Synopsis: You find yourself in a brothel and have an unexpected encounter with the one eyed prince.
Author’s note: So uh... that brothel scene in the last episode really did a number on me,,, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written and I make no apologies thanks @arcielee for the inspo! and also i borrowed this beautiful gif from @aegonx i hope that's okay!!
I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Here's the link to my Aemond Masterlist if you want to check out my other stories! Also my requests are open, please send me some more!!
You weren’t quite sure how you found yourself in this particular predicament. Despite your loud and frequent complaints throughout the night, you had none to voice now.
It was a night out with your friends to celebrate the impending marriage of the loudest of your friend group to the baker’s boy. It was a good match, you were happy for her, she liked him well enough and he would be able to provide for her, which was as much as anyone could ask as smallfolk in King’s Landing.
What you did object to however, was when the group decided that leaving the tavern, after entirely too many rounds of surprisingly strong beer, and heading to a brothel was a good idea.
She had expressed nerves about her wedding night, and some of the others in your party overruled your protests and decided that bringing her to a brothel so she could ‘at least see what it’s all about’ was the perfect idea.
You needed no such education, having laid with a man once before, well the word man was a stretch, it was a couple of years ago and he was a boy not much older than you who worked in the stables of the Red Keep. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but it had been sufficient, and your interest in sex had decreased since then.
Now, you wondered if you had been wrong to not explore other options. The dark rooms were filled with incense, curtains, and moans of ecstacy. Many fornicators weren’t even hidden by curtains, but were completely out in the open for any and all to see.
Your friends gasped and giggled, watching and whispering as a woman on her knees choked on a man’s cock. You were surprised that she seemed to be enjoying it, and it made you wonder if it was something you would enjoy too.
A hand slipped into yours and you let your friends tug you along, this time you bit your lip to withhold your gasp as a man licked and feasted on a woman’s cunt. This was something you knew immediately you would enjoy, as a rush of heat filled you and you felt the desire to not just observe anymore, but to participate.
There was a bit of commotion as a group of loud men filtered into the room and in an effort to get out of their way as the silver haired leader of the group stumbled through yanking back curtains in search for someone- your hand slipped from your friend’s and you were separated from your group.
One of the men in the group slapped your ass, which startled you so much you stumbled back and pressed yourself against a wall in order to get away from the rowdy intruders.
Some of the crowd paused their copulation, to look at the disruption and there were whispers.
“What did you say?” you asked the unclothed woman walking past you.
“That’s the king,” she replied. Then she looked you up and down, an innuendo in her eyes, and held out a beckoning hand to you. It took all your self control not to slip your hand in hers and follow her anywhere.
Instead you politely declined with a small shake of your head, and she shrugged and continued on. You stuck to your post guarding the wall, and wondered where your friends had drifted off to.
You decided you should wander into one of the adjoining rooms to find them, when a man stomped out of the enclosed curtained area the king and his man had gone into.
The man was completely nude, that was the first thing you noticed. It was difficult not to notice. He was difficult not to notice. He looked like a carved statue, long hard planes of muscle everywhere on his tall form. Long flowing silver hair and an eye of sapphire also caught your eye.
You heard him mutter something to the king, “One whore is as good as another.” The king laughed, but Prince Aemond seemed to shake with anger.
His presence was intoxicating and you couldn’t look away, especially not when he noticed your attention, and looked directly at you.
You suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to stand, how to blink as he pinned you within his intense gaze. He stopped his stride as he approached you, standing closer than would ever be considered appropriate for a stranger, and looked you up and down.
You resisted the urge to squirm as the nude prince dragged his gaze up your body and made you feel laid bare.
He held a hand out to you, “Come with me.”
Your pulse jumped and your hand itched to slip into his.
“My prince, I am not a whore. I am here with friends…”
He pursed his lips, “Even better. And you appear to be alone. Will you come with me or not?”
His voice was rough with an unnamed emotion and you wanted to please him, to be the reason for relief from his torment, and you threw all caution to the wind.
You placed your hand in his, his callouses scraping against your own, and you shivered as he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, as if you were a proper lady and not the bastard daughter of a blacksmith. As if this were a courtship, not a fuck between strangers in a brothel.
He then slipped his hand across your back and down to your waist and led you out of the large room filled with others. You were quiet, but the same could not be said of the pounding of your heart as a prince of the realm led you to a room with a door.
“What is your name?” he asked as he shut the door behind him, sealing the two of you alone in a small room with only a desk and chair within it.
You answered and when he murmured your name back to you, your breath caught in your throat.
“My Prince,” you breathed out as he took a step towards you.
“Aemond,” he corrected.
“Aemond, this is out of character for me, I-“
He raised his brow at you, and you acted rashly, fearing you were losing him, this opportunity, and decided not to talk anymore, and practically threw yourself at him.
He groaned as his lips met yours, and as he stepped forward to meet you, your bodies collided and he guided you back a few steps until your back hit the wall.
His tongue was inside your mouth and it was better than any kiss you’d ever had. He moved it with expertise that made your clit throb and you wondered if he would indeed want to use that tongue in other places.
You realized there was nothing preventing you from touching him, not a single scrap of clothing, and so you let your hands explore. Down from his muscled chest, to his toned abs, lower…
Aemond gasped in your mouth as your hand grazed his now hardening length. Your hand
continued its journey, cupping his balls and he ripped his lips from yours, a wild look in his eye. Before you could blink, he was ripping the clothes off you, baring you completely.
You had half a second of feeling insecure as he took a step back and surveyed your naked form, before the prince murmured, “Perfect.”
His lips and body crashed into you again, your back slamming into the wall, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care as his bare skin brushed against yours, as all your curves pressed into his firm muscle, as his cock pressed against you, begging for attention.
And as you reached a hand between your bodies to once again touch him, his lips pulled from
yours and he looked you in the eyes as his hand followed the same journey as your own.
He ran a hand from the side of your throat, down your breast, taking a moment to gently squeeze and fondle which had you gasping. His thumb circled your nipple as your hand gripped his hard
cock.
You both moaned in tandem at the action, and then his hand drifted lower, lower, and lower still, until his large hand cupped your mound and found you soaked beyond belief.
He groaned as those nimble fingers spread your lips and explored your soaked cunt, quickly finding your clit, just as you rubbed your thumb across the sensitive underside of cock.
“Fuck,” you panted as you both pleasured one another with your hands. You gripped and pumped his cock as you stared into his lust blown gaze.
This, you’d never felt so wanted, so attractive, so powerful as when you held a prince
of the realm’s pleasure in your hand.
His fingers drifted, and with a smirk, he plunged two inside you. You gasped, pleasure unlike
any other as your cunt squeezed him.
And you could see that release was barreling towards you both, you knew he could tell the same as he batted your hand from him, yanked his hand out of you, and pressed you back against the wall.
His lips were on you again, consuming you, as he lifted you up, using the leverage of the wall and you followed his lead as you wrapped your legs around his trim waist.
His tongue tangled with your own as he plunged his cock inside you.
His impressive length hit you deeper than you’d ever experienced before and you let out a whine. He chuckled, a cocky sound, and gripped the flesh of your hips tightly as he began thrusting in and out.
You let your head fall back against the wall as you submitted to the waves of pleasure he brought you.
His lips pressed against your throat, his
tongue and teeth, taking turns to make you whine as he continued to thrust inside you, his tempo hard and punishing and rough and everything you needed. You tried to grind down on him, to meet his thrusts, but he growled and gripped you tighter, pressed you harder against the wall, and you submitted control to him completely and let him use you.
One hand tangled in his hair, the other gripped any muscle you could find, as his lips traveled down your throat to your breasts.
As he licked and sucked your nipple, his cock hit the deepest part of you, and his groin ground against your clit, you shattered completely.
You practically screamed his name as you came harder than you’d ever experienced before.
This only encouraged him, and his grip on you tightened, you knew you would have bruises tomorrow, and you clenched down his cock as his thrusts increased in pace and intensity. The unholy squelching sound as he pounded inside you was music to your ears, you had no room to be bashful, not as you felt full, deliciously so.
The frames on the wall shook as he pounded into you, and just as he was about to reach ecstasy, he pulled out of you and put you back on your own two feet.
You watched as the prince touched himself, that large hand gripping his even larger cock, and your cunt throbbed at the sight. He moaned as his come splattered all across your stomach and breasts.
You both watched each other, panting, coming down from unbelievable heights. You looked at his beautiful form and thought he was carved by the gods.
He lifted your head with a finger under your chin, and as you met his gaze once more, and he pressed a swift kiss to your lips.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” he murmured. Then he dropped his hand from your face, turned and left the room.
You stood there, alone, completely naked, and covered in a royal come and wondered how you found yourself in this situation, but also hoped it could someday be repeated.
I got a quick question do y'all really like Billy hargrove because I don't get the hype no shade 😭( and give y'all honest opinion I don't like him personally and for good reasons )
Am I the only one who hates it when I'm wanting to read a character from a series or movie I like, like for example Steve Harrington from stranger things and absolutely no hate to the writers but like I hate it when they don't follow the plot, I would rather you follow the venca than some fem reader with daddy issues and a daddy kink
If it were any other situation, you’d be freaking out about how cool your outfit was. The camo. The leather jacket. The bandana.
Total badass.
However, it wasn’t the time since you were all trying to go and save the world.
Again.
This time, hopefully it would be the last time.
As you were gathering some supplies, you felt like you were being watched. Looking to your right, Steve was not too far away. He had been looking at you and didn’t look away once he’d been caught.
You went back to your task. Getting more bullets, a couple of knives, and some first aid gear.
You could sense that he was approaching you. He cleared his throat, “Hey, can I uh- can we talk for a second?”
Closing your backpack, you looked up at him. “Sure.”
He led you to a small office in the back. The desk, once cluttered with stacks of paper and office supplies, now held ammunition. What a turn of events.
Being in the same space as Steve at one point in time was effortless. There was no awkwardness, no tension, just pure adoration.
Now, there was awkwardness. Tension.
But deep down, the adoration was still there.
“Are you-how are you dealing with all of this?” He asked you softly.
You chuckled a bit, “How am I dealing with possibly getting sucked into the abyss with a group of people that I’ve known practically my whole life and don’t want to lose? Just peachy.”
“I know we haven’t had an actual conversation since you’ve been back, but I just want you to know that I won’t let anything happen to you, (Y/n).”
You believed him. When the two of you were together, he was always so protective. Wouldn’t even let you get a paper cut.
“I know that, Steve. You’ve always been the protector of the group.”
He scoffs, not able to take the compliment, “No, that’s El.”
“Steve, it’s you. You’ve always put yourself in the line of fire for anyone. Dustin told me what you did at the lab.”
He looked down sheepishly. He’d hoped that Dustin wouldn’t have told anyone. “That wasn’t anything-“
You reached over and touched his arm. It had been quite some time since the breakup. It had also been some time since you’d touched each other.
The same spark of electricity was there. Just as prominent as before.
“Steve, you’re the protector. But if I find out that you’re going to do something stupid, I’ll get a demogorgon on you myself. Just as badly as we need you as a protector, we also need you here.”
He looked down at your hand, “Even you?”
“Especially me.” You answered softly.
Steve placed his hand on top of yours. A flood of memories came rushing back. Date nights. Sleep overs at his house. Babysitting the kids together. Double dates with Nancy and Jonathan.
“I really missed you.” He confessed, “I must’ve dialed your number a dozen times before quickly hanging up. When you left Hawkins, I know it was for the best. I know you needed to get out of here but I just-“
“It wasn’t because of you.”
He nodded, thumb rubbing the top of your hand softly, “I know that. I do. I didn’t want to hold you back so I just let you go even though it killed me inside.”
“This town is suffocating. I had to leave. I wanted you to come with me so badly. I knew that I couldn’t have asked that of you though.”
The sounds of everyone seemed to get louder. It was getting close to the time to go. You didn’t know what was on the other side of things. You prayed that everyone would make it back safely.
