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ofstoriesandstardust · 3 months

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chapter 9 - i know it won't work (b.r.b.)

a/n: after ten months of this chapter being at an absolute standstill, i have finally, finally finished this chapter. as always, @gretagerwigsmuse was an extraordinary human being for reading through all of it for me. i don't know if anyone is still interested in this series, but i'm posting it for anyone who is

summary: You're convinced it won't work, despite's Bradley persistence.

flight risk masterlist

warnings: alcohol, insecurities, swearing, this one is a bit heavy but has a hopeful ending

word count: 3.8k

"i've had the thought, tried to work it out through anxious pacin'/what if i'm not worth the time and breath i know you're saving?"

The front door opens as the plate clangs in the dishwasher, forcing you to cringe. You hold your breath, hoping it's not enough to catch the attention of Bradley.

Not just yet.

You aren't ready.

You know you have to talk to Bradley at some point. Tonight, preferably. But still, you're worried that staying might have been the wrong choice, that he doesn't want you here after this morning.

You're afraid to hear him tell you that you have to leave.

Bradley cautiously slips into the kitchen, not quite meeting your eye, almost like he's afraid. His face is hesitant as he cautiously looks up from the floor, to see you standing there, bent awkwardly over the dishwasher you'd been loading for him.

"You're here." He breathes out, almost unsure. "You stayed." He stays put, seemingly thinking that if he takes another step forward, speaks any louder than he currently is, you'll dissipate into thin air. You grimace at the thought that your continued reaction of leaving did that to him.

You shut the dishwasher, wincing as the ceramic plates clang together as you do, before standing straight, wringing your hands together. "Yeah." You breathe, unsure of where to look. "I- I didn't want to leave things between us like that."

He almost looks surprised by that answer, taking a cautious step forward. "So you wanna work things out?"

You lean up against the counter, eyes falling away from his. "I don't know if we can."

He lets out a forced laugh, something underneath you can't read, something that you want to say might be disbelief. "Come fucking on, Sunshine. You're supposed to be in fucking Boston right now. But you're not. You're here. That's gotta count for something, right?"

You push yourself away from the counter, turning away from him. "I don't know, Bradley. Don't you ever think that-" You pause, worrying your lip.

"What?"

You shrug before turning to face him again. "Don't you ever think that if we were supposed to be by now, we would've been?"

Bradley's face softens under his hesitancy. "Sunshine, we were kids when we met. We both had our own baggage and problems; we didn't know any better!" He steps closer to you, closing the distance by almost half. "I firmly believe that if we had gotten together at UVA, we would've blown it."

You huff, rolling your eyes. "Great."

He reaches out for you this time, bringing you back to face him even as you try to turn away again. "Sunshine, please stop reading into everything I say as if I mean the worst. I mean that we were kids and we were young and stupid and traumatized and both just trying to survive. Anything we felt as kids, it wouldn't have been enough for us to persevere against what the real world would've thrown at us." He squeezes your forearms, finally letting you go. "Look at what happened to fucking Tommy and Ella, yeah? They were the perfect couple with the perfect family that ended in divorce because they were kids when they did all that. But look at Eli and Bailey-"

"We're not them." You say, eyes narrowing as you cross your arms. "Stop fucking comparing us to people who don't give a shit about me."

He sighs. "That's not what I meant." He takes a step backwards, running a hand through his hair. "Sunshine, I was not equipped or emotionally available enough to be with you while we were at UVA. I was halfway convinced I was unlovable." His voice breaks as he looks at you pleadingly.

"Bradley, I-" You blow out a breath, shaking your head.

"Sunshine, I've never kept a solid relationship. You know that, a million people have told you that. Even when the other girls were perfect, they weren't you. I have always wanted to be with you Sunshine. I craved you like I crave flying a jet, or spending time with Maverick. You're an integral part of my life and who I am Sunshine, that's never going to go away."

You're unable to bring yourself to say anything, just look at him. Tears are stinging at your eyes for the umpteenth time in the last 24 hours, the emotion crawling up your throat, hearing him talk about how much you mean to him.

"Do you love me?" He whispers softly. “Because I love you - so much.”

You scoff at his question, that Bradley could have ever had any doubt how you felt about him. "Of course I fucking love you. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since I was 19 and in a shitty relationship you were begging me to get out of. I was in love with you when we were on a fucking camping trip and woke up to you cuddling me. I was in love with you when you were 25 and called me to tell me you were going to Top Gun for the first time and I was in love with you three months ago when you called me and asked me to come visit you. I was in love with you then and I'm in love with you now. I've never stopped, I don't know how."

He frowns as a beat passes. "Why do I get the feeling there's a but coming?"

"It's not realistic, Bradley! It would never- it would never work. We live on opposite coasts. I-" You cut yourself off, unsure of how to vocalize all the doubt you're feeling.

"Isn't the way we feel about each other enough?"

"No!" You nearly shout. "This isn't some Disney movie Bradley, where we all just get a happy ending! We live entirely different lives on opposite coasts. What do you want me to do? Give up my career? Sit here and play happy military wife forever? I can't just- drop everything to come here because I love you."

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m not saying that you- you have to give up everything for me, much less be confined to the title of your marital status. I’m just saying- you made a sacrifice once before for me.”

"That's not even in the same stratosphere of being the same thing."

He cocks his head. "Then fine, I'll drop everything to be with you."

You scoff again. "Bradley, no."

"Why not?" He demands. "I don't care what it takes. I just want to be with you."

"Bradley, I'm not letting you give up your career, your friends, your relationship with your godfather! You just got Maverick back, for fuck's sake. I can't-" You pause, your throat beginning to feel tight. "I'd never forgive myself if I took that from you." You struggle to swallow around the lump in your throat as a hot tear rolls down your face. "You have a really good thing going here Bradley. I would never ask you to give that up."

"You're not asking! I would give it all up if it meant I got to keep you, to have you."

You tilt your head. "You know that's not true." You whisper hoarsely. "You know that I'm not- I'm not the girl you should give it all up for."

Bradley’s face falls, a look of defeat replacing it. "What will it take for you to see that you're all I want Sunshine?"

You shake your head, turning away from him as you walk towards the kitchen window. "I can not believe I ended up here." You mutter. "How did I end up here?"

Bradley doesn't say anything.

"You know, I always swore I would never get married and because of some stupid decision we made as kids, I did. I swore I would never fall in love and yet because I trusted some stupid kid, I did." You groan, hands reaching up to rub your temples. "I should've been smarter."

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda Sunshine." Bradley says, but you barely hear him, the panic playing out in your mind.

How had you ended up here?

"I'm fucking stupid for doing this to myself, I know how this ends. My parents fucking hate each other and they had kids who hate them and each other. I've got no idea what good love looks like and-"

"Sunshine." Bradley says firmly, stepping back into your swimming vision. "You are not your parents, do you understand me? You're not like, destined to fuck this up, okay?" He reaches out softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before kissing the top of your head softly. "Please, Sunshine. Just let me love you. Please, that��s all I’m asking right now.”

“And then what happens? What happens after I’ve let you love me and I’ve fallen even more in love with you? We won’t be able to make dinner together every night or snuggle up on the couch watching TV. I won’t be able to sleep beside you or run errands together. No - no, Bradley. I don’t even have all of those things fully now, I’m not gonna let myself have the dream of it happening one day.”

The defeat in Bradley shows in his stature before you ever see it on his face.

His shoulders slump, exhaustion showing in the lines on his face. He takes a step back from you, hands falling to his sides as he looks at you. Really looks at you.

“You’re gonna leave again, aren’t you?” His voice is so soft, you’re surprised you can hear the way it cracks in the middle.

“Bradley.” You respond, voice just as soft as his.

There is nothing more than you want in that moment to stay, to tell him you’d stay with him forever, to do whatever it took.

But that fear, the fear that had kept you and your feelings at bay all these years, is stronger as you look at him.

“It would never work.”

“It could.”

“It can’t.”

The sheer devastation that crosses Bradley’s face at your surety is almost enough to make you second-guess your own words.

“Please don’t make me say goodbye to you again, Sunshine.”

Yoru throat is tight as you feel the familiar sting of tears in your waterline.

“Bradley, I can’t.”

Bradley’s eyes are glassy, haunted.

It’s a look that haunts your dreams all the way back to Boston.

You set the phone back down on the coffee table, switching music on as you blink away the sting of the lack of notifications on your messages app.

You don’t know why you keep waiting – expecting, really – for Bradley to text you.

You think you made it pretty clear how you feel about him. About where the two of you were going from here.

The Archer plays softly in the background as you grab the bottle of wine out of the bag, scrunching your nose as the chocolate at the bottom of the bag.

You didn’t even really like Ferrero Rocher chocolate but apparently the you that had been throwing yourself a pity party an hour ago was miserable enough to buy it.

You sigh, uncorking the bottle as the song on the tiny bluetooth speaker that sat atop your stove switches over and floats out through your kitchen.

You pause as you recognize the first few keys of the song, groaning as you set the bottle back down on the countertop before walking a few feet to grab your phone.

Sure enough, the familiar album cover of good riddance looks back up at you as you quickly swipe away from the song that had come up on your shuffle.

“Fucking Spotify.” You mutter, slipping your phone into the pockets of the sweats you’d been dying to put on all day.

Three months of traipsing around San Diego in shorts and leggings all the time had ruined you from ever comfortably wearing slacks again.

You only just barely make it through your pour before the buzzer goes off, causing you to flinch.

“Jesus.” You mutter as you re-cork the bottle.

You sigh, picking the glass up and taking a sip of the shitty five-dollar bottle of wine you’d picked up on the way home from the office. You hear the main door open from downstairs and part of you wonders if your boss followed through on her threat of giving you a fruit basket.

(“So, how was San Diego?” Your boss asks.

You sigh, glancing up at her from your monitor before looking back at the email you’re typing out.

“That bad, huh?”

She shuts the door of your office behind her, sitting in the chair across from you.

“Was expecting you to come back with some good news, especially with you taking a few extra days.”

You swallow, closing your tabs you turn your attention back to her.

“I- uh, married this guy in college. It was really- spur of the moment. We were young and stupid and-” You shake your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “It just ended up not working out. I went to San Diego so we could get a divorce.”

“Oh shit.” She mutters. She shifts in her seat before she nods to herself.

“What if I sent you a fruit basket? Would that make it better?”)

You wonder if chocolate covered pineapple will taste good with cheap white wine as you fish your phone out of your pocket, typing out a text to her to ask if she had indeed sent you a fruit basket when there's a knock at the door.

“Coming.” You call out before you sigh, setting the phone down on the countertop as you walk a few paces over to the door, before pulling it open, wine glass in hand.

And then you almost drop it.

He hadn’t, not for a second, considered that following you to Boston was a poor choice.

Not when he had to ask Ice to pull strings to get him approved leave.

Not when he booked a last minute flight in the base parking lot on a newly-downloaded Delta app.

Not when Mav had to gently suggest he book a hotel room in case things didn’t go as planned.

(“B, I think you should consider maybe booking a hotel room in case this all goes to shit.” Mav says, sitting down on his bed as he packs his duffle bag.

He freezes, looking at his godfather.

“Fuck, I didn’t even think of that.”

His godfather heaves an overexaggerated sigh, nodding. “Yeah, I figured.”)

Not when he spent a majority of his time in the San Diego airport trying to figure how to take the T from the airport to your apartment in Brookline.

(You’d explained it to him once, something about a blue line and a green line and a Maverick stop, but he’s pretty sure he was admiring the way your eyes sparkled in the sun as the two of sat on the grassy lawn of the courtyard in Balboa Park and decidedly not listening to what you were telling him.)

Not when he took a detour, getting off at a different stop to go to the hotel room Mav and Penny had booked for him and not when he’d taken another stop to get you flowers.

Not when he’d pressed the buzzer for your apartment and not as he walked up the wooden stairs to your third floor apartment.

