#it isn’t that I have no confidence in my writing. I know my writing will be different. I know my cake tastes brilliant on its own

[magnusbae]

Hi! What about "Can you stay with me?" (and if you'd like it my bonus prompt is "drunk") 💗

The initial draft was written while I was quite literally fainting late at night & the second one fully rewritten while I am dazed and out of it. I would say that I was method writing Obi-Wan who is indeed very much drunk in this one, dearest anon. Thank you for the prompt~ 😊💖

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Obikin || 4,004w || Drunk Obi-Wan is agonized by the prospect of his freshly knighted Padawan leaving him behind— and more. 😌 Some flavors of gentle lime in this drink, very light, very sweet. 🍋💖

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"Can you stay with me?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi sounds properly pathetic and he knows it. Grasping at Anakin’s Tabards as he is, mind swirling in hazy circles around the notion he was doing his very best to avoid thinking about for the past few months. It is not long now that Anakin would look at his Master and see him for what he really was. Perhaps even today. Inebriated as he is, he makes for a good serving of disillusionment. All Anakin needs to do is look, and see, and then…

It seems inevitable—his Padawan will leave.

Former Padawan. Anakin is no longer his Padawan, and that is the heart of it, isn’t it? The severed braid was the firs step. Them having each a battalion of their own, stationed light years away from each other with only the occasional joint mission, a second. The third and final step would be for Anakin to finally open his eyes and look, and see.

It won’t be hard to unveil the carefully crafted Jedi Master facade Obi-Wan had cultivated for the past decade. No, it won’t be hard at all. If Anakin were to stop glorifying him, stop shaping him to be what ever form of idol he had needed for while growing up, if only he were to take an unbiased look at him…

There will no longer be, Kenobi and Skywalker.

For the naked truth was, Anakin had outgrown him, had become more powerful and capable than his Master. There’s little left that Obi-Wan could still offer, still teach. He should be proud. The only one still refusing to see it, is Anakin himself. Once that revelation comes to pass however, it will be complete. A true break, as befitting the Jedi way. Obi-Wan finds no peace in the thought, no completion nor satisfaction in the successful completion of his Padawan’s training—a symbol of his own Mastery.

Not when it means losing him. Not then.

Given his state of drunkenness, words slurred and feet unsteady, he thinks that it’s worth putting to question whatever or not he was a good Jedi at all, least of all a Master. Try as he might, he finds it hard to ponder further. His choice to look inward is as always an avoidance, an escape. An easy detour from looking outward, from looking at Anakin. Anakin who’s eyes he can feel like a physical touch, boring into his very soul.

Obi-Wan’s avoidance is nearly as strong as Anakin’s natural magnetism. One is counseling him to avoid looking, save himself the pain of witnessing the exact moment in which the realization dawns upon the boy. The second, stronger still, demands his undivided attention on him, demands him to look. Demands him. 

Obi-Wan looks up, he meets those eyes, his demise.

Anakin’s eyes widen and he blinks, endless blue clearing as if coming out of some sort of shock.

“Can I—” Anakin splutters “—Obi-Wan, even if the council explicitly ordered me to go save the entire karkin universe just now, I wouldn’t be leaving your side— stars you’ve any idea what you look like right now?

Obi-Wan’s tongue is heavy but he parts his lips to answer, something clever to be sure, he always finds something to say.

“No, never mind.” Anakin cuts in before he could speak. There’s such decisiveness in his tone, such confidence. His former Padawan stands tall, his arms are strong and sure as he handles Obi-Wan closer, making him lean more of his weight against his chest. It’s broad and firm. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things, should not be aware of those things. It is a further evidence that his Padawan is well and truly grown. Further evidence of his own failing as a Jedi, as a Master, as a…man. Obi-Wan should not be inhaling and smelling home. Should not be leaning closer, itching all over for more, more.

“You’re so wasted that I am surprised you’ve even recognized me at all.” Anakin continues talking, as if the universe is not shifting beneath Obi-Wan’s feet as it is him who finally looks with his gaze unbiased. “The drunken messages though, those you will be seeing tomorrow” there’s dark mirth in that dear voice. “I bet you wanted to send them to— someone else.” Anakin glances at him, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan’s offenses at Anakin’s assumption he could ever not recognize him dies over under his gaze, dark and rich, his eyes are captivating. Before Anakin, he did not know that a blue can hold such multitudes. Both the clear morning sky, and the moon lit sky. Beautiful. They loosens his tongue as well as any truth serum would. That or the bottle he had finished on his own finally soaked through.

“I will always—”  His voice comes out so thick that he coughs, starting Anakin from his dark contemplations, whichever those might be. His eyebrows furrow and he quickly snatches a cup of something clear off of a passing robo-waitress’s tray. Irritated with the distraction, Obi-Wan accepts it and drinks if only to make way for the words to follow. He will not let it go. Not now that he’d started. “I will always recognize you, Padawan Mine, drugged, beaten, or otherwise preoccupied— I will always—” “Drugged?!” Anakin cuts in again, arms tightening around Obi-Wan and strangling the annoyed huff at being cut again “You did not mention anything about being drugged, what the kark’ Obi-Wan?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, similar to how being drugged would feel. His mind swims and all he sees is Anakin. There’s warmth in his chest, there’s a burn in his gut, there’s a tug in his— 

“It’s hard to tell” he says sheepishly, embarrassed, eyes straying away from Anakin’s strong jaw and up, up to the lights on the ceiling. He should not be thinking of how Anakin’s proximity is enough to replicate a strong drug. How out of orbit he feels around him as of late. “They all start the same, so…” 

Anakin is hardly listening. Instead he is surveying the club with a look of fury that is bordering on homicidal, freeing one hand to rest it on his lightsaber. There’s the distinct feeling of Anakin stretching his force signature out, covering the room, no doubt attempting to locate anyone within their proximity who might have dared drug his former Master. Oh if only he knew that he was the culprit all along. 

Obi-Wan snorts, finding an odd sense of humor in it.

Anakin’s gaze darts back to him, sharp and accusing. He looks so handsome under the colorful, dim lights. He looks so… 

“Ah-nakin.” Obi-Wan sighs out and shuts his eyes lest his spinning head forces him to sober up in the most un-jedi manner.  

“Stay with me,” the request comes so easy, what was it that he was so afraid of? It’s so easy, too easy. Frighteningly so, to reach and touch Anakin’s forearm. There’s skin beneath his touch, warm and human, tense muscles beneath. “Ah” Obi-Wan sighs out in realization. Anakin had rolled the sleeves, so very unofficial for a Jedi and yet so very Anakin of him.

Master Windu would have hated it. It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if this was exact reason why Anakin did it to begin with, after all, he was most adept to handling heat and was not bothered by it even while all else were. Obi-Wan really should have reprimanded the boy more often, should have stopped Anakin from executing all those harmless little vendettas of his while growing up.

If only he did not find them to be so endearing, so amusing. If only he was a better Master, a proper Master. He would have. 

His brain is foggy and he had already forgotten what was it it that he had hoped to achieve by touching Anakin, only that his fingers are circling his wrist and touching the spot at which he can feel his life pulsing. What a terrible habit it is, being intoxicated while negotiating. You should only ever drink enough to appear drunk, never more. How is he to get what he wants, when he has no ideas what it was? 

Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy when he tries to blink them open and focus on Anakin. There’s the signature frown, so familiar Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. Anakin is chewing his lips, a compulsion he had never managed to rid himself of. He looks torn between the need to locate and deal with the ‘enemy’, and…. Obi-Wan. 

The way Anakin looks, that should not be reminiscent of the targets Obi-Wan opts for charm as the main form of negotiation with. Should not stir the excitement of a hunt, of a game to be won. Obi-Wan should not use his looks to achieve his goals, he should not use them to get what he wants, he should be a better man than that.

Obi-wan is not a better man. 

Licking his own dry lips, he let’s go off of Anakin’s wrist and reaches for Anakin’s cheeks. There’s a tremble in the touch, his, Anakin’s? He is not certain. 

“Dear One, you can chase your enemies tomorrow.” He speaks in a hushed murmur, he hopes he sounds soft and alluring “Tonight, will you guard this drunk Master of yours?” he looks up, through his lashes, breathing shallowly, feeling hot, hot, hot all over. 

Anakin let’s go off of the lightsaber. It’s an answer enough to what he had picked. It still is deeply gratifying to feel the boy’s hand cover his own, guide it until he wraps his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. It’s an awkward angle, with Anakin being taller than he— he cares very little for it when Anakin wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s go.” He is tight lipped and determined, guiding Obi-Wan out and into a speeder that is parked not far off. If Obi-Wan was even slightly more aware, he’d realize just how much attention the pair of them had draw, how all of the eyes had followed them out. Sometimes he forgets, how famous they had become during this accursed war. Sometimes, he is glad to not remember. 

