#*hands you a antique pocket watch*
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☆ AND I KNOW IT’S OVER (STILL I CLING)
percy jackson, who never seems to know when to quit, keeps coming back. (2.9k)
contains: percy jackson x daughter of minor god! reader. post tlo (alt universe - everyone lives). book percy descriptions. apollo (derogatory).
kashaf’s note: book percy descriptions bc that was my first love. (sry if i get some of the words wrong, english isnt my first language pls be patient!!)
SUMMER BURNS. at camp half-blood, the scorching heat has dwindled to soft caresses, from the heat of the fire during sing-alongs where your cabin joins hands and toasts marshmallows to the cool breeze balming the sun’s glare at its zenith in the sprawling strawberry fields. at home, the scorching heat leaves marks — the biker with flames for pupils who clutched an openly bleeding wound as he thrust a first-aid kit at you, and the girl not much older than yourself with tears marring her face as she handed you a pregnancy test to ring up, avoiding your curious (sympathetic) gaze.
however, despite it all — you stand infallible, much like your grandfather’s part convenience store and part pharmacy, a poor man’s family heirloom.
you stand idly, flipping through an edition of seventeen when the rusty door swings open to admit a familiar face — with unruly black hair and an equally reckless grin (you know exactly who it is from the ba-dum of your heartbeat), the infamous son of poseidon (with the same smile as shawn hunter from boy meets world) is easily recognizable.
you glance at the crimson blooming around the crevices of his knuckles, tightly gripping a faded and worn-out skateboard, his scruffy converse squeaking across the tiled floor, raising an eyebrow as you coolly say, “band-aids are in the back, on the right.”
jackson laughs, an all-consuming sound (the wind-blown half-blood hill where apollo seemed to smile down at you, the laughter, like the memory, evanescent), “thanks, doc.”
you discreetly watch him perusing the aisles, before stopping in front of the ancient fridge — your grandfather’s store was something of an 80s pompeii with the peeling posters of back to the future and motley crue and the antiquated maroon and cream color scheme — and pulling out an arizona green tea.
when he finally goes to look for band-aids, you attempt to fix your attention back on the magazine in your hands, but like a moth driven to a flame, percy jackson was unbelievably hard to look away from (a magnet among mortals and immortals alike).
jackson’s hands are on his hips, his tupac t-shirt creasing, thick brows furrowed as he decides between different types of candy with the same intensity as a single mother with two children and a nine-to-five (even in the mortal world, there is something else entirely about him, something that made it so that you could never truly write him off).
when he approaches the register again, it’s hard not to look up and watch his ascent. when he finally does come to a stop in front of you, he looks the same as he did the last summer, though the tiny silver trident earring is new, the camp beads resting peacefully atop his collarbones aren’t.
you ring up his items: a box of band-aids, the arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks, looking away from him all the while.
“good to see ya, doc,” jackson says, a wry grin on his face, and his eyes are so green — as green as they were at twelve.
“it’s never good to see you, jackson,” you snark back, reciting his total, “four ninety-five, by the way.”
he laughs again (your heart goes ba-dum again), and hands you a five dollar bill, shoving his things into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his baggy jeans, with a salute on his way out (his turning back was a sight far more innocuous than the last time).
the next time jackson breaks whatever tacit agreement lies between the two of you, your hands are similarly stained. reds and purples line your palms, much like the burgundy seemingly permanently staining your grandmother’s fingertips; the culprit (the bowl of pomegranate seeds) sits innocently beside you.
“back again?” you say, glancing at the familiar scarlet stains adorning jackson’s hands (a familiar blue friendship bracelet sits on his wrist, edges frayed with five years of wear, and there’s a lump in your throat).
“why, did you miss me?” jackson asks, again with that wry grin of his, skateboard in hand.
“you’re the one who came back,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest, willing the constricting feeling to disappear.
“doc, i’m sorry to have to be the one that has to break this to you,” he sighs sympathetically, putting a bleeding hand over his heart, “but the sun doesn’t revolve around you.”
“actually, jackson, the sun kind of does revolve around me, ‘cause y’know apollo, the sun god apollo? my grandpa apollo? my grandpa, the sun god, apollo?”
“going by your logic, that would mean time revolves around me, ‘cause y’know kronos, the time titan kronos? my grandpa kronos? my grandpa, the time titan, kronos?” jackson says, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets down another band-aid box, an arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks on the counter.
“y’know, if you cared this much, you might’ve passed greek,” you say, referring to the progress report cards you were handed at the end of summer.
he shrugged, handing you another five dollar bill, and proceeding to shove everything into his black holes of jean pockets, “yeah, well — wait, are those pomegranates?”
“yeah,” you say, “i peeled them myself — do you want some?”
(your father liked these, your grandmother had said earlier this afternoon, your mother liked to peel them for him, as i peeled them for her, and your grandfather.)
jackson suddenly looked bashful, fidgeting with the hem of his a tribe called quest t-shirt, “i’ve never had pomegranates before,” he confessed.
you blinked, taken aback, “you’re seventeen years old and you’ve never eaten a pomegranate before?” you pushed the china bowl toward him, “now you have to eat it.”
“my mom liked telling me the myths when i was younger,” he begins, setting down his skateboard, and reaching for the spoon before halting, like he was shocked, “she told me about persephone —”
“jackson,” you say, sardonically, leaning over the register to look him in the eye (there was always a storm brewing in his eyes), “i promise you, hades won’t come out of the ground and drag you to the underworld if you eat the pomegranate seeds i peeled.”
“i know what my next sleep paralysis demon is gonna be — thanks to you,” jackson says, looking down at the bowl and its floral blue pattern around the edges, playing with the spoon, and shifting the seeds from side to side.
“percy jackson, i swear to asclepius, you’re missing out on pomegranates,” you say, coming out from behind the register, and looking percy in the eye again, and there is something so earnest, so raw about your next sentence that his breath catches, “and, i swear on the styx, if hades does somehow come out of the ground to drag you down to the underworld, i’ll come down myself to drag you out, even if it’s tartarus.”
a rumble of thunder can be heard overhead despite the clear sky and scalding sun; percy blinks, before breaking out into a slow grin (your stomach seems to grow wings of its own, on the verge of flight.)
“invoking your dad, huh, doc? these pomegranates must be serious,” percy says, finally taking a bite — stepping around the bomb you just dropped.
you watch him intently, studying him as you studied tennyson and homer, “they are that serious.” there is something innocent about the way he eats, starved like every other teenage boy with black holes for stomachs.
“y’know, i can put that into a tupperware container and you can take it with you, right?” you offer.
“really?” percy asks through a mouthful of seeds, looking up from the bowl at you, “won’t you think i’ll steal it or something?”
“not really,” you shrugged, “i trust ms. jackson.”
percy nods solemnly — sally jackson is sally jackson after all, a queen among women, and an achilles of sorts, with her soft smile and steely eyes.
steeling your nerves, this is already the longest conversation you’ve had (ignoring the forever-ago late-night debriefs under a firmament of stars), you step up to the plate and take a swing, “how is she, by the way, haven’t seen her in a while.”
percy swallowed, eyebrows furrowing, “great — oh, wait, did i tell you she was seeing someone new now?”
“no way, really? good for her, honestly. i know, poseidon’s a god and all, but like, she’s always deserved just, so much more.” (you manage to make contact with the change-up thrown your way.)
there is something so sincere about your words, that percy can’t help but grin back, finally reaching the depths of his sea-green eyes, and there is something still so boyish about him, that you can hardly believe any time has passed at all, and that somewhere within this demigod who successfully defeated kronos, while saving luke, there is still a semblance of your percy.
“yeah, the guy, paul blofis, he’s an english teacher — absolutely worships the ground she walks on.”
“sounds perfect for her.”
“you should come over some time — see her, meet paul, y’know,” percy offers, still funneling spoonfuls of pomegranates, meeting your gaze head-on (this is the home run you were waiting on).
you grinned, a slow smile overtaking your face, pushing your hands in the pockets of your jeans, “might just take you up on that, before you change your mind.” (you’re leaving the ball in his hands now; it’s up to him to tag you out or let you reach home base safely.)
“nah, i won’t change my mind, unlike someone else i know.”
you ignore the jab (a smaller, suppressed part of you itches to shoot a reply back), instead choosing to focus on the hesitant hand of friendship being offered — as your father liked to say, keep moving forward.
you shrugged, and you swear, for a second you think the intensity of his gaze has lessened, almost as if disappointed. almost as if mentally shaking it off, percy hands you the china bowl back, empty, running a hand through his shaggy hair with a sheepish grin.
you smiled wryly, glancing down at the bowl and back to his face. “fatass,” you say, affectionately, and then almost freezing, wondering if you somehow overstepped the invisible lines constricting you.
percy laughs — a green light.
“lucky for you, though,” you say, disappearing behind the register for a moment before reappearing with a tupperware container filled with peeled pomegranates, “i peeled more.”
you hold it out to him, and he glances down at your outstretched hand, then at your face, before seemingly making up his mind, and accepting the olive branch, “you’re really committed to seeing my mom, huh?”
“well, obviously — the other alternative would be seeing you, wouldn’t it?”
“aw, c’mon, doc, i know you missed me,” percy says, a bit smug, picking up his skateboard, the tupperware container in his other hand (the one he still wears your bracelet on).
“in your dreams, jackson.” there is a peal of odd laughter in your voice as if you were unused to this kind of jocularity when fumbling over his name.
“in my dreams, we do more than just argue,” percy says, with one last smug smile and salute, before walking out the door, leaving you behind in the worst state of confusion you’ve possibly suffered (percy jackson: 1, you: 0).
(your grandmother admonishes you later that evening as you stand beside her stooped figure at your kitchen counter, peeling pomegranates, you gave the rest of it to that boy, didn’t you? her voice is not scolding, but you feel like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar once more. your immortal grandfather, the nuisance that he is, stands in the doorway, hands in an 80s leather jacket and matching sunglasses, waiting to be welcomed in. in contrast, his son — your father — brushes past him, grumbling, and takes on your grandmother’s burden.)
the analog clock reads ten fifty-five as you start mopping the floor, yawning when the front door swings open with a jingling bell, and a sharp metallic smell wafts into the store.
you whirl around, gripping the mop in your hand as a baseball bat, immediately alert as your demigod reflexes come into play. you physically relax at the sight of percy clutching his side, crimson pooling on the edges of his white t-shirt.
“of course you would attack a man when he’s injured,” percy says with a grin, blood dripping from a gash over his eye (luke had returned to camp some years ago, with a similar scar), and a split lip, collecting like rust on his t-shirt collar.
you scowled, dropping the mop and immediately rushing toward him, your healing instincts kicking in. lifting one of his arms and letting it curl around you, you shouldered him to the register, cringing with every audible wince percy let out.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked, as you sat him on your stool, reaching for the ambrosia and nectar you kept hidden under the counter for emergencies (one could never be too careful).
percy grinned — it came out more of a grimace, “what isn’t wrong with me — that’s the question you should be asking, doc.” he nodded to himself, and then immediately cringed at the action.
you glared at him, shoving an ambrosia square in his mouth, before turning away from him to put antiseptic on cotton pads. “does ms. jackson know you’re here?”
“no?” percy says. you walk over to the fridge, grab a water bottle, unscrew the cap, and drench the part of his t-shirt covered in blood.
“ow? in case you forgot, i’m still injured here, doc?” percy clutches at his side.
“you dumbfuck, your mom is probably worried out of her mind right now,” you say, scowling, stepping closer to percy (he still towers over you, even when sitting down).
“i iris messaged her,” he shrugs, looking at you as you shift even closer to him, cotton pad in your hand, “she just knows i’m with you — pretty relieved at that, dunno why.”
reaching out to grasp his jaw in your hand, you begin dabbing at the bruises on his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut as you try to ignore the way his hot breath is fanning across your face right now. “you didn’t tell her what happened?”
percy opened his eyes, staring at you. “no, how could i?” he says, slowly, “you were her favorite — still are, by the way.”
you don’t say anything for a moment — after all, how could you? (sally jackson’s homemade cookies drift to the front of your treacherous mind — the sunny afternoons with her kind voice, and percy’s loutish laughter.)
“you didn’t come to see her,” percy says, the statement not accusatory, his eyes fluttering shut again (you try not to let the way his eyelashes sit so prettily distract you) as you dab at the gash over his eye.
“i didn’t think i was welcome,” you say gruffly, turning away to grab bandages. “after everything.”
while the deeper wounds have eased into far easier, superficial ones, you still make sure to wrap and bandage everything — percy had a penchant for getting into trouble (one that you knew all too well), so it was the least you could do.
“i just told you that you were welcome, last time i was here, didn’t i?” percy says, an accusation.
“yeah, well, it was hardly an invitation was it?” you say, turning away from him, packing your supplies up.
“doc, you didn’t even come to take your tupperware back.”
you ignore him, moving to walk away when his hand is enclosed around your wrist (the hand that wears your blue friendship bracelet), tugging you around to face him.
percy’s standing up now, his green eyes looking more like a swirling storm with each passing second — he still hasn’t let your wrist go.
“what do you want from me?” you ask, trying to snatch your hand back from him, to no avail — his grip is ironclad.
“i can’t let you walk away with your back turned to me again,” he says (the dim, lantern-lit night comes back into focus, and you wonder if you were too consumed by your own pride, if you had just turned around, if you had just stayed).
you realize too late that tears are pricking in the corners of your eyes, and you manage to successfully wrench your hand out of his grasp, a watery, sarcastic laugh escaping, “you’re a couple years too late, asshole.”
“i know that,” percy says, earnest, reaching out to cup your cheek, and wipe a stray tear (the action stuns you into paralysis), “but i miss you, and my mom misses you, and she hasn’t gotten off my case about you, yet.”
the thought of tender-hearted sally jackson scolding percy is an amusing one, and draws a laugh out of you against your will (percy’s smile grows a little brighter, and asclepius knows you’ve never been able to resist that smile of his), “i’ll come over for ms. jackson, not you.”
percy’s smile is even wider now (his hand is still ghosting your cheek), “same thing.”
“shut up,” you say swatting at his shoulder, trying to duck out from under his arms.
percy avoids your attempts to escape him, instead latching onto your hand, and pulling you out of the store. “c’mon, she’s expecting us for dinner.”
you let out an incredulous laugh, and let yourself be dragged out anyway (you would follow this boy anywhere, even to the depths of tartarus).
(your grandmother watches from the apartment window above the store, a soft smile gracing her lined features.)
#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo x reader#percy jackson imagines#percy jackson fluff#percy jackson and the olympians#woc friendly#percy jackson x you#percy jackson x yn#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackson oneshot#percy jackson one-shot#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson series#percy jackson x fem! reader#percy jackson oneshots#kashaf ki likhai
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tw: dubcon
it’s pouring in london and i cant stop imagining bumping into simon under an awning you both took for cover. (it’s hard to imagine he wouldn’t just walk in the rain but bear with me for a second):
cramming into a square metre bus stop with a massive wall of a man in a balaclava and asking him for a smoke. you’d forgot your umbrella, typical, and it’s the only available space around. everyone else had been scared off by the ghost see, opting for the underground rather than waiting the downpour out pressed against his hulking shoulder. any other day, and you would’ve been too. but your hair had just been done and you’d fresh run out of patience, smoothing your fingernails over the flyaways at your temple.
he’d go feral for you in your little trench coat, hands shaking as you try to light the (frankly impractical) antique lighter you pull out of your breast pocket. straight out of a film noir, really, and he can’t stop eyeing you in his periphery, his pupils glaringly sharp against the smudged eye black he hadn’t the chance to wipe off. he imagines urging you somewhere even more cramped — a pub washroom, perhaps, where he’d push you on your knees and fit himself down your stiff throat. you just look too tempting; too prissy and uptight to not want to ruin.
you’d hate him for it too. perhaps that’s part of the appeal. you’d spit his cum out and wipe your chin of spittle because you wouldn’t approach someone like him ever, not in a hundred years. girls like you like guys who are all charm. but he also likes to think that you’d pull your skirt up and let him stuff his cock up your cunt anyway, because that’s what ‘can I bum a cig?’ means to someone like simon.
(little does he know, you’re watching him too. but your thoughts are far more depraved)
#sorry im in a mood#something something simon riley who just really likes girls who are opposite to him in every way#simon ‘ghost’ riley#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#imagine#simon riley#ghost#mw2#cod#modern warfware#call of duty#tw: dubcon
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How would the batfam react to someone robbing the Manor?
Robber: *enters*
Dick: Oh good, you're here! Do these shorts make my butt look big?
———————
Robber: *taking things*
Jason: What are you doing?
Robber: Robbing you.
Jason: There's a safe in Bruce's office. Passcode is 0816. Feel free to take a crack at it. I'll be in the library if you need me.
———————
Robber: *picking the lock*
*door flies open and hits them*
Tim, on the phone: I'll be there in ten. In the meantime, tell Kon and Bart not to touch anything.
*door slowly swings shut*
Robber, stuck to the door: *slowly peels off*
———————
Robber: *pocketing antiques*
Damian: You must be Alfred's new assistant. I see you're already taking the initiative to get our family heirlooms restored. After that, I need you to do the laundry as I have run out of clean school uniforms.
Robber: Uh, no, kid. I'm robbing you.
Damian: Oh. In that case...
Damian: *stabs them*
———————
Robber: *walks in*
Duke, being kidnapped: Do you mind? We're kind of in the middle of something.
Robber: Sorry, I'll come back later.
———————
Robber: *enters*
Cullen: Hey, I know you're here to rob us, but I've been practicing some magic tricks to impress my boyfriend's family. Can you do me a favor and pick a card?
Robber:
Robber: *picks a card*
———————
Steph: *making a snack while wearing headphones*
Robber: *sneaks up behind her*
Steph: *throws a banana peel over her shoulder*
Robber: *slips on the banana peel*
Robber: *slides across the kitchen*
Robber: *gets tangled in the curtains*
Robber: *falls into a suitcase*
*suitcase shuts*
*suitcase rolls outside into the pool*
Steph: *takes off her headphones and turns around*
Steph: Did someone say something?
———————
Robber: *climbs in through the window*
Cass: Hi.
Robber: Hi.
Cass: You're a robber.
Robber: Yes.
Cass:
Cass: *pushes them out the window*
———————
Robber: *comes in*
Barbara: *looks up from her computer*
Robber: *slowly backs out*
Barbara: That's what I thought.
———————
Robber: Give me the TV!
Harper: Sure, just hold this for me please.
Harper: *hands him a grenade*
Harper: *pulls the pin*
Harper: *walks away*
———————
Robber: *unlocks the door*
Carrie: You must be our new bouncy house guy.
Robber: No, I'm robbing you.
Robber: Wait, you have a bouncy house guy?
———————
Robber: *enters*
Kate, with a clipboard: Name?
Robber: My name's Rob, I'm here to rob you.
Kate: Sorry, I don't have you on our list.
———————
Robber: *saws a hole in the wall*
Helena: What are you doing?
Robber: Robbing you.
Helena: You know the door's unlocked, right? I swear, it's like people don't even try nowadays.
———————
Robber: *unplugging the XBox*
Luke: Best Buy is just down the road.
Robber: ...You're Luke Fox.
