I Have Trembled My Way Deep

I Have Trembled My Way Deep

Morpheus x Naiad!Reader

Summary: The God of Dreams assists you in escaping Poseidon’s obsession.

status: Completed One-shot

wordcount: 15.9k 

warnings: Implied non-con (not Morpheus), slow burn ish? 

18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibilities. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.  

 I have trembled my way deep into surrender

I have stretched my aching body across the world

I have stood at the threshold of your wonder

Bid me enter, Lord, allow me to unfold

—

You remember

that it was a game for Poseidon. A sport. Something to fill his spare time in his eternal life. For you? Your ruin. 

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Garden of Secrets [15] - Aster

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Trust works both ways.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, slow burn.

Word Count: 4500

Series Masterlist

Your wedding day had been so stressful that soon after going to bed -in your own room- you fell asleep much faster than you usually would. And contrary to other times, for once you didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, plagued by your nightmares.

You were incredibly comfortable under the soft warm covers, so when the rather loud knock on the door pulled you out of the pleasant haze of sleep you couldn’t help the groan leaving your lips, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

Maybe if you didn’t make any noise, whoever it was would go away.

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 14

An: Well, it only took 36,000 words to get here, but here we are! It's a long one and I had so much fun writing this part, so I hope you like it! My school is ramping up again, so I won't be able to update as often, but I'm still working away!

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 6100

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, nsfw, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Image credit: @ave661 (they're amazing!!)

I’ve never shot a gun before, but as I hold Ghost’s in my hand, I try to imagine what it will feel like.

The weapon is like solid lead in my hands. I weigh my options as I click the safety on and off. I feel like a broken scale and I’m indecisive at heart. Tonight is no different.

I twist the weapon around to get a better look at the black coating. It’s well taken care of. Everything Ghost does is so meticulous and thought out. So, to see him leave the cabin in such a haste is cause for concern on its own. Did my words really affect him that much? Or was that all his own doing?

Part of me wonders if he’s watching through the window. Does he think I’d risk attempting to shoot him? I could turn the gun around in my hand. He wouldn’t expect that. None of them would. But then neither of us would get what we want. I’d never see my family again. There’s no satisfaction in the thought.

I also know I couldn’t kill anyone else either. No matter the harm they’ve done. There’s already so much pain in the world. Who am I to add to it? Who am I to decide who gets to live or die? I’m no God.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the world would be better off without men like him.

So, I set the gun back down on the table. And then I pick it up again. I slide the magazine out and take each bullet. I slip them into my pillowcase. This is as much power as I take back tonight. Whatever Ghost does if or when he returns is all on him. I am staying as far from this game as possible. I never wanted any part. There are enough men dead because of me.

I sleep with the sound of bullets quietly rubbing and clinking against each other beneath my skull. When I feel his hand cold against my skin, I swear I see Death himself.

The ragged gasp for air feels like my first breath. My heart is racing. I feel the hot, meaty muscle as it climbs its way up my throat and suffocates me as it beats against my windpipe. Thump, thump, thump. My eyes immediately lock on the ominous shadow.

Ghost slowly retracts his hand. He smells like sweat and the outdoors. The cold scent lingers on his clothes and mixes with the smell of burning wood present in the cabin.

Moonlight filters in through the window and mixes with the warm glow of the fire. Between the two, I can just make out the watchful eyes behind the balaclava. He sits on the edge of the bed with both hands now resting on his thighs. I didn’t even feel the dip.

I sit up and pull my knees to my chest and away from him.

“How long were you there?” I don’t expect much of a response. I don’t know if I want one. Once I open this door, there are only so many places it can lead.

“A while,” Ghost’s voice is quiet and strained. He says he’s been here a while, yet his hands are still cold. Or maybe I just imagined they were cold. None of this feels real anymore, only my drumming heart demanding resolve. “Where are the bullets for my handgun?” his question catches me off guard. I didn’t think he’d notice so soon. Maybe he has been here a while? Maybe he already knows. I glance at the table to see the shadows of the weapons in the same spot as before, visibly untouched.

“I hid them,” I say without making eye contact. If I do, he’ll know for certain where they are. There’s something about him that’s almost angelic in the way he reads people. It’s utterly terrifying.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure anymore,”

“Y/n, you know I’m not going to shoot you,” It almost comes out like a question. I know, in theory at least. He can’t shoot me because he needs me, but does that mean he won’t?

Part of me knows he won’t because there are better ways to kill a person. Cleaner ways. More personal ways. They could make it look like an accident. 141 could erase me from existence - make it look like I was never born - if they haven’t already.

“Why are we doing this?” my voice is barely audible. His actions over the last day have left me feeling more confused than ever. First, he says it was all a part of his plan and now he’s saying it wasn’t. Deciphering the truth has become more frustrating than ever. 

“Could you recognize the men who did this to you?” I hear the strain in his voice again, like he’s holding back.

“I was blindfolded,”

“Their voices?”

I shake my head. “They all blend together,” A pent-up breath escapes my chest. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does,” he lowly urges. “Y/n, I need you to know what happened to you was unacceptable. That was never the plan. You were to be kept on a low dose of drugs for a limited amount of time, just enough to disorient you. What they did – those marks on your skin – should have never happened. Never,” He insists. I wrap my arms around my knees as he shifts closer. An anxious feeling creeps up the back of my neck. “I can’t punish them if I don’t know who they are.”

“I don’t want more people getting hurt because of me,” I finally look at him. He leans toward me with one hand resting on the bed. There’s a nervousness in the air. 

“Not because of you. Actions have consequences,” he says. “Their behaviour will be corrected.”

“Please don’t,” I quietly beg as I shift onto my knees. I take a risk and gingerly grab onto his forearm. “It’s not worth it,” I’m livid it happened in the first place, but their punishment is just spreading the pain around in my name. I don’t want that. I want it to end.

“If I don’t, it’ll happen again,” Ghost says as he looks down at my hand. His words are resolute. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. His strong arm is tense under the henley, but I don’t pull away.

“What about the man behind this one?” I reach to pull my shirt over my shoulder. His soulful eyes latch onto the bruised skin. Ghost’s chest heaves with a deep sigh. He knew this was coming.

“He needs more than just correction,” Ghost’s eyes are glued to the marks.

“Like what?” I risk the question. It’d be so easy for him to shut me out. To turn around and leave. But I need to know. What kind of a person is he? How does he perceive his own cruelty? I silently pray he stays. 

“Only Hell can help him,” Simon finally looks up. His eyes are filled to the brim with so many emotions, they’re hard to discern. But what stands out the most is how much pain is evident behind that mask.

“I don’t believe that,” I grip his arm tighter. Part of me is afraid of his answer. I don’t know the truth behind his words. I only have a small idea of the violence he’s capable of. I’ve only glanced through a crack in the window of pain he’s caused and even that was significant.

“You don’t know half the things I’ve done, y/n,” his hands tighten into fists. 

“I’ve cut, burned, fucking butchered people without a second thought. I kill men. It brings me so much pleasure to watch those animals die, y/n. I’m not someone who can live without violence,” Ghost starts to tremor. ”There are only so many places for a man like me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t…I don-”

“Believe it,” Ghost cuts me off. “Look at what I did to you,” he moves closer as his other hand reaches up to my exposed arm. Ghost’s fingers lightly trace the bruises. His hands are hot, different from how I remembered them moments ago. There’s a warmth to him, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. Part of me wants to make excuses for him: that it was the heat of the moment, or because I knowingly withheld information that put us all at risk. That doesn’t make it okay. None of this is okay. My moral lines have become so blurred within the last several weeks, it’s hard to know when they’ve been crossed.

I don’t know what to say to him. I focus on the feeling of his gentle fingers on my arm.

“It was the only thing that fixed my father,” His voice deepens. I’m not prepared for where this conversation is about to go. I feel my heart racing in my chest, ready to break free. “I used to hate him for the things he did, how he’d hurt my brother and mum. Fuck, would he hurt her. He hated her and took every ounce of hate out on that woman. He left her beaten and bruised for years,” Ghost wraps his hand around my arm, under the dark bruise. “And look at me now. Look what I’ve done to you. You don’t deserve this.”

My throat tightens and I feel tears prick at my eyes. I tilt my head back and force them down. I feel his careful gaze follow down my neck, across my collarbones, then land on the damning marks above his fingers.

“You’re better than he is, Simon,” it’s barely a whisper.

“You don’t know me,” Ghost’s voice cracks.

“Maybe not. But you’re here right now. And that tells me all I need to know,” our eyes lock together. I see the distress behind his mask. How he so badly wants to believe me. “Simon, I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t. You don’t know how this ends, y/n,” he murmurs. I shift closer to him again so that our legs rest against each other. His breathing deepens at our proximity. His hand leaves my arm to wrap around a strand of hair. He examines it quietly, his thumb slowly tracing the length.

I feel the heat and tension radiating from his body, yet find myself strangely at ease in his presence. He cares. He won’t dare say it, but I can feel it in his gentle touches, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. He had my back when his men were making crude jokes in the van. I think of his concern for me when we were at the last safehouse and I didn’t have shoes. How he lingered to make sure I was okay. How he gave me an extra blanket and touched my shoulders when everyone else was sleeping. I remember when he immediately noticed something was off after the prisoner confronted me. The first thing he did was make sure I was okay. He’s always cared.

My heart still races, but not because I’m scared. My fear has morphed into a more dangerous emotion. One I can’t say out loud. One that would put both of our lives in danger.

When I look into his dark eyes, I see them mirroring my own. Shadowy pools of desire lap at his irises.

“Y/n,” he warns as I look up at him. His eyes flicker down to my bottom lip brawn between my teeth.

“Can I lift your mask?” his head starts to shake even before I’ve finished speaking. “Just a little,” my voice is barely audible. The warm glow of the fire bounces off the walls. Ghost is tinted red. He tilts his head down, searching my eyes. Part of him is still reluctant to trust me. There have been so many people in his life who’ve betrayed him, who’s to say I won’t do the same?

“Ok,” he whispers, dropping the strand of hair.

