#VERSE : AIR — BOOK ONE

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- Punching the Air

[anto-pops]

The Archivist - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Weeks after discovering some ancient tomes you're unable to decipher, you reach out to the Ministry of Magic Archives for help decoding the timeworn pages. The last thing you'd expected was for Sebastian Sallow to show up, much less for him to be so... attractive. Had he always looked like that?

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian Sallow pursued a professional career as a book nerd and also happens to be really well versed in sex.

Word Count: 6,969 (LMAO)

Warnings: 18+. aged up characters, explicit sexual content, size difference, Sebastian wearing glasses again

Up on Ao3 here for your viewing pleasure

You honestly didn’t think you’d ever thrown on clothes faster than you did the day someone apparated into your living room with a deafening crack, followed by a crash and a muffled, “Shit, ow.” 

If you were to die, you weren’t eager to do so half-naked and half-asleep. 

After hastily tying your robe around your waist and stuffing your feet in a pair of deteriorating slippers, you cautiously stuck your head into the hallway, the unruly strands of your bed head sticking to your cheeks and poking you in the eye as you assessed the situation. 

At the end of the hall you could see a stack of books scattered across the floor, along with a previously organized collection of newspapers now strewn over the top of a prone body. Said body was stirring beneath the crumpled parchment, and you bit your lip and wished desperately for coffee as you weighed your options. 

Option one: it was a murderer and you should leave immediately. The only problem was that the hallway leading to the front door was now blocked. Shit. 

Option two: it was a burglar, and if you could remember where you’d left your wand last night, you could petrify the man in place until officials came to your aid. 

Option three: it was a murdering burglar, and you might as well attempt to find out as much as you could before you wound up gruesomely cut down so you could at least haunt the bastard. 

As the concealed figure attempted to sit up, you heard another thump as something fell from above them, followed by an irate groan, and you gripped the doorway to your bedroom tightly as you managed to call out a meek, “Hello?” 

All movement and noises in the living room ceased for a moment, the air still and silent. You swore if the intruder dropped so much as a pin, you would hear it. The pair of feet belonging to the unknown man dragged along the floor as he seemingly stood himself up, and figuring that no burglar would be such a noisy wreck, you took your chances and slowly made your way down the hall to take in the damage done to your living space. 

Bizarre as it was to be so civil with someone who’d essentially broken into your home, you rounded the corner and found yourself asking, “Are you alright?” 

You were met with your potential adversary as he turned around, and you were equal parts surprised and confused to discover that it was none other than Sebastian Sallow. It had been years since you’d last seen him, the two of you having gone your separate ways after graduation as you continued hunting down ancient magic sites and he pursued a career within the Ministry. The last letter you’d received from him had come in a little over a year ago, sadly informing you that his sister had finally passed, albeit peacefully. 

To find him now standing in the midst of your demolished living room was a shock in and of itself. 

“Sebastian?” you asked incredulously, your eyes raking down his disheveled but well dressed body. He had certainly grown since you’d last seen him, his long legs accentuated by pressed slacks, and the suspenders that wrapped over his sculpted shoulders left little to the imagination. The button up he wore was just shy of being too small for his broad figure, and when you glanced back up at him, you watched as he brought one of his hands up to his face to fix his crooked glasses. 

“Hi,” he said lamely, flashing you a somewhat sheepish smile. “Sorry for the mess– I, uh– well, I think I landed on something when I popped in.” 

Your eyes flicked down once more to the toppled stacks of books that now covered the floor, and your brow cocked of its own accord as you breathed out a laugh, “You don’t say.”

Still reeling from the abrupt wake up call, you could only stare dumbstruck as Sebastian fixed his clothing and picked invisible lint off of his shirt, then offered his hand to you. “Sorry about the books. And the, uh, language. I’m here about the old tomes you found?” 

As you accepted his outstretched hand and tried not to pass out from the firmness of it, you blinked and attempted to figure out what he was referring to. “Tomes?” 

“The ones you wanted looked over?” He let go of your hand to rifle through the small satchel strapped to his thigh, and it took a herculean effort not to drool over the sheer width of his leg. Merlin’s bloody balls… you’d been holed up indoors for too long. “You sent in this consultation request a few weeks ago,” he said, pulling out a small slip of parchment decorated in your familiar scrawl, and then it all started to come back to you. 

It had been nearly a month since, but during your last excursion to Scotland, you’d come across a set of unique, fragile tomes buried deep in an ancient magic site there. As curious as you’d been to read through their contents, the text within was hardly legible, and in truth, you weren’t even sure it was written in English. In a bid to still make use of the age-old books, you had reached out to the Ministry of Magic Archives to have someone potentially aid you in deciphering the timeworn pages. After almost a month with no response, you had simply shelved them all and moved on to planning your next trip.

“I completely forgot,” you muttered, taking the paper from Sebastian to read it over. “I kind of gave up hoping that the Ministry would send someone.”

“They weren’t planning on it,” he started to say, sounding conflicted as to whether or not he should continue. “But after I got my hands on the request, I took something of a personal interest in the case.” 

Jokingly, you teased, “You hold that much sway working in the Archives?” 

“I do when I’m the Archivist.” 

“You’re the Archivist?” Your jaw dropped comically fast, your eyes wider than saucers as you processed his statement. Suddenly you were looking at your former friend in a whole new light. In your mind, you had always assumed the Ministry’s Archivist would be… well, ancient. Old and withered, graying and feeble. Not youthful and– quite frankly– hot. “How did that happen?” 

Sebastian rocked back on his heels as he stuffed his thumbs in his pockets, the very picture of modesty as he shrugged, “It’s technically my trial period since the old Archivist just died a few months ago. But yeah, I guess my thirst for knowledge and reading habits paid off. At the very least it impressed the Minister enough for him to promote me.”

Eventually you managed to pick your chin up off the floor so you were no longer gaping at him like a fish, and you bashfully tucked a particularly stubborn strand of hair behind your ear as you cleared your throat and said, “Well, congratulations then. Glad to hear you’re doing well for yourself.”

Sebastian stared at you for a long moment before laughing softly under his breath, his hand sweeping through the front of his curly hair, “Thanks. But anyways, I can take a look at those tomes now if you’ve still got them?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure. They’re on the shelf by the couch, let me just get changed.” 

“No worries,” Sebastian said quickly, grinning widely as he moved around you further into the living room, his eyes roving over you momentarily. “I’ve got this.”

Did he just… check you out? No way, you thought, shaking the idea from your mind entirely. 

You tracked the brunet as he strode over to the cluttered shelf beside the sofa, watching intently as he moved a few books around until he found the unmistakable tomes propped against the wooden panels. With the utmost care, Sebastian carefully withdrew one of the three with delicate fingers, his touch featherlight and ever conscious of the fragile nature of the bound piece of foreign literature. As he thoughtfully deposited the book on top of the coffee table, you couldn’t help but admire how gentle he was being with it; with hands that big, you found his tender touch to be something of a contrast to his entire person. 

Shamelessly, you also found yourself wondering how those hands of his might feel against your skin. 

Beating back your lustful thoughts with a mental brick, you managed to say with an even tone, “I’m surprised you can tell what’s what in that mess of a shelf. I’ve been told I have a bit of a hoarding problem– most people can’t separate the floor from the walls.” 

“Well, I’m not most people,” he retorted, flashing you a dazzling smile from over his shoulder. “It takes a bookworm to know one. My old overseer at the Archives used to tell me I ‘had no shelf control’.”

The silence that settled over the room was utterly loud, and as Sebastian’s face took on the hue of a ripe tomato, you were fighting a grin with every fiber of your being. Your lips contorted into something resembling a downward smile while the Archivist-in-training turned back to the bookshelf, dragging a hand down his flushed cheeks as a pained groan weaseled its way out of him. “Please forget I said that. I’ve picked up on one too many library jokes in the past five years.” 

Sweet Merlin, he was dorky as hell. Please leave, excessively hot Archivist. Either leave or stay for about six hours and don’t go until I’m ready to let you.

To spare him his dignity and also because you needed to refrain from staring at his attractive backside, you spun on your heel to head into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Please,” he sighed in agreement, sounding all too excited about the change in topic. 

“I’ve got tea, coffee, and… water,” you finished pathetically. The barren cupboards above the pantry nearly brought a tear to your eye, and you made a mental note to do some shopping later if you had the time. 

Sebastian set the second tome down on the coffee table at the same time he called out to you, “Tea is fine, thank you.” 

It took a smidge longer than normal to boil the water, seeing as you had to pause your efforts to find your wand buried beneath the piles of maps in your bedroom. Once you had it in hand, however, you whipped up two steaming cups of black tea and returned to Sebastian minutes later to hand his cup over to him. He took it graciously, plainly eyeing you up over the brim of the mug as he took a tentative sip, and your stomach flipped at the suggestive look he fixed you with. 

“I’m a little jealous, you’ve got one hell of a collection here. I almost wish I could take some of these old books off your hands.” 

“Mm,” you hummed around a mouthful of tea, swallowing pointedly. Sebastian’s eyebrow twitched minutely. “Well, I think it might be time for me to clean house a bit anyways. If you wanted to, you could always come back and take your pick of what you like.” 

His brows rose momentarily before settling, a muscle in his defined jaw ticking as he glanced between you and the tomes on the table. Then with a voice like pure sin, Sebastian smoothly said, “And what if I like more than the books?”

Shit, shit. Redirect. You fought to employ every ounce of self-control in your body so you wouldn’t just jump into his strong arms and straddle him right there, but you were acutely aware of a few facts; you looked like you had fought a Hippogriff in your sleep, you had sorely little on under your robe, and Sebastian's eyes had been devouring the noticeable outline of your collarbone for the last minute or so. Fuck. 

“Then it sounds, uh,” you started to say, struggling to form words with the broad shouldered Adonis across from you seemingly undressing you with his eyes. “Like we might be on the same page.” It was the truth– you were as interested in the Archivist as you were in the purpose for his visit– but once the unintentional pun registered, you rolled your eyes and dug the heel of your palm into one eye, swearing softly. To his credit, Sebastian just laughed, taking another hearty sip of his tea as you shyly smiled up at him. 

With more work to be done back at the Ministry and your tomes in hand, Sebastian dutifully let you know that while he couldn't stay presently, he would absolutely be coming back later that night. He followed you into the kitchen to deposit his cup beside the sink, intentionally reaching over your shoulder to set the mug down before letting his fingers ghost along the skin of your neck. Goosebumps broke out all over your body at the contact, and when you turned around to face him with the counter pressing against your rear, his hands came to deftly adjust the revealing neckline of your robe with a coy smirk tugging at his lips. 

“See you at seven,” he purred, leaving you a blushing mess in your kitchen as he stepped back, winked, then apparated away. 

—

By the time seven o’clock rolled around, you had bathed, gone to the market to replenish your sorry excuse of a pantry, tidied up the previously demolished sitting area, and started cooking dinner. Part of you felt like you were getting ahead of yourself with everything, but after spending the entirety of your day reflecting on the stolen glances Sebastian had sent your way and his rather telling comment in the living room, you told yourself it couldn’t get any more obvious than that. 

He had always been rather cute during your time at school, but something about seeing him grown and fully matured had ignited a fire in your veins that stubbornly stayed burning for hours. 

When he showed up five minutes early at six fifty-five with freshly washed hair and wearing a darker version of his earlier outfit, your doubts all but vanished. Clearly you weren’t the only one itching to make a good impression. 

Sebastian followed you into the living room, now noticeably cleaner than it had been earlier in the morning, and held up the bottle of wine he’d been holding at his side. “I know you’ve got tea and water, but uh. I figured why not. It’s Friday after all.”

You smiled softly and let your hands brush against his as you took the wine from him, curiously watching as his fingers flexed when his arm returned to his side. “Thank you. I take it the Archivist doesn’t go to work on the weekends, then?” 

“The Archivist in training doesn’t, but I’m sure my free time will be a commodity before long. I’m pretty sure the last one frequently slept under his desk at the Ministry Headquarters. What about you? Any drab desk jobs to speak of?” 

“Nope,” you said, gesturing to the couch as you turned to head back into the kitchen. “When I need the extra money I’ll help out Sirona at The Three Broomsticks, but for the most part my explorations and Professor Fig’s estate hold me over well enough. I’m hardly ever home anyways, so it’s not like there’s many expenses to keep track of.” 

“I see,” Sebastian huffed as he collapsed into the couch, spreading his long arms along the top of the backrest as he took in the neater state of the living room. “I’m guessing your adventuring is why there’s so many books in the first place. Have you ever thought about upsizing?”

“Hardly,” you set the bottle down on the kitchen counter and chanced a look at the man on the sofa, oddly pleased to see him so at ease in the midst of your cluttered home. “I’d much rather downsize the collection. I don’t even need the majority of what I have– I’ve read through it all ten times over.” 

He nodded, “Fair enough.” 

“Anyway, I imagined you’d be hungry, so dinner’s almost ready.” 

“Oh, damn,” Sebastian mumbled, sitting forward to run a hand through his drying hair as you flitted around the kitchen. “You didn’t have to.”

“Unless you planned on feeding yourself later, I think most shops will be closed by the time you leave,” you said pointedly, turning to hide your grin when you observed the brunet flushing bright red. Miraculously you resisted the urge to add ‘if at all’ to the end of your statement. You unearthed the corkscrew buried deep within the kitchen drawers and popped open the wine bottle, filling two glasses before striding back into the living room to hand one over to Sebastian. “Feel free to take a look at any of the books, see if any of them might be worth taking to the Archives.”

The larger man gave you a lopsided smirk as he took the offered glass and clinked it gently against yours, muttering his agreement before shamelessly ogling your retreating form returning to the kitchen. The cinched waist of your otherwise simple dress was incredibly distracting. He elected not to sift through the piles upon piles of books, opting to instead watch as you hummed to yourself and stirred something on the stove, which Sebastian was beginning to realize smelled pretty fantastic. He was grateful for the distance between you both so you couldn’t hear his stomach growling. 

Once the food was ready, you ate with comfortable conversation flowing between the two of you the entire time. You asked Sebastian what he did in his soon to be nonexistent free time, and you were surprised to hear that he had taken on the role of Feldcroft’s token handyman. In his own words, the muggle approach to fixing things was relatively therapeutic, and he loved getting his hands dirty almost as much as he loved having his nose burrowed in book pages. It explained his physical appearance, at the very least. Until now, you’d just assumed he had a habit of squatting massive stacks of books in the Archives when he was bored. 

In turn he had asked you about your hobbies, about the ancient magic sites you visited, and about living on-the-go so regularly. It was so normal for you now that you barely batted an eye at being away from home for weeks at a time, and you told him as much with a half-hearted shrug. 

Lazily, you swirled the remaining wine around in your glass, bringing it to your mouth as you murmured, “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me here, so I don’t mind it.”

Sebastian watched you intently as you finished off your drink, taking in the pretty flush decorating your cheeks and the delectable way you licked your wine-stained lips in the moment that followed. “Anything, or anyone?” 

“Hm?” 

“You don’t have anyone to come home to? No pets, no kids…” he trailed off, the rest of his question dangling in the air like a lone cloud. Your eyes fell to Sebastian’s hand as he sensually ran his pinched fingers along the stem of his own glass, and his half-hooded eyes hidden behind his glasses said everything in place of the missing portion of his sentence. 

No lover, is what you knew he was indirectly asking. 

“Do you see anyone else here?” you teased, the sides of your mouth curling into a coy smile.

“No,” Sebastian retorted, pushing his empty glass away as he sat back in his seat, amusement etched across his handsome face. “Then again, it doesn’t hurt to check. Had to make sure I was reading things correctly.” 

You perched your elbow on the armrest of your chair and balanced your chin on top of your fist casually before asking, “Was that another one of your jokes?” Hoping that you looked more confident than you felt, you mirrored his position and crossed one of your legs over the other, taking immense satisfaction in the way the brunet’s throat bobbed at the sight of your legs outlined through your attire. 

Sebastian looked puzzled for a moment before realizing what he’d said, and he rolled his eyes at the same time an airy laugh spilled from your lips. “An accidental one, make no mistake,” he moved forward to the edge of his seat, leaning forward to play with one of the folds of your dress with his index finger. “But I have been thinking about you all day, and I may or may not have convinced myself that you’re way out of my league.” 

“You should be more confident,” you whispered, dropping your hand to clutch at the one the Archivist was inching towards your leg with. His fingers immediately spread to accommodate your smaller ones, and you tugged him a smidge closer so your noses were mere inches apart. Jokingly, you taunted him further by asking, “Did you still want to look at my book collection?” 

Before you could so much as yelp, Sebastian closed the distance between the two of you in a flash and pressed his lips to yours fervently, any lingering awkwardness falling away like leaves on a tree. His free hand came to curl around the back of your neck, holding you firmly against his mouth as he angled his head to the side to deepen the kiss further, and you couldn’t help but moan against him at the brutish feeling of his broad hand holding you in place. 

He pulled away just enough to brush a tinier, more delicate kiss against the tip of your nose before he sighed, “I really don’t give a damn about the books right now.” 

A budding Archivist not caring about books? The scandal, is what you wanted to say, but then Sebastian’s lips were back on yours, swallowing your pending comment with a ferocity that had your stomach churning wantonly. Those brilliant hands of his left your neck and your hand to trail along your waist, his fingers digging firmly into the bodice of your dress to pull you towards him, and you followed his guidance all too willingly as he urged you from your seat. Within seconds you were in his lap, melting against him as he ground his hips up into yours while simultaneously using his hands to rock you against his hardening cock, and a satisfied groan emitted from him as you allowed him to move you as he pleased. 

In-between kisses, Sebastian managed to croak out, “Bedroom?” 

You barely managed a nod, too enthralled by the man under you to form actual words, and at the same time you dove back in for another heated kiss, Sebastian looped an arm around your back and the other under your ass as he stood up, lifting you with him as though you weighed nothing. Instinctively you hooked your legs around his hips, letting him haul you along to your bedroom while your hands flew to his neck to clutch at him ardently in a bid to keep your mouth glued to his. His ability to multi-task was something to compliment later on, because he kept walking and working his mouth over yours with a finesse that bordered on inhuman. 

The next thing you knew you were being thrown down on the mattress, bouncing in place briefly before you had to bite your lip to stifle a curse as you watched Sebastian fucking crawl up the bed towards you, predatory and sexy as hell. As soon as he was within reach, you grabbed for one of his suspender straps and pulled him closer, kissing him once again and moaning eagerly when you felt his hand grip at the seductive curve of your waist to squeeze before he settled on top of you. With his knees on either side of you, it was impossible to overlook the feeling of his achingly hard cock pressing down against your leg, and Sebastian groaned loudly when you tried lifting your hips to convey your impatience. 

“Someone’s excited,” he murmured against your swollen lips, grinning to himself as you worked to catch your breath. “Have you been thinking about me, too?” 

“Yes,” you gasped, your train of thought momentarily derailing when Sebastian moved so his chest was pressing against your clothed breasts, his hips flush with yours to better grind against you. “Don’t you own a mirror?”

Instead of replying to your thinly veiled compliment, Sebastian dipped his head into the crook of your neck to nip and kiss his way along your jaw with a rumbling moan, the force of his ministrations forcing your head back against the pillows. He was as eager as you were, that much was certain. As he rutted his concealed cock against your thigh, you heard and felt him shudder against you, and in an attempt to silence himself, the Archivist’s plush lips latched firmly onto a patch of skin under your jaw to suck a mark there. 

The stinging sensation of him biting down had your eyes fluttering shut, your entire being relishing in the light pain his teeth bestowed upon you, and Sebastian blindly reached for your wrist to pin your arm above your head. The dominant display had you voicing your approval in the form of a low moan, enjoying how being stretched out for him allowed for his other hand to rake down your side to start bunching up your dress. His movements didn’t cease as he lifted his hips slightly to free up the rest of the fabric trapped beneath him, and he expertly collected the material into a disheveled heap below your navel. When his dexterous fingers ghosted along the waistband of your undergarments, your next breath caught in your throat and caused you to gasp shakily. 

You felt as Sebastian’s lips curved into a smirk against your spit-slick skin before sitting back on his heels to murmur, “You’re so noisy.” 

Through his lashes, he watched as a brilliant flush swept up your neck to cover your face, and you timidly tried to hide your cheeks with the back of your free hand. “S-Sorry,” you stammered, but the man above you was having absolutely none of your self-consciousness. 

Your mediocre shield was wrenched away from your face and pinned up alongside your other hand in an instant, and you blinked up at Sebastian in blatant surprise as he leaned menacingly over you. “Don’t stop,” he implored you, biting his lip as he took in the sight of you beneath him. “I love it. 

The brunet secured your wrists into one of his hands so he could drop the other one back to your aching center, swiping two of his fingers up your slit through your underwear to feel the wetness that had collected there. The sensation left you breathless, another choked gasp weaseling its way past your lips and earning a dark chuckle from Sebastian. His digits moved up to slide beneath the fabric blocking his path, and a low groan sounded from him as he felt how truly soaked you were from his efforts. Without looking away from your pinched features, he gingerly slid a single finger in, biting his lip hungrily at the way your lips parted and your head rolled to the side when he began steadily pumping in and out of you. 

When you felt his thumb begin to rub against your clit, your eyelids fluttered shut from the intense pleasure that washed over you, pulling a strangled whimper from you. “Fuck, Sebastian–”

The hand he had securely wrapped around your wrists tightened a fraction to draw your mind out of the gutter, and he roughly gritted out, “Look at me, darling– open those pretty eyes for me.” You couldn’t help but oblige him when he referred to you so sweetly, and when you cracked your eyes open once again, his body seemed to shudder with delight as he growled, “So fucking perfect. My name sounds damn good when you say it like that.”

With his gaze burning into yours and the close proximity between the two of you, you didn’t think the overwhelming euphoria you felt could get any better. That is, until he added a second finger into the mix. The initial stretch was felt only briefly before his thumb pressed against your sensitive bundle of nerves, the persistent ministrations against your clit muting any discomfort and leaving you arching brainlessly beneath him as that hot, incessant feeling in your gut roared to life. It was tantalizing, and your hips bucked off the mattress in an attempt to chase his movements and reach the climax you were utterly desperate for. 

“Please, please,” you begged mindlessly, your desire to come so potent that it was almost painful. “Please, Sebastian, please.” 

“Already?” he tsk’d mockingly, shaking his head minutely as he eagerly wet his bottom lip and removed his thumb from your center. “I think you can hold on a bit longer, don’t you? I’d much rather end this with my cock, if it’s all the same to you.” 

The lack of friction sobered you up instantly, and the lustful haze that had clouded your mind cleared enough for you to blink blearily up at him, a small frown playing on your lips. “Really?” 

Sebastian cocked a brow at you, as though daring you to tell him he was being unreasonable. “Would you rather this end with my hands?” 

You tried to roll your hips up into his hand before relenting rather quickly, and you muttered, “F-Fine. Just hurry up, I might throttle you if I have to wait any longer.” 

Sebastian grinned wickedly at the way your back arched when he curled his fingers inside of you before torturously withdrawing them. A small sigh slipped from you when he let go of your wrists and slid away to hastily begin shedding his clothing, taking care to be gentler with his glasses as he set them down on the nightstand, and once he was wholly bare before you, the only thing you could do was stare. 

His physique was mind boggling; toned, defined muscles made up every inch of his torso, accentuated by broad shoulders that you were convinced didn’t belong anywhere near someone who worked in a glorified library of all places. His skin was sun-kissed and peppered with freckles, a testament to the aforementioned physical labor he claimed to enjoy. It hadn’t made much sense to you before when he’d told you– forgoing magic to use his own hands to help fix things. But if a habit like that gave a man a body like his, you would never doubt his preferences again. 

All of Sebastian looked positively divine, including his cock. Thick, hard, and twitching tellingly, it arched proudly against his taut stomach, the head violently red and already leaking beads of pre-cum in response to the situation at hand. You swallowed thickly when you realized that that would be inside of you, and you were suddenly grateful that he’d told you to wait. Not to discredit his fingers or anything, but you had a nagging feeling that you would enjoy his lower parts far more than his hands. 

Ignoring the nervousness that settled in your stomach, you sat up to quickly pull the sleeves of your dress down your arms, wriggling out of the attire quickly before throwing the bunched up material to the floor. As you reached down to slide your underwear off, Sebastian returned to kneel in front of you and stopped you by lightly pushing you flat against the pillows, then ran his hands along the plane of your stomach. 

“Allow me,” he said chivalrously, taking care to gently slip his fingers under the waistband and sensually remove the material entirely. With nothing else separating you from him, Sebastian took his time eating you alive with his eyes, letting his hands drag up your thighs and squeeze at your knees before pushing your legs apart so he had space to siddle forward. The blunt head of his cock bumped against your slick cunt, and a barely there shudder ran down your spine in anticipation. 

It took a good amount of self-control for you to let Sebastian press into you achingly slow, his eyes pinching shut while his teeth savaged his bottom lip, and when he was finally sheathed inside of you fully, the brunet was practically shaking with the desire to fuck your brains out. He waited, though, his palms sliding from your knees to your upper thighs to dig his fingers into the skin there, raking his hungry gaze over you while he gave you a moment to adjust. 

You appreciated the sentiment, because Merlin– he was big. It was impossible to overlook every delicious inch of him pressing against your inner walls, the subtle grinding of his hips stretching you out more and more to the point where your breath continuously caught in your throat. It felt good, though. Good enough to leave you wondering why you’d never sought him out when the two of you were still in school together. 

At some point, however, you realized Sebastian was fucking with you. It probably had something to do with the repetitive, shallow thrusts he teased you with, and when you craned your neck up to look at him, he was already staring at you with a wide grin splitting his face, his tongue poking out between his teeth. 

“W-What?” you grumbled, your hands fisting in the sheets. “Are you going to make me beg or something? I already said please.” 

“I was just enjoying the face you were making,” Sebastian said, rocking his hips just enough to leave you arching towards him. “You look like you’re trying really hard to keep it together. It’s cute.” 

“I’m flattered,” you breathed out around an airy laugh, then wriggled your hips down in an attempt to bait the Archivist into moving. Mercifully, it worked. 

