#piano and gramophone are not in the same room but I realized that too late so you're gonna have to be okay with that

[phonydiaries]

a Dance in The Dark - P x Reader

It’s late when you reach the puppet’s quarters. Long shadows loom along the walls of the hotel and a draft rustles past you, pajama-clad and disheveled from a night of restlessness. You hadn’t bothered to switch your clothes, knowing your dear puppet wouldn’t pay it any mind. You had half expected to find P dormant at this hour, but instead he’s laid out on the floor with his legs kicked over the side of his bed. A book -which he seems thoroughly engrossed in- is held up above his head, its pages illuminated by the yellow-green light of Monad’s lamp, which casts a soft halo about the edges of his face. You rap your knuckles against the doorframe and his eyes jump to you, startled out of their careful concentration.

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, gesturing down the hall with a tilt of your head. “Walk with me?”

With a twitch of a smile, Pinocchio tosses his book to the side and rolls haphazardly out of his place on the floor, clumsy with excitement. 

Knowing the hotel well enough, the two of you make your rounds of its many chambers in the dark, ever so often bumping elbows to each other’s ribs. Your barefoot steps cast dull echoes through the halls as you dip in and out of doorways, poke behind desks and rummage carelessly through shelves. In the deep blue foreignness of nighttime, you feel exploratory; curious like children let loose in an enormous garden just brimming with unrealized discoveries. 

Passing through the entrance hall, you seize the coveted opportunity to act a fool behind the front desk. “Hello, you’ve reached Hotel Krat.” You say, picking up the receiver of the hotel’s long-dead rotary phone. You’re sat on top of the desk now, your legs swinging over the side. Pinocchio glances up at you, his hands preoccupied diligently petting the hotel’s beloved orange tabby. You feign listening to the nonexistent voice on the other end of the phone. “Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Spring is busy at the moment. I’m afraid he’s in a very important meeting.” 

After thoroughly nosing about, you find yourselves settling in the piano room, you and Pino curiously flipping through pages and pages of sheet music. P’s interest is especially piqued by one booklet and he takes a seat at the piano, attempting to make sense of its pages. An admirable attempt is made as he plinks slowly and diligently away at the piece, tugging at your sleeve when he gets stuck. You barely know more than he does, and as you sit together at the bench your fingers tangle and trip over each other. The resulting notes are dissonant and clangy and you both fall into ripples of laughter at your duet's messy melody. 

The night wears on calmly, P fingering through a box of cobwebbed records, most of which are scratched beyond recognition. He retrieves one with some care and blows a layer of dust from the cover, his nose scrunching as it flutters across his face. 

You’re lying on the floor, limbs outstretched like a lazy snow angel as P futzes with the gramophone. There’s a few moments of anticipatory static before the record crackles to life; a somber piano score reverberates through the dim and intimate space. You close your eyes  as a woman’s wispy voice floats through the room, cool and calm. Something about the melody, the echo, the timbre of her voice makes your ribs fall heavy around your heart like a slowly but surely shrinking birdcage. 

Close your eyes,

Come to me,

Feel alright,

Just dance with me all through the night

“I can’t stand it.” You start, “It’s beautiful… but it makes me so sad.” 

You wonder if P is affected differently, maybe even more than you are by the emotional quality of the music. He certainly seems to have a fascination with it. “What about you?” You ask, your head turning to glance at the puppet. 

P’s eyes flicker towards the ceiling and his mouth twitches to the side in thoughtful consideration. He lifts a finger at you -hold on- while he rises from his place at the piano stool and arranges himself with precision beside the grand. He stands up tall, shoulders back, one arm held out just-so at hip level, the other outstretched as if resting on the shoulder of a ghost. You beam at the fine mimic work in front of you. 

“Really?” you ask, your brows knitting with intrigue. “Makes you want to dance, huh?” 

He nods enthusiastically and motions for you to join him. Your mouth hangs open for a moment. 

“Oh- no really I don’t know the first thing about it.” You stammer. Before your days at the hotel as Pinocchio’s companion, you had never known such affluent people and knew very little of high society or of their practices. Any formal knowledge of dance was utterly foreign to you. 

P assumes a swordsman’s stance and shrugs at you, nonchalant, as if combat training and dance were the most naturally drawn parallels in the world. 

“Sparring with you isn’t the same.” You say flatly, but P’s already made up his mind, and before you know it his hand is closing around yours and he’s tugging you up off the floor. You laugh nervously as you rise to your feet. “No, I’m serious! I don’t-” You begin to protest, but you catch a glimpse of his face, wide pleading eyes and creased brows. He smiles with all the calculated charm of a fox, handsome and cunning. You exhale deeply, steeling yourself before meeting his gaze. 

