#ignore how dark one eye is compared to the other- I was trying to fix it and made it worse and didn’t wanna erase

[silent-scribbs]

Hypothetically…?

+ Bonus Sepia reaction

[princesssmars]

desert eagle

another rodeo!abby x reader | p.i

seeing the star of the rodeo secretly in the night has been fun, but things start to get tense from miscommunication. but it’s amateur bull night down at the cow belle, and you’ve still got a few tricks up your sleeve.

wc : 2.619

contains : fluff. reader is hard headed. jealousy? fxf smut. strap on sorry to the people sick of it </3

a/n : you thought it was over ahaaaaa. wdym part one was in APRIL i suck at this. why are all of the desert eagle position pictures slightly different its pissing me off.

truly, everything currently going wrong was all abby anderson's fault.

it's a humid saturday night at the cow belle, and you're pouting while nursing a beer as your friends chatter around you. they'd taken you out to your favorite spot to try to brighten your spirits after noticing your sour mood, hoping some alcohol, dancing, and flirting would fix you right up.

but it was hopeless, for a dark cloud seemed to be hanging over your head the whole night. an annoying, sweet-talking, six-foot, blonde braided cloud.

it was established after your first extremely hot and extremely long night together with abby a few weeks ago that you both had an understanding. no strings, no attachments, no labels. you weren't gonna let a big beautiful woman butter you up only to leave you in a ditch, not after the last time. you'd go to the other's house, have rough messy sex, and maybe have some nice conversation, before heading your own way and repeating it the next week. no more and no less.

but god, you should've known it wouldn't last. ever since that first night when her silky smooth drawl convinced you to stay just a bit longer, to sleep in her bed with her shirt on! you might as well have woken up and cooked her breakfast in bed with a 'good morning, honey.'

who could blame you really? ever since you'd set eyes on abby anderson you knew she was something else, a beautiful force of nature that wouldn't budge until she wrecked you so thoroughly. at the time you were as horny as a coyote in may and saw that as just what you needed, a prized golden notch on your belt. a completely different way from what you do now.

right now you were trying to telepathically burn holes into the back of her beautiful head as she flirted with that hussy donna mayfair, an admittedly gorgeous girl with a big personality, big hair, and big...well, y'know. you look down at your chest and slightly straighten your back before roughly shaking your head after realizing this damn woman has you comparing yourself to a mayfair! of all people! the thought only upsets you more and you down the nearest drink to you, ignoring your friend's whine at the loss of her whiskey.

the small and reasonable part of your brain knows you have no right to be upset. after all, it was you who just a week ago insisted to a blushing abby that you truly did want to just keep things casual. you felt bad a little bit, she'd shown up to your hookup flushed and high off of another rodeo win with a tiny bouquet of your favorite flowers, explaining when you asked how she knew that she noticed them on the motif of your favorite pair of figure-hugging jeans. the bastard.

the relaxed but downcast look she wore after your rejection is a stark contrast to how she looks now, pearly whites showing when she throws her head back at some joke donna told, a large hand coming to rest on the redhead's waist. you can see her preening, foot nearly popping up as she swoons over the female goliath giving her all of her attention. it's enough to make you throw up. or maybe it was drinking all that busch light. whatever.

you must not have been very discreet with your glances because suddenly blue eyes are lifting up and focusing on yours, the shock of being caught forcing you still as your finger circles the rim of your next glass. you try to keep normal 'we're two normal people and definitely not recently gone sour fuck buddies' eye contact, but your body betrays you when your eyes flick down to her hand still on donna's waist. when you look at her again the corner of her lip is quirked up, never looking away as she pulls the redhead in closer and whispers something in her ear, the girl visibly going weak in the knees while abby licks her lips-

"well slap my ass and call me sally, come over here hon!" your darling charlize breaks you out of your..whatever that was and picks you up from your stool to drag you over to the event area, a few people drinking while gathered around the brand new bucking machine as one of the bar hands tinkers with the controls.

"what about it char, 'm really not in the mood..."

"oh don't be such a sourpuss, jus look at this!" she gently grips your chin and tilts your head to a nearby wall, a small white poster detailing a month-long mechanical bull contest as soon as the thing was completed, and each winner would get free drinks and $500 cash prize.

"jeez, since when did the belle bring in bucks like that?"

"doesn't matter. in one weeks time you're gonna put on a hot little outfit and win us those free drinks. and hopefully the cash takes your mind off of your situationship."

"oh yeah? and what makes you think I'm gonna be the one to win?"

"honey, ive seen the most hardass women look at you like well-trained pups. you've gotta be the best ride i know.”

so a week later you’re back in the same spot, hair pulled up and donned in your cropped and tied plaid shirt and your cutest pair of daisy dukes as you wrote your name down on the sheet of others trying to win the prize.

your friends are gathered around you, ever the voices of support as they fuss over you and give you words of encouragement. and while you do smile and laugh with them you can’t help from occasionally looking at abby, back with donna as her group hangs around the edge of the bull area.

“y’know i’ve never heard of someone bagging a hot ass woman, rejecting a relationship with said woman, and then pining over and trying to make that same woman jealous.” savannah fixes your hair while judging you, making sure it won’t get in your face so you can see what you’re doing while up there.

“stop questioning me, i’ve already been doing that myself.” your mumble makes the girls laugh before one of the workers comes to tell you that you’re up after the next person. you give them a nod before walking over to the small gate that leads to the bill, right next to-

“hey, looks like our little buckle bunny is gonna ride an actual bull! make sure to give us a nice show, huh bonita?”

you can’t help but smile when manny comes up beside you to throw an arm over your shoulder, nudging your body with his. the rest of his friends are here of course, including she who shall not be named with her new beau at her side.

“you’re gonna ride the new bull? well i hope you know what you’re doing, don’t want you to end up getting hurt now.” donna asks, grasping your hand in hers with a genuinely worried look on her face. damn it, now you were starting to feel bad.

“now don’t you worry, hon. i’ve got quite a bit of experience in riding.” you throw a wink her way before looking at abby next to her, not noticing the flustered look on donna when all you can do is revel in how you caught abby staring at your exposed stomach. before you can try to tease her about it your name is being called up and you're heading into the pit.

you graciously accept one of the workers' help to get you up on the bull, ignoring some of the catcalls that ring out when your shorts ride up an inch or two. you make sure to do everything you've seen others do (and maybe you watched a certain someone's videos to prepare yourself), steadying your dominant hand on the saddle while your free hand is raised above your head.

the experience is fast and hard just like you like it, the bull spinning and bucking so fast its almost enough to make you dizzy. as much as the cheers of fellow patrons make you want to look up and revel in it, you know you need to watch the bulls head to prepare for each time it turns, thighs tightly squeezing its sides. it's only when you hear the timer start to count down from ten that you look at everyone again, blowing a quick kiss to the blonde that's staring you down.

once the machine stops moving you are helped off and guided back to your incredibly loud friends, all happy to hype you up and start planning how much of the expensive high shelf drinks they wanna get. when you're announced as the winner only a few minutes later the night quickly becomes one filled with dancing and laughter.

you wave goodbye to your friends as their truck speeds away from your street, blowing you kisses as they yell for you to have a good night's sleep. you can't help but smile as you place your bag down in your kitchen, ready to wash the sweat from dancing off your body before sleeping through the night. unfortunately, some absolute boar decided now would be a good time to come knocking at your door."

"alright alright, im comin'!" your shouts do nothing to dissuade the steady banging against your door, nearly slipping on your hardwood floors as you rush to undo the locks and see who it is. "i really hope i owe you some money or else i'll"

"or else you'll what?" the sound of abbys voice makes you freeze, the woman resting against the doorway with one hand in her pocket and the other above your head. you need to blink away your surprise at not only her being here but the fact she is now only a few inches from you, close enough that you can smell her signature scent of pine-

"can i come in? or are you gonna keep teasing me like you did at the bar?"

"i did no such thing, you must have me confused with one of your many other flings." you flippantly address her as you turn around back into your home, hearing her quickly trail behind you and lock your door.

"ohh you'd like that, wouldn't you? gives you a reason to be so difficult for no damn reason."

you ignore her words as you head into your kitchen and retrieve yourself a glass from the cabinet, pouring yourself some water and downing it in a few gulps. jesus it's hot, is she hot? she doesn't seem so, minus the fact the sleeves of her shirt are rolled up and straining against her arms.

"no, i was in fact celebrating my win if you didn't notice. although I'm pretty sure you did, it'd be hard to miss my brilliant technique. maybe i can give you a few tips, i watched some of your shows and honestly hon, you're a bit sloppy."

you try to keep your tone cool while she moves closer and closer to you, eventually taking your empty glass and setting it down before placing both of her arms on either side of you, caging you into the counter, and blue eyes darting between yours and your lips while you speak.

"so you've been watchin my videos, huh? i'd invite you to actually come watch me, like I've already done before, but that would require you to stop ignoring me."

"you had donna mayfair to keep you company, i really doubt you noticed i was gone-"

she kisses you to shut you up, and you really wish you could've said you resisted her for long, that you didn't throw your arms around her neck and wrapped your legs around her waist as soon as she set her palms on your ass. you don't have the time to be embarrassed when shes carries you to your bedroom, removes your clothes before she does the same to her own, and reveals the strap she'd been wearing for who knows how long.

"yeah, not so mouthy now, are you?" abby smiles from above you, admiring how fast she's got you fucked out beneath her while you erratically lift your hips up to meet her short and shallow thrusts. the crooks of her elbows are helping to hold your legs in the air, your hands gripping your thighs to help give her easier access as she pounds into you.

"ab's, fuck, please."

"please what? use your words, beautiful."

"please, 'm sorry i won't ignore you again just- just do something, anything."

she puts on a sickly sweet lovestruck smile, and whispers a small 'god, you're lucky you're cute," before starting to fuck you exactly how she knows you like it. it's fast and hard, yes, but there's a hint of something more in the way she stares at you, how you lift your head for a kiss and she gives it to you without a second thought.

your hands start to claw at her waist, gripping the muscle to try to bring her impossibly closer every time her hips meet yours and her strap presses into that spot that makes your eyes damn near cross.

before you know it your orgasm is creeping up fast, unable to say it but of course, abby can tell regardless, how the resistance between your legs steadily increases and how your moans turn into desperate little whimpers.

"c'mon, you can do it. cum for me sweet girl."

all you can do is shake in her arms like a petal on a leaf, moaning and mewling up to the high heavens as abby pushes you through your orgasm, not stopping her thrusts until you weakly push at her arms to signal her to stop.

you fade in and out of consciousness while she takes care of you, the feeling of a rag cleaning your skin and more water being guided to your mouth all seeming to happen in a few seconds. when she finishes you blink your eyes open at her, admiring just how pretty she always seems to look after taking away your ability to walk.

you stare at each other for a moment, her palm coming to fix a few stray hairs on your face before you reach up to grab it and pull her into bed beside you. you pull the covers above the both of you, ignoring her raised eyebrows and know it all smirk.

"well, im not rude enough to send you home after all of that. might as well make yourself comfortable."

she chuckles, reaching over to turn off your bedside lamp before cuddling you from behind, her soft skin like its own blanket against yours.

"whatever you say, bunny."

when you wake up in the morning it's from the gentle rays of the sun peeking through your curtain and into your eyes, the smell of coffee and bacon quickly filling your nostrils when you notice your...partner, isn't in bed with you.

quickly throwing on a robe and padding your way into the kitchen, you can't help the warm feeling that grows inside of you at a shirtless abby pouring two cups of coffee while two plates of a small breakfast are already plated on your table.

you come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder when she slightly jumps at the surprise.

"mmm let me guess, you remember how i like my coffee too?"

"i'll remember whatever you want me to, sweet thing."

and right about now that didnt sound too bad.

[kasagia]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x fem!moon summoner!Alina's sister! reader Summary: After the events of the fold and the fight against Aleksander, you, Alina, Mal, Baghra, Zoya, Feydor, and the Six of certain Crows join forces against the Dark General, who is trying to take over Ravka. But instead of hating YOUR Aleksander with all your heart, you still believe that you can influence him and stop the civil war in Ravka. Inspired by: Taylor Swift - I Can Fix Hhim (No Really I Can) Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

They shake their heads sayin', "God, help her" When I tell 'em he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really, I can And only I can... maybe I can't. Taylor Swift - I Can Fix Hhim (No Really I Can)

You can't help but shudder as you observe the fold from the hill you're standing on. Sometimes at night, you dream about how HE created it. As shadow flew from his mouth along with a desperate scream, creating a shadow fold with creatures destroying everything and anyone on their way instead of an army that was supposed to save his people.

The bond between you is still there. Even though Alina made sure that the amplifiers he placed in you were completely inactive and removed. Sometimes you envied her for not having these strange visions about Aleksander's past. Maybe then you could hate him blindly instead of gradually starting to see the point in his reasoning and actions.

“You should be sleeping.” You close your eyes and sigh as you hear the old witch's voice. Baghra's presence was like salt to the wounds that her son inflicted on you. She didn't help you move on from Aleksander at all. Even telling you only the worst, bloody, dark stories of his past didn't change how you felt. And God knows how hard you tried to hate him after all this time you were running away from him and his people. "Ignoring me won't make your situation better. Only I can help you with this bond between you and my son; you know it well. Besides, you have a long road ahead of you. Your summoning skills are poor; he would defeat you with a wave of his finger. You are a better summoner of the sun than of the shadows."

"I am the moon summoner. Not some strange hybrid." You huff offendedly, stroking your thumb over the back of your left hand—more specifically, the small scar left after Morozova's stag amplifier.

"Moon summoner? Who called you that?"

"Your son." You say scathingly, enjoying the silence that came after your words.

You congratulate yourself as the smirk disappears from her face. You fondly remember how he gave you that nickname during one of your late-night meetings in his war room.

You were both night owls; it made sense that you would want to spend your time with the general who personally trained you in the use of shadows rather than senselessly tossing and turning in your bed, waiting for a sleep that would never come, right? Besides, over time, you went to his chambers to toss and turn in HIS bed. And not because you couldn't sleep...

"You still can't see it? He only wanted your power. Nothing more. He cares more about Alina than you, since your powers are weaker than theirs. You can control two elements and be the first to summon shadows and not be from our family, but you will never compare to them. And Aleksander is a greedy man, like all of them. He won't be satisfied with a naive girl whose powers depend on the time of day."

"I understand." You answered calmly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the woman staring at you in shock, believing for a moment that you had actually moved on. But you can't stop a small, mocking smile from appearing. "Instead of standing here and looking at me stupidly, you'd better check on the others. I hope Zoya hasn't killed poor Mal yet."

"Silly girl. May the saints watch over you." She comments, shaking her head.

"Your good saints don't need to lift a little finger! I can fix him." You hear her mutter something to herself as she walks away, leaving you alone and not even responding to your taunt.

You sigh, playing with the sleeve of your coat as you stare at the fold. You could have fixed him. Really. He didn't need much. He was a good man, and maybe others didn't see in him what you did, but you deeply believed that the real Aleksander Morozova still lived under the mask of the Darkling.

All you had to do was get him out. And only you were able to do it.

You close your eyes, letting the moonlight fall on your face as you focus to summon your own light. You sigh in defeat, playing with the tiny ball in your hands, which quickly dissolves the moment you let the shadows slip through your fingers—as usual, too weak to summon a light bigger than your fist in the dark of night.

You pull the hood of your cloak over your head and go back to the camp, thinking about the nights when you could summon anything you wanted in Aleksander's arms. How dependent you had become on him... Alina had told you more than once that you should have known better than to listen and believe the enticing promises of monsters whispered in the darkness of night.

But was it really your fault that you still wished you could sink into the warmth of his embrace and sheets where you didn't have to worry about whether you'd live to see tomorrow? With Aleksander by your side, at least you never had to question your usefulness.

You were both his stars and his darkness. And while Baghra's whispers sometimes made you doubt it, in your dreams you remembered how much your Shadow Summoner valued your presence. And that despite how the world saw him, he wasn't really the villain in this story. He was just a fallen angel, a saint you had to put his halo back on and give the stars back to. Or at least that's what you wanted to believe.

After all, only you could fix him.

"And who is she?" Prince Nikolai's piercing gaze meets yours as you, Alina, Mal, and Baghra meet his band of rebels on the ship.

Alina told you that if you were to defeat Aleksander, who was growing stronger every day after the King of Ravka declared Grisha, who did not join the First Army public enemies, you needed to obtain an amplifier of some sea creature.

You didn't listen to her very much, though. You were busy talking to Aleksander at night... mostly trying to connect with him or watch him from the shadows. You only briefly listened to the plans they were making. After all, they didn't need you as long as Alina and Baghra were in good shape. You were only a spare summoner in case one of them did not have enough power. Another reason why you preferred to spend more of your time and energy trying to contact your Sasha.

Maybe at least he would consider you useful.

"Wait... I know you from somewhere... Aren't you the Darkling's girl? The one he gave flowers to at the Winter Festival?" A man with a ridiculous hat and guns at his side asks you. You roll your eyes at him, sighing.

"Yup. That was me." You admit it—a wave of whispers spreading across the deck of the ship. You feel the judging glances of the other crows at you.

"Poor girl. Fortunately, you've got it over with now. If you're lucky, next time you'll see him, he'll be dead." Nikolai comforts you, patting your shoulder. You move away from him, narrowing your eyes at him as you brush invisible dust from your arm—right where he touched you.

For them, his death would be a salvation. For you, it's the worst thing that could happen to you. Even worse than losing your own power.

"Oh, believe me, my prince. I can handle me a dangerous man like him." You reply, ignoring the angry look Alina gives you.

Nikolai chuckles awkwardly, responding with something joking to your remark. The group gathers in the captain's office over a table with reports, papers, maps, and Morozova's notes. They are discussing the plan, but you can't focus too much on it. You stare at the map, wondering where Aleksander could be right now, as memories of the Winter Fete come flooding back to you.

"I don't recall this thing as a part of the schedule. I thought it was only you and Alina who entertained people while I was looking lovely while standing next to the Fedyor and Genya for the whole night." You say it in an accusatory tone as you enter his chambers. You hear his small, deep chuckle as he closes the door behind you and turns on the lights in the room.

"And here I thought that flowers would help me get into your good graces, and you would forget that I dared to save you from the king's wandering eyes and keep you for myself in our shadows." He replies teasingly, slowly walking around the war table to join you.

"The flowers are pretty... but I'd like you to remember that I don't just control shadows. I am the moon summoner. A combination of both light and dark. You called me that yourself. So don't underestimate me just because I can't yet do what you and Alina can do." He frowns at your words and shakes his head. He brushes away some stray strands of hair that had fallen out of your elaborately styled hairstyle made by Genya and stares at you intently.

If you could, you would stare into his dark, chocolate eyes forever. And you weren't even ashamed of it.

"I don't underestimate you. I'm protecting you. Alina had already caught their attention—the king and his pampered prince. I don't want you to be next. Besides... am I so selfish that I want you to shine just for me?" His (not so innocent) question and the sweet smile he gives you make your heart melt for him. You pull him towards you by the collar of his kefta and kiss him sweetly, lazily caressing his plush lips with yours.

Aleksander Kirigan was addictive. His kisses were sweeter than the sweetest dessert you had ever eaten in the Little Palace's kitchen late at night with him, and his scent was intoxicating in the most dangerous way. You would never forgive yourself if you lost him; you couldn't imagine how your life would have looked if he hadn't shown up, literally swept you off your feet, and didn't take you into his strong arms.

You didn't know what he saw in you that convinced him to make you his, but you decided not to question it as long as he was your man and only yours. Even if he was a bit possessive at times.

"A little... but I think I can handle it." You whisper as you break apart after getting out of breath. His thumb caresses your cheek tenderly as he looks at you, smiling. You feel the light flow out of you under his touch. "How does it work? That you make me unleash my powers no matter the time of day?"

"You just need… a little boost. Once we find Morozova's stag, I'll make sure that you will get an amplifier from its bones. You'll be able to control shadows and light regardless of the position of the sun or moon." He assures you, tracing a few pegs with his thumb on your waist, massaging you as he slowly pushes you towards the war table.

"How romantic... men give their ladies jewellery, chocolates, and other sweet things, and I will get a bone amplifier from my man."

"Your man?" He asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow at you. His hands rest gently on your hips, playing with the fabric of your black kefta as he leans over you. His nose brushes against yours, and his dark eyes never leave yours as he plays with your belt, slowly undoing it.

"Aren't you one?" You answer his question with your own as he undoes the buttons on your kefta. He slides it gently onto the war table behind you, leaving you in your black silk dress. You shiver as his fingertips touch the bare skin of your arm and collarbone.

"I think I am..." He whispers, placing kisses on your neck. You purr as he coaxes both moans and light from you. You feel the heat on your skin grow with every second his mouth explores your skin, your power wanting to burst out of you to light up his war room.

"Aleks.. hmph..." You gasp as his lips connect with yours in a frenzied kiss.

You give him everything he demands. Your mouth, your tongue, your moans, your light, and your darkness, to play with as he sees fit. Nothing matters to you except his touch and his mouth and the way he uses them to caress you in the most lustful and pleasurable way, dedicated only to two people with a true, strong, untamed, and unpredictable connection.

You feel like he's everywhere. He is in your body, soul, heart, and mind. Your every little thought, breath, heartbeat, and moan of pleasure belongs to him. And he enjoys them immensely, almost as much as you enjoy his service. Aleksander serves your pleasure as he does to his Grisha—completely losing himself in you, giving you everything he possibly can. He is fucking you in the most demanding and breathtaking way, making you feel like nothing else exists for you but him.

As always, he's your crutch as you dig your fingers into him for a foothold, your muscles completely failing you as he guides you over the edge of bliss. Light floods the room, dispelling the shadows you and Aleksander had summoned earlier. He could just as easily take your powers away at that moment, and all you'd do is thank him and beg him for more.

You tug on his hair, pulling him into a kiss as you feel his movements become less regular and more desperate as he too approaches the peak of his pleasure. You find that the beautiful music that drifts through the window of the Grand Palace cannot compare to the sound your Darkling makes as he lets go of his control and restraint completely and allows himself to lose himself in you.

