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shadowtriovibes · 11 months

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pt. i: break a sweat

pt. ii: blood, sweat and tears || pt. iii: sweat it out || pt. iv: never let 'em see you sweat

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV sex, dubious safe sex methods, even more dubious interpretations of how the room of requirement works

Summary: sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

"Speaking of which," you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. "What prize will you not be winning?" Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, "I have something in mind." You force yourself not to get distracted. "Do tell." "If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game," he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

Seeing Sebastian for the first time since the end of your sixth year at Hogwarts is quite the shock.

You knew from his detailed letters that your dearest friend had spent the better part of his summer break training for Quidditch tryouts in the fall, frequently flying down to the Poidsear Coast to log hours and hours at their pitch.

Sometimes he would even bring Anne along with him when she was feeling well enough to ride on the back of his broom. He’d convince her to release a secondhand Snitch for him to track down, and while he hunted it down, she worked on the assignments your professors had set to help her prepare for her return to Hogwarts in the fall.

He’d even written to tell you that he’d never felt more confident on a broom, and that if he only got to have one last season on your house team before leaving school, he was determined to make the absolute most of it.

You knew all of this, and yet when you first see him in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast, you nearly swoon like a Muggle schoolgirl at the sight of him.

The first thing you notice is that he’s taller. Even seated next to Anne at the Slytherin table, you can see his entire head whereas you can barely make out the top of his sister’s. Sebastian had never seemed that much bigger than his twin before, but things have clearly changed.

Then, you notice that his complexion has changed as well. He’s tan from spending all summer training in the sun, his button-down shirt suddenly looking so crisply white against his sun-kissed face.

His freckles, too – there are so many more.

But that could also just be because there’s simply more Sebastian now. His shoulders are broader, his chest wider, and even his hair has grown long enough to brush upwards into a less haphazard style (though certainly not as severe as Ominis’).

It’s as if your boyish Sebastian from the previous school year had quite suddenly become a grown man in just three short months, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him.

It takes you a few minutes to adjust as you slide into a seat across from him next to Ominis, and based on the look on Anne’s face, she at least knows what’s got you so flustered.

During a lull in conversation about Anne’s return, you tell Sebastian, “You’re looking fit.”

You hope you can casually get it out of the way, and that no one will dwell on it.

“Am I?” he asks with an easy smile.

“I mean physically,” you insist, remaining one step ahead of him. “I nearly mistook you for one of the Beaters for the Magpies.”

“Sebastian could never be a Beater,” Anne interjects. “He’s too much of a show-off to be anything but the Seeker.”

“I’ll be whatever the team needs me to be,” he insists. “I practiced for all four positions this summer, so wherever they want to slot me in is fine.”

“Silly Sebastian,” Violet McDowell calls out from a few seats down, a wicked grin on her face. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that there are many more positions than just four?”

Your entire end of the table bursts into laughter while Sebastian simply flashes a wicked grin, and you think about using your ancient magic to hurl one of the stacked platters of food in front of you at Violet’s head. (Or maybe you should simply toss her out into the courtyard.)

“Is this how it’s going to be this year?” Anne sighs. “When I left, Sebastian was just an awkward boy with his nose always buried in a book, and now the girls are lusting after him.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either,” Ominis agrees. “He had a big enough head before he was attractive.”

“I think it’s excellent,” Sebastian laughs. “It’s about time everyone realized that I’m the perfect man, and all it took was a little bit of Quidditch practice and one last growth spurt.”

“‘All it took,’” Anne mumbles at the same time Ominis exclaims, “‘Perfect man?!’”

While both his sister and best friend take turns putting dents in Sebastian’s inflated ego, he takes it in stride and sneakily winks at you from across the table when he catches you silently observing, your gaze firmly settled on the sharp line of his jaw.

Sebastian makes a mental note of the fact that you immediately go red. Even if no one else notices, he certainly does.

—

Two weeks later, you and Anne link arms with Ominis to walk down with him to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Slytherin team tryouts.

“Now that I’ve got a brilliant witch on each arm, I suppose I won’t be needing my wand as often to get around,” he teases.

“Please, I know a thing or two about that wand of yours,” Anne replies. “Last year I spent a full month reading books on wandcraft that Sebastian brought me from the library. If I had to guess, I think you can probably ‘see’ more clearly than either of us can. It’s powerful.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Ominis demurs. “I’m just naturally perceptive.”

Once you arrive at the pitch, the three of you take seats along the practice bleachers with a few of your housemates, who chat excitedly when the Slytherin hopefuls begin to take the field.

You spot Sebastian quickly, even among nearly two dozen others in green practice uniforms circling for warmups on their brooms. Compared to how big he’d looked at the start of term in just his school robes, he’s huge now – equipped with pads across his shoulders, forearms and shins that accentuate his muscular form.

He’d declined a helmet, of course, because despite his newfound bulk he’s still the same exasperatingly headstrong boy you’ve nurtured a crush on for nearly your entire school career.

“Between us, what do you think his chances are of making the team?” you ask Anne.

“Truthfully?” she smirks. “I think he’ll have his pick of positions, unless Imelda wants to humble him on purpose.”

“Which one would be humbling?” you ask, amused.

“Probably Chaser,” she muses. “He’d be an excellent Chaser, of course, but it’s his least favorite.”

“I’ll bet he becomes a Beater,” Ominis offers. “Without the Dark Arts, I’d like him to have some sort of outlet for his intensity.”

“Fine, then I’ll say… Keeper,” you say, smiling to yourself at your private joke that only Sebastian would appreciate. “Because that way he’ll get to stay in one place the whole game and know that everyone’s eyes are on him.”

—

Shortly after tryouts wrap up, Imelda sequesters herself in the girls’ dorm to put together her official roster and the majority of Slytherin’s upperclassmen start passing around Butterbeers while they settle in to await her decision.

Sebastian is inarguably the center of attention, casually leaning against a table in the corner with Anne at his side. A flock of fifth-year girls crowds around him to listen intently as he talks about the impressive diving save he’d made, capturing the Snitch just feet from the ground.

“He’s going to be insufferable now,” Ominis groans while the two of you watch from across the room. “There’s barely enough room for his ego in this friendship as it is.”

“Come now, we can keep him in check,” you laugh. “Especially with Anne here.”

“It’s really good to have her back,” Ominis agrees softly, smiling to himself when he hears Anne’s voice through the noise, telling Sebastian’s fan club how he’d attempted a similar save over the summer and ended up crashing into a derelict poacher camp.

Huh.

However, before you can spend too much more time thinking about Ominis and Anne, you hear the noise in the room spike as Imelda saunters down the stairs, a rolled-up piece of parchment in her hand.

“Who’s ready to meet this year’s Slytherin Quidditch team?” she calls out, and the entire room bursts into excited cheers.

She starts to read off from her list, allowing brief pauses for applause after each name. You and Ominis snake through the common room to stand by Sebastian. He seems to be perfectly calm, but by now you can recognize some telltale tension lingering in his jaw.

Anne holds one of his hands to reassure him, swaying a bit nervously herself.

While Imelda works her way down the list, the four of you learn that hasn’t been named Slytherin’s Keeper. He’s not a Beater either, nor is he ultimately a Chaser.

“Lastly, your newest Seeker,” Imelda teases as she reaches the end of the list. “...It’s obviously Sallow!”

Sebastian beams brilliantly while Anne pulls him into a tight hug, and Ominis smiles and murmurs his congratulations to his friend, assuring him he always knew he’d make the team.

There are several other girls quick to offer their congratulations as well, but you wait for the crowd around him to thin out and for Anne to escort Ominis to get more Butterbeers before you sidle up next to Sebastian and nudge your shoulder against his.

“Excellent work, Bash,” you murmur. “You put on quite a show at tryouts.”

“Only because you were watching,” he flirts back, and you roll your eyes fondly.

Since the start of term, he’s been relentless with his play-flirting. You resist it as much as you can, but it always makes your heart race when he calls you “love,” or offers to carry your books for you, or even charms little notes poking fun at your classmates into tiny birds that gracefully land on your desk during classes.

(You don’t have the heart to ask him to knock it off, because even though you know he doesn’t mean it, it still feels nice to be the center of his attention.)

“Then I’ll have to come to see you start in next week’s match,” you offer. “Especially if you only play that well when I’m watching.”

“You can be my good luck charm,” he jokes. “Felix Felicis is prohibited, but you’re not.”

“That was awful,” you laugh, but Sebastian just grins.

“Tell you what,” he says after a moment. “We should make a bet on it.”

“A bet?” you ask. “On what, that you’ll win?”

He shakes his head. “Too easy, we’re playing Ravenclaw, we’ll obviously win. I mean something more challenging.”

“You’re clearly confident,” you tell him. “What are your terms?”

He considers his offer for a moment and then says, “I’ll bet that I can catch the Snitch in under thirty minutes. I’ll even let you be the official timekeeper, since I’ll be a bit preoccupied.”

“Under thirty?” you ask skeptically. “That’s nearly professional, Sebastian. Ominis told me most games last at least an hour.”

“I’ve been practicing all summer,” he insists. “Anne would release a Snitch and I’d even give it a five-minute head start, but I never let one get further away from me than the far side of Marunweem Lake.”

“Careful, Sebastian, you sound quite cocky,” you murmur, and you think you see Sebastian’s gaze dip down to your mouth for a split second.

“I am,” he agrees. “In fact, I’ll even let you pick your prize first, for if you win.”

“Alright,” you laugh. “When I win, I want… for you to write my History of Magic assignments for the next month.

“That’s it?” he scoffs. “You could have anything and you want me to write your essays?”

“I didn’t start studying magic with the rest of you lot, and I don’t know a lot of the foundational things that Binns wants us to reference,” you remind him. “You know your history much better than I do, and I need to bump my ‘Acceptable’ up to ‘Exceeds Expectations’ by the time N.E.W.T.s roll around.”

“Love, I would’ve done them for you anyway,” Sebastian says dismissively, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning at the nickname. “Pick something fun.”

“Fine,” you reply. “I want…”

You consider your options for a moment, trying to think of something that isn’t either obscene or pathetic. Finally, you have an idea.

“There is one thing I’ve been thinking about,” you tell him, a secret smile on your lips.

Sebastian perks up, leaning in closer. “Go on then.”

“I want you to help me set up Anne and Ominis,” you say carefully, watching him for any signs that he’s about to blow up.

He just blinks at you, bewildered. “What.”

“I think they would be a lovely couple,” you croon. “And I know she’s your sister and you’re, y’know...”

“I’m what?” he demands.

“You’re very protective of her,” you say tactfully. “But we’re all adults now, and I think they really understand each other. I want you to help me convince them that they should give it a chance.”

Sebastian is quiet for several long moments.

“Well,” he finally murmurs. “I would prefer it if Anne never dated anyone so I wouldn’t have any more reasons to worry about her, but I suppose if she must, Ominis is a good man.”

You shout excitedly and wrap your arms around his impossibly broad shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. He easily allows it, fondly pressing his nose to your hair.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter though, since you won’t win and I’ll never have to aid you in your scheming,” he murmurs against your temple.

“Speaking of which,” you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. “What prize will you not be winning?”

Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, “I have something in mind.”

You force yourself not to get distracted. “Do tell.”

“If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game,” he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

“O-oh?” you ask softly, squirming a little in his grasp. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he confirms.

His eyes are dark, and despite the cacophony of the room around you both, he’s focused solely on you.

“And what would we be doing in the Room of Requirement?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. Instead, he deliberately drags his thumbs across your hips, raking his gaze down your body and back up with a pointed look.

“You mean it?” you ask him quietly. “You aren’t just teasing like earlier?”

“When was I teasing?” Sebastian asks, amused.

“This whole time,” you insist, fidgeting nervously with the laces at the front of his Quidditch shirt. “All the flirting, all this back-and-forth… You’re just winding me up.”

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I thought about you all summer, love. I missed you like mad, and I sincerely want you.”

Merlin.

Some bold part of you steps a little closer so you can lean in close to his ear and ask, “Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to the Room of Requirement right now?”

You hear Sebastian swallow and exhale sharply.

“N-not now,” he answers. “After the match. I just…”

He doesn’t really have the words to articulate it, but he wants to earn your affection. He has to prove he’s good enough first, that you aren’t making a mistake by letting him finally force your close friendship into something more.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, gently brushing your lips against his cheekbone. “Just don’t get too distracted and fall off your broom, because I actually want you to win.”

“The match or the bet?” he asks in a low voice.

You just take a step back with a teasing grin, and before you disappear into the crowd to find your friends, you murmur, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sallow.”

—

It’s so many flights of stairs up to the Room of Requirement. You almost feel bad for Sebastian, but not enough to stop relentlessly tugging him up countless flights in the quiet Astronomy Tower.

He must be exhausted already, you assume. While the match itself had only lasted twenty-seven minutes and forty seconds, he spent nearly all of them racing around the pitch alongside Ravenclaw’s Seeker, eyes trained on any flash of light that shimmered like gold.

He’d even taken a Bludger to his right thigh. You’d felt like you were going to be sick just watching it collide with him, but he’d merely dropped a few feet with a wince and sped off again.

Not even a damn Bludger could knock him off his broom.

(As soon as your nausea had dissipated, you’d felt another dizzying wave of sensation take over slightly south of your stomach.)

Just as he’d promised, he quickly caught up with the Snitch near the base of the Hufflepuff student section, landing not-so-neatly in the muddy grass with one arm thrown up in the air. He was evidently clutching the struggling Snitch and beaming so hugely you could see it from your spot in the stands fifty feet in the air.

As soon as Madam Kogawa blew her whistle, the Slytherins had begun to move en masse toward the stairs, preparing to turn their common room into the official site of the year’s first not-so-clandestine party.

You, however, snuck away from the group and lingered outside the team’s changing area. Inside, you could hear raised voices.

“Imelda, you don’t understand,” Sebastian was whining. “I need to go now.”

“There’s a way we do things here, Sallow,” she had argued “I’m the captain, and if I say we’re going to discuss the game before anyone leaves, you stay.”

Sebastian had a few choice words to say to that but ultimately relented, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly while you leaned against one of the canvas walls that lined the interior channels of the pitch. Ultimately, it only took about ten minutes to discuss how everyone could improve – and Imelda’s only suggestion for Sebastian had been to try to find a dryer patch of grass on which to land next time.

Seconds later, he’d burst through the door and started to take off toward the castle.

“Bash!” you called out. “Not so fast.”

When he turned and spotted you, his face lit up.

“You waited for me,” he breathed.

“Of course I did,” you said. “I believe you’ve won a prize, and the nature of it is time-sensitive.”

He looked like an utter rake with that crooked smile on his lips. He was still in his uniform head to toe, his hair even messier than usual thanks to his helmet. He’d even kept his pads on, so when he reached out to take your hand, you felt impossibly small next to him.

“Shall we?” he asks, and then the two of you were off.

By the time you reach the Room and ensure no house elves are present, you’re both out of breath and panting.

“Come here,” you whine, throwing your arms around his shoulders and messily kissing along his jawline.

“W-wait,” he stammers. “Let me get these pads off, and–”

He cuts himself off, making a face.

“I need to clean up,” he tells you, suddenly self-conscious. “I must look like hell.”

“You look obscene,” you reply, dragging your hands down his chest pads. “Which is obviously a compliment.”

He wraps his hands around your wrists to stop you from attempting to undo the laces at the front of his trousers. “Just – just let me clean off first, the prefects’ bathroom isn’t far and I got the password off of Weasley.”

“No, don’t leave,” you whine, and Sebastian is merely a man, he can’t resist the girl he’s been in love with for years when she’s begging him to take his pants off.

“I must smell foul,” he laughs. “You’re – you’re seriously okay with this?”

“Look where we are, Sebastian,” you croon, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. “Just imagine what you need.”

For your part, you imagine a plush armchair where you can wrangle Sebastian into finally taking a seat, and one quickly spins to life just behind him. You take advantage of his distraction to shove him backwards toward it and climb astride lap.

“It’s the Room of Requirement,” you tease him, straddling his thighs and dragging your nose along his cheek so he’ll tip his head back for you. “If you require something, the Room provides.”

“I require a bath,” he drawls, cursing quietly when you gently bite just over his pulse point. “Quickly, please, Room.”

Sebastian waits patiently while you eagerly strip him of his pads, but the Room doesn’t change.

“I thought you said you’ve taken baths here,” he points out skeptically. “In a huge basin, like the prefects have.”

“I have,” you insist, frowning. “I don’t know why it’s not…”

Then you trail off, your realization making you go red.

“Go on, love,” Sebastian murmurs, sliding a hand up the back of your thigh to lazily palm at your ass underneath your skirt. “I know that face, you’ve figured it out. What’s the problem?”

