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goldsainz · 23 days ago

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# DREW STARKEY — ACTORS ON ACTORS !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ drew and you participate in variety’s “actors on actors” series.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ cursing, talking about nude scenes, probably inaccurate acting experiences.

003. NOTE !

✯ sorry to all the actors i stole roles from😭 also zendaya is used as a face claim for the social media but the writing is inclusive and has no descriptors of physical appearance… or at least i hope so.

word count : 5,4k (chat i got carried away)

The cozy studio was bathed in warm light, designed almost as if to feel like a welcoming living room. Two plush chairs faced each other, separated by a low coffee table adorned with a few carefully placed books and a small vase of fresh flowers. Everything about the space was crafted to exude intimacy and warmth, inviting open conversation.

Drew Starkey entered the room first, his usual calm confidence mingled with a tinge of nervous energy. He smoothed his shirt absentmindedly and scanned the setup, trying to ground himself in the moment. He was used to being in front of cameras, but this felt different. This wasn’t just about promoting a project or answering rapid-fire questions on a press junket. This was you.

“Hello,” Drew started, a smile gracing his features as he took in the fact that he was sitting right in front of his number one celebrity crush. His hand hovered awkwardly in a small wave, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Hi,” you said back, a giggle falling past your lips when you noticed his sheepish look. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he said, his voice just a little higher than usual. Drew cleared his throat, laughing at himself, which made you laugh too. “Sorry, I’m… a little nervous.”

“Oh, don’t be,” you reassured him with a warm smile. “I promise, I don’t bite.”

“Good to know.” He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great, thank you. What about you?”

“Pretty good, can’t complain.” A laugh bubbled out of him, and subsequently, you. The way he rubbed the back of his neck made you think he was still pinching himself that this was happening.

The cameras rolled, capturing the easy charm and immediate chemistry between the two of you.

Drew’s grin widened as he began. “First of all, let me just say—I’m completely starstruck right now. I mean, the way you completely own every role you take on... it’s incredible.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a bashful laugh escaping as you waved off the compliment. “Oh, stop it. You’re making me blush!”

“I’m serious,” he pressed, leaning forward slightly. “You’re like… the blueprint. If I ever get even halfway to where you are, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

“Well, now you’re just flattering me,” you said, your voice teasing but your cheeks undeniably warm. “But thank you, that’s so sweet. And honestly, you’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re incredible in Queer. You’ve got this natural charm that just lights up the screen.”

“Natural charm, huh?” He smirked, pretending to preen, which made you laugh again. “I’ll take that.”

“Good,” you replied, smiling. “You should, because it’s true.”

Drew’s gaze softened, the teasing giving way to something more earnest. “That means a lot, really. Especially coming from you. You’re like… Hollywood royalty to many.”

You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “To many, huh? And are you part of this many?”

Drew’s eyes widened, and he laughed, a little caught off guard. “Oh, absolutely. I’ve got a lifetime membership to the fan club.”

“Good to know,” you teased, crossing your legs and leaning back in your chair with an air of mock superiority. “I’ll have to start charging you membership fees.”

“Totally worth it,” he shot back, his grin widening.

“Well, thank you,” you said with a soft laugh, “So, we’ve both got some things in common, which I think is pretty cool.”

“Like working with Daniel Craig?” he asked.

“Yes! Honestly, I still reminisce about our time on set… he’s genuinely incredible, isn’t he?”

“He is, yeah. I found myself just admiring him and sort of forgetting I had to act too. He’s just… he’s on another level, for sure.”

“Daniel’s a master of his craft… Most of my scenes as Paloma in No Time To Die were with him, and at first I was so nervous because, like, what if I messed up in front of the Daniel Craig?” Drew let out a laugh at your words, and you couldn’t help but laugh too. “But when he noticed I was nervous he reassured me that it was all good. He’s just the best.”

“You’ve worked with so many high-profile actors.” You nod slightly at his words, as if it were the most common thing in the world. “Are you always nervous when meeting them, or was it just a Daniel thing?”

“It wasn’t just Daniel, no, but I think it depends. For example, when I did Oppenheimer with Cillian Murphy, for some reason I felt more relaxed… even though I had some nude scenes with him.”

“Nude scenes just make you connect, don’t they?” he joked, leaning back with a sly grin.

“They do, actually,” you replied, leaning into the banter. “You’d think they’d be worse, but honestly, with the amount of seriousness and concentration they take, it’s like you don’t have time to be nervous.”

“You clearly pulled it off flawlessly,” Drew said with mock solemnity.

“You did too in Queer.” You compliment him, “I watched it a few days ago, and the chemistry you had with Daniel was just off the charts.”

Drew’s face lit up, a mix of pride and bashfulness crossing his features. “Daniel’s an amazing scene partner. He really made it easy for me to tap into everything.”

“Well, it shows,” you said. “It was such a raw and beautiful performance. I might’ve shed a tear or two.”

“Okay, now you’re just trying to make me blush,” Drew teased, pointing at you with a playful squint. “But seriously, that means a lot coming from you.”

“Hey, give credit where it’s due,” you shot back with a grin. “You’ve got this way of making everything feel so real. Like when you’re in pain, we’re in pain. When you’re in love, we’re falling right alongside you.”

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know what to do with all these compliments. This is the best therapy session I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, crossing your legs and leaning forward slightly. “Well, I’m glad I could help. But now I’m curious—how did you prepare for a role like that? I mean, it’s so emotionally intense, no?.”

“It was a lot of journaling, a lot of talking with Luca about backstory and motivations,” Drew explained, his tone more thoughtful. “And honestly, I kind of drew from real-life experiences. Not the exact ones, obviously, but just feelings of vulnerability and… wanting to be understood.”

“That’s beautiful,” you said softly, your smile turning tender. “It’s amazing how much of ourselves we pour into these characters.”

“Exactly,” Drew agreed. “And sometimes it’s terrifying, but when it resonates with people, it feels worth it.”

“It definitely resonated with me,” you assured him. “And I’m sure with countless others too.”

“That’s really nice to hear,” he said with a soft smile.

“How was it for you to work with Luca? Because I remember it being one of the highlights of my career.”

Drew’s eyes lit up at the mention of Luca Guadagnino, and he leaned forward slightly, as if the memory itself was a magnet pulling him closer. “Oh, working with Luca was… incredible,” he said, his voice laced with awe. “He’s got this way of creating such a safe, open space on set. It’s almost like he’s not just directing—he’s inviting you into this world he’s building in his head.”

You nodded eagerly, your own memories of working with Luca bringing a nostalgic smile to your face. “I know exactly what you mean. He makes it feel like you’re collaborating on this deeply personal piece of art, rather than just executing someone else’s vision.”

“Exactly!” Drew said, gesturing animatedly. “And he has this way of pulling things out of you that you didn’t even know you had. Like, he’ll ask you one simple question, and suddenly you’re diving into this emotional rabbit hole.”

You laughed, tilting your head in agreement. “He asked me once, ‘What would this character, Maren in my case, dream about?’ and it completely changed how I approached the next scene.”

Drew’s mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “He asked me the exact same question!”

“No way!” you exclaimed, your laughter spilling out in disbelief. “I love that! It’s honestly such a deceptively simple question, but it opens up so many layers.”

“It really does,” Drew said, chuckling. “And then you’re sitting there like, ‘Okay, now I have to rethink everything I thought I knew about this character.’”

“It’s kind of genius, though,” you added. “He makes you work harder, but not in a way that feels forced. It’s like… he trusts you to figure it out, but he gives you these breadcrumbs to follow.”

“Exactly,” Drew said again, his tone growing softer. “I think that’s why his films feel so intimate, he gets the human part so right.”

You smiled, letting his words settle in the air for a moment. “I think that’s what makes working with him feel like such a privilege. It’s not just about telling a story—it’s about feeling it.”

Drew nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “And those are the moments that stick with you, you know? The ones where you felt something real, even if it was just for a moment.”

“Completely,” you agreed, your voice soft with sincerity. “Those moments are why we do this.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the weight of the conversation settling in the cozy studio. Then, Drew broke the quiet with a grin. “Okay, but did Luca make you do those impromptu rehearsals at, like, the crack of dawn?”

“Oh my God, yes!” you burst out, your eyes widening. “I’d just roll out of bed with zero coffee and somehow be expected to pour my soul into a scene.”

Drew laughed, his face lighting up. “Right? It’s like, ‘Good morning, here’s your emotional breakdown for the day.’”

You laughed along with him, the shared experience adding another thread to the easy camaraderie forming between you. “But honestly, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.”

“Same,” Drew said, his expression softening again. “For Luca? Anytime.”

“Absolutely,” you agreed, your eyes locking with his for a moment before the warmth of the studio light reminded you both that the cameras were still rolling.

Drew shifted in his seat slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You know, it’s kind of wild—hearing you talk about all these incredible experiences. You’ve been doing this for so long, and yet it’s like you’re just getting started.”

You tilted your head with a small smile. “That’s sweet of you to say. But yeah, I guess I have been in this industry for most of my life. It’s all I’ve ever really known.”

Drew’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s crazy to think about. I didn’t even consider acting until after college. You must’ve been, what, ten? Eleven?”

“Eight, actually,” you corrected with a chuckle. “My first role was in this little indie film. I was basically just the kid who ran around in the background eating ice cream, but I thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

He laughed, clearly amused. “That’s adorable. And now you’re the Hollywood It Girl. No big deal.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your laughter light. “Oh, stop it. But yeah, it’s been a journey. Growing up on sets definitely shaped me, for better or worse. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like to have a more ‘normal’ childhood.”

Drew’s smile softened. “That must’ve been such a whirlwind. I can’t even imagine starting that young. I didn’t even think about acting seriously until high school.”

“Oh, I’ve read about that!” You said, your voice lighting up. “You were all about sports growing up, right?”

“Yeah,” Drew admitted with a chuckle. “I was your typical small-town kid—baseball, basketball, you name it. I was convinced I was going to go pro in something, but clearly, that didn’t pan out.”

“Well, I think acting suits you pretty well.”

“Thank you,” he says with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “But yeah, the real shift happened in high school when I joined a drama class. It was all Samuel Beckett and absurdist plays, which at the time I thought was the coolest thing ever.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “So that’s what pulled you in? Drama class?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a nod. “And then I went to Western Carolina for college. I double-majored in English and theater, thinking, ‘If this acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ll at least have a backup plan.’”

“That’s so realistic of you,” you said with a laugh. “Meanwhile, I was ten, telling anyone who’d listen that I was going to win an Oscar one day.”

“And look at you now,” Drew said, gesturing to you with an almost reverent smile. “You made it happen.”

You chuckled, a bit flustered by his admiration. “Well, not quite, just an Oscar nominee for now. But thank you. You know, I think your journey’s pretty incredible too. A double major? That’s no joke. And starting later in the game like you did… it must have felt like a slow burn, but it’s clearly paid off.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Drew said thoughtfully. “It was definitely a slower burn for me. I didn’t land my first real gig until I’d been auditioning for what felt like forever.”

“I think that makes your journey even more special,” you said, your tone sincere. “You came into it with all this life experience and maturity. It shows in your work, you know? There’s this depth to your performances that’s just… rare.”

Drew’s ears turned a little pink, and he laughed softly, glancing down at his hands. “Wow, you’re gonna make me blush over here.”

“Good,” you said with a teasing smile. “It’s only fair after all the compliments you’ve been throwing my way.”

He looked up, his grin sheepish but warm. “Touché. But seriously, hearing that from someone like you—someone who’s been at this for so long and is so insanely talented—it means a lot.”

“Well,” you replied with a playful tilt of your head, “I think it’s safe to say we’re officially mutual fans.”

Drew laughed at that, the sound easy and genuine. “I can live with that.”

The conversation shifted into more comfortable territory as the two of you shared experiences, trading stories about acting and the film industry. Drew, now feeling at ease, leaned forward with renewed interest.

“You know,” he began, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, “I've been thinking about how different TV shows and movies are, especially when it comes to the pacing and character development. Like, in a show, we have to maintain this ongoing energy for the characters over multiple seasons. But with movies, it’s a totally different vibe, right?”

You nodded, understanding immediately where he was going. “It’s definitely a huge shift. With TV, you’re given time to build on a character slowly. Every episode is another chapter, so you can explore new facets of them and keep the audience hooked for longer periods of time. But movies, they’re this intense sprint. You have to get everything across in just two hours or so, but in a way that feels just as layered and satisfying.”

Drew's eyes lit up with excitement, clearly passionate about the topic. "Exactly! You have to balance the action and suspense while still giving the characters these moments of vulnerability. Over multiple seasons, you can really let them grow and change. It's like a slow burn. But when you're doing a movie, you don’t have the luxury of that buildup. It has to be this concentrated emotional punch right from the start.”

“That’s one of the biggest challenges of film, for sure," you agreed. "In a film, every second counts. You can’t afford to waste a moment. But I think what’s also interesting is how both mediums can explore a character’s journey from different angles. TV shows can dive into their backstory in more detail, but movies... they really need to hit those emotional beats and leave an impact without dragging it out."

Drew smiled, clearly engaged in the discussion. “In TV shows you need that perfect balance of suspense, character development, and personal growth. And then, at the end of the season, you drop a huge bombshell that leaves people wanting more.”

You laughed, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some serious thinking about it. What’s the secret to keeping the audience hooked without losing the depth of your character?”

He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Well, I think it’s about letting the characters evolve with the story. You need to make sure the audience sees the human side of your character, even when they're in these crazy situations. It’s what keeps people invested in the long run.”

“You’ve really got the process figured out,” you said with a smile. “But you’re right—it’s a different rhythm for TV. With a movie, you get to go deep quickly, but with a show, you have to keep it dynamic and varied. And let’s not forget, you need that cliffhanger at the end to make people binge-watch the next season.”

Drew’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re giving away all the secrets! Next thing you know, people will be expecting a cliffhanger every time they watch a movie."

“Well, movies and TV are both art, but they demand different approaches,” you said, “and you’re doing an amazing job balancing both. I’m honestly so excited to see where your career goes next. Both worlds are lucky to have you.”

He chuckled softly, clearly humbled. “Thanks. I think I’m just lucky to be a part of both. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be in a show that gets people talking for days?”

“Right? You’ve got Outer Banks, which has such a dedicated fanbase, and then movies like Queer that touch people in such a different way. It’s amazing to watch your versatility.”

He leaned in slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m just trying to keep up with you. Honestly, your transition from action to more emotional roles is inspiring. I hope I can pull off something even close to what you’ve done with your career.”

Your smile softened, your voice sincere. “Well, you’re already doing it, Drew. You’re already there. It’s not just about the roles—it’s about the heart you put into them. And you’ve definitely got that.”

Drew’s smile faltered for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. His gaze softened, as if he were truly reflecting on what you’d said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but keeping his eyes on you, his expression thoughtful.

“It's crazy, isn't it?” He began, his voice a little quieter now, “The idea of giving so much of yourself to something that feels so... intimate. But when it works, when the audience feels it too, there's nothing like it.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your voice a little quieter now. “That's the real magic, when the audience feels like they know the characters, like they're right there with them. It’s not about the plot twists or the fancy sets—it’s about the emotions that we build and share with them.”

Drew nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting away for a moment before returning to you. “Speaking of emotions, I just saw your new movie, We Live In Time,” he said, his voice taking on a softer tone. “It’s one of those films that stays with you, you know? It’s raw in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but it’s also beautiful. How did you tap into that for Almut?”

Your expression softened as you thought back on the experience. We Live In Time had been a journey—a raw, almost therapeutic one. “It was an emotional rollercoaster, honestly,” you said, leaning back slightly, letting the memory settle in. “I think the hardest part was showing that moment where her whole world shifts. It was such a raw, profound type of emotion I had to channel in order to do justice to the character and her experiences.”

Drew sat back, letting the weight of the conversation settle. “I think that's what makes your career so incredible. You never just play a character. You become them. And you take us with you. Every heartbreak, every triumph, every moment of doubt... we feel it all with you. That's what makes your work so powerful.”

You met his gaze, feeling the depth of the conversation linger between you both. “It’s all about connection, right? Connecting with the character, with the audience, and with the emotions that we all share as humans. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to make sense of time, love, and the moments we get.”

Drew smiled, his expression genuine and soft. “Well, you’ve definitely made sense of it for me. We Live In Time—it’s not just a movie. It’s a reminder to cherish what we have. And that, in itself, is something special.”

You smiled back, your heart full as you let the words sink in. “Thank you, Drew. That’s really sweet of you.”

You both shared a comfortable silence for a moment, before Drew broke it with a playful grin. “You know, it’s clear you’ve mastered the art of vulnerability on screen, but I can’t help but wonder—did you ever have moments on set where it was just... impossible to take things seriously?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Oh, absolutely. In fact, as a kid, it was all impossible to be serious,” you admitted, shaking your head at the memory. “I remember this one time during a scene on set when I was probably around 9 or 10. We were supposed to be doing this emotional scene, and I had to cry on cue. But instead of crying, I couldn’t stop giggling. It was a dramatic moment, and my co-star was all serious and trying to get through the scene, but I just... lost it.”

Drew raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Giggling during a dramatic scene? What happened?”

“Well, my director, bless her heart, kept trying to give me these 'serious actor' looks. She was this no-nonsense kind of woman, and she had this way of narrowing her eyes when things weren’t going well. I tried my best to hold it together, but then my co-star—who was way too good at being serious—looked at me and just gave this super intense stare, and that was it. I burst out laughing right in the middle of the take.”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head. “I can just picture that. You were probably trying to hold it together, but it must have been so hard with all that tension in the air.”

“I swear, the more I tried not to laugh, the harder it became,” you continued, grinning at the memory. “It was one of those moments where you’re like, 'Why am I even here? I can’t do this.' But somehow, I got through it. The director had to take a deep breath, and we did a few more takes. Eventually, we got it done, but I think we all were on the verge of cracking up the whole time.”

Drew let out a laugh, clearly imagining the scene. “I can’t blame you. I feel like as a kid, you have no filter. Everything feels like a joke, and it’s so hard to be serious when everyone else is trying so hard.”

“You have no idea,” you said, your voice still light. “There were so many times I’d be doing a serious scene, and I’d start thinking about something random, like a certain meme or a funny sound someone made on set—and then, bam, it was game over. I’d be holding in a laugh like my life depended on it.”

Drew smirked, leaning in a little. “I totally feel that. I mean, as an adult, I still have moments where I struggle to keep a straight face. I once had a scene where I was supposed to be super intense, but the prop guy was standing just out of frame, and he made this ridiculous face at me—completely threw me off. I couldn’t stop laughing, and it ended up taking hours to finish the scene because we kept cracking up. Honestly, I think the crew started to get annoyed with us after a while.”

“See?” you said with a grin. “It never really changes. Truthfully, the older you get, the harder it becomes to hold it in. But then you look at the footage and realize how much fun you actually had, and that makes it all worth it.”

Drew nodded thoughtfully, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s the thing. Sometimes it’s the moments you didn’t plan for that end up being the most memorable. Like when you have a laugh on set, and suddenly you feel closer to everyone, even though you’re supposed to be in character.”

“Exactly,” you said, your smile widening. “There’s something so beautiful about those unscripted moments. It reminds you that acting is, at its core, about connecting—whether that’s through laughter or the heavy stuff. And even though I had my fair share of giggling fits as a kid, I think those moments taught me just as much as the serious ones. Maybe more.”

Drew leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “It's funny how those little moments—like a laugh in the middle of a serious scene—can end up being the ones you remember the most. I think those are the ones that make the work feel real, you know?”

You smiled, your gaze distant as you reflected on the years of working on sets. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Yeah, like those unscripted moments,” Drew added, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of the sentiment lingered in the air. “They give the performance an authenticity that you can’t get from just following the script to a tee.”

You nodded, the words hanging between you like a shared understanding. “Exactly. And as a kid, I was so focused on getting it ‘right’—on being perfect—that I missed the beauty of just being in the moment. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how important it is to let go of the idea of perfection. It's in those mistakes, the wrong takes, the bloopers—that's where you find the truth.”

Drew's expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your chest tighten. “I think it’s key not to be afraid to show the mess, the imperfect parts of a character, because that��s what makes them human.”

A small chuckle escaped you, the warmth of the moment filling the studio. “Right? We’re all just a little bit of a mess, trying to figure it out, but that’s what makes the journey worth it. We’re constantly learning, constantly evolving, and we bring that to our work. The growth, the mistakes—it all shapes us.”

Drew nodded, his gaze shifting as if reflecting on those same ideas. “Yeah, and the growth never stops, does it? Just when you think you’ve figured it out, something new happens, and it challenges you again.”

“That's the beauty of it,” you said, your voice quieter now, the bond between you both deepening. “The challenge is what keeps it exciting, keeps you moving forward.”

Drew grinned, a playful spark lighting his eyes once more. “Well, I guess we’re both lifelong students of this thing called acting, huh?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a laugh, the lightness returning. “And just like any good student, we’ll always be learning. Who knows, maybe we'll even get better at not laughing in the middle of dramatic scenes.”

Drew let out a hearty laugh, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s going to take years of practice, honestly.”

You both shared a moment of genuine laughter, the warmth of your conversation filling the space around you. You leaned back into the chairs, the laughter still lingering in the air, a sense of camaraderie that made the space between you feel comfortable and open. You continued sharing stories, moving seamlessly from one experience to the next.

The conversation began to slow, the easy flow of stories fading into a comfortable silence, as you both shared an unspoken understanding. The light laughter that had filled the room now felt like a warm, lingering hum between you.

Drew shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze turning toward you with a subtle, thoughtful expression. “You know,” he began, his voice softer now, “I really hope we get to work together sometime. I think it’d be incredible. It’s the kind of thing where I can already imagine what it’d be like. Just... easy, real. Like this.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you kept your composure, offering a smile that spoke volumes. “I’d love that. If you receive a call from your manager these days… maybe I had something to do with it, so be prepared.”

The air between you both was charged, the quiet intensity of the moment not lost on either of you. There was something unspoken, something deeper that neither of you addressed outright but that seemed to hang there all the same. The connection was undeniable, yet it lingered in the silence, unspoken, but clear.

Drew finally broke the spell with a playful grin, his eyes flicking back to yours. “Oh, I’ll be ready. Can’t wait to see what magic we create together.”

You returned his smile, your heart racing ever so slightly, though you kept it hidden behind the ease of your words. “I’m sure it’ll be something incredible.”

As the interview wrapped up, there was a lingering sense of something unspoken between you both, an attraction that neither of you had to mention but was so clearly felt. The kind of connection that could only be hinted at, but would never truly fade. It was the kind of moment that would stay with both of you long after the cameras stopped rolling.

“Thank you,” you said softly as the final moments of the interview started to loom, your voice carrying a depth that reflected everything unsaid between you. “This has been amazing. Honestly, it feels like we’ve been talking for hours, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

He nodded, his expression soft but genuine. “I feel the same way. This has been one of the most honest and open conversations I’ve had in a long time.”

The crew began to pack up, signaling that the interview was at its end, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to break the moment. The usual chatter and movement around you felt distant, as if the two of you were in your own world for just a little longer.

“You know,” Drew said, his voice quieter now, a hint of sincerity threading through, “I think we make a pretty good team even just sitting here talking. Imagine what we could do with a whole script.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded, the words feeling right, but the undertone of something more—something unsaid—hung in the air. “Yeah, I think we’d be unstoppable.”

The moment stretched between you both, filled with the kind of comfortable tension that comes when you realize you’ve shared something real. Something that felt like it could turn into something more.

You both stood up, a final, lingering moment before the usual goodbye. Drew extended a hand, his gaze holding yours a beat longer than necessary.

“Take care, okay?” he said, his voice warm, like the words carried more than just a polite farewell.

You shook his hand, the warmth of his touch lingering just a moment longer than expected. “You too, Drew,” you replied, your voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of meaning that mirrored his own.

As you turned to gather your things, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, watching you with that same thoughtful expression, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. The faintest smile curved his lips, as if he were replaying the conversation in his mind.

“See you around,” he called out, the words simple but loaded with promise.

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his gaze one last time. “See you around.”

Walking away, you felt a peculiar lightness, as though something intangible had shifted, leaving you both exhilarated and curious. It wasn’t every day you met someone who made you feel seen in such a profound way, and as you left the studio, you found yourself smiling, a quiet hope blooming in your chest.

And for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to wonder what could come next.

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therandompagesblog · 2 months ago

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SKZ Pack Chapter 2

Trigger warnings: angst

Being mated to a head alpha was something special. It was symbolic in the way that you became one. Not one with him, but also one with the pack. It meant you had earned your right as their omega, as their mate. The mark was as important as having intercourse with that person. The mark symbolised their love and care for you, along with ownership. The power of that werewolf becomes transcribed into your veins, re-writing your whole DNA. It was powerful, but the act of mating was even more powerful. It was the combining of two souls into one. It was the union of bringing two people together. The traditional way was the head alpha would present himself to you and offer you into his nest that was newly decorated. The head alpha would ask for your approval and ask you to scent in the room, to make yourself as comfortable as possible. The head alpha would then lie you on the bed preparing you in a way he fitted before he did the act. While he mated you, the head alpha would mark you in a way that called to them before releasing their seed, locking your souls together. Once the bond was sealed the head alpha would allow the other wolves to become actively involved with you and may too mate with you when they are ready. That's what the elders taught you in werewolf school anyway, but for Y/N it was a little bit different back then. Not by much but she did mate with her old head alpha first. This was the reason Y/N started to get more emotional. Y/N felt more anxious, more detached, she even felt lost to a certain extent. Lost in the pack. It didn't help that Jisung marked her the other day.

Jisung's second accident posed a slight problem that day. It started off as a sweet day with him and Y/N spent the day together, binge-watching a series together. As you do, you move onto each other, and then a kiss happens. A kiss that got quite heated. Jisung was feeling needy but knew he had to tread carefully because of his last mistake but he had this need to please his omega so he did. Jisung had started off with his hands in her joggers teasing her but he still couldn't quite get the hang of it because he could smell the other members around. In the end, Y/N agreed to let him grind on her if he kept his boxers on which helped massively for Jisung as he got her to cum and made himself cum, but he ended up biting her during his release which scared the crap out of him and an angry Felix scolding him. Much to Y/N's surprise Chan was completely fine about it or that's what he said anyway, but Y/N felt there was much more to it. He too was getting agitated that she was unclaimed and he was willing to risk Jeongin to do it correctly.

As the days went on Y/N was starting to get more emotional and Chan could feel it. She came to his room and spent less time each day, especially when he mentioned Jeongin. She did want Jeongin but she wanted her head alpha first, she craved him badly but his leg wasn't healing and it had gotten infected that Jaehee had to give him some strong antibiotics and once they settled she would have to re-break his leg so it would heal correctly, which to Jisung's amusement was hilarious at the thought of his alpha having his leg broken. Jisung was scolded by Chan with a snarky comment that he could re-break his leg for biting Y/N. As much as Y/N wanted to laugh she couldn't. Everything in the house was so unsettled for various reasons and she didn't like it so she asked Jeongin to call a meeting after everyone was finished with their duties.

Jeongin would lead the meeting as he was nominated to take over Chan with Minho until he was better. It annoyed Y/N that Hyunjin was being pushed out but he assured her several times he did not mind and he knew Chan needed time as they all did, which was why they needed to clear the air once and for all. They needed to put this right and allow everyone to have their own chance to voice their opinion regardless of the others. "Right, so, um. I wanted to talk to you all because, Y/N is right, there is a lot of tension and upset in the room that we are not addressing and I wanted to talk about it because Chan is upstairs in pain and needs to focus on healing but he can't if he knows where all pissed off at each other." Jeongin stared as he stood in the middle of the living room awkwardly. It was new to him to take the lead. "What I did want to state is despite how we feel about that night. Hyunjin, Y/N and Seungmin risked their lives. They could have died and if they did it would be a different conversation and we all would have had massive regrets about our actions so we need to draw the line today. Things are going to be different because we have an omega now, our mate who we have to love and care for. Things are different even for her, let's remember how she didn't even know how to make a nest, that was hard for her, let alone for her to trust us, but we were patient. Think about the first day, we didn't know she existed. We didn't know she was going to arrive and it was hard but we got through it, like we did when we took Hyunjin in. We got through it and we will get through it again." Jeongin stated.

The wolves nodded, listening to Jeongin's words. It was all different for them. They were used to being eight and not having to worry about having an omega. They were used to going about their day until everything shifted far too quickly. "Can I say something?" Felix asked, nervously, breaking the thick silence. "I want you all to say something anyway so go ahead," Seungmin stated. "I am grateful to you guys, honestly, I am and I am sorry I was a coward that day. I don't have it in me. It felt sick for what I did to San. I can't do it again." Felix said honestly as he looked at them, giving Y/N an apologetic smile as Changbin held her hand. "No one's blaming you. It is alright." Hyunjin whispered. "Thank you. What I do want is for everyone to be fine. I know it won't happen overnight but I want us to make more of an effort." Felix added. "Alright, I'll speak. I want everyone to get along, that is all. Hyunjin is still our alpha regardless and we know now that he had his reasons. He is our friend, our brother and our alpha so let's all work on that." Changbin stated which Hyunjin appreciated. "Nothing else?" Jeongin asked. "Unless I'm a terrible mate? No." Changbin added.

Seungmin was next and stressed his lack of communication skills within the pack was causing problems. He admitted the secrecy with Minho and Jeongin was unfair and it left problems for Y/N and Hyunjin who felt they had to do something. Jeongin and Minho accepted that answer and promised to be more communicative. Jisung apologised for his defiance and messing up every so often but admitted his insecurity of feeling abandoned and rejected, which was why he thinks he felt the need to mark Y/N. Y/N felt sad heading Jisung's story and knew there was more to it but said nothing as she knew it wasn't the time. Hyunjin too spoke and apologised for his cowardness and will repent for his actions, but reminded his wolves he was their alpha and that wasn't found to change. "Hyung?" Felix nudged Minho who was staring at the floor. "Yeah. Um. I want everyone to be happier." Minho whispered. "Hyung, come on. Everyone else has said their issues." Seungmin said. It was unfair if he didn't speak. "What? What do you want me to say? I don't have problems with any of you. The rest is between me and Y/N which is being resolved." Minho growled, but the truth was Minho didn't like confrontation. He actually wanted to speak to Y/N privately and resolve it away from interference. "A thank you would have been nice. I almost got fried by some weird ass fog." Seungmin growled as he wanted some form of gratitude from the stubborn elder. "Thank you for stupidly following an OMEGA to your death. Ya, if she told you to sacrifice yourself would you?" Minho chided. His words made Y/N feel stupid and low but she had to accept it, this was meant to be uncomfortable for all of them. "Maybe. Depends on what it was for, but in all honesty, she was the one who was prepared to die. Think about that." Seungmin growled. "Yeah, and we're left to pick up the pieces," Minho grumbled, but in truth, Minho felt guilty when he found the note. He hadn't expected them to leave and tackle it alone. Minho was the one who panicked the most where as Jeongin was the one who was angry at the time.

"Why don't we let Y/Nssi speak? She's allowed to say how she feels about us too." Felix added, but Y/N waved them off. She didn't know what to say at this point but hoped they could move on, but still, Jeongin wanted her to. Jeongin crouched down in front of her as he took her hand in his, trying to urge but she dismissed him. "Ignore Minho hyung. Why don't you tell us how you feel about us? Please, it would help us." Jeongin pleaded. "I promise everything is fine with me. I want everyone to be happy and to get along. I want you to stop blaming each other and be yourselves." Y/N explained but Jeongin shook his head, she was avoiding a particular topic. She wasn't stating how she felt about them. "What about us? Do you feel happy with us? Content? Satisfied?" Jeongin asked. "I think so," Y/N whispered as she looked up at the creme ceiling. She didn't want to think about this. She didn't want to disappoint them and say she felt lost with them. She didn't want to say she felt useless. She didn't want to say she felt rejected. "Baby, don't cry. Tell us." Jeongin urged, wiping her tears that she didn't know had fallen down. "I feel lost. I think after everything that happened with Ateez I felt lost when they left, like I don't know who I am. I feel like I don't belong here or I'm being rejected I don't know why. I want to be loved but I don't know how." Y/N admitted. "Take all the time that you need. None of us is ever going to pressure you into anything. We will go at any pace you set for us." Changbin promised. "I agree but I want you to think about what Chan said, but I also want you to know. I will never force you to ever do it with me. Ever."

Taglist for the iconic readers

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buckets-and-trees · 3 months ago

Text

Chosen, Part 9: Transformation

Characters/Pairings: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 7k Summary: Bound to the fallen angel, he sweeps you away for one more ritual on this full moon.

Content Warnings: skin marking/branding by cutting/use of dagger; explicit smut: oral (female receiving), vaginal intercourse; supernatural binding; human transformation to supernatural being; terato/monster fucking

Notes: FINAL CHAPTER! Lots of smut and lots of information! Given the length, I could have split this chapter in two, and there was a spot I could have broken it off at, but this really felt more cohesive to me and I wanted to give it to you as one final installment of this long and winding tale. Additional Notes: To anyone who has not read from the beginning, I have determined that one could reasonably start with Part 7: Offering and read only the final third of the saga. Think Doctor Who when there's a new Doctor and/or companion and it's built to be a sufficient entry point for anyone new to the story. You'll miss copious backstory, but should be able to drop in and follow without any real problem.

Previous: Binding | Series List

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

James' powerful wings beat steadily as he carries you through the night sky. The cool night air rushes past, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours. You cling to him tightly, your mind reeling from everything that has transpired, heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and lingering pleasure.

As you soar higher, the clearing and the assembled crowd fade into the distance below. The full moon bathes everything in its ethereal glow, casting long shadows across the landscape. You've never seen the world from this vantage point before, and it takes your breath away.

"Where are we going?" you manage to ask, your voice barely audible over the rush of wind.

James looks down at you, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "To a place where we can complete your transformation in private," he replies. "What comes next is sacred, meant only for us."

You nod, nestling closer to his chest.

After what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, James begins to descend, and you turn your head to see the towering walls of the estate. With a graceful landing, he alights on a terrace teeming with ivy, jasmine, and more of the Luna’s Tears. As he steps through a set of grand French doors, you’re enveloped in the soft and warm lighting of a luxurious room. From plush rugs to the rich velvet curtains billowing in the gentle breeze from outside to the mahogany furnishings, it’s designed for comfort. But another word comes to mind as well as he gently sets you down and you look around - sanctuary. This is his sanctuary, a place where he can escape the chaos of the world and find peace in its lavish surroundings.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, pulling you into his arms so you’re standing face to face. His eyes are earnestly studying your expression, and his arms circle around your lower back. Your hands come to rest instinctively on his chest.

You take a moment to assess yourself, still marveling at the changes you feel coursing through your body. "I feel different," you say softly. "More alive than I've ever been." Your skin tingles where it touches his, as if an electric current is passing between you. "But also... incomplete? Like there's something more waiting to happen."

