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ddejavvu · 8 months

Note

hello!! i hope you’re doing well ❤️ i just read your hotch fic where he sneaks his wife and jack into the hotel room and i was wondering if you’d write something similar where jack is with jess or something and someone from the team catches hotch and reader going into his room except they can’t tell it’s reader and think hotch is cheating and they love the reader and can’t stand the idea of letting them get cheated on so maybe they confront him or call reader while reader is with hotch to tell her or something funny, whatever you find fitting. thank you if you get to this ❤️

i actually fucking adored this idea thank you <333

Emily's always taken Hotch for an honorable man. He's chivalrous, opening doors for the ladies on the team and walking them to their cars to be sure that they're safe in parking lots. It's instilled in his very being to be kind to women, so when she sees him trying to cover up a head of blue-dyed hair as he fumbles with the lock on his hotel room, she's perplexed.

That's not you. You don't have blue hair. But Hotch's arm is around her waist, and she's leaning into his side. His hand is more than generous over her skin, even slipping into the hemline of her shorts, and Emily's blood boils.

Aaron's got a grin on his face that she can just barely see without being seen herself, and he sounds all-too-happy to be leading another woman into his hotel room after hours when he chuckles at her advances. She rushes for the bed and Emily has to duck back into her room so as not to be seen when the woman rights herself on the bed, and there's something sickly brewing in her gut as she shuts her door again. She no longer has an appetite to raid the vending machine like she'd planned, so she heads back to her twin bed, hand digging into her pajama pants to retrieve her phone.

Spencer' who's occupying the second bed in the room, looks up inquisitively from his book, "I thought you were going to the vending machine, what happened?"

"Hotch just let some girl into his room. I mean- like, he brought her in, he had his hands all over her and she ran to the bed."

Reid's brows rise towards his scruffy hairline, pink lips downturned, "It wasn't Y/N?"

"She had blue hair," Prentiss shakes her head, "I'm gonna tell her."

"I want to help," Spencer rises from his bed, quickly crossing the room to her own, "I don't want to make her sad, but we can't keep it from her."

Emily nods, but Spencer keeps talking, "I... I can't believe Hotch would do something like that."

"Neither can I." Emily admits, clicking on your text thread. It's heavily decorated with hearts both in the messages and your contact name, and she hopes yours doesn't break when you find out what your husband's been doing behind your back.

Y/N, she types, I don't know how to tell you this, and I wish someone else would, because I don't want to be the one to break your sweet heart. But I just saw Aaron bring some blue-haired girl into his room, and if I'm being honest with you, I think they're having sex. I'm SO sorry honey, I wish I could do something, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell you. Please call me and tell me what's going on with you, I don't want you to be alone all night, and PLEASE don't slip away if you and Aaron don't work things out. For the record I'm rooting for you to dump his sorry ass, but I know you'll need time to work things out. All I ask is that you don't shut us out, honey, please don't let him change the way you feel about us.

P.S Reid is here too and we're both here if you want to talk. We can face-time and we'll be there for you as best we can, baby.

And also you can sleep at my place.

Or Spence's. He says he can sleep on the couch if you want his bed.

I'm so sorry, Y/N, we love you.

Emily can't have pressed send on the last text ten seconds ago before there's a series of urgent knocks on the door. Her guard is up immediately, and she almost considers ignoring it because she's sure it's Hotch coming to tell her off for exposing him. She figures you must have called him, upset, and he's here to ask her to lie for him.

The knocks don't stop, though, and Reid's the one that marches for the door, face set in a glare that's unusually menacing for him. He's deduced the same series of events, but when he swings the door open with as much sass as he can muster, his posture stiffens with shock.

Aaron is on the other side of the door, but you're standing in front of him, hair bright blue, face sheepish.

"Hi Em," You smile at her, then at Reid, "Spence. I was going to join you all for breakfast tomorrow and unveil it, but- um, I think now's a good time to tell you that I dyed my hair blue."

"Oh." Emily hums, mouth hung slightly open, "So it's- it was you."

"it was me," You nod, "But thank you for telling me. I'm glad I can count on you. Both of you," Your eyes flit to Spencer, who's equally astonished as he inspects your new hair dye.

"Oh, that means-" Emily's face wrinkles suddenly, looking at your waist that Aaron's got a hold of as he stands behind you, "Gross, you two were gonna- in the hotel!"

Spencer groans, rushing away from the door and retreating back to his bed where his novel lies.

"It's after hours!" You insist, "It's not like we were doing it in the precinct on government time. We're adults, Emily."

"We're adults too, y'know. With work in the morning. We can't be kept up all hours of the night by your racket! Just go get it over with," She grimaces, "And- hey! Try to get into your room this time before reaching your hand down her pants, perv!"

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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apclyptc · 6 months

Note

oh my ur writing is so good 😭 i was wondering if you could write something where chris is on tour and since he’s been away he’s been needy so like hes texting the reader saying how he’s horny and needs her, so the reader calls chris and they end up having phone sex and chris is like whimpering and unable to keep quiet.. sub chris please 🙏

foreword: aaaaahhhh i love this idea, and thank u! as for sub chris…. im not sure if i can fully capture that since i cant imagine it but i shall give you desperate chris!

enjoy ☺️

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

your boyfriend, chris, was steadily becoming one of the most famous influencers and with that came the task of touring the states.

he’d already been on tour with his brothers once before, but this time he’d gained millions more supporters.

he was midway through his travels, briefly stopping for a couple days from charlotte to nashville. you hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks, and you were starting to miss him.

you missed the way he made you laugh, always including you in his busy schedule, letting you bond with his brothers.

more importantly you missed his hands on you, gliding over your waist, his lips softly kissing the shell of your ear, down to your jaw, your neck, and then finally your lips.

you didn’t realise how long this month without him would feel like.

neither did he, which was why your phone buzzed at the side of your bed. his bed, which you were sleeping in for the next couple of days. his parents treated you like their own, so you graciously used the key they made for you to infiltrate your boyfriend’s room.

you picked up your phone, the screen lighting up your face as you read the message chris had sent you

chris: i miss you

you: i miss you too

i was just thinking about you

chris: yeah?

bet you were thinking something dirty

he knew you so well.

you: no…

i’m just in your bed

i hope you don’t mind, i got cold

*image attached*

chris: damn

so you raided the hoodies already baby?

you: i couldn’t miss the opportunity

chris: you know i love it when you wear my shit

you: of course

can’t you cancel your tour and hurry back to me

chris: if i could i would be home already

you need me that bad huh?

you: oh? but who texted first?

chris: you got me there

i just wanna see your fine ass

you: how bad

chris: bad

hard just thinking about it

wish you were here to help me out baby

you immediately pressed the facetime icon at the top of the screen, watching the phone ring.

after three rings, your boyfriends face appeared.

“hey ma.” chris’ voice cut through the speaker, instantly making you feel better. you rarely had time to speak to him on the phone since he was so busy with the tour.

“ew chris. stop saying ma when i’m in the room.” nick could be heard from behind. you giggled. it always made you laugh when nick expressed a clear dislike for PDA.

“hi nick, how’s tour?” you spoke. chris turned the camera to his brother.

“it’s good! i can’t wait to get off this tour bus though, i hate taking a shit in public bathrooms.” he complained, causing you to laugh at his outwardness.

“should i pass the phone to nick since you wanna speak to him so much?” chris taunted, angling the camera back to himself.

“don’t be jealous of your brother, chris. how is my handsome boyfriend doing?” you smiled at him.

“bored. come to nashville.” he replied.

you shook your head, “you know i can’t.” you had to stay home to work on your own projects. unbeknownst to chris though, you had already arranged with nick and matt to surprise him at the last show of the tour.

“hey y/n. bro do you want anything from target?” matt popped his head into the view of the camera to say hello, and you waved.

“obviously you know what drink i want. get me something sour as well. thanks bro.” he answered matt, then turned his attention back to you.

chris waited until he heard his brothers leave and slam the door of the tour bus.

“i love that pretty face.” he smirked at you.

even over the phone, chris had a way of making your cheeks tint a light shade of red.

“i wish you were here in bed with me.” you spoke quietly, even though no one was home.

“i know, baby. when i get home i’m gonna make you forget i was ever gone.” chris swapped the phone over to his other hand, while he snaked his free hand under his sweatpants.

“how are you gonna do that?” you feigned innocence, knowing exactly what he was hinting at.

“i’m gonna pick you up, throw you into my bed and fill up that throat real good.” chris palmed himself through his underwear, feeling his dick harden.

you felt that twang in your stomach that appears whenever you hear his filthy words.

you took it upon yourself to set your phone down on the bedside table and slip your hands under your panties.

“is that what you want? you want me to suck your dick, baby?” you asked him, while you lazily played with your clit.

chris groaned, not used to you talking like this to him, “yeah, gonna make you swallow all of my cum. god, i want to feel that pussy round me.”

chris, by now, had pulled out his dick, moving his hand up and down and squeezing slightly at the base. he wished it was your tight cunt squeezing around him.

meanwhile, the lazy strokes on your clit had turned into desperate circles, wishing it was his thick, long fingers playing with you. you used the slick building up to coat your fingers, then pushed them inside yourself.

“are you touching yourself, y/n? fucking yourself on your fingers pretending it’s me?” he moaned softly, his hand moving faster.

“yes… want you inside me.” you whined, giving him the vocal stimulation he needed.

chris angled the phone down to his throbbing cock, willing you to watch as he masturbated.

“you see this, baby? ‘s all for you, fuck.” chris let out a quiet whimper, imagining you were next to him right now, your small hands pumping him instead of his own.

you watched his face contort in pleasure, his head falling back as he stroked faster.

“take off my hoodie, let me those tits.” he demanded, though he was in no position to bark orders as he rutted into his hand desperately.

you paused the motion of your fingers inside of you to quickly discard his hoodie and your shirt, revealing your tits to the screen.

“fuck… touch ‘em for me, i wanna see you touch yourself.” he whined at an unfamiliar pitch.

you grabbed your own boob in your hand, kneading it just like he would as you continued thrusting your fingers in and out of your aching pussy.

it was all too much, and yet not enough, without him helping you.

but even so, you felt the knot twist.

“i know that pretty face. you gonna cum?” he asked.

“yes! oh fuck, chris. fuck, want to cum on your face, baby.” you babbled, half incomprehensible.

your words drove chris into madness, moaning and whimpering as his thumb massaged his weeping tip.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. wanna feel that pussy around me, gonna fuck you good, shit, i’m–“ his own orgasm cut his words short, bursting out of his cock, coating his hands. a stray droplet landed on his stomach.

the sight of your boyfriend panting and moaning from his high prompted you to cream all over your fingers. your mouth dropped open as you continued to finger yourself through it, until your adrenaline finally depleted.

both of you took a second to catch your breath.

“i need to clean this mess up before my brothers get back.” chris tucked his softening dick back into his underwear and grabbed a hand towel next to him.

“i love you, chris.” you spoke after he was done cleaning himself up.

“i love you too. i can’t wait to see you after tour is over.” he smiled at you.

“that was the worst target ever.” nick burst through the door of the bus, scaring chris.

“jesus, nick! you scared the shit out of me.” chris clutched his chest and you laughed, quickly throwing your hoodie back on.

“wait why the fuck are you sweating?” matt asked, following his brother inside.

“chris was showing me some top secret basketball moves he’s been working on.” you interjected as you watched chris’ eyes widen at the question.

how embarrassing it would have been if they’d caught you.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

a/n: i hope that was what you wanted!! part two of reader surprising chris at the last show? lmk your thoughts :p

#chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo smut

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cuffmeinblack · 1 year

Text

Fight or flight

Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Tags: explicit | smut | rough sex | light choking | Auror!Sebastian

3.8k words

Summary: A raid goes horribly wrong and both you and Sebastian blame the other. Anger and forbidden desire get the better of you.

A/n: I honestly just wanted to write hot angry sex with Sebastian, and the thought of him strapped with a leather wand holster was rattling around in my brain for far too long. Scroll to the bottom for bonus audio!

What a fucking disaster. The raid you'd spent months planning and hours of your free time fretting over, had fallen apart at the seams at the last second. It could have meant glory and recognition for your team, for the entire Auror department, if only Sebastian Sallow had been a team player.

All you had to show for it was a few inconsequential arrests. The dark wizards responsible for dozens of deaths had once again slipped through your fingers. You'd never felt more dejected after a raid than you were now, the frustration was close to boiling over and whoever happened to be in your path would soon feel your uncontained ire.

It didn't take long for your quiet stewing to be interrupted by a voice from behind you.

"A word?" Sebastian asked, though it was more of a demand.

You narrowed your eyes and with a dramatic huff, pushed past him, stalking into his office. You began pacing the creaking wooden floor in front of his desk which was strewn with papers and various magical objects. The sneakoscope on top of a stack of parchment was whirring excitedly, as it often did—there was no shortage of deception occurring in the Ministry of Magic building.

Sebastian stepped into the room, slamming the door behind him which shook on its hinges with the sheer force of his anger. He yanked at the buckle on his wand holster, the leather strap falling open against his heaving chest. Leaning forward onto his desk, he let out a deep sigh, almost a growl of barely-contained frustration.

"What was that? I had him," he spat, slamming his hands onto the wood, his stare fixed at his knuckles, growing whiter by the second.

"You had him? I was about to make the arrest before you came barging in. You were meant to be holding onto the brother," you shot back, ceasing your pacing.

Sebastian's eyes flashed menacingly as he looked up at you, and you were reminded of just how dangerous he was. A cold shiver ran down your spine at the look usually reserved for his targets.

"You should've let me make the arrest," he said, his voice steady, but deadly.

The comment only served to rile you up, a fierce indignation rising like bile in your throat as you shouted your reply.

"You can't help yourself can you? You own fucking ego always gets in the way."

"My ego? It should've been my kill. Mine."

Sebastian had moved with the quickness of a predator honing in on its prey, his dark eyes boring into you. You involuntarily stepped back under the heavy stare, your breath growing shallow as your thighs hit the desk behind you. He was so close, his breath hot and heavy against your face, the few inches he had on your height enough to make you feel entirely trapped. Prey.

"Kill? You're insane," you breathed, your voice quieter but still dripping with venom. "I should report you."

Your hand flew to your wand but he was quicker, grabbing your wrist with a painful grip. As he pinched the nerves and tendons, your fingers twitched, sending your wand clattering to the floor.

"Figure of speech."

There was more than anger in his dark eyes as they glittered menacingly. A flash of something visceral—desire. Desire for you, or a desire to punish you—you weren't sure which, but knew you'd be getting the same treatment anyway.

Your treacherous body had responded already as you tried to squirm out of his vice. The adrenaline surge had quickened your pulse, now beating rapidly against Sebastian's commanding grip. Fight or flight. All the blood reserved for your reasoning and self control seemed to be pooling between your legs, an intense and infuriating ache settling.

You were by no means weak and helpless, even when disarmed. Your knee jerked, aiming for Sebastian's weak spot—a low blow, literally, but he thoroughly deserved it. He was a quick duellist, all grace and elegance amongst his raw power, and he anticipated your move before you'd even made it. With a twist of his hips, he'd dodged your attack and used your own momentum against you, hooking a leg behind yours and sending you off balance.

With a yelp, you ended up falling onto the desk behind you, Sebastian looming over you with a devilish smirk.

"Nice try. We ought to practice duelling some time. You have a tell when you're about to attack."

You growled and smacked him hard across the face, leaving an angry red imprint across his freckled skin. Sebastian seemed to consider you for a second, his eyes dragging lazily back to your own from where they'd been so mercilessly displaced by your hand only a second ago.

