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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 months

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I don't even have a clear storyline in mind for this, but I just really, really want to see a modern AU with Eddie as a detective who investigates the Harrington Pharma company. The company is huge and looks clean on paper, but Eddie has a nose for these things, he knows something is wrong. He knows that Richard Harrington ran some sketchy trials and some of Wayne's friends have lifelong health issues, Chief Jim Hopper included.

The company looks almost impenetrable, but Eddie digs. No detail is too small for him. He crosses paths with the owner's son and a board member, Steve Harrington. Eddie despises him. A fucking rich kid, making millions out of other people's misery. His public appearances are well rehearsed, but Eddie knows his type. A shallow, pretty partying douchebag who hasn't had to work a single day in his life. His PR manager Robin Buckley seems way too decent to work with such a bunch of assholes, but Eddie's seen what money can do to people. Either way she's corrupted too.

He meets the younger Harrington several times. The handsome young man is not openly hostile, but he's condescending, bitchy and he looks at Eddie as if he were dirt. "Good luck with your efforts," he sneers when he sees Eddie digging through the public records of Harrington Pharma. "But maybe get a real hobby instead? I hear golf is nice." Eddie wants to murder him.

Eddie cooperates with an investigative journalist, Nancy Wheeler, who keeps all her cards close to her chest, but she still points him in the right direction several times. He collects evidence, partners up with the public prosecutor Joyce Byers. He even meets her son, Jonathan, who is able to get the most damning photographic evidence. No one fully trusts each other, but that's okay. Harrington Pharma is their shared enemy and that's enough.

One day, Eddie makes a mistake. He sneaks into the Harrington Pharma archives and miscalculates the guard shifts. He's stuck hiding under an old desk for hours, he's slowly losing hope, he has no way to contact anyone, his legs are cramping and he's exhausted, but then he hears a familiar voice talking with the guard.

"Hi, Tommy. All good? How's Carol and the kids? That's wonderful to hear. I just need to verify some records for dad, it's not a big deal. Have you had your smoke break yet? You can go, stretch your legs. I'll be here for at least half an hour."

Shit. It's Steve fucking Harrington. Eddie tries to stay still and will his muscles to cooperate, and he thinks he's doing a great job, but then-

"You can come out now. He's gone."

Eddie freezes. How the fuck does he know?

Harrington's voice is quiet, urgent. "Damn it, Munson! You have ten minutes tops before he comes back, so stop playing hide and seek with me!"

He manages to get back on his feet, uncertain and wobbly, and when he sees Harrington leaning over the desk, he's half ready for a fight. But the other man doesn't make a move, doesn't call out to anyone. He just hands Eddie a folder, some of them are the files he selected, but some are new. "I added a few that you missed," hisses Harrington and leans into the corridor. "I'll go first, get Tommy to focus somewhere else. You run to the right and pray to anyone willing to listen. And most importantly," he says, and shit, Steve Harrington can sound serious if he wants to!, "I never saw you here. You heard me come in, used the opportunity and bolted. Clear?"

Eddie just nods. He watches as Steve extends his arm, probably grabbing Tommy by the shoulders and leading him to the other end of the building, he sneaks as far as he can and then he madly dashes for the hole in the fence he made earlier.

The files are it. With all the evidence Nancy, Jonathan and Eddie collected, Joyce can finally take that dark empire down. Eddie is there every day, watches the trial, but then he hears that there are two witnesses for the prosecution from inside the company itself.

It's Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley.

He sees Steve give him a wink from the stand and he wants to kiss the man. Eddie hears all of it in the following days - how Steve used to date Nancy Wheeler, but then her best friend Barb Holland died due to a mishandled drug trial for her condition by Harrington Pharma. How Nancy broke up with Steve, but even with no chance of rekindling their relationship, he vowed to stop his father for good. How he worked in the company for years, climbed the ladder, managed to make enough connections to get his friend Robin Buckley the position of a PR manager. How she helped him to keep up the charade until the very end.

When the Harrington empire finally falls, Eddie watches quietly as Steve embraces Nancy, whispering to her that she did so well, that Barb would be proud. "We finally did it, Nance. We're finally free."

And then, before Eddie can disappear, Harrington is walking towards him, the mask finally off. He looks younger now, his smile is genuine and Eddie can't help it, his traitorous heart is telling him that this is the single part of the Harrington case he'll never leave behind.

"Hi," says Steve. "I...uh. I just wanted to say sorry for all the nasty things I said before. I had to for my cover, but...I just want you to know, I really appreciate what you did."

Eddie just stares at him, blush forming on his cheeks and a crush blooming in his heart. "I'm pretty sure I just butchered your career," he mutters. "And you're thanking me?"

Steve shrugs. "I mean. I'm out of job, I'm a known whistleblower now and my dad's lawyers will probably try to sue me. So that's not great. But if you want to ease your conscience...take me out for a coffee?" Another wink, another squeeze around Eddie's heart.

Eddie fakes a deep sigh and takes Steve by the elbow. "I don't think a single coffee is going to get rid of all my guilt, but it's a start. Maybe a lunch tomorrow would help my healing process?"

Laughing, Steve nudges his side. "Anything for your peace of mind, Eddie."

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie au #steddie #detective au #joyce byers #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #robin buckley

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gremlingottoosilly · 3 months

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Ok hear me out

Emperor König finds out that his harems crushing on his little bride. He’d probably execute all of them but maybe he’d like to see them play with her first…

Oh no! Poor empress! Now, all the women in his harem should hate you...they spent years in court with the emperor turning his back on them and ignoring each attempt at seduction but now, some weird princess just appeared and took their place?? They have all the rights to send you poisons and ask assassins for your head...but then again, Konig isn't exactly the most popular man in the whole Empire. The rumors spreading about him are talking about his battle cruelty at best and that he hides a giant octopus head under his hood at worst. Most of the women who were send off by their families to join the harem were nothing more but sacrifices - so when they started to live in the lower palace and get an allowance and servants and lots of gushing handsome guards instead of beastly visits of the emperor...if anything, they are afraid of the new empress because what if she'd send everyone home?? But then they see you - pretty thing, really shy, barely holding your own as a regent of the most notorious ruler in the whole continent. If they didn't know any better, they'd say you have the manners of a servant - but it's impossible, right? But, oh, you're cute and it's not like the harem didn't already explore each other's bodies before Konig managed to visit at least one of them...now the emperor has to kidnap you from the harem each night because all of your new girl friends are really itching to get to know you better.

Konig has to fight for your attention with women from his harem, and he loses. Poor guy, now he just has to watch all of the other royal daughters ravage your body while you can only take pleasure and whine because everyone wants a piece of a pretty new empress.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #emperor!konig

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lev1hei1chou · 1 month

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My Husband

Gojo x reader, Nanami x reader (individual) Genre: Fluff Words: 676 Synopsis: You refer to them as your husband, when you're dating Masterlist

The sun hung low in the sky as you strolled through the city with Gojo Satoru by your side. The two of you were enjoying a rare day off, relishing in each other's company. As you wandered through a crowded street, a familiar face caught your eye. It was a friend from years ago, someone you hadn't seen in ages.

"Hey! Long time no see!" your friend exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug.

You exchanged pleasantries, catching up on each other's lives. Eventually, your friend's gaze shifted to Gojo, who had been standing patiently beside you.

"Oh, and who's this handsome fella?" your friend asked with a playful grin.

You chuckled nervously, feeling a sudden urge to embellish the situation. "Oh, this is Satoru Gojo. He's my husband."

Your friend's eyes widened in surprise, "Husband? Wow, congratulations! When did you guys get married?"

Gojo, caught off guard by your statement, raised an eyebrow. You shot him a quick apologetic look, realizing you may have jumped the gun.

"We're not married yet, actually," Gojo clarified, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But she's just so in love with me that she couldn't wait to claim me as her husband."

You playfully nudged him, feigning annoyance. "Oh, please. Don't let him fool you. We're just dating."

Your friend laughed, sharing a knowing look with Gojo. "Well, you two seem happy. It's great to see you again! I won't keep you, but let's catch up properly sometime."

As your friend walked away, Gojo turned to you with a smirk. "Husband, huh? I guess you're not the only one who can play along."

You rolled your eyes, "I panicked! It just slipped out. Besides, it's not like it's never going to happen, right?"

Gojo leaned in, planting a teasing kiss on your cheek. "Oh, it'll happen. Just know that when it does, I'll be the one saying 'I told you so.'" You sighed, shaking your head, but couldn't help but smile at his words.

You sat comfortably on the couch in your apartment, phone pressed to your ear as you chatted with your friend. Nanami, your boyfriend, was in the kitchen, silently preparing some tea. The conversation flowed casually until your friend asked about your day.

"Oh, you know, just spending time with my husband," you said casually, not giving it a second thought.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. You turned to find Nanami staring at you, tea kettle in hand, with a raised eyebrow. His expression was a mix of surprise and confusion.

"Husband?" Nanami mouthed, clearly overhearing your conversation.

You shot him an apologetic look, realizing the slip-up. Trying to ignore the situation, you turned away from him and continued talking to your friend, "Yeah, he's just in the kitchen making tea right now. Oh, speaking of which, he's giving me a look because I accidentally called him my husband. Silly me."

Nanami's gaze intensified as he observed your attempts to backtrack. He set the kettle down, his arms crossed over his chest. You couldn't help but feel a sense of amusement from him.

"Accidentally?" he quirked an eyebrow, his tone dry and playful.

You couldn't help but chuckle nervously, knowing you were caught. "Well, I mean, you do act like a husband sometimes, don't you?"

Nanami approached, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that so?"

You nodded, trying to play it off cool. "Yeah, you know, looking out for me, making tea – all the husband-like things."

He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "If I'm going to be your husband, maybe we should make it official."

Your cheeks flushed at his suggestion, realizing that he wasn't upset. Instead, Nanami seemed to be enjoying the banter. You shot him a playful glare, "You're not getting off that easy, mister."

Nanami chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. "Maybe one day, I'll make an honest woman out of you." You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smile on your face.

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luveline · 6 months

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PLEASE IM BEGGING I WILL SELL MY FAMILY FIR THIS

More flirty bombshell reader but Spencer was just let out of prison and now instead of just getting all hot and bothered he flirts back 😼

Love you and your writing pooks 😏😚🫶🏾

love you! fem, 1.1k

This has been the longest eighty four days of your life. Not even three months apart and yet it's felt as long and arduous as three years, and so you do what you must on the day Spencer is released from Milburn; you take your time putting yourself back together, preening and polishing, as pretty as you've ever looked.

Penelope looks good too, JJ as well. The girls are here to represent, and that's without mentioning Luke's general unbelievable physique.

You're pissed at being left outside but you can manage. You can cope. You don't think Penelope, bless her huge heart, is going to fight you for Spencer's attention. Not for a good five seconds. What to say first? I miss you, I love you, I'm so fucking sorry I let this happen, that I couldn't do more.

He appears behind a grate door, Luke at his side. Then the grate is opening, JJ with tears in her eyes behind him, and every idea of what to do goes out the window.

Your breath catches before he's so much as touched you.

"Hey," you say. It starts well, ends weak, tears in your eyes as you choke, "hey, handsome."

"Hey," he says, hugging you with more care than you're expecting. "Oh my god, hey." He lets out a sigh of relief, his face dipping down to press against your shoulder. You feel the familiar curve of his nose and hold your breath to stop from crying.

You let him go a selfish ten seconds later, but Spencer keeps your hand as he hugs Penelope, one-armed. It's awful and selfish and you don't care, you go in for the second hug on tiptoes, arms behind his neck, your mouth pressed as high as you can reach on his face. A mess of lip gloss is left behind when they finally crowbar you off of him long enough to get in the car, and even then you're clinging to his hand, worried someone will take him again, that you won't be able to do a thing about it.

You wrap your arms around his and hug him on the drive back. You can't stop looking up into his face. Spencer, unflinching, meets you there, his eyes a little glassy, his face sallow but getting better.

"Missed me?" you ask quietly. You've only so much privacy.

"So much."

"Like a hole in the head?"

Spencer leans down an inch. "No, like, I really missed you."

"Of course you did, you–" Spencer leans down suddenly and disarms you, his breath warm against your cheek.

"I what?" he asks, kissing your cheek.

"You haven't been away from me that long in years," you breathe.

"It took getting used to," he says agreeably, speaking low, his breath hotter still as he kisses upward. Two kisses, that's all they are, but when he sits straight again you're thrown.

"But you got used to it?"

"No," he says, smiling at you like you've made a funny joke rather than thinly veiled insecurity spoken in a desperate attempt to garner some reassurance.

It was difficult coping with the hurt of his having left you in the dark. You knew he was doing something he shouldn't have been, but you never for a moment imagined this outcome. You worried (deep down, and not for his ears) that he'd met someone new, that he'd grown disinterested in your years of love and life. Of you. Especially as he's matured, which is to say he stopped looking like he was about to walk the stage at New York Fashion week and started dressing sharp as a tack. Your Spencer stayed yours, but he got older, and you did too —you look older. You're still yourself, high maintenance, prideful, sweet, but you're not the same.

Between the distance that bloomed with his secrecy and his growing maturity, you were caught off guard. And then not long after he was arrested in Mexico and you couldn't get him out no matter what you did, or who you begged for help.

Spencer brings his hand to your cheek, tilting your head one way slowly, and then the other. There's confidence in his touch that you've felt before, just never to this extent.

What happened to you? you think.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what, sweetheart?" you ask, meaning it implicitly. He's your sweetheart. He's everything. You're too high on his return to want an apology.

"For everything. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you."

There's something you can work with. "Oh, you will?"

"I promise."

Mindful of your friends in the front seats, you press your cheek into his hand, turning your head just enough to touch your lips to his palm. His eyes are dark brown where they meet yours, pupil and iris one and the same. "How?" you murmur.

Spencer brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. Something in his eyes speaks even as he stays quiet, a light, an amusement, as if to say, I know exactly what you're doing, but it won't work.

I'm not a saint, you say back with a sheepish smile. You close your eyes and let your head fall into his shoulder. He hugs you close despite the lack of room, his chin landing atop your head gently. "You'll have to try harder," he whispers.

"Don't know what you mean."

"Months of missing you and the first thing you do is try to torture me."

"That's our thing."

"No, our thing is me worshipping the ground you walk on," he says into your hair, hand squeezing as it roves up your arm, reassuring himself that you're there, that you're real.

"Like I wouldn't do the same if you'd let me. I would've done anything." He probably can't hear you anymore, your voice a suggestion of sound. "I would've done anything if I thought it would…" get you back to me.

Spencer does you a favour of ignoring you. Later, you know he'll bring it up again. You'll have time, because he's going home. For now he does his best to hold you together in the company of others, always thinking about what you need. "You look so pretty today. Is that for me?"

"I always look pretty." You haven't felt it lately.

"I know. Maybe it's because I didn't see you for so long… It's like seeing you again for the first time."

Your chest aches in a strangely nice way. "And how are you coping, handsome?"

He rests his cheek on your forehead. On paper, you're flirting. In actuality, you're being one hundred percent honest with each other. "I'm not. My blood pressure has gotta be 180 over 110 right now."

"I love it when you talk medical to me."

"I love you."

You nose at his suit sleeve ineffectually "I love you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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hannieehaee · 6 months

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18+ / mdi

content: fratboy!seungcheol, smut, f reader, public grinding, penentrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys <3), oral (f receiving), etc

wc: 1584

a/n: not proofread </3

masterlist

fratboy!seungcheol who tends to not participate much in the parties his frat throws every week under the vice of 'keeping things in order' (whatever that means) and making sure none of his frat members get into trouble. despite no one ever asking him to, he gives himself the responsibility of watching over the parties without ever allowing himself to have any fun, claiming he's not interested in any drinking games nor has anyone ever caught attention anyways.

after multiple fruitless attempts from the boys to introduce him to girls or get him to stop stressing himself out over keeping his frat's reputation intact, cheol seems adamant in being a strict leader and giving himself the burden of keeping things afloat. that is, of course, until someone finally walks through the door and catches him completely off guard, causing him to forget any of his previous self-assigned duties.

he thinks he might've seen you before, but he cant be too sure. these parties tend to blend together for him, having always stuck to watching over his members and never having time to mingle on his own. he didn't care where he'd seen you before, though. he only cared to make sure he'd see you again soon. it had been a while since he'd approached a girl, not knowing very well what to do and just sticking to watching you have fun with your friends while he nursed a drink, back leaning against the wall. until his thoughts of you are rudely interrupted.

"could it be? choi seungcheol has his eyes on somebody?" it was yoon jeonghan, the second in command after seungcheol.

"what are you talking about," he asked, eyes still glued to your dancing figure from afar.

"like her? thats cute. wanna know her name?", now that peeked his interest.

"you're bluffing."

"promise i'm not. scout's honor," the younger made a cross across his chest as he said this.

"you were never a scout."

"same difference. wanna know or not?"

cheol hesitated, not wanting his friend's involvement in his first romantic endeavor in a while. he turned back to look at you, your pretty figure molded by your dress and your smile blinding him and made up his mind.