“W-well, it’s my Room,” you tell him sheepishly. “So it, um… I suppose it defaults to what I require.”

“And what you require,” Sebastian says slowly, “is for me to not take a bath?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“I… I suppose the Room must have deduced that I – I like you like this,” you whisper, dragging your hands across his rumpled Quidditch shirt. “And I don’t need to wait for you to clean off.”

“You don’t?” Sebastian asks, his eyes now impossibly dark. “You’d let me touch you just like this? I’m a mess, I’m covered in sweat and mud and probably some blood, even.”

“Don’t care,” you breathe, sliding your hands underneath the hem of his shirt. “I want you now, Sebastian, exactly like this.”

He says some absolutely filthy words under his breath, sitting back so he can strip off his filthy uniform shirt. You can’t get your hands on his body fast enough, hurriedly familiarizing yourself with his sculpted core, broad chest, and strong shoulders.

He’s less of a mess underneath where his shirt had lain, but his skin is still warm and damp with sweat from the match. You want to put your mouth all over him, everywhere – and there’s so much of him to explore.

“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw you like this,” you confess to him. “You’ve gotten bigger since last spring, and so handsome… how did you become a man in just one summer?”

“You think I’m the only one who changed this summer?” he asks with a low voice. “Look at you.”

“What about me?” you ask dumbly.

His hands go straight for your chest, roughly tugging open your uniform shirt with no regard for the longevity of its buttons.

“Here,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts through your thin brassiere. “I can assure you that I noticed where you’ve grown bigger.”

You gasp softly as he tugs down on the cups of your bra until he can lean in and press his mouth to your skin, sucking on one of your nipples and then the other.

“And here,” he murmurs into your chest, his hands returning to the backs of your thighs and sliding up your ass. “You have all these curves now, love, and they’re driving me mad.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper. “Take off my clothes.”

He helps you wrestle your skirt up over your head and tosses it recklessly as far as he can. When you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, Sebastian wraps one strong arm around your lower back and hooks the other below your hips, easily standing up from the armchair to walk you over to the bed you’d hastily imagined into existence.

Once he has you on your back, he tugs down your last remaining garment and leaves you bare and exposed to him, breathless and flushed all over.

“Your turn,” you remind him, even though part of you wishes he could leave the uniform pants on (despite the impracticality).

Once he manages to peel off the last of his clothes, he settles on his knees between your legs and skims a hand up your body, from the curve of your hip all the way up to your cheek.

“Is this too fast?” he asks you softly. “Did I ask too much?”

Your heart aches. Sebastian always stuns you with his sincerity when you least expect it.

You turn your head to kiss his palm and murmur, “No, love.”

His shoulders drop a little, the last of the tension he’d been carrying all week draining from his body. He wants, he always wants so damn badly and he would never forgive himself if he marred your first time with each other by rushing you.

“Can I touch you?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Please,” you whine, letting your knees fall wide.

(Whether or not the other has ever done this before is still a mystery to you both, and it’s not something you’ll discuss until afterward. But right now, it’s of no importance to you.)

For a while, Sebastian’s hands roam your body without an agenda, acquainting himself with your breasts, your hips, the insides of your thighs. You moan softly when he drags his thumb along your slit, spreading your wetness around until he can easily rub slow circles over your clit.

“How do you feel?” he asks you.

“Good,” you gasp. “So good, Sebastian, like that.”

“Do you want more?” he offers, and you frantically nod, one of your hands fisting the pillow behind your head.

He carefully presses one long finger inside you, glancing between your face and your entrance to make sure you’re comfortable the entire time. One finger quickly becomes two, and when two nearly becomes three, you have to pause and take a breath.

“Enough,” you pant. “That’s enough.”

“Are you sure?” he asks you.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, giving him a few slow strokes while he leaks precum onto your hand and groans helplessly.

“I want you,” you insist. “I’ve wanted you.”

“R-right, yeah,” he agrees, trying to clear his head and focus on the task at hand. “Enough.”

He gently nudges your hand away so he can guide himself inside you, one hand wrapped around himself and the other gently pressing on your inner thigh to keep you still for him.

Underneath Sebastian like this, pinned to the mattress by his hips and hands, he completely overtakes your senses. He’s all you can see, all you can touch — you even taste and smell him.

Masculine sweat. Dark brown eyes. Crisp autumn air. The curve of his collarbone where it meets his shoulder. Woodsmoke. A million tiny freckles. Metallic blood from a split lip. Flashes of copper in his messy curls. Singed pine needles.

Sebastian groans low in his throat as he presses in, his hair falling into his eyes before he frantically brushes it away so he can see you take him for the first time.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he bends down and presses his forehead against yours.

“Tell me,” he begs, his hand curling gently around the back of your neck to hold you close.

“Tell you what?” you whisper, your lips brushing against his with every syllable.

“Tell me that it feels like this for you,” he practically breathes into you. “It feels like you’re — you’re everywhere, like you’re all there is.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper, and his hips snap against yours.

“Say it,” he growls. “Please.”

“You’re all there is,” you gasp. “You’re all mine, Bash.”

He makes a sound like you’ve sucker-punched him, messily kissing wherever he can get his mouth on you – your cheek, your jaw, your lips. All the while he’s fucking you open with relentless, eager thrusts.

He’s not going to last long, but you don’t expect him to. You just want him to feel good – the two of you have already wasted enough time not doing this, so why delay satisfaction?

You wrap your legs around his hips to hold him against you, rocking your own hips upward to meet him and coax him closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come,” he grits out, grinding into you desperately the closer he gets to his climax. “Can I finish inside?”

“N-no,” you whimper. There’s a potion you can drink to make it safe that takes an entire week to brew, and the batch that’s currently bubbling away at your potions station across the Room isn’t quite ready yet.

“Where?” he begs.

“Anywhere else, wherever you want,” you promise him, your mind quickly tossing out mental images of him spilling himself across your breasts, into your mouth, on the curve of your back.

He pulls out of you with a reluctant moan and kneels between your open thighs, wrapping a hand around his cock to finish himself off. You watch his eyes while he takes you in, seemingly torn between meeting your gaze and staring transfixed at your fingers between your thighs as you get closer to finishing yourself.

“Next time, love,” you murmur softly. “The next time you fuck me you can finish in me, I’ll take it all.”

“Promise?” he asks breathlessly, still an incorrigible flirt even when he’s seconds away from his orgasm.

“Promise,” you whine, spreading your legs a little wider when you catch his gaze lingering again.

You’re so close, desperately rolling your hips against your own hand until you tip over the edge, the rush of your release arching your back before you collapse lazily against the bed.

He shuffles forward and groans your name just before he spills, leaving a warm, wet mess all over your stomach and between your hips. You feel properly claimed – especially when he flops down next to you and immediately tugs you against his chest, unbothered by his release smearing between your bodies.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes into your hair. “Merlin, I love you.”

“You love me?” you whisper against his collarbone.

“Enduringly,” he says.

You rest your cheek against his chest and listen to his racing heartbeat for a few moments before you tell him, “I love you too, you know.”

Just then, the Room starts to rumble.

“What’s going on?” Sebastian asks, urgently peering around for his wand.

He quickly settles and even laughs under his breath when he sees the Room shifting around the two of you to provide a spacious, sunken bathtub in the middle of the room, complete with a luxurious amount of taps that undoubtedly offer an array of bubbles, salts and soaps.

“Oh, now you want to let me clean myself up?” Sebastian drawls. “After you’ve completely worn me out, hmm?”

“It’s more for me,” you giggle. “I can’t possibly sleep like this, but you’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

As if Sebastian would ever pass up the chance to feel you up in the water.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #my fic #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #(it's subtle but it's there)#unbeta'd we die like men #how do we feel about “bash” as a nickname because it's my favorite 🥹

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cuubism · 2 months

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touch-starved dream in a universe where any human who touches the endless falls to ruin. 6k. E.

Hob had always felt that his stranger was untouchable.

He was too beautiful, for one. The kind of face you imagined when you were young and dreaming of marriage (or, less respectably, when you were young and jerking off). The kind of face that didn’t appear in reality because real beauty had flaws—that was kind of what made it real.

Hob’s stranger’s beauty was a fall of light easily dashed by a hand. Impossible to touch.

For another thing: it was a bad idea to touch him. You didn’t go around offering yourself to strange beautiful things you met in the woods (or in a tavern). That was how you ended up a not-so-virgin sacrifice, or a meal, or a soul traded for riches. That sort of beauty was a lure. That was just common sense.

Hob had never had much of that. Hob very much did go and offer himself to a strange and beautiful thing he met in a tavern. A thing which never touched him, it must be said, but only offered an enigmatic smile, and a promise of a later meeting.

And then Hob dreamed of him. In his dream they were touching, in his dream Hob pulled his long robes away from his pale, slim thighs and took him in his mouth. He touched him a lot in that dream. Lips spread over his cock, hands wrapped around his thighs, his stranger’s nails scraping over his scalp.

In 1489, his stranger didn’t touch him, though the twinkle in his eye suggested their late rendezvous may have been slightly more than a dream.

In dreams that night, Hob had him as close as two creatures could possibly be, his stranger thrusting into him, one long-fingered hand wrapped loosely around Hob’s cock, the other around his throat, and it felt strangely like approval. Like appreciation.

In 1589, Hob didn’t expect his stranger to touch him, and he didn’t.

His dreams were absent, too, but for a flash of starlight eyes, a hushed growl, the ghostly, erotic drag of claws up his spine and over the back of his skull.

In 1689, Hob wondered if, maybe, his stranger would extend a hand. He didn’t, but for the first time there was a hesitant curl to his fingers.

In dreams, Hob was held, and sobbed with the lack of shame inherent to dreaming, because it had been so long since he had been touched kindly. And the dream repeated, in subtle variations, for many years after his stranger had gone again.

In 1789, Hob thought he’d be pinned against a wall. To be bitten, or fucked, or have his throat clawed out, he was really unsure. His stranger’s gaze held teeth. Disapproval. Heat. Appreciation of Hob’s swift if unneeded defense. A war of emotions, and Hob felt appraised, wanted, derided, devoured, and would have accepted any pleasure or pain his stranger saw fit to deal out, would have taken it gladly, on his knees, over a table, against a wall. Again, his stranger did not touch him, but his eyes were hot as coals.

In their dreams, he had his stranger on his back, fucked roughly into him, and it felt like judgment. Does that make you feel powerful, Hob? But his stranger’s moans were loud and his body tight and hot and his gaze haughty, and Hob knew he was enjoying himself.

Afterward, he combed his fingers through Hob’s hair, like Hob might still be redeemable. Hob didn’t know, but at least his stranger was touching him.

In 1889, Hob tried to touch him.

Just to lay their hands together on the table. Just to say, I know there’s something there between us and whatever it is, I’m telling you that I see it. Hob reached.

His stranger yanked his hands back.

He stood up, eyes flashing. Hob understood how colossally he’d fucked up before his stranger spoke a word. Before he stormed out, taking Hob’s hope that this might be anything with him.

He had the strangest dream that night. The only one of his stranger that could not actually be of his stranger. It must have been a fabrication of Hob’s mind, that time. A way to provide himself with closure that he wasn’t going to get otherwise.

In the dream, they were sitting again in the White Horse. Hob reached out his hands, palms up. His stranger hesitated. He did not look offended, this time. He looked—afraid. And wanting.

Slowly he reached out his hands, and laid them in Hob’s. Hob tangled their fingers together. Squeezed. And his stranger smiled.

His stranger didn’t come in 1989, and Hob didn’t dream of him either, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to tell him, I won’t touch you if you don’t want. I think you do want, but it’s no matter. Just come back to me.

No matter. Hob would wait.

No human had touched Dream in many, many years. The last to try had been his captors. Burgess’s guards, as they tried to move him into his glass prison. Even with Dream’s magic bound, they had met the same terrible fate Dream had expected.

One could not look directly into the sun without burning one’s eyes. One could not stare into the swirling core of all dreams and nightmares without going mad.

The guards had clawed off their clothes, torn out their own eyes, scratched at their temples until broken nails pushed through bone to blood and brain matter and the knowing, the seeing, finally stopped.

It was not for living things to touch Dream while waking.

Thereafter the living guards had chased him with cattle prods to get him into his prison. Dream had held his ground for a long time, staring into their eyes as they coursed electricity through his nonhuman body, just to see their resolve weaken, to witness their terror. For them, he was the uncanny, the rabid dog fearing nothing, whose touch meant death. Still, they eventually maneuvered him into his prison.

No matter.

Dream was now free. Dream had his tools again, and his realm. And still he felt like that feral animal, poisonous to touch.

Worse that it was true.

He almost did not follow his sister’s suggestion to find Hob again. He did not trust himself. He no longer knew how to maintain a safe distance. After how Hob had touched him in their last shared dream, after Dream had fled from him, held his hands and later his body against his chest, Dream did not know how to keep his hands away. But he must. For Hob’s sake, he must.

Eventually, he found himself at the New Inn. Hungry. Starving. Cold. Would Hob welcome him back? Even if only in dreams?

At least in dreams, Dream’s touch could not burn him.

Dream found Hob sitting in the inn, like he had been waiting there all that while. The smile that graced Hob’s face when he saw Dream was beautiful, was terrible, for it bore the care Dream had not allowed himself to see, and the danger that care put Hob in.

And then Hob got up, and came around the table, and—before Dream could move away, or perhaps Dream just stood and watched it happen, awaited the immolation—Hob hugged him.

“No,” Dream whispered, and Hob chuckled, one arm wrapped around Dream’s waist, the other cradling the back of his neck, over his collar.

“I know, I know, you’re touchy about being touched—ha. Indulge me for a second, won’t you? I’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried?” Dream repeated at a whisper, for Hob had yet to run screaming, clawing out his own eyes.

“Haven’t seen you for a hundred thirty years, yeah, I was a bit worried. Even if I can imagine you taking that long just to think something over.”

He released Dream, then, and gestured for Dream to sit down. Which Dream did, still awash with confusion, and then realized:

Oh. Hob had only touched his coat, not his skin. Dream’s clothes were made of dream stuff, and, as was true of his tools, could cause madness or eternal sleep when possessed by humans for any significant duration. But a brief touch would not harm them. Not like touching Dream himself.

Hob had not come into direct contact with him. Dream hated that he felt disappointed, and not relieved, as he should.

Hob deserved an explanation, though. At least to be sure he would not try to touch Dream again.

“It is not that I wish for you not to hug me,” he said. Indeed, he had thought of their nighttime rendezvouses often, in his prison. Hob kissing him. Holding him. As no one had for many, many years. Perhaps, if Hob truly forgave him, they could have it again in dreams.

But he would first have to explain what he was, would he not?

“You don’t?” said Hob, looking surprised, but pleased. And then, with typical audacity, he took Dream’s hands.

“Do not!” Dream’s voice cracked with power, with desperation, but it was too—

Hob was standing on a vast field of black sand. A vast, empty field, glimmering and iridescent, the sky an utterly blank white, like light shining through an empty monitor. Like a blank sheet of printer paper, missing ink. The air was utterly still.

And standing before him was his stranger.

This was not the stranger Hob had met in dreams, that he had held and bedded in sheets of silken dream stuff, or sat across from in the inn. This version of his stranger was… magnificent.

He was robed all in black fabric that draped in illogical swirls and lines. He was tall and thin and angular, with hands sharp like claws, his hair blowing about without wind, and his eyes were terrible. Bottomless black void that made Hob feel like he was falling upwards into the sky.

He was beautiful.

“Hell of a place for a date, stranger,” Hob said, nervous despite himself. But at least he wasn’t here, wherever here was, alone.

“I am sorry, Hob,” said his stranger. Now Hob recognized the look on his face. It was grief. He had seen it once, in 1689.

“Why?” Hob asked, and then his stranger took his hands. The movement had an inevitability to it: Hob had done it in the inn, and now his stranger was bidden to do it, too, here.

He took Hob’s hands in his, those soft, fragile hands that Hob had always longed to hold when out of dreams, at their meetings. Hob ran his thumbs over his knuckles, and his stranger’s expression cracked, an iridescent tear slipping down his cheek.

Hob raised his stranger’s hands to his lips, and kissed his knuckles. And—

Oh.

There was his stranger. Hob could see him now. Truly.

The strange being before him, his stranger, not so strange anymore—he was… everything. He was stars, Hob could see all of them wheeling, and he was music, a collision of notes all upon each other, and flowers in bloom, and children playing pretend, and meticulously typed memoirs, memories held by trees, and root networks, and insects singing. He was proposals, he was invention, and flickering film reel, and dance. And not only that, but shadow, and all of Hob’s fears of being left, and a bite to the throat, a claw to the chest, a haunting memory, and he was beautiful.

