#not main tagging this one either... it will reach who it reaches .

[did-i-do-this-write]

a question, if you don't mind - I've seen you reblog some "writer accountability" posts; if you don't mind explaining, how does one start taking part in that, or in any events? does one's blog have to be purely a writeblr/for writing, or can it also include other content as long as one still takes part in writing things?

Hello, anon! I'm always happy to show a newcomer around the writblr sphere.

So I think you're specifically referring to the writing accountability updates that my mutuals - @tc-doherty and @cee-grice - have been posting! They do a wonderful job. I also post my own, simple updates through my "I wrote today" post.

The fun part about writeblr is that it's a community, and you can choose to be a part of it no matter what you put on your blog. There's no sign up or specific way that you have to participate. Post your own version of an accountability post, or use the same template as others, or only reblog posts and not make any original, it's up to you!

Other writeblr events are very similar. If you see one being advertised, make sure to check the source blog for more specifics for that individual event, but generally speaking, it's just about posting/reblogging a post to announce that you are participating! A good way to get started is to reach out to others who have reblogged/said they are joining the same event!

And a writeblr doesn't have to strictly post about writing. I know a lot of people I follow (myself included) use their writing blog as their main blog, too, which means it has all kinds of stuff on it. You can use tags to organize "writing" and "non-writing" posts if you'd like, but either way, having other stuff doesn't make you "less" of a writeblr.

I hope I answered all your questions through my bits of rambling. If you have any other questions feel free to reach out again! I wish you luck on your writing journey! ✨️

[thegreatyin]

How did you manage to handle not one, but FOUR separate accounts in fl? I recently made the account for my HD little guy but having to do the tutorial again just seems miserable

there's... weirdly several answers to that question, actually??

a HUGE part of it is due to the way FL is structured. the 10-minute action timer is a core part of the game on a fundamental level, and the fact that i can very easily run out of stuff to do on one character and thus have an excuse to quickly and easily swap to another is just... convenient? satisfying? i'm not entirely sure how to explain it. the fact that i can make progress even while i am fundamentally simultaneously Not Making Progress is like pure dopamine for my freak insane awful little brain. there's just something really pleasing about spending all of my actions pursuing The Goal Of The Day™ on one account before casually swapping to another and doing the same without feeling like i'm wasting time or acting to the first account's explicit detriment. the downtime helps! the recharge time helps! the structure really really works!!

i'm technically only actively playing three, maybe two accounts minimum. the only reason the fourth (the one that'll be my future BaL playthrough) currently exists at all is so i can get his earlygame completely out of the way now and not have to waste time running through it all later, when what i actually want to do is play the ambition i've made myself wait a full year to play. and also getting free goodies as seasonal stuff happens,, something something surprise tools to help us later. the only two accounts i'd say i'm really "actively playing" at the moment are caeru and lark- and of the two, lark takes the most priority, since his ambition is the one i'm currently pursuing in earnest. for a couple months now- despite being My Main FL Character- the scoundrel has actually been pretty inactive on a gameplay front outside of the occasional progression in TLC and discordance content. purely by virtue of having Very little left to do outside of Very long-term grinds and vanities. they're in their "now what?" "now you can start playing the game" era. they've graduated to previous protagonist background cameo in a sequel anime series. they're like the yin FLPC equivalent of red at the top of mount silver. they're Literally just vibing rn. i only keep posting about them regardless because i'm insane and i will never ever ever ever ever let that bat go. but yeah, big TLDR, outside of doing the bare minimum to keep making waves/notability up every week, i'm not actually spending that much time on accounts i'm not currently actively interested in playing. and that accounts for way more gaming spoons than you might think.

i have a virtually lifelong history of playing MMOs, especially and specifically world of warcraft. i was born in the endless grind for useless video game pixel vanities and/or bragging rights. molded by it. you all have merely adapted to doing the same piece of content a pointlessly excessive amount of times for literally no reason besides whimsy and folly. me? i've done my time. i've served my sentence. i've spent weeks doing the original burning crusade netherwing dailies. i've devoted days to running praetorium over and over and over again, back-to-back, nonstop, long before square enix cut it in half and made it NOT take at minimum an hour and a half per run. i've perfected my silverwastes + auric basin goldfarming strategies. i've (almost) crafted dragonwrath tarecgosa's rest. i've killed the sha of anger so many times its dying scream of agony is embedded into the very fabric of my being. ""only"" doing making your name content four times over? that is nothing to me. it means nothing to me. it is so infinitesimal i can do the persuasive seduction quests in my sleep. it's not a matter of handling misery, or having the capacity, or even sighing as i remember the brass embassy raid segment of the watchful questline seriously i don't know why i keep forgetting that exists or what even is my problem with it i just am so consistently mildly inconvenienced by it and its highly specific resource requirements and it is the worst thing ever. maybe i'm just so used to the scoundrel's near-infinite money and troves of disposable items that i've completely forgotten what being poor is like. despite having done that step 3 fucking times now. ahem. anyway. i have transcended the feeble mortal bindings of my resistant-to-grinding flesh and ascended to a higher plane of enlightenment, they may call me insane but they will be the ones left laughing when they see what that "insanity" has wrought, i've usurped them, i've usurped them all-

hacks and coughs and awkwardly clears my throat. i mean. uh. um. Ahem.

the empress' court artistry + tales of the university nerfs helped too.

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"obstinate, headstrong girl" part 1 - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

in which you meet the incredibly irritating (who said that?) aaron hotchner at a party. you do not hit it off.

wc: 4.6k

cw: enemies to lovers! mentions of food & alcohol, jemily agenda (i'm not sorry), reader is hella stubborn, hotch is kind of a little bitch

a/n: this is part 1 😈 there will be more, trust

big fat thank you to my bestie @cerisereids for all her help workshopping / brainstorming with me! i also got the BEAUTIFUL dividers from the immensely talented @saradika-graphics

You hate bars. Most of the time, they feel like a meat market, with men ogling you up and down, surveying you like they have x-ray vision and are trying to determine if you’re worth the chase. 

Tonight is slightly different in that you are not going to this particular bar to chat up men. Your very good friend, Penelope Garcia, invited you and your other friend, Jacqueline, to a bar for a coworker’s birthday. Not just any coworker. The coworker, the Derek Morgan, that Penelope just rants and raves about. They are soulmates, from what you understand, in a weirdly flirtatious, sibling-type relationship? 

Penelope has tried to explain it to you and has always ended up confusing both you and herself. It is what it is, she’s said in the past. He’s my chocolate thunder, and I’m his babygirl. 

You think it’s best not to try and unpack that. 

Jacqueline is a couple of years younger than you and Penelope. She’s just a couple of years out of college, whereas you’re a couple of years out of college, plus a couple more years. Jacqueline is sweet. She’s painfully shy, though, and you and Penelope are determined to break her out of her shell. There’s another coworker of Penelope’s who, from what you’ve heard, would be a perfect fit for Jacqueline. His name is Spencer, and he’s supposedly this young, cute genius. Like, actually a genius. Certifiably.

The goal tonight is for Penelope to find a moment to introduce Jacqueline and Spencer. You’re tagging along so that those intentions could be a little bit better masqueraded. You and Penelope also know for a fact that sweet, sheltered Jacqueline would not attend a party at a bar full of strangers by herself. 

You don’t mind being a chaperone, of sorts. Jacqueline is like a little sister. You just want her to be happy, so you don a cute red dress, pick up Jacqueline in an Uber, and off you go. 

The bar isn’t nearly as crowded as you thought it would be. It’s still busy, sure, but there’s enough room to walk around without bumping into someone. That seems to calm Jacqueline’s obvious nerves when you enter the establishment. Your eyes scan the place until you finally spot what appears to be a party room just off the main part of the bar, and you see a flash of familiar blonde hair with pink highlights. 

“There’s Penny,” you say to Jacqueline, and nudge her with your elbow to follow you. 

You’re the leader as you serpentine through the bar patrons, and Penelope turns around to spot you just as you reach her. “My sweets!” she squeals, wrapping both you and Jacqueline into a tight hug. “Thank you so much for coming!” Penelope gestures to the party room, which is open for integration into the rest of the bar. It all seems very flowy and casual, with guests either standing or sitting with a drink in hand, talking and laughing with one another. 

There’s a table in the corner with decadent cupcakes that you’d bet are homemade, all crowded on a tiered stand, and various birthday decorations hanging from the walls. The jukebox in the corner plays 80s and 90s hits. You spot the birthday boy in an instant across the room, and you know it’s him from Penelope’s ridiculously detailed descriptions. He’s like a cheetah, personified, Penelope said before, and yeah, that might be accurate. 

Except for the bright blue, glittery party hat strapped crookedly to his head and the sparkly sash around his shoulders that says BIRTHDAY BOY in big, bold letters. 

“There’s snacks, and water in the corner if you’re not feeling booze,” Penelope goes into full hostess mode and points to everything. “How about you lovelies get some drinks, and then I’ll introduce you around?” She suggests. 

Jacqueline is ever the quiet one in all social situations, and you can tell she is overwhelmed by the noise, or maybe the amount of people that she doesn’t know. You know that she would be a little less nervous with a drink in her system, so you nod to Penelope’s suggestion and agree to meet up with her after visiting the bar. 

Jacqueline follows you like a lost puppy as you snake through the crowd again. One of the few perks of being pretty women, though, is that once you reach the bustling bar, your orders are quickly taken. 

You get an amaretto sour for yourself, a Malibu pineapple for Jacqueline, and she leans against the bar next to you as you wait for your drinks. “Lots of people here!” Jacqueline exclaims with a sheepish chuckle. She smooths the ends of her cinnamon-colored bob, one of her nervous habits you’ve picked up on over the few years you’ve been friends. 

“Yeah, but we love Penny, and she loves all the people in there,” You nod towards the party room. “So it’s like we know they’re cool by association, y’know?” 

“I guess,” Jacqueline shrugs, unconvinced. She’s lived a fairly sheltered life, from what you understand. Strict parents, so she never dated in high school, and always focused on her studies in college rather than a social life. It’s good to get her out of her shell. 

You’re given your drinks and you head back to the party room, where Penelope is speaking to two men. They’re both tall, but one is younger, with brown hair and a patterned sweater vest. The other is older, with dark, nearly obsidian, hair, and stark, narrowed eyes to match. He’s in dark, belted jeans, with a black polo to match his hair. When you and Jacqueline approach Penelope, you lock eyes with the older man for a fleeting moment.

He looks at you like you’re an outsider. And sure, maybe in this particular situation, you are. But with his tapered eyes, watching your every breath, you get the feeling that he thinks you shouldn’t be here. 

Penelope ushers you and Jacqueline into the conversation and introduces you. “This is Y/N, and Jacqueline, my two really good friends,” she says, then gestures to the lanky, younger man first. “This is the brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, and the Unit Chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner.” 

Your eyes land on Aaron and he outstretches his hand, obviously out of obligation. “Pleasure to meet you both,” Aaron says coolly, and you shake his hand chastely. Your eyes flicker over to where Jacqueline shakes Dr. Reid’s hand. He’s already insisting she call him Spencer. 

Penelope was right, you think. Spencer and Jacqueline have an immediate connection. 

“Likewise,” you say to Aaron, merely matching the indifferent energy he’s putting out. Penelope, in true hostess fashion, excuses herself to check on Derek, leaving the four of you in an awkward conversation square, with Aaron and Spencer facing you and Jacqueline directly. 

“Penelope says you’re all in a book club together?” Spencer proffers as a conversation starter. He’s looking directly at Jacqueline, like he’s got tunnel vision, like she’s the only other person in the room. 

She nods and sips her cocktail through the thin plastic straw. “We’ve been going through the classics, one by one. Started with Pride and Prejudice a couple of years ago, now we’re working on War and Peace,” she explains. 

“Oh, fascinating,” Spencer seems incredibly interested by this. “I love Tolstoy. Did you know his wife, Sophia, helped him tremendously during the editing process? Over seven years, she hand wrote the manuscript eight different times, all while carrying and birthing four children.” 

Jacqueline loves weird facts like this, so she beams. You smile softly at this and are immediately met with thoughts of how tooth-achingly sweet these two would be if they got together. 

You and Aaron play audience as Spencer and Jacqueline’s conversation continues for a few moments more, until finally, Spencer suggests they sit at a booth to continue. Jacqueline shoots you a look, like, sorry for abandoning you with the grumpy guy! And you merely shrug as you are left alone with Aaron. 

“Well, aren’t they just adorable?” You flash a bright smile, and when your eyes meet Aaron’s, it falls. He’s so stoic and unemotional. You know he’s just standing with you to be polite, but at the same time, if he’s so uninterested in having a conversation with you, why is he still here? 

Aaron gives an impassive hum of civil agreement, and you clear your throat. “So, you’re Penelope’s boss, then?” you ask, rather than simply make an excuse to leave this awkward, cringey hellhole of a conversation. Maybe some petty part of you wants to see who will break first. 

“That’s correct,” Aaron’s fingers are wrapped around the glass tumbler of what is presumably whiskey that is in his hand. His forearm flexes a little as he shifts the glass in his palm. 

“What’s that like, working for the FBI?” you ask, shifting your weight to one hip as if to tell him that you’re getting comfortable, that he shouldn’t expect to go anywhere. 

“About the same as working anyplace else, I’d expect,” Aaron’s giving you absolutely nothing to work with, so you’re incredibly thankful when Penelope approaches the two of you again. 

“Oh, look at that!” Penelope squeals, squeezing your arm. She nods over to Spencer and Jacqueline, sitting across from one another at a booth, both leaning forward on the table, endearingly engaged in conversation with each other.

Jacqueline’s babyish face is plastered with an earnest smile, and you love seeing your friend so captivated and clearly in her element with Spencer. 

Penelope was right, they’re clearly well-suited. 

Unlike you and Aaron. 

“And what are you two talking about over here?” Penelope croons, waving a teasing finger between you and Aaron. 

“Not anything in particular,” Aaron’s deep voice beats you to it, and you feel your jaw tense slightly. He avoids contact with you, just stares at Spencer and Jacqueline. 

“Yeah, Penny, I was hoping you’d introduce me to the rest of your team,” you suggest, smiling saccharinely at Aaron before making pleading eyes to your darling blonde friend. 

Penelope’s chocolatey brown eyes dart from you, to Aaron, and back, and you can almost see the gears shift in her head. “Right,” she gets it, and you nearly sigh in relief. “C’mon then, Y/N, let me show you off!” 

You nod curtly to Aaron. “Nice meeting you,” you spout off, totally out of obligation. 

“Likewise,” says Aaron, mirroring how you’d thrown the terse colloquialism at him before. 

Your nostrils flare and Penelope manages to drag you away before you rip him a new one. “What the hell is all the animosity about?” Penelope asks as soon as you’re out of earshot. You see that Derek, the birthday boy, has approached Aaron in your absence. 

“Not animosity,” you correct Penelope, taking a chug of your Malibu pineapple. “He doesn’t like me, for some reason. Seemed to have made his mind up on that real fast.” 

Penelope scoffs. “Hotch?” You deduce quickly that this is Aaron’s nickname. “He’s such a sweetheart. You must have just caught him in a bad moment, Y/N. I swear, he’s one of the sweetest guys I know!” 

You purse your lips and feign an open mind. Penelope introduces you to the rest of her team - David, an older Italian man whose glass of wine cost about three times as much as your cocktail, then JJ and Emily, a blonde and a raven-haired woman who are obviously in love. 

Emily’s got her palm splayed across the small of JJ’s back, and the blonde leans into her touch. You wonder briefly how their relationship was approved by Aaron Hotchner, because, as you understand it, he’s their boss and he can be quite the stickler. 

“He can be a grump at times, that’s for sure,” Emily says before taking a sip of her wine. “But he’s a really great boss. He’d do anything for any one of us.” 

“Including going to bat for us staying on the team together after our relationship became public,” JJ adds, and you furrow your brows, shooting a sideways glance to the man in question. He’s still across the room, speaking with Derek, leaning against an empty spot on the wall and nursing his glass tumbler of whiskey. 

That guy? You think. That guy went to bat for the benefit of other people? 

“That surprises me,” you admit. “He was so cold when we spoke just a few minutes ago.” 

JJ, Emily, and Penelope all seem to share a look. They clearly know something you don’t. “Well,” Penelope starts, her voice inclining. “He’s sort of… going through a hard time right now,” she scrunches up her nose and shrugs her shoulders, as if to indicate that she can’t really say more on the matter. 

It’s none of your business, you remind yourself, but you also want to smack Penelope for dangling a carrot like that. 

“If he comes off obtrusive, just know you’re not experiencing the real Hotch,” JJ concludes. You spot Emily squeezing her hip as if to say that’s a good way to put it. 

Whatever that means, you think, and shrug your shoulders. “No skin off my back,” you attempt to appear nonchalant. Hopefully they won’t be able to tell that the thought of someone not liking you makes you want to rip your hair out. 

“Right,” Emily agrees, just as JJ and Penelope share a look. 

The two blondes smirk at each other. Simultaneously, they say, “Profilers.” And you wonder what the hell that’s supposed to mean. 

Over the next thirty minutes, you’re shown around the room by Penelope, introduced to a few more people. Finally, Penelope notices that the cupcakes are all gone and runs off to the kitchen, where she has more store in case of this very specific emergency.

You find yourself tucked away at a table in the corner of the party room, halfway hidden by the imposing and comically large jukebox. As you scan the room, you notice Jacqueline and Spencer still at the booth, still engaged in what appears to be very riveting conversation. Jacqueline’s got this demure, girlish smile on her face, and lightly flushed cheeks. 

“What do you make of that?” A voice asks, and you don’t see anyone around. You lean back in your seat and can see through the sliver of visibility between the jukebox and the wall. That Italian man, David, has just asked Aaron the question, gesturing across the room to where Spencer and Jacqueline sit. 

“Hm,” is all Aaron has to say, and you scowl, furrowing your brows as you watch him watch your friend. “She seems nice enough. Kind of a dud, though, isn’t she?” 

“A dud?” David repeats, scoffing. “She’s been keeping up with Boy Wonder for nearly an hour now. I’d say she’s either an alien or a miracle.” 

Damn straight, you think. 

“I suppose,” says Aaron, and you roll your eyes. He must hold an ungodly amount of pride. Probably totes it along with his stupidly expensive whiskey and his judgmental expressions and opinions about people he doesn’t know. Sure, you’re casting judgment on someone you don’t know, too. But this is different… somehow. Jacqueline is obviously very earnest and sweet, and Aaron is acting like he’s suspicious of her.

“Garcia’s other friend seems sweet,” David goes on to say. You’re not ashamed to admit that your ears perk up a little at this. “She’s fun. Asked me about my wine. Made a joke about cutting a rug with me on the dance floor.” 

“She’s something,” Aaron exhales as he says this, and you feel your jaw tighten a little. 

Something? What the hell does that mean? 

“What the hell does that mean?” David shares your train of thought, though his voice is lined with an omniscient, teasing lilt. “She’s cute. You don’t want to ask her for her number?” 

“No,” Aaron says quickly, too quickly. “No, I’m not even slightly tempted.” 

You feel your ears burn, and you look down at the empty glass in your hand. This has been your only drink tonight, and you’ve been nursing it for the better part of an hour. You let the condensation slicken your palm.

“What’s the matter with you?” David goes on to ask. “She’s very sweet, and she’s got a great sense of humor. And she’s beautiful, I might add. Why aren’t you interested?” 

You stand up from your seat, deciding you’ve had enough eavesdropping for one night. You don’t want to hear what faults Aaron Hotchner saw in you after a three-minute conversation. Feeling a bit self-protective, you march past David and Aaron without so much as looking at either of them. You don’t know if they notice you. 

You resolve not to care. 

Jacqueline joins you at the bar about thirty minutes later, and is smiling like an idiot.“So, Spencer’s really nice,” she says, breaking out her ID so she can buy another drink. She’s so smooth-skinned and utterly gorgeous that she does, in fact, get ID’d every time she orders a drink. 

“Yeah?” You smirk at Jacqueline just as the bartender comes back with your second drink and takes your friend’s order. “He seems really into you, too.” Even if his friend is a massive prick.

“I think we’re gonna go out,” Jacqueline beams, biting her lip anxiously. “Like, on a date.”

“That’s great!” You grin, glancing behind Jacqueline to see Spencer speaking with Aaron across the now-dwindling crowd. At this point, there’s just a handful of patrons for the bar, and only Penelope’s team remains in the party room for Derek. “You should! He’s obviously very polite, maintains good conversation. I’m only seeing green flags.” Except that his boss is a judgmental tool. 

“I just get so nervous, y’know?” Your friend says as the bartender brings her drink. 

“I know you do, sweetie, but he’s just a guy,” you begin. “He’s not some cosmic being who will alter the trajectory of your entire life simply by taking you on a date. He’s-”

“What?” Jacqueline follows your eyes, whipping her head around with no amount of subtlety. Her cinnamon curls flounce as she notices the same thing you are. Aaron’s staring at you, those unrelenting raven eyes. What’s he trying to do, burn a hole through your head? 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you mutter. 

“What is it?” Jacqueline’s constantly aware of the people around her. It’s a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse, since you’re her Emotional Support Friend. 

“I just… don’t worry about it,” you wave it away, not wanting to stress her out. 

“No, what is it?” God. He’s still looking at you, maintaining his conversation with Spencer. You let your gaze wander and you see his lips moving. Is he talking about you so blatantly? 

You suppose you’re talking about him, but still. 

“I just don’t like Aaron, that’s all.” 

“Why not?” Jacqueline’s nutmeg brows furrow, and you meet her confused expression with a shrug. 

“We just don’t vibe. Don’t worry about it, Jackie, seriously,” you nod. “I’m not gonna, like, challenge him to a duel.” 

Before Jacqueline can attempt to defend someone she doesn’t know (God bless her), Penelope’s waving at you from the party room and beckoning the two of you towards her. 

You and Jacqueline grab your drinks and oblige. Derek and Emily are shifting tables out of the way, creating a small, makeshift dance floor in the middle of the party room. 

JJ is queuing up a few songs on the jukebox, and when “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin comes filtering through the speakers, a slightly tipsy Penelope is singing into her margarita and demanding that Derek slow dance with her. 

You end up standing by Spencer and Aaron, to your dismay, and you think for a second that Spencer isn’t going to ask Jacqueline to dance. That wouldn’t be totally out of character, but he does, and Jacqueline’s beaming, leaving you alone with Aaron. 

You let out a slightly annoyed huff and stir your cocktail with the little plastic red straw. You meet his unwavering gaze with narrowed eyes. “Do you like to dance?” You ask with half-assed interest. 