Luke: Yes I am.
Robber: Champion MMA fighter Luke Fox.
Luke, rolling up his sleeves: Always nice to meet a fan.
———————
Robber: *ransacking the place*
Bette: Who hurt you?
Robber: What?
Bette: This isn't a healthy coping mechanism. Talk to me. I'm here for you.
Robber, breaking down: It all started when I was little...
———————
Robber: *sneaks in*
Alfred: Not on my watch.
Alfred: *drags them out by the ear*
Robber: Ow, ow, ow.
———————
Robber: *smashes the window*
Selina: Pfft, amateur. Let me show you how it's done.
———————
Robber: *steals the computer*
Bruce: *reading the newspaper*
Robber: *takes valuable jewelry*
Bruce: *still reading*
Robber: *lightly bumps into one of the batkids*
Robber: *turns around*
Bruce: *suddenly appears with the bat-glare*
Robber: I'm just gonna—
Robber: *gets instantly knocked out*
#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#duke thomas#cullen row#stephanie brown#cassandra cain#barbara gordon#harper row#carrie kelley#kate kane#helena bertinelli#luke fox#bette kane#alfred pennyworth#selina kyle#bruce wayne#batman#batfamily#batfam#batboys#batgirls#batkids#batsiblings#batman family#incorrect batfamily quotes#incorrect quotes#incorrect dc quotes#dc comics
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ii. the radio's revival
It was odd. Ever since that chance encounter with the Radio Demon, he’s been gracing your doorstep more often than you had expected. You were just doing your job, after all, fixing that radio of his. But he seemed to interpret that as an invitation rather than the transaction that it was.
Whether he was cursed with inexplicable bad luck or if it was simply a series of coincidences, you couldn't say for sure, at least not in the beginning. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and Alastor kept coming back, each time with a new contraption for you to fix, you couldn't help but come to a conclusion.
He was breaking things on purpose.
The sinister Radio Demon, with his daunting reputation and predatory grin, was breaking things on purpose. All for the sake of visiting your humble little workshop in the slums.
You couldn't decide whether to feel flattered or victimized. Hell, you couldn’t even begin to fathom what drew him back to your workshop time and again. Yet, as the routine continued, you also couldn’t deny that Alastor didn’t seem as terrifying as you once believed him to be. Gradually, you became accustomed to his presence. In fact, you even found yourself looking forward to his visits, often preparing a cup of coffee for him as you worked while he observed.
Today was no different. As you diligently worked on repairing an antique pocket watch, your attention kept drifting to the window, where sinners of all shapes and sizes strolled along the bustling street. Your keen eyes searched for a splash of red amidst the passersby, and your ears strained for the familiar sound of the bell above your door. Yet, neither sight nor sound came.
And as you affixed the final gears of the pocket watch into place, Alastor had yet to make an appearance. You glanced at the untouched, now-cold coffee cup, and despite your efforts to suppress it, disappointment began to seep into your heart.
Alastor strode through the dimly lit corridors of the hotel, his thoughts consumed by a singular objective: to find something–anything–that he could lay his hands on.
He knew it was silly. Preposterous even. For him, of all people, to resort to such childish behavior! But there was a restlessness gnawing at him, an insatiable craving for something he couldn’t quite name.
Ever since his fingers grazed against yours in that fleeting moment of contact, Alastor found himself haunted by the memory. It was as if a dormant ember had been reignited within him, sparking a firestorm of conflicting and inexplicable emotions. He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t fathom why a simple touch had stirred such chaos within his usually composed heart.
And frankly, he didn’t really care to dwell on it. To acknowledge the depth of his confusion would be to admit weakness, a notion he found utterly intolerable. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand–like finding something to break, for instance.
Turning corner after corner, Alastor reached the hotel’s parlor, a space usually abuzz with activity. However, to his surprise, the room now seemed to be eerily deserted.
The armchairs sat empty, their plush cushions undisturbed by the weight of occupants. The grand piano stood silent in the corner, its keys untouched and gathering dust. Not even a whisper stirred the air, leaving the parlor feeling desolate and abandoned.
And then, he spotted it–the TV, perched precariously upon a nearby table. Alastor’s grin, stretched wide across his face, threatened to split his features in sheer delight. It was perfect–he had been itching for an opportunity to destroy that troublesome picture box, and this presented the ideal occasion.
Crossing the room with determination, Alastor's fingers curled around the edges of the TV, his excitement palpable as he prepared to deliver the final blow. But just as he lifted it off the table, a stern voice cut through the silence.
“Alastor!” Vaggie scolded. “How many times have I told you not to touch the TV?”
Alastor's grin remained firmly in place as he turned to face Vaggie, exchanging glances between her stern expression and the television in his grasp. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and then, without breaking eye contact, he slowly loosened his hold on the television, letting it drop to the ground with a resounding crash.
The impact shattered the screen, creating a spider web of cracks that spread in all directions, while the plastic casing splintered open with a loud snap. Vaggie's jaw dropped in disbelief as she stared at the wreckage before her, her eyes widening in shock. Alastor's grin only stretched further.
“Oops,” he said, his tone laced with mock innocence. “My hand must have slipped.”
The commotion of the shattered TV drew Charlie into the parlor like a magnet, her expression a mix of shock and dismay as she took in the scene before her.
“What in the–Alastor, what's gotten into you?” she exclaimed as she approached, her footsteps quickening as her eyes darted between the broken TV and the Radio Demon standing nearby. “You can't keep breaking everything in the hotel!”
Without missing a beat, Alastor's expression morphed into one of exaggerated shock and wounded innocence. His hand flew to his chest, fingers splaying out dramatically as if to emphasize the depth of his offense.
“My dear Charlie,” he exclaimed. “Accusing me of such vandalism! Why, I would never dream of causing harm to anything in our esteemed hotel!”
Charlie raised an incredulous eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics. “Really? Because I distinctly remember you destroying the coffee machine just last week.”
A flicker of annoyance flashed across Alastor's face, quickly masked by his trademark grin. “Ah, well, accidents happen, my dear. Surely you can't hold that against me.”
Before Charlie could respond, Vaggie interjected with a pointed look. “And what about the toaster the week before that?”
“The toaster?” Alastor echoed, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he cast a sidelong glance at Vaggie’s direction. “Oh, that old thing was on its last legs anyways. I was merely putting it out of its misery!”
Charlie's sigh reverberated through the parlor, laden with frustration. Anyone within earshot could discern that even the seemingly infinite well of patience belonging to the Princess was beginning to run dry.
“Alastor,” she started, drawing a deep breath and folding her hands in front of her. “I know you mean well, but we can't have you breaking things every time you get bored.”
Alastor’s facade remained intact as he listened to Charlie’s lecture, although the subtle twitch of his ear betrayed the irritation that simmered beneath the surface. He had expected this reaction, of course; it was all too predictable. But that didn't make it any less tiresome.
“Oh, come now,” he responded as casually as he could. “You know me better than that. I'll have that pesky picture box fixed in a jiffy!”
“It's not just about fixing the TV, Alastor. We have enough trouble keeping this place together without you destroying hotel property whenever you feel like it.”
Suppressing an urge to roll his eyes at Charlie's admonishment, Alastor finally conceded, even as his pride bristled at the implication of recklessness. “Yes, yes, you’re right,” he said aloofly. “I’ll get this taken care of right away. You and Vaggie needn’t worry yourselves.”
With that, he gracefully knelt down beside the broken TV, his movements deliberate as he made a show of collecting the wreckage. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of amusement at the melodramatic nature of it all. It was almost comical how worked up everyone got over something as silly as a broken appliance. After all, what harm was a mere television set in the grand scheme of things?
Especially when its destruction served as a small price to pay for the chance to see the mechanic again.
Cradling the TV in his hands, Alastor straightened up and began to walk away, purposefully moving past Charlie and Vaggie before they could launch into any further lectures. Despite the disapproving glances he left in his wake, Alastor felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him–he had finally obtained his excuse.
“...and remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me!”
The words slipped past your lips like a well-rehearsed speech as you bid farewell to the now-proud owner of the repaired pocket watch. Standing with your hands on your hips, you watched them depart, a swell of pride filling your heart as their delighted reaction replayed in your mind. It was always rewarding to see the joy on your customers' faces when you successfully restored something precious to them.
As they left, you turned your attention to the windows, where the dwindling daylight seeped through. It was getting late, you realized with a sigh.
With a sense of reluctance, you made your way toward the door. It was time to close up shop for the day, despite the lingering desire to stay open a little longer. As your hand reached for the lock, preparing to secure the entrance, a sudden commotion startled you.
The door swung open with such force that a rush of wind swept into the workshop, catching you off guard. Before you could react, you found yourself tumbling backward, landing unceremoniously on the floor.
“What the–” You began, lifting your gaze to confront the incredibly rude visitor. But your words caught in your throat as your eyes landed on Alastor, standing there framed in your doorway with a strained grin and a shattered TV gripped tightly in his hands.
“Alastor, what’s–” You started again, but in the next breath, Alastor suddenly dropped the TV, letting it fall to the floor with a careless thud.
In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, rushing to your side with an urgency that left you dazed. “Goodness gracious, darling, are you alright?” He asked, eagerly extending a hand to assist you.
You felt a peculiar flutter in your chest as his gloved fingers gently enveloped yours, guiding you back to your feet. Despite the unexpected tumble, his touch was surprisingly tender, and you couldn’t help but be aware of the warmth that spread through your hand where it met his.
“It seems like you really need to work on your landing technique, my dear,” he then remarked amusedly. Yet beneath the jest, you detected a subtle tremor in his voice, and you couldn’t ignore the fact that he hadn’t released your hand yet.
As you looked up at him with furrowed brows, Alastor knew he should let go. He should, it was the rational thing to do, the expected response in this situation.
But his hand–it was on fire! Compared to the initial spark of electricity, whilst significant in its own right, this new sensation was simply overwhelming, threatening to unravel each delicate thread that wound the Radio Demon together.
Terrifying yet exhilarating, Alastor realized the immense power that such a simple gesture held over him. If he had known that such a dramatic entrance would grant him the privilege of holding your hand like this, he would've acted sooner. He would've found any excuse, any reason, to break down your door and claim your hand as his own long ago.
And at the same time, another thought crept into his mind, igniting a different kind of excitement altogether. He couldn't help but wonder about the myriad of other sensations your touch might elicit—sensations that surpassed mere hand-holding.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you stood there, the air crackling with tension. To say that you were confused would be an understatement. Alastor’s incessant visits, today’s sudden intrusion, the broken TV, his firm yet gentle hold–it was more than baffling.
Unable to bear the heaviness of it all, you dared to give his hand a light squeeze. “Uh, Alastor?” You ventured tentatively, offering him an easy smile. “You can let go now, you know.”
His response came almost immediately, but it wasn't what you had expected. “I know,” he said nonchalantly, tightening his grip instead of releasing it.
The smile faltered slightly on your lips as your confusion deepened. “Then… will you?”
“I don’t think so, my dear.”
“Why not?” You asked, the words escaping your lips before your thoughts could catch up.
Alastor's grip tightened again, his crimson gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Because,” he began, his voice low and velvety. “I rather enjoy holding your hand.”
The simplicity of his answer caught you off guard. It was as if he were stating the most obvious fact in the world, with no need for further explanation. As you cast your gaze downward at your intertwined fingers, and then at the broken TV, lying in pieces by your door–that’s when the puzzle suddenly clicked into place.
“Oh…”
“Hmm?” Alastor hummed, his tone laced with genuine curiosity and a hint of amusement. As he waited for you to reply, he couldn't resist the temptation to let his thumb glide ever so gently against the back of your hand. The touch was feather-light, almost imperceptible, yet it sent a tingling sensation through your skin.
It drew your attention back to him, your unsure gaze meeting his intense one. For a moment, it seemed as if Alastor was extending a silent invitation for you to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of your interactions, to speak the words that hovered on the tip of your tongue.
And with a deep breath, you gathered your thoughts.
“I... I was just thinking,” you began, your voice steadier than you felt. “Do you... have feelings for me, Alastor?”
The question hung between you, heavy with uncertainty and vulnerability. You weren't sure what to expect, but you were desperate for some clarity.
“Feelings?” Alastor echoed after a pause, his demeanor carefully neutral as he attempted to evade the question. “Why, my dear, I have all sorts of feelings for you! Admiration, appreciation, curiosity–”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his evasive answer, a sudden surge of frustration bubbling within you. “Alastor,” you interrupted, cutting through his attempt at deflection. “I'm not talking about admiration or appreciation. I'm talking about... romantic feelings.”
The ever-present grin on the Radio Demon’s face faltered visibly, his ears flattening against his head. It was clear he was uncomfortable–how could he not be? The very notion of romance, of allowing oneself to be vulnerable to another, disgusted him to his core. Alastor prided himself on his independence, his autonomy, and the idea of relinquishing even a fraction of that control was utterly repulsive.
But more than that, it was the sheer audacity of the question that left him reeling. How dare you suggest such a thing?
Yet, as much as he wanted to dismiss you outright, a nagging voice at the back of his mind reminded him of his own hypocrisy. After all, he couldn't deny the frequency of his visits to your workshop, the way his heart quickened at the mere thought of seeing you, or the inexplicable desire to hold your hand just a moment longer.
But romantic feelings? Perish the thought! Love was a weakness, a sentiment reserved for fools, and it had no place in his world.
Alastor finally let out a forced laugh, attempting to brush off the seriousness of the conversation. “Now, now, my dear, let’s not get ahead of ourselves!” He said in between chuckles, each one more strained than the last. “I’m simply not one for such sentimental nonsense!”
Your frustration surged even further at his dismissive response, the sound of his laughter grating on your already frayed nerves. Holding up his hand, which still enveloped yours, you pressed on, determination burning in your eyes.
“Then what are we doing here?” You asked pointedly. Alastor’s gaze flickered down to your intertwined hands, his expression momentarily unreadable. But then, as if flicking a switch, he reverted to his nonchalant demeanor.
“We’re simply enjoying each other’s company, of course!” he replied enthusiastically, his thumb brushing against your hand again almost instinctively. “No need to overcomplicate things, hm?”
With a deep breath, you realized that you had reached your limit with Alastor. The frustration simmering within you had finally boiled over, and you had no interest in playing this game of his any longer.
Without a word, you tore your hand away from his grasp, a sharp movement that caused Alastor to visibly flinch. But you ignored his reaction as you focused on gathering the forgotten television set, its sharp edges digging into your skin as you collected the wreckage.
Straightening up, you returned to Alastor's side, purposefully avoiding any further contact with him as you extended the damaged device toward him. Your gaze was steady, unwavering, as you delivered your ultimatum.
“I'm closed, Alastor,” you declared firmly. “Come back when you're ready to be honest.”
part i / part ii
thank you for reading!! and thank you to everyone who left such nice comments on my last posts. i was very surprised<3
there will definitely be a third part to this story. also, @christinebloodwrittings requested to be tagged<3
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor x reader#alastor/reader#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#alastor
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Hello! I love your writing, it's so cute! Here's an Idea bouncing around in my head: Reader is a shy and easily flustered individual who's developed a crush on Alastor. However they try to keep their distance as they know he's Aro/Ace and doesn't want to overstep boundaries. They go to Lucifer a (somewhat) expert on romance and feelings of longing to vent, also developing a crush on Lucifer- (Reader is a hopeless romantic lol)
Anyway, hope you have a nice day and remember to drink water!
|| The Price of Love || Alastor x Reader x Lucifer
tags: gn!sinner!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, love triangle, miscommunication, blood/injuries, mild nudity mention, divorced!Luci, I had to make it a bit comical, I made this too angsty for my own liking now I'm sad 😭, protective bois
This is a one shot. I won't be writing a part two. Thank you! :)
A dreamy sigh echoes from your lips, swirling down the empty hallway. You're sitting on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest with a clawed hand over your heart. Sometimes you miss the thrum of your heartbeat against your fingers. With all of the people occupying Hell, you didn't expect to feel quite this lonely.
You stare down at the pocket watch in your hands. Such a tiny device cost quite a fortune, but it was a true antique having been manufactured in the 1920s. Your intention was to give it to Alastor. Yet, you never did.
Despite everything in your being wanting you to give him the simple gift, a token of your love and your friendship, you just couldn't. You were already internally setting yourself up for a failure that may not even come. You weren't sure Alastor would ever be into someone, let alone you. So, allowing these thoughts to fester you withdrew yourself from him. Forcing smiles when around him and the others, faking laughter; all of which Alastor could see right through. Every time he tried to seek you out, to confront you, you were already engaged with someone else or another task for the hotel.
You were actively allowing your depression to swallow you whole all the whole not realizing that if you had only asked, Alastor's feelings are the same as yours. He just didn't know how to approach you and Rosie thought it best to let you come to him; yet you never did. Even Alastor was finding it a bit hard to keep that smile on his face. Why won't you just approach him? He...He can't do it. Please.
A dreary day in Hell with violent lightning and thunderclouds and acidic rain brought you into the company of Lucifer Morningstar himself. He could smell your sadness from miles away and like clockwork, he instantly pulls you under his wings.
"Now then, sweetling, what brings you to see the Big Boss Man Himself?" Lucifer grins, crossing his leg over his knee nursing an apple martini with an apple slice hanging off the sugar-dusted edge. He serves you whatever drink you may like, alcoholic or non-alcoholic.
"I'm in love with Alastor and I don't know what to do! I'm scared to get too close to him because I'm not even sure he's into me like that and I don't want to get hurt!" You sob, the words come pooling out of your mouth like a waterfall and so do the tears.
Lucifer visibly bristles at the mention of his rival, almost choking on his drink. With a snap of his fingers, his martini glass vanishes with a poof! His full attention now on you. Gently, he takes your hand in his gloved one.
Softly, he begins. "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real. It's not the end of the world, not by a long shot. Everyone who we meet and who we love crosses our paths for a reason. To teach us something, either for a short chapter or they'll be lifelong companions. Even in the afterlife, there are still people worth risking the hurt for." Smiling wobbly, Lucifer embraces you close. "Take a few deep breaths. If this is truly how you feel, talk to him about it. We may be magic down here in Hell but not all of us are mind-readers, darlin'."
For the first time in a long while, you smile too. Embracing him again with a laugh.
Standing to leave, you turn to your friend. "May I see you again?"
Lucifer let out a tiny gasp, a slight pink hue coating his cheeks. "I'd like that a lot!" He jumps up. "I can show you how to paint rubber ducks!"
When you finally return from your outing, you're in a much more visibly happy mood. With eyebrows raised, Alastor watches from the shadows as you whistle a happy little tune and make your way up the stairs and veer to the left towards your bedroom. A familiar scent clings to your own, one that makes his lips curl back in a vicious snarl. Lucifer.
"Now darling, I think it's time that we have a talk--" Alastor materializes from the shadows, fully manifesting into your bedroom. You shriek in surprise.
Immediately, you snap. "Alastor, what the fuck! OUT."
Alastor, who has been turned away from you, spins to face you aghast that you'd speak to him in such a manner as you never have before, only to quickly cover his eyes. You were standing in the privacy of your bedroom, almost entirely naked except for those flimsy bottoms you called your underwear. Alastor swallows thickly at the sight of your bare skin, even when you wrap your blanket around your body. He feels lightheaded.
