#Hugh grant fanfic

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing, mention of sex

AN: Happy 64th Birthday Hugh Grant!

I knocked on the door to David’s office. I held a stack of papers in my hand and bit my lip, knowing he wouldn’t be too happy about them.

“David?” I peeked my head in. He picked his head up off the desk and I had to fight the smile growing on my face. “I have some more papers for you to sign.”

“More?” He frowned. I nodded as I walked over. Setting them on the desk, I squeezed his shoulder. “On my birthday? You couldn’t have had any of this pushed to tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry.” I said softly as his head hit the desk again. I gently rubbed his back as he groaned. “Don’t forget the party tonight.” I whispered before leaving down to kiss his cheek. David grunted in acknowledgment as I left the office. The time dragged slowly. David had emerged from his office to bring me back the paperwork and pressed a kiss to my cheek. As the last of the staffers left, I knocked on his door again. “Time to go.”

“Oh bloody hell yes.” David said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Fucking boring day.” I nodded in agreement as he took my hand.

“so anything specific you want to do tonight?” I asked as we turned out the lights and started to head out. David smiled as me as he tugged me closer before wrapping his arm around my waist to keep me close.

“I have an idea.” He teased, kissing me firmly. I laughed into the kiss and put my hands on his chest. I gently pushed him and David pulled back. “What? Not a good idea?”

“maybe after the party.” I said, smiling at him softly. David smiled back as he squeezed my waist. “Down boy.” We broke apart and headed down to the car that was waiting for us.

“Hello Nigel.” David greeted the driver. Nigel nodded as he held the door open for us. We climbed in and Nigel got in before driving off. “So this party…how long do we have to stay?” I laid my head on his shoulder and David kissed my head.

“I’ll let you know when we can go.” I assured him. “Probably after cake and presents.” David sighed as he leaned his head against mine.

“that seems entirely too long.” He breathed out. I laughed before tilting my head to look up at him. “Damn party. I don’t understand why I have to even show up at this damn event.”

“because your the prime minister.” I teased him. David sighed and let his head fall back against the seat.

“fuck this job.” He laughed. “I liked it better when it was just the two of us in that little apartment down in Manchester.” I hummed as I wrapped an arm around him.

“that was nice. But you campaigned. This is your fault really.” I smiled softly at him as he started laughing again.

“you’re right. You’re completely right.” He chuckled. I smiled at him before I leaned up to kiss him. David hummed against my lips as we pulled up in front of the house. “Let’s get this over with. And then we can run away to our room as soon as possible.”

“agreed.” I said as I took David’s hand and followed him into the house.

[tangerinesgirl]

Forbidden Fruit

Mr Reed x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Mr Reed invites you into his house to discuss polygamy and the flaws of virginity.

Warnings: smut, virgin/inexperienced reader, age gap (reader is of consensual age), creampie (reader on birth control), dirty talk, blasphemy, possible spoilers for Heretic (2024)

"My question is how do you feel about polygamy?"

The snowfall gently beats against the tiny windows as you nurse the cup of tea Mr Reed has prepared for you. Using it as warmth rather than to quench your thirst. Even if he did seem like a pleasant man, you didn't entirely trust a drink a stranger has made for you in another room. You fear your instincts may be right when he asks you this question.

You place the cup down and clear your throat as you process his personal inquiry.

"Well, it's forbidden in the b-"

"Yes, but what do you think?"

He emphasises that word, pointing his index finger at you, before resting it on his lips, waiting for your answer.

A beat. Your eyes widen as you try to think of a tactful response.

"I um, I can't really say, it's none of my business what other people decide to do with their lives."

Mr Reed narrows his eyes slightly, not the answer he was looking for apparently.

"Hmmm", he takes a moment to have a swig of his tea from his inscribed 'hubby' mug. You look over your shoulder as if his wife would magically appear behind you.

"And I thought it was just because you've never felt the touch of a man."

You snap your head back around to face him, your cheeks instantly turning red.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I may have overstepped", he places his mug down and makes eye contact with you, emphasising his apology.

"I think I should leave", you start to get up, your legs shaking slightly from his statement.

"I understand my dear, let me just get your coat."

The couch creaks as Mr Reed also stands up, promptly leaving the room. Walking over to the door you watch the snow hail down. Not ideal biking weather but it's still better than being in here with him.

"Here we go, one coat", he holds up your woolen jacket passing it to you.

As you take it, he starts to wrap your scarf around your neck. You can feel his breath tickling your hair.

"You know", his deep voice echoes in your ears, "many religions don't believe in virginity. The Virgin Mary simply a mistranslation with the meaning changing over the years."

He takes your coat and starts to help you put it on over your arms, patting down the collar, hands lingering on your neckline a little too long.

"I think waiting for marriage is simply outdated, people should just seize the day. Life is too short for their lives to be dictated by an invisible omnipotent force with historic rules."

You cringe internally hearing him blaspheme your religion, you're just about to interject when he continues.

"It's simply too good to miss that closeness of two people becoming one", he walks in front of you as he starts to button up your coat. He looks down at you, still maintaining eye contact every so often while he fastens the clasps.

"The warmth of each other as you melt into one another's skin. The ache in your bones of needing them inside you."

You break the eye contact as you watch the veins in his hands clench with each turn. Your imagination in overdrive, you wipe your palms on your coat, nervously. Mr Reed notices and tilts your chin up to face him.

"The taste of them on your tongue, as you swallow each other's moans..."

His eyes drift towards your lips. Your body is screaming at you to leave, but part of you wants that sin, that forbidden fruit. You wrestle with your demons, but you find him oddly hypnotic and attractive. You guessed he was in his 50s or 60s, definitely older than you in your 20s, but that only adds to the temptation.

"... as everything builds and builds into one big explosion of ecstasy. That white heat of entering Heaven."

Your thoughts start to drown out as your lips crash into his. Head empty as your tongue starts to swirl around his, gripping the back of his head as the kiss grows deeper.

Mr Reed yanks off your coat, buttons popping off onto the carpet, but neither of you care. He breaks the kiss briefly, only to remove his glasses, before resuming with just as much vigor as before.

You can feel that heat starting from deep inside of you, just as Mr Reed was explaining, as you start to remove your blouse and skirt. His hands start to wander around your bra before unclasping the back.

Mr Reed starts to guide you back towards the sitting room as you continue to undress, removing your tights and underwear. You notice he doesn't remove his clothes as you feel the weave of his jumper, rough against your bare skin. You don't mind, you're too busy thinking of other things right now.

He quickly sits down on the sofa, holding your wrist, motioning for you to sit on top of him. Slightly apprehensive about riding him for your first time, you trust him and place yourself onto his lap, and resume the kiss.

Your hands start to pull down his trousers as his cock bounces free. Your eyes widen when you realise how girthy he is, his dick already rock hard and twitching with anticipation. He can't help but smile when he sees your reaction, as gently guides himself through your folds. The veins of his cock drag along your clit as wetness seeps out of you, preparing yourself for him. You hum at the feeling while he contently sighs at your warmth coating him.

After a moment, Mr Reed positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes you by the hips, guiding you onto him. His eyes roll into the back of his head as your cunt engulfs him, fitting around him tightly yet perfectly. You wince at first, but the further you sink down onto him, the better it feels.

You pause when he is fully seated inside of you, feeling his cock teasing at your cervix, before slowly starting to grind on his lap. You place your hands on his forearms for stability, as he starts to kneed at your ass with his fingertips, bruises threatening to surface under his grip.

The sofa creaks with every thrust as you ride his cock, your breasts bouncing with the effort. You let go of him to grip onto the back of the couch instead, his tongue licking at your nipples as you lean over him. His hands start to trail up your back, pushing you slightly closer towards him.

Your lips meet once again, but feels like you've never been apart. Your mind starts to wander again, thinking about what God would think seeing you give away your virginity to the first man to look at you with lust in his eyes. Then you think maybe God shouldn't even be looking in the first place as it's none of his business. You both wanted this, what could be more natural?

As your mind wanders, your body starts to tense up. Your orgasm creeps up on you, before you realise what's happening as your pace starts to stutter. Your walls clamp down around him, arching your back as you let out a guttural moan from deep inside you. You shake and pant as your cunt pulses out your release, soaking Mr Reed's cock.

He isn't far behind you as he leans back and moans in return, releasing warm ropes of his cum inside you. You don't mind as you have the implant, feeling his seed drip out of you and onto his trousers, as you start to come down from your high.

You straighten yourself up, tucking your distressed hair behind your ears, watching him finish inside you. He lightly groans at the effort of filling you, it's almost enough to make you aroused again.

He slowly exhales and opens his eyes. They crinkle as he smiles at you, laughter lines standing out, you begin to memorise each wrinkle. Tracing your fingers along them, almost like reading a palm. Neither of you care that he's still seated inside of you, growing soft. Or that the snow has eased off and your bike was just outside the metal lined walls. Mr Reed grins at the fact he has you wrapped around his little finger, knowing now that you could never leave. Proving that control really is the one true religion.

[incorporealbombchelle]

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Mr. Reed x Fem! (Mid-20s) Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Pt. 1 - (y/n) is fulfilling her religious obligation to a very... curious older gentleman...

⚠️TW: Percieved Heresy (duh), Mentions of Catholicism, Possible Vague & Obscure Spoilers for 'Heretic' (2024), Age Gap, Condescension, Loss of Virginity, Raw P in V Penetration, General Smut.

A. Reed is the latest on my visitation list to request information on the faith and -poor thing- has a 'severe form of agoraphobia that won't let [him] leave [his] home'. This is common amongst middle aged and elderly people, so today should be quick, easy, and pleasant. Just a few small notes on how the faith will beautify his life and purify his soul, then I leave him to explore catholicism of his own volition and enjoy the reward of life everlasting when he passes in 4 to 7 years.

I make my way up the gravel driveway to the house and give the door a few quick knocks. I wait a few seconds "Mr. Reed?" I call. "My name is (y/n), I'm here to educate you on the catholic church?"

I wait.

Nothing. I decide if he takes over a minute, I'll just go. Come back another day. Enjoy some time to myself.

Just then, as I'm about to turn and leave, a rustle of some sort from the other side of the door. I straighten my jacket and practice my smile.

"Coming! Coming!" calls a muffled voice from the other side of the door. I hear some shuffling, a series of switches and clicks, and I'm greeted by who I can only assume to be one A. Reed. He's a tall, lanky man I estimate to be in his late 50s or early 60s, with well kept short grey hair, wire framed glasses, bright blue eyes, and a warm smile. He's wearing a quirky multicolored cardigan over a grey button down with corduroy pants and sneakers that allude to a more active lifestyle than I understand him to have. I can tell that when he was my age he'd have been very handsome, and that quality hasn't faded over his years. There's something modern, yet classic about him. Something young and cool. Something... attractive.

"Mr.... " I glance the visitation request form on my clipboard "Reed?"

"Yes! Yes, come in, please."

He ushers me past the small foyer and into the living room, making sure the door closes securely behind me.

"Hello" I smile and stick out my hand for him to shake, which he does.

"Hello dear, your name again?" He beams.

"(y/n)"

His eyes explore me "(y/n)! Lovely name, suits you well. Please, come, sit, I'll take your coat."

I take a seat on the small settee nearest the door, slipping out of my coat and handing it to him as I straighten out my skirt and sweater. He takes it to what I assume to be his coat closet and returns a moment later, shuffling into the cozy living room excitedly and planting himself on the chair across the coffee table from me.

"Now," he says, rubbing his hands together eagerly "let's get into it, hm? ; what's so great about catholicism?"

I give him my usual schpeel, feeling even myself lose interest in the trappings of the faith as I finish my (entirely too long) monologue of the catholic doctrine. I take a breath, satisfied that I've summarized our beliefs well enough.

"Can I answer any questions?" I offer.

"Y-Yes, actually," he gives me a close-lipped smile "I've just got... one question, although it may be a tad uncomfortable. Will you indulge me?"

"Oh, Gladly. Shoot."

"Well, Ms. (y/n)... as a catholic... do you personally believe that masturbation is sinful?" I feel my mouth grow dry as looks at me fondly, as though he's just asked to borrow a pen at the bank.

I hadn't anticipated... this. Especially from such a sweet, kind-seeming older man.

"Uhm... I... that's- well it's- yes, because you see, Mr. Reed, God puts lust before us as a test. We're meant to resist it until it's time for us to create a family. This ensures our passage to Heaven." I simper, hoping he can't sense my panicked improvisation.