You'd crossed a line and were about to pay for it. Perhaps, that was why you'd felt the need to provoke him. Deep down, you wanted his retaliation—you could feel it pressing into your hip as he straddled your leg.

Sebastian grabbed your other wrist, his nails digging into your skin, leaving angry red marks to show his displeasure. That may have been his intention, but there was pleasure in the pain, and the gasp that left your mouth wasn't meek or fearful, it was one of desperate arousal.

Your breath had grown ragged, unable to tear your eyes or limbs away from him. His head was dipped towards you, a look of deadly intimidation across his face—his eyebrows knitted slightly in a frown, lip curled and neck flushed red. Your eyes followed the tinge of the skin down to his heaving chest, the colour disappearing underneath the fabric of his open collar.

His wand holster dangled under his arms, the handle tantalisingly within reach—if only you had some spare appendage to reach with. Sebastian smirked as he followed your gaze, knowing exactly what you were thinking and reveling in your defeat.

His erection twitched against your thigh and your hips instinctively bucked against him. Sebastian tightened the grip around your wrists, now pinned against the wood beneath you as he seemed to fight the urge to react. You returned his satisfied smirk and pressed yourself into him further, leaning your head back and biting your tongue between your teeth.

Sebastian dipped his head to growl into your ear. "That's how you want to play it?"

You shook your head mockingly. "You're fucking insufferable. Only you would get off on this."

You hated him enough in that moment to want to curse him into oblivion. The months you'd spent planning that raid had been ruined by his need to be the best at everything. To prove he was every bit as worthy of applause and admiration as the so-called Hero of Hogwarts.

The worst part wasn't your fury, it was the fact you wanted him to prove your statement wrong. And you were wrong—he wasn't the only one absolutely brimming with pent up frustration and long-held sexual tension. Your underwear was saturated with forbidden desire and your heart beat to the rhythm of his steadily grinding hips.

He loosened his fingers wrapped around your sore wrists, but before you could do anything he had a hand against your throat, the firm pressure against your windpipe more of a threat than the word he uttered.

"Don't."

You glared at him as your hands stilled around his forearm, the rage in his blood pulsating under your fingers. You dug your fingertips into his tensed muscle, glancing down to where your bodies were joined together. The head of his cock pressed against the straining waistband of his trousers with every synchronised rock of your hips; a patch of wet arousal darkening the grey fabric.

You licked your lips, returning your gaze to his eyes with a shuddering breath. You were goading him, willing him to take you—he was weak in this regard and you both knew it. You'd claim it a victory if he succumbed, though so would he.

Sebastian pushed into you hard, his stiff erection grinding against your hip bone. A moan coiled up your throat and spilled out of your mouth and the last drop of any self control he once held evaporated.

He was gone in a flash, consumed by lust and fury with only one solution to both ailments. He ripped the waistband of your trousers, the button flying off and ricocheting off a glass table lamp with a faint ping as he tugged the garment down your hips.

It was awkward and slow with one hand still pressed against your throat. Unwilling to show him any mercy, you let him struggle until your lower half was bare, his legs pushing yours to the side until he was planted firmly between them. His hand slid between your thighs with a heavy sigh and a knowing grin.

"Oh I knew you wanted it, you're fucking soaking," he teased.

His fingers slid between your folds, circling your entrance to coat his digits with your slick arousal. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and you realised why—you'd stopped struggling against him in that moment.

"Fuck you, Sebastian," you sighed, your head spinning.

Sebastian pushed his fingers inside you, making you gasp and flinch until he started his slow pulsing, seemingly teasing the tension out of you with every press of his hand. Your muscles relaxed, the frown falling from your face as you watched his intense and concentrated expression.

How long could you hold on to your anger? You were teetering on the edge of a precipice; a decision to be made whether to flee or give in to your basal urges and fall willingly into the abyss. There'd be no turning back from Sebastian Sallow—he was possessive, intense and utterly irresistible.

You unwrapped your fingers from around his arm, pushing his holster from his shoulder. His arm twitched as he watched you, making sure you weren't about to pull his wand and blast him across the room. But as the leather fell to the floor with a thud, he finally released your throat, his lips meeting yours in a heated kiss.

You scarcely could have called it a kiss—more of a battle of tongues for dominance. Whatever it was, it made your heart race and core ache and dopamine-addled brain scream out for more, more, more.

His fingers curled and pulsed inside you, drawing moans from your mouth, captured by his own. He consumed every whimper and gasp with hungry need, joining the chorus with his own deep groans as he rocked his hips, desperately seeking friction.

Loathe as you were to put him out of his misery, you wanted him too badly—his fingers, whilst thoroughly enjoyable, were a poor substitute for what he held inside his trousers. You were losing your resolve, overcome with lust. Some Auror you were.

"Fuck, Seb," you muttered.

You fiddled with his shirt buttons, revealing his burning skin, hot to the touch and flushed red under his thick hair. Deciding to deal with the repairs later, you ripped the remaining buttons open, tugging the cotton over his broad shoulders littered with bruises and the odd scar; thin lines of white tissue that refused to colour along with his blush.

Whatever possessed you to run your tongue along them probably had something to do with the increasingly rough pulsing between your legs. Sebastian shuddered and ripped his hand away from your heat, pulling open his trousers with a groan as his cock sprang free.

You drew your eyes away from his battle-worn skin to gaze down at his manhood, your eyebrows peaking and eyes softening to a begging look as you whimpered your approval. You'd almost forgotten why you were so angry. Almost, but not quite.

"Son of a bitch," you muttered, wrapping your hands around his neck to attack his mouth.

You bit his lower lip hard, the taste of iron on the tip of your tongue as you drew back, and his hands retaliated with a rough shove of your hips back into the desk, the wooden edge pressing into your behind. He leaned you back, your weight hanging by his neck and the strength of your abdomen.

His cock pressed against your sensitive and swollen clit, rubbing a teasing few strokes before gliding to your entrance and pushing inside. You cried out, a stinging sensation prickling the skin as he stretched you so suddenly and unceremoniously. His girth took some getting used to.

You took him inch by glorious inch until he could push no further and Sebastian pulled out slowly, his lips parted and dark eyes fixed upon you. Gripping the flesh around your hips, hard enough to bruise, he pulled you back onto his cock with a loud moan. Again and again and again.

Your core muscles gave out at the pounding, the pleasure rippling through you relaxing your whole body as you fell back onto the desk. You squirmed as the various clutter dug into your back, pulling the sneakoscope from under your left arm and rolling it onto the floor where it smashed with a gust of magical energy.

"First you…ruin the job," Sebastian seethed between forceful thrusts. "Then you come and…destroy my office."

"It's your fault—I'll fucking break whatever I want in here you absolute arse."

He pulled your legs up around his waist, shifting you towards him with a grunt. Your arousal dripped down his shaft, coating his carpet of curly brown hair as he continued thrusting into you, deeper and deeper. He'd settled into a rhythm, mind-numbingly perfect—steadily building the pool of tension inside you that would soon explode.

You hated that he felt so good, you were so angry at him but your body had reacted to his provocation with desire as quickly as his had. Now you were limp, a toy made only for his pleasure as he took out his frustration on you—and you fucking loved it.

The daggers you shot at him softened with every thrust of his hips, his cock slamming into you as you filled the room with pleasurable moans. Thank Merlin the Auror offices were regularly charmed to be soundproof.

His lip bled from where you'd bit him, and you knew he'd make you pay for that sooner or later, but the sight only awoke something animalistic inside you. You'd seen him bruised and covered in blood before, whether his own or someone else's—it had been the frequent subject of your fantasies; something you'd never admit.

You pulled him down on top of you and he met you in a kiss, passion pouring from his mouth with each moan, his fingers wrapped painfully around the strands of your hair. You met the pain in your scalp by dragging your nails down his bare back, causing puffy welts and staining your fingertips with his blood.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, resuming his grip on your neck as he slowed his thrusts to an agonising pace.

"I'll make you pay for that," he whispered, gazing down at you.

You whimpered, squirming under his grip. Your vision blurred slightly as you gasped against his palm and he pulled away slightly. He denied you the air you desperately needed by kissing you again, his hand moving from your neck to trace your jaw as he resumed his previous rhythm.

The lull only served to intensify the pleasure as he started to fuck you again. You were approaching your climax and desperately sought your release, but the satisfaction it would give him would be unbearable.

There was no averting it, he felt too good. His lips on yours were soft, warm and had that sweet metallic tang that sent your head spinning. As your tongues glided over each other and your breath turned to gasping moans into his mouth, you stilled, unable to stop the explosion if you’d tried.

Your legs shook as you met your release, clenching around Sebastian's hard length and pulling a deep groan from his throat. You were gone. Completely and utterly gone from this mortal plane. The pleasure ripped through you like a dangerous undercurrent, your body writhing as your walls contracted over and over again.

It was bliss—here there was no anger, no thoughts of the failure you’d just endured, only Sebastian.

Sebastian slowed his pace only as you started to once again go limp, your arched back flattening onto the cold wood beneath you and your eyes fluttering as your orgasm ebbed away. He released your mouth, an unexpectedly tender moment as he brushed his lips against your cheek before pulling away.

"Are you finally going to apologise?" he asked quietly.

Your mind was still added from the explosive orgasm and it took you a few seconds to realise what he'd asked. With a fresh surge of anger, you removed your hands from his skin, stubbornly planting them on the desk next to you.

"Absolutely not."

He pulled out of you swiftly, your walls still clenching, now around nothing. You whined and shot him an incredulous look, squeezing your thighs together and shifting your hips as you rode out the last of the pulses between your legs.

"You're an arsehole, Sallow," you gasped.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gave him a disapproving stare, quickly growing distracted as you took in the sight before you. You'd always thought him attractive but dear Merlin was he a sight to behold.

Underneath his standard-issue Auror's uniform was the body of a man who took his job seriously. He was physically fit, muscular with a slight softness you loved. You had a dying urge to run your hands over his body, but particularly what had been inside you just moments ago.

Sebastian's cock was red, swollen and dripping in arousal—his thick white precum mixed with your own slick glistened in the soft office lighting as you stared completely unabashedly. He smirked under your lustful gaze, his hand wrapping around himself and gliding slowly along the length for your viewing pleasure.

"Time to return the favour," he said.

You gave him a deadpan glare from your exposed position on the desk.

"I could bite your cock off."

"But you won't," he said with a chuckle. "Because you want it, I can tell you're practically drooling over there."

He was right, and it was infuriating. You sat firmly on the desk, refusing to move until he grew tired of the standoff, pulling you off by the arm. You hid a smirk as you knelt on the floor, your bare knees already uncomfortable against the hard wooden boards.

Saliva pooled in the well of your mouth as he yanked the hair tangled in his fingers, your lips parting willingly to take his head into your mouth. He tasted of you, and him; your shared passion mingled on your tongue. He shuddered as you ran your tongue along the underside of the tip, humming appreciatively as your hands trailed up his bare thighs.

Before they could go any further, Sebastian slid his hand around to the back of your head, firmly holding you in place as he started to thrust his hips. You suctioned your cheeks as he threw his head back with a deep groan, sliding his cock into your mouth further each time.

"Yes, yes. Just like that."

The sides of your lips curved in a smile as sinful moans fell from his lips, the rhythm he’d built up becoming faster and his thrusts harder. From your vantage point, he looked to be in ecstasy—his expression softened, eyebrows peaked and lips parted, muttering something unintelligible.

The way he bucked his hips became more erratic and uncontrolled the further he slipped into bliss, every inch filling your mouth and sliding down your throat as his grip on your head became tighter and tighter. Your scalp burned, your eyes stung and throat felt thoroughly abused and yet you moaned through it all; the look on his face was reward enough.

The hands on his thighs felt his muscles tense and shake, and you knew he was approaching his peak. Both of his hands gripped your hair as he pushed his cock into your throat and held you there, the invasion making you gag as the muscles in your throat contracted around his head. Sebastian growled, holding you in place until you smacked his leg and he grinned, pulling you off coughing and spluttering with tears streaming down your cheeks.

He wasn’t done with you yet—he still chased his release, grinding his hips against your face. The moment he looked down to meet your gaze, you knew you were a goner. The anger in his eyes had melted away, only a plea remaining. He stared down in almost reverence as he gasped through the last of his thrusts before tumbling over the edge.

His seed shot down the back of your throat and filled your cheeks; the viscous liquid came thick and fast with each pulse of his cock and you lapped it up eagerly, moaning around him all the while. Sebastian finally loosened the grip on your hair as he came down off his high with a deep sigh and you jumped at the relinquishing of control by wrapping a hand around the base of his length, teasing every last drop of his cum onto your waiting tongue.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, continuing to watch you with ardent admiration.

With a flick of your tongue met with a shuddering gasp, you pulled your mouth away and swallowed dutifully, licking your lips as if you’d enjoyed the most satisfying meal of your life. Sebastian had slumped back on the now thoroughly ravaged desk, his hard work littering the floor and crumpled beyond recognition as you made your way to your feet.

Your skin on your knees was raw, your throat bruised and neck tingling, whilst Sebastian nursed a slightly swollen and bloody lip, his back looking like it had been attacked by a rabid animal. Despite it all, your anger had subsided to manageable levels, and hadn’t that been the point of it all?

Pulling on your clothes, you shuddered to think of the state you were in as you scraped back your hair and smoothed out the creases in your shirt to no avail. You spotted your wand on the floor and picked it up, twirling it over in your fingers as you watched the man you hated and loved in equal measure.

“I’m still furious with you, Sebastian,” you said tiredly.

“And I’m furious with you too,” he replied with a smirk, buckling his holster.

Sebastian pulled you towards him by the waist, snaking a hand around the back of your neck as your lips met in an impassioned kiss, the last of your fight melting away.

“Good, glad we’ve cleared that up,” you said meekly, disentangling yourself from his grasp and retreating towards the door.

You gave him a final look over your shoulder before turning the handle, meeting the devilish smile on his handsome face and realising in that moment that you were now absolutely the property of Sebastian Sallow.

Bonus audio:

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x you

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fitzells · 2 years

Text

okay so, i can explain!! it’s 1 am and i completely read this incorrectly, so it’s about the reader finding a picture of herself in his wallet because i’m an idiot! i was going to scrap it but i am just proud of myself for actually completing a blurb without giving up

so, i will be writing the actual request tomorrow because it’s so cute and adorable and makes a lot more sense than this and i can’t WAIT write it because 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so fluffy man 🫶 but until then, enjoy this piece of work i am writing while very woozy on strong pain meds that ultimately makes zero sense! (posting this on mobile too because my dedication the craft is not enough for me to look for my laptop charger soz queens xxx)

“Have you seen my purse anywhere, Roos?” Your eyes dart around the living room, trying to retrace your steps.

“No, why d’you need it?” He shakes his head, glancing over at you from where he had collapsed on the couch.

“Uh, I need to go to the grocery store. I think a 6”1, 200 pound Navy fighter pilot raided my refrigerator.” You quip, smiling snarkily at the man in question. He grins as his eyes scan over your form, letting out a little appreciative hum.

You’re wearing that pretty little sun dress that drives him crazy, and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the way it accentuates the curve of your ass as you get on all fours on the floor, leaning down to check for your purse under the couch. You wouldn’t be surprised where it ended up, Bradley had an annoying tendency to just kick things on the floor out of his path; especially if he had been making a bee line for the couch, then he definitely wouldn’t pause to pick it up.

“What are you humming at, perv?” You question as you stand back up, rounding the couch so you were standing behind it, eyes once again scanning the room for the missing purse as you let out an aggravated scoff.