Sebastian gave a throaty moan, leaning forward to brace one hand on the side of your waist while the other gripped at your thigh tighter, and he withdrew his cock languidly before plunging back in. Your breathing hitched and your head fell back against the pillows at the abrupt sensation, and the sight of you so obviously enthralled by his efforts was what expelled the remainder of his patience. 

Holding onto your thigh with bruising strength, Sebastian fell into a steady, toe-curling pace. He pulled you onto his cock with every deep plunge, digging his feet into the bed to lend some force to his thrusts, and his reward was the sound of your shaky voice reverberating off of the bedroom walls as your spine rounded. You keened loudly, overcome with both the feeling and the sight of Sebastian– because not only was he deceptively good at rendering your mind into a puddle of mush, he looked amazing while he was doing it. The muscles in his arms rippled as he supported himself above you, his brown curls falling into his face as his head hung heavy between his sculpted shoulders, and when your arousal had you clamping down on his cock harder, those full, kissable lips of his fell open around a guttural groan. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he grit out through his clenched teeth, gazing down at you with lust-dark eyes that made your blood burn hot in your veins. “So bloody gorgeous– like a fucking work of art.”

His praises left you whining in earnest, and you didn’t bother to keep your voice down in the slightest. With every sinful noise that escaped you, Sebastian’s hold on you seemed to intensify, and his thick cock filled you harder with every desperate pump of his hips. His ragged breathing left you craving more of him– all of him– and you rutted against him as much as was physically possible in a bid to take him deeper. 

Sebastian picked up on your desires wordlessly, and he shifted his hold on your thigh so his hand was looped around it to better pull it to the side, giving him the room he needed to spear into you with wicked precision. It also allowed him to discover what you sounded like crying out for more, your voice reedy and strident within the four walls of the bedroom, and when he shifted his hips down to achieve new depths, your moans echoed around him. He had to be hitting a good spot. 

“Right there, Sebastian, fuck– right there–” 

Your lower half was positively shaking, and Sebastian was honestly at his limit. He sat up momentarily before grabbing both of your legs, watching as you blearily tried to figure out what was going on while he pulled your knees over his shoulders. Moving over you swiftly and urgently, he bent you back and rammed his thick cock back into your tight heat, animalistic grunts sounding from him as you arched tight and cried out, but you were barely given the space to breathe before he was fucking you hard– hips bucking rough and deep and so fucking good that you were left screaming and gasping helplessly at the sheets. 

Sebastian pinned you to the bed and pounded into you, his own moans dripping loud from his lips as his hands grasped at the sweaty, flushed skin of your waist, pulling you close while he filled you over and over and drank in your noisy pleas for more until your back was arching clear off the bed and your thighs were shaking. You were barely holding on, your climax from earlier roaring back to life in your gut and rendering your tongue a lead weight in your mouth.

Forming words was damn near impossible, but you still managed to babble out, “Like that, Sebastian, fuck, just like that– I’m close– please, I’m–”

He obliged you instantly, keeping up his pace while he brought his hand between your legs to thumb over your bundle of nerves, his hips angling upwards with every deep, precise plunge. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, you watched through your slitted eyes as he bent forward to press a chaste kiss to your parted lips, swallowing your breathy whines with a satisfied expression playing over his face. “Come on, darling. Let’s hear how you sound falling apart on my cock, yeah?” 

As if you even needed the encouragement. 

Every muscle in your body tensed as a wave of unparalleled ecstasy crashed over you, and your hands flew to Sebastian’s shoulders to absentmindedly attempt to grasp at something to ground yourself. His movements didn’t stop as you writhed beneath him– milking every possible noise out of you with unconcealed fervor– and it was only when you sagged into the sheets twitching and whimpering that Sebastian let your legs drop to the sides so he could wrap his arms around you to give you the last of his deep, quick thrusts before he was coming too, your name tumbling over his lips as he fell alongside you. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian murmured directly beside your ear, still draped in a boneless heap on top of you as you trembled against him. One of your hands slid up to bury your fingers in his tangled curls, and you mumbled something unintelligibly into the crook of his neck. He pulled back slightly to hear you better, “What?” 

Your eyes were still glazed over as you came down from your post-coital high, “Are the Archives chock-full of sex books or something?” 

Sebastian smirked tiredly at you, pulling out gently before collapsing beside you with his arms still wrapped securely around your waist. “One or two. Why?” 

You stared up at the ceiling in a daze and shook your head softly to yourself, “Because you’re a little too good at that. It’s kind of scary.”

“Good scary or bad scary?” 

“Good scary,” you clarified, turning over so you could face the brunet and smile softly at him. The way his entire face lit up at the sight of you would live on in your mind for years to come, you were sure, so you wistfully said, “We should do this again sometime.” 

Sebastian paused, leaving you worried for a short second until he wriggled in a way that let him press his hard cock against your stomach, and he closed the distance between the two of you to give you a chaste kiss on your nose before grinning mischievously. “Like right now?” 

You raised your eyebrows in silent surprise before laughing playfully, rolling over onto him before taking his face in your hands to kiss him deeply. It was a sweet moment– tender, affectionate, and heartwarming. It only ceased when you let go of his cheeks to move down his larger body, already itching to put your hands to better use. 

The only thing that stopped Sebastian from staying holed up within the warm, comfortable confines of your bedroom with you forever was the imminent arrival of Monday, but Saturday and Sunday were days well spent. You were rather disappointed when your time together came to an end– enough so that you actually pouted when Sebastian had slid out from beneath the covers to get ready for work. Thankfully though, the Archivist was as unwilling as you were to call it quits after everything, and following a heated, lengthy kiss, he promised to come back as soon as he was able. 

It only took him eight hours to find himself back in your bed, but you knew then that it would be impossible to stay away from him for very long from here on out. 

[basset-babe]

five times: the one point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: none but gossip yet again

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! here is 1.5 times with ben. enjoy! thanks loves <3! (also, pls do imagine ben holding a graft rose for this one heh)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last. text divider from @heavenlayt and pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the one point five time.

In the hours of sunlight, callers have flooded the Y/L/N drawing room. All bringing gifts and performances in hopes to win the favourable yes of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. The grand parlor, adorned with exquisite tapestries and sparkling chandeliers, buzzed with the lively hum of conversations and the tinkling laughter of society’s elite. Lavish bouquets of rare, fragrant flowers filled the room, their heady scent mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and delectable pastries arrayed on silver platters.

Gentlemen, dressed in their finest attire, lined up to present their offerings to Miss Y/L/N, each one more extravagant than the last. Some brought intricate jewelry, glittering with precious stones, while others offered rare books, hoping to appeal to her reputed love of literature. Musicians performed virtuoso pieces on the grand piano, their fingers dancing over the keys in a bid to capture her attention through the power of melody. Poets recited verses composed in her honor, their words dripping with adoration and longing.

Miss Y/L/N, the epitome of grace and poise, received each suitor with a warm smile and a gracious word. Her eyes, sparkling with intelligence and kindness, moved across the room, acknowledging the efforts and intentions of each visitor. Her charm was such that even a simple nod or a softly spoken thank you felt like a cherished treasure to the eager suitors.

The hour had struck past 1 in the afternoon when, hopefully, the last caller of the day had bid his farewells. The Y/L/N drawing room, which had been a whirlwind of activity, now began to settle into a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere. The sunlight streaming through the large windows cast a bright hue over the room, highlighting the opulent furnishings and the array of gifts that had been presented to Miss Y/N Y/L/N throughout the morning.

Servants moved gracefully, clearing away the remnants of the lavish spread of refreshments while ensuring that every detail of the room remained immaculate. The air was still fragrant with the scent of roses, lilies, and other exotic flowers that had been brought by admirers, creating a heady, almost intoxicating environment.

"As much as I do love botanicals, all these flowers have turned obnoxious to my senses, Grandmama," Y/N sighed, feeling the urge to slouch on the couch. Her frame was poised elegantly despite her weariness, a testament to her upbringing and the endless etiquette lessons she had endured.

Her grandmother, the Viscountess Y/L/N, reentered the room with a look of satisfaction mixed with maternal concern. "My dear," she said softly, "you have conducted yourself admirably. The attention you have garnered is truly remarkable, but alas, this be the trials of being the season's paragon," she said with jest. "A small price to pay for such adoration and the opportunities it presents."

Y/N allowed herself a small, rueful smile. "It has been a most eventful day. I do hope I have shown the proper appreciation to each caller." She gently plucked a stray petal from her gown, its soft texture a stark contrast to her current mood.

"Rest assured, my dear, that this too shall pass," her grandmother replied soothingly. "Soon, you will look back on these days with fondness, perhaps even in laughter."

Y/N nodded, though she wasn't entirely convinced. She admired her grandmother's ability to see the positive in any situation. Lady Y/L/N had once been the toast of her own social season, and her wisdom was hard-earned through years of navigating similar waters.

"Would it be terribly improper to open a window, Grandmama?" Y/N asked, her eyes drifting towards the heavy drapes that concealed the afternoon breeze. "I believe a bit of fresh air might revive my spirits."

The Viscountess chuckled softly. "Not at all, my dear. In fact, I think it would do us both good." She motioned to a nearby maid, who quickly moved to pull back the drapes and open the window, allowing a refreshing breeze to sweep into the room. The cool air carried with it the scents of the garden outside, a welcome contrast to the overwhelming floral arrangements within.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling instantly more at ease. "Thank you, Grandmama. That is much better."

"Now, my dear," Mrs. Y/L/N said, her tone becoming more serious, "while you have a moment of peace, tell me—was there any caller today who truly caught your eye?"

Y/N considered the question carefully. There had been many suitors, each with their own merits. Some had been charming, others earnest, and a few rather boastful. But it was not that she minded all these suitors; it was who she looked forward to that truly occupied her thoughts. It had been this Bridgerton man she'd hoped would be calling on her the entire morning. Unfortunately, he had not been seen yet in this drawing room.

"Y/N, my dear, are you still with us?" Lady Y/L/N's gentle voice broke through her reverie.

"Yes, Grandmama," Y/N replied, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I was merely thinking."

"About anyone in particular?" her grandmother inquired with a knowing smile.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no point in hiding her thoughts from her perceptive grandmother. "To be quite honest, I was hoping to see Mr. Bridgerton today.. well as of this morn," she admitted. "I fear he may have been otherwise engaged."

"Ah, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Y/L/N said thoughtfully. "A fine young man, from a respected family. It is no wonder you look forward to his call. Perhaps he will still make an appearance."

Y/N nodded, though she knew the likelihood was slim as the noon wore on. She took another deep breath of the fresh air now circulating through the room, trying to shake off her disappointment. The season was long, and there would be other opportunities to see him again.

"There was Sir Nicholas Deveraeux. He was quite charming," Y/N remarked.

"He comes from a good family as well, but I've heard his uncle," Her grandmother leaned in conspiratorially, "envies the crown."

Y/N laughed at the Viscountess' antics. "Grandmama, that's quite scandalous. Wherever did you hear such a thing?" Y/N laughed.

"Deborah told me," her grandmother said, motioning to her maid. Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the notion of her grandmama indulging in gossip. "But I must tell you, I keep my options open still," she stated matter-of-factly, regaining my composure.

"Even though you are clearly captivated by Mr. Bridgerton's smile," Her grandmother teased. "It is wise to keep your options open, my dear, so as not to appear too eager for any one gentleman's attentions."

"Indeed," Y/N thought to herself, "it is prudent not to seem desperate and helpless this early in the season. After all, the season is just beginning, and there will be many more opportunities for maybe much more meaningful encounters."

The older woman patted the young lady's hand reassuringly. "You are a clever girl, my Y/N. Your charm and grace will surely attract many suitors. Just remember to enjoy the process and not to place all your hopes on one gentleman, no matter how enchanting his smile may be."

Y/N nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. The season was an adventure, and she was ready to embrace it with an open heart and mind. As her grandmama said, there would be many chances to find the right match, and she intends to savor every moment.

Just as she was about to resign herself to the wait, a soft knock sounded at the drawing room door. Both Y/N and her grandmother turned their heads in surprise as the butler entered.

"Forgive the interruption, ma'am," he said with a slight bow. "But there is one more caller who has just arrived."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as the butler stepped aside, revealing none other than Mr. Bridgerton himself. He stood at the threshold, his confident demeanor softened by a warm, sincere smile.

"Good afternoon, Lady Y/L/N, Miss Y/L/N," he greeted them, bowing respectfully. "I apologize for my tardiness. I hope I am not intruding."

Lady Y/L/N's eyes twinkled with amusement as she replied, "Not at all, Mr. Bridgerton. We are delighted to see you."

Y/N felt her spirits lift instantly, her earlier fatigue forgotten. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, her smile reflecting the genuine pleasure she felt. "Your timing is impeccable."

Mr. Bridgerton's eyes met hers, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the room. "I am glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N," he said. "I have been looking forward to our meeting."

As he stepped further into the room, bringing with him an air of warmth and possibility, Y/N knew that this visit was just the beginning. The season held many uncertainties, but in that moment, with Mr. Bridgerton's presence brightening the drawing room, she felt a renewed sense of hope and excitement for what was to come.

He walked closer, offering his wrapped gift with a warm smile. "I know of your love of botanicals. Although, I wasn't sure what to get, but I opted for a grafted Rosa Falstaff from our estate's own gardens."

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise and delight as she reached out to accept the potted rose. "A Rosa Falstaff? From your family's gardens?" she exclaimed, her fingers gently tracing the leaves and delicate blooms.

"Yes," Benedict nodded, his gaze softening as he watched her reaction. "I thought it would be a fitting addition to your collection, considering your fondness for floriculture."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. This is truly truly thoughtful of you." Y/N's eyes lit up as she accepted the graft, appreciating the gesture.

Mr. Bridgerton smiled, a hint of relief and pleasure in his eyes. "I'm glad you like them, Miss Y/L/N. I thought something from home might be more personal and meaningful than the usual offerings."

Mrs. Y/L/N, observing the interaction with a pleased expression, decided to give the young couple some space. "If you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to attend to," she said, rising gracefully. "Please, Mr. Bridgerton, make yourself comfortable."

As her grandmother left the room, Y/N gestured for Mr. Bridgerton to sit beside her on the elegant settee. "It's so refreshing to receive something so genuine," she said, placing the graft gently on the table beside them. "Tell me more about your estate's gardens. They must be quite beautiful."

Mr. Bridgerton settled into the seat, his expression brightening as he began to speak. "Our gardens are indeed a sight to behold, especially in the spring. We have a variety of flowers, from different roses to lavender, and even some more exotic species like that which my mother is particularly fond of. Each section of the garden has its own unique charm and character."

Y/N listened intently, her interest piqued not just by the subject but by the way he spoke with such genuine affection for his home. "It sounds enchanting," she said. "I would love to see it someday."

He smiled, clearly pleased by her response. "I would be honored to show you around Aubrey Hall, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps you could offer some advice on expanding our collection of botanicals."

"I would be delighted," Y/N replied, her smile matching his. "There are always new species to discover and cultivate. It would be a pleasure to share that with someone who appreciates it as much as I do."

As they continued to talk, the conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on various topics of mutual interest. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them engrossed in their exchange. The connection they felt was palpable, a promising hint of what could be a deep and meaningful relationship.

The noon sun cast a golden glow through the open window, bathing them in warm light. It was as if the world outside had conspired to create the perfect moment, one that Y/N would cherish as the beginning of something truly special.

"Why not a change of scenery, Miss Y/N? May I enchant you to a walk with me this afternoon?" Mr. Bridgerton asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Y/N felt a flutter of excitement at his proposal, though very different from norm indeed. The thought of a leisurely walk, away from the confines of the drawing room and amidst the fresh air and beauty of the outdoors, was undeniably appealing. She glanced at her grandmother, who had discreetly lingered near the doorway.

Mrs. Y/L/N, catching her granddaughter's hopeful expression, gave a subtle nod of approval. "I think that sounds like a splendid idea, Mr. Bridgerton," she said. "A bit of fresh air through my garden will do you both good."

"Thank you, Grandmama," Y/N replied, her smile widening. She turned back to Mr. Bridgerton, her eyes meeting his with a mix of excitement and gratitude. "I would be delighted to join you for a walk."

Mr. Bridgerton offered his arm, which Y/N took with a graceful nod. Together, they made their way out of the drawing room and through the grand halls of the Y/L/N residence. The household staff, now accustomed to the comings and goings of numerous callers, discreetly stepped aside, offering polite smiles as the pair passed.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, the warmth of the afternoon embraced them. The gardens of the Y/L/N estate stretched out before them, a riot of color and fragrance that promised a delightful stroll. Birds chirped melodiously, adding a charming soundtrack to their walk.

"Your gardens are truly beautiful, Miss Y/L/N," Mr. Bridgerton remarked as they began their promenade. "It's easy to see where your love for botanicals comes from."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton," Y/N replied, her gaze sweeping over the well-tended flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. "I find great joy in spending time here. There's something so peaceful about being surrounded by nature."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, taking in the beauty around them. Y/N's lady's maid chaperoning behind. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

"I must admit," Mr. Bridgerton said, breaking the silence, "I was quite nervous about coming here today. I wasn't sure if my gift would be well-received."

Y/N looked up at him, surprised. "You needn't have worried," she assured him. "Your gift was one of the most endearing ones I have received. It speaks volumes about your character and your genuine interest. Quite a change in the morn's most fragrant bouquets. All exquisite but a tad bit too much on my senses." I gestured towards my nose.

He smiled, clearly relieved. "I'm glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N. I hoped to make a meaningful impression."

"You certainly have," she replied warmly. "And now, here we are, enjoying a lovely walk together. It seems your efforts have been rewarded."

As they continued their walk, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on topics both serious and lighthearted. They shared stories, laughed together, and discovered common interests. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing moment, the bond of friendship and potential courtship becoming more tangible.

"So, do tell me more about you, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Do call me Benedict, if you please. Provided, of course, that you feel comfortable and we are beyond the earshot of your lady's maid." his eyebrows raise in suggestive jest.

Y/N chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Very well, Benedict. You may address me by Y/N as well."

Benedict smiled, clearly pleased by her informal, now more familiar, address. "My days are usually spent at home, but sometimes, I spend my time in my art studio at the academy."

"Yes, you've mentioned of yourself an artist, I remember." Y/N remarked, intrigued. "That is fascinating. What sort of art do you create?"

Benedict's face lit up with enthusiasm as he began to describe his passion. "I work primarily with oils on canvas, though I do enjoy sketching as well. There's something incredibly satisfying about capturing a moment or a feeling in a piece of art. It’s a way to express myself that words sometimes fail to achieve."

Y/N listened intently, her admiration growing. "I would love to see your work someday. It must be wonderful to have such a creative outlet."

"It is," Benedict agreed, a note of pride in his voice. "And I would be honored to show you my studio and some of my pieces. Perhaps I could even paint your portrait, if you would allow me."

Y/N blushed at the thought, a mixture of shyness and excitement. "I would be delighted, Benedict. Though I must warn you, I may not be the most patient of sitters."

Benedict laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’m sure we would manage just fine. And who knows, you might find the experience enjoyable."

"I look forward to it," Y/N said, her smile reflecting her genuine interest. "But tell me more about your family. I have heard much about the Bridgertons, but I would love to hear it from your perspective."

Benedict's expression softened as he spoke of his family. "We are a large, close-knit group. There are eight of us siblings, and we were all raised with a strong sense of duty and love seeing my late father and mother attend to our household. My mother, Violet, is the heart of our family. She has always encouraged us to pursue our passions and support each other."

"That sounds wonderful," Y/N said, touched by his words. "Family is so important. I imagine it must be lively with so many siblings."

"It certainly is," Benedict replied with a grin. "There is never a dull moment at Bridgerton House. We have our share of disagreements, of course, but we always come together in the end. All the laughter and camaraderie make it worthwhile."

Y/N felt a warm connection forming between them, their shared values and interests creating a bond that felt both natural and exciting. "I would love to meet them all someday, even so now that your brother has found himself a wife. Such exciting things!" she said.

"And they would be delighted to meet you," Benedict assured her. "I can already tell that you would fit right in."

"He thinks of me as someone who would fit with his family? I could feel my heart flutter," Y/N thought, the realization sending a warm, thrilling sensation through her.

As they continued their conversation, the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the garden. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, a testament to the ease and enjoyment they found in each other's company.

Eventually the day had struck shy of 3 at afternoon and they made their way back to the main house, the promise of future meetings and shared experiences hanging in the air. As they reached the steps, Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression earnest and hopeful.

"Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Y/N," he said. "I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I, Benedict," Y/N replied, her heart full of anticipation. "Until then."

With a final, warm smile, Benedict took his leave, leaving Y/N with a sense of happiness and a fluttering hope for the future. The day had been more than she could have imagined, and she felt a deep sense of gratitude for the connection they had begun to forge.

taglist: @novausstuff @pussyslayerhd @amoosarte

[verbenaa]

air so deep and sweet

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.”

Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life! 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.1k 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, hand jobs, vampire bites, mentions/discussions of anal, vaginal sex, vampire sex, soft dom astarion

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: This is my first ever fanfiction despite a literal 20 years of reading them LOL i truly have lost the plot. Find me on ao3 too, my username is leadii 💕

ao3 here

masterlist

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Dim candlelight plays along the walls of Astarion’s studio, illuminating the discarded bolts of fabric leaning against the wall with haphazard grace, the threads of linens, silks, and cottons a riot of color against the muted walls. Spools of silken thread and tangles of ribbon lay sprawling across the work table, interspersed with pincushions and stray needles waiting to be threaded.

The studio itself is small, humble in its nature. Set aside on a small street within the city walls it wasn’t a far walk from your shared home, making it an easy decision to join him on the nights he decided to work.

Lush velvet draperies hang heavily across several leaded windows, while multicolored rugs layered themselves over the floor. Fat pillars of candle wax sit haphazardly upon several surfaces, filling the room with moving pockets of light, their dance helped along by the light summer breeze blowing through the open windows. It was undeniably one of your favorite places to be.

Despite Astarion’s initial claims to the contrary (if you could even call his half-hearted condescension to the concept such a thing), he was decidedly well suited for a life of domesticity. Much like a spoiled cat, he very much enjoyed his luxuries. Vials of scented oils, a soft bed covered with blankets and quilts, piles of books in the corners of rooms waiting to be read at his decision. You were very quick to learn that Astarion was nothing if not a creature of comfort. And he made it so very easy to spoil him, accepting your love and affection with open arms.

You nestle deeper into the nest of pillows that made up the corner you had decided to call your own, novel discarded beside you and your goblet of wine long emptied of its contents resting against the floorboards. With a small huff your attention turns from your surroundings to said owner of the studio, watching him weave the needle in and out of the fabric in his hands, focus intent on his art.

He had such beautiful hands, you couldn’t help but think. Hands as well-versed in sowing chaos as easily as they could thread a needle to create the tiniest of embellishments upon a single piece of silk. Hands as intimately versed in the art of death as they were in the art of drawing pleasure. Sometimes, you think, he is secretly desperate to prove that his hands no longer have to steal, cheat, or seduce for others and instead were capable to creating something soft and vulnerable for himself instead.

With a small stretch you sit yourself upright, adjusting the lovingly embroidered straps of the light linen dress you wore to compensate for the overbearing warmth of summer. You were always content to accept any creation Astarion made for you and your dress was no exception, tailored to perfection to sit on your curves perfectly with small decorations of lace and embroidery as he saw fit.

As though drawn by your thoughts, his carmine gaze glances up to meet your own. Astarion’s eyes linger upon your form as you slowly stand and stretch your arms high above your head, back arching slightly with the motion before you step to the nearest open window. A light breeze ruffles your hair as you rest your elbows on the sill, careful of the several plants currently residing there as your eyes move to watch the people below weave through the streets in the darkness.

“Dearest, do you mind lending me those ever-so-lovely eyes of yours for a moment?” His voice is a casual drawl. “I wish to seek your opinion on this particular color scheme.” 

You turn to face him from your spot at the window as he gestures to the work in his hand with a small movement of his wrist, and quickly step across the floor to stop at his side. You glance down to see the wooden embroidery hoop he holds with measured regard in one hand, the other carefully grasping a small, sharp needle. You lean in slightly to see better, your breasts adding the barest of pressure against his arm.

You focus your vision upon the delicate pattern of his needlework, the threads weaving together to create an intricate pattern of scrolling vines and abundant spring blossoms in a warm milky white adorning the collar of a cream colored linen shirt, the colors almost ethereal together in their similarity. 

“I hate to break this to you, but…I do believe it is simply cream upon cream,” you say with a small smile gracing your lips. “What ever is there for me to even give my opinion on?” 

“It’s called monochrome, my dear.” Astarion gives you a look of affectionate exasperation before continuing, “Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of subtlety when the occasion permits.” You briefly turn to look at him, an elegant eyebrow arching in amusement. 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly before murmuring, “Certainly those pretty eyes of yours can see the differences despite the similarity of color?”

Sure enough, upon further inspection you could pick out the slightest hint of metallic gold threaded throughout the creamy colored delicate flowers and surrounding vines, the only detail differentiating the colors from one another. The subtle shine of the golden threads were mesmerizing to follow with your eyes, the candlelight bouncing off of them creating fiery highlights on the raised embroidery. Like everything Astarion touched, it was undeniably beautiful.

“I suppose it looks decent.” You tease, pressing your chest further into his arm while your attention shifts to the elegant planes of his face. He was simply so easy to admire, the way his hair always seemed to fall so perfectly into place, his mouth held soft in concentration looked so inviting.

A noise of protest leaves his lips at the mere thought his creation was only ‘decent’, and you can’t help but laugh at the reaction while leaning in to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.

“It must be so hard to have such artistic merit, Astarion. I’m afraid such a talentless individual as myself can’t fully appreciate such craft and workmanship.” You playfully lean your body back and throw a hand up your forehead in mock distress, earning a short laugh from him. 

“Despite such questionable opinions, you are far my talentless, my dear.” Astarion sets aside the hoop and needle to the far edge of the worktable and turns in his chair, settling his full attention on you.

“In fact, I would be more than willing to remind you of the several of the talents you possess.”

