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milswrites · 9 months ago

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The Bat Boys X Bookworm!Reader

Summary: What the Bat Boys (and Eris & Lucien) are like with their bookworm partners

Warnings: Lil smutty and nsfw (not too much just want to cover myself) so 18+ MDNI

Notes: Just a bit of fun really, it's different to what I usually write but I hope you guys like it!

Rhysand

Rhysand loves you

And if loving you means that he has to feed your obsession with buying books?

Then he would happily clear out all the bookshops in Velaris if it meant getting to see you smile.

Rhysand is rich-rich.

Which means if there's something you want? He'll buy it for you without question.

You once mentioned about how much you'd love your own library one day.

So of course by the end of the week you had your own little haven inside Rhysand's house with more books than you could ever dream of reading and your own little ladder to reach them all.

But he didn't stop there.

For your mating gift he purchased you your very own library in Velaris

In which Rhys may or may not have enacted his fantasies of sleeping with a Librarian.

Whilst Rhysand does like to read, his taste in books is very different to your own.

But even though he doesn't read the books you do, he's more than happy to sit and listen to you talk about your favourite ones for hours if that meant being able to see your eyes light up as you talked about something you loved.

But no books nor libraries could top the best gift he had ever given you.

A hand-written book containing the story of your relationionship.

Complete with crude little comments and drawings the High Lord had scribbled down in the margins.

Rhysand loved history.

So what better way to preserve his undying love for you than in-between the pages of a book which would last forever.

Cassian

Cassian had never been very interested in books.

He'd much rather experience the thrill of real fighting and action in person than spend his time reading about it on some dusty old pages.

In fact the only time Cassian had been in a library he had the terrifying encounter with Bryaxis.

Safe to say that the trauma he experienced was the perfect excuse for never stepping in one again.

Until he met you.

Cassian has always been the type of guy who's all in or nothing.

He discovers the person he has a crush on likes reading?

You know he's going to be walking around with books he's never even opened pretending like he is a well-read Illyrian.

Citing quotes he doesn't even understand just to try and impress you.

And once you're together?

You show Cassian exactly what he's missed out on when it comes to reading.

Especially when it comes to getting tips for your bedroom activities.

For months after you revealed to him the wonders that are smut books, Cassian would spend his free time delving through the pages looking for new ideas on how to spice up your sex life.

Claiming his increased interest in reading was due to 'research purposes'

Cassian is 100% down to roleplay characters from your novels

He loves being the big strong hero to your damsel.

Whenever Cassian catches you reading, happily curled into the comfort of your sofa, he'll approach with a smirk on his lips

"Any new tricks you'd like to try out? I think page 69 is worth a shot."

Azriel

Azriel's a busy guy.

He's always away on missions for Rhysand or working in the dungeons of the Court of Nightmare's

So he can be forgiven if when he comes home, reading is the last thing on his mind.

But what he does enjoy though, is when you read to him.

He can lay with his head in your lap for hours.

Humming along to whatever tale you tell whether it's fantasy, romance or a good thriller

Sometimes he'll even offer his input. Laugh when something especially funny happens or shed a tear whenever a character he likes died.

Azriel loves the sound of your voice

Enjoying the way you put on voices whenever a character is speaking.

He's grown to like the sense of domesticity that he feels whenever you read to him. Allowing himself to imagine you doing this to two little Illyrian babies of your own.

Reading to your wide eyed children as they are gripped by the tales you're telling

Azriel is also a gentleman.

Need a hand with carrying the books you're choosing whilst you shop?

He's there

Hands willingly taking everything you stack on top of him, trailing after you with your selections like a lost puppy.

And when you get to the till?

Azriel had already spoken to the shopkeeper upon entry and added anything you chose to his account. Claiming the books were just as much his as they were yours if you were going to read them to him.

Azriel is definitely the type of male who likes you to read your smut to him as he pleasures you, acting out the words on the page until you're unable to speak anymore, leaving the rest of the chapter to your own imagination.

Eris

Eris is a reader.

He loves nothing more than to settle down after a long day with a good book in hand and a steaming tea.

You can't tell me he doesn't find it the hottest thing ever when he discovers you like to read too

The two of you have your own little book club

You'll each read the same book and then have a little meeting when it's over to discuss what you thought of it.

He can also get really emotional and intense about them.

God knows the amount of times you've had to calm him down when a character has made a choice he didn't like.

I think Eris definitely likes to write too

Not seriously, but it's a good way for him to get his thoughts out and to escape from the day to day of his reality.

And he loves to have you read his work

To see the way your face lights with joy as your eyes flick through his beautiful prose.

A small smile upon his lips at the knowledge that the muse for his writings was you.

Lucien

Lucien also likes to read.

But the way you read?

It terrifies him.

The way you obsess over the characters from your stories.

Your passionate opinions on their decisions and the plots.

God forbid Lucien says something about them that you don't agree with.

Lucien finds you positively feral when it comes to the stories you like.

But that doesn't stop him from wanting to show interest in them too.

Lucien likes to read all your favorite books and leave annotations of his thoughts in the margins.

This was exactly how the two of you had gotten together, the male having gifted you with a copy of a book he had noticed you reading.

The pages filled with scratchy comments and opinions on everything that happened.

Lucien pours his soul into his annotations and you love that.

Lucien is also a poetry man.

He loves to recite verses to you which stick out to him

Sometimes they were romantic, making your heart stop in your chest and breath catch in your throat.

But Lucien was also a fan of satirical poetry

The most ridiculous, corny things you have ever heard.

He'll come find you as you're going about your day and recite his latest read to you - your eyes rolling to the back as you did so, yet you fail to hide the smile which crosses your face every time he does so.

He has also tried to write you poetry before, express the depth of his feelings towards you. Safe to say his lame attempt of a limerick earnt him a scoff and had you hiding all his poetry books from him for the next month.

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #cassian x reader #eris vanserra x reader #cassian #eris vanserra #rhysand x reader #rhysand #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra x reader

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i-write-things · 10 months ago

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Cuddle Spider

(Yan! Chrollo x Willing! Reader)

It is in human nature to seek warmth. Achieving homeostasis is a characteristic of all living things. When we are cold, we seek warmth, be it physically or emotionally.

Imagine being freezing outside, and right next to you is a fire. But you are not allowed to cuddle up to said fire. You can only admire. A mysterious force is holding you back from gratifying yourself with such a comfort.

That is you right now. You are the one freezing. The cold is a combination of it being winter, and the AC running too much for your liking. Even as you sit on the edge of the bed you feel no warmth. The fire is the very man sitting across from you in a chair, reading and unbothered by the temperatures. And the mysterious force is your conscious.

A part of you wants to cuddle up to him. You're well aware he would be willing to do so. He's not doing a hefty task currently. Even if he only wanted to continue reading, who could hold you and read. His heat would be certainly welcome. Not to mention, the feeling of safety that comes with being wrapped up in his arms.

However, you feel- no, you know this is wrong. This man, though charismatic, intelligent, and thoughtful in his own unique way, is a monster. He took you. Without your consent, he scooped you up and away. And while you no longer have to worry about taxes, morons for customers and coworkers, and feeling touch starved, it doesn't change the fact he is not a good person. He steals things that are considered to be national treasures for the sake of, not even riches nor status, but rather for the thrill of the swiping. And also for a second reason you couldn't quite decipher, though you have your interpretations as to what he meant.

Still. That wasn't even the worst of it. As you look at him now- his raven colored hair hanging over his forehead, covering up that mysterious tattoo and just barely dangling over his eyes. Enigmatic, deep stone colored eyes that carefully scan over the contents of the page that tells a tale of who knows what.- he acts so calm. He is calm, really. But how? After all he's done, the stealing of precious valuables, stealing of people, the mass murderings...You just can't seem to wrap around your head how he can sit here, so relaxed and at ease, all whilst knowing the atrocities he's committed.

And yet, despite this, you still feel that compelling urge to crawl into his lap. To get him to lay down on the bed you now share, and lay down on his chest, his muscular arms creating a safe haven for you. Is it real love you experience, or is it the succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome? The latter being the most likely choice in this scenario. You've been kept here for what you estimate to be about 9 or 10 months. Truthfully, you have no real idea, but this is simply your best guess, judging by the weather and seasons. Though, it feels more like a year or 2 than anything.

Stockholm Syndrome was doing funny things to you. It made you crave the touch of a man you should despise with all your might. You continue to stare and think deeper and deeper about this. Truly, you where the beauty and he was the beast. Although he was an alternate, more backwards version. He started off as the handsome prince, then revealed himself to be a beast.

You and Chrollo. Beauty and the best. You chuckle at the thought. A grave mistake to make while staring at the chap. His observant eyes picked up to you, and a small, amused smirk sneaks onto his face as well.

"What's so funny?" He asked charmingly, as if you had just giggled at a joke he made.

"I-Its...nothin'. Just um...just a dumb thought I had."

"Care to share?"

"As I said, it's pretty dumb. it wasn't even all that funny, really."

"Then what's holding you back from telling me. You seemed as carefree as the wind when you where staring at me a couple of moments ago." His mouth transformed from an amused smirk, to a smug grin. Jerk. Doesn't he know how pretty he looks when he does that? He probably does.

"I-..." Your words die on your tongue and go back down your throat. Of course he knew you where looking. He's Chrollo fucking Lucilfer, of all people.

You have a couple of options. You can compliment him. Distract his thoughts, but you know from experience he will take it, and not give you your reward of changing the subject. You could insult him. But...something tells you not to, and it isn't fear. Just a feeling that you don't want to. You could flip the tables, and ask him what he thinks it is, but he would turn it once more and back to you. He was crafty with his words like that. Lying would be fruitless, as he would know immediately. He knows all your ticks and give aways. Your only option is the truth, and hope he doesn't feel insulted.

"I was just thinking...this whole...thing. It reminds me of beauty and the beast."

"Assuming I'm the beast?" He raises an eyebrow. "and what whole thing are you referring to?"

"I just- Well, um. Okay, yes. in this situation, you are the beast. Or at least, a reverse version. You used to be the handsome prince, and now you're the beast. And the thing I was referring to is...y'know, the not letting me go, thing."

"Hm..." He watches you for a moment with those predatory eyes before speaking. "You thought I was the handsome prince. Though I have revealed my true colors, my looks haven't changed."

Jerk. Handsome jerk.

"Well, yes," You sigh, knowing exactly what he was suggesting. And, it was true. "You're looks haven't changed and...you maybe still are um...y'know. But that doesn't take away from the fact you're a beast."

"I'll take that as a compliment. The beast did anything he could for Belle, if I'm not mistaken. And she did fall for him at some point as well. Are you sure you're still Belle and I'm the beast in this whole 'thing', as you put it?"

"It's only Stockholm Syndrome." You scoff playfully, not being able to help the small smile as you cross your arms.

"Excuse me?"

"I said it was just- oh."

You realize your mistake. A very, very stupid one.

You just admitted you having fallen for him. And that stupid smug grin you so dearly want to either kiss or smack off his face isn't helping.

"L-look, okay, I admit-"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He queries, going to sit beside you on the edge of the bed. His hand started to slowly creep up and down your bicep, causing goosebumps to wake in his touch. Something he felt and was aware of.

"B-because I...W-well.." You nervously spout, looking for any sort of out. You can't tell this...this psychopath your true feelings. Instead of saying something smug, he does something worse:

He waits patiently and silently as you dig yourself into a deeper whole. Of course, you could deny, deny, deny. But...the fire is so close. Despite the force holding you back....if you could only just...relent a little. Besides, you'd feel releived, wouldn't you? Like finally telling your childhood crush you like them while on the playground at recess. That's exactly what this is. You're both on the playground, and he is your silly little crush, and none of this will matter. That doesn't stop your hummingbird of a heart.

Taking in a deep breath, with a face radiating the warmth you wish you'd receive from Chrollo, you finally talk. "Look, I just...Ok. I'm not even sure if I should love you. I mean, yes, I do love you, and I do want to be held and I secretly enjoyed it everytime you held me at night these past couple weeks. I cannot deny the way my h-heart skips everytime your gorgeous eyes observe my every action. Though I find it creepy, I also find it very fascinating. But I still feel like this isn't right. You-You stole many things, killed many people, and outright took me. I just- I just feel like I'm not supposed to love you."

He stares at you quietly for a beat or two after. For a moment, you're afraid you babbled on too fast, and he'd make you repeat yourself. But that's dumb for two reasons. 1. he can see and move faster than you can comprehend. 2. he speaks up after.

"None of your situation calls for normal circumstances. In the world you live in right now, your options are limited."

"Yes, but...-" Your chin is lifted up with his index finger and now you face him. What a sappy, cliche move. It doesn't prevent the already prevalent blush on your face to increase, however.

"You don't have to feel a certain way just because society wouldn't be pleased with it. After all, society wouldn't be pleased about any of this. And yet, no matter what, this will happen, anyway. So why care? It's not as though society has tried to save you."

He raises a point. A fair one, at that. That, doubled with the fact you so badly want to crawl into his arms right now. Who is stopping you? No one has dared help you before. Why should you care?

"I can see the stirring in your mind. You know I'm right." He states. You nod quietly.

"Then, what are you going to do about it?"

After a moment of silence, you give in. You gently push him back down to lay on the bed. At first, his eyebrows raise in surprise. He didn't think he convinced you to go this fast. But his confusion is soon quelled with an answer as you lay down on him, cuddling up to him in a much more wholesome manner than he thought you would. His expression softens. As you lay your head on his chest and curl up to him, he wraps his warm, protective arms around you. The book and mysterious force now gone. It all had dissolved much like a weak resolute in a strong resolvent. He let's out a peaceful, happy sigh, and you follow suit.

"You know, I've known about how you felt for some time." He reveals.

...Honestly, you knew. You are well aware nothing gets passed him. You where only just saving yourself from the embarrassment of admitting, and from the force that had held you back for what felt like a year.