He laughs vehemently, his head tilting back against the back of the couch until he’s peering up at you from where you stand behind him. “Oh, just my breathtakingly beautiful wife.”

You scoff, a manicured hand coming down to absentmindedly play with his mess of curls as you tried to track down your purse. This will bug her all day, Rooster thought to himself, as he watched you scan the entire room over and over again.

“Wife?” You grinned. “Did I miss the wedding?”

He laughs again, your witticisms humouring him greatly, grabbing the hand knotted into his hair and bringing it down to his lips, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just below where your pretty engagement ring lay on your finger.

“Formalities, honey.” He tuts, and another hum slips from his lips as you bend down to press a soft kiss to his rosy lips. His mustache tickles your chin, your kiss slightly awkward, seeing as your face was leaning over his slightly uncomfortably.

His arm reaches up, hand knotting into your hair to keep you close to him as his soft lips work against your even softer ones. Your nose brushes against his chin as you reluctantly pull away, the ache in your lower back growing more and more every second you keep yourself in the awkward position.

You wipe at your mouth, giggling as you bring your thumb down to wipe at his chin. “You got a little gloss…. everywhere, Roos.”

He chuckles, wiping at his skin. “You can bring my credit card, if you want. I think it’s in my jacket pocket. I’ll look for your purse when you’re gone.”

You hum, annoyed at the fact your purse was still missing, but thankful for your fiancés generous nature. You squeeze at his muscular shoulder, before you’re walking into the hall to grab the wallet out of his coat pocket. “Thanks, baby; you’re a godsend. I’ll transfer you the money later.”

He sends you an incredulous look once you come back into the living room. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s my turn to go grocery shopping anyway, you need to stop doing my share of the chores for me.”

You chuckle, gasping dramatically before you open up his worn, leather wallet to grab his card. “What? And have my big strong fighter pilot fiancé be burdened with tedious household tasks that should be for civilians only? I would never!”

He shakes his head, having grown accustomed to your sarcastic remarks throughout your relationship, and anyway, you both know that he’s undoubtedly going to be the one making dinner and doing the dishes tonight.

“By the way, I feel like we should address the fact you’re totally sugar daddying me right now? I know it’s only groceries, but it’s still kind of hot.” You chide.

He mumbles something about how you have serious issues, and you're about to shoot him a quippy remark in response, until your breath gets stuck in your throat. Stowed away in the transparent pocket on the left hand side of his wallet, are two small pictures. One of his mum and dad, smiling happily at the camera; and another one of you.

You didn’t even know he’d taken the picture; you were on the beach, in the middle of laughing, probably at something he’d said, eyes looking over the camera, filled with nothing but love; so you were definitely staring at him. The picture had been folded at the edges so it would fit snugly into the pocket. Your heart melts, looking up from the wallet to stare at your fiancé.

He could feel your eyes on him, but his eyes didn’t move from the television; not thinking much of your gaze. “If you found the picture of me and my second family, I can explain.”

You don’t even laugh at his joke. You just clamber onto the sofa, your legs either side of his lap as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in tight to you. Ultimately, you don’t really know why you’re so touched by the picture. You’re engaged, it’s not overly unique to have a picture of your fiancée in your wallet. However, when you saw the photo, you just couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of being totally completely adored and cherished by the love of your life. You felt so much love for the man, while you also felt incredibly loved by the man. “Hey, what’s all this about; you okay, baby?”

You nod, cupping his face into your hands as you shoot him one of the prettiest smiles he’s ever seen. “I love you. So much. You know that, right?”

He nods, a bemused grin painting his face as he laughs. He is completely lost, unsure of where this all came from, but he graciously accepts it anyway. “I know, honey. I love you too.”

#rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw blurb

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haunted-headset · 5 months

Note

ASK TIME ASK TIME!! i am officially raiding your asks now, take this as a threat /j

mkay sooooo, thoughts on lovejoy member!reader x wilbur?? 🤭 you could write about their sweet loveydovey moments and the way they blow kisses to each other on stage, or maybe their relationship is secret so focus on all the little things they do to show affection without the fans (and maybe friends too) knowing they’re together? like holding hands under tables, the lil glances they give each other, aaaah!!

apologies if you’ve written smth similar already, my memory is failing me rn, but if u have then do not worry because ill be back asking for other random shit too LMAO <3

🎸 Lovejoymember!reader x Wilbur HCs🎸

a/n: yoooo this is a really cool idea :D

tags: @vibestillaxxx@joviepog@ax-y10@themonsterunderurmom @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@justalittlebitofchaos@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@taylors-version-from-the-vault@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza @zuuriell @somebody-v @goosebeing@ogelizasoot @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @r0ckstardr3amgal

contains: loads of fluff, petnames, a single ass slap, & cheesiness

This man is CONSTANTLY flirting with you on stage. We're talking ass pats, blowing kisses, quick pecks between lyrics, etc. He finds it funny whenever the crowd screams & cheers when you two flirt.

When you two first started dating, you both didn't want to tell anyone, so you couldn't be affectionate around each other. Or so you thought. He'd hold your hand under tables, make sure you two were sharing a hotel room &/or bed, kiss the back of your hand when nobody's looking, give you hugs, tickle you (we all know he would tickle you. he did it to Mark, why not you?), etc.

If you were a drum player, he'd randomly rest his chin on your head if you were sitting down to play

During studio time, he's hugging you from behind & being suuuuuper cuddly (while grossing out the other members in the process)

During concerts, he's randomly making suggestive, cheesy, or flirty jokes to you to make the crowd laugh.

^^ "Hey, Y/N?" Wilbur said to you into the mic, looking in your direction. "Yeah?" you replied, trying to catch your breath from the last song. "What's up?" "I have a really important question for you," he said. "The crowd would really love to hear this from you." "What is it?" you replied. "Everybody's been wondering what you do for a living besides being sexy," he grins. This causes you to turn beet red & the crowd, the rest of the band, & Wilbur begin to laugh.

If you were a good singer, he'd beg on his hands & knees ask you to do duets or backing solos in new songs

If you were artsy, he'd also beg on his hands & knees ask you to help design the merch

If the band had to get on a plane or train to get to the next concert location, he'd be SO CUDDLY!!! He'd lay his head in your lap or vice versa, he'd hold your hand, he'd share an earbud with you, he'd let you watch him play The Sims on his laptop, he'd lean his head on your shoulder or vice versa, etc.

When the band goes out to eat or just goes out in general, he's paying for & doing EVERYTHING for you. You got something to eat? Don't even lay a finger on your wallet. You're in a store & you mention being hungry? He's grabbing every single snack & drink that you like. You shiver slightly? He's taking off his jumper or hoodie & giving it to you, no questions asked. You mention your legs hurting? You're being carried, either piggyback, on his shoulders, or bridal style.

#wilbur soot #wilbursoot #wilbur #lovejoy wilbur #wilbur soot imagine #fanfic #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x reader fluff #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #wilbur headcanons #wilbur hc #wilbuh #wilbussy

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geminiwritten · 1 year

Text

hold on ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you’re the youngest member of the boys and you hate that butcher insists on calling you ‘kid’ so you show him in more ways than one that you are not a child

notes: this is very weak, but it was kind of good writing practice because i definitely don’t write a lot of action (i’m so sorry if it sucks)! as always, please let me know what you think!

warnings: a lot of swearing, google translated french, age gap (not specified, but inferred) guns, violence, a dagger, explosion, descriptions of wounding (please don’t read if any of this is triggering for you!)

word count: 4310

Butcher is an asshole. You knew that from the moment you met him. He is rude, and brash, and impulsive to the point that made you believe he didn’t have an angel on one of his shoulders, only two antagonistic little devils. You often found yourself itching to dig your fist into his face, especially when he called you by the stupid nickname he coined the moment he met you. Kid, or The Kid, if you weren’t in the room. It vexed you beyond belief, and you knew exactly why.

Butcher is an asshole, but he’s also fucking gorgeous. He’s tall and broad, and his voice is so delicious, it often finds its way into your filthiest dreams. To say you were obsessed with the man wouldn’t be an overstatement, and it was no secret, everyone but Butcher himself knows it. You’ve wanted him from the moment you met him, but then he went ahead and called you ‘kid’ and you quickly realised that he didn’t see you as anything more than one of the boys. The youngest one of the boys.

“Are you okay, mon amour?” Frenchie asks, nudging you with his shoulder.

You look at the man sitting beside you, dressed head to toe in black with a bandolier slung across his body. The van rattles as it hits a bump, and across from you, MM casts an angry glare toward the driver’s seat.

“I’m good,” you reply, flexing your fingers around the gun laying across your lap.

You were no stranger to the weapon, having spent years training in the special forces before flunking out the minute you found out about the movement for Supes to be contracted into the military. You were furious and scared, and then you ran into an old neighbour whose mother used to be book club buddies with yours – Hughie – and the rest is history.

“Butcher’s on location,” MM says, tucking his phone back into the pocket on his vest.

“Make sure he waits,” Hughie calls from the front of the van. “It’ll take me five minutes to get eyes on the whole building, but he can’t go in blind.”

MM looks at Frenchie, “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive,” Frenchie replies, “They will not be prepared for a raid, and they will have the information we need.”

“And how many are going to be willing to give it to us?” you ask.

He grimaces, “Not many, but I do not doubt your persuasion skills, mon cherie.”

“Persuasion,” you scoff, looking down at the weapon in your lap.

Don’t get it wrong, you weren’t some kind of super CIA motherfucker who should be feared by all, but you were pretty swift when you needed to be. You weren’t overly worried about the mission, not with Frenchie, MM, and Butcher at your back, but you hadn’t properly exercised your training in months. You know you’re going to be rusty, and you don’t exactly know what you’re walking into, but Frenchie does, and he’s confident in your ability.

The objective was simple. Frenchie had some old friends who were keeping tabs on his and Butcher’s movements and feeding them back to someone who was then getting them to Vought somehow. All you had to do was shut them down and find out who their contact was, and probably murder more than half of them in the process. Simple, right? Except for the fact that not even Frenchie knew exactly how many men you were running in on, or what kind of weapons they had.

“We’re here,” Hughie announces, just before the three of you in the back lurch forward with the sudden stop of the van.

You button up the fastenings on your fingerless gloves and check that your bandolier is packed with extra magazines before standing up. MM opens the doors for Hughie, and he jumps up into the back of the van with his laptop under his arm. Frenchie pulls a small stool from the storage cage and plants it in front of the flip down desk as Hughie begins unpacking his equipment. No more than five minutes pass before video images start popping up in black and white squares across the screens.

“Butcher,” Hughie says, tucking his earpiece in, “can you hear me?”

You fix your own piece into your ear before routinely checking the clips and fastenings across your tact suit.

“I can ‘ear you,” Butcher’s voice rumbles in your ear, and you can feel your cheeks flush pink.

“Alright,” Hughie scans the screens in front of him, “they’ve got pretty high tech surveillance, but their security isn’t great. I’m getting twenty-two heat signatures, most in the basement, a couple on the ground floor, and three on the fourth. According to Frenchie’s intel, there are other tenants in the building, so my guess is that three up top aren’t apart of this.”

“The two at ground level are most likely security,” Frenchie says. “There are always one or two of them watching the building’s main entrance.”

“But there’s another way in?” MM asks.

Hughie nods, “Looks like you can access the basement from the back, but that’s probably their main point of access, so you’ll want to find another way in.”

“You tellin’ me there’s one fuckin’ door to this place?” Butcher’s voice comes through the earpiece again, and you have to flex your fingers around your gun to remind yourself to focus.

“The backdoor and the building’s main stairwell,” Frenchie replies.

“Two fuckin’ doors?” Butcher says. “Fuckin’ hell, Frenchie, how the hell are we s’pposed to get out if things go wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Frenchie states, giving you an incredibly confident grin.

Your stomach twists nervously, but you don’t let it show, returning his grin with a nod and a small smile.

“There are windows,” Hughie says, “but only Y/N will fit, maybe Frenchie.”

“Then we go first,” you look at Frenchie, “through the windows and make sure Butcher and MM can get in the back.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Butcher snaps. “We don’t know what kind of weapons these cunts got, and if you two get overpowered, we won’t be able to get in ‘n’ help. We all go in the backdoor, force our way in.”

Frenchie chuckles, “You are a fan of forcing yourself into the backdoor, Monsieur Charcutier?”

MM snorts while you and Hughie snicker, but there isn’t a sound from Butcher.

“Look,” you say, “I appreciate your concern, Butcher, but we have the best chance of surprising them by slipping in where they won’t expect.”

Frenchie giggles again at your unintentional innuendo.

“Listen, Kid,” Butcher says, sending wave of irritation through your body, “I appreciate your concern, but I ain’t lettin’ you ‘n’ Frenchie get killed for somethin’ as trivial as a bit of intel.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, Butcher,” you bite back, at which everyone in the van startles. “Frenchie and I will meet you at the backdoor.”

You pull your black kerchief up over your nose and crack the van’s doors open, peaking out cautiously before stepping down and into the dark night. Frenchie and MM follow your silent footsteps toward the brick building, skirting around the side until you find the low and narrow basement windows. You point at MM and then toward the back of the building, and he nods before hurrying off.

“There’s a guard waiting outside the backdoor,” Hughie’s voice comes through your earpiece.

You hear a couple of grunts before MM says, “Not anymore.”

“Do you have Butcher?” Hughie asks.

“We’re in position,” MM affirms.

You nod at Frenchie and he gestures for you to go first, so you turn to the closest window. You take a deep breath before crouching beside the window and gripping a lip in the brickwork to help swing your body through. Using your chunky black boots, you kick the window in and follow the momentum with your feet first. You hit the concrete floor with a thud, quickly darting to the side before Frenchie drops down in the same fashion.

“What the fuck?!” one of the men shouts, scrambling to get up from the old and torn sofa on which he sat.

Your hands are on your gun before you can remember thinking about it, and a gunshot bursts in your left ear as a thug across the room fires at you, missing completely. You take aim and shoot his shoulder, making him drop his gun and crumple to the floor in pain. Two more bullets hit the brick wall behind you, and two more of the gangsters fall with wounds in their shoulders. Frenchie is already rushing to the backdoor, and you cover him easily by dropping three more men with pistols and hitting one in the leg who was scrambling toward the stairs. A cluster of lankier looking men cower in what looks like a makeshift drug lab, all wearing rubber aprons and protective goggles over their eyes. You turn away from them and take down another heading for the stairs, watching him fall on top of his comrade before whipping around and firing at a thug who was pointing his gun at Frenchie. The bullet cracks as it hits him in the side of the head, but you don’t have time to regret your aim before someone tackles you from behind. You duck forward, gripping his thick arms before he can strangle you, and use his momentum to throw him onto his back on the floor in front of you with a loud thump.

Your gun is back in your hands as you scan the room over its barrel, a familiar sense a satisfaction quelling your fight mode when you find every assailant either downed or cowering with their hands up. The backdoor creaks open, and MM and Butcher march in with guns up before stopping abruptly at the sight of the pacified room.

“What did I tell you, eh?” Frenchie says, and you hear it more in your earpiece than from across the room. “She is fucking incroyable.”

“Holy shit,” MM mutters, lowering his gun.

Butcher’s eyes are wild above his face covering, filled with an emotion you can’t discern as he stares at you across the dark room.

“Alright,” Frenchie shouts, pulling his kerchief down, “where the fuck is Lafeyette?”

The room stays quiet, but the four of you slowly cast heavy glares across the fallen thugs until one of the timid lab assistants points a shaking finger toward the two men collapsed by the stairs.

“Time to talk you filthy sac de merde,” Frenchie spits, as he and Butcher stalk toward the men.