My hands meet the hem of the balaclava, resting just above his sternum. I slowly roll the fabric up, leaving time for him to stop me. This is the first time he’s ever allowed another person to do this. I feel his vulnerability with each shaky breath. The backs of my fingers trace along his neck as I move the fabric. The scruff that lines his neck and jaw brush against my hands. His adam’s apple bobs as he forces down a nervous swallow. “Just a little more.”

I move the mask just above his jaw. Like the rest of him, it’s sharp and strong. Dark hairs fill in the space after missing his daily shave. Ghost’s hands move to my outer thighs and his thumbs rub along my skin with a reassuring pressure. I bring the mask over his lips and rest the excess material over his nose. Ghost presses his full, slightly chapped lips together as he watches my eyes roam his face.

Part of me wonders why hasn’t he stopped me. Does he yearn for the same type of connection? Does he think about me in the dead of night with wandering hands? Is this something we’ll use against each other in the future? Will there be a future? All of this is a bad idea. But I can’t help the longing. The yearning. How badly I want to feel his hands on my bare skin. Tangled in my hair. Reaching the darkest parts of me.

When I look up, his eyes are so incredibly intense, it’s impossible to look away. A large hand cups my cheek and wraps around the back of my head. Neither of us dares to move any further. We stay frozen in a state of almost vulnerability. It’s not too late to turn back.

It’s hard to see where his irises end and pupils begin, they’re so dark. His eyes hold every word he’s too afraid to say. Words are dangerous. They confirm every want and desire. I’m no braver than he is, not by a mile. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret.

Ghost leans down and rests his masked forehead against mine. The soft fabric presses into my face. His nose tenderly brushes against my own.

“Y/n,” he murmurs as his thumb tenderly traces along my skin. “You have no idea the things you do to me,” I feel goosebumps run down my back at his low, sultry voice. Simon’s cool breath fans against the nape of my neck.

The air between us is charged with tension. I feel a heat start to burn low in my stomach.

Ghost doesn’t move any closer. He has aired his desires. Now it’s my turn. How far do I want this to go? How far am I willing to take it? Nothing happens unless I initiate.

I run my hand along his strong jaw as I lean forward. I hesitantly brush against his lips, providing one last opportunity for us to turn back. Simon ghosts his lips above my own. My muscles tense in anticipation and my breathing is fast and shallow. I loop a finger through his belt loop and pull him closer. 

Ghost takes this as permission and gently presses his lips onto mine. The kiss is soft and fearful and longing. After a breath, I pull away ever so slightly to read his eyes. They open slowly and linger on my lips for a moment longer. Ghost swallows thickly before looking up. There’s an insatiable hunger swimming in those dark pools of desire.

I long for those hot August days spent on the poolside almost as much as I long for him to drag me under the surface. I feel Ghost’s calloused hands moving up the side of my body like waves. Shivers run along my spine. My senses feel heightened. My lungs burn as icy water floods every cavity. I want him to hold me under until every breath of air is stolen from my lips.

Ghost shifts onto his knees and slowly stalks above me. His moves are calculated and predatory. There is only one thing he is on the hunt for. Only one thing that can fully satisfy his appetite.

I lean back as he moves closer until I’m fully pressed against the bed. Ghost leans down on his elbows as his knee urges my legs apart. A dull pulse throbs in my lower stomach. A large hand brushes the hair out of my face as he leans closer.

The kiss is harder this time, needier. Simon’s breath is hot against my mouth. My lungs smoulder with each breath, threatening to burst into flames. I run my hand under the back of his mask into his hair. I want more of him.

“Sweetheart,” my heart skips at the name. “How far can I take this?” his hands cup the side of my face. There’s a different type of seriousness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.

“All the way,” I watch as he licks his lips in anticipation. “I want all of you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I have to be gentle with you,” but I don’t want him to be gentle. I want every pent-up emotion branded into my skin with an iron rod. He’s held back so much from me. I want everything out in the open.

“All of you,” I repeat, brushing my thumb against his jaw.

“Y/n,” he warns as his lips brush against my ear. There’s an exciting sharpness to his tone.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he holds his head up to search my face. There’s genuine fear behind his eyes, but as they flicker down at my lips again there’s an even stronger desire. Once he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. Every part of his life is so disciplined, that once he relinquishes control, all self-restraint is gone.

“I trust you,” I trace my thumb above his full lips, pausing in the center. His brows furrow, waiting for me to take my words back, change my mind, tell him I don’t mean it. But I do. “I trust you, Simon.”

He uses the last of his restraint to search my eyes one last time. There’s no uncertainty, no fear or hesitancy. I want all of him. Need all of him. Desire burns within my core and he is the only one who can satisfy it. 

His lips are hot and fervorous. Ghost’s eager fingertips drag across my pliable flesh as his hands skim under the hem of my shirt. I want to feel his touch everywhere, my lips, my neck, arms, and chest. I need him everywhere. I want to be consumed by him.

His sweet tongue slips between my lips. It’s a natural motion I welcome with my own. He’s gentle at first, cautious even. But then the hunger grabs a hold of him. His teeth latch onto my bottom lip and pull. Dark eyes test the waters as he gauges my reaction. How far can he really go? A small gasp escapes my chest and I almost miss the corner of his mouth twitching into a devious grin. 

“When I tell you to do something, say yes sir,” his husky voice whispers into my ear as a large hand lightly wraps around my throat.

“Okay,” I respond. He’s not the only one testing the waters. I feel the strong hand tighten ever so slightly. I can’t help a sly smile at his reaction. “Yes sir,” the words noticeably arouse him. Ghost draws in a deep breath as he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. I think of all the times I offhandedly called him that the last several weeks. I wish I knew what a hold it had on him. “Is that better, sir?” I tease.

“You’re trouble,” his tone is suggestive. I love the feeling of his hot breath hitting my neck. I want to feel it drift even lower.

Ghost’s hands are back at the hem of my shirt. He gently tugs at the fabric and I take the signal to sit up and slide it off. I toss it to the side as his eyes take in my figure. I notice how they falter on some of the larger bruises, but in another instant, they’re back on me.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs.

His rough hands travel up my torso - taking care to avoid the bruised areas - as his lips find my neck. He starts off slow, deeply kissing me behind the ear, before moving towards the nape as he begins to suck on my tender skin. One hand begins to tenderly massage my breasts. I feel my eyes flutter shut with pleasure, but then a small part of me remembers I don’t want marks left above the hem of my shirt, especially these kinds of marks.

“Your turn,” I tug on the bottom of his henley.

“That’s not how you ask,” he mumbles as his teeth rake against my skin.

“Please, sir?” he thoughtfully hums against my neck.

Ghost sits up as he straddles me to pull his shirt off with one hand. My breathing hitches. He is stunning. Years of relentless work have shaped him into the machine he is today. Ghost is built like a predator. Strong, sturdy, and sharp. Scars from past challengers and victims litter his chest like medals. His tattoo wraps around the entire length of his arm, around his shoulder, and spanning across half his chest. I’m left speechless as he leans down to meet me again.

My hands unapologetically travel across his vast chest. His muscles flex under the pads of my fingers and I’m reminded of just how strong he is. But I don’t get far, Ghost grabs both wrists with one hand and pins them above my head. He enjoys looking down at me, completely under his power. There’s something about our size difference that is thrilling. He is in complete control. He can do whatever he wants.

Ghost’s lips return where they left off, slowly moving down my delicate body. Past my neck, down my sternum, and right to the spot he is looking forward to the most. His other hand wraps around my back, finding the clasp to my bra. His eyes peer up through his mask, looking to me for permission to keep going. I give him a small nod and immediately I feel the release of the band. He slides the bra up my arms, letting go of my wrists only to free us of it once and for all before grabbing them again. Ghost’s other hand returns to my back, urging me to arch my chest to his lips.

Sharp teeth nip at my soft breasts between deep kisses that are certain to leave more bruises. Ghost adds more pressure to my back as he pushes me closer. He takes his tantalizing time teasing me with his tongue as it swirls around my nipple before the abrupt feeling of his teeth pulling on my skin takes over. I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. I press my lips together to hide my heavy breathing, but it doesn’t get past him.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” he tastes the tender skin. “No one around for miles.”

Both his hands wrap around my waist as he pulls me flush against his chest. I take the opportunity to run a hand along the waistband of his pants, slipping a finger just under the edge of the fabric. Ghost pauses as his chest heaves from the movement. I grab his jaw and guide his lips to mine again, mimicking his previous movements by tugging on his lower lip with my teeth. I can’t help the growing smile on my face.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart,” his hand trails down my stomach, slipping between my pants and underwear. Two thick fingers circle around me above the thin piece of fabric with growing pressure. My head sinks back into the pillow as my breathing becomes more jagged. Sparks fill my vision from the intense pressure. 

“Oh fuck,” I whimper from his touch. His eyes are intent on my face as they watch the pleasure wash over me.

“That’s a good girl,” he says eagerly. “Wet for me already?”

My thoughts are too twisted to come up with a smart response. I press harder against him for more traction. If only he knew how much I’ve thought about his hands and all the things his fingers can do.

While slipping a hand under the fabric, he leans down letting his lips press against my neck. Our bare chests brush against each other and his other hand winders through my hair. Ghost fists the strands against the back of my head and slowly pulls back, further exposing my neck for better access. I feel the edge of his teeth take my tender flesh between them. I imagine the marks that will litter down my neck leading across my chest.

A thick finger slips into me while his thumb focuses on my clit. The feeling is so intense I can’t help the moans escaping from deep within my throat. Ghost pulls harder on my hair. A deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. He’s enjoying this. 

I wrap a hand around his belt, pushing the leather through the loop, ready to pull it off, but then a large hand clasps over mine.

“So soon?” Ghost teases. The intense pressure of his other hand leaves between my legs as he slides his belt off. The buckle jingles as he twists the leather into itself. When I look down, I realize what he’s created.

There are two spaces for a set of hands to slide through while the belt acts as a pair of handcuffs.

“Simon,” his name is breathy on my tongue.

“Arms up,” he orders.