"Ah, yes, I see. Very well. Indulge me further then, will you?"

"Sure...what's up?"

He chuckles at my casual address "(y/n)... good catholic girl that you are, have you masturbated before?" He leans back in his chair, smiling innocently, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands over his lap.

I mirror him, crossing my legs and straightening out my skirt, trying desperately not to make eye contact. "Mr. Reed, I'm not sure that's appropriate to say..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I did warn you my questions might be uncomfortable." I feel his eyes bore into me, wandering my face and body. I finally meet his gaze.

"Yes, but..." I sigh, keeping my smile to the best of my ability "that's just sort of...personal."

"Oh? Then let me ask you this ; do you belive in an omnipresent god, a God that can monitor your actions at all times?"

"Yes, of course, God watches over us always."

"Right, Right. So then, if you *had* masturbated, and God was aware of this, as we've established he is. Everywhere. Always., " he gestures around widely "you'd be disqualified from the race to heaven for the sin of... experiencing pleasure?"

"I-Yes, Lust is one of the seven deadliest sins a person can commit, after all..." I swallow, feeling my face flush.

"So you have then."

"What?"

"Masturbated."

My brow furrows and I stutter, unable to summon words. I take a breath, caught off guard. He smirks.

I watch Mr. Reed quickly make his way around the coffee table and take a seat next to me on the settee, angling himself toward me. He rests his glasses on top of his head.

"And I'll assume," he asserts in a lowered tone "you had an orgasm...yes?" He gestures to me to answer the question.

I shift in my seat, acutely aware of a faint tension in my core.

"I-That's not-"

"So that's a yes then," he goes on, eyes locked on mine, not skipping a beat "And (y/n), you just have to wonder, Why would a God who gave you a body, " his eyes dart down to my chest momentarily "a perfect... perfect, body, capable of experiencing the rapurtous pleasure of an orgasm, then punish you for your enjoyment of that gracious gift?" He raises his voice " Does God not want us to enjoy ourselves and the abilities he bestows upon us?" 

"He...does, just not in... that way?"

"Then in what ways, (y/n), does God approve of us enjoying our lives?"

"Through... worship, through service of those in need..."

"So we can only gain pleasure from actions that directly benefit God's good reputation then, hm?"

"Uhm-"

I gasp as I feel his hand rest gently over my knee, giving it a cautious squeeze.

"Mr. Reed-"

"I'm sorry, sorry, I get overly passionate on these matters, forgive my tone," he cringes to himself "I just think, don't we all deserve to feel... Good? Even just for a moment?" He scoots closer and I feel the outside of his thigh brush against mine.

I know I should move his hand from my knee. Shrink away. Say something. I should leave. But I don't. And as his bright blue eyes flick down to my lips, I don't want to.

I feel my breath catch as he delicately pushes my long skirt to just over my knees... then retracts his hands.

"(y/n), you've been so honest with me, and so generous with your knowledge and your time. Will you answer one last question for me?"

I swallow, "uhm... sure..." I manage shakily.

"Are you a virgin?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment.

"I don't see how that relates to anything" I squeak.

He chuckles "Oh, (y/n), this relates to... everything." He leans in, speaking softly into the shell of my ear "you can tell me... it'll be our little secret. God doesn't need to know all, hm?" I feel him smirk and I shiver as his arm snakes around my shoulder, his thumb massaging patterns into the outside of my sleeve.

"But he does know all," I protest, shivering as his lips brush my ear.

"Then there's no harm in confirming what he already knows... aloud, is there? Like I said...just between us... you, me and...him" Mr. Reed looks up briefly, acknowledging God's presence, then gives me a sweet smile.

"Are....You.... A Virgin? Very simple. Yes or no."

A beat.

I mutter an almost silent 'Yes'

"Hm? I'm sorry, the old ears, they're shoddy, come again?"

I close my eyes "Yes, Yes. I'm a virgin." A wave of shame washes over me at the admission despite knowing it's exactly God's plan for me. I look down, fussing with the hem of my skirt in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

"Oh...Understood. You do seem quite... sensitive to touch, mm?" He squeezes my arm and I jolt a bit. Mr. Reed snickers "Aren't you just the most gorgeous catholic angel? The polite, pretty, soft spoken girl, touches herself, refuses the touch of others, its all in God's plan... but don't you ever wonder..." his fingers trace lightly over my knee again, raising my skirt just an inch or two higher up my thigh "how good it can be?"

He lifts my chin so I have no choice but to look directly at him.

He's more attractive up close, the way his eyes radiate warmth, the softness of his smile, the thickness of his hair, the faint smell of his cologne...

I force a shaky breath.

"N-no," I sputter

"Don't. Lie to me." He looks me over, still holding my gaze  "You're an awful liar, and your body betrays you," he sing-songs, a self satisfied smirk playing at his lips.

"You're flushed, you can't sit still, your pupils are dilated, your nipples hard, but you sit here; so innocent, weak, pure and pliable, letting the silly old man in the checkered sweater touch your body, the most sacred possession a person has, while you confidently call yourself a devoted catholic and dedicated virgin. Now that is faith..." his fingertips trace slowly up and down my inner thigh as he says this; I gently place my hand over his wrist, squeezing my legs together, "Mr. Reed," but he doesn't stop, instead ghosting over the tops of my thighs, inching the skirt even higher. "What would God say... about this?" Each of his hands come to rest on my knees, slowly guiding them apart, sliding my skirt the last of the way up my legs, the front of my white cotton thong now visible... and visibly wet. I moan quietly as his fingers skim up and down the drenched fabric, a look of pure delight on his face as he traces over my clit then brings them back to his mouth to taste.

"Could it be that you'd *like* this to carry on further, (y/n)?"

I bite my lip, my brow furrowing as I struggle for an answer. Everything he does feels so good, so right, and entirely wrong all at once, everything he's saying... makes sense... and I'm so drawn to him...

I can't.

"Mr. Reed, may I please have my coat?" I stammer out quickly.

He removes his remaining hand from my knee, standing up. "Of course, dear, I'll just be a minute," he smiles politely. As he turns to leave the room I glance the way his partially stiff cock tents the fabric of his pants and feel myself tremble with want. Gathering all my restraint, I stand and walk toward the door, and a moment later Mr. Reed meets me in the foyer with my coat.

"One coat." He smiles, and walks back into the living room, settling in with a book as if nothing just happened.

I wrap the coat around myself and turn the front door's handle to push it.

It doesn't budge. I pull instead. It's stuck. "Mr. Reed, the- the front door is stuck here-" I call, silently panicking as I try the handle again, and again. I look it over to realize...there isnt an inside lock.

Mr. Reed makes his way back to the foyer, seemingly nervous before a realization apparently dawns on him. "Oh, goodness, I forgot to reset the timer after letting you in. All the locks in this house are on a timer.  Especially the front and back doors. My deepest apologies, (y/n) dear. Ugh. This sucks, hm?"

"Uh... yeah. Sorry I'm not sure I understand. How long is this... timer?"

"Twenty-four hours I'm afraid" he exaggerates an wince.

"Twenty-Four hours?"

"Yes, that seems to be the situation we've found ourselves in. So sorry, (y/n), I feel like such an idiot"

"You're not..." I trail off quietly

"Agh, but I'm so so terribly sorry. Can I possibly interest you in some pie while we wait it out? Absolute least I can do." He puts his hands together in prayer, begging my forgiveness.

"Uh... sure, yeah. Pie ... sounds great." I'm confused, terrified, and still somewhat aroused as Mr. Reed heads to grab our pie. What have I gotten myself into?

I make my way back to where I had been sitting just moments earlier, ignoring the moisture between my legs as I settle into my seat and lay my coat over the back of the settee.

He shuffles hurriedly back into the room holding two plates of freshly microwaved pie, whose smell fills the room instantly.  He hands me my plate and spoon and settles back into his chair across from me with his own.

I take a small bite of the pie. Blueberry. It's delicious, the best I've had, and before long I've scarfed the entirety of the slice down. I look up at Mr. Reed, realizing how I must have just looked wolfing down pie like I've never eaten before. "Oh my god, my manners" I giggle, covering my mouth as I finish the last bite.

Mr. Reed laughs. "Oh don't worry, that's the typical reaction I get with this recipe" he smirks proudly.

"I bet" I smile. He stands up and clears my empty plate.  I can't help but notice he's barely touched his own.

When he returns, I sit up straighter. "Mr. Reed, wouldn't it be possible to reset the timer?"

"It's old tech, none of this digital crap you're used to. It's fixed to operate on a rigid schedule.  Without exception." He says flatly, sitting down again.

"But I may be able to fiddle with it some," he leans in "for a small price."

"Price? I don't carry much money with me on these visits, the best I have is a bus pass, so-"

He laughs loudly "Oh-ho, no, no dear. Not money. Never money. I'd want you to give me something much more meaningful. More important."

"What then?"

"Your virginity." he states plainly, smiling innocuously.

"You want me to give myself to you?"

"Well, yes. And in exchange I'll see what I can do about the hold on those awful, sticky, locks. "

"And no one," he glances upward  "has to know.... a thing" he winks.

Mr. Reed extends a hand to me and before I can stop myself, I take it. He leads me through winding hallways lined with paintings, sculptures, artifcats, and ornate doors.  We arrive at the bottom of a wide hardwood staircase. I follow him up the stairs and down another long hallway. At the end, warm light pours from an open door. Mr. Reed steps inside and I follow closely behind him.

The master bedroom is large, almost too large to believably fit in this house. It's floors are dark stained hardwood and covered in layers of expensive looking carpets, while its walls are lined with overflowing and intricately carved bookcases of what I estimate to be every doctrine of religious text. A gilded chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting dim, mellow light over the room. The entirety of the back wall is lined with backlit stained glass portraits of saints, angels, demons, and notable religious figures. In the middle of the room, a four-poster bed sits atop a double tiered wooden platform. It vaguely reminds me of the altar in a cathedral, the bed adorned in intricately patterned sheets and a multitude of different sizes and shapes of pillows...

"Now then," Mr. Reed says, slightly out of breath "I'd like you to walk to the edge of the bed for me, and bend yourself over it."

I open my mouth, willing myself to protest, to no avail.

"Go on, quick as you like"

I obey, slowly making my way up the steps to the bed and bending at the waist in front of it, letting my upper body rest against the silken sheets and closing my eyes tightly. This isn't happening. Is this how it happens? It can't be. I'm dreaming.

Within a moment I feel Mr. Reed's presence behind me, his hands positioned on my sides. He picks up my skirt and pushes it up over my hips, exposing my ass to him. I let out a moan of anticipation as I feel his hands roam over me, squeezing hard. "Mr. Reed..." I mewl, my body tense with need. He brings a hand between my legs and pulls my panties to the side, gliding his fingertips expertly along my folds, humming at the warmth and slickness of my vulva. He chuckles. "You really haven't been touched this way before, mm?"

"Never" I almost whisper

He slips a finger inside me, steadily dipping in and out. I feel myself spasm around his fingers involuntarily, eliciting a low groan from him "My god, so sensitive. So... tight. Christ,"  he continues working me at a leisurely pace, and after a few minutes I'm pushing myself back onto his fingers, craving more of him.

"Mr. Reeed" I whine, flushing at how wrong this all is. I want it. I need it.

I hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, a zipper unzipping and my eyes snap open. Oh my god. I can feel him lining himself up with my entrance. "You're ready then, pet?"

I give a hesitant nod, and immediately feel him pushing into me. I moan and gasp and feel so completely full of him, I can barely take all of it.

He doesn't move at first.

He rests his hands on my hips and takes a deep, shaky breath. "Look at you, all filled out." I crane my head to look back at him and he smirks at me.

Without warning, he gives a singular, hard thrust into my core and I yelp. He allows me a second to recover before falling into a steady, commanding rhythm.

Our bodies clap against eachother and my mind goes hazy as he fucks me, the sound only heightening the sensation of him moving inside me.

"Mr. Ree-eed?" I gasp hotly.

He looks up, slowing his pace somewhat "Yes dear, enjoying yourself?"

I nod again. "Yes, so much, but could you maybe... undress me more?"

"Oh of course, how crude of me!" He slips out of me with a wet pop and I gasp at the loss of contact. His hands grip my hips roughly and he turns me over as if it's nothing. He's older, but clearly not weak. He tugs the thong down my legs swiftly and helps me slip my sweater over my head. He looks my chest over, clearly pleased with my lack of a bra, and moves to unzip the side of my skirt before yanking it off my legs and tossing it aside with my other clothing. He removes my shoes gingerly, and I lay before him in just my knee-socks, flushed and panting.

