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blueraineshadows · 1 year

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I want to request a fic because I literally never have and I feel left out 😂

Can I request a lil something where Sebastian and MC haven’t been speaking all day because they argued the night before and MC is all mopey and sad after her classes so she makes her way to the Undercroft wanting to be alone but he’s down there all hot and sweaty practicing spells and when he notices her he’s still in a mood and says something sarcastic but she’s just turned on and starts taking his clothes off to have angry make up sex 🙃

All the pleases and thank yous, love ya lots 🤍

Oooh would love to!! 😍🔥

Thank you for the Ask 💜

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC 🌶 NSFW

When a fire burns, it crackles and spits, flames dancing with a roaring madness, heat, beautiful but terrible, that is hypnotising to watch. The warmth is a glow that spreads, building until it scorches right through your flesh, as if to alight your very soul.

This is what it is like when either you fight, or fuck, with Sebastian Sallow.

When they fought, they fought, and last night had been a good one, or a bad one, depending on how you looked at it. Last night they had niggled, and pushed and then the limit was reached. Screaming, yelling, and then she had thrown her shoe at him. He had only just ducked in time. The look on his face had been priceless, any other time it would have been funny, but he wasn't amused. He had stormed off and left her there, trembling with rage.

Now, he wasn't speaking to her, at all. The day had been awkward, their friends tiptoeing around them as they sat through classes, avoiding each other.

By dinner time though, MC was no longer mad, just gloomy. She missed him.

"Are you alright?" Ominis asked, quietly.

"I'll be fine," she said. She pushed her dinner away uneaten. "I need to be alone for a bit. Don't wait up."

She left the Great Hall and wandered the corridors she now knew so well. Wrapped up in her own misery, she found herself outside the Undercroft, the scene of the crime. Maybe some time alone and a good bout of ugly crying would do the trick. Nothing like a bit of self pity to end the day.

The Undercroft wasn't empty.

Smoke filled the air, and Sebastian was so busy hurling curses, grunting with the effort, that he hadn't heard her come in. The training dummy was taking the beating of it's life.

MC stood, transfixed, as Sebastian handled his wand with an expert touch. He was in his shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, collar open and his tie hanging low. His hair was wild, sweat beading on his temples, his cheeks flushed and lips parted as he panted from the exertion.

MC swallowed, hard. Fuck, he was too hot for words!

She wandered closer, eyes roaming over his legs as he stood in a duelling stance, the stretch of fabric over his thighs making her lick her lips.

He caught her movement out of the corner of his eye and spun, wand raised, his breaths hard and fast. She froze, eyes on his. "Hi," she said, awkwardly.

He stared at her, then lowered his wand, turning back to face the training dummy. "Come to throw the other shoe at me, have you?"

Frustration boiled in her blood and with a growl of impatience she stepped up and shoved him against his chest, making him stumble backwards in surprise. "You are the most stubborn, pain in the arse I've ever met," she grumbled.

"So, I've been told," he said. He brushed the front of his shirt where she had shoved him. "Tell me something I don't know."

She heaved a sigh. Even when he was being annoying she burned for him it would seem. He had no damn right looking this sexy when she was here being cross with him.

"Don't make me throw the other shoe at you."

His eyes flew to hers. He pinched the fabric of his shirt, wafting it in an attempt to cool his sweaty skin. MC licked her lips. He watched the movement but didn't move towards her, in fact he turned away, back towards the training dummy, his mouth curving wickedly. "I'd rather something softer, lacy perhaps."

He sent a rather fierce Bombarda towards the training dummy. MC was a storm of frustration and desire. She snatched out her own wand and hit Sebastian with a basic charm. He stumbled back, the shock on his face quickly replaced with intent.

It was frenzied, it was fast, and it was blazing. MC grit her teeth, meeting him spell for spell, until she managed to blast him backwards. His body went flying towards the wall and she flicked her wand, slowing his momentum so he wouldn't hit it. As his back rested against the stone wall, his chest heaving with gasped breaths, she ran.

MC made a grab for him, snatching up that loose tie of his and tugging him towards her. She pressed her lips against his but he remained stiff, unyielding, his breath coming hard and fast through his nose.

She pulled back a little to look at him. "I'm not going to stop, you know," she said.

He lifted an eyebrow. She took that as a challenge.

Her fingers scrambled with his shirt buttons, tugging them loose, shoving his shirt over his shoulders as she smothered his lips and face with kisses. He still didn't respond.

She looked down, his chest was flushed and damp, she dragged her palms down, fingers brushing a nipple as she moved to caress the sensitive skin of his sides. He watched her hands, mouth mute, arms hanging at his sides.

Her heart was pounding, she burned for him, her body was screaming for his touch. But he just stood there. But he wasn't stopping her either.

Then, she was ripping her wool vest free and hurriedly tugging at her blouse buttons.

That caught his attention. He watched as she threw her blouse out into the room, her breaths coming in short, hard pants as she tore off her skirt and underwear, kicking her shoes free.

MC pressed herself against him, the soft lace of her chemise crushed against his sweaty chest. She squirmed, her mouth sucking at his neck.

He still hadn't touched her, but his wand had slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor and rolling away.

She pressed a palm against his arousal, smirking triumphantly at how hard he was for her. She rubbed him through his clothing and he bit back a moan.

"What's the matter, don't you want to play?" She asked, teasingly.

MC could see how tight his jaw was, he was barely clinging on to his restraint. Stubborn prick.

She licked his neck, sucking softly up to his ear, the tip of her tongue teasing. "Shame," she breathed against his damp skin. "My pussy is so wet for you, but you don't want to play. Maybe I should go back to my dorm and finish myself off."

She backed away from him, wearing nothing but a lacy chemise and knee high socks. She trailed her hand down between her thighs, stroking gently. She moaned.

Sebastian's control slipped. He reached for her, spinning to pin her against the wall, the stone cold against her burning flesh. "You are a naughty girl,' he said.

She smirked. "And you love it."

His kiss was searing, tongue seeking hers desperately and she gave as good as she got. He lifted her, arms supporting her as her legs wound about his waist. She realised she still had her high socks on and hooked a finger under the hem of one, and that's when he reached out, a lightning fast move to grip her wrist. "Leave them on," he said, tightly.

"Your wish is my command," she said. She gave him a wink and let go of her sock.

He slid two fingers along her folds, groaning in appreciation at the slick waiting for him. "All yours," she moaned.

He slid his fingers in, working her, thumb rubbing upwards to circle slowly. She ground against his hand, toes curling. He worked faster, drawing more sounds from her lips.

MC cried out, fingers clutching his hair as the pressure began to build. He pushed up the delicate lace and cotton of her chemise, hand cupping her breast, a sharp pinch of a nipple was soothed with a hot mouth, tongue flicking the burning peak.

"Tell me again," he said. Voice deep and rough against her skin. "Tell me you're mine."

She reached down to take hold of his arousal, her hand smoothing his pre-cum over the tip, he groaned.

"Feel it," she whispered into his ear. "Feel what's yours."

He took his cock out of her hand and pressed it against her entrance, pressing the tip inwards. He paused. "Mmm, you feel so good."

His fingers dug into her flesh, clinging on for dear life as he gently rubbed the tip in and out of her entrance. "Fuck, MC...gods."

She tugged at his hair, pulling his head back. "Watch me," she said, panting. She rolled her hips, sliding further onto him. "See how much I fucking love your cock."

He thrust deep, filling her to the hilt, and then he couldn't hold back anymore. He began to fuck her so hard, her back scraping against stone, but she grit her teeth, her finger nails digging into his slick skin.

He gripped her tight and she had to brace her hands behind her, her breasts bouncing at the violence of his hips.

She had driven him so wild. He was relentless, pounding in to her, rocking his hips to find the sweet spot. Her moans were now cries, ripped from her throat as her legs began to tremble. He pressed a thumb to her nub, nudging it, until she clenched, his name spilling from her lips.

He released himself into her, burying his face into her neck, words of adoration whispered against her skin.

He stood there, panting, flushed, beads of sweat trickling down his face. She was still pinned to the wall, her legs like jelly, one sock still up, the other had slid down, wrinkled around her ankle. Her chemise was soaked with sweat from both of their bodies, a twisted damp scrap of lace and cotton.

Sebastian lifted his head from where it had been buried against her shoulder. He pressed the softest, most gentle kiss against her lips. She took his face in her hands. Their eyes met, both of them dazed and fucked out, their argument forgotten.

"I can't live without you," she whispered.

He kissed her again, soft, a whisper of lips. "You dont have to."

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow smut #blueraineshadows #hogwarts legacy ask

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effervescentdragon · 11 months

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"im always on your side" + any ship you want

"No, but it's not fair!" Seb huffs out, tearing the balaclava off. "What the fuck was that, he fucking - he impeded me!"

Rocky doesn't say anything, which is his way of signaling to Seb that he is overreacting. "Rocky, I, oh for fucks sake," Seb continues, muttering something in German.

He waits patiently for Seb to tear out his equipment, all the while thinking how he used to think of himself as Guillaume before, and now doesn't. Rocky Rocky road ahead of us, Seb laughs sometimes before the race, and Rocky indulges him in that as he does in many things. As so many of them do. Too many, perhaps.

Seb is finally done with his mini tantrum. By the look on his face, a bigger one is incoming.

"Rocky," he starts, "Mark fucking impeded me. It was my quali, my lap, and he didn't move, this is unacceptable, what the fuck does he think -"

"What seems to be the problem," a voice behind Rocky states and he is simultaneously relieved and apprehensive, because Christian isn't really asking.

The moment he sees Christian, Seb's eyes narrow and it's like he's gotten another wave of fury to ride. "Christian! He impeded me, he impeded my quali lap, what the -"

"Calm down, sweetheart," Christian says and Rocky says nothing. "I know it looks like that, but our data says that actually, he didn't. You turned too into the left corner and lost almost two tenths there."

Sebastian looks like he's going to cry. Rocky shuffles on his feet, because that expression never bodes well. He's staying out of it, though, especially since his data is showing exactly what Christian is saying.

"But," Seb starts, his voice lower and wet, "it's - I know that - you're supposed to be on my side!"

Does he practice it, Rocky wonders as he watches Christian step closer. Seb's eyes are wet with almost-tears, his hair is wet with sweat, his lips are wet where he licks at them, then pushes the bottom lip out in a pout.

"Oh, darling," Christian croons, because there is no other way to describe the tone Rocky has only heard him use with Sebastian, "I am always on your side. Yeah?" he says with a smile, then cups Seb's cheek gently.

Rocky turns around. He needs to gather Mark's data too. Or something.

Not like it matters. Seb is going to win anyway.

#:)))))#c tag <3 #red bull golden boy #seb/christian #your tp should always be unquestionably devoted only ever to you #(and the next golden boy)#why dont seb and christian have a ship name #f1 rpf #my writing #effervescentdragonwrites

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aplaceinthedark · 10 months

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chapter three: SILENCE is ONE THING

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch and the Watcher.

CW: misgendering, mention of death, mentions of motorcycle accident

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously, I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members.

A/N: Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind lemme know.

"Sorry, did I scare you?"

I just stood there as I stared up at him, completely speechless from the near heart attack he gave me. When I finally found my voice again, it was to say in a weak voice, "Wh-Who are you?"

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, which I saw he wore over a grey hoodie. Here I was, in basketball shorts and a cut-off shirt, getting heat stroke just looking at him. "I'm your new neighbor," he said.

"I didn't know anyone lived close to me out here," I said. I wracked my brain, trying to remember if I had looked for houses nearby.

"I mean it in the… loosest of ways," he said. He tilted forward a little, long strands of dark- brown hair hanging out of the hood pulled over his head. I suddenly became aware of how tall he was. Like, a head taller than me, at least. "I don't know if you heard me, but I'm Noah. Noah Sebastian."

"Alright then, Noah Sebastian. If you're my new neighbor, where'd you come from?" I asked, leaning away from him. I scanned the yard behind him, seeing that there was no other car in the makeshift gravel lot.

Noah pointed a long, slender finger to his left, where the forest curved from the road to behind my house. I noticed he was wearing cut-off gloves. "You're not the only one who lives in the woods," he said with a grin.

"Yeah? Well I'm probably the only one who doesn't sneak up on their neighbors,” I said, finally finding my voice as I slipped away from where he cornered me.

"Well, I'm sorry about that. You were about to go into the woods." He shrugged, returning his hand to his pocket. "And Nick told me that a new person had moved in, so I wanted to welcome you properly."

I wasn't sure what it was, but something in his voice made my skin crawl. It sounded sweet, like honey disguised something poisonous. He was like a snakebite, but he had yet to strike.

"So what's your name?" he asked.

"My what?" My mind felt foggy, full of staticky thoughts that made me feel slow.

"Your name, dear," he said, grinning. He took a step closer, until he was almost toe to toe with me. "I would like to know your name."

A seed of stubbornness in me was all that stood between my name and my lips. My birth name though. “It-It’s Taylor,” I gasped out.

The look in his eyes looked as if he knew i was lying, somehow. He shrugged as if in defeat. “Fair enough,” he sighed, taking a step back. He tugged his hood lower over his forehead. If I wasn't so creeped out by him, I'd say that he was almost...pouting.

"Aren't you hot?" I asked, the words blurting out. Those pouting lips curled into a smirk, making me scowl. "The heat, jackass."

I swore his dark eyes darkened further, and a small part of me bleated in fear. Something about him just seemed wrong. I became suddenly aware that it was just us two out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Noah!”

The familiar voice made me jump. I hadn't noticed the small silver car drive up, nor did I hear Nicholas get out of his car until he yelled. Noah however, didn't move.

“It doesn't bother me,” he said. His eyes flicked between me and Nicholas. I wondered if Granny's warnings also applied to scrawny assholes that appeared out of nowhere.

“Nick!” Noah exclaimed, looking up at Nicholas as he came closer. The weird feeling vanished the minute Noah's eyes left mine. “What are you doing here?”

“I… came over to drop some things off,” Nicholas said, his eyes moving between me and Noah.

“He's a friend of yours?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Nicholas said. He didn't seem as weirded out as I was; just… curious. That's when he handed me a bag. “I found this in one of Granny's cabinets. I thought I'd save you the trouble of finding one.”

I opened the bag to see a security camera in it. “You didn't have to do that,” I said.

“It was just collecting dust. I don't think she'll miss it.” Nicholas shrugged, then turned to Noah. “Do you need a ride… home?”

“Why not?” Noah said, stalking off. Halfway to the car, he called out over his shoulder, “Have a good night, Taylor.”

Nicholas turned back to me, his face tight. “Text me if you need help setting that up,” he said.

I swallowed all of my questions. “Alright.”

After the two left, I went back to my laundry. My hands shook as I took down the slightly damp clothes off the clothesline, and they didn't stop until I forced them to while I finished my dinner. I felt off-kilter, shaken as I curled up on the couch and tried to watch a movie.

It wasn't until I was lying under the covers of my bed, unable to sleep, that I realized that there was no way I couldn't have missed Noah if he came down from the road. Even if he ran across my lawn, I would have seen him. Which meant one thing.

“That looks extremely unsafe.”

He had come from the woods.

The familiar voice made me pause. I looked down at Nicholas, who was staring up at me from the front steps. His hair was down, and he wore regular glasses. “Well, I don’t have a ladder, and I’m not exactly what they call ‘tall’,” I said.

I was standing on my two outdoor chairs, stacked on top of each other, to give me access to the wooden cross beams in the porch’s open ceiling. I was eager to set up the security camera immediately.

There hadn’t been any late-night visitors overnight, but I also didn't leave out an offering. In fact, I had brought the plate in so it wouldn’t get snatched and ruin my plans.

“I could’ve brought one over,” he sighed.

“Yeah, but that would’ve meant I had to wait for you,” I said. “I already have the battery set up on the roof, so I just need to–”

“How'd you get up on the roof without a ladder?” he asked.

“I’m a really good climber.” And it also involved the chairs I was standing on. I saw a flash of confusion and doubt cross his features, but he just shook his head.

“Are you still intending to catch what destroyed your bird feeder?” he asked.

“Well, yeah,” I said, having forgotten the lie I had texted him, “but if someone sneaks onto my property, I wanna catch them too.”

“No one would come out here. It’s too far out of the way.”

I gave him a pointed look. “Well, that’s apparently not true for your friend.” After finishing hanging up the camera, I tried to step down on my own, but Nicholas held his hand out and helped me down.

“I didn’t think he’d come over by himself. He’s normally a… private person. Doesn’t really leave his place a lot,” he said. “He didn't scare you, did he?”

“He snuck up behind me and grabbed me,” I said. It sounded like I was exaggerating, but Nicholas sounded like he was coming to Noah's defense.

“I'm sorry. I'll have a talk with him before I leave for Richmond tomorrow,” Nicholas said, almost raising his hands in a defensive manner. He was defending him. “Noah's not really - well, he is a little weird, but normally he's pretty chill.”

“Whatever you say, Nicholas,” I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

“You can call me Nick. Only Granny calls me Nicholas. My friends call me Nick.”

“Well, glad to hear that you consider me a friend,” I said sincerely, earning a soft, warm smile. “But why did you come over?”

“Oh. I, uh…wanted to see if you wanted to go into town? I was on my way and I thought I’d drop by and ask,” he said.

The town of New Hope only consisted of a couple of square miles, and boasted about having almost five- thousand people, which is one of the reasons why I wanted to move out here. When I had driven through on that first day, it took a total of five minutes to drive from one end of the town to the other.

“Yeah, sure! Just lemme change real quick.”

According to Nick, there were only a few good places to sit down and eat that weren't fast food. One was a diner that was always full of the older people, and it was best if I just avoided it all together. Another was just a bar.

We ended up in the town’s only Mexican restaurant, where the food was comparable to Taco Bell, according to Nick. But it turned out they served horchata, which was perfect in my book.

“So what was so bad about the other place?” I asked.

“The old people around here do nothing but gossip. I’m surprised Granny hasn’t yet told her friends that you and I are seeing each other,” Nick said.

I snorted. “I met you like, two days ago.”

“That doesn’t stop them. Give ‘em a month, and people will be asking you when our wedding will be,” he said, taking a bite of his food.

“You don’t sound like you like them a whole lot.”

He looked up from his food. “It’s a long story,” he said, “but a lot of people here like to think they care about you. Give 'em a chance and they'll throw you to the lions.”