No, the first time he second-guesses any of his decisions of the last forty-eight hours is when you open your front door, wine glass in hand, music playing in the background, and stare at him.

The flowers feel sweaty in his hand, the brown paper crinkling as he swallows, suddenly forgetting everything he wanted to say.

“I- shit, are you busy Sunshine? I- sorry, I didn’t even think-”

You shake your head, turning to set your wine glass on the entryway table as the music softly plays in the background. “Bradley, what are you doing here?” You ask, shaking your head again as your eyes flit over him.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

“I thought, at first, that maybe you didn’t- you didn’t love me back or care- care about me in the way I did you. But after that last night-” He shakes his head. “I know now that it’s not that you don’t love me. You keep saying that this could never work. And I- I need to show you that it could. It can work, and we will make it work.” He licks his lips, glancing down at the flowers in his hands.

“Bradley-”

“No, Sunshine, I need you to hear me out. Please.” You give a little nod, eyes wide, and he sighs again. “I have it all mapped out, all the weekends I’m free to come visit you here. I get home around 6 every night, which is only 9 your time here. You’ve always been a bit of a night owl, so there’s at least a few hours each night we can FaceTime while I make dinner. We can even do dinner dates on the weekend and call each other while we cook together. We can make this work. We’ve made it work enough for the Navy to believe us all these years, now- now it’s just doing all the things we said we were doing all along. I want to be with you and I don’t care how long it takes, we will get this right. We can do this for however long we need to, for however long it takes, I just- I just want to love you.”

He swallows as his hands jerk out, offering you the flowers as he finally lets himself breathe. You glance down at the flowers and back up to him, eyes wide.

He glances down at them, realizing you aren’t going to take the flowers from him and his next words leave him without his allowance.

“I just want to kiss my wife. Just once.”

The seconds tick by without you saying or doing anything.

It’s excruciating.

He feels his face grow warm as he suddenly realizes how ridiculous this all is. This, the flowers, the showing up announced, the flying cross country, all of it.

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have- Okay, I’m- I’m sorry for bothering you Sunshine. I should go.”

He nods, going to turn, when you surge forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling his lips down to yours.

The flowers fall out of his hands as he scrambles to cup either side of your head.

The kiss is soft as it is passionate, a juxtaposition you never thought could come from a kiss. His lips are chapped against yours and at the angle you’ve got him at, his nose is nudged against your cheek and yet it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s dizzying, the relief and peace that comes from finally knowing what it’s like to kiss him.

It’s the movement of one of his hands down to your shoulder that grounds you, causing you to pull away. You don’t go far, just enough to look him in his eyes.

“I can’t believe I just did that.” You say after a beat, a giddy half-laugh escaping you as the adrenaline thrums through you. “Come inside.” You say, tugging on his shirt. “We should stop giving my neighbors a free show. Mrs. Robinson’s probably watching us through her peephole.”

Bradley lets out a small laugh at the mention of your nosy across the hall neighbor, before bending down to scoop up the flowers. He turns to you as you gently shut the door behind him.

“Do you have a vase for me to put these in?”

“Do I have a- Bradley, what do you take me for? An adult?” He laughs, a real laugh this time, and the sound warms your heart. “Here.” you walk a few paces into your kitchen, Bradley trailing behind you. You open up one of the cabinets, pulling out a tall pint glass.

Bradley’s eyes grow at the sight of it. “Is that the cup from when we went to Oktoberfest? While we were in college?”

You nod, filling the glass at your sink before turning back to him.

While at UVA, your group of friends had gone to Oktoberfest. You’d been too young to drink at the time, a year younger than the rest of them, and Bradley had taken pity on you, giving you his pint glass at the end of the day since you wouldn’t be able to get your own.

You take the flowers from him, trimming the stems off before setting them in the water. You grab the glass, nodding your head to your couch.

“C’mon, let’s sit.”

Bradley follows you as you sit down, if a bit hesitant.

Hesitation, caution, carefree laughter, kindness, love, they’re all looks on Bradley you know well.

But this, the timidness, in his eyes, in the gentleness of his movements, in the lines around his small smile is not something you’re familiar with.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, scooting closer to him once he finally does sit down next to you on the couch.

He swallows before glancing around your place.

“This is cute. Cozy.”

“Better in person than in the pictures I showed you, I bet?” He nods, before glancing back at you. “B, I can’t believe you’re here.” You whisper softly, resisting the urge to reach out and thread your fingers through his.

“You still haven’t told me if you want to try.” He whispers, hazel eyes meeting yours. There’s that timidness again, hidden his voice. “I really want to try, Sunshine.”

This time, you don’t resist the urge and take his hand in yours. You crawl closer to him, placing yourself gently in his lap. His hands automatically wrap around your middle, even if you can still see the nerves in his eyes.

“Bradley, I want to try.” You whisper softly. “I-”

You falter, struggling to find the words to articulate why you had changed your mind.

Maybe it was the love Bradley had for you, was so openly displaying.

Maybe it was the determination he’d had that this could work.

Maybe it was the effort it took to follow you out here.

Maybe it was the knowledge that your fear would deny you the best thing you’d ever had, the best person you’d ever had.

Maybe it was all of it, knowing you’d spend the rest of your life regretting it if you didn’t.

Bradley would be your one that got away. He’d be the one you’d think of what ifs when he inevitably got married to another girl, had kids, and a picket white fence future.

“Sunshine?” Bradley prompts softly.

The thought alone makes you nauseous. You couldn’t let that happen.

“I wanna try, B. I wanna try so bad. I have to try.”

The smile Bradley gives you in return is soft, yet no less sweet and full of love before he presses another kiss to your lips.

“Then we’ll try.”

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #flight risk

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etherealperrie · 2 years

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Flight Risk

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem!Reader (vaginismus/painful sex)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This idea/concept was originally discussed by an anon (known as "k" here) on @clints-lucky-arrow's account. I have a personal connection to vaginismus & wanted to try my hand at writing something about it in the TGM universe, specifically Rooster. I hope someone out there enjoys this <3

...

Things were escalating. You order another beer, admiring his silhouette as he takes a sip from the glass bottle between his hands. Your eyes meet from across the room filled with dancing bodies and bumping music. He looks away and runs his tongue along his bottom lip, whispering something to the two dark haired men next to him before setting off in your direction. Your cheeks are flushed pink, the tip of your nose reddened thanks to the alcohol. As he approaches, he reaches for your hand and you take it willingly, reveling in the warmth of his skin against yours even in such an innocent gesture. His hands are soft, but not totally smooth – calloused and rough in some spots from what, you can’t be sure. As his hand envelopes yours you can’t help but wonder how they’d feel caressing more intimate parts of your skin.

You grab your beer as it slides down the bar to you, bringing it to your lips to hide the blush crawling across your cheeks. The man pulls you into the center of the bar where everyone is milling about, surrounding a piano. He slides down onto the bench behind the instrument, bringing you with him. You settle onto his lap and watch as he snakes his arms around your waist to reach the black and white keys, tickling them with his fingers. The sound draws the attention of some people nearby who encourage him to keep going, but he doesn’t, his hands retracting from the piano to your thighs. You gasp at the feeling of his hands running across your exposed skin.

This wasn’t the first time you’d seen him or been this close to him, though. He frequented the Hard Deck, a Naval pilot. You did too: just a local who loved the cheap booze and the music. And the pilots. He’d been making eyes at you since he first showed up here again a few weeks ago. You remember the night well; the way he sauntered in dressed in a faded floral button up shirt and light wash denim, his light brown hair windswept, a cocky smile on his lips. The anticipation of a night like tonight was killing you both.

The sight of him now, like this – so inhibited and carefree – is a delight for your senses as he squeezes your thigh gently. You turn your head to glance back at him, his typically gentle looking brown eyes on display. There’s something different about them tonight, though, much more commanding. Dark and wanting.

Before you know it, the two of you are back up on your feet, dancing along to the music. His eyes never leave you as you bump along to the beat of the music, laughing as he spins you into him. As your body meets his, he instinctively envelops you in his arms, closing his eyes while your bodies move together to the music – your back pressed to his front. Without thought, you rest your head back against his chest and he opens his eyes to find yours closed now, seeming to enjoy the contact. He continues to sway along to the music and bows his head to press a kiss to your shoulder watching you intently as a smile flickers across your pink lips.

It’s oddly intimate, all things considering, but you don’t mind. Something in you knows this soft moment won’t last much longer. The room is crowded but with his body pressed against yours, your hips swaying to the music in unison, the crowd seems to dissipate. You no longer care what people might see, say, or think and neither does he. All you want is him, desperately.

He pulls away from you and spins you out of his grasp, taking the beer bottle from your hand. You watch as he takes another sip and sets the bottle down on a nearby table, smiling at your fellow bar patrons. His gaze returns to you and his pleasant grin turns slightly sour, his soft brown eyes hooded with an unspoken desire. He reaches for your hand once again but he doesn’t wait for you to reciprocate, tugging you through the crowd of people.

His lips catch yours as you cram into the back of an Uber. You groan as he pulls away to give the driver his address and watch as he fumbles around for his wallet while you trail kisses up and down his neck, sending him into a tizzy – desperate to explore you. As the car pulls away from the beachfront bar, he settles back into the seat, his thigh pressed against your bare one, his hand resting there, fingers making lazy circles on your inner thigh. His seemingly innocent touch has your heart pounding loudly against your chest, a warmth settling in your lower abdomen as you open your legs, desperate for his touch elsewhere. He lets out a light chuckle, tilting his head to look out the window, his fingers still stroking your skin.

You stumble out of the taxi alongside him and follow him up the few steps onto the porch, drinking in the sight of him for another countless time as you wait for him to unlock the front door. You never imagined it would lead to this – the lingering glances at The Hard Deck – to a night with him. Before you can stop yourself, your hands are all over him and feeling suddenly brazen, you tug his wrist pulling him back into you and push his body gently against the closed door – pressing your body against his, your lips at his neck. A light moan escapes his lips as he exhales heavily. He places his hand under your chin, drawing you back up to face him. He raises an eyebrow and kisses you deeply, your head spinning. Before you’re able to register what’s going on, he reaches behind you and pushes the door open, the two of you almost falling through the frame. He holds onto you and kicks the door shut, not caring if the sound draws attention from the neighbors, his arms tightly wrapped around your middle. As you regain your footing, he’s already shedding his patterned button-up, inviting you to help him remove the stark white t-shirt underneath. You connect your lips with his as you do so, lifting his shirt up and over his head, pausing the kiss for a brief moment. You reconnect your lips with his, a shared moan escaping your mouths as you run your hands down his exposed chest. He pulls away from the kiss and whispers something you can’t quite understand but nod, following him closely down the hallway, your lips at the back of his neck. He’s absolutely delicious.

You exhale into him, your breathing ragged and wanting. He presses his lips to your skin, sucking lightly as he moves his attention up your neck, over your jawline, peppering kisses. He grabs your face and runs his fingers through your hair, moaning as he connects his lips with yours again. The feeling is pure ecstasy, his lips moving feverishly against yours as your hands scratch at his back and neck. The scent of alcohol and a cologne you can’t pin-point mixes with the thick, hot air rolling between the two of you. Your hand moves down his body, pressing lightly against him over his trousers, eliciting another deep moan.

He clamors to pull you closer but you push him away with one hand, toying with the idea of the tease. You pad across the room to the bed, making sure he’s watching as you slowly pull up the hemline of your dress.

“Fuck, let me take it off” he begs, crossing the room to you.

“Be gentle,” you whisper back, slipping the soft, black fabric off one shoulder.

“I’ve waited this long,” he groans, swiftly unzipping the dress and watching hungrily as the fabric pools at your feet. His hands are on you before you have time to process, everything an exhilarating blur as his hands quickly find your backside slipping his fingers under the lace of your panties. Your breath catches in your throat and his mouth is close to your ear, pressing gentle kisses to the skin there – in direct opposition to the rough, desperate way he’s tugging your underwear down your legs, moaning to himself at the sight.

