#well opportunity to self-tag at any rate

[texasdreamer01]

ten songs, ten people

Self-tagging from @bonesmarinated! Rules of the game are to put your playlist on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then tag 10 people.

So Good Right Now by Fall Out Boy

Church by Fall Out Boy

Promises by Bastille and Riz Ahmed

You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet by Bachman-Turner Overdrive

Riez by Stromae

Through the Canopy by Jesse Harlin

Uprising by Muse

Who We Are by Imagine Dragons

I Am My Own Muse by Fall Out Boy

Yule Shoot Your Eye Out by Fall Out Boy

As this was a self-tag, I won't be tagging anyone - but feel free to do this if you want!

[training4theapocalypse]

A Royal Misunderstanding (Prince Friedrich x f!Reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 7k

Warnings / Tags: SMUT, virgin Prince Friedrich and experienced(ish) reader, kinda switchy Prince F, unprotected sex (for the plot).

Summary: He's looking for the future Princess Consort. You're looking for a life out of the spotlight. It'd never work.

A/N: K and an E and a T and a T, E and an R and an ING. T and an O and a W, N. Kettering Town. F.C. Also thank you to my regency queens @stealsteels and @shinytalent for reading this 👑

Masterlist

There’s an unnecessary knock on the open stable door as you move to untack your mare. She needs a thorough brush after the ride you had today.

“You are the stable hand?” inquires a young man’s voice.

You whirl around, ready to deliver a sharp retort, but hesitate when you see his earnest, slightly incredulous expression. You’ve never encountered him before, you’re sure of it. His handsome face, tuft of blonde hair and wide-eyed demeanour would certainly have been memorable.

“I was told I would be meeting the stable hand here,” he continues, still uncertain. “To collect a horse.”

An accent. Foreign. He must be part of Prince Friedrich’s contingent, newly arrived from the Kingdom of Prussia this morning. And he must be exceedingly green to mistake you for a stable hand. Despite your riding breeches being muddied from your ride, any discerning footman would recognise that the fine tailoring is not typical of a servant's attire. Even one in the employ of the Crown. His own attire, however, is old-fashioned and ill-fitting - it bears all the marks of a hand-me-down from another household servant or perhaps an older family member.

You purse your lips to stifle a smile. The opportunity to toy with one of the charmingly naive lackeys from the Prussian delegation sparks your mischievous side. Besides, he’ll need to toughen up if he’s to survive in London. “Don’t they permit women to become stable hands in Prussia?”

He blinks. “No.”

“And this horse is for Prince Friedrich?”

“Yes.” He raises his eyebrows, as though it should be self-evident why he’s here. As if everyone should recognise Prince Friedrich’s footman. The man pulls his shoulder back and there’s a subtle hint of authority in his stance. You’re unsure if it’s the language barrier or his presumption, but his curt answers irk you.

“Very well, then,” you say, gently guiding your horse towards him. “This is Artemis. She’s the finest in the stable.”

“This is your finest horse?” He chuckles heartily and your mouth becomes a thin line and your nostrils flare. 

“Perhaps His Royal Highness would prefer a pony?”

He straightens, a haughty glint in his eye. “It’s covered in filth.”

“My lady is a keen rider and has already been out this morning. But if Prince Freidrich can’t handle a little dirt -”

“Of course, I can manage.”

You arch an eyebrow, his tone further irritating you. “If you say so,” you reply, handing him the reins.

As he mounts Artemis, you can’t help but decide to give him a parting gift. You give her a firm slap on her hindquarters. Artemis bolts forward, sending the young man bouncing precariously in the saddle. You watch with satisfaction as he disappears down the path, his shouts of alarm fading into the distance. 

Perhaps now he’ll think twice before assuming someone is a servant.

With a contented smile, you leave the stables, already brimming with excitement at the thought of telling your ladies-in-waiting about your encounter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As far as you’re concerned, there isn’t enough wide open space in London. Far too many locked doors and whispered secrets. Or worse. Written down secrets. Specifically, the sort published by Lady Whistledown. You’d much rather be at home than endure another visit to the capital but when Queen Charlotte invited you to stay at her residence for the duration of the social season, you could hardly refuse. Not when Her Majesty and your late father, the Duke of Kettering, were such dear friends.

You suspect this invitation to spend the season at the palace might be the Queen’s ultimate attempt to honour your father’s memory. It was expected that you’d be desperate to find a husband after he passed. On paper, it should have been simple enough - your inheritance is decent enough to tempt a husband.

But finding a suitor hasn’t been easy. You’re not asking for much. You don’t want titles or wealth. Just a husband who’d be content to let you spend the day out riding rather than attending social engagements. Events like this one are your idea of hell on earth. Although it wasn’t as bad as yesterday when you had to present yourself to the Queen as one of the eligible misses of the season. 

As you stepped into the centre of the room, your palms turned cold and you could feel your stomach turning inside out as you waited for the Queen to give her verdict. There’s an old saying: the brighter a lady shines, the faster she may burn. And you’d rather not find yourself turned to ash at the hands of the ton. 

You exhaled an audible sigh of relief when Her Majesty remained seated and deigned to give you a small nod of approval. Neither the diamond nor the disgrace of the season and you’re glad of it - it means fewer eyes on you. But even that short burst in the relatively dim limelight made you want to flee from the room and vomit. You put yourself through your paces in the saddle this morning just to shake off the lingering feeling of dread.

You should be grateful that the Queen did not wave you away dismissively. This is your second social season after all and your value is quickly plummeting. You just need a husband who is content to stay out of the spotlight. And is resigned to the fact that you’ll probably prefer your horse’s company to theirs. 

If only you really were a stable hand instead of the late Duke of Kettering’s daughter.

As you mingle in Queen Charlotte’s banquet hall amongst other guests, waiting upon the arrival of Prince Freidrich, you feel a twinge of guilt about your encounter with his footman this morning. Perhaps after this welcome dinner, you’ll discreetly invite him to meet you in the stables as a gesture of apology.

The footman was handsome, after all, despite the blonde whiskers he must have grown in an attempt to appear more mature. You wouldn’t mind ruffling his perfectly coiffed hair before letting him bend you over the stable door.

Your companion jolts you from your daydream by squeezing your arm with her silk glove excitedly. You turn and smooth the front of your gown as Queen Charlotte and her nephew Prince Friedrich’s arrival is announced. 

The doors open and it takes every ounce of your self-control to maintain a dignified composure as Queen Charlotte walks in, arm-in-arm with Prince Friedrich’s footman.

Or the man who you thought was Prince Friedrich’s footman.

Damn.

Of course, you sent Prince Friedrich himself chasing across the palace grounds on the back of your startled mare.

While your face retains a dignified composure, you can’t do anything about the prickle of embarrassment flushing your chest. It’s only a matter of time before the Queen introduces Prince Freidrich to you and you will need to eat copious amounts of humble pie, slathered with grovelling apologies and dusted off with begging for forgiveness.

There’s no avoiding it. Even though tonight’s dinner isn’t an official event of the season - just a small dinner for the fifty or so palace guests and members of the Royal Family, Prince Friedrich is still introduced to every eligible woman in the room. Including you. 

Queen Charlotte, eventually steers him towards you. “Allow me to present my nephew, Prince Friedrich of Prussia.”

You curtsy and allow him to greet your gloved hand with a kiss but your stomach twists in anticipation, waiting for him to admonish you in front of the Queen.

“Lady Kettering, your gown - it is exquisite,” he says, in the usual formality. “And I hope your ride this morning was more pleasant than mine.”

You take a breath to compose your apology but you’re saved from the necessity.

“Yes, the Prince had a simply awful time this morning. First, his footman forgets to pack his riding wear so he has to borrow some from the Viscount of Paisley. And then a common girl posing as a stable hand gave Prince Friedrich your horse and sent him galloping across the plain.”

“I see,” you say cautiously but the corners of Prince Freidrich’s mouth twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. You ask, “And is my horse alright?”

Queen Charlotte laughs at this. “I should have known that you would be more concerned about your mount than the Prince of Prussia.”

You smile. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. It’s only that I’m confident a duplicitous stable girl was no match for His Royal Highness.”

“Your mare was returned safely,” smiles Prince Friedrich, a roguish glint in his eye.

Prince Friedrich bows and Queen Charlotte bustles him away onto the next group of eager girls. 

As you watch him greet the next group you wonder: why is the Prince of Prussia making excuses for you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the grand dining room, you search for your place setting at the far end of the table beside the other noble families from minor houses to no avail. They’ve missed me, you think in horror as you look around at the filled seats but one of your friends nudges you and nods at the empty seat next to Prince Friedrich. 

There must be some mistake. 

But when you glance at the Prince, still standing behind his chair expectantly at the middle of the table, he catches your eye and places a hand on the empty seat. 

Barely daring to breathe, you wonder if this is his way of getting back at you for the events of this morning. Perhaps he arranged for your table setting to go missing and you’ll be publicly humiliated when you dare to assume the seat next to him would be for you. 

You walk for what feels like a very long time to the other side of the table, feeling eyes on you as every step is like your shoes are made of lead. You do your best not to clench your fists as your face grows hot in anticipation of being embarrassed in front of everyone. 

Dipping your head, you refuse to look at Prince Friedrich and instead discreetly look at the place cards as you pass. The titles become increasingly grand as you approach the centre of the table until you reach the grandest of them all.

Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte.

His Royal Highness, Prince Friedrich.

Then you see your name. Etched in gold on eggshell paper. At the place setting beside Prince Friedrich’s.

You blink, feeling relief course through you. You’ve never sat this close to the Queen before. The centre of the table was reserved for distinguished guests like, well, Prince Friedrich.

“Lady Kettering, I hope you don’t mind me stealing you away from your usual dinner companions,” says Prince Friedrich, looking at your friends staring wide-eyed at you from the other end of the table.

“It’s my pleasure, Your Highness,” you say, giving them a sharp look. As the servers remove the cloches from the banquet before you, conversation erupts around the table, giving you the chance to swallow your pride. “And I do apologise for this morning,” you add quietly. “I had mistakenly assumed you were Prince Friedrich’s footman.”

“A footman?” He grins, and tilts his head, picturing himself as a footman before adding. “I too would like to apologise. I should never have assumed a beautiful woman such as yourself was a stable hand,” he says. 

“When did you come to the realisation that I wasn’t?”

“I knew your horse’s name. When I asked who owned her, I was told it was a lady who was as wild as the horses she keeps.” Your mouth twists into a reluctant smile. “Is that true?” he asks, his green eyes twinkling with interest.

“Oh no,” you smile, sipping your freshly poured wine, aware of his eyes following your every movement. “My horses are very well-behaved.”

He laughs. It’s a pretty laugh. “Can I assume that means you are looking forward to the season beginning?” He gives you a wry smile. His eyes are alight with enthusiasm as he waits for you to share in his excitement for the beginning of the social season. But there’s something else in his gaze, something more intimate.

You must put an end to this before he gets the wrong idea and you’re made a spectacle of. Prince Friedrich will be the most sought-after man of the season and you don’t want the attention that accompanies competing for his affections - to be thrust into the spotlight and have Lady Whistledown write about you would be more attention than you could bear. 

You glance around to see if anyone is listening before lowering your voice. “Your Highness - may I speak candidly?”

“Nothing would please me more,” he says sincerely, his tone softening.

“Why did you arrange for me to sit here?”

Prince Friedrich looks taken aback. “Well… after this morning, I knew I had to find out more about you.”

You nod sadly. This is what you were afraid of but you had expected it nonetheless.

“This is my second - and hopefully last - season. You see, I’m not used to being in the public eye and I find the social season to be entirely mortifying.”

“I see…” says Prince Friedrich slowly.

“You Highness, please don’t mistake me. I’m honoured to be in your presence but -”

“Lady Kettering -” Prince Friedrich lowers his voice. “You told me you would speak candidly. Please disperse with the airs and graces.”

You push your food around on your plate. It’s risky to speak so plainly to aristocracy. Their fragile egos normally demand a guarded formality. “I am sorry but the idea of competing with other women to become the Princess Consort of Prussia is more publicity than I can handle. I need to find a husband quickly. A marriage of convenience.”

“Convenience…” He nods thoughtfully. “I understand. A marriage to me would certainly draw attention.”

He’s not offended. Thank god. “Exactly, Your Highness. Being in the public eye. The scrutiny. It would be unbearable.”

“It is a pity,” he says quietly. “Because I’m sure a mutually convenient marriage would have its benefits.”

Mutually convenient? Your own inheritance pales in comparison to the riches that Prince Friedrich is heir to. What would he gain from marrying you?

You look up from your plate to see that he’s brazenly smirking at you. 

Oh. 

It’s undeniable this time. He’s flirting with you. You feel heat creeping up your neck and you know you must look feverish when his eyes roam across your corseted chest.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Your Highness,” you say, your whisper barely audible.

“I mean that sharing a marital bed would have its… advantages.” Prince Friedrich takes a sip of his wine, seemingly pleased that he’s made you flustered. Now, you can’t have that.

You glance over his shoulder to make sure Queen Charlotte is occupied. “I don’t need a husband to reap those sorts of advantages.”

When you say that, he slops half of his wine down his front in surprise. “You - you don’t?”

You arch an eyebrow. “You don’t have other companions for that sort of thing?” You pass him your napkin so he can clean himself up, your fingers grazing his knee under the table, making him inhale a sharp intake of breath. “You’re not worried about being unable to please your new wife?”

He stares straight ahead, momentarily stunned. Like he never realised sex was something you could be bad at. After a beat, he shakes his head. “It would not be prudent if people knew I was having - ”

“You mistake me. It is not my intention to get caught.”

Prince Friedrich sighs, a sad smile playing on his lips. “If only it were that simple. I’m surrounded by people. Always.”

The two of you sit quietly, allowing the servants to replace your empty plates with dessert. You can practically hear the cogs in the Prince’s head as his brain works overtime, trying to decide how to respond to this new information. Prince Friedrich takes a polite bite of chocolate cake and sits back.

“Once again, being the Queen’s nephew complicates things,” you say, sitting forward and sliding your fork through a sizable portion. “Don’t you have an appetite after your ride this morning, Your Highness?”

“I think the news that you do not wish me to court you has disappointed me so much that I never want to eat again,” he jokes half-heartedly before returning his focus entirely to you.

“If only we really were a stable hand and a footman - waiting until all the palace guests had gone to bed to meet in the stables after dark,” you say after eating the last bite of cake on your plate. 

Prince Friedrich swallows thickly and your eyes move from his Adam's apple to the almost untouched piece of cake on his plate.

“Are you - are you still hungry, my lady?” he asks.

You lean forward and steal a scoop of whipped cream from his plate with your fork. You eat the whipped cream and he watches with bated breath as you take several seconds longer than necessary to drag the polished silver fork from between your lips.

"I'm insatiable, Your Highness."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You scratch Artemis’s head in the dark stables, wondering if you’ve made a mistake in being here. Mostly you were interested to see if the sweet, naive Prince Friedrich would turn up. But you know how noblemen are. Their egos are so easy to bruise that an adverturess could scare them off simply by existing. 

Which is why you can scarcely believe it when there’s a knock at the closed stable door. You don’t breathe for a second before remembering that only Prince Freidrich would knock before entering a stable of all places.

He opens the door and for a moment is visibly relieved to see you. You stare at each other. The only sound is the soft rustling of the horses, that is until he closes the door behind him and moves to you with an agility that surprises you, considering how unstable he was on your horse earlier.  

If he had no appetite earlier, it has certainly returned now. Prince Friedrich has a hungry look in his eyes as he pulls you close by the waist and kisses you. You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting a clash of teeth but his kiss is passionate, even skilled. Your shoulders untense as you relax into it and slide your arms around his neck, allowing him to pull your body against his. Even through the many skirts under your evening gown, you can feel that he’s hard.

His tongue enters your mouth, licking and swirling it against yours - it’s surprisingly good. And he smells good. A beautiful sandalwood cologne that can only be from the finest perfumery.

You pull back breathlessly before you can allow the inebriating scent and feel of him to rid you of your senses. “Prince Friedrich, I -”

“Please, just Freidrich.”

“Friedrich.” Even with his permission the name feels strange in your mouth. “How much romantic experience do you have?”

“I’ve read books,” he says quickly and you press your lips together to stop laughing.

“You mean romance books? Like Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron?”

“No, I mean… instructional.”

“Instructions on how to fuck?” He nods and flushes a deep shade of pink at the question and this time you can’t help but laugh. “Remind me to spend time in the palace library in Prussia if I ever visit.” You study him. “I meant more… practical experience. It’s not the type of thing you can learn from a book.”

“I have a little experience.”

“Like what? Just kissing?” He hesitates and you move your hand down between your bodies and brush his hard cock through his trousers. “Or has anyone ever touched you like this before?”

Friedrich swallows. “Before now, you mean?” You nod and he hesitates again, guessing that it’s not the answer you want to hear. “No,” he says, truthfully.

You withdraw your hand. “Maybe this is something you should save for your future wife.”

“Marry me, then,” he blurts out, his voice trembling slightly with urgency.

You groan inwardly, shaking your head. “Friedrich, I wasn’t being coy when I told you I don’t want to be wed to a Prince. Besides, the season is starting tomorrow and you’ll be introduced to a hundred wealthy, beautiful women. Each one of them would be a better match than I.”

“Impossible.”

“You don’t know that -”

“I know that nobody has ever spoken to me the way that you did tonight. Or this morning for that matter.”

You smile despite yourself. You can believe it. If you were trying to secure the Prince’s hand in marriage, you would have carried yourself with much more grace and dignity than you have thus far.

“That’s because I have the manners of a common mule and the propriety of a common whore,” your grin falters and you look at him seriously. “And both of those qualities make me thoroughly incompatible with the Prince of Prussia. Marrying you is out of the question.”

“I understand,” he says, clearly worried that you’re reconsidering lying with him. “Let me be one of your companions. Show me how to do it.”

“Will you promise not to ask for my hand in marriage when this is done?”

Your hands undo the lacing on his trousers as he hitches his breath. “Anything. Sh-show me. Please.”

You remove your gloves and toss them on the stable floor. You slide your bare hand into his underwear and feel him shudder when you grip his cock. Christ almighty. It’s bigger than what you had expected from the innocent Prince.

“Since we’re practising so that you can please your future wife,” you tell him as you jerk your hand along his length. “I’ll tell you what feels good and what doesn’t. And you must do the same.”

He exhales shakily. “This - this feels good.”

“That’s a good start,” you smirk. “And you have a nice cock, Your Highness. The Princess Consort of Prussia will be a very lucky woman indeed once I’ve shown you how to use it.”

“Oha,” he breathes. 

“So eager,” you tut playfully, your face inches from his. 

You pull him close and he moans into your mouth as you kiss him. The sound of his evident pleasure sends heat tearing through you. You make a mental note to tell your future lovers to share their vocal appreciation because the sounds Prince Friedrich is making are driving you wild. 

As you kiss him, you lead him over to the loose pile of straw and get to the floor. The straw is scratchy on your bare arms but your legs are thankfully spared by the protection of your skirts. 

“When the time comes to do this with your lady wife, you should both undress. But our clothes will remain on - mostly. This is more convenient if there’s an unexpected intruder. Plus, this hay is itchy.”

“Allow me,” says Prince Freidrich, sitting back on his knees and pulling off his jacket. For a second you wonder if he’s misunderstood what you said about undressing but then he flattens his jacket on the straw behind you for you to lie on.

If you were the swooning type, you might just have fainted then and there.

“May I?” he asks, touching the hem of your skirt at your ankle. You nod and he pushes up your skirts. You lift your hips, allowing him to remove your satin underwear. “Verdammt,” he breathes. He moves his head between your legs and you almost sit up in surprise. You don’t mind him having a better look at you if it’s his first time but this feels extremely personal.

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

He looks up at you and you pull your skirts close to your stomach. “My book - it said to kiss you here to make sure you are ready.” His face is so close to you that you can feel his hot breath against your pussy.

“Your book said to kiss me… there?” Your eyebrows knit together but you think about how his tongue felt swirling inside your mouth and a stab of ache pierces through your ribs. 

“It is not customary?” You shake your head and he frowns in confusion but doesn’t move. 

And you realise that you don’t want him to go anywhere. That the idea of him kissing you there in the skilled way he was kissing your mouth inflames you. Out of amused interest, you lift yourself up onto one elbow only to find him looking at you intently, hanging on your every word, waiting to find out what he should do. You realise that you rather like the look of him here, between your legs.

“You -” You swallow. “- You may try. If it pleases you. But I warn you, I - oh -”

Your warning dissipates into the air as Prince Friedrich leans down and glides his hot tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation. You feel yourself relax as you let him get on with this custom he’s learned from his book. You admit, it’s not unpleasant. But you’re not sure what he’s trying to achieve. 

It sort of feels like when you touch yourself. Maybe less dextrous but it’s hotter and wetter and - and - 

Good lord.

Much to your surprise - and your delight - you feel a soft, delicious warmth spreading from your core as he kisses you where you’ve never been kissed before. You splay your fingers through his blonde hair - your other hand still clutching your dress as his velvet mouth envelops your clutch of nerves and a wave of pleasure cascades through your body.

“Oh - oh fuck,” you curse, not caring that you’re swearing in front of the Prince. He pulls back abruptly and you pant.

“My lady?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yes - god, yes,” you whine, impatient for his mouth to return to you.

He looks at you with that same subtle glint of authority he gave you this morning and says, “In that case, you are not keeping up with your side of the bargain. You promised you’d tell me what feels good.” 

Prince Friedrich dips his head and resumes, going from sucking on your clit to lapping up your juices and back again as you squirm and rock against him. This time you remember to hold up your side of the bargain. You pant and tell him how good his mouth feels - how good he feels. Everything is soaked, from your skirts to his chin and nose as he lets you grind yourself against his face. 

The flat of his tongue slides across your heat and it’s heavenly. Usually, when you’re with a partner, you’re used to working hard for your release - at the exact right position and tempo to pry yourself apart. But right now you’re just lying back and taking what Prince Friedrich’s tongue offers to you. And it’s offering exactly what you need.

“Don’t stop,” you mewl. “So good. S’good. So good -”

You feel yourself unravelling, your praise and words of affirmation turning into an incoherent babble as your orgasm breaches the surface. You must be making some semblance of sense because he listens - he keeps going and it’s all too much and not enough at once as your walls squeeze around nothing while Prince Friedrich continues his delicious assault on your bundle of nerves. 

Damn. You do your very best not to cry out and draw attention to the stables as Prince Friedrich gets closer and closer to making you cum on his tongue. But it’s nigh impossible as you feel the heat rise from your stomach and pull back like the tide. 

And then there’s the drop you’d been waiting for. 

“Oh - god,” you moan, drawing out the last syllable so that it drips as slowly as treacle. Ecstasy courses through your body as your release washes over you, making your thighs tremble on either side of the Prince’s head. Your chest heaves and you gently tug on his hair, away from your oversensitive cunt. “That’s - that’s good. It’s good. It’s enough,” you gasp before collapsing your head back onto his jacket.

Prince Friedrich gives you a few more slow, gentle licks and murmurs, “So feucht.” before drawing a finger over your twitching, soaking wet entrance, admiring his own handiwork. You don’t know what his words mean and you don’t have the cognizance to ask as you stare up at the wooden beams and try to regain your senses. 

After what feels like a lifetime of bliss, you’re happy for your view of the stable roof to be interrupted when Prince Friedrich moves up your body to kiss you and you taste the unfamiliar taste of your arousal on his lips. You kiss him back, slipping your tongue into his mouth and nipping at his bottom lip. God, this was supposed to be you teaching him a few things - not the other way around. When you anonymise this encounter and retell it to your friends later they will certainly be hearing about this.

“Good?” he asks when he pulls back and you nod, before swallowing air.

“I have half a mind to sell my estate and move to Prussia after the social season is over if that is what they do there,” you say breathlessly. 

He smirks. “I have told you that it could be arranged. Come home with me and we won’t have to be discreet. We could do this every day.”

You pout playfully and push a loose curl from his forehead. “But I like the stables,” you joke even though your back is aching and a palace bed sounds much more appealing. 

“Well, we have stables in Prussia. You could bring Artemis.”

Artemis. 

He remembered her name. 

Your face softens as you picture her as a royal steed, wearing a white feathered plume like she’s the diamond of the season. 

But then the fleeting daydream disappears when you tell yourself that it’s a fantasy you can’t allow either of you to indulge in. As much as Queen Charlotte favours you, you know it would be seen as unacceptable for the Prince to marry someone from such a minor house.

And besides, you remind yourself that you don’t need a royal husband. You have your own home. You have your own horses. You have your own friends. You have everything you’ve ever wanted. But then, why does the thought of him making his social season debut at the ball tomorrow make your heart ache?

“There’s something else I’d like to ride, presently,” you say, in an attempt to rid the thought from your mind as you gently push on his shoulders until he lies on his back. 

You straddle the Prince and unfasten his trousers so you can pull his cock out. The sight of him, hard and ready for you and the way he twitches involuntarily in your palm makes your heart pound as hard and steady as horses hooves galloping.

You wriggle forward until you feel the smooth underside of his cock sliding under your messily slick folds, still wet from the orgasm the Prince had bestowed upon you with his mouth. A flicker of dark enjoyment ignites in you when you see a line between his brows as he knits them together and watches as you lift your skirts so he can watch you sliding back and forward along the length of his cock.

“Do you enjoy watching me do this, Your Highness?” you ask as you grind against him.

“I would enjoy watching you do anything,” he says, pushing your gown out of the way to take hold of your hips. “Du bist schön.”

You pause. “Do what?” 

“Nothing. Please. Don’t stop.” He presses his thumbs into your hipbones, urging you to create friction against him again. 

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

“Isn’t - isn’t that what we’re doing?” stutters Prince Friedrich. 

“Oh, my sweet Prince.” You bring your hand to his jaw as you lift yourself so you can position the head of his cock between your soaking folds with your other hand. “We’re only just getting started.”

You lock eyes with him and watch his face contort in pleasure as you slowly sink down, inch by glorious fucking inch. “Oh gott,” he whines. Your German is poor but you’re pretty confident you know what that means. 

“Let me know when you’re going to spill - I don’t want to carry your bastard,” you murmur, still cupping his face. “Do you understand?”

“Ja,” he says through gritted teeth. “I understand.”

You’re not sure he really does but that primal part of your brain that wants to fuck him now and worry about the consequences later tells you to shove your hips down against the resistance. You force the rest of his thick cock into you and inhale through your teeth, feeling the delicious way he stretches and fills you. His hands clamp down hard on your hips, his thumbs pressing fresh bruises into your hipbones. 

They don’t make them like this in Kettering. Or London for that matter. Equal parts sweet and naive yet firm and decisive. He doesn’t know what he wants yet but he still wants it. Desperately. 

As if proving your point, you lean forward to feel the beautiful way he drags out of you and he seizes the opportunity to bury his face into your cleavage, your corseted dress making it exceptionally easy for him. 

He moans open-mouthed against your chest, his tongue sloppily trying to find your nipple. You move your hips back and down and wildfire bursts in your lower belly when his cock nudges against that sweet spot you’ve been longing for. 

It’s not enough for him - he wants more. He lifts his hips and the tip of his cock drives against your G-spot.

“Oh - fuck. Freidrich. That feels good.”

“So it is okay for me to move too?” he asks.

“Please,” you murmur, closing your eyes and feeling him slide back into you at that perfect angle. 

You don’t need to tell him twice.

He rolls his hips upwards to meet yours as you ride him. You can hear how fucking wet you are.  Everything is slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him and he fucks himself into you.

“So schön,” he grunts and the foreign words sound guttural to your ears. 

“I hope that means ‘good’,” you tease, leaning forward to breathe hot air onto his neck.

“Pretty,” he murmurs in your ear. “So pretty.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage as his hips pick up pace. Fuck - you like him being under you like this. Even here, in the stables where someone might come looking if they notice that Prince Friedrich is missing from his chambers. 

The sound of your stretched, wet cunt fills the stables so obscenely that it peppers shame into your consciousness. But he hears it too. He jerks up so fiercely that his balls slap against you. You suck air in through your teeth at the sharp sting and he looks concerned but you reassure him. “It’s - oh fuck - keep going. Right there.”

You go from slamming yourself down on him to your whole body stiffening, letting him drive up into you as your hot orgasm approaches, creeping over you in pulsing waves. Your walls grip him, tightening and convulsing as -

“I should - tja - remove myself from inside you -” he stops thrusting up into you and you almost wail with disappointment.

“No - fuck - keep going.” What are you saying? You rock your hips and bounce on him, every nerve inside you applauding your decision to ignore your conscience as you manage to hang onto the precipice. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m going to -”

“Fuck it,” you heave, your walls squeezing impossibly tighter as you fuck yourself on him. “Cum in me. I don’t care.” What the fuck are you saying?!

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

It’ll be fine. 

You’ve had an accident or two and have been lucky so far.

You may as well have told the Prince that Christmas had come early. The sight of your flushed face, dishevelled hair and the way your tits are threatening to spill out of your dress with every bounce of your hips drives him wild. 

Frankly, you’re the most deliciously intoxicating thing he’s ever experienced. He just doesn’t have the necessary vocabulary to tell you this in English.

By this point, “Oh gott,” is the only thing he says that you can understand. You hardly hear the rest as he babbles away in German - you can barely hear anything over the pulse of blood pounding in your ears as Friedrich picks up his pace again. Your body locks down around him so tightly you wonder if you might break him. 

“Just like that - fuck, there,” you whimper. He takes the instruction well, driving his cock deep into you - exactly where you need it. The coil of heat in your core tightens impossibly tighter as he chokes words you don’t understand into your ear as he pulls you close to his chest

Maybe one day he’ll teach you what those words mean and you’ll find out that he was telling you what a good girl you are for taking his cock like this.