MM nods at you as he readjusts his gun and widens his stance, guarding the door in case anyone thinks of trying to escape. Your fighter instincts settle at the slight sense of security, and you sling your gun over your shoulder as you approach the small drug lab.

“What are your names?” you ask the men.

Three of them glance at the shortest of the four, and with trembling hands he moves his goggles onto his head, revealing two clean circles of skin around his bright blue eyes.

“I am Gabriel,” he says, his accent thicker than Frenchie’s, “this is Théo, Lucas, and Éliott. They do not speak English.”

“Can they understand it?”

He nods, “Mostly.”

“Good,” you nod and hold your hands up, “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you give me a reason to.”

They all shake their heads vigorously.

“Are you here because you want to be?” you ask them.

“No,” Gabriel replies, and the other three shake their heads again.

“How did you get here?”

“Théo and I came together,” Gabriel says, “without papers, and Monsieur Toussaint said he would get us citizenship. Lucas and Éliott were here already, and they have kept us from leaving.”

You gesture to the bench full of laboratory equipment, “You make drugs for them?”

“Oui,” he nods, “Lucas is a- uh, how do you say un scientifique?”

“A scientist,” MM calls out from behind you.

“Oui,” Gabriel nods again, “he teaches us to cook.”

You frown, “Do you have any family here?”

“Théo has family in America,” he replies.

“Does he know where they are? Can you contact them if we help you leave?”

His bright blue eyes sparkle with hope, “Oui!”

You nod, “Good, we’re going to try and help you, okay?”

You barely finish your sentence before MM screams your name, and you feel the weight of a large hand on your left shoulder, dragging you back and blocking your ability to grab your gun. You crouch under the pressure and reach your thigh holster with your right hand, gripping the hilt of your dagger. You unsheathe it as you turn in a full one-eighty, escaping the assailant’s grasp and sweeping underneath his arm with your dagger outstretched. The blade slashes horizontally right beneath his kneecap, causing him to buckle as you rise to your full height and lacerate his throat. You leap back to avoid the spray of blood and falling body, watching the man slump face first into the concrete floor at your feet.

When you look up, you find every pair of – conscious – eyes on you, a mixture of terror and disbelief written across the room of faces.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks, though there is more pride than concern in his expression.

“I’m good,” you reply, crouching down to clean each side of your dagger on the dead man’s shirt before tucking it back into your holster.

Butcher drops the collar of who you assume is Lafayette, and you still can’t read his face behind his kerchief as he stares at you.

“Uh, guys,” Hughie’s voice speaks into your ear, “someone heard the gunshots, you’ve got emergency response on site in less than five minutes.”

Frenchie swings his foot into Lafayette’s stomach before nodding at MM, “Let’s go.”

You turn to the four lab assistants and gesture toward the backdoor. They scramble to remove their protective gear before hurrying toward MM who guides them out. Frenchie jogs past you, but Butcher stops and holds his hand out.

He pulls his kerchief down, “I’ll do it, you get out of ‘ere, Kid.”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, “now go.”

You’ve already got the gas canister in hand, and he knows you’ll pop it before he can argue, so he turns and mutters something inaudible as he stalks toward the door.

With your kerchief securely up over your nose, you release the pin and throw the gas into the room before turning to the lab table. You work quickly, pouring the two vials that Frenchie gave you into an empty beaker and setting it atop a lit burner. In five long leaps, you’re out the door and slamming it shut before sprinting away.

Butcher is waiting for you just around the side of the building, his hand outstretched. You barely have time to grab it before a huge explosion blows through the low basement windows and shakes the entire building. Butcher pulls your body against his, pivoting so that his back is to the blast as it knocks both of you off your feet. You hit the ground and your ears ring, but you don’t feel a single bit of debris hit you thanks to the body lying on top of yours.

“Fuck,” Butcher curses, though his voice sounds distant in your ringing ears.

You look up at him, his face inches from yours and smattered with dust and dirt. The adrenaline coursing through your veins has your whole body on high alert, overly aware of every part of him that is pressed against you.

He looks down at you, his pupils blown wide as his gaze darts to your lips. He licks his own, his chest heaving against yours and your head spins with a thousand filthy thoughts. For a split second, you think he might kiss you, and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation, but then he pushes himself up and offers his hand. You sigh and take it, letting him haul you off the ground.

“You alrigh’, Kid?” he asks.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” you spit, snatching your hand from his.

You run toward the van and leap into the open doors, Butcher at your heels. Hughie slams on the accelerator before Frenchie has even closed the doors, and you instinctually grab onto the nearest thing to steady yourself. It just so happens to be Butcher, and you know not from the scratch of his beard against your temple as you cling to him, but his scent. Warm and woody, with hint of apple-scented soap and whiskey.

You retract quickly and fall into the seat on the opposite side of the van, resting your head back against the blocked-out window.

“What the fuck, Frenchie?” MM exclaims. “You said that would be a small explosion, that it would look like an accident.”

Frenchie grimaces, “I did not account for the other reactants in the lab.”

Butcher sits quietly across from you, his eyes trained on you as you do everything you can to avoid looking in his direction. You focus on your gun, unlocking the empty clip and clicking the safety on. MM and Frenchie speak with the four timid men huddled at the back of the van, asking them a series of questions before deciding where would be best to take them.

After a painfully long drive, Hughie stops the van and Frenchie helps the four men out of the back doors. He tells you all to go back to the safe house and he will be there soon. The rest of the ride home is tense and silent, MM not daring to speak once he sees the irritated frown on your face as you fiddle with your equipment, packing it into cases and locking it in the van’s storage cage.

Once safe inside the decrepit apartment you currently call home, Hughie grins at you, “Holy shit, Y/N, you are fucking bad ass.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, starting on the clips of your tact suit.

“I wish I saw all of it,” MM says, “you’re deadly.”

A small smile quirks the corner of your lip, and you let out a small sigh as you release the last buckle on your Kevlar vest. You drop the heavy thing on the dining table along with your bandolier.

“I’m still pissed that you didn’t listen to me,” Butcher states, at which you roll your eyes, “but you did good, Kid.”

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowing at him. “Do I look like a fucking child, Butcher?”

Hughie’s grin vanishes and MM freezes on his way to the couch.

“Do I?” you press, holding your arms out as if to emphasise your attire. “Because a fucking kid couldn’t do what I just did, yet you insist on calling me by that fucking name!”

He doesn’t flinch the way Hughie does, nor are his eyes as wary as MM’s. He remains his usual cool self, though his frown is more curious than irate.

“Didn’t realise it bugged ya so much,” he says.

“You don’t fucking realise much, do you, Butcher?” you snap, before turning on your heel and marching toward the room that was designated yours.

You march inside and slam the door, but a pair of heavy boots are hot on your heels, and you curse the landlord for not installing any locks as the door swings open again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Butcher demands, slamming the door once again behind him.

You unzip your outer jacket and throw it on the bed, “Didn’t I make it clear?”

“Uh, no, actually,” he steps toward you, “I’m not fuckin’ pissed about the raid, I’m pretty fuckin’ impressed, but you’re still throwin’ a tantrum like a fuckin’-”

“Like a child?”

His eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms over his chest, “I was gon’a say kid.”

You clench your fists in an attempt to refocus your frustration, digging your fingernails into your palms until it stings.

“Look,” he says, “I know you’re capable, and fuckin’ talented with a gun, but I wasn’t tryin’ to be a dick, I was tryin’ to keep you safe.”

“Because I’m so young and stupid?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because I can’t fucking handle myself even though I just prevented all of you from getting your fucking asses kicked?”

He sighs, “I never said you’re fuckin’ stupid.”

“But I am young,” you mutter, your voice revealing more emotion than you intended.

His brows shift into a dubious frown, “What’s this fuckin’ obsession with your age?”

“What’s your obsession with my age?” you snap, “Calling me ‘kid’ all the time and acting like you’re my fucking babysitter.”

“Oh, so fuck me for caring ‘bout your safety, is that it?”

“No, Billy, that’s not it,” you sigh, tearing your gaze from his to focus on unclipping your thigh holster.

“Then what is it? ‘Cause I don’t know what I’ve fuckin’ done!”

Your holster comes loose and you grip the hilt of the dagger with white knuckles, standing straight again.

“You haven’t done anything!”

“Then what haven’t I fucking done?!” he exclaims, unfolding his arms and throwing his hands up.

The little voice in your head splits into a thousand, screaming a thousand different commands at you. Cry, yell at him, throw something at him, scream, hit your head against the fucking wall, punch him in the throat… kiss him.

Your ears, still numb from the explosion, fill with the sound of your thumping heartbeat as you take three quick steps toward him. His height is intimidating, but you don’t have time to regret your decision as your fingers curl into the material of his shirt and pull him toward you. You have to stretch onto your toes, your other hand finding his chest for stability as you crush your lips against his.

For a second, you think you’ve seriously fucked up, but then his mouth begins to move against yours and your knees buckle. His arms catch you, wrapping around your waist and holding your body against his as his tongue slides across your bottom lip. You part your lips with a sigh, and he takes all control, claiming your mouth and wiping your mind of any thought that isn’t him.

In two easy steps, he backs you against the bed, sitting you down without his lips ever leaving yours. He crawls on top of you, straddling your thighs and catching your hands as they find the buckle on his belt.

“Love,” he sighs against your lips, “hold on.”

You blink up at him, slowly coming down from your high, “To what?”

He chuckles, “I meant slow down a sec.”

“Oh,” your cheeks burn, and you snatch your hands out of his grasp. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever fuckin’ apologise for that,” he says, a dopey smile on his lips, “but I don’t know-”

“I do,” you interrupt him, holding yourself up on your elbows.

He raises his brows, “What do you know?”

“I know that I want you,” you reply, “and I know that you want me. I don’t know if this is a good idea, but it fucking feels like it, so please, Butcher… please.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes lingering on your lips before trailing down your body to where he sat. “I know I want you, but why the fuck do you want me?”

You snort, “You’re kidding, right?”

He only frowns.

“Butcher, I have wanted you from the moment I fucking met you,” you fall back against the bed with a sigh, “I don’t know how you haven’t fucking noticed.”

He leans over you, holding himself up with a hand either side of your head. “Why?”

His voice is so deep and his eyes so dark, you struggle to breathe as your clothes suddenly feel like they’re strangling you.

“Because you’re-”

“An asshole?”

You giggle, “Yes, and rude, and brash, but you’re also fucking beautiful.”

His heavy breathing suddenly stops and his eyes widen as they search yours, as if looking for some sense of deception or sarcasm. You open your mouth to reassure him but he swallows your words with a kiss, his lips crashing into yours with bruising force. His mouth moves across your jaw and down your neck, and you whine when pulls away before quickly realising that your high-neck undershirt is in the way. His fingers find the hem and yank it up over your breasts, not bothering to remove it completely before his lips assault your chest, biting and soothing your skin in five separate spots as you writhe beneath him.

He moves down, placing a kiss on your sternum and your stomach, before pausing at the waistband of your pants and looking up with hungry eyes. “You sure ‘bout this?”

His hot breath fans your skin and goosebumps rise in response.

You nod, “Yes, please, Butcher. Yes.”

The buckle and button are loosened in a second, and he groans at the sight of your lacy black panties. He places a hot, wet kiss just above the hem before sitting back and unbuttoning his own shirt. He doesn’t manage to shrug it off though, because you take the opportunity to grip either side of it and pull him back down on top of you. The feeling of his skin against yours makes your whole body clench, and you know you’re kissing him sloppily but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Your fingers find his belt again, struggling to remember how the damn thing works when he pulls away with a gasp, “Hold on.”

You frown, “What now?”

He chuckles, “No, sweethear’, not like that.”

His hands take yours guiding them up over your head until you feel the wood of the headboard at your fingertips.

“I said, hold on.”

END.

#billy butcher #the boys #karl urban #billy butcher x reader #one shot #imagine #fanfiction #homelander #hughie campbell #karl urban x reader #butcher x reader #mothers milk #mm #frenchie

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janeyseymour · 5 months

Note

Hii

Can you write a Mel x reader where they go to the PECSA and there is only one bed available? They describe themselves as reaaaally good friends until everything changes.

Can you make it with a happy ending? Ty ❤️

I hope this is what you were asking for!

What happens at PECSA...

WC: ~3k

“PECSA,” Melissa grins. “Here we come!” She turns in her seat to glance at you sitting in the back. Barb and her had been kind enough to let you tag along with them.

“Oh, Y/N,” Barb chuckles as she drives. “You have no idea what you just got yourself into tagging along with the two of us.”

“I know what I got myself out of by not going with Janine and Jacob,” you giggle. “I still don’t know how Gregory puts up with the two of them sometimes.”

“Love does weird things to that man,” Barb makes a face. “God, I can’t wait to not have to listen to those lectures and relax in a hot tub instead. I’ve been around a while, I don’t know why I’m still required to go to these things”

“I’m ready for a couple of math-o-ritas, and then I’ll be schmoozing all of the different companies to get them to donate supplies to Abbott,” Melissa cheers from her seat.

You, on the other hand, aren’t quite sure what to expect. The last time you went to PECSA, you mostly just kept to yourself and kept your head down. You were a new teacher, and you figured you should at least look like you were trying. But that was last year. Now, you have Melissa and Barbara to help you out, and if the three of you get caught not participating... you’re sure one of them will get you out of the sticky situation.

It takes you a bit longer to get to your destination, and both senior teachers are all grins once you’re finally there.

“Oh, PECSA,” Melissa sighs in content as she grabs her bags. “How I’ve missed you.”

“Come on, Melissa,” Barbara laughs. “If we want to be able to raid the minibar before the opening dinner, we have to get in there! Now!”

The redhead all but rolls her eyes as she moves out of the way, allowing the kindergarten teacher to grab her various bags.

“Jeez, Barbara,” you laugh as you look at the amount of things she’s packed for a weekend. You have one duffel bag and a backpack filled with everything you could possibly need, and she has... is that really five bags?

“I’m very serious about my nighttime routine, Y/N,” she says lowly. “I don’t look this good by doing nothing, you know.”

“C’mon, you two,” the redhead teases the two of you. “Let’s go check in and get settled in.”

You let Melissa and Barbara check in first before you step up to the counter.

“Checking in for Y/N,” you say politely.

The clerk clicks around a few times on his computer before giving you a look. “I don’t have a reservation under that name.”

You look baffled. You had booked your room months in advance- you had booked it with Melissa’s guidance because she knew a guy who could get you a good deal. “That’s impossible, you say softly. I booked my room months ago.”

“Did you get a confirmation email?” The concierge asks.

“I did,” you mumble as you pull out your phone, searching for it. You pull it up as proof.

Your coworkers are watching curiously. It hadn’t taken that long for them to check in.

“You think she’s okay?” Melissa leans in close to Barb.

“I’m not sure,” the kindergarten teacher replies. “She looks a little frazzled.”

“I’ll check on ‘er,” the redhead tells her friend. “Watch my stuff.”

“You okay?” Melissa comes up behind you and sets a hand on your shoulder.

You take a shaky breath. “Fine. They just messed up my reservation, so now they’re looking to see where they can put me, and they’re figuring out how much I get back since I won’t be put in as nice of a-”

“They fucked up your reservation?” the redhead cuts you off. “Oh... Vinnie’s gonna get an earful about this one.”

“It’s okay,” you lay a hand on her arm. “It’s fine. It’s all gonna get squared away, and then we can focus on having a good time at PECSA.”

“No, I’m gonna-” Melissa looks like something has triggered her ‘fight-or-fight’ response.

