#the empty stomach line is a CLUE

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

���What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[rafesfavgirl]

with a broken heart — r. cameron

part 1. something a little more lighthearted to make up for breaking y'alls hearts :)

series: every few lifetimes

❝ i was grinning like i'm winning  i was hitting my marks 'cause i can do it with a broken heart ❞

pairing: ex-bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: after getting your heart broken, you pack your bags and leave the obx, only to come face to face with rafe again, eight years later.

words: 2.4k+

warnings: rafe and reader are aged up (26/27), old flames, FLUFF

"now remember, this client's a big prospect," your boss says as you follow him out of the office car and into the building you were scoping out today. "i guarantee if you can close this deal, you'll be well on your way to becoming the next junior partner."

"hank, are you serious?" you stop in your tracks and he looks at you. 

when you first left the outer banks for new york, you went to nyu without a clue on what you wanted to do with the rest of your life. somewhere along the way, you graduated magna cum laude and pursued law school at columbia. your first year, hank took you on as an intern, and by the time you graduated, you had a job lined up for you at one of the biggest real estate agencies in the world. and though you knew how well you did your job, becoming junior partner as a second-year associate was way beyond where you thought you'd be—it was nothing short of a dream come true.

"don't think what you've done for this company has been lost on me, y/n," he tells you. "you're an asset. i knew it since that first summer i took you on as an intern."

a smile comes across your lips. "well, i can't disappoint," you say. "let's close this fucking deal."

"that's what i like to hear, come on," he continues leading you through the building, until the two of you reached a tall guy with a buzzcut wearing a navy blue suit scoping out the place.

"mr. cameron," you don't miss the familiar name when you and your boss stop behind him, your breath hitching when the guy turns around to greet you both. "this is-"

"y/n," your name rolls off rafe's tongue the same way it always did, your heart beating so hard you feared it'd jump out of your chest.

hank's eyes shift between the two of you, as he shakes rafe's hand. "you two know each other?"

"yeah," rafe nods, his eyes set on you—he couldn't believe that you were actually standing in front of him. a part of him thought that when you left the obx he'd never see you again. "we uh— we went to high school together."

"well that's wonderful," hank smiles. "no need for the awkward introduction then."

except— it was awkward. you didn't just go to high school together. you fell in love in high school. and two months before you chose to go to nyu, rafe broke your heart.

"y/n here will be the one walking you through the contract, and hopefully setting you up with one of our best architects," hank explains to him, while you continue trying to process the fact that he was actually here.

what were the odds that he was the client you needed to win over in order to make junior partner? 

—

"so, does that all sound good to you?" you finish going over the contract for the building and look at rafe.

the two of you hovered over a table in the empty space that you'd spread out all the documents on.

"yeah, y/n, it all sounds great." the smile he throws your way makes your stomach turn in the worst way—making you realize that the piece of your heart that never stopped beating for him still existed. "where do i sign?"

"uh— right here," you pick up your pen to draw x's on all the lines he had to sign on, before holding it out to him.

he takes it from you, and you watch as he leans over to sign on each and everyone of them, your eyes trailing over how well his suit fit him.

he must hit the gym at least four times a week, you thought. he's grown quite a bit since you last saw him.

"there you go," rafe hands the pen back out to you, and you take it from him with a smile.

"thank you," you say. "you won't regret it."

"oh, i know," he nods, eyes scanning over your face. "i'd never regret anything that involves you."

you feel the heat rise on your cheeks, but you keep it professional, gathering the files on the table back into your folder. "well then, i'll leave you with the contacts of our architects and if you have any further questions, you can reach out to hank or any of the other executives."

"yeah, okay," he replies, hiding his disappointment in the fact that you didn't tell him to contact you with any questions he may have.

"it was a pleasure doing business with you, mr. cameron," you hold out a hand to him for a handshake and he stares at it for a second, before reluctantly placing his hand in yours.

"it sure was," he smiles. "but you know you can just call me rafe, don't you?"

"this is how i address all my clients," you tell him. "it's just the professional thing to do."

"yeah, yeah, i get it," he nods. "guess i'm just not used to it coming from you."

you crack a smile at his somewhat nervous stance—you weren't used to seeing him this way. "it was nice to see you again, rafe. good luck with everything."

"yeah," he grins. "you too."

you turn to walk away, while rafe stays back, scratching the back of his head in contemplation before calling out to you. "hey y/n?"

"yeah?" you ask, stopping to look at him again.

"you got any plans tonight?"

"rafe, i-"

"oh, come on," he cuts you off, slowly closing the distance between you two. "there's no reason we can't be friends, right?"

wrong—there were many reasons. one being that you spent years piecing yourself back together after he decided to give up on you. 

"let's catch up," he persists, his blue eyes locking with yours. "get a drink with me tonight."

despite your head screaming no, you agree. "one drink," you say, causing a smile to spread across his face. "ten o'clock. meet me at the bar on fifth."

—

the second you walk into the bar, rafe rises from his stool at the counter and waves you over. he had gotten there 30 minutes early to make sure you weren't left waiting for him—you'd done enough of that.

"hey," he seems nervous when you reach him, wiping his hands on his slacks before reluctantly wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

you resist the urge to giggle—it was kinda entertaining to see this six-foot-two tall man get nervous around you—and briefly return his hug.

"have you been here long?" you ask, taking off your jacket and taking a seat in the empty stool beside him.

"nah, just about five minutes or so," he lies, shrugging and giving you a lopsided smile, as the bartender walks up to greet you both.

"anything i can get you?" she asks, eyes lingering on rafe for a little longer than you.

"just a glass of whiskey for me," rafe tells her. "neat."

"and i'll just have a glass of pinot noir," you say, when the girl turns to look at you. "thank you."

"and you can just put it on this," rafe reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, and you cut in. "rafe, you don't have to-"

"nonsense," he shakes his head at you and slides his black amex across to the bartender. "i invited you out. it's on me."

the bartender picks up his card, and gives him a smile. "rafe cameron. i'll remember that."

subtly, rafe rolls his eyes and you hold back a snicker. "please don't."

the bartender huffs as her eyes shifts between the two of you, but walks away without another word to get your drinks and charge rafe's card.

you kink a brow at him. "you get bartenders flirting with you a lot?"

"i guess it happens every now and then," he shrugs.

"it's definitely the buzz," you tell him, as a different bartender brings over your drinks and hands rafe back his card.

"thank you," he briefly acknowledges him, before turning his attention back on you, an amused smile on his face. "you think?"

"yeah," you nod, bringing your wine glass up to take a sip. "it makes you look older— more mature. it suits you."

he cracks a smile, a small chuckle slipping out from between his lips. "and being a lawyer suits you."

"you really think so?"

"yeah," he nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey. "you looked so cute all dressed up in your little suit," those words make the heat rise on your cheeks, and you hide it with your wine glass. "i've never seen you more in your element. what made you choose law?"

"well…" you trail off, wondering whether or not you should tell him the truth. oh, fuck it. "after we broke up, i found out got into nyu. i was so… mad and hurt over you ending it that i packed my bags and i left, without looking back. during the summers, i stayed here and worked internships with the school just so i'd have an excuse not to go home."

he listened intently, a look of indifference falling across his features. a part of him was hurt at hearing that he'd broken your heart so badly you felt the need to leave, but the other part was proud. you really did that. figured your shit out and made a life for yourself—just like he always knew you would.

"after my second year, i worked an internship with a property management company in brooklyn. we scoped out places all around the city, and i don't know… i kinda just fell in love with it. seeing how happy people got when we'd found them the right apartment or the right space for them to start their business just made me feel really good. so i declared real estate as my major junior year and decided on law school," you continued.

"doll, that's amazing," he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "which law school did you go to?"

"columbia," you reply, his eyes only widening in amazement. no words could describe the amount of pride in his chest right now. "but enough about me. what about you?"

"oh— uh…" he started and set his whiskey down on the bar. "after you left, i went to rehab. went in and out of that place for about two or three years… i mean, you knew how bad it was— wasn't easy."

you frown upon hearing his struggles with rehab and relapsing, but nod along as he continues.

"been clean for about four years now though," he shrugs, as if it wasn't some big accomplishment.

"rafe, that's amazing," you tell him, setting your glass down on the bar. "good for you."

"i had to," he nodded. "not only for me, but for dad, too. he was starting to talk business and expanding the company, and i just… i couldn't let him down. especially not after i let you down."

you glance down, no longer being able to meet his eyes. you knew that your past together had to come up at one point, you just weren't ready for it. mainly because even after all this time, there was still that little piece of your heart that never stopped belonging to him. it would always be his. "rafe…"

"i hope i'm not being too forward when i ask you this but…" his hand reaches out to touch yours, and you look up at him. "are you seeing anyone?"

"no, i'm not," you shake your head. "after we broke up, i didn't really date much. and even when i did, nothing ever really stuck."

that was enough to have a smile crack across his his, eyes brighter than you'd seen them in a really long time. "guess that makes two of us."

"guess so," you shrug, thoughts running through your mind a hundred times a minute as you try to find a way to change the subject. you weren't ready for where this conversation was about to go. at least, not yet. "but, uh— tell me about cameron development, how's that going?"

he chuckles at your eagerness to change the subject, as you sipped on your wine, but goes with it. he'd break you down again. eventually.

—

after finishing your drinks at the bar, rafe offered to walk you home since your apartment was only about a block or two away, assuring you that he'd just get a cab back to his hotel afterward.

and while a part of you screamed at you to say no, that little piece of your heart that still beat for him won over, and you agreed.

"well, this is me," you say, stopping in front of your apartment complex and looking at him. "it was really nice to see you, rafe."

"so that's it?" he asks, catching you off guard. "this just ends here?"

he takes a step towards you, making your heart pitter-patter, as his eyes scanned your face.

"rafe-"

"don't you ever wonder…" he cuts you off, his gaze lingering on your lips for just a moment before his eyes shifted to meet yours. "what we could've been? what we could be?"

"i-"

"i know i fucked shit up with you, a'ight?" he said, hand coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

the gesture threatens to make your eyes flutter close at the feeling of his familiar touch, but you keep your composure.

"i was young and i was stupid, and i thought you deserved better," he continued. "but y/n, there isn't a day that has gone by in the last eight years that you haven't crossed my mind. i think about you all the time, just hoping for the day you'd finally come back to the banks."

your breath hitches at his confession, that tiny piece of your heart that held onto him, growing three sizes.

"i know i don't deserve a second chance, i know that," he told you. "but i'm not the guy i was back in high school. i'm clean now, and i've turned my life around. i can be that guy for you now. the one you needed me to be all those years ago."

"okay," you whisper.

"what?" he musn't have heard you right.

"i'd be lying to myself if i said i haven't thought about you either, rafe," you say.

a small chuckle falls from his lips, which spread into a smile. "seriously?"

you nod. "come pick me up at seven tomorrow. let's give it a chance."

part 3 coming soon!!

i'm rooting for them tbh

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[4driiiii]

am i making you feel sick? - L. Castellan

summary: when percy arrives in the infirmary in critical condition from a scorpion sting, you find out who was behind it all

warnings: book spoilers, betrayal, angst, that's literally it

side note: kinda got the inspo from the song, bc the whole betrayal of it all "am i making you feel sick?" kinda gagged me tbh and this idea was then conjured up so... i hope this isn't trash lol

--------------------------------------

you sat in the hermes cabin for close to an hour now, having no clue where your boyfriend was. he'd been m.i.a. the whole day, and even when you had asked chris about his whereabouts, you'd come up empty handed.

the soft blue plaid of his sheets brought you comfort as you traced the yellow lines that ran vertically down the expanse of his comforter. they smelled of luke's cologne, warm and soft yet masculine, it matched his personality perfectly.

an hour bled into another thirty minutes, and by then, you were dozing off. without worrying about being bothered by any of the other kids in the cabin, you snuggled up into his comforter, letting your eyes fall closed. he's just busy today, you told yourself as your breathing fell even. the hermes cabin was a lovely environment to fall asleep in, despite its constant chaos. the warm environment reminded you of your grandparents house, one that you probably wouldn't visit again.

but, just before you could fully drift off, heavy and fast footsteps boomed on the oak floors, startling you up into a seated position. you originally thought that it had finally been luke, but you were wrong. it was chris, instead. "we need you in the infirmary," he spoke breathlessly, yet you could hear the subtle break in his voice. the urgency made your heart jump into your throat, and no words were exchanged as you jumped out of the comfort of luke's bed, following chris.

upon arriving at the infirmary, most of your siblings stood outside. it seemed as though you were the last one there, and you really wondered just how bad it was. your brother marcus was head counselor for your cabin, a year older than you. he was the first person you saw when you barged through the doors, barely holding it for poor chris behind you. "what happened?"

"a scorpion stung percy. annabeth brought him in just ten minutes ago," he said, hanging his head down low. your heart sank at the news of the young demigod being in such imminent danger. "what- how? is he okay?" you felt the bile in your stomach reach your throat. something felt off about this, and you didn't know what but it made goosebumps rise on your skin, yet your hands grew clammy.

marcus nodded, but his eyes grew teary and cloudy before dropping eye contact with you. that didn't help the growing uneasiness in your core. if he wasn't going to give you a straight answer, you pushed past him to go see percy or annabeth, two kids you knew would be straight up with you.

you saw the pale boy laying on a cot, with chiron and annabeth at his side. no other campers, except for a few of your siblings were in the room, so you rushed to percy's side. because he had grown close with luke, he had grown close with you too. he was your unofficial little brother, and the sight of him so sickly made your heart clench.

"hey, perce. how are you feeling?" you asked, bending down to push some of his curls out of his face. his forehead felt hot and sweaty. he just shrugged, not wanting to give much of an answer. "better, but tired."

you nodded, pushing a few more curls away from his face before deciding to let the poor boy rest. looking away from him, you looked at the worrisome faces of annabeth, chiron, and mr. d. everyone was here, but luke. where was luke.

before the question could even leave your mind and out of your lips, chiron put a hand on your shoulder. "come, child. i need to speak with you." he held something of sorrow in his eyes while looking into yours. he shifted his gaze to chris, an unspoken sentence shared between the two of them, that immediately had the boy following you out alongside chiron.

they led you outside of the infirmary and to your cabin, which was a little less than five feet away. their silence was making the pit in your stomach grow larger by the second. you decided then that you couldn't take it any longer, so you spoke up. "what's going on?" your voice wavered more than you would've liked it to, but it got the point across.

you looked from chris to chiron, and noticed tears were falling from chris' face. he looked down at his shoes pitifully, his hands coming up to wipe away the stray tears. that only made some of your own well up in your eyes. "chiron, please."

"the scorpion that attacked percy..." he trailed, "it was luke's. he tried to kill him, and he is the one that stole the masterbolt. he's been working with kronos this whole time."

his words pierced your skin, yet bounced off all at the same time. your immediate reaction was to laugh in disbelief, but your eyes betrayed you as silent tears started to fall. "no, he wouldn't do that, i know him," you argued, watching the way chiron sighed deeply and hung his head low. chris' eyes met yours and you could see the glossy distance in them, making your heart shatter. he pulled you into a hug, much like luke would, and initially you tried to fight him off.

"you're lying," you spewed at chiron, like hot venom coming out of your mouth. "chris, stop crying, get off of me! he's lying, he's lyi-"

it was then that your words caught up in your throat, your limbs going numb at your poor attempt to pry chris' arms off of your body. the sobs that left your throat were those that only happened when you lost a loved one, and in a way you did. "i truly, am, so sorry," chiron whispered, pursing his lips as he watched you cry in chris' arms.

maybe you should've seen this coming. after all, he hated the gods for what they did to their children; sending them off on dangerous quests, never seeing or talking to them. just the pure fact that they ever conceived of their many children that they would just neglect made luke angry.

but out of all this hatred, no matter how much he despised the gods, he was still luke. your ever-loving, sweet boyfriend that wouldn't ever hurt you. so when the realization hit, it hit hard. not your luke, anyone but him. the golden child, the best swordsman at camp.

am i making you feel sick?

[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

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The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

[joeybsversion]

Stubborn

Joe Burrow x Reader

You surprise Joe at a game

You’re led through the stadium to the bottom row of empty seats. The stands would soon be filled with rowdy fans and the field lined with players. Right now though, it was quiet, cold, and snowy.

“So, Joe has no clue you’re here?” One of the other girlfriends asked.

“No.” You smiled. “With the weather and winter storm advisory he told me to stay put at home, but too late now!” Laughs erupted from the other girls.

“He’s going to be so shocked to see you.” One of them said, brushing the snow off of her seat.

You did the same, hoping to take a seat and bundle up under the blanket you packed. “Hopefully he’s happy and not mad.” You giggled anxiously. “He was pretty serious about me not leaving the house this weekend. And to be honest, I don’t blame him, even though it’s a short drive from our house to the stadium, the roads were pretty scary.” You thought back to the short but stressful drive over.

“It’s such a big game though! If they win this, they’re AFC champs! He’d be bummed if you weren’t here afterwards.” Your friend reassured you.