I raise my hands above my head and feel the leather restraints slip over my fists. “Not tight,” I tell him. His eyes glance down at me and he seems to understand. He pulls the leather band, leaving just enough space that I could escape if I really needed to, before looping the leather back through the buckle.

“Okay?” he whispers and I nod my head in response. “Atta girl,” the side of his mouth quirks up.

I watch Simon trail his thoughtful lips down my torso. He pauses at each bruise, pressing a tender kiss lightly on top of each one. Butterflies swarm inside my stomach. I never thought I’d see such a man be so gentle.

Simon’s thumbs rub in circles over the corner of my hips as he makes his way even lower. There’s a growing anticipation between my legs as I wrap one around his back, pulling him closer.

The black mask lowers between my legs. Swollen lips kiss the inside of my thighs. The edge of his teeth grazes the tender flesh. I draw in a sharp gasp as he bites down. Hard. A full pain throbs along my inner thighs. His previous gentleness slips away. This will leave a bruise lasting for days.

“These are the only marks I want to see on your skin,” his passionate eyes look up from between my legs. The black balaclava covers the rest of his face aside from his lips. How I’d love to run my hands through his hair.

Simon’s arms wrap around my legs to hold me down by my hips. I grasp the belt with whitened knuckles as he moves up, leaving another mark, but not before pressing an apologetic kiss to the area. Small whimpers escape my tight throat as he switches legs and leaves a growing trail of marks closer and closer to the hem of my underwear. I want him to make me feel good again.

“Please Simon,” I feel his lips humorously twitch against my skin.

He pulls away and all of his delicious warmth leaves with him. Simon rests on his knees, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight before him. All I can think about is the heat of his hands as they travel over my skin. Fuck, I need him. I need him everywhere. In the darkest parts of my body and soul.

A rough thumb traces over my lips. “You still want this?” there’s doubt in his voice, like he’s expecting me to change my mind.

“So, fucking bad,” my lips move against his thumb. I take him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the thick digit, lightly starting to suck on him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he mutters under his breath. His other hand slides beneath his jeans as I press my mouth further down on his thumb. But I don’t let him relish in the feeling.

“I need you, Simon,” I murmur. “Please, sir,” my voice is breathy and desperate.

I can feel the need pooling between my thighs. I ache for his touch.

His hands light my skin on fire as he slips my underwear off, pulling them down my legs. Simon wastes no time stepping out of his jeans, his large erection straining against his boxers.

“Of all thing things I’ve wanted to do to you,” he cups himself over the fabric. I wait for him to expand on his thoughts, but he doesn’t, simply leaving them to hang in the thick air.

Simon grasps himself over his boxes, slowly stroking as he watches me. My eyes never leave his. I feel the growing heat of the fire burning within me. With every stroke, he stokes the flames.

He leans down, lips hovering above mine. One hand gently holds my cheek while the other wraps around his tip. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes into my mouth before tenderly meeting my lips. A small vein of nervousness is present at the back of my mind, but I channel all of my attention into my growing desire.

Simon adjusts his position as the boxers slide down. The anticipation is too much. He bites his bottom lip as the head of his cock traces my entrance. My heart is pounding. My hands grasp at the belt.

“Relax,” he glances up at me. “You’re tense.”

A gentle hand massages my inner thighs along the bite marks he left. The length of his shaft glides across my clit, sending tingles up my spine.

“Simon-”

“Look at me y/n. I want to see your face when I stretch you out,” my breathing falters at his words. I dare to look him in the eyes just as he pushes in for the first time. Fucking hell.  The feeling is completely unmatched. My breathing is heavy. Simon’s thumbs rub reassuring circles along my inner thighs to ease the sensation between my legs.

“Oh God,” I whimper, tensing around his thick tip. His eyes hungrily watch my expression, burning it to memory. The amount of pleasure he gets from watching is almost equal to that of participating. Simon’s fingers circle my clit with a heavy pressure. I feel the throbbing intensify as he begins to push deeper. I hold back a whimper as he pushes deeper, stretching my tight walls around him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he growls. “You’re doing so good.”

Simon gently moves back before thrusting further in. My walls pulse around his thick cock as he picks up pace. My legs are wrapped around his broad back. One of his hands roughly kneads a breast as he bows his head into the nape of my neck. The metal dog tags hanging around his throat swing in the space between us, bouncing against my skin.

Simon’s breath is hot as it travels down my neck and across my chest. With every clench around him, I’m rewarded with soft needy moans into my ear as he nips at my lobes.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” his breathy voice rumbles against my neck. I feel the tightness in my stomach begin to build as he thrusts harder and his hands press into my clit. The world around me blurs. I’ve never been fucked this hard before. He feels so damn good; it’s like he was made just for me.

His hand drags across my breast, up to my neck as he wraps his strong fingers around the vulnerable area. I should’ve known he wants complete control. For so long he had none, now it rules every aspect of his life.

“You take me so well, y/n,” my name drips sweetly off his tongue like honey. I want to hear him say it over and over again. y/n. y/n. y/n. Fuck, does that sound good.

Every muscle in my body begins to tighten. My breathing quickens. My heart is racing. Every sense feels incredibly heightened. A lucid feeling begins to take over as Ghost’s grip around my throat tightens.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” his hand moves to my jaw.

“I’m close,” I gasp as the blood rushes back to my face. My cheeks feel hot under his intense gaze. “Simon I-” his name rolls off my tongue, but I lose track of my thoughts. With every thrust, I feel him deeper in my soul. All of the pain. All of the tortures of our diverged pasts are melding together. Right now, I have all of him.

Simon keeps his pace but thrusts his throbbing cock even harder. The sound of skin hitting skin overtakes the crackling fire. The heat is almost too much. Like a flame under a tank of propane. Pressure builds under the heat, ready to combust.

“I, I-” fuck, I can’t think. It’s too much. His hands are tightly woven into my skin. My fingers are white against the leather. My heartbeat is so damn loud. My face twists towards the covers as my body writhes under his touch.

“Don’t look away now sweetheart,” his voice is so incredibly thick with need. “I’ll stop if you look away,”

His dark eyes are a whirlpool pulling me in. Suddenly I forget how to swim. Simon drags me under as his thick fingers wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasp as my lungs breathe in water. His lips are heavy against my own. My vision darkens and no other pleasure in the world can match the burning sensations coursing through my veins. My orgasm is the sun’s light from the bottom of the ocean.

I break the surface as Simon’s hot lips hastily press against my forehead. His movements quicken and his grunts deepen. His hands roughly grab onto my waist as he thrusts into me with uneven, jarring movements.

“Fuck, Simon,” the whimper is soft against his skin and the cause of his undoing. His hard cock throbs against my walls once more as he collapses against me from pleasure and exhaustion. Simon’s heavy body lays limp on top of mine. The weight is comforting and safe. No one else in the world can touch me. Only him.

Simon reaches up to undo the belt and free my hands which find their way to his broad back. I trace invisible pictures across the vast space, skimming across old scars and the edge of his tattoo. His hand gently runs down the length of my hair, petting the top of my head. I feel my eyes begin to droop as sleep creeps up from behind me. I want him to hold me forever.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, arms caging me in as his dark eyes peer down at me. The emotions behind Simon’s eyes are too conflicted to decipher. A cautious thumb brushes along the side of my face. For a moment, he simply stares at me, trying to memorize everything that’s just happened and the gravity of it.

“Y/n, I need you to listen very closely,” he murmurs, pulling the balaclava back over his jaw. I feel my brows furrow as a different type of tension takes over.

“Okay,” my voice is barely audible.

“No one can ever know about this,” Ghost’s tone is soft, but I don’t miss the significance that is present. I pause to think about his words. Really think about them. What are the consequences of what we’ve just done? Our actions have just irreversibly complicated 141’s entire mission. Possibly even damaged it.

“What happens if they find out?”

Simon doesn’t respond. I feel a growing, hollow, cavity within me as I consider what happens to the people who interfere with their missions.

This was a mistake. A consequential mistake.

When He Sees Me: Azul Ashengrotto

a/n: this is supposed to be part of a series about the boys who start out with a less than good opinion of Yu falling in love with them anyway. Azul wasn't supposed to be first he was just the most cooperative. I will add a link to the rest when they become available, but it will take a while because this is really fucking long. Like 6,261 words long.

notes: SPOILERS FOR CH. 3 AND AZUL'S BACKSTORY. Azul is thirsty for Yu, nothing explicit just mild mild spice. They/them pronouns used for Yu, but there is a reference to things "girls find attractive" that isn't meant to be aimed at Yu and discussion of the myth of Princess Kaguya. Morons in mutual denial/pining, references to the events of Azul's labwear and Ruggie's ceremonial robes vignette.

Azul has always been a dreamer, in both senses of the word.  When he wants, he wants with intensity that borders on insanity, it is only natural for those thoughts to invade his dreams.  When he was younger his subconscious would engage in a painful loop of equally impossible scenarios, sometimes positive but mostly extremely, horribly negative.  They read more like memories being played on a sickening repeat, harassments and insults that he can’t run or hide from because his dream won’t let him move at all.  Now that he’s older he seldom has those dreams, tucking the hurts away behind mountains of successful plans for the future.  Tucked away but not dealt with, his overblot clearly proved that.  Azul is no stranger to having dreams, no, but lately he has been experiencing something new.  A dream that plays on repeat, never changing but with an underlying feel to it that makes him think if he just had a bit more imagination he could direct the flow.  It is a memory, sort of like those other, painful dreams though this one doesn’t hurt quite the same, less painful and more… pining.

He’s standing in front of the photos at the Atlantica Memorial Museum, eyes steady on the photographs.  “You have talent.”  the Ramshackle prefect says with such enviable confidence.  “You are amazing as it is, even without stealing anyone else’s powers.”  He looks at them, he searches desperately for the lie, for so long he misses the timing for his line but the dream keeps playing yours.  “You work so hard, determination is much harder to master than magic.”  

“You think that?” he asks, begs really because in this dream he gets to wrap himself up and live in this moment where someone sees him as his subconscious plays your words on loop.

“You have talent… You are amazing… You matter…” 

He rises from slumber, but doesn’t wake.

