CW: shared pain soulmate au, brief descriptions of injuries and pain (mainly Alastor's chest wound), sort of clumsy reader, intentional injury (reader scratches themself to prove a point)
WC: 690
Notes: I started writing this as just a little idea blurb, but then it turned into some sort of imagine-style bullet points. I figured I'd share what Iâve got so far instead of just sitting on it for ages. (â_â;) I hope you enjoy!
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ Thinking about an Alastor x reader soulmate AU where you feel each other's pain... and like, when you first go to the hotel, neither of you realizes your soulmates. There's a pull, of course; Alastor finds you interesting, enjoys conversing with you, likes your overall presence. And the same goes for you; the tall, scary Radio Demon isn't so bad when you get to have a one-on-one with him, when you hear his stories about his radio days back on Earth, when you watch him cook in the hotel's kitchen, when you listen to him sing and play a lively tune on the piano.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ But that's all there is to it, at first. You don't realize that tug that draws you to him actually means something more. That you have a connectionâa bondâdeeper than just enjoying each other's company. You never thought he was your soulmate of all things.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ You had shown up in Hell more recently and hadn't really felt any pain that wasn't something you'd already known the cause of. So, you figured you didn't have a soulmateâat least, not yet.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ Alastor, on the otherhand, felt every little jab of pain from your clumsy self, the aches echoing in his soul. Every stub of your toe against the edge of a random piece of furniture. Every time you burned your tongue when you were impatient to wait for your hot drink to cool down, he felt the heat on his own, as if he had just taken a sip from the scalding hot beverage. Or every time you got a paper cut from helping Charlie organize her lesson plans, a small tingling sensation caused his red-tipped claws to twitch from the sensation.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ Had he realized all those bothersome sensations were from you? Initially, no, but as he started spending more time around you, an inkling that you were his soulmate began to sprout in his mind. However, he decided not to act on it, and instead observe you until he was 100% certainâthat's when he would decide what he would do with you.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ It isn't until the battle against Adam that you realize. Not until you're keeling over with a searing hot pain burning through your chest, that ok, maybe you do have a soulmate, and maybe they're nearby. And when the pain doesn't go away, you grow even more concerned. What happened to them? Where are they? How badly are they hurt?
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ After the battle is said and done, you follow the pull of the invisible red string of fate, only to find Alastor at the rope's end, his smile turned into a sharp grimace as he holds a hand to his chest. It's in that moment that you knewâAlastor was your soulmate. He's your soulmate, and he's in pain, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from everyone else.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ You can feel it, just as strong as if there was an actual wound sliced open across your chest. You can feel the pain, the irritation, the indignation simmering beneath the surface, boiling in his veins. And when you can't take it anymore, you confront him.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ It's funny to think about; you cornering the Radio Demon in his room. But alas, he's left you no choice. You try your best to keep your voice steady in front of his guarded demeanor, demanding that he show you his woundâpleading when he feigns ignorance.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ Perhaps the shared ache and distress overwhelm you, causing you to break. A brief sting crawls up your arm as you scratch yourself in front of him to prove your point, but the pain of it dulls in comparison to what you feel in your chestâwhat Alastor feels.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ A flash of recognition flickers in his crimson eyes as they turn to radio dials, his antlers growing to an intimidating size. Sharp static pierces through the air as a high-pitched tone clamors along with it. Alastor just stares you down, razor-edged grin growing even sharper, wider.
â๨ŕ§ËâĄË ࣪ "Well, my dear soulmate," he drawls, emphasizing your apparent pre-destined bond. "It seems we have some discussing to do now, hm?"
Oh, how I love you, soulmate AUs. ( ËÍ áľ ËÍ )⥠I would turn this into a fully fledged fic, but I don't have the spoons for that right now... so to whoever is reading this and wants to run with it, please do!! I would love to read what you come up with, so please tag me if you end up posting it! (âáľá´áľâ)
It was her first day on the job and she already had everything planned out. Become the sweet and dependable employee that everyone in the office loves. Make an outlasting impression that would lead to promotions and finally find her true love.
It was so simple and perfectly planned that she had no doubt it would work. If she was able to get through 6 years at a high pristine university at the top of her class, she could easily get through an office job that she was overly qualified for.
Everything was going well at first. Praises left and right and even catching the eye of a few people in the office. But no one had compared to him.