Anakin is terribly efficient at getting them to the Temple. One blink of an eye they’re flying through the busy highways of Coruscant, the next he is tossed unceremoniously onto a bed that feels and smells familiar. His bed.

They’re in his quarters. Their quarters until very recently. He is breathing harder and he does not dare to think of why. If he does not think, it does not exist. He is self aware enough only to feel how disheveled his robes feel on his body, how messy his hair is, how hot his skin feels all over. He is a mess. 

“Dear one?” he questions. He refuses to acknowledge how his own tone drops, refuses to admit he is rolling his vowels in a way he knows thickens his accent in the most attractive of ways. He doesn’t know why he is flirting with Anakin Skywalker when the boy is barely out of his knighthood and is Anakin. His Anakin, his Anakin on whom he just looked in a way he really should not be looking at, through his eyelashes, with a heavy, wanting gaze. 

The redness of Anakin’s cheeks is evidence enough that he hears and understands the situation well enough. That he is very much aware of what his Master is doing. That he is… perhaps affected. 

Obi-Wan swallows, trying to push himself up to his elbows. He needs to sober up, he must tell him that he is merely jesting, that it is all a little tease, a little laugh, nothing more, just….

Anakin cuts him to it. Before he can excuse, or joke, or explain.

“Not while you’re drunk.” Anakin bites, sounding frustrated, lips swollen red from biting. Obi-Wan startles, surprised. 

What did Anakin just say? Imply?

Blatantly threw straight into his face, more like. 

Yes, but not while he is drunk.

Absurdly, a swell of pride fills his chest to the brim. Anakin’s manners and chivalry surprises him, pleases him. He had raised him well after all, he did not fail him, at least not in this.

His pleasure must bleed into the Force as Anakin regards him with a dark, baffled look. It’s so dark, most would find it intimidating, but for Obi-Wan it’s… dear. He can see the gentleness in that look, the care. There’s warmth in the force when Anakin insist on tucking him in, fingers methodical in the short, careful gestures. Tucking him in as if he was a child. Him, his Master. Former. 

Obi-Wan was tucked in only once in his lifetime, at least as far as he can remember. His first night in the Jedi Temple. So tense he was, so out of his depth, that the he was taken pity of, tucked in with a quiet promise of everything making sense soon. It helped.

It had never happen again. 

“Ahnakin.” he tries to protest, tries to pull a face of offended indigence. It’s hard to do when he is practically shining within the force. A single look from his apprentice is enough to quiet him down. 

“Master.” Anakin replies, and there’s a little eyeroll there. His cheeks are still flushed but he seems as determined as Obi-Wan to not address the Bantha in the room. “You really should be more careful” he lectures him in a way Obi-Wan can distinctly remember doing a few years back, when Anakin had gotten drunk for the first time. 

He leaves then, without a word. Obi-Wan’s throat closes and there’s a pang of pain in his heart. No this. He remembers now. Him. Leaving. That was the whole reason, that was why—

“Master?” Anakin sounds concerned, a glass of water and a container of what looks to be painkillers in his hands. “Are you sick?” a few strides and he is by Obi-Wan’s bed again, placing he glass and container at the bedside table. He looks well and truly worried. 

Unthinking, Obi-Wan sits up. So sudden that he does feel sick from the motion. He ignores it. He reaches for Anakin’s face with both hands, cupping his cheeks with a grip that is too strong, too desperate. A Jedi should not hold onto things with such fervor. 

All it takes for him to lean is to Anakin, is to stop resisting if only for a moment. Anakin’s pull was always there, stronger and stronger until it had become a daily challenge to ignore it, to pretend he does not feel it. All it takes is to stop resisting and his lips find Anakin’s, pressing against that plush softness, inhaling his exhale and finally, finally feeling anchored, inside the orbit he was always meant to circle.

He tilts his chin, leans in, knowing his beard will scratch pleasantly against the smooth jaw, kisses in deeper—

“Mahster—!” Anakin gasps into the kiss, a pang of shock and uncertainty clouding the force around them, sipping through the open nerves of their broken bond.  He does not want to take advantage of his Master, does not want him to end up hating him, does not want him to wake up and be disgusted, appalled— but he wants, he wants so badly. 

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan breathes out, unsure if it’s endearment of relief that fills him up with warmth, with lightness. One thing he is certain of, no one had ever been, or will be, as sweet, as kind, as dear as Anakin is to him. “I could never hate him.” There’s a drunken lisp to his voice, he needs a moment to correct himself. “You.” He manages, meeting Anakin’s eyes and not blinking, not wanting to miss a single moment. Wanting to see the exact moment in which Anakin realizes he is serious, that he is the most honest he’s been in years. 

Anakin seems to be realizing it too, his eyes widening and cheeks coloring a deeper red than before, he bites his lip.

“I might be…” Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to Anakin’s lips and he thinks about… “intoxicated…” he forces himself to look up, away from temptation, away from sin. “Drugged, possibly.” He is still not fully certain if he is, or it truly is just Anakin with a touch of alcohol. “But I am very much aware that…” he smiles before completing the sentence, it widens so much further with the words to come “…my Padawan simply cannot take advantage of his Master…” there’s really no need to be using this many terms of belonging, especially when they are outdated and irrelevant, but he just cannot… “On the contrary, I am the one who should be deeply ashamed for…mnnn-” 

Anakin’s lips quiet him up, he was never a patient listener, never could hear his Master finish a thought. This is the most effective he had ever been at cutting Obi-Wan’s line of thought, by far. He kisses him in a way Obi-Wan would have never guessed him capable of— it’s soft, sweet, patient. A tender thing, careful, loving. Obi-Wan gasps. Thinking, dazedly of how Anakin will grow to be an amazing lover, so attentive, a beast holding back his fangs in favor of gentle lips… 

The thought sets a burning coil of arousal deep in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Not good. Beyond not good. He should…. 

The thought is present and yet he licks at Anakin’s lips, asking for permission. He is granted one without resistance, without hesitance. Anakin’s lips part and he can taste him and oh, oh. Obi-Wan groans, muscles tensing as he shifts to sit straighter, moving a hand to Anakin’s nape and pulling him closer.

He nearly chokes when the boy sucks on his tongue, arousal shocking him into near soberness. 

“Anakin…” he knows, there’s not enough alcohol in the universe to convince him that this is not going too far, he knows and yet… 

He kisses Anakin again, a little hungrier, a little more wanting.

He must stop this madness. To think that he had started it, to think that he had taken advantage of his trusting, sweet—

“No, Master.” Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan wonders just how much of his shields is truly left if his thoughts can be read so easily, so plainly. “You’ve asked me to stay, and I will stay.” That assuredness is back, firm and leaving no space for argument. This is the same man who leads men on a battlefield, who commands, who leads. Obi-Wan finds it impossibly, undeniably, devastatingly attractive.

“You will sleep.” Anakin decides then, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to gesture at the lights, turning them off with the force. “And I will stay with you.” His eyes land back to Obi-Wan, dark mirth dancing in what Obi-Wan can still see of him. “To keep you safe, Master.” He is teasing him, the little devil.

“How will it even…” Obi-Wan doesn’t want to mention how narrow the bed really is, Anakin would know, with his constant complaints about how leg room and… 

“Don’t worry about that.” Anakin answers, confidence so cocky, so boyish that Obi-Wan huffs a surprised laughter, breaking into giggling when Anakin practically falls on top of him. They struggle like that, laughter mixing, limbs tangling, hair in a mouth and fingers against sides— Anakin captures him then, they’re on their sides, Anakin’s back is firm as he pulls Obi-Wan all the way to himself, forming….

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan’s voice raises and breaks a little, attempting to wriggle out of the trap he inadvertently fell into. There’s still some pride life in him. He will not permit this Jedi Knight, his former Padawan no less, big spoon him, 16 years his senior and former Master. Force be his witness, he will not allow it.

Anakin makes a suffering, exasperated exhale when Obi-Wan manages to slip out of his grip— only to be yanked back by the force. All he manages is a choked gasp of protest before the air is knocked out of him, his back hitting a firm chest a little too hard. There’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction in hearing Anakin chokes out a surprised exhale too, clearly, he did not account for the impact being this strong.

“Karkin’ hell…” he hears the boy muttering and snorts out, laughing even while Anakin wraps his mechno-arm around him, pulling him back into the not-as-offensive as before little spoon position. Fine, he thinks. He’ll allow it, just for this one night…. 

His eyes close and he shudders when Anakin’s nose press against his nape, he can feel the slow, deep inhale— can feel the content exhale that follows. 

“Finally.” Anakin breathes out, as if he was waiting for this moment longer than the few minutes  just now. Like he needed it, himself. Like it was not Obi-Wan, pathetic and alone, messaging his former Padawan while drunk beyond reason that led him here, but his own needs, own wants. Like he needed this too, him. Like he needs him. Obi-Wan. 