“(Y/n), I know that it’s not the best time but,” he paused for a moment, eyes searching yours, “I’m still crazy about you.”
“I’m still crazy about you too, Harrington.”
“So let’s go end this nightmare once and for all so that I can get my girl back.”
Warnings: Pervy/obsessive reader, blood kink(duh), period sex, Roman eats reader out on her period, blood drinking(just a whole lot of blood), choking, perverted acts involving panties, unprotected sex, male masturbation, a tiny dash of daddy kink, pet names, fluff. 18+MDNI! Wk: 4.2k
You are driving Roman insane. No matter how hard he tries to evade you, shut you down, you remain persistent. He met you outside the ice cream shop a few weeks ago. You were standing there in these tiny, little shorts with a tube top while you ate your cotton candy cone. Some dripped down the side and onto your hand and he couldn’t help but stare at the way you licked it off. You caught him and called him out, asking if he had a staring problem before walking over to him. And into his life. Then you never walked out. You had this sassy attitude that had a lightness behind it and he immediately knew he couldn’t muck it up with his darkness. You smelled like bubblegum and cinnamon and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into the curve of your neck and taste your candy-sweet blood.
Then he found out why you were in town, you’re Peter’s childhood bestfriend, of course you fucking were. It meant you knew where he lived, where he worked, and you took advantage of that. He would come out of meetings to you sitting in his office, or he’d find little notes on pink paper that weren’t there when he left. You’d leave baked goods that were way too sweet for him on his doorstep. But if he imagined it was the way you tasted he could stomach it, and even sometimes you’d be waiting there when he got home.
He gave you the cold shoulder at every turn. Hardly speaking to you, rolling his eyes, scoffing. He even plain told you to “fuck off” a few times but none of it discouraged you. You’d just smile and let out this cute little giggle, like you knew he didn’t mean it. Your persistence flatters him, that bright smile on your face never faltering when your pretty eyes are on him. Roman was strong at first. But his resolve is slipping, especially since you started getting more scandalous with your little gifts.
It started with the Polaroids. The first one was innocent enough, just a picture of your sweet face. But the camera was tilted down for him to see the cleavage in your low cut top. They just got dirtier from there. Pictures of you sucking on your fingers. Body shots in little lingerie that he hopes nobody else sees you in. The thought makes him murderous. Your tits. Your perfect ass. You even started getting bold with pussy shots. And you always signed them with naughty little notes.
What really sent him over the edge though? You started leaving him your panties. The first pair was in the drawer in his office. You’d leave them on the rear view mirror of his car. Any random little spot you could find.
He was barely holding onto his resolve. The only thing holding him back is Peter’s threat to snap his neck if he didn’t stay away from you, and the fact that he didn’t trust himself not to drain every drop of blood from your perfect body. But now he’s sitting on his bed with a pair of your panties in his hand, and it’s not just any pair, they’re bloody. The note you left with them was you practically begging for him to be your boyfriend and for him to let you suck his dick. And somehow you got into his house to leave them right on his pillow. If it was anyone else he would be fucking pissed, he’d find them for breaking into his space, and wring their neck. But something about you going to that length to be close to him makes his heart beat faster, and his cock twitch.
Roman also wonders how you knew he’d want these. Did Peter tell you about him? Do you know what Peter is? If so, is this your way of telling him you don’t care? His thoughts are spiraling, but he keeps going back to the idea that this was you offering your blood to him. And who was he to turn down the offer of the century? He brings the crotch of your panties to his nose and inhales deeply, the scent of your candy sweet blood causing him to groan deeply in his chest. He brings them to his lips and runs his tongue along the sticky middle, his eyes rolling back from the taste of you. His cock feels like it’s going to burst out of his jeans and he practically growls as he undoes his belt and pulls it from his slacks. He pumps his cock while the taste of you lights up his system like a drug.
You really should’ve thought this through more. Not only did you have no idea when Roman would be home, you also didn’t bring an extra pair of panties. So you’re currently huddled in his bathroom behind the shower curtain, trying not to bleed on your little white mini skirt. Wearing it was definitely a choice, all of this was. You wouldn’t say you’ve been stalking Roman, it’s more that you’re persistent and know what you want. Some might call it stalking though.
You can’t help it. He’s just so fucking beautiful and mysterious. He’s so closed off and cold but you can tell there’s a softness underneath it, a desperation to be loved. You want to crack him open at the very center and consume every drop of sweetness he has to offer. You want to know everything about him.
Peter says you’re obsessed, and he’s not wrong. He also told you to give it up, he even told you Roman’s deepest secret in hope that it would deter you. But all it did was make you want him more. You’ve known about Peter since you were kids, so finding out vampires, or upirs are real, wasn’t the biggest shock to you. It just made you want to expose your neck to him and let him drink from you until he was drunk off your taste. You know leaving him little love notes, your panties, and nudes might come off desperate. But if he really cared he would’ve told you to stop by now. And it’s not like you’ve tried very hard, or at all, to hide it was you. Now you’re hiding in his fucking bathroom because you literally broke into his house. You’re so fucked.
You’re ripped from your thoughts on how to escape by the sound of a loud groan, followed by ragged breathing. At first you thought he was pissed but as you continued to listen you could hear the slight sound of skin slicking on skin. Was he fucking someone? Suddenly murder was starting to sound appealing. Then you heard it, the sound of your name and that’s when it clicked. He’s jerking off, hopefully with your panties, or at least because of them. Did he taste them? God, you hope he did.
Your mind is reeling with the possibilities of what is happening just on the other side of this wall, the door isn’t even shut. Your curiosity ends up outweighing your desire to stay hidden. You pull back the shower curtain and slip quietly out of the shower, being extra careful to make sure your pink platform heels don’t click against the expensive marble tiles on the floor. You tiptoe to the door and peer through the crack and the sight in front of you nearly brings you to your knees.
Roman is sitting on the edge of his bed with his thick, hard cock in his hand as he pumps himself. His large legs are spread wide and his hips raise off the bed to meet his hand. Best of all though? The crotch of your panties is entirely in his mouth. His eyes are rolled back as he eagerly sucks your bloody juices from the soft silk. Your nipples harden in your little top at the sight and you feel wet, hot liquid drip down the side of your thigh before you look down just in time to see a splat of your blood drop down onto the white marble below you. It causes a little gasp to sound low in your chest and Roman whips his head in your direction the second he hears it.
You take a few shaky, nervous steps back and your heel catches on the corner on the bathmat, causing you to fall flat on your ass. Your skirt pools around your hips and your pussy is on full display as the cool air hits your slick center. You barely have time to realize you fell before Roman is pushing the bathroom door open so hard it slams against the wall. His eyes are crazed as he takes in the sight in front of him. He has his slacks and boxers pulled up now but his pants and belt are still undone. His usually meticulously styled hair is out of place, like he was running his fingers through it. His perfectly pressed black button up has the top three buttons undone and he’s clutching your panties in his large hand. He looks like a wet fucking dream.
Roman could say the same about you though. You’re sitting on his bathroom floor in a tank top that’s so see through he can practically see your nipples and he can tell you’re not wearing a bra. Your hair is in these cute little braids with ribbons tied on the ends and your pretty, pouty lips shine in the iridescent white light of the bathroom. But what’s driving him to the point of insanity? Your little white skirt is bunched up at your hips, revealing your bare pussy to him. Which means the only pair of panties you had were the ones you gave him. Silly girl. You’re pussy glistens with your wet, bloody juices and your white skirt is streaked with blood.
If he believed in heaven, he’s sure this is what it would look like. Except for the way his stomach growls at the smell of you suddenly makes him feel like he’s in hell. He thought the smell of you on your panties was just really strong, he didn’t realize the source was just behind the door. You smell so fucking good. Like someone blended cotton candy and blood and mixed it with your arousal and he’s never smelled anything better in his life. He wants to rip your skin open and drink every drop of saccharine liquid from your body and that’s exactly why he’s stayed away. But now? He’s not sure he can trust himself, but how can he resist just a taste?
“Roman, I’m - I’m so sorry! I really shouldn’t have - fuck I’m just so sorry.” Your voice is squeaky and you trip over your words while you talk awkwardly with your hands.
“No. You shouldn’t have.” Roman’s nostrils flare and he clenches his hands into tight fists at his sides. He looks fucking pissed and you can’t help the way your pussy clenches at the sight. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Broke into your house and left my blood panties on your pillow?” You state the obvious with an awkward smile and close your legs when you realize you’re still flashing him your entire pussy. Even though you don’t really care. He’s already seen it all.
“You think I’m mad you broke in?” Roman chuckles darkly as he takes a few steps toward you, he’s absolutely massive from this angle and it makes your head spin. He holds your panties up and rolls them between his fingers before holding them out toward you. “I don’t give a fuck about that. Do you realize how dangerous what you’re doing is?! Do you realize that - that I could fucking hurt you?!”
“I’m not scared of you, Roman. If you’re mad because you think you’re going to hurt me, good. I want you to.” You lick your lips and smirk up at him, baiting him. If he isn’t mad that you broke in, you’re going to shoot your shot. You didn’t come all this way, practically stalking him, for nothing.
“You should be.” Roman grits as he glares down at you. He knows if you offer yourself to him, it’s over. He can’t resist you anymore. Not like this. “You can’t just - you can’t just fucking walk in here dressed like that, smelling like blood and shit.” He takes another step forward and points down at you accusingly. “Why can’t you just give it up, huh?! No matter what I do, you don’t stop!”
“Because I can tell you want me! And you think you’re some big, bad scary monster but, newsflash, Roman I’m not afraid of you! I want you to fuck the shit out of me and feed off me. I want to be the only person you’re nice to because I can tell you’re sweet underneath that mountain of ice. I can tell you just want to be loved.” You look up at him through your lashes as you get onto all fours and crawl until you’re knelt directly in front of him. “Let me feed you, let me love you.”
“You’re fucked in the head, you know that?” Roman chuckles and smirks down at you devilishly, his words holding less malace now. “But I guess that makes us both fucked because all this crazy shit you’ve been doing gets me so hard. I’m gonna fucking ruin you, princess.”
“Do it.” It was like you said the magic words with how quickly Roman gets onto his knees and manhandles you onto your back. He roughly grabs your thighs, spreading them apart as he shoves his face between your legs. He lickes a long stripe along your folds before slipping his tongue between them and licking up your juices. Every nerve on Roman’s body lights up at your taste and he growls into your pussy as he shoves his tongue into your hole and swirls it.
“Oh fuck, that’s so fucking good.” You whine and it spurs Roman on, his cock twitching in his jeans. You taste better than he could have ever imagined. Like metallic candy and desire. He doesn’t know how he will settle for the taste of anything else ever again. Roman grabs onto your ass and lifts your lower half off the ground, his tongue never letting up. He flattens it inside of you and practically scoops your blood into his mouth as he drinks it down. His thumb comes up to rub circles on your clit and it has you close to coming already. “Oh god, I’m going to come.”
Roman moans into your pussy as he looks up at you with his big, green eyes that are almost entirely black from the dilation of his pupils. He hasn’t come up for air once, he can suffocate and drown between your legs with your blood on his tongue for all he cares. He circles his tongue around your hole before thrusting it back inside you and it has white hot pleasure burning through you. You grip onto his hair and your hips rut against his face as you ride out your high. You start to come back down to earth but Roman doesn’t stop until you’ve come on his mouth two more times. He finally pulls off of you and you pant as you try to focus your blurry eyes on the way your blood coats his lips.
“You taste so much fucking better than I could’ve ever imagined.” Roman moans as he brings his finger to gather the blood on his chin and cheeks before sucking it into his mouth. He licks his lips, savoring your taste like it's the finest meal he’s ever eaten, because it was. “I don’t know how I’m going to come back from that. Nothing will ever taste as good as that. Fuck! I shouldn’t have -”
“ROMAN!” You shout as you lean forward and take his face in your hands. “Don’t spiral. I’ll be your personal fucking blood bag, for all I care.” You smile at him adoringly as your thumbs brush his cheeks. “Will you kiss me?”
