#I also went kind of gentle on his accent

[ghoastixx]

Yandere!Hannibal and Yandere!Will Graham, who are obsessed with the survivor of a serial killer, who has resurfaced again. So the reader needs to go into some kind off protection and now stays at Hannibal‘s with Will visiting regularly and Hannibal comforting her?

Yandere!Hannibal & Will Graham x gn!reader

synopsis above

Notes: Okay okay okay... as someone who used to read A LOT of yandere fics, i'm flattered to be writing one for such a thirsty fandom. But, I must admit, this is my first time actually writing one. So bear with me please. Also, YAY!! A WILL GRAHAM REQUEST!!! (I'm a stereotypical will graham lover boy) I do love writing edgy insane will graham :3

Author notes: Mentions the "ghost face" killer... sorry y'all at the end of the day im not original and scream 1 holds a dear dear place in my heart. Will is sort of creepy in this. Reader is broken but trying to heal, will and hannibal ruin that. Reader sort of takes Margot Verger's place in a way? Reader is a bit shallow and emotional, sorry chat.

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The nightmare started two years ago. The ghostface murders happened every year or so; ever since that massacre in Woodsburrow when it all began. They popped up all over America. It wasn't a shock when a new copycat showed up in Maryland, Baltimore. A shame...sure. A shock? Not as much.

You weren't very worried. You lived a relatively boring life, a safe life. You were not final girl material. Well, that's what you had thought before someone in a ghostface mask stabbed you on the walk home from work.

You remember how exhausting the press was when you woke up alive, how nauseating the treatments were, how tedious the whole stay was. It was all boring and you were scared. Your face was all over newspapers, magazines, blogs, what if he came back to finish the job? The fear was too much, you fell into a deep pit of self pity and anxiety... One particular article though.. tattle crime. It pushed you over the edge.

People around you could sense the distress, you were referred to a psychiatrist upon your release. A Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

The first session had gone well, in your opinion. Of course, you hadn't been the most open of patients, but he was so patient with you, he was so understanding. You couldn't see how fond of you he actually was.

The first time you had walked into his office, he was amused. You had been the talk of the news, lately, and here you were now. Sitting in his office. You were interesting. A normal person, someone who had never really been bothered by much.. now utterly shattered. A beautiful vase put to waste, he would be the gentle hand to put you back together.

You met Will Graham almost a year later.

Your appointments were always right before Will Graham's. Of course, you didn't know that, but he did.

You had just finished up a session with Dr.Lecter, gently closing his door behind you, you were met with a shorter man looking intently at you. He had dark curls and his glasses were clinging to the edge of his nose. You stared back at him for a moment. He wasn't making direct eye contact, but he was looking.

"Excuse me...can I help you?" you murmured, a bit freaked out. He shook his head, snapping himself out of it.

"I'm sorry- are you Y/N L/N?" He asked, he had a nice accent that you couldn't place. You sighed, crossing your arms.

"Yes, what of it?" your annoyed tone made him look away from you.

"Nothing-I'm sorry- I just went over your case in my lecture this week,"

"Lecture?"

"Yes, I'm a professor."

"Oh.. what class, if I'm allowed to ask?" He smiled, shaking his head a bit,

"You can ask. A criminal analysis class." you nodded.

"That's very interesting Mister..."

"Will Graham."

You two began seeing each other a lot more while switching roles in Lecter's chair. Friendly smiles, waves, anxious nods.. and then Hannibal started to get into Will's head. His intentions turned to the computer. Researching about you. He reassured himself, he was just doing his job. Researching victims. Until he brought you up in a session.

"What seems to be on your mind Will?" Hannibal asked patiently.

"One of your patients." This caught his attention,

"Which one of my patients would this be?"

"Y/N L/N." Will leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs out. Hannibal straightened up.

"Y/N, I see." His voice was a bit firmer now. He had grown protective over you. Possessive. "what of them?"

So Will began talking about his newfound obsession with you. This pleased Hannibal just a bit, the idea that they both could have you.

So, with Hannibal's nonverbal permission, Will started to get more involved in your life as you both slowly started to succumb to Hannibal's manipulation.

Everything was going swimmingly. That was until you got a notification on your phone during work today.

"Ghostface killer resurfaces after two years!"

With trembling hands, you clock out and immediately go to your car. You sit in your locked car, shaking. As soon as you read the article, you turn off your phone, putting it in the console. You start driving.

You knock on the lavish door, your skin pale and your body shaking. You're so cold. You begin pounding on the door..faster.. why can't he just come out faster?

The door swings open, you almost hit the taller man in the chest. He was wearing a vest and a white button up shirt, dress pants. He had just gotten off work. His eyes held annoyance, but when he saw your rather fragile state, his face grew concerned. He ushers you inside, his firm arms around your shoulders, leaning your shaky form to a sofa. Sitting you down and making you explain to him what's wrong.

"He- he's back Hanni. He's gonna come back after me-" you manage to cry out, his hands softly going through your hair.

"My dear, you're okay.." His phone rings, which makes you jump. He glares at it before seeing it is Will. He answers it, a very frantic voice picks up.

"Hannibal- I can't get ahold of Y/N-"

"Will." he all but chided. "Our love is here, calm down."

"I'm coming over." he stated before hanging up. He sounded frustrated, which just scared you even more.

A few minutes later, a disgruntled Will walks in, immediately coming up to the sofa which housed you clinging to Hannibal for dear life.

"Y/N- I tried to call you- I was so worried." Once he saw your expression, he toned it down as he sat next to you. "Pup..it's alright, we're here."

Both men frowned when you shook your head. "No! He's back for me- he's gonna get me."

Hannibal responded with a 'tsk' sound, still playing with your hair. "My love, he will do no such thing." Will hummed in agreement, rubbing a hand over your back. "You'll stay here with Will and I, we'll keep you safe and sound."

Will was pleased when you caved into the demand, he honestly thought you would've denied it quicker. Both men dotted over you before pushing you to get some sleep. Sandwiching you in between them. Will waited til he could hear your soft snores before looking at Hannibal with a bit of a glare.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea." Hannibal looked at him with a false innocence.

"What wasn't a good idea, Will?"

"Poking the killer. Getting him to want to come back."

"It will all work out..we just had to..scare them into submission. You see? Hasn't it worked."

Will sighed a bit, "Yes..I still don't like it very much though.."

"Nothing will happen to either of you, Will. I wouldn't allow it."

Will did stop talking, not wanting to wake you. Besides, he knew Hannibal had a point. They did have you to themselves now.. and if everything went to plan.. you wouldn't be leaving.

[rileyslibrary]

(Can i just say i love ur work, i too read them like bedtime stories, u perform a great service to humanity my good comrade)

Also, could i request perhaps Reader needing to go undercover for a mission and getting a bit too close for comfort with some baddies and thus making Ghost worry? He’s certainly not jealous by any means tho, of course not! Nope. Not jealous at all. Not even a smidge.

He is tho. He’s jealous. In his own Ghost way.

Thank you for your kind words, nonny and sorry for being so late!

Reader is an undercover tourist in Paris for this one. No warnings, other than a pretty sulky Ghost. More A/N at the end.)

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He hasn’t uttered a word since you returned to your temporary base. No “good job,” no “well done,” no “thank you for risking your life for the team.” Nothing. He didn’t even stick around for the debriefing. Instead, he stashed his gear in his locker and headed straight to the kitchen.

Usually, after a high-stress operation, Ghost would go to the kitchen to make some tea. Yet, the way he went about his business today seemed more like he was about to sharpen his knives than brew himself a ‘cuppa’.

There is a reason he’s upset, though, and you know it. While you are always prepared to risk your life for the team, your latest actions were pretty... out of character, so to speak, and Ghost took notice of that.

You stare at the closed kitchen door, wondering what’s unfolding behind it, how he feels, and whether he can communicate it without lashing out.