“Fuck - I’m - that’s it,” you sob, your chest heaving against his fine silk shirt and your fingers entwined in his soft blonde hair. You squeeze around him like a vice. “Friedrich, I -”

“Do it,” he groans. You hadn’t expected him to say that. And certainly not with the commanding tone he chooses. “Let me feel it.”

The coil inside you snaps. A blaze of white-hot fire bursts through you like stitches being ripped. You seize and cry out as your release whips through you with such force that you think you might go cross-eyed. You bury your face into his neck, smelling the rich sandalwood scent splashed on his skin, mixed with his sweat. 

Freidrich keeps his tight hold of your hips, fucking into you even as you shake and tremble. 

“Ich komme,” breathes the Prince. “Ich komme, ich komme.” It only takes a few more rough, slapping thrusts until you don’t have to guess what that means. You feel him finishing inside you, thick ropes of his spend painting your insides. 

You lie here like this for a few moments, collapsed onto his chest and feeling his seed leaking out of you. You feel dizzy as his chest rises and falls underneath you and his fingers tenderly trace lines up and down your back. He closes his eyes, feeling the satin of your gown as his fingertips dance across it.

You could easily fall asleep like this.

Instead, you hoist yourself off him and lie flat on your back as if unattaching yourself from him will place a barrier between you. Put a halt to the immense surge of affection you feel for him in this moment. But he doesn’t let you get far. Prince Friedrich rolls onto his side and cups your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone and skirting across your lips before he leans down to kiss you. You close your eyes, letting the kiss dissolve into a wet, lazy haze.

He pulls back and looks down into your eyes. “I promised I would not ask for your hand when this was over. So I have nothing else to say.”

“At least now you are prepared for the social season beginning tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about the season. I want to leave. Tonight. To take you with me.”

“I don’t have the wealth or the beauty for that to be allowed to happen,” you say. “The Queen would never find us to be a suitable match. Never mind Lady Whistledown having a field day.”

“You have more than enough of both for me.”

“For you, Friedrich. But not enough for Prince Friedrich. Not enough for The Crown,” you say, your heart breaking as you do. This was a bad idea, after all. You adjust your gown and get to your feet, pretending to ignore Prince Friedrich’s attempts to help you up.

“And what about my - my seed? What if you’re with child?”

You laugh mirthlessly. “We’d have to be exceptionally unlucky for that to happen on our first try. Put it far from your mind. Go and meet with the diamond of the season tomorrow and all of the ladies queuing up to become the Princess Consort of Prussia. They will make you much happier than I ever could.”

You walk towards the stable door but he takes your hand and gives you your discarded gloves. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, Friedrich.” You can’t. You can hear the gossip already. A thousand people whispering behind your back about how you’re not good enough for the Prince. It would be like that every day for the rest of your life in the spotlight if you did marry him. You tear your eyes away from him and open the stable door. 

“Will I ever see you again?” he asks after you.

You pause and turn around. “Perhaps.” You smile at him sadly. “Who knows? If I am with child, maybe you’ll have no choice but to whisk me away back to Prussia and marry me, never to be seen in London ever again. And everyone will wonder why.”

You turn back before he can see your face crumble, leaving the stable door open behind you as Prince Friedrich watches you leave into the night. Your mare whinnies, nudging him gently over her stable door.

Prince Friedrich gives in to her pestering and scratches her neck, much to her enjoyment. Before dawn, he will write a letter. To make sure a stall is prepared for Artemis in the palace stables in Prussia.

Just in case.

[illiterateaffairs]

DISTRACTIONS II | ALONE AT MIDNIGHT

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 2,880

summary: jamie refuses to let you go home alone again

A/N: what could THAT mean?

distractions masterlist | previous chapter

After almost three months with the club, you and the team are now celebrating a seven game win streak. 

Rebecca has somehow managed to convince a star football player called Zava to join AFC Richmond (you still weren’t sure if that was his first name or last name) and they haven’t lost a match since. While very gifted at football, you wouldn’t exactly call Zava your favorite player to work with. He was self-centered but not at all self aware. For some reason the team worshiped him but you could hardly understand why. With what you heard about how much they couldn’t stand Jamie when he used to be more selfish and stuck-up, you didn’t get why they’re putting up with Zava. Maybe it was just the thrill of back-to-back wins. They were all the happiest you’d ever seen them so you kept your thoughts to yourself. 

Well almost all of them were happy. Anytime the team went out for drinks to celebrate their recent victories (even days after on a random Wednesday - any excuse for a pint, as Isaac would say) Sam convinced you to tag along. That’s how you started spending time getting to know more guys like Isaac and Colin and Dani. But even as you bonded with them, you couldn’t help but notice Jamie. You’d always find him sulking in a corner with a beer in his hand, or half heartedly making conversation with one of his teammates. You’d spoken to him a few times over the last several weeks, and while you’d talk about your weekend or share jokes about other players or even the coaches (apologies, Uncle Ted), your conversations were never lengthy or of substance. So you ignored the urge to check up on him during these nights. 

You’re out again tonight - except this time it's the entire club. Coaches, staff, and all are gathered at Sam’s restaurant Ola’s for an unofficial opening celebration in honor of the team’s seventh straight win. You’re sipping champagne by the bar with Rebecca and Keeley, when they have to introduce you to Rebecca’s old friend Sassy. You’ll love her! And of course you do. Everyone you encounter here is the best person you’ve ever met. Although your ears bleed when Sassy alludes to going home with Ted later. Rebecca secretly gives you a simultaneously apologetic and amused look, to which you can only laugh through your embarrassment. 

As you sip your champagne, you can’t help but look on as your work family mixes and mingles and laughs together. You try not to beam at Sam, who you’ve told you’re proud of a million times that night, as he talks to his chef friend. You look on curiously as Colin introduces a friend of his to some other members of the team. You even feel comforted when you see Roy sit down next to Jamie, hoping someone can get that boy out of whatever funk he’s in. Even Zava makes a surprise appearance but you keep from rolling your eyes.

You’ve really become comfortable here the last few months. You try to remember the last time you’ve felt this happy and content and you come up blank. You’re surrounded by people you actually like and a job that sustains you both financially and spiritually. Now if only you could write a word of fiction you were proud of, but baby steps will have to do.

You’re not a superstitious or paranoid person, but as soon as you start dwelling on how great your life is going, you know that you’ll jinx it.

And you do.

As Rebecca begins telling you and Keeley about the psychic reading she had recently, your phone buzzes in your back pocket. You figure it's a text from your dads and don’t want to miss an opportunity to connect with them even briefly, since you’ve been so busy. Instead of finding a text from your family group chat, you see an Instagram notification.

Mason_Andrews has posted for the first time in a while.

Stupid Instagram and their stupid irrelevant notifications.

You know you shouldn’t look. You’re having a great time, and you haven’t really thought about him in weeks. But you’re so curious. Besides, you really need to make the move to unfollow him and this could be the perfect opportunity to do so. 

So you click the notification banner and Instagram opens to a picture of Mason- with his arms wrapped around an eerily familiar red-head.

He’d told you he barely knew the girl, as the two of you fought that night; that she didn’t mean anything to him.

Apparently she did now. They looked extra cozy, all dressed up in cocktail attire at what must have been one of Mason’s work events. My girl, the caption reads simply. Your fingers move faster than your brain as you tap the image to see the girl has been tagged. Her handle tells you her name is Chloe. You know if you start digging any further you’re going to drive yourself crazy. But if you don’t look and go on the rest of the night trying to forget about it, you’ll feel even crazier. So you decide you need to get out of there as soon as possible. 

Under the guise of exhaustion, you bid your farewells to Keeley and Rebecca. You catch Ted’s eye over Sassy’s shoulder and wave. He mouths back a “get home safe”. You don’t even try to get Beard’s attention with his girlfriend Jane in his lap. Roy gives you a nod and you briefly make eye contact with Jamie as Keeley’s friend and coworker Shandy talks off his ear, giving him a small smile as you head to the front. You let Sam know you’re calling it a night, and he begs you to stay for a little while longer, but you just hug him tighter and promise to be his first customer when Ola’s officially opens. He flashes his contagious, thousand-watt smile and you almost feel better, accepting the green matchbook as a keepsake that you know you’ll never part with. 

Leaning against the brick of the restaurant, you mean to call an Uber, but end up giving in and immediately start cyber-stalking Chloe. You’re nearly a full year down her Instagram grid when the door jingles beside you, causing you to jump. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, palming your chest to calm your rising heart rate. 

“Didn’t know you were so religious,” Jamie snickers from beside you, seemingly a bit more upbeat than he was earlier in the evening. 

You snort, relaxing a bit, “Says the guy with the cross earring.” 

He smirks, “It's a fashion statement, ever heard of it?”

“My sincerest apologies,” You hold your hands up playfully in surrender, “I’m surprised you're alone.” 

He raises his eyebrow. “Why?”

“Well it seems if Shandy had her way, you’d be leaving with her.”

Jamie takes a deep breath, “Shandy is…a lot. I think she wanted to take a bite out of me.” 

You laugh at the pained expression on his face, “What, you’re not into that sort of thing?” 

He gets a mischievous glint in his eye and you know you’re going to regret having said that, “Well, I’m usually the one doing the biting.” 

“My God,” you groan, closing your eyes.

“There you go with the religious expletives,” he tsks, “You know you shouldn’t use the lord’s name in vain.” 

“I will try to do better.”

Your breathy laughs die out together.

“So, what about you?” Jamie asks.

“What about me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re walking home alone again from here.”

You’re reminded of what you were supposed to be doing. “Oh, no, I was actually about to order an Uber.”

“Fuck that. My car is down the block, let me drive you.”

“Jamie, you don’t have to do that.” 

“I’m not letting you waste your money when I have a perfectly good car and empty passenger seat. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t give you another second to consider when he’s already rounding the corner of the restaurant. 

Moments later you’re putting your address into Jamie’s phone from his passenger seat, and you appreciate that he only made fun of you a little for almost getting in the driver's side. (“Hey, if you want to take a shot at driving on the correct side of the road, be my guest.” “Listen, It doesn’t make sense that everything is on the other side!”) You’ve been driving for a few minutes with only the soft sound of the radio playing when you finally let yourself ask.

“So, why the long face all night?” you inquire, “I don’t know much about non-American football, or American football for that matter, but I thought winning several games in a row was supposed to be a good thing.” 

Jamie shakes his head, “It is.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” you smile slightly, “But?”

“But,” he sighs, “I don’t love how we did it.” 

“What do you mean?”

“It's this whole Zava thing,” he admits, not taking his eyes off the road as you watch him, “Everyone is acting like he’s some God, and sure, he’s a great player, but we…stopped playing as a team. I liked it better that way. Now it's the Zava show.” 

You nod, “I get what you mean. I don’t get the hype about Zava either.”

He glances at you for a brief second before focusing on the road again. “You don’t?”

“Yeah, he’s all words and no substance. He says things but it doesn’t mean anything. It's irritating. Honestly, when he walked into Sam’s I had to force myself not to leave immediately.”

He laughs with you, “I feel like you’re the only other person who see’s through his shit.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t really have patience for self-centered jerks. Even if they’re good at kicking a ball around or whatever.” 

Jamie’s smile falters a bit. “You know I used to be a lot like him.”

You bite back a laugh, “No way.”

Your sarcasm takes him by surprise. “I thought you weren’t into football?”

“Football? No,” you admit slowly, “One of my old coworkers, though, had an affinity for British dating shows…”

You swear you see a bit of color drain from his face under the glow of the street lights, “Ah shit.” 

You can’t help but giggle, “Yeahhh, I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry? You’re the one who suffered through watching that crap.”

You can’t help but join when a laugh breaks through his words. 

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“That bad? I was a total prick.”

“Oh yeah you were a douchebag, but it made great TV.” 

He can’t help but laugh with you despite himself. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“But you don’t seem like that guy anymore,” you reassure, “I don’t think the guy who broke Amy’s heart would offer to drive a girl you barely know home.” 

“I’m trying not to be,” he muses softly. “But you’re right about one thing. I barely know you and you’ve probably seen more of me than either of us would like to admit.”

You chuckle, feeling your face get hot. “'You saying you want to play 20 questions or something?”

“How about one? That being, why the hell did you come to Richmond?” he glances at you again as you suddenly find your hands more interesting than the boy beside you, “Sam says you had some fancy job back in America and now you’re basically a football club owner’s secretary.”

“We prefer the term personal assistant.” 

He rolls his eyes, “So what? Were you that desperate to learn about ‘non-American football’ or what?”

You take a long, deep breath. “You want the honest answer?” 

Jamie shrugs like it's obvious.

“I told my family I needed a change of scenery, but it was because of a guy. Pathetic right? Making a life changing decision because some guy broke my heart. But the truth is I’d been making a lot of my decisions because of him while we were together. Where to live. What friends to hang out with. I had my old job because he thought it would be a good fit for me even though it wasn’t what I really wanted to do. So, after we…broke up, I realized I didn’t really know who I was because my whole life was built around him and us. So, I knew I had to get the hell out of Chicago, panicked, quit my job, and…here I am; just trying to get a change of scenery and figure out who the hell I am.” 

You never admitted that to anyone. No one around you ever saw how controlling he was over your life. You knew your family would have called you out about it, but they never got the chance to spend much time with him. He insisted you spend holidays with his family and you went along with it. And when you visited yours, you went alone. You didn’t realize it at the time, but subconsciously you weren’t very proud of your relationship with him. You were blinded by the attention he gave you, all the while molding you into his definition of a perfect girlfriend. Until apparently you weren’t. 

You eventually glanced back over at Jamie, and despite paying attention to the road in front of him, you could tell he was listening attentively. 

“Damn, so once you finally saw how bad he was, you dumped him and left?”

You laugh humorously, “No, I dumped him after I caught him cheating on me.” That was also the first time you told someone willingly. 

“Jesus Christ.”

“Now who’s using the lord’s name in vain?”

“He sounds fucking awful. Glad you’re rid of him.”

“If only I’d come to my senses sooner.”

He shakes his head, “Don’t blame yourself when he’s the prick.”

You digest the sentiment as his car slows to a stop and you realize you’ve made it to your apartment. 

He angles his body towards you, “Seriously, I’m sorry that happened to you. No one…no one deserves that.”

Meeting his eyes, you get the sense that there’s more meaning behind his words that you don’t understand. Still you smile slightly. “Thank you, Jamie.”

He presses his lips together in a thin smile as well. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt as you continue, “Well, here’s hoping that quitting my job and moving halfway across the world actually does the trick and lets me move on, or else I might be a little crazy.” 

Jamie chuckles and you feel the energy shift back to lighthearted, “Well, you know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“Jesus Chr-” you stop as he raises his eyebrows playfully, and you start to smile. Not only do you let yourself laugh at his cheeky joke, you let yourself consider his words. Casual dating let alone sex wasn’t really your thing, but maybe it could help. At the very least it would be a well deserved distraction. You briefly consider trying out the Bantr app but you loathed online dating. And here you were with a perfectly eligible bachelor mere inches away from you. 

No. No. You couldn’t hook up with Jamie Tartt. 

He was a notorious playboy. And while you could now attest he wasn’t as bad as his on-screen persona made him look, you knew he still wasn’t a relationship guy. 

But that’s not what this would be. 

Maybe he would be the perfect guy to distract you for one night. He instantly made you forget about Mason earlier until he became the topic of conversation. And he was very pretty. 

Before you can second guess anymore, you push yourself towards him and press your lips against his. If Jamie’s surprised by your actions, it doesn’t last long. He quickly unbuckles his own seatbelt, so he can bring the two of you closer together, his hands squeezing your waist, as yours cup around his face. You kiss frantically for a few more moments, sneaking in breaths where you can, before you’re pulling away slightly. Your noses are brushing against one another as you blink up at him, “Do you want to come inside?” 

He doesn’t bother answering, letting out shaky breaths as he nods, bumping his forehead against yours lightly. You smile into another kiss and Jamie doesn’t break away as he starts reaching to unlock the car doors, eager to get into your apartment but a little less eager to part from you. Reluctantly you separate again so you both can fumble out of the car and up the stairs of your building. You feel his breath on your neck as you hurriedly unlock your front door. He gently leads you inside, only to shut the door and push you against it, picking up where he left off. His hands make their way down your body to your thighs, and without having to be asked, you're jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. You mumble directions to your bedroom against his lips and before you know it, he’s lying you down across your bed. As his lips leave a trail down your neck and to your chest, you don’t even remember Mason’s name. Your mind is just clouded by Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. 

A/N: let me know what you think y’all!!! also taking this opportunity to let everyone know i’m not comfortable writing smut or things like that, but will obviously allude to this like this. hope everyone understands! ❤️

[satanwritesfanfiction]

Paladin Danse x f!reader || Under you || SMUT

Title: Under you

Rating: explicit, smut

Category: f/m

Fandom: Fallout 4

Relationship: reader x Danse (can be read as ss x Danse)

Characters: Danse, reader

Tags/ triggers: smut, pwp, power dynamics in a sense that he outranks her in bos and that's used as a flimsy thread for pwp??, desk time, p in v, doggy, threat of being caught, injury that's basically forgotten halfway through, argument, ooc

Wordcount: 2800

a/n: the first fanfic for fallout and first time writing in a while so its has its issues but we ignore that for the serotonins my boiiii Danse gives me

***

Opening the door to Danse's quaters onboard the Prydwen, you were greeted with his back towards you, broad shoulders covered by his BOS uniform. It wasn't every day you were faced with the realities of him outside of his armour.

However, you didn't look forward to this conversation given how he had left you at Knight-Captain Cade To get stitched up. His disappointment wasn't without merit, you had disregarded that order but with good reason, the civilians were the priority to you, not your own sensibilities of survival or self preservation.

You cleared your throat as you moved your hands to hook at your back. "Danse."You closed your eyes briefly and took a breath. "..Paladin Danse." You stated, keeping the clench of your teeth out of your voice as best you could ad you took the formal route.

He turned to regard you, eyes raking over you in a way that made you feel small before he took a breath.

"Did Knight-Captain Cade clear you?" He inquired, voice void of emotion as the remnants of the battle still courses through him, the images of your body bruised and bloody, the results still shining on the arch of your brow prominently. It's been a few hours and he's kept busy but it lingers on him, haunts him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

"Yes." You stated. "Well after few days rest, its honestly not even that bad Danse." You pulled against your shirt to reveal the stitched wound on your stomach, slight redness to the skin but nothing that would cause any worry. "Few days and I'll be back to kicking ass like I never even left."

Danse stood frozen for a moment, hands tightening ever so slightly at the clipboard he was holding at the sight of the exposed skin, knowing he shouldn't feel this way and much less when it was such an innocent gesture on your part when all you wanted to do was set his mind at ease. But the problem was that he had imagined it, had imagined his hands curled around that very skin, indenstations on your hips, on the smooth skin.

He knew his duties and what should take precedence but thoughts sometimes got a bit jumbled around you, feeling something growing in his chest, movement within in a way he couldn't decipher, anger at your actions and fear at your failures which he could argue was because of his role as your sponsor but he knew there was more to it and he should probably create some distance... but at the same time he had been elated when you asked him to accompany you on your outtings.

"That's.. uh that's good. "he stated, averting his eyes for a moment to think as he cleared his throat. "We still need to discuss your performance on the battlefield today, (Y/n).“ he took on the professional demeanor as he placed the clipboard on a nearby surface.

"I understand." You stated as you moved a few paces in his direction.

"You failed to follow a direct order." He stated. "You know what I told you when I chose to sponsor you. You are my responsibility and I can't have you-" he sighed and ran his hand over his face as he boiled at the thought. "You have a duty to this team."

It was definitely not an opportune moment as you watched him chastise you to feel the warmth in your body, the firmness in his stance, the power as he spoke. The brief flashes of when he carried your body to safety. Your attraction to the man was your own issue to deal with but it always creeps up when you need it the least.

You had imagined it was the lack of action that had you so wanton for the man but after a few nights with your hand between your legs with his name on your tongue and even a few drunken nights in goodneighbour, you had come to the conclusion that there had to be a little more to it than that but even so, the knowledge didn't stop the way you felt weak with his attention solely on you, it didn't stop your gaze from lingering or the butterflies in your stomach as his voice carried within the room.

You swallowed. "There were civilians, Danse. I could not let them be another casualty of war."

"You shouldn't have disobeyed." He stated firmly, brows furrowed as his voice raised slightly. "We would've-"

"They would've died." You interrupted. "You can't expect me to watch that happen when we could-"

He was always softer when it came to you, he knew that, he would wager that you knew it as well. He dismissed and even ignored many actions that might've seemed harsh in anothers eyes but nothing quite like the action he would commit when his lips met yours, a quick action that his mind couldn't quite compute but at the same time he felt vindicated. An entirely unprofessional offense against much of what he told himself and how he arrived to behave but you felt so real with his hands pressed to the side of your face, so soft pressed to his lips, so warm and pliable when you didn't pull away.

"You need to learn your place." He whispered against your lips as he pulled away, hands falling to your hips and pressing into the flesh. So many thoughts circling that were both impure and against the ideals of the brotherhood when it came to subordinates and colleagues.

You bit into your lip as you looked up at him, not quite the place you saw the conversation moving but it was definitely not unwelcome, just surpising and a little distracting with the way his fingers pressed into you, causing your brain to play catch up and wonder if this was real or not and whether you could push forth in the direction you desperately wanted to go.

"Are you gonna show me where that is?“ you whispered, breathe feeling like it was sucked from your body as you anticipated his reaction. Damn the pulsing between your legs that could have you on your knees in front of this man with a mere motion, a mere sliver that he wouldn't reject it.

He was quick to move you after the question, pressing you against the desk and hovering above you as a few small objects from his desk tumbled to the floor.

"Do you want me to?“ he asked, searching your expression for any sign of discomfort, wondering if he read the situation wrong, part of him wanting you to be the one to stop this so he didn't go against any of the bos ideals but hoping to whatever merciless god was out there that you wouldn't.

"Yeah.."you said softly, pushing through some forced confidence as you cleared your throat, meeting his eyes with a new form of what you hoped was seen as assurance. "Yes."

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear as his eyes stayed trained on you, an act that felt soft and intimate in the way silence fell until his hand slipped into your hair, grip tightening and crashing his lips to yours once more. You gave as fervently as you got, hands pressed to his chest.

His own hand lingered at your chest, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt and easily pulling it over your head and then came the bra, frustration evident as his need for you grew. An array of pushing and prodding as the frustration lingered in veins at the limitation the pieces of cloth supplied.

Finally he manages to push the small piece of clothing from your body to some place on the floor, watching you sit on his desk like this with an expression that anyone would call wanton. His hand cupped your breast in his hand, watching as you worried your lip between your teeth at the action. Softness even in sound when he ran his thumb over the bud.

He had been gentle in the journey to get you somewhat undressed but he hadn't forgotten the comment that lead him here, the boil within his blood at the thought of your actions and the unobstructed sight of the wound now before him. The image of you had not been enough to still the turmoil within him. The kindness he valued in you was the thing that would disregard order and yourself which brought him to this bridge but he could easily show you order, power, even show you your place as he had said. He would not be entirely wrong to say you place was under him but perhaps not in the sense that he would like and would enforce tonight.

He quickly undid the button of your pants, hands wrapping around your hips at a lingering thought, the need growing within him, a grip that lingered but didn't alarm you as he pulled you towards him but then a sudden shift as the direction changed, as he flipped you around, using his body to press you to the desk, hand pressing against against your upper back until you took the position he wanted. The new position added an ache to the wound on your torso, slight hiss that you doubt he even heard.

The desk was cool against your breast, anticipation as you kept yourself pressed to the surface, eyes looking behind at the man and only feeling the anticipation and want grow as his eyes travelled across your body.

"Such disobedience." He murmured as his hands slid down your back, fingers hooking in the waist and of the pants and pulling it over the curve of your ass along with your underwear. "Perhaps I had been too lenient with you." He stated, a tone that didn't quite match the content as his hands spread over your ass and squeezed. He lowered himself over your body, chest ghosting over your back as his lips pressed close to your ear and his own bulge pressing against your back side so temptingly. "I should correct that misstep, shouldn't I. Show you what insubordination gets you." He punctuated the word with the grind of his hips to yours.

You bit your lip as you spread your legs as much as you could given the pants around your thighs limiting your movement. Needing him to touch you in any way he wished, to use your body just as long as he touched you without all the layers between you.

The press of him eased up when he fiddled with his uniform, fighting to pry it from his body as quickly as possible at the sight of your pliable form. He hadn't bothered further than getting it passed his hips. For a moment he was dumbstruck, so many things he wanted but the uncertainty of whether he would get such a perfect opportunity to enact them made him slow to act, pressing two fingers to your entrance and spreading your slick and shallowly pressing into you to test the waters.

A whimper sounded past your lips as you closed your eyes at the feeling. It had been so long since someone else had touched you and though you had the nights where you had came around your fingers at the thought of him, it was miles apart from this, from his warm fingers spreading your cunt.

"That's a good girl."He commented, watching as his fingers disappear into your needy cunt, glistening in the light when he retracted, soft whimpers spilling from your lips and body rocking back against him softly. You were so compliant like this, such a pretty image that he would definitely be revisiting at a later time.

He removed his fingers from you, earning an annoyed sound and a glance back, he couldn't hide his glee at the state he could leave you in but at the same time, he needed to be inside you, needed you to clench around his cock and take him like you were meant to.

His hand wrapped around your hip, the other going to his cock and lining up. He pushed in slowly, groaning at the wetness until he settled, hips pressed to yours. The situation led you to believe he would give the time for you to adjust, he had always been accommodating and he had taken his time with pushing into you but he had other plans, other wants to allowed him to bypass that courtesy.

His hand slipped into your hair and tightened, pressing you to the desk if you just so happen to get any other ideas. His hips snapped, shallowly at first as he got used to the tightness. You cried out at the feeling, the pain that got dwarfed by the pleasure and he quickly pressed a hand over your mouth to silence your cries as he pressed closer to your ear.

"Wouldn't want anyone to come see what's wrong, would we?" He granted against your back, teeth scratching against your shoulder blade as he momentarily slowed his movements. "This is quite the position for a knight to be in."

Your hand wrapped around his wrist as his hips picked up the pace, closing your eyes as you took what he gave, imagining if someone did walk in, perhaps a scribe or Cade or even Maxson, seeing Danse give it to you, perhaps they could corroborate that this was real because it felt like you were floating, like he was splitting your skull in half and all you could do was think about how fucking full of him you felt. Punishment be damned, you needed them to know Danse was fucking you, that he chose you even if just a momentary lapse.

Suddenly he pulled out, flipping you over like you weighed nothing, you bit into your lip at the full sight of him, bare chest and cock at attention. He, on the other hand, had no notions of taking in the moment, taking hold of your legs and pressing them to your chest so he could get easy access to that tight cunt of yours, immediately pressing home at the first opportunity.

You moaned at the feeling, pressing your palm to your lips given his previous comments even with your own voyeuristic fantasies and the need to have him do it, to control every aspect of the situation, to set the perimeter and feel his hand press to the sides of your face as you just laid there and took it.

He could feel his end approaching, hand pressing and prodding at your skin at the thought of losing access, finally lingering at your clit at the thought of you coming on his cock.

"Hold this." He commanded, taking your free hand and wrapping it around your legs. You did as you were told, glossy eyes watching the man before you and then keening when he touched you, thumb rubbing against your clit in fast, tight circles and you knew you were done for.

"Danse.." you cried, hand slipping from your lips as you moaned into the air, neither of you seeming to care at the moment as his hips snapped into you with renewed vigor at the sound of his name falling from your lips. "Please-I.."

"I know." He stated, interuppting your train of thought. "Be a good girl and come for me."

Again, you did as he asked, feeling the warmth spread throughout your limbs as your walls clenched around him. The cry that left your lips would most likely be heard past his door followed by the mantra of his name as you fought through the intense emotion.

He had to fight to keep moving past the the clench of you, giving a few shallow thrusts before he came inside of you, ropes of his come hitting your walls as he stilled deep inside of you with a grunt of your name.

A few moments passed of heavy breathing before he pulled out, watching as his come slipped out of you which he promptly pushed back inside of you with two fingers which elicited a whimper from you.

Coming back to his sensibilities, he retracted from you, softly removing your hand from your legs and setting them to the floor and pulling you to a seating position. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and pulled your pants back over your hips and then picked you up bridal style, wordlessly. He hoped you were alright, that he hadn't made a mistake by giving into his most base desires for you. He cared for you and he hoped for more than the structure provided under this militarristic life but that was a whole other can of worms.

He placed you in his bed, getting in behind you and wrapping an arm around your middle. He could steal this moment, could he not. If you were to resent him for his actions, at least he could pretend in this moment as you fall asleep pressed to his chest.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 5461

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

8. Banana-Dulce Cheesecake

Bucky

It occurs to him to tell Steve about the kiss later that night, when Steve is three fingers deep in him and Bucky wants some leverage to make him get in him already. He’s told him four damn times already to move things along.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, making an effort to control his voice so that Steve doesn’t know just how well he’s getting at his prostate like this. “If you don’t listen to me and get your dick in me in the next fifteen seconds, I’m tying you up and riding the dildo while you watch.”

Steve’s rhythm falters and his eyes widen, because he knows his husband and he knows it’s no idle threat. Sexual denial is one of Bucky’s favorite cruelties. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, okay.” His fingers leave a sad absence inside of Bucky, but he gets right to work in reaching for the lube bottle to slick himself up.

“Aht, forgetting something?” Bucky raises his eyebrow and watches Steve huff in exasperation as he stretches across the bed to reach for their beside drawer. Bucky takes the opportunity to smack his ass, enjoying the slight jiggle and the clenching muscle. “Good boy,” he purrs, as Steve comes back with a condom in hand. 