James nods, a small smile playing at his lips. "That's to be expected. The binding ritual in the clearing was just the beginning of your transformation. There's still more you could become, and I think the essence of Luna’s Tears in your blood is calling for it."

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. The simple touch sends a jolt of pleasure through you, igniting the embers of desire that still smolder in your core.

“What do you feel through this?” you ask tentatively. “Anything?”

James' eyes darken as he gazes at you intently. "I feel everything," he says, his voice low and husky. "Your essence, intertwining with mine. The potential for what you could become. The hunger in your body, calling out to be fulfilled."

His hand slides from your cheek down your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. "But more than that, I feel a connection to you that goes beyond the physical. A bond that transcends mere mortal understanding."

You shiver at his touch and his words, feeling that same connection humming between you. "What happens now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

James leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Now, we complete your transformation. If you're willing."

You nod without hesitation, surprising yourself with how eager you are to continue this journey.

“Come with me,” he says, and takes your hand.

He leads you into the bathroom, as spacious and exquisite as his chambers. The moonlight streams in through a large skylight, casting an otherworldly glow on the tiled floor. He turns on the faucet, and water gushes out, filling a deep clawfoot tub with steamy warmth. You raise an eyebrow, and he explains, “Bathing in the light of the full moon is one of the elements for the transformation ritual.”

He reaches for a simple glass bottle, removes a cork from its seal, and begins to pour the liquid into the bath. You’re met with a strong and fresh scent of a smell that’s growing not only familiar but recognizable to you - Luna’s Tears. It’s been faintly surrounding you due to the flower crown that’s still on your head, but the essence being added to the bath is more potent.

A small wave of nerves threatens to wash over you. “Do I have to be unconscious for the next part? Won’t the essence of Luna’s Tears put me to sleep?”

James' eyes soften as he hears the concern in your voice. He reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands. "No, my dear," he says softly, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. "You won't be put to sleep by this."

He guides you closer to the tub, the steam rising from the water carrying the intoxicating scent of Luna's Tears. "What you experienced earlier - the deep sleep - was caused by a different concoction. A blend of herbs and other elements designed to prepare your body and mind for the initial stages of the ritual."

James' wings rustle softly behind him. He reaches out and gently removes the flower crown from your head as he continues, "For you, the essence of Luna's Tears will now provide strength and healing. It will fortify your body and spirit for the transformation." He places the crown on a nearby shelf, then takes your hand to help you step into the tub.

The warm water envelops you as you sink into the tub, and you feel the essence of Luna's Tears immediately seeping into your skin. It's invigorating, awakening every nerve ending in your body.

James kneels beside the tub, folding his wings neatly behind him. His eyes never leave you as he begins to gently wash your body with a soft cloth. His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he cleanses away the remnants of the earlier ritual, blood and earth and sweat.

You shiver despite the warmth of the water, both from his touch and the implications of what he’s said.

As his hand moves with the cloth over every part of your body, it’s an intimate study for him, memorizing you inch by inch. You still feel somewhat exposed, but also treasured, and still slightly overwhelmed by all of this. But as his hands move over you, with no way to hide the soft, round parts of your body that you typically dread, he shows nothing but unabashed wonder and appreciation. It’s something you’ve rarely felt with any previous partner.

Seeking distraction from thinking only of his touch and what it means, you decide to test the waters of what he will tell you. “How exactly do you see this working? You’ve bound me to you through ritual and through contract, but am I to you?”

James pauses his ministrations, his hand stilling on your shoulder. His eyes meet yours, intense and searching. "You are my elim," he says, his voice low and reverent. "It's a sacred bond, one that goes beyond mere mortal understanding."

He resumes washing you, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "Your essence is intertwined with mine, your very being attuned to me in ways that transcend the physical realm."

James' hand moves lower, skimming over your collarbone and down to your breast. You inhale sharply at the contact, feeling a spark of desire ignite within you. "In the most basic sense, it means you are mine. But it's so much more than simple possession."

He resumes washing you, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "You are my chosen one, selected to stand by my side. You will be my partner, my confidante, my source of strength and renewal."

James' hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "In time, as your transformation completes, you will gain abilities beyond those of mortals. Longevity to match my own lifespan, enhanced strength and healing, a deeper connection to the natural world."

His eyes search yours, gauging your reaction. "In addition to that, you will be integral to my mission.”

Your mind reels at the implications of James' words. Enhanced abilities, longevity, a deeper connection to nature - it all sounds like something out of a fantasy novel. And yet, after everything you've witnessed tonight, you find yourself believing him.

"Your mission?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What exactly is it that you're trying to accomplish?"

James' hand continues its gentle ministrations, moving down your arm as he speaks. “That,” he says, “is a discussion for another time.”

You make an impatient sound and bat his hand away. “I’m tired of information being withheld from me! I want answers, and I deserve them!”

He reaches out and firmly takes your hand. “I will tell you everything, I swear it on our bond, but not now. There is more to the transformation ritual, and I want your mind and body to be completely rested and refreshed, and there are charts and maps and books I will want to show you in the archives.”

“Oh,” is your simple reply.

“Soon, just not now.”

“Okay,” you agree. You believe he’s being sincere. You feel it, actually, and not just in the metaphorical sense, you realize you feel some kind of resonance between the two of you.

He resumes washing you.

Your eyes roam over him. He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, body sculpted as if by the gods, and you’d almost believe it, given that he’s an angel. He’s still naked as well, but now that you have time and feel comfortable enough to simply look at him, you notice he’s wearing a gold pinky ring and a pendant on a chain around his neck.

“What’s that symbol on the pendant around your neck?”

“It’s for protection,” he answers simply.

You cock your head. “Protection? But you’re an angel.”

“That’s part of the soon-not-now story you will eventually learn.”

You sigh, and he laughs softly. “Your keen mind will not be wasted, elim. Your desire to know is something I look forward to in a partner.”

Your chest swells a little at this admission. But it spurs another thought - one you think he should be able to answer.

“With all of the ritual, the destiny,” you start, “why bother with an employment contract? Why go through the ruse of it all?”

He chuckles. “It’s not a ruse. Everyone has a place and a purpose here, and if you’re going to work, you should be compensated. Nat was insistent that whether or not I bound myself to you, I needed some kind of assistant working with me on my projects.”

You almost laugh, but his face tells you he’s serious.

“Wait, so the foundation is… it’s real?”

He tilts his head, scrutinizing you. “You saw it all today. You met with so many of my people. Did you think it was all an act?”

“I,” you start, then stop. “I guess not, it’s just a lot to take in. I suppose now that I know what and who you truly are, I’ll be able to have a lot more of the questions answered today that I got denied full transparency on?”

He nods. “I imagine so.”

“Hmm,” you hum. After another moment, you ask, “What do I call you? You’re an angel, but bound to me, and also my boss?”

He chuckles. “Bucky. You can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky?”

“Supernatural beings are either assigned or choose a sacred name for their transformed state, but only certain designations are allowed to use the name,” he explains. “An elim can use the name.”

“And Bucky?”

“It’s what most people called me when I was still human. I wanted a moniker to remind me of my humanity - who I wanted to serve and protect.”

Bucky's revelation that he’d once been human sparks a flurry of questions in your mind, but before you can voice any of them, he places a finger gently on your lips.

"I know you have many more questions," he says softly. "And I promise, we will have time for all of them. But for now, we need to focus on completing your transformation."

You nod, realizing he's right. There's still an unfamiliar energy thrumming through your body, an anticipation for something more.

The water around you has cooled slightly, and you notice the moon's position has shifted in the skylight above. Bucky helps you stand and step out of the tub, wrapping you in a plush towel. As he dries your skin, you notice the way his touch lingers, sending little sparks of pleasure through you. The bond between you pulses with energy, and you find yourself leaning into his caresses.

“Is it always like this for an offering? For elim being selected, the binding, and this transformation? Do they all feel like this?”

He brings his head back to look at you. “Oh, my elim,” he says, voice dropping low, and smoother than any words he’s spoken to you up to this point. “I can not say. I’ve taken many offerings for the moonlight ritual, but I’ve never bound someone to me as elim. I invoked a transformation in Steve and Natasha, but not the transformation I have intended for you.”

He cups your face in both of his hands. “You are the first. The only.”

His words send a shiver through you, both thrilling and terrifying. You're entering uncharted territory, blazing a trail no one else has walked before. The weight of this revelation settles over you, but instead of feeling burdened, you feel empowered.

"The next ritual will be more intense than the binding," he explains, his voice low and intimate. "It will require complete trust in me.”

Bucky's hands slide down from your face, tracing the curves of your body. His touch reignites a fire within you, desire coursing through your veins. The bond between you pulses with energy, amplifying every sensation.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

Bucky leads you back out onto the terrace fully bathed in the moonlight. On a table near the edge of the terrace, there’s a wooden chest and a clear pitcher of water - though you would guess it’s more than mere water. He opens a the case as you reach it. It’s velvet inside, and there’s an empty spot, but you instantly know what’s missing, because next to it is a dagger that looks exactly like the one that he’d used in the clearing to initiate the blood bond. They’re clearly a pair.

Bucky takes the dagger from the case, its silver blade gleaming in the moonlight. He turns to you, his eyes intense and filled with an otherworldly light, and his wings unfurl behind him. "This is the first part of what will complete your transformation from elim in name to elim in being."

You nod, unable to form words as anticipation builds within you.

He guides you to the edge of the balcony. “Place your hands here,” he says, motioning to the stone parapet. “You’ll need to brace yourself.”

You feel the coolness of the smooth stone beneath your palms as you look out over the grounds. You must be on the fourth level of the mansion, standing naked in the moonlight. Bucky moves in behind you, standing so close you can feel the heat radiating from his equally naked body.

“I’m going to carve a sigil into your body,” he murmurs next to your ear. Your body tenses up, and he runs his hand down your back. “It will be painful, but should be less so given the transition your body is already making, the essence of Luna’s Tears in your system, as well as the oils from the bath, and the sustaining energy you’ll pull from the full moon.”

“Bucky…” your voice is hesitant.

Bucky's hand traces back up your spine, coming to rest on your left shoulder blade. "The sigil will be here," he says softly. "It will mark you as mine, and as a being transformed. The placement of a sigil is instrumental in the transfiguration, and an elim receives their mark here because it’s so close to the heart."

Bucky presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. "Are you ready?" he asks softly.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Yes," you whisper.

You feel the weight of his hand come to rest again on your lower back, warm and reassuring. "Remember, I'm here with you. Our bond will help you through this."

You nod, closing your eyes and focusing on the connection between you. You can feel it thrumming with energy, and you try to ground yourself in it.

You feel the cool touch of the blade against your skin, and then a sharp, burning pain as Bucky begins to carve the sigil. You grit your teeth, your fingers gripping the stone parapet tightly. The pain is intense, but not unbearable. As Bucky promised, there's an underlying current of energy flowing through you, dulling the worst of it.

As he works, Bucky murmurs words in a language you don't understand. The air around you seems to thicken, charged with an otherworldly power. You can feel the bond between you pulsing, growing stronger with each stroke of the blade.

As Bucky continues carving the sigil, you feel a strange tingling sensation spreading from the point of the blade. It's as if tendrils of energy are snaking through your body, igniting every nerve ending. The pain is still there, but it's overshadowed by a growing sense of power and connection.

You gasp as a particularly intricate part of the sigil is carved, your body arching involuntarily. Bucky's free hand moves to your hip, steadying you. "Almost done," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

With a final, decisive stroke, Bucky completes the sigil, then places his palm flat against the marking and murmurs a few more words. The moment he's finished, a surge of energy courses through you, so intense it nearly brings you to your knees. Bucky's strong arms wrap around you, holding you upright as wave after wave of sensation washes over you.

You're dimly aware of what’s going on as he sweeps you into his arms. He carries you back into the bedroom and places you softly on the large four-poster bed. The sheets are soft and cool against your skin as you lie down. Bucky stands next to the bed, his wings unfurling to their full span, but he rustles them in clear agitation.

"The ritual of the sigil is complete," Bucky explains, “and now your body will undergo transfiguration over the next few hours.”

There’s a sudden spasm that shoots down your right side, and you wince.

He puts a hand on your torso, and it radiates out a calming energy that allows you to breathe easy again. You put your hand over his, holding it there.

"You’ve seen that I have some power, but the strongest energy - to generate, to transfer, and to consume - is sexual energy.”

A strained laugh erupts from your lips. “Of course it is.”

Despite the lingering pain from the sigil, you feel a surge of arousal at his words. The bond between you pulses with anticipation.

"Are you willing?" Bucky asks softly, his hand still resting on your torso.

You nod, unable to form words as another wave of sensation washes over you. Bucky leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The moment your lips meet, energy courses between you, amplifying every touch, every sensation.

Bucky's hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. Your own hands explore the planes of his muscular chest and back, marveling at the softness of his skin contrasted with the hardness of his body. When your fingers brush the base of his wings, he lets out a low groan that sends shivers down your spine.

His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through you, amplified by the bond between you. You can feel his desire, his need, as if it were your own.

Bucky's hand slides down your body, coming to rest between your plush thighs. You gasp as he strokes you, your hips bucking involuntarily. "So wet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

You whine and spread your legs.

“It’s good that you’re so eager now, my elim, because I’ve wanted to taste your nectar from the source since the instant I smelled you in the clearing tonight.”

Bucky's words send a shiver of anticipation through you. He moves down your body, trailing kisses along your skin. When he reaches your thighs, he spreads them wider, settling his broad shoulders between them.

"Bucky, please," you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair.

His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, making you squirm. "Be good for me," he murmurs, placing a hand on your hip to steady you.

The first swipe of his tongue has you arching off the bed, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips. Bucky holds your hips down as he continues his ministrations, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue.

The mounting pleasure distracts from the pain, but you’re feeling other sensations throughout your body that you can’t ignore. At one point you’re aware of your bones, heating up, then resonating for a moment, and then those sensations subside. Most of the other changes in your body, though, fall into the background against the canvas of what Bucky’s doing to your sex with his mouth.

Bucky's skilled tongue works you into a frenzy, building your pleasure higher and higher. The bond between you pulses with energy, amplifying every sensation. You can feel his desire, his hunger for you, as if it were your own.

Your hands tangle in his hair, holding him close as your hips buck against his face. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy as your body continues its transformation.

"Bucky," you gasp, feeling yourself teetering on the edge. "I'm close!"

He redoubles his efforts, sucking your sensitive bud between his lips as he slides two fingers inside you. The dual stimulation is your undoing. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

As you come down from your high, you feel the air literally moving through your lungs, hyperaware of every sensation in your body.

But Bucky is only idle for a moment. He pushes up to kneel above you, tracing his fingers down your thighs, causing you to shiver with pleasure. Then he grips your hips and flips you over and maneuvers you onto your hands and knees.

Bucky's strong hands grip your hips as he positions himself behind you. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his desire palpable in the air between you. The bond pulses with anticipation, your bodies already in tune with each other's needs.

"Are you ready for me, my elim?" Bucky's voice is low and husky, sending goosebumps over your skin.

You nod, words failing you as another wave of sensation washes through your body. The transformation is still ongoing, every nerve ending hypersensitive.

Bucky slowly pushes into you, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. You gasp at the intensity of it, the pleasure almost overwhelming. He pauses once he's fully seated, giving you time to adjust.

"You feel incredible," he murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss between your shoulder blades, then right over your sigil. There’s a pulse of energy that radiates through it, and you feel like it’s healing.

Bucky begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has you gasping with each thrust. The pleasure is intense, amplified by the bond between you and the ongoing changes in your body. You can feel every inch of him as he slides in and out, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity.

His hands roam your body, caressing your curves and sending shivers of delight through you. When he reaches around to cup your breasts, you arch into his touch, craving more.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for me, my elim. Let me feel your pleasure."

His words spur you on, and you begin to move your hips back to meet his thrusts. The new angle has him hitting a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You cry out, your fingers clutching the sheets as the waves of pleasure and pain begin to mount higher.

As your climax approaches, you feel a surge of energy coursing through your body. It's different from before - wilder, more primal. Your spine tingles with an otherworldly power, and for a moment, it’s like you can’t breathe.

"Bucky," you gasp, your voice strained. "Something's happening..."

"Let it happen," he says, his voice low and commanding. "Don't fight it."

He repositions himself behind you, planting one foot on the bed to give him more leverage to thrust into your cunt. He forces your chest down, pushing your face into the soft sheets, hand planted between your shoulder blades, and he redoubles his efforts, slamming his thick cock into your weeping pussy. You moan and keen, and it mixes with his own groans and grunts of desperate pleasure.

the bond between you heightening everything, you climax at the same time, accompanied by another blinding burst of light as happened before on the altar. But in the next moment, there’s a searing pain that rips through your ecstasy. Your back feels like it’s exploding, and there’s a cacophony of sounds - ripping, ruffling, rustling, and your own anguished scream.

The pain is overwhelming, and you feel like your body is being ripped apart from the inside out. You crawl away from Bucky, desperately trying to escape the searing agony.

But as you move, you realize that something is off. Your body feels foreign, and when you reach back to touch your back, you feel something there that shouldn't be - a pair of wings.

As you turn to face Bucky, he holds a cautious stance, but his face is full of wonder and awe. You, on the other hand, can only stare at him in mute horror as you try to understand what has just happened.

You were so focused on fulfilling the bonding ritual that you didn't consider the consequences. And now it seems as though those consequences have caught up with you.

Tears stream down your face as panic sets in. You don't know what to do or how to control this new form that has taken over your body. You never thought the transformation would lead all the way to this - to your own set of wings.

Bucky speaks your name softly, moving slowly toward you.

You’re trembling, and your chest heaves with sobs. You didn’t even realize your tears had turned to crying.

Bucky approaches you cautiously, his hands outstretched in a calming gesture. "It's alright," he says softly, his voice soothing. "I know this is overwhelming, but you're safe. I'm here with you."

You try to speak, but only a choked sob comes out. Your new wings flutter involuntarily, causing you to flinch.

"Breathe," Bucky instructs gently. "Focus on my voice. In and out, slowly."

You follow his guidance, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. As your panic subsides, you become more aware of the wings on your back. They feel strange, yet somehow natural, as if they've always been a part of you.

"That's it," Bucky encourages. "You're doing wonderfully." He moves closer, reaching out to touch your arm. "May I?"

You nod.

Bucky's touch is gentle as he runs his hand down your arm, grounding you. The sensation helps calm your racing heart.

"Your wings are beautiful," he says softly.

You take a shaky breath, trying to process his words. "I... I didn't expect this," you manage to say.

Bucky nods understandingly. "I know. The full extent of an elim's transformation isn't always predictable. But this... this is extraordinary."

Slowly, carefully, he guides you to turn around so he can examine your wings. You feel his fingers gently tracing along the new appendages, sending shivers down your spine.

You take another shaky breath. "What... what am I now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky turns you back around and cups your face in his hands, his eyes meeting yours. "You're still you," he says firmly. "But now you're also something more. You're an elim, my elim, one of the pantheon of angelic creatures."

His thumbs wipe away your tears as he continues, "Your wings are a physical manifestation of the power you now possess. They're a gift, not a curse."

You nod slowly, trying to process his words. The initial shock is less overwhelming, but not gone. “And I’ll have these wings forever?” you ask, thinking suddenly of how you never saw this man before the midnight ritual, which makes sense as there’s no way to hide his large wings. Your heart constricts thinking of all the people you will never see again.

"Yes, but you’ll be able to retract and conceal them most of the time.”

“I-” your voice breaks, “I will?”

“Yes,” he says emphatically, and you know he must feel your enormous worry through the bond, “it’s only the day before and the day after a full moon when an angel can not conceal their true nature.”

Relief washes over you, and you sink forward against his chest, and his arms wrap around your lower back beneath your wings.

“I suppose that’s not the worst,” you say, already starting to see how you could build your life around that. Work will certainly never be a problem, as you won’t have to explain to your boss since he’s the one who triggered your transformation. You imagine it won’t be strange for you to go about as normal here on the estate, either. “I’ll just have to stay out of the public eye for two days a month.”

Bucky chuckles. “‘Not the worst?’ Oh, my elim, you won’t want to be anywhere but here those two days. I’m certain we’ll always have good sex,” he says, trailing moving one of his hands up your spine, and causing you to shiver, “but the unbelievable heights of sensation we’ve felt tonight? That intensity will only accompany the full moon.”

Your eyes widen at Bucky's words, a mix of anticipation and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. The memory of the intense pleasure you just experienced is still fresh in your mind, and the thought of experiencing it again and again, amplified by the full moon, is both thrilling and slightly overwhelming.

"So, this happens every month?" you ask, your voice a mix of curiosity and awe.

Bucky nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "The full moon amplifies our powers and our connection. It's a sacred time for our kind."

You take a deep breath, trying to process all this new information. Your wings flutter slightly behind you, and you realize you can feel the air moving through them, a strange but not unpleasant sensation.

"How do I... how do I control them?" you ask, gesturing vaguely behind you.

Bucky's smile widens. “It will come. You’ll develop mastery over your wings as you have the rest of your body. It will take concentration at first, and then it will be like breathing.”

Bucky guides you to stand up, his hands steadying you as you wobble slightly, still adjusting to your new center of gravity.

Bucky leads you over to stand in front of a full-length mirror. For the first time, you see your transformed self - your body still familiar, but now adorned with a pair of magnificent wings. They're smaller than Bucky's, but no less beautiful, with feathers that shimmer in shades of pearl and pale gold. You note that the coloring is not that different from Bucky’s lighter wing.

"Let's start with something simple," he says. "Try to stretch them out fully."

You take a deep breath, focusing on the new appendages. At first, nothing happens, and you feel a flicker of frustration. But then, slowly, you feel the muscles in your back engage, and your wings begin to unfurl.

The sensation is strange but exhilarating. As your wings extend to their full span, you gasp in awe. They're larger than you expected, easily reaching several feet on either side of you.

"Beautiful," Bucky murmurs, his eyes filled with pride and admiration. "Now, try to fold them back in."

This proves to be a bit more challenging, but with Bucky's gentle guidance and encouragement, you manage to tuck them nicely behind you - though not as tightly as you remember Bucky had initially in the clearing. You furl them back out a little, in what feels like a more natural position - at least for now.

"That's it," Bucky says, pride evident in his voice. "You're a natural."

You stare at your reflection, mesmerized by the sight. It's far too surreal, yet somehow feels right. Bucky steps closer and strokes along the bone of your wing from base to tip, and you fight between a whimper and a sigh escaping your lips, the feeling exquisite as he touches your wing.

"Sensitive, aren't they?" Bucky says with a knowing smile. "Wings are one of the most erogenous zones for our kind."

You nod, unable to form words as he continues to stroke your wing. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before, pleasure radiating from the point of contact throughout your entire body.

Bucky's hand moves to the juncture where your wing meets your back, massaging gently. You lean into his touch, an unrestrained moan escaping your lips. The bond between you pulses with renewed energy, and you can feel Bucky's desire rising to match your own.

"There's so much more for you to learn," Bucky murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "About your new body, your new abilities, the world you're now a part of.

Bucky's hands move to your shoulders, turning you to face him. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you. “So many new sensations to explore."

His wings unfurl behind him, and you're struck again by their beauty and power. He takes your hand and guides it to the base of his wing. "Touch me," he encourages.

Hesitantly, you run your fingers along the strong bone structure of his wing, marveling at the softness of the feathers. Bucky's eyes flutter closed, a low groan escaping his lips. Encouraged by his reaction, you grow bolder, stroking and exploring the expanse of his wing.

As you caress him, you feel an echo of the pleasure through your bond. It's as if you can sense what he's feeling, amplifying your own arousal. Your other hand moves to his chest, tracing the defined muscles there.

Bucky's hands aren't idle either. They roam your body, learning your curves and newly sensitive areas. When he reaches the base of your wings, mirroring your actions on his own, you gasp at the intensity of the sensation. It's pleasure unlike anything you've ever experienced before, radiating from your wings throughout your entire body.

His wings twitch and flutter under your ministrations, and you can feel his arousal building through your bond - and pressing against your stomach.

Suddenly, Bucky's eyes snap open, dark with need. In one fluid motion, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrap around him, and he carries you back to the bed. He tosses you into the middle of the mattress, joining you immediately. He lays back and pulls you on top of him.

“Ride me, elim,” he says, his eyes hungry for you.

You straddle Bucky's hips, your new wings fluttering slightly as you position yourself above him. The bond between you pulses with anticipation and desire. As you slowly lower yourself onto his hard length, you both groan in unison at the exquisite sensation.

Bucky's hands grip your wide hips, guiding your movements as you begin to rock against him. The angle allows him to hit deep inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your wings seem to have a mind of their own, stretching and folding with each roll of your hips.

"That's it," Bucky encourages, his voice low and husky. "Let yourself feel everything."

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you increase your pace. The new position causes your wings to spread wide, and you feel a rush of cool air against the sensitive feathers. The sensation sends shots of pleasure straight to your core.

Bucky’s hands move from your hips up your back questing for your wings again.

As Bucky's fingers caress the sensitive juncture where the feathers meet your back, you cry out in ecstasy. The dual stimulation of his touch on your wings and his cock deep inside you is overwhelming. Your movements become more frantic as you chase your pleasure.

Bucky's own wings unfurl beneath him, the feathers rustling against the sheets. The sight of him, powerful and angelic beneath you, only fuels your desire further.

"You're so beautiful like this," Bucky murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. "My perfect elim."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your climax building rapidly. Your wings flutter and stretch with each roll of your hips, seeming to respond to your mounting pleasure.

Bucky's wings curl forward to touch your wings, and a jolt of intense pleasure courses through you. You cry out, your movements faltering for a moment as you adjust to the new sensation. Bucky uses the opportunity to thrust up into you, setting a faster pace.

You can only moan, words escaping you as waves of pleasure wash over you. As you ride him, you become aware of a building energy between you. It's similar to what you felt during the ritual, but more intense, more focused.

The energy between you and Bucky builds to a crescendo, pulsing in time with your movements. Your wings are fully extended now, quivering with each thrust. One of Bucky's hands moves to cup your face, his eyes locked on yours.

"Let go," Bucky commands, his voice rough with need. "Come for me, my elim."

His words, combined with a particularly deep thrust, send you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, more intense than anything you've ever experienced. Your wings beat powerfully, sending gusts of air through the room as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.

Bucky follows you moments later, his own wings unfurling fully as he reaches his climax. You feel his seed filling you up, and it fills you with an added element of satisfaction.

You collapse against his chest, and his arms draw around you tightly. You rest your forehead against his, and then he kisses you. Slow but passionate - not with a drive for more sex, but more of an earnest need to connect with you on a deeper level.

As your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become aware of a warmth spreading through your body. It's different from the heat of arousal - this feels more like a gentle, comforting glow emanating from within. Your wings, now relaxed, drape over you both like a feathered blanket.

Bucky's hand strokes gently along your spine, his touch soothing and grounding. "How do you feel?" he asks softly, his voice filled with tenderness.

You take a moment to assess yourself. The initial shock and fear of your transformation have faded, replaced by a sense of wonder and, surprisingly, contentment.

"Different," you reply honestly. "But... good different. Like I've finally become who I was always meant to be.”

Bucky smiles, his eyes shining with pride and affection. "That's exactly it," he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "We’ve awakened your true nature, what was buried beneath the surface."

You shift slightly, marveling at how natural your wings already feel. "There's still so much I don't understand," you admit. "So much to learn."

"And we have all the time in the world for that," Bucky assures you. His hand moves to caress your wing, sending a pleasant shiver through you. "I'll be here to guide you every step of the way."

You nod, feeling a surge of gratitude and affection for him. The bond between you pulses warmly, a constant reminder of your connection.

"What happens now?" you ask, curious about what this new life holds for you.

Bucky's hand moves back to its soothing motion along your spine. "Now, we rest. Your body has undergone a significant change, and you need time to recover and adjust."

He shifts slightly, adjusting your position so you're lying more comfortably against his chest. Your wings naturally fold around you both, creating a cocoon of soft feathers.

"In the coming days, I'll teach you more about your new abilities," Bucky continues. "How to control your wings, how to harness the energy that now flows through you, and,” he presses his hand meaningfully to the small of your back at the same time he presses a kiss to your forehead, “answer all of your questions.”

“All of them?” you ask.

“All of them,” he promises.

THIRTY-FOUR THOUSAND WORDS TOTAL! Can you believe it?!

If you've come with me this far... I literally can't thank you enough for reading this. It really pushed my creativity as it's an AU area I'd never explored before. I hope it was full of delicious details, tantalizing mysteries, and I know I still didn't answer all of the burning questions... 🤭 Maybe if anyone is really dying to know, then someday we'll learn more?

But THIS is the end of this story at least. A nice, smutty end. 😏

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x yn #female reader #curvy reader #aspen wrote something #chosen au #tw: cults #terato #monster smut

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guess-my-next-obsession · 7 months ago

Text

Guilty as Sin? — Chapter Eight

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, professor/student dynamic, minor angst (javi is not the cause), unprotected piv, the professor kink gets a moment to shine, also maybe an anti-breeding kink?? vasectomy kink?? idk, these two are rudely interrupted by a special guest

word count: 5.2k

series masterlist

“Professor.”

You greeted Javi with an air of indifference as you stopped at his desk on the way out of his Friday night lab, though your eyes told a completely different story when you caught a glimpse of the mark you’d left on him a few nights ago when he stayed over at your place.

Javi seemed to already know what you were thinking as he watched your eyes widen with a mixture of alarm and satisfaction, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yes?” he replied, forcing himself to sound as cold as he normally did when speaking to a student. “Can I help you with something?”

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. “Just saying goodnight.”

“Mm,” he hummed, ticking his jaw to the side as gave you a purposeful once over. You rolled your eyes in order to hide the fluster his gaze brought on before turning to leave the lecture hall. He called your last name, forcing you to freeze in place, watching as the last few undergrads filed out of the room. “Would you mind staying back to discuss today’s lab?”

You slowly spun towards him on your heel, your eyebrow raised in question. With the room now empty, you were free to speak normally with him. “Is this an actual meeting or your attempt at roleplay?”

“A little bit of both,” he replied, pushing off his desk to saunter across the room, his eyes never leaving yours once in the process. “Just wanted to thank you for helping out today.”

“Well, it is kind of my job to help,” you joked, stepping close enough to smell the cinnamon on his breath. “Is that all you wanted to say? Or is there something else you need from me?”

“There’s a world of things I need from you,” he husked, settling his hands on your hips before sliding them up to the small of your back. “A kiss will do for now, though.”

“Just one?”

Javier grinned, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. “For now.”

“I thought we said no fooling around on campus,” you breathed, the words a reminder not only to him but also to yourself.

“That was overly optimistic, I think,” he said, tipping your jaw up as he placed a soft, almost taunting kiss on your lips. “But maybe you’re right.”

“Uh-uh,” you replied, tugging him back into you as he playful tried to back away with his hands held up in surrender.

You kissed him, deeper this time. Javier groaned, walking you backwards until your thighs hit the edge of a desk. You gasped as he hoisted you onto the surface, your thighs bracketed around his waist.

“We really should stop,” he panted, kissing his way down your neck. “Anybody could walk in.”

“Then take me somewhere private,” you said, tossing your head back as he pressed his hips into yours.

“It’s late, aren’t you tired?” he asked, though his wandering hands did little to persuade you against letting him fuck you right here on this desk.

“Not when it comes to you,” you replied, popping one of the buttons of his shirt open to trace over the fresh hickey you’d given him last night when he showed up to your place unannounced but more than welcome.

“Fuck,” he squeezed your hips, dragging you closer. “Spend the weekend with me. We can hole up and eat like shit and fuck and build Legos.”

You smiled at the prospect, dragging your lips up to his jaw. “I’ll meet you in the parking garage.”

“Okay,” he nodded, giving you a lingering peck that turned into another one of his signature, mind melting, knock-you-on-your-ass kisses that had you panting when he finally pulled away. “I won’t be long, just have to pack my things up.”

“No rush,” you said, giving him a smitten look. Javier let out a soft groan, holding your face as he leaned in for one more.

Always just one more.

You had some time to kill as you waited for Javi to pack his things and shut everything down in the lecture hall, so you wandered into the campus cafe beside the parking structure reserved for faculty, desperate to get out of this mid-October chill.

The doorbell jingled as you stepped in, the scent of cinnamon and coffee grounds flooding your nostrils. Stepping into the small line leading up to the counter, you glanced around the room without purpose—a nervous tick you had. As your eyes locked onto a couple in a corner booth practically swallowing each other’s tongues, you quickly wished you hadn’t.

There, sitting on the same side of a booth, hands and lips all over each other, was none other than Nina and Derrick.

What the fuck?

You quickly averted your eyes, just in time to step up the the counter.

“Hi, can I get a hot chai latte and a drip coffee?” you asked, keeping your voice relatively hushed out of fear that Nina or Derrick would recognize it.

“How would you like the coffee?” the barista asked.

“Black, please,” you replied, recalling Javi’s signature order that still perplexed you even after a month of being together.

After giving her your name, you waited on the other side of the room by the shelves of tumblers and mugs, pretending to shop around while you hid out from your ex-roommates.

Unfortunately, all that hard work went down the drain the moment she called your name at the pick up counter—the one right next to their booth.

“Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath as you gathered the courage to go over and grab your drinks.

You tried not to look their way, but god, the sight of them together really got under your skin. You gave a careful glance in their direction, locking eyes with Derrick as he whispered something in Nina’s ear, causing her to turn towards you.

Taking a deep breath and plastering on a smile, you turned to them as they slid out of the booth.

“Hey,” you offered, mostly to Nina. Derrick let out a scoff and breezed past you to head outside while Nina grabbed her purse. She didn’t acknowledge you in the slightest, but too curious to back out now, you persisted. “Nina, it’s…me. You know…your friend for the last four years.”

“Oh,” she said, her tone bored as she gave you a forced smile. “Hey.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the two of them as an actual couple.

“So you guys are, like, together?” you asked, nudging your chin toward Derrick as he waited outside.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s just surprising, is all,” you said. “You know I didn’t lie about what happened, right? Like he really tried—“

“Well, he isn’t like that with me,” she snapped, raising a brow at you. “So maybe it was just you. Or maybe you created the whole thing in your head. Either way, it doesn’t affect me.”

You scoffed, a look of disbelief washing over your face. “We were friends before we ever met him. We went through everything together for four years, you and I, side by side. Doesn’t that affect you?”

“You made your choice, and honestly I’m glad,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’d never abandoned us, D and I would’ve never connected that way. I had to pull him out of a very dark place after you left, and if you think I’m going to choose you—someone who’s always been half-out the door—over that good man? Well, I’m gonna have to disappoint you.”

