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spenceobsessed · 2 months

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post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut with a plot

summary: spencer can't help but despise his "replacement", especially during an undercover mission in a nightclub.

MDNI 18+

“this is insane.” penelope garcia mutters on the other end of the phone call. “there’s no way jeffery was able to absolutely take himself off the internet.” she huffs, the keyboard clicking in the background. “i’m gonna keep working. i’ll be back in a jiffy, i swear!” she says sweetly before hanging up.

the unsub, jeffery hogan had abducted then murdered four young women in los angeles california. the team had been in la for three days now, and jeffery had already killed two more women before they could stop him. all of them were getting antsy and a little angry.

you sigh, leaning back in your chair as the rest of the team begins talking amongst themselves, minus spencer, who had been staring at a map for twenty minutes.

“reid.” you say, catching his attention. he doesn’t look up, but you can tell that your voice startled him slightly.

“hmm?” he says, annoyance lacing his tone. you roll your eyes. he had been an absolute dick to you since day one. the whole team had described him as a saint, yet, you couldn’t see it. yes, he was attractive, but that didn’t distract from how hateful he was towards you. plus, you had been nothing but nice to him when you first met him, doing nothing to get on his bad side.

“did you make a connection between the locations?” you ask curtly. he huffs. “i don’t see you doing anything helpful.” he snaps, finally looking up from his map to glare at you.

“spence,” jj begins, joining the conversation unknowingly. “any connections?” he smiles and turns to face her, like you hadn’t just asked the same question.

“the one common location that overlaps with all the crime scenes and significant places in jeffery’s life is the ‘night owl’, a local night club.” reid says, smirking at you when he finishes his sentence like a teenager. you scoff.

emily gives them a look that says “act professional please”.

“we have no idea what he looks like, we only know bits and pieces of his life that garcia could dig up, how are we going to catch him?” matt asks, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, a coffee in hand.

“i could go undercover,” you begin with a shrug. “most of the girls he abducted have been around my age and have my same features.” emily nods in agreement.

“one issue.” rossi says. “the unsub has always abducted women on dates.” you nod. that’s true.

“i could go with you.” matt says, standing up straight and taking a sip of his coffee. you open your mouth to thank him but emily cuts you off.

“no offense simmons, but what if we sent in reid instead? he closer matches y/n’s age and resembles the victims boyfriends more closely.”

spencer opens his mouth to protest but tara cuts him off with a smile. “great idea, you guys should leave in an hour or so, you better start getting ready.”

you watch as reid fights the urge to say something rude, but is quickly whisked away by emily.

jj helps you get ready in another conference room of the precinct, dressing you like the average clubber.

your outfit is a small, tight, red mini dress, with matching heels and accessories. you had to admit, you looked good. you found yourself wondering what they had put reid in and whether he would find you attractive in this tight dress.

“you look amazing.” a voice breaks you out of your trance as you’re putting in an ear piece. you smile, turning to face emily.

“thank you.” you say softly, using your hands to smooth out your dress. “i think i’m ready.” you add, slightly nervous. emily reassures you that you will do great and asks you to follow her outside.

that’s where you’re met with spencer reid. he looks unfortunately handsome, hot even, wearing the most casual “spencer outfit” you have ever seen: corduroy pants, converse, and a white button down. the white button down was sheer linen (very beachy) and allowed you to barely see his chest. you quickly remind yourself that he is in fact a dick, hoping that will somehow make him less attractive.

you watch as his eyes wander your body. emily seems to notice and clears her throat.

“you guys gotta get going.” she breathes out a smirk on her face.

reid walks over to the side of the car. you smile slightly as he opens the door, your smile fading as he slides in alone slamming the door behind him.

“petty bitch.” you mutter. your heels angrily clicking against the asphalt as you walk to the other side of the suv, ripping open the door and sliding in with your arms crossed. you slam the door behind yourself, eyes glaring into the side of reid’s face.

“look,” you begin, your tone angry. “if this is going to work you need to at least try to pretend not to be a fucking asshole.” he scoffs, turning to face you.

“watch your tone.” he says lowly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. your arms are still crossed and you watch as spencer’s eyes go from your face to your tits, then back up again.

you remind yourself that indeed, he's just a man. he may be a genius but behind that, he’s simply just a man with needs. you were going to make tonight hell for him.

you smirk, eyes glaring into his. “do your fucking job and i just might comply, doctor.”

he turns his head away from you, staring out the window, a new type of tension in the air.

“can you guys hear me?” jj says through you ear pieces. “yeah.” reid says, you can hear how angry he is, just through one word.

the team gives you both a rundown and reminds you both of your parts.

“…remember you’re a couple!” garcia reminds you. the team agrees loudly on the line. “yeah,” alvez says. “pretend to like each other for one night.”

“we’ll try, alvez.” you reply as the suv pulls up in front of the busy nightclub.

you look over at reid. “open my damn door and look like you fucking mean it.” you say through gritted teeth. he doesn’t respond as he steps out of the car, shutting his door quietly and makes his way over to your side of the car. he opens your door with a fake smile on his face, putting out his hand for you to grab. you get out of the car, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“grab my waist.” you demand. he huffs under his breath, reaching his large hand to rest on your waist. he leans in to whisper back. “you will not dictate this night. i have over ten more years of experience than you, on this team. you do not get to boss me around, y/l/n.” he says through gritted teeth, pulling away from your ear with a fake smile on his face. you don’t have time to respond as he says; “let’s go, baby.”

the nickname hits you like a brick, especially the way it comes out of his mouth so effortlessly. in an attempt to control your composure, you smile and lean against him as he rubs his hand lovingly across your waist.

you both enter the night club, the mix of bright lights and darkness temporarily blinds you as you grip onto spencer for support.

“don’t respond, but we see you’ve made it inside. go grab a drink from the bar then hit the dance floor.” emily orders. spencer nods, leading you towards the busy bar.

as you approach the bar, the bartender asks what you both want. “i’ll have a club soda with lime.” spencer says, turning his head to look down at you. “what do you want, baby?” he asks, rubbing circles on your waist softly. you smile back up at him pretending like you don’t want to kill him and subtly dig your ass into his crotch. he sucks in a breath.

“i’ll have a vodka soda.” you say with a sweet smile on your face. the bartender nods going to make the drinks.

you look back at spencer, his jaw clenched and his breathing heavy. you set your phone down on the bar and “accidentally” knock it off of the counter.

“oops!” you say dryly, bending down to pick it up, your ass now rubbing against his crotch. you subtly feel something twitch in his pants.

“y/n.” he warns you. you nod innocently. “hmm?” you hum. he moves his hand from your waist. you look back at him to silently scold him, but he quickly uses both hands to push you away from his crotch. he slides his hands down your waist, to your ass, then pulls down your dress in one quick motion. a man standing to his left begins complaining loudly about how he can no longer see your "fattie". you almost thank him, then remember that its fucking spencer you're dealing with.

he doesn’t say anything and simply hands you your drink, leading you away from the bar and the creepy men, to a nearby table.

you bite your lip to hold back hateful words that dare to spill out. you stand in silence, spencer sipping his drink while you chug yours.

"you look miserable." emily says in your ears. "do something." she adds.

"wanna dance, pretty boy?" you ask him, the nickname falling from your mouth accidentally. you pretend like it was on purpose as spencer looks up from his drink, slightly stuttering over his response.

"y-yeah, yeah." he repeats, regaining his composure. he grabs your hand and leads you towards the crowd of sweaty people dancing, only looking back once to make sure you were still there

spencer scans the crowd as he pulls you into his chest harshly.

"i'm not just some doll you can throw around, reid." you yell over the music, sick of his bullshit. he looks you in the eyes and shrugs.

as the song changes, couples around you begin to make out.

"kiss me, reid." you say, realizing the awkward dancing in a crowd of horny couples would defer the unsub's attention. spencer doesn't seem to hear you. "reid." you repeat, his eyes still scanning the room. "spencer." you say, the first time you've ever said his first name to him. this catches his attention. his gaze finally falls to you, his frame towering over yours as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"i need you to kiss me, spencer."

the usually dick-ish man makes no cocky response. instead, he simply tips his head down capturing your lips in a kiss. the kiss is awkward at first, but quickly turns heated as you press your body against his. his hands, which were loosely on your waist move downward, rubbing circles on your ass and somehow moving you closer to him.

you run your hands through his hair, feeling him moan softly into your mouth. his sweet noises immediately go straight to your now-wet-core. you break the kiss for a second, to catch your breath, your faces still inches apart.

spencer's pupils are blown, his hair is messy, and his lips slightly swollen, tinted red from your lipstick. fuck, you want to devour him.

spencer quickly resumes the kiss, this time you don't have to ask. you easily feel how hard he is already, with his cock pressed against your leg.

you groan softly as you push your tongue into his mouth, eliciting more sweet noises from the handsome man.

"nice job guys, we have a suspect at 3 o'clock." emily says into our ears, reminding us that we aren't alone.

“let’s go somewhere more secluded.” spencer whispers, his breath hot on your cheek. he wants to lure the unsub out. you nod, waiting for him to move. instead his hands are still on your ass, his eyes on you, like he’s taking a mental picture.

“pretty boy.” you say almost inaudibly. “let’s go.” he spins you around so you’re in front now, able to maneuver your way out of the crowd. one of his hands rests on the small of your back protectively as you head towards the back corner of the club, a stark contrast to the way he was treating you less than 10 minutes ago.

“the hypothetical unsub’s eyes are still on you guys but he hasn’t moved, we can’t seem to see his face on camera. you need to get him to move closer.” jj announces in your ears.

“she’s telling us to kiss again.” you whisper. he nods, placing his large hand on your cheek and swiping his thumb across your lips. you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into kiss him. he picks you up slightly, just enough to allow you to sit on him as he takes a seat on a random couch.

as he moves from kissing your lips to your jaw and neck, you instinctively begin rocking your hips against his, feeling how hard he is under you.

he groans softly against your neck, his kisses becoming sloppier.

“y/n.” his tone desperate, the use of your first name alarming. “if you keep going i might not be able to maintain professionalism.”

you bite your lip excitedly. “do you want me to stop then, spencer?” his eyes stare into yours, his hands on your hips.

“no.” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him and kissing you again. he moves his hands upwards as his lips move downwards, slowly leaving kisses and rubbing your now-visible nipples through the thin fabric for your dress. you suck in a breath at the new sensation, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

“the unsub moved into the light, it’s jeffery. sending alvez and rossi in now to apprehend him. you guys can stand down, nice work.” emily says, startling them slightly. you pull away from spencer, your underwear undeniably wet and your cunt begging for attention. you awkwardly remove yourself from his lap, sitting next to him on the sofa, noticing that in fact he was hard, an outline of his dick highlighted in the odd club lighting. he squirms in his seat slightly, obviously trying to readjust.