Hob came back to himself, to that blank, open space, head full of infinite visions, heart full of his stranger. His stranger was still looking at him with that grief. Did he really hate being seen that badly?

“I missed you,” Hob whispered, voice thick. He squeezed his stranger’s hands. He could still feel it. The massive everything of him.

His stranger’s eyes widened. “You… are not mad.”

“What, in general? I’m certifiably mad, I’m sorry to tell you.”

His stranger stepped forward, sudden as a flicker of light, and took Hob’s face between his hands.

“You should be ruined,” he said, staring into Hob’s eyes, that endless void of him.

Hob laughed nervously. “Should I?”

And then his friend threw himself at him. Hob could never have expected him to move so ungracefully. He clawed at Hob’s shoulders, pressed their bodies together, shoved his face into Hob’s throat. The clawed points of his fingers ripped holes in Hob’s jacket, drew blood from his skin, but he didn’t care.

Hob wrapped his arms around him, rubbed his back. “Is that all?” he said gently.

“All,” croaked his stranger, and then suddenly they were sitting in the New Inn again, but his friend had crawled into his lap and had his face pressed into Hob’s throat, just as in the dream.

Hob shook his head, working out the dizziness, then looked down at him. “You okay, love?”

“Hob Gadling, you are a marvel, and you do not understand.”

Hob definitely didn’t understand anything, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Not for now. He had his friend back, after all.

“Does that mean I get to touch you now, for real?” Hob asked. “Now that I’ve beheld your magnificence? Is that how it works?”

His friend pulled far enough away to look at him. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes looked raw. “Your dreams were real,” he said. Even though Hob had always known that, had felt it.

“Good.” He took his friend’s face in his hand, ran a thumb over his lower lip. Beautiful thing, him. “Hell of a waste not to be shared, those dreams.”

His friend’s eyes were blue here, but as deep as in the dream. “Indeed.”

Hob leaned in to kiss him. They were making an absolute scene here in the inn, with his friend in his lap, but Hob couldn’t care less. He drank of his stranger’s mouth, head tipped back, taking of those soft lips, that giving mouth, that wanting tongue. His friend whimpered against him, fingers wrapped loosely around the back of Hob’s neck.

“No humans can touch me,” whispered his stranger, pressing their foreheads together. “Not while waking.”

“No humans can live forever,” Hob pointed out, and his stranger gave a small laugh.

“Truly.”

“I always wanted to do this,” Hob confessed, stroking his hands over his stranger’s back. “Always wanted to touch you—outside of dreams. Just wasn’t sure you would want that.”

Tears beaded along his friend’s eyes. So much feeling from him today. “I did not, but only because it should be impossible. I am Endless, Hob Gadling. I am not a creature for humans to come so close to. You all visit my realm, but to perceive this concentration of my being—it can only harm you. It would drive you mad.”

“I’m quite mad already,” Hob reminded him, but his heart hurt for his friend. No one could touch him? Could hug him? Or bring him pleasure, like they had done in their dreams?

“I have seen men claw out their own eyes after seeing me,” said his stranger, with the inevitable intonation of a storm. “I have watched them crack their own skulls, take Death’s hand, so they would no longer have to know. And you wonder why I would forbid you to touch me.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know you?” Hob asked. Yeah, yeah, the forbidden knowledge of the universe and so on. Hob still wanted to see it. Whatever writhing power existed at the heart of his eternal friend. Wanted to know it. To touch it.

“Thing is,” he continued, when his friend merely stared at him incredulously, “I wouldn’t claw out my eyes, ‘cause I want to see it. See you.”

“Even if I were to blind you?”

Hob gave him a cheeky grin. Not unlike the one he’d given him in a fourteenth century tavern, when for a moment he’d really thought he could charm the strange creature he’d encountered into his bed. “Darling, I was blinded by you the moment I saw you.”

His friend kissed him. Desperate enough that his teeth dug into Hob’s lip. Hob laughed. “Can’t believe that terrible line actually worked on you.”

“It is working,” said his friend, face still pressed tight to Hob’s, hands gripping his shoulders, sharp fingertips digging in.

“Wanna touch you more,” Hob murmured, and his friend nodded feverishly. “But they don’t love exhibitionism in this day and age.”

His friend looked up and around at the inn, as if suddenly remembering where they were. He did not seem embarrassed, but perhaps startled to have forgotten himself.

“Besides, I don’t want to share you,” Hob said. “Come upstairs with me?”

He held out a hand. His friend—lover?—took it, and they disentangled themselves, and Hob led him upstairs.

In his bedroom, Hob pushed his friend’s coat off his shoulders. In disbelief this was happening. His stranger, really here, in the soft lamplight, looking at him with wide, dark eyes. Looking like he had been starved. Recently I have seen men driven mad, he had said. Who had tried to touch him? Why?

“What’s your name, darling?” Hob asked. Just a bit choked up. “You never did tell me.”

“Oh.” Under the coat, he was wearing only a t-shirt. Hob wondered if he was cold. “I am Dream.”

Dream. Look into the heart of dreams and know it. How could that drive you mad? Wouldn’t it be brilliant?

“Dream,” Hob sighed, and kissed him again. This time it was soft, a meeting of lips in the semi-dark. Dream’s hands found his jacket, pushed it off, then stole under his shirt to press flat to the warmth of Hob’s chest. His fingers were cold. Hob pulled his shirt off entirely and tugged him close, wrapping Dream’s arms around himself, tucking Dream’s nose into his throat. He let out a low whine that reverberated through Hob’s chest.

“Come on,” Hob murmured. “Come.” He got both their shoes off, and maneuvered them up onto the bed, where Dream pulled him down to drape Hob’s body over his.

It was not like any of the times Hob had been with him in dreams. Their dreams had been ephemeral, diaphanous moments spun of longing, where ultimately Hob woke aching and hard and lonely.

This was present and physical. Dream’s body was bony and real under his, each moment forced to connect in linear time so he could not miss or forget any touch of his old stranger’s.

Hob kissed him again, hungrily. He thought he would never tire of it. Dream’s long fingers skated up his back to tangle in his hair. He moaned into Hob’s mouth. Shivering. Oversensitive.

“Okay, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded.

“Do not stop.” It would have been an order were it not for the thread of desperation wound through it.

“I’d be mad to want to stop touching you. Madder than I am.”

“Be no more mad than you are, then,” Dream said. “Please.”

So Hob laid his hands on Dream’s body, held his narrow hips, pet his hard flank, pressed down on his soft, concave belly. He dipped his fingers under the waistband of Dream’s dark jeans to feel the bend of his hipbone and the sensitive crease of his thigh. He kept expecting to feel something strange, or wrong, a bone that bent the wrong way, something to mark Dream’s otherness, but for now, it seemed, he was human. Nor did he feel again the vastness of him that he’d seen on those sands, though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was still there.

“Take it off,” Dream breathed, and before Hob could, he let his jeans dissolve back into whatever dream stuff made them up.

“You’re showing me up,” Hob laughed, as he wiggled out of his jeans and briefs the normal, awkward way. Then he was naked with his stranger, and while they had been so before, in dreams, it had never felt so physical, and Hob had never been able to see all of him, only impressions, fleeting glimpses and sensations.

Hob was shocked by how much he just looked like a person. An otherworldly person, true, but a person all the same.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed. He thought Dream might have blushed, though it was too dark to really tell. “Truly no one’s been able to touch you like this? At all?” Hob couldn’t possibly imagine anyone not wanting to, so it must be a matter of ability.

“Not in this realm,” confirmed Dream. “You… are new to me.”

Hob didn’t like the idea of Dream held at a remove, unable to get even a hug, but he did, selfishly, like the idea of being new. Of being special, the only one to have Dream like this.

He’d have to be sure to do right by him.

He kissed his way down Dream’s chest and stomach, watching his skin jump at each press of his lips, each skim of his teeth. Dream wrapped his arms around him even as he moved, as if to pull away from Hob would see him cast away from a temporary warmth, into the cold.

“Won’t let go of you,” he promised as Dream kept clutching at his shoulders. Dream only held him tighter at that, fingertips digging in. Hob didn’t mind. Let him hold tight, it was what Hob wanted anyway.

He relished in the feeling of Dream’s legs wrapped around him as he kissed the jut of his hipbone, the vee of his pelvis, the soft skin of his inner thigh. Nuzzled the tender skin at the base of his cock, as Dream pleaded above him, hands in Hob’s hair, “Hob, please—”

So much for the domineering creature that had once taken Hob to bed in his dreams; this was a wanting, needy thing, a man desperate enough to beg for he hadn’t had in so long, or ever.

Hob hushed him, stroked his thighs. Dream was shivering now, though Hob had barely touched him. His fingers shook in Hob’s hair. But Hob did not think he wanted him to stop.

Instead, he devoted himself to making Dream fall apart. He wouldn’t have to go without, not with Hob around. Hob would touch him so much his skin would burn.

He licked up Dream’s cock, an echo of how he had once pleasured him in a dream, but this was a different kind of worship. Dream made a mewling sound above him, so Hob took him in his mouth, bobbed his head, swirled his tongue over the slit. Silent stoic stranger, if you don’t cry for me I won’t have done my job right. Dream would cry in pleasure and never know what it was to lack it again.

Dream’s hips thrust up, bumping the back of Hob’s throat, a jerky motion that felt involuntary as he tripped over into pleasure, but Hob hummed and encouraged him to do it again. To take what he wanted, what made him feel good. Dream groaned but did, thrusting into the back of Hob’s mouth, legs twisted around his shoulders. Hob greedily took the heft and pressure of him, the knock of Dream inside him. He felt only more euphoric the less control Dream’s motions had.

But. He did have other ideas, too.

He pulled off, crawled up his body to meet him in a kiss, turned Dream’s face to his and swallowed his whine, which was so high and sweet. Dream’s kiss was soft and pliant, his eyes closed. When they were close, when Hob broke the kiss but kept his hands on him, their faces together, he looked at peace. Blissful. Languid and warm, as of a late morning spent pleasantly sleeping in. Just from closeness, he looked that way.

Hob turned him on his side and pressed their bodies together, back to front. Like this, they could touch from ankles to hips, bellies to chests to shoulders, and Dream sighed into him, going boneless.

Hob held him close, Dream’s head pillowed on his arm, kissed marks over his shoulder and up his throat. Worshiped his skin. Meanwhile he slipped a hand in the tight space between their bodies and pressed an exploratory fingertip to Dream’s entrance.

Dream shivered all over and pushed his hips back against Hob’s hand. Thrilled, emboldened, Hob pushed the tip of his finger inside him. Much more and he would need to get lube, but that would require moving, and he did not particularly want—

“You need not,” murmured Dream and, as if Hob didn’t understand what he meant, pushed himself back on Hob’s fingers with another groan. “I. Can take you.”

Hob was inclined to take his word for it. Not least because he himself was desperately hard, and to be so close to Dream, to be inside him, was too enticing to resist.

So he lined up and slowly pressed in, still with Dream held tight to his front. Dream sucked in a gasp but his body gave to Hob’s. So easily and so beautifully. By some presumably dream-logic, Dream was already loose and wet for him, like he had been waiting with held breath for just this moment. Hob slid into him like he’d spent ages prepping, and it wasn’t until he was all the way in that he took a breath.

“Feel so good, love,” he breathed.

“Hob,” Dream croaked, a broken sound. He clutched desperately at Hob’s hand when Hob laid it flat on his stomach. If he pressed down he could feel himself inside Dream—oh, Christ.

“I have you,” Hob promised, his own voice shaky. “You okay, love?”

“I am,” said Dream, still squeezing Hob’s hand. “I am. Overwhelmed.”

Hob knew he had done this before—he had fucked Dream himself in his dreams in the past—but this world seemed to be so much louder for Dream. Each touch was like a scream—but Dream did not pull away from him. He held Hob to him and submitted himself to the maelstrom.

“It’s okay,” Hob assured him, kissing the back of his neck.

“I do not know if it is,” Dream confessed. “I am used to it not being.”

Hob kissed the hinge of his jaw, leaned over him to speak there. “It is. I want to touch you, remember? What could be wrong with that? Nothing bad’s going to happen. You believe me?”

“I trust you,” Dream whispered, which was not the same thing, but the more meaningful for it. Hob’s heart hurt to think of him so uncertain it was okay to have such a simple thing as touch.

But perhaps it wasn’t so simple after all.

“It’s okay, love,” Hob said. You can have what you want this time, please believe that.

“‘Love,’” Dream repeated, and released a long shuddering breath that drained the tension from his body. He took Hob’s hand and brought it close to his mouth, kissing and nuzzling at his fingers. “Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dream chuckled. It was a lovely sound.

And so Hob started moving in him. His first few thrusts dragged a strangled groan from Dream’s throat, so he increased his pace, Dream’s impossible magic slicking the way, like a dream where there were no barriers to touching him. He lost himself to the heady feeling of having him in truth, the addictive heat of Dream’s body and the even more delicious moans pulled from his lungs, louder as he grew bolder in his pleasure. Hob spoke to him mindlessly, praise and sweet nothings against the nape of his neck, you’re doing so well, darling, you’re so beautiful, does that feel good? When he caught the right angle to hit his prostate, Dream’s body went tense and he let out a ragged cry. Hob smiled against his neck. Perfect, you’re perfect, everything about you is all I’ve ever wanted.

“Hob,” Dream moaned, “Hob, please—”

Hob redoubled his efforts to break him apart. He would have taken him in hand but Dream seemed more inclined to keep Hob’s hand in his own grasp. So Hob squeezed his hand and kissed a bruise into the side of his neck, and moved within him until Dream was writing and pushing back against him, torn between pulling away and desperately grabbing for more.

“I’m—” he gasped, then broke off in another moan. There was nothing better, Hob thought, than hearing his eloquent stranger broken into gasps of pleasure.

“Close, darling,” Hob panted against the back of his neck. The sight of Dream so wanting, combined with the heat of his body, had him balancing on the edge, holding on only because continuing to touch Dream was more delicious than letting go.

“Please,” Dream breathed, tears pooling along his eyes.

To reduce his once-stranger to such base expressions of emotion was too much for Hob, and he came inside him with a groan. At the feeling Dream clutched at his hand and came untouched, crying out.

And then he truly did cry, tears spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

Hob clutched him tightly, arms around his middle, still coming down from his own climax. But he recognized the crash Dream was feeling. He’d experienced it himself, coming down off of certain drugs, collapsing in a war camp during a lull at battle—the absolute plummeting drop of adrenaline, of dopamine, after something so very intense. Dream hadn’t had anything in so long, and now he’d thrown himself on the fire of it, and that he wasn’t human didn’t matter when it came to getting burned.

Hob turned him, gathered him close, tucked Dream’s face into his throat, ignoring the mess between them. Dream sobbed raggedly as Hob pulled out, but still went, tangling his legs in Hob’s, tucking his fingers between Hob’s body and the mattress.

“Sweetheart,” Hob murmured, stroking his back as Dream shook against him.

“Help,” Dream whispered. A frightening word to come out of his mouth, truly. “I— I cannot—”

“Shhh. You’re okay.” Hob drew a blanket up over them. “You’re okay, my love. It’ll pass.”

He did know the feeling of that adrenaline crash, after all, though not how it felt for someone like Dream. Nor how long Dream had gone without any touch. A long time indeed. His heart, his throat hurt at the thought, and at the feeling of Dream shaking, even though he knew that, ultimately, this was good, a good thing, a cathartic thing. “I am not,” Dream insisted, but Hob shushed him again.

“You are, you are, sweetheart, I promise. Just breathe.”

He felt Dream, whom he was fairly certain didn’t need to breathe, take a breath. Then he let it out shakily. Then another, more slowly.

“There you are,” Hob soothed. Perhaps that had all been too much, too fast. Perhaps he should have eased him into it. Hob had never been very good at moderation.

Dream didn’t seem displeased, though. Merely overwhelmed. He was still clutching at Hob. And Hob was more than happy to hold him as long as he wanted. Forever, even.

“Breathe,” he reminded him. “There’s a love.” And finally Dream seemed to slump against him, his body unsticking from itself, and he let out a heaving breath, like a great animal finally allowing its massive lungs to rest.

“Alright, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded against his neck. “Bit overstimulated?”

“Yes,” Dream replied, quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. It was—” he contemplated. “No,” he finally said, minimally verbal again.

Alright, then.

“Hope you’re staying a while,” Hob said, instead of asking if he wanted to. “Might need to pry me off you otherwise.”

He felt a tiny smile against his throat.

“Yes,” said Dream. Hob dragged his fingers through his hair. A fully body shiver ran through Dream at the touch.