“But he’s not a good man, Nina,” you argued, your disbelief turning into rage quicker than your face could keep up with. Tears still brimmed in your eyes, but that wardrum beat banging in your chest urged you to stand up for yourself. For what you knew was the truth. “He’s manipulative and narcissistic. He’ll probably marry you before the year ends, but once he puts that ring on your finger, you’ll be signing your freedom away. He doesn’t want a lawyer for a wife, he wants someone to have his kids and look after his pretty house and wear on his arm like a trophy. And you are the trophy, here, but not for the reasons he thinks.”

She let her face sour, but there was no mistaking the look of knowing in her eyes. She knew you were right, but unfortunately for her, it was easier just to ignore it.

“Have a nice night alone,” she said, looking you up and down before turning to leave the cafe.

You fought back tears, grabbing your drinks and heading out the door as soon as they left. Telling yourself it was the cold wind that forced a few tears to stream down your cheeks, you entered the parking garage and made it to Javier’s black BMW without running into anyone else. Javier was already seated in the driver’s seat, scrolling through his phone to find an album for the commute from campus to his apartment, when you opened the passenger door and climbed in.

“Thank you, baby,” he said, accepting the coffee you handed over without looking his way. “Ready to go?”

“Mmhm,” you said, turning to look out of the passenger window so that you could subtly wipe your tears away.

Javier pulled out the garage, his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel as you sat uncomfortably silent, causing him to glance over at you.

“You okay?” he asked. You turned to him, fresh tears streaming down your cheek. “Hey, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“It's stupid. I just...I ran into Nina and Derrick at the cafe,” you said, your voice throaty from your tears. “Guess they’re dating now. But that’s not…I’m not even upset about that. It’s just the way she treated me when I tried to say hello to her. She was so fucking cold and mean, like…just an entirely different person than the one I knew.”

He frowned, reaching one hand over to stroke his thumb over your cheek, catching a tear as it fell.

“Also, just…” You shook your head, unable to locate the proper words to describe the feeling of losing someone that had been your best friend for so much of your adult life. “It just sucks, you know? Knowing that she picked him over me. She said believes him and told me to fuck off, basically.”

Javier let his hand rest on your thigh, taking careful glances between you and the road. “One day she’ll realize the mistake she made, cariño. She’ll be an unhappy housewife trying to reach out to you to make amends, but you’re going to be too busy with your career and me to give a single shit about her. You’re the winner in this situation, and she’ll realize that eventually.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him as he included himself in your future. A subtle, easy to miss declaration of his intent for this relationship, but one that did its job, pulling you back into the light again. You laid your hand on top of his, lacing your fingers together. “You’re gonna stick around that long, huh?”

He smiled, giving your fingers a squeeze. “If you decide to keep me around.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I will,” you said, lifting his palm up to your lips. “Thank you for listening to my rant.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Oh, I thought it was just for the hot sex.” Javier let go of your hand to pinch your thigh.

“Smart ass.”

After a quickie that was followed by you and Javi splitting an entire pizza between yourselves, the two of you got to work building Javi’s Death Star. You remained interested for an hour or so, then chose to take a much needed shower while he kept on building. When you returned, he was still at it, tinkering away while you got to work on some assignments a few feet from him on the sofa.

But the hours kept passing, your eyes growing tired just from watching him work. When the clock neared three in the morning, you decided it was time to pull out the big guns. You excused yourself to the bathroom, stripping out of the clothes you’d been in all day, and gave yourself a once over in the mirror, pleased at what you saw.

You tiptoed out of his bedroom, coming to stand behind him as he sat on the sofa.

“You’ve been at it for a while,” you crooned, draping your arms over his shoulders and chest before settling your chin on his shoulder. Javi lifted a hand to your arm, giving it a gentle rub as he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah,” he sighed, turning his head to kiss your cheek. “But I’m in a good groove.”

“You could be in something else,” you purred. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to,” you said, letting him go in favor of rounding the corner of the sofa. Javi obeyed your demand, keeping his eyes closed as you stepped over one of his knees to stand between his legs. “Okay, you can open.”

Javi slowly opened his eyes, finding you completely bare in front of him, offered up like a midnight snack.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, taking you in. “You’re right. I do need a break.”

You laughed, straddling his lap. “What you need is for me to fuck you good enough to put you to sleep. It’s three in the morning.”

“I know,” he sighed, running his hands up your thighs. “I can just go to bed, if that’s—“

“Uh-uh,” you tutted your tongue at him. “I told you what I wanted—to fuck you so good I put you to sleep.”

Javi let out a soft groan, gliding his hands up to cup your breasts. “What heaven did you sneak out of?”

“It was hell, actually.” Javi laughed, placing a kiss on your sternum.

“God, I love you,” he murmured against your skin, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. Your eyes went wide, not from fear but from amusement as Javi lifted his own pair of wide eyes to meet yours. “I didn’t…that wasn’t…I—“

“Javi,” you laughed, cupping his face in your hand. Your face softened as you took him in. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing thickly. “I do.”

You grinned, kissing him through it. “That’s good because I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a look of relief washing over his face. “It’s not too soon?”

“I’m surprised either of us waited this long,” you laughed. “We’ve known each other for three months. Just because we’ve only been together a month doesn’t mean anything. At least not to me.”

“Not to me, either,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you down with him as he shifted to lay on his back across the sofa. He slid his hand between your thighs, his jaw going slack as he smeared your arousal over your clit with a sinful groan. “All this for me, hermosa?”

You nodded, reaching to tug his flannel pajama bottoms down just enough to free his dick, laughing as it sprang free with a lewd slap against his stomach. You dragged a single finger down the underside of his cock, licking your lips as you watched it twitch with interest. “Such a pretty dick.”

“Only fitting for the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,” he replied, bringing his soaked fingers up to his lips to suck them clean. “And so fucking sweet, too.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you moaned, leaning down to kiss the taste of yourself off his lips. Javier groaned as you lined him up at your entrance.

“Fuck, wait,” he said. “Condom.”

“Or we could…not,” you suggested bashfully, biting your lip as you watched him react. “I just mean that I’m clean. I got tested the week before school started and I haven’t been with anyone but you since. And I’m on birth control, so no worries on that front either.”

Javi nodded. “I’m clean too, and I got a vasectomy a few years back, so we’re completely good on that front.”

You lifted your brows in delighted surprise, causing him to laugh. “What, bebita?”

“I just…I’m so glad I get to fuck you raw now and never have to worry about an accidental pregnancy,” you said, laughing at your own response. “It’s hot.”

“Then go on and show me how hot it is, baby,” he urged, trailing his fingertips down your spine. “Sit on my dick, hermosa.”

You let out a soft breath at his command, looking down between your bodies as you lined him up with your entrance and slowly took him in. Javi’s lips parted as he watched himself disappear into your wetness, his brows knitted together.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” he husked, bringing his thumb to swirl over your clit as you swallowed him down to his base. “So fucking wet.”

Your face scrunched a bit in pleasure as you lifted yourself up just to slide back down while Javi continued working your swollen bud with one hand, the other gripping your hip. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come quick tonight, cariño.”

“Yeah?” you purred, rocking your hips a bit. Feeling extra bold tonight, you fought a smirk as you added, “Are you gonna come inside me, Professor?”

Javi’s jaw went slack again, a mixture of incredulity and arousal washing over his face. “Fuck, that shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. Keep talking, cariño. I love the shit that comes out of your mouth when I’m fucking you.”

You moaned at his confession, speeding up your hips to bounce on him.

“Fuck, it feels so good. I can feel you in my stomach every time I take you in like this—” You sank down on him and swirled your hips in a circle to grind him in deep. Javier growled, holding your hips in place as he thrusted up into your cunt, filling the living room with the lewdest of sounds.

“Am I fucking you good, cariño?” he asked, a playful taunt. You cried out, one arm gripping the back of the couch while the other rested on his chest. “Is your professor fucking you how you want? Hm?”

“It’s so good, Javi,” you cried, your hips chasing his thrusts.

“Uh-uh. Not Javi,” he tutted. “Who am I, baby?”

You opened your eyes to meet his, the sight alone almost enough to bring you to the edge. “You’re my professor.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, a smug smirk growing on his lips as he gave your ass a slap. “Good fucking girl.”

“Shit,” you whined, moving to rest your palms flat against his chest as you rolled your hips on top of him. His hands guided your hips, forcing you as close as possible. Your clit dragged deliciously against the coarse hair on his lower stomach, causing your thighs to shake with every rock forward. “Fuck, I’m close. I’m so fucking close.”

“That’s it,�� he rasped, his voice warm with desire. “Good girl, baby. Ride your professor's dick just like that.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, your head dropping between your shoulders as you inched closer to heaven with every grind against his cock. “Javi—“

The sound of a fist knocking on Javi’s door caused you to jolt, your eyes widening as you sat frozen in place on top of him.

“Who the fuck…” Javi groaned, a sound of pure frustration. “Whoever it is, fuck off!”

A muffled southern accent sounded in response. “It’s Steve, dumbass. Tell your guest I take precedence and let me in.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Javi’s eyes shut, a sigh slipping from his lips. “I have to let that fucking idiot in.”

“Why?” you asked, that tension in your belly still begging to be unraveled.

“He’s my best friend, unfortunately. An out-of-state best friend who I hoped I wouldn’t have to see a million times a year, an yet...here he is,” he sighed, sitting up to kiss you. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I was so close,” you groaned, laying your head on his shoulder. “Now I have to finish myself off alone.”

Javier pulled back to give you a look of pure offense.

“Don’t give me that look,” you chuckled, smoothing the crease in his brow with your thumb. “It was your decision to let him come in.”

“Well, now I’m rethinking that stupid decision,” he said, but the moment had already passed—especially knowing that there was someone waiting on the other side of the front door for you to finish.

“No, go let him in, I’ll just be waiting for you in bed,” you said, climbing off of him with a soft hiss. “And tell your friend he owes me for this. A no-expenses-spared steak dinner or something.”

“Will do, baby,” he said, planting a soft kiss in your lips as he stood up to join you, tucking his half-hard dick away. “I’ll be in there soon, don’t get started without me.”

“I’ll think about it,” you snarked, earning a gentle pat to your ass.

As you let Javi’s bedroom door shut behind you, you grabbed Javi’s robe from his en-suite and tugged it on as you lingered by the door to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“You fucking dick,” Javi said, earning a hearty laugh from Steve. “You couldn’t have called to tell me you were coming to town?”

“You know I can’t stand all that calling and texting bullshit,” he drawled. “Jesus, Javi. On the couch? That’s where I’m supposed t’be sleepin’ this weekend, you fucker.”

“If I knew you were coming, fucker, I would’ve cleaned up, but—“

“Is that the fuckin’ Death Star?”

You let out a soft laugh at the sheer disbelief in Steve’s voice.

“Javi Peña buildin’ Legos,” he whistled. “What’s the world comin’ to?”

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re here?” Javi asked.

“Are you gonna introduce me to your friend?” Steve replied. Your eyes went wide as heavy footsteps on hardwood got closer and closer to the bedroom door. “Hello, Javi’s friend. I’m Javi’s other friend. Glad there’s finally two of us.”

You chuckled, hesitating for a moment before deciding to open the door up. Javi stood in the living room with his hand on one hip, unamused by Steve’s behavior. You turned your eyes to the man standing a few feet away from the door. He was blonde with blue eyes, and much like Javi, could somehow pull off the mustache look and make it look good.

“Hey,” you chuckled, giving him your name. “I gotta say, Steve, I haven’t heard much about you. Is Javi hiding you away?”

“He just likes to play hard to get, is all,” Steve smirked. “What about you? You Javi’s girlfriend, or is he hidin’ you away too?”

You turned to Javi with an expectant, but amused look. He’d never officially given you the title, nor you him, but it certainly felt like you were his girlfriend.

“Yes, she’s my girlfriend,” he sighed, not at you but at Steve. “Now can you stop bothering her and let her go to bed, dip shit?”

You laughed, turning back to Steve. “It was nice meeting you, Steve. Don’t keep him up long, he and I were in the middle of something.”

Steve laughed, looking towards his best friend.

“I like her.”

Twenty minutes went by before Javi slipped into the bedroom, carefully clicking the door shut as you laid with your back facing him, pretending to be asleep. There was a quiet rustling before you heard him tiptoeing across the room to crawl into bed behind you. He let out a soft, adoring sigh as his hand ghosted up your bare arm, his lips trailing across your shoulder to your neck.

“You asleep, hermosa?” he rasped, kissing the shell of your ear. You smirked, rolling over just enough to look at him.

“How am I supposed to sleep like this?” You lowered his hand across your stomach, down beneath the comforter to slip between your thighs. You guided his fingers to stroke up and down your soaked seam before sinking them inside.

“Fuck,” Javi’s lips parted, a strangled, quieted groan slipping free as he curled his fingers against that spot you loved so much, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust. “You want me to make you come, baby?”

You bit your lip and nodded, reaching between your bodies to stroke him through his pajamas only to find he’d taken them off when he came into the room. You licked a broad stripe across your palm before taking him in your hand, stroking him while he pumped his fingers in and out of you with a lewd squelch.

“How do you want it, cariño?” he asked, bucking his hips into your fist to meet every stroke.

“From the back,” you said, letting him go in favor of rolling onto your stomach to arch your back for him. Javi growled, coming to sit on his knees behind you as you wiggled your hips at him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his hands gripping the globes of your ass in each palm. “I’m not gonna last long, baby. You look too fucking good like this.”

You keened at his praise, pushing back towards him as he notched himself at your entrance. You both let out sighs of relief as he pressed inside, going slow as he let your greedy cunt suck him in deep. “Your pussy’s so fucking good, baby.”

You let out a soft whine, burying your face in the pillows to muffle your moans as he snapped his hips into you, steady building up to a brutal pace that had you gripping the sheets. You turned your head, looking over your shoulder as Javi fucked you, finding him with bared teeth, his hair messy across his forehead, his stomach flexing with each sharp thrust into your cunt.

“Fuck,” he hissed, tugging you back by your arms until your spine was bowed against his chest. He kept your arms pinned between your bodies with one hand, the other gently wrapping around your throat. “Fucking love this pussy…fucking love you.”

You whined, the sound loud enough to make Javi slide his hand up to cover your mouth. He brought his lips to your ear and whispered. “Those sounds are just for me, aren’t they, bebita?”

You nodded against him, reaching back to hold his head in place as he nipped at your jawline. Sliding a hand down your stomach, Javi rubbed perfect circles against your clit in time with each one of those ruinously deep thrusts against the velvet soft roof of your cunt.

“I’m gonna come, cariño,” he whined, his hips losing a bit of their rhythm. “Come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up, baby.”

You were thankful for his hand over your mouth as you cried out, a wave of pleasure washing over you, turning you into putty in his arms as he fucked you through it. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight. You’re gonna make me come.”

“Please,” you moaned as Javi dropped his hand from your mouth to hold both of your hips in place as he chased his release. “Come inside my pussy.”

He groaned as he pressed in as deep as he could go, the sound choked and strangled as he tried to keep quiet. You stroked your hand up and down the arm he’d moved to wrap around your middle as his cock throbbed inside of you.

“Fuck me,” he panted, slipping out of you with a hiss before guiding you back against the mattress. He climbed out of bed to retrieve a washcloth, returning with it perfectly warmed by the sink. You watched him clean you up with a smitten look, his dimple making an appearance.

“What’s got you so smiley?” you asked, rolling onto your side to watch as he cleaned himself off before tossing the cloth into the laundry bin.

“Besides the mind-blowing orgasm I just had?” he replied, shooting you a smile from over his shoulder as he opened his dresser drawer, pulling out a pair of briefs. “Just happy.”

“Yeah?” you asked, twisting your smile to keep it from growing into a cheesy grin as you admired the sight of him in his briefs as he walked over to climb into bed beside you.

“Yeah,” he affirmed, coaxing you to lay your head on his chest. “I haven’t been this happy in a long, long time, cariño.”

“Me too,” You placed a kiss over his racing heartbeat, smoothing your hand across his stomach. “It’s a little scary, no?”

“Very fucking scary,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead. “But it’s not gonna stop me.”

You smiled to yourself, drawing hearts on his skin. “Is everything okay with Steve?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Him and Connie, his wife, got into it over him continuing his contract with the DEA, I guess. So he’s staying with me until things cool off, which will hopefully be by tomorrow morning because I can’t have him being our third wheel.”

“Why not?” you laughed, lifting your head to look at him.

“Because I want you all to myself like the selfish asshole I am,” Javi said, smiling. “Also Steve’s really amused by the fact that I have a girlfriend, which means he’s going to try and embarrass me as much as he can in front of you.”

“Well, he can certainly try but my mind is pretty made up,” you said, pinching his chin. “I love you, Javier, and no amount of embarrassing stories from Steve is going to change that.”

“He’s also a hillbilly, which comes with its own warnings,” he said, lifting your fingertips to his lips to place soft kisses on them one by one.

“How about we see how it goes in the morning, and if either one of us gets tired of the questions or whatever, I can just go home and give you some time alone together,” you suggested.

“Okay,” he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy with sleep. You leaned up, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Goodnight, Javi,” you said, turning to get comfortable on your side. Javi spooned you, draping his arm over your middle and pulling you close.

“Goodnight, cariño,” he murmured. “I love you.”

You smiled, hugging his arm tight to your chest. Those three words would never fail to make your heart clench.

“I love you too, Javi.”

#guilty as sin?#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javi peña #javier peña #javier pena fluff

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

A Perfect Score - Chapter 5 - Ice Princess | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to the North, before the match with Cregan and Sara, everything comes to a head | Word Count: 7.2k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: *deep breath* jealous!aemond, swearing, degradation, heaps of sexual tension, one room in the hotel trope, aemond being a sexual menace, a lot of dirty talk, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, creampie, mild angst

A/N: *me barking writing all the warnings* I ain't got nothing else to say I-

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

“What the fuck was that?!” El shouts over the video call, making you cradle your face in your hands.

She’s showing you her front camera, tapping on the TV in front of her as she rewinds the footage of your routine at Casterly Rock. She must have replayed that specific part about ten times now.

She taps the screen harshly, “Look at that! You’re fucking blushing, you whore!”

“El, please” you reply, exasperated.

“Is that a fucking bruise on your leg”

"El!" You shout over the phone, making her press her lips together in a mischievous grin.

"Did you get a bit too cozy?" She teases,

"Fuck off"

"You both look completely different. Also that triple spin, that was fucking perfect"

"Thank you" you say flatly, rolling your eyes, remembering doing it in the routine.

You don't remember the time between the dressing room and getting on the ice. Just the steady hum of the crowd's applause as the announcer welcomed the representatives of the Crownlands.

"Performing second is Aemond Targaryen with his not-so-new skating partner, who proved herself significantly in the deciding match for the Championship tour"

"They were both very icy in that performance. Let's see if anything has improved"

You run over all the jumps and spins, in case your mind is so preoccupied that you've somehow forgotten. Smoothing down your hair and your skirt, desperately trying to hide any proof of his fingerprints, you take your spot in the middle of the ice.

For this routine, it begins with Aemond facing you, and when he pauses to a halt before you, you meet his gaze briefly, feeling the warmth creeping up to your cheeks.

Before he left the dressing room, he looked nervous. But that facade is gone. He looks deadly serious, and you hate to admit that the look he's giving you, performance or not, is so piercing and purposeful that it's almost exciting. Arousing? No, focus.

At the other match, his touch had been calculated, firm and almost rigid. His movements were largely the same, as you had pointed out only the day before. But now, his touch is so whisper soft it's almost undetectable. His fingers dance across your bare skin, a path of goosebumps left in their wake. Except this time, his eyes barely ever leave yours, fully aware of the effect of his touch and a ghost of a smile lob-sided on his face.

Every single touch of his hands on your waist to lift you, every hold to lunge into a jump together and every shared gaze never fails to have your stomach roll pleasantly inside you, settling between your thighs where Aemond had touched you not a moment before.

You come together, skating backwards for the triple spin. His hands brace your waist, and you swallow anxiously.

"Remember to tuck your arms in" he whispers, you nod, running over what you need to do, "you've got this"

"I'm seeing a stark difference in attitude in this performance. Perhaps our icy couple are starting to warm up"

Taking a steadying breath, Aemond does as he needs and flings you in the air, ready to catch you once you've done one, two, three spins, before taking your hand once you land.

Right leg, push…

You can't help but smile when you land it. That's the best feeling in the world, when the crowd applauds.

"She's done it! Another graceful landing!"

You release the breath you'd been tightly holding, gliding through the rest of the routine with Aemond to the view of the stands, some of them stood and some seated in applause.

It's only when you are stopped, with Aemond's arms around your middle and feeling his hurried breath against your back, that you can finally form a thought. Your heart beats furiously in your chest, lungs dry.

"Well done" he breathes, hot against the shell of your ear. The praise goes straight to your core.

"Oop, I saw that look. Perhaps the Ice Prince has an Ice Princess in his sights"

"Oh come on, look at the way he's looking at you!" El beams over the video call, tearing you from your thoughts, "I swear to all the gods, if y'all don't smash-"

"Can I have one conversation with you that isn't about fucking please?"

El pulls a face, "What can I say. Hoes United. Are you kidding me? Ice Princess? He better be calling you princess between the sheet-"

"Goodbye, El"

You hang up, heaving a large sigh, staring forwards at the bed with your packed duffle bag, ready to depart once again in the car with Arryk.

It was clear as day, the difference between you and Aemond. The attitude.

The commentators dubbed you his 'Ice Princess', a nickname which you hate immensely. Several reporters had flocked to the hotel you were both staying in, all hanging around Arryk's car waiting for a chance to speak to the famed 'couple'.

The match was a success at least, no doubt because of the 'warming up' to one another, as the commentators graciously put it. You received good scores, marginally better technically than Johanna and Jason but ultimately winning most on performance, the former of which wiggled her eyebrow at you as she hugged you in congratulations during scoring.

She didn't dare say anything. The cameras would pick it up, no doubt.

A seasoned pro in that respect.

As per usual, you and Aemond were hauled into the back of Arryk's car provided by Hightower Management, sat together on opposite ends.

Also as usual, Aemond had his airpods shoved inside his ears, turned away towards the window. Usually, you'd be able to hear the music blasting through his earphones. But you couldn't hear a thing.

Perhaps he just wanted to be left alone.

His hands were clasped tight in his lap, his left leg bouncing. And you had to turn away towards your own window to stop staring at him in his sweatpants, feeling your face and neck get hot just thinking about what happened between you two.

The journey to Winterfell was several hours. You couldn't possibly be faster getting out the car and grabbing your stuff, walking straight past Aemond to go into the foyer of 'The Lone Wolf', a humble yet large hotel in the heart of Winterfell. Owned by none other than the Stark Family, so the idea of seeing Cregan before the match sent anxious flutters in your stomach.

"Good morning, Miss" the receptionist says with a polite customer service brimmed smile.

"Hello, uh, should be some rooms booked under Hightower?"

She nods, her fingernails clicking against the keyboard, "Just let me check for you…"

You ignore the white-haired male in your periphery, leaning against the desk by one of his forearms, one airpod now safely tucked away. When you spare a brief glance, he's not looking at you, but at the woman as she types quickly, flexing his fingers on the desk. You swallow thick at the closeness, sidestepping an inch.

The lady pulls a face.

"I'm afraid there seems to have been an administrative issue with the booking…"

Your skin starts to erupt in worry, "what issue?.."

The receptionist meets your eyes, her lips drawn flat in apology, "There is only one room on the Hightower booking…"

You go cold all over, staring back for a long moment without saying anything.

"A twin?" you ask,

She shakes her head, "a double.."

Your hand braces your forehead, leaning against the desk, "Fuck"

An awkward silence passes before you ask, "there aren't any other rooms?"

"I'm afraid not. We're full because of the skating match in a few days"

Aemond bites the inside of his cheek, his face stoic, "Is there a sofa? In the room?"

She reluctantly nods, "Yes but only a 2 seater-"

"That's fine" Aemond says immediately, holding his hand out and clapping the keycard in his grasp. He sighs and turns to you, smirking slightly at the horrified look on your face, "Let's go then, business partner"

You feel like you stand stock still, frozen into place, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of sharing such intimate space with Aemond.

I've got to be the most fucking unlucky person in Westeros.

By the time you catch your breath, having checked to see if Arryk had already left (which unfortunately he had), you're walking hurriedly to the room, standing before the numbered door for a moment as if to psych yourself up for the next day and a bit that will be inevitably be spent in extremely close proximity with Aemond.

The hotel room is luckily wide, with an en-suite situated in the corner as well as a wide curved window that looks out over the roof of another building. Aemond shucks his bag onto the sofa, his well muscled back moves as he unzips it and pulls his belongings out.

He barely moves his head, "You gonna unpack or just stand there?"

Hot embarrassment combined with subtle anger nips at your insides. You pull your lips into a flat line to hold you back from retorting and huff your bag onto the bed, pulling off your jacket.

Aemond won't stop you from getting comfortable.

"Will you fit on that 2-seater?"

Aemond shrugs, still busied with unpacking, "I've slept on worse"

Usually, unpacking is a time for relaxation, making a home of the hotel room. But here, with Aemond, it feels like you're on guard the entire time, methodically grabbing the more intimate items of clothing and putting them away as quickly as you can.

Suddenly, the shorts you're wearing feels just a bit too revealing, the hem lapping at your thighs barely. Every now and then, you feel his gaze on them, setting every hair on edge. But when you look back at him, he just does that little lob-sided smug smile, pretending to be busy with something else.

You push your palms over the skirt of your dress anxiously, feeling a nervous sweat coat them "Okay well…" you murmur awkwardly, "I'm gonna…to go downstairs for a bit"

You're barely turned, hand on the door when Aemond chuckles, low, in his chest, "Desperate to get away from me, hm?"

You freeze, not daring to turn back. All you can hear is the soft press of his trainers on the carpet as he turns away, and you just know he's looking at you.

The inside of your mouth is so dry.

"I know what you're thinking, I can see it on your face" he muses quietly, his voice edging closer to your back as you're frozen on the spot, "I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

No I haven't.

Yes I have.

Fuck.

As much as the thoughts whizz around your head, they don't make the connection to your mouth. You can feel how close Aemond must be to your back, and your fingers tighten over the handle of the door.

"You have, haven't you?" He grins darkly, his voice an octave lower, quieter, more calculated, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

Your breath is stuck in your ribs, arousal pooling slowly in your belly, like the calm tide of the ocean sweeping in to wet the sand.

You feel his breath against your neck and ear, blowing the hair at the side of your face. His mere presence behind you.

"See you tonight"

Almost as soon as he says it, you're out the door, pushing it shut behind you forcefully. Shutting out the feeling that you desperately want to disappear. The mere memory of his hands on your bare thighs that day sets urgency in your core, hands clenched tight at your sides.

But more than anything, the way he kissed you, was the feeling you remembered the most. You recall moments after he'd rushed out, touching your kiss-swollen lips, willing the feeling of them back, realising just what line had been crossed.

Aemond Targaryen was an infuriatingly good kisser. Just like the way he moves on the ice, he's smooth and deliberate, taking his time. And it translated in the passion of that moment, the way his hand had grasped the back of your neck, and the other had spread your legs to accommodate him standing between them…

…How his hardness had pressed against your clothed core.

Aemond had been aroused.

Everything you thought about him, about how he felt about you, could very well be misplaced.

You don't know how to feel about that.

It goes against everything you thought. Everything you believed.

And he still hasn't apologised. He'd said pretty words, all but those two you really needed.

Nothing would happen until he did. You'd make sure of that.

Torture him right back. It's the least he deserves.

Prick.

The hotel bar is better than anticipated, with several tables and chairs, even stools that line the front of the large oak counter on one side of the room. You don't usually partake in drinking, or at least much. But every now and then you feel you deserve it.

And right now for example, it's taking the edge off.

The large glass windows show you just how dark outside it already is, with the streetlights beaming through the single glazing. The North is different, obviously, but you didn't quite consider the weather.

Your muscles ache from doing your cardio, choosing to train on the ice tomorrow instead, the day before the match with Cregan and Sara. The hotel gym was nice, and each time you went into the hotel room to change, you worried about running into Aemond.

But luckily he was nowhere to be found.

Where he'd gone?

Not your problem, you surmise.

You were dressed once again in black, but nowhere near as flashy as the after-party from weeks before, but still a nice enough dress that it completely didn't work with the use of a bra. Hightower Management had organised a small get-together of the skaters currently in the North, as a way of showing support, despite all of you being quite literally competitors.

This includes the Singles skaters.

With that, they insisted you and Aemond look presentable.

You were there early, as a means of…avoiding Aemond in the hotel room. With so far, success.

A few figures begin to leak into the bar area, a few you don't recognise, but then a sea of silver-hair you actually would like to see.

Baela and Rhaena, clad in equally stunning blue dresses, bound up to you with gleaming teethy smiles. You stand excitedly meeting them in the middle, a shared female squeal of excitement is the only sound emitted.

"There she is!" Baela shouts, and both the twins envelop you in an equally tight hug.

"Jesus, guys there's only one of me, bit looser please" you joke, pretending to be out of breath.

They pull back, their silver curls sitting loose with silver accessories, "Our Ice Princess!" Rhaena jabs with a mischievous smile.

You can't help but roll your eyes, "Don't you fucking start, I've had enough of that"

Baela laughs, "had enough of your Ice Prince as well?"

You give her a warning look and the twins hold back their smile, dropping the subject as per your glare. Knowing how you can get.

"How is Pairs?" Rhaena asks,

You sigh, "Different" is all you respond, "How's Singles? Rhaenys giving you a hard time?"

They both groan comically at the same time, "is she? When is she not giving us a hard time? She's our grandmother"

You laugh, sipping your drink, "Ah yeah, forgive me, I do forget sometimes she's a gilf"

"She's not a gilf!" Baela retorts, making you snort a laugh. Almost dropping the glass in your hand.

"Who's not a gilf?"

You all turn and beam, "Jace! When did you get here!" Baela throws herself at him, as does Rhaena as soon as her sister lets go. Sometimes you forget they're cousins, they look so different.

"Hi Jace" you smile, "How have you been?" You ask giving him a hug, which he returns with one hand politely on your back.

"Alright, competitions kicking my ass though"

"Oh dear" you pout, faking a sad face and patting his shoulder, "You'll get over it"

"Thanks, you're so kind" Jace grins.

Over his shoulder you spot him, lurking in a corner with a phone pressed to his ear.

Aemond.

He's dressed all in black again, hair in a loose bun, with a button down and dress pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a chain that glints beneath the collar. You swallow at his expression.

He doesn't look pleased in the slightest.

But annoyingly, he does look good.

His eye flits from you and Jace, before realising that you're watching him, to which his attention falls entirely to you. You wonder if he's actually on the phone since he doesn't say anything.

"There she is. The Ice Princess" Cregan Stark obstructs your view for a moment and you smile politely.

"Hi, Cregan-umf"

Your outstretched hand in greeting is completely ignored as Cregan pulls you into a hug, his massive form completely swallowing yours.

"You're in the North, we hug here" he laughs, the vibrations rumbling through your chest, his hand politely in the middle of your back to gently squeeze the hug for longer than you'd think.

Your eyes immediately go to Aemond, over his shoulder. He hasn't moved an inch. But he's hung up his phone, slapping it on his thigh to shove into his pocket. You can't pin down what that look is, but the muscle in his jaw tenses when he looks at Cregan, softening into a smirk when the Northerner pulls away.

Your throat feels tight.

"I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

He doesn't look away, eyes trained on your body. Unabashedly raking over it.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

"Drinks!" Baela announces, dragging you luckily to the bar, breaking your staring competition with Aemond.

As the night progresses, you get to know Cregan and Sara. They couldn't be more different from one another, despite being half siblings. Sara has a fire in her belly, and a competitive eye, whereas Cregan is like a big, muscly Northern golden retriever. He looks like the kind of guy who lifts at the gym in one breath and in another would be having afternoon tea with his grandmother.

The duality takes you off guard multiple times during the night.

Jace and Cregan at least seem very close, having trained together multiple times. They're like long lost brothers, the way Cregan has him in a soft headlock as they wobble back to the bar, is proof enough.

Sara leans close to you, "Is he always like that?"

"Who?" You ask, sipping the drink you've been nursing for hours. Not wanting to get drunk in the slightest.

She nods to the corner, "Your Ice Prince. Aptly named by the way he stares at you"

You follow her line of sight, your core instantly clenching at the sight of him. Perhaps you hadn't really realised it before but several of his top buttons are undone, showing more of his skin at a formal event than he had previously.

You swallow, "Oh, uh, yeah he is. Ignore him"

Sara smirks, "Girl, he wants to fuck you. Can you not see that?"

You turn urgently to her, cheeks ablaze, "That's not true"

Sara hums smugly, "Denial is a river in Egypt. He looked like he wanted to tear Jace's head off when you hugged him"

"Jace is just a friend"

"Oh good, so he's available?" Sara raises her eyebrows.

Now it's your turn to smirk, "Are you after him?"

She shrugs, "he's not bad looking. Guy like him might look harmless but I bet he's freaky between the sheets. With a massive c-"

"Sara!" Cregan interrupts, seeing your screwed up face, clearly having heard everything, "Can we have a moment alone?"

She doesn't even need a second, before she prances off in Jace's direction, giving him the big eyes. Cregan leads you to the bar by the small of your back, and you can't tell if he's oblivious to how intimate that is, or if it's intentional, but when he does it you can't help but look in Aemond's direction, who's being hounded by Baela, but clearly not listening.

Cregan smirks in Sara's direction, "Poor guy. Being in Sara's sights is never good"

You laugh, "She'll eat him alive"

"Quite literally I think" Cregan chuckles in return.

There's a pause as you lean against the bar.

"How's life with the Targs?" He asks, one large hand encircling a pint glass effortlessly.

You shrug, "Has it's trials and tribulations, but otherwise they've treated me well enough"

Cregan looks around before leaning forward, murmuring in a hushed manner, "All I would say is, be weary of the big guy"

You cock your head, "You mean Otto?"

He points his finger like you've hit the nail on the head, "Yeah, him. I heard he's a right fucking stickler"

You nod, "He's very particular" you smile, reassuringly, "I manage though"

Cregan is about to open his mouth when Aemomd steps forward, his tall stature rivaling Cregans as he makes himself known. The Northern man fakes a smile, nodding in greeting, but neither says anything.

Before you can inquire, Aemond's hand encircles your forearm, "We're leaving"

"What?" You ask wide-eyed, wondering from where this rudeness has come from.

Aemond tugs you away, and you wave goodbye to Cregan as well as Baela and Rhaena, whose eyes you catch across the room. Sara wiggles her eyebrows.

Aemond doesn't reply, so you fight against his grip, to no avail, "Aemond let go of me. Now"

It's clear Aemond is not listening, and if he is, he doesn't show it on his face. He even stops by the lift, pressing the buttons hurriedly, but once he sees which floor it's coming from, he grumbled and drags you instead up the stairs.

"Aemond, what the fuck is wrong with you!"