"I know," you sigh "I'm just glad I get to do this now. Is it....is it okay of we do it more often?"

He let's out a handsome chuckle "Of course, my dear. How can I say no to denying you of what you desire when it's something as simple and precious as this? I had a feeling you might like this. Before I took you away, you where quite the cuddle bug."

"Hmm....." You hum. "Cuddle spider." You correct, nuzzling his chest. This felt much better than just staring at him from afar.

"Yes," he chuckles, liking your little pun. "My cuddle spider."

#i write for you #chrollo #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #writing for you #chrollo headcanon #Loosely proof read #probably a lot of mistakes #sorry if there is #chrollo x willing reader #yandere chrollo x Willing reader

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tkwrites · 18 days ago

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Okay I'm done now and heading to bed, one last question.

Can you name a favourite fic for each of the boys?

Hi my Lovely,

There are quite a few of your asks I haven't answered, but please know I'm not ignoring them. They'll just take a little more time to respond to.

I can tell you my favorite fics, though:

Matthew Tkachuk - Back To You because it's such a complete story. I love the way he and Jessie meet, lose each other, and then are thrown together by fate again. I also feel like I really captured that sassy side of Matthew's personality in this fic, which I was really worried about at the time I was writing it. This is also the story that I think would be easiest to flesh out into a full length novel.

Nico Hischier - I love all the parts of his story for different reasons, but I think It Doesn't Matter Part II is my favorite. I had actually written the whole sequence of nude sketches for another character, but ended up scrapping the whole story because I couldn't find any real conflict for them to resolve. When I realized I could use it for Nico and Lena if she was an artist, I was thrilled and got to work rewriting it for them. In the end, the only things that stayed the same were 5 of the 6 poses. Getting into and out of them changed, as did the characters relating to each other during them. I love all the longing and awkward tension between them in this piece, as well as how they finally end up confessing their love for each other. Finally, the culmination of all of their longing into the final sex scene? Chefs kiss.

Quinn Hughes - This one is so hard. I've written so much about Quinn and Sarah and I love all of the pieces for one reason or another. If I had to pick three favorites, they would be:

1). Five Days of Joy because I'm so proud of this fic. It took SO long to write, but I love the way it turned out. I love that we go through so many consecutive days and such a gamut of emotions with Sarah and Quinn.

2). The Second Time is Better because I love the portrayal of a more real first time. One of the things that drives me batty about romance novels is how the characters get together and always seem to have this instantly amazing sexual connection. No room for human failing or first time jitters. In reality, it takes time to build sexual chemistry and connection, and I went into this piece wanting to show at least some of that.

and 3). Second Nature because I think it has the prettiest prose. I still think this passage is some of the best writing I've ever done:

This was ultimate flirting in Quinn’s book. Something he knew he could do. When someone wanted to talk about music, or art or classic cars, he was a fish out of water. But talking hockey? He could do that all day long. Convincing someone to like the sport he loved so much? There wasn't a more ideal situation.

“Oh, good,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him.

This was a perfect evening. Casual and comfortable. Cooking for someone he - liked, and kissing her whenever he wanted, taking no worry of who might be watching.

Letting himself get swept up in the kiss, he slid his hands over her hips and tried to commit her scent to memory. No matter what happened - though he was pretty sure nothing bad was ever going to happen with Sarah - he wanted to remember this. She smelled like a dream he’d had as a boy. Like vanilla and warm skin and fireside, summer nights. It was an outlandish notion, but he couldn’t shake it.

All her life, Sarah had read stories about star-crossed, fated lovers thrown together by chance and circumstance and serendipity. But those were all just stories. Even when her grandpa talked about meeting her grandma - like they were always meant to be together, and just had to find each other to make it happen - it seemed like folklore. A tall tale he spun to make their love story seem more epic.

After writing all this out, I realized perhaps you meant favorite writing from other authors. Let me know if that's something you'd like me to answer.

#tkanswers 📮#writing #favorites #quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes smut #nico & lena #nico hischier #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier smut #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #hockey fanfiction #hockey romance #hockey smut

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bitterkarella · 3 months ago

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Robert E Howard: howdy pardnas, it's me Robert "2 Gun Bob" Howard Lovecraft: 2 gun bob! King: 2 Gun Bob! Koontz: it's 2 Gun bob! Poe: 2 gun bob! Barker: how many guns was that? i forgot Poe: it's 2 guns, clive Poe: you know it's 2 guns Poe: don't be an instigator

Howard: Gather round, hombres! i got a rootin' tootin' tale of two-fisted thrills! Howard: it'll really put the yippee in your yippee ki yay! Howard: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this Howard: the tale of what if there was a vampire Howard: IN TEXAS!

King: omg are you saying that this vampire Howard: that's right, pardna Howard: this vampire is about to MESS WITH TEXAS!

Howard: lookee here, some ornery varmint didn't like my Texas vampire story! Howard: so i'm calling you out, GP Olson Howard: of Sheldon, Iowa! Howard: y'all ever cross my path and there'll be a new grave up on boot hill!

Lovecraft: [sweats] GP Olson of Sheldon, Iowa?! Howard: that's the varmint Lovecraft: not GP Olson of Sheldon, Iowa! Lovecraft: the very name gives me the vapors! Lovecraft: oh god oh god i think i'm going to faint King: why? what's with this guy? Lovecraft: he's SO annoying

King: who's this you're talking about? Lovecraft: he's just this really annoying fanboy who won't leave me alone Lovecraft: but what would you expect from a degenerate swede? Lovecraft: they're barely even white!

August Derleth: oh boy GP Olson of Sheldon, Iowa? isn't he the worst, howard? Derleth: he's so annoying the way he never leaves you alone! Derleth: and keeps trying to insinuate that you're pals Lovecraft: Derleth: not like us, we're pals, right, howard? Lovecraft: [sweats]

Lovecraft: ugh now this GP Olson's written me ANOTHER letter about how vampires work! Lovecraft: he's always sending me letters trying to explain how vampires work! Lovecraft: i'm not some rube who just fell off the turnip truck! Lovecraft: i know how vampires work!

Barker: how do vampires work howard Lovecraft: i-i Lovecraft: i don't have time for this! Lovecraft: google is free! Bram Stoker: i can explain how vampires work Lovecraft: don't you start now too!

Lovecraft: listen to this nonsense! Lovecraft: "and another thing, stop bad-mouthing vampires in your stories! Vampires are SAINTS." Lovecraft: he's accusing me of being prejudiced against vampires?!? Lovecraft: Lovecraft: it's true that they run the banks, tho

Lovecraft: i am not prejudiced against vampires! Lovecraft: i dated one! Lovecraft: right Sonia? Sonia Greene: this is why we broke up

Howard: stand back pardna, i'll put a stop to this! Howard: [shooting letter with his 6 shooter] Barker: yeah this is about as effective as when mary stabs a Polidori letter Mary Shelley: that's very fuckin effective, actually Barker: how so? Shelley: makes me feel good

Poe: let me see that letter, howard Poe: [reading letter] "every day actually contains 4 simultaneously occurring days" Poe: wait a second i recognize this handwriting Poe: clive, did you write this? Barker: haha did you see how mad howard got

Poe: that's really not cool, clive Poe: as a writer, you should be more sympathetic Poe: have you never gotten really annoying fan letters? Barker: it's still funny Mary Shelley: it's real fuckin funny

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #mary shelley #robert e howard #sonia greene #bram stoker #august derleth

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agroteraa · 10 months ago

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The Wrath of the Stag

Chapter one

Oliver Quick x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Part 3.1.

Part 1: Actaeon

Part 2: Artemis

Part 3.2: The Wrath of the Stag (ch.2)

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, masturbation, mentions of sex, almost?onesided!Felix.

Word Count: 4,3K

The summer went on. June and July were already more than happy months, but August gifted you with completely new feelings in your life.

Two weeks had passed since the events of the karaoke night. During this time, you and Oliver became even closer, but it was only known to the two of you. In public, you tried to behave the same way, but as soon as no one was around, Oliver stole a kiss from you every now and then, and this was just the beginning of the list. Winking at him while playing tennis, almost riding him in the library chair, flirting by the pool while no one was watching and caressing each other underwater, passionately making out on Saltburn garden benches late at nights, luring him into your bathroom while no one was nearby, holding hands in the dark in the "back row" in the cinema room while watching some TV or film all together. And endless glances at each other that lasted almost forever.

And not to mention all the hot, sleepless, though as silent as possible, summer nights that he gave you when he sneaked into your room. Of course, your rapprochement was seen a little more in public than before, but no one seemed to notice anything. Or say anything. Except Felix, who sometimes seemed to frown if you and Oliver talked about something for too long, forgetting about him.

This summer was like a thrilling fairy tale that was supposed to end beautifully with Oliver Quick's birthday.

While Elspeth and James were planning the party, the costumes, the guest list, you were thinking about what you could gift your dear one. During a trip with Venetia to the city for shopping and searching of an outfit for the upcoming event, you went to a local bookstore. Walking past the shelves and looking through the many options, you stopped at something that such a sophisticated and well-read person like Oliver would appreciate. A large thick dark green book about ancient Greek mythology in a gift edition, with gold lettering, on the cover there was Icarus falling away from the sun. His wings and sun were embossed in gold and were slightly voluminous. Excellent, you thought to yourself, running your fingers over the cover. That was it.

Returning to Saltburn after a trip on a hot day, you and Venetia decided to swim a little, and then take a rest and sunbathe near the windows of the house. Having spread out colorful blankets, both of you lay down on them in swimsuits, drank soda and lazily chatted about something of your own.

Oliver was smoking at the time, lying in his bathtub and enjoying the thought of how he would bask in attention on his birthday. How he would bathe in Y/N’s attention. After leaving the tub, he was waiting for water to drain and slowly walked over to the window. Oh. You were there, lying in a swimsuit. You were relatively far away, but he could perfectly imagine the droplets of water and sweat evaporating from your hot body. You turned over on the blanket, gracefully bending and swinging your legs, talking to Venetia.

Ooh. He had missed you so much already. He remembered how this body, which was now turning on the blanket, writhing under him last night. It was so beautiful. He began to feel aroused again. Oliver's hand reached down for the rapidly hardening cock. He was lazily puffing on a cigarette and looking at you from the window, stroking his manhood. It felt so good. He felt like a king in his domain right now.

"Hey, Ollie, I..." Felix entered the room without knocking, thinking that Oliver was in his room and not in the bathroom, "What the fuck?"

Quick took his hand away in fright and jumped a little away from the window, putting out his cigarette.

Felix went to the window and followed his gaze, "No, what the fuck? Are you wanking to my sister? Or… Y/N?!"

Oliver started to stutter, "Um...I..."

"No, I want to know that. It's creepy, man!" Felix insisted.

Not knowing which answer was the most or least acceptable to Felix, Oliver decided to say "both".

"Huh?" Felix was still confused, standing frozen for a moment. But then shook it off, laughing, "I get it, buddy, it seems someone has a complete lack of girls. Don't worry, we'll go back to Oxford, I'll help you get laid."

He jokingly hit Oliver in the shoulder, he shriveled a little, and nodded, pursing his lips, responding with a weak "yeah, great".

"I just came by to tell you that my mom has found you a birthday outfit and wants you to come up to her now. You should like it," Felix said, turning around and leaving the room, his face becoming gloomy and broody again.

* * *

Two days later, you were reading a copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" by the pool, the weather was wonderful and you were enjoying the August sun. Felix came to the next lounger, wearing only swimming shorts.

"Hey, Y/N, can I join your sunbathing?"

You said yes, surprised that the owner of the house suddenly asked you for such permission. He sat down and looked at you, smiling. He was squinting slightly from the sun, the freckles on his face were beautifully scattered over his summer-tanned skin.

"Oh, you've almost finished the book... And I'm stuck in the middle, I still can't get through it, the chapters got tedious."

You laughed, "Well, yes, you've never been a big fan of books."

"It's true," Felix grinned and continued, hesitating, "Y/N, can we talk about something?"

"...yes?" you answered, surprised, putting the book on your lap and sitting up on your lounger.

"What are you... thinking about Oliver?" that question turned your stomach over. What did he mean, did he know something?

"Um, well, he's a good guy. And interesting one. Better than I thought of him when I saw him at Oxford. More precisely, I wasn’t thinking about him at all then, it's more correct to say so," you muttered nervously.

"So are you thinking now?.. Anyways, I don't know, Y/N, sometimes he seems a little strange to me."

"What exactly is it?"

"It doesn't matter," Felix frowned, "The important thing is that I don't really want you to get close. I can see that something is going to happen, between you too. I don't know. Intuition or something. You better not get too close to him."

Oh. It began to dawn on you, and a hot feeling of indignation rose to your throat.

"Listen. I remember Venetia saying that Felix doesn't like to share his toys, but Oliver is a living person with freedom of choice. However, if you don't like it so much that he started communicating more with me than with you, then okay, let's figure something out, but still..."

"No," Felix interrupted you, "It's not about him, it's about you. I don't want to share you. And no, not "share," for God's sake, what a stupid word. And I'm not even talking about the "toy", Venetia is not a five-year-old child..."

You were sitting on a lounger, completely frozen. No.

"...and still she talks about me like I don't want to share a toy train or something," he continued, "So, Y/N, I've been thinking a lot about you, seeing how happily and enthusiastically you are spending time with Oliver. And I thought... that I've also spent so much time hanging out him this summer and basically over the past year, and not only with him, while I could have spent more time with you. Sorry about that."

No, no, no, no. No.

Felix looked expressively at you, raising his eyebrows above his brown doe eyes, and then looked down, smiling warmly and a little shyly.

Your eyes started to fill up a little bit with tears. Felix Catton, what were you doing? Where were you three years ago, two years ago, and even almost a year ago?

