sensation of him exerting control over her, dictating her every action, felt exquisitely intense. "Regardless," he continued, his victory evident in his smile. "As I was saying... I'll grant you the choice. Shall I continue denying your orgasms until you climax on my cock?—" He paused, his hands exploring her form, squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples. "Or are you eager to discover how many times I can make you come?" He whispered into her ear. Her breaths echoed throughout the room as he awaited her response, her embarrassment palpable. But the imperious curse quelled her hesitation. "Well? I'm waiting... Or would you like to experience both scenarios?" Sebastian chuckled as the curse compelled her to vocalize her inner thoughts. "I... desire to witness how many times you can make me come... I need you to fuck me, Sebastian."

Magic truly was a wondrous thing. Her candid words slipped effortlessly from her lips, despite her attempt to conceal her flushed embarrassment. He required no further encouragement. She gasped when, this time, three of his fingers slowly entered her, the warmth of her depths meeting his touch once more, offering a mixture of painful relief and utter satisfaction. She bit her lip as he skillfully guided his fingers in and out of her wetness. She yearned to gaze into his eyes, but he forced her to avert her gaze, pressing her head against the table. Her moans intensified as his movements quickened and delved deeper. "Merlin... If only I could listen to those sounds every day..." He whispered, intoxicated by the symphony of her pleasure.

She surrendered herself completely, her eyes shut tight, her lips brushing against the table's surface. Sebastian had found the perfect rhythm, his fingers hitting that sweet spot deep inside her. A fervent desire coursed through her, urging her to break free from the confines of the rope binding her wrists. She longed to feel his touch, to grasp him, to witness the emotions playing across his face at this very moment.

"Please... Sebastian," she pleaded, her words catching his attention. But he didn't cease his thrusts; instead, he intensified his movements, pushing her further towards the edge. "Sebastian..." she called again, yet he delivered another forceful thrust, denying her plea. His voice carried a frigid edge, laced with a hint of mercy. She swallowed, gathering her courage, before she could beg him to grant her a glimpse of his expression.

But as she spoke, a searing heat began to radiate from the depths of her womb, spreading downward between her legs. She grew closer to the peak of pleasure, her walls constricting around Sebastian's fingers. Her moans betrayed her, inflating Sebastian's ego. He turned her face to meet his gaze, delicately brushing away strands of hair that clung to her damp skin. He sought to capture every nuance of her expression in this pivotal moment. He didn't need to ask if she was nearing her climax; he could feel it, and she herself felt an unusual sensation, a mix of bliss and urgency that compelled her to act.

In the next few seconds, her moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy mingled with her desperate pleas. "I... I can't," she gasped, her voice fraught with a strange unease. "Sebastian, something feels off... wait, please," she implored, her words teetering on the edge of an admission she could no longer hold back. "I think I need to...," she trailed off, interrupted by Sebastian's hand placed firmly over her mouth, a sly smirk adorning his face. "Now, now... just let go," he coaxed, his voice coaxing her body to surrender completely. "Come for me... I want to hear you, every raw, uninhibited sound," he whispered, his encouragement fueling her release.

Her body quivered uncontrollably as waves of pleasure washed over her, flooding her senses. Her whimpering cries subsided, giving way to a deep, soulful release that consumed her entirely. She felt the warmth spreading, drenching her thighs and legs. Sebastian merely chuckled, withdrawing his fingers, while she struggled to steady her breath, her gaze averted from his penetrating gaze.

"I must admit... I anticipated you would derive pleasure from this encounter, but I never expected such a fervent response," he remarked, a smug smile gracing his lips as she turned her attention away, unable to meet his gaze.

Just as she felt the rekindling of energy coursing through her body, Sebastian seized her by the waist and forcefully pulled her closer to him. This was far from over, and deep down, she knew it. After all, she had implored him to continue making her succumb to waves of pleasure, and he wasn't one to trifle with such requests. The next few minutes unfolded like a tantalizing dance between ecstasy and torment. He skillfully teased her most sensitive regions, coaxing one orgasm after another, each release more exquisite than the last.

While her senses soared on the wings of pleasure, Sebastian himself held back, grappling with the torment of his throbbing desire. He yearned to savor her completely, to claim her in a way that transcended the realms of mere physicality. As she lay there, breathless and drenched in perspiration, he pondered the threshold of their shared passion.

"I can't take it any longer!," she pleaded with Sebastian, her voice heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and longing. Yet, her words fell upon deaf ears as he seized her once again, defying her pleas, and positioned her atop the table, her back pressed against the unyielding wood.

At this point, even her ancient magic stirred, a feeble attempt to aid its wielder, but the ethereal chain encircling her waist rendered her powerless, its cold touch a constant reminder of her captivity. "I regret to hear your distress," Sebastian retorted, his eyes gleaming with a blend of mischief and revenge. With a flick of his wand, he revealed his intentions. "But my retribution is far from complete, and you shall endure it," he declared, his gaze fixed upon her womb. He pressed the tip of his wand against her, uttering an incantation too faint for her ears to discern.

Suddenly, an electrifying surge of warmth coursed through her, leaving her trembling and apprehensive. Fear etched across her face as she scrutinized Sebastian's wand. "What have you done to me?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of anxiety and anger. "You will see," he responded swiftly, forcibly turning her back around to face the table's surface once more.

With a tantalizing display of dominance, Sebastian allowed his pants to slide down his legs, revealing his hardened desire. In a wicked twist of fate, her legs parted eagerly, as if driven by an unseen force, drawing a chuckle from his lips. She remained blind to his actions, her senses heightened with anticipation, until she felt an unfamiliar presence at the apex of her thighs. It was neither his fingers nor his tongue that greeted her, but a pulsating intensity that left her breathless.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins as Sebastian plunged his cock deep inside her, igniting a symphony of pleasure and pain that erupted in a fervent cry of his name. He held her head firmly against the table, keeping her at his mercy, while tears cascaded down her cheeks. His feigned concern was laced with sadistic amusement as he inquired, "Is it too much for you?" Yet, despite the overwhelming sensation, she managed to summon a whispered confession, "It's too big." Sebastian's smirk deepened, savoring the power he held over her vulnerability.

Part of him yearned to prolong the exquisite torment, to revel in her quivering need, but the hunger for fulfillment drove him forward. With deliberate, agonizing slowness, he began to move, each thrust a calculated symphony of pleasure and discomfort. His groans mingled with her intoxicating moans, their union a testament to the intoxicating blend of pain and pleasure. The tightness of her walls constricted around him, intensifying his own primal urges, urging him to push deeper, to claim her completely.

The room became a sanctuary of their forbidden desires, as Sebastian reveled in the sweetest symphony he had ever heard—her melodic moans. Triumph surged through his veins, knowing he was the first to possess her, and he intended to be the last. His teeth sank into his lower lip, suppressing the primal urges that threatened to consume him entirely. Each thrust of his hips became a declaration of dominance.

Every thrust sent delicious shivers coursing through her body, causing her to writhe with pleasure. In a moment of astonishment, she realized her wrists were no longer bound. Sebastian hastily broke the spell of the rope, urgently spinning her around until her back once again met the table. Her legs found their place on his shoulders as he continued his relentless penetration. Leaning in, he captured her lips with a hunger that mirrored their shared desire, and she surrendered to the intoxication of their kiss, her arms finding solace around his neck.

An exquisite ache reverberated through her as the tip of his cock grazed a tender spot, and in response, she raked her nails along his back, a feeble attempt to temper the explosive pleasure that consumed her. One of his hands tenderly caressed her face before descending to her breasts. Despite the stark contrast in their size and strength, the intimacy they shared felt nothing short of heavenly.

Amidst Sebastian's groans resonating in her ears, an unintended confession slipped from her lips. "I love you." The sudden halt in his movements sparked an uneasy sensation within her, as if she had crossed a forbidden boundary. "I... I'm sorry," she stammered, her body silently pleading for him to resume their passionate connection. "Say it again," Sebastian whispered, resuming his thrusts with renewed fervor, eliciting moans of pleasure from her lips. "Go on," he urged, his whispers dripping with temptation. "I love you," she repeated, her breathing growing labored as waves of pleasure washed over her. To her surprise, Sebastian savored her declaration, relishing in the raw vulnerability she displayed. "Tell me more," he entreated, his warm breath caressing her ear. "Please... let me hear you." His tone held a mixture of longing and sadness. Biting her lip, she obliged, her voice trembling, "I missed you... so much."

In that moment, he seemed to possess an intimate understanding of her desires, effortlessly guiding her deeper into the indescribable realm of lust that coursed through her veins. "I needed you so bad," Sebastian confessed, prompting her to hold him even tighter, desperate to bridge the distance between them. "I know," she whispered in response, their words forging an unbreakable bond. Suddenly, the scorching heat intensified, signaling her impending release, and Sebastian was keenly aware of it. With each thrust, he pushed himself deeper, but her hand on his chest implored him to ease his pace.

"Sebastian... we must stop," she uttered, her voice laced with a mixture of urgency and yearning. He sighed, his gaze fixed on her, exhaustion and hurt etched upon his features. "Why?" he queried, the tone betraying a sense of weariness. "Because... you," she began, her words interrupted by a moan as she struggled to compose herself. "I'll be pregnant..." Her words, tinged with embarrassment, ignited a chuckle from Sebastian, his favorite sound to hear. "What spell did you think I casted on your womb?" he inquired, expecting her to comprehend the implications. And comprehend she did, her cheeks flushing crimson as she nodded in acknowledgment. "You're too adorable, you know?" he whispered, his voice betraying traces of fatigue. "Now, just let go," he nibbled on her ear. "I yearn to fill you with my seed."

Unable to hold back any longer, she succumbed to the tantalizing torture that had built within her, a moan escaping her lips. It wasn't solely the sensation of her release that overtook her, but also the feeling of Sebastian's seeds surging inside her, flooding her with an overwhelming mixture of pleasure and satisfaction. Her entire body trembled as the hot, sticky essence filled her depths, her voice intertwining with his name in a symphony of bliss. In the throes of their mutual climax, Sebastian groaned, succumbing to the torments of his own pleasure.

As their bodies slowly recovered from their ecstatic union, they remained locked in an intimate embrace, their breathing gradually returning to a calm rhythm. The world around them faded into the background, their connection an oasis of shared vulnerability and desire. With whispered words of tenderness and the lingering warmth of their union, they reveled in the aftermath of their passion. As the waves of pleasure subsided, fatigue swept over her like a gentle lullaby. With a contented sigh, she nestled into Sebastian's arms, her eyelids growing heavy as sleep beckoned her. He held her close, his touch tender and protective, his fingers gently caressing her skin. The exhaustion from their intense encounter took its toll, and soon she succumbed to the sweet embrace of slumber.

Hours passed in blissful silence, their intertwined forms finding solace in the peaceful stillness of the night. Sebastian watched over her, his gaze filled with adoration and a touch of concern. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, his fingers tracing the delicate contours of her features, cherishing the serenity that now enveloped her.

As the first rays of dawn peeked through the window, gentle warmth danced upon her face, coaxing her back to consciousness. She slowly blinked her eyes open, her senses gradually awakening to the familiar surroundings. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she found herself lying on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, just as she had before the arrival of the black owl.

A soft smile curved her lips as memories of the previous night flooded her mind. She turned her head to find Sebastian sitting nearby, his eyes fixed on her with a mix of affection and relief. He had remained faithfully by her side, watching over her as she slumbered, ensuring her safety and comfort.

"Good morning," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress in the tranquil space. "How do you feel?"

Her response came as a languid stretch, her body still tingling from their passionate encounter. "Sore, but in the best possible way," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of confusion. "How did you--" She wanted to know how he managed to took her back into the Gryffindor common room, but she quickly noticed the current situation.

Sebastian chuckled, the sound carrying a mix of tenderness and amusement. "I'm glad to hear that. I was worried I may have been a bit too... intense." Then he saw how the morning was touching the common room. "Don't worry, I will leave soon"

She sat up, her eyes meeting his, filled with genuine worry... Yet she knew he hand all under control "You were perfect, Sebastian. More than I could have ever imagined." It was difficult for her to speak the truth after being soo long under he imperious curse.

A warm glow suffused his features, and he reached out to gently brush his fingers against her cheek. "You mean the world to me, you know that, right?" Her expression changed to a confused one.

"But I though you hated me" She whispered as her hand touched his. He chuckled and sighted. "I did... but then I started to understand I crossed a line... after I taught you crucio, after I manipulated you and Ominis to look the cure for Anne... after I killed my uncle" Her heart swelled with affection, a sense of belonging washing over her. "Everyone misses you... Even Ominis" she whispered, her voice brimming with emotion.

Sebastian leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, a testament to the connection they had forged. As they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling.

"Rest now," he murmured. "We have a lifetime of adventures ahead of us."

With a contented sigh, she nestled back into his embrace, her head resting against his chest. As she closed her eyes, she knew she was safe and loved, and in Sebastian's arms, she had found her sanctuary. Together, they drifted into a peaceful slumber, ready to face whatever the future held, united in their love and the magic they shared.