“You want me to kiss you?” Roman cocks his head to the side as his eyes roam your sweet face. He can’t believe such a weird fucking girl resides inside your angelic form. “You’re not real.”
“Real as they come, shut up and kiss me.” Roman surges forward, crushing his lips against yours. They’re so plush and soft and he tastes like your blood but you don’t even care because he’s finally kissing you. You slip your tongue into his mouth and tangle it with yours as you lean up to wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your chest against his own. You want to be closer to him. Roman groans as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up as he stands with ease. His other hand grips onto your ass and you lock your legs around his waist, your lips never ceasing to touch each other. He walks into his bedroom and throws you down on the bed, standing at the edge of it as he looks down at you hungrily.
“I want you to fuck me.” You smile up at him with mock innocence as you spread your thighs for him. “Use me, Roman.”
“If you think you’re ever escaping me now, you’re wrong. I’ll tie you to my fucking bed if I have to. You’re mine now.” Roman groans as he leans down and licks the length of your pussy, tasting your blood again.
“Well, I like the sound of that, I just might have to run away, afterall…” You sigh dramatically and it's cut off with a squeak when Roman lands a smack on your pussy. “Hey!”
“You’re a fucking, brat, aren’t you, an angel in desguise?” Roman smacks your pussy again and you’re so wet it echoes off the walls. “I won’t hesitate to punish you in the future. But right now I need to feel that tight fucking pussy wrapped around my cock.”
Roman pushes his pants and boxers down his hips, freeing his hard, thick cock. He grabs onto the sides of his shirt, ripping the buttons open and shoving it off his shoulders. He leans down and wraps his hand around your throat, his mouth watering at the feeling of your blood pumping against his palm. He takes his cock in his other hand and taps it on your clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and slamming deep inside you. There’s no build up, no time to think with the way he brutally fucks into you.
“Oh my fucking god.” You moan and wrap your legs around romans hips, using your heel clad feet to push him deeper. Roman continues to squeeze your throat, addicted to the feeling of your pumping blood as your pussy practically constricts his cock.
“You’re so fucking tight, fuck. Let me see these tits, baby.” Roman’s free hand reaches down to pull your tank top down below your chest. Your tits bounce free and he roughly takes one in his hand, pinching your nipple hard. “Even more perfect than your little pictures.”
He leans down to take one in his mouth and he lets his grip on your throat fall so he can twist your opposite nipple. Your back arches off the bed as your hands grip onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. Roman continues to pound into your pussy, this new angle has him hitting deeper and his pelvis bumps against your clit deliciously.
“God, Roman, you feel so fucking good.” Breathy moans leave your lips as you try to meet his erratic thrusts. His mouth moves onto your other tit and he bites down on your nipple surprisingly gently. “Bite me harder. Drink from me.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re asking, doll.” Roman plants sloppy kisses on your chest and up your neck before running his perfect, pointed nose along your jugular. He kisses along the column of your neck and nips at your skin. “What if I can't stop?”
“I trust you.” You sigh dreamily as you run your fingers through his hair. “I want it, please?”
Roman pushes himself up on his hands so he can look down at you with his shiny, viridescent eyes, he searches your face for doubt but all he sees is lust and a look of trust that he hasn’t seen anyone give him in a long time. Everyone in his life fears him, aside from Peter, that is. But this is different, you’re almost looking at him like you love him or something. Then you do it, you crane your head to the side, exposing your neck further to him and Roman thinks he might be in love with you.
“Fuck it.” Roman slams his hips against yours roughly and grabs onto the back of your head as he leans down and licks across your neck. He plants a few sloppy kisses there, inhaling your taste and savoring the way your heart beats against his lips before sinking his teeth into your delicate skin. He isn’t sure if this or your pussy tasted better but something about you trusting him with your life makes this different. It makes him fucking crazy. You make him fucking crazy.
“Shit, that feels amazing.” Your eyes roll back at the feeling of Roman’s teeth puncturing your skin as he pulls your blood from your body. He’s still fucking you like a man posessed and it’s all you’ve ever wanted. “Take as much as you need, daddy.”
Roman straight up growls into your throat at that, his thrusts somehow becoming even rougher. His free hand travels between your legs to rub circles on your clit and it sends you over the edge. You see stars as your orgasm wracks through your entire body. Once you come down, Roman pulls his teeth from your neck and licks the bloody wound they left behind.
“That’s my good girl, fucking come for me.” Roman takes your jaw in his big hand and pulls your lips against his in a filthy kiss, filling your mouth with that metallic taste mixed with something that’s purely Roman. When he pulls away, he licks the blood that smeared on your lips from his own. “Fucking addicted to your taste, you’re so sweet, like candy. My little candy girl.”
“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” You admit it with your full chest, as if it wasn’t already obvious. You bring your nails up and run them down his chest, leaving lines of scratch marks. “You can taste me whenever you want.”
“You’re so fucking hot.” Roman pushes up on his knees and grips onto your thighs, tossing them over his shoulder. It has his cock hitting places you didn’t even know were there. Roman grips onto your throat again, leaning down and nearly folding you in half. He shoves his face into your neck and licks the blood still gathered where his teeth pierced your skin and that’s all it takes to have his cock twitches inside of you, filling you with ropes of his cum.
“Fuck yes, milk my dick, angel.” Roman doesn’t stop fucking you until his cock starts to soften inside you and then he collapses on top of you. His weight crushes you into the mattress but it feels good and you bring your fingers up to tickle across his back and into his silky hair. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Roman chuckles into your neck and it fills your tummy with a million butterflies.
“Yeah? How so?” Roman pushes himself up on his hands so he can look down at you with a smile you’ve never seen before. It’s warm and sweet and you never want it to go away.
“Well, first of all, you practically stalked me. You broke into my house, and then you offered me your blood as if me killing you wasn’t a very real possibility. You’re kinda crazy” Roman chuckles as his hand comes up to cup your cheek and you swear you’re going to melt. “It’s pretty sexy though. You really gonna be my little blood bag?”
“Oh! So he does have a sense of humor!” You giggle and Roman rolls his eyes and flips onto his back. You take the opportunity to straddle him and look down at him like he hung the stars and it makes his heart beat weird. You’re so fucking pretty sitting on him with your hair all mused and your tits out, your pretty little neck decorated with his bite mark. “Jokes aside though, I meant that.”
“Well shiiit, who am I to say no to that?” Roman laughs, like for real laughs and it lights up his entire face. Now that you’ve accomplished your goal of getting him, your new one is to make him laugh like that, everyday.
“Does this mean your boyfriend now?” Roman grabs onto your braids, pulling your face down so it’s only an inch away from his while he gives you that bright smile you want to bottle up and save for a rainy day.
“Yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend or whatever, blood bag.” You giggle and Roman kisses you lovingly and way more gently than before. You knew you could break him. And now he’s yours.
Some of you might recognize my writing and aesthetic, if you do, hello! This is where I’ll be writing from now on. I’ll be writing for several different characters and I hope you enjoy the ride!✨
Tagging my Bill babes: @rafescorpsebride @taintandviolent (<- shout out to you pookie for shaking my Roman brain worm that never sleeps) @eerielamb @that-sarcastic-writer 🤍
—summary: you've been getting neglected by your lame boyfriend for weeks, but lucky for you, you've got your best friend steve to help you out with that!
—pairing: steve harrington x female!henderson!reader
—word count: 5k
—content: best friends to lovers, just pure fluff, love confessions, steve is THE yearner, reader has a boyfriend, so cheating, steve is pathetic for reader, steve is jealous of reader's boyfriend, full make-out sessions but nothing more than that (maybe there will be a part 2 🤭), reader is a sunshine tbh, lovesick!steve
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
Steve Harrington has always been someone extra special to you. Very special. From the moment your absurd—and non-existent—rivalry finally vanished into thin air that tragic night at Tina's Halloween party, everything had changed. Your worlds had shifted and collided, creating a whole new galaxy. One of harmony, one of friendship. Of love.
Since then, Steve has been there for you. Through every joy, every sadness, every battle against the Upside Down, and most significantly, every breakup you've had with your boyfriend over the years.
He has been a shoulder to cry on, a kind of love guru therapist, giving you advice, saying what you want to hear, providing you with the solace you so fervently yearned to find in your silly, boring boyfriend.
Because, in anyway, you wouldn't break up with that jerk. Patrick.
Needless to say, Steve absolutely loathes him with every fiber of his being. He doesn't understand how someone like Patrick could be with someone like you. Who is, basically, an angel sent to Earth.
And Steve is so patient with you, so selfless, so gentle, so caring, so full of love everytime he looks at you. That's because he's been in love with you ever since you helped him out at that stupid Halloween party at Tina's house.
How could Steve not be in love with you? That's the real question.
“He's completely, disgustingly in love with you, by the way,” Dustin would say once, after Steve practically sprinted over to you, taking off his jacket to put it on your shoulders as night fell and you were all outside fixing some stuff on the WSQK van.
You would just roll your eyes, ruffling your little brother's curly hair. “Just because he's a gentleman doesn't mean he likes me, Dus.”
“It totally does,” he would argue, noticing the way Steve would turn around every now and then to look at you, clearly more interested in you than in whatever Murray was babbling about the van's ridiculously large signal antenna. “He's pathetic.”
You see Steve giving you a big smile, and that made you smile too.
And Steve doesn't just smile at you.
He beams, he glows, his whole face lights up.
Like you're the only thing in the entire universe worth looking at. Like the Upside Down, the goddamn end of the world—none of it matters as long as you're standing there, wrapped in his jacket, cheeks softly pink from the cold. Looking back at him with those eyes.
When you open the door of your house, there he is. Steve. Stepping out of his pretty vehicle with that expression on his face that's meant just for you to see, his honeyed eyes softening at the edges, one of his hands twitching as he runs it through his hair.
Lately, he's been doing that a lot more than usual, you notice. Twitching.
“You're twenty-four minutes late,” you say, pointing out something he obviously already knows, closing the door behind you and walking toward him across the front yard of your house.
Even when you bring up that disapproving tone and oblivious to everything going on around you, still he smiles so softly, genuinely happy to see you. He rests his elbow on the open driver's door as if he's the most handsome guy around. He is, probably.
“Take it easy, sugar, were you really that desperate to see me?” he snorts, taking advantage of the fact that he's pretending to look for your little brother, who is usually by your side, so he can look you up and down. He definitely doesn't find Dustin, but he does find your beautiful legs dressed in that pretty skirt he absolutely loves.
You roll your eyes, pulling up right next to his car as Steve rushes to open the passenger door for you.
“Don't be ridiculous.”
Steve raises his hands in surrender, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.
“Hey, I'm only commenting on what I see. Desperation to see me.”
You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, but there's no real heat behind it. He knows it. He always knows it. And that's what makes him smirk — that stupid, charming Harrington smirk that makes your stomach do another one of those flips you pretend you don't get around him.
You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing your skirt as you sit. He— of course he notices. You catch the flicker in his eyes, the way he wets his lips before quickly looking away.
He's been doing that a lot too.
Steve closes the door gently — always gently — then walks around the car. When he gets in on his side, the scent of his cologne fills the small space, warm and familiar, and you hate how much you missed that.
He doesn't start the engine right away.
Instead, he rests his hands on the steering wheel, thumbs tapping in that nervous little rhythm again. Twitch, twitch.
The muscle in his jaw works once, very subtly. Something is definitely off with him today, though you can't quite tell what.
“Okay,” he says, exhaling softly, “so Dustin's not with you? You checked his room?”
“Obviously,” you mutter, buckling your seatbelt. “He left an hour ago after slamming the door so hard I thought the hinges would fall off.”
Steve winces. “Ah. Classic teenage meltdown. Love that.”
You shoot him another look. “He's been doing more than melting down. He's... different. Distant. I don't even know what's going on with him anymore. I'd like to be there for him—I am there for him. But he...” You nervously bite your lower lip. “He just doesn't see me.”