That summer when your parents brought you to Saltburn flashed through your mind, you saw Felix for the first time since your almost childhood games. He grew up a lot, became very tall, his voice became deep and velvety, and the slightly angular teenage beauty finally turned into the impeccable beauty of a young man. You fell in love with him those days. But along with these changes, his personality also began to transform. He was still kind and sweet, but a slight harmless arrogance and childish mischief not so rarely began to manifest themselves as selfishness, whims and some kind of narcissism. He had reached an age when the girls' former teenage crushes had turned into insanity and a struggle for his attention. Felix began to bask in the countless girlish admiration.

It upset you, although you were still his friend, his girlfriend's status didn't seem to shine on you, no matter how much you or even your parents, especially your father, wanted it. But you never told Felix and he never knew. You gave hints, but he was so unobservant and self-absorbed that he didn't notice any of this. It also negated your feelings.

The last hope was the moment when you entered Oxford together. You thought this was the right time to get serious, think about your priorities and start learning to live on your own, but it seems that for Felix this was just an excuse to finally break away, disappearing at all the parties in the area, charming the entire campus, taking advantage of all the opportunities and all the girls that life provided him.

This all finally put an end to your last feelings for him, and you moved on, arranging your academic and personal life without his participation and hopes about it. You finally felt absolutely fine and calm, especially having Oliver in your life now.

And now he was telling you all this?

"It was a wonderful summer, I was so happy to spend it with you as much as I could. And I'm already looking forward to returning to Oxford in the autumn, where we could hang out more often."

He smiled shyly, looking into your eyes.

"What about... all the girls?" that's all you were able to say at this moment.

"To hell with the girls. I've been hanging out enough, what haven't I seen there? They're different every day, but they're all the same in the end. And you're the same every day, yet so… different."

At these words, goosebumps ran through your body, and you almost started crying.

"I'm... sorry, it's all kind of sudden. I do not know what to say..." you would have refused another person right away, but you were not able to refuse him here and now, whether it was because you did not have the recourses for this conversation, whether the remnants of old feelings for him woke up in you, or you did not want to offend him, you didn't know yourself. Also, it was not a direct proposal for date or something, after all.

Felix looked at you anxiously, fidgeting on his lounger.

"O-of course, I'm sorry. No pressure, I'm sorry, Y/N. You don't have to answer me right now, I just wanted to tell you how I'm feeling now, that's all."

You nodded and, throwing a towel over yourself and holding back tears, went into the house. Catton Jr. sadly watched you go with a puppy dog look.

* * *

Fortunately, this situation did not manifest itself in any way later. Felix had been acting almost as if nothing happened for several days, and just in case, you decided not to display any special joy when you were communicating with Oliver. What was gotten into him? Probably, after all, he was jealous of his friend for you, because he invited you both this summer, and instead of communicating primarily with the young owner of the house, you and Oliver began to hang out much more with each other. His old and faithful friend and his new friend, whom Felix was very interested in and wanted to help in some way. Yes, perhaps this was really not quite fair, you decided, and began to search for a balance in communicating with both of them.

However, the balance was maintained during the day, but at night the scales often tilted to one particular side. But that wasn't the kind of thing Felix or anyone in this house should know how and with whom did you spend your restless nights.

* * *

"Happy Birthday, Ollie!" you kissed the guy softly, gazing lovingly into his eyes. He looked back at you with adoration. "Ollie." He loved that name when you said it. You were sitting on his bed in his room, it was a beautiful sunny day, the light played on your faces and was especially brightly reflected in the azure eyes of a man who became a year older that day.

"Thank you, my dear Y/N," said the birthday boy, "What is it?"

"If you open it, you'll find out," biting your lip in anticipation, you teased him.

"Oh," he breathed, tearing up the gift wrap, "I do love the culture and history of Ancient Greece, especially its myths. That's fantastic, thanks, Y/N. Although you should know that this is not your most important gift to me."

"Then what is it?"

"You."

Oliver moved closer, covered your hand with his and kissed you gently. Then he took you in his arms, getting out of bed, and began to spin you in the air while you were laughing loudly. Dust motes in the air were spinning and dancing with you too, which were revealed now by your movements and by a bright light shining through the windows of the old manor. You both wanted this moment to last forever.

"And now excuse me, Y/N, I need to get ready – Felix has prepared some kind of surprise for me, we will be back in the evening. See you at the party! I'm looking forward to seeing you in your party dress," Quick winked at you.

* * *

"Felix, look, Felix, please, let me just explain…"

"I think the best thing is that you go home after your party… It is just weird… You’re fucking liar, Ollie! Why would you lie?"

He would tell him why. To attract Felix's fading attention. He wouldn't have seen the need to lie to you about it separately, but since it happened that way…

"Oh, Ollie, poor thing..." that was the first time you called him that when you heard his terrible story. The only time before Saltburn. Your watery eyes, raised eyebrows, worried look. You hugged him comfortingly. For the first and only time before Saltburn. At that moment, he realized that he was ready to come up with a hundred more lies so that you would look at him like that again, so that you would hug him like that again. It was worth it.

"I just wanted to be your friend."

"Look, let’s just get through tonight."

"Can you not tell your family, please? And... Y/N" Oliver looked at Felix pleadingly.

"Of course not. I don’t want her to be disappointed. Fucking hell! It is dark enough as it is!" he replied, retreating deeper into the house.

* * *

You didn't know when they returned, that Oliver went straight to his room, where, crying and screaming into the sheets all his pain, confusion and frustration, he spent the rest of the evening.

Well, now it was time to try on your roles.

You chose a Hermia costume from a Midsummer Night's Dream – a light mint-colored dress just below the knee, baring your shoulders, a crimson fabric passed through your body, which went behind your back and joined in the back area. You had sandals with small heels on your feet. Twirling around in front of the mirror, you left the room satisfied. You headed on to the party early hoping to talk to Oliver, but you met Felix in the hallway with a bottle of tequila in his hand. It seems he was already somewhat drunk.

"Y/N!" he said, "Ah, you look amazing."

Who would say – the guy himself was an angel in the flesh. Literally this time. Golden wings peeked out from behind his back and gave him a festive look, although the rest of his clothes was more than casual - a white tank top and blue jeans, he looked stunning nonetheless.

"Where are you going? The party is that way," Catton Jr. laughed.

"I wanted to find Oliver, I need to talk to him, I haven't seen him since this morning..."

"Listen, don't," Felix's face darkened, "Just don't, let's go have some fun."

"What do you mean..." you started, while Felix, gently putting his hand on your back, led you to the nearest patio bench. He lit a cigarette and began his speech, "Y/N, do you think some people can... keep an eye on others? And to behave strangely in general, not like... all other normal people... not like us."

You didn't understand what he was leading to. Felix slowly exhaled cigarette smoke and continued.

"Do you remember... that TV show, Big Brother? Farleigh got me hooked on it after all. And so, I thought after that, maybe we are also being watched ... sometimes more than we can imagine?"

"Felix, I really don't understand what you're talking about, just tell me directly."

"Don't communicate with Oliver. He's on his own weird mind and generally..."

"What? Felix, it's not funny, please don't talk about Oliver like that just because we started communicating with each other more than with you. And even more so if..."

Felix covered your hand with his and looked at you with a speaking gaze that clearly insisted on his position. You pulled your hand back.

"I like Oliver. He's a good guy."

"Oh my God, Y/N! He wanked at you with Venetia!" the combination of alcohol and cigarettes made the guy more emotional than usual.

"WHAT?"

"Yes, I saw it myself, as he stood in the bathroom, with a cigarette in one hand and his junk in the other. He was looking at you and Venetia when you were sunbathing under the windows, and he told me himself that he was staring and doing… it... at both of you. I just wanted to go in and tell him that mom was calling him to try on a suit..."

The story seemed both true and not to you, you froze, unable to realize it and even more so to believe it.

"I told him that he had a lack of girls in his life, and that we would fix it when we returned to Oxford. He kind of agreed."

Your lips were shaking, you were barely able to control your trembling and coming up tears. An image of Eddie popped into your head. A guy from last summer, another Felix's friend from Oxford, whom Felix invited to spend the summer in Saltburn. Everything was fine, and you were all chatting nicely, when suddenly they quarreled with Felix because Eddie slept with his sister. You didn't even know it was developing this way until it happened, and it was too late for everyone. And you even thought at one point that Eddie might like you. God, are you such a blind fool? All these events seemed painfully familiar to you right now, but you didn't want them to happen again for real. Not with him. Not with your Ollie.

"Tequila? " Felix suggested, and you silently grabbed the bottle, taking many big sips, "Hey, take it easy..."

Felix patted you on the shoulder, and then tucked a stray lock behind your ear, "Don't get upset about this weirdo, Y/N. He'll come and go, but you and I are here forever. Forget it."

He put his hand on yours again, looking at you with his gleaming brown eyes. But you were not up to it, you pulled your hand out for the second time and ran away with quick, sharp steps, taking the bottle of tequila with you.

At that moment, Farleigh sauntered up to Felix from the other side of the courtyard. He sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. "And I've told you that this Oliver is a little. Damn. Freak," he said, gesturing with the cig in his hand, "Have never been wrong about my antipathies."

Felix, not even particularly surprised that Farleigh had heard everything, only replied, "Yes, maybe you were right...", but he did not say about the main Oliver’s lie. Felix had promised. And he kept his promises. At least some of them.

* * *

You went to the party in the main hall, where people were already hanging out and music was playing. The bottle in your hands was almost empty and helped you not to cry this evening. Although perhaps your sadness was growing into more of an anger, because for the second hour straight you had been scrolling in your mind through the images of previous and this summer in your head. Eddie, Venetia… Oliver… Venetia… You also remembered how nice and quite lively he was with her, especially at first. You thought it was just a courtesy to the daughter of the owners of the house, but now you were very unsure about it. Moreover, you remembered how, somewhere in June, Farleigh hinted that he saw them together at night under the castle window, but there was no confirmation of this, and the situation was forgotten. Or maybe he was right all along? Oh, stupid you.

You walked through the crowd, smiled briefly and nodded to Lady Elspeth, who was dressed as Titania. A beautiful look, but you were not in the mood to approach and compliment her right now, even Sir James's knight costume, which completely did not match the fantasy outfit of his fairy queen, stopped making you smile. Taking a cocktail from the waiters, you stood against the wall, looking at the people sulkily. Venetia was dancing somewhere in the crowd. You wanted to approach her terribly, but you didn't know at all how or what to start a conversation with her. Everything seemed stupid and pointless.

Happiness

And loneliness

A familiar song started playing, the lines of which were now especially bitterly perceived by your clouded mind. Happiness... was it really there? There were so many questions running through your head. How dared he peep on you, on you and Venetia, and maybe not only, and what was he doing at the same time… You were furious and frustrated at the same time.

Happiness seems to be loneliness

And loneliness killed my world

How could you guess, when you're only thinking of yourself

And how you look to other girls?

The bass dropped, and the hall exploded with a powerful electronic bridge. At that moment, Oliver entered the room from the other end. He was wearing a dazzling white suit with beautiful oak leaf embroidery, the jacket barely concealed his bare torso, as he was shirtless. He had antlers on his head.

He walked deeper into the room with a slow, confident gait, as if he was looking for someone. Purple, pink and blue lights from the spotlight danced on his face, and he himself was periodically disappeared in the rays of the strobe light as he pierced through the crowd.

Happiness seems to be loneliness

And loneliness killed my world

How could you guess, when you're only thinking of yourself

And how you look to other girls?

Yes, he was looking for you. Your legs almost carried you to him on their own. But you didn't want to come over. You just decided to stand against the wall, watching what happens next. And you shouldn't decide to do that, because he found some girl in the crowd, bent down and whispered something in her ear. They began to dance slightly to the rhythm of the song. Something moved inside you. But you were already drunk enough to, instead of frustration, angrily come up to the waiter near the "lovebirds" and defiantly start drinking two shots in a row right there.

Oliver, seeing you, exclaimed "Y/N!", immediately recoiling from this girl.

"Oh, you noticed me! Must have been looking for me for a long time?" you remarked venomously.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking for you right now."

Your heart sank into your heels.

"Then who is it?"

"It doesn't matter. We'll talk later, please," Oliver said gloomily, looking you up and down, but saying nothing more.

He went on into the crowd, and you remained standing, deafened by the sounds of screaming music about happiness and loneliness. Soon enough, you saw that Oliver had found Venetia, and she hugged him while he started talking in her ear. She shrugged cheerfully, throwing her arms over his shoulders, and began swinging her hips next to him. Your heart was almost broken. You drank another shot, grabbed from the waiter's tray, and headed in the other direction, noticing that Felix had entered the hall.

"Y/N, how are you? I hope you're having fun. Oh..." the guy exclaimed joyfully, realizing that you were taking his hand and leading him through the crowd to the exit. The crowd did not end both inside and outside the manor – everything was filled with people shouting, dancing, drinking and kissing to loud music. You were drunk too and didn't even fully understand what you wanted to do, but you knew for sure that you needed to go to a place where there would be silence and no one around.

And so you had reached the maze.

283 notes · View notes

buzzkillers · 1 year ago

Text

Burning like embers (falling tender)

Pairing: Regulus Black • Black!Reader

Summary: Regulus kidnaps the bride. (Wc:5k)

Warning: Dubcon, Kidnapping, Semi Unrequited Love, Attempted Non-Con, Pseudo-incest, Pureblood Politics, Regulus Embracing His Flaws (Yt and British)

Beta: @darksideofthecocoamoon !!! This would've been way worse without her.

Regulus Black was not a good man.

Good men existed in folk tales, in between the thick yellow pages of his childhood books. Where nobility and honor was permeated in ink and their righteousness was outlined in bold roman font, the letters too tiny for baby regulus to read. It was hard to be a good man, he learned. And by the age of twenty four, he was barely a man at all.

Rather melodramatic. His mother had said.

Mother also said he should feel lucky.