“Oh Force…” Obi-Wan calls upon it without realizing, without meaning it. Only the force can stand witness to this moment, judge it, measure it. Guide him, tell him right from wrong. “Force.” His voice trembles with it, realizing for the first time that Anakin does see him, in truth, does and still…

“It’s fine with it.” Anakin remarks, nonchalant, amusement coloring the timbre of his voice. “You don’t have to shout at her, I don’t think she like it very much” Anakin refers to the Force differently every time, Obi-Wan suspects he does it simply for the joy of throwing off the younglings.

It unsettles Obi-Wan as well, he will not admit that much, though. Anakin’s connection with the force was always stronger, always different than anyone else’s. If he’s saying that the Force is not finding this offensive…. Obi-Wan will trust him. Anakin enjoys messing around at times, stretching the truth about how the Force works, but he’d never lie about this, not to him. 

Obi-Wan’s body relaxes so completely that he practically sags into Anakin, relief, so much relief. It feels…. Good. There’s rightness to it that even without the Force humming pleasantly in his ears, he’d recognize. Like sharing a sleeping cot in the war zones, minus the blood and gore and pain… it feels secure, it feels…good…. 

He feels himself being lulled to what he suspects will be a long and restful sleep. Such a luxury as of late. “Mnh..” He jolts a little when a hand moves across his side, resting at his hip bone and then back up to his side. He should not permit Anakin this much leeway with him and yet…. He likes it… oh he likes it.

So he doesn’t comment it, allowing him to continue, to stroke him and care for him, and hold him. He is not leaving. 

Sleep comes ease, as easy as an inhale. One moment he is aware of all that surrounds him, the scent and warmth, the weight and touch. The next he is sinking into the open embrace of rest. Distantly, he feels the touch of a Force Signature he knows as well as his own. It is the only half of it, after all. Accepting it, is as easy as breathing too. 

There’s a distant shift, even in sleep he can feel the bond snapping back into place, like moons falling into a familiar route, circling a singular sun. Maybe it was not Anakin who was the sun around which Obi-wan was revolving all along, but their shared….

#I realize that the smarted thing would be to revisit this one once I slept off this fever and actually give it a proper revision however-- #the force demands I post it here and now. #obikin #obikin fic #star wars #star wars fic #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #anakin #obi wan #sw fic #buns.w #buns.all #anonynous #msg #prompt filled #me:i'll do quick drabbles for those prompts #also me: so here's a thing i nearly fainted over because i forgot what drink and food was #i hope you enjoy this~ I didn't write Obi-Wan POV in a whiiiiilllleee I wanted it to be a push and pull of conflicting emotions and needs #Fair warning as mentioned before... I rewrote it almost completely from 2k to 4k without actually editing over the rewritten one #there might be some hefty mistakes there so you know ggs

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

would be so funny if after sirius and reader fuck for the first time, the next time he sees remus hes debriefing like they used to when they were younger and remus is like “you never change do you” but sirius goes “she’s different!” because she is 🤭 and then glimpses of how sirius and reader act together that make remus realise that his friend is indeed whipped, head over heels, long gone

my first ask 🙇🏻‍♀️‼️ thank u. i’m not super confident in writing dialog but i gave it my best effort lmao

from the moment Remus gets back to grimmauld place… he knows something’s up.

The air feels different, and Sirius is all but skipping around the house.

Remus quickly puts two and two together as it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s been going on. Sirius wears his emotions on his sleeve, and it’s been obvious from the very beginning that he has an interest in you.

After a meeting, Remus pulls Sirius to the side and sighs. “Really, Sirius?”

Sirius can’t help the smug little smile on his face. He knows exactly what Remus is referring to, but he likes to play coy, and the back-and-forth between them is always a bit of fun. “Something on your mind, Remus?”

Remus wants to roll his eyes. He speaks in a quiet but firm tone. “Must I spell it out for you? Do you think what you’re doing is appropriate?”

Sirius responds with a simple glance of his eyes. He locks eyes with Remus, slowly looks over to Tonks, and then meets eyes with Remus again. As if saying ‘You’re not one to talk’ without having to say it

Of course Sirius would know about that. Remus thinks bitterly. It’s sometimes easy to forget that Sirius is smarter and more perceptive than he lets on.

Not bothering to try and save face, Remus defends quietly, “That isn’t the same.”

“How so?” Sirius asks, knowing he’s already won the confrontation without even having to say much.

Remus could create a list of reasons as to why Sirius Black of all people shouldn’t be sleeping with one of the new order members. No matter the reasons why, Sirius was never known for committed relationships or monogamy.

But right now isn’t the time for this discussion. The meeting’s just ended and everyone’s rounding up for dinner. Remus sighs. “You’ll never change, will you?”

Remus thinks the conversation is done, but Sirius replies after a short pause. Remus is mildly surprised by how genuine Sirius sounds when he says “This time is different, old friend.”

Remus knows Sirius. He knows him better than anyone else. And he knows that Sirius won’t take this so-called ‘relationship’ seriously.

In Remus’s mind, he thinks that Sirius is just bored. He knows it’s hard for Sirius to be trapped in his childhood home, and having a pretty girl around is a good distraction.

Throughout dinner, Remus can’t help but steal glances at the two of you. He watches the way Sirius listens to you when you speak, his eyes never straying from yours.

After dinner, Remus watches Sirius as he makes you a cup of tea. Sirius adds a generous amount of milk and a small pinch of sugar as if he’s already memorized your preferences.

Then in the middle of the night, Remus rises out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. Whilst passing by Sirius’s room, Remus can hear bits and pieces of your late-night conversations. It’s difficult to make out your quiet mumblings, but it’s got something to do with life after the war and possible children.

Remus decides to stop pestering Sirius. Perhaps this could be a good thing in the long run

#i wanted to make it longer and REALLY show some fluff #but it felt like it was going on too long #idk why maybe it was just insecurity talking #sirius black #sirius black x reader #post azkaban sirius #post azkaban sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #ask

[yourfavouriteflowers]

I hear you! I’ve always been into Wolfstar because of their dynamics in the books, but their relationship is always bound to spiral into something toxic - Remus enabling Sirius, Sirius overshadowing Remus. Remus and James can have some balance! James would admire Remus’s kindness and Remus would admire James’s confidence. Ah I’m now a fan. Where do I start, literature-wise?

Hi! Yes, I know what you mean. I’m so glad you’re a fan. Unfortunately, since moonchaser is not the most popular ship there isn’t a lot of fics about them. I’ll look through my bookmarks on AO3 and find some.

Tracks in Our Hearts by starling011 - wolfstarbucks (Remus x James x Sirius) I know not moonchaser but I think this one is really cute nonetheless, 297,590 words, explicit, muggle and soulmate AU

fame and love by orphan_account - moonchaser, 18,128 words, teen & up. Remus plays oblivious and James, as a famous Quidditch player tries to woo him. I love this one so much.

Safe and Sound by orphan_account - moonchaser, 9,461 words, mature, muggle & modern setting AU. Deaf Remus Lupin and CODA James Potter, divorced James too!

laugh like a child and i’ll sing like no one cares by sometimesicri - moonchaser, 17,097 words, teen & up, muggle and karaoke bar AU. Lily and James break up in the first scene. Quite literally the fic that got me into moonchaser, I think they’re so cute.

I hope this is alright to get started. I recommend scrolling through the Remus Lupin/James Potter tag though, do make sure to check the tags! Looking under tags on tumblr is also great, lots of amazing writers. I’ll continue to write about them too, when I have the time.

#dead gay wizards #marauders #marauders era #writer #one shot #remus lupin #james potter #james x remus #moonysasks #remus x james #moonchaser #moonsun #wolfbucks #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic recommendation

[cinnamontails-ff]

Why this is the perfect cover for "Accountant's Guide"

Alright, folks! It’s been a week of coming to terms with my overflowing emotions regarding this beautiful piece of cover art for the Ukrainian translation of Accountant’s Guide, and I am ready to wrestle it all into an essay.

Spoilers for the story ahead! It’s been finished since September 2023, so either read it here or proceed at your own risk!

First off, a huge, huge thank you to Marko_Wowchok for taking the time to translate my work and of course, the incredible @razinbee for creating a cover that, quite frankly, I could see as an ad for the next Studio Ghibli movie. You are both so very talented and your love and care for my story is so, so appreciated!

Now, as for the piece itself: Let’s start with the choice of showing just their hands, clasped intimately atop a piece of paper. It’s something I never would have come up with in a million years, but it’s absolutely genius. There’s a sense of subtlety to it. It leaves room for imagination because you don’t actually see what they’re doing; it’s simply implied that they’re most likely going at it on the desk (again). I love this. Because while I wrote Accountant’s Guide as a romance (and it does contain explicit spicy scenes), my goal was always to write Astarion and Scarlett as partners first and lovers second. I am really not a fan of romance stories that rely on physical attraction alone. Basically, if the story wouldn’t work with both of them being ugly, it’s not for me.