"Not having that northern cunt cosying up to you" he murmurs low, dragging you up the four flights of stairs to your floor. Luckily there's nobody there to see you both, it's so late at night.

His face is stoic, lips flat in a line, seething underneath.

"Are you fucking for real? Let go of me!"

It's only when you're in the hallway, stood before the hotel room door that you manage to pull your arm free of him.

"Are you fucking deaf?" You quip angrily, "what the hell was that Aemond?" You push against his chest as hard as you can, but he's built like a fucking brick wall and doesn't move an inch. Doesn't even lose his balance a little.

He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Do I have to repeat myself? I'm not your fucking girlfriend Aemond! Stop treating me like one"

"You'd rather me let you have the likes of Cregan fucking Stark trying to get into your-"

"So what? What right do you fucking have to boss me around like you own me?" You retort, "besides he was just being nice!"

Aemond chuckles, "Oh yeah, just being nice. He only had one thing on his mind" he smirks, his gaze raking over your dress, "dressed like that, who knows what he was thinking"

"Excuse m-"

Down the hall, a room clicks open, the shadow of it moving barely before Aemond tugs you inside the hotel room out of view. He shuts the door and locks it quickly, his fingers once again curled around your forearm.

"I swear to god, if you grab me more time-"

Aemond scoffs, releasing and facing you, dwarfing you with his form as he approaches, "Or what, princess?"

You swallow, backing up somewhat when he takes his calculated small steps towards you. His chest level with your eyes, you see the chain poking out beneath the undone buttons, the slightest bit of skin…

"Don't call me that"

"Who can blame Cregan fucking Stark anyway? With you dressed like that" Aemond responds, invading your space even further.

Your throat goes dry, "What?.."

"The second I saw you in that flimsy little thing, all I've been able to think about, is how I'm going to take it off"

Through your fierce blush, you clench your hands, your core doing the same involuntarily, "you're delusional"

He hums a laugh, "You're cute when you're trying to be angry, princess"

You feel how short your breathing is, how your chest goes all tight. It feels like being hunted, when he looks at you like that. That mischievous glint in his good eye.

"What is your fucking deal, hm?" You retort, feeling a last rush of courage, "Does it give you some sick satisfaction making my life hell? First you hate me, then you're indifferent, then you're hating me all over again and now you're acting like th-"

His hand claps around your waist, squeezing painfully, tugging you towards him in a deep, near-desperate and dizzying kiss. Much like the first one in the dressing room, it's urgent, his lips prying yours apart to slip his tongue into your mouth, humming deeply at the contact with yours. His other hand quickly finds the back of your head, anchoring you with him and chests touching only barely.

Everything dissipates, he's a good fucking kisser annoyingly, and he sucks briefly on your lips, making the blood rush to them so that they're swollen from his attention.

Your brain, lost in the brief act of passion, kicks in finally and your hands push him away. Your lips part from each other with a wet click, your face noticeably flush. Aemond too, looks slightly flushed, but wears a smug expression.

"What the hell was that"

"You reciprocated" he answers matter-of-factly,

"In your dreams"

He hums, "So stubborn. Are you always like this?"

"Fuck you"

"In the dressing room, you were so intent to continue" he replies, stepping forward slightly from when you'd pushed him, "If we weren't due to perform, nothing would have stopped me from fucking you right on that table in your sparkly little get-up"

You can't deny how the air gets sucked out your chest when he says that. Hate and lust are head to head inside you, battling for dominance.

"You'd like that wouldn't you…"

It's the way he says the words, so low and calculated, with that lazy smirk. His lips just as kiss bruised as yours, the few strands of hair that fell from his bun, disheveled.

All of your pent up hormones from not having slept with anyone for ages, the memory of what he did in the dressing room, as well as the sight of him right here, giving you that fucking look…

Every fucking look he's given you the past few weeks.

The memory of his hand on your thigh, squeezing.

Every hand against the small of your back…

…something snaps.

"Fuck it" you whisper, advancing on him again, both hands cupping the sides of his face and kissing him fiercely again, putting all those bottled up emotions, good and bad, behind the intensity of it.

You feel him smile smugly against you, his hands rested on your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, "Fucking knew it" he murmurs between the breaks of both your hateful kisses.

One hand sliding round to the back of his head, you card your fingers into his hair, inevitably ruining whatever style he had it in, to pull him closer to you, intensifying the neediness of his lips against yours. You swear he moans at the tugging of his hair, but you don't even hear it, too concentrated on his teeth as they nip at your bottom lip, nursing the area with his tongue afterwards.

A full body shudder erupts through you, sending a gush of arousal straight between your legs. It makes you feel weightless.

As if that weren't enough, Aemond's hands drop, cupping and kneading the flesh of your ass, squeezing near-painfully. The unexpectedness of it makes you gasp into his mouth as he pulls your core that bit closer to his hips, where you can feel the evidence of his arousal hard in his dress pants.

Your hands can't help but explore him as well as he is for you, running across the planes of his well-muscled chest, feeling them strain under your touch like he's holding back. Your fingers run over his chain, dipping to undo the buttons with dizzying speed.

"Eager, are we?" He whispers cockily between kisses.

You shoot him a scathing look, punctuating your words with the rough undoing of more buttons.

"Do you ever shut up"

He doesn't reply, too entranced by the softness of your touch on his bare pale skin as it's revealed button by button. His own hands trace up your middle, over your ribs and straight past your breasts to the straps of your dress, tangling his fingers into one and them and pulling it over your shoulder. Not quite enough to expose any intimate part of you.

Fuck, he's teasing you.

His lips migrate past yours, his nose ghosting over your cheek to your neck, where his lips tease the sensitive skin with open-mouthed kisses, teeth nipping at the space where it meets your shoulder. It's rougher than anticipated, and a soft breathy moan slips out, only serving to spur him on.

His one hand on our waist pushes you back, your knees hitting the mattress sending your body against it. He follows you, cushioning the fall and looming over you, using one of his knees to edge your legs apart for him.

In the heat of it all you've managed at least to get his shirt entirely open, shifting the fabric from his shoulders, shamelessly appreciating the shape of him. Your fingers trail that little bit of hair leading beneath his belt, feeling how the muscles of his abdomen flex with the contact, hearing the whisper of a low moan in his throat.

It's only when your hand begins to massage the very obvious and, you hate to say it, impressive bulge of his erection, that Aemond lets out a shuddered quiet moan, his breath fluttering against your neck.

You smirk, "Eager, are we?" You tease, echoing his previous words.

It's like a switch flipped and Aemond rights himself slightly, one hand taking both of yours and pinning them above your head in a very sudden act of dominance. He revels in the shocked look on your face, his black shirt now forgotten on the floor.

"Keep them there. You won't like it if I have to ask twice, Princess"

His voice send a bolt of pleasure to your core, and you visibly swallow nervously, watching his hands dip to your thighs and pushing the fabric of your dress up to your hips.

You jump in your place as Aemond's hands brace your thighs roughly, parting them and bringing his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside, trailing them up slowly, teasingly, to place an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core.

"You have no idea what you do to me" he murmurs against you, wrapping the hem of your underwear around his fingers and tugging them off your legs. The motion, as quick as he does it, leaves your lungs breathless for a moment as he descends and kisses the now bare skin on the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

"Aemon-"

Aemond's tongue swipes through your slick folds and he groans low at the taste which sends a deep thrum of want through your core, making everything seem just too much to bear. Too much and yet too little all at the same time.

"Fuck, baby…"

You can feel your thighs shaking against his grip as he keeps them parted for him. It halts every thought in your mind, back arching off the bed as he delves deeper, his tongue parting your folds to fuck you with the wet muscle repeatedly. It feels like he's trying to discover places inside you, as deep as they may be, to make you fall apart.

The angle has your lips parted with hurried breaths, head thrown back against the bed, struggling to keep quiet with the way his nose moves side to side against your aching bundle of nerves.

"Fuck…Aemond…"

It feels like as soon as the pressure begins to build in your belly, he comes away, his lips glistening with your slick, causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. His eyes gleam with mischief.

"What happened to that smart mouth, hm?"

Before anger even has a chance to reach you, he plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you, instantly curled up trying to find that sweet spot inside. Your thighs shut around his hand, effectively trapping him there, a slew of desperate moans filling the silence in the room, as well as the wet smack of his hand as he fucks you with his fingers.

" - ah, fuck, Aemond - "

He grins, "Fuck you're soaked for me…" he muses, increasing the intensity, pistoning them inside you, "...come on, baby…"

He finds that spot with infuriating accuracy, aided by the thickness and length of his fingers, stretching your pussy as he watches them disappear, covered in your arousal.

Your back arches impossibly, thighs squeezed tight. And he smirks in victory.

"There it is…"

Logic, reality, everything is just absolutely gone. Mind blank, and all you're able to think is just him. The pleasure he is giving you. His words. It's all just too much.

The coil in your belly threatens to snap at any moment, the pads of his fingers bullying your g-spot mercilessly. So much you can feel your slick soak his hand and the insides of your thighs.

And just like that.

It's gone.

Your crane your head to him, looking up as he kneels between your legs, outright moaning as he swipes his digits through his lips into his mouth. Tasting you.

Your clit throbs at the lewd action, as well as the fact he's enjoying it so much. Feeling your face flushed and heat bathing your skin.

His hands drop to his belt, "You look so fucking perfect like this" he says, the sound of the leather slipping from his dress pants sending a bolt of arousal back to the place you need him most.

"Don't look at me like that" he smirks, his fists closing around the buttons, "the first time I make you cum, it's going to be on my cock"

You would think of some kind of quip, but Aemond tugs his underwear down, his cock springing free, and his hand coming to stroke himself to full hardness. The motion has you captivated, and inadvertently makes your thighs press together.

Aemond is big. Perhaps bigger than anyone you've had before. He is slightly curved, leaning slightly to the right, and as he strokes himself, his thumb swipes whatever precum comes out his weeping pink tip all over his cockhead, sighing softly at the relief of it. Your breath is momentarily stolen once you realise how his large hand encircles it, making it clear how thick he is on top of all that.

Annoyingly, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen.

As a last ditch attempt to keep up appearances, your eyes meet his.

"What makes you think I'd let you?" You challenge, "you've not apologised to me yet"

Quite unexpectedly, he smirks, laughing lowly.

"Oh, Princess" he whispers, one hand pulling the rucked up fabric of the dress at your waist and removing it, tearing the fabric over your head and leaving you entirely naked and exposed. The sensation of the fabric and cool air has your nipped harden to attention, and Aemond sighs appreciatively as he kneads one breast in his palm.

He leans down, his tongue darting out to tease the skin around your nipple, "I am sorry" he muses condescendingly, before closing one nipple around his lips, tongue swirling against it. You're unable to do anything but press your lips together to stifle a moan.

Aemond pays special attention, lapping at it like a man starved, humming and pleased at the reaction he gets when he grazes his teeth over it. He pulls off with a gentle pop, kissing the valley of your breasts, his cock hanging heavily against your thigh. So close, and yet still feels so far away.

He reaches away for a second to go for his wallet on the bedside table, but your hand moves quickly to capture his wrist. His piercing gaze looks down at you questioningly.

"I'm clean…" you say, face hot with embarrassment, "...and I'm on birth control"

Aemond grins wolfishly at the admission, leaning down to kiss and nip at your neck, "Someone's prepared"

You gasp when he drags the head of his cock up your folds, parting them only slightly.

"You just want it raw, don't you?"

From this action alone you can feel how wet you are, and when he taps his cockhead against your clit a few times sending sparks of pleasure up your spine, it's obvious when it smacks wetly against your skin.

"Now baby, it's just you and me. I want to hear you when I fuck you. Understood?"

You nod, dizzy from just how much he's teasing you.

"Just fuck me" you plead, annoyance colouring your tone.

He laughs through his nose and your mouth drops open when he pushes into you, splitting you open on his thick cock, slowly working his way inside.

"I'm going to fuck that little attitude right out of you"

Fuck.

Aemond bottoms out inside you, stilling for a moment for you to adjust but also for him to catch his bearings. He breathes in shuddered bursts against your neck, his stomach flexing and fists tightened either side of your head.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight…can feel you squeezing me…" he moans softly against your ear, pushing himself as far inside you as he can possibly go. It has your eyes fluttering shut as his length tucks against that sweet spot, filling you aggravatingly perfectly, the walls of your pussy stretching deliciously to take him.

"Shit-Aemond…" you mewl as he shallowly fucks himself into you a few times, craving friction, craving what glimpse you saw of him earlier, "...please…"

Resting on his forearms, one hand ventures to your thigh to spread you further apart as he pulls almost all the way out.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely"

All air seems to be stolen out of your lungs and replaced with warming bliss as Aemond's slams back inside, his hips immediately pressing with a loud smack against you as he thrusts ceaselessly, holding both of your thighs in his palms.

With every harsh push inside, a soft, moan-like breath slips from your lips. Gods, when was the last time someone fucked you, as in properly fucked you, like this? Probably longer than you'd like to admit. That Highgarden guy left you high and dry, and even the guys before that, they probably thought girls had one hole, so knew little about how to pleasure you.

It's clear Aemond doesn't share this trait, and your thought process is immediately zipped from your past sexual encounters to right now as Aemonds thumb begins to deftly gather your arousal on it to circle around your clit, setting every nerve alight.

"Stubborn and a brat?" He muses, applying a delicious amount of pressure to that needy bundle of nerves, "I thought I made myself very clear, Princess. I want to hear you"

He punctuates his demand with two particularly harsh thrusts, your arousal sounding almost pornographic in nature.

Whether you want to or not, your lips part more to let your sounds of pleasure fill the room, the ceaseless sounds of your fucking alongside it. Your hands fist the bedsheets and Aemond hums appreciatively watching your breasts and body move with every motion.

He rewards you by increasing the speed of his motions, practically fucking you into the mattress. It's here that is the first time you see Aemond let his face show what he's feeling. That smug, cocksure smirk he has worn since arriving back at the hotel room drops, and his jaw slackens, his eye hooded to look down at you with reverence.

"Fuck-baby, I can feel you, you're going to cum for me aren't you-" he moans, his hips never letting up their pace, "shit-feels so good. Been dreaming of this for fucking weeks"

"Aemond-" you moan softly, turning your head, closing your eyes, feeling all exposed to him when he looks at you like that. The pressure in your gut is absolutely set to explode, and you feel that coil tighten impossibly.

Your throat tightens as Aemond leans down, his hips hitting the flesh of your thighs as he continues to piston his cock inside you, the chain around his neck dangling arousingly above you.

You feel him grab your face, turning you to face him, your eyes slightly hooded with pleasure but looking right at him. It's so intimate, it makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

His expression is serious.

"I want you to look at me when I make you cum"

Your hand joins his wrist, guiding him to your neck, and his jaw slackens again when he realises what you want. His fingers wrap around your neck, palm against your windpipe, and he just holds you there, feeling your pulse fluttering against his touch.

All you're able to utter before falling off the edge of your pleasure is, "fuck-"

Blinding white pleasure courses through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest, feeling every single thing Aemond is doing but ten times more sensitive. Being edged twice before certainly didn't help. Every thrust inside, brushing against your sweet spot, the way his thumb continues to press circles against your bud, has your orgasm extended in a long drawn-out shattered moan.

Aemond buries his head into your neck, his arms enveloped around you, letting your bud finally have a reprieve. Your thighs begin to shake as Aemond fucks you through it, overstimulation rocking through your entire body with the incessant bullying of his length against your sweet spot.

"It's alright, baby, I've got you" he whispers, his own tone strained. You can't help but sigh fondly at his words.

"Fuck-where-"

"Inside me…please"

Aemond feels you tighten impossibly around him one last time before he stills, hot ropes of his cum painting your walls and leaving an unmistakable warmth at the deepest parts of your core. Aemond says nothing, but moans helplessly against your neck and you feel his all-body shudder through your hold on his shoulders.

He fucks you shallowly, aching for the last moments of friction just as your orgasm subsides, replaced with a manageable dull thrum, practically able to fell your own heartbeat, and his with his presence inside you. The drag of his cock through your sensitive walls has breathless pants spilling from your mouth.

The silence stretches as Aemond stills, his cock softening within you.

You don't have time to consider what at all he's thinking, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, significantly softer than anything you've both done since arriving back to the hotel room. It shocks you, the intimacy of it.

What had you expected him to do? Get up, pull on his clothes and leave?

Maybe.

You had no expectations with Aemond. So for him to do this, had your chest constrain almost painfully.

What did this mean?

Did he just want a quick fuck?

Had he done this with Floris?

What did it mean for your partnership?

You're almost disappointed in yourself that these are the first thoughts on your mind.

And yet despite the pleasure running hot through your veins even still, as Aemond props himself up to look down at you, his chest heaving with hurried breaths, there's something on his face, in his expression, that you just cannot read.

There's an uncertainty in not being able to read him.

And underneath that hum of pleasure, through your rapid heartbeat, there lies something that hurtles you deep away from it all.

Doubt.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

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highwayorgantrade · 1 year ago

Text

Safe House

Pairing: Female Reader! X Soap

Request: Nooo

Summary: Oh no! A bunch of soldiers posted up in your farmhouse bed and breakfast?? Whatever shall you do!! Should you fuck them??

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, volume (keep quiet), unprotected sex, cervix kissing

Author's note: Okay listen y'all I did not plan on doing this whatsoever. I was in the middle of writing a Graves thing when I got this idea and I knew I just had to get that damn little brain worm out before it ruined my life further. This is gonna be a series!!!!!

The mission had gone wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong. 141 thought they were smart by teaming up with Los Vaqueros again to take down a trafficking ring - “Positive international relations,” Price had called it. “We even got imported muscle.” He grinned, referring to the 6’10” man they had called in, after hearing of his ability to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

However, the ring had decided on the same tactic, bringing in a nearby cartel to defend their location. Quickly, way too quickly, the group was overwhelmed, frantically phoning in to Laswell for extraction.

“Don’t worry,” She sighed, after directing the seven men to a relatively safe area, the black-tinted SUV already flying gravel. “I have a friend.”

You had just so happened to be the friend. Well, the relative was more accurate, being her sister-in-law. You knew what she did for work, but you never thought she would call on you for help with it.

“Please, (Y/N), it’ll only be for a few days, I swear. A week, tops.” She called you early one November morning. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” And you knew she wouldn’t. The fact was simple: You had lived relatively nearby, and the bed and breakfast you operated and lived in certainly had the facilities to house eight people, and it so happened to be the off-season.

You were eager to accept, happy to help your sister, and it would be nice to have some muscle with the chores that needed done around the property. When the SUV pulled up, you quickly regretted your decision. You had expected a house full of military boys, tearing around like a pack of dogs, but out stepped six of the most attractive men you have ever seen, all completely different, but equally as handsome and rugged. Two were masked, but Christ, were they big anyway. As they loaded packs out of the van, you stepped into the grass, the cold air causing you to draw your cardigan tighter around yourself. When you approached, you kept a safe distance - partly because you didn’t know them, but also because you were afraid that if you got too close, you’d get lost in the intricacies of their faces.

“Hey!” You spoke finally, the rustling of the dying leaves nearly drowning you out. “I’m (Y/N), I hope the trip out wasn’t too awful!” You internally cringed at yourself for giving them the usual spiel you reserved for guests, but continued anyway. “Come on in, all the rooms are pretty much the same, but you can pick, so… that’s something.”

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” One of them finally spoke, casting a friendly grin your way, and you turned quickly to hide the burning on your cheeks.

You were proud of the way your property looked, hidden well off the road in a small forested area, the whole thing had kind of an eclectic feel to it, but you still felt kind of strange leading them into the common area.

“Okay!” You clasped your hands together, and tried to remember that you were only a housing opportunity - they had more important things to focus on. “Well, uh, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, but you might see me flitting about here and there. What’s mine is yours.” Some nodded their thanks, others were making quick work of checking their bags for God knows what, and one, the one in a skull mask, merely stared down at you, his large arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… You took that as your cue to leave, and you quickly stepped out the back door, hoping to make progress on your chores before the sun set.

The frigid air felt nearly unbearable compared to how hot you were burning in their presence - you didn’t even realize that you were slightly sweating. With a sigh, you reminded yourself of your responsibilities. Repaint the gazebo, refill and hang the bird feeders, and fix the greenery so everything is in full bloom by summer. Leaves crunched under your step as the half-painted gazebo came into view. You could hear voices coming from your house, a few with different accents, mostly British, but you could pick out a Scottish, a vaguely German, and a couple Spanish lilts. A booming laugh echoed, and you relaxed your tense shoulders at the sound.

“Don’t make me regret this, Kate.” You mumbled as you settled into the grass and popped open a paint can.

She was pretty. It was the first thing Soap had noticed. It looked like she belonged here, in the woods, with the wind blowing her hair and birds singing in her presence. No doubt she kept them well-fed. He had barely listened when she spoke - he was much too focused on how her sweater wrapped tightly around her body, or how her eyes seemed to physically sparkle with curiosity. She had said something, Soap had no idea, but he responded anyway. Something about the drive? The rooms?

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” He answered, stabbing that it was an appropriate response. The way she averted her eyes and a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips told him that he was successful. When she turned around to lead them into the safehouse, Price gave him a nudge and shook his head ‘no.’ No fucking Kate’s pretty little sister? Might as well ask him to walk on fucking water, next.

She had promised to make herself scarce, and Soap was silently thankful. He didn’t want this woman caught up in what they were doing, and he didn’t want her to know something that could get her in trouble - Laswell would never forgive them. When she left, Alejandro was the first to speak.

“Nobody talk to me about this mission tonight.” He grumbled, and Soap recognized that as a request long ago, based on the way his jaw was clenched nearly the entire drive to the location, muttering what Soap assumed to be expletives every so often. He trudged up the stairs with his bag, Rudy trailing not far behind.

“Right, then.” Ghost spoke, rolling his shoulders and pulling out a map of the enemy facility and laying it on the wood table, and Soap nearly laughed at how out of place it looked. “If they’ve gotten support from that gang, it eliminates them from support from anyone else, and makes them a target to others, not just us.”

“We need to get to them first.” Konig’s hand landed on the map, gesturing vaguely at an entrance. “This was lightly guarded.” Soap stared at the location, before his eyes flitted out the window to see you approaching a gazebo outside, and he itched to get this out of the way.

“Aye, they might reinforce that entrance since they know it’s weak now. Leaves somewhere else open to vulnerability.” Soap strategized, his eyes lingering on how your hands ran through your hair, and JESUS, how did it still look perfect after that? A light thump on the back of his head pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked back to see Gaz with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

“No-go, mate. Red zone. Laswell would have your head on a stick.”

“Might be worth it.” Ghost chimed in, following his gaze to the woman.

Price pointed a warning finger to Ghost, his face stony.

“Ghost, stop instigating. Gaz, leave Soap alone. Konig…” He took a breath, considering the man had nothing to do with their antics. “Good job. Soap, I wish I had control over who a soldier decides to sleep with, but I don’t.”

“That girl in Ibiza left a bad taste in your mouth, Cap?” Soap retorted, recalling one of his more infamous hook-ups, and Price laughed loudly.

“Lesson for the inexperienced,” Ghost turned to Konig. “Remember your date’s name or she will throw a knife at you.” Konig shook his head at this, and slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to call it a day.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

Soap had already tuned the ribbing out, and when Ghost packed up the plans, he was already tracing your path, walking out the back door to meet you.

A rustling of leaves caused your head to perk up, and you turned to see the one who had spoken to you earlier, a small smile on his face.

“Need any help?” He tilted his head at the gazebo. “More hands make less work ‘n all.” You looked back at your work, having made minimal progress since you began.

“Oh! Yeah, sure. If you want.” You responded, pulling the paint tray out in front of you so he could take the spare paintbrush. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I’m Johnny. Most of the guys call me Soap, though.”

Soap? The nickname seemed to come out of nowhere, and you crinkled your nose at this.

“Why do they call you that? You shower more than everyone else or something?” He laughed at this, reaching up to cover the underside of a railing in white paint, and you fought to keep your eyes from lingering on his arms.

“Good at cleaning house, love.” Soap corrected you, your lips pursing at the nickname. “How long have you had this place?”

You shrugged, simply happy that he was making conversation with you.

“Coupl’a years. Since I was twenty. Bought it as a dump and flipped it.” He makes a noise of approval and takes a deep breath.

“Your, uh, boyfriend live here with you, does he?” At this, you can’t help but allow a laugh to tear through you, both in recognition of what Soap was doing, and out of pure shock that he was doing it.

“Not sure where my boyfriend lives, I haven’t met him yet. Let me know if you find him, though, yeah?” Soap shook his head.

“I don’t think I will, but thank you for the offer.”

The back and forth with Soap left your head reeling, and you considered your options as you painted in silence. Kate would kill you if she found out, but she doesn’t need to find out. It has been terribly long since you’ve even been on a date, or even had sex for that matter, and Soap certainly isn’t the worst looking man in the world. He clearly had a great body, and you delved down the rabbit hole of how his arms would look pinning your arms above your head, his battle-worn dog tag trailing cold electricity down your chest.

A flash of yellow light pulled you out of your musings, and a firefly landed on your knee. You took a deep breath and turned to Soap, his attention garnered by your sudden movement of waving the small bug away.

“Do you wanna have a drink tonight? With me?” Your face was comically serious, and Soap let out a soft chuckle as he replaced the lid on the paint, taking the brush from your hand.

“Aye.” He stood, sighing a bit at the noise his knees made, and handed you the paint tray.

“I’ll, uh, go put this up and meet you inside.” You offered him a small smile, and his head tilted at you, trying to hide his own.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soap had to stop himself from running back into the house. Giddiness coursed through him, and he burst through the door to see Gaz, Ghost, and Konig sat in various places around the living room, the TV tuned in to the local news.

“Get the fuck out.” He stated simply, his eyes wide and a dumb grin on his face.

“Pardon?” Ghost barely spared him a glance, and Konig automatically stood, silently confused as to where he was supposed to go. Gaz merely stared up at him.

“I said,” Soap wrapped his hand around Ghost’s bicep and pulled, forcing the man to stand, and Gaz followed. “Get the fuck out.”

“You sendin’ us to bed, then, eh?”

Soap picked up Ghost’s bag for him, and shoved it into his chest, nearly pushing the men up the stairs.

“I am.” He turned to Gaz, his mouth already open to protest, and pointed a finger in his face. “If you fuck this up for me, I will end you.”

The second the three men shut the door to their respective rooms, you stepped back into the house, locking the backdoor behind you.

I raised an eyebrow at the television, and grinned at Soap.

“Did you turn on the news?” I ask, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of wine from cabinets, pouring us both a fairly full glass.

“Yeah, it’s a new form of foreplay.” He laughed, taking a sip. “Learnin’ that we world is shite.”

“Oh, so foreplay is important to you?” And that question was your first step. He glanced at you from across the kitchen island, and you could just see the gears in his mind turning, figuring out the best way to get himself into your bed. Honestly, he could have asked to bend you dead over the kitchen counter, his large hand pulling your hair as leverage as he thrusted into you from behind.

But your imagination always runs wild.

“Mm. ‘S very important.” You cocked your head at his answer, and he shrugged. “I prefer to have a girl simply beggin’ before I even think of finishing.” He took a step around the island, not quite in front of you, but leaning on the side. You sipped your wine again, trying to cover your reaction to his answer, but there was no wine glass big enough to cover how you pressed your legs together, one hand gripping the counter with slightly more force than necessary.

“How do you do that?” It was an effort to keep your tone even , trying not to show how badly he was affecting you.

“Eh.” He set his wine glass down, finger lightly circling the base of the stem. “Usually have ‘em coming a few times before I get my own.”

Holy fuck. You needed Soap, and you needed him bad.

“Ah, so only good reviews then?” Damnit, why is your voice suddenly higher? You cleared your throat to try to get it to return to normal, and the fucking bastard smirked at you.

“So far. Tell me, love.” That damn nickname again. “When was the last time you were fucked?” You opened your mouth to answer, but it didn’t matter as Soap began talking again. “Ah, lemme revise that. When was the last time you were properly fucked? The last time someone had you cryin’, had you just stupid on their cock?”

You were buzzing, shaking slightly at Soap’s vulgar words. His accent got lower, rougher as he spoke, and you could feel your arousal tying a knot in your throat.He simply stared at you, waiting for your answer with a dumb smile on his face, like he already knew.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” He began, in mock sympathy. “Never?” You shook your head at him, not wanting to tell him the truth.

In all reality, you’ve never orgasmed with someone else. It was all only you, and you learned quickly not to say this, as all men would try to be the first. Then you’d end the night by lying, and they would go with their egos inflated.

You both stood, the tension in the kitchen more than you could bear, and just as you were about to dismiss yourself for the night, Soap wrapped a hand around your forearm - Not tightly enough to worry you, but just enough so you looked up at him, your faces inches from each other.

“Love, I don’t like to, uh, think I’m all that, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like to try. Show some thanks to our host.”

In one last attempt at quieting down your own perverse thoughts, you set your wine glass down, and looked at the floor.

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me Soap.”

“I absolutely do,” He responded immediately. “I really do need to. Nothin’ better than a pretty face while I work.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering all the ways this could go bad. Every single one was overrun with the way Soap was searching your eyes, silently pleading for you. With a purse of your lips, you poured the rest of your wine down the sink, and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

You barely got the words out before Soap wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way up the stairs, searching for any room that didn’t look like it was already occupied.

“Mine’s on the other end.” You breathed in an effort not to laugh at his eagerness, and he turned on his heels toward a door that was differently painted than the rest. He placed a hand over your head, protecting you from a bump as he ducked through the doorframe, and less-than-gently set you on your bed, locking the door behind him.

When he turned, you didn’t see the sweet man offering to help you with painting, you saw a soldier. A soldier tuned into your every breath, every movement, and every thought. He kneeled in front of the bed, between your legs, and began planting lighter than air kisses on your ankle, untying your shoes and setting them to the side haphazardly.

“Red means stop.” He whispered against your skin, traveling upward to your knee. “Yellow is slow down, green is good. Repeat it.”

“Red is-“ You were cut off by your own gasp as he delivered a light bite to the inside of your thigh before kissing it again, and you could feel him smile against you. “Red is stop. Yellow is slow. Green is good.”

“And where are we now?” He breathed against the spot right where your thigh met your most sensitive area, and you felt your stomach jump.

“Green. So, so green.” A whimper escaped you, and Soap tsked, like he was about to scold you.

“Stay quiet, lass.” Teased Soap, as he slid your shorts down, along with your underwear, and he whistled lowly. “A Chriosd ann an ifrinn, seall ort, a nighean bhòidheach.” And with that, he licked one long, thick strip up your cunt, dipping down to tease your hole with his tongue. Soap was eating you out like a man starved, and you were obsessed.

Light, breathy moans left you, ever so aware of how quiet everything else was.

“Tell me what feels good, love.” He punctuated his command with a nip to your thigh, pulling your mind out of the pleasure-induced haze. His tongue traveled through your folds, eyes trained on you to see your reaction to his ministrations. Soap’s lips wrap around your clit, fingers toying with your soaking entrance, and it felt like all rational thought had left you. You didn’t care about who exactly was between your legs, nor if his team could hear your desperate mewls.

The pressure inside you was building, and your movement was strange - trying to wriggle away from the incessant barrage against your clit, and trying to grind impossibly closer to Soap’s lips, and by his huff, it was clear he had enough of that. One large arm wrapped around a thigh, his other pressing down on your abdomen, and the only noise Soap could muster was a few low groans as he continued devouring you.

The knot inside you was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like it was going to snap any second. A split moment of panic ran through you as your back arched off the bed, Begs and cries tumbling out of your lips before you could think of them.

“Soap, please, please.” You cried, hands aching from gripping the sheets. “Please don’t stop, please…” Staying true to your direction, Soap was unrelenting against you, the combination of his sucking, biting, and licking at your clit had dizzy spots appearing in your vision. With one hard push on your abdomen, and a particularly slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, you felt that snap, and you finally understood why it was called the Little Death.

Your mind had gone completely blank, mouth open in a silent scream, and your thighs clamped around either side of Soap’s head, where he still had yet to stop drinking you. It felt like your heart had even stopped beating, until the pounding was heard in your ears. As Soap continued, you felt your body lurch upwards, fingers tangling in Soap’s hair until he finally looked up at you, his hand coming back to slide a finger into you.The sudden intrusion forced a gasp from you, and he gently kissed your thigh, where you noticed the ache that predates a bruise.

“How we doin’, love? We okay?” His voice was impossibly sweet, a complete 180 to how he just made you feel. You nodded, despite feeling like every single sense in your body had been blown out. His finger continued sliding in and out of you, your walls pulsing around him.

“Green.” You confirmed breathily, and he smiled a wolfish grin before adding a second digit into you, his pace quickening. A quick flash of aggravation and desperation coursed through you, and you knew how to get exactly what you wanted.

You looked down at him, eyebrows upturned in a pleading look, and your doe-eyes were working overtime.

“Please, Soap, just fuck me.” You said, voice higher and more gentle than you thought it would come out, and he groaned, rolling his head against your leg. His fingers took on a ‘come here’ motion, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the feeling.

“Ah, I know what you want. You want these…” Soap planted a kiss on your thighs, interrupting his own speech. “God, these pretty thighs pinned behind your head, taking me so well, takin’ me so good.” He looked absolutely pussydrunk, his eyes darting between your eyes and his fingers, tsking and offering a slight noise of false sympathy when a tear rolled down your cheek. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel that fire building inside of you again. “Christ, love, you wanna come again, huh?” You nodded furiously at his question, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your tits. A bright look crossed Soap’s face, and while his hands continued, his mouth met your hands.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, and before you could think, he bit down - the orgasm that crashed through you was stronger than the last, and the muscles in your thighs screamed from being clenched so tightly. You felt his fingers work their way out of your pussy, hissing at the feeling of your walls clenching around nothing.

“You want me to fuck you now, pretty thing?” His face was almost smug as he climbed up on the bed, one hand going to your lower back to effortlessly raise you, and he peppered light kisses on your sweat-covered face. Of course you want him, how could you not? Your body was buzzing with the aftershocks of two orgasms, and here he was, lining himself up with you.

“God, yes, please.” You breathed, hands coming to rest on his back. Soap brought his lips down next to your ear, sending another shock straight to your core.

“Beg better.” He punctuated his command by rubbing his cock through your folds, and you twitched when the head ground against your already sensitive clit. Beg better? Fuck you, Soap.

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you and, hopefully, how serious you looked.

“Fuck me, Soap. Now.”

The simple instruction was all it took for him to push inside you, and it was like it activated something in him - Soap simply could not shut up.

“Ach, mo Dhia, tha thu a 'faireachdainn cho foirfe timcheall orm. So perfect.” He planted a kiss to your temple. “So perfect, my pretty girl.”

