#author reader

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to me. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

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Well, the first half an hour at the place was yet to inspire you, but the hot tub sure seemed tempting. You were not surprised to see your friends had the same idea as you exited your room with a towel wrapped around you.

"Bitch, come on! We're gonna get in the hot tub!" you watched one of your friends shout outside a bedroom door, amusing you.

You followed the others out on to the decking, and relished in the warmth of the water as you submerged.

"Merlin, this is amazing," your friend said, and you were inclined to agree.

"Mm, that girl better hurry up," your Slytherin friend replied, referring to the one party yet to make an appearance, "She's missing out."

As if she had been conjured into existence, the cabin door slid open. You turned your attention towards her, noticing curiously how her body was littered with scars: you cautiously exchanged glances with your other friends.

"What took you so long?"

She shrugged, "Couldn't decide on a bikini."

The topic of conversation quickly shifted, and began flowing through light-hearted subjects.

"I wonder if anyone's staying there," one of your friends pondered aloud, making you turn your attentions to the other cabin. This was the first time you were properly acknowledging its presence.

"The lights are on, so surely," the Slytherin replied.

And then, on cue, the door to the other cabin dramatically opened, and out came none other than Mattheo Riddle— an infamous character in your school year, known for his fights, detentions, and conquests.

You scoffed, "No fucking way."

What were the chances? Sure, these two cabins were only available to wizards and witches, but seriously? People like Mattheo Riddle and his friends— who soon followed behind him— could not be more different from you, and they just had to be there at the same time.

You did not hate them, but you had certainly been annoyed whenever they would interrupt your writing in the library with their antics. Riddle, especially, had been guilty of this. He was the opposite of a quiet individual, and thus the opposite of you.

But, he was attractive, and unexpectedly the reason a lightbulb finally appeared above your head.

Because what if...?

***

The next day, after a long day of learning how to ski (disappointingly with none of the boys present), the boys invited you all over for dinner and drinks. You were on such a high from finally having inspiration that you did not even stop to think whether your friends wanted to go. All you knew was that you had to interact with Riddle, that he had to be the basis of the male lead in your story. And, well, you had already developed somewhat of an outline the night prior.

So, as you poured yourself a drink, you carefully scrutinised the man as he chatted with Berkshire. Admittedly, you were not so subtle, so you should not have been surprised when he began taking strides in your direction.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, a tantalising glint in his irises.

"Dream on," you muttered, but you did— you really did.

"L/N, was it?" he asked, and you nodded. You were a little surprised that he remembered. "I hear you're a successful author now."

For some reason, that statement made you freeze. Gathering the pieces of your confidence, you straightened your back and said, "Why? You read my book?"

He scoffed, "Do I look like I read?"

You smiled, "I'm hardly in the business of judging books by their cover."

Riddle chuckled slightly, "Touché."

Oh, yes, he was the perfect muse.

***

Unfortunately, one of your friends had fallen ill, and was unable to go skiing the next day. In an unexpected turn of events, Nott insisted on staying back with her, which you would have speculated about on a normal basis— only, this was not a normal basis. You had been up late manically typing away on your typewriter, fuelled by ideas and inspiration. Now, you were exhausted, but still hyperfocused on the enthralment of Mattheo Riddle. You were practically tuned to only hear the words that left his mouth.

"Yeah, feverish for Theo," Riddle joked, and while you had not been paying attention to the context (although you could figure it out), laughter burst forth from your body and had you losing your breath.

Said man looked at you with an amused haze in his eyes, one that had your stomach somersaulting. You could not even bring yourself to be embarrassed about the grin plastered on to your face the entire rest of the walk.

Much to your disappointment, Riddle shot off the ski decking the second the group arrived there, along with most of the boys. You remained back with the girls— and Malfoy, for some reason.

Having got the hang of magic skiing the day prior, thanks to your Slytherin friend, you decided that you did not want to be too far behind Riddle. So, you approached the edge, and became the first of your friends to launch off, prompting the rest of them to do so.

As you slid down the slopes, avoiding the ever-appearing obstacles in a haphazardly manner, you quickly realised that you would not be able to catch up to Riddle. He had likely grown up going magic skiing, as while he was orphaned, he had been raised by the Malfoys of whom definitely took expensive holidays on an annual basis.

Some while later, you neared the bottom, and clumsily skidded to a halt where the boys were waiting.

"Where's Draco?" Riddle asked.

You lifted up your mask and shrugged, "He was the last to go, I think." You were pretty sure he had been talking to your Slytherin friend, anyway.