Everything in the next few minutes happens so quickly, the pleasurable feeling of his tongue working between your legs quickly turning into a searing pain as his fingers seek to replace his tongue. You tense, the feeling nearly unbearable, squirming underneath his touch. Rooster takes notice, looking up at you, a harsh line between your brows, a look of pain on your face.

“Hey,” he breathes, moving his hand from between your legs to rest on your hip. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t…” you say, fighting back the lump forming in your throat as you speak. “I can’t do this. I thought that maybe if I –”

“We don’t have to do anything, I’m sorry, I thought –”

“No,” you say, sitting up. Rooster watches as you move intently, his brown eyes flecked with guilt. “I want to. I just can’t. It’s a, uh, medical thing. I thought that if I had a drink, or two, that it would go away or make it easier, but… ”

He sits up next to you and runs his hand down your arm to lace his fingers through yours. It’s intimate for drunken strangers, but you don’t stop him. You smile, turning to look at him. You’d never told anyone about it – the condition that made sex virtually impossible for you. You always worried someone wouldn’t understand, that they’d get mad, try to make it happen anyway, do something to hurt you. But Rooster just sits in the silence, running his thumb over the backside of your hand.

“A medical thing,” he repeats quietly.

You nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he says, moving to sit directly in front of you. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. I don’t care. We can work with it.” He winks, leaning in to kiss you, his lips gentle until he feels you relax under his touch. The speed with which his demeanor changed to cater to you is impressive, all the more alluring. You pull away, smiling. Drunken you certainly didn’t expect the night to turn out like this, but you’re grateful it has.

“Thank you,” you say, “for understanding.”

He smiles now. “Now lay back, would you? I’d like to finish what I started.”

#this one's for you k anon #hope it lives up & also sorry if it doesn't #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun fic #etherealperrie #my writings #requested #flight risk

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steddiesupportpodcast · 7 months

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👴🏻 Flight Risk: It’s for Dads too! 🌈

It only takes one fic to change your whole life. For this Dad, it’s Flight Risk. Episode seven comes out tomorrow! ✈️

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imhonestlyjustsoconfused · 1 year

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AHHH I GOT MY STICKERS AND BUTTON FROM KLEO!!! @sayesayes @noxarcanaart

I'm so stupidly happy to get these!!! Love y'all's work with my whole heart!!!

#i speak #however wild #flight risk #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanart

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theostrophywife · 6 months

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devil eyes.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: devil eyes by hippie sabotage.

author's note: this spicy fic is in collaboration with my darling @writingsbychlo. make sure you check out hide and seek. we've been scheming for weeks and i'm so happy to finally share this fun little story with all of you. keep an eye out for some cheeky cameos 👀

The cardinal rule of Gryffindor House was plain and simple—never ever make a bet with the Weasley twins.

Anyone stupid enough to do so either found themselves out a pocketful of galleons or worse, owing Fred and George a no questions asked favour that the pesky redheads could cash in at any time.

Unfortunately, you were a little more than tipsy off of a bottle of firewhisky and bet one of the twins, Fred? George?—you couldn’t remember which ginger you’d sold your soul to—that you could easily outfly him on the pitch during a quidditch after party. After a violent hangover, the annoying git actually showed up outside of your dorm with a Firebolt in each hand.

“Let’s see those skills in action then, Y/N.”

On a normal day, you might’ve managed it. You were smaller and lighter than Fred, which gave you an advantage in flight, but as your head pounded and your stomach churned, you knew there was no way you were getting on that bloody broom. Though your house motto was all about being bold and brave, you weren’t reckless enough to risk it.

Instead, you settled for a favour.

In hindsight, you probably should’ve just stuck to death by eating shit on the quidditch pitch. It would’ve been a hell of a lot better than trying to squeeze yourself into a stupid tiny little costume that bordered on exotic dancer more than scary witch, but it’s not like you had much of a choice. You had a debt to settle. Fred made sure to remind you of that.

While the rest of your housemates headed to the Forbidden Forest, you were busy preparing for the vital role that your ginger overlords had assigned to you for the night. Since it was Fred and George’s last year, the twins were determined to solidify their status as Hogwarts legends. What better way to leave their mark than throwing a huge rager in the forest? Thus, the All Hallow’s Eve Fest was born.

As far as your professors knew, it would be a small festival to celebrate the season complete with carnival games, enchanted rides, and cornfield mazes. All harmless fun. But the student body knew that the Weasley twins had something far more devious up their sleeves.

From what Fred told you, the night would be full of secret passages, elaborate tricks, and actors and actresses who would add to the whole allure. You were to be one of them. Tonight, you were playing the part of a seductive sorceress who ripped out the hearts of unsuspecting men.

You were practically made for the role, Fred joked.

You threatened to resort to method acting and grabbed at the front of his shirt with every intent to rip his heart out of his chest. Luckily for him, George came to his rescue and tore his twin from your grasp before you could inflict damage.

“See you at the Forbidden Forest at seven sharp,” Fred called as he tossed the costume at you. “Don’t be late, Y/N!”

At half past six, you almost considered skipping the event altogether, but that would mean owing the twins yet another favour. It was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. Sighing, you tugged on some fishnet tights and slipped into a pair of high-heeled boots that laced all the way up to your thighs. You placed a hand on your hip, frowning at your reflection in the mirror of the prefect’s bathroom.

“Are you trying to scare the masses or seduce them?”

You turned around to find your friend Chloe perched up against the sink, smirking as she raised a brow at you.

“I’m supposed to be a bloodthirsty sorceress,” you said as you snatched her tube of lipstick and painted your lips with a fiery red shade. “Know any men who wouldn’t mind having their hearts ripped out?”

She chuckled, swinging her legs in the air. “A few. The boys will be in skull makeup tonight, so aim for them first. Save the curly one for me, though.”

“You’ve sent Riddle out on that wild goose chase of yours, then?”

Chloe smirked and blew on her freshly painted nails. “He’s got until midnight to find me.”

“What happens when the clock strikes twelve?”

“Let’s just say that I’m fully prepared to live up to my house’s name and let him slither in.”

“At least one of us is having fun tonight.”

“Who says you can’t? You may owe Fred a favour, but that doesn’t mean you can’t cause a little trouble.”

You smirked in the mirror as you put on the final piece of the costume. The gold mask fit perfectly over your eyes and truly completed the sinister seductive sorceress part that Fred cast you as tonight.

“I like the way you think.”

The promise of mischief and chaos helped to put a little pep in your step as you and Chloe parted ways. You didn’t even recognize the Forbidden Forest as you stepped foot into the haunted woods. There were colourful tents set up all around the clearing, some containing mirrored mazes and others promised fortunes readings. The combination of red lights and creepy fog gave the demented looking carnival an eerie feel. As much as you hated to admit it, the twins have really outdone themselves tonight.

After running through the spell that conjured a hyper realistic heart that you’d be ripping out of unsuspecting victims all night, Fred directed you towards the east side of the forest.

“Remember, it’s not a good night unless someone’s pissed themselves out of fear,” Fred reminded you for the thousandth time.

“You’re a sadist, Forge.”

Fred placed a hand over his heart. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Y/N.”

“Piss off, yeah?”

He chuckled. “I’d tell you to act scary, but you’ve got that down pat.” Fred cocked his head, examining your costume. “Although, would it kill you to show a little more leg?”

“It won’t kill me, but I might kill you.”

Fortunately for Fred, George plucked his twin away from your murderous clutches to start greeting their guests. By the time it was half past seven, the clearing was full of your fellow students. Despite your initial reluctance, scaring the absolute piss out of people was actually a lot of fun. As Fred predicted, you had a natural talent for it.

The first group that wandered into your neck of the woods consisted of your fellow housemates. Dean and Seamus led the pack while Ron and Harry followed close behind. The Chosen One was as pale as Peeves. Weasley, on the other hand, looked as though he might vomit at any moment. Leading the rear, Hermione shook her head and marched forward. Neville matched her pace as he nervously darted through the twisted roots choking up the forest floor.

You waited until their group passed through the twisted willow tree before jumping out. Dean screamed in surprise while Seamus scrambled away from you. Thanks to Fred’s little trick, your hand went right through Finnigan’s shirt which caused him to shriek in terror. With a twisted smile, you yanked the hyper realistic heart out of his chest and cackled in delight.

At the sight of the beating organ in your hands, Neville nearly passed out. Dean hauled Seamus to his feet while Ron and Harry hightailed it out of there. Hermione chuckled, shaking her head at the boys.

“Well, they lasted longer than I thought they would,” she said. “Stuck out here for the night, Y/N?”

“Unfortunately,” you replied as you vanished the dry blood with a quick spell. “Anyone you want me to scare the absolute wits out of tonight, Mione?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I don’t have any scores to settle.” You nodded, wishing her a good rest of the night.

Hermione bid you the same and started to follow the direction that the boys fled to. Before she disappeared through the thicket, a familiar, drawling voice called her back.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the golden girl.”

Draco Malfoy appeared in the clearing. There was skull makeup on his face, but the shock of platinum blonde hair gave away his identity almost instantly. He stalked towards Hermione with that arrogant aristocratic smirk, completely oblivious that you were lurking in the dark.

“All alone in the woods, little lion?”

Hermione’s gaze flickered towards you. A smile curved against her lips as her honey eyes glimmered with mischief. “On second thought…”

The golden girl hadn’t even finished the rest of her sentence before you yanked Draco by the wrist and pushed him up against the weeping willow. The blonde blinked, his silver eyes full of surprise and terror as you raked your nails along the column of his throat. The red varnish looked like blood against his pale skin.

“All alone in the woods, little serpent?”

Draco steeled himself. “And who are you supposed to be?”

You smirked. “I’ll be whoever you want, darling.” Malfoy shivered as you pressed a palm against his chest. He leaned into your touch, his heart beating erratically underneath your fingertips. For Godric’s sake, he was truly making this way too easy. “As long as you give me your heart.”

Never in his life had Draco Malfoy looked so terrified. The colour drained from his face as you reached through his perfectly tailored button down shirt, fingers slipping through the expensive silk material. You laughed maniacally and caressed his cheek.

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. This might hurt a bit.”

Without warning, you yanked his heart out of his chest. Draco stared in utter horror as blood dripped from your fingertips. The tell-tale heart pounded in your palm, the mess of flesh and tissue covering your arm with carnage. To Malfoy’s credit, he didn’t scream or flee like your housemates. Instead, the Slytherin appeared rather impressed.

“The spell work’s not bad.” Draco said with a smirk. He lifted your palm and examined the heart. “A word of advice, though. I would’ve turned the heart black. It would’ve been more realistic.”

Just as you rolled your eyes, a deep, husky voice pulled your attention away from the blonde.

“Who even knew Draco Malfoy had a heart?”

You turned to find a gathering of serpents in the clearing. They were all wearing matching skull makeup, but you could clearly tell who each male was. The gang of Slytherins were pretty infamous and easily recognizable. The curly headed one had to be Mattheo Riddle. His gaze darted through the trees as though he expected someone to appear out of the thick fog. You had to hand it to her, Chloe had the Slytherin eating right out of her hand.

The one beside him stood a little bit taller and though his face was smeared in the same white and black paint, there was no mistaking Enzo Berkshire’s lopsided grin and soft hazel eyes. Flanking either side of him was Blaize Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, the it-couple of your year, which only left one other serpent to account for. The male that had spoken earlier had to be none other than Theodore Nott.

You turned your attention back to him, squinting in the faint light as he prowled towards you. Theodore was considerably taller than the rest of his friends, but not in the awkward scrawny way that most boys his age were. He was slim yet strong, sculpted by years of playing quidditch. The makeup only accentuated his high cheekbones and his ridiculously sharp jawline, but it was his eyes—those dead, cold eyes that had half the school swooning over him that gave you pause.