You brought your lips up to his neck, kissing the curve where it meets his shoulder, and his babbling only continued as his cock dragged against nearly every nerve, your broken moans echoing through your room. God, his slow pace was nearly agonizing, you wanted more, you needed more. It was like Soap read your mind as he paused, hooking your knees above his shoulders, effectively pinning you into the mattress. He flashed you a wicked grin before he began his jackhammer pace, and this new position had him reaching impossibly deep inside you.

A vague, low ache began in your abdomen every time he bottomed out, his head kissing your cervix every single time. The depth combined with his pace, his groaning and endless praise in your ear - it felt like it was all culminating in a perfect storm, one that was threatening to break down every fibre of your being.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going to-” You interrupted yourself with a low, hoarse groan, your admission only spurring him on as he replaced his hold on your knees with his hands.

“Look at me, love, I wanna see it, I wanna see you.” His stuttering hips told you he was in the same spot as you, and you both were not going to last much longer. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He growled, and that was all it took for you.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as you released around him, and your ending brought his own on. Curses left him lips as he buried himself inside you, collapsing next to you.

“Ach, come ‘ere.” He breathed, reaching his arm out to hook around your waist and pulling you to him, one leg wrapping around his waist. One hand rested on your jaw, planting kisses on your forehead, cheek, anywhere he could get access to. Your body felt numb, and you knew he stayed true to his word - you were fucked absolutely stupid. You wanted to talk, you wanted to ask where this left you? Would you ignore that this happened? Would it recur? Would he tell his team about it? You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t - The song of crickets and his heartbeat was a lullaby, and one that you couldn’t fight.

The snare of sleep overtook you as your heart rate evened out, and only one thought was on your mind before you gave up the fight for consciousness:

You really fucking hope you don’t regret this.

#mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader

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thedreamlessnights · 1 year ago

Text

Someone to shed some light - pt. 5

Astarion x gn!reader (NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: You and Astarion come across the camp, and its discovery adds a complication to the mix. The two of you share an intimate night together.

Warnings: 18+ - Blood drinking, mentions of past abuse. Explicit sexual content. Penetrative sex, fingering, first time sex.

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: As you can see, this chapter is an eventful one. I hope you'll all enjoy! This story is going to get wild, and we're going to start seeing some new (and perhaps familiar) faces 👀 Also, thank you so much to @aerynwrites for making the amazing header image and for looking over this chapter! I appreciate you so much ♥

The thick, awkward silence in the air follows you all the way to the stream - tailing along with you like it’s your shadow.

You’ve never been more grateful to see a body of water in your entire life, and it’s not due to the thirst slowly building in your mouth, or the grime on your skin itching to be cleaned off. It’s because you’re dying to do something that isn’t walking, dying to curb the silence, and dying to think of anything that isn’t Cazador.

How long have the two of you been traveling, now? How long since you’d come across Gandrel? The trees have been too dense to tell the time with any accuracy, but there’s a break of them over the water, and the sun is mid-sky when you glance at its position.

Hours, maybe.

Hours of thinking up a thousand different conversation topics. Trying to find something to fill the deadening quiet. None of them seemed appropriate, though; not in the aftermath of finding out that an evil vampire had enslaved Astarion for two centuries and is now relentlessly hunting him. What could you possibly say after that?

Nothing, you’d eventually decided. You’d say nothing. But that hadn’t made any of it any better.

The camp shouldn’t be far, now. But that can wait.

You sink to your knees on the bank, taking a handful of the mercifully cool water and splashing it over your face. It’s sweet when you bring it to your lips, blissful on your burning-hot skin, and you can’t help letting out a sigh of relief.

“I can’t wait to get out of these woods,” you say softly, more for yourself.

“They were your idea, my sweet,” Astarion replies, somewhere behind you.

“Freedom was my idea,” you combat defensively. “The woods just happened to be a temporary part of that.”

“If you’re planning to run from my mother, then it certainly won’t be temporary,” Astarion says. “I’d become very, very friendly with the woods if I were you.”

You drop your hands, shaking away the remaining water as you try - and fail - to bite away your frustration. “Why can’t she leave me alone? All I want is to go back to my home.”

“And I want to wake every morning with a virgin at my side,” he snipes, every word laced with melodramatic condescension, “but life doesn’t give us what we want.”

This time, your anger cuts through your chest like a knife as you shift to face him. “Well!” you exclaim. “Congratulations then, Astarion, because you do!”

He freezes, a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve made a grave error. “Do I, now?” he purrs. “Interesting.”

You ignore him, turning back to the stream, but your cheeks go hot. “Well?” you finally say. “Are you going to get cleaned up or not?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t respond.

You glance at him and find him staring at the water like it’s a poisonous bog. “Oh, come now, Your Highness. Don’t tell me the stream isn’t good enough for you?”

He scowls at you, but his gaze is quick to flit back to the stream as he speaks. “Running water used to burn like acid, dearest. I’ve never tested if it still does.”

Your mouth snaps shut. No more teasing him, you resolve. It’s only making you look like a complete ass. “Oh,” you finally say.

Astarion sinks down into a squat, hesitantly dipping his fingers into the water and giving a hum. “Well. I suppose that answers that question,” he says, shifting onto his knees.

He’s just as dirty as you feel. Gandrel’s blood is splattered all over him, and the grime of the woods has etched streaks of dirt onto his skin. Somehow, despite all of that, he’s still as beautiful as always. Maybe even more so, like this.

You feel a strange sense of disappointment when he starts rinsing the mess away.

It’s blazing hot out. It was easier to ignore earlier when you were under the shade, but the light is in full effect over the stream, and it’s unavoidable, now. You’re covered in sweat and dirt and the gods know what else. The itch to get clean is maddening.

At first, you try splashing water onto your skin and your filthy shirt, but all it ends up doing is drenching yourself - not cleaning anything at all. You’re left dirty, wet, and frustrated, and, well. Who knows when the next bathing spot will be. You’re already soaked…

You peel off your shoes and socks, get to your feet and take two steps back, then jump in.

The water is freezing cold, but it’s wonderful - euphoric under the pounding sun. It washes away the dirt and blood and sweat with ease, carrying them away as you kick around. The mild current feels like silk over your limbs. For a moment, you even float around on your back, enjoying the peaceful murmur of the water.

Then you remember that you aren’t alone, and you go upright. Astarion is watching you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, distracted from his task. As soon as he sees you looking, he instantly goes back to trying to clean the stains out of his shirt - which is going about as well for him as it had been for you.

You watch his struggle for a moment before a string of words leave your lips. Words that wouldn’t have come out if you’d taken the time to think about it.

“You should join me!”

He glances at the water. It’s completely clear and a beautiful blue, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. “Darling,” he says, letting out a haughty laugh, “you want me to jump in there? Only the gods know what’s in that water.”

“You’re using it to clean your shirt,” you point out, “which isn’t going very well, Your Highness. It’ll be the closest thing to a bath for miles.”

He simply scowls in response, and you shake your head.

“Alright,” you relent. “Stay up there in the heat, then, covered in blood and dirt. Just don’t start complaining to me when you start to feel dirty.”

His scowl deepens, but he gives up on the shirt and shifts until he’s sitting on the edge of the bank. “Fine,” he says sharply. He looks down and hesitates, tilting his head. Is he wondering how deep it is? If water used to burn, then he probably hasn’t gone swimming in…

Two centuries.

You let yourself stand, your toes sinking into the mud. The water isn’t much higher than your rib cage, and the crease between Astarion’s brows fades away. Following in your lead, he takes off his boots and socks, then lets himself slide into the water. He grimaces for a moment at the temperature, sinks under the surface, and comes up sopping, wiping water out of his eyes.

You almost feel bad, looking at that silvery mop of curls, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply pushes the mass of wet hair out of his face, then resumes his process of cleaning the blood out of his shirt. Or, trying to. It seems thoroughly fixed into the cream fabric.

For some reason, your attention on him feels like an invasion of a private moment, so you take to making sure you’re cleaned off, averting your gaze - especially when he takes off his shirt to scrub away the stains. The brief flash of porcelain skin you catch has your cheeks blooming with heat; it’s the most you’ve ever seen of him.

To distract yourself, you speak. “I’m surprised you actually got in.”

“Well,” he says. “Unfortunately, my warm baths have been conveniently misplaced. This will have to suffice.”

“Of course,” you mutter, paddling absentmindedly through the water. “For a moment there, I thought you might like something that’s remotely fun. My mistake.”

You’re still turned away, which is why the splash of water that hits you catches you by surprise. “Oh, you bastard,” you gasp, instantly sending another splash back at him.

He pauses, flashing you a wicked grin, and then you’re hit with another one, and another, and another. You’re splashing him back as much as you can and trying to swim away from the splash zone, and he’s splashing you, and you’re both breathless and calling taunts into the air. The sun is in your eyes, and water is in your lungs, and for a brief, blissful moment, it’s like all your worries have slipped away.

When the two of you are finally worn out, muscles aching, you push your way to the shore and lay on the grass, trying to catch your breath as your eyes flutter shut. The sun is golden and warm overhead, and with your now-drenched clothes, it feels wonderful.

A moment after you’ve gotten out, Astarion joins you. You hear the light thump of his wet shirt landing on the grass next to you, and then he’s sighing. “Gods - it’s hopeless,” he mutters. “Hopefully one of those Zhentarim knew something about fashion.”

His footsteps head back to his pack, but the feeling of warm sun on your skin is relaxing enough to keep you where you are as he digs around. When he stalls, you finally sit up, coughing some of the leftover water out of your lungs. Another joke is poised on your lips, but when you catch sight of his back, the words turn to ash on your tongue.

The soft pink lines seem like an intricate tattoo at first, but as your eyes continue to take it in, you realize that the skin is raised - far too much to ever be a tattoo. Scars. They’re scars.

You only see them for that brief moment before Astarion has found a new shirt and pulled it over himself, blocking out the sight of them, but even after they’re gone, the markings burn under your eyelids.

He turns to face you, and when he sees your face, the lightheartedness in his eyes immediately fades to something sharper. He knows you’ve seen.

“Your back,” you say softly. “It must have been painful.”

He looks away. “A gift from Cazador,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “A poem. He spent the night carving it into me.” He pauses, and pain flashes over his eyes. “He made a lot of adjustments as he went.”

You briefly think to yourself that - evil, powerful vampire or not - if you ever come face-to-face with Cazador Szarr, you’ll tear him to shreds with your bare hands.

Gods. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you already know Astarion won’t take it well. He clearly despises pity, and you’re not going to give it to him.

Instead, you get to your feet, ignoring the way your drenched clothes now stick to you, and head to your pack. “Why didn’t your mother kill him?”

He scoffs. “Believe me, she tried. Unfortunately, killing a vampire isn’t exactly easy. Rescuing me was the main priority, and, honestly? It was a miracle she even managed that.”

You nod, picking at a loose string on your sleeve. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“Baldur’s Gate, no doubt,” he replies stiffly. “In his ridiculous palace. He’s a Lord, you know.”

Ridiculous palace. It’s an ironic thing for him to say, but then you recall that Astarion probably doesn’t enjoy Erelin’s palace, either. Then, very much delayed, the reality of his words sinks in. “Hold on. You mean to say that there’s an evil vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate, and no one knows?”

“Oh, some do; they just don’t care,” he says, tilting his head. “You see - it’s all about power. He has a fair amount, and people will do anything to get even a taste of it. You should see his servants. They come to the door, begging for his eternal gift, and they’re stupid enough to think he’ll give it to them if they work hard enough.”

The concept of that is sickening. You fear nothing more than being thrown back into your personal prison, and here people are, volunteering to be in one - and one that’s far, far worse than yours, at that. All for what? Immortality? It doesn’t even remotely appeal to you.

From the look on his face, Astarion feels the same way.

Gods. You can’t even imagine what he’s experienced; not even half of it. Everything you’ve been through pales in drastic comparison to his two centuries of torture. Shame sweeps deep through your gut, dark and oozing, and it’s all you can do to not despise yourself.

Still - he complains about the petty things more than you do. And he hadn’t faulted you for wanting to run. He’d just told you not to bother, because you’d be caught.

“I don’t understand them,” you remark quietly, gathering up your things. “I can’t… imagine wanting something so much I’d give up my freedom for it.”

He shakes his head, and something reproachful paints itself into his expression. “Power is addictive, dearest. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder once more, and Astarion follows in your lead. “Well,” you say, “I suppose we’d better see what that camp is all about.”

You smell the camp before you see it.

The smoke you’d seen yesterday has faded in the air, but the smell of it is present: a distant, hazy odor that lingers in the forest. You and Astarion squat down to be safe, observing from behind the treeline, and it becomes immediately clear what it is.

Banners of silver and blue - those are Calthirian colors. This is your kingdom. What’s left of it, at least.

You’d been right. This rebellion is a prominent force, from the looks of it. No wonder Erelin had married you off instead of fighting. Still, it makes you wary to go waltzing straight into the place, expecting everything to turn out right. A level of paranoia lays over your skin like sweat, making it hard to think clearly. What if someone recognizes you? Do they know what you look like?

“Well,” Astarion remarks, “I suppose we’ve received our answer. And now that we have, we should be on our merry way.”

“Unfortunately,” you murmur in agreement. “You don’t think they’d give us directions to the nearest village?” It’s a long shot, and mostly a joke, but having traveled all this way to leave no better off is a sinking disappointment.

“They’d sooner recruit us,” Astarion answers. “Or kill us.”

You stare for a moment longer, then shake your head. “All right - new plan, then. We get the hells away from here. I’ll scale another tree and see if I can see anything.”

Astarion frowns, but doesn’t seem to have any better ideas. He follows silently as you creep through the woods, watching out for any nearby scouts.

You don’t like this place. It feels ominous, in a way.

Your breathing doesn’t return to normal until you’re a decent amount away, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve narrowly avoided something awful. Astarion stays on the ground while you climb another tree, and this time, the forest provides something very useful to you.

A city. Your city.

Baldur’s Gate, in all her glory, lies in the distance. It’ll take days, maybe even a week, to get there - but gods, is the sight of her a relief. Warm beds. Familiar faces. These days, there’s not many people you trust, but the ones you do are all in Baldur’s Gate. If you’re ever going to find any true escape, it’s there.

And, you think, your stomach sinking, there’ll be Ancunín outposts for Astarion to get back to his mother.

Astarion is pacing along the base of the tree when you hop down again, and his eyes brighten when he looks at you. “Gods. You saw something, didn’t you?”

“Baldur’s Gate,” you tell him, unable to mask the smile that spreads over your lips. “It’s a few days away, but it’s there.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Astarion sighs. “I couldn’t take much more of this.”

But you know what he’s really saying. He’ll finally get back to safety.

The two of you will have to have a talk sooner or later. You aren’t sure if he’s expecting you to return with him, and you’re not keen on arguing with him. You don’t want to leave him, but if it comes down to it - you can’t go back to Erelin.

Can’t, not won’t. It’s not even a choice. Every part of you rejects the suggestion like an unsuccessful transplant; every inch of you viscerally objects to returning to that palace. You’d bring him with you if you could, but you know that he’d never feel safe. Not while Cazador is out there, hunting for him.

The realization sombers the air as the two of you continue, skirting your way around the camp and in the direction of the city. You do a bit more hunting, and so does Astarion. Your food cooks in silence as the sun starts to set, and he seems to be lost in thought - just like you are.

When the crunch of a nearby branch sounds, the two of you leap two your feet without a second thought, reaching for your weapons. When you see who it is, your knife tumbles out of your hand.

“Cal?”

He looks more worn down than you’ve ever seen him, but it’s undeniably him. Chestnut hair. Grey eyes. A full, trim beard. He’s dressed in Calthirian colors, and his eyes widen in recognition as he stares at you, looking like he can’t believe you’re real.

“By the gods, is that really you?” he asks. “How? When? Last I heard, you’d returned to the queen’s palace - we’ve been trying to find a way to get you out, but - well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here! You’re really here!”

He glances behind you, and when he sees Astarion, he pauses. His eyes trail over the wedding rings you both wear, and the blood drains out of his face. “Oh no,” he says softly, taking a step back. His expression hardens, and his hand flits toward the sword at his belt. “No, no, no. Tell me that is not who I think it is.”

“Oh, him?” you say quickly. “This is Lirien. He helped me escape.”

“Of course it is,” Cal replies flatly. “Instead of Astarion Ancunín.” He shakes his head. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? I raised you! Gods - why? Why in the hells would you bring him? Do you have any idea what people will do when they find out?”

Astarion scowls. “I can hear you, you know,” he says.

Cal ignores him. “What am I going to tell them?” he mutters to himself, pacing, looking like he might topple over. “What am I going to do?”

“Nothing,” you say adamantly. “Cal? They’re not going to hear about it. Not about me, and not about him. Alright? We’re leaving.”

But Cal, instead of softening for you like he usually does, simply clenches his jaw. “You can’t be serious. This camp has been searching for a way to get you out for the last month,” he says. “We’ve lost… hundreds of men. They’re planning to mount a rescue mission for you, two days from now! Of course I’m going to tell them you’re here!”

“Well, I got myself out before they did,” you tell him, even though that isn’t really true. “And now, I’m going.”

Cal stares at you, incredulous. “What the hells did they do to you?” he asks. “Brainwashing? Torture?” He shakes his head in disbelief, then steps closer. “I won’t hide you. You were born to rule, understand? I raised you better than this.”

He mutters something under his breath before you can respond, and your and Astarion’s weapons fly toward him, falling neatly at his feet. You start forward, but Cal has snatched them up before you can make a grab for them. You have another knife in your bag, but - gods, do you really have it in you to kill him? Even now?

Before you can decide, he’s reciting another incantation. Warmth blooms on your skin, and something electric fills the air, hazing the air and tickling the inside of your lungs.

“What was that?” you ask, flinching at the sensation. “What did you do?”

“A tracking spell - over the both of you. It’ll tell us where you are even if you run. Don’t go trying anything. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

This side of him is something you don’t know, not even a little, and it breaks you. Betrayal cuts through you like a knife, etching permanently into a sharp, painful spot between your ribs. Something sours on your tongue.

You’re a pawn. You always have been, even to him. Erelin had been bad enough, but this? Cal cares more about your position than he does you. It hurts so much that you think something in you might actually rip apart and spill out of your gut, seeping into the grass below.

You have to swallow down the nausea to speak, but the slime of this situation coats your throat and your words when you talk. “Wait until tomorrow,” you request. “Give me one more night away from them. Please.”

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a choice in that. Aris won’t be back until morning anyhow. Come on, you two - I’ll get you situated.”

He starts off toward the camp, but neither you nor Astarion follow after him. Your mind is flying over thoughts at a thousand miles per minute, trying to think of what to do. Gods, what in the hells are you going to do?

“If I have to get the guards to drag you, I will,” Cal calls. “You’ll spend the night in chains. Come willingly, and you’ll get a tent. It’s your choice.”

You start walking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf. You look to Astarion, whose expression has tightened, who looks even more pale than usual. He’s scared, and you are, too. You have no idea what the hells these people want from you. Cal may have taken your weapons, but there’s still the other knife in your bag. Astarion has his teeth, and there’s two of you…

Astarion meets your eyes curiously, and his gaze flits over to Cal, raising his brows. His intention is clear, and it's the same thing you’ve been thinking to yourself. After a moment of torturous internal debate, you nod.

What had you once thought to yourself? That you were willing to do anything for freedom? Gods. Apparently, you are.

You’re just bracing yourself for a fight when the flicker of torches passes through the trees, and you hear the chatter of voices. More men, and from the look of it, they’re all armed. “Cal, is that you?” one calls, lifting his torch higher in the approaching dark so he can see. “New recruits?”

All hope left in you dies at the sight of them. Astarion tenses at your side, his hands clenching into fists. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to take you both, and you’re completely fucking helpless to stop it.

“Yes. Another round,” Cal says casually. It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t want to announce your identity right off the bat, and you can’t decide whether or not you’re grateful for it.

“Aris will be happy to hear that,” the guard replies. “With the siege, we need everyone we can get. You’re sure they can be trusted?”

Cal glances back at you, smiling grimly. “Positive.”

“Good.”

The two of you are escorted all the way to the camp, and the guards trail away when you reach the outskirts. “This way,” Cal says, leading the two of you to one of the empty tents. “There’s room for both of you, since you seem so fond of each other.”

You stare at the tent, wanting nothing more than to tear through it like a rabid animal.

“Don’t be like that,” Cal implores. “Whatever they did to you, we’ll reverse it. We’ll get you back as you were, hm?” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t. If you do, you think you might actually lose your mind.

“Alright,” he finally sighs. “Feel free to explore camp, get something to eat, but don’t go past the outer torches. If I wake tomorrow and don’t find you here, the whole of this camp will come after you. Understand?”

You swallow hard, your nails piercing into your palms. “Fuck you, Cal.”

He shakes his head and turns away - but as he moves past you, you catch a flash of movement by his pack. You say nothing, and he’s gone before he’s noticed. You and Astarion are left in front of the tent, alone.

Well. Here you are.

The tent is larger than you’d expected when you retreat into it, Astarion following after you and sheathing the dagger he’d stolen. There are two bedrolls, some blankets and pillows, and a large amount of space to the side. No amount of blankets and pillows can make any of this better.

Silence falls, sour and agonizing. You want to throw up. You want to drink yourself to death. You want to cry. And you really, really want to punch something.

“So…” Astarion says slowly. “I suppose we’ve met each other’s parents, now.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s bitter. “And what lovely introductions we’ve had.”

His brows pinch in feigned offense. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

You try to smile, but it falls flat. You’re so angry it feels like fire is bursting from your chest. Pressing your face into your hands, you try to breathe, wanting this not to be real - please, gods, don’t be real - but it is. You can smell the torches burning in the distance and feel the soft breeze that’s pressing through the partially-open flap of the tent.

Astarion sighs, then pushes the flap to the side and crawls through.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“To find something to make this situation bearable,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You don’t think he’s foolish enough to fight against the tracking spell with nothing but a dagger, but it doesn’t stop anxiety from fluttering in your gut.

You can’t stand sitting still, so you leave, too - not following after him, just restless. Drifting.

For a long while, you wander aimlessly around the camp, trailing from place to place with no destination. A person or two gives you an odd look, but you really don’t give a damn. Your problems are much larger than some strangers and their opinions. All of it will turn irrelevant come morning.

Is it fury you feel, seeping so darkly through you? Has your anger turned ice-cold? It’s as if your life has all been an illusion, some kind of cruel trick. Was any of it real? Did Cal ever really care about you, or were you simply a means to an end?

You often try not to think about your parents, but you allow yourself to do so now. Would they approve of this? Would they have wanted this for you, if they were here? Or would you be nothing more than a pawn to them, too?

You don’t know. You’re starting to wonder if there’s anyone who’s ever really cared for you.

The approach of velvet-blue sky brings you wandering back to your assigned tent. It’s different than it had been before - but you can’t recognize quite how. Not until you get inside, at least.

Astarion has set up a meal: candles and wine and much fancier food than was in your packs or at the ration stations. You stall at the opening, and he nods for you to come in. You take a seat across from him, admiring his work. With the tent closed, it almost feels private. You can almost forget the camp out there, even for just a moment.

“What’s all this?” you ask.

He hands you a goblet, and you take it without another thought. “Well, darling,” he says softly, “I thought we should enjoy our last night of freedom. Who knows where we’ll be come morning.”

You press the glass to your lips and drink, finding a dark, heady wine on your tongue. “We didn’t have wine,” you recall to yourself. “Where the hells did you get this?”

“Oh, you know,” Astarion sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Around.”

This time, it’s a real smile that overtakes you. “Just like that dagger?”

“Of course,” he says, tilting his head. A mirroring smile plays on his lips, and he takes a sip of his wine. “If he didn’t want it taken, he shouldn’t have had it out in the open. Besides,” he adds, rolling a shoulder, “I was only returning it to its rightful owner.”

You shake your head. “I still can’t believe he did that. I never thought he was capable of… anything even similar to that. I thought he - cared. About me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Astarion replies, but there’s a quiet sympathy on his face. “Especially if they intend for you to rule, which they almost certainly do.”

“Of course.” Your throat tightens, and you take another sip of wine. You feel drawn so incredibly tight. It’s like a part of you is waiting to burst.

“So,” Astarion muses, swirling the glass around, “our last night of freedom. Any idea what you want to do with it, my sweet?”

You let out a huff, staring down at your wine. “Aside from blowing this entire gods damned camp up?” You let out a shaky exhale. “No idea.”

“No?” he asks. “No lifelong list? Something you’ve always wanted to try?”

There must be a thousand things you want to do while you still can, but none of them are coming to mind. You’re wound as tight as a rope, fuming, and would give absolutely anything to stop thinking.

When you shake your head, Astarion leans forward, setting down his glass. “Nothing comes to mind?”

“I - I don’t know. All I can think about is how… angry I am. I don’t know what I want.”

“Then allow me to make a suggestion, darling,” he says, taking the wine out of your hand, neatly setting it on the chest he’s using as a makeshift table. He leans forward, trailing his thumb along your cheek, and something in your stomach jumps. “We’re here, aren’t we? We might as well take the opportunity to distract ourselves.”

“Astarion-”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low and honeyed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt those little… trembles of excitement when my teeth are in your neck.” He pauses, tilting his head, and another smile plays on the corners of his lips. “No need to be coy,” he purrs. “Your body has already given you away.”

And you do want it. You want it so badly that you can hardly stand it. “And what about you?”

“What?” he asks, frowning. “What about me?”

“What do you want?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Gods. Isn’t that obvious?” he asks, “I want you.”

You’re caught between the ever-growing want now steadily coursing through you and - something else. Something you don’t recognize. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he insists, frustration bleeding into his voice as he pulls back to look at you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a half-hearted smile. “Well, for one, I’ve never done this before. Remember?”

The frustration bleeds out of his face, and the line that’s been creased between his brows disappears. “Please,” he says incredulously. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Haven’t you heard of vampires preferring virgins?”

Something flutters in your gut at his words, at the heated way he’s taking you in. “Alright, then, vampire,” you say, before your fears can suck you in. “Do what you will with me.”

His eyes darken. “Oh, I most certainly will,” he murmurs.

He leans in, and his lips meet yours, fragrant with honeyed wine, ardent and sweet. Gentle at first, but that quickly becomes a haze of need - his hand tightening on your cheek, your hand tightening on his shirt.

Gods, you think. Kissing Astarion is like hearing a new melody and knowing that it will never leave your mind. The kiss you’d shared at the wedding has already haunted your mind plenty, but this? This is incomparable. Electric. He coaxes your mouth open with ease, and arousal shoots down your back like a bolt of lightning. When his tongue brushes against yours, every muscle in your body goes slack.

In the midst of everything, you’re still inexperienced. Your hands don’t know what to do or where to go. One settles on his shoulder, the other keeps itself clutched in his shirt. You can’t tell if it’s right, but if it’s wrong, Astarion doesn’t say.

He places his free hand at your side, using it to stabilize himself as he crawls over you, still kissing you, straddling your legs with his hips. Then that hand is at your waist, and his lips are at your neck, and you’re letting out a soft, wanting noise.

He huffs, kissing up your jaw, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he hums.

And what the hells are you supposed to say to that? Of course you’re eager. You’ve been wanting him for ages. The building need between your legs says that more than enough. You’re viciously turned on, and the smugness of his voice isn’t helping, but there’s still an awkwardness to the situation.

You have no idea what you’re doing. You can’t tell if anything you want is remotely right. In between the pleasure and passion, there’s a building anxiety that’s becoming more and more prominent. It’s distracting you from what he’s doing, which is leaving you nothing but frustrated.

“You’re thinking too much. Relax, darling,” Astarion murmurs, pulling away. “Close your eyes for me.”

And you do. You take one last look at him, so impossibly beautiful in the warm candlelight. His curls have dried tousled from the river, his eyes are half-lidded and dark, and there’s a certain amount of expectancy laced in his gaze that makes you shiver. Then, satisfied that you’ve enclosed the image to memory, you shut your eyes. The darkness helps, you think. A little.

“Good,” Astarion praises, and his lips return to your neck. He takes your hands and places them at his waist, and you’re more than happy to keep them there as he kisses down your jaw. In the darkness of your closed eyes, every touch becomes intensified. Every thought begins to slip away in favor of the feeling of him.

Sharp teeth, grazing along sensitive skin. The icy touch of his skin, sating the scorch of the arousal that shudders through your veins. The soft, almost ticklish brush of his curls against your neck as he kisses along your clavicle. The moment his hands stall at your top, your breath hitches, and your body flinches - an automatic defense you’ve ingrained over the years.

But you want him to touch you. You want this. So you take in a steadying breath and compel your muscles to relax, and he continues - not teasingly slow, but not rushed, either. Taking his time with you.

You’d thought he was beautiful when you first met, but you have to admit: you’re glad that your first time with him, as horrible as the outside circumstances are, is happening here, and not on your wedding night, when you were so hesitant of him. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it, then, even if he’d been the exact same with you. But now?

Gods, you’re enjoying it. And, judging by the growing hardness between his legs, he’s enjoying it too.

You’d like to think you’re a patient person, but you really aren’t. The more your want grows, the more your impatience does as well. Your breathing has turned heavy, and as his hands, slowly taking on your warmth, grasp lightly over your ribs, the rhythm of your lungs turns shaky - your entire body singing in want for something you’ve never even experienced.

Just as you’re truly getting desperate, he pulls away again, his hands trailing along your abdomen as he nips at your ear. “You poor thing,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “How did you stand it all this time, alone with me?”

You open your eyes and find him staring down at you, observing the sight of you. You shake your head, failing to bite away the smile that’s threatening to show itself. “Sex wasn’t exactly my priority in the middle of the woods, Astarion. The circumstances were awful.”

“True,” he remarks, tilting his head. His fingers graze over your thigh, still clothed with fabric, but you almost can pretend you don’t know better. “Still,” he says softly, his hands stalling at your lower navel, “here’s hoping we’ll get more time to enjoy this.”

Before he continues undressing you, he pauses, and that crease between his brows forms again. “Just to be clear,” he says, “you do want this?”

Your response is immediate, albeit breathy with want. “I do.”

He flashes you a grin, suddenly wicked. “Good.”

To your dismay, he crawls off of you, but it’s immediately remedied when he places his hands on your shoulder and eases you to the soft floor of the tent, coaxing your legs apart with his knee.

Any clothes you’re still wearing are quickly disposed of, and needless to say, being so naked while he’s still fully clothed leaves you feeling entirely too vulnerable. “Planning to take me with your clothes on?” you ask, and he pauses, blinking - shaking his head, as if shaking away a stray thought. “Of course not,” he says, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “Simply admiring the view, darling.”

His shirt comes off, first, tugged over his head. All silky-smooth skin that you want to trail your hands over, admire inch by inch. Gods, he’s beautiful, shadows reflecting over lithe muscle, supple skin and unearthly beauty you shouldn’t be able to touch. But you are. You gently lift a hand to him, running your fingers over his forearm, and he smiles, undoing his trousers.

Your entire body tenses in anticipation of him, but your gaze can’t stay in place. It meets his for a moment, taking in the dark ruby color of his eyes. It flickers over his nimble fingers, studies the tendons in his hands, dances over his chest and abdomen. Something stirs in you, something that aches well beyond the temporary arousal, something that cuts deeper. It’s something that, selfishly, wants him to stay. Wants him to curl next to you in the nights, wants him to leave his mother behind and continue on with you.

An impossible want, but it’s still there. After this, where will it leave the two of you?

You aren’t sure - but if this is the only chance you’re going to get at it, you’re damn well going to take it. Astarion leans over you, kissing you softly, and then his talented fingers are going to work between your thighs. They work a smooth, blissful friction that you’ve never been able to achieve by yourself - and, though the anxious rooting inside of you wants to shut your eyes, you don’t. You hold his gaze.

For just a moment, he looks almost distant, but his eyes clear - and something darkens in his gaze as he looks at you. He props over you, watching you as you squirm in pleasure, his lips slightly parted.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and you nearly come apart right there. You don’t, though. He pulls his hand away and you’re left shuddering, panting and aching. Then, he moves closer, places a hand on your thigh to coax your legs apart, and works a finger into you.

His hands are warm by now, but - gods. The feeling of him, compared to your feeble attempts, is nearly shameful. He takes his time with this - goes slow, watching your face intently. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you realize.

Your impatience is less now, as he increases it to two, then three; the stretch, despite his best efforts, is bordering on painful. The almost-pain fades the further he goes on, bleeding into something else that’s so intensely pleasurable you want to beg him to just take you.

When he finally stops, he tilts his head. “Oh, you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice silky and low.

“Please,” comes your response.

“Darling, no need to beg,” he says. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

And he doesn’t. He props himself over you, lowering himself to kiss you, and your leg hitches around his waist. His skin is warm from touching yours, but it’s cold where your arms move to wrap around his neck. You’re mindful of his scars, because you doubt he likes them touched, and he brushes his nose against your cheek as he pushes into you. Slowly, again, but you’re not going to complain. There’s that wash of pain again, and then - oh, gods. Pleasure. Delicious, blissful friction. Your chest heaves and your mouth lets out a loud, needy sound.

Only then do you remember you’re in the middle of camp, but honestly? You’re so removed at this point that you don’t even care. If all of Calthir hears you getting fucked to the heavens by their enemy prince, so be it. Cal’s probably fucked off to somewhere else anyway, no doubt burdened by guilt. He has to feel some sort of guilt, doesn’t he?

“Gods,” Astarion pants, drawing you back to the present as he slowly deepens his thrusts. You swallow hard, watching the crease of pleasure form between his brows, studying the flash of fangs between his lips. You’re drunk on pleasure, the feel of him, the tiny solitude in this tent that separates you from the rest of the world. He kisses you again, and this time it’s heated, desperate, messy.

His tongue molds against yours, his fangs graze your lip. Gods, his pace is picking up. Your muscles are starting to tense - the flushed warmth that’s building under your skin is growing. He lets out a soft moan and grips your shoulder, and you instinctively tilt your head for him, giving him access to your neck.

He studies your expression for a moment, as if he’s confirming what you’re offering, and then - gods. He sinks his fangs into your neck.

If you’d thought the practice was intimate before, it’s so much more now. You barely even feel the pain of the piercing skin - all you feel is him tasting you, groaning into your skin, his hips still rolling evenly.

He only takes a little, but when he pulls away, there’s that rosy flush to his cheeks. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on him, metallic iron. His movements are less graceful, now. His gaze is dark and intense, and his grip on you is stronger when he takes your shoulder again, thrusting harder - enough to have you tensing, the both of you panting.

When the pleasure finally takes you, it’s so intense it’s almost painful. It starts somewhere deep within, working its way through you, singing through your veins until the world blurs at the edges. Blinding, white-hot waves of it ebb and flow through you, taking you away from every sensation but that of Astarion, skin balmy against yours - floating somewhere in the depths of your mind until you finally come down.

Astarion shudders through his climax just after you, letting out a sudden, wanting noise - as if it’s been punched out of him. As if it had surprised him, just the way it had surprised you. You want to memorize it. You want to take that sound and remember it forever.