Slowly, he draws his eyes from your features to glance down at the twin pinprick scars decorating your neck before slowly continuing lower to finally rest on a spot above your breasts. He brings his fingertips to brush lightly against the skin, pressing against the delicate lace trim of the neckline, sweeping slowly and softly back and forth against the swells. He watches the sudden intake of your breath with interest before his eyes glide up to meet your own again. 

A slow, feline smile graces his lips. “Such a distraction, dearest. Especially when you press these lovely breasts of yours into me.” 

You match his smile with a sly one of your own.

“Can you blame me?” You give a half-hearted shrug, hardly caring that you had been caught in your so-called crime. “It’s quite hard to not want to be close to such a beautiful individual like yourself.”

“Ah yes, there it is. Talent number one: flattery.” 

He moves the hand tracing patterns against your skin upward, glancing touches against your neck, before curling his fingers underneath your chin to bring your face closer to his own. 

You knew he could easily see the effects of his relatively innocent ministrations, could view the inevitable pink beginning to decorate your cheeks. 

Could smell it in the blood beginning to race through your veins. 

Astarion had always known exactly what to say made you breathless and had never held back on using that knowledge to his advantage to make you weak to his whims. 

“Now be a good girl and take a seat.” His voice is low, hungry; he leans forward and both his hands find your waist and pull. 

You feel your body relax easily into his touch, letting him smooth your skirts out of the way as he brings you towards his waiting lap. Your hips instantly connect together, fabric the only barrier between you. You feel a telltale twitch beneath you, signaling his pleasure at the slight friction created by the connection and your hips grind against his own instinctually, the friction and pressure adding to the growing warmth deep in your belly. 

Astarion leans forward, connecting his mouth with your own in a scalding kiss, moaning into your mouth as his hips roll against your own, his growing erection pressing closer to your covered center. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself even closer to him as your hands card through the silver curls sitting at the back of his neck. Opening your mouth, you lick against his lips hoping he will open them for you. Astarion obliges, meeting your tongue halfway. 

Your tongue brushes against a sensitive fang, drawing another moan out of him and he slowly pulls away from the kiss, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he leaves before moving to press small, sweet kisses across your jaw. 

“Would you indulge me a snack, dearest?” He presses a quick kiss followed by a small lick to the skin behind your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your skin.

“I suppose I could be convinced…” Breathy sighs fall from your lips as he peppers kisses down the elegant column of your neck. “Quite easily perhaps, too.”

“Will you give me a small taste, my dear?” he mouths the words against your skin, lips hot.

Your eyes fall closed at his kisses. “You know you don’t even have to ask to have my blood. I give it to you, freely, and I always will.” With a tilt of your head you grant him more access to continue his search.

“I don’t deserve you.” “Absolutely false. You deserve everything.” The words roll off your tongue with quick ease, certain you’ve never spoken truer words.

As Astarion moves the straps of your dress aside to hang off your shoulders and free the expanse of your neck and collar he finds the spot he had been looking for, laving the area with his tongue briefly before he bites down.

A split second of burning heat as his fangs dig into the flesh of your neck with as much delicacy as he can manage before he finally begins to suck, the pull of the blood leaving your body as he drinks brings a decidedly indecent moan to your lips, the heat of your core growing wetter with every draw of his mouth.

As Astarion drinks in your lifeblood in slow gulps, you feel his hands moving to the neckline of your dress and he grabs at it, pulling the fabric down across your chest, exposing more and more of you with every pull of the fabric. You had forgone a corset today in an attempt at comfort in an unending battle against humidity, trusting the bodice of your dress to instead keep your (somewhat questionable) modesty in tact. 

The rush of cold air combined with the sudden brush of his chilled hands against your breasts as he lets the dress fall to hang freely around your waist draws a surprised gasp from your lips. You move your arms out of the straps before burying them again in his silver locks.

He quickly brings a free hand up to grasp a breast, brushing his thumb over a newly hardened nipple. Extricating his fangs from your neck, his tongue moves to lick up the blood tracing down from the wound, not letting a single drop go to waste.  

“Such a delightful little treat,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing with every movement as your hips grind downward against his growing erection in slow rolls. 

His lips move further down your chest, no longer following the trail of fresh blood but that of the blood in your veins leading to your heart. 

Astarion presses a chaste kiss over the place where your heart beats, your back arching with the movement of his lips as he moves lower to capture a hardened peak. A soft cry at the touch of his mouth falls from your lips, the motion of his tongue drawing circles around the bud sending a flash of heat straight to your core. 

He laves at the bud, alternating licks and soft bites in a bid to stoke the fire inside you even higher, his free hand coming up to massage its twin with delicate motions.

Astarion cants his hips up into yours as he sucks hard at your breast, his prominent erection pressing into your growing wetness before his mouth moves to your other breast, continuing his ministrations.

“Astarion, please, I need more.” You whine, attempting to press harder against his erection in hopes the touch will grant a reprieve from the building heat between your thighs.

“As you wish, my love.” He grants your request with a whisper, his hands falling on your thighs to support you as he moves to stand, bringing you with him. Chair pushing back with the movement, he places you on the desk in front of him as his hips spread your thighs. 

Desperate to keep the connection between the two of your bodies, Astarion stands between your legs, pressing close. His hands skate up your body to land on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at his own as a thumb brushes absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, your eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips. 

“Lay back, love,” His words are a whisper as one hand makes it way from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His eyes never leave your own as your body relaxes, trusting him, and he leans you back onto the tabletop with care until your body meets the wood. 

Barely breathing, you watch as his hands made their way teasingly downwards, skating over your bared breasts to find the skirt of your dress, moving to push the thin fabric tantalizingly up your thighs to settle around your waist and out of the way. Astarion’s eyes settle upon a tiny, lacy pair of panties, the fabric the only thing keeping you from being completely bared to him. 

“You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.” Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

He was so beautiful it made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

With bated breath, you raise a hand to draw your fingers softly over his cheek, capturing his attention. 

“Promise me that you will tell me if this gets to be too much for you,” Your eyes meet his as you watch his expression fill with sudden affection at your request. 

“What a sweet thing you are,” Astarion brings a hand to cover the one you had placed over his cheek. “Thank you for always taking care of me so.” With a small movement, he turns his head to bring his lips to press against your palm. 

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” Astarion moves the hand that covers yours to flit down your body, teasing touches over your peaked nipples, down your belly, before brushing against the line of your underwear. A sudden intake of breath escapes your lungs as he watches your stomach jump with the touch. 

A smirk graces his face as he moves those same fingers lower, brushing lightly against the gusset of your underwear before pressing harder against the growing damp of the lace. His touch creates a sweet friction, your wetness mixed with the texture of the lace and the pressure of his fingers drawing a soft moan from you.

You whine as his fingers pull your underwear to the side, Astarion moving to slide his fingertips up and down your exposed slit, spreading your wetness. He makes teasing passes around the small pearl that rests above; close but never quite touching where you need him, your arousal aiding the smooth glide of his motions.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me, darling?”

“You know I always aim to please.”  The words are hard won but you manage to  give him a haughty smile nonetheless, trying to maintain the last shred of willpower you have left to pretend to be unaffected.

He moves to pump a finger shallowly inside you, not nearly deep enough to provide any relief. You gasp at feeling, attempting to roll your hips in hopes to bring his finger deeper. But just as quickly as he enters he leaves, eliciting a noise of frustration from you.

“Patience, patience.” He tuts, hands moving to your hips to tug at the lace resting over them. He yanks at the fabric, and you raise you bottom to aid him in finally removing them. Astarion pockets the pair with a smug look as his hands move to spread your thighs further apart.

With every push of your thighs Astarion bares you to him, your arousal glistening against your center in the low light.

“You know, dearest, I think I would maybe like to have a taste of something else as well.” You feel your cunt clench at the prospect, adding to the building heat deep inside you. 

“Consider me at your mercy, then.” A smirk from him at your blessing as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before your spread legs.

Astarion is supplicant before you as he rests his head on your upper thigh, unfairly close to where you want him most. Your hips jump in anticipation as he begins pressing tantalizingly soft kisses into the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

You feel his fingers touch you finally, delicately spreading your folds as he watches your most intimate place open for him. His thumb comes to rest against your clit, rubbing lightly at the small bud and you release a contented hum at the warmth of the pleasure inside your body growing with the movement of his fingers.

Your eyes fall shut at the sheer relief of his attention, his expertise in knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive you wild drawing a moan from you. Your hand falls from its place in his hair to land beside your head, jostling errant sewing supplies from their resting place next to you.

“Careful, darling. Watch those lovely hands of yours to not catch on a needle. I would so hate for you to bleed so needlessly.” A roguish smile alights his lips as he lowers his mouth to lick a slow stripe up your center, intent to collect as much of your wetness on his tongue as he can.

Your hand immediately finds its way back to his hair, gripping his silver curls mindlessly as he begins to work his tongue up and down your center, tracing patterns against your sex as he goes.

His tongue moves to finally circle your clit with small movements, intent to drive your pleasure higher and higher with every pass. His mouth moves lower, licking across your folds as he finds your entrance, tracing around it with agonizingly slow motions.

Astarion is quick to move a hand to rest over your belly as your hips jut up, applying soft pressure as he grows bold in his motions and his tongue moves to push inside of you. Your grip on his curls grows harder with every thrust of his tongue inside your body, head thrown back and moans growing louder as he brings you closer and closer to completion.

The hand resting on your stomach moves to press lightly at your clit, once again resuming the small circles round and around as his tongue continues its exploration deep in your core, eating you out with fervor. 

Astarion continues to lave inside you, his soft tongue whorling against your walls as his fingers expertly work your clit in tandem with your cries as your hips ride his face, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels towards you. 

And it’s just like that when you cry out and finally come, his tongue moving deep inside as his finger strums your clit with practiced motions and the feeling is white-hot as you plunge into your ecstasy. He licks up your come greedily, tongue never stopping its endeavor as you ride the wave of your orgasm, breathy cries leaving your lips and hips rolling until your body finally relaxes. 

Shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand falls from Astarion’s hair to rest over your eyes as your breathing begins to even out and you finally come down from the high, Astarion cleaning up your cum until you can take it no longer, hips jerking in overstimulation away from his mouth.

Astarion places a light kiss over your clit before raising up from his knees back to his full height, your slick glistening on his chin and lips in the light of the candles as his still clothed cock brushes against your empty center.

Astarion leans forward, arms caging your head as he leans down to nuzzle your cheek whispering ardent words, “Out of all the beautiful things in this room, you are by far the most gorgeous.”

His admission momentarily stuns you. Astarion had never been shy in his admirations of your beauty and while you had grown more used to them during your time together he still managed to catch you off guard with such compliments from time to time.

“Can I please touch you? Taste you?” You pant, desperation coloring your words in the wake of his earlier admission as you begin to push yourself up onto your elbows. Astarion’s hand comes down and gently presses on your chest instead, and you lower yourself back down at the gentle command in the gleaming red of his eyes. 

“You can put that clever mouth of yours to use later, my dear. I have other plans for you, I think.” His eye rove your features before pressing his mouth upon yours in a fevered kiss, his tongue licking against your lips asking for entry. You can taste the essence of yourself on his lips and groan at the taste, opening yours to tangle his tongue with your own.

Astarion deepens the kiss as his hands find your own and grasping them gently, he brings them down his body to rest upon his still-clothed cock. 

“You said you wanted to touch. Indulge me, lover.” His lips never leave your own as he speaks the words, tongue sneaking out to lick at your bottom lip.

Your hands spring to action immediately to palm his cock through his leather pants before you find the laces holding him and undo them with deft fingers familiar with the task.

Astarion’s thick cock springs free of the confines of the pants and your fingers find the beads of precum decorating the tip and spread the wetness down his length. your fingers glide from top to bottom in smooth motions over the veined velvet of him, his essence aiding your ministrations as his mouth falls open from the sheer indulgence of your touch. His head falls heavily onto your shoulder and his lips move over the spot he fed from earlier, kissing and licking the area as your hands work him closer to closer to the edge. 

Lifting a hand from him you bring your fingers to your own wetness, drawing your fingertips through your slick before pumping two of them inside yourself in an imitation of his own motions earlier as you moan at the feeling.

Astarion glances down to see your fingers buried in your own cunt, the sight making him go impossibly harder as he watches you briefly pleasure the both of you. With a whine, your fingers leave your body to return to Astarion, a mixture of your arousal and come coating your fingers as your spread it onto his waiting cock, increasing your rhythm to rub him faster.

“Gods Above, you really are something else.” His pupils are blown out in lust as he groans at both the sight and feel of your hands working his shaft, one hand massaging the crown of his cock while the other works him closer to the base in quick motions.

A wicked thought strikes your mind, and you almost feel badly for even entertaining the idea. Almost.

You can feel his breath fanning your neck with every pass of your hands, his moans growing more unrestrained as your ministrations draw him to edge of completion. Without warning you withdraw your hands from his weeping cock, cruelly denying him the climax he was so close to.

Astarion’s head flies up from where it rests on your shoulder as a noise of disbelief leaves his lips and he shoots you a look of pure shock. The knowledge you caught him so unaware has you riding another kind of high, one you rarely had the privilege of reveling in.

“You little minx! Who knew you were capable of such cruelty. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

Mischief settles on your features. “Maybe that was the goal.”

“Ask and you shall receive, little love. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His lips curve with a devilish grin, eyes glinting in the candlelight as his hands move to grip your waist, fingertips pressing hard into the soft skin.

“How should I make you pay for it, then?” He muses. “Should I shove my cock into that tight, sweet cunt of yours and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand? Or maybe I should make good use of that wicked little mouth of yours and fill it instead?”

His darkening eyes bore into your own, your cheeks heating at his suggestions as you shift under his contemplation.

“You do look quite beautiful like that, you know. Mouth stretched around me as I fuck your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You give an enthusiastic nod at the prospect, excited for whatever punishment he deems appropriate to hand out.

Without warning, you feel the hands upon your waist move to lift you up and flip you over, your stomach making contact with the table as your bare breasts press tight against the wood grain. His hand comes to rest in the center of your back, pushing you further into the surface. You move your head to rest your cheek upon the table, the coolness of the wood a welcome sensation to the quickly rebuilding heat inside you as your eyes glance up to meet his own in curiosity. 

“Too bad. I have another idea instead.” His voice is deep with promise.

Such trouble you had gotten yourself into, it seems. 

Cool hands move from your back to the forgotten skirt of your dress to flip it upward to rest around your waist once more, exposing your ass and glistening center to the warm air. 

Astarion brings his hand down hard against one of your cheeks, the sharpness of the spank making you cry out as surprise and pleasure mingle into one. He rubs the growing red mark left on your skin before bending down to press a his lips to it, soothing the area with barely-there kisses. 

He brings both hands to your ass now, rubbing soothing circles over the area before moving to pull your rear cheeks apart, allowing Astarion to see absolutely everything.

A wave of embarrassment hits you to be put on such display for his vision despite his knowledge of your body, and you fidget slightly under his intent gaze of your most intimate areas. 

“Astarion…” you let out a moan and he is quick to shush you as he moves a hand off your asscheek to brush his thumb in light circles over your asshole. 

“Maybe I should take you here instead, I know how much you love when I play with your pretty ass.” His voice is deep, eyes impossibly dark. 

“Oh fuck,” His words draw a ragged moan from your lips at the mere thought, setting your neglected pussy on fire with need.

“Prove to me you can be a good girl.” His thumb applies soft pressure before it leaves you to be replaced by his lips. He presses a soft kiss to the tight hole before kissing downwards and licking deep into your cunt without warning, lapping at your waiting wetness.

“Gods, Astarion…” your hips press backwards towards his waiting mouth. “Whatever you want, wherever you want, my love. I’ll do anything. I just want you inside of me.” Your voice is hoarse with need, no longer caring to win this little game you had started.

You feel Astarion’s mouth leave your pussy and whine at the loss, but he is quick replace your empty cunt with two of his elegant fingers instead, sliding them in and out at slow, measured pace. 

“Do you think I should let you come one more time before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly?” You are helpless to do anything other than nod your head in insistence, hoping he won’t rob you of your orgasm the way you had done to him. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

Astarion slowly pulls his fingers out of your body only to add a third finger on the plunge back in, drawing a cry from your lips at the sudden fullness. 

His fingers push deep and curl inside of you pressing against that special spot over and over again, driving you to new heights as the lightest veil of tears begins to dust your lashes at the sheer bliss of the feeling.

Noticing the tears, you feel Astarion immediately stop his ministrations and lean over your back to look into your eyes with concern, a noise of protest at the lack of motion falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly leave your body to rest on your hip, brushing calming circles on your skin.

“Is this too much, love?” Any trace of his teasing dominance is gone from his voice as he speaks the words to you clearly, looking intently for any indication you needed him to step back from the scene the two of you had created. “We can stop, darling, if you need to. I don’t want you to push yourself too far to please me.”

You smile at genuine concern evident on his face, blinking away the sheen of tears. 

Pushing your hips back into him with as much motion as you can manage in your prone position against the table, you lean your body up in hopes to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion leans in, mouth quick to meet you halfway in a kiss as his spare hand moves to cup your cheek.

“The only thing you are pushing is my patience, love. Please don’t stop.” You beg, hoping he will acquiesce to your desire to continue as you lower your body back down onto the table. “The only thing I want in this moment is to come so hard I can’t think straight and then to have that beautiful cock of yours inside of me in whatever way you wish to give it to me.”

“Insatiable. Who taught you such language?” His body follows yours down, back pressing against your own as his lips brush against yours as he speaks the words, the concern leaving his eyes replaced with mounting desire.

“Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to be buried deep inside you,” The hand on your hip makes its way back towards your center. “Make me the same promise I made you earlier.”

The words come to your mouth effortlessly.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” You recite the words softly, with ease. 

Quieter now, you whisper. “I trust you, Astarion.”

You know how much your words and trust mean to him, can see it in his unguarded expression. Astarion didn’t put much trust in the Gods, but he would never stop thanking whichever one it was that brought your paths together. His fingers gently graze your pussy, ringing around your entrance with soft, teasing touches.

“I love you.” Astarion says before pressing his lips firmly to your own, those same three fingers finally slipping back inside.

Astarion renews the pace of his fingers right away, pressing and curling with precise motions meant to bring you to the brink.

You give into the sensation of every movement of his fingers, mouth open and eyes falling shut at the feeling and it’s not long before he has you once again close to your orgasm. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimper as your thighs begin to shake.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion brings his other hand down your body to brush lightly against your clit. He sounds as lost in desire as you feel. “Want to feel you come on my hand. Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

His words have you clenching hard on his fingers, the pressure of them against your insides combined with the fingers of his other hand brushing light, concentric circles over your clit have you coming within moments of his request.

“Such a good girl to give me what I want so easily.” You barely hear the words that fall from his lips through the haze of your ongoing orgasm, the feeling of his breath on the skin of your ear serving to only enhancing the moment.

Your body spasms around his fingers and cries of ecstasy fall from your lips as he continues, working you through your orgasm while his lips press soothing kisses anywhere his lips can reach—your face, your neck, the tip of your ear. 

“That’s it. You always look so beautiful when you come for me.”

Slowly, finally you feel your body begin to relax through the haze of your orgasm. Your mind comes back to you and you release a small laugh as your breath starts to even out, feeling him leave your body. Without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that had filled you so deeply to his mouth and licks them clean. The sight of it sends a wave of heat right back to your cunt, a shudder of anticipation running through you.

“I think you already succeeded in your wish to make me unable to stand.” You pant.

“And to think I haven’t even fucked you yet.” His cock is hard as his eyes scan your form from the flesh of your core to the flush of your cheeks, your eyes glassy with a haze of lust.

“I think I want to fuck you just like this.” He whispers into your ear as his hands run soothingly over your back. “I like you this, on display as you wait for me.” You desperately attempt to push your hips back to brush against his uncovered cock, looking for any bit of friction.

You watch him from your place on the table, the lithe way his body moves as he takes off his luxurious silk shirt to expose his chest.

His beauty was almost otherworldly as the dancing candlelight illuminates the carved marble of his skin, light and shadow creating a moving chiaroscuro upon the planes of his body.

He looked like a god.

“You are so beautiful.” Your words are a mere whisper as he moves his thick cock to finally brush against your center, slicking himself in your spend as the tip catches against your clit, drawing twin moans from you both.

Grabbing your hips, Astarion positions himself at your entrance and begins to slowly push inside, so familiar with your body he barely needs to guide his cock.

His head drops to press a kiss to your shoulder before righting himself again, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your walls closing around him as he slides in, your wetness aiding him as he bottoms out and his hips press hard against your own. 

Low moans escape you at the sheer feeling of his cock stretching and sliding home and your hands move grasp for purchase on the desk as he slowly begins to rock back and forth. 

“If only you could see yourself now,” His voice is deep as he watches himself pull his cock out of your body almost completely, only the head left resting shallowly inside you before pushing forward with a hard thrust, hitting a place so deep you let out a ragged cry at the feeling.

“Gods, Astarion, just like that.” He fucks you hard, the force of his thrusts pushing you back and forth with small motions, breasts pressing hard against the wood of the table as one of your hands finds his own still holding your hips. You grab at his wrist in hopes he will take it, needing to touch more of him. Sensing your need Astarion takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it before resting your joined hands on your lower back. 

“No one takes my cock like you,” He pants through his thrusting. “You were made for me, weren’t you?” 

Supplications fall from his lips as he moves in and out of your body, showering you with worship as if you were his own private deity. His words further kindle the rising flame inside your belly, every touch of his cock against your walls serving to push you closer and closer to your third orgasm. 

“Only you,” you pant, hips canting back into his own to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “No one else.”

You feel so incredibly full with your body positioned like this, every movement of his cock has him pressing hard against your sweet spot, the feeling like heaven as cries fall from your lips.

“I love how wet you get for me, darling,” Astarion can feel you tighten around him as you grow nearer to your orgasm, your body trembling and cunt pulsing with pleasure as your hips drive back into his own. The feeling of you so close to your orgasm has hips losing their rhythm, his eagerness at the two of you reaching your end together driving him to move harder with every press inside you.

You love seeing him, feeling him like this. His hips finally moving with wild abandon, chasing pure instinct as he moves fast and deep inside your body. A hand comes up to settle in your unbound hair, softly gripping the silk-like strands in his fingers and in his passion he pulls softly, the motion lifting your head. His lips lower to your ear as his back presses fully against your own, the feeling of his cock moving even deeper inside you unmatched. Between his chest against your back and his cock moving so deep he was practically rutting inside, you were almost certain your cunt had never felt so full. Breathless whimpers escape your mouth at the feeling, eyes closing in complete ecstasy as the sound of his own moans against your ear leaves your cunt clenching hard as he hits your g-spot over and over again with each deep thrust.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

And beg you do.

“Please, Astarion!” A chorus of pleas rise from your throat voicing your desperation as his tongue licks the shell of your ear, the hand in your hair tightening slightly with every word and moan that falls from your lips. 

You can barely think as you feel your orgasm careen towards you, unintelligible in your words as you lose yourself in the feeling of your bodies. Astarion’s cock hits that deep inside spot at your front wall once more, and you finally let go, orgasm taking over your body, stars behind your eyes in all-consuming pleasure. You recognize Astarion nearing his own end, his hips rutting into yours as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, cunt squeezing him in a vice. He comes with a drawn-out moan as he paints your insides with his cum, hips shuttering until his thrusts slow down.

Astarion stays inside you, cock softening as he rubs his hands up and down your sides as you both come down from your high, his cold cheek pressed against your shoulder. With deep breaths you take air so heavy and sweet with your shared lust into your lungs, the weight of Astarion on your back an anchor to the world.

With one final pump Astarion pulls himself from your body, watching as your empty cunt weeps with a mixture of his and your own cum. Before he can stop himself, he reaches two fingers up to catch the cum on his fingertips, gently pushing it back inside you before it can fall out onto the table resting below your hips. 

“Wouldn’t want you to waste a single drop, my love.”

You whine and buck your hips, overstimulated after coming so many times in a row. With one last press of his fingers, he leaves your cunt, leaning forward to place a kiss on the small of your back.

Astarion grabs a discarded piece of silk off the table beside your head and he gently wipes at the mess that threatens to leave your body before cleaning his own spent cock. As your breathing returns to its normal pace, you push yourself up slightly. 

“Silk. Really, Astarion?”

“Only the best for you, my love.” Astarion is quick to help you off the table, steadying you as you sway slightly after being in the same position for so long. He presses a kiss to your lips as he helps pull your dress back up over your breasts and into place. 

“I would ask if I was too rough, but I know you better than that.” His remark makes you laugh as you lean into him, throwing your arms around his neck with a wide smile.

“You know, I think I’m missing a tiny piece of my clothing,” Your eyebrows raise as you gesture to his pocket where a tiny piece of darkened lace sticks out from. "You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why bother?” Astarion gives a casual shrug as he waves off your query. “I’m just going to take them off of you again when we get home.” 

He stuffs the underwear in question deeper into his pocket, patting it securely before flashing you a crafty smile.

“After all, I haven’t even had my dinner yet.” He leans in, setting your heart aflame with a passionate kiss before grabbing your hand to lead you out the door and into the waiting night.

[apoemaday]

Eurydice

by Carol Ann Duffy

Girls, I was dead and down in the Underworld, a shade, a shadow of my former self, nowhen. It was a place where language stopped, a black full stop, a black hole Where the words had to come to an end. And end they did there, last words, famous or not. It suited me down to the ground.

So imagine me there, unavailable, out of this world, then picture my face in that place of Eternal Repose, in the one place you’d think a girl would be safe from the kind of a man who follows her round writing poems, hovers about while she reads them, calls her His Muse, and once sulked for a night and a day because she remarked on his weakness for abstract nouns. Just picture my face when I heard -- Ye Gods -- a familiar knock-knock at Death’s door.

Him. Big O. Larger than life. With his lyre and a poem to pitch, with me as the prize.

Things were different back then. For the men, verse-wise, Big O was the boy. Legendary. The blurb on the back of his books claimed that animals, aardvark to zebra, flocked to his side when he sang, fish leapt in their shoals at the sound of his voice, even the mute, sullen stones at his feet wept wee, silver tears.

Bollocks. (I’d done all the typing myself, I should know.) And given my time all over again, rest assured that I’d rather speak for myself than be Dearest, Beloved, Dark Lady, White Goddess etc., etc.

