Finally Finished My MC (basically Self-insert).

Heeyyy!!! I love your page so much! Can I please get an angst fic with Gojo? But with a happy ending. Literally in love with your writing 💗💗

( EEEEEK HIIII OMG MY FIRST REQUEST I LOVE U !!!!!! AND OFC ID LOVE TO WRITE THIS THANK U SO MUCH FOR LEAVING IT <333 )

“Unfathomable”

— in which you doubt the validity of his feelings.

( or sometimes i just need self assurance and never know how to ask for it and this seems to be a common thing with eveyone)

Gojo Satoru was unquestionably the epitome of strength and this was candidly clear in his title of “The Strongest”.

And then there was you.

And you were undoubtedly impotent when compared to his feats in jujitsu.

You didn’t command the attention of those around you when you walked into a crowded room, and you couldn’t reassure anyone just by your presence alone.

You were just you.

And just you was currently spiralling into an abyss of self doubt, over why Gojo would ever chose you to fall for.

It all started a month ago after your mission to “dispose” of a grade one cursed spirit turned disastrous, causing you to rely on the strength of your mission partner as you bled out, gasping for air and muttering nonsensical apologies to the sky above you. Repeating over and over about how sorry you were for not realising how close the curse was before it striked you from behind, sending you flying through the air.

When you reached Shoko at last, you remembered seeing Gojo’s poorly concealed concern ooze out, and you closed your eyes, embarrassed of your failure, unable to look at him in your pathetic state.

He had looked frantic.

Your body looked worse than your injuries, and he knew that, but the mangled state of your disoriented words, slurred out due to blood loss, made his shoulders tense, and he could only stare down at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

You felt him clutch your hand, and you hated how desperate it felt, you wanted to hide, to not let him see you like this. You were an inconvenience to The Strongest and that thought alone haunted you even when you eventually passed out to his whisper of “It’s gonna be ok baby, just hold on a little yea?”

And now a month later, it still haunted you.

Now maybe it was your pride talking, you didn’t want help, you didn’t want anyone’s help, and you certainly did not want Gojo Satoru, who had been doting over you, following you around, asking if you wanted him to take over your next couple of missions so you could recover, to help you.

Selfishly, you just wanted to wallow in self pity alone, without the constant reminder that you were burdening the man who loved you.

And so, you were distancing yourself, refusing his offers to stay, removing yourself entirely from his presence in public, too ashamed to be seen beside him when you were so weak.

You just wanted him to know, that he didn’t need to constantly watch over you, that you could handle stuff by yourself, that you weren’t charity.

You just hated how self doubt seemed to permeate your consciousness everytime you were with him, unable to understand why Gojo was forcing himself to care for someone so obviously lesser than.

Gojo noticed, of course he noticed.

You pushed yourself away from his cuddles at night when you assumed he was asleep, turned your head ever so slightly so he’d miss your lips when he leaned down to kiss you. And worst of all, your pretty smile, the one he adored more than all of the stars in the sky combined, seemed forced.

A fake smile that seemed ever present.

When Gojo awoke again to you missing from his arms, he decided he’d had enough.

You were in the kitchen, making tea, humming a small song to yourself, Gojo watched you from the door, taking in the moment of serenity for just a couple more seconds, before he pushed himself off the door frame and walked towards you.

“What’s my pretty baby doing up so early huh?”

If either of you noticed how your entire body tensed at the sound of his voice, neither of you mentioned it.

You turned, looking at Gojo, struggling to maintain eye contact as you awkwardly laughed off your separation, like you had done almost everyday since your recovery.

It made Gojo frown.

You gestured to the kettle, “You want tea?” You kept your responses short, you didn’t want to drag his attention, make him feel like he had to listen.

He didn’t get to reply before you had already started to reach for another cup down from the cupboard, grabbing the sugar cubes with it.

“Here lemme help ya’” Gojo offered, stepping forward to reach the mug, his height becoming overbearing, suffocating.

He had to help you again.

You bit your lip, feeling your eyes sting, God could you ever just do something independently without the constant need to rely on others?

Your mouth was bitter, and you didn’t acknowledge him as he set the cup in front of you, only grunting in response.

You felt his eyes on you.

You’d felt that a lot lately, and you hated it.

He was constantly observing, making sure you weren’t pushing yourself, because he didn’t trust you to do or go anywhere now, not without him.

“You ok?” He asked, head tilted. He reached out to touch your check gently, only to be stopped when you stepped away, just out of his grasp.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You handed him his tea, and moved to leave, to escape the brevity of his eyes, a increasingly concerned gaze where you were weak, weak, weak.

You got about four steps before you heard the man behind you sigh, and pull you back to his chest, his chin resting on your head, as his hand drew tiny little patterns across your midriff.

“Satoru what are you-’

“Talk to me.” He said, his voice calm, lacking resentment, but filled with determination.

“Let me go Satoru I swear to God, I’ll kick you.”

“Do you need to kick me? Is that what’s wrong?”

His arms tightened, preventing you from escaping even if you tried.

Weak, weak, weak.

“Toru please, just let me go.” You pleaded pathetically, you weren’t going to do this, you weren’t going to cry over the difference in strength, especially in-front of him.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, you still injured? We can go to Shoko now if you need.” His voice danced the line between concern and frustration, disapproving of your removal of yourself from him.

And at the mention of your injuries that were long gone, your blood boiled, and you somehow shoved him off you, turning to face him in a seething display of rage.

“I’m fine Satoru, Jesus Christ, you don’t need to rub it in.” You snarled, glaring at his stupid blue eyes, “I mean God I have one bad mission and now everyone thinks I’m useless.”

Gojo looks as shocked as you’ve ever seen him at your outburst, his mouth parts to interrupt you, but you don’t let him, refusing him any say in your personal defeat.