Even when he’s fucking Bucky, Steve isn’t allowed to come inside of him. Only Bucky gets the privilege of leaving a load up inside his husband's ass, a possessive reminder left behind to slide out, slow and filthy. He watches Steve roll the latex down his dick and then give himself a few indulgent pulls with the lube. He's red and throbbing, and Bucky can tell by the way he keeps sucking his bottom lip back into his mouth that he’s feeling very sensitive. “That feel good, Honey?”

“Nngh.”

“That’s enough. C’mere.” He hooks his heels in behind Steve’s ass to urge him forward. Steve drops his dick and climbs over him, settling into the spread of his legs and reaching down to line himself up. Bucky feels the wet drag of his cockhead over his hole.

Obedient boy, he thinks with a smirk. But it slips off his face when Steve starts to push in. He inhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes as he focuses on letting Steve in. “Ungh,” he grunts quietly, brow furrowed at the stretch.

“You okay?” Steve’s hovering, not pushing any further. Waiting for permission.

Bucky swallows and nods, because he is okay, but goddamn. Sometimes he forgets just how big his Stevie really is. (No better reminder than to have it shoved up his ass.) “Yeah,” he pants, sliding his hands up the backs of Steve’s arms and feeling up the tension in his triceps—he’s straining so beautifully, trying so very hard to hold still for him. It makes Bucky melt when he opens his eyes again and gets a look at the beautifully pinched expression on Steve’s face.

Oh, his golden boy.

“C’mere, you,” he husks, pulling him down by the jaw for a kiss. It forces Steve’s cock a little bit further into him, and he groans at the stretch. “Ff-uck, uhn, Ssteve.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

He shoves his tongue into Steve’s mouth like it’s payback for the way he’s invading his body right now, the lewd, wet swipe of his tongue a counterpoint to Steve’s dick. Bucky just wants to get inside his man, any way he can. Steve makes a filthy, tortured noise when their tongues roll together, and Bucky relishes it. He growls and drives their mouths together again and again, making it sloppy, taking Steve’s breath away, tongue-fucking his mouth before he gets any real chance to start fucking him.

“Buck,” Steve breathes, the word wet on his lips as he holds himself still. He’s looking so pleadingly at Bucky, near-pained self restraint and begging eyes that make Bucky want to destroy him. “Please. I gotta. Gotta move.”

Bucky feels that ever-familiar dark thrill zip through him. “Yeah?” he asks, mock sympathy lacing his tone. He strokes Steve’s hair. “Is that what you want, big guy? You wanna bury that fat cock up in me? Wanna go to town?” Steve nods, of course he does, and Bucky forces one more harsh, unyielding kiss onto him before he pulls back and relents. “Okay Baby, push it in a little. Go slow. Make yourself feel good.”

Steve sags with relief, instantly sinking deeper into Bucky’s body. He goes slow like he’s been told, easing in each of the seven plus girthy inches he has to give, and since Bucky’s just put up with God knows how much time and lube and fingers softening him up for this, it doesn’t hurt.

It’s just so fucking much.

Steve waits once he’s settled all the way inside, because he knows he needs permission to start thrusting. Bucky strokes a tender thumb just under his eye, taking the time to soak up his expression, his pretty features when he’s feeling good like this. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, y’know that?”

Steve grins shakily and knocks their foreheads together. “That why you married me?”

“Mmm. Had to do somethin’. Couldn’t let somebody else get at you.” Bucky grinds up, feeling Steve’s hot length rub inside him, so big. “Oh, Honey.”

“Fuck,” Steve says tersely. “Fuck, Bucky please. Say I can. C’mon Baby.”

Bucky nods, and that’s all the permission Steve needs. He starts moving, thrusting into Bucky with short, deep rolls of his hips. Steve’s a goddamn savant when it comes to getting at Bucky’s sweet spot with his dick, and now’s no exception. Bucky hisses as sparks fly up his spine, his balls pressed deliciously by Steve’s pubic bone every time he rocks in deep. It’s so damn good. “S-sumthin happened today,” he says, stuttering over his words in a way he almost never does.

“Mm.” Steve starts necking at him, humming in acknowledgement. “What?”

“With Mary,” Bucky grunts. “I—nnh—I kissed her.”

Against his neck, Steve makes this tiny, appreciative sound that just about makes Bucky's blood boil. His hips jolt down in an uncontrolled thrust. “Yeah? She liked it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, a dirty thrill shooting through him at this: at talking about someone else while Steve fucks him. Talking about her. “Yeah she did. She felt so good, Stevie. Felt so nice in my arms.” 

Steve groans again. "Tell me."

“Wanted more, God, I wanted to squeeze her, y’know? Trap her. Right up between me and you.”

“Fuck, Bucky. Uhn.”

“Yeah.” They’re grinding filthily now, all firm and deep, skin slapping quietly, Bucky’s legs wrapped up around Steve’s waist to draw him in hard again and again. “I wanna do something about it,” he pants. “Want to have her.”

Steve moans and nods, his face pinking from the effort, from the thought of the three of them together. This, the idea of the two of them in a three-way relationship with a woman, used to be one of their biggest fantasies that they’d talk about. “Can we?” he asks, looking to Bucky for permission. Always to Bucky. It gets him hotter than anything, so in love with his man.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching down to grab handfuls of Steve’s flexing ass, urging him on. “Yeah we can. We’ll take her apart. Fuck her so good.”

“Oh, God. How?” Steve’s back to kissing on his neck while he grinds into him, dirty pants against sucked-wet skin going straight to Bucky’s dick. “Tell me.”

“Mm, I dunno. Maybe you can hold her, huh? Hold her open while I go down on her. Or maybe we’ll—ugh, shit—maybe we’ll both have her at the same time, yeah? You behind her and me in front, taking turns dipping our cocks in her ‘til she screams.” 

Steve groans, his hips slowing and his head sinking over Bucky’s shoulder—He’s close and doesn’t want to come.

Bucky bites sharply at his neck. “Did I say you could stop? Keep fucking me.”

Steve, trooper that he is, whimpers and gets back to it. Bucky grits his teeth, angling his hips into the thrusts just right so that his prostate is getting it good. “Aw, fuckyeah. Like that, Honey, juust like that. Shit. You’re gonna make Daddy cum, y’know that?”

Steve whines, his hips stuttering at the words. Bucky rarely calls himself “Daddy” when they’re together, it’s usually something he only utters when he’s domming a sub. But with Steve topping like this, Bucky needs the extra dominance. The growled words get to Steve too though, and he starts to come, shoving harder and uncoordinated. “Ohn ... shit,” he whimpers, the high pitched, desperate sound of it making Bucky’s cock pulse dangerously.

He growls and smashes their mouths together, shoves his flesh hand down between their bellies and grabs himself, starts stroking off hard and fast as he feels Steve’s jerky final thrusts. They finish seconds apart, with Steve still grinding his orgasm out as Bucky’s cock starts shooting up his belly and over his knuckles. “Uh, ughn, godyeah …”

They slump against each other with exhaustion once it’s done, panting against skin and reveling in the aftershocks. Steve eventually takes the initiative to pull out, getting rid of the condom and snuggling back up against Bucky’s side. Bucky hums and wraps his arm around him, pressing a kiss to the edge of his temple. “S’good,” he mumbles, letting Steve pull the blanket up to cover their legs, even though they haven’t even wiped off yet. It feels too good to move right now.

“So,” Steve says a few minutes later, his voice softened and lax from the afterglow. He’s got his head pillowed on Bucky’s chest, and Bucky begins to play idly with his hair. “The Mary thing.”

Bucky inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling underneath Steve’s cheek. “Yeah. The Mary thing.”

“What’s the plan?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, picturing various scenarios in his sated brain. “Hell if I know.”

Bucky

Steve’s already back from his ass-o’clock morning jog and putzing around the kitchen by the time Bucky has finished dressing for work and emerges from the bedroom. He hears (and smells) the coffee pot percolating, and sighs gratefully as he walks into the kitchen to join him. “Mornin’ babe. Thanks. for getting that started.”

Steve gives him a cheerful peck on the lips as he passes to open one of the upper cabinets. “There’s a piece of cheesecake in the fridge for you,” he says. 

“Cheesecake?” Bucky’s slightly distracted by the shape of Steve’s muscular back through his tight Under Armour top as he stretches to reach his preferred to-go mug. “For breakfast?”

“I may have mentioned that it’s your favorite dessert of all time.” Steve shoots him a knowing smile when he turns back around. "Enjoy the view?"

"You know it," Bucky says, shameless. "I'll have to have a talk with her about making cheesecake. The first step is admitting you have a problem, and I have a problem."

Steve snickers and goes to grab the coffee pot and fill the mug. “At least take it to work with you for lunch. She’ll be bummed if you don’t.”

“Sure.” In the fridge, Bucky discovers a clear plastic clamshell box with a single slice of cheesecake inside. Previously unaware of any hunger, his stomach suddenly turns over in a growling vote of confidence for the cheesecake. “Damn,” he mutters, reaching in and pulling the clamshell out. “So that’s what the banana threats were for.”

“Yep.” Steve chuckles. “I already had a piece. And Buck:” He turns around and looks at him with theatrically wide eyes. “It’s really good.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” Bucky checks the time on his phone, decides that he has enough time to sit down and eat it there before he leaves for work. He goes to grab a fork from the silverware drawer. Seated on the stool at the breakfast bar, his eyes slide shut as the first bite of dense, creamy goodness slides over his tongue. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” he moans. “Caramel.”

“I know, right?”

He opens his eyes again and gives Steve a withering look. “We’ve gotta set some boundaries for ourselves. Or she’ll have us rocking dad bods in no time.”

Mary’s laugh sounds from the hallway just before she appears, dressed in sneakers and workout clothes. “With the way you two work out? Yeah right.” She shoots a cheerful finger gun in Bucky’s direction. “And it’s dulce, not caramel.”

“Oh. Well I stand corrected, then.”

“Basically the same thing as American-style caramel.” She makes a face. “Which hardy counts at all. Just wait until I make you a real caramel. Where the sugar’s actually cooked dark enough to taste.” She nods with an adorable amount of conviction. “Your mouth’ll know the difference.”

“I’m sure it will,” Bucky drawls, looking her over with the same sort of appreciation that he’d just done with Steve. Mary wears leggings on a regular basis, which is always very enticing, but her gym leggings are even tighter, and it’s a total cocktease. Bucky waits until she has her back turned before he lets his gaze drop to her hips and ass. Jesus, help him. “You going to the gym?” he asks, knowing that it’s her day off.

“Yeah,” she huffs, going over to grab her jacket from the catchall. “I’ve gained so much weight since Halloween, it’s not even funny. Got about fifteen pounds to work off now. Blegch.”

Bucky actually puts his fork down, he’s so disturbed by the casual way that she throws it out.  “What?” he says, and Steve echoes him with a stifled noise in his throat that basically means the same thing. “Fifteen pounds?” He lets his eyes drag over her body, mouth agape. “Mary, wait.”

“What?” She’s shrugging her jacket on with a humorless laugh. “It’s true.”

“No it is fucking not,” Bucky snaps, and at hearing his tone, she stops laughing. “Mary,” he says sternly. “You do not need to lose any weight. And certainly not fifteen pounds. Jesus. That’s ludicrous.”

She turns around with an incredulous expression. “Seriously? I literally just heard you complaining about dad bods. Have you seen yourself? And you’re gonna talk to me about what’s ludicrous?”

Bucky frowns at how defensive she’s gotten and how fast. “Mare,” he says, trying to soften his tone. “You look great. Now I’m fine with you going to the gym if you want, but let’s not get out of hand, here.” Something about the tense determination in her features sets off alarm bells in his head. “You should wait to go to the gym with Steve when he goes in the afternoon,” he decides, making it an order. “You don’t need to be going by yourself.”

Her entire face screws up. “Excuse you,” she scowls. “I’m not a child. I can go to the freakin’ gym by myself.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I want you to wait.”

For a split second, he sees her expression smooth over at how calmly and firmly he’s said it—her own natural submissive reaction to a direct order from him. But that quickly bleeds back to astonished anger. “Sorry, Daddy, but I’m ready to go now. I already took my pre-sup and I’ll just waste it if I—”

“Pre-sup?” he hisses (forcing himself to ignore the ‘Daddy’ thing—holy shit). “What supplements are you taking?”

“None of your business!” She laughs meanly, and Bucky sees Steve shift out of the corner of his eye at how quickly this is devolving. “Jesus. I’m a grown woman, Bucky.”

“I know that, Mary,” he grits. “Now take your coat off and wait for Steve.”

“No.”

“Have you even had any breakfast?” he growls.

“I don’t like to eat before a workout,” she says, grabbing up her purse from the catchall. 

“Mary,” Steve pleads, looking worriedly at Bucky. “You should have something for fuel. C’mon, let me make you a piece of toast at least.”

She huffs, shouldering her purse and heading for the door. “You guys’ bread has like a hundred and thirty calories a slice. No thanks. I’m fine.” She unlocks the deadbolt and reaches for the doorknob.

Bucky lets loose his full Dom-voice when he warns, “Mary, don’t you open that door.”

Her shoulders visibly tense, as if she’s fighting off the full-body urge to obey him. “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” she says, then pulls open the door and leaves.

Bucky stares, furious. “A couple of hours?!” The barstool’s legs scrape against the floor as he hastily pushes out from the counter, intending to go after her.

“Babe, wait. No.” Steve stops him with both hands on his shoulders. “That’s not a good idea.”

“She just willfully disobeyed me!” Bucky snarls. “I can’t let that go!”

Steve’s fingers curl over his shoulders in a squeeze and he ducks his head to fix him with a meaningful look. “Buck, hey, take a deep breath. You’re not handling this well.” 

The message is clear. This is the way Steve talks to him when he’s trying to calm him down from domspace—and not the good kind of domspace, either. Bucky jerks away from his hold, but Steve arches an eyebrow, and so Bucky takes a few deep inhales and exhales, glaring at his husband the whole time he’s doing it. “She can’t get away with behavior like that,” he reiterates once he’s done. He forces his tone to be more calm so that Steve can’t hold it against him. “That was out of line. She needs to be corrected.”

“I know,” Steve says, still looking at him cautiously. “But we don’t have a discipline plan in place, so what’re you gonna do? Go grab her in public and drag her back here kicking and screaming?” 

Bucky's jaw works in frustration. “No," he grits. "No, that won't work."

“Good. I'm glad you can see that.” Some of the tension releases from Steve’s shoulders, and Bucky instantly feels bad. Poor Steve. He’s already married to one erstwhile/sometimes mental case, and now he’s got another one on the extreme opposite end of the spectrum to deal with.

“Sorry,” Bucky says tightly, turning away in embarrassment. He can still feel the ticking of his pulse in his veins, and the desire to control pulled tight throughout all his muscles. “Sorry,” he says again, going back to sit at the breakfast bar.

“It’s okay, Babe.”

He scoots back in to the counter and grabs his fork, moodily spearing another bite of the cheesecake. His thoughts still linger on the showdown with Mary as he chews, and after he swallows he mutters, “The hell’s gotten into her?” Normally she’ll go soft as a stick of butter the second he starts talking sternly at her, but this time she’d seemed to actually harden against him the more he tried it. 

Steve comes over with the to-go mug, emptying a Splenda packet into it. “You think it has anything to do with you kissing her?” 

Bucky frowns, not having considered that. He shakes his head grumpily. “No. She’s been coming down every night. It doesn’t make any sense for her to be acting like this."

“Okay, but Babe … maybe we should try to get her in to see Linda this week. See if there’s something she needs that we’re not—”

“What she needs is a quick trip over my lap,” he growls, left hand flexing. “She’s bratting.”

“She does like to go to the gym,” Steve hedges, but he shuts up when Bucky shoots him a withering glare. “Yeah, okay, maybe you’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right. Call the Center today. Try and get us in. The sooner the better.”

Steve nods. “And what do you suggest I do about her when she comes back?”

Bucky grunts and eats the last bite of cheesecake n his plate, vaguely aware that he would’ve savored it a lot more if he wasn’t so riled up over Mary’s behavior. “Just leave her alone. You’re right: we don’t have a discipline plan in place.” (Though he plans to correct that very soon.) “We’ll sort it out at this next visit. Linda already said she has strong indications for impact play.”

Steve winces. “Why do they need to put the word ���play’ after everything?” Bucky shrugs, and Steve looks rueful. “You know she’s gonna throw a fit when you bring it up.”

“I know.” And he really doesn’t care. A dark thrill of dominance zips through Bucky at just the idea of putting Mary over his knee, of trapping her wrists at her lower back and holding her down, giving her a good spanking until she’s crying and grinding and sorry. “She’ll learn real quick that it’s what’s good for her. That girl needs consequences like a fish needs water."

“Uh huh.” Steve seems almost amused, but he holds up his hands again when he gets another glare from Bucky. “I’ll call and make an appointment, I will,” he promises. “But what about you, Babe?”

“What about me?”

Steve gives him a look. “You could stand to go in yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

His eyes slip down to Bucky’s left hand. “Babe ...”

Bucky looks down—Somewhere in the past few minutes, he’s bent the fork in his fist a little bit. Huffing, he sets it down.

“Take the morning off and go get a session in with one of the Pros,” Steve coaxes. “Spare your poor coworkers.”

Bucky scoffs and takes his plate to the sink to rinse it. “No. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am,” he insists, giving Steve a warning look when it seems like he’ll argue further. “Steve,”

“Okay, okay.” Steve holds up his hands in surrender. “Just trying to help.”

Bucky softens, feeling bad. “C’mere, you. Hey, I’m sorry.” He gives Steve a big hug, and then a kiss that’s equal parts possessive and apologetic. They part, and he smiles a little, nudging Steve’s nose with his. “You still having fun in the nuthouse?” he murmurs.

Steve ‘tsks’ at him for the joke and give him a chiding squeeze. “Yes,” he insists. “Now get going, nutso, before you're late. And don’t forget your coffee.”

Bucky gives him one last peck on the lips and then grabs his things. He puts his coat on and drapes his suit jacket over his arm at the door. “Try to keep her here once she’s back,” he says, frowning once again as he thinks about the “hours” remark Mary had made. “Ridiculous,” he mutters. 

“I’ll head over to the gym in a bit. Make sure she isn’t overdoing it,” Steve promises. “Now go on, try to have a good day. Try not to make your secretary cry.”

Bucky huffs, though he is smiling a little as he heads out the door. He’s only ever made his secretary cry once, and Steve will never, ever let him live it down. “Bye Babe. I Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Steve

That evening, they bite the bullet and show Mary the letter that came in the mail: addressed to Bucky, from the circuit court of New York. It lists the court date for review of Mary’s case of custodianship.

Steve’s expecting a meltdown, but what they get instead is a morose sort of silence. He’s not sure he wouldn’t prefer the meltdown. Mary just sniffs and doesn’t talk much, picking her portion of dinner to smithereens before deigning to eat any of it. After their nightly tv time and Bucky's low key domming, she goes off to bed without bidding them goodnight like she usually does.

Steve wakes in the early hours of the morning, having to take a piss. He’s just flushed and is considering being naughty and slipping out to the kitchen to grab himself a slice of cheesecake, when he sees that Mary’s bedroom door is open. He sticks his head in to check on her, but she’s not in her bed. “Mary?” he whispers.

That’s when he hears soft noises coming from the kitchen.

It’s Mary. Steve stalls in place when he sees her, leaning back against the cabinets and face splotchy from crying. She’s dressed in her workout clothes again, hair messy like she’s already been out and back from another workout. Steve frowns worriedly when he spots her house keys and empty water bottle on the counter next to her phone. “Hey Mare,” he says quietly, so that he doesn’t spook her. 

She sniffles as she sees him and hurriedly scrubs her face. “Oh. Hi Steve.”

“What are you doing up?” He takes a few cautious steps closer. “It’s late."

“Just wanted to get a snack,” she says, voice sounding tearful and pitiful. It’s such an obvious lie, Steve doesn’t even bother remarking on it.

“Were you at the gym again, Honey?” he asks. He’d had to intervene at the gym yesterday, when she’d been approaching hour number three with no signs of stopping. Now, he walks over and leans against the countertop’s edge right next to her. The room is dark, but he can just make out the silvery tracks left behind on her cheeks, the puffiness around her eyes. He smiles sadly at her. “You want to talk about it?”

Her expression pinches and she looks away. “No.”

“Okay.”

“... I went to the gym,” she eventually murmurs. 

“Yeah, I cry at the gym, too. All the time.” Steve nudges his bare foot against her sneakered one. “Come on,” he coaxes. “I’m a good listener.”

“You’re a good tattletale,” she grumbles.

“Hey.”

“Well you are. You tell Bucky everything I say and do. And he’s always on me about everything and I just …” she huffs. “I just don’t want to deal with it sometimes.”

“Well …” Steve hedges, knowing that he shouldn’t say what he’s about to say. “You could still tell me,” he offers. He lets his hand inch over on the counter’s edge and hooks his pinkie over hers. She looks down at it, then up to him. Steve’s mouth quirks. “Bucky can be a lot. I know. But he’s just trying to do what’s right. And you’ve gotta remember that he isn’t perfect. He has to live with this thing just like you do. Some days he handles it better than others.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve sighs. “Look, if there’s something you want to talk to me about, but you don’t want him to know, it can stay between us.” Mary looks over in surprise and Steve cringes. “Just ... promise me that you’ll talk it out with Linda, too?”

She hums noncommittally. “Walk me back to bed?”

“Course, Hon.”

She shuts herself into her bathroom and returns after a few minutes, dressed in pajamas and her hair towel dried. She seems surprised that Steve has stuck around when she sees him standing there, toeing the line of the doorway. "Oh."

“I didn’t know if you meant …” he shrugs. “Tuck you in?” 

She smiles a little, though it’s sad. Steve thinks she might’ve been crying again in the shower. “Sure,” she says, tucking her head down. She gets into bed and Steve covers her with the blankets, then sits on the edge of the mattress for a moment. “So do you want to talk?” he asks softly.

She chews her lip for a long moment, and just when Steve thinks she’s about to turn him down, she whispers, “... I don’t think it’s working the same anymore.”

“What isn’t working?” 

“The stuff with Bucky. The drops.”

Steve’s lips part in understanding. “Oh. I see.”

She nods and won't meet his eyes. “It doesn’t feel the same as it did before. Like it’s not as strong, or something. And it’s wearing off faster.” Her face pinches and for a second she really looks like she might cry. 

“Honey?” Steve reaches to tuck her damp hair back from her face, and that seems to be what does it. She starts crying and turns into the pillow, hiding there as her breath hitches in tiny sobs. Surprised, Steve lets his hand fall to her shoulder, where he gives her a comforting squeeze. “Hey,” he soothes. “Shhh, it’s okay. It's okay.”

She shakes her head with a little whimper. “No it’s not. I th-thought they’d stop now. They did stop, for a while.”

“What stopped?” Steve asks, confused. 

She sniffles, face crumpled up in distress. “I have bad dreams sometimes. That’s why I was up. Went to the gym to try and run it off.”

“Bad dreams?" Steve says, concerned. "You mean nightmares?" Sometimes Bucky has them too, so he's under no illusions about how debilitating they can be. "Mare?" he prods gently. "What are the nightmares about?”

She burrows further into the pillow, turning onto her side and curling up in a little ball. “Just stuff,” she mumbles. “From when I was a kid.”

Steve gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he has to really consider his words carefully before he speaks. He finally settles on a quiet, “Your dad?”

“... Yeah.”

Ouch. Steve swallows. “Honey … you really need to talk to somebody about this.”

She sniffles and shakes her head, and when Steve puts his hand on her shoulder again, she doesn’t try to shrug him off. “You promised not to tell Bucky,” she says.

Steve winces. “Yeah, I know.” Bucky and he already had a pretty good idea about this, but he doesn’t feel the need to point that out right now. “And you promised you’d talk with Linda,” he reminds. “It’s not safe for you to be sneaking out of here at night.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. "It’s just that ... the only thing that ever really made ‘em stop was getting drunk. And then with Bucky …” Her body shudders in a quiet sob. “But now it’s not working the same anymore! So what am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, Mare.” Steve rubs her shoulder. “Shh sh sh, Honey, it’s alright. It’s a process. We just gotta figure out what works for you." He gives her a comforting squeeze. “We’ve got an appointment for tomorrow, okay? We’re gonna talk to Linda and figure this all out. It’ll get better, I promise.” He bends to kiss the top of her head, and soothes her with a gentle litany of murmured words as she cries. “It’s okay, Mare. We’ll figure this out. It’s all gonna be okay.”

She calms down after a while of that, and Steve gives her one last hug before he stands to leave. “Goodnight, Sweetheart. Tomorrow’ll be a better day, you’ll see.”

“Steve?” He turns back around to see her peeking at him from over the top edge of the covers. “On the dresser. On the top, there's a ... You can take it.”

He’s confused, until he goes over and sees the only thing that’s sitting on top of the room’s highboy dresser. His heart all but stops. Carefully, he slides it into the palm of his hand, dread filling his chest like cold water. “Mary,” he says, fearful. “Did you—”

“No,” she says. “But I was thinking about it.” 

With a sinking sense of horror, he realizes what a massive mistake it was to tell Mary he’d keep secrets for her. “Mary,” he says warningly, “You know I can’t keep this from—”

“I’ll talk to Linda,” she says, looking at him with tearful, angry eyes that dig into Steve’s heart. “I gave it to you, didn’t I?”

Steve’s lips thin and he frowns, pained. “Where did you get it?” 

“From work.”

“Why would they have these at your work?”

Mary squirms, looking embarrassed. “It’s for a lamé. For scoring the bread before it goes in the oven.”

Steve sighs and drops his hand, letting his fingers curl loosely over the razorblade. “There’s a limit to this, you know,” he warns. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me without worrying that I’m gonna tell him every little thing, but he’s still my husband. And that means that my responsibility is to him, first.”

Her eyes lower in defeat. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “I know.”

“Hey.” He holds up the blade and gives her a pointed look. “And you can’t be doing this. Because at the end of the day, he’s still the one who’s legally responsible for you. He has to do what he thinks is in your best interest. We both do.”

She frowns and won’t meet his eyes, but after a moment she nods, and Steve believes that she means it when she mumbles a tiny little, “Kay.”

“Kay. You gonna try to get some sleep now?”

She nods, still tearful, but calmer. Steve gently bids her goodnight and heads for the door. When he’s almost got it closed, Mary calls out softly one more time. “Steve?”

“Yeah Honey?”

“Thank you,” she says, so quiet that Steve almost doesn’t hear. “I feel like … I just needed that. To talk to you.”

Steve’s shoulders relax and he smiles grimly, relieved to hear that he’s made her feel a little better, and that he’s able to be someone she can confide in. He even feels a little bit proud that she trusts him enough to tell him these things. It’s almost enough to take away his guilt over promising to keep secrets from his husband.

… Almost. 

“G’night, Mary,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Steve.”

Series Masterlist

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 3, Canon-typical violence, Astarion's coping mechanisms, Astarion's quest, cw: Astarion's trauma

WC: 2.1k words, 13/18 chapters

Summary: Set in Act 3, set prior to facing Cazador (part of the Pale Elf questline). Rogue!Tav and Astarion face some of the his past.

Ao3 | [Hug12][Hug14] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

Your mind is racing, your heart is pounding, and, to be quite honest, you don’t know how to deal with what your lover just said. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge, and you will all live again. The words buzz in your ears, their blatant, painful lie only known to your ears. You’re glad that everyone else remains blissfully asleep, lest they see this farce for themselves. But that does mean this is up to you– you can’t let him do this, not to himself and not to his siblings.

“Have you no heart, Astarion?” you ask, before his siblings can respond to the offer. “You’re asking them to die for you in this ritual.”

Astarion turns to you, a touch of annoyance on his face. “Don’t look at me like that,“ he says, his tone almost accusatory. “With the sweet little ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can’t take it.”

You try to right your face, but you’re certain the pout is, in fact, present. The disappointment can’t leave your face, especially when you know that he can be better than this. That he’s been better than this. He needn’t feel chained to Cazador in any way, let alone taking his place in this profane ritual. “I don’t need cuddly Astarion right now, I just need you. The real Astarion.”

“I can’t be what you want to see in me,” he says, a desperate, pleading tone to his voice. You’re not sure how to respond to that, as his expression just about tears your heart in two. You want to say that you see him, a man who just wants to pave his own path, a man who has already overcome so much and can overcome so much more– but who are you to say that?

You don’t have the opportunity to respond, because his siblings interject. “‘Die’ in the ritual? Whatsoever are you speaking of? We are going to cheat undeath.” Aurelia says, self assuredly. 

Dropping your eyes from Astarion’s searing crimson gaze, you turn to her. “You’re slaughter-lambs,” you say, refusing to paint the picture any prettier. “Cazador needs your souls for the ritual.”

She doesn’t need to roll her eyes to express her disbelief, but she may as well have. “The master doesn’t need to lie to us,” she says patiently, as if you’re another pretty fool for her master. “He controls us, fully. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope.”

Leon speaks up, understanding dawning on him. “Because it’s more cruel. Shit. We’re doomed.” A moment of silence passes as he processes, but he’s surprisingly business-like as he continues, “Alright, what do you need from us? We’ll help you.”

You don’t get to enjoy the breakthrough though, as they begin to glow red with compulsion, their bodies struggling against some invisible force. It seems like no matter what you’ve managed to say, whatever warning you’ve been able to deliver, a vampire’s bidding will win out.

What follows is an intense few minutes of fighting, but between the two of you, Astarion’s kin don’t stand much of a chance– not even Shadowheart, the lightest sleeper of your party, stirs. It certainly helps that the vampire spawn are not aiming to kill, rather capture and stay alive. You can see clearly how careful Cazador is with his spawn, summoning them back the second they seem to be imperiled. 

Of course, this doesn’t mean your blades don’t find purchase, that blood now litters the floor of the Elfsong Tavern, and that your companions won’t have a plethora of questions in the morning. 

“What a mess,” Astarion says with his usual flippancy, as he shakes off some blood. “Well, at least you’ve met my family now.”