In fact girls, I’d rather be dead.

But the Gods are like publishers, usually male, and what you doubtless know of my tale is the deal.

Orpheus strutted his stuff.

The bloodless ghosts were in tears. Sisyphus sat on his rock for the first time in years. Tantalus was permitted a couple of beers. The woman in question could scarcely believe her ears.

Like it or not, I must follow him back to our life -- Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife -- to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes, octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets, elegies, limericks, villanelles, histories, myths…

He’d been told that he mustn’t look back or turn round, but walk steadily upwards, myself right behind him, out of the Underworld into the upper air that for me was the past. He’d been warned that one look would lose me for ever and ever.

So we walked, we walked. Nobody talked.

Girls, forget what you’ve read. It happened like this -- I did everything in my power to make him look back. What did I have to do, I said, to make him see we were through? I was dead. Deceased. I was Resting in Peace. Passé. Late. Past my sell-by date… I stretched out my hand to touch him once on the back of the neck. Please let me stay. But already the light had saddened from purple to grey.

It was an uphill schlep from death to life and with every step I willed him to turn. I was thinking of filching the poem out of his cloak, when inspiration finally struck. I stopped, thrilled. He was a yard in front. My voice shook when I spoke -- Orpheus, your poem’s a masterpiece. I’d love to hear it again…

He was smiling modestly, when he turned, when he turned and he looked at me.

What else? I noticed he hadn’t shaved. I waved once and was gone.

The dead are so talented. The living walk by the edge of a vast lake near, the wise, drowned silence of the dead.

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything V (König x Reader)

The 5th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Like the characters? 

Sunshine Masterlist  || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: Ya’ll are in for a treat with this series. I just figured out the plot like 10 minutes ago hahaha

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension 

Warning: Graphic Language 

You glared at the woman before you, fury simmering beneath your skin. You felt like you were on fire, you felt like you could commit heinous crimes- you knew that you could kill them.

“I understand that you may feel like this isn’t needed,” the stupid fuck soothed. “But therapy is a proven solution. I can help get you back up and running.” 

Therapy. 

Your fingers dug into the armrests.

“They told me this was training.” You were chewing on the words, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Deep down you’d known that this was coming, you’d declined ‘help’ after the initial incident but now there was no hiding the darkness that plagued your mind. Everyone had seen it. 

Everyone.

“This is training,” the doctor smiled. “Training of the mind.” 

You visibly cringed. They’d made sure to give you the most disarming person they could find. Kind eyes, an easy smile and a relaxed posture. They looked vulnerable. If the doctor was the most fragile in the room, then it would encourage you to step out and spill your trauma with tears and snot bubbles. Not you. 

You sneered, leaning forward to rest your arms on your knees. “Being chosen to be my therapist is a shit go, Doc.” 

“Actually,” the corner of their lips curled upward. “This’ll piss you off more but I’m doing a friend a favour.” 

You blinked, surprise snatching the next crude words from your tongue. The doctor leaned back into their chair, clicking the pen a couple of times as if emphasising a point. As you stared at them, they stared back, and you suddenly realised that maybe they weren’t as vulnerable as they seemed. 

“Laswell?” You queried. 

The therapist snorted softly. “Price.” 

Your spine straightened, a deep sense of anger twisting violently within your chest. 

Price. 

“Ooh,” the doctor tutted softly, leaning forward in their seat. “Didn’t like that one, did you?” 

You sneered at them, your eyes narrowed and your walls higher than ever. What did they know about what you liked and disliked? What did they know of your relationship with Price? 

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“If you had it your way, you wouldn’t talk at all,” the doctor frowned. 

“Then take the fucking hint.” 

Their gaze trailed over your body, taking in the way you leaned away from the conversation. You were an open book and no matter how aggressive the mask you wore was- you were readable. With a huff, the therapist tossed their notebook over their shoulder lazily. It clattered onto the bench behind them, scattering the miscellaneous items in its path. 

“Alright, Birdy. Let’s go off the record then,” they gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “You’re shitty with Price.” 

“I said I didn’t want to talk about him-” 

“You feel like he’s betrayed you.” 

You blinked, fingers trembling even though they were curled into fists. The overarching thought that had been plaguing you for weeks was picked apart by some random fucking doctor. The words were out, you weren’t the one that had said them but they were in the air anyway. It felt good to hear them aloud rather than the screaming thought over and over in the recesses of your mind. 

“Yes.” The confirmation was bitter on your tongue. You waited for the doctor to shut you down, you waited for them to monologue about how your feelings were childish and unprofessional. They were providing you this service as a favour to the Captain, you could only assume that they were friends. 

Instead, the therapist simply nodded. “I would too, Birdy.” 

You loosed a breath that you hadn’t realised you were holding. 

“What was your name again, Doc?” You rasped, eyes narrowing. They shifted in their seat, taken off guard by the sudden change in subject but willing to share nonetheless. 

The doctor shot you a smile- genuine this time.  

“They call me Saint.” 

____

While you didn’t appreciate being ambushed with it, therapy hadn’t been as bad as you’d imagined. Your fingers clenched and unclenched in an attempt to release some tension as you walked.

Every day, you were required to present to the doctors office for a psych appointment. 

Every day, Saint had picked your thoughts apart bit by bit. 

Although you hadn’t intended to talk, you realized quickly that Saint didn’t just look disarming- they were disarming. There was no judgement as you spoke, not when you told them about your murderous nightmares and not when you told them that you’d wanted to beat down the new sniper. 

They only nodded, explaining that it- surprisingly- was natural to feel like that after what you’d experienced. 

You felt validated. 

Less like a liability and more like a recovering victim. 

Your thoughts stuttered to a halt as you laid eyes on the kitchen, the light spilling from the open doorway and out into the hall. You raised a brow at the sight, knowing that only one person would really be awake at this time of night. 

Ghost. 

The flutter in your chest caught you off guard, the thought of seeing Simon had you excited. It’d been a while since you’d both last spoken, a hand on the shoulder as he muttered a “see you soon,” and a “be safe.” All that, right before he boarded a plane with Sunshine in tow. 

“Yeah,” the newest sniper had winked at you with a curved smile. “See you real soon, gorgeous.” 

You hated them, you were sure of it. They were nauseatingly glib, each word rolling off their silver tongue with all the ease but no truth. You couldn’t believe anything they said, you’d be stupid if you did. 

As you approached the kitchen slowly, you heard hushed voices. They were arguing- aggressive and quickly spoken. 

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Sunshine snapped, their words breathless. “For the rest of our time here, this is how you want it to be?” 

From what you’d seen, the new sniper had a reputation for being self-posessed and controlled. They wanted to watch you unravel beneath their sentences, but in order for them to do that they’d have to be unphased by whatever’s thrown at them. 

Right now, there was no sign of that person. 

“What “I want it to be” is you doing your fucking job and me doing mine." The hostility in Simon's tone had you taken aback. You’d never heard him so aggressive towards a teammate and for a split moment, you felt bad for Sunshine. 

“It was!” The sniper shouted, their exhaustion and frustration painstakingly clear. 

“You were reckless.” 

“I was saving you!” 

“I don’t need you to save me!” Ghost finally snapped. The sound of something clattering followed by Sunshine’s sharp breath had you tense. “I don’t need anything from you.” 

There was a soft touch against your shoulder and your heart stuttered in your chest. Fear electrified your body as you spun around. A hand pressed down firmly against your lips, suffocating the scream rising from your throat. 

König’s eyes were narrowed, his head ducked so that he could meet your gaze head on. The look he gave you was accusatory and shame quickly flooded your cheeks. Your fingers came to rest shakily against his wrist, pushing weakly against his hold. 

His brows pulled into a frown. 

“Are you asking me to just let you fucking die?” Sunshine rasped, their seething voice reminding you of where you were. König’s eyes drifted from yours to over your shoulder aimlessly as he listened to their conversation. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ghost drawled. You could hear him struggling for control, the way he drew each breath like it was painful. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” The sniper exclaimed. “If it was Birdy instead of me today you wouldn’t have an issue with it-” 

“But you’re not Birdy,” Ghost snapped, “are you?” 

Silence flooded the space between you all. 

You felt ashamed of yourself. You were somewhere you shouldn’t have been, you were listening to a conversation that you were never intended to hear. This was something personal, the hatred and electricity between Sunshine and Ghost forbidden for your understanding. 

König must have come to the same conclusion. The man shot you a hard stare, his hands falling from your lips to grip your shoulders. He guided you backward quietly, trying to provide an escape that wouldn’t alert them to your presence. 

“No, Sir,” Sunshine’s voice was faint now as you pulled away from the two. “I’m not Birdy.” 

You knew then that something had changed. It was in their voice, it was in the air, it was in the venom of their words- it was a suffocating emotion that you knew too well. 

They were hurt. 

But, hurt breeds bitterness and there was nothing but hatred in Sunshine’s final words. 

I’m not Birdy. 

König sucked in a breath and you knew that he’d heard it as well. When he finally managed to pull you both through the doors of your dormitory unscathed, he let you go. There was no gentleness in his expression this time when he appraised you. 

“What were you thinking?” He growled, running rough fingers through his hair. “That was wrong.” 

“I know,” you whispered, shaken. 

“You shouldn’t have been there,” König continued with a large step away from your quivering body. He was riled up and his anger stimulated your own. Who was he to lecture you? 

“You shouldn’t have been there either,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. 

König shot you a stern look. “I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t find you eavesdropping, naseweis.” 

You rolled your eyes, turning on your heel. While you weren’t falling apart at the sight of him anymore, it didn’t mean that you wanted to be around him. You still wanted nothing to do with König, no interaction, no contact- nothing.

“I don’t need you, of all people, lecturing me on being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” you threw over your shoulder as you walked. There was a huff from the man behind you, then the fall of his footsteps following in suit. 

“Doesn’t the incident make me an expert on that?” König questioned from beside you, keeping pace as though it were a leisurely stroll. You glared up at him, forcing the growing rage clawing at your chest to stay caged. 

“You think it’s funny?” You hissed. “Am I a fucking joke to you?” 

“Of course not!” König’s voice hardened. You both rounded the corner towards your room, it felt like the quicker you moved the easier it was for him to keep up. Another infuriating feature that the Austrian possessed, you’d add it to the already mile-long list. 

“Then why can’t you just leave me alone?” You spun on your heel, facing the beast head on. “It’s like you’re everywhere, König. I can’t escape you, I enter a room and you’re there. I turn a corner, you’re there. I go to sleep and there you fucking are.” 

König raised a brow, leaning his shoulder against the frame beside him. “I’m not stalking you, Birdy. If that’s what you’re trying to imply.” 

“Is that why you’re standing in my bedroom doorway?”

The man’s spine straightened as he took up his own weight, emerald gaze pinning you to your place. It was as though he were surprised, as though he was just now realising that he had been following you. Your chest was heaving as you glared up at him. You wanted him to deny it, to tell you that you were imagining it all- you wanted to be angry. 

“You’re a worrying person,” König finally said. The words almost sounded like an admission, although of what you were unsure. You jaw tightened as you retreated another step back into the safety of your room. 

“No,” you corrected, “you’re a worrying person.” 

König sighed, letting the silence fall in between you for a beat. There was conflict across his expression before finally his eyes narrowed. He stepped into the room. 

Your heart leapt into your throat. 

“Do you think I want to hurt you?” 

There it was. 

It was the question that plagued you as you lay in bed every night, staring at your bedroom door. Or lack thereof, you should say. There was nothing on the hinges, not since König had kicked it down. 

He’d thought you were in danger. You lay before him, unconscious and dreaming. He could have done anything, he could have finished the job. 

But he didn’t. 

König’s head tilted as he observed you, watching you struggle for an answer. His fingers lightly brushed against your forearm and you froze, eyes wide as you stared up at him. He was so tall, dominating every space he entered. He was a giant amongst men, a god. 

“Do you think I want to hurt you, Birdy?” König said again. He didn’t lean down, didn’t drop down to your height this time. He wanted your answer, he wanted you to look at him and take him as he was- he wanted the truth. 

“No,” you whispered. 

The truth. 

Your body trembled as though the room had dropped to subzero temperatures but your skin was on fire. Heat bloomed across your chest, racing the length of your spine, neck and cheeks.

König’s eyes softened and he swayed backward lazily, as though he were drunk fighting for his balance. Neither of you said anything for a long moment. He didn’t ask why you were still afraid, he knew that was an unfair question. He never expected you to be comfortable with his presence. 

But the shift between you both was tangible. 

“Am I right?” The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, desperate and vulnerable. An offering, an olive branch an extension of trust. 

 Something washed over the man before you, something you’d never seen before. His gaze was ferocious, jade fire burning beneath those lashes as it scorched your skin. Determination tightened his jaw and his thumb brushed across the skin of your arm like a promise. 

An unspoken response. 

Yes. 

Your breath left your chest as you took another step away, suffocating in his presence. König inhaled heavily, his hands falling back to rest at his sides. 

“I still-” You began, twisting your fingers anxiously. 

“I know.” 

You still hadn’t forgiven him. 

There was a long way to go, but now the path had changed. Rather than there being a straight road, shrouded in hatred, there was a fork. A split in the path that required a decision, one that you weren’t quite ready to make yet. 

König cleared his throat, softening his stance with conscious effort. It was as if he remembered that he was meant to be disarming. Watching the huge man try to shrink himself for your comfort was surreal, nothing like what you’d imagined when you’d first laid eyes on him after your recovery. 

Ghost had never made himself smaller for you when you came out of hospital. He was slower, gentler, as though dealing with a frightened animal- but he never pretended to be something that he was not. 

“Do you think they heard us?” You changed the topic as your mind fell back to Ghost and Sunshine. “How would we explain that?” 

König blinked, clearly glad for the break in intensity. He shifted backward, moving to make his escape as your interaction came to a close. For once, he was the one running from you.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” he muttered, an ironic smile playing at his lips. “They won’t have a hard time believing that given our history.” 

 The man offered you a nod, fingers tapping against the door with finality- his own farewell. You were glad that he hadn’t said ‘goodnight’, that he hadn’t bothered with niceties. You were not friends. Not allies. 

You weren’t sure what you were. 

When he disappeared around the door, his footsteps retreating down the hall, you finally let yourself relax. Jitters skittered across your body, the remnants of electricity from your confrontation buzzing beneath your skin. 

Wrong place, wrong time. 

The words struck a chord of discomfort within you. 

They followed you through your night routine, plaguing you in the shower, lingering as you made a cup of tea, whispering sickness as you laid in bed. They made you nauseous, they made you dizzy, they were disconcerting. 

Wrong place, wrong time. 

The whole accident had been such a tragic coincidence, a monumental mistake. Almost impossible in an environment where communication is key, everything working in perfect tandem to ensure your demise. 

Throughout the length of your military career, you’d always been taught to never take anything as chance. If a bush rustled beside you, there was a possibility that it was an animal- but also that it could be an enemy. If there was a light beneath a door, it could have been left on or there was someone waiting for you on the other side. You were taught not to trust coincidence. 

The failure of comms, the false intel of a sniper on a roof, the unexpected of KorTac, the largest soldier of their team being sent to find you- all of it was a perfectly timed but tragic coincidence. 

You tossed in your bed, trying to drown the thoughts from your crumbling mind. It seems you didn’t need a nightmare tonight to bring on terror. Your resolve began to slip, the sudden sense of dread gripping you by the throat. 

Wrong place, wrong time. 

You wanted to rake the thoughts from your brain with your bare fingers. You wanted to rip out the connection you’d made and go to sleep in bliss ignorance.

Wrong place, wrong time. 

The way König had brought it up, the way he’d said it, maybe he was feeling it too. Maybe you weren’t as insane as you felt. Maybe your thoughts weren’t as unreliable as they seemed. You clenched your jaw, nails digging into the skin of your palm hoping that the pain would pull you back from the edge you teetered on. 

Wrong place, wrong time. 

Wrong for both you and König … but, as you lay staring at your missing door, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe it was all just right for somebody else.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Helloooo your recs give me life. You’ve probably done this before, but any recommendations for fics that include a brutally pining Derek and oblivious Stiles? Ideally canon-verse but aus are also loved. Thanks in advance!!

I'm sure I have, but I love pining in all fics. So I'm happy to make a million lists of it.

Fun by Halevetica

(1/1 I 3,889 I Teen)

Stiles convinces Derek to go to the annual Beacon Hills bonfire with him, with the promise of fun. What he gets instead are a lot of assumptions that he and Stiles are dating, and Stiles' too-eager dismissals, which are decidedly NOT fun for Derek.

Game On by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

Written in the Stars by Quixoticity

(6/6 I 26,586 I Mature)

Derek Hale is a lucky guy. He's got a great family, good friends, and a fulfilling job as a tattoo artist.

He's also one of the twenty-five per cent of the population born with a soul mark.

He likes his life, but he's waiting for his soul-match. The odds of meeting them aren't great but hey, Derek's a lucky guy. He has faith.

He can't believe how good his luck really is when one day his soul-match wanders right into his studio, all long limbs and copper eyes. There's just one problem: Stiles is there to get his soul mark covered up. Permanently.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell

(5/5 I 35,458 I Mature)

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

too busy being yours to fall for somebody new by whiry

(12/12 I 64,278 I Teen)

Stiles, worried that Scott may actually leave him behind because of his newfound popularity, is desperate to cling to something away from the drama of Lydia Martin's amazing parties and the woes of high school lacrosse. What he finds is Derek Hale, a guy who seemingly hates Stiles at first, but slowly, and insistently, becomes friends with him. As their friendship grows, Stiles starts to wonder if they could ever become something more or if pushing what they have will lead him to being alone for good.

All the Weird Kids (Know How to Take it Slow) by Ionaonie

(26/26 I 112,477 I General)

Stiles never thought being part of a werewolf Pack would end up being so normal. Even being around Derek had a degree of normality about it. Even if he was still an overbearing jerk most of the time.

When it all comes crumbling down by Littleredridinghunter

(18/18 I 216,191 I Not Rated)

Stiles is recovering from the Nogitsune. Erica is the only one that is really there for him, Scott's too busy rekindling his relationship with Allison and Stiles feels like he's falling apart.

When a near-miss with a kelpie results in an encounter that he could never have predicted, Stiles begins to think his life might be getting back on track.

He's wrong.

Stiles' life is so messed up he can't even begin to explain it, maybe it's time for him to finally do something for himself and get out of Beacon Hills. But where will that path lead?

With Stiles involved, no doubt danger and death won't be far behind.

AND

@the-diggler and @adventures-in-mangaland suggested this one!

Safety in Silence by Survivah

(5/5 I 66,901 I Mature)

It's perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn't want to be Derek's soulmate.

[lovelybluebirdie]

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to cook for you, but things don’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1,7k

A/N: I got the idea that Astarion naturally struggles with preparing food, so I had to write some fluff about it! Hope you enjoy :)

[ AO3 ]

Astarion stirred the pot in concentration, holding a wooden spoon in his hand and wondering what exactly he was doing here. 

This whole endeavour resulted from your constant need to be nice to him, he thought with a sigh – apparently it made him want to be nice as well. 

It started the other day when you mentioned how you would kill for a mushroom soup. At first he thought nothing of it, but for some reason the idea stuck to his head, so Astarion decided to roam the forest and gather some mushrooms. Unfortunately it turned out rather quickly that he lacked essential knowledge on the matter, so he had to consult Gale of all people. 

Putting his pride aside, he asked through gritted teeth which ones were edible and which to avoid, since he had no desire to poison you by accident. Due to Gale being Gale, the wizard not only lectured him on different kinds of fungi, he had also given a detailed instruction on the soup’s recipe.

Astarion chuckled at the absurdity of the scene. He had never thought that one day he'd voluntarily prepare food for another person – and yet he found himself bending over the hearth and mixing different ingredients, hoping for the best.

He even wore an apron borrowed from said wizard, therefore he was more than glad that his companions had left for a supply run, while you were waiting in your shared tent so he could attempt this little surprise in solitude.

Gale's voice echoed in his mind: Chop the mushrooms, add them to the broth, stir until thickened, season with salt and pepper and sprinkle a few herbs on top – that’s it! Absolutely foolproof, even for someone who prefers to appease their hunger solely with blood.

The mushrooms had been the easiest part. His dexterous fingers cut them into perfectly bite-sized pieces, but Astarion bloody forgot how long the meal should rest on the fire.

Suddenly a burning smell lingered in the air, and he sensed in horror that the soup was boiling over.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the pot with haste and put it away from the heat.

Well, he thought as he gazed at the bubbling mass, that probably meant it was done.

With utmost care not to spill more of his precious loot, he grabbed a ladle and filled a large portion for you. If he already took the effort for such a novelty, you should at least get your belly full.

Astarion slipped out of the apron and made his way back to you. He assumed you were already growing impatient, as this entire affair had consumed far more time than he had anticipated.

“Hello, darling,” he purred when entering your tent, skilfully balancing the bowl in his hand. 

“Finally! I thought you'd kept me waiting all night – wait, what's that?” You put the book you were reading aside and eyed the dish in his hands.

“I’m not quite sure myself, but according to Gale's recipe it should resemble a mushroom soup.”

Your eyes lit up. “Hold on – you prepared this for me? You know that’s my favourite, right?”

“I suppose I do.” Astarion offered you the soup with a coy smile. “Although you should remember that I’m not particularly versed in the culinary arts, so it might be best to treat this with caution.”

You took the bowl from his slender fingers. “Hah, let me be the judge of that! Besides, it was about damn time you returned the favour of feeding me for once, hm?”

“I couldn’t try it myself for obvious reasons, but I doubt that this could compete with your delicious blood,” Astarion replied jokingly and sat next to you, curiously watching as you sniffed the soup.

“Smells not bad…” you affirmed while blowing on the steaming broth resting on your spoon. “Now comes the delicate part – the taste test.”

The spoon disappeared in your mouth, and suddenly your face twisted into a grimace. You swallowed hard, a cough forcing its way through your pressed lips.

Astarion couldn’t help but snort over your clumsy attempt to keep the soup inside. “So – I sense I failed you miserably?”

“What? No – I mean, it’s not… terrible,” you stuttered. “It’s… Well – did you let it burn by chance?”

“Maybe.” He dragged out the syllables dramatically and shrugged. “Be honest, my dead heart surely can take it – shall we save this mess for Scratch and the owlbear?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed with widened eyes. “I’m not hesitant to share, but not something you specially made for me. Also, some things tend to get better once you get used to the flavour, you know.” 

Before Astarion could intervene, you put another spoon to your mouth and eagerly gulped it down, followed by a second and a third. 

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” you eventually muttered with full cheeks, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m afraid you’re a poor liar, my love.” Astarion gently grasped your wrist to prevent you from taking another mouthful. “So please let me stop you right there, before you seriously upset your gut. I’m sure we can get you something more nutritious for the evening.” Then he took the spoon from your hand and put the bowl aside.

“If you insist,” you said with fondness in your eyes while wiping soup from the corner of your mouth. “But honestly – thank you, Astarion. This was… unexpectedly sweet.”

Heat rose to his ears as he rested his hand on your stomach, starting to draw circles. “Well, let's just hope my failed culinary attempt won't kill you tonight.”

“I guess in that case Lae’zel would avenge me, so you’d better start preparing yourself.”

“Mh… You think she’d stake me?” Astarion questioned and continued to caress your belly.

“Who knows what her creativity will lead to in the end. Knowing Lae’zel, she’d probably come up with something worse,” you pondered while tapping your chin. “But I guess you wouldn't let your preferred blood supply die that easily after all, would you?”

“Oh, don't sell yourself so short,” Astarion countered in feigned bewilderment. “You know that you mean way more to me than that.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, you also keep me warm at night, sparing me the coin for a thicker blanket. You know how expensive those things can get.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his response. “And if you had to give a genuine answer this time?”

Astarion clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I thought my sentiments were rather obvious by now.”

“And yet I don't seem to tire of hearing your appreciation for me,” you teased.

“Getting greedy now, aren’t we? Fine, you're ... quite decent. Despite your constant need to do something heroic, of course.”

You poked his shoulder and turned away with an exaggerated pout.

Astarion chuckled, before he cleared his throat. “Alright – perhaps you’re more than that.” 

He drew you in his arms and breathed against your cheek. “One might also say you're the first person I truly came to care about. Deeply.”

Your lips brushed over his contours, searching for his own until you kissed him tenderly. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Astarion rested a peck on your forehead and embraced you closer, a pleasant flutter spreading in his chest. 

You were right, he thought as his lips curled into an affectionate smile – with you, everything seemed surprisingly easy these days.

*

The next morning Astarion woke to a rumbling. He opened his eyes and could only make out your silhouette as you hastily rushed outside, leaving the flap of your tent wide open.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in concern and immediately got up to follow you.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” you huffed under your breath.

Astarion knelt beside you in the grass and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I said… it’s alright…” You gagged between your words. “But perhaps the soup… Ugh–”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion said softly, when he noticed that you were still wearing his shirt from the other night. “And for the love of the gods – please be careful not to stain my clothes.”

“That's what you’re most concerned about right now?”

“No, of course not! But – That’s my favourite,” Astarion mumbled while he reached for your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“FANGS, what did you do to her?!” Karlach’s voice erupted like a thunderstorm from the other side of the camp as she spotted the two of you.

“Nothing – I only prepared some soup for her last night!”

“Shadowheart! Hurry up, we need you – Astarion poisoned our leader!” Karlach was already marching in the cleric's direction.

“What – no!” You both spoke almost simultaneously, causing you to laugh.

“I seem to have a sensible stomach,” you managed to add before retching again.

Astarion turned serious as he rested his hand on your back. “I'm terribly sorry, my love. That wasn’t meant to happen at all.”

You offered a weak smirk. “I know, and I appreciate the thought. Besides, that means your next dish can only improve.”

Astarion gazed at you in disbelief. “You’d consider letting me cook again after this entire debacle? Those mushrooms must have gone to your beautiful head.”

“Well, on second thought–” You couldn't finish your sentence as your stomach’s content finally emptied onto the grass.

Astarion felt a twist at his ribcage seeing you like this. “We’d better make sure I haven’t actually poisoned you, shall we? – SHADOWHEART! Get yourself over here – now!” 

“I'M ON MY WAY!” Shadowheart shouted from afar.