“You’re embarrassed right? You must be, the strongest fucking sorcerer left to care for someone so pathetic.”

“Y/N what-’

Big fat ugly tears are pooling in your eyes, spilling over to decorate your face with your shame.

“And the problem is you won’t stop! You’re so nice when you don’t have to be and I don’t understand why you’re pretending to care so much? Especially when I am ok!”

“Pretending? Baby no-’

Your throat constricts and you shove a sob down, rubbing furiously at your watering eyes.

“I hate how weak I am to you, and I hate how much you have to look after me.” You’re voice is shaky, unconvincing. And you’re trembling, inconsolable as you finally give up and cry, sharing every doubt to Satoru Gojo.

“Weak?” Satoru leans down, and cups your cheeks, and for the first time since the mission you don’t try to pull away, you look at him.

And Gojo thinks he’s the luckiest man alive.

“You’re not weak at all baby, is that what this is about?” A small smile dances across his face, you almost think he’s mocking you.

“I care about you because it’s you, pretty girl, not because I have to.”

He rubs a thumb under your eye, and sighs, shaking his head, “It’s not a burden to care for you y’know?”

And you’re still crying, but you’re listening now, and he takes this opportunity to kiss you sweetly, right below your eye.

There’s a vulnerability in his eye when he talks next, an apprehension that you’re not use to.

“After your mission, fuck baby I can’t lie.” His fingers smooth along the shell of your ear, “Seeing you so… out of it, it scared me, ‘m not meant to get scared”

You stay silent, but lean into his touch, a small gesture that encourages him to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Rely on me more yea? You’re strong baby, even if that silly little head of yours tells you otherwise.”

And you smile as he taps your nose with a finger, and he beams back at you, the softest expression on his face as he leans forwards and captures your lips in his.

“And there’s nothing I love more than being able to take care of you Y/N, please remember that.”

And when you’re pulled into his arms once again, you don’t resist, instead choosing to whisper a gentle “I love you” into the fabric of his shirt.

the end.

( A/N: IWHAIGDISH I GOT A REQUEST EEEKKK - i hope this is ok ! i love you and thank you! - i’m writing this in a cafe before i go to my fucking ice cream shop job fuck my fucking life. I AM WORKING UNTIL 11 WHO NEEDS ICE CREAM AT 11PM ??? anyway i love you and thank you for reading :)) )

On the Quieter Nights

Richard Grayson x Jealous! reader

Lots of angst😁I hope whoever requested this is happy.

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Gotham was always alive, even in the dead of night. The city that never slept had a heartbeat of its own, its dark alleys and towering buildings all wrapped up in a never-ending cycle of crime and hope. But tonight, it was too loud, too close, and your thoughts kept racing in directions you couldn’t control.

You sat on the balcony of Dick’s apartment, staring out at the sprawling skyline, your fingers nervously tracing the rim of the coffee cup in your hands. The air was crisp, cool against your skin, but it couldn’t quell the heat in your chest—the gnawing jealousy, the hurt, the confusion.

He had promised he’d be home soon, but you already knew what that meant. Soon meant hours. It always meant hours. He was always out there, fighting in the shadows, protecting Gotham with the team—Barbara included.

Barbara.

You could never escape her. She was always there—somewhere in the background of every conversation, every story, every mission. It wasn’t like you didn’t trust Dick; it wasn’t like you didn’t know how much he loved you. He did love you, didn’t he?

But the way he looked at her… the way his smile lingered when her name was mentioned, the way his voice softened when he talked about her intelligence, her strength, the way they fit together in a way you would never understand—it all ate away at you, bit by bit. Every moment you shared with him, you felt the echo of her presence. It wasn’t enough anymore. You weren’t enough.

You heard the door creak open behind you, but you didn’t turn. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him, not yet. Not when your heart felt so raw, so exposed.

"Hey, beautiful," Dick’s voice broke through the silence, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. You could always hear it when he returned from patrol. "You’re up late."

"Couldn’t sleep," you said softly, avoiding his gaze as he stepped closer, his warm presence filling the space around you. You couldn’t help it; you still felt the pull to him, even when it felt like you were slipping further away.

"Everything okay?" Dick asked, his hand resting gently on your shoulder, a simple gesture that once brought comfort but now only seemed to remind you of the things you couldn’t escape.

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure how to voice the weight pressing on your chest. "How’s Barbara?" you finally managed to whisper, your voice so small you almost didn’t recognize it.

Dick frowned, confusion etching his features as he sat beside you, his arm brushing against yours. "Barbara’s fine, same as always." He paused, looking at you, his expression softening. "Why do you ask? You know she’s part of the team. She’s… she’s family."

You clenched your hands around your cup, trying to steady your breath. "Yeah. She’s family," you repeated bitterly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You felt his hand tighten on your shoulder, but you couldn’t look at him.

"Baby, what’s going on?" His voice had a gentle pleading edge now, a hint of worry in his tone. He didn’t get it, did he? He didn’t understand how much it hurt to see her so effortlessly wrapped around his life.

"Do you ever think about her?" You heard yourself ask before you could stop. "I mean, really think about her? The way she… she doesn’t have to try to be in your life. She’s already there."

Dick blinked, clearly startled by your words. "What are you talking about? Of course, I think about her. She’s been through a lot, babe. She’s part of my world. But you’re in my world now. You’re the one I’m with. You’re the one I want."

His words were soothing, but they didn’t feel like they were for you. They felt like empty promises, like things he was saying because he didn’t know what else to say. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and you couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

"I don’t want to be second place," you whispered, barely able to hear yourself over the rush of blood in your ears. "I don’t want to keep feeling like I’m competing with someone who’s already everything to you."

Dick’s eyes softened, and he reached for you, pulling you into his arms, but you stiffened. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know how to make you feel like you mattered more than she did. Because to him, you did matter, but to you, it always felt like Barbara’s shadow loomed over everything you did together.