“Nyaaah who does Azul think he is!”  Grim whines and you sigh, for what feels like the eight hundredth time but is probably just the third.  “He can’t just scam us outta money like that!”  You give a noncommittal grunt and Grim takes his grumbling to under his breath where it belongs while you ruminate on the morning’s events on your way back to Ramshackle.  You had woken up to Azul knocking on your door with a photograph of Grim… fighting with Lucius?  You weren’t entirely clear on the details, Grim stole some food or something you couldn’t really care less, but Professor Trien certainly would, which was the point Azul had made with a smile on his face and an outstretched hand.  He needed a “small favor” he said, just follow him to Ignihyde and help him and Idia out with a project Idia was working on.  He tried spinning it to you as helping out Ortho, which hey you did care about, let it not be said that the prefect of Ramshackle did not care about sweet little Ortho Shroud.  You just… didn’t trust Azul as far as you could throw him, so when the part he asked Grim to retrieve was revealed to be worth a gajillion thaumarks you were not surprised and you did not care.  Grim, of course, freaked out and the two older students laughed at him.  Laughed at you both really, and sent you back to your dorm with a can of tuna for Grim’s trouble and a coupon to the Monstro Lounge for yours.

That you decided as you stared down at the little golden ticket, did piss you off.  You were tempted to light it on fire, but that stupid part of your brain that got excited when you heard laundry detergent was on sale at Sam’s wouldn’t let you.  Like you would offend and be permanently cursed by the gods of couponing if you did; so you tucked it away in your wallet and ran through the list of students you didn’t currently want to beat with a steel chair for someone who would actually use it.  “Hey prefect, you got a moment?” 

“Ruggie.”  You snap out of your thoughts to see an angel standing outside Ramshackle’s door.  He looks at you a little confused, but still peppy.

“That’s my name!  Now as I was sayin, you got a moment?  I’ve got an opportunity for you.”

~~~~

In a game of chess the player who moves first has an inherent advantage.  That advantage, however, is not absolute which is something Azul is cruelly reminded of when RUGGIE BUCCHI waltzes into his restaurant, whistling, with his carefully played opening in his hands.  “Hey, is this thing real?  Prefect said you gave it to them but that sounds fishy.  Why would Azul be giving out things for free?”  

“That’s confidential.”  he pushes up his glasses and Ruggie simply leans back on his heels, hands behind his head grinning like a well fed cat.  “What I am anxious to know is why you have it?  It was not meant for you.”

“What’s it to ya’?” he has enough sense to keep his annoying laugh to himself but it’s echoing in Azul’s ears anyway.  His gaze flickers to Floyd, weighing the pros and cons of involving the twins in this… admittedly private affair but that seems to be enough for Ruggie.  He drops the easy going act,  “No seriously what is it you’re trying to do, they seemed seriously pissed.”  

“Who says I’m trying to do anything?” Anger was… not the reaction he was expecting but the look on Ruggie’s face is making him feel especially like he should have.  Like there was something incredibly obvious he was missing here.  His sigh just punctuates that.

“Because you're Azul.”  He says flatly.  “Look it’s not my business and I don’t want it to be, are you gonna give me a free drink or not.”  Azul takes the coupon with his best customer service smile and tries to make another plan.

~~~~

“You are amazing.”  He gets to look at them this time, see their honest admiration.  He wants to reach for it, hold it up to the light and admire it from every possible angle.  His hand moves, agonizingly slow like he’s reaching through jelly, desperate for purchase as it lands on their cheek, running his thumb along the curve.  Azul is a merfolk, utterly unaware of what it feels like to drown.  But he surrenders himself to the tide as he guides them closer, closer, to him and the realization he never wants to let go.

Azul wakes up alone and upset, a good thirty minutes before his alarm which just adds to his frustrations.  He fumbles for his glasses and goes for the safe next to his bed, if he’s awake he can work, he should work it will take his mind off of… whatever this is.  It isn’t important, his bad dreams always fade away over time, he will conquer this, he has to.  A notification lights up his phone.  It’s from magicam, from Cater who he usually ignores but he opens it anyway.  The post is a dump of short videos of Heartslabyul students messing around in the maze, there was an unbirthday party yesterday complete with pastries and those weird games he never understands the appeal of no matter how many times Riddle explains.  There’s Trey posing like a middle aged man with his flamingo, Cater running around conducting mock interviews with the flowers, and a number of students making nonsensical toasts with admittedly nice looking china.  And in the final video, if he pauses it at exactly 7.23 seconds there’s the prefect.  They look clueless, disappointed even as they watch Grim demand he be allowed to play croquet, it’s cute but that’s not where his gaze goes.  Tiramisu.  It’s difficult, painful even to make, but they seem to be enjoying their slice.  It really would be an excellent item to add to the Monstro Lounge’s limited time menu for numerous reasons completely unrelated to… whatever this feeling was.  If he keeps the paused video up and next to his paperwork while he draws up his plans, no one needs to know.

~~~~

  You wake up with a sneeze a good two hours before your alarm and if you were actually awake you have no doubt the timing would fill you with righteous fury.  The moon still peaks through your window, soothing your hypothetical temper slightly as you meander out of your bed towards it.  Ramshackle has always been a good place to watch the stars, at least according to Tsunotarou.  You’ve always been more partial to the moon, there was something comforting about its constant presence.  No matter where you went in your old world, even if the constellations changed the moon would always stay the same.  If you focus on this one’s shape, if you ignore the snoring monster in your bed or the shape of the window you’re looking through, you can almost trick yourself into thinking that things are still the same.  That you will get back to sleep and see your loved ones when you wake up tomorrow.  A strange bile builds up in your throat and you turn away from the window towards your desk.  The photographs that decorate it are filled with things that should be impossible.  Leona standing on a flying broom somehow bored out of his mind, Jack and Deuce posing at a track practice, Ace trying to teach Grim a card trick, but if you were giving awards for the most out of place… There’s eight people in the photo, three humans, one monster, one beastman, and three merfolk, but only two sport tails.  Azul looks exactly the same as the day you met him, dressed in a neatly pressed dorm uniform with that stupid hat covering his beautiful, perfect hair.  You can’t decide what’s more unreal to you, the Leech twins' appearance or the location of the photograph, but well they sort of go hand in hand don’t they?  Your eyes settle on Azul.  He had refused to show his true form during the trip, if you didn’t know any better you would assume he was human like you but not like you.  There’s something undeniably magical about him, beautiful even.  He belongs there, in that photo under the sea, in this world.  The moon illuminates the photo with her gaze, cold, distant, completely out of your reach but oh so very beautiful.  

You take a deep, shuddering breath and try to throw away your thoughts.  

~~~~

“Hench-human!  Look at me look at me!”  There are many days you feel like Grim’s parent as opposed to his… dorm leader?  Classmate?  Fellow traveler?  Whatever you were actually supposed to be.  

“I’m looking Grim, I promise!”  You cheer him on, waving up at the monster who is happily flying above you on his little broom.  “You’re doing great!”  Coach Vargas had gone out of his way to find it for him so he could “train his muscles” with everyone else in flying class.  It was cute, soothed the wound of not being able to participate yourself just a bit.  The list of exercises Vargas handed you certainly didn’t.

“Slacking doesn’t build muscles!”  You knew it was stupid to want to participate in a class that’s literal purpose was to teach students to channel magic, but it still sucked to be expected to do yoga in the corner of a field while Ace, Deuce, and now Grim get to zoom around above.  At least you know Deuce isn’t making fun of you and will give you a ride if asked.  “Hey while you’re at it would you mind keeping an eye on Azul?  He’s supposed to be practicing over next to the bleachers.”  You blink, stupidly at Vargas. 

“I’m sorry?”  Vargas points towards what is usually your exile corner and see- a sight.  One you can immediately tell Azul would probably rather you never have ever seen.  Your beautiful merman, rival?  Acquaintance?  Object of affection?  Is pathetically hopping up and down with a stern look of determination on his face like he’s trying to negotiate with the broom rather than fly it.  Your heart beats uncomfortably close to the front of your chest.  Cold.  Out of reach.  And yet so blindingly pathetically beautiful you have to choke down bile as you make your way over to your little corner and begin clumsily stretching and keeping your gaze firmly on Grim out of habit.  You hear rather than see him notice you.

“Prefect!”  he splutters, chokes really and you have to physically bite your tongue to ground yourself enough to speak normally and completely lose it when you turn to face him.  Azul’s winded, the tentacle waves of his hair are shimmering in the late afternoon sun with what’s probably sweat, but he doesn’t smell bad at all.  His glasses are slanted and he’s clinging onto his broom so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

“Azul!  Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”  It comes out as a squeak and you break eye contact immediately.  “I just-” you don’t want him to think you’re spying on him.  “I usually-” well that just sounds like an excuse.  “I can’t fly!”  The smile on your face has got to look stupid but when you look at Azul he doesn’t seem to mind.  If anything he relaxes in both posture and expression.

“I can see that.”  He smiles and his eyes shimmer for a brief second before reaching to push his glasses and his persona back into place.  “Does Coach Vargas always have you exercise during flying class?”

“Pretty much.”  You don’t feel like you should complain really, it would be a bit unfair on paper if you were the only one relaxing during a class filled with physical activity.  “Crewel convinced him to let me do yoga because I ‘need to relax more’ or something like that.”  

“Do you not find exercise relaxing?”  It’s a relatively simple question but this is Azul asking so it feels like the start of a survey that ends with you agreeing to sign away your immortal soul.  So naturally, 

“Not when everyone can watch.”  you answer as honestly as possible because according to the dark mirror you don’t have one anyway.  If Azul notices your skepticism it doesn’t stop him from plowing on ahead.

“I can understand that.” He lets out what you think is his best performative sigh, hand over his heart in a manner you are sure even Vil would compliment as well crafted showmanship.  “Really there’s no reason for this school to force us to participate in activities we simply aren’t meant for.”  You have to swallow a giggle at his use of “we,” that earlier display must not have been a one time thing.  Sure would be a shame if you asked Floyd about it, he definitely wouldn’t tell you embarrassing things about his best friend.  “Do you not find the lounge relaxing?”  He asks the question with the same tone as his previous monologue, but it catches you off guard.  You had expected this line of questioning to go in a different direction.  Maybe he wanted to know just how close you were to the staff and see if he could use you as an in, not a google review.

