#they could have put II in between the controllers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aetherraeys · 1 month ago

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evil twin ! (iii)

part (i) (ii)

regulus black/barty crouch jr x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.7k

cw ⟢ swearing, hurt/comfort, gay awakening lol, suggestive, secret relationship, pining!barty, mild angst, poor james is a scapegoat

summary: if you hadn't noticed it before, you've certainly noticed it now. barty been off, completely not barty and you can't seem to put your finger on the cause, and regulus doesn't have the heart to tell you.

a/n:poor barty is acc going through it. not proofread x

“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?”

There was a long beat of nothingness.

Then another. And another.

A tormented silence veiled the room the second Regulus’ final word left his lips, riding on the air between them and settling heavy in a cruel, unforgiving manner.

The word hypocritical sounding in his head over and over.

If Barty looked like he was going through the five stages of grief, it seems he barely made it half way, flitting between denial and anger before subsequently settling on the latter. His face said it all, as it morphed with each word, forced out on a pinched breath.

“The fuck are you on about?”

His eyes didn’t match the sharp tone of his voice at all, instead they swam with panic and an almost lost aching that made Regulus lips purse together. Barty was already sitting up, scrambling to a stand with a clenched fist and tight jaw, as he pushed a hand through his hair—already on his way out. Back towards Regulus as he spoke, words gritted and hushed.

“Don’t act like you know everything, when you really fucking don’t.”

With that, the door was closed behind him and Barty was gone.

Regulus was really starting to resent that door, far too often being left on the other side, staring at it—stressed, winded—conflicted. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to happen after he said it, but by then it was already out—already splitting the air between him and Barty before he could stop it. What was worse?

Regulus just sat there—still, emotionless—while his friend all but fell apart infront of him, any and all words falling dead on his lips.

When he sunk back into the bed, glancing at you beside him, asleep, blissfully unaware of the rift he’s just parted—his stomach churned. The soft pillows beneath his head, the warmth of your presence beside his did nothing to quell the unsettled stirring that had started inside him.

Maybe you wouldn’t notice, maybe Barty would cool off and it would all be fine—maybe he could take it back.

Each maybe more unlikely than the last, all with outcomes that the mere thought of gave Regulus a migraine.

Barty stood outside the door for a few moments, chest heaving, brows pinched high on his forhead—didn’t even know where he was going, it was already well into the early morning and he honestly just wanted to sleep.

Couldn’t go back up there because not only were Regulus there but it was you and Regulus. He much rather the Gods smit him than be suck in that room, watching Regulus watching him watching you.

A low swirling burn settled at the base of his chest.

Come to think of it, maybe storming out wasn’t the best choice, it probably made him look suspicious, like he had something to hide.

And he did, he knew he did.

The thing about secrets is, they’re only pleasant when they’re easy to hide, when you’re in control of them. So right now, lying face down on the lumpy sofa in the common room—Barty has never felt more out of control in his life.

This really was torture—surely the Gods were finally punishing him for all the near heart attacks he’d given his father, because even now, with his face smooshed into the pillow, he could still smell you—where you’d been just hours ago. At this rate he’d be insane not before long.

Groaning as he flipped, watching the warm flames of the candlelights flicker—he tried to push down the reoccuring pang that split through his chest.

── .✦

Sundays were nice.

Lazy morning lie-ins, no Head Girl duties.

The day was looking very promising. Heat from Regulus’ body warm around your middle, one of his arms slung comfortably across your waist. Holding you close even as you twisted and turned—drifting in and out—accepting the warm, tempting embrace of sleep with open arms.

Regulus had felt you shift slightly, heard the little hums that built in your throat as you teetered on the edge of waking up—he’s been awake for quiet some time—early bird habits. Just watching.

The slow rise and fall of your chest, the faint flinches of your brows as you dreamed deeply, how you curl into yourself and by extension into him periodically. He didn’t want to wake you, didn’t dare move—trying to savour the small fraction of tranquility you’d be granted before you have to deal with the inevitable storm that brewed the whole night.

Because Barty didn’t come back, still hasn’t stepped foot in the room—Regulus waited, hoping to maybe smooth things over, take it back even. But he didn’t return and Regulus didn’t leave the confines of his room.

Even as the morning drawled to a close and the early afternoon began, instead he focused his energy on admiring you, and your sleeping form. And when you stirred, twisting and turning towards him, lips pushed into a small pout—he really couldn’t help himself.

Planting a careful kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, and you didn’t move, still fighting off the pressing light of the sun in the room, holding onto the whisps of sleep.

He leaned forward again, lips ghosting over the curve of your jaw, and that got you to stir. Not fully awake, not yet, but enough that you sighed, contentedly, one arm reaching up to match the curl lazily around his middle. Eyes were still closed when you mumbled, voice scratchy and slow with sleep, fingers twitching where they rested against his ribs.

“Morning…”

His lips were still ghosting over your throat when he chuckled, low and husky, “It’s not morning anymore.”

Still, your eyes stayed closed. A little smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you turned your head slightly to chase the feel of his lips.

So he gave in.

Kisses fell like rain across your skin—first light and tentative, then firmer, slower, more intent. He brushed one beneath your jaw, then over the hollow of your throat, and when you shifted again with a sleepy sigh, he took the opportunity to drag his mouth lower, teeth grazing gently before sucking at the delicate skin there. And it made you shiver.

“Reg,” voice whispered, soft as a secret, a breathless note of fond exasperation in your tone.

“You’re awake now,” he murmured into your neck, voice muffled by your skin.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t push him away. Instead, your fingers found their way into his hair, lazily combing through the dark strands as his mouth continued its slow, indulgent path along your collarbone.

It was languid, affectionate, the kind of intimacy that didn’t rush. His hands slid over your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly on top of him, legs tangled fully now, heartbeats pressed close together.

The kisses deepened slightly, becoming more indulgent, more possessive. The kind that left marks. Your skin warmed beneath his mouth, laughter bubbling in your chest when he found a ticklish spot and refused to stop, dragging another helpless giggle out of you.

“Stop, stop—Reg, I swear—” you squirmed, breathless from laughter, your cheeks flushed pink and body warm with affection.

He finally let up, grinning with pride, brushing your hair back from your face with a fondness that felt so achingly gentle it almost hurt.

You were glowing. That post-sleep, post-laughter kind of glow that made his chest ache.

He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he might blink and find himself alone again.

You met his gaze, cheeks still warm, lips kiss-bitten and curved.

“You’re looking at me like I’m your religion,” you said with a teasing arch of your brow, and he just leaned up to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw.

“I might be,” he whispered.

You groaned, dramatic, as you pushed lightly at his chest. “I’m going to have to cover all of this up, you know.” You tilted your neck, already feeling the soreness blooming beneath your skin.

You made to roll out of bed, sheets sliding off your legs—but his hand curled around your wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, voice low and gravelly. He tugged you back toward him, guiding you to straddle his lap. You blinked down at him, amused and a little breathless, hair falling like a curtain around your face.

“Regulus,” you said, half-laughing, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I don’t want the morning to end,” he confessed, softly, eyes dark and steady as they held yours.

You leaned down, kissed him slow, whispered against his lips, “Thought it wasn’t morning anymore.”

He smiled into the kiss, hands resting on your hips—and for a few minutes, the world narrowed to just the two of you. Quiet and golden and slow.

Until your stomach rumbled. Loudly.

The kiss is broken with a startled laugh, hiding your face in his shoulder. Regulus chuckled too, low and pleased.

“Alright,” he said with a sigh, fingers brushing your waist, “We’ll feed you.”

You rolled out of bed, finally, pulling on yesterday’s clothes as you glanced around. The room was empty, apart from the two of you. You stretched, arms over your head as you grinned over your shoulder.

“Look at that. Even outlasted Junior,” you joked lightheartedly, tugging your jumper back on.

Regulus didn’t say anything at first—just hummed.

Pushing away the urge to spill his guts, to tell you how the word hypocritical had torn something raw between them during your slumber. You were halfway down the stairs before you turned and whispered, “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall—give it five, yeah?”

He nodded. Forcing his lips to curve into a small smile.

“Five.”

The second you disappeared down the steps, the quiet hit him like a stone wall.

Sitting there, at the edge of the bed, chest hollow, the lingering warmth of you already fading from the sheets. The sound of your laughter still echoed faintly in his ears, but it was drowned out by the noise in his head.

His face subconsciously scrunched, exhaling shakily—running a hand roughly over his face as he turned his sights forward—the bed across the room was still empty.

── .✦

Lunch was already well underway when Barty finally showed. He was late—noticeably late—just after the pumpkin juice had been poured and the several servings of lunch had been eaten. Quietly—wordlessly. Like a shadow slipping between the cracks of the castle stone.

Barty moved as if he were walking through water—slow, heavy, like every step cost him something. His hair was rumpled, flattened oddly on one side like he’d slept curled up somewhere unforgiving. His tie was askew, barely knotted, and his shirt was half untucked at the waist.

You caught sight of him first.

Of course you did. You were always aware of Barty—he had a way of commanding attention when he entered a room, usually by flinging himself into it like a spark looking for something to set alight. But now, he lacked something.

His eyes didn’t scan the table like usual. He didn’t offer that lopsided smirk he wore like a badge of honour or drop some cutting, clever remark that made Evan laugh and Regulus roll his eyes with a small smile. He just sat down—dropped into the bench at the far end as though gravity had forcibly yanked him there.

Your gaze unknowingly followed his every move—mindlessly observing out of habit.

But he didn’t meet your eyes.

Not even when you said softly, “Hey, Junior,” your voice as casual and light as always—and he all but deflated at the sound, sinking into his seat as he forked around at his plate, remaining uncharacteristically silent—maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care.

You glanced at Regulus, but he was staring at his plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, silent—posture was too straight. Too carefully composed—everything unnaturally taut. The silence that veiled the far end of the table apon Barty’s arrive was unnerving, the cloud that loomed over him, seeping and bleeding out into all of you—bringing the light chatter to a slow halt.

In an almost pitiful attempt to ease the glooming aura that had swathed the table, you spoke again—keeping your words pressureless, ambiguos—simple, “Sleep alright, J?”

He finally moved—but not to look at you. Instead, he turned his body subtly away, like the space between you wasn’t enough, making it wider instinctively—like he wanted to escape your presence. Reaching for his fork, twisting it between his fingers, he still didn’t speak.

Not a word.

Picking at his food like he didn’t recognise it—like it might turn to dust in his mouth.

Evan broke the brittle tension that accumlated in Barty blatant disregard, nudging his shoulder with his elbow in a half-hearted attempt to lift the mood. “Oi, saw you passed out on the common room sofa last night. You’re lucky Mulciber didn’t hex you in your sleep for stealing his nap spot.”

He smiled when he said it, teasing, waiting for the usual witty jab in return.

But Barty didn’t laugh. He didn’t scoff. He didn’t even twitch.

He just set his fork down—still clean—and stood.

Your brows furrowed as you watched him, lunch having grown cold and forgotten—your stomach twisting.

“Juni—”

He was already gone.

Just like that. Walked away, tray untouched, head bowed low, his shoulders curled in like he was trying to fold himself out of sight. He didn’t glance back. Not once—not at Regulus. Not at you. Not even at Evan, who looked after him with a baffled, half-offended expression.

It took a few moments for the silence to leave after Barty’s departure, but when it did, it was only partial. Regulus still was silent, body ridgid, looking down at his plate as if he could read the truth in the gravy lines. And you could see it. The tightens in his jaw, something swimming behind his eyes, something that rarely did.

Something you couldn’t quite place.

You sat just as still has him, appetite gone—the table feelinf significantly more empty than it had done before. Barty’s absences, his behavious heavy on your mind—his silence louder than most.

Maybe it was a hangover, or he’d not slept well—you tried to tell yourself—maybe he’d gotten a letter from home and bile and rage was building in his stomach like always. Maybe he just needed some time to himself.

Deep down you knew something was wrong, and you had a feeling Regulus knew what it was.

You did looked for him that evening. Though it felt as though he’d vanished into thin air.

First the Observatory—his usual haunt after dinner when the halls grew quiet and the scent of parchment overpowered the smell of food still lingering from the kitchens. But the corner by the ledge was vacant, the nights air twisting and whistling around the hollow room—leaves whirling against the cold stone.

Then the common room. Empty. Or rather, full of people who weren’t him. The sofa was unoccupied, and Evan was lounging upside down on one of the armchairs, chatting aimlessly to Mulciber and Dorcas.

“Have you seen Barty?” you asked.

Evan shrugged. “Nah. Maybe he’s off brooding somewhere. You know how he gets.”

But that wasn’t how he got. Not like this. Not without a word.

Turning the corner to the boys’ dorms, letting yourself in.

His bed was untouched. Not in the usual disheveled way Barty left it—sheets tangled, pillows dented, covers barely hanging on. No, this was wrong. This was still. Cold. Hollow. His side of the room was lifeless.

The books stacked by his bedside table hadn’t moved. The record player you’d both stolen from the Muggle Studies classroom one night two springs ago sat quiet, lifeless. Shoes still tucked beneath the bed, as if he hadn’t bothered to wear them. As if he’d disappeared barefoot.

You stood frozen in the doorway for a short while, scanning the room. Regulus was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wand in one hand, idly levitating a quill and not meeting your eyes.

“You don’t know where he is?” you asked, quietly—padding over to stand by Regulus’ bed, leaning against the pillar as you watched him. There were a few beats of silence, “No,”

Just that.

You waited.

Waited for the rest—for the truth tucked between the syllables, for the explanation that would unravel this knot in your chest. But he didn’t look up, didn’t offer anything else.

“You don’t think there’s something wrong?” your voice was more pinched than normal, unrest settling into the end of your question—and he could feel your eyes on him, the weight of your gaze heavy on his form. But he knew if he tore his sights away from the quill, he’d break. Guilt already bubbling in his stomach from the second you entered the room

Instead Regulus just gave a slight shrug, words muttered and unconvincing. “Maybe he needs space.”

“From what?”

You were only met with further silence—not a word. Not a glance. Just the soft scratch of the floating quill tracing invisible lines above his bed, a tight purse of his lips.

The air was too still, as you stood by him, just barely an arms length away—and when you turned on your heel—bones aching under the suffocation of the room and the sting of Regulus’ avoidance.

You left. And the quill dropped onto his lap as the door closed behind you, rubbing his hand over his face as his turned—looking at the empty space beside him that would usually be occupied by you with a frown. Regulus couldn’t bring himself to glance over to Barty’s bed, as the sounds of your footsteps became further and further away.

The next day was no better.

You saw the back of Barty’s head once in the corridor before lunch, but the moment he registered your voice—your steps—he turned down a side hall and disappeared before you could call after him.

At dinner, he never showed. Everyone far to entertained by Evan, who was too busy charming a salt shaker to sing Celestina Warbeck to notice, but you did.

You noticed—you waited.

The day after that, and the one after. The world kept spinning like nothing had shifted, but your stomach ached with the weight of uncertainty. You tried brushing it off at first—told yourself he was being dramatic, maybe annoyed with something trivial. That he’d get over it.

But the days stretched longer. And lonelier.

And Regulus…Regulus never said a word.

He kissed you when you met in hidden corners. Touched you like he meant it, with fingers that found comfort in each inch of you—but he never brought Barty up. Never acknowledged the empty space he left behind, struggled to meet you eye each morning when your gaze would linger on the empty space left for him.

But you felt it—everywhere.

In the way your laughter always died quicker now. In the way you avoided the right side of the dormitory when you were there resting with Regulus—approaching the door and waiting there—in hope of hearing anything other than Regulus’ manicured silence on the other side—approaching less often all together.

You felt it in the ache behind your ribs when you sat too long in silence wandering the place you’d walk together, emptier now—missing the loud, crass, ridiculous everything that was there with Barty.

Because now he wasn’t.

And you didn’t know why.

And it was driving you mad.

Because it had been days.

And you couldn’t pretend not to care anymore.

Not when Regulus still refused to meet your gaze when you said his name. Not when Barty’s side of the room looked like a memory, not a life. Not when your chest burned every time someone said, “He’s probably just being Barty,” like that explained the way his absence scraped against your heart like a harsh burn.

You couldn’t be in that room anymore. Not with Regulus and all his silences. Not with the evidence of Barty’s absence staring at you with every step.

So you stopped going, spending more time in your own room—preoccupying yourself with Head-Girl duties, subsequently leaving Regulus’ room even colder. Your absence adding to the weight of Barty’s—thick, heavy and aching on his shoulders.

You did eventually catch sight of him after an entire week.

Just a flicker—a blur of pale hands and windswept curls vanishing around the corner near the Arithmancy wing. He was alone. For once. No sanctuary of a crowded corridor to shield him.

Instantly you were speeding up, robes filling with air as you all but chased after him, calling his name once, twice. “Barty!”

He faltered—just for a heartbeat, his steps slowing in a way that made your chest bloom with hope, only for seconds later to be filled with a burning dread.

Because he darted.

Actually ran.

Rounding the next corner so fast he nearly slipped, hand catching on the wall to steady himself as his robes flared out behind him like smoke. By the time you turned after him, the corridor was empty. Only the echo of your own breath met you in the stillness. It was clear now, it wasn't just absence anymore.

It was evasion.

Deliberate. Cold. Unwarrented

Lungs burning violently beneath your ribs, more from the sting behind your eyes than the pace of your pursuit. You stood there for a long moment, chest rising and falling unevenly. Cold stone walls pressed in around you, and something sharp curled inside your ribs.

He was hiding.

From you.

And Regulus wasn’t saying a thing, acting as though addressing anything would sear the surface of his lips. He just looked at you and somehow that was worse than his silence, the apologetic look everytime he caught you looking for him—and he still wouldn't break, wouldn't say anything.

Which left only one other person who might’ve done something.

Lunch was a blur of noise and clatter when you stepped into the Great Hall. But the moment your eyes landed on your brother—halfway through a sandwich at the Gryffindor table, seated comfortably between Sirius and Remus—it was as if everything else dimmed.

You crossed the room slowly. Quietly—with purpose.

The hum of chatter softened in your wake as students caught the shift in the air. Even the portraits seemed to pause mid-gossip, eyes flicking toward the slow storm building in your stride.

As always, James didn’t notice until you were nearly on top of him.

Turning just as your shadow fell across the table, his expression freezing mid-bite. The sandwich hovered in front of his mouth, a bite missing, and his eyes widened when they met yours—dark, unreadable.

You said nothing at first—just stood there.

The weight of your silence pressed down on the entire Gryffindor table like a hex. James blinked, mouth still full. “Er—something wrong?”

Your eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in your jaw—a few more long moments of silence spread between you, words leaving with a sharp bitter bite that made him wince internally. “What did you do?”

The entire table went still.

Even Remus leaned back slightly, brows raised—as though he was bracing himself.

James slowly finished chewing, swallowed, then furrowed his brow—confusion splitting across his face in a loud smear. “To who?”

“Barty.”

The name landed like a dropped knife, harsh

James straightened. “What would I want with Batshit Barty?”

He was speaking far to causally for your liking, too flippant—as though you weren’t talking about one of your closest friends, someone you held close to you, like you weren’t talking to him about your Sirius or Remus.

You didn’t dignify him with answer—just kept staring. Cold. Quiet. Fury simmering beneath your skin, and your silence clearly spoke loud enough for you, because James was rushing out more words in order to quell your impending rage.

“I haven’t done anything,” he added, holding his hands up as if warding off a spell. “Why are you assuming—?”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice was low, unnaturally calm but razor-edged. “He’s been gone for days. He won’t look at me. He’s avoiding Regulus too. And you—” your voice caught, jaw tightening, slight desperation seeping into your tone as your looked at James.

It had his lips pursing into a tightline, sighing at the upset he could always easily recognise—easier than other, knowing it would settle into your brows. The telltale signs of your stress showing in the vein that appear by your temple when you spoke.

“—You never liked him. You’ve always hated that he was close to me. So tell me what you said.”

James couldn’t look more genuinely confused if he tried, glancing between his friends and back to you wide-eyed. “I didn’t say anything. I haven’t even seen him. And yeah, I don’t particularly like the git, but you’re seriously jumping—”

“You don’t have to like him. But I know you. You think he’s weird. You think he’s a bad influence.”

“Because he is, Pop! You’re smarter than—”

Your palm crashed onto the table, hard enough to rattle the silverware, and he cut off mid-sentence—mid insult. The other coming onto his shoulder in a deceivingly light and friendly manner that cause his stomach to sink.

And awful silence blooming in the wake of the sharp thud.

You leaned in, voice shaking with restrained fury. “If I find out you had anything to do with this, James, I will hex you so thoroughly McGonagall will have to reassemble you from a mist.”

You straightened, scrowl twitching into a slight frown. Turned.

And walked out of the hall without another word.

From two tables down, Regulus watched the entire scene unfold—eyes distant, shoulders stiff, guilt flickering like a shadow across his otherwise calm face. His fork remained suspended in mid-air, untouched, as you disappeared from view.

And back in the corridor, just outside the doors, you paused and pressed your hand against your forehead—squeezing your eyes shut, attempting to purge the stress from your system, calm your pulse.

But it didn’t.

And it wouldn’t not—until you found him. Found out what’s wrong, where he was hiding, what you’d done.

You were on a rampage.

There wasn’t a corridor you hadn’t stormed down, no secret niche or alcove left unchecked. Even Peeves stayed well out of your way—whistling obnoxiously from a distance as he watched you barrel past with a glower fit to set the suits of armor clattering in fear. Spenting the better part of the weekend pacing through every corridor of Hogwarts, searching high and low for Barty, and each fruitless encounter had worn your nerves even thinner.

Because Barty was somehow nowhere.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

And the sharp, twisting frustration inside of you had nowhere to go, compounding into a taut knot at the base of your throat.

You tried, really tried not to take it out on Regulus.

It wasn't his fault.

He’d done nothing wrong, to your knowledge.

But tension—agitation—clung to you like smoke. Coiling in your chest and bleeding in to everything, even when you tried to bite it back—every brush of conversation feeling too short, too raw, as if a single wrong word might set the whole damn world tilting sideways.

Once again you found yourself wandering aimlessly down the third-floor corridor, shoulders rigid with barely restrained tension, brows furrowed so tightly it felt like they might permanently etch themselves into your skin. You barely even register Regulus' soft footsteps approaching from behind—he was always quiet like that—until you felt his presence like a cool shadow against the hot buzz of your thoughts.

Turning your head just as he parted his lips to call your name, catching him in the corner of your eye. He stopped short, his frown mirroring the one set stubbornly into your mouth. You did offered him a brittle, tight-lipped smile—a poor excuse for reassurance—it looked more like a twitsed grimace.

And if anything, it made his chest ache more.

Without a word, Regulus stepped into your space, fingers curling gently around your wrist and tugging you toward the darker recesses of the corridor, into the small corner by the old statue of the One-Eyed Witch.

There was no resistance, just barely dragging your feet in the direction he pulled you. A small part of you thankful for the anchor he always offered without needing to be asked.

Pressing you gently into the shadowed alcove, until your back met the cool stone wall. He shifted his body just enough to shield you from view, although this part of the castle was rarely trafficked on weekends.

His hands rose, cradling your face with a reverence that made your chest tighten all over again, thumbs brushing carefully over the creased furrow between your brows, trying to smooth away the silent worry written across your skin.

Dipping his forehead to rest against yours, and for a long quiet moment, he just held you, breathed you in—your frustration, your stress, your tangled turmoil. His thumbs continued their soothing pattern across your skin. Tilting your chin up, compelling your gaze to meet his, and his frown mirrored your own; a mirror of silent worry and guilt. Then, slowly, he dipped forward, pressing the softest kiss to your downturned lips.

You didn’t react at first.

The first few pecks were like kisses to a stone statue, your body slumped, your heart still swimming in anxious disarray.

But Regulus didn’t stop.

Didn’t falter.

He kissed you again—softer, longer—then pulled back only enough to kiss you again, not giving you room to slip away. His hands stayed at your jawline, steady and patient, and he began peppering kisses across your cheeks, your forehead, the corners of your mouth.

Another kiss. And another. Light, coaxing—careful not to demand anything from you, just to offer, patiently, again and again.

Something in you cracked.

Your body betrayed you.

Lips twitched at the corners—a small, stubborn curve, despite yourself when he abandoned your mouth to scatter kisses across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the tip of your forehead. Feather-light, stubborn little pecks that demanded you feel them.

Encouraged, he pressed one firmer kiss to your mouth, and this time you lifted your hands, rising from your sides almost timidly to touch him.

When he finally pulled back slightly, searching your face, he only waited a heartbeat before dipping back in—catching your mouth with a little more insistence, refusing to let you disappear into your own mind. Fingers reached up to clutch at the soft fabric of his jumper—he smiled into you and pressed a firmer, surer one against your mouth.

“I’m sorry, amour,” he whispered against your lips, voice low, aching.

Your heart gave a painful, traitorous little leap at the pet name. Inhaling shakily through your nose, burying your face against his chest for a moment, drinking in his familar scent, basking in his touch. Mindlessly fiddling with the hem of his jumper.

"No, I'm sorry," you murmured, voice cracking a little. "I’m not upset with you, Reg...I'm just worried."

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

And the guilt in his chest sharpened, too heavy to ignore. He could stomach Barty’s silence, could even stomach his own cowardice, could wait out the tension until it cracked and splintered and healed, but you—with your small, fragile voice—you were his breaking point.

He didn’t know how to tell you it was partly his fault. That if he’d kept his mouth shut weeks ago, none of this would have unraveled.

So he just leaned in, kissed you again—longer this time, letting it sink deep—until he felt the tightness begin to seep out of your shoulders, melting you into him. Thumb tracing idle, affectionate circles over your cheekbones, and when he pulled back, he gaze flickered briefly down to your now parted, lightly flushed lips.

He didn’t stay distant for long.

Ducking back down, connecting your lips again, this time more hungrily, a low, almost frustrated sound rumbling in his throat. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the cool stone.

Letting his lips trail over the curve of your jaw, over the vulnerable line of your throat—slow and indulgent—between kisses he mumbled, almost inaudibly,

"Can we talk after dinner?"

Your mind was fogging under his touch, head tipping back slightly against the wall to grant him better access.

"Mmh?" you managed breathlessly, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

"In my room," he clarified, lips brushing your pulse point. "After dinner. Please, amour."

"What is it?" you whispered.

He only hummed, not willing to say more here, kissing down the slope of your neck.

"After dinner," he murmured again, "I’ll explain everything, my love."

And you could only nod, dazed, sighing a soft "okay" into the heated slither of air between you.

Hands rising to clutch the front of his jumper as his lips found their way back to yours. One hand sliding into the back of your hair, cradling the base of your skull, as if you might disappear if he didn't hold you close enough.

It was feverish, unsteady, all the bottled-up emotions from the past few weeks bleeding into it—frustration, longing, guilt, tenderness. Regulus made a soft, almost groaning sound against your mouth, low and aching, pressing you into him like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between you.

Indulging so much that neither of you noticed the faint creak of stone shifting nearby.

Hidden behind the narrow crack in the floor—the secret entrance to Honeydukes cellar—Remus had frozen halfway up the ladder, wide-eyed and horrified.

He’d only peered out because he thought the coast was clear—but instead, he found himself staring straight at you and Regulus, very much entangled, very much devouring each other against the wall.

Remus’ entire brain short-circuited. His mouth falling open wordlessly, heart thudding violently in his chest, a surge of secondhand panic washing over him.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered under his breath, scrambling backward so fast he nearly slipped off the ladder entirely.

“What?!” hissed James, who was climbing up behind him, bag and pockets full of stolen treats. Remus dropped back down onto solid ground, his face burning crimson, shoving James hard in the chest to get him to retreat.

“Peeves,” Remus blurted, voice cracking horribly. “Peeves is lurking—we can’t use this exit. Go, go!”

He practically herded James and Sirius back down the ladder, his hands flailing in frantic gestures, as if trying to physically wipe the mental image from his brain.

James scowled. “We’ll have to take the library passage, then—wait, why is your face redder than a howler—"

“DON'T ASK,” Remus snapped, voice embarrassingly high-pitched, speedwalking so fast Sirius almost tripped trying to keep up.

Behind the stone wall, blissfully unaware of the near-catastrophe, you and Regulus finally broke apart, both breathing hard, foreheads still touching. You opened your eyes slowly, and the look you found waiting for you in Regulus' eyes nearly knocked the breath from your lungs all over again—too fond, too devoted it made your chest ache.

His thumb brushed once more over your now kiss-swollen bottom lip, almost reverently.

There was a sudden, heavy tenderness hanging heavy between you—delicate and infinite and frighteningly real.

“I missed your smile, amour,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but the vulnerability in it was unmistakable.

You felt your mouth twitch—the smallest of smiles threatening your lips, despite everything.

Regulus caught it instantly, his eyes brightening with something fierce and boyish and unguarded, something he usually hid so well.

He smiled—that same smile that softened all his sharp edges—and ducked his head, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“What?” he said, voice lighter, teasing. “You are my love. It’s just a fact.”

You groaned, half mortified, half wanting to curl yourself into him and never move again—slipping out of the alcove with a muttered sound of embrassment, dragging him by the hand into the empty corridor before he could say anything else to make your cheeks any hotter.

He followed you without protest, his fingers laced securely with yours.

Regulus chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased with himself, and gently unwound your fingers from his jumper, lacing them with his own instead. Thumb stroked back and forth over the back of your hand.

After a moment, he squeezed your hand gently and said, softer this time, “After dinner. My room. Promise me you'll come.”

── .✦

It had been weeks, and they were grueling and awful and torturous if Barty were to describe them.

And he simply couldn't do this anymore.

The pressure of it—the churning, festering wrongness under his skin—was unbearable now. Like he was carrying it all inside his ribs and it was rotting him alive.

He’d hardly even been in a room with Regulus since that night. Or you.

And he could see it—the way his own twisted form of self-preservation was affecting you, how even in his absence he’d managed to damage you still. And he knew Regulus didn’t say anything—he saw the altercation you had between your brother, and how your presence dwindled in his room. How you would b-line to your dorm, and when he’d sneak into get his clothes that the room rarely every smelt like you anymore.

The guilt was eating him from the inside out, because it wasn’t just you, it was Regulus as well—walking around with a sharper scowl, shoulders hung heavy like the weight of everything and more rested on them. Not just his usual brooding self, almost dejected.

Barty couldn't sit still. Couldn't hide away anymore, ignore his feelings—pretend he wasn’t thrumming with an ugly combination of stress and something even worse—something desperate and raw and afraid.

He needed to find Regulus.

He needed to talk to him.

To fix it. To deny it. To clear it up or scream about it or something—anything but this awful limbo where the walls felt too close and his own skin didn’t fit right.

It didn’t matter that it was Sunday evening, that the castle was heavy with the scent of dinner being prepared, Barty knew Regulus’ habits like they were tattooed on the inside of his skull. Always disappearing for an hour or two before the evening rush—locked away in the luxurious marble bath, soaking in stupidly expensive bath oils, hidden behind thick clouds of steam and silence.

A ritual.

A sacred hour Barty had historically never dared to interrupt.

Right now, he didn’t care.

He just needed to see him. Needed to fix this suffocating knot inside his ribs before it swallowed him whole, before he ruined more than he already had. Feet moving faster, almost without his permission, carrying him through the dimming halls—running solely on adrenaline now—an ugly, volatile thing—praying it wouldn't abandon him at the wrong time.

The Prefects' corridor was empty, getting into the hall much easier than he’d imagined it to be.

Barty didn’t pause.

He wrenched open the heavy door to the bathroom and slipped inside like a shadow.

The air was thick inside—warm and wet and heavy with the smell of eucalyptus and something honeyed and rich. The world narrowed down to the soft sound of lapping water, the gleam of marble under golden torchlight, and the pulse hammering wildly in Barty’s ears.

And there he was.

Regulus.

Sitting at the far end of the enormous sunken bath, his slender back turned, arms lazily draped over the marble edge. Head tilted back, curls slicked down against his skull, pale throat bared to the ceiling.

He looked—

Gods, did was he a sight—almost ethereal, like something out of a dream Barty had never realise he had. His voice broke out of him before he could stop it, desperate and cracking—disrupting the perfecting calculated stillness that Regulus lounged in.

"Reg, listen I—I need to talk to you for a sec—"

At the sound of his voice, Regulus stirred. Moving so slowly, like waking from some deep underwater dream—a quiet exhale escaping his mouth, softer than he’d ever thought it could be, especially aimed at him, and almost grateful.

He turned towards Barty, lifting himself slightly against the marble, water sliding down the planes of his torso in glistening rivulets.

And Barty's pulse almost came to an abrupt stop.

Because what he saw made his blood run hot and cold all at once. Regulus’ chest was bare—slick, gleaming, flushed—and littered with deep violet hickeys—glistening under the soft golden light, hickeys blooming down the line of his throat, across his collarbones, scattered over the delicate cage of his ribs.

Your marks.

Your mouth, mapped all over him like he belonged to you.

Barty's gaze snagged helplessly on the dark purple bites smeared along Regulus’ skin, breath caught in his throat like it had been punched out of him.