“y/n,” he says, noticing your eyes on him. you hum in response, your eyes moving from his cock to his face. “bathroom.” he says simply.

he doesn’t give you an opportunity to respond, simply getting up and leaving the room. you wait for a few seconds, processing his words and attempting to wrap your head around the fact that an hour ago you hated this man and now you were dying for him to fuck you.

a few minutes pass and you make your way to the bathroom where you don’t even knock, you simply walk in. spencer is there waiting. immediately as you enter the bathroom, he locks it, then attached his lips to yours. you moan softly into the kiss, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. he, however, seems to as other plans as he sets you down on the sink and lowers himself between your legs.

he leaves soft kisses up your thighs, your legs now thrown over his shoulders. “spencer,” you beg, his lips dangerously close to your cunt. “please.”

he smiles as you beg, hooking his finger on your underwear and pulling them down your legs roughly. he lowers his head farther in between your legs, licking a slow stripe down your cunt, causing you to squeeze your legs around his head and moan.

hearing your reaction, spencer moans softly against your pussy, the vibrations making you gasp.

unfortunately the club music had been turned off and if anyone were to walk by, they would probably hear you making sounds. you cover your mouth with your hand to make sure you guys don’t get caught.

he moves his tongue farther into you, the sound of his mouth on your soaking wet cunt making lewd sounds that fill the small bathroom.

you moan into your hand, bucking your hips against his face.

he pulls his mouth away from you and without skipping a beat he inserts one of his large fingers into you, grinding his crotch against the edge of the sink to get himself off.

you open your mouth to tease him but he interrupts you by adding another finger into your pussy. you can’t help but moan loudly, feeling your walls clench around his fingers.

“so good for me.” he says breathlessly, his fingers’ pace rough inside you and his hips fast against the sink counter.

“spencer,” you say in between ragged breaths. “i’m so close!” he smiles at your words, removing his fingers from your pussy with a pop.

you groan softly, hating the feeling of emptiness.

“spencer.” you warn, sitting up to get a good look at him. he has a look in his eye, a smirk on his face.

“what’s up?” he says nonchalantly, licking you off his lips and his fingers. you ask yourself how he can be so calm when he was literally just finger fucking you and eating you out. his cock is still dangerously hard, a spot of pre-cum on his cute little pants. you catch yourself imagining how big he is.

“fine.” you huff, seeing how he didn’t seem like he wanted you to finish. you insert your own fingers into your swollen cunt, pumping them inside yourself like spencer had been only a minute ago.

you over exaggerate your moans watching as spencer begins to rub himself through his now tight pants.

“i’m not going to beg you, pretty boy, but i need your cock inside of me right now.” he smirks at your words, making his way back over to you, hands moving to your face, kissing you passionately.

“i’m pretty sure that was begging, y/n.” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, beginning to unbutton his pants.

however, loud knocks interrupt him. "spencer?? are you in there??" emily's familiar voice, fills the room.

"uh, yeah! i'll be out in a second!" he says, beginning to re-button his pants, his cock still visibly hard. emily says something inaudible from the other side of the door then walks away. you lean forward on the sink counter, resting your head on spencer's shoulder, his arms wrapping around you.

after a second of peace, you hop of the counter in an attempt to fix your appearance, sliding back on your awkwardly soaked underwear.

"can we please finish this later?" spencer speaks up, catching you off guard. you smile, your brain still processing the fact that an hour ago you wanted to kill this man.

"yes, please."

part 2 :)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #bau #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fandom #part one #smut #enemies to lovers #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spenceobsessed

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evyltalks · 8 months

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My giiiiirls

#marauders #marauders fanart #art #fanart #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #mary mcdonald #lily evans #marlene mckinnon fanart #dorcas meadows fanart #mary macdonald fanart #lily evans fanart #gorgeous women #I love them #part one

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

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Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!Reader: Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

A/N: I was in the mood for a writing a heated argument that turns into an even hotter make-out session, but then it got slightly depressing so…

Warning: slight angst but not much because I can’t take that emotionally :’)

-Part 2[*]-

“How was she today?”

You fight the urge to clench your jaw. The harsh snapping of your book is the limit to how far you’ll allow the leash on your anger to slip. Jealousy? Frustration? Whatever complicated nonsense he’s gotten you tangled up in.

“No hello? What about a how are you today?” You ask tersely. So much for keeping your emotions on a tight leash. His brow narrows a little—you don’t usually bubble over when he asks how your older sister is doing. “You weren’t practically bed-ridden for months,” he replies slowly, gauging your response carefully.

Instantly, guilt weighs in the pit of your stomach, and you look away quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you soothe hastily. Gods, why did you say that to him? You’re trying to gain his favour, not make him think you’re an ungrateful, self-absorbed sister. “She was fine. We did some baking—well, Elain did some baking, I was reading something. It’s a new book, actually! Because I finished the last one, which was actually pretty good, but this one I think is set in the last war and…” you trail off when you notice the patient smile he’s giving you.

Right. He’s not interested in what book you’re reading, or how you spent the day. He’s not interested in you full stop. He’s interested in Elain. You fight the way disappointment wants to twist the edges of your mouth, instead plastering on a smile that you hope he reads as oops, look at me! There I go again, haha.

“Well,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat, “she made some cupcakes—I think they were vanilla, and she put something that looked like jam inside. Really good. I’m sure she’d be happy for you to try one—if you ask,” you smile, adding in the details he wants to hear. For the Spymaster, he’s surprisingly open about his interest in Elain to you. But maybe that’s because you’re always so willing to answer any question you can for him.

“I’m glad,” he says, something glimmering in his hazel eyes. “And there were no silent spots? No abrupt changes?” You return your attention to the book in your hands, fingers running over the bound edges, “she was fine all the way. You never would have guessed everything she’s been through.” He hums, pleased with her progress. It’s a sound of contentment, from the back of his throat that you’re certain rumbles throughout his chest. It’s an effort to keep your attention on the book.

It’s been more than two years since the three of you were tossed into the Cauldron. Feyre and Rhysand are happy, Nesta’s made progress on healing herself and is now alarming in love with Cassian, Elain’s taking large steps in a good direction, too. You remember vividly the time when she would hardly utter a word for days, hardly shift her gaze from a strange spot in the middle-distance, how worried she made you and Nesta. And Feyre, obviously, but things were a little…strange at the time. They always had been.

You spent the first few months struggling to hold a meal down, often being wracked with spasms of anxiety and flushes of hot and cold. There was a time you would black out if you stood up too fast, and now you can hold down three meals a day without needing to run to the nearest latrine provided you don’t eat too quickly. You feel like yourself again, but fresher. You know you aren’t the same as you were, though. Not after the Cauldron, but you had no choice but to adapt. With eternity ahead of you, you couldn’t stand the thought of spending it weakened and frail—hardly capable of standing without feeling dizzy.

Maybe you are a little jealous that Elain’s getting all the attention. She’d always been the centre of Nesta’s attention, and while you were on fairly good terms with your oldest sister throughout your childhood, you were no competition for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. Feyre was the wild one, Elain the pretty one, Nesta the cunning one—then there was you.

What’s your place in your dysfunctional family?

“It’s good she seems to be steadily improving,” Azriel says, breaking you from your inner thoughts. You nod dutifully, agreeing with him. “She smiled for most of it, too,” you add, remembering how pleased she’d been when they came out how she wanted—after numerous attempts. “Though she was covered in flour—her hair was practically white!” You laugh fondly, covering your mouth with your hand.

A faint smile appears on his lips and, for just a moment, you let yourself pretend he’s smiling at the sound of your laugh.

But that’s all you have to report back to him, and even if you’ve pleased him, he’ll be finding an excuse to slip off now that he knows she’s been fine. You’ll admit, it’s difficult to remember she’s your sister when he so clearly would choose her over you. It’s not even a competition.

So you swallow your nerves, tuck your hands behind your back and peer up at him. “Hey, you read right?” You ask, keeping a pleasant smile on your lips—lest he think you’re too eager. He blinks out of whatever thought he was having, clearing his gaze as he looks down at you, then nods. “I’ve been known to pick up a book from time to time,” he answers. He’s in a good mood, it seems.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask, tipping your head at a slight angle, appearing to look at the books stacked on the shelves. “I feel like I’ve been rereading the same story over and over again and want to try something else.”

“You’re asking me to pick just one?” He replies, quirking his brow. The smile that comes to your mouth isn’t as fake, or as controlled as you would like—it stretches your lips thin, showing the gaps either side of the top row of your teeth.

“Okay, give me a couple to have a nose at. So if one bores me to tears, I can pick up another,” you laugh gently, pulling the book tight to your chest, worried you’re showing too much. Does he know how your days often centre around whether he’ll seek you out? The too-short conversations that often revolve around your sister?

“Does Elain read?” He asks, tentatively, and it’s like a stone to your cheek. You clutch the book tighter to your chest, taking in a slow, quiet breath. “I can ask her? Subtly, of course,” you force a smile, fingers digging into the spine of the book. He shakes his head, “I’ll do it. I’d like to see how she’s doing for myself.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “to be fair, she might be sick of them for how long she was in here last year. They might be an eyesore by now,” you laugh softly. But instead he frowns disapprovingly, like you shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense. And suddenly that urge appears, the urge to confront him about his behaviour—why he never talks to you for you.

“Azriel…?” You say, the smile slipping from your lips, though your make sure your eyes still sparkle a little, keeping them partially crinkled. But then you bite the inside of your lip, and the rest of the mask fades, leaving you raw, and more than a bit scared. If you overthink it, it’ll never get done.

“Why do you…I don’t feel like you ever…like we ever talk. Us,” you say, then flush at the word—so intimate. Us. “What do you mean?” He asks, standing sturdy before you. A seed of frustration sprouts within, but you push the irritation away. “I just…You’re always asking me about Elain.” His brow narrows a bit, and you want to take the words back.

“What else?”

You look up at him, all beauty and classical grace, and such unearthly, ethereal lines and angles to him you wish you knew how to paint like Feyre. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?” You ask, a little hurt.

“I mean, is there something else you want to talk about?” He asks, gently. Carefully.

My book would be nice. I’d like you to ask how I’m doing today, how I’m feeling, what I want to do.

“Something that doesn’t involve my sister, would be nice,” you laugh, giving him a smile that reads, can you really blame me for not wanting to talk about Elain all the time? He doesn’t smile like you’d hoped, but frowns. “Do you not like her?” He asks instead, “did something happen between you two?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “No—nothing happened, we’re fine. Right as rain. It’s just…you always ask after her, and I feel like that’s the only reason you approach me.” You swallow, having begin to put the truth out there for him. “You seem fine talking about other things with Feyre and Nesta, but I can’t remember the last time we talked about something that wasn’t my sister, and I… I don’t really…” You trail off, watching him nervously.

His frown only deepens as he takes you in. “I’m asking out of concern for her well-being, you understand that, don’t you?” He asks.