I hungrily take in the sight of him. His body is nothing like I had assumed it might be. He's slim and muscular, with a touch of sagging skin in the places that make sense. If his hair color didn't betray his age, he'd be nearly indistinguishable from men decades his junior. His cock is thick, circumcised, and appears from this angle to be what I assume is a manageable length?

"Ohh, you are just the most gorgeous, breathtaking little thing," his hands slip under my knees and he pushes my legs forward, folding me in half, holding the backs of my thighs in place as his eyes rake over me. "Thank y-"

"Gorgeous things are to be cherished, no?" He interrupts me and before I can even think of an answer, he sinks into me fully again, more easily this time, and I. assumed. wrong.

I let out a strangled noise somewhere between a yelp and a whimper as I feel him impale me, my body tightening around him, aching with need. 

He gives me a moment to adjust to his size and then continues rocking into me at the same pace as before. He brings two fingers to my lips and I let them in, sucking enthusiastically, keeping my eyes trained on his.

He lets out a low hum,  contented with my impatience. "Atta girl,"

As I suck his fingers, he brings his opposite hand to my hip and kneads his thumb over my clit in slow, attentive circles. He removes the fingers from my mouth and runs them delicately over one nipple, hardening it instantly and sending a jolt through my body. "Mmmh, Misterr, Reed, I-" I gasp as a shudder runs through me. In response, he slows his thrusts to an agonizing pace, looking down at me expectantly. "I'm close," I pant.

He continues his slow, shallow thrusts and circles over my clit "Aww, and so soon? You are a virgin, aren't you (y/n)? So. Fucking. Delicate..." He teases, punctuating each word with a forceful buck of his hips. I whine. He gives a few quicker thrusts, and I squeeze my knees together as I feel myself clenching and pulsating around his girth. My vision goes white as I come, and I hear myself mewl weakly as I go limp beneath him.

As he pulls out, his eyes are hungrily trained on my body, and he strokes himself steadily for a moment or two before letting his head tilt back as he pulses out thick ropes of semen onto my stomach and chest with a low, labored groan. I gasp at the sudden warmth and blink up at him, panting, defiled, and entirely undone.

As Mr. Reed recovers from his orgasm, he huffs, drinking in my disordered state.

He reaches out, smiling proudly as he grazes a thumb over my cheek. "Wait here a minute, I'll be right back" he pads out of the room, returning seconds later wrapped up in a plush robe, holding a towel out to me "here we are," he beams. I take the towel from him, simpering, and wipe away the aftermath of his release.

I hold a pillow over myself as I sit up, hiding my exposed form to the best of my ability.  He situates himself on the bed next to me, his eyes searching mine "Now then," he takes a breath "how did that feel?" I nod slowly, still dizzy from my climax. "Words. Use them."

"It felt...hot...dirty...transcendent." I exhale.

"Transcendent." He echoes. "And does it seem your soul has been eternally damned??"

"No..."

"Do you feel dirty? Or wrong, generally?"

"No."

"Mm. So you had sex, for the first time -shock horror- with the kooky old man from the visitation list..." he trails his fingertips up the side of my arm "and not only did it not cause your immediate eternal damnation, but took you in the exact opposite direction, to the height of sensation, if I'm not mistaken."

"It..did..." I look away from him, feeling my face grow hot.

"And you still believe that a God who loves us, who wants us to enjoy all life has to offer, would deprive us of something so... transcendent?"

"N-no Mister Reed. I don't. Not anymore."

His eyes widen.

"Oh, changed your mind have you? How will you ever get to heaven without that... core belief?"

"I believe we may be able to bring it down to earth, actually..." I smirk up at him.

"We?"

"We."

Part 2》

[resurrectionist3]

“…In You I Taste God...”

Mr. Reed x young fem!reader

✒️ - 12/09/2024

📜 - TBD

[WORK IN PROGRESS]

A young student at a prestigious university is eager to return to Vermont in time to deliver her presentation for the Theology department’s annual conference.

However, after an unforeseen series of events, (y/n) finds herself stranded in Colorado during a snowstorm in the house of a rather curious and eccentric Mr. Reed.

As the storm rages outside, the odd pair find that they may have more in common than they first thought.

✧─── ⋆⋅ ♱ ⋅⋆ ───✧

“To quote.. if there is a God.. then he is either not all powerful, or not all good.”

“Hm. Epicurus?”

“Well.. yes, but.. I was thinking Neil deGrasse Tyson”

IM SO EXCITED IM FINALLY WRITING A FAN FICTION!!!

I genuinely haven’t sat myself down to WRITE FAN FICTION in years, and I’m so excited to finish this one!! This will also probably be my first published fan fiction; I’ve written a lot of them on my own, but never really shared them publicly until now - this is so exciting for me!

I can’t really guarantee it will be very good.. nor can I promise when it will be out, but I’m aiming for sometime this week! I have a feeling it will be a two parter, but lemme cook and we’ll see!

The title is based on song lyrics from Ava Adore by The Smashing Pumpkins, I added it above if anyone is curious (it’s a very good song). I love The Smashing Pumpkins, and I’ve loved this song for years! I’ve always wanted to base a fanfic off of it, but I kind of can’t believe I’m finally doing it for Mr. Reed. It’s one of my ultimate yearning songs - you must understand that this is a big deal for me!

✧─── ⋆⋅ ♱ ⋅⋆ ───✧

I feel like i need to thank @incorporealbombchelle for being such an excellent writer of this freak - i dont think i would have been so inspired if not for them!

[minispidey]

adding a new addition to my dni list: PEOPLE WHO USE CHARACTER AI CONVERSATIONS FOR THEIR FANFICTION. DNI.

I can TELL if you do. ITS SO OBVIOUS!!! And i've used cai for hours every day. Of course I know how the ai responds!!!

ITS OKAY TO TAKE INSPIRATION, BUT DON'T GO COPY-PASTING THEM!!!

It's utterly disrespectful to even go to that route. Don't talk to me.

[eleanor-wolff98]

Dominium: A Heretic fanfic

Mr Reed x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 6.7k

Summary: He was the Devil himself, and you, a prayer made to fall.

Warnings: Sex, Religion, Control, Manipulation, BDSM, Light Bondage, Loss of virginity, Power Dynamics, Older Man / Younger Woman, Slow Burn.

Notes: This fanfic was inspired after I heard a statement that Mr. Hugh Grant has, at some point, been a Dungeon Master... and, well, it made me think things.

(This fanfic is also avaliable on AO3)

The rain was falling torrentially, making it difficult to see anything in front of you as you hurried toward his house. The dress was completely soaked, clinging to your skin, and the cold of the night seemed sharper with every step. You hesitated for a moment in front of the heavy dark wooden door, raising your hand to knock. Before you could complete the gesture, it swung open.

There he was.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Mr. Reed said, with that warm, gentle smile — the one that always seemed reserved exclusively for you.

Without waiting for your response, he gently pulled you inside, closing the door against the storm. The warmth of the house enveloped you immediately, offering a momentary relief. Reed grabbed a towel from a nearby hook and handed it to you, his eyes carefully scanning your face and clothes, as if he wanted to make sure you were okay.

“Come, sit,” he said, motioning to the usual armchair in the corner of the room.

You obeyed, still feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you watched him walk toward his own chair. He settled into it with natural elegance, as if this were the place where he wielded his power. Everything there — from the scent of polished wood to the soft sound of the rain tapping against the windows — created an almost mystical atmosphere.

“So, what would the young lady like to talk about today?” He asked with that smile you knew so well, but something in his eyes was different — something you couldn’t fully interpret. You hesitated, nervously fiddling with your fingers over the fabric of your dress.

“Actually, I think you should lead the topic today. Every time I come here, I talk non-stop. You must be tired of hearing me.”

“No.” The firmness in his voice was unexpected, almost uncomfortable. “I like listening to you.”

You felt a flush spreading across your cheeks. His gaze met yours with an intensity that made the air around you feel thicker. You quickly looked away, focusing on the bookshelf in the corner of the study, trying to dissipate the nervousness rising inside you.

“What is it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his voice low and almost seductive.

“Nothing,” you replied, but the fragility in your voice didn’t convince him. His smile widened, becoming even more unreadable. He knew. Reed always knew.

“Are you sure?” He leaned forward, placing his long fingers on the arm of the chair. “You seem… distant.”

You bit your lip without realizing, quickly correcting the gesture when you noticed. “I just… got a little distracted, I guess.”

“Ah, distracted,” he repeated, savoring the word as if it were something tangible. His tone was low, almost a caress. He always did this — took your simple responses and broke them down, layer by layer, until only the raw truth remained. And that scared you. He made you question things you didn’t even know were there. “By what?”

You tried to ignore the question, but his gaze cornered you, as if he were stripping away your most hidden thoughts. “It doesn’t matter.” Your attempt to close the subject sounded fragile, and he noticed.

Reed laughed, low and controlled, but the sound reverberated inside you in a way you couldn’t explain.

“Doesn’t matter?” He stood slowly, walking toward you with the calm of a predator who knew the prey had nowhere to run. He stopped beside you, leaning just enough for you to feel his warmth and hear each word as a whisper directly into your soul. “You know I notice everything, don’t you? The way you avoid my eyes, how you blush every time I say something more direct… You have a secret, my dear. And I will uncover it.”

“My dear, do you believe the Lord approves of your desire to be here?” He pauses, watching the way you try to process the question. “Do you believe your devotion is stronger than the heat you’re feeling now?”

You try to move, but he’s already in front of you, lowering himself so your faces are at the same level. “Tell me, have you ever been touched by a man?”

The question comes as a blow, direct and without preamble. Your heart races, and you hold your breath, feeling his gaze pierce you like a blade.

“It’s a simple answer, my dear. Yes or no. No need to elaborate.”

“What’s the point of these questions? Where are you going with this?”

“Yes or no?” He whispers, as if reciting a spell.

“No,” you reply, your voice faltering slightly. He smiles, but it’s not a kind smile. It’s a smile of triumph, as if he’s just confirmed something he already knew. If his plan was to have you in the palm of his hand, he succeeded in its execution.

“Interesting,” he murmurs, running his fingers over the arm of the chair. “And have you ever thought about being touched? Have you ever felt that heat rising through your body, that desire that no prayer in the world can extinguish?”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. He leans closer, his face just inches from yours.

"Or perhaps..." he continues, his voice low and laden with intention. "Perhaps you’ve already let yourself feel it. Have you ever touched yourself, in secret, while convincing yourself it was the last time?"

A flush rises to your face, and you try to look away, but he grabs your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You can lie to yourself, my dear, but you can’t lie to me. I see what you try to hide. And do you know what’s worse? I see that you like it."

He pauses, letting his words sink deeply into you.

"Desire is not a sin. At least, not the kind of desire I’m talking about. When you give in, when you let your body speak what your mind fears... that, my dear, is sacred. A silent prayer that I would love to witness."

"Repressed sexuality is like a smothered flame," he says, his tone taking on a near-educational note. "You think it’s extinguished, totally dormant inside you, but in reality, it burns even stronger, waiting for the moment to escape. And I see it in you. Every gesture, every word spoken with caution... all of it is fueled by something far more intense. Something you’re too afraid to admit, but that I have no fear of exploring."

You swallow hard, his words echoing in your mind like a forbidden mantra. He finally releases your chin and stands, walking calmly toward the door in the corner of the room, his movements maddeningly collected.

"This is lust. Something utterly libertine and indecent, the personification of the corruption of the soul. We are temples of the Holy Spirit." You try to speak coherently, without stumbling over your words. "You shall not commit adultery."

"I’m familiar with the Ten Commandments. However, if there’s one thing I advise you to follow, it’s the old Latin saying: Carpe Diem," he says in a loud, almost mocking tone. "It’s cliché, I know. But seize the day, my dear. Don’t let these bastards oppress you." You know exactly who he’s referring to.

"There’s no one and nothing oppressing me." The words come out sharper than you intend, and you take a small sense of pride in delivering the sentence. Anger. That’s perfect. You manage to break free of that indecent intellectual battle with anger.

"Really? Then why are you angry?" That cynical smile reappears on his lips. Damn. It’s devilish, degrading, seductive.

"I’m not angry." You try to control your voice, not falling into his trap. "Your questions are intrusive. It’s like you enjoy cornering me."