“It’s okay,” you promise her. “It’s all gonna be fine. Things happen, mistakes happen.”

She doesn’t look very happy, but she does take a breath. If you say it’s fine, she’s trusting you. She goes over and tells Barb what’s happening, and they both come and stand at your sides.

Except then the clerk is coming back over to you, and he doesn't look too excited to share whatever news he has with you.

“Miss Y/N, I am so sorry,” he states quietly. “We’re operating at maximum capacity for this weekend due to the conference, and we will not be able to fit you in. We are in the process of providing a full refund to you as we-”

“What the hell?” Melissa asks from behind you. “How’d you goof up that bad?”

“Mel, it’s okay,” you say quietly. “I’ll just find a different hotel to stay in.”

“No, you’re not,” the second grade teacher bites out. “Because you’ll be staying with me in my room.”

“And we expect a full refund for her,” Barbara cuts in. “And some sort of credit. It’s the least you can do for the poor girl.”

“Guys, it’s fine,” you turn red. They’re fighting for you, and the idea of staying with Melissa? Well... you’ve had a thing for her since you first started at Abbott, but it’s never gone anywhere past coworkers. Staying with Melissa could be dangerous territory if you weren’t careful.

“Like hell we’re gonna let you stay somewhere,” the redhead tells you seriously as she picks up your bags. “The plan is to get hammered, and there ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you take an Uber to and from a different hotel.”

“She’ll be accepting an apology in some form of credit,” Barbara hits the concierge with a stern look again before the three of you walk away.

“Maybe I should just go-”

“Go where, kid?” Melissa rolls her eyes. “Barb drove, so you’re stuck here. Might as well make the best of it, yeah? Now, are you gonna share a room with me, or spend your time on one of these nasty ass couches in the lobby?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” you ask.

“Nope,” the redhead pops her ‘p’. “Let's go, hon. If we hurry we can still get a couple of glasses of wine in before tonight’s event.”

The three of you get into the elevator and head for your rooms.

“I’ll meet you down at the pool in an hour?” Barb asks. At yours and Melissa’s nods, she lets herself into her room next to Melissa’s... and now yours too.

The redhead unlocks your door and gestures for you to go first. You look around. This place is... wow. It’s really nice. Whatever her cousin Vinnie did to get her this nice of a room had to have been pretty big. You set your things on the floor over by the rather uncomfortable looking couch that is taking up space on the other side of the room.

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Melissa chuckles. “You can put your stuff on the bed.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you mutter nervously, tucking a hair behind your ear and rubbing your collar bone gently.

“You ain’t intruding. I invited you to stay with me for the weekend,” she says pointedly. She glances at where you’ve decided to set your things. “And you’re not sleeping on that ratty ass couch, so don’t even try it.”

“You don’t think this is... weird for us to share a bed?”

“It ain’t weird if you don’t make it weird,” your colleague shrugs as she reaches for her bag. She pulls out a couple of shooters. “Now, are you ready to get PECSA weekend started or what?”

You, Barb, and Melissa end up by the pool an hour later. You had made your appearance, and now you were fully taking advantage of the fact that everybody else was so preoccupied with PECSA events that you had the entire pool room to yourselves.

“Best weekend of the year,” the kindergarten teacher raises her glass.

“Seriously,” Melissa responds. “Bottomless margs, a heated pool, and a relaxing weekend with two of my favorite people.” While Barb smiles, you blush. You didn’t know you were that high up on her list. You honestly weren’t even sure you were on her good list to begin with, so hearing that you were in ranks with the kindergarten teacher definitely took you by surprise.

“To PECSA,” you say quietly and take off your coverup before reaching for your book. You miss the way that Melissa’s eyes check you out, just like how you had missed it in the hotel room.

You end up falling asleep not much later, a glass of mimosa sitting next to you, and your novel is open and laying on your chest.

Melissa looks over to you. “Wow.” She can’t remember the last time she’s seen you so still- so at peace. You were always running around at Abbott, and even when you were sitting, a part of your body was almost always bouncing up and down. Now, you just look calm. You look... gorgeous. Even with your hair tied up carelessly and no makeup on, Melissa thought you looked absolutely stunning.

“Poor girl’s been working herself so hard this year,” Barbara tuts. “She’s been exhausted lately.”

That was not what the redhead was referring to, but she’ll play along. “I know,” she laughs nervously. “We’ve barely been here for an hour, and she’s already fallin’ asleep on us. Hope she can keep up with us later tonight.”

“It’s a good thing we were there when the clerk told her there wasn’t any more room,” Barb says, lips turned up. “Otherwise the poor thing would’ve probably Ubered home and not enjoyed this weekend with us.”

“Yeah,” the second grade teacher says noncommittally. She’s still got her eyes on you. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen you looking more beautiful than you do dozing off in the lounge chair.

“Are you gonna be okay this weekend sharing the place with her?” She knows about Melissa’s little thing for you. She knows how much the redhead cares about you, and she understands how strong the other woman’s feelings are for you.

“I’ve held it together for this long, I can do it for another weekend,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I have to. I ain’t jeopardizing our friendship.”

“But this weekend you have to share a room,” the kindergarten teacher argues.

“A bed,” Melissa coughs out awkwardly. “We’re sharing a bed. It's totally normal. Friends share beds all the time. I told her I wasn’t going to let her sleep on that ratty ass couch they have in there. But I’ll be... I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that?” Barbara teases.

“I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. Everything will be just... I’ll be fine.”

“Say it one more time, and I’ll believe you,” the older teacher chuckles.

“I’ll be fine,” Melissa huffs. She takes her eyes off of you to take a sip of her drink. “I just can't get too hammered now.”

That’s what she said. But that was also four hours ago, and five drinks ago. You three are currently down at one of the parties. Barbara is speaking with a few of the handlers from different supply companies, you have had your fair share of drinks and are starting to stumble, and Melissa refuses to leave your side. She glares down pretty much anybody who even thinks about trying to talk to you.

Someone from Addington decides that they don’t give a damn about Melissa’s harsh looks and has to come over to attempt to flirt with you. You’ve made it quite clear you are having no parts of it, but he just won’t leave you alone. Melissa doesn’t like this one bit. She doesn’t intervene just yet though. She knows you are a strong independent woman who can handle this- unless you give her some sort of signal to ask for help.

“I’m really okay,” you slur out. “I don’ wan’ another. Thanks-s though.”

He just keeps trying to get you to drink another one, trying to make conversation with you even though you aren’t interested. He’s ignoring the fact that the redhead is right there with you too. You give Melissa a look that she interprets to be a plea for help. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but that’s how she takes it.

“Hey, asshole,” the second grade teacher finally taps his shoulder. “She said she ain’t interested, so beat it.”

“And who are you?” he looks her over. “Old, washed up-”

“I’d watch it if I were you,” Melissa glares him down. “Now get outta here, before I help you outta here.”

“Who even are you?” the charter teacher asks.

Melissa, thinking that you are too inebriated to remember this tomorrow, bites the bullet. She wraps her arms around your waist and helps to steady you. “Her girlfriend. Now, seriously: beat it before I beat you.”

“Damn,” he puts his hands up in surrender as he walks away. “The hot ones always turn out to be gay.”

You’re intoxicated, but not because of the copious amount of tequila you’ve had tonight. No, it’s because of a certain coworker's arms being snaked around your waist and holding onto you tightly.

“I think maybe it’s time for bed,” Melissa tells you gently as she continues to hold you up. You giggle as you lean into her, fully embracing how close you are and loving it.

“You’re- you’re warm,” you tell her. “I like that about you.”

“Well, yeah,” she laughs as she guides you towards where Barbara is sitting. “Hey, Barb. I think this one’s had enough, so I’m gonna take her up to the room and get her to bed, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Barb!” You try to launch yourself at the veteran teacher.

“Oh! Y/N!” the kindergarten teacher laughs. She lets you hug her, quietly mouthing, ‘Is she okay?’ to Melissa. At the redhead’s nod, she mouths, ‘Are you okay?’ to which Melissa nods again.

“Alright, sweetheart,” the second grade teacher helps pry you off of Barbara. “I think it’s about time we get up to our room and into bed.”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “As long as- as long as you stay with me.”

“I never said nothin’ ‘bout leaving,” she assures you. “Now c’mon.”

The two of you somehow manage to get back up to the room, and at this point, Melissa is practically dragging you. She keeps one arm looped around your waist while she tries to open the door for you. It unlocks, and she pushes it open before guiding you to the bed.

“Sleep, hon,” Melissa instructs.

“Don’ wanna sleep in this,” you gesture to the dress you’re wearing. She can’t necessarily blame you- it doesn’t look terribly comfortable.

“Okay, hon,” she sighs. She opens your duffel, blushing immediately. “Is there anything specific you want in here?”

“My t-shirt,” you mumble, already curled up on your side of the bed. She digs through your duffel bag, only to realize you forgot to pack a night shirt. Thank god she packed an extra. She quickly goes to her side of the bed and finds the spare shirt.

She throws the shirt at you and instructs you to change, but you’re still struggling after several minutes. With a sigh, Melissa knows she’s going to have to help you change. She wishes she was undressing you, not helping you redress.

Once you’re finally changed, she helps you slip into bed and pulls the blankets up and around you. The teacher moves a few stray hairs away from your face before tracing a gentle line down your cheek with the pad of her thumb.

“Mel,” you whine when she pulls her hand away from your face. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” she promises you. “I’m just gonna change for bed myself, and then I’ll be right back, yeah?” You nod, and she walks into the bathroom with her own pajamas.

She takes a long time in the bathroom. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open, but you don’t want to fall asleep without her arms around you- they are safe. Secure. When she comes out, she’s shocked to see that you’re still awake.

“Hey sleepyhead,” she chuckles. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Waiting for you,” you try, but fail, to stifle a yawn. “C’mon.”

She climbs into bed, and you waste no time wiggling your way into her arms. You tangle

your legs together and force her to hold you as you rest your head on her shoulder.

“You good, hon?” Melissa asks you gently, just barely daring to press a kiss to your hair.

“Wish we could do this sober,” you mumble, sleep threatening to take you. “But ‘m too nervous to say anything to you when not drunk.”

The redhead is fairly certain she’s hallucinating. Did you just admit you wished you could cuddle with her? Lay in bed with her and fall asleep in her arms?

“Well, sweetheart,” the second grade teacher sighs heavily. “Let’s just get past tonight, see what you remember tomorrow, and then we can talk.”

You nod. You’re still drunk, but you’re pretty aware of everything that is happening, and you know you’ll remember all of this tomorrow. But it’s that extra little bite that liquid courage gives you that allows you to say, “I love you, Mel,” before you tighten your grip on her and give in to sleep.

Melissa’s eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t hesitate in saying, “I love you too, Y/N.” She presses a sweet kiss to the side of your head, and prays to God that when the two of you wake up everything is okay.

#abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

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rolling-storm-writing · 1 year

Text

-Ghost/top!M reader: “I’m right here, baby”

Reader was put into a nasty coma and ghost hasn’t been the same. Still desperately trying to make you happy even through this long slumber.

A/N: im not one to write sad or dark things and this one really is not to heavy but still beware just in case. I hope y’all enjoy!

edit: this fic includes suicidal elements so please read with caution

“To grieve deeply is to have loved fully.”

But you weren’t even gone your lungs still filled with air, eyes watching through closed lids, and ears perking when you heard his choked sobs.

“Babe, Baby, (y/n).” The sound of his voice drowned out by the hammering of gun fire and ringing in the air. Sulfur and smoldering flesh danced along the ground, covering the both of you in its dark loving embrace.

You couldn’t move only watch through blurred eyes the frantic ones staring right back at you. Simon had cold eyes, deadly sharp shark eyes. Eyes that loved you and softened so sweetly when you were in his focus. “I’m right here, baby,” Simon murmured the rain of his tears dotting your face as you were carried up to the light. Safe and secured in these trembling arms of your Angel.

“He’s been like that since we got here…” Price whispered to Gaz as the rest of the team watched their crumbling comrade. The surgery was over but the doors remained shut and the curtain drawn shut, The Ghost never prayed to God for his mercy but today he did. Not as a monster of the 141 but as Simon Riley, still stained in his blood dried gear curled up on the floor just outside your door. His trembling hand pressed against the wall almost trying to push through the concrete to reach you.

The next morning nothing had changed, you wouldn't open your eyes and Simon tried to keep hope. And as days turned to weeks he continued to stay, living off the cold hospital food and you, your liquids.

Your muscles started to fade and your face sunk in a little bit almost like how you looked before meeting the 141. A scrawny guy would never had the pleasure of eating los vaqueros cooking, raiding Alex’s snack stash, or wolfing down a plate of ribs with ghost for a free meal.

“You look beautiful” he whispered pressing a kiss to your forehead brining the blanket up a bit higher. A heavy thing Farah had made and sent over to make sure you didn’t “freeze to death”.

Weeks passed and the ghost was starting to grow weary of this room you were trapped in. Books stacked high and puzzles glued and hung up for decoration of the room. Plants grew with flowers blooming just for you, a heating lamp to mimic the sun on your greying skin.

His lips pressing soft kisses to your own and everywhere you always liked him to.

Sometimes pacing, screaming at you when he halted his steps or begging you to just wake up when the days got particularly hard. The rage whispering, and sweltering river of tears of his begging apologies. Curled up to you wrapping your arms around him as if you’re still truly awake to soothe him.

Seven months, long and and quiet without your laughter to bring his own. Simon had grown smaller lost weight and shoulders no longer strong enough to carry the world. You had grown thinner almost sinking into the bed and lost in the sheets until the nurses would roll you over, keeping the bed sores away so the long stillness wasn’t to obvious.

Even then the sores still bloomed and Simon ran another bursting dam of tears into the already overflowing river.

A year passed and when the January dreariness started he brought you crisp mangos that Rudy had grown. Doting the slices with sweet chili lime and holding the mixture to your nose, letting the juices run down to your cracked dry lips.

“It’s spi-“

It was a deafening sound like a bursting bubble or shattering glass. Your weary eyes a shocked glaze as they stared at the widened ones of your lover. The smell of gun powder filled your nose with familiar smell of iron. The warm trickle and crimson droplets ran down your pretty face, mouth open and agape in a permanent disbelief.

Simons trembling hands steadying as he crawled into bed next to you, the barrel soft under his chin and burning with the heat of it previous discharge. The fire of it leaving a crisp edge at the new hole in his face, a perfect pair with yours…

——————————————————————-

A/N: i don’t even know why I wrote this tbh- imma go write that Price one to make myself feel better

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runnning-outof-time · 1 year

Text

This Storm Will Also Pass | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @toms-cherry-trees 1.5k celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy manages to calm down (Y/N) after he finds her hiding and riddled with anxiety during a late autumn thunderstorm.

Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack (anxious!reader), fear of thunderstorms, mentions of war/air raids, mentions of breaking and entering

Word Count: 1883

A/N: congrats on 1.5k Mars!! I’m so happy I’ve met you on here!! This idea came to me during a thunderstorm (it was a spring one, but it reminded me of the fall) and I decided to incorporate it into the story…I hope that it passes as autumn enough. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: this is also dedicated to one of my very first supporters on here @a-lil-bit-nuts … I saw that you were looking for a Tommy x anxious!reader where he’s calming her down and wanted to write this for you. I hope that those feelings have since passed and you’re doing well, B! Sending much love your way!

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

The halls of Arrow House were dark, even though it was the middle of the day. Tommy had decided to leave work early due to the nasty looking storm that was hanging overhead. It was shaping up to be a rough one, and he didn't want to get caught driving in the middle of it.

