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galaxiasgreen · 1 day ago

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🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 5.6k words]

"Just... be careful." He takes your hand, bowing to kiss the fingers like delicate embers in a breeze. "Now, bar girl," he murmurs, "where's the fun in that?"

Harlow prepares to take his revenge. Sebastian has a plan to protect you.

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TW: coarse language, blood/ injury, gendered language, explicit smut MDNI (dom!Seb, dirty talk, wall sex, porn with feelings, public sex, cunnilingus, very slight breeding kink), and one threat of sexual assault (not made by Sebastian or the bar girl). This occurs in Harlow's paragraph of dialogue shortly after he is reintroduced, which you can skip over if you'd prefer. Please take care. <3

6. worth the risk

Sebastian's urges never seem fully satiated, but you're happy to try. Minutes may pass, or hours. You indulge the time making love, passionately, raggedly, between bouts of uncontrollable laughter or breathless, all-consuming kisses. His smell becomes part of the place, part of you. Sometimes you sleep for a little while only to wake and start all over again, with hands that already know the right places to tease.

It must be three o'clock when you next stir. In the indigo bloom of darkness, Sebastian is limned by the hazy moon rays that wander through the curtain parting. Light makes his back muscles cleave sharply down his body, burnished with ink. Even obscured, he is beautiful. You pull up slightly, rousing him – he half-turns, clasping your hairbrush.

"What are you doing with that?"

He puts it down. "Thought I'd comb my hair a little."

"I like it mussed."

"Especially when you muss it?" He lets out a low chuckle. "Sleep, love."

"Only if you join me."

Sebastian doesn't care that your breath smells bad and there's crust in your eyes. He slips in beside you, enveloping you with that broad, strong warmth that draws you into his protection. It's safe here. Nothing can hurt you. He kisses your brow, and it feels like music, heart beating a slow, steady rhythm that lulls you to sleep as easy as the clouds drift lazily across the sky.

"Shall I tell you a secret?" he asks when you're next awake.

You smirk and roll into him. "Go on, then."

"You know Ominis is my best friend? His last name's not actually Gaunt." His eyes twinkle. "It's Weasley."

"That's your secret? That he's married to Garreth's sister?" you scoff. "Bit odd for a man to take his wife's surname, but hardly worth hiding, is it?"

"He's not married to Garreth's sister."

"Oh? He's adopted?"

"Wrong again. Ominis and Garreth, they're..."

"... Work partners."

"No... it's just the two of them living together, so they're..."

"Best friends? And without you. Must be a blow to your ego."

"God, bar girl." He laughs. "They're fucking."

You jerk backwards. "What?"

"More precisely they're married, but I guess that also means they're fucking."

You don't know how to react. "Two men, married?"

"That's a better secret, isn't it?" He winks. "Keep an open mind."

You're not really sure what to do with this information, but the pieces rearrange in your head. That explains their relationship a little better, not of boss and underling, but of lovers hiding beneath a veil of secrets. At least you can relate to that.

"Should I be worried they'll try to poach you from me?"

"Ominis would rather eat rocks," Sebastian says, laughing. "Garreth... wouldn't surprise me if he tried. I'm very desirable, after all."

You snort. "Tell me something about you, then. Something no one else knows."

"Now that's a tougher order." His hands settle in your hair and he plays with it gently, sending sparks down your scalp. "How mysterious do you think I am?"

"If you could bury your secrets at the bottom of the ocean, you would."

"Touché." He draws his fingers up, massaging your head. "All right, I will confess something... I bite my nails."

"That's why they look so bad."

"And I have a terrible addiction to looking at myself in the mirror."

"Sebastian."

"It's painful to be this handsome, bar girl."

"You're certainly a pain." You drag your fingers down his chest, letting each bristle of hair be the spark that keeps you alight. "I'm serious. Or do you really think you're an open book?"

"Not at all." His voice comes out gravelled but meek. "Are my secrets worth knowing?"

"You are worth knowing. Every piece of you."

You snuggle into him to emphasise this truth. I am safe, the motion says. I will guard your heart as you have guarded mine. After a moment, he slowly traces each vertebrae of your spine, one by one by one like a bead of liquid silver trickling down a stairwell. On a cold winter's night, it couldn't be any more comforting a touch. Perfect.

"I regret what I did for the wrong reason."

By the small of your back, he pauses and meets your eye, waiting, urging for a sign to continue. This path is fretful and dangerous, another way it could upend your perception of him. But very little could, and you place a kiss on his chin in solidarity.

"It's the worst part of me." He continues it quietly, like distant rain. "Every day in prison I thought about my uncle. How would I do it differently? How could I help my sister without dooming us all? The truth is... that fifteen year old boy didn't know any better. He didn't have a support network. He didn't feel like he could trust the teachers. His best friends were against his ideas from the start. You know that feeling that makes your entire body recoil? When your disgust is so resonant you feel it in your bones, and you'll do mental somersaults to think of anything else? I thought it was remorse.

"But I realised after confronting it... I didn't regret his death. I regretted what it did to my soul. I regretted the decisions that led me to her death, and drinking. I regretted hurting her and my friends."

"You regret getting caught."

"Yes." He's barely audible now. "It took a long time for Anne to come to terms with not only what I did, but why. I killed him for her."

You cup his cheek, steadying the demons that manifest like embers in ash.

"And look how far you've come since then. You got through prison. You're getting better. You've made new, lasting connections. She's looking down on you with a smile."

Instead he smirks. "Hope not. That means she's seen my dick." But there's sadness there, and worry and hesitation and pleading and all the things that remind you of the man behind the façade. "I felt relief, not regret, that he was dead. That I gave her a chance to live. Does that... am I a selfish monster?"

You wrap your arms around him.

"Selfish, yes, but that doesn't make you a monster, Sebastian," you say, listening to his heartbeat with ease. "That makes you human."

By sunrise he hasn't thought of a plan, but when his cock thrusts into you, and your face thrusts into the pillow, you can't bring yourself to worry. He empties over your bed several times and takes measures to make sure you're equally pleasured too, that by the time you clean yourselves up for the morning you're already tired.

You make it in time to intercept your mother from tottering right over the bannister.

"It's all right," you say to him, when you eventually coax her to the armchair. "If you need to be somewhere else—"

"No," he says, with that half-smile that is yours. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

A natural charmer and entertainer, he helps clean, feed and move your parents to the sun room. By some miracle they actually recognise him too, the man who vanishes in the fireplace – you want to ask more about that but suspect Sebastian will give answers so cryptic they couldn't solve a fiendish crossword – and with his help you finish the morning's work in half the time. Ada arrives to watch them and says nothing of Sebastian's presence, agreeing without words to keep one more secret sealed on her lips.

The pub opens for the breakfast rush without any issue out of the ordinary. You swab countertops. Serve customers. Take coin in your pocket and snags on the chin. Sebastian remains through it all, the fallen guardian angel ever present and watchful, and though he resists as long as he can, it's not even twelve before he's halfway into a stout, foam coating his lips in a golden froth. You're tempted to lick it off.

The day is almost perfectly normal. Almost.

Because there is one thought that keeps you twitchy and addled. One thing that makes your hair stand on end, hyper-vigilant of every noise and new face. Harlow's retaliation may not be immediate. It may not even be next week. But he will come – and you have no idea when.

So each night, Sebastian stays to protect you.

It becomes as easy as breathing to fall asleep in his arms, sometimes after riotous love-making or kisses that leave you breathless, sometimes after enjoying one another's company in the small ways, words as loud as ghosts and touches as searing as the moon in the cloudless sky. You refuse to relax at the start, and try to remember what could happen the moment you let your guard down, but with Sebastian lulling you to sleep with a story, a crooked grin or the simple safety of his embrace, the promise is a difficult one to keep.

It was only a week ago, but Harlow becomes as distant a memory as a decade.

And that comfort is dangerous.

You're in the beer cellar below, hunting for the rye whisky, when Sebastian wanders down to find you. Without the peek of natural sunlight you could fool yourself into thinking it's night, the thicket of kegs set gently aglow by gas lamps on the wall.

"Thought you might want my help." His brow dances. "Or my muscle. Whichever suits."

"I'm just debating whether it's worth bringing up another rye. We're low and Old Dodder could neck it solo." You turn to him fully. "You haven't heard anything?"

"No."

"It's been a week. No one's heard from him even once?" You tap your nails on the keg's rim. "Why? What's he doing?"

"How'd you know there hasn't been hundreds of attacks I've valiantly fought off?" You fix him a look, which only broadens his smile. "We're keeping an eye out, I promise. Don't stress."

"In this line of work that's impossible. There's about ten different things I have to manage, and that's without a criminal gang out for my head."

His smile turns a little smug, and he prowls closer, a distinctive glimmer in his eye. "Then let me help?"

"Oh yeah? Sebastian Sallow, bar boy? I'd fancy watching you hold a tray of beers without spilling a drop. Or taking a cheeky sip."

"I was thinking more the stress, love."

He tucks you between a cluster of kegs and himself. Much taller and broader, Sebastian's scent overwhelms all others, richly dark musk, leather, sweat, oak, stout. His thumbs find the small of your waist, pressing you inwards, trapping you.

"What did you have in mind?" you ask demurely.

His kiss captures you mid-breath, and you sink into him, taken by his strength and dominance. You've kissed him tens, hundreds of times now, and it never feels any less euphoric. He tastes of malt and gold, caramel and power, and with his lips meandering across your cheeks and down your jaw, then enthusiastically across your throat with enough bite to sting pleasantly, it's hard not to demand he fuck you then and there.

"Sebastian—"

"Sssshhh." He caresses your lips. "No more stress."

The kisses set fire to your core as he trails down the front of your apron, down to your tapered waist and the volume of your skirts until he's on his knees before you. Anticipation makes your sex throb, and when his hands slip under the layers, drawing it above his head, you let out a little bleat of surprise.

"T-This is a cellar!"

"Then you'd better keep quiet, love."

Without warning he buries his face between your legs, and you're embarrassed, secretly pleased, to realise how wet the bloomers cling to you with excitement. He tugs on the string holding them in place to reach your entrance, swollen after a pathetically minimal amount of stimulation. Sebastian just has that way – a few words, a touch, a smile, and you unravel. His nose caresses your clit, and you let out a gasp.

"You smell delicious," he murmurs into the folds, flowering open at the vibration. "Spread yourself for me."

A wet, warm tongue slides across you, and you grab the keg to anchor yourself, so turned on you widen your stance and roll your hips forward to give him better access. He chuckles, another vibration, and continues to lick the ache, slow, leisurely, each lap so discreet in reality but loud and slick to you.

"Wider," he demands softly. "Let me taste more of you."

Propriety crumbling, you inch your legs outwards, allowing Sebastian easier access.

"T-This is too risky—"

The trap door flies open, filling the cellar with sunlight. You yank your arms to your sides at once. Sebastian freezes, tongue suspended on your clit – but not retreating.

"There you are!" Bonny heads down a few steps – she tilts her head. "What you doin' in there, miss?"

Thank God there's a bunch of barrels in the way. "S-Stock count."

"Cook did that this morning?"

Shit. "I know, I'm just—"

His tongue grazes deeper over your entrance. You almost moan. Bastard. Instead, you physically wrench your facial muscles back into place.

"Bein' thorough?" offers Bonny.

Another lash of his tongue, this time playing with the rim.

"Very," he whispers.

You knee him gently but he just licks again. Fuck. It's harder and harder to look calm, harder to control the urge to sink your fingers into the curls and ride his fucking face.

"T-Thorough, yes," you manage. "I'll be out in a min."

She makes to step forwards. "Want any help?"

"No! I mean, no, thank you." You can't focus. Bonny's there but in your mind's eye you can only see Sebastian between your legs, working you to climax. "Promise I won't be long."

His pace quickens, sliding back forth back forth. You nudge him again, which only makes his tongue more eager. The world teeters.

"Aw'right, well," says Bonny, "I'll tell the bloke with the walking stick to wait at the bar then? He's looking for your man but I can't seem to find him."

Sebastian coils his arms around your thighs, adjusting the position as his tongue slips easily inside you.

"Yes!" you cry, then cough. "Yes, that would— be— great."

Bonny makes a face but shrugs and swings the door shut behind her, leaving you in dusky silence again.

"You arsehole—"

He doesn't let you finish, using his whole mouth now to stimulate your clit and entrance in tandem. Burying in and out, across and up, kissing and sucking. Your head cranes backwards, your hands fist your skirt to channel the frustration, the desire. Fuck, it feels amazing. A guttural moan escapes your mouth but doesn't even sound like your own, so lost in the thrill – and when Sebastian licks and licks and licks without stopping, you're quickly arcing your back and bucking against his mouth until the release comes swift and fast, pulsing sloppily over his face.

It takes a few seconds to regain some measure of poise. Sebastian drops the skirt and reveals himself grinning widely and sticky with cum.

"You're incorrigible."

"And you're welcome."

"We could've been caught."

He thumbs his face and licks it off, without taking his eyes off you. "You enjoy the risk."

"I'm at risk of being caught and destroying my reputation. You're hiding under my skirts."

He stands and slips your chin into his grasp, tilting it up to ghost his lips.

"Careful, love. I might like to show you how brazen I can be."

One step closer pins you between the wall and him. His breath susurrates as he dips down to your ear.

"I'd fuck you on that counter if you'd let me."

The image of you sprawled out for all to see, naked and begging and at the mercy of his pleasure, sends heat up unspooling through your core again, and a coy glance downwards shows that same desire reflected in his physical form.

"Ominis is waiting for you."

"Hm." He grasps your arse tightly and hoists you to the wall, pressing his bulge between your legs. "Let him wait."

With two firm tugs you undo his breeches, and Sebastian claims your mouth, tongue still salty and sweet with your juices. He roughly grinds forwards, pulsing a new wave of pleasure down your navel, satisfying of the feel of his hard, eager cock. One stroke elicits a mid-kiss groan down your throat, and when you reach to grasp him, please him, the wetness that quickly blooms from the head drives your wants mad.

The nights are tender and loving, but today, with the pub hall only upstairs, Sebastian buries the tip, then the entirety of him, inside you in a quick, flush motion. You feel full yet famished still. Legs curled around him and arms steady, you become a vessel for his pleasure as he ruts into you so hard the floorboards groan. Someone could hear you – you're sure of it. If Bonny or anyone had another question or thought to check on their boss, they would get treated to a sight of Sebastian's cock between your legs, yet you take each thrust willingly and frantically, rocking to his rhythm in desperation to find a new release. He's right, you enjoy the risk. You enjoy him. Clinging to his back, you relish his hard muscles bearing your weight, and dig your nails into his shirt and flesh beneath.

He peels free as he adjusts position, gripping your thighs like vice, and his mouth finds the swell between your neck and collarbone. The sensations tip you closer and closer. Your body doesn't just want to orgasm, it needs to. You have to let go. A rasping moan bleats from your lips, broken by ragged pants.

"Keep quiet, love," he commands. "Only I get to hear you cum."

Your spine hits the wall with each thrust. The fire builds until its pleading, beseeching for release, and with one final desperate movement you clench around his cock and freely orgasm, biting your lip to curb the scream that surges up your throat. Divine pleasure wracks every bone.

"S-Sebastian..."

His name blurted like that makes his grip tighten. He pants raggedly, pumps with no rhythm, eyes fluttering upwards and nails biting, and when he finally pulls out to twist away before his release spurts, his face contorts with pleasure, almost pain, that he can't cum inside you, leave you dripping and marked as his as you work.

Knees too week to stand, you slump to the floor, spent.

"You really... are incorrigible..."

He lets out a low chuckle and runs a hand through his sweaty curls.

"But you love it."

You do.

He leans over and slips a hand around your waist, pulling you up to his chest. For a long moment, as your hearts climb down from the high together, neither of you say anything. Despite his past, his secrets, his vices, Sebastian has become the one place where you can truly be yourself. There are no worries or impossible expectations, no societal burdens, no weight nor responsibility. No stress. He is the safety net, the impenetrable monument, the sun that whispers to the sprout to thrive, and if Heaven exists, it's this beautiful connection, the golden threads that bind you together with something far greater than love.

Adventure, freedom, the new and unexpected but never unwelcome. Sebastian is all those things and more.

"I don't want to see what the brute wants," he murmurs. "I'd rather stay here with you forever."

Your focus tugs back to those brilliant coffee eyes.

"Just for now will be enough."

To divert suspicions, you go back to the main hall first.

Tidying yourself up is harder than it sounds, with the flush of sex fresh on your face. With a final kiss, Sebastian promises to clean up as you head up out the stock room and into the hall. Ominis is distinctive immediately by his unfittingly taut posture, state of overdress and cane slotted tightly into his palm, but he lifts his chin as you approach, like he can scent you coming.

Hopefully not. He might mistake you for his friend.

"Good afternoon, madam," he greets cordially, setting his teacup down. "Sebastian is close by, I presume."

Sebastian saunters out next, and it seems to take all his willpower not to touch you. His easy smile capsizes from post-coital bliss to pre-disaster despair.

"Please tell me you're here to buy me a drink and nothing else?"

"I have news," he says. "On Harlow."

"Then out with it," you demand. "What do you know?"

"It's best I discuss the matter with Sebastian privately."

"Why? They're going to come here, ain't they?"

He makes to retort, but Sebastian cuts in. "She's right, Ominis. Let's both hear it."

Ominis purses his lips in hesitation, but stands. "Very well. I have... informants who have received word that he intends to strike the premises with a dozen of his men tonight."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "What? Tonight? Then why are you here? Go stop him!"

Ominis is unrelentingly stoic. "Intent is not a crime, and unfortunately Harlow has a large enough following that means we must catch him in the act to arrest him. Any premature move could give away the element of surprise. He underestimated you last time, so I imagine he will bring full..." he rolls his lips, "firepower tonight."

"I have a plan, don't worry," Sebastian adds at your horror. "Been cooking it some time."

"And you didn't think to share it with me?" you snap.

"It's no longer safe for you here," Ominis says coolly. "You'll need to make accommodations elsewhere for the time being."

"And what about my pub?"

"Let us handle it."

"I'm hearing a lot of don't worry about it and not enough telling me what you plan to do."

"That's all I can share. Sebastian," he says abruptly, "we'll discuss more later, once I have logistics in place."

He glides away like he hasn't just upended your entire world. It's one thing to target you, another entirely to target this place. You live here, work here, grew up here, met Sebastian here. It can't all end in ruin.

"Just for tonight, lay low at my place." Sebastian fishes in his pocket and places a warm metal key into your palms. "Garreth will be more than happy to watch your parents, he has a spare room, he's very discreet and he adores old people."

You don't even have the brain power to fathom how Sebastian could organise that in one afternoon. "I won't cower."

"Not cowering. All you have to do—"

"No." You thrust the key back into his hand. "This time you tell me what's going on. It's not a pig-headed customer or a carriage to the seaside, Sebastian. This place is my life."

"I know, and I would never do anything to jeopardise it."

"So why can't you tell me your plan?"

"Because I don't want you to worry about me, more than you already will." He steps closer, gets quieter. "Everything will work out, but for that to happen, I need to know you're safe and far away. I can't... I can't risk you getting hurt. I can't work to protect this place knowing you're in danger."

"You're on leave," you whisper. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"I won't." He puts the key back and cups your hands over it. "I know it's hard for you, but—"

"Trust you?"

"Now you're getting it." His hands slip away – you miss the warmth keenly. "It'll be over by morning, I promise."

This side of him, confident and self-assured and doubtless everything will be okay, draws you in like seduction. This isn't the first time you've put your faith in his hands, but now it kindles a feeling of helplessness in your belly. He's never let you down before and has no reason to now – but still, you can't help feel pushed over your limit.

There's more at stake this time. Your life and your parents' lives are more important, yes, but it feels... wrong, to abandon your home when it needs you most.

"All right," you back down, uneasy but left without options. "Just... be careful."

He takes your hand, bowing to kiss the fingers like delicate embers in a breeze.

"Now, bar girl," he murmurs, "where's the fun in that?"

The door opens before the third swing of the knocker.

"Brilliant timing!" Garreth greets, ushering you inside. "Just tucked your parents into bed!"

It took a forty minute walk to reach the Weasley townhouse on the west side of the city. You've forgone wondering the hows and whys of Sebastian's machinations, so it doesn't surprise you to find your parents in the spare bedroom, sitting up and nattering about green flames. The place is surprisingly plain, with a sparse number of portrait photographs on an empty oak shelf, a navy armchair that clashes with red wallpaper and a cuckoo clock, except instead of chiming on the hour, it chimes at seven minutes past.

"Cup of tea?" asks Garreth. "It'll be good for the nerves, and not to brag, but I'm very good at hand-brewing."

"No, thank you. Is Mr Gaunt here?"

"Why would he be here?" he blurts. "He doesn't live here, or anything. He's just my colleague. At work. Working. Yeah. He and Sebastian are already on the case."

You stew on it as you ensure your parents are settled and comfortable. It's already past nine and the pub closed early, and if Ominis' intel is correct, Harlow's gang will be storming the place in a few hours. He wouldn't hesitate to deliver a killing blow; Sebastian would, despite his blood-stained past. What if, in granting mercy, he gets badly hurt or killed?

"What about Kath?" you ask, and Garreth stiffens. "Does she know?"

"Errrrr." He laughs nervously. "Don't be mad..."

"What, Garreth?"

"They're not exactly doing this... by the book..." He holds up his hands. "They won't be able to stop Harlow any other way. And trust me, even when Seb's off his tits he's too competent to let shit go awry."

"So it's just him and Ominis? Against Harlow's entire gang?" You glare at him. "What exactly is this plan?"

Garreth goes a little pale. "They're going to use bait to lure him into a trap they've set. That's all."

"Bait?" you snap. "What bait?"

"It'll be fine, I promise! Over by one, Seb told me. He's that confident."

Time seems to distend. Sebastian was right – you are worrying, so much it gnaws your insides. They're outnumbered and outmanned and assuming Harlow will be idiot enough to fall into whatever this trap is they've set, presumably at your pub's expense.

"Where's that handsome, tattooed young man, hmm?"

You spin to your father, wrenched from the conversation. "What?"

"Oh, if I were fifty years younger, sweetheart," your mother chimes, relaxing next to him, "I'd be all over him!"

You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Of course they remember him, out of everyone they've ever met. "He's busy right now."

"Not without another woman, I hope?"

"No, Mama."

"What a lucky chap he is to have you at his side. Not everyone gets that, you know." Your mother turns to face your father with a smile. "The adventures we had... they were always worth the risk."

Adventure, and freedom, and the new and unexpected but never unwelcome... a painful ache goes through you. Wasn't that something you learnt when you were with Sebastian? Living, rather than surviving? Taking the risk rather than hiding away?

Downstairs, you grab your things as Garreth opens the front door.

"You can stay, if you want," he says, leaning against the doorway. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but I can whip up a bed for you in the living room."

Sleep will be hard enough at Sebastian's place. "Thanks, but I'll be all right. You'll call if there's any issues?"

"Don't worry, I'm used to entertaining old people. If they can't sleep I can show them some magic! Er, by that I mean coin tricks and pulling my thumb off, of course." He laughs awkwardly. "Keep out of trouble tonight?"

You don't make that promise.

It's lonely in Sebastian's place without him.

To busy yourself, you tidy. Charming as the owner is, he's a terrible mess, and his attempts to clean since you were last here only mean the floor is free of empty bottles. You scrub the kitchen countertop, hoping each stain that peels away will relieve the anxiety storming through your gut.

It doesn't.

Even when you wash and dress and climb into his bed, breathing his familiar scent, your feet feel like they're filled with lightning, charged and restless and twitchy and taut. The clock ticks on Sebastian's wall. The pendulum swings. It passes midnight, then one, and you hear no sign, nothing that relieves you of this nightmarish cycle of waiting, hoping, praying, pleading.

Wait. Hope. Pray. Plead.

The later it gets, the worse your thoughts become. Harlow's grin. The place is flames. Sebastian struck down. Sebastian unmoving...

Everything you love is there. The building, the memories... him. If things go wrong, not only will you lose the place, but the person, too. He said to trust him – and you do, so much your soul aches at the thought of lying here, doing nothing, while he risks his life for you.

Maybe it's time to risk your life for him. Just this once. Just for love.

Without another breath, you're out of bed, dressing and snatching your coat and shoving your feet into boots. Fuck it. The most harm you can do is swing a punch with whatever muscle you've developed moving furniture and pouring beer, but if Sebastian's in trouble and there's any way you can help, even if it means acting as bait yourself, you'll seize it.

Outside, it doesn't take long to grasp your bearings, as the river cuts seamlessly through the city centre, but it's a bit of a walk, and the dark is no place for a lone woman. You keep to brightly lit areas and skirt strangers in wide arcs, channelling that fear into a determined pace.

When you near Ye Olde Hen House, a sharpness tickles the air.

It's not strong at first, but as you get closer the smell thickens and dries your tongue. Smoke. It tastes like Guy Fawkes' Night, fireworks and bonfires and effigies charred to cinders. You jog, then sprint, the last two streets until you can see the plume rising from the source.

In another life, the sight would be biblically divine. Devour the old to make way for the new. Sometimes you wished it, when the pipes burst or the carpet wore away or the damp crept through a leak in the ceiling, but watching the old building now, with its windows shattered and the great orange tongues churning through the wood like claws through flesh and bone, shoots an intense pang of grief up your chest. The place may be old, tired and decrepit, but it's yours.

This is dangerous. You shouldn't go further. But the thought of Sebastian burning within compels you to race forwards, faster than your limbs have ever taken you before. There's nothing you can do to save the place now, but if he dies as you stand here and watch, there wouldn't be a lifetime long enough to atone.

"Sebastian!" you screech. "Sebastian!"

Just as you come upon the entrance, the flames recede. You skid to a halt. Someone is inside. Him? Or Harlow? You hit the great double-door, expecting resistance – but the wood is soggy and you burst into the main hall, still aflame and wrecked so completely it's almost unrecognisable.

Harlow has his back to you, and the grief doesn't have time to bloom.

His clothes are singed, he's leaning heavily to one side and thick blood weeps from numerous injuries, including an enormous gash down the length of his back. Trembling and red with rage, he stands opposite a figure too obscured by both cloak and smoke to make out clearly.

"And after you're dead, I'll come for your whore. Tie her up, make her scream. Maybe find out what you find so sweet about her Muggle cunt." He bellows a hysterical laugh and raises something wooden in his hand. "Save a seat in hell for me."

No. You seize the first thing you can find: the cast-iron pan hanging on the rack. The handle makes your skin sizzle, but you clamp down on the agony – and jab the curve right into Harlow's exposed wound.

The screech he lets out could curdle blood, and he drops to his knees. You reel back. He only just turns around – eyes going wide – before you whack it against his head, and his body thumps to the ground, unconscious. Maybe dead. You drop the pan, palms red and raw and quivering with pain, and look over.

The figure steps back – but it's not Sebastian.