“Not if I can help it,” Aaron says, and you wonder for a moment if he’s joking. The ever-serious look on his face says otherwise. 

“I was looking for a pretty young lady!” A voice cuts in, and you turn to see David Rossi, of all people, standing before you. 

You smile softly. You know he isn’t flirting, he isn’t romantically interested in you, that he’s just being a nice older man and going out of his way to make you feel included. And you can’t help but feel warmth from him. “We were just talking about dancing,” you bring him into the conversation, clocking how Aaron’s jaw visibly tenses. 

“Ah, dancing. I remember when we had clubs all up and down the streets. You could go in and just dance until your feet hurt,” David prattles, and you purse your lips in the side of your mouth. He only looks like he’s in his early sixties, but you resist the urge to call him old, to tell him he’s acting like a grandpa. 

“Do you like to dance?” Aaron’s asking you all of a sudden. You spot Penelope and Derek slow dancing as well as Spencer and Jacqueline. Emily and JJ have even joined in on the fun. 

“I do,” you say simply, pursing your lips at him. And maybe it’s a little mean, but you look at David and plaster a devilish little grin on your face and hold out your hand. “Dave? Wanna cut a rug with me?” 

Aaron watches as Rossi throws his head back in one of those wheezy, old man laughs. 

“It’s been a long time since a pretty young lady asked me to dance,” the Italian man jokes, and Aaron knows that is simply not true. As a best-selling author, Rossi weirdly gets a lot of groupies. 

Aaron feels like he has a smokescreen up, and behind it, he’s fuming. He’s not jealous of Rossi, because he knows Dave’s just being friendly. But Aaron doesn’t think it shouldn’t be Dave dancing with you. It should be him. 

He doesn’t know why he told you he doesn’t dance. Maybe it’s this whole divorce with Haley. It was finalized nearly six months ago, but Aaron’s still reeling from it, he supposes. He’s not been on a date. He’s not even so much as looked at another woman in a romantic capacity, until you walked in tonight. Your hair looks so shiny, your face made up all glowy, like you literally have a halo hovering over you. 

It’s incredibly frustrating.

He didn’t know what to do. He panicked. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now, or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for the past six months. He wants to focus on his job and on being a good dad to Jack. 

But, god, the way your dress hits you right above the knee. He wants desperately to see your thighs. He’s been thinking about them all night, actually, how supple the skin might be, how sensitive. That’s why he’s been so cold to you all night - he’s trying to push you out of his mind, trying to focus on anything else. But you’ve got an attitude and a good sense of humor, and he couldn’t help but stare. 

It’s the same way he can’t help but stare now, when Rossi places one hand on your waist and clasps your other one. You’ve got one palm on Rossi’s shoulder, the other holding your drink as you occasionally sip it. 

You’re laughing and Rossi’s got crows’ feet from smiling, and he sways with you to the music. That song from Top Gun. Aaron wonders briefly if you’re old enough to have even seen Top Gun in the theater. 

You’re young. You’re not too young, per se, but you’re right on the line, Aaron thinks. He’s gripping his tumbler of whiskey - his third since you entered the party because god, does he need a vice right now - and his jaw is clenched as he watches Rossi twirl you out. 

Your laugh is heavenly and melodic and Aaron, for a split second, considers leaving just because of it. 

Aaron leans against the wall by the jukebox, the odd man out, with your friend Jacqueline dancing with Spencer, Garcia with Morgan, and, of course, JJ with Emily. He doesn’t mind being the odd man out, watching his team have a good time. It’s you he feels excluded from. 

Okay, maybe you’re not totally sober, you realize, as David twirls you out a second time. You hold on tight to your drink, but your steps aren’t completely precise, and your back slams into a muscled chest with a clumsy grunt. Amaretto sour splashes over the side of your glass and onto a pair of brown, Italian loafers. 

Gargantuan hands graze down your elbows, then clench your forearms as you regain your balance, and you turn around to see the brick wall of a person you’ve run into. Aaron’s stupidly dark, hazelnut eyes are drawing down your body. They bore into you and you feel your entire face flush, all the way down to your collarbone. 

“You spilled your drink,” Aaron exhales sharply through his nose, and you feel your expression harden. 

“It was an accident,” you bite back, taking a step away from him, enforcing the space you desperately need to keep from clawing his eyes out. You don’t hate people. But, god, is this man getting under your skin.

Aaron opens his mouth, and you think for a split-second that he’s about to reassure you. But he just clamps his mouth shut, into a straight line like a ruler. “Right,” is all he says. You take a deep, serrated breath and turn pointedly on your heel. 

As you return to David to dance, Derek cuts in, and you and Penelope swap partners. Derek is respectful as he places a hand round the small of your back, and you smile softly when you see Jacqueline and Spencer. They’re barely moving, and Jacqueline’s gray-green eyes are looking up into Spencer’s brown ones, and you nod in their direction. “God, they’re cute, aren’t they?” 

“It’s a miracle Pretty Boy’s lasted this long,” Derek chuckles. You arch a brow at this, so he continues. “He doesn’t do too well with the ladies. Not like yours truly,” he jokes, flashing his teeth. 

“Oh, please,” you tease playfully. You tug at his sparkly blue birthday sash to further your point. Derek laughs and spins you around. 

“So what’s going on with you and Hotch?” Derek asks. You roll your eyes. 

“Nothing,” you insist. “I barely know him. I barely know any of you, besides Penelope. God, you guys are really mixed up in each other’s lives, huh? I’m definitely not that close with my coworkers.” 

“Oh, we’re not just close,” Derek laughs. “We’re family.” 

“And Aaron is, what, the overbearing father?” You ask. You’ve had a couple drinks, and your filter is more or less nonexistent. 

“See, I knew there was something going on between you two,” Derek teases. You glare at him. He holds one hand up defensively. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop, but you’re in for trouble, sweetheart.” 

“How so?” 

Derek nods over to Jacqueline and Spencer. Both their feet are still planted in the same spot, but they’re swaying together. It’s dorky as hell, but so cute you could cry. You understand what Derek means before he even says it. “You’re about to become friends-in-law. The more Jacqueline sees Spencer, the more you see Hotch.” 

Your eyes flicker over to the man in question, now sitting at a table and talking with David. There’s some kind of magnetic tug, and Aaron’s eyes meet yours, and your knees buckle a little beneath you. Either you’re drunker than you thought, or you really are in trouble.  

edit: read part 2 here

[lalal-99]

Kitty’s New Best Friend {l.f.}

113 "Either I'm insane or you were just masturbating in our living room." 133 "You're being shy now? Really?" 141 "How many times have you jerked off to me?"

Felix x afab!reader | trope: friends to lovers, roommates | wordcount: 2.4k

Synopsis: When your roommate comes home unexpectedly, he finds you in a compromising position on the living room couch, moaning his name. Fortunetly, he's had a hunch about your feelings for a while, and he's willing to help you out.

Warnings: explicit content | dni if your under 18

Smut Tags: Smut | Explicit Sexual Content | Porn with some Plot | Fluff and Smut | Mutual Pining | Semi-Public Masturbation | Oral Sex (reader rec.) | Teasing

Note: I wrote three different version of this over the past two years. This one was the best one, by a mile. Hope you enjoy. Please leave comments, if you want to encourage more content.

Again, thanks @jl-micasea-fics for letting me use your prompts. I know it's been two years, but still, credit where its due :)

Taglist: @skzho @bubblelixie @flakywig @itsallaboutkey @avyskai @mekuiikore @changbiddies0325 @knowleeknow @sensitiveandhungry @svintsandghosts @poutypoutybin @hyunjinswifeee @sunlitwilderness

Tumblr works on a reblog system. Please consider reblogging this post so that it can reach more people.

Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You!

He didn’t use to appear in your dirty dreams.

Only months ago, you didn’t need to put a face on the main character of your fantasies—the imagination itself enough to get you going.

That had certainly changed.

It could have been Felix sauntering your shared apartment without a shirt one too many times. It could have been the shoulder to cry on he had lent you after your ex. Hell, it could have even been as trivial as a kind smile for no apparent reason.

Your brain simply shut off and your kitty assumed control. Universally deciding that your roommate was a fitting image to get turned on to.

Now, his face made an appearance in every single one of your daydreams.

When Felix emerged from his room in nothing but a pair of loose hanging sweatpants, your mind went right back to it. It was ridiculous. You didn’t even listen to where he went off to, your fingers already running over his creamy skin in your mind. You felt like a teenager, arousal taking over you the second Felix left the apartment.

None of your other roommates were home which was fortunate. Sure, you could have gone to your bedroom to be safe. But how could you, when the heat reached you right there in the living room. Like it had happened in the shower a few days ago after Felix had sneaked in to get his lotion. You had told him you didn’t mind when in reality, you did. Just not in the way he might have thought.

That day and in your following fantasy, he hadn’t left, but instead joined you under the hot water.

Humming Felix’s name at the sound of your fingers running through your folds, you internally scolded yourself for thinking this way about him. A boy who was so innocently oblivious, he probably had no idea you even jerked off in the first place. Someone so sweet, he brought you candy when you were on your period, brewed you tea after a long day, or gave you massages when... Well, whenever you wanted one.

You were completely immersed in the scenario you had set up in your head, knot in your stomach tightening. So much so your brain took a second too long to recognise the familiar sound of his keys.

Things went very fast from there.

The door opened and Felix walked in to the sight of you. Rushing your hand out of your shorts, your neckline was red from the heat, your hair messier than when he had left. Mere minutes earlier.

“Felix? What the hell are you doing here?” you questioned, shock written on your features. “I thought you went out.”

“I—“ He scanned the situation and before you could stop him, he figured it out. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I went to get some snacks for the movie.”

Oh yes! The memory of your short conversation suddenly came back to you.

Felix had come out of his room, shirtless, recognising the movie playing on the TV in front of you. He had asked you to pause it, so you could watch it together once he came back from the store. Getting you snacks and a bottle of your favourite white, like the perfect roomie he was.

“Were you…” A smirk appeared on Felix’s face as his view wandered down your body to your pants. “Either I’m insane, or you were just masturbating in our living room.” Noticing your eyes shifting and your cheeks reddening in the light of the TV, he yelped. “Oh my God, you were masturbating, weren’t you?”

You struggled finding another excuse that could explain your hands down your pants. Not that it mattered, anyway. Nothing you said, no explanation you could have given, would get your roommate to believe he hadn’t just walked in on you.

Felix placed the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and strode over to the couch, sliding on next to you. The shit-eating grin on his face only heightened your embarrassment. Not so innocent after all, now that he held something over your head.

“Stop being so smug. It’s not like you don’t do it.” You scratched an invisible itch on your neck.

“But I don’t do it out here where everyone can walk in. Do you have no shame?” Felix was teasing you now, the previously cutesy behaviour shifting. You couldn’t quite pinpoint his demeanour, but it almost seemed seductive. Like, he was definitely flirting, and not in his usual, sweet way. If his next words were anything to go by, it felt even more so. “Or did you want me to walk in on you?”

You almost choked on your saliva. “What? No! Of course not.”

The redness on your face darkened further.

Why would he ever suggest that you had masturbated out in the living room on purpose? Unless… Maybe, subconsciously, you had done just that. Perhaps you wanted to make use of the possibility, him walking in on you. So he could finally help you scratch the itch himself. Not his imaginary self, but the real one, in all his glory. Could your brain have betrayed you like that, without you noticing?

You didn’t quite know what to think.

“It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone about this.” Somehow, that relieved you. Not like you had expected Felix to go around, gloating about it. It still relaxed you to hear it from the man himself. “I only have one question, then we can stop talking about it. Forever.”

Your jaw dropped at his words. So he was blackmailing you now, too? Felix, out of all people. Nice Felix, who never hurt a fly. Cute Felix, whose love language were hugs and cuddles. Smug Felix, who somehow had the upper hand right now.

Your kitty purred at his intrigue, surprising even yourself.

“How many times have you jerked off to me?”

You must have had a mini heart attack at that very second. Unfortunately, you didn’t land in heaven. If anything, this was hell.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Felix replied, bottom lip wandering between his teeth. “And I heard you, moaning my name before. So, how often do you think about me?”

“I don’t— I didn’t— I mean— What?” You were sweating now, unable to form simple sentences. And that was before his hand landed on your naked thigh, squeezing. That’s when you lost the ability to breathe, stomach tensing.

“You’re being shy now? Really?” As his fingers drew figure eights onto your skin, they wandered further up your leg until he reached the hem of your shorts. He played with the band, keeping his irises on you, and your kitty hissed. His proximity was a dangerous game. “What if I told you, I’ve been thinking about it, too?”

What. The. Fuck?

He leaned in, lips close enough to feel his breath on you, and you got dizzy. You didn’t remember drinking any alcohol, but you damn well felt like it. As though you had gotten intoxicated, high, and now you were left to deal with the aftermath.

“Been thinking about you so much. Taking you in your room. In the shower. On this very couch. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His fingers entered your pants, playing with the hem of your underwear. Your breath hitched when his hand cupped you, smirk so close to your face you could hear it. Felix clicked his tongue when he felt your wetness. “I knew it. Not so shy now, are we?”

And you weren’t. Shy, that was. Overwhelmed, sure. Embarrassed, yes. But not shy. Not when you detected the tent in his own sweatpants. Felix wanted this, just like you. Felix was your roommate, best friend and now, potential lover. If anything, you felt most comfortable around him.

The feeling heightened when he gave you a gentle push, urging you to lay back. Felix’s face remained so close to yours, eyes glued to each other as he situated himself above you. His fingers started teasing as he leaned down, faintly pressing his lips to your pulse point. Your eyes stood wide open, searching the ceiling for possible answers to the one question you had.

How the fuck had this happened?

Felix kissed down your body, through the valley of your chest and over your tank top. Right down to your shorts. He must have been able to smell you, but you didn’t care. It was Felix, after all, the boy straight out of your dreams.

“Y/N,” his soft voice called you to catch your attention. When you met his gaze, the world stopped for a moment. The lust had momentarily vanished from his irises and what overtook was care and love. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t.” Your answer couldn’t have come faster, and you meant it. Under no circumstances did you want him to stop. Ever.

With that, the primate inside him gained back control, ridding you of your pants and underwear. All the while, Felix’s stare remained on your face, smiling between kisses he planted on your naked stomach. As though he wanted to capture all your focus and wouldn’t let you divert your eyes for anything.

A last smile sent your way and he dove in.

Your mouth stood agape as you watched him, connect his mouth to your clit, lightly sucking. You spread your legs so he could slot between them, and slot, he did. Key fitting in a lock, he kept your knees apart with his body, the whole couch becoming your playground.

Felix nibbled on your clit like it was sweet candy, gazes locked as his tongue came into play. Prodding, exploring. He looked sinful, like a devilish angle as his blonde locks tickled your bare thighs. A fucking dream-come-true, in the most literal sense.

Licking down your folds, he tasted you, humming in delight. His own personal five course meal.

Early on, you had been taught to never eat with your hands. That it was rude and crude, and ill-mannered. When Felix did it, it was nothing if not delicious. To watch, to hear, his fingers spreading you and entering in soft, gentle strokes.

Soon enough, he was three fingers in, knuckles-deep, petting the sensitive spot so deep you never reached it yourself. And there he was, doing it with so much ease, over and over. Kitty’s new best friend.

For a moment, you lost control, throwing your head back with a loud moan. When Felix squeezed your thigh, gently but determined, you brought your head back.

“Eyes on me, Kitten.”

A whimper at the nickname made him smirk as he scissored you open. His tongue prodded against your opening in sync, delightful as your stomach tensed.

“Oh, fuck—” You brought your hand to his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Guiding him, at least as much as he let you. “Please.”

Cocking his head, Felix teased you, playfully confused by your words.

“Please, I need you. Inside. Please.”

With one last calm suck on your nub, he snaked his way up your body. Fingers remained inside you for now, distracting you.

“But I already am. You have to be more specific, Kitten.”

You clenched at the words, and he visibly noticed.

“Your cock. I need you inside me. Please, Felix.” If those words hadn’t driven him crazy already, persuading him, your next ones sure did. “Kitten needs your cock.”

He groaned, fingers coming up to touch your lips. You opened them, licking over his moist rings and he lost himself in the sight. “Such crude words for such a cute Kitten.”

Smearing the last of your essence over your mouth, he began licking it off, taking his sweet time. And then finally, after he had already done much more intimate, he kissed you. Careful and collected turned to desperate and chaotic as tongues melted into one.

Kissing Felix was natural, like you had done it so many times before. And you would have continued doing it, if it hadn’t been for the more pressing issues.

When you bucked up into him, rubbing your naked crotch against his clothed one, he smirked into the kiss. “Eager Kitten.”

“Desperate,” you corrected, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him into you.

Felix drew away to rid himself of his shirt, kneeling on top of you. It must have been the hottest thing you had ever been lucky enough to witness. As he untied the knot in his sweats, your sight remained on his toned torso. Sculptured abs followed a set of muscular pecs and his prominent collar bones. You wanted to kiss every inch of his body, wanted to lick it and bite it, too. That was if he let you.

But not right now. Not when all you wanted was for him to devour you like his favourite desert.

Like the absolute menace he was, Felix tugged the hem of his sweats down, revealing the absence of underwear. And to think he walked around the apartment like that, unsucked. It was a real shame.

He stroked himself a couple of times, the other hand running through his messy locks. An undeniable God in human form.

You might have even been drooling, but before you could check, he hovered over you again. “Like what you see?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, curling upwards to connect your lips again.

With your legs still around his hips, it was easy for Felix to position himself. Your walls were clenching already, craving penetration. Some relief. Anything. It didn’t actually matter, as long as it was Felix doing it.

“You know,” he mumbled between kisses, tugging at your lip. It was in that moment, as he was so close, that you noticed the desire in his eyes. But it wasn’t just desire, but so much more. Adoration. Longing. Attraction. Love. “If you had told me about your secret from the start, we could have done this months ago.”

How he had come to know about your infatuation? You had no head to figure it out right that moment.

“However, we do have a lot to make up for. Better get to it, right?”

When Felix slid into you, your eyes rolled back into your head as your breath got caught in your lungs. Finally, after months of distanced yearning, he scratched the same itch that had plagued you for so long.

And your kitty was satisfied at last.

Masterlist Leave your thought

[leighsartworks216]

Search and Rescue

Zayne x gn!Reader

I swear one day I'll write another Zayne fic that has absolutely nothing medical in it at all

Warnings: hurt/comfort, some angst, blizzards/snowstorms, blood, injury, minor character death, self-sacrifice, hypothermia, dialogue heavy, established relationship

Word Count: 3,333 (I did this on purpose >:3)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

When the weather reports come in, so too do the calls for you and Zayne. Jenna needs you on duty to help anybody who gets trapped in the oncoming blizzard, and Zayne needs to be at the hospital to help emergency patients and those sheltering from the storm.

It’s hours before the storm is supposed to roll in when you begin getting ready. Zayne helps you find heavy-duty waterproof gloves and don enough layers to keep you moderately warm while you work. You pack Zayne emergency snacks and drinks. He tucks one of the protein bars into your coat pocket.

The tension of the danger that lies ahead is palpable. Rescue missions aren’t unusual for either of you, but keeping up with communication and the unpredictable nature of what could happen will make things very tricky, very fast.

You hold his hand as he drives to the hospital. The Alpha Team will be setting up base there to account for the high influx of patients. The perimeter will reach a few blocks. Whether you stay within it remains to be seen.

It would be hypocritical of him to tell you not to risk your life for the sake of another, more so than his usual hypocrisy when it comes to taking care of himself, so he doesn’t say that. Instead, he tells you, “Don’t be reckless.”

You smile. “I won’t be,” you promise.

Both of you know it’s a lie, whether you intend for it to be or not. You’ve always thrown yourself into danger at the drop of a hat. Now, as a Hunter, the danger keeps growing, and you still charge head-first into it.

He squeezes your hand.

The hospital bustles with preparations. Gurneys are lined along the halls, prepared to be filled once the last of the rooms fill up. Nurses are preparing stations to provide food, drinks, and blankets to anybody who needs it. Doctors offer contingency plans for a million different hypotheticals while dictating what patients should go where.

Jenna and your team help where they can. Nero is setting up a communication station that should make it possible to keep in touch during the storm. Tara is helping to set up Hunter Watches with emergency beacons, just in case anything does happen.

The storm is mere hours away.

Zayne removes his scarf and wraps it around you. You smile up at him reassuringly as he tucks the ends into your jacket. “Stay in contact.”

“I will. Every step, the team will know about it.”

He smiles slightly. “Good.” Not one for PDA, he nods to you, a silent wish of good luck and a quiet plea to come back to him in one piece. You return it, wishing him the same and promising to make it back even if it kills you.

And then he’s with the other doctors, preparing for the worst.

You jog over to your team. Tara beams at you, taking your wrist and setting up the beacon. Jenna debriefs you on what you need to do. Nero double checks that your comms will work.

It feels like no time has passed at all before the trouble begins.

-

Your snowmobile cuts over the snow piled on top of the blacktop. Tire tracks are quickly covered up or blown away. Cars sit parked on the side of the road or haphazardly abandoned right in the middle. The wind bites at your face like sharp teeth made of ice. The scarf around your mouth and nose prevents it from stealing your breath. Goggles protect your eyes, though the snow steals your visibility. Your hands have already started to go numb, but you press on.

The GPS on the snowmobile is glitching and useless with the storm blocking its signal. You have to rely on your knowledge of the area and Jenna’s voice in your ear directing you. There was a distress call sent in from a nearby park. It’s out of the set perimeter, but you’re the closest person available to help.

“The victim has a road flare available to them. Tell me when you’re in the area.”

“I’m almost at the entrance. I’ll go in on foot.”

“Careful. Don’t lose your way. Do you have anything to act as a marker?”

You pull up at the familiar iron gates of the park. You and Zayne come here for picnics when you have days off, so you know it pretty well by now. You dismount and try to find anything to use as a tether or beacon, but you just don’t have the resources. “I don’t.”

Jenna sighs. You really are her most reckless Hunter. “Call out the direction of the flare. Use it to retrace your steps back.”

“Understood.” You pull the scarf tighter around your ears as you head into the park. The snow is powdery beneath your feet, covering up your boots with every step. When you glance behind, your footprints are already gone. “Tell them to light the flare.”

Wind whips around, kicking up snow into your face and sneaking into your many layers. Once you get back, Jenna will send out another Hunter while you warm up and help at base. Just a few more minutes in the cold, and you can rest. The prospect urges you to keep pushing on, even as the damp begins collecting in your socks.