For a moment, all Steve does is look at you, with that gentle, knowing gaze, looking deeper into your eyes, as if he literally had your soul in his hands and was examining it delicately.
“Hey,” he says softly, fingers twitching on the wheel again. “The guy adores you. He talks about you all the time. He's just going through a rough patch, we all are, considering the current state of the world. He just needs time to clear that thick head of his.”
His words should reassure you, but they don't. Not entirely. You've been anxious lately, everyone has. Acting very out of it, on edge, tense, obsessed with Vecna and the Upside Down.
“I know,” you say quietly. “But it feels like he's shutting me out. Like he doesn't need me anymore.” Your throat tightens with every word you speak, hindering your efforts to speak. “Like I'm losing him.”
Steve watches you for a heartbeat, his expression softening even further— impossibly so. He shifts in his seat, the leather creaking as he turns toward you, knee purposefully brushing yours.
As he opens his rosy lips to say something, you gently cut him off, shaking your head.
“Let's just not talk about it anymore,” you clear your throat, struggling to force a little sweet smile. With the appearance of that smile, he falls silent, gazing at you in stillness. “Let's just focus on what's important, okay? You said you needed help with the sound effects?”
Steve clears his throat now, forcing himself to shift his soft brown eyes away from your pretty face and onto the street in front of him, checking to see if any vehicles are approaching so that he can drive off the sidewalk. “Uh—yeah, the sound effects, I wanted to get your opinion on that.”
“My opinion?” you ask, curious, lifting an eyebrow. Truthfully, you assumed that Steve needed you for something more important when he called you the night before, requesting your presence by 5 p.m. the following day, urgently.
Steve grins, responding, “Yeah, you've been helping me all this time with it, so I figured it would make sense to have your approval on a few adjustments.”
“Okay...” you reply, still somewhat skeptical that this was really the point of the whole gathering.
Steve finally starts the engine, though he doesn't drive yet. His fingers drum anxiously against the wheel—tap-tap-tap—before he pulls the car smoothly onto the road. You watch the familiar streets pass by through the window, enormously more at ease now that you are in the company of Steve, who has been your best friend since, well, since all the Upside Down mess started—and ever since he finally decided to stop being a brainless dumbass.
“Okay, so,” Steve says after a moment of comfortable, clearing his throat again. “Don't laugh at me, but I stayed up until, like, three in the morning trying to fix the stupid 'creature roar' effect. And now it just sounds like... I don't know. A dying vacuum cleaner.”
“Well, I'll be the judge of that, Harrington,” you snort, settling back in the seat.
That makes him smile again, a real one this time. But it fades a little too quickly as he focuses back on the road, jaw tightening again.
The drive to WSQK radio station is quiet, a comforting, familiar silence, a silence that feels heavy and light at the same time, like an unspoken promise.
When you arrive ten minutes later, Steve rushes to open the door of the car for you, and that makes you smile once again. You smile a lot when you're with him. Dustin points it out every damn chance he gets.
You don't notice it because it's so natural, so uncontrollable. When you're with Steve, your whole world feels lighter, calmer, quieter. All you can hear is the sound of his voice and your heart beating in your chest.
The ride becomes quiet, a comfortable, warm, cozy silence. A silence that is familiar to you, that you enjoy. Because it's Steve, after all, your best friend. There's no place you feel safer than right there, sitting next to him in his car.
He swallows, like he's trying to work up to something, as you walk together inside the radio station building.
He's thinking about something. Or hiding something. You can practically feel it pulsing off him.
After a very long moment, he speaks.
“How's everything going with Patrick?”
Patrick. Right.
He pronounces the name as if it contains some deadly poison, his tongue twisting in disgust, his whole face contorting in revulsion as he says it. Steve is physically repulsed by saying it.
You sigh, waiting for him to open the radio booth.
“Same as usual lately, I guess,” you click your tongue, frustrated with the topic. “He hasn't come to see me, nor has he called. He's... distant. Upset, shut down.”
Steve clicks his tongue too and he turn his head to look at you with sympathy, anger perhaps too. “He's such an idiot. You should totally dump his ass, like, right now.”
“He thinks I'm cheating on him,” you blurt out, lowering your gaze for a moment. “With you.”
Steve's reaction is instant.
He almost swerves.
Steve freezes.
One hand still on the booth door, the other hovering mid-air like he forgot how to move. His mouth parts just slightly — not enough to speak, only enough to show how completely that sentence knocked the wind out of him.
“...with me?” he repeats, and his voice sounds different. Rough. Quiet. Almost strangled.
“Yeah,” you nod, hugging your arms to your chest. “He's been acting weird about it for weeks. Says we're 'too close.' That I look at you differently. That you look at me differently.”
Steve blinks once. Slowly. As if giving his brain time to reboot.
“Well,” he finally says, breath catching, “that's... that's rich. Because I'd never— I mean, I—”
He stops. Swallows hard.
Runs a hand through his hair again, fingers trembling.
The room feels suddenly too small, too warm, too loud with the sound of his breathing. He opens the door with some brusqueness, holding it open for you to pass through.
“He's jealous for no reason,” you try to add, but your voice comes out thin. “I'd never— we're just—”
You walk slowly through the door, stopping right in front of him, at the threshold, holding his gaze. His eyes scan your face with that intense, searching softness he reserves only for you — warm honey turning to fire around the edges.
“Friends,” Steve finishes quietly, eyes flicking up to yours.
“Right,” you're an echo of his words. You bite your lip, exhaling a little nervous giggle, “Friends.”
Steve clears his throat and fumbles for the light switch, turning it on with a loud click. The booth fills with the warm hum of equipment, mixing boards blinking with tiny green and red lights.
He doesn't look at you for a moment. He sets down his keys on the desk, straightens a stack of cassettes that didn't need straightening, taps his finger nervously on the mixer — twitch, twitch.
You wander past boxes and shelves filled with vinyl records, recognizing many that you yourself had donated to the radio station.
You're smiling as you find your all-time favorite one, and it's got a little pink note with words written on it, that you can read once you take the record out to take a look at it.
‘Handle with care.’
You recognize the handwriting right away.
Your eyes lift from Cindy Lauper's iconic pose on the cover of She's So Unusual to look at Steve, who is still rummaging through the cassettes.
Your fingers linger on the sticky note longer than necessary as your chest warms, tightens, twists, all at once.
“Stevie.”
“Mhm?” he hums, looking up to pay attention to you, as if you hadn't already caught his undivided attention the moment you stepped into his company.
“Why did you put a note on my record?” you ask softly.
“Because...” He laughs under his breath, but it's not really a laugh, it's a huff of obviousness. “Because it's your favorite.”
You lift a brow. “And that requires a warning label?”
He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. “Not a warning. Just— you know.” He shrugs helplessly. “I didn't want Robin or someone else to scratch it. I know it means a lot to you.”
“Right,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions that is suddenly trying to drown you.
You put the record back in its spot, very slowly.
“So,” you smile lightly, taking a seat at Robin's desk, the radio host, “are you gonna show me the vacuum-cleaner monster roar or what?”
Steve snaps upright like you just gave him instructions to defuse a bomb.
“Right — yeah — yes.” He fumbles with a cassette, jammed between two others. “Okay, so, this one... wait— no, not this— crap— okay— this one!”
He pops it into the player and presses play.
A horrific, warbling screech bursts out of the speakers — something between a demon gargling nails and an actual dying Hoover.
You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth.
Steve groans, dropping his face into his hands. “Oh my God, I knew it— it's awful, it's— don't laugh— actually no, okay, you can laugh.”
You push your feet to pull the chair closer to his desk, “No, no, it's... impressive. Deeply cursed. But impressive.”
He looks down at you with that stupid boyish grin that scrunches his eyes at the corners, with his hands still hiding his face, looking at you through the gaps between his fingers. That way you can clearly see the brown-honey color of his eyes.
As he leans his elbows on his desk, you move close enough to pull his hands away from his blushing face, very gently.
You're smiling so hard your cheeks are quivering slightly, “I think it's really cool.”
Steve holds his breath, his eyes flickering for a split second to the sight of your hands cupping his, guiding them away from his face so you can get a better look at him. You catch him, though. You always catch him.
“You really think so?” His eyebrows furrow upward and he looks like a pouting child.
“I mean, you're going to scare the shit out of the radio listeners,” you giggle quietly.
And Steve starts laughing too, uncontrollably. He feels so happy that he could float away. The only thing keeping him grounded are your hands in his, your gaze, your smile, your voice, your body.
Ten minutes later, after some more banter and approving comments about Steve's new sound effects, he's putting a record on one of the turntables in the booth. You're not paying attention to him because you're too focused on sorting through the boxes full of cassettes, organized by words, letters, and emotions. You put the new one with the creepy scream in the horror section.
A broad smile curves your lips as the first chords of Money Changes Everything begin to echo through the interior of the cabin.
“Well, he's been ignoring me a lot lately,” you continue telling him about everything that's been going on with your lame boyfriend.
Steve is listening attentively, he's now sitting in the office chair, his fingers drumming on the armrests along with the beat of the song. He knows it by heart, of course, you've listened to that album together countless times in your room.
“How long is 'a lot'?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
“...over a month,” you admit finally.
Steve's brows knit now. “Over a month since what?”
You settle more comfortably over his desk, “Since he actually talked to me. Since he touched me. Since we...” you gesture vaguely, your voice lowering sheepishly, “y'know...”
“Are you kidding?” he asks, voice low, controlled — but barely.
“No...”
He blinks slowly, very slowly. And sits up straight in his seat, as if he were rising from the dead, “He hasn't even— even tried anything?”
“Nope,” you shook your head, straightening the fabric of your skirt over your thighs.
He just... stares. Like you've just told him something so unbelievable, so painful, so wrong, that he can't fully process it. His eyes drag over your face, your lips, the way your fingers nervously smooth your skirt, and something darkens inside him — anger, disbelief, heartbreak, something protective and dangerous all at once.
“You deserve better than that,” he says softly, voice trembling with sincerity. “So much better. Fuck, that's crazy”
You try to laugh it off — small, brittle, dismissive.
“It's not that big of a deal, Steve—”
“Yes, it is,” he cuts in, more firm than you've ever heard him with you. Not harsh — never with you — but there's an edge, a rare sharpness slicing through his voice. “It is a big deal.”
Your brows lift, surprised.
He pushes himself up from the chair so suddenly it rolls back a few inches. He stands in front of you now, the record spinning behind him, Cindy Lauper's voice floating through the booth like some ironic soundtrack to the crackling tension.
When You Were Mine.
How fitting.
“Over a month?” he repeats, like he's still trying to convince himself you're not joking. “He hasn't touched you in over a month?”
Your cheeks warm, in embarrassment, frustration, a little sadness, a little humiliation.
You make a dismissive gesture with your hand, “I guess he's just... done with me.”
“No.” His voice cracks. Actually cracks. “Don't say that. Honey, he should be begging for your attention,” Steve whispers, every word slow, deliberate. “He should be feeling like the luckiest guy in the world. Because he—” He shakes his head, eyes burning. “God, he has no idea what he has.”
You swallow hard.
“Steve...”
He inhales — deep, steadying — and steps back just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to sever the electricity sparking between you.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer. And somehow, that makes it worse.
“Why are you still with him?”
It's a simple question. But it doesn't feel simple.
Why are you still with Patrick?
You've asked yourself this question more times than you'd like to admit. And you tell yourself it must be because of the attention he gives you (very occasionally now) or the way he's there for you (hardly ever anymore). No, seriously, why are you still with him?
Why do you keep clinging to something that is clearly beyond repair?
It's not afloat, so what's the point in sinking with it?
You fidget with the edge of the desk, sighing in hopelessness. “I don't know. Maybe because I keep hoping he'll come back to me. That things will go back to normal.”
“Well,” Steve speaks in a tone as gentle as his gaze, “if he can walk away from someone like you... he's even more of an idiot than I thought.”