***

The eight of you returned sooner than expected, after one of your friends sustained an injury. It was nothing magic couldn't quickly fix, but everyone agreed that it was best to head back for the day. Zabini helped support her on the walk back, which she seemed very annoyed about, but you were still absorbed in your personal antics, i.e. hanging off Riddle's every word.

You entered the dubbed "girls' cabin" to find Nott in the kitchen— shirtless. It would be a shock to everyone, but you found yourself only caring about Riddle's reaction when he entered.

Then you remembered that your friend was sick, and snapped out of your daze.

"Where is she?" you asked Nott.

"She's sleeping," he answered, seemingly trying to sound nonchalant.

As more of the group entered the kitchen, including Riddle, they all appeared to share your shock at Nott's shirtless situation.

"I'll go check on her," your Slytherin friend said.

Nott's eyes widened, "That's probably not a good idea."

"Why?" she eyed him curiously.

For some totally not suspicious reason, he was struggling to answer.

Then, a door creaked open in the distance, and your friend pattered into the kitchen wearing nothing but knee socks and Nott's jumper, stunning everyone.

She paused when she saw all of you.

You looked at Riddle to gage his reaction.

"Did you pretend to be sick just to fuck all day?" he asked, the kind of blunt question only a Slytherin boy would ask. Merlin, was such a manner of being always so attractive?

"She's like me," Nott spoke gently, a vague sentence that stole you from your thoughts, but you kept your eyes on Riddle.

His eyes widened at Nott's words.

"Oh, is she, like, in—?" Berkshire piped up.

"Yes."

"What the fuck is going on?" another of your friends asked.

Your "sick" friend hesitated for a moment, avoiding eye contact as she seemed to contemplate something. Eventually, she spoke, "I'm... a werewolf."

That made you peel your eyes away from Riddle, staring at her in shock. But then you remembered the scars all over her body, and things started to make sense.

"Okay... but... it's not a full moon, so, like...?"

You glanced at the friend who said that.

"She's in heat," Riddle laughed, "Guess Theo here has been providing some... assistance..." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Fuck off," Nott grumbled.

"You're also a werewolf?" your Slytherin friend questioned.

He nodded.

And after a long, awkward conversation of explaining why she did not tell you all sooner, how heats and ruts worked, and also the fact that her and Nott were now mated for life... she suddenly looked as if she were about to faint. You were bewildered as they both excused themselves, but also happy to return your attentions to Riddle.

"You've known Nott was a werewolf this whole time?"

"Since, like, third year," he replied, ruffling the snow out of his hair, "I can't believe you didn't know your friend was."

You shrugged, "I mean, in hindsight it's obvious, we just never really asked."

"Girls are strange."

That made a scowl form on your brow, "Boys are stranger."

He chuckled: a warm sound which started a fire in your heart. Fuck— you didn't just see him as character inspiration, did you?

***

After more magic skiing the following day, once again without the werewolves and for some reason without Malfoy, you were back at the cabins. Your Slytherin friend had disappeared not too long ago, and while your other friends pondered where she was, you asked the rest of the boys if they wanted to come over and watch a film. You prepared hot chocolates and popcorn, and set up the muggle piece of technology sat in the lounge area.

Then, cosied up in your jumper and flannel pyjamas, you watched as the girls sat down around you and the boys entered. Even the werewolves decided to join, settling themselves down on the sofa, cuddling up with rosy cheeks. It had you feeling jealous, that they could feel a lifelong bond, that they were now destined to be each other's person. Why couldn't you have that?

Riddle sat down next to you, having picked up one of the hot chocolates, and smiled in your direction. That single act had your pain washing away— forgotten history. You smiled back at him.

"What film are we watching?" he asked, leaning back.

"Buffalo '66," you replied, "It just came out a few months ago."

"What's it about?"

You faltered, "It'll sound too dark if I explain it. But it's a romance. Just watch."

"Okay, secretive," he said, chuckling before taking a sip of the drink. He flinched and pulled away, "Shit, that's hot."

"I made them fresh."

You looked around at everyone to see if they were ready for the film to begin, and noted how one of your friends was glaring daggers at Zabini. Choosing to ask her about it later, you pressed play on the remote.

At some point— you could not pinpoint exactly when— Riddle had rested his arm behind you on the sofa. You hadn't noticed at first, as it hadn't been touching you, but gradually it had shifted closer until the brush of his skin against yours left a tingling sensation. You almost jumped, but kept calm and tried not to freak out at the prospect Mattheo Riddle might fancy you.