“I know, I know, but…are you?” You reply, managing to reign in your wince at the blunt question. When he only looks at you without response, you push forward. “I mean, you…you like her, don’t you? That’s why you ask all these questions? Why you care more than the others do?” You say, fighting to keep your voice even as the words come out. “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly amend, “but, you know, it would be nice to talk to you for you. And you for me. And, you know, she does have a…mate, so, I just thought—”

“What did you think?”

You blink at the sharp tone, his eyes colder than before, more sealed off. Still, you square your shoulders, keeping the book tucked tight against your front. “Well, that, maybe, it would be better to try somewhere else? Instead of investing in someone who’s practically already taken?”

“She doesn’t love him.”

“I know she says that, but—”

“But nothing,” he says, brow narrowing. “The mating bond can’t force someone to fall in love. If she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t have to have him.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet beneath his penetrating gaze. “Feyre and Rhys worked out,” you manage, eyes flitting away from his, focusing on the book in your hands. “And she didn’t love him at first.” The paper’s old and crisp—worn with age. “Then Nesta and Cassian also got together, too,” you add, the pads of your fingers dragging over the pages, “and you saw what Nesta was like. How badly she was struggling. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere but destruction, but—”

“Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?”

Again you blink at him, caught off guard by the ice in his tone. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to pursue her, Azriel,” you appease—try to. “I’m just saying maybe you could try looking…elsewhere, you know? Maybe try something with someone else? That won’t end badly?”

“You don’t know it will end badly,” he replies, all former warmth gone, no trace of it in his beautifully designed features. “It will for someone. Even if you and Elain do somehow end up together, what about Lucien? If it were Feyre and Rhys, or Nesta and Cass, would you think it okay for someone to try and separate them? When they were chosen to be together?”

“Bad pairings happen. Rhys’ parents are a fine example.”

“Yes, but they’re rather suited for one another, don’t you think?” You ask, pushing forward, “Elain’s always excelled at social events. She easily settles into the flow of conversation—she knows what to say, and how to act to put people at ease around her. And Lucien does the same. He knows how to draw ties between people where there seem to be none, just like her. He knows how to keep conversation flowing without pushing it, how to keep things at the right pace, just like her.”

“While you…” you pause, and his jaw tightens.

“Go on,” he says icily, “tell me why think I’m undeserving of her.”

“I don’t think its a case of deserving, Azriel,” you say quickly. “But you…well, you try to blend into any corner you can when there are more than three people in the room.”

His brow narrows, “I didn’t realise you’d been keeping tabs on me.”

“Yes, well, you’re the only one I’m interested in, so.” Your voice is soft, bladed, honed. Resigned. You lips press into a thin line as your eyes flicker away from his, too embarrassed to look even in his general vicinity. You had never anticipated laying your heart to bare to be so…scary? Terrifying?

Anti-climactic.

Admitted in such a quiet, understated way. As if he isn’t the first one you’ve ever felt so strongly for. As if he isn’t the first one who’s given you a vague understanding of why some women were so happy to do whatever their husbands told them. Why they were so happy to live in subservience, and why that’s not what it was.

“You think you’re deserving of me?” He asks, coldly. Shame and embarrassment heat your features, but you manage to shoot back, “do you think you’re deserving of her?” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to prevent yourself from being intimidated by his height, and muscle, and beauty, and overall damned attractiveness that makes you weak in the knees.

His upper lip twitches in a repressed snarl, anxiety spiking in your chest. “Answer my question,” he says, softly, an edge to his voice. You swallow, “answer mine.” You’ve never demanded something from someone before, but it’s out there now, and it feels surprisingly good to insist on something for yourself.

He regards you silently, and it takes a remarkable strength to stand still beneath his icy gaze—knowing that he’s judging what he’s seeing. Weighing if you’re worth his answer.

“I think I gave a hint of my interest for her,” he says, eyes glittering with something cold that you’re unaccustomed to have turned on yourself. “And she reciprocated with her own signs.” He stares you down, unyielding, and powerful, and you want to run and hide. “What about you?”

You purse your lips to keep them from trembling as heat crawls beneath your skin with humiliation. But—no. Get over it. Make it through. Survive something else. “I think I’m tired, and hurt from knowing that you only talk to me because you want to know how my sister is doing,” you confess, voice wobbling. “I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.”

There’s no bite to your words, and they come out softer and weaker than you had expected. You feel tired, and drained. Eyelids heavy and heart rate spiking every other beat, numerous crescent shaped indentations on the heel of your palms.

“Maybe you’d be better off turning your affections somewhere they’d be appreciated,” he says, icily. Your heart aches, and it takes a few humiliating moments for you to gather yourself enough that you won’t burst into tears when you again find your voice. “That’s all you have to say?” You manage, fingers trembling behind your back.

“Maybe if you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest,” he snarls softly, eyes glittering with cold rage.

It feels like a smack to the face, a punch to your stomach. Your eyes go wide, then blur, hot pressure building steadily. You dig your nails into the binding of your book, and move to walk past him—at least preserve what little dignity is still intact by refusing to let him see you cry. He already barely sees you as a woman, you won’t win any points with your blubbering. He wants a female, not a girl.

But he seems to realise what he’s said and turns, gripping your upper arm to keep you from leaving. You allow him to stop you, if only because demanding he let you go would show your tears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly, and you can hear the pity in his voice. “I spoke in anger, I did not mean to upset—”

“Get those hands off me,” you snarl, turning on him with defensive ire blazing in your pupils. Rage fresh from the forges.

He recoils as if you burned him. Retreats a step.

“Not nice, is it? Targeting someone’s insecurity—rubbing salt into an open wound?” You snap, blinking away the tears and pulling your arm back to yourself. “Don’t come asking me for updates on Elain again. I don’t want to talk to you if your only interest is in getting between her legs.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you debate just running from the library—you can feel the storm in him brewing, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him. But he doesn’t wait for you to decide, because the storm breaks right then and there. “At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed,” he says softly, hazel piercing into you. “Can you say the same?”

Mortification flushes your skin, mouth parting in humiliation. “I—…This is inappropriate,” you hiss to hide your burning shame. Because no, it’s always been Elain and Nesta to be pursued. His eyes gleam, reading your thoughts clear as day in your expression. “Thought not.”

Pain twists viciously across your chest, heart strings being plucked within an inch of snapping—pulled taught around your throat. “If I’ve never taken a man to bed, it is not because I am unwanted. Rather that I would not waste my self nor my time on someone I was not sure about. That I did not want with everything I have,” you whisper hoarsely—the final layer stripped bare for him to slice and dissect.

But then he steps forward, and without thinking, you yield a step. He’s not perturbed, and takes another. “You admit you have no experience in bed, yet think you could handle me?” He snarls softly, wings flaring ever so slightly at his back, shadows thickening. “I don’t think it’s a matter of handling you, Azriel.” His name is a little more than a whisper from your mouth. One he tracks eagerly.

“No?” He asks, stepping forward again, slowly herding you. “Then what?” You swallow, trying to stand your ground, but the sense of him is so overpowering, he threatens to obliterate every ounce of your own self. “I think it would be a matter of learning. And if you think I’m unprepared, then Elain is definitely no better off, so that clearly isn’t your issue.”

“At least she’s shared the bed of a man before, at least she would know what to do.” You don’t correct him that you have, in fact, shared a bed with a male before. A few in fact, by this point. Nesta’s the bad influence. He steps forward again, and he’s towering over you, hazel glittering between his shadows. “At least she wouldn’t lose her head over the slightest touch.”

And then his hands have landed softly on your hips, and your head is silent. Only his touch on your body, his warmth on your skin, seeping into your clothes. Does he find your shape pleasing? Is he feeling this mind-numbing shock? The tingling at his fingertips where they’re pressing into you?

For a too-long moment you just stare at him, thoughts eddying about without a destination, floating throughout your conscious.

“Still in there?” He taunts quietly, pushing you back, turning you gently as he feels the heat radiating from your skin, the stiffness to your body beneath his touch. It’s only when a hard, wooden shelf digs into the base of your spine that you realise he’s pushed you against the case. You open your mouth—to say what, you don’t know. He beats you to it either way. “You want to prove you haven’t already lost your mind?” He says softly, voice like a lover’s touch. You can do nothing but stare at him, panting softly, completely at his mercy. “Tell me to stop, or I’ll keep going. Say no, and it finishes,” he murmurs, keeping you pressed tight between his hips and the book case. “But I think you’ve already lost.”

You blink up at him, hardly a thought behind your eyes.

In the back of your mind, you’re struggling frantically to decode his words, translate them into something that makes sense. And then his challenge clicks, and you take a sudden, deep breath. You need to tell him to stop, to show him you’re still in control of yourself—that you haven’t lost your head over the slightest touch.

But then his mouth latches over yours, tongue prying your lips apart, and your efforts of rebellion are washed away. You go all warm, and soft, and pliable in his hands, melting like butter as you coat him. His piercing hazel eyes lock with yours as his mouth slants, one hand rising to the curve of your spine, pulling you against his front.

How are you supposed to stand against him when he annihilates everything that you are with the softest brush of his fingers—fingers that are now tracing up the path of your spine, reaching that final notch as they tangle with delicious pressure in your hair. His gaze cuts into you as his tongue drags across your own, flicking at the roof of your mouth.

He’s utterly unruffled, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting into flame right there, setting him ablaze in the process.

But then you’re again subverting his expectations, your hands flying over his shoulders as you tilt your head to allow him deeper. The only sign of surprise he allows is a blink of his eyes, but you’re already lifting onto your tiptoes—the swell of your breasts dragging over his chest in a way you must’ve learned males like. But where would you have learned?

Your arms tighten, then your hips are pressing against him, and—you’re fighting back, he realises. And for the first time in a long, long time, he feels excitement flare deep inside him as you stride to meet him. No matter that you aren’t Elain: he’s hungry, and you can make your own decisions. If you want him to stop, you need only say the word, and he’ll be off you. But if you don’t…well, he’s not going to be the one who chickens out first.

He has a damn point to prove—that you have no idea what you’re getting into with him.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #shadowsinger #Azriel angst #Azriel x Archeron sibling #part one #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

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camojacketfag · 5 months

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the midwest on film

#part one #winters bone #american honey #sharp objects #film #midwest #midwest gothic

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semiweirdshipper · 6 months

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Slashers as fathers with a child reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is less than ten years old (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART ONE.

Freddy Krueger

It felt like he had been a completely different person when he did it. Work had been stressing him out, parts of the house needed fixing, and he was a single parent. He wasn't getting enough rest. Eventually every little thing began to get to him.

Freddy hadn't been in his right mind when it happened. You loved making pictures for him, and one day you decided to nail some pictures on the wall by yourself. Not only had you nailed the pictures too low, but you had also accidentally made a large hole in the wall.