“It’s very relaxing.”  You aren’t just trying to flatter him, though you won’t object if he decides to puff up with pride from your praise.  “There really is- well I certainly haven’t ever seen another place like it,  I just have other places I should be spending my money.”

“You know I can help with that right.”  You must look extremely unamused because he deflates slightly but doesn’t falter.  “The National Track and Field Meet is coming up relatively soon, and I’ve been making some… changes to the menu.  It’s meant to appeal to a different clientele than we typically serve.  As a human from a completely different world your perspective on such a switch could prove invaluable.”  You stare at him, hard, trying to figure what angle he’s working and can’t really hit on one.  Well beyond the obvious; he thinks this will make him money.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me to wait tables during the event?”  Azul’s offered you work before, usually through Floyd dramatically arriving at Ramshackle unannounced to slack off in your guest room because “Azul will never find me here.  Not if I close my eyes and hide behind little shrimpy.”  But you weren’t too sure if that arrangement could apply to an event.

“I’ve already secured Ruggie’s assistance with that, but if you’re interested in a paid position Jade will certainly need some help in the kitchens, well assuming you’re better at washing dishes than Grim.”  You both have a bit of a laugh, though yours is significantly less mean spirited.  “I can give you more details about the menu tomorrow night, assuming you are free.”

“I suppose I could find some time.”  you give your best impression of Azul’s own shrug and hope he isn't too insulted.  “Any fine print I should be concerned about before I completely agree to this?”  He pauses, you are tempted to say because he didn’t expect to make it this far, but realistically he’s probably just trying to pick out what part of his plan is safe to tell you.

“The waitstaff will all be wearing their ceremonial robes as a special uniform for the event, but since you would just be washing dishes I would recommend-”

“I’m sorry, do you mean those things everyone was wearing at orientation?”  You don’t mean to interrupt him, really you’re just confused.  “The Octavinelle dorm uniform looks just fine.”

“I’m pleased you like them.”  He means it, you can tell by how he stands just a little bit taller, stopping your heart for what you tell yourself is the briefest of seconds.  “Our school's ceremonial robes are extremely popular with the local girls, so I am hoping they will draw more outside attention to the lounge.” 

“The ceremonial robes?  Seriously?”  Not that you could ever have been considered an authority on what types of menswear was objectively attractive but you were a person with preferences and the ceremonial robes looked a bit difficult to take off.  Not that you have thought extensively about them or anything else you’ve seen Azul wear.

“Do you not find them attractive prefect?”  The fact Azul’s asking you seriously, with a touch of distress doesn’t register until you’ve inelegantly vomited up your response.

“Not really.  I mean from what I remember from orientation you looked good in them but I can’t say I like them better than your dorm uniform.  You even make the stupid hat work.”  You physically bite down on your tongue to keep from saying anything else incriminating but the damage is already done.  The poor man looks like a boiled octopus, red from the tip of his ears to the point of his nose.  “Azul?”  He coughs into his hand.

“Well, disagreements about fashion aside, I take it we have a deal?”

“Sure.  Just send me a message on magicam when you need me and I’ll be there.”  

~~~~

The location flickers in his peripheral vision, his focus wholly consumed by them.  He’s never touched them like this, they’d never let him hold them like this but those thoughts fizzle in the face of your memory.  “You are amazing.”  He kisses them slowly as he gently cradles their face.  Closer, he wants them closer but tauntingly, agonizingly they pull away as the scene settles.  He’s on land, in the vip room of the lounge arms wrapped tightly around their waist while they’re sitting in his lap.  Closer they’re not close enough to him they can still move away, but they show no sign of leaving.  They just stare down at him, into him seeing him for who he is and not flinching at the sight.  Closer.  They lean back into his kiss and he pulls, surprisingly strong, into a tighter embrace.  Closer.  In dreams you don’t need to breathe, he’s free to move his hand behind their head and maneuver them down.  Closer.  He pins their hand next to their head, intertwining their fingers.  Closer.  “You look good, you look beautiful.”  He shudders into them, and-

Wakes up dry heaving into his pillows with a scream.  He’s panting, desperately trying to convince himself it’s out of disgust but he knows that’s not the case.  Azul’s known for a while now just how he feels about them, he finds it ugly.  Not them, sevens never them, he doubts he could ever truly find them as insignificant as he did before losing his contracts ever again.  He untangles himself from his sheets and reaches for his glasses and phone, searching for the picture they’d taken at the museum.  They look so happy, in awe even, and if he wants to lie to himself he can pretend that’s his doing and not the allure of the sea working its magic on yet another human.  But Azul is a merfolk, he may admire the sea witch but he knows the tale of the mermaid princess just as well.  The love between her and her prince was always portrayed as pure, innocent, devoid of things like thirst and greed.  That’s the sort of love he thinks they deserve, the kind that’s not burdened by insecurities or possessiveness.  Who would love someone who constantly lies?  

“You are amazing as it is, even without stealing anyone else’s powers. You work so hard, determination is much harder to master than magic.”

If he closes his eyes he can still see your face as you say it.  You meant every word, he knows you did.  Even now you don’t really treat him all that differently than you do your other friends, his efforts are appreciated and respected according to the work he puts into them just like he’s always wanted.  A wry smile works his way to his lips.  How poor and unfortunate he is.

If he closes his eyes he can still see your face as you say it.  You meant every word, he knows you did.  Even now you don’t really treat him all that differently than you do your other friends, his efforts are appreciated and respected according to the work he puts into them just like he’s always wanted.  A wry smile works his way to his lips.  How poor and unfortunate he is.  

~~~~

“When you need me” came sooner than you expected.  As soon as you made it back to Ramshackle you had two messages from Azul, one letting you know it was him and the other saying he had a space available for you to buss tables tomorrow if you were still available.

“I haven’t forgotten about my original request, once closing tasks are complete you can expect a truly unique reward.”  

He texts like he speaks, professionally.  If you didn’t know he was still a student you’d assume he was twice his actual age and already established in an office somewhere.  Part of that was true you supposed, he did own the Lounge and was probably texting from his office.

“(* ^ ω ^) I’ll make sure to be on time!”

“Hench-human.”  You look up from your phone to see Grim sitting on his favorite armchair, he sounds deathly serious and his face is bent into a look of disappointment he usually only reserves for Ace.  He’s even crossing his arms like a disappointed parent.  “We need to talk.”  

“Did you puke on the bed again?”

“No!”  He drops the act for a brief second before remembering he’s supposed to be “the one in charge” or something like that.  “But if you keep gigglin’ like that I’m gonna!”

“Like what?” you attempt to mimic his energy by folding your hands across your chest.

“Like you got a crush on that stupid octopus.”

“Oh.”  Oh.  You hadn’t really thought much about that.  On purpose really.  “Well you don’t have to do that.”  You had thought many things about Azul, felt a lot of things too.  Frustration, no one got to treat your friends that badly and then laugh about it.  Disappointment, someone so talented shouldn’t be wasting his time bullying others to feel better about himself.  He should be secure in his own successes.  Pity, but then again how else could he be expected to feel with his childhood having been what it was?  Anger, that made his actions all the more inexcusable, you didn’t really regret putting him in his place even if the method was… less than ideal.  Awe, you were aware most of your friends were still stuck firmly in anger.  Sure, Ace and Deuce didn’t have much of a problem buying things from the Lounge or using their point cards, but there still was a bit of a sting to the whole arrangement.  Grim might not have been capable of much but he could hold a grudge.  Especially when someone hurt you, it was exceptionally sweet.  You however…

It started with his overblot form.  Floyd never should have told you that’s what he actually looked like, you swear you forgot how to breathe for a solid minute.  Azul was beautiful, ethereal, and awe inspiring.  You didn’t even mind that he was actively trying to choke you with his tentacles, you were that tempted to let him.  Once he came to and came back to his human form, you were forced to swallow those feelings.  Tuck them away in the hopes that Azul would go back to being that distant pretty face he had been since he ran down Grim at orientation.  You told yourself you were content being friends with Riddle and the Heartslabyul gang, you didn’t need the acceptance of other dorms.  

But he hadn’t.  The trip to the museum apparently made the twins decide you were a friend; Floyd would follow you around when he got bored and demand you play with him, and if Jade had your schedule memorized no he didn’t prefect him ambushing you with an invitation to check out his club was completely coincidental.  Azul remained distant, only ever really approaching when he needed something or to make an offer.  It hurt that small part of themselves they’d been beating away with a stick, it hurt even worse when he reached out harder when they ignored him.  This world’s already hurt you enough, you don’t need to be pining over an emotionally unavailable guy who viewed everything in the world through material value.

“Mmmmm.”  Grim’s staring at you, clearly unconvinced and trying to not come off as worried.

“Really Grim.  I promise, no kissing fish for me.”  your phone pings and you see another message, from Floyd this time, and swipe to unlock just as the front door of Ramshackle nearly cracks off its hinges to announce his arrival.

“Shriiiiiiimpy, I’m so bored and Azul’s makin me work.”  A loud obviously fake whine rings through the foyer and you sigh.