“I would not care to give up this succor,” Dream continued, when they had lain together for some more minutes, apparently having recovered his voice. “I am too selfish to let it go, after all that has happened.”

“After all that’s happened?” Hob echoed, and Dream stiffened, realizing all at once that he had let slip something he had not previously revealed.

“No, don’t go,” Hob begged, desperation rising as he clutched Dream close before he could melt himself away. “Stay. Tell me what happened?”

Dream was silent for what felt like several full minutes as he thought. Hob waited.

“I was imprisoned,” Dream said at last.

Hob stiffened, holding him tighter, nails digging into his skin. Dream hummed in a way that suggested he found this pleasurable rather than painful.

“You were—” Hob repeated, choked. “What?” But he had heard him. He had heard.

“It kept me from our meeting,” Dream continued, too matter of fact for Hob’s comfort. “And reminded me once more of what happens to any man who comes too close.”

Hob felt ill. he didn’t even know the details, and he still felt sick. Dream, caged.

“Dream…” he didn’t know what to say.

“It reminded me, too, that to most humans in the waking, I am… a terror.” This, quieter. “So you see my astonishment that you should even want to touch me, never mind be able to, and how I will not be able to take my teeth from your throat now that I have tasted blood.”

That... sounded more appealing to Hob than Dream had probably meant it to. He recalled the eerie, otherworldly Dream of his past, the awesome Dream that had met him on that strange desert. If that Dream wanted to feed on him, he didn’t think he minded.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Dream... God.” Imprisoned. “You say that like I could possibly want you to go.”

Sharp teeth pricked at his throat. “You will.”

“No.” Imprisoned. I am a terror. What happens to men who touch me. “I won’t.” He squeezed Dream tighter, wrapping a leg around the back of Dream’s thigh. “I won’t.”

“You would keep me, then.” Half desire, half threat.

“Yeah. I would.”

Finally, Dream’s teeth left his skin. “Good,” he said, almost a growl, almost a purr. Then pressed himself in closer, more demanding now than needy.

“Imprisoned,” Hob echoed, at last.

“In iron and glass,” Dream agreed. “I have known… only hardness, this century. Before that, I suppose, nothing.”

“But our dreams,” said Hob.

“I am dreams. I cannot have, or experience them as you do.”

Didn’t that hurt. “Experience it now, then.”

Dream seemed to agree, for he kept his body tucked against Hob’s. His tears were now dry, but Hob could only imagine the well of pain within him. Held at a remove for so long.

He could not fix it all in one moment, though. Especially not for a being as grand, as magnificent, as eternal as Dream was. So he kissed the top of Dream’s head, tucked his nose into his hair, and like that, Hob tried to warm him, at least for a time.

Dream was untouchable. Until.

Dream was lying upon a fire. Every nerve in his affected body sang in pleasure and pain both. He wanted more. He could not handle more. Still he wanted it.

Until Hob dared to find him in dreams.

Hob was still holding him, and it was… everything. The most privileged balm after a century on cold glass. He had ceased crying, recovered, mostly, from the wave of stimulation that had swept through him, but still he was nearly overcome with the wealth of touch. And so easily bestowed.

Dared to chase him.

How much more might he be allowed? Was there truly an infinite depth of it, as infinite as his very being?

Dared to welcome him, hug him, see him.

“Hob?” he murmured. The King of Dreams should not be so needy, and yet.

Dared to know him.

“Yeah, darling?”

Dream had ruined men, burned away eyes, unmade neurons, made those who looked on him bleed as they clawed themselves apart. Had witnessed the annihilation of small worlds caused just by his wanting.

“Truly you wish me to stay?”

Hob could not be clawed apart, not even when Dream got his talons in him. Hob had proven resistant to annihilation.

Hob took his hand, and kissed his knuckles, the way he had done in a dream.

Now Dream himself was burning with hands on and in him and skin pressed everywhere to skin, and he knew why others were ruined. How he, himself, had already been in ashes.

“More than anything,” Hob said.

He suckled the blood of Hob’s veins and the succor of his fingertips. The grounding warmth of his skin. He sank into the bliss of being wanted.

“Very well, then,” Dream murmured, and laid his head back down on Hob’s chest.

Dream did not truly have blood, or fingertips, or warmth or skin, but. He was not meant to experience bliss or wanting, but. He was a terror, a nightmare, an ephemeral thing, and he could not be touched, could not be held, could not be kept.

But.

#dreamling #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling

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darlingdarkly · 2 months

Text

New Year, New You Part 8

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

9k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, gaslighting

Part 1, 7, 9

You grill him with questions, demanding him to explain to you what he’s talking about. It seems obvious to you that he knows something he’s not letting on. The words fly from your mouth in a panic. “What do you mean it’s not safe? What are you talking about, Johnny? Explain!”

You see him get a little heated, a reaction you hadn’t expected, in fact the whole exchange following your inquisitions is so out of left field that it renders you speechless.

“Obviously hen, ye were a victim of a crime last night. Do ye nae see that?” You hadn’t seen that, it was so hard to remember anything about last night that drawing any kind of conclusion had so far been beyond you.

He sees it starting to click and continues, striking while the irons hot. “How many times in the past have ye gotten black out drunk, bonnie?” You have certainly had your fair share of ragers but black out drunk? To the point of almost total memory loss? Never.

“Did ye really think wakin’ up an’ nae bein’ able tae remember a damn thing was normal? Open yer eyes, lass.” He did this so well it seemed, had a way of breaking you down and making you feel small just to build you back up how he saw fit, cutting through the walls and all the bullshit to speak directly to you in a way no one before him had. It was humiliating and liberating all at once.

He sees he’s made his point. “Ah’m nae kiddin’, lass. I think ye were drugged las’ night an’ ah’d say yer awful lucky ah showed up when ah did.” His voice had taken on a kind of verbal growl, Scottish accent deepening so that it was almost hard to understand. He seemed genuinely upset, more than you could seem to get even though you were the victim, but you could feel it settling into your bones now, the unease.

Your face must be a mask of your emotions because he starts to calm now that he feels he's gotten through to you and he takes your hand into both of his. “Ye need tae understand somethin’, hen.” He seems to be mulling over the words in his head, unsure of the next thing to say. “I care about ye, I want ye tae be safe an’ happy an’ I think ye should stay with me. It’s nae safe fer ye tae be livin’ on yer own.”

You feel a bit surprised at his candidness, a show of emotions you hadn’t expected and it sends a hot flare up from your stomach and heats your cheeks. “Johnny I can’t stay.” He forces his gaze to yours, holds you hostage with it. “Why nae?”

That’s a good question, one you didn’t have an answer for. Why couldn’t you stay with him? Would it really be so bad? You’d been living on your own for so long maybe you were afraid of that change.

You opened your mouth to answer but he stopped you before you could. “Jus’ think about it. I’ll ask ye again tonight an’ if ye dinnae want tae, ah willnae make ye.” He closed it with that, getting up off the bed to signal the talk was over. “Come on, time fer yer warm up.”

After changing, you followed him out the door and into unfamiliar territory, the rest of the house you’ve yet to see. He leads you into an open living area that blended into a nice big kitchen. The house looked like it could house a whole family let alone just the two of you. You followed as your head craned and took it all in. The rent must have been astronomical but it was still Johnny’s house and he didn’t bother with extravagancies. It was spacious but also sparsely decorated making it look huge in perspective.

You cut through the space and into another room. You hadn’t really expected him to have a personal home gym, since he worked at one you naturally assumed he’d just go to work to exercise. The middle of the room was empty and matted, heavy duty, black pads interlocked like puzzle pieces made a twelve by twelve square in the center. The walls of the room were lined with full weight racks, adjustable benches, a treadmill and a power tower.

He stops in the middle of the black square and motions for you to sit. You sit, criss cross applesauce, across from him and he motions for you to begin. You start to go through your warm ups, starting with your sit-ups. He holds your feet and keeps count for you, his grin widening as you progressed.

Today was different and in more ways than one, when you’d finished he had you sit up and hold his feet, meaning for this to be a joint session for the both of you instead of just one sided as it normally was. You had to sit with your knees on the toes of his feet to keep him weighted down and he went for three reps of twenty instead of ten. You could feel the strength he possessed, the power held in the corded muscles of his thighs and calves by just holding him down.

You moved through the first set and into the next, keeping count of his push ups and even clumsily crawling up on his back when he insisted on needing your added weight. While it’d only really been a week since you’d stopped, you found that you’d come to miss this. Partly the healthy routine you’d built with him and partly his presence itself. Slipping back into it was not only easy but welcoming and this new way of having him doing it right along with you was something you secretly found yourself falling in love with.

You practically floated through your warm ups, hardly feeling the burn of them. You sat on the mat with your legs stretched out in front of you in a V. Without any assistance from him you managed a full, complete split and you couldn’t quite hide the elation you felt when his eyes lit up and praise poured from his lips.

Limber and pliant you both rose up from the mat and he walked you over to the power tower, standing out from you as you positioned yourself underneath the pull up bar. You jumped and grabbed ahold of the cool metal. You began, pulling yourself up until your chin passed the bar and then dropping down again.

It was hard but you were determined to finish, huffing and puffing by the last rep but still able to pull yourself past the point without stopping. You caught your breath as he muscled through his. You had long recovered when he finally jumped down, making your measly three look like light work as he managed a solid fifteen before finally coming to a halt.

You knew the next portion was the treadmill but as you made to mount it he stopped you. “Let’s go fer a real run, what dae ye think?” You stopped to consider it. You’d always wanted to go for a real jog, much preferring the open air of outside to the confines of an automated conveyor belt but had been much too scared to attempt such a thing on your own.

You’d always heard stories of women going out on jogs and simply never returning, their bodies found weeks later floating in rivers or lying in ditches. As alluring as the idea was your fears had always kept you inside but with a man like Johnny by your side you could pretty much garuntee total safety.

The prospect of finally getting to do as you pleased excited you and you found yourself chomping at the bit to go. He grabbed his house keys and escorted you to the door, locking it tight behind him and stepping up beside you on the sidewalk. “Are ye ready?”

You smiled at him and nodded, it must have been contagious because one of his own sprung up on his face, lighting it up and making his blue eyes sparkle in the sun.

“There’s a park just doon the way. We’ll head there, do a lap an’ loop back.” You started at a light jog and was pleasantly surprised to see him keep the pace you’d set. You were a bit worried you’d be struggling to match him the whole way, although he did talk most of the way while you struggled to manage anything more than one word replies.

It was a beautiful day, the weather was mild and there was a cool breeze at your back like gentle fingers prodding you encouragingly along. You were suddenly glad for this strange turn of events, as troubling as it seemed at first. Feeling down all last week and then reluctant to go out with Nancy, the anxiety you’d felt in the drive to the club and then somehow ending up in Johnny’s bed the next morning.

Somehow even unable to remember any of the events from the night before, something that, in all reality should leave you mortified and sick left you only feeling a strange sense of calm, like in the end it had all worked out how it was meant to be. You found yourself thinking about this morning and how he’d been almost mad at you for not being more concerned about last night, but you just couldn’t feel it.

There was eventually an underlying sense of unease that he’d practically forced onto you but it was only fleeting, like someone who’s fallen asleep at the wheel only to wake up in the hospital and be informed that you were lucky to be alive. It was hard to understand the reality of your danger when you’d walked away unscathed and without really having experienced it.

Maybe it was shell shock and you just weren’t completely grasping the reality of the situation but you weren’t holding your breath, and as far as taking him up on his offer you just weren’t all that convinced. While it was, admittedly, a problem that you’d drank too much and been unable to make it home last night, you failed to see any real danger in living by yourself.

You’d been doing fine thus far and didn’t see why that should have reason to change. You decided then that you’d made up your mind, you’d spend the day with Johnny, as gratitude for taking such good care of you in a time of need and just to enjoy it as well, it was only early in the afternoon but it was turning out to be a pretty good day in your book. You’d tell him later on when he asked that there really was no reason for you to stay with him. He’d understand, you were sure.

“Lass?” You were pulled away from your thoughts and back to the present. “Hmm?”

“I said what do ye think about havin’ fer dinner. I make an ossobuco that’ll bring ye tae tears.” You had no idea what that was but just expressed your interest anyway as you turned off of the sidewalk and into the entrance to the park.

It was one you recognized, beautfiully landscaped and as old as the hills, this park had been around for as long as you could remember, although it’d been ages since you’d been. They’d updated the playground and had redone the bridge over the pond, there was a flock of geese preening themselves on the surface of the dark, calm water.

You came to a stop at the peak of the bridge, glancing down at your Fitbit and checking your pulse. Johnny leaned his forearms onto the railing and leaned down for a look into the pond as you both caught your breath. He broke the peaceful silence that had settled between the two of you.

“I brought me mum here once. She used tae love feedin’ the swans at the pond near our house when I was wee. Used tae take me over there on our morning walks and I used tae make her laugh tryin’ tae catch one. Ah’ve taken more than one swan nip tae the arse as a lad.” You couldn’t help but laugh imagining him chasing the birds that probably matched him in size as a kid and then laughed some more as you imagined them chasing him, angry and nipping at his heels.

He laughed with you and as you nestled in next to him to stare out on the pond, just as the fit settled he leaned in close, nudged up against your side. “Ye’ll meet her if ye stay long enough ye know. She’d love ye.”

You felt a pang of uncomfortable awkwardness as he brought up the idea of you staying again. You didn’t want to dissapoint him by ruining the moment but you didn’t want to lead him on either. “Johnny…”

He stopped you. “Nae. Dinnae say anything yet. Ah was jus’ sayin’.”

You fell back into silence, a much more uncomfortable one this time but he wouldn’t let it set in as he pushed you back into a jog and lead you over the end of the bridge. It looped back around to where you’d started and it was only a quick jog back to his place where you ended your session for the day.

You both go inside and head for the kitchen, he pulls a blender hidden in a cabinet and sets it up on the counter before pulling out a litany of fruits along with a knife and small cutting board. He chops as he talks, going over your progress and performance, comparing it to your starting time and pace and mooning over the results.

He stops talking as he dumps the fruit into the blender and turns it on, the concoction inside swirling into a deep green slurry. When it’s homogenous he stops and pulls two glasses from a different cupboard. The juice makes a wet plop as it fills the glass and he slides one your way after sticking a bright orange straw down into its depths.

You pull it in front of you and take a long sip, confident in his smoothie skills at this point and relish in the way the sweet cool drink slides over your tongue and down your throat, already working to rejuvenate you.

He downs his quickly, an amazing feat that would surely leave you numb with brain freeze. Setting the glass down in the sink he rounds the counter to you. “I’m goin’ tae take a quick shower and then it’s yer turn.” He slides up close, lean chest pressing into your back and placing a kiss on the back of your neck that sent chills down your spine. “Unless ye want tae join me, that is.”

You do want to, nothing sounds better but you’re still tired from your session and you’ve experienced Johnny in his fulty, intense and unrelenting. If you went at it now you may never recover so you decline, opting to finish your drink and wait your turn. He leaves you and you turn on the stool to take in the decor. The little there is of it seems to be concentrated on a shelf in the corner.

You hop off the stool and walk tentatively over to it, surveying the shelves. There’s a few trophies, the plaques on each read that they’re awarded from some gym for a weightlifting competition. His name and the years were engraved in the middle of the plaque, he’d won them three years consecutively.

The other shelves were adorned with photographs. You glanced at them one by one, picking out Johnny’s radiant smile in each. Here’s one with him on the bank of a river, huddled together with a bunch of people all wearing the same bright orange helmets and yellow vests in varying states of soaked, they’re all holding short stubby oars and smiling.

The next one is a much larger group of people, they’re all different ages but share similar qualities, their eyes and noses on different faces but seem to be shaped from the same clay by the same hands. They’re assembled in front of a sign that reads “MacTavish Family Reunion” and it takes you a moment to pick out Johnny from the crowd of baby blues and deep rich browns. You finally spot him clustered in the back with two other young men hanging off of his shoulders. They look like three of a rambunctious kind.

Beside that is Johnny in a long black robe and mortarboard, from the cap dangles a dark green tassel that hangs in the poofy frizz of long dark brown curls belonging to a shorter stout woman. Her eyes are so bright and shockingly blue they couldn’t belong to anyone other than Johnny’s mother. She looks soft and sweet but strong as she beams at the camera. Her face exudes nothing but pride and adoration for her son. Johnny looks young and happy, his eyes reflect the yet untapped potential of the start of his adult life.

“That’s mah mum an’ I at mah graduation.” His sudden presence startles you and you’re glad to have only been leaning in to observe the photographs instead of holding them, you’re certain you would have dropped them had it been the case.

“Jesus, Johnny. You scared me.” He smiles, a deep grin that you can tell he’s a bit satisfied to have been able to give you a start, despite his following apology. “Sorry lass, Dinnae mean tae make ye jump.”