You entertain a brief thought about how this comment might normally be cute. Unfortunately your concern and a building fury take far greater precedence. “I can’t believe you tried lying to them,” you say, unable to hold back your rage any longer. “You would have them die for the Rite to happen?”

“What does it matter? There’s only six of them,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you, as if the equation is basic arithmetic, as if you weren’t just speaking to two of those six a moment ago, witnessing their struggles under Cazador’s thumb firsthand. “And they are vampire spawn.” The comment is added as an offhand comment, but there the answer is– he’s not valuing their lives any higher than his own. He only sees himself as the lucky sod who gets to take advantage of them. 

“You’re a spawn, Astarion,” you say, quietly. “Don’t you have any sympathy for the others in your exact situation?”

His tone changes to something angry, centuries of torment weighing each word. “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind word to me.” Then, realizing you’re right there with him, he softens, “You’re the only one. Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re… you.” The shock in his voice tugs at you, as if he’s constantly surprised that you’re still there. He follows it bitterly with, “No one is like that.”

“There are others like me,” you say, a worry creeping in that he may be blind to the love of each and every one of your companions. But you’ve seen him. He talks and jokes with the others, but he never lets this side of him show, not fully. “They will care for you, if you let them.”

Astarion scoffs. “Don’t sell yourself so short.” When you don’t react to his compliment, he continues, “I’m doing this for you too, you know. To make sure that we’re both safe. Forever, for good.”

“I appreciate that,” you begin, treading lightly and aiming to understand his fears. But you can’t help it, sometimes you just want to flick his pointy little ears and jolt some sense into him. “I just want you to know that we can make it through this without completing this ritual, without sacrificing your siblings. We always figure something out, don’t we?”

“Oh, I know we do. Though it’s not always what I envision,” he says, a sigh escaping him. “I just want you to keep an open mind when we reach Cazador, love. That’s all I ask for.”

“Fine, but I only ask the same of you,” you say, pointing a stern finger at him.

He grimaces, but nods, a solemn look on his face. “Very well, as long as we deal with Cazador soon.”

“We can go in the morning,” you assure him. “As long as we finally manage to get some sleep. I swear this inn could do with some better locks.”

“My dear, I don’t think you’re allowed to critique any establishment’s security,” he laughs lightly, cleaning some blood off his hands and preparing to return to bed. “No one is safe from your lockpicks.”

You grin before joining him with soap and sponge. “Quite right. And between the two of us? Cazador can’t hide behind his palace walls for long.”

– 

As it turns out, getting into Cazador’s palace wasn’t the difficult part. Unlocking the inner door was actually quite trivial and his guard dogs fell easily. You don’t truly find yourself facing an impasse until you’ve made it to Cazador’s hideaway, the very depths of Szarr Palace. There, Astarion comes face-to-face with the truth of his last 200 years of life, the meaning behind the endless parade of lovers.

“He’s played us for such fools.” Astartion tilts his head down, an angry and dangerous look in his eyes. Seeing his glare, reading his posture, Karlach and Shadowheart move on ahead, leaving you a moment to yourselves. “Not just seven spawn to placate the devil. Seven spawn and seven thousand souls bound to them in blood. Everyone who ever trusted me to let down their guard… innocents, idiots, and the unlucky.”

“Not that it needs to be said,” you step forward softly, gauging his reaction as you do. “But you didn’t know.”

He doesn’t move, either toward you or away. Instead, he shakes his head, clearing it of the dark cobwebs that have begun to cloud it. “It doesn’t matter. I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual.”

“Or…” you begin, tentatively exploring his mood, probing gently. “You could choose to save them.” You take another step toward him, palms open.

“What’s the point? They’re as good as dead,” he says, frustrated. It feels like you’re losing him, the weight of his sins a suffocating burden he wasn’t accounting for. “I thought they were dead.”

“But they’re not,” you reach for one of his hands, only to find it limp and despondent in your own. You thumb over the back of it, aiming to infuse your own life, warmth into him. “They’re alive, your siblings are still alive, and you can give them all the chance you didn’t receive.”

“If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. They will be ravenous. They must die. Better they serve a purpose.” He sounds like he’s convincing himself more than you at this point, and you sense the barrier around him is cracking. Another few prods and you may break through.

Despite the pounding of your heart, the worries of pushing a broken man to a precipice he may not be ready for– you steel yourself for your next words. “We’ve narrowly missed each other so often. In another life, you’d have led me here,” you say, plaintive. “Not that pretty clearing in the forest.”

“Gods,” he breathes out in anguish. “I can’t say you’re wrong. I can only say I'm so glad we didn’t meet then. I don’t even want to think what would have happened to you…”

You’ve never been above challenging your lover’s sullen moods, facing his avoidances head on. So you stare him down fiercely when you say, “Don’t you avoid this, Astarion. Face it, like you must face them. You would have killed me.”

And just like that, something in him buckles. All of his blustering blown away in the stark reality of his previous life. “I would have killed you.” Astarion’s shoulders bow, his head turns away from you and it’s all you can do to hold back a fierce, rib-shattering embrace. 

Not yet, you think. You’re not done yet. “And?” you ask. “Would you kill me now?”

“Gods no,” he hisses. “I… I can’t even bring myself to think it.”

“Good, let that be a reminder to you: you’re not under Cazador’s control.” You release his hand to grab both of his shoulders, pinning him down with an intense look. “You choose for yourself, remember?”

Astarion nods at you wordlessly, and you know now’s the right moment. You pull him toward you by the shoulders, avoiding his armor as best you can to wrap him in a smothering hug. He reciprocates slowly, but firmly, his own arms wrapping around you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder blades.

You hold the position for as long as you can, deeply breathing in the familiar scent of his hair and drowning out the stench of decay, blood, and mildew. It’s clear that neither of you want to let go this time– as though by holding each other you can keep in one piece. 

After some amount of time, you hear whispered in your ear, “Whatever might happen, I just want to say: Thank you.”

Finally drawing away from him, you take a moment to look at him somberly. His words sound so final, it scares you. Placing a single gloved hand on his cheek, you say, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just here to remind you that you have choices.”

“I know.” He turns his nose toward your hand, placing a single kiss on it before continuing, “But does this real Astarion of yours know that?” You think back to your conversation with his siblings, just last night. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

However long ago it was, you need to make sure he understands what you meant. “Spawn, elf, whoever you think you are. You’re Astarion before any of that, and I just need you to know that.”

As he takes in your words, his face hardens, he turns away from your hand in a gentle rebuke. You’ve tried your best, but know his mind won't be swayed by you, not now. “Maybe I don’t know who that is. Maybe that man doesn’t exist, never existed outside these palace walls.” He steps away, and a part of you leaves with him. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

You nod tersely– the only way out is through now– and you follow him deeper into the bowels of Cazador's lair.

[subeteaishite]

🍎🦌 Ascensionsim 🍎🦌

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor/Lucifer

Rating: E, for explicit

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary:

Alastor revels in watching the King scramble for every crumb of attention he gives, and revels even more in the pain and heartbreak in Lucifer’s eyes each time he realizes the Radio Demon will never love him back.

Songfic for “Ascensionism” by Sleep Token

Notable Tags: NSFW, emotional manipulation, all hurt and no comfort, top!Alastor, bottom!Lucifer, heavy sadism and masochism, biting, blood drinking, blood as lube, wing-fingering, anal sex, scratching, mentions of cannibalism, and Alastor being a terrible person

Minors DNI

{Cross-posted on Ao3, show me some love there!}

Who made you like this?

Who encrypted your dark gospel in body language?

Moans permeated in the air, hanging heavy like the drunken haze that had overtaken the two bodies entangled on the luxurious, four-poster bed.

As a general rule, Alastor didn’t let anyone touch him, nor did he touch others if it could be avoided. The sensation of hands against his skin had always been laced with abuse, leaving his body haunted with the ghosts of pain well into his afterlife. Those specters played into his own motivations for touching others, a well-taught lesson in how to inflict that same abuse, but with far greater tact; how many people and demons alike had he killed with a feather-light caress of his lips or the back of his hand, the effortless movements the nectar that lured them into the maw of the pitcher plant? Mortal souls were so predictable. At their weakest, they always wanted the same thing: connection, affection, adoration. All things that Alastor never cared for, but was more than happy to exploit in others for his own personal gain or his own twisted enjoyment. There was nothing sweeter than watching that easily-fostered security wilt away into terror and regret, self-hatred for falling for the light of an anglerfish.

Even immortal souls shared the same vices, leading him to make such a rare exception to his own rule against touch. After all, the King of Hell was so downright vulnerable, it was delicious. Alastor was a simple sinner, with simple desires; desires to wound and rip into the flesh of anyone who dared to consider themselves superior to him, dared to be superior to him. Lucifer Morningstar was superior—he held a level of power, a command of sorcery, that Alastor knew he would never hope to achieve, and he hated the king for it. Resented him, tremendously. It wasn’t as though he kept that information a secret. He addressed Lucifer with outright hostility, seeking to undermine him at every turn, to flip the power dynamic of any interaction they engaged with to get the upper hand, to render him subordinate. Their encounters filled Alastor with a hunger, one that could only be sated by hunting the king as a predator would his prey, to corner him and taste that divine flesh for himself. It wasn’t as though Lucifer was oblivious to this; truthfully, he seemed to admire it, taking every opportunity to goad Alastor further, driving his appetite to spiral. It was almost like he was flirting, and Alastor was certainly the type to see an opportunity when it presented itself and use all manner of tools at his disposal to seize it.

Nobody better than the perfect enemy

Digital demons make the night feel heavenly

Lucifer knew better, yet here they were.

The sight below him was almost too much to bear as Alastor leaned up, cleaning the rose gold blood from his fingers with his tongue. The fallen angel was disheveled, to say the least; his golden hair tousled, his white blouse unbuttoned and bloodstained, his pants bunched up at the center of his thighs, just above his knees, underneath a cacophony of deep, oozing bite marks he’d left there. Alastor grazed his palm across his handiwork, digging a razor-sharp claw into one of the welts left by his fangs. Lucifer cried out in agony, but his face betrayed an opposite sentiment, glowing with ecstasy. He was a masochist, which paired far too well with the sadism all but written into Alastor’s genetic code. “More!” he whined, pleading with the sinner through half-lidded eyes. The deer happily obliged, twisting his wrist and exacerbating the incision, reveling in the way Lucifer’s body jerked, his hands grabbing onto Alastor’s fully-extended antlers for purchase, cheekbones illuminated by the faint, red glow of his eyes.

They only played in their purest demonic forms; it would be a pointless exercise otherwise. Their monstrous visages were the most accurate representations of who they really were, of the madness that lurked beneath the masks they tried so hard to maintain in mixed company. There was no need to keep up a pretense behind closed doors, not when they craved to indulge in the absolute worst of one another. Alastor pulled his finger from the wound, now made twice the size it had been previously, and smeared the blood across Lucifer’s lower lip. He leaned down to lap it up, his prey whimpering and inclining his head forward to make it a full-blown kiss; not that Alastor minded. It gave him the perfect opportunity to worry the man’s lip beneath his pointed teeth, drawing more of his sweet, practically addictive blood.

The Radio Demon’s hands whispered across Lucifer’s cock, the fallen angel twitching and gasping with each tiny caress. He was so sensitive when he was vulnerable like this, his stare betraying an emotion Alastor knew was there, but Lucifer would never speak into full form. It made him want to laugh as he thumbed at the slit, smearing precum across the head; to think, the King of Hell had fallen again, for someone so far below his status. How poetic, how predictable. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen in love with a human soul. Alastor wrapped his hand around the shaft, laying each digit against the fevered skin one by one, so agonizingly slowly that Lucifer’s hips bucked with each moment of new contact. He tightened his grip, flicking his wrist as he languidly moved his hand up and down at the perfect speed to make the king begin to fall apart beneath his palms.

These trysts had become so common for the two of them in the past few months. From the second they laid eyes on one another in the hotel, they believed they saw past each other’s charade. Lucifer, pretending to be a caring father—like he hadn’t spent the seven years since his wife left him wallowing in self-pity, not giving his daughter the slightest ounce of his mental energy, only getting in touch with her to slake off his responsibilities. Alastor, pretending to be a well-intentioned, civil hotelier—when in reality, he was only around to manipulate Charlie and everyone in her vicinity for his own selfish gain, a monster who found his greatest joy in watching others suffer, particularly those tried endlessly to do the right thing, only to fail. Their mutual disgust and disdain for one another had become a game of preying on each other’s weaknesses; Alastor’s gluttonous need to relish in the agony and flesh of others, Lucifer’s need for physical contact and emotional intimacy. They each came to the table thinking they were going to win, but Alastor knew he was the only one equipped for victory.

Tell me you met me in past lives, past life, past what might be eating me from the inside darling…

Half algorithm, half deity; glitches in the code or gaps in a strange dream?

Humans and angels both were made in the same mold, made to be images of a God who knew nothing but love—a love that Lucifer had muddied with his fingerprints and a few sets of bite marks on an apple. If Alastor could fill a human with infatuation, make them go against their better instincts to follow him to their final resting place in a shrouded wood, a fallen angel would be just as simple to manipulate. After all, they were modeled after the same Creator; there couldn’t be too many differences. He knew, the moment he agreed to this arrangement with the king, that after months of these encounters, Lucifer would fall in love with him; and he did, just as Alastor had predicted. Oh, he loved being right. It was truly intoxicating, stringing along someone who was in love with him. Watching them come to the realization, over and over again, that those feelings would never be reciprocated, but unable to prevent themselves from desperately accepting any shred of attention Alastor gave them, was a high unlike no other—a sumptuous feast of agony that, every so often, slaked his need to consume, consume, consume flesh and bone alike.

Alastor dragged the sharp point of his index finger around the base of Lucifer’s cock, down across his perineum, down even further to circle against the tight ring of muscle there. The disgraced seraphim bucked his hips downward, almost far too eager to indulge in carnal sin. The Radio Demon laughed, enthralled by how such a simple action could make the king squirm, make his mind start to go blank with desperation, lust, unadulterated desire. What a thing to experience—Alastor wouldn’t know what that was like, and he knew he never would. He didn’t want to, lest he end up vulnerable and exposed, writhing beneath the hands of someone as poorly-intentioned as himself.

“Please, just put it in—“

“Shut up.” Alastor withdrew his fingers, shoving them in Lucifer’s mouth with enough depth and force to make him choke; Alastor adored the feeling of the king’s throat convulsing around him. He briefly fantasized about those being the final twitches of the angel’s life—but if they were, would he ever have so much fun again? There would be no one else for him to play with that met his criteria, no other prey that would leave him truly satisfied—no one strong enough, no one with a high enough social station, for this weakness to be enthralling instead of pathetic. “You know you won’t get a thing otherwise.” He pumped his fingers in and out of Lucifer’s mouth, pleased with the way submission reflected in Lucifer’s demonic red eyes. He continued with that until he was content with the former seraphim’s demeanor, dragging his fingers across the king’s formerly pristine skin, now marred by the deep lacerations he’d left there with his teeth.

Alastor’s hand continued its slow crawl downward, blood gathering around his fingers, until it found that ring again, circling twice before beginning to press his middle finger in—more abruptly than any sane person would, not caring a bit for Lucifer’s comfort; the fallen angel wouldn’t like it if he did. He was providing far more compassion than in past encounters. Blood wasn’t the most effective lubricant, but it was better than nothing, more than he felt Lucifer even deserved. Lucifer seemed to enjoy the abrupt, thoughtless intrusion anyway, bucking his hips like a wild bull just to make that finger go in deeper, thrust faster; Alastor stilled the king’s movements and tore a scream from his throat all at once by adding two more fingers without warning, giving Lucifer a brief taste of blissful pain.

“Fuck! That—“

Alastor rolled his eyes; he hated the sound of Lucifer’s voice when those pretty lips formed words. He curled his fingers, the pointed tips of his claws grazing against a small bundle of nerves that completely cut off anything the angel was trying to say. He glanced up at Lucifer’s face, pleased to see that the simple motion had made his eyes cloud over with mindless lust, dragging him deep into a submissive headspace. He knew from previous experience that the king wouldn’t be speaking much anymore, at least coherently or in full sentences. He repeated the movement again, letting the pads of his fingers do the work this time, each stroke making Lucifer’s needy whine jump a few notes higher; the sound of Lucifer falling even harder, promising Alastor the continued entertainment of heartbreak and misery.

Alastor removed his hand, smoothing it across the litany of bite marks decorating Lucifer’s skin, smearing ichor around like paint on a canvas. Oh, how he wanted to bite in to that slight musculature, to pull and cut through muscle and sinew, down to the bone. Taking Lucifer apart emotionally was just a means to an end, foreplay for the event he truly wished to indulge in—literally, physically tearing Lucifer apart. It would occur in time, though he wondered how many more of these meetings it would take; how deep in love would the father of lies have to fall before he willingly gave up his flesh? As the question bounced around, repetitively, in Alastor’s mind, he pressed the tip of his member against Lucifer’s entrance, giving him only the slightest warning of what was next before he forced himself inside; only halfway on the first thrust, but even that was enough to make Lucifer’s spine arch so high off the mattress that Alastor was surprised it wasn’t followed with the beautiful percussion of snapping bone. A second thrust, a third, a fourth; Alastor was finally enveloped in the tight, white-hot warmth of his favorite prey.

Alastor stayed still, the head of his cock applying a constant pressure to Lucifer’s sweet spot, reveling in how the king himself twitched and convulsed around his length. His inky, black hands reflexively clenched and unclenched the bedsheets in the futile hope of keeping himself from falling further into subspace, past the point of no return. Lucifer was restraining himself, and Alastor wasn’t going to have that. He needed the king to fall harder for him, to inflame the torturous agony of unrequited love, to encourage him to give Alastor everything—his body, his flesh and bone; he withdrew from Lucifer’s shaking form only to immediately slam himself back in at full force, with enough momentum to fucking bruise the angel’s prostate. Lucifer screamed, leaving Alastor giddy as he watched the final flickers of rebellion fade away from his ruby eyes, replaced by a dazed, hazy look of unadulterated submission.

Tears welled in the corners of Lucifer’s eyes as Alastor established a rhythm that was brutal, punishing even. With each snap of the Radio Demon’s hips, the king’s moans grew lower and lighter, more infrequent, the angel so overstimulated he was rendered practically mute, at least momentarily. Good. The further Lucifer’s mind fell into that liminal space, the further he would fall into those insipid feelings of love; the further he fell, the sooner Alastor would get to use his teeth to rend and tear, to make Lucifer suffer physically just as he suffered emotionally. He closed his hands around the king’s throat, craning his neck down to lick away the tears that had begun to track down his cheeks, salt and pleasure and sadness intermingled into one. “What a good boy you are for me, cher,” Alastor growled, his brows knit together as a result of his own pleasure, eyes half-lidded and watching Lucifer with equal parts hunger and nefarious intent. “So talented at debauchery, so willing to embrace sin—it was your finest creation.”

Lucifer’s eyes snapped open, leveling a stern glare at the demon hovering over him; the comment had clearly pissed him off, and he was able to maintain that fiery annoyance despite the way Alastor was able to make him see stars with every collision of his cock into his prostate. “It—ahhh, fuck—it wasn’t sin,” he argued. “Th-that’s what—oh, god, please—that’s what y-you shitty humans—ahhhh!—chose t-t-to do—“

“What’s the matter, can’t use your words?” Alastor goaded, like he was paying no attention at all to what Lucifer said. “That’s alright, you’re much cuter when you can’t speak.” The fallen angel looked slightly wounded at the comment, once again acknowledging how Alastor didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t care in the slightest what he had to say. It must hurt—being in love with someone and knowing they prefered you when you were silent. Alastor pressed down harder on Lucifer’s throat, acutely aware of how the king’s pulse thrummed invitingly beneath his palm; he wanted to rip apart the thin flesh above his jugular and bathe in that sickeningly sweet ichor. He pulled out of Lucifer, the tip of his cock resting slightly against that ring of muscle, and commanded: “Flip over.”

The king was wholly obedient, immediately gathering his wits about him enough to do as Alastor ordered, rolling onto his stomach and bracing himself on his hands and knees—even though it was difficult, even though he was trembling so hard, he wondered if he’d be able to support his own body weight when Alastor chose to re-enter him. Lucifer gave Alastor a sultry look over his shoulder, but the sinner didn’t even notice; he was more transfixed by the six diagonal, narrow slits that ran down Lucifer’s spine at the center of his back, three on each side. Oh, how he wanted to dip his fingers into those crevices and pull, but he wouldn’t. Lucifer would have to beg for it, eventually; Alastor was damned and determined to drive him to that point. He ran a single, long finger between those openings, summoning a thin rivulet of blood. As he leaned down to lick up its length, he roughly slammed back into Lucifer and the angel howled.

The new position allowed him to fuck rougher, deeper, and Alastor could hear that Lucifer’s moans had turned into tearful sobs of ecstasy. Reaching forward, he grabbed a fistful of Lucifer’s hair, twisting harshly to keep his head at an awkward, uncomfortable angle, looking over his shoulder so Alastor could admire the mindless expression on his face. Alastor’s mouth watered, black drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he watched the angel cry in rapture, wondering in the back of his mind if this was the same expression he would make as Alastor tore him limb from limb, savoring the taste and texture of his divine flesh. The thoughts alone sent the deer into a frenzy, his hips pistoning at twice the pace; Lucifer’s brain seemed to short-circuit and switch off behind his glowing red eyes, and he whimpered and moaned as he could think of nothing but the pleasure being given to him. Alastor could read the emotion behind his pupils, as he’d seen it multiple times before; love. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with driving himself to completion, or fantasizing about how orgasmic it would feel to finally consume the king below him, he would have cackled in sadistic glee.

The hand in Lucifer’s hair violently shoved his face into the mattress, while the claws of his free hand fingered the slits where Lucifer’s wings emerged. The former seraphim’s entire body spasmed around Alastor’s fingers, around his cock, tensing so tightly that Alastor feared he might lose himself posthaste. But he reigned himself in, if only to dive his fingers in and out of those small openings to make Lucifer cry out in an addictive mixture of pleasure and pain. “St-sto—“ Alastor dug one claw in deeper, and Lucifer’s word was cut off with a wail. He repeated the movement again and again, deducing by the way each of Lucifer’s whimpers grew higher in pitch that he was close—and Alastor didn’t even have to touch his cock to get him there this time.

“That’s it, cher,” Alastor purred, maintaining the tempo he’d set with his hips and his hands. “Lose yourself for me, Lucifer. Fall for me.”

Alastor’s urging was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Lucifer gripped the bedsheets so hard he tore them, just like his orgasm tore through him. The Radio Demon laughed this time, unable to suppress the humor he felt at seeing the King of Hell so vulnerable, so debauched, in absolute shambles beneath him. Lucifer had tightened impossibly further around him when he came, and it only took a few more fast, hard thrusts before Alastor reached his peak as well. Unlike Lucifer, though, he didn’t emit a single sound, retaining his composure even through the high of his orgasm; he didn’t want to be as affected as the man below him, he did want to show how truly in control he was, after all. The two stayed there, twined together, for a brief moment, until Alastor pulled out, watching with the slightest hint of pride as his seed dripped out of the fallen angel. It was as though he was claiming his territory, an indication that this man would be his next meal—if he ever finished toying with him.

The Radio Demon was quick to extricate himself from Lucifer. He snapped his fingers and his shadow came forth with a towel, allowing him to clean himself off well enough to start redressing in seconds. Alastor offered no such courtesy to his bedmate, who laid half-catatonic on his sheets for a few seconds before trying to right himself into a sitting position. The deer had already started pulling his jacket back on and re-straightening his tie when Lucifer asked, “Um…Alastor? Would you, ah, like to stay the night?”

Alastor laughed, the sound full of mockery and derision. “And be caught leaving the King’s palace in the morning? Mm, no, I think not.” He picked up his microphone with a flourish of his wrist, stealing a glance at himself in Lucifer’s dresser mirror. Despite everything that had just happened, he still looked impeccable, as though he hadn’t just spent the last two hours of his afterlife railing Lucifer into his mattress, fighting back his own primal urges to turn his fuckbuddy into dinner. All good things came to those who waited, after all.

Lucifer’s face fell, disappointed. “Oh, I…I see. Yeah, you’re probably right…” his voice was forlorn, clearly upset by Alastor’s unwillingness to stay. No one ever stayed, and that was an insecurity Alastor would be a fool not to play with; it made the times he did come around even more effective, breadcrumb by breadcrumb. “It would get people talking…”

“Splendid!” Alastor chirped. “You’re a smart man, I knew you’d see it my way!” His smile widened imperceptibly with joy and entertainment as he watched how Lucifer’s heart seemed to crack behind his piercing, red eyes. The fallen angel gave him a sad, desperate look as Alastor faded into the shadows, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until Lucifer gave him what he wanted—the last bargaining chip he had to make the Radio Demon stay.

So I’ll take what I want and leave.

[lahooozaherr]

Chick at a Rock Concert

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x Fem!Agent!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 5.8k

MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNT WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: You’re a Kingsman agent and tag along for a mission at a music festival, looking for a distraction after the lingering loss of your fellow agents. Jack takes immediate notice of you, sparking a mutual attraction between the two of you. When he’s rejected by the “chick at a rock concert”, you take the opportunity to spend the day with him. That day leads into a night of even more fun.

Warnings: fem!reader, soft dom!Whiskey, age gap sorta (Age not specified for reader, Jack’s ego is just bruised), daddy kink if you squint (Jack refers to himself as it a few times, no hard feelings if you wanna just replace the word in your head because this isn’t a ddlg dynamic), praise kink, smut, oral (f receiving) p in v, soft turning into rough sex, cockwarming, dirty talk, pet names, no physical description of reader and “festival outfit” is left vague, smol amount of angst

A/N: I’m ngl this is pretty self indulgent. It’s been a brain rot simmering in my head for a few weeks. I just have a feeling Jack would go nuts over someone who tries to match his energy while wearing one of those sexy music festival outfits lol. Jack is one of my faves and I hope I’m able to do him justice. I’ve debated making this a one shot series or something to weave into the story of the movie but we’ll see lol. I did my best to keep the reader’s “backstory” vague. This is also my first smut, so kind-of practice for when I get to that point in my current Mando WIP. Also not beta read :D

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Read it on AO3

The mission was pretty simple, and you probably weren’t needed for it. But the previous days for you and your very few remaining Kingsman peers had been a disaster, to say the least. You volunteered to come along, knowing it was at a popular music festival. It was still work but it was also the small “break” you needed to have a moment away from the grief and sadness over losing so much. You just needed something, anything, to help forget for the time being.

You picked out a cheeky festival outfit, not uncommon for these kinds of events. Might as well try to blend in, you told yourself. Weaving through the crowd, you set to find Eggsy through the sea of eccentric festival goers.

—

Eggsy had too much on his mind and was reeling from the current realization of how this mission was about to go down. Agent Whiskey demonstrated with his fingers and a subtle explanation of how to plant the tracking device on the target.

“Where is that other agent of y’all’s?” Whiskey asks, an undertone of annoyance in his voice as he takes a swig of his flask.

Eggsy stops walking, “she should be meeting with us any minute now. She told me she’s here already.”

Whiskey and Eggsy, while looking for you, had also spotted the mission's target. A woman lounging at one of the many outdoor bars of the event. Eggsy’s heartbeat quickens, he’s dreading every minute of this. But this mission is too important and he knows that.

Jack scoffs, “takin’ her sweet time, our girl is right over there.”

“Ah! There she is!” Eggsy shuts Whiskey down. Before he can continue to complain, he looks up towards you. His jaw hangs a little after Eggsy points you out as you stride towards them.

This was your first time physically meeting Whiskey, despite technically being in the same room as the “meeting” with Statesman’s leader, Champ. But you didn’t have glasses at the time that would allow you to see a projection of him in his seat. You couldn’t help but stare back at him as you got closer to the two.

Ginger warned you about him when she helped you set up for this mission. Telling you he’s a huge flirt and will likely make a pass at you. You didn’t exactly mind though, you weren’t afraid of a flirtatious encounter. You requested to read his file and after doing so, you really felt for him. You wanted to see the good in others, to understand them. And based on his past you could tell he’s been through a lot, and it’s probably complicated. You could at least empathize with him.

Aside from that, what’s wrong with wanting to have some fun? Maybe you both could help each other forget, just a little bit.

He drank in the sight of you in the outfit you’d chosen, and suddenly you were not regretting it because you could tell. You found yourself doing the same to him. He’s attractive, broad shouldered and golden skinned. He wore a Stetson, white T-shirt, leather jacket and jeans that did a beautiful job of capturing the shape of his slender hips and legs. A sharp nose and jawline, clean shave save for pouty lips with a perfectly groomed mustache atop them.

Approaching them, you sigh, “so sorry to make you guys wait, this place is packed!”

Whiskey seemed to be momentarily frozen until Eggsy breaks the silence with a clearing of his throat. He introduces you to him by your code name and actual name.

“And uhm, this is Agent Whiskey-“

“Jack. Jack Daniels.” Cutting Eggsy off while taking a large step towards you, not hiding the way his eyes take a quick look at you, up and down. He holds his hand out for you and you take it with a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” Hearing you choose to use his actual name sends a thrill through him. A grin creeps across his lips, “darlin’, the pleasure is all mine.” He lifts your hand to his lips to leave a small, chaste kiss. You can’t help but giggle, both at the act and Eggsy giving a very exaggerated eye roll from behind him.

Jack’s eyes are a dark, chocolate brown and you don’t break the eye contact he maintains with you. They almost sparkle.

“Anyways, our target is right over there.” Eggsy interjects. Jack jerks upright and clears his throat, letting go of your hand.

Jack takes a swig of his flask, “watch and learn, buddy.” He puffs his chest and struts towards the bar.