Theodore grinned as you released your hold on Draco. He cocked his head, arrogance and swagger radiating off of him in waves as his eyes roamed your body. There was something unsettling about his gaze—Theodore’s eyes were neither green nor blue, but rather some undiscovered shade that reminded you of watercolours bleeding into each other.

The manner in which he ogled you was shameless. He drank in your tight corset, the fishnet tights, and the thigh high boots like you were a painting on the walls of a gallery, pinned up for his viewing pleasure. You held your head high, completely undeterred by his stare. Besides, two could play that game.

You schooled your features into indifference. “Who are you supposed to be? The Pumpkin King?”

Theodore flashed you a charming smile that you had no doubt made the rest of the student population swoon. “I’ll be your Jack if you agree to be my Sally, sweetheart.”

As slowly as possible, you dragged your gaze from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Theodore smirked as you surveyed him just as he had done to you a few moments ago. Staying true to his Slytherin roots, Theodore wore a black suit and matching freshly pressed trousers, but the silk shirt underneath was maroon—Gryffindor colours. Your house colours.

“Brave of you to wear rival colours.”

“I thought you’d be happy,” Theodore drawled. “Better to hide the blood when you rip my heart out, darling.”

“You think I care about making a mess?” you said with a smirk. “That’s half of the fun.”

Theodore flashed you a smile that spelled nothing but trouble. “Oh, I think you’re just my kind of witch.”

“Oi, Notty boy! If you’re done flirting, we’re heading to the mirror maze.”

Blaise was regarded with a wave of dismissal. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Hermione lingered by the edge of the clearing. She raised a brow in a silent question. You merely shrugged. Theodore Nott wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

“Give Longbottom my apologies, Mione. And a calming draught,” you added as an afterthought. “The poor bloke will need it.”

Your friend smiled. “Sure thing. Shall I tell the twins that you’re…indisposed?”

“No, let my wardens sweat it out a bit.”

Hermione chuckled and waved you off. The rest of the Slytherins followed shortly after, leaving you alone with Theodore. You locked eyes for a moment before you spun on your heel and walked off in the opposite direction. The brunette stared after you in stunned silence before you looked over your shoulder and smirked at him.

“Well, are you coming or not, Theodore?”

The sounds of the leaves crunching below his boots indicated that Theodore had snapped out of his stupor and was catching up to you. He did so rather quickly, thanks to those long legs of his. One of his strides was equal to three of yours. It took little to no effort on his part before the two of you were walking side by side.

“You know who I am, then?”

You shrugged. “It’s not hard to tell you and your cronies apart.”

Theodore grinned lazily and cocked his head at you. He squinted against the faint light, no doubt trying to ascertain a hint of your identity from underneath the gold mask.

“It hardly seems fair. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are.”

You smirked at him. “I’m Sally, remember?”

“Does that mean I’m your Jack?”

“For the night, at least.”

He seemed content with that answer. “Where are we headed now, little witch?”

“The Graveyard.”

Theodore appeared slightly baffled, but brooked no argument as you led him through a thicket of trees. You chuckled at the sight of him following you blindly. “A strange girl just told you she was leading you to a graveyard and you didn’t even bat an eyelash. I thought you Slytherins were all about self-preservation?”

“I have no intention of preserving myself tonight,” Theodore drawled. “Feel free to ruin me, Sally.”

“I suppose you think you’re rather charming, don’t you Jack?”

“I don’t think, darling. I know.”

You rolled your eyes and walked toward the lone tombstone in between the weeping willows. Theodore watched as you waved your wand and muttered an incantation. The ground rumbled beneath your feet, clearing the leaves until an ominous set of stairs appeared in front of the grave.

Theodore peered over your shoulder. “I suppose you won’t be telling me what’s down there, will you Sally?”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll hold your hand in case you get scared.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Theodore took the jest to heart and slipped his hand into yours. You smirked as you intertwined your fingers. If he thought a little hand holding would bother you, then Theodore had no idea what he was in for tonight.

“Lead the way, love.”

You led him down the steps, plunging into darkness the lower you went. Theodore took the opportunity to press up behind you and kept a hand on your waist as the two of you descended. He was so close that the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with cigarette smoke assaulted your senses.

A red hazy light flashed up ahead. The pounding music and excited chatter of your fellow classmates grew louder as you and Theodore were transported into the speakeasy. The bar was stocked with alcohol, shots and cocktails floating mid-air with themed drinks like Merlin’s Mourge-a-rita, Witches’ Brew, and Cauldron Colada. You hailed Parvati down who was apparently serving as the bartender tonight along with her twin sister.

“We’ll take two El Diablos.”

Theodore raised a brow, but didn’t protest as Parvati presented the shots in front of you. Your fellow housemate also floated a salt shaker and a bowl of limes on the counter. You sprinkled salt on the back of your hand and grabbed a lime wedge in preparation. Theodore did the same, minus the lime.

“Bottoms up, Jack.”

“Cheers, Sally.”

After licking the salt off of your hand, you clinked your glass against Theodore’s and knocked the drink back. The El Diablo certainly lived up to its name. The drink was a combination of tequila mixed with pepperup potion and topped off with a hint of cayenne. Needless to say, it had a bit of a kick.

With a slight grimace, you bit down on the lime, which helped with the unpleasant aftertaste. Theodore caught your wrist and held your gaze as he directed your hand up to his mouth. He mimicked your move and sucked hard on the lime, his lips brushing your fingers as he licked the juice from where it had dribbled onto your palm.

A shiver snaked down your spine. You may be a shameless flirt, but Theodore was definitely matching your energy.

“I can’t believe the twins built a speakeasy down here,” Theodore said. He leaned in close so you could hear him over the music. “I’m almost impressed.”

“I’ll tell my wardens you said that.”

“You keep calling them that,” Theodore said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t mean that one of the weasels is your ball and chain in a literal sense, right?”

“Are you jealous, Jack?”

He smirked. “I just want to know which twin I’m sending to the infirmary tonight.”

You chuckled. “I’m not dating Fred or George. I just owe them a favour. Speaking of which, I’ve got some men to scare. Be a good boy and wait for me here.”

Theodore shook his head. “Oh, I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m yours for the night, remember?” He toyed with the laces on your corset and pulled you towards him, your breasts pressing against the hard muscles of his chest. “I have a proposition for you, little witch.”

You quirked a brow, which made Theodore chuckle darkly. “Not that kind of proposition, principessa.” He twirled the lace between his fingers. “I say we terrorise the student body together.”

“You want to help me do my job?”

Theodore shrugged. “Why not? We can be partners in crime.”

You cocked your head. It certainly would be more fun to have someone else partake in your chore. Curling your fingers around his maroon tie, you pulled Theodore down to your level. His gaze flickered to your mouth and you couldn’t help the thrill that buzzed in your veins as you watched him swallow thickly.

“You’ve got a deal, Jack.”

As it turns out, Theodore was an excellent partner in crime. The two of you concocted a rather effective formula to inflict fear upon your classmates. The Red Room soon became your hunting grounds. In the creepy blood soaked maze, Theodore chased groups through the enchanted room while you lurked in the shadows. As soon as they thought they were safe from skull face, the groups were then led right into your trap.

You could hardly count the amount of people you scared shitless tonight.

Eventually the two of you returned to the bar for more drinks. You ordered another round of shots, which Theodore accepted without question. By the time you were six shots deep, the tequila had annihilated any sense of personal space between you. Theodore leaned down to take a sip of your drink.

“Trying to get me drunk, love?”

“That depends,” you quipped back. “How many drinks do I need to plie you with until you agree to dance?”

“With you? I’d say yes while stone cold sober.”

You grinned. “Come on, then.”

Theodore allowed you to guide him away from the bar and into the throng of your fellow classmates. It was total debauchery out on the dance floor. The music pulsed seductively as bodies writhed to the hypnotic beat and the red light bathed the crowd in a sinister glow as the alcohol loosened both limbs and lips.

The warmth of the tequila made you feel flushed, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Theodore’s hands on your waist. With your back pressed against his chest, you swayed your hips to the beat of the music. You rocked side to side and grinded against him, which caused his grip to tighten. Theodore’s fingers dug into your sides as you wrapped an arm around his neck and arched your back against his chest.

His dark lashes fluttered as your lips brushed against the column of his throat. Theodore shuddered when you nipped at his skin. A low groan escaped his mouth as he tried to chase your lips, but you dropped low to the floor and left him in a daze.

Theodore caught your wrist and pressed you flush against him. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s not polite to tease?’

“Do I look like someone who gives a shit about being polite?” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You should know that I have a terrible habit of playing with my food.”

Theodore smirked and fisted your hair between his fingers. “And you should know that I have no qualms about being toyed with. As long as you promise to devour me later, little witch.”

You brushed up against him and felt his hardness rub against you. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll get my taste of you tonight.” He inhaled sharply as you tugged him down to you. His eyes fluttered, fully expecting a kiss. “But before that, would you be a dear and get me another drink? I’m absolutely parched.”

A pained expression dawned on his handsome features. Theodore was fully aware of the little cat and mouse game you were playing, but he seemed keen to play along. If only to please you.

“You’re killing me, bella,” Theodore said with a sigh. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss on your cheek, a promise of what was to come. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, yeah?”

“Don’t take too long,” you said with a wink. “I might get impatient.”

With that, Theodore hustled back to the bar. You chuckled at the sight. Your amusement only grew as Chloe approached. As soon as she was within reach, you tugged your friend onto the dancefloor. She happily obliged, the moves flowing naturally. The two of you were known to bring the whole house down at countless parties.

“I take it Riddle hasn’t found you yet?”

“No, but he’s close.” Chloe shouted over the music, motioning to the bar where her boyfriend was currently standing. Mattheo, Theo, and Draco were talking in hushed whispers, looking rather serious.

“Gettin’ colder, he and Draco are heading toward the exit.”

The poor Slytherin was chasing after some unsuspecting blonde girl who looked a lot like Chloe from behind. A mischievous grin curved against her lips as she watched Theodore weave his way back to you, toting a drink in each hand.

“Is that Theodore Nott you’re flirting with?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you replied with a coy smile. “He doesn't know it’s me, though, so if he asks you, you have no idea who I am tonight.”

“My lips are sealed.”

With a wink, Chloe slipped away just as Theodore returned. He handed you a drink and watched as you sipped it slowly. Theodore downed his cocktail in less than a minute and tossed his cup into the nearest trash can.

“Impatient, aren’t we?”

“You promised a taste.”

You smirked, chugging the rest of your drink and wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. Theodore watched intently as you set the empty cup down. “Come and get it, then.”

The words had barely left your lips before Theodore kissed you. There wasn’t a hint of timidness in the way that his lips crashed against yours, a soft moan escaping his mouth as he tilted your chin up to gently bite down on your lower lip. You gasped when he nipped at you, leaving your mouth open for his tongue to slide into.

The taste of him was intoxicating as he massaged your tongue against his, licking the roof of your mouth before he kissed you sloppily, open-mouthed and positively obscene despite the crowd dancing around you. What started out as a kiss turned into a full blown make out session in the middle of the dance floor. Neither one of you felt a hint of shame as you shared another filthy kiss. With a groan, Theodore’s hands roamed along your back and squeezed when he reached your ass.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

You smirked, already equipped with a salacious response when your gaze caught on the clock behind the bar. It was nearly midnight and the twins had instructed all the actors and actresses to gather in the main entrance for the grand finale. Fred and George would have a fit if they found out you had abandoned your post. The twats would probably demand another favour out of you. There was no way you were going to shackle yourself to the Weasleys a second time.

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath. “It’s almost midnight. I have to get back.”

“I thought you were my Sally,” Theodore drawled. He looked slightly dazed, his curly hair dishevelled and his lips swollen from your kisses. “Not Cinderella.”