His shadows consume the room, making you see nothing, but at the same time you feel so much… and you can't say you don't like it.

You’re glad you can bite into his skin to muffle your moans a little. At least it’ll allow you to look Ivan in the eyes when you leave this room with Aleksander after Ivan calls him on urgent business.

Although your heartbeat remains unchanged as Aleksander’s hand grips yours tightly when he leads you through the corridors of the Little Palace. And from the uncomfortable grunt of the heartrender, you suspect that Aleksander’s heart is beating at least as fast in his chest as in yours. And it’s not all because of the adrenaline rush of learning of your sister’s sudden disappearance.

"I can feel your breathing on my neck, Aleksander." You whisper into the darkness, standing on the bow of the ship and staring at the foamy sea in front of you.

You shiver as familiar arms wrap around your waist. His warmer, bearded cheek rests against yours as you peacefully stare at the nightscape in front of you. Aleksander's fingertips stroked your sea serpent scale bracelet—your second amplifier that you, Alina, and her great team managed to get a few hours ago.

"You are becoming more and more powerful, milaya. Too powerful for my taste." He murmurs against your ear, and teasingly licks your lobe with his tongue. You tremble in his arms, biting your lip as you try to find some shred of control.

"Now that we don't talk, I don't care much. You should rather go and torment my sister, good Saints know that's your favorite thing to do lately." You huff and untangle yourself from his arms (which he reluctantly allows you to do). You walk to the starboard side and ignore him completely, playing with the shadows that came with his 'projection'.

"Jealous?" He asks teasingly. He acts too smug for your liking as he stands next to you and brushes your arm with his.

You don't know how exactly your connection allows him to appear next to you at any time he wants, but you don't like it, not when you can't do something similar and torment him whenever you want.

"About you? Never. We both know you're mine. But that doesn't mean I'm not irritated by you trying to seduce my sister into your plans." You reply, focussing your gaze on him. You allow yourself to take a closer look at the scars on his face—a new thing about his appearance besides the kefta in yours and his colours that Alina had mentioned to you.

The fold had clearly hurt you in more ways than one. And looking at Aleksander you can't help but feel sorry for him, because you imagine how much those wounds must have hurt him. You wonder if it hurt him more than when you both broke your hearts back on the ship in the fold.

Even more so, you cannot understand why he insists on keeping the fold and widening it.

"To be honest, I was hoping you'd react to my little... tamptetion of your sister and come to me to knock some sense into me. Then I could tie you to my bed and keep you with me. Maybe I should collar you like I did to Alina, since you ran away from me and betrayed not only me but also our people, our Grisha. Tell me, did my dear mother also convince you that she gave birth to a monster? Are you afraid of me, malyshka? Are you disgusted by the things I taught you and did to you in the darkness?"

"Not at all. You've been such an angel in those nights… pleasing me so well with your silver-tongue. What a shame you decided that you'd rather play with Ravka than with my pussy." You reply, running your hand over his jaw teasingly.

His beard is longer than usual, rougher, and standing so close to him you can see the outline of the black bags under his eyes. The civil war took its toll on him. But he was still too damn handsome to resist.

"Look how I depraved you, my sweet, little, innocent Saint. Just a few months ago, you blushed at my mere words—not to mention my touch—and completely forgot to respond with anything of your own. What a diligent student you became, milaya. Have you found a new teacher yet?"

"Why did you ask? Haven't you found some new students?" You ask mockingly, pushing his wandering hand away from your waist.

"Why should I waste my time teaching someone the tricks I've already shown you? It is much easier and more advantageous, for me, to find you and drag you with me back to the Little Palace than even start to look around for someone else. After all, I didn't spend that sleepless night, teaching you how to please me, just to let the other man enjoy the fruits of my hard work."

"Who said no one else than you haven't enjoyed it already?"

He responded to your teasing question with a low growl. He grabs your hips tightly, making sure that you won't run away from him and press his hips to your ass. Goosebumps appear on your skin, and your heartbeat speeds up when you feel his manhood against your body.

"You wouldn't dare. You know I would kill anyone who would even think about touching you. You are mine, my little moon. All mine."

"Right now, you are too far away to order me or claim your right to me, Aleksander. What a pity… especially when there are so many men who could be called mine instead of you." You said and pushed him away from you. "Have fun at your war." You growl at him and move to go under the ship's deck.

But you don't make it far away from him. After just a few steps, Aleksander grabs your arm and pulls you to his chest. Shadows swirl around you, making you unable to see anything. All you can feel is their coldness, the warmth emanating from Aleksander's chest, and his scent, which is like a drug to you after a long withdrawal—more addictive than anything in the world.

"Why the rush? Don't you want to spend a few more minutes with me? The Saints know I would. Very much so." He murmurs to your ear, making you shiver as his hands are holding you tightly, his fingertips dig into your arm, probably leaving you bruised the next day.

"Before or after you will destory half of the Ravka?"

"I haven't decided yet." He growls and leans towards you. Before you can react, he's tangling his hand in your hair and pulling you in, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

You gasp, enjoying the sudden, unexpected feeling of his soft lips on yours. You instinctively tangle your hand in his night-black hair and pull him closer to you, biting his lower lip. You moan at the taste of his blood on your tongue, his fingers digging into your waist. He lifts you, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist as he pins you against the wooden wall of the ship.

He takes your air, every logical thought, and every heartbeat, stealing everything that's left of you to remind you that every last bit of you was tainted by him and will forever belong to him. No matter what he did, Alexander had claimed every last bit of you, all of you, and left nothing for anyone else, as if he would ever allow another person's lips to touch the places that were his.

His lips move to your neck, nibbling there and leaving a trail of hickies. His beard tickles your skin as you feel the familiar tingle of sunlight trying to break through you as his skin meets yours.

You freeze, realising that Aleksander is standing before you in his own flesh. This isn't a vision, a nightmare, or anything else. It's him. The REAL HIM.

You take a deep breath, but before you can say or scream, Aleksander's large, calloused hand covers your lips, which are chapped from the sea air.

"I told you I'd come back for you, milaya. No matter how far or fast you run, I'll always find you and bring you back to your rightful place. At my side." He whispers in your ear, sending a cold shiver down your spine and your heart racing, adrenaline pumping as you try to summon your shadows.

Any hopes you have of escaping are dashed by the sight of Ivan's red kefta behind Aleksander. Heartrender quickly slows your heart rate, sending you into a sleep state. The last thing you see as you collapse into the Darkling's arms is a bright light that must be coming from your sister. And part of you is glad you're unconscious. It means you don't have to look her in the eyes as you realise your mistake.

Strangely enough, you don't wake up on a ship at sea. Or handcuffed in some filthy cell. You wake up in a comfortable, warm bed in an unfamiliar chamber.

You sigh, stretching your aching muscles. You roll over, pulling the black silk sheets off of you, rubbing your hand over your eyes as the sunlight hits them.

You are surprised to find no one around you. Not a single living soul. You suspect that Aleksander has placed a heartrender by your door to watch over you. You decide to get out of bed and investigate your surroundings.

Your legs tremble as you slowly get out of bed. You steer yourself towards the window, using the wall as a support. You gasp as you see the buildings through the window, the houses of Os Alta, and most of all the familiar structure that was the Little Palace.

You shiver as the door suddenly opens with a bang. You turn around, watching Ivan carefully as he enters the room.

"You're finally awake. The Tsar wants to see you." He informs you and walks over to the closet. He pulls out a black kefta and hands it to you. You stare at the material for a moment, trying to make sense of what's happening around you.

"I won't wear this." You say stubbornly, refusing to wear his colors. You're too angry at him for kidnapping you to grant him any more small victories in your... little war.

"I doubt it will make him angry. Probably quite the opposite." Ivan comments, significantly lowering his gaze to the nightgown you have been dressed in.

You roll your eyes at him and yank the black cloth out of his hands. You expect to see an all-black kefta, similar to the one Alexander gave you at the Winter Fete, but you are… surprised to see embroidered silver detailing on the sleeves. You raise an eyebrow at Ivan, but he seems to ignore you, patiently waiting to be escorted to the throne room to face the new Tsar.

You reluctantly follow the heartrender, aware that your power is limited by the metal bracelet on your wrist—an accessory you remember vividly from when the Darkling entered the fold with you, Alina, and the Ravkan dignitaries.

You shiver uncontrollably as you remember what happened in the fold.

It was your first time crossing the fold, and Aleksander knew it, as well as the fact that you were afraid to cross the creation that killed your parents. Your only consolation was that now, if need be, you could summon at least a small ball of light to scare away the volcra. And that Alina would be there with you. But your Shadow Summoner had never even mentioned to you that your sister would join you on the ship against her will. A small omission of fact that had been happening to him more and more often lately.

"I can hear your thoughts." As if on cue, he stands right behind you. His hand—the one with the amplifier—reaches for yours and intertwined your fingers, squeezing your hand tightly in his grip.

"It's a pity that you only hear them and don't think about them even for a moment." You reply snidely, swallowing hard as you stare at your sister’s collar. When her gaze meets yours, you drop your gaze to her shoes.

"It had to be done. You know it."

"Do I? You haven't been telling me anything lately. You just keep saying that I'm too weak to fulfil your plans and that you need Alina." You reply angrily, turning to look into his dark as fold eyes. You shiver as you watch him clench his jaw and narrow his gaze at you, trying to ignore the curious glances of the invited nobility as he is trying to respond calmly to your allegations.

"I never said you were too weak. I said you needed an amplifier to unlock your true potential."

"And what difference does it make?" You snap at him madly, wishing you had more control over your emotions than he does. You guess it'll take you ages to master the ability of keeping up your mask of indifference like he does.

"That I know what you're truly capable of. Don't you think I'd rather stand by your side as we pursue our plan? Do you think that I wanted to do this to your sister? That I'm the monster my mother painted for her and you? Everything I do, I do for the sake of Grisha. For us. For you. I… I just need a little trust from you. That's all I'm asking, milaya."

"And you need to know how hard it is to trust you when my sister is chained to the floor of the ship, with a collar around her neck so you can control her powers." You whisper, voice breaking, holding back the tears as you face both your immense love for the man before you and your hatred for what he did to your sister.

"She never wanted it."

"But now she wants. Just like I never thought you could be more than the Black General to me, and here we are." At your words, he softens a little. He sighs and looks around. You can see that he is struggling with his thoughts, that he is considering your words, but you know as well as he does that your relationship is too weak for him to change his entire plan with one word from you.

You shiver, not from the cold that your black coat, strikingly similar to the one he wears, protects you from, but from a premonition of what's about to happen. Something you definitely won't like. But you allow yourself to delude yourself a little longer that everything will be okay. You reach for his hand and place a quick kiss on it, pressing your lips not to the bony amplifier but to his skin, which makes his gaze focus fully on yours again. As if you really were going to be his light in the darkness.

"Please... just don't prove me wrong. Don't make me regret trusting you so blindly." He doesn't respond to your pleas—something that should make you at least a little suspicious. But he doesn't. Instead, he tangles his hand in your hair, pulling you closer. He presses a kiss to your forehead, appreciating the feeling of your body against him for a moment longer before he lets you go completely to take care of Alina.

Now you know it was a farewell, that he knew you would not accept how he used your sister's power to intimidate those on the ship, engulfing Novo-Kirbirks in the darkness of the Fold.

Then everything happened so fast. And you're really grateful to Alina for dragging you to another ship, even though you were cursing her name and howling in the darkness of the Folds louder than the volcras. Because you know you would have jumped after Aleksander regardless, trying to protect him at all costs from the monsters he himself had created.

“We’re here.” Ivan announces, pulling you out of your thoughts. You literally only had a few seconds to prepare yourself to confront Aleksander before you were shoved into the throne room, the doors slamming shut behind you.

Before your eyes land on the Tsar, you allow yourself to scan the room for a moment. The throne room underwent a major renovation. It resembled one of the rooms of the Little Palace more than the former throne room of the Lantsovs.

As you might expect, the dominant colours are black and gold. Surprisingly, instead of sitting on his new black marble throne engraved with a solar eclipse, Aleksander is standing at a round table with a map of Ravka. His gaze meets yours, sending an electric shiver through you.

But what surprises you the most is that there are two thrones present in the throne room. Not one. And the second one has an engraving of a crescent moon.

"I heard you called yourself tsar, but somehow the rumor about you taking over the capital never reached me."

"You might have slept through it, Sankta Y/N." He responds to your mockery with his own. You wrinkle your nose at the sound of your most hated nickname.

"And how long exactly was I in that forced nap?" You ask, walking towards him with your arms folded. You lift your chin at him as he frowns at your defensive posture.

He puts down the reports he was reading before you arrived and takes a step towards you. You resist the instinct that tells you to back away from him, just as the one that demands from you to come closer to him and snuggle into him.

You marvel at how he managed to evoke in you both blazing fear and rage, as well as lust and love. The desire to be close to him seemed unable to weaken at all. No matter what he did, a part of you would always be his. And it was something you strangely didn't want to fight.

"A few weeks."

"Hmm… how nice. And how many times have you used my powers in your little plan to take over the title of Tsar, the Grand Palace, and well, probably all of Ravka in those few weeks?" You ask snidely, glancing briefly at Ravka's map and the papers on the table.

"You sound like you're suggesting that this was something I wanted to do, or at least something a little enjoyable for me. And I thought that you, of all people, knew me at least a little better."

"Do I?" You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, staring straight into those dark irises, trying to ignore the black scars on his face that you haven't had a chance to get used to yet. You can't help but wonder how he's put up with his... new face.

"You're asking me?"

"And who should I? Of the two of us, I'm not the master of half-truths here." You question him, undeterred by the shadows around him growing thicker with each of your mocking words.

"It wasn't a half-truth… I just kept some things in the dark to protect you."

"And look where your defending me has gotten us. What exactly were you trying to defend me from? From your mother, Fjerdan, Drüskelle, or perhaps from yourself, Aleksander?"

"I… it wasn't supposed to be like this."

You sigh, taking a step towards him. You place one hand on his kefta, just above his heart, and with the other, you cup his bearded cheek, forcing him to look at you.

"So tell me. Let me in on your plans. Don't treat me like a pawn in your game, but as your equal. Unless you do consider me as someone beneath you."

"You ARE my equal." He quickly confirms and takes your hand (the one resting on his chest) in a tight grip, intertwining your fingers as he stares at you pleadingly, feeling how close he is to having you on his side.

And all Aleksander ever wanted was to not be alone in his fight for Grisha. And he would have that. He would have you even if you ran away from him, screamed at him, called him a monster, and cursed him to the saints, if it meant he would never have to struggle against the world alone again.

"So start treating me like one." You reply and look pointedly at the bracelets on your wrists.

You see the internal battle that is going on inside him. You see him struggling to let you in and to be as vulnerable with you as you have allowed yourself to be with him. You know his past, you know perfectly well what he's struggled with, what he's been through over the hundreds of years, but if he wanted you on his side, he had to at least show you in some way that he was able to trust you the way you trusted him.

"I… you can't expect me to… after all this…"

"You once asked me to trust you. I did. Why can't I expect the same from you?" You ask, looking at him expectantly. "Do you think I am capable of hurting you more than you've already hurt me, moi Tsar?"

"That was never my intention." He frowns, refuting your accusations. He steps back, creating some distance between you, giving in to his defensive reflexes. But you don't back down. You'll make a good boy out of him and make him come to you and fall into your trap. He just needed a little push...

"I know. Which doesn't change the fact that I pay a price for loving you, and you, Aleksander? It would be so much easier for me to hate you. But I can't. I don't want to. So please, for OUR sake, don't give me a reason to."

You look up at him pleadingly with your most beautiful doe eyes and stop your lips from forming a smile when you see the effect it has on him as he slowly begins to melt his attitude.

You take a step towards him and grab him by the collar of his kefta. He stiffens for a moment but calms down when you pull him to rest your forehead against his. He sighs shakily and tangles a hand in your hair, stroking your temple with his thumb.

"Aren't you tired? Of fighting all the time, giving them everything and never getting anything in return? How many lives have you spent sacrificing yourself to Grisha, and how many have truly belonged to you?" You whisper and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His beard tickles yours and you smile slightly at the familiar, comforting feeling. You open your eyes and stare into his dark irises, mumbling against his lips. "We could have had this, Aleksander. We could have made Ravka stronger together, united Grisha and Otkazat'sya, built an empire the likes of which no one had ever seen before. We still can. I can convince Alina and the rest that you can be trusted, that our goals are aligned, only two paths lead to them, which we can connect, everything can still be changed. You no longer have to fight alone."

"You think I haven't tried their way? Grisha will never be treated as their equals. Not if we don't use force, if we don't instill fear in them."

"Aleksander... they are already afraid enough. Please. Let's find the last amplifier and end this. Don't you think it's taking too long? We can repel the Fjerdan, stop the Drüskelle attacks, intimidate the Shu Han, and bring peace and security, but only by combining our forces."

"It's too late for that."

"Who said that?" You ask, stroking the black scar on his cheek with your fingertip. He trembles under your touch, burying his face in your hand.

"They won't see me as anything more than a monster."

"Now yes. But I can show them the real you. My man."

"Your man?" He raises an eyebrow at you, placing a hand on your shoulder and caressing your collarbone tenderly. You shiver as you feel the power flow through you, answering the amplifier’s call.

"Aren't you?" You whisper, looking at him from under your lashes and lightly biting your lower lip.

A moment later, he gives in and leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sigh, tangling your hands in his hair and pressing your body against his. He pulls you back with him and sinks into the throne, with you on his lap.

You move your hands to his chest and slowly undo the clasps of his kefta, peeling the black material off of it. Alexander pulls away from your mouth and presses kisses along your jaw and neck, nipping and biting at your skin, marking it with hickeys as you work to undo his shirt.

You hold your breath and stop your movements as the bracelets on your wrists are suddenly removed. Aleksander places tender kisses on them, causing both light and shadow to flow from your fingers. You sigh, pressing your lips to his forehead and burying your nose in his hair, inhaling his scent.

"I think I am." He mumbles against the skin of your neck, his beard giving you small tickles that make your lips curve into a little smile. You lazily run your fingers through his hair and pull away so you can look at him.

You trace the black scar on his cheek with your fingertips, caressing it gently. Aleksander holds his breath for a moment and places his hand on your thigh, squeezing it when you touch a particularly sensitive spot on his still-aching wounds. Your heart aches to see him like this. You swear to yourself that this is the last time you'll leave him with his shadows, that you'll let anyone tear you from his arms and leave him alone in the darkness.

As you sit on his lap in his throne room... your throne room, you wonder how the hell you're going to explain this to Alina and the others. You wonder how you're going to convince them that you haven't completely lost your minds to the man beneath you and how to convince them that you both have only the best interests of Ravka in mind and have no intention of harming anyone in the process of increasing the freedom, security, and importance of Grisha.

You decide that's a problem for another time. Right now, you were happy to bask in Aleksander's embrace, warmth, and scent.

"Moya tsaritsa..." He whispers in your ear as he works on taking off your kefta.

Yep, you could definitely fix him... or at least that's what you wanted to think as he showed you heaven in the ruins of what was once Ravka. After all, a fallen angel is also an angel.

[blkmorticia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝟐 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. AARON TAYLOR JOHNSON X BLACK!READER

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. In which Aaron finds his obsession for y/n goes deeper than he thought.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 16560 (yes. you read that correctly.)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. Dark!ATJ + Panty Kink + Mentions Of Infidelity + Age Gap + Smut + Possessive Religious Man!

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. Thank you for the amazing notes and reblogs from previous chapter. It really means a lot. I want to thank you guys with chapter two so I hope y’all enjoyed this! :3

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑. Any nasty comments will be deleted and blocked! If you are a minor do not interact with this post at all.

1

“They tested God in their heart by demanding the food they craved.” –Psalm 78:18

“Honey, I'm home!” Sam yells out.

The sound of the garage door opening awakens him from his depressing dilemma.

His brows wrinkle in confusion. He moans distastefully. He forgot his wife had went out and came back with groceries. Aaron stood up— groaning, regretting a knot on his back for staying in a slumped position, fixing his attire to look presentable.

Ten years.

They’ve been married for ten years. Marriage has gotten boring for him. The fire he once had for her has slowly been dying out the moment he laid eyes on y/n. Sam was nothing compared to her. His wife is too controlling. She was docile. His wife talks as if she croaks. She sounds as sweet as honey. Aaron can go on and on for hours how Sam was nothing like Y/N. Nothing like the sort of girl he wanted—no, needed.

He is greeted with his wife frantically putting things away. She doesn't notice his presence.

Aaron clears his throat and she then turns to face him. “Oh, Hi—Aaron, would you mind helping me with groceries? I have to prepare food for Michael's football night.”

Ah.

He had forgotten that tonight was the night he’d see his best friend and you. He goes ahead to help Sam, trying to get rid of his thoughts and ignoring how his cock hardens thinking about you. Michael and him have been friends for a long time when he moved into the neighborhood and their bond has been unbreakable. Church every Sunday, occasional football nights, and helping each other out with anything they need from each other. It was safe to say they had formed a brotherhood with one another.

Y/n was introduced to Aaron after a year she had come back from college. The very first time he met her, he was in awe of her beauty. Oh, so in awe. He was in love with her innocence, how she was so soft, so shy with everyone. He leans over the counter watching his wife washing dishes and a look of disgust comes onto his face. He doesn’t know how he can think like this or how he can get rid of such thoughts. God is punishing me for not being a good husband, he thinks.

“Should i make a rotel dip tonight?”, Sam asks. he doesn't catch what she says, given how much he’s thinking about y/n. He couldn't really care less about the fucking dip. All he wanted was to be in her presence and just to hear her honey-like voice again.

“Huh? Repeat that again?”

His wife turns to face him in annoyance and repeats, “Should I make rotel dip for the game night?”

He shrugs his shoulders in agreement. He barely gives a fuck about what she does. “Sure, it’s perfect for game night. We already have the chips for it.” and with that, he gives her a smile— satisfied with his answer, she goes ahead and starts preparing.

His face falls in exhaustion, dealing with a wife like her. He can’t wait to go over to y/n's house and take his mind off of Sam.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The sound of laughter and men surrounding each other filled up the living room as their favorite team scored another point.