“I think the worst is already over–” you began to explain, when another voice cut you off.

“Tsk’va! What is going on?” Lae’zel poked her head from her tent, obviously annoyed by the sudden tumult.

“Please, don’t let her stake me,” Astarion whispered and continued to stroke your back.

“Be glad that I love you, otherwise I’d probably let her get away with it this time,” you replied mischievously.

Astarion’s chest filled with warmth as he grasped for your hand. “My sweet, I truly am.” Then he bowed his head to place a kiss on your hair. “And I love you too. So much in fact, that I might consider forgiving you for ruining my shirt.”

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

Astarion returned your grin before his expression turned soft. “But honestly, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

Next time he would surprise you with something less nauseating, he thought as his fingers entwined with yours – a safe choice like bringing another stray to your camp, or a nice perfume perhaps.

Masterlist

[sadnymi]

August p2

[Mattheo riddle x reader] [part-one]

Summary: all y/n wanted is to love and to be loved to see the beauty of the world and to be happy even if that's mean she will have to hide away, until that summer the summer she talked to mattheo riddle.

Words: 9k

Warnings:, Angst , fluff, strong language, light smut.

It was like I found myself in the middle—I couldn't go back to what I was and I still couldn't move forward. There was only one thing on my mind: anger, anger, anger, anger.

My thoughts broke as I heard Professor Snape assigning us to pairs for a dueling exercise. I lifted my head from my book and found a pair of green eyes on me—Betty. She was watching me so intently that she didn’t notice I saw her staring. When she realized, she shook her head and looked away, her hands trembling.

"Miss Y/L/N," Professor Snape called my name, and I got up, walking to stand behind him, waiting for him to call the other student I would have to duel.

"And. Riddle, come please," Professor Snape said.

My expression remained unchanged, though my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. My anxiety was high, my blood pressure rising, and the anger—the endless anger—but I stayed calm, looking unbothered, like a frozen child. It was an art I was well-versed in, thanks to my father.

Everyone gasped and couldn't stop talking. I looked up to meet his brown eyes, the eyes I told myself I hated every day to remind myself of their betrayal.

I didn’t look away. I met his gaze head-on, staring straight into his eyes as if trying to pierce his soul. He didn't deserve my avoidance; he deserved to feel my anger.

Professor Snape spoke—at least I guess he did—but my mind was elsewhere. All I could think about was anger and anger and anger, water drops and brown eyes, betrayal.

Mattheo stepped back, taking his place, and I did the same. I raised my wand, but he kept his lowered. I looked him in the eyes and cast the first spell. He dodged it but didn’t fight back. He wasn’t trying to fight.

My anger grew. I moved faster, casting spells more quickly and aggressively. He kept dodging but never retaliated.

I could see the way Professor Snape looked at him, and the way Mattheo’s friends called out to him, urging him to defend himself. But he didn’t. He just kept dodging, fueling my rage.

"Fight back, you fucking coward!" I yelled, angry, but he didn’t.

With a swift flick of my wand, I disarmed him, sending his wand flying across the room. up in alarm as I advanced on him, faster and angrier. I hit him in the chest.

"Coward, fucking coward," I said. Professor Snape called my name, but I didn’t stop.

I hit him again. "Selfish, arrogant, deceitful," I continued, my words venomous.

Professor Snape finally pulled me away. "You always made everything about you, Riddle, didn’t you?" I screamed.

"Miss Y/L/N," Professor Snape began, his tone icy. "This behavior is unacceptable. You will serve detention for this outburst."

I glared at Mattheo. "Oh, believe me, I have nothing better to do,"

One of the students, a Slytherin boy named Mark, snickered and muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Guess Riddle's got a soft spot for Backup girl."

I looked at him sharply. No—don’t—just go away—hide, Y/N, hide. Don’t let them see you. That’s enough. No.

I stepped forward, my voice steady. "Say it again, Mark."

He looked taken aback, but his bravado held. "I said, Riddle's got a soft spot for Backup girl."

"You know," I said, my voice cutting through the air, "I’ve been quiet, but not blind. And I didn’t have much to do this summer but sit at the beach and watch. And I watched a lot."

I turned to look at the faces around me, the same faces that had called me a slut, a whore, a homewrecker. They were all watching me now, some with curiosity, others with apprehension.

"I could say that one of you sitting there cheated on her boyfriend with all three of his friends, and they’re sitting right next to him right now. But I didn’t, did I? Should I?"

The room filled with gasps and whispers, eyes darting around to see who I was talking about.

"And I could say that one of you had a very interesting make-out session with his stepmother this summer. But I won’t do that." I paused, looking around. "Hint: he’s a Hufflepuff. Go with that. And wow, didn’t know you had that in you, if I’m being honest."

I saw more shock and outrage spread through the crowd, people trying to figure out who I meant. I continued, enjoying their discomfort.

"I could tell you that another one of you, who’s sitting there looking all innocent, spent the entire summer sneaking out at night to hook up with their best friend’s boyfriend. And yet another had an affair with their cousin’s fiancé, not caring about the wedding that was about to happen. Should I go on?"

The whispers grew louder, people trying to piece together the gossip. Professor Snape called my name again, more harshly this time, but I ignored him, taking a step back.

The room was buzzing now, everyone trying to figure out who the guilty parties were. I could see the fear and anger in their eyes.

"Maybe it’s time for everyone to stop judging others and take a good look at themselves. Maybe next time, you should think twice before you start throwing stones."

Professor Snape finally reached me, his hand gripping my arm tightly. "Enough, Miss Y/L/N. That’s quite enough, you will go to Professor Dumbledore’s office immediately."

"Of course, Professor."

I walked out, glaring at Mattheo on my way. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, and I wanted to smack it off. I wanted to say more, to hurt him, to make him feel the same agony tearing through my soul.

A week had passed, and the gossip had finally died down. The whispers and judgmental stares began to fade. The looks of disdain I received whenever I walked down the corridors diminished. It was as if everyone had finally moved on to the next scandal.

I was sitting alone under a tree in the courtyard, trying to read a book but barely absorbing the words. The shadow of someone approaching made me glance up. It was Enzo. He sat down next to me with a casual smile. "Hi, Y/N."

I didn't respond, keeping my eyes on the page.

"Okay, I get it. You hate me too now," he said, sighing dramatically.

I still didn't acknowledge him. He tried again, "Y/N, I’m—"

"Unwelcome," I cut him off sharply, closing my book with a snap. "Now leave."

He chuckled "Ouch, that stings. You know, that cold shoulder of yours is kinda cute," he said, leaning back on his hands. "I always did like a challenge."

I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond, unwilling to engage.

"I won't defend my brother. Even I didn't know it was a break. It seemed serious, and I really thought they broke up this time. Honestly, I wished they did."

I finally looked up at him, my expression guarded.

He continued,"Mattheo and Betty have known each other their entire lives. She was always there for him, and he for her. They faced the darkness of our world together, and I think somewhere along the way, the lines blurred between them. They hurt each other in ways no one else could. They always break up and then get back together within a week. It’s a fucked-up situation, and they keep running it into the ground, thinking they're saving it. Maybe they don't want to lose each other, but that isn’t love. It’s—"

"It doesn’t matter," I interrupted. "He knows, and that’s enough."

"I didn’t know it was just a break, but I was angry because I didn’t think he should get involved with someone else so soon after."

I glanced up, catching sight of Mattheo standing a short distance away, watching us. His eyes bore into mine, intense and filled with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. He then shifted his gaze to Enzo, and I felt a surge of tension, almost palpable in the air. Mattheo’s expression was a mix of anger and something deeper, more primal. His presence was overpowering, and for a moment, I felt heat creep up my neck.

Enzo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But Mattheo... He’s not the villain in this story either. He’s complicated, broken even. And I can’t say what he did was right, but he’s— he’s not as heartless as you think there’s more ."

I glanced up again, and Mattheo was still watching us, his gaze burning.

"But he’s never been happier," Enzo finished, his words hanging in the air.

"Never been happier," Enzo repeated softly, his eyes searching mine. "It means something, doesn’t it? Despite everything, it means something."

"i have to go , but thanks Enzo," I said softly, walking away without looking back.

As I made my way toward the dormitory, I felt a presence behind me. My grip tightened on my bag, and I quickened my pace, hoping to outdistance whoever it was. But the footsteps behind me only grew louder and more determined.

Adrian Pucey appeared, sauntering over with that cocky grin Slytherins seem to be born with. "Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Y/N Y/L/N," he said, falling into step beside me as I made my way to my dorm. "Mind if I join you?"

I didn’t answer, keeping my eyes forward, hoping he’d take the hint and leave me alone.

"Silent treatment, huh?" Adrian said with a chuckle, clearly not deterred. "You know, that only makes me more interested."

I sighed, quickening my pace slightly. "Go away, Pucey."

But of course, he didn’t. Slytherins never could take a hint. He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, I’ve always had a thing for girls who don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’ve certainly got everyone talking."

I ignored him, still refusing to look up.

"Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that," Adrian pressed, his tone light and teasing. "You’re just going to walk away and let me bore you? I thought you were more fun than that."

Finally, I lost my patience. I stopped dead in my tracks, spinning on my heel to face him. In one swift motion, I pulled out my wand and pressed it under his chin. "I said, go away."

Adrian didn’t flinch; in fact, his grin widened. "You know, you’re even more beautiful when you’re angry."

I rolled my eyes, about to push him away for good, but then Adrian said something that caught me off guard. "For what it’s worth, I don’t give a damn about what they’re saying at school. People talk; it’s what they do. But I prefer forming my own opinions."

I paused, the wand still under his chin, studying his face. He looked sincere, in his own way—at least as sincere as a Slytherin could be.

"And what’s your opinion, then?" I asked.

"That you’re more interesting than any of them. And that I’d rather be here getting cursed by you than be anywhere else."

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It wasn’t the reaction I expected, but something about his audacity and the ridiculousness of the situation just got to me.

Adrian raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself. "See? I knew you had a sense of humor."

I shook my head, lowering my wand. "You’re insufferable, Pucey."

He took a step back, giving me a mock bow. "Thank you, I try."

Despite myself, I found the corners of my mouth twitching into a smile.

There was something disarming about him, and from that moment on, we fell into a sort of reluctant friendship. He had a knack for making me laugh when I least expected it, and I found myself tolerating his presence more than I would have admitted.

Days passed and we get even more closer he was the first friend I ever had besides Riddle ( we agree not to talk about him in this house).

It was strange, almost welcome, having someone who didn’t treat me like I was fragile or a pariah. As much as I hated to admit it, Adrian’s lightheartedness was exactly what I needed, a distraction from the complicated mess my life had become.

Adrian caught up to me in the corridor, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Y/N, you’re not going to believe what happened last night," he said, his voice full of mischief.

I didn’t slow my pace, only glancing at him briefly before looking ahead again. "Do I even want to know?"

He laughed, clearly delighted by my disinterest. "I hooked up with a Gryffindor."

I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide my skepticism. "Congratulations. I’m sure that’s a new personal best for you."

He opened his mouth but I was faster, already knowing where this was going. “Adrian, you don’t need to broadcast every conquest.”

He rolled his eyes at my sarcasm but didn’t seem bothered by it. "Stop walking for a second. I need to see your reaction when I say the next part."

I sighed, finally coming to a halt and turning to face him. "Fine, what is it?"

Adrian leaned in, his grin widening as if he was about to reveal the juiciest piece of gossip. "Haven’t you heard? Your pretty boy and—"

I cut him off, correcting him for what felt like the millionth time. "He’s not my boy, Adrian. And for your information, if he heard you calling him 'pretty boy,' he’d cut your tongue out."

Adrian laughed, not at all intimidated. "Not if I used 'your' before it."

"He’s not my boy," I repeated firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. "And he has a girlfriend too, so that’s disrespectful."

"Dammit, if you’d just listen for once," Adrian said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "And you say you’re a good listener."

"I am a good listener."

"Good listener, my ass," Adrian muttered, shaking his head. "Anyway, back to what I was trying to say—Riddle and Betty broke up."

His words hung in the air, and I blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. "What?"

"They broke up," Adrian repeated, more slowly this time, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time.

For a moment, I felt a pang of confusion, but then Enzo’s words echoed in my mind, along with what everyone always said about them.

"They always do, Adrian. Give them a week."

He cut me off this time, his tone more serious. "No, they did break up. For good this time. She was kissing Cedric last night, so it’s official. They’re done. I don’t know how people do that—stay friends with their exes."

I blinked, processing his words,but I kept my expression neutral. "You’re still friends with half of your exes."

Adrian shrugged, not missing a beat. "And I never said it’s a good thing."

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head at his honesty. "You’re a piece of work, Pucey."

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "I try. Speaking of which, there’s a big game this week. You should come see me practice. I want to show off a bit. Everyone else has a girlfriend in the stands—I want to prove I’m at least capable of getting my friend to watch."

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious of his intentions. "You’re just trying to get me and Mattheo in the same place, aren’t you?"

He chuckled, unashamed. "A little scheming never hurt anyone. But no, I really do want my friend there."

I hesitated, not really wanting to get involved, but Adrian’s persistence was hard to ignore. "I don’t know, Adrian…"

"Come on, Y/N," he coaxed, his tone playful but with a hint of sincerity. "It’ll be fun, and I could use the support. Plus, you can make fun of me if I screw up. It’s a win-win."

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Fine. But don’t expect me to cheer or anything."

Adrian’s grin grew wider. "Deal. I knew I could count on you."

After classes, I made my way to the Quidditch pitch, feeling a bit out of place as I climbed the stands to watch the practice. It wasn’t something I usually did, and the familiar tension in my chest was a reminder that I was here because of Adrian’s persistence, not because I actually wanted to be.

I settled into a seat, scanning the field. It didn’t take long for Adrian to spot me. He grinned widely, waving enthusiastically from his broom. I couldn’t help but wave back, but my eyes weren’t really on him—they were on Mattheo.

He was standing off to the side, his broom in hand, looking between me and Adrian with a gaze that made my heart skip a beat. His jaw clenched, his expression darkening the moment he noticed me there. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, and I could feel the weight of his stare even from across the pitch.

The practice started, but it felt like it was just background noise to the tension simmering between us. Every time I glanced down, Mattheo’s eyes were on me, glaring with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. I tried to focus on the game, on the way Adrian was zipping around the field, but my attention kept drifting back to Mattheo. The way his muscles tensed, the way his grip on his broom tightened—it was clear that something was brewing under the surface.

And then it happened. As the players flew around, Mattheo’s aggression grew, particularly toward Adrian. Every move he made was sharper, more forceful, like he was aiming to prove something. Adrian noticed it too and finally had enough. After one particularly hard shove from Mattheo during a pass.

"What’s your problem, Riddle?" Adrian snapped, his voice loud enough to cut through the sounds of the practice.

Mattheo’s response was a slow, sinister smirk, the kind that sent a chill down my spine. "You’re in my way, Pucey," he said, his voice dripping with malice.

Adrian narrowed his eyes. "What’s the matter, can’t handle a little competition? Or is it something else?"

The coach called out their names, warning them to get back in the game, but neither of them listened. The tension between them was palpable, thickening the air around us.

Their friends, Theo, Enzo, and even Draco, walked over, trying to diffuse the situation, but it was clear Mattheo wasn’t in the mood for peace.

"Careful, Riddle," Adrian taunted, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re losing your edge."

Mattheo’s smirk widened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Maybe you should keep that big mouth of yours shut before I shut it for you."

Before anyone could react, Mattheo’s fist connected with Adrian’s face, sending him reeling backward. The blow was quick and brutal, and Adrian barely had time to recover before Mattheo hit him again, this time with his broom handle, right across the jaw.

Adrian staggered, blood dripping from his lip, but he still managed to look up at Mattheo with a defiant grin. "That all you got?"

Mattheo didn’t reply with words. His eyes gleamed with that same dark amusement as he struck Adrian again, this time even harder. The crack of the impact echoed across the pitch, drawing gasps from the other players.

"Enough!" the coach roared, finally reaching them and shoving the two apart. "Both of you, out of here, now!"

Adrian wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at Mattheo. "Always knew you were a psycho, Riddle," he muttered under his breath.

Mattheo just smirked again, his eyes briefly flicking up to meet mine before he turned and walked off the pitch, leaving chaos in his wake.

I sat on the common room sofa, gently pressing a cold ice pack against Adrian’s bruised cheek. His face scrunched up in pain, and he let out a frustrated groan. "For fuck’s sake, Y/N, he’s crazy."

"Yeah, so I noticed," I muttered, not really looking at him.

Adrian smirked, despite the pain. "He was jealous. I know it." His grin widened. "How cute is that, huh? Jealous over our friendship, baby?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "You’re so delusional, Pucey."

He winced as I pushed the ice pack a bit too firmly against his cheek. "Ouch! Careful, you’re supposed to be helping, not making it worse."

"Maybe if you stopped running your mouth, you wouldn’t be in this situation," I shot back, pushing him away.

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Oh, the betrayal! First Riddle, now you! And after I took a beating for you ? I’m wounded, Y/N."

Shaking my head, I stood up. "You’ll live."

I left the common room, needing to clear my head. The hallways were mostly empty, the late hour ensuring that most students were either in their common rooms or asleep. I walked with purpose, looking for him.

It didn’t take long to find Mattheo. He was outside, leaning against the cold stone wall, a cigarette between his fingers. The flame from his lighter flickered as he lit it, the orange glow briefly illuminating his face. He looked up when he heard my footsteps, his eyes darkening with recognition.

I didn’t hesitate. I marched right up to him and slapped him across the face.

Mattheo’s head snapped to the side, but when he looked back at me, he was smiling—almost as if he was amused. He licked his lower lip, that dangerous smirk still playing on his mouth. "Nice to see you too, darling."

I glared at him, my hand still stinging. "What the hell is wrong with you, Riddle? You think you can just go around punching people because you’re pissed off?"

He chuckled softly, taking another drag from his cigarette. "I think you’re overreacting. Pucey can handle himself."

"I don’t care about you or your bullshit. But you better stay away from me and my friends."

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Your friends?" he echoed, a mocking tone to his voice. "Or just Adrian?"

I froze for a split second, then recovered. "Stay away from Adrian."

His expression darkened, jealousy flaring in his eyes. "So, it’s Adrian now, is it?" His voice was low, dangerous. "He’s not good for you."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "And who is, Mattheo? You?"

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. I shook my head, trying to push past him. "I can’t even look at your face right now."

Before I could get far, he grabbed my hand, pulling me back with enough force to spin me around and shove me against the cold stone wall. My breath caught as the rough surface bit into my back.

His face was inches from mine, his grip on my wrist firm but not painful. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was low, dangerous, but there was a desperate edge to it that I hadn’t expected. "Adrian is a womanizer. He’s got a new girl every week, Y/N. Is that the kind of friend you want?"

I scoffed, yanking my wrist out of his grasp. "And you’re any better?You’re no saint."

Mattheo’s eyes flashed with something dark, and he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my skin. "No I’m not."

I stared at him, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions in his eyes. He was so angry, so desperate to convince me that Adrian was bad for me.

"And he has a small dick," Mattheo muttered, almost as if it was an afterthought.

I blinked, my brain struggling to catch up with what he’d just said. "What?"

Mattheo’s expression didn’t change. "You heard me. He’s got a small dick."

I stared at him, utterly baffled. "How do you even know that?"

He shrugged, his tone completely nonchalant. "Changing room. We play on the same team remember?"

I couldn’t believe this conversation was actually happening. "Mattheo, what the actual fuck? I don’t want to talk about my friend’s dick. That’s just… weird."

But Mattheo didn’t respond, his eyes still locked on mine, his gaze piercing through the tension that hung between us. I could feel my breath hitch in my chest, and when I finally spoke, my voice was low and strained. "You’re starting," I said, the weight of our past heavy in my words.

He nodded, his voice equally subdued. "I’m starting."

I tried to push him away, desperate to put some distance between us, but he caught my wrist gently, his touch both tender and firm.

"I wish I didn’t stop that night and left you on that road."

Mattheo didn’t blink, didn’t try to interrupt me. He just stood there, absorbing every word like a punch to the gut.

"Do you know what happens to people like me when they get their hopes up? They pay. And I did."

The pain of those days, of that heartbreak, surged back, choking me as I tried to continue.

"No one blamed you. No one called you the things they called me. And I—" My voice cracked, and I couldn’t bring myself to finish. The words were too heavy, too raw.

"I lied," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

"I know you—" I began, but he cut me off, his words coming out in a rush.

"No, I lied when I said I knew we were on a break. We weren’t. It was really over. I lied to you that day in my house. That was the only time I lied to you," he said, and for a brief moment, I almost believed him. But then I remembered everything—the pain, the betrayal, the way he’d left me shattered. I pushed him away, shaking my head.

"I don’t believe you," I said, my voice hard, trying to build a wall around my heart.

"I know you don’t," he replied, his tone soft, resigned. "But I’m not playing games with you. I never did —“

I started to walk away, trying to block out his words, trying to keep my heart from breaking all over again. But his voice stopped me, laced with a vulnerability I hadn’t expected.

"For a long time, I thought I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t. Even for someone like me, I tried to play it safe, and dammit, you were no safe choice."

His words confused me, and I turned to look at him, my brow furrowing. "What?"

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "You made my heart beat faster. You made my breath hitch with just a look in your eyes. You made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling."

I stood frozen, trying to process everything he was saying.

"You were everything I didn’t know I needed," Mattheo continued, his voice trembling slightly. "But all I did was hurt you. And I hate myself for it."

"Mattheo…"

He closed the distance between us, his hand reaching out to gently cup my cheek.

I wanted to pull away, to protect myself from the whirlwind of emotions his words were stirring up, but I couldn’t move. His touch, his words—they held me in place, and all I could do was stand there, my heart pounding in my chest.

His thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down my cheek, I searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deception, any hint that he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear. But all I saw was sincerity, raw and unfiltered.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, urgent, like he was pouring all of the things he couldn’t say into that kiss. His hands roamed down my back, gripping my waist as he pressed me harder against the wall, and I felt my resolve crumbling with every passing second.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—there was only Mattheo and the heat of his mouth on mine, the feel of his body against me. His tongue traced my bottom lip, and I opened up for him, a moan escaping as he deepened the kiss, his hand tangling in my hair.

The intensity of it all was dizzying, making my head spin as I gave in to the raw, unfiltered desire between us.

Every touch, every kiss, only fanned the flames higher, and I found myself wanting more, needing more.

But then, reality crashed back in.

I pulled away abruptly, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. "No," I whispered, shaking my head as I backed away from him, my hands trembling. "I can’t—I shouldn’t…"

I had to get out of there, away from him, away from the mess of emotions he stirred up inside me.

Without another word, I turned and ran, my footsteps echoing down the empty hallway as I fled from the confusion and the undeniable pull he had over me. My chest was tight, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting feelings as I put as much distance between us as possible.

But even as I ran, the taste of his kiss lingered on my lips, a reminder of the fire I couldn’t seem to escape.

The next day, I found myself sitting in the common room, staring blankly at the fireplace, my thoughts a jumbled mess. I was trying to focus on anything other than the way Mattheo's lips had felt on mine, or the fact that I had practically bolted from him like a coward. But just as I was about to lose myself in those thoughts again, Adrian plopped down beside me, his face twisted in a mix of disbelief and outrage.

"He said I have a small dick!" Adrian practically shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "Can you believe that? The nerve!"

I blinked, trying to process his words. "What?"

Adrian waved his hands around dramatically, still caught up in his rant. "Mattheo! He said I have a small dick! That’s a fucking lie!"

I stared at him, fighting the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "Adrian, really? That’s what you’re focused on right now?"

Adrian didn’t seem to hear me. He was on a roll, pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly as he continued his tirade. "I mean, where does he get off saying that? He thinks just because he’s got that whole brooding, bad-boy thing going on he can go around spreading lies"

"Okay," I said, trying to cut in, but Adrian was too worked up to be interrupted.

"And it’s not even true!" he exclaimed, as if I needed convincing. "I mean, who does he think he is? Mr. Big Shot Riddle with his—"

"Adrian," I tried again, louder this time.

But he was still going. "I swear, I’m going to hex him next time I see him. No, I’m going to curse him. I’m going to—"

"Adrian!" I finally snapped, and he paused mid-rant, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"I believe you," I said, my voice firm. "I swear, I believe you. But can we focus, please? I’ve got bigger problems than Mattheo’s opinion on your… anatomy."

Adrian huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he flopped down beside me again. "Yeah, fine. Whatever. But seriously, what an ass."

I rolled my eyes, trying to push aside the urge to laugh. "Dammit, Adrian. Focus."

He sighed, finally calming down. "Alright, alright. What did you want to talk about?"

I hesitated, the memory of Mattheo’s kiss still fresh in my mind. "That he… he kissed me."

Adrian’s eyes went wide. "Wait, what? He kissed you?"

"That’s what I was trying to say."

"Yes, but can we get back to the part where he called my dick small?" Adrian cut in, as if he couldn’t let it go.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Adrian, for the love of Merlin—"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, finally dropping it. "But for the record, that’s total bullshit."

Even though Betty and Mattheo still looked close, like the good friends they always had been, something had shifted. It was official—they had broken up. Their nearly lifelong relationship, which had been a toxic whirlwind of drama and passion, was finally over. Betty seemed fine, maybe even relieved, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was better at hiding things than I was.

Cedric, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of Mattheo in every way. He was calm, reliable, and safe. It made me wonder how Betty could jump from someone like Mattheo to someone like Cedric without a hitch.

She had spent so much of her life tangled up with Mattheo, and from what I’d heard, it hadn’t been easy. It had been intense, full of ups and downs, yet here she was, seemingly unscathed. I wished I could say the same for myself.

A week passed, and things were surprisingly... quiet. Well, except for Adrian, who couldn’t stop yapping about "that fucker trying to spread misinformation about his dick." It was a constant source of frustration for him, and honestly, the way he went on about it was almost comical.

Every time we crossed paths, Adrian would find some way to bring it up. “I mean, seriously, Y/N,” he’d start, completely exasperated, “the audacity of that asshole! He’s out there spreading outright lies! I should charge him with defamation or something.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. “Defamation?”