“I’m being serious, Nott. If I’m not back before the clock strikes twelve, I’ll have to owe the twins another favour.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back in time. Besides, if we’re playing into this whole Cinderella fantasy then let’s skip to the good part and see if it fits and by it I mean me inside of you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. Before you knew it, you were dragging Theodore out of the speakeasy. The two of you climbed the steps three at a time, nearly tumbling over one another as you raced up the stairs. The woods were dark and foreboding, but provided plenty of cover for your illicit activities.

You tugged Theodore along by his tie and he pressed you against an oak tree, the bark biting at your exposed skin. You were kissing again in no time and the sounds the two of you made were downright lewd. Theodore reached for your mask, but you swatted his hand away.

“The mask stays on.”

He smirked. “I didn’t think it was possible to get any harder, but you seem to be an overachiever.”

“I aim to please.”

Theodore smirked against your neck as he hiked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. His hand wandered underneath your skirt and those deft fingers of his teased along your soaked core.

“You’re so fucking wet, little witch.” You groaned as he plunged his fingers between your folds. “Such a pretty cunt too. Will you clench this tightly around my cock when I fuck you?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” you whispered huskily.

A stream of curses fell from Theodore’s lips, but not in a language that you understood. Italian, perhaps. Whatever it was, it sounded sexy as hell. You unbuckled his belt and slipped your hand into his trousers, feeling his hard length twitch in response. A choked groan rumbled through his chest as you pumped him between your fingers.

You swallowed thickly. Theodore was long and hard, his cock almost too big to fit inside of you. But you always did like a challenge.

Those watercolour eyes that had been pinned on you all night turned positively dark. The strange blue and green shade that you had grown familiar with was now swallowed by darkness, leaving Theodore with a gaze that would’ve rivalled Medusa’s. You felt it searing into your skin as you sank down on his length, biting your lip as he stretched your walls.

“Merda,” Theodore cursed. “So fucking tight. C’mon pretty girl, that’s it. I know you can take all of me.”

You shuddered a breath as he pushed inside. Theodore watched with hungry eyes as you took him inch by inch. It seemed never ending. “Fuck, you’re so big.”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. The stretch was an equal measure of pain and pleasure. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock and your pussy hugged around him as he throbbed inside of you.

Theodore caressed your cheek. “It’s alright, little witch. I know you can take it. I’m yours, remember? Your partner-in-crime. So use me, dolcezza. You’re in charge tonight. Just set the pace and I’ll follow.”

The reassuring words encouraged you to slowly grind against him. Theodore hissed as you lifted your hips until only his tip was inside of you. His mouth was hot and needy against yours as you grinded down to take all of him again.

“Che cazzo,” Theodore murmured as he bottomed out.

The drag of his cock was delicious. He filled you to the hilt and pressed his hand on your stomach to feel his length buried deep inside of you. The tightness it caused made the both of you groan. You rolled your hips and set a steady pace, lowering onto his cock over and over again while you whimpered.

“Oh, fuck. It feels like you’re splitting me apart.”

Theodore groaned as he sucked and nipped at your neck. The heat of his tongue was everywhere, leaving marks on your skin in his wake. It would be a pain in the ass to cover, but you didn’t care as you continued to ride him.

“Salazar fucking save me, your pussy feels like heaven.”

Theodore chuckled darkly as you clenched around him. He untied the laces of your corset impatiently, freeing your breasts from the constraints. Theodore brushed his thumb over your hard nipples before taking one into his mouth. He watched with eager eyes as you moaned, sucking and swirling his tongue while you picked up the pace.

“You look so pretty when you fuck me,” Theodore hummed as he flicked his tongue against your stiffened peaks. “Ride me harder, little witch. That’s it. Yeah, roll your hips just like that. Good girl.”

“Gods, I didn’t expect you to have such a filthy mouth,” you said with a low laugh. “You’re always so quiet in class.”

“So we have a class together,” Theodore said as he thrusted upwards to match your pace. “I thought you sounded familiar.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite grasp it. I guess I’ll just have to pay extra attention to all the Gryffindor girls in my classes.”

“I’m a Gryffindor? How do you figure that?”

“Besides your entire personality? You seemed friendly with Granger and though you complain about the twins, I’d wager that you’re mates as well.”

“Smart and handsome,” you said with a smirk. “You’re full of surprises aren’t you, Jack?”

Theodore smirked and thrusted sharply inside of you. “You have no idea, Sally.”

“I thought I was in charge tonight,” you said in a stern voice.

“You are, but I think you could use a little encouragement. You’re holding back.”

You circled your hips before lifting them and slamming back down. Theodore’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Does it feel like I’m holding back?”

“I’m a patient man, but if you keep toying with me like this I might just have to fuck that attitude right out of you, little witch.”

You tilted your chin up and smirked. “So do it.”

All that bravado left your body as Theodore rutted into you. He drove his cock deep within you, stretching your walls until you were clawing at his back. Theodore grunted as you squelched and squeezed around his length. His pace was relentless and punishing, guiding your hips to bounce on his cock while you moaned in pleasure.

“Oh gods, right there.” You cried out, burying your face into his neck.

You inhaled his scent greedily and sank your teeth into his flesh. Theodore slowed his pace and chuckled darkly when you whined.

“What’s the matter, little witch? Can’t take a dose of your own medicine?”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Keep going. I’m so close.”

“Beg me, darling. Tell me how desperate you are. I want to hear those pretty little words.”

Theodore halted his movements, his tip barely inside of you as he teased along your folds. He held your hips in place so you couldn’t sink down to take more of him. Usually, you were used to taking charge, but the way he put you in your place had you creaming all over him. Needless to say, you weren’t above begging at this point.

“Please, I need you. Fuck me harder. Give me everything. I can take it. Every fucking inch.”

“Merda, you’re fucking filthy. Begging for my cock like a good little slut. Brace yourself, bella. Remember that you asked for this.”

A whimper fell from your lips as Theodore bucked into your cunt. His cock impaled you, splitting you apart and knocking the very breath from your lungs as he fucked you roughly against the tree. He squeezed your ass, keeping a firm grip to secure you in place as he jackknifed into you.

“Oh gods,” you sobbed, raking your nails underneath his shirt and dragging red lines all along his back. Theodore hissed as you clawed at him, thrusting so hard that your teeth rattled every time he drove into you. “Fuck, it’s too much.”

Theodore grabbed your chin harshly. “No, it’s not. You begged to be fucked, now take my cock like the perfect little whore I know that you are, yeah?”

You nodded. Words escaped you at the moment. The filth coming out of Theodore’s mouth aroused you in more ways than one. Who knew that the silent Slytherin fucked like a god?

A stray tear rolled down your cheek. Theodore licked it away and chuckled as you whimpered. “Are you crying, sweetheart? Such pretty little sobs. Don’t worry, you’ll get your reward. You’ve been such a good girl for me and good girls get to cum.”

At that, Theodore rubbed your clit and pushed you over the edge. His fingers were magic against your sensitive bundle of nerves and it wasn’t long before you were clenching around him, making his hips stutter as the orgasm blindsided you. A scream echoed through the woods and it was only when Theodore covered your mouth when you realised that the sound had come from you.

“Fuck,” Theodore cursed, dropping his forehead to yours. “Merda, I’m not gonna last much longer. Not when that pretty pussy of yours is milking me dry. Oh gods, I’m gonna cum—“

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist as his body seized underneath you. Theodore bit into your flesh as he came, leaving a bruised purple mark on your collarbone. You had never seen anyone look as beautiful as he did when he lost control, lips parted, cheeks flushed, devil eyes rolling back as the orgasm thoroughly rocked him.

The stillness that settled over the Forbidden Forest was almost eerie. The two of you looked at one another, dazed and confused as though you weren’t even sure who or where you were at the moment. Through all your romps, no one has ever put your body to the test like Theodore has. You could tell by his intense gaze that he likely felt the same.

Theodore set you down gently. Compared to how rough he was a few moments ago, the contrast almost made you laugh. You heard the chime of the clock echo a beat later.

Fuck. That only gave you a minute to sprint through the woods and make it back in time before the twins reached your clearing. You frantically re-tied your corset and straightened the skirts of your dress. Theodore was busy buckling his belt.

“I have to go,” you said as you shrugged your robe back on. “I’ll see you around, Jack.”

“Wait, you never told me your name!”

But Theodore was too late. You were already gone by the time he looked up. He sighed and started making his way back to the festivities. The last chime of the clock indicated that it was midnight. He could only hope that you’d gotten back in time.

Theodore paused as something crunched underneath his feet. He peered down at the forest floor and found something golden peeking out amongst the leaves. With a smile, he picked up the golden mask.

It looks like his mystery girl left him a clue after all.

Theodore would find his Sally.

He’d make sure of it.

Theodore couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited to attend class.

After the All Hallow’s Eve party, he’d done everything he could to dig up information on his mystery girl. Theodore had even gone as far as to interrogate the Weasley twins, but as usual, the redheaded menaces were unnecessarily difficult about it.

“Sorry, mate, but we don’t reveal the identity of our actors and actresses,” George said with a shit-eating grin.

Fred nodded in agreement. “Confidentiality and all that. We wouldn’t want to go around spilling trade secrets. It’s bad for business.”

The weasels stayed mum even after Theodore offered them a ridiculous amount of money to reveal his mystery girl’s identity. Unfortunately, his desperation only served to intrigue the twins and the sadistic little gits seemed to derive pleasure in seeing Theodore grow more and more frustrated.

“Best of luck to you, Nott,” Fred said with a little smile. “If you do end up finding her, you’ll need all the fortune you can get. She’s a feisty thing, that one.”

“I know,” Theodore said with a glare. “That’s exactly why I want to find her.”

George chuckled. “Godric bless your heart.”

If the twats weren’t his main weed suppliers, Theodore would’ve punched their teeth in. Despite Fred and George’s general uselessness, he was in a good mood when Monday rolled around. Equipped with the knowledge that his mystery girl was in one of his classes, he made sure to pay extra attention to every Gryffindor girl. It was only a matter of time before he found her.

“You’re smiling,” Enzo commented as he caught up to Theodore in the courtyard. “What’s happened? Did my cousin fall down the moving stairs again?”

Theodore snorted. “Even better, Berkshire. I’m going to find my mystery girl today and you’re going to help me.”

“How?”

“You’re friends with literally everyone. Someone has to know who she is.”

“Hmm, come to think of it Mattheo’s girlfriend is good friends with a lot of the Gryffindor girls. I bet she’d know who it is.”

“Good, let’s start there. Where is Chloe anyways?”

“Probably in the Great Hall with Mattheo.”

The two of them headed over to where the rest of the castle was currently having breakfast. Enzo made a beeline for their usual table where Mattheo, Blaise, and Draco were seated, but Thedore didn’t follow. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Chloe seated with a girl who looked vaguely familiar to him. Theodore was sure that you had Charms together. More than that, you were wearing a red and gold tie. A Gryffindor.

Theodore inched closer, skirting around the edges to listen in on the conversation.

“How was your weekend?”

Theodore froze. He knew that voice. It was husky and seductive and sounded exactly like how his mystery girl had when she’d whispered in his ear.

It was you.

It had to be.

“It was good,” Chloe responded with a grin. “Really good.”

“Mattheo found you after all, then?”

“He did and suffice to say he liked the second part of my costume more than the first.”

You laughed in response. Chloe leaned in and lowered her voice. “What about you? You disappeared from the speakeasy, so I’m assuming I’m not the only one who had an eventful night.”

“It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

You flushed, biting your bottom lip. “It was the best lay of my life.”

Theodore smirked. So it wasn’t just him, then. The sex had truly been something else entirely. He had been confident that you must’ve felt the same way in the moment, but doubt crept in since you’d run off so abruptly. Now he had confirmation and it was satisfying as hell to hear you say it.

“There you are,” Enzo said from behind him. “I brought Mattheo, so we can ask Chloe about your mystery girl.”

“That little witch of yours really put a spell on you, huh, Nott?” Mattheo teased. “Let’s go, then. Maybe my girl can help.”