Merlin, you would be putting a shift in on your book later. And, with that thought, you gathered your courage to rest your head on his shoulder, and his arm dropped lower until his hand was gently caressing your arm.

***

"Y/N, this is a weird film," your werewolf friend noted.

You shrugged, Riddle leaning forward to grab his hot chocolate, unfortunately disconnecting from you in the process. "I mean, yeah, but it's good."

"Merlin, I'm worried to think about the kind of books you'll write in future," she chuckled in response, making you throw a cushion at her. Only, you went to throw it just as Riddle leant back again, accidentally knocking his shoulder and making him spill his hot chocolate all over himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" you gasped, as he just stared down at the mess on him, "Fuck, I'll get a towel."

You hurried to your feet, dashing to your room to begin tearing it apart to find something— anything to clean him up with. After a couple minutes, he came in, "Not to complain, but what's taking so long?"

"I can't find one," you huffed, "I'll try the bathroom. Wait here."

And when you returned, finally in possession of a towel, you saw Riddle stood by the desk, where your typewriter sat, holding a piece of parchment. Your eyes widened in horror.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading."

"You don't read," you replied hollowly.

He must have noticed your tone, because he put the paper back down, and turned to you, "Sorry, I should have asked."

It seemed that he had not figured out it was about him, so you let yourself relax. "It's okay. It's just nowhere near ready."

"Have you had sex before?" he asked, making you nearly choke.

"What?" you forced out.

"I'm sorry, this sex scene just doesn't feel natural."

"Oh," you short-circuited. You knew that it didn't feel natural when you wrote it, but it was a challenge for you to write rougher sex when the only sex you had experienced— with your only ex— had been the most vanilla love-making you could possibly imagine. Not that you hadn't liked it, but beginning to write this new book had made you realise you craved more.

"So, have you?"

You nodded feebly, unsure whether to be embarrassed, "Not like that, though."

He hummed, and then he smirked, "Want me to show you?"

If you had been shocked before, you might as well be dead now: his casual offer hit you like a truck, freezing you in place and causing words to fail you.

"Hey, we don't have to, I just thought it would... help," he said quickly, clearly not used to such a reaction.

Finally, you managed to say, "I want to."

"Are you sure?"

You snapped out of your stupor, and vehemently nodded. This was just what you needed to write the perfect sex scene— and also to finally satisfy your newfound desire.

But, where do you begin after accepting his offer? All you could do was stare at him expectantly, hoping that he would take the initiative. He wouldn't. Why wouldn't he? What the fuck was he waiting for?

Your frustration boiled to the surface and you darted forward, slamming your lips on to his and tangling your hands in his hair. You kissed with a passion and fervour that you didn't know you possessed, screaming from within each and every one of your veins. Only when he kissed you back with as much hunger did you realise that he had also been waiting for you to make the first move. Not because he was scared too— Merlin, no. But because he wanted to watch you snap.

And snap you did, feeling blazing hot fire coursing through your bloodstream as you pushed him back towards the bed, aching to feel every inch of his sinful body. You climbed on top of him, only parting from his mouth to tug off your shirt, urging him to do the same. A smirk crept on to his face, and he flipped you over in the flash of a second.

"You want me to take my shirt off?" he teased.

You scowled at him, "Fuckin' obviously."

"Beg me."

A whirlwind combination of annoyance and shame swirled inside your brain, your brows furrowing as you decided a route to take. Eventually, sarcastically, you said, "Please take off your shirt."

To your frustration, he shook his head, "Less sass."

Your resolve crumbled into unadulterated desperation, and much to your chagrin, you found yourself snapping, "Take off your shirt, Riddle."

And he still had the nerve to do it at the pace of a snail.

"The first thing you got wrong," he chuckled, "Is that you rushed everything."

You rolled your eyes, praying that his hand, which was creeping along the hemline of your joggers, would finally take action.

"I mean, where's the fun without a little teasing?"

"A little, not a lot," you clapped back.

Finally, he unclothed your lower half, leaving you bare before him in a manner that should have left you feeling ashamed, but instead had the peculiar effect of making you feel alive. You reached your hands up to clasp on to his broad shoulders, enjoying the heat radiating from his skin. And then he kissed you again, catching you so off guard that you gasped, distracting you from the fact his hand had placed itself on your waist. He caressed your tits, your abdomen, your thighs— until he finally shifted to your core, where you were sure that you were positively dripping with anticipation.

You broke the kiss to mutter, "Stop fuckin' torturin' me."