You snatch the details between the smoke. Familiarly curved, with fingers that sing of hardship, hair escaping its loose bundle and shoulders like the physical weight of responsibility has sheared them down to a perpetual slant, it's a body you know both intimately and don't understand, and love or despise depending on moods as errant as the wind. The person darts across the floor to the stock room for the back entrance, flicking the barest second of attention your way.

With eyes matching your own.

It's impossible. Impossible. How could someone wear every flaw on your skin, every follicle and pore, every old scar and callous like a garment to be discarded when they saw fit? The lookalike scampers away, and your feet jerk you forwards in chase, through the ruined doorway to the back alley.

You have to know. You have to.

"Wait!" you choke out. "Who are—?"

But when you turn the corner, the doppelgänger is gone.

Please like, share or reblog if you enjoyed <3

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][LAST to come soon <3]

Thank you to my tag list! If you'd like to join/ be removed, please let me know 💚 @okay-j-hannah @morelikeravenbore @vylaris @gyattoru @cloudroomblog

@cordidy @feleigh @avengersgirllorianna

[Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #x reader #thwc #the bar girl #my writing #my stuff

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shivunin · 2 years ago

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✨Self-Rec Tag Game ✨

Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made. I’ve put categories below, but they’re more guidelines than rules. 1. Something you absolutely adore 2. Something that was challenging to create 3. Something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably) 4. Something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.) 5. Something you want other people to see

@gaysebastianvael and @dungeons-and-dragon-age tagged me back to do this; thank you both! c:

Tidal Lock (T, 20k words, Cullavellan): This fic is the first finished thing I posted to AO3. It's a pretty different style from the other things I've written, but it's my comfort read for myself. I love stories that loop in on themselves, so have a big ol soft spot for it c: Writing Cullen as a kid was so fun and I fully intend to do it again sometime.

My Fenris scarf. My hands are a bit shaky, so I have a hard time drawing things. Unfortunately, I needed to draw the lyrium brand design straight onto the yarn (not a great surface for drawing things, btw) before I could embroider them into it with the glow-in-the-dark yarn. It turned out really well, but just putting the design down with chalk paint took at least three hours (only a little less than doing all of the embroidery)

3. Ohhh man, I'm having trouble deciding! Here are three options:

This ficlet about Elowen and Cullen after they almost kiss. They are both such an absolute mess, this conversation is even messier, and every time I think about it I get the giggles c:

This ficlet about Hawke producing most of a deck of cards from her and Fenris's person after a night at the Hanged Man (I just...think it's funny to imagine her sticking them into his belt during a card game and Fenris fully knows, but pretends he doesn't. for the bit)

This fic on AO3 (explicit) with Arianwen and Zevran; specifically the part after the smut things are done, when they're dusting each other off and lightly arguing about their little competition. They're just...such dorks sometimes.

4. Search Your Hands (E, 13,581 words), easy. I actually had this most of the way finished six months before I finished it, but I was convinced it was too silly to post (and thankfully @star--nymph convinced me that it was worth finishing <3).

One of my favorite things about writing Cullavellan is exploring the funky little miscommunications that happen with you're in a multicultural relationship and this fic was inspired by that. There's just a mismatch between Cullen (who, having very few personal possessions, is almost certainly inexperienced at receiving gifts) and a cultural tradition involving gift-giving as an expression of Serious Romantic Intent. I did not expect it to be as well-loved as it is, but it has (by a dramatic margin) the highest kudos to bookmarks ratio of all my stories (at ~1/3) and is like...the fifth most-kudo'd thing I have on AO3, which is wild for a one-shot with minimal smut.

5. Wander the Drifting Roads!! (M, 108,331 words)

It is the fic I am most proud of (though I think Palimpsest might be my number two at the moment) and it's also, indirectly, the reason I wound up actually deciding to participate in the Dragon Age fandom. I wouldn't have most of my fandom friends without Wander, so just that would be enough for me to want to share it.

Friendship aside, though, I think it's some of my best writing. Cullen is exposed to red lyrium and loses his memory in between the main game and Trespasser. His Lavellan (Emmaera) has to figure out how to carry on without him as Commander or her lover and they take a very long road back to each other again. If you're okay with some angst before a happy ending (or if you're really into yearning), I think it's a great exploration of what makes someone who they are: is it a formal title or role? is it memory? is it the circumstances they've overcome to get where they are? or is it something less easily-defined than that?

Writing Wander was very challenging (especially towards the end) but so rewarding and worth it. When I want to feel that very particular sort of hurt you get from a sad fic (the kind that twists in your heart), I open up Wander again and put myself through chapter 7.

(I want to stress that it does have a happy ending lol, and a whole anthology of sweet domestic things to follow it up, but I think most people hang onto the hurt part of the hurt/comfort in Wander lol)

I tried to tag most of my mutuals when I made the original post, but: @daggerbean I'd love to see what you've made! and anyone else who wants a reason to show off your fanstuff is welcome to join in c: Tag me so I can see!

#can you tell i am a numbers enthusiast? in the sense that i like tracking and analyzing them #not so much the like. clout or w/e is supposed to come with the Right Numbers #if i missed you in the first one i am so sorry!! i tried to get everyone and it was not on purpose #tag game #self-rec tag game #shivunin scrivening #read wander and tell me what you think!! i really really love it

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kaciidubs · 5 months ago

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Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧ ✧ Word Count: 3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧ ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧ ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he’d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?”

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell.

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #Biker!AU

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joonie-beanie · 6 months ago

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Hat Guy's ASMR Commissions: S Tier | [Scaramouche/Wanderer x Reader]

Summary: Subject: Your Commission For [Guided Masturbation Audio - 30 minute session] In which your asshole best friends order a commission from your favorite ASMR artist, and it's a lot more NSFW than you were expecting. "From this moment on, you’re going to follow my directions. I’d say “if you fail to, you’ll be punished” but we both know you’re probably just another people pleaser who will do whatever I say, as long as you know it will make me happy. But fair warning–I won’t be happy until you’re so fucked out you can’t speak a coherent word.” Content: Smut, Guided Masturbation, Toy Use, Name Calling, Degradation/Humiliation, fem!reader Word Count: 6.5k Note: this is kind of an untraditional smut, so just keep that in mind lol

“Sweetheart…you really need to find some way to relax.”

“I agree. If you don’t release your tension, it’ll do a number on your health.”

You really appreciate Lisa and Yae being so concerned for you, but…

“I know. It’s just…not that easy for me.”

By now, in theory, you should have figured out some better coping mechanisms and ways to destress, but alas.

Taking a book from the return bin, Lisa scans it, and then places it onto the go-back cart.

“Well, have you tried getting off?”

Her suggestion makes you jerk, your head swiveling as you glance around the library to see if anyone nearby has overheard. At your side, Yae giggles.

“Calm down…finals have just ended. No one is in the library anymore—they’re out partying.”

You sigh.

You suppose she’s right. The only reason you three are here is because Lisa is working the closing shift, and because Yae had insisted that you come along to the library with her to keep Lisa company.

“Traditional porn, a good adult novel, ASMR—all would be good options,” Lisa continues.

“I’m not really into porn right now, and I don’t think I have the bandwidth to focus on a book,” you say, resting your cheek in your palm. “As for ASMR…I’m not a big fan. I’ve really only discovered one creator that I like…”

“Oh?”

Now that piques their interest.

“What’s their name?”

“He goes by “Hat Guy” on twitter,” you tell them. “He mostly just…posts audio responses to dumb takes, or makes ASMR mocking other ASMR trends, but his voice is nice, and he has a small fan base…despite him kind of being a little shit.”

“How cute,” Lisa laughs while Yae pulls out her phone.

“Well, then…since it sounds like he doesn’t have any relaxing content, maybe you should just go home and take a nice bath. Did you ever use that bath bomb I got you for your birthday?”

“No,” you mumble sheepishly. At your side, Yae taps your knee.

“Lisa is right. Go home and have a bath. I’ll keep her company until she’s done.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you sure…? I just got here like half an hour ago and now you want me to go home?”

“I just think some “you” time would be good,” she tells you with a smile. You pout your lips, but ultimately decide that…maybe she’s right.

“Fine, I’ll head home and rest, then.”

“Good girl,” Yae responds, patting your ass when you bend over to grab your backpack. You narrow your eyes at her, but aren’t truly mad.

“Be careful on your walk home~,” Lisa says as you start towards the exit. You wave at them both over your shoulder, and then leave the building.

A few seconds after your departure, Lisa turns to Yae.

“Alright, what did you find that you didn’t want Y/N to know about?”

Yae grins, loving that Lisa has already caught on.

“Look—”

She gets up from her seat and leans over to show Lisa her phone screen.

“I found Hat Guy’s twitter and saw that he’s accepting commissions, and look at one of the options~”

She points to something, and Lisa’s eyes hurriedly scan the text in front of her.

When she has finished reading, she grins.

“Oh, my…well, that’s certainly tempting.”

“I was thinking maybe we can give it to Y/N as a… “you survived finals! Use this to relax” type present. Since she’s always doing thoughtful things for us when we’re swamped.”

Lisa smiles, putting a thoughtful finger to her lips.

“I agree. She’s brought us so many cups of tea over the last few months. It’s the least we can do.”

“Good,” Yae says with a nod, immediately clicking on the commission link.

“She deserves a little…fun.”

Between the end of the previous semester, and the start of the new one, your University has generously given you a long weekend.

4 days, to be exact.

Most of this long weekend you spend doing the chores you’ve put off, and working a few shifts at your job.

It’s only by some grace that you end up with Sunday off. One final day to try and relax before classes begin tomorrow…

You do your best to make the most of it—mindlessly scrolling tiktok, folding some clothes, debating if you should order food out, and ultimately deciding against it, since you just went grocery shopping…

All in all, it’s a pretty mundane day.

…at least, until the icon for your email app appears at the top of your phone screen, and you swipe down the notification to see the title:

Subject: Your Commission For [Guided Masturbation Audio - 30 minute session]

Immediately, you freeze.

Surely, this is a spam email that’s somehow made it through the cracks. Because you definitely haven’t ordered such a thing.

Yet, despite your doubts at the validity of the email, you still click on it—wanting to read the contents before banishing it to your spam folder.

Dear Recipient,

Attached to this email is an mp3 file available for you to download. This file was requested and paid for by “Fox and Witch”, and is being sent to you directly at their request.

Please do not distribute this anywhere else on social media, as this is my copyrighted content.

If there is any issue with the quality of the file, please let me know.

Have fun.

-Hat Guy

Note:

Toys Needed = Dildo, Clitoral Vibrator or Wand

…you must have knocked your head on something earlier and are currently hallucinating.

Because there is NO WAY there’s an email from HAT GUY in your inbox. And that said email is for…for…

Well, you remember seeing a link on his profile about commissions, but you’d never clicked on it to see more than that. There’s no chance he’s out here telling people how to get off, though, right…?

With a warm face, you scan the email again. And then a third time.

You can only assume “Fox and Witch” are Yae and Lisa. And you did just tell them that you like Hat Guy’s content…

You bite your lip, staring at the mp3 file.

There’s just no way…

Hesitantly, you click on it.

“Hmph. You must be really desperate if your friends were willing to pay for a half hour of my time. Most people are satisfied with 10-15 minutes, but no…they knew you’d need longer than that.”

Oh…fuck.

Something in your tummy flips.

That’s him, alright.

You’ve never heard him talk like that before, but it’s definitely him…you could never mistake that haughty, belittling tone.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your gaze once again finding the title of the email.

Guided Masturbation.

If you’re not wrong, that means if you hit play, and keep listening, it’ll probably be a lot of Hat Guy telling you what to do…how to touch yourself.

Just thinking about such a thing makes more blood rush to your head—embarrassment blooming in your chest.

Sure, the idea of him bossing you around isn’t exactly unappealing. You’re sure he’d be…less than nice, and maybe even a little sadistic, and perhaps call you a few rude names, but—

You groan and place your phone face down on the table beside you.

“Nope, I can’t—I—”

Standing up from your couch, you trudge into your kitchen.

It’s dinner time—you need to make dinner.

You try to keep your thoughts from straying to your temporarily abandoned phone, and the email that’s sitting in your inbox—but it’s literally impossible.

Still, you manage to cook yourself a meal, and even partake in a little alcoholic drink. (Just because you’re treating yourself, and definitely not because you want to ease your nerves a bit.)

Once you’ve finished eating, you clean all your dishes, and then return to the couch. Your gaze strays to your phone, but you don’t pick it up—instead deciding to grab the TV remote.

You make it approximately 25 minutes into a movie before you can’t take it anymore.

Hitting the pause button, you throw the remote on the couch beside you and then snatch up your phone—alighting from the couch.

You grab your headphones on the way to your bedroom, and pop them into your ears only after you’ve gathered your dildo and vibrator.

Maybe this audio won’t be as hot as you’re assuming, and you’ll end up not wanting to touch yourself, but…better to have everything prepared just in case, right?

Taking a deep breath, you hit play.

The track restarts from the beginning.

“I also hear you’re quite the little masochist—but I could have assumed that, considering it’s me that you’re soaking your panties over. Just another slut who wants to be bullied, huh.”

You huff at his words, glaring at your phone screen.

Did Lisa and Yae tell him your kinks or something?? Those bitches.

“Well, you’re in luck, because from this moment on, you’re going to follow my directions. I’d say “if you fail to, you’ll be punished” but we both know you’re probably just another people pleaser who will do whatever I say, as long as you know it will make me happy.”

Dammit, why is he right—

“But fair warning—I won’t be happy until you’re so fucked out you can’t speak a coherent word.”

With a shaking finger, you pause the audio.

You hate to admit it, but his words—the way he’s speaking to you—is already making you wet.

You really, truly want him to bully you, and use you like a little toy.

So, guess that means you’re doing this.

Throwing any caution and shame to the wind, you hit the play button again.

“Now…where to begin? I always like to start with an inspection. Take off your clothes, but leave your panties on. I’m not going to bid your needy pussy any attention just yet.”

You obediently do as he says, stripping yourself of your clothing until you’re left only in your panties.

“It’s unfortunate I’m not there to survey those titties in person, so you’ll just have to feel them up for me. Go ahead and grope yourself. Take a minute and massage your chest…I want to see if you’ll get wet from that alone. Although, you’re probably wet already just from my voice, aren’t you, slut?”

You click your tongue at that last part, (hating that he’s right), but nonetheless bring your hands to your chest.

You cup your titties, and begin squeezing them—feeling the soft flesh beneath your fingers.

“Good, keep going—squeeze a little harder now. Ah…I bet your nipples want to be touched, huh? Start teasing them, then—just enough to get them hard. I’ll give you 10 seconds—that should be enough.”

For some reason, the challenge of accomplishing a task within a certain time limit makes your pussy throb, and very quickly, you move your pointer fingers over your nipples—rubbing them lightly, and coaxing them to a peak.

You’re ashamed to admit it, but they manage to get hard in the 10 second pause he gives you…

“Wow, look at that…what greedy titties you have—responding as I say, eager to be played with. Pinch your nipples and roll them between your fingers. Find the motion that feels best, and do it over and over again, until I tell you to stop.”

Resting your breasts in your palms, you pinch your nipples between your fingers—rolling and tugging them.

Your eyes flutter shut as you touch yourself, each purposeful little tweak of your nipples causing your spine to twitch, and your pussy to clench.

It’s been too long since you’ve touched yourself like this…

By the time Hat Guy’s voice fills your ears once more, your nipples have started to get sore.

“Okay, stop there. I bet your cunt has started quivering, but I hope you know it’ll still be a while before I give you the chance to cum…unless, you somehow managed to orgasm from playing with just your titties? If that’s the case, congratulations! You’re the most needy and pathetic whore I’ve played with. So pathetic that I’ll give you a pass, and won’t even punish you for cumming without permission.”

The thought of being able to cum from nipple play alone makes you feel even more aroused, much to your chagrin—

“Now, let’s inspect that dirty pussy of yours. Spread your legs, and pull your panties down to your knees. I want you to stare at the crotch of your panties and feel ashamed at the wet spot I know is there.”

Taking a deep breath, you hook your fingers around your panties and tug them down your thighs.

As you spread your feet apart, you end up staring at the crotch of your panties—your lips pressing together when you notice there is, indeed, a very noticeable wet spot.

“Next, bend over. As low as you can go, with your legs still apart. I want to see everything.”

Locking your fingers together, you hesitate for a brief second before you bend over—feeling a strain in your leg muscles as you hit the point where you can’t bend anymore.

In this position, you know that you’re on full display.

“Look at you, presenting yourself to me…you really don’t have any shame, do you? If I were there, I’d be grabbing you and forcing you open wider, but since I’m not, you can do it for me! Grab your ass cheeks with both hands, and spread.”

Breathing a little shakily, you do your best to reach behind you and spread yourself. You feel your asshole clench as you do so, and the involuntary action maddens you, considering Hat Guy’s next words are—

“Such a tight little hole…I bet it’s twitching.”

“Is it nervous, or hoping for an intrusion? Either way, anal is not the objective of today’s session, so let’s move back to your pussy. Go ahead and spread your folds with your hand. You have permission to bend over with your chest to your bed, if you feel your blood rushing to your head from bending down so low. And if you're not by your bed…where the fuck are you listening to this audio? In your car, or a bathroom stall? Pervert.”

That little quip at the end makes you smile, even as you stand up and move yourself to your bed.

You find it a little endearing how he’s bossing you around, but still managing to be somewhat considerate. You suppose maybe there is more to him than just being a brat on the internet.

Anyway—

Reaching one hand back between your legs, you slide your fingers between the folds of your pussy and spread them—opening yourself up as if he were there to inspect you.

“Now, rub your fingers at your entrance—feel how slick you’ve gotten…honestly, you should feel ashamed. Getting so wet for a no-face internet stranger.”

Sure, your panties were a little wet, but that doesn’t mean—

You move your fingers to your entrance—freezing at the amount of sticky arousal you feel.

You...honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve gotten this wet.

“Smear the slick around your pussy, and make sure to get your clit. That’s where we’re headed next.”

You do as he says, perhaps a smidge overly excited that you now seem to be entering the main course.

As your fingers ghost over your clit, your pussy shudders.

“Bet you just clenched in excitement, huh?”

How does he fucking know—?!

“I'll be nice and will let you use two fingers. Press the pads of your fingers to your clit, and start making circular motions. Slow. 1…2…3…just like that.”

Breathing deep, you begin rubbing your clit with your fingers—repeating his count in your head, and following his pace.

With each pass of your fingers, your walls squeeze tighter.

“You probably want to rush, or grind your hips on your fingers…but you shouldn't be acting so desperate just yet, so be a good girl and keep going.”

Huffing, you obey his command,

He goes silent for a few beats, really giving you a minute to continue hopelessly teasing yourself.

By the time he next speaks, a needy exhale is leaving your lips—heady arousal truly being to pool in your lower tummy.

“Now you can go faster. Rub your clit to the beat of your heart. I assume it's racing, so you should be moving your hand a bit faster than before.”

You haven’t really noticed before now, but your heart is certainly beating much faster than normal…

The steady, yet swift thump of your heart is felt throughout your body the more you focus on it, and you quickly adjust your pace.

A breathy little sigh leaves your lips—your brows pinching together.

You want to cum.

“I wonder if you're close already, just from your fingers on your clit…haha. If you are, remember—you don't get to cum until I say so. So if you're close to cumming, edge yourself. Get right to the edge of your orgasm, and then stop. I'll give you 10 seconds after that to collect yourself, but then you have to keep going.”

Oh, fuck…

You suppose you should have realized that edging might be part of the equation, especially during a 30 minute session.

And, unfortunately, the thought of edging yourself for him makes you even hornier—pushing you closer to your first climax—or, well, edge.

“I bet you're probably thinking that 10 seconds isn't very long…that when you start again, you'll still be right at the brink of your orgasm, and will have to keep edging over, and over…hah, well…that's your own fault for being so hopeless.”

“Now, I'll let you set the pace. Find the rhythm and motion against your clit that makes you feel the best…you're going to keep that up for 1 minute—and remember, no cumming.”

Dammit—

By now, your lips are fully parted—quick little breaths fanning in front of your face and warming the sheets of your mattress.

You don’t want to edge, you want to cum, but he won’t let you—

“Also, why don't you go ahead and count aloud? I assume you're in private, so it shouldn't be an issue to let out your voice. And if you're not, well…I guess people will get to hear what a debauched whore you are.”

If this were 10 minutes ago, you’d surely blush and hesitate to follow his command.

But now…now you’re a little closer to being the debauched whore he’s calling you.

“I'll count with you so you don't rush it. 60…59…58…57—”

With headphones in, you hear your own voice in your head—mingling with his.

His, unwavering, with a hint of mockery. Yours��quiet, and struggling to stay on beat.

You clit throbs beneath your fingers, and there’s a familiar flutter of your walls, despite your pussy currently being empty.

You’re getting close.

“I can only imagine how sinful you look right now…oh, right. Where was I? Hmm…let's just pick up from 30.”

Motherfucker—

You let your face drop into your sheets, your thighs tightening and knees shaking.

Fuck, you wanna cum. You know you can’t—know it’s not allowed yet, but—!

“5…4…3…2…1. Stop moving your hand.”

Perfect timing. Right at the edge of an orgasm—you pull your hand away.

You take a second to try and catch your breath while ignoring the unfulfilled ache between your legs.

“Your pussy must be throbbing, huh? Lucky for you, as your benevolent master, I’ll let you stuff it full. Grab your dildo and get on your bed on your knees.”

“Also, I assume you're soaked by now, but if not, and you need additional lubrication, use lube.”

You glance behind you at your dresser, where your bottle of lube sits, but ultimately don’t grab it.

By now, you’re sure you can do without.

Grabbing your dildo, you climb onto your bed, and obediently get on your knees.

“Now, sit up and position the dildo beneath you. Rub the head between your folds, and then settle it at your entrance.”

You do as he says—a shiver of excitement raking up your spine as the tip of your dildo unexpectedly flicks against your clit while you get it into position.

“I'm going to give you 3 seconds to take it fully inside of you…What? I did say we'll be stuffing you full, and with how needy you clearly are, I figured I'm doing you a favor by letting you take it all in!”

Oh. That’s—

“So, I'll count to three. Oh, and if your dildo is too big, and you're scared to sink down onto it all at once, well…that's your own fault for biting off more than you can chew. But, I'm sure that greedy pussy will take anything it can get.”

It will.

“Ready?”

You take a trembling breath.

“3, 2, 1—!”

In one swift motion, you spread your thighs and sink down onto the dildo.

When the head bumps against the deepest part of you, you can’t help but gasp—the sound positively lewd.

“Ahhh…fuck. You made a cute sound, didn't you? How precious…now you're stuffed to the brim with dick, as you should be.”

Yes, this is exactly how you’re meant to feel…just a little slut who will do anything to cum for him.

Yet, despite his harsh instructions, he seems to pause for a second, giving you a chance to acclimate to the intrusion.

How cute.

“Why don't we start slow…I want you to lift your hips until just the tip of the dildo is inside of you, and then grind back down on it. Up…and down…up—”

To aid in the motion, you place your hands flat on the mattress in front of you, and then begin moving your hips.

Up…and down…

Your walls clench around the dildo, practically begging for more, but the man currently using you as his personal toy clearly isn’t inclined to give you such a thing.

At least, not immediately.

If you had to guess, he makes you continue at this slow, teasing pace for at least 2 minutes—your muscles beginning to strain as you resist going any faster.

Then, his voice fills your ears once again. You nearly sigh with relief.

“I hope your thighs aren't burning yet, because now we're going to pick up the pace. Imagine the gallop of a horse's hooves. I want you to grind on each downbeat. No need to make big motions—just grind on your dildo how you'd grind your pussy on my cock if I was there.”

If he were here, you’d wanna grind on his dick until he’s moaning louder than you are—

“Fuck…”

Fingers curling into the sheets, you find your new rhythm—the sound of your wet pussy beginning to fill the quiet room outside your headphones.

Sweat starts to bead on your brow—the arousal inside of you searing hotter, and your muscles getting tighter.

“I wonder if you can cum from internal stimulation alone…try to find your g-spot if you haven't already. I want you to bully it with your dildo.”

You can practically hear the grin in his words.

Repositioning yourself, you find the angle that better allows you to rub that sensitive little spot inside you.

Almost immediately, a whine rips from your throat.

“Now…I'm going to issue you a challenge. I'll count down from 60 seconds again. During that 60 seconds, you're free to cum. So try your best, okay, slut?”

Please, you want to cum, but you don’t know if 60 seconds will be enough—

“60…59…58…”

Dammit—

With his challenge invigorating you, you continue messily grinding your hips.

Each pass of your dildo against your g-spot causes your pussy to shiver, and your thighs to shake—your orgasm creeping closer.

“33…32…31…”

A desperate sound slips past your lips, your eyebrows knitting together.

You want to cum.

You want to cum, but—

You drop down onto your dildo roughly, almost in a pouting manner.

You need more time.

As soon as your climax finally begins to build—your walls clenching down on your dildo—Hat Guy reaches the end of his countdown.

“3…2…1…so…did you cum? Either way, I'm sure your legs are shaking. I wouldn't doubt that your sheets are getting soiled by your arousal, either.”

“Well, whether you came or not, don't worry—there's still more opportunities to orgasm yet to come! That being said, set your dildo to the side, and grab your vibrator instead.”

Exhaling, you manage to lift up your hips, and your dildo slips out of you.

It flops onto your sheets, glistening with your arousal.

Your pussy mourns the loss.

Setting your dildo to the side, you grab your vibrator instead.

“You can go ahead and lay on your back. I'll give your knees a break…isn't that nice of me? You should say “thank you”.”

You clench your jaw as you roll onto your back, your eyes squinting at the ceiling.

There’s no way he’s serious, right? Counting is one thing, but thanking someone who isn’t here?

“Huh? Did you think that was just a suggestion? Go on.”

You wet your lips with your tongue.

“...thank you.”

There’s a brief second of silence, and then—

“...pfft, hahaha! If you actually did just say it aloud, you're more of an obedient people pleaser than I thought. What a precious little cock-sleeve.”

You want to punch him—

“Anyway, I haven't let you cum from your clit yet. I bet by now it's engorged and begging for attention…go ahead and put your vibrator on your clit. Turn it on low.”

The fact that even just touching your clit causes you to jolt proves that his words are correct.

Hitting the power button, you turn your vibrator on a low setting, and almost instantly—the orgasm that had started to fade away flares back to life.

“Good…I'll let you keep it there for a little while. Actually…I'm gonna go get some water. God knows how upset you'd be if my voice suddenly gave out and I couldn't give you permission to cum—”

You hear the sound of a chair being alighted from, and footsteps padding away from the mic.

“This little motherfucker—,” you pant, your chest heaving.

You gently rub your vibrator around your clit—hoping that doing so will help you delay the orgasm that’s building—but it’s impossible to avoid.

After another minute, you can’t put it off any longer.

Your body tenses, your pussy tightening, and—

You tear the vibrator away from your clit.

If he were here, you think you’d honestly start to beg him for mercy. Of course, you’re sure he’d say that’s practically your first true edge, and you’re just being a little baby, but still.