He caught her eye instantly when she first came in. Opening the door for her, holding his hand out as he gave her that charming smile and introducing himself. Saying how excited they he was to have her on the team. But there was one problem, not about him no- it was you. They way you cling onto him like second skin and followed him around like a loss puppy. She even wondered how you got the job in the first place if he had to keep fixing every mistake you made.
âââââ
You and Wyn were an unstoppable duo. Itâs like one couldnât exist without the other from how attached yall were. He kept you level headed so you didnât spiral out of control from unnecessary thoughts. And you made sure he stayed on top of his work.
Everyone, even him, referred to yall as âwork spousesâ. From how often he flirted with you and how you banter with him, it was almost gross how cute yall were.
And while you were excited about having a new girl on the team he couldnât care less about her. Sure he had to be nice and introduce himself, told her how âhappyâ they were to have her. But he hated every second of it. Having to be polite, to compliment her and then touch her?
His hands only belong on you, his sweet personality was reserved for you and you alone. He had to resist the urge to run to the restroom to clean his hands from her touch before going to you to make sure he was fully cleanse of her and only had traces of you left on him.
But he couldnât find it in himself to shut down the conversation. So he let you yap his ear off as held one of your hands. A win-win in his book since he got to hear your voice and feel your touch while you got the chance to say what was on your mind.
But then she came over, interjecting to âask for his helpâ. It took everything in him to not cringe when he heard her high pitched voice. And when she looked up at him with a pout? God he wanted to bleach his eyes from the sight. Her bottom lip jutting out and her already big eyes looking impossibly bigger as she tried to look âcute and helplessâ by giving him sad puppy eyes, but instead looked like a badly drawn anime character.
You could only watch as she moved closer to him and tried placing her hand on his arm but he quickly pulled it back like she burned her. He tried to laugh it off and make an excuse on how he wasnât big on physical touch. Which was ironic since he was still holding your hand and had you close against him.
âOh her clinginess must be really annoying then.â Shannon laughed. Trying to make a sly comment towards you while hopefully getting his approval. His jaw clenched and he could feel how you seemed to deflate a little from her words. Insecurity written over you even though you tried to hide it. He felt you tried to pull your hand away but he instantly tightened his grip to prevent you from doing so.
âWeâre done here.â He didnât give her the chance to say anything else before pulling you with him and away from her. He didnât care about his ânice guyâ persona if it meant keeping you away from people like her. He could tell you were shock from how he responded since you kept looking back at her and tried telling him how rude that was.
But he kept walking, gently pushing you into the elevator as he made an excuse about needing your help getting some paperwork from another department.
As much as he tried to keep his distance they somehow kept crossing paths. His frustration was quickly growing throughout the week from how often she kept trying to get close to him. His patience was slowly slipping and it didnât help how she tried to act like you. Clinging onto him, following him around and talking nonsense that wasnât even related to work.
At least when you did it he enjoyed it, love it actually. Whereas with her he wanted to rip his ears off so he wouldnât have to hear her voice a second longer. To scrub any piece of skin she managed to touch raw to ensure nothing of her was left on him.
If it werenât for the risk of losing his job and having you hate him he wouldâve grabbed her right then and there, throw her out to the busy highway that was by the office in hopes she gets injured or better yet dead.
It was the end of the week and he was exhausted. From running around trying to avoid her and to catch up with you it was absolute hell. It was like you were popular all of sudden from how many people would come up and pull you away any time he tried to come up to you. And out of âpure coincidenceâ she would pop up, ready to make conversation like they were buddies.
By the end of the day he was done, ready to give up and just go home without the usual conversation with you. Without your touch that he so desperately craves.
âHey-â He felt the hand on his back and without hesitation quickly sat back up as he slap it away. He looked over expecting it to be Shannon, ready to tell her off once and for all but was shocked to see it was you.
It was the first time heâs ever pushed your hand away and so roughly at that. You looked back at him with shock and he swore his heart broke seeing the hurt that flashed through your eyes before you quickly collected yourself.
âI.. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You seem a bit out of it today.â He almost dropped to his knees and beg for forgiveness seeing how you were still caring for him after what he did. It wasnât even that big of a deal but to him he felt like he deserved the death penalty after unintentionally hurting you.