There was a few minutes of silence as I mulled over that statement. Would that be my fate? I’ve never really cared about what others think of me, but what did he mean by that last bit? Did it happen to him once?

After a while, I noticed that Nick looked like he was mulling something over. His eyes kept flicking over to me. I sighed. “Spit it out.”

“What? My food?”

“Ew. No. Whatever’s on your mind.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me asking… what happened to your hip?” he asked. “I saw that scar this afternoon, and you were limping badly after we moved your furniture around.”

“Oh, that's fine. It…” I took a deep breath. “It was a motorcycle accident.”

“You ride motorcycles?” he asked incredulously.

“No, my brother do… did.”

“Did? Did he…” Nick trailed off when I nodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

I swallowed thickly. “It’s fine. It was a freak accident anyways,” I said. I let out a short chuckle. “At least we were wearing helmets.” I tried to lighten the mood. His shocked look told me that it didn’t, so I scrambled for some other topic. “You have siblings?”

“Yup. I'm a middle child,” he said. “They’ve both moved out east.”

“So is Granny the only reason you stay here?” I asked. “Since you don't like the people around here?”

“Well…” He blew a long strand of black hair out of his face. “It's just… It's nice to get away from the craziness of the city, you know? I don't know if you liked it or there on the coast, but–”

“That's the reason I moved,” I admitted quietly. “I had to get out.” Well, it was one reason.

He looked at me for several seconds before slowly nodding, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. I couldn’t help but think, Kindred spirits.

“Do you need to go anywhere else?” Nick asked.

“I’m good if you’re good.”

“You wanna meet my cats?”

“Oh, fuck yes. Let’s go.”

Up front, when I was paying for my meal, a flyer caught my eye. It was pinned up on something like a community board, partially hidden under other flyers, but I could still make out the main bits of it.

I think it was some advertisement for the library, but it was the picture that caught my attention. It was a drawing of some… well, I wouldn’t really call it an animal. It was vaguely humanoid. Really, it was just an all-black figure, with long arms that ended in long fingers. Scraggly long hair hung from its head. Large, white orbs were centered where its eyes should be.

But the most prominent feature were the antlers that protruded from its head. They looked more like tree branches with the way they twisted in on each other.

Under the picture, in some mockery of a ghoulish font, was written the phrase:

WHO WATCHES THE WATCHER?

“The hell is a ‘Watcher’?” I asked Nick, who was waiting off to the side.

He opened his mouth to answer, but some guy behind me beat him to it. “That’s the thing that they say lives out in them woods by the main road, out by 19,” he said. “They call him the Watcher because he watches over the Shenandoah Valley.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nick shift uncomfortably. “Gotcha,” I said, turning back to the lady behind the counter. Unfortunately, the guy didn't take the hint.

“Hey, aren’t you the new girl who bought the old Davis house by 19?” the man asked. My shoulders tensed. “You practically live next door to the—”

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Nick butted in.

“Hey man, she was just ask—”

“They.”

Nick and the man turned towards me. “I’m not a ‘she’. I go by ‘they’,” I said sternly. We left the restaurant, leaving the man in the dust. When we were outside, I apologized.

“No, it’s fine, I just…” Nick sighed. “I was hoping he wouldn’t spook you.”

“I’m fine. That's not what I was apologizing for.”

“Oh… For correcting him?” he said. “I’m sorry if I’ve called you by the wrong pronouns.”

I shrugged. “Thanks. I'm used to it. I know I’m not what most people assume a non-binary person looks like, so I’m used to it,” I said. “It’s just… the way he was talking got me…cranky, I guess.”

“Ignore him. They think anything out in the woods is the Watcher,” Nick said. Something in his tone made me glance over at him, but he was completely focused on driving.

He was quiet the few minutes it took to get to his place. It was a quaint house, almost hidden behind the plants and ivy. It wasn’t until he had parked the car did he speak. “Have you been doing the offerings?”

The question surprised me. “Not last night,” I admitted. I even went a step further and said, “Something came onto the porch Friday night.”

The look in his eyes when he turned to me sent shivers down my spine. His eyes were the color of steel when he said, “I’ve seen a lot of things out here, so trust me when I say, you should really be leaving the offerings.”

Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #bad omens au #noah sebastian fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #jolly karlsson fanfiction #nick folio fanfiction #horror au #paranormal au #tag: non binary character #fic: lost in the labyrinth #series: lost in the labyrinth #cw: supernatural themes #cw: death #cw: motorcycle accident

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philliam-writes · 1 year

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on that tree i'll carve our names (02)

pairing: Omins Gaunt x fem! Hufflepuff Reader / Sebastian Sallow x Male MC

summary: Call lowers his eyes to Sebastian’s, and they trade a look that feels like a dare. He realises he enjoys the challenge hidden behind those words; this little game of cat and mouse, except they both think they are the cat. Sebastian is sharp as a whip—but Call has lived the first decade of his life in a house divided where walls are thin and dealing with secrets becomes a delicate business of life and death.

notes: [01] | [03]

words: 4.9k

a/n: thank you so much everybody who left a like and a little comment!! the brainrot goes so hard, there hasn't been a day where i wasn't thinking of HL or jotting thoughts about the fanfic. also reading A LOT so if you can recommend me good fanfics, i WILL EAT

02: blackthorn makes the soul yearn

The room still spins when you climb to your feet, eyes fixed on anything but the Slytherin boy. Lucan Brattleby, for the first time since you have known him, seems to be at a loss for words. The other students have already begun casting Reparo on the destroyed objects, the giant pendulum swinging at an ankle as though barely hanging on by a thread, setting things back into order before a teacher comes up and sees the havoc you have caused.

“Does this mean we have a draw?” Lucan thinks aloud, holding tightly onto his little ledger with the bets written inside. His voice almost drowns under the turmoil of other voices.

“What was that?”

“Did you see the power of that spell?”

“Felt like some really advanced magic.”

Advanced magic? No, this felt like magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable. Old, very old.

Involuntarily, your eyes move to St. Jude. From across the room, he’s staring at you, wide-eyed and breathing hard. It frightens you how easily you can read his expression now, and it scares you more that some part of it might be mirrored on your own face before you can guard yourself against that emotion.

He looks at you as if you are the answer. As if should he trace your name, it would spell home. As though he has been waiting for you all his life. You feel sick.

“Once we’ve cleared the place, we’ll resume the duel!” Lucan announces to the crowd, trying to appease them before they pounce onto him and demand their money back.

You feel your stomach churn, cold sweat running down your back. The cheering crowd is the last drop falling into the overflowing cauldron, spilling its toxic concoction.

“I forfeit!” you bellow. A deathlike hush falls over the room. “I forfeit the match!”

The silence lasts for about a second before the crowd explodes with discord. You push Lucan to the side, who sticks to you like a tick trying to persuade you to continue. Those who have bet on you are even less happy. You duck away from their glares, marching towards Javi who’s thrown your robe over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You don’t even know where to begin. How to begin to explain something you don’t understand yourself, your head a spinning container for wildly running thoughts you can’t get a hold of. For now you need to get out of here, into the Hufflepuff common room because that’s where he can’t follow—

In a flash, someone’s hand snakes out and seizes your wrist. The room comes into sudden focus. St. Jude has a wild, expecting gaze, hungry in a way that makes you immediately want to redraw your wand and throw him to the other side of the room.

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice hoarse. He holds his head slightly lowered and looks at you with his grey eyes from under thick, dark lashes.

You pry your wrist from his hold. “We have nothing to talk about.” You tear your robe from Javi’s hold, cramming your arms through the robe’s sleeves as though you’re putting on an armour. Out of the corner of your eyes you notice Javi rising to his feet, ready to step in.

St. Jude doesn’t spare him a glance. He lowers his voice, and you can her the tremble in it, how much effort it takes him to form this one little word. “Please.”

So there is reason one why you agree; or rather you convince yourself it is one of the reasons why you agree: he does something so uncharacteristically for a Slytherin; he asks. But secondly, and most important, you have to destroy this feeling by its roots; cut it off, burn it. Tear down the walls, don’t keep it in. You will not be afraid of him, of any man as long as you breathe.

Drawing your shoulders up, you jut your chin towards the Clock Tower Courtyard. “Five minutes.” Leaving no room for protests or complaints, you lead the way, swiftly dodging a floating wooden plank on its way to reattach to a bench. Quick steps hurry after you, tripping over themselves in their haste to catch up. The Clock Tower Courtyard is deserted this late in the evening, most students are still gathered inside the tower, cleaning up after the fight. The first stars twinkle through a wispy cloud cover, impatient to be the witnesses to your conversation.

St. Jude slumps onto the fountain at the centre, rubbing at his eyes as though he can force whatever exhaustion he’s feeling from the battle away. Yet there’s an energy you feel strumming in his bones as though he’s a high-strung fuse ready to blow. When he looks back at you expectantly, you make sure there’s an arm’s length of space between you when settle against the fountain.

“That’s it.” When you glance his way, he’s nodding at your wand as he speaks. “That’s the other wand, isn’t it?”

You have the urge to hide it away inside your pocket, away from his prying eyes. “So?”

“Mr. Ollivander only said—”

“Mr. Ollivander’s got a few screws loose, it doesn’t matter what he said.” It comes out harsher than intended, followed by a sharp twinge of guilt towards the old man who has been nothing but kind.

St. Jude takes a deep breath. Maybe his patience with you will run out first and he’ll leave you alone, realising whatever it is that he wants from you, you can’t give him. “All he said was I would meet someone connected to my wand.” He twirls it between his long, slender fingers. He’s wearing a ring which glints whenever it catches the light from the castle, winking at you. “And once I’d meet them—her, the Hawthorn girl he’d said, then I would get an explanation.”

“That’s a great way to leave the responsibility to someone else,” you grumble. St. Jude huffs as though saying Tell me about it. And it’s true, you’ve seen him run errands for a couple other students—for money, which you can’t really hold against him with your own little side business. But you also don’t understand why he bothers at all. He doesn’t strike you as someone who’s suffering from chronic People Pleasing. Knowing you have something common with him leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. “It’s not as though I know everything about it,” you continue. “Apart from a story Mr. Ollivander told me when he first handed me my wand five years ago.”

Now St. Jude fully turns to you, waiting. Just watching. His silver yes glint like the stars above.

“A long time ago, there was a kingdom. The king and his wife were generous, benevolent rulers beloved by their people. They could have anything they wanted, yet what their heart yearned for the most, they could not have.”

You pause, frowning. Up until now, you couldn’t even remember small details from the story. But now, next to St. Jude, it’s like a stone cracking a dam. Words pour out, a spray of water backed with the force of a river. You stare down at your wand in your hand. Maybe it’s not really you telling the story.

“No matter how often they tried, the queen could not conceive a child. In their desperation, they sought out a witch. She agreed to help, as long as they promised that should they at any point conceive a second child, that child would belong to the witch, for she was alone and lonely, and wanted nothing more than a child herself. To love and nourish, to pass on her secrets from the bog, of the rockroses and thistles. In their desperation the king and queen agreed, thinking that with one child only, their happiness would be fulfilled and therefore they would not have to keep their promise to the witch.

“So when the time came, the queen gave birth to not one, but two children. Beautiful twin boys. The kingdom celebrated for weeks and during those few days, the king and queen were the happiest people. They forgot their vow to the witch, so when she came to claim one boy, the king refused. He would go so far as to take up arms to protect his family. Of course that could not stop the witch. Angered by the broken vow she swore that she would return and stole one of the twin boys to her bog.

“The witch loved the boy as if he was her own, and he grew up to be a handsome man, kind and with a natural talent to her craft. The witch never kept from him the truth that he was the king and queen’s son. That he was heir to the throne. That he has a brother, and that one day, all that could belong to him. That he could return to his family any time if he wished so, for she wasn’t cruel. She loved him, and she wanted him happy. But the boy never wished for any of it. He was content with his surrogate mother, loved their humble home out in the wild. He had heard from the foxes and crows of how cruel the king had become, greedy and ruling with a cold iron-fist. No, he wanted no part of a cursed kingdom like that.

“One day, when he was out to collect herbs for a potion, his brother came to his home, for he was told that his brother was taken by an evil witch who steals children and eats them. He slew the witch who would never have harmed her son’s brother. When her son come home and found her dead, the pain of her loss tore him apart. He swore vengeance. He rode out and challenged his own brother, and they fought for days and days until finally, their swords pierced each other’s hearts. And where they slew each other, the earth drank their blood, and there, from one seed, grew a hawthorn and blackthorn tree.” Your mouth is dry, your lips parched from so much talking. “Our wands are made from that tree. One hawthorn, one blackthorn. Or so the story goes.”

The silence that falls is deafening. You feel a little light-headed after recounting that tale, confused and weirdly shaking with anticipation as though after speaking these words aloud, a century-long closed vault has been unlocked and the hidden contents set free.

Beside you, St. Jude is very quiet. He’s staring out at the courtyard, unblinking. He seems as far away as the stars twinkling above you in the black sky as though laughing at whatever strange tale is unfolding; as though already knowing how the story will end yet undecided if to call it a comedy or tragedy.

Finally, St. Jude exhales very, very slowly. “What exactly does this mean for us?”

You sit up a little straighter. “Nothing. It’s just an old tale. There is no us.” The word scrapes along your spine like a jagged knife.

“You felt that,” he says, his voice urgent. “There’s more to this than just a story.”

“You want to believe that, don’t you?” You try swallowing down the irritation, but you have never been good at keeping down your scorn when it comes to believing old tales. The paper cut that kills one, the priest that one ignores; listening to voices of the deep, joining the wolves that circle around the sheep. Don’t point at the moon or your ears get cut off, don’t whistle at night or wandering spirits will carry you off. Your mother’s voice is a raging cacophony thrumming in your head, stirring and probing in a flesh wound that hides your heart. “In a blood feud? Fratricide, by Merlin’s beard.” You unhitch yourself from the fountain and start pacing. “Someone must have come up with the story to make the wands more exciting, that’s all there is.”

“And if it’s not? What if it’s real?” St. Jude’s voice is calm in comparison to your agitation. It makes you even angrier to see him this composed, so full of himself. To believe in superstition and words that have lied dead for so long speaking them now kicks up age-old dust that makes you choke. “I don’t think we are meant to follow in their steps and duel each other to death. But there is more to the connection. Maybe an end to the feud.”

You roll your eyes so hard you get a headache. He gives you a headache. “Rubbish. Why us? We’re just kids.”

St. Jude’s eyelashes flutter as he lowers his eyelids, looking like a martyr put on the cross. Infuriatingly, transcendently beautiful; you don’t know what to do with something so naturally beautiful except maybe corrupt it.

“Providence,” he then whispers. “The wand chooses its owner.”

You bark out a hollow laugh, ghastly and horrible in the growing night. “You think this is a prophecy? You think we are meant to do something?” You stop pacing, shaking your head wildly as though trying to snap your own neck. Paying attention to prophecy is like tossing real diamonds in the air mixed with shards of broken glass. The grab is rarely worth the injury. “You’re wrong.”

Finally, St. Jude looks up. There’s a blaze in his eyes, a roaring fire, threatening to consume you. “You are afraid,” he says slowly, understanding dawning. “Of what? Fate?” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and intertwining his long fingers. “Me?”

“I’m afraid your ego might be a little too big for you to handle.” You brush dirt from your robes, meticulously taking care that no crease sits in the wrong spot just so you don’t have to look at him. You fear all your secrets will be plain on your face for him to read. “This conversation is over, St. Jude. I’m wasting my time here.”

You really should have known better than to allow him to step inside your life. This was a mistake, one you don’t intend to repeat. You turn towards the Clock Tower, ready to leave when you hear him stand up behind you.

“You’re going to ignore it? Just like that?” St. Jude calls after your, and he has the gall to sound accusatory—where has his calm gone? Nothing of the composed boy remains, he looks furious. Betrayed, even. He looks like he is one argument away from a scream.

You whirl around, your tone taunt like a bowstring drawing back a poison-tipped arrow. “What did you expect? Do you think you’re the main character of some story? That we’re on a big, great adventure? Grow up, St. Jude! Stop bothering me because you wish any of this was real!”

Before he can say anything, you go—flee, almost, and make sure to bump bodily into Sebastian Sallow’s shoulder who’s standing in the shadows of the Clock Tower’s passageway, waiting for St. Jude. It feels good to lash out, to do something with that raging anger thrumming under your skin, always kept on a leash, and nothing gets your blood quite boiling like the sight of Sallow parading around as though he owns the place.

You can’t deal with these expectations, all based on nothing but a tale. If Callum St. Jude wants to play hero, you don’t want to get involved.

With your nerves on fire and raw, you don’t notice the boy until it’s too late—you walk right into a Slytherin who has his back to you. After what just happened, seeing the colour green only stokes the raging fire in your chest. “Watch where you’re going,” you snap at him, voice loud enough it draws the attention of a few other students.

The boy turns. You immediately recognise him and feel the ground give way under your feet. “As you can see,” the boy—not just a boy, Ominis Gaunt, says calmly, his voice colder than the Black Lake in winter, “I can’t.”

A burst of laughter explodes around you. Of course with all your luck today, you had to encounter the third of the infamous Silver Trio. There’s not a single soul at Hogwarts that doesn’t know the name of Ominis Gaunt, heir to the House of Gaunt and descendant of one of Hogwarts’ founders: Salazar Slytherin.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You’re painfully aware you’re standing too close to him, right at the centre of a Slytherin group that stalks around you like hungry hyenas ready to pounce on their prey—and that’s new, since when are snakes pack hunters?

Gaunt tilts his head towards the crowd only so slightly, his brow slightly furrowed as if he doesn’t quite understand the joke everybody is laughing about. His unseeing eyes are set ahead of him, unblinking, like a silver coin glinting off moonlight.

You can’t even bring up a half-hearted apology, feeling like you’re drowning in the turmoil swirling inside you. You’re not sure what it is you’re feeling. Something like anger, but with far more shame attached. Anger as a means of defence, anger you know is completely misplaced. But still you sneer at him, “All that pure-blood you Slytherins pride yourself on and you can’t even find your way around without being on Sallow’s leash like a dog?”

He halts. For a moment, you think his eyes settle on you, but then they graze over your head and he moves—fluid, abrupt, and far too close. You can practically—no, definitely smell him. Earl Gray tea, the breeze of the black lake, and something else, something sweet you can’t place. You grow very still, as though despite being unable to see, he might sense your slightest move. “Careful.” His voice is quiet. Lethal. Just a drop of poison in a tea cup left to do its work. “Dogs on a leash have the most vicious bites.”