He'd seen Regulus shirtless a hundred times. In locker rooms. In summer. It was nothing new.

But this—

This was different.

Regulus wasn’t just bare.

He was marked up.

Claimed.

Barty—he couldn’t fucking breathe, completely forgotten how.

Eyes glued to the way Regulus’ slender arms flexed as he shifted, the blue veins in his forearms prominent and glistening under the wet light. On the way his water-slick hair clung to the delicate slope of his cheekbone. On the lazy curl of steam rising off his flushed skin.

He was stupidly, obscenely beautiful—and it made something inside Barty twist so hard it hurt.

And then, just to add to it—as if the knife needed to twist even deeper—Regulus’ mouth shaped his name. "Junior," Regulus breathed, soft and fond and almost worried—his dark eyes scanning over Barty’s frozen figure, open and vulnerable and achingly glad to see him.

He could feel it, unbareably so—prevalent and impossible to ignore. The heat crawling up from the base of his throat, spilling across his cheeks, climbing up the tips of his ears until it felt like his whole skull was on fire.

Struggling, he wrenched his gaze away—disgusted with himself, with this, with everything—heart hammering like a snare drum.

"—Shit—sorry, this—" Barty stammered, voice cracking in half, "—this is a bad time, I'll just—I'll come back—"

He spun on his heel, desperate to get out, desperate to run before he did something unspeakably stupid. Behind him, he heard Regulus shift in the water with a sharp splash—heard the panic in his voice:

"Wait—! Junior, wait—"

But Barty was already gone—stumbling back through the doorway, half-blind with the sheer force of wrongness splitting him in half—barely making it three steps out of the prefect bathroom before he slammed into you at full force.

The collision was so sudden, so jarring, that both of you went down hard—the weight of it knocking the breath out of your lungs as you hit the cold stone floor with a painful thud, a startled groan slipping out of your lips apon impact with the dense stone. Papers were flying, scattering like feathers in the heavy, humid corridor air.

Barty landed half-sprawled infront of you, frozen stiff on the floor, like he couldn’t even think about moving. His chest heaved as he gasped in a broken, desperate breath—wide, panicked eyes locking onto you, like you were the only thing he could see.

It was you.

Of course it was you.

The person who had put their mouth all over Regulus’ body, the person who he branded themselves into every one of his thoughts, the person who he longed and ached for.

The person whose touch was still probably lingering on Regulus’ skin, sinking into his bones.

The person that Barty wanted nothing more than to be a victim of your touch.

"Treasure," he breathed out—helplessly, instinctively—voice cracked and raw.

And your eyes widened, glassy almost immediately—shimmering with emotion you didn’t even have time to name as your gaze swept over him, lingering on the flushed panic stamped across his face.

You barely registered the throbbing ache in your hip or the smarting scrape on your elbow—the only thing you could focus on was him—the way his brows were drawn up like it physically hurt him to see you in pain, the way he looked so panicked and almost small for the first time.

The heavy door behind him hadn’t even fully clicked shut yet when it swung open again.

And there—padding out into the corridor, steam still clinging to his skin—Regulus.

A towel hung precariously low around his narrow hips, damp from where it clung to the drops sliding down his chest and thighs. The cold castle air hit him hard, raising goosebumps along his marked, glistening skin—the fresh hickeys stark and scandalous against his usually-pristine appearance.

His mouth was still open mid-protest, the words "No! Barty, wait—" faltering into shocked silence as he stumbled into view...and saw you both. A messy heap on the stone floor, your papers strewn everywhere.

He froze.

Like someone had Petrificus Totalus-ed him in place.

For a wild, frantic second, he didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—looking for all the world like a soaked, deeply miserable, and highly stressed cat caught in a trap.

An uncontrollable flush blossomed up Regulus’ neck to the tips of his ears—a vivid wash of pink climbing higher and higher, curls dripping onto his forehead, his arms flinching as if debating whether to clutch the towel tighter or bolt for the nearest shadow.

It was so bad, so insanely bad, that a broken, half-hysterical laugh threatened to rise in your throat—but it caught halfway up when the door beside you creaked open again.

And out stepped Remus.

Still mid-conversation with you—or, he had been—before the disaster of the corridor scene snatched the words right out of his mouth. He took one look at you and Barty tangled on the floor, another at the papers littering the hallway, and then—

Then he saw Regulus.

Or more specifically, Regulus' towel-wrapped, heavily marked figure standing shame-facedly in the middle of the hallway like a half-drowned mythological disaster. Nearly naked Regulus. Remus’ eyes went comically wide.

His jaw opened slightly—then closed—then opened again.

The way he stared at Regulus was enough to make you want to evaporate on the spot. It was almost impressive how many emotions raced across Remus’ face all at once; shock, horror, confusion, secondhand embarrassment.

He looked back at you with a look that screamed: what the fuck, oh my god, how?, all at once, his ears flushing a brilliant shade of pink under his shaggy hair.

And Regulus—blessed, doomed Regulus—only then seemed to realise what he was showing the entire damn corridor.

He made a noise—something between a choked squeak and a groan—and scuttled backward, towel slipping dangerously low, practically tripping over his own feet as he yanked the bathroom door closed behind him with a deafening thud.

The silence that followed was mindnumbing.

Barty shifted stiffly beside you, hands fumbling to brace himself against the floor, scrambling up awkwardly, movements jerky, clearly desperate to get away—to vanish into thin air if he could. But before he could bolt, you latched onto his arm—firmly, fingers curling tight around his sleeve.

"Junior," you said—clear yet rough and certain—making him still where he stood, as if he couldn’t do anything but listen to the command of your voice. Flinching slightly at the sound of it, his name on your lips—something raw and aching flickering across his face—and he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t even if he wanted to, because it was you.

Meanwhile, Remus—poor, long-suffering Remus, had very clearly decided that he wanted absolutely no part of this scene anymore.

Without a word, cheeks still burning, he inched carefully backward—edging into the room he'd just come from, shooting you one last deeply pained, bewildered glance before disappearing with a whispered, awkward "Yeah, I'm just—I'll go."

The door clicked shut softly behind him.

And then it was just you and Barty.

Standing in the wreckage of the hallway—papers still scattered everywhere like shrapnel, your heart hammering painfully hard in your chest. Fingers were still gripping his sleeve and he could feel you, the warmth of your palm radiating through his robes—both of you remained still, as if locked in that moment.

And when he finally lifted his gaze from the floor—finally looked at your for the first time in weeks—he looked at you like you were something half-sacred, half-terrifying—something he didn't know if he was allowed to touch or beg for or run from.

The moments drags, time slowing around you in the corridor as you wrack you brain desperately for words, anything, but your mind has gone blank—emptied under the pressure of Barty’s eyes on you. Something swimming in them that has your throat drying as the seconds go by. Hyperaware of him being close to you, him being infront of you after weeks of search.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when his arm shifted under your hold, stepping closer to him in desperation—convinced he’d run away the second he had the chance.

“Junior,”

That was all you said.

It sounded breathless and pinched and honestly pathetic—but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Eyes locked on where you held him, as if he wasn’t real—like he was going to dematerialise spontaneously and you’d be left standing alone again.

A frown was etched onto your lips as you contemplated releasing him, he’d already made it so clear that for whatever reason he couldn’t stand the idea of being near you. And yet you were holding him hostage in silence, heart hammering beneath your chest—lump heavy in your throat preventing any speech from leaving you.

He still had a pained expression on his face—lips parting when you gaze rose to meet his—eyes softening when your voice reached his ears, meek and so unlike you, lacking your usual spark, your casual confidence.

“I—I’m sorry.” your voice trembled, brows pinched on your forehead—and he saw the way you struggled to swallow before you continued, “For whatever I did—Junior, I’m sorry,” Each word reaked with desperation and a quiet hopelessness that made Barty’s heart plummet in his chest.

His muscles were taut under his skin, rigid with restraint—wanting to run away from the inevitable and pull you into him all at the same time. Words lingering in the air between you, fragile and lost. He could practically feel them sink into his bones, heavier than any hex he’d ever been hit with.

For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you.

Looked at you like you were a burning star about to collapse under your own gravity—something so devastatingly bright that getting close might kill him, looked at you with a helpless frown and pinched brows.

His jaw clenched once, twice, before he finally moved—slow, like it hurt him.

“Don’t—” he choked out, voice cracking mid-word. His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging crescent moons into his palms. “Don’t apologise.”

Your lips pursed together, blinking up at him with an expression he never wanted to see on your face again, and most certainly hated the fact that he was the reason for.

“I—” He stopped himself, raking a shaking hand through his hair, sending damp strands curling wildly. His whole body seemed to vibrate with a barely-restrained, chaotic energy, like a wire pulled too tight. “You didn’t do anything, treasure.”

And it only made you frown deepen, fingers twitching around his wrist—still holding him like he was some fragile thing that would vanish, that would crumble under any sort of pressure. Barty was too weak for his own good—surging forward and pulling you into him, arms wrapping tightly around you in an embrace.

He shouldn’t be doing this—holding you close this when your boyfriend was just a door down. He shouldn’t be indulging himself in you when even just this small touch means something different to him. Means more.

“You didn’t do anything,” he repeated, voice low and raw and agonisingly sincere.

“I’m the one—fuck, treasure, I’m the one who—”

His words caught in his throat when he felt you squeeze him, palm on his back—your warmth so soothing yet tormenting all at once and Barty just leaned into it. Leaned into you like a man who had nothing left—no fight, no resolve—just signing himself away. Pressing his face into the your shoulder, “I’m sorry,” he murmured back, words muffled against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry, treasure. I—”

You didn’t let him finish, leaning away slightly—staring up at him with a look in your eyes he couldn’t understand, it lacked contempt, it didn’t have anything other than warmth and acceptance he couldn’t fathom. Affection, that he surely didn’t deserve.

“Junior. J—stop. You don’t need to explain right now,” you said, voice almost lost in the thick, suffocating air between you. “Let’s…let’s just go sit somewhere, yeah?”

But you barely had a chance to move before you heard the soft creak of a door behind you.

Regulus.

He stepped out of the bathroom, fully clothed now, his shirt rumpled and clinging slightly to his skin in places where his hair was still damp, curling against the nape of his neck and forehead in soft, messy tendrils. Water dripped lazily from the ends, soaking into the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

His eyes found you first, standing frozen there in the corridor with Barty half-folded against you. Then his sights slid over to Barty, and the way Barty clung to you like if he let go, he’d come apart completely.

The way you cradled Barty’s wrist with your fingers—so gentle, so careful, as if you were holding something precious you didn’t know how to save. The look in Barty’s eyes—raw, unguarded—made Regulus’s chest ache in a way he didn’t want to name.

He just…watched for a moment.

Air stretching, heavy and taut and almost suffocating, until finally Regulus moved.

Walking up to you both in three long, silent strides and, without a word, reaching out—taking both of your wrists, Barty’s and yours, into his hands. Grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. Inevitable.

He turned on his heel and tugged you both along. Neither of you resisted. Neither of you even thought to resist.

Following him blindly, feet scraping against the stones, the flickering torches blurring past in your peripheral vision. Barty stumbled once but caught himself, and you never once let go of him. The corridors twisted and turned, and after a short while, the only sound was quiet breaths mixing with the distant noise of dinner echoing from the Great Hall.

After a few minutes, you found your voice, smaller than you’d have liked, “Reg, where are we going…?”

He didn’t turn around, his fingers just tightened slightly where they held both your wrists, turning another corner. “Don’t you think we need to talk?” he said, his voice low, too neutral—almost strained.

You didn’t answer—letting the question hung unanswered between you.

Eventually, he pulled you both into the Slytherin common room—empty now—pulling you up the stairs into their room, the heavy velvet curtains drawn across the windows, casting the room in muted twilight. Only the faint golden glow of the sconces on the walls lit the room, flickering like dying stars.

Regulus let go of you both, stepping back a pace as if to give you space—maybe even to steel himself. The three of you stood there in the centre of the room, awkward and uncertain, like strangers stranded in the aftermath of a storm—the door clicking softly behind you and resonating around the silence in the room.

Barty’s shoulders were tense, hunched inward like he was bracing for a blow. His gaze was fixed stubbornly on the floor, refusing to meet either of yours. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, useless.

Regulus watched him quietly, no anger in his eyes—no disappointment, even. Just something quieter, heavier. Patient.

And you—

You hovered uncertainly, your hand still loosely wrapped around Barty’s wrist, your thumb brushing absently against the bone like you hadn’t even realised you were doing it—you never noticed, but Barty did.

His eyes flicking down, locking on the sight of your hand—so unaware, so comforting and yet it still made his chest tighten. Only then did you notice, feeling the way he tensed under your touch, following his gaze with dread pinching in you when you it landed on your hand.

Pursing your lips together, you pulled away—forcibly squeezing your own hand—fingers curling into your palm ike you could hide the upset bleeding into your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice raw and breaking. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Barty flinched at your words, frustration flickering across his face before he scrubbed a hand roughly through his hair, curls falling even messier over his forehead.

“It’s not that—” he blurted, wincing. “Well—it is—but it’s not—” He stammered over the words, grimacing as he fought them, fought with his mind and tongue. “It’s not you. You don’t—you don’t make me uncomfortable. I just—”

He stopped, pressing his lips together hard like he could physically hold the rest of it in.

The silence stretched, pressed into him like it knew he would crumble, like it was waiting from him to shatter. And your gaze on him did nothing to quell his pulse sounding in his ears, it was open—confused, waiting. Unfairly patient.

Regulus’ stare was sharper—cutting into him with a quiet sort of knowing that made Barty’s stomach twist painfully.

And Barty couldn’t stand it—he couldn’t breathe under it.

“I—I thought I could do this. But I can’t. I’m sorry, I just—”

The panic was building, an unforgiving, rising tide in his throat, tight and hot and unbearable. He turned sharply, desperate to escape the weight of their stares, the suffocating walls, the unbearable truth burning under his skin. But before he could get more than a step away, Regulus moved—swift and sure, catching his wrist in a firm grip. “Stop.” Regulus said quietly, with an iron edge that brooked no argument. “If you don’t tell her, I will. It’s not fair anymore, Junior.”

And Barty's whole body jolted at the contact, stiffening like he’d been shocked. His stomach flipped—violent and sick and dizzying—but not just with anger. Not just with shame.

There was something else, something strange and warm tangled in it, something he didn’t want to name, something worse. The feeling of Regulus’ fingers curling around his wrist—soft and careful and familiar—it sent a pulse of heat ricocheting through him so abruptly that for a split second he was convinced his lungs had collapsed.

And it made him angry—at himself, at everything.

Because how dare his body still react like that, still betray him, even now when everything was clearly already falling apart?

He ripped his arm free like it burned him, staggering back with a harsh, broken sound caught in his throat, spinning around so quickly he nearly stumbled, chest heaving, his face crumpling with a sick, helpless kind of revulsion—at himself most of all.

“You think this is fair on me?!” he snapped, voice ragged and raw. He couldn’t even see Regulus’s face anymore—couldn’t bear to—only saw the wreckage burning behind his own eyes.

“You think I want this?!"

The words tore out of him, vicious and choking. "I wish—" And he breath caught, clawing its way out and trapping itself in his throat, as he continue words swallowed in the distress of his tone.

"I wish more than anything that I didn’t feel like this!"

His hands were shaking now, curled tight into fists, nails digging hard into his palms until he swore he felt blood bloom beneath them, knuckles white and tremouring under the tightness.

“What do you want me to say—huh, Reg?!” he demanded, a frantic, wounded sound punching out of him. “You want me to shout it from the rooftops?! Fine!”

He should have stopped himself, should have thought about it, taken a second to just stop. But Barty was always too volatile, always too crass for his own good—never able to find the middle ground, especially when it comes to emotions, so used to pushing them away. Hiding them under layers and layers of blaśe and cocky remakes. And now it was all spilling out of him like bile, thick like oil, staining and tainting the air as left him.

“You want me to say ‘I’m in love with your girlfriend!?’”

He wasn’t finished—the final truth tumbling out, raw and bleeding, voice cracking under the pressure,

"I’m in love with my best friend!"

And with that—it wasn’t just the room that stopped—Barty was use the whole world had, spinning on its axis, tilted upside down. He froze, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, realisation crashing down on him like a tidal wave too heavy to survive.

The weight of what he’d said—what he couldn’t ever take back—slammed into him so hard he staggered, a half-step backward, dazed and wide-eyed.

You just stood there, staring at him, lips parted slightly, eyes glistening under the dim candle light—and Regulus didn't say anything. Didn’t even move either.

He just watched Barty quietly, his face frighteningly still, but his grey eyes were no longer guarded. They swam with something achingly gentle. Something like understanding, sympathetic—and he wanted to be sick, wanted to scream.

Because even now, even after everything—part of him still ached, wanting to reach for you, part of him wished Regulus’ hand was still warm and familiar against him. Still wanted to feel the impossible, burning comfort of being held by you.

And that?

That was the cruelest part of all.

already started part 4....were GETTING THERE YALL

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bananafieldnotes · 11 days ago

Text

beg for me - ii

★ abstract: it’s ‘70s chicago and stack’s a single man on the prowl for his match. you’re about to give him more than he bargained for

content disclosure: smut, technical age gap, black!reader, fem!reader x stack, language, exposition chapter, canon deviation, ongoing series

author’s note: happy friday! part two is here! this part is longer than part one, but still what i would consider short. please let me know if longer is better, i'm open to keeping it this length or taking a little longer to write for longer chapters. in the words of pearline, let's see where the night takes us

word count: 1.7k

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Stack had been on the run for the last year or two, but not from trouble. From Mary (who more than qualified as trouble in her own right). Forty years deteriorated the foundation of their love, chipping away at all of the good and leaving behind a thick layer of resentment. They both knew it was over long before Stack had the courage to end it, putting them out of the misery of obligation. Everything unraveled when they were squatting in New York, and Stack had disappeared right into the Chicago air before things could get worse. He knew she was feeling it too, and yet she protested the break up so ardently that he almost recanted. He just couldn’t spend the rest of eternity with someone simply because he was bound to.

But trouble had its way of finding him, so much so that he should be used to it by now. Chicago was meant to be a pit stop on the way further out west until he met you. What was meant to be his last day in town, a celebratory send off, led him right to the bar you work at. It smelled of whiskey and sandalwood every time he walked in, and it took him a few times before realizing the sandalwood was wafting from you. Some oil he’d watch you reapply when you had a break from overbearing customers, once behind your ears and twice down your neck and chest. Cinnamon, the smoky spice of the sandalwood, and just enough rose to make it extra sweet. It made it hard for him to control himself around you— he already wanted to take a bite out of your neck, to taste the intoxicating flavor of your blood. Exposing himself to a bar full of people was a bit more trouble than he could chew, so he left you alone. Sort of.

Stack would’ve kept a respectable distance for as long as he lingered in Chicago until you made a move on him. He knew that you’d kept your eye on him every time he moseyed on into the bar, hat tilted and glasses obscuring the white film over his eyes. Without fail, he was dressed to the nines, suave and sexy with his signature touch of carmine. A cigarette or cigar wedged between his lips, smoke puffing out in circles around him. Stack knows how to command a room, and you were more than ready to give him your attention.

You were touchy with him, and that’s when he knew it wasn’t all in his head. Other customers had strictly professional interactions with you, and oftentimes you wouldn’t even bother looking at them; but with Stack, you came to life. Asking him questions about his life, playfully pushing at his arm if he cracked a joke, batting your doe eyes at him when handing him his drink (that you always made a little stronger than your boss would allow). The safe, respectable distance didn’t seem like something you wanted— and Stack always had a weakness for pretty women like you. Soft, sultry, and sanguine. Dark, thick hair pressed and flipped just like you saw Donna Summer do. It framed your face beautifully, the dark hue of your mane a breathtaking complement to your rich brown skin. A voice that he could loop on a record until his eardrums popped. Hips that he couldn’t help but imagine how they’d feel under his palms, how reactive you’d be to his touch. He could keep his mind running from dusk to dawn on the thought of you alone.

But Stack never ever considered falling for a human. For so long, he didn’t have to. Mary was meant to be his forever. The idea of starting fresh was mentally exhausting. His soul was nearly eighty-three years old, and he felt too old to go back to the drawing board. It was all too much, he thought, and a human was out of the question. Stack loves hard and falling in love with someone who’s still plagued by their biological clock was no different from self harm. He didn’t want to turn someone into a vampire with the intention of spending eternity together, because even he knew now that forever is fickle.

“Do it,” you moaned out, sensing his hesitation. “Bite me.”

The events of last night kept replaying as he sat in his living room, the low rumble of the radio heard from the next room over. Bite me? How had you figure it out? Had you been following him, had you seen him feed before? A chill ran through him at the perversion. Smoke was right; Stack had no idea how to watch his own back.

After your unexpected request, Stack kept fucking you like he hadn’t heard you. There was no way he could comply without investigating further. Up until then, you were a sexy stranger who he denied himself the pleasure of having. All of the gaps in his knowledge of you were empty, blank and waiting to be filled in. No one in his forty years of vampirism has ever sought him out, much less asking to be bitten. He didn’t even know what he wanted to ask you.

The bar you work at was opening soon, and he knew well enough that you’d be working. Probably wearing something to teasingly remind him of the position you were in just last night. A dress that was a bit too tight against your breasts, giving him the perfect view to admire. You were certainly gonna try to distract him tonight.

There was only one thing on your mind, and that was changing Stack’s. A brief look of bewilderment crossed his eyes when told him to bite you, but he pretended he heard no such demand since it was so outlandish. Who in their right mind would subscribe to such endless torment of bloodlust and bloodshed? If he had known…

“The usual?” You appear in front of him just as pretty as you wanna be. Powder blue shadow dusting your eyelids and a deep brown gloss to your lips. Your cheeks blushed with an orangish intensity that makes you look sun-kissed even indoors in the dim lighting. Simply put, you look absolutely stunning.

Stack gaps at you for a moment, stealing his eyes away from you to the row of liquor behind you the second he felt he was over doing it. He nods, “Ice cold beer.”

The beers were stored in the fridge right next to the bartop Stack was leaning over, effectively cutting your interaction time in half. Sigh. “I miss when you’d let me make you somethin’. Now, you’re running off with your drink before I can really talk to you.”

“And what would you need to really talk to me about?”

You popped the lid off the bottle, handing it over without pulling your hand away. “Maybe about how you’re acting like you didn’t hear me last night.”

His heart dropped to his stomach as you smirked at him, removing your hand from his embrace to grab his check to close his tab. Doing this so publicly, right in the open of the densely populated venue. Anyone could be listening, and you didn’t seem to care. You trusted the tranquil hum of your voice beneath the low chaos of the partygoers, and your eye contact coaxed the words from your lips to his ears. The molasses of your voice was dripping straight to his cock, and he already knew he was in dangerous territory.

If he wasn’t careful, he’d surrender to you entirely. His shoulders squared back as he found his confidence once more, taking the reins in his hands. “Alright, I’ll tell you what; if you still want this shit after I tell you everythin’ that come with it, I’ll turn you. But there’s a catch.”

You shrugged, wiping your hands on the tops of your thighs. “Figured as much.”

He pulled the toothpick out his mouth and fixed it between his fingers, leaning closer to you like his next words were a secret. “I’ll only give up the goods on dates, baby. You gon’ have to let me take you out on the town if you want me to talk.”

“Dates. You want… dates?”

“Classy. Romantic. Courtship,” He cleared his throat, looking away from you with a heavy sigh. “Or were you really just tryna fuck ‘n duck?”

A part of him couldn’t help but be insecure about his rustiness. Back in his day, he had game like no other. There was no doubt about it. But being in a committed relationship for nearly half a century had knocked his ego down more than a few notches. Sharing his body with someone hadn’t been something casual for him since before integration, and now that he was back at it, the game was different. He wanted to be crystal clear about his intentions.

You purse your lips, trying to read the poker face Stack puts on. Dating in exchange for the gift. It was messy, risking your heart in the hands of someone so indestructible. He could make you genuinely fall if you’re not careful, and love is too messy to get caught up in. Not now. As long as he keeps to his end of the bargain, you’ll be right on track according to schedule. “So when do we start?”

“There’s no turning back, you know.”

Whether he meant from his offer or from eternal life, you. weren’t sure. But either way, your answer was the same. “Good.” He was trying to scare you but it wouldn’t work. You’d heard plenty of stories, knew as much of the downsides as all of the good. Where others flinched with fear, your interest was piqued. The world you grew up in was too harsh to fear death. No one believed when you said there are fates worse than death, but you’d laid witness to it. So whatever Stack was trying to shield you from couldn’t be worse than what you’d already seen.

taglist: @rose-bliss @hrlzy @kinkythotsthoughts @browngirldominion

#sinners smut #sinners fanfiction #sinners #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #sinners stack #black reader #elias stack moore #sinners spoilers #x black reader #x black!reader #black writer #bananafieldnotes #beg for me #fic: BFM

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lcverwrites · 10 months ago

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the lovers ― aegon targaryen

THE LOVERS ― AEGON TARGARYEN ... (part one) (2.3k)

summary ... aegon had never known the tender touch of love, from the cradle as a babe, he was cursed to be unlovable. his mother held no love for him, only the safety he provided her. his father never spared him a glance, to sickness struck to see past his golden daughter. his siblings were indifferent to him, never really having the want to dig past his drunkard front. but then came her... aegon never understood why she loved him, what she saw in him that others could not, what he could not see in himself. but thank the gods above, there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her devotion, because the unlovable had finally found someone who loved him; and who he loved in turn. pairing ... aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader (wife reader) warnings ... self loathing, talks of being unlovable, strained family dynamics, targcest (mentioned, but not seen), hurt/comfort, angst, trying to heal from unhealthy relationships, mentions of drinking, supportive wife mode note ... I want this fictional man a healthy amount, as you can clearly see. I might make some more things for this couple in the future, cause they've been on my mind for a loooong time. I just want to love this man for a second, after the shit storm they put him through this season. Let me know if you want more of aegon x tryell!reader, perhaps some smut between these two lovers 😏🫶🏻

next part >>

⠀⠀⠀Voices spoke muffled words around Aegon, drowning him in their monotonous sounds, unimportant and distant from his thoughts. Aegon knew he should have been listening to his merriment of council members, they were talking about the needs of the realm, the wants of the smallfolk, the unwarranted needs of the already wealthy lords and ladies in his court, the impending doom awaiting them across the sees, with his sister plotting to take the crown from his very head.

The crown she was once promised, The Realms Delight was worlds away now, and the crown snuggly sat upon Aegon's head, the doing of the Mother and Grandsire, the controlling hands that guided Aegon under the guise of their affection and want to see him succeed, to bring the promised peace Viserys once spoke about.

But Aegon knew better now.

His mother held no love for her eldest son. She held him at arms length, with contempt, her lips pursed as if she couldn't ever fathom smiling at her own son. With a faux guiding hand, never reaching for a tender touch, only a harsh slap to awaken him from thoughts of straying from the path laid out for him. Alicent Hightower liked to believe she loved her children to the best of her ability, but Aegon knew better, knew that her love came with conditions, and Aegon's was to keep the safety of her family, even if he was killed in the process.

His Grandsire was a bitter old man, who reached above his station as hand of the king, all but ready to snatch the crown from Aegon himself. He was the driving force for Aegon's ascension, seeing the malleable drunk as a way to reach his ultimate prize, to be King through Aegon. There wasn't a bone in Otto Hightower that cared for Aegon past the power he could bring him.

Aegon could hear his mothers docile voice, sweeter than those of the men whom sat around her. Her words blurred into a flurry of movement, her lips parts around the words he wasn't taking in.

He watched his mother. Seeing his lips in her mirror image, full and pink, a slight downtick in the right corner, a frown always threatening to take her tender disposition by the throat. He could see the shape of her eyes, wide like a doe, but all innocence was washed away by a bland rage that barely simmered beneath their dark pools of amber liquid, subdued and boring. She could see her picking at the skin of her nailbeds, a bad habit she never outgrew in her youth, a habit she passed onto Aegon, if his red and raw nails were a certain sign.

He could see so much of himself in Alicent, in his own mother, a mirror into Aegon's soul. But all she could see in Aegon was his father, and she despised him for it.

His gaze traversed from his mother, to the stoic statue was his brother. Foreboding and concealed all at the same time, Aemond was a fearsome foe.

Aemond spoke little, hums of approval passed his sealed lips, displeased puffs of air fled from his nose. When words did leave his lips, they were precise, vicious and cold in the manner, strait to the point, never one to flounder and flaunt with unnecessary grandeur. He spoke as if he were a worldlier man, knew the bitterments was war and what was required to secure their victory, through fire and blood, through destruction and death. Aegon didn't know if it meant their own destruction or their foes, Aemond's want for power knew now bounds.

It's what desired him to his Grandsire.

He saw a likeness in Aemond that he didn't see in Aegon, and he held hatred and resentment for his oldest grandson.

Aemond paid no mind to Aegon, as if he was not there, the chare beneath him empty, no figurehead to be seen. He spoke to the counsel with the convection of a King, hand perched on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to strike at any given moment, lest one of the lords spoke against him, as if it were treason.

As young boys, Aegon and Aemond were like most boys he supposed. They poked and prodded at one another, until one of them bled, pleading for the other for mercy, running and crying to their mother. Often it was Aegon tormenting Aemond for his lack of dragon, for being the boring little know it all, smacking him against in the training yard in the name of bettering his skills, but Aegon wanted his little brother to feel even just a moment of the bitter resentment he felt feasting in his insides, sloshing around with the sweetened wine he drank himself into a stupor with.

He wanted his brother to feel small, unwanted, unloved, just as he felt. But no matter what Aegon did, his brother would always have their mother behind him, caressing his with the tender touch he craved. The lick his wounds with her tender voice, chaste kisses to the crown to his head, all the while berating Aegon in the same breath.

Aegon knew he shouldn't have treated Aemond so, they were both circumstance of their family, they were the only people who could truly understand each other, but resentment flooded Aegon's bones, strengthening his hatred for everyone whom shared his blood, and couldn't taste the bitter bite of his flesh.

Aemond resented Aegon for what he was given, just because he had the audacity to be born first. He was given the crown of their founding family, he was given the undeserving respect of the smallfolk, he was given the time and energy the the King's counsel. He was given the best tutors and training teachers, but he never respected what has trust upon him, not in the way Aemond would have welcomed him. Now his brothers days were spent on the throne he desired so, drunk in his cups and stupidly stuttering around like the idiot Aemond has always known Aegon to be.

Aegon leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, hand reaching out to play with the ball before him, the marble feeling cool beneath his heated palms. He felt as of he were just melting into the wood beneath him, and no one seemed to notice.

Except...

A hand reached for his arm, a delicate little thing, decorated with gentle rings that glimmered in the afternoon light, shimmering shades of glittering gold, azure blue and brilliant emerald. The smooth skin of a palm caressed his forearm, thumb digging into the malleable skin beneath his wrist, as if she knew he was slowly floating away, grounding him to this moment, to her touch.

Oh but she....

She was a marvellous thing. Aegon hadn't seen anything so precious in his life, so delicate, so wonderfully beautiful. There weren't enough words in the world for Aegon to describe her, nothing could ever truly do her justice, and he had tried, many a times, much to her amusement.

The Lady Tyrell had been a gift Aegon knew he wasn't deserving of, it was as if the gods were cursing him to gaze upon the mirror of the Maiden, but never being good enough, strong enough, smart enough to be worthy of even a glimpse in his direction. Aegon would only think himself lucky enough to dream about her gentle touch, to be the lucky man whom would receive her affection, to have her smile at him in a manner he'd never seen a maiden smile before.

Her smile started small, only an upward pulling in the right corner of her lips, inch by inch, her pretty pink lips would stretch in the most delicious curve, revealing the pearls of her teeth, little creased would dip in the skin of her cheeks as she would freely smile, a crinkle would form in her nose, her eyes would glitter with a golden looking happiness, as if you were the centre of her world in that very moment, the very reason she was smiling, like you were the only thing that could make her happy.

Aegon wished he could bottle the feeling her smile encapsulated, pure and true happiness unlike anything Aegon has felt before.

How could a persons smile be so contagious?

Despite his reservations, the Lady Tyrell held no contempt for him. She gazed upon him as if she were seeing him for what he was and she was willing to accept him, bitter soul and all.

The Lady Tyrell squeezed his arm, only once, and it was enough to have Aegon retreating from the narrow tunnel he was burrowing himself into. His gazed picked up from the marble to look upon the visage of his wife.

His Wife.

They'd been married when they were ten and three respectively, much to young to be married, but as is the way Aegon supposed. He hadn't even been given the chance to speak with her, before it was announced in the King's Counsel that they were to be married.

But they've come a long way from those scared children they had been all those years ago.

But the one thing that hadn't changed, was the devotion and love she had bestowed upon Aegon. Day in and day out, there wasn't a moment in time where she didn't love him.

"Perhaps the counsel should take a breath" Her melodic voice pierced through his muffled thoughts, like it always did, his every being was tuned into every sound and moment she made.

"Pardon, your grace?" Lord Lannister paused a moment, looking at her with a look of confusion.