There’s a small span of awkward silence and to cease it you ask him about the first picture, the one by the river.

He lets out a small hearty laugh and reaches past you to lift the frame off the shelf, bringing it closer like having it here in his hands will give him a better feel for the memories they contain.

“Ah used tae go white water raftin’ all the time. This was a group I joined when ah started. We had just cleared a class four river fer tha first time.” You smile as he reminisces, telling just by his eyes that he’s reliving it a little as he talks.

“Do you still do it? River raft?” He shakes his head and places the picture back on the shelf where it had been. “Nae anymore. Too dangerous.”

He sighs a little, the golden memory disappearing and perhaps leaving a plume of mild gloom in its place but if it had affected him too badly it didn’t show, as his ever radiant smile resurfaced like it’d never retreated.

“Yer turn, hen. The bathrooms in mah room it’s the far door on the left.” You make your way back towards his bedroom as he stations himself behind the sink and busies himself with the dishes.

You pick through the bag on the bed, hem hawing over what to wear when you just decide to bring the whole bag with you into the bathroom. You turn on the shower and let it warm as you retrieve your soap, shampoo and conditioner.

After quickly undressing you step into the warm jet and let it soak into your skin. There was a lot to think about and showers had always seemed like the best time to ponder things. You’re still, even now, in awe at just how things had turned in the past day. You certainly didn’t believe you’d be showering at his place at this time the day before. You poured some body wash into your palm, lathering it as you ruminated.

And then there was his offer, so out of the blue and generous of him. To stay at his place with him and for what? Why? Because you’d drank a little too much the night before and just couldn’t recall any of it? While it’d never been the case for you before now didn’t mean it was impossible for you to become black out drunk. It wasn’t an impossibility, you’d read somewhere that the body's chemical makeup changes roughly every seven years. People all the time grow out of and even develop new allergies as their life progressed. Meaning it was completely possible for your reactions to an influx of alcohol to change over time.

At least, that’s how you justified it to yourself as you rinsed the suds from your skin and began to wash your hair. It just didn’t make sense to jump to conclusions so hastily. And stay for how long? Certainly he didn’t mean to tell you that you were welcome to move in indefinitely. You don’t just extend that kind of an offer to someone like that, he barely knew you. Or did he?

It didn’t matter. For now you just couldn’t bring yourself to impose upon him like that, even if he did offer it up so willingly and insistent. After dinner, you’d gently and politely refuse. He did after all say he wouldn’t make you if you didn’t want to.

You rinse off and turn off the stream, letting most of the water drip off you before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a warm, fluffy towel from the rack. You finally pick out an outfit and stick with it, pulling it on and cleaning up after yourself as you finished, you’d rather not leave a mess for him to contend with later on top of everything he’d already done for you.

You close the door to his bedroom behind you as you step out into the open living room. You had expected him to be unwinding on the couch but instead he was up and pulling on jacket, he had his shoes on and keys in hand. As he spotted you he smiled and stepped towards you.

“Ah need a few things from the store fer dinner. Will ye join me fer a ride?” You smile and nod, turning back towards the room to put on some shoes and retrieve your phone and wallet before joining him to leave. It’s a short walk through the front entrance of his home to the garage. It’s barren save for a big red toolbox and a few boxes stacked in a far corner. His truck takes up the majority of the space, a fairly new dark blue Toyota Tundra. Totally on brand for him, clean and gleaming under the fluorescent lights overhead. He pulls open the passenger side door for you to climb in, which flusters you a bit.

You scurry to climb into it and sit back into the comfy seat as he shuts your door and rounds the vehicle to climb in on his side.

You ride in comfortable silence as he drives you a few blocks down the road to the little grocery mart you’d been to on occasion when you were in need of something on this side of town. He parks and you’re glad to scoot out of the door and join him before he has time to come around and open the door for you again. The chivalry was nice but always managed to make you feel awkward instead of special.

You’re taken by surprise as he takes your hand in his and both make your way towards the entrance. The warmth of his hand envelops yours, his thumb draws lazy, soothing circles on the back of your hand and the flustered feeling you’d been feeling, a combination of the new experience of being seen with him in public and him being so gentlemanly, eases.

You walk side by side out of the car park and into the brightly lit store. He picks up one of the little baskets from a metal cage and begins veering towards the back of the store. He seems to know exactly what he needs and where it all is so you just lose yourself a bit in the moment, looking at things on the shelves and watching him as he shops.

Normally when you shop by yourself it’s a race. A race to get everything you need and get out as fast as humanly possible, it’s something about being out in public for too long that makes your skin crawl. But this. This is different. Something about being with Johnny puts you at an inexplicable ease. He’s confident and knowledgeable, and for once you don’t feel like your mind is moving a million miles a minute under the scrutiny of every other set of eyes in the building. You can just simply relax and be, let him take over.

In produce you watch him pick up three different onions that, to you, look no different but he rolls them in the palm of his hand and gives them each a light toss in the air. Somehow— that decides it and he puts two of them back and places the chosen one down in the basket.

Every time he lets go of your hand for something you’re sure that’s the end of it, just knowing the moment will be lost but he surprises you each time anew when he comes back to you and takes it again, leading you through the sections hand in hand.

You stop in the spirits aisle and grimace as he picks up a bottle of dry red wine. The front is embossed with a duck in a yellow slicker, an umbrella cocked jauntily and tucked securely under one white wing, shielding him from a shower of rain falling from a single dark cloud that looms over its head. In a bright gold scroll underneath this curious image are the words “Rain Duck”. The image is very reminiscent of the Morton salt girl you’d always seen in the spice cabinet of your childhood home.

He looks over and catches your look of disgust and laughs, a hearty cheerful sound that momentarily wipes the scowl from your face and threatens to send you into your own fit of meek giggles. “Dinnae worry hen, s’just fer the sauce. Will nae even taste it, ah promise.”

He sets it down in the basket and heads towards the front of the store to checkout. You stand in line and wait your turn until the cashier clears the person in front of you and Johnny begins to empty his basket onto the conveyor belt one item at a time.

By the time he’d finished, the cashier, a tall skinny man with dark rimmed glasses had already begun to ring you up and Johnny suddenly smacks the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Ahhhh shite. Ah forgot somethin’. Stay here with the groceries bonnie, I’ll be right back.”

He takes off in a power walk towards the back of the store and disappears around a shelf. You rock back and forth on your feet and pray that by the time the cashier is done Johnny will be back. You know if he’s not you’ll cave to the pressure of the people behind you and end up paying for everything yourself, just so you don’t hold the line.

You crane over the partitions of shelves that mark the separate checkout lanes in search of Johnny but your attention is redirected when the cashier clears his throat and calls out to you to get your attention. “Excuse me, miss.”

You turn, dreading the worst but there’s still a good amount of items left unscanned and he’s got the bottle of Rain Duck held past the scanner, looking to you attentively.

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize he only needs your ID to finish ringing up the wine. You pull your wallet from your purse and the relief you had felt instantly dissipates. The pleasantly relaxed state you’d been lulled into suddenly felt like the calm prelude to a horrifying nightmare. The clear plastic pane that normally covered your horrible ID photo was empty. You tipped it open, hoping for some horrible trick of the light or optical illusion but the sleeve was empty.

You quickly shuffled through the individual card sleeves, hoping against hope that you’d somehow slipped it into one of them by mistake but it wasn’t there. Your ID was missing. The panic sets in the pit of your stomach like a lead ball as Johnny squeezes up behind you holding a carton of heavy cream. His smile disappears when he sees your face.

He quickly sets the heavy cream down on the belt and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Bonnie, what is it? What’s wrong?”

The cashier calls out to him impatiently. “Sir?” Johnny looks up at him, with death glaring from his eyes before turning back to you. “Come on, lass. What’s the matter?” You whisper because it’s all you can muster, your vocal cords withered to nothing in fright.

“My ID. It’s gone.” The cashier tried again to get Johnny’s attention and you barely hear Johnny as he speaks very low and angrily at the man behind the counter. Johnny must have done as he asked though because soon enough you feel Johnny’s arms gently pulling you towards the exit. It makes you snap out of your horror for a moment and offer to help carry the bags back to his truck but he’s having none of it, insisting on carrying the whole load in two huge armloads all the way back himself.

You slip into the passenger seat as he puts the groceries in the back and only look up from staring at the lines in your denim jeans when the driver side door shuts and the cab is silent for a moment. He’s looking at you, very concerned and you realize he’s waiting for you to explain in more detail.

“My ID is gone. Completely gone.” He seems to think for a moment before he responds and asks if you’d checked your purse. You quickly do as he’d suggested and go through it but it’s not there either and the momentary hope you’d felt at his suggestion died almost as soon as it’d been born.

“Maybe I dropped it at the club.” A smile begins to form on your face as you grasp at anything other than the truth. “That’s it Johnny! We’ve gotta go back to the club. They’ll have found it cleaning up! And we can go get it and everything’s fine!” He doesn’t look convinced as you look over to him for validation.

“Lass, be honest with yerself fer a moment. How often do ye take yer ID out of yer wallet when ye need it?” Your smile began to fade, he was right. Anytime you needed it you just opened it and flashed it without ever taking it out of the slot, you’d bought that wallet specifically for that feature because you were so worried about losing it.

“I ken ye didnae want tae believe what happened tae ye, but there’s no denyin’ it now. Someone targeted ye last night. Picked ye out of the crowd and drugged yer drink when ye werenae lookin’ an’ they took yer ID in case they couldnae seal the deal right away. He’s got yer address an’ yer name an’ even yer picture.”

You listen to him talk as the cold, cruel hand of reality closes around your throat and the disgust of being violated in such a thorough way begins to worm its way under your skin. You can feel Johnny struggling to find words to comfort you from the seat next to you but he must not find any that are adequate because he starts the truck instead and drives you home in a silence that had on the way been comfortable and passive but now was pregnant with tension and doom.

You get back to his place and he unloads the truck as you sit inside and try not to panic at the situation you’ve found yourself in. You thank your lucky stars that Johnny had found you and brought you home now. If you’d somehow miraculously made it home without incident this mysterious man could have crept into your home while you were incapacitated and done any number of things to you. You imagined all the horrifying possibilities, each more daunting than the last as he unpacked and put everything away.

He must sense your spiraling thoughts because he calls you into the kitchen with him as he starts to cook. Chopping onions, heating shallow pools of oil in two different skillets, measuring out beef broth and flour and water in varying amounts as he practices the fine art of mise en place.

You try, really truly try not to let the fear of your predicament gnaw away at you too hard but it’s almost an act in futility. He looks up at you after cracking his third shot and missed joke while dredging the ox tails in flour and notices you staring down at your hands in deeply troubled thought.

He stops what he’s doing and comes over to the counter, bending down to lean over its sturdy surface and get your attention. You look up at him and feel your heart skip a little as he has no business being so damn attractive covered in flour like he is.

“Listen hen. I ken yer goin through it right now. Probably spooked right out of yer tree, but I promise ye yer in no danger here. I dare him tae walk through that door right now. I swear tae ye ill dismantle him with my flour covered hands before he even so much as touches a hair on yer bonnie head.”

You can’t help but smile as you imagine him wrecking your faceless oppressor, flour flying about in clouds as the impact of his blows knock it loose from his hands.

“There’s tha’ smile. Now be a doll an’ open mah wine fer me. I forgot before ah got all messy.”

You stand from your stool and open the drawer he directs you towards to locate the corkscrew. The rest of the preparation you do in a much better mood. While you had a brand new serious problem on your hands there was no need in sulking over it when there was nothing you could do at the moment and anytime spent with Johnny was hard not to enjoy.

He plated your portion and set you down across from him so he could watch your first bite. You wanted him to eat with you, a bit self conscious at him just watching you eat but he insisted he had to start on dessert before he could sit down to dinner.

You cut the big chunk of meat with your knife and fork and then dipped it down in the pool of sauce just as he’d instructed you to. He watched you intently as you brought the fork to your mouth and took your first bite.

Your eyes widen before half closing, you can’t help the soft moan that resounds as the tender meat and rich, savory sauce feel like they pull your taste buds into their arms and hug them soft and sweetly. It’s absolutely divine and you look up from your plate to see Johnny, smug as a bug grinning wolfily at your reactions.

“Told ye it’d bring ye tae tears.” You can’t even respond, just swallow and take another eager bite, this time with a little of the risotto from the bed that the meat is resting on. “Jesus Christ, Johnny. Where in the fuck did you learn to cook like this?”

His grin is so wide you’re worried it’ll be stuck that way and to your amusement you can tell his cheeks have reddened even under his nice, even tan. “Yer makin’ me blush, hen. S’just what ah’ve picked up along tha way. Ye could do it too. I could teach ye.”

You nod enthusiastically, you’d like that very much and you have a feeling so would he. You really dig into your meal in earnest as he works. His back is to you as he prepares dessert on the stove and you wonder just what it might be. Steam rises up in thin streams as he pours something into two ramekins and sticks them in the oven.

By the time you’re done he’s cracking into his own dinner as you begin working on the dishes. He protests but you stay firm that if he cooked the absolute least you could do was help clean up. He finally relented and let you work as he ate as quickly as he could so he could help dry the dishes at least.

By the time everything was done so was the dessert and he pulled it from the oven to cool as he leaned over the counter and held your gaze raptly with his. “It’s time, lass. What have ye decided?”

But with the way he’s staring you down it feels like he’s on the edge of his seat. Those blue eyes piercing yours and you know every second you don’t answer is killing him, you can read it all over his face so even though you’d made your mind up you told him you weren’t sure.

He looked a bit dejected but it wasn’t the broken disappointment you knew you’d have been graced with if you’d downright shut his proposition down. His eyes light up suddenly in a way you hadn’t been expecting like he’d just had the idea of a century.

“Play a game with me, lass.” You regarded him distrustfully. “What kind of game, Johnny?”

“I’ll show ye, come on.” You follow after him into the bedroom, a bit wary. He stops in front of the pull up bar and turns back towards you.

“Johnny you and I both know there’s no way I’m besting you in a pull up contest, I’d be mental to even try. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Ohhh no, hen. Nothing like tha’, yer right t’wouldnae be fair. All I want ye tae do is hang from the bar. Can ye do that?”

You jump up and grab the bar to see if you’ve got the right idea and he smiles and nods. “Jus’ like that, all ye’ve gotta do is not let go. Think ye can handle it?”

You eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?” You felt like there was something hidden in this that he wasn’t revealing and you weren’t wrong.

“Well it would nae be a game if there was nae some kind of a catch now would it, hen?” You swallow hard and watch him saddle closer, pinning you back into the cool metal bars.

“Ye’ve got tae hold yerself up until ye come.” His smirk widens as your mouth drops open a little, at first for some kind of rebuttal but you can’t come up with anything to say so it just hangs open as your mind blanks.

You finally get a grip enough to ask him to explain. “Well, yer goin’ tae hang onto tha bar an’ ah’m goin’ tae try mah hardest tae make ye come. If ye can hold onto it just until then, then you win but if ye cannae do it, an’ ye let go then I win.”

You mull over his terms and he just leans back a bit and lets you, waiting for your answer. Instead of giving him one you inquire further. “What do I get if I win?”

His answer is another simple question. “What do ye want?” A simple question that was complicated to find an answer for. What did you want from him? After a moment's thought you answered. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about last night and I want you to help me find this guy that did this to me. I don’t want to live in fear like this. You take me up to the club and we ask if they found my ID and if not then we ask to see the video footage of that night.”

“Hen, there��s no garuntee—“ You stop him. “I know. Just promise me if I win you’ll help me.” He looks a bit troubled, like he hadn’t meant for this to take this kind of turn and you wonder for a moment if he’ll back out.

“If I win ye have tae tell me the real reason ye never came back to the gym an’ never texted me an’ just disappeared.” You go to answer when he adds. “And ye stay.”

You sort of knew he was going to play that and even though you’d anticipated it, it still manages to fluster you hearing it.

You think about it real hard, just being around him had you more or less worked up all day, you were fairly confident that you could come quickly, even now just having discussed the game with him you knew your panties were damp. But could you hold yourself up for that length of time?

Reluctantly, you accepted. You even felt sure enough to jest him a bit about how easy of a win this would be for you, it was a decision you came to regret as he leaned in close to your ear and whispered. “Ah’m goin’ tae make ye eat those words, hen.”

A shudder of anticipation passed through you as he kissed you on your neck, just below your ear with a pass of his velvet soft tongue, giving you a little taste of what was to come.

The game had apparently begun as he stooped down to help shed you of your jeans, pulling them down and kissing the skin revealed as he exposed it. Next came your panties and they were damp, a fact that tore a rumble of approval from his chest but he wouldn’t touch you yet.