#sebastian sallow smut #harry potter #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy x you #hogwarts legacy x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #Hogwarts Legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow fic

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oxygenbefore1775 · 1 year

Text

am i wrong giving my all making you stay tonight

➥zeke x fem!reader

➥tags: canonverse, the year is 850 just before zeke is deployed to paradis

➥cw: major mentions of hatred towards eldians, star-crossed lovers and forbidden relationship trope, zeke is a narcissist and a dick here, the reader is also not that nice tbh, twisted marriage proposal and all that comes with it, zeke has some morbid fascination with his death, derogatory treatment from zeke (it's hella toxic); nsfw! (mdni) but it's at the very end so don't hesitate to scroll all the way down if you wanna skip all the explanation to them fucking, rough fucking, man handling, prone bone, kinda dacryphillia, talking during sex, one instance of hair tuggung

➥wc: 8.4k — no beta we die like my sleep schedule while writing this

➥summary: the night zeke tells you about his upcoming mission on paradis doesn't go without its consequences.

➥a/n: so i have this huge-ass zeke fic that i'm writing in my mother-tongue and because i'm sooo original w my content on tumblr rn i'm just gonna translate some parts of it here with some alterations - prepare for some incoherent shit, i warned you, that's like the most delulu zeke i have ever written

He is not to be trusted.

There's a deceit lacing his each word.

Cold and cunning, he was nonetheless charming. You would be lying if you denied the scorching languor that the ice of his blue eyes kindled in you.

Fleeting sentiments filled your mind in his presence, renderring you deaf and numb to your own thoughts. Not to mention his words, their poison failing to fill your absent body as you often lost the thread of the conversation. A lopsided grin curled his lips whenever you found yourself confused and unable to answer his simplest of questions, yet again, your thoughts a molten and twisted mass. You knew no end to his teasing for your frivoulness that he elicited from you with naught but a look.

Who were you, compared to the War Chief Yeager? Neither wits nor status was on your side to rebuke his taunts. Courage was failing you, fleeing at the mere sight of the red gracing his left arm. Retaliatory jabs never landed, the harsh words melted at the tip of your tongue before ever reaching him. How he reveled in seeing you like this, feeble and helpless. Just some stupid Eldian girl, that's what you were in his eyes. Unfit to be by his side.

And yet, he yearned for it nonetheless. Otherwise there was no other explaination to the slight arrogance bleeding into the way he spoke to you, leaving no other interpretation but that of a hunter taunting a mortally wounded beast. A whim, display of power, oversaturated and evident.

Occasionally he would condescend to your polite and humble requests, presenting them in a way that painted him as virtuous, as if you should be overflowing with gratitude and praises for his mere consideration of your proposals. He, however, never stooped to an open request himself, whether it be willful ignorance or inability to put thoughs into words. In such cases you were left to rely blindly on your own insight, forced to navigate through the murky water of his genuine intentions.

But witnessing this facade of complacency that masked his features most of the time disappear never failed to amuse you. How easily it could be shattered with a simle act — merely increasing the distance between you by a few steps during your routine strolls or better yet vanishing entirely from his line of sight amidst the crowd. That's all it took for the cold arrogance to crumble away and give way to a barely palpable unrest as he sought to bridge the unfavourably long gap that had grown between you unbeknownst to him. Not too close, though, being wary of avoiding the contact between your bodies.

The game he played to you was cruel yet he persisted in subjecting you to it, time after time. The true nature of his motives eluded you. The shadow of pleasure he took in poisoning your thoughts was hard to deny. Until he inhibits you whole, there would be no stopping to the suffocating hold over you. You were keep falling victim of this, though, the torment gnawing at your body and mind.

His unbroken gaze was the image etched in your memory for eternity. As well as the burning need to keep you near, by his side. Like you not staying at his apartment for the night could cost him his sleep. Like not laying his eyes one you could cost him his peace.

He remained oblivious to the fact that you noticed all of this. How could he possibly entertain those suspicions? A stupid Eldian girl would never. And still...

His gait lacked definition for someone who got the military drills beaten into him from the young age. Strange — even the deepest of thoughts usually failed to lure out a reaction from his body. Always static and phlegmatical, now he paced up and down the room, forgetting you were here in this room with him altogether.

With quick glances, you attempted to read his expression whenever he would pass your form curled up on the couch, and all in vain. His features remained an unpenetrable mask robbed of any emotion. Maybe it was the coffee. Shifting your gaze to the table covered with dirty mugs, your assumption had some reasoning behind it but you quickly brushed it off. He'd been like that long before resorting to the caffein.

Hesitation coursed through your every movement as you struggled to come up with a proper reaction. As intriguing as it was to find out what exactly had been plaguing the mind of steadfast War Chief, you couldn't muster up the insolence of striking up a conversation first. Who were you to inquire, anyway.

"One could hear your thoughts from a mile away."

His voice shook the cushioned silence of the room, bearing the same shadow of amusement he usually graced your way, as if the last hours weren't filled with restless pacing. Looking up to meet his gaze, a spark of amusement melted the cold of his eyes. The chance to divert his churning thoughts towards such a trivial remark seemed to bring him a little relief.

He prompted you with a quirk of his brow. "Speak what is it you have on your mind, or else you might burst."

There was that grin again, dark and painting his features in shadows. You shifted on the couch, nails digging into the flesh of your palm. At this point, each word you were going to say hardly veiled any obscurity since he'd already knew the nature of her question. He liked being proven right.

"Nothing really," your voice lacked the lively rebuke that usually sounded in your constant bickering back and forth, his unrest had seemed to rub off onto you as well. "You just seem off."

Your overtly careful choice of words elicited his soft chuckle. For a few moments he looked down on you, pondering just how much of information he should tell you. If he should tell you. After all, it was the knowledge not meant for the likes of you, civilians.

The light-hearted tone of his voice bore a stark contrast to the atmosphere and the words he was saying. "They're sending me to the island." His lips pressed into a thin bloodless line once he fell silent, his unbroken gaze on your face.

A deep line etched between your eyebrows. Still puzzled, you looked up at him searching for some sort of visual purchase.

The island of devils — any warrior would be elated at the prospect of proving their worth to Marley in battling the spawns of Paradis. Yet this sense of pride never captivated Zeke. More than anything, frustration seemed to have bled into his fair features.

Question, perhaps stupid in its naivete, plagued you so you let it leap off of your tongue. "Is this good or bad news?"

"And what do you think?" He retorted, pained playfullness still lingering in his voice. "When you send four Titans to an important mission and this is followed by five years of silence, how good can those news be?"

The air in the room became thick with smoke and smell of tobacco — Zeke must've lit a cigarette without you noticing. Your nose wrinkling, you slid to the other side of the couch where the gray thick cloud couldn't reach you. Uncanny thoughts soon started festering in your mind.

You cringed at your own way of thinking yet you couldn't help but to ask once more. "Are you—" unflattering crack snaked its way into your voice. "Is it going to be for a long time?"

He must've found your seeming worry endearing. His shoulders trembled in a fit of silent laughter, taking amusement in you. Like a pet who suddenly pulled a trick unbefitting of their intelligence. Artificial light cast dark shadows on his face as he neared the kitchen table, taking a sip from one of the half-empty mugs.

"I can only imagine." He stole a gaze at you, eager to capture the row of fleeting emotion painting your features. "Those four must've done a gravely mistake and now fear to face the punishment or died a long time ago. Now they expect me to clean up after them." Benevolent grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Warrior children, what a joke to Marley's army."

You shunned the way you had received the news. The insolence to fear, to assume the worst when you'd come to imagine him away on his mission was unacceptable of you, stupid Eldian girl. Your mind shouldn't be a harbor for such doubts. Zeke Yeager is a powerful warrior, the strongest in the unit. The red armband akin to the blood he'd spilt as an honorary Marleyan, a testament to hsi long service for the country. The island devils would be a little challenge for someone like him as his strength a prowess doomed him to imminent success. Your eyelashes fluttered as you sought solace in embrace of your arms, hiding your face in between your knees, away from his piercing stare. And yet you had the worries and you let them slowly eat away at you.

A temper tantrum would hardly influence Marley's decision and rid you of your predicament, but it didn't make you backtrack on your blind desire nonetheless. And he'd be thrilled to see your tears, especially if he was the cause of them.

Solitude started to weigh over your head like a dark stormy cloud. To be apart for such a long time rang so foreign to you. Foreign and cruel. Being at Yeager's side bore its benefits which you didn't hesitate to reap and now that the threat of those upsides being ripped away from you hung in the air, you felt... annoyed. You smiled to yourself at the fact that you'd finally been able to pin down your emotion. Annoyed sounded about right. And nothing else.

Noticing your downcast look, he decided to seal off your state with another barbed remark. "Spare Liberio your distraught sentiments. You weren't supposed to know about this in the first place. And I'd like to keep it that way in the eyes of the other people."

The ice in his gaze was persistent as he locked eyes with you. Not persistent enough to prevent the lopsided grin from twisting your lips.

In a fit of distorted glee, you inquired, your voice barely above whisper, "Why did you tell me about this then?" The words dripped with a mix of curiosity and spite, as if you had unraveled a hidden agenda beneath his carefully constructed facade. Your eyes bore into his, searching for a glimpse of vulnerability or truth amidst the web of deceit that surrounded him.

He was never easy to nail down so you didn't believe your luck when you caught a glimpse of emotion, as weak and light as the candle's flame, flicker in his eyes. And you didn't care for the nature of it — be it the amazement at the precision of your question or the anger with your insolence — it pleased you as long as it wasn't the usual cold spite. You found comfort in the knowledge that he, just like you, may be subservient to something other than his logic. That you're not the only one affected by the news of departure. The satisfaction was short-lived though as his features quickly acquired the same expression as before, a blank canvas you couldn't read.

The nicotine must've cleared his senses seeing as he scoffed at you in a condescending rebuke. "So that you won't make any fuss once you find the house empty." His hand reached to rest under your chin but you didn't accept the gesture, turning your head the other way. Stubborn behavior befitting the image of a stupid Eldian girl he painted you as in his mind. "It's still very much a secret mission so only limited number of people are allowed to know."

His touch rejected, he returned to the table, from which he continued keeping his unwavering gaze on you.

Did his remark suggest that his family was included in this selected group? Meaning, he went out of his way just to tell you? And for what? For you not to worry? Watching him form the corner of your eye, you couldn't help but to adore the stark discrepancy between his words and actions.

"I'll consider this your act of courtesy towards me." You shot back meekly, the tone of your voice suddenly growing more humble. At least you would have the satisfaction of having last word even if it meant resorting to your obsequious self.

Now, after a cigarette or two, he appeared utterly unfazed as if he weren't gambling with his own life by venturing onto the island of devils. When it came to his life, he never seemed to hold it at great value. You were the one to do it in his stead.

Curiosity took the better of you as you turned your head to face him, a hint of concern seeping through your facade. "How dangerous will it be? If the other Warriors had been on the island for five years, then those devils must be strong enough to pose a threat." You couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the mission potentially stretching beyond five years for Zeke. As capable and talented as he was, five years to his life were something that he just didn't have.

Zeke leaned back in his chair, the lazy twirling of smoke rising up out of his cigarette in contrast to the sharpness of the sneer that quickly appeared in the depths of his eyes. "For someone so uninvolved in the military campagns of Marley you seem to have too many questions about this mission. What's with the constant inquiries?" His words dripping with misleading benevolence.

His question momentarily silenced the room, knocking the air out of your lungs. Perhaps you indeed asked too many questions for someone of your station, someone who's supposed to be in a strictly comradely relationship with Zeke. You felt the tension growing more palpable the longer you kept him waiting. The glint in his eyes spoke volumes, a mix of amusement and knowing, hinting at the fact that he'd already got himself a satisfactory answer to his own inquiry. Part of you sensed that he'd guessed it right.

Nonetheless, you rushed to state the opposite in a futile attempt to undermine his own conclusion. "I think it's only logical of any Eldian to take interest in this mission." You pursed your lips before speaking again, feeling how artificial your words sounded leaping off your tongue. "The fate of the whole world depends on its outcome, does it not?"

At this point you'd grown too weary of him, his presence already intoxicating as it is. Why'd he brought you into his house? Just to tell you about his leave, take joy in seeing you shedding a shred of worry towards him but to mock you later for expressing those? Your drilled, bordering on automatic, response didn't win any favour with him yet managed to amuse him to some extent, evident in the way a mischevious grin split his face as he stood up from his chair.

His steps rang louder and louder with him approaching the couch you were sitting on. You let out a relieved sigh, cradling the hope that he'll finally grant you with leave, having had his share of playing games with you.

His eyes told otherwise. "No." He simply shook his head, denying you the last opportunity to leave his house. "I'll argue that there's more to it."

With that, his voice took on more sweetness that he usually allowed himself whilst talking to you which surprised you. At this point of your conversation he'd usually stoop down to tasteful taunts, a stark contrast to the moderation he was currently excercising, making your mind teem with thoughts.