“Oh fine.” You relent, much to his chagrin. “Just watch your feet, I mean it.” 

P’s smile is annoyingly triumphant as he holds his hands palm-up out to you, seeking your guidance. Always so much concern for your comfort, you feel your cheeks warm just barely and hope the low light of the piano room masks it.

“Right. Um. Let’s see, you’ll put your hands…here.”  You say, taking his hands in yours and leading them to the crook between your waist and hips. He steals curious glances at you as you do. 

“And then I guess I’ll just…” You trail off, as your hands fold neatly together at the nape of his neck. You stand still for a moment, just looking at each other in the dark, the features of your faces obscured and foreign. This isn’t the way these things are normally done, you think, in pajamas, in the dark, but you can’t imagine it gets any better. If not for the undercurrent of music, you may have forgotten your purpose here entirely. P takes the first step, and you follow his lead with a dull anxiousness. Strangely enough, your movements feel still and mechanical compared to his. You try to loosen up, rolling your shoulders back, allowing yourself to be disarmed. P’s presence has a funny way of setting you at ease. 

The two of you move slowly in circles through the room, swaying gently like awkward young lovers. You draw into him as the music carries. Your cheek settles against his shoulder and his arms wrap around the small of your back and you breathe easy. It’s a lovely feeling, the way your bodies fit together like this, like they were made to. As you continue to step and sway, you close your eyes and listen to the gentle whirs and clicks of your companion’s heart…although… 

You maneuver slightly and press your ear to his chest. With some surprise you notice a skipping in its usual rhythm, bolder than you’ve ever heard it. You pull your head away and look up at P’s face in awe, a glinting smirk crossing your lips. 

“Pino, are you nervous?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. His face contorts and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes of it. He actually looks flustered and you almost don’t believe it. “It’s just me.” You say simply. At this, Pinocchio’s face softens, his brows turning up as if he’d taken offense.

“Just you?” He asks, and the timbre of his voice surprises you. You spend so much time together, and yet hardly do you hear him speak. Your smile fades slowly, replaced with an expression of curiosity. You nod hesitantly and hum in reply. P shakes his head at you, deliberate and slow. 

“Not just.” He murmurs, his gaze holding yours intently. “Never just you.” You realize you’re holding your breath. A ghost of a whisper slips past your lips. 

“Oh.”

Your fingers itch for something you can’t quite name and you find yourself pulling the puppet closer. His head dips to meet you and you feel a stray lock of his hair brush your cheek. His breath is warm.

The song ends. 

The needle of the gramophone lifts and the air is stretched thin with a cutting silence. You’re left in the dark together again, frozen in place. It feels terribly long, like you’re both waiting for something.  

“The music’s stopped.” You say, shattering the stillness of the moment, and as P moves to retrieve the record you immediately wish you hadn't. Your hand extends to stop him, fingers closing around his wrist. “But- we don’t have to, you know.” 

In the dark, you think you see him smile. He holds you like glass, delicate, and picks up again, moving leisurely to the music playing only in his head. He hums the tune softly and you follow suit, the two of you meeting in a duet of somber sounds. You wonder if your chests swell the same, if your breaths and heartbeats synchronize, following each other blindly the way you do now. The motion feels like crashing waves, steady and rhythmic, comfortingly repetitive. You fall into the flow of it all over again, leaning against P, sturdy and secure. You wouldn’t mind doing this all night.

Feels alright, indeed. 

#shalalalala KISS THE FUCKING. BOY. #P talks more than usual meaning a total of 7 words #piano and gramophone are not in the same room but I realized that too late so you're gonna have to be okay with that #lies of p #lop #lies of p fanfic #my writing #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader

[hellagaymccree]

At the Mercy of the King

I wrote this for Day 4: Age/Role Swap of the McReyes week, but I think it gives a non-con vibe. I’m not sure, but I didn’t want to tag it for the event since I realized it after I wrote this and just in case it falls under non-con.

Anyways, have a 24-year-old Overwatch Agent McCree who falls at the feet of a ‘Rey’, Deadlock’s Leader. Rey sees something in Jesse and might have a plan up his sleeve. He wishes Jesse to join Deadlock for his own gain and uses his own way to lure him in.

Reyes’ look was inspired by these drawings by midnight-ufficio and this art on twitter by jinjuok0909.

(Written in one sitting so I could submit it in today, so apologize for any mistake or if it feels rush.)