Aaron was grinning from ear to ear enjoying his time with his friends, however, in the back of his mind— he wanted to know where you were at. You were nowhere to be found and he felt anxious before his inner thoughts were interrupted by the very sound of your laughter, immediately threatening to make him hard.

His sweet girl.

You just arrived home with a friend. He looks unfamiliar. Aaron feels a pang of jealousy go through his heart. That young man had a decent look going on for him but Aaron knows in his heart that God blessed him with looks as well— enough for the church members to throw themselves at him—as well, yes. He knew.

The sounds around him were deafening, clenching his beer as he drank, eyeing you carefully so nobody catches him in his odd perversion. His eyes pan to his wife chatting with other people, looking at her lips and all he can think about is the croaking sounds he hopes she’d make. Crudely snickering, he excuses himself to the kitchen to get another beer.

He crouches down to open the cooler, halfway through, you walk into the kitchen. He immediately recognizes the perfume you always use. It's enough to catch his attention. He turned his head— and only his head— to see you leaning back on the wall looking at your friend with a bored look evident on your face. Aaron understands. He would rather go somewhere fun too. Somewhere forbidden. Grabbing his beer, he pops the cap open to drink, and does so quite noticeably. Your eyes fall on Aaron. You brighten up, pushing yourself from the wall and throw your arms around him for a hug.

“Mr. Johnson!”

He's taken aback by the hug. Surprised, even. His body almost jerks from the impact but he's able to relax himself. He knows he can sense his heart beating fast anxiously. He lets go (almost reluctantly), and puts a hand on your shoulders to look at you. He doesn’t want you to feel his heartbeat, thumping and getting faster as if threatening to jump out. “Y/N! Why are you guys sulking and pouting by yourself?” You jut your lips out to a pout and your friend rolls his eyes at your dramatic behavior. “it’s reallllly boring.” Aaron chuckles in response at how you dragged the word ‘really’.

“Er- are you going to introduce me to your friend or they’re better off as being mysterious?”, He teases. He loves making you laugh to make things less awkward. The mysterious guy in question looks around, sheepishly embarrassed that he is noticed by the older man.

“Oh! Mr. Johnson, this is my best friend, Fabien, and Fabien— this is my dad’s best friend, Mr. Johnson!". Both of the men shake hands. Fabien shakes Aaron's hand politely but furrows his brows, nervous that the older man returns a tighter, firm one instead.

“Nice to meet you, son. it’s not everyday I meet y/n’s friends", Aaron says, enjoying seeing the nervous look on that man’s face. That's right. He should be nervous. He’s been watching her for so long— she rarely brings friends over. This was both a foreign feeling and a motivating one. He had felt jealousy before, when knowing he couldn't have her— but motivation to have her? It was new. It was exhilarating. God would forgive him for stalking but he’d like to assure himself now that he was doing it out of good intentions.

“Y-Yeah, we were studying at the library and she invited me for free food. Can't say no to that!” He stammers, voice cracking. You roll your eyes, embarrassed.

“Well, welcome to the Y/L/N house. Make yourself at home and help yourself with the food. My wife makes good chips and dip.”

Aaron doesn't notice the mention of his wife’s name made your smile fall. He pats the young man on the back and kisses you on the forehead. Your spine tingles— shamefully. “I’ll let you kiddos go. I'm going to excuse myself to the restroom," He lies behind a smile.

Once excusing himself, he looks around to make sure nobody isn’t following behind him before heading upstairs. He checks the hallways to make sure no guests were wandering about, a bit nervous.

You see, Aaron lied.

He wasn’t really planning on using the bathroom. What he really wanted to do was go to your bedroom. He discretely turns the bathroom lights on and locks the door to make it seem it was occupied. A smart man— when desperate, it seemed. He knows what her door looks like, as how he always made sure to walk past it every time he visited. He stood in front of the door that was covered with a plethora of stickers and smiles rather fondly. Stroking the stickers, he admires Y/N's admiration for the softer, feminine things. He once again looks around before entering the room, steps heavy yet his heart pumping with shameless excitement.

Aaron is welcomed by the soft pink color theme of the room, posters upon posters on the wall of bands and pictures of her family. He allows himself to take a whiff of the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla spice that fills the air, each recognizable aroma reminding him of Y/N. He knows his cock shamelessly hardens. This is the first time he had stepped a foot in her room, but perhaps the hundredth time he's thought about it. It's much more different than when he watches her get undressed from his office. He gently strokes Y/N's pink filly sheets and her white teddy bear that he had always seen her dance with in her room. He shook his head, trying to get his plan into action. He wants her panties and he will politely borrow them for his own pleasure. Aaron is sure you won't even notice them go missing.

He pulls each drawer down to find the panties he’s been craving for and after what seems to be a while, he finds his favorite pair. The same ones he had only gotten a glance of earlier that day back in the shrouded shadows of his office. He takes a whiff, moaning to himself almost painfully. it— no, she has that lovely smell that he had always imagined. Always desired, craved. He couldn’t help himself but took a pair— or two. You wouldn’t notice. You love buying clothes. He buries y/n in his back pocket and pats on it, happy that he got his own gift. He was almost like a mesmerized child, his mind of delusions acting as his toy.

He carefully places everything back to the way it was and tidies everything to make it seem nobody else was in her room. Untouched and pure— like Y/N. He heads out of her room, making sure not to forget about the bathroom then makes his way back down. He resumes his unsuspected position back into the party, laughing with his wife and enjoying company— a devilish smile growing as something further down grows as well. Nobody in this room suspects that he has Michael's dear daughter's underwear in his pocket and oh— doesn't it feel so wrong yet so good?

If he can’t have her, he will have a part of her for himself to keep.

Aaron’s mouth curls into a familiar devilish grin. He slides his hands down to his wife’s lower back, stroking her spine, and leans closer to his wife’s ear, “Let’s go home.” his voice makes Sam visibly shudder. Her face flushes, agreeing that it is almost late and they must go home.

The ride home was silent yet loud with sexual tension. No words were spoken.

Neither of them makes the first move.

Aaron follows Sam to the kitchen and eyes her body up and down. He leans his body over the counter and sees her squeezing her thighs to hide her arousal, trying to act normal while she cleans the dishes. His nose crinkles with disgust. He needs to get this over with— he certainly isn’t attracted to her but he still has to do his husbandly duties.

He can sense her anxiety spiraling into her body. Aaron makes his way to her and wraps his arms around her waist, nuzzling against Sam's neck.

“I-I have to clean the dishes,” She stammers, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“And? We can do it here just fine," He replies bluntly. He places a soft lick to her neck, and the blonde parts her lips to let out a soft moan, tilting her head back in pleasure. It's her sensitive spot and he knows. He slides the hems of Sam's nightgown downwards, stroking her hips before pulling her panties down to her knees in a swift motion.

Sam spins around to face him and her hands travel to Aaron's buttons, attempting to unbutton them but Aaron's grabs hold on her hands to stop her.

“Don’t," He interjects, eyes locked onto hers.

"Turn."

Aaron knew it wasn’t really about her. He just wanted it quick and done. He pivots her body, facing her towards the kitchen island. There's hunger overtaking his mind. He knows he isn’t hard because of his wife. He's hard because of you. Your panties are still hidden in his back pocket. He knows this might be the only way he can be this close to you. The brunet roughly bends Sam over the kitchen island, tracing her lips and parting it, quickly feeling her getting slick onto his fingers. It was overwhelming for her, he knew, his fingers are a gift from God. She grips the edge of the island to keep her knees from buckling. Despite hating her, Aaron loves that he had that effect on women, even ones as bothersome as Sam. A simple rub or touch would make them fall into the palm of his hands and he thinks about this as he slowly opens her up with his finger and feels slick coating him more and more before opening her with a second finger.

His breathing starts to get unstable when he realizes It's time to actually fuck her. His mind shifts to the panties as motivation— and there. In front of him isn’t his wife but you. God, he imagines— knows you would look so pretty under him. He runs his hands down the back of the dress to let it fall and leans over to kiss Sam's back but instead imagining it's yours he's kissing. He unbuckles his pants along with his boxers and lines his hardened cock up, sliding in so slowly that it has him groaning at just the tightness alone.

He can't help but close his eyes and vividly imagine you under him, whimpering at his touch and how tight, how warm you would feel around him. The feeling is practically unbearable and the desperation to fuck you both nice and deep turns insatiable. He wants to be your first everything. He wants to be the first to take your innocence. To handle your purity like how God handles his. "You" were so desperate and "your" moans and cries falling from “your lips” were everything he dreamt about.

“F-Fuck Aaron! Give me more!”

He refuses to listen to his wife and his motions— slow and steady yet his imagination is unmoved. His thrusts continue to be rhythmic, his hands making his way to his back pocket to take Y/N's panties out for a sudden sniff.

The smell was intoxicating. It was everything. His thrusts were in control. He knows his wife is growing impatient and desperate with how he loves to fuck her painfully slow but she doesn’t know he want to savor the taste of his little sunshine’s panties. Beneath him, begging him to fuck her—you— harder. Aaron growls, saying that she is ruining the experience for him. Sam is unaware that this so-called 'experience' was a euphemism for this delusional vision of you under him. She tries to change positions but his hands tangle themselves into her golden locks, grabbing rough handfuls and dragging Sam back down to keep her face down on the table to avoid her seeing sniffing his little gift.

“Don’t fuckin’ move," he growls. “You feel so fucking good like this.” His praises were enough to make her overwhelmingly wet and he sighs, thanking God that she didn’t see him sniffing another woman’s panties. He changes up the pace of his thrusts, making her moan his name out loud, with Sam gripping the table to support herself because— fuck, he never fucks her like this with so much precision and passion.

He inhales the intoxicating panties yet again, already addicted and they give him the newfound power and crazed animalistic purpose to keep thrusting. He needs to see you underneath whimpering his name, wishing to hear you whimper 'Daddy'. He fucks Sam with such brutal, quickening pace and perhaps bruises her hips with the tight grip he has on her with his whitening hands. Her legs begin quivering under Aaron. He chuckles breathily, enjoying the power he has over her—over "you".

Sam is so close to her orgasm and so was Aaron. He continues to bruise her sweet spot over and over until her entire body shakes from cumming loudly onto his dick. and yet, he doesn’t stop. Aaron fucks her with an animalistic sort of pacing, thrusting into her ruthlessly, and the smell getting stronger and stronger as he rolls his eyes back—feeling himself getting near. He doesn’t want to cum inside of her— she doesn’t deserve that. He wants to reserve that cum for you. Like he said, he wants to be your first.

Oh god he’s so close, he’s so close! His thrusts begin to weaken down before he pulls out and spurts cum all over Sam's dress and the ceramic tile floor, flashes of your face running through his mind. His back hits the counter, his breathing and the sound of his heart beating loudly in his ear. The darker-haired male returns back to reality after a while and all that fills the room is their synchronized breathing and shared silence. It was good— they both knew. But Aaron was aware it wasn't Sam that made this session good.

He crumbles up your panties tightly in his hands to keep it hidden and stumbles away from his wife

who is still bend over catching her breath from the unusual— yet passionate fuck she received from her husband. Aaron’s heart pounds as he realizes the inevitable and his obsession rings loudly in his ears.

He has to fuck her. This cannot go on forever. Fucking hell— God is going to have to get used to this because he will take her.

[chainbakery]

Hello I hope your doing well! I was wondering if it would be ok if I request headcannon for all the linked universe boys and how they react to having a reader tag along them that specializes in dark magic. If not feel free to ignore this have a great day/night! :)

note: for this, i’ll try to be as close to jojo’s chain as i can, following some of the comments i could find about it. turned out shorter than expected, but i hope you like it! gn!reader, platonic.

There’s going to be a wall between the two of you the moment the nature of your magic is known. And with many of them having experience with different types of magic, this happens pretty much since the start.

It’s not you he has a problem with, but your magic itself.

He’s one with the strongest bias against dark magic, from his own experiences with it.

But, even if he doesn’t exactly like you, he won’t force you to leave. Like everyone else, you have a reason to be with them and a common enemy.

He’s going to avoid you most of the time though, at least being alone with you.

If you need some help with your equipment he doesn’t mind helping, but he’s distant.

It’ll take a long time for him to trust you, and it depends on yourself if this happens during the journey or if you go back home before you can fix this mistrust.

He might make a comment or two sometimes, if he thinks you’re being too reckless with your magic.

Even if you’re a good person, dark magic can change even the purest of hearts.

He’ll be a little hesitant at first, dark magic is usually something he has to fight against, after all.

Won’t last long if you show that you only use it for good though!

You’re someone fighting for the kingdom, just like all of them, so you’re alright in his book, dark magic or not.

Enjoys talking about magic with you and Legend. He knows a fair bit himself, but who knows? He might learn some new spells that don’t need to be done with dark magic specifically.

Once you make it clear that the darkness in your magic doesn’t fog your judgement, he doesn’t see it as different from normal magic.

The two of you might team up often. Between your spells and his own, no monster will last in the battlefield.

Just like Hyrule, he’ll be unsure about how to react, but it also doesn’t last long.

As the veteran of the group, he has dealt with different types of magic and people, and he understands that the nature of one’s magic doesn’t have to be the same as their own.

So, as long as you don’t do anything reckless, he won’t do anything against your dark magic.

What’s more, he’d love to ask you about any items or interesting spells you know!

He probably won’t use them, but some knowledge is never bad.

He’ll also defend you from some of the others who dislike dark magic.

Once again, just because dark magic is your specialty, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.

You won’t have his full trust, that’s something you need to earn, but he won’t treat you differently.

The chosen hero doesn’t have as much experience as many of the others, but he cares more about you than your magic.

You’re a good person fighting to save your home? That’s great!

He’ll have to be careful when handling the master sword around you, just in case.

He finds magic interesting, so feel free to show him some small tricks you can do.

Similar to Legend, he will defend you if others say anything about the nature of your magic.

Might asks you some questions to see if there are any similarities between your magic and the one his Zelda is learning how to wield properly.

Maybe the two of you can talk about it if you end up in his era!

Honestly, he can only compare your magic to Ghirahim’s or maybe Demise’s, but you’re obviously not like them.

He’s cautious, but doesn’t mind giving you a chance.

Dark magic is both dangerous and powerful, most times (if not always) it means sacrifice. He wonders how much you had to sacrifice to specialize in this type of magic.

He keeps his eye on you. Because he doesn’t fully trust you or because he’s worried about you? Only he knows.

Feel free to talk to him about your magic. He may not understand everything, but he can lend you an ear.

He’d rather you don’t use your magic too much, dark magic can consume someone rather quickly.

If this isn’t something that could happen to you, whatever the reason, tell him so. This way he won’t be as protective.

Conflicted. It would depend on the real source of your magic.

He himself has an item brimming with dark magic, but it’s twili magic.

If you confirm that it’s not magic to harm anyone else but the monsters trying to bring ruin to the kingdom, then he will give you his trust.

He wonders how similar your magic is to the one he’s seen and experienced.

He prefers to avoid most of it though, like most magic items.

So, even if he doesn’t mind it, he’d rather not have much to do with anything concerning your use of magic.

Tries not to say much if there’s a discussion about dark magic, he doesn’t want to slip up about Wolfie.

Talking about the wolf, you definitely knew it was him the moment you saw the large animal appear in the camp.

The magic in his pendant is hard to miss.

Much more conflicted than Twilight, due to personal reasons.

Cia’s dark magic will forever stay in his mind when it’s mentioned, even if he knows you are nothing like her.

It was a hard time, and all he could see and feel was her magic around the battlefield.

Then there were the dark versions of himself, made of his foolish actions and her magic.

It’ll take quite a while, and his trust in you may be shaky, but he’ll try to ignore his bias against it if he can see you’re a good person.

You are allies, and he doesn’t want to let his past struggles blind him.

If you avoid using much of your magic around him, with battles being an exception, he’d be grateful.

As long as you remain as someone fighting by his side, he’ll do his best to get along with you.

He may be a little unsure about how to feel about your magic, but will soon compare it to the one that lets Twilight change forms.

Your magic is nothing like the one he’s dealt with him. It may be dark, but it isn’t heartless.

Once he gets a bit more used to it, he’s definitely going to ask you a few questions!

Both to satiate his own curiosity and because he thinks his Zelda would also be interested.

With your permission, he’ll share the information with her. It could help with something.

Would like to watch if you train using your magic, he thinks it’s pretty cool.

Definitely asks if you can turn yourself into an animal just like a certain someone.

He thinks it’s really cool!

Look, he isn’t dumb. Dark magic is usually tied to monsters, but he can see that you aren’t a bad person, so let him have some fun.

He joins Wild when you’re training, it’s almost like you’re performing for them at this point.

Do you have any interesting stories about your magic to tell? He wants to know!

Overall, the one who cares the least about the nature of your magic.

You aren’t hurting anyone (except your enemies, of course) so why would he care?

Magic is magic, even if they’re from different sources.

[vintagegirl01]

Enough

Hunt Athalar x female reader.

Summary: You and Hunt have been dating for a while now. Despite how much you have grown to love him, you refrain from saying anything in fear that he is still in love with Shahar. You realize that this is far from the truth.

A/N: This is a bit of an alternative universe with the reader in Bryce’s place (love Bryce though, so please no attacking me 😂). There’s references to parts of the first and second book. Haven’t read the third book, so please no spoilers. Other than that, hope anyone reading this enjoys it.

“She’s nothing like Shahar.”

Before you could hear more, you quickly walk away from where Hunt stands before he can see you and walk out of the 33rd Legion.

____________________________________________

Hunt told you about Shahar.

About how much he loved her. How her death impacted him so much that he hadn’t had a serious relationship in centuries.

Though you were happy that he had trusted you enough to share that with you, you couldn’t help but feel as if you’d never compare to her for she was everything that you weren’t. Strong, brave, beautiful. But more importantly, an angel just like him.

You and Hunt met when he was assigned to guard you after some powerful individuals were out to get you in the hopes of using your power to gain information as you were a dream walker. A rare gift in Lunathion. Yet, it somehow existed in your family line. On your mother’s side to be exact. The last known person exemplifying this ability was your grandmother.

Despite Hunt being a bit standoffish initially, you both eventually grew close to one another as he was staying in your apartment until the bad guys were caught. Anyone with eyes could see the connection between the two of you as you did things together that couples would do. From going eating takeout together to a watching movies together.

However, things changed between the two of you when he came back to your house all beaten and bruised after a night of being sent on a mission to take care of some people. After helping him get cleaned up, you brought him to your room and cuddled. This eventually resulted in him falling asleep in your lap as you raked your fingers through his dark shoulder length hair.

It was at that moment you saw a tormented male trying to survive the horrors of his past. From that day on, you two became a couple. Though, it had to stay low profile until the baddies were caught. Once they were, you and Hunt continued to living together.

You had truly believed that everything between the two of you was going well until you heard that sentence.

You had know idea what hurt more, hearing those words come from Hunt’s mouth or the fact that he was telling his friends and colleagues this.

____________________________________________

After dinner, you and Hunt are sitting on the living room couch, watching a movie together. The space between you two is evident.

Since Hunt got home from work, the interactions you’ve had with him brief. Though you try to ignore the words you heard earlier that day, they find way into your mind again.

She’s nothing like Shahar.

You must have been silent for a while because Hunt had turned off the tv and turned, looking straight at you.

“Babe… what’s wrong? You’ve only spoken a few words since I have come home and you’re not cuddling me like usual. Also, we didn’t have lunch together like we usually do every Friday. Is something wrong?”

Instantly, you shake your head.

“Come on (y/n), I know that isn’t true. Please, whatever it is, tell me and we can fix it together.”

Together?

You’d almost fall for his sweet words if you hadn’t heard what he said to Isaiah and Naomi earlier.

“I had gone to your work today to have lunch together when I heard what you said to Isaiah and Naomi.”

The angel’s smile is there only for a few seconds longer as if realizing what you were referring to.

“Baby…what you thought you heard this afternoon, isn’t what you think it is.” He stops to take a breath before continuing. “When you heard me saying that you are nothing like Shahar, I meant it.”

You wince before looking down to hide your tears.

“You are better than Shahar.” The angel pauses before continuing. “Looking back on the time I had with Shahar, I thought I loved her when in actually it was infatuation. From the time you and I have had together, I realized that the the moments I shared with her were ploys for her to gain my affection so that I can play a part in her rebellion all those years ago. Everyone in 33rd can see that.”

Hunt can tell you still look gets onto his knees and hugs you, holding onto your waist.

“I love you so much and I don’t want to taint you. You are literally the epitome of light and goodness while I’m darkness and corruption”, the angel in front of you says tearfully.

You are shocked by those words. He said those three little words that held such impact.

It doesn’t take long for you to take the angel’s chin into your left hand, looking into his dark, tear stained eyes. A contrast from his usual brooding stare.

“The man I love is more than that. An evil man wouldn’t feel guilt or remorse for what he has done. You do. You wipe his tears with your thumbs, kissing where the tear stains for. “Also, you were in a position where you had no choice”, your mind thinking back to the late Sandriel and Micah.

You then get to your knees to be leveled with Hunt, letting your fingers travel through his dark hair as a way to ground him. Though not as long as it used to be, you can’t help touching the remainder of his dark tresses.

Hunt then lets his hands gently touch your cheeks for a few seconds before bringing your face near to his own.

“I’m so lucky to have you as my love and mate.”

“Mate?” you look at him shockingly.

Realizing what he said, Hunt tries to explain.

“Yes, mate. I understand if it’s too soon for you to say but I want you to know that you are my mate… When I’m around you, I feel this need to protect you as well as want to be a better male.”

You smile at him. “I feel it too. Though, I was afraid to say something in fear that it wasn’t reciprocated.”

The two of you then lean into share a passionate kiss, whispering your love and commitment to one another for all eternity.

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Boon - Part Four

Thranduil x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: Explicit, NC-17, lemon, etc. Minors dni!

Word Count: 6,200

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption and drunkenness, denial-based bet, teasing, oral sex (male receiving), slight somnophilia, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

Several days after you had made your bet with Thranduil, he came to visit you at the Ripple. 