âY-yes..! Iâm fine..!â He quickly exclaimed but hated himself more when you seemed taken aback from his outburst. He cleared his throat, trying to calm down before grabbing one your hands to pull you closer to him.
âIâm sorry.. Itâs just been a long day, but Iâm doing better now that you are here.â He smiled at you. His voice was so soft and sweet that you couldnât help but smile a little. Even though you felt bad seeing how disheveled and stressed he looked.
âIf youâre free right now we could-â You couldnât even finish your sentence from the sudden screech of his name. Shannon running over with paperwork and looking distraught.
âWyn! Please I need your help!â Quickly pushing you out of the way to get to him. He swear he saw red seeing you stumble back and having the grab the wall of his cubicle in order to not fall. He immediately stood up but Shannon was faster than that. Standing in his way to prevent him from going to you and looking up at him with that same âsadâ look.
âWynn please-â She started to whine, trying to seem pitiful.
âShut it. Just shut up and go to someone else.â He finally snapped. After all week of her bothering him, the patience he desperately tried to hold onto snapped seeing you almost get hurt because of her.
Both of yall looked at him in shock. But whereas you were concerned for him, Shannonâs face turn red from anger and being embarrassed in front of you. Her hands shaking and balled at her side.
âWhy? So you could go back to tending to her?â She scowled at him. He didnât know why that was any of her business.
âShe canât even do a simple task by herself! And she is such a leech-â Before she could even finish what she was saying he grabbed her arm. His grip tightening and bruising as he pulled her close, not caring if he was hurting her. He was hoping he did
âI said Shut. Up. Unless you want a similar âaccidentâ to happen to you, I suggest you leave.â His voice was low but threatening. Thankfully she was smart enough to not try and test him again.
Quickly nodding her head she hurriedly ran off the moment he left her go. You didnât know what to do, just looking at him in shock since it was the first time you saw him like this.
He has never been so rough, so mean that it felt like he was another person. She did deserve to be told off, there was no doubt about it but you saw how roughly he grabbed her. And wouldnât be surprised if she had bruises from it.
Before he could say anything you lied saying how you had somewhere to be. Quickly leaving just like her and he watched as you did. Trembling with both anger and frustration.
You were here. You were so close and was going to ask him out until she ruined it. He tried to keep his breath steady but he knew she needed to go. There was no way in hell he would let this happen again.
It was way later than you would have liked by the time you could leave the office. It seemed like Shannon had reported Wyn for what he did so you were held back to fill out some paperwork because you were the only other person to see what happened. It also didnât help that you still had your own work to do so by the time you were able to leave it was already dark out.
Almost everyone had gone home already. The only people left was security and could janitors.
But once you stepped out and started walking you could hear faint whimpers coming from the back of the building. You stilled as multiple things ran through your head. What if there was a hurt animal back there? What if it was someone that was hurt? And if it was then what? It wasnât like you were strong or knowledgeable enough to help them out.
Letting out a shaky breath you slowly started to walk over. Your curiosity getting the better of you as you held your keys tightly in your hands and taking quiet steps.
But when you peaked around the corner the last thing you expected was this.
A broken bloody bottle in one hand while the other was placed over Shannonâs mouth to keep her quiet. A small gasp left your lips before you could stop it and you felt your blood go cold seeing the attacker was Wyn.
He easily spotted you and looked panicked at getting caught. He thought you left already. He couldâve sworn he heard from others that you went home early but here you are. Looking at him terrified and like you were ready to run.
He quickly got off of Shannon, not caring about her anymore more as got up and tried to wipe his bloody hands on his suit. That had splatter blood all over it. He took slow cautious steps as if he was worried you would run if he walked too fast.
When he got to you he was quick to grab your wrist. Holding it in a gentle grasp as his other hand went to cup your cheek. You almost cringed knowing some of her blood was now on you.
âI-I had no choice. She was going to ruin everything. I almost lost you and my position. If that were to happen there would be no way I could be around you anymore. That i could keep my eyes on you.â His voice got deeper at the end, darker as if the thought of being away from you was the worst thing that could happen.
His grip had tightened but when he saw you wince he immediately loosened his hold. Pulling that same hand up to kiss it as he murmured an apology against your skin.
âBut we donât have to worry about that anymore..â He mumbled once more before moving your hand down a little.