"Oh, so the little rabbit has fallen into the wolf’s trap." His footsteps creak softly on the carpet. In contrast, your heartbeat seems synchronized with each step he takes. The closer he gets, the more your heart pounds.

"Just... let me go." Your voice comes out almost like a plea. His eyes seek yours, attempting to trap them, but little does he know, you’ve been shackled to him since the first time you saw him.

His mind, his intelligence, his graying hair, his way of speaking, his way of walking, his gaze. He looks at you as if you were the only girl in the world. There’s something almost devotional in the way he listens to every word, every detail about you.

"Look at me."

You summon every ounce of courage you have and face him.

"What do you want?"

His thumb gently traces your lips, the touch so light it feels like an attempt to memorize every piece of you. "I want you."

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest at his answer. Your legs tremble, unable to hold you up, and you feel the wetness pooling in your panties. You can’t get any closer to him for a single second. He will surely be your ruin — or, perhaps, your salvation.

"This isn’t right, Mr. Reed. I can’t, I don’t want this." That’s all you manage to say.

"You’re a terrible liar." His voice is dripping with intoxicating sensuality. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would feel like to have the timbre of his voice against your bare skin. The rain still patters against the windows, echoing through the house like a constant reminder of the storm outside. The warmth of the room contrasts with the cold you feel, but not because of the weather. It’s his gaze, intense and penetrating, that makes you feel as if you’re naked, exposed. Reed watches you, as he always does, with exasperating calmness, as if he could see through every thought you try to conceal.

Reed leans in closer, and you can’t help but recoil, your mind screaming a warning that your body refuses to obey. He’s so close now that you can feel his breath, warm and filled with that unmistakable scent of spices and wood.

"Why are you here, after all?" He asks, each word slow, chosen with surgical precision. "Surely, it wasn’t just to escape the rain. So tell me... what brought you here?"

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. How could you put into words the whirlwind of emotions that consume you? What does he want to hear? The truth or an excuse that sounds plausible? The memory of a sermon from your childhood resurfaces: "Sin begins with the seed of desire."

"I don't know," you finally admit, your voice barely a whisper. It's the only thing you can say without contradicting yourself.

"You don't know... or are you afraid to admit it to yourself?" The question hangs in the air, heavy, as he reaches out, his fingers grazing yours. The touch is delicate, but the impact is overwhelming. A shiver runs down your spine, and you resist the urge to pull your hand away.

"If you want to leave, go," he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours, hypnotic like a dancing flame. "The door is right there. I won't stop you."

You know he's telling the truth. He would never force anything — but he doesn’t need to. The power he holds over you comes from his very ability to make you want what you shouldn’t. He’s a paradox, a man who represents everything you fear and, at the same time, everything you desire.

"But if you choose to stay..." He pauses, the tension growing between you like a rope about to snap. "If you stay, you'll have to face what's here." He touches the side of your face gently, his thumb drawing an arc under your jaw. "Because what you feel... what I feel... can't be ignored forever."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape. There’s weight in his words, something that makes your defenses crumble, one by one. You know you're standing on the edge of a cliff, and it only takes one step to fall — or to fly.

The rain continues outside, but inside that room, the world seems to have stopped. It’s just you and him, and the decision hanging between you, pulsing like an invisible electric current.

"This fight inside you, between what you want and what you think you should want... it’s fascinating."

You avert your eyes, your mind struggling to find an escape. His words disarm you in ways you can’t predict.

"I really need to go." The words come out hastily, as if saying them aloud might make them true.

He moves slowly, intercepting your path with a nearly imperceptible gesture. His voice drops even lower, a whisper that seems to echo directly in your thoughts. "Before you go, let me show you something. Something that might help you understand."

You furrow your brow, confused and suspicious.

"Show me what?"

Reed turns, walking toward a heavy wooden door. Each step seems calculated, as if part of some ritual.

"The heart of this house." He stops in front of the door, placing a firm hand on the rustic surface. "A place where truth lives naked and raw, without judgment — without masks."

You hesitate, your body torn between the instinct to flee and the almost irresistible curiosity. His words carry a weight you can’t ignore.

"Why do you think I need to see this?" The question escapes more like a whisper, heavy with uncertainty.

He turns slightly, his eyes locking onto yours in a moment that seems to freeze time. "Because you’re already here. Because something in you knows you want this, even though your mind is still trying to deny it."

"And what if I say I don’t want to go?" Your voice is weak, but firm enough not to be ignored.

Reed doesn’t answer immediately. He looks at you for a long moment, almost contemplative, before speaking, his voice thick with controlled intensity. "The choice is yours. It always has been. But remember... what you fear now may be exactly what will set you free."

With that, he slowly pushes the door open, revealing a glimpse of what’s beyond — shadows dancing on the walls and a small, dark tunnel that seems to pulse with a mixture of mystery and danger. Reed steps through the portal and is swallowed by the shadows.

_______________________________________________

You hesitate for a moment before taking the first step to cross the portal. The air inside the tunnel is cold, and the lighting is sparse, with only a few soft lights scattered along the way. Each step echoes, amplifying the tension you already feel. The tunnel seems to stretch endlessly, but at the end, you spot a flight of stairs. Ascending the steps carefully, you sense a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

An unexpected and intriguing aroma begins to envelop you—a delicate blend of blueberry, mandarin, and sandalwood. The scent is both welcoming and provocative, as if it were part of a carefully planned ritual. Reaching the top, you pause, your heart racing as you prepare for what lies beyond the next room.

Crossing the threshold of the heavy door, the space that greets you seems to breathe around you. It’s as if the house itself possesses a heartbeat, pulsing in deep, intentional rhythms. The tunnel that led you here feels infinitely long, each step echoing with a muffled sound that only heightens the tension in your chest.

Now, standing at the entrance of the dungeon, you realize there is no turning back.

The room that opens before you is a scene taken from a luxurious nightmare. The lighting is low, composed of candles arranged in ornate holders that cast dancing shadows on the cold stone walls. At the center of the room, the canopy bed dominates like a macabre altar. The white, translucent curtains contrast with the iron chains hanging from the upper corners, clearly designed to restrain anyone daring enough to lie there. The chains, glistening in the flickering candlelight, carry not just physical weight but something deeper and symbolic, as if they were instruments of judgment.

Around the room, discreet shelves and hooks hold objects whose shapes suggest ambiguous functions. Fine-textured ropes, leather cuffs, and other elegantly designed items are arranged as if they are part of a meticulously curated collection. Nothing is overtly displayed, yet everything carries a silent promise of exploration and surrender.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but it’s not just fear. The latent heat rising within you is almost unbearable, a fire spreading from your core to your most intimate parts. Every inch of your skin feels ablaze, while a cold sheen of sweat forms on your forehead. You know exactly what this place means, what it represents. And yet, something in you desires to stay.

Reed, standing near the entrance, observes silently. His gaze is not merely analytical; there is something predatory and reverent at the same time. He approaches slowly, each step a reminder of his overwhelming presence.

When he stops beside you, his voice comes low but laden with intent. “Do you understand what this place is, don’t you?” he asks, his voice seeming to merge with the room, filling every corner.

You swallow hard, unable to take your eyes off the bed. Your voice comes out as a whisper, barely audible. “I understand.”

Reed’s smile is slight, carrying both compassion and triumph. “Then, tell me. What do you feel when you look at it?”

You hesitate, your hands trembling slightly. You feel like a moth hypnotized by a flame, unable to pull away. “I see… a place where choices are taken. Where will is tested.” You allow yourself to touch the silver chains suspended from the upper part of the bed. Heat tingles intensely in your core.

Your imagination breaks free with thoughts of what could happen to you in that dungeon exuding lust.

Reed restraining you masterfully with those chains. Consuming you like a ravenous wolf feasting on a lamb.

Reed steps closer, his proximity sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “And do you fear it? Or desire it?”

He shows no hesitation in probing you this way. It’s diabolical. Primal.

The question hangs in the air like an electric current. You finally tear your gaze away from the bed to meet his eyes, so blue they seem to see through every layer of resistance. “I don’t know how to answer.”

He raises his hand, the movement deliberate, and brushes his fingers against the side of your face. The touch is both gentle and electrifying, as though he’s measuring each of your reactions.

His fingers trail softly over your sex, revealing the dampness that fills the place between your legs. You feel like you could unravel just from watching him taste the liquid that was moments ago yours.

“Liar.”

You hold your breath, the weight of that word crushing. You had been caught lying for the second time in front of this man.

“Your body speaks for you,” he continues, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Every tremble, every hitched breath, every time you look away. You want more than you’re willing to admit.”

“Do you enjoy exposing me like this?” you finally respond, your voice laden with a mix of anger and desire. “Cornering me?”

Reed chuckles, the sound reverberating in your chest.

“I’m not cornering you, honey. I’m just holding up the mirror. What you see inside it is up to you.”

Your knees weaken slightly, but you force yourself to stand firm. Reed leans in close, his lips mere inches from your ear.

“Let me put it another way,” he says, his voice a whisper that makes your heart race. “Are you afraid of losing control, or are you afraid of what will happen when you give it up?”

The tension hangs heavy in the air, and you try to look away, but he presses on: “Tell me. Have you ever felt torn between your faith and your desires? Have you ever asked for forgiveness for wanting something you shouldn’t?”

You hesitate, feeling your cheeks burn. “I… I’ve prayed for those thoughts to go away.”

Reed raises an eyebrow, an enigmatic glint in his eyes. “And did they?” His calloused hands glide over your bare shoulders.

“No,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “But it’s wrong. I know it is.”

“Wrong?” Reed repeats, his voice smooth as silk. “Or just human? Who said desire is a sin? Perhaps it’s the most honest prayer there is, one that comes from the body and not just the lips.”

A shiver runs down your spine. “It can’t be right. My faith...”

“Your faith,” he interrupts softly, “is beautiful. Just like you. But don’t you think the Creator, in His infinite wisdom, also created desire? Do you think He gave it to you just for you to suppress it?”

You don’t know how to respond. Your heart races, and the heat coursing through your body makes you feel vulnerable and exposed. Your eyes meet his in the mirror facing the canopy bed. Reed’s hands rest strategically on your body. One gracefully dominates your neck while the other meticulously explores your abdomen. He knows the power he holds over you.

“There’s no shame in this,” Reed whispers, his eyes fixed on yours.

You feel an overwhelming weight of inner conflict but also a strange relief in his words. Reed steps back slightly, allowing the silence to speak for you both.

Then, with an almost imperceptible smile, he concludes:

“Do you think the Lord doesn’t see? That He doesn’t hear every thought you try to hide? The difference between Him and me is that I don’t judge your weakness… I embrace it.” Reed murmurs behind your ear, his hands meticulously roaming your waist.

His warm tongue slides softly along your neck, and you feel a bliss you’ve never known before. Your head tilts back at the gesture, and at any moment, you feel like you might collapse. If you’re going to falter, let it be at the altar of his lust.

He was the Devil himself, and you, a prayer made to fall.

“You’ve entrusted your soul to the Lord… now trust your body to me.”

And then, the breaking point.

In a surge, your lips find his. The kiss is a collision of fire and urgency, charged with a desire that feels like it has been contained for eons. With mastery, your legs quickly wrap around his waist as if seeking to anchor him amidst the chaos you both provoke. Reed’s eyes, now a deeper shade of blue, shine like an abyss pulling you in. Every element of the room conspires to tempt: the intoxicating scent of polished wood and leather fills the air, mingling with the palpable electricity between you two.

Your tongue traces a slow, teasing path along Reed’s neck, stopping at the lobe of his ear as your voice escapes in a whisper filled with surrender and provocation: “I want to burn with you.”

Reed smiles enigmatically, his breath already ragged. With a determined movement, he lifts you into his arms, walking toward the canopy bed that dominates the room. The suspended chains, gleaming in the dim light, seem to await this moment. Reed lays you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours, as if every gesture is a silent promise. Slowly, he removes each piece of your clothing, his firm yet reverent fingers exploring every inch revealed.

"You are divine," he murmured, his deep voice laced with admiration and desire. "Perfect." Every word was an offering, spoken as if you were something sacred to be worshipped.

When your skin was fully exposed, Reed took the chains with a deliberate touch, fastening your wrists with a care that contrasted sharply with the intensity in his eyes. The cold metal against your warm skin provoked a contrast that made you gasp. He leaned over you, his fingers tracing invisible lines across your body as he spoke, his voice a whisper heavy with intent: "Now, I want you to trust me."