"All the correspondence is forbidden for the Marleyan warriors whilst on the mission. Were you aware of that?" Still lacking a full comprehension of his motives, you nodded your head, your eyes big and doe-like. Nonetheless, he accepted your curt response, elusive benevolence seeping through his features. "Not if it's meant for the close family members, though. Also honorary Marleyans, like me. On that front Marley had been exceptionally allowing."

Again with the obscureness, as if expressing his thoughts in straight sentences would rob him of his last breath. Still, you continued to look at him, your eyes fixated on the enigma that was the fleeting chain of emotions lacing his features. The tips of your ears burning, the supressed frustration at having to sit here and listen to him welled up inside you. His monologue had just took off yet he was already dousing you with mental excercises you were unwilling to solve at this late hour.

Feather-light touch grazed against your temple, his fingers tucking an unruly strand behind your ear, bringing you back to the sound of his musings. "Wouldn't you be worried not knowing about my whereabouts on the Paradis?"

You rushed to deny his groundless assumptions but you found your lips too heavy to utter a word. Thus, he continued, a sliver of benevolent amusement in his tone. "Who knows, perhaps I would be captured or even killed and you would have no idea of my fate?"

The words sounded strange coming from him. He never paid any mind to the morbid consequences that may happen to him whilst on a mission and now that he was shedding light to it in front of you, it filled you with more confusion.

Still, you leaned in closer, intrigued by this newly discovered oddity of his, wanting to her what else he had to say.

"Aren't you?" He called out to you yet there wasn't a hint of condescention to his voice. As if he genuinely took interest in your answer, waiting for you to respond.

And you did answer, with a shallow "yes" whispered in the room. Usually you refrained from such vulnerability as this was often followed with barbed taunts, punishing you for the display of affection to someone as unfeasible as him. But this time, he seemed to had welcomed it.

The spark in his eyes was warm, an exception of his facade you rarely got to see. "Well, I just might help you to get rid of your worries. Would you like that?" You let him touch under your chin, lifting your gaze to see his.

In that moment, the fog of confusion clouding your mind began to lift, revealing glimpses of his true nature. Your eyes widened in surprise as you finally captured what was lurking behind the blue irises. He captured your gaze, too, as well as the sudden recognition, hence the smile, soft and warm, melting the curve of his lips as he opened his mouth to speak. You didn't have to listen to him to know what he was about to say yet it didn't substract from the surrealism of the situation.

"Be my wife."

Out of all the blows, this was by far the most cruel and perverted. The idea seemed too far-fetched, too out of reach for it to have any meaning behind it. You had grown accustomed to his teasing, his banter and the way he seemed to enjoy keeping you on your toes. Can this be another one of his games? Another way to rattle your composure?

Your gaze quickly turned skeptical. You couldn't risk remaining vulnerable in his presence and at this moment. You kept waiting for the mask of pretense to slide right off his face, for him to announce that he had indeed tried to trick you. Yet it stayed all the same, as if the expression was genuine, eyes brimming with inviting warmth like before. Still, doubt lingered within you.

Why should this day be a precedence? An upcoming operation on Paradis couldn't possibly cause this shift inside him. He'd been on other missions before and never before had his unwavering level-headedness left him.

He is not to be trusted. The words that were still echoing in your head are not to be trusted. The mantra sealing your lips, you tried to ward off the terrible temptation to give into what he was saying. He wouldn't hesitate to drag you through the mud if he finds out that you'd fallen prey to his words.

"You can't mean that." It was your final verdict. If he wasn't the one to aknowledge it then you had to be.

The smile on his lips gave way to a lopsided grin, as if your response didn't come as surprise to him. So it had been a game after all, you mused as you allowed yourself a mental praise for your own foresight.

"But I can." The rebuke remaining soft, he kept looking at you, waiting for your eyes to meet again.

It was of no use to you, though. All that you would see in the icy pools would be either that inviting warmth again or a blind wall. And neither of those would cast any light on what had been truly driving his actions all along.

The air felt silent and still. This — all of this — wasn't happenning to you. No night being spent at his house, no awkward pause between you two, no twisted words of proposal. It was all too much for the likes of you, common Eldian girl.

Regardless of your thoughts, he rushed to crush them, bringing you to the undeniable and inevitable reality.

He called out to you again, "So what?" the grin that seemed to appear on his features so often suddenly faded. "Will you be my wife?" You could only chuckle at his courtesy to having finally asked you, instead of bluntly stating his wishes.

With that, he sanked down on the sofa cushions, sitting next to her. The knowledge of his taunts, sometimes ruthless in their nature, implored you to momentarily refrain from answering his question and allowing him to continue, instead. The sincerity had no place in the words he was directing towards you. His statements were not to be held at face value, you had to remind yourself.

Nevertheless, you succumbed to the temptation that had been gnawing at you for a long time as you let your head fall onto his shoulder, the precise movement leaving no room for interpretation of your intentionall gesture. He would be hardly angry with you for such a display of weakness. Quite on the contrary, as your begrudgent vulnerability flattered him immensly.

The weight of the gone day suddenly crushed over you in waves, robbing you of any strength. "A lovely young captain's wife." The saccharine in his tone started to taste bitter. "Mrs. Yeager who would wait for her husband to return from military operations, her body and and soul devoted to him only. Who would meet me with joy and every evening after a working day take off my boots for me."

Wrinkling your nose, you otherwise didn't let your momentary disgust become apparent to him via your posture.

Alerted by your silence, he turned his head in your direction. His breath, hot and tart with tobacco, seared your face. "What do you say?"

Wife. The time had long come for you to forget this word. At this moment and in your position, it was an unthinkable thing for you. Who were you in comparison to the prized asset that Zeke was to the country? He was also no exception, even if the red armband signified otherwise. Bound by his service to Marley, he would never be allowed to dedicate even a sliver of his attention to something not pertaining to his warrior duty.

But on rare occasions you granted yourself the indulgence but also the freedom to your own dreams and you intended to do it today as well. Even if it was the first time for you to voice your hidden desires to someone else, let alone someone who figured in your dreams so often.

The warmth slid along her thigh where he ran his palm across your skin in a thoughtless caress, his touch radiating with heat. Just as thoughtlessly, you caught his movement, taking two of his fingers into your palm.

Being an Eldian in an internment zone, your fate had been sealed long ago yet you found comfort in the knowledge. With your future set in stone, you had all the freedom to fantasize about your chimerical impossible life.

Soon enough you started speaking, your words bearing the same bliss that his were. "Then your huge bath would be all mine and I would bathe in it every day. Definitely with bubbles. And you wouldn't be able to tell me anything against it."

Your ears caught a faint chuckle escaping his lips, accompanied by a subtle exhale.

The prospect of sharing a life with the captain held an irresistible allure. Despite all the taunts lacing his words, a grain of truth resonated within them. This was perhaps the best outcome an Eldian from the internment zone such as yourself could ever hope for. A sharp-tongued and occasionally unbearable husband aside, the advantages of such a union far outweighed the disadvatages. As the capitan of the warrior unit, his duties would often take him outside of Liberio, leaving you to revel in the opulence of your home for many days and even weeks to come.

Contrary to his words though, you would hardly harbour any sentiments over him not being by your side as he had teasingly described to you. Your heart would be unlikely to languish in lamenting the frequent separation, seeing as the luxury of your home would occupy your whole mind, sparing not a single thought for your warrior husband. Even in your sweetest dreams the love that typically exists between the spouses was conspicuously absent in your marriage. Such an emotion was barred for the two of you, as you remained essentially strangers to one another.

Your eyes dropped to the entanglement of your fingers from which he was in no hurry to free himself.

You started to forget yourself, as the most sincere of words weighed heavy on the tip of your tongue. "But also the coffee that you would brew every morning. I really like it."

His lips momentarily twitched, as if your timid praide had either amused or touched him.

A casual impudence found its way into his retort. "Oh no. After I get married I won't go into the kitchen at all so it will all be the responsibility of Mrs. Yeager." He dragged out the last words a little. "I don't want a wife who can't even make me coffee."

The warmth of his body enveloping you, you pulled your knees to your chest and settled into the comfort of your position. Usually, neither of you was insolent enough to seek proximity in each other's presence in this way. Besides sex, your bodies rarely touched, but at this moment it was all too tempting to mind your self-restraint. And yet, your move didn't provoke irritation in him. Instead, it seemed to have awakened a temporary surge of affection within him. He even opened his arms wider, as if embracing you more deeply. However, you couldn't ignore the subtle stiffness in his gestures, a reminder of the hopeless underlying truth about your relationship. You two were far from being a married couple and the likelihood of you ever becoming spouses seemed increasingly remote.

Possible or not, the illusion was sweet enough to numb the cynicism of your predicament.

Yet another breath of his scorched the shell of your ear. "But will you teach me? How to make coffee?" Your inquiry laced with naive politeness, you smiled as you felt his chest, a barely audible hum rumbling the air. "Will my husband have any other expectations of his poor tireless wife?"

In a feigned attempt to challenge him, your palm closed around his fingers even tighter, as if she wanted to attract even more of his attention to her.

This ploy of yours appeared to be succesfull, seeing as his hold of you grew closer. "Your husband would like you to spoil him with your cooking every day." He said with a soft chuckle. "Not that I have tried your food but that is all trivial. My regeneration can withstand the effects of any poison so your cooking would hardly deal any damage to me, no matter how disgusting it may be."

You fell silent at the lack of a proper rebuke, letting yourself get lost in this moment that you doubted you would see again any time soon.

And you were proven right. Just as you began to embrace the newfound comfort of your position, your hopes to have this moment last a bit longer were swiftly shattered. The warmth in his voice dissipated, replaced by a chilling tone as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. "Why deceive yourself?" His words dripped with cold determination. "I know all too well why someone like you would like to meddle with someone like me."

With no further explanation, he presented you with his armband, bright red fabric carelessly thrown onto your hand. The shift in his disposition was so sudden that you took a second to even register the feel of rough cloth against the skin of your palm. Disturbed by the intrusive nature of his inquiry, you tried to pry yourself away from him yet he didn't let you, his fingers finding their place under your chin to turn your face to him. The pools of his blue eyes were colder than ever, studying your expression, not losing sight of each fleeting emotion painting your features, as if the silent observation would provide him with more answers instead of just asking you directly.

Yet you didn't feel fear. In all the time that you had known each other, he never gave you the reason to be afraid around him. This surely had to be attributed to his charms since his each action, no matter how twisted or condescending, held a certain allure over you. Even now as you were pinned down in your place and forced to continuosly look back at him, all you could feel was frustration welling up inside you.

Your exasparetion started to overflow, evident in the way your brows knitted together. "You're hurting my neck," you voiced your discontent in a soft manner, only to be met with his unamuzed gaze.

He only got closer to you, your bodies pressing up against each other, his lips so near to yours that your mouth began to water at the bitter taste of tobacco dancing on your tongue.

Your protests were heeded, and he released his hold on your chin, seemingly satisfied with gazing at you. Another whisper, hot and sibilant, flowed into your ear. "It was hard not to notice, you stared at it too often." Instinctively, your hand tightened its grip on the red fabric, drawing it closer to your chest. "But I can understand your fascination with that thing. What is it that you want exactly?"

Considering all his past actions, his question sounded almost too caring, too soft and too thoughtful for someone like him. Were you a bit more perceptive in that moment, perhaps you would have been touched by his genuine interest but instead you couldn't help but to feel exposed. Maybe you did stare at it too much, as hardly a conversation with him went by without your excessive attention being drawn to some piece of fabric instead of the person it belonged to. You hoped that he hadn't been awake during the nights when you dared to harbor enough insolence to take the armband from his nightstand and pose with it in front of the mirror, the reflections of you with a red ring circling your left arm looking so dreamy and beautiful.

Hardly any Eldian in the internment zone didn't want to be an honorary Marleyan, and you were no exception. In fact, you were the most trivial showcase of this bold desire. It can give you a better life and safety and freedom, most of all. Freedom to go beyond the stone walls of the internment zone, even if for just a while.

In all your life you never came to think that the armband could be attained through the means Zeke had proposed to you not so long ago.

You were thankful to him for still keeping his composure. At least one of you had to. "So what is it? Everything, I assume?" You felt his breath hitch as soon as you answered with a curt nod. "Then everything it is. And I will give it to you."

The right words were coming hard to you yet you couldn't wait any longer to voice them. Pulling away, you finally put some distance between you two, finally free from his suffocating warmth. "Are you hearing yourself right now?"

Your attempts to reason with him were quickly put to rest with a single gaze he graced your way. The intensity in his eyes made your words falter on your lips, as a knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Right now, each of my word has weight so listen to me while I'm still talking."

Surprisingly, it worked. But it wasn't for his concise argument but rather the oddly familiar expression in the depths of his eyes. As you gazed deeper into those pools of blue, you saw a reflection of your own yearnings, a crack in his flawless facade. A pained smile bent your lips as you reveled in the realization that Zeke had given way to the same sentiments as you. And you thought once that he was insusceptible to this. A dark chuckle escaping your lips, the gravity of your predicament started to set in. Fools, both of you.

In a haste you took off his glasses before kissing him. You didn't want the metal frame to poke you in the eye again should the angle be not right.