"fine"

y/n. that was your name. pretty name for a pretty girl, he thought. he hadn't ended up talking to you that night, chickening out at the thought of embarrassing himself due to lack of practice. instead he chose an easy and safe alternative; to keep a watch for you whenever his frat threw a party, which to be fair was quite often.

he'd watch you from afar, enjoying the varying dresses you'd wear to his parties, loving the way they stuck to the shape of your body. he didn't do much further than that. he felt like a bit of a creep, just watching you without letting his gaze be known, but the fantasy he was building of you in his head had him grow more and more in need of you every time he saw you. the thrill within him kept building up. he knew that one of these days he'd snap and finally talk to you, maybe even bring you to bed.

in retrospect, seungcheol should've realized that you'd eventually notice the brooding man atop the stairs watching you through the night. but he hadn't thought that far, simply enjoying the pretty sight, finally resting from his duties as leader.

you'd noticed him since day one, having one of your friends point him out while he was distracted speaking to your old lab partner jeonghan, letting you know of the guy whose eyes wouldn't leave your form. you weren't sure at first which of the two she'd been pointing at, but you hoped it was the man you knew as seungcheol, the head of the frat. you found both men very handsome, but something about seungcheol's demeanor immediately called your attention. you were happy to confirm, only a few minutes later, that the man who couldn't keep his eyes off you was the same brooding man you'd hoped. but it didn't stop there. you continued to notice his undivided attention on you every time you stepped into the frat, always making sure to wear something that would give him a reason to keep staring, occasionally throwing him suggestive looks of your own.

eventually you grew tired of this one-sided game of cat and mouse, wanting the real thing and not just the thoughts you had of him as he unknowingly gave you 'fuck me' eyes. it was only a few parties later that you decided to take action, wearing the dress you looked most fuckable in and walking through the fraternity's doors, determined to not come back home the next morning.

you danced for a bit, stopping for a few drinks every once in a while. you also threw him some looks of your own this time, making sure to catch his eyes every once in a while. you made sure to drink enough to be tipsy, but not too much that you wouldn't have full control of you scheme.

scheme was putting it lightly, really, seeing as you didn't really have much of a plan. how were you supposed to get him to fuck you without straight up propositioning yourself to him? no, you wanted to have at least a little bit of class. except things didn't go exactly as you'd planned, not that you were complaining.

he threw you a bit of a curveball, really. you hadn't expected him to approach you first, seemingly finally growing the balls to make direct contact. you'd been dancing, as you had been all night. you'd get the occasional guy or girl who would try and match your energy, dancing up on you. you were buzzed, so you didn't mind, usually just lightheartedly following along. what you hadn't expected was for one of those people to be seungcheol himself. you hadn't realized it was him at first, almost cussing him out when he'd started to get a little too close, usually setting up a clear limit when dancing with strangers, specially at a frat party. before you could say anything, though, he spoke up against your ear.

"been watching you. wanted to get you alone."

"what took you so long?", you whispered back, pressing your back closer to his front, if it was even possible.

he ground against you, making you gasp at what you felt against your ass. you felt a little flustered, having him shamelessly feel you up as you ground against each other in the middle of the frat's living room, surrounded by drunk people.

"aw, did i keep you waiting?" he coo'd sarcastically, keeping his arms wrapped around you.

damn him.

"yes. and you still are .. don't you have a room here somewhere?", you finally turned around to face him, almost gasping at the proximity. he was even prettier up close; so big and buff.

he looked down at you, eyes alternating between your eyes and lips, "follow me."

those were the last coherent words spoken between you, now unable to form any coherent sentence as he, for lack of a better term, fucked you into the mattress.

you'd never done this before; have such animalistic sex without a second thought, but the buildup between you and seungcheol had been long and grueling, having left you wanting him for weeks.

so now you were here, back arched deliciously as his cock hit you repeatedly in THAT spot that made you cry into the sheets beneath you.

"s-shit. fuck, baby. so fucking tight. so pretty for me."

"ch-cheollie, FUCK"

"been wanting you f-for weeks. thought about bruising these pretty hips. had me going fucking crazy wearing those dresses, shit."

"for y-you! did it for you," you cried out as he sped up, making you drop to your elbows, burying your face against the sheets, "wanted you to come fuck me .."

"i know, baby. shit. n im gonna fuck you all night. gonna fuck you to sleep, n then im gonna fuck you again tomorrow. gonna drag you to my room e- fuck. every time i see you at one of these parties."

he sped up even more, slapping his hips against your ass as you cried out for him.

"need you to be good n cum for me, yeah? gonna fill you up, promise. just need you to coat my cock with your cream, okay pretty?"

his words contrasted his harsh demeanor as he pounded into you mercilessly, only increasing the strength of his thrusts after claiming your orgasm, now desperately chasing after his.

"g-gonna cum, baby. fuck! in-inside? can i, baby? let me fill you up, let m-"

"yes! inside, please!"

he quickly reached his high after that, feeling you tighten up at the mention of cumming inside and filling you up with a groan. you finally let yourself fall on your face against the mattress, exhausted at your previous ministrations with seungcheol.

he didn't bother cleaning you up, simply flipping you around and dragging you to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you before speaking up again, "we're not done, baby. i said all night, remember?"

those were the last words spoken before he dove in, nose first into your pussy as he sucked and licked like a madman, making you delirious at the pleasure. overstimulated, but loving the feeling, you prepared yourself for a very long night, and possibly morning too.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen #svt fanfic #seventeen smut #svt #svt smut #seungcheol smut #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol oneshot #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol scenarios #scoups fanfic #scoups smut #scoups x reader #scoups oneshot

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b00kdiary · 3 months

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Stay With Me | Rhysand (II)

Rhysand x Plus size reader

Y/N gets hurt during a mission- and Rhysand is more than willing to be the one to take care of her.

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, blood and gore, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE

PART THREE

"Cassian, for Cauldron's sake," I scowl, my hands weakly slapping against his broad, solid chest for the fifth time. "Will you put me down? I can walk-"

"Y/N, you have a dagger embedded to the hilt in your fucking thigh," Cassian grimaced, cocking his head down at me, his hazel eyes flaring as he glances down at my wounded leg, his strong arms holding me to his chest so carefully. "You won't be able to stand, never mind walk."

I grumble irate, looking away and dropping my hands back onto my lap with a pout. I hear Azriel chuckle softly, his tall figure following closely behind us as Cassian carries me through the House of Wind.

"Where- where's Rhys?" I ask, my head peeking over Cassian's shoulder, trying to see through the gaps in his powerful wings- looking for those stary eyes and a breathtaking smile. I wince when a sharp pain shoots up my leg, even if my mind is preoccupied with the fact Rhys is nowhere to be found.

"Now you want to know about Rhys," Cassian mutters under his breath and the passive-aggressive tone catches me off guard. I lift my eyes to his hard face, but he doesn't meet my gaze, his jaw locked and eyes staring straight ahead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand, my eyes narrowing but Cassian doesn't reply, he doesn't even react. Instead, he stalks into the lounge, his grip tightening around my body as the fire blazes to life.

"Rhys is dealing with the remaining Hybern soldiers," Azriel clears his throat, coming to stand beside us, his eyes flickering over Cassian's face contemplatively. "He said he would be back as soon as he was done."

Dealing with Hybern, he didn't need to explain what that meant.

"Madja's on her way now," Cassian states and he doesn't give me a second to speak before he marches over to the plush, large green sofa situated directly in front of the fireplace, his movements stiff as he lays me flat against the cushions.

"Cassian, wait-" I frown, groaning as I grab on his arm as it slips out from under me, stopping him from pulling away. "What's wrong with you? You're being-"

"An asshole," He finishes, and upon seeing the hurt in my eyes and then the wound steadily leaking blood over the sofa, he sighs, his handsome face melting into a dejected frown. "I'm acting like an absolute asshole, I know I'm- I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I'm just surprised," I swallow, and relief fills me when his eyes soften, when the Cassian I know and love seems to reappear as he settles on his knees beside me, his large hands cupping mine gently. "I've never been on the receiving end of your anger, Cass."

"I'm not angry, just frustrated," He admits and when I raise a sharp brow at him, he shrugs, "You've been avoiding Rhysand for weeks, Y/N and I don't like seeing the two of you so at odds."

My eyes widen in surprise at his words, and I feel the scrutinising stares of Cassian and Azriel before me, their eyes tracing over every reaction and breath I make.

"I haven't been avoiding him," I swallow, gritting my teeth as Azriel slides a pillow under my right thigh, elevating the injured leg, "I've been busy-"

"Bullshit," Cassian scoffs, and I narrow my eyes at him when his grip on my hand tightens forcing my gaze to his again, "You've been avoiding him and we all know it, Rhys most of all."

"I don't- I don't know what you're talking about," I breathe roughly, and both the males before me share a disbelieving glance between them, one that makes me scowl. "Seriously, I don't- Madja, you're here!"

Relief, pure relief at the sight of the dark-skinned female, her spindrift hair in disarray and her brown eyes narrowing in disapproval at the dagger's hilt poking out of my thigh as she strode into the lounge.

"Thank you to whoever elevated her leg, you've made this easier for us both," Madja greets and Azriel nods unconsciously at her praise. "Let's see what the damage is."

Cassian's knowing eyes don't relent upon me but as Madja crouches on the floor, he rises, sighing as he lets go of my hand, letting it fall between us. I gnaw on my lip at the silence, but I manage a strained smile at the healer before me.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Madja," I focus on my breathing as her delicate hands press around the entry point of my injury, her fingertips turning stark red immediately.

"You have a hunting dagger in your thigh, Y/N," Madja raises a pointed brow at me, and when I whimper, my jaw locking tight at the tender pain, her face melts into a frown. "I'm going to have to pull this out inch by inch and thread the skin together as I go."

"I hate Hybern soldiers," I mutter dismally, my head lolling back against the pillow and my eyes meeting the worn ceiling, counting the cracks one by one to calm the panic clawing at me. "Do it, do whatever you need to Madja."

I feel their eyes on me, all of them, but when I curl both my hands into steeled fists when I grit my teeth and clamp my eyes shut, I feel Madja sigh- and her hands come to that dagger.

I wish Rhysand was here.

That's the first thought I have, I'm not sure why. I picture his violet gaze and lazy smile and the sound of his laugh, warm and wonderful and somehow, I feel better.

Though it doesn't last long.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

A swarm of dark, furious power hits me, hits everyone in the room at the same time that violent, death-incarnate voice bellows out the words. I startle, my body jolting and my eyes snapping back open and moving to the entryway.

Rhysand- covered in blood.

Staining his hands and arms and torso and chest, as if he had ripped apart the males with his bare hands. Splattered across his neck and jaw and cheeks, as if he had been ferocious and merciless with his assault.

And the smell, it wasn't one soldier or two, no, it was dozens and dozens of them. All their scents, all their blood and gore and their fear spread over Rhysand like a second skin and all I could think was that he hadn't stopped.

He hadn't spoken or breathed or thought- he had just killed and killed and killed.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Y/N?!" Rhysand demanded again, his eyes as dark as midnight, his voice as terrifying as I had ever heard it as he glared at me, his chest rising and falling so fast.

"Rhys-" Cassian warns from behind me, but Rhysand can't hear him, I don't think he can hear anything over the roaring anger in his head. I see it in the way he marches forward, see it in every hard and brutal inch of his muscled and lean form the closer he gets.

"You got in the way, that soldier was coming for me-" He seethed, stopping at the back of the sofa, and my eyes blinked heavily as he clamped down two large, ringed hands onto the material, nails cutting into the material to calm his fury. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I didn't feel like dealing with your whining when he stabbed you," I grit out, my voice as cold as ice, as cold as Rhysand's as I glared up at him, the anger distracting me from the burning erupting through my leg. "Forgive me for saving you, Rhysand, next time-"

"Next time?" He laughs, a cruel, awful sound and I fought through the fatigue, forcing myself to watch his midnight eyes narrow, to see his lip curl back to reveal his sharp canines as he towered above me. "If you think you're joining us on another mission again darling, then you're not as smart as you like to think you are."

"Rhys now really isn't the time-" Azriel stepped forward, his shadows dancing wildly over his shoulders, the tension and raging emotion in the room making them more chaotic. Rhysand doesn't look at Azriel, he doesn't look at anyone but at me- intense, consuming, powerful.

And I can't look away from him.

"Oh, bite me Rhysand," I snarl, my own canines flashing as I tilt my head up to his, my hair sticking to the sweat on my forehead, my heart hammering in my chest, and my whole body sore from the aftermath of the fight- but still I snarl at him.

"If the two of you are done quarrelling," Madja sighs, drawing us away from our heated argument and it's her words that remind me why we're here- reminds me of the agonising, throbbing pain now lancing through my leg. "I need quiet and calm so I can focus please."

"I'm sorry that you're being burdened on your day off with this, Madja," Rhysand breathes, and despite his voice quietening, every word was sharp and low, full of contempt. I grit my teeth painfully as Madja inches the dagger out of my thigh, so fucking slowly.

"Rhysand," I hiss, the cut of the razor-fine blade as it's eased out, accompanied by the burning light of Madja's magic making bile rise in my throat, "Shut up."

She drags it up another inch and I bite down on my cheek, metal and bitterness filling my mouth, coating my tongue, invading my senses, but it doesn't distract me from the pain.

"Now who's whining?" Rhysand taunted darkly, and I felt the feel of his shadows and starlight dancing around me, over me, laden with anger and frustration. I couldn't open my eyes, couldn't look at him, or speak to him.

Not as Madja dragged out the blade another inch.

"Rhysand-" I warned, my throat as rough as glass now, my hands clenching at either side, so hard my nails cut into my palms, carving crescent moons.

There was a lot of blood, gallons of it, and Madja's hands pressed down firmer, her strength astounding as she tried to staunch the blood flow, working her magic over my severed skin.

"C'mon darling," Rhysand purred, and I blinked my heavy eyelids open to see his violet gaze, dark and cruel and mocking, the beast in him rearing its head as he watched me. My eyes were like steel, and I let every atom of loathing I had for him at this moment show.

It was almost menacing, the look in his eyes, the blood covering his skin, the arrogance in his words.

"Fuck you-"

The words die on my tongue, they turn to ash in my lungs and all my anger vanishes, replaced by one thing- unbelievable pain. Madja pulls the blade free, and I feel it like a shock current through my entire being, so strong I gasp out desperately.

And Rhysand's whole demeanour flips, like a switch.

The anger? Gone. The frustration? Gone. The shadows and violence that had sullied his eyes? Gone.

All gone- replaced by something... scared? Yes, he was scared. He heard that desperate sound rip from my lips, smelt the blood oozing from me in waves, saw my face tighten with unfathomable pain and he was scared.

I saw it in the way his face dropped, paled, that arrogant smile vanishing instantly, a deep frown carving in its place. A worry so strong it creased his brow, sharpened his handsome face, and made his broad form turn unnaturally still.

"Rhys," I choke out his name, and it's that one word on my lips, that one name, his name, that has him moving in an instant. One second, he's towering over me from behind the sofa's back and then the next, he's knelt by my side, his face inches from mine.

"Shit, Y/N," Rhysand sighed, and I saw the hurt in his eyes as he flickered his gaze over me, tracing over every inch of my face, seeing my visceral reaction to everything Madja was doing. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"That's better," I laugh hoarsely, my eyes welling with heavy tears as I glance at Rhys, trying to focus on the night-blooming jasmine and ocean breeze scent of his skin, under all the grime and blood. "I hate when you use your High Lord's voice on me."

"Me too, darling," He manages a strained smile and I sigh when his hand comes to my face, brushing away my damp hair before moving to cup my cheek, his thumb smoothing over the tears slowly leaking.

"Nearly done," Madja mutters and Rhys glances to the side, his nose flaring at the sight of my blood soaking the cushions, his eyes predatory as he sees Madja's magic close the wound bit by bit. "There was some kind of poison coating the blade, it's resisting my magic, that's why it's taking so long."

"And why it's hurting so much?" I muse, blinking away my tears as I look at the healer, and her grim nod tells me all I need to know. "I really fucking hate Hybern soldiers."

Rhysand laughed, I felt the brush of his warm breath, minty with a hint of bourbon infiltrate my senses and when my eyes met his again, I let myself sink into the stars and constellations, let myself bathe in the feel of him.

"This is the longest you've looked me in the eyes in weeks," Rhysand mutters, and despite the teasing in his words, his eyes held a different story- a sadder one.

"Almost forgot how beautiful you were." He whispered through my mind, and I heard the yearning in every single word as it echoed through me.

"Always such a flirt," I say back, and the room is near-silent as we stare at each other, Rhysand's lip tilting at the corner as he watches me, "I'm sorry, Rhys-"

"Don't" His lips purse, his hand cupping my cheek firmer, forcing my eyes to him, to see the sincerity on his face, "Don't worry about that now."

I managed a small nod, smiling softly at him but the conversation, the conflict hung heavy in the air between us still. I had been avoiding him, like the plague, since that night in the cabin, since we did what we did.

"The poison's slowing down the healing process, I've done what I can for now," Madja says, but her voice sounds further away and it's only then I realise my eyes are fluttering closed, that my body is starting to melt into oblivion. "She needs rest."

I vaguely hear the sound of their low voices as they speak, but as the darkness starts to creep over me, all I can feel is Rhysand's thumb brushing my cheek, his touch unbearably soft and endearing, as if lulling me to sleep.

"Stay with me, Rhys."

A star-flecked hand runs across the expanse of my mind, adoringly, and I feel the distinct feel of his lips at my temple, lingering and firm, pressing a sweet kiss there before pulling away.

"Always, darling."

***

I sense him before I even open my eyes.

He’s erected a shield around me, I feel it ripple in response to every rise and fall of breath in my lungs, a shield of shadows and starlight, a shield of his very essence made to protect me while I slept.

I think it might have been healing me too- fighting whatever vile magic Hybern coated that dagger with, working to ease the pain that had been a forever presence burning through my thigh.

“You’re awake,” Rhysand’s voice greets me as I blink my eyes open, the room dim with Fae light and I smile faintly as the shield he made disappears, flickering out like stars around me. “How do you feel?”

A dull ache throbs through my head as I turn to the side, to where Rhysand sits on the edge of his chair- broad shoulders tense, arms braced on his powerful thighs and his beautiful face hard with worry.

Not a splatter of blood remained on him. Clean, regal, the Rhysand I knew.