————————————————————————-

Watching Jack get rejected like that was…rough, to say the least. You couldn’t help but quietly snicker, watching Eggsy so swiftly capture the attention of the woman away from Jack’s failed attempt at hitting on her.

He frowns deeply and glares, walking away. You decide it’s safe to let Eggsy take the reins and catch up to Jack.

“I’m not going to lie, that was a little hard to watch,” you say to him. He stops walking and looks at you, unamused. You shrug it off and continue, “that’s ok though. Why don’t we enjoy the festival?”

Jack lets out a deep sigh and turns his head, “darlin’, you don’t want to hang out with an ‘old man’ like me.” The way he says the words “old man” is a mocking echo of what Eggsy had called him in front of that woman. Dang, he took that pretty personally. You imagine you probably would too, if you were in his shoes.

You decided to take this opportunity to rekindle the flame on that brief “chemistry” you had with him earlier. You boldly insert one of your arms into his elbow.

With a lilt in your voice, batting your lashes at him you say, “I prefer men who are experienced, anyways.”

That seemed to do the trick of snapping him out of this small depressive slump. That sparkle returned to his eyes and his smile widened, revealing his perfect white teeth.

“Oh sugar, I can be that and more.” He wraps his free hand around yours in the crook of his elbow and you both continue on into the crowd.

—————————————————————————

At some point, after wandering for a bit, you both found a space in the grass field, a far distance out from one of the stages. Both of you are lounging and basking in the sun. Hours had passed before you had realized it, the two of you were too distracted by each other and your conversation to even notice.

Jack’s personality was provocative, fiery and passionate. His cheesy pick up lines worked on you, in a way. He took joy in sharing interesting stories he kept up his sleeve that hooked your attention. He described various close calls he’d had in the field, especially from when he was younger. You listened intently and never broke away from him.

He laid out on his back, arms braced behind himself in the grass. Next to him, you’d opted to rest on your front, propped up on your elbows and your legs kicked up behind you. The angle giving him a front row seat to your cleavage.

Here and there you’d notice the way he’d look you up and down, but you preened under his gaze. There was an obvious attraction between the two of you and neither of you tried to hide it.

When you were deep in telling your own story, one that caused you to shift into sitting on your bottom, he took one of your hands in both of his large hands. He rubbed his thumbs across your knuckles and carefully inspected your palm and fingers, absentmindedly, as you spoke.

You let out a deep sigh, “spending time with you today has been a breath of fresh air, thank you.” That might have come out more sentimental than you intended but life has been a wild ride lately. “I don’t know whether I’m going up or down anymore….”

Jack’s facial expression softens and he squeezes your hand in one of his, “anytime, darlin’. In some ways, I’ve been in your shoes before. It never gets easier.” His tone was even and more serious. You knew he understood. It comes with the type of job you’ve both found yourselves in.

“However,” you start, “I’m thankful we found the Statesmen. I don’t know what we’d be doing if it weren’t for you all. I don’t know if finding who did this will fill the hole in my heart but something has to be done.”

Jack sits up and leans towards you, “a hole in your heart, huh?”

Your face heats up, “I-I mean, that’s the best way I can describe it I guess.”

“No no, I understand. I’ve just never heard it put that way….” He pauses, his eyes briefly drift off and then come back to yours. His other hand reaching to push a strand of your hair behind your ear, a shiver runs up your spine. You’ve lost yourself in his eyes and never want to come back up for air.

“Don’t you worry, sugar. We will make things right.”

—————————————————————————

This mission ended up being pretty easy, at least for the two of you it did. You felt bad for Eggsy. Jack later explained how and WHERE the tracker had to be placed, and you could imagine the inner turmoil that that had caused. Or even worse, the possible relationship problems it could cause for him.

When Jack described to you what he had told Eggsy to do with the tracker, your face heats up. Jack on the other hand, winked and flashed a white toothed grin. He had assumed he would be the one doing the deed but it looked like the universe had other plans, and you certainly didn’t mind.

The bright, sunny day had started to fade into night. The sky progressed from a beautiful orange sunset into a deep purple. Some stars could be seen above the continuing hustle and bustle of the festival. You hadn’t heard from Eggsy since leaving him and you started to grow concerned. Standing off to the side of one of the festival's exits, you called him. Jack stood near you, hands on his hips as he waited.

Your call to Eggsy goes to voicemail and just as you’re about to hang up and try again, you get a text notification from him.

It’s done, I’ve let Ginger know. I’ll meet back up with both of you tomorrow.

You read this aloud so Jack could hear, he rolls his eyes and shrugs. You snicker, “are you really still bitter about him stealing your thunder?”

“Hey now….” He gently grabs your elbows and brings you close to him. Wrapping one hand around your waist and the other pinching your chin and stroking from your cheeks to your jawline. His eyes meet yours and they’re dark, reflecting his growing hunger. Whatever sass you were about to quip out immediately evaporates, leaving you a melting mess in his arms. Your own breath slowed and you returned his gaze under fluttering lashes.

His voice dips an octave and he stares deeply into your eyes, “Ol’ Jack never lost his thunder.” A shiver runs up your spine once again and you smile bashfully. Your eyes drifted to the side in an attempt to hide the flustered heat on your face. He hums, using his thumb and forefinger to delicately redirect your eyes back to his.

“Don’t hide from me.”

After a day full of flirting and building sexual tension, you make a snap decision. Bringing your arms up and draping them around his neck, chest against his. You hold his gaze a few seconds more while he adjusts his hands to sit on either side of your waist.

“Well then, Cowboy,” you say, echoing back the same low, husky tone. “Would you say ‘mission accomplished’?”

Jack hums in amusement, happy to see you rise to his challenge.

“Not yet, sugar. Still haven’t hooked up with a chick at a rock concert.”

It feels like a burst of butterflies in your stomach. Heat pooling in your stomach and thankful his hands are on you because otherwise you feel like you’d float away.

You flash him a sultry grin, “I think I can make that happen.” His face brightens as you shift your hands down from his shoulders to his firm pecs. His large hands explore up and down your back, his body is warm and inviting. You could smell the musk of his chosen cologne for today. Touching him like this after a day full of passive brushes and small gestures felt like finally drinking water in a parched desert.

“But on one condition,” you add, lowering your voice.

Jack quirks an eyebrow at you, “tell me, beautiful.”

Your eyes flick up to his hat and back down to him, his eyes following you. You maneuver yourself closer to his head, bringing your lips close to his ear.

“I want to wear your hat while I ride you,” you whisper.

The next thing you hear is a deep growl erupting from his chest. In one swift move he has one hand on the back of your neck and pulls you into a deep kiss. You mutually feel like a dam has finally broken.

The kiss is long as you both exhale and hum into each other’s mouths. He licks into your mouth and in return you gently bite his bottom lip, almost sending him into a frenzy.

Jack, almost painfully unlatches himself from you. His eyes meet yours, dilated and blown out on lust. A dark chuckle escapes his mouth and he pins you close to him with both hands behind your neck, using his thumbs to balance your jaw. The act itself sends arousal coursing furiously through your veins. You’re going to be a puddle before you can even leave the festival.

Jack grabs your hand and leads you alongside him, back to his Bronco. You both run and giggle like teenagers in love trying to sneak around. When you approach his car, he opens his passenger side door and lets you in. He dashes to the driver's side and buckles in.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he uses the other to wrap around you and bring you close to him, buckling you into the middle seat. Then, with smooth precision, he reverses out of his space and makes his way out of the parking lot and towards his hotel.

—————————————————————————

Jack’s Bronco screeches to a halt in the driveway of the hotel. Within seconds he exits and is at the passenger side letting you out.

He wraps his arm around you and brings you close into his side as he walks towards the entrance. His hand gives the meat of your thigh a small grip and you yelp. Jack throws his keys to the valet boy and struts inside.

Once at the elevator, Jack scans a key that sends it to the private suite up top. Of course he would have a private, fancy suite you think to yourself. You both enter the elevator, his hand on the small of your back guiding you in.

Once the doors closed, you’re on each other. A flurry of gnashing teeth and grabbing hands. He pushes you against the corner of the elevator with both hands on your waist. You wrap both arms around his neck, one hand stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, using his body to balance you.

His hand trails upward to grip the back of your neck, threading through the hair that grows there. He breaks away from your lips, using his grip to carefully tilt your head back, exposing your neck. Trailing heated kisses up and down, murmuring in between each.

Jack’s going to treat you right, don’t you worry babydoll.

I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.

You had been thinking about this all day too, unashamedly.

You moan when feeling his pelvis grind up against you. He’s already very hard and the sounds he pulls from you only serve to excite him further. Just as he’s about to slip a hand underneath the hem of your shirt, the elevator dings and opens up into the suite.

The hotel suite is massive. A living room with a kitchen to the side. Further in is a doorway to the suite’s master bedroom. The trip there becomes a mix of kissing, groping, and removing articles of just your clothing one by one until you’re brought to the edge of the bed wearing only your bra and panties. Looking around the room you see it break off into an open, large bathroom with a claw foot tub and glass door shower.

The back of your knees hits the edge of the mattress, with Jack gently pushing into you as you sit. Your hands come up to undo his belt buckle, but his hands grab yours to stop you.

“Not yet, gorgeous,” he says with a husky tone. “Daddy’s going to have his way with you first.”

You’ve decided you will never get tired of the nicknames. They cause your heart to hammer in your chest and you love every second of it.

Your arms drop back to your sides on the bed. Jack licks his lower lip and leans over to reach behind you to unlatch your bra. Once it’s free, he slowly slips it off your shoulders and discards it to the side.

He proceeds to gently guide you to lay on the bed. His hands grab under your knees to bring your legs up, feet resting on the bed. Finally, he loops both forefingers into the sides of your panties and pulls them off, joining your bra on the floor. Following that is his leather jacket.

Standing up straight and resting one hand on each of your knees, he pauses. His eyes rake you over and he hums.

“Lemme get a good look ‘atcha.”

The sight of you beneath him, naked and vulnerable, is downright breathtaking to him. Your breathing is heavy, your eyes hooded and lips parted and swollen. He’s proud to have been able to rile you up like this. He grabs his Stetson off his head and sets it on the other corner of the mattress.

Watching him look you over sends a buzz through your body and centers on your core. However, you need his touch, right now.

“Jack, please….”

“Please, what?” Thumbs tracing the inner sides of your knees. “Tell me, gorgeous.”

“T-touch me…” You manage to stutter out. “Please touch me, right now.”

Immediately, Jack drops to his knees on the floor and grips your thighs to scoot your bottom to the edge of the bed. He leaves small kisses on your inner thighs making his way to your heat. He goes right into it, flattening his tongue and running it up your folds. One hand reaches up to massage your breast, rolling his thumb over your nipple. You bite your lip in response.

It feels like a shock to your system, sending slick to gather between your thighs. Back arching, soft pants as you send a hand down to card through his soft hair. You suddenly feel one of his fingers circle your opening and insert. You almost cry out but stop yourself by biting the knuckles of your other hand.

“Jack….Jack, oh my god….”

“Mmmm gorgeous, you taste better than I had even imagined.”

His finger slides in and out, rubbing your clenching walls. Not too long after, he inserts another finger, earning another loud moan from you. The fire at the base of your spine rapidly grows brighter and brighter, causing you to involuntarily begin to buck against his face. His tongue and lips expertly sucking, licking and laving on and around your sensitive bud. His free hand sliding up to cup your knee and keep your legs apart.

You cry out and whimper the closer you get to your limit, beginning to see stars. You were not prepared for how good he is at this. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs and squeeze, holding you steady while he rubs his face deeper.

“You going to cum for me, sugar? Come on baby, I got’cha,” Jack cooes.

That’s enough to send you over the edge, feeling you clench down on his fingers as you climax. Murmurs of That’s it, show Daddy what you got through your loud moans. Your vision fades to black, you reward his ministrations with cries of Yes, yes…oh my god Jack, yes!

After working you through your first orgasm, he stands up and rests his hands on either of your knees. He watches your panting, heaving chest. His hands shoot forward, tenderly grabbing both of your breasts in his hands. You make a small, strangled noise in response and then hum.

“That was…..amazing,” you say between small gasps, still regaining your breath.

Jack smiles wide and crooked, “that’s just the start, gorgeous.”

Jack finally starts to really let go of his restraint with you, moving to make quick work of removing his clothes. When you attempt to sit up, his hand immediately pushes you back down and wags his finger with a tut from his mouth. “So needy. But I’m going to take my time.”

His words cause something between a moan and giggle to come from you, biting your lip while you watch him undo his ridiculous belt buckle. He sees you eyeing it and quirks an eyebrow, “Should I use this on you? Wrap it around your pretty wrists?”

A light forms in your eyes and you shake your head yes, excitement building in your stomach and between your thighs. “I’d love that, Jack.”

“I’m sure you would, darlin’,” he says silkily.

The last thing to be stripped off is his underwear, cock springing forward red and heavy.

Jack positions himself between your thighs, arms caging your head and your upper bodies melding together. His lips meet yours in a fevered kiss while you stretch your arms out above your head to give easier access to you.

His tongue runs along your bottom lip and you grant him access, his tongue quickly overpowering yours and licking into your mouth. It’s almost difficult keeping up with his passionate kissing.

Your eyes open to meet him when he stops and his gaze is still dark and hungry. Those warm brown eyes only added to melt you into the trembling mess you're becoming at his expert fingertips.

Jack starts to trail down your body, nipping and kissing your jawline, moving down to gently scrape his teeth across your collarbone. Taking one breast in one hand while the other supports him above you. He takes your nipple in his mouth and you arch into him, sending electricity through your nerves. Arousal starts to build back up in between your thighs.

“You’re so perfect,” Jack says breathily. “I can wait much longer. Are you ready for me, gorgeous?”

Your eyes cast down to meet him as he continues to lap at your breasts, “Yes Jack, please. I need you.”

“Welll….” He drawls. “Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t give my girl what she needs?”

Taking his length in his hand, he lines himself up with your opening, sliding it through your slick folds and coating himself. Then slowly, but surely, he begins to insert. The stretch around him feels amazing and takes your breath right out of your lungs.

Jack almost loses himself doing this, and he’s not even all the way in. Jack has quite a length himself, he knows this. Hence the need to prepare you like he did. He lets out a low groan from his chest as he buries himself in your wet cunt.

His face is right above yours, lips brushing as you breath in each other's air while he adjusts himself. You widen your legs to give him more space to sink himself in, he rolls his hips to enter gradually. After a few rocks of his hips, he’s into the hilt.

You can’t help but cry out and the sound is music to his ears. His hips start a steady, rolling pace with each thrust increasing the volume of your wanton moans. You can feel every inch of him dragging against your walls.

He feels almost impossibly deep as he picks up his pace. You arch your back from his bed, your chest becoming flush with his. The feeling of your soft breasts against his chest elicits a deep moan from the back of his throat.

One of his hands cups your cheek as he lowers his face to your ear on the opposite side. Just when you thought you couldn’t possibly take in any more different sensations, his hot breath fans over your skin while singing you praises.

Atta girl, that’s it, I’ve got you.

Oh you take me so well…so well.

Can you give me another? Come on gorgeous, I know you can.

The coil in your stomach tightens and tightens but you can’t seem to find the end of it. You open your mouth to say something but you’re not sure what. You just need more and more of him.

“Oh….I….” You can barely stutter out, your vision turning white. He nudges your temple with his nose then lays a sensual kiss.

“Do you need more? Tell Jack what you need.”

“Yes���yes please, I-I need more!” You finally manage to breathe out.

Jack’s eyes meet yours with a glint of mischief and a crooked grin to match. With one hand bracing above your head and the other snaking down to grip your lower back and waist.

“Hold on tight sugar and get ready to giddy-up!”

In a split second he stops thrusting, using his muscular body to swiftly roll over his side to his back while bringing you with him placing you on top. When adjusted, you allow yourself to sink down onto him, creating a whole new myriad of stimulation.

Jack marvels at the sight of you atop of him, puffing his chest in pride. Both of you breathily laugh as you adjust. A sheen of sweat has gathered across the soft skin of your body and shines in the lowlight of the bedroom.

At first you stay put, feeling the new depth of his cock inside of you. Conveniently, you remember what you told him earlier. You turn to find his hat still perched on the corner of the bed, stretching your arm out to grab it. He watches you carefully as you gently grab the top of his precious Stetson.

Turning back to look at him, flashing him a seductive look, you place his hat on top of your head. You lick your bottom lip and bite it, placing your hands on his chest to keep your balance. “Let’s go for a ride, cowboy.”

Jack grins back at you dangerously, “oh babydoll you’re going to be the death of me!”

He shifts and plants his legs into the bed, straightening his knees to give him leverage. He ruts his hips up into yours and sets a punishing pace, resulting in a loud, erotic moan erupting from your chest. Taking that as encouragement, he digs his fingers into your hips to keep you steady while the head of his cock strokes that spot deep inside of you.

The coil in your stomach starts to tighten again and you clench around him. You can feel your next orgasm start to barrel towards you. The sound of skin slapping and your mutual gasps and moans intertwining fills your ears. You haven’t broken eye contact with him and it only adds to the fire deep in his own abdomen.

Your legs start to shake as you cum hard around him, riding out the blissful shockwaves. His cock continuing to fuck up into you and giving the perfect amount of overstimulation for you to ride it out.

“Fuck! F-fuck, oh Jack-“

“Theeeere we go, that’s it, come on Sugar, you can take it!”

Jack takes one large hand and reaches out to rub his thumb against your clit, sending you over the cliff.

At the tail end of your explosive orgasm, you collapse onto his chest. He removes his hat to the side and wraps his arms around your torso, bringing his lips down to your ear to whisper again.

You did so good gorgeous.

Christ almighty girl, can you hear that? You’ve soaked me to the bone.

You begin to whimper and shake. Not sure what to do with your arms, you stretch them out behind you. Jack takes the opportunity to grab both wrists into one hand while the other is still wrapped around your back. Giving him just enough leverage to keep up with the pounding of his hips.

Jack’s own orgasm is very close, your overstimulated pussy fluttering around his length. His eyes roll to the back of his head, “I’m almost there sugar, w-where do you want me?”

You can barely speak while you dissolve into pleasure as you rest on his broad chest. You manage to spit out “inside…on pill….please, inside….”while burying yourself in the crook of his neck.

Jack’s position inside of you practically has his lower back hover above the bed with his legs keeping him up. He suddenly tenses up, hips stutter, and he finally crashes into his own orgasm. His thrusts begin to slow but ride out the pulsing of his cock as it shoots ropes into your tight, wet cunt.

With a loud, satisfied sigh, he relaxes onto the bed. Stretching his legs to rest on the plush mattress. You feel the deep rise and fall of his chest underneath your own. Lifting your head to see his eyes wrenching open to meet yours. He smiles, and you smile back, scooting up to kiss him. He welcomes your lips with a hum and molds his mouth around yours.

The two of you stay like this for a few moments, sated and content. You just know you’re going to be feeling him the next day and you’re sure he’ll love to know that.

Eventually his cock slips out of you as he rolls both of you to your sides, facing each other as closely as you can. He rubs his nose against yours and you giggle.

“Jack…that was phenomenal.”

“I know sugar, I was there,” he drawls, southern accent even more present.

You chuckle and playfully slap his shoulder, his hand reaches around to grab your ass cheek to bring you closer to him.

Jack brings his other arm up to wrap around you between the bed and your arm. He holds you close to him, planting a soft kiss atop your head.

“Thank you sugar,” he murmurs.

You rub your head into the crook of his neck, “thank you? For what?”

“For giving this ‘old man’ a chance.”

Your hand comes up to splay across his pectoral above his heart and you feel his quickened heartbeat underneath your palm. Your own heart is also rapidly beating in tandem. You then bring your hand up to caress his cheek, he closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“That girl has no idea what she missed out on,” you say, tenderly. “But I’m glad it ended up this way.”

Jack looks deep into your eyes and feels like his heart might burst. He didn’t mean to take the rejection so hard, but what he ended up with was far times better.

Be brings up the comforter on the bed to cover you as he slips out of it. You pout at him in protest, sitting up until he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, teasingly shushing you.

“Ssshh, sweet girl, just hold on tight for a minute.”

With a light kiss to your forehead as you lay back down, nestling yourself into the soft bed, he treks to the bathroom. You hear him rustling for a few minutes, the sink turning on and off and then the sound of the tub filling. He comes back with a cloth, you catch onto his intent and move the blanket to give him access. Softly, he cleans you up and then discards the cloth.

He offers you a hand and you accept it, letting him help lift you up from the bed to stand on shaky legs. You use both arms to grab him and he smirks, pleased with himself once again. Your legs feel like jello but you’re not complaining one bit.

He brings you to the tub, getting inside first and offering his hands to bring you in with him. You give a low hiss, feeling the hot water touch your skin as you sink into the water. You seat yourself between his legs and rest your back to his chest.

Both of you sigh in contentment, you rest your head back into his shoulder. His hand reaches to rest on your neck and rub his thumb along the hollow of it. He slowly places reverent kisses along your temple into your hairline.

Never, did you think this is how today would end up and you couldn’t be more thankful. Jack simultaneously excites and comforts you. Jack finds himself infatuated, you’ve possibly become the much needed balm for his aches.

“Oh shoot, we didn’t use your belt,” you laugh.

Jack smiles into your hair, “I was thinking we could use that next time…”

Your face falls, you turn your head slightly to face him. His eyes are affectionate and the corners of his lips turned up. You flutter your lashes and mirror back his expression, heart thumping harder in your chest. You didn’t mean to assume this was a one time thing but you’re thrilled to know he wants more of you. Will this lead somewhere interesting?

“I’d love that,” you whisper as he brings his lips down to yours, holding you in a long kiss. His thumb comes up to stroke your cheek and you deepen it. You turn your body towards his, sitting up and moving to straddle his hips. You break off the kiss to rest your hands on his shoulder as he rubs your back, pressing you tight against him.

Jack thought he might be scared to ever find love again. He’s not saying this is love, not yet exactly. But after years of one-night stands, not taking himself seriously and rejected flirting attempts, he’s tired. Ready for something fresh and new. He wonders how in the world your two worlds seemed to line up the way they did. Today might have started with a nearly instant sexual attraction, but it ended off with a full heart and ease he hasn’t experienced in a very, very long time.

Not since her.

And knowing you reciprocate that, enthusiastically, motivates him.

[grandmother-goblin]

His Most Willing Prey

Masterlist

Summary: Cas and Astarion have come to an agreement. She will wander off into the woods, all alone and far from camp. Then Astarion will hunt his most willing prey.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.9k

Tags: Smut, primal play, predator/prey, light dom/sub, consensual non-consent, fingering, penetrative sex, hair pulling, rough sex, implied breeding kink, he calls her a "good girl".

The grass and moss under Astarion’s boots didn’t make a sound as he crept through the sparse, ancient forest that bordered the river. Pale moonlight trickled through the branches and leaves above, casting the world in silvery-blue light. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted over the chorus of crickets. The summer heat had lingered into the night, comfortable and warm. Perfect for a night spent under the stars.

It reminded him of one of his first conversations with Cas. The one where he told her she was a valuable ally and he wanted them to stick together. At the time, they were just some pretty words he said in the interest of self-preservation. He never anticipated his flattery would become reality.

Oh, how things had changed.

Though his little game with Cas had begun the moment she left camp, he decided to give her a bit of a head start. Just to keep things interesting. With his vampiric senses, he would have no trouble at all finding her in the forest. When he really focused, he could detect the faint scent of her blood. And when he was close enough, he could even hear the sound of her heart beating in her chest.

Even though it was just a game, he wanted to give her the real experience. Or something close to it. Plus, he wanted the satisfaction of hunting her down. Of overpowering her and making her his. Though it was all just pretend, the feelings were real. At that moment, he felt powerful. Like the apex predator that a vampire was meant to be.

Cas had freely given him that power, for no other reason than she liked him. Not because he had seduced her, or frightened her, or coerced her in any way. Cas genuinely liked him. It was a little difficult to wrap his head around, if he were being completely honest with himself. It wasn’t often that he had the chance to actually get to know someone beyond superficial pleasantries. He hadn’t had the opportunity to make a real friend in… well, since he was turned into a vampire really.

More importantly, Cas had placed her trust in him. Asking him to hunt her, even for a game, was literally placing her life in his hands. Not to mention her pleasure, but he was certain he had that part handled. Controlling himself when he bit her was another matter. He was reasonably certain he could hold back. Probably.

No. He had to hold back.

Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.

He caught the scent of her on the breeze and followed it. It took him to the edge of the forest, where the trees thinned out as they met the riverbanks. Croaking frogs and the gentle rush of lazy rapids mixed with the sounds of the forest. The noise was a good thing. It meant she was less likely to hear him.

Cas had said she would pack up some things before she wandered off into the forest, and it looked like she made good on her promise. She had opened a bedroll and laid it out flat, making it big enough to keep both of them off of the bare ground. A folded blanket, one he had seen in her tent before, was draped over her bag. Astarion had no idea what she had packed in the bag, but he could only hope it was something fun.

But knowing Cas, the only things she brought would be boring and practical. Was it strange that he was starting to appreciate that about her? She was always prepared, but not to the point where it was excessive. It wasn’t a trait he typically thought of as attractive, but he definitely liked it when it came to her.

Since the day he met her, Cas had always been the one keeping everything together. In fact, he couldn’t think of many times Cas wasn’t working. Except for when she was with him. It had been constant planning, prepping, following leads, traveling, and fighting. And she bore the brunt of it. She was the de facto leader of their little group, yet most of their companions fought her on each decision she made.

Sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, her mask broke a little. Frustration and exhaustion would quietly seep through the cracks. Yet, she would always have it fixed back up by the time someone needed her. And someone always needed her.

Even at that moment, she still worked, making sure they had a comfortable place to spend the night. Being responsible and taking care of them.

Well, that was about to change.

Tonight, Astarion would be the one to take care of her. Once their game began in earnest, she wouldn’t have the chance to think about a damn thing.

That was one of the reasons why she wanted him to hunt her in the first place, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just for his own pleasure, but for hers as well. She wanted to relinquish her power, even just for a bit, and he was more than happy to take it. He would take away her decisions, her choices, and her responsibility.

Tonight, she belonged to him. And the only thing she had to worry about was whether or not she could keep up.

Slowly, he closed in on her. Inching closer and closer until his heightened senses could detect her heartbeat. Steady and calm. She was sitting only a few feet away, and he could easily tackle her to the ground right then and there. But where was the fun in that?

He wanted the hunt.

Taking a risk, he used the little magic he was capable of to create a minor illusion. Just the sound of a twig snapping and some footsteps some thirty feet to his right. As perceptive as she was, there was a good chance she would see right through it. But that didn’t matter. As long as it distracted her for a moment.

Her head whipped toward the sound immediately. Her whole body went still as her heartbeat picked up speed. Startled, but excited.

A little smile crossed her lips as she got to her feet and followed the sound. With her back turned to him, he watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked. She was still wearing the same outfit she was at the party, which was a little unfortunate. Tight leather leggings and laced up boots were not the easiest articles of clothing to remove in the heat of the moment.

Oh well. That wouldn’t be a problem for him.

He casted another illusion a few feet away from the first one, making the sound come from the opposite side of a thick tree. If she wanted to investigate it, she would have to go around, which would give him the perfect opportunity to close in on her without being seen.

When he was close enough to touch her, he created one more auditory illusion. Footsteps coming from just out of her line of sight. As soon as she moved to follow the sound, Astarion struck.

One arm darted around her waist while his hand covered her mouth, muffling her startled yelp. The sound of her pulse roared in his ears. He hauled her back against his chest, holding tight, and his lips brushed against her neck as he said, “Hello, darling.”

She had said she was going to fight him, so it shouldn’t have surprised him when she did just that. Cas twisted in his grip. Hard. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it took him aback enough that she was able to wrench herself free. The movement almost made him lose his balance as he stumbled back, catching himself on the tree.

And Cas took off running.

Well, if that was how she wanted to do it, he was more than happy to play along.

The urge to give chase was strong, but he resisted. Cas was faster than him. Not only that, his little stumble had allowed her to put a good amount of distance between them as she ran deeper into the forest. Keeping his senses honed in on her, he slipped into the shadows to follow.

Whenever he hunted, it was like a more animalistic part of his brain took over. Something more primitive. It made all of his worries vanish as he turned his focus on one thing: his prey. The need to capture and consume. And Cas was the most captivating sort of prey a vampire could ask for.

He considered using the minor illusion again, but Cas was unlikely to fall for it unless she wanted to play exceptionally dumb. But he liked that she was making him think. Making him work for it. It would make it all that much sweeter when he finally had her under him. His fangs ached and his cock twitched at the thought of having her the way he wanted. Fangs in her throat while he fucked her.

That was a goal worth working toward.

It didn’t take long for him to find her again. The smell of her blood had invaded all of his senses, and he couldn’t help but follow it to the source. This time, she was in a better spot for an ambush. A small clearing in the midst of some brambles and wide trees. There was a clear look of ‘where did he go?’ on her face as she glanced about, searching for him.

Staying silent and still, he listened to the sounds of crickets and the rapid beat of her heart. Letting her anticipation grow. Letting her wonder when he was going to strike next. And from where.

With the way she was looking around, it would be difficult to get close without another distraction. Or a potion of invisibility. He mentally slapped himself for not bringing one. Sure, some might call using an invisibility potion for this sort of purpose a waste, but he certainly didn’t.

Instead, he decided on a different approach. Since it was only a game, he knew Cas would eventually backtrack to look for him. So he decided to wait for her, his back pressed up against the trunk of a tree and his ears tuned for the first sign of her approach.

Thankfully, he did not have to wait long. He shifted around the tree quietly, staying out of view as Cas walked past. Completely unaware of him, by the looks of it. Once her back was to him, he crept in closer and closer. Until he could hear the soft sound of her breath and smell the lavender of her soap.

This time, he wouldn’t let her get away.