Frances had told him that (Y/N) hadn't come out of the master bedroom since the clouds turned dark. He instantly knew why she'd decided to sequester herself in what she deemed to be her 'safe space'.

"(Y/N)?" he asked softly as he knocked on the door, wanting to announce himself before he entered the room. He heard nothing in response, which he expected, so he opened the door and stepped into the room before gently closing it behind him. "Where are you, (Y/N)?" he called for his wife, noticing that the bed was empty and that the covers had been stripped from it.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked around the room, noticing that both her vanity chair and the chaise lounger were also empty. He was starting to think that maybe she'd moved to another room when another loud crack of thunder rang out, its intensity making the floorboards vibrate. A shriek came from the conjoined bathroom as the thunder continued to rumble, making Tommy turn and head into the room.

(Y/N) was laying in the bathtub with the covers from the bed hiding everything except her head. She had a white-knuckle grip on the duvet and a panicked look in her eyes.

"It's me, love," Tommy said softly, not wanting to startle her with his sudden presence. She was already looking in his direction, but he knew from prior experiences that she could just be looking through him. "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to get home before the storm started," he apologized as he slowly moved over to the tub.

"I...I did everything I was supposed to do, Tommy. I grabbed the blankets, I...I went in here; there's no windows in here...I got in the tub and I've been covering my head, I have, but when I heard you say my name I thought that maybe, I thought that..."

"It's ok, love," Tommy cut her rambling statement off, kneeling down next to where she had been hiding, "you're doing good," he offered some words of encouragement as a soft smile formed on her face.

"I heard the loud bangs and ran right in here. I feel so bad, I didn't even ask Frances if she wanted to join, oh goodness, is she safe?" (Y/N) continued, a panicked look present on her face as she mentioned the older woman, "I completely forgot to get her and make sure she'd be safe, oh my goodness, is she ok?" her words came out quicker than before as another round of panic washed over her.

Her breathing quickened and she began to scramble, fighting with the blankets she was wrapped in to try and get up from her position, something she was terrified to do, but would continue with in order to make sure Frances was safe. She had just rested her shaky hands on the edge of the tub as was attempting to lift her equally shaky body up when Tommy stopped her actions.

"Frances is fine, (Y/N)," he told her, his voice soft but firm, hoping to show her that there was no need to panic. “Slow your breathing down, you need to calm yourself, yeah?”

"She's in a safe spot?" (Y/N) asked, her eyes wide as they hooked onto Tommy's, ignoring the second half of his statement as she focused on the well-being of the older woman.

"There's no danger," he told her, shaking his head slightly for added effect.

"But...but all of the bangs...the house was shaking. Tommy, I...I tried to get in here as quickly as I could. I thought there was...I thought someone was coming in. Thought they were attacking the house," she shakily exuded her words, her anxiety still getting the best of her.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but a loud crack of thunder sounded before he could get a word out. The shrill, loud sound made (Y/N) shriek in fear and grab onto Tommy's arm; immediately clinging onto him for dear life.

"They’re...they’re still, still here, Tom," she shuddered out, burying her head into his arm as her free hand waved around behind her, blindly trying to find the blankets so that she could cover both of them.

"No one's here, love," Tommy softly told her, "we're not being attacked. There's a thunderstorm happening," he continued, explaining the situation in its entirety.

(Y/N) slowly lifted her head as she heard his words. "But...but the bangs were so loud. I thought for sure that someone was trying to get in, or that an air raid was happening. I did what I was supposed to do, Tommy. I got into this safe room and made sure I was in the bathtub," she explained things from her point of view, making sure to inform him that she'd taken the necessary steps in order to stay safe.

"It's one of those late autumn storms...they’re always worse," Tommy continued to speak calmly, "just gettin’ the last few ones out of the system before the snow comes."

(Y/N) didn't answer right away. Instead she kept her eyes locked with his and searched them, trying to find any hidden lies; anything that would betray the words he was saying.

Tommy watched her as she did this, seeing the panic slip slowly from her features. He waited; watching as her breathing got slower with each second that passed.

Some time passed before (Y/N) finally spoke: "we're...we're not being attacked?" she asked, her voice much calmer now than it was before.

"No, love. It's just a thunderstorm," Tommy answered her.

"And we're ok?" she asked another question.

"Yes," he answered definitively.

"Ok," she breathed, nodding her head as then she took a few more calming breaths.

"This storm will also pass...just like all of the others have," he assured her, running a soothing hand up and down her arm as she loosened the hold she had on his bicep.

"I was so scared, Tommy," she recounted the beginning of the storm then, "I started panicking the second I heard the thunder. I really thought that someone was attacking the house," she shuddered at the thought, now feeling relieved that it had just been another storm.

Her thunderstorm induced panic attacks had been getting better with each one that rolled through. She'd carried this fear ever since she and Tommy lived on Watery Lane. It started during the Great War, when the threat of air raids would occur and send the city into a panic. Then she happened to be home when Campbell and his men broke into their house, so now she worried that any unreasonably loud sound could also be a potential intruder.

Her reaction was always much less severe when Tommy was home, but there were days - like today, when he couldn't be...and she couldn't decipher whether it was a storm or an attack by herself.

The two sat quietly in the bathroom for some time. Neither did much talking. (Y/N)'s hold would tighten on Tommy's arm each time that the thunder rumbled, but her reactions to it were much more mild compared to what they were earlier. Having him with her truly helped to calm her down.

"Do you think the worst is over?" (Y/N) asked once it seemed like the past few rumbles had been softer compared to what they were earlier.

"I think it's passed," Tommy answered with a nod, happy to see the slightest smile form on (Y/N)'s face.

"Can we go see?" she asked him, finally releasing her hold from his arm.

Although Tommy wouldn't freely admit it, he felt sad at the loss of her touch. He didn't comment on his thoughts, but instead nodded his head and allowed her to hold onto the tub's edge so that she could pull herself up and out to stand on the tiled floor again. He let her exit the bathroom first, following closely behind and watching as her eyes went right to the bedroom's large windows.

"It has passed," she said, moreso to herself, seeing the sun that was shining through the curtains. "Can we go outside to make sure?" she then turned to Tommy to ask him.

"We can," he agreed with her idea, allowing her to move to sit on the chaise lounge then, where the pair of shoes she was previously wearing were sitting. He watched as she slipped them on and stood again, coming back over to where he was standing without a word said.

"Let's go," she smiled at him, extending her hand for him to take. He grinned at her, glancing down at her hand before he slipped his into it, wordlessly allowing her to lead them out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

It didn't take long for them to get onto the grounds of their home. (Y/N) immediately took a look around, seeing that the dark clouds had completely passed over and whiter ones had returned in place. The trees, still full of colorful leaves, seemed to look even more vibrant with a coating of water on them.

That was one thing she loved about autumn. Nature always seemed to be at its best then...give or take a few late season thunderstorms. But she'd fight her way through them if it meant that she got to see this beauty each time that they passed.

"It's beautiful out here now," she voiced her thoughts to Tommy as they walked along one of the paths in the garden.

"It is," Tommy agreed with her, "the good returns once the storm passes."

"It does," it was her turn to agree with what he was saying. Silence fell around them then as they walked the grounds of their home. (Y/N) glanced over at him a few times, admiring how he looked in the sinking sunlight.

"Need something?" Tommy asked as he noticed her looking at him, his eyebrows raised in question.

(Y/N)'s cheeks heated up slightly as she realized she'd been caught. "Thank you for helping me earlier, Tommy," she said to him, slipping her hand into his so that she could give it a squeeze.

"I wish I could have gotten home earlier," he stated, his voiced discrepancy making her shake her head.

"Don't beat yourself up with the specifics. You came at the right time," she told him, her eyes holding earnesty.

"I'm happy that I could help you get through it, love," he said, a soft smile forming on his face as he pressed a kiss to her temple. (Y/N) smiled at the gesture and turned her head, pressing a kiss of her own to his jacket covered shoulder.

Not much else was said as the two continued on their way, enjoying one of their final autumn walks before the cold took over and winter arrived.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby one shot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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mirisss · 7 months

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SKZ reaction to their asexual gf's sleeping habit

SKZ reaction to their asexual gf sleeping in only a bra and pajama/sweatpants.

Wordcount ≈ 700

Warnings: Slight doubt/anxiety,

Thank you for the request! I feel like I didn’t write this one that well, but I hope you still enjoy it.

Please reblog!

Bang Chan

The dude sleeps almost naked. He wouldn’t care. If his partner wants to sleep completely naked, go ahead, if his partner wants to sleep in winter-overalls, he might wonder how you don’t die of heatstroke but go ahead. No matter what his partner sleeps in, he would be okay with it, all he cares about is his partner being comfortable. So, if being comfortable for his asexual girlfriend means sleeping in a bra and sweatpants he would be happy and it isn’t sexual in the slightest, he might admire his partner's body but he will never do anything that would make his partner uncomfortable.

Lee Know

At most, he’ll make a comment about your arms feeling cold if you sleep without a shirt. Other than that, like Chan. Minho just wants you to be comfortable, so once again, he couldn’t care less what you decide to sleep in. Sometimes, when he’s feeling mischievous, he’s gonna try to tickle you because you have “given him easy access”. Minho really just finds ways to tease you in his loving ways rather than anything sexual.

Seo Changbin

More than anything, Changbin will want to compare his biceps to yours. “Come on, let’s see who’s got the best biceps” Followed by him flexing his muscles a ton while giggling. He does this, every night. He really just wants you to compliment his muscles. Another one who doesn’t care what you sleep in, he respects you being asexual and wouldn’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. While he thinks you look incredible and sexy, what he loves most about you are the moments you both just act like clowns together.

Hwang Hyunjin

Drama king. Overdramatic. The first time the two of you were sleeping in the same room, was a fun experience. Hyunjin had just brushed his teeth and came out of the bathroom to find you sitting on the bed, phone in hand, grey sweatpants, and a black sports bra. “WAH! My eyes!” Hyunjin exclaimed loudly. First, you thought he was uncomfortable seeing you like this, thinking that maybe he would only like it if his partner wasn’t asexual. In reality, his reaction was just positive. “I didn’t know an angel would be here,” “You look really good like this, would you be comfortable modeling like this for me some time so I can draw it?” Yeah, he only saw the potential for the drawings he could make and how beautiful you looked.

Han Jisung & Lee Felix

Personally, I think they would have very similar reactions. “Are you sure you won’t be cold? Would it be more comfortable for you to borrow one of my t-shirts instead of your bra? Would it be more comfortable without the bra? If so, I promise not to touch or even look? I just want you to be comfortable. Can I still hug you? Cuddle?” They would be mostly worried about your comfort and whether or not they could still cuddle you.

Kim Seungmin

“Where did you buy those pants? Do you know if they’d have similar once that would fit me? They look comfortable,” Seungmin’s largest concern would be you not getting too cold so that you become sick. If you wanted to sleep in a bra and sweatpants, be his guest just make sure you don’t fall sick. He’ll want those sweatpants though, they look warm and nice. Good for winter, he’d think.

Yang Jeongin

He would raid your closet, looking at different sweat- & pajama- pants and different bras. “Hmm, this bra goes well with these three pants, while this one goes best with these pants,” He was making sure even your sleep outfit was fashionable. Once he first found out that you liked sleeping in a bra and sweatpants, you were wearing a brown bra and grey sweatpants which, according to Jeongin, wasn’t a good match, hence, why he was going through all your clothes letting you know which bra to pair with which pair of pants. Not a single sexual thought passed his brain, nope it’s all fashion in there.

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charmsandtealeaves · 1 month

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Just Drink

Working on a few things tidied away in my writing vault. @jilymicrofics ☕☕☕☕ Read it on AO3.

James peered warily into the teacup that was being offered to him, holding his palms open to begrudgingly accept it. The amber-coloured liquid was murky, and if he was honest didn’t look very inviting - not what he had expected when Lily had offered to make him a cup of tea while they completed Professor McGonagall’s latest dastardly Transfiguration essay before bed. They’d secluded themselves in their shared head students’ space after doing their usual castle patrol. Lights out wasn’t for another hour and he was sure to snap grumpily at the excited chattering of the first years if they tried to finish in the Gryffindor common room.

“Do you want it or not Potter?” she asked, briskly.

“It’s got no milk in it,” he replied.

“It’s cinnamon tea. It’s not supposed to” She thrusted the cup into his palms.

“Personally, I’d go for an English Breakfast or Earl Grey,” James muttered, swirling the contents of his cup with one hand and letting spirals of steam waft up his nose.

The aroma was a blend of warmth, slight fruitiness, and almost vanilla-like. It reminded him of third year when he’d tried Divination for the supposedly easy grade until he and Sirius got themselves kicked out for smashing too many precious cups and saucers.

“You’re the one who's been complaining about feeling stiff all week thanks to Quidditch! It's good for you. Look here, read the packet if you don’t trust me.” Lily grabbed the small purple cardboard box off the kitchenette bench and tossed it at him, and he caught it swiftly in one hand despite the lackluster throw.

He had to admit she was right, he had been complaining about feeling stiff and sore. But their first match of the year was just a week away and the team needed all the practice they could get. James scanned the box description briefly.

Made from the inner bark of the cinnamon tree, and steeped in boiling water, Cinnamon tea is full of beneficial compounds that may offer various health benefits. These benefits include aiding weight loss, improving heart health, alleviating menstrual cramps, and reducing inflammation and blood sugar levels.

He could now understand why the girls from her dormitory were always coming in to raid Lily’s private herbal tea stash from the kitchenette. She had an entire cabinet full of boxes of various fruity concoctions she brought from home or bought from Madam Puddifoot's tea shop in Hogsmeade.

“I’m not PMSing Evans. I just have a twinge in my neck, that's all.” James scoffed.

“Keep reading, idiot,” Lily scolded. “It’ll loosen you up.”

“Drinking Cinnamon tea at night before going to bed helps relax tired muscles, build immunity, boost metabolism, and aid digestion - all this while you sleep peacefully!” James read aloud as he brought the cup to his lips and took a few cautious sips. The taste was slightly tangy but it wasn’t terrible.

“Could do with a bit of sugar,” he muttered.

“I already put a little honey in it for sweetness, you don’t need any more.”

“You tellin’ me I’m sweet enough Evans?” James responded coyly.

“Just drink your tea, you bellend.”

#charms library #jilymicrofics #jily #jple #james potter #lily evans #jily fic

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underdark-dreams · 4 months

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Incredibly excited to finally start releasing this into the wild!!

After my 2-part Rolan x Tav fic Good Night For Company, I really wanted to write a longer continuation of their story set in Act 3. And at last, here is the first chapter--multiple others planned! (With more romance soon to follow)

Note: this chapter explores darker themes than my usual work. I encourage you to check the AO3 tags if you have any doubts. They will be updated regularly 🖤

A Strand to Climb - Ch.1

Two very different heroes find themselves in Baldur's Gate at last. All Tav can think about is seeing a certain apprentice wizard again, but Rolan finds himself trying to push her away.

Tags: Angst, Physical Abuse, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 2,840 [Read on AO3]

Lorroakan liked to make Rolan wait.

He was a man who enjoyed toying with people, and Rolan found himself the newest and current favorite toy in the archwizard’s collection. He tipped his head back to gaze up at the criss-crossing arches in the high ceiling of Ramazith’s Tower, trying to occupy his mind away from the fatigue pooling in the soles of his feet.

Tonight’s lesson should have begun half an hour ago. He knew better than to move from his usual spot on the fine carpet, however.

Whatever Cal or Lia might think, Rolan was no blind idiot.

He hadn't gotten this far in life without a bitter skepticism about human nature. He'd filed away every rumor he heard about Lorroakan on the road from Elturel, though he hadn’t given them any weight at the time.