--------

He’s pushed against a metal door that opens with the impact. His bones scream in pain. The chains around his wrists click against each other as he falls to his knees. He hears laughter from behind before he’s picked up by his arm to his feet again. His head throbs to the bright light and his legs shake from having to carry himself after standing for hours in waiting. The blood dripping from his nose as dried, but no one has offered to clean it. He’s force to smell copper and sweat. The hairband he wears to keep his lock tamed as possible and to please Jack is long gone. Causing greasy locks to stick to his forehead and neck. His knees hit the floor once more due to his captures brutal force and he groans. A hand tugs back at his hair, forcing him to look up at the sculpture in front of him. A man with skin that almost shines like bronze looks down at him. His hair cascades in dark brown curls around his head. Parting mostly to his right side. His eyes capture Jesse’s attention in a heartbeat. Brown like topazes pierced in his skull. Antique rocks that read like a history book to Jesse and tells him this man holds knowledge too dangerous for his line of work. He’s wearing a long, black coat and a red wine shirt underneath with its neck stretched out. His collarbones are carved neatly over his chest and his hairs are delicately drawn in fine curls. A golden chain with small crux dangles around his neck, nestling nicely between his breasts. Jesse’s gaze trails down the man’s body and his mouth goes parch to how the pair of jeans wrap tightly around his thighs. To finish the outfit he wears leather boots, golden rings on a couple of his fingers and a leather scuff peeks out from one of the sleeves of his coat. Rey. That’s how the infamous Deadlock leader calls himself. Jesse has only heard of kings in stories. Rey didn’t seem like the kind of king that builds a kingdom. But the kind that crumbles another to satisfy his greed for gold and power. “He was left behind by Overwatch.” A raspy voice says by Jesse’s side. This man is more bones than muscles, but he’s tall and covered in tattoos. Most of the people in the room are. “I wasn’t left behind,” Jesse says, looking up at the tall man. “I came back.” The man with brown curls scoffs and crosses his arms. “For what? All your friends that were abandoned are dead now. Just like you will be.” “Why keep me alive until now, then?” Rey approaches him, stomping his boots on the concrete floor. He crouches down and grabs Jesse’s jaw with one hand. Jesse can smell smoke from cigars and whisky. Dignified, smoky whisky like the one in Rey’s eyes. “Such pretty face deserves to be on camera, right?” Two rings on Rey’s hand pin cold against Jesse’s skin. “You really think I’m pretty?” Jesse winks at the man and gets a pat to his cheek. “I’d like to send a message to your boss, Strike Commander. Savior of the masses. Golden Boy.” Jesse shrugs. “We just call him Good Ol’ Jackie.” “Do you really think such scrawny brat will be worth it?” Another Deadlock member speaks. This one steps from Rey’s side. Rey turns, ignoring his prisoner. “Morrison might see his men as disposable. But this will affect his pride. Once he sees this poor kid’s blood staining the Overwatch logo, he will come once more. Be a hero, try and save his own. But it’ll be too late.” “I ain’t a kid.” The room falls silent and Rey turns. “Excuse me?” “I said,” Jesse says sharply. “I ain’t no kid.” Rey stares down at him once more. Jesse isn’t afraid to stare back, he defies the man. He has faith in Jack, Ana and the others. If they do happen to see him, probably in his last moments, he wants them to see him wearing his blue armor proudly. But then Rey smiles. He feels like a bullet goes right through his chest and he sees white. The room starts to feel hot, too uncomfortable to be wearing such heavy uniform. He especially feels his pants going smaller and tighter. Something coils in the pit of his stomach and his lips go dry. “Clean him up. Then bring him to me.