A faint pink glow pierces the haze. The light is diffused so much you almost miss it. “Spotted. North west from the entrance.”

The park feels like a deserted tundra the deeper in you go. You can’t see the iron fence that blocks it in, only the trees scattered around, barren or otherwise full of pine needles. You try to name what kind of tree they are, to help you on your way back.

On the left, a sycamore.

On the right, a pine tree.

Feet feel like miles, dragging on as the cold begins to seep in.

The glow of the flare disappears just ahead of you. Through the snow, you see the vague outline of a person. You pull down your scarf, exposing your mouth to the incoming agony of chapped lips, and cup your hands.

“HEY!” you shout. “CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

A muffled reply is swept away in the blizzard. With a bolstered resolve, you block the wind with your arm and push onwards. It isn’t much longer before the silhouette begins to clear.

Your watch beeps with a Metaflux warning. You’re frozen to the spot as you watch the horrific sight.

A Wanderer, some sort of knave, hunches over a body. A thin blanket flutters around the corpse, obscuring the figure. Red snow melts around them. The Wanderer’s arm is coated in the same red, seemingly fascinated with the spent flare as it prods it out of the victim’s hand.

“There’s a Wanderer,” you say through the comm. The creature’s head snaps up to you. You fumble for your gun, too tucked away to get to easily. It charges, blade-arms raised.

-

“Can you hear me?” Jenna tries again. It’s all static. Nero frantically tries reconnecting the link, but to no avail. “Have they lit their beacon yet?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, not yet.”

Tara gasps softly, hands covering her mouth as she stares at the holographic map. A red error warns of the lack of a signal, waiting for any sort of input to track. “What are we going to do?”

Jenna taps her finger on her arm.

Zayne helps someone in from outside. The snow gusts after them until the doors are pushed shut, chilling the lobby. He notices the red glow from the corner of his eye. His heart plummets to his stomach.

Trying to keep a level head, he passes the minorly injured person to a nurse, and rushes over. “What happened?” he demands.

Jenna looks at him from the corner of her eye, before fully turning to face him. “You’re close with Y/N, aren’t you?”

He nods. It only confirms his suspicions: something happened to you.

“They were answering a distress call when their line went dead. We believe they were attacked by a Wanderer, though the amount or type is unclear. They haven’t lit their beacon yet-”

“Captain!” Tara cries. “They lit it!”

She turns back to the map. The red error is gone, replaced with a blinking yellow icon. Zayne leans forward, reading the road labels.

“Do you have another snowmobile?” he asks.

“I can’t send a civilian into this storm.”

“I have extensive experience with search and rescue missions like this, Captain. And I know the area well. Along with my Evol, I should be able to retrieve them with little trouble.” He’s already buttoning his coat as he speaks, tucking his glasses away for safekeeping.

Jenna smirks. “You won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, will you?”

His ears are tinted pink as he looks away. You really are a bad influence on him.

“Here.” She grabs a bracelet-like device and wraps it around his wrist. “This way we’ll be able to track you through the storm.” Then she hands him a small earpiece. “Keep in touch. There’s another snowmobile outside.”

-

The storm hasn’t gotten any better by the time he reaches the park.

His cheeks are red from the cold, eyes bleary from the wind, and anxiety grips his heart like a vise. He parks his snowmobile beside yours. Snow has thoroughly covered the seat and skis.

He announces his arrival to your team. They lead him in the direction of your distress beacon.

The wind is deafening. The most recent weather reports predict that the storm will die down in a couple hours, but that’s far too long to wait for you to survive through.

Snow collects on his jacket as he blocks his face. The snow on the ground almost reaches his mid-calf, making movement difficult. But he powers through. He must. The thought of you dying out here, slow and alone, chills him to the bone even more than the blizzard, even more than his Evol. He refuses to let that happen.

A plastic wrapper, half-buried in the snow, catches his attention. He kneels down to look at it. The familiar colors and branding of the protein bar he stuffed in your pocket greets him. If this is yours, it means you’re alive enough to eat.

He shoves it into his pocket and keeps going.

“The map says they’re nearby,” your captain says through his earpiece several minutes later. He leans against a sycamore tree for cover. “Directly ahead of you.”

He shoves off and continues trudging forward. A dark shape under the snow 10 feet away catches his attention. His chest is tight as he drops down and begins uncovering it. It feels like his heart has stopped completely when he reveals the back of your coat.

He calls your name, digging his arms underneath your body to lift you and rest you against his chest. He bites the finger of his glove to pull it off. Your skin is ice cold as he feels for a pulse…

It takes nearly a minute before he feels the faint beat of your heart. He assesses you for any injuries. It doesn’t take long to find one.

Across your stomach is a long slash. Your clothes are torn, revealing ice-bitten skin and the jagged edges of your wound. When he looks, he can see a long trail in the snow, already being filled in. He can just imagine the agony you must have been in, trying to crawl through the snow back to safety. Eating your protein bar for a boost of energy, just to keep going.

He slips his glove back on and cradles you tightly to his chest as he stands and heads back the way he came.

“I found them. I’m heading back now.”

He’s back at the sycamore tree when your watch beeps. A glowing ring appears around your wrist, red with warning. He hears the Wanderer’s cry on the other side of the tree.

He quickly kneels down, supporting your body in his lap and cradling you with one arm, while the other calls ice to his hand. His face is set, eyes sharp. The second the creature rounds the trunk, he’s hurling ice at its chest.

Memories of fighting Wanderers in the mountains, of losing his friend, burn in his chest. Zayne fights with unyielding determination to get you home.

-

It’s warm. Almost too warm. Memories of playing outside in the snow as a child, only to come in and have burning sensations on your fingers and face, drift lazily through your mind.

There’s a weight on top of you. It’s too hot.

Lifting your arms feels like a monumental task. Trying to shove the blanket off is even harder. You’re panting before you’ve even uncovered your chest.

It’s suddenly pulled off of you, uncovering your legs from the burdensome heat. The cooler air of the room sends goosebumps all down your arms.

“Don’t move too much.”

Your head lolls to the side. Your eyelids are impossibly heavy. You’re so tired. You try to speak, but it comes out as garbled nonsense.

“Shh. You’re on a lot of pain medication right now.” Something soft touches your forehead. You stop fighting to keep your eyes open. “Get some sleep.”

You dream of building snowmen and drinking hot cocoa.

The next time you come to, your whole body aches. Your muscles scream in agony with every little twitch. The worst of it comes from your belly; a persistent sting that brings immediate tears to your eyes. You gasp and whimper as your hand tries searching for the source of your pain.

Something grabs your hand and pulls it away, holding it tenderly to the side. “Does it hurt?”

You whimper again, nodding pathetically.

“Okay. It’s okay. Give it a minute. It’ll go away soon.”

You try forcing your eyes open again. They don’t feel as heavy now. You can start to make out Zayne’s dark hair, the focus on his face as he makes adjustments to the equipment you’re hooked up to.

Slowly, the pain ebbs into a dull ache. He turns his attention back to you.

“Feel better?”

You nod again slightly. He smiles softly, but it looks like he’s struggling with it.

“Mhnn, what happened?” you slur.

He squeezes your hand gently, running his thumb over the bandages wrapped around your fingers.. The skin underneath is dry and cracked from the cold and the self-destruction of your crawling, but your blood runs warm underneath. “What do you remember?” he asks instead.

You blink, frowning with concentration. You remember the blizzard. Getting ready with Zayne in the morning. Meeting your team in the hospital. A dozen or so back-and-forth rescues. And then…

The barren trees appear in your mind through a haze. Dark red against melting snow. Fabric flapping wildly in the wind.

“The Wanderer…”

Zayne nods slowly. “Your comms went down. Your team couldn’t contact you at all.”

“Yeah, it…” You subconsciously reach for your ear, as though trying to find the earpiece. “It knocked it off when I dodged away.”

“And then you set off your beacon.”

A timid look comes over your face. He sighs, already knowing what you’re going to say. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I fought it off first. My gun was hard to reach, but-”

“So you waited until it was dead to alert anybody else to your struggle, even though it could have killed you before you ever got the chance.” It wasn’t a question. You can’t meet his eyes. Even after promising him to be careful, to stay in contact with your team at all times, you still put your life in unnecessary danger.

“‘M sorry…”

He sighs.

You look at him again, studying his attire. It’s buttoned all the way to his neck. His tie is crooked. “What happened after that?”

“Your captain gave me what I needed to rescue you myself,” he starts. You cut him off with wide eyes.

“She let you go on your own?”

He grins wryly, but the pinch in his brow shows just how strained it is. “You’re a terrible influence on me, you know that?”

You grin, too. You nod for him to continue.

A darkness covers his eyes. Bright hazel dimmed by the emotions that were still warring within him, battling with the relief that you’re still alive. “I found you buried in the snow,” he murmurs. “You were barely alive. The Wanderer didn’t hit anything vital, but you’d still lost a lot of blood. Paired with the frostbite… It’s a miracle you still have your extremities.

“I rushed you back to the hospital. We immediately began treating you with a heated IV. Once you were stable, we started you on a blood transfusion and treated your wound.” He nods to your stomach where your pain still lingers.

You look down at yourself. The blanket is still pulled off of you, folded off to the side. The snap-front gown they put you in allows for easy access to your stomach. You can see the bandages through a couple of the snaps.

Your eyes slowly trail to your connected hands. Your fingers are individually wrapped. His warmth seeps in through the bandages. But there’s something else…

You carefully pry your hand from his so yours is on top. He lets you, watching your movements for any discomfort. Your fingers glide over the faded scars of his hand, up to his sleeve. He pulls away when you push back the cuff, but you’ve already seen the glimpse of a bandage wrapped around his arm.

“You’re hurt, too.”

“It’s superficial.”

“Since when has that mattered to you?” you tease.

He glares at you, but there’s hardly any venom behind it. He looks away, readjusting his sleeve all the while. “More Wanderers appeared after I found you. A couple scratches here and there, but nothing serious,” he dismisses.

You seek out his hand again. There’s a quirk to your lip, one that belies the mischief in your actions, yet he gives himself to you anyway. You trace up the same pattern as before and struggle to undo the button of his sleeve. He undoes it for you. You’re unrelenting at the best of times; it’s easier not to fight it. He even lifts it up slightly, fully revealing the wrap around his wrist and forearm. The soft gauze padding can be seen through the thin material, outlining where the injury really is.

“Some couple we are,” you murmur. “We get hurt and we deny it with our every breath.”

He huffs a laugh. “Two self-sacrificing fools.”

You hum with a nod, continuing to trace over his injury. The mirth begins to drain from your face. “I’m sorry… For not calling for help sooner. For letting you get dragged into the mess I created.”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit, my love,” he whispers reassuringly as he slides his fingers up your wrist until he’s holding your hand again. He brings your bandaged knuckles to his lips. You watch the way his lips curve against your minor wounds. “I will always come to your aid, by my own choice, whether you created the ‘mess’ or not.”

“I love you,” you whisper in return.

He kisses your knuckles again. “The feeling is mutual.”

You pinch his chin playfully. He chuckles. “Get some rest. I’ll get something for you to eat.”

He lowers your hand back to the bed and stands up. His fingers work nimbly to button his sleeve and fix it once more. You catch his hand before he can turn to leave. He looks down at you attentively. You could ask him for the stars and he’d pluck every single one from the sky to give to you. You smile sweetly up at him, that familiar glint in your eye giving your tricks away.

“Does the hospital serve hot chocolate?”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover

[hintsofhoney]

Don't Forget It

Paring(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: While working a case with Dean, he gets jealous of the way you interact with a suspect and decides to remind you who you belong to.

Tags: 18+, p in v, unprotected sex (be smart), rough sex, jealous dean, spanking, light dom/sub dynamics, sex in a public place, begging, voyeurism if you squint

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Just another finished work that's been sitting in my drive, collecting dust. Beta'd by my loves @makeadealwithdean and @wayward-dreamer; love you both to the moon and back 🤍 GIF is mine. Enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST |  SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

You don’t miss the way Dean’s eyebrow raises when you lift one leg to sit on the man’s desk, twirling your hair and batting your eyelashes as you try to get him to confess. You’re fully aware of the way your pencil skirt is riding up, revealing more skin than you care to show to this douchebag probably-murderer, but it’s clear that he’s way more interested in speaking to you than Dean. If it helps move the case along, you can turn on the charm.

Dean’s watching you from the corner of the room as you flirt with the sleazebag, his jaw clenching as he reminds himself that you’re just doing your job, but it doesn’t make him want to remind you who you belong to any less. Especially when you look like that . Tight skirt, the top three buttons of your blouse undone, and then when you lean over pretending to laugh at something this guy had said, he catches a glimpse of your black lace bra, and he finds himself trying not to think about ripping it off of you. Not that it was working.

“You know, you’re a pretty little thing, Agent,” the man smirks, and then he’s reaching for the exposed part of your thigh and you’re wishing he wouldn’t , and Dean clears his throat so loudly it startles the both of you. You hop off the desk as the suspect turns around to look at him.

“I think we’re done here,” Dean says, walking over to the desk and pulling a fake business card with his real phone number on it out of his inner suit jacket pocket. “If you remember anything, Mr. McAnn, give me a call.” He tosses the card carelessly onto his desk.

Mr. McAnn huffs. “Yeah, alright, Agent.”

You and Dean both know the phone call isn’t coming; you’re going to need to find another way to prove the dickhead sitting in front of you murdered his wife — possessed or not.

“Let’s go, Y/N,” Dean grits out, his eyes not leaving Mr. McAnn’s as he walks to the door. You follow suit, and the anger in your boyfriend’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Dean’s already ten steps ahead of you by the time you’re fully out of the office.

“Dean!” you call after him, speed-walking to match his brisk pace down whatever corporate building hallway you were in. “Slow down, I’m in heels!” 

You catch up to him and grab his wrist, spinning him around. 

“The hell’s gotten into you?” 

He huffs in disbelief, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of how to answer that question. 

“You can’t be serious,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and raising your eyebrows, realizing what’s gotten his panties in a twist. “I was trying to get him to confess , Dean.”

“I’m not — I know. Okay? But —” he pauses, beginning to stalk towards you, a hunger in his eyes that tells you exactly where this interaction is heading. You nearly trip over yourself as you walk backwards, a soft gasp leaving your lips when your back hits the wall. “Doesn’t mean I like watching you slutting it up for the asshole.” 

He’s got you fully caged in between his arms now, one hand on either side of your shoulders, his face inches away from yours. 

“You’re mine .”

You roll your eyes. As hot as he is when he’s jealous and possessive, it’s not like he can fuck you in this hallway. Plus, he’s being ridiculous anyway. 

“Your point ?” you prod, probably further than you should. 

“My —” he huffs again, his hands back on his hips, shaking his head before looking around. “Oh, I’ll show you my fucking point, sweetheart.”

He grabs your wrist, ignoring your squeal, and drags you a few feet down the hall, turning into the women’s bathroom and locking the door behind him. His eyes quickly scan underneath the three stalls before he determines the two of you are alone. 

“Dean —”

He cuts off your protest with his hands on your waist, walking you back into the nearby sinks before hoisting you up onto the counter. 

“Dean!” you yelp in surprise. 

He pays it no mind as he reaches for your blouse, tearing it open in one quick motion, plastic buttons clattering to the floor.

“Dean!” you scold, and Jesus, how many times can you say his name in different ways in one minute?

He remains unphased, focused on two things and two things only, both of which he reveals as he pulls down the cups of your bra.

“Christ, Y/N,” he breathes, cupping your breasts in his hands as he stares at them like it’s his first time ever seeing boobs. His thumbs flick over both of your nipples at the same time, and you arch your back as a moan escapes you.

“Mm, fuck.”

He leans in, his breath fanning over your earlobe as he continues tweaking your nipples. “Might as well have shown that dickhead in there these fuckin’ tits, the way your shirt was hanging open. Left really fuckin’ little to the imagination, Y/N,” he whispers, drawing more sounds from your throat. “He was probably sitting there thinking about doing all the things I’m doing to you right now. And I don’t like that. That’s my fuckin’ point.” He pinches one of your nipples, a yelp leaving your lips. “Understand?”

You nod, unable to form words.

“I can’t hear you.” He pinches the other peak and pulls a little. 

“Oh — fuck! Yes, I understand,” you answer. “I’m yours, I’m yours.” 

“And don’t forget it.” 

His lips find your breasts, and soon he’s sucking bruises into your skin and teasing your nipples with his tongue. He’s everywhere at once, everywhere but where you really need him, and you’re not sure how much more of this torture you can take.

“Dean, please,” you gasp, and he lets out an irritated grunt as he pulls his mouth off one of your breasts, seeming annoyed that you had interrupted his fun with your begging. You can’t blame him – he’s a boob guy. Especially if they’re your boobs. 

“I’m not done yet,” he states, before resuming his attack – for lack of a better word – on your breasts.

You groan in protest, the heat between your thighs building, and you spread your legs as far as your skirt will allow. The cool air that hits your core reminds you that you had chosen to forego underwear today, and you reach down to shimmy your skirt up to your hips while Dean’s still focused on your breasts. You’re able to spread your legs a bit further now, and you can’t help but chuckle at the fact that your boyfriend still hasn’t noticed you fully on display. 

He pulls away an inch or so when he hears your giggling. “Somethin’ funny?”

“You really are a boob guy, huh?” You shake your head in disbelief, biting back a smile. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and you use the opportunity to lean forward, simultaneously pulling him towards you by his shoulders so you can whisper in his ear. “You’ve been so focused on them you haven’t taken the time to look down yet, have you?”

He pulls away, still confused, until his eyes dart down to your core. “Jesus – wait – did you –”

“Was debating between those panties you really like or just foregoing them altogether,” you shrug.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring at your dripping core for a few moments before a second wave of feral hunger hits him. “ Fuck .”

Before you can even process his movements, you’re bent over the counter instead of sitting on it, your legs kicked apart with two fingers plunging into your heat. 

“Oh my – Dean !” you squeal at both the abruptness and the roughness of it all.

“Don’t know what you expected, sweetheart, walking around with everything on fuckin’ display.” He crooks his fingers at just the right angle, and you bite back a scream.

“I – fuck – nothing w-was on display – oh God !” 

“Might as well have been. This tight little skirt of yours doesn’t leave much to the imagination, either. And then to find out there’s been nothing underneath it this whole time?”

“Ow!” you exclaim, as a loud smack fills the air, courtesy of Dean’s hand landing on your bare ass. 

“ Louder ,” he growls. “I want the whole fuckin’ building to know they can imagine whatever they want, but I’m the only one who gets to act on it.” He pulls his fingers out of you and spanks you again.

“De – oh, fuck !” you choke out. “Please, Dean.”

“Please what?” he asks nonchalantly, and you can hear his belt buckle clinking behind you.

“Fuck me. Please, I need you to fuck me.”

“ Need me to, huh?” You hear the zipper of his slacks, and you shift your weight in anticipation, your ass squirming. He lands another smack on your left cheek – the hardest one yet.

“DEAN!” you yelp, and you’re certain the entire building heard that one.

“There you go. Now beg that loud and I may just give you what you want,” he chuckles, grabbing a fistful of your hair and bringing your face up from the counter while he runs his cock through your soaked folds. 

“Please!” you groan.

“Mm-mm, not hearin’ you, sweetheart.”

“Deaaaan!” you whine, pushing your hips back, trying to force him inside you. 

“You know what to do, Y/N.” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath – there’s only so much of this you can take. You focus on his cock teasing your folds for a few moments, and that’s all the encouragement you need.

“Please, Dean! Please, fuck me!”

“That’s better. Louder.”

“Jesus fucking – FUCK ME, NOW!”

You’re rewarded immediately, and he bottoms out inside you with ease. 

“Was that so hard?”

“Fuck me,” you reply through gritted teeth, “or I’m gonna go get Mr. McAnn to do it.”

That is both the very wrong and very right thing to say. 

You yelp as he yanks up harder on your hair, your chest leaving the counter. His hand moves to rest on your neck – not choking you, simply holding you in place – and then he pounds into you harder than he ever has before. 

“You are something else, you know that?” he hisses, his thrusts hard and fast. “I know you were only acting like a slut for Mr. Douchebag back there, but it just comes so – fucking – easy – to you, doesn’t it?” He punctuates his words with more thrusts. “And not wearin’ any underwear – that wasn’t for the act, hm? That was because you were hopin’ to end up like this, yeah?” His hand moves from your throat to grip underneath your jaw when you fail to answer. “ Yeah ?”

“Yeah – oh m-my God – fuck , D-Deaaan.”

He smirks, watching you in the mirror above the counter as you slowly come apart on his cock. “No, you don’t have to act like a slut for me, sweetheart. You just are one, hm?” 

You nod to the best of your ability. 

“Open your eyes, look at yourself,” he orders, his grip on your jaw tightening as his thrusts speed up. You do as you’re told, meeting your reflection in the mirror. You’re not sure if your mascara is smudged because of sweat or tears, your hair looks like a bird has made its home in it, and you can’t remember a time that you’ve looked this fucked out. “See what I mean?” Dean questions. “Sluttiest you’ve ever fuckin’ looked. Not that I’m complaining.” 

You feel the dam inside you about to break, and you let out a whimper in warning. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, almost out of breath, his tone laced with pity. “Are you gonna cum?”

“Mm-hm,” you nod, whimpering again.

“You like being my slut that much, hm?”

“Dean, please,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, stalling your release as much as you can. You’re not sure why – it’s not like you have to wait for his permission – but you find yourself wanting it. 

“Christ, Y/N,” he breathes, quickly realizing what you’re asking for. His thrusts are becoming erratic, and you know he’s close too. “Hold it, baby. Can you do that?”

“I don’t –”

“Mmm, I think you can. I’m – fuck – I’m close. Be a good little slut and hold it. Want you – shit – want you to cum with me, sweetheart.”

You find yourself nodding, focusing on Dean’s pants in your ear instead of the precipice of your release, and a few seconds go by before expletives are falling from his lips and you know it’s safe for you to let go.

Your dam breaks. “Oh, God – fuck – Dean!”

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, filling you up. He lets his forehead fall to your shoulder as he catches his breath, post-orgasmic shivers running through him as you ride out your high, your walls clenching around his cock. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants, lifting his head to press a kiss behind your ear. “Such a perfect fuckin’ slut.”

You manage a soft giggle as your body settles. “Only for you, babe.”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as he stares at your reflection in the mirror. 

“And don’t you forget it.”

[myfictionaldreams]

Hey :) i would love to ask for a spicy Lucius Malfoy x Reader ☺️ something like Reader is a young Teacher in Hogwarts and Lucius and her are having an (very serious) affair (takes Place in the chamber of secrets).