"You’re not second place," he said quietly, but there was uncertainty in his voice now. "You’re everything to me, beautiful. Please, believe me."

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. But how could you, when every time he spoke of Barbara, his eyes lit up with something you would never have? How could you believe him when you saw the way his smile lingered when she was around, the way he held her a little too long, the way he called her family, as if that was supposed to make it better?

"I see the way you look at her," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I see the way you’re different with her. She’s the one who’s always been there, Dick. She doesn’t have to try to be a part of your world. She’s already in it. I’m just… I’m just the girl who gets to spend a few hours with you before you go off again."

"Baby, please," Dick’s voice cracked, and he pulled you closer, his arms tight around you as if he could hold all your pain in that single embrace. "I love you. You’re not just a few hours. You’re not just an afterthought. You mean everything to me. I swear, I only want you."

But the more he whispered those words, the more you felt like they were just… words. They didn’t change the fact that you would never be her. They didn’t erase the history they shared, the years of partnership, of friendship, of everything that made her so deeply ingrained in his life.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered, your tears falling freely now, soaking his shirt. "I don’t know how to be enough for you when she’s always going to be there."

Dick stayed silent for a long time, and when he finally spoke again, it was soft, almost like he was afraid of breaking something inside you. "You don’t have to be enough for me, sweet heart. You’re already everything. But I don’t know how to make you see that. I don’t know how to make you believe me."

You pulled away from him, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, feeling too small, too fragile. "I wish I could believe you, Dick. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to keep pretending that I’m not just a shadow in your life, living in her light."

Dick’s expression faltered, his blue eyes filled with pain and confusion. "I don’t want you to feel this way. I never wanted to hurt you. But I don’t know how to fix this…"

You looked at him for a long moment, the ache in your chest unbearable, before you whispered, "Maybe you don’t need to fix it, Dick. Maybe you just need to let me go."

He stared at you, eyes wide, as if he hadn’t heard you correctly. "What?"

"I’m tired of feeling like I’m competing for your love," you whispered, voice breaking. "I’m tired of being second place. I don’t want to be the girl who always comes after her. I want to be enough, but I don’t know if I can keep pretending anymore."

The silence stretched between you, suffocating. And when Dick reached for you again, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"Please, babe," he begged, his voice raw. "Please don’t say that. I love you. I need you."

You shook your head, turning away from him, your heart breaking in a way you couldn’t put into words. "You’ve always needed her more, Dick. And I… I just can’t keep living in her shadow."

As the door softly clicked shut behind you, you knew it was over. And maybe, somewhere deep down, you had always known it would be.

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Masterlist

nsfw alphabet w/ Cyclops aka.Scott Summers

Scott Summers x afab reader/ Minors please don't interact/ NSFW so please be aware

If tumblr blasts me for the art (which is made by me as well) i will repost it without the drawing

A= Aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

Scott’s aftercare is top notch, on the right occasion of course, Scott is a busy man but when he takes the proper time to be with you, his undivided attention is a gift within itself.

If this is a quickie kind of situation Scott will make sure you are okay first of all, get your clothes in order and wipe the mess he’s made on both you and the random couch he’s chosen for the occasion and make sure you both are inconspicuous enough when its time to leave the room, provided your legs are steady enough to leave, maybe he’ll keep you company until then.

If this is a warm spring night where you are both alone in your own space, oh boy, he’ll go all out with his aftercare, expect a cool glass of water and some pleasant conversation until you are ready to hit the showers with him, but if you’re not careful it might all lead to you needing some more aftercare.

B= Body part (their favorite body part and also their partner's)

It would be cliché to say ‘’your eyes’’ but to Scott it  is important to look others in the eye, he is a leader and his perception on every person he meets matters more than anything else, he can assess a threat to his Family just by looking it in the eye. And your eyes, so full of honesty and genuine love for him, he knows you and he can tell how you feel just by looking you right in the eyes even for a moment. But on another note, Scott’s eye is Always drawn to your cleavage, big or small, toned or soft, he’s gonna glance at it even if its just a sliver of skin exposed in the area and he’s instantly drawn to it when its exposed,laying his head on the softest parts of you, kissing and marking up your breasts with small hickeys, nothing too excessive, he doesn’t want anybody else to pay attention to you like that.

On himself, well, Scott is built like a God, he makes sure to keep up with a strict regime and stay in top shape always, it is important to his protection as well as your own. But i’d say he is very pleased with his shoulders, his intense training paid off, his shoulders are broad, Strong and dependable and you know it, and he knows that you know it, there is nothing better for him than having you on his lap, hands on his shoulders and nails lightly scratching them as you ride him. He enjoys being depended on enough but when you show your concern with him by rubbing the tension from his shoulders and back? He’ll be in cloud nine for a few moments, Scott has the weight of the world on his shoulders most of the time, but when you put your hands on him, he can’t bring himself to hate it at all.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

God, Scott can get messy with it, as clean and tidy as he wants to portray himself as, he is obsessed with your wetness and laps it up like his life depends on it, he’ll want to hear every wet noise he can produce from you before drinking it all up himself, as soon as he gets a chance he’ll dip his fingers into your underwear and drench his hand in your juices until its all damp enough that you’ll have to take it off for a while, that way you’ll just have to give him a taste.

Scott cums a lot on a normal day, if you haven’t done it more than once that day his orgasm is guaranteed to be long and satisfying, maybe it’ll help with the tension for a while until the next problem comes along. Takes a while to make Scott cum for the first time, but after that if you have enough time to tease him, he’ll be more sensitive to your touch and cum faster, but it all depends on you, quantity wise its plenty, thick and messy too, as messy as Scott will make it that is, he loves to get your body sticky with it, be it your chest, your face, or your underwear sticking to your thighs all day.

D= Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret or their's)

He’s very discreet with it, but you know him well enough to know, he’d love to have you at his mercy, cuffed or tied up so he can take as much pleasure as he wants from you for hours and hours, until your body is sticky and sore, eyes full of tears of pleasure. He never vocalizes his desires in an overt way but it is noticeable to you especially when he takes your wrists into his hand and pins them above your head, if you decide to allow it and just let it happen you’ll see the change, on his breathing, on his expression. Becoming just a little more desperate than it was before, on the way his hips smack forcefully into your own, harder and faster, and you know you got him, or maybe he’s got you.

Scott is sort of a voyeur, he loves to watch you and thinks about it constantly, to the point of riling himself up just thinking of it, the visage of you pleasuring yourself right in front of him, just for him to watch is burned into his mind and he goes back to that moment constantly. Scott is having a boring conversation? He’ll keep nodding and humming pretending that there is not a ghost of you right behind that person, looking right at him and teasing him like some hyper-realistic hallucination, he’ll do his best to contain it (or ‘’you’’) around any known telepaths though, he is trying to be discreet after all.

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

He does have plenty of experience, even while he was younger he’s been around, had a fair share of girls and some boys waiting for him, asking for dates and sending valentine presents, Scott is and has always been very popular, even with non mutants. But he won’t just get with anyone of course, he’s taken his time to intimately know every person he’s been with and they have friendly relationships to this very day, as messy as his relationships can get they have taught him a lot about intimacy and trust, and all his experience is put to good use between both of you.

F= Favorite position (No visuals this time, sorry, tumblr will probably kick me for the visual right above anyway)

Good old Missionary and we all expected it, might be cliché but its common for a reason, and as much as he loves to try all he can think of with you, Scott can get all the benefits from this position he could possibly want, he can plant both his hands on your knees and spread you as wide as you can go just to look at the mess you have both made, as well as go back and forth between watching your blissed out expression and his thick cum leaking out of you, and tease you for it with his little smirk, of course.

In second place is a mating press, the intimacy of it, being pressed up tight against your softness, face to face so he can know how much the pressure of his body on yours is affecting you and hearing your desperate hums and moans while he presses up against your soft spots, all the way inside almost balls deep from the weight, there’s just something special about it to Scott, and he always promises himself to do it more often.

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

Scott is not very goofy in general, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a sense of humor, he is more charming than goofy though, he’d rather leave the comedy for later, but in compensation he will tease you, he’s good at getting a reaction out of his partners and enjoys a bit of banter before things heat up too much, that is, before you become completely incoherent.

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

He is not very hairy in general, it would take him a lot of time to have a proper beard, Scott likes to keep himself clean and tidy all over, most of his body is either clean shaved or has very sparse hair, and that results in a light and dusty happy trail with very well trimmed hairs.

He likes to think it makes it easier to dress up in his spandex suit, slides easier or whatever.

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

Scott is a gentleman most of the time, he is very considerate of you and your needs and makes sure that he won’t be selfish, not like that is much of a worry though, your pleasure is his own and he could get off just watching you enjoying yourself and having your orgasm.

He might not be declaring himself over and over but things always get romantic between both of you, even with his glasses on the way Scott loves to press himself against you, your forehead on his own face to face during sex, he also loves to rest his head on your chest and just enjoys the feeling of your body on his own so much he can hold you tight against him for hours, his favorite thing after he cums is just holding you to his chest and feeling your warmth, he’ll rarely say but his in these moments his heart also feels warmer than before.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’d rather not be apart from you if the option is available, but as i’ve mentioned your ‘’ghost’’ is always haunting him throughout the day and making him feel all sorts of dirty, he can keep his urges under control pretty well most of the time unless you are there to ruin his composure and leave him hanging, he’ll try to will away his erection to be able to at least wait until you’re back, but at some point it becomes obvious you’ve got him unravelling completely and he needs to get his body under control, he’ll just have to give in and make himself cum without you, shame.

If its a long mission taking you away from him or him from you he’ll try to focus on his duties as team leader to keep the ghosts away, the harder he Works that day the bigger the urge to see you becomes until he has to fish out that old picture you gifted him as a ‘’reminder’’ not to stop thinking of you no matter where he is, he knows what you want him to do with it and he tries not to, checking around the blackbird for the thousandth time and trying to strike up some innocent convos with his team, but the picture, its just calling out to him, one peek won’t hurt, right?

K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Scott won’t outright tell you what his kinks are, even if you ask he’ll say he never really stopped to think about it, but its very well established he has a thing for bondage, not hardcore bondage, but Scott loves to be trusted and thrives with admiration, knowing that you trust him completely with your body does Wonders for his ego inside and outside the bedroom. He’ll be very pleased to receive a package only to check and see the beautiful red ropes and blindfold, your way to invite him for a night out, just the two of you.

Like all heroes Scott can appreciate a good spandex suit, spandex and leather are his go to if you asked him about it, the skimpier on you the better, and if you are creative enough to whip up a Cyclops cosplay borrowing one of his glasses and some blue and yellow lingerie you found on some themed sex shop he’ll be very very curious about it, and concerned, concerned enough to throughly check if your uniform is up to code...

You cannot convince me there aren’t superhero themed sex shops.

L= Location (favourite places to do the do)

Scott has a mostly pristine reputation, and he worries about it, as much as he loves to fantasize about fucking you in every place you are both together he knows its impossible with anyone else around and there are plenty of people around the manor most of the time, sadly the only place he can guarantee you are alone is the bedroom and a few sparse rooms here and there in specific times of the day, Scott takes all the precautions he can, locking the door every time things get heated between him and you, he would be absolutely mortified to be caught.

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

For Scott, having sex is a good way to unwind and be close to you at the same time, one thing facilitating the other, you are his comfort most days when things get hard, you’re always there for him providing support and he will take you everywhere he goes if possible. And you know Scott Summers is a man ready to take responsibility all the time, he is a trusted leader and people look for him every time there is a problem and for mutants most days there are problems, he’s always in action, so every time you can both relax and take comfort is each other is very beneficial to him.