Astarion and Scarlett come together as reluctant allies at first. Scarlett offers him a deal to take out Cazador together and Astarion agrees mostly as a way of keeping himself entertained. He does not believe for a moment that she might actually succeed and he is actively planning to throw her to Cazador’s feet at the earliest convenience. But simply by working together, they start to grow closer over time.

Scarlett is the first person in centuries to treat him like a normal guy™. She is a very practical person - she has to be in order to willingly cooperate with the man who’s led her sister to her death. And while she isn’t immune to his flirting, she ignores it because she is painfully aware that he’s way out of her league and nothing good can ever come from that. It is only when she starts to see his vulnerable sides that she develops feelings for him and he, in turn, for her. At this point, however, they’ve both already saved each other’s lives several times. She has fed him when he was starving and he has slaughtered a bunch of guards that interrupted his poorly planned heist/date idea. They know each other, trust each other, rely on each other – they are a team in every sense of the word. When they do eventually share their first kiss in chapter 13, it is a powerful scene (if I do say so myself), but it is also really just one more layer to the bond that they have cultivated over the course of many months. Showing their clasped hands and nothing else is such a fantastic way to visualize the depth of their connection. It is a gesture of companionship and trust as well as intimacy and romance.

Then there is the positioning of their hands: Astarion’s on top of Scarlett’s, his fingers pinning her down, while her fingers are splayed out helplessly - dare I say, ecstatically. It is a stunning representation of their romantic dynamic. Astarion is the experienced, confident sex god who usually takes the lead, while Scarlett hasn’t done a whole lot of things before meeting him and is generally happy to go along with whatever he has in mind. He is her first. He is the one who shows her everything her body can do and he is careful in taking things step by step, working her up from missionary to slightly kinkier stuff all the way to her sitting on his face in “Pocket Money”. His hand on top of hers, holding her and guiding her, is a beautiful depiction of that.

At the same time, I like how the tenseness of his fingers in contrast to her more relaxed posture indicates how much he clings to her. After two centuries of being Cazador’s slave, Scarlett is literally the first time Astarion has anything that is his own. She is his first genuine connection, a lover he’s picked for himself, as well as his savior in helping to break him free from Cazador. He is terrified of losing her, so much so that he even tries to convince her to let him turn her into a vampire, so she won’t die before him. None of that is a perfectly healthy relationship dynamic, mind you, but who could expect that from him after what he’s been through? She is his lifeline. His anchor. The one glimmer of hope in two centuries and this man is ready to eviscerate any vampire lord, spawn, or magic teacher (sorry, Gale!) who so much as threatens to come in between them.

I also want to shout out how the softness and subtlety of their clasped hands reflects how their relationship has to unfold in secret. The second half of Accountant’s Guide lives off the tension of them plotting their plan B while living under the same roof as Cazador, both of them bound to him in different ways. They are in his house, their every move under constant scrutiny by Cazador as well as his spawn, and one wrong step could be the end for both of them. Those are absolutely cruel circumstances to be building a relationship in. Astarion has to make up lies to Cazador as to how he has gained access to a more regular blood supply. He has to pretend to be disgusted with her, so Cazador will continue to send him to comfort her, not one of the other spawn. Scarlett has to hide her bite marks and (awkwardly) flirt her way out of Cazador’s attempts at getting closer to her. There’s a sense of powerlessness to their situation that makes the intimate scenes they get even more special to both of them. I am generally a fan of subtlety, a big proponent of “less is more”, and I couldn’t be happier with how this is conveyed in the simplicity of their clasped hands on the desk.

Finally, the ink and fountain pen. Fountain pens have accidentally become one of my defining characteristics as a writer and I am not at all mad about it. I love heroines who succeed through cleverness and tenacity rather than Strong Female Character syndrome™. When I designed Scarlett, I really wanted someone who would throw Astarion for a loop. Someone he’d have no clue what to do with, someone so different from him and his reality, her every word would cause a flood of error messages in his precious brain. I wanted someone down to earth, someone who would play off him and make all his silly lines sound even sillier - and I wanted someone who’d be able to free him from Cazador through nonconventional and meme-worthy means.

And so I made her an accountant.

I have spoken about this before, but I hail from a family full of accountants. My research for this fic was every single family dinner I have ever attended. I love the ridiculousness of defeating a vampire lord through tax fraud because it plays on the inherent arrogance of Cazador. He is immensely powerful, physically as well as in his social influence, but he, too, can be brought down by a very diligent, very detail-oriented accountant who can demonstrate just how much money he owes the government, thus motivating them to step the fuck up and put him behind bars. It’s the epitome of the (fountain) pen being mightier than the sword. Scarlett is a character who has been underestimated her entire life and she doesn’t really mind it because when the time is right, she knows she can brandish her fountain pen and show everyone what’s what. She has a very quiet, unassuming type of power about herself that I have seen in the many badass accountants in my family and I love how this is reflected in the fountain pen, the ink pot, and of course the infamous ink stains on her fingers. Scarlett does not care about the ink on her fingers – she cares about getting shit done. And I love her for it. And Astarion loves her for it. But he will use every chance he gets to tear her off her work and bend her over the desk because he is also absolutely crazy about her.

This piece is sexy without being graphic. It is beautifully intimate and soft, yet still holds that tension between the two of them with Astarion holding on to her as hard as he possibly can and Scarlett practically melting at his every touch. It shows how a very unassuming, very mundane pencil pusher went and took down the immortal vampire lord with nothing but her mind and her fountain pen (and, well, math magic). The simplicity of it all is what really kicks me in the gut, I think. Because their love is simple at its core. It’s inevitable from the moment they first strike their deal in chapter 4. They don’t have a lot of grand gestures or epic fight scenes (the only fight scene is largely taken care of by The Gang as Astarion is stuck to the floor and Scarlett goes one-on-one versus Laiara). Even their love confessions are quiet and unassuming. They just grow together in a way that has always felt very natural to me and then they hold on and weather it all together until they emerge on the other side, together.

This piece hits right into the core of my story and I couldn’t be happier to see something so beautiful emerge from what I have created. Thank you. I will treasure this forever.

- Cin

#my writing #geeking out over stunning fanart #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #bg3 astarion #astarion #cinnamontails

[luderailing]

Lat 🖋️

#I feel like the panels don’t really go together #and I realize some of the dialogue doesn’t make sense #but yknow….I’m just kinda proud to get something out #I feel like I had a long day haha #glad I was still able to draw something #and this wasn’t really related to anything. I just like doing these with characters #random comic strips/writing scenes #helps me get to know them better I think #I realize my blog isn’t really centered around any few characters? #I mean there’s definitely some characters I draw more than others #but I wanna develop my ideas about them #who am I kidding ive been trying to do this forever haha #at least you guys like the art so slow n steady I guess #I’ll get to wherever I wanna be someday. I’m still young ig #faith is key! #if ur reading this rn (u a real one if you actually read allat???) have some confidence in your future #that sounds very cheesy and overused but it’s true. I believe in u<3 #hetalia #aph baltics #art #aph latvia #my art

[shibaraki]

idkidk it’s hard for me to sufficiently emphasise just how deeply plagiarism has affected me and the way I post. I think for anyone who has dealt with plagiarism or had their ideas lifted, there is a bit of a bruise that never really goes away? it can totally sap the joy out of not only writing but engaging in the community—having similar concepts is not a crime and can be a great way to connect with others. now it just makes me extremely wary and stirs up a lot of unpleasant feelings. I know it’s nice to have two cakes and you’ll all eat it happily but if the other person has used the exact same recipe I’m going to feel a bit shit. hell the other person might feel shit about it too idk 💀 this is poorly articulated ksksks

#obviously it’s clear when it’s actual plagiarism #but some people do and will still use ‘coincidence’ to excuse it #it makes you feel like you’re insane for even considering it #it isn’t that I have no confidence in my writing. I know my writing will be different. I know my cake tastes brilliant on its own #and of course it’s not always nicked. but the fact that the other cake is there at all is going to bother me for eternity #I guess I’m kinda like a hit dog except with fanfic LMAO #btw I’m talking very specific similarities. you and another person both doing the ‘shared a bed’ trope is not what I’m talking about #turning reblogs off because this is mostly a vent and not worded right and I’m sure someone will try come for my neck anyway #please don’t wilfully misunderstand what I’m saying #I know what plagiarism is believe me. as mentioned I am speaking on my own personal and specific experience #however you feel about it and how you handle it is valid and fine

[onlythebravest]

.