The incident had caused Freddy to explode. Not only did he yell at you for ruining the wall, but he ended up tearing one of your pictures in half. "I don't need this shit," He had shouted at you, "You think I feel like dealing with that? You ruined my wall, (y/n), and now I gotta fix it. I just- I can't... Ugh."

Freddy had avoided you for the remainder of the night- not because he was mad at you but because he was afraid he 'would' get mad at you again. It was a bad idea. He should have apologized for the way he acted. Because the next day when he woke up and went into his office, he noticed that every picture you had drawn him had been torn from the nails on the wall, shredded up and shoved in the trash.

Horror, heartache and regret immediately consumed his guilty conscience, and he rushed to find you. You were in your room playing with toys. It nearly destroyed him to see the way you flinched and scurried to hide behind a laundry basket.

"(y/n)," Freddy went to kneel in front of you, "Sweetie, what did you do? Why did you tear up daddy's pictures?"

"Because," You whimpered, keeping your teary face hidden, "You said you didn't need them. You... You tore it in half. I... I'm sorry, daddy. Hic... I-I-I'm sorry th-that I-I made a hole in the wall, an-and I'm sorry th-that you h-h-hate my pictures."

The amount of sadness, regret and complete and utter crushing guilt that fell upon Freddy was suffocating. Hearing your broken apology and seeing the way you were shaking caused him to be so disappointed with himself. He couldn't believe what he had done. Why did he do that? He would never do anything to cause you to feel this way, and he 'loved' your pictures.

And yet look what he caused. Not only did he hurt your feelings by being cruel, but he lost all of his near and dear pictures- even the ones you made when you were a toddler. They were all destroyed.

"I-I'll never color again," You swore in a loud whine.

"Oh no, sweetie, no," Freddy attempted to get closer to you, frowning heavily when you flinched at his touch, "Please don't do that. Listen- hey, look at me. I need you to look at me."

And when you did look at him, Freddy felt like punching himself in the face. You looked so scared, so sad and unbearably hurt. Oh gosh, what had he done? Why?

"Oh (y/n)..." Freddy sighed, shaking his head, "I'm so sorry. Yesterday I... I was just in such a bad mood an-and not because of you but because.... Look, (y/n), daddy didn't mean to act the way he did, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I yelled at you and I'm especially sorry that I did that to your picture. I regret it so much, you have no idea. Please... I'm sorry. I 'love' your pictures (y/n), please don't stop making them."

As Freddy eagerly waited for a brightened response from you, his heart sunk from his chest when you turned your back to him and quietly mumbled, "I wanna play with my toys please."

Excuses and more apologies sat on Freddy's tongue, but he denied saying them for he believed that you simply needed time to forgive him. "Ok sweetie," He got up to leave, "If you need anything, come get daddy, ok?"

"Ok, daddy."

While, over time, you did warm back up to your father, you never did say that you forgave him. And Freddy never got another picture. And he would never, ever stop regretting what he had done.

Michael Myers

Michael was overwhelmed by the frustration work caused. Due to lack of loyal employees, he was forced to work over-time and pull extra shifts. He was sore, tired and angry. It felt like he was the only person at work who ever did anything right.

And that anger built and built until it eventually brought out the worst in him and made him do something that he would regret for the rest of his life.

You loved (sport) and had been outside practicing with some of the neighbors. Michael had been inside attempting to relax when suddenly one of the living room windows shattered. He flinched and rushed to his feet, red clouding his vision when he saw a familiar ball on the floor.

On his way to the door, you ran inside breathless and gasping, "Ah! I'm sorry, daddy, it's my fault. I-I accidentally threw the ball too hard and-"

Michael, with his emotional bridge broken, raised his hand to cut you off. A seething scowl took place upon his face, and he began to lecture you out in sign language. "I don't wanna hear excuses. Why were you playing so close to the house? You should know better. Now look at what I have to fix. All I want is to relax and now I can't because of your stupid (sport). Why do you even play (sport)? You're not even good at it."

Even though his words were literally silent, the crushed look on your face explained that you knew exactly what he had said. Michael ignored your crestfallen face and quiet sobs and demanded that you help him clean up the glass before sending you to your room. Yes, your friends had watched the whole thing.

Michael's seething attitude didn't diminish until the next day after he got some good sleep. He soon realized that he felt bad for how he treated you yesterday and decided that he wanted to apologize. But when he went to your room, he was stricken to see all of your favorite sports gear sitting in a trashcan. (sport) merchandise and even pictures you drew were also in the trashcan.

Overcome with concern, Michael wandered to your bed where you were hiding underneath your blanket. When he tapped on you, you twitched but otherwise kept pretending to be asleep. So he tried again.

You caved and lowered the blanket. Michael didn't like the way you winced at him, your eyes squinted as if you were expecting the worst out of him. He quickly used sign language to ask, "What is going on? Why are you throwing all your (sport) stuff away?"

"I..." Your voice was hesitant and quiet as you gazed away, "I don't like (sport) anymore. I... I-I'm not good at it, an-and you h-hate me playing it, an-and I'm sorry that I broke the window... I'm sorry, daddy. I promise-huh... I-I-I'll never play (sport) again."

What? Michael's eyes nearly popped out, regret, guilt and fear clouding his soul. Oh no. What had he done? You didn't like (sport) anymore? And all because he had overreacted and told you that you weren't any good at it. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It couldn't be like this. You couldn't stop doing what you loved all because he was stupid and having a bad day.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, Michael quickly explained with sign language, "But you are good at (sport). Don't quit. I was having a bad day, I didn't mean to say that stuff. You don't have to quit. I'm sorry that I said that. Don't quit playing (sport), you love it."

Your lips wobbled and you turned your head away, your voice a broken whisper, "Ca-an I sleep some more before school. Please?"

Your lack of an answer both irritated Michael and broke his heart. He became angry at himself and regretful about what he had done. He wanted to talk to you more about it, but decided not to. Hopefully you would think about his apology and take all of your (sport) stuff out of the trash.

But, unfortunately for Michael, you never did get back into (sport), and he never got to stop feeling guilty about it.

Bo Sinclair + Uncle Vincent and Lester

Bo could admit that, on the surface, he had a very fragile temper. Ever since he had you he had tried his hardest to hide all the ugly parts of himself, especially his anger. Any time he began to lose his temper, he usually stomped off somewhere by himself to maybe punch something and take a moment to breathe.

So far he had done a fairly decent job.

Up until today that was.

It had been a long week. It was summer. Tourists were pouring in at random needing fast work done to their vehicles. The gas station and church needed extra attention. It was hot outside. And, once again, Bo had a very fragile temper.

It happened when he was elbow deep in truck externals. Ever since you could walk you had always been his little helper. Already at your age your dream was to be an engineer, but you still had a lot to learn. And the fact that you had a lot to learn is what caused Bo to snap.

With the impatience of the person waiting on their vehicle to be fixed, Bo also became impatient. You had been trying to help him, bringing him tools he needed.

Whenever you brought him one too many of the wrong tools, he ended up throwing a wrench and his hat to the ground. "What is your fuckin' problem?" He shouted at you, "Are ya stupid? If ya can't bring me what I need then get the fuck outta here."

You had flinched, tears immediately filling your eyes as you carefully backed up. Bo continued to give you a serious, livid glare that scared you, his words ringing in your head and shattering your heart. He watched you run away, his chest pounding with guilt he ignored as he finished his work.

Bo didn't see you for the remainder of the day, but he did check in with Vincent to make sure that you were alright. As night fell, he became more calm and relaxed, and soon he felt absolutely horrible for how he treated you. He sat on his bench rubbing his forehead in distress for almost an hour wishing he could take it all back.

He had shown you one of his worst sides. And it had hurt you. Now what was he supposed to do? He called you 'stupid'.

Unfortunately for Bo, he didn't get a chance to apologize that night for Vincent soon brought him a note explaining that Lester had taken you home with him for the weekend. Gosh darn it. He really wanted to apologize.

But his apology had to wait for- not one week or two weeks- but a whole month. That's how badly you were trying to avoid him. It was more than enough time for Bo to sit and think about his mistakes.

When Lester finally brought you home, Bo was grateful that you didn't appear to be angry or sad. You rushed to him and gave him a big, welcoming hug that soothed his core, "Daddy!"

"Hey, critter bug," Bo chuckled, ruffling your hair, "Missed you. Guess what? Some ol' couple brought in a beat up station wagon. Needs fixin'. Wanna help?"

"No thank ya," You said casually, leaning away from him, "I don't wanna be a engineer anymore."

Bo's world stopped rotating. "What?" He gave you a stabbed look, "But ya love doin' that stuff?"

"Not anymore," Your voice turned into a lightly disappointed mumble.

Bo's mouth went completely dry. He didn't know what to do or say. All of this time apart he thought that you would have gotten over his temper tantrum, but apparently you 'really' got over it. He had been the boulder that crushed your dreams. And it...

It almost made him wanna cry.

Bo swallowed, trying not to seem too beaten down, "But... Who's gonna be my helper?"

You smiled and pointed to the man standing beside the truck, "Uncle Lester will."

"Right..." Bo nodded, his chest aching with guilt, self-hatred, regret and sadness, "Right."

You never helped him with another car again.

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal liked to believe that he was the ultimate best at keeping his temper under control. He never got mad at you or expressed any negative emotions towards you. If you needed to be taught a lesson, then he would sit with you and have a firm, constructive conversation about how you needed to improve.

Your bond was strong and healthy and it made Hannibal proud. You even took after him by wanting to be a professional cook. And Hannibal was ecstatic to help you carry that dream into reality.

But one day all of his pride, arrogance and content came to an end.

You had woken up before him that morning and had snuck to the kitchen to make him breakfast. However, things went south and you accidentally ended up breaking one of his rarest, most treasured dishes- a dish that was literally one of it's only kind on the whole planet. And it upset him.

"I-I'm sorry, daddy," You had apologized desperately, "I-I just thought since you liked the plate so much you would also like eating off of it. I didn't mean to break it!"

Hannibal, his heart racing and his nerves burning with anger, had said almost too vastly, "And what lead you to believe that I would enjoy such horrible cooking on my most treasured dish? You knew these pieces were not meant to be eaten off of, yet you disrespected me anyway."

"Horrible cooking?" You murmured.

Because Hannibal was hurt, he couldn't resist the urge to make you hurt as well. "Yes. You are an awful cook. Your presence in this kitchen has always been a waste of time."

The way your eyes widened with hurt and how your hands immediately flew to your chest would be a sight that haunted Hannibal for the rest of his life. Slowly your eyes closed and you began to cry, your hands going to cover your face as you ran away, a sobbed "I'm sorry" echoing through the hall.