Cas had no time to react when he hooked his arms around her waist, trapping one of her arms to her side, and dropped his weight, toppling both of them into the grass. Before she could squirm away, he rolled her onto her front and pinned her beneath him. Capturing his prey.

“Get off me,” Cas hissed, the side of her face pressed into the grass as a playful glimmer lit her eye. She bucked back into him, trying to loosen his hold, but only succeeding in grinding her backside against him.

Astarion caught both of her wrists with one hand and pinned them above her head. Forcing her to submit to him. Already, his cock strained against his trousers and he leaned forward, letting her feel it. With his free hand, he swept her hair away from her neck and wrapped it around his fist. His lips brushed against her ear when he spoke, “Is that the best you can do?”

“What do you want from me?” Cas bared her blunt little teeth as she continued her futile struggle, her words were almost a growl even as her pupils were blown wide with lust.

His lips trailed from her ear and down her neck, nipping at her skin as he went. A threat and a promise. But not yet breaking the skin. “I think you know what I want, love,” he said and licked up her throat to the corner of her jaw. “Why don’t you be a good girl and just let me have it? Make it easier for both of us.”

When she tried to wriggle out from under him, he tightened his grip on her hair. She hissed at the sudden pull against her scalp. “Let me go,” she said. “Or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what?” he said, his voice low, heated, and taunting. He had completely overpowered her. Even if she were fighting for real, she’d have a hard time throwing him off.

Cas sucked in a harsh breath when his thick length pressed against her core from behind. “Or I’ll scream.”

“Oh, my dear,” he said and his lips moved down her throat until he reached the juncture where her neck connected with her shoulder. Avoiding the use of his fangs, the blunt edges of his teeth clamped down in a soft bite and a shiver coursed through her. Then he whispered in her ear. “I can definitely make you scream.”

With his hand wrapped in her hair, he tipped her head back and crashed his lips onto hers. He kissed her possessively, roughly, claiming her with his mouth. An eager moan escaped her throat as she met the kiss with equal ferocity. Pressing deeper, her silky tongue brushed against his. Needing. Wanting. The taste of her mouth was something he could never get enough of. He couldn’t help the low groan that emerged from his chest.

He tore himself away with a dark laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Cas helplessly twisted against him again. “Bite me,” she snarled, still playing the role of his prey so perfectly.

“Soon, darling.” His tongue darted out and brushed over her rapidly fluttering pulse. “But first, you’re going to come for me.”

“No I won’t,” she challenged as she writhed beneath him, making him grow even harder.

He released her wrists, but wrapped her hair around his hand once more with a less than gentle tug. A wordless command. Up.

Obediently, she rose to her elbows and rubbed the taut curve of her ass against his stiff cock. Taunting him. There was suddenly far too much clothing between them. He wanted to feel her skin against his. To bury himself in her warmth. He thrusted against her once, trying to relieve the ache, and drew a soft moan from her lips as she met his movement.

Astarion’s hand traced her rib cage, feeling the rise and fall of her panting breaths. Eager for him. Excited. His fingertips hooked around the hem of her shirt and he pulled it up as far as it would go, baring her breasts to the warm night air. He leaned forward and pressed his lips between her shoulder blades as his finger skimmed over the soft curve of her breast.

“You don’t really want to get away, do you, darling?” he asked as he brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple. He pinched the sensitive peak between his fingers, earning a sharp gasp as she arched into his palm. Desperately trying to get closer. An almost sinister chuckle passed his lips as he whispered, “I think you wanted to be caught.”

“No,” Cas said, even as her cheeks flushed and lips parted in a breathless pant.

Hard muscles twitched under his hand as he trailed down the flat expanse of her stomach until he reached the waistband of her leggings. He pulled the ties at front, allowing them to loosen enough for him to slide his fingers between the leather and the soft lace of her panties. When the tips of his fingers brushed over her clit through the fabric, she arched into him with a gasp. He circled the sensitive nub, teasing her. Making her want more.

He dragged her panties to the side, allowing him access to the slick heat between her legs. Already so ready for him. His cock begged for attention at the touch, wanting nothing more than to be inside her already. But that would have to wait.

With two fingers, he eased into her and pressed the heel of his palm to her clit. Her hips grinded greedily into his touch. Desperate for more friction.

“You’re so wet you’re dripping, love,” he said and curled his fingers inside her, loving the way she clenched around him. Wanting him deeper. Closer.

And he ached to give her what she wanted. She was his prey, but he wanted to make her feel good. He wanted to give her what she needed. What she so desperately craved.

It would have been all too easy to turn things around on her. To give into his vampiric nature and just take what he wanted. But he wouldn’t do that to her. Never to her. Cas had become special to him. In such a short amount of time, she had become so important to him that the mere idea of hurting her like that sent a lance of pain through his chest.

Astarion wanted — no, he needed her to know that he could take care of her. That putting her trust in him would never be a mistake.

Slipping from his role for just a moment, he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Let me know if I’m being too rough,” he said as he continued to fuck her with his fingers, the heel of his palm rocking over her clit as he brought her closer to the edge. They had their safeword, and he trusted her to use it, but he still felt the need to check in since he didn’t know what sort of experience she had with these things. He didn’t want to go too far.

“You can be rougher,” she replied, gasping as she rode his hand.

A little smirk pulled at Astarion’s lips and he gave her hair a sharp tug, eliciting a startled yelp. “Good,” he said. Then, without warning, he bit down on her shoulder.

Cas renewed her fight, squirming beneath him as his fangs nicked her skin. Tiny pinpricks of blood welled from the site and he lapped them up with his tongue. The first taste of it was like an aphrodisiac, and he groaned in raw satisfaction. It was potent and delicious. And it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, but this wasn’t the bite he would feed from.

No, he was saving that moment for later.

The heel of his palm grinded against her clit as his fingers curved in such a way that made her whimper with pleasure. The movement of her hips grew erratic as she fucked his fingers, her eyes screwing shut and her breaths harsh as she neared her peak.

“Come on my hand, darling,” he said against her neck. “Show me how much you love being my prey.”

“No!” The protest turned into a whine as he quickened his pace, pushing her further and further until her walls fluttered around his fingers. She came with a sharp cry, her whole body shuddering beneath him as she canted her hips.

Pulling her hair back, his mouth found hers, drinking in her moans like she was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His experienced fingers soothed her through the last few tremors of her orgasm, his palm still putting firm pressure on her clit as his fingers stroked deep inside her.

When her breathing evened out, he withdrew, his fingers glistening with her arousal. He licked her taste from his skin like it was honey. The flush across her cheeks deepened at his lewd display and his cock twitched in response.

Astarion loosened his grip on her hair, running his fingers over her scalp to soothe her skin. With one hand between her shoulder blades, he guided her down, her chest against the ground and her ass on display for him. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and pulled them down to her thighs. Nothing but a pair of black lace panties shielded her sex. He twisted the material in his hand and pulled it sharply against her overly sensitive clit, making her gasp.

He leaned forward and licked the shell of her ear. “Now,” he said as he drew her panties tighter, “tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she said, finally surrendering to him. The words ignited a flame in his chest. Even if it was just the heat of the moment, even if she would take it back come sunrise, right then she belonged to him. And that was all that mattered.

Cas arched her back, grinding herself against his erection. “Astarion, please,” she begged. “I need you in me.”

Fuck, if he didn’t need that too. He yanked the black lace down her legs and drank in the sight of her, bent over and moaning, her pussy pink and glistening for him. The woman before him knew what he was, knew the kind of man and monster he was, and accepted him. Trusted him.

And he wasn’t sure if he would ever have someone like that again.

A shudder coursed through her at the metallic click of his belt buckle. His own hand shook from raw desire as he pulled his cock from his trousers, a little bead of pre-come already leaking from the tip.

“You want this, darling?” he asked as he dragged the head of his cock over her swollen folds, slick with her arousal. He pressed the tip where she wanted it most, teasing the entrance, and she tilted her hips in an attempt to get closer. “Then I’ll give you every last inch.”

He shoved in deep in one hard, brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt, his fingers digging into her hips as he forced her to meet the movement.

Her mouth fell open and her hands clutched at the grass beneath her. “Yes,” she murmured as he slammed into her again. “Fuck me.”

Cas had wanted it rough, so that was exactly what he gave her. Snapping his hips against her ass, he fucked her with bruising thrusts. With each one she moaned, begging him for more. Loving the way he pounded into her like he was a fucking animal.

And he loved it too. Emotion threatened to well up in his chest, but he swallowed it down, focusing on the sensations. Wanting to absorb every sight and sound and commit it to memory. She was so bloody perfect for him, and he couldn’t fathom how he got lucky enough for her to fall right into his lap.

Astarion leaned over, bracing one hand in the grass beside her while the other held her throat, his mouth pressing rough kisses from her shoulder to her neck. His teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh of her throat, fangs throbbing with the need to sink into her. To claim her in every way that he could. His tongue darted over the red marks he left on her skin. “I’m going to bite you now.”

“Do it.” Her back arched as she angled her hips just right, welcoming him as deep as he could go. “Just don’t stop.”

“Touch yourself,” he said as he kissed a spot high on her neck. A place she couldn’t easily hide even with the highest collar. That was the exact spot he wanted to bite her. And she would wear the mark like a badge of honor, on display for the whole world to see. Marking her as his.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she obeyed. Her fingers delved between her legs, her pussy tightening around him as she worked over her clit. Her moans grew louder as her pleasure continued to rise. And he could only hope that the pleasure outweighed the pain of his bite.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her ear and lowered his mouth to her throat. Saliva pooled in his mouth as the urge to bite became too strong to resist.

A soft gasp of pain was the only sound she made when his fangs pierced her skin. The movement of his hips slowed until he was rocking into her gently with languid, shallow thrusts as not to dislodge his fangs. The taste of her blood made him groan. It was decadent. Intoxicating even. It warmed his body, intensifying everything.

It wasn’t until Cas started moaning again did he allow himself to fully sink into the feeling. Her warm pussy clenched around him as he drank deeply, and it was the most extraordinary feeling in the world. Fucking someone he cared about while they freely offered their blood— it was a feeling he couldn’t even begin to describe. It was a revelation. A long held fantasy that had finally come true. And he didn’t know if he could ever have enough.

Closing his eyes tight, he tried to maintain control even as his pleasure rose and sudden affection surged in his chest. Cas trusted him not to go too far. She was giving him a gift. A wonderful gift. And he didn’t want to risk her regretting it.

With that in mind, it was easy to remove his fangs from her throat. He sucked and licked at the twin puncture wounds he left behind, drinking in her blood in deep, even pulls as she writhed beneath him. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he murmured as he lavished her neck.

Her panting breaths grew louder and closer together. Her cry turned into a breathless moan as she came with his name on her lips, her inner walls spasming around his cock as he fucked her. Faster. Deeper. Chasing his own release.

All thought seemed to vanish from his mind. It was just him and her. The feel of her body. The taste of her blood. The sound of her moans as he rocked into her. It was euphoric. Nothing but raw sensation and primal need.

White-hot pleasure flashed through him, shooting down his spine as his thrusts lost all rhythm. He sucked her neck hard, blood coating his tongue as he buried himself in her. The sound he made was more animal than man as his orgasm coursed through him like a wildfire. Burning hot and out of control. Powerful spasms wracked his whole body as he spilled himself deep within her.

When his nearly agonizing ecstasy faded, he kissed her bloodied neck before he pulled out of her. His come dripped down her leg and he watched, filled with some deep, primitive satisfaction. He rolled Cas onto her back, needing to be face to face with her. To check in on how she was feeling.

She responded by looping her arms around his neck and dragging him into a luxurious kiss. Her body still trembled with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and he couldn’t stop his lips from smiling against hers. “You should let me wash the blood out of my mouth first, love,” he chided as he swiped away a bit of red from her lips with his thumb.

“Worth it,” she said as she laid back against the grass, a brilliant smile on her face that made his stomach do a little flip.

He cupped her face with his hand and she leaned into his touch. His eyes went to the fresh bite mark on her neck, and it wasn’t bleeding nearly as much as it did last time. In fact, it almost seemed like it was already starting to mend. Interesting. Perhaps he had gotten better at biting somehow? He didn’t know, nor could he bring himself to care.

Turning his attention back to her face, he ran his fingers over her scalp lightly, soothing the skin. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

“I liked it,” Cas said as she played with his hair, a dopey smile still lingering on her lips. “Though I am a little disappointed you didn’t spank me.”

Astarion raised his brow at that. “Are you now?”

In an odd surge of affection, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips before getting to his feet. He took a second to fix his clothes and Cas did the same. But before she could finish tying up the front of her leggings, he bent down and scooped her over his shoulder. “We should fix that,” he said and gave her ass a hard slap, eliciting a startled yelp, and started back towards where she had set up the bedroll.

“You don’t have to carry me all the way back,” she said, not fighting at all to get away. “It’s a long walk.”

He smacked her ass again. “You’re my prey and I caught you. I can do what I like.”

“Oh? And what else would you like to do?”

Everything. As long as it was with her. He mentally shook off the sudden thought. Where the hells had that come from? He swallowed, suddenly very glad that she couldn’t see his face from her current position.

He rubbed his hand over the curve of her backside as he walked, thinking about how to respond. Did he want to be honest with her? It ultimately worked out well for him last time. Giving her a little squeeze, he decided to go for it. “How would you feel about getting cleaned up and taking the rest of the night… slower?” Feeling a little vulnerable at his request, he added flippantly, “I want to enjoy my trophy.”

Cas was quiet for a moment. Just the sounds of footsteps and that owl hooting somewhere deep in the forest. “I’d like that,” she said.

Suddenly, his chest got that funny feeling again. The one he didn’t want to put a name to.

But Gods, it was getting harder to ignore.

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LI

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Content warning: This chapter contains references to abuse, physical abuse, sexual assault and the consequences thereof, power imbalances with figures of authority, etc. While previous chapters touched on these topics regarding the MC’s past, this is the one that will be tackling these events the deepest and in more detail. If you are uncomfortable, click the back button and come back for Chapter 52. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3.

The sentiment captured you in a self-sufficient whirlwind, one you hadn’t felt since before Sumeru.  It was lighter than the melancholy that gripped you when you first arrived at the Palace and sweeter than any decadent dessert you ever tasted.

You met the musicians, the conductor and manager, listened again when they didn’t know you were there.  There was a quality amongst them unlike any you’d heard before and they were consistent in keeping said quality.  When you said as much to the manager, they laughed as though it were a given.

They would be up to whatever challenge presented to them.

And when it came to creating said challenge…well…

You had ideas, certainly.  You listened to spin-crystals you found in the Palace Library, picking up unique motifs and rhythms from Snezhnayan composers.  Arrangement would matter just as much as the composition but you couldn’t arrange if you couldn’t write…

Nothing you put to paper sounded right.  Felt right.  You were so close.

All this energy and emotion and nowhere for it to go.

The memory sessions weren’t helping matters.  In fact, they seemed to just make everything worse.  You were irritable, prone to snapping more often, you felt hyperaware of when eyes were even glancing over you.  If you weren’t making any progress on anything, surely everyone else was seeing it, too.

One morning, Zandik found you curled up in your chair as you used your pen to trace notes in the air.  He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger as his crimson eyes examined you in the dim blue light of dawn.  He then took your hand, pen and all, searching your joints as his eyes remained on your face.  You winced; he frowned but opted for silence as he let you go and left your quarters. 

A loquacious man such as your soulmate never skipped an opportunity to hear himself speak.

Which meant everything he had to say was so obvious that he was not about to waste his time nor breath repeating himself.

Enough light passed through the window in front of you to make it just barely reflective and you caught a glimpse of your visage.  There would be no hiding the tell-tale signs beneath your eyes and your dry lips wouldn’t survive another escapade outside without bleeding.  Your entire spine felt as if it needed to be pulled out of your body and cracked like a whip.  Meanwhile, an entirely new hand wouldn’t be amiss.  Your fingers were stiff and your tendons didn’t cooperate long enough to let your muscles do what they needed to.

You propped your elbows up on your desk and buried your faces into the heels of your palms, pressing just hard enough to see stars. 

If you continued, you would fail. 

You knew that.

The thought plagued you as your head grew heavier and your arms moved of their own accord, your head sinking with them to the cool surface of your desk.  A little sleep wouldn’t harm anything.

“You cannot be serious.”

You stared groggily at the machines on your side of the bed from the doorway, across the room.  Heart and EEG monitors.  IV pole and dangling tubes.  When the hell had he brought those up? 

Had you napped so soundly or had Zandik simply relied on the veins of the world to close the distance?

Did it even matter?

“Your mind must process events in the order they occurred in to get to Omega’s next node.  I additionally find myself wondering if the last place we left your unconscious mind is bleeding into your waking existence, holding you back,” Zandik replied.

He spoke of the memories of too much wine and lingering touches, blatant favoritism and doting gifts.  Both of you knew the path ahead but only you would experience their pain again.

“You think I’m having trouble creating because I’m scared to succeed?” you spat, arms crossed and eyes burning.  “I think I’ve been composing and playing just fine.”

“Up until the Tsaritsa presented this opportunity, I am inclined to agree.  I believe it has less to do with your emotional response and more an instant connection that the second you succeed, or even get close to it, your own well-being is taken from you.”  He didn’t give you a chance to counter.  “Discussing my hypothesis will only do so much while you’re awake.”

You held his gaze across the expanse of the bed, skin crawling.  He said it so easily, as if this were simply a recipe to follow.  After all, he was watching your memories as one did a moving picture.  It was your mind and body that experienced the physiological responses and the result of dredging up what you wished you could forget.

“I know what I’m asking of you, it’s why I thought here was far better than the lab so you’re comfortable,” Zandik said, his gaze drifting from you to the pillow and then back again.  “You should know by now that I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t expect beneficial results.”

“Not because you’re curious, Zandik?”

Nothing stopped him from seeking knowledge and answers, ever.  You knew that.  This boundary was one the two of you skated around like children on a frozen lake; you never thought details were necessary when alluding to your patron’s behavior.  Several Fontainian orphans were taken into the House of the Hearth under similar circumstances, or so you heard.  And you were doubtful someone as clever as Zandik needed details spelled out for him.

“This is much for me as it is for you, lest you forget this entire process is meant to purge Omega from your memories and correct neural pathways.  I am not so much intrigued by your past experiences as I am aware that some things must surface in order for the rest to settle.  One’s past is precisely that: the past.  It does not wholly define but rather shapes us, calls for change in how it molds and carves.  And we must change, mustn’t we?  Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.”

In a world full of cyclical rebirths and stars deciding one’s fate, change seemed almost moot.  You would have disagreed in part with him if presented with the notion when you first met; you changed your career but not your love of music, for no one could take that from you.  But both of you were given a connection long after you expected none at all, a change both loathed and adored.

You rounded the bed slowly, eyes drifting from the pillows, to the machines, and then back to Zandik when you drew closer.  Without missing a beat, you pressed your lips to the septum of his nose where it had broken more times than he wished to admit before you crawled under the covers to await the familiar sensation of falling.

The void was untouched, as it always was, the corridor expanding forever except for the pane through which you witnessed yourself.

You had worked through smaller memories since the last major session but nothing substantial.  Those were simply trials to perfect your method and help Zandik understand everything, step by step.

The gap between your last destroyed memory (which you only recalled in terms of your fist meeting the surface and cracking it) and the next time you saw your soulmate was not as lengthy as it seemed.  It felt like centuries but in truth, it was only a handful of years between the two lies Omega planted. 

Time was strange in this portion of your life.  When you looked back upon it in the waking world, it felt like it happened to someone else.  You entered that house, beautiful and just as foreboding as it was promising, and left a completely different person, fully aware of the lies your nation painted upon its people.

Everyone endured a form of suffering under that roof.  Even the house staff were not true allies despite treating guests well and bringing food or sneaking in medical assistance.  One bad day was enough to send words flying and no one went unpunished.

A shudder ran down your metaphorical spine and you wondered if such a sensation reached your physical body.

It was behind you.  It wouldn’t happen to you again.

Your memory banks knew precisely where to pick up from.  Beautiful gifts of a bow with expensive strings, perfume, a new kind of typewriter that allowed you to type notes instead of write them.  Balms for your hands.  A private tutor so you wouldn’t stagnate.

For you could always be better, couldn’t you?

One specific memory flickered as it passed by.  You didn’t need to watch it in full to remember the way the expensive plush rug felt beneath your knees.  Your nose recalled the smell of him when he pushed himself deep into your mouth.  Disappointment was warm, salty, and shoved down your throat instead of dinner.

You gagged and reached out to sort through faster.  The spaces in-between were blurry, deemed unimportant by your subconscious.  Your fingers hesitated as you caught sight of a bedroom not your own, opulent by comparison with a large poster bed with its own heavy curtains for privacy.

That first time had been full of praise, admiration, what you mistook for love.  You hadn’t understood, not then.  There were stories of performers and musicians finding their beloveds under patronage and class barriers being eroded.  You were eager to please the one who gave you support to pursue your dream.

And he was eager to rob you of them as often as he could.

He took you from behind the next time when you messed up too often during a rehearsal he sat in on.  The arm of the couch had pressed into your abdomen and between that and his harsh thrusts, you hadn’t been able to breathe.

And on it went.

Your cycle was late more than once and he was always careless.  Relief washed over you every time at the sight of blood.  Pain never felt as wonderful as it did then, for it meant you would be left alone.

Threats of broken fingers along with gentle caresses, soft brushes along your skin that made you feel sickeningly warm.  Gowns that exposed more skin than you wanted to show, legs on display at dinner parties due to skirts with high slits and your shoulders and breasts exposed for all to see. 

He was careful never to hit you or bite you the night before a party.  At least nowhere visible.

You finally came upon the memory you were looking over.  Omega stood before you, your hand in his as he pressed your knuckles to his lips, his white suit almost glowing in the candlelight of the salon. 

His entire visage was outlined, superimposed over someone else.  You reached out a finger and traced the seam, distinct now that you knew it was there, rough despite the sleekness of the flat crystalline surface.  Someone had kissed your hand that night, you recalled when you focused, but it had not been Omega; it had not even been a Fatui diplomat.  Your fingers picked away at Omega, shards plinking to the ground as you went and revealed an unremarkable face, one of many from such nights.  The stranger had remarked about your playing, about how you needed to take breaks, and then given your patron a knowing look and smile.

Such arrangements in Fontaine were open secrets among those who considered themselves the cornerstones of the arts and entertainment world.

Once again, the memory recognized the holes and mended them, filling in the gaps where Omega used to be. 

You experienced the party alone, mingling carefully to avoid too much attention (difficult to do when your dress was backless and bared your legs whenever you walked).  Every time eyes settled on you, your patron managed to pull you into a conversation, hand lingering on the small of your back in a silent message of ownership.

Meanwhile, your hands were locking up and you almost dropped your glass at dinner.  Holding your utensils was an arduous task you had to pretend was easy otherwise you would be left with no energy. 

Knives shot through your forearms and into your fingers when you took your position after dinner and your skin prickled.  Between your pain and the irritating material of the dress, you were a hair’s width away from asking to excuse yourself; a glare across a glass of wine made you think better of it.  Playing that night felt as if your blood contained glass shards and every minute movement was searing agony.

It didn’t get better.

You were dragged from guest to guest, glued to your patron’s side, his hand never leaving your hip.  He flaunted his playthings, his toys, and every inch where you could sense his presence, your skin burned.  If you were paper, you would have long since turned to ash and you would have been grateful.

There was no flash of white tailcoats.  No teal hair.  No experimental touches to ease your tendons.

Instead, you felt bruises bloom across your flesh and the telltale warmth of blood from where nails dug into your skin.  Your dress was taken off of you in harsh, frustrated tugs and the intrusion, while expected, had you wondering if you would, finally, be split in two.

The memory ended and for a moment, you could only stare at the dark panel, your reflection looking back at you.  You frowned, the sensation that you had forgotten something sitting heavy in your mind as you raised a hand and flicked through future sequences.

Concealed applications and hidden compositions.  Smuggling your cello in and out of the manor as you tried to keep track of your story and excuse for leaving the house.  You endured what you had to all the while.

You paused the memories on the offer letter you received from the orchestra and your heart soared, just as it had back then.  Waves lapped at your feet and you could still hear the guttural sounds of nearby Blubberbeasts as they lounged on the shore.

Free. 

Golden Vision in your other hand. 

A signature, a signet ring, the Stone clutched behind your back.  Farewells were easy, for you couldn’t get out of the oppressive aura of the house quick enough. 

The events, at least thus far, were the same as you knew them to be.  Entirely unchanged.  That made sense…

You sifted through images of playing for Lady Furina and Monsiuer Neuvillette.  A starry night in Liyue among familiar faces.  A summer in Mondstadt where the air was crisp and the wine was sweet.  Music poured out of you, a professional saw to your hands and provided a regimen, and you could laugh without fear of repercussions.  Sumeru’s greenery came into view, the loop finally closing.

There was no memory of your orchestra traveling to Snezhnaya.  You never arrived here with anyone other than Zandik.  No ball, no greenhouse, no near kiss.  No secluded existence with Omega, no oozing purple ore.

All of that, nothing more than a fleeting dream.

Your eyes burned as you opened them, your vision watery and your senses tangled.  It took you a second to move your toes, flex your muscles, your brain playing catch up as you focused on singular movements.  Phantom pain danced on every nerve, although you couldn’t recall the actual pain such sensations were meant to mimic. 

Tears seared your cheeks as you ran your hands over the cool, smooth sheets and tried to look around.  This was real, you reminded yourself.  The bed was real; the curtains near the window were real; the man with his gaze fixed on the outside world was real.

Air was stolen from you when the realization truly sank in and you could only open your mouth in a soundless scream.  Your squeezed your eyes shut.

Zandik had never been there.  Not once.

No one had been there.

You saved yourself.  You’d had to.

A harsh beeping infiltrated your thoughts and you heard mutterings mingled with your own choking sobs.  Your heart pounded as gloved hands pulled at sticky nodes along your chest and freed you of the sounds.  Words were audible but never lingered.  You caught careful reassurances and words in another language you didn’t understand from a voice that made your very being as light as a feather.

The same hands that removed the nodes moved the covers and shifted you as long legs brushed yours.  You found yourself pressed against a hard chest, sandalwood and mint making your nose tingle as you gripped the blue fabric of a shirt. 

The world fell away around you as you fell asleep to nature’s metronome, a steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

[inquisitornocturn]

≪─ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ: ᴄʜ. 11 - ᴅᴀɢɢᴇʀꜱ ─≫

⋟ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Sebastian LaCroix/f!reader the Ventrue neonate

⋟ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: y/n etc is not used, rating - T, no other tags

⋟ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: From climbing the corporate ladder to being told you need to feast on human blood - this is your new life, Fledgling. The world has changed for you so drastically, you know you will need time to adjust and your new so called "boss" is not making it easy. He's sending you on tasks that feel like they were designed to get you killed. It makes you furious: at Sebastian, at your vampirism, at your lowly position in this brand new society you just stepped into. Still, LaCroix is just the type to get under your skin with ease, and he does it well. Too well. You are not too sure if you can resist his pull.

⋟ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4,344

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: enjoy♡~

⋟ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: [link]

Next night you find yourself outside The Last Round again. After all, it’s just a brisk walk away from your haven and the night is beautiful. You’re here because during your conversation with Strauss he mentioned that he suspects that Anarchs are behind the pandemic in Downtown, so you’re going to ask some uncomfortable questions of people who don’t like you one bit. You already had an encounter with Nines and that didn’t go well; you presume he is not going to be any more charitable with information tonight either.

You sigh, deeply. For a moment you wonder how this keeps happening to you. Here you are again, on a task that should be out of scope for someone so young as a vampire and yet you don’t feel angered or frustrated by this. If anything – you see this as your opportunity to prove your loyalty to Camarilla. Yes, it was Strauss and not entire Primogen Council that gave you this task, but something about his demeanor tells you that he’s the voice of it, maybe the leading authority of entire Camarilla presence in LA, come to think of it. Current Prince is definitely not as respected as Strauss is, which makes for a very interesting Camarilla dynamic that you are slowly but surely wedging yourself into. And what he said that night at the meeting returns to your mind with a warning Sebastian’s own loyalties might be just to his own best interest. Yes, you can definitely see him being this way, being self-centered and ambitious beyond reason, but you still try to cling to a perhaps vain hope that it’s not true, that he still focuses mainly and primarily on upholding Camarilla traditions, that’s his whole job anyway, why would he risk his already flimsy position as a Prince? And if he is risking it then you want to know how exactly. You feel like you’re too close to him now to be willingly ignorant if there’s something more going on than you know.

You press your lips into a thin line as you try your best not to start thinking in depth about this again, about whether you would choose Camarilla or Prince if things came to that, and what everyone’s motives are; you already decided to make a choice when the time comes and that time is not right now. But as you stand in front of Round, you can’t help but wonder just how deeply you are getting yourself into the politics. After all, you don’t even know what’s so special about that damn Sarcophagus that got whole city riled up. You definitely don’t feel the change in the night air or whatever else that creatures older than you have been whispering about.

With a determined head shake you try to get rid of your thoughts from your brain like it’s an etch-a-sketch and somehow, miraculously, it works. You clear your head at last, mentally preparing for the task at hand, and slowly lick your lips - the taste of blood still lingering on them like a ghost’s loving kiss. You found a man you easily fed from before coming here. Just in case things go sour you need to at least have the best fighting chance. And although you do hope that Anarchs won’t be in a fighting mood, however, you don’t find yourself to be so naïve as to believe that’s possible. Most of them are Brujah Clan offspring that are quick to anger after all.

Your steps are confident as you approach the door and open it, the music from the inside immediately assaulting your senses, but you step past the threshold and let the door slam back to its frame behind you. Round looks like it did when you were here some weeks ago: some drunken patrons, a non-verbal (at least to you) bartender and half empty seats. Yet when you move, your eyes turn to the stairs that led you to Nines last time, you get startled because there’s a black, tall man now standing in front of you, like he was just waiting for you to enter. His head is shaven, his eyes yellow, an earring in one lobe. He looks like a mean bouncer with his arms crossed on his chest.