#if I get a single more comment telling me I have to write a sequel I’m gonna #well idk but seriously it’s too much #I get that they like the story and just want more #but I’m so sensitive right now #and I’m seriously sadly enough starting to doubt that I can write fics #objectively I know that’s not the issue here but rather the opposite #but all these half-complaints #because that’s what they feel like - complaints thst my fic isn’t good enough the way it is now #they’re making me think i can’t write good enough fics #it’s just so upsetting #both that it’s happening but most of all that it’s making me feel this way #bc like I’ve posted things after that people have loved #posted things before that people have loved #but at the same time this story is the one I’ve put the most time and energy into and that’s the one that isn’t good enough? #yeah what an ego boost #so now I’m tempted to post stuff just to get some confidence back but that’s the worst thing for me to do #so yeah ranting it is #sorry if you’ve read it this far 😂 there’s no point to this #other than me complaining and ranting

[poppyseed799]

I feel like life series fanon jimmy is kind of mischaracterized and there’s an easy way to make sure you’re doing it right: he has a lot of unearned confidence

#the tags is where I’m going to ACTUALLY say stuff LOL!!! #but like I love life series Jimmy mkay. he’s got that curse of dying first and all. which is what I mean by fanon cuz curses aren’t real #but a lot of fans make it like Jimmy accepts the curse? or even acknowledges that it’s real. which bugs me a bit cuz No He Does Not #(side note tho. I’m not mad about it. I know ppl wanna explore the concept of someone cursed to die first and that’s what they’re doing) #but like Jimmy would just be so in denial about it okay. even if you managed to convince him he would be like ‘..BUT SURELY THIS TIME’ #and this relates to ranchers too. I love ranchers ok. mostly cuz my sister does tbh LMAOO she loves them. but ranchers fan content isn’t #what I’m looking for cuz it’s so often stuff like.. Jimmy being like ‘I’m sorry I’m cursed’ and Tango being like ‘it’s ok love u anyway’ #but it’s really more like ‘CURSED?? NO! WE WILL WIN!’ which I think is MORE fun for the aftermath of their death. meeting in the afterlife. #I NEED to see ranchers content where they keep denying that the curse is real then Jimmy dies and they’re ghosts or whatever and Jimmy’s #like ‘oh no. we didn’t break the curse. tango probably hates me now. he only liked me cuz we thought the curse wasn’t real.’ and tango to be #like upset at first as anyone would be when they die. but then he like notices the way Jimmy is acting and he’s like ‘no.. ranchers 4 life’ #???? what am I saying. hire me for writing fanfic I totally know what I’m doing. #anyways what I’m saying is Jimmy is the canary but he’s the canary that’s like ‘SURELY I can sing for the miners the whole way THIS time’ #he is NOT the canary who says ‘WELL time to eventually stop singing in this cave’ #HOWEVER I do think that although he has loads of unearned confidence and is in a constant state of denial. he does also have that crumble #sometimes. so it’s not totally ooc imo for him to act like that. but it would be rare moments and also mostly post death #ANOTHER SIDE NOTE I WANNA SAY. I HATE the way I’m saying this as if it’s fact. it’s my personal analysis and just because I think it’s right #doesn’t mean I want to present it as undeniable fact. I could be misinterpreting. if you want to interpret life!Jimmy’s character different #then go on ahead. I don’t hate fanon Jimmy I just wish I saw more like how I see him. that is all. #ok I lied I also wanna add that I’m bad at explaining things ESPECIALLY personalities so it’s possible that I didn’t convey what I wanted to #say properly too. sorry. OKAY NOW THAT IS ALL.

[lesbiansanemi]

Omg !!!!!! One of my fics hit 1000 kudos for the first time I am 😭😭

#also the five hundred subscriptions has me 👁👁 #like yeah I know I can write good of course I know having confidence in my skill isn’t really something I struggle with #but it’s just…. very nice to see such an overwhelming reminder that yeah people DO like it #A THOUSAND people liked it enough to hit a little button #and FIVE HUNDRED people liked it enough they hit a different button that lets them know when there’s more #anyways I’m 💞💞💞💞 #also finishing up a new chapter of this fic rn to post lol #kaz rambles

[seveneyesoup]

what are the odds people writing the bats Like That is just bc they haven’t moved out of the house yet

#note this isn’t me bashing on teenagers #it’s just me saying your ideas about family and stuff and how you relate to the family unit change when you leave home #even if it’s just setting up across town; having your own place and some independence changes like; the nature of family relationships #which is something you logically know before you move out but i imagine it’s hard to like; apply that yk #to writing #to test this hypothesis i would have to go on an insane tumblr safari and tbh i’m Not gonna do that #and anyway i’m hardly confident in my own takes on stuff #there’s a lot of comics i haven’t read. and by now i kinda know where to look for answers #but after i go out and gather data then it’s time to break out the soldering iron #and let the real work begin #so it’ll be a while is what i’m saying esp bc i’ll probably go back to dr who for a while soon

[0celesteisthebest0]

AHH THE PAIN THE PAINNN(I’m being partially dramatic)

#hi y’all back to ranting in the tags because writing here makes me feel like it’s hidden even if it isn’t #anyway one of my friends got into the Pedro fandom and I’ve been sending her some of my fave acting scenes he’s done in his various roles #I’ve also been sending her edits and stuff and just screaming about how cool tlou is #and then a stupid part of my brain hit me with this big ol guilt when she was asking about the kingsman movies because she knows i have a #lot of opinions on them #and I was showing her clips and she said she likes how he plays the character but won’t watch the movie and just watch the tik tok edits of #him which totally understandable i have issues with second movie and I didn’t have the heart to tell her he dies in the movie so I let her #just live in bliss but man there was a little voice in my brain telling me i abandoned my stupid cowboy and like!!! that’s just so dumb #I HAVENT WRITTEN FOR HIM SINCE LIKE OCTOBER THAT IS NOT ABANDONMENT! #>:( stupid brain making me feel guilty about not being able to write even though i want to write like so freaking bad BUT I HAVE NO TIME OR #CONFIDENCE SO ITS JUST MAKING ME STEW ANGRILY IN THE CORNER #like i have so so so many thoughts but I have no time to write and my confidence in my skills is next to none now and I’m just not enjoying #myself! which sucks because i love writing but anytime i write stuff in like a moments notice I say the absolute rudest shit imaginable and #i just sorta give up! #sighhhhhhhhhhh #i don’t know how to make if fun anymore because the thoughts in my brain or fun but when I try to transfer that to writing on a doc i beat #myself up. so it’s like a purgatory! goddddd 😑 #my humblest apologies to those who read this word vomit it’s just been thoughts that have been stuck in my head since… may? or maybe more #tbh #Celeste speaks #shit happens i know. i just kinda need to be like hey I’m confident in what I do…without like immediately saying something mean to myself…

[doctormage]

i totally acknowledge and respect ppl’s critiques of hotd but a lot of it i just Don’t Really Get

#yeah the show is leaning pretty heavily toward Rhaenyra & co being ‘in the right’ #but they’ve done so much w alicent and her relationships w her dad & viserys & LARYS fr #(imo. it’s been a while since I read anything but the main books which is why I’m rereading f&b rn) #idk I keep writing essays in these tags but #i don’t mind a lot of the changes they’ve made and I think it gives the story more nuance rather than less #knowing GRRM is closely involved gives me a pretty hefty dose of confidence that they’re not just fucking around wanting to make #a discount girlboss daenerys 2.0 #and like. isn’t the point that none of it is forgivable? #even with the backstories and the betrayals and the intention and the good deeds done elsewhere #it was all still a huge fuckup that kickstarted the fall of the targaryen dynasty? isn’t that the fucking??? point?????? #anyway if this shows up in the tag I’m not arguing w anyone lol #i am simply externalizing on mine own blog. perchance to see what my few remaining asoiaf mutuals have 2 say #edit: maybe shouldn’t say it’s leaning heavily toward Rhaenyra being in the right but it does heavily sympathize w her so. yknow

[shealwaysreads]

Saw my first post with someone admitting they used chatGPT to ‘write a fic’ which they then shared here on tumblr and on Ao3.

To be clear, using AI to churn out a piece of fiction is not writing.

Using a bot (possibly one that was trained using a scrape of Ao3, that is to say, the theft of work from every writer who has posted their work on Ao3) is NOT WRITING.

It is theft. It isn’t creation. It’s a regurgitation of the consumed collective work and effort and heart and time of every writer who has shared their work on Ao3.

‘I’m not a good writer’ is no excuse.

Want to be a writer? Put in the time everyone else does to practice.

Don’t feel confident in your work? Open yourself up to the same vulnerability and risk that the rest of us do.

You don’t get to use a fucking bot to vomit out an approximation of a story and pretend you’ve got skin in the game.