"Yes." The gasp in your voice was clear, charged with a desire you could barely contain. Reed reached for a red silk blindfold, sliding the soft fabric over your skin, eliciting shivers that raced through your body. Then, he covered your eyes with the cloth, ensuring it was secure and comfortable before checking the chains holding your wrists and ankles once more. Everything was safe, but the gesture brought a mix of care and control that left you even more surrendered.

His lips descended to your neck, tracing a warm, wet trail of kisses that quickened your breathing. You felt your nipples harden under the voracious touch of his mouth as it found your chest with urgency. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive peaks, eliciting a blend of pleasure and delicious agony. The faint sound of chains clinking filled the room, intertwining with your sighs and gasps.

Reed’s calloused hand glided down to your belly, his firm fingers exploring every inch with deliberate delicacy. You trembled in anticipation as he finally moved lower, to your core. The growing heat consumed you, and a satisfied smile spread across his lips. "You’re so wet," he murmured, his voice heavy with almost cruel pleasure. A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. "And I haven’t even started licking you yet."

More kisses were placed on your stomach. Reed traced a path with a pointed effort to make it slow and torturous, prolonging your anticipation to the limit. The satisfied smile on his lips was evident, even though you couldn’t see it. Every touch, every movement of his seemed calculated to intensify your wait, the desire building with each passing second. Blindfolded, the darkness amplified every sensation. For a moment, the room fell into an unsettling silence, adrenaline rushing through your veins like a torrential river. Only your ragged breaths filled the space, echoing like an unspoken prayer.

"Mr. Reed..." Your voice quivered, laden with pleading and anguish, but before you could say more, the sharp, crisp sound of a whip sliced through the air. The thin straps met your skin with a delicate force, leaving a trail of warmth. Reed dragged the object across your bare body, tracing a map of teasing lines on your sensitive skin. He lingered where he knew you were most vulnerable, the ends of the whip brushing your nipples with a precision that turned your gasps into short, restrained moans.

When you least expected it, a stronger snap landed on your skin. The moan that escaped your lips was involuntary, hoarse, and steeped in pleasure. Reed only laughed softly, a sound that reverberated like restrained thunder. The whip traveled slowly down the inside of your thighs, the provocative texture contrasting with the heat pooling inside you. Your legs, held open by the chains, trembled under his touch, unable to escape the delicious torment. He knew exactly how to play with expectation, and the waiting was almost unbearable.

Silence returned, oppressive, as you struggled to steady your breathing and the frantic beating of your heart. Each second felt like an eternity. Then, just as you were about to beg again, you felt the subtle touch of the whip’s tips against your most intimate place. A trembling moan slipped past your lips, unable to be contained. Reed leaned over you, his warm breath grazing your ear as he spoke, his voice a mix of reverence and dominance:

“The sounds you make, your anguish, your moans... they’re mine.”

His tone was different now, filled with something predatory, like an animal finally closing in on its prey. He set the whip aside, replacing the caresses of leather with the firm, calloused touch of his hands. Every movement seemed carefully designed to claim every inch of you, making it clear that, in that moment, there was nothing but complete surrender. His lips met yours in a long, passionate kiss. “Now, I want you to witness every frame of what happens next,” he whispered close to your ear as he removed the blindfold from your eyes.

Reed’s gaze traveled slowly down your body, lingering on your belly before he knelt beside the bed. His movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, as his lips began placing kisses on the inside of your thighs, each one closer to your core. Heat and anticipation pulsed through your body, every cell vibrating with the knowledge of what was to come.

Reed alternated between soft and provocative kisses, his warm breath caressing your sensitive skin. He brushed the tip of his nose against your most intimate place with an almost innocent gesture, but the lascivious gleam in his eyes revealed the true purpose behind his actions.

“Let me worship you,” he whispered, his deep voice heavy with forbidden promises.

The phrase barely had time to register in your mind before his hot, skillful tongue claimed your core. He explored every part of you with precise and indulgent movements, as if savoring something sacred. The combination of light touches and deep licks sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You felt an overwhelming heat rise, a tension building in your belly, ready to explode. You tried to move, instinctively attempting to free your hands from the chains, but the restraint only heightened the pleasure. He controlled every moan, every tremble, every arch of your back – and that complete surrender transformed desire into something almost unbearable.

Reed’s strong fingers gripped your thighs firmly, leaving red marks that seemed to burn against your skin. Your body burned as if it were the final judgment, every touch of his consuming you like fire but never destroying you. It was both punishment and adoration, a testament to how he knew exactly how to dominate and venerate simultaneously.

You’re so sweet...so divine,” he murmured against your skin, his lips still busy worshipping you. “Your scent is intoxicating.”

Your body responded to him as if it had been created for this, your back arching involuntarily while your head fell back, soft moans spilling from your lips uncontrollably. Pleasure poured over you in rising waves, and when he slid a finger inside you, moving it slowly while his tongue continued its relentless rhythm, you knew you were lost.

It was sacrilege, a sin, but if this was hell, you would let yourself be consumed without hesitation. Your body trembled under Reed’s touch, every muscle taut as he guided you mercilessly toward a climax that promised to leave you shattered—pieces he would surely gather for himself.

“I can’t take it... my legs are trembling...” you tried to form coherent words, but everything felt like a beautiful mess.

“Let go,” he murmured again, his voice like dark honey, rich and hypnotic. “I want to feel you surrender completely to me.”

And then you fell apart, a hoarse, ecstatic cry filling the room as your body shattered and reassembled in his hands. Reed stayed with you, holding you, drawing out every second until the pleasure ebbed into a slow, satisfied pulse.

When he finally rose, his lips glistening and his eyes brimming with an endless hunger, you knew the night was far from over. He was the kind of man who never did anything halfway—and you could barely wait to find out what he would do next.

“Taste yourself.” Reed’s voice was a seductive command, an irresistible provocation. Two of his fingers traced your lips, the gesture charged with intent that sent your heart racing. The moment was exactly as you had imagined in your boldest fantasies—yet infinitely more intense in reality.

You held his gaze, determined not to look away, as your tongue wrapped around his fingers in a slow, deliberately obscene motion. The bittersweet taste was peculiar but no less arousing, and you made sure not to leave a single trace behind. Your lips closed around his fingers as his predatory gaze remained locked on you, each second crackling with electrifying tension.

Before you could even process what you’d done, Reed leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss—brutal in intensity, passionate in fervor. It was a sensual assault, every movement utterly dominating your will. Your body responded to his as though they were made to collide, the heat between you both growing with every passing moment.

You felt the hard press of him against your stomach, the deliberate yet subtle grind of his hips driving you to gasp against his lips, the desire in your veins pounding like liquid fire. The need was overwhelming. Only one part of you had been touched, corrupted by him, and you craved desperately for more. You wanted all of him—to be consumed entirely, to belong to him in body and soul.

“Sir...” your breathy whisper was an unspoken plea, laden with desire and surrender. He always knew what you wanted—he always knew—and you trusted him to take you beyond all boundaries, to guide you to a place where reason ceased to exist, leaving only the pure ecstasy of belonging to him.

“Say it.”

“I want you... inside me.”

Reed’s eyes fluttered shut, as though your words were a prayer offered directly to heaven. He drew in a deep breath, his exhale dripping with lust almost reverent in nature.

“Beg. I want to hear you beg.”

Those words were a surrender, a call to strip yourself not only of clothing but of any remaining semblance of control. Reed was a man who wielded words like weapons, yet here, they sounded like divine commands. And you would do everything he asked—each word a step closer to forbidden bliss.

“Please, Sir Reed... fuck me,” you whispered, your voice thick with need and urgency.

A guttural sound escaped his throat, the sound of a man utterly consumed by possession. The tension between you both was palpable, almost visible. Reed quickly rid himself of the last barriers hiding his virility. When you saw him fully exposed, a mix of awe and reverence coursed through you.

He was large, broad, imposing. The veins running along his length throbbed, and the heat radiating from him seemed to envelop your entire being.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle,” he said softly, his tone at odds with the commanding authority of his movements.

Reed positioned himself between your thighs, his eyes devouring every expression that flickered across your face. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, while the tip of his length brushed against your entrance. The first contact was taut with anticipation; your body trembled in response. Slowly, he began to push inside you.

A burn accompanied the initial stretch, a mixture of pain and pleasure that ignited like holy fire. You gasped, and Reed paused, his gaze searching yours as though seeking permission to continue. When you nodded, he moved further, filling you completely.

“You’re so tight...” he murmured, his voice gravelly and uneven with the effort to restrain himself.

With each slow thrust, the discomfort morphed into something deeper, something that transcended the physical. It felt as though he was branding not just your body but your soul. Your gazes locked, and the world around you ceased to exist.

"Now that you're mine," Reed said, his voice a blend of authority and desire, "I want you to feel every inch, every second. Because there's no going back, my dear. Not for us."

"I'm yours... only yours," you replied, your voice heavy with devotion and pleasure.

"Good girl," he whispered, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

He began to quicken his pace, his movements more intense and deliberate. His hands roamed over every curve of your body, one sliding upward to rest on your neck. The firm but controlled grip sent a wave of sensations coursing through you. Reed seemed to know exactly where to touch, how to provoke, how to guide.

"Look at me," he commanded, his hand on your neck ensuring the connection between you both.

You obeyed, your eyes glassy as they met his, while he continued to thrust into you.

"I want you to remember this moment. Who was the first to take you beyond all limits. Who is inside you."

"You, Mr. Reed," you answered, your lips trembling as pleasure built within you like an impending storm. "I belong to you."

His rhythm became wild, yet still charged with absolute control. He increased the pressure on your neck, the intensity of his touch triggering the release you had been hurtling toward. You unraveled around him, a hoarse cry filling the room as every fiber of your being vibrated with ecstasy.

Reed followed shortly after, a deep groan escaping his lips as he pushed deep one final time, the heat of his release filling you completely. The sensation was indescribable – warm, intimate, as though he was leaving a part of himself within you.

He stayed there, motionless for a moment, his breath labored, his eyes never leaving yours. Then he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, a gesture that contrasted starkly with the intensity of the act.

"You're mine," he murmured, almost like a vow.

And in that moment, with him still inside you, the world felt perfect in its imperfection.

_______________________________________________

The air in the room was still charged with the intimacy you had shared. Your body felt limp with exhaustion, and Reed seemed unwilling to let you go, holding you close as if the world outside that room no longer mattered. His large, warm hands moved gently over your back, each touch a perfect contrast to the strength he carried and the tenderness he now showed.

He pulled the blanket over you both, wrapping you in warmth and closeness. His hands continued their slow exploration of your skin, as if mapping every curve, every inch marked by the memory of what you had just shared. A soft kiss on the top of your head made you sigh, the gesture filled with an intimacy that went beyond words.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice rough, low, but firm, a reflection of the man he was.

"Yes," you murmured, your eyes heavy and your body sinking into the mattress. "Just… tired."

Reed chuckled softly, a deep, raspy sound that seemed to vibrate against your skin. His hand stroked your hair, fingers threading through damp strands as he studied your serene face now, in stark contrast to the fervent surrender of moments ago.

When his hands reached your arms, he paused at the sight of your wrists. The faint red marks left by the chains caught his attention, and his blue eyes darkened slightly. His thumb brushed lightly over the marked skin, and for a moment, he simply observed them, as if each line told a story he would keep to himself.

Without a word, Reed leaned in and kissed one of your wrists delicately, the warmth of his lips conveying something between reverence and silent possession. His eyes, when they lifted to meet yours, were laden with an almost hypnotic intensity, but he didn’t break the silence.

You tried to form a response, but exhaustion and comfort made it impossible. Reed adjusted the blanket around you, his hands still moving slowly over your skin in hypnotic motions, until you began to drift into sleep.

"You know you don’t have to go," he said almost casually, but the low tone carried a weight you couldn’t ignore.

"I’ll… when the storm passes," you whispered, already on the edge of sleep.

He chuckled again, but this time he said nothing. Reed held you closer, his face buried in your hair as his breathing slowed and deepened.

"You’re not going anywhere," he whispered, the words slipping into your mind like an invisible touch.

In the dream world, you found yourself lost in an engulfing darkness until a pair of intense blue eyes emerged, burning like liquid fire. They consumed you, each gaze heavy with desire and dominance, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished at once. The heat of those eyes felt as real as Reed’s body against yours mere minutes before.

Back in the room, Reed watched as you fell into a deep sleep, his lips curving into an almost satisfied smile. "My sweet angel," he murmured, more to himself than to you, as his fingers continued to stroke your hair.