"My apologies, dearest. Ta-ta!" In a plume of smoke, Alastor fades out of the room. By the time he returns to his radio tower, he's gasping with his palm covering his face which was now nearly as red as his hair. He's ashamed he hadn't shown more decorum and instead witnessed you in such a state. Even when angry with him, you had never looked more alluring.
Lucifer swung by the hotel rather unexpectedly, surprising Charlie with a new plant for her bedroom and crushing Maggie into a huge hug! The place was really coming along, he had to admit. There was a more inviting atmosphere to the hotel now since it was rebuilt. It almost felt cozy.
"Dad, what brings you by?" Charlie smiles, carefully handing the plant over to Vaggie.
Lucifer smiles. "I'm here to pick up a friend for a little coffee date and I figured I'd say hi to my favorite daughter and my favorite soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" He coos, squishing Charlie's cheeks between his gloved hands.
On queue, you're walking down the stairs into the foyer. "Lucifer!" You beam, a large smile crossing your cheeks. His tummy flutters at the sight. The outfit you had on was darling, suiting you to a T.
A crackle of static explodes into the front lobby, the Radio Demon taking form between you and the Morningstars. Alastor's eyes immediately narrowing at the unwelcomed guest, at least in his mind.
Laughing nervously, Charlie wedges herself between her father and friend. The air rippled with electricity as the two stared the other down.
"Okay, you two, calm down. Let's not start anything, ok?" She glances at Vaggie for help who simply shrugs her shoulders; setting Charlie's new plant baby aside. Approaching slowly you stand by Lucifer's side. Placing a hand on the King's shoulder, Alastor nearly explodes with radio feedback. An eerie green glow consuming his form.
Static voice dripping with malice spits out, "You're going out with him." It wasn't a question.
Casting a look over your shoulder, you nod at Alastor. "We're going out for coffee."
The Radio Demon is practically seething with venomous rage--not at you, but at the puny little shortstack of a King who thinks he can meddle with those in his life. "You don't deserve their attention, Morningstar."
Lucifer balks. "You had your chance, pal! You snooze, you lose." Alastor's expression turns to one of confusion.
"What do you mean?" The radio filter is gone from his voice.
Snarling, Lucifer glowers at him. "They were in love with you! And now I'm here to pick up the pieces-- oh, fuck, you didn't tell him did you, sweetling?" His gaze is gentle as he regards you. You're begging for the ground to swallow you up.
Fighting back tears, you fidget on the spot. You're looking everywhere but at the two men who have held your heart captive. There was the love you held for Alastor, pure and genuine. How you got together like pieces of a puzzle. And then there was your love for Lucifer, intimate and loving. He was able to teach a part of you that you'd long forgotten. He helped you smile again.
Alastor shoves Lucifer out of the way, his clawed hands cupping your face. He wipes away those tiny tears with a gentleness no one in the hotel had seen. "Je t'aime tellement, mon cour."
Lucifer, now in his Full Demon form, shoves Alastor aside and grasps your arm. You let out a cry of pain, making the two males jump. With the appearance of his full form his claws had accidentally sunk too deep into your skin. Red leaked from the four deep gashes slashed across your skin, staining the sleeve of your lovely shirt. Your pretty eyes pooling with tears.
Like a true beast, Alastor explodes into his demonic form, arms outstretched to shield you behind him. Lucifer can only fixate on the blood dripping down your arm. Vaggie and Charlie are tugging you away while Husk prepares the First-Aid kit.
Lucifer is only able to stare at the tiny pool of blood you had left behind and the pain in his eyes. And then there was Alastor, ever the gentleman, always the one fighting for your honor, looking damn well ready to devour the entire fucking Earth for you.
And Lucifer felt he deserved whatever he had coming to him. His own words echo in his head: "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real."
|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024
#hazbin hotel imagines#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin imagines#alastor x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#cherubfae 2024
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The Log Cabin: Hurt
Synopsis: You and Ghost are on your way towards your shared vacation in Scotland.
Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Notes:
This is the second part of the story. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.
Hurt/comfort.
Render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot.
No warnings. Lots of emotions towards the end, though.
———————————————————————
“You sure?” You ask as you approach a red light.
Ghost closes his eyes and leans back in his seat. He lets out a long and loud sigh behind his mask.
“This is the fifth time you’ve asked if I’m sure,” he protests. “Ask me again, and I will throw you out of the bloody car.”
He won’t do it. He used the exact same threat when you voiced your concerns the third time. You understand him, though; you’re not even on the highway yet, and you’ve been bugging him with your insecurities.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper and lower your head to the water bottle you’ve secured between your thighs.
He turns to look at you, then shifts his focus back to the road as the traffic light turns orange.
“I don’t do charity work when it comes to vacations,” he reassures you and changes gears. “I’m absolutely certain of my decision.”
You drive through the city streets, trying to reach the highway. You look out the car’s window; there are curious glances directed at you from the outside. People look alarmed, old ladies clutch their purses tighter, and fathers hold their children closer.
You can’t blame them; they’re looking at two masked figures in a car filled with tools and gear in the backseats.
“We look like we’re about to rob a bank, don’t you think?” You ask, concerned, as you observe a woman ushering her son into a store upon spotting you.
“Don’t take it off yet,” he warns you. “Wait till we get to the highway.”
He’s right. His face is unknown in the city, whereas yours is, and any identification could link him to you. That’s why he handed you a plain black balaclava before you left the base, ensuring your mutual anonymity. It’s a small city, after all.
“What if we get stopped by the police?” you ask. “Someone might have alerted them.”
He shakes his head. “Unlikely,” he replies. “The police is familiar with me and my car. Many soldiers keep their identities concealed due to the base. Civilians aren’t accustomed to it, that’s all.”
He stops at a zebra crossing and motions with his hand at the people waiting, giving them permission to cross the road.
“Look at them,” he whispers as he watches them successfully reaching the other side of the pavement. “So eager to display their faces, like they’ve never done anything sinister in their lives.”
You look at him from the corner of your eye, wondering if his words hide a twinge of guilt or envy—a yearning for freedom, just like those civilians crossing the street. They are free to walk as they please, while he is doomed to wear a cloth on his face until he’s away from anything human.
You tug at your mask. “It’s getting quite stuffy in here; mind if I...” you say and motion towards the car’s A/C controls.
He shrugs. That’s your “go ahead” sign.
You enter the highway, and he removes his mask. He reaches into the back pocket of his seat and tugs his balaclava there. He scratches his left cheek.
You follow his lead but tuck yours into your door’s side pocket. Now that your mouth is free from obstructions, you can drink water. You open the bottle and drive it into your mouth.
“Easy with the water,” Ghost advises. “We won’t find any stops for the next three hours.”
“Three hours?!” You ask.
He nods, his eyes still fixed on the road, indifferent to your shocked reaction. He reaches into the side pocket of his door and pulls a pair of sunglasses out. He secures them on his face.
“I have never seen you with sunglasses before.” You comment.
He smirks. He looks very handsome when he does that. Not conventionally attractive, though. He has a very rugged, almost weird, to point out beauty. Like those second-hand objects you find in an antique shop; they are bizarre to look at, but you can’t shift your eyes away from them. You want to study and analyse them as closely as possible.
You stare at his profile and notice him looking back at you. He still has that smirk on his face. You divert your attention back to the road.
“Sorry.” You murmur.
He looks ahead and his smile widens.
After some time, you reach your first stop; a service station with a convenience store, and fast food joint. Ghost asks if you want to grab a bite, and you shake your head. In response, he motions towards the side of the gas station.
“Loo’s over there. I’ll refuel the car.”
You hurry to the restroom; the last thing you want is to hinder his program. You better be as fast and efficient as possible.
When you return, Ghost is already in the driver’s seat. You settle into your seat beside him, apologising for your delay. He clicks his tongue.
“You went to the restroom; no need to fret.” He says as he hands you a few snacks he bought from the convenience store.
“For me?” you ask, surprised.
“For you,” he confirms and starts up the engine. “So you don’t start whining that you’re hungry when we are in the middle of nowhere.”
The rest of the trip is beautiful. The landscape shifts profoundly, from the mundane colours of the city to the towering trees that grow denser, with hues of green more vibrant than any photo could capture. The radio plays some mainstream pop music, which doesn’t suit the scenery but makes everything less awkward between you.
Occasionally, you spot a flock of sheep and comment. Ghost doesn’t respond but shifts his gaze from the road to where you’re pointing so he can give you his full attention. He smiles every time, and you wonder whether he’s genuinely happy or just trying to act friendly. Then again, when did Ghost ever try to act friendly? He’s enjoying it as well.
You must have reached the outskirts of civilisation now since the radio has started to make white noise. He switches it off.
Silence. Awkward silence.
“Sorry.” He says, which is very ironic since he was the one who lectured you a few hours ago to stop apologising for things you can’t control. “I don’t have any CDs.”
An arrogant chuckle escapes you. You didn’t mean to come across that way, but there’s no need for CDs; although the car isn’t new, it has built-in Bluetooth. You wonder if he knows it.
“Do you mind?” You ask, showing him your phone.
He looks at it, raising an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. He must be thinking you’re asking for permission to call someone.
You connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth and launch Spotify. Music starts playing again. His attention alternates between the radio and your phone.
“Why don’t you look at that!” He remarks. “I knew you could do that; I just never bothered to figure out how.”
“I’ll show you later.” You reply.
“Do you take requests?”
You nod and smile. “What’s your poison, Lieutenant?”
“Johnny Cash.” He replies. “Hurt.”
You nod again, search for the song and press play. You try to enjoy the scenery, focusing on the trees and farms passing by, but Simon’s choice of song wraps around you.
“I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real.”
You turn to look at him. He holds the wheel with one hand, his other resting on the car’s window. He leans against it, his face propped on his hand.
“And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt.”
You want to comment on the song, but your throat feels tight like something’s choking you. You swallow hard.
“What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end.”
Tears fill your eyes, threatening to escape. You don’t have sunglasses like Ghost does. It’s a matter of time until he notices.
“If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way.”
It’s sadness, melancholy—that's what you’re feeling. But is it for Ghost and his poor song choice? Or is it for you?
For your family, your friends, and the vacation you won’t get to enjoy with them? Who are you mourning exactly? He seems to be at peace with his choices. When will this bliss come to you?
Will it ever come to you?
“Hey,” he calls out, and you turn to look at him.
Too late; he already noticed.
“It’s okay,” he soothes you. “Let it out.”
As if you wanted his permission, you begin to cry uncontrollably. You gasp for air. Ghost presses a button on his door which forces your window to open slightly. The crisp air slaps your face, but you focus on the pain, just like the song says. Your nails bite into your palms as you squeeze your fists, and that water bottle falls from your legs onto the car’s floor.
Ghost reaches over, turning the volume higher as if he’s permitting you to cry as much as you want and scream as loud as you please. You turn your head to the side, looking through blurred vision at the colours of green blending together.
He clasps your fist in his hand. You refuse to relax it.
“It’s okay.” He repeats as you pass the blue sign marked with a white ‘X’ that welcomes you to Scotland. “It’s going to be okay.”
Your first unclenches and you open your hand.
———————————————————————
Part 3 (final) this way ->
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x gn!reader#simon riley x gn reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#modern warfare 2#cod mwii#cod ghost#ghost cod#ghost cod mw2#ghost call of duty#simon ghost riley fanfiction#ghost modern warfare#simon ghost riley fic
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Inspired by @sserpente’s The Sunwalker’s Gift.
Imagine being a shopkeeper, selling heirlooms and antiques in a quaint mom-and-pop shop.
Business is incredibly slow. You find yourself flipping through the worn, deckled pages of a book, your chin cradled in your palm. There is nary a customer in sight. Not since that new, mainstream jewelry store popped up down the street.
You’re about to close up shop early to enjoy what’s left of the day—it’s lovely outside. Too pretty to be tucked between these browning walls. But the jangle of the store’s bell lures your attention to the door.
Finally.
You look up as you prepare to greet the store’s newest occupant. But you forget how to talk—forget how to breathe—rooted to the floor like a basilisk has petrified you.
He’s ethereal amid the sunbeams pouring into your tiny store. All wintry-skinned, thin, and tall, dark lenses perched on his sharp nose. Rounded cheeks, petal-pink lips, and foxlike features.
His hair is what entrances you. Swaying like snowflakes in the breeze, and you wonder if it’s as soft as the snow it resembles. Vaguely, you register it sifting through your fingers, smell it exuding the faintest hints of rosemary and firewood.
The stranger surveys your shop, one hand tucked in his pants pocket, the other holding onto an oversized coat. Even his stance is princely. Nothing captures his attention for too long as he peruses through your wares, feigning interest in your rickety things.
You suddenly feel insecure; small—he strikes a picturesque figure amid the dusty antiques lining your shelves. The store across the way would probably suit someone so devastatingly beautiful better.
Nevertheless, you remember how to speak. Square your shoulders, plastering on your most welcoming grin despite your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.
After smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, you offer the customer a warm, rehearsed “Welcome!”
He perks up at the sound of your voice. Lips twitch into a half smile, silver brows lifting slightly. Your heart hiccups at the sight.
The stranger saunters towards the counter, carrying with him the scent of bergamot and brushed sage. It’s a homely scent. Somehow nostalgic as he leans towards you, tilting his shades down to ingest you with eyes the color of smoldering coals.
“Good afternoon, love,” he drawls, his accent thick with regality. The purr of it causes your body to flood with warmth. It’s almost dizzying, the ground shifting beneath your feet.
You swallow, your throat thickening with your voice. “What brings you in today?”
“Actually.” He looks thoughtful, a long finger tapping his chin. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers like all the world’s secrets bare themselves to him. “Maybe you can help me with something.”
You watch with bated breath whilst the stranger retrieves something from his coat pocket. It catches in the sunlight. Glints a pretty ruby red as he places it on the display counter with a resounding clack.
“I’ve been trying to part ways with the damned thing for ages. Yet somehow, it always finds its way back to me.” His gaze is far off for the barest of seconds before he replaces it with a nonchalant shrug, waggling his hand dismissively. “It’s long since served its purpose. An antique, if you will. I wondered how much it would go for if it still holds any value.”
He speaks of it so contemptuously. As if it’s been a burden to carry all this time. But it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Tarnished gold, carved with intricate runes you can’t quite decipher. It houses a gorgeous crimson stone that seems to hum and swirl with energy—with power. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light or your nerves causing you to hallucinate.
You’re delicate as you hold it against the sun’s rays, further studying its design. In your peripheral, you capture the stranger’s eyes, regarding you with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Curiosity? Fondness? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. Makes your mouth fill with sand as you clutch the ring in your palm, intending to scrutinize it some more in the back. It radiates against your flesh despite it being so frigid.
“I’ll have to take a more thorough look at it,” you conclude, masking your shakiness. You muster another smile. “Would you like some tea in the meantime? It may take a while to appraise it properly.”
“No thank you, darling,” replies the fair-skinned stranger, leaning against your counter in an easy slouch. His smirk is back, boasting what you mistake for a fang, peeking through the plushness of his lips. “Never had a taste for the stuff.”
“Coffee your thing?”
“Gods no.”
“Water?”
He waves you off with a quiet scoff, venturing away to prod and examine the other little trinkets in your shop.
“Take all the time you need, love. I’ve nothing but time to spare. And, by the looks of it, so do you.” He eyes you over his shoulder with mirth gracing his countenance. A flash of affection colors his gaze before he busies himself again.
You huff a laugh at his peculiar mannerisms, disappearing behind the curtain of the back room to fetch your jewelers loupe. All the while, your mind swims with wistfulness.
You can't help but feel like the handsome stranger who’d fatefully wandered into your shop is watching you, burrowing deep into your soul, even through the thick veil of your curtain.
masterlist
#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion fanfic#astarion bg3#astarion x you#past lovers#soulmate au#reincarnated lovers#astarion imagine#astarion drabble
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I owe you a black eye and two kisses (part four)
(Part one) (part five)
playlist | pinboard
Steve pulled Robin’s Madonna shirt back over his head, running a hand sideways through his hair, but it just flopped back over. His sneakers were still bloody, the laces stained. He hadn’t slept anymore after what happened outside with Eddie. His lungs still burned. His lips still ached.
He tied the laces of his sneakers, sitting down next to the door to the trailer, ignoring the way his hands shook. Wayne was sitting on the picnic table, watching Eddie struggle to drag the mattress out of the back of his van. Steve would have helped him, but when he had asked Eddie had snapped at him, saying that Steve didn’t need to show off and make him look bad.
Steve sat down next to Wayne, watching as Eddie fell flat on his ass in the grass, pressing his face into his hands. Wayne smiled slightly, a look of sympathy on his face, and Steve looked back to Eddie.
“Kid’s too proud for his own good,” Wayne muttered, nothing but fondness in his voice as he grabbed a cigarette from his pocket. Steve hated the way his cheeks flushed when he saw it. Wayne must have caught him staring, because he held it out to Steve, an eyebrow raised in question, and Steve shook his head quickly, trying to give him a polite smile. It came out more strained than he would have hoped.
After watching Eddie trip again, the mattress barely moving, Steve got up, his sneakers crunching on the rocks in the dirt beneath him. He ignored Eddie’s quiet noise of protest as he stepped next to him, grabbing the end of the mattress and turning it sideways up on himself. His arms hurt. He pulled it out and then leaned it against himself, loving the way that Eddie’s cheeks turned bright red, his eyebrows furrowed. “Where are we putting this?”
“Fuck you, Harrington,” Eddie bit out, pushing into Steve’s shoulder as he passed, the door of the trailer slamming shut. Steve’s shoulders dropped slightly, and he flinched slightly when he felt Wayne’s hand on his shoulder.
“S’okay, son,” Wayne said quietly, the cigarette pinched between his teeth, sticking out the side of his mouth. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Steve still felt like he had. Normally people didn’t get mad at him when he helped out—they thanked him and then moved on. And honestly? Steve wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’ for Eddie. He would’ve been fine without them. He didn’t help just to be thanked anymore, that’s not who he was. “I was just trying to help,” Steve whispered, eyes glued to the screen door of the trailer. Eddie had closed the wooden one, too.
“He was trying to impress you, I think,” Wayne said thoughtfully, squeezing Steve’s shoulder lightly before letting go. “Say—you wanna run an errand with me? You seem good at lifting things.”
Steve froze slightly, perking up a bit. He would do anything if it meant having to go over to Dustin’s right about now. Because all Dustin would do was scold him for being reckless and going somewhere without telling him. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
“Great,” Wayne muttered, giving Steve a small smile before motioning for him to follow him inside. Steve did, and it felt good to be in the cooler trailer, even if it was only cooler by a small amount. The air conditioning didn’t really work there, he had learned, which is why the wooden door behind the screen one was usually kept open.
Wayne led Steve to the closet near the small kitchen area and opened it, pointing to a couple boxes on the top shelf. They were all labeled Antoinette. Steve wanted to ask who that was, but Wayne had a sad look in his eyes as he stared at the boxes. So Steve kept quiet and grabbed the boxes down, stacking them gently on top of each other.