“Maybe it’s best to give him some space,” Price advises, narrowing his eyes. “You did a pretty risky thing back there; no reason to push your luck.”

“A whole kitchen’s worth of space, Captain?” you retort. “I’ll evacuate if things take a turn for the worse.”

“Call for backup if you can’t handle it,” he winks at you. “And don’t tell him I did that,” he says, pointing at his closed eye.

You smile at him, and push open the kitchen door. Ghost sits at the table, his back turned towards you, hunched over a cup of tea. He has his balaclava draped over his right thigh and his gloves on the table.

“Your hair is a mess.” You tease.

You reach to fix the stray hairs hanging over his forehead, but he pulls away from your touch. You lower your hand and go for the kettle instead. This will be much more difficult, you think to yourself.

“Coffee?” You offer. Although you know he’d refuse, you feel it’s a good way to break the ice.

Yet he doesn’t reply. Instead, he reclines on his chair and stirs the tea with a metal spoon. With your back turned to him, you pour the preheated water into your cup, add coffee granules, and cool it down with a gentle blow. The clinking of the metal spoon against the ceramic mug continues until it suddenly stops.

“Are you alright, mademoiselle?” He mocks, with a fake—and quite terrible—French accent, mimicking the enemy guard who “rescued” you when you dramatically pretended to twist your ankle in front of him.

A chuckle escapes you, and you turn to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter. He keeps his gaze fixed on his cup.

“I had to buy some time for Soap and Gaz, Lieutenant,” you explain. “They were inside that safehouse, gathering-”

“Intel,” he interjects. “I was there too; no need to rehash it.”

“The guards were dangerously close, sir,” you press on. “There was no time.”

He shakes his head. “No time doesn’t mean dropping to your hands and knees like a coquette, bawling your eyes out, waiting for a French knight in shining armour to come and save you now, does it?” he spats.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Coquette’? You? He knows damn well the fall was staged, the tears were fabricated, the vulnerability was an act. The fall did hurt; otherwise, it wouldn’t have been believable. But shedding tears over twisting your ankle? No way. You’ve endured bullet wounds in the past, for heaven’s sake, and barely flinched. Ghost knows that. Yet, he looks more…

“Jealous, Lt.?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He murmurs, scratching his forehead.

“Say what you want,” You shrug. “But you must admit: it was a pretty convincing fall.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Nothing says more ‘convincing’ like kissing the cobblestones of Paris.”

“Alright,” you say, leaving your cup on the kitchen counter. You cross your arms in front of your chest and nod upwards. “What would you have done, then?”

“Shoot him,” he responds, his black-painted eyes shifting from the cup to you. “That’s why I was up on the rooftop, remember?”

“What’s the point of going undercover if you’d eliminate the threat like that?” You persist. “And in a public place like that? Come on, Lt.!”

He pushes his cup to the side, places his hands on the kitchen table and stands up.

“Have you ever thought of what would have happened if your cover was blown?” He asks, raising his voice. “How was I supposed to protect you if you were right in front of my bloody target?”

You keep staring at him, his last words replaying in your mind.

How was I supposed to protect you…

You look at your mug on the counter; the steam from the coffee is almost gone. It must have been transferred onto him instead, you think to yourself. Might as well let him blow it off. Let him vent.

“I know how to protect myself, Ghost.”

He sits back on his chair and brings his tea closer, shaking his head.

“You should’ve waited for the signal.” He says. “We’ve got a plan for a reason.”

“I understand, s-”

“Falling in front of the enemy, letting him scoop you up like a fucking princess in agony, removing your shoe, fetching you ice from the coffee shop wasn’t part of the plan.”

A smile threatens to escape your lips, but you suppress it. You turn your back to him and pretend to clean the counter. There’s no reason to anger him more.

“Sir,” you begin. “What is the problem here: me not following orders or letting the guard run to my aid?”

“I don’t care about that French prick touching your ankle.” He murmurs.

Well, seems that ‘French prick’ touching you bothered him as much as you not following the plan. You stop fake-wiping the counter, grab your mug and turn towards him.

“I apologise, sir,” you say. “It won’t happen again. But you could have voiced your concerns in a less... abrasive way.”

“Wasn’t the pavement abrasive enough?” He snaps. “What’s next? Are you going to cry over it?”

You click your tongue and approach the table, extending your hand for a handshake.

“Alright, enough,” you say. “Let’s make a truce and end this right now.”

He remains still, looking at you. He finally reaches for your hand, but instead of shaking it, he twists it so your palm faces down. With a smirk, he stands up, brings it to his mouth, and kisses it.

“Isn’t that how that fucker would have done it?” he asks, still smiling.

You roll your eyes. At least his anger has died down and you’re left with his—typical—snarky self. You pull a chair across from him.

“Mind if I sit?” You ask.

“Normally, I’d tell you to ‘hit the bricks’,” He murmurs, motioning for you to take your place. “But you’ve already done that.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I keep confusing “ankle” with “uncle”. You twist your ankle, not your uncle ffs.

[ryebread0605]

I love your work! May I request Epel Felmier x female reader? He has never met or talked to her before. She always comes to his spelldrive games and watches him practice. The only reason she never approached him is because she is shy and has a crush on him. Please make it super fluffly❣️☺️

Thank you so much for supporting my work!

As you requested fluff I didn’t know if you also wanted nsfw stuff so I added a warning before it! Hope you enjoy!!!

Also, reminder my asks are always open so feel free to drop a request!

Seated in the stands once again, you couldn’t help the smile that came on your face as you watched him work so hard. The way the sun shone on him, highlighting the determination in his eyes, it just made you swoon more. To you, everything about him was perfect. He was smart, kind, courageous, and damn good looking. Countless days you had spent fantasizing about being able to just talk to the purple haired boy.

But that would never happen.

You had tried before, multiple times, but just couldn’t bring yourself to even start a conversation with him. I mean, he was so perfect! How would he ever want to talk to you? He was everything you weren’t, and it frustrated you as well as made you feel worse.

That was, until he approached you after one of his games.

“Hey, (name) right? I always see you cheerin us on in the stands!” Your face was deep red as Epel approached, that stupidly cute smile on his face with his hair still tied back from the game. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, only shyly nodding in response as he grew closer,

“Hey so.. I know this may be out of nowhere but I was wondering if you wanted to come with me apple picking? Vil’s taking all of us from pomefiore and we’re allowed to bring one other person.” Your eyes widened in surprise, was he really asking you to go with him?! From the small laugh falling from his lips, it appeared that shock was much more visible than you meant it to be.

“Yer so darn cute when ya get all shocked! Er- I mean- ahem.. you look very cute when you are surprised!” He looked away with a slight pink on his cheeks as his accent slipped out once again. Your soft voice broke him out of his thoughts,

“Y-you don’t need to hide your real voice… I-it’s.. nice” the smile on his face made you subconsciously smile as well. A small squeak left your lips as he hugged you tight,

“You truly are the sweetest.. Vil better watch out, I think you’re actually the fairest of them all”. With a wink, he pressed a small kiss to your cheek. Your smile only grew, was this truly happening?! 

“I’ll see you in a few days”

True to his word, a few days later he met up with you outside the school. The two of you chatted happily as you walked side by side to the apple orchard, hands brushing each others from time to time and smiles on your faces. You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you finally took the chance to interlock your fingers with his, a shocked look appeared on his face for a fraction of a second before switching to a wide smile as he happily held your hand in his.

Once you two had gotten to the orchard, its vastness almost intimidated you until Epel reassured you that he had plenty of experience with orchards and wouldn’t leave your side. You felt so safe with him, so cared about, as the two of you took two baskets from Vil and began your journey picking the fresh fruit. The entire time, you two kept joking and laughing, his actions slowly growing more and more intimate as he went from hand holding to holding you closer with a hand on your waist to slowly running his hand down your sides.

You truly believed today could not get any better.

(Smut starts here!)