“I’m-“ My voice splinters, dehydration making the air cut like glass through my lungs and as I screw my eyes shut, body wrecking with coughs, Rhysand’s immediately at my side. I winced as his large hand slipped under me, fingers curling around my waist to sit me up.

“Here, darling, drink,” His voice shook, but the command was still there, and I could do nothing but brace my weak hands against his corded chest, lips parting when he pressed a water bottle to my mouth, hands agonisingly soft as I slowly sipped from it.

A satisfied moan slipped from me as the cold water ran down my throat, and I felt Rhysand’s hand tighten around my body, fingers digging possessively into my flesh at the soft sound. I sighed as he pulled the bottle away, my weak body slumping back against the pillows behind me.

“Thank you,” I whispered and when my head lifted, meeting his violet gaze, my face softened at the concern in his face, the pain, hating every second of hurt I was in. “I’m alright, Rhys, just a bit weak, but I’m going to be alright.”

His throat bobs roughly and there’s a tense silence that seems to stretch on as he bows his head, his lean form sat on the edge of the bed beside me, his hands resting on either side of my hips- as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go, as if he needed to touch me to know I was really here.

I gnaw on my lip at the hurt twisting his lovely face, nothing of the arrogant and smirking High Lord I knew present. No, not at his darkening gaze stayed locked on my bandaged thigh, blood staining the fabric, nothing but the oversized linen shirt I wore covering me.

“I should have been paying attention,” He breathes, a ragged, awful sound and my eyes widen at the way his shoulder curves inwards as if he was physically carrying the burden of his guilt. “I should have torn that bastard to pieces the second I saw him near you.”

“Don’t Rhys, don’t do that, don’t blame yourself,” I plead sharply, my hand coming to his face, cupping his strong jaw, and lifting those starry eyes to me- hating that nothing shined in them, nothing but unshed tears. “I got in the way knowing what would happen, because I would rather it be me than you.”

“I should have protected you-“ He growls, teeth flashing, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Don’t be an overprotective asshole, Rhys, I’m as much of a warrior as you are,” I raise a brow and for a second amusement danced in his eyes, tilts his lip just barely. I soothe my thumb across his jaw, smiling softly, “We protect each other, that’s what we do.”

He chuckles, and fuck, if the sound doesn’t make something warm and full fill my heart.

“I love it when you get all angry with me, darling,” Rhysand pressed his cheek into my palm, a roguish grin stretching across his face and something darkened his gaze, something molten as he stared at me, “It’s very attractive.”

“Always such a flirt,” I tease, but the breath gets tighter in my throat as Rhysand inches closer to me, as if some magnet drew us together, an unstoppable force that made it so hard for the two of us to look away.

My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip and Rhysand’s eyes drop to my mouth, and he’s getting closer, so closer that I feel every atom in me tense in anticipation of his lips meeting mine.

“Shit-“

I jump, Rhysand sucking in a sharp breath, the both of us so surprised that we spring apart- eyes flashing to the medical basket that appeared on the bed beside us with a soft thud.

“It seems Madja is reminding me that you need to change your bandages,” Rhys grits out through clenched teeth, and I would laugh at the ire on his face as he grabs the basket- if I weren’t blushing so hard, I could feel my skin burning.

I draw my hands to my lap, fiddling aimlessly with my fingers as Rhysand pulls out the vials and binds his long, nimble fingers, gracefully laying out the objects on the bed beside him, handsome face pursed with concentration as looked over the items one by one.

I stayed silent as he shifted on the bed, tugging back the comforter from my body, and I swallowed down the lump in my throat as his eyes slid down my form, calloused hands moving so surely as stretched my leg over his lap, fingers tugging at my bloodied bandage.

“I can do that, you know,” I mutter, my back tensing at the feel of his fingers moving across the flesh of my thigh, his eyes unwavering on my bare leg as he unwrapped the bind. “You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” He said simply, eyes glancing up at me through dark lashes and I saw the gleam, knowing every touch, every caress made something blaze to life in me- seemed to enjoy having that kind of power.

“Besides, it’s my turn to take care of you now,” He muttered roughly, and his tone, the grumble that purred through his chest, told me that changing my bandages wasn’t all he meant. “Just relax for me, yeah?”

He cocks his head, waiting for me to answer- and all I can do is nod, sinking back into the pillows.

There’s a long silence as Rhysand discards the bloodied bandage on the floor beside us, and I winced at the jagged scar that traced the inner part of my thigh- red and angry, small unhealed sections of skin still leaking blood, the poison actively fighting Madja’s healing.

“I should have made his suffering last longer,” Rhys panted, such terrifying, cold violence in his voice, in his eyes as he stared at that wound, and the room seemed to vibrate with the strength of his raging power. “I should have torn him limb by fucking limb for doing this to you.”

“You made him regret it in the end,” I said gently, remembering that Hybern soldier before me one second and then ash on the wind the next. Rhys curled his fingers around my other thigh, fingers teasing the skin, so close to where I wanted him. “We’re here, he’s not.”

“Right as always, darling,” His throat works and he watches, I watch, as his hand traces up my thigh, over my cellulite and stretch marks and as he curves his way between my legs, I keen, thighs inching apart for him.

I gnaw on my lip in anticipation as his thumb swoops back and forth, callouses tickling my inner thigh, so close to my core I can feel him brushing my underwear. My stomach coils with need and I know Rhys can smell my arousal, thick and desperate and strong in the air.

His nose flares, and I feel his power rumbling from him as if the mere smell of me was enough to have him trembling.

Another brush of his thumb, so close yet so far and my back bows, my core clenching around nothing, the pain in my leg gone now, overwhelmed by the wetness that seems to grow and grow between my thighs.

“Rhys,” I gasped, almost whining as my chest rose and fell like tidal waves, and he glanced at me with eyes like melted chocolate and raised one dark brow in a challenge, “Stop being such a tease.”

“Or what?” He crooned mockingly, I gasped when his thumb inched forward, barely grazing over the front of my damp panties, the pressure so hollow that it was there and gone in seconds. “You’ll find someone else to take care of you?”

I tugged my shirt higher up my stomach, satisfaction filling me when Rhysand’s smirk fell, and like a hunter with prey his eyes narrowed down on my exposed underwear, the black lace barely covering my pulsing cunt.

“So? Should I call Cassian in?” I managed to grit out, enough arrogance in my tone to hide the lust clouding my voice and Rhysand went still, “Or are you going to- oh-“

It was stupid, to taunt the High Lord of the Night Court so brazenly- but I was so fucking glad that I had.

Because one second his thumb was taunting the edge of my underwear and then the next, he had hooked it under the material- and ripped it off.

“This what you want, huh?” Rhysand muses hotly, fingers slipping past my wet folds almost angrily, and I moaned as his callouses rubbed harshly at my clit. “Goading me into touching your cunt, using another male to piss me off?”

“Rhys,” I whimpered, back arching as he circled the pad of his thumb in brash circles, pressing down hard enough that I could feel every single callous, centuries of battle training, deliciously scraping me. “Don’t stop-“

Rhys groaned low in his throat, and I could feel his attention washing over me like waves, pure male satisfaction on his face when he turned his hand, stuffing two fingers into me without warning.

“Fuck, fuck, Rhys-“

“You should see how tight you’re wrapped around me right now, darling,” He growled low, and I could feel my walls suffocating his fingers as he fucked them in and out of me, not even my slopping wetness enough to ease how I clamped around him. “You think you can take another?”

Another finger prods at my entrance and all I can do is lock my ankle around Rhysand’s back, sinking myself further down his fingers as a third digit joins- and the burn, it hurts so fucking good.

Rhys leans forward and my shaking hand finds purchase on his shoulder, curling around the flexing muscles, feeling every stroke of his fingers in and out, getting faster and harder now. I can’t stop the sounds that tear from me, my eyes clamping shut as his fingers stretch me, brushing my walls in a way that makes it impossible to breathe.

“Rhys, I’m close, so close-“ I gasp, and that confession seems to be like a personal challenge for Rhys, edging him on as he curls those fingers deep inside of me, toying his thumb against my clit with every rough jolt.

“Open your eyes, Y/N,” Rhys commanded, voice like midnight- his High Lord's voice and I had no choice but to rip my eyes open, to meet his burning, wild gaze, loving and hating the pleased grin he gave me. “Wanna watch your pretty eyes roll while you come around my fingers.”

I was shaking now, sweat coating my forehead and it took everything in me to not flutter my eyes closed, took everything in me to stare into his violet gaze and let his hand fuck brutally inside me- let him watch me.

He loved watching me, I saw it in his eyes, in his smile, felt it in how easily he clued onto how my body reacted- knowing how hard to press his thumb against my clit to make my back arch, knowing what angle to hook his fingers inside me to make me cry his name.

And as he shoved his thick fingers in until his knuckles inside me and hooked them up, he got his wish, got to see as that chord within me splintered to pieces and my eyes rolled back as I came.

“Rhys I’m-“ I cry out, black dots blurring my vision and my body writhing against his hand, trying to pull away as he still moved those fingers inside me, but he clamped down another hand on my stomach, fingers holding my flesh possessively to keep me in place.

“C’mon darling,” Rhysand cooed, his voice almost cruel, almost patronising as he fucked me through my orgasm, my walls clenching around his fingers again and again, my orgasm spreading through my thighs and stomach and hips like glass. “I’ve got you, your High Lord’s right here.”

I whimpered at the humour in his dark tone, my legs closing around Rhysand’s hand- a mixture of overstimulation from his touch and the filthy words he poured like honey into my ear.

“Too much, too much I can’t-“

He chuckled, like the prick that he is, but mercifully, his fingers stopped, hand halting inside me and I instantly sagged with relief.

I could feel Rhysand’s power thrumming around us, frantic and powerful as if blazing brighter at my climax, at seeing me fall apart. I winced as he slipped his fingers out from me, and he seemed to melt back into being unbearably sweet as he languished his hand along my thigh, waiting for me to catch my breath.

I blinked my eyes open, fighting the exhaustion that ran through me, rooted deep inside me and smiled at the sea of violet and stars that stared back at me.

“I don’t think that was the kind of care Madja meant, Rhys,” I breathe, my voice trembling as tendrils of my climax faded away and the grin that stretched across his face, it was fucking beautiful.

“Well technically I did change your bandage,” He cocked his head, eyes gleaming and only then did I notice the sheet of stars and moonlight wrapped around my thighs, a blanket of Rhysand’s power, iridescent as the night sky outside over my wound- protecting and healing.

“Thank you,” I giggled quietly, pleasantly amazed and the air in the room felt so light as our gazes met, his hand still caressing sweetly against my thigh. He must sense the words on the tip of my tongue because he inches closer, face bright with understanding.

“Rhys, what we-“

“Y/N!”

A tall figure bursts through my room door and I only see flashes of long blonde hair and two sets of wings before Rhysand shifts in front of me, his large body shielding my bareness and his face is beyond frustrated as he tugs down my top, until the material is scraping my mid-thigh.

“Are you okay?” Mor comes rushing in, oblivious to what she just walked in on, and I cringe as Rhysand purses his lips and shuffles back to give the female space as she practically launches at my side. “I heard what happened-“

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I chuckle uncomfortably, seeing the worry in her brown eyes and I smile when she wraps her arms around me, hugging me suffocatingly tight. “Mor, honestly I’m fine.”

“Rhysand’s been taking care of her,” Azriel muses quietly and I shoot him a scathing glare over Mor’s shoulder, seeing his lip tilt at the corner. Rhys rolls his eyes, but I can see the satisfaction in his eyes, that they knew.

Knew that he was the one that made me feel as good as I did.

And something akin to wildfire burns through my blood when I slide my gaze down his body, to the hard, long imprint of his cock straining against his slacks. I swallow at the sight; my mouth watering and I feel a brush of claws tease against my mind.

As if to say- later.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Mor sighed, before plopping down on the chair by my bed. Rhysand sighed- a truly irate and defeated sound like he couldn’t believe our family had just walked in on us like he was getting very tired of all the interruptions. “When Cassian called me, I came as soon as I could.”

“Thank you, Mor,” I smile, glancing at her to my side and my body tingles when Rhys pulls the comforter over my body, fingers brushing my breasts as he does so.

I don’t miss the smile he tries to hide.

“Speaking of me,” Cassian steps forward, an absolutely delighted grin stretching his face, eyes flashing knowingly between me and Rhys and my brows furrow when Rhysand’s face darkens like he wants to lunge at the male.

“Did I hear Y/N mention my name earlier?”

_______________________________

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part 3??

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

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Nasty Man™️ Johnny MacTavish would cross every line and break every rule of a lap dance.

He'd see you from across the club and is already plotting ways to get you alone in one of the private rooms so he can have his hands all over you and help you “relax” 🥴

he's a lil’ creep :)

(18+ MDNI, dub-con/non-con themes)

You can’t even remember why you’re here.

It’s loud, bass thumping in the hollow of your chest, the warmth of writhing bodies weighs heavy in the air, and flashing lights seem to follow your eyes everywhere you look without reprieve. That’s why you don’t see him, don’t notice him staring at you from across the club, and now your friends are whistling and whooping at the dark stranger climbing the steps into your alcove.

“This is the guy I told you about,” Kari leans over to whisper-shout, cupping a hand in a feeble attempt to speak over the music pouring out of the speakers overhead.

Ah, that’s right. Kari wanted to see if the dancer from the near constant stream of videos she inundates the group chat with is here tonight. Seems tonight is her lucky night, because when he steps into your circle he pivots towards the two of you, long legs rippling the slash of cut muscle and tanned skin on display beneath ripped jeans slung low on his hips, obliques bunching and flexing with the subtle tilt of his hips with each measured step. Swaggering.

And he comes to a halt—right in front of you. It’s a long way up, craning your neck at an awkward angle to look up at the silhouette of him against strobe and colorful spotlights. You don’t know what you were expecting. The black leather harness straining over his chest and distressed jeans feel fairly standard, as does his physique and rugged handsomeness, but the warmth that ripples off his body feels like a riptide instead of the languid roll of lapping waves, dragging you under and filling your lungs with the scent of sea spray and brine, the musk of his sweat mixed with whatever he’s oiled his skin with.

“Ooooo girl!” Kari grips your arm, acrylic nails scratching over your skin, and it pulls you out of your dumbfounded stupor enough for you to register the hand he’s holding out to you. “If you don’t go, I will!”

Go? With him? Where would we-

“Ye look a bit overwhelmed, lass. Think somethin’ more… private, might be your style.”

Oh…

Kari snakes her arm between your back and the tufted faux leather of the bench and bodily pushes you forward to the edge of your seat, towards his outstretched hand, and you’re caught wholly off guard when gentle fingers hook under your chin, tipping your head back at an uncomfortable angle to meet his gaze.

The brightest blue of a searing flame feels gelid in comparison to the heat that dances and flickers in his eyes, and they feel sharp as knives against your skin, boring into you, slicing through layers of trepidation and apprehension to get to the core of you.

“Promise ye wilnae regret it.” The pad of his thumb brushes across your lower lip, a slow, exploratory movement that sends a shudder trickling down your spine.

Goading shouts of ‘Go!’ and ‘Get some, girl!’ permeate the hazy bubble you’re floating in with him, echoing and bouncing off of flimsy boundaries.

“I- I don’t know… You should take Kari, she-” You’re silenced by the press of his thumb to your lips again, mouth still parted on half-spoken words, and you can feel the swipe of his flesh across the front of your teeth.

“-She’s not the one who needs help relaxin’. You are,” he finishes for you, and it sounds more like a command than an observation. The fingers under your chin tug upwards, straining the muscles of your neck, and you lift subconsciously from your seat to ease the tension. He takes advantage of this and slots a hand under your arm, pulls you up and firmly against him, and turns your head to the side to whisper low in your ear, “I’ll take good care of ye, lass. Dinnae need to worry.”

There’s a collective gasp from the group around you, excited squeals and peals of laughter that ring out over the music. ‘Go!’ they all chant in a cult-like mantra. Go to the private room with the handsome stranger.

Go to the private room where the lights don’t hurt your eyes and the music isn’t so loud.

His hand still holds your face, cups your jaw to draw your attention back to him, and the hand on your ribs has drifted down to your waist, thumb rubbing circles over the fabric of your dress.

“Ok…” you cede, voice a meek whisper and eyes darting away from his to settle on his lips, feeling too scrutinized, laid bare, under their watchfulness.

It shouldn’t be possible but his smile is somehow brighter than the flashing lights, disorienting enough that you blink a few times until the spots across your vision fade. The hand at your waist slides easily around you, tucking you into his side as he leads you away from the alcove, through throngs of patrons and dancers towards the roped off rooms at the back of the club with velvet lined walls and thick curtains across each doorway.

He guides you down onto the sofa that wraps around the entirety of the room, downy upholstery tickling the back of your legs as he draws the curtain closed, and your eyes mimic the motion with a gentle sigh as you sink into the softness that dampens the sound beyond the room, filters out the harsh light in favor dim ambiance.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you just need to sit here for a moment away from…. Well, away from all of it. Take a moment, and just-

“Och, look at ye… just need a bit of quiet, hm?” The low purr of his voice right in front of you causes you to jolt, eyes snapping open to find him knelt down at eye level with you, arms braced against the sofa on either side of your knees.

You start to apologize but he shakes his head, one big hand sliding over your knee in a soothing gesture.

“None of that. Here to help ye relax, bonnie.” His hand drifts higher up your leg, strong fingers kneading at the supple flesh hidden beneath ruched fabric, and you think distantly that this feels more intimate than a private dance should. “Close those pretty eyes and just focus on the way it feels. Can ye do that for me?”

In the dim lighting the warmth in his eyes blazes bright and fervent with an eager insistence, an illuminating display of hunger and want that burns through your nerves like wildfire.