Instead of feeling satisfied that he hurt your feelings as intended, Hannibal immediately felt remorseful and guilty. Goodness. He knew that you were young and didn't mean to break his plate. He just... He just treasured the dish so much and now it was ruined forever. He let his emotions get to him, and he hurt you in the process. While it was your fault, he didn't blame you. You were innocent and you just wanted to make him happy.

After he cleaned up his broken dish, Hannibal searched for you and found you snuggled up on the couch. He sat in front of you and spoke calmly, "I'm sorry for getting angry at you. It wasn't my intention. You were just trying to make me breakfast and wound up making a mistake. It happens to all of us."

"I'm sorry..." You whimpered, obviously still upset.

"It is alright," Hannibal reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder. "I'll get started on breakfast."

"Can I help?" You asked hopefully.

Hannibal gave you a hesitant grimace, "I think it would be best if you skipped helping me in the kitchen for today."

Instantly your eyes puffed red and turned watery. Hannibal left you alone to exhale your emotions. He knew that you would be upset for a while, but he too was also upset. He just needed some time is all.

But apparently he was wrong yet again.

After that day, you never helped Hannibal in the kitchen again. For weeks after the incident, you didn't even eat the food that he cooked. It was like you banned yourself from the kitchen entirely. He had tried to coax you into helping him, but you always found excuses not to.

Soon Hannibal learned that he had destroyed your passion for cooking by making you believe that you were a terrible chef. And he regretted it so much that it was nearly unbearable. Hannibal couldn't handle mistakes he couldn't fix.

And no matter how hard he tried, he knew that he could never mend your feelings that he severed.

In part two I planned to age up the reader and have them secretly doing their passion behind their dad's back. And the slasher will find out and be like "what, I thought you gave up on that! Holy sh*t, I'm so happy". And the reader will be pleasantly surprised.

#dead by daylight fanfiction #slasher fanfiction #slashers as dads #child reader #reader x hannibal lecter #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #platonic love only #no romantic relationships #father figure #part one

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huntmavs · 6 months

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mission: impossible dead reckoning part one (2023) is my favourite comedy film

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mysmuttyy · 6 months

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LISTEN; MATTHEO RIDDLE SMUT

stalker mattheo knows a lot about you, stuff nobody else knows.

MY BACK IS PRESSED AGAINST A TREE, thick book resting in the palm of my hands, pages flicking over in the wind. I haven’t been able to focus for the past five minutes, all I’ve done is stare out at the water, watching the leaves move with the wind.

The wind blows against me, fly aways falling into my eyes, repeatedly. I huff, tugging the strands behind my ears, but it’s no use.

I get close to getting up and leaving, but the sound of leaves crunching a little behind me steals my attention. Not many people know about the black lake, which is pretty odd because you’d expect the exact opposite, right?

My eyes focus on a tall figure, curly hair, muscular body. I can’t quite pinpoint who he is - til he gets closer, not noticing me under the big tree closest to the water.

I exhale a deep breath, about to get up and leave, again, but he steals my attention away. Slipping his black shirt over his head, tossing it by my feet.

His back muscles stare right at me and I can’t help but slam my thighs together, hoping he didn’t hear the slap of my skin. I breathe heavily, eyes wandering down his well toned figure.

Thick thighs stand out to me, sending wild thoughts running through my brain. A wet patch forms on the front of my lace panties, clit throbbing for him.

Mattheo Riddle, the dark lords son, someone they say is extremely dangerous. One they avoid in the halls, never daring to make eye contact with him. In my honest opinion, I think they’re over exaggerating. If he was a dangerous person, he would’ve done something by now and he hasn’t.

He keeps to himself and minds his business.

It kinda breaks my heart. He doesn’t have any friends, because people would rather judge him than get to know him. Stuck up rich kids with slyly torment him, trying to rile him up, but he ignores it.

“Are you done staring at me, y/n?” His deep voice speaks, making my stomach flutter with a flock of butterflies. That’s the first time I’ve heard him speak in two years.

The last time he spoke, he was apologising for getting in my way. If he was so dangerous, why would he apologise?

He clears his throat, pulling me out of my messy train of thoughts. “S-Sorry..Um, I’ll leave!” I exclaim, but he shakes his head at me, running his wet hand through his, now wet curls.

I push my thighs together once more, my face growing red at the way his stare makes me feel. “Did I say you had to leave?” He asks, raising his brows at me.

My heart beats even faster, so fast I fear it might pump out of my chest. “Well what do you want me to do?” I question, trying my best not to sound scared of him. It’s not that I’m scared of him, he’s just incredibly gorgeous and it makes me nervous.

Too nervous to speak.

“Take your shirt off.” He smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. My breath hitches, eyes widening at his words. His brown eyes stare into my blue ones, something glistening in them, something I can’t figure.

“My shirt?” I test, raising my brows, a smirk crossing over my face. He laughs, looking down at his chest. My body lifts, back no longer pressed against the painful back that was digging into my skin.

I slowly pull my shirt up, over my head, dropping it on top of his. He looks back up, face growing red when he looks at my cleavage. My smirk grows as I put my hands out, waiting for him to help my body into the water.

He takes my hands into his, turning me into liquid with just his touch. All of my confidence evaporates, on the spot, hairs that lie on the back of my neck sticking up. “T-Thank you.” I mumble, looking away from his gorgeous face.

Now that I’m in the water, the wetness of my arousal is easier to ignore. Mattheo and I’s hands are still touching, intertwined. The tension between us quickly grows, his eyes flickering down to my lips.

“Fuck, this is bad.” I speak, bursting the silence. He raises his brows at me, tilting his head in confusion. The curls on his head flop to the side, making me almost giggle at how cute it is.

“What’s bad?” He asks, confused look quickly turning into a excited, yet evil look. “Maybe you getting wet at my muscles, slamming your thighs together in hopes the throbbing dies down?” He ponders, letting my hands go, stepping closer to me.

I quiver, eyes widened, face tomato red. “Or maybe it’s the fact that you want me to fuck you right now?” He continues, fucking with your mind.

Anger boils in your chest as you step forward, slamming your hands against his wet chest. “First of, fucker! It’s considered rude to invade my mind without consent!” I shout, glaring up at the man with audacity probably bigger than his dick.

He scoffs, grabbing my throat in his veiny hand. “You must be really horny to be thinking of how big my dick is, huh?” He laughs, leaning down to my face.

“You’re thinking of fucking my tits, Mattheo. Don’t act so fucking innocent.” I retort, glaring harder at him. He lets my throat go, a look of shock on his face.

The two of us remain silent, our eyes locked, deep diving into one another’s brain. I grow tired of it, leaning up to finally smash my lips against his.

He kisses back, wrapping his arms around my body, pulling me to his chest. My breast press up against his chest, causing him to grow hard against my body.

“Tsk, tsk. You just got hard because of a stranger, that’s gotta be a little embarrassing.” You tease, not expecting him to say what he says..

“You’re not a stranger baby.”

—

A/n; I really don’t know what this is, but I’m really obsessed with the quiet kid trope. Mainly because I’m obsessed with a quiet kid at school 😃😃

Anyways, please send in some suggestions for what smut to write and who it’s ab!! Should I do pt 2?

#mysmutty #harrypotter #hp fancast #hp smut #smut #part one #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #thedarklordsson #benjamin wadsworth #spicy stuff #i need sex #hope you enjoy #i wanna fuck him so bad

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stepbackattack · 9 months

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#yeah uhhh let me just *ignores your 20 year slowburn and bypasses your divorce arc*#how this scene actually went cause I’m delusional #part one #house md #hilson #gregory house #greg house #james wilson #house md fanart #fanart #hatecrimes md #we were robbed of Wilson not calling house any variant of fucker or fuckhead

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song-witch · 1 year

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Chin Up, Buttercup

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,084

Warnings: Fluff! Southern Mommy Wanda. More fluff.

Summary: It's your big break, but the one person you want to support you isn't there when you need her.

A/N: I wrote this in like 24 hours, but yolo.

Part Two Part Three

“I’m so proud of you, darlin’.” The woman’s voice filled the calmness surrounding the two of you with a certain… delicacy that could only be made by her. It had a certain drawl to it, words weighed down by the sticky sweetness of the southern accent that clung thickly to her honey filled words. Everything about the moment was soft, something Wanda gave you endlessly, especially after the hours upon hours you had spent on your work.

It had taken you years to get to this point. To be able to finally put it up on display for the rest of the world, except for one. Wanda. You hadn’t stopped talking about it for weeks. Had it marked on every calendar the two of you shared, and even then some more.

And yet, she had missed it. Had gotten scheduled on some bullshit meeting that could get her fired from the company. You had told her multiple times that you could support the two of you, that your book would break record sales and neither of you would ever have to work again. Of course, that was wishful thinking, but it’s what had gotten you this far, isn’t it?

Wanda had left early that morning, earlier than normal, with a kiss to your head, a silent promise that she’d be home that night. It felt like a silent apology that she couldn’t make it to your first booktalk.

It was okay, though. You were a big girl who didn’t need Wanda at your side for everything you did. You tried to tell yourself that for the rest of the day, that you could do it all by yourself, even if it pulled heavily at your heart.

You did your best to pull through your day. You ate breakfast alone, debating on tearing the sticky note Wanda had left you a message on like other days she didn’t have time to eat with you before. It felt far too literal, though. Like that post it note was your heart and every little tear made it hurt even more. You settled for crumpling it up, tossing it across the empty dining table, a hard reminder of how utterly lonely you truly were.

You sat alone when you were getting your makeup done, your outfit picked out. You would blame the tears in your eyes on your makeup. Wanda was the one who dolled you up. But she had work. For hours you told yourself you could do it. You could stand up in front of a crowd and talk about the book you had spent all of your adult and most of your teen years writing, pouring every ounce of love, hatred and everything in between in it. It didn’t feel real, though.

Since you had met her, you had envisioned her next to you at this moment. Instead, you stood by yourself with a podium in front of you, the small beaded friendship bracelet twisted between your fingers. Wanda had randomly bought the kit for you one day and you had insisted she make one with you. They were matching, the only difference being your names on the piece of string.

“Thank you all again for coming.” Despite your earlier feelings of loneliness, you smiled brightly into the microphone, more than aware of the amount of photographers and press there.

Gingerly closing the book, you stepped away from the podium, scooping the item into your arms. Agatha pulled you towards a secluded corner, your team surrounding you. Right next to Wanda, she had been your number one supporter since you brought the rough draft to her. She signed you within a few hours, taking on the role as your editor and publicist like it was nothing.

“Good job out there, toots.” The brunette clapped your back, a toothy smile brightening her features. You smiled up at her, hardly able to hear her over the roar of your own heart beating along with the crowd of people ready to have their books signed by you. “Say, you keep wooing crowds like that and you’re gonna sell out in no time, kid.”

“Really?” The hope in your voice brought forth a new youthfulness to you, like you were a kid again. In a way, you were. You had wanted this since you had started writing, and here you were, your first book published and with a second well on its way.