Chloe looked up and smiled as Mattheo leaned down to kiss her. You glanced up at the exact moment that Theodore came into view. He clocked the way your cheeks flushed as your gaze landed on him.

“You know my boyfriend,” Chloe said. You nodded at Mattheo who shot you a polite smile back. “That’s Enzo and Theo. Boys, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the boys.”

Theodore took your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Hello, Sally.”

You smiled back in return. “Hello, Jack.”

Chloe’s eyes widened, immediately taking stock of the situation. Mattheo and Enzo were slower to catch on, but luckily she ushered the boys away.

“We’ll give you two some privacy.”

You tried not to laugh as Chloe winked behind Theodore’s back.

“I found you.”

“So it seems.”

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore,” he said as he pulled out the golden mask from his backpack. Theodore’s intense gaze swept over you, cataloguing your features.

“You kept it,” you said with a small smile.

“I would’ve returned it sooner if you hadn’t left in such a haste after we—“

“Fucked in the woods?”

You were amused to find Theodore blushing. “I was going to say hooked up, but I suppose that’s another way to put it. Anyways, you left in such a hurry. You didn’t even give me your name.”

“Didn’t really think you wanted me to stay.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t been about to think about anything else since that night. You’ve taken over my thoughts. It’s fucking maddening.” Theodore caressed your cheek and tilted your chin so he could look at you better. “My mystery girl. You’re more beautiful than anything I could’ve ever imagined.”

“Well, you have the real thing now. It’s your move, Jack.”

Theodore shook his head. “No, not Jack. Theo. That’s the name you’ll be screaming from now on. After I take you out on a proper date.”

You raised a brow. “What makes you think I’ll say yes?”

The devilish grin on his face sent shivers down your spine. “You’re really going to turn down the best lay of your life?” Your eyes widened, which made him smile even wider. “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who can sneak up on people. So, what do you say?”

“Pick me up at eight. Don’t be late, Theo.”

Theodore winked. “It’s a date, Y/N.”

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar

#i am going to faint look at pookie he could chase me around the woods and i'd fold #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine

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ghostaholics · 9 months

Text

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

#i got lazy again #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fic #cod mw x reader #cod mw 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley fluff

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ioniiaa · 2 months

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My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 9)

Part 9:

Just as you exited the door to your now former apartment, you heard the sound of an explosion.

You just sigh at the sound, it doesn't phase you as much as it used to. Always startling enough to make you slightly jump, but you knew it was the start of the turf war one of your acquaintances told you about ahead of time.

It was a favor they owed you after you saved them from being killed by the Overlord boss they work for, which happened to be the one you were being commissioned by back then.

To take advantage of their insider info/tip, you decided it was needed to pick up the pace so you could get out of there in one piece- so their risk of getting that info to you wouldn't be in vain.

The pace at which the explosions happened quickly increased, along with the sounds of bullets and glass breaking that joined the chorus of chaos.

"Shit, shit, shit shit!" you quietly cursed to yourself as you quickly exited the building however you could, because you could feel the foundation and walls starting to give way.

So naturally, the easier and quickest way out was through a window in the stairwell. Unfortunately, you were up quite a few flights and though you tried your best to roll and fall safely, you still landed on the ground with an unceremonious thump.

The shattered glass underneath you from the window gave you a lot of ugly cuts. Not to mention you could already feel many bruises forming all over your body, maybe you broke a rib or two, you couldn't tell. It's been a while since you've had to make such a messy escape- that was probably a couple decades and rings ago.

Pulling yourself up from the ground, you wince through the pain and make a quick dash to grab your briefcase of supplies that went flying during the fall.

You couldn't really hear too well right now because of all of the warfare going on, everything sounded so muffled, so you couldn't tell what direction the danger was. But you knew you had to run, or else you would get into even deeper shit.

You were a woman on a mission, so you ran as fast as your legs could carry you, ducking, dodging, weaving, sneaking, and even having to get rid of a few goons yourself along the way to where you'd be able to enter the Pride ring.

It was quiet here, the sounds of warfare and screams of the damned were muffled from all the way out here at the edge of this ring of Hell. And it wasn't muffled because of your hearing, your hearing went back to normal after spending a few minutes in some quiet corner to regroup yourself after the hellish way here.

It was here, you decided, that you'd make your way into the Pride ring using your special power.

Your real power wasn't to make enchanting paintings or portraits, that was just skill you've honed after many years of life (and death).

But this...it made you nervous, even though the power was truly your's, you were nervous because you felt like you'd get caught breaking the laws of how Hell is supposed to function- like fundamentally. Sinners like you weren't supposed to be able to travel freely through Hell, but for some reason, you could with this power.

You took some supplies out of your briefcase, and drew a complex crest-like symbol on the ground in front of you.

Ever since you landed in Hell, this symbol felt like it was etched into the back of your eyelids. You always felt like it defined you, the essence of you, and that held power- the type and magnitude you still weren't totally sure of. You never had any close connection you trusted enough to teach or help guide you through any of this...

With a deep sigh, being careful not to agitate any broken ribs or bones, you knelt down in front of the symbol, placed both hands on the symbol of the ground, and closed your eyes.

You focused your energy into your hands, feeling power surge through you until your felt your hands disappear into the ground- your body following right after.

The one downside to this power, spell, ability- whatever you want to call it- was that you couldn't really control where you landed.

After much trial and error, you've honed it to the point where you could go from one ring to the other, but you couldn't really pick where you got dropped in the specific ring you wanted to go to.

Not to mention it drained so much of your energy, it made you so extremely weak to the point that almost any weakling that came across you could nudge you with their foot and you'd be near double death already.

All that said, you wanted to avoid using this power at all costs unless it was an emergency. So unfortunately your search for your love Alastor was hindered greatly by this caveat- you had to stay "alive" if you wanted to be reunited.

Too many attempts before you mastered this power would likely end in your (permanent?) death if you were found that weak and vulnerable so many times by who knows what type of demented soul that would witness your sorry state after you used the power.

And once more today did you fall to the ground with a thump, though a very small distance this time that was fortunately cushion.. by... garbage in a dumpster...

"This falling shit is getting really old..." You thought to yourself.

"Ugh shit..." You slowly roll out of the dumpster, your briefcase appearing by your side with a tiny *poof*.

As you lean against an alleyway wall, it hits you like a truck- the price you pay for defying the laws of Hell. The previous injuries from escaping the turf war made this time hit so much worse than any other previous time.

You accidentally stumble forward from the wave of pain that slammed you suddenly, vision blurring, energy fading fast enough to the point where you're just about to pass out at any given moment. But you try to hang in there as you attempt to refocus your vision.

Your stumbling around likely looked like you were a drunkard making an idiot of themselves after a bar fight.

As you kept accidentally bumping into random strangers that you could hardly see due to your blurry vision, you kept getting shoved around by people thinking you were being a public nuisance- and that says a lot, given you're in Hell and all.

All the shoving and little jabs from random strangers hurt so fucking much, that your body gave out, you couldn't keep it together any longer.

You couldn't get yourself together this time.

Your vision turned sideways as you fell to the ground, except you didn't hit the hard and unforgiving concrete.

You felt a pair of arms catch you. All you could see was a girl's face talking at you, but you couldn't hear a goddamned thing. Hell, you could hardly see her even though she was right up in your face.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay? Do you need help? Oh my god, Vaggie, we need to help them!"

"Charlie, are you sure about this? They could be dangerous! You don't even KNOW them!"

Then everything went black.

"But I can't leave them to die here, we need to bring them back to the hotel!"

"Ugh, alright, fine! But if they pose a danger to you or anyone else in the hotel, they are OUT."

-> Part 10

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noxarcanaart · 1 year

Text

flight risk chapter 15: your love is my turning page 🌕🌊

#kleo does art #steddie #steddie fanart #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #flight risk #steddie bodyguard au

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ofstoriesandstardust · 11 months

Text

the one with the bathing suit (b.r.b.)

a/n: yeah.... i don't got an explanation. takes place in the flight risk universe

summary: The time Bradley saw Sunshine in a bathing suit and was allowed to do something about it.

warnings: suggestive themes/comments, bathing suits (because that's a warning in and of itself), swearing, brief mentions of insecurities, brief mention of body sizes, future Bradley and Sunshine, this is my nod to all my fellow vanderpump rules watchers, unedited

Bradley's hand slides into your own as the two of you enter the Target, the cool air hitting you as you enter the store. You slide the sunglasses up to sit atop of your head as you pause, figuring out where the Customer Service desk is.

"Thanks for coming with me." You say as you spot it, tugging Bradley along.

He hummed. "No problem, my love. Shame the pants didn't fit."

You rolled your eyes at the memory of trying them on for him after an impromptu shopping trip with Amelia the other day. The two of you'd bickered about whether or not you should keep them, the pants a hair too small to be comfortable.

Bradley, however, had appreciated how they had made your ass look.

("You say that about everything I wear." You'd said with a scoff. He'd only been able to offer you that cheshire grin of his.)

You let your eyes wander as the two of you wait in line. Target had just put out their selection bathing suits for the summer and you were somehow always surprised by the fact that they continuously got cuter every year.

Bradley squeezed your hand when he caught on to where you were looking. "I think you need a new suit, my love."

You roll your eyes as you step forward in line. "And where in the world would I wear it?"

"I think you forget you live in a beach town now, Sunshine. You'd get good use out of it."

You roll your eyes again as you step up to the desk. "You just want to see me in a bikini."

Bradley doesn't deny the point as the girl working the counter begins to process the return. You thank her as she returns the money to the card and exit the area, headed for the door. Bradley's hand in your own stops you, tugging you over to the bathing suit area.

"B..." You mutter, eyeing the bikinis anxiously. "I don't need to make myself insecure on purpose today."

"I'm looking for me, I don't know what you're talking about." He says, bypassing the bikinis into the much smaller one-piece section.

You snort as your eyes fall on a rosey-pink colored one-piece. "That's cute." You comment, rifling through the sizes. "Too bad they don't have one in my size."

"This one might fit." He says, pulling it from the rack.

You eye it nervously. It was adorable, with an open back and straps that were to die for. "There is no way in hell that'll hold up my boobs." You blurt out.

He grins. "Sure it could."

You shake your head, taking it from his hands and putting it back on the rack. "I hate bathing suits. Make me so insecure about my thighs."

He clears his throat. "Respectfully, my love, no one is looking at your thighs when you are wearing a bathing suit." His eyes roam over your body. "Much more distracting parts of you to look at." You shoot him a look, even as you feel your cheeks warm.

"We need toilet paper."

"I have a present." Bradley announces as he enters the house. "You're watching the new part of the reunion without me?! You said you'd wait!"

Your eyes flicker to the paused screen, Andy Cohen in the middle of proclaiming "My cards!"

"'M rewatching last week's episode."

Bradley's shoulders visibly deflate at the explanation, relieved you hadn't gone ahead and watched the reunion episodes about the Scandoval that had rocked the nation without him.

You smile, pushing yourself up on the couch. "Whatcha got?"

"I bought that bathing suit you were looking at this weekend."

Your face falls. "What?"

He holds his hands out, quick to soothe you. "You don't have to keep it if you don't like it." He rushes out. "But you didn't try it on, and it was cute, and you've been saying you needed a new suit anyways."

You sigh, pushing yourself off the couch and grabbing the Target bag from his hands. "I'll try it on." You say as you approach the stairs to go up to the bathroom. "But I really doubt it'll fit."

He follows you closely, sitting on the edge of the bed as you disappear into the bathroom to try it on. You take a deep breath, shedding your clothing to pull the material over your body.

You take another deep breath, nervously opening your eyes as you turn back to the mirror.

You... You don't hate it.

You tug at the straps, adjusting the top.

You actually really don't hate it.

The material is comfortable and does surprisingly fit. Your eyes flit nervously over your chest, fighting the urge to cover it up.