The School Governor //Lucius Malfoy x Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I've never written Lucius before, but hopefully, you'll enjoy it!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, infidelity/cheating, secret relationship, rough sex, creampie, fingering, squirting, tension, praise kink, size difference, Narcissa bashing (sorry!), kissing, fluff/angst

Words: 2.8k

my masterlist 📚

AO3 Link

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be here at this time of day, Mr Malfoy?”

The corner of the man’s lip twitched up like he was trying to smile but attempting to conceal it by remaining stoic. You were then faced with his signature sneer, those piercing grey eyes wandering over your appearance as if he was assessing whether he even wanted to waste his time. “It seems I’ve become lost on my travels around Hogwarts. Might you show me the way out?” Lucius asked with disdain thick in his voice

“Of course, Sir. Just this way”, you pointed in the direction you’d just walked from. No one even blinked an eye in either of your directions as you led him away from the grouping of students who were all on their way to bed as the night drew closer to curfew.

Your head remained forward, not once looking over your shoulder to check if he was following as you knew that he would be. You thanked Merlin for having an office so far away from students and other professors as the main offices were already lived in. You were new to the school, recently hired to assist Madam Pomfrey with Herbology, as she was too busy trying to attend to the Mandrakes.

The job may have been due to the recommendations of the man following closely behind you, his cane clicking against the stone floor and billowing close, switching the dust in whichever direction he turned.

As you both approached further towards the greenhouses and, thus, your office, there was a blossoming of heat and anticipation spreading from the centre of your chest to the tip of your toes. This was always something that your body seemed to do whenever within arms reach of the school’s governor. Moreover, he always seemed to be at the school nowadays, stating that he was there on school business, especially with the latest attacks on the students.

This is just an excuse, however, pretending to look around the school to catch the Headmaster in a scheme, but really, he would be sneaking to your classroom, office or meeting in the Forbidden Forest.

It was wrong. More than wrong. He had a wife, whom he was incredibly unhappy with, having been forced into a marriage as soon as he’d finished his time as a student at Hogwarts. All to abide by the pure blood status and traditions without any sort of say in the matter. Forced to live a life of misery, reproduce and have heirs and then die in a loveless marriage.

This was the only reason you had continued to meet with him. The ache in your heart quickly succumbs to his negative life. You knew he was manipulative, quick-tempered and had questionable ideologies on the dark arts. But when it came to Lucius Malfoy, it was as if your mind purposefully ignored these warning signs, mainly because he never discussed or acted in a horrible way around you.

You were always his peace and tranquillity, his little saviour in the dark before the world's realities came crumbling down around him. There you were, gifted with the raw, passionate, and incredibly loving man who held your hand when walking past, stroking your cheek to catch any slipped tears when it was time to say goodbye for a few more weeks.

It was a complex relationship to have and made even more so when you were now having to teach his son, Draco, who seemed to be a smaller copy of his Father, to be even more arrogant at his young age. It meant that you could give him additional help to boost his grades and, therefore, please his father, which, in turn, helped bring positivity into the secret relationship.

As you were greeted with the view of the long corridor that led to your office, your steps slowed as Lucius snapped, “Dobby. Check the area is clear for any prying eyes”.

With a flash out of the corner of your eyes, Dobby appeared and disappeared, apparating further down the corridor in multiple positions to check if the two of you were truly alone.

“The area is clear, Master”, Dobby approached before disappearing completely. You and Lucius rushed the remaining way to the office. You opened the door wide enough for him to follow through and slammed closed. As your wand waved in front of the handle, thoroughly locking the two of you in, a hand gripped your hip, turning your body so that your back met the door's wood.

A leathery gloved hand then cupped your jaw, tilting your face back so that Lucius could kiss you with as much desperation and urgency as you felt in the centre of your chest. It almost hurt with how much pressure his face was applying to yours, his warm breath fanning across the apple of your cheeks with where his nose was pressing. Your hands lifted to grab any part of him and ended up clinging onto the opening of his cloak, harshly tugging him even closer until there wasn’t a gap between your bodies.

Releasing a soft moan from your throat, this seemed to begin moving further, both gloved hands now cupping both of your cheeks in a safe cocoon as his thumbs caressed careful circles against your skin.

The coldness of the material wasn’t enough to satisfy your need for him as you dipped your head to free your mouth. “Off! I need your clothes off!”

Lucius’s baritone laugh burst across your face as he stepped back to give the two of you some room. “Such a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“I am when you’re wearing so many layers! Take them off!”

He chuckles at your reaction once more but finally begins to remove the cloak from his shoulders and gloves from his hands, next attempting to undo the luxurious vest jacket that he wore. The buttons running down the middle were taking too long for him to undo, so you quickly gripped either side of the best and pulled hard, surprised by your strength as the buttons began to pop off and tumble.

“Do you know how expensive this was?” he asked incredulously, but humour still danced behind his bright eyes.

“I’ll fix it at the end”, you say breathlessly, wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him in for another heated kiss. A perfect mix of lips, teeth and tongue, all moving together, nipping, licking and sucking. Neither mouth pulled apart from the other, making the actions more frantic and chaotic with the attempts to remove more of the clothing articles. Soon, you both became frustrated by the barriers and settled for the basics.

Leaving your jumper and skirt on, you kicked off the shows, tights and underwear you’d been wearing as Lucuius kept his white shirt on but undid his leather belt to loosen his trousers and boxers until they were around his knees.

Lucius pulled back from the heated kiss first, but only so he could turn you around and push you face-first against the door. You huffed at the impact but soon were groaning in pleasure as he lifted your skirt and began to rock his dick against your folds, teasing you with gentle pressure before finding its home in your warm cunt.

“Silenco”, Lucius whispers, waving his hand as the atmosphere becomes dense as the spell renders the area soundproof. With the safety of the spell, your mouth fell open, and a barrel of dirty moans left your lips as you didn’t hold back from telling him how good it felt to be stretched by his cock once more.

Lucius dipped his height so that his forehead could rest against your cheek, breathing heavily as he thrust hard and deep. The pace was bruising to the side of your face, resting against the door, but nothing in the world would get you to stop at that moment. To be able to feel his thick length fucking hard into your pussy was something you craved every day.

As your hand reached the back of his head, gripping his silky white-blond hair, you gasped, “I’ve missed you”.

Lucuius groans as he nuzzles into your neck, biting the skin just below your ear as his arm moves around your waist, angling your hips so your arse is sticking out slightly so he can deepen the thrusts.

“I’ve missed you too, little witch. So much more than you could ever know”. Your heart could have stopped at his words, falling even more in love with him than you had before, which tightened your drenched walls even further around him. “I know you’re close. I want to feel you cum around my cock Darling, cum for me like the good witch I know you are”.

As he praises you, the arm around your waist slips beneath the front of your skirt so that he can roll your clit in circles, matching the pace of his hips. Your thighs tremble, fingers clenching his hair until it hurt, but Lucius didn’t stop until you were crying out in pleasure, cunt clamping in spasms around his length, and he, too, joined you through his own orgasm.

Lucius didn’t stop rolling his hips until you were sated and calm from cumming, and his seed had soaked as deep as he possible, caressing your cervix and then dripping out down your thighs. The two of you sighed in contentment, staying together, pushed against the wall, and just appreciating the moment you had tangled against one another.

“I didn’t expect to see you for at least another week. Have you come because of the attacks?”

“I feel as a good Govenor; my answer should be yes”, he whispered against the shell of your ear, nipping the lobe with his teeth, causing goosebumps to rise down your arms. “I can’t deny, however, that it was you that brought me here. I meant it when I said I missed you”.

Even with his softening cock still inside of you, he knew how to make your knees tremble as you blew out a long breath as you asked, “Can you please stay?”

You could feel his shoulders dropping and knew his answer before he’d even begun to speak, and sadness spread through your body, replacing the euphoric sensation. Lucius gently kissed the back of your head as he carefully eased himself away from you, “I’m sorry, my love, you know I can’t”.

Smiling to hide the upset, you turned to him, “I know. I’m sorry I always ask; I just hope that one day you’ll be able to say yes”.

His warm hands cup your cheeks delicately as you do the same for him, carefully moving some of the messy strands behind his ears. “I’m sorry”, he says earnestly.

“Could you stay for a drink at least?”

“I would never say no to a drink with you”. Lucius began to dress, looking significantly more chaotic than before but always looking crisp before leaving. All you managed to do was pick up your discarded clothes and shows, straighten your jumper and wait for him to wave his wand between your legs, cleaning up the mess he had created with a smile.

Walking further into the office, you entered through the hidden door at the back of the room leading directly into your living area. The fire sparked to life as soon as you stepped onto the roof, instantly filling the vast space with heat and an orange hue. Pouring the both of you a hefty glass of dark liquid, you both cheered the glasses together, taking a deep swig of the alcohol that burned your throat deliciously and then settled into the sofa.

You sat remarkably relaxed with him, leaving your bare legs thrown over his lip as his arm settled around your shoulders to keep you close as you watched the fire lights dancing with the flickers of the flames.

“He’s nearly top of the class, but I think he’d have a hard time trying to best both Longbottom or Granger”, you explained sometime later as Lucius asked how Draco was fairing in your class. The man scoffs, only earning him a slap to his chest, “Hey! They’re my students; stop that”. Thankfully, he held his tongue and didn’t prattle on his biased opinions on pure-bloods or traitors, which he had quickly learnt was nothing you were particularly focused on. “Could I ask about what the governors are going to do about the attacks? I don’t want them to close the school, but it feels so dangerous now that students are being attacked”.

Lucius’ arm tightens around your shoulder as his lips press against your temple. “Nothing will harm you, Darling, and I’ve told you this already: I can’t speak of the Governor meetings. We’re sworn to secrecy”.

“It’s not me I’m worried for. It’s the children. It means - aren’t you worried about Draco?”

Your head tilts back on his arm so you can look up into his effortlessly handsome face, expecting him to be worried. However, he only appeared to be as calm and in control as ever, his grey eyes dancing with yours and the bottom lip you’d tucked between your teeth.

“Not at all. He’s in the safest house with the safest blood. I have no worries for my son”. His answer confused you, but you’d just put it down to his many prejudices and superiority complex. Reach up to stroke the smooth sin of his jaw, and you can’t resist the temptation to lean closer and kiss him deeply, tasting the alcohol on his tongue that matched your own.

“What’s it like?” you ask between kisses, unable to stop yourself from asking. “At home, I mean, what’s it like? Do you have any happiness at all?”

“You know I’m not happy and never will be with her”, he answers abruptly, to look at you with a questioning gaze.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know you hate her”. You refuse to say her name both from shame and jealousy. “Do you have anything else that brings you joy? I hate the thought of you being alone in a big house with no one to give you any positivity”.

The hand lazily resting across your calves begins to draw circles into the skin as he contemplates his answer. “Without Draco there, I have no one. Narcissa and I may eat meals together, but that’s as far as it goes. We never talk; we even sleep in separate rooms. Everything is always for show, which is why these moments with you, where I get to be with someone I genuinely love, mean the most to me”.

You shake at his words, feeling the edges of your eyes water as you cling to him with even more desperation. What's more, the hand on your calf was beginning to slowly creep up the sensitive area of your inner thigh, distracting you from continuing the conversation as your legs automatically parted, giving him more room.

“Lucius”, you pleaded, eyes following his long fingers, the thick silver ring with the ‘M’ wrapped around his thumb adding extra sensitivity with the coolness of it against your skin.

“Shh, I’ve got you, little witch. Just relax for me”, he whispered against your temple as his fingers finally reached their goal. Your head tipped onto his shoulder as your back arched. All of your thoughts were centred on the skillfully trained fingers as he explored your dampening folds, spreading them with ease to give his middle finger the path to your eagerly awaiting hole.

You were a mewling mess as he eased two fingers into your cunt, coating the digits in your juices and rocking them in and out carefully. Lucius began to move the arm around your shoulders, relaxing his hold so he could lie you down on the sofa as he leaned over you, his mouth hovering just above yours.

“Are you going to be good for me, my Darling?” he asks, his warm breath teasing you once more as your legs try to clamp his hand in place.

“Yes!” Your shout was abrasive, but only because he’d already caused you to become a pathetic mess. Lucius smiled against your lips but didn’t move to kiss you properly as he applied more pressure with his fingers and thumb and stroked your clit.

You could feel his soft hair falling around your face as he began to curl his fingers inside of you, pounding that one spot within you that had you seeing stars. You weren’t able to say a coherent word as moisture squirted from your cunt, coating his fingers and wrist as he continued the action at a hard and fast pace.

The sloshing noise was obscene to your ears as he made you squirt over your thighs, sofa and his black trousers. You weren’t even sure you’d came as everything went from 0-100 with how intense his fingers had made you feel.

When he slowed his curling digits, you were a gooey mess in his arms. A grin erupted across your face as he sighed into the cushions, leaning further into his chest as he kissed your temple, allowing you to catch your breath.

“I must go; it’s getting late. You know I love you, my little witch”.

“I love you too, Mr Malfoy”.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

To Need Somebody

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, very light fluff, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing. You've been here before, and you'll be here again, and you'll stay every time. Self-esteem warning, but that's it.

Author's Note: First Dean fic! A very good excuse to rewatch supernatural and say it's for my own edification as if he doesn't live in my head rent-free.

Title from Renegade by Big Red Machine ft Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.8k

The night doesn’t pass as quickly as you’d like it to. It’s long and slow, treelines and yellow grass moving in blur out the window as the stinging, stabbing pain in your leg keeps you awake.

You keep your face pressed to the glass, hidden in shadows and under your makeshift blanket—it’s just a jacket, but it’s Dean’s so it smells like him and might be better than a blanket—so that the light reflecting off your tired, tear-stained face doesn’t catch the attention of the rear-view mirror.

Doesn’t catch the attention of Dean.

He hasn’t spoken since the drive home began. He’d carried you to the car, then into the motel, then on the bed, holding you still while Sam cleaned and sewed up the gash in your thigh. Dean had muttered words of comfort and let you bite down on his shirt through the stitches. He’d told you that you’d done well, and that the kid was going to be fine.

The kid with you was going to be fine. You’d been faster than the demon—but not faster than its blade aimed at your leg—and the little girl who had attached to you was going to be traumatized, but had a lifetime ahead of her to heal from it.

The little boy that had been with Dean didn’t. He was ash scattered over the skyline and stuck to wet grass. And you knew Dean blamed himself, even though Sam had told you in hushed words at a gas station that it there was nothing anyone could have done. The kids eyes had started to go black, and he’d wandered to the window with an expression of wonder Dean had caught immediately, because he was a good hunter and better man.

And it wasn’t Dean’s fault the kid had punched through the window with inhuman strength. You’d all assumed that the crazy fucking ritual was more of an offering than a conversion. If your kid had punched through a window, you would have likely lost her as well.

But you hadn’t. Sam’s hadn’t lost his either. By pure, shit luck, Dean’s was the one that formed a stronger connection. That fell under faster, and died for it.

So now Dean wasn’t speaking to you or Sam. He’d helped you to the Impala, checked that you were comfortable, and set his jacket over your body, even after you told him you were okay. You’d reached a hand up to his face, told him you loved him, and gotten a grimacing smile in return.

You know he loves you. He’s not good at saying it, but you know. You know because he’s driving slower than usual, to avoid bumps. You know because the music is low, and it’s one of his better tapes. One of the one’s you’ve told him you like more than the others, and the one he always put it on when you’re in pain.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Dean loves you. And the silent acts of attention and service make the exact three times he has said it all the more meaningful.

The first time, when you’d tried to leave—reaching a breaking point of I can’t keep loving him like this, but I can’t get over him while I’m here—and he’d shot down your every fear with begging words and a confession he’d sounded afraid to make.

The second time, when you’d died. Really died, and Dean had tried to break up with you to protect you when you’d come back. You’d called an idiot, but your idiot, and simply refused to leave him. You’d told him to give you one good reason he wanted you to go, and he’d never see you again. He’d shouted, and you’d screamed, and you think you won. You’re still here, so you won. 

The third time, which you called the good time. Where he hadn’t said it in a shout or plea, or because he was in afraid of losing you in whatever form, but because he wanted to. Dean had really just wanted you to know that he loved you, and now you did. And you’d never doubt it again.

But this still hurts. The wall that forms over Dean—a form of protection from this silent burden and self-inflicted torture you know must be unbearable and heavier than the world, crushing on his shoulders and head and ribs—is like a stray dog that you just have to watch tear itself apart, and hope it will accept your outstretched hand. Offering comfort it doesn’t know it deserves.

You know Dean loves you, and you know he never takes your hand, and it still really fucking hurts. A fight would be better than this. Screaming would be a relief to the heavy silence that had started to form a weight in your lungs. Your head felt like iron, and you were beginning to wonder if your tongue with ever stop being a pointless muscle that was uncomfortable in your mouth. Stop just itching at your teeth and finally become useful. Find the right words that would make Dean do anything, anything at all. Literally anything that wasn’t sitting like a sentry and holding the wheel like—if he choked it and it spat out blood—something would fix itself.

It’s dawn when you hear the engine stop, and you can’t move. A little because you still can’t fully support any weight on your leg, but mostly because moving will be acknowledging that you’re awake. And being awake comes with choices. You either have to look at Dean and pretend you don’t see the way he’s ripping himself apart before smashing everything back together in a way that’s just a little less stable than before, or you have to not look at Dean.

He’ll notice. He notices everything, especially obvious things like you not looking at him. And it will hurt him—make this hole you think lives in his ribcage or spine bigger and more hollow—so no matter what pain it causes you, you need to look at Dean.

You push up your forearms with a groan, and he’s right there. Already watching you, so obviously in pain, and so obviously guarded from it that there’s not much for you to do right now. These are things Dean has to ask you for before you can give them. If you offer kind words, he’ll think they’re tainted with pity and spit venomous ones back. If you offer a body he’ll take it, but then the hole will grow larger as the guilt sets in for using you, even if you were the one that asked.

When it’s like this, all you can do is sit with him. Let him help you into the bunker, and—when he tries to put you in bed—insist he stays here, or you go where he goes.

You can make that about you, about not wanting to be abandoned in the midst of your physical turmoil, instead of Dean. He’ll let you follow him if it’s for you.

“You need to rest,” he grunts your name, and these are the first words he’s spoken in almost twelve hours. They’re almost inaudible, and a little angry, but they’re the most amazing sounds you’ve ever heard. “Been a long night. You’re hurt-“

“I can rest with you.” You whisper, and he looks like you shot him. “I don’t want to be alone, Dean. Please.”

There’s a long, horrible moment where you think he’ll say no. Where he’ll mutter that he’s never a productive in a bedroom setting for anything like resting, give you an empty smirk and a sleep well, Sweetheart before walking out the door and closing it behind him. If he does, you won’t be near him until he comes to bed in the dead of night, finally deeming himself worthy of undeserved luxuries like blankets and pillows.

In that awful moment, you consider crawling to him and dragging the entire bed set with you. Demanding that he gives you just proximity, because you both need it. He won’t have to touch you, or look at you, or speak to you, but he’ll be near you. At an acceptable distance, in case something in him escapes and you need to be there to catch it.

Dean doesn’t help you out of bed to follow him. But he does climb onto the mattress at your side, sitting up at the headboard and resting his hands in fists against his thighs, staring ahead with a practiced, unreadable expression.

You take it. Loving Dean is a lot of taking things. A lot of trying to give things back and having them be refused. It’s worth it, worth every screamed fight and strange, empty moment of only being near him, because most of the time it’s not like this. Most of the time it’s jokes and shared, sparring words. It’s almost all watching him be goofy and charming, and kissing a stubbled cheek when he gets in a mock fight with Sam and loses. Smiling and telling him you’ll get him next time, Buddy.

But these darker, emptier times are an unavoidable hazard of the trade. People who date in offices have to navigate HR, people who date in entertainment have to deal with the media and hunters who date have to deal with the fact that loss is inevitable, and you can’t afford to be attached to anything. On top of that, Winchesters who date have to grapple with their whole… everything.

But Dean is still with you. And that means he’s decided the joy of having you is worth the pain of losing you. It’s why when you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t pull it away. He squeezes it, and clings to it like a lifeline.

Sleep fades in and out in a haze, never long enough to dream or feel rested, but enough to register that Dean is crumbling. It starts with his body suddenly slouched down the mattress, then his legs are tangled in yours. Soon after your face is near his neck, and finally, he’s asleep at your side.

From there the day is traded sleep. You’re awake, and you shift the blanket to cover his body with yours. He’s awake, and suddenly your hair has been brushed from your face. You’re awake, your leg is hooked over his waist. He’s awake, you’re on top of him.

When you’re finally awake together, you just watch each other. You don’t speak first—Dean always to speaks first during these things—but you might have to stay here for a while until he does.

His eyes strained as if something is going to burst out of him, and he’s using every fiber and crevice of his will to keep it in. You don’t want to keep demanding more of Dean’s will. You don’t want to demand anything of him at all. So you just wait for him to fall a little further—keeping a soft, encouraging smile on your face the whole time—until he comes down entirely and speaks again. Light words coated in a pain that makes your head and heart ache, but words all the same.

“How’d you end up there, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, matching his tone but making your face more open. Wide and almost innocent, considering the position of resting over to your sex-god boyfriend, whose hands are wandering to hold you by your thigh. “Not sure.” You lean down, smiling at Dean like you have a secret as your voice drops to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think someone keeps putting me here. I go to sleep and wake up in the same place every time.”

He chuckles. “We should do something’ about that. Tie you to the bed so you can’t be moved.”

“I think,” you kiss his jaw, tangling your fingers in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “That might just spur him on. He’d like the challenge.”

You start to kiss over his cheek—because it’s rare you get moment to just touch him without any need to go further, with neither of you asking for more, so you’re taking full advantage—and Dean’s head falling back with a low, long sigh, eyes closing as you continue your self-set task.

“He might.” Dean mutters. “But he also might not let you get to the sleepin’ stage.”

“He would.” You say against his skin, rising back up to watch his face, a strange combination of relaxed pain on his features that you knew too well. Where his brown was drawn but his breathing was slow and easy, and his mouth was parted but in a small frown. “Or he’d end up sleeping on me. The joke would be on him, though, because I love that too.”

“You seem to know this guy real well,” he says your name, dragging his eyes open to hold your gaze, and almost breaking your heart with how tired he looks. How he doesn’t seem to find peace in the truth of the words he’s saying. “He know you?”

“Better than anyone.” You whisper. “And I do know him. I’d like to think it’s better than most.”

“Do ya?”