Ominis steps away, as though nothing has happened. You expel air very, very slowly. What is that intoxicating sweet smell on him? Subtle, but fogging up your brain and making it hard to think.

Javi appears at your side, nudging your elbow. The crowd is dispersing, everybody is returning to their common rooms.

“Come one, Gaunt, let’s go before more rats from that piss-yellow house show up,” a Slytherin boy says—none other than one of the Malfoy siblings you have the misfortune to be in the same year, Tiberius Malfoy. He and his sister, Drusilla, are both Chasers for the Syltherin team, playing dirty at every opportunity and cheating through every test. They’re cruel, think their good looks and family name can excuse anything, and have no shame or conscience setting Muggle-born students’ robes on fire whenever they feel like it.

Ominis pulls out his wand, its pointy tip flashing red as he moves—seemingly ignoring his fellow housemate, he manoeuvres smoothly through the web of passing students towards the Clock Tower Courtyard, undoubtedly in search of his surrogate pair of eyes, Sallow.

You don’t miss Malfoy struggling, face flushed, to keep his anger under control at being ignored, dismissed, like that. When he notices your eyes on him, he snarls, “What are you looking at, filthy half-breed?” Boiling with anger, he can’t even think of a more creative way to insult you.

With the adrenaline still coursing through your body, and everyone’s hunger for a proper fight, maybe you should continue right where you left off and blast Malfoy a new second hole between his legs.

Javi, sensing you’re a walking landmine ready to maim Malfoy with the next wrong step, he swings a broad arm around your shoulder and leads you towards the exit. “See you on the field, Malfoy,” he beams at the Slytherin, if only to relish at his repulsed expression.

Javi has stopped caring about being called Mudblood or whatever other slur other students fixated on pure-blood supremacy call him. You’re proud of him for that, remembering his weeping, small form during the first year before he grew a thick skin—and big hands strong enough to break Malfoy’s neck.

“We’re going to put them into the hospital wing, right?” you say, turning your head up to Javi and smiling at him as you make your way through the narrow hallway towards (place away from Clock Tower).

Javi grin up at the starlit sky. “Oh, for sure.”

~ ⋆｡°✩ ~

Callum drops into the warm, cushioned armchair, long legs stretched out in front of the fireplace. Most students from his house have retreated inside their bed chambers, leaving the common room empty safe for a few in a last desperate effort to finish their homework.

The sound of quills scratching against parchment and the quiet crackling of the fire turn Call’s eyes heavy as lead. His head keeps lolling forward as though he doesn’t have the strength to keep it up anymore. The sparks flickering inside the fireplace remind him of the battle, of vicious Confringos and the last one, an Expulso that surely would have blasted him to bits. He still smells the char from the blown up furniture, the smoke and fire.

With your moods as changeable as sparks, he had expected a challenging fight. He did not expect to blow up the Clock Tower. Or that his wand would conjure a magic stranger than the ancient magic that would bind him to a person so clearly despising the mere idea of a secret that begs to be unveiled and solved.

He’s had six years growing used to it, and still it is the strangest feeling when magic starts to work on one. And this one, unlike the ancient magic that feels like a clear spring welling up after a long cold winter, feels like a hook in his stomach. Pulling him towards you, the need to touch and hold. To rip your ribcage open and fall into you.

Rubbing the spot on his chest above his heart, Call thinks back on your expression when your wands connected, on your harsh words after you finished the story of the hawthorn and blackthorn brothers.

Growing up in a place where surviving every day relied on growing acutely attuned to the moods of other people, Call knows what he saw in your defiant eyes: fear. Of him? Of the truth?

If anyone had told Call six years ago that he would not only be the only one to see and wield ancient magic, but also own a century old wand with such a special story, he’d laughed in their face.

The St. Jude Orphanage does not produce special children. Those leaving the institute are never meant for great things. Usually thrown out at the age of eighteen with little to no education, they become society’s scapegoats. Newsboys, shoe polishers, the work house. Thieves, drug addicts, prostitutes, criminals.

Call knows he would have met the same fate were it not for Professor Fig who had saved him from a life of diseases and unspeakable atrocities. Even today, Call still remembers every orphan from his home that died to fever, who ran away trying their luck out on the street only to be found swimming face-down along the Thames—if they were found at all. Who were beat to death by their caretakers for disobedience.

Without Professor Fig appearing at the orphanage’s door one day, Call would have followed that same fate. Instead, he was allowed to step into a life full of wonder and magic, of everything he once thought impossible suddenly within reach. Six years later, and Call still has not eaten his fill of the Wizarding world, waking up every morning feeling even hungrier for all the marvel waiting for him.

“Knut for your thoughts?” comes a drawling voice from his left. Callum, his eyes half closed from exhaustion, barely moves to acknowledge Sebastian Sallow’s presence, which in turn is rewarded by a slap to his legs to pull them back and make room for Sebastian on the rug in front of the fireplace. “You’ve been awfully quiet since the duel.” Sebastian makes himself comfortable on the rug right in front of the fire. Call can’t imagine it’s that comfortable. The stones of the Slytherin dungeons seem impenetrably cold, as if housing centuries worth of its inhabitants’ seclusion—a den of snakes shedding their skin for the new day to come.

“Just a lot on my mind.” Call stretches his limbs like a cat, sinking further into the cushions. If he doesn’t move to his bed soon, he might as well just fall asleep right here. “We’re still missing a Crossed Wands Champion.”

Sebastian hums thoughtfully. He’s sitting cross-legged before the fire, having taken off his robe sometime along the evening. Call watches the flame’s light dance over his face, drawing soft shadows over Sebastian’s handsome features. “I think you had a good chance. I should teach you Confringo some time so you can start dealing some serious damage.” He braces his elbow on one knee and puts his chin into his palm. “A shame the Hufflepuff turned tail and ran.”

Call gives a non-committal hum. He doesn’t really think you’ve run away; he thinks you’ve saved up the actual fight for a later time judging by the way you wear your strange, rough beauty like war paint.

“So,” Sebastian continues, “what did you two talk about?” He makes it sound so casual, just a polite question among friends, but Call has already figured out that nothing about Sebastian Sallow is casual. Just like when he smiles, it seems that it hides something beneath it that belies his composure.

Sebastian Sallow is . . . intriguing, to say the least. When they duelled on Call’s first day, it wasn’t as though he had flawlessly given Sebastian his Galleons for the run—even though the whole of Hogwarts begs to differ. But there was an immediate connection, an easy back and forth that felt almost familiar. When Sebastian managed to hit Call with Levioso, and instead of unleashing a flurry of spells, he had said, “What are you doing up there?” in a playful voice tinged with mirth as if they were both in on a joke and he’d found himself up there rather due to unfortunate circumstances than at the hands of Sebastian.

Travelling with Professor Fig has always been a great joy for Call, but now with Sebastian, he’s for the first time surrounded by a boy his own age. A charming, handsome boy with a tongue richer than honey and gilded words easily potting Call to follow him into any mischief.

He wonders how many secrets he’ll have to keep by the end of this year, his own and others. To Sebastian, he only says, “She wasn’t feeling well.”

Sebastian considers him for a long moment, then throws his head back and laughs out loud, a rich and alluring sound in the dark that has Call leaning forward as though he could put it in a bottle. He has a hard time looking away from Sebastian’s neck, from the chords of his muscles tensing as he leans back and props himself up on his arms.

“Wasn’t feeling well?” Sebastian chortles. “I’ve seen that blasted girl hang onto her broom in a game after getting her nose broken by an opposing player’s foot. All just to win the game. Trust me, she doesn’t just quit because she feels unwell.”

Splaying across the couch, fingers intertwining, Callum asks with a smile, “Do my ears deceive me? Is that admiration I hear?”

Sebastian scoffs. “It was our team that lost the game. Someone ought to teach her when it’s best to quit.”

Callum seriously doubts quitting exists in your vocabulary. Judging from the way you fight, you’re a hurricane, and no natural force simply stops without causing havoc and fatalities in its wake, nor does it yield to man’s pleas.

“That means,” Sebastian continues leisurely, flicking his gaze at the flowering embers in the fireplace, “either she lied to you.” His eyes flicker towards Call, his gaze sharpens like a hound on the scent, sending Call’s heart into his throat. “Or you are lying to me.”

Call lowers his eyes to Sebastian’s, and they trade a look that feels like a dare. He realises he enjoys the challenge hidden behind those words; this little game of cat and mouse, except they both think they are the cat. Sebastian is sharp as a whip—but Call has lived the first decade of his life in a house divided where walls are thin and dealing with secrets becomes a delicate business of life and death.

One would think because he grew up with nothing, Callum would want everything. But he doesn’t. He’s always been fine with settling for less. Just this one time though, he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

He wonders if it’s the magic or something sitting far beneath his ribcage, fragile like a bird’s wings and just as easily destructible, but he knows two souls don’t find each other by simple accident.

a/n: that was a lot of exposition, so with the next chapter we'll finally tackle the characters and their dynamics and i can't wait

#hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x male mc #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x y/n #ominis x reader #ominis x you #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #phill.hc #sebastian sallow x oc

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tigermarimo · 2 years

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Okay this is my first fanfic like ever. English is not my native language. But I just wanted to write about small misunderstanding between Slytherin boys. Timeline-wise could be anywhere but probably before everything went to shit. Nothing explicit, just boys being idiots. Hope you like it.

If there's any mistakes please tell me!

I want my friend only to myself.

Sebastian Sallow/Ominis Gaunt + Slytherin male OC (no name).

Sebastian hated the new guy. Well, ok. Maybe «hated» is a big word – he did reveal the Undercroft for him after all - but he definetely felt something vile every time he heard that bastard talking to Ominis. Even now, sitting in the common room and pretending to do his potions essay, he looked over to the corner where his friends were talking about something enthusiastically.

- Ominis, darling, how unbecoming of you! You know you can't just say things like that about headmaster Black! – And they both laughed.

- OmINiS dARlInG, – mockingly muttered Sebastian, not quiet enough for the others not to hear.

New fifth year looked back at him with puzzled look, but didn't say anything, just lowered his voice and started whispering to Ominis.

Unbelievable! Fuming, Sebastian got up and quickly left the dungeons. He thought to go to the Undercroft, but decided against it. They both knew that's where he usually goes to sulk, and he really didn't want to talk to any of them right now. So he just wandered the halls, until he found some quiet place on the 7th floor, with nothing but a few portraits who weren't really interested in boy's troubles.

He felt like an idiot: every time he saw his friends being so close together he just blew up with some rude remarks. And didn't really understood the annoyance, that bubbled up with every «darling» he heard from the new Slytherin. This irrational anger was starting to poison their friendship with Ominis. What is wrong with him?! Was he just jealous that Ominis had someone new to talk to? Was he being an idiot about the whole «darling» thing? He did hear the new guy say this to literally everyone (he even heard him call professor Fig «darling» once, couldn't believe his ears then), so why is it only for Ominis he felt this rage?

While moping around and being self-loathing and overall miserable, Sebastian didn't hear the careful steps and was startled by the sound of his own name.

- Sebastian, we need to talk, it can't keep going on like this! – His friend stood before him in his weird outfit, face lit up with some weird emotion, that Sebastian couldn't quite categorise. Was it pity?

Sebastian couldn't bear the thought of someone pitying him. So he attacked.

- What? Come to mock the third-wheeling idiot who doesn't understand your intellectual jokes? – Sebastian looked his classmate in the eyes, trying to convey all of his rage in one look. – Why is Ominis not with you, I thought you do everything together now? No need for Sebastian!

- I… what? What are you talking about?! No one is here to mock…!

Sebastian arms flew up uncontrollably and interrupted whatever he was going to say.

- Do you think I do not see how you and Ominis talk to each other? How you call him dARlInG all the time?! You don't call anyone «darling» with THAT intonation! Do you think I do not understand what is happening? Found yorself a pretty boy, think you can just take him from me? I was his friend first! You, you just came here! Why did I even showed you the Undercroft, you probably go there together all the time to speak about me and laugh or something! – He was riling himself up with every sentence, voice getting louder, hands clenched into fists.

New student was just standing there, listening to his tirade, brows slightly furrowed, but lips in half-smile. That made Sebastian even angrier.

- WHAT ARE YOU SMILING ABOUT?! AM I THAT FUNNY?!

- You are actually, - Slytherin smiled brightly. – But the reason in not what you think.

- What the fuck?! – Sebastian opened his mouth to start screaming again, but fifth year stopped him by putting a finger to his lips and pressing lightly.

- Now, my darling, listen to what I have to say and after that you can scream all you want. – He smirked and continued. – Whatever it is you think is between me and Ominis is entirely in your head.

He moved his finger from Sebastian's lips to his forehead and lightly tapped it. Sebastian frowned and shook his head to get rid of the hand intruding on his personal space. New student just smiled and continued.

- I'll be honest with you, Sebastian, I love him more than anyone or anything in the world…

- I knew it, you!... – Another's finger was on his lips again.

- Shh, let me finish. I more than just love him – I am obsessed. And I'm pretty sure the feeling is familiar to you. If anything, or anyone, - he looked at Sebastian eyes, - hurt him, I will find a way to destroy them in the cruelest way possible.

Sebastian looked at him in shock.

- What are you telling me all that for? I would never hurt Ominis! You on the other hand!

- Do you like my finger that much, Sebastian? Please just let me finish. What I'm trying to say is that: yes, I have feelings for Ominis, but they are not romantic. You see, I don't feel desires like that. I do not want to hold his hand, I do not want to kiss him, I do not want ho have sex with him or whatever it is you think about us. I just want him happy and safe. And frankly, lately he has not been very happy. Care to guess why?

Sebastian face felt hot after those words, it's not like he wanted to kiss Ominis or something, why was he telling all this to him? Ominis was his best friend and he was just feeling like he was losing him. That's all. Right?

New guy looked at him funny and continued.

- Ominis is quite distressed with the way his best friend is treating him and his new friend. So, my suggestion is this: you stop being clueless idiot and confess to him that you like him. I may not be in the picture and you don't need to worry about me trying to snog him, but let me tell you – there's a lot of candidates.

Sebastian twitched at those words.

- What do you mean confess! I'm not! I don't like him or anything! What are you talking about?!

Fifth year smiled again and sighed.

- Sebastian, let me tell you as your friend, it is SO obvious you like him. You're with him every day, trying to make him laugh, every time I come along you suddenly become super grumpy and jealous, trying to put me down with every word. I see how you look at him when you think no one is noticing. Just be honest with yourself and with Ominis.

That was true. He did look at Ominis a lot, but it was just to see if he's okay and if he needs any help – he tried to reason with himself. But Ominis wasn't helpless. And most of the time Sebastian looked at his hair and thought about how perfect they are styled. He looked at his eyes and thought about things that they reminded him of: night sky, lake behind their common room windows, lit with sun beams, bright sapphires. He looked at his moles and often imagined where else on his body they could be. He looked at his lips and… Sebastian clapped his cheeks to get out of his spiraling thoughts.

- I… Fine, okay, you are right! I do like him! And I will tell him! Eventually… - his voice got quieter at the end.

His friend shook his head, knowingly squeezed Sebastian's shoulder and started to turn around to leave, but turned back to say one last thing.

- I do believe you will make Ominis happy, but if you hurt him in any way I will kill you Sebastian. So beware.

He winked with a grin, waved goodbye and disappeared into Hogwarts corridors.

Sebastian made a mental note to NOT teach him Avada kedavra.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #sebastian x ominis #sebinis #gaullow #fanfic #My stuff

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spicyclover · 2 years

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Nervous habit

Little Fluff with Mick Schumacher 😍.

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Clover Spice

« You’re lying,» Mick replied, amused.

« No, I’m not lying,» she replies too quickly.

« Yes, you are lying. You have a tick.»

« What tick? I don’t have a tick!» She asserts, trying to convince herself.

« You bite your lip nervously. That’s cute,» he said, gently stroking her cheek.

She stares at him for a long minute before turning her gaze to the road. How can she resist him? It’s a question she has asked herself every day since she met him. The journey lasted a good ten minutes before they arrived at the circuit. She’s lost in thought and only comes out when he gently presses her thigh.

While walking through the Paddock, they stopped several times to greet the fans and take pictures. She adores her best friend, but sometimes she has a little trouble dealing with all the commotion, and she ends up stepping away from the crowd to continue on her way to Haas hospitality.

For fans and even members of their own families, their relationship doesn’t make sense. They act like a couple, but they’re not. Yet they love each other, that’s for sure. She’s known it for quite some time, in fact, since their first meeting three years ago.

Flashback :

It was her first grand Prix. She had always dreamed of going there but couldn’t afford it. So for a whole year, she saved all the money she could to pay for the ticket and the plane ticket. She spent a fortune, but in the end, it was worth it.

She had arrived early Friday morning at the Circuit of the Americas to see the entire installation for the day. The goal? Live the experience to the fullest. She also dreamed of seeing Formula One legend Sebastian Vettel.

Around the end of the afternoon, she quietly sneaked into the Paddock Club, looking for him. She knew he must be there because a security guard had told her. She was in the corner of the room, trying not to stand out for an employee or a security guard, when suddenly, she felt a breath in her neck.

« Whom are we spying on?» A voice whispered in her right ear.

She jumped in fear but didn’t turn around. The person behind her chuckled at the young woman’s reaction. « So she was spying on someone. » he thought, amused.

Mick had seen the young woman enter the Paddock club through the back door when one of the guests had left. He wanted to denounce her, but he didn’t know why, but he didn’t say anything. He watched her for about ten minutes scanning the crowns while eating from time to time the petit fours presented on the tables around them.

« No one,» she answered, turning to her interlocutor and biting her lower lip.

That’s when their eyes met. Each lost in the oceans of the other. Mick blushed furiously, seeing her big blue eyes in his. She is even more beautiful in this light. Sure enough, in this sunset light, she seems to be bathed in sunlight with her flaming red hair.

A rosy tinge took hold of her face too. She had in front of her none other than Mick Schumacher. The Formula One fan she was, had only one desire to shout her excitement from someplace very high. But she holds back hard.

« A boyfriend, perhaps?» He asks, trying to regain composure.

« Hum… what?» It was the only word that managed to come out of her mouth.

« Is the person you’re spying on your boyfriend? An ex?»

« No.»