"You wanna see?" You call out.

"Obviously."

You take a calming breath, unlocking the bathroom door, slipping into the bedroom.

Bradley's eyes go wide as his jaw falls open. You roll your eyes, huffing out a nervous laugh. "Okay, B, don't gotta gawk."

He shakes his head. "Nuh-uh, 'm gonna."

You feel your cheeks warm as you struggle to look at him. "'S just a bathing suit. You've seen me in those before."

"Yeah, and this is the first time I actually get to do something about it. Sunshine, you look so fucking good." He says, his eyes still roaming your body. "Holy fuck, and I spent years not getting to appreciate you in one of these things. What the fuck was I thinking?"

You let out another nervous laugh, looking back down at your feet. You hadn't even remembered to take your socks off before trying the suit on, not even thinking Bradley would see the piece on you.

"How do you feel about it?" He asks after a minute, his voice much softer.

You shrug, finally raising your head to meet his gaze. "I don't... hate it."

He grins. "Yeah?"

You shrug, taking another step closer towards him. He reaches out for you, hands falling to your waist.

"I've always loved the way you look in a bathing suit Sunshine, but fuck." He says, gaze planting right on your chest.

You duck your head, cheeks growing even warmer. "Not always."

He tilts his head in disagreement, clearly remembering the lake day from your camping trip in college.

("Careful now, Bradshaw." Eli had said to him. "You spend too much longer appreciating her tits in that suit and you're gonna get punched in the mouth.")

"You gonna keep it?" He says, pulling you onto his lap.

You nod, letting out a breathe. "Yeah, I think so."

He grins, shuffling the two of you back further on the bed. "Perfect." He says, his hand gliding down your body. One plants itself firmly on your ass while the other makes it's way back up towards the straps. "Because now I get to do this," He says, tugging at the straps, letting it unravel. "Without worrying about having to return it."

He captures you in a searing kiss, hands coming up to push the material off of your body.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #flight risk

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poshmina · 4 months

Text

A Tale of Two*Very Sensitive* Wings

Azriel X !Fem Reader

Warnings: (18+ Mature) wingplay, size kink, light angst, getting caught

Word Count: 5k+

Background: You are a long lost Archeron half-sister and your dad sends a message asking if your sisters will provide you with refuge. They oblige, bringing you back to the night court to reside with them and the rest of the inner circle. The story begins after A Court of Mist and Fury when Nesta lets slip to you at dinner that Azriel thinks he’s your mate. At first, this shocks you, as you are still human and are not accustomed to the traditions of the Fae. However, as time goes on you’ve begun to feel drawn to him. You spend your time in the Night Court learning healing practices, since you have no magical power and cannot fight with the rest of them. You’ve been staying in the House of Wind with Azriel, and though you see him often and want to get closer to him, he is always quiet and withdrawn, leaving you confused wondering how someone so distant could be your mate?

The floor of the House of Wind shudders as an Illyrian male lands on the balcony. You look up from where you’d been sitting at the table, enjoying dinner, and watch his shadow cross the balcony. You can’t make out his face in the darkness, but you know who it is anyhow.

Azriel crosses the threshold of the doorway into the dining room, his long wings tucked against his back. He hardly casts you a passing glance as he breaches the room, shadows swirling around him, seemingly not in the mood to chat tonight. You’ve gotten used to the quiet, brooding demeanor of your housemate, and usually you don’t press. Except tonight there’s blood on his face, in his hair, and on his clothes. As he walks, pieces flake off and scatter across the floor, meaning it’s been there long enough to dry. Meaning he likely left his wounds untreated the entire flight here, meaning he risked passing out mid flight and tumbling to his death due to blood loss.

You shove your chair out from behind you and stand, the sound echoing across the hall. “How long have you been bleeding?”

He doesn’t pause, or even look over his shoulder to address you. “It’s not mine.”

By this point, he’s halfway across the room, apparently planning to head to his quarters without having someone check his wounds. That’s when you notice it, a myriad of tears across his wings as if he’d been struck with arrows and then yanked them back out. The blood on his wings is most definitely his own.

“Azriel!” It comes out as a mix between a shout and a plea. You can tell yourself you don’t really care about him, that you would harass anyone until they got treated, except this is more than medical obligation. You’re beginning to care for him.

He stops in his tracks, but doesn’t look over his shoulder. “Y/N, I’m fine,” he insists.

You cross the room towards him. “Clearly you’re not! There are holes in your wings. You’re so covered in blood there’s no way even you could tell if there were wounds hidden beneath. You have to get treated!”

He lets out an irritated sigh and finally turns to face you. “Y/N, you don’t have to involve yourself in this. It’s none of your business.”

Gods, you can’t believe him. “You made it my business when you came in tracking blood across the house. Either go see a healer, or let me take a look.”

You don’t know why you’re so insistent. He could be fine. He’s been alive for hundreds of years and surely knows his physical limits. Except you’re so tired of him keeping you at arm's length, so tired of his closed off, brooding attitude.

He hesitates, jaw clenched, but doesn’t agree.

“Just let me help you,” you plead.

For a moment, you think you see behind his mask, the cold exterior he keeps up around you. You think he’s going to say yes.

Instead he draws further on himself and pushes you further away. “I’m fine, Y/N. Worry about yourself.” He turns to disappear down the hallway, but doesn’t get two steps before you’re walking after him. You don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, but you’re sick of his games. Sick of waiting and wondering if he’ll ever make a move. If he even likes you. Every feeling you bottled up from the past few months comes to a head, tumbling out of you.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, exasperated.

He wheels around to face you, unable to mask the surprise on his face, “What?”

“I said what is wrong with you! You’re always irritated, or distant, or avoidant. You actively avoid me even though I’ve done nothing but be kind to you. You act like I’m a thorn in your side even though I have every right to be here in this house with you.” You jab a finger towards the floor to solidify your point. “Do you think I asked to be here? To be taken from my home and thrust into this strange kingdom, with your strange Fae traditions, where everyone is older, and faster and stronger than me?” He blinks, stunned into silence by your sudden outburst.

“Do you think I asked to have you as my mate?”

Immediately, you wish you could take it back. You hadn’t meant for that to come out at all, let alone in such an accusatory tone. Really, you don’t mind the thought of him as your mate. That is, if you could explore the bond together. If he would quit shoving you away.

His shadows flare, and the scowl you've become so accustomed to returns. “Who told you that?”

“I—” You fumble over your words, “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

He takes a step closer, and all of the sudden you get a very real sense of his height as he towers over you. “Doesn’t matter, you already did. Now who told you?”

You reel to find something to distract him, not wanting to put the blame on Nesta. Your relationship with your new sister is so new and fragile, you can’t drive a wench in it. “I deserved to know Azriel. It’s not like you were going to tell me.”

His gaze flickers, and you swear you see a flash of pain in those eyes. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

The sting of rejection pangs sharp in your chest. He didn’t want you to find out this way, or he didn’t want you to find out at all? All these months avoiding you, acting like he wants nothing more than for you to poof out of his life and return where you came from. You tried to ignore the fear, tried to push it away, but now the reality crashes over you. Your mate doesn’t want you at all.

“Well now I know and I don’t expect anything from you.” You jab a finger towards his chest. “I know I’m human and I’m weak and you didn’t ask for me either. But it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me.” You take a shuddering breath, and a weight seems to fall off your shoulder with all of those words out. You realize you’ve moved closer to him and take a step back.

“Nicer,” he repeats, watching you intently.

“Yes,” you huff. “We don’t have to be anything more than acquaintances. Housemates, even. But you don’t have to be such a dick.” You cross your arms and level him a stare.

He sighs, shaking head in disbelief. “Fine. What exactly does this relationship of acquaintance entail?” One of his wings shudders behind him, and from the wince on his face you can tell it wasn’t on purpose. You look at it pointedly.

“Letting me help you would be a start.”

There’s a final moment of hesitation, drawn out long enough that you think he might actually turn you away. Except then he shakes his head, and as if it physically pains him to do so, says, “As you wish.” Without another word he turns down the hall to head to his rooms. You take a moment of pause, wondering if you pushed too far. The male in front of you is not just any man, he’s a centuries old Illyrian warrior with power beyond your comprehension. Any relationship with him could be dangerous, acquaintance or no.

But he turns back to you. “You coming?” And for some reason you can’t help but follow.

—

“Fuck.” He shudders beneath your hands. The blood was not, in fact, entirely his opponents. He had two gashes, one across his abdomen and the other along his bicep. Although his fae blood was already beginning to heal them, you insisted he let you stitch them up in order to avoid scarring.

You thread the needle through his skin and finish the final stitch, clipping the string you used to sew him up and sitting back to admire your handiwork. You may not have magic, but you quickly excelled in the healing arts.

“All done,” you tell him. He lifts his head from where it had been bowed against his arms and inspects your work. If he’s impressed or not, you can’t tell. He shows nothing on his face, not even a hint of pain from the wounds still remaining on his wings.

“Now for your wings,” you shift to stand behind him, biting your lip as you try to decide a course of action. Wings can’t be stitched up, they have to heal naturally, and take longer than most ailments to close. The best you can offer is to apply a numbing salve to curb the pain for now. You’re about to tell him that when he says—

“I can handle it.”

You knit your eyebrows. “I’m already here. You won’t be able to reach behind you. If I don’t numb them you’ll be in serious pain all night.”

Put so plainly you’re unsure how he could refuse. He does anyhow. “I don’t need numbing salve. You’ve done plenty, thank you.” And just like that he dismisses you. Except now that he’s washed the blood from his skin you can see just how pale he is, and with the pain he won’t be able to get a lick of sleep, slowing the healing process altogether.

You prop a hand on your hip. “As your healing professional I would strongly advise against that.” You don’t understand his reluctance, and every time he says no to help, it only makes you want to push further.

He looks up at you, and for the first time in maybe forever, one side of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Healing professional, huh?”

You shrug. “The closest you have to one, at least.”

He tilts his head back and mutters a prayer to the Mother. “You’re not going to leave until I let you do this, will you?”

“It’s unlikely.”

He gives an exasperated sigh, then leans over the desk he’d been sitting at, baring his wings to you. “Make it quick.” His voice is muffled by the cradle of his arms. You can’t help but smirk at the success. Progress. This is progress.

A few minutes later the house has summoned a jar of numbing salve for you and you are standing over him, preparing to begin your work.

“This may sting for a moment, but once it settles it will fade.” He grunts in response. “I’ll be gentle,” you add. You scoop a generous portion out of the jar, warming it between your fingers before applying it. You decide to start at the outskirts where the tears are thinner and not as gruesome. Hovering a hand over his wing, you pause for a moment before gingerly spreading the salve on him. He tenses immediately, hissing through his teeth before relaxing as it settles in.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Fine.” His tone is clipped.

Taking that as permission, you continue along the edges of his wings, applying and waiting for him to adjust before moving to the next. As far as cooperation goes, he is the ideal patient. He doesn’t so much as shift a muscle while you work, and remains deadly silent. If it weren’t for his fists resting on the table clenched to the point his knuckles are white, you would think it was painless.

Once you finish the outer ring of his wings, you pause. “I’m going to tackle the deeper ones now. Do you need a break?”

“Don’t bother.” His voice comes out muffled, and you notice one of his hands has disappeared into the space between his arms where his head is caged. He’s likely biting at his finger to distract from the pain.

“Would you like something to bite on?”

For a moment there’s no response, then his hand returns into sight on the desk. “I’m fine, Y/N. Please continue.” He says as if you’re a nagging insect buzzing at his ear rather than the only person trying to help him.

With a huff, you dip your fingers into the jar again, and begin to spread the salve near the base of his wings. This time, you aren’t quite so gentle.

He lets out a strangled sound beneath you, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. Immediately, you feel guilty, and start to take more care with the application, massaging slow, deliberate circles into the muscles of his wings. You can feel the muscles around the tears shudder and relax as you go. He curses beneath your hands.