Rey ordered his men to clean him up, not treat him nicely. They throw a wet cloth at him to wash his face, but ignore the cut on his lip that burns with the contact. Someone pulls his head back and pour a bottle of water over his hair. The care is little, but his scalp feels a lot more refresh without the grime and sweat. His blue coat his taken off his shoulders and so is the holster of his gun, with Peacekeeper in it. They leave his boots, pants and black shirt. They question the tactical vest, but decide to also take it off since it’s dirty. They spot the gold ‘BAMF’ belt buckle Jack has told him a million times to ditch, but Jesse always pulls the ‘Fareeha gave it to me as a good luck token.’ And the man falls silent. They grin to the accessory, but leave it around his waist. Once he’s presentable enough, he’s taken out of the crummy room he had met Rey and taken to another. This time, they open the wooden door for him. He widens his eyes to the dreamland he stepped on. It’s a small bar, polished and oak furniture. The wall behind the counter is coated by bricks and shelves with bottles of liquor on display and for use. The stools are mahogany with silk green cushion to sit on. The few tables around him are polished and the chairs are neatly pushed underneath. There’s a lingering smoke in the air and the sound of violin and piano. “Leave.” He looks to a corner and spots Rey, smoking by an device he recognizes as a gramophone from pictures on the internet. The door shuts and Jesse yelps. He turns to find out he’s on his own. He looks back at Rey and the older man turns. He takes a drag from his cigar and lets the smoke brush up around his eyes as they inspect Jesse from across the room. Attracted to gold like a dragon, Rey gazes over the ‘BAMF’ belt buckle and smiles to such possession. “Come here.” He commands as he stretches his hand and walks towards one of the stools. Jesse is still. He’s not sure if his legs can carry him the whole way over. He takes a quick look around and doesn’t see any cameras. But the room seems sealed off enough to torture him and no one would hear. Rey has been watching him all the way to his new seat. “Come here.” He repeats. Jesse gives the first move and his skin shivers over his nerves shivers over his bones. His skin crawls and his fingers fidget with themselves. He stands in front of Rey and notices the bulge between his spread thighs. “You look thirsty,” Rey recalls and Jesse’s cheeks start to burn. “May I offer you a drink?” Jesse clears his throat. “No.” Rey shrugs. “Alright. What’s your name?” Jesse swallows and his lips twitch. “If you cooperate, things will go smoothly.” This man knows he’s a walking statute carved by Lucifer himself to temp the most loyal saints and drag them straight to the fire. Jesse might be one of the good guys, but he’s not a saint. Rey already had him in his grasp when he fell to his knees in front of the Deadlock leader. “Jesse,” is all McCree responds. Rey scoffs. “Cute.” Once again his grabs Jesse’s jaw, but this time is gentle. Worried he will break his new toy. He caresses Jesse’s skin, the small patch of hair below his mouth and his youthful lips. Jesse is paralyzed to the touch even if the cut burns under Rey’s thumb. His fingers feel rough, but the way they brush him is pleasant. “How did you end up in Overwatch? Can’t be older than 25.” “24, actually.” “How long have you been in it?” Jesse laughs and looks away from the man, gathering the composure he needs to speak again. “I ain’t gun’ talk that easy, sweetheart. You’re better off locking me in that room and torturing me in front of a camera.” A laugh vibrates in Rey’s chest as he pushes back a few locks of Jesse’s hair. “Oh, I will torture you, alright. And I’ll make you talk. No cameras, though. Not today.” Rey’s face softens and his gaze relaxes the longer Jesse stares at it. His eyes are a timeless treasure he found and wants to keep for himself. Suddenly, Rey picks him up and spins him around. He yelps when his ass hits the bar and Rey settles between his thighs before he can put up a guard. Rey’s index finger and thumb hold Jesse’s chin in place as he leans forward. A ‘no’ chokes on Jesse’s throat and a gasp pushes it down. Their noses caress at the tip and the man’s breath is hot over his shivering lips. He can almost taste the cigar that had been between Rey’s lips a few seconds ago. Rey’s hand slithers down from Jesse’s chin and holds still around his neck. Jesse stiffens when he feels the hold around him, yet he can still breathe. It’s just a gentle hold to keep him in place, but terrified to run. Jesse’s eyelids start to feel heavy the longer he is under Rey’s stare. The man remains near Jesse for a few seconds, breathing in the same air and his smell. There’s still sweat on the younger man and the perfume of the sun over his skin. Jesse seems to have been holding his breath for ever when Rey kisses him. He moans and blushes in embarrassment to such weakness. Rey returns the moan and deepens the kiss to savior offering in front of him. Jesse hisses when the burning in his bottom lip is too much. Rey captures the lip between his teeth and changes those cries of pain to pleasure before kissing him again. Jesse feels numb in the hands of the man. He tries to wake himself up. This is a trick. A lure into his den just to tear his throat out. He has