You start the countdown from 10 in your head, and once it’s done, put your vibrator back on your clit.

Your entire body jolts as the pleasure that had been denied snaps back to attention.

You’re gonna have to edge again—

“How are you holding out? Did you edge at all—just from the vibrator being on low? At the very least, I bet you're squirming and panting.”

“Now, listen closely. I'm going to make you an offer.”

If his offer involves you cumming, you’ll do whatever it takes.

“I'm going to let you cum with the vibrator still on low—assuming you can. This time I'll be generous and will give you 90 seconds, even. But here's the catch. At the end of this session, you will be cumming. So if your begging cunt blots out any logic in your brain, and you decide to cum now, and then feel it's “too much” later, well. That'll be your own fault. Even if you're overstimulated, you'll be cumming again, so choose wisely.”

“Either way, you need to keep the vibrator on your clit for another 90 seconds. You just need to decide if you're cumming or edging. Get ready. To spice it up, this time I'm not counting aloud—I'll just tell you when to stop. So if you're planning on cumming, try not to waste any time. Because if I say stop and you're right there, I doubt you’ll be very happy. Now, begin.”

Risking an overstimulated orgasm after this is a dangerous game, but—

You press the vibrator harder against your clit.

You need to cum—you don’t care about anything else right now.

Your free hand grabs at your breast—your toes curling, and your heart racing.

Your back arches off the bed, a symphony of miniscule whines and gasps falling from your lips.

Then, the tension inside of you reaches its limit, and snaps.

Your voice catches in your throat—your body spasming as waves of pleasure rock you.

You keep the vibrator on your clit to draw them out as long as you can, but after a few long beats, Hat Guy’s voice fills your ears once again.

“Stop—that's time. So…did you cum? I wish I could see the state of you…I bet you're starting to look all fucked out. We're already at the 20 minute mark, after all.”

You can’t believe it’s already been 20 minutes. Yet, at the same time, can’t believe you’re not already closer to the end.

“Now, I did say you'd be cumming again, so why don't you go ahead and put your vibe on high? Let's try and force it out of you.”

It’s fine…it’s totally fine.

Turning your vibrator on high will be totally fine.

You move the toy back to your clit and push the button until the vibrations are much more intense than before.

Almost immediately, heat rushes through your body—stemming from the still recovering nerve ending on your clit.

You’re over-sensitive. Fuck.

And yet…your pussy still flutters—your muscles tensing once again as another orgasm begins to build.

“Ahh, I bet you're squirming like a pathetic little worm. Is it too much? Do you want to beg me to let you stop?”

“Your toes are curling, aren't they? I wish I could hear you and see you panting like a bitch in heat. Should I throw you a bone? Would that satisfy that sad cunt of yours?”

You are writhing, and panting, and every other filthy thing he’s pegged you as. But—you don’t want to stop. You’re too far in now—your whole body shaking, and your breaths coming quick as the vibrator on your clit overwhelms you.

It’s overwhelming, but you can’t stop chasing that high. You—

“Actually…that's not a bad idea. Stop—now.”

Despite not wanting to, you immediately yank the toy away.

You hear yourself whining, unable to help it.

“Hopefully you didn't cum in the last 30 seconds. If so…whoops~”

You wish you could kick him.

“This final orgasm is going to be our grand finale, so we should really let the sparks fly. And maybe your juices, depending on how hard you cum.”

“Grab your dildo—shove it in.”

You scramble to grab it—your arm darting to the side to recover the dildo you’d discarded a short while ago.

As soon as you have it, you spread your legs and press the head at your entrance—stuffing it in without any preamble.

A pleasant sigh leaves you as that full feeling returns.

“You're going to fuck yourself with it—however fast or slow, I don't care. And at the same time, turn your vibrator back on high.”

You can tell where this is going, and you honestly think it may kill you, but you follow his instructions nonetheless.

Turning the vibrator on high, you place it back on your clit and then begin fucking yourself with the dildo.

Almost immediately, involuntary sounds slip out of you—your body writhing against the sheets.

The overwhelming strength of your vibrator on your clit now partnered with the messy rubbing of your dildo between your walls…you’re truly becoming the mess he promised to make you.

“Oh, and just so things don't end too soon, you need to hold out for at least one minute. I'll let you know once you have permission to cum.”

You hardly think it’s fair that he’s saying this now, considering you’ve already started fucking yourself, but even so, you want to listen—want to be a good girl who does what he says, and only cums when permitted.

Holding out for a whole minute when your cunt is already starting to spasm—your clit feeling like it’s on fire—is certainly going to be a challenge, though.

“You know…I bet if this were a live call, I'd be able to hear how wet your pussy is. You're probably gripping onto that dildo so tightly…as if it's a real cock that you're begging to properly breed you.”

If he were here you wonder how he’d fuck you. Certainly hard enough that you’d be able to hear the slap of his balls against your pussy—

“You must be panting, huh? So ready to cum…I wonder if you’d be obedient enough to cum when I say. Why don’t we try? We’re getting close to a minute, after all.”

Oh, fuck.

You’ve never cum on command before, but you want to for him.

“C’mon, princess, I know you can do it…keep going…get yourself right there—”

Your chest shudders, and tears blot your eyes.

You’re trying. Everything feels so hot.

The arousal in your tummy swells—tightening up, and searing your insides.

“Cum.”

A sob rips from your chest, and you grind your dildo against your g-spot one final time, before your body obeys, and releases.

With the vibrator on high, this orgasm is much more intense than the last.

Your breath catches, your spine curving, and your hand releases the dildo in favor of grabbing onto your sheets for dear life.

Despite the clamping of your pussy around the silicone cock, it still manages to slip out of you after a few seconds—flopping onto your mattress, and poking wetly against your ass.

When the pleasure on your clit starts to turn to pain—you finally tear the vibrator away. You turn it off, and weakly discard it onto the bed beside you.

Despite no longer having any toys in or on you, your cunt and clit continue to twitch with aftershocks.

You take a deep breath.

Hat Guy is still talking in your ears, but your brain is too scrambled to process what he’s saying. So, you just continue to lay there until his words sound more like words again.

“Alright, you must have cum by now. Take a minute to breathe. And when you’re done catching your breath, make sure you get up and go pee, and then get some water. Because I’m not about to be liable for any after-effects of this session.”

Despite being exhausted, you can’t help but quietly laugh.

“Good job making it through. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon…mostly because I’m sure you’ll be opening this file again to get off to, haha.”

“Later~”

The audio ends.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Then, you roll onto your side, slowly get up, and head for the bathroom.

Can’t let Hat Guy be liable for you, after all.

The following morning, you wake up with sore muscles, and a determination to go and beat up Yae Miko and Lisa Minci about their “gift”.

Yeah, maybe you are a little less tense than before, and the stress that had been clinging to you after the end of the previous semester is now gone, but still. They deserve a good scolding.

First, however, you have to go to your 9AM lecture. After that, you’ll have time to run to the library.

Despite the soreness in your thighs, you manage to trek across campus and make it to your class with time to spare. You chose a seat somewhere in the middle, and then set your bag down in the chair beside you.

With nothing to work on yet, considering today’s the first day, you entertain yourself with social media apps on your phone as the lecture hall slowly continues filling up.

When there’s only a minute left before the class is set to start, there’s a tap on your shoulder.

Startled, realizing they’ve probably been trying to get your attention, you immediately take out one of your headphones. Before you can even turn to face them and apologize, they’re talking.

Except…the voice of the person beside you is…eerily familiar. Scratchy, attractive, and perhaps a little annoyed—

“Do you mind moving your bag? There aren’t very many seats left.”

Without saying a word, too stunned to speak, you reach over and move your bag to the floor at your feet. The man grunts, and takes a seat beside you.

As he pulls out his laptop, you finally build up the courage to look at him.

Dark hair and eyes to match…slim fingers, but veiny hands…a black shirt and oversized jacket—

“Do you need something?”

Oh, fuck—you’ve been openly staring.

Your eyes meet his for the first time, and you open your mouth, but no words come out. The beat of your heart starts to get faster.

He cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

This is just too much—there’s no fucking way this is happening—

Unfortunately, before you can finally pull it together and try to redeem yourself, your professor takes the podium at the head of the room.

“Class! Welcome! While it might be a little unconventional to start the semester out on this note, I just want you all to know in advance: this class will heavily rely on cooperation with others. There will be many team projects. In fact—the person you’re sharing a table with will be your project partner for the whole semester!”

…what.

Beside you, the man sighs—clearly unhappy to hear about there being group projects, or you being his partner, or both.

“Great, looks like we’re stuck together.”

“Yep…,” you mumble in response, the first word you’ve managed to speak since his arrival.

He obviously notices, because his lips pull into a teasing little grin, his eyes remaining trained on your still-speaking professor as he whisper—

“Oh, would you look at that? She speaks.”

Your pussy clenches.

Mhmm, yep!

You’re gonna go jump off a bridge.

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #bean fic #genshin fanfic

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fairyhaos · 7 months ago

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how seventeen react to their s/o suddenly getting shy

requested by anon! u gotta read the full req for this to make sense really but oh god. it is So cute.

masterlist

seungcheol, dokyeom, seungkwan

unbelievably and adorably flustered when you admit u think he just looks really pretty rn and it's making you shy. makes those adorable whiny sounds going all “뭐야~” cuz he's so flustered by the fact that you like him so much. ridiculously pleased, and will tease you about it but he needs about 5 minutes to compose himself beforehand, which in turn gives you something to tease Him about :] it's literally not fair tho like how can you just say those things to his face likeee ?? wdym you get hit with the fact you're in love with him at random while he has to deal with this soul-crushing adoration every minute of the day????

jeonghan, joshua, hoshi

he's never letting you live it down. tilts his head when you look over at him and suddenly hide your face in your hands, wagging his eyebrows suggestively when you mumble that he just looked really pretty. then he laughs, utterly endeared, and just is constantly going “aww did you get flustered? you thought i looked handsome? look at you, you're so cute, getting all shy over me being your boyfriend 🥰” for a full ten minutes straight just to see you blush even more. will bring up this situation in conversations for the next seven years, a) because it's funny and b) because he really is quite touched that u think he's that cute

junhui, mingyu, chan

“aww babe that's so cute but guess what?? i have a crush on you tooooo!!!!” literally unfazed. giggles and flirts with you in an instant, like that's the most natural response to your comment. he is literally suchhhhh a loser when it comes to u bc he just loves you sososo much and like. what else is he supposed to do when u suddenly tell him that you have a crush on him? spends the rest of the day alternating between flirting heavily and reminding you again and again that he Also has a crush on you and that he likes you. a lot. like ridiculous amounts, you know? his crush on you is bigger than the universe, and he makes sure you Know It

wonwoo, woozi, minghao, vernon

you shyly admit that you're getting all embarrassed cuz you just realised that. you literally have a crush on ur boyfriend. and he smiles a bit, dryly raising an eyebrow. “i sure hope that you have a crush on me, because i don't wanna be the only one in this relationship with a crush.” he says it so matter-of-factly, the i have a crush on you too devastatingly clear in his voice and you can't help but get even more flustered, giddy by the fact that the person you like also likes you back. which should have been obvious, but it's always nice to get confirmation, you know?

request guidelines

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @kikohao @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @sea-moon-star @nonononranghaee @isabellah29 @mcu-incorrect @hrts4hanniehae @suraandsugar @pan-de-seungcheol @dokyeomkyeom @melodicrabbit @bunnliix @bananabubble

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jobean12-blog · 8 months ago

Text

The Fine Print

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (CEO!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 4,126

Summary: You've been working under Bucky for almost a year and he's always been a grumpy ass and even though when the lines get blurred you can't seem to stay away.

Author's Note: These new pics and all the new gym shots and vids and yum! Just being fed so well! I like the idea of a grumpy CEO who just wants you and he's mad about it. No excuse for being a dick but he's not really all bad. And anyway, I'd never tell him no...haha! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Thank you Daisy for the lovely divider @firefly-graphics😘

Warnings: Grumpy ass Bucky (he's a total ass sometimes but has moments of softness), sassy reader, lots of tension, flirting, curses, fingering, light dirty talk

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You’re late. Only twenty minutes but it’s long enough that your grumpy ass of a boss will have your head for it.

Grumpy…and an ass but entirely too gorgeous.

You pick up the pace, precariously balancing your files and bags and hoping you don’t faceplant on the newly shined floors.

Getting a flat tire on the highway this morning wasn’t on your long to-do list for today, but it still happened and now you’ll have to deal with a very cranky Mr. Barnes.

You round the corner and enter your office, ready to give your usual sunshine filled greeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes!”

He’s standing at your desk, arms crossed over his broad chest and his eyes hard.

“Is it a good morning?” he asks, not bothering to move out of the way as you try to slip around him. “What time is it?”

You stop and meet his glare.

“I had some car trouble this morning. I got a flat on my way in.”

Your voice comes out steady and strong and relief floods through you. This was the first time you were late, and you were not going to be reprimanded.

“Trouble is quite the fitting word for what I’ve been dealing with in your absence.”

You glance up at him and his antagonizing stare, and blink away your surprise at his words.

“I would have thought you would at least ask me if I was ok Mr. Barnes,” you say sweetly and with a smile. “After all, how could I possibly manage to fix a flat tire all on my own.”

His jaw clenches tightly.

“Obviously you managed,” he counters. “And you look just fine.”

Beautiful blue eyes wander languidly down your body before making their slow perusal back up to study your face.

You try to school your features and when he raises an expectant brow you bite back with, “Thankfully I am fine, and I got help but I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with the burden of picking up a telephone and sending an e-mail all on your own this morning. It won’t happen again.”

He takes a step closer to you and you stop yourself from swaying forward to get a hint of his scent.

Traitorous body. If only the fucker wasn’t so fucking hot.

“You’re right. It won’t,” he replies with a smug smile. “And just so you don’t forget, I’d like to see…”

He spends the next minute rattling off several project pieces he’d like to see completed and on his desk by the end of the day.

“And then you can make up the half an hour you missed by getting together a mock presentation for our meeting tomorrow.”

When your nostrils flare, he smiles triumphantly and dips his head, so his warm breath caresses the shell of your ear.

“I’ll see you in the conference room at six.”

He turns away and slams his office door behind him and you let out an exasperated puff of air.

“It was only twenty minutes asshole.”

You mutter the words under your breath as you plop into your office chair and continue to curse his name in grumbles.

There’s a light knock on the door before it opens and you know you’re about to hear the voice of your friend and coworker, Jess.

“I know you’re working through lunch,” she says. “So at least let me get you something.”

You don’t look up but smile nonetheless, your fingers flying over the keyboard with ease.

“Honestly, I don’t even think I have time to eat,” you say before hitting the period button hard and meeting her eyes.

Jess gives you a sympathetic look. “I’ll grab you something nutritious.”

She waves before gently shutting the door. You lean over to check your desk drawer for snacks, the mention of lunch reminding you that you are in fact, hungry. At the same time that you see you have nothing to eat you notice a tear in your stockings.

“Son of a bitch,” you grumble. “I just bought these.”

Less than a minute later your door opens again and without looking up from your screen you whine, “do you know what, after the morning I’ve had I think I’ll take something sweet…maybe a cookie. Or twelve. Or chocolate of any kind.”

When you receive no acknowledgement, in return you glance up and see that Jess is not standing at your door.

You quickly tug the hem of your skirt down, noting how Bucky’s eyes track the movement and linger on your legs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, I didn’t realize…”

“Since your morning has been so awful,” he starts, his sly smile growing, “why don’t you run down to the café and pick us both up some lunch.”

Your lips purse and once again his eyes seem glued to every action you take.

“Mr. Barnes, Jess has just come in and said she would grab me something to eat so I can continue working through lunch.”

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue.

“I have A LOT to get done.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it work,” he says before rattling off his lunch order.

He turns on his heel and takes two long strides back to his office, pulling the door closed hard behind him.

“What the f…?”

You don’t even finish the sentence when he opens the door again and pokes his head out.

“Make sure you get yourself something to eat. We’re going to be here late.”

The door slams shut again, and you abruptly stand, your rolling chair flying back into the wall as you storm off.

“Why does he care if I eat or not?” you ask yourself as you angrily stuff things into your bag and throw it over your shoulder.

The rest of the day goes by far too quickly and you find yourself cursing out the copy machine as you wait for the rest of your papers to go through. Checking your phone you see you’re already almost ten minutes late to your afterhours ‘meeting.’

You rush down the dim hall of the now empty building, your presentation materials clutched tightly to your chest and glance again at your phone.

Fifteen minutes. Shit.

As you near the conference room, you try to calm your breathing and slow to a walk. A soft light shines from under the door, and you know he’s in there waiting for you.

Taking a deep breath you knock.

“Come in.”

You walk into the large room, never failing to take in the view of the city that the floor to ceiling windows along one wall highlight.

At the head of the large dark wood conference table, sits Bucky. His suit jacket is hanging haphazardly over the back of his chair, his tie is loose around his neck, and the crisp white sleeves of his button down are rolled up to his elbows.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes. The copy machine…”

Realizing you’ve been apologizing all day, and it has made no difference, you stop yourself and lift your chin, walking over to where he sits and placing down your papers, sorting through them as quickly as possible so you can begin.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asks.

His question takes you completely by surprise and you meet his piercing blue eyes with a confused expression.

“I uh…I had lunch.”

“That doesn’t answer my question sweetheart.”

At his sugared endearment, your eyes widen, and your breath catches in your throat, but you regain your composure.

“No. I haven’t.”

He just nods and gestures to the papers, clearly waiting for you to get started.

You lean over the table, searching for the paper you need and in your disheveled state don’t realize your entire lower body is practically draped over him.

“I just need to find…”

The words catch in your throat when you feel his fingers softly touch your thigh, slowly inching higher to reveal the tear in your stocking. His fingertips trace the sheared fabric and press against your skin, igniting it with heat.

Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart pounds in your chest and your brain screams at you to push him away but you don’t dare move.

“Look at me,” he demands, pressing his fingertips harder into your skin.

You straighten and turn to face him, his hand sliding up and over the curve of your hip to settle on your waist.

“Mr. Barnes?” you ask, keeping your eyes trained on his.

“James. Call me James.”

The intensity of his stare makes your breath catch and when he doesn’t answer and instead continues letting his hand trace your curves you battle with your emotions.

“The next time you have car trouble,” and his hand slips under your skirt again, “you call me.”

“What? Why would I?”

His fingertips graze the lace top of your stocking before he lifts your skirt higher and drops his eyes between your legs.

“Because I said so,” he murmurs, teasing along your inner thigh.

Your hand falls to the table to steady yourself and you willingly spread your legs open when he gives them a slight push.

“That’s hardly a good reason,” you breathe out.

“Fuck,” he growls, and his eyes fall closed.

You glance down at his lap and see him straining against the expensive fabric of his pants.

He smooths two fingers along the line of your panties, lightly pressing against your swollen and sensitive clit. His eyes open and he looks furious, fisting the thin material in his hand and in one quick movement, tearing it off.

He pulls you down roughly onto his lap, your skirt riding up over your hips to accommodate the wide spread of your legs as you straddle him.

An involuntary moan slips past your parted lips when he grabs your ass and drags you down over his hard cock.

When he opens his mouth to speak you grab his tie between your fingers and use it to pull his mouth to yours. Every sweep of his lips is heaven, and you release his tie to rake your fingers through his hair.

He makes a low, angry noise deep in his throat and you trail your lips along his jaw, kissing your way down the strong column of his neck.

His hand slides from your ass and slips between your legs, his fingers brushing through the wetness just before there’s a knock on the door.

You both go completely still and wait. When a second knock sounds, he quietly curses and gently lifts you off his lap.

You quickly pull your skirt down and smooth your hands over your hips. He watches your every move as he runs a hand through his mussed hair and sits up in the chair, hiding his legs and erection under the table.

“What?” he growls, loud enough for whomever is on the other side to hear.

“Mr. Barnes, we’re scheduled to do maintenance in here tonight.”

He curses again and continues to stare at you.

“I’m just finishing a meeting. Give me five minutes.”

“Of course, Mr. Barnes,” the maintenance manager, says, “take your time.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly as he splays his hands out over the tabletop. Hastily he stands and tries to straighten his tie, his eyes landing on your ripped panties that lie on the floor.

He grabs them and rubs the silky fabric between his fingers.

“Make sure you eat something,” he says and then shrugs on his suit jacket, tucking your panties into the breast pocket.

You’re clutching the table and staring as he grabs his briefcase and starts toward the door.

“It’s late. I’m going to have security walk you to your car,” he states, finally meeting your eyes.

His groan is pained as his gaze travels down your body and then he disappears out the door.

You fall back into a chair and try to calm your breathing. You’d have to be out of here in a minute and you didn’t want to look suspicious. Seeing movement outside the door you begin gathering your things and stand on still shaky legs.

With a deep inhale you straighten your shoulders and walk out the door with a serene smile, greeting the head of security and thanking him for escorting you out.

What the fuck just happened?

The next morning you’re making your way into the office when he walks in. You do nothing more than greet him with a curt nod, giving him a wide berth of space as you make your way to your desk.

You can feel his eyes on you, the lick of heat traveling down your spine. You’re wearing your favorite dress and while it’s appropriate for the workspace it accentuates all the right spots, and you smile to yourself as you bend down to retrieve something from your desk drawer.

Regardless of what transpired last night you are not going to let it affect your work. You felt powerful and confident in this dress and Mr. Barnes can fuck off.

You peek over your shoulder to find him standing halfway in the doorway of his office and staring. You raise your brows and blink.

He clears his throat and mumbles a short “good morning,” then steps into his office and slams the door.

You roll your eyes and promise yourself he’ll be the last thing on your mind as you set out to get as much work done today as possible.

As lunch approaches you grab your bag and reach for your wallet. Your fingers close around a crumpled piece of paper, and you start to smile when you’re reminded of what it is.

You knock on his office door and saunter inside when he says, “come in.” The receipt hits his desk with a smack and without an explanation you turn and walk back out.

You almost make it to the first step in the stairwell when you hear footsteps approach behind you.

“Where the hell do you think you’re running off to?” he calls.

You continue walking and make it down one flight of steps before saying, “to get lunch.”

He meets you on the landing and clutches your elbow, spinning you around and pushing you against the wall.

Your eyes narrow contemptuously.

He whips the receipt out and in front of your face. “Want to explain this sweetheart?”

You let out a wry chuckle. “You know for such a smart guy you really are an ass sometimes. It’s a receipt.”

“I can see that,” he says through clenched teeth. “What I want to know is why you’re making purchases for…lingerie…on my company credit card.”

“Some jerk ripped up my favorite pair of panties last night.”

You shrug your shoulders and try to skirt past him.

His hand meets the wall next to your head, his fingers curling and crumpling the receipt and you can feel how tightly the muscles in his body are flexed when he presses closer.

He looks tormented for the split second before his lips crash down on yours and your treacherous body melts into the kiss.

His cock throbs against your stomach as he tries to hike your dress up over your thighs. Reluctantly he steps back, making enough space so he can slowly slide your dress higher, above your panties and look his fill.

“I like this pair even more than last nights,” he simpers.

His fingers hook into the lace at your hip, and you grab his shirt. “Don’t you dare Barnes.”

“You can buy as many new pairs as you want.”

He once again easily tears them from your hips.

Your lips part in shock but he swallows your sassy remark with his mouth. The roughness of his kiss is a sharp contrast to the way his fingers softly tease between your legs.

You need more but you’ll be damned if you’re going to beg him for it. As if he can read your inner thoughts, his eyes light up in triumph when he pulls away to meet your gaze.

“As much as I want to hear you beg me for it sweetheart, I already know how badly you want it. You’re soaked for me.”

“You’re such an ass…”

He slides a finger inside you and your combined groans echo in the empty stairwell, the insult dying on your lips.

His stare is intense as he dips his head to your ear, warm lips brushing ever so gently when he whispers, “say please and I’ll give you what you want.”

Instead, you nip at his jaw, stifling the moan of need that threatens to rise in your throat. He continues pumping one finger in and out, sweat beginning to bead on his brow and his teeth gritted.

You hiss out a curse that’s followed by a breathy “please.”

You’re expecting him to be smug but instead he slows his movements and languidly pushes a second finger inside you, clearly relishing the way your eyelids flutter closed and you clench around him.

“That’s it sweetheart. Show me how much you love it when I fuck you with my fingers.”

His words practically send you over the edge but it’s the press of his thumb to your clit that makes your legs start to shake and his name fall from your lips like a prayer.

When his head falls to your neck and he places soft kisses along your skin, traveling up to your ear to whisper, “come for me gorgeous,” you let go and dig your fingernails into his strong shoulders, finishing with a muffled cry.

He draws out your pleasure with the slow push and pull of his fingers before sliding them out and holding them between you, his skin glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights.

His fingers press to his lips, parting them as he licks them clean, clearly savoring every drop of your taste.

“I knew you’d be sweet,” he croons.

“James,” you whimper when your hands fall to his pants.

He grabs your wrist to stop you and pushes your hand away. With soft movements he fixes your dress, smoothing his hands along your curves.

“But…” you start, and he silences you with a kiss.

You’re breathless and your head is fuzzy by the time he pulls away and with a wink he steps back and says, “lunch is over. We have a meeting to attend.”

He turns on his heel and jogs back up the steps with ease. Your narrowed eyes follow him before you let out a frustrated huff and walk on wobbly legs in the same direction.

You had forgotten all about the meeting…the one you were supposed to go over the plans for the night before.

When you walk into the large conference room everyone is already seated and Bucky is of course at the head of the table. His eyes are trained on you as you walk to the front and place your things down near him.

The presentation you’re giving shouldn’t take more than ten minutes, but there’s a lot riding on it and after what just happened, you’re obviously feeling flustered.

You open your document and greet and address the room, doing everything in your power to keep your focus on where it belongs and not on him.

But when you pause your eyes lock with his and your ability to speak is momentarily stolen. His gaze is intense, the heat simmering there almost palpable.

With a clear of your throat you continue, fumbling slightly but thankfully recovering quick enough that no one seems to notice. No one but him.

His perfect lips raise in a lopsided grin, and he runs his tongue along the seam of his lips. It’s clear where his thoughts are, and you must tear your eyes away to unscramble your head. He’s obviously trying to fluster you and quickly your nerves are replaced with anger, and you use it to fuel the rest of your presentation, finishing it with ease.

You sit with a smile and lift your chin, challenging him with your eyes. He stares right back.

“Thank you,” he says, addressing you by your first name as he stands and commands the room. “That was an excellent presentation. Clearly, you were well prepared.”

You can’t tell if his words are mocking or meaningful and it sets you on edge. He moves around the room and answers any lingering questions before ending the meeting with a dismissive hand.

As people stand and gather their things, Bucky comes up behind you, pressing his chest close to your back as he leans in to pretend to grab something from the table.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it thought that” he chuckles.

To everyone else it appears he’s making a funny remark, but you can feel your skin heat at his proximity and taunting words.

“Ugh,” you say through gritted teeth. “You would have loved that wouldn’t you?”