“Of character!” Adrian insisted, as if he’d been gravely wronged. “Or defamation of… of something! It’s not just about the dick thing, it’s about the principle!”

“Right, the principle,” I’d say, trying to keep a straight face.

He wasn’t having any of it. “This isn’t funny, Y/N! Misinformation like this can ruin a guy’s reputation!”

Despite his outrage, it was hard to take him seriously when he’d throw phrases like “my honor is at stake” into the mix. I kept telling him to let it go, but that was like asking a Kneazle not to pounce on a mouse.

Meanwhile, I was doing my best to avoid two things: my father’s letters and Mattheo. The former had been piling up, unopened and ignored, on my bedside table. I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with whatever he had to say, not when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control.

And then there was Mattheo. Every time I saw him in the hallways or across the common room, my heart would start racing, and I’d immediately look away, pretending I hadn’t noticed him. But I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and dark, following me even when I wasn’t looking. There was a tension in the air between us, thick and electric, like the calm before a storm.

It wasn’t just his stare that I noticed. It was something else, something impossible to ignore. Strawberries. Every meal, whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Mattheo would go for the strawberries. He’d pick them out with careful precision, eating them slowly, almost deliberately. I tried to ignore it, to push the thought out of my mind, but it lingered, nagging at me every time I saw him reach for the fruit.

In the common room, I’d catch him staring at me from across the room his eyes made my skin prickle. He’d lean back in his chair, casual and confident, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but there was always a hint of something more beneath the surface—a challenge, a dare, as if he was waiting for me to crack.

And I hated that it worked. That I’d feel my heart race, my breath catch, every damn time.

But I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. So I kept my distance, kept my focus on anything but him.

And so the week dragged on, with Adrian’s indignant rants and Mattheo’s silent, smoldering presence, the tension between us building like a storm ready to break.

As I was lost in thought, Adrian suddenly popped up beside me, completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing in my mind. “Hey, Y/N,” he started, his tone unusually chipper. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Not now, Adrian.”

But Adrian, being Adrian, was persistent. He grabbed my arm, a grin spreading across his face as he practically dragged me down the corridor. “Come on, it’ll only take a second.”

“Adrian, what are you—” I started to protest, but before I could finish, he had pushed me into an empty classroom. I stumbled inside, annoyance rising in my chest.

“What the hell, Adrian?” I snapped, turning around just in time to see Mattheo stepping into the classroom as well, looking equally confused. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence.

Realization hit us like a freight train.

I bolted for the door, but it was already locked. Panic flared in my chest as I fumbled with my bag, searching for my wand, only to realize it wasn’t there. Adrian. I closed my eyes, vowing that once I got out of this room, the lies he’d been spouting about his dick would be the least of his worries.

I turned back to face Mattheo, opening my eyes. “Your wand,” I demanded, holding out my hand.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you planning to kill me, love? I’m sure Enzo would be more than willing to help you out, so it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.”

His voice was dripping with that infuriating confidence, and the way he called me “love” sent a shiver down my spine. I scowled, refusing to let him see how much he affected me.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know this was going to happen,” I shot back, my voice laced with anger.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, as calm as ever. “You think I planned this?”

“Who else would’ve put Adrian up to something so stupid?” I spat, my frustration bubbling over.

Mattheo chuckled, shaking his head. “You give me too much credit. But if I had known, I wouldn’t have let him lock us in without a proper plan.”

“Like what?” I snapped. “Driving me insane until I can’t take it anymore?”

He took a step closer. “You’re already there, aren’t you?”

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure. “Yes, Unfortunately.”

He was close now, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His voice dropped to a low murmur, sending a thrill through me despite myself. “But you’re not as immune to me as you like to pretend, are you?”

I glared up at him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mattheo.”

His smirk widened, and he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I don’t need to. You’re doing it for me.”

“So you say you didn’t know this was going to happen?”

He shrugged, still infuriatingly calm. “I didn’t know, but I’m not exactly complaining. We seem to keep finding ourselves in situations like this, don’t we?”

I glared at him, anger flaring up inside me. “This isn’t funny, Mattheo. I’ve had enough of your games.”

“Games?” he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “Who said anything about games, Love?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine with that intense, burning gaze that always made it hard to think straight.

I clenched my fists, trying to hold onto my anger, but it was slipping through my fingers like sand. “You always think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

He was closer now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of him—his cologne and something darker, more dangerous—wrapping around me.

“Maybe I am clever,” he said softly, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down my spine. “Or maybe… I’m just desperate to be close to you.”

“Is that so?” I finally managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “It is,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. "So if you’re going to kill me, love, better do it quick… because every second I’m this close to you knowing I had you once and then lost you, I’m burning alive.”

I shoved him away with all the strength I could muster, my anger boiling over. "I feel sorry for you, you know that?" I spat out, my voice trembling with the intensity of the emotions I was barely holding in check.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes of his. And that only made it worse. “You didn’t even apologize, Mattheo,” I continued, my voice rising. “You didn’t even try. And you know why? Because you don’t know how. You don’t know how to say you’re sorry, how to admit when you’ve messed up. You don’t know how to do the right thing. It must be exhausting being a disappointment all the time.”

I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel just a fraction of the pain he’d put me through. But as the words left my mouth, a sharp pang of regret sliced through me. I hated the look on his face now—the way his eyes clouded over, the way he blinked and looked away, as if trying to shield himself from the weight of my words.

But I wasn’t done. “You have no idea how hard it was, Mattheo. To let you in, to let you see me—the real me. I showed you everything, all my scars, all my wounds. I trusted you with them. And what did you do? You added more. You just kept adding more and more until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He finally looked at me, something in his expression shifting. Slowly, he sat down on one of the desks, the smirk that usually played on his lips completely gone. It was like a mask had dropped, and all that was left was the raw, vulnerable truth beneath.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It is exhausting.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stopped, taken aback, staring at him in surprise. This was different—he was different. There was no bravado, no arrogance. Just… Mattheo.

“So the worst part was letting you down,” he continued, his voice full of a sadness that I wasn’t used to hearing from him. “I was raised by anger and loud voices. But you… you’re so quiet, so pure. Dammit, Y/N, I don’t know how to love, but I know I love you.”

I opened my mouth, the anger flaring up again. “You cheated on—”

“No, Y/N, I didn’t,” he cut me off, his voice firm. “It was over. I would never do that to you, or to her. It was really over, I swear it was.” He looked me straight in the eyes, pleading silently for me to believe him. “I did go to tell her. I hated the idea of her finding out from Inez and not me. We weren’t together, I swear we weren’t.”

He paused, searching my face for any sign of understanding. “We did get together after, because we both were heartbroken and we didn’t know any other way to fix it but it wasn’t the same. It was never the same—not after you.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. “So I was the other woman, then?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, the implication of what that meant, of what I had been to him, cutting deeper than I’d expected.

He shook his head. “You weren’t the other woman, Y/N. You were the one who made me realize what I wanted, what I needed. You were the one who showed me that there was more to life than just be angry, than just doing fighting for everything. You made me want more—made me want to be more. I didn’t cheat on you, because in my heart… it was you. Even when I didn’t realize it, even when I was too much of a coward to admit it, it was you. It’s still you.”

He took a deep breath, his voice softening as he continued. “I won’t lie to you, and I won’t pretend that I’m not messed up. But what I feel for you… it’s real. It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

I looked at him, my breath hitching in my throat as I tried to keep the tears from spilling over. "I was raised by anger too, Mattheo," I began, my voice trembling. "But not the loud kind. It was quiet and slow, like a poison that seeps in and stays with you. It was the kind of anger that doesn’t shout but whispers, making you question everything, making you feel like you’re never enough."

I paused, struggling to get the words out, the emotions too raw, too painful. "And then you came along. You were loud, you were the voice in the silence, the one who made me feel something other than that suffocating anger. You—" My voice caught in my throat, and I couldn’t finish. Instead, I just sat down too, the weight of everything crashing down on me.

For a moment, we just sat there in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts, in the wreckage of what we’d done to each other. Then, I started again, my voice softer, more vulnerable than it had been before.

"I lived for the hope of what was between us. I wanted so badly for it to be real, for it to be serious. I cancelled plans, stayed up late, made excuses just to see you, to be near you. I was always waiting, always hoping that this time, you’d see me, really see me. And when you did, it was like nothing else mattered. It was like you were the only thing that mattered."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing tighter. "But every time I got my hopes up, I paid for it. I paid for it with every tear, with every sleepless night, with every second I spent wondering if you felt the same, if you cared as much as I did. And when it all fell apart, when you walked away, no one blamed you. No one called you the names they called me. I was the one who paid the price, while you… you just moved on."

Mattheo was silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as he absorbed my words. Finally, he spoke,"I didn’t know how to love you properly, because I didn’t know how to love at all."

He paused, his voice breaking as he continued. "But I know I love you. Even when I didn’t want to admit it, even when I tried to convince myself that I didn’t, I knew. And it scared the hell out of me. Because you deserve better, you deserve someone who knows how to love you right, who doesn’t screw it up every chance he gets."

He looked away, his hands trembling slightly as he spoke. "But I tried. Dammit, Y/N, I tried. I tried to be what you needed, what you wanted. But I failed. I failed because I didn’t know how to be that for you. And I hated myself for it. I still do."

I stared at him, my heart aching at the raw honesty in his voice, the pain that I could see etched on his face.

Tears streamed down my face, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t catch my breath. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and all I wanted to do was escape—to run from everything, from him, from the pain that seemed to swallow me whole.

"Y/N… love?" Mattheo’s voice broke through the haze, soft and filled with desperation as he knelt in front of me, trying to get me to look at him.

"Look at me, love. Look into my eyes. You love doing that, don’t you? Come on, just breathe with me, okay?"

But I couldn’t. My whole body was shaking, and it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t think straight. All I could feel was the panic, the overwhelming fear that I was drowning, that I was going to fall apart completely.

"I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I never wanted to hurt you like this. I never wanted any of this to happen."

His hands moved to cup my face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that continued to fall. "Please, forgive me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Anything. I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just name it."

I tried to focus on his words, tried to let them ground me, but it was so hard. The pain was so deep, so consuming, and I didn’t know how to make it stop.

"Please, Y/N," he continued, his voice growing softer, more desperate. "I need you. I need you to know that you’re the one I want, the one I need."

I felt his hand move to the back of my neck, his touch gentle as he tried to steady me. "You’re the one I love," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "The only one. There was no one else. I swear it."

"When I went to see Betty that night, it was over between us. It had been over for a while and I told you that love i didn’t lie about that I swear. I just… I couldn’t let her find out from someone else. I wanted to tell her myself. I didn’t want her to think… to think that I had been lying to her, that I had been with you while I was still with her. I wanted to be honest with her, with you. But I swear, Y/N, I didn’t cheat. Not with you, not with her."

His eyes searched mine, pleading with me to believe him. "You have to believe me. I know I messed up, I know I hurt you, but I never meant to. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to handle everything. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I swear it."

Tears streamed down my face, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered again, his lips brushing against my hair. "I’ll never hurt you like this again. I promise."

I felt the tears well up again, but this time, they were different. They weren’t tears of fear or anger, but something softer, something that felt almost like relief.

"I’ll do anything for you, baby," he repeated, his voice tender. "Just tell me what you need, and it’s yours."

The door creaked open, and I jumped slightly, still nestled in Mattheo’s arms. I quickly wiped at my face as Adrian stepped inside, a smirk plastered on his face.

"Please tell me you got him begging on his knees," Adrian said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Mattheo stiffened beside me, his expression darkening. He was up on his feet in a flash, and I knew that look—he was ready to kill Adrian. I quickly grabbed his hand, holding him back. "Don’t."

Adrian’s eyes widened in mock fear, holding up his hands as if to surrender. "Whoa, easy there, killer. I’m just here to check if my best friend needs any emotional support after dealing with, well, you."

"Do you have a death wish?" Mattheo growled, taking a step toward him.

"Mattheo, calm down," I said firmly, tugging on his hand to pull him back. I could feel the tension in his muscles as he glared at Adrian.

"You know," Adrian continued, seemingly oblivious to the danger he was in, "I’m just saying, I’ve never seen Mattheo Riddle on his knees for anyone. If I had a camera, I’d have snapped a photo for the history books."

"Adrian, shut up," I said,"You’re not helping."

"I think I’m helping," Adrian shot back with a grin. "In fact, I’m the best help you’ve got. What are you gonna do without me, Y/N? Cry on Mattheo’s shoulder all day? Please, that’s my job."

Mattheo looked like he was about to lunge at him, but I squeezed his hand.

Enzo suddenly appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a bemused expression on his face.

"Did I miss the show?" Enzo asked, raising an eyebrow. "I heard something about Mattheo begging?"

"I was not begging," Mattheo snapped, shooting Adrian a murderous glare.

Adrian shrugged, still smirking. "You say ‘not begging,’ I say ‘finally showing some humility.’ Same difference."

"Do you have a death wish or something, Adrian?" Enzo said, shaking his head with a grin.

"I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking," Adrian replied, crossing his arms. "Besides, someone needs to keep Riddle here in check. Can’t have him getting too full of himself."

"I can take care of that myself, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes at the two of them.

Mattheo finally relaxed a bit, though he still looked ready to strangle Adrian. "You’re lucky she’s here," he muttered darkly.

"Yeah, I know," Adrian said, giving me a wink. "I’d be toast without her around."

Enzo chuckled, pushing off the doorframe. "Alright, enough with the macho posturing. We’ve got better things to do than watch you two flirt-fight."

"Who’s flirting?" I shot back, crossing my arms.

"You," Enzo said, grinning. "And him." He pointed between Mattheo and me. "And for the record, you’re terrible at hiding it."

"Like I’d ever flirt with this asshole," I said, though my cheeks heated at the insinuation.

"Oh, please, Y/N," Adrian said, rolling his eyes. "You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him right now."

Mattheo finally smirked, his anger dissipating. "See? Even Adrian can see it."

"I’m going to kill you both," I muttered, but there was a smile tugging at my lips.

"Hey, that’s my line," Mattheo said, looking down at me with a soft grin. "But you’re cute when you’re mad, so I’ll let it slide."

Adrian snorted. "Wow, she’s got you whipped, doesn’t she?"

"I’m not whipped," Mattheo shot back, though he didn’t sound too convincing.

"You kind of are," Enzo said, laughing.

"And for you information Riddle that my dick is perfectly average-sized so stop spreading rumors, thank you very much!"

"It’s not a rumor if it’s true."

Adrian’s face flushed with annoyance. "That’s bullshit, and you know it, Riddle! Quit trying to spread misinformation about my buddy!"

"Adrian,Now, can we please focus on something other than your you know for five minutes?"

"Five minutes is all I need," Adrian quipped with a wink.

"Five minutes is all it’ll take for me to bury you six feet under," Mattheo Said.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, Romeo."

Adrian threw his hands up in exasperation. "I’m just saying, that kind of rumor could ruin a guy’s reputation!"

"Yeah, because that’s exactly what I was trying to do," Mattheo said.

I rolled my eyes and tugged on Mattheo’s hand, pulling him toward the door. "Let’s get out of here before I have to deal with any more of this."

"Good idea," Mattheo agreed, following me out of the room. "Before I decide to actually kill them."

Adrian called after us, "You know you love us!"

As we walked down the hallway, Mattheo turned to me with a lopsided grin. "So, I’m forgiven?"

I glanced up at him, trying to suppress a smile. "We can work on that," I replied, teasingly.

His grin grew wider, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, seeing you all flustered and cute when you’re mad really does something to me."

My cheeks flushed red, and before I could respond, he captured my lips in a quick, heated kiss. It was so sudden that I barely had time to process it before he pulled away, smirking at my dazed expression.

"You can’t just kiss me like that out of nowhere!" I exclaimed, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

"Well, I sure as hell will," he said confidently, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "If I get to finally call you my girl, then I’ll be going around showing off and making sure everyone gets the message."

I raised an eyebrow. "What message?"

"That you’re off-limits. No one gets close to you, and no one says a damn word that could upset you."

"No?" raised an eyebrow, teasing him. "And if they do?"

Mattheo’s eyes darkened, and his lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Let’s just say I don’t think they’d want to try that again."

My eyes widened in realization. “Wait, are you telling me you’ve been hitting guys who talk bad about me?”

He didn’t deny it, just gave me a sly smile, and suddenly, I couldn’t help the rush of excitement that went through me. The thought of him defending me like that—it was kind of a turn-on.

I smirked, stepping closer to him. “Okay, fine. That was such a turn-on. You can kiss me now.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as he pressed his lips to mine again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more passionate, and I melted into him, forgetting everything else.

When we finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dizzy, he grinned down at me. "I’m going to love showing everyone that you’re mine."

I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped a beat at his words. "Just don’t go overboard with it, okay?"

"No promises," he murmured against my lips before stealing one more kiss.

[reidmania]

hello!! ok so, i was wondering if i could request a fic that is based around autumn/ october/ halloween because spencer loves spooky season and i fuck with that, anyway, so could you tie that detail into smth kinda like your “everywhere everything” fic fluff wise because i went feral for that one lmao. feel free to ignore if youre not up to it, but i’d love to read what youve got if you do write this. 💙

EVERYWHERE EVERYTHING | spencer reid

part one, part two

summary; spending the week before halloween & going to the pumpkin patch with Spencer in your home town.

warnings; pure love sick fluff, talks about home towns, established relationships, fem reader, halloween, mentions of driving, rushed ending sorry!!

an; i decided to make this request a part two to the everywhere everything fic bc the next verse just fits so well i think?? but it can be read without reading the first part. and that whole song feels like love in autumn!!

im also australian and we dont celebrate halloween like americans do, ive never been to a pumpkin patch so please bare w me during this.

'Drive slowly, I know every route in this county, maybe that ain't such a bad thing I'll tell you where not to speed. It's been a long year and all of our book's pages dog-eared We write out the ends on our palms, dear. Then forget to read, we didn't know that the sun was collapsing 'Til the seas rose and the buildings came crashing. We cried, "Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh" Everywhere, everything, I wanna love you 'til we're food for the worms to eat 'Til our fingers decompose Keep my hand in yours'

"Slow down" You huffed out as Spencer turned down a road you knew all to well, it was familiar and came with a sense of home in place. It was the same road you remembered your father being pulled over everytime for speeding, the same road you had been pulled over on when you had first gotten your licence.

Spencer did as you told him, after sitting in the car with you for an hour mumbling about where was and wasn't safe to go a little faster than the speed limit, he knew to listen. This was your home, you knew it better than he would.

He even refrained from correcting some of your 'fun facts' abot your home town. Purely because listening to your excitement while talking about it made his heart too happy to say anything.

"You know we have gone past about three different pumpkin patches on the way" Spencer asked, raising his eyebrow softly as his head turned from the road to look at you for a moment before turning back to the road.

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile taking place over your lips. “Yes, but, this one’s the best. We are literally two minutes away. Please don’t complain.” You muttered with a smile.

The air between the two of you was warm. It lingered with peace and quiet love, the sort that didn’t need to be shouted from a roof top because it was whispered through the way Spencer’s hands reached to grab yours, the way his eyes danced between you and the road, the way the music playing was what you enjoyed rather than the normal radio he would let play in the background.

It didn’t need to be shouted because it was whispered through the way Spencer’s face lit up when he parked the car and looked out the window, the way he turned back to you with just about the widest grin you think ever possible, the way he leant in to place a gentle kiss against your forehead before he got out, walking around the car to open the door for you.

“Pretty right?” You grinned up at him as his eyes took over the scene, the leaves that covered the ground around your feet all the prettiest shades of orange and yellow, the scent of cinnamon filling the air around you, as patches and patches of pumpkins laid in front of you, all surrounded by a brown picket fence.

He just placed another kiss on your the top of your head, clasping his hand with yours, fingers interlinked between one another. The smile on his face and look in his eyes said more about his excitement than words possibly good — so you didn’t mind the lack of response as you began walking towards the patches.

“I wanna find the biggest one.” You mumbled out, looking around the large patches. There was families, friends, other couples surrounding you but your focus was on nothing but Spencer, and finding the biggest possible pumpkin.

Spencer snorted as he looked up at from patches, to look at you. He took in how you looked curled into one of his knitted sweaters, arms wrapped around your torso in order to shield you from the autumn breeze.

“I think that kid just took the biggest one”

You furrowed your eyebrows and spun your body to look behind you to where a kid was walking — To be fair the pumpkin his dad was holding was pretty big, but the smile on the kids face when he jumped around holding hands with his mum made you not mind so much.

“Well.. I’ll get the second biggest” You settled. Spencer smiled as he shook his head, tugging you slightly closer by your hand to pull you into his chest. His hand left yours as his arms came to rest around your waist.

You laughed, as your hands came up to his upper back and the back of his head gently. The two of you swayed side to side for a moment. “Happy?” You asked, silly question. You could feel it radiating off of him.

He pulled his head away to press his forehead against yours, his nose knocking yours lightly as he scrunched up his face for a moment, before pulling back to look down at your face. His lip quipped up into a soft smile. “Very.”

You lean back, his hands moving to hold onto your hips as his thumb slipped up under your sweater, his sweater. His thumb ran small circles over the skin in place. Your smile widened, heart exploding as your skin burnt under the cold of his fingertips.

“Come on, I want to find the perfect pumpkin. We should have a pumpkin carving competition this year, that would be so much fun” You rambled as you pulled away from his touch to walk around the lines and lines of pumpkins.

He laughed, “We should.” He agreed softly, because why would he ever deny you what you wanted, especially something to do with halloween.

He watched as you bent down to run your fingertips run gently along one of the pumpkins in the row: It was a decent size and probably would be simply to carve since he knew your mind was now hyper-fixated on the idea of pumpkin carving instead of finding the biggest possible pumpkin.

“Actually- Did you know each year 150 million dollars is made from pumpkins, and 98 percent of that is from people who purchase them to make jack-o’-lanterns, and 46% of amercia—”

“How many is that?” You cut off as you look up at him from where you were leant down to look at the pumpkins. He smiled.

“A hundred and fifty four million” He answered without even having to think about it. It never failed to stun you. You hummed allowing him to continue on telling you his facts.

“So 46 percent — Or A hundred and fifty four million people, in America make jack-o-lanterns every year. During Halloween the most reason for injury is actually because of pumpkin carving.” He stated.

You stood up, a soft smile on your face as you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Well maybe people should be more careful. I’ve never gotten an injury while carving a pumpkin” You hummed out.

He snorted, taking your hand gently. “Have you ever carved a pumpkin?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

You gasped, “Yes- Actually!! I have.” You said, your voice an octave higher than normally. He smiled, nodding his head in disbelief which only caused you to shake your own.

The rest of the day consisted of you and Spencer walking around the pumpkin patch, making jokes and laughing with one another, you even tried a pumpkin, cinnamon cookie from a stand nearby.. Safe to say you weren’t too fond of it.

But you were fond of the way Spencer’s eyes shone in a different sort of way when the two of you finally picked out a pumpkin each, the way his mood seemed unwavering during the fall season.

You loved him, and you loved halloween.

[persicipen]

𝐼. lapis lazuli ノ neuvillette

𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲. ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

₊ ˙ ⊹ . about the storm raging through the night, the abyssal creature of ethereal features, the warmth of the stove.

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 3.8k ノ fem reader — folktales au ノ no warnings for now . just some world building of the au ノ should be gn reader here but future chapters will be fem ノ first meeting with dragon neuvi ノ slightly ooc neuvillette — less human and not bound by the court ノ no beta i’m alone in this hehe but i hope it will be a nice read ♡

Beware the waters deep and blue, Where dragons’ whispers call to you. The sea will sing its siren’s song, And draw you where you don’t belong.

This is what kids here sing when playing another version of hide and seek, unknown to you, as you stroll through the morning market. Slightly over-ripe apples and quinces pile up on top of wooden carts, golden marzipan shines on display inside the window of the sweet shop, a gem among everyday pastries and baked goods.

As the grocery shopping was as boring as usual, you wondered about the rhyme, but only vaguely. Maybe some older folks will know the legends that inspired the verses to bloom or can point at the books in the library that have tasty remnants from local legends on their yellowed pages.

“Oh, you know, the same old story — someone’s daughter drowned, and they had to find a better explanation than their child’s stupidity,” one of the older ladies started the daily dose of gossip after hearing what’s on your mind.

Regardless of your willingness to join the elderly tea party at the outside table of the cafe, you’re pulled by their curious eyes and a free chair right next to them.

“Don’t be rude, Celine! There are some who quite recently lost their family to the flood!” complained the one to the left, adding a third spoon of sugar to her teacup.

“Well, it’s quite romantic if you consider it a suicide. Happened quite a few times in the history of our village. Some people long to reunite with nature,” said the one to the right, playing with her golden jewellery that probably weighed more than the bones of her skinny wrists.

“Like I said, stupidity! Do not listen to her, sugar! Bernadette is still mourning a lover from half a century ago who tried to convince her to take a dip together, and when she refused, he forgot about her!” bit back Celine, this time almost coughing into the black coffee she tried to drink while talking.

“Some say he simply moved to the city for better prospects. Well, since he hasn’t ever returned, it must’ve been successful,” added Bernadette, combing through her beetroot-crimson locks, dyed not long ago, before taking a sip of the mixture that’s probably more sugar than tea by now.

“I don’t blame him! The air here is foul!”

“Let them say what they want, but there’s still more magic present here, on the outskirts of civilization, than in the middle of the capital. It’s not for everyone!”

“You mean that kelpie that roams between the lake and the shore?”

“For example. You can’t find a kelpie in the metropolis, am I right?”

“It’s dangerous!”

“It wouldn’t eat you, anyway. You’re all bones and too bitter!”

The elderly ladies didn't stop gossiping for another hour, and it was too boring to listen to their recounts of good old days and how nowadays it’s all bad.

Now, back to the reason why you returned here—

Without any sense of purpose in the city anymore, you went back to the small village by the sea where you had lived before. Tranquil, secluded, and adorned with an antiquated charm, it had all the qualities you needed and none of the numbing, pulsing pace of the capital. Here, it was just wind, sand, and water, and your quaint little cottage with its direct view of the beach from the windows.