His lips felt dry against yours, the tart taste of tobacco doing little to prevent you from sliding your tongue into his mouth. He smiled into the kiss as he felt you settling back into his embrace, the cushions collapsing under the collective weight of your bodies.

Your aggressive initiative was a welcome dynamic, with you quickly straddling his lap as he was left to take in the feel of your body. The coil in your stomach began to wind up with each painstakingly slow movement of your hips. The sloppy sounds of kissing rang loud in the room, interrupted only with your breathy whimpers whenever you grazed your sweet spot.

It took him all his strength to pull away, fake and long-soiled paragon of self-restraint lacing his tone when he spoke to you. "The couch would be too narrow for this." The voice barely above whisper.

With that, he grabbed you under your knees, drawing your legs closer to his body for a better purchase. Instinctively, you wrapped your hands around his neck and leaned into his chest so you wouldn't fall when he picked you up. His fingers sank into the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he carried you into the bedroom, your body barely a burden for him. A curt laughter rose from your chest and got lost in the tussels of his fair hair. You hadn't thought him to be so strong outside of his Titan form.

The springs of the mattress wailed as he let go of you, initiating your short fall. He looked down on you, his movements suddenly lacking resolve but his eyes still transfixed on your form. Reluctant to give any more thought to the ponderings teeming his mind, you didn't intend on waiting idly for him to join you. In the growing heat of the room your clothes became a nuisance, just another one of the barriers standing between you two.

Your fingers untypically spry for the state that you were in, you reached for the rows of buttons on your clothes, unburdening yourself layer by layer all the while watching him watch you.

Evidently, the sight of your naked form helped him come to his senses quickly as he stepped closer to the edge of the bed. In a bout of anticipation coursing through your veins you extended your arms towards him in an alluring invitation, starving to taste the tobacco on your tongue again.

All the same dark grin of his told otherwise. Instead of granting you the satisfaction of having his mouth on yours, he grabbed the hold of your hips to flip you over, tight grip sure to leave marks on the skin in the morning to come.

His weight came crushing over you, knocking the air out of your lungs and pinning you in place. Although he was using both of his hands to support his body, with each at the either side of you, it brought you little relief.

"Like I was saying," his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, you felt as if the reverberations of his voice reached your brain. "Marley allowing me to marry is more real than you think. Don't think they would refuse their most valuable asset in such a trivial matter. Maybe I'll even start winning more wars for them."

Your mind refused to give any more attention to his words, demanding a tangible satisfaction instead. You tried to arch your back in hopes that the sudden contact of your pelvises would make him forget his musings, forcing him to stoop down to the same level that you found yourself on, but it was all futile. Under the immense pressure your lower torso was rendered immobile, as if fused with the plush mass of the mattress.

The skin on your shoulder tingled with faint prickles where he rested his chin. "The armband, as significant as it may seem, is not the solution to each of your problem in the internment zone. A glorified scrap of fabric signifying that you're just a bit less miserable than all the others, that's what it is, really." he spoke, his voice tainted with sullen knowledge.

You absolutely hated how he remained so stationary while in arguably the most compromised position and how you lacked the power to change it. "Then why are you willing to go through the trouble of giving me one?" You hissed into the cradle of your palms, tone brimming with impotent dissatisfaction.

The next moment you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, with a violent tug forcing your head to turn to the side, your neck almost snapping from the sheer power of the motion. You were met with his gaze, angry yet at the same time seemingly insulted by your insolence to question his motives again. You responded in kind, your eyes watching his lips in anticipation of yet another one of his countless self-serving musings to be voiced. But you didn't hear any. He let go of your hair just as suddenly, nudging you to face away from him.

Sitting up straight, his body weight shifted towards your thighs as he was straddling them. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his shirt falling to the ground. The sound of the belt buckle coming unfastened was the next thing you heard, the soft clang of the metal clasp filling you with thrill.

His hand snaked its way to your abdomen, pressing against the small of the belly to make you raise your hips and you felt happy to oblige, displaying yourself nicely to him. His touch lingered on you for quite some time after that as both of his hands traveled to the back your thighs, absentmindedly caressing the supple flesh in lazy broad strokes. A surge of goosebumps cascaded across your body, each wave driven not only by his scorching touch but also by a sudden flash of realization.

He must have noticed how shamelessly wet you were. The positioning of your hips left barely any room for his imagination and presented him with the delectable view of your slit, slick covered and pulsing with heat. Exasperated, you bit down on your lower lip to supress a desperate moan all the while he took his sweet fucking time to revel in the way your cunt flutterd around nothing begging to be filled. As much as you wanted to feel him inside you, you kept your pleas to yourself, left solely at the mercy of his self-restraint which you hoped had started to diminish already. You'd rather die than make your weakness for him known again, as if your body wasn't enough of an indicator already.

Eternity might have passed but he eventually moved, shifting some of his weight back onto his arms as he mounted you.

You couldn't help but gasp at the way your walls enveloped him, struggling to take his girth at first. A drawn-out raspy fuck emitted from his chest once he entered you, his motion slow yet persistent as he slid his cock deeper inside you. Careful not to harm you, he halted whenever your breaths became too shallow and frantic from the stinging of the stretch, not moving any further without your leave.

Minutes later you felt him reach the deepest part of your cunt, the immense pressure from his continuous thrust built at the bottom of your stomach, so unbearable that it rendered all the other sensations non-existent. There was no way he couldn't feel your body tensing up below him. Nonetheless, he kept on pushing, as if trying to break you. Even as you tried to get away from the uncomfortable feeling, he stopped you, putting his palms over yours as another way to pin you down. The weight of the pressure bore down on you relentlessly, within mere seconds, tears began to bead on your lashline, threatening to cascase down your cheeks and fall onto the sheets.

The skin of your nape grew hot where he doused it in kisses. Twisted sense of comfort welled up inside of you in hopes that his caresses, so out-of-place yet so warranted, would at the very least provide some relief to you. It seemed that he would persist until you fully succumb to him. A whispered praise poured into your ear once all the struggle left your body and your flesh became pliable to him.

Only then did he back down. Letting you catch your breath as one of his hands traced its way to your face, brushing a strand aside to get a better look of your eyes glistening with tears.

Little did you know that it would be the final act of gentleness he bestowed upon you for a long time, leaving you yearning for more. You didn't even had the time to savour it as he set a new unforgiving pace.

Beyond the tingling sensation of his cock dragging against your walls in a brutalizing manner, sharp hissing grazed your ear. "Why in hell would I go through the trouble of giving you one," he tantalised, each of his thrusts only adding to the mockery. "So you won't forget that you're mine while I'm be away".

"Mine and safe," he murmured then, confident that you won't hear him.

It wasn't his voice. It sounded so unlike him in this moment, frail and vulnerable, but you were the only people in the room so it must've been him.

A jolt of pleasure railed through your body with the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over again, driving you wild. Your pleasure became apparent to him as well, his motions gaining more precision to increase the blissful sensation for you.

Struggling to form words you nonetheless tried to, your lips and tongue heavy. "So this is what comes with being your wife?" You couldn't believe the tenderness lacing your tone at this moment. The sentiments were a cruel thing, not something you were supposed to have towards him, nor he towards you.

His reply was overtly eager, as he leaned closer to you, your bodies pressing together almost seamlessly. "Pretty much," his voice rang in your ear. "You must admit that you're very fortunate."

You craned your neck to face him, curiosity sparkling in your eyes. Taking in your alluring look, he couldn't resist the glowing skin of your shoulders, so transfixed on tasting the salt of your sweat on his lips that he ground to a halt inside you.

All you could do was rile him up even further, a chuckle escaping your lips. "Oh yes, the prospect of having you cater to my every whim sounds like a remarkably enticing endeavor on my side."

As your words hung in the air, a mischievous glint danced in your eyes, reveling in the effect they had on him. The corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin, mirroring your own playful demeanor and growing heavy with somber tone. With that, his hold on you became tighter, his hand groping at the fat of your thighs.

His hips snapped against yours with such a force that you nearly mewled, feeling the reverberations of his thrust echoing throughout your body. "Enjoying it while you can." His voice dropped to a low, husky timbre, tinged with a hint of challenge and sneer. "You've got only five years left for that."

This level-headed bordering on indifferent demeanor in a blind disregard of his own words struck a nerve with you. You gulped some air, desperate to conceal the outburst within you.

You wished he hadn't remind you of the imminent futility of your secret musings. You wished he would just carry on with pounding into your leaking heat with no thought to it. As he moved inside you, sinking his cock inch by delicious inch, the pleasure of it faded even if your own body continued having visceral reaction to the process, your gummy fluttering around his girth. Now, only lament had residence in your mind. If it wasn't for your unfortunate fate of having been born as Eldians, perhaps you could have a chance at a normal life. Without the constant thoughts of him slipping away.

His resolve undying, he pressed your body deeper into the mattress, the pressure of his hands driving the air out of your lungs all the while his cock kept winding the coil in the pit of your stomach.

"Widowhood would suit you so good."

His voice remained just as mocking as before, as if the life that was put on the clock wasn't his. You, on the other hand, were precisely the one not entertaining such remarks. "Tell me." You could barely make out the words amongst the squelching sounds. "Tell me, will you mourn me? Funeral would be hard to organize, admittedly, with no body left for you to bury, but-"

You rushed to hide your face in the sheets. You heard enough. You didn't want to hear anymore of his taunts.

The words still reached your ear. "Will you cry for me like a good wife should for her husband?" He came to a halt deep inside you yet again, ready to break you should you not answer. "I've never seen those eyes cry before. So will you or will you not?"

The satisfaction wouldn't come so easily to him as you remained motionless under him. Only your shoulders quivered with subtle tremors, betraying the hidden distress that stirred within you. As simple thing such as breathing brought you a lot of struggle so you could only hope that your poise would last through all of this.

"It's not like I've taken your tongue away," he mocked.

A gesture of feigned compassion, you felt his fingers card through your hair, lulling you into false sense of security in hopes of luring out a desired reaction out of you. The sweet tone of his voice came off as cruel and mocking as he coaxed you for an answer, his fingers toying with your clit only adding to the torture.

Sick twisted pleasure, that's what he was getting from all of this. Your answer to his inquiries evident to him, he nonetheless wanted to hear it falling from your lips, dry and bitten at.

Yet, when he spoke again, his voice shed all its malice, barren as it trembled slightly. "At least remember me after I'm gone, would you do that for me?" He called out your name and it sounded vulnerable coming from him, his tone etching deep within your memory.

With a lump forming in your throat, you struggled to find your voice as well as enough air to form a response. There was no purchase for your mind as a scorching wave of orgasm coursed through your body, your face contourting in pleasure and your cunt squeezing in around him. With that, the last bit of poise left you and you broke down completely.

"Yes!" you pushed past your lips, hot tears streaming down your cheeks and your shoulders shaking with each sob.

In this moment you suddenly grew unaware of your surroundings, deaf to his whispers pouring into the ear and numb to the tingling stretch of your core as he was chasing his own high.

The skin of your inner thighs soiled with his seed, you would normally rush to the bathroom to wash away the stench of sex but this time you thought against it, curling up on the bed instead once he rolled off of you. Only now you began to feel the weight of your confession. Why did it have to be you alone to crack under the surge of sentiments that held immense power over you?

He decided to stay in bed as well, watching you struggle to come to terms with what you had just said, complacent grin plastered across his face. Evidently, you made him very happy this night.

"When are you leaving?" you asked in a raspy voice, watching him as he watched you in the enveloping darkness.

His fingers reached for a stray strand, sliding it behind your ear. His tone was thick with mindless glee. "In a couple of weeks, plenty of time for me to convince Marley to green light the marriage." The kiss he left on your lips acquired a bitter taste with time. "What will you say?" At the lack of suitable words, you just nodded dumbly.

He is not to be trusted.

There's a deceit lacing his each word.

But as you gazed deeper into his eyes, glinting in the dark shroud of the night, you let him deceive you yet again.

(phew)

#zeke x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke x you #zeke yeager x you #zeke smut #zeke yeager smut #aot smut

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xtransmasc-reader-scenariosx · 5 months

Text

Headcanons for Yamaguchi Tadashi with a Trans Male Boyfriend

Pairing: Yamaguchi Tadashi / Trans Male Reader + casual friendship with Tsukishima Kei Warnings: dysphoria, casual/accidental transphobia, mentions of substance use

Your relationship with Tadashi begins when you move into the house next door to his in the 3rd grade. You had been far more concerned with making friends than unpacking and latched on to Tadashi since he was the only other kid your age on the block.

A majority of your friendship was beating back bullies and getting into more fights than a "girl your age" should have. And out of all of the fights and potential injuries what bothered you the most was being called a girl.

It feels natural that you tell Tadashi first and he is supportive, even if he didn't quite understand. It was his hand in yours that gave you the courage to tell your parents, he was being your courage for a change.

You both meet Kei in middle school and it was nice, to no longer be alone in helping Tadashi find his courage.

It's Kei actually, that gives you the courage to tell Tadashi how you felt about him, rather, threatening to tell him if you didn't.