Looks like you will be seeing Azul a bit sooner than expected.

~~~~

The lounge is chaos by the time you sprint through the mirrors into Octavinelle.  You scan the lounge frantically for Jade and settle on his retreating form heading towards the back office.  It would be undignified to sprint towards him so you force yourself to speed walk through the waves of customers towards Floyd’s usual section.  Another first year, one that actually belongs in this dorm, is floundering around trying to figure out why he’s even alive and nearly jumps out of his skin when you tap him on the shoulder.  “Sorry I’m late, can you let Azul know I’m here?”  He abandons you faster than a sinking ship and you barely resist the urge to scream at him to show a little gratitude.  The Monstro Lounge is a “gentleman's establishment.”  It doesn’t employ howler monkeys, but it sure does serve them.  You snap your best customer service smile into place and glide over to one such cherished customer whose glare is threatening to freeze you to the floor.  “I’m sorry about the wait, how can I serve you today?”

Meanwhile, back at the office, Azul is attempting to convince himself that he isn’t mad.  Really, he’s just disappointed and really how could he be that when Floyd has been such a cherished friend for so long and-

“Oya, Azul, you’re starting to resemble a boiled octopus, are you sure this hasn’t complicated your plans at all?”  Jade is usually, key word being usually, just as inconvenienced by his brother’s mood swings as anyone else.  But this time, this time, Azul thinks while his left eye threatens to spasm out of its socket, he has a slight feeling that Jade might have encouraged this one.  He’s smiling way too wide.

“Nonsense, I always have back up-”  Jade doesn’t let him finish his thought.

“Ah but we can’t just go calling the prefect for this can we?  Not when things aren’t perfect yet.”

“Just what are you getting out of this?”  He really shouldn’t have to beg, Jade seems surprised he’s even trying.

“Maybe I’m just a bit better at reading things than you are.”  And before Azul can try strangling Jade for that comment one of his students bursts into the back room panting as if he’d just run a marathon. 

“Dorm leader!  The prefect came over to take Floyd’s section.  Said to let you know they were here.”  He doesn’t respond immediately, he can see his plans going up in dust around him while Jade laughs beside him.

“There you see, Azul?  No need to worry.”  And as if the night couldn’t get any worse that damn moray bows to whisper in his ear.  “They came for you after all.”  

It really is a good night for unagi.

~~~~

The walk back to Ramshackle is quiet.  If you just keep your eyes on the path in front of you, the only thing you can hear is the chirp of an occasional cricket.  The sigh of an owl.  And of course the light click of the footsteps beside you, if you were extra quiet, you could maybe even hear Azul breathing.  It’s soft, if you could bring yourself to look at him maybe you would see that he’s just as nervous about this as you are.  

Not that “this” is anything special really.  You’ve worked closing shifts at the lounge before, and someone always walks you back.  Usually it’s Grim, he never actually helps with the work but he’s more than happy to show up at the end and claim some share of the reward for shepherding you home.  But this time the little weasel had decided not to show and, for some reason, Azul had asked to accompany you.  “For my sanity if nothing else.”  You hadn’t been able to speak since hearing that for fear your heart would leap right out of your mouth, you aren’t even entirely certain how you managed to nod an approval.  Not that Azul’s been much better, he hasn’t made eye contact with you since you started the walk back.  Or spoken.  You’d almost think he’s annoyed, or angry, if not for how the closer you get to your dorm the slower his steps get.  Maybe he doesn’t want things to end so soon either…

“The moon is beautiful tonight.”  He breaks his silence with a sigh and you choke slightly, eyes darting towards him warily even though you know for a fact that phrase doesn’t hold the same meaning here.  

“Ramshackle always has a great view of the night sky.”  you look up at the moon to avoid Azul’s quizzical gaze.  “It looks almost exactly like the moon in my world.”

“You enjoy watching it then, I take it?”  You don’t answer immediately, the question swirling up a myriad of contracting emotions and answers.

“Sometimes.”  You settle on a thought, haphazard as it feels.  “It’s funny, the longer I look at it the more it makes me think about a story I used to really like.”  

“Used to?”  You don’t have to look at Azul to know he’s doing the thing he always does while probing for information.  Yet you do anyway, the little unnecessary push he gives to his glasses is too cute.

“It just feels a bit too close to home now.”  It feels silly to say that, but then again, this is Azul.  He could also technically be considered to be from another world, so maybe he’d understand.   “There’s this bamboo cutter who finds a baby in one of the bamboo stalks he cuts and raises her as his daughter.  There’s always something just a bit off about her, when there’s a full moon out she stares at it and cries a whole lot, like there’s something up there she misses.  She’s extremely beautiful though so everyone kind of brushes that off, and after finding her the bamboo cutter starts finding gold in every bamboo stalk he cuts.”

“That’s unrealistic.”  scoffs Azul.  “There has to be a catch.”  You can’t help but laugh, of course this is where he’d choose to interrupt.

“It’s a story, Azul.  And besides you literally live in a world where magic exists calm down.”  He snorts and you quickly start talking before he can begin his protests.  “Anyway he starts finding gold inside the bamboo and becomes wealthy enough to be considered important.  His daughter grows up to be an otherworldly beautiful woman and gets a bunch of attention from all over the country, people call her a princess.  She’s so popular the emperor himself comes to see her and they get to talking. The two of them find they have a lot in common, so when the emperor proposes he’s sure she’ll say yes.”  Azul’s smart, you’re pretty sure he’s figured out the plot twist already by the way he’s set his jaw, but he makes no attempt to stop you.  Almost like he’s hoping you will prove him wrong.  “But she doesn’t.  She says she can’t marry him because she isn’t from his country and can’t be his queen.  He’s heartbroken but the princess agrees to keep in touch so he thinks that maybe he could one day have a chance, but then the princess’s strange behavior’s start getting more erratic.  She starts spending every night outside looking at the moon, and when her father finally asks her why she tells him a secret.  That she is from the moon, and that soon she’s going to have to return.”  You look back at Azul, expecting his eyes to be on the moon only to find them centered pointedly on you.  It’s a heavy gaze, suffocating almost.  

“I can’t imagine the emperor was accepting of that.”  He’s trying to make a joke, at least you think.  The words fall sort of flat.

“When the princess tells him that, he tries to send soldiers to her house.  To prevent the moon from taking her back.  But it doesn’t work, when the time comes for her to return everyone in the house falls into a deep sleep while the princess is swept up by the moon people.”  You both stand in silence for a moment before you think to add.  “That’s not really why I started disliking it though.  There’s- when she goes back to the moon they wrap her up in this cloak that makes her forget everyone she met on earth.”    

“Do you think that’s what will happen to you?”  There’s an emotion in his voice you can’t quite place.  If you had to describe it you’d say he was teetering on the edge of desperation, over what you can’t quite tell.  “Do you want that to happen to you?”

“No!”  You surprise yourself with how forcefully you shout.  “I don’t think the lady from the moon did either.  Pretty much every version of the story I ever read really made it seem like she wanted to stay, but-”

“Why didn’t the emperor go himself?”  He’s getting closer to the edge, similar to how he sounded when his contracts got turned to dust but thankfully not yet that desperate.  “If he was in love, why didn’t he demand they stay?”  And that aura from flying class is back;  he’s talking but he isn’t saying what he means but this time you think-

The way he looks at you has changed.  Azul’s smiles have started reaching his eyes, you belatedly foolishly realize, and now his carefully concealed doubts have too.  “Maybe he was afraid.”  you don’t have to phrase it as a question, there’s no real question about what’s keeping you both silent here.  He flinches, trying desperately to steady himself.  You take a deep, shuddering breath as Azul squares his shoulders and steps closer to you.  “That they wanted to leave all along and he couldn’t bring himself to deny them.”  Closer.  “Maybe he thought somethings were more important than taking a risk on someone from another world.”  Closer.  Not quite yet as close as he could be but firmly within reach, but he doesn’t dare move any more.

“He’s a better man than me.”  It’s a warning, or at least it should register as one.  Make you reconsider the smile that escapes your lips and settles firmly into his poor unfortunate heart.  “I don’t think I could let such a rare person go if they shone so clearly against the night sky.”  You want to laugh.  Really you do but you’re too busy reveling in the newfound light in his eyes to do anything other than choke back a sob.  

“Then I guess you’re lucky I’m not from the moon.”  And finally, finally, finally you move to close the gap so you’re standing chest to chest under the light of the moon, warming the cold beat of his heart into something far less shallow.  Finally, finally he sees you, and knows he doesn’t have to look away.

*Jade encouraged Floyd to ditch so Azul wouldn't be in control of the conversation. Partially to mess with him and partially because I think someone as obsessed with perfection as Azul should be forced to realize love isn't something you can plan every aspect of and I think Jade would agree with me because I am the author and I say so.

**In the original translation I read everyone is blinded by a light. I changed this for correlation to chapter 7.

Promised And Kept Masterpost

Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!reader

Status: Work in progress

Please note: This story is a sequel to Promised. Reading Promised first is recommended, or else you won’t know the characters and how they got here.

Synopsis: After the wedding, Tom and you started living together. Family expectations aren’t always easy to meet, especially when they would mean to live a life so different from your own plans, while the past still haunts you.

Links for other platforms: AO3 | Wattpad

Preface

Part 1 - Nightmares and Future Dreams

Part 2 - Labour and Leisure

Part 3 - Disparity and Discrepancy

Part 4 - Mums and Wine

Part 5 - Recovery and Revelation

Part 6 - Bygone Times and Bubble Baths

Part 7 - A Waltz and a Quest

Part 8 - Aurors and Elves

Part 9 - Equals and Apathy

Part 10 - coming soon

Bonus:

Face casts for Camille and Ben

Headcanon: Camille and y/n are pregnant and Ben and Tom are competing over who can dig the perfect belly-hole at the beach

Can you write an X Reader story with Tom?, where Tom "falls in love" or is attracted to Reader, but she is dating someone else (a Slytherin boy maybe or... from another house) and tries to make she his even if he is rejected at first.

(Perhaps even try a more extreme approach, for example at Professor Slughorn’s party under the table while she is sitting next to him).

Can you write something fluff and smut? Thank you very much.

(sorry if I wrote something in English that is wrong...it’s not my language...I hope you understand). ★

First of all, your English is great, second of all, this prompt is amazing.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Spoken For

Summary: You’re already spoken for when Tom Riddle asks you to Slughorn’s party, but luckily (or unluckily), Tom is hardly known to give up on anything he wants so easily.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Content warning: explicit sex.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“No,” you frown, turning and striding away as quickly as you can, hoping he doesn’t follow but –

“Why not?” Tom says at once, falling in close step beside you.

“I don’t need to give you a reason to turn you down, Tom,” you mutter.

“But you have one.” His eyes are trained on your face, watching for anything he can glean.

“And why exactly do you want to go with me?” you say dryly, weaving through the students milling in the hall between classes and rather desperately hoping that he falters at the question and leaves you alone.

“You want me to list your virtues?” he asks in an equally sardonic tone and not shying away in the slightest.