âSheâs gone now, for good. And things could go back to how they were.â He smiled but it no longer looked sweet or charming. Instead it looked sinister and dangerous, one that sent a chill up your spine.
bsf!Tom who jerks off to your pretty face as you kneel before him but is too respectful to ruin your makeup, so he tells you to open your mouth and stick out your tongue insteadâand when heâs done, he hooks his finger under your chin and makes you swallow before he kisses u <3
professor!Riddle always fucks you before classâjust so he can watch you squirm in your seat for the entirety of the lesson, knowing his cum is dripping out of you, soaking through the gorgeous lace panties he bought for you <3
domestic!Tom who gets hard instantly just from seeing u bake/cook. whisking the whipped cream? hard. stirring the soup? hard. cutting up strawberries for his favourite cake? fucking hard.
his hands find your waist, hot breath ghosting over your ear as he praises youâand you know. you know what he needs the moment he presses himself up against you, making you feel how hungry he isâfor you rather than the food youâre preparing.
being free use means he doesnât even need to ask before he peels your skirt down your thighs and pushes your panties to the side. before his thick, throbbing cock drags through your damp folds, slicking himself with your arousalâlooking, searching for those sweet sounds that tell him youâre ready to take him.
and when he finally spills himself inside youâso deep, youâll feel him for hoursâitâs always with praise. âsweet girl, taking me so well. so good for me. so fucking precious.â
Tom groans into your hair after the bliss of his orgasm subsides, brushing kisses along your jawâslipping free from the embrace of your slick, velvety walls. he fixes your skirt before he leaves you to it, returning when you call for him as you finish up his plateâfor his meal and for round two after. ;)
ok so whoâs writing tom riddle smut where he does mock sympathy, condescending praise, and is overall just an asshole and an annoying person when it comes to praising his partner because he thinks itâs so pathetic how she js is so horny for him??????????????
Warnings: Dark romance, possessive behaviour, threat/intimidation, hand at throat, sensual tension
Words: 298 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles @mischiefmaker615 cos you had a craving..
Prompt: June 14th - Play That Funky Music - Wild Cherry/ âHow could I be so foolish.â
You thought you were finally rid of him.
That perhaps he had truly let you go this time.
You were wrong.
Loki stood before you now, beautiful in the way knives were beautiful when candlelight found the edge. The door closed behind him with a quiet finality that made your stomach drop.
You retreated until your back met the wall, some pathetic noise slipping from your lips before you could swallow it down.
He smiled like he had missed the sound of your panic.
âDid you truly believe I had moved on?â
You lifted your chin, though your pulse had already betrayed you, your hands twisting uselessly in the fabric at your sides. âYou let me go.â
His eyes darkened, he was a wolf circling a doe.
âNo.â He stepped closer, the air shifting around him. âI allowed myself to pretend restraint was mercy.â His hand rose, long fingers brushing your jaw.
âDonât, please,â you whispered.
Lokiâs mouth curved sharper. His hand settled at your throat.
Not crushing. Not yet. Just present, claiming the fragile beat beneath your skin. Your breath caught, and his gaze dropped, watching your lips tremble with awful satisfaction.
âSuch a vision,â he purred. The sound chilled your blood and heated your skin in the same treacherous breath. His thumb stroked once over your pulse. âHow could I be so foolish as to let something as glorious as you go?â
Your fingers caught his wrist, meaning to push him away. Your conviction faltered. It always did with him.
Loki leaned in, lips hovering near yours, eyes bright with painful promise.
âI am done pretending I know how to want you gently.â His grip tightened. The room narrowed around his smile. âAnd you are done pretending you do not crave the agony of my affections.â
Oh my, it took long enough. Last 3 days explored and studied his personality to make at least a bit character accurate headcanons on him. His quiet... hard to describe... Nevermind
Today's guest is the Second Fatui Harbinger
Dottore (Zandik) đ§Ź
If he were capable of falling in love â what would it be like?
He doesnât believe in love.
At leastânot in the way other people talk about it.
To Dottore, love is a mistake in terminology. Too emotional, too imprecise, too human. He would rather call it an anomaly, a deviation, an unstable reaction to an external stimulus. Thatâs safer. More logical. Easier to maintain his composure in front of himself.
At first, he doesnât notice anything unusual.Just interest. He lets his gaze linger a little longer. He asks questions a little more often â questions with no practical value. He gets slightly less irritated when the object of that interest invades his personal space â the same space that is forbidden territory for everyone else. He attributes it to professional deformation: a rare specimen, an unusual psychotype, curious material for observation.