In the embrace of this village, you found yourself drawn to spending hours gazing out those windows, lost in thoughts and appreciating the ever-changing nature. Sometimes the weather was delicate, a pearlescent light seeping down onto the damp land, casting a silvery hue across the sands. Other times, it was brash, sudden, dark, and cut with blinding thunders, the sky tearing open to reveal the raw power of the elements. Morning mists covered the flat ground like a blanket, their fingers curling around the village, and even from a distance, the humid cold wafted in through the front door whenever you dared to take a peek outside.

Your life is alright now. Peaceful, at last. Too early for retirement, but perhaps none of the careers available in the principal city of the region were for you. You see and greet the old ladies you knew from your youth, tending to their plots of vegetables and flowers while listening to their gossip. Old ladies are always full of it and more than excited to share the sweet news with someone else.

Each day in the village feels like a page from a folktale, the air thick with stories from years before—no one even remembers who thought of it first, who added the unrealistic situations, and who told the truth. You hear whispers of ancient prophecies carried on the salty breeze, legends that have woven themselves into the very fabric of this place. The market is a trove of mysteries, where you sort through trinkets and treasures, each one with a story of its own.

The villagers speak of the sea serpents and dragons who sometimes venture too far into the bay, abandoning their kingdom of rough waves and open seas to take a rest through spring and autumn seasons. The sea itself is a living entity, its moods shifting from serene calm to tempestuous fury. On calm days, the water is a mirror, reflecting the sky’s soft blues and the occasional wisp of a cloud, pearlescent light seeping down onto damp land. But when storms roll in, the ocean roars and crashes against the spiky stones guarding the gulf, brash, sudden, dark and cut with blinding thunders right behind the nook. You find solace in these rhythms, the ways of nature comforting you in a way the city never could.

In your little cottage, surrounded by the mists, you’re stuck seeking a new purpose. Sorting letters at the nearby post office becomes a ritual, a way to connect with the lives and stories of the villagers. Each envelope, each package, a fragment of someone’s existence, a thread in the tapestry of the village’s collective narrative.

As the days blend into a gentle, melancholic rhythm, you start to understand why the villagers lean into experiencing the magical encounters. Partly because the days are dull, but there’s something in the air—an electrifying howl that brings pure magic from both the sea and the hills. It is said that the creatures appear to those who truly listen, who open their hearts to the whispers of the waves and the winds. You find yourself dreaming of the serpents and the dragons, perhaps having a preference for water beasts instead of these cutting through the air. Their shimmering scales and ancient eyes reappear whenever you drift off during your naps, feeling a connection that defies explanation. In these dreams, the dragon speaks to you in a language you cannot decipher yet understand the meaning within your soul, its voice a symphony of the sea.

Your return to the village is more than a retreat from the city; it is a journey into the heart of the unknown, a quest for meaning in a world of mist and magic. Here, in this place where time seems to stand still, maybe you will find yourself, too.

The transition from the early spring to a muggy start of the summer brings storms more violent than the winter ones. The bay is safe, but the roar of the sea and coal-black clouds wander into the land, rustling against your windows when you sip on the afternoon tea, warmly wrapped in the blanket while reading a book too old to guess its title from the worn-out cover.

It’s hard to focus on words, though. You still think about the fisherman who, earlier that week, caught a mermaid in his nets, all accidentally, but it worked as a catalyst for more exceptional meetings between the villagers and the magical creatures. The couple that rides the britzka to deliver the packages claimed they’d seen a dead kelpie further down the shore, devoured by something more evil—dangerous to horses, but not for humans, they quickly assured.

Your mind drifts to the dreams you’ve been having about the serpents and the dragons. They come in vivid fragments, again, taking your attention away from the printed sentences. It all leaves you with an inexplicable yearning, a sense that your life is intertwined with the mysteries of the sea in ways you are only beginning to understand.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the room, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that shakes the walls. Startled, you set your book aside and move to the window, peering through the rain-streaked glass. The weather outside is ferocious, waves sliding far onto the beach and taking the soil into the depths, carving new puddles and meanders. As you watch, something catches your eye—a figure, shining like a fallen star and indistinct, sprawled on the sand where the sea meets the land. Such a violent storm brought a creature to the shore.

“W-what is this…?” you mutter to yourself, struck with worry.

You throw on a cloak and rush out, the wind and rain lashing against you as you make your way to the shore.

The unconscious beast lies motionless, half-buried in the wet, murky sand, its chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You would’ve thought it was a human at first, but as soon as you searched around its body for human traits, all you could focus on were the scales, the slippery skin, the bluish tints of the beautifully pale arms. The hair, iridescent and tangled with the sea foam, frames a face that is eerily beautiful and hauntingly white. A man, probably, so you hesitate to bring him home, but there’s no other place to help him.

Leaving him during a heavy rain on the beach would simply mean finding his dead body the next morning.

Gently, you kneel beside him, pausing only for a moment before you slip your arms under his body. It feels cool and strangely slick to the touch, but you manage to lift it, surprised by its lightness. Struggling against the wind, you carry him back to your cottage, your steps quickened by the urgency of the storm and the fragility of the being in your arms. Never has the short distance between your doors and the shore taken you so long to cross, inflicting panic along your limbs.

It doesn’t seem like it should stop pouring outside anytime soon when you set the unconscious body on the floor, dragging your hands across your face to wipe away the droplets running down from your hairline.

The pale man lies motionless, save for the rise and fall of his chest. Gently, you examine his face, with its long, elegant nose and high cheekbones, noticing how each trivial feature works together to create a visage that is oddly ethereal and entirely entrancing. You feel compelled to trace your fingers across it, to confirm the solidity of its beauty. It’s cold under your touch, a few grains of sand sticking to the clammy skin, yet still looking remarkably human, except for the hair, tinted a bluish shade from seawater. Even old people from the village have their hair muddy, incomparable to his starlight silver tresses.

Relieved that he is alive and in the warmth of your house regaining colour on his cheeks, you dash to prepare a bath. Scented with healing salt, you worry if it’s not too piping hot for him because the steam covers the entirety of your small bathroom. Some spare clothes — shirts too big for you and bought on a whim for a tiny price in one of the thrift stores of the city of Fontaine — are waiting on a chair nearby for when he’d be ready.

By the time you return to him, he’s blinking in a daze, half-sitting, half-lying.

“How do you feel?” you ask, helping him stand up. His long, sinewy limbs work perfectly, showing no signs of fatigue or pain from his body dragging against the stormy ocean, trying to cling onto survival. “I… my apologies for bringing you here! I feared you would be in danger if I didn’t bring you in.”

“Thank you for your concern…” His voice is weak, whispery like a lone gust of wind along the flat shore, the roar of the sea having been nothing but a memory now. He touches his forehead with his delicate fingers, shaking his head slightly. “It must’ve been terrible to wander outside during a storm.”

Despite your willingness to continue the conversation, you weren’t entirely sure if he’s strong enough to put him through questioning. Your head is bursting with doubts. To prevent it from overwhelming you in an instant, you change the topic, informing him about the readied bath and gently guiding him toward the inner door.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you to get sick, so please… I hope I can help you this much, at least with a bit of hospitality from my side. At least for the night.”

He only nods, entering the other room. When he raises his hands to reach out for the bathtub, the muscles move under the skin like slender fish, agile and beautiful.

“I will leave you alone now, but call for me if you need anything.”

You knock every so often to check on him, clean the rest of the main room while he takes a while, warming up and getting dressed. Forcing yourself to work on something, you push the worries to the back of your mind, folding the bedsheets with trembling fingers.

To have a stranger late at night in your house… not entirely human, a watery creature of handsome features. Who knows what can possibly happen if he stays here past midnight? But how could you throw someone out into the cold evening with nowhere else to go?

“Excuse me?” he calls softly, stepping behind you and catching you off-guard. “I apologise for presenting myself in such a state… It was not my intention to scare you off or to have you drag me out of the waters, risking your own health… Are you alright?” He pauses, not coming closer in regard to your comfort.

You look down at yourself, remembering only now that the sleeves of your chemise and the hem got soaked outside, and you forgot to change with all the cleaning activities you’ve been doing around the house.

“Yes, I am,” you breathe out, biting back the shame, turning fully to face him and offering a polite smile. “It’s me who should ask if you’re alright…”

He lets out a sigh, shaking his head slowly. “Nothing of your concern, rest assured. It might’ve been irresponsible of me to wander out of safety into the storm.”

“I… who… what are you exactly?” you mumble, picking up his damp clothes, a rag, what you would call in your mind but are too afraid to say out loud, from the floor. “Some sort of local deity?”

“A water dragon. But yes, known in this region very well. Most have seen my image through raindrops on their windows and the clouds gathering during stormy days.” He braids his shining palladium locks together with indigo strands growing out of his head, perhaps a pair of soft horns that look more like long ribbons in the shade of the clear depths.

“A dragon!” you repeat.

He chuckles softly. “You’ve never heard about them in myths? They’re common all around these parts.”

“I did! Yes, of course! It’s just… quite unthinkable, won’t you agree?” You turn your gaze to the floor. “I must sound like a fool.”

“Not at all. I’m sure your curiosity is reasonable.” He continues his soft smile, bringing in front of him the delicate hands, their webs shimmering in the dim light of the living room. “I owe you my life, after all. Even I have limits and a storm like the one wrecking havoc outside is no less lethal to me as to humans at sea… May I sit?”

You nod and start rummaging through the drawers and shelves of your kitchen in search of something to give him for dinner, feeling rude for not having prepared anything sooner. The small stove — if the warm embers were to be called so — was not to be used today anymore. Perhaps there’s still some leftovers from lunch, but that would be ridiculous to offer to someone who looks almost immaculate, dressed in your shirt with sleeves rolled up, save for his still damp hair. An evil twist of fate, to have a sudden guest of unimaginable elegance and charm, yet nothing of equal value to feed him. The plan was to get groceries tomorrow.

“A-Are you hungry? Or in need of a drink?”

“Not necessarily, though I do appreciate your kind offer. A warm water or tea will suffice.”

You set the kettle, unsure of what else to do. With a soft purring of the water inside and the creak of wood inside the stove, you shuffle your weight from one leg to another, clearly stiff under the unusual atmosphere. He seems of no danger, a subtle and slow creature resembling a true gentleman, if you were to describe him to someone else. Almost human, maybe even enough for you to forget about the mystical traits once you part with him, your memory remembering only a man washed ashore.

“So… Water dragons,” you start, afraid of where the conversation may lead to, “the village has many legends about dragons. Well, I wanted to believe them all… But to know that it’s really true, right here in front of me. Well, now it seems like a different tale.”

He hums softly in response, looking at you with attentive eyes, sincere yet somewhat guarded. He’s hesitant to give away too much, it seems.

“What are they like? W-what is your kin doing here? If… If I may ask.”

He ponders on it for a moment, no harm in your innocent question besides being slightly invasive. What a mere mortal may want to know about magical species? After all, he’s been returning to the bay exactly because of those good elemental energy currents — they must be affecting people living here, too.

“Well, dragons live mostly in solitude, having large territories for themselves. Though, mostly there’s a certain purpose behind it. But I shall spare you the monotonous details.” He holds his hands together, leaning back in the chair. “Peninsulas and bays are relatively safe, so we come there to rest, to mate, to remake old spells guarding the shore, to replenish mana near our birthplace.”

You listen closely, staring at the ceiling and praying that the water will boil faster, soon, to give you an excuse to step away. Not only from the embarrassment of these topics, but the throbbing in your chest making it difficult to breathe, an unfamiliar smell reaching your nose, coating your lungs with a sweetness hard to get outside the honey delivery to the market. It’s not tea, not this time, albeit you picked a good one, a special one to treat your guest with generous care.

“Huh…”

“Is everything alright?” He stops the monologue, cautiously eyeing your silhouette.

“Just tired. It must be the pressure change from the weather. I usually am not performing any exercises at this hour. I… I would be going to bed soon, actually.” Admitting it turns into a pang of guilt dashing across your shoulders.

“Would you like me to stay somewhere else? I don’t want to cause any trouble…”

“N-No! Please, worry not!” You shake your head, surprised by the sound of your own voice dying in the stuffy air of the cottage. “There’s nowhere else to go at this hour here… I thought of taking you to the doctor in the morning. But I cannot imagine letting you out during the storm! Even a short walk to the closest neighbour is too risky now…” You admit with defeat, not wishing to sound that desperate. Albeit, appearing too caring is still better than treating a presumably wounded guest with icy coldness.

The nameless visitor just glances across your body, eyebrows furrowed in a handsome expression of concern — that would not be gentlemanly to let you suffer from the exhaustion just because he was careless in his sea ventures. How are you even that trusting, even more after he revealed his true nature? Shouldn’t humans be scared or suspicious in such moments? Is there really no other way and you play along, acting like it doesn’t bother you — but in reality, it does?

He sighs, letting go of the topic, at least for the time being, while you’re busy hiding your emotions behind the act of pouring tea into the cups. Observant of your actions, as if waiting for a chance, he keeps his iridescent eyes on your hands.

“Do you need help with that? You’re shaking. Careful with the boiling water…” He muses quietly, but the answer is in your reluctant headshake.

The gentle dance of fiery pixies from the candles and the lamps scattered on shelves and other flat surfaces around the house gives a vibe much warmer than the actual temperature inside. You never liked fire, to be honest, not that much, but at this hour you wouldn’t say no to a gentle flame coaxing you into its arms for warmth and solace. For all the issues your little stove causes you per year, you’re glad it’s enough to heat your creaky cottage during the colder months.

When you pass him a cup, his webbed fingers linger around yours a little longer than necessary.

What was this peculiar feeling? Wasn’t it just you misinterpreting the situation? Everything was weird since the moment you met him. How could you know if he truly does not possess the will to harm you? So far, you were ready to invite him in, offer him a spare bedroom, lend him some of your clothes. But just when you started questioning your decision, you wobble on your legs and lose your balance.

There’s a feeling of emptiness around you, so precipitous that your knees bend and you close your eyes with an exclamation. The man reaches out, catching you before you fall to the floor, already unconscious…

For those who gaze into the tide, May find their hearts with dragons tied. But heed this warning, lest you fall, The sea’s embrace will claim you all.

[officialundertakersmoocher]

may i pls request a scenario with violet and afab reader where he’s drawing them nude and then smut ensues?

An Artistic Craving

yall i am so sorry for the extended break, and I hope this meets your expectations 😭

Warnings: NSFW, Nudity, +18, Slightly OOC

• • •

"Stay still, okay?"

"But, Vi, it's so embarrassing..." You attempt to cover your assets which have been shamefully exposed to his eyes in the dimly lit study room.

"Don't think of it that way... It's just a study." You tried not to ask many questions, after all, he was more versed in the arts than you were.

It was lucky that you two happened to catch this moment alone, unchaperoned. Vi, actually very uncharacteristically, was the one to insist that he needed you as a model to finish this study to complete a project he was working on for his upcoming art exam.

After all, you two had been seeing each other for a long time now and were not only comfortable enough to do such a thing, but you also just happened to owe him a favor.

This is how you ended up in such a position for your lover, spewn on a dark purple couch in a private study room near the Purple House dorms. You knew that Gregory was too shy to say so, but there are many books on campus filled with similar references free for his use. He just wanted to spend time with you in an intimate setting such as this one.

You caught him stealing glances at you every once in a while, and he could sense your growing discomfort from staying still for so long.

He left his sketchbook behind momentarily to kneel down beside you and suddenly the room felt more quiet. Your eyes locked as he gently adjusts the position of your hand, placing it under your head in a graceful fashion.

He tilts his head and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face as if to get a better view.

He tried to back away to retreat to his seat, but was caught by your hand pulling him back. He sat confused for a moment but could tell your eyes were asking him to stay.

You move yourself upwards to face him and pull him into a kiss. His lips are soft and welcoming and he eventually moves to grab your waist.

You slowly move him onto the couch with you, straddling his waist. He begins to become shy from this now suddenly risqué moment and pulls away from your lips.

"Love, I don't know if we should..." You could feel the deep heat resonating from his cheeks, so you asked him softly, "Would you like me to stop...?"

"Please no..."

You just barely hear him mutter this, but his hot breath on your neck shows you how desperate he has become.

Before you know it, there are clothes being dragged away and thrown about the room, never finding the motivation to tear your lips apart from one another. You both are stuck in an agonizing dance, waiting for the moment that you both can be as close as you desire.

The room has reached a stillness as the dim candlelight bounces off of skin, and hot breath stills in the air. You are both frozen in time, taking in the moment for the first time now, and as you do, you notice that you've never really seen your lover in such a passionate way as this.

In this position, he's kneeling his body over yours and bowing his head in a shy manor. From the silence you hear him speak softly, asking, "Is this what you want, for sure?" And you have seemingly been too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the lingering question prodding in-between your thighs. You suddenly feel a harsh flush invading your cheeks and a needy wetness in the very same place that he finds his attention.

You turn your head to avoid the embarrassment of facing him as you answer his looming question.

Your voice shakes more than you intended it to, more out of anticipation than anything else. "Yes, of course, p-please keep going, my love-"

However, he catches you off guard by lowing his head down to your thighs. His proximity meant you could feel his breath tickle your skin and it invigorated you.

He softly grazed your folds with his fingers, and slowly exploring your body until he reached the most sensitive parts of you. The moment he grazed your clit, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, which is exactly what pushed him to continue despite feeling his own uncertainty.

He follows the sounds of your sweet moans, touching you and exploring your body in ways that neither of you have experienced before. Before long you find yourself growing more in need of his touch, pulling his hands and guiding him to kiss you. You both are grasping for each others touch and cursing into the silence of this empty room when the tension reaches an all-time high. You find yourself guiding his cock lower as a sign that you are ready (or maybe as a sign that you can't wait much longer now).

He follows your lead, pushing himself slowly across your folds, letting out a sigh as he feels the warmth of your pussy against his skin. He has one hand behind your head as a comforting act as he slowly guides himself between your thighs. He watches your expression change to a grimace of pain, almost stopping himself, but instead he caresses your face in an attempt to sooth your pain. You start to adjust yourself and whisper for him to keep going, and after a few moments the pain starts to replace itself with great pleasure.

You can't help the moans that escape your lips as you grasp onto him, likely leaving scratch marks on his upper back.

However, he doesn't mind this one bit. He can only focus on this heavenly feeling that seemed to blur his vision and tingle at his senses. The pleasure became overwhelming before you could comprehend it and it feels like heaven.

The sounds that filled the room should have alerted the others of the acts you both were sharing tonight, and maybe, just maybe, you should have been more worried, but neither of you could have the gut to care. Not tonight, not when it just feels so good and your vision had started bleeding white as your bodies worked in tandem with one another. 

It felt like hours before you had found yourselves cuddling under a stray blanket, skin-to-skin and feeling on top of the world. There was peace settled in the air and you held each other and shared this perfect moment.

"Did you enjoy it?" Violet asked timidly while he stroked stray pieces of hair out of your face.

"Oh course, Darling. I've never felt closer to you than how we were tonight." You looked at him so softly and left a soft peck on his lips.

"Well, thats good, because... I didn't really get to finish my painting. We may have to do this again tomorrow night..." He wouldn't meet your eyes, but you knew that if you could see them, they would have a glint of excitement in them that you only see when he looks at you.

"Well, I suppose we would have to then- For your studies, of course."

• Epilogue • Tea Time •

"So, It couldn't have been just me who heard some oddly bizarre noises coming from the art studio on the west end last night..." Edgar mused to the other prefects as he took a mischievous sip.

"Oh, how I wonder what that could have possibly been coming from..." The sound of a breaking pencil could be heard only if he listened so intently.

"Oh, I heard it, alright." Greenhill pipped in, sounding more than mildly annoyed as he completed his afternoon stretch. "Some people really need to be more considerate of the fact that some of us need to study at such late hours."

"Well, maybe some people should consider that not everyone wants to hear the sound of your 2 hour long training routine at 12am either..." Bluewer rolled his eyes, obviously not knowing what the others were exactly referring to.

"Well, In just thinking that maybe when the professors discover a certain pair of undergarments left in said art studio on the west end, they may have to cancel class this morning. If you know what I mean..." Edgar takes an extended sip of his tea and watched as Gregory excuses himself, dropping his sketchbook and seemingly headed towards the west end.

"Well, that answers that." Edgar mutters with a smirk.

[soleilnewspaper]

First tattoo

Synopsis: You’ve always wanted to get a tattoo but you are absolutely terrified of needles. Luckily you have not one but two boyfriends to talk you through it.

Pairing: poly!wolfstar x reader

Warnings: fear of needles, crying, comfort, suggestive themes (nothing is explicitly stated.)

Word count: 1.6k

AN: I’m still quite ill but I do plan to release more parts of my poly!Wolfstar series once I’m better. If you enjoy this, please do all the tumblr things; reblog, like and comment.

Dividers: @Strangergraphics

It’s a little embarrassing to be honest, how you, a grown adult still have a fear of needles. An intense one at that.

Most people grow out of their childhood fears. They’re replaced by the demands of adulthood instead. Bills, taxes, rent, food and countless other things that you have to deal with as an adult.

You still share all these concerns yourself, every other adult would. However, you unlike every other adult does not almost throw a tantrum at the doctor’s office you get blood tests.

Luckily in the wizardly world, a verse majority the medical field is built on magic. Something which could be viewed as both an advantage and disadvantage depending on who you ask.

Despite being in this world for over a decade and having attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your muggle mother still feels more at ease when you have checkups at the family doctor.

Your intense fear hadn’t affected you greatly in your life, not untill recently anyway.

Sirius, one of your boyfriends officially got his tattoo license a few months back and the desire for him to give you one is growing by the day.

Remus, your other boyfriend, too has a few tattoos here and there. Not nearly as many as Sirius, and his are often hidden under sweaters and long pants.

Currently, he was in the process of acquiring a new tattoo. Remus lay back down on the leather seat, with his lower abdomen exposed. One of his trusty sweaters lifted to give Sirius the access he needs to work.

The cold air nips at his skin, and he arches his back slightly to make himself more comfortable. A task seemly easy, yet difficult for the tall lanky werewolf in such a small chair.

Straddling his hips, your other boyfriend smirks down at him as he works. His long black hair pulled into a makeshift ponytail in an attempt to be professional. You hardly see how keeping a level of professionesness is needed when he’s already straddling Remus as is.

You’ve been watching the interaction for a while now, sat in the same spot on the leather couch since they started. Happily multitasking between reading the book Remus burrowed you and watching the two while Sirius tattoos him. The only sounds leaving your lips for a while were a few giggles and smiles at the notes Remus had left in the margins for you.

Feeling a sudden sense of boldness, you put down the book on the table next to you. Neither one of the boys look up, far too engrossed in their own business.

Your shared doc martens press against the floor as you walk over to the two. Pulling up the closest available chair in order to sit next to Sirius who is still focused on Remus.

Upon seeing you, a warm smile immediately finds Remus’s face. “Did you already finish the book, dove?” He asked while stretching his arms above his head leaving more of his torso exposed. The mere act sends chills through your body.

“Or maybe you just wanted to watch.” Sirius’s eyes remained on Remus’s lower torso to avoid messing up. “Hmm, dollface.” He mumbled with a tone that made you practically hear the smirk you knew was on his face.

“Well, nothin’ wrong with that.” Remus extended his arm towards you, his fingers finding your smaller one’s.

“I want one.” You stated in a high pitched sound. Causing both boys to look at you.

“Hmm, what’s that, darling?” Remus hummed his eyes closed as he felt Sirius lit the needle from his skin to stop and look at you.

“A tattoo.” Once the words left your mouth, both your boyfriends turned to fully face you. Trying to see if you were just pulling their leg or not. After they had deduced that you were serious about this, they finally spoke.

“You sure you’re up for it, bunny?” Remus cooed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Both of them knowing how much you hate needles or sharp objects in general.

A few moments of thinking, and you promptly nodded your head to indicate your answer.

“Come on, Rem, she’s tougher than she looks.” The dark haired boy exchanged a look with the sandy brunette one.

“Fine, but only if you are completely sure. I don’t want you to do something your regret or that will make you feel uncomfortable or worse, scared.” Remus sat up to get a better look at you, resting on his elbows.

For months now, you’d watched Sirius tattoo people in this chair. Hell, you’d even seen your shared boyfriend be given a few by Sirius. Yet, you couldn’t stop the nerves pulsing through your veins when Sirius cleaned the needle.

On your left side, sat on a very uncomfortable bar stool was your second boyfriend. Remus rubbed small circles on the palms of your hands with his fingers in soothing motions.

Sirius walked over to the two of you, and took a seat in front of you. The needle right there in his hands. Staring at you. You tried to be brave, really you did.

Only a mere few minutes into the tattoo session and you broke. The second you felt the needle dig deeper into your skin, it was over.

Tears pulled in your irises and you dug your nails deep within Remus’s palms. You tried to keep the tears at bay, but when your boyfriend pressed the needle a little more. You became a flood gate.

Your tears quickly turned into sobs, and your breath began to hitch. Hearing you, Sirius immediately took away the needle laying it down on the nearby table.

Remus stood up from his stool to get a better look at you. Towering over you, he lifted your chin with the tip of his index finger. His beautiful honey brown staring down at you.

“Hey, hey, hey, dove, talk to us.” He cooed, his heart breaking at the sight of your tears. Sirius exchanging a look with him.

Sirius sat down on the chair next to squishing you slightly until he found a comfortable position. Once he did, he began to lightly stroke your check. “Why didn’t you say something, darling?”

“I-I-I-did-didn’t-wa-want-“ Before you could manage to get out your sentence already feeling like a child and hating it.

“Shh, deep breathes, baby.” Remus cooed once again. Pulling you to his chest. Your tears began to flow into his sweater.

Sirius moved to hug you from behind, the boys finding a way to sandwich you into a hug. Despite their awkward positions. With Remus standing and Sirius squished into the chair next to you.

“I want this.” You lay your head on Remus’s torso, looking up at him. Finding nothing but love in his eyes.

“You sure, dove, because it-“

“I do, really, I do.”

“Dollface, you know you don’t have to do it just because we have them.” Sirius stroked the back of your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“That’s not why I’m doing this.”

A long sigh escaped Remus’s lips before he cupped your face with his large hands. “Well, then we’re goin’ need to find a way to make this work, huh?”