"You have been discussing for hours now" She mildly replied, keeping an easy smile on her lips, looking like the pliant woman they demanded she be. "If we were to be attacked by our foes, they would have done so already, surely you all see this"

"Just because it hasn't happened, does not mean it will not happen" Otto Hightower's condescending voice bounced around the room, looking down upon the Lady Tyrell, as if she were a speck of dirt on his boot.

Aegon clenched his fist, loathing that she was rained down upon by Otto's hatred because she was connected to Aegon.

She never seemed to waiver beneath his gaze, nodding demurely at the Hand, as if she were bending to his whims.

"I do not disagree my Lord" She announced. "But perhaps we have spoken on the themes of war for much to long"

"Your Grace, forgive me for speaking so candidly--"

"Then do not"

All eyes turned to Aegon, who for the first time since the counsel had gathered, had found himself voicing the words that had been rattling around in the back of his throat.

"The Queen has excused you" Aegon bluntly replied, leaning further back in his seat, pulling his arm along with him, turning it just so, allowing his palm to slide right along her. Their fingers gliding together like magnets pulling them together, locking them in place.

Aegon relished the feeling of her warm palm beneath his own, smooth skin against his own rough calloused skin, like silk against leather. The cool metal of her rings biting into his warm skin, a zinging shock to his system.

"Aegon, the counsel needs to speak about--" Alicent tried to gage her son back into the conversation, but Aegon was already detached from everything that was her.

"Your King has dismissed you" Aegon interrupted his mother.

Aegon looked to his mother, seeing her lips parted in surprise. She wasn't used to Aegon snapping at her so, he had always been so willing to bow to his mother, wishing for her affection in return.

But he now knew what love without restraints and conditions tasted like, he craved the affections of his wife, whom would willingly allow him to be loved without limits.

"Fuck off" Aegon waved off the counsel.

He didn't even watch as each member grumbled up their breath about something or the other. He didn't notice the shared look of concern on his Mother and Grandsires faces, he didn't see the glare Aemond had wagered his way, icy and void of any brotherly affection. He didn't see any of it, and if he had, he wasn't sure he would care.

Not when she was gazing upon him as she always had.

With love.

"You may have been too crass my love" She smiled as the last of the counsel left the room, the foreboding doors slamming closed behind Otto Hightower himself, sealing himself out of reach of the King.

"They are a bunch of power hungry cunts" Aegon shrugged.

"Be that as it may" She conceded with a soft smile. She pushed herself from her seat, keeping her hand within Aegon's, walking around her corner of the table, until she was standing directly beside the chair Aegon was currently lounging in. "They are here because they support your cause"

Aegon huffed a breath through his nose.

He used their connected hand to haul his wife's body into his lap, she fell willingly into his embrace, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders.

"I do not wish to speak about them anymore" Aegon announced, shifting his wife further into his lap, until the side of her body was pressed firmly against his chest, the warmth of her body radiating through the thick fabric of her dress.

"Then we shall not" She decided, resting her forehead against his temple.

In this moment, Aegon hadn't ever imagine he would feel a love like this. He couldn't have ever pictured someone would love him for what he was, not for what he could give them.

He placed a gentle kiss against her cheek, enticing a soft smile to paint her pink lips.

Whatever god had decided to bring the two lovers together, he was praying that nothing would bring them apart.

#aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #king aegon #aegon imagine #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x tyrell!reader #aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader #aegon targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #hotd aegon #tyrell!reader #the lovers

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sayhoneysiren · 3 months ago

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What’s Your Siren Energy?

Welcome Sirens! This reading is for entertainment purposes only based on the downloads I receive. Do not attack me if the message doesn’t resonate. Keep in mind this is a collective reading, not a individual one. With that being said, enjoy!

xx Honey Siren🍒

⋆˙⟡♡

This reading will help you find out what type of Siren you are and how to awaken your Siren Energy — Your Siren Energy can help you to become mesmerizing, attract wealth, lovers and abundant opportunities.

CHOOSE YOUR PILE

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE I

Affirmation : 🍓I never do the pleasing. I am the one they aim to please.

You are The Office Siren🎱

“The office siren aesthetic is sophisticated, with a hint of seduction. It’s about strutting through the workplace in corporate garb that screams, ‘I mean business, but make it fashion.’ The office siren spices up the conference room with structured yet feminine pieces that radiate power and confidence. Picture a palette of chic neutrals with pops of red and femme fatale details and you’re halfway there.”

Many of you may resonate with the terms girlboss, boss bitch, ambitious, sassy, domanatrix, seductive, classy or baddie.

The taste of success is a delicious high. Independence and personal success are the things you treasure most.

This smoldering determination is felt in your powerful, sexy aura that screams regality and authority. Internally, you are the lioness that can be tame or feral depending kn the circumstances at hand. People easily get lost in your majestic beauty and become captivated by you.

Many of your coworkers are crushing on you. They admire that you are put together, self sufficient and sophisticated. There’s a high possibility that you work in a corporation or system where people look up to you and sort of worship your presence.

Things to work on: Since you are so driven, you could struggle with perfectionism, the fear of failure or the fear of being seen. Understand that there is a difference between hard work and productivity. “Done is better than perfect.”

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE II

Affirmation : 💋My influence on others is spellbinding.

The Miss Cherry {Coquette} Siren🍒

[ Lisa Rowe Scene ]

The Coquette by Robert Greene- "The ability to delay satisfaction is the ultimate art of seduction—while waiting, the victim is held in thrall. Coquettes are the grand masters of the game, orchestrating a back-and-forth movement between hope and frustration. They bait with the promise of reward—the hope of physical pleasure, happiness, fame by association, power—all of which, however, proves elusive; yet this only makes their targets pursue them the more. Imitate the alternating heat and coolness of the Coquette and you will keep the seduced at your heels."

What’s the first thing you think about when you see a 🍒?

Often times it is associated with sexual actives but it can also represent youth, playfulness, lovers and genius capabilities.

Cherry also rhymes with Fairy 🧚‍♀️. Which is similar to how your Siren energy is. Young spirited, mischievous and naughty.

As you can see in your tarot spread, you are a walking contradiction. One moment you are hot then cold, confident then insecure, extroverted then introverted. You have a dualistic charm that makes you deeply fascinating and magnetic.

You beauty is refreshing and you could have big eyes, pouty lips, a memorable laugh or an endearing smile. Many peiple fall in love with you by your smile alone. There is something forbidden and naughty about your personality that make you more endearing. Again, you may be meant for fame and fortune!

Things to work on: Since your personality is unpredictable learn to better control your moods.

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE III

Affirmation : 💌My lovers easily commit to me and are obsessed with me forever.

The Oceana Siren🪞

People see you as the ‘Quiet Storm’ which is similar to Sade Adu (an Ocean Siren), who is mystical and private but once she enters the spotlight, her presence is groundbreaking and sets the world into a frenzy.

You send people through an emotional mind-field with your Siren energy (especially your exes). Out of all the others piles, you are the most connected to the water elements. When it comes tonyour emotions, you can be a calm sea or a raging hurricane. Even if youndont intentianlly send you exes energy they seem to feel it somehow and want to beg for your forgiveness. They may have a difficult time letting you go and since you starve them of your energy, they end up stalking you to keep in touch with your energy.

Your are a difficult person to grasp. Think of trying to grab a wet fish with your bare hands. That’s how people experience your seduction. You are a hard catch and can never be caught completely.

You prefer to be a loner but you love love. You hold very intense emotions. People don't understand you often, since you’re quiet and quirky but your silence speaks volumes.

Things to work on: You are an old, deep soul and in love, you can easily loose yourself in matters that don’t serve you. Learn to maintain healthy attachments and relationships to people.

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

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lunarcowgirl · 1 month ago

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feelings unfettered | three

I am a helpless victim of my own crush on this man, take a part three of my goofy little jack abbot x f!doctor!reader fic <33

you can read part one here, and part two here !!

not my gif! but i am foaming at the mouth because of it! follow @ho-ii for all your juicy jack abbot gif needs x

yeah, there's something in the air at your shared post-confession breakfast. and it's not just 50 years worth of oil from the diner fryer.

from the office of the author: literally obsessed with my own creations so I've made a part three. it's not my fault, blame shawn and his facial structure and chosen character aura of dork/loser/demon-in-the-sheets. more soon? i'm scared of smut but then again i'm scared of not seeing these two get freaky

REQUESTS IN THE ASK BOX PLS!!!

warnings/content: 10+ year age gap, very EaRNEST feelings from these two, mentions of the horrors of american foods, author disrespects consistent perspective and grammatical rules like they owe her money, veryyyy minimal angst, mostly fluff, someone gets a their ass grabbed as a treat <33

word count: 2.6k (woooo baby we're back)

Dr Abbot considered himself to be in control of his own hands at all times and places thank you very much. He had over 30 years of experience in the profession of control. He had studied it, mastered it. It was not his fault that just 20 minutes prior to this moment your lips had been at his throat and your body so very soft under his touch. Now the mere two feet of sticky diner table between the two of you seemed an ocean. Would it be so strange, he pondered, to pull your chair around to be beside him? To bump knees and elbows into each other, for plates to stack and glasses to get mixed up in the bubble of space carved just for the two of you? He coughed slightly at the path of his own brain, embarrassed at the enormity of his feelings.

You were focused on the menu, eyes ticking down the options with care, lips formed into a rosebud pout. Jack wanted to crawl across the divide and kiss you silly, to taste the sweetness and the redness and to hear your heartbeat’s call from your throat. He wanted to feel that fizzing life under his hands, he wanted you to laugh your laugh into his mouth so he could swallow it whole, he wanted—

The shrill screech of a pack of kids attempting a prison break called him swiftly to earth, their poor father one poorly timed arm barrier away from a dislocated shoulder. He really, really, didn’t want to have to be a doctor right now. In fact, it seemed mighty appealing to give up the healing business altogether and put all his energy into memorising every last thing there was to know about you. Some dam wall within him had broken up on the roof, now every truth he’d covered up and hidden and repressed now sitting out in the unfettered daylight. It was terrifying…and exhilarating.

“I can never decide between sweet and savoury when it comes to breakfast.” You declared, slamming the menu down in a huff.

An endeared smile twitched at the corner of Jack’s mouth. He filed the information away, “Why not have both?”

Your eyebrows raised just a touch, a smirk appearing, “Why Dr Abbot, what a dangerous proposition…”

Jack shrugged, if only to dislodge the growing warmth in his chest, “When was the last time you ate? Your body could do with the carbs and sugar.”

In a flash your hand was across the table, grabbing his and raising it to your mouth. Two quick kisses were pressed to his knuckles, “Finally, a man that supports women’s right to choose both.”

You bit your bottom lip at your own cheek, winked and carefully deposited his hand back to him in exchange for the menu once more.

Oh God he was going to eat. You. Alive. You looked so innocent, as you kindly waved over a waitress, ordering in a clear, polite voice. What he wouldn’t give to have that polite mouth all over him.

For two people who had spent more time in uniform than either would like to admit, you had vastly different approaches to the return to American food. Jack had remained staunch in his habits, maintaining his belief that well-done toast with bacon and eggs was all a person really needed. Butter, perhaps, if one felt luxurious. You on the other hand, had spent each and every moment on foreign soil waiting for the moment you could feel the preservatives hit your veins again.

“I don’t care that I’m a doctor,” You said, smoothing cream across your already syrup soaked waffle, “If food cannot hold pleasure, then neither can life.”

Jack had finished his meal in a flash, eating like he was being chased. Now he had all the time in the world to lean back and watch you, noting and labelling every pronouncement and observation you made, filing them away in a little part of his mind that until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to open.

You took a big bite, nose scrunching in delight, shoulders dancing at an amount of sugar running through your system that would likely kill a small child. Jack was keeping a very firm hold on his own elbows, fingers digging into the skin to prevent it from falling straight off his bones. There was syrup, right in the corner of your mouth that you hadn’t noticed, lost in your own ecstasy.

The older he’d become, the easier is was to just surrender. To drift. His hand swept across the table in one smooth motion, his thumb finding your skin, wiping the sugar away. Your eyes flew open, surprise bright and red and hot on your cheeks. One soft blink, another - like you were seeing him for the very first time. His touch lingered there, drawing a soft reverent line across your bottom lip, relishing the fullness of it. If he couldn’t have those lips on his face, his neck and mouth, then he’d have them all over his fingers. It was barely a thought then, to draw back and bring his thumb into his own mouth. The man that never even looked sideways at sugar having his fill of it, and you.

There was something unreadable on your face as your gaze flicked across him, hunger maybe, hope. And then the flash of your tongue across your lip - finding just the remnants of him there, the butter he’d had on them from picking apart his toast. You feasted on each other from opposite sides of the table, rolling tastes across your tongue, finding them satisfactory, finding them addicting. If the appetizers where this good; the main meal was set to fill an empty stomach that had ached for a long, long time.

Waffle forgotten, Jack watched as you dived into your purse, rustling out a haphazard chunk of bills, tucking them quickly under the nearest plate.

“Wait, I’ll pay—”

“If we do not leave right now,” You hissed, “I am going to jump you in front of those very nice families.”

Jack made a bizarre croaking noise, his laugh getting lost somewhere in a cough. All the same, he dutifully rose to his feet, only somehow remembering to grab his backpack and coat. The pair of your writhed down the tight aisle towards the door, struggling to bundle up, not make any unnecessary contact with each other or send coffee flying into anyone’s laps. Bursting into the street, your head twisted this way and that, as if you couldn’t quite remember where you were or what you were supposed to be doing.

“Hey, hey…” Jack reached your side, gently taking your hand in his, “It’s ok, there’s no rush.”

You let out a slow breath, dancing from foot to foot, “Well we might have to rush, cause I don’t have gloves and I kinda need my fingers for work.”

Jack smiled, the biggest one you’d seen, “Well then hand the others over.” With both of your hands in his he pulled you gently to him, lifting your important doctoring tools to his mouth. Warm air blew across them, quickly followed by heat down your arms and into your chest and heart.

This close to him, so bundled up and protected and safe, you let a truth fall out onto the iced pavement.

“I’m scared you’re going to disappear.”

Jack frowned, moving your hands aside so they remained warm pressed against his face, “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” You shuffled nervously under the intensity of his gaze, “I hate to get into it all in the immense privacy offered by this public street.”

He cocked an eyebrow in subtle amusement but didn’t say a word, silently urging you on.

“You have a bit of a record of running hot and cold. And while this is obviously the hottest you’ve ever been, and I really mean that in all senses of the word, well…” You fought for the right words, wanting desperately not to push him away, but wanting to honour the twin desire of respecting your own heart.

Jack nodded slowly, letting the faint grey stubble rasp gently across your hands, “That makes a lot of sense.”

A breath you hadn’t realised you were holding released, the desire to run melted into nothingness, your feet stilled.

“I am sorry for being so…unreadable all this time. It was my own selfish way of keeping myself protected while also getting to have tastes of you,” He offered, eyes a little sad.

You just couldn’t help it, the vulnerability of his gorgeous, perpetually cranky man was going to have you on your knees.

He ploughed on, oblivious to the effect his words were having, “It’s not that the tastes weren’t good or that I didn’t want more…they were too good. Too powerful, too…” He shrugged, “fucking scary.”

Tears were threatening to make a fool of you, so you quickly popped onto your tip toes, lips now seeking the warmth of his own. He relinquished his hold on your hands to slide his fingers to the back of your neck and around your waist, drawing you up and up and up until you thought you would float out into space.

Behind you the door crashed open, spilling dozens of children out into the street, rushing to get to school, their parents furiously clucking and scolding and shooing them along. Caught in the swarm, the pair of you clung to each other, cheeks pressed tightly together to maintain some kind of mutual centre of gravity.

“Ok,” You laughed, “Now I seriously have to get you alone.”

Jack gently extracted himself so he could face you again, his large hands still encasing yours.

“As much as I want that…and believe me—,” His eyes were dark, “I want that—I think we should take this slow.”

You ducked your head, something that felt like embarrassment churning in your gut. You were the one just expressing fear at his intentions, and now you were surprised he didn’t want to take you in the street?

He took your chin gently and lifted your eyes up to meet his. So many times, you had found that gaze across a trauma table, something horrible and twisted stretched out between you, so many times you had found trust and respect and understanding in those eyes. They never failed to steady you, then and now.

“I would like to take you out sometime. Somewhere other than the diner across the street from the train station,” He said, earnestness clear in each word.

You couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“You can call me old fashioned,” He said, smile wide, “I don’t care — I’m old.”

You reached up and took his face in your hands, thumbs smoothing across his skin that had seen and weathered a lot of grief and pain. You were ready to show him some joy.

“I’d love that,” Came your simple reply, “And you might be old, but that means you’re wise. And there’s nothing sexier than a man with wisdom.”

He scoffed, wrestling you playfully down under his arm, lightly pinching your side until you shrieked with laughter and danced away.

“You are trouble.” He called, as you skipped away from him, “Trouble!”

In the end he caught you before you could dash up to the train platform, insisting again that his old-fashioned ways wouldn’t allow him to let you take public transport when he had a perfectly good passenger seat in his truck.

You curled comfortably up in the leather, relishing the seat warmer and Jack’s hand sandwiched between both of yours on your lap. Every now and then, you’d peek over your shoulder just so you could see your backpacks sitting next to each other in the backseat. You felt altogether giddy, and at peace - completely beside yourself with your luck.

“It wasn’t luck,” Jack said, eyes not shifting from the road, his free hand placed with precision at 2 o’clock on the wheel. You had said the words aloud without realising, your heart now altogether open.

“Well it feels like luck.” You replied, gently tracing the lines on the back of Jack’s hand. “Very nice dorsal metacarpel veins by the way.”

He let out a puff of a laugh, then repeated himself, “It wasn’t luck.”

“Then what was it, did I subconsciously bewitch you with the speed of my oxygen concentration calculations?”

“They are very impressive; you are way fucking quicker than I will ever be at them. But no,” He looked over at you, “It’s because you are brave.”

You returned to your tracing, but it was difficult to find the lines with tears in your eyes.

“You never let your mistakes define you, you are brave enough to try again. You choose to keep being happy, you are brave enough to keep fighting. You kept seeing something in me, even when I wasn’t brave enough to let you in.”

“Jesus,” You muttered, “This is why you never talk; you’d have people falling to their knees for you every minute of the day.”

His hand in your lap squeezed, “No, that didn’t just come from nowhere. I’ve been thinking those things for a long, long time.”

“You are worth being brave for,” Your words were quiet, but they felt heavy and steady in the space between you both.

You looked up and realised with a start you had made it to your street, your apartment building just a few feet in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up? After that speech the least I can do is offer you a tea?”

He reached over and tucked a piece of hair that had escaped from your braid behind your ear, careful not to bump your still healing piercing, “You don’t want me snoring on your couch, which is what I will be doing before the tea cools.”

“No,” You said, returning the favour by tucking a curl behind his ear, “I want you snoring in my bed.”

“God dammit James,” He groaned leaning back into his seat and running his hands over his face, “You are gonna kill me, I swear to God.”

“Don’t sound so—” A yawn overtook your words, “—pleased.”

He gave you a pointed look, “If we’re gonna do this, let’s at least be awake for it.”

You unclipped yourself, leant back into the backseat for your bag (sure to give Jack a full and unobstructed view of your favourite personal asset) and turned to open your door. At the last moment, you twisted back to him, face set.

He raised his eyebrows, a slightly braced smirk sitting on his face.

“If you’re not going to accept a lady’s very polite invitation upstairs then you legally have to do me a favour.”

The eyebrows shot down over a suspecting set of narrowed eyes, “This sounds dangerous.”

“Not at all,” You grinned, “Although…I thought you liked danger.”

“Like I said, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ve worked a tough shift Jack. A tough night shift. A girl sometimes needs a little extra something to give her the energy to make it up the front stairs.”

You leaned in with each word, letting your hand trail down his arm from his shoulder until you clasped around his wrist. Mouths inches from each other, you breathed in his anticipation, his hunger.

In one smooth motion you brought his hand to your ass, and closed your lips over his.

Something that tasted awfully like a moan slipped from his tongue to yours, and you relished each little bit of it. His hand squeezed, just a touch, as if unable to help itself. You released him with a pop, schooling your features into an innocent smile, and nudging the door open with your hip.

“I’ll see you at work Dr Abbot.”

A beat. A man restarting his heart, his brain.