“So let’s just hope for a Bengal win then!” Your attention turned to the field as the players came out to warm up.

Typically you all would spend your time watching the game from the box, but with it being such a high stakes game, being closer to the field was so much more fun.

By the end of the fourth quarter, you couldn’t feel your fingers or toes and your throat was sore from cheering. The bengals were up by 2 and there was 47 seconds left, but the Chiefs had the ball, and anyone who is familiar with the NFL knows that Patrick Mahomes and his team can pull it off. The chiefs inched closer and closer to the end zone, time quickly ticking down. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults.

With 6 seconds left, the chiefs kicking unit took the field to kick a field goal for the win. You squeezed your eyes shut and grabbed the hands of the girls around you.

“AAAAANNNDDD THE KICK IS BLOCKED!” The announcer yelled over the stadium. Your eyes flew open as you jumped up and down in the air. The Bengals has won and would be going to the Super Bowl.

You quickly paraded your way down to the snowy field, doing your best to trudge through the blizzard to find Joe.

He caught sight of you veering towards him in the crowd and his gaze warmed you from head to toe. You sped up and soon were running into his open arms, jumping at the last minute to wrap your legs around his waist and tackle him with a hug. This was the only way you could talk face to face without one you straining a neck muscle.

“Congrats, Joey!” You planted kisses all over his face. Photographers gathered around, capturing the moment.

“That’s my fucking girl.” Joe said, so surprised to see you. “What are you doing here?” He asked, a stern expression across his face.

“I couldn’t miss this game.” You laughed, nuzzling your face into the warmth of his neck.

“You what?” He asked over the cheering and chaos around him, his arms wrapping tighter around your waste.

“I had to come see you.”

“I told you to stay safe and stay at home.” He groaned.

“Joey, it’s a 34 mile drive from our house. Besides, I couldn’t miss the chance to tell you how proud I am of you.” You peppered his face with kisses again.

“You’re so stubborn.” He laughed.

“Yeah, but you knew that when you started dating me.”

“True. And I love you for it.”

[mysunshinetemptress]

Meet me in the Hallway

Leah Williamson x Styles!reader

Disclaimer: i know leah wore the suit in 2022 but for this it’s 2021.

Y/n sighed running her hand down her dress nervously as her brother walked through the door fixing his cuffs “right cars going to be here in 10.” Y/n nodded looking as her phone lit up for the fifth time in two minutes “who in the hell keeps texting you.” Y/n looked at the vanity her stomach filling with butterflies before turning back to her brother “Sorry H, it’s the group chat talking about international break coming up.” Harry nodded understanding his younger sisters busy schedule “alright but please turn it just for tonight we barely ever get to do anything like this together.” Y/n looked back at her phone before nodding.

Sitting in the car Y/n couldn’t help herself as she tapped on the empty seat beside her as Harry looked at her quizzically “what’s wrong Y/n/n.” Y/n hummed turning to face him “nothing H.” Harry shook his head “I’ve seen you, play matches no problem for both England and United you don’t ever get this nervous, it’s just an award show.” Y/n nodded along to her brothers words “I know H, but I’m not used to this I’m scared of the judgement of standing on a red carpet let alone standing next to you.” Harry shook his head “hey your Y/n Styles an amazing football player who has helped her childhood club grow into the WSL, who will make the Great Britain roster this summer and the England roster next summer, yeah your my little sister but that’s not all you are or all you are worth trust and the only people that are allowed to have that opinion of you are the one who have your phone number ok.” Y/n nodded before turning to look back out the window as they pulled up to the red carpet.

Y/n and Harry stood for photos together and then some separately before splitting for a bit to do interviews “Y/n hi any chance of a quick interview.” Y/n nodded letting out a soft “of course making her way over. “Hi I’m Morgan.” Y/n shook Morgan’s hand before getting into the interview “what’s it like attending an award show with none other than Harry Styles.” Y/n couldn’t help but sigh internally knowing she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes about being asked questions about herself “I mean he’s my brother so it’s pretty normal he doesn’t act any different if that’s what your asking.” Morgan smiled nodding “and can you give us any clues is he going to be releasing any new music.” Y/n turned looking at the celebrities walking the carpet looking for either her brother or anyone really to get her out of this “ehm I’m not really sure, it’s not something I ask as I know it’s a process and one that takes time when he’s ready to share it with the world you will know.” Y/n turned to the carpet once more as Morgan began to ask her final question before Y/n caught eyes with Alex Scott who smiled brightly bounding over to the younger girl “oh my god hello gorgeous.” Y/n let out a laugh pulling Alex into a hug “hi Al.” Morgan cleared her throat before asking the question again “one final question Y/n and I let you get back to it, what is your favourite Harry Styles song.” Y/n looked at Alex “hum that’s hard Al have you got a favourite song of Harry.” Y/n couldn’t help her eyes drift to the figure behind Alex or the butterflies that erupted once more in her stomach the second the figure caught her staring. “Oh I’d have to say favourite song sign of the times Y/n, and favourite match performance of Y/n’s is probably her being the youngest start during the 2019 World Cup and she did not disappoint.” Alex wrapped her arms around you giving you a squeeze “and Y/n favourite song.” Morgan continued ignoring Alex’s last bit “Fine Line.” Morgan gave you both a quick thank you before you both turned to leave “I hate these.” Alex looked at you softly before turning at the sound of her name “you are so much more than his sister remember that.” Y/n nodded thanking Alex before her eyes drifted behind her again turning as she felt her cheeks heat up.

Harry sat at the table watching his sister who nervously played with the table cloth as she looked around the room “Y/n are you sure your ok.” Y/n nodded smiling at Chloe Kelly as she came running over “ahhh Y/n your here.” Y/n got up wrapping Chloe in a tight hug swaying back and forth “aww it’s so good to see you, I’ve missed you.” Chloe and Y/n began discussing the current season before Y/n remembered who she was here with “oh Chloe this is my older brother Harry, Harry this is one of the best forwards I’ve ever seen.” Harry stood up shaking Chloe’s hand as she looked at you surprised “holy shit Y/n.” Y/n laughed at her shocked expression “I’m sorry I know you guys are siblings but to actually see you guys together is mind blowing.” Y/n laughed sitting down as Chloe,herself and Harry began chatting.

Y/n sat holding Harry’s hand nerves shooting through the roof as they began calling out the nominees for British signal “and the winner is Harry Styles Watermelon Sugar.” Harry looked at you surprised as you pulled him into a hug “oh H go I’m so proud.” Harry stood kissing Y/ns cheek rushing up to get his award. Y/n knew she was supposed to be paying attention to her brother but she couldn’t help her eyes drifting to a certain figure sat two tables over straightening her dress as the nerves kicked in again.

Y/n was stood in an empty Hallway trying to turn her phone back on when she felt two hand wrap around her waist “ignoring me tonight my love.” Y/n sighed relaxing into her loves arms “no just wanted to be present for Harry and you make that extremely difficult when you light up my phone every five minutes.” Y/n smiled feeling the breath on her ear “I was simply telling you how sexy you where in that dress darling the silver really matches my green but it would suit my Hotel floor better.” Y/n sighed turning to look at the ocean blue eyes she so often gets lost in. “Oh really.” Y/n couldn’t help her eyes drop to the most kissable lips she had ever known “I found it really hard to just sit there and watch as Chloe came over they way she hugged you and wouldn’t let go of your arm had me wanting to shoot up out of my seat.” Y/n hummed once more wrapping her hands behind the older girls neck “you could have I wouldn’t have minded, maybe could have introduced you to my brother.” Y/n felt her self deflating at her girlfriends words “you could do that anyway you know I’d love to meet him maybe get him to tell me stories about you.” Y/n sighed “I mean as my girlfriend not as my friend.” Y/n pulled the blondes face towards her dying for a kiss “I like this though, our little bubble of privacy.” Y/n stopped her movements “this doesn’t feel like a private relationship to me, it feels like you want to keep me, us, our beautiful relationship hidden.” The Arsenal defender shook her head “I don’t I just don’t want unwanted opinions or attention on our relationship.” Y/n shook her head “so our families are unwanted opinions.” The taller girl sighed “can we please just drop this for now, I just want to kiss you and hold you and maybe even slip my hotel room card into you hand and tell you to meet me after.” Y/n sighed before nodding “ok yeah I’m sorry Le, I just..this, today would have been so much easier if I could do this with you instead of by myself or with H.” Leah hummed pulling her girlfriend into a searing kiss. “I promise soon ok.” Y/n nodded pulling Leah down into another kiss as they both relaxed into each others arms “I love you ok.” Y/n nodded “I love you too.”

[furybymoonlight]

See Me (Now) - Part III [FINAL]

Pairing: Trent Alexander Arnold x OC/Reader

Warning/Genre: NSFW! Smut, Age Gap (3 years), Fluff, Angst, friends to lovers

Part I

Part II

***

“Drink.”

“I already did.”

She said, puzzled.

“Drink more, gonna have to make sure you’re perfectly sober and hydrated when I fuck you senseless at last.”

***

It was one in the morning. The streets of Liverpool were mostly empty as Trent’s G-Wagon made its way through the city. The man had just spoken to her once, in the beginning of their drive, to make sure that she’s using her seatbelt and that she’s not cold. He also didn’t play any music to fill the silence, which gave her a hint into his state of mind. He never drove in silence, except when he’s really tense or angry, or worse, both. It didn’t help that even in that situation, her body was still buzzing, not with alcohol, but a highly sexual charge, courtesy of the driver of the car.

Had they just done…whatever the hell it was? It still hadn’t fully registered in her mind, but she guessed it was real, because her lips were swollen, and her body was still burning. She had also now become hyperaware of everything about him, like the way he effortlessly steered the wheel with one hand, the hand that has touched her in ways that she had never even imagined, or how even in the dark of the car he still looked devastatingly handsome. 

The tension in her took a hike as she entered his house, more of a mansion really, which he had just recently bought. She had never been there before, but she had seen the interior during their video calls. The living room was so grand, it could have fit dozens of her small crampy student apartment. She hugged herself, the fiery sensation in her body ebbing away. She suddenly felt small and out of place. Him and her…they were really worlds apart now. 

“How much did you drink?”

He asked, catching her off guard, and all she could do was stared at him because she had no clue at all.

Seemingly catching on that her silence meant that she had drunk too much, Trent’s jaw tightened.

“I’ll get you something to eat.” He said before he made his way to the kitchen, leaving her alone.

She looked around her, wild questions and scenarios jumbling in her head. What was she doing here? Did he truly like her more than just life-long friend? If he liked her then why the hell did he kiss the girl in the club? Who was that girl anyway? Was he just playing with her now that he’s famous?

Her stomach dropped at that unbearable thought.

If he did treat her just as his plaything…it would destroy her, but even if he truly like her as a woman, should they really cross the line? They had a different life now. Would the risk be worth it? Their connection was everything for her, she had never imagined her life without him.

Her head spinning, she took a seat on his ridiculously large and comfortable sofa. A tray with a glass of water, a banana, and some crackers suddenly dropped on to the table in front of her, courtesy of the younger, who settled beside her.

“You should have these.”

His cold, rather indifferent tone ticked her off, she couldn’t help but scoff at him.

“You’re mad at me, really?”

His gaze pierced her, luscious lips curled in a sign of distaste.

“You were seriously drunk and glued yourself to a random stranger, even you’re still a bit drunk now, can you blame me?”

“You kissed another girl.”

She bitterly said, then grimaced when she realized it possibly didn’t make any sense to him. God, she hated how she sounded like a jealous girlfriend, when he wasn’t even hers. To her surprise, he simply shook his head.

“No, I did not. A random girl kissed me and I removed myself immediately. Ask my mates if you must.”

Her eyes rounded at his unexpected answer, suddenly feeling like a weight had been lifted off her. Silence filled the room.

“I…” She stopped, suddenly at loss of what to say. She took a sip of water and slowly rose from the sofa, intending to put some distance away from him. She needed to think, and she couldn’t, not with him being so close.

A gasp left her mouth when Trent pulled her back, and she somehow found herself sitting sideways on his lap, arms splayed across his broad chest. He circled her waist with his left arm, one hand cupping her face, so she had no choice but to look at him. Her heart slammed against her chest. He was so close that their breaths mingled together.

“Trent –“

“You have been avoiding me, and I let you play your game. I thought if I was patient enough, you’d come around, that at the very least we could start to talk again, really talk.”

“Well – “

“But hey, there you were, getting fucking wasted…dancing with some random fucking guy in that dress. That guy could easily be a criminal you know. Did you do it to get back at me?”

He bombarded her, rich brown eyes glinting with ire, voice sharpened with dark emotions.

“No!”

She managed to break free even though she stumbled. Feeling like she was in the danger of suffocating any minute, she walked to a large glass window in the middle of the living room, slowly as she couldn’t trust her legs at that moment. She knew the window was facing his vast garden but currently it was pitched black outside. She crossed her arms, feeling his eyes drilling her back. The room was comfortably warm, but she felt strangely cold.

“It wasn’t like that. I saw you with that girl…and I…I just wanted to escape, to not think at all, hence the drink…and Dan.”

“Dan?”

“The guy’s name…I think.”

“You can’t remember your alcohol intake, but you remember his name? Really?”

Her mind was so hazy in the club that she hadn’t really think much when he said he didn’t like it when she danced with other guys, but now….was it jealousy in his voice?

She turned around to face him, who was suddenly standing tall just a few feet away, throwing daggers at her with his eyes. She let out a deep breath, then asked her question. Her bravery improved by the alcohol which still had a grasp on her, though not by much.

“Trent…do you really like me?”      

“Do I – are you seriously asking me that?”

He looked at her like she had grown two heads.

“I do. Do you really like me as more than friends?”

“I kissed you a week ago, told you today you’re all I see, then kissed you again…and more, and you still ask me that?”

The anger in him appeared to be gone, replaced by disbelief. His words rang true, but she just somehow couldn’t believe it.

“This is just….all too sudden isn’t it? Like - if you hadn’t kissed me that day of my return, I never would have guessed. Trent – wait -”

In a flash, he was right in front of her, cornering her against the window. She tried to push him back, but he deftly trapped her wrists with his left hand, bringing it above her head, then stepped forward even closer. Their bodies pressed together, as close as could be with their clothes on. Her heart missed a few beats and her body instantly lit up.

“You said you wanted me to see you, but you didn’t see me at all do you?”

Before she even could process his question, his lips claimed hers in a hungry kiss, destroying her train of thoughts in an instant. He kissed her the way he played football, passionate, relentless, like he could do it forever, and she wished he really could.

Still keeping her mouth and wrists hostage, his right hand traced her heated skin, along the side of her neck, down to her shoulders, then to her breasts. A muffled moan left her as he kneaded the swollen peaks, the dress a meaningless barrier. He then continued down, his hand slipping beneath her dress to squeeze her rear and pressed it forward against his still covered hardness.

“We still need to….talk..”

She said in a breathless moan when he finally freed her lips and wrists to suck hard on the skin of her neck, sinking his teeth in several spots. She shivered, molten heat dripped down straight to her core. It would leave marks and it would take work to cover it. However, as she had just found out herself in that second, him marking her was a total turn on.

“Okay.”

He said against her shoulder, voice thick with desire, while unzipping her dress, and the next second she was clad only in her strapless bra and panties.

“What –“

“We’ll talk, but first… jump.”

As if spellbound, she did as he asked, wrapping her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist.

“Good girl.”

He whispered against her ear, making her flushed even more, if it was possible. Propping her with his arms, he carried her across the living room and towards the – kitchen?

Still carrying her, he took an opened bottle of water in the middle of the kitchen island with one hand and brought it to her mouth.

“Drink.”

“I already did.”

She said, puzzled.

“Drink more, gonna have to make sure you’re perfectly sober and hydrated when I fuck you senseless at last.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that and her throat all of a sudden felt dry indeed, so she drank, feeling the cold water did nothing to dampen the fever inside of her. He then put the bottle down before claiming her mouth again, smothering her senses. The next thing she knew, she was lying on his bed stark naked, moaning with his mouth suckling and fondling her aching mounds.

“Have imagined about these babies for so long…”

He muttered before lavishing kisses down her abdomen, fingers pinching her tautened peaks, making her back arched. The fire in her was raging and getting more unbearable by the seconds.

“Trent – please - ”

She weaved her fingers through his soft springy hair. She knew they should talk first and set thing straight before doing something as big as this, too much was at stake, but her common sense was gone at that moment.

“What do you want baby?”

“Just….you.”

Moving back up, he pressed their foreheads together, their eyes locked, hips instinctively grinding against her soaking core. He already divested his clothes but still had his briefs on, and she needed more...friction. She could see the carnal longing in his eyes, as she was sure reflected in hers as well.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage. She had never been more nervous. She wasn’t totally without experience. She went on a few dates and had one, albeit very fleeting, relationship before she went away. She knew Trent had had some girlfriends as well, all of them short-lived, though she didn’t recall he had any in the last couple of years.