“Takin’ these to the Antique store ‘couple miles from here,” Wayne explained, tearing his eyes away from the boxes. He scrubbed at his face for a moment and sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette and shaking his head when he breathed out. “You can load ‘em into my trunk.”
Steve picked the top box up. It wasn’t really heavy. Wayne could have easily carried it. But Steve got why he was being invited—this was too much of a personal thing for Wayne to do alone. And if this was making Wayne emotional, then Steve didn’t think Eddie would want any part in this. Still, he felt weird as he took the boxes to Wayne’s car. He didn’t even know this woman—and he was assuming this was her stuff that they were selling—and yet he was being trusted with her belongings.
When Wayne went back inside, probably to grab the last box, Steve opened the box he had just set in the trunk. There was a dress in there—white and pretty and expensive looking. Old, too. It was fraying at the hems and there were a few light stains on it, but other than that it was beautiful. And to Steve, the disrepair made it even more beautiful. He lifted it up, and pressed between that and an old looking bible was a small porcelain bird—yellow-ish orange, green designs that looked like leaves wrapping around the wings, two little black dots for eyes. It was only an inch or two big, Steve thought.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was pretty, too. Kind of shining in the sun.
“Like that?” Wayne asked quietly, and Steve startled, his grip tightening on the dove statue. His cheeks went pink and he felt horrible. He stuffed it back into the box, placing the dress down and closing the cardboard flaps back down.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude—“ He stuttered out, but Wayne silenced him with a slight shake of his head.
“S’alright. M’not mad. You like it?”
Steve nodded, wringing his hands together. His palms were warm. “It’s pretty.”
“It’s from Georgia,” Wayne said, his voice oddly soft to be talking about a small porcelain bird. “It was her’s. Antoinette.”
He patted his hand against Steve’s thigh once and Steve stepped aside, letting Wayne reopen the box, a slight tremor to his hands as he picked up the dress and handed it to Steve, lifting up the dove.
Wayne’s hands were shaking so much, now, that Steve thought he might drop the bird, so Steve gently took a hold of Wayne’s wrist, steadying his hand. “Who was she? Antoinette?”
“Someone special,” Was all Wayne answered as he pressed the dove into Steve’s hand, wiping his eyes. “Keep it.”
“I can’t—“
“Please, son. I couldn’t bear the thought of this goin’ to someone I don’t trust.” Wayne begged quietly, and Steve nodded, gently stuffing the bird into his pocket. His eyes were watering, and he didn’t even know why.
“I’ll keep it safe,” he promised, letting go of Wayne’s wrist.
Wayne nodded. “You’re a good kid.”
The ride to the antique shop was short, but it made the world feel even hotter when they stepped outside. Steve helped Wayne unload the boxes, and then was told to wait, while Wayne went to go find “Sunny”.
So Steve sat in the back of Wayne’s open trunk, his feet dangling off the edge, toeing at the dirt with his bloody sneakers. Until there was another pair of shoes in front of him. Yellow converse. Steve startled slightly when he looked up, seeing a girl around his age right in front of him. She had dark brown skin with some pale patches spotting over her hands and arms—one over the bridge of her nose— freckles dotted over her face, and long brown hair that fell in braids down her back. Her eyes were fixed on Steve’s lips, and his tongue darted out to run across them nervously.
“Hi,” he said quietly, gripping the edge of the trunk as he leaned into it slightly, trying to put some distance between the two of them.
“Hi,” she said back, and Steve noticed that her voice sounded a bit off. It wasn’t really noticeable, but there was a slight strain to it, and it took her a moment to respond, almost like she had to remember how to say it.
She had a skirt that fell to her knees, and it was orange—almost the same color as the bird in Steve’s pocket. Her tank top was yellow, to match her sneakers, which had dirt scuffs on the sides.
She waved slight to get Steve’s attention, and then pointed to the boxes, before making a fist—her thumb sticking up—and placing it on top of the palm of her other hand. She moved her flat hand up, giving him a pointed look.
Steve frowned, tiling his head slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“Help,” she explained, pointing to the boxes again. “With the boxes, I mean.”
Steve nodded, giving her a moment to grab one of the boxes, before picking one up himself. The girl had three stacked on top of each other, carrying them inside—which left Steve to carry the last three. He took two trips, because he didn’t want to drop any.
The outside of the building was small and wooden—kind of in the middle of nowhere, with mostly patchy grass and dirt surrounding it—but it looked bigger on the outside. It was full of shelves covered in other people’s things, some of them looking ancient. There was a box of rings on the counter, and a small gold one caught his attention, but the girl kicked at his ankle lightly, like she wanted him to keep walking.
Wayne was leaning on the counter, giving Cleo a smile and a nod, before glinting back to talking with the woman behind it. She had frizzy gray hair that Steve thought used to be red, and deep tan skin, a few piercings in her ears and tattoos up her arms.
“Marge,” she said, holding out her hand, and Steve shifted the box in his arms to shake it.
“Steve.”
He looked back at Wayne, who was watching the girl rifle through one of the boxes. She pulled out the white dress, and then looked over at Wayne, who smiled slightly at her. “You can have that. I’d rather it goes to someone who’ll use it.”
The girl made some more hand gestures at him, frowning slightly, and Wayne sighed, speaking a bit slower. “I know, kid, but I’m old. I’m learning. Give me some time.”
The girl paused for a moment again, and then nodded, before running back off between some shelves with the dress in her arms. Marge turned to Wayne, her hair bounding slightly as she reached around the old-looking cash register, pulling out a stack of bills. “For her things.”
Wayne sighed, but it sounded more sad than apologetic this time. “Marge, that’s more than this is worth.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But you need it more than I do. Sunny and I’ll be okay.” Then Marge paused, smiling wider. “And she said she wanted you to know that by the next time you see her, you should be able to spell her name, yeah?”
Wayne laughed quietly, and Steve went over to the ring box, gently moving them around to get a good look at all of them.
“I’m trying, I swear,” he heard Wayne say as he turned a silver one with a big green gem on it over in his fingers. “But learning this kind of stuff out of a book is hard. It all looks funny.”
Steve quickly grabbed the golden one he had seen before, so that it wouldn’t disappear back into the piles. He looked closer, and on the inside it read, “I’ll be your star.”
Steve looked up and saw Marge eyeing the ring in his hands. “Posy ring,” she muttered.
“What?”
“You give it to someone you like, I guess. Term of endearment. Keep it, hun, no one else wants it.”
Steve frowned, slipping the ring onto his middle finger and then taking it off again. “Why not? It’s pretty.”
“Too much history, I think,” Marge said thoughtfully, eyeing Wayne with a small smile, before turning her attention back to Steve. “No one wants a piece of someone else’s love story.”
“Oh,” Steve whispered, looking back down at the Posy Ring. “I think…I think if it were mine I would like someone else to have it. I mean—this seems like it would be something important, right? I wouldn’t want it to just…sit there.”
“I said you can have it, honey,” Marge said, laughing softly again before shooing the two of them away. “Now go, go. Sunny and’ll unpack the boxes. Tell Eddie that Sunny said hi. She misses having him around, you know.”
Wayne nodded, and Steve picketed the ring. It felt good this time, to have someone else’s history with him. Antoinette’s bird was pretty, but its history was sad, and maybe even tragic. Steve didn’t know this ring’s history yet, but he’d like to find out.
I LOVE ADDING ORIGINAL CHARACTERS FKJNVIJVBAIJVB
also I know there’s a shit ton of unexplained things, like with Antoinette, but they will be explained!! Don’t worry!!!
as always, reblogs and comments make my day ♥️⭐️
(And, as always, if you see any mistakes, lmao, I never read these over lmao)
taglist (WHICH IS ALWAYS OPEN) under the cut!!
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@anne-bennett-cosplayer
@hack-saw2004
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#Steve Harrington fic#steve Harrington#Steve Harrington fanfic#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#Eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#wayne Munson fic#wayne Munson#Wayne munson fanfic#Stranger things AU#stranger things fic#steddie AU#eddie x steve#steve x eddie#original characters#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#Ongoing fic#my writing#my fic
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neuvillette ⋆⁺₊⋆ ❄ ⁺₊⋆ ❄ ₊⁺ ⋆
pairing | neuvillette/fem!reader
warnings | fluff, pregnancy, labor (non-descriptive), a baby 🥹, boy dad!! neuvilette, lowercase intended
words | 878
notes | pretty sure my heart and uterus exploded while writing this. i now have baby fever 😔
synopsis | neuvillette has his first son and fontaine has its first snow of the winter season
if someone told you five years ago that you would be married to a man like neuvillette and pregnant with his son, you’d laugh at them and call them crazy. but here you are, walking around fontaine, gift shopping for the upcoming winter holiday and unable to find anything for your perfect husband.
you had already gotten plenty of gifts for other members of your family and even your unborn son, but nothing had caught your eye for neuvillette yet. you wanted your gift for him to be perfect. something memorable. something charming, just like him. but you were ready to give up your search for the day.
you’d been shopping since the morning, and now it's almost the evening, and you really just want to go home, so you can put your swollen feet up. so, you trudged home, disappointed that you could find nothing for your husband.
but, an unfamiliar antique shop catches your eye, and that's when you see it. a beautiful gold pocket watch resting on a stand in the window of the store.
your face was almost pressed to the glass as you tried to get a better look. you could see an intricate swirling design with beautiful blue crystals dancing around the edge of the watch, but what caught your attention the most was the fact that the pocket watch could hold a photo in the case. it was absolutely perfect. without even thinking about the price, you opened up your purse to grab your pouch of mora and began to walk to the entrance of the shop.
but before you reach the door, an unfamiliar sharp pain strikes your lower abdomen causing you to drop your pouch onto the ground. the sound and mess of mora cause people to look at you with concern as you grip your belly.
you knew that you were due soon, but you had thought your little boy would not be born for at least another week or so. but you knew you were wrong when you felt the tell-tale trickle of liquid run down your leg from there the rest was a blur.
you had been rushed to your home with neuvillette waiting for you and the doctor had been called. you had felt so unprepared for the early arrival of your son, but as neuvillette firmly held your hand while you lay in the birthing bed, you knew that everything was going to be fine
after almost 9 hours of labor, you finally hear your son’s cries as he enters the world. your eyes well up with tears as you revel in the sound of your baby boy's strong cries. you can feel neuvillette’s hand tighten around yours as he watches the midwife and nurses clean your baby up.
in a matter of minutes, he was placed in your arms and the room was cleared out, giving your small family privacy. neuvillette is now sitting on the bed, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you two look at your curious baby boy. his big blue eyes looking at his parents as you both gaze back at him in awe.
“i can’t believe he’s here now. here for me to hold and love him,” you say quietly as a lone tear rolls down your cheek. you look at neuvillette and reach a hand to his face, cupping his cheek to draw him in for a sweet kiss. though the kiss was short and sweet, it was full of passion, full of unconditional love.
“thank you for making me a father, my love,” he whispers against your lips before he rises from the bed. “may i hold him?” he asks just as quietly. you smile at him before you hand him your son.
as soon as neuvillette has him in his arms, the two quietly stare at each other, taking the other in. you can only smile as you watch your two loves familiarize themselves with each other. yet something in the window behind neuvillette catches your eye.
the sight brings more tears to your eyes as you see the glittering flurries of snow dance outside the window. your eyes travel back to neuvillette holding your son. you can see the trails of tears run down his cheek as his son holds onto his finger with his tiny, pudgy hand.
you watch on as you think to yourself that you have never witnessed such a beautiful scene. your husband falling in love with his new son as the beauty of the season’s first snow paints the background.
your son is almost a month old when the holiday finally arrives.
you're anxious as you sit on the couch with your son in your arms, watching as neuvillette opens his gift from you. your shoulders sag in relief as you watch a small smile form on neuvillette's face as he finally sees the golden pocket watch you've given him.
“it’s perfect love,” he compliments, his eyes now focused on you.
“look inside,” you urge him.
he follows your instruction and clicks it open, his smile growing wider as he sees the photograph of you and your son placed in the, there for him to see when he checks the time. now his beautiful wife and son will be with him wherever he may be.
copyright © pearlahearts
do not copy or repost my work
#⋆˙⟡♡#neuvilette x reader#dad neuvillette#genshin x reader#neuvillette x you#neuvillette x y/n#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader
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The Promise of Tomorrow - Sebastian Sallow x Female! Reader
Summary: “As utterly ravishing as you are in that dress,” he whispered against your lips in-between kisses, “I can’t deny that I would much rather see it on the floor.”
A laugh bubbled past your lips despite yourself, and you let your palms trail down Sebastian’s sides until you reached his waist. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops, tugging his lower half flush against you, and his hands fell away from your face to brace against the wall behind you, effectively caging you between him and the cobblestone at your back. “Have some things planned, do you?”
Alternatively summarized as you and Sebastian attending the Yule Ball together before he whisks you away to the Room of Requirement to do exactly what you might think.
Word Count: 7.4k
Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, Garreth wearing Aunt Tessie's robes
This was HEAVILY inspired by @sallowly 's Yule Ball animation which can be found here ! The dress/Sebastian's suit are directly referenced from her work. I'm eternally grateful for being given the chance to build off of her creation ♡
The full fic can also be found here on Ao3 as per usual
“What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”
Sebastian gaped openly at Garreth, internally fighting the laugh that threatened to spill forth from his mouth despite his best efforts to smother it. The Gryffindor was decked out in quite possibly the most atrocious set of dress robes he’d ever seen, and judging by the look on the red-head’s face, he knew it too. It was frilly and lined with lace, and the material looked like a curtain that had been snagged off a window and stitched into something resembling clothes.
Garreth’s face contorted into a pained expression, chancing a look down at himself and curling his hands into loose fists. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Sebastian remarked, lifting his glass to his lips in a bid to hide his growing smile. “Can I guess? Please let me guess–”
“No,” came his flat reply.
“What is it?” Ominis asked curiously, turning away from the long table of finger foods to join in the conversation. Unlike Weasley, he looked like the epitome of poised finesse in his dark, tailored suit. “Whatever it is, it smells old.”
“Oh, it looks old too. Seriously, where on Earth did you find such an antique?” Sebastian teased, and Garreth’s eyes made a full trip around their sockets before he waved off the jab.
“Ha ha, very funny. If you must know, these have been in the Weasley family for years–”
“Clearly.”
“Oh would you shut up? I get it, believe me, I know. My mother wouldn’t let me get away with not wearing them though, she kept pestering me about ‘tradition’ and a bunch of other pointless nonsense. I was fighting a losing battle trying to convince her otherwise.”
Ominis chuckled softly under his breath and twirled his wand idly between his fingers, “And you didn’t think to just change into something more fitting of the nineteenth century because…” he trailed off, the question hanging silently in the air.
Garreth grumpily shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned, looking over his shoulder towards the massive entryway leading into the Great Hall. Professor Weasley was standing watch, ushering students in with practiced ease, and when she caught sight of her nephew staring, her smile was enough to give away precisely why the Gryffindor had been forced to endure his family's horrendous dress code. “My aunt would rat me out in a second if I did. Look, can we just forget about the hideous outfit already? I need a drink.”
Sebastian had half a mind to offer Garreth the stolen flask of Firewhiskey tucked away in his suit, but he was honestly more inclined to save it for himself. Unbeknownst to his friends, he was wound tighter than a spring, the anticipation coursing through his veins causing him to shake his leg to dispel the nervous jitters he’d been dealing with since arriving. While he’d gone on plenty of dates with you in the last few years, this would be the first time the two of you attended something so formal as a couple. Asking you to the Yule Ball had nearly put him in the ground with how anxious he’d been– but attending the dance together was a completely different story.
He wanted the night to go perfectly.
His expectations were driving him up the damn wall. If there was one thing Sebastian hated more than anything, it was surprises, and that’s exactly what tonight was. One giant, looming unknown that had him thinking circles around himself. Dancing wasn’t the issue– he was great at that. It wasn’t even the hundreds of prying eyes that would be glued to you both when you eventually arrived, because he was more than used to the attention that came with dating the Hero of Hogwarts.
No, Sebastian was simply nervous to finally put his long awaited plan into action.
Everything was already set up in the Room of Requirement for later, so all he had to do was make it through the bulk of the evening without combusting or making a fool of himself. He could do that… right?
“Your nerves are showing, Sebastian,” Garreth teased as he leaned over the endless selection of food and drinks. His green eyes were crinkled in amusement as he observed the nonstop tapping of the brunet’s foot, and Ominis hummed in agreement.
“I’ve been listening to him fidget for the last twenty minutes. I don’t know why girls take so long to get ready– I’m tempted to go and find his date so he’ll finally relax.”
Garreth laughed, and in the split second following, Sebastian saw his eyes land on something over his shoulder and widen comically. “No need for that… damn.”
Nothing could have prepared Sebastian for the sight that graced him when he turned around.
There you were, looking equal parts ethereal and powerful. Your dress was like nothing he had ever seen before; it was the darkest, most striking shade of black, rippling around your legs as though it were made of liquid as you strode through the arched doorway with your head held high. Embroidered down the side and along the strapless neckline were tiny gold leaves that reflected against the candles floating overhead, giving you a regal appearance that put even Ominis to shame. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Sebastian swore that as you walked further into the room, some of the leaves from your dress trailed behind you and dissipated into shimmering dust.
You twisted your hands together nervously as your eyes scanned the massive crowd, searching for the one person who could make existing in such an overwhelming environment bearable. Sebastian’s legs started to move of their own accord, carrying him away from the table and closer to you at the same time your neck swiveled in his direction, and the way your entire face lit up when you spotted him imbued him with the confidence that he’d been lacking minutes prior.
Everything else was muted during those tentative seconds it took him to reach you, and once he came to stop in front of you with his drink still loosely gripped in his hand, it was as if no one else existed within the cavernous ballroom– only the two of you. For a moment, all he could do was stare with his mouth hanging open like a fish. The flush that spread across your cheeks had his heart doing acrobatics in his chest, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat before setting his glass down on an empty platter floating by.
“Hi,” you said meekly, flashing him an easy smile in an attempt to conceal your timorous demeanor. He didn’t need to know that you’d spent five minutes outside with Poppy talking you off the metaphorical ledge and fanning you frantically with her hands.
“Hey,” he replied, instantly cringing at the dry greeting. He quickly added, “I don’t think words can do you justice, if I’m being honest. You look otherworldly, darling.”
Sebastian’s words did wonders to school your nerves, a wave of warmth settling over you like a blanket. The soft smile that spread across your plush lips made his heart flip in his chest, and when he held out his hand for you to take, the tension in your shoulders slipped away. “Thank you, you look rather dashing yourself. Green continues to be your color,” you mused as your palm met his upturned one, intertwining your fingers through his longer ones easily.
He steered you into the room, heading for Ominis and Garreth again to give you time to get settled before the dancing started. When your eyes fell on Weasley, Sebastian watched as your brows shot halfway up your forehead, and he could hear the laughter in your voice when you asked, “Oh gods, what is he wearing?”
“Don’t bring it up. Something about ‘tradition’ I think, but he’s well aware that he looks like a decorative rug.”
You had to hide your smirk behind your free hand as you approached the two men. Garreth’s grin was blinding as he raised his glass to you in silent greeting, and Ominis must have heard you walking up, because he turned fully to face you with his kind eyes crinkled at their corners.