“I’ll see you at work Trouble.”

~~~~

all for now, thanks for the luv xo

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#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot fic #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt fic #the pitt fluff #dr jack abbot #dr abbot #jack abbot x you #jack abbot angst #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot fanfiction #jack abbot x female reader #persiewrites

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justluxy · 5 months ago

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Freaky Boyfriend

Freaky Boyfriend x Bottom Male Reader

Where your boyfriend gets freaky at Christmas night

Tw: Gay smut, public kinda, nipple play, and fingering (english is my second language so feel free to correct me)

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Freaky BF↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35

Imagine it's Christmas and you're celebrating it at your boyfriend's house, eating, talking, and laughing with him and his family. Happily chatting and putting presents under the tree while it snowed outside

But then you feel a hand on your thigh under the table, it was your boyfriend. He looked at you with a smirk and said to you, "Let's go to my room, I need to do something~" then he excused himself from the table and took your hand to guide you to his room

When you guys get there he asked to sit down on his bed, then he sat next to you and started kissing you passionately while his hand was resting on your waist. Then he pushed you down softly and got on top of you, still kissing you

Then he started kissing your neck while he said softly, "You looked so irresistible there... I just wanted to take you and fuck you..." you blushed hard but you let him kiss you

Then he started taking your shirt off, "You're so beautiful...", he said kissing you while to with his hand he pinched your nipples while you moaned between kisses, "Shh... you gotta be silent... or do you want my family to hear how I make you mine baby?"

You shook your head while covered your mouth while he kissed your chest and tummy. Then he went lower to your pants and looked at you, his eyes asking for permission to take them off and you only nodded. He lowered your pants and chuckled as he saw the tent in your boxers

"You're excited aren't you?" He said while smirking while his finger pressed the tip of your cock, then he took off your underwear and started jerking you off while you moaned in your hand, not wanting to be heard

He continued to jerk you off, his hand faster and faster each time. You wanted to moan loud but you couldn't. Then you came in his hand while your breath was heavy. He smirked, "I love when you cum like this love... it makes me want to fuck you more~"

Then he turned you around, smirking as he saw your back and ass, while you were hiding your face of embarrassment. Then he spread your ass cheeks and said, "What a beautiful sight darling~" Then he took a bottle of lube from under his bed and poured a bit in his finger and introduced inside your hole

"Fuck baby... you're sooo tight... imma have fun tonight~" He said as he introduced his second finger, both hitting your prostate while you moaned in the pillow. Then he added a third finger, you wished you could moan but you couldn't

"I think that's enough" He said while pulling out his fingers making you whine as you felt empty. Then he poured a big amount of lube on his cock, stroking it a few times before introducing the tip in your hole and with just the tip, you were already a mess

Then he introduced it all in, the tip already hitting your prostate, "Fuck... I love this" he said while did slow thrusts, enjoying how your back arched with each thrust. Then he placed his hand on your hips to keep you in place

Then he pressed his chest against your back and nibbled in your ear. His thrust were hard and fast and you wished you could moan but you didn't want to get caught by your in laws. Then he started kissing your back and neck, gosh he loves you so much

Then he started playing with your nipples, he knows you're really sensitive, he knows you so welk, all your sensitive parts and he always do them while you only moan in the pillow and see stars of how amazing he is

He loves to fuck you in the doggy position, he loves seeing your ass when he thrusts into you and how you arch your back everytime he reaches your prostate. You could feel he was close and he realky wanted to cum inside of you but he controlled himself and pulled out, coming on your back while you pathetically came on his bedsheets

"God... that was amazing baby, let's get cleaned up and get back with my family" He said while reaching for a towel to clean both his mess and yours

"I forgot we are still here" you said while he cleaned your back. The rest of the night you were trying to act normak with his family, but your legs felt like jelly but you couldn't deny it, you enjoyed it

#bottom male reader #gay #male reader #x reader #reader #gay smut #smut #gay boy

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kasagia · 1 year ago

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Right hand II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: After you miraculously escaped from his arms the other night, you tried to stay away from him as best as you could. You have to put a lot of effort into escaping from the na-baron, who is tirelessly and constantly chasing you, or into avoiding another invitation to his chambers late at night. However, on Arrakis, the situation between you changes drastically... And you're losing control over your life, and it's not because of Feyd. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART I ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~

You are standing in front of the window of the ship that is taking you to Arrakis. You nervously play with the edge of the shawl that covers your head. You don't have good memories of that planet. Before you escaped with Feyd, the Bene Gesserit sent several of their young apprentices to… train in the sands of Dune. Including you.

You still remember the screams of some of your companions who went crazy from a lack of water and decided to end their lives. And sometimes at night you dream that the sandworm swallows half of your group, leaving you practically on your own.

Arrakis didn't just kill your friends. It killed any belief in the Bene Gesserit in you, only confirming that you would rather die than be completely subject to them.

And now you're going back there with someone who had full control over your life again. It's funny how history likes to come full circle. And how, despite their repetition, people still fall for tricks and fall into fate's traps, acting in exactly the same way.

A cold hand on your bare shoulder snaps you out of your stupor. You act fully automatically,drawing the dagger attached to your belt and twisting the attacker's arm. You pin him to the wall, placing the blade against his pale neck. You freeze as your eyes meet Feyd's icy blue gaze.

"Good reflex. If you were anyone else, I'd kill you for this, but I'm in a particularly good mood today, so I won't punish you as I would like. What were you thinking about, my little witch, that you didn't hear me sneaking up on you? Or maybe I have finally surpassed the master?" He asks with a mocking smirk, showing off his black teeth. You snort, shaking your head at him.

"Keep dreaming." You say, taking advantage of his amusement. This time, you are not keeping your mouth shut for fear that he will deprive you of your tongue for your boldness towards him. You move away from him, which he takes with clear displeasure, and return to your place by the window.

"If I dream about you, I prefer to dream about something much more pleasant." He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He slides your shawl off your head with his teeth and nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent.

You feel him sigh deeply, leaning against you a little as he relaxes into your scent and closeness. You frown, but let him hold you because you feel calmer having him close to you. Despite everything that had happened in the past two weeks, you still found his presence reassuring. It didn't make any sense to you, but apparently, over the years, you had begun to involuntarily associate him with something akin to a safe shelter. Herkonnen. A psychopathic, bloodthirsty future baron. How ironic…

However, being in his arms helped you come to the conclusion that the demons of the past should remain in the past. And you should focus on the newest one that is now wrapped around you.

You stare at your reflection in the glass, shuddering as his scent surrounds you, mixed with the blood that stains his uniform. You wonder which soldier you will have to find a replacement for this time.

"What were you thinking about?" He whispers that he doesn't loosen his grip on you even for a moment, knowing full well that the moment he does, you'll wriggle out of his arms and find another excuse to leave him.

You checked the condition of engines and fuel 8 times. He started counting after the ship's captain complained to him about your constant presence. He beheaded him without giving him the opportunity to complete his complaint against you. Feyd smiles, remembering the irritated frown on your forehead when you had to clean up his mess. Of course he followed you then. Of course, 'just to make sure that the next captain you appoint will be more competent'.

"It doesn't matter." You sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. He would enjoy your submission and willing closeness if he didn't see that, by doing so, you only wanted to distract him from the main topic. Clever little witch you were…

"It must be important if you stopped paying attention to your surroundings. You are always alert and aware of the things that happen around you. No matter what. I remember how, during one of our escapades, you were the only one who didn't fall into the trap."

"Well, that one was actually obvious." You say it with a mocking smile, remembering how you had to save him and his soldiers.

For the rest of your life, you will never forget how you had to dig Baron Feyd-Rauth Harkonnen out of the mud and save his ass from the Assassins who planned his execution. Of course, he killed any witnesses, leaving only you and him alive. After all, his uncle and brother couldn't find out about it.

He growls in your ear, tightening his grip on you as a warning, when you make him replay that day in his head.

"Don't brag now. I was… busy observing something much more interesting than muddy swamps." He grumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The warm air he exhales makes you shiver.

"Which was?" You ask shakily, placing your hands over his to stop him from roaming them over your body.

"You." His answer is short and simple, as if it were the most obvious thing you should know. He doesn't hide it anymore; he doesn't keep his desire to himself. He wants you. He craves you. He shows it to you so clearly and thoroughly that you laugh at how naive you were to believe that you had only a friendly, platonic relationship. But how could you not believe that he only saw you as a means to an end when he treated everyone else around him like that? Since he treats people like things to play with and break whenever he wants? How could you have predicted that you would become his obsession, a precious jewel in his collection that he would want to protect and have just for himself? "I'm asking for the last time. What were you thinking about, little witch?" He asks, wrapping his hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes.

You have no escape from him now. And you certainly won't tell him that lately you've been thinking more and more often about how to run away from him, or what would happen if you stayed with the Bene Gesserit, or how your life would have looked if you escaped from them on your own. You wonder if it wouldn't have been better to bury yourself in the sands of Arrakis all those years ago with your friends and die there. You are sure that it would be a much more dignified death.

"I... I thought about Arrakis." You decide to respond safely and carefully, so as not to reveal too much to him. You didn't want him to become suspicious of you. Not when you had to handle him carefully, lest you fulfil any of the Bene Gesserit's sick plans and visions.

"So what about this? Are you scared?"

"No. I am not. I'm never afraid. Fear is the mindkiller. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration." You repeat the mantra automatically without thinking much about it.

You flinch as you realise that you are answering quickly with the Bene Gesserit litany of fear, which they've made you learn by heart. A great deal of anger grows within you as you realise how much they have influenced your life, even so many years after you ran away from them.

"You're quite tense. More than when I usually hold you." He points this out, starting to gently stroke your back in an attempt to relax you. You give him an angry look instead, suddenly understanding why he was irritated with you for reading him and his emotions perfectly when he was the one who was flustered and furious.

It was always easier for you than for him to hit sensitive places or to read the other one like an open book. Apparently, you're not the only one who's learned this over the years. He knew you as well as the back of his hand. He just never showed any trace of concern for your well-being.

You had your… tender moments when you allowed yourselves to be vulnerable with each other once or twice, but you both treated them more as minor lapses in maintaining your impenetrable façade of indifference and neutrality. In the end, everyone is on their own. And looking for a friend in him was a completely stupid thing—an act of true naivety and a sign of self-destruction, maybe even masochism.

"Maybe you shouldn't hold me at all, then?" You growl at him furiously, unable to control yourself. He just frowns, more surprised by your behaviour than offended by this blatant act of disrespect. He had rarely seen you so nervous or furious.

Of the two of you, you were the one who was the most calm and composed. You were always able to hide all your emotions behind a mask of indifference. He's fascinated by how you really behave when you don't have a filter on. He often throws you off your balance only to see your cheeks flush with anger; you take out your anger in a fight (just like him); or you bite your lip to avoid saying something back to his taunts.

"Or maybe you should drop your attitude and just let me do it?" He asks, his lips brushing against your earlobe. He doesn't wait for your response; he simply catches the tip of your ear between his teeth. He bites in gently, sucking and caressing your skin with his lips, as if your ear's superior helix were the sweetest delicacy he could enjoy.

"I'm not fighting or trying to escape, am I?" You respond, enduring his treatment with dignity. At the ship's window, you can see a small smile appear on his lips at your words.

He decides to pull away from you, but he is not giving you even the smallest chance to run away from him. He presses you against the cold glass, entering your personal space even more than when he had you close against his chest. You lift your chin, looking at him defiantly as he puts his hands on your hips.

"You are not. But you also don't want to be here in my arms." He replies, cupping your chin with two fingers. He leans closer, making you feel the metallic scent of blood that still lingers on him, probably from his fight with some prisoners on the ship. "And I don't like it at all." He whispers hoarsely into your ear.

"Since when do you care what others want? I don't remember you spoiling your concubines like that." You snap, causing him to laugh mockingly and shaking his head in amusement.

He leans in, making you tense up slightly. You think he's doing it to kiss you, but instead of feeling his lips on yours, you feel his cheek brush against yours, and his lips blow hot air into your ear again as he whispers softly:

"Because they weren't you, Y/N." You shiver at the sound of his dark, hoarse whisper in your ear. You can't say you don't feel the effects of his... seduction. But you promised yourself long ago that you wouldn't be any man's whore, concubine, plaything, or broodmare. And certainly not HIS. No matter how... tempting he could be.

"And what is so special about me? Hm? My body? My appearance? That I can fight well? You would get bored of me. Like you did with all your concubines."

"Did they understand me like you do? Have you ever seen them look at me as anything other than a wild, bloodless beast in the heat?" He answers your angry questions with his, dismissing your attempt to start a verbal fight with him.

His thumb traces the line of your jaw, examining you closely. Looking into his light blue eyes makes you feel uncomfortable. He shouldn't have reacted to you like that. You weren't used to anything he had been doing these past few weeks. You preferred to fight him than... when he showed you so much tenderness, appreciation, and affection.

"Have I ever looked at you differently?" You ask defiantly. He smiles, licking his plump lips. You give in to this provocation, and, without controlling it at all, you move your gaze to his lips. His dark chuckle makes you look back into his eyes.

"Yes. Yes, you did that... you don't even know how often." He hums, his fingertips moving towards your mouth. He caresses your lips with incredible tenderness and delicacy. He presses on them gently, but you squeeze them as tight as you can, preventing him from doing anything he planned.

You react faster than him. You bite his wandering fingers, take advantage of the fact that he is still trying to process what has just happened, and quickly pull away from him. He laughs, shaking his head, looking at you intently as he deliberately crosses the distance between you two. He doesn't have to say anything for you to see how clearly he's mocking you and daring you to continue to defy him.

"We're not even on Arrakis yet, and you're already delusional, my na-Baron? Or maybe the black sun of Giedi Prime made you start seeing a mirage?"

"If you are a mirage or an illusion, then I never want to be sane again, my little witch." You gasp, as he wraps his arms around you tightly, clinging to you completely. He leans in, his nose tracing a line along your temple, inhaling your scent before burying his face in your hair.

He keeps a firm grip on your shoulders. You place your hands on his, trying to loosen his tight grasp somehow, but it only makes him hold you tighter. He tilts his head slightly and brushes his nose against yours.

You shiver, feeling how close he is and how his musky smell, mixed with a hint of metallic blood, surrounds you. He presses himself against you so tightly that there's practically no space left between your bodies. You close your eyes, letting out a small, shaky breath. And just as he's about to press his lips against yours, the metal door to the room slides open with a loud bang.

You jump away from him, grunting as a young recruit enters your field of vision.

“My lord na-Baron. Lady Y/N. We will land in fifteen minutes."

"We would rather notice it ourselves." Feyd growls at him. You see him reach for the hidden dagger. You walk over to him, resting your chest against his back, and grab his hand before he places it on his dagger and throws it at the poor man.

"Thank you, Oliver." You say with a smile. The man swallows in fear at Feyd's furious glare. He bows and leaves the two of you alone.

You step away from Feyd, letting go of his hand. You frown, seeing that he's even more furious than when one of the soldiers entered. You raise your eyebrow questioningly, not understanding why he's practically huffing in anger now.

"What?" You finally ask him, not understanding the reason behind his behaviour.

"Oliver... do you call all of them by their names?" He asks, spitting out the soldier's name in disgust. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you reach for the shawl he had thrown off you and put it back on your head.

"If I know them, then yes, why?"

"You've never called me anything other than my lord and na-baron." He speaks in an almost accusatory tone. It takes a lot of strength in you not to burst out laughing when you realize he's completely serious and not joking right now. You try to come up with some excuse, wondering how to safely answer his question.

"And you always call me your little witch." You answer. Using his name somehow never felt right to you. At first, out of respect for him, maybe even fear. After all, he saved you from the clutches of the Bene Gesserit. Calling him by his name was out of the question. With time, you did it out of habit. And now… now you didn't want to call him by anything else because you knew that it would be a small step on his way to make you his.

"So this is supposed to be our thing?" He asks with a challenging, teasing smile.

"We don't have a thing." You huff, walking towards the exit. He, of course, follows you faithfully. You can feel the excitement radiating from him. He was definitely planning something big to do on Arrakis. Something he didn't tell you. You just hoped that he would be too busy with his brother and securing the spice mine to take care of you at the same time.

"Don't we?"

"You should focus on what you tell your brother. You're finally taking the reins. Rabban won't give them to you that easily. And we need to establish a final plan of action on Arrakis." You say, returning to your matter-of-fact, cool tone. He smiles, nodding.

"Don't worry about that… I'll make him kiss our shoes." You snort, shaking your head in amusement at his words. It might be true, but it's still hard for you to imagine him actually putting this plan into action. As you'll see in a few minutes, he actually intended to do that. "And the plan was decided a long time ago. I told you I wouldn't let us split up. And not because I question your leadership skills or loyalty. You are the only competent and worthy person to lead half of my army. But we, little witch, work together. Always. You don't change something that works perfectly. Get ready. We're landing soon." He leaves you with a quick kiss on your temple.

He walks away from you with a sly smirk, as if he's managed to trick you. You sigh as you watch him walk out of sight, walking with a spring in his step towards his room, probably to grab his things and get his harpies ready to leave.

You look out the ship's window at Arrakis for the last time. You close your eyes, promising yourself that since the Bene Gesserit, Feyd Rautha, Giedi Prime, or the Harkonens hadn't killed you, this damn planet wouldn't do this either. You weren't the same Y/N from 10 years ago. You were more powerful. Your bones won't sink into the sands of this damn dune... you'd even rather become the mother of that Kwisatz Haderach.

You practically jump out of bed with your heart beating fast as you wake up from another nightmare. You sigh shakily, pressing your hand to your mouth, trying to calm your breathing as best as you can as your heart pounds frantically against your chest.

The screams of your companions echo in your ears, and the images of the Fremen pumping the water out of them replay in your head. And that damned sandworm...

“Y/N, look at me.” His cool hands on your bare shoulders and his raspy, commanding tone bring you back to reality.

As soon as you look into Feyd Rautha's blue irises, you stop trembling. You snap out of this strange trance, trying your best to forget about the returning memories that haunted you more often during this week of your stay on Caladan. You suspect that this may have resulted in a rather close relationship with Lady Jessica. You breathe slowly, focusing on his pale skin that looks like snow, illuminated by the moonlight that streams through the window of one of the Caladan's inns.

“Breathe in and out.” He gives you another order. You nod, imitating the pace of his slow breathing as you slowly begin to calm down. "I will kill that witch as soon as I get my hands on her." He growls, brushing your sweaty hair away from your forehead with his hand. You see immense anger in his eyes and the seeds of a plan forming in his head as he thinks of many ways to make that Bene Gesserit pay for your nightmares.

"You can't. She's the prince's mother. Besides, it's not her fault that she recognised me from somewhere. I could have been more careful."

"You covered your face with a mask for an entire week, all the time, even to sleep. What can you call that other than being careful? Besides, the baron knew that these negotiations were doomed to failure anyway. It's not like her suspicions ruined them. I would have decided to leave this damned palace even without it." He assures you, slowly lowering the two of you back onto the mattress. He wraps one arm around you, his tight embrace grounding you in the moment and helping your mind focus entirely on the present rather than the dark memories from your past.

"The Baron will be furious with you. It's all my fault. You should have killed me." You say, focusing your gaze on his daggers, which are strapped to his hip. Feyd follows your gaze and snorts. He grabs your neck, forcing you to lift your head and look into his eyes again.

"And get rid of the only competent right hand I've had in years? I'd rather suffer his punishment for this... small act of disrespect towards the Atreides. And who knows? Maybe he'll even like it? Harkonnen chooses inns over Atreides' palaces. I can always say that I saw rats running freely around my chamber and decided that such conditions are not worthy of a na-Baron and they are an insult to my person that I could not allow them to do." You roll your eyes at him, but you can't help but smirk at him.

Feyd finds himself smiling slightly at the sparkle of amusement in your eyes. He decided he preferred seeing them in your eyes rather than the emptiness and terror that didn't even let you breathe normally. He reveled in the fear of others. But yours brought him more pain than joy. Unpleasant pain.

It was starting to worry him. And maybe he would think about it more if you weren't lying so close to him now, practically in his arms. At his fingertips if he wanted to play with you. But, surprisingly, he didn't. And even if so, he wanted it only if you were as desperate for his touch as he was for yours.

"There are also rats on Giedi Prime. And you have to share a room with me because there's not enough space here for all of us. I'm sure your harpies are furious. You'd probably rather do something else with them, too, than hold me through my nightmares like some scared little child." You tease him, snapping him from his thoughts. He looks at you carefully, admiring the way the beads of sweat on your forehead glisten in the moonlight.

He feels a strange, new desire to make them be caused by him... or rather, by the activity he would subject you to. His gaze returns to your eyes and your lips, and he feels himself harden slightly as his thoughts turn to fantasies about you—something he's been doing a lot more of lately. One of his harpies mentioned something about him moaning your name...

"Maybe you actually deserve this punishment? Such sharp language…" He whispers huskily, tracing the line of your jaw with the pad of his thumb. He watches you carefully, and, as usual, he sees no fear in your eyes. Even when his fingers travel to your neck and then to the fabric of your nightgown, imagine how close he is to touching what you hide from him and everyone else behind your outfits designed to fit you into staying in the shadows and fighting. If he could, he would dress you in the most beautiful silks and jewellery so that he could feast his eyes on the only beautiful view of Giedi Prime. You see a crease form on his forehead as he becomes aware of this strange desire. He removes his hand before he goes too far to come back, and he clears his throat as he focuses his gaze on your eyes again. "What was that? That dream?"

"I... I don't want to talk about it." Feyd feels how you tense up just thinking about your nightmare. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't care. He wouldn't spare a thought or, if he was curious enough, force them to talk. But with you... he just nods and gives you space, turning to lay on his side of the bed.

"Feyd..." His heart beats faster after you use his name for the first time. He turns to your side of the bed so he can fully look at you. He hums, pretending that you're not giving him a heart attack and that he's not replaying the soft, gentle tone with which you said his name in his head. And he wants to hear it again. In many ways. A quiet whisper, a cry, a scream of pleasure as he makes you come... "I... can you..."'

He doesn't wait for you to ask him. And he could. He could make you beg for him to bring you the comfort you need or mock you for being so defenceless and scared, but how can he make you do that when you look at him with those doe eyes? How can he do anything other than pull you into his chest, place his hand on your head, and play with your hair, guiding your face into the crook of his neck as you look at him like no one has ever done before?

He wasn't the type of man you turned to for comfort or solace, and yet here you were, lying next to him, just wanting to feel his safe embrace around you again. He smiles when he feels your breathing and pulse slow as you fall asleep against him, allowing him to be with you in your unconscious state. He could do many things to you. He could slit your throat, stab you in the heart, scalp you of all your beautiful hair, and touch and taste any part of you he wanted. Satisfy himself with you and give yourself to his concubines when he ends using you.

But all he can do, as you sleep so peacefully on his chest, is pull the covers tighter around you and place a gentle kiss on your head. He doesn't remember the last time he felt such peace or the last time he felt wanted—not because of his status or the benefits he could bring to someone, but simply because someone wanted to be close to HIM.

"After all… I guess Caladan isn't that bad, my little witch." He whispers, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Feyd liked to think that the moment you first said his name and clung to him after the nightmare for comfort and security (IN HIM) was the moment he fell for you. But the truth was that it was a day later, after his uncle had punished him, inflicting various wounds with a blade on him, that you returned to the Giedi Prime without the expected agreement with Atreides. And, of course, he didn't rat you out. He took the blame. After all, it was his fault. He put your well-being above anything else and ordered to leave Caladan when Lady Jessica became too attentive to you. And he would do it again. He couldn't lose his right hand.

You felt guilty and took care of him. And those few days when you played the role of his nurse were the best ones in his life.

Feyd learned to love pain. Numerous punishments made it impossible for him not to do that. But he loved your gentle touch even more, esepcially when you tried your best to heal him. And he could get a thousand cuts or even more if it was the price of feeling your tender, caring touch on his skin once again.

And lying there with a torn back, looking at your sleeping form next to his bed, ready to meet his every little wish; he promised himself that he would do it. He will feel your hands on his body again. In better, less bloody circumstances. And definitely not with worry staining your beautiful eyes. But desire. Passion. Affection. Maybe even love.

"Uncomfortable, my lord?" You mock him with a little smirk as you both lie on the sand, observing the surroundings.

"Shut up, or I'll put you over my knee." You huff, shaking your head at his words. You know it's the last thing he'll actually do at this point. You use your binoculars to zoom in on a specific sand dune, in the middle of which there should be a Fremen base.

"Someone woke up with his left foot. I thought you'd be more enthusiastic about the upcoming fight." You say, trying to spot any movement, silhouette, or anything that indicates that your informant was right, and this is the place where one of the more important sietches are.

"I am. But it's damn hot here. Besides, sand gets in where it shouldn't." You smile, barely holding back your laughter, as Feyd allows himself to grumble next to you. You squeal in shock as he spanks you. You look away from the dune and give him an offended, shocked look when he chuckles hoarsely at your reaction.

"You're lucky that it's just a desert and that you're not dressed all in black like our soldiers. If this shipment of new equipment, weapons, and uniforms does not arrive this week, I will return to Giedi Prime and slaughter these useless scientists and engineers. Besides, your harpies will probably be more than happy to help you get rid of every little grain of sand from your body."

"Jealous?" He asks as you go back to watching the dunes.

"I wouldn't willingly be around these cannibals even if you paid me." You say, ignoring the fact that he was clearly asking if you were jealous of HIM, not the fact that he has his concubines and you don't. You shiver, feeling his piercing, burning gaze on you.

You're a little annoyed that he's doing practically nothing. Apparently, he too must have felt the effects of spending many weeks in that damn desert, and he had enough. Just like all of you.

"Arrakis brings out your more feisty side… I like it." He takes the binoculars from you and looks in a completely different direction. You snort, trying to see what caught his eye. You frown as you see a sandworm scurrying in the distance. But it wasn't under the sand... "Tell squad six to kill it. Those rats must be moving around again."

"Will you waste the bomb on a sandworm?"

"Only the most important Fremen travel like this. Whoever's on the back of this is not just anyone." You nod. You turn on the communicator and share information with the group, giving them the orders. You feel Feyd's eyes focused on you all the time. You roll your eyes and shift your gaze to his as he continues to stare at you curiously.

"What?"

"You've been here before, right? You may not know the ways of the Fremen, but I can see in your eyes that this planet is no stranger to you."

"The Bene Gesserit prepared us for every circumstance." You answered him deceptively. However, this does not quench his curiosity. And you know that since you're doomed to wait here for a good hour before anything happens, you're doomed to keep him entertained.

"Did they send you to Giedi Prime too?"

"No. But I was often send to Caladan." You say, not realizing how bad a move it was. The wrinkle on his forehead and the gentle tightening of his hand on his blades prove to you what an idiot you are. But you can't keep an eye on the dunes and anticipate his mood swings at the same time. Which he's had quite a lot of since you came to Arrakis. He didn't show it to anyone else, but you could see that the heat was bothering him just as much as it was for all of you.

"Why? Breeding program? Don't tell me you were supposed to be Atreides' pet." He spit out from his mouth the names of the people who were his family's greatest nemeses, as if it were some kind of dead poison. Even though the Atreides were long dead, buried in the sands of Arrakis, he still talked about them with huge hostility.

No. I was supposed to be your pet.

"I don't know." You slide off the sand to get out of sight of your possible opponents. There's no point in observing the area now. You know that your best men and their troops are positioned around you, so you could have left them to make the first attack. For now, you had to defuse a bomb that was about to explode next to you.

"You don't talk about it often. About the Bene Gesserit." He pursues the topic further, following in your footsteps. You both are standing on a small ledge, with your backs pressed against a sandstone. You don't have much space, so you have to rest your arm on his so as not to fall down and crash into the rocks below you.

"I don't want to remember it. I have another life now. Better one." You say, fiddling with your communicator. You issue a surveillance order to the rest of your units and turn it off, waiting for them to notice something. You take the shawl off your head and wipe your sweaty forehead with it.

"I won't let them hurt you again. Or anyone else." You freeze for a moment at his words. All you can do is stare at him in shock as he reaches for your face and grabs your hair. He ties them awkwardly, making sure they don't get in your face. It's a sweet gesture... even too sweet for him. And you wonder how the hell he knows how to tie someone's hair back.

You are about to tie your shawl around your forehead again when Feyd suddenly takes it from you. He wipes the back of your neck and makes sure there isn't a single bead of sweat on your face before he ties your shawl around his wrist.

"Who said they hurt me?" You ask, swallowing. You try to hide the tremble in your voice, but you suddenly become very aware of how close you are to each other. And that you two are completely alone...

"Your eyes and actions tell me more than you can let through your mouth, little witch."

"Shut up, or I'll put you over my knee." You respond with what he told you earlier without thinking much about it.

You gasp in shock as he presses you against the sandstone behind you, guiding the two of you deeper. His dilated pupils, slightly clenched jaw, and rapid breathing confirm how fucked up you are. You've lost your damn guard. Again. And now he will use it to his advantage.

"Oh, my darling little witch… you don't know how much I want you to do this…" He growls in your ear. His nose traces a path from your hair to your neck, inhaling your scent. You shiver as his lips brush against your neck.

"What are you doing?" You moan as he sucks your neck and bites it lightly, leaving a hickey there. He moves his head away from you and looks at the trail he created. He hums lightly, planning where to leave the next one. And another one. And another. And another...

"Shhh... We have a few minutes before they stop bombarding them. Another few before the dust settles and before we enter those rats' canals... let me make sure that my right hand is properly relaxed in the meantime."

As usual, he doesn't give you time to respond. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. His chapped lips brush against yours, gently urging you to open your mouth for him. You try to tighten them as best you can, but he somehow manages to bite your lip, which makes him immediately clear the way for his tongue.

You gasp as his hands cup your ass. His fingers dig into your flesh, and you know that if it weren't for the thick tactical suit, it would have left bruises in the shape of his fingers. He picks you up without breaking the kiss and presses you against the stone-sand wall of the small cave.

You moan as his bulge rubs against your clothed core. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, holding yourself up as he peppers your neck with hickeys, grinding against you.

On Giedi Prime, you would struggle with him, trying to break free from his grip. But here, while you've been busy planning, tracking, fighting, and increasing your spice production for the last few weeks, you haven't had any opportunity... to take care of yourself. He wasn't helping either, following you around and acting like a fucking guard dog. And from what you heard from your room next to his in the night, he wasn't denying himself anything. Damn bastard.

What you didn't know was that he was fucking his fist thinking about you all this time because, since the two of you shared a bath, none of his concubines have been able to please him. So he's just as desperate as you are.

You moan as he thrusts into you, especially hard. He also purrs against your neck at the sounds you make. You're well aware that if it didn't take you forever to put your clothes back on, he'd already have you naked beneath him, fucking you wildly and giving you orgasm after orgasm... and you almost want to let him. If only those fucking witches weren't planning on breeding you with him, you would have been riding him wild a long time ago.

At one point, he bites into your neck, making you scream uncontrollably. You blush furiously when he pulls away from your neck with your blood on his full lips and gives you a hungry, lustful look.

"Take off your pants." He orders you. He licks the blood from his lips and leans down to lick the rest from your neck, leaving a few more hickeys on it.

"We… can't… we... battle..." He suddenly stops making any movements, but instead of moving away from you, as you think he will, he grabs you tightly by the throat. He squeezes lightly and leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He breathes deeply and heavily, nuzzling his nose against yours before opening his eyes to fix his wide pupils on yours.

"Are you defying me?" You shake your head, always being a good soldier. "Good girl. Pants down, or I'll rip them off, and you'll have to walk back to the base without them."

This is a very real threat. And even though you know he would rather kill any man who dares to look at you in this state than expose you to the… lust of the hundreds of men who were on the base, you have no desire to parade around Arrakis with your bare ass. You start to take off your pants, slowly unbuttoning them. He won't even let you take them off of you all the way. As soon as he sees your exposed pussy, he drops to his knees in front of you, holding your hips in a tight grip.

"She blocks me so much when she has a damn spring between her legs… a real desert oasis…" He mumbles, his fingers collecting your wetness. You gasp as he looks you straight in the eye, sucking your juices from his finger. You lick your lips unconsciously, your brain completely stunned by the suddenness of the situation, the lust overwhelming you, the sight of him on his knees for you, as well as the spice in the air.

You don't even protest when he licks the stripe of your pussy and tightens his grip on your hips, pressing his face against your crotch. As he begins to lick and suck on your more sensitive parts, you scratch his scalp with your nails in a vain attempt to grab something. His dark, raspy chuckle against your clit makes you even wetter, as the vibrations and fingers teasing your entrance only fuel your desire.

He eats you like he's really dying of thirst. He brings out in you sounds that you would be ashamed of if you were in a better, saner, more aware state. And you try to maintain the last of your dignity and stifle your moans by placing a hand over your mouth, but he growls in protest and removes your hands so quickly that you have no idea when it happened. He places it on his shoulder, encouraging you to dig your nails into him as he devours you like his life depends on it. Like he would die if he didn't make you cum, lick up every last bit of wetness from between your legs.

At one point, he puts your leg over his shoulder. He's even closer to you (if possible), but you're not really paying attention to what he's doing as long as his mouth and fingers are still working their magic on you. You pull him closer, chasing your sweet release, when suddenly, he pulls away.

You growl in anger, opening your eyes. He's still on his knees in front of you, his face covered in your juices, and he's staring at you hungrily as if his face wasn't buried in your pussy moments ago.

"Say my name." His demand throws you off balance for a moment. You open your mouth to argue with him, to taunt him, but instead you close it quickly, biting your lip as his finger lazily moves in and out of your needy pussy. "Scream my name and I'll let you cum."

You don't want to give in to him like that. You don't want to show any weakness. But his fingers stretch you so wonderfully, hitting your most sensitive spot. You tremble around his fingers, biting your lip until it draws blood, too proud to admit to yourself how weak you were.

You escaped from the Bene Gesserit and from your fate to the only safe place; it's darkest under the lamp. No one in their right mind would willingly hide in the house of the man to whom you were supposed to submit. But it turned out that you were following the path these witches laid out for you anyway. But damn, he made you feel like you'd never felt with any man or woman...