Only an hour later, you found yourself corrected as your shaking legs struggled to hold up your body. Your hands pressed against a tree far away from any prying eyes as Epel rutted into your sopping cunt at a gentle yet quick pace.

“You look so gorgeous like this, drooling from my cock. God I love the way your cunt just pulls me back in~” the soft yet slightly degrading words only made your mind fuzzier as you felt all thoughts you once had get fucked out of you. It felt so good the way he hit all the spots that even you yourself didn’t know set off pleasure within you.

“Cmon sweet girl, lemme hear how good I’m making you feel~” his hips moved faster as his thrusts became more sporadic, your moans echoing through the orchard as your back arched. With each thrust, your chest bounced in Epel’s hands as he groped at the soft flesh. 

“F-fuck Epel I’m gonna-!” A loud moan tore from your throat as your orgasm hit you hard, Epel not stopping his rapid pace until suddenly stilling and filling you up with warm cum. As he pulled out, leaving both of you panting, you took the opportunity to lock lips with him and begin to make out again. 

Guiding him to the ground, you slowly lined his dick up and lowered yourself down, bouncing on his juicy cock like an absolute whore. You just couldn’t have enough, the feeling was absolutely amazing and you never wanted it to stop.

The shy girl you once were was no more as you were reduced to a cockdrunk slut for your now boyfriend.

[carpenoctxrn]

a bait, a hoax, a challenge (ominis gaunt x fem!reader)

Prompt: Ominis bets his girlfriend can’t go a week without his touch and she accepts with full intentions of winning.

Word Count: 6327

Masterlist

Disclaimer: The characters are close to 19 and in 7th year at Hogwarts. Has smut. I have read smut starting at age 13 so I’ll say please be mindful of the material you consume. also a lot of grammar errors, not proof read.

PSA: p in v, fingering, squirting, cockdrunk reader, fucked dumb Ominis, pregnancy mentions, boob job, giving head, unprotected sex, no spoilers for the plot, very little plot tbh, if you squint you'll see I am currently ovulating.

A/n: I despise J.K Rowling for what she stands for especially regarding her transphobic and sexist comments/ views. this work isnt to endorse her in any kind of way and is just a outlet for my writing. I bought the game for $18 a month ago and Ominis left an impression on me.

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“I bet you couldn’t last a week without me.” Ominis’s smirk was almost audible to the girl below. She couldn’t see his face but she could just feel it. The challenge was a hoax, a bait, a dumb bet that really didn’t matter at the end of the day. But it was the way he said it. The taunt in his voice, the pride in his tone. It was all enough for her to take the challenge, and she fully intended on winning it.

That was yesterday half way during dinner, when she had snuck away with Ominis to the boat house. The gentle noise of water lapping at the wooden planks below them was enough to lull them into their own world where the only people who existed was the person in front of them. She doesn't remember if that's how it went but she was too tired and too giddy to care.

Today was a different day. It was breakfast and most students, except those who skipped breakfast, were in the great hall. Some were studying for their next class, some were trying to stay awake, and most were eating. Then there was the couple who were ignoring each other. Usually it would happen after a break up but this time it was between a very promising couple.

Ominis’s beautiful girlfriend was currently seated with her group of friends at the Gryffindor table. Natsai was pleasantly chatting and talking about her most recent grazing adventures. While on the other side of the room sat Ominis himself, his only friend Sebastian talking his ear off about every single thing that comes to his mind.

“Well, well, well…look what the cat dragged in.” Said the Scottish accent of Imelda Reyes. She sat down next to Natsai as her elbows supported the weight of her head in her arms. 

“Trouble in paradise, I see.” Imelda poked as she leaned in closer. 

Before Ominis sweet little darling said anything to direct the attention away from her, Poppy Sweeting came in and sat right next to the girl.

“What are we talking about, guys?” Poppy asked as she picked up an apple from a nearby bowl and began munching on it. 

Expecting her breakfast with a side of gossip.

“Just the obvious, why little Mrs. Gaunt isn’t sitting right next to Mr. Gaunt.” Imelda clarified as she stared intently at the girl she directed all her jabs at.

“Oooh yeah! Why is that Mrs. Gaunt?” Poppy asked innocently as she continued biting into her apple.

The poor girl looked at Natty hoping she would bring sense to their friend group however she just shrugged before saying a “Even I am curious, why aren’t you sitting next to Mr. Gaunt, Mrs. Gaunt?” 

‘Mrs. Gaunt’ groaned at her friend's persistent nature but decided that they were the ones who she would have told the entire bet about anyways. And if she didn't tell them today, she would have told them by tomorrow.

“Fine, but if word of this gets out, I will personally write a letter to Leander Prewett to inform him that not only all three of you stole his underwear last year but that you all use it to get off.” She threatened the three girls. 

It was a dare that the three girls lost against Y/n, and she dared all of them to go grab Leander’s dirty underwear. Unfortunately for the girls, practice ended early and they were caught brown handed by Leander himself.

“Oh, it's that serious.” Natty said with a smile, knowing whatever she was to tell them was definitely juicy.

“Ominis and I made a bet,” She started off, “of who can last a whole week without each other.” Her words emphasizing ‘without’ hoping that they understood the implication to be as indecent without her having to say the crude word out in public.

“Without as in platonically or without as in the mommy and daddies are?” Imelda asked with a smirk, loving how red her friend looked.

“Ohhhh..” Poppy and Natty said as they understood that bet was based around lewd acts. 

Sure, their friend would often share her dalliance with her perfect boyfriend but she was still a bit shy about it. Her red ears and cheeks were giving her away as she avoided eye contact while downing some strawberry lemonade.

The three giggled at her friend's predicament knowing that she is completely enamored by her boyfriend. So in all honesty they had very little faith in her.

“So how did it happen?” Natty asked genuinely wondering what could have led to such a bet being placed.

“Well….” The girl blushing red started off making sure to keep her voice as quiet as possible.

Ominis had long forgone his tie as his pretty girlfriend sat in his lap kissing him like a mad woman. Her lips trapped his own in a hot sopping kiss; her hands were on his neck or on his chest, while her body was grinding down on a very hard and prominent bulge.

“Please Omi,” she begged, as her boyfriend's hands that were on her waist made their way to cup her ass.

“You must use your words darling?” Ominis taunted with a chuckle followed by a groan as his girlfriend might have rubbed against him a bit too hard.

“What were you saying, Omi?” She teased with a smile as she continued to press her own wet sex and throbbing clit down on his bulge, a bit lighter tho.

Ominis opened his mouth to say something but his teasing girlfriend smirked before she pressed even harder on his length. The groan that left him made her chuckle lightly only to be stopped by Ominis mouth.

His teeth found her supple and slightly swollen lips and began biting on it. Making sure to suck the flesh while his hands squeezed and spanked the fleshy mound of her buttocks. Her breathless yelps and moans as she continued to grind on Ominis began to become heavier. 

Her body began to slow down a bit signifying that she was losing stamina but Ominis, ever so perceptive of his girlfriend, placed his hands on her soft plumpy hips. His grip left indents on her flesh as he began moving her body on his clothed dick. The pleasure he received was immense but the wet patch that he could now feel on his clothed sex, was a sign that the girl in his lap was far too close to her release.

“What’s the matter, love?” He asked, knowing she was too drunk on pleasure to talk, instead she whined in response to his question.

Her hands lightly placed on his shoulder while her head was thrown with her chest pushed against her love underneath her.

“Oh--omiii..” she whispered out as her body began to twitch ever so slightly. Telling Ominis that his precious girlfriend was mere seconds from exploding over him.

“Om--omii, imma. Cum.” She spoke in whispers and gasps as her body slowly began jerking much harder.

Then just as Ominis had predicted, his lower half had become wet in her essence. She stood up a bit, her feet finding the side bars of the chair as support as she tried to get away from the stimulation. Her boyfriend's hands are still on her hips.