When it’s all passed, you’re left covered in sweat, sated, and very, very vulnerable. The arousal that had drifted away your insecurities is waning, and you’re left wanting to hide - to crawl away. But Astarion gently kisses you, carefully pulling out of you, and exhaustion takes over instead.

The Gur. Finding out about Cazador. Cal’s betrayal. All of that in one day, and it’s taking its toll. Your eyes feel heavy. Your muscles feel achy and worn out. Your thoughts are clouded over, too intertwined and complicated to drag apart when you’re like this.

You sit up and grab a stray rag, intending to clean yourself, but Astarion tugs it out of your fingers. “No, darling, let me,” he says.

And you do.

He confuses you - that he can be so vicious and so tender. He’d killed Gandrel without hesitation, without remorse - though, admittedly, you’d let him. Let him. As if you had some control over him. As if you could have stopped him. It should scare you, perhaps - that callous, venomous side of him - but it doesn’t. The rough edges of him you keep finding only make you want him more. The details don’t sate you. You always want more.

And now, you suppose you’ll find out what comes next.

The tent is silent. You fumble through your pack and find your sleeping clothes, and Astarion does the same. You’re hesitant, not wanting to push too far. You know very well sex doesn’t mean anything more - however much you might want more - and you know for certain that Astarion had not offered you anything aside from that. Still, the thought of curling up alone tonight has your chest aching.

When you finish dressing, you find that Astarion has pulled the two bedrolls together, fluffed up by the pillows and blankets. He raises a brow and pats the spot next to him, and it’s really very childish, the way your chest fills with a delirious sort of joy. You make your way next to him, and he folds you into his arms.

His skin is cool again. The little sounds of him are relaxing - the movements of his ribs when he breathes, the bob of his throat when he swallows, the light sigh he lets out when his head meets the pillow. It almost makes up for the silence in his chest. The void of sound where a beating heart should be.

For just a moment, before sleep pulls you away, you wonder if he remembers how it felt - to have something alive, thrumming in his chest.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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guinea-pig16 · 1 year ago

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Yes, Sir!

Soap x Reader X Captain Price

Disclaimer: This is an NSFW piece! 18+ only, please!

Fic is below the cut, hope you enjoy! This is my first time writing a piece with more than one ship!

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Word count: 3,300+

Warnings: AFAB reader, mentions of AFAB parts, penetrative sex, anal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, threesome (F/M/M), dom/sub vibes

This fic is based off of a dream I had a couple days ago so if you think it's odd, that's why lmao

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Clinks of glasses together filled the air as everyone celebrated a mission well done. Task Force 141 had just completed their latest mission without a hitch, so Captain Price decided to treat the team with a night at their local bar. Laughter and chatter filled the cozy building. You sat at the bar, giggling with Soap, drinking your third beer of the night.

“Ye wouldn’t believe the shite he wis goin on aboot!” Soap leans his head against his arms, shaking from his laughter. “He wis sayin’ shite like ‘two goldfish ar’ inna tank’, an’ one of ‘em goes ‘ye know how to drive this thing?’” Soap’s voice goes deep as he imitates Ghost, and the two of you burst out laughing. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ghost (sitting next to Soap) glower slightly at him. Your ribs hurt as you try to contain your giggles.

“Right, what’s all this then?” You hear a voice say. Soap and you look up at Price, giving him a half hearted salute as you both come down from your laughter.

“Ah, Johnny was just telling me something funny that Ghost said!” You smile, still slightly giggling. Price smiles at the two of you.

“I’m glad to see you both enjoying yourselves, even if it’s at the expense of our dear Lieutenant.” You see Ghost roll his eyes and lift his mask to take a sip of his drink. “You all worked very hard on our last mission, you all deserve a bit of rest and reprieve.” You smile at Price.

“Thank you captain! We couldn’t have done it without your excellent leadership.” Price waves his hand, grinning.

“Ah, it’s nothing without a good team. Anyways, I’ll let you three get back at it.” He waves as he goes over to where Gaz and Laswell are chatting.

Soap nudges your shoulder and leans close to your ear. “Better be careful thir, Sergeant, he wis given’ ye th’ eyes…” He giggles and you punch his arm, causing him to pull back, rubbing his where you hit him.

“Oh, stick a sock in it, Mactavish! As if!” You rolled your eyes at his comment. You had to admit though, Captain Price was a good looking man. But you would never get with your superior.

“Ooo, does ‘at mean yer open to other options, love?” He says in an exaggerated flirty voice as he leans close to you, batting his lashes. You bark out a laugh and shove him back causing him to go into a fit of giggles.

“Once again, stick a sock in it, Mactavish, you dog!” You break into a series of giggles with Soap. In your mind though, you look at him differently. Johnny is definitely a very attractive man, but you guys were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less…

The night flew by. At one point, Gaz had challenged you and Soap to a karaoke contest, and you three treated the bar to a drunken rendition of ‘California Girls’. Let’s just say, you were absolutely hammered. To the point Price insisted on driving you home along with Gaz. You accepted the offer, as you had walked here and didn’t feel like walking back home. Around 1 am, Price dragged you and Gaz out of the bar, yelling goodbye to Soap as he was also being dragged out by Ghost, who was his ride home. He drunkenly waved bye to you as he leaned against Ghost for support.

Price helped you into the back seat, as Gaz had won the front sit through rock, paper, scissors. The ride to your house was filled with laughter as you and Gaz shared stories and jokes, Price silent the whole time with a soft smile on his face. Once at your house, Price wrapped an arm around you and helped you inside. He gently sat you on your couch.

“Alright, I believe you can handle the rest now.” You grinned and saluted him. He chuckled and ruffled your hair. “G’nite, dear. See you in a few days.” He said before waving goodbye, making sure the door was locked behind him as he left.

You stretched and yawned. You stumbled slightly going down the hall to your bedroom. You changed out of your clothes and into loose fitting pajamas, before snuggling underneath your covers. You sighed contently as you drifted off to sleep…

Bang.

You jolted awake. You looked around. You were still in your bedroom, snuggled in your blankets. You groan and roll over, attempting to go back to sleep.

Bang.

Your eyes shot open once again. You slowly lean up in your bed, looking towards your bedroom door. What was that? You think. You hear more small bangs and rustling from down the hall. Slowly, you crawl out of your bed, grabbing your phone, and inch towards the door. You wince as your door creaks when you open it. You hear the sounds stop.

You exit your room as quietly as you can, and begin inching down the hall. You reach the end of the hall and peek out towards the living room. Your heart sinks as you see two, large, black figures facing you. You squint slightly. Something about the figures seems… familiar. You hold up your phone and turn on the flashlight and shine it into the living room. You almost sigh in relief when the light reveals Soap and Price standing in your living room. You then furrow your brow. What the hell are they doing here?

You step into the living room, and take note of the open window. Did they fucking climb through the window? “What the hell are you two doing here? It’s the middle of the night.” You cross your arms and glare at the two of them. They both glance at each other and grin as if they’re in on a joke.

“There she is…” Says Soap, taking a small step closer to you. You don’t know why, but you take a step back, feeling uneasy about this whole situation. Price smiles at you, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Don’t run love, it’s okay…” Price says quietly, and you shiver slightly from the tone of his voice. Soap takes another step towards you, you take another step back. He and Price rake their eyes unabashedly up and down your body, causing your cheeks to heat. They take in where your night shirt has slipped down your shoulder, exposing your bra strap, where your pajama pants have sagged slightly, exposing your hips. Soap groans slightly at the sight, making your face heat even more.

“God love… Ye have no idea what ye do to us…” Soap takes another step forward, you take one backwards. He starts slowly stepping closer and closer, and out of apprehension, you walk slowly backwards back into the hall, inching towards your bedroom. Soap begins speaking in a low, husky tone.

“What ye were wearin’ tonite almos’ ‘ad me an’ Price bend ye over the bar…” You blush furiously. Soap eyes haven’t left yours once, practically burning a hole through your head. “Ye always look so intoxicatin’... The way ye sway yer hips… The way yer lips look when ye smile…” He groans lowly. “Yer a damn drug… ye know that?” His pupils are blown wide, with what you can now identify as lust. You go to take another step back, but trip on your own feet and drop your phone. You fall flat on your ass and are helpless as Soap stands before you. He crouches slowly, eyes never leaving yours. He grabs a hold on your ankles and yanks you so you’re underneath him.

He leans down next to your ear and speaks low. “...We’re gunna fuckin’ ruin you tonite, babes…” Your whole body shivers at his words, and your face flushes red. He looks into your eyes, searching for anything that would say no. You look back at him and bite your lip lightly. He grins and slowly drags you out of the hall by your ankles, his eyes burning into your own. When you enter the living room again Price is still standing there, and you lock eyes.

Soap drops your ankles and leans over you once again, arms caging you in. “What a pretty girl ye are…” And presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You let out a soft moan into his mouth, and wrap your arms around his neck. You feel him move to the side as you see Price get down on his knees and lean over you, pressing a kiss to your neck. You feel his hand drift down to your waistband.

“How about we take these off, love…” Price’s hands toy with your waistband. Soap breaks the kiss long enough for you to whisper out a breathy ‘yes’, before recapturing them. He slips his tongue into your mouth as Price presses kisses along your neck and slowly slips your pajama pants downward.

He tugs them completely off and slips down so he’s facing your underwear. Head in between your thighs, he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, causing you to let out a moan into Soap’s mouth. Soap’s hands begin slipping underneath your night shirt and upwards towards your chest.

“May I take these off, dear?” Price asks, finger hooking underneath the waistband of your underwear. Soap breaks the kiss and asks with his eyes to take off your shirt. You breathily say yes to both, and feel your underwear being slipped off as your shirt is lifted above your head. Soap’s hands find the clasp at the front of your bra and looks at you asking. You nod, and he unclasps your bra and admires your exposed chest, before recapturing your mouth. He kneads your chest as you feel Price moving closer to your exposed heat.

“You look absolutely wonderful, love…” Price groans and licks a strip up your heat, causing you to moan into Soap’s mouth.

“That’s it love, keep makin’ those pretty sounds’ fur us…” Soap says, breaking the kiss to gaze into your eyes. Price wraps his arms around your thighs as he sucks on your clit. You gasp and squirm as he prods at your entrance with his tongue, his mouth hot on your sex. Soap takes off his shirt and grins as you rake your eyes over his chest. “Like wit ye see, lass?” He then buries his face into your neck and gently bites as you arch your back to Price’s work.

“Doin’ so good for us, pretty girl… Gonna make sure ye can’t walk in the mornin’...” Price groans in agreement, sending vibrations into your heat. You shiver and whine as Price laps at you. You feel a knot begin to tighten in your lower belly. Price moves his efforts to your clit, and you feel one of his fingers prod at your entrance. You moan loudly as you feel his finger slip into you. You feel Soap grin against your neck.

You gasp as Price pumps in another finger, stretching you out. You clutch onto Soap like a lifeline as your thighs shiver, causing him to chuckle.

“Careful now, Captain, ye don’ wanna break her now do ye?” If you could, you’d glare at him, but the feeling of Price’s tongue and fingers has your mind practically melting. Price says nothing, he just doubles his efforts, pumping faster and sucking harshly on you. You moan loudly, the knot in your belly tightening significantly. You’re so close.

“Johnny… Price… ‘M so close, ah!” You slur out, your whole body trembling in pleasure.

“I know dear, I can feel ya. I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry your pretty little head…” Price says, before returning his efforts to your bud. Soap recaptures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands brushing over your chest. He sucks on your tongue, and the knot gets tighter and tighter. And then it snaps.

You moan loudly into Soap’s mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Price slows his efforts and helps you down from your high, your whole body shaking from it. Soap breaks the kiss and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Price finally pulls away from you, and you glance up at him, his beard glistening from his work. He and Soap glanced at each other and began undressing in front of you. Once stripped to their boxers, Soap and Price switched. Soap knelt between your legs, and Price knelt behind you, gently sitting you up and leaning you against his chest. Soap gently rubbed your thighs and looked you in the eyes as he removed his boxers. His cock sprung out and your eyes widened as you took in its length. He grinned and grabbed your legs.

“Liking what yer seein’, doll?” You rolled your eyes at his comment, and flicked his shoulder with your hand. Price and Soap chuckled and he began positioning his shaft to your entrance. He looked in your eyes for any objection, but you just nodded and whispered it was okay to continue. Nodding, he gently pressed his tip to your entrance, the both of you letting out a soft groan. Slowly, he pushed into you, making him curse at your tightness and causing you to lean your head back on Price’s shoulder, who leaned down and kissed your cheek.

“You’re being such a good girl for us, dear.” He whispered in your ear, causing you to shiver. Soap bottomed out and stayed there for a moment, huffing. Slowly, he pulled out, and then thrusted back in, making the two of you gasp. A delicious burn traveled through you as he gently thrusted in and out. The burn gave way to immeasurable pleasure as you let out moan after moan for each thrust.

“Johnny… Fast- Faster… Please…” You moaned, head laid back on Price’s shoulder.

Soap chuckled slightly, groaning. “Anythin’ ye want, pretty girl.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, sitting up. And then he began pounding into you, causing you to cry out. He huffed and moaned into your ear, holding you close. The knot in your belly formed again and tightened slowly, making you curl your toes.

“Aww, Price… Yer lookin’ awfully lonely over there…” Soap cooed, grinning. He stopped thrusting into you and you whined at the loss of friction. “Easy there, lass… Thought we should include our Captain… Whit’d ye think, love? Should we?” You dumbly nodded your head, wanting more than anything for Soap to continue pounding into you. You heard Price groan lowly, and the sound of clothes shuffling. Then you felt hands grabbing your ass, and a finger poke into your hole. You gasped at the feeling, and moaned as Price pumped in his finger, stretching out your entrance. You tucked your head into Soap’s neck, and whined as Price put in another finger, then a third.

“There’s a good girl… Doing so good…” Price whispered in your ear, making you whimper. Price removed his fingers, and you felt his cock tease the entrance of your ass. “This is gonna be a bit uncomfortable, darling. Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow…” Price kissed your neck, and slowly began to push in. You winced slightly at the stretch, and Soap pressed a kiss on your head and rubbed your back soothingly. Price gripped your waist like a lifeline, and hissed as he bottomed out. The three of you sat there for a moment as you caught your breath, adjusting to the feeling of the two men inside you. You’d never felt so full before.

Finally, after a couple minutes, you spoke. “O-Okay… You can… You can move now…” You wrapped your arms around Soaps neck, face still buried in his neck. You felt Soap smile into your hair, and Price rubbed your waist affectionately. They both slowly pulled out and pushed back in. The air was filled with low groans and breathy moans as the two men slowly pumped into you. Your nails dug into Soap’s shoulders.

“Ah… Faster, please…” You moaned, feeling the knot tighten once more in your belly.

“Ye sure, babes? Don’t wanna… hah… hurt ye…” Soap groaned. You heard Price make a noise of agreement. You whined slightly.

“Please… You won’t hurt me, please… I need more…” Soap and Price groaned at the sound of your neediness.

“Whatever you want, love.” Price said, before the two of them began harshly thrusting into you. You practically screamed at the feeling. They both moaned loudly at the way you clenched around them.

“Thas’ it, thas’ a good girl. Takin’ us so well.” Soap groaned in your ear, lightly biting your earlobe. All you could do was moan in response, brain turned to mush by the two men. You were sandwiched between them, being used as their own personal fuck toy. And you love it. It was a dream come true. You felt their thrusts become sloppy, their moans stuttering slightly. You could feel your own release coming as well.

“Johnny, Price, So- So close! ‘M gonna, ah!” You moaned. You felt one of Price’s hands come up and grip the back of your neck. He pulled your neck back so you were looking at him.

“Go ahead, come on our cocks, love.” He pulled you into a heated kiss. You whined into his mouth as the knot got tighter and tighter. Soap threw his head back, his thrusts getting even sloppier, and he let out a slew of curses.

You let out high pitched moan after moan, the knot getting unbelievably tight. Any second now… You were almost there. Your head felt lighter and lighter, and a ringing started in your ears, washing out the moans of Soap and Price. You were so close. It was about to snap, you were so close you could taste it. And then it snapped and-

BDING!

You jolted.

Your eyes popped open and you squinted. Sunlight filtered into your room through your curtains, hinting it was early afternoon. You sat up, looking around, blinking quickly. Everything was in place from last night, your clothes laying on the floor. You looked down. You were still in your pajamas. You scratched your head, confused. You crawled out of bed and walked down the hall, hesitantly. You peeked into the living room. It was normal. The window was latched and closed. There wasn’t a pillow out of place.

“What the fuck…?” You mumbled. Was that all… a dream?

BDING!

You turned your head back to your bedroom. Was that your phone…? You walked back to your room and grabbed your phone.

You had a couple unread texts from Soap.

You opened your phone and read his shitty typing. He was asking if you wanted to come hangout with him, Ghost, and Gaz today. They were going to see a movie and then walk around town a bit.

“Ony if yer not so hammered from last nite lol.” He typed. You rolled your eyes and texted back that you’d meet up with them at the movie theater. A couple minutes later, he texted back with the time they’re meeting. You agreed and said you’d see them there. You then sat your phone on your bed and stared at the wall.

Memories of your dream drifted back into your mind and you blushed slightly. What was that all about…? You didn’t have any feelings for either of them… you thought you didn’t at least. You shook your head. You only had a couple hours before you had to meet up with the others. So you took a cold shower and changed into a casual outfit.

You walked down the hall and glanced at the living room, your dream drifting to the front of your mind. Your face flushed and you shook your head once again, trying to clear it.

With that, you grabbed your keys and headed out, making sure to lock your door behind you. Hopefully, you could forget about it today.

What a weird fucking dream.

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Thanks so much for reading !!!! This was my first time writing a threesome, so I hope you liked it !!! I was giggling and kicking my feet the entire time while writing LMAO !!! It was such a weird dream, I'd never had one like that before. And funny thing is, I was reading COD fics before bed that night but it had NOTHING to do with Soap and Price, so I have no clue why they showed up. Anyways, thanks for reading !! Ciao!! <3 <3

XOXOXOXOX <3

#call of duty #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john price #captain price #price mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 smut #smut fic #fic wip #soap smut #captain price smut #threes0me #cod mw2 #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john price x reader

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starbabyg · 2 years ago

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From the Window | Jack Hughes smut

Warnings; smut, voyeurism (Jack being a lil peeping tom) + also thinking about making this a mini series cause I wanna do different versions of Jack/different outcomes I couldn’t settle on how I wanted this to play out ughh

***

You knew he could see you. Your window was in the perfect view shot from his balcony. With its large window panes and no obstructions, he could see right into your room. But you liked that. It became a habit for the two of you. Jack coming out to his balcony to get a glimpse of you as you changed in front of your mirror and window. This daily routine started one early evening as Jack went out to his balcony to get some fresh air, just to sit outside and look at his surroundings. He watched the street, people walking by, until his wandering eyes landed on your bedroom window, and subsequently you changing looking for the perfect outfit.

‘Why the hell is she changing with her curtains wide open?’ He thought as he continued to stare at you while you pondered if the bra you were wearing went with the top that was over it. Your head titled to the side, holding up a couple different tops before you tossed them to the side. Jack felt like a creep, but he was too intrigued with what he was seeing to stop and go back inside. You shook your head, taking off the shirt. The bra just had to go. You slipped off your bra, making Jack’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush, he couldn’t believe what the hell was going on in front of him. ‘Jesus I’m just like that stalker guy from You.’

It was all adorable to you really, you saw the whole thing from the corner of your eye. The little gasp leave his mouth, the disbelief on his face, the way he was contemplating on leaving because he knew it was wrong. You didn’t know him personally, but you always had a little crush on neighbor boy who lived across the street. You’d see him leave his place, walking down the street only to come back with a sandwich from the neighborhood deli. You would catch him running around the block, sometimes shirtless when the weather was too hot. Would you have been completely weirded out if it were any other guy? Yes. But Jack had pretty privilege and you gave him a pass.

You changed into a lacy bralette, it was cup-less but your boobs just looked so cute nice and snug in it. You decided to play a little game with lurking neighbor boy, who never took the bait and made a move. You gave ‘em a nice squeeze, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning towards the window, looking straight at Jack. You pointed at your tits, mouthing ‘This one?’, before slyly taking it off and putting on a mesh balconette. ‘Or this one?’ Jack just stood there, mouth agape. Was this really happening? Or was his mind just that sick and perverted that his voyeuristic tendencies has got his mind seeing things? He blinked a couple times, trying to wrap his brain around getting caught and put in this situation. You rolled your eyes, what is with this boy? Jack just turned his neck and scanned the street, he was so embarrassed he had to look anywhere that wasn’t your bedroom window. But by the time he looked back, you were gone. Maybe he was just seeing what his gross imagination just wanted to see. He sighed before walking inside, he could never show his face on his balcony again.

Jack plopped himself on his couch and ran his hands down his face, recollecting himself after his sicko self just got caught peeping. ‘I’m a sick sick person,’ he thought before a knock on his door shook him out of his thoughts. “Hello—”, Jack was too stunned to speak, seeing the girl from the window there at his front door. In her hands the two bras that she was trying on.

“It’s you, from across the street,” his voice was meek and his cheeks were rosy. He felt his face getting hot. You surely had to be there to call him out for being a pervert. Probably gonna get a restraining order as well. You’d probably be leaving with bruised knuckles and giving him a black eye as a parting gift. And maybe that thought turned Jack on juuuuust a little bit.

“Yup. Me from across the street. It’s you from the balcony. Enjoy the little show?” You had a smug look on your face, enjoying seeing him all flustered.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to watch me? You know this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you watch me from your balcony,” You perked up your brow.

“It’s not even like that I just happen to–”

“Happen to be watching me as I change? It’s become our little ritual. Don’t deny tradition,” you teased him. “Can I come in?” You didn’t even wait for an answer, you laid a delicate hand on his chest before playfully shoving him out of the way and making your way to his couch. “You know I asked you a question, why didn’t you answer?”

Jack turned around, still confused that this was truly happening and not just a sick dream, “I didn’t know you knew I was watching you. I look like a creep. I’m kind of embarrassed. Like really.” His hand made its way to the back of his neck as he sorely rubbed it, somehow thinking that would diffuse the tension he felt.

“You’re lucky I’ve always had a crush on you, if you were anybody else I would have marched over and cussed you out,” you poked his shoulder, getting handsy with him, “But back to my question, which bra?” You tilted your head to the side and gave him a sweet smile, holding a bra in both hands.

“I–I don’t know um,” Jack went back to stuttering. He looked down at your chest, your nipples prodding through the thin material of your tank top. Ugh how cute he was in this babbling state.

“You need a little refresher?” You slowly took off your tank top, gauging his reaction as you slipped on the laced bralette once again. “Does this one look cute?” As you asked you trailed a delicate finger up and down the valley of your cleavage. You grabbed Jack’s hand, audaciously placing it on your tit. “Well don’t be shy, how does it look? How does it feel?”

Jack gave it a squeeze, “They’re perfect. Really,” he put his other hand on the other one. Jack didn’t know what good deed he did to deserve to be in this position, but he was thanking God indubitably.

“But do they look better in this one,” you took the bralette off and slowly slid on the straps of the balconette before clipping it in the back. Your breasts sat nicely on the underwire, your nipples being fully seen through the transparent fabric. Little lace flowers adorned all around them. Jack just couldn’t take any more of this teasing.

“I think they’d look better in my mouth,” Jack yanked the bra straps off you, enveloping one boob in his large hand and the other going straight in his mouth. Jack swirled his tongue around your nipple before giving it a harsh suck. You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan. The pressure he was putting started to make them sensitive to the touch.

“Fuck,” you let out between strained moans, “I never got your name.” Your hand made its way to the back of his head, pushing it as to keep him in that position.

“Jack,” he grunted before moving on to your other boob. “And you?” His tongue was truly something special, with every flick and swish and swirl you were slowly reaching nirvana. Was it possible to orgasm just from nipple stimulation?

“It’s–fuck– y/n.” Your eyes were closed in pure bliss. Nothing has ever felt better for you. This boy was just an angel.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Jack started to lead kisses down your navel, still squeezing your breasts as to not leave them unattended. After all, they were the star of the show.

You laughed at that, “Cute and corny huh.”

“Shut up, I’m still a little nervous. I can’t believe this is happening all because I got caught looking at you through your window,” he chuckled, giving you a soft bite before tugging down your shorts and underwear. The girls had their play time, now it’s time for mama.

Jack used the pad of his thumb to play with your clit, nice soft circles as he stared at the marvelous sight in front of him, “So pretty, never in a million years did I think I’d get to see the girl across the street splayed out on my couch.” He left a kiss on your clit before diving straight in. The attention he was giving your nipples was directed straight to your punani. This boy was just talented with his tongue. He knew exactly where to lick and how fast to go.

“You’re fucking amazing. I should’ve confronted you sooner if I knew you could give head like this,” you started to grind into his face a little bit, yanking at his auburn locks to gain more friction. If his head were any indication of how good he could fuck then lord were you in for a treat.

“Yeah, you really should have. I could’ve just been fucking you like this everyday,” Jack pulled down his shorts, giving his dick a couple pumps before teasing your entrance. He rubbed his tip on your clit, tapping it a few times before he hastily inserted himself inside of you. At this point you were seeing stars. The way he was hitting the back of your walls, the way he slammed right back into you with each long stroke. You could really fall in love with neighbor boy at this rate. Jack’s hands gripped your hips roughly, using you as something to lean on as his tilted hips snapped against yours. He was drilling you straight into is couch, and you couldn’t help but feel like the ultimate pillow princess with the nasty treatment he was giving you. He looked so sweet and innocent you were surprised at how he fucked you into oblivion.

“You feel so good wrapped around me,” he grunted into your ear before he started leaving sloppy kisses on your neck. Each one given with pressure that would surely leave a mark. Jack sped up his rhythm, giving you that familiar knot in your stomach.

“I–I’m gonna cum. Fuck–” You moaned, gripping his arms and looking Jack straight in your eyes. That look you gave him drove him right over the edge, motivating him to fuck you faster and harder. You tried your hardest not to scream and scare the neighbors, but your mission failed as he hit your G spot. You let out a string of moans as you rode out your high, in a hazy bliss.

“Fuck that was hot,” Jack came shortly after you, the sight of you orgasming doing it for him. “Yup that just solidified my crush on you. Marry me at this point, we can go to the courthouse right now it reopens in five minutes,” he laughed.

“Five minutes? That would make it almost three–oh shit I gotta go,” you remembered the reason why you were getting ready in the first place, you had planned to go to the movies with your best friend. You scribbled down your number on a little note pad Jack had laying around, still topless as you scurried about trying to find those damn bras.

Jack was just lounging on the couch, admiring you in all your glory, still in awe he had his once untouchable muse in his living room. “I think you should go with the lil bralette. Looks cute seeing the little edges poking out from the top and the straps too. In my personal opinion.” Jack handed you the second bra that you were looking for, motioning for you to come closer to him. “Arms up,” he smiled as he placed the bralette over your shoulders and adjusted it so it fit properly.

“Thanks, Jack,” you smiled as you felt his still unfamiliar name roll off your tongue, “Call me sometime.” And with that you rushed out his place and hurried across the street to yours. It wasn’t even five minutes later when you heard the honk of your best friend.

You quickly grabbed your bag and ran outside, still looking a mess from your little rendezvous. Your hair was up in a sloppy bun, no makeup done except for the now smudged mascara around your eyes. You shut your front door, looked up and could see Jack, once again on his balcony, smiling as he inconspicuously gave you a look of knowing.

Your best friend rolled down their window, “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

You smiled with a sigh before hopping into the car, “You don’t even wanna know.”

***

Ughhhh I wanna write longer fics but I’m not used to posting on tumblr I’ve been a Wattpad girly for almost a decade now for writing sighhh.

#jack hughes smut #Jack hughes #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes dirty #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #hockey #hockey smut #hockey fic #hockey imagine #new jersey devils smut #new jersey devils #nhl #nhl smut #nhl imagine #quinn hughes #Luke hughes #umich hockey #umich boys

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gghostwriter · 7 months ago

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Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 4 __ The Profile & The Profiler

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above the common bound." - Act 1, Scene 4. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

“We believe our unsub is a white male driving an SUV. He uses the vehicle to abduct and transport the male victims from Washington DC to Maryland,” Hotch stated in front of the members of the Washington PD.

Morgan stood next to him, hands on his hips. “His victims are between the ages 27-35 and we think the unsub is in the same age bracket.”

“Add to that, our unsub is experiencing a psychosis specifically called erotomania. This form of delusion is when an individual believes that another person, usually of a higher status, is in love with him. His weapon of choice also gives us another understanding on his psyche to these killings, using narcotics to kill symbolizes the emotional detachment the unsub has to his victims—” Spencer elaborated.

“Which means the victims were a crime of opportunity, rather than crime of passion,” Morgan injected.

“—and with his use of methanol and formaldehyde to preserve the body parts, we believe we are looking for an intelligent unsub.”

“Which is not unusual. True psychopaths often have above average intelligence.” Hotch clarified.

“This type of unsub will not have injected himself into the investigation as we often see. He will not be following the case very closely unless his fantasy to Ms. Olivia Hill is disturbed.” Morgan concluded.

The Washington chief detective raised his pen up in the air. “So how come he hasn’t tried to kidnap Ms. Hill rather than kidnapping all these male victims?”

“It’s because his fantasy—transformation if you will—isn’t complete yet. He’s collecting all these different body parts to fit into her perfect male partner. Once that process is complete, he will try to kidnap her next.” Spencer explained.

Morgan took a deep breath. “There is something about him that would be helpful, he has a superficial connection to Ms. Hill. Not enough for her to notice his feelings but enough for him to project his fantasy, possibly a colleague or someone she interacts with on a daily short basis like a delivery man.”

“We suggest not to go public with this information and to re-interview female co-workers to ask if they’ve noticed any untoward or suspicious behaviors from their male co-workers to Ms Hill,” Hotch said as Morgan’s phone started to ring. “Thank you very much.”

With his back turned to the police officers leaving the premise, he accepted the call and put it on speaker. “Prentiss, what you got?”

She sighed. “Another body has been dumped in the Potomac River, skinned from his upper thigh to feet.”

“That completes his suit,” Spencer noted.

“Forensics is currently running his fingerprints in the system to see if we have him in the database. I’ll get Garcia to forward any information she has,” she stated before ending the call.

The two FBI agents turned around to face their stern unit chief for further instructions. “Morgan, you’re with me for the re-interview. Reid, you go back to Ms. Hill’s residence and Reid,—“

“Yes?”

“—keep us updated on any slight disturbance.”

Spencer nodded, gathering his belongings before dashing out of the precinct.

———

Dusk was beginning to settle when Spencer turned off the SUV ignition in front of her residence. Crossing the empty and calm street road, he took note of any rustling noise, flickering neighborhood lights—the lack thereof—and dark corners where the unsub could hide while keeping watch of the doorstep. All the curtains were shut, he observed, as if mimicking a moat bridge drawn up to protect the castle and it’s inhabitants. Steeling his nerves, he knocked on the door and announced his presence.

“Olivia, it’s Dr Spencer Reid,” He called out.

Several bolts were heard being unlocked from the other side before the door fully swung open, Olivia’s eyes darting behind his stature before widening as it settled on his form.

“Oh, uh-hi Dr. Reid, you look—different,” her cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink as she observed his change in attire. Gone was the brown sweater vest that emphasized his lithe form and the lilac button down shirt that was once hidden underneath now had its sleeve pushed up to his forearms. With the vest out of the way and the gun holster secured on his waist visible, he looked formidable, sensual, and dangerous rolled into one. The sharp contrast to the soft spoken and intriguing male that she met this afternoon to the knight and shining armor rounding her living space had her feeling lightheaded with desire.

Spencer sat down at the worn love seat sofa located in her office. “My team is re-interviewing your female colleagues and I’d like to ask you for any strange male colleagues and interactions that rubbed you off the wrong way.”

“I don’t really interact with any other publishing employees beside from my agent and publicist,” she sat beside him with a glass of water in hand. “One of the perks of being a writer is not having to interact with anyone beyond necessary.”

A heavy silence covered their surroundings. Their thighs softly caressing the other, as if whispering the subconscious declaration of intrigue and attraction. Eyes flitting across the room, never meeting each other’s gaze afraid of unconsciously communicating their innermost thoughts.

His palms opening and closing, unsure of what he needs to do and apprehensive of what he wants to do. Hers drumming on her thighs, nervous of the palpable tension around them. He wanted to touch her delicate hand, he realized—to envelope hers in his, to trace patterns on the back of her hand that will never leave a trace but wishing it would, and to never let go.

“Dr Reid, is it too forward of me to ask if you’re in a relationship?” Olivia rushed out to ask, clearly sheepish with her inquiry.

His ears turning red at the implication behind her questioning. “My job and its urgency isn’t ideal for a relationship,” he explained. “Being on call 24/7 and not knowing when I’ll be able to return home isn’t a fair deal for a potential partner. Statistically speaking, divorcees are common in the FBI, especially in the BAU.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

A silence crept between them.

“Spencer,” he clarified, noticing the little scrunch of her nose as if asking him to further clarify. “Call me Spencer.”

She smiled, the kind so infectious that he felt his own lips curling upwards and his filter evaporating into nothing. “Did you know that women in the romance community are more likely than the general population to be currently married or living with a partner?” He articulated as his fingers tapped a rapid beat on his thigh, an outward display of nervousness. “More often than not, most writers are to be in happy relationships. The stereotype depictions of the lonely, lovesick romance writer who pens alluring novels is largely false in narrative.”

“Huh, I’ve always thought the minds behind romance would be the hopeless romantic pouring over their frustrations, hopes, and dreams into ink to escape reality and live out their fantasies,” she countered back.

His body shifted to face hers. “That is not necessarily incorrect. Romance novels are, for the most part, written by women, about women, for women but it also allows the writers to explore who they are as a woman. Who you want to be. Finding out what you can be. Pushing yourself to be more of who you are.”

“So it’s more of self navigation and therapy?”

He nodded, pleased that his intention was understood even if he explained it in a convoluting way. “Yes, actually more like a self discovery and research.”

“Sadly and realistically speaking, I do tend to fall on the stereotype category of being a romance writer,” she shrugged as if it was no big deal. “So Mr Genius, how’d you end up in the FBI and as a profiler?”

His eyebrows scrunched in concentration unsure to what extent he should divulge. “I was recruited and this was the path that I wanted to do.”

“Can you profile me, then?” She smiled, leaning further into him. “I’m no criminal but I’d like to see your job in action. To see if it’s how they portrayed it in the movies, I mean.”