You take a deep, steadying breath and let your eyes fall closed once more, and the answering growl that rumbles in his chest in response to your submission pools unbidden warmth between your legs.

“Good girl, so good for me. Gonnae take such good care of ye.” Something warm and hard presses against your legs, and before you have time to think about how good that feels, both of his hands find the back of your knees and pull. They force your knees apart, yank you forward to the edge of your seat so that he’s knelt between your legs.

He clicks his tongue at the flutter of your lashes, eyes trying to open and make sense of the jarring repositioning of your lower extremities, and says, “‘S okay, keep ‘em closed. Just need t’ get a bit closer.” It is a dance afterall. But still, the notion that something about it isn’t quite what it should be festers at the far reaches of your mind.

“Give me yer hands.” It’s softer this time, his voice when he makes the request, but the demand and expectation there is clear–he’s leading, and you’re following. With tentative movements you reach out blindly in front of you until you feel the warmth of his hands enveloping and guiding yours, placing them against something rough that scratches between your palms.

His face, you realize, as your thumb brushes over the stubble on his jaw, tracing the strong line of it from his chin up to his ear. The hair is short there too, shorn close to his scalp, but it feels softer, pleasant against your fingertips. He hums, whether in approval or simply in reaction to your clumsy exploration you can’t decipher, and you can feel the way it vibrates in his throat against your hand lingering on his jaw.

Lost in the new sensation of him you don’t immediately realize where his hands have settled on you, palms rough with callouses gliding over exposed skin and up the expanse of your thighs to capture your hips, long fingers only just grazing your rear. He pulls you closer, closer to the edge, and your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders, seeking balance and support from the broad expanse of them.

With his hands splayed across your ribs on either side he presses his face into your neck, dragging his nose up towards your jaw and breathing in long and deep, the shuddering exhale of his breath zapping against your sensitive skin in tantalizing currents.

“Had my eyes on ye all night,” he murmurs, and you can feel the brush of his lips against skin that's begun to warm beneath his touch.

Odd, you think, for a patron to catch the eye of a dancer. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? A lot of this should be happening inversely, or perhaps not at all. It feels like a violation of the rules, a breach in etiquette, to have so much contact with him–to be touching him.

“Need to know, pretty thing. Need to know… what ye taste like.” He’s panting when he voices that particular desire, voice rough and breathless, and it feels funny that he should be the one short of breath when you haven’t taken one since he put his hands on you, still holding onto the dwindling supply of air and withering sense of propriety.

This… this should not be happening, you think as he tips you back, big hands pushing you down onto the couch again and this time your eyes do more than flutter, opening wide as your back meets the cushion beneath you.

“Sir, I- this isn’t what-”

“I ken it’s not what ye thought it would be, bonnie. Doesnae change the fact that it’s what ye need,” he cuts you off, gruff and adamant in his assessment of you.

What you need? You don’t need this. The privacy is nice, yes, and he’s certainly a welcome sight, but this isn’t a dance. This isn’t what you agreed to.

He must be able to see your confusion, the warring thoughts in your mind written on your face as plainly as a line drawn on a battlefield. How your mind struggles to reconcile the sudden shift. How that line in sand has been trampled beyond recognition and you don't know which side of it you're standing on anymore. He has to know because he laughs, a warm flutter of breath ticking across your inner thighs.

The gasp that tears from your lungs when his teeth sink into the meat of your thigh, fanning dormant embers of desire you're only now becoming aware of, only seems to amuse him further. Makes his lips, pulled apart in a grin, vibrate against your skin before biting you again. You try to pull away from him but he curls a massive arm around your leg, holding you firmly in place for his tongue to lave over the imprint of his teeth on your skin.

“Just as sweet as she looks,” he remarks, more to himself than you, and his hands push the fabric of your dress up past your hips. You squirm in his grasp but he just wraps the other arm around you and coos sweet sounds between your legs, hooks them over his shoulders and clamps his hands around your hips once more. “Jus’ need some attention, hm? Poor girl, cannae breathe with these, can ye?”

Is he… talking to your pussy?

You get your answer when you feel the hot press of his mouth over the thin scrap of lace.

What the fuck is happening?

Not normal. This is not normal. This should not be happening.

It makes your head spin, the steady stream of realization that trickles in through the haze of… You don’t want to admit what you’re feeling. Don’t want to admit that amidst your panic and confusion, how suddenly the situation escalated, you never said no.

You aren’t saying no. You should be saying no.

“Such a pretty wee cunt,” he lilts as a hand trails down and pulls your panties to the side, revealing the most intimate part of you to him.

You can feel your body's betrayal of your emotions, the cooling sensation of his breath against the slick gathering between your thighs. It sends tumultuous sparks of pleasure up your spine and makes your fingers flex against the couch beneath you, seeking purchase and finding none. He coos at this, digs his fingers into your hips and presses his lips to your folds like he’s kissing your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste your slick and teeth nipping at the soft flesh.

It’s maddening how good it feels, how tormented you are about even remotely liking it. He’s taken you here under false pretense and forced himself upon you. You should be angry with him. But it's hard to separate the confusion from the adrenaline, the fear from the lust that addles your senses.

“Ye’re thinkin’ too much. Relax.” His voice is rough, pitched low and graveled by his own desire, and he digs his thumbs into your hip flexors, smoothing out the muscles wrought with tension. “‘S’posed to feel good, bonnie. Let me take care of ye, work ye over how ye need.”

You open your mouth to protest, to say someone might hear, might walk in and see you, separated by only a curtain from the rest of the club. The words die on your tongue when he cards his through your silken folds in one broad stroke, warm and wet and so fucking good, illiciting a string of breathy moans in place of your objections. A growl of assent rumbles in his chest again, rocking through you in wicked bolts, nerves firing in tandem with the movements of his tongue lapping at your entrance like a man starved.

Despite how your mind still kicks and thrashes, desperate to pull your head above water and think clearly, your body can't help its response to him, surrendering to the undertow that pulls you further into the hazy depths of pleasure with each fervent swipe of his tongue.

“Tha’s it sweet girl, doin so good.” He has no right, none at all, to make you feel this way. Warm and wanting, squirming closer, trying to find more friction. He doesn’t deserve the sniveling whimpers that crawl up your throat, the hands that blindly seek the shock of messy hair to pull him closer and beg for more.

And he gives it to you, focuses his attention on your aching bundle of nerves in tight, precise circles, coaxing you closer to the swell that’s building at the base of your spine.

“Gonnae come for me?” His teeth wrap around your clit and you keen, cry out wantonly at the sudden sharpness of the sensation, the additional pressure, and a litany of yes’s flows forth from lips parted on a moan.

He’s relentless in his pursuit of your climax. Desperate, even, to feel your body go taut with pleasure, pressing his face so far between your legs you wonder if he can even breathe. Each flick of his tongue, scrape of his teeth, pushing you closer and closer until the tension breaks, a cresting wave of pleasure crashing over you and drowning your senses in liquid fire.

He works you to the point of overstimulation, until the drag of his tongue feels like a blade against your skin and your thighs burn from the scrape of his stubble. Only then, does he give you a reprieve, panting when he pulls back and peppers kisses over the raw skin.

“Such a good girl, did so well for me. Knew ye’d be good for me, bonnie.” He gathers you up, rights your undergarments and pulls your skirt back down your thighs before he helps you sit up, and his hand feels warm against your cheek, thumb swiping away the mascara running in inky trails down your face. “Gonna get ye some water, dinnae move,” he murmurs against your temple, lips pressed against your skin in a comparatively chaste kiss before all that warmth pulls away and you're left on your own.

You couldn’t go anywhere if you wanted to, knees too weak to even think about moving off the couch, lest you look like a wobbling faun stumbling back to your friends. But when the curtain opens, bright light from a flashlight shining into your eyes, you panic, eyes closing against the offending light and you push up onto your feet. You don’t stay up very long, however, as a wave of dizziness crashes into you full-force, sending you back down onto the couch in a clumsy heap.

“Oh, shit- are you alright? Hey,” The man in front of you crouches down, hands on your shoulders to hold you upright. He has a badge on his shirt. Security. “Do you know where you are?”

You rattle off the name of the club and some of the worry bunching his brows lessens.

“Have you had anything to drink?”

“He’s getting me water.”

“He? Your boyfriend?

“The dancer, his name-” You never did get his name, from him or Kari. “-he has a… a harness? And jeans. I think he has a mohawk too.” There's a funny look on his face now, like he doesn’t really believe you.

“Honey, we don’t have any dancers here tonight that look like that.”

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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wttcsms · 1 year

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diesel is desire (we were playing with fire) ; sebastian sallow

pairing sebastian sallow x f!reader word count 4k synopsis sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief. content contains seventh year au, dubcon (under the influence of lust potion), darker take on seb's character lol <3, breeding kink, creampie, possessive!sebastian, possessive sex, virginity loss, babytrapping

“Why did you go out of your way to avoid me?”

An accusatory voice momentarily breaks you free from the overwhelming feelings you were struggling to deal with, but the voice is too familiar.

The source? Sebastian Sallow — a very disappointed Sebastian Sallow, which after two years of friendship (and the lingering what-if of becoming something more), you’re able to identify as a Sebastian that you would much rather not be dealing with. Particularly because, try as hard as he might, he’s rather prone to saying harsh things and treating you unkindly whenever he gets into one of his moods. The hurt expression on his face is barely concealed by the scowl that mars his otherwise handsome features.

Don’t think about how handsome he is!

Instead of replying to him, you’re quick to turn your head to the side, trying to focus on the curtain that separates your cot from the others in the infirmary. It’ll do no good to engage with Sebastian right now — not whenever the reason you’ve been compelled to check yourself in to the school nurse is purely because you’re not sure if you have enough self-control to stop yourself from literally ripping his robes off of him.

But it’s not like you can tell him all that. Lying would be preferable, if only Sebastian wasn’t so attuned to you and every single one of your tells. If you attempted lying to him, who knows what more damage you would cause? Then again, blatantly ignoring him also seems equally dangerous, especially with how quick to irritate he’s been lately. Ever since you witnessed him literally murdering his uncle, the relationship between the two of you has grown stronger — being practically partners in crime will do that to a friendship — but also more… volatile. The charming fifth-year you met on your first day of school still remains, but you have long since realized that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On the surface, he’s nothing but affable. Maybe a bit of a rebellious streak, but it’s all in good nature. In the beginning, it was fun being with him. Exciting, even. Then you started following him on the dark path he paved all by himself, and before you could realize that you were in too deep, it had already been too late to turn around. Now, the seventh-year boy standing by your cot seems so different from the one who lives on only in your memories.

“Don’t ignore me.” He means to make the words come out sharp, irritated. It resembles more of a plea than anything, and you shut your eyes, willing him to leave. It must be all in your head, but you swear you can smell the familiar scent of him: cool mint mixed with the light musk of whatever cologne he’s been favoring since the fifth year.

“Sebastian, I’m not feeling very well.” You mumble, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to leave you alone. It’s not a lie. You aren’t feeling great whatsoever. Not even the nurse, bless her heart, can figure out what’s become of you. She gave you a pitying look and an almost amused smile as she explained that — in her words — sexual urges are very normal for girls your age.

If your body wasn’t already overheating, you’re certain your cheeks would have instantly turned hot from sheer embarrassment.

“Well, why wouldn’t you tell me that instead of abandoning me the whole entire day?” Sebastian is many things with different people. With you, he is both guarded and vulnerable. Some days, when you’re not feeling your best, his emotions versus his actions can give you whiplash. He has the audacity to say something like that all the while, he sounds absolutely tortured over the fact that he had to go eight hours without your presence.

As if realizing the harshness of his attitude, he softens his tone as he asks, “Are you feeling any better?”

You had gone to the Great Hall before him because you needed to review your History of Magic notes before the test today. All you had was a bit of pumpkin juice and toast, and all had been well until you started feeling warm underneath your robes and sweater. As the heat began to travel through your body, you found it hard to concentrate on your notes. Not because of the heat, but because of the many thoughts swirling around in your head. Flashes of Sebastian that started innocently enough and quickly morphed into daydreams of him without his uniform. Sebastian with his hair messed up from the way your fingers tugged at the strands as he satiated his thirst with the juices flooding between your legs. Sebastian who would prioritize your pleasure over his and could make you cum multiple times before even thinking about getting his dick wet. Sebastian—

—who you share most of your classes with!

You knew right then and there that something had to be wrong with you. Sure, you’ve thought about him sometimes, but never to that degree. And certainly never at seven in the morning over breakfast and history notes.

That’s how you ended up lying in a cot in the infirmary, trying your hardest to ignore the intrusive thoughts of Sebastian fucking you ‘til you can’t walk anymore.

“No.” You practically moan out the word, and you’re hoping to play it off as just you being a baby about being “sick”.

You don’t expect him to turn your head so that you’re staring up at the ceiling, and you certainly don’t expect him to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His hands are cold, but surprisingly enough, it brings you some sort of relief from the fever that has seemingly overtaken your body. You bite back another moan.

“You’re burning up.” Gone is his attitude. Instead, it’s been replaced by your favorite Sebastian — the kind, caring one. The one that resembles the boy you first met. Sometimes, his care can be suffocating, but when you find yourself craving nothing but him and his touch, you don’t mind his invasion of your personal space at all. “Are there any other side effects? Does your throat hurt? Stomach? Tell me what’s the matter.”

You know how Sebastian must feel when it comes to people he cares about falling ill. His sister has only made him more paranoid about the severity of sickness and curses, and the concern and fear etched upon his face makes your hardened resolve of keeping the sordid details of your affliction to yourself melt away.

“Don’t laugh…” You warn him, but your voice seems so small and maybe even a little scared that his expression turns even more serious.

“Never.”

“I think… I think something happened to me. A charm…” You’re careful to dance around the word curse, lest Sebastian accidentally blows up the whole entire infirmary due to his emotional state. “I just feel very hot. And, um, I think the only relief would be to—”

You can’t even say it. You can barely even explain it since you don’t really know what’s happening either.

“I’mfeelingverysexuallyfrustratedandIhavenomeansofrelief!”

The two of you know that you’re never going to repeat that phrase ever again, and you’re practically near tears after that little confession.

“Oh.” He says, as if this is nothing more than a simple, casual conversation and not the most humiliating situation ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Be-because it’s embarrassing!” Has he really no shame? Who would willingly admit that out loud?

“You know, I’ve heard rumors of some sixth-years trying to pull pranks by spiking the juices with love potions. Just really gimmicky concoctions, truly. Nothing too severe. Hmm… You must have a sensitivity to it, though.” Sebastian’s musings do nothing to bring you reassurance. If anything, it just makes you want to hide. If the universe is truly kind, a sinkhole will emerge from nowhere and swallow you whole. Yes, that sounds lovely right now.

Instead, the universe is sick, because what else could explain Sebastian telling you,

“If it’s relief you need, I’d be happy to help.”

Sebastian is many things to you — a dear friend, a confidant, a literal partner in crime — but none of those things involve him having sex with you, even if the offer only came from some odd sense of duty.

And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He probably feels indebted to you since the fifth-year. Maybe even anxious, too. You could expose him at any given moment, and maybe that’s why he’s been so keen on attaching himself to your side ever since. This is a humiliating predicament to be in, and Sebastian doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell — considering that you don’t even know the names of girls he’s been with before is evidence.

Besides, you’re only feeling incredibly needy for one person. You can accept his offer, but you’re certainly not going to let him know the truth: that only he is the one who can help you.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” His cool hand is now cupping your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone in an almost gentle manner. Sweet Sebastian is making an appearance, perhaps to try to put you at ease. You like this Sebastian. “Just let me take care of you.”

When the haze of lust clears from your sex-addled mind, the rush of consequences will burden and crush your very conscience.

Fortunatenly enough, consequences are clearly the last thing on your mind.

It would appear that the only thing you can truly focus on is Sebastian and what his idea of ‘taking care of you’ is.

The Sebastian staring greedily at you is an unfamiliar Sebastian. You’ve become accustomed to the many variations of himself: Angry Sebastian, who says the most vile things out of spite and usually misguided anger; Remorseful Sebastian, who is quick to grovel (he’s quite good at groveling, really) and wants nothing more than to be back in your good graces; Happy Sebastian, although there are variations upon this very variation — the trick to seeing whether he’s pseudo-happy or not is all in his smile (the fake one is eerily perfect, the real one is crooked and a rarity). This Sebastian, though…

Hungry.

The word doesn’t quite explain the dark glint in his eyes or the way his hands are almost reverently stroking your body. Your skin felt so, so hot just a few minutes ago — then again, just a few minutes ago, you still had your school jumper and blouse neatly intact. Now, you’re laid practically bare, prey to Sebastian’s more-than predatory gaze.

If the two of you weren’t such great friends, you might have had enough sense to be scared.

The only articles of clothing left to protect your dignity and shield you from his eyes are your skirt (which is already riding up to expose your thighs due to his wandering hands), your white cotton panties, and the matching bra.

“How do you feel now?” He asks, and you want to tell him you’re still feeling embarrassed, but his hands feel surprisingly nice on your skin, and you can’t help but hunger for more. Perhaps the look in his eyes, the one you couldn’t quite find a proper name for, is the same look you’re giving him.

“More.” You whimper out, not caring if you sound selfish or impatient. This is awful. The two of you should put a stop to… To whatever the hell this is! This is a horribly unbecoming, unsavory situation you are in, and if things progress like how you think they are going to (how you want them to), then you’re both dead once all the adults find out. Professor Weasley would probably force the two of you to be wedded within the next day of her finding out, not to mention that the headmaster would probably have the both of your heads on sticks.