denied temptations before, that’s what Jack has taught him and he can’t throw away the opportunities he has had. He has built a good name for himself in Overwatch just to have it taken away for a good time. As if Rey read his mind, he starts kissing down his neck and Jesse freezes. But there are no sharp teeth nor pain. Only more tender kisses. Rey’s undoes the belt and Jesse’s hands hold to his thick wrists, but he doesn’t put pressure. He just holds the Deadlock leader as he continues undressing him like they’ve done this before. Jesse’s hard cock springs free from his boxers and Rey wraps a hand around it. The cold rings make Jesse yelp in thrill as Rey smiles. He pushes Jesse’s chest down and he obliges by laying back. The counter ends on his shoulder blades and his head hangs back in the air. It doesn’t take long for a warm, moist mouth to wrap around Jesse’s dick. The younger man gasps as if he had been drowning and just found a way to the surface. He breathes in the intoxicating air into his lungs to save his life. Rey isn’t afraid to swallow Jesse whole. He uses his tongue to brush the head and base. He traces the veins on Jesse’s member and moans while he sucks. He feels Jesse trembling below him and smiles as continues to give pleasure. Jesse’s vision blurs and he feels dizzy from all the blood that’s parting to his head and cock. He shuts his eyes and bites his lip to try and resist. It’s probably late to push the man away, he doesn’t think he even has the strength to do it. But maybe he can hold himself back, regain his force and find a way through this. When he opens his eyes and turns his head, he sees an empty bottle of wine under the counter. He grabs it and holds on tight to the neck of it. He moans and whimpers as Rey’s hands slip under his tight shirt. His palms sweat, causing him to tighten his hold on the bottle. He decides it’s time when Rey moans loudly around his cock. Jesse swings the bottle over him, aiming for Rey’s head. There’s a fist around his wrists before he reaches his target and his eyes widen. Slowly, Rey slips away from Jesse. Letting his shiny, covered in saliva cock fall against his stomach. Rey’s eyes turn to fire as he growls. He forces Jesse to drop the bottle and pulls him off the counter to turn and bend him over the bar with his arm behind his back. “I told you,” Rey hisses, hovering over the younger men. “If you cooperate, things will go smoothly.” Jesse’s brain spins inside of his skull when Rey turns him around again. He holds on to the younger man’s jaw like he has done before and uses his thumb to brush his bottom lip. “Such perfect lips to spill sins out of. So tender to ravage and keep for myself,” he hums before kissing Jesse. There’s a taste shared between them Jesse can describe as sin. It’s bittersweet and hot in his mouth. Like aged, fine, velvet wine spilling down his throat. He’s pushed to his knees as Rey unbuttons his pants and takes his cock out. It hangs in front of Jesse, who stares at its curve and veins. It’s perfectly coated with brown skin and a path of dark curls shadow above it. Something twinkles in Jesse’s line of sight, lighting up his curiosity. Rey takes his cock in his hand to guide it into Jesse’s mouth when he sees what it is. Two rows of silver pearls, three on each side, down his shaft. Rey growls a laugh and Jesse opens his mouth as if it had been a command. The piercings roll easy on his tongue, but the taste isn’t pleasant. Still, the way they bob and causes the King to moan and praise him makes him forget the sour taste. Jesse’s hands find their way to Rey’s thighs and he digs his nails, wanting to feel the thick coat of skin through the jeans. “That’s it, boy,” Rey sighs as he tugs at Jesse’s hair, creating some pressure to Jesse’s movement. The way he tangles his fingers between his locks also cause Jesse to moan. Rey smiles when he gets the effect he wants. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” Rey speaks up when he catches a glimpse of Jesse’s sneaky hand working on himself. He uses one of his boots to push it away and Jesse whines as he looks up at Rey. His eyes are brown citrines, almost blacken by lust. He is begging Rey to reconsider, but the Deadlock leader only grabs Jesse’s head and thrusts into him. He ignores his pleads and takes what the humble boy has to offer to the king. Rey comes painfully slow and all over Jesse’s chest. He forces the Overwatch agent on the counter again and plays with his precum leaking cock until it starts twitching uncontrollably. Rey tightens his fist around Jesse’s balls, making him yelp, as he hisses, “if you come, I will kill you.” Oh, and Jesse wants to die right now. He wants to cover the older man’s hand with his cum. Or paint those dark, swollen lips with the results of his blissful moment. He wants to tarnish that crux hanging around his neck and perish in the act. -- Jesse’s eyes are drowning in tears. His cock aches swollen, twitching, trapped between his stomach and the smooth table underneath him. His arms are tied back with the belt buckle Fareeha gave him. He doesn’t know how he will look at her in the eyes again, if he got the chance. While he is bent over the table, naked, sweaty and a trembling mess. Rey remains almost fully clothed and stoic as he rims Jesse’s asshole with his tongue and moans into the entrance. His coat rest on