After a long day, he can feel the effect your body has on him, the good it does to him, and it makes him a little emotional that you always know how to support him and be there for him, sometimes even a bit of a heartache, he might feel as if he’s not doing the same for you, but of course you’ll be there by his side always to reassure him that your heart belongs to him just as much as his to you, you’ll both struggle together to pull each other up.

N= No (something they wouldn’t do)

He won’t take off his glasses or blindfold around you and refuses to degrade you, he’s seen enough degradation for a lifetime and doesn’t want it to be with you, never you.

Scott is fine with light spanking, but of course will never hurt you or bruise you, he’d be absolutely mortified if you got hurt enough to bleed in any way, he just wouldn’t enjoy sex in that kind of way and would be constantly worried.

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

Scott will eat you up like a man starved, he’s sloppy with it too as much as he denies it he likes to get messy with your pussy and you better be ready for it, every time he pulls the same old move of feeling you up under your underwear and getting his fingers coated in you he’s absolutely going to taste you on his own hands once he’s done, sticking out his tongue and licking his fingers like they’re a lollipop, putting on an unintentional show, and most of the time, of course its not enough and he needs more of you straight from the source, kneeling before you, on the bed or you sitting on his face, either way he’s getting what he wants without complaints, Scott’s tongue seems to have a life of its own in those times, he’ll move it like he’s truly thirsty for you, taking a few moments in between to kiss and lick at your clit, enjoying the softness and making out with you in a way you didn’t think it was previously possible.

You, of course, need to return the favor in kind, and as much as he likes to pretend to resist and say its not needed, his resistance is futile and he’ll fold almost immediately, laying back or sitting in bed or in a couch he’ll let you lick and suck at him as much as you want, depending on the ocasion you will see Scott Summers fully relaxed for a moment, and its beautiful, those are the times where he pretends there is nothing wrong in the world, nothing to worry about and simply enjoys the pleasure you give him, he’ll try to contain his groans and moans as much as he can but soon his focus will be pulled from that too. Scott’s inner thighs are surprisingly sensitive, you found, and of course you leave plenty of marks on his beautiful thighs, dangerously close to his balls, he won’t be in the state of mind to complain anyway.

He knows you can get shy, but he loves to see you take his cock in your throat or kissing and licking at his tip, he’ll sneakily stop throwing his head back to look at you when he thinks you’re distracted.

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

Scott can keep it very steady during sex, impressively consistent too, but thats just his unwavering sense of discipline and with some effort his pace will change up depending on what you do or say, if you tease him and get him desperate his thrusts will be noticeably faster and more sloppy, but if he’s teasing you he’ll go slow and you and try to get you desperate for it, desperate enough to beg him and stroke his ego a little bit, just how he likes it.

But of course you can change things up and take him by surprise, he’ll be impressed if you decide to be on top and will take time to worship your body and just observe you, he’ll run his hands up and down all over you and when his hands are not enough to satiate his needs he’ll worship you with gentle kisses and licks all over your throat and chest. Some days when he’s pent up he might decide to take you a bit more forcefully than usual, holding you tight so you can barely move and moving his hips with a force that leaves you rattled by the end of it, he’ll try and apologize but there is nothing wrong with a little roughing up sometimes, you’ll say.

Q= Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often)

You’d think a man so busy would not have much time for quickies, but Scott is surprisingly easy to entice, and you know his ticks, its child’s play to you.

If you tease him a little bit through the morning, just a little, enough for the team not to say anything, even that will get him a little overwhelmed and you can take pride in knowing thoughts of you will be tormenting him throught the day, that familiar ghost is back to haunt him even when you’re not there. You can meet back with him on the afternoon and a just a little light quip from you will be enough to break his resolve, he’ll find an excuse for the others and call you to a room he knows is empty at the time just so he can say he’ll give you what you want (its what he wants really,we all know it) but he can play shy all he wants, you know what you did and you won’t regret it in the slightest.

R= Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks)

He’s not much for risk, i’m sorry to inform, his life is basically pure adrenaline and he likes to feel safe with you as much as possible, not to say he won’t try any kinks you suggest, he’s open to new things as long as they’re not dangerous or painful for either of you and will do his best to satisfy you while keeping you safe.

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

Depends on what he’s been doing before honestly, Scott is always up and running its no wonder his energy is limited, but he’ll always have one or two rounds in for you, he would absolutely refuse to leave you unsatisfied, but these one or two rounds are pretty amazing and more than enough for you, of course. On better days where he’s rested he can go pretty much all night long with you, there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend the whole night worshipping and being worshipped by his love.

T= Toy (do they own toys? do they use them?)

Scott doesn’t own any toys himself, well you can gift him that rope and blindfold but they don’t really count as toys, Mr.Summers is too serious and important (embarrassed) to be seen in some downtown sex shop or ordering toys online, so i’m sorry, that task will fall to you and you don’t mind much, the sex shops are fun but he will make you keep your new toys hidden or locked up in a drawer, he’s scared of anyone finding them for some reason, honey its okay, no one’s looking.

He’s open to using them on you and watching you use the toys on yourself, perhaps you can even convince him to let you use them on himself, he’ll deny a bit but you already know you can easily convince him, just put on a little show and he won’t resist.

U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Scott doesn’t tease much, he’d rather see your blissed out face for as long as he can but that doesn’t mean he’ll never tease you, but those instances are rare and honestly that just turns you on ever more, you understand his innuendos pretty quickly and it’ll work even better with you if its in public, the fact that he went out of his way just to tease you in public, being who he is, is enough to have you ready to go.