“I do.” You drop your chin to prop on his chest, and Dean shift up to keep watching you as you speak. “He’s a bit of a goof, but very serious when he needs to be. He’s charming and handsome and a total cowboy, right down to the very odd chivalry and voice.”

“Odd chivalry?”

“He’ll hold my hair back when I’m sick and open every door, but he gets all bitchy when I ask for a fry, even when I offer a blowjob in return.”

“I always give you the fry, even when you just fucking ate all your own. And I don’t take the blowjob.” Dean grumbles, and your smile widens.

“Because you’re a very chivalrous guy, Winchester. Even if you keep moving me on top of you in the middle of the night.”

He frowns, scanning over your face. “I can stop that-“

“Don’t. I think I’ll find my way back here anyway.”

“Yeah? You like it here, huh.”

Dean’s words aren’t teasing like they might have been on another morning, but defeated. All you can do is hold your ground, and stay.

“I love it here.” You hum, playing with his hair under your hands in the way that always slows his breathing and eases the storm in his brain. “I love you.”

Dean sighs, and you know exactly what’s coming before he says it. “Look, Baby-“

“Don’t call me Baby, Dean.” You mutter, continuing your movements. “That’s either a sex name or an apology name, and we’re not about to have sex."

He says your name again, and it’s lower and deeper than before. Like he never wants to stop saying it, but can’t afford to anymore. “You gotta understand that I’m no good for you. Hell, no one’s good for you, but son of a bitch, I’m plain bad-“

You drop your head down to his chest, and take a long, laboring breath. This happens, in some form, every time. You don’t want his apologies or excuses or attempts to convince you to leave. If anything they just cement your place here, because you can be a little spiteful, and you’re not one to give up. As long as Dean keeps loving you, you’ll keep waiting out the darker nights at his side. 

But you’re also a little sick of it. How pointless this is, how it only wastes the finite time life has to offer to anyone, let alone two hunters. How it hurts Dean to say, and you to hear, and he seems to think he’s doing you some sort of favor by pushing you away. That this is saving you and not killing you. Slowly, slowly eating at you until you don’t leave—you won’t leave—but you do start to wonder if it’s you. If Dean just doesn’t trust you or like you all that much, and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s just as irrational as Dean’s own logic—if only because he’s hurt your feelings a lot before, and always torn himself apart for it after out of love and pain after, making it up to you tenfold—but it remains a little, nagging voice in your head. That people who want you don’t try to push you away. That he does love you, but maybe can’t see a life with you, and just wants you gone.

You try and offer yourself some grace for your doubt, because it’s really, truly, not about Dean. Despite what he seems to believe, you’re not perfect either. You don’t end up hunting because you’re incredibly emotionally stable and have a pristine, joyful past. It just all happened to fall into place that your breaks and cracks line up with Deans. That he can fill in divets and depressions that eat at you—not pretty enough, not likable, nothing anyone could really chose to stay around, always the backup, always the poet and the prophet but never with a name people will remember when you’re inevitably gone—and you can do the same for him.

You need to try to keep doing the same for him. There are parts of you Dean knows that soothing and healing will take time to do, and parts of Dean you’re worried to touch and make worse, but there are also breaking points. Where your words start to spill out in a desperate play to just make it a little better for you both.

This is one of them. And all he’ll have to do is listen.

“You don’t need to agree with me,” when you start your voice is soft but cracked, like a breath you have to fight to take. “And you can even tell me I’m wrong after. But please don’t leave.” 

He looks mostly confused at that, at the sudden shift in the air and spaces between it. Still heavy and clouded with sorrow, but also wired. Detriment. “I ain’t leaving you-“ He says your name, and you cut him off with a sigh. 

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t leave the bed. Just stay here and listen.” 

His frown deepens, but he nods. And now you have to talk. 

It’s not rehearsed or prepared, but it doesn’t need to be. You know what you need to say.

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you hate that. But I hate when you do this. When you blame yourself, or try to. It’s mean to me.” 

Dean’s hands tense on your body, and he looks like a wounded animal, but you keep going.

“I love you. A lot. And when you tell me I shouldn’t it’s, it hurts.” You sigh, trying to just keep your eyes fixed on a freckle near his nose as you start to choke on your own words and the salty taste they bring. “It doesn’t feel good. It’s like you think I don’t know what I’m doing. Like you’ve tricked me into loving you, when I want to be here. I really like being here, and I know it’s not about me, but I want it to be.” You chance a look at his eyes, and they’re glossy. No tears—you’ve never seen them before, and you likely won’t see them now—but the closest thing you ever get from him. A storm that stays green and trapped, instead of crashing out onto golden, soft skin for you to brush away.

You feel a little selfish, because this is really not about you.

And you can’t really bring yourself to care, or stop.

“I wish you’d let this be about me too.” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible over the lump and ache in your throat. “I wish you’d let me help. I let you help, Dean, and it’s not fair.”

“’S different, Baby.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and a little unsteady as he shakes his head. “I don’t-“ 

“If you say need help, Winchester, you’re going to need to start rehearsing your speech to convince Chuck to send you back again.”

“You don’t know I was gonna to say that-“

“Yes, you were. And it’s not different. I want to help, Dean.” You’re almost pleasing, and it’s an effort not to crawl up his chest and outright beg. “Let me help, or stop telling me I should fucking leave you. I’m not going to, and I know you don’t really want me to, or we’d have been done two years ago.”

“You shoulda listened two years ago-“

“But I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing a dry laugh. “You’re real damn stubborn, anyone ever told you that?”

“You have.” You let a smile twitch at your lips, but you still don’t relent. “And I’ve told you that you’re no better. And it’s one of the many reasons why I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should-“ 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You give a full, close-lipped smile that’s mostly made of hope. You haven’t fixed anything, but you may have soothed it. Found a way to make his hated a little less consuming, because this is hurting you, and Dean hates hurting you. If he can’t start to change or listen to genuine reason, you can use his own twisted logic against him. “And I’m staying here. Because I love you, and I don’t want to hear about how I deserve better. I know what I deserve, and I know what I want.”

“Me.” 

Dean says his word like he hates it, and you say yours like it’s a prayer. “You.” 

He looks defeated, but not in pain. When his hand wanders up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging it just enough for you to know what he wants, you comply. Falling carefully forward and letting Dean’s lips find yours, allowing him to lead the kiss and decide where it ends. Long and soft and almost delicate, his free hand still rubbing and squeezing on your thigh, but nothing more.

It doesn’t need to be more. Because Dean pulls back slowly, staring at you with a slight awe as he clears his throat, and his voice come out slow, but not forced.

“I,” he swallows, shaking his head at mostly himself. “I love you. And I, uh, I’m glad you’re still here. Glad you’re stubborn.” 

Your smile makes your cheeks hurt, but it’s pain born of joy, so it’s not really pain at all. “I’m glad I’m stubborn too.” You rest back down against him, and know neither of you will move for a long while. “It means I get to stay here.” 

End Note: I'm pre-gaming something. Thank you so, so much for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@artemys-ackles

[jweekgoji]

Hello! So I read your sentinel/starscream x reader fic and was absolutely devastated to check the tag and see it was one of like…maybe 3 other TFO!starscream fics on here? So I wanna request NSFW of my boy TFO!Starscream. The lack of content is killing me 🤕 Thank you! (Specifically a high guard!reader x starscream if you do end up see this)

Starscream/High Guard!Reader [TFO]

tw: NSFW (minors don't read, don't interact), praise kink, commander/subordinate relationship. word count: ~740 a/n: I think this version of Starscream will be more popular if only the writers decided to keep that scene where Starscream helps the main trio to rescue D-16 and the others. :(

It was no secret that the well-known leader of the High Guard was quite popular among the citizens of Iacon. Compliments came from all over the place, from the citizens to the Primes themselves.

“You've been so great today, I don't know who else would lead a mission against Sentinel so well like you do.”

“Mhhm.”

“There is no one else, a better commander than you.”

“...Continue.”

“I think you're far smarter and stronger leader than this false Prime wannabe, Lord Starscream.”

Starscream's servo clamps his mouth shut as your words reach his audio receptors. You notice his optics dimming a little, a slight shiver running along his spine. Did the mention of the title capture his attention that much? Or perhaps it was your confession that he was better than that greedy liar leading Iacon now? Either way, it doesn't matter at this moment.

“You're unbelievable...” Starscream says through gritted teeth, holding back from letting out more shameless sounds. Someone might hear.

Fragging you on the throne while your comrades are unaware, seemed a tiny bit risky, don't you think? He knows that, of course. If Skywarp or Slipstream spot the two of you like that, they will never miss the chance to tease him about it for cycles.

You meet his thrusts with your hips, feeling his spike pushing even deeper inside you. A slight smirk sparkles on your face in response to an earned muffled groan from your commander.

Who would have thought so? Starscream, of all the mechs you've ever met, melts in your optics with praise. At first, you hardly even noticed it. A brief ‘you're so strong, Commander!’ or ‘wonderful job, sir’ every time made him immediately drop whatever he was doing, only to realize what you had just said.

Receiving a lot of compliments was never unusual, but for some reason, it was you who made his spark beat a little faster.

“Don't even think...about telling it to someone,” his clawed servo snakes around your waist, pushing you lower onto his lap, digits pressing tighter with each deep thrust.

You purr softly in response, enjoying the lovely view of your leader sitting directly beneath you. At a steady, lazy pace, you felt his spike buried deep inside your valve, every tiny movement causing you to hold onto him tighter.

So, so painfully slow, it almost makes the red-and-white jet hiss in annoyance. Any other good day he would have appreciated your desire for something so vanilla, but right now, all he can think about is flopping your back down on his throne, taking you right here and there how he wants it now. But that would be too good to ask for, wouldn't it?

“If you want to do it faster, just say ‘please’,” you coo, rocking your hips against his own. “It's not that hard.”

“No,” he huffs, shooting you a strict glance. Him? Begging? How funny.

“Come on, boss,” you lean a little closer, his bright red optics narrowing at the sight of yours.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

Now that's your turn to huff. Maybe if you try to use your big, charming optics on him, to make him finally give in and admit to what exactly he wants from you. You want it too. Why can't he just use his words instead of giving you these longing looks? Your commander is so unfair and childish sometimes. He can't even look you in the optics right now, perhaps, so you wouldn't give him that puppy optics of yours even he can't say no to.

“If you weren't so moody all the time, commander,” you trace your digits around the edge of the jet's wings, rubbing the small circles around the sensitive spot. “I'd let you frag me on this throne any day of the week. Just so our comrades will know that I belong to you.”

For a moment, you see him stop. A sudden sense of panic runs through your processor. Was it too forward? Now things will be awkward. You've been so caught up at the moment, you barely had the chance to think about what slipped from your mouth.

Not like anyone had the strength not to fall on their knees for Starscream, though...that is, until you feel his wings twitch at the touch. A soft, pleased hum coming from his chassis. His servo slowly wraps around your own, only to catch your wrists together, pulling them in front of your center.

“Prove it then.”

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (7 - Fix the Dead)

Chapter Summary: A conversation with Wanda about the twins’ rapid growth leaves you both struggling with guilt and loss. Clint’s attempt to contact you through a vintage radio ends in disaster, as Wanda tightens her hold on her fragile reality. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.9k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: So, cat's out of the bag--Reader is actually alive. Three more chapters until we close part 1! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Please, talk to me.”

You look over your shoulder. You've been pretending to sleep for almost an hour now, and just when you thought Wanda had drifted off and you could sneak out to spend some time alone with a book in the living room, she surprises you.

With a soft sigh, you turn to face her. The sight that greets you instantly breaks your heart. Even in the darkness, with only a sliver of blue moonlight seeping through the window to illuminate her face, you can see her lonely, anxious expression.

“What is there to talk about?” you whisper back.

Wanda reaches out to touch your hand, but you pull it back slightly. “I can feel your sadness,” she murmurs. “Is something wrong?”

You take a deep breath, burying half of your face in the pillow, your throat tightens and your eyes begin to sting at her simple inquiry into your well-being. You want to remain silent, but you know you can't—and shouldn't—hide your feelings from Wanda. Your efforts are superfluous anyway, she always has a way of seeing right through you.

You give a small nod, unable to voice out more.

Wanda sits up slightly, propping herself on one elbow. She knows it’s only a matter of time before the doubt and fear catches up to you. “Did I do something?” she asks softly.

You bite your lower lip, struggling to hold back the feelings swelling up inside you like a dam ready to burst. “It's the boys,” you finally say.

Her disarming green eyes search yours earnestly. “What about them?”

You sit up fully, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. “They're growing up too fast, Wanda. One moment they're babies—I’ve barely held them—and the next they're ten years old. I feel like we're missing out on so much.”

Wanda swallows hard. The twins’ childhood has lasted barely a week. Having lost her own childhood at a very young age, she knows the pain of missing out, and she desperately wants her children to experience a proper childhood. But here in Westview, Wanda has learned to look on the brighter side of things. At least you both have Tommy and Billy; you're a complete family. They're happy with who they are and what you have together as a family. At least you're here with her, raising them, no matter how short the time given to both of you.

She reaches for your hand again, and this time you let her hold it. “They're just exploring their abilities,” she says, repeating the assurances she's been telling herself. “You know how kids are…”

You don’t look entirely convinced by that, so Wanda sits up too, tightens her grip on your hand. “They're special. You know that their abilities make them different,” she points out.

“Different doesn't mean we have to skip their entire childhood,” you reply bitterly. “I didn't get to see their first steps, hear them say ‘Mama’ for the first time. Those moments are gone, and I can't get them back.”

Beside you, she tenses. You don’t need to look to know she understands—she wasn’t there for those moments with the boys either.

“Doesn't it bother you?” you ask. “Even a little?”

Wanda glances away for a second, quickly blinking back any sign of weakness before she looks at you again. “It does. But I've been so focused on keeping everything together that I didn't stop to think about what we might be losing.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, feeling bad for thinking Wanda didn’t care. She just seems so… tolerant of it all.

“I’m sorry,” you say, scooting closer and wrapping your arms around her. “I bet you wanted those milestones just as much as I do. Just…forget I said anything.”

Wanda leans into your embrace. “No, you’re right to bring it up. They’re missing out on so many things, too.”

“How can we fix this? Can we even fix it?” you ask.

Wanda understands it’s not about whether she can intervene—it’s about whether she should. She could easily use her powers to stop the boys from skipping ahead. But it’s the ethics of it that she’s wrestling with ever since she did it to you. 

“Maybe next time, I could… ensure things go differently?” she suggests carefully. 

The implication of her words doesn’t go over your head. “Wanda, we can’t do that,” you tell her softly. “I... I don’t think we should do anything without their consent, even if we think it’s for the best.”

Wanda pulls back in shame. “You’re right. I’ve been making too many decisions for everyone.”

You gently hold her cheek, making her look at you. “It's okay, Wanda.”

She fights the urge to disagree, to shake her head and confess that it's not okay. She's made these choices for you too many times, and it’s clearer now than ever how much she’s overstepped, compromising your privacy and trust.

“Maybe we can talk to them?” you suggest, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You think they’ll listen?”

You offer her a sleepy, crooked smile. “I hope so,” you say. “But even if they don't, we'll be there for them, whatever they choose.”

You gently coax her to lie back down, and Wanda instinctively pulls your head to her chest, letting you rest your head against her. This time, you drift off quickly, soothed by the steady beat of her heart into a deep and dreamless sleep.

–

“Why keep it a secret?” Monica demands though not unkindly. She can’t wrap her head around why you’d choose to disappear and fake your own death, especially now that Wanda is back from the Snap. While it's undoubtedly a relief to learn that someone isn't dead, Monica can't help but feel disappointed by this turn of events.

All this time, they believed they could persuade Wanda to abandon her fantasy in Westview. But now, with everything she desires apparently right here, why would she ever choose to leave?

And more importantly, how would she ever allow any of them to leave?

“Also, how do we know you’re not lying again?” Darcy adds quickly.

Clint raises a hand to calm the room, nodding toward the television where you just appeared, very much alive. “Clearly, there's evidence that she's there,” he says calmly, pointing out the obvious. “Living and breathing just like the rest of us.”

Everyone quiets down, accepting his point. It checks off one of the many questions they've had since this whole thing started.

“She wanted it this way,” Clint then tells Monica, in response to her question earlier. “Believe me, it hit the kid hard, watching Wanda turn to ashes right before her eyes... I lost my family that day too. But at least I was spared from seeing it happen.”

Monica can only imagine what it was like. She was snapped away, but she counts herself lucky she wasn’t one of those left behind to endure the absence.

“Does Y/N know that Wanda returned from the Snap?” Darcy asks.

“Yeah,” Clint says. Everyone looks at him, expecting more, but it’s clear he meant to keep his answer short and sweet.

Jimmy taps his pen against his notepad. “So how did Wanda find her?”

“That's the million-dollar question,” Clint says, glancing back at the screen now showing only static. “Last I heard from Y/N was about five months ago. She settled in Reykjavik. Wanted to live a quiet life.”

Monica crosses her arms, the gears in her head haven't stopped turning since finding out you’re really alive. “And now she's in Westview, starring in Wanda's show?”

“Doesn't add up,” Clint agrees. “Y/N was determined to stay hidden.”

“Maybe Wanda found out Y/N was alive and pulled her into this reality she made,” Darcy says.

“Or perhaps Y/N reached out to Wanda,” Jimmy suggests.

“She wouldn’t,” Clint counters gruffly, dismissing the idea outright. After a second, he adds, “And if Y/N didn't want to be found, she wouldn’t be. She was always skilled at vanishing.”

Monica thinks it over. “But Wanda's powers have grown exponentially. Maybe she picked up on Y/N’s presence somehow.”

“Still doesn't explain why Y/N would play along,” Clint counters. “I know her. She wouldn’t agree to this.”

Darcy shrugs. “Unless she’s being controlled by Wanda.”

Clint clenches his jaw. “Y/N's strong-minded. It'd take a lot to manipulate her. Besides, Wanda wouldn’t do that to her.”

“Clearly,” Darcy scoffs. Clint’s lips press into a thin line, struggling to hold back a retort to that.

Jimmy flips through his notes. “From what we've observed, she seems... compliant. But there are moments where she looks almost aware.”

“You noticed that from the show?” Clint asks.

“Not from the show,” Monica clarifies, standing up. “From me.”

Clint gives her a puzzled look.

“Oh, I forgot to mention—I’ve been inside the Hex.”

“You were there? How did you manage to get out?” Clint asks, both horrified and a little impressed.

Monica sighs. “I mentioned something that referenced the real world. Wanda didn't like it. She literally threw me out of town.”

Clint runs a hand through his hair, processing this new information. “So, she really is controlling everything in there, and anyone who challenges that gets expelled?”

“Exactly,” Monica nods. “And now that we’ve found out that the real Y/N is in there with her, it looks like Wanda’s got everything she wants. That throws a wrench in our plans.”

Clint rubs his chin thoughtfully. “And your plan was to...?”

“To...” Monica trails off, suddenly realizing how naive it sounds. “...talk her out of it.”

Clint furrows his brow and lets out a noncommittal “Hmmm.”

“I know how it sounds,” Monica says, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. “But I thought if I could just reach her, reason with her, maybe I could get through. I've lost people too—”

“We all have,” Clint replies. “Though maybe not to the extent she has.”

“Parents, brother, best friend, lover...” Darcy ticks off Wanda’s losses on her fingers. “That's pretty much every key relationship in a person's life.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Jimmy asks, turning to Clint, who looks like he’s been hit with a freight train over the last five minutes. Overwhelmed would be an understatement—he probably needs an Advil after this conversation.

Clint exhales sharply, mulling it over while the others watch him, waiting.

“I'm usually a man of action,” he says slowly, “but sometimes it's better to try talking before jumping into a fight. Only, I don't think it's Wanda we should be trying to reach out to.”

“Then who?” Monica asks.

Clint licks his lips. “Y/N.”

–

“Where’s Sparky?”

It's odd to see the boys without their four-legged companion ever since they adopted him. He's been their whole world lately, and even Wanda spends her breaks between chores playing with the puppy. 

Billy and Tommy exchange uneasy glances. “He... ran out the front door,” Billy says, his voice papery-thin.

“What do you mean he ran out?”

“We tried to catch him, but he was too fast,” Tommy reasons.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Guys, you can't just let your pet run off like that. What if he'd been hit by a car? I'm… I’m really disappointed.”

“We’re sorry,” they mumble, eyes fixed on the floor.

“This is why I asked you boys to wait,” you say gently. “Maturity doesn’t just come from aging yourselves up—it takes time and experience. Do you understand why that matters now?”

They nod, a little slower this time. “We understand,” Billy says quietly.

“Alright,” you sigh, unable to stay upset for long. “Let’s go find Sparky. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

The three of you set out into the neighborhood, calling Sparky's name. It's around four in the afternoon, with about two hours of daylight left—plenty of time to search. After half an hour of knocking on doors and showing neighbors pictures of the scruffy Jack Russell, you begin to worry that finding him might require a more extensive search. The boys look really upset, and you feel guilty about reprimanding them earlier, even though you knew you had to be honest about their oversight. Just as you're about to suggest checking the park behind the townsquare, Agnes appears behind the bushes on her lawn, cradling something in her arms.

“Agnes?” you call out, a sick swirl of hope and dread twisting in your stomach.

“I…” Agnes approaches slowly, her face somber. Even before she gets close, you can already tell that whatever she’s carrying is limp and motionless. “I didn’t wanna come until I’d wrapped him up…”

Wanda pulls up just then, fresh from the grocery store. She’s barely out of the car when she notices you and the boys, your somber expressions stopping her in her tracks. She hurries over and follows your gaze. “What's that?” Wanda asks.

“Found him in my azalea bushes,” Agnes says, sidestepping the question. You glance at the twins, your heart sinking at the sight of their scared, regretful faces.

“I don’t know how many leaves he ate,” Agnes continues, her voice dropping even lower. “I didn’t find him until it was too late. Tommy, Billy, I’m so sorry.”

The brothers break forward. “No! Sparky!” they cry, tears streaming down their faces.

Your eyes sting as you pull them close. “I’m so sorry, guys,” you whisper, holding them tightly. They cling to you, their tear-soaked faces pressed against your shirt, and for a moment, the world feels still. But a moment later, they pull back, exchanging a glance—a silent conversation you’ve come to recognize all too well.

“Wait,” you say in panic, quickly stepping between them, as if the act alone could stop whatever plan is forming in their heads. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Boys, stop,” Wanda says, kneeling down to their level. “The urge to run from this feeling is powerful. But growing up isn't the way to avoid getting hurt. It…it teaches you to face it, feel it…learn from it. Trust me, I know.”