The sad thing? This bot-assembled fic wasn’t bad. It was bland, but it had internal logic, some passing context to character and canon. It wasn’t like those early AI art pieces that had surreal compositions and extra fingers. It wasn’t immediately obvious it was made by a bot.

In this instance the person who posted it admitted they had used a bot. Which, actually, I have some respect for. But it probably isn’t the first and it won’t be the last.

I don’t know that there’s a solution to this, but it is both hurting my heart and enraging me.

#the writing life #the fandom life #the fanfic life #gutted and enraged tbh

[jamminvroomvroom]

4k celebration

congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.

i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴

we made up.

LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration

in which you can never just bite your tongue

eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3

songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey

warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink

2.6k words

you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.

after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.

maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?

it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.

you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.

“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.

“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.

it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.

“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.

“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.

“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.

there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.

-

turns out, you have to apologise.

you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.

so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.

but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.

“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.

“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.

“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.

“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.

“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.

the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.

you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.

“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.

“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.

your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.

“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.

“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.

“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.

truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.

as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.

“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.

“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.

“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.

“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.

“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.

an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.

“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.

his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.

once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.

“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.

“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.

“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.

“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”

“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.

he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.

“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.

lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.

“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.

“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.

“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”

with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.

“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.

sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.

“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.

“learned your lesson?”

“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.

you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.

still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.

“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.

“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.

you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.

“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.

you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.

“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.

“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.

he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.

“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”

you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.

“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.

“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.

those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.

“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.

you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.

you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.

-

two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.

when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.

“we made up.”

-

oof

-

taglist

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#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton fics #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fics #f1 driver x you #f1 oneshot #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton oneshot #lewis hamilton imagine #formula 1 smut #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fics #jas’s 4k celebration #writing things #request #smut #enemies to lovers

[archermind]

I Can See You

Spencer Reid x F!Reader - Smut (18+)

Description: “and we kept everything professional but something changed, it's something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it's best if we move fast and keep quiet.”. You and Spencer are each other's dirty little secret, no one in the BAU knows what is going on between you both.

Word count: 1,800 approx.

Content Warning: Mentions of f!masturbation, kissing, PinV, Receiving Oral F, swearing, Fingering, dom!spencer, good girl, dirty talk

author note: okay.. so i tried writing a smut. idk how i feel about it. i read smut and think the things people write are really good but when i write it i always think it’s so bad. i hope it isn’t too bad. feel free to give me feedback! hope you enjoy <3

Stolen glances and longing stares, that was how this all started. You and Spencer found yourselves sneaking between each other's hotel rooms while on cases, searching for comfort in a form of lust. The first time was supposed to be a one time thing… never to happen again. Yet, you couldn’t help yourself… you longed for his touch and he longed for yours. Your mind is forever replaying the first moment he made, the way he-

“Earth to Y/N!” Derek announced, waving his hands in front of my face.

“Oh, sorry” you mumbled, realizing your zoning out and complete oblivious state to the world around you.

“What has gotten into you girl” Derek scoffed

“More like who!” emily remarked, causing JJ to snicker “we have seen that extra pep in your step lately Y/N”

You shifted in your seat becoming anxious that people were going to crack onto what was going on between you and Reid. Everyday you were nervous to even look in Reid’s direction… It didn't help that everyone that surrounded you both were some of the best profilers you know. You rolled your eyes putting on a confident facade and prepared your fighting argument against Emily’s wrong, but so right, speculation. 

“Right everyone let’s just focus on the case” Hotch ordered, “Agent Y/N’s love life will just have to remain a mystery for you all until you solve this one”

“Oh c'mon Hotch, you are supposed to be on my side!” you called out desperately as everyone laughed, “i am reporting you all to HR for bullying on the job!”

“Boohoo babygirl!” Morgan said, pouting.

Throughout the rest of the flight you all spoke about the case, trying to build a profile upon the characteristics of the murder. Words like sadist and sociopath were thrown around while you yet again zoned out, this time focused on Reid and his soft snores. You had woken up, naked, to the sound of his snores a couple times now. Each time was just as good as the last. You found yourself counting down the time until you landed, wishing the minutes would go by fast. 

-

Landing came by painfully and slowly. Some time before the flight landed, Spencer had woken up. He seemed shifty and irritated. Not to mention, he could not take his eyes off of you. You felt yourself become more and more needy for him with every passing second. Clock watching made it worse. 

By the time you all arrived at the hotel that you were staying at, it was midnight. Everyone had no energy. The goodbyes and goodnights were a mix of mumbles and grumbles. Your room was right down the hall from Spencer. Emily and JJ across the hall, Morgan next door to Reid, and Hotch was one floor above us all. A dim pale yellow light tried to light the room as you walked through to the bathroom, a hot soak was well needed. Today had seemed to be so long and exhausting.

As you plunged yourself into the bubbles and warmth, you leant back allowing yourself to relax in the tub. Soap suds covered your body as you massaged your aching muscles. You moaned at the release you felt, free from tension that ached your body. As you were massaging your sore body, you felt your mind racing back to Dr. Spencer Reid and your hand inching further to the place you wanted him right now. As your hand grazed your core, you heard a ping to your phone. 

You sighed as the moment had been rudely interrupted and ruined. You grabbed your robe, exiting the tub and putting it over your body. Grasping your phone, your stomach fluttered. ‘Spence’. ‘I need you Y/N’. you bit back a smirk, knowing what was about to happen. ‘Don’t let them see you..’ you responded back. 

Quickly, you ran to the door ready to let the man you wanted most into your hotel room. It was scandalous and thrilling sneaking around with him. It was what you both needed while dealing with stressful cases. A source of release.. Mentally and physically. 

As you opened the door, the slender built boy slipped past quickly into the room to avoid being seen and perhaps questioned as to why he was entering his co-workers' hotel room at 1am. You closed the door silently and instantly you were pressed against it. Spencer’s lips fit yours perfectly. You felt his wet tongue swipe along your bottom lip, begging for entrance. It was heated and vulgar. The desperation for each other was filthy. Your tongues played war with each other until like always Spencer won dominance. You were like a putty in his hands, allowing him to take control of your every movement. 

“You don't understand how beautiful you looked all day” spencer rambled, “i've been wanting to get you alone and worship your body since i first laid eyes on you this morning” 

You moaned at his sweet nothings, moving your lips to trail down his neck as your hands played with the buttons on his shirt. You were eager to rid him of his clothes, eager for him. As your hand went down each button, you slowly freed him out of his shirt. You gasped, running your hands along his chest and to his lower abdomen. 

“I have missed you spence” you stated, breathlessly. 

He slowly walked you backwards towards the bed, peppering kisses around your face. You giggled at the childish move but felt adored. Slowly, he lowered you to lie on the bed and hooked his arms around your legs giving you a strong tug to the edge of the bed. 

“Trust me, Y/N not as much as i missed you doll” he smirked, undoing the tie on your robe. 

Your chest rose and fell fast. You lay there in front of him naked and for the taking. Allowing him to see the most vulnerable and insecure side of yourself. He slowly lowered himself allowing his mouth to come in contact with your soft skin. Spencer kissed and nipped with his teeth, your most sensitive areas. Your neck. Your collarbone. Your breasts. You couldn't help but let the moans fall from your lips. He chuckled at your reaction, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted.

Spencer caressed your left breast pinching your nipple. all while he licked, sucked and bit the right one. You felt wetness pool at your core. All. For. Him. slowly, you felt his nose brush down your abdomen as the pit of your stomach flipped. No matter how many late nights you spent together and how much you prepared yourself, you still got nervous when giving yourself to spencer. Even if he was cautious and gentle.

You squirmed and wriggled as you felt his hot breath on your clit. You were dripping with anticipation at this point. Spencer began to kiss each thigh, slowly working his way closer to the place you wanted him most. Soon enough, Spencer pressed his lips against your clit licking and biting. Slowly, he circled his tongue against your clit as you became more and more sensitive with each lap. Your hand tangled in his brown curls, causing him to moan in response. You cried out in pleasure as he inserted two fingers into you and began pumping in and out of your dripping cunt. 

“Fuck spencer” you breathed out.

“Does that feel good Y/N?” he questioned you, already knowing the answer from the way you were a mess below him. 

“Mhm” you mumbled. 

Spencer pulled away from your clit and took his fingers out from with you, gripping your thighs and turning you on your stomach. You heard his zipper become undone. You looked back and bit your bottom lip suppressing a moan as you saw him in nothing but his underwear. You could see his hard bulge and it made you even more desperate for him.

“Look at you so needy!” Spencer whispered, grabbing a condom from his jean pocket. 

You eyed him up and down as his teeth ripped the small packet open. 