Its Kei and Tadashi that correct people about you, and Tadashi surprisingly enough that has to be held back when it turns out to be intentional. You and Kei both know he wouldn't ever win a fist fight, but you at least were still endeared that he was willing to lose if it was your honor involved.

Joining them at Karasuno is the logical next step even though you had no plans to ever set foot on a Volleyball court after how poorly it went in middle school. But you would be there to cheer on your boyfriend and your best friend every step of the way.

You had better things to do than club activities. That and while Karasuno had art classes they didn't have a specific club for it, so your afternoons were free. The days you weren't watching Tadashi and Kei practice you were tagging along with the third years from your art class.

Tadashi confronts you about the smoke he smells on your clothes, and your denial leads to your first real fight. A swirling nasty thing that devolved into a shouting match that ends with Kei acting as a go between for you two for all of a day before giving up and forcing you to sort it out yourselves.

He doesn't back down and for a change you do, agreeing to quit hanging out with that group and wait til college to see if you're still as interested in experimenting with that kind of thing when you're old enough

For the next three years Karasuno goes to the top and stands on the world stage. And every time beside the banner that says "Fly" there was a banner just for Tadashi hand made by you and different each time.

College leads you back to old habits, and Tadashi doesn't fuss quite as much this time.

You graduate and go on to be an illustrator for a sports advertiser, and Tadashi goes into sports medicine and has a list of pros from school that had most others envious.

There were times where you looked back and couldn't help but grin. You never thought persistently ringing the doorbell of the house next to yours would ever lead to this.

#hq imagines #hq x reader #haikyuu #x trans male reader #x transmasc reader #Yamaguchi Tadashi x reader #Tadashi Yamaguchi x reader #Yamaguchi Tadashi x Trans! Reader #Tadashi Yamaguchi x Trans! reader #Yamamguchi Tadashi #Tadashi Yamaguchi #xtransmasc-reader-scenariosx

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whatyadrawin · 6 months

Text

The Fruit After The Flesh 18+ -CHAPTER 2-

Masterlist

Approximately 2,663 words

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt(HeadCanon) x AFAB reader

This chapters Warnings: Moderately strong language

A/n: This is the chapter giving more context and backstory to the Hewitts and the rude farmhand. Things pick up from here and will continue to keep on that exciting trajectory but remind yourself that I am the lord of the slow burn lol, I like building up to the fleshy bits. The artwork is what's keeping these chapters from coming out so quickly, I didn't want to go full flat color this time but goddamn my ADHD symptoms are making shit a lot harder to focus on so please have patience, I assure you all it is worth it. Please enjoy and keep an eye on the masterlist linked above for updates.

tag list: @fan-goddess

Chapter 2

The next day came with less heat than the first, the sun was frequently blocked out by thick white clouds that rolled against its light causing brief shadows to lay on the land. You started unpacking more and more things from the container you shipped to the house before you moved, making sure that everything that you needed was properly put away. Eventually it was time to head over to Luda Mae’s house and you wanted to make sure to look presentable for tea time. Thoughts of what her family was like raced through your head, you especially wanted to know who the mysterious masked man was. You slipped on a nice pink sundress that you made yourself, you covered your shoulders with a white cropped cardigan and some white sandals that were comfortable to walk in.

You decide to visit the farmhand again in an attempt to make friends so he wouldn’t be so hostile, you grab your things and head down before you make your way to Luda Mae’s home. You spot him tending to a peach tree and you walk over.

“Hey there, I don’t mean to bug you when you’re busy but I just wanted to see if you would take a break and chat for a bit?” you tried to use your friendliest smile.

“Ya can’t see I’m busy girl? Why don’t you go screw off with your riches and leave the farm to the only person caring for it all these years!” his words were so needlessly callous, but you continue,

“I know you’re busy but why don’t you tell me what I can do to help? It doesn’t have to all land on your shoulders anymore”

He laughs to himself and says “Why? So, ya can just fire me when ya get the hang o’ things? Women can’t do this kinda labor, why dontcha just sit there and look pretty”

The sexism was shocking but you didn’t want to let that garbage stop you “I understand you are upset from the change but I assure you I just want to be friendly and helpful”

He turns to you with a smug look “What kinda friendly we talkin’ ‘bout here?”

You get creeped out as he stops his work and looks at you in a more predatory way, but you persist,

“I just mean you don’t have to worry about doing all the work by yourself, I can help you, and by friendly... I just want to have a civil professional relationship with you, nothing more”

“Thinkin’ ya deserve some kinda good treatment huh? How ‘bout me? Don’t I deserve compensation for the work I did all these years? I ain’t talkin’ bout wages neither”

You wonder what he means by that, so you try offering solutions “What do you need? Maybe I can get you a better living situation or more tools to make the work easier?”

He didn’t like anything you had to say, “Ya think it’s just that simple? I like where I live, I like being left ALONE!”

You feel a knot forming in your throat, being treated like this was so hurtful “Ok, well, I’ll leave you to it then. Have a good rest of the day”

He made you feel like shit, all the memories of people bullying you and your old friend were coming back and you just wanted to get away. Your heart was racing with anger and the familiar feeling of an old depression started to creep back in.

You start making your way towards Luda Mae’s home and hope that the walk calms your nerves and lifts your spirits enough to enjoy the rest of your day. The sun was peeking out from behind the thick clouds and brightened the dry road before you, tiny little white flowers sparsely lined the sides of the road and made you smile. You closed your eyes and made your mind blank, only listening to the gentle wisps of the wind rustling the tall wheatgrass, and the crunch of dry dirt with every step you took, some birds could be heard in the distance chirping cheerfully. You felt like you were in a different universe where time stood still and it was just you and the earth around you.

Shortly, you arrive at Luda Mae’s property, she had a wire fence blocking the four grazing cows in and there were a lot of cars sitting in a lot near the main house, it seemed odd but you just assumed maybe one of them was a mechanic. You walk up toward the barn and hope to see that mysterious masked man but the barn is empty minus some clucking chickens strutting around. You make your way up to the door and knock, an older man answers it, he looks you up and down and smiles,

“Well now, I didn’t know it was my birthday” he says. You can hear Luda Mae yell at him to shut up and let you in. He drops the smile and waves you in, making you walk closely to get past him. Luda Mae meets you as you walk in and she introduces you,

“Sorry ‘bout him sweetheart, this is my brother Charlie. Come on in dear, I can’t wait to talk with you, Loretta brought some real good tea for us to enjoy” She gestures for you to follow her and you speak to Charlie as you pass through,

“Nice to meet you Charlie, I’m Y/N*”

He smiles as he looks at you saying “Mhmm, I’ll remember that” you feel a shiver of discomfort after he says that.

You follow Luda Mae through the house which has very old furnishings, its large with high ceilings that are dotted with large fans to circulate the air; The décor was definitely very dated but kept clean, the furnishings may have once displayed wealth in a past long gone. In a large living room, you see a man reading a newspaper, Luda Mae stops at the doorway,

“Hey Monty, turn ‘round a sec”

The man was older, he turns around peering through his large thick glasses “Yeah?”

“I’d like you to meet the young woman who took over Tilly’s orchard!”

He sets down his paper and tried to turn to face you better “Oh! I didn’t know Tilly had children?”

Luda Mae replies “No, this is Y/N, she is a distant relative of hers”

You make a shy response “It’s nice to meet you sir”

He smiles “Well she’s real polite ain’t she? Nice to meet you too kiddo, I’m uncle Monty”

Luda Mae guides you over to the back porch which has Loretta already seated at the table. Luda Mae waves to her and says,

“Loretta, this is Tilly’s family, the one I told you ‘bout”

Loretta was a big woman, her cheeks were rosy and full, her dyed black hair was perfectly styled up into pin curls remniscent of another time, she smiled and said “Well, now ain’t she just a pretty little thing!”

Luda Mae gave you a smile and sits you down in the chair next to Loretta, you set down your basket and go to shake her hand saying “It’s really nice to meet you Loretta, my name in Y/N”

Loretta smiles and Luda Mae asks what you have in the basket you brought. You lift the basket onto the table and show them the fruits you picked for them today. Luda Mae claps in approval saying,

“That is so kind of you to bring some fruit over, I ain’t had a good peach since Tilly passed.”

You still weren’t quite sure about the way Tilly had died, you did not get much information out of the Lawyer and the files said there was no reason for an autopsy since she was so old. You ask Luda Mae and Loretta about it

“I don’t want to open old wounds or anything but, do either of you know how she died? I never got a proper answer”

They both looked at each other and Loretta answered “Well now Tilly was very well liked by everyone who knew her, she lived here a while you know. While yes, she was old, she was still in good shape and the sheriff’s department in the next town over didn’t give us any details, just said it was from old age and left it at that”

Luda Mae chimes in “I am suspicious that Dover did it”

“Luda Mae!” Loretta shouted in shock.

Luda Mae crosses her arms and continues “That farmhand has been a cruel and unappreciative man for as long as I remember, I tried to tell her to get rid of him what with all his talk about taking the orchard someday, but she was too kind-hearted and wasn’t able to keep up with the demands of caring for the trees. She was always looking for the good in people, even the evil ones. Bless that woman.”

Loretta nodded in agreement that Tilly was kind, she looked at you and said,

“You know, Fuller was doing well in the past, there was big business in cattle and meat packing. Everyone was makin’ good money ‘til the ranchers died and their property managers sold off the cattle to northern companies, that killed this towns economy. People were leaving in droves and so was the money.”

Luda Mae looked out into the field and added “It got to the point where we all had to resort to terrible things just to survive, but there was no way I’d let my family starve.”

Loretta gave Luda Mae a stern look, her eyes wide, she cut in “That is until Tilly decided to plant a bunch of fruit trees from the seeds of the fruit she bought from the store. The Texas sun made those little sprouts explode into full size trees, and she had us all fed by the fruits they made, we didn’t have to just survive no more, we were able to live normally again. It was all thanks to her”

You smile at the fact that someone from your family was regarded so highly, it gave you a warm feeling. Luda Mae pours you some tea and follows up with,

“Tilly made sure that we had animals to provide us with bounty, everyone shared what they had, even before the trees were makin’ enough to bring in money, in return we gave her the manure for the trees.”

Loretta looked antsy, she changed the subject “Well now, that’s enough of those depressing times.”

Luda Mae and Loretta started talking about the town and how things used to be, you sat listening to them for an hour until you noticed the mysterious masked man. He was heading toward the barn and you could see him tending to the cows inside, he was even bigger in person, his body looked like it was used to working hard, his muscles were large but had no hard edges as if his strength was supplemented with a rich diet full of American cooking. The man was brushing the cows, plumes of dust and dirt would fly out from each swish of the brush. To see him close was astonishing, you felt like you were seeing a new kind of human, he was so gentle with the animals and yet his appearance was very intimidating. You tried to look and see if you could get a glimpse of his face but his back was turned to you.

Luda Mae notices you looking and says “I see you’ve noticed my boy there”

You snap out of your trance and blush in embarrassment, she laughs and adds,

“He’s a real handsome one if I do say so myself, his name is Thomas. He’s real shy, but as sweet as they come. He’s a good boy, extremely helpful with managing the animals and taking care of the property.” She pauses and puts her hand to her chin “You know, he’s ‘round your age and its high time he meets someone nice, I’m gonna call him over.”

You felt butterflies for the first time in years, you quickly respond “That’s ok, he looks pretty busy, maybe he should be left alone”

Luda Mae smiles “Come now dear, he can come say hi, it ain’t no bother” She calls out to him “TOMMY! COME SAY HELLO TO THIS NICE YOUNG LADY!”

Tommy looks up quickly, he spots you on the porch and freezes.

Luda Mae yells after him again, “THOMAS BROWN HEWITT, YOU COME HERE RIGHT QUICK! DON’T BE RUDE NOW!”

He furiously shakes his head, turns and runs into the barn out of sight.

Luda Mae sighs “I’m sorry sweetheart, he really is a very nice boy, he’s just awfully shy, especially ‘round pretty girls, the poor dear”

You felt a wave of relief that someone else was maybe as anxious about meeting new people like you were, you reply “It’s ok, I’m sure I’ll meet him when he’s ready”

Luda Mae gently places her hand on yours “I’ll make sure of it, he needs to make some friends, it gets mighty lonely ‘round here. With someone as sweet as you I’m sure you two’d get along just fine”

Loretta takes a final sip of tea and gets up saying “Well, time for me ‘n Monty to head home, thanks for the conversation, Y/N, it was a real treat to meet you”

Luda Mae thanks Loretta for the tea and says goodbye, she then turns to you and says,

“Well, I know you probably want to get back to that orchard, please don’t let that prickly pear Dover get to you, Tilly kept him ‘round because he worked hard, no matter how awful he behaved, just let him be, pay him and ignore him the rest of the time. If you make friends with my Tommy, well, I’m sure Dover won’t be a terror”

You get up from your seat and say “Luda Mae, am I in danger with Dover?”