One of his hands left their place on her side and began sliding through her now wet folds, glistening in the moonlight that seeped in from the cracks of the little boat house. He lubed his fingers up before putting in two fingers. His fingers couldn’t make it past her hole and he tutted.

“Tut-Tut, squirted so hard that you’ve made yourself too tight for me.” Ominis mused, but the girl in lap was still quivering while her jaw slacked.

He slowly began to unbutton her white long sleeve button up. However she held Ominis wrists, stopping his actions before bringing them to her lips and kissing her fingers before slightly sucking them. Ominis shivered at her tongue licking the tips of his fingers while the slight hollow of her cheeks sucked it.

An incredible image materialized in his mind. The silhouette of his precious girl in his lap, towering him just a bit, her eyes glistening in reflection of the moon as slight sheen reflected a path of tears cascading down her cheeks to her jaw.

Her mouth is adorned with puffy lips and her hair a beautiful mess. His hands still close to her face as she kissed it. She looked perfectly ruined by Ominis and he was so proud of what he made her.

“Your soo good to mee, Omi…” she whispered her words against the palm of his hands.

“Imma be good for you.” She spoke before kissing a path from his arms to his neck and finally his jaw. Hovering just over his mouth letting him open it, only to kiss his nose.

Giggling she got on her knees and took the hard length out. It was glistening in the moonlight the droplets of precum and the slight remnants of her own squirt making his pale thick shaft almost glow.

“So prettyyyy…” She slurred, already feeling cock drunk at the sight of Ominis in the chair. Him half exposed, his hair tousled from when she ran her hands through it, and his nick bruised with some light hickies.

“You should see yourself, my love.” Ominis whispered out as his pretty little girlfriend was on her knees slowly stroking his length.

She began with kissing the base of his engorged length, feeling the shudder that ran through his body and the slight twitch of his cock. As she peppered his shaft with sweet loving kisses Ominis couldn’t stop panting, his breath shallow and his mouth opened wide. It was his time to slack jawed.

A low hum left his mouth as his girlfriend kissed the top of his pretty head, the usual pink now replaced with bulbous glistening red. Her tongue making soft circles at the opening on his cock a hiss leaving his mouth. Her thumbs running against his ball sack, feeling it bob up and down at her ministrations.

She slowly took his head in her mouth feeling her tongue accept his weight and his taste. He tasted like an aftertaste of honeydukes. The thought made her smile before she felt her hands covered in saliva. Her own spit dripped down in strings, collecting beads of his precum and making a mix of salacious fluid.

She began to suck his head tasting more of the precum he produced as she felt his balls move a little in her hands as she continued. Feeling as if there was enough of her spit and his cum in her mouth she spat right on his balls. The crude action made Ominis jerk and as he opened his mouth to reprimand her for being so filthy. But her mouth was on his balls as quickly. 

The action made his back arch as his hands found themselves tangled in her hair or on her shoulder. He wasn't pushing her, he was just holding on to her. The sensation was so new and welcoming that he felt as if he may float away.

Her tongue licked and sucked at the stretchy skin like muscle of his heavy balls. She made sure to explore this new area of him, loving the way he whimpered and whined at the feeling. Letting one of her hands work on the middle of his huge length while the other worked top of his tip. Spreading his cum all over his length, keeping him lubed up for more.

“Oh- Merlinsss,” He hissed out, his parseltongue seeping out.

 “You're such a good little girlfriend for me.”  He confessed in parseltongue.

His low hisses echoed in the room, the sound reverberating against her skin causing goosebumps too form. Ominis was driving her crazy, every logical thought in her head disappeared, any shame or any restraint she had was no longer her concern. Consequences can be damned.

They were still in their attire on the off chance they might have to play off being in the boat house, after all it was public property. However she had a crazy idea in her head and no logic to stop her. She paused her assault on Ominis ball sacks. 

Her lower mouth was now covered in her saliva and his precum. Ominis was bleary eyed to even feel she had stopped, his body still coursing with happy hormones. The rustling of her clothes made him snap back to reality, the wand in his sleeves materializing the image of her basically naked now. Her cotton underwear was discarded and she was just in her corset. She hooked her hand to the lace in her back and pulled the material to loosen her corset. As it loosened it fell down on the floor along with her shirt, robe, tie, and skirt. 

Her breasts falling down in a bounce. She was just in her socks and Mary Jane shoes. 

“My love,” Ominis whispered out as his hands found her chin pulling her face to look at him, “You shouldn’t be so naked out in the open. Especially since the chill air of the lake may make you catch a co-” 

His words cut off as his darling girlfriend lunged at his lips trapping him in a kiss. As she kissed him, she wrapped her breasts around his thick dick. Smushing the flesh around him. The sensation of her supple and soft skin around him made him moan in surprise.

His mind lagged before he finally understood what she was doing. She was giving him a boob job. Half of his length was covered by her boobs, while the other half was out in the open. As they broke apart from the kiss she moved her body to sit back on her knees. His dick now at a perfect angle for her to swallow his tip in her mouth while her boobs caressed him.

“You're such a caring boyfriend Omi,” She slurred out before she went back to sucking his tip. 

“Let me take care of you.” She whispered as she used her body to jerk him off. 

Ominis could feel her body's warmth on her balls, on his shaft and on his tip. His heavy balls made a plap-plap sound as the wet skin hit her under breast. Her mouth still sucking and swallowing every little of his pre cume he released. 

She could feel him ready to cum, his balls began to jerk, his length twitched, and his tip released more precum. Ominis voice became raspy as he whimpered and hissed. His body arching more and more, offering himself to the girl below him.

And just as she was about to feel him cum in her mouth he pushed himself further down her throat. The action made her gasp before she herself moved closer to his length making her mouth take more of him. She swallowed around his length and that's when she felt him release. 

She let some of his cum in her mouth but she pulled him out and began jerking his shaft closer to her face. Wanting to feel his release on her face and chest. Ominis was so fucked out that he didnt even notice his dick was no longer in her mouth. Only when a particularly chilly breeze caused his sensitive tip to twitch did he use his wand to figure out what was happening.

The sight in his mind was one he would never forget. His girlfriend on her knees as she licked the cum off his dick. Her face was covered in clots of it and so was her chest. She took some of his cum on her chest and licked it off her fingers moaning at the taste.

“By merlins, you’re so perfect my love.” Ominis confessed softly as he helped her up before he pulled her into a kiss.

They stood up rather awkwardly. But Ominis wasn’t done. His mind only replayed the scene of his pretty little girlfriend sucking him off. The kiss itself was so hungry. His body coursing with dopamine and oxytocin wanted nothing more besides another round with his cute darling.

“Are you gunna fuck me Omi?” She asked so sweetly as they pulled apart from the kiss. Her hands slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

He just sighed at her question, feeling himself lose control, as he pulled her into his face for another kiss. His mouth was barely kissing; it was just a wild clash of sucking and licking. 

“Fuck me hard Omi,” She moaned out knowing exactly what was happening to her boyfriend, “I want to feel you deep in my be--” her words cut off as one of his fingers entered her slick hole.

“If you keep talking like that my love, I’m afraid I may lose control.” He confessed as he kissed her neck softly.

The girl in his embrace going limp and once again open mouthed at the feeling of his fingers stroking and stretching her insides. One hand around her waist while the other had it's pointer and middle finger stretch her out. He began scissoring his fingers, the squelch as he entered and left her sopping wet hole made him groan into her neck. 

Whispering in parseltongue at how obscene she sounded. Her head lolled back as he sped up his actions. 

“Imma cum oh- omi,” She squealed out as she felt the familiar feeling deep within her cervix, the familiar pull and tightening of her walls. Some of her cum already leaking down her hole, onto Ominis hands, and soaked right into his shirt.

Before she could cum or explode all over Ominis finger, he took his fingers out. His girlfriend teary eyed from pleasure, but now had furrowed eyebrows. Ready to tell him off.