Damn. The boy’s persistent. “I’m not looking for an ego boost,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised that I want you to be my date?”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps if you indulged me, the reasons would become clear,” Tom says delicately.

You shoot him a look. “Nice try.”

“You seem to have already made up your mind regardless,” he replies at once, eyes narrowing.

You exhale slowly, holding your books a little tighter. You hadn’t wanted it to get to this, but it looks like you have no other choice. “I already have a date to Slughorn’s party,” you say, frowning again.

Tom stops walking, catching your arm and making you stop, too. Your heart thrums nervously in your chest. “Who?” he asks quietly.

His expression has gone perfectly smooth, but you’re hardly fooled. It’s well known that Tom’s tenacity is rivalled only by his intolerance of failure, a combination that won him his place as the best student in your year – you can only imagine how he’s processing the fact that it hasn’t done him any favours with you. “That doesn’t concern you,” you say with deliberate sharpness, pulling your arm from his grasp.

His expression doesn’t change, his dark eyes levelled on yours with a heavy, inescapable scrutiny.

Your stomach twists with guilt and nerves in equal measure. The truth is that you’re (reluctantly) already spoken for, Axel Pembroke asked you out three months prior and you’d been on quite a few dates since. Whilst you aren’t exactly head-over-heels for the boy, your family adores him, he’s polite and innocuous, and he doesn’t seem to mind (or perhaps notice) your lukewarm feelings towards him.

Which is exactly why you’d tried to shut Tom down and get away so quickly. Intelligent and quiet, observant and shrewd, beautiful just to top it off; Tom makes you curious, you want to say yes to him, and that makes him more than a little dangerous to you.

So here you are, turning him down so abruptly that it must be fairly easy to interpret it as callousness.

“Tom,” you say quietly, “I… maybe if I wasn’t… already…”

He blinks, his attention as unrelenting as ever, but you’re suddenly wondering what people would say if it got out that you’d told him such a thing whilst dating Axel.  

“I should go,” you say hastily, forcing your eyes away from him. “I hope you find another date.”

You hurry off, and thankfully this time Tom doesn’t follow.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

In retrospect, you should have known he wouldn’t give up that easily.

The dinner party is a long, tedious affair made all the worse by the fact that Axel is too busy discussing the merits and flaws of the Holyhead Harpies line-up for the coming Quidditch season with the boys next to him to have spoken much more than two complete sentences to you all night. His attentiveness to you, you’re learning, is apparently extremely fickle and entirely dependent on whether or not he’s around his friends. Even worse, the seat beside you is empty and you’ve been forced to spend the evening in silence as you pick at your food at the end of the table, wishing time might pass faster.

Around seven-thirty the door to the chamber swings open and everyone looks up as Tom walks inside, dressed in smartly-fitted but simple black dress robes and looking so strikingly handsome that you catch several people at the table trade furtive glances with each other. “Apologies, Professor,” he says with a polite nod at Slughorn, “the meeting with the Headmaster ran overtime.”

“Not to worry, Tom my boy!” Slughorn says jovially, leaping to his feet and sending his napkin flying into Phoebe Minks’ soup. “Take a seat! The night is still young!”

Your blood runs hot and electric under your skin. There’s only one seat left at the table and it’s next to you.

“Of course, sir,” Tom says smoothly, eyes flicking to you with humour as he approaches.

You avert your gaze, trying (completely in vain) to catch Axel’s attention – he’s half-turned from you so as to better hear some fifth-year Gryffindor’s rundown of the previous season’s highlights and is not paying you any attention in the slightest.

“Good evening,” Tom says softly as he takes the seat beside you.

You nod silently, suddenly very preoccupied with refilling your goblet.

“Tell us about this meeting then, Tom!” Slughorn calls from the other end of the table.

“Dull affairs, I’m afraid, sir,” he says back with a good-natured drawl. “I’m due to supervise the third years on their first trip to Hogsmeade next month.”

“Oh? Nothing else?”

“No, sir,” Tom says with a razor-sharp smile, “I’m sure whatever you were discussing before my arrival was of infinitely more interest.”

Slughorn chortles but returns to his conversation with the aristocratic-looking Ravenclaw seventh-years beside him. You glance desperately at Axel. Please turn around, you will him, please turn around so that I don’t have to talk to –

“The aforementioned date, I presume,” Tom says softly.

And you can’t avoid turning to him. His elbows are resting on the table before him, slowly tilting his crystal goblet in small circles and watching the liquid shift inside. He’s not looking at you but it’s obvious where his comment is directed.

“And yet you end up beside me regardless,” you mutter.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Tom says, giving you a delicate smile.

Your eyes dart across his face suspiciously, but his smile doesn’t budge.

“Your chemistry is overwhelming,” he says smoothly, nodding at the back of Axel’s head. “I can see the appeal.”

“Stop it,” you mutter pointedly, frowning at your goblet again.

“No, I’m quite serious,” he continues, smile widening, “your rejection makes perfect sense, now, how could I possibly compete with such enamoured affections?”

“It’s not usually like this,” you say quietly, embarrassed.

“Oh?” Tom asks, lifting his goblet to his full lips and watching you closely. “Normally you’re utterly infatuated, are you?” He takes a slow sip, not looking away.

Damn him, you think angrily, wrenching your eyes off his beautiful face and feeling heat on your own. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Well, in the absence of your date’s conversation, perhaps my own might suffice as an adequate substitute,” Tom says smoothly, lowering his goblet and setting it down on the table before him.

“And what would you want to talk about?” you ask with an unmissable brush of sarcasm.

“Oh Quidditch, naturally,” he says with a smirk, glancing briefly at Axel again.

You shoot him another look but his amusement doesn’t falter. “You’re hilarious,” you drawl.

“Well what would you like to talk about?” Tom asks quietly, tilting his head and giving you a strangely penetrating look.

You blink. Something about his demeanour makes the question very easy to answer honestly. “I’d rather talk about anything other than Quidditch.”

Tom breathes a small laugh and he turns towards you. “Well in that case, I’m very well prepared to please you,” he says very smoothly, “I know next to nothing about Quidditch and I’m quite determined to keep it that way.”

You laugh too, and then get very annoyed at yourself for doing so. “This isn’t a date,” you tell him quickly, leaning in a little closer and speaking as quietly as you can.

“Of course not,” Tom replies smoothly, his lips curving into a smile as he lifts a hand to his cheekbone and leans against it thoughtfully.

“Just a conversation,” you continue very intently.

“Naturally.”

“It’s normal to converse with other people at a dinner party.”

“Utterly commonplace,” Tom smiles.

You hesitate, suddenly wondering exactly which of you you’re reassuring. “Alright,” you say slowly, lifting your goblet. “Let’s talk.”

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’re hardly surprised when he’s sitting next to you at the next Slugclub dinner party, too. And the next. In fact, Tom is mysteriously beside you at every one of Slughorn’s gatherings all term, and you’re quite certain that Axel might have drawn issue with someone talking to you so much if he’d bothered to turn around even once.

Not that he has any reason to be bothered, of course. They’re just conversations, nothing more. Maybe Tom’s dry, bitingly observant sense of humour makes you laugh more than anyone else ever has, and maybe he asks questions with direct, astute candidness that make it unavoidably obvious that he’s paying very close attention to your answers, and maybe he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life – but they’re just conversations.

“Slughorn is having another dinner this weekend,” Tom says casually as he falls into step with you in the Charms corridor.

“Is he now?” you say wryly, trying to ignore the excitement curling in your stomach.

“Go with me.”

Your smile fades and you stop walking, looking up at Tom in surprise. He stops too, his regal features settled into something serious and impenetrable as he looks back at you.

“You mean… sit together?” you ask carefully.

“No,” Tom says plainly, “I mean as my date.”

You blink, glancing around nervously. “Tom, you know that I’m going with –”

“If Pembroke paid you any less attention you could strangle Slughorn to death right on the table and he still wouldn’t stop talking to Blakeslee and Dunn about which broomsticks the Americans are using this year,” Tom interrupts, arching a brow.

“He’s my date,” you say coolly.

“He’s not your date,” Tom retorts immediately, all humour vanishing as he steps closer. “Don’t insult yourself by considering that a date.”

“I told you that we’re just having conversations, Tom,” you whisper angrily.

“Oh? Are they just conversations?” Tom breathes.

But all you can do is stare at him as the hours you’ve spent talking to him in Slughorn’s parties swim across your consciousness and you realise with mounting horror that no, no they were not just conversations. You swallow hard and look away. “I don’t want to have to turn you down again,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Then don’t,” he says bluntly, not moving away.

“Tom.”

“I know you want to choose me.”

You shoot him another look of warning. “Stop it,” you hiss.

“Stop lying to yourself,” he hisses back, leaning closer.

“I won’t throw Axel under the bus just because I have feelings for you, Tom,” you say angrily.

Tom immediately stands up straighter, triumph glittering in his eyes as he looks down at you and you realise exactly what you’ve just said. Horror washes over you in a cold wave and you turn on your heel and flee, barely paying attention to where you’re going in your haste to get away from him.

You’re already dreading the coming weekend.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You seriously consider not going until Axel starts getting suspicious as to why you’re so reluctant and you’re forced to swallow your mumbled collection of excuses, put on a nice dress, and follow him to the party. Tom looks up from where he’s sat at the far end of the table when you enter and you quickly avert your eyes as warmth erupts on your skin, giving Slughorn a very forced smile at the head of the table.

“Excellent stuff in the last match, Pembroke,” Slughorn winks, “I’ll have to have a word with Begonia Pincushion from the Wimbourne Wasps – old student of mine, you know –”

Axel immediately starts gushing in excitement and walks off without you to sit next to Slughorn, leaving you quite alone and without an open seat beside him. You blink, embarrassment filtering through your chest as the other party-goers awkwardly look between you and Axel – now so engrossed in his conversation with Slughorn that he hasn’t even noticed the whole room staring at you standing by yourself.

“There’s a spare seat here, if you’d like,” a Hufflepuff girl you don’t know offers quickly, smiling at you as she gestures at the chair beside her.