Ostensibly, he was there to deliver your regular shipment of elven wine. You had slowed or stopped most of your other deliveries since you intended to relocate so soon, but Thranduil’s wine sold so quickly that you would likely run out by the time you left. 

The Elvenking wasn’t a rare sight in the Ripple, but he always managed to draw attention. His appearance and manner and the sheer weight of his personality made certain of that. That day in particular, he was dressed in a tunic embroidered with a shade of silver that only emphasized the shine of his hair and the way his eyes danced beneath his dark brows. His trousers were dyed dark, but you could still see their texture and knew that they would be velvety if you stroked them. 

Thranduil was showing off for you, doing his best to remind you of what you would give up if you moved to Dale. How losing access to his body - admittedly delectable as it was - was meant to compare to earning a living with your tavern, you weren’t quite sure. No one was that attractive, not even the famously beautiful King of the Greenwood. 

Instead of showing him the reaction he so clearly craved, you greeted Thranduil with a simple nod and invitation to sit while you brought him a drink. The flash of disappointment you saw at your mild reception lent your smile more credibility.

When you brought him his typical tankard of wine, Thranduil held up a hand, signaling for you to stop as he shook his head.

You paused, frowning. “What is it?”

“I find myself wanting something different this evening,” he told you.

“You always order wine,” you reminded him unnecessarily. “Have you finally realized that paying to drink the wine you provide us is madness and a waste of funds besides?”

“I believe I will have a honey mead instead,” Thranduil decided, pointedly ignoring your dig at his sanity. His eyes were fixed on yours as he explained, “I have craved tasting your sweetness of late. It has been an eternity since I last had the opportunity to do so.”

Your face grew hot… along with other things, but you were doing your best to ignore that. Instead, you set the tankard down on a nearby table where several patrons had opted for the wine. 

As you had never ordered anything other than tankards for cups, the wine took up a little less than half of the space inside. That was fortunate, as you likely would have spilled anything more when you slammed the cup down on the table.

The patrons stared up at you, shocked at your outburst of temper. You forced a smile. “Here’s a refill, courtesy of King Thranduil.”

The patrons drunkenly toasted the Elvenking as you retreated behind the bar to fill a fresh tankard with honey mead. By the time the pale amber liquid had crept up to the brim of the tankard, your shoulders had eased away from your ears.

Thranduil was trying to rattle you. You simply were not going to allow him the satisfaction of succeeding. 

You took a full breath and let it out slowly as you walked back to his chosen table. When you moved to set his beverage down on the table, Thranduil intercepted the action. He took the tankard from you directly, his fingers stroking the back of your hand as he did so. 

While you glared, he took a sip of the mead. The movement of his lips forced you to picture the way it rolled over his tongue and warmed his throat. When he let out a pleased hum, Thranduil smiled - a devious little smirk that heated your blood with simultaneous irritation and desire. 

“It is magnificent as always,” he complimented with a tilt of his head. “There is something else I desire more, but this poor substitute shall suffice… for now.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away before he could see the way his words somehow managed to breach the layers of calm and mild condescension you had donned before approaching him once more.

While you worked alongside Storr and several other employees, taking care of the Ripple’s patrons and ensuring the night went smoothly, you were formulating a plan. A plot, really, but you couldn’t let anyone else know that. The element of surprise would be a vital key to your success. 

You brought an extra honey mead for Thranduil, doing your best to ignore the way his gaze traveled heavily across your body - though you did shiver when he trailed his fingertips down your forearm as you retrieved his empty tankard.

Instead, you leaned in close so you could speak lowly. “Can you send a boat for me tomorrow afternoon? I have some business I wish to speak with you about.”

Thranduil frowned deeply, but nodded. “I will do exactly that. Will you not be here tomorrow?”

“I’m taking a day off,” you explained. “Storr is capable of running the tavern.”

With a thoughtful furrow between his brows, the Elvenking nodded and you retreated behind the bar once more, biting back a smile. Thranduil continued to look interested and slightly concerned as he finished his honey mead and prepared to leave. 

Just as he stood, one of the women at the next table leaned over with a giggle, showing off her cleavage to best advantage as she gave a little wave as if to catch his attention. “You are incredibly handsome.”

Thranduil glanced down at her with cool disinterest. “I am well aware.”

She giggled again, the rest of the table joining her. In a voice that slurred slightly, she said, “D’you want to come back to my place for the night? I’d show you a great time.”

It was an incredibly forward invitation. If this was any place other than Lake-Town, she would have been publicly shamed for saying such a thing, even if neither of them went through with it. As it was, however, a village full of practical fishermen and haggard merchants had better ways to spend their time than policing such a ridiculous concept as ‘virtue’. Besides, after surviving Smaug’s second attack, no one begrudged anyone else the opportunity to take their pleasure where they found it. It was one of the things you admired about this place.

So why were you filled with such disgust and horror?

Instead of replying, Thranduil glanced over at you. There was no use pretending you hadn’t been watching the conversation unfold, so you simply arched an eyebrow at him. In the silence of a pair who understood each other perfectly, his expression reminded you that you would lose the ability to have a say in his bed partners if you did move to Dale.

The realization made your chest cold with dread even as your logical mind told you the reaction was silly. He was right - if you were no longer together, you lost any right to have an opinion about Thranduil’s partners.

“Did you hear me?” the woman pressed, squeezing her arms closer together to plump her breasts even further. “Do you want to come home with me?”

“Yes.” 

The single word made your heart stutter in your chest. Yes, relocating to Dale would mean you lost the right to an opinion about Thranduil’s bedroom activities, but surely he didn’t intend to begin that before you had left Lake-Town?

The woman beamed, but Thranduil continued, “I did hear you. As to whether I am interested in sharing your bed tonight… no.”

He walked halfway across the room as the woman’s smile continued to fade. As the other patrons at the table consoled the recently-rejected flirt, Thranduil paused before the bar to glance at you. “I will see you tomorrow afternoon.”

You nodded, fighting a smile as he left. After a moment of thought, you poured another serving of wine as a conciliatory offering for the jilted patron. 

---

The next afternoon found you approaching the entrance to the Woodland Realm. The elves were rowing swiftly, and you knew you would arrive at the gates within minutes. In the time remaining on your journey, you studied your surroundings with the familiarity of a near-expert eye. 

The Greenwood was at last living up to its name. With the spiders gone - killed by elven hunting parties or chased further north by the combination of the elves and Smaug’s fire - the forest was recovering from the gloom and darkness that had given it the unflattering nickname ‘Mirkwood’. (Though you still tended to refer to it as such to irritate Thranduil.) 

Still, enough light filtered down from the thick canopy to illuminate the clear waters of the river. Healthy creatures of all sorts roamed the riverbanks, unbothered by the near-silent rowers slipping through the water. You even spotted a few groups of elves outside the gates of the Woodland Kingdom, picnicking or playing music in the dappled sunlight near the edges of the water.

It was idyllic, and you were almost reluctant to step through the magnificent gates of Thranduil’s halls. But you had business to attend to, so you entered the halls regardless, following one of Thranduil’s aides with confident strides as he led you to the Elvenking’s throne room. 

This was one of Thranduil’s most enduring quirks. No matter how he insisted that his people would not see you as lesser simply for sharing a casual relationship with him, each of your visits to the Woodland Realm had to start in his throne room. You were received with every courtesy, treated at least as well as a visiting dignitary would be. 

Accordingly, when you entered the throne room, the elf who had escorted you bowed slightly as he stepped away. Thranduil watched you from his seat on the throne. He was wearing his royal finery - embroidered robes of the most delicate silk and the towering crown that marked him as the king. 

Still, he inclined his head gracefully at you. “Welcome, honored visitor, to my kingdom.”

Your manners had improved significantly since the first time you had visited him. Instead of meeting his welcome with suspicion or derision, you swept into a curtsey. “Thank you for your hospitality, Elvenking Thranduil.”

“Guards, you are dismissed,” Thranduil decreed. The guards bowed to him, withdrawing from the chamber immediately. When you were alone in the chamber, Thranduil stood from his throne, concern clear on his face. “What is wrong?”

You gestured for him to sit back down as you approached the bottom of the throne.  The stairs worn into the throne were something you had made note of during every previous visit, studying them in the relatively short span of time in which you were not watching the king seated at their top. Regardless of your familiarity with those steps, this was the first time you had ever dared to climb them.

They were as smooth as you had expected them to be, worn into a soft, shallow incline under the feet of Thranduil, and likely whichever kings had ruled the Woodland Realm before him. You had expected the need to concentrate on that smoothness, to be certain you would not lose your footing and topple down to the stone-and-earthen floor, but they supported you easily, each stair formed into a shape like a shallow bowl after eons of use.

Without the need to focus on climbing toward him, you were free to lift your eyes to Thranduil’s face and wondered if you might fall without assistance from the stairs. His face was frozen in expectant anticipation, watching your actions as closely as though you were some type of threat… though you doubted his eyes would be glowing with such fascination and longing if you held a weapon.

When you reached the top of the staircase and stood at the foot of Thranduil’s throne - pressed against his legs by necessity born of the lack of space - you allowed your fingers to toy idly with one arm of his throne.

It was with no small amount of amusement that you noticed Thranduil’s fingers unconsciously mimicking yours. 

You spoke slowly, your tone deliberate. “I was surprised to see you at the Ripple yesterday, Thranduil.”

“I am not an uncommon sight there,” he reminded you, furrowing his brows slightly. “Why was my presence so surprising to you?”

“Maybe ‘surprised’ isn’t the correct term,” you allowed. “Preoccupied, perhaps? I found myself thinking about you more than usual yesterday evening.”

The remaining tension disappeared from Thranduil’s face and body, replaced with a deep-seated satisfaction. “Is that so? I cannot say I regret having ensured I found such a prominent place in your thoughts.”

You hummed, brushing the pads of your fingers closer and closer to where his own rested on the arm of the throne. “So you did it on purpose? The teasing?”

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

With a pout that was only slightly exaggerated for his benefit, you said, “It was very unkind of you, Elvenking. I believed our agreement forbade both of us from doing such a thing.”

Thranduil chuckled lowly. “We made no such rules, little one.”

You glanced down as if in thought, but the action was only to help disguise a smirk of your own. That had been the confirmation you needed, the last excuse to do what you had planned without feeling any guilt for it.

“In that case…” you trailed, using a conveniently placed carving to hoist yourself up and take a seat on his knee. Thranduil watched with amusement and you decided to make yourself even more at home, throwing your legs across his other thigh so you were seated comfortably across his lap. 

His eyes were twinkling at you from such a close distance that you immediately felt the draw of him. It felt as though you were not deciding to move, you were simply ceasing to fight the need. 

You planted a kiss against the underside of Thranduil’s jaw, in exactly the place you knew he loved. Another landed on his chin, in the place that creased into something like a dimple when he laughed his bright laugh. Finally, you let your lips meet his, and Thranduil was ready for you. He met your kiss with a fervor you didn’t often see from him, deepening it almost immediately as his hand gripped your jaw. That hand angled your head the proper way to allow him a measure of control, though you kept him on edge with the way your hands roamed his body.

Time slipped past and you had no method or desire to track its passage. Instead, you allowed yourself to enjoy the time spent with Thranduil. If you truly were to relocate to Dale, you would miss the easy access to him, but there were other things that were more important. Like your business, securing a livelihood, and finding your future away from a beautiful, near-immortal being.

When you felt Thranduil’s interest rising insistently against your leg, you broke the kiss and leaned back with a sly smile. The Elvenking watched you with a mixture of suspicion and interest on his face, though the latter won out when you stood and repositioned yourself until you could kneel before the throne.

When you began pushing away the folds of richly embroidered fabric to bare him, Thranduil’s hands stopped the work of your fingers. “What are you doing?”

You sent him a saucy smile. “I intend to show you just how thoroughly you have overtaken my thoughts since yesterday evening. In particular, I would like to demonstrate a specific manner in which I cannot stop thinking of you.”

He looked skeptical, so you pushed even harder. With a demure bow of your head that didn’t feel even remotely believable, you added, “If that would please you, Elvenking.”

Whether it was the title or the picture you made kneeling in front of your throne, your lover failed to produce a single word. And if Thranduil planned to say anything further, it died in his throat as you at last managed to push away enough layers to reach his skin. Instead, the potential words were overtaken by a hoarse groan as you smoothed your fingers over his hips. 

You paused, glancing up at him as you waited for some kind of permission to continue - you would not force this on him. Thranduil sank further down in the throne, offering you a better angle at which to continue your exploration. That was all the permission you needed to continue without a guilty conscience.

His cock was already standing long and hard, jutting proudly upward. If Thranduil had not been slouching so dramatically, you were certain the length of him would have pressed against his stomach. The small patch of fine, pale hair at the base did nothing to hide any of him from your greedy eyes, though the curls did tickle the side of your palm as you skimmed your hand from his tip downward - not making contact, but close enough to feel the heat pouring from Thranduil’s skin.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, licking a long, wet stripe from the heel of your palm to the very tip of your middle finger, Thranduil groaned, cock bobbing in anticipation. You didn’t make him wait long - not because you didn’t want to, but because you were feeling fairly impatient yourself. 

The warmth of Thranduil’s length was nearly shocking against your skin as you wrapped your hand around him, though you couldn’t have been persuaded to release him even if he had scalded you. Especially not with the eager noise he tried to bite back and the way his hands shook in their effort to remain on the arms of his throne.

You started with a simple pattern of stroking and squeezing, adding a gentle twist of your loose fist when you reached the sensitivity of his tip. When that was no longer enough for either of you, you held him by the base and wrapped your lips over his head. 

You did it slowly, as slowly as you could manage so that he could feel every scrap of pleasure as you engulfed him in the wet heat of your mouth. Thranduil made a strangled noise from somewhere over your head and it urged you to speed up, working your way down his length with a passion and fervor that surprised even you. 

It all became a blur of sensation - the rhythm of your hand and mouth, the way Thranduil tried not to thrust up against you, the salt of his skin, and the sounds of your shared groans. His fingers were gently guiding your head, attempting to encourage without overwhelming you.

“I- I am close,” he grunted at last with a stunted half-thrust of his hips. “Have you conceded our bet, then?”

“No,” you denied, pulling your lips from him with a subtle pop. “Though you are more than welcome to. A few simple words and I will continue.”

Thranduil stared at you with dismayed disbelief. You had to admit that he made a striking figure, if a little unorthodox: the elegance of his crown and robes contrasted sharply with the vulnerability of his flushed face and splayed posture. And, of course, there was the raw primality of his hardness, glistening and visibly throbbing where it protruded from between the panels of his robes.

“And have you win so easily?” he asked sharply. “I will do no such thing.”

“Very well, you accepted with a mournful sigh and a last look of longing at his cock. “Then I suppose I should be on my way back home. If you would be so good as to call an escort?”

There was a pause as you climbed back down the stairs of his throne, and you half-wondered if he would leave you to row back to Lake-Town on your own. 

At last, though, he barked a sharp, “Guards!”

The elven guards were back in the throne room in less than the time it took to blink. Before you could wonder - and subsequently be horrified at the idea of it - if they could hear your recent activities, Thranduil said, “Tell the rowers to escort our guest back to her home.”

One of them nodded and gestured for you to follow her. You glanced back at Thranduil, noting the uncomfortable way he was sitting, and smiled as you offered your best curtsy. “My thanks for the lovely hospitality, Elvenking.”

He growled something unintelligible as you trailed behind the guard who was escorting you back to the small dock.

---

Could it be any shock that, after engaging in such activities, your dreams would be lascivious as well?

You certainly weren’t surprised - nor displeased - to find yourself reliving your time in Thranduil’s throne room after you went to sleep that evening. He drew ever closer to his peak beneath you, trembling and pleading in a way he did so rarely… until the dream changed, as they were wont to do. 

Suddenly, it was you who was trembling and pleading, feeling the nebulous pleasure of phantom sensation growing and growing until it had nearly reached a precipice. 

You leaned into it, even as you were aware that you were sleeping. Sometimes a particular dream could strike the interest of your subconscious. You tried not to dissuade such things when they happened. If you could orgasm from the dream alone, you would welcome the unexpected pleasure.

But then, the sensations were gone, and it was far more abruptly than they had arrived. The force of your drop away from orgasm - after being so close it was nearly painful - woke you and you stared up at the ceiling in blank confusion. With a snort, you reminded yourself that you were well capable of finishing things alone. 

You turned onto your side, a hand creeping between your legs. Just as one finger swept up the seam between your legs - you were shockingly wet - a voice drifted through the darkness of the room, emanating from behind you.

“If you reach your peak while I am in the room, will I be considered the winner of our wager?”

By the time you recognized Thranduil’s voice, you had already flipped to face him, wide eyes searching the darkness for the sight of the intruder. You relaxed slightly when you realized you had nothing to fear from him, but the aftermath of your thwarted orgasm was too painful to allow for full relaxation. 

“Thranduil,” you said, your ire making his name sound like a curse. “What are you doing here?”

“I was unable to stop thinking of you after your earlier visit to my kingdom,” Thranduil told you. You recognized that he was mimicking your own statements from that very visit, though you weren’t certain why. “After I had taken some time to… collect myself, I decided to repay your visit in kind.”

“My visit was to repay yours to the Ripple,” you reminded him. “We were even.”

“And you do not see a fundamental difference in the activities of those visits?” Thranduil asked, studying his fingers thoughtfully. 

“No,” you denied, kicking your chin stubbornly upward.

Thranduil gave a thoughtful hum, licking his fingertips with a soft groan. You realized with a start that the same wetness present on your fingers marked his as well. “Then I suppose I should illustrate the point.”

He was over you before you could react. At first, you couldn’t tell if he was actually laying on you or if he was simply leaning over you with his massive height, but when his hips dipped just enough for you to feel him pressing against you, you accepted that he was indeed real. That spurred you on, and when he pressed his lips to yours, you had already fisted your fingers into the delicate fabric of his tunic, pulling him down to rest against you fully. 

Despite the current situation, a kiss usually wasn’t enough to drive you to desperation. But after between the excitement of teasing Thranduil earlier that day and coming so close to orgasm only moments before, you were already nearing the edge.

And that was before Thranduil swept aside your blankets and began kissing his way down your body. 

His long, clever fingers were working to undo every button and tie that kept you wrapped in your simple nightwear. Every bit of skin he bared was treated to a lick, kiss, or bite until you were writhing beneath him. 

You were a big enough person to admit that the illusion of having no choice played a role in the pleasure you were taking in this scenario. But behind it all, you knew you had only to say the word and Thranduil would stop. Counterintuitively, that was the very thing that gave you the confidence to let go for him. 

When he pushed gently at your knees, you willingly let them part, baring your core to him. You were soaked, swollen with your clit distended like it was begging for his attention. In a way, it was. 

In a way, you were. 

Thranduil descended on you, starting with a long, sweeping lick against your folds. When that made you bite back a noise that sounded suspiciously like a plea, he repeated the motion but let his tongue dip further into you. Your entire lower half twitched, and you weren’t sure whether you were trying to buck him off or drag him closer, but Thranduil’s deceptively strong hands braced against your legs and pressed them open.

With you bared and fully vulnerable to him, Thranduil set to devouring you like you were a feast laid out for him. He kissed between your legs like it was your mouth, tongue slipping inside and exploring briefly before darting away in a teasing swipe. 

You were already squirming beneath him, but then the pleasure grew nearly unbearable - Thranduil’s lips closed around your clit and he began to suck gently at you as he pressed his fingers into your core. He alternated the two sensory sources: thrust, suck, thrust, suck, over and over again until you were almost sobbing at the sweet assault on your sensibilities. 

Just when you were approaching the shining edge of orgasm, Thranduil removed his lips and fingers. You stared up at him in shocked betrayal, throbbing and achingly empty. Your mind was fuzzy with the diverted pleasure and it was difficult to focus your eyes on Thranduil, but you managed to do so and turn it into a glare at the same time.

He smiled at you, but the regret and apology in it kept you from outright violence. “I am sorry, my little human. But I cannot, in good conscience, force you in such a way.”

“Thranduil, I think I’m going to cause you serious harm if you don’t get over here and fuck me,” you told him bluntly, watching him wince. The Elvenking was not fond of crass language, but you were beyond worrying about such things. 

His pale eyes turned serious. “I am sincere. I will not coerce you… no more than I have to this point. If you would truly be happier in Dale…”

Thranduil’s voice faded, as if he could not bear to finish his own statement. You wanted to dismiss it out of hand, but you forced yourself to pause and reflect on it first. If you wanted to live in Dale, and your reasons were anything beyond wanting to expand the Ripple into a different market, you needed to go. 

However, the longer you considered it, the more you realized you would miss Esgaroth. You would miss Storr and his little family. You would miss the way the tame waves of the lake lapped at the old boards of Lake-Town. You would miss how the townspeople acted when they told you about a new section of rotting walkways - they always seemed unburdened by the reporting somehow, as if they so completely trusted you to solve the problem that they did not even need to consider it any longer. 

And, you supposed, you would even miss Thranduil. 

He couldn’t know he had played such a large part in your decision, however. He would misinterpret it… or worse, interpret it correctly. You hadn’t told him you loved him yet, but it was coming quickly. You could only hope to do the same.

“I’m staying,” you told him, the simple revelation making his eyes widen. “So you can come back and-”

You didn’t get any further than that before Thranduil had launched himself back onto your mattress. With typical elven grace, he managed to avoid jostling you in the slightest, but the sight of his face suddenly so close to your own made you blink. 

“I suppose that meets with your approval?” you asked with a cheeky smile.

“‘Approval’ is the least of what I’m feeling at the moment,” Thranduil growled. He pulled away for a moment, maybe two, and then he was suddenly bare to your sight. Just how he had managed to fully disrobe in such a short span of time was beyond you, but - to be fair - it wasn’t even close to the top of your list of concerns. The first and most important of those, of course, was how to get him inside you as quickly as possible. 

As it turned out, you needn’t do much at all. Thranduil reached between you, placed the head of his cock against the heart of you, took a half-second to brush your clit, and plunged into you as deep as he could get. 

You arched up and off the bed, your every muscle straining not only to accept the intrusion, but to encourage Thranduil to press even deeper inside of you. A wordless plea forced its way from your throat, but your lover didn’t seem encouraged. In truth, his eyes were closed, his face grave. 