“Om-Ah” Her words interrupted the feeling of Ominis pushing ¼ of his cock into her cunt. The sensation made her shiver.

Ominis placed both of his hands on her ass and picked her up. Her legs wrapped around his slender waist and her hands wrapped around his neck. He walked them both over to a marble table. The dust on it suggests it hasn't been used for anything in more than a year.

As he sat her down on the table, he leaned his taller forward to kiss her softly. He placed her feet on the table and spread her open by pushing her plushy thighs away from her core. He kept her figure closer to the edge. As they broke the kiss his girlfriend placed her hand behind her. The cool marble table made the heat in her hand obvious.

“You're truly insatiable, aren't you?” He asked rhetorically as the tip of his cock was still buried in her walls. He couldn’t see, but he could feel the juices of her welcoming slit flowing out. 

“Omiii~” She mewled as she pawed at the tall mens blazer. 

But he just stared at her dishevelled form. Her soaking heat releases her sweet nectar around his twitchy and desperate cock. Her soft mewls and her hands grasping at him, asking him to move. He couldn’t help the mused chuckle the vibrated through his chest, especially at the memory – that only a few hours ago she sat composed and poised at dinner – now she was unraveling in front of him.

“Fi- fine!” She grumbled before she steadied a hand on his chest as she began moving her hips just a bit. 

Her moan echoed in his ears as he felt more of him being consumed by her slick throbbing walls. She wiggled more of him inside of her before he pulled out all the way before slamming half of his lubed rod in her.

She groaned in both pleasure and surprise as he began a fast pace. Both her hands now stretched behind, finding stability on the cool marble table. Ominis rocked into her, working in more and more and more of him until he was snug inside of her.

Her moans were half mixed with whimpers and her body both convulsed and rocked at the sensation of Ominis, her loving boyfriend, fucking her mindless.

She tried saying his name but it came out broken, sounding more like a moan and less like a name. But Ominis knew what his girl was saying, that's why he stopped prying her thighs open and instead pulled her closer by her back.

The closeness makes the girl below him whimper in pure happiness. Then Ominis placed one of her legs on his shoulder and put one of his hands on the sides of her face gripping the back of her neck. His forehead pressed against his as he began a hard and deep pace. His other hand hooked her other leg over his arm while squeezed tightly on her thick hips.

She whimpered and moaned into his palm as he whispered how lucky he is to have and how proud he is of her. His words just left a flutter of butterflies inside her stomach and she felt so precious and cared about being his.

He was about to release his own juices into her salacious little hole, he pressed right at her cervix. He knew already the chances of her becoming pregnant weren’t slim , seeing as they have done so much without protection already within the past hour. However releasing his own load on her would surely get her pregnant.

And suddenly the logic disappeared from his mind when he realised he could get her pregnant. She could give him a child that was half him and half her. And the thought roamed in his head, especially when she began spasming her cum on his dick. The milky fluid of her release creates a vulgar ‘slush-slush’ sound. 

He was going to cum in her, he really was but before his senses snapped back as she wailed out his name. He pulled out just in time as he released a thick virile load on her tits. She jerked his length as she began kissing his neck whispering how good it felt. Whispering how much she loves, confessing how good he looked, and sharing how adored he makes her feel.

As the couple came down from their high they slowly began cleaning themselves and the room up. Knowing they will have to sneak into the prefect's bathroom to clean themselves up. Neither of them were prefects but no one would stop them. She was an ancient magic wielder and he was a Gaunt.

--- bath time --

The pair had decided on a bath together after showering. It was somewhere between midnight and 1am. Everyone had gone to bed and tomorrow (technically today) was a monday. 

The pair settled into the hot water as Ominis muttered “the water is so hot we may as well brew tea along with it.”

His girlfriend chuckled as she ruffled his wet hair before kissing the bridge of his nose. She relaxed against his chest, her naked back pressed firmly against him. His arms wrapped securely around her stomach as he rested his head on the top of his. His thumbs moving circles on her stomach.

“Omi, you're tickling me.” She said softly in a giggle as her fingers drew mindless patterns on his arms.

His pink lips broke into a smirking smile against the skin of her neck before whispering right at the lobe of her ears.

“Careful my love, accuse me once more and I may just prove you right.” He teased her. 

She just elbowed him in the chest, not hard to hurt but enough.

“You know what I meant, Omi.” She confessed as she continued tracing his hands thinking of how they were about two months away from graduating Hogwarts.

Her heart was beating in her chest rapidly and she was scared that if they stopped moving, the water would still rivet from the rhythm of her heart.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Ominis spoke as his eyes closed he could feel her thoughts.

“What will we do after graduation Omi?” She asked her body to turn a bit to face the boy she loves. Her hands now on his chest drawing mindless patterns.

He still had her wrapped in his arms as he ‘looked’ at her.

“Well you’ve had your dreams that I suppose you'll follow. And I guess I'll just follow where you go.” He said as a matter of factly.

“I know that Ominis, you’ve told me that a lot. I meant,” Her voice halting as her thoughts debated asking the question.

“You meant..” Ominis said, trying to get his girlfriend to finish her sentence.

“I meant us.” she spoke feeling timid at the question sounding so stupid.

“Hmm what about us?” Ominis asked, feeling as the question was too vague.

“I love you Ominis, as long as I live and breathe I know you are the one who I will spend years with. I want to grow old with you and I want to..” her voice faltered again.

Her cheeks grew hot as she felt herself become shy at voicing her question at him.

“You must stop with these incomplete sentences, love, I promise I won’t judge you my sweet little girlfriend.” He said while kissing her temple.

“I want babies.” She said with a bashful smile on her face.

“You want.. Babies?” He asked feeling a bit flushed at the thought and at what he was about to do an hour ago.

“Mhm!” She nodded as she excitedly explained.

“After we both settle into our lives and work, after marriage, I want us to have two kids. The gender doesn’t matter. I would love it if they were 5 years apart. That way the youngest would have an older sibling to look up to and oldest will have a younger sibling to love. Oh and when one of them comes to Hogwarts the other will be with us. And when both of them come to Hogwarts we’ll be empty nesters for two years which will give us a break and we could travel. Then when the oldest graduates, they'll probably stay with us for a while before they leave. What do you think?” She said with a smile on her face as her hands continued to trace patterns on his chest, not stopping once.

“I think the world you created for us is beautiful. And I can not wait to start it with you. I love you too.” He said as he pecked her lips.

“This may sound ridiculous, but I swore on Merlin that you were surely to get me pregnant today at the boat house.” His girlfriend chuckled at her thought. Remembering how deep he was in her and how he really showed no signs of pulling out of her until the end.

“I was thinking about it, and I swear on Merlin I truly thought I was going to get you pregnant.” He confessed as she began chuckling with him joining in.

“It’s a good thing we aren’t married,” his girlfriend spoke with a teasing tone in her voice, “it would have been very hard for you to keep those freakishly large hands off your wife, wouldn't you?” her playful words made one of his eyebrows rise.

Her lips curved into a smile as she thought of another possibility of them living together right after graduating Hogwarts. She knew in her heart that sleep would be few and moans would be constant.

“Me? I’m the one who can’t keep my hands to myself?” He asked his voice low in tone as he smiled at the absurdity of the thought.

“Yes.” His girlfriend replied clearly amused at him.

“Darling, I think you’re forgetting who’s clinging to whom this entire time.” His fingers brushing gently against her stomach as caressed the skin once again.

His girlfriend just rolled her eyes as she began to stand up, readying herself to turn into bed. Ominis stood up also, getting out the tub and helping her out, but as she moved away to grab the towels. He pulled her into his embrace, their wet body sticking to each other so easily.

“But if you’d like to prove me wrong… then by all means try keeping yours off of me for a moment.” He taunted as his arms hung by his side all the while hers were on his chest.

She pushed him gently before scoffing “Is that a challenge?” She asked as she grabbed a towel for herself and one for him, throwing the one for him at his head.