You can feel your eyes fill with unshed tears, the emotions of the day finally catching up to you and when his gaze finds yours his expression morphs from haughty to soft in an instant.

It only sends you reeling again, the confusion flooding through you and before he can say more you gather your things and rush out the door. Unexpectedly, he’s hot on your heels all the way to the elevator.

There are several other people on it so when you stop at the next floor and more employees file in, you’re squeezed toward the back, pushed farther into him, your ass against his crotch.

He’s hard and you feel the rest of him stiffen with the sharp intake of his breath. You take a step away from him, as much as you can in the confined space, but he reaches forward and grips your hip to pull you back.

“Don’t move,” he whispers into your neck.

“I’m two seconds away from shoving my heel up your ass,” you seethe.

He leans even closer, keeping a firm grasp on your hip.

“You were deliberately trying to make me fuck that up!”

You turn your head to peer at him and his mouth falls open, brows furrowed.

“What?” he says.

“You heard me.”

When you reach the floor just before the top, everyone else exits the elevator and the doors close, leaving you both pressed together in the corner.

It starts to move again, and you jerk backward, falling against him as he leans into the wall.

His sudden growl startles you and then he slams his hand into the stop button on the control panel.

His body cages you against the wall and his breathing is harsh.

“I would never want you to fuck anything up,” he exhales. “It’s impossible for me to think about anything but you…how good you taste, and I haven’t even gotten my mouth on you.”

You hide your surprise at his confession.

“Yet.” He adds in a promised whisper.

“This is my career at stake Mr. Barnes. You’re the one with all the power here. What do you have to lose?”

“Me? All the power?” He laughs dryly. “You’re the one who does this to me…the only one.”

You feel him throb against your stomach and you can see the truth in his eyes.

“Then don’t be such a dick all the time.”

You mean the words to come out harsh but instead they’re a quiet whisper and your expression softens.

It’s all he needs before his lips crash to yours and he slides his hands down to your ass, squeezing his way to the hem of your dress.

“I had to sit there and watch you present, the whole fucking time knowing you had nothing on under here.”

His touch is delicate as he spreads your legs and slides a finger through your folds, already wet and aching.

“I was sitting there hard as a rock just thinking about bending you over that table, tasting you, fucking you.”

Your fingers close around his biceps, the soft fabric of his suit jacket bulging under the strained muscles.

“Is that what you want?” he asks as his fingers continue to tease you.

“Yes,” you answer as you grab hold of his tie and bring his lips closer.

He kisses you, never touching you where you need it most and when he pulls away, he presses the elevator button, causing it to start moving again.

He removes his fingers and reaches up to straighten his tie and when the doors open, he backs out, his voice low and deep when he says, “I need to see you in my office. Immediately.”

He turns and glides from the elevator, his long strides carrying him quickly toward his office and you can’t do anything but follow.

@blackwidownat2814 @hiddles-rose @kmc1989 @goldylions @lizette50

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #ceo!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #ceo au

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obsessedwithceleste · 1 year ago

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Lessons in Love

(Or why Enzo should be banned from advanced potion making)

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

word count: 3.3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you walk purposefully through the empty halls of the castle. You loved Enzo. Really, you did. But how that bastard had managed to squeeze enough O.W.Ls out of his arse to get into advanced potion making was absolutely beyond you.

It’s not that you thought your childhood best friend was dumb per se. You simply thought his talents lay elsewhere. Like in herbology. Or anywhere really where adding a pinch too much powdered moonstone didn’t result in a glittery pink potion exploding all over the front of your robes. This never would have happened of course, if your usual, equally talented, potions partner, Theodore Nott, had actually bothered to show up, but god only knew where that boy had wandered off to.

Walking into classes earlier that day you had been giddy with excitement. While potions may not have been Enzo’s forte, it was most definitely yours and advanced potions was finally giving you the challenge you had been craving. Amortentia, your professor had said, is the strongest love potion in the world, thereby making it exceptionally difficult to brew. You already knew this of course as it had all been detailed in the days readings. Not only would it make someone obsessively in love, but it also had an addictive scent, changing to fit what one was most attracted to. Now that was all well and good until one was covered in it.

Originally, you figured that all would be fine. Enzo profusely apologized, quickly following up with a joke about how “at least you’ll smell nice for once.” But oh how right he’d been. It started with students accidentally bumping into you in the corridor as you went from class to class as they subconsciously leaned in to follow the alluring scent. A minor inconvenience you thought. (Although you did have to choose to ignore that third year almost getting impaled on a statue’s sword because he wasn’t paying attention after you passed.)

But then Cho and Marietta couldn’t stop leaning in to get a whiff of the scent all throughout the start of charms, causing Flitwick to continuously shoot concerned glances at the three of you. You eventually caved, moving quickly and silently to the back of the class room where Enzo was sat with the rest of the Slytherins. As soon as he saw you making your way over, he leaned over, whispering something in Daphne’s ear beside him. She gives you a quick look of knowing pity before moving into the empty seats usually claimed by Theodore and Matteo who were, unsurprisingly, still no where to be found.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” Enzo mumbles, at least having the decency to look embarrassed as you plop into the seat beside him.

“This is horrible! I did not need to know that Marietta’s amortentia smells like bloody Cormac McLaggen or whatever his name is,” you hiss in response.

Enzo lets out a quiet chuckle, sneaking a quick glance at your house mate.

“Hey,” he whispers after a moment, “What do you smell anyway? You must be going mad having that stuff all over you.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. You had a sinking feeling he already knew, considering he had been poking fun at you for weeks. You shudder remembering all those disgusting kissy faces Enzo had been making at you from across the library just last week. Bloody bastard was fishing for confirmation. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll simply go away you think to yourself. Enzo however, takes your silence as an admission of guilt, a grin spreading across his face.

“I knew it. So tell me y/n, what does dear Theodore Nott smell like? Cigarette smoke? Hippogriff dung?” He snickers.

“He is my best friend, Lorenzo,” you whisper, giving the boy beside you another withering glare.

Enzo’s face falls at this.

“I’m your best friend.” He grumbles.

“I don’t know why. You’re mean to me,” you reply with exasperation.

He immediately perks up again at this, giving you a slight nudge.

“So I’m right? You do like Theo?” He asks excitedly.

“Enzo, I will avada you, and make it look like an accident,” you hiss in response.

“Come on, y/n, I’m your best friend, you have to tell me these things,” he pouts.

“Oh really? Like how you have to tell me about how you’re probably smelling Daphne’s shampoo right now? Or is it her lavender perfume?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes.

Enzo goes beet red at this, gesturing wildly at you to lower your voice.

“Hush woman! She’s right there!” He hisses.

You say nothing, only giving him a triumphant grin before turning back to Flitwick to try to salvage what few notes you’d been able to take down that lesson.

The final straw occurred during ancient runes when poor, unsuspecting Hermione sat down behind you and asked with a look of bewilderment if you had been showered with Draco’s cologne that morning. Her look of absolute horror only grew as you told her of your distressing situation. You thought she might faint when she realized that Draco had been within earshot and now had a shit eating grin on his face. With a sigh of defeat, you give Hermione an apologetic smile before deciding it was time to turn in the white flag of defeat.

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief as you finally come to a stop outside your common room door. You then frown, realizing you had in fact, made it to your common room door.

“What makes a raven like a writing desk?” The metallic voice of the Ravenclaw common room door asks, springing to life.

This putrid, skanky little-

“You wouldn’t want me to shove either of them up your ars-“

A low whistle catches your attention before you’re able to finish cursing out your common room’s door thoroughly.

“Whoa there feisty, let the eagle be,” Theo’s voice laughs as he steps into view.

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans and smoke that had been burning your nostrils all day hits you once again like a ton of bricks. Giving the eagle another withering glare, you turn your full attention to the looming threat approaching. You would sooner throw yourself off of the astronomy tower than let Theo know that your amortentia smelled like him. Someone had to keep the boy’s bloody ego in check.

“Full offense Theodore, I’ve had a horrendously awful day today, and I really don’t have time for whatever nonsense you’re about to start.” You say with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms at the boy in front of you.

Theo laughs again, mirroring your movements as he leans against one of the pillars lining the halls.

“Poor principessa. Have a hard day in classes without me?” He asks with a smirk.

You scowl in response. It didn’t help that you had, in fact, missed the brunette’s comforting, albeit annoying, presence all day, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t even realize you were missing. What snake hole did you slither off to today?” You ask, the lie sliding easily off your lips.

Theo cocks as eyebrow at that but leaves it be.

“Matteo wanted to ditch, had to baby sit. Make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble. You know how it goes,” Theo replied shrugging his shoulders. “And what’s a pretty little witch like yourself doing skiving off class?”

Theo takes another step forward.

“Don’t come closer!” You yelp before you can stop yourself. You had no interest knowing what Theo would smell if he got close enough. He frowns at you however.

“And why not?” He challenges, taking another step towards you. This boy really did not take well to being told what to do.

“I- I smell. Really bad. Had to leave class, I just- ya know, smelled, so bad” You splutter, mentally kicking yourself. Who says that in front of the guy they like? Why were you like this?

Theo’s thick brows shoot up at your declaration before he takes a final large step towards you and leans in, pressing his hand against your forehead before moving it down to feel your cheek.

“Y/n are you ill? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey? I can walk you there if you’d like.” He says, any bit of snark his voice previously held long gone.

“I’m fine Theodore, really.” you say, batting his hand away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking at you disbelievingly.

He leans in again and takes in a whiff of your scent and you immediately tense, freezing where you are. God damn it. His brows furrow.

“Y/n, you smell perfectly normal, maybe a bit stronger than usual, but definitely not bad.” He says, looking even more confused.

Before you’re able to fully process the words that just came out of Theo’s mouth, Enzo and Pansy come barreling down the hall towards the two of you in a fit of giggles.

“Y/n! y/n, you know I’m sorry, really I am, but if dousing you in amortentia is all it takes to get Draco and Granger to make complete fools of themselves in front of each other, I’d do it again!” Enzo exclaims between breathy laughs. “You haven’t seen ferret boy run past, by chance, by the way have you?

“Sorry, amor-what now?” Theo asks, blinking as he purses his lips.

You look between the three of your friends in alarm, praying no one mentioned anything after Theo had just announced that you smelled perfectly normal to him.

“Oh, you’re going to wish you were there! After you left, Draco was so pleased with himself. Looked like a kid on Christmas. Kept trying to flirt with Hermione until she finally sent a flock of doves to run him out of the classroom! Professor wasn’t too happy bout that one. Let us go early to find the blonde loon,” Enzo says, completely ignoring Theo’s question.

“I’m sorry, amor-WHAT?” Theo asks again, louder this time.

You feel yourself cringe.

“Amortentia.” Pansy snorts. “Do try and keep up Teddy.”

“This is what you get for always skiving off class with Matteo,” Enzo adds, nodding at the boy as if he were his disappointed mother.

“Mhmm. Enzo totally floozied over y/n’s potion this morning. Blew it up all over her and she’s been having people wander up to her to take a sniff all day.” Pansy tells him with a sniff.

Theo blinks again before slowly meeting your eyes as what he said only moments earlier begins to sink in. Pansy, ever the cunning witch, was lightening quick to catch on.

“Speaking of which, I am suddenly so interested in what exactly it is that you smell, dearest Teddy,” Pansy says as her eyes flicker between the two of you, a mischievous grin growing on her face.

Theo scowls at the nickname.

“Campfire.”

“Old parchment.” You say in unison.

Pansy smirks.

“Do you smell that Enzo?” She asks, making a show of sniffing the air around her. “I think I smell- a liar. Or two.”

Enzo only snickers as he eyes the both of you up. He knew exactly what you had been smelling all day and you begin to feel panic rise up in your chest. You send a menacing glare his way, daring him to open his mouth.

“Come on Pans, I don’t think Draco and Granger are the only ones who’ll be chatting up tonight,” he says finally.

Glaring at the pair’s disappearing backs, you once again turn slowly back to the problem at hand.

“Soo,” Theo starts at the same time you blurt out,

“This is entirely your fault.”

Theo’s mouth drops open, and he has the audacity to look offended.

“How do you figure mi amore?” He asks.

“You’re supposed to be my partner in potions, but you weren’t there today, so I had to work with,” you shudder, “Enzo.”

Rolling his eyes at your dramatics and giving you a small smile, Theo lets himself relax, leaning on the wall as he towers over you.

“Enzo isn’t so bad,” he says, slowly bringing a hand up to rest on your waist, gently moving you towards him. You pretend not to notice, taking a small, nervous step forward.

“He singed off Matteo’s eyebrows last year. The year before that, he didn’t realize there was a difference between fire flower and fired flour, and his potion melted through the floor. I heard a Puff call him Slytherin’s Seamus,” you retort. “Do you realize how bad you have to be at something to get made fun of by a Hufflepuff?” He snorts at that, cocking his head in agreement.

“Well I’m sorry alright? I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’ll have to. I have to go in again to remake the potion. Don’t want that bad mark on my grade.”

Theo only hums at this, as you’re finally standing nose to chest with him, forcing you to tilt your head up to still see his face.

“You really do smell nice,” he murmurs, pressing his nose lightly into your hair.

You make a face before nuzzling into his chest to hide the redness growing on your cheeks.

“I’m not talking about this in public. I simply refuse,” you say, trying to melt into him from pure embarrassment.

Theo looks down at you with a devilishly handsome grin before turning back to your long forgotten common room door.

“Hey, open up. She technically answered your little riddle earlier,” he tells the door.

The eagle grumbles something unintelligible as it starts to life again.

“I can always melt you down. I’m sure you’d make a great piss pot,” Theo threatens, going to pull out his wand.

The door swings open rather violently and you’re pretty sure you can hear a rather colorful string of curses come out of the eagle’s beak as you make your way inside. Having been there a thousand times before, Theo easily leads you to your shared, but thankfully empty, dorm room, closing the door behind you.

“You really don’t get along with that eagle, do you principessa?” He asks, throwing his shoes off and making himself comfortable on your bed like he usually did.

“Like you’re any better. You just threatened to turn it into a chamber pot,” you retort, falling easily back into your usual banter. This was fine. This was safe.

Theo only raises a brow at you.

“The blasted door is still mad at me for making a ur mum joke when it asked me if a chicken came before the egg in front of a bunch of second years.” You admit, letting your arms fall to your side.

Theo lets out a loud laugh at that shaking his head and extending his arm for you. You walk carefully towards the bed before hesitantly accepting his invitation. It’s not that cuddling with Theo was something unfamiliar to you, as much as you were hyper aware of the slightly awkward tension between the two of you that wasn’t usually there. You slide your shoes off as well before curling up next to him and laying your head on his chest. The two of you lay in silence and you slowly let your eyelids flutter shut, lost in the feeling of Theo’s chest rising and falling.

“You know. You still haven’t told me what your amortentia smells like,” Theo says, finally breaking the silence as he gently brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” you murmur, refusing to open your eyes and determined to get further lost in his warm touch.

He only hums in response, continuing to comb his fingers through the soft locks of hair.

“You know when Enzo asked me if I smelled you today, he thought you’d smell like hippogriff dung,” you say eventually.

“Fucking tosser. What did that git smell? Wild lavender?”

“And Daphne’s shampoo.”

You feel Theo snort as if he expected no less of your ever romantic best friend. Silence once again rolls over the both of you as you absentmindedly play with the edge of his shirt, rolling the soft fabric between your fingers nervously. The quiet begins to feel suffocating, so you open your mouth to speak, but Theo beats you to it.

“Champagne. And that perfume you always use. With the little white flowers. Lilies of the valley, right?” Theo says.

You open your eyes to look at him in confusion.

“That’s what you smell like.” He says, carefully running his hand down your spine, sending a shiver through you.

“I smell roasted coffee. And smoke. Not the fire-y kind though. The kind that sticks to your clothes cause you refuse to quit smoking.” You respond, looking into his eyes warily for his reaction.

Theo only smirks in response, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Aw mi amore, I’m what you’re most attracted to?” He asks, the teasing bait evident in his voice.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as Theo gazed intently down at you in his arms.

“Shut up Theodore. You sure know how to ruin a moment,” you say, once again burying your face in a chest.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before his hand snakes it way up to your chin, tilting your head up and capturing your lips with his. His lips are softer than you imagined as he moves them gently against yours. You let a soft gasp escape and Theo pulls you closer, gripping your waste tightly, and shifting you on top of him, deepening the kiss until you’re both left gasping for air.

“Was that more of what you had in mind amore?” He asks with an innocent smile, looking up at you with what you could only describe as his best baby seal eyes.

“I mean, you were definitely significantly more shirtless when I imagined it, but I can settle.” You joke.

Theo’s eyes darken however, and he lifts you as if you weigh nothing, flipping you over so that he now hovered above you, your back pinned against the bed beneath you. With one swift movement, Theo pulls his shirt up and over his head before lowering himself back down, his chest now pressed against yours.

“Better?”

You can’t help but laugh at the boy’s determination as your eyes shamelessly take in the lean muscle and tanned skin that was current above you.

“Theodore, as much as I enjoy this, you have to put your clothes on. Cho or Marietta could walk in at any time,” you tell him as you begin to make soft circles across his waist line with your thumbs, admiring the boy in front of you.

“Mm. You mouth is saying one thing, but these,” he says, placing his hands over yours, “are saying something else entirely.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands out from under his and handing him his discarded shirt.

“One kiss?” He asks, looking at the shirt as if it had mortally offended him.

“One kiss.”

He leans down, once again capturing your lips with his, but with more intensity this time. You feel one of his hands brush your waist as his thumb pushes up under your shirt, the rest of his hand following soon after, gripping tightly at the warm skin beneath. You let out a breathy moan when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip, and he takes it as an invitation to let his tongue explore the rest of your mouth.

An awkward cough shakes you from the haze and you look up, over Theo’s shoulder to see Cho standing guiltily in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says, looking literally anywhere but you and the shirtless boy above you. “Bad time?”

You cover your eyes in embarrassment, feeling heat once again rush to your cheeks.

“What did I tell you!” You groan, letting your head fall back onto your mound of pillows. Meanwhile Theo has a much too self satisfied grin across his face.

#harry potter universe #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin #ravenclaw #lorenzo berkshire #theodore nott #draco malfoy #matteo riddle #daphne greengrass #pansy parkinson #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #theodore nott x reader #how do you write in 2nd person #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n

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moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

im literally in lovee with your writing of sirius black id love love love more of him x reader pleasee [my favourite is friends to lovers or just being super domestic but tbh I'd read anything u write with him in lmaoo]

Thank you for requesting lovely! It worked out that I'd just written this when I got your ask, so I hope it fits what you're wanting!

cw: reader has hair long enough to tie back

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 833 words

Sirius finds you out behind Remus’ house, sitting in the grass and, by all appearances, playing with mud.

“Hey there,” he says, “did you manage to find the bathroom?”

You have a tendency to wander off. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes you get lost, and Sirius can never tell which is happening at any given time. As much as he’d like to tie a string between you so you’re never very far, he’s learned to let you go where you will; you always end up where you want to be anyways.

“You were talking about football,” you say by way of answer, the slightest hint of sheepishness in your sweet voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I went off for a bit.”

Sirius hums and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out. The sun is warm and welcome on his face, just enough breeze to keep it from getting too hot.

It’s a beautiful day, you’d noted upon waking up this morning, already opening the windows in his bedroom.

Looks like it, Sirius said from bed. He smiled wryly. It’ll probably be the last decent one we have all year.

You’d frowned. That’s not a very nice way to manifest the weather.

While Sirius is upturned, you’re bent over, messing with something in your hands and dipping your fingers occasionally into a pail of water.

“What’ve you got there, pretty girl?”

“A mug,” you say simply. You thumb concentratedly at the slimy thing in your hands, lips pursing. “Or, a soon-to-be-mug.”

“And you’re making it out of…mud?”

“No,” you laugh, looking up at your boyfriend in that fond, indulgent way you have. Like he can be so silly sometimes. “Remember how Remus said there was clay by the stream back that way? I’m using some of that.”

“Ah.” Sirius tilts his head, studying the misshapen lump in your hands. “I see. And this is going to be a drinking mug?”

You hum in affirmation, and he leaves it at that. He’s not terribly sure whatever you end up with will be able to hold water, but he knows better than to try and dissuade you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe he can sign the both of you up for a pottery class sometime.

A piece of hair falls from behind your ear, and you blow at it, trying to keep it out of your face with your hands occupied.

“Here,” Sirius offers. He takes an elastic off his wrist, gathering the hair away from your face and tying it back loosely the way you like it.

You gift him a sideways smile in return. A bit of dried clay on your cheek cracks with the movement. Evidently, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to push your hair back. “Thank you.”

“Baby,” he says, voice laden with fondness. He steadies your face with one hand, swiping at the clay with the other. “You’ve got it all over you.”

It’s true. It covers your hands up past your wrists, and several places on your legs have pale gray tracks where you’ve wiped your fingers off on them.

“It’s a messy business,” you say matter-of-factly, “but it dries sort of pretty, I think. Do you want some?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

You set your soon-to-be-mug down gingerly, extending a hand to him. “Give me your arm.”

Sirius suppresses a sigh. He didn’t really plan on getting dirty today, but he’s hardly in the habit of denying you anything you ask for. He sets his forearm in your hand.

You dip a finger into the wettest part of your clay, setting it to the skin above his wrist. Your touch is cool and slick on his sun-warmed skin. You draw a little star like you’re fingerpainting, the clay a funny contrast to the dark tattoos surrounding it.

You look so pleased with your work that Sirius can’t help himself. He leans forward, giving you a drawn-out, amorous kiss.

“Thank you,” he says in his most saccharine voice.

Your lashes flutter prettily as you blink, a rare shy smile taking you. “You’re welcome.”

Sirius dips two fingers into your pail of water, using them to wipe the remaining clay off your cheek more thoroughly. When he’s done, he spots another smudge on your shoulder, inexplicable. He tsks. “When you’re done with your mug, we might have to ask Remus if you can use his shower, lovely girl. You really do have it all over you.”

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble him,” you say airily. “The stream’s not very far, and it’s flowing rather quickly with all the rain we’ve been having.”

He blinks. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”

You look at him bemusedly. “No. Why?”

Sirius bends his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to conceal his smile as he kisses the clean part of your shoulder. “I think it’d be better if you used Remus’ shower, sweetheart. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

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cressidagrey · 4 months ago

Text

Stars all aligned - Chapter 1

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? I think Rhys gets the worst though, definitely disordered eating, kinda depression?, isolation

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

He found her deep inside the House of Wind. Far enough from the festivities of Starfall that it was startling to find her.

The second oldest Archeron Sister must have wandered off just like he had.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Azriel asked her as he spied her sitting in a puddle of her skirts on one of the couches, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Why aren’t you?” Zahra gave back drily, not even looking up at him.

What exactly was he supposed to answer to that? Oh, I can't stomach watching your sister dance with her mate? And even if I could stomach that, Rhys's mental commentary to him about it had turned his stomach. Even when Azriel had kept away from Elain just like Rhysand had ordered him to do, ever since last year. So really...what was he supposed to answer?

“Dancing isn’t exactly my favourite activity,” Azriel finally replied. It wasn’t a lie.

"Yeah, well, mine neither," she answered with a shrug. "Not that I ever learned."

"You never learned?" he asked surprised. Nesta had learned. Elain had learned.

"Bastard, remember?" Zahra said drily. "I am lucky that I got to learn how to read and write and do basic math. I was not going to be molded into a perfect lady, because no self-respecting man would marry me anyway."

The blunt way Zahra was talking stunned Azriel momentarily. There was something harsh, something almost...bitter and resentful in her voice as she spoke.

It seemed like it didn't matter if one was born a bastard in Illyria or the Human lands. It was horrible either way.

"Your sisters will miss you," he said instead quietly. "And you'll miss the spectacle."

"I don't really care for the festivities," she said with another shrug. "I don’t like the holidays. Humans don’t have any. We… they are too busy trying to survive," Zahra corrected herself quietly. "And besides, I am only here anyway so I don't end up being an indentured servant until some of you decide that I am back in your good graces,” she gave back caustically.

He grimaced. That Zahra had vehemently disagreed about their treatment of Nesta was well known.

It had surprised him too because it was just as just as well known that Nesta seemed to not care for her half-sister on a good day. They weren't particularly close, in any way, shape or form.

Something in his chest clenched painfully. Not from the insult she threw in his direction, but from the defeated way she said it. That she thought that they would just…toss her aside like that.

She was one of them.

"We won't," he said firmly. Her eyes slowly turned toward him and there were dark shadows in those eyes. Out of all the Archeron Sisters, she was the only one with green eyes. Azriel wondered if she had inherited them from her late mother.

Zahra was only the half-sister after all. The result of her father’s dalliance with a maid. Her age put her somewhere between Nesta and Elain.

It was easy enough to pick out the differences between Nesta, Elain and Feyre and Zahra. Dark hair similar to Elain’s, but green eyes. Skin a few shades darker than any of theirs. Lips that looked like Feyre’s but a nose that looked like none of her sisters.

Zahra seemed to belong but didn’t.

And right now, these green eyes…something was wrong. Something was off with these eyes.

"You don’t know that," she said with a humourless laugh. "Do you want to lie to me too, and tell me that Rhysand has nothing to do with whatever happened between Elain and you?"

Azriel stiffened, a low sound escaping his throat. She knew. She knew.

"How did you-" he croaked hoarsely and Zahra cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Do you really think that I hadn't noticed the two of you dancing around each other for months? Or the fact that you two can barely manage to be in the same room together?" she asked dryly and Azriel averted his gaze. "There is no one as beautiful and kind as my sister," Zahra said drily. "I don't fault you for falling for her."

Azriel said nothing, the pain in his chest growing at her words. The pain...and the bitter realization that his feelings were not as well-hidden as he had thought they were.

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "She has a mate. She deserves better than me anyway."

"Did Rhysand tell you that too?" Zahra said drily. "You never tried to hide the fact that your mate was dying from the same, so you have that on him."

Azriel gritted his teeth, the pain in his chest becoming almost unbearable. "It doesn’t matter," he repeated firmly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Elain is happy. I would do nothing to put that in danger."

"Yes, she is," Zahra agreed. "For what it's worth, I am sorry," she apologised to him, her voice honest.

Azriel swallowed, the pain in his chest lessening only to be replaced by something else. Something...much more complicated. Something like…pity.

He pitied her. This young female was so full of bitterness. He couldn’t even fault her for it either. She had been just a bastard. Even when they had first met the Archeron Sisters…Zahra had been working in the household as a maid. Half employee, half part of the family. Like their father couldn’t make up his mind what he should do with his bastard daughter.

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Azriel finally told her quietly. "Do you really not want to watch?" he asked her. "You are supposed to wish for something when you see the stars fall."

She snorted, the sound bitter. "What I want, I am never going to get," Zahra said, her voice brittle.

He took her in in more detail at that moment.

The simple green gown she wore, high necked and long sleeved...that long gown that did little to hide how thing she was. The dark brown hair, pulled into a braid, obviously trying to hide the pointed tips of her ears and failing...the way her skin, darker than all of her sisters, was nearly ashen.