“I obviously can’t say for certain, but if Sebastian’s inability to form words when you walked in was anything to go by, you must look beautiful.” The blond had a tiny Cauldron Cake pinched between his skinny fingers, and he popped it into his mouth without a second thought as a blush crept up your cheeks.
“Thank you, Ominis, you do too.”
“I look beautiful?” He mumbled around his mouthful, and the sound of his muffled teasing contrasting with his neat appearance made you chuckle.
You swatted his shoulder playfully and shook your head, “You know what I mean.” When your gaze shifted to Garreth, he seemed to hold his breath expectantly. “You too, Garreth. Pink looks good on you.”
The red-head rolled his eyes playfully, but he was still grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve been told that lying gives you wrinkles, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
He lifted his glass to his lips at the same time the enchanted orchestra in the corner ceased playing. Hundreds of heads swiveled towards the front of the room as Professor Black made his way to the podium, looking all too irritated to have to entertain students during the weekend instead of… actually, you had no clue what Professor Black did in his spare time.
Probably kick Puffskeins and style his mustache.
“Welcome all, to this year’s Yule Ball. I see the festivities are in full swing already, but I’d like to remind everyone that standard school rules are still meant to be followed even on a night such as this one. That means no floozy behavior, no consumption of beverages not otherwise provided for you, and for the love of Merlin– no smoking of Mallowsweet in school corridors. That has become a rampant issue that I would prefer to not have to deal with on top of everything else.”
As the Headmaster continued monologuing, you managed to tune out the remainder of his warnings in favor of ogling Sebastian. Your hands were still intertwined, and he had tugged you closer to him so your arms were brushing against one another in his subtle attempts to get closer to you. He really did look striking in his dark green suit; it was the first time you’d been privy to seeing him so dressed up, and you bit your lip hungrily as potent, lustful thoughts filled your mind. It wasn’t until the room was full of thunderous applause that you realized the introductions were finished and your boyfriend was side-eyeing you as you blatantly stared at him.
“Something on your mind?” He whispered the question directly against your ear, sending shivers down your spine and making your toes curl in your heels.
Your hand in his tightened a fraction, and you cocked a brow slyly as your lips curled into a feline smile. “A few things, yes.”
“Anything I’d like to know about?”
“I’m sure you would, but there’s a time and a place. Don’t they say patience is a virtue?”
Sebastian hummed, trailing his thumb sensually along your knuckles as he smirked wickedly against your temple. “I find it to be more of a nuisance, but I suppose it would be a waste not to make the most of you in that dress. Would you care to dance?”
The Slytherin’s heart damn near hammered straight out of his sternum when you turned to stare affectionately up at him, the mixture of your love and desire so palpable in the air that he swore he could cut through it with a Diffindo charm. “I thought you’d never ask.”
—
You didn’t think you’d ever felt so weightless in your life.
Sebastian’s hand clasped in yours was like an anchor, keeping you grounded to the present moment as he tugged you along behind him up the winding staircase leading to the Astronomy Wing. He was moving fast– clearly eager to show you the ‘surprise’ he had waiting for you there– but he had the good grace to stay mindful of your dress and your inability to move as quickly as he could. The two of you had been sneakily stealing sips of his Firewhiskey throughout the night, so the faint buzz you had going was enough to make you slow down and consider every movement carefully as you ascended the steps.
When you reached the top landing, the brunet’s neck craned sideways to cast an exhilarated look your way, his excitement a tangible entity that had butterflies erupting in your stomach. All through the night, Sebastian’s eyes and hands had been stealing telling glances and coy touches as he twirled you across the ballroom. You knew there had been hundreds of eyes on you at one point; the charmed, gold leaves around the lower lining of your gown had fallen away in trails of sunset colored sparkles that were bound to draw attention as you’d danced. But none of it had mattered– not with Sebastian gazing longingly at you like you were the only thing that existed.
He was doing so now, and you found yourself burying your general dislike of surprises for the sake of the evening. Anything Sebastian had planned for you was something you were sure to love, you were already certain of it.
When the two of you reached the empty wall across from the familiar troll tapestry, Sebastian swiftly pulled you ahead of him and spun you around– more shimmering leaves wisping off of your dress as your back made contact with the cool stone behind it. You barely had time to register the brazen move before your boyfriend’s lips connected with yours, and then his broad hands were sliding up your neck to cup your face and tilt your head back to deepen the kiss impossibly further. He swallowed your startled gasp instantaneously, brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones so tenderly that it made your heart fucking ache.
Merlin– sometimes your love for Sebastian overwhelmed you.
“As utterly ravishing as you are in that dress,” he whispered against your lips in-between kisses, “I can’t deny that I would much rather see it on the floor.”
A laugh bubbled past your lips despite yourself, and you let your palms trail down Sebastian’s sides until you reached his waist. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops, tugging his lower half flush against you, and his hands fell away from your face to brace against the wall behind you, effectively caging you between him and the cobblestone at your back. “Have some things planned, do you?”
“Of course,” he replied with that renowned Sallow-swagger that made you melt. “But not before you get to appreciate all of my hard work.”
You hummed thoughtfully as you leaned forward to kiss him again, breathing in his intoxicating scent of cedar and something akin to old books. His tongue slipped in your mouth easily, tangling with your own so fluidly that you suddenly found yourself all too eager to discover what he had in store for you. Sebastian let you drink in your fill of him, groaning softly when you shifted your hips to grind lazily against his steadily growing erection, and then he was pulling back with a heated look in his eyes.
“Riveting as this is, I don’t feel particularly keen on taking you in the middle of the hallway.”
On cue, you felt the wall against your back begin to change. The cool stone morphed into smooth wood, and the massive entryway to the Room of Requirement revealed itself as Sebastian seemingly gazed into your very soul. “No public canoodling? Your surprise must be quite something, then.”
For the first time since finding him in the Great Hall, Sebastian looked nervous. He stepped back and rubbed his neck sheepishly, giving you a half-grin that you could have honestly mistaken for a grimace. “I certainly hope so… come on.”
He extended his hand once again and you took it graciously, moving off the door to make room for him to push it open. The brunet ushered you in, letting you enter ahead of him, and you barely made it three steps inside before you were halting completely. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open in silent shock as you took in the magical sight before you.
The Room was full of floating candles like the ones in the Great Hall, only these ones flickered with deep blue flames that seemed to cast the space in what you could only describe as pure moonlight. The ambiance had been changed as well, working in tandem with the romantic lighting so flawlessly that you were certain you had to be staring at a painting. You made a mental note to remember to thank Deek for his evident assistance. Bright red petals had been strewn across the floor, paving a rather telling path towards the slightly ajar bedroom door on the opposite side of the chamber. What was inside, you didn’t know– but the contrasting red glow from within had your mind flooding with unrestrained fantasies that made your stomach flip.
Your legs carried you deeper into the room as you took in every unique change to your secret space, and all the while, Sebastian watched you virtually glide across the floor. The enchanted leaves running down your dress added a new degree of magic to the whole scene; the trail of gold flakes that evaporated into sparkling dust made you look like some sort of enchantress that had snuck onto the school grounds, and he found himself following you across the petals towards the bedroom in a trance.
Sebastian had seriously outdone himself. You had no words.
Pushing the door open revealed more floating candles– the normal colored ones– and an amorous display that made your breath catch in your throat. He’d replaced the usual bed linens with silky, red sheets that reflected the candlelight beautifully. You spotted a bottle of wine perched between two glasses on the nightstand, and situated behind it all was a fresh bouquet of roses that left a distinctly floral scent in the air.
A large part of you wanted to cry from the affection that flooded your brain, but you willed away the urge in favor of turning around to face Sebastian.
He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed– a hungry, almost insatiable look spreading across his features. Those lust-dark eyes of his were scanning you up and down like you were a whole meal, and given the set-up in the room, you were willing to wager a guess that his mentality was exactly that. The warm lighting in the bedroom bathed him in a seductive glow, and as handsome as he looked in his suit, you suddenly wanted him out of it. Pronto.
“You’re speechless,” he observed, sounding almost timid as he spoke the words.
“That’s a word for it.”
“Good speechless or bad speechless?”
You gave him a nonplussed blink before your brows slammed down, “Why in Merlin’s name would it be bad speechless?”
Your ability to read Sebastian like a damn book allowed you to see the cracks in his confident facade as he dug the toe of his shoe into the stone floor. He shrugged, “I’m not sure. Maybe because I snuck in here and changed everything around. Although Deek did help some, so I guess I’m not solely to blame.”
There were no thoughts in your head other than the rapacious desire to be close to him, and your heels echoed off the bedroom walls as you strode over to him in the doorway to yank him down to your level. You all but slammed your mouths together, stealing his breath with the intensity of your ministrations, and the action left little room for doubt. Sebastian returned the kiss with equal fervor, winding his arms around you to crush you against his front as you bit and licked at his soft, freckled lips.
“You ought to stoke that confidence some more, because this is quite possibly the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Your praises did wonders to soothe his frayed nerves, seeing as you felt him relax under your touch as you sensually dragged your hands up to grip his strong shoulders.
He chuckled proudly, pulling away to stare anticipatorily down at you with a smug look on his face. That was an expression you were all too familiar with. “You should know that where you’re concerned, I’m a split-second confidence kind of guy. The things you do to me and you don’t even know it…” he trailed off in a gravelly voice, and you shivered as you felt his palms begin skirting down your lower back to play with the zipper of your gown.
“Oh really?” Your voice was airy, and your fingers dug into the smooth material of his blazer as you worked to maintain your composure. “Care to enlighten me?”
Sebastian tilted his head to the side curiously before leaning down to brush a tiny kiss over the tip of your nose, “I’d much rather show you. What do you say? You want to let me take care of you, darling?”
Your breath caught in your throat, rendering your tongue a useless paperweight in your mouth as it failed to form words, so you nodded excitedly instead and noted how Sebastian growled in response. Any awkwardness or uncertainty fell away when he claimed your lips again in a wet, needy frenzy, swallowing your surprised mewl as he walked you backwards towards the spacious bed. You felt his fingers return to your zipper and gently tug it down as the backs of your knees made contact with the mattress, and his hand on your hip kept you steady as his arm dropped ever-so-slightly to part the fabric of your dress. The velvety attire slipped down your body and pooled around your ankles instantly– a plume of gold sparkles erupting from it as it hit the floor.
Sebastian broke the kiss to look down at you, his long, dark lashes fanning out across his cheeks as he took in your nearly bare form from head to toe. You followed the tight bob of his adam’s apple as his chocolate brown eyes roved over your breasts before they returned to your face, and then he was gingerly pushing you down onto the bed.
As you scooted higher up the sheets, Sebastian’s gaze stayed glued to you while he shed his jacket, tossing it haphazardly to the side so he could begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. You watched him unblinkingly as he undressed– shamelessly licking your lips when his top fell open and revealed the taut plane of his stomach— and the fuzzy trail of hair leading beneath his trousers had your knees clenching together in anticipation. With his button-up discarded, all that remained were the pants, and he elected to take his time undoing his belt with calculated movements as his eyes bored into yours.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he admitted, and the metal clink of the buckle falling away punctuated the statement. “Gods– I was ready to leave the second you walked in, you have no fucking idea.”
You shuddered from the intensity of his words, boldly dragging one of your hands down between your legs to feel the wetness that had begun to saturate your undergarments. The sight of you touching yourself sent Sebastian into overdrive– and he wasted little time in shoving his trousers down and kicking them aside so he was donned in nothing but his briefs. His arousal was straining against the thin cotton– so much so that it had to be bordering on painful– but he made no signs of discomfort as he seductively started to crawl up the bed towards you.
As soon as Sebastian was within reach, you abandoned your soaked nether region to curl your fingers around his neck and pull him towards you, kissing him desperately. You ran your hands down his freckled chest, then wrapped your arms around his midsection to ghost the tips of your fingers along his spine. The shiver it elicited from him had heat pooling in your gut, and your need for him started to shift into something even more ravenous.
Sebastian dropped himself down onto his elbows to minimize the space between the two of you as your tongues tangled, and as he settled his lower half against yours, he ground his straining member against your clothed cunt. He groaned unabashedly, the sound low in his throat, and your lips took to wandering along his jaw, down his throat, before settling against the curve of his shoulder to sink your teeth into the soft flesh.
“Fuck– I can feel how wet you are already. How badly do you want it? Tell me,” he implored you, his eyes fluttering shut when you laved your tongue over the light imprint of your teeth. “Talk to me, darling, please.”
Merlin, his voice alone was doing things to you that rendered your vocal chords useless. You tried speaking anyway. “P-Please,” you rasped out against his spit-slick skin. “Please Sebastian, I need you– I’ve needed you all night–”
“All night, huh? What exactly were you thinking about while we were on the dance floor, hm? What filthy thoughts are swimming around in that pretty little head of yours?”
The way Sebastian was rutting against you– tempting you with every snap of his hips– was driving you absolutely crazy with lust, and your head fell away from his shoulder against the sheets with a low moan as your nails raked down his sides. To your dismay, however, he ceased his movements to sit up and plant his hands on your wiggling hips, pinning you down in place. His toned arms flexed as he applied a fair amount of pressure in a bid to still your writhing against the silky covers, and you bit your lip in blatant frustration, narrowing your eyes dangerously.
“Don’t look at me like that, I asked you a question. Tell me what you want– what you’ve apparently been craving all night. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
Leave it to Sebastian to still find a way to make you beg for his cock. The nerve. You scowled up at him, “You’re really going to make me say it?”
He had the audacity to laugh at your impatience. “I would make you scream it if I wasn’t trying so hard to be nice.”
You had half a mind to taunt him further and clarify that really– this was him being nice? But then one of his hands fell away from your waist to trail closer to your drenched underwear until he had the pad of his thumb planted directly against your clit. That was the extent of his mercy, though. He made no move to provide you with any friction or stimulation– he simply stared at you expectantly.
Dammit.
Your hips twitched, unconsciously seeking the reprieve his fingers could offer you. It mattered little though; his strength kept you pinned firmly in place. “I-I want you to fuck me,” you mumbled, cheeks heating with slight embarrassment.
“Anyone could fuck you, sweetheart. You need to be more specific,” he fucking purred the statement, making your head spin and your inhibitions fly out the damn window.
“You,” came your wheezed response. “I want you– I want your cock, Sebastian, all I need is you. Please fuck me, I only want you, please.”
The sight of you flushed and panting, bathed in warm candlelight as your hands fisted ardently in the sheets, drove all of Sebastian’s blood straight to his cock. It twitched enthusiastically within the confines of his briefs.
You felt the pressure from his arm let up at the same time he removed his thumb from your aching center. Impatient didn’t even begin to cover how you were feeling, but you were all too pleased when his fingers finally pinched the fabric of your panties to tug the material down your bent legs.
Shaking his head in near disbelief, Sebastian groaned, “You sound like a fucking dream begging for it, darling. I’ll give it to you, I promise.”
His words soothed you, but you still tensed a little when you felt the tip of his finger slip inside your overwhelmingly wet heat. You sighed and spread your legs further to accommodate Sebastian’s kneeled position, and he took to trailing his free hand over your hip bones, then up your torso to squeeze at your breasts as he willed you to relax for him. Releasing your vice grip on the sheets, you wrapped your hand around Sebastian’s thick wrist while he toyed with your sensitive nipples– effectively losing yourself to the euphoric sensation until he was knuckle-deep in your clenching walls.
A keening sound resonated from deep in your chest as you rocked back onto Sebastian’s finger, testing the feeling, and you bit your lip hard at the rumbling groan your boyfriend gave in response. He leaned down to pepper kisses along your shoulder, sucking at your collarbone and gently nipping at your neck, and when he thrusted his finger minutely and curled it towards your stomach, you shuddered and dug your nails into his forearm.
“Come on,” you whined, bucking your hips more insistently in response to his painfully slow pace. The brunet nodded, pumping his finger deeper, and he couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled from his mouth at how fucking tight you were.
Sebastian worked you with the single digit for a moment before tentatively adding a second, his blood igniting in his veins at the airy gasp you let slip. Your name fell from his lips like a plea, and when he leaned up slightly to gauge your expression, the half-hooded look you bore was enough to make his stomach drop. “Gods, you’re perfect,” he virtually whispered.
By the time you were amply prepared for him, your hands had abandoned the sheets and his wrist to clutch tightly at his shoulders, your sounds growing desperate and needy. Sebastian continued to spread and twist his fingers, trying to map out precisely where to aim to reduce you to gasping screams just as he’d promised. You were beyond jittery, though, winding your fingers into his curly brown locs to tug his face towards yours and glare openly at him. “I’m about to jump your bones,” you growled, rolling your hips against Sebastian’s fingers urgently. “Come on, Sebastian, let me– fuck–”
Sebastian grinned wildly at the way your back arched clean off the sheets, the tight gasp you pulled into your lungs imbuing him with a need for you that rivaled his need to breathe. Without missing a beat, he withdrew his fingers and frantically set to peeling his briefs away to free himself from the restrictive material. His girth arched proudly against his stomach, swollen and red and so fucking tantalizing. Your eyes devoured him greedily as he tossed the pre-cum stained attire over his shoulder, and then he was crawling over you once again with an animalistic hunger reflecting in his eyes.
Hooking your legs around his waist, Sebastian braced his arms on either side of your head, gazing at you longingly as the head of his leaking cock brushed against your slick entrance. It took an insane amount of effort for you not to nudge him forward with your heels– forcing yourself to remain pliant as he pressed into you at an achingly slow pace. Your eyes rolled shut at the feeling of being breached, savaging your lower lip with your teeth as inch after inch of Sebastian’s incredible cock entered you. A contented whine weaseled its way from his throat as he bottomed out, and you cracked your bleary eyes open to find the freckled man staring at you with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“W-What?” You muttered, trailing your hands up his muscular biceps before interlacing your fingers together around his neck. “Don’t make me beg again, I already said please.”
“I was just enjoying the face you were making,” he said with a smirk, grinding his hips enough to have you trembling and arching. “Like you were trying really hard to hold back. It’s hot as hell.”
You fought a smile, tugging him down by his neck to capture his lips in yet another dizzying kiss. Sebastian bit and licked at your mouth with reckless abandon as he swallowed the sounds his efforts pulled from you, and he sighed before pulling away to brush a few strands of hair off of your forehead. He thrusted suddenly into you– catching you off guard– and your breath hitched at the same time your head fell back, effectively killing the remainder of Sebastian’s patience.
Dropping one of his hands to your waist, Sebastian withdrew his throbbing member enough so that when he snapped his hips forward, you were jolted up the bed slightly. “Ah–” your sharp cry reverberated off the bedroom walls, and his hold on you instantly became possessive.
Grasping onto you like his life depended on it, Sebastian dug his feet into the bed to lend some force to his thrusts as he worked himself into an even tempo. It felt mind-numbingly wonderful to finally be encased in your warm walls after day-dreaming about it all night. His mouth fell open with a shaky groan when he pressed his balls against your raised ass, the friction doing you both a slew of favors, and his vision flashed a brilliant white when he felt you clench around his cock and suck him in even deeper.