But over time, cracks begin to appear in his behavior.
He starts coming back.
Not because he has to, but because he wants to check whether youâre still there.
He doesnât say that he missed you. He says,
âI expected different results.â
He doesnât acknowledge attachment, yet he catches himself irritated by your absenceâan irritation similar to a failed experiment.
The most frightening thing for him isnât the feeling itself.
The most frightening thing is the loss of control.
When Dottore realizes heâs in love, it doesnât happen through emotion â it happens through analysis. He records the symptoms:
⢠intrusive thoughts;
⢠reduced interest in unrelated subjects;
⢠an irrational desire to protect rather than use;
⢠a disproportionately strong reaction to any potential threat to you.
And in that moment, he is consumed by rage. Not outward rage â internal, cold, silent. He despises the very idea that someone has become his weakness. That a single person can destabilize his system.
He tries to get rid of it.
He becomes sharper, colder, deliberately pushes you away. He tests it: if he hurts you, will the feeling disappear? If you leave, will it get easier? He watches you as if conducting an experiment, yet every step you take away from him triggers a strange, viscous sensation in his chest â one that defies classification.
And then he stops fighting.
Not because he accepted love. But because he realized it can be used.
Dottore does not become gentle. He does not become soft. His love is not flowers or confessions. It is control, attention, absolute involvement. He remembers everything: your habits, fears, weaknesses, the ways you calm yourself. He knows when youâre lying, when youâre tired, when youâre in pain â sometimes before you do.
If youâre near him, youâre under protection. Not out of mercy. Out of ownership.
He doesnât show jealousy openly. He doesnât make scenes. But if someone poses a threat â that person disappears from your life. Quietly. Without explanations. Sometimes you donât even realize how it happened â you just feel that the world around you has become safer, cleaner, emptier.
In intimacy, he is terrifyingly attentive. His touches are precise, calculated, almost investigative, yet there is no coldness in them. On the contrary â he holds you as if afraid of losing you, even if he never says it aloud. Sometimes he freezes with his forehead pressed to your shoulder, as if listening to his own breathing, checking whether this moment is real.
He doesnât say âI love you.â
But he says:âStay.â
And for him, that is the utmost honesty.
If you betray him â he wonât forgive.
If you leave â he will search.
If you die â he will try to bring you back.
Dottoreâs love is not salvation.It is not romance.It is an experiment without a final stage â one in which, for the first time, he does not want to know the result in advance.
And perhaps that is what frightens him the most.
Against the background of his inferiority complex and his rejection of human emotions and human nature â without really distinguishing between them â it would be incredibly difficult for him to accept a feeling people call âlove.â Such irrational things evoke nothing but anger in him.
In truth, there are two possible outcomes with him. The first is described above â if his interest deepens and his patience holds once he becomes involved. The second is your inevitable death, simply because you become something that interferes with him.
In relationships, he is also deeply suspicious. For a long time â perhaps until his death he will not fully believe that he has truly discovered something like this within himself.
given the way he looks at 85, there is a good chance that dick is still functioning. it could be the most unimpressive shriveled rod, or some mutated twitching monster. you decide.
although he definitely can't fuck you the way he used to, nothing is stopping you from riding the old man silly. his armchair was the perfect place for it, comfy and with good support.
you could stare at him for hours, the way he panted and groaned under you, his weak hands clawing at your thighs as he tried to stop himself from passing out while he was balls deep inside you.
when you got too disobedient, he would smack your ass with his cane and call you a pest. if you acted too needy while he was trying to work, he might even let you grind yourself against it.
the older segments definitely snoop around and listen in while you two are having sex. they don't bother being quiet about it either, openly rating the original's performance, or jacking off if the view was satisfactory.
because of his age, he needed more sleep, causing you to be the one who usually woke up first. he'd always seem so peaceful and at ease, you couldn't help but want to sit on that wrinkly face of the his. what better way to wake him up than that? zandik never complained, although you did have to make sure he didn't have an asthma attack mid oral.
zandik knew you always got hot and bothered when he talks down to you, in that condescending tone of his. you really were pathetic, drooling over an old man's cock this much. he'd wipe the spit off your chin, then stick his long, worn out fingers in your mouth when you get too loud, the feel of your throat closing around them as you gagged always made him laugh.
but there was nothing that made him more aroused than being perverted. maybe it comes with age, now finally becoming the stereotypical degenerate geezer, but sneaking a hand down your underwear in public, or whispering filthy things while the others were present, got him going like nothing else.