But you don’t tell him to stop because your rational thought is slipping, much like your bra. You’re viewing everything almost as if in a trance, almost as if this is happening to someone else and not you. But it is very much you; it’s your nipples hardening after being exposed to the cool air of the infirmary. It’s your bra that Sebastian tosses to the side. He’s licking his lips, eyeing the expanse of skin that has been revealed to him. In ordinary circumstances, you’re certain you would make all attempts to cover yourself up and try to regain some sense of modesty.

In these circumstances, you practically arch your back and mewl out for more, more, more.

More touching. More skin-to-skin contact. More of Sebastian. You want him. All of him. Every part of him. You want his cock ramming into your cunt, you want his hands wrapped around your throat, his mouth spewing out words of filth right into your ear. Most importantly, even though all you can seemingly focus on is having him ravish you, you can’t help but to be greedy and dare to hunger for more. You want his secrets — all of them. You want to know the nightmares that plague him, and whether he’s full of regrets, just like you. You want to have a claim to his soul, just like how he already has a claim to yours. You want to know that when his heart beats, it is calling out for you.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He announces, like he’s waiting for you to protest. He’s not directly asking, but the question is still there, as is the warning. Can I kiss you? If you let me, there’s no going back.

“Please.” You whimper, completely and entirely at his mercy.

“Say it.” Sebastian swallows hard, almost as if he’s also nervous and too charged up with desire. His fingers are loosening his tie. He has already shrugged off his robes.

He doesn’t tell you want to say, but you already know what he wants to hear. The words have been resting on the tip of your tongue this whole entire time, anyway.

“I want you to— to kiss me, and more…” You look into his eyes. The lights in the infirmary make them appear a lighter color than usual. “I want more. I want you, Sebastian.”

The moment the last confession slips from your soft lips, Sebastian’s mouth descends upon your own. His body is angled awkwardly, trying not to crush you with his weight, but you can feel the heat emanating from him all the same, even despite the layers of his clothing that separates the two of you.

You think the world stops spinning when his lips slot against yours. He tastes like the pumpkin juice from this morning, sweet and refreshing. There’s a lingering taste of spearmint toothpaste. You want to keep kissing him forever. You want him to kiss you everywhere else. When breathing becomes a necessary thing, he stops. You frown. You didn’t want him to stop. Oxygen is overrated, anyway.

He lays a hand against the pillow you’re resting on, staring down at you, want clearly displayed on his visage; desire is etched onto every facial feature, and his eyes are gazing so intently into yours, you wonder if he’s a Legilimens.

“Promise me you won’t regret this. Swear that you truly do want this.”

He must not be a Legilimens, then. It’s so clear you’ve been in… It feels odd to admit it. Wrong, even. But it’s the truth—

—you’ve been in love with him since the fifth year.

You don’t keep someone’s secrets, their crimes, to yourself when you don’t love them. You let him perform Cruciatus on you, and you forgave him. No — you didn’t. Because you asked him to. There was nothing to forgive. You would endure it, over and over and over again, just for him, only him. And to think, you’re flooding your panties just at some simple fantasies of him, and he has the nerve to believe you don’t want this? Don’t want him?

“I promise. I swear it to you. I want this entirely.” And maybe liquid courage had been slipped into the juice you’ve consumed as well because you find yourself admitting, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you. If it… If it had to be done the first time around, I would always dream of you doing it to me.”

He stops breathing, just for a moment. Gapes at you, even.

“Y-you’re a virgin?”

You wonder if you’ve gone off and ruined the mood. You wonder if you should take it back, say you were just joking, but before you can, his lips are pressing against yours once again. This kiss is even hungrier than the last, and you’re not quite sure how that’s even possible. It’s almost as if he wants to devour you whole.

“Thank you.” He gasps out, so close to you that his breath tickles your nose. “Thank you for entrusting me with this, love. I promise I’ll make it good for you, just as you deserve.”

And suddenly Sebastian is just everywhere. His sweater is discarded on the floor, right next to your bra and his tie. His belt is unclasped; he hasn’t even bothered to remove it entirely, just displaced it enough to where he can unbutton his trousers, and he’s pulling it down — his pants, that is. And the briefs. He hasn’t entirely disposed of everything, just partially. Meticulous Sebastian Sallow who is now so far gone into lust and depravity that he cannot even handle wasting another second by removing himself entirely of his clothes. You have made a man into a beast.

But you see the way he’s eyeing you — all dark hair and sharp teeth. He flips your skirt up, exposing your damp panties to him, and he licks his lips again, and you realize — perhaps too late, or perhaps you’ve known all this time — that Sebastian has always been a bit of a beast. A wolf only coyly imitating domesticity.

“You’re so wet.” He brushes a finger against your cotton-covered folds, and you shiver.

Yes! Your body seems to cry out. More, more, more! Your back arches, keening, craving his touch. You’re soaking through the fabric, making it practically translucent. You’ve never been this wet before in your life. You’ve never wanted his touch more badly than you do now.

“For me.” He mutters, but in the silence of the infirmary, you hear him all too clearly. “Is this all for me, love? Have you been like this all day?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences. Even if he’s not staring at your head, far too fixated at what’s between your legs, he hums his approval.

“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll make it all better.”

He’s kissing you. He’s got your panties only pulled to one side, and you think he’s muttering apologies against your saliva-coated lips. Something that sounds awfully like sorry, so sorry, but I can’t wait, and I don’t think you can, either. You barely catch a glimpse of his cock before you can feel the sharp heat of his length against your inner thigh. You would have thought that there would be some preparation, especially since this will be your first, but you’re thoroughly soaked. You’re aching for a sensation you have never felt before, but the animal inside of your brain is telling you, instinctually, to seek Sebastian out. That Sebastian will make it all better. That’s what he said he’ll do, and he’s kissing you, and he’s apologizing, and—

—and the world stops spinning.

No. There’s some slight resistance at first, your poor cunt protesting at the intrusion. A second later, and he’s slipping in half of his length with considerably more ease. A few inches more, and his hips are pressed against yours, and oh— Oh, it’s like you’re made for him. There is no resistance. There is no pain. There’s just you and him, and your body is welcoming him home. Where has he been? It seems to ask. Please don’t ever leave again.

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses it out, and his teeth are gritted, and he’s admiring you. His eyes flicker to your face, down to your breasts, down down down right to where the two of you are connected. The word comes out broken, and yet, drawn out. As if he’s struggling to speak.

Then he starts thrusting, and suddenly you realize that the world hasn’t ceased its spinning. No — now it’s moving entirely too fast. It must be off its axis. You feel otherworldly. You feel like this pleasure, this overwhelming, absolutely delicious pleasure, cannot simply exist on earth. It should be impossible. It should be impossible to find comfort and rapture in the way the tip of his cock seemingly kisses your cervix. You expect pain.

You only find mindnumbing, earth shattering pleasure.

You feel stretched beyond your limits. You hear his pants and his groans, and you’re moaning, too. Calling out his name, which is so silly, he’s right there, he’s right there. There, at that special spot, at the spot you’ve never been able to discover on your own. You now know why adults advise so heavily against these type of relations — it’s simply addicting. You don’t think you can stop; you don’t think you want to stop.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so good f’me. Such a good girl. My good girl, aren’t you?” He’s rambling. His thrusts are considerably sloppier, and you feel his thumb brush against your clit, and you arch your back some more, practically screaming out his name. The stimulation is too much — it’s not enough — and you will always crave him. “Tell me. Tell me that you’re mine.”

There’s something so, so addicting about his possession. About being treated like his possession.

“Yours. M’yours, Seb. All—” You can’t finish your sentence. The pleasure is becoming too much, and you’re too sensitive, and he’s doing this thing, this absolutely amazing thing, where he rubs circles on your clit in tandem with his harsh thrusts, and you’re cumming. You don’t ever want to come down.

He feels you cum, sees your juices drench his cock as he pulls out, only to push right back in, relishing in the feeling of your contracting walls. He leans down, biting on your neck, and you take a hand to grip his dark hair, still cumming, and now he is, too. Spurts of his cum are flooding into you, painting your walls, successfully staking his unrivaled claim on you. You have been compromised. If anyone were to find the two of you out, you would have no other choice but to take his hand, his ring, his family name, him. You would have to take it all.

Coming down from his high, he has enough kindness left in him to lick at the wound he’s left on your neck. Your eyes are fluttering close, the intensity of it all thoroughly exhausting you. You don’t know the thoughts swirling in his mind. You don’t sense the longing behind him stroking your stomach, wondering if the Felix Felicis — his bottled Liquid Luck he’s spent forever brewing — has done its job. It would surely be very lucky, indeed, if his seed takes this first time around.

Your breathing slows, and he feels your heartbeat even out. You’re exhausted, poor thing. Perhaps he had been too rough.

He’ll apologize, he decides, by doing something that’ll benefit the both of you. He ought to clean you up, get you tucked in, and when you wake, he’ll go down on you. He bets you taste so sweet, so innocent. He had known, of course, that he was your first — that he was always going to be your first. Your only.

He wonders if the effects of the lust potion will still linger in your system even after you wake up. Probably so — he did it brew it quite strongly.

But the adoration, the love, in your eyes is something no amount of skilled potioneering can create. No; your feelings for him are real. You just needed to lower your inhibitions to get to the confessional stage.

And now that you have confessed…

Sebastian Sallow can rest well after confirming what he’s known ever since he first laid eyes on you:

You’re his.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #smut #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow smut #one shot #lemon

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totalswag · 1 month

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Can you write a headcanons that Drew meets actress!reader for the first time and that they end up dating. (she's not in the cast of obx)

Like reader doesn't know who Drew is at all but Drew knows her from some movies or series, they meet at a party of their mutual friend and their relationship are friends to lovers.

I'd like to know who makes the first move between Drew and Reader

love at first sight — DREW STARKEY

authors note i’ve never done headcanons before and always wanted to do one but didn’t know what topic to do so THANK YOU for the request lovie. please let me know if this is what you were looking for. it's my first time making one of these.

paring drew x actress!reader

➪ You two happened to be at the same party at one of your good mutual friends parties one night in LA.

➪ You were a well known actress from your popular tv series that's been going on for two years now and two movies you were in as well.

➪ Drew noticed you standing with a few of your friends, talking and laughing, from across the room and couldn't keep his gaze away from you the entire time.

➪ At the time, Drew was contemplating whether or not to approach you and introduce himself, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself.

➪ Instead of going up to you, he continued to stay with his friends and occasionally look in your direction. You felt eyes on you during that time but didn't know who.

➪ You noticed Drew and his friends as you walked back from the bathroom with a few of your girlfriends. You didn’t know who he was either.

➪ There was something in you urging you to turn around and start conversation with this mystery guy. A good feeling. Also couldn't get over the fact how good looking he is too.

➪ Your girlfriend whispered in your ear, "That's Drew Starkey, who plays Rafe Cameron in Outer Banks," she says.

➪ You remember glancing at her with a puzzled expression before inquiring who he was. She stared at you like you were living under a rock.

➪ You were amazed by his acting when she showed you a scene from the latest seasons of Outer Banks.

➪ "I'ma go talk to him!" You told your girlfriends right before you walked over to the handsome tall 6'3 foot man.

➪ Let's say you definitely caught him off guard when you approached him with a toothy smile, introducing yourself to him and cast mates from his tv show. He couldn't believe you were standing in front of him looking all beautiful.

➪ You making the first move is bold and it's very unlike you. Especially when you find someone cute.

➪ "I think you're really handsome, Drew," Gazing at the man in front of you.

➪ You two didn't stop talking once you started. The rest of the night was spent hip to hip. By the end of the night, you had discovered a lot about each other. He couldn't believe you'd never heard of him before, despite the fact that he knew about you.

➪ "We should go out sometime together, are you available next Friday for lunch?" Drew asked as people began to leave the party. Of course, you gave him your number and went to lunch.

➪ The more hung out, the more feelings began to grow for one another in ways you never expected. Never felt so comfortable with someone before until you met each other.

➪ Three months later, Drew asked you to be his girlfriend by taking you to a private beach with all of your favorite snacks and drinks laid out on a blanket and lights that said "Be My Girlfriend?" It was the most beautiful scene ever.

➪ Being together was meant to be. Supportive of each-other in your careers. Always baking your favorite desserts together with oldies in the background. Couldn’t be more happier.

my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight @chenslucy @brooklynscherry-z @johannelis2302nely @rosezza @solanathascientst

#drew starkey #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey headcanons #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x you

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grimm-writings · 14 days

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hihi >_< could i request chilchuck x reader, maybe with reader flirting with him constantly, and then getting flustered when he actually decides to flirt back?

“what a flirt!”

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, suggestive comments, grimm trying so hard not to make the flirting sound cring, mention of chilchuck's wife

…wc! 698

…notes! my stupid doodle of chil with an iron is at 4203 notes at the time of writing my fic blog reputation has been squandered by the shitpost… but i finally got motivation do actually WRITE who cheered!!!! hope you enjoy and apologies for the wait!!

“Gosh, Chil, with those hands of yours you could easily please a partner!”

With his back turned away from you all you can hear from the picklock doing his job is a very deep inhale. You can’t miss the way the tips of his ears glow red, even in the dim dungeon light. You know there’s a ‘rule’ to not disturb the half-foot as he works but… goodness it’s just too tempting! It’s not like there’s any harm in it!

When Chilchuck finishes his task he stands up and glares at you pointedly. You return it with a bright smile. “Thank you very much!” you chorus with the party oh, so politely. The rest have partially given up on convincing you to not say or do anything while Chlichuck is busy. He still gets the job done, at least…

Travels continue, and you find yourself trying to match a tall half-foot’s pace. You have to slow down considerably but in your head all you can think about is how adorable Chilchuck might look if he tried to match your pace instead.

Right as you were about to drift off into fantasy, Chilchuck cleared his throat. “You got somethin’ to say or is your head in the clouds again?”

You giggle. “No, just thinking about how handsome you are.” Once more, you relish in how flustered Chilchuck gets, attempting to speed walk ahead of you and start up a chat with Laios instead.

It’s so irritating. Chilchuck can’t say or do anything without you making some kind of dumb comment! He’s convinced even in a life or death situation you’d find some way to make him choke on his words and stumble. You probably would let it happen if it means you can get the jump on him and humiliate him once again!

Before Chilchuck knows it he’s gritting his teeth together, his seething not going unnoticed. Laios says quietly enough so you aren’t quite able to pick out what’s being said, “why not fight fire with fire?”

It’s an alright suggestion, sure, but that means… having to flirt back with you. Chilchuck doesn’t know what constitutes flirting really. His old flame used to say that he only ever honeyed her up when he’s a few drinks in. Is that really what it will take to get you off his ass?

His question would be answered just a few hours later. Combat isn’t Chilchuck’s forte, so once again he’s hiding behind some rock somewhere, slightly elevated off the floor. That way he could avoid any collateral damage.

So he hoped at least. A swing of a tail from the creature, slamming on the rock floor, proves him otherwise. The ground collapses beneath Chilchuck and for a second he internally laments that he’s going to acquire another spot of brain damage.

But he doesn’t. Instead, your arms easily catch underneath his knees and torso, holding him almost like a bride. It’s you, and you look just so relieved, off guard.

Almost on instinct, Chilchuck lets the words slip.

“Looks like I fell for you.”

It’s so awful. It’s so pathetic. At least your pick–up lines were actually creative. He almost wishes you’d let him break a bone or two. Marcille’s healing might actually hurt less.

What he doesn’t expect at all is how your face deepens in colour and dusts across your face and cheeks, how your eyes widen and your jaw hangs open. In your hold, Chilchuck feels your arms shaking. Chilchuck only had to think for a second before realising that you seriously can’t take what you dish out.

The smug, brash grin that makes its way onto his face could infuriate anyone else, but you just feel your knees buckle. “C’mon, be an angel and let me down, yeah? Can’t have you dropping me, though I know my charm is irresistible.”

Funny how just a spot of encouragement can bring out this side of him. Even as you do as you’re told with a pat on the head and, “why, thank you” being cooed at you, you know this isn’t the end of this.

Chilchuck will make sure you never forget how his words make you feel.

#✮ grimm's fics!#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #delicious in dungeon imagines #dungeon meshi imagines #chilchuck imagines #delicious in dungeon x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #chilchuck tims imagines #chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader

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trulyumai · 24 days

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Oh, Mr Mosses (Series) II

Part one can be found here!

https://www.tumblr.com/trulyumai/746978557424812032/oh-mr-mosses-series?source=share

Synopsis: You were fine with the job, the steps were easy enough but the secret of the D.D.D was getting harder and harder to contain. Each night a new entity would enter the building, each with its own horrific look and intentions. Just as you debate on leaving, a new resident has entered the premises; Francis Mosses who is absolutely entranced by your being.

Will you be as smitten of him as he is of you? Only time will tell.

Taglist; @tfamidoingwithmylife (Let me know if you want to be added!)

Oh, Mr. Mosses II

“There you are Ms. Svertchz, have a wonderful day!” The receptionist smiled and through the glass she carefully looked at the woman in front of her. Her nails were so clean, she noticed, they were always gelled, matching whatever premium outfit she had on that day.

“Yes, you too dear.” Without a glance at the younger woman the resident walked off, the tapping of her heels echoed through the old corridor and finally ceased when the elevator creaked its way down.

It had been a week since meeting Francis, and she hadn’t really gotten a true impression of the man. He was so quiet, so… watchful. Anything she did in front of him she could feel his eyes on her, always staring at her with this thoughtful yet blank expression.

He was just shy, she had thought. And if she was to make a move at all, it had to be small enough so that neither of them would be too embarrassed or caught off guard.

He was so handsome, he was dressed nicely all the time and his lazy gaze fit his face so well. His nose was a bit hooked and larger than the average, but he made it look rugged, sexy even.

With a shake to the head and a glance at the clock she let out a sigh. It was break time.