“With that cute tush of yours? Everyone will be wanting more, sweets.” Agatha threw an over exaggerated wink at you as she laughed, using the hand that hadn’t left your shoulder as a support of sorts. Your smile faltered just slightly, a blush coloring your cheeks. It was something Wanda liked to tease you about, how easily it was to get you riled up. You would deny it forever, even though you knew she was right. “Speaking of everyone, where’s that ragamuffin of yours?”

The smile on your face almost immediately sank. You had been so busy the entire day that you hadn't had time to think about Wanda, let alone the fact that she wasn’t there. Agatha hardly noticed your change in demeanor, too focused on the buzz around you. “She… she had work.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, toots. I’m always here if you need a plus one.” Rather than comforting you, the woman shimmied beside you, yet another wink thrown your way. You had learned that she was like that sometimes. Way too much to handle. So you smiled and nodded, trying not to let the thought that your girlfriend wouldn’t be there to support you.

“Only kidding! Well, unless you two say otherwise. You know where to call me!” Agatha stepped away from her, her hand finally pulling away from your shoulder. It was the first time you felt like you could actually breathe during the entire interaction. You loved the woman, truly, but she could be a lot. “Go enjoy your party, hot stuff, you deserve it!”

And with that, the woman left, presumably to find the bar, leaving you to be pushed around by the rest of your team. You knew enough about the events of the day that you’d be signing books for the next hour, if not longer. You were grateful for all the time Wanda had spent practicing your signature, a nice, loopy design that made you feel proud of yourself. It was all you could think about as you were swept over to the long table full of your book, pushed down into the singular chair at the table, a line that was longer than it should be waiting for your signature.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

By the hour and a half mark, your hand was cramping, not used to writing with a sharpie for this long. The line felt like it had barely shrunken, still too long to see the end of. It was thrilling and disheartening at the same time; the faster you could sign all of these books and do whatever you were told, the faster you could get home to see Wanda. That had it’s own anxieties attached to it, but whether she could be here or not wouldn’t change how excited you were to see her. Sure, it sucked that she couldn’t be here. Really sucked, but you would be able to see her in a few hours and tell her all about your day. It would have to suffice.

Another hour passed before you could see the last ten or so people, the feeling of relief strong. You had been at it for over two hours now and, while you were beyond flattered and amazed to have this many people read your book, you were exhausted to say the least.

You wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in your lovers arms, but you knew it would be at least a few more hours before that was even plausible. Faces began to meld together as the line continued to shorten, each person looking a little more like the next. As the last person approached, you breathed a sigh of relief, not even looking up as a book was slid between your hands.

“Thank you for coming.” You gave the person, a woman based on the high rise jeans and blouse they were wearing from where your eyes didn’t travel up their body, a tired smile just barely tugging at your lips.

“What? No sugar for me, sweetheart?” The words themselves made you feel gross, though the voice was recognizable. Something about the soft timber of it was reminiscent, like a fond memory you couldn’t let go of.

You were sure your confusion was evident all over your face, what with the way your eyebrows pulled together and your hand stopped moving, though you couldn’t care less if the signature was ruined or not. Your eyes traveled up the, yes, woman’s body, a familiar map of beauty stood in front of you.

“Wanda?” Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of her.

She had really gone all out, dressed as nice as possible for your big event. She wore high waisted black dress pants, paired with a deep purple blouse with even darker flowers printed across it. She was wearing your favorite wedges of hers. Her dark, faded out roots were pulled up in a half up, half down style, the long locks flowing down her back. It took everything in you to not let the tears that had filled your eyes to spill, pushing the book and marker away from you as you used the table to stand.

“Hi, pumpkin.” Wanda’s southern accent was the best thing you had heard all day, instantly warming you like nothing else had.

You all but flung yourself into her arms, uncaring of how hard you had hit the table with your thigh. Wanda would tell you to be more careful about it later, would kiss it better, you knew. You didn’t care about anything other than being in her arms, though.

“Wanda.” You all but whimpered into her neck where you had almost immediately pushed your face. She smelled the same as always, an earthy undertone that paved way to the light lavender you knew was her favorite perfume, even though she hardly used it. It fully encapsulated you, making the tears in your eyes burn even more as her arms wrapped around you.

“It’s good to see you too, sweetheart.” Wanda laughed heartily, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. Her hands ran up and down your back, a gentle strength to them that had you wanting more, to be held even closer. The hand holding your bracelet, her right hand, settled at your waist, while the other settled at the base of your head, softly carding through her hair.

She had held you like this far too many times to count, but you still melted in her hold, your breath hitching. The woman held you against her as you continued to fight off tears, taking in the sweet scent that enveloped you, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Time was non-existent to you once again as she stood holding you, humming softly. The only thing that you knew was that it was nowhere near enough time when she pulled back, holding you at an arm’s length with a beaming smile. She traced her left hand up to your face, cupping your cheek as she searched your eyes. You couldn’t help but smile back, biting your lip as it continued to tremble. Wanda shook her head, tsking under breath as she dropped her hand down to grasp your chin, tugging your lip out from between your teeth.

“You did so good up there, sugar.” Wanda pressed a kiss against your cheek, easily turning your head with the finger on your chin to press another to your opposite cheek. The nudish brown pigment of her lipstick just barely transferred onto your skin, something the woman would take a wet thumb to in mere moments. She kissed your lips chastely before doing so, giving you barely enough time to process what was happening before she was licking her thumb and rubbing at the lip marks.

“B-but… you…” You did your best to protest, shaking your head from side to side as you tried to escape her grasp. None of it made sense. She would’ve just gotten off of work maybe half an hour ago and would’ve had to book it through heavy rush hour traffic to get to your talk. There’s no way she could’ve seen you on the podium, let alone giving your speech.

“I what, hun? Use your big girl words now.” The brunette fixed you with a stern look as she stopped scrubbing at your cheek, tipping your head up. You couldn’t help but stare at her. The nude lip she had brought out the green in her eyes, the bright sun shining through the open windows forming something akin to a halo around her. She was gorgeous. Something straight out of one of your stories. It helped that the main character’s love interest had more than a few things in common with the woman.

“You… you were at work.” Your head cocked to the side just slightly, something you had definitely picked up from the woman, eyebrows furrowing. You pulled at your bracelet, the elastic snapping at your skin with a nice popping noise as the beads rattled. Wanda tsked, shaking her head as she grabbed your left wrist, pity written all over her face.

“Oh my, precious. I wasn’t actually at work. I was tryin’ to surprise you.” Her lips turned downwards, bringing your wrist up to her mouth with a kiss. It was obvious she wasn’t pitying you because you had snapped yourself with your bracelet, but rather because she knew how worried you must’ve been all day. The bracelet issue just happened to be a part of it.

“And what did I tell you would happen if you kept snappin’ that bracelet?” Her tone was anything but mean, if not more questioning than condescending.

The words had you easily blushing, tilting your head down as if to hide it. “That I wouldn’t get it back until you say so.” Your right hand hung loose at your side, left still grasped by the woman. You knew her eyes would be full of sorrow if you looked up, instead keeping your eyes down as you scuffed the ball of your foot against the tile. “‘M sorry.”

“Then why do you keep doin’ it, love bug? It hurts mommy when your hurt yourself.” Wanda’s voice was as sorrowful as you knew her eyes were, a tone of hurt overflowing her words.

You couldn’t help but look up anyways, your breath hitching at the sight of glossy eyes and a frown. It wasn’t often that she got upset with you in public, yet something about the silly bracelet you wore every day had made her tear up. The sight made tears come to your own eyes, your frown mimicking hers.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying!” You pleaded softly, watching as she snaked her finger up your wrist, easily interlacing your fingers. It was hard resisting the urge to kiss her, rocking back and forth just slightly on the balls of your feet. You hadn’t meant to upset her, hadn't even realized you were fiddling with the elastic until she had said something about it.

“It’s okay, pumpkin. I know you’re tryin’ and I am so, so proud of you.” Wanda’s free hand came up to hold your cheek, smiling softly at you as her eyes roamed your body, finally taking you all in. She hadn’t seen you since the night before, unless the way you slept curled up against her this morning counted, and had been dying to see you for hours, but had held off in hopes of surprising you.

“My baby girl.” Despite the fact that you had both been moments away from crying, a fresh shade of red covered your face, a heat protruding off of your cheeks as the woman pinched it with one hand.

“Wanda.” You groaned, suddenly aware of the fact that you were very much still in public. Your body twisted with you as you glanced around the room, thankful to see that no one was paying you any attention. Which was funny, seeing as how it was your booktalk.

That being said, you could feel a pair of eyes on you that certainly weren’t Wanda’s, spinning in the woman’s arms once again until you saw your editor. She was looking at the two of you with something you couldn’t detect. Jealousy? Disdain? Whatever it was, Agatha sent you a smirk and a wink as soon as you made eye contact before turning away from you.

You turned back to Wanda, slotting yourself under her chin once more. “When can we go home?” You asked in a small voice, uncaring if she could hear you or not. Of course she could though, her lips smacking quietly together.

“Whenever you want, buttercup.” Wanda could tell something was wrong, the way her arms wrapped around you even tighter than before was enough for you to know. You took a deep breath, frantically running your hands through her long hair. It was curled, tighter than usual, but not terrible. You felt weird all of a sudden, like your editor hated you and the entire room was shrinking.

“Can… Is now okay?” You asked a little louder. Wanda nodded, only pulling away enough to lift your chin up enough to meet her eyes.

“O-okay, sweet pea. We can leave right now, that’s what you want?” The woman phrased it like a question, her voice soft if not a little confused. You had been so happy to see her just moments ago, but now wanted to go home. Sure, she knew you weren’t the biggest fan of crowds, she herself wasn’t either, but she thought you would’ve wanted to at least enjoy the party before you left.

Whatever it was, though, she was more than willing to take you home, leaving you with a kiss to let your team know you were leaving before leading you out to her car, buckling you in before taking her spot in the drivers side. She took your hand in hers, the letters of your names on your bracelets rubbing against each other as she drove off.

#jane's fics #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #mommy wanda maximoff #southern mommy wanda maximoff #potentialy jealous agatha #part one

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viveela · 10 months

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So I have questions about Stripe #3 and I decided I'll answer them myself with a comic

This is part one and before anyone asks yeah I'm making this with the storyboard style in mind

Start | Next | Previous

#veearts #south park #craig tucker #tweek tweak #creek #sp fanart #mr. garrison #fan comic #idk how to tag this erm lol #wip comic #part one #ik I am not doing the style perfectly #but mayhaps I'll have it down by the end #anyway drawing like this is so fun

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spockvarietyhour · 3 months

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Me when I see France

#Masters of the Air #Masters of the Air Apple TV #Part One #spoilers #Danny watches Masters of the Air

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beachylupin · 6 months

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Werewolves of London || Remus Lupin x American!Fem!Reader

i've crawled out of writing slump hell to publish this. i really hope you all enjoy. feedback is always appreciated :-) let me know if you'd like to see more! <3 pt. 2 here word count: 3.6k warnings: talking about children being turned, mentions of a weapon, maybe a few swear words, i literally can't think of anything else

“You’re looking for the Leaky Cauldron in London,” the gruff-sounding man said over the phone. “Where are you calling from?”