Billy wipes his eyes. “But it's too sad,” he whispers.

“I—”

Tommy, unlike his brother, has fire in his eyes. “You can fix anything, Mom. Fix the dead,” he pleads.

“You can do that?” comes Agnes’ voice behind her. 

You turn to your wife, who seems struck silent by Tommy's request. You know Wanda is powerful, her abilities growing stronger by the day, but reversing the natural order of things—that feels impossible and wrong.

“Some things can't—and shouldn't—be fixed,” you say, looking from one twin to the other. “Some things are final.”

“It's not fair,” Billy mumbles, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

You swallow hard. “I know. But maybe we can give Sparky a proper goodbye.” Agnes takes that as her cue to hand Sparky back to the boys. Wanda stands a few steps away, her face unreadable. The twins clutch the dog tightly, tears streaming down their cheeks.

You reach out toward your wife. “Honey—”

But Wanda steps further back, her eyes avoiding yours. “I... I need to start dinner,” she mutters, turning away before you can say more.

“Wait, can we—” you start, but Wanda’s already turning away, disappearing into the house.

–

The boys try to skip dinner, claiming they're not hungry, so you play your ace and order pizza, knowing they can't say no to that. Wanda just gives you a wary look and announces she's heading to bed early. You make a point of eating a good portion of Wanda’s dinner—not just to avoid waste but because you genuinely enjoy her cooking—before you tuck the boys in for the night.

After making sure they're settled, you decide to check on Wanda. You find her in your bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window.

“Wanda?” you say softly.

She doesn't turn. “Are the boys okay?” she asks quietly.

“They're handling it,” you reply, approaching the bed. “They needed you.”

She sighs, shoulders slumping. “I couldn't... I didn't know what to say.”

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you say softly, sitting beside her. Your hand rests on her shin, fingers starting to massage in slow, soothing circles. “Sometimes just being there is enough.”

When she finally looks at you, your breath catches. Her eyes are swollen, red from crying. You reach for her hand, but she keeps it clenched in her lap. “I feel like I’m letting them down. Letting you down,” Wanda says quietly.

“Are you kidding? You’re an amazing mom to our boys. And the best wife I could ever ask for.”

She scrunches her nose, clearly struggling to accept your words. You smile, finding it endearing how shy she still gets whenever you compliment her.

“Thank you,” she whispers, lacing your fingers together before kissing the back of your hand.

“Have you eaten anything?” you ask.

Wanda shakes her head. “Not really.”

“Well, let's fix that,” you say, standing up, pulling her with you. “Come downstairs with me.”

“But you've already had dinner,” Wanda says.

You smile. “There's always room for dessert.”

–

Darcy practically jumps out of her seat, pointing excitedly at the screen. “That's our shot!”

Monica, Jimmy, and Clint look up from the reports scattered across the table, their brows furrowed in confusion. Hayward’s team is still stuck, unable to figure out how to get equipment through the barrier without it being warped into something unrecognizable. The working theory is that anything era-appropriate to Wanda’s “show” might make it through intact.

“A shot at what?” Jimmy asks.

“Reaching Y/N through Wanda's kitchen radio!” Darcy exclaims, already grabbing her coat. The others scramble to follow her outside to where her equipment is set up, ready to put their old theory to the test. 

Darcy starts adjusting the dials on a makeshift transmitter hooked up to a vintage-looking radio. “If we can sync up with the frequency of the broadcast, we might be able to get a message through,” she reminds them, her breath forming clouds in the cold.

Clint eyes the gadgets cluttering the back of the truck. “Is this really going to work?”

Darcy smirks. “Well, considering traditional methods aren't exactly panning out, it's worth a try.”

“Someone should keep an eye on things from the inside,” Monica surmises.

“I'll head back and keep watch,” Jimmy volunteers, already walking back to the tent. “I’ll radio in if it works.”

Monica turns to Clint with a thoughtful expression. “Who do you think should try talking to Y/N?”

“I'll give it a try,” he says. “Maybe hearing a familiar voice will help snap her out of it.”

Monica nods. “Good idea. She trusts you.”

Darcy comes up to them with the transmitter. “Alright, it's ready to go. Just press this button when you're ready to speak,” she instructs, handing the device to Clint.

Monica grabs her radio and contacts Jimmy. “Agent Woo, what's the situation inside?”

“Wanda is sitting at the dining table. Y/N is alone in the kitchen, looks like she's preparing dinner.”

“Thanks,” Monica smiles slightly. “Perfect timing. She's alone—we can reach her now.”

Clint nods, stepping closer to the microphone. “Here goes nothing,” he mutters. He presses the button and speaks into the microphone. “Y/N, it's Clint. Can you hear me?”

–

You’re pouring two glasses of wine, waiting for dinner to finish heating, when the old radio by the sink crackles to life.

“Y/N, it's Clint. Can you hear me?”

You freeze, hand hovering over the glass. The voice is faint, broken, but you heard your name. 

And his.

Clint? Why does that sound so familiar?

You glance at the radio, its dial unmoved. Adjusting the antenna slightly, you try to wait for another message to come through, but only static follows. You resume what you’re doing, only for the radio to speak again—directly to you, it seems.

“Jesus, Y/N, wake up! Come on!”

Your hand trembles violently, forcing you to set the wine bottle down before it slips from your grasp.

Heart pounding, you stare at the radio. “Hello?” you whisper, not really sure you believe what's happening. It feels like a dream. Other than your wife, who could even make a radio do this? 

And why would they need to talk to you?

“Finally! We've been trying to reach you. Listen, you have to—”

Before he can finish, a sharp burst of static erupts. The radio sparks violently and explodes right in front of you. You barely have time to shield yourself as fragments fly past, one slicing across your cheek. Wincing, you touch your face and your fingers come away smeared with blood.

“What was that?” Wanda's voice calls from the other room. You can hear her hurried footsteps approaching, but you can’t seem to move or say anything, too shocked to respond.

She appears in the doorway, eyes widening as she sees the blood on your cheek and the smoking wreckage of the radio. 

“You're hurt!”

In a flash, she’s on you, her hands checking your face, her thumb brushing near the cut. She tries to wipe away the blood, but it keeps coming, stubborn and unrelenting.

“I-It's nothing…”

“We need to clean this up,” she says, too calm, like it’s normal to find you bleeding after a radio exploded.

“I'm fine, really,” you insist weakly, but she’s already fetching a cloth and pressing it against your wound.

As she tends to you, her eyes dart quickly to the destroyed radio. “These old things can be so dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Yeah…” 

Someone named Clint had tried to reach you. Who is he? And why did the radio explode? There are too many questions swimming in your head, overwhelming enough to numb the sting of your wound.

“You're shaking,” Wanda notes softly. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Maybe,” you concede, allowing her to guide you to a chair.

She kneels in front of you, dabbing gently at your cheek. “It's not deep. You'll be okay.”

“Thanks,” you mumble absently. 

Wanda purses her lips. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You’re quiet for a second, unsure if you should tell Wanda what just happened or ask her about Clint. But something inside holds you back.

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for her hand as she tends to your wound, and lightly kissing her palm. “Promise.”

–

Jimmy stares at the screen, where the words “We'll be right back!” are now plastered, replacing the live feed. The broadcast had cut out the moment you answered Clint's call with a hesitant hello. He runs outside, where Clint, Monica, and Darcy are huddled around the equipment. The cool air bites at his cheeks, but he barely notices.

“The broadcast’s down,” Jimmy says, slightly winded. “The second Y/N responded to the radio, it switched to a standby screen.”

Clint's hand falls away from the microphone. He knew it was a long shot with Wanda just a room away. “Now she knows we're trying to make contact,” he remarks grimly. “I’m sure Wanda will find a way to block any future transmissions from here out.”

Darcy doesn’t look up, her fingers flying over her tablet. She curses under her breath, scowling at the screen. “Yeah, looks like she’s already on it,” she mutters.

Monica rubs her hands together, exhaling into them for warmth. “Alright, clearly this isn’t working. We need a new plan.”

“Uh, guys…?” Darcy cuts in, looking around. “Is it just me, or does it seem way emptier out here tonight?”

Everyone stops, taking in their surroundings. Sure enough, the area is quieter than usual—just a couple of guards lingering near the barrier and not much else.

Jimmy crosses his arms, his eyes fixed on the tent serving as a Command Center. “Either everyone’s on break at the same time, or Hayward’s pulled them all into a meeting.”

They exchange uneasy glances, the same thought running through their heads. What’s this meeting about—and why does it feel like they’ve been deliberately left out?

[hongjng8]

UNWIND.

Pairing: Hongjoong X FemReader

Genre: romance (?), Pure smut.

wc: 827

Tags: nsfw (18+) MDNI, established relationship, heavy oral sex, drool, Choking, Deepthroat, Reader giving.

Hongjng8’s notes: I can never ever get over studio Hongjoong. Something about his concentrated expressions and occasional frustrations. Ugggg~ Also! Happy first fic me !! I hope you can enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed writing ;)) MWAHS MWAHS xoxo

Hongjoong Masterlist | main masterlist

Your day would typically end with a warm tea alongside your favorite show streaming on the flat-screen TV — especially after a long day at work.

Today was a tad bit different though. You had been let off early, one of the lucky ones in the eyes of your manager they’d say.

Clocking out of your shortened shift, the thought of your boyfriend Hongjoong traced your mind; what was he up to? Maybe I could surprise him?

You Uber’d your way home, short and quick — eager to reunite with Hongjoong once again. Soon enough, you were home, stepping out of the car with a sigh of relief: “finally..” you dusted yourself off before entering the apartment, locking the door behind you.

Quietly, you cracked open the door of your shared room, to which also included Hongjoong’s studio. Immediately your eyes landed on an evidently frustrated Hongjoong, who happened to be ever so focused on his work, per usual. You found it rather endearing to watch him create such masterpieces, although the hard-ship never went unnoticed.

“Stressed?” Your delicate hands soothed his shoulders, fluttering a loving kiss upon his jawline.

Hongjoong let out a low moan, one of agreement — with a hint of satisfaction from being in your embrace, after he had waited some painful hours for your arrival.

“Y/n.. I’ve missed you.”

Hongjoong shifted in his swiveled seat, maneuvering his attention towards you for a moment. His hands reaching to cup your cheeks, his lips tending to yours, perfectly embracing one another — before inching away. “Works got me all agitated and riled up.” He growled in annoyance, turning back to face his computer and keyboard.

You scanned his fidgetive frame. A sly, dirty idea creeping into your mind. Your body swaying around the chair, teeth indulging into your bottom lip. You knelt down slowly, your eyes meeting his. Hongjoong grinned, head tilting as he was catching onto what you were about to do.

You smiled sheepishly up at him, your fingers playing with the hem of his pants.

“Maybe I can help you relieve some of that.. stress. you work so… hard..”

Your words trailed off, tugging at his pants. Hongjoong assisted you, and soon, his lower-half clothes were completely removed, elsewhere to be seen.

His half-hard cock springing free, the tip glistening from his wetness.

“Such a Good doll..” He hummed, leaning back comfortably, hands grasping either side of the arm rests.

You took this as an instant invitation, shuffling a little closer to close the gap.

Licking your lips, you leant down to glide a wet lick along his length, the point of your tongue pressing against the slit of his tip.

“Ah, fuck.” Hongjoong hissed in pleasure, his hands coming down to collect your hair into a ponytail. You let a soft moan pass after feeling the tightening grip of his fingers around your hair, giving it a light tug. You took the tip of his cock into your mouth, sucking him eagerly.

“That’s my good girl..” Hongjoong groaned, head leaning back in bliss whilst his hips bucked up involuntarily. Cock desperately growing harder. You moaned, his cock hitting the back of your throat, to which Hongjoong cursed a whispered “fuck.”

Your eyes sealed shut, guiding your head up and down rhythmically, your delicate digits wrapping around the base of his cock, pumping the places you couldn’t reach. Hongjoong’s hands tightened around your hair, his hips thrusting upward — length completely engulfed down your throat.

“Keep sucking me off baby, you’re doing so fucking good for me~” Hongjoong lifted your head for a moment, letting you catch your breath. Strings of saliva connecting your mouth to his tip. “You look so pretty sucking my dick.” To which you responded with a dazed smile.

Before you could act further, one of his hands moved down to caress your face — thumb pushing between your teeth, pulling the side of your mouth to force it open.

A sinister look beamed in his eyes, your drool coating his fingers as he plugged your mouth back up with his drenched cock.

“Come on baby, I know you can take it.”

You moaned in anticipation, sending vibrations of pleasure down his length, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked, allowing him to continue violating your throat; tears streaming down your face from the intensity.

“Fuck y/n.. fuck.”

Choking, your hands grasped against his thighs for balance, lavishing in how his legs were twitching, his breathing unsteady, rapid.

Hongjoong’s hand moved to hold the nape of your neck, letting out a loud, blood pumping moan. His cock kissing the back of your throat with each willing thrust. “F-fuck !”

He came, milking his warm seed down your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, some of his release mixing with your saliva — forming a creamy substance that gushed past your lips, creating a ring around his shaft. Which you instinctively licked clean, panting to catch your breath.

“Did i help you unwind?” ~

Tagged: @slvtiny @sugarnspice630 @sansangel @yuyusolivebranch @batw00yo @taegi1016 @acescavern

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Chapter Eight

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

Also @twistedcece @cenatour @ursinaw @xiaopleasecomehome @bearshideout @koebishrimpuwu @vash-yuu @help-whatdoimakemyusername @secret-potion @magmdnv @sunshine-for-serotonin @mel-star636 @silkkorchid @thatpersonuouknow @the-ace-reader @pamv11 @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @hrhqueenfox @goseew @luxthestrange @juno-of-wonderland @who-mst @despairingy-obsessed @lanxianschoenheit @ceramic-raven @sirenetheblogger @a13x15a5133p @abcdontbotherme @m0063576 @kimdourden @rammylog @starshiningsirius @im-here-for-the-fun-of-it @the-monochrome-jester @leleunderscore06 @tinymonke @lonelybluesworld @owodi @girl-nahh-two @obeythehuman @berry-efoy @ivorette @the-broken-truth and @thisisafish123 wanted to be tagged! Let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged for future chapters. If you no longer want to be tagged, please tell me! (Some of the tags might not have worked, and I’m sorry if so!)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you. 

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

Next Chapter: Chapter Nine

WARNINGS: none

Note: All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

—-------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, (Y/n)! What have you got there?” Ace was quick to greet you when you walked into the bird exhibit, balancing a box of donuts in one hand as you closed the door behind you.

“I brought donuts!” you said with a wide smile. Ace’s face lit up, “Oh sweet! Is there a cherry flavored one?”

“Huh?” you were surprised by the request, “I’m not entirely sure that exists… either way, I’m afraid I don’t have that flavor. I have strawberry frosted ones though.”

“I’ll take it,” Ace said, reaching greedily for the box in your hand. You walked closer to him and popped the lid open.

“There are so many flavors!” Ace gasped at the sight of the box’s contents, “Say what you want about humans, but they’re real masters at making food.”

“Yup, we’re pretty good at food,” you laughed.

Ace took a donut with pink frosting and sprinkles out of the box and studied it, “Looks kinda girly.”

“Doesn’t matter what it looks like,” you snorted, “The taste is the only thing that matters.”

Ace took a bite and chewed for a moment, savoring the flavor, before his eyes lit up with excitement, “Delicious!” He ate the rest of the donut in two bites.

“So you like cherry?” you asked.

“Cherry pie, at least,” Ace said, “In the rainforest, I lived near a village, and a kind old lady used to give cherry pies to all the halflings.”

“That’s really nice of her,” you said with a fond smile, “Was she sad to see you leave?”

“She died,” Ace said, looking away, “She was long gone by the time I left the rainforest.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, but Ace merely shrugged.

You reached out and took one of Ace’s hands in your own, “I’ll try to bring you a cherry pie one of these days, when I get better at cooking, okay?”

Ace smiled at you, “I’d like that.” He cleared his throat, eyes looking a little watery as he suddenly spread his colorful wings and flew into his birdhouse.

You turned to Deuce’s cage and found him already watching you. 

“Want a donut?” you asked.

He gave you a reproachful look but dipped his hand into the box you offered to him anyways. He chose a simple glazed donut and put it aside for later. You had the feeling he might not be one for sweets.

Still, he looked up at you with a soft smile, a light blush, and a “thank you”. You smiled and told him, “No problem, Deuce.”

You decided to go to Trey next, even though he creeped you out a little with the way he looked at you, as though he knew everything about you with one glance. 

You found him waiting patiently for you to approach him, despite him being an owl in the middle of the day. “I’m surprised you’re not sleeping,” you told him.

“I could never sleep through your visit,” Trey said softly.

“That’s surprisingly sweet,” you replied with a smile.

“Surprisingly?” Trey asked, “Am I not allowed to be sweet?”

“No, it’s just…” you pushed aside your misgivings- it was probably rude of you to be so creeped out by a halfling that did nothing wrong. Owls always had a severe kind of look to them, that’s probably why he scared you, “Nevermind. Would you like a donut?”

Trey took one from your box and smiled at you, “Long time since sweets.”

“When was the last time you had one?” you asked.

“Used to cook. Made tarts,” he explained.

“You made tarts?” you asked, surprised, “I didn’t know halflings could cook!”

“I could,” Trey said, a proud smile sliding across his face.

“That’s amazing!” your earlier misgivings were forgotten. Your heart melted from how soft his smile was. He looked so innocently happy, thinking back to when he made tarts.

He turned his bright smile on you as he took a small bite from the donut he had selected, “I wish I could make tart for you.” 

“I’m not sure how that would work, but maybe someday we could find a way. I would really love to try one of your tarts, Trey.”

His smile widened, “There is a way.”

Suddenly, you felt as though his smile was wrong somehow, as though there was something darker behind his words. Even so, you asked, “What way is that?”

Trey lifted a finger to his lips, corners of his mouth curling upwards, “Secret.”

“Alright then,” you sighed, “Well, I’ve got to give donuts to the others. Bye Trey.”

“Goodbye, (Y/n),” he replied, watching as you walked over to the flamingo’s cage.

You stepped onto the marshland and lifted the box high, “Hey, Riddle, Cater, I have donuts!”

Cater ran forward with a loud “oooh”, but you were more surprised with Riddle’s reaction. The red-haired halfling picked up a strawberry frosted donut with all the care in the world, as though it were a precious, fragile object. He stared at it for a while, even as Cater chowed down on his chocolate donut.

“You brought these… for us?” Riddle asked, “Why?”

“I brought some for the lions, hyenas, and wolves, so I thought it would only be fair,” you said with a shrug.

Riddle continued to stare at his donut in awe until Cater teasingly wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “Riddle, you are going to eat it, right?”

Riddle’s face turned red immediately and he stuffed the donut into his mouth, tearing a large bite out of it in embarrassment. You held back a giggle and reached out a hand to pat his red hair, “It’s okay, I’m really glad you like it.”

Riddle looked up, face red as a tomato, and met your gaze. His blue eyes widened and he ducked his head, somehow turning even redder. He hurried away, still holding tightly onto his strawberry frosted donut. Cater chuckled and turned back to you.

“Thank you for the donuts. Riddle likes sweets,” he said, “Very much.”

“I didn’t know that about him,” you said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Bring him a strawberry tart,” Cater said in a stage whisper.

“Trey said he makes tarts,” you said.

Cater’s eyes widened, “Yes, I know. Riddle and Trey were childhood friends.”

“That’s so cool!” you took a glance at Trey’s cage and was glad to see it was close enough to the flamingo’s cage that they could talk to each other.

“Yes, well,” Cater looked suddenly uncomfortable, “Riddle’s childhood was not… Well, that’s up to him to share.”

“Oh…” you frowned, looking after the retreating male with sympathy, “I’ll definitely bring him a strawberry tart soon.”

“Thank you,” Cater said, swooping over and landing a kiss on your cheek. You gasped in surprise and placed your fingers over the spot he had kissed. Cater chuckled and waved, running after Riddle and leaving you behind, standing there dumbstruck.

Finally, you managed to pull yourself together and shook your head with a laugh. All of the halflings were so different, and Cater certainly was a character.

You left the flamingo cage and headed for the peacock cage. Vil gave you a disdainful look as you approached them, but Epel and Rook drew closer with interest. 

“Hey, I’ve got donuts!” you sang out. None of them looked particularly thrilled, but they still all took one from your box.

“I’d like to get to know you all better,” you said with a friendly smile, “Is there anything I could bring you guys as a gift?”

“Moisturizer,” Vil said, turning his head as though he couldn’t stand to look at you. It kind of ticked you off, if you were being honest.

“I actually have some in my locker. I can go grab it if you want. I have lotion too.”

Vil and Rook stared at you as though you had hung the stars in the sky. Epel didn’t seem to care as much, merely munching away on his donut. You smiled at him, “You’re looking handsome as ever today, Epel.”

He choked on the donut, blush rising on his cheeks and a hesitant smile gracing his lips as he looked at you fondly, “you remembered.”

“Of course I did!” you said with a smile. Epel blushed and looked away, his feathers puffing out in embarrassment.

“Now, I’ll go get that moisturizer and lotion for you, Vil,” you said, “Do you want anything, Rook?”

“Your kindness is astounding, mademoiselle,” Rook said, fluttering his eyelids as a smile swept across his face, “But I will be happy with moisturizer as well.”

Less than ten minutes later, you were sitting with Rook and Vil, all of your skin care products spread between you all. Vil looked like Christmas had come early.

“Thank you,” he said, genuine to the core. It was the first time you had truly seen him smile- he was truly beautiful with one.

Rook looked on happily, pleased to see the both of you happy. It was a peaceful scene.

If only it could stay that way forever.

[witchyafterdark]

Consolidated HL Character Profile #2:

— Sebastian Sallow —

Note: Finally, here is Sebastian's version of the complete profile analysis I've done before! I actually started doing his profile before Ominis' but his character information and background became more difficult for me to understand. Nevertheless, I'm happy to post this one for all the Sebastian girlies — and fans in general! 💕

As always, tags and shoutouts are at the very end of this post.

This is a very, very long post. Pace yourself and take your time.

—---—---—---—---—

I. Possible Birth Place

NOTE: These are all speculated places backed with cross-referenced research, and other people’s headcanons. This was the most difficult part of this post, and I am open to other suggestions and ideas.

Before we begin to even tackle all the possible birthplaces of Sebastian (and Anne), there are a couple of important things that needed to be discussed. At the end of this segment, there will be options to choose from based on narrowed down (and specified) locations.