“I want you too, you have no idea how much.”

He muttered against her mouth before snatching her lips again, as if he couldn’t help it. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before staring at her again.

“But first…”

He trailed off and swiftly rolled on the side to sit against the pillows. He then easily arranged her to sit in front of him in a kneeling position, facing him with his hips between her folded legs.

“Let’s talk.”

It took her a couple of seconds to understand what he was talking about. What the-

“Now? Seriously?!”

“Hmmm.”

He said, settling his hands on the small of her back, suddenly sounded not too certain. He chewed on his lower lip and her eyes dropped to his mouth. Damn it, she wanted to have a bite as well.

“Don’t get me wrong, I want to sink myself in you so bad, I am dying to, you can literally feel how much…but I don’t want us to do this when you still have doubts about me. I don’t want you to regret this, ever.”

She felt like laughing, crying, and kissing him at the same time. If her body wasn’t currently shouting for him, she would find their situation comical. Her and Trent, naked, in bed…just talking. Gotta hand it to him to still have logic at a time like this. Feeling like he was way older and more mature than her now.

“All right.”

“Do you like me?”

He asked her bluntly.

“I do.”

She said, managing to look straight at him although she couldn’t help the blush on her face. His lips tugged into a sincere smile.

“How long?”

“Looking back now, I think I started to feel differently for you quiet a while before I moved away...you’ve always been special to me Trent, you know that, but when I finally had to go away…there were times that leaving you felt like it was unbearable.”

Her fingers trailed along his defined jaw before she brushed her lips softly against his.

“So yes, I like you, more than that actually - but it’s fine if you don’t love me back – yet – I – I mean the important thing now is you like me too. I –“

He shushed her with a soft kiss of his own, looking deep into her eyes with unabashed affection.

“Three years then…well…I win…try five years. I was seventeen, just lost a match and beating myself up because of it, staying all day in my room. So afraid that was as far as I could go in football, that I would never make it to a first team anywhere. That I would just disappoint my family who have sacrificed so much.”

She gaped at him, in total disbelief of what she was hearing.

“You burst into my room, telling me to man up and return to training, you said I’d make it into the team because I was bloody brilliant, but that even if I didn’t, it didn’t matter...you smiled and hugged me, and said that perhaps I hadn’t seen it yet, but there’s more to life than football and that whatever path I treaded in life, you’d be with me every step of the way. That’s when I knew you’re it for me.”

Gently tucking the strands of her hair behind her ear, he continued his shocking confession.

“So I tried to be there for you for everything, hoping in vain that you’d notice me as more. I watched you go on dates, so I dated as well, wanted to erase you from my mind, which turned out impossible. Then there’s Ben, the guy’s name couldn’t be more boring, honestly, just like his personality, thank God you came to your senses quickly with him. After him, you said that you’d focus on your study, so I held my tongue, quite content with being your go-to person, even though it broke me that you’re so far away.”

“Trent…”

“I had a plan for your return you know, asking you out on a date and all…but you started spouting nonsense about being a sister and I just couldn’t cope with it anymore, so I kissed you.”

He kissed her then, slowly at first, before delving his tongue inside her parted lips, hands smoothened the naked skin of her back, creating delicious shivers as they passed. Her world shifted as he toppled her down onto the bed, him on top of her, propping himself on one forearm so he didn’t crush her, his other hand tantalizingly gliding all over her naked body.

“So yeah, I’ve loved you for five years, wishing that every smile, every hug, every call, every message that we exchange means more to you. Five fucking years…going crazy with countless dreams about you, some sweet, others are wild, and the rest…’’

He pressed his still clothed arousal against her flooded entrance in a teasing manner, earning him a soft moan from her.

‘’…borderline illegal that you’d perhaps run away from me if you knew.”

‘’I…had no idea.’’

That’s all she could say to him. Her heart filled with overwhelming emotions, shock, relief, passion, lust, and so much happiness and love that she felt like she could fly at any moment.

‘’Well now you know.’’

He said as he bestowed a kiss on her forehead then her temple.

‘’So see me now…kissing you..’’

He whispered before kissing the spot behind her earlobe, then down to ravish her mouth.

‘’See me now… pleasuring you…’’

His mouth hovered against the valley of her breasts then captured one pebbled tip into his mouth, rolling the other with his fingers, before switching up the treatment. She shuddered as another stream of pleasure pooled at the center of her.

‘’See me now…worshipping you…’’

She could feel his hot breath on the junction of her thighs and then he delved his tongue into her, slithering through her wet folds. He played her like a violin, and her body was a tight string, getting tighter with every tantalizing move of his tongue.

“You taste better than I imagine baby…my all-time favorite flavor.”

He said, voice heavy with desire, then he licked her upward from the bottom of her weeping core before twirling the swollen nub right above her entrance and gently sucked it. Massive electric current ran through her body and she was done, a high pitch scream of his name left her mouth. He seized her mouth again, letting her taste herself, before aligning his pelvis with hers, his arousal now completely uncovered, eyes almost black with unbridled passion.

‘’See me now… making you mine.’’

Trent buried himself inside of her in one swift move. She was more than ready to receive him, but still as he filled her to the hilt, a little sense of discomfort appeared. He was thick.

He stared at her with concern, muscles tensed as he held himself back.

“All right? Just breathe baby.”

He peppered her with kisses, whispering sweet nothings in her ears to give her time to adapt. It wasn’t long before she rocked her hip, signaling him to move, but he held her still.

“I’m clean. Are you still on the pill?”

She nodded. She hadn’t been dating for a long time, the pill had been more of a convenience means to regulate her period, at least until that moment. It made her realize then just how close they were, how she told him deeply private details about her, hell, even her parents didn’t know that.

“Good...for now. One day I hope you won’t need to be.”

Before she could think about his words, the younger began to move, and her brain shut down. He took her in an unhurried pace, his eyes locked on hers, clearly wanting to savor the moment, but her body was still so sensitive from her previous release that it didn’t take much for her to reach her peak again. A simple twist of his hip and her body quaked involuntarily, eyes fluttered shut as another wave of storm washed over her.

Trent stopped moving, taking a long count to inhale and exhale in an effort not to follow her. Her muscles finally loosened, though barely, and he pulled himself out. A whine left her mouth without she realized it.

“So greedy for me.”

He teased, before making themselves lying sideways and spooned her from behind, embedding himself in her again. He thrust into her in a fast pace then, branding her across every part that he could reach with his lips, one hand playing with the rigid tip of her breasts, his right on her hip to anchor his thrusts.

“Give me more babe.”

“Trent….I can’t…”

She said even as the pressure of another climax began to build quickly inside of her. She had just experiences two best releases of her life, she couldn’t bear a third one. He nipped at her neck.

“You’ve made me pining over you for years baby….I want more…you need to give me more, babe, one more.”

He sounded so demanding that even in the throes of passion, she still had it in her to give him a side eye.

“Look who’s the greedy one.”

She returned his teasing, expected him to chuckle at her jab. Trent cradled her chin between his thumb and forefinger to make her face him, before giving her a rough, thorough kiss which rendered her breathless.

“When it comes to you Princess? You have no idea.”

He said without any humor, eyeing her with absolute possessiveness. He continued to ravage her then, keeping their eyes locked together. It’s like he needed her to literally see him as he’s owning her.

He grazed a certain sweet spot within her, and she jolted, her moaning increased by numbers, yet she still couldn’t look away, trapped by his intense gaze.

“That’s it….such a good girl for me…only me.”

He hissed as he felt her inner walls began to tighten again around him. He felt unbelievable inside her, crazily good, that she lost her mind.

“Baby please…Trent…”

His name came out in a pleading voice. She was on the verge of a burning cliff and he was the only one who could bring her to absolution.

“Come for me, Princess.”

He gave a hard thrust before pulling himself back until his tip is almost out, then drove deep into her for the final time, meshing their mouth together at the same time. She burst then, breaking to pieces as her walls wonderfully clenching him, pushing him through not a second after. She then felt his warmth filled her, but her eyes had already begun to close. She was wholly spent.

“Mine....at last.”

She vaguely heard him and felt his arms around her. The sound of his heartbeat, though still fast, lulled her to the dreamland.

Ray of sunshine seeping through the large bedroom window roused her from her sleep. Her eyes flickered open, she found herself still wrapped in Trent’s embrace. For a second she tensed, couldn’t remember where she was, then last night event flashed through her brain and she relaxed. God, she was sore all over, rarely used muscles throbbing inside of her. She slowly turned around, finding him still deeply asleep and smiled. He looked so adorable in his sleep. Kissing him on the cheek, she grabbed the nearest shirt that she could find, and made her way to the kitchen.

“Excuse me Miss, have you seen my girl by any chance? I think she is around your height, pretty smile, sexy as sin, wearing number 66 on her back?”

In the light of day, he looked just like the sweet Trent that she usually saw around their family. She rolled her eyes at his cheesy lines but couldn’t resist a blush and a smile. He’s just a cute dork sometimes, well, a half naked cute handsome dork with chiseled form and grey sweatpants which was hanging enticingly on his hip.

She looked away in the pretense to turn off the stove, though it was already off.

“Hmm...I think she is right here.”

She said, trying hard not to get flustered.

“She definitely is, and ooh bonus point! She’s making me an omelette for breakfast, just the way I like it. That’s like, two of my fantasies coming true.”

He admitted, giving her his adorable smile, showing his pearly white teeth. She smiled at him, couldn’t hide the fondness in her gaze.

“You’re such a dorky cutie pie sometimes, do you know that?”

He put a hand against his broad chest in an exaggerated movement as if he's offended.

“Excuse me? I am not. I am a grown up fella.”

“One fact does not negate the other you know.”

He tilted his head then, doe eyes flickered with mischievous glint.

“Hmmm. Want to know what else you’re doing with this so-called cutie pie in his fantasy?

Cornering her against the kitchen counter, his hands slipped beneath her shirt, one squeezed her breasts, another dipping between her legs.

“What?”

Her voice came out breathless.

His whisper against her ear was a promise of an immediate action, sending tingles to her every nerve ending.

“My number….plus three, with you all tied up.”

Author’s Note: Aaand that's it! Thank you all for reading my first ever Trent story! Phew this took a while cause really, I love smut but writing smut is hard! Hopefully you enjoy reading this as much as I love making this. Apology for any mistakes as again, I'm not a native. Anway this turned out faar longer than I imagined :A: hope you don’t get bored. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading! <3

[intromortal]

JAKE REASSURING YOU AFTER A FIGHT !

PAIRING: jake x gn!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, hurt/comfort (but it's actually just comfort), yes jake smells like earthy rain who's gonna fight me about it

In the middle of the night, you heard the front door of your apartment swing open, obtruding the sounds of leaves crunching on your porch and rain cascading, plinking against the shingles, before closing again gently.

Jake was late, but hearing him come back at all was a surprise. You firmly thought he would not come home that night. Not after the screaming match that had occurred before he left. 

Fighting with Jake was a very uncommon occurrence, you two usually talked about your feelings and worries very openly, an unspoken peace and truce you had worked very hard to achieve.

“Beautiful?” 

Tears poured from your eyes at the sound of his honeyed smooth tone, following the path that the previous dried ones had left behind.

Sobs racked your chest as his footsteps hurriedly made their way to your shared room, a place usually bursting with fondness never felt so empty and dim.

The bed dipped under the weight of Jake’s knees, his usual earthy scent mixed with the smell of the weather outside engulfing you as he brought your trembling body close to his, caging you in his firm arms.

“Breathe in, breathe out, slowly.” The touch of his warm calloused hand on your hair calmed you down, his breathing evening out in an attempt to get you to mimic it as he whispered sweet nothings against your skin, pillowy lips ghosting on your forehead.

Jake’s heart constricted in his ribcage at the thought of being the cause of your pain, thinking back at the poisonous venom he spewed to you that same morning, overtaken by his emotions.

He only pulled back once your sobs turned into sniffles, still holding you close but far enough to take your face in his hands, losing himself in the sight of your bloodshot eyes.

The moonlight filtered into the room through the curtains, turning your face into a canvas of blues and greys, shadows and light. Masterpiece cradled in his palms.

He always wanted to protect you, keep you away from harm, yet you had never looked so frail, shivering at his touch like you might shatter any second. Because of him.

The sensation of your lips tracing the skin of his palm brought his focus to the moment once more, eyes he had not even noticed had wandered somewhere else turned to yours, finding traces of fondness, yet also doubt, in them.

“I thought you’d crash at Jay’s tonight.” Your voice was cracking, raw from emotion.

He kept his gaze on yours, eyes flickering, looking for any clue of meanings between the lines, “Did you want me to?” his voice was hoarse and vulnerable, the anxiety pooling in his stomach audible in his tone. You shook your head, eliciting a sigh of relief from your lover.

“Thought you might not want to see me for a bit,” you nervously bit your lip, “after what I said.”

“You’re my home. I’ll always come back to you no matter what,” he brought you in for a soft kiss, still testing the waters, not wanting to push you too far. “We both said things we regret. I’m sorry beautiful, I didn’t mean any of it.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I know baby,” you whispered softly, “I never meant to be a liability. I hate watching you work yourself to your bones. I just worry for you.”

He drew back immediately, searching for your eyes and feeling bile rising in his throat when he found tears streaming down your face once more. “You’ll never be a liability, angel” he placed soft kisses on the rivulets of tears as if he could absorb them and take away even a little bit of your pain. 

“Still, I overstepped. I never want to be too much to bear again” you grabbed Jake's shirt as he held you close to his chest, his chin on top of your head.

“You are never gonna be too much baby. I was frustrated and took it out on you. It'll never let it happen again,” he lowered his head to kiss the crown of your hair “I promise”.

He rocked you like this, lips never parting from you and arms around your body, until he felt your heartbeat even out, breathing still a little shaky from all the crying. He lowered both of you on the soft mattress, covering your figure with a thin scattered blanket he found next to your nightstand when you refused to let him look for something heavier, scared he might walk a little too far, slip through your fingers and never come back.

He hoped the thin blanket and his love were enough to keep you warm in the cold of the night.

The last thing you heard before drifting off was his voice, warm breath fanning on your shoulder, “sweet dreams angel, we’re going to be fine.”

[devilat-thedoor]

Feel the Rhythm

okayokayokay🤍

i don't know if this has been done before already, but i've been having a few rough days in danny lane and couldn't get this image out of my head. therefore, i wrote it...💖

Pairing: Daniel Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Pure filth, really. 18+ as always, Minors DNI. dom!Danny, thigh riding, fingering, light choking.

The hallway was empty as you wandered through the building. When Danny called after you’d gotten off work, he had told you that his solo practice was running later than planned. “Honey, I was really looking forward to dinner with you tonight.” You pouted through the phone and he let out a breathy chuckle before suggesting that you pick up food and come to the studio for dinner. “Okay, yeah. I’ll be there in a bit. Love you.” You’d driven home to change your clothes and then stopped to grab the takeout.

Now, you moved down the long corridor, looking over the plaques outside each door for the studio number that he said he’d be in. The food smelled delicious, causing your stomach to growl. You almost gave up out of pure impatience and broke the bags open in the middle of the hallway. But then, by chance, you passed it. Studio 7. Right where he said he’d be. Reaching for the door handle, you twisted it, praying that you weren’t interrupting. As you stepped in the room, closing the door, you were surprised to find it empty. Nobody sat at the soundboard. You moved to the center of the room, placing the bag of takeout on the small table in front of a leather sofa and looking through the glass panes, into the booth. There was no sign of anybody, just Danny’s practice kit sitting in the middle of the soundproofed room. “What the hell?” Pulling your phone out of your purse, you clicked over your boyfriend’s contact at the top of the recents list and held it to your ear. The faint ringing could just barely be heard, you held your phone to your chest, listening hard for where it was coming from. Toeing closer to the sound booth door, hanging slightly ajar, you realized the ringing was coming from inside. You pushed the door open, following the sound to the drum set, where Danny’s phone sat atop the snare with his sticks. Blowing out a huff, you hung up the call and watched his phone go dark and silent.

You looked around the room, searching for any clue as to where he may have gone off to, but came up short as your eyes traveled back to the kit in front of you. One of the cymbals glinted beneath the dimmed lights and you reached out, running your finger over the grooved metal. Visions of him, tucked behind his stage kit, flashed through your mind. His focused face and bare chest, glistening with sweat. His big hands, gripping the sticks and beating down on the drums. It was villainous, the way he was forced to stay behind the plethora of equipment, obstructing his body from the crowd’s line of sight. The way his biceps flexed or his legs bounced every time he hit the pedal. You clenched your thighs at the image, pushing it away into the depths of your brain before it had the chance to make your panties wet. Taking a seat on his stool, you hissed when your lounge shorts rode up, exposing your bare legs to the cold leather. You picked up Danny’s phone, placing it on the floor with your own and then grabbed the drumsticks, fitting them in your hands. He always made it look so effortless when he played, carrying a perfect rhythm through every song. Your foot found the pedal, tapping it, and you jumped, startled by the loud thud. Laughing quietly to yourself, you did it again, and then again. The sound vibrated your chest and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you looked down at the sticks in your grasp and brought one up, tapping it to a drum on your right. You weren’t entirely sure which drum it was, but you kept going, hitting it again before directing your attention at the cymbals to your left. You tried to work out a beat, but you really had no clue what you were doing. Your foot continued pressing the pedal, trying to get a solid bass beat, but your arms wouldn’t work in tune with it, making everything sound very choppy. Your laugh echoed through the room as you kept going, having a thoroughly good time.