Clouds rolled in, the rain came down soon after and poured down mercilessly. The winds howled along with it and she swore that if it got any stronger, the building would come cascading down. Almost everyone had checked in for the night, everyone except, she eyed the list again; Francis Mosses.

With a squeeze to the paper she couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath.

It was hell waiting to see if the dupe would come through the doors. Recently it had been trickier to spot the fake, they were getting smarter, better.

Just the other day she almost let in a double of Ms. Bubbles, if she hadn’t noticed the lipstick was maroon instead of its usual raspberry who knows how many bodies would be littering the floor right now. The monster was furious she had caught on, it was so close, so close to being let in and getting its way through the building.

A slam startled her out of her thoughts, the doors to the plaza burst open from someone- or something walking inside.

The steps were slow, lazy, it had to be-

“Mmm. Hello.” The milkman smiled, and although it was small, it comforted the receptionist dearly.

“Hello Francis! The regular forms, please.” Straight to business, then who knows? Maybe ask him about coffee, a bookstore date, anything!

Grabbing the papers he slid them over to the entrance, pushing them through with ease.

Turning them over she began her rambling.

“How was your day, Francis? Things have been super slow here.” She mumbled, lining up each number and form.

“Mm, it was fine. The rain was a bit of a hindrance but it didn’t stop me from completing my routes.” God, the way she said his name, he had to stop himself from biting down on his knuckles. Perfect, how could someone be so perfect all the time?

He was enamored, obsessed even, with everything she was. It had been a week, sure, but it felt like a lifetime for him.

She was distracted, per usual so he could stare at her freely now with no embarrassment to be had. Yet.

Her blouse was simple, a nice pale pink that hugged her in all the right places. And was that, a pencil skirt? Holy hell, this woman would be the death of him.

With a glance to her left she looked at the schedule for the hundredth time, Francis' name was indeed there.

“Everything’s clear, sorry for the wait.” She smiled at him then, her perfect teeth molded smoothly around her lips and- did he say she was perfect yet?

“Thank you.” Those glossy lips were tantalizing him, that had to be new lipstick, there’s no way he hadn’t noticed that sheen before on those plump, kissable-

“Are you okay? You space out a lot,” she laughed.

Quickly grabbing his forms he shoved them in his pocket, not bothering to open his wallet once more.

He had to leave, the thoughts were getting to him, he felt hot, sweaty and tight in all the wrong places. It was a good thing his uniform came with black pants, otherwise he wouldn’t bother to show his face around any longer.

“Mm, have a good night.” Without a pause he made his way to the elevator, and if it wasn't for the hand that shot out the paper slot he would have made it there.

“Wait! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to grab you like that, but um,” his eyes couldn’t help but widen, looking down her hand was still around his wrist. So small, so soft.

“Do you… want to get coffee sometime?” She mumbled, although the rain was heavy and sounded out almost anything, he heard her. Because of course he did. Lifting his other arm, he couldn’t help but cover his mouth and cheeks. He rubbed his face, played it off as if he was really thinking it over, like it was a hard answer.

“Mmm. Sure that sounds good.” And with a light smile he met her eyes. They were shining, full of emotion and if he looked any longer there was no way he was leaving.

“Wait, really?” She gasped, letting go of his hand quickly and slotting it back to the other side.

“Mhm, just… I’ll come to you, my schedule is quite hectic, you see.”

“No of course! That sounds great, I'm sorry again for grabbing you,” And she truly looked apologetic, her face was so sympathetic, chin tilted downwards and she looked more like a kicked puppy than anything else.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” he’s totally not going to imagine her hands later, gripping his shoulders, neck, trailing them down further and further.

“I’ll see you soon then!” She pushed her hair back, letting it fall behind her gorgeous neck, collarbones and, what was he saying again?

“Mm? Yes. Yes I’ll see you soon.” With a little pep to his step he pushed the elevator button.

It was then a call rang out, it was the work phone.

With a dreamy sigh she imagined him, the date and how perfect it all would be. Maybe they could grab dessert after.

“Resident desk, employee 29 speaking.”

“Hey 29! Great to catch you!” The manager's voice rang through and she sighed, her break was almost up and of course, the most extroverted person had to come talk her ear off.

“Hello sir, what can I do for you?”

“Straight to the point, you know I love that! You got the schedule for next week, right? Should be in a yellow envelope,” he smacked his teeth on the other end, and she could picture him now with his toothpick and big glasses staring right at her.

“Yes sir, you told me not to open it until the day of.”

He laughed. “Yep yep! Just uh, making sure. So, while I have you I thought I should mention,” shuffling was heard on the other end, like papers were being sorted through and thrown about.

“The D.D.D wanted to make sure all employees know that this month will be more active than ever, and uh, they're sending in new forms to sign, waivers and what not.”

She frowned. Active? What, how, why?

Cutting him off she couldn’t help but talk fast. “Sir? Active? Why are they more active?”

He paused, and she swore she could hear her heartbeat through her ears before he spoke up again.

“Yeah, yeah, they said it had something to do with the weather? No idea, didn’t really bother to ask them you know, it’s hard to hold a conversation with a guy in a hazmat suit.”

He laughed again and she wanted to strangle him, the man couldn’t take anything serious.

“That’s all doll, you have a wonderful evening you here?”

“Wait, sir-“ Click.

That bastard, who does he think he is? Who does management think they are? Putting the phone back on the hook she couldn’t help but feel tired. Tired from work bullshit, how everyone brushed her off even though she was helping people, saving lives each and every night.

The clock chimed, signaling for her shift to be over and she lazily rolled her chair back, getting up while picking at her nails.

At least she had the date to look forward to, right?

A/N: Second chapter done! We are slowly getting to the darker side of things woo! The next chapter will be a big one. I'll be introducing Francis’ mimic and will the receptionist be able to tell which is which? Well see! Let me know if i should implement more smuttier descriptions or content, for now i haven't but that can change! See you lovelies soon, TrulyUmai

#Horror #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses #TNMN!#x reader #slow burn #romance #horror game #game x reader #Francis Mosses x you

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hotchfiles · 13 days

Text

↪ day twelve. dinner party stories — #marchhotchness

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [family line] ❞

pairing: hotchner x fem!reader. summary: he snickers when he secretly whispers you that and you’re sure this is the family you were born to be after all, it just took you a little while to find it. or: aaron shows what the unconditional love of a family should be like. content warnings: not proofread, a lot of family issues brought up, weight gain mention (negatively once, then positively), reader's parents being annoying and kind of mean. word count: 2.4K

aaron sees it in your eyes, in your breathing, in the way you move. he sees it in the way you’ve been playing more with your necklace and by how you can’t seem to stop spinning your engagement ring around your finger. he hasn’t seen you this anxious in months, and back then you were working on finishing your dissertation and it collided with the company you worked at losing clients, it was chaos. he knew right now there was no chaos in sight, so it could only mean one thing.

“honey, did you speak to your parents recently?” his voice is always as soft as a feather when talking to you, even in the rare instances you argue.

you turn from the scrabble pieces and set your wine glass down, not minding the interruption to the cozy game when his voice sounded like that and his eyes looked at you like you were something so precious you could break.

“no, babe, why d’you ask?”

“you’re fidgeting like an hyperactive kid who hasn’t been put on ritalin yet lately.” his explanation catches you off guard in a way that you almost reprehend him saying his name in a high pitched voice and slapping his arm in between laughter. his smirk shows you just how accomplished he feels that he made you laugh like that.

aaron takes both of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and urging you to talk with him just by the way he looked into your eyes, eagerly waiting for you to vent about what was making you so restless.

“i haven’t told them about the engagement yet. i want to have them over for dinner, to share the news but they are so…” you sigh profoundly, looking up to the ceiling trying to finish that though in a way that made sense. “difficult.”

aaron knows what difficult really means. it means patronizing. it means unsupportive. unwilling. unhelpful. it doesn’t mean unloving, but it means old fashioned in a way that it feels unloving. “we could have dinner in a nice restaurant instead, to ease up some of that pressure.” he suggests, always the problem solver.

“it would be perfect, handsome, but we did that last time…” your voice trails off, laying your head on his lap, urging him to gently pass his fingers through your hair by that act alone, cozying up to him in an attempt to ignore the problem at hand.

hotch follows your lead, not forgetting to place a kiss on your forehead, but also, not letting the problem go. “and my dear future mother in law will start dropping hints again that we don’t want them here.” you nod quietly. “alright. don’t call. text her inviting them over with the details. less talking.”

you groan, “she will complain about that too…”

“once they’re here.” he kisses your forehead, “so it’s only one,” and your nose, “night,” your right cheek, “of,” your left cheek, and you’re already grinning like an idiot, holding in your laughter at his boyishness, “complaining.” aaron finishes, brushing his lips against yours. you nod and pull your head up slightly, finally connecting you two in a sweet slow kiss.

you get your big girl pants on after a delicious making out session with your fiance, the scrabble pieces long forgotten as you gulp down your whole glass of wine and pick up your phone. his hair is messy, his cheeks are flushed and he grins at you with reassurance pouring from his sweet eyes as you send your mother the text, throwing your phone back to the table before seeing a response and going back straight to his arms.

he made it easier, always. helped you sort your feelings out, helped you find out the less stressing way to solve your problems. it was a joy to have him, to watch how he talked to jack and see how it should be.

more often than you would like to admit, you caught yourself thinking wow my parents would not let that slide, and then you would be faced with the reality that they were in the wrong, not aaron.

you talked to him about it once, asked how could he be so sweet and so effortlessly so to jack, his answer came quickly, no hesitation: jack had lost enough, losing his trust on his dad was not something aaron would let happen, he didn’t want jack to go through what he had as a child.

then it clicked to you once more, how you would never want to treat your hypothetical children like you had been treated too.

you try not to think too much about these things too often nowadays, but even as you laid on aaron’s chest and felt his fingers lightly, softly, trace designs on your skin, now all you could think about was the damned dinner.

your mom wasn’t too judgy when it came to what you cooked, your dad was and annoyingly so, always had some remark about what would have made the food better, just like he did to your mother back home.

so first thing you did the next morning was think through all dinners and remarks and find something you could do following his tips to lessen the complaining, aaron’s idea, of course.

“he always says my lasagna is delicious but too dry,” you mumble to yourself, but not really, you have your earphones on and aaron on call, in the office doing reports he was able to entertain you as you picked up ingredients for extra sauce.

you can hear him smiling, the sound of his aggressive pen on paper stopping for a second, “even rossi loves your lasagna, it is delicious. just give your father a bowl full of sauce, he will be happier.” you snort and he goes back to his papers, satisfied to have made you laugh through the stress.

gathering the rest of the ingredients is easy enough, you’re already used to the grocery store’s layout and setup, you keep him on the line either way, a tradition you both kept whenever you were doing monotonous tasks, even when he didn’t speak, listening to his breathing, the shuffling of papers and his pen quickly making work through all his reports made you smile, calmed you down.

hotch thought it was silly at first, but quickly warmed up to it when he heard you softly, secretive so, humming songs to yourself as you worked on your own reports, or went shopping, not to mention how adorable he found you to be when you forgot he was on the line and jumped scared as he spoke something.

most of all, he loved being immersed in a paper trail and being surprised by a hey i love you right in his ear as if you were there.

it pained him to know how much of yourself you tried to mute down to please your parents when he loved every single tiny piece of what made you… you.

hotch excused himself from the call to talk to rossi just as you were about to go back home, satisfied you convinced him to get rossi’s sauce recipe.

“hers is great, why does she need mine?” rossi sound almost exasperated, as if hotch himself had said something about your cooking. he is quick to reassure that’s not the case and explain how you’re trying to please your father, dave doesn’t seem that much happier about it, always pleased with the dishes you made for dinner parties at his mansion, but he still takes his phone and sends you a voice note explaining each step of his homemade tomato sauce. “anything else?”

“i need a favor as well. i’m gonna need the next weekend off for this.” hotch begins, he knows rossi would never mind that, no one would, in fact most people from the bureau agreed he needed time off. “i know myself enough, i need to be completely off, no calls, no briefings.” he’s learnt his lesson from too many past mistakes, if he knows the case, if he knows the team needs him, he will be putting his job above anything else, aaron can’t afford to do that anymore, so he prevents it.

his left thumb rubs the side of his index finger, his way to calm his racing thoughts, just the possibility of ruining this dinner has him anxious, this little habit of his was something he hadn’t even noticed he did before he met you. it was one of his tells and he never realized before you took his hand in yours and looked sweetly into his eyes saying you’re stimming, what’s wrong? in the softest tone he had ever heard anyone speak to him.

you were always quick to notice if anyone around you didn’t feel well, always a caretaker, it was a sight to take in and a pain to prove you so, being seen as selfish your whole life at home.

that day he got home late, jack was doing his homework with your help while you worked on a few things on your laptop—a presentation you needed to finish soon as possible to get the next friday off.

his office had become a shared office with your help, a u shaped desk where both of you could work being one of the first changes you made to it as soon as you moved in, it was perfect and it gave jack space to sit close to either of you when he needed help.

the sides faced the walls while and front faced the window where you and jack sat, focused, it gave hotch time to lean in the door frame and watch you both.

“i’m not sure about that one, jack-jack…” you stop typing to read the question in his book again, impressed with how little you remember of school math. “if i google this up, promise not to tell your teacher?” aaron clears his throat at the question, catching your attention and making you laugh: caught in the act.

“no google, buddy, sorry.” jack scrunches his nose at his father’s ruling out, a loud groan coming from his pre teen little voice.

“told ya we should have started this earlierrrr—“ you tease the boy, insinuating you two would have been able to find the answer online without his dad knowing then, you ruffle his short hair softly, loving the endearing smile he always gives you when you do that.

his smile quickly turns into a yawn, the weight of the time stamped on aaron’s watch getting to jack’s eyes, “i’m sleepy.”

“‘you can finish tomorrow, let’s get you two to bed, buddy.”

hotch picks jack up and the young hotchner is nothing but a ball of giggles, always saying he’s too big for that now, but obviously still loving the attention.

“enjoy while you can, jack-jack, your old man is not getting any younger.”

“yeah? i’m carrying your ass to bed soon too, my back can handle you both for years still.” you and jack both laugh at him. it’s always almost as if a harsh mask melted when he got home, in its place would remain his soft features and the bickering you loved so dearly.

it was warm. and kind. even when he came back home stressed, you never had to worry about accidentally setting him off or saying the wrong thing. it was a completely different dynamic than what you were used to.

it takes a few minutes for hotch to come back, but he comes ready to make true of his promise, hands straight to your waist to carry you, tickling his way into your defenses, he laughs at your laughter and at how easy you melt to his touch. “i’m just finishing this up, babyy—“ your voice is purposefully whiny, pouting at him and getting a kiss in return, “go eat your dinner while i do it, i heated it up when i got your text!”

he stops trying to pull you up his shoulder or around his waist then, the look he gives you then reminds you of why you fell for him: sweet like caramel, always betraying his known frown.

aaron looks at you like every act of kindness you do makes him fall in love again, and it does. he traces your features with his thumb in silence, the mix of his calloused fingers and the softness of his actions makes you sigh, leaning into it.

“i love you. i love our little family.” he kisses your forehead and leaves you to your presentation before you can even reply, before you can’t even tell him the two hotchner boys are the first healthy family you’ve ever been in.

you don’t even mind your dad complaining about your lasagna having way too much sauce the week after. aaron eats for the both of them, compliments every single decision you made while cooking.

the second your mother tells you you’ve been gaining weight, aaron replies with a simple “if anything, we’re both getting bigger and happier.” a squeeze tight to your knee, stopping you from tearing up at how that was the only thing your mother did notice.

they seemed happy about the engagement, but not too sure you’ll be able to care for him and his child as they needed to be cared for. you’re forgetful. you’re not maternal. you worry about work too much.

you’re not even sure how good news could lead to such rambling about your flaws but again, before you can either cry or lose control and yell—aaron comes in, his soft smile being completely betrayed by his furrowed brows and stern tone. he’s trying to be polite. “we take care of each other well, and together we care for jack. it works. we work.”

it’s simple but effective, what he wants is to shield you, to tell them how lucky they are you grew up as kind and hardworking when all they did was bring you down and doubt your feelings and your dreams.

he wants to show them drawings jack made of you and essays he wrote about his family.

but for now he settles on being polite. there’s still the whole wedding preparation and the actual wedding to go through. he has time to do all that. right now he just makes sure to show you and them how much he supports you and how nothing they can ever say will change how he sees you.

at least he’s glad his mother is dead, one less problematic in law to deal with.

he snickers when he secretly whispers you that and you’re sure this is the family you were born to be after all, it just took you a little while to find it.

#lari writes sometimes #lari march hotchness #marchhotchness #just about a month late #i was going to write the whole dinner then i was like you know what #no need #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

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just started the punisher & absolutely in love with how you write frank castle. i’m already a huge simp and NEED a bodyguard!frank x reader fic where the reader gets a lil tipsy & likes to run away from him? ofc she runs into trouble with other guys at the bar and immediately regrets losing frank but he comes in at the right time?

if not i totally understand and will continue to binge all of your fics!!

-thor ✨🥰

thor!!! my sweet sparkly angel baby god of thunder!!! ✨

you're so PRECIOUS. thank you so much, and thank you so much for the request. I can't believe I hadn't thought of bodyguard!frank before like...you're a genius. I left this one kinda open ended bc I wasn't sure exactly what kind of relationship we were going for between frankie & reader, so I kept it subtle BUT as always, if you want more just let me know. 😏 ❤️

warning: contains violence and mentions of blood (frankie is the punisher after all), swearing, mentions of alcohol, & mentions of harassment (if this makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to skip!) word count: 3k

it's my job.

[next chapter] | [series masterlist]

You should’ve listened. He told you to stay close. He told you not to have that sixth drink. He told you to stay where he could see you. But you didn’t listen.