« Wonderful, I only do monosyllables now. » She thinks, wanting to shake herself like a coconut tree. She quickly thought of something funny, but all she could think of was that.

« I’m looking for a new husband.» She jokes, giggling nervously.

« So, I hope your choice will not turn to Mr. Murphy. He has the breath of a jackal.»

« How do you know you kissed him?»

Mick choked on his glass of water and rolled his eyes at the girl. She burst out laughing. Her laugh enveloped the room, and several people turned to them.

That’s when she knew she loved him. Him, filled with water coming out of his nostrils and mouth.

She snapped out of her thoughts and heard someone call her name.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #mick schumacher fluff

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antimonyandthyme · 2 years

Note

yeah BOTH cut off bc tumblr is dumb but i'm resending it (typed it up in my lil google docs for u)

the elevator shakes to a halt and dings; opening the door. seb expects him to -- well, not to startle because mick has been fearless for a long time, but to step back, give seb some space. but mick stays right there. and over his shoulder seb can see the empty corridor and. it’s his floor. and he takes a shaky breath and says “i need to leave,” almost into mick’s parted mouth. “then leave,” mick says, not moving an inch, still caging seb in with his body and a hand on the railing. seb has to unglue himself – his, his hand from mick’s slacks and step sideways. he backs out of the elevator and mick just leans against the wall, watching him all the while, putting his body on display. and just before the elevator doors close, he reaches down and squeezes his dick.

and 2)

the elevator shakes to a halt and dings; opening the door. mick crowds even closer, his hot breath ghosting over seb’s lips. as always when he’s nervous, seb wants to lick his bottom lip but. but if he did it now, he might actually catch mick’s lips instead, he thinks faintly. “is this your floor?” micks asks, low. seb nods, not trusting his voice. “you gonna invite me in?” mick asks again, his voice dropping even lower. there could be a dozen of people watching this from the corridor and seb would not know; he cannot look away from mick. his hand is still on mick’s cock and. he wants to think that mick is holding it there but, but he isn’t– he’s just running his fingertips over the back of seb’s hand. seb shakes his head; he won’t, he can’t invite mick in. the doors close with another chime, but mick hasn’t actually pushed the button for his floor, so it stays right there. “okay,” mick tells him, “will you come up to my room then?” and he presses the slowest kiss just below the corner of seb’s mouth, his open lips leaving a hot wet stamp on seb’s skin. seb can’t move, can’t think. “or will you wait for the two last races?” he pulls back the tiniest bit, until he can look seb in the eye; his blue eyes are dark, serious. seb nods, can’t do anything else. “go, then,” mick says, stepping back and pushing the button that opens the doors. “but after that, when i win. you are mine.”

OKAY ANON NO LIE I'M ABOUT TO HOP OFF SOMETHING. You know those rpg games where your character gets to make a choice and then you go left or right or rescue your knight or leave him to die that's exactly where I'm at right now. EXCEPT IN THIS GAME, THE CHOICES DON'T MATTER, BECAUSE MICK WILL GET WHAT HE WANTS EITHER WAY.

I'm losing my mind over both these options I am losing my mind over the fact you typed this up in your google docs I'm giving you a big kiss also I'm trying my very best to peer through technology and have a peek into your docs like, is there anymore? Will I be blessed with more? Oliver Twist holding out his bowl, any more?

Listen in option 1 tho, I can just imagine, the moment where the elevator doors close, Mick's entire body sagging as his adrenaline drops and his bravado just dissipates. Sacked shoulders, hands trembling, face flushed from rejection and embarrassment and hurt and how many more no's can he take from Sebastian? How many times does he have to get pushed away? When will Sebastian acknowledge that he is Mick's and Mick is his?

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #smick #elevator anon #i'm on my knees elevator anon #you are too powerful

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boxesandrings · 3 years

Note

I it’s me again I love your stuff. A idea I had inspired a fanart Shane reacting to F!farmer telling him she’s pregnant

( I’m just curious where that would go )

(Hi I promise this is much happier than what the description sounds like!! I think considering Shane’s mental health history life changing news like this isn’t something he’d brush past with no second thought, having a kid is kinda scary to everyone! Promise it’s mostly fluff but wanted to tag anything that could be triggering for others xoxo)

Title: A Father!

Rating: T (mostly for language, but Shane's earlier heart events are mentioned briefly)

Summary: The Farmer shares some exciting news with Shane! He's immediately over the moon, but quickly becomes overwhelmed.

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, Shane's early heart-events, a panic attack(?)

Characters: Shane, F!Farmer, Marnie, Evelyn, Pierre (pretty much all are mentioned)

Words: 3816

Shane took off his boots before entering the cabin, grimacing as he bent to do so. Marnie had needed help repairing some things at the ranch today, and he had spent most of it in a crouch. His thighs were punishing him for it now, sore with every step. Maybe he’d take a bath tonight, let his muscles soak in the warm water and try to relax a bit. Maybe his wife would take one with him.

He waddled into the house, his legs tight and called out. “I’m home! You in?”

The Farmer was often out late, working in the fields or with the animals, or sometimes off mining or fishing at the lake by Robin’s. It had been lonely at first, an empty house was something he’d never experienced, but he had found ways to preoccupy himself. After a month, he and his then girlfriend had a chat, the Farmer promising to be home by 7 every night, or calling and letting him know if something had unexpectedly come up otherwise holding her late.

“In the kitchen!” Shane smiled, making his way toward the room. It was barely 5, a sign for a good night. The sound of music grew louder and the smell of bacon wafted toward him. In the kitchen, he found his wife flipping pancakes but minding another pan on the back burner. She turned when she heard him get closer, waving her spatula before focusing back on the food. Shane walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her cheek and rested his head on her shoulder.

“I thought it was my night to cook?” The pair switched who cooked every night, and Shane was certain it was his night. Or had he missed yesterday?

“Hello to you too.” The Farmer twisted her head around the best she could and puckered her lips, which Shane quickly kissed. “It was, but I just wanted to cook tonight. Go sit! I just finished up.” Shane squeezed his wife once more, but made his way over to the table. He groaned as he lowered himself into the chair.

The Farmer tilted her head as she carried a stack of pancakes for the table, watching as Shane rubbed his legs.

“Long day?” Shane nodded.

“Marnie called this morning and said that some pipes in the barn needed repairing, but neglected to mention that it was literally almost every single pipe in the barns, all the ones that carry water to the dispensers.” The Farmer set down the plate of bacon on the table, then slid into Shane’s lap, her arms around his neck.

“Oh, that’s rough.” Shane nodded, tilting his head forward into hers.

“They’re all so low to the ground, I essentially was in a squat all day. My thighs are killing me.” The Farmer nodded, her head moving his. She kissed his temple and stood up.

“I think I have some of that muscle cream lotion stuff that helps with the soreness. I’ll find it after dinner.” She made her way to her own chair, sitting down. “Not all bad though, squats are pretty good for the booty.” She smiled as she picked up a piece of bacon and winked.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Shane shook his head, but smiled as he used his fork to slide a pancake onto his own plate. Yoba, was he hungry. “How was your day?”

The Farmer bit her lip, smiling. “Oh, you know. Same old.” Shane looked up, cautiously eyeing his wife. She was biting her lip, trying to hide an obvious smile and kept looking up at Shane as she made her plate. Shane squinted.

“I feel like you really want me to ask what else happened.” His wife nodded, slightly shimmying in her chair.

“I heard some real good gossip.” Shane couldn’t help but laugh after she said it. His wife looked so pleased with herself, like she could barely handle keeping her excitement inside. She grinned incredibly wide, biting her tongue. Shane picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

“Oh, what is it?” He raised his eyebrows a few times, making his wife laugh. After she had calmed herself for a second, she leaned forward, as if the knowledge itself were moving her.

“Someone we know is pregnant.” Shane dropped his fork and coughed. Now that was some good gossip. In a town as small as Pelican Town, secrets among residents were incredibly hard to keep, and something as big as that would have spread easily within a day to the entire population. How had he not heard yet?

“Who?” The Farmer leaned back in her chair, biting her thumbnail.

“Guess.” Shane ran his teeth over his tongue as he mentally went through each of the town’s residents.

“Jodie and Kent? I feel like they could have another, the gap would be the same from Sam to Vincent to this one.” The Farmer watched Shane, her face giving away nothing. Finally, she shook her head, the same shit-eating grin on her face. Shane thought hard.

“It can’t be Demetrius and Robin, he practically yelled from the mountain top when he had his vasectomy. I don’t think Pierre and Caroline even like each other anymore…” He watched his wife’s face.

“Keep guessing.” Shane threw his hands up, but continued to smile.

“You’re gonna make me keep guessing?”

“Come on! You’re getting closer.” Shane sighed.

“Let's see… Maru and Penny are together, so I don’t think they could… Sam is, and no offence to the guy, but the biggest virgin I’ve ever met…Harvey… no.” He looked down at the table, scratching his chin. “Sebastian and Abby could be… Alex and Haley, but I’m not sure if they’re broken up right now.”

He looked up toward his wife, but her face gave away no hints. “I mean, Elliot sleeps with practically every tourist, so statistically speaking…” Shane shook his head, his eyes wide, and his wife snorted. “I don’t know? Emily isn’t with anyone, Leah isn’t, but I might not know.”

Eyes wide, he looked back up at his wife. “It couldn’t physically… Marnie couldn’t…” The Farmer’s face finally broke, a similar look of horror on her own face.

“Oh Yoba no, don’t even—” She made a face, shaking her head. “She’s too old, and not to be mean but I think if your aunt was having a baby with Mayor Lewis?” She shook her head again, faster. “You’d find me in here retching.”

Shane leaned back in his chair and dragged his hand over the bottom half of his face, thinking. The devilish smile slowly creeped it’s way back onto his wife’s face as she watched him. Finally, he sighed.

“Who is it?” The Farmer suddenly stood up and ran to one of the cabinets, pulling out a sandwich bag. She sat back in her seat, and slid the bag across the table to Shane. He picked up the bag and realized there were three white, long sticks in the bag, each one with two pink lines on one end. He dropped the bag.

“Oh, gross, where were these?” He looked up at his wife, expecting the same grin, but was confused to see that it had fallen, a look almost like annoyance on her face.

“Good god, Shane, did you— do you think I’m going around picking up random pregnancy tests?” He paused, his mouth dropping.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. She didn’t find them, she took them. That’s why he hadn’t heard the gossip already, she was the only one that knew.

He jumped to his feet, forgetting the soreness in his legs. His hands covered his mouth, open in shock as he looked at his wife. She nodded at him, the smile returned to her face, hints of tears glistening in her eyes. He turned from the pregnancy tests on the table, pointing at them, to covering his mouth again and looking back at his wife.

She continued to nod, crying definitively now but still smiling. The pair had been married for almost two years, and while they hadn’t made a point of deciding to actively try for a baby, they certainly had been playing it fast and loose. Four months into the marriage they decided that what would happen would happen and stopped using any birth control, the Farmer throwing out any pills she had left. Lately, the couple had stopped even pretending they worried about the possibility of getting pregnant, and Shane had felt that a ‘we should start actively trying’ conversation was weeks away, rather than months or years.

Finally, Shane spoke. “Are… you’re…” The Farmer nodded, sniffling and smiling.

“Yeah, yeah!” Her voice was breathy, joyfully crying through the words.” Shane covered his mouth again and felt his own tears beginning to pop up in the corner of his eyes.

“I— I need you to say it.” The Farmer laughed.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane ran at his wife, scooping her up in his arms, pressing his lips firmly onto hers. She laughed as she kissed him back, her arms wrapped tightly around them as they stood in the kitchen, her tears against his face, or maybe they were his own?

They stood, holding each other, smiling and laughing and kissing, until Shane quite literally swept his wife off her feet, fireman carrying her into the bedroom while she laughed in his arms. He set her down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, practically attaching himself to her as he kissed her face as she pretended to struggle beneath him, giggling the whole time.

He laid on his stomach next to her, his face turned towards her on the pillow. She watched him back, still laying flat on the bed.

“You’re pregnant.” The Farmer smiled and nodded.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane smiled, scanning his wife’s face.

“We’re having a baby.” She scooched her face closer, kissing the tip of his nose.

“We’re having a baby.” The two gazed at each other, minds racing with nothing and everything at once. Shane lifted himself up and moved closer to his wife, his face only inches away from hers, sliding one arm under her head and placing the other hand on her stomach. Shane bit his lip.

“When do we want to tell my family?” The Farmer sighed and looked up toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I want to tell them, but so much can happen in the first few months…” She trailed off, running her tongue over her top teeth. “Maybe in a month or two? Once the pregnancy is past that first little hurdle.” Shane kissed her cheek.

“I get it. Marnie tells Lewis, Lewis tells everyone.” He sighed now. “I mean, you’re only 30, I don’t think you’re high risk or anything.” His wife shook her head and smiled at him.

“No, it’ll be perfect.” She slid a hand over the one he had on top of her stomach. “I know it. Just in the small chance, I don’t want everyone knowing.” She looked back toward the ceiling. “Also, I don’t want all the attention right away. It’s such a small, small town. Something like this will rock the pelican town people to their cores.” She laughed, Shane joining in beside her. “But I promise, when we do tell people, Marnie will be the first to know.” Shane nodded.

“We’ll let her tell everyone else. Makes it easy.” The Farmer snorted.

“Yeah.” She drew circles on his hand with her thumb. “I mean, I guess we have to tell Harvey, for obvious reasons, but I don’t think he can legally tell others.” Shane laughed again, and pulled his hand out from under his wife’s, moving it up from her stomach to her chin. He pulled her face toward his, kissing her softly.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered, his nose touching hers. The Farmer smiled, and kissed him again.

“We’re having a baby.”

*****************************************************************

Shane couldn’t sleep, far too excited by the day’s news. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed, or tried to count deep breaths, Shane was restless. His wife had fallen asleep over an hour ago and was curled into a little ball by his side, her head on top of one of his arms.

They were having a baby. Yes, it had been something he and his wife had talked about for a while, one day wanting children, but now it was actually happening. He turned his head to look at the Farmer, drooling on his arm, and smiled. They weren’t kids anymore, Shane well into his thirties, and his wife just into them, but it still felt so strange and new and exciting for them to be parents now.

Shane bolted upright, his stomach immediately twisting. The Farmer groaned on the bed next to him, violently awoken by the sudden removal of his arm. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and propped herself up, squinting in the dark.

“Did I sleep through the alarm again?” She yawned. Shane hopped out of the bed, bee-lining to the bathroom. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Shane slammed the door behind him, ignoring his wife’s further questions. He barely had made it to the toilet when he felt it deep within him, the nausea making its way out into the bowl. He didn’t hear his wife come into the room, only felt her hand on his back as he continued to retch. Finally, he laid his head against the bowl, breathing heavily.

“Shane?” He could hear his wife behind him start to speak but pause, unsure of what to say or ask, her mouth just kind of opening and shutting. She laid her head against his back and sighed. “Do you want some water?”

“I’m going to be a dad.” The Farmer chuckled behind him.

“Yeah. I think we covered that a bit earlier.” She lifted her head and resumed rubbing his back. “I’m excited too.” Shane sighed.

“I’m gonna fuck this kid up.” His voice cracked, and he watched as a tear fell from his face. The Farmer paused.

“What?” Shane pulled his arms up onto the bowl, wrapping them around his head.

“I’m a massive fuck-up, and I’m going to fuck up this baby too.” His shoulders shook, an attempt to hold back his tears. “I could barely take care of myself, how am I—” Shane’s voice broke. The Farmer let out a tense breath behind him, and began to rub his back again.

“Shane, no! Don’t say that.” He lifted his head up, and turned to look at his wife.

“I am. I mean, I was worthless. All I did was drink, I hated myself, and for fucks sake, I tried—” Shane paused as he noticed his wife’s lower lip start to tremble and sighed. “I could barely hold myself together until you got here, what, five years ago?” He bit his lip, the tears coming out faster now. “I’m doing good now, but what happens if it all falls apart again?” His voice cracked again, and Shane didn’t bother to hold back a sob.

The Farmer tried her best to pull Shane into her, them both sitting on the floor, but Shane just sat there numb. He wanted to have this life with his wife, a family together, but how could he be a dad? Why did she even want him?

“Shane, please.” He looked over to the Farmer, who was crying, her arms around him. He’d made her cry, husband of the year material! “I think you’re just… you did this when the dog died, too. It’s a lot of information coming in at once, big information. But it’s okay!” Her hands slid down his shoulder, taking his hands in her own. “We’re doing this together.”

Shane let out an indignant snort. “I can’t even handle the announcement, what happens when the baby comes?” His head was spinning. She deserved better. He loved her.

“Shane! You’re okay, it’s okay. We’re in it together, we have each other.” She squeezed his hands, scooting closer to him. “You’re going to be great, okay? You’re not a fuck-up. We all have rough patches, you just didn’t have the support system you needed. Please.” She kissed his temple, but Shane stared straight ahead, toward the wall. He wished he could shrink into a tiny ball.

“I can’t… I can’t mess this up too.” The Farmer pulled his head down to her shoulder, her hands carefully working their way through his hair.

“You’re not going to mess this up, babe. I think you’re just panicking.” She held him close, continuing to quietly stroke his head. “I’m nervous too, but I know I have you.” He loved her, but when she shifted away beneath him, the panic filled his chest again. “I’m going to go grab your anxiety meds. I don’t think you took them at dinner, they might help.” She fully slid out away from him, Shane’s heart beginning to race. The Farmer stood up and stretched out her back. “Now that I think of it, I don’t think either of us even ate.”

Shane felt sick to his stomach, and barely made his way back to the toilet bowl before throwing up again. The Farmer crouched next to him, her hand on his back. Shane could practically feel the concerned look burning into the back of his head.

“Even if I don’t mess up, I’m just passing a damn cocktail of mental illness along.” He sat back on the floor, and used his hand to try and rub away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. The Farmer above him sighed and sat back down, and wrapped an arm back around his shoulder.

“Babe, don’t—” Shane choked and leaned forward, wrapping his arms over his head.

“It doesn’t even stand a chance, I’ve just fucked it up from the beginning!” He could feel himself hyperventilating, what did his therapist tell him to do? “It’s gonna hate me, I’ve already ruined everything—”

“Shane!” The Farmer’s face in front of his snapped him out of the almost trance he was in, the distraction what his body needed to get in at least one deep breath. She had tears on her cheeks, but her voice gave away no sadness. “Stop it! Calm down!”