It was luck after all wasn't it? His mother said. A gift to have all of his boyhood crushed out and replaced with a substance that no good man ever possessed. Voldemort knew how to show his favor. He should've been grateful.

And Regulus was. Grateful that is. He was grateful in the way ravens were grateful for a murder, fire to wood and a cowardly man to…well to him. Regulus. Who had no problem bringing all of these things to fruition. Better than him than the others. His colleagues that liked to add to the fire and wood first, turn a flicker flame to a conflagration.

It was good that he had all of that goodness ripped out of him, the remnants stuck between Voldemort's teeth.

Because good men became drunks; drunk on alcohol, indulgent on cheap thrills and even cheaper whores. Complacent. Regulus thought.

Vermin. His father corrected. Dogs that pretended to be wolves before they latched back on their leashes and trotted home; clean shaven and pristine.

Regulus knew good men well afterall.

He's killed many.

A poison there. A dog bone here. Family cemeteries made entirely in his name.

So when he said he wasn't a good man, it wasn't an attempt to be humble or modest or bashful or coy or any other fanciful saying. Regulus Black was not a good person.

The mark proved it.

The murders cemented it.

And your body chained to his bed, screamed it.

Or maybe that was simply a gross overstatement?

The word 'chained' naturally made one think of those muggle devices. A crude contraption with metallic locks and easily hexed metals. (An insult to human ingenuity, really.) No, your chains were of the metaphysical kind: sophisticated, invisible, snug. It was the nicest thing he's ever done for an opposer to his Lord.

Unfortunately, you were not raised by Mother. So you didn’t understand to be grateful. Which was a shame. Even a bird admired their cages eventually. It was the least you could do.

But of course Regulus' life was unfairly hard and his options null. So instead of admiration and dutiful respect, you laid with your back turned and her body curled against the dark corner of your bed. Small and pitiful— a bit wet too.

Funny.

Maybe he should've called you a fish instead. You wouldn't laugh but it would be funny. After all the white gown that clung to your body was completely translucent, the edges covered in soap suds. (Nastily, Regulus Black curled his bruised lips; a caged bird indeed.)

He closed the door behind him.

His own clothes drenched and his fingers bloody with scratches before he dumped the wand in his hand to the ground. It clattered unceremoniously.

"My bird," he began, voice smooth, annoyed.

"I hope you're incredibly happy with yourself," he slipped his loafers off and untwisted his family rings.

"There's a dead wizard at our doorstep because of you," parts of him anyway.

The rest of him was about a few yards out. With chunks of flesh too burned and scarred to be identified as human spewed across the acres of land. (Dog meat, his father would say. Hopefully the animals thought the same.)

The whole ordeal was unnecessarily messy you see? Uncivilized even as he looked at the 'dog' blood splattered against his light robes. Angered, he unbuttoned that too.

"It was an avoidable death, don't you think?"

"A complete waste of my time, even?" He cocked his head, his voice heavy with something that made your back tense.

Yet of course, you refused to turn around, to look back…

A recent nasty habit of yours as he threw his robes on a nearby chair. The excess blood dripping from hand woven cloth onto the concrete floor. A familiar sight.

Slowly, his eyes dragged to the wand on the ground, so small and twiggy. It reminded him of the toy wands he saw poor half-bloods play with when no one was looking. A scrap of trash. No different than what you'd throw for a animal to catch.

Yet, it took death for the wizard to let it go. (A dog and its bone.)

He frowned, then snapped it beneath his heel.

Magic spurted out and when he looked up your head swirled back towards the wall. He frowned again.

"You could at least cry," he said, voice hoarse.

“He died for you after all,”

Besides your frame, a lamp flickered and its shadow danced across your back. He licked his lips, hmm. “They all died for you, actually,”

"Should I tell them to stop?" He murmured. But you only curled further into yourself. Like a victim, like someone that's done nothing wrong. He gritted his teeth. "No that won't work, you'll just keep sending them," Regulus kicked the wand across the room.

"Maybe if he had served his purpose…." The air crackled. “..But alas,” Then he crossed the small room and plopped himself on the bed. His head cushioned against the duvet.

"What did you tell them anyway?" he whispered, before something cracked and your cuffs pulsed. He smiled.

"Did you say you were captured? That I was holding you prisoner? Did you lie, birdy?" He whispered, before slowly you sat up and turned your head. Your pupils were fat, your breath still.

"Shut up,"

"B-" he started before all air left his lungs, your hands wrapped around his throat.

"Tu putain de salope—" your knees dug into his waist. “—just stop talking," Spit flew with each word and it took everything in him not to lick it away. He could only smile and make it worse.

Your eyes widened, a fury of emotion flickering in and out and Regulus only with luck missed the conjured dagger that dug into the place where his head once was.

"Baise gluante-" Then with a flick of his wrist the chains tightened, your positions switched and Regulus was on top once more. His bony fingers pressed into a neck that creaked beneath his weight.

“That was an admirable trick,”

“You almost got me there.” He spoke too soon.

The knife appeared again, this time pressed too close to his third rib. Huh. What was that muggle saying about kicked dogs again?

"Don’t make me repeat myself," You demanded again between clenched teeth and his skin that was beginning to unravel under the metal. Something in him warmed at that. He killed a man like this the day before. But that was more brutal, cruel even. This was not that. This violence was intimate, affectionate.

So much so that the moment you spat your words back at him, this time he did lick it off.

"Sweet," He murmured to himself, like burnt cranberries and raw strawberries, something natural that bursted on his tongue. He licked it again. “A little sour too,” Beneath him you laid frozen, your own eyes widened until your grip on the knife loosened. "Just like me,"

"You're sick," you said it like you were just noticing. "How could you just-"

Quickly, you took a deep breath.

In.

Out.

“I'm nothing like you,"

"Nothing?”

With a grunt you attempted to get up but he kept you down with nails that dug into your wrist. An devilish embrace. "You killed him and you didn't have to, you didn't even need to touch him, you could've let him go, kept him out of it," you insisted, each word said with hard eyes and fat tears on your cheeks. "We're nothing alike,"

Regulus shrugged his shoulders.

"Then leave,"

"…."

Outside your ‘dogs’ flesh had begun to be pecked off by the ravens and the bones by the flies. Inside, you licked your lips but you did not move an inch. “Here, I’ll even help you,” he confessed before with a whispered incantation, your chain vanished. “Go,”

A symphony of emotions flickered across your face. They all burned hot and they all made Regulus shift above your thigh. Before your knife clattered to smoke and your face twisted into something like hatred.

His little bird drew back into her cage.

"Yes," he sighed, his voice not at all shallow and not at all starved for air while he rubbed at the wound that would soon scar by morning,

"That's what I thought,"

—

When he first met you, his first thought was: 'This isn't going to work,' and his second thought was 'She's too good for Sirius,'

In hindsight, both statements were correct.

You were a bold thing really. A beauty covered in rare gems and an aura that spoke of higher breeding. Mother boasted about you highly. The jewel of the west she called you. Someone, born and bred within the confines of a highly respected Afro-Caribbean pure blood family. It was a surprise that Mother even knew you but he guessed that was the point. She wanted someone not as connected in British society after all. Someone who only visited when they had to.

In other words, the likelihood of Sirius already having fucked you was low and the likelihood that you knew him was even lower.

For his mother, ignorance truly was bliss.

If not for Sirius than also for the fact that no non-British family paid attention to Voldemort.

Voldemort's tyranny was simply an English problem. The bloke didn’t seem to care about the muggles from other countries, much less ones from the Caribbeans. Still, people have heard whispers of him. Only a dip in the pond about a crazed muggleborn that had a bone to pick with British society.

Nothing special because in hindsight, who didn't?

So, it was unsurprising that your parents agreed to a marriage of convenience with the one family that was in His pockets. What was surprising was how well you took to it.

According to Sirius, arranged marriages were archaic and boorish. Not because of any logical reasons like loss of autonomy but because ‘Only a pauper let's their parents pick where his cock goes'. Of course he paid Sirius no mind.

Yet, solemnly he wondered if you felt the same. As a boy he would've scoffed at the idea of someone not wanting to marry into the powerful House Of Black but he hasn't been a boy for a long time now. The scales had long fallen from his eyes. In the privacy of his mind, he could not say that it was truly an honor to marry into the Black Family.

Not with the Potters and Misli’s right there. Not with witches like Bellatrix in the family. On the contrary, it's most likely that you were in for a shock. And you'd probably run for the hills while Sirius laughed into his fifth bottle of ale and mother seethed in the shadows.

It was the logical conclusion, he knew it and father knew it. But sometimes wolves liked to just watch their prey die. And who were they to go against Mothers will? Father the patriarch and him the–good son. The dog. So he even prepared for it. What a waste of time that was.

He told Kreacher to prepare for a crying wailing woman. He didn’t prepare for the force that walked through the door instead. It was raining when you visited but you didn't seem to notice. Instead your face was held high as you met mother, your grip firm when you met father and you smiled at him. Very toothy and almost childish but it fit you well.

Father and Mother were nervous that Sirius wouldn't take to you. That they'd have to find another poor woman for their plans but Regulus remembered the sparkle behind his brother's eyes, the twitch of his fingers when you matched fire with oil. You gave him boorish jokes with a classy smile and a mouth no different than a muggle sailor. You were everything dirty about Sirius, wrapped and repackaged into someone pretty, someone that could take it, take him.

Regulus wasn't impressed of course. It took anyone with a halved brain cell to get along with Sirius. You were really no different than James in his mind. Someone that could code switch between two worlds without making either party uncomfortable. A chameleon with nothing inside. It was good that you only had one job really. One simple, impossible to fail job: 'Bring my son back to me,' He heard mother whisper, both of your bodies hidden in the shadows of the back rooms. ‘Bring Sirius back into the fold’

‘Bring him back with a mark,’ She really meant to say and then the conversation was over.

And of course you failed.

____

"Do not touch me with blood still on your hands," you barked as Regulus dipped your head into the water. The soap suds in your head mingling with the crusted blood on his fingers until the water became a dull, faint pink.

He hummed. "You demand a lot of me," but his hands do hover away from your hair and to the lip of the porcelain tub. You'd smell so much better without the after-smell of spilt blood anyway.

Without thinking he rinsed his hands in the water bowl by his side. His pink reflection looking at him before he went back to your puffed- no braided hair. It wasn't like that before. Did you do that while he was upstairs? With your bare hands at that? No, you must've used a spell. Strangled together the few bouts of magic his bindings granted you and did what he offered to do freely. Impressive.

He should take it all apart. 'Just to spite you,' he thought before with a hum he squeezed more shampoo in your hair. Suds dropped to the wooden floor, and seeped between the cracks. The scent of juniper berry erupted in the air. Your hands gripped the lip of the tub tighter.

“Sirius used to wash my hair like this.” you murmured, your teeth dug deep into your lip. “Eventually, he’d join me and we’d stay in the tub for hours,”

He paused, his fingertips wrinkled in your hair before you took a long and hard inhale. In. Out.

“Is that so?” he murmured, something tough in his throat. It was only because of the hand of Merlin that he was able to sound nonchalant.

From his position, he could not see your features. But he could look at the mirror that faced the both of you. It stood at the opposite side of the room; decorated in golds and engraved with faces that he had no interest in knowing. Your own face was the only one that captured his attention. And at this moment, it was closed off. Your lips twisted sardonically and your eyes cut to the side.

“Yes, there was more that was happening of course, but—that would be inappropriate to tell, " you snickered as if you were the leader on all things dealing with propriety. He took a moment and breathed in.

“Was this before or after you betrayed him,” Regulus asked. You went silent.

Coward.

“Or do you even remember,”

“-shut up,”

“Is that a no then?”

"Are you deaf?" you cut your eyes towards the mirror. "I told you to shut up,"

His own lips curled, "You are still wet," The suds in your hair have now dried. Leaving behind dollops of water that now pooled at his feet. The excess had begun to drip to the floor, the rest down your neck, to your back.

"Did that also remind you of your time with Sirius?" Then you shot up, the water falling from your shoulders.

"Do you constantly think about what gets your brother hard?" What a dirty mouth.

His lips twisted. "You should get back in,"

"No,"

"You'll get a cold,"

You rolled your eyes. "Then you shall tell my family I died of hyperthermia, they'll believe that,"

His eyes fell flat but Regulus didn't say a word. Just kept his touch gentle, his movements soft. As if you were a lover, a friend and not—

The knife only nicked his shoulder this time.

"I said-" you shuddered violently,. "-To stop it,"

In the mirror, Regulus watched as you shot him a look. Weeks ago there was a fiery rage in there, dragon eyes in human form. Now it was just tired, bored even. Then you looked back down, silent.

He narrowed his eyes. "Ask me,"

Your grimace only deepened, but now there was humor laced in the edges. "Ask?" your lips twisted into a nasty tired smile;

"Demander?" You giggled. "Did you forget what's in our blood?" You questioned with all that humor quickly gone and replaced with a tone ancient and old.

"We do not ask," you sneered, then rolled your shoulders.

"Even Sirius knew that,"

_____

You didn't even know Sirius.

That was the worst part. You giggled in hidden corners and you kissed his hand to make the elders gasp in horror and Sirius like a fool ate it up and you didn't even know him.

Sometimes,the depths of his brother's stupidity astounded him. Did he really think that a woman like you would just fall in his lap? You were already out of his league. A barmaid would be a better fit.

It was foolish, idiotic, ridiculous but it worked. Because without knowing Sirius was getting closer to taking the mark. He no longer grimaced when Regulus arrived home smelling of iron. Or when he got caught with scratches on his arm and blood on his collar. Mother's plan was working and he only felt pity.

It was one thing to pretend, it was another to have to dumb yourself down for a bonafide pauper. If Mother had picked him, there would be no farce. Not like he wanted that. He didn't want anything.