He smirked. The bastard smirked. "How could I when it wields such entertaining results?"

His finger brushed your clit with the delicacy of a butterfly, and while you craved more, such a tiny action from Riddle had a jolt of electricity shooting up your spine. Involuntarily, your hips bucked up, powered by instinct and lust. So, when he finally began applying pressure rubbing circles, your vision went white.

"Holy shit," you gasped, moments before slamming your lips on to his again. Each and every intricate movement of his fingers reeked of experience, propelling you to reconsider your disbelief of all the rumours that had spread about him during school. You had scoffed when Maisie Pavalti told you that Riddle was a God in bed, and rolled your eyes when Glynda Bluefire compared him to a puppet master the way he knew how to use his fingers.

You understood now that Maisie and Glynda knew exactly what they were talking about.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, feeling your release creeping up behind you, not even remotely dependent on your focus.

But then he pulled away.

You whined, too spent to even form a scowl. "Why?"

He chuckled again, flipping you over without warning and landing a smack to your ass in a manner that had you arching your back and groaning. "Such a desperate slut."

He smacked your ass again, and you peeked behind you to witness him unbuckling his belt and finally releasing the dick that had been praised by many. Fuck, since when were rumours accurate?

Your mouth damn near watered at the sight of it, which was especially strange considering you had only ever begrudgingly given your ex head. For Mattheo, however? You were pretty sure you would beg him for the privilege of sucking his cock. But at that very second, you wanted it inside you more.

His hand gripped your ass, so tightly it began to hurt in the most delicious way. Your excitement built as his tip prodded gently against your cunt, not slipping in, but making sinful contact.

"How bad do you want this?" he asked, a dark undertone lacing his voice.

"So bad," you replied breathlessly, straining your neck to look at his face.

He arched an eyebrow.

"More than anything," you amended your answer.

His nod of approval had you brimming with pride, and with another slap of your reddened cheeks, he entered in one fell swoop. The burn mixed with the pleasure, making your arms give way and your face fall against the bedding. All you could do was moan as he began moving, appreciating every nook and cranny he touched within in you.

"Feel so fuckin' good," he grunted, and you were grateful to receive indication he was just as needy as you were.

Then his hand found your clit again, and you were pushed over the edge before he even had the chance to deny you another orgasm.

"Did you just—?" he trailed off, apparently just as surprised as you were.

You moaned in affirmation, "Don't fuckin' stop."

He slapped your ass again, increasing his pace to a relentless speed, surely bruising your cervix more with every stroke— not that you could bring yourself to care. In fact, when he reached a hand forward and wrapped it around your neck, using it to pull you up, you found yourself engulfed in more pleasure. You relished in the amount of control he had over you, basked in the way he made you feel.

"Oh my Merlin," you said through restricted breath, your head going dizzy as his movements became sloppy.

"Gonna— come—" he said through gritted teeth.

You were going to as well, and made no effort to stop him as he released his load inside of you, moments before you came again. Your liquids fused to one inside of you as he came to a stop, your collective mess of moans and grunts ceasing to just laboured breath. Riddle finally let go of your throat, and you collapsed forward.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped when he pulled out of you, rolling over to lie on your back, "Mother of shit."

Riddle fell next you, the ghost of a smirk still lingering on his exhausted face. "Good?"

"The best," you sighed.

"Now you can make your book about me more accurate."

You stilled. You had not used Riddle's name in the book— how the fuck did he know it was about him?

"Ah, so it is about me."

"You knew?" you panicked.

He shrugged lazily, "I suspected. Your reaction confirms it."

Only now did embarrassment flood your nervous system.

"It's cute," he chuckled, "I'm honoured to be your muse."

"Fuck off."

"I can show you a lot more than what sex with me is like," his eyes glinted at you, "Y'know, for the sake of accuracy."

"Like what?"

"I don't know... dates, cuddling... pet names..." he faked a gagging motion at the last item.

"Oh, for accuracy's sake, of course," you teased, finally catching on to his implications.

"Naturally, no other reason," he blatantly lied.

You rolled your eyes, but could not get the grin from off your face.

"Of course, I want fifty percent of the profits."

"Fat fuckin' chance."

***

Eventually, the two of you cleaned and dressed up again, emerging from your bedroom to find that your friends had finished watching the film. Their eyes immediately shot in your direction, knowing looks plastered on each and every one of their faces.

It was clear that Riddle— Mattheo— knew no shame, because he proudly wrapped his hand around your waist, his infamous smirk gracing his lips. "Good film?" he asked with a cheeky tilt of his head.