They had all thought that she was doing well. That Zahra at least was adjusting well.

But she wasn't. She wasn’t doing better. She hadn't adjusted. Azriel would bet anything that all she wanted in her life was to be human again.

She hadn't adjusted. She just acted in a way that didn't bother anybody, that didn’t spell trouble for anybody. Zahra had gotten herself a job, managing the accounting at an apothecary in the city. She had gotten herself a little cottage to rent. She didn’t go out and get drunk. She didn’t use any money from Rhys or Feyre. She showed up for family dinners, staying quiet and polite.

And if she was miserable…well, then nobody cared, because she didn’t bother anybody. Azriel could understand that. The same was the case for him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, watching her quietly sitting here. The way she was trying to hide away. The dress that was more like a potato sack than anything else. The way her skin was almost...grey. That bitter voice.

The shadows were stirring and he was unable to look away from her. She looks upset, Master, they told him helpfully.

"Do you want to go home?" Azriel offered quietly. Home to her cottage? Maybe some peace and quiet would make her feel better.

Zahra shrugged, not looking at him. Not giving him an inch. That wall of bitterness and sarcasm was so firmly in place, that it was practically a solid wall between them.

“Don’t want to end like an indentured servant, remember?“ she quipped drily.

“You won’t,“ Azriel said evenly. “You had a headache. I brought you home.“

She still didn’t look at him, her hands tightly knotted into her skirts as she sat there. She was so thin, almost fragile-looking. Her skin was sickly grey. “Come on,” he said finally, walking towards her.

Zahra finally looked up at him. Those green eyes. A bitter and lonely light in them. “What are you doing?“ she muttered.

“I’m bringing you home,” he said simply, holding out his hand. “Come on, get up.“

Zahra looked at his hand, her gaze wary. “Why?“ she asked quietly.

“Because you look like you are about to keel over,” he said, more bluntly than intended.

“Gee, thanks,” she said dryly, her voice sarcastic and bitter. But she placed her hand into his own and let him pull her to her feet, even though he could feel the tension in her entire body.

Azriel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, steadying her. “Come on. Let’s get you home and into bed,” he said firmly.

He led her towards the balcony, the last few streaks of light painting the sky, and he grasped her tightly as they shout these few feet into the air until he could winnow to the cottage she rented.

It’s ugly, the shadows complained.

He had to agree with them. The cottage was an ugly little thing. Plain. Small. The type of thing that was more of a hovel in the outskirts, rather than anything else.

“Home sweet home,“ Zahra said dryly, pulling away from him and a key out of her purse.

That cottage was in serious need of some renovations when the red paint that was flaking off the door was anything to go by.

As she unlocked the door it became obvious that while she kept it clean and neat.. even that couldn’t help much. This is a hovel, the shadows hissed.

Azriel was inclined to agree. He looked around with a frown, as the shadows scuttered around the tiny cottage. “You live here?“ he couldn’t help but ask. It was a terrible hovel indeed.

Zahra shrugged as if she didn’t notice the disgust in his voice. “I couldn’t exactly afford anything else at first,” she said drily.

At least not without taking any money from Rhys and Feyre, and clearly that was nothing that Zahra wanted to do.

He was struck by how empty it all looked. There was a small kitchen space, a table with a few chairs a fireplace… And the door that led to her bedroom, he assumed.

“How long have you lived here?“ he asked carefully, taking in the bare emptiness. There were no pictures on the walls. No trinkets and little belongings anywhere. It was…lifeless. She shrugged again and kicked off her shoes, making her way towards the bedroom. “A year?“

The room was equally simple and bare. A bed, a few clothes. A little bathing chamber. That was it.

“You’ve lived here for over a year?“ Azriel repeated, his voice turning sharp as he looked at everything. There wasn’t even a mirror on the wall.

When she just shrugged again, he was done. He grabbed her arm and towed her back into the main room. “Stay,” he ordered, pointing at the table and one of the two rickety chairs.

“What are you doing?“ Zahra asked, raising both eyebrows at him. Her irritation had started to rise considerably. At least that had done something to the sickly colour of her skin.

“Making sure you eat something before you pass out on me,” Azriel muttered, turning back into the kitchen area, looking around with a frown.

There was…nothing. His shadows reported as much. She literally had a few pieces of bread and some cheese in the whole house. He was more than fuming. That was not enough that she was living in…this hovel, she was apparently also starving herself.

He pointed at the chair again. “Sit,” he ordered a little sharper than he had intended.

The glare she gave him did not surprise him. Zahra hated being ordered around. “No,” she said firmly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not hungry.“

Azriel clenched his jaw, the anger flaring. How stubborn could she be?

“You clearly haven’t eaten in days,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “You have nothing in your house to eat.”

“I have what I need,” she retorted, her own anger flaring. Azriel gritted his teeth, the urge to snap at her almost overwhelming.

“You are skin and bones,” he hissed. “There is barely enough fat on you to keep out the cold.“

“Why do you care?“ she snapped right back.

The question hit him squarely in the chest. Why did he care? Why, he asked himself for a moment. Why indeed.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that it was just because she was Feyre’s sister.

Thankfully, Azriel was saved from actually having to answer, when her stomach grumbled.

Loudly. Azriel almost chuckled at the sound of her own stomach betraying just how hungry she really was. “Clearly your body disagrees with you,” he said drily.

“Shut up,” Zahra snapped, her skin flushing at the sound of her own stomach.

“I will shut up after you’ve eaten something,” Azriel said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

Zahra gave him a glare that could strip the paint from the walls, (but then, the paint was already flaking off anyway). Still, she grudgingly sank down on the chair, her eyes avoiding his.

He turned back into the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers and found absolutely nothing. There was nothing. Not even some fruits or vegetables.

He slammed the last cupboard closed, almost causing the hinges to break, the anger flaring hotly in his chest. That stupid, stubborn, stubborn woman.

“I will personally come here every day and stuff you full until you burst,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

“Why?” she asked and he could hear the challenge in her voice. Her own anger rose to meet his own. “Why would you even bother?“

“Because you are starving yourself,” he said, spinning around to face her. “Because you are so thin, I could snap you in half with one hand. Because I’m pretty damn sure you haven’t eaten a proper meal in at least a year. That’s why.“

“Maybe I don’t deserve a proper meal,” she shot back and something inside of him snapped at the tone in her voice.

Because he knew that feeling. He knew. For just a moment he froze. They were far more similar than they should be.

It was a terrible realization. He knew what the self-hatred and bitterness was like. He understood it far better than he wanted to.

“Nobody is going to suddenly show up and care,” he told her quietly. He saw her eyes flare at the words and he knew she got the meaning behind them instantly.

She sat there, her jaw tensed. “And what do you know about it?” she snapped, her voice bitter.

“I know what it feels like to starve oneself,” he said calmly. “I know what it feels like to have not a single person notice or care.“

The words rang truer than they should. Her eyes widened for a moment, shock flashing through her.

“I know what it feels like to be the one be always at the edge of the family. I know what it feels like for everybody around me to meet their mate but not me.“

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The pain he had buried so deep, deep down flaring up. The pain and loneliness and bitter realization that would never have what everyone else had.

He realized only then how much they really had in common. How similar they were.

“I know what it feels like to be the afterthought,” he continued, unable to stop now. “I know how it feels to be shoved aside. I know how it feels to watch everyone around me find someone while I’m the one left behind.“

He took a step closer to where she was sitting, towering over her. “And I know how it feels to hate myself enough to deny myself the basic needs I actually have.“

The last words made her flinch. He was so close he could almost see the pain and guilt and bitter realization flit across her face. Her eyes were on her lap, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the table.

“I know what it feels like to feel as if I don’t deserve to eat,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not deserving enough.“

He knelt down in front of her, forcing her to look at him. To meet his eyes.

She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. He wanted her to see. To understand that she wasn’t as alone as she thought. “I know what it feels like to punish myself by not giving myself what I actually need,” he said quietly.

Her breath hitched at the last words, her eyes widening ever so slightly. She was listening. Really listening to what he said.

“You’re not the only one who hates yourself, you know,” he said quietly. The look in her eyes shattered him. The look of realisation. Of bitter understanding. The realization that they were so much more similar than either of them had thought before.

Zahra bit her lip, the guilt flashing across her face. Her hands started trembling, ever so slightly.

“You don’t deserve to go hungry,” he said quietly, his voice firm and quiet. “You don’t deserve to starve yourself. You don’t deserve to live in this… hovel.

“The cauldron should just have killed me,” Zara said her voice brittle. “I don’t like this life.”

And didn’t that break his fucking heart?

She laughed bitterly, but there was no humour in it. “I’m not even surviving,” she said, a bitter smile on her thin lips. “I’m existing. There is a difference.“

The words hit him hard. She was right. She didn’t survive, she just existed. There was a difference and a huge one at that. “Then stop just existing,” he said quietly.

His hand was still cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking gently over her skin.

“Says the guy that just keeps moping around,” she quipped.

It was a low blow but also true. Azriel’s jaw tensed at the comment. “I don’t mope,” he bit. “I just..“

He didn’t really have a good argument in his defence at the moment.

He sighed. “We should both stop rotting away,” he said drily.

“Yeah, well, that’s easy to you to say,” Zahra said and he could hear the bitterness in her voice.

“Eat your cheese,” he responded.

She rolled her eyes and snatched away the slice of cheese off the table. “Happy now?“ she muttered.

“Delighted,” he gave back drily, as he moved towards her fireplace.

“You don’t need to do that,” Zahra said quietly. “I can do that.”

“Considering you’ve been too starved to think straight, you are going to let me do this,” Azriel cut across her calmly. “You are more than likely to burn yourself.”

“Don’t the flames bother you?” She asked him quietly. He froze.

Nobody else had ever asked him. They had just expected him to be over it by now. He had 500 years to be over it. His hands clenched.

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “They still do.” It was the honest truth. A truth he never told anyone before, least of all someone like her. The shadows curled around his shoulders and arms as if to calm him down. The flames still bothered him. They always would. “But I learnt to deal with it a long time ago,” he continued.

“That’s not fair to you,” Zahra said, her voice quiet. “You are always the one in discomfort. And nobody cares.”

Her words hit him square in the gut. It was true. It was painfully true. He was always the one being uncomfortable. Always the one on edge. It had always been expected of him to be over it by now, the pain and the hurt. The fear and the bitterness.

He finished building the fire. Using a match to light it carefully, then closing the door quickly.

“I can deal with it,” he answered quietly. “You should go to sleep,” he advised her.

“So should you,” Zahra told him just as quietly. “You look terrible.“ He knew he looked like crap. But that didn’t matter.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing off her comment. Even though he knew it was a lie. Even though he knew they were both terrible at taking care of themselves.

“You are a terrible liar,” she quipped. He looked at her and was surprised to see a tiny smile on her face.

“And you’re a very stubborn, very stupid, very annoying woman,” he quipped back just as quietly.

The smile on her face broadened the tiniest bit at the comment. “I could say the same about you,” she shot back.

“Sleep,” he told her again.

And then he left that little cottage to get back to the House of Wind. He didn’t bother winnowing, instead, he shot up into the sky with one flap of his mighty wings. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

His mind was whirling as he flew back to the House of Wind. So much had happened in the last few hours and it was all still a lot to process.

He had always been good at keeping a rein on his thoughts and his emotions. But this time, he simply couldn’t.

Zahra and him, always on the outskirts of their family. Ignored and expected to get on with it.

They were so similar in so many ways. It was shocking to realize just how much they actually had in common.

The loneliness and solitude he had come to live with, she had experienced herself. The pain and the bitterness, he could recognize it on her, for he had felt it himself.

Where are you, Az? Rhys demanded at that moment mentally. Azriel would like to scratch out his eyes, but he didn’t.

I’m flying back to the House, he sent back curtly. Zahra had a headache, so I brought her home.

A headache, Rhys shot back incredulously. Azriel could almost see the look on his High Lord’s face. You really think I will buy that?

I don’t care if you believe me or not, Azriel responded icily, his temper rising already at the tone. It is the truth and I really don’t wish to have a discussion over it.

There was a pause in Rhys’ mind. Then a slight huff. You can be so unbelievably stubborn sometimes, you know that?

Azriel didn’t bother reacting to that.

Elain and Lucien are figuring things out. So keep away from her, Rhys told him sharply.

I am keeping away from her, Azriel shot back, irritation flaring. You really think I will go and ruin this for her?

I don’t know what you are up to, Rhys retorted, and Azriel knew the High Lord was irritated. But I really don’t have the time to deal with your crap right now. That’s an order.

Understood, High Lord, Azriel snarled back and he felt Rhys chuckle in his mind at the tone. I will keep away from your precious Elain, I promise.

Damn right you will, he heard Rhys mutter in his mind and the mental connection between the two of them snapped close.

Azriel snarled in irritation as he landed on his balcony and stalked into his room. It wasn’t enough that he was wrestling with his own emotions, No, he also had Rhys all up his ass about it.

And he was infuriated about the whole thing.

Nobody will suddenly show up and care, he has told Zahra. It was the truth. Nobody would care.

They only cared as long as they got what they wanted from him.

Chip away the pieces they didn’t like. Mould him into a person they could stomach.

Either it was Rhys ordering to keep away from Elain…or ordering him to behave around Mor and Emerie… and to be quite honest…Azriel was done.

It was always him that needed to bend to make everybody else comfortable. Nobody bends for him.

So many years of following orders, of keeping his mouth shut, of bottling up the anger.

Even when everyone around him was getting what they wanted. They got their happily ever after. And he was left behind. Not once did someone ever realize that he was struggling. Not once did someone notice that he needed something…anything. That he was hurting and in pain. Nobody even bothered to check on him, to ask how he was doing.

They all got what they wanted. Mor, Emerie, even Feyre. They all got the mate that they wanted. Rhys, Cassian and even Amren had Varian.

He was the one always helping everyone else. Always the one having to endure everything. Never anything for himself. No love for himself.

Orders, commands, demands…that’s all it ever was. He didn’t get a say in anything. They just expected him to be fine. And if he wasn’t…he had to push through it.

He was the tool that did whatever needed to be done. The spy that got the order to do the dirty work. The shadowsinger that just had to endure everything.

All for scraps of attention.

Azriel was done.

He was so done. With everything. With everyone. With the one-sided affection that he had given in a desperate attempt to feel…something, anything….

He needed to stop expecting to get anything from them.

Zahra did not. She seemed to have given that up a very long time ago

The cold realization that they had been doing the same to her hit him. She was also the tool they used when they needed it. She may not be a spy, but they used her just the same. Expected her to be fine.

She was alone just as much as he was.

Alone and isolated, an afterthought to their family just as much as he was.

***

It was quiet in the little cottage.

Peaceful.

Comfortable.

Sie should be happy. Or at the very least…she should be content, should she not?.

Zahra had a roof over her head. And if she wanted to…she could afford food.

Her job didn’t pay that well, but it wouldn’t leave her starving. She just wasn’t hungry. She seemingly never was.

That was a lie and she knew it. Deep down she was hungry all the time. She just refused to give in to eating. She refused to listen to her body screaming for sustenance. It didn’t matter, anyway. Nobody cared.

She didn’t care.

Something inside her had broken during her bath in that cauldron. Her humanity had burned away and with that…with that everything Zahra had ever wanted.

She didn’t crave anything anymore. Not love. Not affection. Not attention. Not food. It was all gone. All she felt was numb.

Cold, empty and numb. Like her shell had hardened and frozen over.

She had never thought it was possible to feel so damn tired without having done anything.

Zahra forced herself to get up. Forced herself to heat some water on the stove… to make tea. The cheapest tea she had been able to find at the market.

It wasn’t the best. The taste was bitter and the color was more brown than black. But it was tea and she was thirsty enough to drink it.

It wasn’t very warm and left a bitter aftertaste on the tongue. Like her life itself.

Maybe just dying would have been easier, she reflected bitterly. Was this how eternity would feel? Alone? Tucked away in this cottage?

All her sisters had been given a mating bond. They had been given another person who loved them unconditionally…that was at their side. That wanted them around. That wanted to spent time with them.

And then there was her.

She had been closest to Feyre during the years in that cottage. Nesta gave her the fault for seemingly everything htat had ever gone wrong in her life, though Zahra privately thought that for Nesta, Zahra was just the evidence of another of her father’s failings…Elain…well, Elain was more embarrassed than anything about Zahra’s very existence. But Feyre…well, Feyre hadn’t cared. And so Zahra had tried to dote on her as much as she could.

And then clearly she had been replaced in Feyre’s affections.

She didn’t fault her for that.

Feyre had made her own life. And she had every right to do that. She was busy with her mate and her son and Mor was her best friend and…there was seemingly no place for Zahra there.

Which was fine.

It was.

But if Zahra was completely honest with herself…she was unspeakably jealous of the mating bond of every single one of her sisters.

Of that promise of at least one person that would be on her side, come Hel or High Water.

Clearly, something was wrong with her that she hadn’t been given a Mating Bond.

She wasn’t worth a mate. Clearly, something was broken inside her. Otherwise, the cauldron would have given her a mate, right?

Maybe she was broken so thoroughly that nobody even wanted her.

Why would they? She was a shell of a person, a ghost of the woman she was supposed to be.

She was cold, empty and numb. Everything that nobody could possibly want.

Everyone else got a mate, love and happiness. Not her.

She had nothing.

Her hands clenched around her lukewarm cup of tea.

Some random sparks of light sparked against the mug. A gift from the cauldron. They didn’t seem to do anything but warm whatever they touched. Maybe that was that random power the cauldron had given her. Neither future or death…but…warmth. She supposed it was something.

She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, and she had never bothered telling anybody about it.

Sometimes she allowed herself to play with them when she couldn’t sleep. They were strange and utterly useless.

It wasn’t the power of foresight or the power of a death god…no. She had the stupid power to create sparks. Useless sparks of light.

Oh well.

Complaining about her sparks wasn’t going to help her either.

So she pulled out her work and sat down to do her work as the sun came up and the day went on.

Zahra balanced the account ledgers for one of the apothecaries in Velaris. Which meant she had a whole box of receipts to sort through and put into said ledger.

One receipt at a time, one name after the other.

It kept her busy. It paid well enough. She seemed to have some kind of aptitude for it…maybe the fact that her father was a merchant had come through for once.

She worked until the late evening. Until her eyes couldn’t concentrate on the numbers anymore.Until her back and shoulders ached with pain. She stretched her shoulders back.

She wondered if she should eat something. Her cheese was gone, thanks to Azriel standing over her until she ate it…but she still had one or two slices of bread, didn’t she?

She could go food shopping…buy another bread, another chunk of cheese tomorrow.

Then Zahra heard a knock on the door.

Confusion spread through her. Who would knock on her door at that very late hour? It was after 9 pm already.

She got up, walked towards the door and opened it carefully.

It was the last person she would expected to be standing on the front porch. Azriel.

“I am making you dinner.“

Her eyes widened at that announcement. “You are what?” she asked him dumbly.

He just gave her a deadpan look and pushed past her. “I am cooking dinner because I am assuming that you haven’t eaten yet,” he told her plainly.

It was true. Zahra hadn’t eaten a proper meal in god knows how long. But why did he care?? “Why?” she blurted out. “Why do you care if I’ve eaten?”

He gave her a sharp look and pushed her towards the kitchen chair. “Sit down,” he simply ordered and she was too taken aback to protest against it.

He had brought his own ingredients. His own knives, all tucked away in a little basket that he put on her countertop. “Can you peel potatoes?” He asked her as he rummaged through it.

She could just stare at him.

“Who do you think cooked the meat Feyre hunted?” Zahra replied drily.

Azriel froze in the process of digging something out of the basket on the counter. “You can cook?” he asked her and she heard the surprise in his voice.

Zahra let out a snort. “Yes, I can cook,” she retorted. “What did you think I was doing this whole time in the cottage? Twiddling my thumbs?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I had no idea what you were up to,” he told her truthfully. “I thought you were as useless as Elain and Nesta were at that point,” he admitted.

“Nesta did all the cleaning and hacked the wook,” Zara corrected him quietly. “Elain mended. I cooked. Feyre was the only one who hunted. And yes, we should have done more, but I did help run the household. The only one who never helped was our father.” The bitterness bled into her voice at that.

There was a long pause after her admission. Then Azriel exhaled. “I guess I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am,” he muttered. “You don’t strike me as a pampered useless damsel.”

“Thank you for that assessment, Shadowsinger,” she quipped back. “I will make sure to remember it when I need a pick-me-up.”

He put a sack of potatoes in front of her. “I take it I’m peeling potatoes,” Zahra murmured, staring at the sack that was in front of her.

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed in that no-nonsense voice of his. “While I prep the meat. I do hope you like rabbit,” he added drily.

“Oh good,” she muttered, grabbing a knife and started to peel away at the potatoes. “Did you hunt it?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice neutral. Zahra bit back a snarky remark and focused on the potatoes.

They worked like that in silence. Him preparing the meat, her peeling the potatoes and the carrots.

It was odd. This whole thing was odd. Sitting and cooking with Azriel. She hadn’t even known he could cook.

And yet…it was comfortable. Like the silence wasn’t awkward and neither of them felt the need to break it. It was a comfortable domestic kind of silence. Like they had done this a thousand times before.

“How are you with spicy food?” Azriel asked her after he had taken the potatoes from her.

Zahra blinked in surprise. “I have a pretty good tolerance, why?” she asked, curious.

“All the food I can cook is Illyrian,” Azriel answered drily. “I learned from Rhys’ mother and later from my own. It’s spicy.”

“I can handle a bit of spice,” she assured him. “It should be fine.” He nodded in response.

The sound of the fire crackling in the stove and him stirring up the meat were the only sounds filling the kitchen as they continued their work.

Zahra honestly had no idea Azriel could cook. He didn’t seem like the type of male who spent time cooped up in the kitchen, making meals. It was a little surprising.

And yet, the scents of spices and rabbit were filling her kitchen right now... It smelled almost heavenly.

She hadn’t smelled something as heavenly in a long time. And her stomach growled in response to the delicious scents of food. Zahra tried to remember when she’d last eaten something actually decent, but she couldn’t think straight. The food was distracting her.

“You look half starved,” Azriel observed in a deadpanned tone and she snapped her head up only to find him looking at her.

His eyes were focused on her, a frown playing on his forehead. “When was the last time you actually ate something properly?” he asked her, his voice firm.

She averted her gaze. “I don’t know,” she muttered, looking away from him and to the pot bubbling on the stove. “Maybe a week ago?”

He was silent for a moment. “That long?” he asked her, his voice carefully neutral. She just shrugged in response to keep herself from admitting that she actually couldn’t remember exactly.

He poured hot, thick stew into a bowl for her and then put it in front of her, holding out cutlery for her to take. “Why are you doing this?” Zahra asked him weakly.

“Because I wish somehow had done it for me,” Azriel responded

That simple statement made her blink in surprise. It was not an answer she had been expecting. She bit her lip, not really sure what to say.

And then he simply said. “Eat. You look like you’d blow away at the slightest breeze.”

She should have been angered by that blunt statement, but somehow she wasn’t.

So Zahra ate.

The food tasted incredibly good. She had to admit that the Shadowsinger was talented with cooking. The food was spiced just perfectly, hot and filled with flavour.

Every bite made her realize just how incredibly hungry she was. Her stomach filled slowly and the hunger abated with every spoonful. It was like her insides started to come back to life. The numbness was slowly disappearing, replaced by an odd sort of warmth flowing through her limbs.

"Thank you," she finally said weakly.

Azriel just nodded at her, watching her eat. “Of course,” he murmured and continued with his own food.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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bloodstainedsapphic · 5 months ago

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teasing ellie williams | minors dni | modern soft dom!ellie oops to remember me by.

is the message you attached to the x-rated pictures you sent to ellie's phone. did you know what you were doing? maybe. but what if either one of you actually chose to end things here? then, sure, they could be taken as a lovely parting gift. you trusted her enough not to betray you every time you sent a photo of your fingers inside your lacy panties.

film yourself next time. that'd make a very pretty video for me

ellie sent back. a faint sigh escapes your lips upon reading her message, realizing that she had rejected your rejection. as if that's not exactly what you wanted. you can't help but fantasize about the consequences of your little act of rebellion. you can easily imagine ellie on the other side of the screen, probably biting her lip as she typed, fighting the temptation to preemptively dip her hand into her shorts.

knowing ellie, you could tell that her reply was more a front for her nerves than anything. normally she was all about that awkward charm, but since she knew you enjoyed pushing her buttons sometimes--all to catch a rare glimpse of a slightly mean, cocky ellie--she was happy to bring it out when you pulled stunts like this. it was clear that all those little tantalizing messages were calls for attention, and ellie was eager to give you exactly the trouble you wanted.

——————-

"poor, needy girl couldn’t just ask me to come over; had to act up instead," ellie murmured into your ear, her voice husky with desire. She had one elbow pressed into the mattress to prop herself up enough to loom over you. her gaze wandered admiringly over your form, which was beautifully splayed out beneath her.

mere hours into the night after sending her that risky text, ellie came knocking at your door. the pretty auburn-haired girl charmed her way into your room, all the way to your bed, ready to handle your insolence with a much more.. hands-on approach. her slender fingers raked those same lacy panties to the side, teasing your slick folds, reenacting the scene you had so considerately presented her in those pictures.

ellie had learned your body well enough to maneuver your most sensitive spots with ease, drawing out pathetic whines and enthusiastic moans as she pumped her fingers inside of you. it proved difficult for her to hold back her own small noises while watching you unfurl so quickly from her touch, especially after all those theatrics. you really were just too cute.

"s'just a joke, els…" you whimper in a feeble attempt for mercy, which only earns a wicked smirk from ellie. instead, her movements remain unyielding, only slowing her pace whenever you teeter too close to the edge of your climax to keep you desperate.

"'just a joke', hmm? i think you knew exactly what you were doing," ellie purred back, laying the taunts on thick. "you wanted me to come and touch you like this, huh? you want me to make you come, baby?" she quickened her thrusts, curling her fingers to repeatedly hit the spot she knew would make you see stars. with dark satisfaction, ellie watched your body finally succumb to the pleasure, your hips bucking against her hand, walls clenching around her digits. you let out that distinctive moan that ellie could never get enough of, prideful in knowing only she could make you feel that good.

"good girl, coming just for me," ellie coos, now pressing soothing, tender kisses to your temple. she hadn’t removed her fingers, however, which continued to slowly fuck you through your climax. "now. what was that about this being the last time?"

"s'nothing.." the truth stumbled from your lips as your entire body was rendered pliant from one mind-breaking orgasm. ellie drank in the sight of you looking so artfully undone; but she wasn’t planning on letting you off the hook so soon.

"gooood girl. now, you can take another for me, yeah?"