You growl furiously as he removes his fingers again—right when you're finally about to come. He laughs hoarsely, sucking his fingers clean of your wetness.

"You're extending my fun, little witch. You must like it as much as I do." You protest as he dips his fingers inside you again, taking you close the edge again. You grab his neck, trying to pull him towards you, but he just laughs, intensifying the work of his fingers and fending off your feeble attempts to pull his face back to your needy cunt. "You know what you have to do to cum." He reminds you with a cocky smirk, watching your trembling, panting form.

Feyd drinks in the sight of you, so needy and desperate to orgasm. And it's all because of him. Every little moan, the closing of your eyes and the tilt of your head in pleasure, the ragged breathing, the quickening of your heartbeat, the wetness between your legs, the sweet nectar of the gods dripping down your thighs—it was all because of him. His cock hardens as he imagines how you'll react as he pounds into you like an animal in heat, stretching your tight walls for him. How you'll clench around his length and dig your nails into his back to feel him as close to you as possible. Or when you swell beautifully with his heir...

He will have you there. Willingly. He will prepare you as he is now; he will fuck out of you any thought until nothing except the desire for him remains.

"Feyd..." You moan as he unconsciously speeds up the movements of his fingers, thrusting them into you at breakneck speed. He smiles, blowing air at your pussy, making you moan even louder.

"Again." He demands, licking the small trail of your juices that has formed on your thighs. He welcomes the way you wet his hand and your shawl that was wrapped around his wrist. He'll save it for later this night.

"Feyd!" You pull on his head and he obliges. He couldn't be cruel to you in this state.

You come suddenly, quickly, and intensely. Your vision is blurry and unclear, and your blood is rushing through you as you moan loudly, holding on to him with all your might.

The next thing you know, he's holding you tightly by your trembling legs as he lowers you to his lap. You straddle him, hugging him tightly as you breathe slowly, trying to get back to a state of relative using after he fucked the orgasm of your life out of you. You hide your face in his neck, too disappointed in yourself to see the proud smirk on his face. He lazily rubs your back, holding you as you regain your strenght.

"You owe me, little witch. And you know, I always collect my debt." He growls hoarsely in your ear and presses a kiss on your temple. You can smell your scent on him. You blush, embarrassed, as you can feel desire rising in you again. "No response? Not a single malicious comment? Did I make you come so hard that now you are speechless? Are you really just a little mouse in need of my attention under that strong witch façade?"

"I'm not a fucking mouse." You snap at him in anger, finally coming to your senses.

"So that's the first one. Even better for me." He stands up, slowly carrying you from his lap to the ground. He reaches for your pants and helps you put them on. He grabs your hands and pulls you closer to him. You can't stand alone. You can't fucking stand alone. He laughs as he realises it, which irritates you to the point where you can't control yourself anymore.

"Shut up." You use your voice on him before you bite your tongue to stop yourself. Silence falls between you for a moment. You swallow, realising what you've done. You open your mouth to explain yourself, but, as usual, he beats you to it.

"Hmm… interesting. So you have that fire in you…" He tangles his hand in your hair and watches you closely, fascinated by the way you used your voice on him for the first time. "As sweet as I thought. Better than any water… Use that voice on me in a way I don't like, and I will really punish you, little witch. And this time, it will only be pleasant for me. Understood?" You nod your head with clenched teeth. "Good girl. Let's go. I believe they stopped dropping bombs right when you came on my face and fingers." He brags, letting you go when he sees you can stand on your own. You roll your eyes, realising how often he'll brag about it. You draw your blade and follow him, looking forward to hunting for Fremen.

You try to ignore the sand that… got where he was a few seconds ago and where he had it himself too. Damn bastard.

You walk through the corridors of your base. You're covered in blood, but it doesn't bother you much. Maybe a little when you remember that you will have to remove clotted blood from your hair. You sigh, adjusting the scarf around your neck that you took from some fremen to hide the hickeys as you walk to the war room to give new orders to the soldiers.

The Sietch has been completely destroyed by you. You murdered most of the fremen, and those left alive were taken prisoner... or to the camp brothel. You preferred not to go into details.

As you walk through the halls, you hear rustling behind you. You take a few slow steps and turn around, with your hand on your dagger, only to see na-Baron's harpies. You tense up as you watch the three women carefully and distrustfully.

"How can I help you?" You ask them, trying to avoid showing them genuine disgust and hostility. After all, they had somehow kept Feyd away from you… for now.

"The little witch is in trouble…"

"Our master will be very angry with her…"

"Maybe he'll even let us suck her bones when he's done with her…"

They say one by one, tilting their heads as they observe you. You shiver slightly, but you quickly adopt a hostile, intimidating stance, not caring much about what they say. They may have been cannibals, but you were a trained soldier and killer. You would kill them in a heartbeat if they weren't useful to you in some way.

"What do you want, vultures?" You growl at them, expecting them to get scared and return to their master's chamber, waiting for him like faithful dogs.

"The little witch's friend is here…"

"Our master is interrogating her…"

"And he learns very interesting things about the witch."

"When he's done with her, he'll be ours again."

"We will eat her meat and feast, celebrating our victory."

And what really should scare you more is the part about them saying they're going to eat you, but all you can think about is that friend he's interrogating. Another Bene Gesserit? Impossible. You made sure that everyone who came into contact with you either believed you were dead or forgot that you existed. Except for one… No. No, that wasn't possible.

"I have the blood of hundreds of rats on me. Get out of my sight unless you want yours to adorn my armor. And believe me… I will do it with great pleasure. I bet your master would fuck me on your corpse as a reward." You snap at them, still processing what may have been happening in the interrogation room. If your suspicions were true... you didn't even want to think about it. This couldn't be happening. You're paranoid. After so many years of keeping everything a secret... you couldn't lose control that easily.

You pay them no further attention and continue walking, ignoring their hisses and mocking laughter as you change your plans and head to the interrogation room.

You had to run away. As far away from here as possible. But if you do, he will chase after you. And when he finds you, and there is no doubt that he will, he will gut you and throw your remains to his harpies.

So you couldn't escape. You had to face him and try to tame him somehow. But how the hell are you going to explain to him that you ran away from the Bene Gesserit with him because you didn't want to be his concubine? Maybe a few years ago he would have understood it, but now that he has found this strange obsession with you, how could you get out of this situation? He'll cut you up before you even try to say anything.

You pass soldiers standing at the door of the interrogation room. They nod at you, letting you in as you hesitantly walk over to see for yourself if the situation is actually as dire as you think.

You feel the cold metal door on your back as it closes behind you with a bang. You freeze in place, swallowing nervously, as you see the Fremen Reverend Mother handcuffed to a chair. What scares you much more than the fact that it is really a Bene Gesserit is that it's Lady Jessica. Your former trainer in that sick sisterhood.

Feyd is standing right in front of her. His hands are gripped tightly around his daggers, and his gaze is focused on the woman in front of him. He strokes the blade of his dagger with his thumb as he is lost in his thoughts. He behaved as if he were completely oblivious to you, but you know him better than to even think for a while that he didn't notice your entrance. But he doesn't say anything as he continues to stare at her intently.

"She can tell you that herself. Right, Y/N?" Lady Jessica looks at you, raising an eyebrow defiantly. Even captured, she looks proud, as if she were the one who had power over what was happening in the room. "I should thank you. If it weren't for you, Paul would never have taken over the Kwisatz Haderach's way. No matter how hard I tried..."

"Feyd…" You ignore her and walk over to Harkonnen. You place a hand on his shoulder, but he just flinches at your touch, moving away from you. His eyes were fixed on the floor; he wasn't giving you even a single glance.

"I'm not surprised. If they sent me to breed with such a monster, I would also run away... not necessarily into his arms, but I really admire your skillful mind. To come up with such intrigue. No one would ever imagine that a little scared girl would run straight into the lion's mouth to take shelter there. I remember how you cried down my skirt when you found out what your mission was. I never would have imagined that my apprentice would go so far."

"Silence!" You shout at her, using the voice, and surprisingly, you succeed. You don't have time to try to understand what just happened—that you used your voice against a much stronger woman than you, the Reverend Mother. You walk up to Feyd and cup his cheek with your hand, forcing him to look at you.

His gaze is blank. He's wearing his mask, blocking out any emotions that might get through and reveal what he's thinking. He takes your hand and moves it away from his face, pushing you away from him like a bug.

"Would you like to see a monster, concubine of the Atreides? I'll be more than happy to show you one…" Before either of you can react, Feyd swings, creating a long gash across her chest. The woman gasps in shock, placing her hand on her wound, from which blood is now flowing down on the floor.

Before you can take a breath to talk some sense into him, he plunges the blade into her chest. You tremble as you hear the sound of cracked bones under the movement of his dagger and the witch's screams.

You don't do anything. You just stand there, watching as Feyd takes out his anger on her, disembowelling her. The metallic smell of blood hits your nostrils, but even that doesn't cause you to react. All you can do is stand and watch. And wait for your turn.

You feel sick as Lady Jassica's screams remind you of your friends who died on Arrakis. You deny what's happening in front of you as your thoughts return to that fateful day.

You weren't sent to Arrakis to try to survive. No, the plan created by Bene Gesserit was much worse. You were sent there to kill each other. This sick test was intended to eliminate weak individuals, leaving only one Bene Gesserit alive, the one who was the strongest among the young generation of women trained by these mad witches.

You were sent on one ship, thrown into the desert with weapons and one bottle of water, as an act of mercy. There were fifty of you. You killed half of them. Or at least that's what the Reverend Mothers told you after the Sisterhood took you back from there..

You were the only one left alive.

From that day on, you promised yourself that you would never let them control your life or make you go through these tests again. You didn't want to take part in their sick games ever again. You preferred to die rather than become their tool again, a monster that blindly follows their orders.

You never wanted to feel powerless or furiously frustrated again.

And now, standing there and staring blankly as Feyd killed the woman who was your mentor in front of you, you felt as if you were once again that helpless girl who is forced to do as she is told and who has no power over anything that is happening around her.

You flinch as blood reaches your shoes. You look up to see Na-Baron turning towards you. Blood was dripping down his armour as he cleaned his blades on her clothes, which were already soaked in blood.

For a moment, you delude yourself, thinking that it's not what you think. That he didn't actually discover the truth about your past in the Bene Gesserit by accident. That everything will be all right, just how it used to.

But by the look in his icy-blue eyes, you know he knows. He gives you the same angry, bloodthirsty glare that he gives his victims moments before they die. But there's something else there. Pain. Betrayal. Without knowing why, you feel a flood of guilt wash over you, outweighing your fear. But you didn't owe him anything. No loyalty or sincere devotion.

You gasp as he pushes you against the wall and presses the knife to your neck, breathing heavily. You feel it gently pierce your skin, causing blood to leak from the wound and run down your neck. He doesn't move away. He doesn't bend down to lick it off your skin. He presses further and harder, looking straight into your eyes. And you don't know if he's just testing you or if he really wants to kill you.

Suddenly, fucking him wasn't the worst solution to the situation you found yourself in...

Part IIITaglist: (I hope that everyone is here...) @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Text

she loves control II f.rolfö (18+)

part of the colourblind universe, warnings for dom/sub dynamics and smut, minors DNI. i still feel a little conflicted about writing smut for real people so this might suddenly disappear, we'll see! she loves control II f.rolfö (18+)

it hadn't taken long once you started properly going out with your now fiance that despite her soft and loving tendencies as a partner, frido not only needed but craved and relished being in control.

in control over you, your behaviour, your body, your routine, your orgasms. and it was even more of a surprise that you didn't mind, in fact you shamelessly lapped it up, finding it shockingly easy to let her take the lead over things.

you learned very quickly just how far she would go to put you back into place if you dared forget it, never to take her kindness for a weakness as in the blink of an eye she could go from ridiculously soft to domineeringly stern so fast it made your head spin and between your legs ache.

as much as it was very much a power shift to have her be so in control, fridolina never made you feel less than or like you had no choice in anything you did, and you knew if she did you were expected to communicate this to her and she'd go above and beyond to rectify it.

because as much as the defender swore up and down that she wouldn't, you knew she'd also do anything and go anywhere you asked at the drop of a hat, both of you just as much head over heels for one another and unable to imagine a life without the other in it.

you really started to get a taste for this side of your swedish lover on only your fifth date. up until then you'd gone out together to do things, having met through mutual friends at an engagement party and hit it off right away.

the first time you went out with one another you hadn't quite realised it was a date, fridolina so effortlessly charming and friendly with everyone you found yourself unsure if it was all in your head that she was being more flirty than friendly with you.

but she was quick to assure it wasn't in your head, rather teasing it seemed you'd occupied a space in hers and she hadn't been able to get you off her mind for the last week and a half since the two of you had initially been introduced.

but tonight was another step forward, frido having asked you over to her apartment for dinner, something seemingly more private and intimate than any of your dates had been before.

it would be the first time the two of you had spent any time together that wasn't in a public setting and it had you nervously excited as you double checked the address and exhaled, knocking on her door.

barely a few seconds passed before you heard a lock turn and the door swung open, a pearly white smile and bright water colour eyes greeting you.

"hallå kärlek." the girl greeted excitedly, tugging you inside and into a hug, the two of you melting into one another as she kicked the door closed behind you.

picking up on the slightly nervous energy radiating off of you frido was quick to press a soft and reassuring kiss to your lips, smiling warmly as the two of you unwrapped from one another and her hand interlocked with yours.

"let me give you the grand tour!"

"-and this is my bedroom." the blonde pushed open the door to the final room, hand still linked with yours as you smiled fondly, running a finger over a series of jade statues on her dresser.

"its very you." you laughed taking it all in. "i hope that is a compliment." the older girl playfully glared as you nodded and promised it was, your hands breaking apart as she took seat on the corner of her bed.

"i love this." you complimented, nodding to a bright orange armchair in the corner near her window and bathed in sunlight, a chunky knit blanket draped over its back. "my little reading nook." frido smiled fondly right as you started to look through her extensive bookshelf.

"did you know i also have the softest mattress in all of sweden?" the footballer wiggled her eyebrows as you caught her eye. "oh really?" you challenged taking a few steps toward her until you were stood between her legs.

"mmm really, here see for yourself." you squealed as she pulled on the belt loops of your pants sending you tumbling forward onto her bed.

"fridolina!" you laughed, kicking her playfully as she laid down right beside you with a cheeky grin. "what? see, softest mattress in sweden." the girl tutted, her hand reaching out to push a loose strand of hair out of your face as you shook your head with a smile.

"you have a staring problem." you teased as she shifted a little closer, propping her head up on her hand to look down at you. "not staring, admiring." frido corrected, revelling in the pink blush which coated your cheeks.

"du är så söt." the taller girl smiled and indeed to her you were very cute, leaning down to press her lips to yours again though a little more passionately than how she'd greeted you at the door earlier.

you pushed at her shoulders, her back now flat to the mattress as you hovered over her, her hand coming to clutch at the back of your neck pressing the two of you even closer together.

her spare hand ghosted your hip where your shirt rode up slightly, fingers ice cold in comparison to your warm skin and you felt a smile tug at her lips as you squirmed ever so slightly.

after what felt like an eternity but wasn't more than ten or so minutes you both pulled away, frido chasing after your mouth with a few more stolen kisses and a teasing tug on your bottom lip with her teeth.

"is asking girls over to make them dinner just a cheap excuse to get them into bed with you rolfö?" you teased with a grin as the blonde playfully huffed and rolled her eyes.

"no it is an expensive one, the softest mattress in sweden is not cheap!"

"what happened to 'come over and i'll cook you dinner'?" you teased as the blonde grabbed out a variety of vegetables from the crisper, rinsing them and lining them up neatly on a tea towel draped over the counter in front of you.

"i am cooking, and you are prepping!" the girl bonked you softly on the nose with a carrot as you rolled your eyes in amusement. "snälla, don't roll your eyes at me." the words sounded soft as she paired them with a kiss, but they had your stomach twisting ever so slightly.

an early sign if you'd been paying enough attention at the time.

"please dice these and these finely, and then you can chop these a little rougher." frido explained pointing to different items as you nodded, rewarded with another kiss for your agreement as frido handed you a knife and grabbed her phone from her pocket.

"the song!" you laughed as she clicked play and the familiar tune sounded from the speaker atop her fridge, frido grinning with a nod and placing her phone down on the benchtop.

"may i have this dance...again?" the blonde asked with a cheeky smile, extending her hands toward you as you shook your head but took them none the less.

the song had been one the dj had easily played ten times at the engagement party where the two of you had met, becoming an ongoing joke with the pair of you that night to dance together every time it did, though a little drunker and with a little less balance as time dragged on.

"you are much more stable on your feet when you've had one glass of wine and not a few bottles!" you teased as she drew your body into hers, humming along and swaying the two of you side to side. "hey!" the footballer gasped pinching your hip gently.

"it was not a few bottles." the taller girl pouted as you smiled, craning your neck up to steal a few kisses, frido glancing over your shoulder every now and then checking on the meat which was slowly browning in the pan.

"no no you're right, it was a lot more." you patted her shoulder sympathetically as she gasped again and you let out a squeal as your body was dipped and almost hit the floor before she pulled you back up with a twirl.

"frido don't do that!" you hit her chest lightly, the smirk not dropping from her cherry red lips at all. "do what? this?" you squealed again as she dipped you once more even lower this time, bending down to hover her mouth above yours.

"you know if i did not pursue football i could have been a ballroom dancer." frido sighed dramatically with a small shrug, pulling you back up before you could kiss her, twirling you around and gently pushing you back toward the counter where the vegetable prep was waiting.

"really?" you questioned both in amusement and disbelief, taking your seat again, quirking an eyebrow at her as she nodded enthusiastically. "really. watch!" she grabbed her phone and changed songs, quickly tossing the meat about in the pan and flicking it down to a low heat.

"it is all about the counting and the steps, the key is to control your movements and have patience with the timing." frido explained, moving into position in the middle of her kitchen. "for example, the waltz-" she gestured for you to start cutting as you smiled but did so, picking up the knife.

"you go forward on your left foot, then to the side with your right foot but so it stays in line with the left, then you move your left to meet your right. and then you step backwards with your right foot, then to the side with your left foot but again always in line, then move the right to meet the left and repeat!" the defender demonstrated as she spoke and you had to admit she did not miss a single step.

"tack så mycket!" the blonde bowed and gestured her hands about dramatically as you clapped and whistled your approval, frido sending you a wink before quickly turning back to the meat.

satisfied with how it was browning she moved it aside to a bowl and tossed in an onion she'd already diced to caramelise. then for a moment she glanced behind her, eyebrows furrowing slightly at your own dicing technique.

"nej." you looked up at her voice, pausing your movements with a confused frown. "nej nej nej nej." the taller girl tutted with a shake of her head, quickly rounding the counter and moving in behind you.

her arms snuck around your torso, taller more muscular body pressing into the back of yours and caging you against the cold marble countertop. her slender fingers decorated with a few chunky rings tapped at the top of your hand and you dropped the knife on instinct, tensing a little as her nose brushed against the crook of your neck.

"not like that." frido tutted softly, grabbing the knife and your hand having you hold it as her own hands sat atop yours. "more like this. slower, finer, neater." frido murmured, breath warm against your ear as her hands moved yours much like a puppeteer, doing the movements for you and guiding them as if they were her own.

"understand?" the blonde asked quietly stilling your hands in hers and you nodded. "use your words, please." her tone just slightly more firm you again felt a strange feeling in your stomach. "i understand." you confirmed, feeling her smile into your shoulder.

"good, show me." she encouraged, a kiss pressed to the base of your neck as her hands moved instead to settle on your hips, pushing them ever so slowly into the counter as more of her body weight bore into you from behind.

"is this okay?" she asked before you could move, clearly referring to your current position as you nodded, frido opening her mouth before you realised your error and quickly corrected it.

"yes, it's nice." you confirmed verbally, earning you a proud smile and another kiss to your cheek. "good, now show me." she repeated, chin hooking over your shoulder as you resisted temptation to melt entirely into the warmth of her hold.

"very good, very very good." the defender praised at how quickly you picked up the change, dicing exactly as she'd shown you. once again at the praise this time your stomach flipped and something clicked, you wanted to please her, wanted her to be happy with you.

"you are a quick learner and a good listener kärlek." frido complimented, your head turning and chin tilting upward as reading your mind fridos own ducked and her lips rewarded you with a few proper kisses this time.

satisfied with your technique now it matched hers she left you to it, quickly moving back toward the stove top as you tried to pretend you didn't miss the way it felt having her pressed against you.

normal conversation flowed between you as sure enough you prepped and she cooked, rewarded for each task completed with a soft thank you, gentle praise and a kiss from the blonde, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't affecting you just a little.

"please let me help!" you offered yet again, dinner done and your date about to wash everything up, frido shaking her head. "no, you just sit there and look pretty." the girl winked, another blush coating your cheeks at her words.

"you are quite the charmer." you smiled, resting your chin on your hand and trying not to focus on the way her arms rippled as she scrubbed, her hoodie sleeves pulled up to her elbows.

"well when the soft mattress trick does not work i need to use the rest of my tool belt to get pretty girls in bed." frido teased as you gasped softly and shook your head.

"so am i just one of your girls then?" you tutted playfully as she winked, wiping her hands on a tea towel as the water drained from the sink and she appeared now in front of you.

your breath caught a little in your throat as her hands cupped your face, bright eyes boring down into you with a smile so sweet it could rot a tooth, her thumbs tenderly tracing your jaw.

"no, you are one very special girl."

your face heating up your eyes moved to avoid hers on instinct, her pointer finger tapping your cheek with a small hum to capture your attention again.

"eyes on me when i speak to you." her tone sharpened slightly, eyebrows creased ever so slightly as her eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort at the fact but to her pleasure she found none.

"they are so lovely, you should not hide them." her voice softened again, lips curling into a smile as yours did the same. "you're one to talk, your eyes are like a water colour painting." you quipped back, a chuckle leaving her mouth.

"well well well, whose the charmer now?"

from that day forward the two of you continued to see one another until eventually dates bled into seeing her near daily and you both realised this was becoming something more serious.

not a doubt in her mind that you really were a special girl frido was quick to ask you to be hers, officially, and without a pause at all you said yes.

as more time passed the blondes need for control became less and less subtle, as did your blatantly obvious response to it, one which pleased your girlfriend very very greatly.

as much as fridolina might have needed control, you needed her to take it just as much and gave it over more than willingly. you found the way she doted on you and made sure to correct any small behaviour or habit to her liking only made you fall for her more.

but again despite the way she could often switch so easily between soft and stern, you never ever felt mistreated or manipulated. she wanted you to do as she asked and you wanted to be told what was required of you.

“baby its big, bigger than what i’ve taken before.” you chewed your bottom lip nervously, sizing it up where it sat in the tall blondes hand.

“I know, but you can do it. I know you can.” your girlfriend encouraged with a soft coo, nodding and caressing your cheek with her spare hand, using her thumb to tug your lip out from between your teeth with a small pop.

“It’s not going to be easy, i’m going to choke on it.” you sighed with a small shake of your head.

“no you will not kärlek, you just drink some water first and breathe in and out through your nose as you take it, like we practised.” the blonde reminded with another nod of encouragement. “okay.” you gave in, smile curling into frido’s features.

“give it to me.” you gave your own nod, looking more determined than you actually felt. “good, very good.” the blonde praised and you melted, readying yourself with a deep inhale.

then doing as she suggested you took a large mouthful of water, swallowing and extending your palm as your girlfriend placed the huge multivitamin into it, kissing your cheek as you popped the pill into your mouth and with a small struggle managed to get it down.

“see? easy. so dramatic for nothing!” frido teased, stealing a kiss and swallowing the crude remark back which sat on the tip of your tongue. “your health is important älska, you have to look after your body and your mind.” she smiled, lightly tapping your forehead with her pointer finger making you smile.

never much of a possessive woman, knowing that just as much as she was obsessed with you, you were just as much enamoured with her, it didn't stop your blonde lover from asserting herself just a little bit more when the two of you were out with friends.

"ready?" your girlfriend asked with a smile, car engine dying off as she twisted the key and you nodded. "you look beautiful raring." the blonde sighed, eyes raking over the outfit and accessories she'd carefully and lovingly picked by hand for you to wear.

"and you look gorgeous." you complimented back, fixing a slight smudge of her lipstick where you'd kissed her as the two of you got ready earlier. "i only look so good because i have you on my arm." the taller girl flirted with a wink as you rolled your eyes and pushed her lightly.

"hej. don't roll your eyes at me baby." a large hand grabbed your jaw, the slight pressure of how it squeezed a stark contrast to the way her finger ever so gently traced beneath your bottom lip.

"jag ber om ursäkt." you apologised sincerely, a happy smile in her features at how quickly you did so. "good girl." the defender breathed out, smile turning to a smirk at the slight pink tint in your cheeks.

that was another newer discovery, the way that two seemingly simple words could have you just as flustered as anything, your girlfriend figuring out early on that much as she adored you doing what she asked, you flourished in the praise she gave you after doing so.

“are you nervous?” frido picked up on the slight waver in your normally confident demeanour right away, eyes raking over you with concern. “a little, i want to make a good impression on your friends älskling.” you admitted, not having met this particular group just yet but they were old friends your girlfriend had gone to school with and you knew they meant a lot to her.

“min kärlek, they will love you, in fact they would be crazy not to. i am very very happy with you, they will see that because i make no move to hide it, this is the happiest i have been in a long time.” the taller girl promised, softly and sincerely as butterflies fluttered around your stomach.

“tack så mycket.” you thanked her, leaning over the dash to kiss her but her hand stopped you, your breath hitching as it wrapped gently around your neck, not applying any pressure but effectively stopping you in your tracks.

“later. i do not want you to smudge your lipstick that colour is just so perfect on you, my pretty girl.” the blonde complimented, grinning at the blush which followed. “matches these eh?” she teased, poking your cheek with her finger and letting go of your neck as you backed up.

you exhaled and took a second to collect your thoughts as your girlfriend stepped out of the car, quickly appearing at your door and pulling it open, extending a hand to help you out.

you murmured a soft thanks, the door closing and car locked as the pair of you headed across the parking lot toward the restaurant you were headed to meet with some of the blonde’s friends.

your girlfriends large hand sat flush against the small of your back, guiding you across the asphalt and toward the sound of glasses clinking and laughter. but the closer you got the more frido’s hand started to creep higher and higher, and by the time you were greeted by the hostess it sat against the back of your neck.

the small gesture was so common to you by now though you hardly noticed, in fact it felt a comfort of some sorts knowing she was right there.

frido was also comforted by the fact that with a grip on the back of your neck it was much easier to control your movements through the crowded restaurant, keeping you locked besides her as the pair of you were lead over to the table already filled with her friends.

you smiled warmly as your girlfriend introduced you to them one by one, her hand again sliding down to the small of your back, guiding you to sit down right beside her once introductions were done.

it then moved to sit on your thigh just above your knee, the blonde never without a hand on you practically at all times, especially when out around others. though it wasn’t one that held an intention of possession, your girlfriend knew you were hers and she was yours and you didn’t have an eye that would ever wander, but it was more so to remind constantly that she was there.

“what looks good?” frido murmured as a menu was slipped in front of you, a gentle squeeze of her hand against your knee capturing your attention, not that it had slipped away for a second. “what looks good to you?” you repeated the question back almost right away.

“i asked you käraste, i expect an answer please.” your girlfriend murmured tone just a touch firmer as you nodded, her thumb tracing circles against your skin absentmindedly. you scanned the menu and offered up a few options, deciding to just split them between you.

as the waiter approached and began to take everyone’s order eventually his eyes turned to you, a smile and a raised eyebrow indicating it was your turn. “she will have the garlic prawn hot pot to start, the beef bourguignon for main and a glass of pinot blanc with ice.”your girlfriend ordered for you with a charming smile before ordering her own meal, hand still firmly planted on your leg.

you were pulled into conversation quickly once everyone had ordered but you let your girlfriend take the lead, knowing when to answer or chime in as frido would gently squeeze your leg in a silent permission.

when your wine came the blonde took it from the waiters hand before giving it to you, the same actions repeated with your meals. as it grew later in the evening her hand had travelled from your leg to again gently caress the back of your neck. sender fingers toying with the baby hairs curled there, arm draped over your shoulder and your chair scooted closer so your body was pressed against hers.

every little movement was calculated. the hands on your thigh, ordering for you, leading the conversation, all the ever so subtle signs of just how much she loved control, and you lapped every bit up happily.

there were of course other much less subtle ways that fridolina asserted her dominance, and by far your favourite was of course when the two of you were hidden away in the privacy of her bedroom.

from the very first time you shared your bodies with one another though the footballer made sure you were okay with everything, communication was just as important to her as control and you knew it was her expectation you uphold that.

you were back on the softest mattress in sweden once again, as the girl loved to remind you mainly so you’d shut her up with a kiss.

but this time the kisses were a little different, they held a slight air of longing and need, the air seemed to be filled with a new and exciting tension, something both of you had picked up on.

so it was not to your girlfriends surprise when you moved to now be on top of her, your hands cupping her face and deepening the kiss further, but as always frido was the one in control as her hand sat on the back of your head so you couldn’t pull away.

her tongue licked filthily into your mouth and you shifted, the tiniest of noises made as frido’s lips curled into a slightly smug smile and her hand moved, both of them tapping your thighs before gently pushing at your shoulders.

“are you okay?” you questioned with a slight frown of concern, chest heaving just a little as you caught your breath. “more than okay kärlek, but i want to check something with you.” you shuffled back slightly as the blonde sat up, you still perched on her lap as you nodded for her to continue.

“i need you to tell me if you want to take things further than just kissing, i need your consent.” the footballer requested softly, brushing a loose piece of hair behind your ear as you melted. “i’ve been ready for awhile now, i promise you have my full consent.” you murmured, pecking her lips a few times in between words.

“good. now, i need you to promise me if there is anything you do not like or you change your mind you will tell me right away.” her tone shifted slightly as you nodded. “no. use your words, and look at me when you speak to me.” your breath hitched as her hand gripped your jaw, turning your head to face her again as your eyes strayed for a moment and hers bore into you expectantly.

“i promise.” you spoke sure of yourself, frido smiling clearly pleased and letting go of your jaw. you used this slight moment of freedom to grab the hem of your top, pulling it off of you and tossing it over your shoulder, grinning at the way the defenders eyes widened in surprise.

“i need you.” you whispered, thumb tracing her jawline as something shifted in the way she gazed at you. you let out a squeal as within seconds you were pinned beneath her, hands pressed either side of your head as her body straddled your hips pressing them down into the mattress.

“oh no no baby you might want me, but only i know what you need.” frido’s lips ghosted yours, head pulling back as you tried to capture them with your own, cherry red and painted into a very smug smile.

“say it.” the blonde encouraged, eyes twinkling as your heart raced beneath her. “say it. you should know that i do not like to repeat myself älskade.” your girlfriend warned, your head spinning at the way she could so easily flitter between soft and stern.

“only you know what i need.”

“duktig flicka.” frido praised, letting go of your hands as one of hers settled on your cheek and the other trailed a single finger slowly down your chest as you shivered slightly. “are you cold?” the girl teased as your nipples visibly hardened.

though your reply was swallowed by her lips hungrily devouring yours again, your back arching slightly off the mattress as two fingers teasily ghosted your inner thighs, gone as quickly as they were there as you moaned quietly and the blonde sucked harshly on your bottom lip.

“frido.” you breathed out as her lips moved to your neck, the taller girl knowing every little spot to pay close attention to as your eyes fluttered close. “mmm? what do you want sötnos? use your words.” she teased, stealing them as her teeth sank into your neck and your hips bucked against her.

“you. i want you.”

“me? but baby you have me, i’m right here no?” she tutted, your head pushing back into the pillow as a large hand cupped your left breast and squeezed, her fingers toying with the hardened peak of your nipple.

growing tired of trying to find the right words to get what you want you decided actions might speak a little louder. so with your hands no longer pinned to the bed you grabbed one of hers which sat on your cheek, slipping the slender digits into your mouth and smiling at the way her face changed.

“behövande flicka.” frido breathed out, eyes lit with a new spark as you sucked on her fingers, gagging slightly as she began to rock them into your mouth at a pace set of her own accord, knocking your hand away where it held hers.

once more your hips bucked as her other hand came to settle on your neck, not applying any pressure but even the feel of her callous palm against your throat made your head spin. as her fingers left your mouth it wasn’t without a trail of spit, your cheeks flushing red as frido wiped it off against your naked chest.

You breathed out a sigh of contement as finally her attention seemed to start to go where you both knew you needed her, lips trailing soft kisses down your chest as her body slipped off of you slightly and you exhaled as her hand again ghosted your underwear.

“so wet and i’ve barely touched you.”

the teasing tone in her voice just made you want her more, eyes slipped closed as her fingers toyed with the waistband of your underwear, snapping it against your hips.

“look at me.” they snapped open at her voice, her hand moved to grip your jaw as you felt her hand slip into your underwear and whined slightly. “you will look at me while i fuck you kärlek, and you will not look away until i tell you to or i stop.” the blonde warned sternly and you nodded.

“words.” she ordered, squeezing your jaw and your body bucked as a singular finger slipped inside you. “yes.” you nodded, a tap to your cheek reminding you of her previous demand as your eyes opened and locked with hers.

you felt your face burn bright red as you held eye contact and a second finger entered you, her pace picking up as your hands fisted the bedsheets, her lips curled into an obnoxiously smug smirk.

“such a pretty girl, all red and blushing just for me.” the blonde cooed, and there was something about the sudden switch in tone for you to whine. “no no, you will watch kärlek or you will not come.” she warned firmly as your eyes fluttered shut and her fingers pistoned in and out, setting a rhythm which had you squirming beneath her in need.

“are you close baby?” she pouted mockingly feeling your walls tighten and something about it had you pushed even further to the edge, her bodyweight baring down onto you pinning your bucking hips to the mattress. “yes!” you moaned out as your voice cracked, barely able to get the word out but knowing thats what she wanted.

“good girl. now ask me if you can come, and if you ask me nicely enough älskling then maybe i’ll allow it.”

#woso community #woso #fridolina rolfö x reader #fridolina rolfo x reader #fridolina rolfö #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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sweetestberryofthebunch · 5 months ago

Text

The Wandavision Double Feature Show (Agatha Harkness x f!reader)

Part I: And … Action!

Part II: Slice Of Life

In this Episode it is the 60s and the more you settle into the idyllic housewife lifestyle, the more tension between you and Agatha rises. You finally get a taste of what you crave.

Content/Warnings: Imbalanced power dynamic, Agatha has a dubious moral compass, Alcohol consumption, Smut, Hair Pulling, Mommy kink, Praise kink, Corruption Kink low key, Oral fixation, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Dom!Agatha (for now), does the Hex count as Housewife Roleplay? This whole thing is housewife roleplay.

Tags: @chiar4anna <3