He was fine with watching from the shadows. His entire presence ignored while you and Sirius pretended you were the only ones in England. It was simply the way things were, he realized with clenched knuckles and a tight smile.

But did it have to be?

No, it didn't.

—-

Six months later, Regulus understands why Sirius gets so addicted. A drunk like him, so prone to tasting what was bitter, his tongue rotten with ale. You were an overturn. Something annoyingly new. Regulus had never tasted something so sweet. Poppy pomegranate and sunburst cherries. He swore that he’d get a cavity as he dug his fingers into your hair.

Twisting you into position, tight, proper, the way you gripped the stem of any fruit. Of anything that you wanted to get a better taste of. You were too stunned to fight back then. The bitter after taste of champagne you were prone to drinking sticky on your tongue. Your glass already shattered on the floor.

In the next room, your husband argued with portraits. And when it's done, and when you slap him. Regulus received a thought. An awful hypothesis.

What else could he get away with when enclosed by walls? The rest of the world locked away?

An awful thought indeed.

—--

It's only a week later that it happened. Sirius waking up to an empty bed and Regulus miles away on a mission, in the middle of nowhere, in a quaint little cottage.

It was almost too easy.

—

You didn’t leave of course. Not at first.

Because leaving met acknowledging that you were wrong. That there was nothing to gain at keeping his attention. Leaving meant having to look Sirius in the eye and tell him you lied.

Of course you had questions. Regulus of course didn’t answer.

You didn't need to know how distraught Sirius had become. A pathetic puppy that moped around the manor destroying everything in sight. Regulus didn’t even need to plant ideas in the brutes head. No, all the seeds were already there. Sown in from years of idiocy and your failed meddling.

'It was Dumbledore, I just know.’

‘That stupid old git is trying to punish me,' he whined to Regulus. 'He took her, I know he did Reggie, you need to help me'

'Prongs and-" he'd gnaw at his cracked lips. 'they don't believe me, they think I'm mad, they think I'm—Regulus'

Sirius was mad for you. Unnaturally obsessed. A fool with his alcohol taken away. A dog that's lost his chew toy. He didn't know any better. He couldn't have. But Regulus did, Regulus knew you. He understood your games and twist. Poor Sirius.

If Regulus had to be the bad guy then so be it. He could be the executioner and the judge, he just needed to play his cards right.

Murder would create a martyr but someone missing? Someone that Sirius could say left him high and dry. It was what you were planning to do anyway. And if Regulus quickened the process that didn't make him anymore of a bad person than the murder and countrywide slaughter ever did.

—

You were surprisingly clumsy by your lonesome.

Random scars and cuts littered your body when he wasn’t looking. Ghost of attempts at escape most likely. Which was fine. Regulus could play doctor. Even if it included a bath. A mutual need, probably. The blood on his hands had begun to make his nose burn.

He watched you flinch, took relevance in the way your eyes settled: tired, bitter. It was the same look worn by others. It reminded him of himself, of mother. Abrasive. Challenging him.

After all these weeks, you seemed to still be under the impression that Regulus was anything like Sirius. That they shared the same rotten brain cell that Sirius had split amongst his new brothers, his new family.

He unclenched his fist. Let his anger burn and flick in the atmosphere before with a turn of his head he looked at the hair moisturizer on the counter top.

"Your hairs going to be tangled tomorrow. You should let me rebraid it," You scuffed at that.

"Touch me and you die." You said the same thing to Sirius once. He heard it through the walls during your consummation night. Between the sounds of ruffled sheets and curses. And surprisingly, Sirius listened.

Regulus didn't have the same control. He grabbed for a braid, a knife appeared once again at his rib. He sighed. “You’re being stubborn,”

“I will rebraid my own hair,”

“..With what autonomy?”

You rolled your eyes. "Want to find out?”

He snorted, hands gripping your strands. "Sometimes, it astounds me how well you lie."

"Don't you realize that I already know you're guilty?"

You sighed. Tired, as if this was a conversation you two have had a million times before. It was.

You looked away. "I'm not," he yanked your head. "But you are." Then when with a snap of his wand you were dried and dressed. Your body plopped on your bed without care. He rolled his eyes.

"You fed my brother lies and lured him away f when your job was so simple. to bring him back," Get him to take the mark, be the whisper in his ears, that was what Mother told you. All that deceit just so that the family could have a proper Heir. A better head outside of him the runt and Bellatrix the mad woman.

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lured him away and then-” he gripped his fist into the sheets. “-and then you attempted to run with another,”

“You were going to betray him,” it was funny really. Outside of the curses and the hexes and threats that was the one that got you to pay attention. That indifference melting away with ease.

"You are a liar and you should be happy that I even-":

"Look at me?" You rolled your head to the side. "Cause you look at me alot Black, even when you think I'm not looking back," you said this with shadowed eyes and a laziness to your movements. Like you had all the time in the world to revel in the fact that Regulus watched you back. That he wasn’t as suave as he thought you were.

Regulus flickered his eyes down to the crotch of your dress. Theres a wet spot there that never fully dried. Regulus shot to his feet.

"You're angry,"

"Regulus,"

"I get it, truly" he found himself at the edge of your bed. A wand less spell on his lips that warmed the fabric.

"I've been nothing but terrible to you, completely awful. That's no way to treat a sister-in-law, now is it?" he sat at your side, his hands on your thigh. Fabric brushed against your bare skin. Under his words, you shook. "But if you bring up his name again, I'll-"

"What?" You sneered, that hatred bleeding back in. "Let me go?"

"Tell Sirius what I did?" With a blink your eyes began to sheen. "I do not care,"

Then your face twisted. "Not anymore"

He gripped your face, his own features suddenly inhumane. "Your boy toy has made you cocky,"

"Do you think I won't do it? Are you prepared to make that gamble?" There was a frenzied tone to his voice as he said this. For a moment he wondered if it was the weather. An effect of being so sick of your behavior. He must've been worse than he thought but you were looking at him with defiance. He wanted to find control but there was a smolder to your eyes, a spark and suddenly Regulus lost all control. You were serious.

And then you screamed as he gripped your shoulders and shoved you into the mattress. It bounced beneath the weight. "No," he whispered.

Your slip entangled in his fingers. You were slipping between his fingers. The harsh tear of fabric brought him back to the present as the top of your slip laid torn in his hand.

You laughed. It too sounded frayed while your fingers trembled. "No?"

But outside of that you said nothing, just stared at him the way you stared at potion books and Sirius odd muggle gimmicks. Something dangerous, that you were simply waiting to explode and somehow that was worse than screaming. Worse than you cursing at him while his fingers dug into your ripped dress.

"You do not know him,"

But youre stupid so you only grunted back, "Don't I?,"

He laughed "My own brother? You really think you know him better than I?"

"No—"

"No?"

"I don't know what Sirius was like as a child but I do know that the boy you call your brother is dead"

You gripped his arms now, like an anchor. "I know that he only exist in your memories, and I mourn your loss"

"But the man is different and I know him and I know that he would never give into Voldemort—not even for you,"

Don't say his name, rested heavy on his tongue. But he crushed it. In that moment something in him died and something else was born. A substance unknown to good men or even Voldemort.

So, he smiled. Soft hands coming up to pick at the soft white gown. The fabric was practically translucent up close.

"Those are harsh accusations," he plopped on the bed and felt himself jump a bit before his hands relaxed against your knee and then your thigh and then- paused with a look.

Your body trembled beneath his fingers.

"Fratricide, sororicide? You really can't think of anything worse?" He whispered, his words painting a portrait that only you could see.

Still, he watched your eyes widen and felt your breath stutter. A fine drip of water that didn't come from your hair, slid down your forehead. Before a hummingbirds heart fluttered beneath your skin. And all he could do was stare, his hand pressed firmly against your cunts entrance.

"I can.." he said, still covered in blood, still burning with the mark, before his fingers slipped between your thighs. Plushy and warm then suddenly damp, drenching his fingers.

"..I can think of something worse for Sirius to find."

"He'd only have to look at my hands"

You jumped back and thrashed but it was worthless, his fingers were already against your cunt.

The sounds only got louder, your thrashing more manic but the spell he put on your hands and feet kept you plastered to the bed. He grounded into you further, chest against chest before his head nuzzled against your own.

'Frankincense and juniper berry' he thought with a whiff. Like the familiar books he read as a child and the aroma of the Black home after night had fallen. Divine and familiar.

His own little goddess.

The revelation forced him to kiss your cheek. His own lips pressed firmly against your skin. He could taste the shea butter. Could still smell the fruity body wash as your screams turned into whimpers and then morphed into ugly moans. The sounds of pleasure ripped out of you through clenched teeth and bitten lips.

He brought his free hand up, clenched your neck. Felt the arteries jump and your jugular twitch. He killed a man like this earlier today. A long and dirty muggle way of murder.

Still, he took interest in the way the man's eyes slowly turned glossy and the way his hands clenched helplessly at Regulus' clothed arms. As if this would rip him away from Regulus. Force him to not carry out his duty. Beneath him, you did the same. Your soft hands grasping helplessly at his clothes. Pulling him in, pushing him back. Delirious.

"Tu vas le regretter, Black,"

"You gain nothing-"

"C'mon you can beg longer than that, give me a tale for Sirius.” He sneered. “Let me tell him that you put up a fight," he bent down.

"Let me tell him that his wife fought hard for me not to fuck her," you spat on him, he kissed you.

Then you knee him in the face. He jerked back, blood spurted in his hand. He smeared it against your knee.

"You palefaced-" you punched him this time, his teeth rattled. the bed met his back. The force ricocheting till the bed frame cracked and your chains went loose and Regulus was back on you like a feral dog.

You would not leave this place.

But youre quick, a snap of wind that pushes him to his back, elbow in his throat. Above, him you look like a God. Vengeful. And ready to destroy the only person who exists just for you. “You can't stop me, “

And Regulus is weak. A small pathetic thing just like Bellatrix said he was because his eyes burn. The edges wet with admonishment. The edges of his lips quiver. And suddenly all that anger bleeds away. He gripped your wrist. Sharps nail dug into your skin with something worse.

“He doesn't deserve you,” He pierced, throat burning. Above him, your eyes melted. The look indescribable.

“I know.”

“You will get bored of him, and I'll still be here waiting, watching,” he pulled you closer, nose to nose. You filled his vision. “Do you like making me your dog?”

You opened your mouth but no–

He persisted, tears fat. “Can't I just have you,”

“Can't you just want me? Is that too much to ask? Is it too much to want?” Regulus wanted so much already. He rarely ever had it in his grasp. The back of his mind filled with ideologies of freedom, and family and lonely nights in nowhere cities where no one would know his name. All of that was too far away though, intangible. But this–

He crawled into your space, gripped your skin.

–This was so close.

He shuddered. Lips red and his face damp with anticipation. Below him, you looked ethereal. The edges of your eyes burning soft.

“Is this really all you want from me? Sex? After everything?”

No. What Regulus wanted was much darker than that. More debased and immoral and such an awful sticky thing that he could not even admit it to himself. But for now, if that's what you needed to believe. If only a physical communion was what you thought he wanted of you. Then so be it.

He opened his mouth, ready to lie.

Yes.

It's right on his tongue.

Yes. He was not greedy. Yes. He did not want anything more.

Yes. The oath of one easily satisfied.

But nothing came out. His voice stolen as you looked up at him. Eyes wide. All seeing. Knowing of everything.

Regulus shook his head.

“No.” the word bled out in spurts.

Weak. Bellatrix whispered in his ear. So fucking weak. Maybe he was no better than Sirius.

Because you were only going to deny him. You were going to say no. Laughing at his face because that's what people did in the face of fools. Regulus grip loosened. Beneath him you sighed.

“Merde.”

“You're a piece of work, do you understand–” your lips twisted, eyes narrowed. “This is not my home and yet you keep me here, this is not my country and yet you keep me here, don't you think I've given up enough to simply be in your presence? Can't this be enough?”

You say that but Regulus sees the molten desire in your eyes. The way you flickered across his face, unable to stay in one spot but lingering all the same as you crowded in him too.

Suddenly the air was dry. Regulus forgetting how to breath as you leaned back. Exposing your neck, dematerializing the knife.

He gets closer. “Speak plainly.”

You looked away. Outside the dog was barely bones. Rotten in the earth. You seemed to contemplate something, eyes distant before you're brought back to reality.

“...I'll allow it.”

Oh.

‘We’ can have this. Not just him, not just you. This had to be a gift. Before your grip turned tight, your face feral. A certain kind of wildness found only in martyrs and heroes and righteous fools littered your eyes before you smiled, teeth bloody. “Ask any more of me and i'll leave you here,”

“Alone, and then you’ll have to kill me to get me to stay.”

"I will haunt you till you are dust and bones and-" he kissed you, his own blood smeared with yours before he pressed his forehead against your own. "Yes," he whispered, and it couldn't help but notice that it sounded like a prayer. Like holiness,a type of reverence found only at the foot of gods and priest.

He said it again. You froze.

"Just don't go where I can't find you."

He smiled.

Then he kissed you again, on your nose this time, then your eyelids. Then sweetly, softly the space between your lips and your nose. He sighed and then he took you.

He puts his mouth on you. Slipped his head beneath your layers of clothing.

Unbuckled and unzipped and pulled apart each single one before your bareness glistened in his face. Until he could see the disbelief at his urgency flood your features. The confusion at his delicacy. Regulus understood.

There was something horrific but about taking someone's defenses apart with a sensitivity. With the precision of a monster that did not have to rip you to shreds to make you feel fear. And when he got to your core Regulus wasted no time.

....You tasted like pussy.

Musky and sweet, and in your skin he smelt the juniper berry and in your lower hairs drenched with the smell of arousal.

Above him you flinched and you shivered. It reminded him of a siren.