Firstly, we know that Sebastian’s parents were professors who unfortunately passed away before he and Anne developed their magical abilities. Therefore, majority of people in the HL community have an unspoken agreement that the Sallow family (except Solomon) used to live near Hogwarts—if Mr. and Mrs. Sallow were to fulfill their work as professors during the day, and come home to their children at night every single day. They had to live near their place of work because it was indicated that they spent nearly every waking moment in the cellar attending to their academic pursuits.

But wait… where exactly is Hogwarts located?

Scotland is a massive place with lots of towns and cities. In order to narrow down the possible locations of where Hogwarts is situated, I have referred to this source that had studied this whole topic with as much precision as possible that simultaneously pieced together book-canon mentions of the castle itself.

This map shown below is the route that the Hogwarts Express travels from London (at King’s Cross Station) to the castle that oversees Hogsmeade as well. According to the website linked above, standard Victorian steam-powered trains run for 80mph (or 128kph). But under route calculation and terrain consideration, the train would have had the speed of around 65mph if it is to comply with the fact that the students reach Hogwarts by nighttime. And since the entire magical community of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade (and the entire magical Scottish Highlands) are hidden from muggle view, the estimation of Hogwarts’ location is either the Galloway Hills or the West Highlands.

For the sake of congruency between book-canon information and the landscape of the game’s map, this post will settle on the West Highlands instead.

Fun Fact: It was said that Hogsmeade was founded by an Englishman named Hengist of Woodcroft. I noticed that places with the word “-croft” is predominant in Hogwarts Legacy. There’s the Undercroft and Feldcroft, and I think it wraps up nicely alongside the origins of the founder of Hogsmeade himself.

—

Now that Hogwarts’ location has been established, let’s move on with Sebastian’s possible birthplaces.

1. Aranshire

It has been such a long while ago, but I have asked permission from @hogwartslegacypics to reference the post she did before. (Thank you for allowing me to use your work for mine. All pictures used in this segment are credited to you).

There have been deleted voice lines that Sebastian would say or be triggered when you walk with him around this area using the Companion Mod. The quest in Aranshire would have the main character investigate what happened in the village becoming abandoned by its townspeople. This would lead to a house inhabited by Mary Portman, and she was responsible for breeding all sorts of spiders in the cellar of her house.

Furthermore, Sebastian would have a specific voice line once you get inside the cellar. I have tried to activate this dialogue with other NPC’s but it’s only him that says it. There is the possibility that this quest was supposed to be done with Sebastian as part of his questline.

In this video, with the timestamp 59:39, only Sebastian says this line:

“I suppose we know what happened to Mary Portman. She was breeding the spiders.”

It would be both economical and logical for the Sallow professors to have a house near their place of employment instead of boarding with the other professors in the Faculty Tower without a live-in sitter watching their two children. And even if they did hire someone to watch their children, we were never given any indication that the twins were left under someone else's care when Mr. and Mrs. Sallow were still alive. Plus, it would put quite a dent on their finances to rely on childcare services for the whole school year that they'd be at work.

Lastly, giving birth at home is the norm during Victorian times. According to the Victorian Web:

"... for much of the nineteenth century the safest place to be delivered, regardless of social class, was at home by a well-trained midwife. Until the widespread use of antisepsis in the 1880s, male practitioners were more likely to carry infection, using unclean instruments and moving as they did between different types of medical cases and post-mortems to deliveries."

And so, it would make perfect sense that Mrs. Sallow would give birth at the comfort and safety of their home—which would indicate that Sebastian and Anne's birthplace would be Aranshire, or at the very least, near Hogwarts.

2. St. Mungo’s Hospital, London

Another possible place where Sebastian and Anne might have been born is actually at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

I would like to believe that Wizarding medical practices have stark differences from their muggle counterparts, and that the use of magic may have provided the Wizarding world some medical advances long before muggle technological discoveries.

While all of this is just speculation, there is also the possibility of complications with giving birth to a set of twins. Given that most women of the Victorian age preferred home births due to the higher maternal mortality rate with hospital births, there could still be the possibility that Mrs. Sallow had Sebastian and Anne at the hospital.

Both of his parents are professors, and was said to be open-minded folks. It wouldn't be surprising if they are the type of new parents who had read every maternity book they could get their hands on, and may have chosen the option of having medical witches and wizards to aid the delivery of the twins—should any sort of complications arise in the midst of labor.

St. Mungo's Hospital is located in London, concealed in such a manner similar to that of Diagon Alley.

"To enter the premises, one might step through the window of what appeared to be a red-bricked, condemned department store called Purge and Dowse, Ltd. This acted as a magical gateway to the main building, much like the barrier at King's Cross Station to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Although the "department store" building housing the hospital might have been relatively small, this was not an indication of the true capacity of a magical building, the interior looked exactly as a hospital should. One way an individual could enter the building was speaking to an apparently inanimate dummy in the department store."

3. Fort William, Scotland

For Sebastian's last possible place of birth, I had to resort to looking at his wiki page. There was one little thing that I noticed written on his biographical information. There is chance that he is a half-blood.

Given that both his parents are professors, we don't actually have any actual confirmation or evidence that they taught at Hogwarts!

It could be feasible that one of Sebastian's parents was indeed a professor at Hogwarts, while the other one taught at a muggle school. If that's the case, then the Sallow family might have to settle somewhere in the "middle" of their place of work—one goes to the Wizarding community while the other goes to the nearest muggle town.

And according to the map below, the nearest muggle town that was actually the final stop before Hogwarts was Fort William.

Although, just because Sebastian and Anne were born here doesn't mean that they were raised here. It was still canonically stated that Sebastian grew up within the Wizarding community; which is around Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Aranshire, and other hamlets deep in the Scottish Highlands.

Nevertheless, if one really wants to pinpoint an actual location on the (muggle) map, then Fort William is the nearest and most likely place. And yes, the Hogwarts Express Train passes by this beautiful town.

—

End Results:

Sebastian (and Anne) was most likely born in Aranshire, given the amount of evidence we have in the game—alongside exclusive deleted voice lines from the character himself. Then again, the two other options listed above can be considered as well if we entertain the idea of expounding on the tidbits and hints of information we have about him (such as the possibility that he is a half-blood).

—---—---—---—---—

II. Possible Date of Birth

NOTE: If you're not interested in astrology, you can just skip this one, and go to Part 3, 4, and 5!

This section of the post is pure speculation, and no solid proof at all. But we do know that Sebastian should be born between September 1, 1874 and August 31, 1875 if he was to be eleven years-old during the start of his first year at Hogwarts. Therefore, all of the following information is gathered by astrological observations of his character.

(I have a personal tarot and astrology account, @tarotwitchy, if you guys are interested in knowing more about this type of content).

Based on character analysis, I believe that Sebastian is a Virgo Sun, Scorpio Moon, and Sagittarius Rising.

Now, what does that mean?

Let's break down his character one astrological placement at a time.

1. Virgo Sun

— A lot of people think he is a Scorpio Sun. But as one myself, he doesn't quite fit the bill. Instead, based on his actions throughout the game, he represents the hallmark traits of a Virgo Sun. A person with this placement is someone who gets things done. They have laser-sharp focus on things that matter to them, and they will stop at nothing until they've satisfied their own thirst for knowledge and understanding and experience of whichever captivated their whole attention.

— It's because of this "obsessive" behavior that he is tagged as a Scorpio. But in his case, obsession is a manifestation of an unhealthy Virgo; one that cannot admit defeat and accept their losses. It's like beating a dead horse. It's not actually obsession that took over Sebastian. It's his stubbornness. It's his refusal to acknowledge that he is, in fact, not correct in his methods, and disregards anyone else's advice and pleas for him to stop.

— Before the whole Scriptorium and Relic debacle, you get to know him as someone who has a great reputation around school. The professors and the librarian acknowledge that he is a bright boy, and a notable duellist. When done right, a person with Virgo Sun shines brightly in perfecting their crafts and honing their strengths. The best part is that they have no qualms about helping others reach their full potential as well (and this is evident with the way he helps the MC perform well in practicing spells and teaching them Confringo. He loves knowing beyond what the school is willing to teach. For him, knowledge is knowledge).

2. Scorpio Moon

— This is what most people think he is. But in astrology, the basest of our instincts and emotional fallback is not reflected by our Sun sign but by our Moon sign. Our Moon sign is our last line of defense when the going gets tough. We fall into the characteristics of this placement when our "public façade" has failed to mitigate whatever issue we're dealing with.

— As for Sebastian, his Scorpio Moon took hold of the reins during the time when he was running on fumes; mentally, emotionally, and physically. In Ominis' only note, he mentioned that Sebastian is not acting like himself. As much as he is severely influenced by the Relic, it is believed that Dark Magic amplifies the wizard's emotional status.

— With Sebastian, he was already emotionally worn out from the knawing hopelessness of his sister's condition and from the verbal assault he endures from his uncle. When you combine all these elements together, you get the unhealthiest version of a volatile Scorpio Moon.

3. Virgo Mercury

— People with their Mercury in Virgo are reservoirs of both knowledge and the ambition to understand more than what they already know. They aren't the type of people to stop searching for answers simply because they already found a half-baked solution to their problems. They go the extra mile, and then some more.

— And as we all know, Sebastian had turned the entire library upside down reading tome after tome on possible solutions for Anne's dilemma. A Slytherin main character would first encounter him pacing back and forth in the common room reading a huge book... on the first day of school.

— Majority of people with this astrological placement report that they just have that intellectual "itch" that needs to be scratched with more and more information, experimentation, research, and discovery. Until that hunger is satiated, they will not stop their quest to find out the truth they seek. We see Sebastian's downward spiral with this attribute. He was willing to go as far as casting the Cruciatus curse just to get his hands on Salazar Slytherin's spellbook.

4. Scorpio Venus

— Men with Scorpio Venuses are those who aren’t afraid with the nitty gritty of interpersonal and romantic relationships. Some people like to keep things on the surface level, not really bothering with really getting to know other people on an intimate level. And yet, Sebastian has shown to be yearning for more information about the people he’s involved with.

— In the game, when the main character was starting to understand their abilities with ancient magic, Sebastian was quick to ask, “what aren’t you telling me?” He’s the kind of person who goes beyond the hi’s and hello’s, and wants to understand his companion’s current situation. This is the hallmark trait of a person with their Venus in Scorpio. Furthermore, he also exhibits the mentality of wanting to always be in-the-loop of his loved ones’ lives, even if he’s dealing with his own problems at the same time. In his mind, your problem is also his problem, and he will not abandon you in your most trying times.

— This kind of closeness can sometimes be overwhelming for people who aren’t used to another person being very personal and up-close with their lives. But this is one of the way a Scorpio Venus shows their love, and this is very evident with how Sebastian is also helping the main character in their quest find out more about Ancient Magic in spite of drowning in his own research on Anne’s cure.

5. Leo Mars

— If Mars in Leo had a textbook example, Sebastian’s face would be on the cover. To name a few examples of how he exhibits some of the qualities this astrological placement has, let’s start with the fact that Mars is the planet responsible with body language. The way Sebastian was portrayed during his cutscenes and with his routine walks around the castle, he has a very confident gait and posture. He naturally carries himself with his own brand of masculinity; not aggressively so, but securely taking up appropriate space for himself.

— Another quality that people with Leo Mars has is that they are not afraid of being under the spotlight. They live up to people’s expectations of them, and they deliver a spectacular show of presence. In Sebastian’s case, he was one of the best duelists of Crossed Wands, and he doesn’t shy away from being the main character’s opponent during Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

— He is charismatic, ambitious, and playfully adventurous and competitive. Then again, Sebastian is shown to be stubborn, dramatic, and prone to anger. These are the characteristic manifestations of Mars in the sign of Leo.

(Not to mention that his favorite spells are fiery in nature!)

6. Sagittarius Rising

— A person’s ascendant has something to do with people’s first impressions of them. There are some astrological analysis of what Sebastian’s ascendant (or rising) sign would be. Majority of them are saying he has a Scorpio Rising. To have a Scorpio Rising, one has to have a demeanor of being unapproachable, have an air of enigma, and being quite intimidating. However, our first interaction and impression of Sebastian couldn’t be further from the truth. He is open, he is approachable, he is playful, and he is chatty. Ominis, on the other hand, has a Scorpio Rising for the same reasons I stated above for this sign.

— Therefore, Sebastian has a Sagittarius Rising. Traits of this sign include having a curious glint in their eyes, being quite effortlessly popular amongst his peers, charmingly clever, and has an intellectual brand of humor.

— Sagittarius is the sign of higher learning. If the main character was a Slytherin, the very first cutscene of Sebastian is with him pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, with a massive book in his hand, and reading and learning what he can about his dilemma. That is a very obvious and blatant display of a first impression of a Sagittarius rising.

—

End Results:

Sebastian Sallow was born on September 15, 1874 at around 1:00PM, during the autumn season.

Of course, all of this is just my personal headcanon but I made sure to back them up with research and imbued them with my own astrological knowledge when it comes to matching his personality and his possible birth date.

—---—---—---—---—

III. Psychometric Analysis

NOTE: I will be linking the sites for these tests should you want to take them yourself! 😊 Have fun!

1. MBTI

— ENTP (Extrovert, Intuitive, Thinking, Perceiving)

"ENTP's are known for their rebellious streak. For this personality type, no belief is too sacred to be questioned, no idea is too fundamental to be scrutinized, and no rule is too important to be broken or at least thoroughly tested. This could make them seem overly cavalier or defiant, but at their core, their innate tendency to test boundaries has more to do with their desire for innovation and change."

Sebastian is, quite literally, the poster boy for ENTP. He embodies the trademark inquisitive nature of this type, and he has the signature charm to back it up as well. He isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty to understand a certain topic he zeroes in on, and he doesn’t shy away from topics that would be considered taboo. As a matter of fact, he thrives in the taboo. Sebastian doesn’t discriminate the information that comes his way; instead, he has his own mental compass and filter that systematizes the knowledge he comes to possess.

2. Enneagram

— Type 8 with wing 7; SX/SP (The Maverick)

“8w7 people are action-oriented and powerful people with a passion for pursuing new opportunities. They tend to be self-confident, sociable, pragmatic and comfortable with conflict. They’re ambitious and independent, preferring to follow their own path. They dream big and have the dedication to achieve their goals. They thrive in environments that encourage their idealism, while granting them the authority to make a difference. They don’t settle for anything; they always seek more. They are also strategic and tough if needed.”

True to the name of this particular Enneagram, Sebastian is known as a rebel and a maverick. He’s the kind of person that questions the rules and authority instead of following blindly. He has his own moral code that he abides to because he is secure in his ability to make the correct decisions, even if we know that he’s going down a dark path. As a rebel, he will stubbornly insist to everyone that his way is the right way because he has already examined the possible courses of action outside the constraints of authority.

This is why he ended up butting heads with Ominis (who thrives in his own systematic order). To Sebastian, no rule is too sacred to break. As long as he sees the alternative outcomes to a specific goal, he will march to the beat of his own drum.

3. Four Temperaments

— Choleric–Sanguine (The Executive)

"The Choleric-Sanguine has a natural drive to quickly get results. They are goal and bottom-line oriented, and can be very persuasive in promoting their ideas and goals. They are easily annoyed when others do not comply with their instructions or direction but it passes quickly; quickly aroused, easily calmed. They are not angry, although others may at times think they are furious. They are impatient and will push others to obtain results and be productive."

This is blend of Temperament fits Sebastian perfectly, especially towards the tail end of his plotline. It’s very evident is his voice lines that he isn’t afraid to push people to their limits and persuade others relentlessly. He jumps into the heat of the battle without much thought, and he expects people to follow suit. He doesn’t appreciate it when his close friends question his motives because that would be an insinuation that they don’t trust his judgments. He is quick on his feet and even quicker with executing alternate routes to get closer to his goals instead of wallowing in his failures.

—---—---—---—---—

IV. Corporeal Patronus

NOTE: An Animagus is a witch or wizard's animal representation of their basest instincts and behavior. A Patronus is an animal manifestation of what makes them happiest. While most people will have the same animal for their Animagus form and Patronus, it's not always the case. We know that a person's Patronus can change throughout their lifetime.

Majority of people in the community have an unspoken agreement that Sebastian’s Animagus is a fox. By extension, his Patronus must take the corporeal form of a fox as well. However, I personally disagree with the definitions that I find in most sources. Therefore, I researched every possible Patronus result in the Wizarding World official test, and painstakingly reviewed their meanings using multiple sources. I have also enlisted the help of my cousin, who also completed her gameplay as a proud Hufflepuff, to determine which amongst all the extensive Patronus possibilities suit Sebastian the best. And after two hours of combing and debating through it, we have decided on the Buffalo.

This source defined this patronus as such:

Few possess just the right strength of character for their patronus to take the form of a buffalo. Those that do are dedicated individuals who are fiercely protective of those close to them, and not in a general way, either. Anyone foolish enough to attempt to harm another under a buffalo’s care is unlikely to come out unscathed. They are fighters, and it’s not uncommon for a buffalo to have their own personal code or way of acting to which normal morality simply doesn’t apply, which can be dangerous even for the buffalo. When all is well, they are placid but often outgoing, with strong personalities and who like having fun with those they bond to. However, going too long without contact with friends or family can lead to a buffalo feeling anxious or sad, and they will usually be at their best when sharing time with others. They are steadfast friends that enjoy being helpful and lending a hand to complete a task, or just making someone feel better. The buffalo is full of many feelings, the strong stature of them showing through a person in this way. They try to appear stoic, but it often backfires and they wear their hearts on their sleeves. They are passionate about everything they do and headstrong. They make sure their opinions are known by all that they concern, because they want to show that they are not weak. They feel as though their emotion and lack of control over it does in a way give them weakness, and it angers them greatly. They have strong tempers that are easy to lose.

A witch or a wizards Patronus has been proven to change over the span of their lifetime, and is influenced by major milestones such as marriage, relationships, or simply being influenced by your parent’s Patronus. However, based on the game material itself, a Buffalo Patronus fits Sebastian the best. Yes, he can still emulate the trickster and cunning nature of having a Fox Animagus. But based on his emotional state throughout the game, this animal’s spirit and its subsequent meaning perfectly reflects why he did the things he has done. He bulldozes his way through things without much contemplation, and he does wear his heart on his sleeves. Sebastian is the type to also care about the problems of his friends and loved ones personally, and will be their pillar of strength when needed.

—---—---—---—---—

V. Wand Analysis

1. Wand Wood

Based on the physical characteristics of this wand and the meaning of the wood, it's highly possible that Sebastian's wand is made from Yew Wood.

According to the wand wood information:

"Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death, which might, of course, be said of all wands; and yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the spheres of duelling and all curses. However, it is untrue to say (as those unlearned in wandlore often do) that those who use yew wands are more likely to be attracted to the Dark Arts than another. The witch or wizard best suited to a yew wand might equally prove a fierce protector of others. Wands hewn from these most long-lived trees have been found in the possession of heroes quite as often as of villains. Where wizards have been buried with wands of yew, the wand generally sprouts into a tree guarding the dead owner’s grave. What is certain, in my experience, is that the yew wand never chooses either a mediocre or a timid owner."

There have been a plethora of different wand woods that are actually suitable for Sebastian's magical disposition. Most people have hypothesized that his wand is made from Aspen due to its duelling nature. However, I have considered that Sebastian's duelling skills are not emphasized because of the wand he uses. It is through his innate magical skills and strength that made him an exceptional duellist.

I also do not see him joining a duelling club (Silver Spears) as a way to flaunt his wand and the exclusivity of what it entails. He was most likely recruited due to his consistent displays of sheer talent and capabilities in martial magic during classes. Sebastian doesn't seem to be the type to use a personal artifact to bolster his reputation. Rather, he utilizes everything he has with efficient resourcefulness to hone his abilities manually and with hard work. You can take his wand from him and provide him with another, and he'd still be formidable with it. That is the kind of witch or wizard Yew wands choose — just as it chose Tom Riddle and Ginny Weasley.

2. Wand Core

This one is easy to determine. Sebastian's wand is imbued with a core of Dragon Heartstring. According to Ollivander, this wand is powerful yet volatile at the wrong hands.

"As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental."

With how quickly Sebastian reads and practices a lot of things in such a short period of time (and simultaneously juggling his studies along with it), it's safe to say that he is a quick learner. He easily absorbs what he reads and witnesses without trouble, and he is able to put into immediate use what he discovers just moments ago. It makes sense that he is paired with a wand with this kind of core, as he needs a magical conduit that doesn't hinder his fast progress.

Furthermore, it is a matter of fact that he truly is drawn towards the Dark Arts, and he was able to cast all the Unforgivable Curses without any error nor did he fumble with them. It takes a great amount of skill a wizard possesses in order to execute these highly complex, powerful, and very dark magic. This is something that a Dragon Heartstring wand core looks for in its owner; the innate drive and relentless energy to fulfill advanced forms of magic. Sebastian just so happens to tick all of those boxes seamlessly.

3. Wand Flexibility and Length

According to the official source:

"Wand flexibility or rigidity denotes the degree of adaptability and willingness to change possessed by the wand-and-owner pair."

Because of that, his wand's flexibility is most likely Hard. This source had explained it perfectly:

"A wand of this flexibility is very difficult to work with and its loyalty is not won easily. Hard wands are great for complex and advanced levels of magic, so beginning wizards and witches may find extra difficulty with this wand when it doesn't perform well for simple magic. As such, this type of wand is best suited for wizards and witches who are gifted, stubborn, and never give up. Owners of this wand also have a tendency to view things in absolutes; black or white. Some people may find them intimidating or difficult to approach."

Majority of Sebastian's wand analysis categorizes it as Unyielding. And while that was the initial decision in this post, I ultimately decided otherwise. With this flexibility, it really puts emphasis on his natural affinity for difficult spells and his tenacity to see through what he started. This kind of wand is not for the timid witch or wizard but someone who is comfortable being challenged time and time again. And of course, Sebastian sees a challenge as a test of his magical progress and curiosities.

As for the length of it, a standard 12 and 3/4 inches suits him just fine. He isn't too cocky about his skills but he also has confidence in himself to get things done.

—

End Results:

Yew Wood, Dragon Heartstring Core, Hard Flexibility, and 12 3/4 inches long! (It isn't a mystery that Confringo is one of his favorite spells!)

—---—---—---—---—

Honestly, this is a difficult one to finish. There wasn’t much to go on with, and every information here was based on very limited information. And most of my posts took a back burner because I feel like I needed to finish this one first. And I had this post sitting in my drafts for more than a year now!

Nevertheless, I am happy with what I produced, and this was given the same amount of thought as the one I had with Ominis. This one’s for all the Sebastian lovers! I hope this is up to par with other character analysis we already have in the fandom.