Since words were beyond you at the moment, you reached up to cradle his jaw and cheek, letting your thumb brush gently against the high arch of his cheekbone. Thranduil’s fingers covered yours a moment later as he balanced his weight with ease on his other hand. 

When his eyes opened, you did your best to look concerned. You were concerned and wanted to make sure he was well, but you were worried the expression would fail to translate past the strong need for him to drive into you. After balancing on the edge for so long, that need was near-overwhelming, but you had to ensure that Thranduil was not suffering. 

He didn’t say anything, however - odd, since he had shown a remarkable talent for reading your face in the past. 

When you managed to put together the words, you asked, “Is something wrong?”

Thranduil blinked. “Say it again. Do you intend to remain in Esgaroth?”

“Yes, I’ll stay in Lake-Town,” you agreed. 

“Then I am quite well,” he told you. With a sudden, flashing grin, he added, “Perfect, some may say.”

You rolled your eyes instinctively, but your lids fluttered shut as Thranduil withdrew almost completely before driving back inside you with a series of short, firm thrusts.

This was not going to be an extended session, you knew that much. You were already nearing the edge once more. Thranduil was not far behind you, if you were to guess by the way the muscles of his jaw were dancing in time with the movement of his hips. 

“Will you agree that you are mine?” he asked, voice coming out in a gruff harshness simply from the nature of your activities. “Knowing that I freely offer to be yours in return?”

You had questions and thoughts, wanted to share a discussion about that very thing, but it was as though your thoughts themselves were slippery. You couldn’t manage to capture any one of them and hold it for any extended amount of time. “Do we- ah! Do we need to discuss this now?”

“Now,” Thranduil gritted, biting back a noise that held more than a bit of desperation. “I must know.”

The end was close, so close. It was taunting you, shining just past the edge of the next thrust, or perhaps the one after that. Thranduil gave a groan so harsh that it knocked you from your internal calculations as you frowned at him. 

His reasoning became clear in the next moment, however. He withdrew from you and paused with only the very tip of his length still pressed shallowly into your core. You lay beneath him, poised on the very edge of your orgasm. You were so close that all you could do was stare up at him in confusion and silent pleading as your body throbbed.

With a panting noise of dissatisfaction at your failed attempt at forcing him back inside of you, you frowned up at the Elvenking. “I belong to myself, Thranduil. But if I were to belong to someone… Yes, it would be you.”

He opened his mouth, dark brows furrowed, but you allowed your head to fall back against your pillow. “Please, please move. I don’t know if I can abide this much longer.”

Though he still didn’t seem overjoyed by your concession, Thranduil’s head inclined in a slight nod - almost to himself - and he began to thrust into you once more. A few strokes of him inside your core and you were tightening around him, your inner muscles rippling as sensation burst through every part of your body. 

And then Thranduil’s hands tightened on your hips, tilting you so he could get a better angle. This one sent him deeper into you, pushing so far inside that it was nearly painful. Perhaps it would have been, but every plunge sent the head of his cock brushing over that ultra-sensitive place inside of you. It was enough to distract your body from the intrusion with pleasure that was almost equally startling.

The pressure against that spot did something to your orgasm even as it was halfway through being fully realized. It went from all-encompassing to near-blinding. You let out a cry loud enough that you would later be glad that the chilly breeze had prompted you to close your windows. Your toes curled and your hands tightened into fists as your arms and legs wrapped around Thranduil in a convulsive embrace. 

You held him pressed against you as you rode out your orgasm and his began. It seemed to be just as intense as yours had been, leaving him panting your name and shoving his cock as deep inside you as he could manage while his body shuddered and jolted with the effort of spilling within you. 

At last, he pulled out, you found the strength to release him, and he collapsed to the bed beside you. 

Somehow, he recovered faster than you, turning on his side to watch you with an expression akin to glee, especially when on the face of the typically stoic Elvenking. “I hope you have not packed too many of your belongings, Queen of Esgaroth.”

You made a face at him. “I said I’ll stay here. I didn’t say I’ll be the queen. I expect that was the punchline to some jest we were not privy to.”

Thranduil shook his head slowly. “I have assigned several trusted allies to ask around. Apparently, the townspeople are quite serious about having you as their queen.”

“Are you spying on Lake-Town?” you asked, rolling up onto an elbow in a mirror of Thranduil’s position. 

“Of course,” he admitted readily. “Every good kingdom employs spies. Thorin and I each have a presence in the other’s halls, and both of us have people gathering intelligence in Esgaroth.”

“That’s ridiculous!” you snapped. “Esgaroth hasn’t even managed to recover from Smaug’s second attack. What threat could we be against Erebor or the Greenwood?”

“None, but spies do not only assist in detecting threats,” Thranduil explained. “They also allow for discovery of policies and reception, trade practices, and the potential to become allies… or perhaps even something more.”

There was a satisfied light in Thranduil’s eyes that made you wag a finger in warning. “You assume too much, Elvenking. I would be the queen of Esgaroth and nothing more to you than we currently are to each other.”

The satisfaction didn’t leave his expression, and when he spoke, Thranduil’s tone was smug. “We will be regents of neighboring kingdoms. We will share a border and several important trade routes. Alliances - including marriages - have been made on far less in the past.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face to disguise the way your heart had clenched at the idea of marrying Thranduil. “I don’t believe I’ve had enough orgasms to justify discussing trade policies and alliances of any kind.”

Thranduil hummed. “Allow me to rectify that.”

You were both chuckling as he rolled on top of you and seized your lips in a deep kiss full of promise.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you thought!

I don't offer a taglist for explicit fics, but you can find other works on my masterlist or on AO3 under username InkSplots!

[clovercow8228]

gillion and chip as hadestown!orpheus and eurydice

ok so i was listening to hadestown again because i love it dearly and i am still desperately trying to cope with ep 101 and i was like haha. chip and gillion as orpheus and eurydice. because yknow in the context of the actual myth you could compare it to the whole feywild arc and whatnot.

but then i listened to it more (more than halfway through the first song) and i realized it’s way better (worse) if you have it the other way around with chip as hadestown eurydice and gillion as hadestown orpheus. (there’s another way to read it too but we’ll get to that because it’s a bit more convoluted since. well it’s basically a game theory atp)

i’m going through this song by song because i have never felt happiness or peace ever

Road to Hell: ok so ignoring the gods for now. road to hell does eurydice a little dirty so for this song it’s just orpheus i’m talking about, but hermes describes him as a muse’s son and touched by the gods themselves. ok cool whatever so what Any Way the Wind Blows: “eurydice was a hungry young girl / a runaway from everywhere she’d ever been”? like yeah ok sure cool (side note? “ain’t nobody gonna stick around when the dark clouds roll” and  for chip, mr. constantly both afraid his crew will stay and will leave anytime something bad happens and who literally lost his family in the hole in the sea? silly.) plus for orpheus, “and this poor boy wore his heart on his sleeve / you might say he was naive to the ways of the world / but he had a way with words”. that’s my boy right there

Come Home with Me: most of this is just very funny (”oh, a liar and a player too?”) but “why would i become his wife?” “because he’ll make you feel alive” kinda got me a little tbh. and there’s also the ongoing theme of orpheus working on something to fix the balance of the world, which he can do because he’s touched by the gods.

Livin’ it Up on Top: most of this i’ll talk about when i talk about the gods because woo boy that should be a post of its own with how much psychological damage it caused me. but “there was a girl who had always run away / you might say it was in spite of herself / that this young girl decided to stay” for chip?

All I’ve Ever Known: yeahhhhhhhh nothing real metaphorical about this one. fnc shippers come get yalls juice ig idk that’s really all for that one

A Gathering Storm: title aside, the whole thing is eurydice being concerned about the practical way they will survive the winter while orpheus works on his song to make the world right again.

When the Chips are Down: hand to god i did not think about that pun until now. but yeah this whole song really sold it for me. “help yourself (to hell with the rest), even the one who loves you best / take if you can (give if you must), ain’t nobody but yourself to trust / aim for the heart (shoot to kill), if you don’t do it then the other one will” are interesting enough to think about with chip because basically his whole thing is not turning out like that but there are still some times (mainly early on) that he gets a little closer to those ideas. finally, “cast your eyes to heaven / you get a knife in the back”. put your life in the hands of anything but yourself and you get fucked over.

Wait for Me intro: alright one god i can pitch right now. hermes with the “so, just how far would you go for her? you got a ticket? yeah, i didn’t think so. course there is another way, but nah, i ain’t supposed to say.” being as mean as possible rn? hermes as niklaus would work as absolutely unfortunate as that is. which also makes the “ain’t no compass, brother, ain’t no map” line in the actual song even funnier since it’s hermes describing how to get to the underworld to save eurydice.

Wait for Me: the fates hit orpheus with the self doubt and worry that essentially he’s not the chosen one, part one. don’t really need to explain that one

Way Down Hadestown (Reprise): now hear me out on this. because hades’ whole bit is deals for people’s souls. eurydice signs a deal to give him her soul in exchange for not starving to death, and this song is her realizing what that really means and trying to defend it. which i will admit, makes it seem like it would work for niklaus too. but we’ll come back to that

If it’s True: “is this how the world is? to be beaten and betrayed and then be told that nothing changes?” now this one got me a little, between gillion’s ‘my last sin’ speech and what he said to jay in the block.

Intro to Wait for Me (Reprise): “it’s a trap?” “it’s a trial.” hermes explaining to orpheus and eurydice the conditions of them being allowed to leave. at the end of the day, according to hermes, their success rides on whether they trust each other and themselves. arguably the most recurring theme of riptide.

Doubt Comes In: orpheus doubting that he actually has the power to bring her back, thinking he has been tricked or is too weak to do it. in gillion’s own mind, his fatal flaw is not knowing if he believes he can be the chosen one or protect his friends. and for orpheus, he couldn’t.

a good amount of the songs are missing because i haven’t talked about hades and persephone yet. they’re. a separate issue

[rfsak2]

Easy Target, Pt 1.

So we'll see if anyone even reads this but Ima post it anyways. This has been brewing for decades at this point and it is somewhat of a rewrite of something I posted on Sycophant Hex (~I’m aging myself~) years ago.

For the record I acknowledge that Snape is OOC. He’s taller (by a lot), capable of healing and kindness, and has a sense of humor and hella PTSD.

His characterization is due partly to having started reading these books as a kiddo well before the end of the series (which ended when I was in college ~I’m old~). I have been collecting and revising headcanons since I was a child and now, as an adult and a therapist, I have a very specific idea of Snape that may not be canon, but I might like better.

I also have un-unalived some characters. Lupin and Tonks and maybe more as we go. We’ll see. Again it may not be canon, but I like it and my Snape better. (Fuck JKR).

If you like my Snape, let me know. If ya don’t… also let me know. I’d love to discuss and compare our thoughts

Easy Target

They thought wrong. Severus/OC

Warnings: nothing right now, some bad language words. There will be warnings if continued including mentions of past abuse/assault, violence, smut.

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE. 

“Little Lottie Beauregard.” The woman grinned maliciously. “How the hell are you doin’?” 

Charlotte sighed and set down the book she had been perusing. She glanced over her shoulder and made sure her son was out of earshot. “My last name is de Vilieré, Annabelle, or are your drinking habits finally impairing your memory?”

Annabelle grit her teeth. “No, ‘course not. Say, did you hear about who was at Antoine’s last night?” 

Charlotte made a face. “Can’t say I care about gossip.”

“Beau was seen with the Dreaux girl.” 

“Good for her.”

Annabelle fidgeted with her hair, disconcerted that she wasn’t getting a reaction. “I mean, I would think you’d be interested as that’s why y’all got divorce ‘n all.”

“I didn’t get divorce because Beau was fuckin’ other women. Sorry that I can't validate your petty jealousy.”

“My petty jealousy?” Annabelle shook herself free of following that line of thought. “Why did you get divorced then?”

Charlotte caught her eyes and held them, dispassionate and disinterested, sliding a book back onto the shelf.

Annabelle shied away from her. “I just know that the Beauregards aren’t the kinda family you leave. So you had to have reason to try.” 

“I didn’t try, Annabelle, I succeeded.” Charlotte began flipping through another book. “Maybe, they aren’t as bulletproof as all y’all thought.”

“Rumor has it, your mother has already started undoing all your success.” Annabelle managed to make faux sympathy look as vicious as direct assault. “I reckon you’ll be back at home in no time.” 

Charlotte chuckled, eyes fixed on a spell in the book she was reading. “Well, my mother is hot on the heels of her own divorce, so maybe she should mind her business.” Charlotte turned towards Annabelle and shut the book with a snap. “Ironically, that’s advice you’d find helpful too.” 

Annabelle batted her eyelashes. “Oh, didn’t y’know: my business is anything I make my business.”

“That’s why your family business is failing, ain’t it?” Charlotte nodded. “Makes sense, too many fingers in too many pies.”

Annabelle blanched.

“Though, gotta say, don’t know why’d you want me to remarry Beau.” Charlotte mimicked her simpering tone. “After all, now you can fuck him all you want and you’ll be the only one committing adultery. I mean, he may need to hire a secretary to manage his…  social calendar but I’d imagined this would be good news for you… and the others too, ‘course.”

Annabelle ignored her, pushing her straight, dark hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be silly. Your father isn’t going to divorce your mother. Seriously, it’s a bluff.”

Charlotte smiled. “Would you look at that? There’s at least one thing you don’t know anything about.”

Annabelle hummed, trying very hard to remain calm and disinterested. She failed.

Charlotte bared her teeth. “You don’t know my dad.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “No one knows your father.”

Charlotte nodded, eyes on Hadrien, lest he hear more than he should. “That’s not one hundred percent true. I mean he is the eldest son of one of the founding families of this city, a descendant of the first Creole governor of Louisiana. He’s a philanthropist, an expert in his field, he’s active in all the right circles. Everyone knows my father. My father just doesn’t cast pearls before pigs.” 

“Pigs?” Annabelle sucked in a breath and looked down at her hands, trying to school her emotions. “And yet, even the illustrious de Vilierés needed the Beauregards-“

Charlotte laughed. “We didn’t need the Beauregards. My mother made what she thought was a calculated bet. She put her money on the wrong horse, hence the divorce.”

“What horse should she have betted on?”

Charlotte grinned. “Me.”

Annabelle swallowed. “Seems to me that the de Vilierés aren't as prominent as they used to be. Seems to me that she bet on the only horse she had.” She simpered. “After all, the shame was only narrowly avoided. If she had not acted so soon… well, one shudders to think.”

“Must not shudder often, huh?”

Annabelle shot her a nasty glance. Charlotte returned it.

“I just think y’all are awfully big in your britches, considering…”

“Considering, what?” Charlotte challenged. “Quit pussyfooting and say it.”

Annabelle demurred.

Charlotte nodded, sighing. “See now… That’s how I know just how prominent my family is. You wanna drop hints and flirt with what you think is true, but you are too coward to say it. You lack conviction. I doubt you really believe the shit in your mouth. It’s just fodder for your imagined superiority.” Charlotte shrugged and returned Annabelle’s earlier malicious grin. “But then, maybe you just don’t know. Just like you don’t know my dad. You don’t run in the right circles. You want to, for sure. Badly. Desperately. You spend too much money -more than the rumor mill says you have- on dresses for balls and cotillions hosted by social circles you’ll never be welcomed in, to climb a ladder you can only get so high on.”

Annabelle shrunk back.

Charlotte didn’t press forward. Her posture remained loose and unbothered. “Just remember, Annie, my family built the ladder you’re trying to climb. I firmly believe everyone deserves a chance to try to climb the ladder, but knocking us off won’t get you any closer to the top any faster.”

“How egalitarian of you.” She sneered

Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not equality per say, but desire for quality competition. Can’t know how good I am if I don’t know how good my competition is. As it is, I’m not sure I have competition.”

Annabelle flushed. “See, the problem with y’all is-“

Charlotte hummed, cutting her off and set the book in her hand back on the shelf. “The problem is you decided to make my life momentarily difficult instead of minding your damn business. The problem is you’re boxin’ outta your weight class. Shoulda kept your mouth shut and you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself. But then, the problem is that you got that inferiority complex gnawing at your brain. Makes it difficult to think, I reckon.”

“Charlotte.”

Charlotte turned over her shoulder, away from Annabelle’s slack-jawed stare, and smiled at her brother-in-law’s mother, her godmother.

“Bonjou, Mama Oya! Koman sa va?”

“Mo bon, babygirl.” Tall and ebony-skinned, Oya Dillioles glared down her nose at Annabelle with more regal dignity than any monarch the world over had ever possessed. “Mrs. Brennan.”

Annabelle just managed to not sneer. “Mrs-“

Charlotte tsked. “Madame.” She tilted her head, blonde ringlets tumbling over her shoulder. “I mean, you gotta know I ain’t about to let you address her recklessly.”

Annabelle locked her jaw. “Madame Dillioles.”

Charlotte smiled. “That’s better.”

Oya hummed and turned sharply away from the fuming brunette. Leaning down, she placed a kiss on each of Charlotte’s cheeks. Charlotte stretched up to return the gesture.

Oya shifted so she was standing full in front of Annabelle. “Charlie, cher, I was on my way to the Shop and felt faint. I was hoping you and my strapping, young grand-baby could walk me over, if y’all were done here?”

Charlotte fought back a smile, knowing full well that Oya Dillioles had never felt faint a day in her life. Charlotte would unhesitatingly put money on her living forever. 

“Of course, Mama. We’re meandering that way.” Charlotte called over to Hadrien, who stood from where he had been inspecting a low shelf of books. “Baby, is there anything you wanted to buy? We’re gonna walk over to the Shop with Mama Oya.”

“No, I’m good. I didn’t see anything that we don’t already have at the house.” Hadrien approached with a bright smile, giving Annabelle Brennan a wide berth. “Hey, Mimi!”

Oya’s smile was beaming as she reached up for Hadrien’s peach-fuzzed cheek. “I see you everyday, baby, and I swear you get taller every time. Just the spittin’ image of your Grandpa and Uncle.”

Hadrien beamed and stopped ever so slightly to press a kiss to his de facto grandmother’s cheek.

They left without glancing at Annabelle Brennan. Meandering idly, Hadrien regaled Mama Oya and Charlotte with a complicated potion he had been helping his uncles with all summer.

“Nonc Ogun said that my-“ he stopped short in front of a beignet shop. “Do you think they’ve eaten?” 

“Your uncles?” Charlotte glanced at her watch. “I doubt it. It’s only 10:30, baby.”

“I’ll get them coffee and some pastries then. Be back in a second.” 

Charlotte smiled. “Get me a coffee too, H. Mama Oya?”

Mama Oya pinched Hadrien’s cheek. “Me too, baby. Thank you.”

When Hadrien was clear of the door, Mama Oya glanced down at Charlotte. “You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

Charlotte smiled. “She doesn’t. I’ve known her all my life and the worst she can do is try to taunt me about my divorce? A divorce I wanted and instigated?” Charlotte grinned. “Pathetic. I ain’t worried about her.”

Oya hooked her hand in Charlotte’s elbow. “Who then? Who are you worried about?”

“My son, me, all of my family including the Dillioles..” Charlotte shrugged. “I love NOLA, it’s in my blood-“

“But?”

Charlotte sighed. “But I’m not sure how much longer I can be here without hexing someone into the next century.”

Oya frowned. “Are people harassing you? If so, I can get Amadioha or Eshu to walk around with you.”

“No… that’s not necessary. They both have more important things to be doin’ than babysitting me.”

Oya clicked her tongue. “They would happy -proud- to keep their Auntie Charlie safe, you know that, especially if you’re being harassed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Charlotte sighed. “People mostly just stare or make little snide comments. I kinda wish someone would try something. Give me a reason.” Charlotte caught her eyes. “I just- I’m done. I don’t have it in me to pretend anymore. To show people only what they want. To allow them to spew shit about situations they know nothing about without retaliation. It’s killin’ me.”

Oya nodded. “You’ve never been good at politicking, playing nice. Straight to the point. It’s one of the reasons we should’ve known that you didn’t want to be with him. That there was more going on.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I worked real hard for a long time to keep y’all out of it. I just wish I had said something sooner.”

Oya nodded. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I just don't know if I can be me here. Everyone already has an opinion here. About me, about the family, about the divorce. I feel like I’m suffocating.” She sighed. “I'm trying to make it to January but I don’t know if I can.”

“When Hadrien turns eighteen.” 

Charlotte nodded. “I have an interview. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“For a job?” 

“Yeah, with a school out in the UK.”

“Hogwarts?” Oya whistled. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

Charlotte swallowed. “They’ve finished fixing up the school after the- after and the Headmistress was their transfiguration professor so they need a new one.”

Oya smiled and pinched at her cheek. “Well, I’ll miss you for sure, but I can’t think of a better person to take over a transfiguration professorship.”

Charlotte turned wide, vulnerable eyes on Oya. “Are you sure?”

Oya pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s forehead. “Never been surer about anythin’, cher. You are the best transfiguration master I’ve ever met.”

Charlotte breathed deep and nodded. “One thing that would make it easier, tell you what. Once Dad’s divorce is final…”

Oya sucked on her tongue. “Hush you.”

Charlotte grinned. “Gotta get rid of your boy toys though.”

Oya pursed her lips to tamp down her smile.

**

Charlotte yawned and glanced at her watch. 

6:00 am. Goddamn.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she dropped her portkey into the waiting basket, set down the bird cage in her hands and stepped off the platform. 

This is bullshit. People don’t actually exist at this hour.

She looked around quietly, hoping to catch sight of not only the customs office, but also a coffee shop? Or at least someone who could tell her where to find one?

She sighed upon seeing the customs office, sans coffee, and made her way towards the line she could already see forming, catching a brief glimpse of herself in a large decorative mirror. 

She winced, taking in her bedraggled appearance.  

As per normal, her blonde hair was a mess of frizzy ringlets, her blue eyes tired and clouded over the bags that normally haunted the sleepless. To top it off, she hadn't really even bothered to get dressed beyond a faded t-shirt and a pair of cuffed, faded blue jeans that had once been dark. It just seemed too much effort to get all dressed up for traveling and the inevitable errands she had to run.