I was gonna give you angst this week, but then the Big Sad slapped me across the face, so you’re getting soft lovely smutty fantasies first and angst when I stop being a sensitive baby! Until then, enjoy your stay at Sin City! Once again big big big smooch to @msharkness who beta reads for me without complaining, you speed my process up so much you have no idea!

To both yours and Agatha’s delight, you turned out to be quite the natural around the house. Within just a few days, you’d settled into a comfortable routine.

Breakfast always was on Agatha, who was always up before you, slipping past the guest room quietly so as to not wake you up.

When you came downstairs an hour later, hair curled and lips painted what you assumed to be red, the exact way she’d taught you, there were always eggs and bacon, slices of toast and coffee steaming hot already waiting for you. Agatha scrunched her nose up at the amount of sweetener you put into your coffee, and you rolled her eyes at her every time. And maybe you started putting even more sweetener into your coffee just to watch her do that face again, little wrinkles around her eyes as she squinted, upper lips curling as she shook her head. But that was a secret you’d take to the grave.

After you ate, you brought a plate of breakfast down into the dungeon.

It was still … odd to know Ralph was just down there, and if you thought about it too long, a cold shudder went down your spine. But, you brought him fresh food twice a day, and every time you came downstairs you could hear his Xbox running. You never lingered around too long, always rushed back upstairs, where the place smelled of lavender, roses and something simmering on the stove. Wanda had a whole town under mind control, including everyone you knew. A single guy in Agatha’s basement really wasn’t that bad in comparison. Right?

Next off, you fed the bunny. Señor Scratchy seemed to just move around the house freely, although his favourite room was the one deep down in the dungeon, where the Darkhold levitated in the middle of the seven-cornered room with its sculptures of creatures, people and abstract shapes on the walls. And, most days at least, the little furball was munching on kale or carrots in one corner or another. You could only assume the rabbit was also some type of magick, or maybe it was just oblivious to the unsettling energy surrounding the book levitating right in the same room.

By the time you had fed the bunny, Agatha had either left the house to show up wherever Wanda was that day, or she sat in the living room, nose buried in one of her heavy, centuries old books. You shuffled around the house, kept the place clean, made tea for the two of you, and sometimes you tried to focus on one of the books she’d assigned you to read. However, especially when you were in the living room together, focusing on old, handwritten letters on yellow paper proved quite difficult. And it had less to do with the difficulties of outdated language and everything with the entire situation: Agatha lounging on the couch with her feet kicked up on the coffee table, wide skirts pooling around her, dark hair pinned back behind her ears, brows always slightly furrowed when she was focussing.

Why read about ages old legends when you could be looking at her instead?

There hadn’t been a conversation about the other night, but … something was different ever since you returned from your first little stake out. She kept you on your toes, made you jump when she suddenly brushed up against you, let her hands linger on your hip, or your lower back, and sometimes even your cheek or neck.

When she left the house she always called „See you later, honey!“, towards wherever in the house you were bustling around. And every night when she returned, she announced herself with a wholehearted „Honey, I‘m home!“

While the housewife role wasn’t something you had ever planned for in your future, you proved to be quite the natural. Or at least, Agatha made you feel like you were. She never missed a chance to comment on how nice it was that someone kept the place clean, how much she enjoyed dinner, how lovely it was to see your face when Wanda had dragged her to meet with the other wives again. That one almost made you drop the fork of food halfway to your mouth already, and you quickly feigned a coughing fit, face burning hot as you stared down at your plate, anywhere but right at her. In hindsight, you couldn’t tell whether the foot grazing up your calf was real or pure imagination.

You quickly learned that Agatha had a sweet tooth. Whenever you had the time to bake, whole trays of cookies or pies would disappear at a rapid pace, never surviving much more than three days. On Saturday night, after Wanda had kept her busy especially late with some dinner plans Agatha refused to explain to you, you came downstairs to find Agatha sat on the floor in front of the open fridge, rollers in her hair, a silk robe over her nightdress, eating a plum pie you‘d made right from the tray. There was an open bottle of red wine behind her on the kitchen counter.

„I was saving that for tomorrow you know“, you commented, and her head shot up in surprise, eyes wide for a millisecond before she realized it was just you, and her signature smirk returned to her lips.

„I guess you’ll have to make more tomorrow then“, her bottom lip pushed forward in a mocking pout, „That’s too bad!“ For a moment you just held her eye contact, watching the act slowly leave her face, until she was smirking

With a roll of your eyes you walked over, sitting down cross legged on the cool kitchen floor beside her.

„Good girl“, she hummed, and it was fleeting, rolling off her tongue as casually as a greeting. But you felt your heart do a leap in your chest, biting down on your bottom lip hard.

Agatha handed you the wine bottle, her thigh brushing up against yours, and as you took a large sip, she filled her fork up with whipped cream and pie crust. When she turned to you instead of eating it herself, you almost choked on the bitter liquor on your tongue. Pressing your lips together to suppress a cough, you swallowed, wide eyes staring at the fork in front of you and then at her.

Her brows wandered up, tilting her head to the sight ever so slightly. „Come on, honey“, she purred, and you felt her voice echo through your entire body, „Open up.“

For a moment, you just stared at her, wide eyed, your heart fluttering in your chest. You‘d never been more grateful that your thoughts were completely unavailable to her, because the ideas flashing through your mind were way too intimate, way too inappropriate. But then again, you were far from normal circumstances.

Your lips parted and she pushed the fork past them, never once tearing her eyes from your lips as you closed them around the metal, tasting cream and cinnamon and plum on your tongue. She pulled the fork out of your mouth way slower than necessary, watching every inch of it, her own lips parting. You felt her breath on your face, surprised by how hot the gentle gush of air hit your cheek. And when you swallowed, you felt her eyes on your throat, watching the exposed skin move, dipping lower to where nothing but flimsy fabric covered you up.

„A-“

“Shhh“, a hand on your cheek, fingers hooking underneath your chin to force you to look up at her. As if you wanted to look anywhere else right now.

„Silence, honey“, she breathed, tilting your head to one side, and then to the other. You weren’t sure if she was actually scanning your face or just seeing if you would let her. Which, of course, you did. You melted like soft butter under her touch, letting her shape you in any way she pleased. The realisation almost scared you.

A soft little sound left Agatha’s lips, a hum so quiet, if you hadn’t felt it against your skin, you probably would have missed it. She was so, so close, her face almost blurred before you. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, but there was a little twinkle in her gaze, the idea of something wicked. If only you‘d lean in one more inch—

Her lips were on yours. She was soft, so endlessly soft, and she fit perfectly against the curve of your own lips. A surprised gasp left your mouth, slipping right into hers. The world was spinning, one blur of black, white and endless shades of grey. If it wasn’t for your hand finding her shoulder, you would have lost any sense of direction. Up, down, left, right, none of it mattered. Not right now. Not with her lips on yours, with the taste of plum on your tongue, your fingers digging into the thin fabric of her nightgown, pulling her closer.

A low moan left her lips, you felt the sound vibrate against your lips. You gasped, and Agatha took the opportunity to slide her tongue between your lips, prodding gently, as if asking for permission. Your hand tightened on her shoulders, lips parting wider. The whine that left your throat when her tongue licked over yours was high and came from deep inside your stomach. Her hand found your chest, and before you knew it, she pushed you down firmly. Your back hit the cool tiled floor and you squeaked at the feeling. Her lips broke from yours, leaning away enough to look at you through heavy lashes. Agatha was on top of you, one hand pinning you firmly to the ground, the other supporting herself, propped up just beside your head. A few strands of hair had freed themselves from her rollers, falling around her face like a picture frame and her eyes, oh her eyes. They were dark with lust, glinting in the half darkness of the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, you could tell even in the color drained world you were caught in. Whether it was from the wine or the kiss, you couldn’t tell. But God, you hoped it was the latter.

„Agatha“, you gasped. The hand that wasn’t fisting the silk of her nightgown found her arm, and you ran your fingers down her bare skin, delighted to feel goosebumps on your trail. You reached her wrist, fingers curling around it. „Agatha“, you repeated, holding eye contact as you dragged her hand slowly up your chest, past your collarbones, toward your throat. „I .. I want you-“

She was gone just as fast as she’d been on you. Her absence left a longing so much more urgent than before. You suddenly felt very cold on the floor. The silk of her nightgown slipped from your grip, and before you knew it she was back on her feet, snagging the half empty wine bottle from the kitchen island. She stared at it for a moment, and you caught a shake of her head as you wrapped your gown around you tighter. Suddenly, you felt very naked in the flimsy fabric.

„Agatha!“, you pushed yourself up, right behind her as she paced the tiled floor towards the door.

To your surprise, she turned around immediately. And to your relief, there was a smile on her face, even if it was small. But it was better than anything else.

Her free hand came up to cup your face, and you leaned into her touch before you even realised it.

„You should try to get some sleep, honey“, she said, her voice low and raw, none of the melodic singsong she put on when she talked to Wanda. This was Agatha, a centuries old witch with powers beyond your comprehension. Who had just made out with you on the kitchen floor.

„You work so hard around the house, you need some rest. And I have to prepare for the stupid meeting tomorrow. I‘ll see you for dinner tomorrow.“ In the half dark it was hard to tell, but you swore you saw her wink at you, before turning around on her heel, nightgown swishing through the air. You stood in the dark kitchen for a moment longer, fingers rubbing over the spot where her palm had pinned you down, still feeling the ghost of her touch lingering.

Something had changed tonight, and you knew there was no going back from this now. It was exhilarating.

…

Not even 24 hours later you were putting away freshly cleaned dishes. You’d made falafel bowls for dinner, and while Agatha had scolded you for not sticking to era accurate food, she had dug in and hummed with content, pointing out how much she missed the bigger variety of food the present day offered.

You did too. And music, you missed listening to something that wasn’t the same ten songs on the one single vinyl you’d found in the house.

While stacking freshly dried plates over each other, you couldn’t help but hum a tune that definitely wasn’t from the 60s. Neither of you had mentioned the prior night, and Agatha had left even earlier than usual this morning. In her absence, you had made another, identical pie like she‘d requested, that was cooling down on the kitchen island as you cleaned up. A part, no, every part of you hoped she’d comment on it, and then you could talk about it, and maybe you could kiss her again, longer this time, and maybe —

Suddenly, you felt a hand sneak around your waist. A palm came to rest on your stomach, pulling you back into the warm body behind you just slightly. The plates you held clinked together dangerously, and you put them down quickly, before you could drop them. On your heel, you spun around, and now the two of you were flush against each other, front to front, the kitchen counter pressed into your back. She’d been quiet all day, still frustrated with Wanda randomly changing the era of TV you were in, but you knew better than to ask too many questions. Now, you could basically feel the frustration cling to her, tension in the body pressed up against yours. It was exhilarating.

„Go sit“, Agatha told you, voice low while glancing from your wide eyes to your slightly parted lips and back. There was that twinkle in her eyes again, the same one from last night, when you two ate pie on the kitchen floor at 2 am. „I'll clean up tonight.“

„I don’t mind…“ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat when suddenly, a single index finger brushed over your bottom lip. Goosebumps rose on your arms, your neck, your entire skin. Agatha tilted her head, her other hand running over your exposed arm, chuckling at the goose skin.

„Just sit down," she repeated, more firmly. There was a smirk on her painted lips, eyes unreadable. „You deserve it.“

„But-“, this time, she shut your protest down by pushing her finger right past your lips the moment you parted them.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening, a high pitched sound leaving you from the back of your throat.

Agatha’s other hand slid around to the small of your back, tightening its grip, fabric of your dress creasing under her touch. Her stare never left yours, tip of her finger pressing down on your tongue, brows raised in silent expectation. A flash of heat shot up your spine, and if it wasn’t for the furniture right behind you, you might have melted into a puddle on the ground right now.

Once your initial surprise had worn off, your lips closed around her finger, tongue licking up against the pad of her finger. Agatha’s bright eyes were focused on your mouth, watching every microscopic movement, pupils wide and dark as you slowly, shakily began to suck her finger.

You couldn’t breathe, too scared to change even the smallest thing about the moment to do so. You could feel yourself trembling, and knew she could too, as another little whine left your throat, starting to bob your head back and forth, once, twice, settling into a rhythm.

Agatha watched you the entire time, her body pressed flush against you, hips pinning you to the kitchen counter. Her own lips were parted slightly, her breath hot on your face. She pulled her finger away, the curve of her mouth forming a subtle smirk as you gasped, sucking in a deep breath.

„You forgot to breathe“, she pointed out, a low chuckle before her finger came up, gently tapping the tip of your nose.

Your shoulders slumped, leaning against the counter to stay upright. You could feel the little wet spot of your own saliva on the tip of your nose. With the back of your hand, you wiped it off.

„Agatha-“

The witch let out a groan, her hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of you. She was leaning against the surface, so close to you without touching, and her forehead was wrinkled when her eyes found you after a long, exasperated sigh.

„Do you ever turn that pretty head of yours off for one second?“ Her lips quirked up into a knowing little smile, and she leaned forwards, her lips so close to yours, you could feel her breath ghost over your skin. Memories of how they felt against yours flooded your mind, her tongue dragging over yours, the taste of plums and jam. You swallowed hard, and Agatha watched your throat move without shame. Her pupils were dark, dragging up your neck, over your lips before holding eye contact again. The familiar twinkle in her bright eyes was a clear challenge.

„Do I make you nervous?“, she drawled and you felt one of her hands find the fabric of your dress, running over the little buttons holding it together in the front. Her index and middle finger ran up your front, all the way to the first open button right over your cleavage, where they hooked underneath the cotton. You gasped.

Agatha smirked as her eyes never left your heaving chest, watching the goosebumps on your skin rise.

„I bet you’ve done a lot of thinking today, huh?“ Her nail dug underneath the next button on your dress. Just one flick of her finger, and it came undone, the top of your bra peeking out. Delicate lace, one of the most revealing ones you‘d found in your period accurate closet. The wire was incredibly uncomfortable, but the way her lips parted just the smallest bit, tip of her tongue darting out as she undid another button, revealing more of the undergarment was worth the discomfort at least ten times.

„Naughty“, she commented, head tilting to the side. „Last night really hasn’t left your mind.“

All you could do was shake your head.

„Good.“ With a swift motion, she’d grabbed your undone collar with both hands, tugging the dress open and down your shoulders. Cold air touched your skin, skin that you desperately wanted her hands on. The high, breathy moan that left your mouth told her as much.

One of Agatha‘s brows raised in amusement. She was looking at you like a lioness ready to pounce. God, you hoped she would.

Her hands found your shoulders, palms running over your skin, smirk widening at your eyes fluttering shut as you sucked in the air sharply.

„So responsive“, Agatha purred, fingers running over your collarbones. Your chest pushed forward into her touch as if on instinct and she complied without hesitation. Her palms cupped the swell of your breasts, fingertips pressing into the silky fabric covering them, thumbs running over where your nipples hardened against lace.

You wanted to say something, tell her to just shut up and kiss you, beg her to touch you, to tear the last pieces of fabric off your body and take everything from you right now on the counter. But the words wouldn’t travel from your brain to your lips, so instead, you reached behind yourself, finding the clasps holding your bra together. A few moments of fumbling and then you had done it, the straps on your shoulders loosening, the fabric falling away from your body like a shell you‘d outgrown.

Agatha’s mouth fell open in a surprised „Oh!“, and the sound made your heart attempt to leap out of your chest. Her fingers pulled the fabric away from you, exposing bare skin, and the piece dropped to the ground somewhere besides you carelessly. Dark pupils were fixed on your bare chest and her hands returned to their original position, squeezing the soft flesh. Her thumbs running in featherlight circles over your bare nipples had your head roll back, and you let the low moan escape your throat without holding back. Agatha caught your gaze holding eye contact as she leaned down.

„Hold yourself up“, she purred, and you had just enough time to grasp the counter behind you with both hands before her lips were on you.

She planted a soft kiss to the rounded flesh of your breast, and then grazed her teeth over the same spot dragging just a little lower. Soft, wet lips closed around your nipple, sucking the sensitive skin in, where she then ran her tongue around it in little circles.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut and one of your hands found her dark hair, nails grazing over her scalp as she snickered against your nipple, the vibrations shooting right through your spine.

„Ag- Ah!“, your voice was weaved with desire and she was right, if you weren’t holding yourself up with your other arm, your knees would have given out.

Agatha released your nipple with a wet pop, saliva coating your breast and her lips, a sight that made your stomach curl into a tight, burning hot knot. Bright eyes found yours and she held eye contact as her teeth slowly sank into the soft skin just above your nipple. The pain was sharp and hot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to fuel the fire she‘d started within you. Your hand in her hair gripped tighter, pulling her up towards you. She chuckled against your skin, not letting your urgency rush her in the slightest.

Instead, she placed a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses from your chest over your collarbone all the way up your neck. Her tongue darted out right at the spot just underneath your earlobe, and you mewled at the feeling. One hand came up to cup your jaw and she held you in place, taking her sweet time as her lips continued their journey along your jawline, up your chin. When she finally reached your lips, you leaned forwards expectantly, but her hold tightened, keeping you just out of reach.

„Agathaaa“, you whined, and genuinely had to resist the urge to stomp your foot. Of course, that only made her laugh, brows raised as she held you less than an inch away from her lips.

„You can have what you want“, she murmured, tongue darting out to wet her own bottom lip. And, you were sure of that, to taunt you further. It worked. „If you can tell me exactly what that is.“

A long, exasperated sigh left your mouth, fingers running through her dark curls.

„I‘ve wanted you to kiss me for the past ten minutes“, you mumbled, but that wasn’t quite true. You took a deep breath. „I‘ve wanted you to kiss me since the moment I stepped into this house.“

„That‘s my good girl“, she purred, finger running along your jaw, „I knew you had it in you.“

Finally, instead of keeping you just out of reach, she pulled you in. Your lips crashed together and it was nothing like last night.

Last night was too careful, almost anxious. You’d dipped a single finger into the waters to test the temperature, and if you weren’t in the position you were in right now, a part of you would have wondered if it had all just been a dream.

But now you were on fire. You‘d tested the waters, and now you were jumping right in. Agatha pushed her tongue past your lips with intent, and a moan slipped out as you granted her entry. Her arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you flush against her as your fingers dug into her hair, no care for the pins holding her curls in place.

Teeth clashed against teeth and you felt her groan against you, kicking your legs open before slotting a knee up between them.

You squealed, stomach twisting with desire, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes. They were tainted with pure, unadulterated lust.

„Take me“, you panted against her lips, barely breaking contact enough to speak properly. „Take me now, Agatha. Please."

Her hands found your hips, giving the dress that had gathered there one last firm tug. It all fell to the ground, fabric pooling around your feet, easy to step out of.

„Such a quick learner“, she murmured, eyes raking down your body, over the garters holding your stockings up, the thin nylon covering your legs, the ruffles of your underwear. „You really are quite something, honey.“

Her forehead rested against yours for a moment, hot skin against skin as her fingers dug into the soft flesh right over your hips. „Turn around“, she commanded, voice low and heavy, more of a groan than anything else, a movement right against your own lips that left you breathless.

With one swift motion, you were flipped around, her hips pinning yours against the marble counter. A hand ran up your bare back, fingertips teasingly tracing the edge of your garterbelt before trailing up your spine, until her palm was right between your shoulder blades, pressing you down against the cool marble. You sucked in a sharp breath, and the sound made her chuckle. She enjoyed the power she had over you. Always had, since the moment she offered you a deal. But back then, you hadn’t realised just how much you wanted her in control, how much you craved it.

And yet here you were, her hand holding you firmly in place, knees pushed apart as her fingers slowly traced over the edges of your undergarments. Since you‘d moved on from the 50s style to a decade later, you had been able to drop the corset from your everyday wear, but still, as her nails dragged over the curve of your ass, digging underneath the elastic just to let it snap back against your skin, you wished there was still a little less fabric keeping you from her.

Hell, you‘d probably have to throw this pair of underwear out after this anyway. You were absolutely drenched.

Agatha’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass. Simultaneously, you felt her lips ghost over your ear, her body leaning over yours, pushing you further into the countertop. Her nails poked into your skin, leaving little crescent marks in their place.

„A part of me wants to spank that pretty ass of yours raw“, her voice dripped with sweetness, you swallowed hard.

„But how could I, when you’ve been nothing but good for me since you got here.“

She let go of your butt, gently rubbing over the little marks her nails left behind before dipping lower. Her tongue darted out, running over the shell of your ear. You whined, pushing back into her touch. You could feel her gentle hum vibrate against your ear. Her fingers found your clothed core, three fingers dragging slowly up and down the soaked fabric. You felt her breath hitch.

„So, so good“, Agatha purred, poking just over where nothing but white ruffles kept her from sliding right inside your drenched cunt.

„Tell me you want me.“

Your head was spinning, legs shaking, and the tight knot that had formed on your stomach wanted nothing more but to finally explode, so you almost didn’t catch her words. When you responded, your voice was weak, a mere whimper, and under any other circumstances you would have been embarrassed. But the more pathetic you sounded, the more you melted under her, the more Agatha seemed to delight in you. And right now, the only thing you could ever want was to please her, to hear her purr sweet praises in your ear, to finally have her way with you. Good God.

„I need you“, you rasped, and your needy plea was rewarded with a lingering kiss on your shoulder. Her fingers ran over your clothed centre one more time, and feeling her graze over your clit made your entire body shudder.

„I need you so bad“, you mewled, „Agatha please, I- Please just fuck me already.“

„Hm, mouthy“, she chuckled, teeth grazing over your skin one more time before she leaned back up. Her absence over you left your shoulders cold, but it was worth it when you felt her hand guide yours to the edge of the counter besides you.

„Hold tight honey. Yes, exactly like that.“ Two fingers hooked under the elastic of your underwear and you gasped.

„You‘re doing so well for me“, Agatha purred. Her free hand ran up your spine again, this time she wandered over the back of your neck, right to where her fingers could dig into your hair, that hadn’t been the intricate style you‘d pinned it into that morning for a hot minute then.

Her fist closed around the strands, twisting them in her grip until you felt a tug, back arching in response. You heard Agatha moan at the sight and you instinctively pushed your shoulders back even further back arched, ass pushed back, her fingers ghosting over the soft skin on your thigh.

„Gorgeous“, she hummed, grip on your roots tightening, „So good for Mommy, aren’t you?“

And then, at last, her fingers pushed past the fabric of your underwear, right between your folds, slick with arousal. She slid right through you, fingertips pressing down right onto your swollen clit. Desire pulsated through your veins.

„Agatha!“, you cried out, knuckles white as you held onto the countertop for dear life.

„What was that?“, she lulled, teasing, fingers staying right where they were. Your hips stuttered, trying to push down into the touch, but her grip on your hair kept you in position.

„Ah!“, your breath hitched, your mind was mush. „M.. Mommy please!“

Her fingers circled around the bundle of nerves they were pushing up against and you moaned with relief. That was exactly what you needed right now.

„You didn’t think I missed the way that makes you tick, did you honey?“ The low laugh behind you sounded almost evil, and it shot through your body right to your core. You were sure she could feel your pulse through your throbbing clit, swollen under her circular motions.

“You’re so easy“, she purred right by your ear, giving your clit one more swirl of her fingertips, „You‘re an open book to me honey.“

Her index finger slowly wandered downwards, collecting your liquid arousal on its way. Her lips found the back of your neck, pulling you up into her by your hair.

„And this is a spell I can do with the flick of a finger.“

Her finger slipped into you with no warning. You gasped, eyes pressed shut at the sudden intrusion.

Agatha hummed, holding her finger still for a moment, giving you the chance to adjust. „You‘re doing so well honey.“ Slowly, she dragged it back out, before pushing right back inside, all the way to the knuckle. „Taking it so well for Mommy.“

Her thumb grazed over your clit, and if she hadn’t such a tight grip in your hair, your head would have fallen forward.

Again, she thrust her finger, settling for a gentle, slow rhythm. You pushed back into her touch on instinct. You needed more. More of her inside of you, more sweet words dripping down your back like honey, more of her lips on your skin.

The latter was granted without even having to say anything. Agatha pressed her lips to the spot just behind your earlobe and the moan you let out in response was guttural.

„That‘s right“, you could feel her lips move against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. „Let me hear you.“

Her hand slowed down and you almost let out a frustrated mewl. But then, you felt a second finger prodding at your entrance, and the stretch made you hiss instead.

Slowly, she began to pick up a rhythm with two fingers this time, her back pressed to yours as she held you tight in place. The slight pain of her tugging on your hair mixed beautifully with the slow, steady motion of her fingers thrusting in and out of you, until all you felt was hot, white pleasure like stars dancing before your eyes.

Agatha’s lips trailed a line of kisses down your neck, her fingers speeding up with every time her lips met your bare skin.

Heat pooled in your stomach, the knot tightening. You were on a rollercoaster, rapidly approaching the very top of the ride, bracing yourself for the fall.

„Agatha“, you gasped, and then immediately corrected, „Mommy.“

She stopped her trail of kisses on your shoulder. „Let go honey“, she hummed, tongue running over the little mark she’d sucked into your skin, „Let yourself go for Mommy.“

Again, her thumb found your clit, fingers twisting inside of you. Her rhythm picked up, tips of her fingers grazing over your insides with every thrust. You felt every muscle in your body tighten, cunt clenching down on her hand,your knuckles white as they were gripping the countertop in a vice like grip. .

„Just like that“, Agatha’s voice was low, merely a whisper. And then her teeth found your skin, brushing over your shoulder for a moment before sinking into the flesh. You cried out, head falling back into the fist that held your hair tight.

The knot in your stomach exploded. A shiver ran down your spine, over your back and arms and your entire body as release washed over you like a cool tidal wave, drowning out everything else in its way.

Your hips bucked into her once, twice, and then it was over, and suddenly you felt drained, exhaustion tugging on every part of your body.

Agatha‘s fingers pulled out in one smooth motion, and when you dropped forward onto the counter, her hand gently untangled from your hair.

„Fuck“, you whispered, chest heaving, legs feeling jelly.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards. „Come here“, Agatha’s voice was very soft all of a sudden, steadying your shaky stance against her. You noticed a wet stench on the counter but chose to ignore it for now, instead using your energy to turn around in her grasp.

„Can you stand?“, she asked when your weight leaned into her, arms wrapped around you almost protectively. It felt nice.

Ignoring her question, you leaned forward after turning around and caught her lips in a quick kiss, tasting the salty stench of sweat and sex on her lips.

„I‘m fine, Agatha“, you promised, unable to stop laughing at your own words. „I‘m fucking fantastic, actually.“

Still, she held you at just an arms length, eyeing you up and down.

There were bruises already blooming where your hips had pushed into the hard edge of the counter over and over. Agatha‘s fingers ran over the irritated skin.

„See, we could have done this on the couch if you’d just listen to me.“ Agatha panted, arms wrapped tightly around your shivering form, holding you close. You felt her lips ghost over the crown of your head, placing a featherlight kiss there.

„We could have done this last night in your bed like normal people if you’d just made up your mind then“, you teased back, arms wrapping around her neck as you leaned against her. If it wasn’t for her support, there was no way you‘d still be standing up straight.

Agatha‘s eyes hardened. „If you don’t watch your manners you’re not seeing that bed at all.“

But the kiss she caught your lips in gave her empty threat away immediately. You smiled against her lips, tugging her closer by her neck. A quick peck was placed at the corner of her mouth. Pulling away just enough to catch her eyes, you smirked.

„I don‘t have to be able to read your mind to know that’s not true. But alright“, your hands found hers, tugging her with you as you took a step towards the living room. Your dress lay forgotten on the floor. That was a task for tomorrow, like sanitising the entire kitchen counter.

Right now, you were too busy feeling delighted when Agatha let you tug her towards the living room, unable to tear her eyes off you even for a moment.

„We can have a turn on the couch before we go to bed!“ You chuckled, grabbing her face with both hands, kissing her firmly as you fell backwards onto the couch, pulling Agatha down with you.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #wandavision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #mcu #berry writes things

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nathanbatemanfucker · 1 month ago

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Let Me Go (No Puedo) Pt. II

summary: sam makes the mistake of thinking you two have everything under control.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!wilson!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, eventual smut, forbidden romance, brother’s best friend, canon typical mention of violence and weapons

wc: 2,918

an: eeeep, i love this series so im glad it won the poll. things get a little more…yearny here, lots of pining and what could be! hope u guys like it 🫶🏾

let me go (no puedo) masterlist

Sam makes the mistake of thinking you two have everything under control. That nothing could ever possibly happen between you– or perhaps he was just feeling desperate enough to need you to pitch in for the first time in years.

When he’d first started in this superhero business, he leaned on you a lot. There was so much pressure, being the wingman of Captain America. Being Falcon. Sam relied on you to help him gather intel and keep him company during stakeouts. Eventually, with Sam’s guidance and the hypervigilance ingrained in you from your chaotic household, you got pretty good at recon.

Sam’s arms are crossed against his chest, his expression grave. “Can you handle it? Be professional, man. She’s my sister.”

Joaquin remembers the day your hands brushed, the hours-long phone call the two of you had over a month ago– then he lets those things go for the moment. For just this moment he could forget the feelings for you budding in his heart.

“Sam, I said I’m good. You can trust me with this, c’mon man we need the recon.”

“Fine but if you so much as breathe on her, Joaquin.”

Joaquin opens his mouth to reassure Sam again but their conversation is interrupted by your knocking on the door. Even if he wanted to, Sam couldn’t back out after flying you to Virginia from Louisiana.

“Best behavior.”

Joaquin dramatically draws a cross over his heart. “Cruz, Cruz, que se vaya el diablo y que venga Jesús.”

Sam’s smile is genuine when he opens the door to greet you. “Hey, youngin’, you ready?”

“Don’t youngin’ me like you didn’t beg me to come here,” You grumble playfully stepping inside.

“Hey, chica,” Joaquin murmurs with feigned disinterest as he makes his way back to his desk.

You notice that change right away. You aren’t sure if it's for Sam’s sake or if Joaquin has decided to put more space between the two of you. To move on. Either way, there's a twinge of disappointment that pulls at your heart. You ignore it.

“Joaquin.” You give him a small nod, trying your best to smile like everything is normal before turning to Sam. “So give me more details.”

Sam is quiet as he takes in your interaction. It's harmless enough– no flirting on Joaquin’s end, no lingering glances or strange inflections in tone. Maybe he really had snuffed out whatever connection was brewing between you two. For a split second, he feels guilty taking away the possibility of happiness. Though he’d never admit it to him, he loved Joaquin. But Sam loved you more and the last thing he wanted to see was one of you get hurt by the hand of the other.

“Earth to Sammy,” You sing, waving a hand in front of his face.

That snaps him out of it and he glares at you over his shoulders as he makes his way to the table. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“That’s why I do it,” You remind him with a grin. Joining him at the table you look down at maps and blueprints strewn about. “Now, what’s this?”

“This is where I need you both. You,” Sam points at Joaquin and beckons him over. “There’s an art crawl tonight. Lotta people, good cover. I got a tip somebody’s been making illegal firearm deals in broad daylight under the guise of art. I need someone who can blend in.” His eyes flick between you and Joaquin. “Think you two can handle that without making my life harder?”

“Think you can handle not backseat driving the whole thing?” You retort, offended.

Sam just rolls his eyes at you before he starts to scan the papers in front of him, mapping a trail for the two of you to follow.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, if I talked to you like that, you’d have me on the ground.”

“You don’t have little sister privileges, Joaquin.”

“I feel like I should get little Falcon privileges or something.”

“Yeah right. Can you two knuckleheads focus, I’m trying to show you paths in and out. I want you to have options in case things go sideways.”

“You assured me that they wouldn’t.”

“Redwing says there’s only a 14% chance that things go to shit. But even if they do, you’ll have access to backup,” Sam reassures you but it’s just not enough.

You go quiet, crossing your arms protectively against your chest. 14% isn’t bad but it isn’t the number you wanted to hear. You loved your job, loved working with the kids, and helping them connect with their semblance of control through building something. The idea of not seeing them again over some routine illegal firearms makes your blood hot.

Joaquin notices the shift in your body language immediately. He can’t help it, and he draws closer, lowly asking, “Que es, querida?”

You plan to just glance over at him, but his gaze is too intense when your eyes meet. You get stuck there like a bee in honey. “Solo quiero volver con mis niños.”

His eyes soften. He wants to reach out for you, flexing his fingers before he shoves his hands in his pockets to curb the desire. “You will. I won’t let anything happen to you, lo prometo.”

“No he won’t, because there will be no distractions,” Sam says firmly— both of you know exactly what he means, and Joaquin takes a step away from you in response. “Let’s get y’all strapped up.”

The tension fizzles between the three of you as Sam gets you prepared. It’s been a couple of years since you held a gun other than a hunting rifle but it’s like riding a bike, especially when there are civilians to protect.

You frown a little, not liking how quickly you’ve slid back into that thought pattern. You and your life deserve protection too. Sam chose this life, Joaquin, too, but you? You didn’t want to have to fight for anything anymore. You wanted quiet and simple.

“I got something for you. Lil’ surprise.”

You narrow your eyes at Sam. “Trying to butter me up?”

“Do I get a surprise?” Joaquin chimes.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No blockhead, this is your job.”

“Hey, people get raises all the time,” Joaquin mumbles, pouting.

“This is all you,” Sam says to you, removing a case from the arsenal, and setting it on a nearby table.

You open the case eagerly, mouth dropping open as your fingers trace the contrasting metal and custom leather accents. There’s something engraved into the side.

“Holy shit, you got me a custom P238 Legion and that…my adoption date? Sam,” You pull him into a hug, one he readily returns.

“You always talked about it when we were younger, l l figured I owe it to you now.”

Joaquin knew that you were adopted but looking at the date it wasn’t until you were a teenager. He wants to know more about your story, even as he sees how close you and Sam are. He doesn’t want to fuck up a family…but he doesn’t think he can let you go either.

—

“So how’ve you been? Any more bad days?” Joaquin asks as you amble down the tent-lined path.

Sam was right, it's crowded, bodies packed like sardines. A great cover— not only for you and Joaquin but for the target too.

You glance at him a little dodgily, gripping the lemonade in your hand a little tighter. You both have encrypted earpieces in case you get separated and they’re connected to the same network as Redwing.

Joaquin clocks your hesitancy immediately. “Sam’s halfway across the country by now and he’s got things to focus on. It’s just you and me, hermosa.”

You and Joaquin and the droves of people in this park. It feels easier to be more open with him when there’s so much to pay attention to.

Keeping your gaze forward to focus on the task at hand you say, “A few, but none as bad as the day we talked. It's been fine enough. What about you– get enough time to grab a drink or watch a movie?”

“Glad to hear you’re seeing better days. Nothing on the social front for me yet, unless you include Sam.”

“He’s too grumpy to be included. Did you tell him about–”

“No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Look, querida, there’s something here. I think we both know that and–”

He’s cut off by a heavily tattooed woman with blunt blonde hair. “Interested in looking over our inventory? I imagine a man like you would appreciate the delicate silhouettes my pieces offer.”

“No, I’m–”

You interject, “Sure, we’d love to take a look.”

The woman’s eyes are sharp even as she smiles at you and welcomes the both of you in. You don’t care what she thinks, as long as you can blend in. It would be suspicious if the two of you didn’t peruse the art and goods at all, especially to anyone who’s here undercover too.

“What was that?” Joaquin whispers, the warmth of his breath ghosting your ear.

“It would be weird if all we did was walk around and look at people. Don’t wanna draw attention.”

He hums in agreement before turning to look at a canvas, his eyes going a little wide. Now that you’ve stepped further into the tent you realize exactly why the woman singled out Joaquin.

The silhouettes she mentioned are nude portraits…of herself. She was flirting with him and at the end of the day, you couldn’t blame her.

She materializes out of nowhere, standing distinctly between you and Joaquin as she addresses him. “See anything you like?”

“It's all one of a kind. A dedicated practice I imagine,” He answers noncommittally before snaking around her to stand beside you. To your surprise, he takes your hand pulling you flush against him. “Que piensas, mi amor?”