“Well well, if it’s not the talk of the town, the Camarilla poster child and proof of their benevolence. What did the Prince make his little slut do tonight?” He smirks and you frown; not quite the welcome you expected.

“Funny.” You reply without humor. “Where I can find Nines?”

“First you’ll have to do deal with me. I’m Skelter and I don’t like Camarilla whores on Anarch premises. Shaking your tits at me won’t work either. Tell me what you want with Nines and I will consider if you’re even worthy to waste his time.” He says as he eyes you and you cannot tell if he’s eyeing your body or just seeing if you’re carrying any weapons, because there’s a smirk on his lips. A small one but a smirk nonetheless.

“My tits aside, that you are clearly thinking of, I need to ask Nines some questions that are meant only for him. I’m not here for a fight, I’m here for information if he is willing to talk to me.” You cross arms on your chest and Skelter looks at your face, frowning, thinking, taking his time as he assesses you.

“Why do you think Nines would even want to talk to you after last time?” He looks arrogant, proud, sure of himself. You know his type, the wounded warrior one, his pride will get him killed one day, you can already see it in your mind’s eye like a prophecy yet to come.

“Just ask him if he’ll see me, I have hope.” You tell him, your eyebrows furrowed and he keeps eye contact with you for a little while longer, then grits his teeth. You hope you are right and Nines will be more interested why you’re here rather than sulking over the verbal fight you two had last time, but you wouldn’t bet money on it.

“I’ll be right back, don’t you fucking move.” He basically threatens as his arms unfold and then he turns, walking towards the stairs, climbing out of your view to the second floor.

You watch him go but soon your attention is drawn more to your right, to a man you recognize. He’s standing further from the crowd, leaning against a wall with a bored expression but his eyes are locked on you.

Smiling Jack.

You walk to him, your corporate habit tells you to smile but you remind yourself not to, you’re in hostile territory after all.

“Long time no see.” You speak first after you approach him and stop in front of the man, closer than you would like otherwise but the loudness of music makes you forgo polite distance.

“Indeed it is, kiddo.” He eyes you with a grin. “And you’re in one piece too! Amazing, didn’t expect that but hey, shit happens.” He looks back at your face. “So why you’re here?”

“To see Nines.” You shrug, your hands still crossed on your chest and he laughs.

“Ah of course, didn’t expect you to come here to see me after all.”

You lift an eyebrow at that and he laughs even harder.

“Relax kid, I know you’re in a difficult situation.” Jack’s arms also cross on his chest but he’s watching you keenly even if his expression is friendly. “I suppose you already got tired of kissing LaCroix’s ass?”

You lift both your eyebrows at that.

“Not a fan of the Prince, huh?” You tease him with a smirk showcasing your fangs and he frowns just a little.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s simply a typical Ventrue asshole: predictable, safe, no imagination. Aw girl, the guy’s a pussy! Prince of fucking LA.” Jack scoffs, sarcastic and defiant. “He simply got lucky to show up in LA at the right time, is all.”

His words make you feel defensive of LaCroix and your Clan. You don’t know if it’s your budding feelings for him or simply the loyalty to the Camarilla that you and him are part of, or just that you share same Clan. But even more so - you have known many men in your life and you can’t say that Sebastian is a pussy. At least you haven’t seen that trait in him, not yet. Then again, you don’t know him that well at all, do you. Your anger still stirs in your chest and you try to keep it down, reminding yourself you’re not here for a fight and Jack is not a threat to you, not an enemy either.

“So what, he’s just stupid and lucky then?” You ask while trying your best to make sure your voice doesn’t betray your annoyance.

“Listen, I’m not sayin’ he’s stupid, I’m just tellin’ that he’s an asshole who’s teeth I’d very much like to kick in.” There’s real anger in Jack’s voice and his expression. You decide to take a different route, you got time for this conversation because you’re still waiting for Skelter to return.

“Well, whether you like it or not he’s still the boss in LA.” You shrug and earn yourself another angry glare, but then Jack relaxes a little bit, like he thought it’s not worth picking a fight over this.

“LaCroix’s is the boss of the Camarilla in LA, Fledgling.” He explains slowly like he’s talking to a child. “That’s it. Hmpf. LaCroix as the boss. Rich.”

“Can’t say he’s very fond of you either from what I heard.” You shrug, trying to sound casual but the fact that you’re rebutting Jack’s insults with knowledge of LaCroix’s own displeasure with the vampire shows even to you that you are picking a side in this conversation.

“Oh is that so? And what does Prince Prissy think of ye ol’ me?” Jack grins, his tone sarcastic and somewhat unpleasant, yet you decide to reply no matter his question was serious or not.

“Called you a scourge, physical manifestation of chaos. And if I remember correctly, he thinks that wherever you appear – you bring calamity with you.” You shrug once more and what you just said sends Jack into a laughing fit, he’s nearly bent double, laughing so hard you find it amusing that this cracked him up so much.

“Ah that’s wonderful kiddo, I don’t mind one bit being seen like that by the likes of him.” He chuckles some more, then gets serious and looks at you again, his eyes meeting yours.

“Let me give you a piece of advice.” Jack starts and you lift an eyebrow at him; everyone is giving you advices nowadays, what else there is to say? “Make sure that you know who you’re sidin’ with. Is all I’m sayin’.”

And like he was ringed in – Skelter appears as he gets down the stairs loudly, slamming his feet on the steps, acting like he owns the place. He doesn’t look happy but on the other hand, all of him you have seen so far makes one unhappy Kindred.

“Nines will see you.” He grumbles and thumbs at the staircase behind him. “But best remember, little Cammy bitch – behave. You’re on our turf now.”

“Yeah yeah, thanks I guess.” You reply with an eyeroll and look at Jack. “See you around.”

“I’m sure you will, I’m sure you will.” He laughs again and while you’re curious what’s so funny you decide not to push your luck and ascend the stairs.

At first you don’t see anyone but as you step deeper into the room you notice Damsel hanging by the bathrooms. She gives you a mean look but says nothing. Around the corner, standing at one of the tables, you see Nines. He is obviously waiting for you so you approach him.

“We meet again.” You say and he doesn’t reply for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowed, then gestures for you to come closer. He’s standing by one of those tall bar tables, no chairs in sight. Not that you’re looking for comfort anyway - you suspect this is not going to be the most pleasant of conversations.

“So why did you want to talk to me?” Rodriguez finally asks and you push hands into your jean pockets.

“There’s something I’m looking into right now. The pandemic?” You tell him and Nines’ eyes travel up and down your body, he too, like Skelter, seems to be suspicious and looking for weapons on your person.

“Can’t say I know anything about it. You’ll be better off asking Damsel.” His bright ocean blue eyes are digging into your soul, but he doesn’t tell you to leave either. Curious.

“Why her and not you?” You raise an eyebrow at that and Nines crosses arms on his chest, you see muscles underneath his shirt sleeves. This one is definitely the fighting type.

“I suspect you think I’m some sort of leading authority here. Well you’re mistaken, we’re all here just doing our best to keep the place free of Cam, there are no bosses, Fledgling, we don’t function like that.”

“Yes, I heard that.” You nod, remaining calm even though you can see that Nines’ emotions are starting to boil the moment he mentions Camarilla. “But someone has to be the leader, right? I see you’re taking up that role well enough, others seem to like you and respect you.”

“They do because I have been fighting Cam’s oppression for several decades.”

“Sounds like a people-elected leader behavior to me.” You gently tease him and that doesn’t get a pleasant response - Nines frowns even more, more angry than annoyed at this point.

“These are them fighting words, kid. But I’ll humor you, again.” Rodriguez’s face is stern, he’s obviously trying to remain calm. “I’m not a boss, I don’t want to be a boss, we don’t like bosses much.”

“I see.” You pause, you don’t want to agitate Nines more than he already is, so you decide to change your strategy, standing there for a moment, not breaking eye contact with him, then, finally, you sigh. “Listen, I want to apologize about how our first meeting went. I was still… confused.” You say and it’s quite a lie, but you know that making Rodriguez not to hate you could mean to a potential ally down the road. Or at least make Anarchs hate you just a little less.

Nines looks at you, he’s studying your face carefully, you know he’s trying to detect the lie, to detect your motivations.

“I would accept your apology if I didn’t hear rumors about you kissing LaCroix’s ass. Or… just kissing him in general.” His voice is stern and you pause for a moment, trying to hide your shock at his words. Since when there’s rumors about you and Sebastian? You expected a route of attack from Nines, but not of this angle, yet you manage to compose yourself and decide to ignore last remark altogether.

“I’m not going to pretend that I disagree with Camarilla just to be on your good side, Rodriguez.” You pause for a moment, then continue. “And I get that everyone seems to have a problem with LaCroix but my focus is not him, it’s the Camarilla. I’m not looking to make enemies with you whatsoever, I’m just picking a side that seems like a road with less fights.” You lift your arms in defense and Nines frowns.

“Less fights? They bring nothing but fights! And your Prince…” Last word he says with disgust. “LaCroix represents everything I hate. The fucking Camarilla you love so much, stuck-up aristocrats only looking out for themselves, rich businessmen who care nothing for those who struggle and last but not least – crooked politicians. You think LaCroix is looking out for you? Hell no, he’s looking out for his own hide only, I doubt he even cares about Camarilla traditions, only as long as he can forward his own goals. The only place LaCroix belongs to is not a seat of a Prince but an urn.”

You listen to Nines talk, his passionate speech is not exactly wrong, at least in some ways. You sigh and place your palms on the table.

“I get it, you hate him, you hate everything he stands for. But I’m not here on his behalf, can I at least be given the benefit of doubt? I’m looking into the goddamn pandemic, that’s good for both sides, don’t you think?”

Nines regards you for a moment, he’s thinking in silence then he steps closer to you, one palm on the table next to yours and then he leans to your face, his eyes ablaze.

“I have no doubt that LaCroix has endless supply of suck-ups. Don’t be one of them, Fledgling. You will live to regret it, I promise you that.” He whispers and you can barely hear him over the music. As you look into his eyes, his words hang heavily in the silence between you. Yet it didn’t sound like a threat, but more as a warning meant to benefit you.

“I’m just trying to do what I think is right.” You sigh, not wanting to argue with him and Nines leans back with a grin.

“What’s right? The right thing to do would be to make all the Cammy bastards fuck off straight from the city. Because that Prince of yours only has his own self-interest in mind and I’m sure even you can see it. This is an Anarch town at its heart, kid and by the time LaCroix is done fucking things up for the Camarilla he’s going to ensure that this town is going to remain Anarch for a long, long time.”

“Even if that is so, what do you expect me to do, join the Anarchs?” You raise an eyebrow at him, starting to become annoyed at his attitude.

“Why not? More and more join our ranks every single night.” Nines smirk and his expression makes you feel unsettled ever so slightly, like something doesn’t feel right about this whole conversation, yet you can’t put your finger on what exactly it is.

“You seem pretty desperate to convince me.” You say while not sure how he will react to it but when Rodriguez suddenly slams his fist on the table, looking you straight in the eyes, you almost flinch.

“Yes I am! You’re not a lost cause yet!” He says passionately and you can see why he’s respected by Anarchs. He’s being honest with you right now and it’s almost charming, the passion, the dedication to the ‘cause’.

“Let’s just say I’ll think about it some more, okay?” You sigh ever so slightly, wanting him to back off because you still don’t want to antagonize him unless it’s absolutely necessary.

Nines looks at you for a moment then smirks, just a little bit, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“That’s all I can ask for.” He says with a nod then gets serious again. “But when it comes to the pandemic, you really should talk to Damsel, she knows about it more than I do.”

“Right.” You look to your right and see Damsel still hanging by the bathrooms, she definitely is not outside the earshot and you’re sure she heard everything. Still, if it’s her you need to talk to – then you will.

“And listen, Kid.” Nines says and you look back at him. “Anarchs will always welcome you once the veil of Camarilla falls from your eyes. Keep that in mind.” He nods with a smile and you nod back although you don’t feel like smiling.

“Thanks Nines.” Is all you can say and then realize the conversation is over, so you walk over to Damsel.

When you stop in front of her, she looks pissed already.

“So Cammy’s little bitch is crawling to me for information.” She grins and you grit your teeth, already annoyed by her tone and attitude, yet you know you need to be cordial.

“That’s exactly it. I’m sure you too want to see this pandemic solved, do you not?”

“And why does Cam want this solved?” She narrows her eyes at you and you have to bite your tongue before replying.

“This affects all Kindred in the city, Damsel. It should matter to everyone despite the sect they belong to.” You say patiently, imagining this conversation like you’re talking to a bratty toddler. It seems to be working too because Damsel eyes you slowly, her hands on her hips, and she finally sighs.

“Fine! Fine!” She crosses arms under her breasts and straightens her back. “There’s rumors going around among the homeless about some sort of sickness and someone who’s spreading it. If you talk to them I’m sure they will tell you something. Honestly, that’s all I can offer right now. I’ll see if I get to know anything else, alright?” Damsel sounds annoyed and you get annoyed too.

“Talk to homeless? That’s the lead?” You ask and Damsel flares up immediately in response.

“Yes that’s fucking all! What you want me to do, fall to my knees and kiss your shoes, so that you and other capes can pretend like you do everything? Fuck that! Put in some leg work yourself! This is all you get from me, either work with it or fucking don’t!”

“I’m doing this because we need a solution to this and you’re not being fucking helpful.” You grit your teeth and Damsel narrows her eyes.

“I’m helping already because who’s compelling me to work with your sugar Cammy ass? Nobody that’s who! You think your boss is of any threat to me? LaCroix is like fucking Nixon with a hundred-year term of office, fuck him and fuck you.”

“And you’re a loud-mouthed commie bitch!” You yell at her too and Damsel stops then after a moment grins.

“Alright alright, I see how it is. I can respect passion I guess.” She says but you sense a lie in her, you suspect she’s cooperating because she does desperately want to figure out this pandemic situation and you can accept that.

“So do you really have nothing else?” You ask a bit more nicer now and she shakes her head.

“Not yet. But if you learn anything – return here, maybe by that time I’ll have more leads. If Cam is interested in solving this just as we are instead of trying to blame us for it – then I’ll try to cooperate.”

“Sounds good enough.” You even manage a smile, but before Damsel can say anything else Skelter literally stumbles up the stairs in the rush.

He looks around briefly and then runs to Nines who looks at Skelter confused but with his eyebrows furrowed.

“You got Blood Hunt on your head!” Skelter basically shouts and your lips part in shock, in a corner of your eye you see Damsel’s face, even more in shock than your own.

“Shit.” Is all Nines says and he starts walking towards the stairs, then stops when he sees you, his eyes are angry. “It better not be your doing.” He grunts with rage and then runs down the stairs, Skelter in toe.

When you look at Damsel she’s also shocked, then she frowns.

“Did you do anything to cause this?” She asks you straight out and you step away from her, still shocked.

“No! I wouldn’t be here if I did and what could I even do to put a target on his back like this?” You explain but you know it’s not true.

You know that your mention of Nines at Grout mansion to LaCroix is the cause of this, so really, you are guilty in the end, but you need Damsel to cooperate so you lie again. You realize you have been lying a lot lately and you are not sure if you like it much.

Damsel regards your words for a moment then nods, believing you.

“Fine. We Anarchs will figure this out later. Now get going, things are not going to get pretty here if your Cammy ass remains in the bar after these news.”

You nod to her and then immediately turn and leave. As you step outside you already see several Kindred rushing towards the bar, but they pass you without noticing you. All you can do is retreat from Round with a heavy feeling in your chest. If LaCroix called a Blood Hunt on Rodriguez because of you, then you’re not going to be happy about this, especially since you tried to tell him something was off. Talking to Nines today again made you realize that something really was off when you saw him at the Grout mansion.

Was it even him?

As you start walking back to Skyline Apartments you wonder if shapeshifting like this is even possible. You haven’t heard about it before but then again, you still don’t know so many things about Kindred. Maybe there’s information somewhere out there that could answer those questions that are now spinning in your head.

But first things first – you need to get back to your apartment. And then – to chase after the homeless population of Downtown. While Rodriguez’s Blood Hunt is big news – you still have your task to look into the pandemic and in the end he’s an Anarch, do you really care if he gets hunted down?

You come to realize that no, you don’t. And the only reason why it bothers you is that if LaCroix called the Hunt based on your information, then he used flimsy information at best and you don’t like that. If that’s true – then he used his chance to possibly eliminate Rodriguez and he used you as a catalyst.

The guilt of this is something you will have to live with. And it raises more questions about Sebastian’s motives. Questions that you realize you don’t want to ask.

But will have to.

[savventeen]

2 ... With mingyuuuuuuu 🥺

break the curse, break my heart

pairing: cursebreaker!mingyu x cursebreaker!gn!reader rating: M (mostly for reader's potty mouth) wc: 5.1k prompt: ‘things you said through your teeth’ (from this list) summary: what's supposed to be a simple hex job turns into something much deadlier, and suddenly the two of you are fighting just to stay alive warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, near-death experiences, exorcisms (kinda), convulsing, blood, hospitals, but there's a happy ending friends no worries!!!, mingyu is self-sacrificing, self-harm (mingyu cuts himself so he can use blood for magic reasons), descriptions of a panic attack tags: modern magic au, curse-breaking as a career, they’re partners (in the business sense AND romantic sense), non-linear narrative, alternating pov, reader calls mingyu stupid approximately a billion times, but he absolutely deserves it so *shrugs*, seungcheol also makes a guest appearance as #1 hyung a/n: sorry this took approximately 84 years to complete (it was only supposed to be a drabble lmao) but i hope you enjoy it despite the wait!! also a quick note on the magic in this world: hexes are the equivalent of small pests and are more annoyance than anything whereas curses are Extremely Dangerous and often deadly

Hex hunting is not what you expected to be doing tonight.

Well, it was your job, of course, but usually you weren’t called in on a case so last minute, and especially not on one of your few days off.

But apparently whoever owns this house-turned-antique shop called in a favor or two at the guild, and everyone else was busy, so here you were — hauling yourself up a ladder and into a dusty attic at nearly midnight on Saturday night because there was pesky little hex on the loose that apparently couldn’t wait until morning to be taken care of.

Whatever. Jeonghan would owe you one, and you plan to save that favor for something big. Plus, it’s not like you’re doing this job alone.

Right on cue, Mingyu’s voice filters through your earbuds in a petulant whine. “Jagi-yahhhhhh.”

You roll your eyes even though you know he can't see it, a hint of fondness trickling through the exasperation in the form of a smile, and you continue your scan of the first room of the attic. The bright teal glow at the end of your wooden staff is your only source of light as you look for any signs of the wayward hex.

"Why did I have to be the one to search the basement,” Mingyu continues. “Why couldn't we have switched?"

You snort, peering around a stack of old moving boxes that tower over you and seem to be more duct tape than cardboard, miscellaneous protective runes scribbled all over them in sloppy permanent marker. "You lost rock-paper-scissors fair and square, babe, I don't know what else to tell you."

Besides the faint scorch marks you've found that match the ones throughout the rest of the house, you haven't had any luck in finding traces of the hex.

"But it's so creepy down here," he whines, pout audible through the phone call. He's right, of course — you suppress a shudder at the thought of having to face the numerous shelves lined with antique porcelain dolls stored down there, and thank the stars for letting you win that particular battle of rock-paper-scissors.

Even still, you can’t help but tease him just a little. “If you stop complaining and actually clear the basement, you can get out of there much sooner, you know.”

There’s a moment of silence over the line, and you take the opportunity to do one last sweep of the haphazard piles of boxes and broken artifacts — your staff’s glow unwavering — before heading to the door that opens into the attic’s second room.

“Wow,” Mingyu deadpans. “I think I hate you and everything that you stand for, actually.”

You bark out a startled laugh, loud and carefree in the way that only seems to happen with Mingyu, and you feel a smile bloom across your face. “Oh, wow,” you giggle. “Whatever did I do to deserve such sweet words from you?”

The teal light flickers slightly as you trace your staff in a familiar pattern in front of the door, checking for traps and finding none. Satisfied, you push it open with a creaking groan and step carefully past the threshold.

“You know exactly what you did,” Mingyu scolds indignantly as you step fully into what appears to be an empty room. “And you will get sweet words when you stop forcing me to go down into scary basements, y/n. I swear, some creepy possessed toy is going to be the death of me one day.”

“Sure,” you reply, distracted. Something about the room is…off.

There’s nothing immediately amiss — boxes and antiques just like the previous room propped up and shoved against the walls — but there’s something, a feeling, that you can’t quite seem to put your finger on, and it sets you on edge. “Should’ve picked a different career if you wanted to avoid scary basements, though.”

“Funny, we have the exact same job description and yet somehow you never have to go into the basements — only me.”

“Yeah,” you murmur quietly. “Funny.”

Something’s wrong.

Your bad feeling coalesces into a pressure that starts to build in your chest and the hair on your arms stands on end as goosebumps race across your skin.

“Gyu, something’s wrong.”

Belatedly, you realize you’d just interrupted him in the middle of a sentence, but you’re too busy tracing a quick series of protective sigils in the air around you to care too much.

His tone turns serious in an instant. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Not sure yet, bad feeling.” There are only a few strokes left for you to complete when the teal light at the end of your staff flickers and then goes out.

“Shit,” you whisper.

“Y/n?”

Before you can open your mouth to answer, the end of your staff lights up again. But it’s not the calming teal blue that you’re used to. It’s red — deep, dark, and ominous — and the implication sends dread coursing through your body like liquid lead.

“Fuck, it’s not a hex, it’s a curse.”

You pivot to run out of the room, but before you can make it two steps away, something slams into you with enough force to knock you down to the floor. And then you’re screaming — the dark magic coursing through you in an agonizing wave that makes you feel like you’re on fire.

You realize you’re on your hands and knees and Mingyu is yelling in your ears and you feel like you might be dying, and for a few moments you forget that you’re trained for this. You might not have any of your usual equipment since it was supposed to be an easy in-and-out hex job, but you grit your teeth and remind yourself that you’re fucking trained for this.

"—cking answer me, y/n, please."

“Here,” you sob. You’re not sure how much time you lost, probably only a few seconds, but you think you can hear Mingyu pounding his way up the stairs.

“Fuck, thank god, okay. Hold on, I’m on my way. Just hold on.”

You can feel the curse trying to tear you apart from the inside out, an enraged wildfire with scorching claws, and it takes all of your concentration to pull the sharpie out of the pouch attached to your belt. You yank the cap off with trembling hands, and then another wave of agony courses through you and you collapse onto your side, unable to hold yourself up any longer. Doesn’t matter, you think. You don’t need to be sitting up for this, anyway.

You drag one of your sleeves up and shakily start to trace out a series of banishing runes — the ones you’ve known by heart for years now. But it only takes you a few strokes to realize you’re shaking too much to be able to draw anything legible. It doesn’t stop you from trying though, tracing wobbly shapes even as you can’t see them through your tears. And then the painful spasms get so bad that you can’t hold onto the pen anymore, and you’re left shaking on the floor feeling like every single one of your cells has become a raging inferno.

“Gyu, ‘m sorry,” you slur through your cries. “Love you, ‘m sorry.”

You don’t know if he responds, but you blink and suddenly hands are turning you over and clutching your shoulders, cupping your face, and — Mingyu is here.

He’s here and he’s saying something, his face a portrait of fear and worry, and you know deep in your gut that he’s too late. He’s too late and he’s going to have to watch you die right in front of him and that thought is almost more painful than the curse searing its way through every fiber of your being and then—

For a moment, the agonizing fire within doubles, triples, in intensity — the curse hooking its claws within you and coalescing into a pain so severe you didn’t think it was possible. The agony is so all-encompassing that you don’t even have the ability to think any last words, let alone say them, before the darkness claims you.

Mingyu has always hated going down into creepy basements.

It’s his least favorite part of the job and he makes sure that everyone knows exactly how much he hates it whenever he’s forced to go down into one. (Especially when he lets you win at rock-paper-scissors, because even though he’s fond enough of you to go down into the basements in your stead, he’s not at all above whining about it.)

He knows it’s all psychological, of course, that any other rooms of the houses they’re called out to are just as likely to be affected by malignant magic. But — there’s something that always feels so sinister about descending a flight of rickety stairs into unknown darkness.

And of course, tonight’s last minute hex job just had to have a basement full of creepy dolls that seemed like they were trying to stare directly into his soul. Because the universe hates him and he loves you too much for his own good.

The blue glow of his dual war picks isn’t helping the situation either, casting ominous shadows wherever he turns.

He comes around a corner and finds himself unexpectedly face to face with one of the dolls — the porcelain cracked excessively at the corners of the mouth, making it look like its face is stretched into a smile straight from hell. Mingyu shudders.

“God, I hate dolls so much,” he tells you. “Especially this one. I swear it’s going to come to life and try to eat m—”

“Gyu, something’s wrong.”

Your voice is completely void of all the lighthearted bickering from just a moment ago, and Mingyu’s tone hardens to match. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Not sure yet,” you continue, distracted. “Bad feeling.”

He tightens his grip on his picks and turns to make his way out of the basement, but your whispered “Shit” stops him in his tracks. Worried, he calls out your name.

You gasp, loud and crackling over the phone call, and dread drips icily down his spine. “Fuck, it’s not a hex, it’s a curse.”

Before he can process how truly fucked that makes the both of you, you start screaming, and Mingyu promptly loses his goddamn mind.

His feet move faster than he can think, sending him rocketing up the stairs. But one of his boots catches on the top of the basement steps in his haste and he goes sprawling across the wooden floor.

He shouts your name as he scrambles to get up, and the longer you keep screaming instead of answering, the more desperate he becomes — begging you to just answer him, please, god, please.

You sob out a “Here” just as he’s making it up to the second floor, hating the house for being so huge it’s practically a mansion.

He curses in relief at the sound of your voice and says, “Hold on, I’m on my way. Just hold on.”

Soon the ladder to the attic is in front of him and he quickly sheaths his picks, practically flying up the worn wooden rungs. His movements turn frantic when he hears you slur an apology over the line, something that sounds an awful lot like a final goodbye, and when he sprints across the attic to the far room and finds you convulsing on the floor, his heart stops.

His worst nightmare is playing out right in front of his eyes, and he feels like he can't breathe when he falls to his knees next to you.

Your staff is glowing a deep, hellfire red off to the side, and from the shadows in the room he can tell that his picks are glowing the same sinister color. He grabs you by the shoulders and rolls you onto your back, flinching at the heat emanating from your skin.

“Baby, look at me. Hey, look at me, baby, c’mon—” You don’t respond verbally, but your tear-filled eyes open a fraction and lock onto his. He moves his hands to cup your face — it feels like you’re on fire, fuck — and vows, “I can fix this, baby, okay? I’m—”

Too late, something traitorous whispers in the back of his mind. You’re too late, and they’re going to die, and it’s going to be your fault.

“Just— just hold on, please, hold on, baby, I’m gonna fix this.”

He sees the sloppy runework on your forearm, knows in his gut that even if he redid them himself, it would be unlikely for you to survive the banishment. Devastation chokes him for half a second, freezing and unyielding and all-encompassing, before he realizes: you probably couldn’t survive…

But maybe he could.

Again, his body starts moving before his brain can fully catch up, snagging your dropped sharpie from the floor and scrambling to trace a transference rune on the unmarked skin of your arm. He copies the matching rune onto his palm, and with one more desperate plea for you to hold on, he slaps his marked palm over your rune.

He already knows the curse is a nasty one, but the way he can feel it digging its claws into you, ripping and tearing as it’s forcefully dragged through the rune on your arm and into his, brings bile to the back of his throat.

You scream your loudest yet before going scarily, horrifyingly limp, but Mingyu doesn’t have enough time to do anything but try not to pass out as the curse sears its way into his body.

It’s agony, and Mingyu knows he has a very limited amount of time. From the way it already feels like he’s being boiled from the inside, it’s probably even less than he thought.

Maybe I won’t survive this, a quiet, scared little part of him whispers.

He bites back a scream between his teeth and starts drawing a binding rune on his arm, taking another glance at where you lie crumpled on the floor.

Maybe I won’t survive… but you will.

Consciousness, when it comes, is slow, syrupy.

For some reason, the fact that you’re conscious at all comes with a sluggish sort of surprise, a groggy, Huh. Not dead.

And then you realize just how freezing you are. It’s like your entire body has suddenly turned to ice. A voice in the back of your mind mumbles something about fire, but all you can focus on is how cold and how empty you feel, and—

Everything comes back to you with the force of a meteor — the curse, the pain, Mingyu, “I’m gonna fix this,” Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu — and you’re jolting into motion with a choked gasp.

It’s not the unthinkable agony of before, not even close — but it hurts.

Your body feels like its insides have been scraped out with icy, rusted spoons and your bones have been replaced with lead that’s been left to freeze in the arctic tundra. Just getting to your hands and knees feels like climbing Mount Everest, and dizziness threatens to send you sprawling back onto the attic floor.

But you push through it with a grunt, and from your right you hear Mingyu gasp out your name in question. You turn, almost falling over in the process, and find him curled up against a beat up old trunk and a pile of small cardboard boxes, one of his war picks tossed to the side and casting him in a haunting red glow.

He looks awful, sweat dripping down his face and expression scrunched up in misery. His entire body is tensed, strained with the amount of force it's taking to hold all of the pain inside, and one arm is pulled tight to his chest while the other is pressed to the floor, his fingers coated in something wet and shiny. 

You scramble as quickly as you can to him with a worried croak of his name, but he shoots out the hand he’d been holding against his chest and shouts, “Wait, stop!”

You do, but only because he sounds so scared. “Gyu, what…”

Your eyes trail from his worried face to his outstretched arm, to where a large burn sits in the palm of his hand, smudged with ink. More ink further up his arm catches your eye, and it’s with a dawning horror that you realize what exactly he’s marked there.