“Oh fuck– fucking hell–” Sebastian grit through clenched teeth, pushing himself up fully so he was no longer hunched over you. You unhooked your ankles from around him so he could maneuver your legs over his bent ones, gripping your thighs with a bruising strength that made your mouth dry up in a heartbeat. He had a perfect view of you laid bare under him this way, and he shamelessly watched as his cock glistened with your slick when he pulled out right before plunging back in.
Your spine rounded, a guttural moan ripping its way from your chest as Sebastian picked up his pace while simultaneously pulling you down onto his quick thrusts. It was pure rapture having his hands on you– demandingly shifting you around to steal his pleasure from your tight heat as he sought out the deepest parts of you. At one point, he released his hold on one of your legs to plant his broad hand on top of your stomach, relishing in how he could feel his cock each time he slid home. It was addicting– you were addicting— and the thought lit a fire in his very soul.
“S-Sebastian,” you whined, gathering the silky sheets in your clenched fists as wave after wave of sheer pleasure washed over you. With your legs held in the brunet’s strong grip, he had the freedom to fuck harder into your slick folds, pulling noisy cries of his name and desperate pleas for more from your kiss-swollen lips. Your voice was loud in the humid room, your moans echoing off the walls around the two of you– and when Sebastian bucked harder so the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the space– you gasped frantically and writhed beneath him. He had to be hitting a good spot.
“You’re stunning, darling– so fucking good to me–” Sebastian managed to grunt out, pounding his cock into you with temerity that made your looming finish all the more potent. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”
“Right there, S-Sebastian, fuck me right there, gods–”
The muscles in your stomach were tensing, and you were honestly shaking from the vigor of his thrusts. Sebastian groaned, the sound of your pleading little whimpers driving him mad with undiluted need, and he watched you blearily try to figure out what was going on as he hoisted your legs up and threw them over his shoulders. He moved over you, bending you in half at the same time he rammed his thick cock back into your cunt, and you were hardly given the space to breathe before your boyfriend was fucking you hard— his hips bucking rough and deep and so fucking good that you were left mewling and grasping helplessly at the sheets.
Sebastian pinned you to the bed and fucked himself into you, his own moans dripping loud from his lips as his hands tangled in your hair and tightened around the strands. The sting was delicious and left you with no choice but to allow your lover to pull you closer to him while he filled you up over and over. He drank in the sounds you made as your back arched off the sheets the best it could under his added weight, your thighs shaking and muscles tensing until you were barely holding on.
“Like that– fuck, Sebastian, just like that, I’m gonna come–”
Unable to give a more coherent response than a gasping whine, Sebastian dug his nails into your scalp and was rewarded with the sweet sound of you wailing his name as you came violently, riding your hips down into his as much as you could. Your hands flew to his back to rake angry red welts down his sides, and Sebastian let your legs fall from his shoulders so he could wrap his arms around you and bury his face into the crook of your neck. He sank his teeth into the sweaty skin as he gave you the last of his deep, quick thrusts before he was coming inside— your name tumbling over his lips like a mantra as he fell into bliss.
By the time Sebastian was anything approaching coherent, you were still shaking under him, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Fuck,” he murmured into the hollow of your throat, untangling his hands from your hair and smoothing the mussed locs down.
Sebastian pulled out with a small groan– your hips seemingly lifting to chase the marvelous feeling of being filled– but then he was planting his elbows on either side of you to brace himself as he kissed you breathlessly. You melted under him, curling around him ardently when he finally let himself tip sideways beside you. His chest was heaving with the deep breaths he sucked into his lungs, and you happily nestled your head atop his shoulder as your hands took to tracing invisible shapes and patterns along the taut expanse of his stomach.
You dozed off sometime after Sebastian had started murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, and when you awoke a few hours later, you were still draped over him, his fingers idly trailing up the shallow dip of your spine. Stretching the best you could without disturbing the peaceful vibe, you craned your neck to look up at Sebastian sleepily, and his eyes crinkled at their corners as he smiled down at you.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Mmph,” you grunted, voice thick with sleep. “Is it morning already? You should have woken me up.”
He shrugged and glanced at the open bedroom door, noting the lack of sunlight streaming in through the skylight. “Early morning, but not daylight hours quite yet. I figured you needed the rest.”
Humming appreciatively, you closed the minuscule space between the two of you to kiss him gently, and he sighed against your lips as his hands roved up your back once more to play with your hair at the nape of your neck. Everything about the moment was pure, and you found it all too easy to get lost in the sensations dancing over your still-sensitive body.
Sebastian broke away first, gazing at you strangely before he abandoned your hair to reach for the nightstand. “I was going to do this earlier before everything, but I uh… got distracted.”
You couldn’t hide the flush that crept up your cheeks at the reminder. “Hm, I wonder why,” you teased. “Do what, though?”
He finally found whatever he’d been rifling around for blindly and met your inquisitive stare, swallowing nervously. “I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen after we graduate. I’m sure you have your own ideas, but I just thought– well, I’d obviously like to stay together. I can’t imagine not having you beside me, but that being said, I’ll respect whatever you decide, even if it isn’t what I want to hear.”
Your stomach flipped over on itself, and your eyes went wider than saucers when Sebastian revealed a small, velvet box gripped tight in his hand. Pushing yourself off of him, he flicked the lid open with trembling fingers, and your gasp was drowned out by the hammering of your heart in your ears.
Inside was a thin, gold band adorned with a tiny, emerald gemstone that sparkled brilliantly under the flickering candlelight. Your mouth fell open as the implications of the ring bore down on you, and when you looked back at Sebastian, his eyes were scanning your face to gauge your expression.
“Is that…?”
“It’s only a posy ring, but I thought that it might make the next few months easier to anticipate. You’re my whole world, darling. I can’t fathom parting ways after everything we’ve been through, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope you felt the same.”
Warm, fat tears welled in your eyes then, blurring your vision before they were streaking down your cheeks without restraint. His anxiety leading up to arriving in the Room of Requirement suddenly made a lot more sense to you, and you realized that he’d planned all of this well in advance. How long had he been waiting to ask you? How long had he held onto the ring in the hopes that you would say yes?
He still looked nervous, but it was drowned out by the complete adoration that glimmered in his dark eyes.
“Yes,” you choked out, somewhere in-between sobbing and laughing as you sat up fully. “Yes, Sebastian– of course I feel the same.”
Sebastian’s smile was blinding, and he plucked the ring from the box and slowly slid it on your extended finger, both of your hands shaking with barely contained excitement. It fit perfectly, and you gave yourself all of two seconds to admire the look and the feeling of it on your hand before you had flipped yourself to the side to straddle him. Your hands cradled his cheeks as you dipped your head lower to kiss him over and over, his soft laughter warming your heart and filling you with a sense of contentment you hadn’t known existed until now.
“I love you, Sebastian. I’ll travel to the ends of the Earth with you, never doubt that. My future is your future– my heart has always belonged to you– of course I’ll stay with you. Whatever is to come, facing it with you is all I want.”
You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look so elated in all your time knowing him. His face lit up vibrantly at your declaration, and in a flash he had wrapped his arms around you to flip you back over so he was situated on top of you, gazing down at you with his hands running down your bare sides.
He assaulted the entirety of your face with fervent kisses, laughing softly under his breath as you returned his affections with equal force. “I love you so much, darling. You’re my everything, I wouldn’t change a damned thing about the past knowing that it landed me here with you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
The remainder of the night was spent with the two of you beneath the silk sheets, the promise of tomorrow suddenly all the more exciting to imagine now that you knew Sebastian would be with you for the rest of your life. Posy ring or not, you’d already known that only death could take you from him– and even then you were certain you would find a way to keep loving him long after you were gone.
Neither one of you would have it any other way.
#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x you#sebastian sallow x female! reader#sebastian sallow x mc#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow smut#hogwarts legacy fanfic#sebastian sallow fanfic#sebastian sallow oneshot#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#my writing#dusting my hands and wiggling my fingers as I finally post this#I don't know why it took so long
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His protégé (James Patrick march x fem reader smut) (kinktober fic 3)
Summary: you met James like his other “students” but after years off him taken you under his wing you couldn’t handle the pressures.
Warnings: smut, mentions of killing, becoming a serial killer, p in v sex, slight edging, knife kink, oral (reader receiving), tiny bit of spanking (like one spank), feeling like being watched, fear of abandonment(James not wanting reader to leave like the countess sort of did), James being possessive.
Word count: 3k
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You met him over three years ago, the same way as all his "students". Coincidentally waltzing into the Cortez when the world felt like it could swallow you whole, well at least that's what you felt like you wanted the world to do. To say this was the worst week you ever had was the understatement of the century.
You sat by the bar toying with the glass of alcohol in front of you. 'Was drowning your sorrows even worth it?', 'is getting so wasted that you'd might get kicked out the the hotel even worth it?' You wondered something that became routine over the past few days residing at this hotel. The bar was practically empty considering it was late on in the night.
The bartender who you soon known as liz shooting you a sympathetic smile every now and then. You observed the lavish historical hotel, full of art deco some antiques from the 1920s. You had heard all the rumours and stories of this hotel's history to say that it intrigued you would be the best way to put it. You heard near enough everything about the hotel Cortez and the "ghosts" residents here thanks to billie dean Howard.
You felt preying eyes on you, furrowed brows you turned and saw nothing... weird you thought. Maybe it was your imagination after all your in an infamous "haunted" hotel. But that was impossible ghosts aren't true, right?. Decided on calling it a night you thanked liz and went to your room 64, famous for being the room of two serial killers John Lowe and the former office of the owner james Patrick march coincidentally.
You still like you were being watched but tried to shrug it off 'relax no one is watching me it's in my head' you thought. Oh how you were wrong, several of ghosts who resisted here had their eye on you. Some curious on why you would come here, others wanted you as their next victim but one specific ghost wanted you as their protege, their next successor.
You finally made it to your room, fumbling around in your Jean pocket for your room key, you jammed the key into the door unlocking the door not before looking around to see if someone was near you. You couldn't shake that feeling that somebody was watching you, no matter how much you tried to shake it off.
Locking your room door you let out a breath out didn't know you were holding in. Making your way over to your suitcase you picked out your night attire. You still felt that eerie feeling going into the bathroom to clean your makeup off.
You exited the bathroom now in your pyjamas, the little clock on the nightstand played it's little song like usual "that thing freaks me out" you said out loud. "Don't let that frighten you dear" a voice chimed in making you let out a yelp in fright. Seeing a man sat on the chair a glass of whiskey or bourbon in hand you didn't know.
"Who the fuck are you" you hissed feeling mixed emotions shock, anger, fear of this intruder. "My names James Patrick march I'm the owner of this hotel and I'm afraid I don't like your tone dear" he introduced in a velvety accent getting up from the chair. He was dressed sharp in a pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt with a neck scarf.
"The owner of this hotel died like almost a hundred years ago" you scoffed at the man, which didn't faze him. "Yes that is true but you see in this hotel the dead doesn't exactly die" he stated stepping closer to you as you took steps back. You could see him more clearly now dark hair, pale skin with a pencil moustache that decorated his upper lip and beautiful chocolatey brown eyes that held something sinister in them.
"What do you want from me?" You asked. Even though his eyes held something evil within them you felt drawn to him like he wouldn't hurt you. "I've been watching you my dear, and I couldn't help but see the rage you secure within you" he said. A confused look on your face 'was I that noticeably angry?' You thought. "Right so?" You shrugged not quite catching on to what the ghost was saying.
"I want to help you set that rage free"
...
You didn't really remember what happened after that night all you remember was James teaching you everything there is to know about being a killer. For those three years he had taken you under his wing, taught you his ways, showed you his little contraptions within the hotel. And you were nothing if not willing to go through with it all.
You listened to every word that rolled off his tongue about his little plan. There were only three rules he had when it came to his little hobby 1: don't have a method. 2: don't be sloppy about it. 3: don't get caught.
You had just came back from another kill entering James's room on the 7th floor. "Ah your back dear how was it? Tell me the details" James's voice chimed the old fashioned record player playing an old time song. "It was the same as any other time James quick and easy" you sighed finding an old rag to clean yourself up.
"Quick you say, how so?" He asked confused at your lack of creativity unlike it usually was. "Because James I don't want to get caught I have a funny feeling that I'm going to be caught soon so I'm done" you sighed placing your knife on the little table by the bed. James watched your every move deep in thought. He wondered if your proposal was a good move "your going to stop killing?" He asked removing his blazer placing it on a chair, rolling his sleeves up.
"Yes James I'm sorry, I'm grateful you showed me your ways and I really did enjoy my time with you but it's best if i stop now before the heat on my ass gets me burnt" you held your hands up in defence making your way to the door.
James didn't know if he was sad or angry at the fact you've given up on your little spree or was it because you were essentially leaving him. Just as you turned the handle ready to exit till that sophisticated accent stopped you. "Don't go... please" he begged.
James didn't want to admit it to himself but these three years he spent with you were the best years he had in this hotel after he died. He didn't spend his time chasing after his ex-wife the countess, he spent every moment near enough with you enjoying the sick bond you both formed. He grew very fond of you more than his other students you had potential the same characteristics as himself.
"What?" You didn't quite believe what you were hearing, it wasn't the words it was the tone complete desperation. Only time you heard that tone of voice was around the first time you met him when he was desperately trying to get the countess back.
"Please don't leave me I couldn't bare it" he pleaded once again with a meek voice. The door still ajar, your hand on the handle. "James it's for the best anyway we had fun but it's time to get out before it's too late but I need to leave before I get caught" you stated. "I DONT CARE ABOUT THE KILLING Y/N" James yelled taken you aback. He never raised his voice at you once even when he was frustrated with you for some reason he never ever raised his voice.
James walked closer to you his face now red with anger. He wasn't going to let you leave he let one woman slip away he doesn't intend to let it happen again. You were a little nervous at the sudden shift in the room.
"I will not let you leave this hotel not after everything" his voice was calm but his expression said otherwise. You didn't know what was going to happen "what do you mean not letting me leave this hotel?" You asked. "I've grown rather fond of you my dear, I look forward to our little meetings and I guess I can't let that go" his cold breath fanned against your neck sending shivers down your spine.
You almost crumbled as his cold hands rested on your biceps, your breathing quickening with the small touch. Looking into his dark eyes held anger and lust. "I've never felt this way for anyone since the countess but with you dearest, it doesn't compare to the feelings I have for you" his lips in a smirk, seeing you melt from just his words.
It all made sense to you now, you couldn't lie to yourself and say you didn't grow to have strong feelings for the ghost (because that was far from the truth). The truth was you were infatuated with James Patrick march, you spent every moment with him for the past three years it felt impossible not to. People would call you a stupid girl for it.
"James-" you were cut off by his ice cold lips on yours. The kiss was rough but you responded nonetheless. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip demanding entrance. Parting your lips moaning into his mouth, he showed dominance with just his mouth, giving into him, kicking the door shut with your foot.
James guided you to the bed effortlessly, the backs of your knees meeting the foot of the bed. His tongue explored your mouth before he pulled away. James then unbuttoned his dress shirt, your hands roamed his bare chest biting your lip. Your fingers hooking around his suspenders pulling James close to you crashing your lips back on his.
A delighted hum left him as he pushed your body down on the bed. Your legs parted automatically allowing James to slot himself between them. His lips moved to your neck slightly biting the flesh there making you feel dizzy. His hands roamed your sides feeling, caressing every curve that came in contact with his hand.
You sat up as James began to remove your slip dress leaving you in just your underwear. "Your beauty doesn't compare to anything in this world" James's voice was more deep, thick with lust making you grow wetter by the second. "Your mine now dear, I'll never let you go" James snarls, his fingers hooking into your underwear peeling the fabric off your body.
Now just kneeling on the foot of the bed James got a perfect view of your dripping core. "Your all mine" James hummed against your thigh trailing his rough lips upwards till he met where you needed him the most. He was like a possessive animal and you were loving every moment of it.
James licked a strip between your folds bringing you arousal to your clit. You gasped at the shot of pleasure of his mouth on your clit, sucking, swirling his tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands held your thighs apart as wide as he could getting all access to you.
A moan escaped you as he continued his assault on your pussy. Your hand's gripped into the bedsheets underneath you for leverage. It was already too much but you never wanted it to stop. You already felt dangerously close to the edge. James darted his tongue in your entrance, his nose brushing against your clit adding to the pleasure.
"I'm so close" you warned feeling that knot tightening in the pit of your core. James hummed against you devouring you like his last meal. He never stopped his movements bringing his attention back to your clit more rougher than before coaxing you to let go over his tongue.
Your orgasm ripped through you, back arching, toes curling practically screaming his name. "That's it dear let everyone hear who's making you feel this euphoric" he chimed against your glistening heat. He licked up all your juices before pulling away from your heat.
"Oh god" you sighed regaining your breath. Moving your body to sit up by the pillows. James peeled his suspenders off his shoulders, removing his shirt in the process. His hair now disheveled, a beautiful sight to see. You removed your bra leaving yourself fully naked in front of him.
James glanced at the silver knife on the nightstand, he still felt rage for you ready to leave him. He picked the knife up making up gulp, you didn't know his intentions now a look of slight fear yet excitement in your eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you dearest" as if he read your mind with his free hand he undid his slacks and removed his underwear freeing his rock hard cock.
You were drooling at the sight, he was long and thick but not to thick were you'd think he'd slit you in two. His cock slight curved it was probably the most prettiest cock you'd ever seen.
James then got on top of your body slotting himself between your legs. Crashing his lips back on yours, the blade still in hand. Feeling the flat surface of the cold metal on your thigh, sending a shiver through you. He began dragging the metal down your outer thigh, his cock grinding on your inner side.
James pulled away from your lips taking the sharp edge of the knife to your cheek. "You will never leave me dear, I wouldn't allow it" his eyes dark, lustrous and sinister. It all was too addicting, "I'll never leave you James" you whimpered pathetically, the blade dragging from your cheek to under your chin, not to cut you but feel the harshness.
You grew more wetter than you were before. James lined himself up with your entrance before pushing himself into your sopping cunt without warning. You cried out as his thrusts were rough as merciless. Your hands gripped his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin coaxing his thrusts to become more harsher and expeditious.
James dragged the blade to the valley of your breasts. You moaned out feeling the cold metal under your breast. A grunt leaving James's lips "you feel like heaven" he grunted "you will never leave me, you belong to me from now on" he said in between his thrusts. Your walls clenched around him the desire burning like fire.
"Oh fuck" you cried out, chest heaving, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You could barely hear what he was saying. You could see that veins popping out of his neck the blade soon discarded and replaced with his hand on your breast fondling the lump of tissue.
A sigh of pleasure left your lips, feeling close to the edge once again. James didn’t let it go unnoticed, feeling you clenching around him. Much to your dismay James pulled out of you leaving you feeling empty and whimpering. You shot the ghost a confused look “don’t worry dear just turn around for me” James ordered.
Nodding your head you got on your hands and knees, feeling your wetness dripping down your legs in the process. “Your so wet, who for dear?” James cooed in his velvety voice. “You James all for you” your voice was scratchy from the high pitched moans. You felt that blade once again on your lower back.
“Yes dear all for me, no one else” James was possessive over what was his, you were no exception. From his student to now bent over for him as he drags the knife lower over your ass to your core. You moaned in pleasure you didn’t think this would be your type of thing but with James you’d do anything.