Your lips part — a soft sound escaping before you can stop it.
And Steve notices.
Oh, he notices.
He notices everything about you. He knows you better than he knows himself, every gesture, every movement, every glance, every tone of voice. Every single habit of yours is a kind of religion to him, a form of fanaticism, a way of worship. Every part of you is divine, heavenly.
And nothing about you is normal. In the best sense of the word.
Steve's eyes flick to your mouth for half a second before he forces himself to look away, rubbing his hands on his jeans like he needs to physically wipe the moment off his palms.
“You're just saying that to make me feel better,” you huff, smiling faintly, holding his gaze.
“No,” Steve says immediately.
Too immediately.
He stands up like a robot, quick and precise. He walks toward you with slow, deliberate steps, brushing one of his hands through his hair.
“You really don't see it, do you?” His question sounds incredulous. “You don't see what everyone else sees. What he should see.”
You blink up at him once he is standing right in front of you. “See what?”
“That you're...” He stops, jaw clenching. Starts again. “That you're impossible not to notice. You come into a room,” he continues, eyes burning into yours, “and it's like everything else gets quieter. You talk, and I—” He swallows, the sound thick. “I listen to every word like it matters. Because it does.”
Your pulse is pounding so hard you can feel it in your fingertips, twitching over the desk.
“You smile, and I...” He exhales. “I feel it. Everywhere.”
Your voice is barely a whisper. “Steve...”
“If you were mine, I wouldn't leave you for a second. I mean, look at you,” he smiles, glancing down at your lips. His hands rest on either side of you on the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly and holding on to it as if that would stop him from doing something he wouldn't want to do, something he might regret. “I'm supposed to be your friend,” he breathes out, defeated, leaning closer to you and pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “I'm supposed to be a gentleman.”
You feel his breath quicken against your skin, a shuddering sigh that ripples down your spine. The revelation lingers in the air, palpable and electric, poised to burst the bubble of that long-standing "friendship" that has kept you both afloat for so many years.
“Steve,” you whisper, because it's all you can manage to say. His name. Your voice fractures under its own weight.
You raise a hand, pausing for a second, before gently placing it on Steve's brown hair at the nape of his neck. Your thumb brushes against his warm skin, and a small sigh slides from his lips, a low, hoarse sound that makes you tremble.
He lifts his head slowly.
And the moment his eyes meet yours...
It's like the whole room tilts.
His pupils are blown wide, dark and hungry, and you swear you can feel the heat rolling off him, rising off his skin in waves. His gaze drops to your lips again — not subtle, not accidental, not friendly.
He's not pretending anymore.
Not hiding it.
Not even trying.
“I'm supposed to be good,” he chokes out, his voice nothing more than a hushed whisper, a confession. “But sweetheart,” he gasps, his voice cracking with restraint, “you make it really, really hard to be good.”
Steve notices that you want to say something, and shushes you, laying a finger on your mouth, tracing your lips with extreme delicacy.
“Shh... look at me, just look at me,” he demands in a deep whisper, his hands are cradling your face now, shaky, almost hesitant. “I can't stand the thought of that jerk neglecting you. Not when I... if I could, I would make you feel like the only woman in the world, every day.”
Your breath hitches in your throat as his finger traces the curve of your bottom lip, as delicately as if he were touching a porcelain doll. His hands, usually so confident and restless, are trembling slightly against your cheeks, framing your face with a tenderness that makes your eyes sting.
The way he's looking at you—it's devastating. It's the way you always secretly wanted to be looked at, a look of utter reverence and raw, agonizing need. It doesn't look like friendship. It looks like... everything else but it.
You lean into his touch almost imperceptibly, just enough to communicate the sudden, powerful shift inside you. The realization that he is the reason Patrick is jealous, and the terrifying, wonderful possibility that Patrick might be right. He must be right.
With a low, ragged sound that is half-gasp, half-groan, Steve closes the remaining distance.
“Kiss me,” you manage to utter, demand, or beg, your voice caught in your throat, like a tiny vibration in the air. It's the most coherent thing you can express, the most you need at that moment. Him and nothing but him.
With a low, ragged sound that is half-gasp, half-groan, Steve closes the remaining distance in between you.
He shatters it as if it were his greatest enemy, the one thing he has loathed since he can remember. Distance.
His lips find yours, hesitant for only a fraction of a second, then urgent, demanding, and utterly possessive. It's not the gentle, polite touch of your 'best friend'; it's the fierce, hungry pressure of a man who has been holding this back, hoarding this feeling, for too long.
From a man who laid his heart in your hands the moment you met. Who took one look at you and knew he would be yours.
Your man.
Your Steve.
Yours.
His hands slide from your cheeks, moving to cup the back of your head, threading into your hair, tilting your face up just slightly, deepening the kiss with a desperation that steals your breath away. His nose, the one you love so much, bumps against yours roughly, and they fit together just right.
The air leaves your lungs in a rush. It's a dizzying, all-consuming kiss that feels like coming home and falling off a cliff all at the same time.
Every question you had about Patrick, about your relationship, about why you were staying, dissolves into the white-hot certainty that this—this shocking, overwhelming connection—is what you've been missing.
Why haven't you seen it before? Perhaps you had merely chosen not to see it. That you belong to him. The devastating truth. That you belong to him.
You lift your own hands through his body, gripping the front of his shirt, clinging to him as if he's the only stable thing in a violently spinning world. The fabric is soft, warm from his body, and your knuckles white as you pull him closer.
You spread your thighs, bringing him even closer to you, impossibly close.
When he finally, reluctantly, pulls back —only enough for a breath— his forehead is still resting against yours. His eyes are closed, chest heaving, his breathing a frantic counterpoint to the steady beat of the music filtering through the air.
You can't help but kiss him one more time, just a little peck. Because he looks so pretty, so hot, so celestially beautiful, pressing against you, ready to worship everything you give him.
“God,” Steve prays, but it sounds more like a curse, the single syllable a prayer, a curse, and a confession all at once. His thumbs brush against your cheeks, pulling you back to look at him, his eyes opening slowly, dark and dazed. “I've wanted to do that for— God, I don't even know how long. Why did we take so long to do that?”
“Because you didn't have the guts to do it,” you whisper back, holding back a smile, which he kisses, gently tracing your curved lips with his tongue.
He smiles too, and then leans in and kisses you again, softer this time, a tender sealing of the promise, a claiming that makes every other kiss you've ever had feel like a bad dream. When he pulls back, he's glowing, his hand never leaving your face.
“Don't,” he breathes out, his voice thick with emotion, his gaze locked on your mouth. “Don't go back to him. Please...”
“I won't,” you promise him.
Because, how could you even want to see another male when you have him right there in your arms? Staring at you like that, so yearningly.
Steve's lips curl into a slow, relieved, and utterly triumphant smile—the genuine, dazzling smile that makes your world lighter.
You feel him exhale against your cheek, shaky, uneven, like every breath he takes is still trying to catch up to what just happened.
Like he's trying to catch up to you.
His hand slides down from your cheek to your jaw, then to your shoulder and finally to your waist — not squeezing, not claiming you the way he clearly wants to. Just resting there. Feeling you, with the softest, most enamored touch you've ever known.
“You're shaking, pretty,” he points out.
“So are you,” you whisper back.
And he is — his fingers tremble where they rest against your skin, his breath stutters each time he looks at your lips, and his chest brush yours with an unsteady pressure, as if he's terrified you'll vanish if he doesn't stay close enough.
And still, Steve pulls away just a little, only enough to take off his jacket and carefully drape it around your shoulders, his hands caressing your arms as he does so, making sure you are wrapped up and cozy.
Your cheeks flush, and Steve smiles when he sees it.
The scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, so masculine, so him, so yours.
“There you go,” he coos contentedly once you're snuggled up under the warmth of his jacket.
“Thanks, Stevie,” you flash a sheepish smile, so happy you feel like you might burst.
You lean forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth — soft, slow, testing. And then, you lift your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb across the faint stubble there.
Steve leans into your touch like it's instinct.
Like it's home.
“Everything for you,” he assures you, “Everything.”
He looks at you like you've just handed him the entire world.
And Steve Harrington — your Steve — lifts your hand to his lips, pressing the softest kiss to your knuckles, reverent, desperate, worshipful.
As if you were the beginning and end of his universe.
Summary: Cregan's direwolf is spoiled by the reader.
A/n: Based on ask! Also I'm running a fever, so I'm praying this makes sense
Masterlist
.....................................
"Perhaps it was an idiotic thought from the start," Cregan mutters as he views the sight before him.
His sweet wife sat on the ground of the dining hall, lavishing their dire wolf in affection.
Well, Cregan's direwolf.
Well, it was supposed to be Cregan's.
He had found the wolf not long before he became the Lord of Winterfell. Now, after almost seven years with the animal, their bond was inseparable.
So when Cregan's wife joined the mix, Cregan was nervous.
But she had a love for Dark Night, as did the large beast for her.
"I find it sweet," the Maester said with a light smile. "It is important the two get along, isn't it? Better than fighting for your attention, I'd wager."
"That's the thing," Cregan sighed. "Neither of them needs my attention. They're content on their own."
The maester chuckled, looking at the sight of the woman and wolf before excusing himself.
Cregan walked to the pair, holding his hand out to his wife. "C'mon, sweet girl."
Y/n looked up with a smile and took his hand, brushing off dust from her skirt as she did so.
Dark Night let out a low coo, sitting up and nuzzling at her thigh.
"Seems I'll have to fight for even a moment with you," Cregan smiled as he tucked his face into her neck.
She let out a soft giggle. "Don't be so upset, Cregan. You know you always have my heart."
He chuckled with her, pulling away and leading her to the dining table, pulling out her chair before sitting across from her.
The two talked of mundane things as usual: their day, the problems of the North, ideas they had, anything and everything.
Finally, Cregan tilted his head with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing?"
She looked at him with wide eyes, as if caught in a horrid lie. "N…nothing."
He simply stared, his hands resting atop the table. "Are you feeding Dark Night under the table?"
She reaches to pick something off of her plate, lowering it below the table. "No?"
He leaned back in his chair with an incredulous look and a chuckle, "You little minx. He eats enough, you know that."
"Well, yes, but," she gave a shrug. "He just looks at me so pitifully, I cannot say no."
She reached up to grab more, but Cregan stopped her, "Don't."
She paused, "Cregan-"
"-Do not spoil that damn dog. He is fine."
Before long, Dark Night's large head weighed down on Cregan's lap from under the table, a longing look in the animal's eyes.
Cregan looked down at him with a tight lip and a shaking head, "Your methods may work on our sweet girl, but you will get nothing from me."
The wolf nuzzled in more, trying to get Cregan's attention still.
Finally, Cregan waved his hand out at the wolf, "Get. Go on. You have already been fed today."
Dark Night accepted the defeat and left the dining hall, an obvious annoyance in the way he walked.
"Now," Cregan sighed. "Let us try to speak again."
…
A few hours later, Cregan entered their chambers in pure exhaustion.
The day had been longer than he had hoped, and he wanted nothing more than time with his wife.
Seeing her curled up on the sofa next to the fireplace warmed something inside of him.
He came from behind, leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of her head.
She hummed, looking up from her book. "Hello, lovely."
A small whine sounded in the room.
Cregan's brow furrowed as he scanned the room for his wolf.
"Why is he on the bed?"
She leaned forward, looking over her shoulder to see that the wolf had indeed found a comfortable place on their bed. She shrugged, "He was there when I got here. I didn't have the heart to move him."
Cregan gripped her shoulders from behind, gently massaging them. "I've had this wolf years, and never has he even been allowed the notion that being upon the bed was allowed."
She smiled as she looked over her shoulder at Cregan this time, "He's been so wonderful today. Let him stay."
He leaned down to her ear, a teasing smile across his face, "Why should I?"
She let out a hum. "Please, Cregan."
"Please what?" He teased.