Iâve seen some post about Zandik x immortal reader, but like what about zandik and his segments with a reader that dies before him.
The grief he lives with in his final years, maybe itâs why he died at 85. He mightâve lived earlier but after your passing he stopped taking as good care of himself, less sleep despite his bodyâs demands, skipping meals, all that, and the segments only watch him fall apart waiting for what inevitably comes knowing that even if they tried they couldnât change it.
Warnings: smut, Tom as the minister of magic, abuse of power.
The summons to the Ministerâs office had arrived on a crisp ivory memo, your name written in his precise, elegant script. To anyone else, it would have been a source of cold dread. To you, it was simply the culmination of a morning spent practicing restraint as your so-called âteamâ bungled yet another simple licensing review.
You smoothed the front of your charcoal robes, adopting the mask of a harried, frustrated Ministry employee as you pushed open the heavy oak door to his cabinet. The formality of the space always struck the right chord: dominated by a vast mahogany desk, stacks of parchment aligned with geometric precision, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that cast the roomâs sole occupant in a silhouette of power.
Tom Riddle, Minister of Magic, didnât look up immediately. He was perusing a document, his dark hair catching the light, a fountain pen held loosely in his long fingers. The silence was a calculated pressure, one that stretched until the door clicked shut with a final, echoing thud.
âYou requested an audience,â he said, his voice a smooth, velvety baritone that filled the room without being loud. Still, he didnât look at you.
You knew the game. âYes, Minister.â The title felt foreign and sharp on your tongue. âIâm here to request a transfer.â
Now his gaze lifted. Those dark eyes pinned you in place, an unreadable expression on his aristocratic features. They drifted over you in a way that was clinically detached, a superior assessing an inferior. âA transfer. I was led to believe that your project group had some of the finest minds in the division.â
âThen youâve been misled, sir,â you said, letting a genuine thread of frustration bleed into your voice. âThey are a collection of imbeciles. They miss deadlines, their filing is a disaster, and I spent three hours this morning rectifying a Portkey authorization that would have dropped a family of four into the North Sea. Iâve drafted a proposal for a lateral move to another, more advanced group. My qualifications are more than adequate.â
He set his pen down with a soft click. A faint, chilling smile touched his lips. âMore than adequate. A bold declaration.â He leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, the picture of casual dominance. âAnd what, precisely, makes you think I would intervene in such a minor departmental squabble? The Minister does not exist to soothe every bruised ego and petty grievance in the ministry.â
âIt is not a petty grievance, itâs a matter of professional integrity and safety, Minister,â you retorted, holding his stare. The air crackled with the unspoken.
His smile deepened, a predator baring its teeth. âA favour,â he repeated, savoring the word. He placed his palms flat on the polished surface of the desk and rose. His movements were fluid, unhurried, as he walked around the desk, each step of his expensive shoes on the thick carpet a measured, ominous sound. He stopped directly before you, so close you could smell the subtle scent of his cologne and parchment.
âI see. And what,â he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, âare you willing to do in return for such aâŚfavour?â
A blatant, unspoken proposition, the kind that would make any employee's blood run cold with the realization, the abuse of power made manifest. You held your ground, your chin tilted up, but you said nothing, your silence a form of non-compliance.
âNothing?â Tom whispered, an elegant eyebrow arching. âA pity.â
Without breaking eye contact, he closed the final distance, his chest almost brushing yours. One of his hands reached out, not to touch your face, but to pat his own thigh in a clear, degrading summons. When you still didnât move, a flash of something dangerous flickered in his dark eyes. His hands, strong and sure, found your hips, and his fingers deliberately slid back, splaying over the curve of your arse and gripping firmly through the wool of your robes. With an effortless, proprietary strength, he pulled you off balance and sat you down on his lap as he leaned back against the edge of his desk.
A breath hitched in your throat, the feel of the hard muscle of his thigh beneath you a sudden, thrilling shock. His face was now level with yours, the perfect, cruel beauty of it a masterpiece of controlled hunger.