The unseelie ones that would flinch and cry as he electrocuted their water. Taking their oxygen away, fucking up the chemical imbalance, till their nails cracked the glass,

All while his fingers brushed against your own. Your ring finger still entrapped by a silver snake ring. Regulus was not a good man. He was flawed with impatience, entitlement, narcissism, the list went on. But it was his entitlement that got you in his bunker. It was his impatience that made him act, his familial nature that got you here on your back. Body drained and his head placed timidly on your belly.

He listened to your heart beat through skin and bones. Through vertebrae and arteries. Because everything was louder there, your blood even sang for him. A frenzied beat that made your skin hot to the touch.

He collapsed further into you. Nuzzling his nose into the crux of your neck.

An unleashed dog indeed.

#regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #harry potter x black reader #regulus black x y/n smut #marauders era smut #regulus black smut #regulus black fic #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus black x black reader #regulus black #tw: dark content #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #killer writings <3

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thereaperisabitch · 7 months ago

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My Joel Miller fic recs Volume 2

I wanted to post this before my birthday, but that was more than a month ago - life happened (SO MANY things happened).

As I said on the first part, 2023 was a very rough year and these stories I’ve read were a great solace for me. Sadly, 2024 it’s still being as rough – so I’m holding on my resolution and being more active on here. My original plan was to make a rec list of the year, but not only it’d be huge but it would be a lot of work, so I’ll be separating in volumes. Last year’s will be considered volume 1, this is volume 2.

I want to thank every author in this list @tieronecrush @atticrissfinch @swiftispunk @the-scandalorian @softlyspector and @toomanystoriessolittletime : thank you so much for taking your time and created amazing stories for me and for all the readers in here, you all are very talented and creative, your hard work in crafting the best reading pieces it's very much appreciated, I wish there's more I could do to express how much I value your writing.

Hot & Heavy (complete)

Summary: 3 years, 3 summers - what happens when you can’t get over your sexy older neighbor? The sexiest and sweetest love affair that could happen – but with a lot more between them.

This one is very dear to me, @tieronecrush is the sweetest person on earth (and I love her even more knowing she's Aries too). Sam’s creativity it’s amazing and at the same time she can balm our hearts with her words, she can squeeze it with our lungs.

I think this was the first story I’ve read of hers and her Javier Peña’s “Only Angel” will appear again when I make a list of rec's of our beloved Peña.

From her Joel Miller stories, I also highly recommend Trick or Treat, Secret Santa and Orange Crush.

Meet Me In The Back (on going)

Summary: after a rough shitty day, you just want your drink, but state’s law is against you, what to do? Sleazy gas station clerk Joel shows you he can bend the rules for different ways to pay 👀

This has become my obsession, consuming my thoughts at the most random times and very oftenly. Joel’s kinda weird in this story, but he gets under your skin, etches in your brain in a way that you accept and love. And because I’m a ~romantic gal~, there’s more than crazy ass good smut in this too and so far, I’m loving the development of this story.

I also HIGHLY recommend In the Next Room, ‘cause @atticrissfinch turned an annoying situation (my aunt struggles with neighbors like this and it’s exhausting my family) into one of the sexiest things ever.

Your Summer Dream (complete)

Summary: after a traumatic breakup, you’re travelling to Costa Rica with your parents and your dad’s best buddy, Joel Miller. You know what they say, the best way to heal a broken heart it’s with a good dick someone new, right? Right.

This is one my favorite dbf!Joel ever! The situation between them it’s the most appealing – hot DILF, friend’s of dad, fresh breakup and SUMMER and BEACH – it’s the perfect recipe for a delicious and thrilling story, but @swiftispunk adds more with her talent, bringing up also the complicate parts of falling in love with your dbf.

I also highly recommend Good to Me, it’s about Joel being a gynecologist – and just that made me BURN, but also he’s a very good and caring gynecologist, which makes everything all better. Say it With Your Hands is set in Jackson Era - Joel Miller in Jackson visits a masseuse and it’s too much body contact for our poor old man. And Snowflakes, a Fireplace, and You it’s a beautiful Christmas tale and it’s also very much sexy and sad, and I foolish hope that next Christmas there’ll be a second part.

Two & Mine

These are one-shots that aren't related.

I love @the-scandalorian and the day I make a rec list for Din Djarin, 90% of it will be all of her pieces. But since Joel’s stills the man of the hour, I recommend both of these one-shots of her. Mine was the first anal fic with Joel that I’ve read in here, and that’s all you need to know to go read it and LOVE it as I do.

Two includes it’s smut with angst, which I LOVE, as well. And it’s perfect smut, in every detail and word choice, because Simone is wonderful and everything she writes it’s perfectly endearing and it touches you in different ways.

If you're also into Din Djarin content, go check her work.

Honeyed (complete)

Summary: the dilemma of someone who can’t stand being touched but finds a connection with the tattooist Joel Miller and his arts.

I’ve used “can’t stand being touched” but you need to know that’s because there’s trauma in the background and @softlyspector explains that in the Warnings. This story it’s very dear to me, I was really involved while reading and Becca builds the perfect relationship of trust between them, while adding some mind-gushing pining.

You know when you read something so good you feel something tingling inside you? That’s how I’ve felt reading Honeyed, that’s how good this story is.

I’ve reread this story before finishing this list and it was a thrill as it was when I've read it for the first time. Becca nailed perfectly with her writing in here and I love it love it love it love it, please go read this and fall in love with this story too.

⚠

🚨WARNING🚨 ⚠ATTENTION⚠ The next story contains beastiality/sexual content with a monster creature. If it’s not your thing or you don’t think you’ll be able to read it, JUST DON’T READ IT. If even you’ve ignored my and author’s warnings and read it still and didn’t like it, keep your opinion to yourself, unless you’ve got some real constructive criticism to share respectfully. Many authors in this place have been migrating or becoming less active in the fandom because of people who think they can say whatever they want without any regards of respect and fuck the receivers of their hate. Don’t make here a worse environment, life outside it’s already awful and unfair as it is. Respect the authors and their work, even if you don't like them.

Claimed

Summary: after being chased by raiders, your savior comes in a form of a strange creature (werewolf). What happens after it’s more than a different way of saying “thank you”.

I’ve felt I needed to add this story here not only because it swept me off my feet and I loved it, but also because this list needs more spice, so thanks @toomanystoriessolittletime for brightening this even more.

Now, if someone asks me if I’m into monster fucking, I’ll say no – but I’d be guilty by this story and other ones (Din Djarin, your time will come). Now that being said, this story it’s HOT, it made me feel hot and I’ve felt good with this story.

I’ve loved the smut, but also how Steph created a perfect atmosphere, I could picture the scene perfectly in my mind. And also Tommy being a werewolf made me hot as well.

That’s it, folks. Next volume probably will come after June. I don’t believe in my promises and neither should you (unless when recommending a fic, then you can trust it’s good).

#Joel Miller fic rec #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #Joel Miller AU #dbf!joel miller x reader #Tattooist!Joel Miller #werewolf!joel miller #pedro pascal Joel Miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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cochart · 2 months ago

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Another sort of rant about k-romance genre incoming… beware!

I hope I have better opportunities next year that are more stable and pay better.

Anyway, here’s another Tale from the K-Romance Crypt.

There are two things I realized while working in the k-romance industry.

The first is that no matter what people think or feel on Tumblr, fandom, or artsy spaces online, most people are vehemently, enthusiastically, and ragingly straight. I think it’s very easy for “artsy” people or people who spend a lot of time in fandom spaces to think that the majority of people enjoy gay ships or at least that a gay ship is as popular as a straight ship. But this cannot be far from the truth. Number-wise, both the demand and the supply for straight content trumps that for gay content by huge margins. While working for multiple companies, I’ve expressed that I’d also like to work with GL or BL content as well. They just don’t come by as often. It might be difficult to imagine it since there are bunch of super famous BL webtoons. But when we’re talking about pure numbers, yes, it’s the straight romance fantasy stuff that’s the majority of the lineup.

Like it or not, a lot of women and girls still like to read about a girl getting a man and ending up with two kids and a white picket fence.

The second is that I do not enjoy (straight) romance as a genre. I just don’t like it, man. I thought I was neutral because there are fictional straight couples that I always loved like Beren and Luthien, Faramir and Eowyn, Ranma and Akane, Heiji and Kazuha, etc. I generally don’t care if the couple is gay or straight or whatever as long as I find them cute together.

But no. After staring into the depths of k-romance, I don’t think romance as a genre is for me. A lot of it has to do with the fact that romance as a genre is sort of a wish-fulfillment writing (think Twilight). It’s something that delivers what it promises. And if you’re not someone looking to get that sort of fulfillment, such literature of desire does little for you.

Here is why I think romance is basically like slasher.

Some people criticize romance genre for being formulaic. But I don’t think that’s the issue at all.

I mean, slasher is formulaic too. You have bunch of characters and a killer who kills most of them by the end of the movie. Just as romance enjoyers can forgive some plot holes as long as they get what they want (girl getting a man), slasher fans can withstand some bad plot as long as they get the thrill and the kill. It’s when the works miss critical boxes—the girl gets no romance or nobody dies in the slasher film—that the audience gets angry.

Is slasher genre morally “good”? Not really. I wouldn’t say it’s evil though fundamentalist Christians might disagree. It’s a guilty pleasure that a select few enjoy. Sometimes, it crosses lines and deserves some good criticism.

Likewise, I don’t think romance as a genre is “bad” even if they’re not feminist masterpieces. If some straight women have fantasies about marrying a hot dude and becoming a soccer mom, what of it?

The problem, in my opinion, is that most straight romance fans do not realize that while what they like might be popular, it is not universal. Whenever there is some criticism on k-romance or romance fantasy, the fans come screaming about how the critics of the genre are just misogynists who hate anything women like. I get that they might be sensitive because there are dumb dudebros who do go on a rant, but I also wish they would realize that romance as a genre is not for every woman either. In fact, I think it’s for a specific subset of straight women.

Anyway, realizing that romance is like slasher helped me feel less puzzled(?) by them. It’s a desire I’d never truly understand, and I would probably never not feel exhausted working with such content, but it exists.

#coch text

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cnnmairoll · 1 year ago

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A Book Club For Two

Pairing : Dan Heng x Reader Genre : Fluff, Domestic Summary : In the intimate haven of Dan Heng's room, you both share a stack of books on his bed, the warmth of a cozy blanket draping over your legs as you enjoy each other's presence. a/n : this fic is part of The Domestic Things They Do With You so feel free to check out what other character will be there! Hopefully I could write one daily

"Good evening," Dan Heng greeted once he opened the door to his room, his voice a melodic resonance that seemed to fill the room.

"Hey," you responded, your own lips curving into a welcoming smile. "I've got tea ready. It's your favorite blend."

Dan Heng's eyes flickered with appreciation as he settled across from you, the two of you creating a serene tableau amidst the room's soft lighting. Nestled between you lay a book with gilded pages, its cover an alluring tapestry of words and colors.

"Our first book for our mini book club," you remarked, gently picking up the book and passing it to him. "What do you think?"

Dan Heng accepted the book, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment. He glanced at the cover before meeting your gaze once more. "A suitable choice," he acknowledged, his voice carrying an air of intrigue.

You opened the book, the rustle of pages becoming a harmonious backdrop as you began to read. Night after night, the two of you embarked on a literary journey, the worlds within the book intertwining with your own. The characters became your companions, and their stories wove themselves into your conversations.

You never thought you'd see the day when Dan Heng would willingly engage in something as warm and domestic as a book club. But there you were, Nestled together in the warmth of his room, a pile of books lay between you on his comfortable bed, and a soft, cozy blanket covered both of your legs.

Dan Heng's tall figure was a comforting presence beside you, his striking blue eyes focused on the pages of the book in his hands. His fingers turned the pages with care, revealing the hidden world of the story one chapter at a time. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, appreciating the way his fair skin caught the soft glow of the reading lamp.

"Have you gotten to the part where the protagonist makes that important decision yet?" you asked, your voice hushed as not to break the spell woven by the words on the pages.

Dan Heng glanced up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not yet," he replied, his voice as velvety as the night sky outside the window. "But I have a feeling it's coming soon."

The two of you had picked a fantasy novel for your book club, a tale of magic and destiny that seemed to parallel your own journey on the Astral Express. As the nights went on, you found yourself drawn deeper into the story and closer to Dan Heng.

With each passing evening, your discussions grew more animated. You'd share your theories about the characters' motivations, and Dan Heng would offer his own insightful observations. His fingers would occasionally brush against yours as you both reached for the teapot on the low table between you, sending a thrill of warmth through your veins.

As you were engrossed in a particularly suspenseful chapter, you felt Dan Heng's arm rest lightly against your shoulder. His presence was a comforting weight, and you leaned into the contact without a second thought. It was as if a silent understanding had blossomed between you, a connection that transcended words.

"Did you see that twist coming?" Dan Heng's voice rumbled softly, his warm breath tickling your ear.

You shook your head, a delighted smile gracing your lips. "No, I was completely caught off guard!"

He chuckled, a low and melodic sound that made your heart skip a beat. "I had a feeling you'd react that way."

As the book reached its climax, the two of you found yourselves drawn even closer. Your knees brushed against each other, and the subtle touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You dared to steal a glance at Dan Heng, finding his gaze already fixed on you, his eyes soft and full of something you couldn't quite put into words.

And then, as the final chapter approached, Dan Heng's fingers found their way to yours. His touch was tentative at first, a gentle intertwining of your fingers that sent shivers down your spine. You looked up at him, your heart racing, and found that his gaze was locked onto your joined hands, a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

The last page turned, and the two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the story settling over you. But then, Dan Heng looked at you, his eyes brimming with emotion. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said softly.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "Thank you for being a part of this with me."

And just like that, the book club for two had come to an end, but the bond you had formed with Dan Heng continued to grow stronger. As the nights went on, you found yourselves seeking out each other's company, not just for the books, but for the shared moments of warmth and connection that had blossomed between you.