She shivered. It was full-summer sweltering, bordering on hellish in NOLA. She had worked up a sweat walking from the car to the porkey office in NOLA not thirty minutes ago. She would have to dig a sweater out of one of her bags at first opportunity.

She swallowed dryly and set her shoulders. She was a de Vilierè. She could do this.

She felt her posture collapse, the energy required to keep upright almost too taxing on her frayed nervous system. 

I’m not sure I’m human currently, much less me.

She pinched the bridge of her nose feeling the caffeine headache starting up.

There was so much to do after she finished fighting her way through the red tape. There were new clothes to buy, books to peruse, money to exchange and bank vaults to set up. She then had to portkey to some remote town in Scotland and become acquainted with the school that she would be living in for the foreseeable future.

She sighed and shook off a raging headache and a distinct sense of melancholy. Best get to work.

**

After an hour waiting in the line at the customs desk in the British Ministry's International Portkey Office, she imagined she had seriously considered casting nearly dozen unforgivables, a great majority of them directed at either the execrably slow customs officer or the man in front of her that sported excruciatingly severe body odor.

It took a further fifteen minutes of abject torture before the man in front of her moved away from the counter and cleared the way.

To be fair, she tried valiantly to put on a smile and remember the manners society expected of her, but upon reaching the front of the line, the portly woman found there launched into a laundry list of items that the Ministry had deemed 'restricted.' 

No hello. No good morning. Just a list of vegetables and restricted potions ingredients.

It took another ten minutes and all of her easily exhausted patience, after pulling nearly all of her worldly possessions out of her bespelled satchel, to convince the officer that she was carrying none of the restricted items  in her luggage.

Finally, after checking the last item off her list, the witch turned back to her and held out one chubby hand. “Hand me your wand, Ms. de Vilieré.”

Charlotte raised a blonde eyebrow in response, both at the butchering of her name (de Vil-ear) and the idea of placing what amounted to a part of her soul into the hand of a customs officer who she doubted would treat it with the respect it deserved. Knowing it would get her nowhere, she relented and handed her the wand.

The woman examined the wand carefully and then measured it, calling back to one of her cronies, “Yew, ten inches, with...” She paused and cast a spell on the wand, “A snake's scale.” She shot Charlotte a skeptical look. “You yanks believe that snake scales hold magical properties?”

Charlotte smiled frostily, her deep south accent deepening further (if that was even possible) in irritation. “It's not just any snake, it's Li Grand Zombi and it does hold magical properties or it wouldn't be in my wand.”

“It's a zombie snake?” The woman guffawed. “I'll believe it when I see it.” 

“I can demonstrate if y’want.”

The woman froze, staring at her from under her lashes. “No, mum, it’s not necessary.” 

Charlotte simpered. “If you’re sure.”

She cleared her throat and gave the wand an experimental flick, turning her back on Charlotte. “Yew, ten inches, springy and with a zombie snake's scale at the heart.”

A red-headed man sat behind her and stared at Charlotte from behind a set of clerical file drawers. “Got it, Matilda.”

Matilda cast an appraising look at Charlotte and whispered, a bad parody of sotte voce. “Though, I reckon she’s not the type we’d be wantin’ ‘ere after You Know Who.”

The man nodded. “Yew wood and a snake core. Bad omens, they are.”

Charlotte grit her teeth. “Can I please have my wand back, Matilda?”

Matilda looked uncomfortable and handed back her wand. “Here y’go, mum.” She nodded, awkward anxiety written in her posture. “You’re done ‘ere, mum. Passport control and visas are two floors up.”

Charlotte thanked her quietly as she accepted her wand. She made to leave and paused. “For the record, Voldemort didn’t have nothin’  on some of our racist madmen.” Charlotte delighted in their shivers, fighting down her conscience. “And I’m an absolute pussycat compared to them. Adieu.”

She didn’t get far before regretting her ill temper. She’d be lucky to make it to Hogwarts at this rate. Matilda was probably calling the passport office right now.

Tossed out because I couldn’t watch my mouth. Who’da thunk?

Charlotte glanced up at the clock and cussed under her breath. She made her way towards where she assumed the elevators were. She had at least another hour of bureaucracy and red tape before she could do something fun.

Three hours later, she was sitting on a bench in the middle of the now-bustling Portkey Authority, trying valiantly to fight of the wave of sleepiness that had latched onto her mind with a vengeance as soon as she stopped moving.

As it were, she was quickly falling into a light doze when an indignant squawk broke its way through the fog of sleepiness.

“Hermés, shh.”

The squawking did not stop and the bird-cage sitting next to her on the bench shook violently. Charlotte sighed a little and, with a small indulgent smile, twisted around to find her steadily over-filled satchel on the other side of the bench next to her. She pulled out a bird treat and moved the leather cover out of the way looking at the falcon within.

She offered the treat as one would offer a peace treaty and got a hearty nip to her forefinger for her trouble.

“Yeah, yeah, screw you too, bitch. You never stay angry for long, and you know it.” She reached into the cage and smoothed the ruffled feathers on the falcon’s head, before retrieving another bird treat.

“I don't mean to intrude, mum, but are you Charlotte de Vilierè?”

Vil-i-ear. She shrugged. It was better.

Charlotte started and turned toward the representative of the Authority she somehow missed approaching. “Um yeah, that’s me.”

The short man cleared his throat. “Well, we are ready when you are, ma’am.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She took a deep breath and grabbed Hermés’ cage. “Let's go.”

**

Charlotte took another deep breath of clean, cool air, trying really hard to not jostle Hermés in his cage. She looked around Hogsmeade slowly, taking in what amounted to a tiny sleepy village in its full summer splendor. The sun was bright, the foliage green and the air cool and clean, a startling difference to the muggy, sweltering heat of New Orleanian summers. 

She took another deep breath to savor the beauty around her and stepped further onto the street.

“Oh and yeh must be the new professor!”

Charlotte started and turned towards the large man standing next to a carriage. She nodded slowly watching as the man began to walk towards her. He shot her a broad grin, then stuck a hand out.

“Th' name is Hagrid, I teach Care of Magical Creatures. Nice ta meet yeh, Professor.”

Charlotte felt her body relax, smiling easily and slipping her hand into his. “Charlotte de Vilieré. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Smiling, he reached for the bird cage in her hand and relieved her of her satchel as well. He bowed slightly and opened the door for her. “Go ahead, then. Get in the carriage. I'll be taking yeh up to the grounds.”

She nodded again and made for the carriage quickly. “Um thank you.”

He smiled and nodded then followed her into the carriage, setting Hermés on the ground between them. “You're welcome.” He settled back and shifted around her until he was comfortable. “So where are you from, Professor? The headmistress said you were from across the pond, but was mum as to where exactly.” A small self-deprecating smile flitted across his face. “Probably guessed we wouldn't have no clue what she was talking about anyways.”

Charlotte smiled softly.  “I'm from New Orleans, Louisiana.” At his look of confusion, she clarified. “It's in the South, along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.”

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. “Mardi Gras, right? I don’t rightly know where that is but I've heard about Mardi Gras. I probably coulda guessed that you were from the South from your accent.”

She chuckled lightly. “It is rather distinct. Maybe when I am settled in I can show you New Orleans on a map.”

“I would like that, professor.” Hagrid smiled broadly again. “So you're gonna be takin' over teachin' Transfiguration?”

“Um, yes. I'll be teaching Transfiguration and taking over a couple of the Arithmancy classes so that Professor Vector, I believe, can do more research.”

The sound of gates swinging open cut off the rest of the conversation.

“We're here.”

**

“This here is Professor Snape, our Deputy Headmaster. He'll be showin' yeh around Hogwarts.” Hagrid smiled brightly and motioned to the dour-looking man in all black standing on the steps of the school. As if sensing her anxiety, he whispered from somewhere over her head, and took Hermés’ birdcage from her hand. “I know he looks a fright, but he's a war-hero. Never met someone as brave ‘n trustworthy as the professor. Man deserves to be a little grumpy after what all happened. I’ll take your owl and your bags to your quarters.”

She nodded absently, choosing not to mention that he didn’t look a ‘fright’. He wasn’t smiling, sure, looked to be pretty ticked to be standing there, but that wasn’t the problem. 

She had done her research and knew who Severus Snape was. She knew to expect some curmudgeon-esque behavior. His personality had been extensively reported on, but so had his deeds, his skill, his intelligence. 

Severus Snape was capable and, while she knew she was intelligent and the Headmistress had been impressed with her, seventeen years trapped in a marriage had done little for her professional confidence. The imposter syndrome was kicking her ass. 

That and he was attractive. Sure, he wasn’t Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio, but she’d never been really interested in conventional. He was tall and intense and wore intelligence and ambition like armor. 

It had been a long while since she’d felt any type of attraction for anyone. It was enough to set her nerves on edge.

And honestly, she probably looked like she had been dragged backwards through a swamp. Bedraggled and disheveled.

Her mother’s voice came to her unbidden. Really Lottie. Put more effort into how you look. That’s your job as a wife, to be ornamental. He didn’t marry you for your brain.

Maybe if you took being Beau’s wife more seriously he wouldn’t-

She shook herself free of that memory and started up the stairs toward the tall man. She wiped her hands on her jeans, hoping he didn’t see, knowing by his sneer that he did. “Hello, Professor Snape. I am Charlotte de Vilieré.”

One black eyebrow rose as a pair of black eyes looked down in disgust at her hand. His eyes flickered back up to hers and he intoned a brief: “I'm aware.”

She breathed deep. So it begins. “‘Course.”

He hummed. 

Her jaw clenched slightly, before she forced herself to relax. “Nice to meet you.”

“I'm sure.” He sighed negligently and waved her into the castle. “Shall we? The Headmistress thinks it a good idea that I show you around the school.” His tone left no room for imagination as to his feelings on the matter. 

She sighed and followed after him, noting with more than a little resignation, that he seemed determined to lose her. At maybe six-three or six-four and towering a foot-plus over her not particularly impressive five-two, he had a much longer stride and used it to his advantage. He was in the building before she even had time to clear the first level of stairs.

Breathing deeply, she scampered behind him. Once in the building - the castle, good god, where am I?- she became easily distracted by the architecture, the smell, the feel of the place. Nothing in NOLA, as opulent and storied as it was, could compare to this.

He stopped abruptly, she almost ran full-tilt into his back, and turned towards her, watching in sarcastic amusement as she put a hand to her chest and huffed a shaky, “Shit.”

“Having problems keeping up, Ms. de Vilieré?”

What a dick. She glared at him and stood up straight. “Please continue, Professor.”

The smirk fell from his face, indicating that she had likely said that out loud. She flushed and felt a brief stab of something more than anxiety as he appraised her with dark eyes. 

He seemed to come to some decision and turned away, drawling a quiet: “Indeed.”

Turning toward the giant doors in front of them, one large hand came out from the depths of his pockets with a wand. A negligent flick of his wrist later and the doors opened.

She followed him into the room and looked up at the enchanted ceiling silently, awestruck by the sheer complexity of the charms needed to pull something like that off.

“Do close your mouth, Ms. de Vilieré. It is rude to gape.” He shot her a smug look and continued to walk further into the room. “This is the Great Hall...”

After that she found it rather hard to concentrate on what he was saying. Somewhere in between imagining a dozen or so wordless, wandless jinxes she could throw at him, she completely zoned out.

She was just considering the mathematics behind a wandless color change spell, when the subject of these musings cleared his throat.

“Ms. de Vilieré, if you would kindly listen when I speak to you.” 

With a swift shake of the head, the woman rejoined the world of the living and stared up at the very tall man in black with tired eyes, realizing yet again just how tired she was. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, chastising herself. She seriously considered attempting to throw a jinx at the man just because he was being a little ornery.

“Professor Snape?” A sour look passed over his face briefly as he waited for her to continue. Her accent was thick with exhaustion and she was sure she looked a mess, but she struggled to focus on his disapproving black eyes for more than a few seconds. “I know that it's pretty late in the afternoon here, and that by all rights I should be as cheerful as you, but,” she paused to yawn, peeking with one eye over the hand shielding her mouth at the glowering man, “But I have not stopped goin' since midnight and I need to sleep desperately.”

He looked down his long nose at her, black eyebrow raised in disdain. “I see. In that case, I will show you to your quarters. Will that suffice?”

She nodded mid-yawn before adjusting her tote on her shoulder. “By all means, lead the way.”

He nodded curtly and turned sharply on his heel. “This way, Professor.”

**

When next he saw her, this time hours later at staff dinner, she looked if possible, even more ridiculous. She seemed to be wearing the same trousers as she had been wearing this afternoon, wrinkled as if she had fallen asleep in them, accompanied by an over-large gray sweatshirt, with the word ‘Saints’ emblazoned across the front in garish gold lettering. Her curly blonde hair was free of the ponytail it had been in earlier and had formed a cloud around her head that made her look like an overgrown mushroom.

A beautiful mushroom, to be honest, with an alluring, impressively glowing recommendation from Minerva and a surname that tickled at his memory for some god forsaken reason. 

But a mushroom, nonetheless. 

She approached the table timidly, with the near imperceptible scuff of trainers on stone, and made for the only open seat, the one directly across from him.

The table fell silent, even Rolanda and Lupin choosing to forgo their rather obnoxiously loud discussion of quidditch in lieu of watching the tiny, blushing woman take her seat.

Minerva cringed slightly at the woman's less-than-professional appearance, before forcing a thin, polite smile on her face. She cast a look at Severus and he knew immediately that she was warning him to play nice. “And how did your travels go, Professor de Vilieré?”

“Charlotte’s fine.” The woman smiled, her hair arranging itself into a neat bun of its own accord. 

Wandless and wordless. Severus shrugged it off, it was likely a spell she had been using most of her life. Proficiency was a given. 

“It went alright, I guess, Headmistress. Thanks for askin’. I'm exhausted but I reckon I'll be right as rain in the morning.” She shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “And more put together too.”

Minerva responded with a pleasantry he didn't care to catch and the woman responded in kind with a soft smile and soft admonition he couldn’t make out. 

As she spoke recounting some particular or another about her journey, he allowed himself to listen to the odd cadence of her voice. Her voice was soft and her accent thick and drawling, lacking the staccato rhythm of the Minerva’s brogue and brusque quality of his own voice, but there was something annoyingly pleasant about it.

Like almost everything else about her, he decided it was irritating. She was a lesson in extremes. She was too short, her hair too wild, her jumper too garish and her accent too American. She couldn't just be average.

That thought led into another rather interesting thought. Why was it that this blasted school couldn't hire anyone normal? 

“Severus!” A long fingered hand landed on his sleeve heavily. “Are you quite alright, dear?”

Severus snapped to attention and focused on Minerva. “Yes.”

“What has you so distracted?” She retracted her hand.

He sighed, frustrated that he had been caught lost in his thoughts. “It is of no importance.” He caught de Vilieré’s eyes and grunted, looking down at his food.

**

“That jumper, Ms. de Vilieré, may I assume that it is in...support, shall we say, of a sports team?” Despite his polite, maybe even pleasant, phrasing, the deep baritone of his voice dripped with sarcasm. He didn’t like her or her sweater and desired that she knew it.

The asshole.

She looked up from the mush she had made on her plate and caught his arched eyebrow with one of her own, and spoke in a deliberately cheerful voice, nodding. “The New Orleans Saints. They are my hometown’s professional football- American Football- team.” She deliberately ignored his contemptuous look.

“Ahh,” he drawled, smirking slightly. “Muggle football, I’d suspect.”

She breathed deep, trying to steady herself. “Yeah, it’s a no-maj sport.”

“Not Quidditch?” Professor Hooch frowned. “Do Americans play quidditch?”

“Some people are into it. There’s a club league in NOLA that my brother-in-law tried out once. Quidditch is more popular up north, I think. The South has been obsessed with Football as long as people have been playing it.” Charlotte smiled. “To be honest, I don't think I've ever watched Quidditch. I’m not really a sports girl."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Then why the jumper, I wonder?"

Charlotte shrugged, watching as the Headmistress shot Snape a look. "I think my brother gave me this sweater, to be honest, or my dad.”

Professor Hooch looked scandalized. “Did you play quidditch at Ilvermorny?”

Charlotte smiled. “I didn’t go to Ilvermorny. The US is a very large country. Most states have their own school or schools. I went to the Convent - the Lafreniere School of Magic in New Orleans. The no-majs believe the school buildings are an old Ursuline Convent. Most still call it the Convent rather than by the school’s official name. Everyone in my family went there and it’s, like, right around the corner from our house. My dad wouldn’t have felt too secure sending his children that far from home.”

“It’s not a boarding school?” Professor Lupin leaned forward.

Charlotte rubbed at her face. Their questions were to be expected but this level of social engagement was exhausting her already rock bottom stores of energy. “No. Most schools in the States don’t board their students. Ilvermorny does and I think there’s a boarding school out in California.”

“I’ve heard that Americans often pursue higher education. Did you attend university?”

Charlotte winced imperceptibly, having dreaded this question. “I had planned to. Life got complicated around the end of my time at the Convent.”

“Complicated?” Snape drummed the pad of his middle finger against the table, dark eyes on her.

Charlotte nodded. “Complicated. I decided it would be more feasible to pursue apprenticeship in my chosen fields.”

“Complicated how?” 

She turned back to Snape and considered him quietly. “Complicated enough that it derailed many of my personal plans.”

He caught her eyes and held them for a long moment.

“How interesting.” The Headmistress smiled, sensing the rising tension. “The differences in culture are astounding.”

She blinked and he looked down.

Sprout leaned forward, ignoring her. “I’ve heard about something called Mardi Gras?”

Mar-tee Grass. Jesus Christ. 

Charlotte chuckled but didn’t correct her. “It’s one of the things New Orleans is famous for. It means Fat Tuesday. It’s the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday.” 

“Ash Wednesday?”

Professor Snape sighed. “The Wednesday before the start of Lent.”

He was met with blank stares. He caught Charlotte’s eyes. “The forty days before Easter. Meant as a time of repentance. Catholics observe it.”

Professor Sprout turned back to her. “Are you Catholic?” 

The look on her face must have been unedited because Professor Lupin chuckled. 

She marshaled herself and made a so-so motion with her hands. “Culturally, I guess. I did all the sh- rites that were expected of me. But I haven’t willingly stepped inside a church in years.” She shrugged. 

“Why did you do all the rites if you don’t think you believe it?”

“Pomona!”

Charlotte nodded at the Headmistress. “It’s okay. It was expected of me, given my cultural heritage and family. I don’t know of any member of a Creole family that would risk social censure by rejecting Catholicism. You just do it, take Communion, light the candle, get it over with. Grease the wheels and all that.”

“How do you know about Lent, Severus?” Pomona turned to Snape with curious eyes. 

“I was raised Catholic.” Snape nodded to Charlotte. “Similarly to Ms. de Vilierè, I did all the shite that was expected of me and no longer practice.”

“I didn’t know that about you, Severus.” Flitwick hummed, kind smile on his face. “What did you mean by Creole, Charlotte?”

“Being of French heritage from the city of New Orleans.” 

“And being Catholic is part of being Creole?”

“I think it’s widely assumed to be essential to being Creole.” 

“You would disagree?” Severus watched her quietly.

“I don’t think it matters if I agree.” She sighed. “New Orleanian magical communities are very… culture-bound and committed to maintaining tradition. As a result, these communities retain a lot of the historical prejudices that the no-maj communities have lost to some extent. My family is Creole and, outside of school, I didn’t really socialize with people who weren’t. Creoles live in the Quarter and go to Mass at St. Louis, Americans live across Canal Street and attend church at First Magical Baptist, the Irish live in the Channel and go to their local Catholic church, and so on. If I had wanted to change that, make a different decision, -hell, if I had wanted to move out of the Quarter- the social pressure would’ve been intense.”

“Americans? Aren’t you all American?” Lupin smiled.

“Now, yes, but again, the Creole magical community holds to a lot of older, traditional prejudices. There’s a pecking order- a superiority complex. We were the original colonists. I’ve always been taught to identify as Creole first, American second.” 

“What’s Cajun?”

Charlotte blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“What does the word Cajun refer to?” 

Charlotte’s smile felt tight. “Of French heritage from outside of the city.”

Professor Binns nodded. “I thought it was food.”

Charlotte breathed deep. “It means that too.”

The Headmistress sighed loudly and set her hands on the table with some amount of finality. “I think we’ve all asked too much of our new colleague already. She’ll be here past today so you can ask more questions at a later date.”

Professor Sinistra smiled. “New Orleans sounds fascinating.”

Charlotte ducked her head. “NOLA is unlike anywhere else in the US. It’s truly unique.”

“Why are you in Scotland then, I wonder?”

The air left the room with a whimper. The Headmistress rubbed at her face.

Charlotte nodded, biting at her lip, glancing over at Snape. There was a part of her that wanted to be honest and another, larger part that wanted to meet his sarcasm head-on. 

The latter part won. 

“The weather.”

Professor Sprout snorted.

He hummed, eyes on hers. “You’ll be disappointed then.”

She chuckled. “I already am. It was summer when I left NOLA this morning. I should’ve kept a jacket out when I packed. ‘Bout near froze.”

“Disappointed and of delicate constitution.” Snape sighed dramatically. “You’re not likely to last long here.”

The Headmistress's jaw clenched. “Severus.”

“I’m cold-natured, sure.” She shrugged, smiling the edgy little smile that used to irritate Beau. Despite the obvious being exactly what she meant, she clarified for the sake of professionalism. “I do get cold easily, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m delicate.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I wouldn’t worry about my longevity, I have survived much more frigid climes. I’m tougher than I look.”

Severus made a face that communicated clearly that he didn’t believe her. “I’m sure.”

She hummed. She wasn’t going to let him goad her into revealing more about herself than she was ready to share.

Professor Lupin glanced between the two of them. “At the risk of being nosy, why did you decide to move to Scotland?”

She considered Professor Lupin and saw Snape watch her out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, she shrugged. “The magical community of NOLA isn’t small, per say, but it is insulated and very interconnected.“ She paused and looked at Snape again. “I felt a little stifled at home, I guess. Needed a new environment.”