Luda Mae puts her hand on her heart and says “I’m so sorry for scaring you dear that was real thoughtless of me. I’m suspicious of Dover yes, but there’s no way he will hurt you, none of us will let him”

You thank her for the tea and leave from the back porch making your way towards the barn hoping to get a closer look at Tommy. When you reach the barn doors you see Tommy on the opposite side of the barn facing the open doors fiddling with some hay. The butterflies are welling up in your stomach making you feel sick with excitement, you stand there watching this enormous man whose back was extremely wide and his forearms were thick and scarred. You were struggling to take in as much of his image as you could before you could quietly sneak off, just as your eyes started travelling down south, he turned around and saw you.

“I-I’m sorry!” you squeaked as you bolted off down the driveway.

You felt so embarrassed at being caught watching him, you hoped he didn’t think poorly of you. You spent the walk home trying to calm the butterflies and stop blushing -I can’t believe how creepy of me that was, he is going to think I’m a freak!-. When you get home, you see that Dover was in his small house watching something on a small tube tv with a large bunny ear antenna. You feel sad that his accommodations are so meager and decide to speak with him again tomorrow to try just one more time to get in his good graces, you always believed that you could kill them with kindness, especially in the event that he really was a danger as Luda Mae said, then you would want to be in his good graces. You start to make dinner and think to yourself -I hope I am able to properly meet Tommy-.

Next chapter-

#what ya writin #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x y/n #slasher community #thomas hewitt x afab reader #leatherface 2006 #texas chainsaw massacre #my art #the fruit after the flesh

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touch-starved-switch · 4 months

Text

Irl tickle story 4

I'm going to break this up into mini stories again

I'm going to make your life a living hell

This was a running gag I suppose the full weekend but the main story goes like this!

My boyfriends is ticklish you just have to be persistent because he tries not to laugh but once you get him going he liturally can't stop

I had already threatened to tickle him to tears already but he continued to pester me so I sat so my knees whee under his arms and just lightly scratched over his sides and tummy which he hates (loves it actually). And obviously he's adorable and giggly so I have to tease

"Is something wrong hun"

"Whats so funny are you laughing at me"

"You know you should just stop being ticklish and you wouldn't get yourself in these types of scenarios"

And that's when he said

"IHIHIM GOHOOING TO MAHAHKE YOUR LIFE A LIHIHVING HEHEHLL"

which obviously can't hear that and NOT doing anything about that comment so I rhasberries his tummy while still tickling his sides and he went ballistic so I stopped and gave him a kiss.

The look

He has this look he gives me when I've pushed his buttons enough and he's about to tickle me and he absaloutly does it on purpose.

So I come into my room and he's sitting on the bed giving me that look because I had hid the makeup brushes (in a later story) so I sit down and he grabs my ankle and puts it in a foot lock and starts wiggling his fingers towards my foot

"Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to tickle you... Well that's what you want anyway" cus remember he knows about this now

And well I didn't give him them so you can imagine what happened

Wake up tickles

I am not a morning person what so ever and I was refusing to go down stairs to make a cup of tea so he lay on top of me which made me fall back asleep cus I like the compression. The fatal mistake was that I was using my arms as a pillow meaning I was pretty much defens... fucked

He started trailing his fingers down my bicep which is way worse then I expected it to be and I started giggling a bit

"Aaawww is someone a bit ticklish"

"Come on babe you've got to wake up"

And then his patient must have went quickly cus he moved down to my sides and just went crazy

"Well I suppose I don't need my coffee now because this has woke me up (:"

Sleepy tickles

I don't like to fall asleep first so I was battling sleep but my boyfriend knew I didn't sleep very well the night before so he was rubbing my back to try and get me to sleep

"Do you reckon I can tickle you to sleep"

So he continued rubbing my back and tickling across my jawline and neck which is a new found melt spot and I fell asleep in 5 minuites

Rhasberries

Well after the full rhasberry dare I did where he was adorable and giggled for 2 minuites after he now knows what rhasberries are and how to do them...

"See I know how to do them now you're going to regret that"

I was just lying in the bed and he had his head resting on my tummy and he lifts my top up to kinda rub my tummy (which is a way he gets me to relax because he knows I have an issue with my body and its reassuring) but then then he just goes PFPPFPT and I jumped out of my skin

And that's not all he also did them on my back, my arms , my sides, and my thighs

Then he started doing this thing where he would obnoxiously breathe in lower his head towards my spot then just blow air, then he would do it again, then maybe kiss the spot then rinse and repeat until he eventually gave me the rhasberry

Brushes

I found these nice makeup brushes I got a few years ago when I used to be big into cosplay and I tried to use them on him with no success as he isn't feather ticklish at all.

For some reason he turned into the rock and pinned me on my back and started using them ON ME.

Now I didn't think I was feather tickling but oh my days its was horrific (in a good way of course) and the giggling we don't need to talk about thar because it was embarrassing

And then he used it near my belly button!!!!! THRASHING, PUNCHING, KICKING. normally I don't like anything to do with my bellybutton but I'm fine with the brushes but it TICKLES LIKE HELL.

"Oooh is this bad, does it tickle here? Right here? You sure that's a strange place to be ticklish"

10 minuites

In order for him to stop tickling my feet I said he could tickle me anywhere else for 10 minutes and I would change into thinner more low rise lounge pants

WHAT MADE ME EVEN COME UP WITH THAT!!!

Pinned with my hands above my head top rolled up with the brushes and this weird fork thingy he found I was dying! He also found this spot on the side of my lower tummy and hands down its my worst spot i seriously couldn't handle it!

"Coochie coochie coo is someone tickle tickle ticklish"

But I did the 10 minuites like a boss!

Code words

So we have some code words for my lee and ler moods that I though i would mention

Lee moods: "im bored entertain me"

Ler moods: "let me torment you"

Which means that now when he's tickling me he goes

"Are you still bored hmmm are you still bored"

Which is obviously a tease in its self but its also reassuring as its his way of checking up on me and making sure I'm ok

#tickle community #sfw tickling community #tickle #tickle fluff #lee #ler #tickle scenarios #sfw t word #t word

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idolatrybarbie · 9 months

Text

machine wash warm

for my fifty follower celebration! @secretelephanttattoo asked: marcus pike and prompt no. seven— "did you just wash these sheets?" "i did." "they smell nice. and they're still warm." thank you, hope you enjoy!

rating & word count: 682 words | rated t

You haven’t really put a name to what this is… Marcus coming over, staying over. Spending the day in your queen sized bed, sleeping or wrapped equally between his arms and the sheets. He cooks you breakfast, he helps you clean. Late at night, when Marcus has drifted off beside you and your brain keeps you awake, you wonder what dirty trick the universe is going to pull to have this all turn sour.

The last thing you want is to break his heart. You’ve equated it in your head to kicking a puppy; unforgivable. But you aren’t quite ready to hand your heart over to Marcus for safekeeping. You tell him you just need a little while longer, promise. He always nods, smiling before he dives in for a kiss.

This morning, you’re up and around the apartment, trying to get your chores done before the work week starts and throws you into a squall of assignments and paperwork. So far you’ve swept and mopped the kitchen, dusted the TV stand, and picked up your dry cleaning. Marcus was still sleeping when you left, face soft and eyes closed against the plush of his pillow. He’s truly gorgeous at all times, but when he’s sleeping especially.

He looks peaceful. That is all you ever want for him. It’s all he ever brings to you. Peace.

You can’t help but revel in it. After years of chasing the storm, or moreso being unwillingly pushed towards it, you love basking in the calm plainness of things. Onlookers would call it boring, a life spent blandly. You’ve had a lifetime’s worth of excitement; if peace is milquetoast, then so be it.

Carrying garment bags into the building lobby, you wait patiently for the elevator. Maybe you can drop these off and slip back out before Marcus wakes up, grabbing the two of you breakfast. He’s in love with the grimy little diner down the street and their six dollar breakfast. You’ve watched him eat it a half dozen times, and never is he less excited when the chain-smoking waitress arrives with his plate: pan-fried eggs, hash browns, and grease with a side of bacon.

The elevator ride is brief, the air of the metal box stale as you watch the floor numbers ascend above you. You stride down the hallway to your door quickly, turning your key in the lock before you let the door creak open softly. Everything is as you left it. The apartment sits quiet, the sun peering through the half open blinds in your living room.

You slip off your shoes at the front door. As you make your way further down the hall, you hear the dryer and its persistent thunk with every spin of the drum. That’s odd…

“Hey.”

You turn to see Marcus in the doorway of your bedroom, t-shirt riding up the slightest bit to reveal a dark brown happy trail. His voice is still thick with sleep, like greeting you is the first thing he’s used it for today.

You sigh lightly, smiling at him. “Hey yourself,” you say.

He lets you pass into your room. The bed is made, your pillows arranged in a vaguely heart-shaped form. You take a seat, stretching your hand across where Marcus has folded the flat sheet over the duvet.

"Did you just wash these sheets?"

"I did," Marcus confirms. He’s flipping through TV channels distractedly, surely trying to find the local news station.

"They smell nice,” you say. “And they're still warm."

He finds what he’s looking for, setting the volume low as a woman with the tallest hair you’ve ever seen starts on the morning weather update. Marcus drops the remote he’s holding to the bed, then moves to stand between your legs.

You reach up to grab at the soft collar of his shirt, pulling him down to you. He leans over you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Good morning,” he says.

You bite his lip, pulling at it between your teeth. Marcus raises his brows suggestively, earning a laugh from you.

“It is, isn’t it?”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #secretelephanttattoo #pedrostories #50 followers

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babybluebex · 2 years

Note

okay but... high school sweethearts with grunauer but he promises if he survives the war he's coming back to marry you (and he does 😭)

oh my GOD baby boy peter grunauer 😭 i got carried away, per usual

The train whistled, signaling its eminent departure, and Peter turned back to look at you with wetness in his big brown eyes. He had been crying almost nonstop ever since he had gotten the draft letter; your Pete always did wear his heart on his sleeve. "I don't wanna go," he told you, grappling to grab your hand. "What-What if I flunk the eye test and they have to send me home?"

"Pete, please," you sighed. "You know you have to go."

"I know," Peter said softly. "I know..."

"I'll be right here, waiting for you to come back," you told him, and you reached up and righted the little cap he wore over his shorn curls. Your tears caught in your throat, and you uttered "Waiting for you to come home to me."

"What if I..." Peter began, dropping his eyes to look at your intertwined fingers. "What if I don't make it home?"

"You will," you told him firmly. The image of him got all wishy-washy as your eyes brimmed with tears, and you dragged him into a tight embrace. He smelled just like he always did, nice cologne and the sweet tang of his own body, but you took a deep breath of him. Who knew when the next time you'd see him was? Who knew if you'd ever see him again?

"Doll, you know," Peter started. His hands touched your back as he held you, his chin settling on your head, and he pressed a kiss into your victory-rolled hair. You had only gotten all dolled up to take one last photograph with Peter before he was shipped off, and the film was stuck in a tiny plastic container in your purse. "You know I ain't coming home."

"Don't say that," you sniffled. "Pete, don't you dare—"

"It's easier, y'know," Peter said. "If you pretend like I'm a lost cause. It won't hurt when it happens, and, if I do come home, it'll be a big surprise."

"You're not a lost cause," you told him. "Stop it. Just let me think for five minutes that I'll see you again. That I'll get to hold you and kiss you—"

The train whistled again, and Peter was quick to cup your cheek with his shaking hand and kiss you. His lips were soft against yours as he held you tight and kissed you, and he only broke the kiss with a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna marry you, doll," he said urgently; your time had come to an end. "When I get home, I'm marryin' you. How about that? Now I've gotta come home."

"You'd better," you sniffled, and you kissed him quickly again before he stepped away, back onto the train. "You'd better come back to me, Peter Grunauer, you hear me?"

"I hear you," Peter said. "Loud and clear, Mrs. Grunauer. I love—" The train blowing its final whistle drowned him out, and the chugging and clanking of the train only served to break your heart further. But you watched his lips form the word, you watched his big eyes as the door to the train car was closed, and you watched him as he pressed himself against a window to wave goodbye as the train departed. You couldn't watch anymore, though.

Two years. You got weekly letters from Peter for two years. Most of them had been heavily censored, his lead pencil marked out with black ink. No names, no destinations, not even what time of day he was writing the letter. Thankfully, the important parts, the parts about him loving you and coming home, persisted through the edits.

And then, one day in May, two years since he left, no letter came. Peter never missed a letter, not once. You kept every single one in a box under your bed, and you rifled through them as you tried to find any reason why he would miss a letter, other than the obvious. Maybe that letter had been too full of redacted material and the US Army hadn't even bothered to send the scrap along. That was your theory.

And then the next week came along, with no letter. And the week after that. And the week after that.

No word from Peter for four weeks, and you tried to keep your spirits up. He promised you he was coming home. He promised you that he would marry you. Peter made good on every promise he had ever made, all the way back to high school.

You had first met when you were 15 years old, when Peter asked to borrow a pencil in math class. He was handsome, in the boyish sort of way that he always had been— big brown eyes and freckled cheeks and plush pink lips— and you had fallen for him immediately. He was good to you, kind and funny and loving, and you had been together ever since then. And he had promised time and time again that he was going to marry you. "Just gotta get enough money for a ring," he always said with his charming smile. "And then I'm marrying you."