another chair and Jesse got a good view of how the red shirt clings to his shoulders, chest and waist. How the sleeves sit neatly, rolled up around his elbows, making his arms look bigger. Rey smacks and grabs his ass between licks, making it worse for the younger man. Jesse doesn’t know how long they have been doing this since he was placed on the counter like a sacrifice. His mind clogs with haze and an aching fever to release. Every time Rey pushes him over to the edge, he forces Jesse back against him and growls into his ear like a jealous lover. After his tongue, Rey uses his fingers to open Jesse up. Jesse can’t even recall when Rey backed away to get the bottle of lube, or where he got it from. But he’s glad his thick fingers are slick. Jesse whines and moans to the ferocity Rey uses to pump them inside. He scissors and curls his fingers as he watches the younger man squirm and shake. He sees the storm building up inside of Jesse. The way his back arches and his wrist struggle to break free. Jesse clenches his teeth, needing something to bite on and Rey can only imagine how much they must hurt piercing into his skin. He moans to such image and slips another finger inside of Jesse. “P-please,” Jesse murmurs with quivering lips. Rey laughs as his fingers slip out of Jesse and he steps back to admire his work. Jesse tries to cross his knees, feeling so exposed with his gaping hole and bruised cheeks. Rey pours lube into his hand and strokes his cock, solid once more. He spreads Jesse’s ass cheeks and whistles to the pink entrance before he covers it with the head of his cock. A sound of pleasure and frustration comes out of Jesse’s mouth as Rey pushes in. His head fits easily inside and the warmth feels cozy for him to continue. The first two piercings make it through and Jesse screams softly into the air. “You’ll love this, I promise,” Rey purrs as he remains still for a few seconds, giving the younger man a chance to adjust. The second pair of piercings slip inside and Jesse bites his lip to keep quiet. Rey frowns and feels offended. Almost like Jesse is defying him. He pushes what’s left of his cock in one thrust and Jesse gasps, eyes snapping open. Rey smiles and starts moving slowly. He looks down to capture his cock slipping out of Jesse’s hole and back inside. He finds a good rhythm and pushed forward more than necessary to make Jesse’s body move with him. He loves how Jesse’s ass bounce against him. His cheeks jiggle, tempting a slap. He obeys the luring and smacks his hand against one of them. Jesse screams and groans before another slap comes down. Rey spreads the cheeks to have better access and go as deep as he can. He remains inside of Jesse, pushing in as Jesse cries out his name. The chants every king wants to hear from his hungry kingdom. Jesse sees stars when he closes his eyes. He swears his lip is bleeding again from biting into it so much, but the burn adds the finishing touch to the whole scene. Rey and him are coming together as well as clashing. He feels he fits right with the man, but they’re fighting on different sides. He feels like the sun, casting light in dark places to bring hope. Leading the way for others and lending a hand. Rey feels like the moon, cold, yet beautiful. He brings darkness, but manages to shine in it and makes his own path. He imagines the painting they must be creating. Like an eclipse, too intense to stare directly at it, but a connection that’s too rare to miss. He whine when Rey leaves him feeling empty. He looks over his shoulder as Rey pulls up a chair. He’s about to protest when the belt comes undone from his wrist and Rey pulls him towards him. The Deadlock leader takes Jesse with him as he sits down and look at each other. Jesse rests his hands on Rey’s shoulders to lifts himself up and settle on the older man’s lap. Rey positions his cock with one hand and uses the other to guide Jesse down when he’s ready. Jesse’s luscious lips open to a moan and Rey witnesses the cracks appearing as he starts falling apart. “I can take care of you, Jesse,” Rey purrs as Jesse sways his hips. “Y-yeah?” “Yes, no one will touch you ever again. Just me. My men describe a sharpshooter. Six bullets on each round, never missed a target. Took down a few of them, but still got caught.” He laughs, but ends up moaning an ‘oh?’ when Jesse starts bouncing. He smiles before continuing. “Together, we can be unstoppable. They will fear us. Your Strike Commander will have no power over you.” “R-Rey!” Jesse gasps. “You can come now, Jesse. See how good it all feels. It will feel this good every day, whenever you want it.” “Fuck, yes,” Jesse sighs. Rey watches as Jesse falls apart on top of him. Sees the younger agent crumbling in his arms and he looks back at Rey like he has picked him up from the ashes he burned in and gave him a new path in life. This boy has a gift. There’s fire inside of him and an aim that belongs to Death. Overwatch won’t allow him reach his full potential, but Rey will. Yes, he will take care of this new devil. Spoil him rotten in ways he knows a man cannot resist. He already did it once. Jesse’s lustful eyes tell him he wants more of him. They’re almost pitch black, demonic and tempting enough to keep Rey interested. Jesse pleads to never forget him. If Jack Morrison wanted his agent back, he would make him go through hell for him.