Shane leaned forward into her, practically up on his knees now to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight as he cried. She rocked her body, quietly shooshing as she held him, pressing kisses into the top of his head as she did.

“You’re not going to fuck this up,” she said after Shane’s breathing became more regular. “I mean, we’re going to make mistakes. Both of us! A lot. But we’re going to be new parents, it happens.” He nodded, squeezing his eyes tight. “You’re not going to spiral— I mean, now, yes— but it’s not going to get bad like it was ever again, okay? You have me, your therapist, Marnie, we’re all here for you.”

“I love you.” His words were muffled, his face still pressed into her chest. He felt a rumble, a small chuckle above him.

“I love you too. Also, you’re not the only one afraid of passing on bad shit. I mean, my mom is medicated for depression, and I have ADHD.” Shane raised his head, his face even with hers.

“Yeah, I guess.” The Farmer smiled, and reached on her hands up to cup Shane’s face, wiping away a tear with her thumb.

“Yeah, dummy.” Shane smiled and kissed his wife, before pulling back and biting his lip.

“I’m— I’m so excited, I really am.” His eyes met hers briefly, before he looked away again. “I want this with you, truly, I—” The Farmer leaned forward and kissed her husband again.

“I know, Shane. I get it.” They held each other on the floor, their foreheads pressed together. Shane tried to calm himself, breathing in time with his wife. “We’re in it together, alright? We’ve got it.” Shane nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry.” The Farmer smiled.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be a big change.” She chuckled to herself. “We’ve got nine months, I’m sure this won’t be the last freak out. That either of us have.” The Farmer stood up, and offered a hand to Shane, smiling. “Good luck to you when I have to start buying maternity clothes.” Shane grinned and took her hand.

“What? You’re cooking up a baby in there, you’re gonna grow.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and wrapped his arm around her.

“Oh, I know that now,” the Farmer said, leading the two of them back into their bedroom. “But I’m sure hormone-y me will have to reckon with that later.”

Shane snorted as the Farmer sat down on the bed, and pulled Shane down into her. He kissed her forehead and climbed over, pulling the covers up on his side of the bed. She snuggled back into him, her head resting on his shoulder, but Shane could feel her squirming.

“You feeling better?” Her voice was quiet. Shane nodded, and wrapped his arm around her head.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Her arm snaked its way over his chest, reaching up to hold the side of his head. “You’re gonna be great.”

Shane smiled, and moved his head to kiss the palm against his cheek. “You too.”

****************************************************************

It took Marnie two weeks to figure it out. Something about the way the Farmer was moving, she had told Shane, was different, and trapped him in her kitchen until he confessed. Marnie was over the moon, and promised not to tell anyone, but Shane ran home and told the Farmer straight away. His wife had bit her lip but shook her head, smiling. “If anyone was going to piece it together, it’d be her.”

In Marnie’s defense, it was almost a week before Evelyn congratulated the pair at the general store. Shane watched as Pierre blushed and ducked behind a shelf, but the Farmer thanked her and moved past, reaching for a bag of flour on the top shelf.

“You know, that was a pretty good run, all things considered.” Shane nodded, agreeing with his wife.

“I mean, that has to be a record! What, five? Six days?” The Farmer laughed, and hoisted the last grocery bag up into the truck. She caught Shane’s gaze, and tilted her head.

“What?” Shane realized he had been staring at her, a dopey look on his face. He smiled, face turning pink.

“Oh, nothing!” He hopped up into the truck, his wife following suit beside him. He looked at her again. “I’m gonna be a dad.” She smiled now, rolling her eyes.

“You’re gonna be a dad!” Shane laughed, and started the truck. The two chatted excitedly the whole way back, discussing the future addition to both their home and family.

#sdv shane #sdv fanfic #stardew farmer #stardew shane #shane stardew valley #sdv requests #requests #fanfic request #requests open #shane x farmer #sdv fic #sdv marriage

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

LUCKY PAIR

a/n: another one :)

pairing: Sebastian Stan X Reader

word count: 1.5k

This fic is part of the LITTLE ONE series, but can be read as a simple oneshot as well! Find the masterpost of the series HERE!

masterlist

Sebastian has always been a humble man. Growing up, with a strong and loving family background, he never really left the path that leads to good manners and appreciation even for the smallest things in life. Not even becoming a successful actor could change the way he sees and feels grateful for everything he has and achieved.

There were times when he thought he wouldn’t find the person he could settle with, feel comfortable enough around to spend the rest of his life with. Let alone start a family with. That was until he met you.

From the very start he felt a sense of belonging to you, like you pulled him in, so easily and fast, enchanted him and simply made him yours. And he didn’t mind it, not even a bit. Dating you has been such a different experience than his previous relationships. As if it made him realize how shallow and loose they were, but now he had the chance to taste what real love is like. With all the good and bad, the two of you have been sharing such a deep connection since the beginning that put his previous dating experiences to shame.

Now that you are pregnant and engaged, Sebastian has been immensely overwhelmed with how amazing his life is getting, all thanks to you. He is amazed by everything about the road to becoming parents, all the changes and challenges, he feels like it all led him to this exact point in life. What he likes the most about it however is you. Seeing you grow your baby, see the growth and the changes every day, the miracle of life happening right in front of his eyes. And he is still having a hard time believing that you chose him to do all of this with, to have the most beautiful gift of life with him.

He has always admired you in many ways, you’ve been a fascinating creature to him from the very beginning and he loved learning new things about you, things that made him fall in love with you even more. After spending years together he could still look at you with the same amount of love he did when you were just getting to know each other. But then came the pregnancy and Sebastian found himself falling deeper than ever.

He has often found himself looking at you with his heart full and chest warm at the oddest moments. When you were doing your skincare routine in the evening, standing in front of the mirror, putting on all the different products, he always has a great view of you from the side, sitting on the bed and he loves how he saw your belly get bigger each time, as you went through the same steps. Or the way you always scratch the lower part of your bump every morning as your good morning to the baby, humming to yourself with your eyes still closed in the soft morning light that floods the bedroom through the massive windows. Or how you draw a little heart on your tummy with your lotion before spreading the scream all over your skin. All these little things have had him melting, so thankful that he gets to see and experience it. With you.

Now the two of you are having a lazy Sunday, Sebastian has been watching a football game on TV and you are sitting next to him, your laptop on the top of a pile of pillows next to you, your legs crossed underneath you as you’re typing away on the keyboard. You’re wearing your reading glasses you recently got and for what he nagged you forever to finally get, but you refused to, feeling like you’re a little too young to have reading glasses. But then you realized you really did need them when you had trouble reading emails on your phone. You gave in and bought a pair, the transparent frame is a subtle accessory on your pretty face. Sebastian hasn’t told you, but it’s doing things to him, especially when you push them up to the top of your head, keeping your unruly hair back with them from your forehead. However now it makes you appear more on the cute side rather than the sexy, though that aspect is still there as well.

You’re snacking on some veggie chips, your latest craving that now takes up half of the pantry, reading something your mother has sent you about the wedding that will only take place after the baby is born, but she’s been so excited about it, she’s been bombarding you with ideas she finds online. You don’t mind it, carefully reading everything she proposes to you and then leaving comments and suggestions of your own before sending it back to her.

You’re wearing an oversized shirt with no pants on, just your underwear, your legs bare and looking so soft and squishy, Sebastian is having a hard time not to reach out and feel them with his own hands.

It’s so domestic, so mundane and simple, seeing you like this in the comfort of the home the two of you share, yet in this moment he feels like he is on top of the world. He swears he could cry from happiness when he looks at you in this state and he wishes he could preserve this moment forever.

He watches you reach into the bag, your eyes still on the screen, but then you realize that the chips is gone and you pout softly, giving the now empty bag a sad look. It’s just then that you notice him watching you instead of the game on the TV.

“What is it?” you ask with a shy, confused look. Sebastian shakes his head, smiling to himself as he leans closer, his lips meeting the corner of your mouth in a soft, chaste kiss.

“Nothing. You want me to grab another bag for you?”

“Ah, no. I shouldn’t even have eaten this bag,” you mumble under your breath, pursing your lips.

“Just eat it if you want it, Doll. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Don’t tempt me, I’ve already put on so much baby weight!” you warn him playfully, making him chuckle.

“That’s alright. You still look beautiful,” he assures you, making your heart flutter in your chest. As a reply, you just give his hand a squeeze before returning to your laptop, starting to type away, but Sebastian can’t stop himself from staring still. Licking your lips you notice his gaze again, feeling a little shy under his inspecting stare.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” you start guessing, but he shakes his head no, a hand reaching out to finally grab your bare thigh, his fingers deliciously sinking into your flesh.

“No, I just…” he sighs. “You’re so beautiful and I love you so much. That’s it.”

Your cheeks immediately heat up at his words, not sure where all of this affection is coming from all of a sudden.

“Stop, I didn’t even shower this morning,” you huff awkwardly. You just simply couldn’t muster up the energy to undress, shower and dress again, so you decided to skip, now Sebastian is treating you like a princess.

“I really don’t care,” he smirks, reaching up his palm cups the side of your face, his thumb running across the soft skin under your eye. He simply can’t fight this sudden wave of sentimentality, not that he wants to. Showing his love and affection has always been important for him and he will not shy away from letting you know how he feels. “I know I’ve said this before, but… I really am one lucky man.”

“You always say this as if I’m doing you a favor by being with you, but it’s mutual, Seb,” you softly tell him. Abandoning your laptop you scoot closer until he can wrap an arm around your shoulders, your sides pressed up against each other. “I’m lucky to have you too.”

“Yeah? So you’re not sick of me yet?” he teases you playfully, pressing his fingers into your side, making you jump a little.

“You think I would have said yes if I was?” you ask, holding up your hand, the diamond ring sitting not so subtly on your finger.

“Maybe you said yes just because I knocked you up,” he prompts and you smack his chest, making him laugh.

“Stop that! As if we weren’t already planning to have a baby, sometime soon,” you mock him, narrowing your eyes at him and smirking down at you he just kisses your forehead.

“I know, I know. I’m just still kinda looking for the explanation how someone like you ended up with me.”

“Oh please! Thousands of women were devastated when it got out that you’re off the market,” you scoff at his comment. “I should be thinking about the how, not you.”

“I guess we are… a lucky pair then, huh?” he smirks as you snake a hand behind his neck, pulling him down so your lips meet in a smearing kiss.

“Mm, the luckiest,” you grin against his lips.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan blurb #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x you

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achillieus · 4 years

Text

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

quick note: i wrote this back in 2018 after meeting sebastian in greece but i redited it now, so if you see any mistakes or typos please tell me :)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

part: 2/6

(other parts) (masterlist)

It’s Monday when they come back from their small trip to the south. You’re watering the jasmine in your balcony when you hear the engine of Argyris’ car slowly shut down and see two figures getting out of the back seats.

It’s him and a blonde woman. You remember meeting her that night in the terrace. You’ve learnt that she’s a great actress and will play the other main character in the film.

When she notices you looking at them, she waves.

“Hey, Sebastian it’s your friend there.” She gives his shoulder a soft nudge.

We’re not friends. That’s what you almost yell back at her.

His head shots up, smiling.

He’s always smiling. It’s getting annoying.

You can see him going through his bag as he calls your name.

“Look, I brought you some traditional sweets.” He’s holding a small wrapped up package. He starts wiggling it in the air.

He looks so jolly and proud of himself. It makes your throat dry.

And before you can control it, you laugh. You can’t see it from where you’re standing but he bites his bottom lip at the sound.

Two hours later he’s sitting in your kitchen devouring half of the pastries he got you.

“These are actually so good, how can you not like them?” He says and it comes out all garbled. His mouth is full of sugary dough.

You do like them. But he does too. And you can find them anytime you want here. You doubt it’s the same in New York.

“They’re just not my favorite,” he nods “but thank you anyway.”

“Well let’s say you owe me,” you furrow your brows in confusion “and will repay me by sending me some of those once I’m gone.”

He laughs before taking another bite.

And as you stare at him, you notice that he’s different. His gaze is tranquil, his voice is soft and he has some cream at the corner of his lips.

Like that, he looks more like a guy you met at college than a well known actor.

Like that, we could be friends, you think.

You talk a lot. He tells you about his time in Romania and his first audition. It makes you realize you are far more interested in acting than what you thought. You tell him how you think team Iron Man is the superior team. He gasps, as if he is hurt.

He doesn’t mention his girlfriend. You don’t ask about her. It’s easier for both of you this way.

A stifling heat rises to your body as you walk under the burning sun. You don’t realize how Argyris gets you to give Sebastian a tour around the city, but you can remember a pair of light eyes pleading you.

You can easily hear him humming to himself. You turn to look at him. He’s wearing a hat and his forehead is sweating. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re in a very good mood today.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well I’m stuck with you for the day so what choice do I have?” You shrug.

He makes a face at you. You crack and a huge smile forms in your face.

He leans closer, mouth to ear and then he speaks.

“You know, I can’t tell if you hate me or just like me too much.”

His breath hits your cheek.

You try not to blink at the sudden foreign touch.

His words find your skin and they’re so clear and powerful. Suddenly you’re an open page to him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for an answer, a nod, a glance.

You are still standing close, the city sounds doing nothing to ease the heated silence between you two.

He realizes you’re not going to give him any response so he lowers his eyes.

And then, when he looks up again, it almost feels like he gives you mercy and agrees to let you get away with it this time.

He smiles.

“So where is Acropolis?”

When he’s lying on your couch after six hours of being a tourist and under the summer sun he looks exhausted. Still he’s his typical talkative self.

“You are always so pumped.”

“And you rarely are.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?” you ask each other at the same time. It seems like you are two different sides of the exact same coin. One body. One heart.

“Today was nice.” He stretches his arms. “Thank you.”

You open the window. There is barely any wind out there. The air smells of hot cement and flowers.

The man on your couch has closed his eyes, breathing softly.

You try to ignore him over and over for the last days. Until you cannot ignore him anymore; your world has come to an end.

So many people know who Sebastian Stan is.

Only few will ever know him like this; falling asleep on a cheap brown couch with his hair messy, his chest rising and falling and his mind empty of thoughts.

These are photographs of your memories now.

An involuntary smile spreads across your face at the thought.

You see him swift and his hand clenches tightly around a throw pillow.

“Stop looking at me like that you creep,” he says.

“Come closer,” he means.

The sun is long gone and he’s still asleep when there’s a knock on your door. It’s Argyris.

“Please tell me he’s here.”

You nod and motion towards Sebastian’s drifted away body.

“When I left you this morning, I didn’t actually think you’d last this long together.” He tells you the moment he sees him.

The words fall out of his mouth too easily for your liking. “But I should have known better.”

You don’t understand much. You take a step out of your door. You don’t want to wake him up.

“Do you know how many times he mentioned you while we were away?’

Everything stops and falls quiet in the hall.

The words choke you. You shake your head.

“I need you to be smarter than him.” He says and touches your shoulder. “His world moves too fast for people like us.”

It’s effortless not to look at the man in front of you. It’s hard not to shallow his saying.

He wakes up an hour later. He looks at you and it feels sacred. His eyes are still red and the pillow has left a mark on his left cheek.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep here.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it was rude, you should have yelled at me to wake up or something.”

“But you looked tired.”

You carry on with doing the dishes and you hear the couch squeak as he stands up and steps towards you.

The water is refreshingly cold on your skin and the soap smells like lemon.

His hands find your waist and his touch is burning. You wish he disappears. You wish he stays for the night. You don’t even know what you’re wishing for anymore. He comes closer and rests his head on top of yours.

And then he wraps his arms around you and you get flashes of days and nights where there was not enough air for you to breath and your ribs ached.

His action is not so noble. It feels like his body steals all the rationality you have. But it gives you this feeling that there will be no more starless skies at night. And that’s enough for now, so you don’t complain.

His skin feels soft and he smells of sweat and vanilla. Somehow you find that alluring.

He looks at you for a second, like he’s trying to memorize your face. And then he pulls away completely silent.

You try to understand what he’s thinking but he gives nothing away. You were never good at reading people.

You blink and he’s almost out of your apartment.

“Goodnight” he shouts.

“Goodnight” you whisper.

You close the window. You wonder how he will spend the night. He probably won’t sleep soon. He just woke up.

But you can’t sleep either. You just move around in your bed. You sink into the sheets and try to close your eyes.

Your phone buzzes.

He follows you on Instagram.

I need you to be smarter than him.

You go through his profile. You want to think he’s doing the same. You want him to do the same.

His world moves too fast for people like us.

You sigh. Perhaps there could have been a time when you would have stayed away from him, but you can’t pretend to ignore it for much longer. And you’re scared of it. And you’re scared of him.

But you’re more scared of how hard it’s for loneliness to fade. And you wish this doesn’t end like a greek tragedy.

One day of the following week you go out for coffee. The curly haired woman comes with you. You don’t understand why. And while you’re adding more sugar to your espresso, she tells him she loves his acting. She uses all kinds of adjectives to describe it; hopeful and poignant, celestial.

You like the way she talks. She sounds beautiful. You almost envy her abundance of words.

But Sebastian stops listening.

He watches the way your fingers wrap around the sugar box. He can see your nerves and your synapses move underneath your skin and he thinks he’s watching a dance show.

He will never tell you, but it’s then; under the morning sun and with sugar in your hands, that he feels his heart beat with the power of cymbals for the first time.

He thinks you don’t have to know.

He’s wrong.

You learn the girl is an actress herself. They’ll be in the movie together. They look stellar together.

Looking at them, gives you a violent feeling that wrenches your stomach around.

You can’t hate her for that. You feel like it’s more your fault than hers. That feeling however, grabs you by the shoulders and doesn’t let go. You try not to let it show.

But for some reason when Sebastian almost touches your palm, you look at her and you’re certain this is entirely mutual.

You make a silent agreement to not include him in any of this.

“You were extremely quiet earlier.” He says as you reach the building you call home.

He wants to spend time together until his scheduled shooting. You don’t complain.

“You always say that.” You try to joke. He looks right at you.

And then you notice that his eyes aren’t the color of the sea. They’re more grayish blue. They’re like a frozen lake in December.

“I know,” he starts messing with his hair “But you can’t deny you barely talked back there.”

When you enter your apartment, he immediately throws himself on your couch. These last few days it feels like he owns that right spot there in front of your big window.

“I’ve told you, I talk when I have something to say.”

He smiles at your words.

“Then I must be lucky you talk to me.” He whispers softly.