Obviously, the blind boy didn’t stand a chance of catching it. When the towel landed squarely on his face, a startled pause followed before his girlfriend’s laughter bubbled up from across the room, light and teasing.

“I could have helped you,” she called out, her voice dripping with mischief, “but I didn’t want to ruin the fun.” Her grin widened as she dried herself off, clearly enjoying his predicament.

“How original, making the blind boy catch.” Ominis deadpanned as he reached for the towel before wiping himself off. 

Tying the towel around his waist as he looked for his clean clothes that they transfigured out of their dirty, dusty, and wet clothes. The blame both his sweet little geyser of a girlfriend took bashfully and he pridefully accepted. From across the room he could feel her staring at him.

A low smirk spread on his lips as he flexed and moved his body. Giving his girlfriend a show of muscles as he moved around pretending to not know where his clothes were. After a few minutes of back and forth and deliberate stopping in her line of view she figured out his play.

She scoffed once more before she walked over to him. Her body clad in a white chemise that flowed with her body, in his black vision the flowy material of chemise’s flow looked like a glow.

“You’re ridiculous Omi,” She said as she handed her his clothes, “You need to start hanging out with more people besides me and Sebastian.” She added.

"To be honest, I’d much rather just spend time with you than him," he said smoothly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "But, as it turns out, once you feed a stray cat, it never leaves your side." His tone was light, but the subtle tilt of his head and the warmth in his voice made it clear he was just joking.

She laughed before helping him button his shirt up. A thing she did without him asking to, something that she loved to do for him. As she buttoned him up she stood on one leg as the other traced his calf up and down. A mindless act that she did whenever she was fixing his hair, straightening his tie, or buttoning him up like now.

Ominis wore a sly smile, the unmistakable kind that said, I’ve got you now. It was the same look he’d had when he caught Sebastian sneaking one of his dozen prized Honeydukes chocolates. At first, Sebastian had waved it off, calling him paranoid, claiming he was imagining things. “One missing chocolate? Really, Ominis, don’t be ridiculous,” he’d said with all the feigned innocence he could muster.

But the moment Ominis caught him red-handed—his fingers quite literally in the jar—there was no escaping the truth. Not even Sebastian’s silver tongue could twist the situation in his favor. Manipulating Ominis was one thing; doing it after being so clearly exposed was another entirely.

“May I ask what is the smile for Ominis?” The girl asked as she straightened up his collar.

Ominis leaned back with a knowing smirk, his pale eyes narrowing in amusement as he replied in his smooth drawl, "You, my love. You and your insatiable need to constantly touch me." He let the words hang in the air before adding with deliberate provocation, "If I were to accept this challenge of yours, you’d have already lost.” He paused again as if to strike the hammer on the nail with precision he said “Right now."

The statement was so utterly absurd to his girlfriend that a burst of laughter escaped her, but as she detangled herself from him, her expression shifted into something more serious—a flicker of offense that made Ominis sit up straighter.

"That’s it, Gaunt," she declared, crossing her arms and putting deliberate distance between them. "We’re doing this silly little challenge."

Whatever she thought she was proving, Ominis didn’t seem fazed. He tilted his head in her direction, his smirk unbroken. "Whatever you say, my love," he mused, clearly convinced she’d either forget about it or abandon it the moment it became inconvenient.

But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Her voice took on a determined edge as she began listing rules, and Ominis’s smirk faltered slightly.

"No touching—only cordial hugs and hand-holding allowed. Playing with each other’s hair? Fine. Napping on the other person? Acceptable. Cuddling? That's fine too. Kissing on the cheeks and lips? Also permitted, but no funny business."

She was pacing now, counting on her fingers with military precision.

"No masturbation. For either of us. For a week."

Ominis raised an eyebrow, his composure slipping just a fraction. "A week? That’s absurd," he muttered, but she ignored him.

"No explicit letters," she continued, her tone sharp. "No flirty innuendos. And-" she turned, leveling a pointed look at him, "no avoiding each other to make this easier. We stay in close proximity. The whole time."

By the time she finished, Ominis was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, staring in her direction with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "You’ve put an alarming amount of thought into this," he said dryly, though there was no hiding the faint trace of nerves creeping into his voice.

She simply grinned, her earlier offense replaced with pure determination. "Oh, I plan to win this, Gaunt."

Ominis chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I think you might have just made this harder on yourself than on me." His voice was laced with amusement, but the flicker of hesitation in his expression hinted at the battle of wills that was about to unfold.

The warmth of the Great Hall lingered as the girls gathered their belongings, lighthearted exchanges filling the air. The girl, lost in her thoughts, trailed slightly behind, her uncertainty about Ominis gnawing at her composure. Imelda’s chuckle brought her back to reality, her friend clearly noticing the worry etched across her face.

“You’ll figure it out,” Imelda quipped with a playful nudge, but before the girl could respond, Poppy elbowed her with a subtle reminder to tread lightly, while Natty offered Imelda a reproachful glance.

As the group of friends exited the hall, chatting idly about their next class, the familiar voices of Ominis and Sebastian drifted behind them. Ominis’s distinct, calm cadence reached her just as he called out, "My love."

He gently pulled her aside, the briefest touch guiding her into his arms for a warm embrace. "How was your breakfast?" he asked, his tone genuine, though the faintest glimmer of mischief danced behind his milky eyes. It was a look that always left her guessing, and today was no exception.

“It was delicious, Omi,” she replied, her voice light and steady as she raised her hands in a mock shrug. "What about you? Did you enjoy the custard pie? They had that raspberry compote you always rave about."

A smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. "I did. It was delightful, thank you. But..." His voice softened, slipping into a teasing lilt, "why weren’t you sitting with me? You’re not avoiding me, are you?"

She laughed, brushing her fingers across his cheek in a gesture so familiar it was second nature. "You’re being ridiculous, Omi. I’ll have lunch with you, I promise. I was just catching up with the girls since dinner got, well... cut short yesterday."

His cheeks flushed faintly at her pointed reminder of why their dinner had ended early, the heat rising to his face unmistakable.

"Bye, Omi," she said softly, leaning closer to plant a feather-light kiss on his cheek. The tips of his ears turned crimson, his breath catching for the briefest moment as he held onto her voice like a melody.

"I’ll see you at lunch, darling," he replied, his tone soft yet tinged with affection. Taking her hand in his, he pressed a kiss to the back of it, a gallant and tender gesture that sent her heart fluttering.

She bit back a smile, her own cheeks heating to a soft pink as she hurried back to join her friends, their knowing glances waiting for her.

"You mustn't worry so much," Natty said gently, her warm smile matched by the soothing spring breeze that brushed past them, carrying the scent of blooming flowers.

"Why is that?" the girl asked, her cheeks already tinged with a soft pink.

"Because," Imelda interjected with her signature bluntness, a teasing grin lighting up her face, "you have a visceral effect on your big boyfriend."

The girl’s eyes widened at the choice of words, her blush deepening, but Imelda wasn’t done. She leaned in slightly, her voice dripping with mischief. "Honestly, I’d wager he was about three seconds away from pinning you to the wall and snogging you senseless."

"Imelda!" Poppy scolded, her tone scandalized as she shot the other girl a look. But even as she played the voice of reason, there was a knowing glint in her eyes. She turned back to their wide eyed, blushing friend, offering a reassuring pat on her shoulder. "She’s being obnoxious, yes, but she’s not wrong."

The girl opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. Instead, her mind spun with her friends’ observations, leaving her flustered and stammering as they strolled along, Natty’s soft laughter and Imelda’s triumphant smirk ringing in her ears.

The end...

You guys I need to go bed. I am starting my class techinally today and I decided to write this brain rot instead of doing lecture notes. But I have no regrets I just need sleep.