“You trying to steal my job, angel?” Danny’s voice surprised you, eliciting a squeal as you fumbled with the drumsticks. 

You held them against your chest to stop them from dropping and looked up at him, standing in the doorway, “I don’t know how you do this for hours, babe. My arms are aching and I’ve only been at it for like ten minutes.” 

He chuckled, stepping in and closing the door behind him, locking all the sound in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here already. I ran downstairs to grab a drink.” He walked towards you, his long legs closing the distance in just a few strides. You bit your lip as you caught a full glimpse of him, short shorts and a cut-off t-shirt that left his sides exposed.

He came up behind you and you tilted your head to him as he leaned down, greeting you with a soft kiss. “It’s only been about 15 minutes, Daniel, I’m fine. I’ve been keeping myself entertained.” You giggled, hitting a stick on the snare drum.

His hands gripped your shoulders as he hummed, “You look good behind the drums, sweetheart. Hot.”

“Yeah, too bad I can’t play for shit or I’d really give you a run for your money.” You leaned back, resting your back against his thighs and your head against his lower belly. His fingers rubbed into your skin, massaging little circles and you let your eyes fall shut, a quiet groan escaping your throat at the relaxing feeling.

“It wasn’t that bad. Here, sit up.” He pushed you forward to sit straight, “Put your foot back on the pedal and tap it a few times to get a steady rhythm going.” He pointed to the floor and waited for you to obey his command. His other hand stayed on your shoulder, fingers tapping along with the single beat you created using the bass drum. Once he was satisfied with the tempo, he threw out more directions. “Okay, good girl.” The praise went straight to your core, sparking a fire. But before you could react, he was speaking again, “Now, tap the high tom just like this,” His fingers drummed on your shoulder, mimicking what he wanted you to do. “And then the snare like this…” His other hand tapped on your opposite shoulder.

Tilting your head again to gaze up at him, you gave an innocent smile, “Babe, I know the bass and the snare, you gotta draw me a map, here.” You waved your hand over the set, holding eye contact with him.

He smirked down at you, a certain glint in his eyes, and hooked his hands under your arms, lifting you to stand. You didn’t get a chance to question him before he was sliding on to the stool and pulling you down in his lap. Settling into him, you tried to ignore the hand he had grasping your hip while he pointed from left to right, listing all the different pieces of his kit. “This one is the high tom, angel. So look,” He shifted you onto his right leg as he got into position and put his right foot over the bass pedal. “Gimme your hands.” You obliged, allowing him to wrap his big hands around yours and he began tapping his foot, kicking the bass. “Just feel the beat with me for a minute and then you can try on your own, yeah?”

You nodded, entirely distracted by the way his thigh muscles flexed between your legs with every tap of his foot. “Okay.” Your voice was quiet and you thought you heard him chuckle, but then his arms were moving with yours, drumming on the snare. It started out simple, a few light hits with your left hands. And then your right hands came up, working at the high tom. Your smile was beaming as you listened to the beat he created using your hands. His leg moved quicker, bouncing beneath you and when he shifted slightly to hit the crash cymbal, you felt him right on your covered clit. You ripped your hands from his, dropping the sticks as a shudder rolled through your body. “Shit.” 

Though you couldn’t see it, Danny had a mischievous smirk planted on his face as he eyed you. “Was I moving too fast, baby?” He bent to pick up the sticks. You gave your head a gentle shake, unable to look at him as you chewed on your cheek. He could see the way you fought to keep your breathing even, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “How about you just sit tight and watch?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as he started moving again, his foot kicking slowly at first. He made sure you felt every hard drop of his leg as he hit the pedal with force, the loud thuds filling the room. You couldn’t stop your hips from rolling, begging for friction through the thin material of your shorts. Your boyfriend welcomed the movements, picking up speed and tapping out a simple beat. “You feel that, angel?” His breath was hot on your neck, “Because I can feel you soaking my leg.”

Your eyes fluttered closed and you relaxed into his chest, grinding harder against his strong thigh. “Hmm. Fuck, Danny…” His name tumbled from your lips in a whimper, causing his dick to harden. “So good, babe. You’re s-so good.” Your words fueled him to work harder, moving around your body to hit the kit, bouncing his leg faster.

His teeth nipped your shoulder, drawing a gasp out of you. “You’ve got less than 20 minutes before the sound tech comes back.” You could barely hear him as you focused on chasing your orgasm, “Make it count.”

“Touch me, Danny. Please touch me.” You begged, pleaded to him, but he just snickered in return, making you work for it. It wasn’t nearly enough and you were growing more and more desperate by the second. He knew, but refused to give you what you wanted. Frustrated, you sat up, yanking the sticks from his hands and tossed them to the side. He didn’t like that.

Grabbing a handful of your hair, he pulled you back against his chest again. “Now, why would you do that?” His voice was dangerously low and you would’ve been worried had you not so badly needed release. “You were being such a good girl…” He clicked his tongue, his free hand coming up to circle your throat. “You’re gonna have to really earn it now, you fucking brat.” A whine escaped you as he took the hand that was tangled in your hair and dropped it to your covered pussy, pushing against your clit. You writhed in his hold as he drew circles, keeping featherlight pressure on your clit while squeezing your neck. Your hips began to move against his hand and halted his movements, slapping his palm against your cunt. “Don’t do that, you know better… You wanted me to touch you so bad.” He was taunting you.

The sharp contact sent a jolt through you and you gripped his opposite leg with your left hand. “Baby, please. I can’t take it anymore.” You were panting as his fingers went back to teasing you.

“Oh, you’re gonna take it like this or I’ll have you warm my cock until I finish practice…” He nudged your ear with nose, his tongue licking your lobe, “And I can promise you, that won’t result in an orgasm.” He’s fucking evil.

“No!” The panic was clear in your tone, “This, Daniel. This is- I’ll be good now, please. Just-.” He added more pressure to your aching clit, listening to the desperate moans spilling from your mouth. Your eyes flashed to the clock on the wall. “Ten minutes…” You were panting, trying your damnedest not to grind into him. He finally relented, letting his hand dip into your shorts, under your panties. “Ohhh. Fuck, right there.” Your breath hitched in your throat as his calloused fingers slid through your folds and he pushed two inside of you. “Thank you, baby. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, all that mattered was the way he instantly found your g spot.

His hand dropped from your throat to lay flat across your abdomen, locking you tightly against him as his fingers fucked you into oblivion. “There she is… That’s my sweet girl.” He was leaving wet kisses on your neck and across your shoulder, whispering the sweetest things to you. You were right on the brink and he knew it, could feel you squeezing around his hand. “You gonna give it to me, angel? Let me have you?” His thumb brushed over your clit, sending you plummeting into your climax.

Your eyes rolled back as your whole body went stiff in his hands. “Shi- I- Danny…” His name was the only coherent thing to leave you as you turned to mush. Your hand came up to cup his face as he eased you through the orgasm, slowing his fingers to a stop. You slumped against him, completely spent and breathless.

When he pulled his fingers from your shorts, he brought them up to your mouth, “Clean them.” You obeyed, opening your mouth to take them in. You sucked your release off of them as he pushed them further into throat, forcing a gag, “Hmm. Good girl.” He hummed in approval as he drew his fingers from your mouth. His hand gripped your chin, turning your face to kiss your lips. His tongue licked over your bottom lip, tasting the remnants of your arousal on it. Just as a growl creeped up his throat, a knock sounded on the glass panes. Your head whipped in the direction, seeing the sound tech on the other side of it.

You looked back to Danny in horror, but he was cool, calm and collected as the man spoke through the mic and into the booth, “Hey, man. I’m ready whenever you are.” He didn’t show any sign of having seen the display you had just put on.

Daniel gave him a simple thumbs up and turned to whisper to you, “Go eat, I’ll be finished up soon and then I’m taking you home.” He pinched your asscheek, eliciting a yelp from you. You kissed him one last time before standing and exiting the sound booth, dripping with anticipation.

[writing-intheundercroft]

Bite The Hand

AO3 Link

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian x F!MC

Word Count: 7,717

Rating: E (Smut, MDNI - M!Masturbation, M!Receiving Oral Sex)

Summary: Sebastian Sallow bites the hand that feeds him. Or, the years spent between your break up and the events of The Night Shift.

A/N: Auror!Seb took a vacation in my mind, and I never meant to let him relax this long. So, here's an excruciating prologue I've been writing over the past few months for him. If you have not yet, I highly recommend reading The Night Shift before this, which was one of my first one shots!

Sebastian sits on the old stone fence lining the exterior of Feldcroft; he swirls the beer bottle in his hand before lifting it to his lips, taking a thick swig.  His eyes are red, and he’s far too drunk, but it doesn’t matter–the pictures have been taken, and no one at the party is missing him too much.  Perhaps Anne, but she’s far too busy entertaining everyone in her white dress to separate herself from her new husband’s arm.  Ominis looks positively dashing, proudly swaying with Anne in his arms.  Sebastian has known since they were twelve they’d probably end up married someday, and he’s happy to see them together.  

After delivering a proud speech to honor his sister and twirling her on the dance floor, he indulges a bit too much in the bar Garreth Weasley has put together for the event, downing bottle after bottle of the ginger’s experimental enhanced ale. Choosing to peruse the gift table over dancing in the hamlet square, Sebastian begins appraising the parcels.  He’s shaking each box, trying to guess what gifts might be inside, when his eyes land on a neatly wrapped box.  There’s a lovely velvet bow affixed to the top, and the note seems to call his name.  He tears the tag away, eyes roving over the familiar handwriting. Gripping the beer bottle in his free hand, he stumbles through the field to find some privacy. 

Sebastian holds the gift tag, the rough pad of his finger swiping over the swirly cursive. It’s stupid, he thinks, to have thought you would have come.  Anne had warned him that she was sending you an invitation despite the distance you’d put between yourself and the friend group.  Sebastian had felt sick over it for weeks–either you’d arrive at Anne and Ominis’s wedding alone and he’d have to own up to his mistakes, or worse, you’d arrive, happy with a man on your arm.  

Happy and content, the two things Sebastian is pretending to be.

Sebastian loosens his white cravat, letting it fall into the mud below him.  He is happy, he thinks.  Sebastian Sallow knows he’s an absolute fucking catch. The department of magical law enforcement’s most eligible bachelor, people have said. He has several badges, praising his heroics as an auror.  He hasn’t unintentionally left the bar alone in months, something he’s bragged about with the lads.  Girlfriends are nothing but trouble, and he’s quite vocal about how glad he is that he wasn’t trapped into marriage at a young age.  That comment usually garnered him some laughs at the bar–it was less successful at a wedding, let alone the wedding of his best friend and twin sister, who were getting married at the youthful age of twenty one. 

Sebastian pulls the tag up to his eyes, squinting at it once more.  He’s searching it for any underlying clues, a note he’s missed. 

So sorry I couldn’t be there. Sending my love.

He scowls.  Sorry my arse, he repeats in his head. That's surely a lie–you’d never been sorry a day in your relationship, let alone at the end of it.  He probably shouldn’t be as bitter about your breakup after three years, but happy events like this only reinforce the overwhelming emptiness he feels when it comes to relationships.

Perhaps one should never date their best friend, he thinks.  The love lost from your break up has tainted most of his happy memories, and his stomach only ever churns when he thinks of you.

He has no idea if you’re even still in London, or if you decided to try out a stint in America or Spain, like you always dreamt of doing when you were teenagers. Sometimes he thinks he sees you on the streets of Diagon Alley.  A wisp of your hair, someone with the same nose.  He hears your laugh sometimes in the pub, but it’s not you. It’s never really you, but the thought, the hope, it stokes a fire. A fire that tells him he would fall to his knees if he ever saw you again, kiss your feet, apologize for having yelled, for thinking that a man would ever walk away from the person he loved because he felt threatened. It was the only time he’d ever lost faith in your relationship, wavering when a pretty girl batted her eyelashes at him in the bar.  After your fight, he’d gone to Ominis’s apartment for the evening to get some space, but found your shared flat empty in the morning.

He never lets the fire grow too big.  He’s spent the last three years dampening it with cheap booze, recklessness at work, and girls that never last more than a few weeks at a time.

With glassy eyes, Sebastian looks out to the empty fields. It wasn’t like he was actually planning on proposing–the two of you were just eighteen, after all.  But sitting in the front row, watching his best friend swear unyielding love to his twin sister, Sebastian found himself overcome with emotion.  Sure, you’d been too young then, but he’d always pictured you standing next to the vicar, wearing a pretty white dress.

He tries to think of that memory, but your face is coming up blank.  Perhaps he’s too drunk, or perhaps it’s been too long.

“Fuck!” Sebastian roars, throwing the beer bottle.  

He can hear it crash in the distance as his head falls into his hands. 

Sebastian hops off the fence, wobbling on his feet.  The music gets softer and softer as he puts distance between himself and the party; he’s in no mood, and he’s bound to ruin the wedding if he stays any longer.  Without another thought, he pulls his wand out of his pocket, apparating back home.

Sebastian doesn’t hear from Ominis or Anne for a few weeks; he assumes the happy couple are enjoying their honeymoon in Lisbon.  Ominis’s pretty little owl arrives at his window one day, a scrap of parchment requesting his presence at their home.

Sebastian excitedly replies, promising to be over on his next day off.  He wonders if they’ve gotten their wedding portraits back yet, or if they got any duplicate wedding gifts that might suit his bachelor pad.  He’s been needing a new frying pan, might as well steal their old one.

Sebastian cheerfully takes a handful of floo powder, clearly enunciating Anne and Ominis’s address as he drops the dust in the fireplace.  Green flames burst around him, and he opens his eyes to see Ominis’s mahogany paneled study.  The blonde is sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“Sebastian,” Ominis has a cold look on his face.

“Morning, Om.” Sebastian grins. “Hell of a party. Wedding of the year, I’d wager.” He walks out of the fireplace, brushing soot off of his waistcoat. “How was the honeymoon?”

“It was lovely,” Ominis says nonchalantly. “Anne quite enjoyed the sun.”  he walks over to his best friend, carefully rolling up his sleeves.  Sebastian furrows his eyebrows as Ominis stows his wand in his pocket, moving his wedding ring from his left to his right.

Without another thought, Ominis pulls back, sucker punching him.

“What the fuck,” Sebastian spits, eyes watering as he rubs his jaw.

Ominis smoothly puts his wedding ring back on, crossing his arms. “That’s for ruining our wedding, you selfish dimwit.  Anne was beside herself for days because of you.”

Sebastian hears the door open; Anne, looking quite sunkissed and freckled, slips into the room. 

“Your husband just punched me!” Sebastian complains.

His twin sister shrugs, sitting on top of Ominis’s desk. “You deserved it.” she scoffs. “You invited not one, but two women to be your guest at our wedding, and then fucked off into a field to get drunk and left without saying goodbye.  Nearly thought the two would rip each other’s hair out on the dance floor when they realized your mistake.”

“I did not,” Sebastian retorts, crossing his arms.

“Anastasia and Alexandra,” Ominis sighs. “I think you owe both of them an apology, if they ever speak to you again.”

Sebastian’s face heats up as he puts the pieces together.  Well, now it made sense why Alexandra, the waitress at the Leaky Cauldron, had spilled his beer onto him and stalked off.  Even more so that Anastasia, one of the timekeepers for the auror office, had burst into tears when she saw him at work. She’d put in her two weeks notice, spitting on his shoes as she passed by with a box of her personal effects in hand.

“I think we’re going to laugh about this eventually,” Sebastian suggests. 

Ominis’s face twists with displeasure. “They tore Anne’s veil.”

“Okay, it’ll take a few years.” Sebastian sputters in response, nervously eyeing his twin sister.

Anne stands up, her hands balled up into fists at her side. “It wasn’t just my veil, Sebastian.” she seethes. “It was Mum’s veil–”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “No,” he squeaks, utterly horrified.

Anne’s eyes were watering. “Mum’s veil,” she croaks. “Dug it out of storage, had it restored just for the wedding, and those women you invited destroyed it, fighting over you.  Meanwhile, you were out getting sloshed Merlin knows where, abandoning my wedding.”

Sebastian stares shamefully at his shoes while Anne paces back and forth, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.  His shoulders bowled over, the brunette looks up at the couple.  He hates the way they pity him, but he hates it even more when they’re mad at him.  Not roll-their-eyes mad, but truly, deeply upset.