“Heathrow?” You said, sounding confused. Where else would you be calling from? “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“Right…” he muttered into the phone, shushing the person who was talking behind him. “You didn’t apparate to King’s Cross from there?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” you mumbled as he said, “Could’ve just apparated instead of just taking a plane.”

“Have you apparated across an ocean?” You quipped, and he stopped grumbling. “Listen, I’ll figure it out, okay? Should I catch the tram to King’s Cross and call you when I get there? Or would you like me to apparate to somewhere I’ve never been?”

“Just take the bloody tram. We’ll send someone to meet you,” he grumbled, half-talking to the person behind him before hanging up abruptly.

You stood confused for a beat before hanging up the phone, quietly apologizing to the person behind you for taking so long.

Following the signs, you made it to the tram, boarding just before the doors closed.

You sat, keeping your luggage on your lap and you looked around at the other passengers. You were sure they could tell you weren’t from here.

You had on a long, leather duster jacket, hiding a dark green top and a pair of black bell bottoms. Tapping your heels to the song playing on your walkman, you ignored them, staring out the window at the underground darkness.

It wasn’t strange being called somewhere else. As someone who worked as an herbalist and potioneer who specialized in harvesting monkshood and brewing the difficult potion invented a few years prior, this was your job.

You were a board member of the Lycanthropy Regulation and Control Committee at the Magical Congress of the United States of America. It was your duty to try and prevent them from coming into towns and completely ravaging them by giving them wolfsbane when they were caught.

Wolfsbane, monkshood, or aconite was deadly. If it was harvested by someone inexperienced, they could simply die. For a lycanthrope, this was their saving grace. This miracle plant is what kept them human.

You were here to help develop a type of werewolf resolution, Project Blue, for what a leader of sorts, Mr. Moody, had called “The Order.” You thought of this group as the resistance to whatever race war had been started here.

This resolution would be developed in secret by both you and the maker of the wolfsbane potion, Damocles Belby, and it had to remain a secret. You had received a list of names that could know exactly what you were doing attached to a different letter from Mr. Dumbledore, and you assumed the rest were to be left in the dark.

Mr. Dumbledore also gave you a protector, who was called Moony. You were given specific instructions to board with this Mr. Moony and tell nobody only if they told you the code word: blue. To anyone unsuspecting, blue is just a color, but to someone who knew about the project, it meant the color of the solution: wolfsbane.

The war really must have been in full swing, and considering that you were an American half-blood, you were stepping into dangerous territory.

Sure, the United States had its fair share of war, but it was the mixing pot of the world. Pure blood, half blood, or no-maj born: a wizard was a wizard. You had always been treated just the same.

Werewolves, however? They were something else completely. The United States werewolf was one of the most dangerous creatures in the world. Having endless room to roam, they often lived outside of civilization, only coming in when they needed someone new to join their tribe.

This meant taking the children in quiet towns and turning them into werewolves so that by the time that they were fully grown and strong, they had no memories of being a human.

These were the werewolves that you typically saw: mangy, feral, and insisting that they didn’t need wolfsbane. Nearly all of them had never taken it before, spending their whole werewolf existence in the wild, losing themselves completely, even when they weren’t in their wolf form.

It was devastating, not only for the families of these children, but for the werewolves that were doing their part to prevent anyone else from getting this terrible disease.

The werewolves of London and the surrounding area were almost always docile. Having taken wolfsbane from the moment they turned, they’d given up the desire to live a feral life.

However, there was a pack that was a danger to The Order. A pack that led the American lifestyle and stayed away unless they needed a new member. One led by Fenrir Greyback. A name that put shivers down anyone’s spine.

The tram screeched to a stop at King’s Cross, and you got off, immediately finding a phone. You dialed the number again.

“Who am I looking for?” You asked as a now different louder man coughed.

“Uhhh-” He cupped the receiver, his shouting muffled. “Aye! Who’d we send again?” Someone answered him and he loudly removed his hand. “A blonde girl! My age! Pretty.”

“How am I supposed to know your age?” You asked, looking around for a blonde girl. “I can’t see you.”

“Oh… Um, right,” he mumbled, covering the receiver again. “Hey! How would you describe Marlene?!” His shouting was muffled again, but this time, the phone was forcibly taken from him, a girlish huff breathing into the receiver.

“Right, you’re looking for a girl named Marlene McKinnon.” This girl sounded exasperated, shushing the laughter behind her. “She left here wearing leather trousers and a feather duster coat. ‘M sure she’s wearing a beret,” she said as you looked around King’s Cross.

You found who fit the bill immediately, dressed in exactly what the girl described.

“I found her! Thank you!” You breathed. “I’ll probably see you in a little bit.”

“Most likely!” She sounded like she was smiling. “Goodbye, and safe travels!”

Hanging up the phone, you picked your luggage up again, weaving through the small crowd to where the pretty blonde was standing.

She looked to be about in her late teens. Her makeup was sparkly and dark, and she had on about a million necklaces. The feather duster coat was gaudy. Nearly everything about her was gaudy.

“Marlene?” You asked as soon as you approached her. You introduced yourself, taking her ringed hand into your gloved one.

“You must be our gal!” She said, pulling you into a tight hug. “How was your flight?”

You shrugged. “Long.”

“Bloody hell, I can only imagine,” she said, her hand still in yours as she pulled you through the station. “Leaky is just a few blocks down!”

Marlene finally let go of your hand as soon as you were out of the busy station and in the rainy September air. “Have you been to London before?”

You shook your head. “I’ve never been over the ocean.”

“Ooh, first time?” She asked, her eyebrows raised. “We’ll have to show you a good one then.”

“Well, I’m here on business,” you said, desperately trying to keep up with her. “I’m not sure if I’ll have enough time to have fun.”

“How long are you here for?” She asked.

You shrugged, genuinely not knowing. “However long it takes for it to get developed.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s it?”

“I’m not supposed to disclose that information,” you said quietly, looking at your feet. At least to you.

Marlene glanced at you, her expression unreadable. “Well, I’m sure you’ll still have time.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, but not wanting to argue, you continued on after her, your luggage clattering on behind you.

The Leaky Cauldron was a hole-in-the-wall type of pub. It was no wonder they were allowed to be in downtown London without worrying about no-majs coming in.

It was fairly busy, and Marlene quickly bee-lined to the back where there was a secluded table full of people. She mumbled something before sitting down, and they all turned to look at you as you excused yourself past a group of open-mouthed witches.

“Hi everyone,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ears once you set your luggage down. You scanned their surprisingly young faces. “Who was the first person I talked to on the phone? Um.. Mr. Alastor M-” Moony? Moody?

“Moody?” The raven-haired boy said. You nodded, eyebrows raised hopefully. “He left.”

“He left?” You asked, scoffing when everyone at the table nodded. “Why?”

“You took too long,” he replied as if it was an easy answer. “He’ll be ‘round tomorrow morning with everyone else.”

“I told you that you’d have time,” Marlene said, smiling tightly. “Things don’t get done around here unless you stick us to it. The rest of ‘em are old.”

“They’re busy,” another boy corrected her.

“Great,” you sighed. “Well, in that case-” You pinched off your leather gloves and stuck your hand out to the raven-haired boy, introducing yourself.

“Sirius Black,” he said, shaking your hand enthusiastically. “It’s nice to meet you!”

You nodded then looked at the bespeckled boy. “Tell me your name is something easy to remember,” you teased, smiling at the other boy.

“I’m James,” he said, and you sighed a breath of faux relief.

“I’ll remember that one,” you said, smiling at the rest of the group.

James then pointed to the blonde boy. “That’s Peter. Next to him is Lily, and this-”

You could tell immediately who he was. Mr. Dumbledore, who you still hadn’t met yet, had told you that there was indeed a werewolf in “The Order,” and up until this point, you couldn’t discern who.

But he looked the part, down to the claw-like scars that riddled his face. He didn’t look dangerous. He looked the least dangerous of them all, dressed like an old man in a funky blue and brown sweater and dingy jeans. You couldn’t tell if he was a teen or fifty from the way he held himself, but considering his friends, you decided he was on the younger side of the spectrum.

“Remus,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Remus,” you repeated. You held his gaze for a beat longer before clearing your throat. “Well, it’s nice to meet all of you.” You glanced at your luggage then back at the table.

He glanced at your luggage as well, meeting your eyes with a look that said, “Leave it.” You furrowed your eyebrows.

Sirius pulled out a chair for you, patting it so you’d sit.

You obliged, looking around the table.

“I was hoping Moo-” Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to remember his name. Not Moony. “Um, Alastor?”

“Moody,” Sirius finished for you, exchanging a look with James.

“Yeah, Moody was going to be here to set me up with the right person, but I see that might not happen tonight,” you said, settling into your seat.

“Well, who exactly are you looking for?” James asked, looking around the group. “We might be able to set you up with…” He baited you, waiting for the name.

“I’m not supposed to disclose that information with you,” you mumbled, looking down. “It’s… It’s all very secretive, I know, but I got very detailed instructions about what I’m supposed to do and who I’m supposed to discuss and do it with.” You threw a pained smile at the group. “Your names aren’t on that list…” You glanced at Remus, then sent your gaze at the table. “Only a few can know right now.”

“So we can know nothing?” Sirius asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m sure you’ll know eventually,” you suggested and sighed when he rolled his eyes. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could tell you.”

“What can we know?” Marlene asked, causing you to shrug.

“What do you want to know?” You countered, glancing at the small group.

Lily stared at you with narrowed eyes. “What do you do in America?”

“I work for the Magical Congress of the United States,” you answered simply. “I’m a herbalist and potioneer.”

The girls cocked their heads.

“How old are you?” Peter asked, resting his cheeks on his hands.

“Nineteen.”

“And you work for them at nineteen?” Peter acted shocked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah?”

Peter humphed, sitting back in his chair. “Carry on.”

“Have you always lived in America?” James asked, and you nodded.

“Where do you live in America?” Sirius asked.

“I kind of move from place to place depending upon the need for me,” you replied. A few of them furrowed their eyebrows. “Home base is New York City, though.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Marlene asked. “They needed you for something?”

You paused, shrugging slightly. “Yes?”

“For herbalism and potions,” Lily clarified, and you sighed, shrugging.

“I suppose,” you said. “I’m not going to tell you why I’m here.”

Lily pursed her lips. “I’ll figure it out. Just give me a moment.”

“I really don’t think you will,” you said, your eyebrows pinched together. “I haven’t given you anything to work off of.”