#mcreyes #mcreaper #if someone can confirm if this doesn't fall under non-con let me know and I will tag it for the week #better if its someone who's involved in the event just to be sure #writingramblings

[salazarscastleofglass]

A Tour of the Manor

Summary: Draco Malfoy takes (OC) Violet on a tour of the Manor, and shares some childhood stories (almost entirely Fluff) Read the previous chapter here. 

Warnings: None.

Length: 2K words

Series: Castle of Glass

Timing: After the Battle of Hogwarts Part 6.

“Well there’s a lot more to come Princess.” Draco kissed her kindly, “Ready for the tour?” Draco offered her his hand, she took it and let him lead her down to the front door. “You’ve already seen most of this but in case you missed something. Or someone.” Draco spoke grudgingly as a nearby portrait made a What am I chopped liver? Face at them. “This is the foyer.”  Violet admired the high ceilings and the way the stairs opened to the second floor. “In here,” Draco opened two grand doors opposite the front door to reveal a long room “is the ballroom”. Violet entered the room and walked a few paces towards the center. She felt very small, in this large empty room. She tried to imagine the Malfoy’s hosting balls.

Violet suddenly had a thought, “Do you remember, third year I taught you how to produce a Patronus?” Draco nodded, he didn’t think that was something he could ever forget. “While we were dancing you spun me, and I wondered where you learned to dance like that. And then again when you stole a dance with me at the Yule Ball.” Draco smiled and waved his wand, a waltz burst out of the gramophone in the room. He bowed deeply offering her his hand.

“It was in this room.” Draco said as she took his hand and he stood. “I had dance lessons twice a week starting when I was 7.” He pulled her into him. “Eventually I just had them every few weeks, too keep up on modern steps.” Draco took her by the waist and counted her through the dance slowly, leading patiently.  “But I had never had as much fun dancing as I did with you. And I still can’t produce a corporeal Patronus if you’re not around.” Violet smiled, and the song ended. Draco kissed her sweetly. “Come on.”

She followed him out of the ballroom and down the hall. “We have two kitchens.  My grandmother enjoyed cooking. She was a Fawley, pure blood but very poor. My grandfather turned the smaller dining room into a kitchen. It was his wedding present to her. The other kitchen is in the basement. Gilly, our other house elf, cooks down there when we have guests or want a grand meal.” The kitchen they had enjoyed that morning was on their right as they went down the left wing. Throughout the house was the same grey marble and black woodwork. Despite the modern and edgy décor the manor was warm, clean, and well lit.

The next room was a large music room. There was a fire place, much more ornate than the one in the master bedroom. And a large window that looked out into the rose gardens behind the house. But Violet was drawn to the Piano. She sat down and played out an old shanty.

“I didn’t know you could play.” Draco sat next to her and played the second part of the song.

“I’m not very good, I think that’s the only song I know all the way through.” Violet spoke honestly when they finished. Looking around from her new seat she noticed a wide array of instruments hung on the walls.

“I also had music lessons.” Draco began another song. “I play piano, violin, and pretty much any brass or woodwind.” Violet was realizing that, although she knew Draco very well, she knew very little about him.

“You’re an only child, right?” Draco nodded. “No cousins or anything?” Draco shook his head.

“None that are Malfoy’s. My father was an only child too. My aunt Bella never had children.”  

“That must have been lonely.” Violet has a sister and a brother, both were younger than her.  She also had a total of 13 cousins.

Draco thought a moment. “But my mother’s other sister, Andromeda, ran away and married Ted Tonks, who was muggle born.  My grandparents disowned her, but she had a daughter Nymphadora. She would have only been a few years older than me. I never met her, and she died at the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Violet watched Draco play for a moment. “She had a child you know.” Draco stopped playing to look at her. “She named him Teddy, for her father. He’s being raised by your aunt, I think.” Violet had discussed all of this with the Weasley’s while they laid Remus Lupin, Hogwarts’ only Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, to rest.

Draco considered what she was saying. He had known that Nymphadora had married the werewolf Remus Lupin, one of the death eaters had suggested that he could babysit their pups. “Come on, there’s still more to see.”

Draco skipped over the next door and went instead to the fourth door down the hall. “This is the morning room.” Violet looked curiously at the table still set for four, and the couches and portraits of Queens Elizabeth and Victoria and other royalty hung on the walls. Queen Victoria smiled at her kindly.

“What exactly is a morning room?” Violet asked, and Draco laughed.

“You entertain guests in a morning room.” Violet was still confused.

“Then what do you do in a sitting room? And the Drawing room?” She didn’t see the point of so many rooms, really it just seemed like a lot to clean.

Draco laughed again. “I guess it’s kind of silly. You might entertain any caller in a morning room. But only a distinguished person, or someone who is very close to the family would go into the drawing room. And a sitting room is for the family, of if a visitor has children or if I had a friend over. When I was a child I would play on the floor and take my school lessons there.” Queen Victoria was no longer smiling at Violet and looked at her oddly.

“School lessons?” Since first year Hogwarts students know how to read, write, count, and do basic math Violet had assumed they must have had some kind of education before Hogwarts. In the states wizarding kids went to Muggle schools until they began to show magical inclination then they were educated at home if they had a wizarding parent.

“I had a tutor. 3 days a week for 3 hours, learned to read, write, and math. I’m fluent in French.  I also studied magical theory starting at 9, once my magic started to show.” Violet knew that 9 was late to have only just started to show magic. She had begun to show when she was 4, or at least that’s the first anyone noticed. She had wanted to go outside and then found herself at a playground up the street.