You clear your throat, not fully trusting your voice with the way your mouth has gone dry. “Couldn’t agree more.”

The woman is immediately disinterested once it’s clear that you and Joaquin are together. She’s cordial, thanking you for your time and telling you where you can find her if either of you is interested in a piece.

“Let’s keep moving,” Joaquin urges once she’s gone.

He doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you out of the tent to the main path again. You don’t let go either— you don’t want to. It should be a reflex to pull away, a reminder to keep that space between you both. But his grip is warm and steady, and for once, you let yourself take comfort in it.

“That was a sweet little piece Sam got you. What’s the story?”

“I used to help him on recon when he first started. I was his woman in the chair and I always wanted a P238 Legion. I mean it’s gorgeous, sleek, compact. Not much more I could want especially since he customized it for me,” You don’t mean to ramble but you do.

Joaquin smiles as he listens to your answer, enjoying the sight of you so excited. It makes him reluctant to ask his next question, but he just wants to know more about you. “You said the numbers were your adoption date?”

“The official one anyway, yeah,” You train your eyes on a display of delicately decorated ceramic bowls, your tone light. He doesn’t need the whole story—nobody does.

The paperwork was just a formality by then, the Wilsons had already felt like home. But the time before that? There was no reason to dig into the years that built your nightmares.

“You would’ve been a teenager by then.”

“Adoption takes time,” You say, unsure why he’s restating things the both of you already know.

“Mmm. No fue fácil, I bet.”

“Oh— well, no it wasn’t. Not at first, but eventually my parents stopped noticing I was gone. I lived with the Wilsons full time since I was 12, the legal process is just a bitch.”

“I’m sorry, hermosa.”

“It was a long time ago. And it came with perks.”

“Perks?”

“Growing up in an environment like the one I did…some people in your line of work have to develop and hone their attention skills. Those skills were how I survived. How else would I know the wind is blowing south or how distinct your footsteps are from everyone else’s?”

“You’ve been keeping track of that even as we talk?” He asks in disbelief.

“I have to…had to. I also know you weren’t, because you totally would’ve made a corny joke about the penis vases we passed.”

Joaquin glances over his shoulder, scanning. “There were penis vases?”

“No, but I love how excited you got,” You tease.

“You got jokes, querida. You’re definitely a Wilson,” He squeezes your hand playfully where it’s still interlocked with his.

Joaquin doesn’t know how much his words mean to you. You’d always wanted a place to belong and when you found the Wilson’s you wanted nothing more than to belong to them.

“Was that the only perk?”

“Sort of. Like I said, being good at this sort of thing had Sam dragging me along and he paid me for it. It’s how I got my first set of power tools so I could finally woodwork on our family property.”

“What’s that about? The woodworking passion?”

Just like that fateful night when you answered the phone, you and Joaquin fall into a comfortable rhythm of conversation. It’s easy with him, even when it shouldn’t be. The more time you spend together, the more dangerous this ease feels—like you could forget why this can’t happen.

The two of you look cozy, hand and hand, browsing the tents, stopping for cheese fries, and re-upping on lemonade. Eventually, you make it to the picnic tables sitting down to get a better angle to watch the crowds.

Before you know it, the sun has dipped low, and the amount of people meandering around drops significantly. It’s clear that whatever target Sam was hoping for didn’t show.

“Sam’s gonna be disappointed,” You say worriedly on the walk back to the car.

“I’m not,” Joaquin murmurs, pausing briefly to grab your hand again.

Your heart flutters at his words, at his strong hand around yours and you try to joke all the meaning away. “Yeah me either, I mean free flight, free gun, free food—“

Joaquin gives you a look of feigned offense. “And I’m just here, huh?”

You laugh, leaning into him playfully, “Oh, right you. You’re pretty cool I guess.”

He opens your door for you, and though he joins you in laughter his voice is wistful when he responds. “Yeah, you too.”

The simmer of longing in his voice isn’t lost on you, and you hesitate, looking at him with some sort of apology on your tongue. What would an apology really do? Give him (and yourself) false hope? Soothe an ache that can never be remedied? So you press your lips together, sliding into the seat with a soft thank you.

The armory is quiet when you and Joaquin step inside, the fluorescent lights buzzing low overhead. The mission wasn’t a failure, but it wasn’t a success either. No target, no major leads—just a long day spent chasing a ghost through a crowded venue. A practically perfect day spent together that leaves you swirling and pining for things you cannot have.

You set your empty lemonade cup down on Sam’s desk, fingers lingering on the rim before finally letting go. Joaquin stands beside you, hands on his hips, watching you like he’s debating something.

“You should stay,” he says.

You glance at him. “We both know that’s not a good idea.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to.” His voice is low and steady—heated in a way that makes your belly flip.

You exhale, shaking your head. “Joaquin…”

But before you can say more, he reaches for you. Not in a desperate way or a way that forces anything. You can tell by his gentle grip that he gives you a choice to stop him but how could you— his sincerity makes it impossible not to let him. His arms come around you, warm and solid, anchoring you to the moment, to him.

You let yourself sink into him, just for a second. Let yourself pretend it’s normal because it truly feels that way. That this—whatever this is festering between you and Joaquin—is something you can hold onto. His cologne is spiced, his chest firm beneath your cheek.

Before it can go too far— become something more, not only in your mind but in your heart, you press a hand against his chest and whisper, “Joaquin… debes soltarme.”

Figuratively. Literally.

He doesn’t for several moments, but eventually, his hands loosen at your back, fingers trailing down your arms reverently before he breaks contact.

“No sé si puedo,” he murmurs.

And it’s not just a smooth-talking line, not one of his flirty quips. You can feel in the charged air between you that it’s the truth. You can hear it in the way his voice dips, in the way he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize something.

Your throat tightens. You can’t afford to let that truth settle.

So you take one step back. And then another. Another and another, and when you finally turn, heading for the door, you can’t look back. You know he’s still watching.

> pt. iii

lmk if you want to be on nsfw joaquin torres taglist (must be 18+/have age displayed)

nsfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69 , @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @peacefangirl, @soularsss, @everydaydreamer, @violetpassionfruit, @seraphibunni, @blackwomanchronicles

#joaquin torres #joaquín torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres x f!reader #joaquin torres fanfiction #falcon x reader #falcon x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fic #marvel x you #marvel fanfiction #captain america: bnw fanfiction #sam wilson #x reader #arson writes

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jawsoffate · 1 month ago

Text

beating it raw (ii x reader)

Summary: reader and ii have spicy time on a drum. Happy iisday yall

TW: P in V, a drum is being used for other than usual purposes, the gif is self-explanatory really.

I tried something different with this one like writing from a first person pov, let me know if it's any good. If anyone has a request or an ideia (or just want to say something, anything), please, feel free to send them here :)

💖 masterlist

The sound of the drums reverberated through the makeshift home studio, vibrating through the walls, the floor... through me. I was standing there, leaning against the half-open door, watching the man sitting behind the instrument as if he had control not only over the sound but over the space itself.

II.

The blonde hair fell in loose strands over his sweaty forehead, his defined arms moving with absurd precision, strength and technique blending in a way that made my legs weak. He played with anger. With hunger. As if he were making love to the drums, pulling from them each sound with desire and power.

The drumsticks spun between his fingers naturally, but it was when he dropped them and began playing only with his hands that my body responded in a nearly shameful way. His palms struck the drum skins as if marking an internal rhythm, something instinctive, masculine. The deep sound echoed through the room as he also moved his legs — hitting the pedals with a coordination so precise it seemed choreographed.

The beat was primal. Rhythmic. Hot.

And I needed him.

I pushed the door open with more force, and he saw me. His blue eyes sparked with recognition, and a crooked smile formed on his lips — sweaty, breathing heavily, his bare chest rising and falling with the adrenaline of the performance. No words were spoken. They weren’t needed.

I closed the door behind me and walked towards him, slow, feeling my own heartbeat match the rhythm of the drums. He slightly spread his legs, still playing with his heels and toes — without stopping. The deep, continuous sound filled the air, making everything wetter, denser.

“Come here,” he said, his voice hoarse and low, as if he hadn’t stopped playing. As if I was just part of the music. “I want to try something different with you.”

I moved closer and climbed onto his lap, facing him, my thighs wrapping around his hips, feeling the heat of his body against mine. His legs moved beneath me, still hitting the pedals, creating a continuous vibration that traveled up my thighs until it lodged itself between them.

He didn’t stop.

His hands kept striking the drums, alternating between sharp cracks and deep rumbles, while his feet commanded the pedals with unwavering precision. The sound of the drums filled the studio, pounding in my chest as if each beat were a touch on my skin.

He smiled at me with the corner of his mouth, never stopping. His body sweated, muscles tightening under the effort of maintaining the rhythm — of the music and the tension between us. It was brutally beautiful, absurdly sexy.

“Come up,” he ordered, his voice muffled by the sound of the plates vibrating in the background.

I climbed onto his lap, my knees resting on either side of his firm thighs. I felt his hard erection pressing against my center, warm even over the sweatshirt. He wouldn't stop. His hands alternated between the sticks and the drums, in a fast, hypnotic rhythm.

Then he put down one of the drumsticks and moved his hand to the waistband of his own pants, without stopping his feet. He pulled the fabric down just enough and looked at me.

“Take off your panties and sit on me.”

My body obeyed before my brain could even process it. I pulled my panties aside, moaning lowly at the wet friction, and held his cock in my trembling hand. It was hot, throbbing, thick. He gasped, but his hands were still beating - one on the tambourine, the other on the snare drum, interspersing strokes with a precision that seemed impossible to maintain in that situation.

I went down slowly, feeling him invade me, centimeter by centimeter, until he fitted me completely. I gasped loudly. My body trembled.

But he didn't stop.

With every movement I made on his lap, the sound of the drums accompanied it, creating a raw, erotic soundtrack, as if he were fucking my body and the music at the same time.

“Fuck…” I mumbled, holding onto his shoulders and starting to move, sitting down harder. “This is insane…”

He stared at me, intense, insatiable.

“Go on, love. Use me. Come while I play”

And that's what I did.

I moved hard, hungrily, letting my body dictate the rhythm - but he was in control. The sound of the drums dictated my hips, dictated my moans, each beat like a slap against my skin. The cymbals vibrated, the drums roared, and I was completely surrendered, riding with desperation on the lap of a man who played as if he were possessed.

My hands slid down his sweaty back, feeling every muscle, every fiber under tension. He was a machine of pleasure and control, and even though my body was shaking with arousal, he kept his focus on the pedals, the drumsticks, my body, my pleasure.

“Look at me,” he demanded between his teeth, without stopping. “I want to see your face when you cum on my fucking cock.”

“I... I'm almost there,” I confessed, my breathing labored, my moans mixing with the loud sound of the drums. “Fuck, II…”

He let go of one of the drumsticks just for a second, took his hand between us and started massaging my clitoris with his thumb, while his legs kept hitting the pedal with precision, the low sound vibrating underneath me, going up the bench, resonating straight into my womb.

The pleasure rose abruptly. An explosion announced, inevitable.

“That's it…” he whispered, his mouth touching my jaw, his eyes locked on mine. “Come. Give me that come.”

And I did.

The orgasm hit me like a violent wave, taking me hard and sweeping away everything that existed before it. I moaned loudly, my head thrown back, the muscles in my thighs contracting as my whole body pulsed around him. It was more than pleasure — it was total, raw, urgent surrender. My nails dug into his shoulders, and I trembled in continuous spasms, feeling as if each beat of the drums was a direct shock between my legs.

And he didn't stop.

His feet still set the rhythm firmly on the pedal, the bass drum vibrating beneath me as if it were inside my body. His hands, even between touches on the drums, returned to my waist, guiding my movements with a mastery that was pure instinct. I could barely breathe, and he held me, tightly, without letting me move away for even a second.

“Yes, love,” he whispered, still breathing heavily. “Exactly like that”

I moved slowly at first, the afterglow still overwhelming me. But every thrust he made underneath, every slap of his thighs against mine, made me moan again. He slid inside me easily, but not gently. It was rhythmic. Raw. Precisely calculated - like the music coming from the drums and cymbals around us.

He leaned forward, biting my neck with a force that made me shudder. The muffled sound of his breathing mingled with the cadence of the drums. I was riding him more hungrily now, without shame, without a filter. My breasts brushed against his sweaty chest, and the friction of the skin, the music and the tension brought me unbearably close to the edge again.

“Fuck, yeah”. His voice was huskier, lower. “Look at me while you fuck me. Don't close your eyes”

I did. My hips rotated against his with desperate movements, and II's gaze on me was almost more intense than the sex itself. His jaw locked, his eyes squinted, his concentration divided between the sound he was still making with his feet and hands - and what he was pulling out of me with each thrust.

“You're going to come again for me,” he said, without giving me a choice. “Now… don’t stop”

My skin shivered at the tone of his voice. He changed the angle of his hips, thrusting deeper, straighter, right into that spot inside me that was taking me apart. His left hand came down, while still holding the drumstick, and slammed it into my ass, the sound mixing with the music he was creating.

I gasped, I screamed, I trembled. I came again.

Harder, faster, dirtier.

The second orgasm came in uncontrolled spasms. I grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him in a hurry, thirstily, moaning into his mouth. It was a sweaty, desperate, uncontrollable kiss - and he still wouldn't stop.

The sound wouldn't stop.

He was a demon in control of everything. And I was just flesh and instinct riding him, obeying the rhythm he imposed with his body and the music.

“Your pussy drives me crazy” he growled, now with both feet accelerating the pedals, creating a more intense, more brutal rhythm. “You were born to sit on me like that.”

He took one of his hands off the drums and grabbed the back of my head, pulling my face forward and holding me in his gaze.

“You're going to make me come now. But you're going to give me one more first. Can you?”

“I... I can” I stammered, trembling, my mouth ajar, my lips trying to form words while my whole body imploded.

“Then come again for me, baby.”

I moved. With all my strength, with all my will, I rode him like my body was on fire. The slap of skin against skin competed with the sound of the snare drum and the kick drum. With every move I made, he hit the drums harder. I no longer knew where the sound began and the sex ended. It was all one thing. A frenzy.

His legs trembled beneath me, his muscles tensed. His eyes were on fire.

“Fuck, yeah.” He bit his lip, his forehead touching mine. “Go on, come. Come on”.

The third came like an electric shock that ran up my spine and exploded behind my eyes. My scream echoed through the studio, mixed with the last crash of the cymbals. His mouth latched onto mine, swallowing the sound I made, while his body stiffened beneath me.

And then he exploded inside me.

With a low, hoarse, brutal growl, his hips thrust hard one last time, burying himself to the bottom. His hands finally let go of the battery, gripping my waist as if he was going to lose himself. His come came hard, hot, pulsing, and I felt each spurt as if it were another beat against my own limit.

He groaned long, a raw sound that reverberated through my chest.

We stood there, both of us shaking, panting, sweaty, glued together.

He ran a hand through my hair, straightening a few strands that were messy.

“Wow…” he said with a silly smile, still trying to catch his breath. “We should have done this sooner”

I laughed, snuggling closer to him, enjoying the feeling of having him so close. He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, and the lightness of the moment enveloped us.

“Now, shall we take that bath?” he suggested in a soft voice, already starting to pull me towards the bathroom.

“Only if I can stay close,” I joked, and he looked at me, smiling.

#ii sleep token #sleep token #ii sleep token smut #ii smut #ii x reader #sleep token fic #sleep token x reader

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surftrips · 1 year ago

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SHAPESHIFT | CLARISSE LA RUE

pairing: clarisse la rue x female!reader

summary: clarisse wonders if you know just how much she likes you.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: this is the first part of a two part series i'm writing based on jenna doe's songs: shapeshift + pink slips. this is from clarisse's pov and the second one is from readers' :) lmk if you want to be tagged in part 2 <3

i. i think you have a type, and it's not me

Clarisse has been watching you from the second you arrived at camp. Since you spent every day doing more or less the same thing, she was able to pick up on your routine pretty fast. Two sugars in your coffee every morning. A walk around the lake in the afternoon. Archery practice before the sunset.

She felt weird going to practices at the same time as you, but she couldn’t help herself. Whenever she got a chance to sneak away from her siblings in the Ares cabin, she always found herself back in your presence. However, the thought to approach you like a normal person had never crossed her mind. Clarisse is the kind of person that needs to be in control, and talking to you one-on-one would mean letting her inhibitions take over, so she always made sure to keep her distance.

Once or twice, Clarisse had seen you on dates with another camper. At first, she thought you were just having a picnic with the girl from Aphrodite, until the two of you began holding hands. The next day, Clarisse saw you in the other girl’s sweater, which made her so sick she avoided you for an entire week.

The Aphrodite girl (her name, Clarisse later found out, was Stacy) began showing up with you more often. Stacy wore bows in her hair and pearl necklaces, whereas Clarisse’s mascara was always smudged and accessories that didn’t double as weapons felt wrong on her. For the first time, Clarisse wondered why she couldn’t just be like all the other girls. Or at least, a girl you would pay attention to.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Clarisse tried to make her penchant for you as obvious as possible, while actively hiding it from the rest of camp. This proved to be difficult because at the same time, she also didn’t want to get too close to you because, well— what would she even say to you?

Her flirting consisted of winking at you during Capture the Flag or from across the dining hall. She had an ongoing list of nicknames of what to call you when no one else was around, but those moments were few and far between. Once, she even went as far as brushing away a stray piece of hair that had fallen on your face. There seemed to be nothing left for her to do except put bows in her hair or maybe paint her nails, and the thought of doing either of those things made her almost as sick as seeing you and Stacy together.

Between her and the Aphrodite girl, she knew which girl you would choose. Had chosen.

ii. mold me how you want me to be

Still, that was not going to stop Clarisse. She had never backed down from a fight before, and this was no different. Even if Stacy didn’t know it, she had become Clarisse’s number one enemy, even more so than that Percy Jackson kid that had recently shown up at camp. It just wasn’t fair that she had been watching you for so long and here comes Aphrodite’s daughter out of nowhere to sweep you off your feet.

Since Clarisse knew your routine by heart, she devised a plan to get you alone. She decided that she would finally make a move, and then you could pick for yourself who you wanted to be with. Easy enough, right?

At night, Clarisse lay awake in bed thinking about you, Stacy, then you and Stacy together. Though she didn’t want to go there, her brain wondered what the two of you were doing at that very moment. Her thoughts ranged from tame, to slightly more unhinged. Like, were you lying underneath the stars on your picnic blanket? Or was Stacy doing your makeup as she straddled your lap?

Clarisse didn’t pray often, but ever since she met you, she had taken to silently wishing you would acknowledge her. Each time she saw you with your arms wrapped around Stacy, she yearned to know what that would feel like. Not that she thought you would come near her with a ten-foot pole. Stacy is sweet, like bubblegum or strawberries from the fields, and Clarisse is the opposite. If you tasted her, she might make your gums bleed.

Before you, she was never the kind of girl to care about her appearance. Gods, she was the daughter of Ares, they weren’t known for their beauty but their strength and power and when it came to those categories, Clarisse knew that she had Stacy beat.

And yet, Clarisse would change just about anything about herself if it would make you like her more. In your hands, she would turn into putty, moldable clay to take the shape of your ideal lover. Hell, she would change her name if she thought you didn’t like the sound of it.

iii. kill anyone if you ask me to

A few weeks later, the Ares cabin and yours happened to be on the same team for Capture the Flag. It was the closest Clarisse had been to you ever since you began dating Stacy. The proximity to you was killing her, but she had to stay focused—on winning the game and your heart.

Putting aside her wandering thoughts, Clarisse barked out instructions to the campers. When she got to your cabin, she assigned you and your half-siblings to be the second line of defense for the flag. Clarisse figured this way, she could keep you out of harm’s way. Also, this was her one chance to talk to you without Stacy hanging off your body and she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.

After the first conch blew, Clarisse went on high-alert mode. Her team had lost the last game to Luke and Annabeth’s team, but she was not going to accept defeat this time. Her eyes darted back and forth between blind spots in the forest and you and the flag.

As she absent-mindedly waved her new spear around, Clarisse heard soft footsteps behind her. She whipped her head around with her weapon aimed in the air, preparing to fight whoever had approached her.

“Shit, Y/N, you scared me.” It was just you. Wait– it was you.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to,” you responded, your hands in front of you.

Clarisse almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Did someone poison her earlier and she was hallucinating right now? Okay, keep it cool.

“Is something wrong?” Clarisse managed to ask after composing herself, realizing that you had moved away from your post.

“Uh, no. I- um… heard about what happened to your spear last week, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” you smiled nervously.

“Why?”

“Why…. am I sorry?”

Clarisse wanted to slap her hand across her forehead. Why did she say that? She meant to ask why are you talking to me right now? What did I do to deserve this? But she didn’t know how to word that in a way that wouldn't make you think she was crazy.

When she didn’t respond, you began backing away. “Look, I’m sorry if this is a sensitive topic. I just felt bad, is all.”

“No!” Clarisse began panicking. “I didn’t mean it like that- just, why are you talking to me now? We’ve never had a real conversation before.”

“Does it matter?” She expected you to be confused, but the look at your face seemed more amused than anything.

“No, I guess not,” Clarisse couldn’t help but smile. Gods, why was she so awkward? Anyone else, she would’ve been perfectly fine, but in the last few minutes, her mouth had gone dry and her legs felt as though they would give out at any second.

“Great,” you beamed in return. Clarisse’s eyes catch yours and the two of you stare at each other in content for a minute. Or at least, you are. Clarisse is convinced an Aphrodite kid has changed her pupils to hearts. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” you broke the silence.

“What do you mean? I’m always around,” Clarisse stammered for an excuse.

“Well, sure. It’s a small camp.” You seemed to be enjoying seeing Clarisse fumble for words. “But I used to see you all the time. At breakfast and archery.”

Clarisse ignored the implications of your comment. “Oh, I guess we just started going at different times then. You know you’re always with Stacy now—”

At the mention of your girlfriend’s name, your face contorted into something strange and unfamiliar to Clarisse. But before she could figure it out, a noise behind you caused the two of you to turn around abruptly.

“Y/N, watch out!” Clarisse shouted at you, but it was too late. Someone had dragged you backwards, knocking your weapon out of your hand. You struggled to free yourself, but whoever was holding you had revealed a dagger and you didn’t want to risk accidentally cutting yourself.

“If you know what’s best for yourself, let her go.” Clarisse breathed furiously, pausing between the last three words in her sentence. You couldn’t see who was restraining you, but you could feel their heart rate quicken at the sight of Clarisse’s spear getting dangerously close.

“And what if I don’t?” they responded. You knew that they were just putting on a front, you could feel their chest heaving up and down on your back. Clarisse seemed to know this too, she’s always been able to sense fear in people— mostly because she is the one that invokes it.

“I don’t think you want to find out,” she grinned, a wicked smile on her face. The next second, her spear had jabbed into the camper’s side, causing them to let go of their hold on you. You dropped to the ground.

“Shit!” the camper swore, rubbing their ribcage. “You’re not supposed to actually hurt me!” You could see their face now, one of Hermes' kids you’ve seen hanging around Luke.

“Now, what’s the fun in that?” Clarisse laughed. “Besides, the spearhead is blunt. You’ll be fine, drama queen.”

The kid scrambled away, leaving behind the dagger they had previously threatened you with. Clarisse ran over, instinctively putting her hands on your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You began to stand up, but Clarisse pushed you back down.

“Clar, come on, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Let me just get a look at you,” she insisted, ignoring the way your nickname for her made something in her stomach flip over. You relented, knowing it was useless to argue with her. You allow her to scan your body for any signs of harm. Clarisse took her time, unsure of when the next time she would be this close to you again. Most of your body was covered by your armor or clothes, so her eyes drifted toward your exposed arms and the area where the kid had touched you.

Hesitantly, she reached for the side of your stomach. “Are you sore? Did they leave a mark?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, lifting up the hem of your shirt to see. You heard Clarisse’s breath hitch. “What? What’s wrong?” You were fully sat up now.

“N-nothing!” Color rushed into Clarisse’s cheeks, causing her to turn her head away suddenly.

You giggled, her reaction not going unnoticed. “Thanks for saving me, tough girl.”

“Of course.” Clarisse pulled you up on your feet. “Anything for you, pretty girl.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could register it. The two of you stared at each other again, it seemed as though eye contact was your main form of communication at the moment. And right now, Clarisse’s eyes were sparkling with something familiar, almost like how Stacy looks at you—

“Oh my god, babe! Are you okay?” Speaking of the devil, Clarisse rolled her eyes at the sight of your girlfriend running up.

“Stacy! How’d you know something was wrong?” You were pulled into a stifling hug, the air thick with floral perfume.

“Silly girl, I am the daughter of Aphrodite. I have a heightened sense for these things,” Stacy pulled her arms away and gave you a once-over, presumably to check for injuries, before smothering you with kisses.

Clarisse coughed, once, and then again a little louder. “Oh!” Stacy turned toward her. “Clarisse, I didn’t see you there.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for her,” you said, sensing Clarisse’s uneasiness.

Now, Stacy’s face contorted into something strange. Shamelessly, Clarisse took pride in being the cause of it.

“Well, thank you,” she responded tersely. “Come on, let’s get one of the Apollo kids to look at you.” Stacy pushed you away before you could protest. You offered Clarisse a weak smile before turning around.

Clarisse sighed, maybe if she had been a daughter of Aphrodite, she could shapeshift into someone you walked away with— not from.

That night, she prayed to Ares for the first time in months.

#WHERE ARE ALL MY SAPPHICS #WOMEN LOVERS #WARNING: YEARNING #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #percy jackson series #percy jackson #pjo #dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue imagine #pjo x you #clarisse la rue x you

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withlovemark · 11 months ago

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all of the moments that led me to you. (ii)

warning(s): steve's black eye (again), mentions of: gun, car crash, death.

pairing: steve x reader

words: 6.3k+

summary: a continuation of moments with steve harrington. takes place in season three.

an: first, thank u so so much for over 1k hearts on aotm pt 1 and to be loved. it’s unbelievable to me that that many people have read my writing. i’ve been writing and posting my stories on here a long time and this helps me feel like i’ve been growing, even just a little 🥹

second, i'm so sorry this took so long. i have no other excuse except the devil himself - mr. writer's block. thank whoever the hell is controlling my sim that they got rid of him (at least for now) and now i'm finally here to share this with you

hope you like it <3

yr. 1984

yr. 1985

i. robin’s game of you rule/you suck, intercepting russians and suzie

quickly walking into scoops ahoy, you finally catch up to the curly headed kid, just in time to witness your favorite boys reunite through a silly greeting.

you let them have their moment before finally making your presence known, “hey there sailor,” you greet steve with a quick hug, his frame enveloping you.

he whines at the nickname, knowing how much you enjoy the little blue sailor outfit on him, mind wandering back to when you first saw him in the get up.

“oh. my. god,” you gasp, a hand to your mouth, trying to hold your laughter in as he makes his way back into his room, after finally successfully putting on his “uniform.”

“don’t say a word,” he warned, hands on his hips.

“steve harrington. you are sooo…” he raises his eyebrows, lips morphing into a thin line, daring you to finish your sentence.

“…pretty,” you giggle, closing the distance to adjust the sailor tie around his neck. he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat, maybe two.

“it's not TOO bad, girls LOVE a man in uniform,” you tease, sitting back down on the edge of his bed.

a playful smirk on your lips as his sailor hat comes in contact with your face in a matter of seconds causing a bubble of laughter to ring in his ear.

a sound that has grew to be his favorite.

“sorry we came unannounced,” your voice brings him back to the ice cream parlor.

“he got home from summer camp today,” you explain, motioning to dustin who was now seated calmly in a booth, “and immediately asked me to drive him here so he could see you,” you grin, steve returning the expression.

“i think you’re his favorite,” a pout grows on your lips, eliciting laughter from the boy who you now call your best friend. the two of you being glued to the hip since that night in 1984.

days with steve harrington included sneaking into movies, butter popcorn in hand; road trips to nowhere and everywhere all at the same time; late night conversations that lasted into the a.m., a judgment free zone.

“well, yeah, i think we’ve known that a while ago,” he teases, earning a playful shove from you.

“it’s ok though, i missed that little bugger too and there’s a new ice cream flavor i want you to try,” steve molds his hand into yours as he hurriedly leads you in front of the counter. the warmth of his hand disappearing as he made his way behind it.

you greet robin a quick hello and she acknowledges your presence by playfully saluting, making you smile.

“here, try it,” steve snaps your attention back to him, placing what seemed to be a cup of just plain old vanilla ice cream in front of you. upon further inspection you notice it has chunks of something in it.

“i don’t think ice cream should have that?,” you comment, eyeing it suspiciously.

“just try it!,” he says, nudging the ice cream closer to your face.

“alright, alright!,” you giggle, finally bringing the spoon between your lips. steve awaits your verdict, slightly bouncing up and down in excitement, eyebrows dancing.

“oh…wow,” your eyes widened, sparkling. tastebuds exploding at their new discovery.

he knew you’d like it.

“are those cookies?” you wonder aloud.

“mhmm, brand new flavor, cookies and cream, who would’ve thought huh?,” playfully raising his eyebrows as he stole the spoon from you, taking a bite out of your ice cream.

“how are things with laura?,” you bring up nonchalantly, stealing the spoon back from him.

“ugh, don’t even bring her up,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing another spoon from behind the counter while the two of you mildly attack the sweet cup.

“another bad date?,” you concluded, eyes focused on scooping up a spoonful of your newfound favorite ice cream flavor.

“we had absolutely nothing to talk about! i swear we just sat there and ate in silence the whole time,” he dramatically testified, shrugging his shoulders.

“was the sex good at least?,” you asked, his face cringing.

“didn’t have sex with her,” he shrugged, “i just went home after and crashed, i think i really am losing my game,” he jokes.

you know him well enough to know that he hasn’t been feeling as confident as he used to be. you think back to the night when steve confessed to you that he wasn’t able to get into the only college he applied to. on top of that, his dad cut half off his allowance and he’s now, as he would describe it, “stuck working at a job that pays $3 per hour.”

all in all, steve felt like he had hit rock bottom.

“how about you? how are things with isaac?,” steve smirked, changing the topic before you got to ask him if he was ok.

“eh,” you replied.

“ehhh?.” he mimics, urging you to go on.

“not gonna go anywhere, very cocky, talks too much…and he’s a lot better when he doesn’t speak,” you cringed, remembering the way the boy spoke about basketball and cars the whole time, not at all caring about any of your interests.

“maybe we should’ve switched dates?,” steve teases, head tilted.

you tuck away his golden locks that had fallen out of place and he finds himself holding a breath, eyes focused on your movements.

an action that was so familiar to him yet, lately, has been bringing up a weird feeling that he chooses to ignore.

“maybe we should have,” you playfully agreed, slowly retracting your hand, snapping steve back to reality.

“anyways, thank you for my new favorite ice cream flavor,” you approved of the cookies and cream.

“now, i have a favor to ask,” you grinned sheepishly.

“hm?” he hums, grabbing a napkin and wiping away the bits of ice cream that have stained your lips.

“can you watch dustin for the rest of the week? i have a bunch of cheerleading practices,” you explain, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster, voice going a tad bit higher than usual.

“yeah, yeah, you don’t have to do that,” he shakes his head, smile on his lips, “i got it all handled here, go ahead and just leave me with the lil monster,” he teases dramatically, making you roll your eyes playfully before beaming at him.

“thank you, you’re the best!” you praised, lips planting a soft kiss upon his crimson cheeks, expressing your gratitude.

he ignores the way time slowed down for a second, that fleeting surge of electricity that danced within him, igniting a spark that he quickly brushes off.

“i know,” he winks as you swiftly turn around, grabbing your bag and making your way out of the ice cream parlor.

“stay safe!,” he shouts at your retreating figure.

“yes, dad!,” you tease, his face morphing into disgust. your laughter rings in his ears as you exit scoops ahoy right after lovingly messing up dustin’s pretty curls, an annoyed groan coming from the younger boy.

“i can’t believe it, harrington,” the sound of robin’s voice captures steve’s full attention, taking his eyes off of your retreating figure.

giving his coworker a pointed look, steve cluelessly wonders what she’s about to say when she pulled out her whiteboard and finally drew one tally mark under ‘you rule’

he rolls his eyes at robin, like he couldn’t believe what she just did, “hate to break it to you but i wasn’t flirting with her,” he defended himself.

“huh, you sure about that, loverboy?,” robin snickered, clearly not convinced with the golden boy’s answer.

“yes buckley, i’m sure,” steve deadpanned, “she’s my best friend alright so just…just erase that,” he mumbled, not entirely sure he believes his own words.

it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before…he has.

but falling for someone is never a good idea. he has firsthand experience that investing in love can be dangerous and if his worst fears happen, if the love unravels and crumbles down, he knows all too well that you will never get that same person back.

and falling for his best friend? it’s not a risk he’s willing to take.

he repeats to himself, ‘he must not have feelings for you. he simply doesn’t.’ these words continue to echo, living in his mind, until he believes them as truth.

“well i think she could be your suzie,” dustin pipes in, quickly introducing himself to robin.

“m-my what?,” steve inquired, the famous hand on his hip stance appearing.

“your. suzie.” dustin pronounced slowly like that was going to help steve understand what he was talking about, “like how i have my suzie,” he adds.

“and what the hell is a suzie?,” the older boy scoffed.

“my girlfriend,” steve’s eyes widened at the boy’s proclamation, refusing to believe what he just heard. there’s no way dustin henderson has it all figured out before him, especially in the ladies department.

“it’s not important right now,” dustin says, shaking his head, “i need to talk to you,” he says urgently.

“we’re talking right now,” steve points out the obvious.

“no,” dustin glares, “just you,” he continues, eyes glancing towards robin who just shrugged, not caring, as the two boy’s made their way back to dustin’s booth.

“i intercepted a secret russian communication,” he confessed to the older boy.

believe it or not, those words were music to steve’s ears.

‘finally, he’ll be of use again,’ he thinks to himself as they start decoding the russian’s riddles.

3 days later

the boys have vanished without a trace.

normally, steve would swing by after work, or when he was off – which you knew he was supposed to be, considering he gave you a copy of his schedule, – he would pick you up from cheerleading practices.

dustin was also nowhere to be seen and the uncertainty of their whereabouts fills you with growing concern.

there were no knocks at your window at midnight. no sound of an engine revving or the horn honking to greet you in the morning. not even the static sound from dustin’s talkie had made its appearance.

the last you heard from them was at the ice cream parlor. so after today’s practice, you were on a mission.

you rush to the mall, hoping to see both of them devouring ice cream, ready to hear their half-ass apologies on why they went radio silent only to be face to face with two unfamiliar employees behind the counter, robin also absent from the scene.

quickly, you drove to steve’s house, the maroon vehicle nowhere to be seen causing you to reroute your drive to dustin’s house - still nothing.

this puts an end to your speculations – the boys are in trouble.

and they left you here with nothing but silence and the fear that’s rising in the pit of your stomach.

you think back to where the kids usually were this summer and found yourself running down the wheelers’ basement, after mr. wheeler kindly let you in, only to reveal everyone else was already there…except for your two main culprits.

seven heads turn towards you, your entrance hushing their conversations, “have any of you seen steve and dustin?,” you ask as they all shake their head no.

“well,” max spoke up, hope glimmering in your eyes, “el and i saw him at the mall,” she revealed.

“when was that?,” you inquire.

“like, 2 days ago,” she quickly replies, making you groan in exasperation.

“hey,” nancy snaps you out of your despair, “they’ll be okay, it’s steve and dustin, they’re just probably out doing something ridiculous,” offering a smile, failing to comfort you.

bless her but the only thing you could think about was how the last time those two did something “ridiculous,” they almost died, making you sink deeper into concern.

“yeah, steve’s probably just helping him talk to his imaginary girlfriend,” mike chimes in as you remember the girl dustin briefly told you about when you drove him to starcourt mall.

‘that was plausible,’ you convince yourself, finally nodding and accepting their assumptions.

“we have bigger things to worry about,” jonathan said, directing the group’s attention back to their previous topic as they fill you in on the mind flayer — a mrs. driscoll, a tom and bruce, and a billy hargrove acting as its host.

you just hoped to god that steve and dustin really are just looking for suzie because if they were in any kind of danger, you might kill them yourself.

for now, you’d just have to play on this team.

ii. starcourt mall and the TODFTHR