You sit next to him. If you move a little closer you could touch him, feel his warmth. You don’t.

You never thought of how easy it has become to talk to him. You don’t keep your thoughts locked and your teeth clenched around him. And that’s a novice feeling for you.

You let your eyelids fall close and lay back.

There’s a language between you two. It starts with secret glances and whispers and now it contains words that build and ruin bodies and souls.

Sometimes you want to say them all together. Sometimes you just want to open your mouth and let everything flow out but then you’re scared you’ll make him mad. Or you’ll make him love you.

You can’t decide which is worse and that’s enough to stop you.

“What is this thing between us?” He sounds all tender-like, but his blood feels heavy at the moment. He’s not sure if he can keep breathing. He regrets the words that leave his lips, when it’s already too late.

You have the answer figured out long time before he asks. But you’re not ready to give it to him.

“I don’t know” you open your eyes “I don’t know.” You repeat.

He doesn’t tell anyone but sometimes he feels nauseous before a shooting. You can clearly see that now. His pacing up and down the room and his roaming eyes give him away.

You are surprised. You never thought he could be nervous. He looks so confident and radiant all the time; you sometimes forget he is still a regular human being.

“You have no reason to worry.” His lips twitch.

“I know.”

“But you still worry.” You grin and catch his arm to stop him from moving.

The look he gives you is acute.

“You have no reason to be sad,” he starts, without breaking eye contact “but you still are.”

You feel naked and hug yourself close.

It’s very strange to have someone scratch everything from you and see your raw truth. You’re not certain it’s something you enjoy. You wish it didn’t make you quiver.

Sebastian wishes he could scratch deeper under your dermis and your fingernails and slither there between your muscles and your heart where blood runs thick and melancholy hasn’t conquered yet.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.

“You didn’t say anything hurtful.”

You worry your words may come out bitter. You don’t want that.

“It won’t last forever.” he says and then your name appears in his tongue. You like the way he says it. It almost sounds like poetry. “You won’t be sad forever.”

You smile and, in that moment, you aren’t a worldwide known celebrity and a girl in her early twenties. You are just two people seeking comfort.

The same night there’s a party for the first day of shooting. You don’t feel like going, but he doesn’t let you stay home.

What did you do last night?

Went to a party with Sebastian Stan, typical Thursday night.

You can picture the look on everyone’s face. It makes your lips turn upward just a little.

“I told you to be careful.” The voice sounds almost far away but your neighbor is standing right next to you as he mutters.

“I am.” You say with a laugh. He crosses his arms.

“No, you are here, watching him starry-eyed.”

Your fingers start playing with the rough fabric of your dress.

“I don’t know how to stop it.” You whisper.

He tells you to not entail yourself in something you don’t know the way out of. But what does he know about solitude and rushed breaths?

What does he know about a pair of eyes that look like a frozen lake?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

He’s watching you from afar while you talk with Argyris. He notices how your chest moves along with your breathing in a way it looks like it’s made of pure glass.

For a while he thinks of staying there and keep observing you but then Argyris leaves and you’re all alone. And he starts walking closer to you.

All eyes are on him as he goes through the main dance floor. The curly haired actress stops moving to the beat and follows him with her gaze.

They both reach you.

And you know he’s moving towards you before you can see him. It’s like your body is aware of his presence madly fast.

His eyes seem darker under the hazy light.

He grabs your hand.

You almost heave.

“Let’s get out of here.” He breaths.

You walk for some time. It’s late and Athens is quiet around that time. There is only a soft broken sound of cars and you think about that time you saw a car crash happen in front of your eyes.

You sit close in an old dirty staircase in a forgotten back alley. The city has a lot of those, but people don’t notice. They just walk past them, always in a hurry.

Sebastian sighs heavily. He looks at you in a way it makes you think he’s trying to memorize everything. The way midnight air caresses your body, the way red lighting falls in your hair from that street lamp. He looks at you for an indefinite and long period of time and it feels exquisite.

You place your fingers on his palm and the world flickers. He’s still wearing the rings they gave him for the movie and they feel cold against your skin.

“Do you ever miss Romania?”

The question startles him.

“Every day.”

You nod. Maybe he knows more about sorrow than you give him credit for.

“I remember the dog fence and our neighbors’ daughter and the orange sky through my window, minutes before sun set.”

Your hand locks around his and you stay silent for a while.

“This is the Lyra constellation.” His eyes light up as he looks up.

You remember reading about how much he’s into space. It’s intriguing.

“Where?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead he picks it up and guides it with his own. His body moves closer. There’s no cold in the air.

As your eyes search for the stars that your hands point at, he watches you and he’s certain that one day he’d love to lay on his back, with you on his side and show you all the little dead planets in the sky. Show you the secrets of the universe.

And he feels like this is the type of beauty that musicians try to write songs about.

“Ah!” Your grip becomes tighter and you smile. “I can see it!”

He laughs at your childish enthusiasm.

You laugh too.

And then you let your head fall on his shoulder, your hair touching his bare skin. You don’t blame them for making him wear sleeveless shirts for the film.

You can him feel shudder at your sudden motion, but then he exhales and his muscles relax.

He observes the features of your face from this angle. He almost traces them with his fingers.

“They’re probably going to kill me for stealing you away from the party.” You whisper.

“I think I was the one who grabbed your hand and left.” He laughs again and you can feel his chest pounding.

His phone buzzes. He doesn’t look at it. He closes his eyes.

“Δείξε μου όλα τα αστέρια. ”

He doesn’t understand a word but your voice sounds too close. You feel too close. And that’s almost tearing him apart.

“What does that mean?”

You turn to look at him. The neon sign on the old building behind him keeps trembling.

“It means, show me the stars.”

And he does. And he feels like he could burn alive.

And you will never tell him; but you still think of him when you catch a glimpse of burning stars.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :)

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #monday the movie #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #letyoudown

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candy-and-writing · 4 years

Note

For the birthday requests could I please have whichever of the following stirs your imagination. Stucky with prompt number 86. Sebastian Stan at a party with prompt number 11. Andy Barber (in court or at the office) with prompt number 20 or Lee Bodecker maybe after a hard work day with prompt number 39.

So I went just a tad dark on this 😅😅 oh well! I hope you enjoy!

Okay, so maybe Lee had a bad day at work

Like maybe he had to change shirts because he spilled the coffee you made for him all over his freshly pressed button-down, making him late to the station. Then the new rookie misplaced some evidence from a big case, so he had to push back important paperwork to deal with that. Then he got socked in the nose trying to break apart a brawl down at the diner, leaving him with a nasty bruise that hurt like a mother —

And now he had to bring home the paperwork he didn't get to finish. He already stayed late trying to finish that damn paperwork.

Lee slammed the car door as he got out of the cruiser, cursing as he pulled the front door shut behind him, the slam resonating throughout the house. It was one of the nicer houses in Meade; more recently built and newer appliances with a nice backyard for kids.

Lee's been trying to knock you up since your wedding night, becoming more and more disappointed when you'd start bleeding the next month. It was just another reason he was so agitated. After all, it's been nearly four months since the wedding.

He heard your Mary Jane's clacking softly against the linoleum as you came into view. The thing about you is that when you're frowning, you don't frown. Ladies don't frown, your mother always told you. Instead, your eyes get wide with an innocent expression, like you're trying to keep an open mind on the situation. it's the look you have now, as Lee stepped further into the kitchen.

"You're home late," you'd say, maybe crossing your arms over your chest.

Lee let out an exasperated sigh, shrugging off his leather jacket. "Got stuck with some paperwork from the county jail, Johnson screwed up some evidence. Ya got dinner ready?"

You nodded. "There's a pot roast on the stove. I made potatoes, too."

Lee wasn't head-over-heels your attitude, your quiet voice and short responses. He supposed it was warranted, though, as much as he disliked it; when he called to tell you he'd be home late he didn't say it'd be dark by the time he got home.

He sat down at the kitchen table and opened the manila folder he had brought home from the station, sighing as he clicked his pen open.

"Aye, darlin'!" he called out to you. "Mind grabbing me a beer?"

Your voice was quiet as it echoed through the kitchen. "We don't have any."

Lee nearly snapped the pen between his fingers.

"What didya say?" he asked, thinking he misheard you.

"I said we don't have any."

Lee stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the hardwood. He marched into the kitchen, yanking the refrigerator door open.

"I thought ya went to the store," Lee growled through gritted teeth.

"I—I guess I forgot," you answered, your voice timid. Lee slammed the refrigerator shut, making you jump.

"You forgot?"

He was on you before you could blink, his hand tight around your throat as he pulled you close to him. Your small hands went to his wrist, trying to pull him off you. "I asked ya to do one thing: Get groceries. You get beer every week, yeah? What was so different about this week?"

"I—I don't know, I'm sorry—"

Lee squeezed your throat in warning, effectively shutting you up. "You know how hard I work to provide fer ya? To provide fer us? All I ask is you do as I say, why's that so hard, huh?"

"Please, Lee," you whimpered. "I—I'll go get you some beer, okay? I'll go and—" Lee tightened his grip around your throat, cutting you off.

"You think I'm gonna let you go out at this time a'night?" Lee snarled, his grip only getting tighter.

"Y—you're right, I—I'm sorry—"

"I am so sick of your voice. Why don't you shut up and put your mouth to better use?"

His words stung, but you knew better than to argue when he got like this. When Lee released your throat you sucked in a shaky breath, looking up at Lee with watery eyes.

"I won't tell ya again. Be a good girl now."

You got down on your knees, your hands trembling as you struggled to undo the zipper on Lee's trousers. You saw his hand move out of the corner of your eye and you flinched, a tear slipping past your lashes.

"I'm trying," you choked out. "It—it won't — I'm sorry, I'm trying —"

He gently batted your hand away, easily undoing his belt and fly, shuffling the trousers down his thighs. You let out a small sigh, looking up at him in thanks. Lee glared down at you, nodding to the hard-on that tented his underwear. You were quick to pull the undergarment away, his hard-on standing eagerly against his soft stomach. Your manicured hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the bulbous head red and throbbing. Your tongue darted out to lick your lower lip in anticipation and you looked up at Lee again. He only raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"You just gonna sit there?" Lee questioned.

You flinched at his tone, pressing a quick kiss to the base of his cock. As you pressed your tongue against his velvety flesh, you heard Lee let out a hiss. You dragged your tongue against the underside of his cock, whimpering when the Sheriff's fingers tangled themselves into your hair, ruining its styled appearance. You swirled your tongue around his head, feeling the muscle twitch against your tongue. His grip on your hair tightened.

"Quit yer teasin'," Lee growled.

You nodded softly, swallowing your nerves. You took him into your mouth, your jaw aching as your lips stretched to accommodate the girth of him. Lee let a shaky exhale as you took him further into your mouth, the tip of his cock grazing the back of your throat.

You should have known better, you though to yourself as you struggled to breathe through your nose. You didn't forget to buy the beer, you purposefully left it out of your shopping cart. You wanted Lee to quit drinking; you didn't think he'd get so upset over it. If the two of you were ever going to start a family, your children needed someone they could look up to as a father. He knew that better than anyone.

Lee pushed his cock deeper down your throat; your hands flew to his thighs and you dug your nails into his skin, gulping in panic. You retched, trying to pull away.

"Breathe through yer nose, darlin'," Lee husked. "Don't ferget to breathe."

You always forgot to breathe. You whimpered and nodded as best you could, focusing on inhaling and exhaling through your nose.

You bobbed your head up and down his length, your rhythm keeping time with your erratic heart heat. Lee groaned and ran his fingers along your scalp, caressing you gingerly and you moaned as the sloppy sounds filled your ears.

"Atta girl," Lee moaned. "Fuck."

You knew Lee was close when you felt him twitch against your tongue. He was guiding your movements, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

“Ah, fuck, baby,” Lee cursed, his fingers tightening on your hair. You groaned, the vibrations reverberating through his cock.

“Yer gonna swallow,” Lee growled, “take all that I give ya.”

Lee shuddered, gasping as he pushed himself down your throat, your nose brushing against his pelvis. Lee came down your thrust and you struggled to swallow all of his seed, coughing and sputtering around his cock.

He only pulled out when you were swatting at Lee’s thighs, struggling to breathe. You gasped, a shudder dancing down your spine as Lee smiled cynically down at you.

“We ain’t done yet, darlin’. Get yer ass up here.”

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker #dark! lee bodecker #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #chris evans x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #sebastian stan fanfic

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peachy-panic · 3 years

Text

Truth & Lies

(This picks up directly following this piece)

Tag list: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing

CONTENT WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, human trafficking, referenced/implied non-con, mentioned past minors of minors, blood, restraints, medical setting.

Panic washes over him the moment the door closes behind them, putting him alone in the exam room. In the silence, he can hear only the sound of his labored breathing, obstructed by the plastic intrusion that has been secured between his teeth, straps cutting into his temples. His hands are bolted to the front edge of the table on either side of his thighs. The position pulls his posture forward just enough to be uncomfortable, his shoulders curling forward to accommodate the short buckle on the cuffs. He tries, to little avail, to calm the rising panic at the feeling of restraint.

And all he can think is that he has done this to himself.

He messed up. He had messed up so, so badly and the reality hadn’t fully settled over him until the door clicked shut, and the blur of the past several minutes came crashing into him with a sudden, sickening clarity. And now there is nothing he can do to take back his actions, his words, and he knows that no apology will be enough to smooth it over regardless. Still, he feels one bubbling in the back of his throat uselessly, trapped behind the gag and the slow, constant trickle of blood.

Suddenly, the sensation steals all his focus, until all he can feel is the warm liquid in his nose and throat, and the suffocating realization that he is helpless to stop himself from choking to death alone in this room, chained to a fucking table.

His arms tug instinctively against the cuffs, but the steely hold on his wrists only serves to bolster his panic. Oh, god. What has he done? All at once, he is sorry. Jaime is so, so sorry and he wishes he could take it back but ‘sorry doesn’t do shit for me, baby,’ he can hear Mr. Torley’s rumbling voice clear as day in his ear.

He jerks forward away from the phantom presence, a whimper caught in his throat that has nowhere to go. These flashes of imagination feel so real sometimes and Jaime can’t always tell them apart from what’s in front of him, just like when the Handler had pulled his sweatshirt over his head at intake, and when the gray fabric cleared his eyes it had been Mr. Torley’s face staring back at him, grinning in the glow of the bedside lamp that had been harsh, white Facility fluorescents only seconds before.

He hadn’t meant to lash out. Jaime can’t recall ever stepping out of line like that, not since… not since his first week in the training facility. He has enough sense to know that fighting back won’t get him anywhere good. But something had snapped in his mind when they began undressing him of his street clothes, and it was as if he was no longer at the helm of his own body. His arm had lurched forward on instinct, striking out at the figment in front of him because this wasn’t right, he was supposed to be done with Mr. Torley, he had served his six month contract and it was supposed to be over.

It was supposed to be over.

He had barely recognized the crunch that gave under his fist in the moment, nor the white blare of pain as the blow was reciprocated with double the strength. There was blood and a struggle and a distant screaming that made his head vibrate like the sharp, resounding clang of metal on concrete.

And then he blinked, and now he was here, and his head hurts and he can’t breathe right with all the blood and he is so, so sorry no matter how much it won’t matter in the end. It never matters.

He hates that he is sorry. He hates that he is back here. He hates that he can still feel Mr. Torley like static on his skin even though he isn’t legally his anymore. He hates the feeling of the bit between his teeth, reminding him of a hazier time in his memory, carved out with white tiled walls and bright lights and constant, unyielding pain.

Jaime lets his head fall forward, cringing at the sticky dampness of his t-shirt against his chin, and focuses all his energy on trying not to cry. More than anything now, he needs to retain his already limited ability to breathe.

Even so, he can’t stop his breath from catching when he hears the telltale swipe of a clearance key at the door.

*******

Sebastian’s feet stutter beneath him as he pushes through the door. His eyes are drawn immediately to the anchor points along the front of the exam table, which currently serve to immobilize the terrified young man between them. He can see that the skin around the restraints is already pink with irritation. The boy’s head is ducked in what looks to be a quiet surrender, and he can’t see his face but he watches as a drop of blood hits the lap of his pants. Sebastian’s muscles freeze up. It’s only a fleeting moment, but he’s sure his recovery is not nearly as graceful as he hopes it is as he clears his throat and steps into the room.

He lets the heavy door fall shut behind him, effectively sealing himself into the reality that he is now in charge of this person bolted to a table. It has become a daily occurrence long ago to question every life choice that had brought him to this place, but especially now he can’t help but think he’s made a horrible mistake. And then the light clinking of metal on metal draws his focus to where the boy has twisted his hand inside his restraints just enough to grip the side of the table, knuckles white and trembling, and it occurs to him how selfish he is for thinking that he is the one in the room who has earned the right to fear.

He should say something. He knows he has to be the one to say something, because the Companions - the patients - aren’t allowed to initiate conversation without direct invitation. He knows this, but the knowledge doesn’t un-stick his tongue from the roof of his mouth or dissolve the lump that’s blocking his airway. For a moment, all he can do is stare.

“Hi,” he says finally by means of a feeble introduction. He clears his throat, trying for something that doesn’t sound so much like a question. “I’m Dr. Tate. Sebastian. You can… just Sebastian is fine. If you want.”

Incredible, Seb. Off to a confident start.

He might see the slight incline of the patient’s head in acknowledgement, or he could be imagining it. Either way, he moves on.

“What is your…” He pauses, clearing his throat. Name? Is that what he wanted to say? He knows as well as anyone that he isn't allowed to use his. If he does and anyone hears him, it will only land him in deeper trouble. Which is maybe the last thing on Earth Sebastian wants. Instead, he asks, “What can I call you?”

For the first time since he entered the room, Sebastian sees unmistakable movement in the muscles of the boy’s neck. There seems to be a moment of hesitation, and then he lifts his head to level with Sebastian’s gaze, and he nearly takes a step back.

By some miracle, Sebastian has made it this far into the program without witnessing - or god forbid implementing - the use of heavy restraints on a patient. Today, it seems, his luck has run out. The boy stares up at him with dark, empty eyes over a round bit of black plastic secured over his mouth with the WRU logo emblazoned in silver. A fucking gag.

A slow-dripping acidity makes its way into Sebastian’s stomach. The picture in front of him is so starkly, uniquely horrifying that it stops him in his tracks. It’s exactly the kind of raw imagery that WRU conveniently left out of their pamphlets and commercials and brightly-colored career packets. This, he thinks to himself, is the truth behind every lie they sell.