But before anyone could reply, the door to the cabin slid open, and in came Malfoy and your Slytherin friend, of whom both had not been seen for a while. You immediately took note of their interlocked hands, and the shiny diamond that was balanced on your friend's finger.

A few beats of silent passed, until Mattheo said, "What the actual fuck?"

——————————————————

part 4: loml (blaise zabini)

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main masterlist

 Weeks passed and eventually you had a full book written. While it was being edited, you made yourself your very own Rococo inspired dress to wear to the book launch. Bucky thoroughly enjoyed himself while he was in France and was happy to listen to you bounce ideas off him, even helping you come up with ideas for how the couple should end up together. He was the first person you showed the finished copy to. Bucky finished it within a week. He would have finished it sooner if it weren’t all the distractions of the others. Although he wasn’t a big fan of crowds, Bucky was excited when you invited him to the big launch.

…

 Finally, the night of the book launch arrived. You decided to arrive much earlier to prepare your elaborate costume. Before you left, you styled your hair in a popular one from 18th century France and put on the very basics in preparation. Bucky helped to carry in the extra pieces.

 “So, what do you need first?” Bucky asked.

 “First, I start with the under petticoat,” you explained, pointing to the plain looking skirt.

 Bucky helped you to put it over you and you tied it up.

 “Next?” he questioned.

 “The stays, the corset that is…”

 Bucky handed the item to you, watching in fascination as you laced it up, before adding a piece you called a ‘stomacher’ and placed it in the middle.

 “You’re not… crushing your ribs or anything in that, are you?” Bucky worriedly asked.

 You smiled at his concern.

 “No, Bucky. This type of corset is not designed for waist training which is why it goes over the chemise; that’s the under dress. It’ll also offer protection for one of the upcoming steps. Also, these ribbons help to hold the shoulders back and adjust the posture,” you clarified, showing him the ones in question.

 Bucky nodded and waited for his next instruction.

 “Next, the pannier. That’s the hoop things.”

 Bucky helped you to place it around your hips. You had made yours a little wider to match the fashion on the time which meant you couldn’t get through a doorway without going sideways.

 “The outer petticoat comes next…”

 You had designed this one to be a little fancier and a little more ruffled than the one before. Bucky assisted in getting it over the pannier and arranged it so it would sit nicely.

 “Hand me my pin cushion,” you requested.

 Bucky held it for you as you pinned another stomacher in place. This one had fancy stacks of bows to match the petticoat.

 “You see, this is where the boning from the stays come in handy. Stops the pins from stabbing me,” you assured him.

 “Lastly, the gown,” you stated.

 Bucky assisted in placing it on your shoulders like a jacket and adjusted it where it needed to be around the hips. With a few more pins, you had it securely on.

 “What do you think?” you asked with a twirl.

 Bucky was in awe.

 “Wow… all those layers for something that looks like just one dress…”

 “That’s why I wanted to get here so early. It takes a lot of time to get the look just right. Thanks for your help,” you smiled.

 “Anytime… are you going to be able to sit in that?” Bucky voiced his concern.

 “Well… The panniers do have a little more give than their successor the crinoline… I may need some help getting into a chair…”

 Bucky smiled a little.

 “I’m always happy to help…”

…

 A little while later, the book launch was in full swing. You explained about your dress and how it was something the heroine in your story might have worn. People asked you questions which you were always happy to answer.

 “Miss L/N, is the character’s love interest based on a real historical figure?” someone asked.

 “Actually, he’s based on someone very dear to me…”

 There were more questions asked, getting a little more personal in nature but your publisher stepped in to direct the attention back to the book. Bucky couldn’t help but blush as he suddenly realised he was the inspiration for the soldier in the book. He was a dashing man with brunette hair, blue eyes and had lost his left arm in the Napoleonic wars. Bucky also became flustered as he remembered some of the more intimate scenes. Eventually, it all wound down and Bucky helped you to reverse the complicated process of dressing.

 “What did you think about that?” you asked, once you were dressed in something more comfortable.

 “You were amazing up there!” he praised, making you feel all warm inside. “Was I really the inspiration behind the soldier character?”

 Now it was your turn to feel flustered.

 “Well, yeah… when you have the perfect inspiration, it’s hard not to use it…” you admitted. “I was actually thinking of another book set in France… if you’d like to come with me again…”

 “All that time with you, the beauty of France and all that luxury? Count me in,” Bucky smiled, moving in to kiss you softly.

…