starcourt mall in its after hours has a tauntingly beautiful presence, its hallways bathed in the soft glow of neon lights that crackle with static, creating an ambiance that breathes an almost palpable energy, as if the very essence of the mall comes alive in the quietude of the night.

dustin finally radioed in a while ago with another code red, making goosebumps rise throughout your body. “code red” was definitely the last thing you wanted to hear.

all the group could make out from him were the words, “open the gate,” and you knew this was all connected to everything you’ve seen in the past couple of hours.

“where the hell is he?,” mike whispers as max shushes him and you silently thank her in your head.

the group is extra attentive, everyone looking around in hopes they’ll find something out of place.

finally, a faint click reaches your ears, followed by hushed footsteps. you think you’ve imagined it until nancy voices your suspicions, “what was that?,” she whispers. you feel the blood draining from your face, heart racing, afraid of the events that could transpire.

following the sound, the group ends up at the second floor — right above the food court.

you spot the four men first, each one of them with their arms raised, gun aiming at a food stall.

eleven immediately steps in making the car alarm go off then proceeding to throw it at the armed men. she leaves you stunned and amazed, like she's been doing the whole day, and you can’t help but send her a smile of gratitude.

after a second or two, the two familiar heads finally emerged, eyes finding the golden ones you’ve grown accustomed to, all beaten up and bruised.

rushing towards them, you pull dustin into a tight hug first, exclaiming “where the hell have you been?….i’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“i’m okay, i’m okay! i promise! im sorry,” he apologizes as you quickly look him up and down, your protective side kicking in, checking for any signs of injury until he finally slipped from your hold, reuniting with his friends. forcing you to look up at the beaten up, beautiful boy in front of you.

“steve-,” you whisper, before running up to him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. the beating of his heart against your ears, and in that moment, you feel like you can breathe again.

he holds you just as tight, visibly relieved that you’re unharmed. as he exhales a sigh of relief, you pull away slightly, inspecting the mark around his eye. soft hands ghosting over the bruise that was already starting to turn purple.

“didn’t i tell you to stop getting into fights?,” voice laced with concern as you fought to hold back tears, overwhelmed by the rush of comfort having him by your side brings.

“i know it doesn’t look like it, but i actually won,” he smiled, tenderly brushing away the tears in the corner of your eye before they could spill.

“what happened?,” you asked.

a light cough from behind him breaks you out of your embrace, slightly pushing the boy away from you and finally taking in robin’s presence.

their matching appearance doesn’t go unnoticed.

“we found a secret lair, got drugged by russians and then they beat up pretty boy over here for some answers,” they share a smile.

for a second, you feel your heart twinge. you’re not too sure whether it’s because the information robin shared painted a disturbing image in your mind or if it was because she was there and you weren’t.

you can’t allow yourself to dwell on it as the group finally reunites, connecting all the pieces together and figuring out the next step.

—

“oh screw tod, steve’s her daddy now,” steve says excitedly, as he got into the driver seat of the TODFTHER.

robin and erica comment on his use of referencing himself in the third person and the word “daddy,” causing you to laugh as you sat in the passenger seat. robin, erica and dustin squeezing in the back.

driving off with the scoops troops, you make your way to dustin’s tower.

“suzie must be pretty special, huh? for you to make this tower just for her,” you finally get a chance to interrogate the young boy, earning an excited nod from him and a groan from everyone else, making you feel like an outsider in their very obvious inside joke.

“he described her as scientifically perfect and has yet to shut up about her,” robin fills you in, obviously tired of the topic at hand.

“i mean, nobody’s scientifically perfect but suzie’s about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be,” dustin added, causing more annoyed groans to slip from everyone’s lips except yours.

“she sounds made up to me. she sound made up to you?,” erica sassed back, resulting in an eye roll from the young boy.

“steve, y/n, you believe me right?,” he says, sitting forward, glancing between you and steve.

“of course,” you quickly assured him while steve remained silent, before finally nodding his head along with you.

“you hesitated,” dustin points out, a pout on his lip, “why did you hesitate, steve?”

“i didn’t hesitate!” he defends himself, his voice reaching a higher pitch.

the older boy turned towards you, asking for your help but all you could offer him was a shrug, a smile playing on your lips.

dustin impatiently repeats his question, finally getting his answer, “i don’t know man, no one is hotter than phoebe cates!,” steve bursts, earning a look of confusion from you and a whine from the younger boy, giggles bursting from the two girls sitting in the back.

you definitely missed out on a lot. and you realize how much you hate it.

“left. turn left.” dustin said suddenly, prying you away from your thoughts.

“there’s not a road here,” steve points out the obvious.

“turn left! now!” the younger boy yells urgently.

“jesus! hang on!” steve yelled before finally making a harsh left, your hands immediately going up your face, acting as a shield against the tree branches coming in contact with the vehicle.

“oh my god, where the hell are we going!?.” you shout through all the ruckus.

“just keep going!,” dustin continues with his unreasonable directions.

“we’re not gonna make it!,” robin yells from the back and you see determination flash in steve’s face.

“yes we are!, come on baby!” he urges TODFTHER to go on until it finally hit its’ limit, leaving the group stuck in the middle of the woods.

“guess, we’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” dustin says.

“how far is this thing?” erica says, voicing everyone’s annoyance.

iii. dustin’s tower and an epiphany

it wasn't long until the group finally made it to dustin’s radio tower, finally being able to instruct murray’s next steps.

you were seated on the field with the rest – the calmness before the storm.

“hey, guys?” steve’s voice causes the group to get up and follow his line of vision.

starcourt mall’s rapid flickering lights causing panic to rise in the air, dustin immediately runs back to his talkie, trying to radio the others but all that was received was a loud, screeching, monster noise. the younger boy repeatedly tries to get a response but all that was left was static.

steve makes up his mind, immediately getting up on his feet, ready to run towards the direction of the mall, but before he could get any further, your voice makes its way to his ears, halting his movements.

“where the hell are you going?,” you shot, panic evident in your voice.

“to get them the hell outta there!,” he exclaimed, adrenaline running through him. you knew you weren’t going to be able to persuade him to stay here with you. but after the past couple of days of thinking you’ve lost him, there’s no way, in hell, he’s leaving you here.

“i’m going with you,” you announced, already walking towards him.

“no,” he says sternly, meeting you in the middle, “just stay here, watch the kids,” his eyes pleading with you to obey.

“robin can watch them,” you countered quickly, reaching out for his hand, fingers fitting in yours perfectly.

“y/n-,” he whispers desperately. hoping you could hear how much he wants you to stay here, where it's safe.

he can’t keep putting you in dangerous situations just because he wants to play hero.

“you’re not going without me! i won’t let you!” standing your ground, your hand tightening around his.

steve can’t help but think back to earlier that night, sitting in the tiled bathroom of starcourt mall, robin opposite of him.

“i just don’t get it,” robin says groggily, slowly coming down from the high and voicing her opinions.

“what?,” steve looks at her, eyes droopy, mouth slightly agape.

“you…going on all of these dates,” robin pointed out, “how you don’t realize you have the perfect girl in front of you,” she wonders aloud he knows she wasn’t talking about herself, especially after she trusted him with her little secret.

“you don’t think i know that?,” steve says, eyes closing, head slowly coming in contact with the wall behind him, defeated.

“why don’t you do anything about it then?”

“because….because- she’s y/n! and i’m…” he pauses for a second, trying to find a better way to explain it to robin but all he could manage to say was “i’m just steve.”

“well ‘just steve,’ i think you’re pretty cool,” robin compliments him, allowing him to fully strip away the walls, his hidden feelings coming to surface.

“she has dreams and goals and i know damn well, she’s going to make every single one of those things happen, meanwhile, look at what i’m wearing! look at where i am! sitting on a bathroom floor, drugged!,-”

“hey, what does that say about me,” robin interjects.

“please, i practically dragged you in here with me,” he continues, “all i do is drag people into chaos….i dragged y/n in this mess too, i can’t continue holding her back,” an exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

“hm, you don’t have to hold her back, y’know?” robin countered, have you ever considered being the one to hold her hand and support her through all her ‘dreams and goals’?,” she asks, hopefully giving steve a new perspective.

“she doesn’t want that,” he says defeatedly.

“have you asked her?” robin questions. steve lets out a sigh before shaking his head no.

“you’ll never know if you never try, but if you need a little push, if i were her, after everything i’ve seen today, i would’ve left a long time ago,” she says like a prophet.

those words echo in his ears now and he sees it all clearly.

you stayed.

you could have left, could have stopped talking to him and walked away forever. yet here you are, gazing at him with pleading eyes, hands in his, hoping he won’t let go.

that fact is evident to him now as he feels your hand tightening around his.

steve found himself nodding slowly, a blast of realization striking him. you mirrored his gesture, sealing an unspoken agreement – minds and bodies communicating before any words were uttered.

within the next second, the two of you made your way back to TODFTHER, headed to the mall - together.

iv. the car crash and neverending story

“holy shit, hoLY SHIT! STEVE-,” you shout, the boy’s foot not leaving the gas as the car continues to accelerate.

steve takes a quick glance at you, “PUT YOUR SEATBELT ON!,” he yells and you quickly obey his order knowing he has no intention of stepping on the brake.

as soon as he heard the little click, with both hands on the wheel, steve immediately stepped on the gas, the car accelerating at a speed you couldn’t even imagine. you can’t help but hold your breath, scared for the impact you know is about to come.

in a matter of seconds, TODFTHER crashes into the black car driven by billy hargrove — bursting it into flames. nothing can be heard but the ringing in your ear as you try to refocus. this wouldn’t be the first time the two of you had matching concussions because of billy.

“are you okay?,” steve immediately inspects you, unbuckling your seatbelt, warm hands gently cupping your cheeks, eyes finding yours. your chest heaving, trying to make sense of how the two of you were still alive.

as you catch your breath, you look up into his golden eyes, rapid breaths syncing. then, in one swift moment, his lips are on yours, in a quick, passionate kiss.

well, this is definitely not how steve imagined his first kiss with you.

he pulls away as soon as he registers his actions and you’re left breathless, not at all sure with what happened.

“sorry, i got caught in the moment,” he panics.

“it’s okay,” you nod still trying to catch your breath.

you don’t catch the way his eyes lose a little glimmer of hope. he’s about to take back what he said until the mindflayer makes an appearance on top of the building and you both very much snap out of the trance, being reminded that you were still in the middle of the battle.

nancy directs your attention to her, yelling for your safety. steve immediately jumps out of the car, his warm hands instinctively grabbing yours, making sure you enter the car first.

silence envelops the vehicle, everyone too afraid to say anything as the haunting size of the creature continues to taunt the group.

it wasn’t until dustin’s voice rang into the air followed by a young girl that everyone finally released the breath they were holding.

you look at steve with recognition, “suzie,” you say in harmony and he can’t help but be in awe.

“you’re going to have to say sorry for doubting him,” you tease, making steve chuckle.

he liked that. the fact that you guys can immediately joke around like he didn’t just kiss you after he crashed the car that could’ve caused your deaths.

suzie-poo and dusty-bun keeps the group entertained, especially when they start singing a duet to never ending story.

steve looks at you like this is the craziest thing he’s ever heard, the rest of group looking disgusted.

you can’t help but giggle, quietly singing along to dustin, for only steve to hear, making him shake his head in disbelief.

“i cant believe she’s real,” steve says after the musical that is probably in the top three most life changing moments in his life and the two of you break out in quiet giggles.

v. ambulances and “friends?”

the battle was bloody and not everyone came back unscathed. some didn’t come back at all. hopper made a huge sacrifice. billy was dead.

now everyone was seated in their own ambulances, near star court mall, waiting for clearance.

you’ve spent the last hour trying to comfort max in her grief. losing billy like that, right in front of her eyes, left her in her thoughts, refusing to talk to anyone.

the only reason she let you in was because you knew her brother in a different light, unlike the others who has always viewed him as the villain.

“is it bad that part of me is relieved?,” max quietly whispers like she didn’t even want you to hear it, almost like the guilt of saying it out loud was going to kill her.

you shake her head no, “grief can present itself in different ways, you don’t have to feel a certain way,” you reassure the younger girl, “just feel what you’re feeling now and take it day by day” you try to comfort her, hoping your words can somehow reach her.

meanwhile steve was with dustin and robin, sitting in a different ambulance.

“i kissed her,” steve confessed to the duo.

“you kissed her?” robin and dustin says at the same time. one with pride, the other, shocked.

“i. kissed. her.” steve repeats, more to affirm himself that it actually happened and it wasn’t just the drugs that had completely worn off at the time nor was it the concussion he surely had.

he really kissed you. he knows its true because if he closes his eyes and think about it hard enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips on his.

“well are you gonna go talk to her about it?,” robin breaks him out of his daydream and the question immediately causes bubbles to rise through his stomach.

he feels like he's going to throw up.

“what if i dont?,” he panted, “i did tell her it was just a spur of a moment thing,” he reveals.

“now, why would you tell her that?” dustin says like a father disappointed in his kid.

“i don’t want to ruin our friendship!” he defends himself, arms flailing in the wind.

“you already kissed her dumbass, thats like #1 on things not to do to ruin a friendship,” robin points out and he knows there’s no way he was going to win this two to one battle.

he was going to have to talk to you.

“hey,” steve's hushed voice breaks you out of your own thoughts.

max has left you on your own a while ago, saying she just wanted to be alone. when she was gone, you had a bit of time to process everything as much as you can at the moment.

“you okay?” steve asks softly.

giving him a small smile, you pat the empty space beside you, inviting him in your ambulance, “could be better, but yeah…i'm okay, are you?”

he nods, answering your question. “are you sure?... billy is gone,” he mentions cautiously, afraid of how you would react but prepared to offer comfort.

“well... i do feel sorry for max, she’s the one that lost her brother tonight,” he nods, understanding what you meant.

billy was long gone for you. surely, not like this — never would you have wanted it to be like this. but he no longer occupies any part of your mind and definitely not your heart.

“do you know what actually scared me?” you whisper, your breath coming in contact with the cold air. his silence urges you to go on.

“when i couldn’t find you,” you admit to him and to yourself.

steve sees everything that he needs to see in your eyes – love, fear, a hint of sadness.

he has the urge to pull you into him, to feel your lips like he did earlier that night. but before he does, he knows he has to come clean. he has to do it right this time.

“i have to tell you something,” he says urgently.

“if something like tonight ever happens again, god i hope it doesn’t, but if it did and i never got to say this, i would hate myself forever,” he rambles, trying to buy time. he knows that after he says what he’s about to say then things with you will take a turn.

“you're scaring me steve…what is it?” you ask, softly placing your hand on top of his shaking leg, hoping to somehow help him calm down. he takes a second to gather his composure.

to make sure he says the words the way you deserve to hear them – honest, sweet, gentle.

“y/n, i am in love with you,” he confesses into the night air, soft brown eyes locked on yours.

you stare at him, eyes slightly widening, registering his words.

for steve, time seemed to stretch endlessly, it could've been three seconds or three minutes but but it was unquestionably the longest silence he had ever endured.

when you still haven’t said anything, he realizes he has made a mistake and knows he has to fix it, immediately.

“a-and you don't have to say it back!, i'm not asking for anything!, i mean it would be nice but i'm totally okay with just being fr-” he fumbles over his words, hoping that dustin could find some sort of way to teleport back in time to prevent this confession from happening. but then he feels it — soft lips pressing against his own, shutting him up ever so sweetly.

his body responds instinctively, returning the gentle kiss, eyes fluttering close. this was how it was supposed to go.

“please don’t say you're okay with us just being friends,” you tease, finally easing his racing thoughts.

he chuckles softly, “i am… i am not okay with us just being friends,.” he admits, mirroring your expression.

“good.”

that one word was all it took for all of steve's worries to fade, happily pulling you closer until there are no spaces left to fill.

bonus: pretty privilege (3 months later)

walking into family video, you gently drop steve’s hand, immediately missing the warmth it provided and causing a tiny frown to appear on your boyfriend’s face.

“hey keith,” you greeted the boy behind the counter sweetly.

“h-hi y/n, what can i do for you?,” he was grinning from ear to ear and you knew this was going to be easy.

“do you think,” you start, voice going an octave higher, an innocent glow in your eyes, “you maybe have two job positions open, right now?,” you finish, a hand placed softly, and very calculatedly on his arm. you were completely taking advantage of his “secret” crush on you.

steve glances between the two of you in disbelief.

meanwhile, the boy behind the counter was a blushing mess, mumbling a “god, y-you’re so pretty,” and steve has to physically hold himself back from kicking the air.

keith leans over the counter, “yeah, i’m-” he starts to say, but before he could end his sentence, steve’s hands wrapped protectively around yours, dragging you out of sight and in between one of the aisles.

“what are you doing?,” he quietly blurted once the two of you were out of sight. his arms crossing against his chest, biceps protruding, eyebrows going up.

“trying to get you and robin a job,” you reminded him of the reason why the three of you were even in this store in the first place.

“yeah but what’s with the cute voice and the eyes!,” he points out, “oh keith! do you have a job opening right now?,” he bats his eyelashes, mimicking you, completely appalled by the way you used your cute voice that was only supposed to be reserved for him.

“okay first of all, i do not sound like that. second, it’s pretty privilege steve and you have to know when to use it,” he rolls his eyes at your answer.

“yes, you do sound like that!” he whines like a five year old child, “...omygosh keith you’re so manly!, you have a job, you-,” he continues mocking.

“steve harrington,” you cut him off, “are you jealous?,” you accuse, holding back your smile.

“i don’t get jealous,” he scoffs, an absurd expression on his face like he couldn’t believe you even suggested that.

“really? because you’re looking pretty green right now,” you tease, a small smile playing on your lips.

“y/n it’s physically impossible for people to turn green,” he rolls his eyes. you ignore the use of your name.

“it’s a metaphor,” you tease.

“you're a metaphor,” he mocks and you can’t stand it anymore, he’s acting too cute.

“you're cute when you’re jealous,”

“you really shouldn't be though,” you continue.

“yeah i know...its just keith,”

“no, its because i’m all yours, steve harrington.”

in an instant, all annoyance melts away from him and you know you won. your hands instinctively thread behind his neck, grabbing a hold of his curls, a routine you’re now all too familiar with but could never get enough of.

the taste of strawberry chapstick mingles with spearmint. steve senses your smile against his lips, pulling you closer as his hands encircle your waist, deepening the kiss. soft moans escape your lips, audible only to him.

he craves more of you, currently wishing you were alone in the comfort of his room, his car, or anywhere but here, in the middle of all these vhs tapes.

“ehem,” robin’s cough breaks the two of you apart, making you jump.

quickly wiping your lips, you push steve away, taking notice of the lipstick that was now painted on him before sending robin an apologetic smile.

it’s all too easy to get lost in the boy beside you.

“are you lovebirds done or should i go watch a movie first?,” she says sarcastically. she was honestly over all the lip locking. it was cute at first but the honeymoon phase is now starting to tire the rest of the group.

“well, you could-” steve starts.

you quickly jab him in the stomach, shutting him up. “sorry,” you smile sheepishly at robin, “yes, we’re done.”

robin chuckles, “whatever, i got us the job” she states, ready to get out of there.

“how?,” steve asks, head tilting to the side.

“told him that steve’s a real chick magnet and he’ll attract a lot of customers...especially hot babes,” she shrugs like it didn’t take any work.

“ahh,” you nod slowly, agreeing, then redirecting your focus back to steve.

“see. pretty privilege.” you point out, making steve chuckle, his fingers naturally wrapping around yours as the three of you finally walk out of the store.

and no, you don’t miss the way he looks back at keith with a smirk.

an: i will not promise a next year this time because in all honesty, i got nothing but moment titles. if i do write one, it will just be randomly posted one day lol.

thank you for reading! and if you were here when i first posted part one (exactly a year ago), extra love to you<3

please feel free to drop your thoughts, comments, suggestions, etc, in my inbox <3 (anons are welcomed!)

#aotm #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x y/n #c.fics

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honeykaes · 8 months ago

Text

lustful vices

stelleron-hunter!sunday x stelleron hunter!reader II 3.4k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no pronouns, angst, mention of blood, corruption kink, virginity loss, fingering, cunnilingus, mention of blood, minor character deaths, switch!reader, switch!sunday, unedited

synopsis: what would you do for one wish? would you sacrifice everything just to see a glimpse of it? that's a question you posed to the newcomer of the stelleron hunters, sunday. As he tries to adjust to his new life, you suggest some new vices he can indulge in to cope.

Water dripped from the corner of the dark room. Golden eyes burned into the concrete ground, widened in shock and pity. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, he was sure his gloved nails dug into the wooden chart he was chained to.

Teeth gnawed down on his chapped lips, worried at what the Heartstone woman just said and left him with

“You’re free now. Someone made a deal for you.”

Despite years of being pruned, clipped, and groomed to become the Oak Family Head, he knew no one in the Family had his back. His heart ached knowing the one person who would sacrifice something to see him alive.

“Robin…” he grunted, narrowing his eyes. What did she promise that woman? He heard of that woman’s dealings with the Bonnajade Exchange. An eye for an eye—something Jade seemed to relish in.

Would Robin’s life be in danger now she was ensnared by that woman? She was forever tied to that snake. How could he put an end to this when he knew Jade would amusingly keep them separated until the days they perished?

He had so much he wanted to say to his sister. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to yell at her on her decision to help outsiders. He wanted to cry in her arms and convince her to run away with him, so they can start a new life together.

As Sunday grunted, his eyes lurched up hearing noises from outside. Muffled shouting echoed from behind the door, and the sound of bullets firing to whomever were their victims.

Could this be the Astral Express and that strange Galaxy Ranger? He fought a sardonic laugh. He tried to kill them; those people would leave him to rot just as his ”family” did.

But who is causing all this chaos? He wondered if one fray bullet managed to lodge itself in Jade’s head, truly freeing him and Jade from the new cage she had made them.

As it became silent, the door slowly opened revealing yourself. Your lips were formed in a smug smile, blood smearing across your face. A taller man narrowed his bloodred eyes as he stood by the doorway. You leaned over as Sunday tilted back, wanting distance between you two Your amused yet calculating eyes lapped up his pitiful expression.

“So this was the famous Sunday? How the angels have fallen,” you teased. Sunday grunted, eyebrows furrowing. As he opened his mouth, you pressed her finger to his lips.

“Relax there, birdie. I was just teasing. Besides, we’re here to get you out. The IPC is temporarily…decommissioned, giving you enough time to leave and come with us,” you chimed.

The man in the doorway grunted, flinging blood that was on his broken sword.

“Seems you picked up Kafka’s bad habits with nicknames,” the man grumbled. Sunday scoffed, lips curling into a cruel smile. His golden eyes narrowed, bearing into your own.

“They already promised me my freedom. A soldier was on their way to uncuff me.”

You clicked your tongue, hand drifting to the soft feathers of the wing’s on Sunday’s head as he purged back. The wings puffed up in frustration as you chuckled again.

“Perhaps but is that truly freedom Sunday? Would you like to know the deal your dear sister made on your behalf?” you offered. Sunday tightened his jaw, looking to the ground.

It seemed like yet another group is trying to prospect him to become their tool. First the Oak Family, then the Astral Express crew, now the Stelleron Hunters? Why was everyone insisting on him becoming a pawn?

He was so sick of being controlled, yet the image of Robin burned in the back of his mind.

With a sigh he looked back up to her.

“What.”

Your grin widened.

“Your pretty dove promised to, well, never see you again. Fate worse than death when you two were so close through thick and thin,” you murmured, crossing your fingers. Sunday looked at you shocked.

“How is that even possible? How would Jade even-”

“That snake knows how to wrap around her prey. Trust me, she would make it where your sister won’t even gaze in your potential direction the rest of this lifetime,” you murmured, a more somber response than the condescending tone from earlier.

His head ached from stress as his gaze faltered away from yours, leg bouncing anxiously as he racked his thoughts with the revelation.

Making this deal, Robin was susceptible to that schemer. She’s right in the clutches of a venomous snake baring their fangs at a meek sparrow. He knew he was right to try and keep her safe, only for this to happen.

How can he fix this?

Sensing his dilemma, you leaned back, lifting your gun up and examining the weapon. Your gaze was much colder.

“You have two options now. Join the Stelleron Hunters and follow Elios’ script which will promise a reunion between the two of you…or live knowing you’re the reason why your sister is now a victim of the IPC.”

“....”

He hated this. He hated everyone. How much more did he need to sacrifice…

You crossed her arms as your colleague grunted.

“Well?”’

He’d let the world burn if it would make his sister smile.

“Fine…uncuff me.”

It had been two weeks since Sunday joined the Stelleron Hunters. He had joined them for a couple jobs, following Elios’ script to a T. Elios seemed to be pairing you and him together, but he had met the rest of the team. He recalled seeing Firefly on Penacony.

He had learned the intimidating man in the room when he met you was Blade. He had met yet another condescending woman who also called him ‘Birdie’ and the teenager with a bad attitude who only seemed interested in hacking and gaming.

You and him resided in a bar in a hotel of whatever planet you had dragged him to for the script. Tomorrow you two will be off yet again, raising the price of his bounty bit by bit with every action he followed the the script.

Sunday sipped on his wine, feeling unamused as he placed it down. His gaze wandered to you with a bit of scorn and superiority he still felt despite not being the Oak Family Head anymore.

“...I still never would have imagined in my life I would team up with the Stelleron Hunters,” Sunday sighed. You chuckled, taking a sip of your cocktail. You leaned your cheek into your hand, soft skin pillowing against it.

“Well, I didn’t either. We all have our reasons for wanting to join, being a slave to whatever desire we are looking for,” you murmured, swirling your drink around. You eventually stop, stumping your fingers to the edge of the bar.

“You want to see and save your sister. Firefly wants to live, Blade wants to die. Kafka wants to understand what loss and fear mean. All of us are slaves to destiny,” you responded. Sunday narrowed his eyes, it seems you withhold something important from your statement.

“And what do you want?” he asked. You snorted.

“Me? Well…I guess love,” you replied. Sunday’s eyebrows narrowed, scoffing. His eyes looked down before up again, checking your body language. Although it seems you were being serious, he didn’t believe a word.

“You? You’re joking?” he replied. You smiled and shrugged.

“My home planet was wartorn thanks to the IPC. I admit, it wasn’t necessarily as bad as Firefly’s situation but my life has been all about strategy, battles and blood since I turned 18 years old. My civilization decided to fight against the beacons of the Amber Lord….only to be wiped out,” you sighed.

“What I wish is just to go back to normalcy. Find love, settle down, find peace or whatever. Act like these 8 years didn’t exist,” you murmured. Your lips were still curved in a smile despite your somber tone.

“What’s stopping you?” Sunday asked.

“The IPC. Got a pretty big hit on my head even prior to joining the Stelleron Hunters. I can never find peace until they’re dealt with,” you grunted, rolling your eyes. Sunday looked away from you, gazing at his reflection in the deep red color of his wine. You seemed so adapted to this despite being fairly new to the Stelleron Hunters yourself.

They all did. Although he was getting the job done, the mental toll of everything tugged on him.

“...How do you, manage all of this? I don’t get why you all sacrifice so much just to follow a script you have no idea will end,” he asked. You paused finishing your drink before swiveling your chair, so you were facing him.

“You’re doing the same, Sunday. We’re not that different at all despite you insisting we are,” you chimed, narrowing your eyes. You let out a chuckle, lightening up once more.

“Besides, all of us do little things to cope. Silverwolf for one spends way too much on video games. You should look at Kafka’s wardrobe. I swear she has every outfit combination she can, and she still purchases crap. Blade just consistently fights and spars swearing he will defeat whomever the fuck…” you grunted.

“And your vice…?”

A smirk crept onto your face. You leaned closer to Sunday as his eyes slightly widened in shock, feeling your finger tilt his chin up.

“Teasing unsuspecting Holovians for a laugh.”

Sunday’s cheeks momentarily redden before he grunts, pushing you off. You laughed again.

“Geez, tough crowd. And I thought you were known for your upbeat personality,“ you sarcastically added.

“Be serious,” Sunday demanded.

“Fine, fine. Occasional I might go home with someone,” you admitted. Sunday’s eyes narrowed in understanding. You found comfort in sex. He never really understood what was so appealing about it, but at the same time he didn’t have much time to even focus on it to begin with.

“So lust is your vice despite you searching for love? Seems counterproductive,” he replied. Despite the insult, you grinned.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sunday. Don’t put on a high horse when Penacony was known for indulgence,” you added. “What was the saying again: whatever happens in Penacony, stays in Penacony, hm?”

Sunday momentarily clears his throat, rose dusting at his cheeks.

“That was for others, not myself. I helped people to a higher path,” he said. Your face morphed to disbelief.

“...Without indulging in any vices? Tsk, tsk, tsk. No wonder you’re so high strung,” you muttered.

Sunday narrowed his eyes.

You lifted your hand and brushed past his feather like you did the day you two met. The wings shuttered but didn’t puff out like the last time you tried it.

“...Well, would you like to try? Experience what you missed out years on,” you cooed, tapping his golden earring. You leaned in closer, placing your hand on his upper thigh.

“And find out just what was appealing to those hundreds of people who confessed to you,” you whispered in his ear, Sunday’s body shuttered, eyebrows furrowed.

“So you’re more like a tempress huh? Coax people to do whatever dirty thing they can. Is that your role here? As much as you proclaimed you're a fighter, the softness of your hands tells me everything I need to know about you.”

Your smirk grows at his observation.

“So how about it, birdie? Mark this new chapter abandoning all you know and let yourself experience life’s indulgences…” you cooed, blowing cool air into his ear. His hand grabbed your own. Just as you leaned back taking it as a sign of rejection—Sunday scoffed—gloved hand digging into your own.

Your gaze caught to the tent developing in his slacks.

“...Alright.”

Sunday sat on the bed, his throat felt dry. Why was he so nervous?

His heart seemed to be wanting to lurch out of his chest..

As much as he denied it, he was curious about lust and sex. He recalled numerous confessions where people had admitted wavering their eyes from their “beloved” spouses, but he never truly understood why.

Meeting you, he’s beginning to start to.

His breath hitched—feeling you sit down on his lap—gently rotating your hips. Your core grinded against his bulge as nails dug into the silky hotel bed sheets.

Your hands made their way to his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. With each pop of the button he could feel sweat beginning to cling onto his hair. His eardrums pounded as he gaze continued to flip to your expression, and to his slowly revealing bare chest.

Just as the final button was undone and you slowly pulled his top off. Your lips hovered next to his jugular, soft lips pressing down on the warm and tense skin.

“You need to relax more. Are you sure you want this? We can stop now,” you suggested. Sunday shook his head, trying to snap him out of his timidness.

“No. I want this. I…need this,” Sunday admitted. He could feel the smile you made press against his nape.

“Oh, so the spoiled rich boy can tell the truth?” you cooed. Sunday rolled his eyes and was about to yell a retort only for his voice to hitch as your swipe swiped along his neck.

You guided his hands onto your chest. With hesitantly squeezed the mounds, as you chuckled.

“See, you’re doing good. Just follow your heart and instincts.”

You had eventually taken your shirt off, letting it fall to the ground with the other articles of clothing.Sunday rolled his thumb against your nipples, lips parted as he could feel them hardened against his touch.

With a quivering lip, Sunday leaned into the soft mouths pressing his lips to the plush breast. His tongue slowly darted out before skating around the perimeter of your nubs.

As your hand reached down, cupping his cock, Sunday gasped, letting the nipple plop into his mouth. He sucked, eyebrows narrowed as you hand made way beneath his pants, pumping his cock.

His cock jolted. You could feel it pulsating at your touch. It seemed longer than you expected, with a bit of heaviness to it too. Just as your thumb grazed the tip, Sunday bit down on your tip of your nipple. You gasped and chuckled.

“Guessing you enjoyed that, huh?”

Sunday lifted his mouth up, lips gleaming from his saliva.

“...Stop teasing me already and get to the point.”

“Ahhh you’re rushing the best part. I’m guessing you didn’t know foreplay typically makes things feel better for you,” you cooed. “But alas, I understand. You’re eagerness is showing former Oak Family Head.”

You shimmied Sunday's slacks and briefs off, as his cock plopped onto his lean and toned chest. It quivered, lolling to the side desperate for more of your attention. You had risen from your seat, taking your own pants off.

Sunday caught the strings of slick that connected the fabric of your underwear, thighs and cunt. He felt his mouth water, gulping slightly as he drank up your entire nude form.. His hand reached out and connected with your thigh. It wandered from up as he relished the touch of your soft skin, pillowy texture of your chest, to the district angles of your face.

This was lust incarnate, he knew it in his heart.

“Ready?”

You leaned on top of his lap, cunt hovering above his throbbing cock. You circled your click in preparation, slowly sliding it down.

Sunday swore he felt bells as soon as his tip connected with your velvety entrance. His hips intentionally bucked up, sliding himself deeper as you chuckled, finally gliding it down.

He sucked a breath in. wrapping your arms around you tight. His heart fluttered fighting the urge to plow inside. He could feel your tight cunt squeeze and coax him to slide deeper, if it was possible.

Just as you lifted your hips, about to ride him, Sunday’s grip on you got tighter, a loud groan reverberating throughout the room.

Thick ropes of warm cunt shot inside of you, as his hips meekly jolted up. His back arched, covering his moan of any further pathetic noises from escaping. His eyes slowly opened, feeling his high finally come down gazing at your slightly disappointed face.

He could feel himself softening inside of you.

“I-I…I don’t know what happened…” Sunday admitted. “I tried to control myself but”

You sighed but gave a supportive smile.

“I know. It’s your first time. I would have been surprised if you lasted longer to be honest. You never masturbated or have sex, right? This was bound to happen,” you murmured. You lifted yourself off of his cock, his eyes gazing at his cum leaking down your thighs.

“I won’t lie, I am a bit sad I won’t get my fill but there are other ways of that,” you murmured, laying beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The burn of arousal was beginning to shimmer between your thighs.

Sunday looked down, lapping up the view of your body.

“Like what?”

You grinned at the question, lulling your head to the side.

“Curious still? Well, there’s different ways. Toys, but I didn’t pack any. And these guys,” you stated, wiggling your fingers.

“Show me.”

You hummed, letting your hands slide down the curves of your waist and thighs before settling at your cunt. Your finger slides along the slit a couple of times before you gaze a dramatic moan as Sunday tensed further, to your satisfaction.

Your thumb settled on your clit, beginning to rub circles. Sunday noted that was the same spot you did before getting on top of him.

“Doing this for a little while can get me to that euphoric feeling you just had. You can also slide your fingers in too, but the main focus should be right here.” you hummed. You continued, and closed your eyes, letting your other hand grip tightly on your breast.

Your hips began to grind down on your fingers, inching closer to your high.

“Wait! Let me do it!” Sunday grunted. You opened your eyes to see Sunday, moving your hands away. His long fingers followed the same movements, grazing your slit before letting his calloused thumb press tightly against your clit. His movements were slow but began to go faster as he felt more sure of himself.

You were squirming beneath him, and he couldn’t help smiling. It was so interesting, having him on top of you now. He liked it. He liked you under him, his touch being the ultimate desire of reaching euphoric highs.

He liked being in control.

His fingers sank into your cunt, drilling as his pace didn’t let up. He noted the way your nails harpoon against the bed sheets as his timidly once did. He noted the way your moans didn’t seem fake, they were as soft and pathetic as the ones he had made.

Your face leaned to the side, gaze half-lidded beguiling him further.

He thought righteousness would save him. No, perhaps sin will instead.

After all, he can just ask for forgiveness later.

He leaned his head into your cunt, tongue beginning to swirl on the bundle of nerves as his fingers continued to plow against him. Your hands weaved their way into his silver hair, pulling him further into your core. He could taste your sweet arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cunt, an aroma that he knew would dream off once everything was settled in the early hours of the morning.

He felt your walls begin to clamp on his fingers, giving him a harder time plowing as quickly into you. Curling his fingers up, to try to slide deeper, he heard you gasp out his name loudly.

“There! Right there Sunday!” you shouted. He continued his ministrations there, watching your body spasm as his other hand connected with your thigh, spreading you out further.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cursed out, throwing your head back. Your hips lifted up as Sunday’s eyes widened. He felt you clamp onto his fingers as he slurped up the excess essence drooling out of you. Your whole body rocked, with whimpers and whines falling from your lips.

As your body plopped down, Sunday lifted his head up from your core and slid his fingers out. He tongue lapped up the remaining juices clinging onto him, watching your tired eyes open again. Your chest was heaving, drool managing the drip down a corner.

“I thought you were just a virgin…” you muttered breathlessly. A new found but familiar confidence fell over Sunday As he crawled on top of you. His cock lurched, hardened and pulsating, eager to try again as it nudged against your burning clit.

“I’m a fast learner.”

Perhaps he can adjust to becoming a Stelleron Hunter better than he originally thought.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #sunday x reader #sunday smut #honkai smut #kinktober 2024

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