Why hadn’t you fucking listened?

Because he frustrated you. Because he was all stone cold gazes and silence. Because he ignored you like he was paid to do that instead of protecting you. Because his eyes were always over you or around you, but never on you.

Because you had a school girl crush on your body guard and you couldn’t figure out why.

Well, you knew part of that why. He was incredibly handsome in a rugged way. He was big and broad and looked like he could snap you in half with his bare hands if he wanted. You’d seen him crack a smile once, not at you of course, but another one of the guys that was assigned to you, and God was it beautiful. It softened his face in a way that made you stupid, and that was probably why you had made the dumbass decision that you had.

You weren’t a damsel in distress by any means, but you’d certainly play the part if it meant Frank Castle was coming to your rescue.

The plan was simple. Slip away from Frank at the bar, find a random guy to flirt with, wait for Frank to find you, and finally be his center of attention. Simple, right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Frank had turned his head for one second, and you were gone, giggling to yourself as you pictured the pissed off look on his face. Were you being a brat? Absolutely. But as pretty as Frank was, he was also a huge dick most of the time. It was only fair to return the favor considering he had been driving you crazy for months now. Tipsy you had completely justified your actions, and you agreed with her.

It didn’t take long to find an unsuspecting player in your little game. He had a godawful smirk on his face that definitely wasn’t as attractive as he thought it was, and clearly screamed ‘no one’s ever told me no in my entire life’. That should’ve been red flag number one. His overconfidence was as nauseating as the sound of his voice, but you reminded yourself you had a game to win. You subtly kept glancing around for Frank, wondering what the hell was taking so long. All of a sudden, Jason…Jake…whatever the hell his name was-decided to invite his entire frat house apparently to crash your little party.

That was when the chaos started.

They all crowded around you in a corner in the back, completely blocking your view from the rest of the bar. You started to feel a little nervous, realizing that if you couldn’t see Frank, he couldn’t see you. That thought, along with the ravenous gaze in each of the men’s eyes, completely sobered you up. You didn’t like their lingering stares. You didn’t like how close they all were. This wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t a game. It was a mistake.

“I-I think I should go find my friend. Excuse me.”

“Whoa, where you going, princess? I thought we were your friends?”

The ringleader didn’t hide the path of his eyes as they traveled down your body, and it made you feel sick. His friends snickered as they moved in closer towards you, not bothering to hide their shameless gazes either.

“What, you don’t like us anymore?”

Think. Think. Think.

Don’t piss them off.

Play along.

Be smart.

You attempted your best polite smile, shaking your head slowly as you tried to find a gap between their bodies.

“Just wanna make sure no one sends a search party and ruins the fun. I’ll be right back.”

You tried not to move too quickly as you went to step between two of them, but a tight grip on your wrist yanked you backwards against an uncomfortable chest.

“Why don’t you just text them later. C’mon, don’t be difficult.”

There was a fear bubbling up in your chest and your throat felt tight. God why hadn’t you just fucking listened to Frank? Where the hell was he? You just wanted to go home. You sent a silent prayer up to whoever was listening that you’d never do anything stupid like this again if you could just go home.

“You’re hurting me.”

You winced, not from the weakness in your own voice, but from the harsh orchestra of laughter at your words. You felt like a lamb trapped in a circle of wolves. The horrid feeling of the man’s hand caressing your face caused your fingers to tremble, whimpering slightly as his hand gripped your jaw tightly when you tried to turn away from his touch.

“What’s the matter, princess? Don’t like it rough?”

“Frank?!”

If he couldn’t see you, maybe he could at least hear you.

“That’s not my name, baby. Don’t worry, we can practice you screaming it later. I promise, it’ll be the only one you remember after I-”

A high pitched yelp rang loudly in your ears and it took a couple of seconds to realize that it came from the man that was grabbing you. Blinking a few times, you stared dumbfounded as you realized Frank had pinned his arm behind his back in a very painful looking position and had slammed his face into the closest wall.

“You put this fuckin’ hand where it don’t belong again, and I’m gonna break it. You got that?”

Frank must have done something to prove his point, because the man cried out as he furiously tried to nod his head that was trapped against the wall.

“Fuck…y-yeah, yeah I got it! Just fucking let go!”

As Frank released him and took a step backwards, the man fervently turned around, ready to strike until he took in the look on Frank’s face. There was pure fear in that man’s eyes, and you could’ve sworn you saw him gulp as he quickly took a step backwards. He looked comically small compared to Frank. It fueled something within you to see him look so small and fragile. Frank turned his head slightly to shoot a warning look to the others, one they quickly responded to by taking a step back and holding their hands up in surrender.

Shooting one last glare to the ring leader, Frank finally turned around to face you. A shiver tumbled down your spine at the fury burning in his eyes. He was pissed.

“You alright?”

The tone of his voice was so harsh and gruff it almost hurt your ears, having the complete opposite effect it normally did. You brought your trembling hand up and held your wrist against your chest, trying to ignore the sting of pain you felt as you cast your eyes downward and nodded.

You jumped slightly when you felt the warm weight of Frank’s palm on your arm, noticing the way his face fell ever so slightly as he recognized the terror in your eyes. He gave your arm a gentle squeeze, nodding his head towards your wrist.

“Lemme see.”

If Frank was pissed before, he was fucking enraged now. Allowing him to hold out your wrist to inspect it, his jaw immediately hardened when he saw the faint outline of fingerprints blooming on your skin in light shades of maroon.

“Fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Before you had a chance to stop him, Frank’s fist was colliding with the man’s jaw, causing you to wince as you heard it crack like thunder across the sky in a violent storm. You could hear one of his ribs shattering like glass as Frank landed a powerful blow to his chest, grunting as he dragged him back up by his collar.

“Thought you liked it rough, huh? You pussyin’ out on me now?”

The man feebly tried to push at Frank’s chest to create some distance. He would’ve had better luck trying to knock down a brick wall with his bare hands. His friends stood stunned in place by Frank’s wrath, paralyzed with horror as their fearless leader sobbed and pleaded for mercy.

“You like putin’ your hands on women, yeah? That make you feel big? Make you feel like a man?”

Frank’s voice boomed in your ears the louder he got. There was a frenzied look in his eyes, and you’d lost count of how many times his fist had collided with various parts of the man’s body.

“Frank, please.”

Frank’s unrelenting fist paused midair at the sound of your voice, head snapping in your direction. He wasn’t going to stop unless you begged him to. You could see it in his eyes.

“I wanna go home. Please, Frank. Please take me home.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw as he glanced between you and the man whose bloodied face was now unrecognizable. Grabbing onto his jaw roughly, the man whimpered as a fresh stream of blood leaked from his mouth. Frank leaned in close, staring directly into the eye that wasn’t swollen shut as he growled lowly.

“You ever come near her again, or I hear anythin' ‘bout you putin’ your hands on another woman, I’ll fuckin’ make you scream. And it’ll be the last goddamn thing you do. You got that?”

Frank didn’t wait for an answer. He swiftly guided you out with his hand on your lower back, ignoring the horrified looks from everyone as they parted for him like the red sea. The slam of the passenger door caused you to jump, buckling yourself in with trembling hands as Frank sped out of the parking lot like a madman.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t face the rage on his face and the disappointment in his eyes. One glance in his direction had you immediately turning away. His fist was coated in the man’s blood as it gripped onto the steering wheel, crimson almost gleaming under the moonlight as it dripped down his wrist. You pushed it too far. You pushed him too far.

The entire drive home was silent. You desperately wanted to get out and get away from him. How were you ever supposed to look at him again? He was probably going to quit after what you did. How could you have been so reckless? So stupid? You stared at your reflection in the side mirror.

Well, you got what you wanted.

As soon as his truck pulled into the driveway you were unbuckling yourself and dashing out towards the front door. Your fingers trembled as you struggled with the lock, heart thrashing in your ribcage hearing Frank’s heavy boots pounding angrily against the concrete. He silently reached around you to grab the keys, turning the lock and shoving the door open angrily as you rushed through the threshold.

His large hand caught your arm before you could disappear into your bedroom, spinning you around quickly as he stared down at you furiously.

“Why do you gotta always be so goddamn difficult? Why can’t you just do what the fuck I ask, when I ask it?”

“Frank-”

“You are a fuckin’ relentless pain in my ass, you know that? You got any idea what coulda happened to you? What they woulda done? Is that what you want?”

“No, I-”

“Because that woulda been on me. Somethin’ happens to you, it’s on me. It don’t matter that you’re a goddamn spoiled brat that can’t fuckin’ listen to save her fuckin’ life, it’s my ass. You get that? Or are you so goddamn selfish, you can’t see past yourself?”

He was right. You knew he was right. You had been selfish. You could’ve gotten yourself seriously hurt, or worse. You could’ve gotten Frank hurt or worse. And for what? Because he did his job too well? Because he wouldn’t entertain your bullshit? A lump of regret caught in your throat and you could feel guilt brimming along your waterline. You were a selfish, spoiled brat to him. That’s all he saw you as, and would ever see you as, because that was all you had proven to him. He probably hated you, and that thought alone is what finally broke you.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-I wasn’t thinking. I was being stupid. I…I was being selfish. If you hadn’t been there…I don’t…I can’t…”

You shuddered as you thought about how that sentence would end. You didn’t even wanna think about it. You realized in that moment how complacent you had gotten because of Frank. He was always there. The thought of someone getting past him never even occurred to you. There was never a chance for anyone to get too close to you until you created one.

Frank paused his irritated pacing, his face softening as he heard the remorse that cracked through your voice. Your hands were trembling as you choked words out through your heavy tears, and for the first time that night he thought about how scared you must have been. He glanced at the bruises that marked your wrist and let out a deep exhale through his nose. You were a pain in the ass, but he knew you hadn’t intended for tonight to happen. You could be careless sometimes, but not enough to put yourself in that situation.

Frank took a few cautious steps forward, placing his hands delicately on your shoulders.

“Hey, breathe. Everythin’s alright, yeah? You’re home. You’re alright. Just…breathe for me, sweetheart.”

“I’m so sorry, Frank-”

Frank let out another deep sigh as he pulled you in close, hugging your head against his chest as he gently rubbed your back.

“Hey…hey, I know. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. Look, it’s over, yeah? Don’t matter anymore. Just focus on breathin’ for me.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt, and I-”

Frank pulled back slightly as he cupped your jaw delicately, searching your eyes with confusion knit between his dark brows. It felt drastically different than when that man had grabbed your face earlier. Frank’s fingers were rough, but they were soft as they touched you. Frank would never hurt you. His full lips were pursed in almost a pout as he searched your eyes, and it was the first time you were able to look at them so closely. They were a breathtaking shade of chocolate brown, and looked so different when he wasn’t angry. His entire face was different when he let that brooding mask slip.

After a beat of silence, the edge of his mouth curved in the tiniest of smirks as his eyes lit up with mischief.

“The hell you worryin’ ‘bout me for? I’m the one protectin’ you, ya’know.”

“I don’t make that easy.”

“No, you don’t.”

There was a somewhat playful tone to the normal edge of his voice. He was trying to make you feel better, but you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“And I could’ve gotten us both hurt because of it.”

Frank had expected you to banter back with him. You always had some smartass comeback ready to fire, and he secretly enjoyed it. But the dejection in your voice made him worry he’d been too hard on you earlier. A bigger part of him was nervous that he’d scared you in the bar, and that gnawed at the pit of his stomach.

“Have I ever let a single thing happen to you?”

“No, but-”

“Do you think I ever would?”

“No, but Frank-”

“Good. My job is to protect you. I don’t need you worryin’ ‘bout me, sweetheart. I can take a lot more than you give me credit for. What I do need is you to worry ‘bout yourself, and listen. I don’t tell you shit to be a hardass or try to control you. It’s to keep you safe. You got that?”

“Yes, Frank.”

“So, we understand each other now? You gonna start listenin’?”

“I will, I promise.”

“Attagirl.”

Frank granted you a miniscule smile as he wiped a stray tear away from your cheek, and a tiny surge of pride flowed through you at his praise. You wanted more of that. You gently wrapped your hand around his wrist, finding yourself unable to break his mesmerizing gaze.

“I don’t ever want anything like tonight to happen again.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I was really scared, Frank.”

“Did I scare you?”

Frank’s voice was quieter as he voiced his inquisition, and you could hear the vulnerability laced in it. You quickly shook your head, holding onto his wrist a little tighter.

“I wasn’t scared of you, Frank. I never have been. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to find you. That you wouldn’t be able to find me. That I…might never see you again.”

“I’ll always find you, sweetheart. I promise.”

You thought you liked how your name sounded coming from Frank’s mouth, and God you did, but sweetheart…yeah you liked that much better.

“Frank-”

“Go get some sleep. We’ll talk in the mornin’.”

“Are you leaving?”

Frank quirked one of his brows as he looked at you, a smile ghosting over his mouth so fast you had to convince yourself you hadn’t imagined it.

“Kinda defeats the purpose of body guardin’ if I ain’t here to guard your body, yeah? And since someone can’t manage to keep herself outta trouble, can’t really take any chances.”

Something about that sentence had heat violently spreading across your cheeks, and traveled very far downwards. You nodded your head quickly, trying to will your brain to remember how to speak as you cleared your throat.

“Right…um…guest room is-”

“Across from yours, I remember.”

“Um…goodnight, Frank.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

You flashed him a tight lipped smile, trying to gather yourself as you turned around and headed towards your bedroom. What a fucking night. As you opened your bedroom door, you paused for a second and turned around, only to find Frank still in the same spot you had left him, watching you closely. He turned his body to face you expectantly, cocking his head slightly to the side in question.

“Thank you.”

Frank’s hand twitched slightly as his side, giving you a slight nod.

“It’s my job, sweetheart.”

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle request #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher request #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series

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ahoycaptainautumn · 8 months

Text

Fated Mates Part 2

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

You find yourself confronting Astarion on the whereabouts of a certain vampire, but get more than you bargained for.

Summer kissed winds whistle around your party as you continue to trek forward. The nearest town was still some many miles away according to the ancient wooden sign you saw ways back on the dirt path you’ve followed. You had all come to the agreement that there must be someone, somewhere, who knows what those things were and how to treat the parasite they implanted in all of you. The team couldn’t be more different and strange if you tried. Personalities instantly clashing and fights already broken out. You maintain peace as best you can, somehow the unspoken leader of the rag tag group. You warm to most of the members, all but the cold blooded one. There was no mistaking what those eyes were. The way his canines came to such a point. You’ve met enough of his kind, with swift justice making them meet their end. Not one of them had gotten you any closer to who and where the vampire who had killed your family is. You planned to be asking Astarion similar questions once his guard was down and camp was set. That time should be coming here shortly, the sun beginning its turn down for the evening as it crests over the mountains in warm orange light. Thankfully you and the rest of your party had found left bits and pieces of gear along the trail to put together a semblance of a camp. Even lucky enough to buy or swindle for more when passing fellow travelers or merchants. Astarion had somehow charmed a group of travelers into a lavious camping set, the lucky bastard.

The tranquil sounds of a river flowing fills your ears and your stomach can’t help but grumble at the thought of the seafood within it. The others must think the same as you as you all come to a standstill locating which direction the sound comes from. You lead the group through the brush off the path keeping an ear for the sound of lapping water getting louder. Under fallen trees and several berry bushes you find a quaint clearing near said river. The surrounding trees give much needed shade with limbs of long forgotten trees placed nearly in a perfect triangle in the center.

“Perfect!” Karlach rejoices, throwing her camp gear on the ground with a thud. Everyone shakes off the equipment they’ve so far gotten and make way to prepare the space for the night. Astarion flanks your side silently, his lips so close to your ears you can feel his breath on your neck.

“Good job little killer.” A tingle shoots straight up your spine and shakes out through your shoulders. You scowl and side step, ready to remind him of personal space but he’s already moved and gone to set up his tent. You bite your lip in frustration and choose to not follow behind him. He would be hearing from you very soon regardless.

—-----------

With dinner settled in your stomach and water in your canteen you felt like a brand new person. A fire roared in the middle of the logs as you all enjoyed the warmth of the fire against the cool night air. You passed time seeming to absentmindedly twiddle pieces of wood, small but necessary stakes easily hid under clothing. No one seemed to pay it any mind. People were now drifting in and out of the warm campfire, most calling it a night. You feigned the same, cuddled into your sleeping sack. Truly, you kept an eye on Astarion and his comings and goings. If your assumptions were correct, he would need to leave camp soon to find someone or something to sink his teeth into. That’s when you would sneak into his tent and surprise him on his return. You peer out of one eye and find Astarion closing the tent he set up a bit away from the rest of everyone. Only the small crunch of branches alerts you that he has went off into the forest. You waste no time and jump out of the sleeping bag and head towards his tent. You do a double check around camp, sure that everyone is truly asleep. With a bated breath you break your way into his tent. A gasp escapes you as you take in the lavish interior. Soft fur pelts line the flooring with fluffed pillows and duvets littering the far corners. Black silk sheets are thrown over overly plush arm chairs. A long oak table with an ornate table cover littered with maps and quills sits to your immediate left. Dripping wax candles crowd every surface available to them. Your attention snaps to the sound of soft footsteps nearing the tent just outside. You curse yourself for even taking the precious time to gape at his grand belongings. You make the quickest and easiest decision and dive under the table. Just at that moment you hear his feet at the entrance and swallow your ragged breaths. You’ve got this, this isn’t anything new to you; you remind yourself. You register the polished shoes of Astarion enter inside. He makes a few steps into the tent and you ready yourself. You smirk at how easy this has become. Stupid vampires, so full of themselves, so naive and not even suspecting-

“Are you going to come out or do I have to drag you out?” Astarion asks in a bored tone. Your nails dig into your palms in frustration. Biting back every curse you can think you slink out from under the table and stand behind the vampire. He keeps his back to you as he reaches in front of his chest to undo the buttons of his shirt. Animal blood stains the front of his shirt, his first feed had made all civility lost on him. Savagery had taken hold of him and he felt that same fire now. For how it was going to be used was up to you.