“Oh,” he says, stunned, the word slipping out of him in a breathy gasp. He forces himself to take a step toward his patient, choosing to ignore the quickly concealed flinch. “I don’t… I don’t think we really need that, right?” He says a pitch too high. The patient’s eyes track him warily as Sebastian moves closer, an outstretched hand hovering in his direction. “Uh. Can I?”

Instead of the permissive nod he expects, the young man’s eyes flit over to something to the left of Sebastian’s shoulder then back again, holding his gaze. Sebastian turns and finds a tin box affixed to the wall just behind the door. He blinks, and when he looks at the patient again with confusion written all over him, the boy hesitates — which he seems to do before each new move — and then angles his head just enough so that Sebastian catches a flash of silver at the back of his neck.

A small padlock. Holding the straps of his gag in place.

The room wavers around him.

“Key,” he chokes out dumbly in a whisper. “Right, I— right.”

He turns on his heel and crosses stiffly to the box on the wall. His hands are shaky when he opens the hinge, fingers brushing over the small selection of keys dangling inside. For a horrified moment, he catches himself wondering what other inhumane devices these could possibly go to. He doesn’t allow himself to linger on the thought. It won’t be helpful here.

The smallest key catches his eye, looking to be the most likely to fit the lock.

“Is it alright if I—?” He turns back with the intention of seeking his consent, but he finds that the boy has already lowered his head to allow him easier access to the lock. “Okay,” he says quietly, mostly to himself.

Sebastian works as quickly as his nervous fingers will allow and feels a tangible weight lift from his chest as the lock releases.

“There,” he says, stepping back immediately once the intrusion has been removed. He tosses it into the sink basin in the corner, not wanting to look at it for a moment longer, as he is sure his patient would agree. “Better?”

The patient waits a moment before raising his head again. “Th...thank you.” He murmurs without meeting his eyes. His voice is low and brittle and nearly knocks something loose inside Sebastian’s chest.

A slow trickle of blood swells out from his bottom lip, the bit from the gag almost definitely having irritated whatever injury had already been put there. For half a second, Sebastian wonders why he doesn’t reach up and wipe it away, and then he realizes—

“Shit! Your hands.” He’s back at the box before he can spare another thought, sifting through the row of seemingly identical keys. He doesn’t really allow himself time to consider the possible reasons why he shouldn’t be removing the restraints, including but not limited to breaking protocol on his first day off probation and having no actual idea if this person was a physical threat to him or not. All he knows for sure is the visceral feeling he gets in his gut every time he sees him bleeding and bound to a fucking table when he should be here to receive care.

“Sir?”

He whips around to find the boy watching him with naked apprehension, as if he isn’t sure he has clearance to have spoken.

“Really, Sebastian is okay,” he reiterates. “Or Dr. Tate, if you want to be formal.” Of course he’s going to be formal. His entire existence is a series of formalities, meeting new strangers and having to pay them undue respect, and none of it has anything to do with what he wants.

Sebastian watches something flicker in his eyes, a momentary break in the solid wall before it closes up again. “Yes, Dr. Tate,” he says with an automatic obedience that flips Sebastian’s stomach. His lips part just slightly as if he is going to say something else, but instead he glances pointedly down toward one of his wrists. The way he holds it allows Sebastian to see the silver hook attaching him to the table with what looks to be a similar mechanism to a heavy-duty carabiner.

Oh. There is no key for these. Just a simplified method that doesn’t allow the restrained person any access to release the clip.

He wastes no time crossing back to him. “You’re not going to start swinging on me, are you?” Sebastian says, mostly as a joke to cut the tension, but it’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows it as soon as the boy’s eyes darken and fall away to his lap.

“No, S— Doctor Tate. S-sorry,” the boy stumbles through a rushed assurance, still not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t mean to— I… it wasn’t…” He seems to slow himself with considerable effort, forcing in a deep breath, then out again. “I’m sorry. I will not step out of line again,” he finishes in a quiet, frustrated tone of defeat.

Sebastian is glad for the distraction of unbuckling his cuffs, which he goes straight to work on, because he’s not sure what to say to any of that. “Sorry,” he murmurs as he frees his left hand from the restraint. “I was only kidding.”

Another thought pops into his head, and only just stops himself from saying, “Whatever happened, I’m sure those Handlers had it coming.”

Once he is freed, Sebastian tosses the cuffs onto the counter, eager to get them out of his hands. The patient wraps his arms around his middle as soon as he’s able to, keeping his shoulders drawn in even now that he has full mobility to sit up. Sebastian forces himself into clinical mode. He may feel out of his element here and his sense of morality may be steadily decaying in this place with each passing day, but he’s a good doctor. He knows he is. And he needs to remember that he is the one with any amount of power in this room, and he isn’t doing either of them any favors by floundering helplessly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before we do anything else,” he says decisively, turning with a bit more confidence in his step to wet some paper towels in the sink.

“Thank you.” His patient accepts them with something like genuine gratitude, bringing the damp towel to his nose. It seems the bulk of the active bleeding has stopped, so they at least have that going for them.

It takes a conscious effort to stop himself from staring as the boy cleans himself off with soft, calculated movements. Instead, Sebastian tears himself away to claim the stool in front of the monitor beside the bed. One quick scan of his key card gains him access to the patient intake home screen.

“So, um.” Sebastian clears his throat. “Let’s try that again, shall we? What can I call you?”

“110750, Domestic Services,” the answer comes automatically, as if he didn’t need to be in his own head to recite the words from memory.

Wordlessly, Sebastian types the numbers into the system. A moment later, a digital chart appears in front of him, and he has to bite down on his cheek to keep from cursing. The photo in the top right corner is dated just over nine months ago, but the person in it looks… so fucking young.

He can’t help but toss a glance at the man on the bed he had just unshackled, gingerly wiping his injuries, and then back at the screen. Less than a year separated the two faces, and yet there was a world of difference etched into the space beneath his eyes, the posture of his spine and shoulders, the hollowness of his gaze. In the photo, he looks afraid. Here, in front of him though, he looks… dismantled.

Which is a horrible thing to think about someone, Sebastian scolds himself immediately. Had things gone differently in his own life and Sebastian himself had somehow landed in this boy’s position, he is quite sure he wouldn’t be handling it with an ounce of the composure most of these people seem to have. He doesn’t like to think about that.

“Here you are,” he says mostly to fill the silence, nodding toward the screen. “Let’s see…” His eyes scan down the monitor until he sees the highlighted red portion at the bottom, which generally lists the reason for admittance. In his, he finds two lines he immediately wishes he could unread.

Domestic Return Intake Physical.

Comprehensive STI Panel.

As if the words themselves are not enough, it’s the small text inserted next to the second line — only the second line — that really delivers the blow. In barely-there letters next to a bold asterisk, it reads:

RFR.

Sebastian has seen just enough during his probationary period, in the fleeting glances over Dr. Geer’s shoulder, to understand its meaning.

Redact From Record.

Sebastian’s mouth feels dry around the swallow he attempts. Despite his best efforts, he’s sure his expression is not as impassive as he hopes. The screen is angled away from his patient, but if what they say about some Companions still losing their literacy during training is true, maybe that doesn’t matter. WRU claims that’s no longer a part of the training process since their rebranding, but as Sebastian is well aware, it wouldn’t be the first or most heinous lie they’ve told. Not by a long shot.

With the words buzzing around like angry hornets in his skull, Sebastian forces himself to turn toward patient 110750. The blood has been mostly wiped from his face, leaving only trace amounts of pink-tinged skin in its wake, and he has pressed the paper towel into a soiled wad in his fist.

He is watching Sebastian carefully, like he’s preparing himself for something. Or… like he’s preparing himself for anything, because of course he can’t know what to expect, only that he is helpless to prevent whatever comes. The haunting revelation tucked away inside his patient file is kerosene on the wildfire of Sebastian’s imagination, supplying him with a litany of past horrors that must be swimming behind those eyes to fill them with a dread so pure.

He suddenly remembers the Handler’s words when they had dragged him in, and it makes more sense now. “Freaked the fuck out at strip and started throwing punches.”

Sebastian can imagine why.

Overturning the Romantic division of WRU had been the largest, most public part of their new regime. It had come on the heels of several small pockets of the company being blown wide open to expose the outlawed buying, selling, and subsequent abuse of minors within the system. At that point, they’d been left with little choice but to make a big move to save face in whatever way they could.

There had been liberators that moved in some of Sebastian’s (very small) circles in undergrad. He had heard their vocal disdain for the company’s half-hearted attempts. Sebastian had never once stood in defense of the system, but perhaps some small part of him had always hoped for a grain of truth in their promise to turn over a new leaf, if only for the poor people who are stuck inside of it.

Now, there’s no shielding himself away from the truth that had always existed, and he felt like an idiot for ever believing their intentions could ever be anything but malicious. Divisions and legalities aside, the people here are given numbers instead of names and sworn to a secrecy disguised as confidentiality regarding the people who have unlimited access to them. They have no legal standing. They have no power.

The word “Domestic” is etched into this boy’s designation line, but Sebastian knows that doesn’t mean shit.

Now, Sebastian looks into his wide, guarded eyes and thinks about how his first task as a solo practitioner is going to be forcing this person to undergo a full panel of invasive testing. And he feels the first spark of what he’s sure will stoke a flame of the desire to see this place burn.

#Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian #bbu #like bbu adjacent?#tw: noncon #tw: human trafficking #tw: medical setting #tw: blood #tw: restraints

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formulanaughty · 3 years

Note

you should do the toto seb overstim stuff as a continuation of the seb x merc driver because ᵘʰʰ toto said something mysterious and then left ... like bro... join ? perhaps they bicker about aftercare because seb actually has feelings and toto just thinks he knows what’s best (and like tiny feelings but it’s probably the fact that he’s the boss and is in control of everything)

(ok i realized when i re-read my first little teammates blurb that i made it seem like at the end that they aren't? teammates, but let's just pretend that never happened. seb and reader both drive for mercedes under toto as TP!)

sv/reader/tw - not proofread so my apologies for inconsistencies/issues. i don’t care that much. it’s 3.5ish k of smut (and some plot). i think i like it? idk. threesomes are hard.

warnings: threesome, toto is bossy (almost to a fault), i didn’t put enough seb in (i’m Sorry), overstim, orgasm control (?), spitting, crying during sex, sub drop (if you squint - i tried not to make it too heavy), there’s aftercare!! (lmk if i’ve missed anything!)

It had been two weeks since Toto walked in on you and Seb.

Two weeks of brilliant driving, of front row lockouts, of champagne-soaked Sundays.

Two weeks of denial.

You had played every card you had with both men, tempting them to break and give in. You'd met Seb in his driver’s room after a spectacular qualifying session that he had just barely beaten you in, stripped down to your sports bra with your underwear pushed aside as you laid back on his couch, two fingers sliding in and out of your cunt. He had taken one glance at you and laughed, bending down to pick up your sweaty fireproofs and race suit before tossing them in your direction.

“Get out,” he commanded, and you were too stunned to fight him. Your rage grew with each passing moment as he watched you fumble to put on the wet fabric.

“Fuck you,” you spat, the words venemous as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

When you entered your own room, just down the hall from his, you couldn’t get your hand back in your pants quickly enough, the shame of his offhand dismissal burning you from the inside out. The orgasm that ripped through you was vicious and you came with a shout, the sound easily disguiseable as one of rage. It wasn’t enough - not even close - to quell the need that built within you.

Toto had joined your private flight from one track to the next and you ended up in his lap as soon as the “fasten seatbelts” sign shut off.

He had grinned, looking down at you with amusement. “What is this?”

“You’re smarter than that Toto, you know what this is.” To prove your point you rocked your hips, sliding your covered core over his thigh.

He waved the stewardess away wordlessly when she approached with bottled drinks and made no move to touch you. “What this is,” he said, voice already stern, “is you beginning to directly disobey one of my orders.”

“Who says I haven’t already disobeyed your orders?”

He leveled you with one of his signature looks of disapproval, eyebrow raised and frown lines prominent.

You climbed off of him, arousal giving way to anger.

“Fuck your rules! Do you realize how stressful it is? Why do you think Seb and I ended up fucking in the first place? We need something to let off some of the pressure of being a fucking Mercedes driver!”

“You think being with him will last?”

“It’s not about being with him. It’s about relieving some of the stress that you put us under!”

He gestured wide with his arms, laughter almost mean. “You’re welcome to leave, sweetheart, but we both know you won’t. Sebastian was offered the same thing when the pressure first got to him and he stayed - has stayed - every time. You don’t want to lose Seb, the team — me. So you’ll put up with it. You may even find yourself enjoying it. Just another week, and then we’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Oh, so you and him have some fucked up agreement? Is that why he’s been getting preferential treatment on the track? So I’ll be even more wound up when you both corner me in my hotel room? Is that the whole point of your ‘orders’, Toto?”

He sat up straighter, his shoulders rolling back as he moved to make himself larger. Even seated in the plane seat, he still seemed to tower, larger than life. “He does not get preferential treatment - on track or off - for any reason and you know that. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.

Besides,” he continued, a dark chuckle leaving his lips as he settled back into the leather, motioning for the attendant to bring him a drink, “you’ll be wound up no matter what we do to you. It’s in your nature.”

“Fuck you,” you had said softly, settling down in the seat furthest from him with your face towards the window. Any closer and he would have been bound to see the fury of your heartbeat through your skin or hear your labored breath. Fighting with a man in his position, with his power, was the ultimate aphrodisiac. You’d never shied away from going toe-to-toe with him, especially not the few times it had escalated beyond arguing and moved into more. Arguing with him now, knowing there were so few boundaries still existing between you yet knowing he wouldn't back down or give in was beyond frustrating.

"You wish you could," he had said with a chuckle, raising his glass to his lips.

He had been right about you and you hated to admit it. The end of the triple header was in sight and you were wound up, springs loaded more tightly than they'd ever been, and neither Sebastian or Toto had so much as glanced your way unless required to by their jobs. They behaved in front of the media and team, but when it was just you around, it was as though you didn't exist.

You decided to funnel all of your anger towards them into other aspects of the weekend, giving them the same silent treatment they were dishing out. You did your best to ignore them both, going so far as to leave the post-race briefing early before conversations shifted to Sebastian’s car.

Later that evening, you receive a text from Toto.

We need to talk. Room 853.

Even though he was located just a few floors above you, you decide to make him wait, taking your time redressing and combing through your hair.

Thirty minutes later you swing the already-unlocked door open.

Toto stands at the desk, fingers flying over the screen of his phone while Seb lounges in the plush chair on the other side of the bed.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Toto sets his phone aside and faces you. “I said we needed to talk. Sit down.”

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

Toto grins and shakes his head. “I wasn’t asking. Sit.”

“Woof,” you bark out as you collapse backwards on the bed, already annoyed that they’ve cornered you like this. Seb laughs and for the first time in more than a week, you feel a genuine smile tug at your lips.

“Funny,” Toto deadpans.

“Is this all you dragged me here for? Or is there actually a point to this conversation?”

Toto shakes his head. “Such an attitude. What’s gotten into you recently?”

“What’s gotten into me? How about what’s not gotten into me? You catch Seb and I together and then tell me I’m not allowed to get off for two weeks, lording that fact over my head at any chance you get. Then you two start treating me like I don’t exist at all and—”

"I know she's gotten off," Seb interrupts, his face smug, “at least once. And no," he says, eyes shooting over to Toto, "I didn't have anything to do with it."

"You don't know shit," you quip from the edge of the bed, words tossed over your shoulder towards him.

He stands and moves, stepping away and then back before the mattress dips right behind you. "The entire hospitality trailer heard you. Britta asked if she needed to go make sure you were okay, but I convinced her you were just pissed, like you usually are when I outqualify you. I think I do know 'shit'."

When you open your mouth to protest, he moves from behind you and slides a silk scarf between your lips, tying it off quickly behind your head.

When you look over to Toto in shock, he grins.

"Shake your head no or tap out right now and we'll do it your way - whatever that may be - no feelings hurt. But I think," he says, watching as Seb leans in close to nose at the delicate skin of your neck, "I think that you'll enjoy it our way."

You maintain eye contact with him as you raise your chin in one last act of defiance.

“You’re trembling,” Seb whispers, his voice low and goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“She’s desperate for it.”

“Remember your sign?” Seb presses his lips to your jaw.

You reach back and give Seb’s leg three taps with two fingers.

“Good girl.” He looks at Toto and gives him a nod.

“Here’s the thing, pet. I told you no orgasms. Did you obey that rule?”

You stare him down but shake your head no.

“You should have heard her,” Seb says, his hands smoothing up and down your rib cage, rucking at the fabric of your shirt, creeping closer and closer to the curve of your breast. You barely keep yourself from arching into his touch. “She was in my room after qualifying, fingering herself, and she got mad when I kicked her out. Went back to her room and must’ve made herself cum so hard she screamed.”

“Screamed?” Toto directs his question to you.

You drop your chin in shame, remembering how you had been pushed to your breaking point by Seb’s dismissal. When the silence hangs in the air, you lift your head and nod.

“Good thing we gagged you tonight then, huh?”

Your eyes go wide and you glance at Seb.

“Sorry love. Boss makes the rules.”

“How many do you think we can get from her before she taps, Sebastian?”

“Six,” he responds, grinning.

“I think eight. But, knowing her, she’ll pass out before she taps out.”

Toto steps forward and reaches out a hand, cupping your jaw gently. “Wish I could kiss you.” He traces his thumb over your stretch lower lip and you whine, the sound strained through the makeshift gag. “No, no,” Toto chides, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead, “no whining, no begging. You wanted to cum so badly before, so we're going to let you now, as many times as we see fit. And you can’t ask for more or tell me to stop or use that smart mouth to sass me and piss me off. We’ll go until you learn that your orgasms are ours. Understand?”

You twist your head to give Seb more room as he presses kisses along your exposed skin, pulling your collar aside when he runs out of new real estate. You take a moment to consider what’s happening, what it will mean for you, and you lift your chin again, giving Toto a definitive nod.

———

You had lost count.

The first, wrought from you with Seb's fingers as Toto looked on and gave instruction, was forceful but not enough to slate the heat in your lower abdomen. The ache had persisted - insistent - until Toto shoved your knees wide and lowered his mouth to your core. Both men - Sebastian behind you and Toto kneeling below you - were still completely clothed while you writhed naked between them.