“You need to get yourself together, Sebastian.” Ominis barks. “I’ve absolutely had it with you and this obscene behavior.  The drinking, the whoring –”

“Alright, I wouldn’t call it whoring.” Sebastian furrows his eyebrows. “That’s a bit of a stretch–”

“New women, every week.” Ominis sounds even angrier than before. “All because you’re a bloody coward, running away from your feelings.  Gods, I used to wonder why she left, and now it all makes sense–"

Sebastian doesn’t even realize that he’s holding Ominis by the tie, pushing him against the dark wooden walls.  Anne is screeching at him, hitting him at the shoulders, while Ominis raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Struck a nerve, have I?” he asks coolly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sebastian growls. “Don’t even go there.  Don’t say her name.”

“Everyone can see it, Sebastian.” Ominis shrugs. “It’s pathetic, that’s what it is.  Either make your peace with how you left things off with her and move on, or speak to her like a real man.”

Sebastian lets go, hands fumbling for his wand.  As soon as his fingers wrap around the cool, checkered marble handle, it flies out of his hand, clattering across the room.

“That’s enough from the two of you,” Anne snaps, shoving her wand back into her pocket. “You’re acting like children.”

“He started it,” Sebastian snarls.  He looks over at his best friend–Merlin, Ominis is his best friend, and he doesn’t even recognize him.  The blonde man has never been this angry at him before, not even when he killed–

Right, Sebastian swallows thickly. Best not to think about the past like that.

“Grow up, Sebastian.” Ominis digs his finger into Sebastian’s chest; he’s so angry, his jaw is quaking. “I don’t want to see you, speak to you, hear from you until you’ve grown the fuck up.” he threatens.  Ominis backs off, tugging his waistcoat down. “Anne, I’m going to take a walk around the block to cool down.”

Ominis grips his wand tightly, stalking out of the study.  The door slams heavily behind him, leaving the Sallow twins alone together. 

“Now look at what you’ve done,” Anne sighs, crossing her arms as she sits against the window.

“I’m sorry, Annie.” Sebastian chews on his lower lip. “I didn’t mean to–”

“No,” Anne scowls. “You never mean to.  You’ve somehow skated through twenty one years of life with nothing ever being your fault.”

“That’s not true,” Sebastian interjects.

“There are consequences to your actions, Sebastian.” Anne huffs. “You need to know that.”

“I do,” Sebastian pleads with her. “And I’m sorry–I’m sorry I left your wedding, I’m sorry I invited the two of them, I really didn’t even remember–”

“You’re not you , Sebastian.” Anne strains. “You haven’t been you in what feels like a very long time.”

“Not you too,” Sebastian groans. “Anne, you can’t possibly think this has to do with her.”

Anne’s eyes are teary now. “Ominis is right. You’re a shell, Sebastian. You’re going through the motions you think you should, but it’s not you. The real you wouldn’t forget about two women and just callously throw them aside. You wouldn’t leave my wedding without saying goodbye.”

Sebastian avoids eye contact with his sister, eyes glued to the floor boards. “I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I was just too drunk.”

“You never used to drink this much,” Anne scolds. “Spending nearly every night down at the pub, all the whispers about you flirting with all sorts of women.  You’re a different person.”

“I’ve grown up, Anne.” Sebastian suggests. “A man can’t sow his oats without getting criticized now?”

“You were about to get married–”

Sebastian shuts his eyes, waving her off. “That’s silly , Anne.  I wasn’t serious about it.  We were eighteen, we’d just graduated Hogwarts.  It would’ve been stupid to get married.”

“But you wanted to,” Anne retorts. “You talked about it all the time.”

“Can we stop talking about stupid ideas I had when I was eighteen?” Sebastian growls. His cheeks are aflame, freckles burning at the continued mention of you.  Days ago, you were merely a memory, a chapter Sebastian had turned past in life.  After seeing your handwriting scrawled on a little card, thinking of you for just a fleeting moment, your memory was now infecting every waking minute of his life.  He tugs at his tie, throat growing thick at Ominis and Anne’s pokes into his personal life.

Anne gives him a pitying look. “She’s still around, you know.”

“Why would that matter to me?” Sebastian chokes out.

“Just talk to her—“

“She left!” Sebastian roars, smacking a stack of files off Ominis’s desk.  Anne looks unphased as the papers float to the ground. “I leave her for one night, and I come home the next morning to my flat, empty, couch gone. No note, no warning. We had one fight and she left me!”

“You said you wanted to cheat on her, Seb.” Anne reminds him.

“But I didn’t!” Sebastian huffs, red in the face.  The floodgates are open, words spilling from his mouth. “I wanted her to be mad, to be jealous!  I wanted her to miss me!” 

Involuntary tears prick at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall down his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to admit the truth–that selfishly, he’d wanted to hurt you, to push you to your limits to see how you’d react. How he never could’ve imagined you’d actually leave. That his heart had cracked into pieces after finding the flat cleared out, and the shards had turned to dust when he realized weeks later that you weren’t coming home.

“Do you still want her to miss you?” Anne asks.

Yes, Sebastian thinks. His heart would probably explode out of his body if he were to ever find out you missed him.

“No,” he spits out. “I’m over her.”

Anne gives him a distrustful look, and Sebastian has to turn away in shame.

“I think you’ll find life to be a lot easier to digest when you stop lying to yourself,” Anne shrugs, folding her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to watch you waste your life away like this, Seb.  You miss her, and that’s okay.  You loved her.  Don’t sit here and pretend that you’re happy.”

“I’m happy,” Sebastian grunts. “I have a great life, Anne.  I’m the best junior auror on the force, I have plenty of friends.  I can go wherever I want, do whatever I want, and I don’t need to answer to anyone.  What makes you think I’m not happy?”

Anne’s face twists again, this time with a sad, pitiful look. “We’re twins, Sebastian.  I know you. I’ve known you forever.  I know things can never be as it was, but Ominis is right.  You have to make peace with the past, or talk to her.”

“It’s not about her,” Sebastian snarls again, crossing his arms.

“You got shitfaced and left my wedding after you stole the tag off her present.” Anne declares. “Tell me now how it’s not about her.”

“Whatever. I can’t talk to you when you’re acting like this.” Sebastian huffs, turning on his heels back towards the fireplace. “Send an owl when you’re feeling like yourself again.”

Anne leans against Ominis’s desk, her hands fidgeting with her skirt. “Likewise.  We can talk once you’ve figured out everything, and when you’re acting like yourself again.” she says coolly. “Otherwise, I don’t want to speak to you.”

“Ultimatums and threats, how very Gaunt of you.” Sebastian blurts out, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth.  Why would he even dare to say such a thing? 

Anne is unphased, shaking her head as she brushes dust off her skirt. “There you go again–trying to hurt someone you love, just to get a rise out of them. Seb, grow up. Don’t talk to me again until you’ve figured it out.”

Sebastian can’t bear to look at Anne, so he grabs a fistful of floo powder and disappears into the green flame.

“Another.” Sebastian demands, pushing his glass towards the new barmaid.

The woman raises her brow.  Elsie, Elise, whatever the fuck her name is.  She’s relatively new, and less obliging than the other bartenders Sebastian has come to know at the Three Broomsticks.  Although he might not have much pull anymore–the other bartenders seem to have gone cold towards their favorite regular, especially after he’d ditched their colleague Alexandra at the wedding with a duplicate guest.

“I’m afraid I’d be over-serving you, sir.” she says, polishing a tankard. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, turning the barstool around to appraise tonight’s crowd.  It’s a Saturday, but there appears to be slim pickings amongst the crowd. Nary a pretty woman in the room.  He leans his elbows back against the bar top, scanning for any viable conquests. 

And then, the bell on the door rings.

Sebastian freezes, pint in hand.  He’d always imagined how this day might go–how it would feel to see you again.  He always pictured himself being brave, too cool to care.  Merlin, he might’ve even gotten some satisfaction out of seeing you be a bit miserable. 

But you’re not.  You’re laughing.  Oh god, how could you be laughing?

He’s frozen in place, standing rather sheepishly at the bar as he watches you, giggling on the arm of some stranger.  Sebastian could care less what he looks like, rather fixating on you instead. His heart swells at the sound of your voice for the first time in years, the playful lilt to your question.

Should we sit down here, or upstairs?

Your date tells you to go upstairs, while he meanders over to the bar to get drinks. “One whiskey, on the rocks, and…some drink with gin.  Er, with lemons?”

A white lady.  Gin, orange liquor, egg whites, lemon juice , Sebastian screams in his head.  It’s embarrassing how quickly that knowledge came back to him.  The entire history of you floods into his brain, a dam he’d built over the years of your estrangement destroyed with the mere sound of your giggle. You always favored gin in your drinks, but despised when things were too sweet, too fruity.  The key to your heart was understanding your sense of taste.  Sebastian recalls the nights he’d make dinner for you, before your shifts at St. Mungo’s.  He was no chef, but you always praised his cooking.  Pretty noises coming from your mouth as you savored braised mushrooms over pasta, the way your tongue ran over your lips when he made chicken–

Why did you break up again?

Images play over and over in his mind.  You scoffing at him, your career being more important than his.  Screaming, fighting, going days without seeing each other.  His teeth sunken into the neck of someone he didn’t know. A book thrown at his head, a coffee mug missing a handle. 

Right. That again.

Sebastian snaps out of his thoughts as your date takes two drinks up the stairs.  He follows on careful feet; if he’s learned anything in his years of being an auror, it’s how to follow with stealth.  He hides beneath the creaky wooden staircase, concealed by the darkness.  Yet through the wooden steps, he can see you sitting at the table, and the way your smile falters when your date drops a fruity concoction in front of you.  He wonders if this is your first date–no, you’re far too comfortable leaning into his touch for this to be a first date.  Perhaps a third, maybe a fourth. 

“You did promise me if we made it to our fourth date that you’d tell me,” the man across from you says. Sebastian feels a bit proud for knowing you well enough, but sick at the thought of you being close to anyone.

“Tell you what?” you ask, feigning innocence as you fake a sip of your sugary drink.

“If you’ve ever been in love,” he croons. Sebastian winces, remembering just how excruciating it is to be in the early days of a relationship. At least then he’d been sixteen; he can’t imagine asking such cringey questions as a grown adult. 

You roll your eyes, leaning back into your chair. “That’s such a cheesy question,” you scoff.

Even when you’re not together, you two are on the same page.

“It says a lot about a person,” your date shrugs. “You have been in love, haven’t you?”

You roll your eyes once more, wincing as you take a sip from your beverage. “I have,” you announce, holding up a finger. “Just once.”

“And?” the man pries. “What happened?”

“What always happens.” you shrug. “You get older, and you fall out of love.”

“Indulge me,” your date asks, leaning his chin into his palm. “What was it about him?”

Sighing, you lean forward.  Sebastian wishes he could cast a disillusionment charm, get closer to see the look on your face as you condense your love story into a palatable tale for this stranger.  He wants to know if you’ll do it justice.  

“We were sixteen,” you muse. “It felt like we’d grown up together, that we could do anything.  And for a while, we could.  But then we had jobs, friends, and lives we had to explore outside of each other. Suddenly, we needed different things. We just couldn’t love each other the way we wanted to.” 

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. That’s it?  That’s all you’ll say about the great love you shared, a measly five sentences?  That you drifted apart, you grew up?  He has half a mind to march up the stairs and confront you right this moment. In fact, one foot is already ahead of the other, emerging from the darkness. 

“In the spirit of honesty, can I tell you something?” you ask. “I absolutely hate fruity drinks.”

Sebastian stops in his tracks.  You hate complaining, let alone correcting someone.  You never complained once during your tenure at Hogwarts, nor did you complain at the simplest offenses.  He and Ominis would have to practically beg you to send back food if your order came out wrong.  Imelda would roll her eyes every time you apologized for sending a beater your opponent’s way.  Hell, half the reason the two of you broke up was because you could hardly confront him, moving your belongings out of your shared apartment to avoid conflict.

Yet here you are, finally open and honest about something.  You’ve grown, he realizes. Has he?

“Excuse me,” your date clears his throat.  Sebastian is drawn out of his thoughts as the dark-haired man bumps into him at the foot of the stairs. 

“Sorry mate,” Sebastian says hurriedly, turning his back.  Hopeful that you haven’t seen him lurking quite yet, he pushes through the throngs of people in the pub, all blocking his way to the front door.

“Oi, Sallow!” the barmaid yells, and he curses under his breath, stopping in his tracks. “You forgot your tab.”

Sebastian digs through the pockets of his cloak, pulling out a few sickles to cover his drinks.  He turns toward you on the second floor, wondering if you’d heard his name. You hadn’t; you were back to chatting animatedly with the stranger, his hand resting on your forearm.

Sebastian slams the sickles down on the bar top, pulling the hood on his cloak over his head before turning on his heel. Rain pours outside, the water sliding his back as he rushes down the cobblestone street to his doorstep.  Your laugh haunts every step, mocking him all the way home.

Sebastian turns in his sleep, bedsheets tangled in his legs.  He’s not one to brag (Ominis would say otherwise if they were on speaking terms) but he’s not used to being alone in bed.  Not if he doesn’t want to be. 

He is alone tonight, his damp cloak discarded in the corner of his room where he kicked his clothes.  He lives alone, so he wasn’t quite sure why he was going through the motions of banging the cupboards, slamming his door.  The tea he’d made to sober up had gone cold, perched on the side table next to a myriad of dirty cups.  He nearly bangs his head against the wrought iron headboard, staring up at the dark ceiling.  There’s a tightness in his belly, an urge sparking his senses below.  

Fuck, he’s hard.

Sebastian grumbles to himself as his hand trails down his stomach, gripping his length. He’s sleeping in the nude—has been, ever since he got his own bachelor pad—and can’t help thinking about how much you would despise him for it.  You’d always been a stickler for pajamas, grumbling about him sitting in bed with dirty clothes.

Why is he thinking about you now, after all these years?  Sebastian grunts in displeasure as his cock twitches in his hand. He tries to focus on anything else—the blonde he’d kissed a few nights prior, or the woman with auburn hair who’d gripped his locks at the root when he’d sucked a mark into her neck.  Neither works in his quest for relief.  Begrudgingly, his thoughts fall towards you, distant memories he’s not even sure are real anymore.

They had been real, and so were you.  Sebastian paces his strokes, biting hard into his lower lip as his memories flood back. He furrows his brow as he pictures you, sidling up next to him in bed.  You’d always crawl back underneath the sheets after a long night in the ward, getting home with just an hour or two left before Sebastian would have to wake and get ready for work. He tightens his grip at the memory of you, nosing his cheek as your hand replaces his. 

“You know I hate when you go to bed without pants,” you whisper against his neck, teeth grazing his pulse.

”I do,” he murmurs, letting you take over. His hand falls back against the pillow, arms above his head as he sighs into your touch.  He swears he can feel your hands ghosting over his body, firm grip pumping his cock up and down.  He groans audibly when your thumb glides over the glistening head, a gasp caught in the back of his throat as he feels your lips pressing a tentative kiss against it.  

“Please,” Sebastian pleads. “Please.”

He’s not sure what he’s begging for, but his right hand crashes against his mouth, a pathetic whimper spilling past as he feels your mouth envelop him. Your hands brace his thighs, a curtain of hair brushing his hips as your head bobs up and down. He’s loud, louder than he’s been in years—you always brought that out of him, loving how vocal he could be. 

You hum against him; he knows you’re looking up at him, a devilish grin on your lips. Sebastian doesn’t dare to look down at you, worried you’ll disappear the moment he tries.

“Good morning,” you gasp, popping off of his cock.  Your hand replaces your mouth, the filthy sound of your spit and his come pounding alongside his heartbeat in his ears.

Sebastian can’t stop himself, his hips rolling upwards.  A garbled noise falls out of his mouth as he opens his eyes.  You’re gone—you were never here to begin with.  He fucks up into his fist with urgency, his eyes stinging as he chases his climax.  Sebastian lets out a guttural groan as he spills into his palm, a tear rolling down his cheek as he heaves, coming back down to earth.

You were never here, Sebastian reminds himself. A fucking memory, that’s all.  An end to a means, a way to get off.  That doesn’t make him feel any better as he rolls over to his night stand, picking up his wand.  He mutters a quick cleaning spell, rustling the sheets to the end of his bed as he lays, staring at the ceiling. Not real, not real, not real.   The two words comfort him, eyes fluttering back to sleep.

Your laugh replays in his mind anyways.

Sebastian rolls the vial in his hands, fingers hesitating at the stopper.  It’s standard issue for aurors to have their own personal pensieve, especially once they’re at the senior level. Sebastian has been trusted with his own pensieve, the only junior auror on the force to have one.  It’s an important tool, one he uses to peruse old memories.  They’re useful if you need to observe an old crime scene, hone in on a suspect’s face.

Fuck it, Sebastian thinks, pulling the stopper out.  The silvery memory floats down from the glass to the swirling waters, and he’s reminded of the first time he’d used a pensieve—he’d been with you.  He shudders as he lowers his face to the milky surface, falling into a memory he’s tried to forget.