Also I am planning on writing four alternate ending. Two for reader when she wins and loses. two for ominis when he wins/ loses.

divider by: @pommecita

[brewed-pangolin]

Consider lovely charming Soap trying to make an innocent reader swoon for him, all for the reader to unintentionally pull an uno reverse on him. Hes chatting their ear off, talking himself up. All of sudden the reader interrupts him and says that he has the prettiest eyes they've ever seen. Johnny starts to malfunction, he can't talk, his face is going red hot.

Usually he doesn't get so tripped up but it came from such a genuine place, he tongue tied. Instead of him being a cassanova like usual he's just staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes and pining for you.

Blue Eyed Casanova

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

Synopsis: Johnny Casanova pulls you in with his eyes, and you shake up his world with nothing but an unconscious whisper.

--

Look, you can't just throw Johnny's eyes out there and not expect me to go a little crazy. His baby blues fill my soul, okay.

I went back and forth on this for a while. Wanted to do a full fic but went for the drabble instead. Hope you like it.

Also including this with @glitterypirateduck SoapItUp Challenge. Used Prompt 29.

Happy Super Soap Sunday 🧼

You never thought you'd be so enthralled by a man while sitting at a coffee shop.

Hanging on every word, ears perking to the subtle nuances of his thick accent. Going all doey eyed as he reminisced about his younger years back home in Glasgow.

Eyes tracking his hands as accentuated his stories with gentle, undulating movements. Glancing every now and then at his luscious lips that just begged to be kissed.

You had to pull yourself back a few times. The urge to lunge over the table and lock him in an embrace, making your skin tingle and stomach churn with overwhelming eagerness.

But it was his eyes. Those gorgeous, cerulean orbs that sparkled like diamonds in the soft light of the morning sun. A blue that enchanted, pulled you into the maelstrom of his soul, and you were nothing but a wading vessel lost in his turbulent sea.

-

"You have such pretty eyes, Johnny," you whispered under your breath. Barely audible.

Johnny froze mid sentence. Hands raised, cupping the bulk of his account between his palms with his mouth agape and eyes twinkling in boyish bewilderment.

"W-what ya say?"

You smiled. Unashamed at being caught by your verbal plunder.

"I said, you've got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

Johnny closed the cavern of his gaping mouth with a dramatic gulp. Adam's apple undulating beneath the flesh of his neck as a rosey hue radiated over the circumference of his cheeks.

And those eyes glistened. Exploding waves of color like a supernova within the whites of deep space.

"Uh- me eyes? Ya- ya like me eyes?" He stuttered. That confident Casanova overtaken by childlike astonishment at the most beautiful words he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, Johnny. I do."

"Um, thanks. Got 'em from me mum. She's got th'most hypnotizin' stare I've ever seen. Y'know, the kind that..."

You couldn't help the curl to your mouth as he rambled on once more. The skiddish waiver on his tongue was all the confirmation you needed that your words had had the unconsciously planned impact.

You leaned over, just enough to cup his jaw in your hands to render him silent to your oncoming approachment.

"You talk too much," you purred, just before placing a tender kiss on his welcoming lips.

A subtle moan reverberated deep within his throat, making your eyes flutter closed as it vibrated against your mouth and echoed down the curve of your spine and into the hollow of your core.

The faintest gasp escaped your lips as you felt his tongue beg for entry into your mouth.

Granting him. Tasting him. Savoring the flavor of espresso and last night's whiskey on his breath as the calloused flesh of his palm cupped the supple curve of your jaw.

You wanted more. Needed more. Begged for the world to disappear and let his skilled hands work you over as his mouth greedily devoured your heart and soul.

The last remnant of your sanity made you pull away. A hushed whimper fell from your lips as your eyes cracked open to see the very flushed face of one breathless Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish.

"Steamin Jesus, lass. Was tha' your plan th'whole time? Makin me swoon all over ya, only fer you to get me all wrecked by them pretty words a'yers?"

"Maybe. Did it work?"

He nodded. Eyes swirling, bright blue darkening like an approaching storm.

"Aye. It did."

He leaned in to take your lips once more, yet you halted him. Pressing your fingers to his mouth while you pursed your lips with a knitted brow.

"Not here. Need somewhere more private."

"Why? Cannae I kiss ya out in public?"

A devious smile crept into your lips. Leaning in while simultaneously grabbing at your purse. Bringing your mouth to his ear to mutter the sweetest temptation and force a pleasured shrill down his spine.

"I don't want you to kiss me on my lips up here, Johnny. I want to see how pretty those eyes are gonna look between my thighs."

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @punishmepunisher @d3athtr4psworld @glitterypirateduck @shotmrmiller @ghosts-goldendoodle @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @queen-ilmaree @thetrashpossum @tacticalanxiety @simpingoverquestionablemen @mykneeshurt @kkaaaagt @haurasha @havoc973 @luismickydees @foxface013 @designateddeadend

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 12/?)

Your pov

I stand in front of Stromchaser looking down at where she laid her clutch. The Dragonkeepers say she lays many because of her bond to Caraxes, but I don't yet why her being close to Caraxes means she lays more eggs. 

“Nyke jaelarys ao ȳdra daor jiōragon upset hāedar, yn nyke jorrāelagon naejot gūrogon nykeā drōmon sīr Kepus tepagon arlī issa lēki” I say as I run my hands along her jaw before kneeling and cracking the shell like Kepus showed me. 

I hope you don't get upset girl, but I need to take an egg so Kepus gives back my brother's.

I lift a hammer and slam it down on the film that encases the eggs. When I reach in, all I feel is warm slimy stuff, but even as I grimace and wish to hurl I keep searching until I feel not one, not two, but four eggs. I grab the first one I can and pull it out to find a gorgeous silver egg with light green accents along the ends of the scales. 

This is pretty enough for Kepus's baby. I think as I set it in the satchel I brought. 

I take out the last three eggs, one a deep magenta with gold accents, another is pure black, and the final is a light blue with dark blue accents. 

“Kirimvose hāedar. Ao mazverdagon se olvie gevie drōma” I say as two Dragonkeepers walk forward to take the eggs. 

Thank you girl. You make the most beautiful eggs. 

It takes no time at all to climb upon her back and clip me into the saddle. I've done it so many times it's almost like muscle memory. 

“Sövegon!” I call out and Stromchaser starts running to the exit and within seconds we are flying. 

I grip the satchel as I try to remember which way is to Dragonstone, but just as I reach for the reins to turn Stromchaser she is ready flying in that direction. 

As we fly I think about how Kepus stole my brother's egg. How he says he's marrying whore, and I find I have more questions. 

What is a whore, and why is it bad he's marrying one? Why Baelon's egg, why not take one from Stromchaser like I did? It just doesn't make sense especially since Papa says he's lying. 

I remember how angry Papa was when he heard the news, how he wanted to face Kepus, how his council said it was dangerous. 

How is Kepus dangerous? He's kind and gentle, he wouldn't hurt us. 

But most of all, I remember how it felt like my heart was being crushed, how tears came to my eyes, how it hurt that he took that egg. I don't know why, I didn't know Baelon, but it matters to me, it matters so much I want to hit Kepus for being so mean. 

I'm startled from my thoughts as I hear Caraxes roar to which Stromchaser responds as she lands on the bridge behind the Hand and Kingsguards. 

I climb down quickly and run forward, all the guards move out of my way but just as I'm about to pass the Hand he steps in my way. No matter how I try and side step him he steps in front of me. 

“What are you doing here, Princess? You should be at the Red Keep.” He says coldly.

“Papa let's me fly whenever I want wherever I want so i went for a fly and came here. It is my seat, this castle is mine.” I say the practiced words everyone says to me, the ones I said incase they stopped me.

All that I said isn't a lie though, Papa doesn't ask where I go or when. He doesn't mind if I'm late to things unless their important which i would never miss anyways. He also always says that Dragonstone is mine and that's why I had to switch rooms, the Maids are still moving all my toys that Kepus gave me as we speak. 