But Lily ignored you, her eyes closed as she thought. Marlene was next to her, trying to piece it together.

“Remus,” Sirius said, leaning to look at him. “You’re awfully quiet over there. Do you have any dying questions for the girl at the stand?”

Remus, who had been all but paying attention, hummed, looking at you.

“What’s your favorite color?” He asked.

Sirius and James let out a laugh.

“Really?” Peter asked, hands hitting the table. “We’re in a Sherlock type mystery and you ask what her favorite color is?”

“It’s an important question,” Remus replied, shrugging. He looked back at you, hopeful.

“Blue,” you said, and he narrowed his eyes.

“Blue?” He repeated, and you nodded. A knowing smile grew on Remus’ face. “Interesting.”

“How is that bloody interesting?” Sirius asked. “It’s blue. Everything is bloody blue.”

Remus simply shrugged, glancing at you again. “Just… fitting.”

You narrowed your eyes. He must’ve been the one that Mr. Dumbledore called Moony.

“What’s yours?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Green,” he said, smiling. Sirius looked between the two of you.

You nodded, looking around. “Any other questions?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “What does he know?”

You glanced at Remus. “Probably as much as you.”

Remus confirmed your suspicion with a nod.

“Well, we’ll figure you out,” Lily said, leaning her head on Sirius’ arm. “Before you tell us.”

“Where are you staying?” James asked, glancing at Lily and Sirius. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us.”

“I actually have a room booked here,” you lied, pushing yourself up from the chair. “I should probably see if it’s ready for me.”

“Right,” James said, smiling slightly as he stood. “We should be off, shouldn’t we?” He asked, reaching for Lily’s hand. She took it, allowing herself to be pulled up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“We have an early morning,” Sirius said, glancing at Marlene. “You ready?”

Marlene nodded, getting up. “It was nice meeting you,” she said curtly.

“Yeah, it was nice meeting all of you,” you replied, watching Remus stand, nose crinkled as his knee popped.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Sirius said, looking at Lily. “We’ll have you figured out by then.”

You sighed. “Please don’t try to figure me out.”

“Too late,” Lily said sweetly, her hand in James’ as she started pulling him out of the pub.

James waved a goodbye to you and Marlene tailed the two of them out with Sirius following slightly behind. He turned around.

“You coming, Moony?” He asked, and Remus shook his head.

“I need a night cap,” he said, waving Sirius away. “Don’t worry about me.”

Sirius took this dismissal with a raised eyebrow, slightly shrugging before walking away.

“Moony?” You said quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. “That isn’t a very clever nickname.”

“Neither is Bane, but I didn’t say anything,” he quipped, reaching to take your luggage but you beat him to it.

“Bane?” You said, your nose crinkled. “That’s what your leader is calling me?”

“Better than Monk like he originally wanted,” he said, offering you his arm. You looked at it, sighing. “We’re going to have to apparate.”

“I know,” you grumbled, taking his arm. “I just hate doing it.”

“It’s not my favorite thing either,” he said, leading you outside the pub.

The wet sidewalk was clear, allowing Remus to quickly lead you into the alleyway, looking around again.

“Take a breath,” he said, and you did so, the breath leaving you as soon as there was a familiar tug on your navel.

The Eldritch Manor lay before you, half destroyed. It was supposed to be your place to sleep and work. A place to be safe. This didn’t look like a place where you could do any of those things.

Half of the manor was missing, rubble and stones lying in a place where a wing might’ve been. A house fire was possible, but it looked as though something hit the house.

“‘S not much,” Remus said quietly, allowing you to drop his arm. He immediately reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

He could tell you weren’t impressed by the way you straightened, your owlish eyes staring at the half of the house that was still standing.

It was also made of stone, but it was covered in dying ivy, a plant that would’ve flourished in the summer. A gnarled branch weaved its way up the front of the house.

“I wasn’t impressed either,” he said through a puff of his cigarette. “But it’s what we’ve got.”

He stamped out the other half of his cigarette and headed inside, leaving you to follow behind him.

You looked around Remus’ house. It wasn’t huge but it wasn’t tiny. Books and blankets lay on almost every surface, and there was a chill running through the house that you couldn’t quite place. You set your luggage down and toed off your shoes, watching as Remus knelt down in front of the fireplace, busying himself with stacking logs.

“This isn’t where I normally live,” he said, his knees cracking as he stood up from the fireplace. “This is temporary.” He took his wand out, lighting the fire wordlessly.

“Like a safe-house?” You asked, sitting down in a leathery chair, covering yourself with the throw blanket.

“Exactly like that,” he said, sitting down across from you. “Got here a few days ago to make it homey.”

You looked around the small living room. There was an endless supply of books around, as if that’s all he did in his spare time. You leaned, peeking at the kitchenette, where a stove and a fridge sat, looking as if they’d never been used.

“It’s nice,” you said quietly, looking into the fire.

A lull fell over the two of you. Maybe Remus figured that you were tired from your journey, or maybe he didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t have much to say either. This was the first time that you were meeting him, and you only knew a few things about him. First, his name was Remus, and he went by Moony. Second, his favorite color was actually most likely green considering all of the blankets in this house were either green or brown, and third, he was a werewolf who hated being a werewolf.

You didn’t have to ask him to know that. The way he tried to act normal was a telltale sign.

Remus cleared his throat, causing you to turn your attention to him. “So Moody said what you’re working on is… dangerous? And that you needed my help?”

“Sort of,” you sighed, and he continued staring, urging you to go on. “You haven’t been debriefed yet, have you?” you asked, sitting up straighter. He shook his head causing you to sigh again.

“You need to talk with me?” Remus asked.

“I’m actually here to consult with Damocles Belby, the inventor of-”

“Wolfsbane, yeah,” he interjected.

“Alastor was supposed to set that up tonight, but he left, as you know,” You said, your tone clipped. “Him and I… We’re trying to fashion a type of… explosive to use in case of-”

“A werewolf?” Remus asked, and you reluctantly nodded.

“A feral werewolf,” you corrected him, your mouth tight.

“Ah,” Remus tutted. “So you’re saying someone whose a monster-”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” you said quietly as his gaze dropped from yours. “I’m not saying they’re monsters. Werewolves aren’t monsters, but I don’t think you understand the real problem-“

“Moony is… I am the problem,” he quipped, getting up. “I think I understand it quite well. Now, if you’re thinking you’re going to use a bomb on me-”

“I never said it was going to be you-”

“-you’re daft, alright?” He finished over you, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down as he strode across the room.

You scrambled after him. “You’re not part of the problem, Remus!” You called, following him down the hall. “You do your part to prevent the spread! I can tell!”

He snorted, looking at you over his shoulder. “If that’s your way of telling me that you think I’m a virgin, you’re dead wrong.”

Your eyebrows instantly furrowed, taken aback. “Lycanthropy isn’t spread that way,” you muttered more to yourself than to him. You huffed, catching his hand as he rounded the kitchen doorway. He stopped, glaring at you. “You’re not understanding me. You haven’t turned anyone. You’re not biting anyone on full moons, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, good,” you huffed, letting him pull his hand away from yours. “The explosive is for the ones who try their hardest to turn as many innocents as possible. The ones who flock into defenseless villages and towns to kill and turn anyone they see.” You swallowed, your tone quiet, “The ones who turn children.”

Remus’ face turned from sullen to serious as he blinked, eyebrows furrowing. “Why do you need my help?”

“I think you might know where they’re hiding.”

#remus lupin #part one #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x american!fem!reader #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fic

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xiofuu · 8 months

Text

where you actively try to deny your love for the general as he chases for it.

art is by @/tecchen on twt | part one (?)

Where did this even start? When was it that your heart had decided to go against you and fall in love with the General?

No matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that this was just work, that you two were to be strictly work partners, your heart still yearned for more, wishing to be held with his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as the both of you nap in the warmth that fell through the window and onto you both.

You shake your head at the thought, your face growing warmer as your heart betrays you more and more each day as General Jing Yuan's attendant, wandering through the Exalting Sanctum as you take a break from the endless amount of work, the moon high in the sky as a navy blue blanket is cast upon the island, highlighted with soft pinks in the sky as each building shines with their lanterns, the stone path shining a soft yellow with each step you take as you step onto the wooden boards of the elevated ground, their dark hues affected with light blue as you find an empty bench to sit on, your eyes wandering as you take in the calming feel of the night.

A soft sigh leaves your lips, your heart still pounding at the thought of the lazy General as you lean back against the bench, looking up at the night sky, stars crossing the sky as you think once more, your mind focused on too many things at once.

You couldn't love him. There wasn't a way for a work relationship such as yours to work out, you believed. From him being a General and being too busy with work (or so you excused) to you being his simple attendant, only there to work alongside him on his stacking paperwork as he makes plans for other things, his small smile of apology etched into your heart as your heart pounds again.

Though, maybe it wasn't even just that. You two had so much of your lives to live, that is what the curse of the Abundance gave. So what would make him choose you to stay with?

You sigh to yourself once more, trying to push these things down as you ignore the dull ache in your heart, thinking of the events that happened within just the last week.

It started with ignoring his messages. Watching as his messages change from a business-like tone and shifting into a more flirty one before you turn off your phone, silencing it as your ignore your warming face and your heart that thumped and bumped into the painful vines of hopelessness that had grown around your heart.

Then it was the calls. The ones where he would call to tell you to gather information before coming to his office, his voice softer, him barely grumbling into the phone as you can hear that he has just woken up. Aeons, you fell hard for this man.

Afterward, it was patching up his wounds. You knew it wasn't your job, it just...was too tempting for you. Your hands softly brushing against his bare muscular arm as you wrap the bandage around it, trying your best to ignore his eyes staring at you as your touch enchants him.

Even through all of that, it led to more and more and more, leaving your heart sore from just a day's work together. His unnecessary comments of you being beautiful, his teasing of your work habits, his soft smile, his sleeping figure, his everything!

So, you opted for the easy route.

"Ignoring" his messages, "missing" his calls, "mishearing" him, and it even got to the point where you had almost told him that you'd call another woman for him. Another woman to play with just as he had been doing to you this whole time so that you could let yourself drown in the paperwork, drown in this endless pit of sorrow as your tears of heartache filled the void within your heart you wished he could fill.

But of course, this was work. He only used to fool around years ago (you hope).

Your phone buzzes, shaking you out of your thoughts as it vibrates against your hand as you look toward it, finding that it's another message from Jing Yuan.

"Can you bring us more tea when you come back?" It said, a sigh falling through your lips as you click your phone off again, standing and stretching your arms above your head as you make your way back, knowing that he had too much tea within his office already and this was just a silly message to get you to come back.

There was nothing more you could simply do out here so far in the night as you make your way back, getting in the starskiff to start making your way to his office, dreading the long long hours your heart would beat with love and shake with heartbreak.

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