“Hurry… im so fucking desperate” you were a wreck as you tried to speak your wants, “i do need you spencer” 

“Good girls wait” he remarked

You watched him slowly slide the rubber on his hard length, he held a strong eye contact with yours. Enjoying the way you watched him, eagerly waiting for him. You bit your lip hard trying to suppress your moans - considering your co-workers were just down the hall and above you. You hissed in pleasure and pain when Spencer unexpectedly forced his entire length into you without warning. 

It was raw and animalistic the way you both wanted eachother, needed eachother and fucked eachother. Spencer Reid was a quiet boy. Yet, who you now grew to know and spend time with, you saw him in a much different light. He was a gentle, passionate man who adored and cared for you. Reid didnt just use you for sex… he worshipped your body while he fucked you. 

The room was filled with the sound of your breathless moans and the sound of your skin meeting each other. Spencer was deep inside you and with every stroke he made in and out of you, you grew closer to your release. 

“You feel so fucking good Y/N” spencer moaned as he flipped you onto your back, allowing him to watch your face as he fucked you senseless. 

You tried responding but you were a moaning mess. No words could be formed. You were drunk on Spencer’s cock. With every thrust, your tits bounced, sending Spencer's mind on a spiral. 

“You look so fucking good taking my cock, doll” spencer exclaimed, as his hand connected with your clit rubbing small quick circles. 

You felt your stomach ball as you grew closer to your orgasm. You cried in pleasure as he thrusted deeper and slower, hitting your g-spot each time. 

“I- fuck- please spence” you begged him growing more sensitive to his touch and nearing your finish. 

“I know Y/N” he grunted as he entered in and out of you, feeling closer to his orgasm each time, “cum for me” 

You cried out at your release, digging your nails down Spencer's back for some stability on the edge of your pleasure. Your ears rang out from the overwhelming stimulation, while Spencer rode out to his orgasm. It came quickly as he collapsed tired and breathless onto your chest. Time passed as you two lay tangled within each other's arms, trying to calm down from your high.

“Y/N?” he questioned

“Yea” you huffed out

“I’m glad you joined the Quantico BAU team” he stated letting out a breathy laugh

“Yeah me too” you smirked, “the benefits are pretty good too.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #mgg fanfiction #mgg x reader #mgg #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #jennifer jareau

[saltburnedme]

My requests are open! Message/comment to be added to the tag list!

Paring: Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3520

Summary: You’d only been visiting family at Saltburn for a few weeks, but this time you couldn’t shift the feeling of something or someone watching you.

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), choking, stalking? Kind of?, two way mirrors, vague horror ish themes, dubious consent, generally fucked up smut overall

Writers note: Hi friends! This is my first Oliver fic, I’m planning on writing more so let me know if you have any requests. I’ve only seen the film once so I apologise if my writing of him isn’t quite right yet.. just read his parts with his accent and I think it works! Please share, comment, like and all of those good things 💕💕

Part 2

21 days, almost a full month, that’s how long it had taken you to get to grips with the enormity of Saltburn. Most of that time had been spent mistakenly walking into a linen closet which supplied one of the many bedrooms believing it was the entrance to your room. You’d even drawn yourself a map by this point and somehow, you still managed to get lost, the house was almost as much of a maze as the actual maze in the garden was. You had checked off your room, all of the shared spaces and most of the other bedrooms, inhabited or otherwise, all marked down perfectly on your little map. There was only one wing of the house which you were not allowed into, Elsbeth called it the ‘bachelor pad’ something you know Felix would have at the very least groaned at. He’d been sharing this space with his guest, another student named Oliver. He was quiet, a bit of a mystery overall but from that you assessed that he was a man who liked his privacy, making you chalk up their reluctance to have you in that space no more than a matter of comfort. A comfort you wish that you could say you felt also.

You visited Saltburn many times as a child, the family themselves were distant relatives of yours which is why you always summered there when your parents were away on business. You’d never felt uncomfortable there before, but this time something was different even though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it was the heat getting to you, maybe it was the ever changing list of house guests that visited or the way that it seemed the eyes on the paintings of long dead aristocracy seemed to follow you around the room. Something had changed, if only you could put your finger on it.. or a toe.. maybe even an out stretched palm if you felt confident enough, anything to make this restlessness end. Every night that you laid in bed, you felt something, someone, watching you. You had checked, you’d opened every door, searched every shelf and wandered into every linen closet in the vicinity of your room and every time, nothing. Your well drawn map granting you no ease of mind, even with all of the labels you’d added to it over the last few weeks. The constant tossing and turning ceased only by one saving grace, you’d remembered to pack your vibrator.

Every night like clockwork your little buzzing friend would find the tingling mound between your legs, slipping in and out seamlessly like always, making you cum within a few minutes. That was until tonight, maybe you should have expected it. 21 days in a row of usage, the batteries were sure to go flat at some point, you just didn’t think it would be so soon. Placing it into the draw of the bedside table you go back to the constant pacing feeling in your mind as you attempted to sleep. The watching feeling was back, the hairs on your arms standing up, the feeling of the familiar prickling at the back of your neck as if something dangerous was approaching from the shadows. But sleep finally took you, once again.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the wood of the door early every morning tore you from your sleep, a much needed sleep. The curtains being torn open and the light hitting your face remind you of where you are almost immediately, at least this time with the maids in your room you knew who was watching you. ‘Breakfast is ready’ she says as she leaves the room as promptly as she arrived, off to wake another of the Saltburn family without a doubt. Crawling out of bed in your white night dress, you throw on a matching robe over the top, fumbling your slippers on, briefly checking your reflection in the full length mirror mounted to the wall across from your bed before wandering down the long halls to the breakfast table. Taking your usual seat you notice no one else has awoken yet, your tired eyes settling on the food in front of you, you almost fall asleep sitting up eating. The exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up with you. ‘You looked frustrated last night’ a low voice utters quietly a few seats across from you, the low muttering making you jump out of your skin with shock.

‘Excuse me?’ You question, a puzzled look on your face which could have been mistaken for anger, your words coming out harsher than you expected. You see the man across from you almost retreat into himself, he’d barely uttered a word to you in the last 21 days and now this? Your mind immediately flashing back to your frustration at your vibrator unceremoniously dying on you, surely that isn’t what he refers to tho.. right? ‘Oh Oliver, I’m sorry, I’m so tired that came out poorly. what do you mean?’ You question, making Oliver un tense slightly.

‘I saw you looking for something last night’ he begins. ‘Anything I can help with?’ He questions.

‘Oh, That. I was just trying to get a better lay of the land. Every time i visit I swear this place is rearranged, it’s like a new house every time.’ You reply.

‘Sure, that must have been it’ he replies, no follow up, nothing. Although it was more of a conversation than you’d managed with him this whole time, you expected maybe something else would have come from this. He could have offered to help you, anything. Although you hadn’t spoken that much you’d find it hard to argue that you hadn’t developed a little crush on him, his dark hair in contrast with his piercing blue eyes, surely that would make any girl swoon.

Just as you finally thought of something to say, the thought of offering him an invitation to explore the mansion with you to further expand your map, the rest of the family arrived, keen to discuss plans for the day. Your hopes of getting to know Oliver better shattered once again.

You continued your day like normal, a dip in the pool, a little bit of reading, another trip to a random room to expand the map and eventually dinner and straight to bed.

Once again you were kept up, tonight you indulged in wine a little bit more than usual, the knowledge of the lack of batteries to fuel your only release weighing heavy on your mind.

Crawling into bed you listen to the creaking of the wooden floorboards in the hallway, the sound of the old house almost swaying in the breeze as if that were possible. You try to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs as you long for sleep subtly grinding against the palm of your hand as you crave the release you know you can’t have. The feeling growing stronger and your movements becoming more unsubtle as you move the covers off of you, the fabric of your night dress pooling up around your hips as you grind, longing for that familiar feeling. ‘Ugh, fuck sake’ you groan, it’s of no use. You roll over frustratedly, your face buried in pillows as you let out a silent scream. That’s when you hear it, the floorboards creaking, the sound too loud to be from the hallway and it wasn’t just creaking this time, footsteps. But it couldn’t be, you’d locked the door to your room, the only other way in was through the window which you had ensured was locked.

‘Hello?’ You ask tentatively, sitting bolt upright in bed at this point. You weren’t sure if you prayed for an answer or not, at least if there were an answer you’d know for certain that you weren’t alone. But no answer came.

2:41am, you’d checked the clock at least 20 times by now every time you had almost drifted to sleep another creak on the floorboards would tare you from your dreams. It sounded almost as if they were getting closer, they’d began earlier by your mirror and by now they were approaching the head of the bed. Sometimes you even thought you could feel something touching you, lightly re arranging the way your hair fell on the pillow, or something lightly tugging at the blanket that covered your body. But this time you felt it for sure.