“Cannae give ye too much of a head start now can we?” He patted the side of your thigh curtly. “Up up.”

You do as he says and it’s a little late to be self conscious now but you can’t help it as you dangle from the metal rod and he spreads your thighs so you’re open to him. You worry he’s going to cheat you a bit as he stares at your bare pussy and you begin to complain when it dies in your throat as his tongue licks a broad stripe up the length of your slit. “Shit!”

He chuckles a little and dives in, resting his hands in the crooks of your knees but offering no support as he begins to eat you out in earnest. You can’t help but moan, your eyes glossy and unfocused as you stare down at him feasting on you from below. It feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced, the strain in your arms adding an element of pain that scratches a hidden itch in the back of your brain.

You shift in his hold uncomfortably as his tongue darts into your entrance, collecting your juices on his tongue and drinking them down. You want, so desperately, to be able to grip him by the Mohawk and hold onto him for dear life but you can’t so you squeeze the bar in your grip and sweetly moan his name instead.

His tongue finds your clit and it just about throws you over the edge but proves to be not quite enough as you chase it in hopes of victory. His hands squeeze and grope the flesh of your thighs and ass as he eats. You thought at the start of this that you would have had this in the bag but the stretch of your arms was outweighing the pull of your pleasure.

It wasn’t for a lack of Johnny’s enthusiasm, his head stayed buried in the heat of your pussy the whole time as he drove you towards the edge as quickly and efficiently as possible. Despite the burn in your biceps you could feel your orgasm building to a boiling point, you had no doubt you’d be coming soon but would it be soon enough for you to win?

He suddenly began to run quick sharp circles over the top of your clit with the pad of his thumb, while his tongue laps at your entrance like a bear to a beehive hole. It’s so good you can’t help but moan, low and dragging as you careen towards the center of the nova of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

Your wrists tremble and a cramp unlike any you’ve ever experienced begins to glow like a white hot coal in your armpit and it’s beyond you to be able to hold on any longer. Your pinky finger slips first and then the rest quickly follow. You squeal as you realize you’re going to fall but his arms push your legs up onto his shoulders and he catches you just as you let go.

A flood of relief flows through your aching arms and you realize you’ve lost but the sting of defeat plays second fiddle to the massive orgasm that takes you by the throat just an instant later. He holds you up with the strength in his arms alone as you come undone above him. He spins around as your thighs still tremble and gently places you on the bed.

You are still very sensitive and your thighs go to clench shut when they’re blocked by one wide knee. He wastes no time in slotting himself between them, his mouth crashing to yours as you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He cages you beneath him, pulling off your lips to bite and suck at your neck. His hands roam you freely, pulling at your top until it’s up over your head and lifting you up for access to the clasp of your bra.

With it successfully pulled away from your breasts he dives down and devours them, lips wrapping around one pert nipple as the other he gropes with the full palm of his hand, trying to hold as much of it as possible. You nearly shriek with the overstimulation of it and he pulls away to whisper both praise and apologies.

“Jus’ cannae help it, bonnie. Need tae be inside you, please? Let me fuck you, hen. Been cravin’ tha’ perfect little pussy. Come on, lass. Give it tae me.” He’s rubbing the very prominent bulge of his cock against your thigh all the while and you can’t help but clench around nothing in anticipation.

“Fuck Johnny! Do it! Fill me up.” He wastes no time, quickly abandoning your breasts to free himself from the confinements of his jeans. He doesn’t even get them down all the way before he’s fishing himself from his boxers and rubbing the tip hurriedly up and down your slit. You jump and squeal at the sensation and he coos more apologies at you before lining himself up and pushing inside.

You moan in unison as he stretches you open and his arms come up to brace himself on either side of your head. He muffles your moans with his mouth as he leans down and kisses you, swallowing them up as he begins to move and your hands fly to his arms, bracing yourself against the onslaught that is the drag of his fat cock.

You pull away for air and immediately expel it into a high pitched whine as he picks up a fast and steady rhythm, hips knocking into yours on each upward thrust. The fact that you've already came does nothing to alleviate the burn that accompanies the stretch of him. He’s a force and you can do nothing against it but hold on.

You try to make sense of what he’s saying as he fucks you stupid but only catch half of it. Something about keeping you safe forever. Poorly worded promises and vows pouring from his mouth as he uses you to reach his release.

You can feel it fast approaching and can do nothing but steel yourself against it as he pounds a second orgasm from you, the snap of his hips and the drive of his cock demands it of you. “Aww fuck, hen. Are ye gonna come fer me again? Hmm? Let me feel it. Come on lass, let me take care of ye forever. Ye can have this fer the rest of our lives if ye jus’ come fer me right now.”

He says it like you have a choice in the matter as you become locked in the throes of your ecstasy brought forth by his hand and in the midst of yours you vaguely feel him reach his. Coming hard and fast deep inside the tight clutch of your pussy.

It takes you both an eternity to recover and when he finally rolls off you, you realize you’d half fallen asleep, cradled safely under him, worn out and sated.

After a moment he gets up and leaves the room and he’s gone forever to the point where you almost get up to go after him but he comes back in with two small white dishes in hand along with two spoons.

You sit up on one elbow as he hands you one and the accompanying silverware. Looking down at it you can see a dark golden brown crust, a glassy glaze over the surface but are otherwise clueless as to what’s before you. You watch him experimentally as he takes the handle of the spoon in between his thumb and index finger and brings the bowl of the spoon down on top of the crust with an audible smack. The crust breaks and there’s a jiggly dense cream beneath.

Following suit, you bring your spoon down onto yours and scoop up a glob of the pale white gelatin. You take a bite and smile as the cool, sweet cream melts over your tongue. You sit there with him, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and eating crème brûlée.

It gets you thinking, you could have this indefinitely. Do this every night if you’d like and as if reading your thoughts he speaks.

“I won, but the choice is still yers. Stay with me, hen. Ah’ll keep ye safe. No worries, no lookin’ over yer shoulder forever or double checkin’ yer locks all yer life. Let me take care of ye. I want to, an tha’s honest.”

You stare at him, his blue eyes are soft and filled with adoration and honesty. He really wants you here with him and is that really so bad? How many times are you gonna pass up this opportunity before it’s gone? And will you be looking back later with regret once the door has closed?

You have to drop his gaze to decide but recapture it once you do. You go to tell him “Ok, but only until I’ve found a new place.” but he seizes you in his arms after the first word and pulls you hard against him like a five year old child handed a cat and told they can keep it.

“Johnny! You’re squishing me!” You complain but the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant.

He does everything with you side by side for the rest of the night. He changes with you, he brushes his teeth with you, he even lingers around when you try to go to the bathroom before bed, it takes a good amount of effort on your part to make him leave the room but you know he’s stood just outside the cracked door that he neglects to close on the way out.

Climbing under the sheets with him you wonder just how sleeping together for the first night is gonna go, actually wondering if you’ll get any sleep at all but then he pulls you into his chest and to your surprise he doesn’t try anything sexual. He doesn’t rub a hard bulge against you or grope your tits. He just wants you close, his warm chest filling out the dip of your back, his legs entangle themselves with yours, his feet even nudge yours affectionately in lazy passes.

It’s a while before either of you speak and Johnny thought you’d been long asleep when you say “I can’t afford a membership.” There’s a pause in your words and just when he understands what you’re saying you say more. “That’s why I didn’t come back to the gym, I thought it’d be easier.. for both of us.. if I just disappeared.”

And there’s something about your honesty, the way you’d remembered and honored your whole end of the bargain, the candidness of revealing you struggled with the decision, the mild sleepy drag of your voice that’s barely audible in the darkness that pulls directly on his heart and he couldn’t articulate a response if he’d tried so he doesn’t.

Maybe you believe he’s asleep and maybe it’s better that way. But he’s not. A few moments later he hears your breathing even out and he knows from the previous night that you’re asleep. He lays awake long after that holding you.

He thinks about you and how he’d finally got you to see reason. He thinks about times when the outcome of a situation is more valuable and important— the greater good one might say, than the means it took to reach it. Omelets, for instance, constitute broken eggs.

It takes a certain amount of necessary malice for these things. An agent who realizes what’s at stake and what’s to gain, willing to act on these conditions and set them right, no matter the cost. And lastly, he thinks about your ID, sitting snuggly behind his in his wallet. Tomorrow after he drops you off at work he’ll dispose of it. Maybe burn it, maybe shred it, maybe tie it to a heavy rock and throw it off the bridge at the park, watch it sink into the murky, goose poop filled pond until it gets too deep to see.

No one will know. But Johnny will. Johnny will know that in the end, his end, it justified his means. You are safe and you are his and there is no means too heinous, no act too profound to reach it.

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod soap #twdubcon #dark!johnny #darkfic #johnny soap mctavish x you

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chaussetteblanche · 9 months

Note

Luv ur writing 🫶 I was wondering if u could do a Kit Conner imagine or headcanon where Kit takes reader to the gym for the first time, teaching & encouraging the reader how to use the equipment and it's rlly fluffy 🤭

hi !! thank you so much for requesting !! hope you like it :)

pairing : kit connor x gn!reader summary : kit shows you around his gym word count : 1.1k warnings : none

It had to be clear : you did not go to the gym. You had never gone to the gym, nor would you ever go. You had other ways of keeping your body moving and healthy. The gym was not one of them. You didn't hate the gym, per say, it just wasn't for you. But when Kit came over one evening, ran a hand through his hair and offered for you to come with him to his gym and try it out, you couldn't refuse. It had been out of the question for two reasons : you would be spending time with Kit and you would get to see his muscles. In that order specifically.

So you'd packed your things the week after that and you guys had driven down to his gym. You felt slightly nervous, of course, because Kit was ripped and you were- well, you were just you. And you hadn't been to the gym in so long. You gripped his hand before getting out the car. "You'll show me how everything works, right ? What to do and what not to do ? I don't wanna embarrass myself," you bit your lip. Kit chuckled, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing the back of it. "Yes, I'll explain everything and, even though you couldn't embarrass yourself if you tried, I'll make sure you don't." He pressed a short kiss against your lips, soothing your worries for a while. "Don't worry, luv, everything will be fine!"

After changing in the locker rooms and grabbing your towel, you phone, your water-bottle and your headphones, you met Kit in the actual gym. You didn't know much about gyms, but this one certainly looked expensive. It had large windows, smelled clean and had so many different machines. Kit beamed at you, happy so see his favourite person in one of his favourite places. His eyes roamed over you and your tight-fitting sport's attire. God, you looked good. He bent down and gave you a small kiss when you reached him. "I, uh, I thought I'd just show you around," he spoke uncertainly. Now that you were here, he felt kind of stupid for asking you to come with him. You brushed those thoughts away with a smile. "Show me around, darling."

You started with the lat pull-down machine, which you quite liked. It was easy to use and Kit explained it well. "Do you want to try heavier ?" he asked after you did three reps of ten with a weight you were comfortable with. "Yeah, I can give it a try," you smiled. He smiled proudly down at you and reached over you to change the weight. "Good girl," he hummed. You inhaled shakily, licking your lips before sucking your teeth. You blame your bad performance on the first pull-down on that praise. Kit knew this, of course, cheeky bastard, he just loved watching you get flustered.

You struggled through the next reps, but managed with Kit's encouragement. "C'mon, my love, you can do it." "I believe in you, you can take it." "Just one more, dove, then it's over !" Then Kit asked you if you wanted to go heavier. You said yes, of course. You could never say no to him. This time, though, when you went to pull the bar down, it stayed at the top. Your body, on the other hand, lifted up from the seat. Kit muffled his laughter in his fist while you giggled. "Stick your legs beneath the cylinders, luv,"

Now, as much as you loved having Kit explain everything to you and look incredibly good while doing it, what you loved even more was watching him work out. You couldn't think too long and hard about it, not in a place like the gym, but he looked nothing short of godly. His hair, slightly darker because of the sweat would fall into his eyes a bit, and sometimes he'd blow it away. His muscles would swell and go down. And you lived for those times when he'd let out a small huff of effort. It made you think of other times when he let out similar sounds. If you ever joined a gym, it would be this one, and you would know exactly why (spoiler : it wouldn't be to work out).

The next thing was RDLs. Kit had really gifted himself that one. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth, he watched you closely from behind as you bent down slowly before standing back up, keeping your back nice and straight. "Am I doing this right ?" you asked after a rep, "Kit ?" You turned around to find Kit almost entranced, staring at where your ass had been a second ago. His face reddened as you stared expectantly at him. "I, uh, no, that- that looked real good to me, y'know ?" He scratched the back of his neck. You nodded, running your tongue over your teeth as you laughed. "I'm sure it did look real good." Kit rolled his eyes and bumped your shoulder, going to get heavier weights.

You spotted a couple at the other side of the gym doing sit-ups facing each other, only they kissed each time they reached the top. You giggled, discreetly pointing them out to Kit, who bit back a laugh. "That's a bit much, innit ?" he asked quietly, preparing the station for your next and last exercise : hip thrusts. "Nooo," you shook your head, whispering, "you think ?" Kit laughed before slapping the ground next to a small bench. "Sit here," he instructed. He proceeded to explain in detail how to do a hip thrust, how to not hurt yourself while doing one and what its benefits were. He had you at "bigger ass", or "really works the gluteus maximus" as he has said.

You found that exercise pretty easy so Kit was adding weight on pretty soon. Turns out you were really good at hip thrusts. Even Kit was surprised at how much weight you could thrust. You liked doing them, too, they were fun. Kit had his turn after you and, your eyes trained on the section where the bar rested against his body, you were reminded of other situations where he got a similar workout. You fanned yourself, suddenly very warm. Kit finished his set and stood up, coming over to you.

"Y'alright, love ?" he asked, brows slightly furrowed as he stared down at you. He was close and nearly towered over you. "Y-yeah, just a bit hot," you grinned. Kit chuckled and pressed a kiss to your sweaty temple. "Let's go, I want you out of these clothes."

And out of your clothes he got you.

#kit connor x gn! reader #kit connor x reader #kit connor x you #kit connor

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year

Text

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt. 4)

((Part 1, Part 2, Part 3))

Helga lied when she said there’d be a dress set out on the bed for her.

There are actually three.

The room is empty except for Cinderella’s soft footsteps. She clutches the robe around her throat as she approaches, eyes flicking from gown to gown in disbelief. Each is beyond what Cinderella has ever seen before in her life, the colors more vibrant that the most expensive fabrics in the seamstress’ shop, the lacing more delicate, the beading more opulent.

The first dress is a pale blue, the color like her mother’s eyes. Cinderella trails her fingers along the neckline. There are glittering clusters of jewels scattered along the skirt of the dress like flowers. It reminds her of the meadow she met the boy in on the clearest day.

The second dress is a rich red. Something in Cinderella shivers at the depth of the color, hungry and wanting. It’s a powerful dress with severe lines. The neckline is encrusted in rubies and the accents are so dark red that they appear black.

The third dress is the simplest of the three, though simple seems an ill-fitting word for it. It’s a comforting light green, like new growth and warm summers. There are no jewels on this one, but gold embroidery loops and curls near the hem and sleeves. Cinderella traces her finger along one furl of embroidery, enjoying the tight knit stitch in comparison to the velvet of the fabric.

“He asked for me to pick something you’d like,” Helga says from the doorway.

Cinderella jumps. She didn’t hear her come in, so lost was she in the dresses. “They’re beautiful. You did a wonderful job.”

“He asked me to,” Helga says. She comes up beside Cinderella, running a critical eye over the three gowns. “But I didn’t know about you until two weeks ago, so how could I pick a dress? I gave him a style catalogue and told him to do it himself. In the end, he didn’t know what you wanted either. So he had three made. One for each night of the ball.”

Cinderella starts. “What?”

“Most women and men will wear the same clothes each night,” Helga says. She props her chin on her hand. “It’s very standard practice. They may change a layer or two, but gowns like this are works of art. Many take pride in wearing the same one.”

“That’s not what I’m surprised about,” Cinderella says, pressing a hand to her forehead. “The ball is three nights? Three?” Her stepmother and stepsisters never mentioned that.

“For some,” Helga says. She leads Cinderella to a small vanity and sits her in front of it. She pulls out a comb. “The purpose of this ball is for the Prince to find a bride, after all. A second invitation will be sent out after tonight for tomorrow’s ball. Then another on the second night for the third. After the third, the Prince will have made his choice.”

Cinderella doesn’t think she’ll get invited back for the second night, much less the third. “It’s a shame I’ll only be wearing one,” she says without thinking. She sighs. “That makes choosing even harder.”

Helga pauses combing out Cinderella’s hair. “Pardon?”