In the quiet corners of the room, you and Dan Heng continued to write your own story, one that was filled with whispered conversations, stolen glances, and touches that spoke volumes. And though Dan Heng's exterior remained cold and reserved to the rest of the world, you knew the truth—he was only soft for you, a warmth that he shared in the quiet intimacy of your shared space.

#˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ mai writes #honkai star rail #honkai fluff #hsr #hsr x reader #dan heng #star rail #dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you

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twistedchatterbox · 1 year ago

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Un-Scripted Chemistry

You are a talented script writer, yet the reason Vil finds himself drawn to you is off the page. Tags. Fluff, Crushing, Pre-established relationship, Vil Schoenheit has feelings, No beta we overblod like men, you are one talented mashed potato

No wordcount | Tag list | Masterlist

It is an uncommonly known fact that Vil Schoenheit hates unlabelled role-names on scripts because of how it makes memorization difficult for inexperienced acting students.

However, an even less-commonly known addition is how the dorm warden will willingly lose sleep and/or spend his free time editing the script. By the end of it; the script includes tone guides, pose/gesture descriptions, suggestions, Do's/Don't-s. ...All depending on the needs of the person he will give the script to, of course.

Which is why Reading [RoleName - A/B/C or 1/2/3] on the papers of acting offers makes him wanna break a pokerface and side eye the script writers.

-Except, Vil is frustratingly aware of how underpaid the staff are compared to their all-too-smug and confident employers.

Now, on the other end of the spectrum: You, another big name in the acting scene, down-to-earth.

Whenever someone wishes to clash ideas with you during the production process, most people will find it easy to admit it was fun if not thrilling.

You are creatively competitive, but only in an encouraging light.

Vil finds that your easy going personality allows him to enjoy whats around him; he feels like he is next to you, not above, not bellow, and certainly not beyond the curtains of a stage.

No, he only finds himself walking next to you, at ease.

Strolling through town square in a 'disguise',

aimlessly chattering in the park,

brainstorming about your next production over coffee,

spilling 'tea' about the work gossip,

asking about each others' friends, rivals, family,

talking about his hopes and your dreams.

it's entirely unscripted whilst feeling akin to a fairy tale come true.

He counts his blessings and reassures to himself that this is real.

Now..

Once again, you give Vil one of the drafts for your newest play's concept , with a awe-inspiring smile ; where you labelled the side-characters, actions, suggestions, a breath-taking eye for detail;

-however, the thing that catches his eye first is the light-hearted, humorous way you named the side-cast.

Frankly? it's childish, and yet it reads like the type of thing a bunch of freshmen would nickname their roles to make it fun.

'Bob the burglar', 'Robbert the robber', 'Jay the jangler', 'Theo the thief'

it feels like the highest effort and quality satire genre, looking at the joke-like role-labels and then reading the absolute masterpiece of your play-writing. -Seriously? He asks you with his eyes, an utterly amused gaze.

And you laugh back. Vil finds solace in the way it reaches your eyes.

"it made my trope laugh," You say, shrugging, calm and good-natured "I figured you'd get a kick out of it."

And of course he does.

Vil smiles, as genuine as his love for art and you ; it reaches up to his eyes naturally.

He feels that it comes by naturally, when its you.

"I do," Vil hums, flipping through the sizable file of your work. "I appreciate it."

a/n; Hey hey! Did you know that reblogs are what actually help authors on here? If you wanna support me, do it via reblogs and tell me what you think of this fic in the comments ^^

#twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland disney #twst disney #vil schoenheit #twst vil #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #twst vil x reader #twst wonderland x reader #twst vil schoenheit x reader

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elcomfortador · 4 months ago

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Here is BS Super Mario USA, a weird semi-sequel to Super Mario Bros. 2 released in 1996 for the Satellaview, an add-on to the Super Famicom that allowed users to download games. This one is weird. It's essentially the 16-bit upgrade we saw in Super Mario All-Stars, except with voice acting added in, and notably around the 30-second mark, you can hear two of the voices they had for the game's Birdo characters. (There are three: pink, red and green.)

Believe it or not, this is probably the closest Nintendo has ever come to acknowledging that Birdo is, in fact, a trans character, because all three voice actors for these three versions of Birdo were performers at Shiroi Heya, a Shinjuku nightclub famous for trans performers. Not only can you see pics of these three actresses in the game's credits...

But Shiroi Heya is thanked explicitly in the credits!

This is super interesting to me, because there's not really a good reason why Nintendo would hire three trans performers to voice these characters unless someone wanted to underscore the fact that Birdo is, in fact, trans herself. And it's especially interesting because as the years rolled on, Birdo has become more and more of a cabaret-style performer in her own right.

But yeah, it really seems like Birdo is a trans character and every now and then Nintendo gets close to saying "yes, she is," but I think this is as closest as we've gotten so far.

I did a full history of Birdo in video games, Doki Doki Panic to present, with an eye on how her gender is presented from one game to the next, and you can read that here.

#birdo #trans #super mario bros. 2 #gaming #retrogaming

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lookingfts · 7 months ago

Note

Where does Say My Name Kate keep the photos Anthony took of her? Does she ever look at them? Does Anthony?

*sexy snippet below*

Kate knew it was reckless to keep the photos in her purse, exactly where Anthony had left them. There was just something right about it, keeping them so close to her. The final token that had convinced Kate to make the best decision of her life, and give Anthony Bridgerton a real chance at loving her.

There was also something a little naughty and thrilling about it, besides. Kate was hardly a prude, but she still blushed when she caught a glimpse of herself posed so intimately. Her legs spread, her cunt exposed, Anthony’s release filling her. It was too easy to get wet all over again at the memories. Too easy to get sentimental as Kate mused on how far they had come since then. That girl had been so scared, fighting his every attempt to show her that he genuinely cared about her.

And now she knew the truth. Anthony loved her harder than she could have ever dared to imagine, and she was safe to love him just as much.

So the Polaroids stayed. Until the day that Eddie needed to borrow a phone charger and Kate, distracted by her sauce on the stove, had offhandedly said, “Check my purse.”

There was the sound of zipping, and Kate realized her mistake a second before it rang across the house. “Oh my fucking god!”

Kate turned down the heat and raced into the other room, snatching the photos from Edwina’s hand. But the damage was done, judging by the shell-shocked look on her sister’s face.

“That’s not what it looks like,” she insisted, her cheeks flaming bright red.

“That’s not…” Eddie said faintly, then snorted. “Didi, I literally don’t think that could be anything except what it looks like.”

Shoving the photos back into her purse, Kate pulled out the charger and pushed it into Edwina’s hand. She supposed it was a good sign that her sister’s surprise had faded and now she looked endlessly amused rather than angry.

“You little slut,” she said, but her voice was teasing. “You let my ex-boyfriend take nasty photos of you, didn’t you?”

Kate rolled her eyes. Eddie loved to call Anthony her ex, and while technically correct, Kate knew she meant it more as a joke than anything else. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated.”

She supposed there was no need to tell Edwina the whole sordid tale of how Anthony had taken pictures of her after she had just made him come for the first time, on her knees and trying to get even after her own intense orgasm. Of how he’d given them to her as a gift, a promise that he wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability.

Might as well let her think they were more recent, a fun little experiment in a solid relationship.

“You look great,” Eddie said, waving her hand toward the photos. “Have you ever considered porn?”

“Edwina!”

-----

So, maybe her purse wasn’t the best spot. Kate took them out when she got home, bringing them upstairs with her. It was late, and Anthony was already in bed, shirtless and reading a book. Truly beautiful sight to come home to, each and every time.

She flopped onto the bed, and Anthony quirked an eyebrow when he saw the photos in her hand. “I haven’t seen those in a while.”

“Edwina found them in my bag,” Kate said, wincing. “She was fine, but it was…awkward, to say the least.”

Anthony pressed his lips together, suppressing a laugh. “But she was okay?”

“Yeah. She said I should do porn.”

“You do look incredible naked,” he said with a straight face. “But I must admit, I like being the only one to see you that way.”

“I know,” Kate sighed, snuggling in closer so she could rest her head on his shoulder. Anthony put his book aside, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I must have known when I let you take these. I believed you when you said you wouldn’t show anyone else.”

She felt his deep breath against her body, his grip tightening around her. “I know you didn’t have much reason to trust me back then, but I would never do that to you, Kate.”

“I’m well aware,” she assured him, twisting to press a kiss to his collarbone. “It was a little scary, but it also turned me on. I realized I liked the idea of you laying in bed, touching yourself to my photos. Wanting me even after our one night was over.”

Anthony tensed slightly, his breathing going a little shallower. “That was…inevitable.”

“I know that now too.” Kate flipped to the next Polaroid, a close-up of her cunt with his seed leaking out. Right after that ridiculous phone call with Tom and before Anthony had cleaned her up with his tongue. “If you didn’t take them for yourself, why did you take them?” she asked quietly.

“They were for me. At first. If that night was all I had with you, I wanted to remember it. And when you let me take them, I realized…there was a part of you that trusted me. Maybe it was buried deep down, but it was there. And I wanted to show you that I could deserve that trust. I wanted you to know that you owned me, not the other way around.”

Her heart clenched in her chest. Maybe the way Anthony showed love didn’t make sense to everyone, but it was perfect for her. He was perfect for her.

“Hey, baby?” she asked. Anthony hummed. “Do you know where your camera is?”

“It’s in my office. Why?”

“I think we should take some more photos.”

#say my name #bridgerton #kanthony #asks and answers #kate x anthony #anthony x kate #bridgerton fic #missing scene

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johnwickb1tsch · 8 months ago

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The Night Nurse ~ Chapter 10

A John Wick x Helen Fic

Masterlist / Chapter Map

Author's note: It's been a minute since I posted on this fic, I'm so sorry!! I lost a good chunk of this chapter to an untimely computer update (fuck you very much Windows) and I was so frustrated I just had to let it sit for a while. BUT I finally managed to re-write it, so here we are! I hope you enjoy! 💗💗💗 (Oh and the illustrations here are from the turn of the century version of Afanasyev's Russian Fairy Tales, the book John hid his marker in, in JW3...you'll see why.😉)

Times gets tough

Oh, they get tougher

Hold on to me

I got you, darling…

-I’ll be your man, The Black Keys

The walls of his library were lined with built-in bookshelves, filled to the brim with antique and vintage books. A single leather reading chair sat in the corner with a lamp and a small table. A larger table took up the center of the room with a proper book cradle. Helen breathed in, reveling in the magical smell of old books. She realized that this must be where John gets some of that intoxicating scent of his, bottom notes of leather and parchment paper. The chair in the corner looked well-worn, and she imagined him spending hours of his downtime just sitting and reading away the day.

For the umpteenth time, it squeezed her heart to the point of pain.

Throughout the course of the tour, they did not let go of each other once. John didn’t seem to mind handling books with one mitt of a hand, the fingers of his left laced tightly with Helen’s.

“Do you still have your book of Russian fairy tales?”

“Yes.” Gingerly he pulled it from a shelf, resting it in the cradle on the table.

They perused the book together, Helen leaning against his shoulder. He was warm, and solid as a tree, and for a heady moment it was difficult to concentrate on the antique tome, no matter how beautiful. The illustrations were utterly gorgeous, and she mentally kicked herself into focusing. She thought about a young John toting this beloved book around the world with him like a Lost Boy with his teddy bear, and the thought succeeded in tying her up in inextricable knots.

John turned to a page of an illustration of a lovely peasant woman in the woods, holding a torch made of a glowing human skull. “Oh, who’s that?” asked Helen.

“That’s Vasilisa the Beautiful,” answered John.

She hovered her finger over the first line of Cyrillic, careful not to touch the paper. “What does it say?”

John read it aloud, his voice low and all for her, and she sighed a little, not understanding a syllable. For some reason hearing him speak another language so easily, and something about the lilting cadence of the language in his deep voice, the soft shh and musical ya sounds of the Russian words inspired a curl of lust in her belly, a small thrill zipping down her spine. She shuddered lightly, and prayed he hadn’t noticed.

He absolutely noticed, his pupils blowing wide with desire. Doggedly, he kept them fixed upon the page below.

“Is that, ‘Once upon a time’…in Russian?”

“Something like that. This is a Cinderella story about a young woman who outsmarts her wicked stepmother and the Baba Yaga with her determination and the help of her magical doll. It’s one of my favorites.”

He’d seen a bit of himself in Vasilisa as a young man, straining under the yoke of his unforgiving masters. He turned the page to reveal a witchy old woman riding in what looked like an upright log. Helen couldn’t suppress a grin. “Oh look, it’s you, Baba Yaga.”

John snorted at that. “I still don’t know what idiot started that damned nickname,” he groused.

Actually, he suspected it was Marcus, but he’d never found out for certain.

“It sounds fierce, at least.”

His lips twisted in a smirk, and he couldn’t help himself from turning to look at her, then. Their faces were torturously close. “Think I should get some flaming skull torches for out front?”

“Yes, I think the neighbors would love that,” she deadpanned, and more felt than heard John’s responding chuckle.

He turned the page to a new illustration of a strapping knight on a black horse. “Oh hello, handsome. Who’s this guy?”

John narrowly resisted the urge to ask if she had a thing for men in black, even as that telling warmth clouded his brain.

“That’s…Night.”

“The night Knight?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Her lips twisted in a cheeky smile. “Nice. I like him.”

“You would.”

“I have excellent taste, John.”

He found himself looking at her mouth again, thinking her taste would be excellent. For the umpteenth time, he managed not to kiss her by the skin of his teeth. By the way she was looking at him...maybe he didn't need to be exercising such restraint. But maybe that was the excellent wine talking

Maybe he really was an idiot.

“So...in reward for being clever Baba Yaga gives Vasilisa one of the skull torches. She takes it back to her house, and when she lights the candles her wicked step mother and awful step sisters burn up.”

“Oooh. And she lives happily ever after?”