A sting on your ass making you jolt forward, James hand colliding with the skin there. You moaned at the sudden feeling, James’s hand soothing the red mark. Lining himself back up with your entrance effortlessly. Your greedy cunt taking him with one thrust.
Your hands gripped the bedsheets once again, your body jolted with each harsh thrust he delivered. All that could be heard in the room was a mixture of you and James’s pleasures, skin slapping off each other and the bed rocking beneath you.
You could have sworn you could feel him in your stomach, one hand on your hip the other toying with the knife along your lower back again. The thrill of what he was going to do next wasn’t like anything before, the anticipation eating you up.
James couldn’t get enough of you, you were like a drug he never wanted rehab for. The way your walls would clench and flutter around him was enough for him to come undone then and there. The way your loud moans filled the room, like music to his ears. You were just perfect to him, his perfect little protégé.
“Who do you belong you?” James grunted thrusting rapidly into your poor little pussy. You tried to get the words out but you couldn’t comprehend amongst all the overwhelming pleasure. Only a strangled moan leaving your lips instead.
Feeling the knife against your neck and an arm pulling you up flush against James’s chest, his cold breath fanning against your ear. “I asked you a question dear, very impolite not to answer” his thrusts harder hitting your cervix granted to make you see stars. You throw your head back to rest in James’s shoulder as you managed to answer.
“I belong to you james, I’m so close” you warned.
James discarded the knife once again, replaced it with his own hand chasing your orgasm. You reached out for his hair tugging on it, your other hand gripped onto his arm around your waist. “Let go for me, darling” he whispered, that was enough for you cumming for a second time. Your grip on his arm tightened releasing all your juices over his cock.
Triggering his own orgasm, James hips snapped upwards spilling his seed deep inside you. A low moan left James as you came with his name on your lips like your only prayer riding out your highs.
Once you both calmed down you leaned onto James skin glistening with sweat, breathing shallow. Gaining the energy to lift yourself off of James you threw yourself onto the pillows feeling knackered. James got off the bed to grab a rag to clean up.
After getting you both clean James threw his undergarments back on climbing into bed beside you. “I won’t leave you James” you said with a weak, tried voice. James wrapped his arm around you, bringing yourself closer to him resting your head on his chest. “I know darling” he hummed deep in thought.
#evan peters#american horror story#james patrick march#tate langdon#kai anderson#kit walker#ahs asylum#evan peters x reader#jimmy darling#kyle spencer#austin sommers#ahs hotel#evan peters x you#evan peters requests#evan peters fluff#evan peters imagine#evan peters smut#evan peters fanfic#evan peters fanfiction#evan peters x y/n#evanpeters#kinktober#ahs fic#ahs freakshow#ahs cult#ahs coven#ahs smut#ahs fandom#ahs murder house#ahs fanfic
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„Nobody leaves this room until we’ve found my ring!“
Oh, great. Ava needs to be at the other end of the campus for her next class in fifteen minutes.
„Is he serious right now? It’s not our fault he lost his stuff.“ Doug, one of the other students dramatically rolled his eyes.
„Oh come on, have some sympathy. It’s probably antique and ridiculously expensive. Just help him find it and we can all be on our way.“
Just five minutes ago Ava was listening to Professor Gadlings lecture about early modern drama when he noticed the lack of his ring. One of the braver students had once asked him about his kind of uncharacteristically flashy ring he was sporting on his left hand.
The professor was known on campus as a very down-to-earth guy, almost suspiciously normal. Wearing cozy and practical clothes he always gave off the impression of a perfect son-in-law. In Ava’s opinion there was still a kind of mysterious aura about him but she never managed to put it into words. Not too much was known about him despite his cheery and social behavior.
It all added to his attractiveness. If one was into middle aged history professors…so basically at least half of the class had a crush on Mister Gadling and Ava surely was a leading member of the unofficial Dr. Robert Gadling fan club. For academic purposes only, of course.
That particular ring however didn’t seem like something the man would buy for himself. It was gold, beautifully carved and had a massive ruby embedded in the center of it.
It was just a touch too flamboyant for their professor that there had to be a story behind it.
But all he would give them as an answer was a sly smile and a cryptic comment about „how Shakespeare would die of jealousy if he could see him now.“
Said ring was now missing. When Gadling noticed his bare finger all hell broke loose.
Running his hands frantically through his hair, pulling it into a tight ponytail only to undo it seconds later. Crawling under his cluttered desk and painfully bumping his head in the process.
For a minute or two it was admittedly funny to watch the man sweat but now Ava just felt sorry for him. If she’d own such an obviously expensive piece of jewellery she would freak out too. Maybe it was an old family heirloom of some kind. The man owned all kinds of weird historic stuff, that much was for sure.
And apparently now they all had to help him find it if they wanted to leave this room anytime today.
So this is how Ava finds herself now on the surprisingly clean floors of lecture hall number five, looking for a shiny piece of metal along with her classmates.
Gadling seems to slowly but surely drift off into panic mode, spurring them on while turning every pocket of his trousers inside out, his hair sticking in every direction like one of the cartoon characters from her childhood. A mad scientist indeed.
“It has to be in this room! Keep looking! I can’t go home without it…and believe me when I say we’re all going to have a terrible night of disturbing dreams if we don’t manage to find it!” What is that supposed to mean, please?
Just as he’s about to flip his desk - yes, the very heavy and very antique looking desk - an unfamiliar voice breaks the chaotic atmosphere.
“Are you looking for something specific, professor? You seem quite distressed.”
And if Mister Gadling appeared ‘distressed’ before he’s outright shocked now.
In front of the old oak door leading into freedom - Ava can’t wait to finally leave this madhouse - stands the most gorgeous and posh looking goth prince she’s ever seen. Damn, those cheekbones alone are to die for, but his voice…dark, soothing, absolutely mesmerizing. The man looks regal even in a place that is anything but. That long flowing coat is a bit much though.
“Oh. You. Are here.” What happened to her eloquent professor?
“Indeed I am, Hob.” Hob? What kind of nickname is that?
“I mean why? Why exactly are you here? It’s just that you never visited before.”
Ava crawls back from under her chair to not miss a minute of whatever the hell this is.
She swears that Gadling - Hob, she remembers - starts to blush like a shy school girl. Who is that man that makes her professor lose his cool?
Meanwhile the rest of the classroom stopped the search for the ring, instead staring without shame at the play in front of them.
“My duties prevented me from visiting one of your lectures. I apologize for that. But you missed something of great value this morning. I thought you might want it back.”
And with that emo king (Ava really needs to find out that man’s name) calmly walks towards her professor, completely unaffected by his nosy audience.
Once he reaches the other man he gently takes his hand, opens it … and places a ring into his palm. Not just any ring, no.
The ring that “definitely has to be in this room”, as Ava recalls professor Gadlings voice. So much for that.
The stranger looks clearly amused at mister Gadlings obvious embarrassment.
“You left it next to the sink after washing the dishes. Then you realized how late you were and forgot to put it back on. I had to stop Matthew from hiding it under his pillow.”
Did Gadling have a cat? That man would surely get a cat and name it Matthew.
Gadling looks as relieved as he looks stressed by now.
“Thank you. I may have overreacted a bit.”
More than a few students agree on that but are too smart to make a comment.
That dark dream of a man fondly tucks a strand of hair behind their professors ear and wow, what’s happening? Ava tries to be as silent as possible to not ruin this moment. Her friends will never believe her.
Apparently Gadling finally found his voice again.
“You came all this way just to…”
“To take your wedding ring where it belongs, husband.”
And with that he places an almost chaste kiss on the other man’s lips and abruptly turns around to leave the - absolutely stunned and silent - room. Everyone is openly staring at poor mister Gadling now. Ava is pretty sure she saw one of the younger students filming or at least taking a picture of the whole thing. She’ll have to ask for evidence.
“Okay listen. None of this ever happened. You saw and heard nothing. Thank you for your help. Goodbye.”
Gadling quickly dismisses his students and almost flees the lecture hall.
Days later Ava still isn’t sure she witnessed a very elaborate fever dream
#I just love to embarrass hob#and I know Matthew isn’t a magpie but the idea of him stealing shiny stuff from dream didn’t leave me alone#he’s a little shit and I love him#hob is also the hottest prof on campus and dream is fed up with all the students dreaming about marrying HIS husband#dream of the endless#the sandman#hob gadling#dreamling fanfic#dreamling#my 2 am writing
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Three Years
pairing: Javi Pena x reader
word count: 1.7k
warnings: anxiety, reader has a child, angst if you squint, re connection of the two characters, reader has a liking of photography, out of character javi but who cares (i crave this man domestically)
a/n babies! the pedro wave recently has me worried. i dont want them to make him into eddie munson/joe quinn bc i cannot loose pedro (ive been a fan since march ‘22) and i will be heartbroken if it becomes embarrassing to stan this wonderful man. tell me he doesnt look good in that gif god damn. any narcos inaccuracies I apologize I havent watched it since the summer
summary Javi reconnects with his former fling (the ambassador’s daughter) and finds out a secret
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read time: 6 mins 15 seconds
His palms were sweating. Maybe it was the Texas heat, or maybe for once in his life Javier Peña was actually nervous.
He sat parked on the busy street of San Antonio trying to muster up the courage to knock on your door.
2213 Ace Street, San Antonio, Texas. Y/N.
The crumpled up post it note Steve had hastily written your address down on. It was his final goodbye gift to Javi, handed over to him secretly through a handshake.
Javi figured he pulled it from a classified document. You were the ambassador to Colombia’s daughter anyways, it’s not like your address would just be laying around in the Colombian embassy.
He felt a bit out of place in the expensive neighborhood. Everyone around seemed to glare at him in his tight jeans. Maybe it was all in his head, he wasn’t sure. Anxiety seemed to overshadow his unbeatable confidence that day. He stared at the house numbers trying to figure out which one was yours.
2205, 2208… 2211
2213
Your townhome was nice. Natural brick house, a bit large for just yourself.
After all these years, you have had to move on. Three years with no contact. There was no way you were still single. And the size of this house was just living proof that you had moved on.
Three years. Javi stood with his hands on his hips, glaring down the avenue at the setting sun. When the secret relationship was exposed, it had all been swept under the rug. The facade of close friends the two of you had been putting on was figured out by your father. One of Javi’s biggest regrets was letting you leave and go back to the states. He didn’t want to admit it then, but he knew.
He was in love.
Three years. Javi couldn’t believe it.
He swallowed sharply. Three years, he had to at least see you. Be in your presence one more time, even if it was just to say a proper goodbye. The crumpled up post it returned to his pocket as he made his way up your steps.
The doorbell was an antique painted white; typical for these upscale neighborhoods. He rung it, and prayed you weren’t home.
His stomach dropped when he heard your sweet voice.
“Coming!”
The door whistfully opened. Your hair was tied back and you had an apron on over your outfit. Flour was smeared over the apron along with other various baking ingredients Javi couldn’t name.
Your expression fell from ‘I think my package I ordered is here’ to a face Javi couldn’t even explain. Confusion mixed with such an unannounced wave of hurt.
Silence and stares became the moment as your soft radio in the background ended its song and switched to a commercial.
“Hi,” Is all that he could manage to say. He let out a breathe of air he had felt like he had been holding for years.
“H-hi.” you stuttered, giving him one more glance to make sure this was real.
“What are you doing he-” you began to say, but you were interrupted.
“Mommy!” said your son, trotting in from the kitchen to find the two of you standing there. Your back stiffened as you took in a sharp breath. “The cakes, there big! Too big.” the child exclaimed, waving his hands in the air to tell the story.
“Shit, Grant!” you scolded your son, scooping the boy up in your arms and whisking him back to the kitchen.
“One second, Javier!” you called from the kitchen. His stomach seemed to turn at the use of his name. His full name.
He stood dumbfounded at your door. So you had moved on.
Javi slowly entered your house. Pictures hung on your wall; he recognized one from a date he took you on. He hated hiking, but the beautiful sights were just too good to miss in Colombia. He could see the corner of the picnic blanket in the photo, remembering the nice time together. Pictures of the boy were hung, of course. Baby photos and photos looking like they were taken yesterday of Grant were in various frames around the house.
His heart stopped when he saw the one picture sitting on your fireplace. An easy one to miss, but he spotted it.
You, himself, Steve, and Connie all smiling at the bar you used to frequent. Wouldn’t your spouse be mad about those pictures being on display?
“I see you let yourself in,” you said, entering the room once again. “I can go, I’m sorry but… you still have these?” he asked. Your eyes widened as he mentioned leaving.
“Your welcome to stay, please, have a seat if you’d like.” you offered, taking off your apron and hanging it on a hook. Javi could sense your shock. “Wouldn’t your husband be upset? I mean with our history…”
“No husband.” you said with a tight lipped smile. “Just me and Grant.”
“Your son?” Javier asked, looking down the hallway leading to your kitchen. There he saw the boy peeking out behind the wall. Once they made eye contact, he gasped and retreated the kitchen.
“How did you find me?” you asked, ignoring the question. “I… had help?” he said, trying not to throw Steve under the bus. He took the post it note out of his pocket and handed it to you. “Steve’s handwriting,” you chuckled to yourself. His distinct chicken scratch was hard to not recognize.
“I saw that you finally got that bastard,” you scoffed. “I was so relieved when I saw Escobar was killed on the news. It was strange, though. Seeing you and Steve through a screen.”
“Yeah,” Javi awkwardly laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Would you like to meet him?” you asked, biting the bullet. “Escobar?” Javi asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. “No,” you chuckled, turning around to see your snooping son again.
“C’mere,” you said sweetly, giving into the child’s interest in this stranger.
Grant came running and hit your form so hard you almost fell forwards on your knees. “Careful baby,” you chuckled, caressing his dark brown hair as he hid behind your legs.
“This is Javier,” you introduced your son to the mysterious man.
“From stories?” Grant asked, peeking out behind your legs. “Yes, baby. Like from the stories.”
Javier’s heart seemed to drop. This kid has heard stories about him before? No father around, no husband? Tell me why this kid was starting to look more and more like his mother.
He didn’t want to admit the very possible truth to himself.
“He got the bad guy?” Grant asked, now holding on to your hand. He was still very obviously weary about Javier. “Mhm,” you said, crouching down next to Grant. “Remember the TV a few weeks ago? When they caught the bad guy?” you asked your son. He looked at Javi intensively.
Your eyes met Javi’s and you felt the guilt consume you. You had to do it; even if the pit in your stomach was about to erupt out in vomit. You had to.
“He’s yours.”
“No,” Javi immediately responded. He didn’t mean to give such a negative response, he was just stuck in a haze in this new reality.
He was a father.
“Your kidding?” he asked, a hand coming to his forehead and sliding down his face. “Your the only guy I slept with in Colombia.”
“What’s his name? Full name,” he asked. “Grant Javier Peña.”
Grant looked up to his mother when she said his name. “He turned two in April,”
A silent tear rolled down Javier’s face as a hand moved to his mouth. It was early January. He had about a two and a half year old son. The little boy that had now moved to playing with action figures on the floor in front of him was his; his own flesh and blood. Half of him, half of you.
“And your father?” he anxiously asked, rubbing his hands together. “He wasn’t pleased. Doesn’t visit much anymore anyways,” you scoffed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said, trying to keep his tone steady. “I wasn’t allowed. I promise, I begged my father through my whole pregnancy. I tried letters, ways to get to Steve or Connie. Nothing. I had given up hope after his first birthday.”
“And you did this all alone?” he asked you, standing up to embrace you. His hands took yours as you shook your head yes. You bit your lip, trying your best not to cry. You wrapped your arms around his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was beating fast.
“I’m so sorry, mi amor.” he whispered in your ear. “What can I do?”
“Whatever you need to,” you said, breaking the hug. “I know it isn’t easy. It’s a hard decision. I’ve been doing it alone now for almost three years. If you don’t want to be involved, Javi, I completely understand.”
“No, no.” he said. “I… if you’ll have me, I’ll stay.”
“Javi-”
“No questions. My decision, I’m here for you two. Emotionally, financially, whatever you need from me.” “That’s asking too much, just maybe give it some time to think about-”
“I’ve been thinking about you every day for three years, Y/N. I am absolutely sure about my decision.”
“Mama,” Grant asked, turning around to look at the two of you standing above him. “Play?”
Grant approached Javi cautiously, holding a G.I. Joe figurine in his hand. He offered the toy to his father. “Play?” he asked once again. Javier looked to you; you shook your head in approval.
The sight of your son and his father playing together was enough to make you happy for a lifetime.
Javier was cautious. His experience with children was basically non existent. “Who is he?” he asked in his softest voice he could think of. “Joe! This Jack, Jasmine, Kevin, Gumball and…”
Javi listened as his son named off all of his action figures along with some stuffed animals strewn across the room.
You slowly crept to your bedroom where you kept your camera hidden away. Adjusting the settings, you hid behind the couch to get a perfect angle of this moment you never wanted to forget.
Snap!
Both of the boys turned around to see you standing behind the couch. “No picture!” Grant complained, stomping his tiny fist on the ground. A smile spread to Javi’s lips as he saw his son squirm.
“I’m sorry baby. Keep playing.” you said, placing the camera on a desk in the living room.
“Mommy take pictures a lot.” Grant sighed, picking up another action figure and kept on playing.
This was definitely going on your wall.
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#peterparkersnose#pedro pascal#javier peña#javier pena masterlist#javi peña imagine#javier peña masterlist#javier peña angst#javier pena imagine#javier peña blurb#javi peña#javi pena#javier pena#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña fluff#javier peña x reader#javier peña pregnancy#javier pena blurb#javier pena pregnancy#javier pena baby#javier pena baby fanfiction#peterparkersnosework
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My Sweetheart: Part 1
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Summary: You purchase a vintage sweetheart bracelet from an antique store and with it, comes the spirit of the woman who owned it. Through her, you go on an interesting journey to find out what happened to her old lover.
A/N: I’m obsessed with sweetheart bracelets and I hope to purchase one some day. This idea came to mine while I was looking at some online. Also, look, I’m writing for Bucky again! uuuhhh i guess this is a mini series.
You'd been eyeing the bracelet for a month now. Ever since you came across the little antique shop in Brooklyn, you've been coming twice a week just to make sure the bracelet was still there. It was a gold stretch bracelet. In the middle, the charm was heart shaped and had a cute but simple design of a flower etched into it. It was $150 and you're somewhat surprised it doesn't cost more. Looks like it's in great condition, looks practically brand new. Nonetheless, you needed to save up for it. Living in New York wasn't cheap.
After you visited the shop for the fourth time in a row, the shop owner, Stan, said he'd keep it on hold for you since he knows you plan to buy it.
"No rush, sweetheart. I know you're good for it."
"How? You barely know me?" you can't help but ask the old man.
He shrugs, "I just know."
"Well thank you, so much. I really appreciate it. I get paid again in two weeks. After I pay bills, I should have enough for it."
He gives you a wave, "I'll see you in two weeks then."
___________________
Once your paycheck was deposited, you paid your bills in an instant. With the rest, you practically skipped to Brooklyn, ready to buy the bracelet.
You enter the store with a big smile towards Stan, "I'm ready."