The revelation that the man was even worse than what he'd heard was…a disappointment, to be sure. And a complication.

But it did nothing to change his path or his determination to succeed. Apprenticeships with archwizards didn't drop out of the sky, even with ones as worthless and vapid as Lorroakan. Especially not to a student with Infernal blood.

And Rolan could be very patient when he put his mind to it. He’d waited many years to find himself standing here in Ramazith’s Tower, hadn’t he? He could survive another year or two as Lorroakan’s apprentice.

Rolan gathered the thoughts around him like armor where he stood in the center of the cavernous room, awaiting the arrival of his master.

As if on cue, the rushing portal sounded behind him as Lorroakan himself swept into the room.

“I understand my apprentice has been pawing through the merchandise.”

Entering rooms with a full sentence was another of Lorroakan’s favorite tactics. Though he expected it by now, Rolan still found himself thrown off balance by the words for a moment—no doubt their intended purpose. His mind raced to grasp what he was being accused of before he looked to his master.

Lorroakan stood on the step before him with lips drawn into the hint of a smile, an expression that didn’t reach his eyes. The man was angry.

Rolan kept his voice calm and careful. “Master Lorroakan, I should have explained. Two of Aradin’s men managed to get past the guards several nights ago, raiding for valuables. It took some time to salvage the scrolls they damaged in the process.”

“I see. And as a result, you took it upon yourself to give Klank a little upgrade, did you?”

Performing magic in the shop outside of Lorroakan’s direct orders—a mistake. “Yes, Master,” Rolan replied reluctantly.

“How clever,” said Lorroakan above him. But he didn’t sound like he thought it was clever at all.

“I know what a nuisance they’ve been to you, Master Lorroakan.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy—”

As he spoke, Rolan felt a foreign presence prodding at the corners of his mind. There were few spells Lorroakan had demonstrated complete mastery of thus far—but the ritual for detecting thoughts was certainly among them.

Rolan knew he would face a far worse punishment than whatever was coming if he resisted. Instead, fighting all his natural instincts, he let his mind’s defenses go slack.

Lorroakan’s consciousness pierced through his own, rough and careless. It rapidly shoved through his thoughts then withdrew just as abruptly. Rolan held back a wince of discomfort at the treatment.

His master’s eyes narrowed at him, that placid smile still on his lips.

"On your knees," Lorroakan instructed silkily.

As his body obeyed in silence, Rolan felt churning bile and indignant pride rise in his throat. If Lorroakan hoped all these trials would break Rolan's spirit, he'd find they were having the opposite effect.

Lorroakan’s voice was dangerously even. "Although I’ve expressly forbidden it, you decided to avail yourself of a bit of private study from the scroll stock while you were at it. Outside my wishes."

Though Rolan kept his eyes down on the carpet below, he heard the rustle of Lorroakan’s robes as he began to circle him. Like a cat with a mouse.

“Forgive me, Master,” Rolan said down to the floor. “I only reviewed the spells you’ve seen fit to instruct me in.”

A second mistake.

“Oh?” Lorroakan’s voice dripped with fresh venom. “And is my instruction insufficient?”

Yes. Completely fucking useless. “No, Master Lorroakan. I only know how short your time is with more important matters…locating the Nightsong. I hoped to perfect what you’ve taught me, to arrive better prepared for your lessons.”

Surely that was sufficient for his ego? Rolan dared to hope so as Lorroakan’s steps came to a halt in his periphery.

Without warning, the red wizard's palm connected with the soft dip of his temple.

Defenses still down from his earlier mental invasion, Rolan's body jerked sideways; he caught himself with sharp nails into the carpet. The blow rang deafening and shrill between his ears.

"—suffer insolence, boy," Lorroakan was warning somewhere above him as Rolan's hearing returned. "And put those filthy claws away. Are you a man or a beast?"

"Yes, Master," Rolan gasped, hardly knowing whether he should agree or say no. The pain in his skull overwhelmed his senses in a way that must have translated as meekness.

Lorroakan sighed, the way one might at a dear but misbehaving pet.

"Young Rolan," he tutted. "Still so willful. So much yet to learn from my wealth of knowledge. And I am generous…"

As he spoke, his polished boots moved closer into Rolan’s downturned field of vision, and Rolan felt the archmage's soft fingers under his chin guiding his gaze upwards.

This was always the very worst part. Rolan would willingly take a dozen more blows if he could avoid what came after.

Instead, he witnessed the gleam of satisfaction in Lorroakan's eyes as he examined his past weeks' handiwork on his apprentice's face—as if the sight brought him a deep pleasure that verged on carnal. Rolan's insides turned over in disgust.

"Yet even my favorite apprentice must be trained, must be disciplined." Lorroakan's words were silky soft, but his thumb and forefinger gripped into Rolan's chin with bruising force. "You'll stay to reorganize the abjuration wing tonight, alphabetically by subject."

Rolan nodded mutely, as much as Lorroakan's grip allowed. He had just finished reordering them all by title a few days ago. But what did it matter anymore?

At least his penance appeared to have cut the evening short. Lorroakan released him without a backwards glance.

As the archmage swept away toward the portal to take his leave, Rolan got to his feet as slowly as he could manage. He ran hands down his robes, hoping the scuffs on his knees would come out with some careful spellwork. This was the only set he had.

By the time he raised his eyes to look around, Lorroakan was gone. One of the metal Myrmidons shuffled aimlessly near the railing, quite harmless without its master's direction. Lorroakan controlled them, but he hadn’t created them; Rolan had gathered that early.

Alone again, Rolan let out a pent-up breath. Then he turned toward the towering case of books and scrolls on abjuration.

He'd be able to touch them, he knew, but turning a single page would result in a painful rebuke. The nerves in his right hand smarted in memory of the first and last time he'd been stupid enough to try.

Of the vast wealth of texts contained in his tower—how many of their spines had Lorroakan actually cracked open? For an archmage, he was profoundly lacking in a desire for learning, among many other qualities. The wealth of this place was wasted on one like him.

A memory came back to Rolan from the Druid's Grove, a time and place that felt several lifetimes ago now. Gale, her erudite wizard, asking him to repeat Lorroakan's name. Making those insinuations that got Rolan's hackles up in defense for his new master—and for his own judgment.

Rolan should have listened to the words from an older and clearly wiser mind.

Would it have changed anything in the end? He'd reverently carried Lorroakan's invitation with him all the way from Elturel. No matter what he heard, there was never a chance he might have walked away from the offer.

But he might feel like less of a fool.

Hot shame rose in Rolan’s throat. If only Tav and her wizard could see him now, he thought bitterly. The fresh bruise forming at his temple throbbed as if to punctuate the idea. Rolan pushed up the sleeves of his robe and set to work.

—

Though it was only her first morning in Baldur’s Gate proper, Tav found that her list of urgent tasks had grown longer than ever.

There was the spate of gruesome murders, the rival thieves’ guilds warring in the underground, the freshly ordained archduke and his formidable army of Steel Watchers. Not to mention the little problem of a godlike Elder Brain that had begun to test its weakened chains.

Tav had always thought of herself as a patient person. But these past few days, her companions all seemed to be tugging her in opposite directions. Everyone was irritable and on edge, herself included.

After Lae’zel and Astarion had nearly drawn on each other over the campfire last night—a row over what to do with the cambion’s latest offer of a deal—Tav snapped. She made the executive decision that they all needed a day away from each other to clear their heads.

Yet rather than pursue any of her many important leads, here she was loitering alone in front of the message board outside Basilisk Gate.

A good bit of it was taken up with Enver Gortash’s face, looking every bit the messiah he was definitely not. There were other notices: Flaming Fist enlistment posters, a few hand-written notes for missing persons. More likely unfortunate victims in the city’s recent murder spree.

She found her eye uselessly searching for another name altogether. It was probably stupid—did wizards usually announce their new apprentices to the public?

Just as she’d made up her mind to move on, Lorroakan’s own name caught her eye. Tav tore the pamphlet down from the board.

‘Seeking Information About the Nightsong! Report Findings to Archwizard Lorroakan, Master of Ramazith’s Tower in the Upper City, Famed and Illustrious Mage of the Sword Coast.’

Unease bloomed in her stomach. What did an archwizard want with Dame Aylin?

She turned the paper over, looking for anything besides vague details. Nothing on the notice said anything about capture or forcible delivery, but there was a reward printed in large type at the bottom of the page.

Her brows descended at the figure. Something about the size of it only increased her sense of foreboding.

Though she’d planned to make her way to Ramazith’s Tower to see Rolan as soon as she possibly could, perhaps now she had another reason to pay it a visit.

“Hey, Tav!”

She looked around at the sound of her name. Lia stood on the top step from the Basilisk Gate barracks, a slim scroll in her hand. She followed Tav's eyes to the parchment.

“Enlistment papers,” she explained, tucking them in her belt as she descended the stairs. “They’re no Hellriders, but it’s a decent job. Plus I heard some mad cult is planning to march an army down on our heads. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Lia added with a wry smile.

Somehow Tav was relieved to hear Lia could joke about it. It lightened some of the weariness in her own chest. She hastily pocketed the reward pamphlet—though she thought Lia’s eyes followed the motion. Then she rounded to return the smile.

“Gods, is it good to see a friend,” she admitted. “How are you, Lia?”

“You mean besides the constant threat of murder and war, and the stupid comments about my horns? Alright, considering,” Lia chuckled.

Tav felt a prickle of anger. She supposed that was a common experience for Tieflings, but that only made it worse somehow.

Lia caught her mood. “Don’t worry about it. We certainly don’t. Besides, it’s loads better here than it ever was back home.”

Tav moved the conversation along. She asked after Cal—trying to avoid immediately turning the subject to Rolan. Even though her heart ached to know how he was. Rolan and his siblings had taken the direct path from Moonrise to the Lower City, no doubt reaching it weeks before her own party had made their winding way toward the gates.

Lia was clever enough to realize what she was doing. Tav’s close relationship with Lia’s older brother was anything but a secret at this point, after all. But the younger woman played along politely for the moment.

When they were all out of other topics to catch up on, Tav did her best to sound as casual as possible. “How’s our brilliant apprentice getting along?”

Lia’s face changed at the question. Her brow flew into a scowl, and the muscle in her jaw tightened.

“I don't talk to him about it anymore,” she snapped.

Tav blinked in surprise, but the feeling was quickly replaced by concern. “What is it?”

Lia looked around for a moment, as if worried someone might be listening to overhear. She moved down a few steps to stand with arms crossed beside Tav.

“Look…Rolan’s proud,” she said in a low voice. “You know that well as I do. He won't ever give me or Cal a straight answer about it. But Tav, seriously? I'm not sure he's been taught a damn thing yet. Rolan always gets upset when me or Cal come by the Sundries. Like he’s scared of someone seeing us there. And every time I’ve been in, Lorroakan’s got him working the stupid counter instead of studying. And his—”

Tav was hanging on every word by the time Lia abruptly cut herself off. The two of them shared a long look.

“I don't think he’s treating Rolan well,” Lia told her. Her nails dug into the fabric of her sleeves. “I know he isn't.”

“Not treating him well how?” The concern had grown to a snake of worry coiling through Tav’s insides.

Lia’s hands continued fidgeting over her arms. She glanced away behind the curtain of her hair, as if regretting how much she'd said.

“Listen, just—just go talk to Rolan. Please? You should hear it from him. If he won't listen to us, maybe he’ll listen to you. Don't think he could ever tell you no,” Lia added with a weak smile, an expression that was more pained than anything.

An ominous feeling swirled around in Tav’s brain, muddling the tail end of their conversation. Her head nodded along automatically as Lia gave an invitation to her and Cal’s flat in Heapside Strands, but her ears barely caught the street name.

Once Lia had given her a quick one-armed hug and departed, Tav stood hardly knowing where she was. A Flaming Fist jostled past her shoulder from the barracks with a backwards comment about loitering in byways.

She hardly heard the man. Her mind was filled with images of Rolan; proud, hopeful, excited for his future. Had this Lorroakan done something to spoil the dream he’d fought so hard to achieve?

As Tav’s hand brushed against the reward pamphlet in her pocket, the fingers there clenched into a fist. The other closed tight around the hilt of the longsword resting in her scabbard.

Whatever it was, something was wrong here. Very wrong. She was tempted to march straight into Sorcerous Sundries, find Rolan, and demand the truth out of him. And if he put on his stubborn act, she could think of a few very pleasant ways to get honest answers from his lips.

But what if he was somehow in danger from this archwizard?

That thought brought her up short. Lia’s voice before had held a hint of fear; not an emotion she’d know Lia to express lightly. Perhaps rushing into the situation blind would risk causing Rolan more harm than good.

Tav felt her pulse pound at the thought of putting him in danger. She let out a breath, trying to clear her head of the tangle of emotions. None of them would help her make a sound decision. As much as she might want to, she shouldn’t go racing off straight to Ramazith’s Tower.

And she shouldn’t go alone. If some kind of trouble was waiting there—increasingly likely when she considered Lorroakan’s cryptic interest in the Nightsong—she would need her companions with her. And they were currently spread out gods-knew-where across the city.

Though her heart fought against it, the logical choice was clear. The wisest course would be to leave this for tomorrow.

In the morning, they would pay a visit to Ramazith’s Tower…and Tav would finally get the measure of this archwizard for herself.

#rolan x tav #cw: abuse #angst #tw: abuse #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #mutual pining #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #tav x rolan #lorroakan is a bastard and he will be dead soon #sage and soldier

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juuuulez · 8 months

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📰 | part one: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, female reader I’m so sorry!!!!, mostly scene setting..next chapter will get juicy.

summary: You meet Carl whilst the Satellite station is being raided, where they take you as prisoner.

previous | next

This is gonna be an ongoing fic!!! I’ve already got like,, 8 parts mapped out, but will likely add more stuff here and there. It also currently has no name……but I’ll think of something. It will follow canon loosely, mostly at the start, and then I’ll just diverge into whatever I want to write about LOL. Let me know what you think, if you like it, want more soon etc etc.

It’s Saviour!Reader, with very heavy father-figure Negan because I am sorry but I LOVE HIM! Slow burn, enemies to lovers with Carl, teenage squabbling, you get the gist.

I’m also open for requests!!

It feels like you can’t breathe.

It’s dark, so dark. Almost pitch black, if not for the moonlight shining through the windows, spaced out near the rooftops to allow some visibility. You try to keep your footsteps light, one hand clutched around a metal baseball bat, the other feeling the wall to make sure you don’t trip. Everybody else is asleep.

Everybody else is dead.

You have no idea who’s done this. But it’s multiple people, from what you’ve gathered. A group uninvolved with the Saviours. Until now, you suppose.

It was no secret that your father was a tyrant, and had his fair share of enemies, but this? Talk about retaliation. If you’d been sleeping, too, you’d be dead. Maybe it was some sort of fate that you weren’t. Divine intervention. Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Then an alarm blares, disturbing the calculating silence, awakening anybody who remained unconscious. Panic spreads throughout the satellite station, followed by the relentless noise of machine guns. Your grip on the bat tightens as you sprint down the hallway, searching for salvage, somewhere to hide. They’d overpower you, no doubt. Though you were strong, a dedicated fighter, there was only so much a 17 year old girl could do. Facing them was too risky.

And to come home in a body bag? Not an option; Negan would kill every last person alive.

You round the corner, facing a door that you knew led to a supply room. The perfect hiding spot. So, you check your surroundings, weapon at the ready before entering the small space.

The door slams behind you.

“Hands up.”