The weight on the bed shifted, while you lay in the middle, the bed dipped on the side, the unmistakeable feeling of someone sitting at the side of the bed. Another second and you felt it, a hand on your ankle wrapped tight. Terrified you sit, unable to move. You never imagined this is how you’d be in this position, you’d scream and fight when you’d imagined this scenario previously but you were wrong, so wrong. You lay there silently, only when you felt the grip on your ankle tighten did you even let on that you were awake as you were harshly dragged down the bed, now splayed out in the middle. Before you could scream a hand smacks over your mouth with a slap, silencing any sound that could have come out of you.

‘What were you thinking about?’ A voice in the dark asks, an accent of some sort laced in his words surely belonging to the owner of the strong hands currently pinning you against the bed. ‘Who were you thinking about?’ The voice continues, more demanding this time as the accent becomes clearer, Oliver? Surely not. The sweet, quiet man who sits across from you silenced by his own nervousness every breakfast, it can’t be him. You try to answer, your words muffled by the hand over your mouth, although you’re sure it would be less of an answer and more of a demanding to get out of your room.

‘Was it me? Tell me it was me.’ He demands, his hand dropping from your mouth to your throat, wrapped around tightly grasping at the column of your neck.

‘I-I Uhm’ your reply coming out as nonsense. He was right, you had been thinking of him. You’d seen his physique while sunbathing, sneaking a glance when you believed no one would notice. But now with his hand wrapped around your neck and his body pressing into yours your mind was blank.

‘Answer me’ he demands, hand tightening as his face grows ever closer to yours. At this distance you swear you can almost see the moonlight shining through the window reflecting off of his blue eyes, glimmering at you.

‘You.. it was you’ you stutter out quietly, your words shocking even you as they come out breathy and quiet.

‘What a good girl you’ve been for me’ he says, his grip loosening on your throat as he glides his index finger down your cheek.

‘Bu-but how did you.. where.. what’ you question, a full sentence becoming too much for your brain to handle, but the man on top of you seems to have gotten the gist of your line of questioning.

‘I’ve been watching you’ he replies. ‘You and your little map. Wandering around like you own the place’ his words laced with venom. ‘I’ll admit you did make it harder for me. You thought you were so smart checking everywhere, you never bothered to check within your own room’. He continues as your eyes fight with the dark, darting around every corner of the room. That’s when you spot it, the light reflecting off of the mirror slightly wrong, it was almost as if the glass was rippling, the reflection always seeming a little off, it was a two way mirror. From the spot where it was mounted on the wall, you realised that it was pushed slightly further than usual, the story all making sense in your mind suddenly. You hadn’t been imaging things, you had heard footsteps inside the room, someone was watching you, Oliver.

‘Our rooms share a serving corridor as these old houses do sometimes’ he says as if it was an obvious fact, something everyone would know. He could see a million questions whirling behind your eyes, snapping you out of your thoughts as his soft fingers against your cheek suddenly turn into a slap, grasping your face turning your lips into a pout. ‘Now, I know what you do to sleep and I took the liberty of removing the batteries from your useless little toy there’ he sneers at you, you can almost feel his smirk against your lips as he comes in closer. This was nothing like the man you had vaguely come to know over the last few weeks, he was mean, cruel even and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you admitted that you liked it, you loved this version of Oliver. ‘I thought, just maybe if you’d get impatient enough you’d come to me yourself. But the little miss never came’ he continues, finding himself amusing at his own pun. ‘So I came to you’ putting extra emphasis on his words to make a point as to almost poke at you. ‘Now, I can either leave and go back to my room or I can help you with your predicament. Would you like that?’ He questions, still holding your face in his hands ensuring you look straight into his eyes as your head nods, partially guided by Oliver’s hand moving your face for you. ‘Good girl’ he places a light peck onto your lips. ‘The former was never really an option anyway, did you really think I could leave all this now that I have you here?’ His question sounding more like a statement, he didn’t care about your answer, he decided you belonged to him the moment he stepped into the room. His hand slips from your face, grasping your throat once more before climbing further onto the bed, throwing the covers off of you and pushing your night dress up.

He sighs, the view of you almost making him cum on the spot. Oliver never imagined he’d actually do it, sure he’d thought of the thousand ways he could take you, he wanted to bend you over and fuck your brains out over the breakfast table every morning for the last month and now, in this single sigh he released a months worth of frustration. His desperate hands kneading at the supple flesh of your thighs, roaming up to where he was at his most desperate for you. The moment the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit a jolt of electricity raced through your body, moving you with a shocked flinch against the bed. His eyes bore into yours as if almost warning you to stay still, a warning you would absolutely heed. His eyes transfixed on yours as his thumb swirled around your sensitive nub, gathering slick from your entrance just to return to your clit, your climax building from the moment he touched you. You were almost there, your peak was in sight you could feel it building when he tore his hand from you. A smirk pressed against his lips as he bent down to kiss you, he was proud, he ruined your orgasm and he was proud of it. Just as you settled into the lack of his touch, his lips hovering against yours he plunged his fingers into you, without warning a loud gasp leaving your lips. You knew you’d fucked up the moment the sound left your mouth, his fingers being pulled from you once more.

‘Good girls stay quiet, do you understand me? We wouldn’t want the rest of them finding out how much of a whore you are now would we?’ He sneers, your heart rate increasing as you nod your head again. ‘Such a good girl for me. I’ll make sure to reward you, just stay quiet for me’ he continues, his words softer this time as his fingers return to your warm, wet entrance.

It was harder to stay quiet than you expected. His pace was relentless and now as he kissed down your body, your night dress torn from you and the remaining scrap of fabric now discarded to the floor, the want to moan for him was overwhelming. This was only made worse when his lips wrapped around your sensitive mound. His tongue and fingers moving at the same time, sucking on your most sensitive parts like a man starved. He was desperate for you and now, you were for him. You couldn’t resist it and he could tell, your climax was imminent as you rocked your hips against his mouth. From watching you he knew that you covered your mouth with your hand or bit down onto your fist when you came in an attempt to muffle the sounds. To compensate for this, at the moment your shaking orgasm rippled through your body he shoved his fingers into your mouth, the taste of your own juices heavy on your tongue as he suckled and licked you through your peak, his eyes still fixed on yours.

You thought that was it, he said he wanted to help you and he had, you’d half expected him to leave when he tore his own shirt over his head, pushing his boxers down his thighs as he pushes your legs further open with the weight of his own body. With one hand next to your head and his other white knuckle grasping his cock he glided his length through the slick of your pussy. His lustful gaze had left yours now, favouring watching his tip spread you wide for him. Just as your eyes left his face to watch the sight between your legs you were interrupted. ‘Look at me’ he demands ‘I want to see the look on your face when I split you open’ his words being of continuous shock to you, where had your quiet kind man gone?

Although you’d hate to say he was correct, he was. Even with your drenched hole and your legs spread wide for him the burn as he entered you was real. He was unbelievably thick and long, his length impaling you again and again as he begins thrusting into you relentlessly. He was as desperate for release as you were, maybe you should have known, your sweet man in his full right mind would surely never break into your room and do this to you if he wasn’t desperate you reassured yourself. This can’t be the real him after all, it had to be an act.

These thoughts stayed with you for merely seconds as your eyes rejoined his as they flutter open, your mouth hanging open in a silent moan just like his. As if you could both feel the sound about to release your lips came crashing together, muffling the sound of your joint moans as his tongue slips into your month. It was a dirty, sinful act and you loved every second of it. You’d never felt this desperate for anyone in your life. You wanted him to cum inside you, breed you and make you his.

‘Once I cum inside you, you’re mine. Do you understand? I fucking own you’ he says, making you question if he has a future in a career in mind reading. He doesn’t wait for an answer taking the feeling of your walls tightening around his length as the only reply he would ever need again.

His pace quickens his body pressed against yours as his hand clasps over your mouth silencing you, your head held still as he glares into your eyes. You can feel it, his climax nearing, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more erratic as he breaks his own rule, groaning loudly into your kiss as he cums within you, his liquid filling you to the brim. The sound reverberates against the walls, someone must have heard that you think as he continues to fill you up. Just as you think he’d stopped, almost possessively he begins to move again. The feeling overwhelming both of your senses as he fucks his cum further into you before pulling out and repeating the same process with his fingers, watching a little bit trickle out before pushing it back inside you once more.

‘You’ll keep this inside you, you understand? You don’t get to clean yourself up’ he demands. ‘You’ll be a good girl for me tomorrow, at 10pm sharp you’ll get into the bath across the hall and wait for me. Got it?’ His demands continue as he places one last harsh kiss onto your lips, your eyes flickering closed for only a second, re opening when your kiss has parted. Just like that he was gone. His clothes, every part of him had left you almost without a trace. Your night dress torn on the floor you ponder how you’ll explain that to the maids in the morning as they’ll have to fix it. You cover yourself with the blanket again, your head pressed against the pillow as you finally go to sleep, the best you’ve slept in 21 days.

Part 2

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