“A new environment for what?” Snape traced the wood grain of the table with a single long finger.

She bit back the urge to shock him with an absurd lie. “To grow, develop. A bit like a houseplant, I needed a new pot.”

Professor Sprout made a pleased sound.

“You felt stifled in a city with the culture and history you’ve spent the last hour describing?” He demurred sarcastically. “Your new pot may be a mite small.”

“I’m sure it’ll be alright. After all, it seems big enough for the current residents.” She lowered her chin, eyeing him from under her lashes. “If such illustrious company can grow to fit such a space, I’m sure I will do alright.”

Professor Lupin choked on his wine. Professor Flitwick dropped his silverware with a clatter. Hagrid froze as if he was in the presence of a predator.

“Touché, Ms. de Vilierè.” Snape nodded. 

Part 2

[gothamslostboy]

Hiya I saw you do ship requests and I hope they’re still open (if not then totally ignore this). Can I please request a ship for the Lost Boys?

Gender preference: I’m bi

Favorite animal: it’s a tie between sea turtles and sharks

Music taste: basically a mix of alt rock, alt, goth, and a bit of indie. Things like Hozier, Imagine Dragons, Foo Fighters, Bleachers, Fleetwood Mac, Abba, Florence and the Machine, Killers, Vision Video, Siouxsie and the Banshees

Gender: female

Physical appearance: 5’3” and midsize, but more on the curvy side. Medium length dark brown hair with beach waves and brown eyes. I also got a small floral tattoo on the back of my neck.

Clothing style: unintentionally 70s and witchy/whimsigothic. Like flowy tops or kimonos/cardigans and flared/flowy pants; sometimes I’ll throw in some sheer tops or velvet dresses to change things up, maybe some leather or lace too. I wear lots of blues, blacks, whites and occasionally some dark greens. I love me my accessories too.

Personality traits: I’m an introvert at heart but can be extroverted when the situation calls for it. I’d say I’m easygoing to a fault, adaptable, friendly, loyal, honest, and optimistic. As an astrology girl too I also want to add that I’m a Virgo moon and Virgo rising.

Hobbies: drawing, painting, writing, gardening, baking. I like to travel to new places and experience new things like food and cultures.

Thanks! 😊

I SHIP YOU WITH:

Star!

I can see you two curled up together, you drawing while talking to Star about outfits she’ll make for you, asking you to sketch it for her. During the time of year, you guys break away from the group and get any new food options from the boardwalk to try, before heading to the beach and watching the sea turtles hatch. You help protect them from predators and reach the sea.

Star loves playing with your hair, adding braids or attaching beads/charms to it. When she makes shirts or dresses for you, Star will try to have your tattoo show, she loves it and is always asking to give you another tattoo.

For dates, every 2 weeks Star asks Lucy if she can borrow the kitchen, where the two of you bake for hours, listening to your favorite music

Star is also a Horoscope girl and checks hers every day. When she or you fights/bickers with one of the boys, you’ll discuss their horoscope compared to hers, and give eatchother advice on how to fix the situation

You tend to be the one doing most the talking when you first meet, but once she warms up to you she flourishes. Asking about your hobbies, asking you to teach her how to paint

- - - - -_____ - - - - -

AN: I’m so sorry this took literal months, i completely forgot about this draft I’m so sorry. But I hope you like your match up! When I read your submission, it just screamed for Star. If I had to pick a boy for you it’d be Marko, but she is ahead of all the others by far haha

[revclver-jesus]

the most popular interpretation i've seen is that while the yellow is artificial, the blonde hair is as well, both somehow tying to whatever the kirijo meant to do. and now when elizabeth is not the only velvet room attendant of that appearance anymore, it kindaaaaaa does make sense, considering that she and her siblings are like a "body ideal" of a persona user. takaya also shares the default spell with them

{{ Ohhh, for the Takaya's eyes thing I assume? So do you mean to say that you think the Kirijo group was deliberately trying to change him into a velvet room attendant entity? Do you think they'd be aware that those exist though? That's the big head scratcher for that one to me, it seems like a big assumption that his resemblance is on purpose for Kirijo? Though tbf, this could easily be fixed in Reload with a single line saying they heard rumors of ancient entities that have power over arcana-- it's really easy to BS how much info the Kirijo group secretly has tbh! But! I guess that theory also works if it isn't on purpose? Perhaps something about trying to optimize his ability to connect to all things persona caused him to inadvertently become this frankensteined version of a velvet room attendant, where he took on their visual appearance but not quite their abilities. So it was accidental and they didn't really undeerstand why his appearance changed so severely compared to the others, they just knew it made his persona work better.

It IS true though that it's hard to ignore that Takaya has specifically Velvet Room Attendant eyes, not shadow eyes! Shadow eyes have an extra ring around the pupil, vr attendants have takaya's tiny pupils with the black outermost iris. That combined with his silver hair..? Hair they made even MORE white in Reload btw?

The fact that his hair is silver and not all the way white might indicate he's halfway between his natural dark hair and pure white? ( I always headcanoned he used to have dark brown hair personally lol. )

I'm not quite sure what you mean by default spell though btw, do you mean they both use almighty spells? Which, true ! }}

[lantenne]

Why does my brain want me to dwell in misery.

I know that deep down the cause of a good portion of my misery is self re-enforced because it’s what I’m used to. That is comfortable to me because it’s the only thing that’s predictable and I can make it last as long as I want. But I don’t want to be like this. Yet I am. I just wish I wasn’t cursed to be like this. Against my will I am forced to feel constantly depressed. No matter what. And I just have to live with it. I don’t want to. The fact that sure, I can do things to combat it all, yet at the end of the day it will all still be there. Waiting. Always in the corner of my mind the second my thoughts are absent. I have been born with many aspects of myself I have over the years come to accept or am actively working on accepting that I have. My skin condition which has permanently altered my face and much of my body. My vision which, in a few decades, will go dark. I’m sure other things that will come up that my family has yet to tell me which will pass onto me. Yet in all of that the one which I can’t accept is that part of my brain chemicals which makes me feel this way. The fact that I understand this yet can not do anything about it reasonably speaking besides temporarily push away with pills is one thing about me I wish more than anything I can change. Yet, ironically, there is no way to do so compared to everything else that affects me. I can get surgery to fix my skin or eyes or my knee or anything else. Yet that I absolutely cannot. Maybe the argument can be made that if I cannot change it then there is no point in ruminating on it all. And yes, usually I would agree with that. In general I follow that sentiment (or try my best to) accept that there is no point in worrying about what I cannot reasonably change. But when it is an aspect about me that hammers away at me everyday, at every moment, that I must constantly spend an exasperating amount of energy to ignore and push aside everyday. That, is agony to me. It DOES affect me. So much. Everyday. I can’t accept it if regardless it will always hurt. Forever. I just can’t. And no one will understand this. I feel like I can never just explain this to anyone and they would understand how much I hate it and why I am the way I am, why I act and do what I do. If I ever risked doing so it would only end up badly as it has before. It gets dismissed because other people have worse things to go through. They say out of either just not understanding it or out of some sort of weird sense of malice? I don’t know. Or that maybe I’m being dramatic or saying it to get them to feel bad for me or some shit like that. And that is why I live and die the way I do. The only mechanism I can even explain a little bit of my real thoughts are these random moments when they sink in particularly hard on random times at random days.

Please, let me die when it comes time. It will be an end to misery. One that cannot be fixed any other way.

[strwberri-milk]

Academic Misconduct

AO3 || Professor!Au || Lucifer x AFAB!Reader || Smut || 3,059 words || MDNI ||

Sometimes, Lucifer's human world outfit makes you think of a professor that needs to bang you over his desk. Just sayin'.

additional tags: desk sex, fingering, vaginal penetration, orgasm denial, kitten as a pet name

You sigh, standing outside the office of your professor. He decided that it was imperative you hand in your assignment within the next day but none of the words on the paper made sense to you. He wasn’t exactly the kindest man either, named after a creature who defied God and acting just as stuck up as one. Still, you had to agree with everybody else. Despite how much of an asshole he was he was an extremely attractive man, fitting all the criteria of tall, dark, and handsome. 

Getting an appointment with him was incredibly challenging. Lots of other students booked his office hours days in advance as they tried to seduce him and fail miserably. It was easy to see which students were coming from a failed proposition, hiding in the back of the lecture hall and being picked on even more incessantly by him. 

You knock on the door and wait for him to let you into the office, straightening your clothes out to make sure that not a single hair was out of place. He had a very strict dress code for his office hours for some reason. Students were expected to dress at the very least business casual for him to entertain your reasoning for visiting him. To avoid being told off and ignored by him you decided to wear a blouse and skirt. A little too overdressed for a regular day of class but anything to get a better grade right?

The door clicks open as a woman about your age storms out, your professor sitting at his desk incredibly nonchalantly. You make eye contact and he smiles professionally at you. 

“You can come in now. Ignore her,” he says, gesturing for you to walk in. 

You walk in, closing the door behind you and taking a seat across from him. He eyes the papers you begin to put on his desk, picking up one of the sheets that had the most amount of angry question marks on them. 

“Are you not understanding the material?” he asks, not letting you speak first. His dark eyes look at you and you feel yourself whither a little under his intense gaze. 

“Yes. I’m just having trouble understanding this theory and its application. I understood it well enough on the practice questions but when I started getting to the hard ones I couldn’t do them.” 

He looks over your work, comparing all of the papers to each other. 

“Dr.-” you start, trying to preserve some sort of dignity and explain your stupid mistakes when he puts his hand up. 

“Just call me Lucifer. I see your issue.” He gets up and circles around you. 

“You’re lacking one of the fundamental principles of the theory. Did you forget it?” His voice is low in your ear as he leans against your body, much too close for a regular student/professor consultation. 

“I don’t see what you’re talking about.” You try to focus on the paper in front of you but fail miserably. 

Unfortunately, you happened to be one of the many people with your eyes on the prof, thoughts going to less than decent places when you’d watch him stretch. Even underneath the thick fabric of his turtlenecks, you could sometimes see the flex of his muscles or a scandalous peek of his stomach when he moved a little too much. Having him be so close to you was driving you mad and you could barely focus. 

“You’re so red,” he says suddenly, shocking you. His hand cups your chin, tilting your gaze to meet him. 

“Sorry, it’s just really warm in here,” you try to say, pulling at the collar of your shirt. “This blouse doesn’t help much.”

He nods, pulling his sweater out of his slacks and giving you a rare glimpse of his skin as he adjusts. 

“My office is quite warm. I’ve been trying to tell the custodians about it but they haven’t gotten around to fixing it.” He disappears from your view and you’re tempted to turn around but don’t. The sound of the door’s lock clicking makes you jump. 

“We won’t have class for a while and I have no other appointments after you. Is your schedule clear? We’ll make sure you understand everything by the time you leave my office.” 

“Yes but-”

“Good. Now, we have to start from the beginning.” 

You prepare yourself for a long lecture, glad that at least you’d have a pretty face to look at before he pulls off his turtleneck, smirking at you staring at his shirtless body. 

“Is there an issue?” he asks, going to put on a button-down. “You are aware it’s too warm here.” 

“Is this even allowed?” you ask, eyeing the professor. 

“Maybe not, but I have tenure. I’m protected as far as I know.” You blink at him. 

“How old are you to have tenure?” He ignores your question, loosely buttoning his shirt and rolling up the sleeves to his forearms. His glasses sit on the desk and you wonder if they’re even real. 

Finally, he starts the actual lecture part and you roll your eyes. A loud smack on the table startles you as he glares you down.

“Are you disrespecting me?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. 

“I don’t have to spend all my time here making sure you understand what we’ve covered in class. If you were paying attention we wouldn’t have to be doing this would we?” 

“I just had one question Dr.-”

“Lucifer.”

“I just needed clarification here and I can leave and you can spend the rest of your time doing something else.” He crosses his arms, staring at you.

“You know I can see the way you stare at me in class,” he says, sharply changing the subject matter. 

“What - huh?” 

“You’re just as obvious as the other students if not, more.” Your face flushes as you realise what he’s alluding to. He knows you have a crush on him, just like everyone else. 

“Am I in trouble?” you ask, voice feeling a little small. You look up to him, not expecting to meet the smirk on his face.

“I’m willing to indulge you in your fantasies.” 

Your mouth opens as you stare at the man in shock. His confident look as his hands go to undo his belt makes you realise he’s serious, covering your eyes when you hear the leather slide out of the belt loops. 

“Lucifer?” you say in shock, finally using his name. “What are you trying to do?”

“Is it not clear?” he asks, pulling you out of your chair and down on his lap in his chair. “I’m propositioning you.” 

“Are you gonna give me an A for the class then if I fuck you?” You’re oddly okay with this progression of events, the exposed skin under his collar teasing you. 

“I didn’t think of this as some sort of transaction - I just saw that you looked interested and I feel interested in you as well.” His fingers toy with the hem of your skirt as his words sink in, making your eyes widen.

“You’re interested in me?! You aren’t married?” He laughs a little at the incredulous tone in your voice. 

“No, I’m not.” He runs a hand up your thighs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

“You haven’t said no yet,” he mutters into your ear. 

“Because I don’t want to…?” you try tentatively, rewarded with a light nip at your neck. 

“So you’re fine with me bending you over my desk and fucking you?” he says, all sorts of subtlety thrown out the window. You feel yourself getting excited at his words, gasping a little. 

He begins to play with you, slipping a hand under your skirt and stroking lightly at your slit. His lips begin to kiss and suck light marks into your skin, the other hand going under your shirt to toy lightly with your nipples. 

“You’re awfully obedient,” he teases, pushing you back slightly to look at him. 

“I’ve got a pretty man underneath me - why wouldn’t I be?” You cover your mouth, not exactly expecting such candour to leave your lips. He laughs instead, pulling you down to him and brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I’m grateful for your honesty and if that’s the case they why don’t we work to remove this?” He thumbs at the edge of your blouse, looking at you expectantly. 

Quickly, you go to remove your shirt, wanting to please the man sitting in between your thighs. He watches you eagerly as your shirt comes off your body, revealing your bar clad chest to him. His hand continues to work on your slit, thumb now beginning to rub lightly at your clit. The gasp that leaves your mouth makes him smirk, going to your collar to suck a light mark into your skin. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, voice low in your ear. You nod hesitantly, unsure if what was currently happening to you was indeed happening. 

With your consent he moves your underwear aside, fingers gently circling your clit with the wetness from your opening. Your arms tighten around him, holding on as he starts to pleasure you, teeth going to pull the strap of your bra down. 

“Lucifer,” you pant, feeling very embarrassed but also very turned on by this situation.

“What is it darling?” he asks sweetly, making your heart skip a beat. 

“Why are you doing this?” You can’t deny it feels great but you can’t help but think you’re just some weird stress relief for him.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you myself,” he starts. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you better once I realised you were just like the others. Desperate for my attention aren’t you?” 

You nod as you feel his fingers enter you, breath hitching as he begins to finger you slowly. Without warning, he decides to add a second one in when you feel ready for him, making you arch into him. The warmth of his body under his shirt makes this more real to you. He’s actually here, and he decided that you were going to be the one he chose to finger blast in his office. 

Your hips begin to buck against his hold, fingers and thumb working a little faster against you. He tilts your head down, kissing you gently. He’s a good kisser and you’re thankful for that - it helps distract you slightly from the burning of your thighs as he makes you straddle him. Any sort of relaxing your muscles makes you fuck yourself on his fingers and you don’t want to come off as too needy. 

He moves his hand faster, breath warm against your chest as he works you to completion. The sounds coming from your pussy become louder as you start to near your orgasm, pants and whines of his name filling the space between you two. 

“Fuck - Lucifer I’m gonna-” 

His fingers leave your body, resting against your thigh as he watches you come down from your almost high. You glare at him, annoyed and unsure how to take that, body still so close to orgasm. 

“I- What was that for?” 

He doesn’t say anything, simply readjusting you. You feel him put you back on the ground, hand sliding up to fist at your hair and push you down against his conveniently cleaned desk. The cold wood against your heated chest sends a shock through your system. His shoes tap yours and he prompts you to spread your legs further. You follow his instruction, air hitting your core as he pulls down your underwear. 

“I want you to cum on my cock,” he says lowly into your ear. The rustling of fabric behind you signals that he’s removing his pants and you hear him hiss lowly, presumably thanks to him freeing his cock. 

“You can take me, can’t you?” he asks, not giving you a chance to respond as you feel him wet himself with your slick, hips slowly sliding his cock against you. 

A moan leaves your lips when he angles against you, tapping his hand against your clit. A hand goes to your hip and he holds you steady as you feel him enter you. He moves slowly, each tantalising inch of him beginning to feel like too much as you let the desk take all of your weight. He doesn’t stop, not until his hips are pressed up against yours. The hand in your hair joins his other hand at your hip and he starts to kiss your back. 

“Fuck - you’re so big,” you moan. 

It hurts a little to have him inside of you which makes you thankful for him not thrusting into you immediately. Your words seem to have an effect on him, his cock throbbing as he revels in the warmth of your body. If you weren’t so close to cumming before this would have been a lot harder for you to take. You can hear him cooing something to you but the feeling of him inside you begins to make you wetter as you fully adjust, hips moving slowly over him. 

“Are you ready kitten?” he asks, moving slowly against you. 

“Please…” 

You gasp as he starts to thrust into you, hands gripping tightly onto your hips as he fucks into you. His hips begin to pick up speed as your moaning becomes louder and your pussy makes lewder noises. You can feel yourself dripping all over him as his thrusts pick up in both speed and intensity. He leans down against you, the weight of his body against yours making you clench around him. Nothing betrays  his calm exterior other than he controlled breathing in your ear, tickling your skin. 

“You feel so good around me,” he drawls. “So good for me.” 

He brings your body up from the desk, the height difference making you stand on the tips of your toes to accommodate. With strength you didn’t know he had, he hooks his hands under your thighs, picking you up and fucking you harder. He thrusts into you and drops you slightly, using gravity to his advantage to quickly ruin you against him. His cock starts to hit you deeper, choked gasps dancing in the air every time you drop on him. 

“Put your feet on the desk for me won’t you?” he asks sweetly, nuzzling his face into your hair. 

You nod mutely, bracing your weight on the desk. His arms relax slightly as you lean against his chest. One of his hands is now freed, going down to roughly circle your clit which makes you clamp down around him involuntarily, drawing a moan from the both of you. You attempt to close your legs, wanting to try and escape all the stimulation he’s giving you but he refuses, the hand going up to separate your knees.

“You’re going to keep your legs spread for me, and for anybody who happens to walk in here, understood?” You can call his bluff immediately, knowing that he locked the door and it was still way too early for custodians to be cleaning offices but the fake thrill of being caught makes you more turned on, nodding at his demand.

The slapping of your bodies together paired with the wet noises from you get louder as you feel him thrusting harder into you, trying to turn into him to muffle your moans. He only laughs, hand playing rougher with your clit. Your eyes go down to watch him fuck you, gasping at the sight of his cock stretching you out. 

“You’re so obedient, maybe we should do this more huh?” he coos, thrusting faster into your impossibly tight pussy. You nod mutely, feeling yourself near your peak. 

“I’m - I’m gonna cum-” you mewl pathetically and the back of your mind worries that he won’t let you cum again. 

Thankfully, it seems to be unfounded as he works harder to bring you to your orgasm, hand pinching and rolling your sensitive bud with more intensity and hips drawing harsher against you. 

“Cum for me - I want to feel it,” he growls, dangerously close to his peak as well.

His words make you clench around him, cumming hard. A moan sounds in your ear as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. Your body begins to cry out as you’re overstimulated, nonsensical babbles leaving your lips as he roughly positions you back against his desk. The snap of his hips against yours shakes the wood and you suddenly realise that if someone were to press their ear up the door for whatever reason it’d become incredibly obvious what you’re doing. 

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he snarls, hips losing their rhythm as his body jerks against yours. You feel a second orgasm approaching, whining his name as he keeps playing with your clit, already recognising the signs of your body’s release. 

“Cum,” he demands, forcing himself to move against your pulsing core to push you over the edge for the last time. 

You moan his name into the desk, hand unfortunately crinkling up some paper he couldn’t care less about as he empties into you with a low groan. The way your pussy clenches over him makes him shudder in overstimulation but he doesn’t want to pull out yet, hips moving slowly to savour the way you feel around him. 

After you both come down from your highs he pulls out slowly, licking his lips at the sight of his cum dripping out of your abused core. He turns you back around, kissing you deeper this time. He grins as your breath hitches in surprise, moving away to suck more marks into your neck. 

“You’re quite a good toy for stress relief, but I’d love to take you out for coffee sometime.” 

You rack your brain, trying to figure out if this is violating any of the student policy of your university. Perhaps you should have paid attention to the overly happy tour guides or went online to look at the student handbook. 

“Don’t worry - I’m not breaking any rules,” he chuckles, kissing your hand. You blink at him, confused. 

“So you mean to tell me you came inside of me just to ask me out?” He shrugs, seeming awfully nonchalant. 

“Perhaps.” 

[stylesxreads]

Just Friends (Final Part)

Pairing: Conrad Fisher x Reader

Susannah always told you that you were destined for one of her boys.

It was obvious that it was Conrad. The connection that you and Conrad had was like no other, nobody would ever compare.

Conrad knew you like the back of his hand, and you knew him just as well. 

You knew that all the moms secretly prayed that you would end up with Conrad or Steven, they wanted to be related one way or another.

It’s been a week since the incident at the deb picnic. Have you and Conrad talked about it? No.

It was driving you crazy. 

Things have been weird to say the least. You were grateful that Conrad wasn’t ignoring you like he was the week before. 

He was doing the exact opposite actually.

He’s been more present this past week than he had all summer. He wasn’t off by himself for most of the day anymore. He actually wanted to hang out with everyone, wanted to go swimming, wanted to play volleyball. It was like you had the old Conrad back.

There were still times where you could tell that something was bothering him, the same thing that’s been bothering him all summer. You’d be in the middle of a conversation and his eyes would wander, his face would slowly fall into a stoic expression and you’d know that you lost him to his thoughts.