It’s a binding rune, and you think you’re going to be sick.

“What did you do?” It comes out as a whisper, and Mingyu doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw and starts moving the hand he has on the floor.

You follow the movement, and you realize he’s drawn something on the floor with that shiny substance, a set of runes like the ones you tried to complete, and then something clicks in the back of your mind and you realize it’s blood. It’s his blood, judging by the equally dark and shiny tear in the knee of his pants.

No… no no no no no.

“What did you do?” This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real.

You already know the answer to your question, the lines drawn in blood on the floor matching the ones you tried to draw on your arm. Since he used a binding rune on himself — stupid, stupid, stupid — the only way to complete the banishment is with a blood ritual. A stupidly dangerous, stupidly deadly blood ritual. “What the fuck did you do?”

His eyes flint with a steel-lined determination. “Took the curse,” he grunts.

All at once, all of the fear and worry coursing through you ignites into a righteous fury. You force your frozen limbs to move — careful not to smear his stupid, stupid runes — and clumsily crawl close enough to grip him by the shoulders as tightly as your shaking hands will allow.

"Kim Mingyu, why the absolute hell would you do something so fucking stupid?!"

You’re angry, furious, but it’s only a mask for the fact that you’re the most terrified you’ve ever been in your entire life. Desperate tears start dripping down your face, momentarily blurring your vision.

When you blink them away, you see him looking at you. No, not at you, into you — into your heart and into your soul.

And through gritted teeth, he vows, “Because you're the love of my fucking life, and like hell was I going to sit back and let this curse take you away from me."

A wounded sound punches out of you, and you twist your trembling hands in the fabric of his shirt. "So you're gonna let it take you away from me instead?"

Your fury melts into devastation, into grief, so quickly it leaves you lightheaded. You sway forward until your forehead makes contact with the burning skin of his neck.

“ ‘S not gonna take me.” He pants, pressing a searing kiss to the shell of your ear. “I promise.”

You can feel the way his arm moves as he traces out the final strokes of his blood rune, and you know the instant he completes it because his entire body tenses beneath yours. And then he’s screaming, raw and guttural, and then you’re screaming, and the curse fights every second with metaphorical claws and teeth until the banishment is complete—

And then, with a blinding flash of red, the house is silent, still, and dark.

It takes Mingyu much longer than what’s probably considered normal to realize that he is, in fact, awake.

He thinks he feels like he got hit by a bullet train, but mostly he feels so floaty that it’s hard to tell anything at all.

“That’d be the drugs.”

Hmm. He knows that voice. He wonders what Seungcheol is doing in his dream. Usually his dreams have more color, though, not whatever this endless black is.

“Not dreaming. And you’d know that if you opened your eyes.”

What a revolutionary concept. One that proves much more difficult than anticipated, because somehow when he wasn’t paying attention, someone switched his eyelids out for anvils. It could take him minutes or even hours, but eventually he’s able to peel his eyes open a fraction. It’s enough for him to see… beige. Just— a whole lot of beige. And then a really blurry face.

“Hey, hey, Mingyu,” the face says, suddenly eager. “Are you in there? Are you actually waking up this time?”

Mingyu blinks, and opens his eyes a bit more, and the blurry form above him morphs into the worried face of Seungcheol, his dark eyebrows pulled together in hopeful concern.

Mingyu blinks again. “No,” he pouts.

Seungcheol barks out a laugh that almost sounds like a sob. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Mingyu feels a hand slip into his and squeeze — oh yeah, hands, I have those — and another gently brushes his bangs aside. “Hey, kid. It’s good to see you,” Seungcheol sniffs.

“Why’re you cryin’?” Something must have happened to Mingyu’s face if the mere sight of him brings Seungcheol to tears. Did he trip and fall down some stairs or something? He vaguely remembers a set of rickey stairs. “Wha’s wrong?”

For a moment, Seungcheol just looks at him, biting his lip like he has a million and one things to say and no idea which ones to start with. Then he sighs, deep and long, and shakes his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Kim Mingyu.”

You're gonna be the death of me.

Something in the back of his mind freezes, tugging at a connection, and then clicks into place.

All of a sudden, Mingyu is no longer in front of Seungcheol. He’s back in the basement, surrounded by shelves of porcelain dolls as he tells you over the phone, “I swear, some creepy possessed toy is going to be the death of me one day.”

And then memory after memory starts fighting its way to the forefront of his consciousness — red, sickly and glowing, the entire room bathed in it  — his war pick in hand, the sharp end slicing into the flesh just above his knee — you, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, not moving, not moving, are you even breathing — the curse, ripping and tearing and shredding its way through the both of you — you, screaming, you, you, you—

He gasps out your name, body moving even as the memories continue to slam into him.

“Woah, hey! Calm down,” Seungcheol shouts, pushing Mingyu back down onto what he now realizes is a hospital bed. But he can’t calm down, not when he doesn't know where you are and the last time he saw you, you were— you were—

“Hey, stop it!” Seungcheol is practically laying on him, each of Mingyu’s wrists pressed to the mattress in a firm grip. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

Mingyu’s wild gaze snaps to Seungcheol’s as he continues to struggle. “Y’n, where’s y/n," he begs. "Hyung, where— they were hurt, they were d— please, I need to find them. I need to make sure they’re okay, please, hyung, please, they have to be okay, they have to, please, I need—”

Hands suddenly grip either side of his face and Seungcheol is almost nose to nose with him, eyes wide and imploring as he orders, “Breathe, Gyu-ah. C’mon, breathe with me.”

Mingyu doesn’t realize how irregular his breathing has become until he tries to take a deep breath and ends up choking on it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Seungcheol assures. “Let’s try again, okay, Gyu-ah? Just follow me; you can do it.”

He continues to talk Mingyu through the panic attack, words as gentle as the fingers he uses to wipe Mingyu’s tears from his cheeks.

Eventually, he gets his breathing under control, and all Mingyu can do is grip Seungchol’s wrists where they still cradle his face and plead, “Hyung.”

“They’re okay, Gyu-ah,” Seungcheol confirms with a crooked half-smile, one that’s cracking at the edges with leftover fear and worry. “Stuck in another bed just like you, but they’re okay.”

Mingyu’s relieved sigh is shaky at best, and Seungcheol doesn’t complain when Mingyu pulls him closer so that he can bury his still-dripping tears in Seungcheol’s chest. He just carefully adjusts their positions so that he can fully wrap himself around Mingyu without messing up any of the wires or sensors. “It’s okay, kid, let it out. I’m here, hyung’s got you.”

And somewhere in between Seungcheol’s comforting words and the most cathartic crying session Mingyu’s ever had in his life, he falls asleep. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he’s waking up to some kind of commotion happening outside of the room.

Between one blink and the next, Seungcheol launches himself out of the bed and Mingyu watches as he jumps about ten feet in the air when the door slams open right as he’s about to reach it.

And then Mingyu’s breath catches in his chest because — there you are.

You’re standing in the doorway, silhoueted by the fluorescent lights of the hallway, looking like some kind of avenging angel. The bottom of your wrinkled hospital gown barely peeks out from beneath the extra large hoodie that looks like it’s trying to swallow you whole (his hoodie, he’ll realize later — one that someone must have brought for you), and you’re wearing a pair of purple fuzzy socks pulled all the way up to your knees.

None of that detracts from the look of pissed the fuck off that you’re wearing like battle armor, though. And if he weren’t so absolutely, joyously relieved to see you, Mingyu would almost certainly be terrified.

It’s as if the whole world freezes for a moment as the two of you lock eyes. The grumblings of the irritated nursing staff fade into the background, and all Mingyu can feel is the beating in his chest calling out to you.

Home, home, home, it seems to say, and he breathes out your name in awe.

Your face goes from furious to relieved to leaking a constant stream of tears so fast that Mingyu almost gets dizzy watching it.

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you choke out, eyes roaming over his form like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you look away. And oh, the sound of your voice, even as it’s clogged with tears, is the most wondrous thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“Y/n,” he repeats, holding your name in his mouth like it’s something holy, something ephemeral and reverent and a syllable away from cracking.

And somehow it breaks whatever spell the two of you were under, because then you’re stalking over to the bed and throwing yourself into his embrace as you sob, “Kim Mingyu, you absolute piece of shit, I hate you so fucking much.”

He laughs wetly as he clutches you, pulling you so close that anyone would need a crowbar to separate the two of you. “I know, baby, I know,” he says.

“I’m so fucking mad at you.”

“I know, baby.”

“If you ever do anything like that again, I’m going to fucking castrate you, I swear to fucking god.”

He feels like his chest might burst with all of the happiness trying to shine out from between his ribs. “I love you, too, y/n.”

“I’m just gonna…” Mingyu looks up at the sound of Seungcheol’s voice and sees him standing awkwardly by the door with a finger pointing out towards the hall. Mingyu nods, and Seungcheol nods back before walking out. He steps out of the door before popping his head back in and saying, “Oh, also, you probably have around fifteen minutes at the most before the rest of the boys realize you’re both awake and storm the castle.”

You snort softly against Mingyu’s shoulder, and he smiles wide enough that his cheeks ache. “Thanks, hyung.”

Seungcheol just gives him a thumbs up before finally making his leave, and Mingyu sighs, soaking up the feeling of holding you in his arms. He quickly tucks his arms up and under your sweater, wanting to hold you even closer, and involuntarily shivers when he feels how cold you are.

“God, you’re freezing,” he murmurs, using one hand to pull the thin hospital blanket over the both of you.

“Mmm,” you agree, wiggling until you’re tucked under his chin and wrapped around him like an extra-clingy koala. “And you’re my new favorite space heater.”

Mingyu grins. “I’m honored.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you grunt. He starts rubbing gentle circles on your lower back, and you melt against him with a drawn out sigh. “You’re still number one on my shit list.”

“Just as long as I’m your number one.”

He lets out a high-pitched yelp when you pinch his side. “Ow, jeesus, you’re pissed, I get it.”

“Good. Know your place.”

(If he blushes at those words, no one is around to see it.)

You lay together in silence for a few minutes — simply basking in the feeling of holding each other — and then Mingyu’s brow furrows as he realizes that you haven’t gotten any warmer. Also, he hadn’t really noticed before because he’d been too focused on you, but he’s feeling warm. Like, really warm.

“Hey, y/n.”

You grunt in acknowledgement.

“Is this Katy Perry hot-and-cold thing we’ve got going on a fun new side effect of the curse?”

“Oh my god, Mingyu,” you groan, untucking your face from his chest just so you can glare at him.

Mingyu holds back a grin as he raises an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

You glare even harder before huffing and tucking your face back into his chest. “No,” you murmur petulantly. Before Mingyu can hold his victory over your head, though, you power on. “And to answer your question: probably. We can have Hao and Shua check to be sure.”

Mingyu hums in agreement and presses his cheek to the top of your head. A moment later, a thought occurs to him, and he grins as he says, “We’re even more perfect for each other now.”

You lift your head again, eyeing him with a hint of suspicion. “Why?”

He tilts his head down so your foreheads are resting together, and his eyes crinkle with the force of his smile. “Thermodynamic equilibrium,” he whispers.

Your eyes soften, filling up with so much fond endearment that a few more tears decide to trail down your cheeks. “My baby is such a fucking nerd.”

And when you press your lips to his, the whole world goes quiet.

Home, home, home, his heart sings inside his chest. Home, home, home.

[absumoaevum]

Jury of Hearts (53,750 Words || WIP) by absumoaevum

Chapters: 9/?

Fandom: Harry Potter

Rating: Mature

Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Crookshanks (Harry Potter), Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Eudoria Merrythought, Luna Lovegood, Patience Bright, Pomona Sprout, Minerva McGonagall, Horace Slughorn, Violetta Hitchens, Percy Weasley, Leta Brindlemore, Gertrude Meads, Filius Flitwick, Poppy Pomfrey, Eli Cresswell, Prescott Cadwallader, Jameson Terwilleger, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ryan Oaklane, Rory Oaklane, Zacharias Smith

Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, POV Third Person Limited, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Slow Burn, Angst and Feels, Hermione Granger's Parents Are Missing, Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Bullying, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Blood, Violence, Brooding, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary:

With his family's trials on the horizon and nothing holding him to his home apart from his despondent mother and perpetually-drunk father, Draco Malfoy jumps at the opportunity to return to Hogwarts to repeat his final year. At Hogwarts, he can escape his wretched home life and perhaps even rehabilitate his reputation. Things are looking up. That is, until he gets to school and realizes that his entire House hates him. Now Draco must decide between his old life and something new.

New is the last thing Hermione Granger needs. All she wants is for her life to go back to the way it was before the war. When a hearing at the Ministry goes sideways, Hermione accepts Headmistress McGonagall's offer to return to Hogwarts, sure answers lie hidden in the school library that will help her find her missing parents. But Hogwarts is a very different place than she remembers, and Hermione must change as well if she has any hope of overcoming her past to reclaim her future.

Fates intertwine and loyalties are tested in this Post-War 8th-Year Slow Burn Dramione Drama/Suspense/Romance.

Updates Mondays.

[liknws]

[ 00:43 ]

PAIRING: lee minho x reader/oc TAGS: angst, no comfort RATING: 18+, mature | WARNINGS: dark themes, depression, additional trigger warnings located under the cut will contain spoilers for the fic!

WORD COUNT: 1,182 | SUMMARY: Take away the well meant words, the songs that don't help and the smiles that aren't real… call it despair if you want, but something fake hurts more than anything.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: please be aware that this fic will contain topics that some may find extremely upsetting or triggering, such as: main character death, suicide, binge drinking, extreme depression, self harm. if i missed any, please let me know.

read on ao3

I have always loved the flowers and the birds, loved the sunlight and the clouds that drift by. I have always loved the way the leaves move in a breeze and that soft whispering sound they make, like nature loves to chatter too. Yet the tiredness that began a while ago remains like a veil over my skin, gray and cold. And as I watch the petals and the twigs that sway outside the window, there is only a creeping sorrow where there should be joy.

Words are worn, paper creased. Folded and unfolded time and time again. The words are all but illegible now but he doesn’t need the letters on the page. He memorized the letter a long time ago. He carries it with him everywhere, tucked inside the fold of his wallet, right behind your photo.

It sits like November rain on my skin, enough to chill what was once warm inside. At any other time I would’ve called a friend, asked for the warmth I needed to ward it off, just a little is enough. No longer. Now I just let it come, drop by drop and I feel like it is an ocean falling upon me instead of rain - that the grief of years I carefully suspended has all condensed right above my head into a cloud large enough to block the sun. They say it can't rain forever, that there will come a time when it must cease, that the last drop will have fallen. Thing is, I just don't care.

Funny, he thinks. The same cold November rain drizzles over his shoulders and hunched back. The shivering passed some time ago, about half a bottle ago. Amber liquid swishes as the glass rim meets chapped lips. Glass is all that his lips kiss now, anything else feels too warm and too real. He wonders when you stopped fighting against the cold, when your shivers became the normal and that the calm of a summer day became unbearable.

What I need will never come and no matter how much I look for it, I won’t find it. I wasn't born for great things, nor to find my place in the sun. I could try every day, work for what I want and need, but there are no paths to success, not from here. People talk as if I dream my way out, simply discover a version of me that only sees the opportunities and ignores the noise, the distractions and the people who only say "no" because they don't believe in themselves, so how can they believe in me? So take away the well meant words, the songs that don't help and the smiles that aren't real... call it despair if you want, but something fake hurts more than anything.

The words echo in him, resonate as if striking the last chord alive in his chest. How did he miss this? How did he miss the way your smile stopped sparkling in your eyes and the way your laugh no longer made your head fall back as if one body couldn’t contain it all. How had he missed the way your shine began to dull?

I can't recall the last time I reached out for that child-self I once was, the kid who loved sunshine and rain all the same. I started to see darkness around the lights instead of the other way around, and soon there were no more colors in my world. For so long I was okay with living in a world without color, without warmth, as long as I was with you. It wasn't a color but you brought something. Sometimes I could remember what orange felt like when your hair was that color. I remember it became my favorite color while you had it. I could remember what pink felt like after the first time I kissed you. I thought your cheeks would stay that way forever.

He was such a coward that day. He was a coward every day, he thinks. All he wanted to do was kiss you, looking at your lips everytime you spoke or laughed. Everytime he tried or convinced himself to try, he chickened out the last second. You had noticed at some point, you told him months into dating. Apparently you'd caught on and wanted to see how long it would take for him to finally kiss you and when the night was ending and he was standing very awkwardly on your doorstep you took pity on Lee Minho and kissed him first. However the next day he kissed you in the middle of the courtyard with everyone watching and it was your turn to be pink cheeked and shy.

Please, when you think of me, remember the good things. The great things. Know that you brought just a little color into my gray world. Know that your love spread warmth even when I didn't ask for it and that I will forever love you. My last day was exactly how I wanted it to go and I hope that one day you'll forgive me for using you like that.

The memory is sharp, painful. He didn't know anything you had planned. If he had he would have done everything he could think of to change your mind. To keep you next to him, to keep your hand in his. You two had done all your favorite things together, just the two of you. He should have seen it then, looking back. He should have realized that was your goodbye to him, that was your way of leaving him all your good parts, all your love. You had no idea that leaving him would take all his color too.

But mostly, I hope that you will move on. That you'll do all the things we said we would do, maybe by yourself. But I hope you do them with someone else, someone that deserves all your color and all your warmth. I hope you love again, I hope you smile again. I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough to stay, I'm sorry that our love wasn't enough to keep me here. I hope you forgive me for that too. I will love you forever, Minnie.

Before long the paper is soaked through from the light rain. Hand out stretched in front of him, page fluttering in the wind that has picked up as the storm rolls in. He lets the letter go, watching as the rain soaked paper flutters off into the swallowing darkness. He won't need it where he's going.

There’s only the sound of wind whistling past his ears. Rain falls on his face but he barely feels it. He hasn’t felt anything but the pain of missing you, the loss of your smile and your laugh. He wonders if this was the last thing you felt. The pleasant emptiness of nothing, of falling freely without fear of the landing. Eyes close as the darkness swallows him too.

He hopes he gets to ask you but first he’s going to kiss you.

[myriadxofxmuses]

RATE YOUR MUSE'S TRAITS 0-10 !!

Repost and rate your muse's traits, then tag your followers.

Tagged by: @heartxshaped-bruises

Tagging: @waveofstars (Chey), @reevezs , @sheiismother (Morgan), @uncxntrxllable (Lakota), @lunarruled , @scinglivess , @huntrcssqueen (Theo) , @apurekindness , @disposablelover , and YOU

I decided to do my boys for this one.

Oscar

★  ⸻   COMPASSION: 7/10 It very much depends on the situation, but Oscar can be very sympathetic to someone's plight.

★  ⸻   BITTERNESS: 2/10 He is not a very bitter person. That's not to say he doesn't feel the emotion at times, but it is not something that is ever central to his life.

★  ⸻   HAPPINESS: 7/10 Even though he doesn't believe it is a necessity to life, he's a fairly happy guy. I would venture to say more of a content person, but happy nonetheless.

★  ⸻   POLITENESS: 9/10 His mama raised him right.

★  ⸻   CHIVALRY: 8/10 He is pretty chivalrous. He cares a lot for the opposite sex and is steadfast in the way he treats them. Any woman lucky enough to be called his will be treated like a queen.

★  ⸻   PRIDE: 9/10 His pride can be one of his downfalls at times. He has a very hard time getting over his pride and accepting that it should be knocked down a peg or two.

★  ⸻   HONESTY: 8/10 He is honest as much as possible, but there have been plenty of opportunities throughout his life that have made dishonesty essential. So while he prefers to be an open book, he is well versed in hiding things as necessary.

★  ⸻   BRAVERY: 9/10 Even if he was afraid of something, that wouldn't stop him from doing what needs to be done. Even if it means risking his own life.

★  ⸻   RECKLESSNESS: 3/10 Oscar is a very logical and strategic man and rarely takes risks without thinking through all possible outcomes.

★  ⸻   AMBITION: 8/10 Oscar is extremely ambitious which is how he has climbed his professional ladder to the height he has.

★  ⸻   LOYALTY: 8/10 When he is loyal to someone. He is loyal to a fault at times.

★  ⸻   LOVE: 6/10 While he's not opposed to finding the one his career largely gets in the way of things.

★  ⸻   SENSE OF FAMILY: 9/10 Family is super important to Oscar. Despite his father's life path, he instilled in both Emily and Oscar how important it was to be a family and to stick together.

★  ⸻   ATTRACTIVENESS: 8/10 He doesn't view himself as that attractive - his scar riddled body and his inability to have children a big part of this belief - but he know what women think about him.

★  ⸻   AGILITY: 9/10 His years in the military kept him fit and agile and he's never lost it.

★  ⸻   SEX DRIVE: 7/10 He enjoys it and is fairly decent at it, but it isn't a high priority for him. His work keeps him busy and distracted most days.

Gage

★  ⸻   COMPASSION: 8/10 He is a borderline empath. He is super compassionate to the point of sometimes ignoring his own needs over others.

★  ⸻   BITTERNESS: 1/10 Gage has nothing to really be bitter over except the occasional disappointment when it comes to gigs.

★  ⸻   HAPPINESS: 8/10 He is generally happy with his life. While he does have the down moments, especially when in the midst of his addiction, he jumps back pretty quickly.

★  ⸻   POLITENESS: 6/10 Polite for the most part, but can sometimes come across as arrogant.

★  ⸻   CHIVALRY: 7-8/10 He is actually a gentleman when it comes to the women in his life - so long as they aren't one nighters or flings.

★  ⸻   PRIDE: 5/10 While proud of his professional accomplishments, he isn't really a proud person. He legitimately doesn't like to talk about himself or brag, but can when he needs for work.

★  ⸻   HONESTY: 9/10 He is honest. He despises liars, so he would never do so himself intentionally or willingly.

★  ⸻   BRAVERY: 5/10 He is a self preserver and wouldn't take unnecessary risks to his life.

★  ⸻   RECKLESSNESS: 7/10 He is an addict and can be extremely reckless at times. Having enough money to fix pretty much any mistake he could make, he doesn't think things through at times.

★  ⸻   AMBITION: 9/10 Super ambitious. It was his ambition that drove the band to their fame and it's his ambition that keeps them at the top.

★  ⸻   LOYALTY: 8/10 He is loyal to those who matter to him.

★  ⸻   LOVE: 6/10 Given his career path he doesn't expect to find love, although he is more than open to the possibility - though he doesn't actively look for it.

★  ⸻   SENSE OF FAMILY: 9/10 He is very close to his family and his sister is super protective of him.

★  ⸻   ATTRACTIVENESS: 8/10 He isn't vain, but he isn't naive when it comes to his looks.

★  ⸻   AGILITY: 6-7/10 Agile enough to get the job done.

★  ⸻   SEX DRIVE: 7/10 While he too takes advantage of the loose women constantly around him, he also has times where he wants a break. He can turn it off should the need arise to concentrate on more important life needs.

Silas

★  ⸻   COMPASSION: 6-7/10 He has compassion - his upbringing big on it - but he has a hard time showing it.

★  ⸻   BITTERNESS: 1/10 Not a bitter person in the slightest.

★  ⸻   HAPPINESS: 8/10 Silas is a care-free, happy-go-lucky guy and thoroughly enjoys his life.

★  ⸻   POLITENESS: 6/10 He is polite enough when he needs to be, but he can easily be a douche too.

★  ⸻   CHIVALRY: 8/10 He knows what women like and he isn't afraid to do what it takes to make them happy.

★  ⸻   PRIDE: 4-5/10 He isn't really a proud person, even though proud of what he's done with his life. Pride was largely shunned growing up, so he never really had a need for it.

★  ⸻   HONESTY: 8/10 He is honest, but can tell a fib from time to time to get what he wants.

★  ⸻   BRAVERY: 4/10 He is somehwhat of a pascifist, but can handle his own if need be - though he never goes looking for a fight or trouble, even if it finds him more often than not.

★  ⸻   RECKLESSNESS: 8/10 Silas acts before he thinks more often than not. Consequences of his actions usually don't play a part in his decision to do something until it's too late.

★  ⸻   AMBITION: 6/10 He is ambitious enough to keep going, but doesn't have any real goals in life.

★  ⸻   LOYALTY: 8/10 Given his upbringing, loyalty is a big deal for him and fully believes it goes both ways.

★  ⸻   LOVE: 9/10 Despite his outwardly appearance of a hoe, he is a hopeless romantic at heart.

★  ⸻   SENSE OF FAMILY: 7/10 While his upbringing made family super important, it wasn't exactly family as most viewed it - his parents part if a cult that viewed each member as family and anyone else as an outsider. Silas' parents are important to him, but he doesn't consider blood family. His family is very much chosen.

★  ⸻   ATTRACTIVENESS: 7/10 He knows women find him attractive. He is also aware part of his attractiveness has to do with his career as a musician, so it isn't too important to.him.

★  ⸻   AGILITY: 8/10 He is nimble and limber.

★  ⸻   SEX DRIVE: 9/10 He is a player in every sense of the word. He takes full advantage of the groupies and the benefits of being a rockstar when it comes to his bedroom habits - enjoying it without apology.

Ethan

★  ⸻   COMPASSION: 2/10 There are moments when he second guesses himself and feels, for lack of a better word, bad about things, but it is never enough to change his ways.

★  ⸻   BITTERNESS: 6-7/10 He is full of bitterness for a lot of things that have happened in his life - most of them being legitimate to feel bitter over.

★  ⸻   HAPPINESS: 3-4/10 Happiness is a useless emotion for him, but he knows how to fake it almost expertly. Only those who know him best, which are few and far between, can catch that he is putting on a show for others.

★  ⸻   POLITENESS: 5/10 As with happiness, he knows how to fake it until he makes it.

★  ⸻   CHIVALRY: 3/10 And that's being generous. While Ethan can be a gentleman at times, it is not a priority to him AT ALL. He sees the opposite sex as a toy and most women become his victim in the end, so he sees no need to genuinely be nice to them - unless he's baiting them to satisfy his desire to kill.

★  ⸻   PRIDE: 8/10 Ethan is very prideful of his feats in life - although most of them are known only to him otherwise he'd have been locked up and executed years ago.

★  ⸻   HONESTY: 3/10 He is a pathelogical liar and has no qualms about it. He could care less if he is honest. Honesty is a very hard thing for him to practice, seeing as he believes it makes him weak to acknowledge his inner emotions when he has them.

★  ⸻   BRAVERY: 9/10 Given his chosen extracurricular activities, he is surprisingly brave. Not much frightens him.

★  ⸻   RECKLESSNESS: 2/10 Ethan is methodical and rarely gets sloppy with anything in life. He can be meticulous even with the most mundane activity.

★  ⸻   AMBITION: 5/10 He has enough ambition to keep him going, but since his family is old money and he has a seemingly endless trustfund, he doesn't see a need for ambition.

★  ⸻   LOYALTY: 3/10 Ethan is loyal only to one person. Himself.

★  ⸻   LOVE: 7/10 While Ethan exerts an uncaring appearance, he desperately wants to be loved. He also wants feel love for another, even if he will never admit how thirsty he is for the connection.

★  ⸻   SENSE OF FAMILY: 1/10 He hates his family, but his siblings are the only ones he has ever remotely tried to become close to - even if it failed miserably.

★  ⸻   ATTRACTIVENESS: 9/10 He is very much aware of his attractiveness to the opposite sex and uses it to his advantage as often as possible.

★  ⸻   AGILITY: 9/10 He is fit and agile, a necessary for his night time activities.

★  ⸻   SEX DRIVE: 9/10 He is a horny devil.

[dorylinae-supremacy]

🪄 The Green Striped Hat 🪄

AU where magic historian Techno gets granted special permission to read a cursed book - The Green Striped Hat - written by a wizard known only as 'Philza', someone strongly believed to be the strongest magic wielder to ever exist.

Tags: Alternate universe - Magic, Technoblade centric, Dark Sleepy Boys Inc, Dark Phil, horror, kinda, mentioned death, insane Technoblade, bro is not stable, parasocial relationships, kinda, can you get parasocial with a dead ancient wizard?, Dark Technoblade too I guess, ~470 words, you get the vibes as you read

He is the first person to read it after its initial discovery. While how it landed in the magistrated library is shrouded in mystery, they do know a few key things.

One was that the first person to ever read it was rendered completely unable to transcribe it, having gone completely unresponsive after the first page. They remained that way until finally expiring 4 days later.

Another was that it was locked away for a reason that none knew. It had been hidden away, locked behind ancient runes and locks that required lifetimes to get through. Techno's reading of this book was quite literally centuries in the making.

The final thing they knew was that the only way to survive reading to the end was through a massive well of magic. Any and all attempts to read had a 100% mortality rate, the longest lasting survivor having made it just 10 pages inside.

Through careful research, they worked out that it ate away at mana, taking the reader as a host and consuming them as they continued to read deeper and deeper. A few even reported hallucinations to pair with this, visions varying wildly from person to person.

It had fascinated him all his life. From the day he heard about the book on the playground, he knew he had to read it. He needed to know what was inside.

Over the years, his obssession with the thing only grew. He dived into what little research there was available about 'Philza', learning ancient and long dead languages just so he could read straight from the sources.

His family became concerned, of course, pleading with him to stop and use his magical talents for something far less self destructive but they didn't understand how important this was.

They didn't know Philza like he did. No one knew the ancient wizard better than him. That was why he had to do this. He had to know what the mans last creation was before he disappeared.

His family were the first obstacle he had to face, that was all. It was a trial sent by him to test just how diligent he was willing to be. He passed that trial when he was accepted to the most elite magical school anyone could access - Crow's Perch Academy.

It was there that he spent diligently studying and remaining at the top of his class for this opportunity. In total it took until he was 24 for him to be offered the chance to read The Green Striped Hat.

They called it a suicide mission, he called it his destiny.