âIt seems you need a lesson in how the Ministry works,â he said softly, his breath warm on your lips. âPower requires a show of deference.â
He didnât bother to kiss you. Instead, his grip on your hip tightened, and he gave a slight, pointed nudge. A command. You slid from his lap, knowing your role, your legs folding until you were on your knees before the Minister on the thick rug. His proximity was overwhelming, the fine fabric of his trousers stretched taut before your eyes.
He made a low sound of approval, a hum that vibrated in his chest. âMuch better. Now, show me how much you want this promotion.â
Your fingers were of a supplicant, moving to unfasten his trousers with a clumsiness born of nerves. When you freed him, he was already achingly hard, and the sight of him like this, against the backdrop of his official robes, was a profane masterpiece. You didnât wait for further instruction. You leaned forward and took him into your mouth.
A sharp, hissing inhale was your reward, followed by a deep, guttural groan that he didnât try to stifle. âOh, thatâs it,â he praised, his voice a decadent, dark caress. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head, his long fingers twining through your hair, neither guiding nor forcing, simply holding you there. âSuch an eager thing when you set aside your pride. So much more productive than filing complaints, isnât it?â
He began to talk to you as you worked, a low, ceaseless stream of dark, humiliating praise. âYou have a far greater talent for this than for paperworkâŚI can see I may have a different position for you in mind entirely.â
He was making you work for it, his hips beginning a slow, shallow rhythm.
Finally, with a grunt of what sounded like genuine regret, he pulled you back by the grip on your hair. âEnough,â he commanded, his voice husky. He looked down at you, your mouth swollen, your eyes wide, and for a fleeting second, the mask cracked; a flash of pure, adoring fire blazed from his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold Minister.
He pulled you to your feet, spun you around, and bent you over the very edge of the desk. A stack of licensing proposals crumpled beneath your hip. He shoved your robes up past your waist with an impatient, rough movement.
âIf you want a transfer,â he rasped behind you, the head of his cock pressing, seeking, âthen you will take it.â And then he thrust into you from behind, hard and deep.
The groan that was torn from your throat was entirely unforced. The angle was perfect, brutal, hitting a spot that made sparks dance in your vision. He didnât wait, setting a punishing rhythm, the force of his hips slamming against your backside. The desk, that solid, centuries-old monument to wizarding power, began to creak and groan in protest, a rhythmic counterpoint to the obscenely wet sounds of your coupling.
âLook at you,â he snarled, gripping your hip with one hand while the other pressed flat on the desk beside yours, caging you in. âSo quiet for the minister now. Is this what you wanted? To be treated like a quill-pusher who needs a good, hard fuck to remember her place?â
You could only moan in response, a high, desperate sound. The knowledge that the walls of his study were charmed with silencing spells, that the portraits of old, disapproving wizards were frozen in soundless slumber, only heightened the freedom of your depravity. He was taking you apart, piece by piece, the diligent ministry worker gone, replaced by a creature of pure sensation.
His pace became more frantic, losing its measured cruelty for a raw, primal need. The praise changed, too, fraying at the edges as his own climax approached. âYouâre soâŚgoodâŚgod, youâre perfectâŚâ The words were a ragged gasp against your ear, a direct contradiction to his earlier condescension.
He reached around, his fingers finding and circling your clit with an expert, practiced pressure. You shattered around him with a choked cry, your body clenching, and the sensation pulled him over the edge. With a final groan of your name, he spent himself deep inside you, his body shuddering against yours.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged, mingled breathing and the faint, settling creak of the abused desk. Then, he withdrew. You felt the soft, quick whisper of a cleaning charm, and gentle hands were smoothing down your robes, turning you around with a tenderness that was a complete, jarring reversal.
Tomâs face was no longer the cold Ministerâs. It was your husbandâs, softened with a sated, lazy smile and a hint of boyish mischief in his dark eyes. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, finally, a long, deep, loving kiss.
âA bit of amusement on a dreadfully slow day,â he murmured against your lips, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. âThe paperwork for the promotion will be on your desk by lunchtime.â
Oneshots in the same universe/timeline: Blue is My World When I'm Without You Undressed
a/n: You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3
(Disclaimer: all my fics are free to read. They're not behind paywall of any kind. Support is entirely voluntary).
Sevren âď¸đŤđ @sarcastic-wit - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