Then, the damn war. The damn draft.

You got a letter from the Army five weeks after Peter's last letter. It stated that Peter's paratrooper squad was shot down and that they had been unable to locate him, and to assume that he was either deceased or missing in action. You held the letter to your chest and collapsed in the doorway, heaving sobs from the very pit of your stomach. The letter was so clinical, no room for emotion, and it hurt. You wanted to destroy it, to tear it up or throw it into the fireplace, but you needed it. It was your last link to Peter.

You reread his letters every night. You looked forward to it, to mourning your husband-to-be. Eventually, you stopped calling him that and started calling him what he was: he was your husband, through and through. Reading his letters made it feel like he was there with you, and you needed the encouragement to get through the day. Your friends gave condolences and your parents hugged you when you cried, but nothing fixed your heartache like reading his letters.

The wound felt like it would never heal. Until a year later.

A knock came at your door just as you were setting down dinner for your parents, and you wiped your hands on your apron. "I'll get it," you told them. "Start eating, it's gonna get cold."

The knock came again, heavier, more intense, and you frowned. "Coming!" you called, and you wound your way through the house to the front door. Nobody ever used the front door of your house, always opting for the side door, and you couldn't imagine who was rapping on your door at this time of night. A third knock came, firmer than before, threatening to do the poor door right in, and you flung it open with a quick "Can I help you?"

Your heart stopped, your throat dried up, your eyes wetted with tears. You could hardly believe it. Your Peter stood there, looking worse for wear, deep wrinkles in his forehead with a slight limp as he stepped forward. But it was him. "I—" Peter started, and you sobbed out, grabbing him and pulling him into you. His arms grabbed you tightly, holding you even closer to him than ever, ever before, and he held your head close to his heart as he whispered, "I wanted to say somethin' funny, but, Jesus, you look so beautiful. My girl."

"How—" you sobbed. "I thought you were—"

"I know," Peter whispered. His chest was warm against the cold night, and you nestled close into him. "I thought I was too. How much do you know?"

"Your plane was shot down," you whimpered. "I-I was told to assume the worst."

"Yeah," Peter said softly. "Plane went down... We were in enemy territory, and I fucked myself up pretty good, broke my leg in two different places. But I survived, managed to get myself to a French family that took care of me. My leg didn't heal right and I walk like this now, but—"

"But you're home," you whispered. "You came home to me."

Peter angled your head up to look at him, deep in his dark brown eyes, and you finally pressed forward and kissed him. He tasted just the same as all those years ago, back before everything awful that could have happened did. But Peter was home.

"I promised you that I'd marry you," Peter said into your mouth, and he gripped you tightly. "And I'm gonna do it, doll."

#bex answers #jd 🥀#bex's 11k sleepover #peter grunauer #peter grunauer x reader #grunauer #grunauer overlord #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #bex's drabbles

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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maybe, maybe, maybe (george karim x reader)

a/n: this fic got me out of my writing slump, so i do sincerely hope you all enjoy but i cannot promise happiness. tis not my thing. enjoy suffering my loves <3 @neewtmas my dear dear wife, this one is for you :)

warnings: language, big sad teehee words: 1.9K taglist: @wellgoslowly @waitingforthesunrise @oblivious-idiot @jesslockwood @magicandmaybe @gotlostinfiction @ettadear @locklylemybeloved @aayeroace @mischiefmanaged71 @mirrorballdickinson @ikeasupremacy gn reader

The living room of your flat has possibly never been messier but, even still, George Karim sits amongst haphazardly folded blankets and notebooks of scribbles, between the window cluttered with long-forgotten photographs and the slightly dented door without batting an eye.

He’s like a slice of heaven within it all; a source of light in this horrible darkness you’ve sown all by yourself. And, yet, it doesn’t clear. The darkness lingers there, frayed at the edges but persistent, trying its hardest to suck all the brightness from him. You suppose that’s partly because of how things ended. How you’ve felt during this time apart.

“Nice flat,” he says in that monotonous tone of his, the one that doesn’t reveal anything no matter how frustratingly hard you try to decipher it.

You scoff, clutching your mug of tea to your chest. “Wouldn’t say that.”

Truly, you wouldn’t. Not with the damp that seeps through the ceiling or the smell of your neighbour’s rubbish bin that was really due emptying days ago. Certainly not with the horrible silence that suffocates you when you’re trying to sleep, or the knowledge that, no matter what you do, this flat will remain empty of anyone but you. Anyone but you and the photos that are gathering dust.

They often stare at you, glittering beneath their gowns of dust in the sunlight or even in the most horrendous of weather. Smiles of people you no longer truly know. Friendships you could only dream of. Times you would do anything to get back. You should’ve ripped them up long ago, but you couldn’t, and still can’t, bring yourself to do it.

“How have you been?” George asks, glancing at you over the dark rims of his glasses for a mere moment. “I’ve not heard from you in a while.”

The shrug you attempt comes out a little disjointed. Heat seeps through your ceramic mug, burning your fingers, but the pain is a welcome kind. It’s keeping you present. “What are you doing here, George? I know you’re not just here to catch up.”

He’s quiet for a moment, contemplating his words over a swirling mug of dark tea. The silence has your fingers twitching, begging for some kind of answer soon lest you start going mad over the fact that after a year, he’s here, sitting in your flat only a few feet away with that endearing look of rumination on his face, the mop of dark curls you had once longed to run your hands through. God, you bought him the shirt he’s wearing right now. Did he choose it on purpose?

“I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Bullshit, your brain says.

Thank god, says your heart.

“I’m doing fine,” you say. “And, I think if you had been so bothered, you would’ve come sooner.”

It’s a little harsh, you know. Yes, you would give anything to have the friendship you once shared again, but you’re entitled to your anger. He’s the reason you live in a horrible apartment block in a less-than-adequate flat, with your only company being your own oppressive loneliness and, occasionally, the cat belonging to the old lady in the flat above. But, even then, Pippi doesn’t seem to want to stay long. That hurts more, perhaps, than not having a friendship with the boy you would’ve died for during this past year.

“I wanted to come see you,” he admits. “But I figured you didn’t want to see me.”

Oh, how wrong he is.

As the mug burns the skin of your fingers, it’s all you can do to cling onto reality and not fall back into the horrid isolation and despondence that has grown all too familiar.

There have been some nights where the loneliness has been so terrible, so consuming, that you’ve imagined George in your flat. You would smile at him, and he would smile back in such a way that had your heart doing leaps. He would lie beside you on the ground, a body of light and happiness and illusion, and listen to all of the heavy feelings that dragged behind you so often like a ball and chain. It would take a few minutes of empty silence to realise it wasn’t real. It would never be real. Not again.

How cruel of him to assume that, you think. Crueller, maybe, than him being the reason for you living here, away from him, in the first place. To protect you, he had said as Lockwood had handed you the resignation papers. To protect us.

Of course, you had still been allowed to live with your friends at thirty-five Portland Row, but how could you? How could you sit in the kitchen every morning across from him, knowing he had essentially banned you from fieldwork with Lockwood and Co.? Knowing he had taken from you the one thing you had truly felt good at. To protect you.

A sip of hot tea, setting your tongue and throat on fire but tearing you from the approaching sorrow. “You obviously don’t know me as well as you thought.”

There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You wanted to see me? I thought you would’ve hated my guts.”

Your chest aches now, and it almost feels as though your heart is trying to rip itself from your body to escape the pain that threatens to swallow you whole. No matter how often you feel it, your heart just cannot become accustomed.

“I thought the world of you, Georgie,” you murmur, turning your gaze to the window of golden sunlight. How unfair, that such a beautiful day can bring such torment. “I would’ve done anything for you, had you said the word. I just thought you had felt the same.”

Obviously not.

But, even still, the look in those dark eyes of his has you wondering. Could he have? Was there ever a possibility?

“You thought…?”

“I did. I had hoped that we… well, that we could’ve been something more. More than just George and (name). But I suppose you had other ideas.”

He’s standing, all of a sudden, and the room feels entirely too small, as if it cannot fit two souls of eddying pain in such a compact space. He’s coming closer. His footsteps are swallowed by the trodden, stained rug. He’s in front of you, so close you can hear him breathing, and see the dozens of paint-stroke colours in his eyes and the little scar on the bridge of his nose, hidden by the frame of his glasses.

When was the last time you stood so close to someone? Judging from the racing of your heart, it’s been a while. Perhaps it was that last case you went on together, the one where you almost reached for his hand. Or maybe it was when you had angrily stormed past him, shoving him out of your way in your haste to leave Portland Row and him. Him, him, him.

“(name),” he whispers, and it’s like his voice has been stolen away. Even so close, you can barely hear him. “I wanted that more than anything. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

And though you want to, you can’t look away. “So, instead, you sent me away.”

“That was never my intention,” he promises. His voice is becoming more desperate now, and it’s carving a hole in your chest. “All I wanted was for you to be safe. All I wanted was you.”

His fingers are brushing your arm now, and, god, it’s all you’ve ever wanted. For him to be so close. For him to want you the way you’ve always wanted him. For him to love you in the same way. One footstep closer, and your chests could almost touch. But, still, you find yourself pulling away despite the agony shredding your very being. His touch, however small, is too much. You can’t bear it.

You have to force the words to leave your lips. “You should leave.”

Even without looking at him, you can picture the expression on his face, the acute dejection, the slightly widened eyes and parted lips. His breath hitches quietly, and his fingers, still outstretched as if clinging to some semblance of your skin, twitch.

“(name) –“

“You should leave,” you repeat, and this time the words feel like a death sentence.

This morning, it would’ve been better than a dream to have George here. To know that he has loved you like you have him. But, now, seeing him after so long, hearing the words you could’ve only imagined before, feels like an arm across your throat. Asphyxiating. Choking. Wrong.

And it kills you to even think that.

You don’t want to push him away, truly. All you’ve wanted this past year is him. The smell of tea and old books and something strangely citrusy. The warmth of his body close to yours. The comfort of knowing that, if you needed it, you could reach for his hand. The elation at seeing his smile, whether it be subdued or that enchanting toothy grin.

But here you are, pushing the one person you need away.

George’s hands give a slight tremble before he shoves them into his pockets. His lips purse, and his eyes search your face for a moment longer, trying desperately to find a piece of you that wants him to stay. And, god, does a part of you want him to – need him to – but he doesn’t find it.

His gaze falls from yours, and it feels as if your soul is being ripped into a million shreds of old, rotting paper. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, George. I just –“

“I know,” he utters.

And you’re sure he does. Because nobody has ever understood you in such a way as he. Nobody has ever known the inner workings of your mind so thoroughly, or perfected the ways to change your moods when you’ve needed it most.

Though, right now, he feels like a stranger whose heart and soul has been borne before you. A stranger whose laugh you could place in any crowd. A stranger who holds the dearest, most painful place in your horrible heart.

“Maybe one day…”

His lips are pressed in a thin, white line. “I know.”

Your pain is a product of your own making, but it’s debilitating as you watch him step out of your front door. It’s only when it clicks shut that it all comes washing over you: his presence; his absence; your refusal.

Everything you had wanted had been right in front of you. Everything you had longed for, dreamed of during those lonely, cold nights when all you wanted to do was curl up in the library of thirty-five Portland Row with George, talking about anything and nothing, had been right there, and you turned it away.

The mug crashes to the ground. The tea spills all over the already tea-stained rug in a somewhat weekly ritual of torment you always seem to repeat. It scalds your feet through your socks, but the pain is distant. Needed.

You should run out of your flat. You should follow him like they do in the movies and grab his face and kiss him in some dramatic gesture of love. You should declare your love for him, beg for him to stay and make everything right. He would hold you tight, promise to never let you go again, and, ultimately, you’d both be happy. No longer would he simply be some figment of your imagination, but reality.

But your feet never move. The tea continues to burn its edict of punishment. His presence becomes ever-distant, unattainable.

Maybe you were made for loneliness, you think. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

#george karim x reader #george karim fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #george karim #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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foster-the-world · 4 months

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I love

I love when I get to hang out with any of my kids one on one. We need to make concentrated efforts to do it more often. I'm home with baby boy all week while my husband took the girls to Cali to see his parents/sister.

Baby boy is so much fun alone (as I've said a million times). We went to the Children's Museum and the MOMA kids art lab. Kids art lab was underwhelming but he enjoyed himself. Did a quick walk through of the art. He wasn't too impressed.

We had an indoor monkey bar system set up yesterday. It took the guys a lot longer then they planned. Last night I was regretting the choice. Felt a little too risky. I think I know how we can make it safer. Its supposed to be a part of his sensory diet. We used some funds we got when the DOE reimbursed for some OT costs.

Rebel was sick Thursday night. Thankfully fine all day Friday. Flew out very early on Saturday. His parents picked them up with masks and dropped them off at a hotel. They were supposed to go right to the cousins house and were scheduled to stay with his parents. I guess his parents were worried about the stomach bug. Which is understandable but I thought it was rude not too let my husband know beforehand. He got up at 4am to take two kids on a six hour flight by himself. He would have warned the girls they were expected to go isolate in a hotel room. Of course, my husband is a Saint and just went along with it. If my parents didn't see my girls for three months there is zero chance they would give up even one hour with them - sick or not. And they weren't even sick anymore. She never had a fever. Threw up 36 hours before. Anyway not my rodeo.