It was raining that night.  He follows his past self up the stairs to the old flat he’d shared with you, stopping to take a sobering breath before pushing the door in.  He can see you sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed over a white muslin dress.  You look so angry with him—you always looked so angry in those final days of your relationship.  

“Where the hell have you been?” You snap, and both versions of himself flinch.

“Out,” his past self growls. “Why does that matter to you?”

You stare at him with furrowed brows. “This was my only day off of the week, Sebastian. I wanted to spend it together.  You’re always going on and on about how we don’t spend enough time together, yet every time I even make an effort you don’t even show—“

”Merlin forbid I want to celebrate a good day at work with my colleagues,” the younger Sebastian snarls, a hiccup lining the edge of his sentence as he slams his bag down on the table.

”You reek,” the past version of you declares, nose wrinkling. “Of booze.  How long have you been drinking?” You lean in, sniffing his neck.  Sebastian instinctively moves his arm, trying to pull you away.  It’s no use; it’s an illusion, his hand passes right through your skin. 

“Is that perfume?” Your voice falters.

”You’re imagining things,” Sebastian accuses.

”Don’t lie to me, Sallow.” You roar. “I smell perfume on your neck.”

Sebastian flinches when his younger self whirls around on his heel. “And so what if I smell like perfume?” He screeches.

Your face crumbles, and Sebastian has to force himself to look.  You look so much younger, with full cheeks and wide eyes.  He’d forgotten you’d plaited your hair at the top, just the way he’d liked it.  He remembered tugging on your braids when the two of you were still in school, before you’d even started dating.  That was ages ago, yet his heart still yearns for those days.

”Sebastian, have you been with someone else?”

The words still prick his heart, yet he forces himself to keep watching. His younger self stands there, a blank expression on his face.

”What if there was someone else?”

“Is there someone else?”

The younger Sebastian stands firm, arms folded over his chest.  This is it, the moment his heart closed to you.  This is when your relationship slipped down the drain. He doesn’t flinch with his next words, all aimed at you.  He’s playing the offense now, drawing blood with his words.

She’s nice, and she actually cares to listen to me.  I didn’t kiss her—but damn, I wanted to.

Sebastian perches on the table, knowing what comes next.  You don’t bother with tears—you’d cried enough in the last few months of the relationship, trying to salvage damaged goods.  There’s nothing left to give.  You pick up the closest book, hurling it at Sebastian’s face.  The book passes through the real Sebastian, his past self ducking just in time for it to slam against the wall.  The book falls to the ground with a thud, spine dented from the wooden beam.

His past self curses, knocking into the closest table.  Your favorite mug, the one with the funky handle, goes flying off the surface, the handle breaking off.

”I’m going to Ominis’s, until you can be a reasonable adult,” his past self roars, tugging the hood of his cloak over his head.

No, Sebastian screams. Don’t go.  She won’t be home when you come back.

”Sebastian!” You wail.  His head snaps to you, hands balled into fists at your side. He’d never noticed the look of despair on your face, the longing in your eyes. “I—“

The memory ends with a slammed door, your voice far away. He didn’t even give you the chance to finish your sentence.  Sebastian is forced out of the memory, head jolting out of the stone basin with nowhere else to go.

It’s the first time he’s forced himself to relive the memory.  It’s different than he remembered; he doesn’t look nearly as confident as he thought he did.  He doesn’t need to watch the rest to remember how it felt.  After a night spent on Ominis’s settee, sleeping off the alcohol, he’d walk back into the flat prepared with an apology.  He’d slip the key into the lock, calling out your name.  You’d probably be asleep in anticipation of your night shift, but he wouldn’t be able to wait.  He would burst through the bedroom, but you wouldn’t be in bed.  In fact, all of your belongings would be gone, leaving half of the flat bare.  No note, no goodbye.  He’d spend the better half of a day banging on Poppy’s door, only for her to snap at him in response. 

She doesn’t want to speak to you ever again. Every friend had said it, and Sebastian took it to heart.  Perhaps it would take you a couple of days, a few weeks at most to forgive him.  Weeks turned into months, and before long it was a year.  He moved into his own apartment in Diagon Alley.  Poppy and Imelda stopped talking to him entirely, and Natty would only speak to him at work.  It wasn’t much longer that he started chatting up women at the pub, going on dates.  You became a distant memory, his teenage love, a chapter he’d left behind.

Sebastian thought it would give him some closure. That he’d accept being the asshole, finally put you away for good.  Seeing your handwritten note to Ominis and Anne had only eroded his stone heart, dripping away at his resolve.  Hearing you laugh was like taking a pickaxe to the chest, and your summary of the relationship had been the killing blow. It’s like you didn’t even care; simply shrugging off what had been the longest and most defining relationship of his life.  

Isn’t that what he wanted?

Sebastian slumps against the basin, fingertips drumming against the edge.  It’s classic, really, textbook Sebastian Sallow to ruin everything.  He still remembers the way he pushed away Ominis, had forsaken Anne’s wants and needs when it came to her curse.  The unforgivable curse falling past his lips, regretting the words while he says them.  He’d crumpled in your arms, sobbing against your robes that night.  You’d given him a second chance at life, to be a better brother, a better friend.  He promised he wouldn’t squander the opportunity, choosing love over anger.

But falling in love with you hadn’t been a choice.  It had been natural, the easiest thing Sebastian had ever done.  He’d loved you so hard, too much—he’d wanted to marry you, for Merlin’s sake.  That all changed when you started working the night shift.  You spent less time together, and even moments at home were spent studying.  You balked at his touch, preferring the company of a book and a cup of tea instead.  He felt his walls go up, guarding himself from pain.  It couldn’t hurt if he hurt you first, he recalled. He’d bite the hand that fed him, and that would give him an advantage.  

Sebastian splashes the water in the pensieve, the silvery threads of his memory tangling in his fingers.  How easy it would be to store it away, destroy it forever. Fuck, he’d obliviate himself if he could.  He could move on with his life, finally be rid of you. 

Your name, scrawled on parchment.  The lilt of your laugh, the way your cheeks still turn pink when you smile.  The memory of your hair brushing against him in the morning, how just the memory of you is enough to make him hard.  Fuck, he loves you—he’s always loved you.  He’s always going to love you.  Who do you think you are, to stay this long?  Perhaps he’s afraid of you, how powerful you are to have this hold on him. 

Sebastian carefully collects the memory with the tip of his wand, letting it seep back through his ears and into his mind.  It hurts, still a heavy weight on his heart. But better to have it, to have a piece of you.  He knows he’s done irreparable harm, and he can’t change who he was then.  Sebastian has been given a plethora of second chances in his life, and he’s likely run up on any good karma he has left.

You deserve better, Sebastian thinks. He hopes you’re happy.  He wonders if you’re still enjoying the night shift, still at the top of your field.  His mind trails off to the man you were sharing drinks with—perhaps you’ve found love again. He shudders at the thought of you walking down the aisle to a faceless man, but there’s nothing he can do.  He made his bed, and he’ll lie in it.

Sebastian can only resolve to be better.  Maybe in time he’ll get back into Ominis and Anne’s good graces. Be a better brother, a better friend.  He shuts the cover on the pensieve, pushing it back into the corner of his bedroom.  His eye catches the book on his shelf with a dented spine before he straightens his tie, collecting his cloak to leave for work.

He can be better. Maybe. For now, he’ll settle on drinks after work, praying you don’t walk into the same pub as him ever again.

Sebastian’s breath is knocked out of his chest.  You’re sitting at the table with Poppy, Andrew’s chair pulled up next to them.  You look breathtaking, dressed in a pretty lace gown with matching gloves on your hands.  Your hair is piled atop your head in a fashionable way, and you’re blinking up at him expectantly.  He can barely look you in the eyes, lest he crumple at the knees.

”Emergency meeting,” he utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”

That’s all you have to say?  He berates himself in his mind as Andrew and Everett bid you farewell.  Your eyes turn back disappointedly to the cutlery on the table, and Sebastian screams internally as his colleagues drag him away from the table on unsteady feet.

”Pull yourself together, man.” Everett rolls his eyes. “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.  And considering how many ghosts we knew at school, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“I can’t,” Sebastian mutters. “That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years.”

”Years?” Andrew’s eyes widen. “You’ve really gone that long?”

Years, Sebastian thinks.  Years since you left.  Years since he fought with Anne and Ominis after their wedding, years since he froze under the stairs at the Three Broomsticks, hearing you recount your love story to a new flame.  He’s thought of you every day since.

”That’s depressing,” Everett whistles low. “I never want to fall in love.”

“It’s sweet, really.” Andrew points out. “You never forget your first love, even after you’ve moved on.”

”Moved on?” Sebastian asks.

Everett gives him a sympathetic look, scratching his head. “Er, I thought you noticed—the giant diamond on her hand?  I heard she was engaged.” He confesses. “Sorry mate.  Natsai told me.”

Of course Natty wouldn’t tell him , Sebastian thinks.  She’s hardly spoken to him in years, despite working in the same department.  She’s dutifully ignored him, only daring to speak about work related matters.  The moment your conversations turn towards your personal lives, she would disappear.

”I’m happy for her,” he chokes out, trying to sound convincing.  He knows it isn’t.

”Well, you’re happy now too, aren’t you?” Andrew tries to cheer up the conversation. “The bachelor life suits you.”

Sebastian isn’t sure that’s true.

They apparate back to the ministry, all of the aurors crowded into the office to help with a massive case. Sebastian is hardly listening during the mission debrief.  His mind is elsewhere, on you.  He wonders if you’re marrying the man from the bar, the one with the cheesy questions.  He swallows thickly at the thought of you in love, real love this time.  Something that would last.

He wants to call on Anne.  They haven’t spoken since he’d fought with Ominis after their wedding, his twin holding strong to her words.  She wanted to see him grow, to confront his feelings before coming back to her.  Maybe now was a good time—Anne was always a good shoulder to cry on.

Sebastian had expected a decent fight, but this one takes the cake.  It’s the most intense of his auror career so far, battling what feels like an army of ashwinders who’ve rallied to terrorize the highlands once more. The fight isn’t fair; it’s brutal, several of his fellow aurors falling on the scene.  Andrew has a nasty gash, arms slung around both him and Everett as they try to get to a safe floo point. They might splinch if they try to apparate, and Andrew is looking pale enough as it is.

“Wild day, isn’t it?” Everett chuffs, straining as they lift Andrew and his bleeding leg. The floo point is about twenty feet away, but it’s an uphill climb. “We need to get him to St. Mungo’s, stat.” He says your name, wondering if you’re on duty to help with Andrew’s injury.

”She works the night shift,” Sebastian blurts. He doesn’t even know if you still work nights—it’s just the only thought that comes to mind.

”Well, maybe she’ll be there and you can stop acting like you’ve got doxies for brains.” Andrew snorts, wincing in pain.

”She looks happy,” Sebastian admits. “Beautiful. Merlin, I forgot how beautiful she is.”

Sebastian feels Andrew tugging on his shoulder, panic laced through his voice.  He turns to see an ashwinder, appearing out of nowhere.  The masked man has his wand raised, pulling his arm back to inflict a curse.  Sebastian can see he’s aiming at Everett, the incantation on his lips.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate.  He lets go of Andrew, letting him topple over onto the grass.  He dives in front of his partner, the bolt of green magic electrifying him as he lands with a thud on the ground.  He can’t tell if he’s yelling, or if it’s Clopton.  He feels cold and wet, streaks of red blossoming on his crisp white shirt.  

“We have to get him to St. Mungo’s!” Everett roars. “I don’t care, apparate! Get us out of here!” 

Andrew crawls over to his side.  He asks Sebastian to forgive him, curling his arms around him as they apparate away from the scene.  Sebastian feels like he’s being pushed through a piece of straw, landing on the cold marble floor of the St. Mungo’s intensive care ward. Healers are already running amok, trying to help the others coming in from the scene. A healer is sending a patronus message, rabbit bouncing off the walls before disappearing to relay a message.  He wants to lift his head, check the room to see if you’re there.  When he tries, Clopton chastises him, holding him down to the floor.

We have to stop the bleeding, someone says. What bleeding?  He’s just cold.  

“Can someone get me a blanket?” Sebastian slurs, words garbled in his throat.

He hears someone saying your name. “We’ve called in the head of the ward,” they say. “She’s on her way in as we speak.”

“We know her,” Andrew insists, still holding his hand down tight against Sebastian’s chest.  He’s not sure why Andrew is clutching him so tightly, clamping down on his sternum.

”She’ll know how to stop the bleeding,” the healer assures him. “She’ll figure it out—her magic always does the trick.”

That’s all he needs to know. Sebastian shuts his eyes, the sounds of the ward disappearing against the ringing in his ears.  He’ll be okay, especially if you’re on the way. Deep down, Sebastian knows he’s in good hands.

[kentocalls]

jiraiya | breadcrumbs nsfw. it’s a situationship but the good kind, i wanted to thank @actuallysaiyan for writing all those prompts. also the gif 🥵

he groans, crosses out the line that’s lived for only three seconds, the words dancing around his eyes, mocking him. he’s the renown author of the Icha Icha series. he can write, move his audience with his captivating comedy and well timed eruptions of emotions. but this, this piece of work is draining everything from him.

his cup is empty, his snacks gone. tense and frustrated he snaps his pen across the room. he could find something, someone to help take his mind off of it all. except he’s causes enough of a racket, his mission isn’t an easy one and he’s not exactly kept low key about his presence. it’s going to mean more paperwork and an earful from superiors and writing was supposed to help. the editor would be less person to yell at him. alas. the night is not in his favor.

the village is silent, most folks already asleep. he can hear cats fighting if he really tried but even then, his stares at the blank wall ahead. a flash of the prettiest lips fills his mind and he aches.

his mind trails after the confident, youthful, smart shinobi who had his knees gracing the ground with a simple ask. he doesn't know how it started, doesn't care where it goes, wants more. maybe there's enough clues if he looks for them, maybe his favorite has graced him with kindness and left a morsel.

enough is enough, he’s leaving tomorrow. the change of pace necessary, he has to keep moving. because who he’s seeking isn’t here and the mission is at a dead end too. t

he wind offers another pause from his thoughts, tempation, cool against his skin gentle, inviting. he closes his eyes, takes half a second to let his body relax, half a second to imagine it’s not the wind’s gentle caress but wait! he didn’t open the window, he wouldn’t this late and—

there’s your scent and something medicinal permeating the room.

you’ve always been fast. confidnet. slipping into unsavory places with ease.

making the most excellent shinobi and his worst habit.

by the time he’s done looking at the window your seated on his desk, writing pad in arms as your eyes trace over the latest pagse written. you’ve always loved spoilers, itching to know what happens before everyone else.

it makes him feel smug, after all these are fresh words, something exclusive only he can offer. gods, he’s missed your face, notes swollen lips and tired eyes, ignores the scratches near your chin. what you both do is dangerous, tedious, necessary. he won't ask because you can't tell. still the thought, did you rush over immedidately after a succes?

eyes rake your beautiful form spilling over his work desk.

your uniform has seen better days but he’s so so so pleased to see exposed skin. your legs look so smooth, nevermind new scratches and old scares greeting him.

he’s staring, gawking like an inexperienced brat, it would be embarrassing, you’d tease him endlessly for it, however, you’re so engrossed in his writing. swaying your legs softly, they dangle freely off the desk, and yet managing to cage him in. his palms reach up, kisses at a small cut on your knee, large palms soothing, fondling, massaging your thighs. itching to admire.

you’re here.

skin is hot, face is a bit flushed though you’re hiding it behind a stoic expression, eyes stealing more and more words. it’s not that long of a chapter, he sighs and pulls you closer, face nuzzling into your stomach, you can feel his kisses through your uniform. needy.

he’s usually wordy, jokey, loud. leaves no space for the outside world when it’s just you two, but right now he’s being such a good boy. you wonder how long it’ll last, the fact he’s being gentle and slow with his movements is trippy. especially when you know how tough he is, have seen him snap men in half so casually. flaunts his reputation, his height, his fame like he’s breathing but right now? letting you read unreleased, unedited writing?

letting you sit on his precious desk, your scent will drive him mad when you’re gone in the morning. he doesn’t have to be nice, could’ve easily stopped you from slipping into his room. taken you against the wall, you wouldn’t have protested. except he didn’t, he’s being the most gracious host.

that’s the only reason one of your hands plays with his long locks, eyes pulling away from his writing pad when your fingers, inevitably, tangle. “hair’s gotten too long.”

“to match yours.” he muffles, before leaning back and looking up almost innocent. like his hands aren’t squeezing and molding and clawing at your thighs. like his mouth isn’t kissing lower and lower, as if he isn’t inhaling that sweet scent that’s evaded him for months now.

you hum, spreading your legs wider, tilting your hips a little higher, his hands know what to do, moving to the waistband of your bottoms, “why’s this one so serious?”