In that moment, with the storm still raging fiercely outside and the silence filling the space between you, Reed knew he didn’t need chains or cages to keep you. You were already his, in body and soul – and he would make sure to remind you of that whenever necessary.

[wolvimiau]

welcome to lo's blog! i like hugh jackman, cillian murphy and lana del rey <3

i write and post just for fun, so i hope you like my silly posts :) xoxo

writings ;

shaving logans beard

cuddling w logan

[bethvol6]

my guilty pleasure is watching romcom movies

if you asked me what genre of movies i like i’ll tell you horror/thriller, but you’ll never see me watching one instead i’ll be devouring every movie Hugh Grant has been in 😔

[morulezopelforever]

Fanfic Fusion: Maurice (1987) & The Blues Brothers (1981)

I wanted to combine two of my favourite movies. And what would be better than reviving the restaurant scene from BB with Ivory’s/Forster’s characters? 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJY2VnTcfK8

My fic with Maurice and Clive wreaking havoc at a restaurant in London is set between Covid pandemic lockdowns so it’s fairly modern. 

Below you will find the link to my story....enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33565903

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @cassieuncaged

warnings: swearing

I frowned as the empty arcade was over run by men in black suits. My boss and I shared a look as they seemed to be investigating every nook and cranny in the place.

“what is going on?” I whispered as the men moved to take up certain points in the room. My boss shrugged and shook his head at me.

“Who the fuck knows?” He muttered as he went back into his office. “Just be on your best behavior and don’t get us shut down.” I rolled my eyes at him as he slammed his door shut. The sound of children made my head snap back to the front door. Two kids came running in, holding onto the hands of a younger man in a suit.

“slow down you two.” The man laughed as he was dragged into the building. “Daisy! Bernie! Slow down!” The kids let go of his hands and took off into the arcade. I watched as he fixed his hair and looked around before coming over to the desk I was standing behind. “Hello. Sorry about them.” I waved my hand and smiled brightly at the man.

“I’m used to it. We get a lot of kids coming in. Families.” I shrugged. “Your kids aren’t the most rambunctious I’ve ever seen.” The man smiled at me and rubbed the back of his neck.

“they’re my niece and nephew. Parents are…” he frowned for a second while looking over at the kids playing a racing game. “Well let’s just say this is the least I can do to help out right now.” I nodded, knowing the story far too well. “I wanted to thank you as well. For being so accommodating.” I nodded, keeping my smile in place even though I was beyond confused. “And you have no idea what I’m talking about.” The man laughed again.

“I assume you mean the men in suits. But beyond that…” I trailed off. The man smiled at me sympathetically. “Oh my god. I’m such a fuck up. You’re the prime minister.” I breathed out as I took a proper look at him.

“yes. Hello.” He waved and blushed as I covered my mouth.

“oh fuck.” I whispered. “I’m so sorry sir.” He waved his hand and smiled at me.

“Im just David today.” He shrugged. “No nation to run. Just watch over the kids and hopefully have a little fun myself.” I nodded as he extended his hand.

“I’m (Y/N).” I forced out. “Whatever you three need. Just let me know.” David nodded before he was being called by who I could only assume was daisy. He let go of my hand with a smile and ran off to join his niece and nephew. Turning around, I gently banged my head on the wall.

“quit that (Y/N).” My boss said, poking his head out with a smirk on his face.

“you bastard.” I laughed out. “You knew exactly what was happening.” He nodded with a smile.

“been cleared for weeks now.” He confirmed. “Good luck.” He winked before ducking back into the office. Every so often one of the kids would run over to get some more change. David would watch them and smile as they came back, shoving the change into his hands. He’d laugh and I’d feel my heart skip a beat.

“daisy! Don’t…wait!” David yelled as daisy ran back over to me with a bunch of tickets clutched in her hands.

“it’s hard to hold onto these.” I nodded as she pushed them onto the counter.

“I bet they are. You have quite a lot.” I said as I leaned over it slightly to see her better.

“Can you count them please?” She asked. I nodded again.

“sure. You want to grab the rest of them and I’ll start on these?” Daisy nodded before taking off again. “Keep them separate from your brother’s!” I called after her and she looked back at me before shoving a handful back at her brother. I rolled my eyes and had to stifle my laugh while feeding the tickets into the machine as David came over with the rest of them.

“I’m sorry about her.” He muttered as he handed them over. “She’s…a bit much sometimes.” I smiled at him.

“Normally kids just throw them at me and get impatient while I count them.” I shrugged. “At least she asked.” David frowned as he watched me feed the tickets into the machine.

“how did you know she’d take the tickets from bernie?” He asked.

“happens all the time.” I admitted. “Usually it’s the older one taking from the younger one. Or it’s the parents giving them away.”

“sounds like hell.” David muttered.

“it can be. Especially since I can’t say anything to either one. Once I say something everyone starts looking at each other and all the kids start thinking they lost tickets. Usually ends in tears and free prizes.” I pressed a couple buttons on the machine to get a print out. “No one else is here so I figured it would be safe.”

“perfectly safe.” David chuckled. “Just making the two more competitive than they already are.” I laughed and handed over the print out. “Thanks for this. And for…yeah.” David waved around the arcade behind him and smiled.

“Of course.” I smiled back at him. Daisy ran back over to tug on David’s hand. David followed her back over to her brother and I leaned on the counter to watch them. Daisy and Bernie had started another game and David glanced back over at me. He said something to them before rushing back over to me.

“sorry. I just…” he sighed and smiled at me brightly. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?” I stared at him in shock. “You don’t have to obviously. I’m not going to have the guys in suits come over or anything if you say no. I just think…”

“yes.” I cut him off. David smiled at me gratefully. “We’re closing when you leave so whenever you want. Won’t take me long to change.”

“great. Brilliant.” He stuttered out. “I’ll have the kids dropped off by 4. I can pick you up by 5, if that’s alright?” I nodded.

“sounds perfect.” I agreed. David smiled and nodded before heading back over to the kids.

[tangerinesgirl]

I'm an advid cross stitcher so I lost my mind when I saw the "bless this mess" one in Heretic, so now I keep thinking of cozying up with Mr Reed and stitching together 🥰

(I'm trying to find the pattern, if I don't I'll make it myself when it's out on digital)

[incorporealbombchelle]

The Wife Of A Close Friend

Daniel Cleaver × Fem!Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Part 1 - One Christmas Eve, while Mark is stuck at the office, Daniel Cleaver pays (y/n) a visit...

⚠️TW: Cheating, Mild Daddy Kink, Mild Dirty Talk, Manipulation, Sleaziness, Raw P in V Penetration, Carly Simon, General Smut.

The house phone rings out, shrill and I pick it up "Hello?"

"Hello, (y/n). When's hubby due home?" Daniel, my husband Mark's best friend.

"Daniel, hi. Mark said he'd be back closer to 6pm. Do you two have plans tonight?"

"I'll be there in 10. Wear something appealing."

"Its only two, why would you-" click.

Asshole.

I hang up and a little over ten minutes later the doorbell rings. I open it to a smiling, if fatigued, Daniel Cleaver. He's flushed, breathing hard as he runs a hand through his hair. Today he's wearing a linen button down and jeans under his coat and if I wasn't constantly on the verge of wanting to kill him, I'd say he looks good. Great, even.

"Did you run here?"

"Did I run here? Will there ever be peace in the middle east? Are you wearing panties? These are all very difficult questions, (y/n), I propose we start with the panties and work backwards," he wheezes

"Watch it-" I warn

"You're right, I'm awful, we should talk it out over drinks,"

I roll my eyes and he nods into the foyer, pushing past me.

"Oh, won't you come in." I plead flatly.

I step aside, closing the door to follow behind as he saunters into the kitchen, plucks a beer from the fridge and discards his coat over the counter. His eyes leer over me as he takes a swig of his drink.

"Does Mark know you traipse around the house in these skimpy little dresses while he's at work?"

"It's Prada, for your information and it is not skimpy..." I tug the hem of the mini dress as low as I'm able to, but it refuses to support my assertion and I feel myself redden some.

He smiles devilishly and turns away for a moment, teeth catching his lower lip as he does. "Right," he scoffs, amused at my expense.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this midday home invasion, Mr. Cleaver?"

"Two-thirty is hardly the middle of the day, (y/n), middle of the afternoon maybe, but-"

"The point. Reach it."

"You don't remember the model number of the speaker set you gave Mark last year for Christmas off-hand, do you? I've been looking for something similar for my flat, they're sold out everywhere, and I've never heard more crisp audio in my life than I have through those speakers."

"Oh, erm... I don't remember it off-hand, actually, we did just move them to the bedroom from the living room, I'll show you where they are. Do you have a pad and pen?"

"Always, lead the way."

I show him upstairs to the bedroom and lean against the doorframe, pointing out the speaker set just across from mine and Mark's bed.

"Just there, check whatever you need."

"Excellent, you're a peach, thank you."

"Anytime."

I watch Daniel investigate the speakers, turning a couple over and writing down some numbers in his moleskine. He then shuffles through the adjacent CD collection a bit before looking over to me.

"What's your poison?"

"I'd rather not."

"Come on (y/n), have some fun, god knows that's gone out the window here now that you and Mark are married." He quips, continuing his search.

"Here, Carly Simon : 'No Secrets', we love a bit of Carly, dont we?" He winks and I can't help but giggle.

He sets the CD into the player and selects a track, pressing the play button. The muted bass intro of  'Youre So Vain' fills the room and Daniel is... it wouldn't be fair to call it dancing but he is definitely... moving to the beat, and -shock horror- extending a hand to me.

'and all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner, they'd be your partner and-' 

I let out a loud laugh as I take his hand and we are twirling, twisting, dancing... having fun. 

He's not the worst dancer in the world and I nearly cackle as he dips me, brings me up, spins me out and back into his arms, and this is nice, actually.

We sway and maybe I've judged him a bit too harshly... he is best friends with Mark after all, how bad could the man be, really?

"Y'know, Mick Jagger subbed in backing vocals on this one..." he speaks into the crook of my neck, low and soothing, his breath warm.

"Did he?" It becomes apparent to me that yes, yes he did. Interesting.

"Mm. It's funny, the song could very easily be about him..."

"I suppose it could be, huh..."

'I had some dreams, there were clouds in my coffe, clouds in my coffee and...'

As we sway, Daniel's body molds to mine, hands finding my hips. I let my eyes close, my hands resting over his. We fit together like puzzle pieces as our fingers interlace and this is nice. It's never like this with Mark.

Daniel's lips ghost the side of my neck and a shiver runs down my spine "Daniel, don't..." I turn around, my eyes meeting his in shock.

"(y/n), darling, relax. We're only dancing. I know for a fact, Mark barely even uses these speakers. Why not let me appreciate what he so clearly doesn't?" he closes the short distance Ive left bewteen us, eyes trailing over me, drinking in my face, my figure. "What he couldn't...possibly..." his eyes capture mine and he leans down, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. I don't move. I can barely breathe.

'and when you're not you're with, some underworld spy or-'

Daniel's lips lock to mine and the world goes quiet. Our tongues explore eachother's mouths and he moans and before I realize it I'm unbuttoning his shirt.

Daniel places a hand over mine. "(y/n). wait, wait." A look of genuine concern colors his features as he looks down at me, speaking softly "I just... I want you to know that I like you. Love you, really. Every day I kick myself for not objecting to your vows with Mark. You've completely captivated me since our first meeting. You occupy my mind, always... not just when I'm in the shower. So this... you, wanting me too... it...means something to me." His eyes search mine for understanding and it's there.

I take a deep, shaky breath. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"What could I have said? 'No, Darcy, please don't marry her, I love her more than you do' ??"

His tongue traces his lower lip as his eyes flick to my mouth, and he starts to lean in again.

We shouldn't. This is wrong. I'm married to his best friend. He's an awful person. A total prat. A prat who tastes like cigarettes and Diet Coke. A prat whose hands feel incredible on my ass. A prat, who is currently...unzipping my dress... and whose charm I am utterly defenseless to. 

The dress in question falls to the ground in a heap and I'm stood before him in just my bra and panties. As Daniel looks me over, a low moan escapes him and he gasps.

"Ohh, how I've dreamed of this moment. You are...perfect, (y/n), just...ravishing..." his arms wrap around me again and he nibbles my neck while unhooking my bra, tossing it haphazardly aside.