He’ll do a bit of verbal play during sex, mostly just fishing for compliments, he might just stop halfway, cock still inside of you and fish for a few compliments before getting back to railing you into the matress, this time with renewed motivation.

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

Scott is honestly not very loud, what he doesn’t have in volume he’ll unconsciously make up for in quantity, unless you’re not in an entirely safe place. He’ll groan and moan for you right in your ear, in the beginning he was embarrassed to do it, it was mostly involuntary at the time, but now? He knows you love it and he won’t deprive you from it unless you deprive him of your own pretty moans and goddamit does he sound good, raspy groans right from the back of his throat and light airy moans once in a while, its almost angelic to hear him like that, such a pretty song just for you.

W= Wild Card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Our mr.Summers is not very jealous, but he is pretty territorial over you, he’s not jealous in the classic sense and won’t think much of other people interacting with you, you two are a two in one deal and most people realize that, so if he realizes someone has a crush or is sweet on you he won’t do much about it nor say anything about it to you if you are not as observant as him, especially if your interactions with such a person are entirely innocent.

But if they’re not and such a person starts making more overt advances towards you, well, he just has to make himself known, he’ll be more affectionate in public, deliberately, sometimes even looking the person in the eye (not that they’d know, he’s always wearing glasses anyway ehh) which does not work, he won’t follow you like a puppy, but he will make it known for all others that he’s your guy, you get a bonus of more handholding, public affection and of course, more sex, he’s not doing it out in the open, but he’s noticeably more passionate with you, he’ll hold you tight against him and give you very noticeable hickeys that are somewhat difficult to hide, he’ll apologize a little after, so you won’t notice he’s doing it deliberately, so that person sees and knows he’s active with you, naughty naughty, but still is going to be embarrassed if anyone on his team comments or jokes about it, men are contradictory creatures.

X= X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Scott is a big man, as such i’d put him at a good 20 to almost 21 centimeters, about 7 inches in total, and that is pretty big in my book, it is the reason why he keeps a consistent pace and insists on being gentle with you, he’s bigger than average and knows that it can hurt if he's not careful.

But his cock is a thing of beauty in your eyes, circumsised , fairly thick and with an almost red rosy blush all around, soft balls that feel so good in your hand, almost like velvet really, it also leaks a fair bit of precum that you love to take in your mouth whenever you can, its heavy and always feels perfect for you, as you love to remind him once in a while.

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

The man yearns, he yearns for you when you are away, not even necessarily for sex, he just feels incomplete without his lover by his side where you belong, and of course you won’t leave him alone even in his thoughts, whenever he’s distracted there is a fair chance he’s thinking of you, of your beauty as well as your kindness and your pussy of course, but he yearns mostly for the connection you two share, he’s never bored with you, sex is more than just a stress relief it is a connection he shares with you and a way to feel the bond both of you share physically, thats what it is to him, the love you both share brings him bliss.

Z= ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Scott might be tired and a bit worn by the end of the day, but he can share a bit of conversation with you before sleep, if that is what you desire he’ll make an effort to keep his eyes open as long as he can and offer some semi coherent commentary once in a while, however, when you lay and cuddle up to him under the sheets, especially if you allow him to rest his head on the softness of your chest, he’s a goner, won’t last more than five minutes awake, but that’s okay because its cute.

i can't believe its over, took me about 15 hours of nonstop work for my first true writing post, depending on the feedback this might become a series, i have lots of ideas in mind especially for the art. So please let me know what you think, feedback is very important and i will remind everyone who reads requests are open with me, so yeah, thanks for reading!

Slytherin’s #1 fan

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve. 

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband. 

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst. 

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum. 

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe. 

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening. 

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag. 

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened. 

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.” 

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.” 

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm. 

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.” 

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.” 

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his. 

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine. 

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state. 

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek. 

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look. 

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.” 

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy. 

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears. 

Though, confusion takes president. 

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air. 

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear. 

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something? 

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed. 

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door. 

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose. 

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?” 

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here. 

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.” 

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor. 

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly. 

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues. 

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth. 

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.” 

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn. 

But he made his bed. 

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.” 

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance. 

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned. 

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.” 

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily. 

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage. 

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files. 

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs. 

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.” 

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters. 

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright. 

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan. 

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force. 

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger. 

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?” 

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds. 

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…” 

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it. 

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals. 

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had. 

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked. 

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered. 

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work. 

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox. 

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen. 

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood. 

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.” 

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough. 

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex. 

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.” 

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.” 

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks. 

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet. 

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.” 

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm. 

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?” 

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper. 

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate. 

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete. 

“Alex…” you whisper to no one. 

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you. 

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly. 

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too. 

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you? 

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows. 

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse. 

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven. 

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger. 

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed. 

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face. 

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”  

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up? 

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change. 

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all. 

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again. 

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring. 

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse. 

Dead silence. 

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—” 

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear. 

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen. 

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass. 

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens. 

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest. 

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.” 

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony. 

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor. 

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you. 

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again. 

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.” 

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained. 

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him. 

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed. 

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired. 

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate. 

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now. 

All that you needed was Alex. Your home. 

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot. 

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.” 

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.” 

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.” 

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?” 

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once. 

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” 

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.” 

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

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Lust

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader

WARNING: 18+ smut, dark!sebastian,

NOTE: Anon request for "Seb + lust potion". Everyone is aged up! Tbh I don't know how I feel about how this turned out

Sebastian wasn't innocent at the beginning or end this quest. He had taken an interest in the dark arts since his 4th or 5th year at Hogwarts. He was driven by his parents ceaseless curiosity while they were alive and later in life by trying to cure Anne. After everything happened with his uncle and everyone involved chose to spare him the justice of the wizarding world, he toned it down.