Your eyes drift unbidden to Tom at the end of the table and find him already looking at you, composed and inscrutable. His group of Slytherin fanboys fill the seats around him, but there’s a space. There’s a space on his right. You don’t think for a second that it’s just by chance.

“Thank you,” you say to the Hufflepuff girl, feeling brazenly reckless, “that’s very kind, but I think I’m spoken for.”

And you resolutely turn and make your way over to Tom, ignoring the way his lips slowly curl into a knowing smile as you approach, the way the other Slytherin boys immediately turn away and fall into deep conversation with each other, they way they don’t look at either you or Tom again.

Tom turns to you as you sit down, lightly resting his head against his hand the same way he had the very first time you’d talked to him, his expression somewhere between satisfied and amused. “Hello,” he says dryly.

“Don’t push it,” you mutter, seizing a goblet and filling it.

He breathes a laugh. “Did I just witness the final straw?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you frown, glancing down the table where Axel still hasn’t noticed your absence.

Tom’s amusement slowly fades as he looks at you, his own brow furrowing. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

Your eyes flash to his, something thrumming unignorably in your chest. You nod and force yourself to take a sip of your drink.

“You look beautiful.”

You blink, something fragile fluttering in your chest as your face floods with heat as you stare at his calm, attentive expression, his posture unmoved.

“Am I allowed to say that now?” he asks smoothly, smirking slightly.

“I think that counts as pushing it,” you mumble, knowing he’s bound to have noticed your blush as you look away.

“You’ll have to tell me when I cross the line,” he says softly.

“You’re relentless.”

“I am,” he smiles, lifting his goblet.

You try to smother your own smile with very dubious success, having to hide it behind a sip of your drink instead.

“So,” Tom says a good two hours later, setting down his empty goblet, “I think it only fair that you give me a definitive answer, all things considered.”

“An answer?” you echo, arching a brow.

“Are you going to be my date?” he asks lightly, looking at you.  

You falter, eyes darting to Axel at the front of the table. Most of the dinner guests are a little tipsy on the heavy wine Slughorn always serves, and loud, boisterous conversation fills the room – though nothing can drown out Axel’s brazen lack of acknowledgement that you’ve been sitting with Tom all evening. “I… don’t know…” you say, frowning.

“You’re not seriously going to consider him after this, are you?” Tom says at once, leaning towards you with a dangerously sharp look in his dark eyes.

“What do you want me to do, Tom?” you breathe. “Our families get on, he’s not horrible to me –”

“He’s not horrible to you,” Tom repeats, scathingly unimpressed.

“I have no good reason to end things with him!”  

Tom’s eyes flash and his hand is suddenly on your thigh under the table, his fingers pressing hard into your skin and your heart just about stops. “No good reason,” he echoes softly, gripping you tighter. “Is that true?”

“Tom,” you whisper, frozen in place.

“Is it?” he asks silkily.

You can barely breathe. Tom’s grip is loosening but not to let you go – his hand is moving, agonisingly slowly, relentlessly, sliding up your leg. “Tom,” you say again, barely audible.

“Have I crossed the line?” he whispers, his palm pushing up your dress as it slides higher up your thigh.

When you don’t reply, Tom’s lips curve into a smile and he turns quite casually back to his plate, hand still on your thigh under the table as he reaches forward and lifts his goblet. “You did agree to tell me if I did,” he says softly, his fingers grazing up the inside of your leg and making you supress a shiver.

And you beg yourself to tell him to stop, to ask him to take his hand away, but heat is flooding your stomach and his hand is warm and firm on your skin, and there’s a burning look in his eyes when he glances at you that makes something between excitement and desire spark in every part of your body.

Tom’s hand moves higher and you lean your elbows on the table in front of you, staring unseeing at your plate as his fingers brush the hollow where your leg meets your hip.

“Are you going to choose?” he asks quietly, watching you.

You look up across the table in fear that someone, anyone might have noticed – but no one is paying you any attention in the slightest, the rambunctious conversation drowning out Tom’s words and the wine blurring their awareness of everything else.

Tom lifts his goblet, his eyes fixed on your face. “Tell me to stop,” he says softly, sliding his fingers across your underwear and making you grit your teeth to stop yourself from reacting.

“Tom,” you try again, barely audible.

“Tell me.”

His fingers are playing with the top of your underwear, and you look over at him, arousal and fear and nerves and excitement tearing in your chest. Tom’s eyes are alight with amusement, his attention still on your face as he smiles, brings his goblet to his lips for a slow sip that you watch him take, captivated.

You grit your teeth again and say nothing.

Tom’s smile grows and suddenly his hand is gone. You blink, cheeks flooding with sudden embarrassment and dread at what has just occurred, wondering if he’ll tell people what you’d let him do, wondering if he’d done it all just to mess with you –

“Make your choice,” Tom says smoothly, leaning back in his chair very languidly.

“You’re seriously trying to seduce me?” you manage to say under your breath.

“It appears to be working,” he smirks, glancing at you.

Your blush returns and Tom’s eyes roam your cheeks looking very pleased with the reaction, when he suddenly stands. “Some music, perhaps, sir?” he asks Slughorn with an unaffected smile.

Slughorn is delighted by the suggestion (of course he is), and in mere minutes the dinner party is milling around the room in small groups of conversation, reedy music blaring loudly from a large golden gramophone by the fireplace.

“Axel,” you say quickly, approaching him where he’s talking to three other boys you don’t know very well.

“Oh – haven’t seen you much tonight,” he says casually, glancing at you.

“No – listen, do you want to dance?” you offer, nodding at the small group of other couples a few feet away. Please say yes, please say yes, please give me a single reason to choose you, please do something –

“I’m in the middle of something,” Axel says distractedly, turning back to the three boys, “maybe later.”

He’s already back in conversation before you can reply. You stare at him, your disappointment almost as potent as your absolute absence of surprise.

A hand around your wrist makes you jump, and you wheel around to find Tom already insistently leading you towards the back of the room. “What are you –”

But Tom just casts one last look over the party before he tugs you into a very small, shadowed alcove behind a large wooden column out of sight and pushes you hard against the wall. “You’re going to have to be very quiet, can you do that?” he asks softly, resting a forearm on the wall above your head as his other hand slides up your leg again – though this time the touch is anything but slow.

“Tom,” you gasp, looking back out of the alcove – but no one is there. No one can see you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers again as he leans down. Your breath catches in your throat and suddenly Tom’s lips are pressed against your neck and his hand is sliding teasingly along the band of your underwear again. Anything you might have said dies in your throat.

“Go on,” he murmurs against your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

“Tom,” you breathe again, your hands lifting without conscious thought and lacing around his neck.

You hear his little laugh, feel it brush warm across your neck, and he’s pulling your underwear down, and with a touch that feels like fire he slides his fingers against you. Your moan barely slips out from between your lips before Tom’s arm drops from the wall above you and his hand presses firmly over your mouth. “Didn’t I say to be quiet?” he tells you softly, but his fingers are stroking at you and you can barely breathe, your eyes closing tightly as dizziness and pleasure storm in your body.

You hold onto his arm just to stay grounded, his hand over your mouth stifling the noises threatening to escape as his fingers send pleasure coiling low in your core, his lips teasing your neck and making heat spread tingling across your skin.

Tom lifts his head and looks down at you breathing hard beneath his hand, his fingers making you shift with pleasure. “Can you be quiet for me?” he murmurs.

You nod. You would have agreed to anything he’d asked you in that moment.

Tom’s hand vanishes from your mouth and he’s kissing you, soft lips, tongue hot against yours, and you’re dizzy and delirious, kissing him back without thinking, without caring about anything else –

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your mouth, “legs spread for me, so wet for me –”

“Tom,” you moan, whisper-quiet.

“Say it again,” he commands softly.

“Tom.”

He kisses you hard again and you feel the pleasure in your gut start to build and build. “There,” Tom murmurs, pulling back, “there it is. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”

“I…”

“Ask me for it,” he says softly.

“Tom, please –”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

You look up at him. Tom looks back with his burning dark eyes, his hand cupping your jaw and pulling your closer to his lips barely breath away from yours as his fingers keep building the smouldering pleasure in your core. “Tell me,” he whispers.

And you nod.

“Say it.”

“I…”

His fingers slow against you and your head falls back against the wall in frustration, your eyes falling shut.

“I want you to say it,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to his again.

You look up at him, and for a second you just stare, watch his eyes drag across your face, drinking in your expression. You try to focus, try to ignore the achingly slow caress of his fingers between your legs, the pleasure right out of your grasp, the dark heat in Tom’s eyes that’s making you crave giving in, making you wonder why you’ve been resisting at all.

“I’m yours,” you whisper.

Tom’s lips curve into his most dangerous smile as he leans back in, kissing you very softly as his fingers press a little harder, as you breathe harder, your arms wrapping around his neck again and he’s not slowing down anymore and you’re right on the edge, feeling yourself start to tip –

“You’re mine,” Tom says softly, and it breaks over you so hard that his hand smothers your mouth again, holding you tightly as you shift and writhe beneath his touch, unable to stop the moans.

Somehow, no one notices the two of you slipping back to the main party, no one comments on it, and for the first time, you’re glad that Axel pays you less than no attention because your absence passed him by entirely without detection.

“Time to go?” Axel asks you near ten o’clock, shrugging his coat on.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost your date, Pembroke,” Tom says smoothly from where he’s standing beside you.

Axel blinks at him, and you expect that a similar expression is on your own face, too. “Excuse me?” Axel says disbelievingly.

“Perhaps you might be more attentive, next time,” Tom continues casually, offering you his arm. “Very rude of you to ignore someone for weeks on end, you know, and that unpleasantness when you arrived tonight… shameful…”

You don’t hesitate before slipping your arm through Tom’s, and he immediately gives you a heated, knowing look that makes you smile up at him reflexively.

Axel’s gobsmacked gaze turns to you. “Are you serious?”

You shrug lightly, feeling strangely empowered.

“Goodnight, Pembroke,” Tom says very pleasantly, stepping towards the door and leading you with him. “Do find a new date to the next gathering, won’t you? Mine is spoken for.”