She was obviously flirting, Spencer noted. He was known to be oblivious to these types of advances as Morgan pointed out, mainly rooting from his deep sense of insecurity, but she was making it clear that she felt an attraction to him or maybe he was just projecting his own emotions, he countered in his mind. After all, he didn’t have the typical male physique—muscles that allude a capability to protect and attack. His greatest asset would be his IQ of 187 that slashes into 60 whenever her set of doe-eyed eyes looks into his with such trust and comfort. His hand moved on their own accord, swiping on her lower lip that was being assaulted by her teeth.

Her breath hitched and his hand quickly dropped, a visible flush coloring his cheeks. “That was, uh, that was inappropriate of me—“

“It’s alright, Spencer.”

“I—it’s really not. You—you asked for a profile, yes?” He brought up, desperate to diffuse the atmosphere and change the subject matter. “You’re a perfectionist based on the organization of your home. Your books are a financial success but you still use an old sedan, possibly a hand me down from your father based on the color and make, which tells me you’re frugal with your income, despite the fact that your house is located in one of the pricier neighborhoods—I believe this is your biggest purchase to date—and that you possibly grew up in a middle income family. You subconsciously tap your fingers on your thighs when you’re nervous and you keep your nails short meaning you’re other tic would be nail biting which you’re trying to break. And you mentioned that you fall under the stereotype category of being a romance writer which tells me you didn’t date much during your school years and never felt the need to go through all the usual considered landmarks of being a teenager, kissing under the bleachers and such. Perhaps you’ve had a boyfriend or two, nothing noteworthy for inspiration and romance, so you pour your hopes and dreams into the characters and scenarios you create.”

“You missed one more important piece.”

He titled his head, thinking of what he could have possibly missed.

“You, and my apparent attraction to you. How I’d like to see you again once this situation is through,” her voice trailed off, the sudden confidence evaporating from her body.

There was silence. His intelligent, hyper-active mind not knowing how to respond. Her confession had rendered him mindless and mute.

The lights flickered, as if wanting to escape their bodies as the space in between lessens ever so slightly, before complete darkness and danger shrouded over.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!oc #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #gw fics #ytr fanfic

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katyswrites · 2 years ago

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don't call me 'baby'

PART 5 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), daddy kink, ddlg dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex, swearing, sexual harassment/men being gross, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 9.6k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 5 | our secret moments in a crowded room

In the few weeks that followed, you often found yourself looking around and wondering how this was your life. If it wasn’t so stupidly cliché, you’d actually stop and pinch yourself to make sure this was all real.

After that first night, you started spending more time with Steve. It often went the same way - he’d send you a text in the middle of the day, telling you when to be ready that evening. You’d dress up in something nice he had made for you, more dresses and outfits getting sent over from Valentina throughout the days that followed. He’d come pick you up, but you’d never let him come upstairs - the idea was so embarrassing that the thought of it alone made you want to sink into the floor.

Then, he’d take you out to dinner at some restaurant that you certainly had never dreamed of setting foot in before - you were pretty sure he charged you just to breathe the air inside. The food was always delicious, the wine divine - and the company wasn’t so bad, either. Over dinner, and with the passage of time, you began to learn a bit more about him. You knew that he was born in a small town in Indiana called Hawkins; he was an only child, and got out of that town and moved to Chicago as soon as he could, never looking back; you also knew that he was right - he was practically married to his work. He often only talked about work - what he was dealing with during the day, how Billy and Tommy were insufferable, the places he had lived in and traveled to on business.

As he opened up and talked more, you had started keeping a detailed list in your head of the things you were learning about Steve that he wasn’t necessarily saying:

He rarely mentioned his family. Or any friends really, for that matter.

This didn’t bother you - at least, it shouldn’t have. He didn’t owe you this information - you weren’t his girlfriend, and you both weren’t in any way obligated to delve into each other’s personal lives. In fact, the less you two got into that stuff, the better - that was what you told yourself. But, whenever the topic of his family started to come up organically, his voice would trail off, followed by a quick change of subject. There was something unspoken there, something you were smart enough to not push. And you recognized yourself in him in those moments - somebody who didn’t have a good home life growing up, someone who doesn’t have anybody to turn to. You filed the information away for later, just in case. And, you knew one thing: don’t ask about his family, ever.

Steve loved to give everything he had

This was already obvious - he was sending you thousands of Euros a week, and never hesitated to pay for, well, everything. At first, you had insisted on at least paying for something while you two were out together. But he never even let you look at the bill, and by this point, you didn’t even pretend to reach for your wallet. It felt strange, to have someone take care of you like this - it took some getting used to, but Steve always appeared as if nothing made him happier than spoiling you. The routine had become rather familiar - he’d send you a text that felt almost a bit too formal, asking (or sometimes, telling) you when he wanted to see you next. You’d put on something nice he had bought for you and he’d pick you up outside of your apartment - you never let him come upstairs. Then, he’d whisk you away to some five-star restaurant for dinner or a glamorous bar for drinks. You’d both chat and catch up about however long it had been since you’d last seen one another.

You hardly ever kissed in public spaces, or outside of sex at all. You didn’t hold hands. You didn’t show each other affection when you went out at all, really - why would you? But, if you were feeling a little cheeky, or downright impatient, you’d put your hand on his knee, and let it travel up, up, up - and he’d call for the check like his life depended on it. Then, he’d take you back to his place. And that brought you to the third point on your list:

He was fucking incredible in bed

You had already figured that out after your first time together. But, the paranoid, inherently pessimistic part of you wondered if it was a fluke, or maybe you were just looking through rose-colored glasses because it had been a while for you, and it just felt good to be touched like that by somebody. But, if anything, it was only getting better. As you got to know one another more, and the layers of strangeness between you two were shed, it became less awkward and more comfortable. You found yourself feeling more bold in bed, ready to try new things. And, Steve was eager to please. He would ask you what you liked, what you wanted, and in return you would rile him up, do everything you could and push it as far as you could with one goal in mind: blowing his mind. And there, at least, you were proving to be pretty successful.

One thing was rather constant - he was so vocal in bed. And you were, too - it was like he brought it out of you, his new, eager side. But everything else was different each time. Sometimes, he was soft and slow, taking his time with you. Others, he was rough and fast, practically using you as a plaything as you screamed beneath him. Some nights were like the very first, where he relinquished control and let you have your way with him. Other times, though, he liked to take control and manhandle you, and you let him.

Tonight was one of those nights. He had taken you to a rooftop restaurant, the warm early June air lending itself to the setting perfectly. Rome sprawled out in front of you, with its warm lights and bustling streets. Dinner had been delicious, the wine spreading through you and making you feel just a bit warm and mellow. It was perfect - and you wanted nothing more than to leave. Because god, he looked good, dressed in all-black with his button-down undone on top, letting his chest hair peek through whenever he’d reach up to run his hands through his hair. So, when he finally did take you home, you had practically jumped him as soon as you got in the elevator in his building. And, he had wanted it just as badly as you. It was how you ended up here, right now, writhing beneath him as he pounded into you. He was merciless, your legs wrapped around his back to pull him closer, deeper. His hand was between you, finger circling your clit in a way that was driving you insane. You thrusted up to meet his hips, and the angle was just right to make you scream out his name.

“Yeah? You liked that?” he gasped, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he hovered over you.

“Fuck, yeah - you feel so good, you cock feels so - ah! Just like that - yeah, oh my god -”

“Yeah, look at you - all fucked out, just for me. Are you gonna come again? Are you gonna come on my cock, like a good girl?”

Again. Because he had thrown you on the bed and eaten you out like a starving man, having you come undone in a matter of minutes. He had hardly given you a moment to recover before he was fucking you, and your mind couldn’t focus on anything other than Steve.

“Yeah,” you moaned, head thrown back as he fucked into you. “I’m gonna come on your cock - I’m your good girl -”

“Damn right you are,” he said gruffly, continuing his assault on your clit.

You had never really done this in bed before him, either - the pet names, the dirty talk, all of it. It had felt foreign, at first, but you realized you were into it. There was one thing you hadn’t tried yet that you wanted to - there was a chance Steve would love it, or absolutely hate it. You had almost said it a few times, just to test the waters. But each time, something stopped you, and you found yourself holding back. Now, though, most rational thought had left you - all you could think about was Steve, and how good he felt, the stretch of him, the filthy things he was whispering in your ear -

“I’m so close,” you gasped, walls clenching and fluttering around him as you felt the heat building in your core. “Oh my god -”

“Come on, baby - cum on my cock. You know you want to - I can’t wait to cum in this pussy, fill it up - cum for me, right on this cock -”

“Yes,” you cried, your orgasm hitting you like a tsunami. You arched your back, pressing yourself into him as the pleasure washed over and spread through you.

“I’m coming, daddy, oh my god -”

His thrusts faltered for a second, and he nearly fell forward on top of you before catching himself on his forearms. You squeezed and convulsed around him, and he let out a guttural groan as he spilled into you. He buried his face into your neck, sucking on the skin there as he gave a few more sloppy thrusts before stilling. You both stayed that way for a few moments, your fingers still pressed into his shoulder blades as you both let your breathing get back under control. You stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding. After a few moments, he pulled out of you and rolled over, pulling the sheet up to cover you both. He flopped next to you, and you heard the rustle of his head turning on the pillow to look at you. Steve’s gaze burned through your skull, but you stayed staring at the ceiling, terrified of what you might see if you brought yourself to look at him.

Did he hate it? Was he just trying not to laugh at you? Or, was he just concerned? You did know one thing - you had liked it. More than you thought you would. What did that mean?

You felt something brushing your arm, and you looked to see that it was his hand, gently running the backs of his fingers up and down your bare skin.

“You okay?” he asked softly. You finally brought your eyes to meet his, and sighed. He was difficult to read, even now.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I just - sorry about that.”

He furrowed his brow.

“About what?”

You cast your eyes down, fiddling with your hands.

“About - well, like - I just wanted to try it out. But, like - if you weren’t into it -”

“Whoa, hey,” he said soothingly. “I - I definitely was into it. It was really fucking hot - this might be dumb to say, but I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard in my life.”

You felt your face heat, like you were fourteen and found out someone had a crush on you or something.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling.

“Good,” you breathed. “Because, I really want to do it again.”

Before he could say anything else, you were rolling over and kissing him, and not a lot of real talking happened after that.

****

Afterwards, you were lying in his bed sipping a glass of wine, his arm around you as he scrolled through his phone.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Fucking work - why Brenner thinks he can email me at midnight, I have no idea -”

“It’s okay,” you said, shrugging. “I get it.”

It really was fine. He didn’t do this very often, at least, not as often as you’d expect someone with his job to. It was par for the course, you reasoned. Then, you sat up a bit straighter.

“Wait - nearly midnight? Don’t you have work in the morning?”

He sighed, throwing his head back against the headboard and shutting his eyes.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Wish I didn’t. But I do.”

“What time do you have to get up?”

“I don’t know, I usually set my alarm for a little after six.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, and shook your head.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I really should go, then -”

That was another thing - you never spent the night. He never said you couldn’t, exactly. But it felt strange - he usually had to be up early, and if you actually stayed over… you weren’t sure what that made you to him. So it was easier to just leave after, usually with a promise from him that you’d hear from him again soon.

“Oh, right,” he said quickly. “That’s fine - let me just call my car.”

You nodded, finding your dress where it laid on the floor, face flushing at the memory of Steve practically tearing it off of you earlier. As you shimmied into it, you heard him say behind you -

“Oh! By the way - I have a question for you. A proposition, I guess.”

You spun around as you fumbled with the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Are you free on Saturday night?” he asked.

“I definitely can be. Why, did you want to grab dinner?”

Grab dinner was certainly one way to describe what you two usually did. A euphemism, at best. But he just smirked, and shook his head.

“Not exactly - there’s a work event that I’m going to. A charity gala, actually. It’s a black-tie sort of thing. But, I have a ticket, and I get to bring a plus one. I haven’t - I mean, I definitely would -”

He sighed, running a hand through his now-mussed hair, thanks to you.

“It might be kind of terrible, and you can 100% say no if you don’t want to. It’ll probably be pretty boring, mostly just my colleagues and our clients and investors, but the meal is paid for, and it has an open bar, there’s dancing -”

He was rambling, and not exactly meeting your gaze, and you realized that he was actually nervous.

“Yeah, sure,” you said simply. “That’d be nice.”

He stopped mid-sentence, meeting your eyes.

“Really? Because, you really don’t have to, if you’d rather do something fun with your friends or something -”

“Steve - I said I’ll go. I want to go.”

He visibly relaxed, and nodded.

“Okay - great. I’ll have Valentina make something for you to wear - like I said, it’s really formal. I’ll take care of it.”

“Right,” you said, popping your leg up as you shoved your foot into your shoe. “Thanks for that.”

He waved a hand as he typed away on his phone with the other.

“Always, you know that.”

Always. He was right - he always took care of you. Why, you had no idea. But you were finally starting to accept that this was your life now, and maybe something nice was happening to you just because it was. It was a new feeling.

“Okay, well, let me know the details and… I guess I’ll see you Saturday?”

He looked up at you, thinking for a moment.

“Yeah, probably. I really want to try to see you again between now and then, but… I do have that client dinner on Wednesday, and I’m going over to Paris until Friday - but, I’ll text you, yeah?”

You nodded, pasting on a smile that you hoped conveyed nonchalance.

“Yeah - whatever works. Just let me know.”

“Great - here, let me -”

And he was following you through his apartment to the door, wearing only in his boxers, you as a more disheveled version of the girl who had arrived earlier. He always walked you to the door, but you insisted on seeing yourself down to the lobby. Then, as usual, he pecked you on the cheek, and asked you to text him when you got home safely.

And, as usual, you couldn’t help but feel just a bit empty as you rode the elevator down. You knew it was stupid - this was the whole deal. And, if you were being honest, this arrangement was the best thing that could’ve happened to you this summer. You were richer than you’d ever been, wanted for nothing, and were having fantastic sex on a regular basis.

Still, after a silent drive home, thanking the driver, bounding up the stairs to your flat, and hopping right into the shower, you couldn’t help but feel more alone than ever.

You hoped that the hot water would wash away the feeling, just as it washed sweat, makeup, perfume, and Steve down the drain. But it didn’t. It never did. No, Steve clung to you like the lingering smell of smoke on old fabric.

You flopped into bed, exhausted, but not before sending the promised text:

home and showered thanks again - let me know about saturday

It was past 1am now - you figured he probably was asleep by now, with his workday mere hours away. Instead, just as you started to drift off to sleep, your phone lit up on the nightstand:

Always - I’m glad you made it home safe. I’ll come by to get you at 6:30 p.m. on Saturday. Valentina will have the dress sent over before then. I’d suggest wearing the nicest jewelry you have, too - feel free to use my credit card. Sorry I have to work/travel a lot this week. But I’ll see you on Saturday.

You rolled your eyes at his text - the formality of it all made it seem like he was 80 years old sometimes. You sent back a quick reply:

sounds good i’ll try to look decent haha

You saw that he was typing for several minutes, starting and stopping, before settling on something short:

You’ll look beautiful. You always do.

You felt your face heat, and suddenly wanted to bury your face in your pillow. Instead, you pivoted the conversation:

ok - now go to sleep! i didn’t think you’d still be up lol

A moment, then a reply from Steve:

I wasn’t able to sleep until I knew you were home. It’s not a problem - sleep well.

Another three dots appeared like he was going to add something else, but then they vanished. You frowned, then wrote back:

ok - goodnight and sleep well too

He replied one last time before you even had the chance to put your phone back on your nightstand:

Goodnight. I always sleep better after I’ve been with you.

You flipped your phone over and turned it down, not daring to look at it again. You decided not to dwell on the meaning of that last text. Logically, it’s just him trying to make a joke, something about being tired out from the sex. That thought is what you settled on as you drifted off to sleep. Because, if you tried to read into it any more, you knew you’d be digging yourself into a hole you couldn’t get out of - and that was enough to make any person go insane.

*****

You didn’t hear much from Steve for the rest of the week. He worked late most evenings, and traveled to Paris for two days to close some big deal that you only vaguely understood the workings of. On Friday night, you finally got one text:

About to board my flight back. Your dress will be delivered in the morning, so keep an eye out for that. I’ll come to pick you up around 6:30. Also - don’t wear earrings.

You raised an eyebrow at that last part. But, Steve always had his reasons, and you knew well enough by now to not question it.

Sure enough, late Saturday morning, your buzzer rang. You signed for the delivery and hauled the garment bag inside, the now-familiar brand label embroidered on the side. Robin was sitting cross-legged on the couch, still in her pajamas and munching on an apple.

“Is that it? For your thing tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, hooking the hanger over the top of your door. “Want a peek?”

Robin nodded vigorously and bounced up from the couch, looking over your shoulder as you unzipped it.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “It’s -”

“Yeah,” you finished. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s sexy, is what it is,” Robin finished, taking another big bite out of her apple as she leaned against the wall. “And stupidly fancy. Are you sure he’s not taking you to, like, Buckingham Palace or some shit?”

You rolled your eyes, zipping the bag back up.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

As the day rolled from afternoon and hurtled closer to the evening, you took your time getting ready. You treated yourself to a long, hot shower, taking care to really soak in the suds as the water washed over you. You did everything meticulously - your hair, skincare, makeup, and had even taken time earlier in the afternoon to go out and get your nails done. You had been so used to just painting them yourself at home, that it had felt downright luxurious to have someone do it for you. You weren’t sure why you were so concerned, at first. You were comfortable enough with Steve by now that you weren’t too worried about impressing him - no, you told yourself, impressing Steve can’t be important to me.

You thought about how he had asked you, how nervous he had been, and the relief on his face when you agreed to come - this event tonight, it was important to him. And, the least you could do was show that you cared, too.

Then, came the dress. At first, it had seemed a bit simple - it was black, made of a soft, satin-like material. But, once you slipped into it, you understood - the form-fitting, floor length gown left little to the imagination. The neckline plunged, far past your sternum, while a giant slit ran up the leg on the right side. The back plunged down too, the floor-length fabric soft and light against your legs. You tied the halter neck, taking a step back to actually admire yourself. You were never really someone who ever had an opportunity to dress up like this, well, ever. You opted to wear the necklace Steve had gifted you that very first night, smirking at the memory. By the time you were pulling on heels, it was nearly time to leave. Sure enough, at 6:30 on the dot, your buzzer was ringing, and you were scrambling for your (brand new) clutch, hurriedly shoving your phone and a spare lipstick into it and making a beeline for the door.

“Whoa!” Robin called from the kitchen, her jaw hanging in the doorway. “Look at you! Hot to trot!”

You smiled, and goddammit, you believed her.

“I’m not going to lie - might be the best thing he’s had made for me yet.”

“I’ll say,” Robin remarked, stepping back to take you in. “Well, have fun. And, tell me everything when you come back, and I’ll live vicariously through you, yeah?”

You nodded, laughing as you made your way out the door, doing everything you could to not run down the steps.

When you reached the steps, there he was - in a goddamn tuxedo. His hair is a bit tamer than usual, and he’s devastatingly handsome. The second he saw you, his eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle.

“Christ - look at you,” he said quietly.

You grin, giving him a self-indulgent little spin.

“You like it?”

He nodded, his gaze traveling up and down your figure.

“I’ll say. You look incredible, seriously.”

You felt your face heat, and opted to just shrug.

“Well, some crazy rich dude had this made for me, so I guess I did my best to clean up nice.”

He chuckled, and held out his hand.

“Shall we?”

You took it, and he held you steady as you made your way down the steps, popping open the car door for you as you slid inside.

As the car peeled away from the sidewalk and made its way down the cobblestone streets, Steve cleared his throat next to you.

“So, before we get there - I thought it’d be nice if you wore these, maybe.”

You let your eyes fall down to where he held a velvet box in his hands, popping it open to reveal a set of diamond drop earrings. But, they are perhaps the most stunning, sparkly set of diamonds you’ve ever seen - even in the dim light of the car, they glisten like dew on the grass on a bright summer morning, impossible to look away from. You felt your jaw go slack, tracing the earrings gently with your fingers.

“Oh, Steve - they’re beautiful. Seriously, I - thank you,” you said sincerely, your voice softer than you meant for it to be.

You extracted them from the box and started to put them on, and you felt Steve’s gaze on you.

“Where did you buy these?” you asked, hoping you sounded nonchalant.

“Oh, well - I actually had them made. One of our clients - his wife is a gemologist, so she hand-selected the stones, so they’re top-tier, apparently. And they’re custom, so… nothing in the world is quite like them. At least, so I was told. I picked them up while I was over in Paris.”

You froze, eyes widening as you turned to face him.

“Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, shrugging.

“Well, yeah. I just thought it’d be nice to do, you know?”

Your instinct was to reject them, unable to even imagine how much they could have possibly cost. They felt wrong on your ears, like you shouldn’t have been wearing anything remotely close to them on your body. But you looked back at Steve, and he was staring at you like you’d hung the stars, and you realized that a rejection was exactly the reaction he was afraid of. So instead, you smiled, and reached out to take his hand in yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “They’re beautiful.”

He smiled softly, casting a quick glance down at your clasped hands - somehow, the gesture suddenly felt entirely too intimate, despite everything you two had done together, and you both withdrew at the same moment. Unsure what to do, you folded your hands in your lap, and stared out the window as silence fell.

****

The rest of the car ride was rather quiet, with only the occasional comment or joke from Steve, the city flying past. As the car slowed to a stop in front of the hotel, you suddenly felt a wave of anxiety start to rise in your chest - you were way out of your depth. As you spotted a line of limousines and groups of people dressed to the nines, it occurred to you that you didn’t necessarily belong here. As if he sensed it, Steve reached across the seat and gently placed a hand on your knee.

“Hey - it’s okay. For the most part, it’ll be boring as Hell, with so-so, overpriced food and a lot of business talk. But, I’ll stick by you, and I’ll fill you in on everything as best as I can, if you want, yeah?”

You took a deep breath, and nodded slowly, casting another look out the window.

“Yeah, okay - you lead the way, Harrington.”

He put on a bracing smile, and moved to help you out of the car. Once outside, he lifted his bent arm. You smiled, hooking your own arm through it and letting him lead you to the grand steps. As you made your way to the entrance, you felt like everyone was staring at you - were they wondering who you were? Or, what you were to Steve? Did they know? Were they judging? Or, were they just curious?

You tensed a bit, and felt Steve’s breath on your ear as he leaned in close and whispered, “Just so you know, you’re the most beautiful girl here. Not even a contest.”

You found that difficult to believe, the confidence you had had back at your apartment almost completely evaporated. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach flipped at his words, and you did your best to fight a smile as you pressed yourself closer to his side.

Once checked in, you and Steve found yourselves in a grand ballroom, with ornate golden ceilings and Renaissance-era murals adorning the walls. A pianist played a grand piano on the corner, the room full of people milling about with drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

You stood there for a moment, taking it all in. You probably looked like a child, staring up at the ceiling and around the room like you’d never seen anything like it. But, to be fair… you hadn’t.

Steve whispered in your ear again, your heart racing at the feeling of his lips ghosting your skin.

“I know I said I wouldn’t leave your side, but can I make an exception for going to the bar? I can get you a glass of champagne, or whatever you want.”

“Yeah, champagne is fine for now. Thanks.”

He nodded, squeezing your arm as he pulled away.

“Great. We’re table 27, by the way - make your way over there, and I’ll find you, yeah?”

You nodded, eyes following him as he turned away and made his way through the crowd. You felt stupid, like a kid who had been separated from her mom at the grocery store. But, you didn’t know a single person, and even if you did…what the fuck would you talk about?

So, you opted to follow Steve’s suggestion and make your way across the room, scanning able placards as you searched for 27.

Some guests were sitting at their tables, chatting over cocktails as you shouldered past. When you finally located the table, your smile faltered - because, there were already some people sitting there. You recognized them immediately, the sight causing a sense of dread to settle in the pit of your stomach.

It was Billy and Tommy, looking just as slimy as that night weeks ago when you first laid eyes on Steve. Only now, Steve wasn’t here, and if you recognized them, there was a damn good chance they’d know who you were, too.

Praying for a miracle, you continued to make your way to the table, forcing a small smile when they finally noticed you. It was Billy who caught your eye first, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you. You noticed him elbowing Tommy, whispering something into his ear. The other man’s eyes widened, and he hurriedly whispered something back into Billy’s ear, causing the two of them to snicker.

Before you could even attempt to sit, Billy laid back in his chair, smirking up at you.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Harrington couldn’t get a real date, so he brought our cocktail waitress. Truly, he never ceases to amaze me.”

You heard the roaring of your blood rushing through your ears, but kept your face neutral.

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said, grinning maliciously. “How’s it feel to be among another tax bracket, sweetheart? To see how the other half lives, huh?”

“C’mon, Tommy,” Billy drawled. “She’s probably just a good lay - you know Stevie, he’s probably whipped -”

“How’d you afford that dress with your waitressing tips, huh?” Tommy asked, face painted in a smarmy smile. “Or, did your new boyfriend buy it for you? Are ya milking him for all he’s worth?”

You didn’t say anything, not wanting to engage. If you were being honest, you didn’t even know what you’d say to them - one one hand, you might completely lose your temper, and the last thing you needed was to cause a scene. On the other hand… you were afraid you might cry. And the last thing you needed was to give them the satisfaction. You did your best to ignore their comments, their endless taunts, and the way their eyes traveled up and down your body. A million and one intrusive thoughts were running through your mind, ranging from you running out in a fit of tears to planning the men’s elaborate murders. Then, a soft grip on your elbow, a familiar warmth by your side.

“Hey,” Steve said, nonchalantly reaching over to place your drink in your hand while wrapping his other arm around your waist. “Thanks for finding the table, babe. Nice spot - the company could be better, though,” he added, eyes locking with Billy on that last part.

Billy’s smile faltered, but only for a moment.

“Harrington! We were just telling your - well, your - this lovely lady here, just how happy we were to be making her acquaintance again. A surprising sight, that’s for sure.”

Steve plastered on a smile, pulling you just a little closer to his side.

“Yes, well, you know what I’m not surprised about? That you’ve come with a young girl on your arm, and Mrs. Hargrove is nowhere to be found! Funny how that goes, right?”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms, making a gruff noise as he turned his attention back to the dinner menu in front of him.

You let out a shaky breath, finally finding Steve’s eyes for the first time since he came back over. He gestured for you to take a chair, pulling it out and helping you in as he did.

When he sat himself down between you and his colleagues, he leaned close and whispered, “You okay?”

You bit your lip, pausing for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Worse than what? What were they saying to you?”

You waved him off, staring ahead to avoid his gaze.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll live.”

You felt Steve’s hand find your knee under the tablecloth, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I thought there was a chance they’d be at our table, but I was really hoping they wouldn’t. I can kill them though, if you want.”

You laughed dryly, placing your hand over his under the table.

“I think I’ve got that covered, but if I need an alibi, I’ll use you.”

That earned a hearty chuckle from Steve, and you started to sip your champagne. If the first part of the evening was an early indicator, you’d need to start drinking now, and not stop.

*****

Steve hadn’t been lying - this thing was pretty boring. You and Steve spent the rest of the cocktail hour milling around, actively avoiding the company at your designated table for as long as possible. It was mostly you standing by Steve’s side, smiling and acting engaged in conversation as he chatted with colleagues and clients. By the end of it, you really started to understand how he’s worked his way up in the corporate world at such a relatively young age - he was born to do this. He was charming, and smart, and had a way of schmoozing every person he encountered. It was easy to be drawn to him, to want to listen to anything and everything he had to say. You felt practically invisible next to him, but strangely weren’t too bothered by it because… you understood. It was impossible to move more than a few feet without someone in a suit stopping him, offering a firm handshake and a clap on the back before devolving into business talk.

Steve also knew how to clue you in, whispering in your ear every time you approached a new group - their names, who they worked for, who was here with their spouse or mistress,who screwed who out of a deal, and who was an asshole to steer clear from. If gossip was a real love language, Steve Harrington was fluent. And, you had to admit that it kept things light and fun, at the very least.

Steve would make an effort to introduce you to everyone, referring to you as my date tonight, which was fair enough. Still, you shifted uncomfortably when the men looked you up and down, the women regarding you with curiosity at best, an air of disdain at worst. You switched rather quickly from champagne to Old Fashioneds, doing everything in your power to not seem like you were just downing the liquor. If Steve noticed, he said nothing. By the time dinner rolled around, you were feeling a bit beyond tipsy, and ignored the other men sitting at your table. During dinner, there were a series of speeches, most notably from Dr. Brenner. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he was in view, even if he was all the way at the front of the room. There were a few times you could have sworn he was staring right at you, enough that you had to tear your eyes away and stare down at your duck confit, picking at it with your fork.

Then, came the dancing - a live band came out, a good one, and soon enough, everyone was up and making their way to the middle of the ballroom. Steve got up, holding out his hand towards you.

“Care to dance?”

You giggled, taking his hand and letting him help you out of your seat.

“Steve, I’ve got to tell you something,” you whispered as you made your way to the dance floor.

“Yeah?”

“I’m kind of a terrible dancer,” you admitted.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I am, too.”

Then, he took one of your hands in his, placed the other on the small of your back, pulling you close to him.

It wasn’t dancing, exactly, more swaying and shuffling around. But the music was good, and Steve was so close, so it was enough. After a few minutes, Steve whispered, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Just thinking. And, I think I had a little too much to drink,” you admitted sheepishly.

Steve chuckled, squeezing your hand as you turned with him.

“Thanks, for coming with me tonight. I know it’s kind of boring, but… having you here actually made me want to come.”

He said it softly, but so sincerely, and you felt your stomach flip at the tenderness of it all.

“Yeah?” you asked.

He nodded, glancing quickly around the room, before turning back to you and leaning even closer.

“I usually kind of hate these things. But, they’re important to show my face, so… it’s nice to not have to do it alone.”

You didn’ know what came over you, but you reached your hand up to the nape of his neck, and pulled his lips to yours. The kiss only lasted a moment, but when you pulled away, the look Steve was giving you made you start to feel even more dizzy, something warm crackling in your chest.

“What was that for?” he breathed.

You shrugged.

“For inviting me. And the earrings. And the dress. And… everything else.”

Then, something unreadable passed his features, and his eyes darkened.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, his voice suddenly much lower. “In a few minutes, they’re going to start rolling out dessert, and people are going to start dispersing, and they’re going to give out some awards and make more speeches. But you are going to go to the ladies’ room.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Because,” he murmured, “it’s the part of the night everyone actually comes here for. So the bathrooms will be empty. Nobody would even notice we’re gone.”

Understanding, you felt your face flush, and a cheeky grin started to ghost your lips.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Harrington?”

He shrugged.

“Is it working?”

Your hand on his waistband answered his question.

******

“Oh, fuck - Steve - right there! Fuck, do that again -”

You had your back pressed against the stall, face buried in Steve’s neck. Your dress was hiked up your leg, panties pushed to the side as his fingers pumped in and out of you. Your breast hung out of the dress, which had been fighting to cover you up to begin with. His thumb vigorously massaged your clit, while his two fingers curled inside that perfect spot within you. You moaned, fingers gripping the back of his tux.

“You’ve gotta be quiet, baby,” he growled, lips pressed to your ear. “Anyone could just walk in and hear us.”

You pressed your lips to his neck and sucked at the skin there, sure to leave a bruise in the morning. But it was too good, too much, and he was right - you were in a stall in the women’s bathroom, and anyone could come strolling in and hear you. But you weren’t used to being quiet with Steve - you wanted to scream, to call him the pet names he so dearly loved, but you couldn’t.

“I bet you love this,” he whispered, coating his fingers in your slit before diving back in. “Does it get you off? The idea of fucking yourself on my fingers in public? Do you want other people to know what a dirty girl you are? I bet you fucking do - if you’ve gotta scream, baby, make sure it’s my name, so everyone in this fucking place knows that I’m the one making you feel this good -”

As he rambled, he picked up the pace, fingers pumping with more fervor as you bucked into his hand. You threw your head back, letting it hit the door of the stall as you felt your climax building in your core.

“More,” you gasped, hips bucking. “Please, Steve -”

“Can you take another? You sure, baby?”

You nodded weakly, and he added a third finger, pumping and stretching you until you could hardly stand it.

“If only you could see yourself,” he whispered. “All fucked-out in your dress, wearing those million-dollar earrings - shit, you’re a fuckin’ wet dream, baby.”

Before you could process anything he was saying, your orgasm was hitting you, fast and hard. You squeezed around his fingers like a vice, the pleasure rushing through you from head-to-toe. Your hand flew to your mouth, biting down as you came to stifle the scream.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered. “Fuckin’ perfect - you’re gushing on my hand, you minx.”

You laughed shakily, letting your head fall forward onto his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded weakly, nuzzling into his neck.

“Yeah - I just need a second.”

Your breath hitched as he slowly withdrew his fingers, your cunt still sensitive. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, Steve held up his slick-soaked fingers, and began to lick them clean.

“You taste fuckin’ amazing, baby,” he whispered roughly. “Makes up for missing dessert. We should probably get back, though.”

You smirked.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone yet?” you asked.

“Probably not. But they might, soon. And, people around here talk.”

“Well, I’ll be quick, then.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you were shoving him against the wall of the stall, fumbling with his belt, and sinking to your knees. Soon enough, it was Steve’s turn to try to be quiet, much to your satisfaction.

******

You and Steve didn’t stick around at the gala much longer. He had gone back to the table first, leaving you to fix your makeup and pull yourself together to the best of your ability. Your swollen lips and smudged mascara, rumpled dress and newly-forming bruise on your collarbone were enough to delay your return. After you got back, though, Steve could barely keep his hands off of you. If anyone had noticed your absence, they gave little indication; you figured they must have suspected something though, considering you had to hurriedly wipe away your lipstick stain from Steve’s jaw, much to his embarrassment.

He pulled you to the dancefloor again, hand splayed across the small of your back as he held you close. It occurred to you that he was probably also just a bit drunk. He seemed a little more carefree, the stiff, formal facade fading with each passing moment.

“Hey, Harrington?” you whispered in his ear.

“Mm?”

“D’you think we can get out of here?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The journey from the party to Steve’s apartment was a bit of a blur - his hands snaking under your dress in the car ride home, his lips on your neck, your fingers in his hair. You both practically stumbled into the elevator, wasting no time in shedding each other’s clothes before you even made it to the bedroom.

Despite the initial urgency, Steve took his time with you that night. He kissed you everywhere, whispering filthy prayers into your skin along the way. He touched you like he’d never get a chance to again, tasted you like he was starving to death - and you let him, writhing and moaning beneath him as he had his way with you. You had come twice before he even had a chance to properly take his clothes off. When he finally slipped inside of you, he lost it, so worked up that he was coming undone in minutes.

He moaned filthy praises into your skin, calling you a good girl and gasping out your name. It was a hazy mess of sweat and skin and screams, more drunk on each other than the liquor by the time it was done.

Afterwards, you laid across his covers, the room a bit too warm, the scent of summer air and sex invading your senses. You were only wearing the earrings he had given you earlier in the evening, the diamonds weighing a bit on your ears. But he had asked you to keep them on, and who were you to say no? You were exhausted, still breathing heavily when he re-entered the bedroom, clad only in his silk boxers and carrying two glasses of wine.