“if you read the other two you’d see why.” he grins, a lazy hand drawing circles from your bellybutton down to your clothed sex and your hand snaps to his wrist with such power. “i like my uniform, i need it clean.” your glare sends shivers down his spine, you’d be mean for him if he asked right?

“and where are the other two?” he doesn’t want you to move, he doesn’t want to spend time playing writer and editor. he much rather gather more field experience, engaging in physical activities has always been his forte, he’s a hands on learner afterall.

crumbles the second your hand is patting at his cheek, pulling his hair and crashing your lips to his. it’s greedy, messy, hungry. you’ve been pent up too. the missions come one after the other and you’re such a high rank, all those secrets and no where to bury them — who knows the weight of all the pain you cary better than one of the legendary sannin?

it’s why you seek him out, over and over again

he doesn’t ask for more, doesn’t push and always pulls you close.

“i wanna…” he nips at your lips, stop distracting him, moves his hands under your top and up, squeezing, groping, pulling, “need too, ah, read the other two first.”

“you’ve worked hard enough,” finally your legs wrap around his hips, he lifts you up so easily, grips the back of your neck firmly, earning a moan, oh you need him, “let me take care of you.”

laying under him, he’s extra careful peeling your clothing off, aware your previous warning still hangs true. you’d take a kunai to his arm if he dirties another uniform. in another setting, he'd like that very much. but he's barely containing his urges, forces hands to work with extra patience, despite his pressing need making itself known. makes a haste of kissing, licking, biting, bruising what can be hidden. for both your eyes only.

you’re so pretty for him.

he tries to pace himself, tries not to get caught up in spite of all his reasoning to go slow he’s a frantic mess. hands clasping with yours, using one arm to hold both your arms above your head, you comply so easily, mouth open and wanton and how the fuck is he going to do all the things he wants to do if he can’t stop kissing you?

a hand snacks down your chest, pinching, fingernails lightly scratching before reaching your core and the gasp you make; drives him insane, let him be a little mean, a little rough, the sounds he makes deepening your need further. his own hips canting against your thigh and sheets.

part of him still doesn’t believe you’re here. that you're not an illusion. that he doesn’t need to wreck his brain and imagine the sounds slipping freely from your lips, that he can take you in with all his senses. have you falling apart in all the ways he knows you adore.

“pretty pretty thing…” he’s sucking and biting on your neck, sliding another finger in and the sloshing sounds cause your cheeks to burn. you want more, hips bucking up on their own, you want so much more but he’s breaking a rule.

“no ma-marks, jiraiya, don’t—“ silencing you with a heated kis, hand frees your arms, one to squeeze at your neck; it’s just enough pressure, how you like it; brain almost turning almost mush. but he’s pulls back, grins wide with a third finger in you now. you’re so wet, sounds absolutely filthy.

“let’s ruin ourselves for anyone else, yeah?” and fuck, he can’t say shit like that when you’re like this, body clenching around him. call it lust, call it longing, call it satisfaction whatever he has you chasing is where you want to go. the softest kiss on lips and he starts to trail down, praises and naughty things whipsered into your skin.

editing his draft can wait.

that’s not why you snuck in anyways.

[flaneurpastel]

give him a blank paper and a pen, say nothing and let him surprise you

simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader

a/n : fluff, i don't think there is anything else to warn y'all about, enjoy :)

words count : 850

after putting it all on his lap, you finally sat down beside him on the sofa, where his arm instinctively came to rest around your shoulders.

simon said nothing, his weary but curious gaze doing the work instead of his words.

"what?"

his voice doesn’t let you indifferent at its low, gravelly tone. you restrain yourself from jumping to his mouth and covering his face with kisses, on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, everywhere. finally, with a neutral face, you turned to face the tv where a rugby match was on.

simon arched his eyebrows. what was that again? he picked up the paper you had put on him, checking to see if there was a clue to the whole enigma you had decided to impose on him tonight.

a piece of white paper and a pencil.

he gave you a confused look before starting to think. he needed to recap it all. he had you by his side on the couch, even though you particularly hate rugby games, they take too long and you never understand the rules despite simon's many attempts to explain them to you. so… you expected something from him before you left. good. had he done something wrong ? the dishwasher had been emptied, though, and he also thought of throwing out the trash before coming to sit on the couch

you dared to glance at simon to see if he had decided to do something. his decomposed and lost face almost made you give up this prank, when you realized that the big ghost was caught off guard by this little joke. you bit your lip, no, you wanted to see how it would go.

finally, it's after 10 minutes that you got up, a pressing need to go to the bathroom. your passage seems to have been long, because when you came back, simon had resumed his usual posture, legs resting on the coffee table, and his right arm resting on the top of the sofa, where your place beside him was waiting for you. and more importantly, what you had handed him half an hour ago was lying on the table, the paper folded in half so that you could not see directly what he had done with it inside.

"I wonder where you get all these ideas from, y/n, I doubt if I'll ever be able to understand you." he said, letting out a small laugh at the end.

"hmm, considering the long wait I expect to see a poem declaring all your love for me in Shakespearean language," you say as you come to snuggle up to him. you take the paper at the same time

"I think I can compete with Picasso more".

a confused smile appeared on your pretty face, and it was simon's turn to restrain himself from covering it with kisses that would leave marks.

picasso?? you thought.

while simon let himself be refocused on his game, you finally opened the paper.

a huge laugh echoed through your living room.

"i hope this one means i'm good at drawing." he says unconsciously caressing your hair, staring at the TV.

your smile was so big you could feel your cheeks hurting.

on the paper were drawn two stick figures holding hands, easily recognizable. one much taller than the other with a simple t-shirt and quickly made pants, and another stick figure in a much more detailed outfit than the other person, you noticed. one has a line as a mouth, while the other has a nice 'C' on the side as a beaming smile.

he had clearly spent all his energy, time, and stick figure drawing skills on you.

little hearts that looked more like circles were flying all around you two.

the very caricatures of you and simon. 

you clearly weren't expecting this, 

"simon, that's... beautiful"

it was now simon's turn to laugh.

"you dirty liar" 

it clearly wasn't one of those realistic paintings you find in the most prestigious museums, and simon may have overdone it a bit on the length of your hair, but it was the first thing simon thought of drawing, the two of you, when you just gave him a piece of paper.

and the thought gave you butterflies in your stomach.

"I was expecting a lot of sweet words telling how happy and lucky you are to have me in your life, though, because it would have been more romantic to show soap," you say anyway to tease him.

briefly turning his attention away from the game, he gives you a look that you know all too well.

"hmm, i can draw something on you this time that you can show to soap," he says in a suave voice.

"oh yeah? i don't know what you're talking about... can you elaborate a little more? you answer, moving closer to him, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

and it is on this note that he took you, a little too easily, on his shoulders, towards the room. 

[januaryembrs]

WORTH THE WAIT | Poe Dameron x Reader

Request: my sweet @happyhauntt says: and to counteract the fact that my last request was sad as fuck, here's a happy one!!! a wee fic based on the song 'i guess i'm in love' by clinton kane, and this one feels like it should be for poe or steven!! enjoy!!

Description: Poe tries to help reader overcome her fear of flying by giving her something good to remember

length: 2.1k

warnings: mention of puke (none just feeling of nausea) mention of fear of heights?

authors note: yes I did listen to Romantic Flight from HTTYD when I wrote this and yes this did heal the part of me that always wanted to be flown through the clouds like this. also sorry this is so late things have been HECTIC

Poe really hoped she liked his surprise. 

There were very few things that he knew he was good at besides flying; knowing exactly how to tell her just how deeply he felt for her even after all this time being one of them. He knew he stumbled over flirtatious lines, not at all like the bachelor he once was, that his chest still pounded at the thought of her just the same as it did when he was soaring through the stratosphere, his stomach flipping when they kissed as if he’d done four barrel rolls on an X-Wing. 

He knew he was in uncharted waters being so far in a committed relationship, that his usual rendezvous' had lasted little more than a few weeks at most, but that was entirely in the past. No one had even come close since the day he met her. 

She had been his mission once. Captured on a First Order ship, Leia had ordered him and his squadron to go rescue her, had said she was some lord’s daughter of a dying planet wanted by Ren for information about her father. He had heard the stories of how his resistance leader had come to be kidnapped from Alderaan when she was young, and figuring she was just screamingly empathetic for the girl, he had done exactly as he had been told. 

He’d had no clue that his mission would become his entire life within a few short months. 

“I feel like this is a little unfair,” She teased, his hands over her eyes as he led her out to the hangar, the lone sun on their planet lowering behind the horizon, “You make me wait all day for my present, and I can’t even see it,” 

“Have a little patience, Princess,” Poe said, his lips drawing into a small smile as he felt her huff beneath his palms, “I know you’re used to getting what you want in your palace, but you’re in my town now, baby,”

She chuckled, shaking her head as he directed her down the stairs. He wasn’t entirely lying. After she’d been rescued from Ren’s grasp, her planet had quickly declared its allegiance to the resistance and she had been appointed as one of Leia’s advisors. Whether it was her quick wit, or the love she seemed to drench every single person with, no matter who they were or where they had come from, Poe wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made her such a good leader, other than the fact she was so entirely herself it was hard not to favour her; a rare quality of politicians he'd often teased her. 

She gave a sniff through her nose, trying to give herself some kind of hint as to what her gift was. “Smells like… oil? Did BB-8 leak again?” 

“Just wait, one more step in front of you,” Poe replied, his eyes trained carefully on her high heeled steps over the concrete. His stomach somersaulted as he wondered for the last time if this was a good idea, but he couldn't very well lead her all the way back out of there empty handed. Reminding himself it was her, and she would never spit anything kind back in his face, he released her face gently, “tada!”

He watched her shoulders tense under the jacket he’d given her because he worried she’d be cold in the night air, and he could tell her mind was racing a million miles a second trying to make sense of what it was he was showing her. 

His T-70 starfighter. The only thing, he often joked, that could ever rival her for the title of his beloved.

“Poe…” Her voice trailed off, unsure but not wanting to seem rude, “Poe, I can’t-”

“Baby, hear me out,” He cut in, knowing she was never going to be jumping for joy before he could explain, “I promise you, nothing bad will happen while I’m there,”

“Poe,” She said hesitantly, as he came around the front of her to see her worried expression that made him cradle her face with his warm hands almost immediately.

“They don’t call me the best pilot in the galaxy for nothing,” He smiled at her cheekily, and he was relieved to see her crack a grin then, though the fright lingered in her eyes that rolled at him.

He’d known since the day he’d rescued her that she had a fear of flying; when he’d had to sit her on his lap in that very same cockpit so they could escape the base together, when she’d screamed bloody murder and held his hands so tight he worried he might lose circulation. 

Not the best of first introductions, and not quite how he’d imagined his two greatest loves meeting. Which was why he wanted to change her experience of the whole thing. 

She gave him a tentative glance, and he fretted for a moment that it had all been a mistake; that his kind act coming from a good place had been one giant heap of selfish bantha fodder that he felt stupid for even suggesting it. But then she took a deep breath, her hands coming up over his own on her cheeks and squeezing them gently. 

“Certainly don’t call you the most humble pilot in the galaxy, Dameron,” She said with a tease, moving past him to head for the jet, “Alright, help me up. My carriage awaits,”

He beamed so hard he thought his cheeks might explode, rushing past her to lift himself up onto the right arm the way he had done so many, many times before. 

“My lady,” He stretched out his hand, all but yanking her up most of the way to where he kneeled, and he was glad he’d told her to wear her cargos and not the pretty dress she’d showed him.

Pulling herself up to a sit, she looked unsurely at the metalwork beneath them, “You’re sure it can hold two?”

“It did before, didn't it?” He countered back, hoisting himself into the cockpit that felt like a second home to him, his body sliding into his seat like a hand into a glove. He parted his thighs, granting her a space of her own, and patted the leather chair, “Actually, don't think about that. Hop in,”

She paused, uncertainty written across her face that cracked when she saw the hopeful gleam in his eyes, brown hues that had always seemed to watch her with pure adoration. She had always struggled to say no to him, especially when he looked like that. 

Slipping between his legs, she hated to admit that she found herself rather comfy enveloped between his body and the dash. 

“You sure we’re safe?” She asked once more, and his arms slid around her to grab the wheel in his right hand, the left pulling her back against his warm body that made her relax just that little bit. He kissed the side of her head, resting his temple against hers for a second. 

“You know I would never put you in harms way, sweetheart,” He said, all trace of jovial teasing gone as he kissed next to her ear and pushed the button to lock the glass canopy over their heads. It slowly lowered down, hissing into a click as it shut, and he felt her shuffle in closer to his chest, “There’s something up there I really, really want to show you. Okay?” 

She looked up at him over her shoulder, his eyes twinkling with excitement at seeing her in his seat, his co-pilot for the evening. 

How could she ever resist?

“Okay,” She nodded, tugging his arms over her shoulders like a seat belt as if strapping herself in for the ride, “Okay, I’m ready,”  

He chuckled, praying to the maker one last time that this would work, and switching the ignition up to a low rumble. 

The jet rolled forward slowly, and he wheeled it around to a clearing in runway that made her think he’d told everyone to take the evening off just so they could have their solo flight.

“Okay, baby, I’m going to have to go fast at this bit, so you might want to hold on tight,” He warned her, and he felt her grab onto his thighs with tight fists, “That’s it, I got you, you’re safe,”

Not giving her much time to overthink what was coming, he floored the gas, flicking a few of the levers above their heads. She sucked in a breath, her knuckles almost turning white with grip, “Poe,” 

“I promise you’re safe, baby,” He reassured, forcing the throttle down and they jumped forward as the engines kicked in. He would have been in the air by now if it had just been him, would probably already be doing a loop-de-loop, but he didn’t want to terrify her before they had even really started. 

She squealed, a muffled version of what he knew she was probably holding back as they started lifting off the ground, and he sped up even more, the g-force throwing her back against him, and he flicked pressed the switch on the dash to start retracting the wheels into the underbelly. 

“Poe, I’m scared,”

“You got it, I got you,” He removed one of his hands off the wheel and looped it around her waist to keep her secure, “You’re doing so well, baby,” 

It was then she made the mistake of taking a peak outside, seeing their base quickly becoming little more than a speck beneath them as they sped off upwards into the atmosphere, “Oh my stars, we’re so high,” 

He chuckled, kissing her hairline tenderly, “That’s a good thing, means we’re not in danger of crashing into trees or mountains or-”

“Poe!” She slapped his thigh, scrunching her eyes shut, “I can’t look, I’m going to puke,”

His resolve wavered for a minute, and he made the impromptu decision to yank the steering wheel down, forcing them to take a quick turn up even higher into the air, to which she tucked her head towards his jaw so she didn’t have to watch. 

He wondered if he was going to regret such a bold move, he felt her whimper against his skin and Poe cursed the whole concept of ‘Go big or go home’ that he had been going for. 

Until-

They burst through the clouds, the dusk air that had been growing dark under the smog disappearing as they cut in a straight line up, further and further until the cottony slew of powder white clouds blanketed beneath them, the way they had for him so many times before. The sun was still out this far up in the aerospace, syrupy orange, and almost pink as it met the pillowed floor, like they had flown right into a meadow of blankets and warmth. 

“Poe, I tried to be brave, really I did, for you, but my nerves are shot-” 

“Baby, look,” He cut her off, engaging the auto-pilot and moving his warm hands down her arms softly to hold her fingers in his own. The X-Wing evened out, the force barely feeling like a pull at their bodies anymore and more like a lingering jitter in their skin that could so easily be passed off as the engine. 

“I can’t, I feel sick-” She protested, pushing her nose into his neck, and he felt her hands shaking with nerves that he gently stroked away. He chuckled, the sound reverberating over the apples of her cheeks.

“Just trust me, look,” Poe said, and she took a deep breath, as if holding back another complaint, peeling herself away from him just the smallest amount to glimpse outside the star-fighter. 

Her eyes widened, sitting upright almost immediately as she saw the technicolor that had been a dull beige before, the world she’d known for over two years entirely gone, buried beneath the silkened clouds. Her mouth hung open, eyes darting over the teracotta hues, down to the valley of puffy clouds beneath that didn’t seem nearly as threatening as she’d imagined. 

She was silent for a moment, and Poe had feeling that was atleast a good thing, but he was known to second guess himself when it came down to her. 

Watching her expression with a besotted gaze, the sun’s heat glowing her cheeks with a honey kiss, he ran his fingertips over her palms, “Do you like it?”

“Poe, it’s-” She swallowed, not once ripping her eyes away from the oil painting infront of her, “You get to see this every day?”