“Nothing,” Cinderella says. She hopes Helga can’t see the heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m just being selfish. All the dresses are so beautiful, I’m a little sorry I won’t be able to wear each one.”

“Oh, dear,” Helga says. She looks like she’s biting her cheek. “How you two remained friends all this time with his communication…”

Cinderella frowns. “Yes?”

“Never you mind,” Helga says. She sets Cinderella’s hair down with a pat. “Just take one day at a time, hm? Now, we’ve got three hours to get you dressed.”

“Three hours still?” Cinderella asks. She starts to rise. “If that’s the case, I can wait to--”

Helga gently pushes her back down into her seat. She meets Cinderella’s eyes in the mirror of the vanity. “Barely three hours,” Helga says. She whips out a thin, wooden stick. “It’s time for a little magic.”

---------------

Magic is real. By the end of the first hour, Cinderella has no way to deny it anymore. Somehow she’d been able to block the teleportation from her head very easily, but what Helga does-- well.

Magic is real.

With a wave of her stick - “It’s a wand, dear.” - Helga produces a gentle, warm wind to dry her hair. A bottle of lotion and hair oil floats out of the bathroom into Helga’s waiting hands. The entire time, Helga talks.

“Rose-scented, very popular in the Capital, but my lord hates it--” she throws the bottle over her shoulder “--he wasn’t allowed to make a request, so it’s really up to you. Perhaps orange blossom? Here, give it a smell--”

Cinderella obediently follows Helga’s directions, smelling this and that and rejecting the orange blossom in favor of vanilla, the mint in favor of lavender, the sugar over the spice. Her head is spinning faster than the collection of bottles rapidly growing above them. She can’t stop herself from grinning with each new feat of magic Helga absently performs. This is fun. This is interesting.

This is magic.

“Of course it is,” Helga says when Cinderella voices her thoughts. But she’s not calling Cinderella stupid. She sounds fond when she says it. Affectionate. “I’m very, very good at it. One day, I can teach-- well, that’s in the future, isn’t it? And we are focusing on one day at a time.”

“One day at a time,” Cinderella echoes obediently. It’s a strange mantra for Cinderella who has always looked so far ahead. One day, Father will come home. One day, they’ll love me. One day, I’ll be free. There is something liberating in only focusing on tonight. Something magical. “What’s next?”

“Next is makeup and jewelry,” Helga says. She straightens a curl in Cinderella’s hair and hums with satisfaction. “Which means it’s time for you, my dear, to choose a dress.”

“The green one,” Cinderella says immediately. She flushes when Helga raises her eyebrows. “It’s-- Have you ever seen an oak tree at the beginning of spring?”

“There are many oak trees in the Capital,” Helga says.

“New leaves are the same shade of green,” Cinderella says. She bites the inside of her cheek and looks at her hands twisting in her lap. Normally, she wouldn’t share so much but she likes Helga. She thinks it’s safe to say it here. “The first time he called me his friend, it was spring. That’s when it became my favorite season.” When she looks up, Helga has one hand pressed over her eyes. “Helga?”

“Spring is my lord’s favorite season as well,” Helga says. “I’m going to get cavities.” She fetches the dress from the bed, suspending it thoughtlessly in the air with magic, and continues before Cinderella can respond. “The gold goes well with your hair, so it must be gold jewelry. I’ll fetch some options.”

Helga bustles out of the room, sniffing loudly. Cinderella watches her go. She doesn’t understand what’s made Helga so emotional. She knows the boy’s favorite season is spring, but it’s not for any heartwarming reason. It’s because he’s no longer forced to keep the meadow from freezing over, freeing up more of his magic for the pranks he liked to pull.

But why did he need to keep the meadow from freezing over?

Cinderella reaches out and touches her dress. Almost like it has a mind of its own, it floats down to the exact height where she can examine the detail on the bodice more closely. She often thinks about questions like this and even asks them. She never receives an answer. Normally it would upset her, but her friend has always given her more than she can ever repay. The only way she can even attempt to is to not ask.

Maybe it’s time to ask. Not asking is kind. Not asking is easy. Not asking hurts--

Cinderella crushes the voice again. She’s focusing on tonight. She’s going to wear a beautiful gown in a beautiful room where nothing needs doing and nothing needs done. Hopefully her friend will be there so she can thank him properly - Is he human? Or is he in another tree? What is--? - and maybe she’ll even get the chance to dance.

As if in response to her thoughts, the dress swishes across the room, swaying and dipping in a phantom waltz. Cinderella watches it, entranced. The fabric catches on the candlelight, shimmering like the rainbows in the meadow. How would she look doing that? How would she feel?

“Oh,” Helga says as she closes the door behind her. The dress shudders to a halt and then rushes back to Cinderella’s side in approximately the same position it had been. “You really like this dress, my lady?”

My lady? “I’m excited to wear it,” Cinderella says instead, smiling with closed lips.

“Then we best get you ready,” Helga says. She’s still eyeing the dress from the corner of her eye, but she returns Cinderella’s smile. “There are some bigger necklaces to choose from but, after talking, I think you’d prefer something more delicate?”

“Something light,” Cinderella murmurs. Her heart is racing in her chest, the image of the dress dancing through the air bright in her mind. “Light enough to wear all night.”

“Very good.”

-------------------------.

Helga won’t let Cinderella look at herself until everything is done. She weaves pins with golden oak leaves into her hair and clasps a chain of gold so fine it feels like spiderwebs around her neck. The bracelet they decide on is a gold loop with strange symbols on it. Cinderella doesn’t know what they say, but the bracelet is warm in her hands, almost purring.

“My lord picked that one,” Helga says. She helps Cinderella slide it over her hand and adjusts the sleeve of her dress so that the bracelet falls atop it. “He’ll be thrilled you like it.”

When Helga finally allows Cinderella to look in the mirror, Cinderella doesn’t want to. She’s worried that her image will ruin the illusion. She feels cared for and pampered. She feels…warm and helpless with gratitude. Helga has made her feel so seen for the first time in a very long time.

Then she does see herself and the world drops away.

Cinderella is beautiful. So strange to call herself that! She is not in her body because this can’t be her. Her yellow hair is shining gold, coiled and looped around her head like a crown. The oak leaf pins catch the firelight and seem to glow. Her skin is not dry and unhealthy from waking too early and going to bed too late. There’s an inner glow she’s never seen before that makes her look radiant. The dress is beyond words. It sweeps along Cinderella’s body like art, the embroidery shining as brightly as the pins.

“Oh, my dear,” Helga says softly. She reaches out with a handkerchief and blots under Cinderella’s eyes. “Don’t cry! It’s alright.”

“I never wanted to be pretty,” Cinderella says, voice trembling. It comes out wrong, but how can she explain to Helga a lifetime of only wanting to be loved? Of never desiring fame or wealth or beauty? A lifetime of giving services and patience in hopes for affection? It feels shallow of her now to realize that she never needed to earn love. She deserved it, as any child did, and she has grown into such a beautiful adult without it entirely.

Cinderella looks at herself as if seeing a stranger and thinks, She deserved to be loved. Not because she is pretty, but because she is human.

Cinderella tests that thought like a child might test a flame. It stings when she touches it, but it’s a good pain. A healing pain. I deserved love. I deserved more. And then, It wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t her fault. She is not the villain for running away. She is not bad for not being more patient, for not being more kind. She is alive and she has always been looking for more than what she was allowed. She needed more. She would have given any child more.

There is nothing evil in allowing herself this one night or, perhaps, even the next.

“Thank you, Helga,” Cinderella says, still staring at herself in the mirror. The older woman is concerned, worried eyes on Cinderella’s face, but Cinderella is smiling through her tears. She feels…good. Magical. There is a bubbling relief in her chest as warm as the bath she’d taken. “You’ve done more for me than you could ever know.”

“No thanks, my dear,” Helga says. She takes Cinderella’s hand. “Come now. Your carriage awaits.”

Cinderella follows her out of the bedroom and to the waiting world outside.

------

Next part we finally get Cinderella to the ball! Will she meet her friend? Her family? The Prince?

If you’d like to read the next part a week early, as well as a Patreon Exclusive I posted earlier this week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X).

Thanks for reading!

#long post #cinderella retelling #cinderella fanfiction

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wednesdaynn · 11 months

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NSFW abc's: james potter edition

James potter x fem!reader

warnings: i mean it is in the title. DNI minors

A/N: omg i haven't written anything in like 7 months (which for me is kinda crazy) anyway, i am currently writing actual projects for actual books i hope to publish one day i've lost track of writing here.

either way, enjoy this little gift and my first dabble into the marauders era

no edits, all mistake are mine. i apologize english isn't my first language. let me know what you guys think fits our pretty boy the best.

A = After care (what they're like after sex) james is a doll, he makes sure you're both comfortable. before ever having sex with you, he made sure to have many conversations about many things, such as aftercare and what you both find important. he obviously helps with you with your needs and in return you help him with his, like taking a shower, many kisses, and reassuring words.

B = body part (their favorite body part)

his favourite bodypart on himself has to be his arms they're so big and beefy from playing quidditch since he's been a kid. he sees the way you almost drool when you look at his arms, especially under those tight shirts he wears. he loves when he's fucking you in missionary and you just grab onto his arms for stability. the crescent moons you leave in his arms are his favourite thing to see on his body the next day.

and on you, he can genuinely not pin-point his favourite thing. he adores every inch of you. from your soft arms to your belly, your soft hair. but he will admit he loves to feel your thighs squeeze his head, or wrap around his middle when he picks you up and fucks you down on his cock.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

this man lovessssss seeing his cum on or in you. anywhere he can get it, he has at some point in your relationship. he loves fucking it into you after fucking you and seeing it ooze out after he pulls out. or seeing his cum run down your tits after fucking them. he just loves getting you all messy and gross when he's in the moment. he definetly doesn't agree with that statement after he has to clean up.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

tights.... yes you heard that right, james is extremly sensitive to the feel of drifferent fabrics which can, very quickly, overstimulate him in every day life.

but when having sex the feel of tights beneath his hands when he runs them all over you thighs or through you folds over the fabric becomes a very arousing and electrifying feeling for him. also... thigh fucking...

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

james has had many flings, for quite some years so he's very expierenced with sex. he is also not ashamed to ask how to make you feel better, he always akss you what you need to cum and how you want it. tuning in on what your body needs, specificly.

F = favorite position

this man loves having you flat on your stomach while he fuck into you from behind, just being able to push into you and put all his weight on you like a weighted blanket.

G = Goofy? (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he's very serious, like weirdly serious, his focus is solely on making you feel good. being in the

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

james has a little patch of curls right at the beginning of his base, and he never clipped or shaved it, he prefers to just keep it as it is.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he's very intimate just focused on your pleasure and you feeling good.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

james is the king of masturbation, this guy... if he could do jacking off as a job he would. he's a horny bundle of energy. when he's showering, when he is going to sleep, when he just woke up, during a bathroom break, empty classroom... you name it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

taking away the senses... but not for you, but for him. blindflonds, tying his hands up with your tie, stuffing his mouth with it. he honestly just loves being used by you, as long as he knows you're getting off.

L = location (favorite places to do the do)

his bed. when the two of you have acces to his dorm without the guys interrupting you both. he would prefer to plan the night completely. take you out on a nice date, go on a walk, eat some sweets with you, maybe drink some butterbeer or some firewiskey, and then take you up to his room where his dorm is decorated tot he max with the candles lit curtains drawn back towel ready for if you want it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

just you, really. he doesn't need a lot to get up and going. the second you mention you're up for a bit of fun, he's ready to go.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that could possibly hurt you, is a big no no! even if you let him know you don't mind him getting a bit rougher with you, he isn't a fan of it and doesn't see the pleasure in doing something that could potentially hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

as we all know our man is a pussy lover, he will eat you out until your cunt looks all pink and puffy and shiny with a mix of your cum and his spit. it's his preferred method of getting you ready for his dick.

he's usually to impatient to get head himself, preffering to pleasure you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

slow and sensual all the way, he takes his time with you but he fucks you deep and hard.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he won't pass up an opportunity to fuck you, ever. but he prefers to go back to his dorm and take his time with you. pulling you apart piece by piece. kissing all over your body, making you cum in many different ways. even when he has a busy schedule he tries to make time for you, if thats for a study date, going on walk by the lake, or fucking you in every way possible. but hey! if you offer a quickie because you're getting needy and need a quick fix, he's the last person to say no.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

not really, James enjoys a safe enviorment for both of you. where you can do what you want and be as loud as you want, without having to worry about people walking in or hearing you both. of course he occasionally drags you away from a party to an abandoned classroom. but he always makes sure to use a silencing spell and lock the door.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can last quite a while, and a few rounds if you give him time to recover. being a athlete he has a lot of stamina.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

nope, he's a teenager/young adult in the 70's, not something he has acces to as quickly.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he's not much of a teaser, he likes to get straight to the point with you, just wanting to make you feel good all the time. he definitly takes the mickey out of you though. asking you to repeat what you said, tells you to speak up, but he gives in real quick.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

james is the loudest person you will ever meet. he is unashamed to let you hear how much he enjoys having sex. moaning, groaning, and whining in your ear. oh my god, he whines so much especially when he begs, he is such a beggar and dirty talker. it's all really overwhelming.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

i dont think this one comes as much of a surprise, but this man has an insane breeding kink. I mean this man will fuck his cum into you, so deeply, that there is no way you won't end up pregnant. he would constantly make comment about how you'd look so good with his baby in you, with you stomach and breasts all swollen up.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

this man is big, and huge, and beefy, and bulky. he has thick arms, big pecs, huge tree-trunk thighs, big hands, and a big cock.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

james' sex drive isn't as high as people expect it to be. everyone has heard the stories from the many girls he's had casual flings with who constantly talk about his sex life, but now that he's with you, he prefers other things much more. cuddling you in bed, reading together. of course he loves having sex with you, but his needs are fulfilled by just being with you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he's a clean freak so he first has to have everything cleaned including himself and you. so when you're done with after care, james makes sure everything is cleaned up first before he even gets into bed. then he makes sure you're comfortable, but after that, everything else is forgotten, this guy falls asleep immediatly. not even 5 minutes and he's out cold.

#james potter x reader #james potter smut #james potter #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine

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mint-yooxgi · 4 days

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What About Me? - San X Reader

Part of the CODN Spring Event - The Language of Flowers

Genre: Angst, Non-idol!AU, Best Friend!AU

Pairing: San X GN!Reader

Words: 1,704

Rating: E for Everyone :)

Warnings: Jealousy, alluded to the fact reader doesn't have a shirt on at times

A/n: So, I really wanted to play around with how different flowers have different meanings, and could be interpreted differently depending on the person. Hehe, As always feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Summary: An innocent gesture, or something much deeper?

Yellow Rose - Jealousy

The sound of his knock echoes loudly in his ears as San stands on your front porch. A bundle of flowers rests in his hands, shifting himself from foot to foot as he waits for you to answer the door. You had asked him to come over, and as he recalls the reason why, he cannot help but let out a sigh.

“Oh, good!” You grin as soon as the front door swings open. “You’re here!”

Without wasting another moment, you tug him inside.

“Andy will be here soon, and I just can’t decide if I should wear the red shirt, or the yellow shirt!” Your voice is a little frantic as you waste no time marching right back into your room.

You didn’t even notice the flowers.

Slipping off his shoes, San follows you silently into your bedroom where he already sees you tossing clothing everywhere onto the floor. You’re rambling about this new guy you met - Andy - and San cannot help but to nod almost absentmindedly along to your words.

He’ll give it a week, and then you’re sure to come crying to him again about how yet another man has disappointed you. Another man that isn’t him.

If only you would give him a chance. Maybe then you could see just how much of a gentleman he could be to you. He already treats you like royalty, but you simply refuse to acknowledge that anything is there.

San knows he’s not the only one that sees it. All of your other friends have always commented on the chemistry the two of you share. From jokes about getting married, to teasing remarks about already being a seasoned couple, every comment seemingly goes right over your head. That, or you simply refuse to acknowledge how well you two fit together.

No. After so many years together, you refuse to acknowledge San as anything but your friend.

It drives him insane. Can’t you see how much he cares for you? Do you not realize the extents he would go to lay the whole world at your feet, if only you asked him to? Either way, San knows that he’s desperately in love with you, but you never seem to feel the same way.

Letting out another sigh, San sits forward. Resting his elbows on his knees, he fiddles with the large bouquet in his hands as your voice dies out in your throat.

Finally, it seems as if he’s gotten your attention.

“Who are those for?” You blink curiously, leaning into him so that he can practically smell your intoxicating perfume over the scent of the yellow roses clutched in his hands. “Did you finally manage to score a date yourself after so long?”