“Well...she marries the tsar, for what that's worth.”

Helen wrinkled up her nose, communicating her opinion on that. “Overall, I give it a nine out of ten.”

John couldn’t help it then. He actually grinned, showing teeth. “Glad you liked it.”

“Thanks for sharing with me.”

“My pleasure.”

She was still leaning on his shoulder, and was it him, or had she somehow sidled even closer, her body pressed to his side? Her eyes traveled leisurely from him to the book to the chair in the corner. It was then that she noticed that the bookmarked novel on the side table was a mass-market paperback she recognized quite well.

He’d taken her recommendation on the Codename Villanelle spy thrillers, despite teasing her about her taste in books, what felt like a lifetime ago that fateful night in the subway. The fact that he was on the second one touched her to no end, and she squeezed his arm.

“Aww, you’re reading about Eve and Villanelle,” she purred. “You like them?”

“Yes. You were right, they are fun.”

“Taking notes from Villanelle?” The Russian spy was wickedly clever at finding ways to kill her targets.

“Maybe. That poison hair stick was something. Think I could pull it off?” Helen reached up to curl a lock of his dark hair around her finger with a smile, and John couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation of her touching his hair.

He was hopeless.

“Oh, definitely. You could so rock the man-bun.”

John rolled his eyes at that, reluctant to admit that he often did when training.

Helen looked back to the book, now with what John was learning to recognize as a sly glint in her eye. “I’m on practically the same spot in that book,” she noted. “Want to read me a chapter?”

John looked at his reading chair, the comfortable old soldier that it was. It was also the only place to sit in the room, and he went a little cross-eyed at the thought of Helen curled up in his lap in it.

There would be zero reading done, of that he was certain. He would debauch her for the first time in that chair, and maybe again on the table for good measure.

A virulent heat licked at his collar as he imagined it. Fuck him, but she was making him blush.

“Sure. Let’s take it to the living room,” he proposed, ignoring her lips pursed in a theatrical pout.

Minx. She knew exactly what she was doing to him—and he was increasingly unsure why he wasn’t just letting her have her way.

He scooped up the paperback book, her hand still firmly clasped in his other while he led them back to the recessed living room. He set the book down on the couch. “Want another glass of wine? I’m going to clear these dishes.”

He needed to clear his head, and he felt Helen look at him with some disappointment that felt a little bit like being stabbed.

“Can I help you?”

“No, this is your night off. Sit, relax. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” She seated herself on the couch with only the book for company.

She watched John practically flee into the kitchen, and wondered if she’d done something wrong.

Regaled by the sound of clinking dishes and the faucet running, Helen looked around at John’s shelves. They were rather bare, though she noticed he had a bit of a CD collection on display. It plucked at her nostalgia for the days before everything could be so easily accessed via the hand-held computers known as phones but so rarely used for actually talking.

Standing, she decided to be nosy and thumb through them. He seemed to favor classics, from classical music, to rock and blues. There was very little on the shelf dating from past the 90s, and that made her smile for some reason.

“See anything you like?”

She turned to find John with two freshly-filled wine glasses in tow. He set them on the coffee table, before joining her at the built-in cd tower.

“Some good stuff here,” she agreed with a Chili Peppers cd in her hand. The fiery pool with the ocean in the background on the cover tickled the nostalgia center in her brain for sure. “Who are these guys?” She pulled out a black and white album with a high contrast photo of a guy with glasses, and a bearded dude.

“Never heard of the Black Keys?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, honey.”

She chuckled. “Ok, do not pull the my taste in music is better than yours card. I will leave.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he defended with a sly close-lipped smile. “I reserve that card only for books.”

She snorted in answer, and found herself gravitating closer to him, even just standing there looking at his music. She just couldn’t help it.

That really was some good wine he served with dinner.

She watched as he popped open the jewel case, feeding the CD into the slot of his player. He hit a couple buttons, and the speakers erupted with a very bluesy distorted guitar riff. It was loud, and John laughed a little as she jumped—conveniently, into his arms.

“Sorry.” He turned down the volume slightly, his arms circling her waist almost of their own volition. It felt so easy, being with her. Maybe from the very moment they’d met, it just felt like she should be in his arms, and acting on it made something loud and uneasy always clamoring in the back of his brain to go quiet. She swayed her head and shoulders a little to the beat; it was impossible not to.

“John?” she asked from beneath his chin, brushing the soft scruff of his beard with her nose. It filled him with a tingling warmth, in the very marrow of his bones, a pleasure in this closeness that just seemed too good to be true. It was like a drug, better than cocaine or heroin or anything else he’d ever tried, and he didn’t know how he would ever let her go.

“Yeah?”

“They made you learn ballet at your…school, but do you like to dance?”

He’d spent so much time in night clubs, hunting, and acting as backup muscle for Tarasov while he closed business deals, but it wasn’t a setting he really enjoyed. He wasn’t sure he really classified the writhing and arm waving one engaged in at the club as dancing. He was familiar with other dance forms, but they didn’t come up often in his life.

“I feel like you’re actually asking me a different question,” he teased, leaning into her to reach out to skip to a different track.

“I am?”

“You’re asking if I want to dance with you?”

The first metallic notes of Dan Auerbach’s guitar rang out, and John swayed to the beat, a hand on her svelte waist pinning her close. With a smile she moved with him, her other hand finding his.

“Do you?”

He looked down at her with a glint of mischief in those shining dark eyes, and so much warmth that a flood of heat washed through her from her hair follicles all the way to her toes. This man. She really would follow him anywhere. Maybe the wine they’d drank lubricated this thought process, but she knew that didn’t make it any less true.

John knew that his answer to any question that involved an activity with her would be a resounding yes. Groceries? Yes. The dentist? Fine. Just hold his hand. He was broken for her.

“Of course I do.” He lifted his arm to guide her in a turn before pulling her close again, and she simply couldn’t help it. The joy in her heart soared.

Then the vocals in the song began, and Helen couldn’t help the fuzzy warmth that spread in her chest. Need a new love? I’m ready. Want my time? I’m willing.

There wasn’t a huge amount of open space in the living room, but John was very good at making do, leading her in steps to the beat, throwing in fun checks and turns and behind-the-back maneuvers that made her giggle. She knew she sounded drunk. It was on him though, far more than the wine. He made her happier than any one had in a very long time. Maybe ever, if she was being honest with herself.

To make things even worse, the chorus of the song rang loud in her ears with the infectious guitar riff: I’ll be your man. Mmm, I’ll be your man. She didn’t know if he picked this song on purpose for the lyrics, or the intoxicating rhythm, but she felt it in her bones, and in her heart, and every cell of her being; she was so attuned to this man.

She almost tripped when he attempted to twist her up like a pretzel in a figure-eight step, but he caught her, laughing with her as he held her close.

“I’m not that good,” she apologized, clinging to him more than she really needed to. He was just…so solid, and if she was being honest all she really wanted to do was climb him like a fucking tree.

His arm around her waist was like a warm band of iron, and he smiled gently down at her. She felt herself melting like chocolate in the sun, her knees gone weak beneath her.

“That’s ok. I’ve got you.”

She couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped from her throat. Because, she knew it was true, and not just here being silly dancing in his living room. She realized she trusted him not to drop her no matter what they were doing, or what they were facing. That kind of faith in another person, much less a man, was a rare and precious thing.

“John…” she said softly, looking up into his warm dark eyes from so very close. She wasn’t sure if she was asking a question, or if she just needed to cite his name like a prayer, invoke him like a saint in her personal pantheon. Maybe it was madness, but wrapped up in his arms like this, he felt like something to believe in.

Her eyes drifted down to his mouth, those full lips she’d coveted since the moment they’d met, if she was telling the truth.

This was the moment that John’s will to fight it broke at last. He felt it inside, not like a hard snap, but a definite release, like a boat coming unmoored, being swept down a swift stream. There was no more resisting. He was lost to her.

Pulled like a magnet, he finally leaned in that fraction of distance to press his lips to hers. His kiss was like a sunrise in her heart; warm and bursting, soft and sweet. She couldn’t stop herself from standing on tiptoe with a low moan, looping her arms around his neck as she pressed her body against his. It won her something like a deep growl that thrilled her to her toes, and greedily she wanted more.

She teased the seam of his mouth with her tongue, begging entrance he gladly granted. She felt the tremor in his arms as he held her, so tightly that he nearly lifted her from the floor. He kissed her like a starving man offered a life-giving meal, and her fingers fisted in his hair at the back of his head, holding him to her, holding on.

His heartbeat a thundering timpani in his ears, John felt like Helen’s lips on his was the answer to a question his heart had been asking his whole adult life. She was the air he breathed, the sustenance necessary to live, and the desire to drink her down, to eat her up, was a dogged, insistent demand from the darkest depths of his soul.

He never wanted to let her go.

With a ragged breath he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers, his fingers digging into her sides. She might have bruises later.

She didn’t mind.

She wanted his hands, rough or gentle.

She wanted all of him, and if he didn’t return his mouth to hers she was going to scream.

“Helen,” he panted. “I—”

The tinny electronic sound of his phone ringing in his pocket interrupted what might have been a foolish—or a life changing—confession. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, knowing he had to answer it. That was the deal with the devil he’d signed, when he didn’t really have any better choice. He was on call all the time.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

She nodded, but did not extricate herself, leaning on his shoulder while he pulled the device from his pocket. It was Viggo Tarasov, and his heart dropped like a stone. It was rare that the boss Himself called. He absolutely had to answer it, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t like what his pakhan had to say.

With a heavy heart he lifted the phone to his ear, his other arm still wrapped possessively around Helen.

“Da?”

“Good evening, John.”

John fought to keep the impatient snarl out of his tone, but feared he failed royally. “Evening, Viggo.”

“I’ve just heard some interesting things about your latest adventures about town. I think we need to talk.”

That was probably the understatement of the century.

“When?”

“Now.”

Of fucking course.

“I can be there in an hour.”

“Good.”

Viggo hung up, and John clenched the phone in his fist, fighting not to throw it across the room. He knew Helen heard every word for the way she sighed with disappointment, snuggling into the bend of his neck. The sensation of her front molded to his was heaven, and he didn’t know how to let her go.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized with lips to her forehead. “I have to go.”

“I understand.” There was some consolation, in that she sounded as devastated as he was.

“You’ll be ok here? My house is your house. Help yourself to anything you want.”

She made a kittenish little sound that sent all his blood straight to his groin. “What I want is leaving,” she informed him with a pouting lip, tugging on the front of his shirt.

He couldn’t stop himself then from stealing another kiss, a deep and probing thing that left her breathless and starry-eyed.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told her.

“Promise?”

“Yes.” John wondered what Viggo had in store. If he was in trouble, or if his boss would send him out to teach the Medvedev boys a lesson tonight. He didn’t want to go hunting that night. Everything he truly wanted in the world, he realized, was standing right in front of him, looking up at him with melted toffee eyes. He cupped her cheek, memorizing every detail of her all over again.

He realized with a startling clarity that he could never get enough of her.

The intensity of his stare sent a thrill jetting down her spine. “John…” He worried her a little, when he got like this. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly—but some little intuition in the back of her brain sang out that something bad might happen.

“It’ll be alright,” he told her, sensing her unease. “I have to change.” He kissed her forehead again, and disappeared up the stairs to his room.

Helen plopped down on the couch with a sigh, crushed with disappointment but knowing this was how it was, and she understood more than ever now that it wasn’t his fault or his choice. She picked up the Villanelle book, No Tomorrow, stroking her thumb over the cover, but not cracking it open.

When John stalked down the stairs he was wearing one of his slim-fit all black suits again, his hair slicked back from his face. He looked beautiful, and predatory, sleek as a panther stalking in the jungle, and fierce attraction warred with dread in Helen’s breast. She had a feeling that someone might die tonight, and it was so strange to think in those terms with such a sense of acceptance.

At least she knew John’s prey would be no one innocent.

“Don’t forget you owe me a chapter,” she said in a sing song tone as he approached, waving the book, trying to lighten the pall that had fallen upon the room.

The smile he paid her was filled with melancholy; she felt it like a knife between the ribs. “I won’t,” he assured her, taking her hand to press his lips to her knuckles. He paused, looking down at this beautiful woman seated on his couch, with her legs that went on forever and the warmth in her eyes all for him. There was nothing he wanted more, than to stay there with her. To lay her down and kiss every inch of her perfect flesh. He probably should have told her that, but he just sighed, and let her go.

“I’m going to leave this here, just in case,” he said, all business as he showed her a blocky black automatic pistol. “There’s one in the chamber. All you have to do is pull the trigger. It has a long trigger pull but please do not touch it unless you need it, and be very careful.” He stashed the Glock in a drawer beside the couch. “I’ll leave the alarm on. If it goes off I’ll get an alert on my phone.”

With wide eyes she nodded. “Do you…think the Medvedevs will come here?”

“No, or I wouldn’t leave you here alone.” He honestly thought this was the safest place for her. “But…” One never knows.

“Okay.” He could tell that he managed to scare her a little, and he hated himself for it.

“I’m being paranoid,” he tried to assure her. He dared add, “Because you’re precious to me.” She softened then, and stood to wrap her arms around his neck once more. Embracing her was as intoxicating as kissing her, and again John warred with himself as to how he was going to leave.

“Come back to me,” she demanded softly, kissing the soft scruff of his cheek.

“Always,” he answered without allowing himself to think about it, pressing his lips to hers in a long, gentle kiss filled with all the yearning in his heart.

Reluctantly, he slipped from her grasp, and didn’t look back.

She watched him go, admiring his tall dark form even as he was leaving her.

She heard the roar of the Mustang starting in the garage, and the trail of its growl as it prowled across the driveway, disappearing down the street into the night. She couldn’t help but feel like her heart sped away with it.

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick x helen #helen wick #john wick the night nurse #keanu reeves

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