Baby boys ezcema is not good. His poor little cheeks. I guess its just the cold weather.

My own scalp is so, so, so itchy. Before the last month I've never in my life had this problem. No dandruff just itchy/burning. Its not a super bad pain level but its nonstop. It keeps me awake at night. I'm assuming its related to the low iron and the hair loss. Not sure what to do. Trying shampoos right now. Probably need to do some kind of eating changes but not sure exactly what and also don't want to. My skin is also itchy but that's less persistent. The skin is also something I'm used to when the weather gets cold like this.

DOE is giving new options for baby boy since they can't find providers. I'm on the fence. It involves a different school. Its not far away, is an inclusive classroom (8 special ed kids, 8 gen ed), would include all providers (OT, PT and speech) , and would include free summer camp which also includes all providers. These are all big benefits. Its a fancy private school - which is not our vibe. I guess they reserve some DOE spots. I don't really want my poorly behaved (but o so sweet) black boy to be a scholarship kid (in essence) in a school full of rich white kids. In their defense I think by private school standards it is more diverse then most. I don't want my kids to grow up with kids who think spending $60K a year for school is normal. I think it just gives a view of the world I don't want them to have. But that's more of a concern for older grades. Not an issue for 4yo's. He can go back to our little public school for K. We need to figure out a place for providers and this maybe our best option. The free summer camp is a big draw. I need somewhere that can handle kids like him. One that is paid for and includes his services would be a huge win. They do swimming lessons and teach Spanish. He's actually picking up some Spanish vocabulary (numbers, colors, animals) so a place where that can grow would be great. DOE is setting up a tour after winter break. I'm sure its a very nice facility. Let's see how it goes. I won't hold my breathe until a solution is actually implemented.

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my-favourite-zhent · 10 days

Text

New Tricks - Chapter 19

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 1.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships.

Notes: When one chapter becomes three. The main scenes for the next two upcoming chapters were written way back when I was struggling with chapter six. It was meant to be chapter eight but the plot got away from me a bit. This chapter started out as a little extra tidbit at the start but ended up growing into its own thing and for once I didn't delete an Izzy POV chapter.

Thank you to @fistfuloftarenths, @captainsigge, @dustdeepsea for always being my wonderful betas and providing me with encouragement. If it weren't for you all I think I would've deleted this chapter.

Dust also had the great suggestion of including the clip from Izzy's notebook and showed me how to do all the lovely formatting you will see in this chapter <3. (Check the AO3 link for that and additional footnotes as it's not in the tumblr post)

Also a shout out to @coreene for having such a treasure trove of lore on her tumblr! Always super helpful for fleshing out the background world lore.

Table of Contents

Read Here on AO3 or below the cut.

By now rotten luck had coloured most of Isolde’s life.

It seemed to her that it had all begun after her parents' untimely deaths when she was sixteen.

What had begun as one bad year became two, with her exile to some gods forsaken farmlands and her first heartbreak at seventeen.

The following year had appeared to break the trend—she had been offered the position of sizar at the university where her parents once taught. Only in reality it had simply been a year spent building the framework for a truly devastating nineteenth year and an end to her academic aspirations. Her first lover came and went. First friends came and went. Corra was the only good thing to come out of her short-lived scholastic career.

The jobs had been like that too. Someone would turn traitor or stupid. Load bearing beams would give way. Priceless urns would be full of fucking venomous spiders. Only now she had been prepared for rotten luck. Moulded by it.

Now she always slipped a spare trinket under her blouse or in her boot just in case the job didn't pay. Now she kept her valuables in a safe deposit box on the off chance her room got ransacked again. Now she slept in her road breeches with a knife under her pillow, and while she'd never been trained to kill, jabbing someone who wasn't expecting it gave you a good head start on an escape.

Seventeen years of bad luck had taught her to be prepared and to be persistent. She had survived and even sometimes thrived because of it.

So now, as she watched the sailors drag her chest up onto the deck of the ship, she felt especially stupid.

“My tools are in there! I've paid you good coin to transport those!” She screamed, but her voice could barely be heard by the man next to her over the crashing of the waves.

The ship rocked under another violent tumult of wind. The tempest had come upon them without any warning, clear blue skies had become turbulent greys streaked in black and white in mere moments. There wasn't even supposed to be storms like this on the Sword Coast for another month. It was just her luck.

Distantly she heard cries to cut the main sail.

The sailor looked as contrite as one could in the midst of a squall. “Sorry lass, bitch queen needs her offering!”

And despite the pelting hail and whipping winds it was the word lass that made her flinch.

‘Should have never gotten aboard a ship out of Neverwinter,’ she thought bitterly as she watched them tip her chest into the sea.

The contract she had taken in Baldur's Gate was an easy forgery job. She could've sat nice and safe in a room at the Elfsong scribbling away before meeting Rugan. She would've made a mint for doing hardly anything at all. But now her seals were gone and with it the contract.

Standing on the docks, Isolde weighed her options. It was alright. This was manageable. She still had the clay impressions of her fake seals in her pack. The sheep’s bladder she kept them in had protected them from any water damage from the storm. A half-way competent smith could recreate the seals from the pressings easily. But just how much would halfway decent cost her? More than she had left, it turned out. Most of her coin was now at the blacksmith's, and that was only the first half of the payment.

Her hand strayed time and again to where her insurance necklace would be, but she had pawned it. Pawned it for the same reason she had come to the city. The same reason she was flat broke. At least she could make that bastard buy her a drink. Blame him heartily for her misfortune. And if he smiled at her even once her fool heart would find the whole venture worthwhile.

“Sorry, miss, believe his caravan is on the road right now. Haven't seen him in a tenday.” The man behind the bar at the Elfsong shrugged.

It was just her rotten luck.

In weaker moments of her life she had considered leaving offerings to Beshaba at those little roadside shrines made of antlers and twigs. But no, fuck that deer-headed bitch. And fuck Umberlee too, while she was at it.

The barkeep looked apologetic, just as the sailor had, but that wasn't going to help her out in any way, shape or form.

She would need to find another job to take on. Isolde considered the other local contract she had ignored on account of the risk. There was nothing for it now. She leaned back in her stool and sighed. So long and low and frustrated that the man gave her another sympathetic look.

“Drink might help with that, miss.”

She opened her coin purse and eyed the few bits she had left.

“Give me the strongest thing you've got for two silvers.” She said sliding the coins across the table.

The man nodded and exchanged them for a pitcher of wine and a tall glass.

“If it's not a pressing issue,” he added as he poured the first glass full for her. “Could leave a letter with me if you like. He's in here every night when the caravan’s not on the road.”

Isolde perked up at that. “If you wouldn't mind.”

“Half the point of an inn is to have a place to send letters. I even mail some out if you've got a coin for the ship’s captain.”

Isolde almost took out her pen and ink right there, but then thought better of it. No sense trying to hastily scribble a note at the bar where some other patron would knock their elbows against hers and make the barman regret his offer.

Scooping up her glass and pitcher, pack slung over her shoulder, Isolde tipped her head in thanks and made for one of the alcoves at the far end of the taproom.

The Elfsong was much nicer than she had expected. The floors were worn but well-maintained, the drapes were not frayed and had minimal patching. She had been told more than once this place was a tourist trap, but when Rugan had called it his local she had presumed it to be something more akin to a dive bar. Had that been unkind of her? The Blackstaron and the Prow in Waterdeep had both been nicely kept inns, even if they had managed to get themselves kicked out of the first one.

She was broken from her train of thought when another patron collided into her, the wine from her glass sloshing over her hand.

“Sorry, love.” The man offered though he didn't even bother to meet her eyes as he and his date brushed past and grabbed the seat she had been eyeing. The date gave her a look that was half amusement, half pity, and Isolde muttered a curse under her breath as she stalked down to the next alcove.

Carefully she placed her wine down on the table, mindful of how it still undulated in its confines. With her clean hand she withdrew a rag from her pack and wet it with her waterskin, wiping clean the other before finally seating herself.

As she unpacked her writing tools she wondered idly if this was the same seat Rugan liked to frequent. Would he have a regular seat? She should've asked the barman. No, on second thought that was a terrible idea. Isolde had seen and chosen to ignore the pitying look the man had given her when Rugan's name had slipped her lips. Didn't need to let him know how badly besotted she was, admitting it to herself was embarrassing enough.

She drained her first glass before setting pen to paper. This one was easy enough to write, and feeling a bit bold she applied a thin layer of vermillion to her lips as the ink dried. She marked the page with her lips and hoped it would make Rugan suitably unhappy about standing her up.

There was another letter she should write, though she wasn't too pleased about it.

‘It might not be necessary.’ She tried to tell herself.

She pulled out her leather bound notebook. It was a tiny thing, worn at the edges, about as wide and long as her hand but maybe two finger-span thick.

The contact information for the job had been hastily scribbled on one of the thick pages, just in case.

It had been Isolde's father who had taught her how to bind books, but it had been her mother who had taught her how to spot traps.

There were many things to take into account, but it came down to a few large considerations:

Was this culture known for booby-trapping tombs? Was this a place or person of importance?

An Imaskari noble would have a much more dangerous mausoleum than a Tharrian peasant.

Was there irregular wear on the ground that might suggest its builders walked a specific, safe path?

Pressure plates were a simple trap and thus effective trap. They stood the test of time better than more complex machinery.

Were there intricate patterns on the structure that could conceal glyphs?

Metal lasted long but magic lasted damn near indefinitely and could do far more damage.

One should be wary on any job, but if the answer to any of these questions was yes then doubly so.

Isolde had a similar list of tell-tale signs when it came to selecting jobs.

Was this client known to her network?

One tended to see the same familiar faces handling these operations. Sure muscle and labour would be locals, but the showrunner was usually one of two dozen folks who had the training to identify a site or the connections to fence the goods. Some characters were more trustworthy than others.

And no, the folks named here were not known to her or anyone she had asked.

Was the site near a city centre?

They oft times were—cities tended to grow on the bones of their forebears, like Luskan and Illusk. This meant more secrecy was necessary, but also less violence. Harder to hide a body and its eventual rot. Out in the wilds you didn’t even need to bury a corpse for it to never be found.

This job was definitely not near a city.

Was the pay reasonable?

Too high meant this was a con, you were lucky if you only came out empty-handed. Too low meant whoever was in charge didn’t even know what their goods were worth, if anything, and they didn’t know the running cost of a black market archaeologist.

Too low, far too low.

She had already known all this, but somehow had hoped the details might have changed since she last looked at the notebook. Isolde groaned and threw her head back against the wall of the booth. She was going to have to write the second letter.

Isolde poured and downed two more glasses of wine before she was sufficiently over her shame of having to ask Corra for money. If the forgery job was still around when she returned she’d pay Corra back two-fold.

Maybe she could just wait till Corra’s letter of credit came through, there were cheaper inns in the city, certainly. Gods, maybe a flophouse? But no, after hunting around the lower city and Norchapel it turned out Baldur’s Gate was almost as overpriced as Waterdeep.

‘Should’ve sent the letter and waited before paying for the tools.’ She thought dejectedly.

There ended up being roughly enough coin for a night or two in a flop house, some food for the road and a ride on a caravan heading west. So that was what she resolved to do.

Hopefully, stupidly, she looked for his face amongst the various caravans on the morning she made her way out of Baldur's Gate.

The wagons outside Basilisk Gate were packed end to end—or end to horse as it were. Some people pushed handcarts, perhaps to visit the nearby farms. She also saw oxen hitched to sturdy wagons loaded down with heavier goods. Merchants with lighter goods like the one she accompanied had horses to carry them along faster.

It was a decently nice carriage. Nothing fancy like the wooden conveyances that nobles used, but it had a sturdy canvas roof which was more than most.

The air by now was rank with the dung of a hundred beasts of burden, idling while their masters impatiently waited behind the traffic of a several dozen handcarts.

‘Just like Crimmor.’ She thought with an amused sort of wistfulness.

Isolde noticed then a group dressed in that familiar black and yellow, and her heart struggled to break free from the confines of her ribs. She leaned out the back of the wagon to get a better look. Though she squinted hard there was no one she was acquainted with. Just some red-head with clownish hair, though he had a familiar sort of chin.

“Don't want to be looking too long, dearie. Not a friendly bunch.” Warned the old woman across from her, not unkindly. The merchant’s mother as she understood it.

“Of course, my thanks.” Isolde bowed her head and sat back down on the wagon floor.

They began moving at last, just as the dawn's early light was obscured by heavy soot coloured clouds. A wry smile twisted Isolde's lips.

“Something funny, dear?”

Isolde turned to meet the woman's gaze. “Just my luck, that’s all.”

#rugan #bg3 rugan #rugan bg3 #zhentarim #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 rugan #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #new tricks #bg3 fanfic: new tricks #bg3 oc: izzy #izzy x rugan #rugan x izzy

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