San’s gaze, which had been intently focuses on the blooming flowers, shifts upwards to met your own.

“No. If I were bringing flowers for a date, they wouldn’t be yellow.” He hums, sitting up fully in his spot.

“I was gonna say,” you chuckle, moving back over to your closet to pick out another shirt. This time, it’s purple. His favourite colour. “If you’re going to get roses for someone whom you’re romantically involved, yellow is probably the worst colour you could choose.”

“Oh?” San quirks a brow at you, watching you intently.

“Yeah.” You hum casually, turning back to face him once your slip on your shirt. “Don’t you know that yellow roses signify friendship?”

This time, both his brows raise at you in mild disbelief. “Do they?”

That’s certainly not what he was going for, but if that’s how you want to interpret them, who is he to stop you. It’s probably better if you think that, anyways. The last thing he needs is to get into another argument with you over his jealousy.

“So…” you trail off, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “Who are they for?”

“Well, obviously I brought them for you.” He offers you the bouquet of roses, just as he’s always offered you his heart.

And like always, his meaning seems to go right over your head.

“Oh, Sannie!” A brilliant smile stretches out across your features as you reach out to take the flowers from his hands. “You shouldn’t have!”

Little do you see the way his whole body jolts, his breath hitching as your fingers brush lightly over his skin. The gently kiss of gratitude you place upon the skin of his cheek only serves to make the warmth in his chest blossom, spreading outwards pleasantly. All the way until it reaches the very tips of his fingers.

“What’s the occasion?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice as you walk out of your room and towards the kitchen.

San, of course, is eager to follow you out, his eyes drooping slightly as he purses his lips. Though, the moment you turn around, a glass vase in hand, he’s back to looking every part of the chipper male you’ve come to know.

“Can I not bring flowers to the most beautiful person I know?” The corner of his lips quirk upwards, but the grin doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“You can bring me flowers like this anytime, Sannie Boy,” You giggle, and the melodic sounds sets his heart racing inside of his chest.

Hearing such a joyful sound, and knowing that he’s the cause of it… well… to him, there is no greater feeling. Even if he’s stuck as your friend for all eternity, that is where he wants to stay. There is no place he would rather be than by your side, where he knows he’s always belonged. His only wish is that he could be more.

“I’m just glad you like them.” His reply is gentle, glancing up at you through his lashes.

San watches you as you place the bouquet in that glass vase, noting the way your fingertips gently trace over the side of the silken petals. If only he could being doing the same to you right now. He’d pull you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he whispers that you’ll never have to worry about another thing ever again. He would tell you all about his promises to protect you, to be there for you, and how he only wants to make you smile every and any chance he gets.

You are the light of his life, and he only ever wants to be the light in yours.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” He blinks, so caught up in his own thoughts for the moment, that the final touch he had brought with him nearly slips his mind.

Reaching into his pocket, San pulls out a small red ribbon. Stepping forward, he ties a simple, neat bow around the stems of the roses, smiling at you all the while.

“San.” A soft smile pulls at your features, a hand coming up to rest over your heart as you breathlessly sigh his name. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad you like them.” He repeats his words from moments earlier, inclining his head softly.

His eyes shine with nothing but adoration for you, longing to step forward and cup your cheek in his hand. Only, he cannot. So, he’ll happily settle for the small moments, such as this, that you give him now.

You meet his gaze, that tender expression still pulling at your features. An expression of which that causes San’s heart to absolutely flutter inside of his chest.

“Oh, I more than like them, Sannie.” You pause in your movements of brushing your thumb over a petal as you smile at him. “I love them.”

You tug a single rose free from its confines in the vase, careful not to ruin the beautiful display.

“What are you doing?” San quirks a brow, watching as you step closer to him with that single rose in your hand.

A blink, and you offer it to him with a large smile stretching across your features.

“Giving my best friend a flower.” You reply cheekily. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Though your meaning might be vastly different than his, his heart still warms at the action.

He wastes no time in reaching out to gently grasp the stem you offer him, bringing the fresh bloom to his nose and inhaling its scent.

The corner of his lips twitch upwards.

Just as he goes to respond, another knock sounds at your door. The way you visibly perk up, scurrying over to answer whoever it is, makes San’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

You had just been sharing such a tender moment, too…

With one final look at the golden bouquet, San turns away. Letting out a long breath through his nose, he walks towards your font door, leaning on the wall lightly with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze scans over this new guy - Andy - and the first thing San notices is how empty his hands are.

Not even a single flower for you.

San shakes his head. His eyes narrow pointedly at the tall male across from him, hand tightening on the single stem held in his own hand.

“Sorry I’m late,” Andy says, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head sheepishly. “You look beautiful.”

At the giggle you let out, San feels his heart squeeze painfully in his chest once more.

He purses his lips, listening to you chat excitedly with this new male, who, in San’s opinion, does not deserve even a second of your attention.

Andy doesn’t bring you flowers.

San does.

“Alright, I’ll be back later.” You say, reaching for your bag as you send one final look San’s way.

San can only offer you a tight smile in return, your focus almost immediately back on Andy as soon as those words are out of your mouth. He can only watch on, a crushing pain in his chest, as you exit through the front door, waving a final goodbye to him over your shoulder.

As San watches you walk away from him, yet again, in the arms of another male, that familiar jealous beast inside of him rears its ugly head.

The stem of the yellow rose finally snaps in his hand.

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leothil · 7 months

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fic recs: archive edition

So earlier this week I was lightly complaining about how there are so many good fics I read back in 2021 (the good old 5A days. Christ.) that I never se recommended anymore, and @shitouttabuck asked if I could make a rec post of some of those fics.

Now, I still think of myself as somewhat new in the fandom - I joined within the first episodes of 5A - but it is true that a lot of people I see on my dash nowadays came into it much later. Fandom in general has a big recency bias when it comes to fics, and trying to find older fics can be a daunting project, unless they've ended up on the first page of most kudosed/commented/bookmarked on AO3 or you have a lot of time and patience on your hands. There are currently over 21600 fics in the buddie tag on AO3, so I don't blame anyone for not having the energy to go through all of that.

Side note - calling fics published during or before S5 old feels fucking weird. I already gave some friends crises when I mentioned reccing "older fics (aka 2020-2021 ones)" so all of you who have been here longer than me - I know, trust me, I know. It was yesterday. We are withering away.

There's no way I could fit all fics I want to recommend into one post (I want to keep it kind of short so people actually have a chance to look into all the fics on the list), so I might do this as a weekly thing for a while. I quite enjoyed going back to some of the fics I devoured in my early days of fandom, so this might turn into a proper nostalgia trip for me personally!

Without further ado, some fics published in 2019/2020 that I think you should read:

falling by @elisela Buck and Eddie take a walk up to an overlook and share one of the softest moments I've ever read. 1.3k words, rated G

Work Husband by hideeho (@agentlemuse) Chimney messes with Eddie's phone and changes Buck's contact to "husband." Eddie doesn't change it back, for some reason he can't articulate to himself. 1.4k words, rated T

four a.m. by asgardiun (@kitchenscene) Buck follows the rain up to the roof of the firehouse. Eddie follows Buck. 2.9k words, rated G

Medicine Man by @lovelylittlegrim Buck hits his head at work, and Eddie kisses his forehead to make it better. Buck gets stuck on it and thinks he'd like Eddie to do it again. 4.1k words, rated G

like a revelation by throughfire Maddie watches Buck and Eddie's casual intimacy and is confused by what their relationship status is, until she gets help realizing she doesn't need to be. 5.2k words, rated G

the meaning of the words you see by @florenceandthemachine Nurse!Buck gets a text from an unknown number who thinks it's someone they talked to in a bar, but they keep texting even after clearing up the mistake (and proving it with selfies), and things evolve from there. 8.6k words, rated E

#fic rec #911 fic rec #frida's archive project #it's *really* not as pretentious as that tag sounds but i needed a tag for this #better name suggestions are heartily welcomed #let me know if you end up reading any of these and what you think!#and of course feel free to ask for targeted recommendations if you want to!

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braveclementine · 4 days

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October 22- Mirror Sex (Legolas) 💙

Warnings: 18+ readers only, angst, mirror sex, prince kink, princess kink, oral sex

Copyright: I do not own Legolas or any other LOTR characters. Annerose is a made up character, but she's barely mentioned and I don't own names either. I also do not condone any copying of this.

You gazed as the gorgeous man in front of you. Well, not so much of a man as he was an elf, one of the ancient race and you knew there was a difference- to them of course. Such a difference that the relationship between you and Legolas was kept a secret. It wasn't entirely forbidden, but Legolas was the son of an elf King.

Your eyes trailed down his body. He had the perfect physique- as all of the elven men and women seemed to. Thin, but still fit and muscular. Long luscious blond hair and a pretty face, but still manly at the same time.

You always felt rather. . . well ugly was a blunt word, but it still fit. Unflattering, perhaps. You knew among common mortals- as Legolas might put it- you were decently pretty, even in your own eyes, but amongst the elves. . .

Legolas was a man and beautiful. The women were something completely different. You still didn't know how Legolas could prefer you when he had so many female elves that would love to court with him.

"You're staring." Legolas murmured softly, feeling your eyes burning into him. He opened them, his brown eyes meeting your E/C ones. Though you looked away, he could still read the emotions in them, sliding a hand across your hand. "Y/N, you are beautiful."

You flushed, looking away completely. It was very easy for him to say it, of course. But it didn't mean anything. Not when you couldn't see it yourself.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Always self-conscious of the maid that came in to serve the two of you, you quickly slumped back into the sheets, feigning sleep while Legolas chuckled softly.

You knew which elf it was the minute he greeted her by name. The elf with the silvery blue hair and large purple eyes. She was so beautiful you couldn't even believe she was a maid and even more surprised that Legolas had not had any sort of relations with her before meeting you. It had been rumored that they had, after all. But Legolas always told you the truth about whatever you asked. If he said they hadn't, then they hadn't.

"Good morning my Prince." Annerose murmured softly, the sounds of clinking dishes being set on a tray near the bed.

"Good morning Annerose." Legolas murmured back quietly, his hand landing gently on your shoulder blades.

"Um, my Prince!" Annerose said quickly, as though wanting to speak before you woke up, "I. . . there have been. . . well pardon me if this sounds forward. But you are our future King and some of the other servants. . . we've been worried about you."

"Oh?" Legolas questioned. You could heard the curiosity in his voice. "For what reason?"

Annerose hesitated a long time before saying rather meekly. "I know this is rather forward of me, my Prince, and I'm sorry if this comes across as rude, but we have been worried if. . . if you are satisfied."

Your cheeks burned and Legolas hand stopped rubbing circles on your back. You held back anything you wanted to say or do, keeping up the pretense of sleep.

Legolas responded easily. "I can assure you that it is a needless worried. I am very satisfied, Annerose."

"Ah." Annerose sounded unhappy with this, but of course would never say so. "I'm glad my Prince. Well, if there is ever anything else, you shall ring the bell."

"Of course. Thank you." Legolas said, the edge of his tone clearly dismissive and then suddenly called out, "Annerose!"

"Yes, my Prince?" Her tone had the slightest hint of hope in it.

"Please, to clear all conscious and worries, let the others know that Y/N is to be my wife. They need not worry with my love, she is all I shall ever want." Legolas said.

Annerose said nothing more, leaving the room, the door closing behind her quietly.

Legolas said nothing, his hand leaving your back and you felt the bed dip as he got off of it, presumably to go and get the breakfast. You stayed laying where you were, hoping to fall back into an endless sleep and get away from the humiliation.

The bed dipped again, long lithe arms pulling you back against his chest. A sob had gotten stuck in your throat and you didn't dare let it out, so you kept your lips shut firmly, trying to even out your breathing.

"I know you're not asleep." Legolas murmured, stroking your hair back. "And I know her words hurt you. I'm sorry they were so thoughtless, my love."

You swallowed the sob down and once the lump was gone, you murmured softly. "I'm alright. Just tired."

"No you're not." Legolas saw right through you. "I know exactly what you need."

He started to kiss down the back of your spine, his lips leaving a feather trail of burning spots. His hands caressed you and when you finally opened your eyes, he picked you up, swinging you over to sit you on the end of the bed.

"Look." He murmured softly, looking straight at something, and then you realized that it was your reflection. The two of you were reflected in the tall, body-length mirror that sat in front of his bed. Gilded and wrought with silver and emeralds, your reflections were clear as day.

You were painfully aware of how plain you looked next to him and averted your eyes down to the carpet in front of the bed, but Legolas wasn't having any of it. His fingers lifted your chin until you were looking directly at the two of you again.

"What do you see?" Legolas asked softly, kissing the side of your neck, before meeting your eyes in the mirror.

"I see myself. And I see you." You stated stubbornly.

Legolas didn't back down. "How do you think of me?"

"You're gloriously beautiful." You replied immediately. "You're so ageless and fair, there's a gay light in your eyes at all times. Your hair is so silky and smooth, it glows. But you're also as regal as your father."

"And how do you think of yourself?" Legolas fingers were rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh now, slightly distracting you.

"Well, I haven't prettied myself up, so I look rather plain." You admitted, figuring that this was the game you were playing and it was time to put everything out in the open. "But then again, next to you, I'm always plain. I don't have any of your light and I don't have any elvish beauty. I wish I did. Annerose is so beautiful Legolas, I don't know how you didn't fall for her instead."

"Because she's not you." Legolas whispered, pulling the sheets away from your body so that you were exposed- the two of you having fallen asleep naked last night. You flushed a little as he ran his fingers through your H/C mons, before sliding two fingers into your cunt.

Legolas got off the bed, sliding to the floor in front of you. "Y/N, you're going to look into the mirror the entire time. You will not look away, you will not close your eyes, you will only look at yourself and focus on my words. You don't have to ask for permission or say anything at all. Your safe word is still in use, understand?"

"Yes." You murmured, letting your eyes stray down for a second, looking at the glorious Prince on his knees before you, before letting your eyes move back up to your own face.

Legolas licked a stripe through your folds, your legs shaking a little, threatening to close around his head.

"You know what I see?" Legolas asked, before diving back in for his feast. Though you knew that you didn't have to answer, you couldn't help the slightly snarky retort that rolled off your tongue.

"A human?"

Legolas lightly pinched the inside of your thigh, but otherwise didn't comment. He pulled away, replacing his tongue with his fingers and answered instead, "I see a beautiful young woman. Your hair shines in the sun, and when you have it down, it curls around your face, framing it, so that it softens your features."

You wanted to look down at him, but kept your eyes focused on the mirror, looking at yourself. It was the one thing Legolas had commanded from you, so you wanted to make sure you followed through.

"You have a different beauty." Legolas continued, placing light kisses on the inside of your thighs. "Something no elf has, even me. Mortal beauty Y/N. You are beautiful as a human and you don't even realize it."

'Well of course not.' You thought inside your head, staring into your own eyes, which reflected a bitter sadness back at you. 'Have you seen yourself?'

Legolas seemed to feel your emotions because he kissed the inside of your thigh and said, "Look. Look at yourself Princess."

Your heart fluttered with the nickname and you watched your cheeks redden just a tad. A new light was in your eyes as pleasure started to coil in your abdomen. One of your small hands came into view as you placed it lightly on Legolas' fair hair. You watched your slender fingers slide into his locks as he latched back onto your cunt.

You watched your own eyes widen, glistening lips parting a little as you let out a moan.

"Look how beautiful you are." Legolas mumbled, muffled slightly as he didn't let up eating you out. You let out another moan, his words causing vibrations against your lower lips. Your legs shook and you could see your cheeks turning pinker.

"My Prince. . ." You moaned, voice quavering as you started to read the apex of your orgasm. Legolas looked beautiful between your legs, your hand tightening in his hair, the golden-white locks bunching up. He looked almost disheveled now, if that was possible. . . and it was because of you.

Your eyes were even brighter now, almost glazed as you reached your pleasure, which felt like fire across your veins. Your body shook and you watched yourself in the mirror once more, before collapsing against the bed so that you could relax.

You stared up at Legolas as he knelt next to you, smiling a little like you were the most adorable thing he'd seen on Middle Earth. His hand stroked your cheek until you finally smiled back at him.

"Did you see your beauty?" Legolas asked softly.

You knew what he meant and you could see it. He was right, it was a different sort of beauty than perhaps he was thinking about, but it was beauty.

"Yes." You whispered.

"Do you know why you're mine?" Legolas whispered.

You blushed at that. "You love me."

"Exactly." Legolas said, picking you up into his arms now, cradling you as he brought you over to sit with the food so the two of you could eat. "I love you."

You burrowed into his side, glancing up and seeing the two of you in the mirror again. You smiled at your reflection and then said to Legolas, "I love you too."

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