Draco led her through the doors and in to the Conservatory. Violet was taken aback by the beautiful indoor garden with a babbling pond and with a waterfall coming out of the wall.  Inside the pond were small flowing fish of varying colors. The room was warm and felt very much alive. Butterflies floated around the plants and she smiled.

“This is my favorite room. When it rained or was cold I would play in here instead of on the grounds.” Violet looked up at the glass ceiling and could imagine the rain pouring down on it.

“It’s beautiful.”

She turned to find Draco holding a white and pink lily. “Reducto” The lily shrunk down, and he tucked it behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.” Sometimes Draco could be a bit over dramatic, but Violet found it endearing and kissed him, her hands on either side of his face. “Come on.” Violet followed him from the room and into the hall.

Violet stopped by the second door from the ballroom. “Wait, Draco.  What’s in here?”

Draco paused and then turned back to her. He turned the knob and pushed the door open but did not go in. The open door revealed a dark room with a long table at the center. The other furniture had been pushed to the walls. Long black curtains blocked out the sun, and the room felt cold and painful.

“It’s the sitting room.” And with that he closed the door and walked away.  

Violet hurried after him. “Draco I’m kind of hungry, can we eat and then finish the tour?” Draco nodded and pulled her into the kitchen.  He made eggs and served them to her. Violet was surprised that he was a good cook.

“After his return, Voldemort used the sitting room as a kind of meeting place.  Do you remember Professor Burbage?” Violet nodded. “Well she didn’t resign. She was kidnapped and held in that room, suspended above that table and tortured endlessly. That was just the start of it. The things that happened in that room…” Violet had begun to regret asking Draco what was in the room. “The rest of the house started feeling a bit lighter after his death. The house elves did well to clear the grime and… well blood. But that room, it just won’t come clean. I’ve tried opening the windows and lighting the fires.  Nothing works.” Violet had heard of places that took on elements of the Dark Magic that had been done there. Realizing what he had said earlier, in the morning room, it occurred to her how much that must hurt him.

“Finish up, I’m saving the best bit for last.” Violet had stopped eating while he spoke. Draco cleared her plate and set it into the sink. Then he took her hand and led her down the other wing.

“Dining room,” Draco opened a door beside the ballroom, revealing a long table set for 16. “I never liked eating in there. It was always so formal.”  

“This is the drawing room,” Violet looked in on a room that seemed, to her, identical to the morning room. “and the lounge.” Violet looked at him curiously as he opened yet another room for entertaining.

Draco smiled at the puzzled look on her face. “The lounge is used before a dinner party, while the servants and house elves prepare the meal and serve hors d’oeuvres and drinks.  Then the less esteemed guests leave after dinner, and the esteemed guests and hosts retire to the drawing room.” He explained.

“So, in my house, we have a kitchen with a dining table in it. And a living room that you can see from the kitchen. And when we entertain we set our hors d’oeuvres of chips and dip on the coffee table along with a bottle of soda and some cups. Then the host makes dinner while the most esteemed guests help. Then we set the plate of tray on the coffee table and give everyone a paper plate.” Draco laughed at her plucky tone. “Sometimes we do make your own tacos instead of nachos.”

“That does sound more enjoyable.” He was still laughing as he led her along to the next room through a door in the side of the lounge.

“This is the billiard room, generally the men go in here to smoke cigars and play billiards while the women sit in the lounge or morning room to gossip.” Violet struggled to imagine herself in that life. He led her back towards the hallway through another room. “This is the card room, but we don’t really use calling cards anymore.”

Violet couldn’t suppress her laugh. “Why not, of all the other thinks you still do.”

Draco responded seriously. “The Dark Lord didn’t want a collection of calling cards for his supporters.” Violet was taken aback.

“Oh… I guess that makes sense.” Draco led her back into the hallway and into a study.

Unlike the other parts of the house this room was decorated with Dark wood, and antique furniture, the shelves lining the far wall were full of dated binders, presumably tracing the Malfoy financial endeavors. “This is the study. I would do my summer assignments in here, but really my father used it for business meetings, and managing finances.”

Draco ran a hand through his blonde hair, and Violet realized again how overwhelming it must be to inherit all of this so young. Of course, his parents had spent had his whole life preparing him for it, and he took it all in stride. That didn’t change that his twentieth birthday was in a few days, or that he had just lost his father.

Draco led her out of the study, Violet noticed another room at the end of the hall, but this time didn’t ask about it. She followed Draco up the stairs.

The tour continues here.

#Draco Malfoy #Malfoy Manor #Draco Malfoy Fluff #Harry Potter #Harry Potter OC #Draco x OC #Draco x Muggleborn #Draco #After the Battle of Hogwarts