But more often than not, Conrad seemed happier. He actually talked at the dinner table, tell jokes or tease Belly or even you. You’d sneak glances at him whenever you could and your heart would race when he was staring right back. 

You’d decided that tonight would be the night that you would talk to him. You needed to know where you both stood. Did he have feelings for you? He never officially said anything.

Define the Relationship.

DTR- your best friend called it. 

Everyone was settling down for the night. The moms were having a drink in the back patio, Jere, Belly, Steven and John all went to the pier. Conrad was nowhere to be found.

“Have you guys seen Conrad?” You called out to your mom, Laurel and Susannah.

“Not since dinner, sorry!” Laurel called back. 

You huffed and went back into the house, checking his room one last time only to find it empty. You lost even more hope when you saw his phone sitting on his desk. You had no idea where he is and no way to contact him.

You fell onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Was this a sign that you shouldn’t talk to Conrad about this right now?

You sat up, leaning back onto your hands. Your eye landed on the photo on his dresser. It was from last summer of all of you. John, Belly, Conrad, You, Jeremiah and Steven. You were all making a silly face, Conrad stuck up two fingers behind your head to make bunny ears. It was a cute picture despite how awful you look.

Your hair was all over the place and some strands covered your face. It was a crazy windy day at the beach, no matter how much you fixed it before the photo it would blow right back onto your face.

That’s it. The beach.

You were out the door in seconds. Your flip flops clapped against the concrete as you sprinted towards the beach. Soon the sound of waves crashing filled your ears, the feeling of the grainy sand met your toes and you smiled when you saw him sitting in the sand.

You didn’t stop running, you kept going till you were a few feet away from him.

“Conrad!” You shouted over the waves. 

His head turned to you and even in the darkness you could see him smile. He stood from his spot when you slowed down, standing beside him. You were out of breath and your probably looked crazy but you didn’t care.

“Hey.” He smiled, his hands reaching out to grab yours.

“I’ve been looking for you.” You admitted, smiling timidly at him.

“I’m glad you found me.” His eyes stared into yours, the moonlight hitting his face just right. He looked beautiful.

“I wanted- I wanted to talk to you.” You breathed out, still trying to catch your breath. 

“Yeah. Yeah I want to talk to you too.” A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

He tugged at your hand, pulling you to sit down onto the sand. You settled beside him but he never let go of your hand. It felt normal to sit here like this on the beach, hand in hand. Like you’ve done it so many times before. But you hadn’t, this is the first time Conrad has held your hand in an intimate way. 

“I think about you.” He broke the silence between you. “A lot.” His voice was so calm and soothing, you could listen to him talk for hours.

“I always have, if we’re being honest.” He chuckled. “Y/n, there’s a lot of stuff going on in my life. Things I can’t really explain right now.” He sighed, his head hung slightly as he looked down at the sand. 

“I want to be with you.” His head turned and his eyes met yours. “But I don’t want you to feel like I only want to be with you because of what I’m dealing with right now.” His face contorted and you could tell he was conflicted with himself. You didn’t really know what to say. You didn’t know what he was going through.

“I think I’ve always wanted to be with you. I just.. I’ve been in denial. We grew up together, our families are so close and I always thought that if we ever became something, it could mess things up for everyone. Not just us.” He frowned. 

“I don’t think it’ll mess anything up.” You shrugged. “I think even if things go south, we’d be mature enough to come out of it alright. At least I’d be mature enough.” You rolled your eyes playfully, trying to lighten the mood. Conrad bumped your shoulder with his, rolling his eyes at you.

“I think we owe to ourselves to at least try though.” You smiled hopefully. “I don’t know what you’re dealing with. I respect you enough not to push you to tell me until you’re ready. And when you’re ready to tell me I’ll be right here.” You squeezed his hand.

“I’ll always be right here.” You leaned your head onto his shoulder. “Always.”

He didn’t say anything. You both sat in each other’s company in silence for a few moments, and that was okay. One thing you loved about being around Conrad was that you didn’t have to do anything, you both just enjoyed being together. Even if no words were said.

“Y/n.” You pulled your head off his shoulder and looked up at him. His eyes were glued to yours, it was an intense stare. His hand slipped out of yours and before you could feel sad about it, his hands were cupping your face and pulling your lips onto his. 

You were taken aback, eyes wide as he pressed his lips onto yours. Were you dreaming?

You definitely were not dreaming.

You melted. You melted against him, letting yourself kiss him back. This was happening. You were kissing Conrad Fisher. 

Your hands settled on the back of his neck, tugging ever so softly at the ends of his hair. His lips were soft and slightly salty, you didn’t mind though.

He pulled away first, his forehead resting against yours. A small chuckle left his mouth. That just happened. 

“Be mine?” He sounded unsure, maybe even nervous. 

“I’ve always been yours, Con.” You whispered. A smile erupted onto his face. 

“Be my girlfriend?” He rephrased his question. You nodded your head. “Say it.. I want to hear you say it.” He said, practically begged.

“I’m yours.” You smiled. “I’m your girlfriend.” This time it was you that erupted in giggles. You felt giddy, you always waited for this day. The day you could finally say you’re Conrad’s girlfriend.

“God, I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.” With that, he pulled your lips back onto his. Kissing you deeper than the last time.

It’s safe to say you had a good summer that year. The best you’d ever had. 

A/N: A new fanfic is in the works! It’ll be posted on here and also on Wattpad so be sure to follow me here and WP @stylesxreads . If you’re also a twitter user, I post teasers and sneak peaks on my twitter as well with the same handle! 

I’ll also be writing one shots! So if you have any prompts you’d like to read, feel free to send me a message. If you want a personal one shot with your name just specify in the message! Love you guys xx

@lilygreennn @kaz-fcking-brekker @buckys2thicc @exonct07 @hpboysslut2707 @stayc-a-l-m @outer-bnks @compelledsalvatore @andrewineedswagasap @chennyetomlinson 

[doctormacchiato]

Drawn to the Surface - Part 1

Inspired by @six-feet-sleep​‘s art of tattooed Silco that you can see here. Don’t try to tell me that man isn’t completely tatted up under those fancy shirts and vests. 

So many thanks to @of-the-argonath​ for supporting this. Means more than you can imagine. 

AO3

Young(ish!) Silco x Tattoo Artist!Reader SFW Next Part

__

You’ve finally finished wiping down your station and have just picked up your sketchbook, lead in hand, when you hear the bell ring out above the door to your little studio.

“We’re closed!” You call out absentmindedly as you shade in the scales of a new snake design you’ve been working on for a client. It’s several moments later when you realize that you haven’t heard the bell again. Your intruder isn’t leaving.

With an annoyed huff, you get up, sketchbook still in hand, still shading, and round the corner to emerge into the front lobby, inwardly cursing yourself for forgetting to lock the front door. That would have to be fixed.

“I said we’re closed! And I don’t take walk-ins.”

“Even for an old friend?”

Your heart skips a beat at the sly tenor of the voice, which had just enough grit that it couldn’t be described as smooth. Your shading pauses, caught in your surprise.

You’d heard so many different stories: ones that incriminate, ones that condemn. You’d told yourself they were wrong. The man you knew would have never—

But he had missed his last appointment, and every one after that. Then came the rumors, ones you wished were true and others you knew couldn’t be, and you had had no idea what to believe. He wasn’t supposed to have disappeared. That hadn’t been the plan.

Now? It’s been years. The shock and dismay have since faded into memories. What you were left with is anger, sadness, and more hurt than you were willing to admit.

Finally, you look up. Your sketchbook and lead fall from your grasp. You ignore them.

His head is cast downward when you see him, leaning against the front desk. He is exactly how you remember. Tall and lean, with a secret strength you know he possesses despite his unassuming frame.

Wiry, you had once called him.

But he’s changed too. The sides of his previous, unassuming shaggy cut have been razored short. The rest on top has been pulled back neatly with a tie, with just a few errant strands that have escaped over his forehead. You force down a memory of carding your hands through those same strands once upon a time.

Yet, you know this is not the same man that ha spent hours in your chair in the back, as you discussed everything and nothing to make the time pass. You remember each design, traced and shaded, etched permanently into his pale skin. You wonder if they’ve faded.

“Silco?” You finally say, almost like it was an accusation.

He looks up and your heart catches in your throat. He sees your expression and his gaze hardens. You don’t look away, despite the desperate need to do so.

It’s not every day you match a stare that can only be compared to molten lava as it pours out from the beneath the broken earth. Yet, despite the heat in his gaze, you are left ice cold.

You try to focus towards his right; towards the eye with the shade you remember. It’s a shade you had once drunkenly told him could have resembled the Pilt if it wasn’t so polluted or the sky if it wasn’t filled with ash and smoke. He’d laughed and you’d relished the sound, the warmth.

“It... it’s been a long time,” you manage to croak out.

He nods sharply, slowly straightening himself up, as he’s staring at you, through you. The dark scar reaches up towards his temple, carving deep valleys in his skin, all the way up towards his hairline, where the strands are tinged with grey.

“A lot has happened,” he says.

You want to ask him a million questions. Where has he been? What has he been doing? What really happened that night? But what you really want to ask him now, is how he simply could have abandoned you. 

But instead you say nothing, finally breaking his gaze to find your sketchbook on the floor. You bend over to retrieve it. Your graphite must have rolled somewhere. You can’t find it.

He watches you, but doesn’t offer to help, keeping the front desk between you both. When you finally right yourself, you hope that maybe your tongue can find the words for all of the nuanced emotions that you are feeling. You want to scream. You want to cry. 

You gather your thoughts, until you are satisfied that you will be able to string together a coherent sentence.

“What the fuck, Silco?” It comes out angrier than you had intended.

He snorts.

“Now, that’s the girl I remember.” The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, but it’s not quite a smile. Still, it feel’s like you’re falling. And you’re not quite sure how you are going to catch yourself. You know it won’t be a soft landing.

You shake your head. He’s as infuriating as you remember.

“You can’t be here. You’re supposed to be...” you falter, unsure.

“Dead?”

“That was certainly one of the options.”

“I can assure you I am not quite so easy to kill.” Silco says, his hand reaching up towards his neck before it wavers halfway and is instead shoved into his pocket.

It’s the first time you notice his attire. The material of his unbuttoned burgundy shirt may have been expensive at one point, but the edges are frayed with use and the sleeves have been sewn in several spots. Over it, he wears a patched vest that may have been black at some point, but has since faded to brown. Several golden buckles adorn it. One is broken.

He wasn’t easy to kill, perhaps, but he’s seen his fair share of hardships. That sense of sadness floods over you again.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Silco, what are you doing here?”

He stares you up and down again, as if dissecting you. You notice his eyes linger at the fresh ink across your shoulder, arching towards your neck.

He’s more intimidating than you remember, the eye certainly helps with that. But, you refuse to look sheepish in front of this man. You cross your arms as you wait for your answer, coyly raising your eyebrow at him.

“Well?”

Only his right eye narrows before he turns away, stalking out through the front door.

“Follow me,” he throws over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You’re surprised when you don’t take a moment to consider, instead scrambling for your keys to lock the shop behind you. You jog after him to catch up.

“Silco! Damn it, wait!”

He stops. “It’d be wise to stop shouting that name through the Lanes.”

“And it would be wise for you to actually explain what’s going on here,” you huff as you catch up to him. You refrain from reaching up to grab at his sleeve.

“Soon,” he utters.

And then, you’re following him Out of the Lanes, through back alleys and over rooftops, you’re desperately trying to keep up. It’s almost exhilarating to do this again, like you’d never even missed a day.

You can’t help admire him as he swings across a bannister and balances gracefully on the edge of a narrow stone wall. He holds his hand out for you. Without giving yourself a chance to chicken out, you jump. Your balance isn’t nearly as practiced as his, however, and you stumble, your arms swinging wildly as you slip.

But then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you forward until you’re stable.

You can feel the heat rise up the back of your neck and you snatch your hand away before he can feel it spread to your palm.

“Thanks,” you mutter, looking anywhere that isn’t him.

With a nod and a slight smirk, he’s off again, before you can even catch your breath.

“Jackass,” you swear under your breath.

You don’t question him further as you leave the Lanes. You realize you’re nearing the old cannery down by the docks. You eye the shattered windows and crumbling brick of its facade. Fitting, you muse.

Finally, you’ve reached solid ground. Soon after entering the Cannery, you reach a darkened staircase that leads underground. You hesitate, realizing where this man is taking you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Silco says with a roll of his eyes, as if reading your mind. He inclines his head towards the stairs. “Come on.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” you scoff, as you follow him down the stairs, careful not to touch the odd purple vines that snake around the bannister.

You don’t know what you’d been expecting. Maybe a damp, cramped basement? Perhaps. What you hadn’t expected was a wide expanse of a room that you can only describe as a lair. The ceilings soar and the walls and staircase are fitted with sharp, curving metal adornments.

You find tables cluttered with several vials and other laboratory equipment. Tall, glowing vessels are filled with motionless creatures you don’t know how to describe. You cringe, not caring to find out.

The air is slightly sweet, not the moldy, musty smell you would have predicted.

Silco waves and you follow his line of sight to a gaunt man with safety goggles crouched over one of the desks. The man nods back before returning to his work.

“Don’t mind him.”

You nod sharply, before turning back to Silco, who is stalking towards the edge of the room.

Your reply catches on your lips, however, when you notice movement behind what you had originally pinned as a wall. It’s not a wall, however, but glass, a window to what must be the River Pilt behind it.

Before you even realize what you are doing, you’ve stepped right up to the window, pressing your palm against the glass. Your eyes widen as your jaw grows slack.

You never knew anything could even grow that huge.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Only Silco’s low timber would be enough to break the trance you’ve found yourself in, staring out into the depths. You tear your gaze away to find his own boring into you.

“I...” You stutter. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. No one knows they’re there? How... how are they so big?”

Silco chuckles softly at that, which surprises you.

“I suppose they’re not the only creatures cursed by Piltover’s runoff.”

You quickly glance to his scarred eye, before catching yourself, biting at your bottom lip as you turn back to glass. In the distance, you see several long limbs, tentacles, dancing through the water. You swallow hard.

“I mean, thanks for the view,” You start, “But you can only imagine what I’m feeling with all of,” you wave your arm in arc over your head. “this.”

You mindlessly take a step towards Silco, who is now staring down at you past his nose. “A mysterious man, who was either dead or who I’m supposed to wish should be, showing up on my proverbial doorstep, a nighttime stroll over rooftops, giant monsters in an underground lair—”

You’re rambling, you realize, and so you take a deep breath. You take another step towards him, though you’ve crossed your arms again.

“I just... I’m still waiting on some answers here.”

Silco is motionless for several moments. His mouth opens and closes several times, and for once, you think he is uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He’s nervous, you realize. Somehow, that notion emboldens you slightly. You’re on more level playing ground.

“How... No matter what you did, what Vander did, whatever happened between you that day...”

You don’t get a chance to finish your sentence before Silco’s eye narrows and he shies away, turning sharply as he stalks to the center of the room, his back towards you. His shoulders are set back a little too far, his posture a bit too tight, hands clenched in fists.

He runs his hand over his hair to smooth back a piece that had fallen from the tie.

You wait in silence, to finally get the answers you’ve waited years for.

“The thing is...” He falters.

You only barely restrain yourself from throwing your hands around his bare neck and strangling him.

“I was hoping I could... commission some work from you.” It’s said softly, shyly almost.

That doesn’t stop the scoff that wells up in your throat before you’re able to stifle it. You stare him up and down, dissecting the state of his clothes, suddenly realizing that you have the power here. It’s refreshing.

You strut up to him. He can surely hear your footsteps, but seemingly refuses to turn around to look at you.

“Are you sure you can afford me?”

“Don’t be insulting,” he replies firmly over his shoulder, turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the scarred eye.

“So that’s it?” You say, undeterred. You don’t hesitate this time as you wrap your fingers around his arm, pulling, forcing him to look at you. “After all this time, you could have just come into the shop like a normal person, and made an appointment.”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring down at you. You stare back.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, fine,” you concede. “Still, did you really need to drag me halfway across the Undercity to make your point? I’m sure there are plenty of places that we could have found a bit of privacy.”

Instead of answering, Silco shifts his gaze to your hand, which has found itself in a vice grip around his firm bicep. He arches his right brow back towards you. You release his arm as if burned.

“Sorry... I—“

“Don’t be.”

“I uh...” you mutter as you walk over to one of the chairs by the edge of the room, throwing yourself into it. To think you thought you were going to get some sort of answers from this man. You’ve finally found you’re exhausted. Focus on what you’re comfortable with.

“Do you have any—“ you sigh. “What were you thinking of getting done?”

Silco’s follows you over. You don’t appreciate how he now looms above you. He seems to notice, however, and pulls up a chair besides you, straddling it, folding his arms over the back of the chair. 

“Why do you think I brought you here?”

At that, you follow his gaze back to the sea creatures drifting out in the dark waters.

“So... sea creatures? That’s what you want done. Gotta spot in mind?”

Silco nods.

“All of it.”

“You mean?”

“All of it.”

[veryholland]

prompt #20 from the list! “bandaging/stitching up an injury” maybe with frat!tom getting into a fight or punching a guy from getting too close to the reader at a party? 🤍

sorry i’m spamming ur inbox lol ;p

PEACHY

pairing: frat!tom x reader | word count: 992 | warnings: mild injuries | touch prompts

a/n: liv! thank you so much for requesting this. i planned on writing requests in the order they were submitted but i really couldn't put off yours any longer. more or less by coincidence, this includes @spidey-sophie's request (17: holding the other's chin up) as well, so i hope you don't mind that i combined those! enjoy reading! x

“What the hell, Tom? Do you want everyone to know?”

With a heavy thud, the door of the upstairs bathroom slams shut behind you. The bass of the music can still be heard through the wooden surface but it might as well be the sound of your heart thumping against your ribcage. Inside, the air smells clean. Gone is the unpleasant smell of sweaty bodies grinding against each other and spilt beer. Drawing in a calming breath through your parted lips, you turn around, finally facing him.

You never intended to get involved with a frat boy. In fact, just a year ago you would’ve laughed straight into anyone’s face who even suggested diving into a relationship with a member of the frat – that was until Tom happened.

Whatever it was that the both of you shared, it was hidden away from plain sight. Concealed behind closed doors and treasured beneath sheets.

In the beginning, it was all fun and games. The exhilarating buzz of hiding your infatuation with each other – sneaking into the frat house after curfew to spend just a few treasured hours together, exchanging texts during class when none of your friends were looking and holding back when all you wanted to do was smile at him across the hallway.

All fun and games – until it wasn’t anymore. Looking at his battered and bruised face, you now realise it only led to trouble.

A frown is holding tight over his features, his muscular chest rising and falling with rapid breaths and his grey shirt is rumpled. A few curls are sticking out from beneath his cap, the frat logo woven into its dark blue fabric now almost taunting you. But what draws in your gaze the most, is the nasty cut on his cheek and another one tearing right through his rosy and plump bottom lip.

“Sit down, I can’t look at this,” you say, not even trying to downplay the sharp timbre of your voice. After gathering your hair up into a messy but nowhere near decent bun, you turn to the cabinet, rummaging through drawers in search of a first aid kit.

“No need to fuss, I told you, I’m fucking fine.”

Frustration is clearly layering his words but they are closely followed by a defeated sigh as he slumps down onto the bathtub’s edge.

Pushing around a few toiletries, you finally spot a small bottle of disinfectant and take it out with a short but triumphant hum, before putting it next to the gauze pads you found just a couple of drawers below. After gathering it all in your hold, you close the drawer with a kick of your foot and turn back around just to be met with a sight that pulls heavy at your chest.

His head hung low, Tom is cradling the already peachy and bruised knuckles of his right hand in his left palm, shoulders slumped, gaze fixed onto the ground.

“You would be fine if you hadn’t punched him.” Your voice was now remarkably softer compared to how all of this started out, but you still couldn’t drop the bitter connotation.

Charged silence wraps itself around you as you step closer. For a moment you put the bottle of disinfectant onto the bathtub’s edge, using your free hand to remove his baseball cap, allowing you to get a proper look at his cuts. Your gentle touch is a prominent contrast to your clear irritation as your fingers find his chin, tilting it up slightly.

Once your eyes meet his honeycomb ones – the dark brown colour laced with something unrecognisable – his legs subconsciously part, allowing you to step closer in order to fittingly tend to his wounds.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn softly, waiting for his nod of confirmation before continuing. Your hand is still cradling his chin as you use the other to dab the gauze pad over the peachy skin around the bruise that now finally stopped bleeding. His eyes flutter shut and a hiss flies past his lips, but he doesn’t flinch away from your touch.

You feel his eyes on you as you work around his face in silence and although you’re still mad, you can’t help but calmly smooth the pad of your thumb over his skin whenever the stinging sensation makes him draw in a sharp breath.

The tip of your tongue pushes past your parted lips in concentration as you dab along the curve of his lip with the last bit of sterile gauze. You turn around to pick up a new pad but his fingers curl around your wrist, effectively stilling your movements.

“I do,” he says, filling the silence, his voice soft and unsure, barely audible. Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, you look down at him.

“I do,” he repeats, voice now layered with more tenacity. “I want everyone to know.”

He stands up, completely ignoring your protests, but you fall silent when his uninjured hand comes up to twist a strand of your hair around his finger and his eyes connect with yours once more, fueling the churning attraction in your belly.

“I want everyone to know that this is about more than just a stupid brawl between frat bros.” He takes a step forward.

“I want everyone to know that when you return to the dorms past curfew, it’s because we couldn’t stop watching love island episodes on my laptop.” Another step.

“I want everyone to know that the hickeys you get asked about by your friends are the marks I put onto your skin.”

„I want everyone to know about you and me.“

He’s been slowly backing you up against the door, hands now braced on either side of your head as your heart picks up speed with every single one of his passing words. Tom pauses, drawing in a deep breath before speaking up again, the timbre of his voice now remarkably soft and airy.

“I want everyone to know that I am in love with you, y/n.”

okay so, here’s that :D getting back into writing really is an unmatchable feeling and i had so much fun writing this. i’m slowly finding my way back into the flow but yeah, let me know if you liked it! tips are always welcome! sending lots of hugs x