You panic, momentarily, yet don’t obey. Spinning on your heels, you meet the source of this threat, a pistol pointed in your direction.

But behind it stands a boy, likely no older than yourself. Messy brown hair, stupid looking hat. Eyepatch. Definitely not a soldier.

He takes your silence as offence, “I said, hands up!” The boy barks at you, pulling back the safety with a distinct click.

It feels like there’s a lump in your throat, yet you speak anyway, arms still caged defensively at your sides. “You wanna kill me?”

The question clearly takes this boy off guard, judging by the way his jaw clenches, displeased by the ambiguous attitude you’re holding.

“Haven’t decided yet.” He answers, tone cold and steely.

But the gun isn’t pointed at your head. It’s a little to the right, just past your ear. If he shot it now, the bullet would hit the concrete wall. Lack of depth perception, you decide. One eye.

And so, you take that chance. With one motion, you’re swinging your bat towards him, using all the strength in your body. For some reason, he doesn’t shoot, but does duck down, the swift motion causing that stupid sheriff’s hat to fall to the ground.

The minuscule moment of shock, uncertainty, is your window of opportunity: it doesn’t take much to barrel towards him, your shoulders colliding with a thud as you disarm the boy, letting the pistol fall to the ground.

You don’t bother to pick it up, kicking the weapon away from the two of you, letting it skid across the concrete and hit the opposing wall. But in the time it takes him to retrieve the gun, you’re already out the door.

It doesn’t take long to navigate your way out of the station. Sprinting through hallways, narrowly avoiding tripping over limp bodies of people you once knew. Then the doors are right there, so close. You could even see cracks of sunrise seeping through the gaps.

Fresh air assaults your face, filling your parched lungs, and it takes everything in you not to fall to the ground in relief.

But it doesn’t matter.

There’s shouting, the figures of people coming into view. It floods your system with panic, suddenly alert at the newfound danger. Your sprinting comes to the stop, skidding on wet grass, blanketed with morning dew.

You fall flat on your ass.

The moment of clumsiness is all it takes for these people to approach you, shouting, demanding a name. A gun in your face. You grit your teeth, spotting the metal bat a few feet away, too far to reach.

And that boy, with the stupid hat. He picks it up. It makes you want to scream.

They demand you take them to Negan. To the next outpost. Locate their friends. There’s talking, bargaining on a radio. You stood in silence, childishly frustrated about being used like a pawn on a board. Exchange of you, for their two friends. That, or they’d kill you.

This immature silence lasts the whole trip.

The handcuffs around your wrists are irritating. There’s an itch on your cheek you can’t scratch. Your shoulders begin to hurt from being twisted into such a position.

But the worst of it? That boy, with his stupid hat, holding your baseball bat.

You swallow your anger.

You swallow your anger as they leave you in the RV to raid the Saviour outpost.

You swallow your anger when they come out with their two friends, but none of yours.

You swallow your anger when they tell you that Negan is dead, he’s been killed. That you’ll be put in a cell until they know what to do with you.

“Let me see the body.” You demand, brows furrowed, attempting to shield your inner confliction. Concern.

The man with the curly hair and beard answers, already distracted, moving onto the next task. Like the life of your father was meaningless. “Ain’t no time, we gotta move. Get back to Alexandria before nightfall.”

You swallow your anger.

Until you can’t anymore.

It hasn’t even been that long. The end to a long, gruelling day. At least, it appears to be, judging by the dimming light seeping through tiny windows. You’ve never been in a prison cell before. Though, granted, it was probably time you got some semblance of consequence for your morally-grey actions.

There’s footsteps. Once person approaching, then another walking away. Keeping guard on your cell, you presume. The same process had happened twice already.

Except this time, the footsteps continue a little further. The jingle of keys, a metal door creaking open.

Then he’s standing in front of you, on the other side of the bars. You want to burn that stupid hat.

“Your hat looks stupid.”

His face twists, brows furrowed, but otherwise ignores the harsh statement. The hat remains on his head.

“What’s your name?” He asks, standing a few meters away, warily. As if he’s afraid you’ll squirm through the bars and attack him. Maybe that’s a good thing.

You don’t answer.

But the boy continues talking anyway, “Mine’s Carl.”

It’s like an olive branch, a truce. An ounce of humility amongst this whole, terrible experience.

You roll your eyes, but tell him your name anyway. Carl seems to take this as permission to continue, as he now sits down on the cold concrete floor, though still maintains the distance between the two of you.

“Were your parents back there?” He asks you, though doesn’t sound particularly curious, nor judgemental. It’s that same, weird, stony tone. Like he only wants to know simply for the benefit of information.

So, you humour him.

With a shrug, you mumble, “No.”

“Is Negan your dad?” Carl asks almost immediately, already having a path of conversation in mind. This boy knows what he wants, and intends on figuring it out. That, or he’s just really blunt.

Once again, you shrug, giving a pointed look that conveys how you don’t intent to cooperate.

In response, Carl narrows his eyes, taking your lack of cooperation as hostility.

A few moments pass, and he’s getting up again, storming towards the door. The keys jingle. Metal creaks.

And he’s gone.

Another few days pass.

Nobody had interacted with you; it felt like you were going insane. Four walls and a dinky bed.

At least Carl tried to talk to you, nobody else seemed interested.

Until the curly-haired man is back, who you presume is named Rick, and is getting you out of the cell, once again adorning handcuffs.

“You’re going to Hilltop,” He tells you, snapping your wrists together once more, but this time offers the reprieve of cuffing your hands in front of you, “Somebody will watch you, give you a new home. You misbehave? It’s back in the cell.”

Though displeased, you have no choice but to follow. Suspicion stews in your gut, as these people appear to be in a rush, ever so slightly frantic. An energy in the air.

You remain impartial, annoyance radiating from your being as they drive, all these people packed into an RV. Everybody is having their seperate conversations, though you remain alone, handcuffed at the back of the vehicle.

A few hours in… and the road is blocked.

Blocked by people. A few cars parked nearby.

Disruption stirs in the RV, weapons suddenly gripped, prepared for a threat. Just before Rick can go to investigate: you hear it.

Whistling.

Your face must clearly light up, a hint of hope, and you’re rushing to stand. Though you can only make it two steps forward, deeper into the RV, when suddenly hands are gripping your shoulders, a firm hold keeping you in place.

Keeping you from escaping.

You twist and turn, aggressive curses leaving your mouth, but are unable to fully face your captor.

But from the corner of your eye, you see the rim of that that stupid, stupid hat.

#the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #negan smith #twd x you #carl grimes x you

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littlepadika · 1 year

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Papa Joely goes on the hunt for a stuffie for his little petal, that way she has something to help her with her separation anxiety? 🥺

Ahhhh I love this idea!!!! I hope you like dis :) I'm so soft after writing it

Warning: DDLG, fem little, no spoilers

Finding anything from ordinary life after the outbreak became increasingly difficult. Food and water was hard enough let alone more coveted items like soap, clothing, and yes toys and baby supplies. The community was growing. People were still having babies. And then there was you.

You lost your precious stuffies in the outbreak and had been using Joel's pillow as a stuffie. You'd carry it around the house and cuddle the pillow in the night. It broke his heart that he didn't have much to make you feel safe as a little and even worse he left you all alone when he went on supply raids.

However one fateful day in April, Joel's patrol team found a the small town that had yet to be raided including a baby store. Cribs, blankets, formula. It was a miracle. Obviously he wanted the new mothers to have first pick (and he knew you'd want that too) but he was able to grab a stuffed brown bunny in the storage room- pristine and still in it's packaging. He stuffed it into his jacket. He hoped everyone was too busy sorting through the supplies to notice him slip it into his saddle back.

"Hey what's that?" Some youngster named Luke asked.

"Mind yer damn buisness." Joel glared, securing the buckle on the saddle bag. Did it really matter if someone saw? People would knife each other over a few ration cards. He was willing to risk it though, for you. Thankfully Luke let it go.

When Joel got back into town, the group took the supplies straight to the makeshift nursery and daycare. No ration cards or politics. For the first time he felt hope. Like humanity may actually be able to survive here. That you might be able to have a piece of normal life.

You were working at the daycare and you ran over as soon as you saw him coming. He couldn't help but smile slightly. You were so damn beautiful. The little rush of relief was always there whenever he saw you were safe. The daycare was well protected but he was never 100% sure of anything anymore.

"What did you bring?" You placed a hand on his leg and peered over at the full wagon.

"You'll see, petal." Joel chuckled, stroking your head affectionately.

After you got everything handed out and sorted, it was time to go home. Joel threw his saddle bag over his shoulder and offered his hand to you.

"hey good work miller!" Someone shouted and he waved humbly. It felt good to do something right for once.

"Josie just had a baby and she's been having trouble breast feeding. That formula will be perfect. And little Riley will love that stuffed bear. It was so cute. Everyone was so happy..." You talk his ear off all the way home.

"I'm proud of you, petal." Joel said, squeezing your hand.

"Why?"

"Because you were very selfless back there. I'm sure it's hard to give all those plushes away."

"They're called stuffies, Joel" You giggle.

"Stuffies..." He drawled.

"They need it more than me." You shrug.

Once home, you immediately grab your pillow and curl up on the couch. Joel smiles at this, setting his bag down by the door. He has to wait until you're occupied with a book to get the stuffie out, dust it off, and tie a pink ribbon around it. The ribbon was expensive but he was so glad he got it to make the present even more perfect.

"Hey petal..." He walked in with his hands behind his back.

"Yeah?" You look up from your book.

"I got somethin' for ya while I was out today."

"Joel... you could get in trouble." You still smile as you chide him.

"Just close your eyes." He sat down across from you on the lumpy sofa. You do.

"It's not my birthday, you know..."

"Shhh... hold out yer hands..."

You cup your hands and the hair on the back of your neck prickles with anticipation. You feel something soft and light be deposited.

"You can open, baby girl."

You already know what it is. And you weren't feeling very little but as soon as you saw it's eyes and floppy ears and big pink bow you were crying.

"Daddy..." You hold the stuffie to your chest, hugging it hard. It was so soft against your cheek.

Joel scoots closer. "I know it ain't what you had but-"

"I- I wuv her." You smile through your tears, throwing yourself into his arms. "Thankie daddy. It's da most perfect gift ever!"

Joel cupped your face gently, feeling his heart clench when your trusting eyes look up at him. "I picked her out special for you. I want you to have a little friend while daddy is away, to make you think of me and remember everything is going to be okay."

"I still wike my pillow." You grab it and place it in your lap.

"You can have pillow. Now you and pillow have a new friend." Joel explains gently.

"I name her... April! P'cause today is April and das when you rescued her, daddy." You hold her up proudly, taking in all her soft fur and floppy arms.

"That's perfect, baby." Joel smiled.

"Say hi April." You lift her paw and look at daddy expectantly.

"Well it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance miz April." Joel shook the bunny's paw. "Now you best take care of my petal. She's the most precious thing in the world and it's a great honor to be lookin' after her while her daddy's away."

"Mhm." You nod up at daddy, so happy he's playing with you and April.

Daddy masterlist

#ask padika #little bird 🦢#daddy!joel #little!reader #joel miller x reader

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lulublack90 · 2 months

Text

Prompt 29 - Address

@jegulus-microfic February 29 Word count 918

Previous part First part

The meeting was in an hour, and still, Kreacher hadn’t returned. Regulus was getting worried that the house elf never would.

“Regulus, it is time for us to be leaving.” Walburga was suddenly in front of him. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even heard her approaching. That had been dangerous and foolish.

“Yes, Maman, I’m coming.” Walburga grasped his arm with her claw-like fingers, digging the nails in more than was necessary.

They apparated outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. Regulus followed Walburga, who swept into the grounds as if she owned the place.

“My dear Lady Black,” Voldemort swooped over to address her as soon as she’d entered the drawing room. She held out her hand, and Voldemort lowered his lipless mouth to it, kissing her knuckles. Regulus had to hide his sudden nausea.

“I hope Kreacher is serving you well, My Lord.”

“Yes, though I am afraid the elf blundered at the last moment and didn’t survive the task given to it.” Regulus gulped. Kreacher couldn’t be dead!

“I apologise profusely, My Lord. Kreacher has always been a loyal, diligent servant.” Even Regulus caught the slight tang of fear in his mother’s words. Voldemort peered at Walburga before his strange smile crossed his face.

“I do not blame you, Lady Black. It is hardly your fault that the elf was unable to perform the task I asked of it.” Regulus spotted Evan and Barty and took a step towards them. “Regulus, do not stray. We must greet your cousins.” Walburga hissed at him before he could go any further. Reluctantly, Regulus followed his mother around the room, making small talk with the country’s worst, the entire time worrying about Kreacher.

Once he’d been around the entire congregation, Walburga allowed him to greet his friends while she took part in a side meeting with Lucius and Narcissa.

“Fucking hell Reg, you look like shit.” Barty greeted him.

“Thank you, Bartemius, for your kind words.” He looked around to make sure they weren’t being watched. “Prick,” He smirked at his friend.

“So why’s Lady Twat still here?” Evan asked, keeping his voice low.

“The Dark Lord asked for Kreacher to help with something. He’s dead.” He swallowed, biting back the swell of emotions, fighting to get out.

The meeting took forever to get through. Regulus made careful notes in his mind of the new attacks and raids Voldemort had planned to write in his notebook.

Walburga escorted him home after the meeting ended.

“Well, I suppose I shall have to procure a new servant.” She said, making it seem like an inconvenience. “Shame, Kreacher was useful.” She continued on as if he meant nothing to her, which Regulus supposed was probably true as Walburga Black cared for no one but herself. “I shall be leaving for the country estate in the morning. I expect you to be up and dressed to bid me farewell.”

“Yes, Maman.”

“Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, Maman.”

Regulus waited until he heard her bedroom door close, then raced to his own room. “Kreacher!” He called in his most demanding voice. “Kreacher, come here!” He called, and he called. “Kreacher, I demand that you return to this house!” A sharp crack made him jump as the shivering form of his house elf appeared on the carpet before him.

He gathered the elf into his arms and let the tears drip onto his limp form. He was freezing cold. Regulus grabbed a blanket from his bed, wrapped it around the elf and placed him in front of the fire to warm.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because he woke to his mother screaming his name. He quickly smoothed his robes and hurried to the stairs.

“Finally! Well goodbye. I do not know when I shall return next. I shall send word when I am.” And that was that, no heartfelt words. Regulus was just left alone in that gloomy house.

Kreacher was alert when Regulus returned to his room.

“Sorry, Master Regulus, Kreacher just needs a moment, and he’ll get your breakfast ready.” The elf croaked, followed by a hacking cough.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kreacher. The only thing I need from you is to tell me where he took you.” The elf started shaking as he turned his huge, round eyes to stare hauntedly at Regulus.

“The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave, Master Regulus.” Regulus inhaled. The cave!

He got Kreacher to tell him everything he could, and then he got him to repeat it all again.

He wrapped the elf more firmly in the blankets and told him he was to stay there and recover, and he was to talk to no one and never repeat what they had just discussed. He pulled out his mirror and opened it.

“James! James!” A bleary-eyed James Potter appeared. Squinting into the mirror. “James the cave. He took Kreacher to the cave. I think he hid a Horcrux there. James, I need your help.” He blurted out at high speed. James carefully placed his glasses on his face and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Okay, where should I meet you?”

***

They stood beside each other on the rocks, staring into the blackness of the cave entrance on the side of the cliffs. James took his hand as they prepared to enter.

“Ready, love?” Regulus looked up into James’s warm hazel eyes and felt a bravery he’d never felt before as he turned back to the cave.

“Yes.”

To be continued…

Next part

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