That didn't mean he let go of it entirely. He continued to explore things that could be considered "dark arts" but things that could be used day-to-day or at least when it was convenient. Currently, he was in his home at Feldcroft, alone without Anne or Solomon to be his keepers.

He drank a bit too much Dragon Barrel brandy, especially for someone trying to accomplish what he was. He wanted to modify a draught of Amortentia in a way that made it more than some temporary infatuation, but a way that made someone painfully lustful. And the someone he wanted to give it to was you.

You were the only person who was really in his corner anymore, but he hadn't been able to think straight since he'd officially lost everyone else. He hadn't been able to settle with all of the guilt and fear that any day one of you would just turn him in. So, he had taken to drinking and being a degenerate no matter how much you tried to save him.

If you knew his secrets, maybe you would finally turn your back on him for good, but for now, you couldn't help that you loved him all these years.

Sebastian's problem was now that in the midst of his drinking and scheming, he took the Amortentia himself as opposed to having more of his brandy. He passed out shortly afterward, at least making it to his couch. Which is where you found him in the morning.

You had come as you did every morning to make sure he at least ate one meal without booze. You came over sleepy and with just a knitted shawl to cover your night dress. It wasn't as if Sebastian was ever aware enough to notice you anymore, not like the hungry glances you used to see from him. And it was always dark when you wandered over from your stay, getting ready for the rest of your day in Sebastian's home.

When you came in the first thing you noticed was that he hadn't even made it to bed last night. It made you let out a sad sigh. You weren't cleaning up the mess of potion bottles he left out for god knows what, he could deal with that on his own, but you at least planned to wake him up.

"Sebastian..." your voice was soft as you shook his shoulders, unable to be anything but tender with him despite everything.

He heard you and groaned. He expected his skull to be throbbing from last night, but he felt really confused when the blood rushed to a different head. His eyes shot open and he startled the both of you, making you stumble to a seat right next to his knees.

"Sebastian?! What the hell did you drink last night?" He figured that out about as soon as his eyelids felt heavy looking at you. He could see the outline of your breasts, your hips, your curves; he could see everything through your thin gown and felt like he was going to explode. Did you always come over here like this? Is he that stupid to not have taken you yet?

His thoughts wandered all over the place as you placed a hand on his chest in worry. "Sebastian? Are you in there? What's wrong?" You hadn't seen him look this sober in a year or two honestly.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, running a hand threw his hair before he propped himself up, face just inches from yours.

"I-yeah, I just had some really strange dreams. I don't know what happened last night."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the lure of his rough morning voice before scolding him, "Well, I'm not cleaning up whatever all this is. I'm not your maid."

His maid? Is that really how you felt? You stood up, shuffling over to his kitchen to get hot water started. His jaw nearly fell to the floor as he saw your entire silhouette through your gown; with the way, the sun was shining it was like you were delivered to him on a silver platter.

He couldn't think straight. He was thinking about how constricting his pants felt, how hot his skin was, how much he wanted to practically eat you alive.

He stood up to stretch before he followed after you like a puppy. He peeled his old shirt over his head without a care. He felt like he was going to melt with it sticking to him.

When you turned around to meet him you had to work hard to contain your expression. You were looking right into his chest with how tall he'd gotten. All you could see were fleshy arms and chest just absolutely covered in freckles.

"Wait," you looked up at him, unable to contain your surprise as he spoke, "I know you're not my maid. I know how much you take care of me here," he used his fingers to swipe some loose hairs from around your face, "let me be your maid today."

You couldn't contain your laughter at how goofy he sounded. It made him a little bit angry, he just wanted to say whatever would get you to let him ruin your soft skin and he couldn't even manage that right anymore.

"Sebastian, I don't know what's going on today, but just go do whatever you do."

You waved him off, attempting to turn back towards the kitchen when he grabbed your wrist tightly, "I can run your bath for you?"

He dropped to his knees in front of you, looking up at you through his lashes as he brought your hand to his cheek.

"Please. I know I've been a burden, I've been - I've been bad, but I want to help. I want to do better by you."

You eye him strangely, unsure of what is going on. You've seen his charades and empty promises before and this definitely sounded like that. If you didn't know better you would almost think he was trying to seduce you in some weird way, but that would be a first.

"Seb. I love you dearly, but I don't know what you're doing and you know I don't trust you."

He groaned, dropping your hand, leaning his head against your legs. He was completely unable to resist running his hands along the back of your calves.

"Okay, you know how I go to Penny's Pub."

"Yes, Sebastian, unfortunately I do."

He started speaking again, standing up slowly as he did and caressing your curves the whole way up, he decided to play the helpless card, "I'm embarrassed," he intentionally avoided your gaze, " some woman I never met bought me a drink and I didn't feel so good so I came back here."

He was really trying to playing it up as he ran his fingertips up and down the back of your neck, "But I, I think she slipped me a lust potion. It's some gross modification of Amortentia."

He avoided your gaze, the redness in his cheeks in ears made it seem like he wasn't lying through his teeth.

"O-okay and what am I supposed to do?" The rise and fall of your chest came quicker, "You got yourself into this mess, it's nothing to do with me."

You did your best to brush him off, not wanting to give in to whatever game this was. Even if it was true, it didn't mean you owed him anything. He wasn't the Sebastian you used to know.

You attempted once more to turn away from him, but his grip along your jaw tightened. "I need you," he spoke aggressively before his lips met yours in a crushing kiss.

You placed your hands on his chest in attempt to push him back, but he responded by pinning you to the counter, tilting his head so he could speak low into your ear, "I know you need this too," his hand drifted to your skirts, dipping beneath to trace the skin of your thigh, "you can fight me, but I know I'll find you dripping underneath of here. I need the tight little pussy I've never been strong enough to take."