The second and third orgasms were claimed by Toto, his mouth working easy and lazy against your clit, as though this was just a hobby for him, and you let your head fall back onto Seb's shoulder as he dove back in for the fourth.

"You should see yourself," Seb says, voice low in your ear. His hands roam over your torso, fingers firm as they dig into your skin and move to pinch at your nipples. You back arches, offering more of yourself to the men before you, and your eyes drift closed.

"You look incredible," he continues, his hips lifting to press his hard length into the small of your back.

You work to open your eyes and look up to him, pleading as best you can without words, until you feel Toto work a finger into your dripping slit and your eyes flutter shut once again.

"That's it baby, come on. Let it go," Seb says, his eyes fixed on where Toto's mouth has sealed over your clit, tongue barely peeking past his lips with every rhythmic swipe of it over your tight bundle of nerves.

When another orgasm builds, every muscle in your body goes taught until it all snaps and you scream into the gag, arching away from Toto's mouth and Seb's hands and their combined overwhelming presence.

They give you a moment of peace while you work to catch your breath, inhales and exhales forceful through your nose and around the now-soaked scarf.

When Toto kneels on the bed he's finally naked, moving up the sheets until he's in front of you. "Doing so well, pet." He leans in over you, his nose brushing yours. "You still okay? We can take away the scarf if you want."

You lean into him, hands lifting to hold him close as you inhale his scent and feel his skin against yours. You pull back and nod your head, watching as he reaches around you to untie the scarf and toss it aside.

"Better?"

You nod, clearing your throat a few times before Seb, naked now too, appears behind you with a bottle of water. You sit up to take a few quick sips and pass it back, watching as he swallows the rest down easily.

Toto takes your chin in his hand and pulls you close, his lips meeting yours much more gently than you had expected, but the kiss deepens quickly. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you moan, his lips pulling into a grin against yours until he pulls away. "You taste divine," he says, licking at his lips again.

Seb's hands settle on your hips and he tugs, swiftly raising you until you settle onto your knees, stance wide as you lean into Toto.

"Don't cum in her," Toto commands over your shoulder, and a shiver runs through you at his words.

"But--" Toto breaks off your thought with a finger to your lips.

"Just because I took the gag off doesn't mean you can talk back. Understood?"

"Yeah," you answer, watching as he leans back onto the bed, his hand moving down to stroke once, twice over his hard length.

"Try again."

"Yes, I understand." You continue watching his hand, distracted by the prominent veins and dark pink head of his cock. You lick your lips and he chuckles.

"Gets rid of the gag and immediately wants something back in her mouth," he teases, his words directed at Sebastian.

You glance over your shoulder to see him, his eyes fixed on your ass as he runs one of his hands back and forth over the smooth skin there. The other hand holds his cock with what looks like a too-tight grip.

"Sometimes I have to stick a finger or two in her mouth while I'm fucking her. Keeps her quiet at least." He already sounds wrecked as he teases your folds with the head of his cock.

You scoff and Toto reaches a hand up, burying it in the hair at the nape of your neck. He drags your head down to his cock and you open your mouth automatically. He's larger than Seb, wider and a bit longer, but something inside of you begs to impress him, to be able to take him all in one go.

"What did I just say?" he asks, holding you just out of reach.

Seb chooses that moment to suddenly - finally - push his way in, your wet pussy making the slide easy, and you mon.

You whine when his hips hit your skin, the feeling of being filled almost too much already.

You don't have time to process the intrusion before Toto is pushing his cock past your lips. Seb pulls out slowly and then presses back in. Before you know it, you're being filled as quickly as one hole is empty, from one end or the other, and you lose yourself in the rhythm of it as they use you.

When Seb reaches around your hip to settle the pads of two fingers over your clit, you buck into his hand, Toto's cock falling from your lips as you swear, already too sensitive. He bats your reaching hand away and thrusts harder, fueled by the hitching of your breath and the way you tighten around him, squeezing like a snake.

Toto pulls at your hair, straining your neck to meet his gaze. "Cum on his cock, pet."

“It’s too much,” you choke out, barely a whimper, as Seb begins to grind into you with each thrust. It’s overwhelming, being fucked by Seb while Toto commands your attention.

“Don't stop,” Toto directs at Seb. Then he looks back down at you.

“She’s so fucking tight,” you hear Seb say, still looking up, watching the way Toto grins at his words.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

You follow his command and he grabs your jaw with one hand, holding your mouth just where he wants it. He stares for a moment before opening his own mouth and spitting slowly, his hot saliva hitting the center of your tongue. He holds you there, your mouth open, for just a moment before pressing your jaw up.

“Swallow.”

“Fuck, shes cumming again, I can feel it. She’s just— Fuck!”

Seb pulls out suddenly and even through the tremors of your own orgasm, you can feel the hot splashes of his release across your back. He groans and stumbles back, collapsing into the nearby chair.

“Toto,” you whine, desperately needing both more and for this to end. You can feel the beads of sweat slide down your back, the tendrils of hair at your temples damp and sticking to your skin.

“Come here.” He grips your arm and drags you up, rolling over you as he moves you where he wants you: on your back underneath him. He pushes your knees up almost too-high and looks down your sex. “Look so pretty, all fucked out like this. Pink and puffy.”

You flush at his casually obscene observance, at the act of him looking at you - at all of you.

“Should I get my mouth on you again? Make you cum with my tongue? Maybe two, three more, make you beg me to stop.”

“Toto,” you beg, unsure of what you’re asking for. More would wreck you - ruin you - but yet the ache for him, for anything, still sits hotly within you.

“I could do it. I could sit with my face there for hours, pet.”

“Please fuck me,” you try instead, head swimming with his words, with how tempting it is to take him up on his offer.

“Now she uses her manners.” He moves up and aligns his cock with your slit, teasing your entrance just as Seb had before. He thrusts in fast then, lowering himself to swallow your cry direct from the source. He holds still, his breathing easy as your chest heaves, hips already working in search of friction.

“Please,” you beg, near tears, as the mere feeling of him filling him up sets you off, the wave of another orgasm building quickly. “Toto, please, fuck me, please.”

He pulls back and nearly out, glancing down as the head of his cock catches on the rim of your pussy. When he pulls all the way, you cry out, your desperation met with a chuckle. “I told you pet, your orgasms are mine. You cum when I say you can cum. Sebastian makes you come when I say he can. Are we clear?”

You nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with desperation.

“Good girl. And just so you don’t forget it,” he says, thrusting back in, hard, “we’re going until I’ve had enough.”

You arch into him, your body taking over as it seeks out any tendrils of pleasure he’s willing to give.

He takes his hands in yours and raises them above your head, his body stretching long over yours as you cry out with his deeper thrusts.

You suddenly still, your legs trembling around him as your tears fall, the sudden orgasm absolutely stealing your breath. He groans and slows, grinding his hips into yours, the pressure of him inside you prolonging your release as he relishes the feel of you constricting around him.

“That’s it, there you go. So good for me.”

“I can’t— Toto, I—”

“You can, I know you can. Such a good girl, you can take it. Give me one more, come on, you’re so pretty when you cum for me like this.”

His patient, deep thrusts are more than enough to set you off again, and you sob as you feel it creep in, absolutely nothing to be done to stop it. Your voice is hoarse when you shout as it finally crashes over you, your vision going white and hearing going fuzzy.

Toto’s thrusts turn erratic then and he too pulls out with a groan. You watch with barely-open eyes as he grips his cock and strokes himself just once before painting your stomach with his own release.

“Fuck,” he pants, staring down at your body.

Tears continue to gather at the corners of your eyes and when you blink, they tumble down your temple to mix with the stale sweat there.

You sniffle and hear some shuffling before Seb appears, kneeling on the comforter next to you.

His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Come on love, let’s get you cleaned up. Did so good for us, let me take care of you now.” He turns to Toto. “Go get a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom. She’ll want to be held and I doubt you want to get jizz everywhere.”

“How do you know what to do?”

“Because she and I have talked about it! As much as it kills you to give up some control here, just follow my lead. She might ask for something from you, she might not. But just shut up and let me take care of her.”

Toto stares for a moment, watching the way Seb moves in - to press a kiss to your temple, to muzzle at your cheekbone - and how it almost brings a smile to your face, before he follows Sebastian’s request.

He returns and passes the rag to Seb, listening to the soothing way he praises you as he wipes your skin clean, folding the rag over itself to wipe at the sweat drying on your collarbones and neck.

When Seb turns to toss the rag away, you grab for Toto then, tugging him down almost beside you, half of his body still heavy on top of yours. He adjusts and wraps himself around your back, his frame completely engulfing yours, watching as Seb mirrors the pose in front of you, still speaking in such hushed tones that leave Toto straining to hear what’s being said. When your voice breaks through, his name somewhere on your lips, he leans in.

“Of course he’s proud of you,” Seb replies to whatever question you had asked. “I am too.”

Toto leans in to press a kiss to your shoulder and your head turns, now-bright eyes meeting his. “Thank you,” he mumbles, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to your skin. He continues his gentle assault, lips brushing any inch of skin he can reach. “I mean it. Thank you.”

#tw #sv #fn.fic #fn.answer

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juminly · 4 years

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Moonlight (Arthur Conan Doyle x Reader)

Summary: On a night where you thought Arthur was simply sweeping you off your feet as he always did, he wanted to do much more than that. He had so much to be thankful for. All of those reasons were... you. Word Count: 2.1 K. (This was supposed to be a drabble...) Tags: Pre-relationship fluff, Mutual Pining, Canon Divergent (in a way?), Not Beta Read. –♥– You thought it was just one of those times when one of the residents, one of which was Arthur, would try to occupy your time somehow, distracting you from the fact that you were away from home, far from the reality that you knew, grew up in and loved. It didn’t bother you that much, especially since you were in good company yet getting used to different customs, being surrounded by people who didn’t even speak a language you understood wasn’t really the easiest. After breakfast was over, Arthur was one of the first to leave, creeping up slowly to stand behind your chair at the dining table and slipping a small note in your hand as he leaned down to whisper something in your ear, low and sweet: “Don’t be late, pretty dove. I’ll be waiting for you.” You were not one to be easily swayed with sweet words and flirtations, very much able to throw some back and exude the same playfulness back at whoever it is that was trying to woo you yet when it came to the mystery writer, the heat that crept up your cheek was involuntary, accompanied by the smile that he always managed to draw on those lips of yours. Hearing his voice and the smile in it was plenty to have you filled with happiness and the prospect of spending more time with him, alone, was so much better. Reading the note while you were on the way to your room, you grinned at his cheeky message, inviting you to a day out with him where he can flaunt you before all of the skirts in Paris and show them how beautiful your wings were, the prettiest dove he has ever laid eyes upon. Shaking your head at this, knowing that it was just some prelude to what he really wanted to say. Reaching a small note at the end, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you gazed at the intricately written words on the piece of paper, a dreamy sigh escaping you as you wondered how such a wonderful man is often disregarded and even scorned by those who surround him. You had absolutely no idea what he was up to and you didn’t even care. “I would love for you to accompany me to an occasion that I cannot bring myself to attend on my own. Lend me your hand for the evening, love and I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Also, tonight will be quite chilly so do make sure to bring a shawl with you, unless you would rather be warmed in my arms. A much more agreeable option, if I may say so.”

As he had instructed, you were a pretty dress that Sebastian had gotten you, one of many that he populated your wardrobe with, to make sure that you didn't feel completely out of place, having to always wear the same clothes or go to town, every single damn time you felt like you wanted to wear something different. You absolutely added your own touches to it, making it a bit more modern, a little more you which always earned you a wide knowing smile from Arthur, especially now that you were all dressed up to go out with him... Wishful thinking as it was, he told himself that you were all dolled up for him, your lips painted in a bloody shade of crimson that made him wish that he could sink his fangs in your neck and kiss you, so he could share the sweet taste of you, a wonder that you could both enjoy together. Before his daydreams could fly even further away from any sort of reality that could never happen, he took your hand and kissed the back of your hand, leading you out of the grand door of the mansion and into the cities of Paris, just a little before sunset. The skies were a beautiful shade of pink, a colour that tinted both of your faces while you both laughed together at whatever ridiculous story Arthur had recounted to you, the man never failing to find any sort of avenue to entertain you. Just hearing that boyishness resonate from him, the way his eyes crinkled and his lips spread widely and freely across his handsome face, letting go of any sort of restraint that he might have to uphold some sort of image or composure before you. This was just him. The Arthur that you got was the real Arthur and it was the little things that you noticed, the things that were just slightly different when he was with you that made you want to be even closer to him. Literally speaking, Arthur had wound his arm around you, keeping your side flush against his while you walked to wherever your destination was, the simple gesture was left unquestioned since you had caught the reason why he did so. Man thought he was so smooth but you did see how many of the men passing by were looking at you, especially that it was getting darker, the crowd that you would find lurking around were much different and you would know, especially after your many trips to the bar with Arthur and Theo. But now that you were much closer, the rich smell that wafted from Arthur was even stronger, intoxicating as you always found it, making your mind swirl as you inhaled it and sighed happily as discretely as you could. On another end, the mystery writer was doing the same, a satisfied smile playing on the corner of his pink lips, the small beauty mark by his lips appeared to be a bit higher, lifting even more as you both turned to look into each other's eyes at the same moment, a round of shy chuckles ensuing as your story-filled stroll had finally come to an end. Entering through a door to some establishment that you've never been to before, slowly the sound of a crowd filled your ears as you found yourself in a room filled with people. Groups talking animatedly and excitedly in French, you obviously having absolutely no idea what they were talking about but one thing you couldn't miss, they were all holding a book in their hands. Throwing a curious glance in Arthur's direction, his leathered fingers gave yours a tight squeeze. Whether it was a conscious or unconscious gesture, the man had no clue as he gave you a wistful smile, a heavy sigh escaping his lips when he finally leaned down, inching closer to you so you could hear him better. Sweet man, he thought he needed to do that when the moment he parted his lips and his sweet voice came from them, every other sound in the damn world was blocked and he was the only thing you could hear. "Remember when you had to tear me away from writing a few days ago, forcing me to rest as I couldn't bring myself to do so. Well, love, this is the result of your kindness to me. It was exactly what I needed yet, something I never bring myself to ask for." He lifted a leathered index, circling it around, a gesture ushering you to gaze around you, take in your surroundings before you brought your eyes back to him, his tone oozing with gratitude and an atypical solemness that he only exuded when he was serious and speaking from the heart. "I've known about these gatherings even since I began writing again. The moment one of my writings is published, these people flock together to celebrate it, for a reason that I could never comprehend." With a sheepish yet derisive chuckle, Arthur turned his eyes down and at your linked hands, squeezing them tighter, expecting an onslaught that he had become accustomed to, when you began reprimanding him for not valuing or showing any love to his work. The warmth that painted his cheeks and filled his chest was not what he was expecting as you pulled on his hand so your lips could press gently over that mark of his that you really loved, while you went on the tip of your toes to grace him with the soft touch of your crimson lips. "Thank you for choosing me to be with you today." You murmured softly before resting back down on your heels, basking in his soft gaze, his expression tender and heartfelt. He was one step closer to his journey of self-acceptance and you were happy that he even considered keeping you close, not even knowing that he borrowed strength from you. Strength that he needed to turn his back on his past and look forward. Even if it was just a baby step, you were going to cut him some slack and refrain from giving him a piece of your mind. Just seeing him radiate ease, the comfort of a man that had just found light at the end of a dreary and dark tunnel. Shaking his head lightly, he brought your linked hands up to his lips and kissed your hand once again before placing them right over your heart "I would never fathom anyone other than yourself accompanying me on a day like this, my lovely dove." You sighed at the softness of his voice, if only he knew that you really wanted to be 'his' dove and you still had yet to know that he felt the same. Pressing a soft kiss upon your knuckles, a grin stretched on his handsome face, an unmistakable playful glint in his eyes as he simply said "Let's go" and pulled you through the crowds and out of the building you were in. As usual, the man was unpredictable and you never knew what he was up to. When you stood your ground, furrowing your eyes at him and asking him why you even left that small party, he clicked his tongue as you told him that he should enjoy being 'the man of the hour'. That was the last thing that he really wanted. Because he was now truly where he wanted to be and if you were going to fight him on it, then he would have to do it the hard way. Swiftly leaning down, he threw you over his shoulders as he strutted the streets, the resounding click of his oxfords on the pavement joined by the sound of your useless cries. If there was anything that was true, Arthur was able to match you when it came to stubbornness. When you began to kick your legs, whining for him to let you down, you yelped as he tapped your bottom, a sudden cheeky (literally too) gesture and chuckled in response to your mock offended tone. "I thought you were a gentleman!" Feeling him shrug under you, he replied in between his laughter."A small correction, love. I am a playful gentleman." You've finally found your true rival when it came to that but he was the best opponent that you could ever wish for. Finally halting in a quiet corner by La Seine river, Arthur finally let you down on soft grass and comfortably sat by your side, his head falling on your shoulder while his hand sought yours once again, his thumb brushing softly on your skin as he cut through the silence before you could ask, knowing what was on your mind. "As selfish as it may be, I wanted to be the one you watch the full moon with during your time here, love." Lifting his head so he could kiss your temple, turning his body so he could lay his back on the ground, with his head nestled on your thighs. This was a sight that he prayed that he would never lose, seeing you smile down at him with your fingers threaded through his soft unruly waves, eventually lulling his eyes shut as the slumber that he tried to chase away caught up to him. Blinded by his own love for you, he couldn't see the yearning in your eyes as you watched the man you were irrevocably in love with, melt under your touch. Unable to help yourself, you brushed your lips against his forehead, happy to see Arthur at peace, his breathing growing steady as he slowly fell asleep with a smile on his face. You had no idea that he was awake all along, trying to give himself a reason to keep you all to himself before he had to escort you back to the mansion, in the late hours of the night. Still... While you both bathed in the moonlight, your love began to simmer, the glowing embers burning brighter as time went by. –♥– A/N: I know the some elements in this fic might not be as per what’s in the game but this is how I believe Arthur’s character development would slowly but surely happen. Tagging: @nafeary @kisara-16 @delicateikemenmemes @theweebrises if anyone wants to be tagged or untagged, let me know <3 Please feel free to leave some love in the comments or some feedback!💜 You can also check out my Masterlist !

#ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire #arthur conan doyle #ikemen vampire fanfiction

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