Her head leaned back against the back of the sofa, "You know what you're doing, Lord Stark."
He smirked, leaning up and moving to the bed, "Up."
Dark Night lifted his head to look at Cregan.
Y/n immediately gets off of the couch, "Cregan."
"I mean it," he complains. "That dog cannot run this castle."
"He's not," she comes as she moved to Dark Night, petting his fur.
"My love, he-" Cregan froze completely, eyeing the dog. "A collar? You've bought him a collar?"
She smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps."
Cregan crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. "Gods, you're gonna be the death of me."
"He's being so sweet, Cregan. Look at him!"
Cregan looked down, seeing his sweet wife practically laying on the large animal.
He shook his head, a large smile coming across his face. "As long as there is still room for your husband."
"Oh, always, Cregan."
…
Cregan woke up in the night, pulling at the blanket that would not move. He leaned up on his elbows, seeing the giant dire wolf that laid on his wife's feet, holding the blanket down underneath him.
Cregan heaved a great sigh, but inside, he really didn't mind.
He was glad the two greatest things in his life cared for each other. It made his occasional absence to the Wall less guilt wracked.
He knew they'd keep each other warm until he came back.
a/n: this was written with a black fem reader in mind (this is a little self indulgent lol) but anybody can read & enjoy this! I’m not strictly a Sinners blog so I won’t be writing for these characters all the time. Also, the backstory was inspired by @nothanksofficer, so go check them out 💌!!
Currently listening to: We’ll Be United by The Intruders
You cannot tell me that this man doesn't teach you how to string together sentences in Mandarin (if you don't already speak it). It'd start with him having sweet little nicknames for you in his native tongue, then you'd get curious & end up wanting him to teach you what he knows.
Many of the nicknames he has for you derive from your characteristics & personality. I'm really set on the fact that he'd call you 'little sweetheart' in Mandarin. It's also quite obvious if you've seen the movie that he'd call you baby. Imagine this man calling you baby/sweetheart/honey in that smoky southern accent...I need to be put down.
You were known in town as the girl to go to if somebody needed artistic or creative direction in whatever they were working on. That lady down the street needs help patching up a dress? You'd show up with your sewing kit ready to go. The owner of a local bakery needs assistance painting over some stubborn stains? You'd be there with your very own paint, gloves, brushes, and a little stool for you to stand on. That's how you and Bo met in the first place. He was in desperate search for somebody that'd be able to help him produce a sign for his store. Every time he'd ask somebody if they knew anyone who could assist him in such a task, they'd reply with your name and nod their head towards your studio.
and by God, were you gorgeous. Bo stumbled over his words for a good ten seconds before pausing and finally spitting out "uh d'ya think ya could help me with a sign? I heard ya paint and do all sorts of things and uh- it's for my store." He was nervous but he'd be damned if he screwed up his first impression and ruined all his chances of working with you in the future. But, you simply flashed a sweet smile his way and graced him with an enthusiastic "of course! Whaddya have in mind?"
he loves eating pussy. send!
he’s very very handsy when he’s eating you out. One of his hands is always kneading and pinching your tits, savoring your sweet little sounds before trailing down to settle his hand on your tummy. He wraps his strong arms around your aching thighs, anchoring your hips down to the bed.
What he had in mind was him getting his act together so he could see that sweet little smile of yours every single day & night.
Bo definitely wants to have at least one baby with you. He's brought it up many times when the two of you are laying in bed together, skin-to-skin, after he's worn you out. He'll trace your plush hips n torso with his fingers, racking his eyes up the body that he adores oh so much before saying "I think we should go again, hm? Just to make sure it really sticks."
This man is suave he knows exactly how to flirt with you and what it takes to get you going. He doesn't lay it on thick (unless it takes you a while to understand he's flirting), he's slow with his touch and intentional with his words. Sorta like a game of cat and mouse.
Gives amazing massages. He'd definitely be the type to plop your sore feet onto his lap after a long day of walking around and start rubbing them.
"Does that feel good? Oh, I bet it does. You're real tense, baby."
He is a monster when it comes to eye contact and he'd do it even more if you're quick to get shy. He uses your flustered state to his advantage and gets you to finally look at him by placing a hand on your chin & tilting your head in his direction.
"y'know you can look at me right, ya don't gotta be all shy. Such a pretty lil thing, aint'cha?"
His proposal was one of the sweetest things you ever witnessed. You couldn't contain the gasp that left your mouth at the sight of him getting down on one knee. He went on to list all of his favorite things about you, your sweetness, compassionate nature, the protectiveness you harbor for the things you cherish. He recited his favorite moments that the two of you have shared, how he loves when your nose scrunches up when something is too sweet, how you bite your lip when you're concentrating, how you can't help but close your eyes and smile when your favorite song comes on.
"and I just knew from the very first moment I saw ya, baby, that you were the girl I wanted to settle down with. I wanted to bring you to meet my mom an' dad, buy ya a house, give you my baby if you'd let me, everything -anything you wanted, I wanted to give it to ya. and that's exactly what i'ma do, baby. All ya gotta do is say yes."
He undoubtedly got misty eyed seeing you walk down the aisle. Your wedding photos look a lot like the ones below (I know these aren’t time accurate let me have fun):
Bo is most definitely the type of man to hand feed his woman. Whenever the two of you are working on dinner together, he’ll hold a spoon up to your mouth so that you can have a taste of what he’s fixing up.
I’ll be posting a part two soon so let me know if you’d like to be tagged once it’s finished 💌🌷.
* your son gazing at you lovingly just like Sirius does
* going through the drafts and had a sudden burst of inspiration for this video I had saved!!! YOU’RE WELCOME 😭
……..…
Noooo because being somewhat accustomed to Sirius just always adoringly staring at you for absolutely no reason other than the fact that he loves you and then having to get used to his mini looking at you the same exact way!
You’re cooking a little mac and cheese meal for your little boy and have him all set up in his high chair so he won’t go getting into trouble now that he’s toddling. Sirius then comes in from getting the mail and sets it on the kitchen counter and sees the look in his son’s eyes. There’s no questioning what who he’s looking at and can’t help but join him at the perfect spot for viewing said thing person.
Now standing behind the high chair, Sirius places a kiss on the boy’s little head.
“She’s amazing isn’t she…” Sirius speaks to his son as his own eyes fixate on you similarly, if not exactly, the same way your son has his.
You turn from your stirring upon hearing the indirect compliment and smile when you see the pair of them looking at you with warm, dreamy looks.
“Oh stop, he’s just happy about the mac and cheese he’s going to get, aren’t you handsome boy?” you say, directing the last words to your baby.
“Doll, you could be making goop and we’d still be looking at you the same way. You’re our goddess, what do you expect?” Sirius comments with a wink.
“Isn’t that right kid?” he then says to his son who’s smiley gaze is still very much fixed on you. <3
you feel his every ab muscle tense under your touch as you softly trail your hands down his bare torso. his hands never leaving your rolling hips as you take all of him inside of you.
every move of your hips sent shock waves through your body as he hit and throbbed in all the right places, gripping your hips tighter creating nail marks as he shamelessly takes in the beautiful girl riding him. both of you faces flushed, skin glistening from sweat, and hair disheveled, pieces falling carelessly over your faces.
you throw your had back in ecstasy, “oh fuck” slurring from your half open lips, unaware that his eyes never left you. he’s in a trance, he’s never seen anyone as striking as you, and no one will ever come close. every authentic movement you make drives him more to the edge, from the way your hair bounces as your ride him flawlessly, to the gradual speed in your grinding. and your lips, good god those, lips he can’t ever bring himself to resist.
he lets out a deep moan as one of his hands leave your side and he takes hold of your jaw, pulling your face so that your lips collided with his. his other hand that was on your hip slyly snakes up to the curve of your waist. you let out a breathy moan as you feel the hand that was on your jaw trace down to your clit, rubbing circles with his thumb. you mindlessly tangle your fingers in his hair giving yourself to him fully.
more and more you both melt into each other’s bodies, molding perfectly into the evening climax after another, each round becoming more addictive than the last.
Juraj is just in a clingy mood during a day out with the team. Constantly drifting over to his girlfriend and the other wags. Quite literally just wants to be in her skin but doesn’t know how to explain what he’s feeling.
he keeps drifting over to where you were sat with caitlin, emma, and the partners, either with drinks or checking for the umpteenth time that you didn’t want to split an appetizer with him. you thumb at his cheek and they flush under your touch, “what’s up, j?”
you’re hyper aware of the girls trying not to eavesdrop just as he’s aware of his teammates watching from across the rooftop restaurant that had been rented out for someone’s birthday celebration. he shakes his head, “‘s nothing.”
“you’ve been over here five times in the last half hour, honey. something’s up. do you want to leave?” you ask and he shakes his head again causing you to sigh, looking at your friends, “do you all mind if he sits? he loves gossip.”
“oh, for sure. we don’t bite,” emma teases, raising her wine glass as you pull your boyfriend down onto the bench beside you. he gets as close to you as he can, curling his hand around your knee, “you will have to spill what they’re talking about over there though.”
“girl talk 101,” you hum at his confused expression, “you’re one of the girls tonight, babe.”
he smiles lazily, “do i get a jacket when we make playoffs then?”
laughter erupts from around the little circle you had created and he beams. some of the other boys try and join, but they’re quickly banished with a wave of the hand while juraj smirks at them smugly as they turn away.
just a reminder that the “___” is either your name or your crush’s name depending on the context
[4:45 pm]
your crush decided to take you to your first ever private ceramics class. it was a beautiful autumn day and you both wore cozy outfits for comfort purposes.
you two were taught how to make a small and plump vase–well you were being taught–your crush, on the other hand, had months of experience with pottery making. you couldn’t help but perceive in envy, while being on your third attempt of centering the fresh ball of clay that was crisp in your dampened hands.
you added water, pressed your elbows as tightly to you body as you could, biting your lip so hard it was sure to bleed in any moment, and hugged your finger as tightly around the mound as possible. unfortunately for you, the clay spun off and flew smack dab in the middle of your apron, your elbows splashed lightly with clay spots.
although you seemed calm on the outside, you couldn’t help but bite your tongue in frustration, your blood boiling throughout your body as you tore the mess from your apron.
you abruptly stood up about to put the wet heap of clay in the used clay bin, until you felt your crush’s hand tap you lightly.
you immediately averted your eyes to him, and to the two freshly sculpted clay vases that sat flawlessly on his platter. was he fucking serious right now?
his eyes gazed upon your subtly agitated expression. One thing you loved about ___ was how quickly he could read you like a book.
“___, sit down, i’ll get you a fresh one.” he said softly turning off their wheel whilst half struggling to get the mess from your hands. he stood up and walked over to the bin and tossed the old clay in and got some freshly cut clay from a counter by a large window.
still standing, you couldn’t help but gaze upon his sunkissed figure as worked away with cutting away at the fresh block of clay whilst weighing it on a scale, adding and removing chunks if the weight wasn’t ideal.
from afar he looked like an angel in the clouds of heaven crafting a new and mysterious creation.
it didn’t take them long before he was headed your way, the rays of sunlight trickling from each window that painted him with beautiful oranges and yellows.
his lightened eyes never left yours as he nodded his head, motioning you to sit.
you do so, and after a brief moment of silence, you hear another chair scoot behind yours, immediately feeling the warmth of another body against your back.
you opened your mouth to say something, until ___ traces his fingers slowly across your forearm, while his other hand places the clay mound onto your wheel. warmth caresses your inner being, your heart rate increasing gradually once you felt the side of his face graze your ear.
“just relax and let me guide you.” he reassures softly.
your body goes limp, as if you were being taken under the care of a guardian angel. something about ___’s voice automatically relaxed you, and you certainly couldn’t say no now.