You could feel him drifting closer to the wetness you were ashamed of, you squirmed, but it made no difference. You could feel how stiff he was against you, how his hot commanding breath felt on your neck. "I can't hold back anymore," he whimpered, almost sounding sorry and pathetic for what he was about to do. His fingers passed through your slick folds, smearing it around to press a lubricated thumb to your clit.

"Sebastian..." You gave yourself to how good it felt, hands turned to fists as you clenched onto his pecs.

"I've been so stupid. Could've had you drooling on my cock like this the whole time." You let out a sharp moan of disappointment as he took is hand away before hoisting you onto the counter top.

He looked at you sinfully, your flushed demeanor of want and fear, your rumpled clothes splayed out over your legs you didn't even know you were spreading. He couldn't contain himself as he growled low in his throat, taking the collar of your gown and tearing through the buttons. He yanked harder still until the skirt tore straight in half.

There you were, naked, swollen, soaking, torn between the "no" you know you should give him and the fact that you can't seem to open your mouth open.

"You're so fucking perfect," for a few moments he couldn't bring himself to do anything besides stare and drink you in, "I'm going to leave bruises here," he palmed the skin of your hip, over the curve of your belly, continuing upwards, "and here. Maybe bite marks, maybe I'll leave my seed here to stain you," he flicked his fingers across your nipple, massaging the warm flesh.

He took the step forward to be directly between your legs, pinning your wrists to the counter top. He looked right into your eyes, "I might tie these up to mark them up too. So everybody can see what you let me do."

He knelt in front of you, his blown pupils never looking away from yours as he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you into his mouth. His lips cover your mound, tongue tracing your folds before flicking across your clit.

Your mewls and moans drive him to keep going and work harder, sucking on the sensitive nub and digging his fingers into your thighs. He looked beautiful between your legs, a mess of auburn hair with freckled fingers holding you hostage to his assault.

"Sebastian, Sebastian, I -" Your legs clenched and he gripped you hard to keep you from closing them, he knows your close. He's nearly done in for himself with your taste and scent, he felt like you could be his last meal and he would die a happy man.

When he feels the final tension from your legs he completely releases you, standing up and holding you by the hips. You nearly have tears in your eyes from how close you were when he denied you of it. You could see his damp mouth and chin just inches from your face.

You flinch when he swipes a finger through your folds before bringing it up to your lips. You feel embarrassed to smell and see your arousal. He uses his clean hand to drag your chin down and force your mouth open, "Taste how dirty you are, Y/N. You've been so needy for me this whole time."

You can feel the tears of frustration about to come out as you let him pop his finger into your mouth, forcing you to clean it all off.

"I bet it hurts to be so pent up, so close, but not able to get what you want," a wet slap echoes through the room as you bite your lip to hold back your pleas, "that's how you've made me feel this whole time. Trouncing around in a harlot's clothes, waiting for someone to stop being a gentleman," he chuckled darkly, "but I bet you didn't expect it would be me who would torture you."

You can't find any words as you see the look of nothing but lust on his face, he has no compassion for you right now, he's thinking only of doing all the things he's wanted for so long.

You find yourself slightly surprised as he lifts you up to carry you into his bedroom where he tosses your bare form onto the bed. You feel like prey with how he looks down at your form.

Yet you can't find it in you to look away as he pulls his belt from his trousers first, then unfastens the button to allow the to hit the floor, taking his undergarments with them.

He's bigger than you anticipated. His cock is swollen looking as if it's about to burst at any moment as he crawls between your legs to pin you down. You yelp as he pulls you by you hips to meet his cock, grinding against you while he covers your lips with his.

The kisses are sloppy as his tongue traces patterns on your lips before you let him in, he pulls at your lips with his teeth leaving bitten flesh before you finally let him inside. They're suffocating and intoxicating all at the same time, every sensation feels like it's magnified at this point.

You wrap your arms helplessly around him, feeling his pulse through his biceps and the tensed muscles along his back. He moves down to your breasts leaving a trail of bites while you rut against each other for relief.

He pulls back to take in the full site of you before positioning himself at your entrance. He wants to see you fall apart when you have the full force of him inside of you. Without any time to react he thrusts himself into you, the room filling with the sounds of moans and wet skin.

All he cared about was how you practically swallowed his cock. You were wet and needy and he felt like he could have cum on the spot, but he wanted to hold back. He wanted to make you sore, to show everyone what he had done to you.

He fucked you relentlessly with one hand braced on your hip and another he moved down to play with you once more. He needed you to like it whether you wanted to or not. He needed to know he made you finish with the full force of his cock and his fingers.

You could see how flushed he was in the face and chest, clearly holding back. You couldn't deny how attractive he was as he pounded in and out of you. As you noticed all the freckles on his body in place you had never imagined they'd be; the way his hands looked pressing into your skin almost painfully.

The way he looked down at you with hooded eyes, intent on leaving you destroyed as he fucked you and fought to give you the orgasm he so abruptly took from you earlier.

You felt it building in your stomach and pulled Sebastian down on top of you, feeling greedy to want to feel his weight all over you when you came crashing down. You felt it through your stomach like electricity as you squeezed your legs around him crying out nonsense from the pleasure.

When he realized you were there he picked up his pace, allowing himself the permission to release right inside of you. He grunted and you could feel him so deep inside that you thought you were going to fall apart. He had wanted to shoot his ropes of cum all over you and see you as his crumpled-up little mess, but he didn't have the strength to do it.

He collapsed against you and you both breathed heavily together. He didn't know if the potion made these things any more intense, but he felt like he could see stars from how hard he had just finished. He clutched at you a little more gently than before, nuzzling into your neck.

"Y/N..." your name fell off of his lips in a deep sigh. The smallest bit of guilt settled in with him now that he was 100% not under the influence of anything else.

You let yourself play with his hair softly as he spoke up, "I need to tell you something."

Y/N x Sebastian Sallow moodboard

"stop looking at me with those eyes..."

"what eyes?"

After graduation