#need to bathe in holy water after this one brb #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #lesbian #wlw #ellie williams tlou2

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tthoroughfare · 2 months ago

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kerosene // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the setup of a slow burn between you and ellie.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.7k

so... this actually started out as NOTHING. i planned for it to be nothing. just me, my pages app and my love for jackson!ellie & that fuck ass hoodie against the world. howeverrrr i may or may not have written almost 10k so far that i'm planning to split up (and continue) into an ongoing series just focusing on you and ellie living in jackson, spending time with your friends, slowly falling in love. real piners rise

god i just love jackson ellie so much. her little nerdy cocky self

the idea of being friends and pining over each other for literal years because you’re both too scared to say anything… catching the other staring, having a few little moments here and there but chalking it up to nothing because you both don’t believe the other would see you like that.

and then she starts dating cat and you’re just like welp. guess this is really never ever gonna happen after all. you let yourself mope for a while, not wanting to go out as much for fear of seeing them together and feeling that strange pang in your chest — just overall being weird and avoiding ellie. you feel silly, really, locking yourself away and listening to sad music over someone you were never even with.

you selfishly hope it doesn’t last long, that it’s just a fling, but when months go by and they’re still together, you come to some sort of acceptance. you even date someone else for a short while to try and take your mind off of her, but quickly realize you’re just searching for scattered parts of her in someone else. and something in your gut tells you that while nothing’s wrong within the relationship, it just doesn’t feel right. doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to.

meanwhile, ellie’s mindset was that she never really saw you as attainable in the first place. and she did genuinely really like cat, so when she initiated the relationship, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to see where it went. you were always at the back of her mind, though. she didn’t like the way you’d distanced yourself. you were never best friends, but definitely fairly close. she felt the switch almost overnight, the way you stopped going out of your way to talk to her, stopped asking her to tag along when you'd hang out with jesse and dina. she didn’t know what your deal was. the thought that you might be jealous did cross her mind, but she quickly swatted it away. why would you be jealous? it’s only her.

when you started seeing someone yourself, it was like confirmation. nothing was ever gonna happen, you weren’t jealous; how could any of that be the case when you were right there, with someone else? she cursed herself for even thinking about any of it, guilty conscience thick when her mind would then turn to cat. she knew she shouldn’t be deliberating whether you were jealous, whether you liked her, whether anything could ever happen between you, when she had a girlfriend.

she tried her hardest to push you out of her mind whenever you’d arise. she still saw you around, sometimes alone, sometimes with your girlfriend. you’d talk pleasantly, share a few laughs, but it wasn’t like it used to be.

and then one day, when she’s on her way home, she sees you by yourself. you’re sitting under a tree reading, headphones in. she can’t help but notice you look a little melancholy, like you don’t want to be bothered. she deliberates on whether to disturb you or not, stopping, then going to walk away, then stopping again. against her better judgement, she wanders over to you and nudges you gently with the side of her foot.

you look up, offering a small smile and tugging your headphones out. “hey.”

“hey.” ellie mirrors you, shooting back a soft smile of her own. a beat of slightly awkward silence passes as she tries to think of the reason she actually came over. she doesn’t even have one.

“what’s up?” you ask after a few seconds.

“uh… not much. just… uh… wanted to say hi.”

the corner of your mouth quirks into a slight smirk. “well… you just did.”

ellie breathes out a quiet chuckle, bringing her hands together to mess with her fingers. “very funny.” she pauses, then hesitantly crouches and sits beside you. “whatcha reading?”

you turn the cover so that she can see it. “mystery book,” you say, eyes flitting between ellie and the novel, before you rest it back in your lap, starting to lightly read again.

“you want me to tell you who the killer is?”

you chuckle, looking back up at ellie. “sure, take a stab at it.”

ellie’s eyebrows raise slightly. “pun intended?”

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as you realize what you just said. “nope. guess i’m just too witty.”

she looks down and smiles lightly, before looking up at the sky in feigned thought. she clicks her fingers. “it’s the priest.”

you let out a laugh. “there isn’t even a priest in it.”

“that’s what you think,” she quips back, feigning seriousness. “he will be introduced in… 43 pages.”

you roll your eyes, unable to hold back a smile. “shut up.”

“nope. wanna hear some more of my predictions? 100% accuracy guaranteed.”

“sure.”

“… you’re in a shitty mood,” ellie says matter-of-factly, before her voice softens. “seriously, you good? you look all…”

she trails off, gesturing at you slightly.

you chew at the inside of your cheek. truth be told, you are in a shitty mood, but you didn’t realize it was visible. plus, you don’t really want to talk about it. especially not to ellie, of all people. “yeah, nah, i’m fine.”

she just gives you a look in reply — one to say, ‘i’m not stupid’. to which, you let out a small sigh and shake your head. you’re not good at lying to ellie. “okay, i guess i may be in a… tiny bit of a slump.”

she shuffles a bit, leaning back on her hands. “why? what’s wrong?”

you pick at your nail, pausing. “i don’t know, man. just… yeah. stuff.”

“what kinda stuff?”

you curse her in your head for pushing, but simultaneously feel a pulse in your chest that she cares. you don’t particularly want to talk to ellie about your relationship. or lack thereof. it feels embarrassing, for some reason. in the end, you let out a small, defeated sigh. “ugh. just… so… i’m not with you-know-who anymore.”

ellie raises her eyebrows, trying to ignore the way she feels selfish relief. “damn. that sucks.”

you shrug. “i suppose so.”

another awkward pause occurs as ellie tries to think of what to say. comforting people has never really been her forte, but she wants to try for you. plus, she’s curious. “…wh-what happened?”

you look up, eyes flitting around the scenery, pulling a small face as you think. “nothing, really. just… wasn’t working. like… didn’t really feel right, y’know?”

she quirks an eyebrow, looking sideways at you. “so it was you, huh?”

you let out something between a breathed out chuckle and a groan. “…yeah. i felt really mean.”

“damn. you’re ruthless. heartbreaker,” she teases deadpan in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

to which, you roll your eyes and snicker, the smile lingering on your face. even in the worst mood, you’d noticed, ellie could always make you laugh somehow. “shut up. it wasn’t like that.”

“then what was it like?”

you shrug lightly, toying with the cover of your book. “i don’t know. went as best as it could, i suppose. i have nothing against her, nothing happened, it just… yeah. like i said. wasn’t right.”

ellie hums in acknowledgment, looking away in thought. her silence feels a little uncomfortable, driving you to babble on. “i don’t know, she’s nice and everything, but it just felt like we were kind of… wasting each other’s time. i didn’t see it actually going anywhere. i know we’re still young, and… y’know, it’s hardly like we have to marry each other or whatever. but something just felt missing. i don’t know.”

you glance at ellie briefly, then back down at your book, tracing the cover art with your fingertip. “like… you and cat. you guys seem happy. what does that feel like?”

she feels a little taken off guard. she’s not used to talking about this with anyone; anyway, nobody’s ever really asked. she shifts, sitting cross legged and leaning her forearms on her thighs, messing with her hands. “uh… i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows slightly. not really the reaction you were expecting. “oof. what does that mean?”

ellie lets out a drawn out hum, wrinkling her chin. “… i don’t know. i suppose it just feels… hm. it’s just… what it is. i guess.”

you pull a face, blowing air through your nose. “wow. don’t get too sappy on me, now. you’re gushing.”

her eyes roll in response to your sarcasm, a lopsided smirk on her face. “shut up.”

you mirror her smile, meeting her eyes for a few seconds, trying to shove down the way it burns a hole through you, makes your chest feel like it’s constricting.

the moment is broken by a call of ellie’s name. you both automatically look up, spotting cat strolling over with a bright smile on her face.

“speak of the devil,” you murmur jokingly, turning to look back at ellie briefly.

she scoffs in response, moving to stand up. when cat presses a small kiss to her lips in greeting, resting a hand on her arm, you avert your eyes.

cat looks down at you, offering a soft smile and a wave. “hey.”

“hey,” you reply, looking back up. you did really like cat. you weren’t necessarily friends, but she was cool, and funny, and always nice to you. you flit your eyes between her and ellie as she turns back, addressing her girlfriend.

“i was on my way to yours. we still watching a movie tonight?”

ellie looks down at you, then back at cat, an unreadable expression on her face. “uh… yeah, yeah. for sure.”

cat smiles at ellie, taking her hand and lightly swinging it between them. “… well, we’ll leave you to it,” she says to you.

you nod slowly. “yup. catch you two later.”

you wave half-heartedly at them both as they walk away hand-in-hand, free hands returning the gesture. you busy yourself with putting your headphones back in and choosing a new song, but if you were looking up, you’d have seen ellie look back at you. twice.

#tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams fluff #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou2 #wlw fic #lesbian fic #my writing

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 10 months ago

Text

Can't Leave Me

Pairing: Dark Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: Seeing a darker side of Keigo has you rethinking your entire relationship. But it’s not like Keigo is planning on letting you go.

WARNINGS: Murder; Kidnapping.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

His hand rubs comforting circles over the expanse of your back, innumerous apologies being mumbled as he kisses the crown of your head.

“I should’ve eased you into it. I‘m so sorry, baby.” his tone is apologetic, almost regretful, but you can’t be bothered by that.

Not after what you witnessed.

The queasiness in your stomach increases, and you swallow hard, closing your eyes in a poor attempt to control both yourself and the wave of nausea that threatens to rise.

“Next time, I promise I’ll let you know beforehand, ‘kay? No more nasty surprises, I promise.” his cooing has you pushing your palms against the edge of the marble kitchen island, and you take a few stumbling steps backwards.

“I really thought you’d like to see my patriotic work.”

“You…” his golden eyes squint for a second when you dodge his hand from touching your arm, “That man-”

“He’s no one. Just some fucking dirtbag I caught the other day on patrol. No one even cares that he’s gone, if that makes you feel better.”

You look at him in bewilderment, unable to believe his words. Was Keigo - always so sweet and gentleman - trying to convince you that killing people was fine? That it was okay for his basement to have pools of blood and pieces of human limbs?

The pungent smell of fresh blood is still haunting your nose and you scrunch it, remembering the nasty scene your boyfriend presented you.

When Keigo asked you to come to his house, telling you he had a surprise stored in his basement for you, your mind wandered to the idea of receiving a sweet gift.

Maybe a painting or a bracelet, anything with a romantic meaning. A normal thing.

But when Keigo took you to his basement, chest inflated with pride at what he called “city scum cleaning” it wasn’t at all what you expected.

“You’re worrying too much.” he sighs, his wings ruffling behind him. “I’m cleaning the city from the filthy scum, nothing else.”

“They’re human beings, Keigo. You can’t take justice into your own hands, that’s not your job.”

Keigo only shrugs his shoulders, disinterested at your attempt to bring some conscience to him.

“I know this upsetted you, baby, so why don’t we change the subject? How about we start making dinner and then watch a movie? I know you’re excited to see that new action movie, right?”

His proposition makes you feel sick to your stomach for more reasons than one, but the realization that your boyfriend is trying to distract you from the fact that he’s a serial killer is too much.

You need to leave. Immediately.

But you’re scared. Terrified of becoming Keigo’s new addition to his basement, if he realizes that you’re not on his side. You’re not sure if he loves enough to spare you from such destiny.

You’re not sure of anything anymore.

You shift the weight from one foot to the other, eyes drifting to the kitchen door.

“I think…” your voice shakes, and you attempt to clear your throat, “Maybe I should go, Keigo. I’m not…feeling great.”

His expression drops for a moment, cold anger being replaced with feigned sympathy so quickly that you almost believe you imagined it.

“Sweet cheeks, if you’re not feeling well, then you can just sleep over.” he takes a minuscule step in your direction, his wings stretching behind him for a moment. Demonstrating their enormous size before he pulls them back.

A not very subtle threat.

“I can prepare a warm bath for you, and then get you in bed with some painkillers. How about that?”

You shake your head, feeling helpless.

“No, Keigo, it’s fine, really. I can just go home and-”

“Nonsense. Besides, I don’t like the idea of you all alone in your apartment, especially if you’re feeling sick.” he brushes you off, “I can’t have you puking or passing out when you’re on your own. What kind of boyfriend would that make me, am I right?”

A few of his feathers gracefully fly in your direction, gently but effectively pushing you forward.

The conflict inside your mind only fires up, but you’re hardly able to bitterly swallow down all the shabby excuses and useless begging that would only result in angering Keigo.

Your body bumps against his and Keigo instantly wraps his arm around your waist, replacing the feathers that rejoin his wings.

He kisses your cheek with an arm tightly gripping your waist, as if he’s waiting for you to bolt and run away. You’d be lying if you say the idea doesn’t seem awfully tempting.

Maybe if he looks away or gets distracted…maybe then you could take the chance.

“C’mon, let’s get you a bath, ‘kay? You’re really not looking too good.”

The melancholic moonlight hits you in the face, seeping through the locked window. Your eyes are wide open, despite the ungodly time of the night. It’s quiet now, aside from the light cricket’s sounds and the occasional car speeding up through the street.

You barely move your head as you glance towards the fluorescent numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table next to you, careful enough to shift as little as you can.

The arm draped across your waist feels like a rope, keeping you bound to Keigo.

But it’s better than the red wing that lays wide open in all of its immense size, acting as a second blanket to your body, caging you to the bed with its oppressive weight.

Despite your objections of becoming too hot during the night, Keigo still insisted on covering your body with it, shutting you down with a gentle kiss.

He sleeps soundly, his chest a few inches away from your chest, his deep calm breathing hitting your ear and neck.

You can’t sleep. Your mind is too bothered, too upset to even consider something as futile as sleeping when there are more urgent necessities. Such as escaping this house.

Keigo fell into a deep slumber a few hours ago while you remained awake, thinking about your next steps. You have to leave the bed, leave the house, leave him.

But even the last step seems complicated when you can’t even pull yourself out of the bed - out of Keigo’s suffocating embrace.

You’re frozen with fear, you begrudgingly admit. Scared of accidentally waking Keigo up and in the process, to wake a side of him that you don’t want to see.

You have to do this.

The first step is to test the waters.

You take a deep breath, slowly shifting your body, your hand gently pushing his arm down and away from you. Nothing happens.

Your heartbeat speeds up as you embrace yourself for the final step.

Looking down at the impending problem of escaping the red wing, you take the decision to slide underneath it.

It’s awkward and embarrassing when you weirdly dive underneath the wing, squishing yourself against the bed as you try to touch the feathers as little as you can. They don’t pulse or move, remaining completely still as you make your escape.

A relieved sigh gets caught in your throat when your feet touch the floor. Just a little more, you think, bending your body to slide down the curve of the bed.

Premature hope makes your breathe faster. Maybe you can actually get away.

Oh god, you’re actually going to get away.

Your whole body freezes for a scary moment when Keigo mumbles a few incoherent words, shifting and turning in bed, but thankfully he remains asleep. You can breathe again.

It’s a bit hard to walk in the darkness, only the dim light of the moon helping you guide yourself, as your feet take baby steps and you prod the walls with your hands until you finally find the closet room.

The door creaks slightly as you slowly close it, and you hold your breath for a moment. Nothing happens.

You open the light, hoping it doesn’t infiltrate through the door’s crack and search the place with your eyes, looking for your clothes. Keigo kept them there before handing you one of his shirts earlier in the night, saying that it would be more comfortable for you to sleep in his clothes than in your outer clothes.

It’s easy to find your shirt and pants, both of them tucked away in a corner of the room, the evident contrast between Keigo’s expensive clothing and your cheap casual outfit standing out.

You quickly put them on, looking around for your purse before remembering that you had left it in the kitchen. Fuck.

You close the light, and silently leave the closet.

“Babe.”

Your blood runs cold at the sight of Keigo casually standing in front of you, arms crossed in his chest. There’s no anger in his face - nor sleepiness, you notice - but there are hints of annoyance. Did he really expect you not to try and run?

“I’m kinda disappointed, I gotta say.” he shakes his head with a tired sigh. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t do anything stupid tonight. Guess I was wrong.”

“I wasn’t-” your words lose strength, and for a moment, the idea of dashing for the door with all of your speed seems incredibly enticing, “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Pfft, c’mon, you seriously think you’re gonna fool me into believing any crappy excuse? Like I didn’t just catch you trying to sneak off on me?” he clicks his tongue, messy strands of blonde hair falling onto his forehead, “But you know what?”

It’s now. The moment he switches the flip on you and beats you and-

“Let’s continue this tomorrow, alright? It’s late, so how about we sleep on this and in the morning, we’ll talk.”

You look at him, surprised. Isn’t he gonna drag you by the hair to his basement and beat you?

Keigo directs you back to the closet, watching as you hesitate to change back into his shirt.

“That was never gonna work, you know that, right?” he says. “It’s not like you could outrun me. I’m too fast for you, with or without quirk.”

When you get back on the bed, his wing covers you once again and his arm pulls you flush against his chest, suffocating you with his presence.

He kisses the nape of your neck.

“Sleep tight.”

You wake up startled, mind buzzing with a chilling nightmare. Red blood and sticky viscera follow you even though you rise away from the realm of dreams.

You breathe in. It was just a dream.

Distant sounds coming from another room catch your attention and you remain quiet, catching the tiny rays of sunlight that come through the curtains, basking on pacific solitude.

What are you supposed to do now? Relent and pretend that everything is peachy, to act as if the basement isn’t torture chamber and that your boyfriend isn’t some cold-hearted killer?

You roll to the side, yelping when your leg gets caught on.

A chain.

A soft leather wrapped tightly around your ankle, connecting it to the links of metal that keep you in a short leash. There’s barely any length to it, meaning you won’t even be able to reach the bathroom if you need to.

This can’t be real.

You persistently rub your eyes, shaking your head as fear threatens to spill in the shape of a panic attack.

Keigo wouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He just can’t.

Much to your consternation, you don’t wake up. This isn’t some wicked dream, after all.

“No, no, please, no.” you cry, pulling and tugging on the solid chain with both of your hands. It doesn’t work, despite all the clicking it does. Doesn’t so much as move away from your ankle.

But it does make a shrilling noise and soon Keigo rushes into the room, a worried expression on his face before he understands what you’re doing.

He plops next to you, firm hands pulling your shaky ones away from the chain, despite you not giving up and you yelp when he uses his strength to expertly twist your wrist, forcing you to let go of the chain.

“Keigo, please, don’t…don’t do this. I promise I won’t run away, I swear!” you plead, snot and tears pathetically dripping down your face as Keigo pulls you into his lap, a large hand securing both of your wrists.

“Keigo…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything is fine, it’s all okay.”

It only makes you cry harder. One of his hands rubs your back while the other holds the back of your neck, pushing your face to his chest.

“C’mon, don’t cry. You know how awful that makes me feel.” he presses a gentle kiss to your head, rocking your bodies back and forth, comforting you as if you were a child throwing a tantrum.

“You left me no choice. You were gonna leave me, abandon me like I never meant anything to you.” his voice is almost quiet and you know that if you looked up, his face would resemble a kicked puppy.

It almost makes you feel bad until the stupid chain in your ankle clinks, reminding you that Keigo isn’t a good man.

“But it’s okay now. I know you’re not happy with… our current situation, but you’ll soon see it my way. I’m doing this for you - for us.”

His arms tightened around your wriggling body, keeping you close to him.

“I’m not letting anything get between us. Not even you.”

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere bnha #yandere mnha #dark bnha #yandere my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #yandere x reader #hawks x reader #yandere hawks #yandere hawks x reader #yandere!hawks x reader #dark hawks x reader #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo takami x reader #yandere keigo x reader #tw: yandere #tw: kidnapping

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put-me-through-the-wall · 3 months ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 Down the Rabbit Hole 𝜗𝜚

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Captain John Price x Fem!Reader

Work Count: 4.9k (I don't know what happened...)

Summary: Reader wanders a little too far off the path. Good thing such a nice older man came to help.

A/N: It's halloween y'all!! I freaking love halloween and all things spooky and scary. So I thought maybe I should write something really scary to fit the occasion. Okay so technically yesterday was halloween but better late than never. Let me know what you guys think. I don't think I have any smut out yet?? So please let me know any feedback or thoughts you have. I love you all so much!! 𝜗𝜚

Warnings: This story contain dark themes. Not to spoil but this one does contain DUBCON/NONCON elements, intoxicated reader, drugging, light bondage, kidnapping, forced impregnation. If you are not in the headspace the read this please scroll on. I will write some nicer things in the future.

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

With a sigh you pull out your phone, the blue light illuminating your face in the dark night. Just to find you have no cell signal this far out, of course. You try calling a few people but not a single call would go through. A simple dial tone rang out much to your dismay. Leaning back against the bumper of your car, you can feel the heat radiating off your exposed engine. You look towards the propped open hood of your tired vehicle.

The hissing machinery creates a pillar of steam when mixing with the chilled October air. Your leg bounces nervously while your eyes scan the surrounding forest. There are no street lights, no houses, not even the sound of cars whizzing by on a nearby roadway. Just dark woods and the crickets chirping. You mentally curse yourself and your friends for convincing you to drive so far out on your own.

You spend a long twenty minutes going back and forth between trying to find service along the road way and seeking warmth in the shelter of your car. Your costume doesn't provide much cover against the autumn cold. Clad only in a restricting corset top, tiny ruffled shorts, fishnet stocking, and shiny white heels. Topped off with a pair of fuzzy bunny ears fixed to a headband and a little white tail attached right above your butt. It looked better in your mirror at home when you were imagining sitting in a hot crowded house party surrounded by familiar faces.

Your focus breaks from the car's owner manual when you hear a distant rumbling. You hop out of the driver's side seat and look to see a blinding set of headlights coming your way. As the lights come closer at a rapid speed you wave and step closer to the asphalt to catch the driver's attention.

Thankfully it begins to slow and rumbles to a stop a few feet short of your car. The driver kills the engine along with the annoyingly bright LEDs. Thet turn their hazard lights on, bathing the area in a blinking orange glow. You are stunned for a moment while your sight adjusts back to the dim night. You make out the shape of a large pickup truck through spotted vision. Its boxy silhouette shows a vehicle past its prime and out of style. You take that as a good sign thinking the owner must know something about taking care of cars.

The driver's side door creaks open and out comes a pair of boots dropping onto the roadside. When they slam the door you see a large shadow saunter towards you. Heavy steps crunch on the earth below.

"Thanks for stopping" You cross your exposed arms over your chest hoping they don't see the way you're shaking. You pretend like this isn't a total horror movie scene right now. Telling yourself the shivers are from the frigid air, not fear.

"You alright?" A thickly accented english voice asks. The figure finally reaches you. You have to crane your neck up to look him in the face, his broadness could swallow your quivering frame.

"Yeah, I'm fine. My car not so much" you gesture back to the front of your lifeless automobile. He looks over you and hums in understanding.

"I can take a look for you," He steps past and takes in the sight under your hood. “What happened?” He takes a moment to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt and scrunch up the sleeves.

“I don't know. I was just driving and then I heard some weird sounds then it started driving funny.” you attempt to explain.

“What kind of sounds?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Like a rattling, a pop, what?”

“If I am being completely honest I had the radio up kinda loud so I can’t really remember. I just know I heard something then it started to shake and slow down.”

You watch as he leans forward, large hands braced against the low bumper. "Do you have a flashlight?" his tone is flat, is he mad at you?

"Yeah," you pull your phone and click on the flashlight. You stand on the side of the car and try to hold it steady with both of your shaking hands.

"You can come a little closer," he looks up and smiles. "I don't bite"

You give a nervous chuckle and step around to the front of the car. Still careful to keep a good amount of distance from the stranger.

"Can you- here let me just," his large hand wraps around your wrist and gently draws your hand further out until you're almost bent over reaching across the space. "That's better."

He checks different areas, twisting and tapping on a few parts. Checking the levels of the various fluids. Occasionally repositioning the angle of your flashlight with a firm yet polite adjustment of your arm.

"Have you called anyone yet?" His gentle eyes look up from underneath his thick brow.

You hesitate for a moment considering the implication of your answer. He holds your stare as you try not to appear nervous. "Yes, I called roadside assistance but they won't be here for a while. They know I'm here though." You rush out a lie.

"Hm, yeah we're pretty out" he looks back at the machinery. He stands up straight, brushes his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. "Looks like you're not going anywhere."

Your stomach tightens and you pull back your flashlight leaving you both in the darkness.

"I can fix it but I'm going to need to go back to my place and grab some tools" He pulls the hood of your car down and slams it shut. "Or you can wait for the guy to get here. You'll be waiting for a while though"

You hold your phone tight in your palm feeling torn between trusting this stranger or going back to being stranded. "Um," it's hard to think with the constant waves of shivers going through you.

"Or you can stay here in the middle of the woods by yourself. Up to you," He pulls his keys from his pocket with a jingle and walks around you, back in the direction of his truck.

You look between your own car, the dark tree line, and the tall man getting further away.

"Okay!" You call to him. He turns and watches as you reach into your open car door to grab your purse and keys. You lock the door behind you and walk towards him.

You hear his door squeak open then his truck rev to life you. You quicken your pace to reach the passenger side, not wanting to be left alone here for another second. Before you can grab the handle he is reached over the long bench seat pushing to open from the inside.

"Glad you could make it," his cheeky smile causes his eyes to crinkle in the corners.

"Better than getting mauled by a bear" You haul yourself up and into the seat. The interior is still warm which allows you to relax a bit while your shiver subside. You take in the roomy cab of his truck. Nice leather seat, very clean, smells good. Surely he is just a kind older man wanting ti help out a stranded, clueless woman.

"You'd be alright. Bears normally hunt in the mornings. Bobcats on the other hand, that's what you've got to watch out for." He places his hand on the gear shifter, "Seatbelt," and nods down towards the unclipped buckle.

"Okay but first, can you promise you're not going to kidnap or kill me?" You stare him down as he holds a faint smile.

"I'm not going to kill you," he chuckles

"You see, that's exactly what a murderer would say," you are only half joking with that statement but buckle yourself in anyways.

"I guess you're going to have to trust me then" He focuses his eyes forward and pulls onto the road.

"I don't even know your name."

"I don't know yours either" he counters

"Fair enough," you consider it for a moment before telling him your name, and he tells you his.

"I don’t mean to be rude but, what's with the outfit?" he glanced your way for a moment. You don't miss the way his eyes trace down your figure.

"I'm a bunny, duh." You point to the fluffy ears fixed to your headband. His brows remains drawn in confusion. "It's halloween," you continue stating the obvious.

"Is it?" he finally puts it together. "My work has been hectic. It's easy to lose track of time. Heading to a party, then?" he asks.

"Was. I think I took a wrong turn a few miles back but I lost my cell signal so, I couldn’t get the map to load. Then my car died."

"That's some bad luck. Maybe you should look into getting a lucky rabbit's foot." He raises his eyebrows and chuckles.

"Ha ha," you respond humorlessly. "Look, the costume would've been a lot better with my friend. She's supposed to be a magician. Y'know like a magician pulls the white rabbit out of the hat."

"Right," he nods.

"Yeah, but it looks like I won't be making it tonight. I'm not too upset though. I'm not much of a party person."

"No?"

"No way, I'm a homebody. I hardly ever leave my house if I'm being honest. I work from home too so that keeps me pretty busy. Wow, sorry I didn’t mean to tell you my whole life story," you chuckle nervously.