“You trying to get me drunk, Harrington?” you asked, laughing breathily.

“I think it’s too late for that,” he reasoned, sliding onto the bed next to you.

“Nope, pretty sure it’s all out of my system now. Thanks for that.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you as you nuzzled into his side. You were worn out, the tiredness seeping into your bones as you melted into him. He didn’t even bother actually handing you one of the glasses, your eyelids growing heavier as you let your cheek fall onto his chest, the dull feeling of his heartbeat against your ear pulling you into sleep like a lullaby.

You knew you needed to get home, not even sure of exactly how late it was. But you just needed a few minutes, and maybe a cigarette, before you could even think about moving from this bed.

It was Steve who broke the comfortable silence, after a few moments.

“Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Mm,” you mumbled. “Yeah - I mean, it had its moments, but… I liked where it ended.”

He laughed, the rumble in his chest running through you, and you smiled into his skin.

“Thank you, for taking me,” you added. “And for everything, I guess.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said. “I mean, I usually hate those things. They can be stiff, boring, the food is only okay, and it just feels like another day of work in the middle of the weekend. But - having you there… I actually enjoyed myself. I can’t really remember the last time that happened.”

You shifted a bit until you were on your stomach, chin on Steve’s chest as you looked up at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded slowly, brushing some stray hair out of your face.

“Why do you work that job? I mean, I know the money’s good - clearly - but… you hate it. Every time you talk about it… you seem miserable, Steve.”

You had been thinking about it for a while, but not brave enough to say it. But you were tired, still a bit tipsy, and it had been eating away at you. He sighed, leaning back against the headboard.

“It’s a long story. But, honestly? It’s because of my dad.”

Oh. Family - this territory wasn’t breached a lot. But, you stayed silent, seeing if he’d off up any more information.

“He and I - we never exactly got along. He’s not all bad, it’s just - I think he and I are a bit too similar sometimes, to be honest. I was always pretty well-off growing up, and I think he wanted me to be like him - go to a good college, go into business, get a good white-collar job. And that’s what I did. He actually knew Brenner, from way back in the day. Call it nepotism, or networking, or whatever you want. But, yeah, I guess my dad kind of had an in with HNL. And I got an offer right before I finished college - I would’ve been an idiot to say no. And, Brenner’s retiring soon, probably, so if I play my cards right, I might make CEO before I’m 35.”

He didn’t look at you much as he said it, reciting the information like he was reading it from a textbook. You gently brushed your fingers across his skin, the chest hair tickling your knuckles as you continued to stare up at him.

“But… you hate it. I can tell.”

Steve nodded, slowly.

“Yeah - I guess I do. But I’m also pretty damn good at my job. So - it feels like the right thing, I guess.”

He didn’t sound too sure, but you felt his heart rate quicken, noticed the way his eyes were shifting away from you, and that alone was enough to know to change the subject.

“Okay - then, I have a totally different question,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“In the bathroom, back at the party - please tell me these earrings didn’t actually cost you a million dollars. That was an exaggeration, right?”

He paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“You caught me - I misspoke. They were actually a million Euros - so I think that works out to be more in dollars.”

Your eyes widened, and you realized that he wasn’t lying.

“Steve -”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” he said firmly. “I want you to have them, and keep them. They look really nice on you… especially like this.”

You felt your face heat, suddenly aware of just how exposed you were, lying nude across his bed. Steve just grinned a bit devilishly, and you decided to kiss it right off of his face.

You weren’t sure how much time passed after that. You made your way under the covers at some point, pressing into Steve’s side while you both talked - about anything and everything. He divulged only a little bit more information about his life growing up, and you did the same; you talked about college, work, the kinds of movies and music you liked, stories of dates gone wrong, your least-favorite foods, books you had read recently. It was easy, casual, and strangely normal. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. But, the last thing you remembered was your cheek pressed to Steve’s chest, his voice lulling you into darkness.

*****

The next morning, you woke up to early morning light peeking through the massive windows, neither you nor Steve bothering to have drawn blinds over them the night before. You blinked groggily, face half-buried in the pillow as you reached across the covers. You were met with an empty bed. You shot up, glancing around as you adjusted to your surroundings. As your brain kicked into gear, you finally reflected back on the night before, and realized with a sense of horror that you had spent the night. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to do that - it’s new territory. And where was Steve? Was he angry? Did he move to the couch? It was a Sunday, so work was unlikely.

As you stretched and yawned, you spotted something out of the corner of your eye - a piece of paper on the nightstand. You picked it up, noticing Steve’s telltale handwriting immediately:

I went out for a run. I’ll pick up something for breakfast on my way back - I wanted to let you sleep in. Feel free to help yourself to anything you need. - Steve

You rolled your eyes - as if you would’ve thought the note would be from anybody else. You reached up to rub your eyes, and when you looked down, you spotted the smudges of makeup worn into the pillow. Shit. You hated sleeping in makeup.

That was how you found yourself swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, padding to the ensuite bathroom. You nearly jumped when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror - you had raccoon-like eyes, mascara smudged and worn into your skin. Your hair was a disaster, and to your own satisfaction, your skin was marked with bruises. Your fingers ghost the marks, remembering where Steve’s lips had been the night before, the things he had said -

You shook the feeling, deciding instead to root through the drawers and cabinets until you found a towel, wasting no time to hop right in the shower. The large, glass-enclosed tile shower was a luxury compared to the little stall you had at home, the water pressure positively glorious. You smirked at the unusually large selection of products lining the wall - of course he had an intense hair routine. You were almost positive he had more stuff in his shower than you and Robin combined. You found something that you knew would at least get the job done, letting the soap wash everything away as you exhaled deeply. You couldn’t help but smile, the scent of the suds reminding you of Steve.

After wrapping yourself in the towel, you scoured the cabinets until you found mouthwash, figuring it was better than nothing.

When you returned to the bedroom, you realized your next predicament - the only clothing you had was your gown from last night, which was currently strewn across the floor as part of a trail of clothing leading to the bedroom. You felt yourself blush at the memory. Would Steve mind if you borrowed his clothes? Or, was that a step too far? Did he have a robe, maybe? You opened the closet across the room. To your relief, there was a robe. If you had to guess, there’s a good chance it just came with the apartment - it looked as if it had never been worn. You pulled it on, practically groaning at the feeling of the fluffy fabric on your damp skin.

You had never been to his apartment in the daylight, you realized - it was nice. It still felt a bit empty, not quite lived-in, but the big windows really lit the whole place up. It must’ve been East-facing, with how bright the late-morning light was. You weren’t even sure what time it actually was - should you text Steve, and let him know you’re awake?

You searched the room for your phone, finally unearthing it from inside the small clutch you had brought to the gala last night, sitting right on the island in the kitchen. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to look at it after you’d gotten back last night - and, much to your chagrin, it was dead.

From what you could see, there wasn’t a phone charger in sight. You made your way back to the bedroom, hoping there was one there already plugged into the wall, maybe near the nightstand. When you failed to find one, you took the next logical step, opening the nightstand drawer. The last thing you wanted was to go rooting through Steve’s stuff more than you needed to, but if there wasn’t a charger in there, you figured you’d have to give up as just wait for him to get back.

Inside the shallow drawer, there were a few assorted items - a comb, a few condoms, some spare Euro coins - and, luckily, a phone charger. You pulled it out, pleased with yourself.

You shouldn’t have looked further. Looking back, you should have closed the drawer, plugged in your phone, and waited for Steve to return. Maybe then you could have had a nice, lazy morning with Steve, sharing coffee and pastries in bed. But, something caught the corner of your eye, something that made you freeze. It was buried underneath everything else, but you could see enough to gather what it was.

You reached in with a shaky hand, pulling out a postcard-sized piece of paper. On it, was a picture of Steve, his arms wrapped around a woman with a sunset behind them. The woman was beautiful - curly brunette hair, big blue eyes, a charming smile. Steve had his head on her shoulder, cheek pressed into hers with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. And, printed next to the photo in big, cursive text:

SAVE THE DATE: Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler are tying the knot on September 3rd in Riverhead, New York. Invitation to follow.

You read it once. Twice. Fifty times. You gripped the edges hard enough to crinkle them, the image of Steve and Nancy growing blurry as your eyes started to burn.

The date was from last September. Nearly a year ago… Steve Harrington was married.

****

Author's note: ah! A cliffhanger! Yes, I introduced angst, but I promise it'll be resolved by the end of the next chapter. Sorry for the wait, but this part is basically double the length of all of the previous parts, so at least there's that! I'll do my best to continue tagging you all, but sometimes Tumblr won't let me! Turn on post notifications for future parts! As always, your thoughts, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! And, special shoutout to my bestie Em, who constantly fuels my fantasies for this fic!

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/you #sugardaddy!steve harrington #modern steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington/fem!reader

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diamondkat · 4 months ago

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Propaganda in support of my personal theory:

I don't think the first two options will happen. Yes, Alastor is evil and power-hungry but those first two options would be a waste of his favour while taking away a chance of a future deal. They would also turn Chalie against him. When you combine what he said in the song, "Ready for This" with his plans to be the one pulling strings, turning Charlie against him would be counterproductive to his long-term plans.

I have seen a lot of people suggest the first option likely based on a combination of the fact that Alastor is evil and the favour is one in which she hurts no one but says nothing about him hurting someone. The problem with this is that it would waste a favour on something that Charlie already does. Alastor has hurt people in front of Charlie in the series and each time the most she has done is suggest that maybe that's enough violence. There are suggestions that it might be violence against someone she cares about. In which case, it would be smarter to carry out that violence away from Charlie or in a way that does not turn Charlie against him.

The second option requires Alastor to be able to get rid of Lucifer somehow. Or get Charlie to take the throne from him which still won't make Alastor stronger than Lucifer. It would be a pointless wish that loses him more in the long term It also implies that he wants to rule hell directly which is the direct opposite of what it means to be someone who pulls the strings. Even if the show intends for Alastor to become an antagonist, this does not seem the way it would do with a character who is supposed to be a manipulative dealmaker.

The other options are all options that I think have a high chance of happening.

I think a favour that is seemingly benign/friendly with hidden traps is the option with the highest chance of occurring. It would be the best way to show how talented the show's resident dealmaker is. Extra points if the favour looks completely harmless and reduces her guard against future deals while being the most manipulative excuse for a favour ever asked.

Something actually benign is the next best thing as it would work as a gateway deal. It would show her that deals with Alastor are nothing to be worried about. This would make her more likely to make more deals in the future. I feel these two options are also highly. I just saying Husk didn't wake up one morning and decide it was a good idea to sell his soul to one of hell's most sadistic and manipulative dealmakers for no reason.

A favour to free himself is a good option or it would be if he had any idea how to get out of his deal. At the moment, he doesn't know and there is a high chance that Charlie isn't capable of interfering in deals anyway.

Of course, all this guessing might prove to be pointless. I have terrible luck with guessing what is going to happen on shows. I tend to always be wrong. The only thing that I got right before season 1 aired was that Alastor was going to get a chance to make a deal with Charlie but was going to ask for a favour instead of her soul.

If you have a completely different theory that I haven't thought of, please free to let me know.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel poll

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onestepbackwards · 2 years ago

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Our Angel Pt. 3

Hello! Welcome to part 3 of my Greaser Submas x reader series!

I will admit, I kinda struggled this chapter. I had a lot going on when writing this. Regardless, I still hope you all enjoy this short chapter!

Summary: It has been a few days since Emmet had left your home. Just as you are about to give up hope on seeing him again, a stranger who looks just like him knocks in your door…

CW: minor mentions of injuries, mentions of getting jumped, mentions of toxic family

Word Count: 2825 Words!

Like my writing? Come check me out here and support me! Every bit helps!

First: Here

Previous: Here

Next: ?

It had been a few days since Emmet had snuck out of your bedroom window.

Just as you had predicted, you haven’t seen him since that day.

It honestly was a little… disappointing.

The thought was silly, that you kinda wanted to see the greaser again. He had been a little goofy, but he was sweet. Even if he was a flirt.

It made your life interesting, for a day. For the first time in years, just helping a guy out had made you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

Because of this, you hadn’t been able to get him out of your mind.

He had been such a breath of fresh air! …If you don’t count the fact that you had been terrified for two days that he might die in your bathtub.

When he was fine(ish) though, he had been nice. A lot nicer than at least half the people you knew.

You just hoped it wasn’t the concussion doing most of the talking. However, you had your doubts you would ever find out.

He hadn’t come back, after all. Nor had you seen heads or tails of him on your walks back from campus.

“Figures…” you mumbled, head in hand as you sat at your desk. At least you got to experience it when you did. It would be a fun story to tell when you were finally free of this place.

Though you would admit, when the doorbell rang, your hopes shot up.

You squashed them down, of course. No doubt it was a friend of your parents or a salesman or something.

At first you tried to ignore it. Your parents weren’t home, after all, and you didn’t want to deal with someone selling you something. Or even worse, your dad’s stupid work friends, or your mom’s friends from her book club.

After a second series of knocks, however, you heaved out a sigh. Closing your book, you left your room, and headed to the front door.

You opened it, already putting a fake smile on your face, preparing to deal with whoever was willing to bother you.

“Hello, how may I….”

The words died in your throat, however, when your eyes met silver ones.

He was back.

At first, you fully believed it was Emmet. Silver hair, silver eyes, similar get up. However, something was off about him.

This guy… he had no injuries.

When Emmet had left your home, he had a nasty black eye, bruises everywhere, a busted lip… you doubted he could heal that quickly.

He also had his hair parted slightly different, and his clothes were completely black, instead of the white shirt. A small detail, but you felt it was off.

There also seemed to be what you assumed as a tattoo of some sort peeking out just from under the mans’s jacket collar on his neck. You had seen Emmet shirtless, and he definitely didn’t have that tattoo as far as you remembered.

Then there was the frown on his face. It was something that seemed so out of place for Emmet. However, he didn’t seem upset. In fact, he straightened up almost excitedly when you pulled open the door.

You both stared at each other for a moment, neither saying a word.

He was just as pretty as Emmet was. Were they siblings?

The man seemed to snap out of it after a moment, and began to speak.

“Hello there. I am Ingo, Emmet’s twin brother.”

You blinked, perked up, and took that in.

It made sense. You were sure if you hadn't seen Emmet with all those wounds, they’d be practically identical. The only differences being the smile, clothing choices, and the way they part their hair.

“How is he? Is he alright? Are his injuries healing okay?”

At that moment, a switch flipped in Ingo’s mind, and you didn’t even know it.

But you did see his eyes grow a teeny bit wider.

It seemed he wasn’t as expressive as Emmet was.

“Yes! Thanks to you, he is healing up nicely! There haven’t been any issues so far with his healing.”

You slumped against the doorframe, relieved. If you were being honest with yourself, the thought of his well being had been weighing on you since he left that day. If he even made it home, or recovered at all.

“Oh thank goodness. I had wondered if he was alright after sneaking out after being unconscious for so long. With those injuries too, no less.”

Giving Ingo a small smile, you didn’t notice how his cheeks had grown slightly pink.

“Thank you so much for letting me know!”

Now you would hopefully be able to sleep a bit better at night, knowing Emmet was gonna be okay.

This man, Ingo, you think he said his name was, cleared his throat.

“I wanted to give you this.”

You stared at him blankly for a moment, before looking down.

He was holding out a piece of paper in his hand. Hesitantly, you took it from his grasp.

Much to your surprise, it was a set of numbers, along with his name written in cursive. Not something you expected from a greaser, but you knew from Emmet looks were deceiving.

“Are you… giving me your number?” You asked, feeling your face heat up as it really hit you over what he had given you.

You… never had a guy’s phone number before outside of school, since that was always for projects…

Ingo gave you a look, one you had a feeling was a more serious one than his regular face.

“Yes. If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I’ll take care of it for you.”

Shock must of been evident on your face, becuas his look seemed to shift into a somewhat amused one. His frown wasn’t as prominent, and the look in his eyes seemed lighter.

“But… why?” You asked, genuinely confused. He didn’t even know you, and you had a feeling having this guy’s favor was probably a big deal.

He tilted his head at you, confused as to why you would ask.

“Because you saved Emmet’s life. We both owe you a great debt. If you had not helped him, he very well could have died.”

His words settled into your stomach like rocks. Yeah, you knew he was in bad shape, but thinking how Emmet could have died without your help was an unsettling thought.

“Ah…” you only managed to mumble.

You then let out a squeak when Ingo was suddenly directly in front of you. His right are rested against the door frame above you, and his other hand was suddenly gently grabbing your chin.

“I mean it. Anything you want or need, it will be yours. I know Emmet is especially desperate to do anything you wish.”

Your face was red, and you found yourself sputtering at the sudden shift and contact. It didn’t help you swore you could see a smirk pushing through that ever present frown.

“We owe you so much. Please, even if it’s just to talk, call or message me.” He asked, having you look at him. Gone were the traces of the smirk, and his face seemed serious again.

Slowly, you nodded.

“I-… okay.” You agreed, you heart hammering in your chest.

All you were doing was agreeing to take his number and tell him if you needed anything, so you didn’t have to call him…

But the thought of getting to make sure Emmet got better whispered into the back of your mind. This way, you could make sure he was okay….

This was a risky game though. You knew greasers were trouble, so you would be playing with fire the more you associated with them.

Though you couldn’t help but wonder; was it really that bad that you wanted to talk to them, to make sure one was okay? They certainly didn’t seem all that bad…

Unaware of your inner turmoil, Ingo backed away, though he seemed much happier and brighter than when you had first opened the door.

“Excellent! Now, would you like to-“

Before he could finish, your phone made a small jingle, signaling your mother had messaged you. Ignoring Ingo, you scrambled for the device, and opened your messages.

Your heart nearly fell in your stomach. It seems your mother’s shopping trip was ending early, saying she couldn’t find everything she needed and would be home shortly.

Panicking, you didn’t notice the look of concern on Ingo’s face as you slipped your phone back into your pocket.

“I-I’m sorry, but you have to leave.”

The man’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden panic.

“What? Why-“

You shushed him, and looked further out the door and down the street.

“My mother is on her way home. If she sees you, she’ll freak out and start yelling. She’ll probably call the cops too.”

Quickly, with a quiet ‘sorry’, you grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around. You pushed him down the sidewalk towards what you assumed was his car.

“I’m so sorry, but she can’t see you. I promise to try and message or something, but for your sake, you must leave!”

You absolutely hated doing this to him. He seemed nice, if not a bit more reserved than Emmet. But you knew if your mother saw a greaser of all guys talking to you, she’d blow a gasket. She’d make accusations, scream, yell, probably ground you…

Then she would tell your father, who would make things worse. He may even go as far as to pull money for your tuition, or even try to get these guys arrested for just talking to you.

Even as an adult, you were still shackled to your parent’s wills.

Thankfully, Ingo didn’t resist you, and quickly walked with you to his car. Before he went to his door to get in, he gave you a look.

“Are you going to be okay, Angel?” He asked, his voice surprisingly soft compared to how loud it had been before.

You blinked, brain nearly freezing at the nickname.

“I-Yes-I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about what could happen to you. I can’t be seen talking to you or Emmet by my parents, and my mother is on her way home.”

Ingo’s lips tightened into a fine line, and he gave you a brisk nod.

Before he turned to walk over to the driver's side of his car, he surprised you.

He grabbed your hand, and pulled it up to his lips, giving the back of your hand a kiss.

You sputtered, feeling hot all over again.

He smirked against the back of your hand, before releasing you.

“Take care, Angel. I look forward to hearing from you.”

You almost didn’t register his words, too flustered from the gesture. It wasn’t until he climbed into his car, and shut the door, that you were taken out of your daze.

“W-Wait, I-“

He drove off with a wave before your brain could finish catching up.

Standing there a bit dumbly, you could only watch as his car turned a corner, and out of your sight. You ended up not moving for a few minutes, nearly jumping in surprise when your mother drove up behind you with a honk.

Spinning around, she rolled down the window as she pulled over closer to the sidewalk where you stood.

“Hey sweetie! Why are you standing out here?” She asked, a bit confused. She even tried to look in the direction you were facing, trying to see what you were looking at.

“Um…” you spoke, trying to keep the panic out of your voice.

“There were some rowdy kids on bikes yelling just a minute ago down the street. I was just…. Seeing if there was anything wrong.”

Your mother tutted, and then scoffed.

“Probably just some no good brats from a few blocks down. Don’t worry about them dear, they are nothing but trouble. They would drag you down just for wanting to help.”

She then rolled up her window and began to pull into the driveway, but you hardly noticed. Your mothers words echoed in your ears as you followed her inside to help woth groceries.

‘They would drag you down just for wanting to help.’

Would they, though?

—

Ingo stared hard at the drivers wheel in the driveway at home, heart racing.

You, he didn’t know what to expect when he met you…

And yet…

You were so cute and sweet!

He had wondered if Emmet had exaggerated at all when he talked about you, but given how Emmet seemed so infatuated…

It made Ingo wonder just what was so special about you before.

His brother didn’t talk about you like you were just some flame he wanted to win over, oh no. He talked like he had been in love.

That had been surprising to Ingo.

Both twins had their fair share of partners, but neither had acted like this before.

No doubt Emmet will throw a fit when he finds out Ingo went to see you on his own without taking him, but Ingo had to see you in person. He had to see what kind of a person you were without his brother nearby.

Only the best would be allowed to properly date his baby brother, instead of just being a small flame for fun.

After meeting you, Ingo began to understand. You fit that criteria perfectly.

Ingo now knew why Emmet was so infatuated with you.

You were already cute, that much was certain. You were gorgeous, even.

But Emmet hadn’t been kidding when he said how sweet and kind you were.

How you were so worried for his brother still, who was a stranger to you.. Ingo knew right then and there that Emmet had not been exaggerating one bit. You, someone who didn’t know either of them, truly cared if Emmet was recovering.

You didn’t even care if you were talking to a greaser, you just genuinely cared if a stranger was okay.

Ingo felt his heart skip a beat in that moment. You really were an angel.

When he gave you his number, you didn’t even seem scared, or excited. That last bit may be a surprise, but given him and his brother were leaders of their group, many people wanted to be in their favor.

You just seemed a little hesitant and confused. He decided to take that as a good sign.

Ingo then sighed, pressing his head against the steering wheel once more.

It wasn’t uncommon for him and Emmet to share a partner, they both had similar tastes after all.

But he knew Emmet was already possessive and protective of you. There was a good chance he’d fight about it after he learned of Ingo’s own interest.

“Oh hell…” he mumbled. He couldn’t fight with Emmet. Not yet. Not when he was still healing.

After that?

It was fair game.

Until then, all he had to look forward to was you messaging or calling him.

Ingo’s frown then deepened after he thought about it.

Would you be able to safely?

You had seemed rather spooked when you got a message on your phone, mentioning something about how your mother can’t see him with you. All for his sake, you had said, but he felt there was a lot more to it than that.

Emmet mentioned you had him sneak out a window, that he would most likely have the cops called on him by your parents if they saw him.

Add that with what little tidbit he learned today… he wasn’t liking the picture that was forming in his head.

Were you safe? Were you okay?

Ingo began to also understand what Emmet meant when he would mention he was worried for his Angel.

Ingo gripped the steering wheel.

He had to figure this out, nor would he just let you sip through their fingers. You were a diamond in the rough, he could already tell.

If you didn’t want them? Fine, they could live with that. They could be happy being your friends and protecting you.

But oh, they wanted you. You really were an angel.

One Ingo had decided, they both would do just about anything for.

Now all he had to do was wait for you to call or message him. He’d take this slow, and let you lead. Ingo was sure Emmet was thinking the same thing, even now.

Thrumming his fingers against the wheel, he heaved out a sigh.

Until then, he had to go inside, and pray Emmet was still in bed healing.

You would no doubt be incredibly upset if he hurt himself again, after all. Something Ingo proudly used against Emmet when he tried to crawl out of bed.

Ingo grinned, happy to finally have a means of temporarily wrangling in his brother.

Yes, Ingo would enjoy this opportunity while it lasted.

#pokemon #submas #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #submas x reader #ingo x reader #emmet x reader #greaser au #greaser!submas #greaser!ingo #greaser!emmet #pokemon x reader #zed.writes #Our Angel

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untaemedqueen · 2 years ago

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At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 8.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor

The mansion you're currently standing in is completely different from yours. The amount of people in this place is incredibly different for one. It's also so bright in here that it almost makes your eyes hurt.

There's regal looking paintings lining the walls with heavily decorated gold frames accompanying their expensive stature. Marble statues stand atop marble pedestals in romantic positions and you're not even close to becoming comfortable here.

But the person by your side is even more uncomfortable than you at the moment.

"Oh my God, let's just leave," Jeongguk hisses, draping his arm over your shoulders.

He hasn't been in this home for many years, just even breathing the same air as his grandmother is something he thought he would never do again. In some way, he's reverting back to the small nervous child he once was. He hasn't had much time to think about what he would say to the madam of the house nor has he strengthened his will enough to stay here.

But you're comforting him, his lips still tingle with fresh, raw emotions from the make out session in the car. He needed that to calm down -- he needed you to calm down.

Jeongguk has been thinking about you far more often than his mind would care to admit. Pretending that you're his girlfriend seems easier and happier than he could have hoped for and it's hurting his brain to remember that he can't take you home after all this.

Guk doesn't know if you would even want that but he does know that he does. He wouldn't mind taking you home and peeling this black dress off your body like you're the only Christmas present he would want.

"You know we can't do that," you mumble, moving out of the way for a waiter to pass with a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"But Wednesday," the escort whines, putting his forehead to your shoulder sullenly.

"Let's just deal with your grandmother and then we can leave and go do something else," you promise, coursing your fingers through his hair.

It's almost like it's something second nature all of a sudden. Your fingers just moved toward him without any thought that it could be wrong or awkward. And he doesn't give you any negative reaction to it, instead he sighs happily, moving the arm on your shoulders to encircling your hips and pulling you close.

"Let's step into one of the closets or something, I need more kisses," he mumbles, putting his forehead to yours.

Once again, his scent drifts over you like a shroud of comfort. It's strange to you that you're not pulling back wildly with nervousness fleeting over every vein within you.

"We could get caught," you try to reason with him.

"That'd be hot," he counters with a small, devious smirk.

"I don't think these type of people would approv-"

"Well, I'm shocked to see you."

Jeongguk snaps up straight like a stick, turning on his heel to meet the voice that's riddled with judgemental tones.

His hand struggles to grasp for yours, his fingers fumble and itch until finally you're able to intertwine with him. Your palm lays flat and comfortable against his, thumb stroking the back of his hand with soothing intentions.

The woman before you holds herself elegantly, her hair is raven black and cut into a bob around her jawline. The way her eyebrows notch together quizzically already tells you that she's spent a lifetime judging others, the wrinkles give her away.

Poor Guk beside you is two seconds away from shaking like a leaf. He looks like he's about ready to pass out. You can't imagine the anger and anxiousness that's rooted deep within his chest.

You can only imagine what choice words he wishes he could say if he wasn't frozen stiff with fear.

His grandmother doesn't even acknowledge you, which is fine because it gives you more time to study her.

"Hello," the escort whispers softly, bowing his head respectfully.

"Hello, grandson," she breathes, turning on her heel and ushering the both of you to follow.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, running his free hand over his face.

"It's okay," you promise, "I'm here."

"I know," he mumbles, kissing your temple and pulling you along to follow her.

Finally, after several minutes of wading through the guests of the house you find yourself in the grand office of the mansion.

There's awards and certificates on the wall, pictures of his grandmother with famous people and first prototypes of the kimchi containers that made her rich in the first place within glass cases.

Once again, she does not acknowledge you or her grandson, if you're being honest, while she sits down at her large glass desk.

Jeongguk leads you over to your chair first, waiting until you sit down to do so as well.

When his back meets the chair, he can feel his organs within him shaking so violently that he's not sure if he'll ever be able to get back up again.

His grandmother pulls out a fan, the length of it expanding all at once with a sharp noise that has Guk wincing in an instant. She purses her lips, leaning back into her chair to bore her eyes into her grandson's face.

The fan moves leisurely within her grip, sending pieces of black hair blowing in symmetrical swirls around her face.

She picks up a small bell and rings it daintily between her thumb and index finger before returning her gaze to Jeongguk. You aren't sure whether she's trying to break him down with one quick look or if she's trying to assess what he's going through.

A butler steps into the doorway with white gloves covering both his hands politely at his sides.

"A bottle of Veuve and three glasses," she orders dully.

So she does acknowledge that you're here but she's purposefully ignoring you like it's all a part of some sort of plan.

The silence begins to creep in after the butler leaves, the muted groan of hundreds of conversations just outside the office doors breach past your ears and while it's putting the escort beside you on edge, this is comfortable for you.

You look down at your long gloves, fixing them properly before placing them in your lap.

Finally, the madam of the home gets bored with her meek acting grandson and turns her attention to you.

You give her a polite smile, leaning back in your chair and crossing your legs.

You're ready for anything if you're being honest, whether that be confrontation or just a simple introduction.

"Do you… work with my grandson? Do you do what vile things he does?" she inquires pointedly, snapping her fan shut.

Jeongguk looks up as if he's been cracked with a whip, his eyebrows furrow painfully as if her words have burned him but he stays silent nonetheless, looking to you for your answer.

"I don't work with him, no. I'm his girlfriend. And to me, he's not vile nor is what he does vile," you reply, folding your hands in your lap.

She hums out quizzically, looking over your garments with intrigue written all over her face.

"I see, so you could afford these clothes yourself then? Without the help of someone who lays on their back to get their money?"

Your insides are beginning to boil with the hottest of fires, you're unsure if your irises have turned bright red like a devil waiting to tear into this woman but what you do know is that you fucking wish you could.

She has no sense of anything kind in her personality at all.

"As far as I'm concerned, Jeongguk hasn't laid on his back in quite a long time. But I can afford these clothes myself, I own a business."

Her head seems to tilt curiously at your words and it seems with the tight lipped smile she gives that she's going to enjoy this confrontation.

"And what sort of business is that?" his grandmother purrs, leaning down onto her desk.

"I own a wine business," you reply.

"And your net worth?"

"None of your business, actually."

Jeongguk takes a sharp breath between his teeth, flitting his eyes from your face to his grandmothers like he's watching some sort of ping pong tournament.

"And I should assume that you're with my grandson on your own accord?"

"Why would you assume anything otherwise? It's not like he's willing to divulge the fact that his grandparents are rich while he grew up poor."

Guk takes you in then, the gentle fall sun highlights your silhouette so gently and it only begins to sing out to him when your face becomes fierce with protective intentions.

You want to keep him safe, you want to fight for him and he can see it as plain as day.

"I didn't expect my grandson to start dating such a hard headed woman."

"I'm not hard headed -- I'm hard working. I take what I want and I'm not apologetic for that."

Jeongguk picks at some skin on his lip, tilting his head to see how absolutely earth shatteringly gorgeous you look defending his honor. If he could sigh sweetly, believe him, he would.

"Baby," he calls to you softly.

The pet name has your head snapping to look at him and he smiles sweetly at your pinched face.

Jeongguk slowly shakes his head as if to tell you that it's not worth it and you simply shrug before folding your arms and huffing out impatiently.

She's getting on your fucking nerves, he's certainly not wrong about her in any sense of the word.

His grandmother simply blinks at the interaction between you both.

How could it be so warm and endearing when the space between you both is as far as it is?

Is this something serious or is it something that can be picked apart by just a few words?

When the butler returns with the bottle, the madam of the house simply nods to it. "You run a wine business, why don't you open it?"

While you begin to pull the cage off, the older woman decides to test the waters the only way she knows how.

"Chloe is here," she notifies her grandson.

"Yeah, I know," he huffs out, "we saw her."

"And what did she think of your new woman?" his grandmother prods.

"Who cares what she thinks? She doesn't know her ass from her elbow," he gripes.

You can only roll your eyes, slowly letting the bottle do the work to push the cork out of the mouth.

"If you begged for her back, maybe she would accept you," she drolls.

The sharp inhale through your nose makes Jeongguk cringe and in a second he's standing to comfort you.

There's not a split second where you both remember that this is fake, you're invested in this somehow -- you both are.

"I don't want to beg her for anything. She doesn't deserve me. I found a woman who likes and cares for me as I am now! Besides, she's married to Holdritch."

"Hamish," his grandmother corrects him.

"Whoever," he murmurs, crouching down beside you to take the wrappings and cage from your hand.

"My girlfriend is smart and beautiful, strong and brave as hell. Chloe can't even compare to a single cell in her body. So, just because you don't respect me, grandmother, please don't disrespect my significant other."

The champagne bottle makes a slow hiss when the cork comes out and it seems to echo throughout the room while Guk waltz over to the trash can to get rid of the rubbish.

"I see," the older woman breathes, leaning back in her chair.

"What are your intentions with my grandson then, uh…"

"Y/N, her name is Y/N. You were bickering with her five minutes ago and you don't even know her name," the escort hisses, draping himself over the top of your chair and putting his hands on your shoulders.

You're immediately comforted by his presence, basking under the heat of his hands like a lizard under the molten sun.

"What are your intentions with Jeongguk, Y/N?" his grandmother inquires, pouring three glasses of champagne.

"To love him," you announce.

The way his hands clench at your shoulders makes you want to cave in immediately, you want to shove the chair out of the way and squeeze him so tightly that the air between you both has no chance of escaping.

"Well then. She's passed the test," his grandmother smiles, handing you both champagne glasses.

"Test?" Guk blinks confused.

"Yes, the test that not even Chloe ever passed. If you recall her answer was, 'treat him like he deserves me.' Which is incredibly inappropriate."

Sounds like Chloe.

You roll your eyes heavily, optng to take a sip of the bubbly alcohol instead of releasing the string of obscenities you wish to.

"So you being… rude to my girlfriends has always been a test?" Guk blurts out, scratching at his neck confused.

"To put it simply, yes. And Y/N has passed."

"Oh," the escort breathes awkwardly.

"I hope you love him more than anything and anyone. Just because I never spoon fed him doesn't mean I don't care about him," his grandmother says, drifting her fingers over the glass of her desk.

Jeongguk kisses the top of your head and your eyes flutter shut immediately.

Your heart is wildly racing within your chest like a horse and to say that it's because of the simple kiss is not true.

Your heart is beating so fast because of the words you spoke.

They keep replaying in your mind over and over again to no avail.

"To love him."

Your heart is beating so wildly because you're scared.

There was not a single ounce of a lie within that three worded sentence. There was no pause or need for acting. There was no reason to string those words together purposefully.

They flowed from your mouth like a river, like it was meant to be said with that same heartfelt inflection.

You believe these words.

<---- Last Chapter Next Chapter ---->

#at your service #chapter 8 #chap 8 #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts #jeongguk smut #jeongguk fic

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