“press the peddle,” ___ directed, gently pushing your body forwards with his, “remember, lean forward and press your elbows against your torso…”
the wheel started to spin s you hesitantly pressed down on the peddle. both of ___hands were over yours now, the warmth and stability of his arms making you practically melt under their touch.
you observed quietly as ___ helped mold your hands to center the clay properly, it was like teaching a kid how to ride a bike for the first time, only ___ was guiding you with his gently yet firm hands, directing your palms in whatever position needed. he frequently reaches over by the jar of water and add it to the clay to avoid stickiness.
moments later, ___ moves his hands up and gently slides his thumb across yours so that you both were pushing down onto the peak of the clay, which was caving in as it formed a whole. the tingling sensation in your stomach intensified as you felt his thumbs on your own, pushing and pushing further until you nearly reached the bottom of a now bowl shaped piece. how were ___’s fingers so light in such a difficult process?
“you’re doing good, ___, just a few more steps.” he said against your neck and you couldn’t help but sigh as they slide their fingertips up to your wrists reassuringly. his cool minty breath tickling the skin under your ear.
you nod absentmindedly, but you were focused on was the way ___’s body caged yours, how his arms caged your smaller ones, and the way his hands guided yours with occasional massages from his thumbs. the contact alone instantly made you go feral, but you were sure good at hiding it.
___’s voice snaps you out of your sweet and savory trance, “i’m gonna let go now, just work your hands up like a showed you.”
you had no idea what they were talking about but your hands moved on their own. even though your hands felt feel empty without theirs, you could still feel him.
well, he was still touching you, his hands glided across your arms and down to your waist, giving you a small squeeze, he was still leaned against you mumbling an occasional “mmhm” or a “just like that”.
your mind was in two places at once, the magic work of your hands on the clay and the feeling of ___’s hands slyly moving up and down your waist as a way to calm you. this truly was a beautiful feeling, and you took in every second of it as his hands also made their way to your center, feeling you heart beat against your ribs.
“your heart is beating so fast.” he commented with a small chuckle in the end.
“the clay is making me nervous, ___” you lied with small smile spreading across your face.
___ shook his head, “yeah, totally,” he the suddenly removes his hands from your stomach and onto your thighs, giving them a light tap, “stop the wheel.”
you pressed you heel against the elevated peddle, putting the wheel to a complete halt.
you and ___ starred at the glistening vase before your eyes.
___wraps his arms around you tightly, waves of laughter rippled in between the both of you as you took in this moment of achievement.
“you did it ___.” he whispered against your ear before planting a kiss on your temple.
Can you write an X Reader story with Tom?, where Tom "falls in love" or is attracted to Reader, but she is dating someone else (a Slytherin boy maybe or... from another house) and tries to make she his even if he is rejected at first.
(Perhaps even try a more extreme approach, for example at Professor Slughorn’s party under the table while she is sitting next to him).
Can you write something fluff and smut? Thank you very much.
(sorry if I wrote something in English that is wrong...it’s not my language...I hope you understand). ★
First of all, your English is great, second of all, this prompt is amazing.
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
Spoken For
Summary: You’re already spoken for when Tom Riddle asks you to Slughorn’s party, but luckily (or unluckily), Tom is hardly known to give up on anything he wants so easily.
Wordcount: 4.2k
Content warning: explicit sex.
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
“No,” you frown, turning and striding away as quickly as you can, hoping he doesn’t follow but –
“Why not?” Tom says at once, falling in close step beside you.
“I don’t need to give you a reason to turn you down, Tom,” you mutter.
“But you have one.” His eyes are trained on your face, watching for anything he can glean.
“And why exactly do you want to go with me?” you say dryly, weaving through the students milling in the hall between classes and rather desperately hoping that he falters at the question and leaves you alone.
“You want me to list your virtues?” he asks in an equally sardonic tone and not shying away in the slightest.
Damn. The boy’s persistent. “I’m not looking for an ego boost,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I’m just surprised.”
“Surprised that I want you to be my date?”
“Exactly.”
“Perhaps if you indulged me, the reasons would become clear,” Tom says delicately.
You shoot him a look. “Nice try.”
“You seem to have already made up your mind regardless,” he replies at once, eyes narrowing.
You exhale slowly, holding your books a little tighter. You hadn’t wanted it to get to this, but it looks like you have no other choice. “I already have a date to Slughorn’s party,” you say, frowning again.
Tom stops walking, catching your arm and making you stop, too. Your heart thrums nervously in your chest. “Who?” he asks quietly.
His expression has gone perfectly smooth, but you’re hardly fooled. It’s well known that Tom’s tenacity is rivalled only by his intolerance of failure, a combination that won him his place as the best student in your year – you can only imagine how he’s processing the fact that it hasn’t done him any favours with you. “That doesn’t concern you,” you say with deliberate sharpness, pulling your arm from his grasp.
His expression doesn’t change, his dark eyes levelled on yours with a heavy, inescapable scrutiny.
Your stomach twists with guilt and nerves in equal measure. The truth is that you’re (reluctantly) already spoken for, Axel Pembroke asked you out three months prior and you’d been on quite a few dates since. Whilst you aren’t exactly head-over-heels for the boy, your family adores him, he’s polite and innocuous, and he doesn’t seem to mind (or perhaps notice) your lukewarm feelings towards him.
Which is exactly why you’d tried to shut Tom down and get away so quickly. Intelligent and quiet, observant and shrewd, beautiful just to top it off; Tom makes you curious, you want to say yes to him, and that makes him more than a little dangerous to you.
So here you are, turning him down so abruptly that it must be fairly easy to interpret it as callousness.
“Tom,” you say quietly, “I… maybe if I wasn’t… already…”
He blinks, his attention as unrelenting as ever, but you’re suddenly wondering what people would say if it got out that you’d told him such a thing whilst dating Axel.
“I should go,” you say hastily, forcing your eyes away from him. “I hope you find another date.”
You hurry off, and thankfully this time Tom doesn’t follow.
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
In retrospect, you should have known he wouldn’t give up that easily.
The dinner party is a long, tedious affair made all the worse by the fact that Axel is too busy discussing the merits and flaws of the Holyhead Harpies line-up for the coming Quidditch season with the boys next to him to have spoken much more than two complete sentences to you all night. His attentiveness to you, you’re learning, is apparently extremely fickle and entirely dependent on whether or not he’s around his friends. Even worse, the seat beside you is empty and you’ve been forced to spend the evening in silence as you pick at your food at the end of the table, wishing time might pass faster.
Around seven-thirty the door to the chamber swings open and everyone looks up as Tom walks inside, dressed in smartly-fitted but simple black dress robes and looking so strikingly handsome that you catch several people at the table trade furtive glances with each other. “Apologies, Professor,” he says with a polite nod at Slughorn, “the meeting with the Headmaster ran overtime.”
“Not to worry, Tom my boy!” Slughorn says jovially, leaping to his feet and sending his napkin flying into Phoebe Minks’ soup. “Take a seat! The night is still young!”
Your blood runs hot and electric under your skin. There’s only one seat left at the table and it’s next to you.
“Of course, sir,” Tom says smoothly, eyes flicking to you with humour as he approaches.
You avert your gaze, trying (completely in vain) to catch Axel’s attention – he’s half-turned from you so as to better hear some fifth-year Gryffindor’s rundown of the previous season’s highlights and is not paying you any attention in the slightest.
“Good evening,” Tom says softly as he takes the seat beside you.
You nod silently, suddenly very preoccupied with refilling your goblet.
“Tell us about this meeting then, Tom!” Slughorn calls from the other end of the table.
“Dull affairs, I’m afraid, sir,” he says back with a good-natured drawl. “I’m due to supervise the third years on their first trip to Hogsmeade next month.”
“Oh? Nothing else?”
“No, sir,” Tom says with a razor-sharp smile, “I’m sure whatever you were discussing before my arrival was of infinitely more interest.”
Slughorn chortles but returns to his conversation with the aristocratic-looking Ravenclaw seventh-years beside him. You glance desperately at Axel. Please turn around, you will him, please turn around so that I don’t have to talk to –
“The aforementioned date, I presume,” Tom says softly.
And you can’t avoid turning to him. His elbows are resting on the table before him, slowly tilting his crystal goblet in small circles and watching the liquid shift inside. He’s not looking at you but it’s obvious where his comment is directed.
“And yet you end up beside me regardless,” you mutter.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Tom says, giving you a delicate smile.
Your eyes dart across his face suspiciously, but his smile doesn’t budge.
“Your chemistry is overwhelming,” he says smoothly, nodding at the back of Axel’s head. “I can see the appeal.”
“Stop it,” you mutter pointedly, frowning at your goblet again.
“No, I’m quite serious,” he continues, smile widening, “your rejection makes perfect sense, now, how could I possibly compete with such enamoured affections?”
“It’s not usually like this,” you say quietly, embarrassed.
“Oh?” Tom asks, lifting his goblet to his full lips and watching you closely. “Normally you’re utterly infatuated, are you?” He takes a slow sip, not looking away.
Damn him, you think angrily, wrenching your eyes off his beautiful face and feeling heat on your own. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Well, in the absence of your date’s conversation, perhaps my own might suffice as an adequate substitute,” Tom says smoothly, lowering his goblet and setting it down on the table before him.
“And what would you want to talk about?” you ask with an unmissable brush of sarcasm.
“Oh Quidditch, naturally,” he says with a smirk, glancing briefly at Axel again.
You shoot him another look but his amusement doesn’t falter. “You’re hilarious,” you drawl.
“Well what would you like to talk about?” Tom asks quietly, tilting his head and giving you a strangely penetrating look.
You blink. Something about his demeanour makes the question very easy to answer honestly. “I’d rather talk about anything other than Quidditch.”
Tom breathes a small laugh and he turns towards you. “Well in that case, I’m very well prepared to please you,” he says very smoothly, “I know next to nothing about Quidditch and I’m quite determined to keep it that way.”
You laugh too, and then get very annoyed at yourself for doing so. “This isn’t a date,” you tell him quickly, leaning in a little closer and speaking as quietly as you can.
“Of course not,” Tom replies smoothly, his lips curving into a smile as he lifts a hand to his cheekbone and leans against it thoughtfully.
“Just a conversation,” you continue very intently.
“Naturally.”
“It’s normal to converse with other people at a dinner party.”
“Utterly commonplace,” Tom smiles.
You hesitate, suddenly wondering exactly which of you you’re reassuring. “Alright,” you say slowly, lifting your goblet. “Let’s talk.”
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
You’re hardly surprised when he’s sitting next to you at the next Slugclub dinner party, too. And the next. In fact, Tom is mysteriously beside you at every one of Slughorn’s gatherings all term, and you’re quite certain that Axel might have drawn issue with someone talking to you so much if he’d bothered to turn around even once.
Not that he has any reason to be bothered, of course. They’re just conversations, nothing more. Maybe Tom’s dry, bitingly observant sense of humour makes you laugh more than anyone else ever has, and maybe he asks questions with direct, astute candidness that make it unavoidably obvious that he’s paying very close attention to your answers, and maybe he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life – but they’re just conversations.
“Slughorn is having another dinner this weekend,” Tom says casually as he falls into step with you in the Charms corridor.
“Is he now?” you say wryly, trying to ignore the excitement curling in your stomach.
“Go with me.”
Your smile fades and you stop walking, looking up at Tom in surprise. He stops too, his regal features settled into something serious and impenetrable as he looks back at you.
“You mean… sit together?” you ask carefully.
“No,” Tom says plainly, “I mean as my date.”
You blink, glancing around nervously. “Tom, you know that I’m going with –”
“If Pembroke paid you any less attention you could strangle Slughorn to death right on the table and he still wouldn’t stop talking to Blakeslee and Dunn about which broomsticks the Americans are using this year,” Tom interrupts, arching a brow.
“He’s my date,” you say coolly.
“He’s not your date,” Tom retorts immediately, all humour vanishing as he steps closer. “Don’t insult yourself by considering that a date.”
“I told you that we’re just having conversations, Tom,” you whisper angrily.
“Oh? Are they just conversations?” Tom breathes.