He drags the freshly dampened panties down my legs and helps me out of them, eyes holding mine as he does. But his clothes are still on.

"Bit unfair, isn't it?" I question.

"Looking to level the playing field?" A grin. Daniel reaches a hand back, closing the bedroom door with a click.

I bite my lip, reaching out to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt and push it off his shoulders.

His arms are well-muscled, his chest taut and stomach defined. I start to undo his belt, then his trousers, dropping to my knees before him as I do.

I can tell just from the outline of it he is thick and my mouth drops open as I watch his dick strain against the fabric of his black boxer-briefs.

My fingers hook into the sides of the waistband and he takes in a sharp breath as I pull them down his legs, cock eagerly bouncing forth to greet me.

Daniel tilts my chin up so I'm looking up at him again. "Can I ask a favor of you?"  He smirks down at me.

"Yes, Mr. Cleaver?" my best bambi eyes.

"Open your mouth, Mrs. Darcy."

I open wide for him, tongue out, and Daniel laces his fingers into my hair, slowly guiding my head as far down onto his length as possible, in and out, gradually speeding up to a regular pace. I gag when he hits the back of my throat and blink away tears as he continues to roughly fuck my mouth.

"Ohhh, Mrs. Darcy, your tongue feels fucking exquisite... there you go, that's a good girl... take. It. All..." he dips into the back of my throat a few times in a row and when I  gag again, he groans, gasping sharply. His hand is still enmeshed in my hair and he reminds me of it by jerking my head backwards, cock exiting my mouth with a pronounced pop.

Daniel strokes my cheek, taking in the sight of me on my knees, heaving, lips swollen, body buzzing.

"Mm. I think I'm going to have to fuck you now, (y/n). Too gorgeous not to, I'm afraid. Lay back for me, yeah?"

I rest back on the carpet and he follows me down, nipping and kissing down my neck, hands traveling over the contours of my body as he does.

He takes his cock in hand, stroking it a few times as he looks my face over.

"Are you ready for me?" I nod and he smirks, parting my legs. He glides the tip along my vulva, teasing, and lets out a satisfied hum at the slickness of it.

Daniel aligns himself with my entrance and hastily slips his cock inside of me. He is... much larger than I realized and I gasp at the sudden fullness as he begins to steadily roll his hips down into mine.

"Fuck me, that's tight, have you been fucked recently, (y/n)?"

My face is hot, all I can offer is a choked whimper and he smirks down at me.

"That's a no, then. Ah, don't worry pet. Daddy's here and he's going to take very good care of you..."

he murmurs into my neck, pace picking up.

He feels remarkable but it's so much and "D-Daniel?"

"Mm?" He keeps rocking into me,

"I- mmmh, it's- you're just- it's really big, and-" I gasp as his tip hits my cervix.

"Oh? Are you not used to something like this?" He taunts, grinning.

"Bit much for you then?" He gives another forceful buck into me and I moan.

"(y/n), we can stop whenever you like, you just. say. the word..." he pounds into me hard, one hand pinning my hip in place as I wrap my legs around him. " No Daniel, don't stop, please don't stop!" I whine.

"Mm. See, that's what I thought you might say... sound so fucking pretty when you beg for it like that, too..." he keeps railing into me and I gasp, feeling my body start to coil.

"(y/n) I'm going to pull out now, and you're going to turn over for me, yeah?" I nod.

"Good girl."

He pulls out of me and I do turn over for him, arching my hips up and looking back at him.

Daniel runs his hands over my ass, giving it a firm squeeze before guiding himself back into me.

It's easier to take this time, though still a little overwhelming. He pushes into me carefully, slowly, holding my hips steady, and as he fills me out I realize I spoke too soon.

He starts bucking into me again, his strokes commanding as our bodies clap against eachother. "Oh my Gohdd," I groan, tensing around him.

One of Daniel's hands snakes around my hip and his fingers toy with my clit expertly as he continues ramming into me. His other hand grasps a fistful of my hair, yanking back ruthlessly and my entire body is rigid with need as I clench around his cock once, twice.

"You are just... magnificent, (y/n), so wet, so fucking tight, christ, are you about to come?" He slows his thrusts some and I whimper at the change of pace.

"I said, are you gonna come for me?"

"Yesssss, please" I breathe, desperate.

"Please what?" He slows down to a glacial pace, still playing with my clit, torturous, and does he actually expect me to say it? No. There's no way.

"Please what. (y/n)?" Oh my god. He wants me to call him-

"Daddy! Please Daddy, let me come, I need it,"

"There you go, wasn't so hard, was it?" He speeds up again, pistoning into me rapidly, his grip on my hair tightening. "Tell me something (y/n), has Mark fucking Darcy ever made you feel this good? Ever made you crave it the way you do right now?"

"No, never!!" The words leave me before I'm aware I've said them and I wish it wasn't true.

"Who makes you feel like this?"

"You!! Only you, Daniel!!" I whine.

"That's right, now are you going to be a good girl and come for Daddy? I can feel you fucking twitching, (y/n), just. Let. Go."

Orgasm hits like a train and within seconds I'm a mess of pathetic, whimpering contractions beneath him, completely undone.

Daniel slows, letting me ride out the final waves of my climax, hand finally releasing its grip on my hair.

The familiar creak of the bedroom door handle cuts through our shared panting and the dulcet tones of the Carly Simon CD. Mark. No. No. Nonononono, SHIT.

My body goes slack beneath Daniel's and I look back in mortified terror.

Mark stands in the doorway, fuming.

"What the absolute fuck is going on here?"

A beat.

Daniel clears his throat "Oh. Erm. Hah. Mister. Darcy...you're home... earlier than anticipated. This is... awkward." he manages, sheepish.

Mark's eyes widen at the scene before him and I watch his face crumple momentarily as the information sets in.

Me. Ass up for Daniel Cleaver. On the floor of our bedroom. In our home. In the middle of the day. To Carly Simon. Mark exhales through his nose and he's bright red.

"Cleaver. May I speak to you outside for a moment?"

"Outside your wife or outside of the room?"

"You know what the bloody fuck I meant, now get the fuck off of my fucking floor!" He hisses, seething as he steps politely into the hallway.

"Right. Both then." Daniel mumbles into my neck, withdrawing from me and yanking on his clothes to follow Mark downstairs.

My body is hot lead and my head is hazy as I listen to the frantic yelling downstairs, something is thrown, -glass- it breaks, and finally, the front door slams shut. I hear Mark's footsteps bounding heavily up the stairs and I am well and truly fucked. In all manner of ways.

But all I can think about... is Daniel...

Part 2》

[resurrectionist3]

Yes.

do you ever like a character so much that just looking at pictures of them is a bit embarrassing.

[maodedefunto]

A Lavanderia

Nota da autora: Esta é a minha primeira vez escrevendo uma fanfic. E, escolhi o ator Hugh Grant, simplesmente, por ser apaixonada por ele desde sempre! Espero que vocês gostem!💜

Não se pode entender completamente a conversação entre dois tímidos no amor, uma mulher e um homem. Ele tinha trinta anos; ela, vinte e oito. Encontravam-se todas as quintas-feiras na lavanderia abaixo do prédio dele, a apenas dez minutos da casa dela, que parecia pertencer a um outro mundo. O ambiente era marcado por luzes fluorescentes, derramando uma claridade sem vida sobre máquinas impessoais, que murmuravam seu constante vaivém.

Hugh, o homem de trinta anos, chegava primeiro, obedecendo ao relógio invisível que sincronizava seus encontros silenciosos. Vestia um uniforme descompromissado: shorts desbotados, uma camisa havaiana laranja e óculos redondos que emolduravam seus olhos azuis profundos, que flutuavam entre o riso e a melancolia — como quem sabe demais, mas não diz. Hugh levava uma vida tranquila em um apartamento assombrado por livros, poucas relações e alguns passeios. Seus hábitos, típicos de um adulto de trinta anos, traziam consigo a sombra de um dia nublado. Sua rabugice era mais do que um hábito; era quase uma forma de resistência ao mundo. Estranhamente, ele sorria, debochando da vida com um sarcasmo afiado que, contraditoriamente, abria portas. Seu riso, tirado à força, não era oferecido, mas tomado. Sua acidez, muitas vezes fora de lugar, carregava uma lucidez desconcertante, capaz de revelar verdades que as palavras suaves evitavam. Mesmo os mais rigorosos defensores do equilíbrio e do politicamente correto não conseguiam resistir; quando suas piadas cortavam o ar, riam. Talvez porque ele possuía o dom cruel de expor, com zombaria, o absurdo de uma moralidade que muitas vezes é máscara, não essência.

A mulher de vinte e oito anos chegou depois, e seus passos já eram acompanhados pelos azuis profundos de Hugh desde que ela saiu de seu Fiat Uno lilás, estacionado do outro lado da rua. Naquele dia, ela carregava uma quantidade maior de roupas, indicando uma faxina recente em seu armário. Vestia uma camisa pink desproporcional, com “Britney Come to Brazil” estampado em letras exageradas, que parecia prestes a engoli-la. A calça legging preta e verde era a única peça realmente funcional no visual, mas havia algo de performático em sua postura. Seus gestos eram deliberadamente lentos, como se cada movimento fosse parte de uma sutil apresentação que só Hugh apreciava. Contudo, ela era uma diva acorrentada. Tantas emoções mal vividas, tantos desejos que ela apenas roçava de leve, com medo de que o caos a consumisse. Vivia à beira do desespero, o coração sempre acelerado, mas sem nunca se entregar por completo. Porque tinha medo. Medo de que, ao se permitir sentir tudo, seria puxada para um abismo do qual não saberia voltar.

Mas também, Hugh queria viver intensamente. Queria tanto que quase doía. Mas o medo era uma segunda pele. Entre essa pele e o desejo, ele criava sua própria performance sarcástica, composta de gestos perfeitos e olhares aparentemente desinteressados, como se dissesse ao mundo que, um dia, talvez, se permitiria sentir tudo o que não ousava tocar.

A porta da lavanderia tilintou com a entrada da mulher, mas o som foi rapidamente absorvido pelo ambiente. Hugh, ao ver a grande cesta de roupas da mulher que admirava em segredo, começou a enrolar nos movimentos, estendendo o processo para poder ficar mais tempo. Lavar roupas era apenas o pretexto para estar ali. Eles se cumprimentavam com um "boa tarde" educado, palavras quase automáticas que sempre paravam ali. Nada mais além disso.

Porém, naquela quinta-feira, às 16h50, ele decidiu agir. Hugh ajeitou os óculos com um leve toque no aro, como fazia sempre quando tentava disfarçar a curiosidade. Mais à frente, ela dobrava meticulosamente uma blusa, como se a precisão de seus movimentos pudesse conter os pensamentos dispersos, claramente distantes das roupas.

— Senhorita... o que você faz quando não está lavando roupa? — perguntou Hugh, quebrando o silêncio.

— Leio... — respondeu ela, surpresa com a pergunta.

Ela tinha no carro um romance de Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, em uma velha tradução, mas às vezes se esquecia daquela leitura. Quando estava sozinha, despia-se de todas as convenções sociais. Talvez dançasse pela casa, sem plateia, deixando seu corpo se mover livremente, como se, no silêncio do lar, pudesse ser a mulher que sempre quis ser. A música alta a embalava por um breve momento de fuga, mas logo o medo voltava, segurando-a pela mão e sussurrando que sentir demais era perigoso. Então, sentava-se no sofá, perdida em pensamentos e sonhos não realizados. Somente nos últimos minutos antes de dormir relia trechos de outros livros ou olhava para o teto, desejando viver mais. Mas havia sempre aquela barreira invisível que a mantinha no mesmo lugar. Um dia, quem sabe, ela prometia a si mesma que deixaria as emoções dominarem, que viveria tudo de uma vez.

Ela olhou por cima do ombro, e as luzes fluorescentes destacaram o cabelo castanho acinzentado que caía com descuido sobre a testa de Hugh, dando-lhe um ar de constante despreocupação. Ele pegou suas roupas recém-secas e as transferiu para o lado dela.

— Ainda não foi embora? — perguntou ela.

— Não, parece que minhas roupas estão demorando mais do que o normal — respondeu Hugh, lançando-lhe um olhar de relance.

— Que paciência... — disse ela, fitando-o, duvidando da justificativa.

Ambos já sentiam o peso dos olhares há algum tempo, mas, naquele dia, o peso parecia maior, quase palpável. Hugh, sem advertir, deixava escapar o vulcão de emoções que mantinha adormecido. Talvez não estivessem adormecidas, apenas mentiam, para não afligir.