"’S alright, I don’t mind. Your boyfriend doesn't take you out?" he asks.

"Boyfriend? No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Sorry, I just assumed. I mean, you're a pretty girl. Hard to believe you don't have someone to look after you."

"Oh, thanks" a bashful blush rises up your cheeks. "Like I said, I don't get out much. Not many opportunities to meet people. Which is part of the reason my friend gets so mad at me. I've canceled on her the past three times she has asked me to hang out. She had to beg me to come tonight. I kind of feel bad though. She's probably going to think I bailed again."

"When we get back to my place you can use my phone to give her a call if you'd like," he offered.

"Yeah, I probably should."

Looking out the windshield you can make out speckles of light ahead, breaking up the dense forest. John makes a final turn and you find yourself pulling up to a very nice cabin. Wood paneling lined the exterior framing several expansive windows which emit a warm yellow light behind the closed curtains. The glass panels stretch high to the sloped asymmetrical ceiling. The architecture looks straight out of the seventies.

"Wow, this is your place?" you ask in amazement. "What do you do for work?"

"I work for the government," he states simply before turning off the truck and exiting. He walks around to your side and opens your door. He offers his hand to you which you shyly take as you hop down from the elevated cab. "Your hands are cold," he gives your hand a small squeeze fully enveloping it in his palm. "Let's get you warmed up inside."

He ushers you up the driveway, his hand now transitioned to your lower back. You can't deny the way his touch makes your stomach flip. He opens the door and you step into the cozy home.

You are greeted by a vast living room. A long espresso colored leather sofa sits among matching chairs all facing towards a large stone fireplace. The space is washed in varying shades of warm browns and oranges. A beautiful thick rug lays across the glossy hardwood.

"Sit, let me get you a drink. Would you like some tea, coffee, a beer?"

"I'll have a coffee," with your confirmation he stepped through the living room to the connecting kitchen. Your eyes follow him as he disappears through the doorway. "Government job, huh? You must be very important." You step to one of the bookshelves that sit on either side of the fireplace. Scanning the many titles there.

"I guess you could say that." He laughs. "Do you take cream and sugar?"

"Yes, please." Your finger grazes the spines of the books. Many biographies and historical nonfiction among his collection sprinkled in with survival guides and warfare tactics.

"How about some Bailey's?"

"Sure,” you shrug. Maybe a little spiked coffee and make you relax a little.

He reappears with two steaming mugs in each hand. He offers one to you which you happily accept. Wrapping both hands around the cup, allowing the hot drink to unfreeze your fingers. He holds his gaze while he takes a sip and then releases a gravelly groan in satisfaction. You follow suit taking a sip, feeling the warmth descend in your throat and radiate in your chest.

"Not bad?"

"No, not at all, thank you,” you smile sweetly.

"How about a fire? Get you warmed up and then I'll go grab those tools, ay?" He doesn't allow you to answer before he sets his mug on the coffee table and kneels in front of the fireplace.

You sit on the couch and watch while he makes quick work of getting the fire started. It's not long until he nurses the little flame into a roaring fire. He grabs a few fresh logs to throw on top before getting up and taking a seat next to you.

"Feeling better?" He asks as grabs his drink once more and settles into the cushions, arm slung across the back of the couch behind you.

"Much" With your cup now half empty you begin to feel the alcohol go straight to your head. You aren't surprised though. You haven't eaten all day in order to fit into this strangling outfit.

"I like your costume, by the way. I don't think I said that earlier. Not sure if I would've stopped if you didn't look so cute" His hand reaches from behind you and flicks your artificial ears.

"Hey" You adjust the head piece back in place. "This was a lot of work to put together, I'll have you know." You attempt to convey your seriousness but can't help the giggle that escapes.

"Oh, I can tell." His hand slips down from the back cushion to brush across your bare shoulder. The light touch makes your skin erupt in a flurry of goosebumps. "You're still pretty cold, bunny. Let me get you something warmer to put on."

"I'm okay, really. I'll warm up." You take another long sip on your hot beverage. "I feel fine."

"I insist" He rises from the couch and politely holds a hand out for you.

You are hesitant for a moment but seeing the persistence settled on his face you accept. "Alright," you relent.

He leads you down a dim corridor to the last room on the right. He pushes open the cracked door to reveal his neat bedroom. Very much resembling the rest of the house. A giant perfectly made bed sits in the center of the clean area. Makes sense considering the large man that sleeps in it. A lone lamp illuminates the room giving it a hazy appearance. Or maybe that's just your clouded mind.

He steps past you towards his dresser and pulls open one of the drawers. He pulls out a large shirt then a pair of pajama pants and hands them to you. "Not sure how well these will fit but it'll be more comfortable, I'm sure"

"Too bad" You look down at the folded clothes in your hand. "Feels like a total waste of a costume."

His eyes scan down your body once more. "I don't think so" He walks past you towards the door. "I sure got a kick out of it" He smiles and turns to close the door on his way out.

"John," you rush out before he goes.

"Hm?"

"Can you, um-" You look over your shoulder at him. Still facing away from him. "Can you untie me?" gesturing to the lace up back to your corset.

"Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat. “I can do that" he takes measured steps towards you. As though a hunter may quietly stalk up to its prey.

You look forward again and stand up a little straighter when his warm hands rest on your shoulders. They slowly slide down your back and onto the dense fabric. Fingers trailing over the layer of ribbon and boning. Finally he reaches the large bow at the base of your back. You feel the ribbon unwind to hang limply. Edges skimming the back of your thighs.

His strong fingers wedge themselves in the gaps between the laces. Tugging each intersection with meticulous movements so as not to throw you off balance. Your hands rush to press the front of your corset to your chest when you feel it begin to slip. At last you can take a full breath.

Feeling his touch retreat after finishing the task you turn back towards him. Neck craning up to meet his eyes. The height difference was much more apparent from this close proximity.

"Thank you,” your voice coming out just over a whisper.

"It's no trouble" He matches your hushed tone.

Your heart is beating out of your chest. Maybe it was the drink, or the fact that you were touch starved, perhaps even the fact that it was halloween but you felt bold. Bold enough to release your hands and allow the undone corset to fall to the ground below.

Without a moment's hesitation John harshly grabs the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours as if thats the sign he’s been waiting for. Lips collide in a hot rush. His stong arms pull you flush against his broad frame. Deep groans rumble from his chest.

Your sluggish movements make you struggle to keep up with his hectic pace. Your hands sliding up his neck to tug at his cropped hair. One particular harsh tug draws a growl from him.

He walks you backwards across the room until the back of your tight clad legs meet the soft comforter. He releases his hold and you fall backwards onto the mattress.

He towers over you. His chest heaves with each breath as he stares you down. Your stomach flutters, unsure if it is due to excitement or fear. You begin scoot backwards up the bed but as you make your way towards the pillows his hand encircles one of your ankles.

"Not so fast little, bunny," he tugs your leg harshly and pulls you back towards him. He doesn't waste time as he dips his fingers into your tiny ruffled shorts yanking them down in one swift motion.

He climbs over you, wedging his thigh between your legs. His hand maneuvers around your lower back and behind your neck. He pulls you back into a heated kiss.

You feel the pressure from his muscular thigh press against you. You unconsciously grind your hips into his leg while he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. He assists in your movements as he grips your hips, rocking you back and forth.

"That's it, pretty," he leans down to mumble in your ear. "I can feel you soaking through those little panties," then giving your earlobe a nip.

Moans slip from you with each movement. Rutting pathetically, unable to stop yourself as you near closer to your edge. He dips down to your neck expertly finding your sensitive points. Biting your pulse then soothing it with his tongue. The friction from his jeans rubs against your little cotton underwear and fishnets.

"John, please," you whine, unsure of what you're asking.

"Go ahead sweet girl, cum for me." His powerful grip digging into your waist.

With his words of approval paired with his hot mouth moving along your throat, you begin to unwind. Tipping over the edge, your legs tightening around his own. The knot in your stomach finally snaps. Back arching into him and loud moans pouring from you. A rush of heat fills you and until you finally slump back into the bedding.

John loosened his hold around you. A hand coming up to move hair away from your face. "You're a dirty little girl, aren't you? Humping my leg to get off. Nasty thing, you are."

A blush of embarrassment rising across your already flushed face. The shame morphs back into lust as you feel a tightness reform in your stomach.

John sits back on his knees and begins to unbutton his shirt. Your eyes can't help but to land on the massive bulge formed in his pants. A thick outline straining against the restricting denim. He finishes stripping off his shirt revealing his burly chest. You sit up to run your hands down his bare skin. Leaving kisses along the line of hair leading from his chest into his happy trail.

Your hands skim lower to find the buckle of his belt. You make quick work unbuckling and unfastening of his jeans. Hurriedly yanking down the offending material just enough to give way to his tight boxers. Your mouth salivates at the sight of his hard cock straining through the thin material.

Before you can rip away the final layer he grabs your wrists. “Not so fast,” he chuckled. Gathering both your wrist into one of his hands easily he uses the other to swiftly pull his belt from it loops. He takes the belt and wraps it around your wrists, securing them tightly together.

“Needy girl,” he mumbles. His rough palms traced down your arms then along your waist. “Taking whatever you want,” his fingers skim along the pattern of your fishnets. “It’s my turn now, bunny,” once he reaches your still clothed center. Finger grip the threads of your tights and rip them open. Completely tearing the flimsy strands to fully expose your panties.

He slides his fingers across your sensitive clothed cunt making your hips thrust into him. “Oh, bunny. You’re soaked,” his eyes flick back up to meet yours. The black of his pupil now blown out almost completely consuming the previously blue iris.

He takes your bound wrists and pulls them over his head. Your arms now wrapped around his neck, your bare chest flush against his. He pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling his hips. Not bothered enough to fully undress he jerks down the waistband of his boxers. Allowing his thick cock to spring out. Fingers frantically pulling aside the drenched material of your panties, exposing your throbbing heat.

He grinds his hips up to meet yours. Sliding his cock easily through your wet folds.

“Oh god,” you whimpered as his head rubs against your sensitive clit. “Please, fuck me”

Needing no more prompting he pulls your hips back and lines himself up with your needy hole but not yet entering. “You want this?” He dips just the tip of his head in, teasing your dripping entrance.

“Yes, please,” you beg, looking at him through your lashes. You desperately try to grind your hips down but he holds you in place.

“What good manners you have,” he continues to tease and thrusts the tiniest movements, never fully entering.

“John, I can’t wait anymore, please, just- please. I need it. I-” Your string of pitiful begging is interrupted when he finally yanks your hips down. His length fills you completely in one smooth thrust. Your eyes roll back at the sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

He lets out a guttural moan once he is fully inside of you. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans. His head dropped in the crook of your neck, biting the soft skin there. Mustache and stubble scratching along your collarbone. You yelp at the pain of his bite but he doesn't relent. Your pussy tightens around him as his teeth sink into the tender flesh.

His arms move from their grip on your hips and fully wrap around your back. He begins to thrust up into you. Not easing into the movement as he immediately drives his hips up at a brutal pace. As if he were unable to wait another second.

Unable to grip into anything with your bound hands, you find purchase digging your nails into the leather of the belt. Your head tipping back limply as you can only take his cruel ministrations.

“Is this what you wanted?” He grits out through his teeth, each word punctuated by his hips driving up into you. His cock pounds into your cervix making a flurry or stars burst behind your eyelids at every hit. “Is this what you’ve been needing? A good fucking?”

You mumble out a pathetic, “Mhm,” unable to fully process his words. His fingers dig into your shoulder and back. You are fully engulfed by this giant brute of a man.

“I know you do. I knew from the moment I saw you. Looking so sweet on the side of the road.” He chuckles darkly. Continuing to hold you tight against him he leans forward until your back hits the comforter. Your legs lock around his back while he holds your hips in place. The new angle has him pounding into your sweet spot over and over. The friction of his hair rubbing onto your clit creates the building of renewed heat in your stomach.

“You gonna cum again, pretty? Let me see you do it,” his thrusts slow from the frantic pace to a slower harder stroke. His arms lay on either side of your head while he studies your features. Hard length easing out of you slow enough for you to feel each ridge and vein. Then jerking his hip harshly back in.

Your head was feeling fuzzy. A drop of salvia trailed out of your lips and down your cheek. Your high was getting closer with each thrust. Eyelids fluttering shut as you feel the knot tighten in your stomach. So close to release. Your walls contract around him causing your legs to tighten, toes curling.

“Hey,” John snaps harshly. When he receives no response he gives you a light smack on the cheek. Hard enough to make your eyes pop open in shock. “Look at me, pretty girl. I need to see those eyes,” his words sound warm but he grips your jaw in place with a stern hold.

Your eyes flutter while you struggle to keep them focused on him. Coming closer to the edge. “Come on, you can do it. Don’t make you give you another smack. I don’t want to hit you, pretty girl. Don’t make me” his tone dripping in condensation. “That’s it, give it to me. I wanna see you come undone, bunny.”

Then you snap. A series of shockwaves ravages your tired body. Shooting sparks of electricity race through your limbs. Your unfocused eyes stayed fixed on him throughout your climax. Your back arches high into his chest. Fingers ball up tight, desperate for something to grip. Your mouth drop open agape in a silent cry. Tear form in the corners of your eyes threatening to spill from the over stimulation. His harsh movements not granting you mercy in your fraile state.

“God, I can feel you squeezing me. Oh, pretty girl, I'm gonna fill your sweet cunt,” he moans. Hips increase in pace as your tense muscle loosen in exhaustion.

“Wait-” You murmur, hardly able to get your words out. Only a string of incoherent mumblings follow. Your brain is completely clouded. You know you can’t let him finish inside. “Please, no,” you whimper. “Can’t”

“It’s gonna be okay, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’m gonna fill you up and maybe I’ll get you pregnant.” He says with a wicked smile. “You want to be my little house bunny? Fuck you until you get big and round. Walk around pregnant barefoot,”

Alarm bells ring in your ears but you aren’t able to fight against his strong hold. Your limbs remain weak. Useless to pull away from his embrace “Please” you whine, “I can’t”

“You can, bunny.” His thrusts grow erratic, losing their rhythm. “Gonna be such a pretty mommy,” His hand slipped underneath your head allowing thick fingers to tangle into your hair. His hands closing into a fist giving the strands a sharp tug. The other hand wanders down to your hips. Holding you firmly in place with a bruising grip.

With one final thrust he releases a loud, guttural groan. Teeth bared in exertion as he reaches his own climax. Cock pulsing inside of you, draining his seed into your weeping womb. All you can do is tighten your jaw as you attempt to push, kick, scream, anything but you just lie there. The faintest gasp leaves you when you feel his warm load pool inside of you.

“You made it so easy for me,” he laughs. “You just got in my truck. Walked into my house. Silly girl, you don’t even know me. Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to talk to strangers.”

He gives a few more gentle pumps before pulling out completely. Leaving your aching cunt feeling empty. He leans back and stares down, watching him cum drip out of your still quivering cunt.

“You know, I put something in your drink. Took a little while to take, though. Got to you just in time I think. I was going to wait but you wanted it, didn’t you? I like seeing that dumb look in your eyes.” He grabs your jaw and moves your head back and forth while you stare blankly back at him.

“Couldn’t let a little bunny like you get away, could I?

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

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lizzyiii · 4 months ago

Note

I LOVE THE DRAGONS TREASURE

Please tell me she claims a dragon

Uhhhh, well why don't you read and see...

The Dragon's Treasure (2)

pairing | young aemond targaryen x niece!reader

word count | 8.5k words

summary | ‘You leaned into the Queen’s side, the comforting warmth of her presence allowing fresh sobs to escape. All you could think was how it felt to be given away by your mother, as confusion and sorrow swirled in your heart like a storm.’

tags | ANGST, ANGST AND MORE ANGST, targaryen incest, reader is described to have silver hair and lilac eyes, depression, suicidal thoughts, as always reader is a sensitive queen 👑, reader really goes through it

a/n | I'm SO SORRY this took so long. Also I couldn't put everything in here or else it could've been like 15k words, so guess whatttt, there will now be A PART 3, which will be the final part of this which WILL have a HAPPY ENDING. Anyway enjoy

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 1 is 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 3

Laenor’s frustration hung heavily in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to reach out and envelop the room. "How could you do this, Rhaenyra?" he hissed, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief. He paced across the chamber, the sound of his boots echoing against the stone walls.

Rhaenyra, seated beside you as you lay asleep, cast her gaze downward, her expression shadowed by shame. Her injured arm was pressed tightly against her chest, while her other hand delicately brushed aside the strands of hair that fell across your serene face.

"It was the only way to preserve the fragile peace, Laenor," she replied softly, her voice barely a whisper, yet heavy with sorrow as she focused on you.

Laenor’s frustration erupted once more as he countered, "By giving away our daughter?" His tone was hushed, yet the anguish etched across his features spoke volumes.

"And what do you call your intention to abandon her?" Rhaenyra's retort was fierce, her eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and hurt.

Laenor's gaze dropped, shame washing over him. He clenched his jaw, the weight of truth too heavy to bear. It was true—after much debate with Rhaenyra and Daemon, the decision had been made to stage his own death, allowing him the chance to flee with Qarl. The thought churned within him like a storm. "You should’ve spoken to me first," he murmured at last, his voice softer, tinged with the ache of sorrow.

"Mother," your weak voice echoed in the chamber, silencing the hushed argument between your parents.

A sharp pain throbbed in your head, the remnants of a distant ringing lingering like a ghost. With great effort, you began to sit up, but your mother gently urged you back, her voice soothing yet urgent, "My love, settle back. Do not strain yourself."

The world around you remained a blur as you blinked, trying to shake off the fog that clouded your mind. "What—what happened?" you managed to ask, your voice soft and uncertain.

Your gaze wandered to the window, where the soft light of dawn poured in, painting the room in warm hues. "What is the last thing you remember, my sweet?" your father asked from your other side, concern etched upon his features. You turned to him, puzzled, noticing the deep worry in his eyes.

Closing your eyes, you grasped at the fragments of the night that felt just out of reach. "Jace woke me, and then—there was a fight," you stammered, urgency clawing at your chest as you opened your eyes wide. "Is everyone alright? Is Aemond alright?"

Your mother’s lips pressed together as she exchanged a troubled glance with your father. "Your brothers and cousins are fine," she began carefully, "but… Aemond lost his eye."

Your heart plummeted at her words, and tears brimmed in your lilac eyes as memories flickered like a dim flame. "Luke?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“Yes,” your mother whispered gently, searching your eyes with a steady resolve, “but he only acted to protect Jace from Aemond.”

“No,” you breathed out, shaking your head in denial, desperation threading through your voice, “Aemond would never truly hurt Jace.”

“But it’s alright,” Rhaenyra interjected, dismissing your words with an air of resignation. “Aemond said that Vhagar was worth the sacrifice.”

Worth the sacrifice? You struggled to comprehend how anything could justify the loss of an eye. A deep longing stirred within you to see Aemond, to confirm that he was truly alright. Your gaze flitted anxiously between your mother and father before the memory of the loud commotion that had pulled you from your sleep surged back. “Why were you and Father fighting?”

Your father arched an eyebrow, turning his attention to your mother with an air of expectation, “Well, Rhaenyra?”

Your mother offered a strained smile, her hand gently brushing your cheek as if to shield you from any remaining tension in the air. “To ensure peace between our families, the Queen and I have decided to betroth you to Aemond. You will wed when you turn seven and ten. But do not fret, dear one; you and Aemond are the closest of friends.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your father’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Rhaenyra, tell her the rest.”

With a small sigh, your mother looked away, a shadow passing over her face. “During your betrothal, the Queen insists you stay in the Red Keep.”

Feelings swirled within you at the thought of being promised to Aemond. Yes, he was your dear friend, but never had you envisioned him as your husband. As memories of the past returned—those cruel words Aemond had hurled at your cousins and brothers—you felt a knot form in your stomach. Yet, a flutter of hope ignited in your heart as you looked up at your mother. “Does that mean we’re going home?”

Your mother’s eyes widened, confusion washing over you as you noticed tears pooling within them. “No, my treasure,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We shall remain in Dragonstone while you live in King’s Landing.”

The air seemed to thicken around you, and your heart felt like it had cracked open at her words. "What?" You clutched her tightly, burying your face against her soft dress, your voice muffled as you pleaded, "I don’t want to be away from you."

“It will be alright,” Rhaenyra whispered gently, pressing her lips to your brow. “We will write letters every day, and you will come visit us at Dragonstone.” You could hear the tremble in her voice, even as she held you close, tears started to shimmer in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her heart aching as she cradled you in her arms, trying to soothe both your sorrow and her own. “All will be well, I promise.”

It was the only path left before her. By sending you to the Greens, she hoped to weave a thread of peace, to quiet their unrest, and when the time was right, she would reclaim you from their grasp.

You pulled back, your little nose pink and tear-streaked cheeks glistening with sorrow as your gaze fell upon her injured hand. “What happened to your hand?” you asked, concern etched across your cherubic face.

Rhaenyra fought back the urge to weep at your innocent worry. Even through your own heartbreak, you were thinking of her. She offered you the best smile she could muster, brushing a thumb softly against your cheek as she kissed your forehead. “It’s naught to trouble yourself over, my love.”

Her eyes drifted toward Laenor, who stood nearby, his face a mask of despair as he looked down at you.

"I do not wish to leave, please, Father, do not make me go," you whimpered softly, clutching at him as he carried you toward the Driftmark courtyard, where a carriage awaited to take you away. You had heard that Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond had already set sail on a ship, so you would be accompanying the Queen.

"I trust your mother’s wisdom," his voice was gentle. "You know that I love you, don't you?"

You nodded quietly, burying your face into the comforting crook of his neck, seeking solace from the storm brewing in your heart. Laenor paused, his hands steadying you as he whispered, "Look at me, my sweet. I've come to a most profound realization."

With a flicker of curiosity, you lifted your head, your sad lilac eyes searching his face, "What is it?"

He regarded you with a deep, thoughtful gaze for a moment before speaking, "That nothing and no one shall ever hold my heart as you do." He leaned closer and pressed a tender kiss upon your nose, a gesture meant to seal the words in a bond of love, "You are and will always be my greatest love."

At his declaration, your lips quivered, and hastily you retreated into the comforting warmth of his embrace, hiding your face against him once more.

You felt him exhale softly, the sound laced with an emotion you could not name, before he asked with a quiet sincerity, "Do you wish for my happiness?"

"More than anything, Father," you replied without hesitance, your voice a whisper wrapped in sincerity.

With your head nestled against him, you were unaware of the tears that brimmed in his eyes. He brushed his lips gently across your brow, murmuring softly, "Good, that’s good.

As you and your father finally stepped into the sunlit courtyard, you turned your gaze to take in the bustling crowd.

Your cousins, Baela and Rhaena, stood close by, flanked by your grandparents, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. A frown crossed your face as you spotted your great uncle Daemon standing beside your brothers and mother too close for your liking. Opposite them, before the grand carriage, stood Queen Alicent, her expression poised as she appeared to await your arrival.

With a gentle motion, your father set you down before your mother. As you looked up, you noticed Jace and Luke actively avoiding your eyes, their faces averted. Your mother knelt before you, her hands tenderly cradling your cheeks. "Do not fret, my sweet treasure. We shall be together again soon."

At her comforting words, fresh tears welled in your lilac eyes as you suddenly launched yourself into her embrace, clinging to her waist and burying your face in the soft fabric of her skirts. "I don’t want to go!" you cried out, your voice breaking.

Your small hands tightened around her skirts as you felt your father’s gentle persistence in trying to pry you away from your mother, and you protested fiercely, "No, I won’t go! You can’t make me!"

Your mother, her heart heavy with sorrow, cupped your cheeks in her hands, trying to soothe your tempest of emotions. “Hush, my love,” she whispered, her voice a tender balm against your distress.

Around you, pitying gazes flickered like candle flames—your grandparents’ melancholic expressions, your cousins’ shared discomfort. Jace’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears while Luke, overwhelmed, covered his ears, trying to drown out your wails. Rhaenyra felt a crack in her resolve as she listened to your sobs, contemplating possibly halting your betrothal. But then, a steady touch on her shoulder drew her attention. It was Daemon, giving her a firm nod, a silent promise of encouragement.

Steeling herself, Rhaenyra placed her hands over your tiny fists, carefully prying you away from her gown. She lifted your small face to meet her gaze, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. “You must perform your duty to the crown,” she said firmly, the weight of her words grounding her as she continued, “You are a princess now—act like it.” Each word felt like a dagger to her own heart, yet she managed to keep her voice steady, unwilling to let her emotions betray her in front of the others.

You looked up at her, your large, glistening eyes begging for understanding as you bit down on your lip, desperate to stifle your cries. It was then that you felt a soft hand on your shoulder and you saw your mother’s once-kind eyes harden and her lips set into a determined line.

Behind you, Queen Alicent's voice rang out with gentle authority, “Do not worry, sweet princess. We shall take good care of you.”

With one last lingering gaze at your mother, you allowed the Queen to lead you away. As you settled into the carriage alongside her and your grandsire, the weight of your sadness enveloped you once more. You leaned into the Queen’s side, the comforting warmth of her presence allowing fresh sobs to escape. All you could think was how it felt to be given away by your mother, as confusion and sorrow swirled in your heart like a storm.

Aemond's heart was heavy with worry. No, it wasn’t just worry—it was a deep, gnawing distress that coiled in his chest like a serpent.

The thrill of claiming Vhagar had filled him with such joy, he had felt as if he could touch the moon itself. The moment he soared through the skies on the back of the great dragon, he had thought only of you, eager to share the monumental news. In his mind, you would have clapped your hands and laughed with delight, celebrating the bond forged between rider and beast.

But fate had other plans. Just when he imagined your bright smile lighting up the sky, your brothers and cousins had to swoop in, like crows scattering the sunlight.

He could still picture the way you had stared at him, your eyes wide, but not with excitement. No, there was something else in your gaze—hurt. Aemond’s heart twisted painfully. What did it matter that he had claimed Vhagar? Didn’t you understand? He had done it for both of you, to lift you higher, to make you proud.

And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, the air crackled with tension. Your stupid cousin had lunged, and in that moment, everything exploded into chaos. And then much worse — his bastard nephew had struck you. It didn’t matter if it was an accident or a deliberate attack; Aemond saw only red. All he could think of was defending your honor, standing up for you. But that brave impulse led to disaster—the sharp, searing pain of loss as your bastard brother struck him down, taking his eye and leaving an aching void in its place.

The pain was unlike anything Aemond had ever known. As the sharp impact seared through him, a crimson tide flooded down his cheek, hot and frightening. For a fleeting moment, fear clawed at his insides; he truly believed he would not survive this. The world around him dimmed, distorted by the sudden absence of sight, as the maester began to stitch the ravaged flesh, one painful tug at a time. In that disorienting haze, it felt as if all the light had been extinguished, leaving him vulnerable and alone.

In the throng of shouting, his mother alone stood as his shield, her voice rising powerfully over the din. Where was the king? His father seemed indifferent, preoccupied with the whispers of bastardy that tainted his grandson's names, ignoring his son’s suffering. Aemond felt a pang of betrayal deep in his heart, a bitter realization that the bonds of blood carried chains as much as love.