“You know if you wanted a fun little night you could of just asked me little killer.” Astarion muses, mocking your new nickname. A cocky smirk graces his face as he juts his chin towards the pile of pillows in the corner. “That would make a much better spot than that dreary old table.”

You reach ever so carefully down into your boot where you had kept a stake hidden. Controlling your breaths, counting each one to zero in your focus you raise your weapon straight.

“I came here looking for answers, not to fuck.” You spit from behind grinding teeth. You remind yourself of the anger that fuels you. The revenge that fills your being and drives you.

“Oh darling, who says both aren’t possible.” Astarion keeps up, he cocks his head your way as he begins to turn to look at you. He’s met with the sight of your deadly stare and a sharpened stake directed right at him. All smugness wipes clean from his face as fury takes hold. “Smart little thing.” is all he gets out before you rush him. Your feet move quick, unnaturally fast, and bring you closer to him. Astarion swings to the side grabbing hold of your arm to further throw you into the tent. He brings you off kilter, stumbling forward past him. You correct yourself and pivot back. An alabaster hand flys forward and grabs the scruff of your shirt. His other hand reaches out to further grab hold. But you move and wrap a leg around his own and pull towards yourself. He loses balance and tumbles back a bit. Its enough to get his hand off of you and you use those precious moments to push off and towards him. Your fingers grip your stake and you raise it overhead. Astarion sweeps a leg out and catches your midriff. Oxygen explodes out of your lungs as you crash into the table. Astarion leaps onto you, catching each of your arms with his hands. He twists the stake out from your grip and seizes both of your wrists in one of his hands. The momentum has your back slamming into the oak beneath you. A hand pounds down next to your head as Astarion face comes a breath away from your own.

“Looks like your quite trapped.” Astarion snickers. His lips hover just over your own, breathes mingling in the small bit of space between you two. Hungry crimson eyes skim over you and find purchase in your biting gaze. Heat and anger passes in your shared stare. His canines shine in the flickering candle light as he brings himself inch by inch closer to your neck. Your throat bobs and you swear his eyes follow the thump of your pulse in your carotid. You can’t help the muffled squeal that barely escapes your full lips. Astarion hears it though and his malicious grin only grows wider. You push against the restraint of his strong grasp and wriggle on the hard table. His other hand comes to your throat and cold fingers swipe hair away from your neck. His thumb presses under your chin and forces your gaze up and over as his nose brushes against your cheek. Hot breath licks your neck.

His attention is now fully on his next meal and away from the threat that truly lies beneath him. Using core strength you fling your body upwards as best you can as you tuck your knees into your chest. Not a second later your boots find purchase on his chest and thrust him back as hard as you can. Astarion flounders back and trips over the discarded silk sheet lying on the floor. You push off the table hard and sink into a crouch. A second stake hidden in the opposite boot makes its appearance as you then jump on the fallen Astarion. You straddle him, a hand on his chest with the other pointing the stake right at his jugular. The point just kisses his ivory skin creating a small wound. He scowls at you, nothing but pure hatred gleaming through his eyes.

“Like I said, I have questions. And you are going to answer them Vampire.” You press. You see a small flinch of movement come from his hands and you warn him with jabbing the sharpened wood a little deeper into his throat. You tut at his attempts to move.“You are not my first nor last biter, so don’t try it with me.”

“But I would dare say I’m the most handsome.” He smiles. You have to fight the urge not to roll your eyes. He assesses his situation looking you up and down. Asserting you are a decent enough threat he stills his attempts at escape. “What’s your questions then?”

“I’m looking for a certain vampire. I have a score to settle. Names Cazador, where can I find him?” You ask. At the mention of the vampire Astarion’s face drops. A chill wraps the air and an unnatural stillness settles between the two of you. The temperature drops and you almost shiver. Astarion’s face is unreadable, a look of fright and confusion mixes on his face. Nails digging into the wooden weapon you lean into it, putting a bit of extra pressure on the device.

“Well? Anything to say blood sucker?” Your patience thinning. Astarion’s eyebrows scrunch together, trying to unwrap what you had just said to him. Surely he must of misheard you. There’s no way some stranger he just happen to meet would be asking about the Cazador. His old master. The slave owner. His personal horror.

“Cazador?” Asatarion can’t help but repeat. His brain refused to keep up with what was happening. His thoughts a run away train at the mention of his old owner.

“Did I stutter vampire? Now are you going to tell me or do I press this stake all the way through?” You seethe.

“Why?” The authenticity of his question makes your eyebrows raise. His face holds no mystery, just curiosity.

“Does it matter? He has spilled blood and I plan to return the favor. Now. Where can I find him? Once this tadpole situation is handled he’s my goal.” You press. Astarion takes a minute to ponder his situation.

“I’ll tell you where he is. For a cost. A tic for tac. See, if you want to get your hands on Cazador you are going to have to get in line. I have my own qualms with him myself. We could.. help each other.” He bargains. A feeling of mistrust burrows deep in your chest. No good came from vampire bargains. As much as you had high suspicions, this was the first time someone knew Cazador or was willing to go against him in giving away his location.

“And what do you want in return?” You ask. You back the pointed stick from his jugular and retreat your hands from him. Astarion brings himself up by the elbows to look you in the eyes.

“A debt to be collected at my choosing. Doing what I ask at that time.” Asatarion smirks. Curse the vampire, of course he would keep an open ended bargain. You desperately want to say no. To drive a stake in his unmoving heart and go on with it. But this was your first shot, maybe only shot, at finding Cazador. Letting a long breath out you level your gaze with his. You hesitate before responding.

“Are the rumors true? Bargains with vampires are signed with a kiss?” You timidly ask. It was something you had picked up from another traveler before. Someone who had run into their supposed fair share of vampires. A wide smirk stretches across Astarions face.

“My my, don’t you know everything. Now, do we have a deal?” You take one more deep breath and give a small nod. Astarions hand reaches up and wraps around your neck and twines within your hair. His other hand finds purchase on your hip and brings you closer to his chest. He lifts his face to yours as you gently bend to reach. Your eyes flutter close as Astarions lips press into your own. Lips mold perfectly together, as if they were created for this moment alone. A knot tightens in your chest. A soul grabbing lurch pulls you into him. It’s gravitational. World stopping. Like when your eyes had met for the first time the world seems to fall away from the both of you. Just as quickly as it had come, Astarion pulls from the kiss. You mentally recover from the way it gripped you so harshly. Chalking it up to the very anti-romance your life has led thus far. You swear you see astonishment in his features, but just as quickly it is gone.

“And whoever told you bargains are sealed with kisses was the biggest perv in all Faerun, but do thank him for me.” Astarion is all grins. A blush explodes across your face and down your chest. You feel red hot and immediately jump off Astarion as if he is made of fire. Astarion rises, flicking dust from his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You are the absolute worst!” You all but scream.

“Please, the flirting can only get you so far.” Astarion watches you fling yourself from his tent without a look back, hot anger palpable from you. Once you made your exit Astarion sinks to his knees with a hand quivering at his lips. He had a small suspicion when he met your gaze. The way the world seemed to standstill. That an immortal and ancient knot seem to tie at that very moment. But he didn’t think it possible. A rarity. Almost laughable really, especially for a spawn.

“Mates.” He whispers to himself.

Part one here

Part three here

#smut #reader insert #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 #bd3 #fated love #mates

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pedroscurls · 2 months

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second chances | pt. 3

Character(s): Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Summary: You and Marcus continue to get to know each other, but the feelings you both have for each other are becoming increasingly difficult to keep it at bay. Word count: 2.1k A/N: All the fluff, y'all!!! The next chapter will get a bit more deeper between these two, so stay tuned! (and also I just want to say that gif of Marcus - Pedro literally stares straight at the camera for a very brief second🫣) Warning: None. SERIES MASTERLIST - ultimate masterlist

It’s been a month since you moved in and you and Marcus have developed a morning routine. It helps that you both like to be up early and there have been a few times where he’d come over early enough to eat breakfast with you. You realize that you haven’t yet been inside of his apartment. Whenever you spend time with him, it’s always at your place and while you don’t mind, there is a bit of mystery to him that piques your curiosity.

He’s sweet.

He’s kind.

He’s thoughtful.

He’s handsome.

But every time you’re with him, you can tell he’s holding a part of himself back, like he has this guard up that makes it so difficult for you to get through. He only shows you part of himself that he wants you to see, but you don’t push him. You don’t ask for more than what he’s willing to share because you’ve been in his position before.

You’ve had your heart broken before. And it certainly isn’t the greatest feeling knowing that someone you loved didn’t choose you. Marcus doesn’t have to say the words for you to know that that’s why he’s holding himself back. There’s a longing in his deep brown eyes whenever he spaces out, but you never address it. Instead, you focus on just being there for him – with him – because while his guard is up, you’re open and vulnerable. You hope that it shows him just how comfortable and safe you feel around him.

—

It’s Friday night and Marcus finally gets home at around midnight. He’s exhausted and feeling burnt out. His workdays always start out great because he gets to see you. The routine you both established gets him excited every time he wakes up and he’s always eager to see what kind of outfit you’d be wearing for your class. You’re colorful, expressive, and he can just imagine how fun and engaging you must be while at work.

Marcus could hear you talk about how much you love your job and your kids for hours. Your passion for teaching is so clearly obvious when you talk about it because he always notices the way your eyes light up, how big your smile gets, and it’s infectious. He can’t help but always smile whenever he’s around you.

You’re also very different from Lisbon. When he lies awake at night, finding it hard to fall asleep, he compares you to her. He knows he shouldn’t, knows that even thinking about Lisbon always leads to more negative feelings, but he can’t help himself. Marcus had thought that his relationship and his feelings for Lisbon were real and after being married and divorced, he thought she was it.

He should have known better.

But when he thinks about Lisbon, you follow soon after. Sometimes at work, he will catch himself thinking about you just because Lisbon crossed his mind. Marcus isn’t sure what to make of it, but he knows that nothing could happen. Getting hurt again is a serious possibility if he were to take a chance with you and he isn’t sure that’s something he wants to risk.

Marcus gets off the elevator just in time to see you setting a foil-covered plate on his doorstep. You’re wearing a black and red plaid hoodie that’s so large it covers most of your frame. He smiles to himself and then clears his throat quietly, seeing you stand upright and turn around to face him.

“You know what time it is?” Marcus asks.

“It’s not a school night,” you point out. “I was just dropping off some food in case you didn’t eat dinner.”

He walks towards you and leans down to grab the plate. “What’d you make?”

“Lasagna. You will need to warm it up though. I made it when I got home from work.” You reply, looking up at him. “I just remember you telling me this morning that you were going to be home late and since I know you don’t usually cook when you have late nights, I just figured–” you bite your lower lip and realize that you’re talking too much. Again. But when you look up at Marcus, he’s still smiling in your direction.

“You wanna join me?”

“It’s a little over midnight,” you say.

Marcus chuckles. “Thought you said it wasn’t a school night.”

“It isn’t.” you blush.

“Well then, if you don’t have any other neighbors to drop dinner off to, I’d really like some company.” he teases with a wink.

“Hey!” you say with a quiet laugh. “You’re the only one. I promise.”

Marcus smiles at that and then unlocks his door. He steps inside and holds the door open for you, watching you step inside. He knows his apartment is clean, but he had been avoiding inviting you to his apartment because of how bleak it was. His apartment is just a place for him to get some rest and eat; it certainly wasn’t a home. At least not in the way your apartment feels whenever he’s there.

He turns the lights on and leads you to the kitchen. You trail behind him, looking around his apartment and biting your lower lip. It’s like you’re getting a glimpse into his life, a glimpse into what he doesn’t really show you. His walls are bare except for the paintings that you assume came with the place because it doesn’t really seem like it’s his style. His place is much bigger than yours, you notice. The only thing that does seem like he decorated or put thought into it is the bookcase that’s against the wall of his living room. You don’t get much time to veer off and see the variety of books he has displayed because the sound of him opening up a wine bottle catches your attention.

“How was your week?” Marcus asks, pouring two glasses of white wine and then unwrapping his plate of food to put into the microwave.

“Fun like always,” you grin. “But I’m ready for the weekend.”

“You have any plans?”

“Well, I am planning on going to Ikea or doing some shopping for the apartment.” You respond, lifting the glass of wine to your lips. “What about you? How was your week?”

“Busy. Tiring,” Marcus says. He doesn’t know what else there is to say about his job; it pays well, but he certainly doesn’t love it as much as you love teaching. “But I’ve got the weekend off, so it isn’t a school night for me either.”

Before you could even think about what you’re saying, you quickly blurt out, “Do you wanna come with me to Ikea?” Shaking your head to yourself, you bite your lower lip. “Sorry. I’m sure you have plans–”

Marcus turns to face you, having removed his leather jacket and now in his light grey t-shirt and dark jeans. “I’d love to.”

Your eyes light up with hope, with excitement and it makes Marcus smile. “Really?”

Marcus nods and takes the plate of food out of the microwave once it beeps that it’s done. He sets it down on the counter and leans against it, waiting for his food to cool down. “Yes, really. Besides, maybe you can give me some pointers about how to decorate my place. As you can tell, it’s very… bare.”

You can’t even hear what he’s saying because you’re staring so deep into his brown eyes that you feel like you could just lean in to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to just be in his arms. You want to be closer. You want to know what it’s like to have his lips on you, to feel his hands roam your body, to feel–

“You okay?” he asks, interrupting your thoughts.

“Sorry, yeah. I’m just excited.”

Marcus chuckles. “By the way, this needs to be addressed.” He then points to what you’re wearing. “What are you wearing? It literally covers all of you.”

You grin. “It’s called a blanket hoodie and it’s very comfy.”

Marcus looks at you from top to bottom, not bothering to hide the fact that he was obviously checking you out. When his eyes settle on your face, though, he notices the way your lower lip is between your lips and there’s a slight pink hue to your cheeks. You’re not looking into his eyes anymore and he gently reaches out and taps the back of your hand.

“It’s cute,” he says softly. “It suits you.”

You blush even further and look down at his hand as he pulls away. It’s an innocent touch, but it lingers and you find that you want him to touch you even more. Your mind drifts to very inappropriate thoughts as Marcus continues to eat.

“Yeah right,” you finally respond.

Marcus chuckles. “It is. Makes me want to get one. You think it’d look cute on me?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood and alleviate the tension that fills the air.

You smile to yourself and shrug a shoulder. “Hm, I don’t know. I think it takes a certain type of person to pull this off.”

He lets out another quiet laugh and shakes his head, finishing the rest of the food you packed for him. He leans against the counter and tilts his head. He had a particularly rough day at work, but you’re making it better. Marcus knows it’s late, knows that you both should be heading to bed, but he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

“You might be right,” he sighs heavily. “You don’t want me to out-do you.”

You feign a gasp and gently smack his arm, letting out a quiet giggle. It fills Marcus’s heart and he can’t stop staring at you. Your smile makes his heart flutter and the sound of your laughter filtering his home is something he wants to hear more of. It’s like you belong here. With him.

And as he’s looking at you, Marcus finds that his resolve is slowly slipping.

Because he wants so badly to reach out to you and pull you into his arms.

He wants so badly to feel your lips.

He wants so badly to just be wanted, to just be chosen, and you always look at him like no one else in the world matters.

“Maybe we can match,” you tease. “See who truly looks better in it.”

“It’s gonna be you,” Marcus blurts out. There’s a slight blush on his cheeks and his ears feel hot when you’re looking up at him.

“Are you flirting with me, Special Agent Marcus Pike?” you tease.

Marcus chuckles quietly and clears his throat. “You’re telling me that you don’t think you’re good looking?”

You shrug. “I think I’m okay.”

Marcus scoffs. “You’re beautiful,” he says honestly. “And if I’m overstepping–”

“Thank you,” you interrupt him. His compliment makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter even more and you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare up at him. You’ve had compliments before, but coming from Marcus gives you a different sensation than what you’ve felt before. “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” you wink.

Marcus smirks to himself and downs the rest of his glass of wine. “So, is this what happens when it’s past midnight and we share a bottle of wine?”

“What? We be honest with each other?” you laugh quietly. “We’re both just stating the obvious.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “We’re just two good looking people,” Marcus winks.

“Exactly,” you laugh quietly. You finish your glass of wine and look at the time. You really should get to bed, especially if you both plan on spending the day together.

“Call it a night?” Marcus asks.

You nod. “I think so. We should both probably try and get some sleep before we head to the store later.”

“Good idea. Thank you for the dinner.”

“Thank you for inviting me in,” you tell him.

Marcus leads you towards the front door and before he can open it, he’s caught off guard when you wrap your arms around him in a loose embrace. He stiffens for a moment before allowing his arms to wrap around you and he realizes just how much he enjoys feeling your body against his.

“Good night, Marcus,” you say softly. “I’ll see you later today.”

Marcus nods and gently squeezes you before he pulls away. “Good night. Looking forward to later.”

You step out of his apartment and walk towards your own. You look over at him and smile, seeing him lean against his doorframe.

“Just making sure you get home safe,” Marcus calls out.

Your stomach does flips at that and you want so badly to just run up to him, to be back in his arms. “What a gentleman,” you tease, opening your front door.

Marcus chuckles and nods in your direction. “Good night, angel.” The pet name slips and he turns around to walk back into his apartment before you could say anything about it.

You walk into your apartment and shut the door behind you. Letting out a contented sigh, you realize that your feelings for Marcus are only getting stronger.

—

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taglist: @nabiiturner | @aquanatalie

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #story: second chances

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