— Eu nunca vejo você ir embora. Normalmente, você diz "boa tarde" e desaparece — mentiu ela, pois sempre esperava, apaixonada pelo mistério que ele representava.

— Sério? Sempre vou depois de você, senhorita. Estranho é você entrar no carro quando o crepúsculo já foi embora. Não tem medo de almas do outro mundo?

— Acho que não... o céu é bonito nesse horário.

Isso os confundia. Uma paixão silenciosa que não era tranquila e que não o deixava em paz. A presença dela, mesmo quando serena, despertava nele um desejo de mais. Ele a queria por inteiro, cada emoção reprimida, cada gesto que ela sufocava, cada riso que ela não permitia soltar. Havia nela uma intensidade contida que o fazia desejar não apenas a mulher que via, mas também a mulher que ela ainda não tinha coragem de ser. O que atraía Hugh era justamente o que ela tentava esconder.

E isso os confundia ainda mais. Como se apaixonar por algo que ainda não existia por completo? Ela não era apenas quem estava à sua frente, mas todas as versões possíveis de si mesma que ela ainda não tinha vivido.

— Vamos voltar ao assunto que você começou, Senhor...?

— Hugh... pode me chamar de Hugh.

— Ah, Hugh... gosta de ler? Se sim, o quê?

— Gosto muito. Principalmente romances, mas do tipo James Joyce, Gabriel García Márquez. Mas leio pouco, por falta de tempo. E você, que romances tem lido?

A mulher o respondeu a citar alguns nomes. Hugh a ouvia com a cabeça inclinada perto dos lábios dela, seus olhos focados. De vez em quando, ele passava a língua pelos os próprios lábios, para umedecê-los. Quando ela terminou de falar, ele não disse nada; ficaram em silêncio por alguns segundos. Então, ele a viu endireitar a cabeça, enquanto ele inclinava-se um pouco mais para perto do rosto dela.

As máquinas de lavar continuavam seu ciclo incessante, mas entre eles havia algo diferente naquele dia, algo que parecia exigir mais do que olhares furtivos. Havia algo nela que o deixava desconcertado. Ele não sabia exatamente o que o atraía, mas era como se sentisse a presença de uma chama oculta, uma intensidade que ela guardava para si, como um segredo que ele queria desesperadamente descobrir.

— Hugh... acho que já está na hora, e eu...

— Não, ainda é cedo. O Sol ainda está aqui... temos tempo.

— E... talvez eu não precise ter pressa... meus vestidos ainda estão na secadora.

— Pois é, e como seus vestidos voltarão para casa? Coitados, seria perigoso para eles! — disse ele, brincando.

O último calor do Sol competia com as luzes fluorescentes, e isso a fez rir da piada. Normalmente, Hugh tinha gestos lentos e atitudes tranquilas; mas agora, ele se levantou rapidamente, seu desalinho honesto dando-lhe um ar singular. Apesar de suas pernas longas, havia um balanço confiante em seu andar, como quem sabia exatamente onde estava pisando. Ele sabia o que queria. Queria aquela mulher em seu apartamento todos os dias, ao crepúsculo, lhe dando chá…na varanda.

— Acho que essa secadora está competindo com você — disse ele, num tom casual, mas carregado de algo mais.

Ela levantou os olhos devagar, sem entender de imediato.

— Como assim? — perguntou, com a voz tranquila, quase desinteressada, mas ele notou o leve arquear de suas sobrancelhas, como se tivesse capturado uma fração de sua atenção.

Ele deu de ombros, com um sorriso no canto dos lábios.

— As duas são eficientes, mas levam o tempo delas, sabe? Sem pressa. Parece que estão sempre esperando o momento perfeito para mostrar que, no fundo, o resultado vai valer a pena. — Ele fez uma pausa, deixando a provocação pairar. — Só fico me perguntando se, quando estiver pronta, vou me surpreender mais com a roupa ou com você.

Ela soltou um pequeno riso, quase sem querer, mas logo desviou o olhar, disfarçando. Hugh percebeu algo diferente naquele brilho, uma reação que ela tentava esconder.

Pouco a pouco, eles se inclinaram; a mulher fincou os cotovelos no mármore da mesa e apoiou o rosto entre as mãos. Seus cabelos caíram naturalmente, e ele viu o delicado contorno de seu pescoço. Naquele momento, a presença de Hugh despertou nela mais curiosidade do que qualquer livro de Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. Ele continuou a falar sobre suas opiniões sobre Sacher-Masoch e outros pensamentos que lhe vinham à mente. As palavras fluíam uma após a outra, sem que ele soubesse exatamente o porquê, saltando de um assunto a outro ou voltando ao primeiro, rindo aqui e ali na tentativa de fazê-la sorrir. Queria ver-lhe os dentes. Quanto aos olhos dela, não eram exatamente negros, mas escuros, como se guardassem segredos nas profundezas de seu olhar.

— Mais baixo! Alguém pode nos ouvir — disse a mulher entre risos.

— Só estava pensando sobre sua leitura atual... um cara obcecado por dor e prazer, sabe? Não é curioso como as pessoas têm essas fixações? — ele riu de si mesmo.

— Você é bem... aleatório.

Hugh deu de ombros, divertido:

— Aleatório. Igual essas coisas que a gente fala sem pensar muito, vai juntando uma coisa na outra... Mas tudo bem, tô aqui tentando te fazer rir, na verdade.

— Está funcionando?

— Claro que está. Já vi seus dentes. Perfeitos, por sinal... eu gosto de sorrisos com diastema. — Ela sorriu um pouco mais, como se quisesse disfarçar o gesto, mas agora seus dentes ficaram visíveis por um segundo.

— Tá vendo? Isso, exatamente isso. É o meu ponto. — Os olhos dela se mantiveram atentos, mas havia algo guardado, uma escuridão que ainda parecia protegê-la. Hugh pausou, observando-a por um instante. Os dois se entreolharam em silêncio, enquanto ele buscava mais palavras e ela, talvez, mais respostas.

Eles não saíram daquela posição, tão perto que estavam, os rostos quase se tocando. Não precisavam falar alto para serem ouvidos; cochichavam, ele mais que ela, porque falava mais; ela, às vezes, ficava séria, muito séria, com a testa levemente franzida. Em um momento, ela olhou de relance para os crocs dele, mas logo desviou o olhar, voltando à conversa.

— Você usa crocs, blusa havaiana e óculos... mas suas expressões são tão sérias...

— Eu sou assim. Sério.

— O quê? — perguntou ela, inclinando o corpo para ouvir melhor.

Ele sorriu, um sorriso discreto, quase enigmático, como se estivesse prestes a soltar uma piada, mas optasse por manter o suspense. Seus olhos brilharam, e ele inclinou a cabeça um pouco mais, aproximando-se, até que os rostos ficassem quase se tocando.

— Sério — repetiu ele, baixinho, dessa vez deixando o riso escapar. — Só quando não importa. Ou quando estou pensando em algo que nem eu entendo. Tipo agora.

Ela manteve a testa levemente franzida, mas seus lábios esboçaram um sorriso contido, algo entre provocação e desconcerto. Seus olhos, que ainda guardavam aquela escuridão misteriosa, se estreitaram, como se tentasse decifrá-lo.

— Eu sempre te achei meio… excêntrico — sussurrou ela, como se estivesse pensando alto, sem intenção de ofender, mas com uma sinceridade que o atingiu de leve.

Ele riu baixo, o riso que usava para esconder sua própria vulnerabilidade, como se ela tivesse tocado num ponto sensível que ele preferia evitar.

— Excêntrico? — perguntou, arqueando uma sobrancelha. — Você diz isso como se fosse uma coisa ruim.

Ela balançou a cabeça devagar, os olhos caindo por um momento para os crocs, depois voltando para o rosto dele.

— Não... claro que não. — Sua voz era suave, mas com uma hesitação perceptível.

Ficaram em silêncio por alguns segundos, e ela, sem perceber, inclinou o corpo um pouco mais, como se estivesse prestes a entrar num espaço que ele mal sabia que estava deixando aberto.

— E você? — Ele quebrou o silêncio. — Tão quieta, mas sempre parece que tá prestes a explodir de alguma forma. Qual é o seu segredo?

Ela piscou lentamente, sem responder de imediato, e seu rosto se fechou por um segundo, como se algo dentro dela recuasse, se escondesse.

— Talvez eu seja... — ela começou, mas interrompeu-se, mordendo o lábio inferior por um instante, desviando os olhos para a secadora, agora parada, antes de voltar a encará-lo. — Talvez eu seja séria também. Quando importa. Ou quando... tenho medo.

A última palavra saiu quase como um sussurro, como se ela não quisesse admiti-la nem para si mesma. Ele notou o leve tremor na voz dela e, por um momento, o humor desapareceu, substituído por algo mais denso, mais atento.

— Medo? — Ele perguntou suavemente, como quem pisa em território proibido, mas desejando explorá-lo.

Ela não respondeu de imediato, mas o olhar profundo e escuro que lançou a ele parecia carregar tudo o que ela queria dizer.

— Olha pra minha blusa... — ela disse de repente.

Ele piscou, surpreso com a reviravolta, e então olhou para a própria blusa. "Britney, come to Brazil" estava estampado em letras brancas e chamativas, uma piada kitsch que ele escolhera sem pensar muito. Ele ergueu uma sobrancelha, o sorriso voltando ao rosto, mas agora com algo mais intrigado em sua expressão.

— Britney Spears? — reagiu, sem entender onde ela queria chegar.

Ela desviou o olhar por um instante, como se procurasse as palavras certas para explicar.

— Às vezes, me sinto como a Britney Spears — disse ela, em voz baixa, mas firme. — No palco, performando, sendo a estrela... mas, ao mesmo tempo, completamente perdida. Fingindo que está tudo sob controle, quando, na verdade... — Ela respirou fundo. — Quando, na verdade, estou cheia de medo de desmoronar.

Ele ficou quieto, absorvendo o que ela acabara de dizer. Não era só sobre Britney. Ela estava falando de si mesma, da contradição entre a imagem que projetava e a realidade que escondia.

Quando a última peça foi seca, dobrada e colocada no cesto, a mulher se preparava para sair. Mas hesitou, segurando a alça do cesto como se considerasse algo que nunca fizera antes. Hugh notou a indecisão, uma pequena brecha na rotina.

— Senhorita, posso te ajudar com isso? — perguntou, sua voz soando estranhamente como um convite para fazer parte de sua vida.

— Ah, claro, obrigada.

Hugh pegou o cesto com um gesto casual, mas sentiu o peso simbólico daquela interação. Caminharam lado a lado até o Fiat Uno dela, estacionado sob o céu tingido em tons de roxo e azul claro. O ar estava fresco, carregado pela expectativa que se acumulava há semanas. O carro, com suas linhas nostálgicas e desgastadas, parecia um reflexo de tudo o que haviam dito, e não dito, um ao outro.

Ao colocar o cesto no porta-malas, ele a olhou por um momento mais longo, como se estivesse considerando algo mais.

— Sabe... — começou, hesitando como quem raramente vai além do óbvio — Você gostaria de tomar um café amanhã, às 8:30?

Ela, ainda processando o momento, encontrou os olhos dele numa conexão que ia além do reflexo das máquinas. O sorriso que se formou em seus lábios foi diferente, mais aberto, mais... decidido.

— Eu adoraria.

E naquele momento, enquanto o céu se dissolvia em sombras mais profundas, eles romperam o ciclo de silêncio. O carro, parado na rua deserta, já não era apenas um veículo, mas o símbolo de um novo caminho. Não só a quinta-feira havia mudado, mas toda a história de ambos.

[gh0stlyb34r]

Welcome to my blog!

logan / johnny / astrid ⌇ 19 ⌇ agere

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@kitkatshifts - shifting blog

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[donotbelasagne]

Honestly, I've been reading this fic for the past couple of days (it's 180,000+ words) and it's one of those fics where I'm gonna forget it's not actually part of the canon because of how good it is. Absolutely insane.

it's time that I let go of things I can't control this path that I've taken is the only one I know well I've come so far to get here, and I've got so far to go so I'll take what I can get in matters of the soul ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

one of the most incredible good omens WIPs right now is how do we turn on the light? by the wonderful @moonyinpisces, so when she decided to host a cover contest for it you know I had to give it my shot. If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend it!! truly one of the most incredible fics I've ever read 💛 I hope you like it, maddie!