Tags:

Just a shoutout to my cousin, Marsha, for helping me with this post! I had so much fun doing this at the crack of dawn while we FaceTimed. Without your help, this post won’t be published. Love you to bits, and I’ll see you in December!

@sunnyrealist: I promised, didn’t I? I’m sorry it took a year, though!

@pufflehuffing: I swear, our conversations will always be the highlight of my social media presence in this fandom. This one’s for you, too!

@ravenwind-75: I know you’re an Ominis girlie but I also promised to share this with you once I wrapped it up. Our chats have always been so nice, and I genuinely enjoy being a part of your community.

—

Look at the date when I first created this post. It's been rotting in my drafts for more than a year now... just like the rest of my other posts. 🥲

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

STAR TREK DIALOGUE ANALYSIS OVERVIEW

oh boy so i mentioned this project awhile back and after a long hiatus i'm finally done! (the irony that i wrote this and then took a second equally long hiatus but the point stands.)

i went through transcripts for TOS, TNG, DS9, Voyager, and Enterprise (thanks to chakoteya.net for those!) and calculated how many lines each main character has in each episode (and season & show as a whole), calculated means, looked at who had a lot of high & low line count episodes, made some graphs, and did some analysis on gender and race.

you can find my whole process & results on a spreadsheet here (it's a little messy. i'm sorry. if someone pays me i'll make it look nice and actually learn how to make good graphs in Google Sheets.) and i'll walk through some Big Results & reactions on this post here under a cut. just so this doesn't get too long, i'll breakdown each show, post my gender & race analysis, and a big list of every character with how much of a focus they get on separate posts. they'll all be tagged as "star trek dialogue analysis".

but first just a disclaimer – i do have professional experience doing data analysis but this is by no means a professional analysis and i'm sure there are plenty of mistakes because this was initially a small personal project that snowballed a little bit. if there are any Major Things you see that are wrong (i.e. i copy and pasted a totally wrong value somewhere) please reach out and i'll correct it if i can. also if anyone wants to use this data for anything, feel free but tag me because i'm curious!

see also: gender analysis // race analysis // tos breakdown // tng breakdown // ds9 breakdown // voyager breakdown // enterprise breakdown // who's the most/least used character?

all of the following graphs measure mean (average) lines of dialogue per episode, averaging all seasons (that they were a main character) together. please refer to the spreadsheet for more detailed information about exact numbers.

unsurprising results... this is the one Star Trek show that really never aspired to be an ensemble show. i was actually surprised by how few lines Spock and McCoy have in comparison to Kirk

also unsurprising that the two characters of color have the fewest lines per episodes in the 60s

Kirk had BY FAR the most lines of dialogue per episode out of all characters i've measured (115.20)

again unsurprising that Picard has more lines by such a wide margin

honestly fairly surprised by how few lines Data had (I thought he'd beat Riker by a decent margin) and was very surprised at how few lines Troi consistently has across the season. like i knew it wasn't many but dang... only 18 lines per episode on average.

and here we can see that ds9 really embraces being an ensemble show with everyone (sans Sisko, Ezri, & Jake) having around the same number of lines on average, probably the most equal overall of any Star Trek show.

Sisko obviously has the most lines as the lead and Jake the fewest because of irl work restrictions (and less kid-centric stories).

i was surprised with how many lines Ezri had but then again her entire character was compressed into a single season so it seems fair. (interestingly, Ezri has the most lines out of anyone in s7 (996), even beating Sisko (874))

despite having the most lines in DS9, Sisko has by far the least out of any main character/Captain of the shows i've measured.

Janeway has the highest average line count out of any 90s character and third highest of any character i measured (69.51)

and again, with the exception of Janeway, we see that Voyager tends to be more ensemble focused than TNG which surprised me a bit given how later seasons are often criticized for ignoring a lot of characters but i think the very ensemble heavy early seasons balance things out.

the characters also generally seem to have more lines on average than either TNG or DS9.

and oof... yeah Voyager was it for the ensemble style show

Archer has the second highest average line count (86.68) for the whole study after Kirk (115.20)

apparently the inception of Enterprise was to recreate the TOS style triumvirate and for better or worse they certainly did.

some overall fun stats –

there are 162,455 total lines of dialogue spoken by the main cast from TOS to Enterprise

somehow there's only a ten line difference between the amount of dialogue spoken in TNG (43,148) and DS9 (43,158)

the 5 characters with the most dialogue per episode in Berman era Trek: Archer (86.68), Janeway (69.51), Picard (69.37), Sisko (50.72), & Tucker (46.03). notably only one woman and one character of color (more on this in a gender & race analysis post)

not including kids, the 5 characters with the least dialogue in Berman era Trek are: Mayweather (13.39), Sato (15.99), Troi (18.11), Kes (18.18), & Neelix (19.68). notably including three women and two characters of color (again, more on this in a different post)

the character who has the most dialogue in a single length episode is Quark with 189 lines in Who Mourns For Morn?

[lexsssu]

Beast (Dion Agriche)

TAGS: Dion/Dragoness!reader, pining, pervy thoughts, breeding, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

This place felt…sad.

The towering manse was objectively magnificent and yet an air of gloom seemed to envelop the very air that passed through the exquisite halls. Though perhaps it could be attributed to the unmistakable metallic scent that hung heavily within almost every corner of the estate. 

Whether it was the main courtyard, the gardens, or from deeper within, the darkness that settled over the entire structure was like a shroud of death that beckoned victims to fall into the sweet embrace of oblivion. It’s only through luck however, that they can either meet a swift end or a drawn out and miserable one. 

Judging from the melancholic or downright pained expressions upon the ghostly specters that roamed the area, it’s safe to say that this was a place of great suffering and tragedy. None of the actual living occupants could see them, most especially that man whose soul harbored an impressive amount of corruption for a human. No matter how many angry spirits clung to him in hopes of dragging his soul straight out of his body in order to enact their just revenge, each death done or ordered by his hand only seemed to further the taint. 

It’s almost as if he drew power from the lives he’d stolen.

He wasn’t the only one who attracted the attention of the restless souls. The man’s children who tried to follow in his footsteps also had a trail of bodies before them even before they could be called adults. Even one of his wives, a seemingly spritely woman with doll-like features, took lives as easily as getting rid of unpleasant pests.

In conclusion, this family is as cursed as the land they had stained with rivers of blood over the years.  

Much to your surprise however, not every Agriche shared a penchant for senseless murder. One of the eldest living daughters (Roxana) only had a single ghost following her and even then, the ghostly image of the teen boy didn’t seem to want to tear her limb from limb like all the others. Rather, he followed after her much like a puppy who only wanted to keep up with her pace. Sadly, the blonde never seemed to take notice of the boy who bore remarkably similar features with her even as he tried to reach his hand out to touch her. 

For she lives within the plane of the living, while he now resided in between life and death, unable to move on due to regrets or some other unfinished business you didn’t know of.  

The question is…are you content with staying as a mere observer?

The blonde youth perks up the moment he realizes you can see him, sheer relief brimming from every pore within his spectral body when you speak your first words to him. He is rich with the secrets Lante Agriche fights tooth and nail to prevent from ever seeing the light of day. 

A lonely boy becomes lonely no more and a displaced dragoness finds that becoming lost wasn’t too bad when you have good company around you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dion doesn’t dream.

Considering the amount of blood that stained his rough hands, it is better that he only descends into nothingness whenever he rests his eyes, for one could only imagine what horrors lay in wait to torment him for all the atrocities he’d committed. He’s not afraid of the ghosts of his victims, but rather finds it useless to think of flames that had already been snuffed out when they could no longer influence the living in any way.

But then something changes.

He feels a soft, warm touch that gently traces the length of his nose, cups the sharp angles of his face, and even delves into his dark locks. Though his eyes remain closed, his own subconscious supplies him with the image of hands much smaller than his own large ones that poked and prodded at him without fear. 

While he would have caught the appendages and mayhaps stuck a knife into anyone who decided to lay their hands upon him, Dion knows that this could only be a dream because who would even dare to caress him so gingerly in the middle of night within the Agriche’s own manor? If anything, he finds his dreamself to commit to memory the feeling of such a gentle touch being bestowed upon him, because rationally he knows that he has no need for softness. In the confines of his own subconscious however, he supposes that he can allow himself this at the very least.

When he wakes up at the crack of dawn, it is to open windows with its blinds fluttering as the morning breeze makes its way to his room, bringing with it not just the familiar scent of iron that seemed to permanently surround the place he’d grown up in. 

Though he cares not for flowers specifically, he does have knowledge on their practical uses such as poisons and the like. He also prefers knowing the native flora and fauna of the hunting grounds he’d be thrown into in order to get a better grasp of the terrain.

Blooming honeysuckles make his brows furrowed in confusion despite his stone-cold exterior, confused as to how and why such a scent overpowered the ever present iron tang in the air. 

Curiouser and curiouser.

Dion remains oblivious to the shared laughter between a woman with ivory in her hair and a boy whose eyes reflected the deep, bright expanse of the open sky as they watched him stick his head out of his windows to locate the origin of the oddity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“YOU...”

“...Me?”

Dion feels his body practically burning from the inside-out, his heart beating several miles per minute as he finally gets a good look of the poltergeist that haunts his nights. He remembers the tender touches you press against his skin, the warm caresses that leave him gasping for breath and his loins aching for sweet release by the time he’s released from your clutches once dawn has broken. 

He does not need your sweetness.

He has no use for your gentleness.

And yet he craves it.

He has never desired anything. 

He has never felt so strongly about anything other than the swish of his blade, the gurgling of his victims, and the blood splattered against the ground as another mark of his martial prowess.

And yet you drove him to become more of a feral beast than he ever was as he now wished for nothing else other than to possess your whole being just as you possessed him without even meaning to.

“...are MINE”

Your surprised squeak is music to his ears, the flush on your cheeks pleasing the beast that sought to have you pressed down on the ground and taken ruthlessly, flooding your fertile womb with his virile seed...

.

.

.

To be continued(?)

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Business Decisions

He's not who people might think he is.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Yoongi, Human!Reader, Unstable AU, set prior/during the Jungkook storyline, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, strangers to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, eventual smut

Length: 3k Words

-Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Min Yoongi is, despite his looks and quiet nature, a very kind person. Or at least, that's what some very selected people will tell, if one was to ask them.  

His tail softly sways behind him as he keeps an eye on the main operational panel in front of him, while you watch. His cat-like ear snaps a bit irritated at something- when his eyes turn towards you, glaring. “can you.. stop staring?” He requests, and you nod, instead turning to look out the large window of the spaceship instead. You’re quiet, but not mute- having talked to him quite a bit before. Maybe you simply don’t speak much, or don’t put much value in.. smalltalk.  

That’s fine by him. He doesn’t either. 

He's found you- or rather, you found him- just hours earlier at an outpost, asking him to take you along to another location in exchange for a small amount of money. Where he went next you didn't care- you only needed a ride to get around, most likely used to this kind of life, since you'd obviously chosen him very specifically amongst all the other options at the bustling restaurant.

In hindsight, it made sense that you approached him despite his grim appearance- he was the shortest and least threatening looking species in that restaurant at the time, and was also one of the only one's there without any company at all. You're clearly smart about this whole process of finding a ride from one place to another-

otherwise, you wouldn't have lived like this for so long, having done this for years, according to you.

“There is.. Food over there. If you’re hungry.” He tells you, and you look over to spot the metal trunk in a corner, before you nod at him, not moving at all however. 

“I’m not.” You answer, though your stomach growls as if to disagree, making you clearly a bit ashamed of it, eyes widening at being betrayed by your own body like this. 

“Just eat. I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t want to give it to you.” He mumbles to himself, resuming his task of checking the ship’s systems again while you stay seated where he’d last told you to sit. You still won’t move, and he’s unsure why not- but he’s also aware that he shouldn’t get too invested in you. You’re gonna be dropped off next stop, and that’s gonna be it- which is for the best, because getting involved with humans is never a very good idea.  

And he’s also still on a mission to get his revenge- and secure his place in the foodchain, to be no longer seen as nothing but a docile little pet. A mission that might as well kill him- and if he can avoid pulling anyone down with him, he surely will. 

When he notices your eyes blinking longer and longer, he walks to fetch a sleeping bag from one of the other metal trunk in the corner, to offer it to you. “Sleep. It’ll still be a few more hours until we’ve reached the next outpost.” He says, and you take the sleeping bag from him with a thankful nod, before you spread it out right on the floor where you sit, to crawl into it and lay down. He has a suspicion what your way of earning money had been until now, but with your behavior so obvious, it’s very clear to him now.  

It makes him upset. The fact that you’ve been driven so far just to somehow survive.  

Either way, he stays awake to both keep himself safe just incase he’s misjudged you and your intentions, and to make sure the old and very small spaceship keeps it’s course as it sometimes tends to deviate over time due to the old navigation system. And yeah, maybe he also can’t help his instincts as well- 

Unintentionally guarding you while you sleep, eyes always checking up on you any time you move in your sleep.  

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Min Yoongi was born on Zoldos- a small, cold and relatively poor planet, which had been industrialized for ages. He remembers his father making toys out of junk he found while working at the metal factory each day, turning trash into small spaceships for Yoongi to play with.  

Most of his time however was spent with his mother, and the many children she’d foster over the years of his childhood- many of them he’d see as his sisters, as all of them would be girls given up by their families, since in his culture, they’re said to just be expensive and too much work to raise. Maybe this way of growing up, helping his mother with the young kids every day while she taught him everything he needed for his future, made him into the man he is today.  

His father had always been described as ‘unusually soft’ compared to what is usually expected and seen in his kind- Xaqal people tending to be combative, easily irritated, and quick to escalate situations into physical violence to defend themselves from others. But his father was already uninterested in any of the usual past-time activities his coworkers would indulge in, like underground fighting, or gambling- rather spending his free time home with his son, foster children and partner, which was unusual in itself. Usually, partners of his kind don’t stay together after their children learn how to walk- but Yoongi remembers that even when his mother passed, his father would continue to live at the same house, to find new homes for the remaining children, before he moved away as well once Yoongi decided to leave the planet.  

Yoongi is still in contact with his father, and doesn’t believe that he should’ve been raised any different than how he was. 

But his now rather soft and kind character comes with a price to pay- with most people on other planets not taking too kindly to him and his friendly nature at first. Friendships don’t pay your bills after all, so the first lesson the young man had to learn back then, was to toughen up, and start thinking of only yourself first and foremost. Getting attached to others was a risk to take, and would most likely end in a burden one might think of unnecessary.  

Even so, Yoongi has made friends along the way. From a very, very charismatic guy named Seokjin and his mother on Cryon, or the stoic and self-admitted younger ‘Asshole’ human-Bolku hybrid going by the name of Jungkook. But other than that, he keeps himself independent- away from others.  

However, for some reason, he’s now sitting with you on a bench on the outpost while his spaceship is being refueled, having bought you some warm food to eat, despite your active arguments against that. Maybe because you’re obviously in need of protection, or because you’re not a threat whatsoever- but he feels like he should at least make sure you’ll be okay on this outpost, before he’ll leave you here.  

Deep down, he knows it’s not the question if you end up getting into a situation where you’ll be killed- but more so, when.  

“What are... your capabilities?” Yoongi asks after a moment, watching your hands as they tear apart a piece of bread to dip it into your hot soup he bought. A warm and filling meal was a good idea to him, since it’ll keep you energized for longer than just a snack or fast food.  

You look up at him, caught off guard, as you swallow down, thinking.  

“Hm..” You hum as you think. “I.. Can read maps pretty well. And I’m good at cleaning.” You say. “But I could probably learn other things pretty quickly, if needed. It depends on the job I could get.” You explain, and Yoongi nods.  

“So if you had to learn about another species’ health and how to care for it, you could learn quickly?” He asks, and you nod.  

“If.. Given enough recourses to teach myself.” You mumble, continuing to eat. He’s getting the feeling you’ve not had a filling meal in a while with how eager you are to finish all of it.  

“I will not offer you monetary compensation.” He says, and at that, you look up again. “But instead a place to sleep, regular food, and.. Basic protection.” Yoongi explains to you, and at that, you instantly nod.  

“I can do anything!” You chirp, desperate- and he carefully pushes you back down by your shoulder, calming you down again. “Really-” 

“I believe you.” He nods. “But Be aware that I am not just some traveler.” He remarks, and you nod.  

“I understand.” You say. 

“Hm. If that’s the case-” He starts, looking over to a small shop that sells different electronics. “-I’ll get the necessary equipment to finalize our agreement. Stay here- and don’t talk to anyone.” He commands, and you nod, continuing to eat while he gets up to walk into the shop. 

Many of the people inside this shop are wearing the distinctive blinking tiny tracker around their necks- either from a simple leather collar, something more sleek like a silver hoop, or even one with a chain. It’s to be expected, as most of what is sold here is equipment for ‘personnel’, as it’s called across the galaxy, after the term ‘slave’ had been outlawed and categorized as a slur.  

Yoongi can feel the eyes on him, since the tall, green-skinned lady at the counter most likely waiting just like the rest of them for another person to follow him to buy equipment for him, as it’s normal for his kind- but the second he picks out a combination of a tracker, and EID tag, and a simple, silver collar that wouldn’t stain or sit too tight around your neck, people become interested.  

“Size is a bit small for you, kitty.” The alien woman giggles, scanning the items to add the price of everything together. “You know how to set the EID up?” She says, clicking at the end of her sentences a foreign tone, similar to an insect. 

“I know how it works.” He tells her, voice stable and monotone, something he taught himself to never give away any sign of his actual emotions. Because showing them will show weakness- and Yoongi needs to keep up an appearance of indifference at all times, just so people can never quite figure him out.  

People naturally fear the unknown, down the line, no matter the species.  

“Alright. Just out of curiosity though..” She says, clicking sounding again as she narrows her dark eyes at him while he pays. “...who the hell wants to be under the command of a Xaqal?” She says, some people in the small store giggling to themselves as if a joke had been told.  

“Someone who will live a fairly comfortable life from now on.” He simply answers, payment confirmed by her system, before he takes the bag of items, and leaves- gazes following him long after he exited the store.  

He’s relieved to still find you right where he left you, no one seemingly having tried to take you away, or worse yet- so he taps your shoulder to gain your attention, nodding towards his ship in the distance. “Let’s go. I need to set up your EID after we take off.” He says, and you nod, getting up to follow him.  

“Are- are you sure I’m a good choice?” You ask, walking after him like some lost pet, eager to keep up with his rather fast pace. For a Xaqal, he’s surprisingly tall- not quite as tall as some of the other human’s you’ve met, which normally are considered a shorter species, but also not as short as some of the Xaqals you’ve seen in the past.  

“Are you trying to sway my mind?” He wonders, opening the cargo door to his spaceship, before he climbs in- noticing how you don’t follow. So he walks back, and has to swallow down a laugh- because you clearly struggle to somehow pull yourself up on the iron steps, which are too high off the ground for you to properly reach with your legs. “...well, at least you won’t take up too much space on the ship.” He mumbles to himself, before he holds onto one of the metal handles on the sides, before he pulls you up by your arm so that you can make it onto the steps, able to finally climb inside.  

He’ll adjust the steps in the future. Maybe add one. Or rather three. 

Back in the main navigation center of the ship, where your sleeping bag is still laying in front of the front windows, you sit down right there, as if you’ve accepted this spot as your place to exist.  

The ship calms after it breaks orbit, softly flying through the empty space while Yoongi sets up the EID tag for you. The electronic identification device opens a new window on his control panel as he places it on the scanner he has, asking for him to input the necessary information- and he looks over at you, where you sit, looking out the window.  

“Once I set this up, it can’t just be undone.” He tells you, and you snap your head towards him, before you nod. “Alright.” He mumbles putting in his own information and ID number as your set ‘Employer’- scanning the chip placed onto the bone of his forearm, before he waves you over. “Put your arm here.” He tells you, and you do- though nothing is scanned at all, no matter how you twist or turn your arm. Yoongi’s brows furrow. “Where’s your ID-chip?” He asks, and you perk up, before you turn around, pointing somewhat to a spot on your back.  

“My spine- it should be between my shoulders.” You say.  

“Spine?” He mumbles, unsure. The spine is not a good spot to place an ID chip, no matter how small it is- it could still dislodge and get in between important nerves or even the vertabrae, causing damage that would be potentially fatal. “Why is it there?” He asks, picking up the scanner to run it over your back- a beep signalling that the chip had been found, and sucessfully read by the device.  

“As far as I know, most humans and Yon get it there, because its harder to get out.” You explain, having turned around to curiously watch Yoongi tap away all the info into your future identification. “Because, you know, Humans and Yon are popular Personnel. People would just chop their arms off and exchange it for a prosthetic later after they'd take them and put them up for sale. So to combat that, we get the chip on the spine instead.” You say, and Yoongi cringes to himself, realizing now why he sees so many humans and Yon people with a prosthetic.  

“I’ll research any risks to make sure you’re not doing any tasks that might end up immobilizing you.” He mumbles as he finishes up the settings, the red blinking light on the EID tag turning a steady green, signalling that it’s ready to be worn.  

“Oh, don’t worry. The chip is attached to the bone, so it doesn’t move.” You inform him, and that reassures him quite a bit, as he nods, and uses quite a lot of force to clip the tag onto the silver collar- metal snapping into place, making it hard to get it off again.  

“Alright. Come here.” He tells you, and you almost proudly stand straight, offering your neck to him as he clips the collar around you- electronic lock clicking shut, never to open again for anyone else but him. “Is that alright?” He asks, and you nod, while he tests- slipping two fingers between the metal and your neck, just to make sure it’s not too tight. “Alright.” 

“Alright.” You mirror, getting only a mild reaction from him.  

“I’ll order some books and electronic information devices for you to study. We’ll pick them up at the next outpost.” He informs you, and you nod, taking this as a signal that you’ve been dismissed- so you walk back to the sleeping bag, sitting down on it to look out the window again.  

“Can I.. sleep a bit?” You wonder, and Yoongi nods.  

“I don’t need you right now, so you can rest.” He accepts, and at that, you eagerly crawl into the sleeping bag again to sleep once more, giving him a moment to think about what he’d just done.  

He blames his instincts, the fact that his kind lives in groups and usually prefers company at all times. Maybe it’s the fact that he actually does need someone to be able to help take care of his health if a job went south. Or maybe, he just can’t shed the way he’s been raised, even though he’s not that kind person anymore. Even still, he feels odd, looking at you asleep in front of those large windows.  

Like he just got himself entangled into something a lot more complicated than he believes right now.