You simply hooded in return, your tears beginning to dry up replaced by a smile.

Remus and Sirius continued to console you untill you had reached a sense of relief. Which didn’t take long with both boys by your side.

Later, clearing the place out. You finally got your tattoo.

The city lights of London shone through the thin blinds of Sirius’s tattoo shop. He had sent the rest of his clients and staff home. Leaving only the three of you. It made it easier for you, when there weren’t too many people surrounding you.

Towards the back of the shop, the three of you found your way to Sirius’s office. The place was organised chaos as he liked to call it.

You lay back on the red leather couch, with your chosen tattoo area exposed. Remus sat right next to you. His arm draped around your shoulder, pulling you closer to squeeze you every now and then. Sirius remained focused the entire time but he exchanged looks with Moony as a silent ask for how you were doing. Stopping a few times when you had given him any kind of indication that you were in pain.

“Sorry for being a big baby, earlier.” Your voice was muffed in Remus’s sweater.

“Pardon?” Remus smirked, leaning closer to you knowing full well he heard you.

“Don’t you dare make me repeat it.” You sent death daggers at him. Which only caused him to pull you closer.

“Alright, love, I’d say you’re good to go.” Sirius turned off the tattoo machine and placed it back in its home. Removing the gloves from his hands and letting his hair loose.

“Wait, what, just like that?” You were shocked that hours had gone by and you hadn’t even noticed.

“Guess you just needed the right setting.” Remus spoke gently tucking a stray piece of hair away from your face.

“More like I needed your undivided attention.” You snickered.

“Please, we all know you have us wrapped around your fingers.” Sirius fell back onto the leather couch with a this. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. Hot.” He said in between kisses.

“Please tell me you aren’t still talking about my fingers.”

“What do you think?” Sirius smirked down at you. Whilst Remus threw his head back against the couch.

“I think you’re both going have to call in sick to work tomorrow.” You said in a low seductive tone while dragging your fingers up Sirius’s neck.

“What will you have us do, love?” Remus breath was felt against your ear.

“I think you know.”

[head-empty-just-ace]

I'm currently reading a now-becoming personal favorite book of mine so— here's a scenario of Ace accidentally setting your favorite book (tabbed, annotated, and highlighted) on fire. And yes, this is self-indulgent, sue me.

Portgas D. Ace x GN!Reader

CW: angst if you squint enough

Word Count: 1.1k

You adore Ace. There's no denying in that. But the man isn't really well-versed when it comes to emotional or sensitive topics and situations. Sometimes, he doesn't fully understand why you get emotional over certain things. Ace wouldn't be an insensitive asshole over it— he'd comfort you best he can at the moment then learn more on the topic to understand you better.

Ace really meant well. He really did. You said you loved a certain book, even showing it off to him with all the tabs and messy scribblings of your annotations on the pages. And he could see the care you put into the book. Was he the reading type? No. But did he want to get to know you better so he'd understand why you were gushing over the said book? Yes. (Plus, he knows it'll be brownie points if he reads it)

So, he borrows your book. You made him promise to take absolute care of it. Not a single dent or scratch should come to the pages or cover. He grins at your firm tone but nods his head and responds with, "Yes, Ma'am." Now, he does take good care of it. Does that thing where he barely opens the pages to read because he's scared that he'll leave a mark on the spine if he opens the book too wide. Also, makes sure to use a bookmark— since you were stern about not making dog ears on the precious pages.

However, his narcoleptic episode strikes one day while reading. Ace gets jolted awake by a loud crash on the deck, which makes him instinctively ignite his devil fruit. He smells something is burning. A cold feeling pools at his gut as he swallows. His eyes fall onto your book caught on fire. In a panic, he does his best to put out the fire—but it was too late. The damage had been done. Pages and cover alike burned at the edges that they were black. It was unreadable and looked like it'd fall apart at the slightest touch.

For a moment, he considers throwing it into the ocean and buying you a new one. But that obviously wouldn't work because the said book was littered with annotations and tabs. You'd immediately figure it out anyway. So, being the honest man that he is, he starts to look for you with the book cradled in his chest. When he asks around the crew where you were— they already gave him sympathetic looks because of the burned book in his hands.

Ace is a prideful man. However, this man was on the verge of getting to his knees and begging for your forgiveness the moment he saw you. Panic visible in his eyes as he calls your name. You turn to meet his gaze, a warm smile on your face that makes his heart race a little while twisting his guts at the same time. The poor man was sure you'd never smile at him again like that if you knew what he was about to tell you.

"I'msosorryIdidn'tmeantoburnyourbook." He says in one breath that it makes you blink at him. You want to laugh at his flustered state and tease him, but your gaze falls to the burned book in his hands. Even in its state, you could clearly recognize it. The way your expression falls makes his gut churn even more. He looked like he'd rather fight an entire fleet of Marines than put you through this.

Without a word, you gently take the book from his hands. You craddle the fragile thing against your chest and crouch down. Tears immediately falling to the wooden floors while your body trembles from your sobs. Of course, you know he didn't mean it. He never would. But it doesn't really undo the damage.

Ace feels like his heart just got ripped out of his chest. He kneels down in front of you, hands in the air— unsure whether to hold you or not. Afraid that you might not want his touch. The more you keep crying, the more he feels the stinging sensation in his own eyes. Sure, he wasn't really the sensitive and overtly emotional kind. But he knew that book meant a lot to you. You trusted him with it. And he promised to take care of it.

Apologies leave his lips unabashedly. One after another as he practically begs for your forgiveness. He does his best to comfort you and make you feel better. Seeing you cry because of him? It felt like a knife gutting him from inside out. The two of you spend a fairly long time on the floor. You grieving over your book. Him doing his best to make up for it.

The days after that were horrid. The two of you interacted but he always felt like something was missing. He was fully convinced your smile didn't reach your eyes, your laugh wasn't as vibrant, your affections weren't the same somehow, and you just felt distant. Even the crew started feeling bad for him because it was clear he was wracked with guilt by the entire situation.

Ace tried making up for it. Getting Thatch to make your favorite meal. Trying just about anything to make you smile or laugh. Opening doors for you with a theatric bow and wiggling his brows to make you smile even by a bit. If you wanted something, he'd get you it. He knew he was slowly getting back to your good graces but it wasn't really enough.

Eventually, an idea strikes him. He goes out of his way to get you the exact copy of that book. Does he give it to you immediately? No. What he does is he starts reading the book. He'll tab pages, highlight and annotate lines that reminded him of you or something he thought you might like, and making sure he slowly opens the book instead of breaking the spine.

Once Ace is done reading it, he'll give it to you— paired with a sweet and sincere apology. Even going on to tell you about the things in the book that he enjoyed. He's genuinely sorry for what happened. Your eyes shine a bit while flipping through the pages. Reading through his cheesy notes and the lines he annotates just for you. It makes your heart melt (if it already didn't after the man's all-out effort for your forgiveness).

You smile at him brightly. Finally— finally, he believes that it's the same one before he burned your book. "I forgive you— really." You say, wrapping your arms around his waist for a hug. He immediately melts into your embrace and wraps his arms around you tightly. Burying his face into your neck, he presses soft kisses over the curve of it and down to your shoulder. When you giggle? Oh, gods, he squeezes you even more and showers you with kisses.

Lesson learned: If you're interested in reading a book, he will curl up against you while you read it to him. That way— he can listen to your voice, understand you a bit more, and cuddle with you (which is probably his favorite part).

~~~~~

If you liked this and wanna read more, here's my masterlist!

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

The first time Steve touches the guitar Eddie makes a strangled sound in his throat. Steve freezes, looks at Eddie, his mouth is hanging open, and he's frowning. Steve sets the guitar back down, so fucking gently.

"Sorry. I just- sorry." He nearly whispers, stands back up, back straight, his palms moving over his thighs. Eddie clears his throat, shakes his head, removes his black guitar from his lap as he stands.

"No it's okay. I didn't mean to like... make that weird fucking sound. Just um... it was my moms." He says, his hand wrapped around the neck of the black guitar as he holds it at his side. Steve's eyes go wide.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I wouldn've-"

"It's okay really. Here. You can use this one." He holds the guitar out. Smiles when Steve steps closer, hesitant as he raises his hand. Eddie nods. Steve takes it, climbs onto Eddie's bed awkwardly and sets it in his lap. Watching as Eddie gently picks up his mothers guitar and sits back down.

Eddie smiles at Steve, strums a few notes.

"Do you play?" He asks, because Steve's never said anything about playing. Never touched one of Eddie's guitars before. But Eddie had noticed him watching, as Eddie plays, or writes songs, while they hang out.

Steve's at his house a lot these days. Eddie feels like they might be dancing around something. But he hasn't been brave enough to make a move. Or even ask a question. They just... spend time together. He's been teaching Steve about DND for Dustin’s upcoming birthday. Steve wants to surprise him. And he'd been letting Steve read his copies of Lord of the Rings. It's been taking him a while.

But he lays on Eddie's bed while he reads, feet kicked out in the air above him when he lays on his stomach, as Eddie plans his campaigns, or writes songs, and tries not to think about how Steve looks like he belongs there, in Eddie's bed, frowning down at Eddie's tattered books until he looks up and asks Eddie to explain something for him.

And Eddie does. Always.

But this is new. Steve holds Eddie's guitar in his lap, a soft smile on his face, his fingers holding the neck gently. He shakes his head at Eddie's question, just the smallest movement.

"Naw. I always wanted to learn. But my dad always said-" he cuts off, his eyes jumping to Eddie, his cheeks flushing a little. Eddie's never met Steve's father, but he's sure he could guess some of the things he'd said. Steve shakes his head again, tries to smile.

"I just never got around to it. And then things went to shit around here so..." he shrugs, moves his thumb over the strings. Eddie smiles at the sound.

"I like how it feels. Holding it though." Steve says, blinks up at Eddie. Eddie wills his mouth to work, to say something, to say fucking anything, but it doesn't. He just smiles, softly, and nods. Steve looks away, back down at the guitar, and Eddie does the same. Fingers moving over his mother's guitar as he tries to work out the next verse he's writing.

~°~

Two months later he still hasn't said anything. But they have a rhythm now. Eddie's at home, doing whatever it is he's doing that day. Planning, or drawing, or writing. Maybe even just watching tv. Steve shows up, goes to his room, gets the black guitar, and sits with it in his lap, some days until he leaves. And Eddie sits, and watches him, and tries to will himself to say something.

It's a friday. It's raining. And Steve gets off work early, comes to Eddie's. Like always.

He takes a shower, changes clothes, and then crawls into Eddie's bed, guitar settled in his lap. Eddie looks up from his notebook, watches Steve's brow furrow as he moves his fingers over the strings. Just positioning them, not making any sound. Turns out that's all it takes, Steve's little frown.

"I could teach you." Eddie blurts, Steve startles, just a bit, a small flinch before his eyes move to Eddie, brows raised.

"Ya know if you- if you'd want... that." Eddie's lame attempt to backpeddle falling out of his mouth in fragments. But Steve smiles, big and bright.

"Yeah? You'd do that?" He asks, his hand flat against the guitar now, he's practically cradling it to his chest, holding it to himself like it's something special.

Eddie shrugs, tries to play it cool.

"I mean yeah. It's not a big deal. Just, guitar. Kinda my thing." He huffs a laugh when Steve's smile grows impossibly bigger.

"Can we start now? Or are you- you're busy. Planning stuff." Steve voice drifts to a soft dismissive tone, like he's talking himself down. And Eddie hates it. Hates that he's been conditioned to talk himself down from his own excitement. Eddie slaps his notebook shut with a purpose. The noise loud in the quiet room.

"We can absolutely start now. C'mhere." He moves from his desk to the edge of the bed, reaches for his moms guitar, stops, thinks better of it and just settles his hands on his thighs as Steve shuffles to the edge of the bed to sit next to him.

Eddie watches him look at him, waiting, and so fucking close. He can hear the rain on the roof outside.

"Where do we start?" Steve asks, his hands flexing as Eddie watches him.

"I'm gonna teach you some notes. See how well you pick it up." Eddie says, trying hard to keep the smile on his face to a minimum. Steve nods, serious.

"What if I suck at it?" Steve asks, his fingers fluttering nervously over the strings. Eddie looks at him, narrows his eyes.

"You've never played before? At all?" He asks, head tilting. Steve shakes his slowly, his cheeks tinting as he looks at his knees.

"Well then, and I hate to break this to you sweetheart, but you're probably gonna suck. At least a little. At first." Eddie scrunches his nose, delights in the way Steve's mouth drops open as he looks Eddie.

"You gonna be able to handle that? Not being perfect?" Eddie twitches his head to the side, bumps his shoulder into Steve's, Steve rolls his eyes, bumps Eddie back.

"I'll do my best." He huffs, his brow furrowing again as Eddie begins to guide him.

He plays something small, shows Steve how he moves his fingers, and then lets Steve mimic him. He picks it up pretty quick. His ears and cheeks flushing a pretty red when Eddie complements him, tells him he's doing good.

It takes Steve about three hours to realize Eddie had been teaching him a DIO song. He rolls his eyes again, shoves Eddie off the edge of the bed, but goes red again when Eddie says he's proud of him for recognizing it at all.

~°~

A week later, Steve comes rushing into his room, guitar in hand. Eddie had let him take the black acoustic home, so he could practice there as well. He stops short, his legs bumping into Eddie's bed, and then he looks, shy.

"Well good morning to you too Harrington." Eddie sighs, yawns, stretches his hands above his head and smirks as Steve's eyes trail over his stomach, his shirt riding up off his hips.

"Yeah. Morning." Steve says, his voice distant, eyes still focused on Eddie's mid section.

"What can I do you for?" Eddie asks, smirk planted firmly on his lips now. Steve's body jerks, just a fraction, as he tears his eyes away from Eddie's hips, to look at his face.

"What?" He asks, sounding startled. Eddie laughs, shakes his head.

"Forget it. What's up? You looked excited." Eddie says with a shake of his head, pushing himself up in bed a bit. Steve's eyes move to the ground, his fingers tighten on the neck of the guitar.

"I just- wanted to show you something. But you like... just woke up. Did I wake you up?" Steve asks, his voice going high like he's just realized he may have woken Eddie up. Eddie shakes his head, rubs at his eyes, holds back another yawn.

"Whaaaat? No. I've been up for ages." He smiles, watches Steve's face drop.

"Really?" His eyes narrowing as they move over Eddie, pajamas still wrinkled, hair a fucking mess he's sure.

"Yep. Been awake for hours. I mean I woke up at like- what time is it?" He looks at the watch on his wrist, his eyes bugging out.

"It's 7am!?" His voice is high, incredulous, he sounds... maybe a little disgusted. Steve clears his throat, his free hand going to his hip as he looks down at Eddie. Eddie clears his own throat, crossing his arms, schools his face.

"I mean... it's 7am. Which I knew. Because I've been awake since like... 5 o'clock. So 7am is the perfect time. For you to show up here. In my trailer." He glances to the small window in the door outside his room, his face falling a bit.

"Before the sun has risen, even. How... wonderful." His voice is flat by the time he finishes speaking, and he can see Steve trying not to laugh at him.

"I'm sorry I woke you up." He says, and he sounds so sincere Eddie can't even really be mad. He will be taking a nap later though, for sure. He yawns, waves his hand.

"It's fine babe. Just show me whatcha got." He wiggles his fingers at the guitar and Steve flushes, nods, and steps back, sits himself in Eddie's desk chair, and moves the guitar into his lap.

Eddie's heart flutters as Steve starts playing. It always does. Ever since that first day when Steve had picked up the DIO rif he'd shown him. It had been small, but he'd looked so proud of himself when his fingers had danced across the strings perfectly, bringing the tune to life.

Eddie smiles when he recognizes the song, some Billy Joel number Steve was always humming. Eddie had actually been playing peices of it here and there recently, sometimes, without paying attention. But it reminded him of Steve, and so his fingers tended to play it when his mind began to drift.

He smiles as he watches Steve play, his hair falling in his face a little, his brows knitted together in concentration. Eddie bites his lip and refuses to think about moving his fingers over those furrowed brows. Refuses to think about how Steve might let him. Refuses to think about how soft Steve's skin might feel underneath his calloused fingers.

Steve's own fingers pick that moment to stumble, he misses notes, trips up, flushes deeply and curses himself, his head hanging as he stops, takes a deep breathe.

Eddie was proud, he'd gotten better at dealing with messing up. But he could tell he was upset.

"Steve." He says name gently, too genlty, maybe, for this quiet morning in the dark. Steve huffs, but looks up at him.

"I always fuck that part up. It's too fast." He sighs, his voice harsh, he's being hard on himself. And Eddie doesn't know if it's the early morning hour, or the fact that it's still quite dark in his room, or maybe it's the fact that he hadn't slept much and now Steve was in his room. But he scoots back, just a bit, and pats the bed, swinging his legs over the edge.

And his chest flutters again when Steve doesn't even hesitate to come and sit beside him. Doesn't flinch away when Eddie presses close, moves his arm around Steve, curls his fingers over his on the guitar.

He does feel Steve's breathe catch when Eddie sighs across his neck, but he keeps the smirk off his face. Instead he strums the guitar, moves his fingers quickly, hitting the notes that Steve missed with ease. And he almost laughs when Steve turns, his shoulder pressing into Eddie's chest as he gapes at him.

"How did you- you know how to play this song?" Steve asks, his eyes wide. Eddie shrugs, his eyes dropping to Steve's lips, he's so close.

"Parts of it. You hum it a lot." Eddie says, almost whispers between them. Steve's face does some strange movement, jumping between a smile and frown and back again.

"Wait, have you never even heard the song?" Steve asks, his voice accusing.

"I dunno. Maybe like once. It was on in your car that time right?" Eddie shrugs again, looks away from Steve, his cheeks heating in the dark, with Steve so close. And Eddie is still sleep warm, and he swears Steve keeps leaning back into his chest.

"You're not even sure if you've heard the song and you can just play it like that!?" Steve asks, his voice a little louder now. But there's an amused edge to it that Eddie can't shake.

"Yeah. I'm-" he stops, swallows, his palms are starting to sweat so he moves his hands away from Steve's, hears him make a small sound in his throat, and finally, looks back at Steve's face. His features have softened, his eyes still sparkling with amusement, but there's something else there too.

"You can just play things by ear like that?" Steve asks, his voice soft, he's looking at Eddie, really looking at him in the low light of Eddie's room. And Eddie's arms are still wrapped half around him, he swallows, and nods.

"Guess so. Never been great at actually reading music. I don't focus well." He scrunches his nose.

"No. You?" Steve teases, and Eddie feels any lingering insecurities wash away. He shrugs.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure I could teach you actually. And I might have you all messed up. But you're good. Real good." He says it softly, and feels, without a doubt, Steve lean back, pressing his back into Eddie's chest.

"I think you're a good teacher. Maybe a little impatient sometimes." Steve elbows him gently. Eddie flushes, his hand moving to Steve's shoulder.

"Shit was I? I was trying really hard not to be." He frowns, and then Steve is turning, letting the guitar slip slowly to the floor. Eddie gulps, Steve's face is so close, and he's so warm pressed against him. And Eddie might have a real issue here soon if Steve doesn't move out his space.

"No it wasn't bad. I- I kinda like you impatient. You get bossy." Steve laughs, a small, giddy sounding thing, light in his throat. Eddie feels like he might vibrate out of his skin. Steve's hands move to his shirt, resting against his chest.

"You uh- you like when I'm bossy?" Eddie asks, his voice shaking, his hands trembling at his sides, he's moved them away from Steve. Doesn't want him to feel him shaking. Steve nods, once.

"Kinda yeah. Is that bad?" Steve asks, his eyes squinting, nose scrunching. And he sounds like he might be genuinely asking, like Eddie has any fucking clue.

"I don't think so. I'm sure it's fine. I-" Eddie stammers, is about to keep talking, not sure what's gonna come out of his mouth if he does. But Steve beats him to it.

"Why did you offer to teach me to play?" Steve asks, his thumbs move over Eddie's chest gently. Eddie feels his entire body flushing. He doesn't wanna talk about this. Not with Steve. He doesn't wanna scare him away. But Steve is looking at him, soothing his fingers into Eddie's shirt like he knows Eddie feels like he might float away. Like he's trying to ground him. Eddie licks his lips, sinks his teeth into his bottom one, and frowns.

"You can say it. It's okay." Steve assures him, a soft whisper between them.

"I thought you wanted to learn." Eddie says, his voice weak, unsure. Steve nods, slowly, one hand moving up, his fingers gently moving over the hot skin of Eddie's neck. Eddie makes a small wounded sound in his throat, and he swears Steve's eyes darken.

"That all?" Steve asks, his thumb pressing into the rapid heartbeat in Eddie's throat. Eddie shakes his head.

"I wanted to be close to you. But I didn't think that you'd want that... like that. With me. So-" he cuts off, swallows again, his breathe catching in throat. Steve softens in front of him, melts impossibly closer.

"So you offered to teach me to play. And then you curled yourself around me. Touched me. Moved me around like clay in your hands." Steve whispers, pressing closer, and Eddie can't breathe. And he feels guilty, all of a sudden. It burns in his throat, choking him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have done that." He stammers, and he tries to pull away from Steve, weakly. But Steve is stronger, holds him in place, and moves closer, his lips pressing to Eddie's ear.

"Don't be sorry. I liked it. Liked the way you moved me, and touched me, and taught my hands how to move and make music. I liked you pressed against me Eddie." He moved back, smiling at the whine that escaped Eddie's throat.

"I like you. Is- is that okay?" Steve looks shy, somehow, as he says this. After he's set every nerve ending in Eddie's body alight. Eddie nods. His body trembling now.

"Can I kiss you?" Steve breathes between, his hands moving to Eddie's cheeks now, holding him gently, the way he always holds Eddie's guitar.

"Yeah." Eddie nods. Steve smiles. And then a jolt of fear runs through Eddie, his hands land on Steve's chest, harder than he means too, holding him back.

Steve's brow furrows.

"What is it?" He asks, and Eddie almost laughs in his face, he sounds so concerned. But Eddie clears his throat, his eyes falling to his lap.

"I don't know how." He says, his voice so quiet he's not sure Steve will hear him. But it's early morning, and his room is quiet as the sun rises, filling the room with a warm glow, and of course Steve hears him, Steve always hears him. His hands moves under Eddie's chin, lifts head til he's looking at him. And Eddie watches Steve watch him, watches the sweet crooked smile that tilts Steve lips, his breath hitching in his chest as Steve moves his thumb over Eddie's bottom lip.

"I could teach you." Steve says, echoing Eddie's offer from all those weeks ago, and Eddie feels weak. His body shaking as he nods, his mouth frozen. Steve pulls him closer, his hand moving down Eddie's neck again.

"What if I suck at it?" Eddie asks, a wobbly smile fluttering across his face as he echoes Steve, and opens the door for Steve to tell him he will. That he will suck at it, at first, like Eddie had told him. But Steve's eyes darken again, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he stares at Eddie's mouth. Eddie feels trapped, in the best possible way, trapped under Steve's gaze. Steve's head moves slowly, side to side, his eyes still locked on Eddie's lips, Eddie feels Steve's fingers curl into his shirt near his ribs as he pulls him a fraction closer.

"With a mouth like that? I don't think that's possible." He breathes, and Eddie nearly fucking swoons, his hands fisting in Steve's shirt on his chest. Steve smirks at him them, moves the hand near his ribs around Eddie's back, holds him tight.

"I bet you're a natural. And if you're not," Steve presses his lips to Eddie's nose, pulls back.

"I'm willing to teach you. You'll be perfect when I'm done with you." Steve whispers, like it's a secret. It makes Eddie shiver.

"I might be a slow learner?" Eddie asks, his voice shaking but he's teasing now, and Steve smirks again, his fingers curling up into Eddie's hair and pulling, tilting his head to the side.

"God I fucking hope so." Steve almost growls the words against Eddie's lips and then he's kissing him. And despite the growl, and the low dip of his voice, the kiss is sweet. And slow.

Steve moves his lips genlty, let's Eddie get a feel for it. And, to Eddie's relief, doesn't deepen the kiss. His body is so overwhelmed already, he's sure Steve's tongue in his mouth would just send him into a meltdown.

But Steve doesn't press. He just kisses Eddie. Slow. Moves his lips over Eddie's, hums into the kiss when Eddie moves his hand into Steve's hair, hesitant, his hand shaking. Steve's arm around him pulls him closer, until he's tugged Eddie into his lap.

Eddie whimpers as Steve holds him, does his best to kiss Steve back, moves his lips the way he feels Steve's moving against his. Steve pulls back first, his hands moving up Eddie’s back. Eddie frowns down at him.

"Was that okay?" He asks, his fingers drumming nervously against Steve's shoulders. Steve smiles up at him, kisses him again, and Eddie's not sure he'll ever be over that warm press of soft skin.

"It was perfect." Steve says, tucks a lock of Eddie's sleep disheveled hair behind his ear.

"You're good at that." Eddie says, his body shaking against Steve. Steve smiles, and then moves, quick, he flips them over, landing on top of Eddie, hovering over him, his hands planted near his head. Steve leans down, presses close.

"Thank you. So are you." He moves his fingers over Eddie's cheek, fingertips tracing the jagged scar there. Eddie's brow twitches, he tries not to frown. Steve dips, presses his lips to the scar.

"Wanna make a deal?" He asks, lifting back up to look at Eddie.

"Sure. What deal?" Eddie agrees, before he even knows what it is. Steve smiles.

"I'll keep kissing you later. If you-" he stops, looks unsure as he looks down at Eddie. So Eddie reaches up, cups Steve cheek, because he can now.

"If I what?" Eddie whispers.

"If you hold me while we go back to sleep." Steve sounds shy, after everything that just happened.

Eddie smiles up at him, moves his fingertips over Steve's lips now.

"I'll hold you whenever you want. Just don't ever stop kissing me." Eddie says, tugging Steve down on top of him, Steve laughs against his lips and then sighs, deep, and happy, as Eddie wraps his arms around him.

Steve cuddles closer, presses his face into Eddie's chest and just breathes. Eddie listens to his breathing until they both drift off, the sun finally pulling itself over the horizon, Eddie and Steve's shared guitar temporarily forgotten, resting on the floor.