But all you can do is stare at him as the hours you’ve spent talking to him in Slughorn’s parties swim across your consciousness and you realise with mounting horror that no, no they were not just conversations. You swallow hard and look away. “I don’t want to have to turn you down again,” you say through gritted teeth.
“Then don’t,” he says bluntly, not moving away.
“Tom.”
“I know you want to choose me.”
You shoot him another look of warning. “Stop it,” you hiss.
“Stop lying to yourself,” he hisses back, leaning closer.
“I won’t throw Axel under the bus just because I have feelings for you, Tom,” you say angrily.
Tom immediately stands up straighter, triumph glittering in his eyes as he looks down at you and you realise exactly what you’ve just said. Horror washes over you in a cold wave and you turn on your heel and flee, barely paying attention to where you’re going in your haste to get away from him.
You’re already dreading the coming weekend.
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
You seriously consider not going until Axel starts getting suspicious as to why you’re so reluctant and you’re forced to swallow your mumbled collection of excuses, put on a nice dress, and follow him to the party. Tom looks up from where he’s sat at the far end of the table when you enter and you quickly avert your eyes as warmth erupts on your skin, giving Slughorn a very forced smile at the head of the table.
“Excellent stuff in the last match, Pembroke,” Slughorn winks, “I’ll have to have a word with Begonia Pincushion from the Wimbourne Wasps – old student of mine, you know –”
Axel immediately starts gushing in excitement and walks off without you to sit next to Slughorn, leaving you quite alone and without an open seat beside him. You blink, embarrassment filtering through your chest as the other party-goers awkwardly look between you and Axel – now so engrossed in his conversation with Slughorn that he hasn’t even noticed the whole room staring at you standing by yourself.
“There’s a spare seat here, if you’d like,” a Hufflepuff girl you don’t know offers quickly, smiling at you as she gestures at the chair beside her.
Your eyes drift unbidden to Tom at the end of the table and find him already looking at you, composed and inscrutable. His group of Slytherin fanboys fill the seats around him, but there’s a space. There’s a space on his right. You don’t think for a second that it’s just by chance.
“Thank you,” you say to the Hufflepuff girl, feeling brazenly reckless, “that’s very kind, but I think I’m spoken for.”
And you resolutely turn and make your way over to Tom, ignoring the way his lips slowly curl into a knowing smile as you approach, the way the other Slytherin boys immediately turn away and fall into deep conversation with each other, they way they don’t look at either you or Tom again.
Tom turns to you as you sit down, lightly resting his head against his hand the same way he had the very first time you’d talked to him, his expression somewhere between satisfied and amused. “Hello,” he says dryly.
“Don’t push it,” you mutter, seizing a goblet and filling it.
He breathes a laugh. “Did I just witness the final straw?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” you frown, glancing down the table where Axel still hasn’t noticed your absence.
Tom’s amusement slowly fades as he looks at you, his own brow furrowing. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly.
Your eyes flash to his, something thrumming unignorably in your chest. You nod and force yourself to take a sip of your drink.
“You look beautiful.”
You blink, something fragile fluttering in your chest as your face floods with heat as you stare at his calm, attentive expression, his posture unmoved.
“Am I allowed to say that now?” he asks smoothly, smirking slightly.
“I think that counts as pushing it,” you mumble, knowing he’s bound to have noticed your blush as you look away.
“You’ll have to tell me when I cross the line,” he says softly.
“You’re relentless.”
“I am,” he smiles, lifting his goblet.
You try to smother your own smile with very dubious success, having to hide it behind a sip of your drink instead.
“So,” Tom says a good two hours later, setting down his empty goblet, “I think it only fair that you give me a definitive answer, all things considered.”
“An answer?” you echo, arching a brow.
“Are you going to be my date?” he asks lightly, looking at you.
You falter, eyes darting to Axel at the front of the table. Most of the dinner guests are a little tipsy on the heavy wine Slughorn always serves, and loud, boisterous conversation fills the room – though nothing can drown out Axel’s brazen lack of acknowledgement that you’ve been sitting with Tom all evening. “I… don’t know…” you say, frowning.
“You’re not seriously going to consider him after this, are you?” Tom says at once, leaning towards you with a dangerously sharp look in his dark eyes.
“What do you want me to do, Tom?” you breathe. “Our families get on, he’s not horrible to me –”
“He’s not horrible to you,” Tom repeats, scathingly unimpressed.
“I have no good reason to end things with him!”
Tom’s eyes flash and his hand is suddenly on your thigh under the table, his fingers pressing hard into your skin and your heart just about stops. “No good reason,” he echoes softly, gripping you tighter. “Is that true?”
“Tom,” you whisper, frozen in place.
“Is it?” he asks silkily.
You can barely breathe. Tom’s grip is loosening but not to let you go – his hand is moving, agonisingly slowly, relentlessly, sliding up your leg. “Tom,” you say again, barely audible.
“Have I crossed the line?” he whispers, his palm pushing up your dress as it slides higher up your thigh.
When you don’t reply, Tom’s lips curve into a smile and he turns quite casually back to his plate, hand still on your thigh under the table as he reaches forward and lifts his goblet. “You did agree to tell me if I did,” he says softly, his fingers grazing up the inside of your leg and making you supress a shiver.
And you beg yourself to tell him to stop, to ask him to take his hand away, but heat is flooding your stomach and his hand is warm and firm on your skin, and there’s a burning look in his eyes when he glances at you that makes something between excitement and desire spark in every part of your body.
Tom’s hand moves higher and you lean your elbows on the table in front of you, staring unseeing at your plate as his fingers brush the hollow where your leg meets your hip.
“Are you going to choose?” he asks quietly, watching you.
You look up across the table in fear that someone, anyone might have noticed – but no one is paying you any attention in the slightest, the rambunctious conversation drowning out Tom’s words and the wine blurring their awareness of everything else.
Tom lifts his goblet, his eyes fixed on your face. “Tell me to stop,” he says softly, sliding his fingers across your underwear and making you grit your teeth to stop yourself from reacting.
“Tom,” you try again, barely audible.
“Tell me.”
His fingers are playing with the top of your underwear, and you look over at him, arousal and fear and nerves and excitement tearing in your chest. Tom’s eyes are alight with amusement, his attention still on your face as he smiles, brings his goblet to his lips for a slow sip that you watch him take, captivated.
You grit your teeth again and say nothing.
Tom’s smile grows and suddenly his hand is gone. You blink, cheeks flooding with sudden embarrassment and dread at what has just occurred, wondering if he’ll tell people what you’d let him do, wondering if he’d done it all just to mess with you –
“Make your choice,” Tom says smoothly, leaning back in his chair very languidly.
“You’re seriously trying to seduce me?” you manage to say under your breath.
“It appears to be working,” he smirks, glancing at you.
Your blush returns and Tom’s eyes roam your cheeks looking very pleased with the reaction, when he suddenly stands. “Some music, perhaps, sir?” he asks Slughorn with an unaffected smile.
Slughorn is delighted by the suggestion (of course he is), and in mere minutes the dinner party is milling around the room in small groups of conversation, reedy music blaring loudly from a large golden gramophone by the fireplace.
“Axel,” you say quickly, approaching him where he’s talking to three other boys you don’t know very well.
“Oh – haven’t seen you much tonight,” he says casually, glancing at you.
“No – listen, do you want to dance?” you offer, nodding at the small group of other couples a few feet away. Please say yes, please say yes, please give me a single reason to choose you, please do something –
“I’m in the middle of something,” Axel says distractedly, turning back to the three boys, “maybe later.”
He’s already back in conversation before you can reply. You stare at him, your disappointment almost as potent as your absolute absence of surprise.
A hand around your wrist makes you jump, and you wheel around to find Tom already insistently leading you towards the back of the room. “What are you –”
But Tom just casts one last look over the party before he tugs you into a very small, shadowed alcove behind a large wooden column out of sight and pushes you hard against the wall. “You’re going to have to be very quiet, can you do that?” he asks softly, resting a forearm on the wall above your head as his other hand slides up your leg again – though this time the touch is anything but slow.
“Tom,” you gasp, looking back out of the alcove – but no one is there. No one can see you.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers again as he leans down. Your breath catches in your throat and suddenly Tom’s lips are pressed against your neck and his hand is sliding teasingly along the band of your underwear again. Anything you might have said dies in your throat.
“Go on,” he murmurs against your skin. “Tell me to stop.”
“Tom,” you breathe again, your hands lifting without conscious thought and lacing around his neck.
You hear his little laugh, feel it brush warm across your neck, and he’s pulling your underwear down, and with a touch that feels like fire he slides his fingers against you. Your moan barely slips out from between your lips before Tom’s arm drops from the wall above you and his hand presses firmly over your mouth. “Didn’t I say to be quiet?” he tells you softly, but his fingers are stroking at you and you can barely breathe, your eyes closing tightly as dizziness and pleasure storm in your body.
You hold onto his arm just to stay grounded, his hand over your mouth stifling the noises threatening to escape as his fingers send pleasure coiling low in your core, his lips teasing your neck and making heat spread tingling across your skin.
Tom lifts his head and looks down at you breathing hard beneath his hand, his fingers making you shift with pleasure. “Can you be quiet for me?” he murmurs.
You nod. You would have agreed to anything he’d asked you in that moment.
Tom’s hand vanishes from your mouth and he’s kissing you, soft lips, tongue hot against yours, and you’re dizzy and delirious, kissing him back without thinking, without caring about anything else –
“Look at you,” he murmurs against your mouth, “legs spread for me, so wet for me –”
“Tom,” you moan, whisper-quiet.
“Say it again,” he commands softly.
“Tom.”
He kisses you hard again and you feel the pleasure in your gut start to build and build. “There,” Tom murmurs, pulling back, “there it is. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”
“I…”
“Ask me for it,” he says softly.
“Tom, please –”
“Tell me you’re mine.”
You look up at him. Tom looks back with his burning dark eyes, his hand cupping your jaw and pulling your closer to his lips barely breath away from yours as his fingers keep building the smouldering pleasure in your core. “Tell me,” he whispers.
And you nod.
“Say it.”
“I…”
His fingers slow against you and your head falls back against the wall in frustration, your eyes falling shut.
“I want you to say it,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to his again.
You look up at him, and for a second you just stare, watch his eyes drag across your face, drinking in your expression. You try to focus, try to ignore the achingly slow caress of his fingers between your legs, the pleasure right out of your grasp, the dark heat in Tom’s eyes that’s making you crave giving in, making you wonder why you’ve been resisting at all.
“I’m yours,” you whisper.
Tom’s lips curve into his most dangerous smile as he leans back in, kissing you very softly as his fingers press a little harder, as you breathe harder, your arms wrapping around his neck again and he’s not slowing down anymore and you’re right on the edge, feeling yourself start to tip –
“You’re mine,” Tom says softly, and it breaks over you so hard that his hand smothers your mouth again, holding you tightly as you shift and writhe beneath his touch, unable to stop the moans.
Somehow, no one notices the two of you slipping back to the main party, no one comments on it, and for the first time, you’re glad that Axel pays you less than no attention because your absence passed him by entirely without detection.
“Time to go?” Axel asks you near ten o’clock, shrugging his coat on.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost your date, Pembroke,” Tom says smoothly from where he’s standing beside you.
Axel blinks at him, and you expect that a similar expression is on your own face, too. “Excuse me?” Axel says disbelievingly.
“Perhaps you might be more attentive, next time,” Tom continues casually, offering you his arm. “Very rude of you to ignore someone for weeks on end, you know, and that unpleasantness when you arrived tonight… shameful…”
You don’t hesitate before slipping your arm through Tom’s, and he immediately gives you a heated, knowing look that makes you smile up at him reflexively.
Axel’s gobsmacked gaze turns to you. “Are you serious?”
You shrug lightly, feeling strangely empowered.
“Goodnight, Pembroke,” Tom says very pleasantly, stepping towards the door and leading you with him. “Do find a new date to the next gathering, won’t you? Mine is spoken for.”
lorieaf @tomriddlethefinest - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