But more damning still was your stillness. You lay unconscious atop a small cot, the aftermath of your collision against a stone wall. His worry for you gnawed at his mind, a relentless ache more piercing than the wound that marred his face. Around him, the fighting raged on, but all it did was intensify the throbbing where his eye had been, and in desperation, he called out, declaring that his lost eye was a worthy sacrifice for a dragon—any dragon.

Then his mother came to him, her expression conveying hope. She spoke of a betrothal, weaving a promise between the two of you like a delicate thread. In that moment, Aemond's heart swelled with a light that eclipsed the agony gripping his face.

You would be his wife; destined to stand at his side forever. It was a beautiful twist of fate meant to be, a binding forged that made him forget, at least for a heartbeat, that he was now a boy with only one eye.

But now, after a fortnight spent back in the imposing halls of the Red Keep, he still had not laid eyes on you since that fateful night in Driftmark. At first, his mother had told him you were too distraught, struggling to settle back in King’s Landing without your mother and siblings. Aemond could understand that; he knew how deeply you loved his sister, though he had no clue as to why.

Yet, days passed, and the weight of your absence grew heavier. Then, the letter arrived. A letter relaying how your father, Laenor Velaryon, had been murdered. His mother, with a grave expression, had explained that you were in no condition for visitors, grief stricken and devastated. Aemond felt a surge of frustration mixed with a pang of empathy. How could he possibly comfort you from afar?

Despite his mother’s warnings, he refused to be deterred. Each day, without fail, he ventured to your chambers, his heart pounding with hope and desperation. Each time, he was met with the same stony refusal from your sworn shield, Ser Rowan. The knight’s demeanor was unwavering, his expression a mixture of duty and pity that only fueled Aemond’s determination.

With a final, resentful glance at the shield that stood between him and you, he turned away, but not before giving your door a lingering look—his heart aching to see you, to offer even a word of solace.

That’s when a cunning idea sparked in his mind. He recalled the tales of Maegor the Cruel, who, in his paranoia, had carved secret tunnels through the very walls of the Red Keep. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a way in. Aemond’s pulse quickened at the thought of sneaking through those hidden passages, unseen and unnoticed, until he could finally stand before you.

He took a deep breath, his determination solidifying. No more waiting, no more barriers. He would find you, even if it meant crawling through the dark, twisting shadows of the Red Keep. You were destined to be together, and he would not allow the two of you to be apart any longer.

It had taken Aemond a full week—seven days of frustration, of feeling like a fool. He had spent those days pacing the cold stone walls of the Red Keep, touching every surface in hopes of discovering one of the fabled tunnels of Maegor the Cruel. They said the king had built secret ways throughout the castle, but Aemond had no guide, no map. Only his determination kept him searching. Then, at last, he'd found one—hidden behind a grand tapestry depicting dragons in flight.

Excitement had quickly turned to terror. Once inside the dark, winding passageways, Aemond realized he was hopelessly lost. The stone walls seemed to close in on him, their narrow confines suffocating. Hours passed before he finally stumbled out, breathless and covered in dust, into the kitchens. The sky outside had turned to night, and his stomach gnawed at him from hunger. He looked a sight—dirty, disheveled, and no closer to his goal.

The next time, he would not make the same mistake. He had prepared this time, studying the first tunnel he’d discovered and memorizing the paths it led to. He knew now how to navigate these secret ways, and his heart raced at the thought of where they might lead him.

Tonight, he sought your chambers.

Quiet as a shadow, he slipped through the concealed door in the wall, pushing it open just enough to sneak inside. His eyes darted around the room before he found a hiding place behind a tall dressing screen. From there, he could see only part of the room.

Aemond stood quietly behind the carved wooden screen, peering through the delicate patterns to catch a glimpse of his mother, Alicent. She sat beside the bed, where you were hidden beneath a heavy blanket, your figure barely visible. He strained to hear the conversation, his curiosity mingling with worry.

"You must eat, my sweet princess," Alicent's voice trembled slightly, though she tried to keep her tone soothing. Her words echoed through the chamber, filling the air with tension that made Aemond's heart tighten.

He frowned, sensing the tension in the room, the weight of his mother's concern. But you gave no answer, not even a whisper, and the silence only deepened his anxiety.

"If you do not eat," his mother continued, her voice sharper now, filled with urgency, "you will waste away. You will die."

Aemond swallowed hard. He hadn’t known it was this bad. He pressed himself closer to the screen, his young mind racing. What could he do? How could he help?

The silence finally broke, but the sound of your voice was weak, and it made Aemond's stomach churn. "I do not care," you said, the weariness in your tone hanging in the air like a shadow. Aemond frowned deeply, his heart racing. It sounded as though you hadn’t spoken in days.

"I wish to be with my father," you whispered, and Aemond felt the words like a blow. His hands clenched at his sides as his chest grew tight.

Queen Alicent gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Princess..." she murmured, her voice barely above a breath.

A heavy silence lingered for a few moments, only broken by the sound of Alicent’s soft sigh. She leaned forward and gently caressed your brow, her fingers smoothing your hair with a mother’s care. "I shall return later," she said softly, though there was a hint of sadness in her tone. "Perhaps by then, you will be in better spirits."

She rose from the bed, her gown rustling softly as she turned to leave. Aemond stayed perfectly still, his breath held until his mother had exited the chamber, her footsteps fading down the corridor. Only then did he dare to move, waiting a moment longer before stepping out from behind the screen, the weight of your words still heavy on his mind.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stepped cautiously toward your bed. The tension in the room made the air thick, and his hands had already begun to tremble. He cleared his throat, though it did little to ease the nervousness tightening his chest. "Niece," he called softly, hoping the word might draw some warmth from you.

But you lay there, still as stone, offering him no sign that you’d heard. His heart quickened, not just from excitement but from something colder—apprehension. "It is me, Aemond," he said, trying again, this time louder, as if his voice could somehow break through the wall you had built around yourself.

"Leave," you croaked, your voice rough from disuse. The word, though weak, struck him like a lash.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he edged closer to your bedside despite the rejection. His heart ached at the sight of you, eyes barely open, a sliver of sharp lilac staring back at him with the irritation of a cornered animal. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I know you are in pain—"

"Go away," you interrupted, your voice fragile, cracking under the weight of your sorrow as you pulled the covers over your head, shielding yourself from him, from the world.

Aemond stood frozen, his brow furrowing deeply, the sting of your words sharper than he expected. He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the vulnerability he had tried so hard to bury rise to the surface. His voice was barely above a whisper as he let slip the truth he had kept locked away. "I… I’ve missed you."

Your silence stung worse than anything you could have said. Then, muffled beneath the covers, you spoke firmly, your voice laced with bitterness. "Leave me be, Aemond."

Desperation took hold of him. His face grew hot as he reached out toward the blanket that hid you, fingers trembling. "Please," he whispered, voice cracking, "just speak to me. Let me help you."

Suddenly, the covers flew back, and you sat up, your face twisted in an anger that made Aemond step back as if he had been struck. The look in your eyes—sharp, hateful—was something he had never seen before, not directed at him. "Now you wish to help?" you spat, your voice ringing through the chamber, venomous and cold. "You’ve ruined everything, Aemond."

His heart pounded painfully in his chest. "What?" He stared at you, confusion clouding his mind. What had he done?

"Because of your selfish ambitions," you snarled, your voice rising with every word, "my mother had to give me away. If it weren’t for you, I would still be with them—still be with my father!" Tears brimmed in your lilac eyes, the sight of them making his stomach churn.

Aemond felt like the floor had dropped from beneath him. How could this be his fault? He didn’t understand. "Niece—please," he whispered, but his voice sounded small and powerless, even to himself.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and when you spoke again, the words shattered him. "I hate you, Aemond. And I will hate you for the rest of our lives." Your voice broke as the tears finally fell, streaming down your cheeks. "Now go!"

Your scream echoed through the room, and Aemond felt wetness on his own cheeks. His chest tightened, and the lump in his throat grew unbearable. He flinched as he heard your knight call for you from outside the chamber, likely drawn by your raised voice.

Breathing heavily, Aemond glanced at you one last time, your tear-streaked face seared into his mind. His body moved on instinct, turning away, his feet carrying him swiftly back toward the secret door he had come through. His heart was heavy with a pain he had never felt before, not even when he had lost his eye, and as he slipped away, the weight of your words followed him into the darkness.

Queen Alicent paced the length of her chambers, her mind in turmoil. She had never anticipated this outcome when she brought you to the Red Keep, far from Dragonstone, far from your mother, Princess Rhaenyra. She had believed that under her guidance, you would flourish. As her ward, betrothed to Aemond, your closest companion, she imagined you would grow into a graceful, dutiful princess—one who would restore the honor of House Targaryen, untarnished by the reckless whims of your mother.

In her heart, Alicent had even dared to hope that you might surpass Rhaenyra, earning the love of the people as the true 'Realm’s Delight.' But those dreams now seemed distant and foolish.

It had all gone wrong.

Alicent had grossly underestimated the bond you held with your mother, the Princess. The spirited, joyful girl she had known—the one who ran through the halls of the Red Keep with Aemond at your side—had withered before her very eyes. In mere weeks, you had become a ghost, hollow and silent, consumed by grief and loneliness. Being torn from your mother’s side, followed by the sudden news of your father’s death, had shattered something deep within you.

Alicent was powerless. She could feel the weight of her failure pressing down on her, and it terrified her. You had stopped eating, and each time she visited your chambers, the sight of you grew more distressing. Your once-cherubic face had grown gaunt, your cheeks hollow, and the dark rings under your violet eyes seemed to deepen with every passing day. The life that had once shone so brightly within you was now dim, fading with each moment that you refused to take nourishment.

In truth, Alicent no longer cared about the feud between her and Rhaenyra. She no longer saw you as a pawn in the game of succession, a princess bound to her son. All of that had crumbled in the face of her growing fear for your health. She couldn’t stand by and watch you waste away, not like this.

She had tried everything—soft words, coaxing, but nothing had worked. You remained trapped in your sorrow, unreachable, silent. Desperation clawed at her heart, and in that desperation, she did something she had not imagined she would ever do.

Alicent sat at her desk, trembling hands grasping a quill as she penned a letter to Princess Rhaenyra. She pushed aside her pride, her anger, her fear of what this might mean for the tensions between their families. None of that mattered now. Only you mattered.

“Princess Rhaenyra, your daughter is unwell,” she wrote, her heart heavy with each stroke of the pen. “I ask—no, I beg you to come to the Red Keep at once. She needs you. I fear that without her mother, she may not survive this grief. Please, come swiftly.”

The letter was sealed with wax, her hand shaking as she pressed the Targaryen sigil into it. For once, Alicent did not think of herself, nor of the coming war over the Iron Throne. She only thought of the fragile girl with lilac eyes, fading away in the chambers of the Red Keep.

"Send it," she ordered the servant, her voice tight with emotion. "Have the fastest raven dispatched to Dragonstone."

But a week had passed, and there had been no response. Alicent cursed Rhaenyra’s negligence. How could she ignore such a plea? How could she allow her own daughter to wither away in the Red Keep, as if you were some pawn to be discarded?

What Alicent did not know was that the letter had never reached Rhaenyra’s hands. No, it had fallen into the possession of Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince had taken one glance at the letter and, with a smirk of indifference, tossed it into the flames of the hearth. In his eyes, you were of no use to him. Another heir of Rhaenyra’s blood, one more obstacle between him and his ambitions for his own children. Let the girl perish, he thought with cold calculation. It was one less threat to his plans for the Iron Throne.

Alicent, unaware of this, grew more anxious with each passing day. No response from Dragonstone. No sign of Rhaenyra. She could not wait any longer. In her desperation, she turned to another—a hope that perhaps your dearest friend, Helaena, might reach you where others had failed. Helaena, her sweet daughter, only three years your senior, had always been close to you, sharing dreams and secrets in happier times.

Alicent clasped her hands together as she stood outside your chamber, her nerves taut. She turned to Ser Rowan, your sworn knight, who had guarded you since your first breath.

"Any change today?" she asked, though her voice betrayed little hope.

Ser Rowan, his face dark with guilt, shook his head solemnly. "No, Your Grace. She has not stirred."

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, and with a nod, she pushed open the door, Helaena trailing close behind. The chamber was as it always was—quiet, heavy with the air of grief. You lay in the bed, as still and silent as if the world outside had ceased to exist.

Alicent cleared her throat, trying to inject warmth into her voice. "Princess," she called gently, "I’ve brought a guest for you."

You did not stir. You did not acknowledge her at all. It was as if the words had fallen into an abyss.

Alicent’s heart sank. She glanced down at Helaena and gave her a nod of encouragement. Perhaps, just perhaps, her daughter could say what she could not.

Helaena moved slowly, her steps light as she approached your bed and sat beside you. She said nothing at first, simply humming a soft, melodic tune under her breath. From the small chest she had brought, she carefully lifted something between her fingers. The sight of her silent actions caught your attention, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, your small head peeked from beneath the covers, your curiosity piqued.

Alicent held her breath, hope blooming in her chest.

Helaena continued to hum as she gently played with the small creature in her hands, a soft smile on her lips. After a few moments of silence, you finally spoke, your voice weak and quiet. "What's that?"

Without glancing at you, Helaena murmured, "Buprestidae."

Your face scrunched in confusion, and Helaena, with her usual dreamy tone, elaborated, "It is more commonly known as the jewel beetle."

Your eyes widened in quiet wonder as you gazed at the shiny emerald insect in her hand. Its iridescent shell shimmered in the dim light, captivating your attention. "It’s very pretty," you whispered.

A faint smile touched Helaena’s lips. "My books say it is one of the most beautiful insects in the world," she said gently, her voice filled with affection as she watched your interest grow.

"Wow," you breathed, your small voice barely audible. Then, with a glimmer of your old self shining through, you looked up at Helaena, your lilac eyes filled with a trace of life. "Will you tell me more about them?"

There was a brief pause as Helaena's eyes drifted toward the untouched tray of food sitting beside your bed. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but firm as she made her quiet bargain. "I will... but only if you finish your soup."

Alicent’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched you hesitate, the tension in the room thick. She held her breath, praying to the gods that you would comply. After a moment of silence, you reached for the bowl and, with slow, deliberate movements, lifted the spoon to your lips.

Alicent nearly wept in relief as you began to eat, her heart lightening for the first time in what felt like ages. Helaena, true to her word, continued in her calm, melodic voice, speaking to you as you slowly finished your meal.

"Most jewel beetles are active during the day," Helaena explained, her tone soothing, "and they spend the night nestled beneath leaves or in the bark of trees. Their shimmering colors help them attract mates, especially under the bright sunlight, which makes their beauty shine even more..."

Alicent stepped back, her gaze lingering on you as the weight on her chest finally began to lift.

You found solace in Helaena’s presence, though at times her words felt like riddles, their meaning drifting past you like the wind. Still, there was something calming about her company, something soft and soothing in the way she moved and spoke. Her visits had become the brightest part of your days, a welcome distraction from the deep sorrow that still gripped you.

The ache of being separated from your mother, weighed heavy on your heart. You missed her fiercely, and the news of your father's death had only deepened that sadness. But when Helaena was near, for just a little while, the burden lightened. Her quiet, gentle presence helped you forget, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Today, the two of you sat in the warm light of your solar. Helaena perched on the chaise, her hands busy with her embroidery, weaving delicate patterns into the fabric with practiced ease. You, content with your own thoughts, sat nearby with parchment spread before you, sketching the insects Helaena had shown you in previous days. The jewel beetle, with its shimmering emerald wings, was your favorite to draw.

As your hand moved across the parchment, your mind began to drift. Your thoughts slipped away from the beetles and the quiet peace of the moment, wandering back to the last time you had seen Aemond. You could still see the hurt etched on his face, the way his expression had crumpled when you yelled at him in your grief. Your words had been sharp, and though part of you still clung to the anger, another part felt something different. Guilt. Regret.

You had missed him—more than you wanted to admit. Since you were a babe, it had always been you and Aemond, bound by blood and by the shared weight of the Targaryen legacy. You had thought that, no matter what, it would always be the two of you against the world. But then he had claimed Vhagar.

Everything had changed after that. He had left you behind, the only one of your kin without a dragon. And more than that, he had spoken cruelly, lashing out at your brothers and cousins with venom you had never seen in him before. His words had cut deeper than any sword.

But now, as you sat in silence, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had overreacted. Yes, Aemond had been harsh, and yes, he had taken Vhagar without thinking how it would make you feel. But could one misstep, one painful choice, truly undo the bond you had shared for so long? Was your friendship, your connection as kin, so fragile that it could be shattered by a single moment of anger?

You paused, the charcoal in your hand hovering over the parchment as you considered. You missed him. Truly. And perhaps, deep down, you wondered if he missed you too.

"I do not wish to marry Aegon."

You looked up in surprise, her words catching you off guard. The castle had been alive with preparation — maids sewing new gowns, cooks laboring over feasts, and courtiers whispering about the upcoming union. You knew it was common among your kin for Targaryens to wed each other, like your great-grandparents, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, who were siblings. But still, the thought of Helaena marrying Aegon unsettled you, and now it seemed to trouble her too.

You knew why, of course. Your uncle Aegon was cruel, more interested in wine and women than anything else. He frightened you sometimes with the way he looked through people, as though they didn’t matter at all. You couldn’t imagine him as a kind husband.

"Why don’t you tell the Queen?" you asked, leaning forward on your seat, your eyes wide and hopeful. "Tell her you don’t want to marry him."

Helaena didn’t look up, her gaze fixed on her embroidery as her needle moved with careful precision. “Mother says it is our duty,” she murmured softly, almost as if speaking to herself. “To keep the blood pure. But... I don’t believe I shall be happy.”

The way her voice wavered made your heart tighten. Without thinking, you blurted out, “What if we leave?”

Helaena blinked, her head turning slowly toward you, confusion clear in her violet eyes. “Leave?” she repeated, her tone soft and bewildered. “I do not understand.”

“What if we just left?” you said again, more firmly this time, your words coming quicker now as the idea took shape in your mind. “We could fly away. Dreamfyre is strong. We could ride her across the Narrow Sea, go somewhere far away where no one could find us.”

For a moment, Helaena only stared at you, her needle paused in mid-air. “Niece...” she began, her tone hesitant, unsure.

“Yes!” You leaped to your feet, your excitement bubbling over as you grabbed her hands, your small fingers wrapping around her delicate, unmarked ones. Your hands were still smudged with charcoal. “We could see all the wonders of Essos — the great temples, the golden fields! We would eat cakes every day and never have to worry about anything.”

Helaena’s eyes softened, though a flicker of something uncertain lingered there. “And what of coin?” she asked after a pause, her voice gentle but cautious. “How would we live?”

You waved your hand dismissively, grinning. “We have a dragon, Aunt Helaena! We wouldn’t need anything else. Dreamfyre could take us wherever we wanted. No one could stop us.”

But Helaena’s gaze grew distant again, her lips pressing into a thin line. “We would be leaving our family behind,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Your smile faded as you sat back down beside her, your shoulders slumping slightly. Your mother had already left you behind when she sent you to King’s Landing. You had not seen her in months. Aemond… well, Aemond had Vhagar now. He didn’t need you anymore. He’d probably already forgotten about you.

“They don’t care about our happiness,” you said softly, trying to convince yourself as much as Helaena. “Why should we care about theirs?”

Helaena turned her face away, her expression distant, as if lost in her thoughts. Her lips moved slowly, forming words that you didn’t quite understand, though her tone was soft and strange, like a distant lullaby. “As shadows stretch and sky turns cold, fear within, like dusk, takes hold. Alone you stand, though hearts may yearn, in darkness waiting will light return."

You blinked, completely baffled by her words, but you simply shrugged and smiled brightly. “I’ll take that as a yes!”

Helaena’s head snapped back to you, her eyes widening in alarm. “Wait—”

“We’ll meet tonight at the Dragonpit!” you declared, bouncing up from your seat, your excitement renewed. “I’ll go pack my things!”

Before she could say another word, you were already running toward the door, your heart racing at the thought of your grand adventure. You didn’t hear Helaena call after you, nor did you see the torn, pained look that crossed her face as she watched you leave, uncertainty clouding her gaze.

Sneaking out of the Red Keep was, by far, the most reckless thing you had ever done in your ten years of life. Well, perhaps not the hardest, but it certainly felt like it as you plotted how to send Ser Rowan, your sworn shield, on a task that would occupy him long enough for your escape.

Stepping out of your chambers after so long, you saw Ser Rowan look at you with wide eyes, as though he had seen a ghost. It had been months since your return and you had not left your chambers since. your presence at such an hour clearly startled him.

“Ser Rowan,” you began, trying to keep your voice even, “could you fetch me some strawberry cakes from the kitchens, please?”

It was the middle of the night, and you knew full well that no one would be stirring in the kitchens at such an hour. Ser Rowan frowned at first, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Might it wait until morning, my princess? Surely—”

You interrupted with wide eyes and a slight pout, a trick you had learned from watching your mother use many times. Ser Rowan sighed, defeated.

“As you wish, my Princess,” he said with a small bow. “I shall return as swiftly as I can.”

As soon as he disappeared down the corridor, you darted back into your chambers. Your hands moved quickly, fastening a dark cloak over your nightgown, pulling on your boots, and securing a small satchel around your waist. Inside the satchel, you placed the few things you could not bear to leave behind—a few trinkets, a drawing of your family, and the little wooden dragon Aemond had carved for you.

Heart racing with excitement, you slipped out, careful to avoid the guards as you moved silently through the Keep. You kept close to the stone walls, where the shadows were deepest, and prayed no one would see your small figure darting from one corner to the next.

Somehow, by sheer luck or skill, you made it past the castle walls. You retraced your steps, recalling the times you had secretly followed your brothers, Jace and Luke, on their way to their dragon lessons. The path to the Dragonpit came to you as if you had walked it a hundred times before.

The pit was dark and silent, save for the occasional low rumble of a sleeping dragon. You knew you should have waited outside for Helaena, but your curiosity won out. The thrill of being here alone, surrounded by the presence of dragons, was too great to resist.

The deeper you ventured into the pit, the more your heart pounded with a mix of fear and awe. And there, before you, stood Dreamfyre, Helaena’s dragon. Even in the dim light, her blue scales shimmered like precious gems.

You gasped, startled, as Dreamfyre let out a heavy breath, a plume of smoke curling from her nostrils. The sudden movement made you cough, and Dreamfyre’s eyes flickered open. For a terrifying moment, the great beast stared at you with narrowed eyes.

You froze, holding your breath, certain that you had made a grave mistake. But after what felt like an eternity, Dreamfyre closed her eyes again, seemingly uninterested in you. Slowly, you let out a breath of relief, the tension easing from your shoulders.

You had not anticipated how long it would take for Helaena to arrive. The excitement of your escape began to fade, and the long wait in the cold of the Dragonpit made your eyelids heavy. Without thinking, you found yourself sitting against Dreamfyre’s rough, warm side. Her body heat was comforting, and before long, your head drooped, sleep threatening to take you.

Just as you were about to doze off, the sound of footsteps echoed through the pit. You jumped to your feet, hastily smoothing out your cloak and dress. Heart racing once more, you called out eagerly into the darkness.

“Helaena? Is that you?”

But the voice that responded was not hers.

“No, it’s me.”

A surge of confusion washed over you as Aemond stepped into view, a torch held high in his hand. The flickering light cast sharp shadows across his face, illuminating the scarred half hidden beneath his eyepatch. The sight of him, standing there with his frown and fierce gaze, made your heart drop. You hadn’t seen him since that terrible confrontation, you had not even noticed his injury. And now, seeing him like this, the guilt and confusion from that night flooded back.

You swallowed hard, your voice quivering as you asked, “Where is Helaena?”

“She’s back in the Red Keep, where you should be,” Aemond replied, his tone firm and commanding.

He hadn’t seen you in months, and though he felt relief to see you healthy and well, there was also a deep, gnawing hurt inside him. He had been shocked when Helaena told him of your plan to run away, and that pain twisted in his chest. You, his betrothed, were going to leave him behind so easily. And as much as he would have never admitted it aloud, if you had asked him to join you, he would have gone without hesitation.

Hurt flashed in your eyes, and your lip began to tremble. “Why isn’t she here?” you whispered, your voice barely holding together.

“She told me about your plan,” Aemond said quietly, his violet gaze never leaving you. “She sent me here to tell you that she has changed her mind.”

“No,” you shook your head fiercely, your voice cracking. “No, she wouldn’t do that.”

“She realized what you were doing was wrong,” Aemond said, stepping closer, his voice calm but stern. “The two of you have duties —”

"That's so easy for you to say," you snapped, your voice suddenly sharp and filled with anger. Neither of you noticed Dreamfyre’s eyes slowly opening at the sound of your raised voices. Tears welled up in your lilac eyes as you shouted, "You’re not the one being used as a broodmare! A mere vessel for heirs!"

Aemond flinched, pain crossing his face. He reached a hand out towards you, trying to soothe you. “Niece—”

But you stepped back, tears spilling down your cheeks as you slapped his hand away. Without another word, you turned and ran, your feet flying across the stone ground as Aemond’s voice echoed behind you.

But you didn’t stop. You ran through the Dragonpit, tears blurring your vision as you navigated the winding paths. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you, but you pushed forward, taking every shortcut you knew to avoid him.

When you finally reached the Red Keep, your legs were aching, and your breaths came out in sharp gasps. You felt utterly betrayed, the sting of Helaena’s broken promise cutting deep. Your ribs ached as you hurried back to your chambers, your sobs the only sound in the cold, empty corridors.

Then, as you turned a corner, you collided with Ser Rowan, who had just returned, a tray of strawberry cakes in his hands. The tray clattered to the ground as he caught sight of your tear-streaked face, his eyes widening in alarm.

“Princess!” he exclaimed, dropping to one knee in front of you, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury. “Are you hurt?”

But instead of answering, you flung yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and sobbing into his steel-clad shoulder. The weight of everything crashed over you—your mother’s abandonment, Aemond’s actions, and Helaena’s betrayal. It all felt too heavy to bear, and in that moment, Ser Rowan was the only one who hadn’t turned his back on you.

You clung to him, crying into his armor, while the castle around you remained cold and silent, just like the hearts of those you had once thought loved you.

So what do you think about that reader/rhaenyra parallel I snuck in?

“we could ride her across the narrow sea, go somewhere far away where no one could find us. we would eat cakes every day and never have to worry about anything.”

—reader

“i want to fly with you on dragon back, see the great wonders across the narrow sea, and eat only cake.”

—rhaenyra

TO BE CONTINUED...

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@evernores @jouryuu @dbd-mommy @g-cf2020 @sl-ut @radiantdanvers @sillysillygyalsmh @callsignwidow @missyviolet123 @thelastemzy @lechat-rouge @sonichkkaaascreams @djarinsstuff @yovrnewromantic @strawberymilktea

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x you #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd x reader

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