He laughed, dipping his nose in her neck and leaving a loving kiss there, “Pretty much, yeah. I told you, it’s a whole other world up here,”

“How do you ever come down, I mean it’s, it’s,” She stammered, shuffling on the edge of the seat to take it all in even more, “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” 

“I have my reasons that are pretty compelling actually,” He smiled, eyes washing over her face, trying to commit that expression to memory because there were very few times they were allowed to have something good in the middle of a war. But this was it. She was it. His little bit of goodness that had been so worth the wait, “Happy Anniversary, honey,” 

[generalluxun]

Be Careful What you Wish for- A Season 6 Miraculous ficlet

Chloé bit her lip to keep from panting. The climb had been excruciating. Any number of tools would have made it easier. Sabrina was the one who normally thought of these things.  Now it was just Chloé on her own, and she was way out of practice with thinking. Climbing though, climbing she could do. Spite helped too. Banished to London for a summer! The last words of that Dupain-Cheng still echoed in her head. Ridiculous am I? I’ll show you ridiculous.

This is how Chloé ended up dressed all in black and perched atop the Dupain-Cheng bakery. The trapdoor down was unlocked, which was good, because she’d forgotten the prybar back home. She lifted the door slowly and listened… silence.  Chloé crept down onto Dupain-Cheng’s bed and- Froze.

“No, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to tell him. I have to tell him before the school year starts. It’s a new beginning. I’ve got a new recipe baking downstairs for the first day of class. I’m going to do things right this year, from the start,” Marinette’s voice carried more than the usual agitation.

“But Marinette,” a high pitched voice answered back, “What good would it do? He seems happy the way things are. Everyone does!” A series of unidentifiable clicks sounded from below.

Marinette’s reply was quieter, “Happy lies, Tikki? My word as empty as this box is right now? It’s eating me up inside. Will it be easier or harder if it comes out some other way?”

“Who else would know?”

The sound of pacing down below. “It doesn’t make it right Tikki, just because you don’t get caught. Argh. You know what? I’ll practice on Cat Noir! He should know too. I just don’t want him feeling guilty when he hears the full story. I know my partner, he’ll blame himself.”

CAT NOIR?! Chloé bit her knuckle to keep from screaming. The bed shifted just slightly under her. She froze again, dancer's training allowing her to lock every joint in place.

“I don’t know, Marinette. He might ask why you kept the secret, and that might clue him in as to-”

“Marinette!” a deep voice boomed up from below, “Honey, the oven is smoking!”

“Oh no!” Marinette squeaked, “My cookies! C’mon Tikki!”

A thump, a familiar scramble, another thud, and the sound of MArinette’s feet pounding down the steps.

Chloé dared to unfreeze, letting her breath out in a gasp. She clamped her lips shut again and screamed wordlessly into her closed mouth.

DUPAIN-CHENG?! Of ALL people?

A little voice soothed that if it was true then at least Chloé’s life had been upended by someone with superpowers, and that made it a little easier to stomach.  The rest of her sprung into action though, racing down the stairs to Marinette’s room proper. She was doubly bent on revenge now. There had to be somethin-

It would have been so easy to miss. It was just a single line, a crack of color from a drawer left barely ajar. It was Marinette’s tacky sewing chest, but that color… Chloé hooked her finger in the crack and pulled the drawer open slowly. For the second time in as many minutes she nearly swallowed her tongue.

She knew it instantly. She’d held it once before. That gaudy red bulb of a box. The Miracle box. It sat there, solid proof that she hadn’t misunderstood, that Dupain-Cheng hadn’t just gone insane or been playing pretend. This was all real. Chloé lost sense of time. The past year was running itself through her mind, this new reality fitting itself into every interaction. She needed to scream. She needed to scream more than she ever had in her whole life. She couldn’t even begin to guess what she would scream about, or why, but the need was overwhelming.

Another harsh thumping from below cut off the explosion, making her swallow the scream painfully. Footsteps- Dupain-Cheng! Chloé grabbed the box, not even knowing why anymore. She shoved the drawer shut and bolted up to the bed. She almost made it to the trap door.

The creak from below left her poised, one hand on the thin barrier to her escape.

“-hy not?!” Marinette normally reserved that level of anger for her, “It’s over, we beat Monarch. The Butterfly is probably lodged in a filter at the local sewage treatment plant. It’ll end up in a Landfill, which as far as I’m concerned is the best place for it.”

“But Marinette…” Tikki protested.

“No buts, Tikki. I’m making changes aren’t I? Cat Noir can know. It’s time. The two of us can coordinate the team so much better if we aren’t chasing each other’s shadows half the time.”

“Marinette, it’s not over.”

“It is Tikki, we won!” That wasn’t the sound of disagreement, it was the sound of a plea.

“Even if the Ladybug isn’t needed right now, you’ll always be the guardian, Marinette. You can’t let your guard down.”

Marinette let out a growl of frustration, “Gah! Forever? I’m fourteen Tikki! I can’t believe-”

She cut herself off. Chloe could hear her deep inhale and exhale.

“I’m sorry, Tikki. I’m grateful. I’m grateful for your advice. I’m grateful I’ve had the chance to help so many people. I’m grateful for the changes in my life. I’m grateful for all of it. Still, there are times that I just wish…

“I dream of it sometimes, Tikki. Someone comes along. I hand them the box and I say. ‘I’m done. You are the Guardian now. I’m going to go live a normal life with those I love. I wish you luck in your new Guardianship, may it be easier than mine.”

Chloé’s head bounced off Marinette’s wall. The wave of sudden nausea gave her no choice. There was a shout of alarm from below. Chloe threw caution to the wind and scrambled up to the roof, silence be damned.

As the trapdoor slammed shut behind her Dupain-Cheng’s voice carried up, “Help! It’s a giant bug! A Mouse! A Bug-Mouse!”

[twst-drabbles]

Azul 26

Summary: Dinner with Azul was done. You have caught up with what he's been doing over the years, and now it's time for you to be off on your travels. You stop yourself to say one final thing, just so he knows.

(I'll be skipping around because I have scenes in the head and I don't want to write in chronological order. That and I have no clue what the meetings should be like. Brain is empty!)

Haa, alright, it's now or never. If you walk through that door now without saying a thing, you know you'll just leave without a trace once more.

So, you turn around. You can't allow yourself to be coward like this.

"Hey, Azul," you still had his attention, but you had to call to him again, just to focus yourself, "when I leave again, I'm not going to be coming back."

Your tongue almost added 'probably,' at the end, but you won't lie to him.

"Well, I can hardly blame you at all," Azul shook his head, a tired smile waning on his face, threatening to disappear, "stay here and abandon those you've risked so much to get back home to, or go back and let all this drift off into a gentle dream. The choices you've made, I know you to never go back on them."

You didn't move as Azul approached your side. You hate the thought of wavering in any capacity, so you kept your focus on Azul's face, even as it became harder to take in that gentle smile.

"…I won't be able to attend any of your parties, or diners, you know?" It took too much time for Malleus to even get his invitation to you. He was waiting every day by that mirror for ten odd years in hopes you'd respond. And it's a miracle that you did.

A fluke, probably, that it only took ten years. Who's to say it won't be more next time? Who's to say that Malleus will be able to reach you at all? Well, perhaps he'll be able to figure it out and get invitations and letters through in a shorter period of time. You'll still be late, no matter how fast they're sent, because you lived in a different time-axis than the people here.

This world is beautiful, as well as the world back home, but… you don't think you can stand the thought of coming back to world that will always forget you. Where, so many years pass by that your existence just… faded away while you're still alive and living.

Azul nodded, "A shame you won't be able to attend my funeral when it comes. I was planning on having some delectable snacks there too."

The lightness he treated the subject kept you calm, but you didn't like the way your stomach gained more weight at the thought. But, well, you suppose the thought of death and what comes afterward comes when you see the changes in the mirror, see the way the eyes start sinking just the slightest bit deeper, and the way your face gains more lines with time, and the annoying pains in places you didn't expect them to be.

"…yeah," you had to push the word out. You put your hands in your pockets, "Guess I'll miss that too. I'll miss a lot of things."

You missed too many things already, so what's a lot more? May as well not have come here at all if this was what's going to greet you.

A younger Azul probably would have bargained or negotiated his way into getting you to stay. He tried to do so the minute he found out the way home was one-way only. You didn't like it then, the way he was scrambling for something that'll entice you to stay just a few more minutes longer, until he reaches a far away milestone or until his name reaches the ears of those famous and lofty. But, as Azul said, you've always been one to stick with your decisions.

Like weeds, you make sure to get everything out before they dig deeper. Half-assing everything, with anything regarding your life, was simply something you could never do, especially not when you know yourself to leave things until the last minute if you allow yourself.

That's what a younger Azul was hoping for, almost begging for even.

But, not this one.

This Azul's hands were on his custom made cane, drumming his fingers on the hilt as he hummed a familiar tune and tapped with his good foot.

"…you know," may as well get it off your chest while you're here, "it's kind of unfair, for me at least. Everything is still so fresh in my mind," The younger faces, the weird little habits and childish antics, the word tics, "and I came here just to have a little fun, like back in college. But…"

But…

"But we're not the same as we once were," nothing about Azul's composure was lost. It was weird, seeing his smile capable of this type of experienced gentleness, originating from pain he has probably long since come to terms with. He held a hand out towards you, inviting you to take it, "While I can't say I'm a better version than the one you remember, I am different. And I will be different tomorrow and the days onward. If you don't intend to come back once you go home, then let us at least have some fun like you wanted to. Nothing wrong with making more memories, is there? Or do you intend to leave this older gentleman such as I alone on the dance floor?"

You stared at his hand, then his face, and let out an airy chuckle. "Alright, alright old man. Quit it with the Crowley-isms."

You walked past the curtains that gave you two all the privacy you needed, and pulled Azul into a dance you're familiar with. But, it seems he wasn't ready. Poor man stumbled into you.

This time, Azul had to laugh as his hat fell off. "Be careful with me, don't you know how delicate and soft I am? Leave a bruise on me and I'll demand compensation from you."

"With what money?" You barely brought anything.

"Not money, time. I'll demand another dance." Azul is still as cheeky as ever.

"Aren't you gonna pick up your hat?" You can see it getting kicked around by the more drunken folks around here.

"Leave it. It's doesn't matter when I'm having fun. Let the world see my graying hairs."

That's… you were not focused on that. Besides…

"Isn't your hair already gray?"

"Oh come on. Don't tell me you can't see the difference? Look, see? Right there."

And you couldn't. Because you both were still moving and twirling around. It's awkward.

"Azul, we're dancing. I can't really focus on it."

Then, Azul sighed. "I really do have to be more blunt with you, don't I? I'm asking you to touch my hair. So touch it. There won't be a fee, I promise. The feeling alone is it's own reward."

"Should've started off with that Azul."

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: zb1's beige flags

a/n: i tried to make these as beige as possible … cause sometimes people say “beige flag “ and it’s just a blatant green/red flag LOL hope u enjoy :)

notes: yujin is included this time, but it’s absolutely 100% platonic because i didn’t think this inherently implies romance. so his is PLATONIC!!!!! VERY PLATONIC!!!! also i plagiarized some of these from tiktok, will share links at the end :)

wc | 1.5k

jiwoong’s beige flag is traveling with him. i feel like he travels like a father, so he’s waking you up at 2 in the morning for a flight that isn’t until 7 in the morning. he picks the cheaper parking lot that’s next to the airport and makes you take a shuttle when you could’ve just paid $3 extra to park in the airport parking lot. he goes to starbucks and only gets ice water so you can fill up your emptied bottles. he’s angry the entire time but he still manages to crack a terrible joke to the flight attendant. he panics while you wait for your bags at the baggage claim. he makes you wait in the huge line for the rental car shuttle (where you have to go through three rounds of it leaving and coming back before you can get on) rather than just getting an uber there “because it’s cheaper.” at least you arrive at your destination. godspeed soldier 🫡

zhang hao’s beige flag is that there is always something wrong with him. this man has never been at 100% in his entire life. he always has a headache, or his stomach hurts, or he’s tired, or his arm hurts, or his back hurts…the list goes on. even if you’re carrying extra strength advil, antacid tablets, and one of those little tissue packs, when one issue is resolved, something else begins. the worst part is, when you think everything is fine, you’ll point it out like “oh! you’re not complaining about anything!” and then he’ll give you a look, saying “oh i have a headache right now.” once he felt like he had something in his eye for 3 days straight, but no amount of washing it out or eye drops got rid of the feeling. if he’s not ill or in pain, he’s asleep. you wonder how he got as far as he did when he’s never felt completely okay ever in his life.

hanbin’s beige flag is that he’s entirely unaware when other people are flirting with him. he automatically assumes the best in everyone and he’s got tunnel vision for you, so the idea that anybody is flirting with him is outlandish. you could be standing right next to him, steam coming out of your ears while you force a smile, and he’ll be none the wiser as the person talking to him playfully punches him in the shoulder. on top of that, he’s even more shocked when you point it out to him—he’ll say, “babe, they were just being nice!” and then you have to explain that asking for his number so they can get to know him better is not just being nice. then he gets all offended when you call him dense as if he didn’t entirely miss the heart eyes he was just receiving.

matthew’s beige flag is the fact that he does not question anything. you could tell him that you got a new job and he’d go “oh, cool!” and never ask what exactly it was. your parents once told him that you were a really awful child assuming he’d want to hear more, and he said “makes sense” and never brought it up again. it gets even worse when he tells you things about other people, and when you inquire, he can’t give you any more info. he’ll say “oh, they got cheated on” and you ask who and he has no clue. and it’s not even like he’s uninterested, he just doesn’t think to inquire about anything, even if he’s curious. the idea barely even occurs to him. he didn’t even know where his mom worked when you first started dating, and you asking during your first meeting was the entire reason he found out. you’re considering calling him and telling him that you’re going to prison or something just to see if he even asks why.

taerae’s beige flag is that he cannot explain anything to you without giving you 5 minutes minimum of background information. sometimes it’s over the most mundane stuff too, like him searching for a specific item at the grocery store. he will explain how he had trouble parking before going in, and how he got distracted by the fruit section, and how he had to ask an attendant…all to let you know he didn’t find what he was looking for. once he spent 20 minutes explaining matthew’s life story to tell you a 2-minute long anecdote about how he ran away from a crab at the beach screaming. the worst part is that, whenever you’re on a long drive, he is telling you stories like this the entire time. but he gets mad at matthew every time he mentions the word “story” like YOU ARE A HYPOCRITE KIM TAERAE!!! 🙄

ricky’s beige flag is that he cannot get dressed without your input. you would think this man was a 3-year-old who’d never picked out his own clothes in his life. if you’re not with him, he will facetime you, and if you don’t answer, he will not get dressed until you call him back. this might be endearing except for the fact that, if he doesn’t like your input, he will tell you to pick something else, and ricky can be picky with what he wears. when you ask him why he can’t just pick himself, he says something along the lines of “if you don’t think i look good, then what’s the point.” he has been late to hanging out with you because you didn’t wake up early enough for him to comfortably get ready (with you on the phone). if you spend the night, he will WAKE YOU UP solely so he can get dressed. at least people have said they think he’s started dressing better since you two started dating 😭

gyuvin’s beige flag is the fact that he never hears anything you say. he isn’t ignoring you (although there was a period of time where you thought he was ignoring you), he literally just can’t hear you. one time you were hanging out, you fell in his backyard, and spent so long screaming his name that the neighbor came over and ring the doorbell to ask if you were all right. you have to repeat everything for him. sometimes you have to text him what you’re saying because he cannot decode it. the only time he can hear you without fail is when you’re on the phone. the worst part is that, after a while, he decided he was going to go to the doctor about it and they told him that he literally has trouble hearing the frequency of your voice, so it’s an unfixable issue. you’re stuck like this for the rest of time.

gunwook’s beige flag is that everything you do has to be planned to a T. there is no spontaneity whatsoever when you hang out with gunwook. if you ask to hang out, his first response will be “to do what” and I Don’t Know is NOT an acceptable answer. it can be something as simple as “let’s watch a movie” or something as intricate as “let’s take the train to the beach and go searching for fun shells, and then we can take a scenic bike ride afterward,” there just has to be a plan. when gunwook makes plans for the both of you, he sends you a time-blocked itinerary and he will get a little upset if things go off schedule (but he won’t get angry and ruin things for you). he gets anxious when there’s not a set thing you’re supposed to be doing. at least his plans are always lots of fun!!!

yujin’s beige flag is that he goes days without contacting anyone. he just falls off the face of the earth every 3-4 months for a few days and everyone freaks out in his wake. it starts with gyuvin calling you like “yujin DIED” and then you spend an hour and a half convincing him yujin isn’t dead. then another day without any proof that he’s alive passes and suddenly YOU’RE believing yujin is dead. then you call gunwook, who also hasn’t heard anything, and he calls ricky, who ALSO hasn’t heard anything, and suddenly there’s a groupchat where you’re discussing the likelihood that he’s gone forever. then he posts on instagram and pretends like nothing happened. he doesn’t understand why everyone’s so glad to see/hear from him, either. he even had hao worrying like yujin please don’t do this ever again 🙏

thank you for reading !

tags: @happysmileybee @wtfhyuck

tiktok links: zhang hao, matthew, taerae