You’ve almost reached the last, and nastiest, of his wounds when he abruptly shoves his chair backwards and stands, causing you to lose your balance. You nearly fall on your ass before catching yourself on the desk.

“That’s enough,” he nearly shouts at the same time you say, “What the fuck, Azriel?” His eyes are wild, chest heaving as he glares down at you. He distinctly seems to angle his body away from you.

“I wasn’t finished,” you argue.

He looks up at the ceiling, anywhere but directly at you. “You’ve done plenty.” Instinctively, your eyes fall to his stomach to double check the work you’d done earlier. Instead, your eyes snag on something a few inches lower.

Your eyes widen as you take in the obvious bulge straining against his leathers.

Oh.

One of the first things you’d learned about treating the Fae is that wings are very sensitive. They are to be handled with the utmost care, their delicate construction requiring practiced healing applications. However, in all your training, nobody had deigned to mention sensitive goes hand in hand with pleasurable.

His eyes flare as you look back up at him, cheeks heating. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but words don’t come. He merely continues to stare at you with that heated gaze.

“I should go,” the words come out of you in a frenzied rush. He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t disagree either. “I just— I didn’t realize,” now that you’ve started, you can hardly stop yourself. “This is all so new to me. I wouldn’t have if I’d known—”

“Now you know.” If he means it to be harsh, it doesn’t come out that way, but rather like a plea.

“I should go,” you say again, but can hardly move a muscle. With him standing there and looking at you like that, with the distance between you so small. You feel as if you're drowning, and he is the current pulling you further under.

You let out a small gasp as you feel a featherlight touch on your cheek. One of his shadows has crept across the room, and whether he intended it or not, is caressing you gently. Instinctively, you lean into it.

A few paces away, you watch his lips part as he watches you. He doesn’t recall his shadow. Instead, it inches closer, brushing across your lips. You don’t dare move, you don’t dare breathe.

“Azriel,” you whisper.

In a moment he’s upon you. The shadow dissipates, replaced by his hands cupping your face, his hips pushing you backwards until you're pressed against the desk. He kisses you with a hunger you’ve never felt before, his lips moving desperately against yours. You let out a whimper as he guides your lips apart, running his tongue across your own.

With every ounce of self control you have left, you manage to shove him away for a moment.

“I thought you hated me. I thought you didn’t want me as your mate.” You search his eyes for answers, for the cold, closed off man you’d known up until now.

“Hate you?” He tips his head back and laughs humorlessly. “If hating you means thinking about you every waking moment. If hating you means desperately wishing you’d appear outside my doorway every night. If hating you means not being able to even think about you without—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “If that’s what it means then sure, Y/N, I hate you.”

Your mind reels trying to process what he’s telling you. “You sure as hell acted like it.”

A flash of regret crosses through his eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I wanted to give you time to adjust.”

Faintly, you remember what had happened when Lucien had sprung the mating bond on a newly transformed Elain. She can hardly stand to be in the same room as him, let alone pursue a relationship.

In a moment of boldness, you reach down and palm him through his leathers, watching as his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. “Consider me adjusted.” You yank him back down to you, crashing his lips against yours. He meets you with the same intensity, tongue and lips and teeth clashing in a heavenly dance. His hand slides up to your throat as he kisses you, holding gently. It’s only when you pull away to gasp for air when you realize his shadows are floating around you, cradling you both.

Your lips part in wonder. It’s beautiful, but you hardly get the chance to tell him so before he lifts you up on the desk and resumes the contact. His kisses stray from the side of your mouth, to your jaw and neck. He takes your ear between his teeth and tugs lightly, sending shivers of pleasure through you. His hand cups your breast, and when the attention of his mouth lowers to your collarbones, you lean back to shuck your shirt off. He palms your breast greedily, reaching behind you to undo your bra clasp before taking a moment to stare. You feel your cheeks heat at the intensity of his gaze, and have the urge to cover yourself again.

“Perfect. You’re fucking perfect Y/N,” he mutters before lowering his mouth to your nipple and closing his mouth upon it, sucking and swirling in a way that makes you arch into him. He gives your other breast equal attention until you're moaning and panting beneath him.

He retreats to relive himself of his armor. If there’s any remaining pain in his wings, he doesn’t show it. He steps close and positions himself between your legs, peering down at you. You reach out a hesitant hand and hover it over the tip of his wing. He watches your movements with rapt attention, nearly holding his breath with anticipation.

You brush a featherlight touch along the crest of his wings, and that touch alone is enough to cause him to shudder and groan under his breath. You can’t imagine how he stood still for so long earlier.

You reach down and tug at the hem of his shirt, wanting it off. He obliges, tossing it aside, returning his attention to you. You take him in slowly, dragging a hand down the hard line of his abs, tracing his tattoos with your finger. He waits patiently, letting you have your fill. Unable to help yourself, you glance down at his hardness again, breath faltering as you take in exactly how big he is. From a distance, it seemed reasonable, but from this close…

He reaches out a hand to cup your face, peering into your eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

Without a moment's hesitation, you say. “Yes. I want this Azriel. I want you.”

You watch relief flash in his eyes before he resumes his movements. His hands go to your waistband, and he unbuttons your pants before leaning in to whisper, “Lift your hips for me, “Y/N.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself so he can slide your pants over your hips and cast them aside. He repeats this motion with your underwear, baring you completely to him. And before you can even consider what’s to come next, he lowers himself to his knees in front of the desk, bringing his face directly in line with where you need him most. He places one long lick from your entrance to your crest, drawing a ragged gasp from you, then pulls away.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” Your mind spins, because as he’s talking, his mouth is hovering over you and you can feel his breath as he speaks.

He dips a finger between your folds, dragging it up to circle your clit. “I’m gonna get you ready now so you can take me comfortably, alright?”

You hardly register what he’s saying, because his finger is moving fervently against you and you can already feel that coil of pleasure within you. You give a short nod in response.

Then, as quickly as it came, the pressure on your clit is gone. You look down to see him peering up at you, waiting for an answer. What did he say again?

He must sense you drawing a blank, because he smirks and repeats himself. “I need you to be good and do as I say so you can take me fully. Okay, Y/N?”

“Oh… Yes. Okay,” you nod fervently. It’s then you realize exactly what he’s saying to you. You heard rumors around the inner circle that Azriel had the biggest… wingspan… but you never imagined anything close to this.

Satisfied with your answer, he resumes again, lowering his mouth to take the place of his finger. He circles his tongue around your clit, then sucks gently. You’re already seeing stars when you feel his finger at his entrance and he slowly slides it into you.

You moan and arch off the desk, hands flying to his head to tangle in his hair. You chance a glance down at him, and the sight of him kneeling before you, wings looming over his shoulders, eyes dark with lust, almost sends you over the edge then and there.

He begins to pump into you slowly, curling every so often to hit a spot that makes you writhe and moan. You’re just at the crest of your orgasm when he adds another finger. You hadn’t expected it, and the new sensation causes your hips to jerk as you gasp in pleasure.

“Azriel I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Hold on a little longer for me, Y/N.”

You curse, trying to dampen the pleasure growing inside you. It’s all too much, and you have to bring your hand to your mouth and bite on your knuckle to keep from coming. He slows his movements for a moment, purposefully torturing you and keeping you on that edge.

A moment later, everything resumes with increased intensity. He pushes a third finger inside you, stretching you in a way you’ve never felt before. You gasp, shutting your eyes against the pleasure, and when you open them again, he is standing in front of you, never stopping the pace of his fingers. He raises his other hand to circle your clit. The pleasure reaches a new crest, and you find yourself grasping onto the desk just to find something to ground you.

“That's it. Come for me now,” he whispers, eyes never leaving you as the orgasm washes over you. You shudder as you come down from it, hips bucking against his hand. When you finally open your eyes you find your hand intertwined with his.

He gazes down at you, and the hint of a smile crosses his face. “Beautiful. Fucking perfect, Y/N.”

You blush and attempt to catch your breath as he rids himself of his pants and aligns himself with your entrance. You cast a glance down, taking him in in all his glory. He rubs his tip through your folds and sighs at the contact, before leaning in to give you a kiss.

“Tell me if it hurts and we’ll stop,” he promises. You nod, dismissing his worries. You sincerely doubt he could do anything to hurt you based on how amazing you’ve felt so far. And regardless, you trust him, trust the rigid self control he’s shown you all these months in the house together.

You feel his tip prodding your entrance, then he sinks the first few inches in. You sigh at the sensation, tilting your head to steal a kiss. With that for motivation, he pushes in a little further, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Okay?” he asks.

You let out a breathless laugh, “Better than okay.”

You watch his face soften, and he pushes the boundary a bit further. You look down to watch him sink in, and are shocked to see he’s only halfway sheathed. You can already feel yourself beginning to stretch around him. The feeling is foreign, but not painful.

When you look back up at him, his face is strained in an expression that nearly looks painful. He’s holding himself back, hesitating to keep a firm grip on that iron self control of his. You reach up to run your hand through his hair, catching his eyes.

“I’m okay Azriel. I’m not going to break,” you reassure him.

You can tell by his curt not that he doesn’t believe it. He advances another slow, languid inch, and you buck against him impatiently.

“Azriel,” you level him a look.

He sighs. “I know. I just don’t want to hurt you. You’re still human and—”

“And I’m okay. This is okay. This is good.” You rotate your hips enjoying the pleasurable sensation it brings. He hisses through his teeth above you, and his hips jerk forward only slightly. You enjoy pushing him, enjoy making him lose control.

But there's still so much of him left, and you can’t stand the delicate line he’s walking. You want him fully, and you want him now. You reach behind him, grabbing his ass to shove him the rest of the way in. You gasp as he makes a strangled sound above you. There’s a hint of the pain he was so worried about, but it falls to the wayside as you're entirely overwhelmed by pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groans as he finally starts to move freely. Slowly at first, then with increased urgency. He pulls his hips back and rolls them into you, hitting a spot so deep within you it feels like you’re one in the same. You watch as his control slips, and his hips snap into you, inching you backwards on the desk.

“Yes, Azriel, yes,” you tell him as he picks up the pace, fucking you so hard the desk begins to bang against the wall and your eyes roll back in your head. Fucking Azriel is a sensation unlike any you’ve known before. He fills you perfectly, bending to place kisses along your breasts and collarbones. Holding your hips to slam into you at an impeccable pace.

He shifts, looping his arms under your knees, and then there’s only air beneath you as he picks you up and presses you against the wall, fucking you into it. You gasp and weave your hands into his hair, tugging lightly. You feel his thrust getting quicker, jerkier, but before he comes he switches you again, bending you over the desk and fucking you from behind. You cry out at the change in angle, and your hands fly to the edge of the desk, holding tightly.

You feel him leaning over you as he places a kiss on your back. “This is what I wanted. Everytime I avoided you, everytime I pushed you away, it was because of how badly I wanted this.” He punctuates the last word with a particularly hard thrust and you cry out as you feel his hand intertwine with your hair. It all becomes too much, and you feel yourself approaching the edge again when he wraps a hand around to your front, finding your clit and sending you spiraling. He fucks you through it, steady, hard, barely giving you a chance to come down before his hips jerk and you feel him finish. He curses, seating himself fully inside you as he rides out his orgasm.

When he pulls out, you are panting and breathless and sated with pleasure. You turn around to see his shadows scattered across the room, filling every crevice and corner.

It’s then that you both hear footsteps coming down the hall. His eyes widen, and he hurriedly steps in front of you to block you from view, covering himself with his hands.

Cassian round the corner, fury in his gaze. “What the fuck Azriel. The entire city is covered in shadows. Rhysand thinks you’re– Oh.” He stops in his tracks, cheeks turning pink as he lifts a hand to cover his eyes.

“Cassian?” Azriel says, his voice strained.

“Yea?” His voice sounds choked in his throat.

“Get the fuck out.”

#azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader

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