He claps his hands together, "Congrats!" he goes to the back and brings out the bracelet. You gently pick it up and slide it over your wrist. It fits perfectly. It's not heavy. It's just...perfect.
You pay Stan in cash and you give the old man a hug, "Seriously, thank you so much for holding this for me. I just-I don't know what it is about this bracelet. It's so beautiful, like it was calling me."
"Probably because it was calling you. It's special, just like you."
You give him a wave as you exit the store. You watch your new bracelet gleaming in the New York sun. It's gorgeous.
_______________
At the end of the day, you get ready for bed. You take off the sweetheart bracelet and place it on your nightstand. You slip into bed and as your head hits the pillow, the sink in your bathroom turns on.
You shoot up, turning to the bathroom with wide eyes. You turn on the light and see your bathroom door wide open. You grab the pocket knife you have on your night stand, armed and ready in case an intruder some how snuck into your apartment without you noticing.
Once you approach your bathroom, you turn on your light and see no one. You look down at your sink and twist the handle that controls running water. The water stops for a millisecond before it's on again.
"What the-" you turn it off again and it turns on again. You leave it on, watching in confusion and slight fear. As the water grows hotter, steam starts to form.
That's when you jump back, wide eyed and suddenly frozen.
FIND JAMIE.
"Okay. Um, I don't know who Jamie is, whoever you are. But can I know who you are?"
DOT.
"Dot who?"
You wait for the steam from the water to cover the message. A minute goes by and then another, "Uh, hello? Dot?" You slowly reach out for the sink handle, turning the water off. It stays off.
You slowly shake your head, "I must be really sleepy," you head back to your bed. After turning off the light, you pull the covers over your head and fall asleep.
When you wake up in the morning, you're a little groggy, but well rested. You look towards your bathroom and suddenly remember the events before you went to sleep.
Surely, that was all just a dream right? Just a really weird dream.
You shake your head and slip the bracelet onto your wrist, proceeding to get ready.
_________________
"It's not a ring..yet, anyways," he smiles as his girl admires the bracelet on her wrist, a sign of his love and adoration for her.
"It's so beautiful," she looks up from the bracelet, "You really shouldn't have spent your money on me like this, Jamie."
He shrugs, "I don't care. I just...I wanted to give you something to remember me by. Just in case, you know?"
She shakes her head at what he was insinuating, "You're coming back to me. I'll write to you...I'll wait for you."
"I wouldn't be mad if you don't though," he gives her an understanding look.
She shakes her head again, "I'm waiting for you, Jamie. You don't have to worry."
"I love you, Dolores Millard."
"I love you too, James Buchanan Barnes. You come back to me, okay?"
"I'll do my best," he mumbles as he seals his promise with a kiss.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#f!reader#female!reader#marvel#marvel imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic
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Bet
TW: semi-public sexual actions. Smut. Language. Degrading language.
SUMMARY: A Series of dares result in secrets being brought to the surface.
WORD COUNT: 2100
*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*
"If you want to wuss out, that's up to you, but I'm going for bragging rights..." JJ continued to lead the parade of pogues making their way to the direction of the Crain House. Only now, John B and Pope were stragglers while you were left with a decision to remain with the wise or continue forward with the reckless.
"Better a wuss that's alive..." Pope spoke in a loud whisper as JJ simply responded with a middle finger catching the motion sensor and forcing all of the lights throughout the backyard to illuminate the entire scene.
"You aren't really going are you?" John B asked as he caught your wrist.
"Already made it this far..." The amount of overgrowth and shadow allowed you to slip undetected behind JJ's charge as he found focus to the window at the side of the house.
"What now, Mcguver?" You teased as he pulled out his pocket knife.
"Patience is a virtue..." You rolled your eyes and feigned a yawn before he managed to pry the window open.
"Ladies first?"
"I'll gladly follow behind this time."
He began to move forwards before turning back at the last second. But upon doing so, you had already advanced, which brought your lips a mere inch away from his.
"You just wanna stare at my ass, don't you?" You pushed him forward, unintentionally knocking him ass first into the basement of the house as he grunted.
"Always thought if you'd bruise my ass it would be from slapping it-"
"Serves you right..." You responded before dropping down in a feline stance and rising effortlessly.
"Need help?"
"I'm scared of your help." You pushed him forward and through the clutter of antiquated toys and furniture lining the bottom room of the house. Your eyes collecting at the more feminine of objects as he came to a baseball bat.
"This could do some damage..."
"I don't think any of this needs any help..." You explained while sliding your finger over the top of a shelf as dust collected at the pad of your middle digit.
"Think anything is worth anything?" He questioned as he picked up decor colored a rusted gold.
"Is that really all you think about?" To this question, his eyes sank to your physique. He began immediately at your chest and down to your legs, mostly exposed for the aesthetic of another pogue's summer in the Outer Banks.
"Not all..."
"You're a pig-" A sudden creaking of a top step led your eyes to widen before you were pulled away in the nick of time.
"Hello?" An elderly woman's voice echoed in the small space around you as his hand wrapped over your mouth. Your body was pulled to a small cavern as he covered you with the protection of his own body. Until this moment, you hadn't made more than an obvious note of his physique.
He was always admirable from a distance. The way he shredded waves and his muscles tensed to even the most innocent of motions would catch your eye. And yet, you wrote him off to not cross the line of pogues remaining platonic. But the mix of his body pressing into yours and the thrill of being caught made you nearly soaked at the thought alone.
"She's going back up..." He likes towards you, reading this darker lust behind your eyes. A focus you never had focused on him. And you were shameless as your eyes fell to his lips.
"Hey, you 'kay?'
You nodded. "Why did you follow me? You're supposed to be smarter than me…"
"Because we already broke at least two laws...what's another? Plus, it's not that hard to be smarter…" He chuckled for a moment before pulling your hair over your shoulder, playing with the strand before meeting your eyes again.
"Really though...why?"
"Because Pope and John B play it safe...and it's the last summer before college and I...I want to live...I want to feel alive..." His eyes fell to your lips, watching them part for him.
"How alive?"
"Are you offering something, JJ?"
He cocked his head before feigning a pensive silence.
"Eh, I don't know...not sure if you could handle it, princess."
"I'm not a princess."
He pushed harder into you.
"Sweetheart then?" His thumb brushed your nipples from over your cropped top.
"This make you feel alive? Or just wet?" Your lips parted to speak before he reached under the crop, lifting it high enough to reveal your nipple. His eyes stayed on you as you allowed yourself to succumb to how he made you feel. His tongue rolling over your nipple as he exposed both breasts to him, a hand keeping the other one warm as he massaged it into a pinch.
"What about the rule? We can't break it, JJ…"
"That rule was made before you made that face…those little noise…I'll gladly take the punishment…"
"Quiet..."
"Ah...." You gasped as he kissed you to ensure you didn't make a noise. But this only led you to grind into him, finding a ready cock pained beneath his shorts.
"I bet I can make you come for me..."
"I bet you can't make me." You responded as his hand slipped into your shorts. The immediate chill of his rings contrasting the heat of his touch itself.
"Fuck-"
"Yeah? Oh shit..." He smirked. "This all for me?"
You nodded as he continued manipulating your nipple, but also with the added pleasure of his finger across your clit.
"When's the last time you came...you're acting like you've never come..." You ignored him as he applied his palm to your clit. A finger threatening your point of entry.
"Maybe..." But his finger slipped past it and moved further back.
"I could use this one instead?"
"Oh...JJ..." You whimpered.
"Nah...I wanna feel it when you come..." His eyes looked to the steps.
"I bet you can't stay quiet with two fingers..." You grunted to the pressure as he pumped slowly.
"Fuck, that sounds so good..."
You bit your lips closed.
"You look good...oh shit...you want this, princess?"
"I'm not-"
"Then why are you so sweet?" He asked while brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. But in doing so, you winced at the loss to your breast.
"You want more?"
"Please don't stop..."
"You like when I do this?" He asked while kissing your breast, tongue over your nipple as you pulled his hand harder against you.
"I wanna come...JJ..." You whimpered.
"I'm not stopping you...But I bet you can't wait..." You nearly sobbed as he withdrew. He took a single step back as he observed you completely breathless for him.
"You should always be like this..."
"If you won't finish-" you threatened your hand to yourself as he held it in his grasp.
"You don't get to touch yourself..." He unbuckled his belt and set your hand into his shorts.
"You're so hard-"
"I always am around you, you fucking torture me..."
"It would be nice of me to help then, wouldn't it?" He nodded as you began to pump him.
"Fuck..." He moaned as you reached up and isiess his neck, his palms testing on the wall beside you.
"Bet you'll come for me..."
"Oh shit...I want to...oh fuck, I want to..."
"I want you to...JJ...I want to feel you come in my hand..."
"Shit...slow down...slow-" he winced as you only obliged when he began to cry from his tip. You brushed your thumb across his head before taking it between your lips.
"I bet you won't get on your knees for me..."
Your brow cocked.
"Easy..." You shrugged as you lowered to him.
"Of fuck..." You took him against your tonsils, the lack of a gag reflex making him flex.
"You're fucking with me..." But you only looked at him from beneath damp lashes and took him deeper. Faster.
"Oh my God..." He forced you to take him completely.
"Careful..."
"Stand the fuck up..." But you shook your head again, taking him faster. He looked down to you, wincing in pain before taking you against the wall, hand over your mouth.
"You make one fucking noise and everyone from the axe murder of this house to our friends outside are gonna know how much of a fucking slut you are for me...and I don't think twice about it..."
"Fuck me." You whimpered into his hand as he paused.
"Put it in...you know where it belongs...right..." He groaned as he hiked your leg to his hip, your shorts dripping to your ankle as you were taken against the wall even sharper.
"Yes...yes..." He wrapped his hand harder around your mouth as he devoured your breast.
"JJ..."
"She's gone..." He pulled you across the basement and onto a table, sweeping it clean with an arm, and bending you over it.
"Fuck...You gonna come for me? Bet you will..."
"Bet you'll come first..." You retorted as he scoffed.
"Oh shit, I just might..." He folded himself over you, turning you to kiss him before leading that second hand to your clit.
"Let it go...stop fighting me...I can feel you..." You clenched around him.
"Yes...yes...keep doing that..."
"This?" You teased as he tore your shirt off your shoulder and but into the exposed skin.
"Yes...baby, just like that...oh shit..."
"You wanna come?"
"Oh I'm gonna...just not yet..." You whimpered. "I'm not done..." He pulled you up to his chest.
"I want you to keep whimpering for me..." He flicked your nipple as you offered those moans to him and he quickened his thrusts.
"JJ...oh My God..."
"Yeah? Someone gonna come? Hmmm? You not so ahead of me as you thought?"
"Ah...JJ...oh...ohhhh..."
"Yes baby...all over me...come all-" He scoffed as you shook, promoting his own release as he battered you into the edge of the table.
"Keep coming...I want you to keep fucking coming... pussy so good..." He gripped your hair.
"It's all yours..." To this, he grunted, forcing you to drip for him until he pulled you to face him. He took you this way, wincing at the overstimulation. Whimpering for you.
"I want more..." He groaned.
"I bet you can't handle it..."
"I bet you're gonna come again..."
"I could..." You teased, moaning for him as he lost control of himself within you once again. Only now, moaning and pleasing into your skin.
"I'm gonna fucking ruin this pussy for anyone else..."
"You already have...Oh, JJ...it's yours..."
"Yeah?" He pulled himself away from you, stroking himself through your folds.
"You're so mean..."
"It feels so good...look at me..." His expression made you moan.
"JJ please..."
"I need to make you come again..." He was on his knees, tugging on himself as he was pulling you to the edge of the table.
"I wanna feel you come on my face...think you can? I bet you can. I bet you can, hard for me, right?"
"Oh...." But once again the drop step squeaked.
"Quiet."
"I can't...it's too..." Two fingers made this worse as you swore you left reality. Your orgasm crashing from heaven itself as your body collapsed towards him and he nodded into you.
"Keep coming..." He grinned into your thigh, his breathing pattern labored by his own second release before you pulled him against you.
"If I have to be quiet, so do you..."
"I bet you can't." You teased as he clenched his jaw as you kissed his neck again, finding a sweet spot that sent him to submit into you. Your body riding against his as you are etching your desperate nails into his shoulders. Your hand was as sore as your thighs and yet nothing stopped you from wanting to feel him come undone once again. But he wore the same convictions as you bucked into him and found initial release in unison.
"What the fuck happened to you guys in there?" John B asked when you finally made it out, narrowly escaping the owner. Hair a mess and marks of red and beginning bruising worn over you both.
"We have to go!" Pope spoke desperately as you rushed to The Twinkie. Rather quickly, Pope and John B would reprimand you both before facing into their own conversation. All while you and JJ focused on each other.
"I bet you are still thinking about it..." He mouthed to you.
"I bet you want more..."
"I bet you'll let me.."
"I bet you wouldn't do anything now..." You spoke into his ear as he slipped his hand over your thigh.
"I bet you'll be mine before I make you come again."
"You've already lost that..." He hesitated his touch. "I already am..."
TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel@phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection
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The Line (Port Mafia!Dazai x Port Mafia!Reader)
Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Reader
Description: Something is there, but if they both pretend it isn't, then everything is okay.
Warnings: Angsty but also more fluff than angst I think, mafia stuff, bomb talk, its Dazai so double suicide mentioned once. Sex also mentioned in passing like once. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.
Word Count: 1,262
Master Lists:
All Master Lists
Bungou Stray Dogs Master List
Hazbin Hotel Master List
A/N so i found a screenshot of this tumblr post of this quote on pinterest and besties,, I am running with it. I will add the quote in at the end.
Was it his hand on the small of her back? Was it the feeling of his whispered breaths against the shell of her ear? When had the line been crossed, if it had been crossed at all? Neither really seemed to know where it had even been drawn in the first place. Perhaps that was the trouble with it all.
Danger was a part of life for those unlucky enough to call themselves members of Yokohama's notorious Port Mafia. It was the only constant, in Y/n's eyes. Well, danger and Dazai, but they were kind of one in the same, weren't they?
"Belladonna."
The same low, constant hum. She looked up from her desk.
Dazai stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an aloof air. He'd grown quite a bit in the two years since she had met him. She supposed she must have grown as well but, somehow, he still seemed to be exactly the same. It was the calculating quality of his gaze. It was the smirk, the way the light glinted off his hair.
"That's new."
Y/n gestured towards the man with the end of the pen she grasped in her hand. Almost without thought, he raised a hand of his own to the bandage on his left cheek.
"I suppose it is."
They were never supposed to have even met one another in the first place. Their jobs were ones that should have pulled them far apart from each other's graces. He was an executive, after all, and she was just a lowly clerk. She dealt with numbers, paying off people who needed paying off, covering up the footprints of great men like him. He was supposed to send his subordinates to deal with her. That was what everyone else always did. Dazai wasn't like everyone else though, was he.
"I've got something for you." he stated, straightening up and taking a few steps into the room, his hands firmly in the pockets of his coat.
Y/n raised her eyebrows.
"What is it, another job?"
"A present."
Dazai pulled a box from his pocket, snapping it down on top of the work Y/n had splayed out over the desk's surface before her. It was large and flat. She eyed it suspiciously.
"It wont bite."
"You do."
"I said it, didn't I?"
"What is it, a bomb? Think it would be funny to watch me struggle to deal with something like that?"
"Don't give me any ideas." Dazai playfully replied.
"Is it full of anthrax? I have already told you, I have no interest in committing a double suicide."
"Just open it."
The Mafia was a dangerous place, those who worked there lead dangerous lives. There was no denying the living, breathing thing between Y/n and Dazai but... there was no place for such a creature here. Besides, neither of them would know what to do about it if there was. They had both forgotten how to be gentle long ago, were unsure if it had ever been in their nature in the first place. All that was left was the sharpness.
Hesitantly, Y/n picked the dark red box up and opened the lid. Nestled in the black velvet of the interior was a necklace. It was old, an antique locket of sorts with a few flowers engraved on its oval front.
"Nightshade." she commented.
"Made me think of you, Belladonna."
That was one of the things that helped tow the line, the invisible and complex line. Y/n never called Dazai anything other than his last name and Dazai only referred to her as 'Belladonna.' At first, the name had irritated her. It had felt like a denial of her personhood, her individuality. That was before she had known there had been a line to cross at all. She was older now, wiser. She looked back up at him.
"How sweet." she bitterly replied.
Dazai smiled his lazy smile in response. A girl could give up everything for a smile like that, even her life. Y/n wouldn't though. If she was willing to, that was mean it was all lost. They would have crossed the line long ago, if that were true. They couldn't have that. The line was what kept them safe, kept hem sheltered, kept them. He closed the distance, stepping up beside her in the space behind her desk.
"Here."
Long, slender fingers snaked around the locket's delicate chain, pulling it from its bed. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, securing the necklace. It felt heavy against her chest, a foriegn weight that seemed to cut right through her skin to her bones below. Gently, he slipped a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to him.
"Perfect." he hummed.
Had they already crossed it? Was it too late? If so, what had been the deciding factor? Was it the late nights up on the roof, talking till the sun rose? Was it the knocks at her door at odd hours? Had it been their legs tangled together beneath the covers night after night, no sex required?
"Thank you."
What needed to happen, what change had to occur for them to be able to say the words that echoed in the backs of their minds?
Dazai's hand lingered on her face for a moment longer. Y/n mourned the warmth of his touch as he dragged his fingers from her.
"I have to go."
Y/n sighed, turning back to her messy desk.
"The work of a Mafioso is never complete, is it."
A statement, not a question. Dazai let out a light laugh in agreement. Y/n picked her pen back up, listening intently to his footsteps as he crossed back over to the door. At the sound of a pause, a hesitation in the pattern, she looked back up.
"Same time same place?"
She smiled. Tonight, the kitchens. Stolen food, stolen time. Stolen kisses too most likley.
"Yeah."
Belladonna. Something poisonous, something detrimental. Something completely and entirely his, if he was brave enough to take her. Dazai wasn't so sure he was, not right now at any rate. Dazai was a man who didn't like uncertainties. In fact, he avoided them at all nearly costs. He didn't know if the day would ever come when the bravery or the assurance would arrive. With things as they were now, it felt inevitable. A ticking bomb, a precariously placed glass. One wrong move, and everything would shatter.
With a curt nod, he disappeared back out into the hallway. Y/n listened to his footsteps against the carpet of the hall as he retreated, picturing the way he must look in the moment, wondering where he was off to.
The line was there, the brick wall between them. They both knew it. How far was too far? Was it holding hands as they walked down the street, checking to make sure no one could see? They already did that. They already did a lot of things. Maybe... maybe the line would dissolve when the fear left or, maybe, when it felt more manageable, they would be able to cross it, if they hadn't already.
How far was too far?
Y/n reached her hand up to her chest, fingering the cool silver of the locket where it hung at her collar. Maybe, just maybe, they had gone to far already. Maybe the world was already falling down around them, they just hadn't noticed it yet.
----
Here is the quote that inspired this:
#dazai bsd#dazai x reader#bsd dazai#bungou stray dogs dazai#dazai x reader angst#dazai osamu#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#dazai osamu x y/n#mafia!dazai x mafia!reader#mafia dazai#mafia reader#port mafia#bungo stray dogs x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#x reader#mild angst
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