“Ser Criston bring your charge back to her dragon.” The Hand says waving me off with a scoff. I turn to Ser Criston and shake my head, I know he has to listen to me before anyone, well except the King. 

When he nods his head and steps back, I turn and move forward again only to have the Hand grip my arm and glare down at me. But before he can speak Caraxes lets out a rageful roar and starts climbing towards as fire builds in his throat. 

My arm is quickly released as the Hand steps back looking between Caraxes and Kepus in fear. “Lykirī.” Is all Kepus says to make Caraxes close his maw and huff the smoke from the flames he built in his belly. 

“That was almost a horrible mistake on your part, Lord Hand.” Kepus says almost mockingly. 

I take this as an opportunity to run over to the person I came here for. And when he notices he kneels on the ground and holds his arms out letting me rush into his arms as he encloses me in his warmth. 

When he holds me I feel safe, I feel like I'm at home, it feels like my soul finally feels whole.

“What are you doing here, ñuha riña?” Kepus whispers as he kisses my brow. 

“For My brother's egg.” I say and he freezes as he looks at me almost remorseful.

He opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off as I hold up the silver and light green egg. “It's for your baby, I just want my brother's egg back.” I fight the tears that come to my eggs as I look at the deep green egg that is almost black. 

But to everyone's surprise she shacks his head and puts the egg back in my satchel along with my brother's. 

“I'm on Dragonstone, I'm sure I can find an egg here. No need to give me one. Is it from her new clutch?” He says as he tucks my hair behind my ears so it's not in my face. 

I nod as I look at his soon-to-be wife. She is pretty, with tan skin and long black hair, but she seems too skinny from the ladies at court, he likes to talk too.  She wears a white gown which confuses me as he said their wedding was three days from now. 

But I'm brought back to him as he grips my chin and turns me to look at him. “You should go, your Father will be furious.” He says with a sad smile as he picks me up and starts walking towards Stromchaser. 

I feel a wave of panic as I know this may be the last time I ever see him, that I may never get to be with the one person who ever made me feel truly happy. 

So as he walks I take in the way his nose is like a straight line. The deep lilac of his eyes. The silver hair that reaches the middle of his back, so much like my own in color. 

I fight tears as he sits me on the saddle and clips me in. He gives my cheek a kiss before telling me to go, and even though I don't want to, even though every bone in my body is screaming to stay, I command Stromchaser to fly and leave him and Caraxes behind. 

When I land there is a guard waiting for me. 

“The King wishes to see you, Your Grace.” He says but he seems to be afraid of Stromchaser. 

Why is everyone afraid of her? She's so nice! I think as I climb down with my satchel. 

The guard guides me to a carriage and no matter how often I ask he won't tell me why Papa wants to see me. 

I can't help but feel on edge as I'm guided through the Keep until we're in front of his chamber doors.

“The Princess, Your Grace.” The guard says as he holds the door open for me. 

I grip the strap of my satchel when Papa turns and glares down at me. I go to speak but he holds his hand up until the doors make the resounding click. 

“Do you have any idea how scared I was? I thought I lost you, it was only when a Dragonkeeper said you gave them Stromchasers eggs that I knew what you did.” I hear his rage and fear, I hadn't realized I did something wrong.

“You let me fly whenever I want, I didn't think there would be a problem.” I try to explain. 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.”Yes, but that is because you stay here, in Kinglanding. When I saw you were gone and Stromchaser was not in the skies, I thought the worst. I can't lose you, darling.” 

I look down ashamed but a smile rises to my lips when he says he can't lose me. For he's never said this to me, only Nyra. 

“You can't lose me?” I ask looking up at him again. 

“Of course I can't, you're my heir.” He says standing and turning back towards his desk shuffling papers around. 

I feel my heart crack at his words, though I don't know why. I go to say something, anything but nothing comes out as he waves me off dismissively. 

“Go on, I need to finish work and you need to study for your lessons.” 

And with that, I take out Baelon's egg, setting it on the ground before turning and leaving. 

As I walk down the abandoned halls, not a soul in sight, I've never felt more alone.

Alicents pov

I run my hand over your hair as you pass me to fill Lord Corlys cup. I watch as you and Laena whisper to each other as Laena glares at her Father. 

From what you’ve told me she isn’t keen on the idea of being Queen, and I don’t blame her. Though he is the King, he isn’t the handsomest man and most definitely not a little girl's dream knight. 

Once you are sure all the Lords are taken care of you come right back to me, gripping my skirt and resting your head against my hip. It at times shocks me how natural it feels for you to be my little girl, there are nights I truly wonder if I birthed you for how could I love you this much if not?

When the King turns he instantly notices how you gravitated towards me, and how he smiles in content. I know now why he invited me to the meeting. I feel a pit grow in my belly as he starts to speak.

“I have chosen to take a new wife,” He starts before hesitating and looking towards Rhaenyra who nods with a sad smile. He doesn’t even look your way before saying the words I was praying he wouldn’t. 

Look at her too, let her say she agrees. I think when the nail in the coffin finally comes. 

“I will wed the Lady Alicent.” 

I feel all the blood drain from my face, I can’t hear anything above the buzzing in my ears. I can feel the sting from my nail beds but I know I can’t stop, it’s the only thing that seems to bring me comfort. 

I’m brought back when I feel you take my hand, you seem so happy, like if there was anyone you would want to be your new Mother it would be me. 

“Congratulation.” You say and all I can do is smile and nod before the meeting is called over because of Lord Corlys outburst. 

As I leave I turn to look at you as you speak to your Father about what has just happened. I wish he didn’t chose me, but if you are now my true and unarguable daughter, then it is worth it.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @thelastemzy @themoonlitquill

[hiskillingjar]

Strade with a clingy reader? (I apologize if someone has already asked for this)

lots of requests for this one sooooo i wrote a fic for it!! i also have a headcanon post stacked in the drafts for the other boys (gender neutral) sooooo here we go!

6000+ words, the most lovely and dubious of consent, also posted on archive of our own cus. ya know. it's long babeyyyy

It was rare that you went to Strade’s bedroom door after a nightmare.

Rarer still that he actually let you in.

When you slipped into his room, the opening and closing of his door almost silent and the slow padding of your bare feet against the carpet even quieter, his still body and slow breathing (deep and low, almost a snore but not quite) made you think, for a moment, that he was still asleep.

You wondered if you should just slink away and leave him to it. That was until he wordlessly lifted the corner of his duvet, without even opening his eyes first to greet you, in a silent invitation for you to join him. 

It's so wrong and (honestly) borderline perverse that such a small gesture made your heart swell in your chest to the point of nearly bursting out of your ribcage, but you couldn't help it. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

It was easier to play the victim than acknowledge that you might have been at least a little complicit in your captivity.Though you always had a way of blaming yourself for these sorts of things. 

That’s probably what a therapist would have told you, if you had one.

With a hidden smile that you hoped he'd never see (lest he possibly use it against you, and he probably would), you climbed into his bed, effortlessly slotting in next to him as he wrapped a thick arm around your middle and pulled your body close to his, like you were two pieces of a puzzle that naturally fit together without even a degree of forcefulness. His bare, hair-fuzzed chest was sweaty against your back and stuck to the thin vest that you wore in lieu of pyjamas, but the warmth was comforting and pleasant, like sleeping next to a radiator or space heater, so you didn't mind. 

It was nice to be reminded that he existed, you thought as you pressed back against his warmth with a peaceful sigh, to be reminded that this wasn't all some dream concocted by your sick, messed-up mind, desperate for a semblance of comfort and company, no matter the cost to your mental state. 

At least when he was real, you couldn't be blamed for liking the attention, the moments of sweetness, the quiet mornings where he was too tired to pull his mind games on you or hurt you.

Those moments kept you gentle and kind, and, for the most part, pliant to his whims. 

It was your only method of survival, after all, staying sweet on him in spite of it all.

"Come here, buddy," Strade murmured, still half-asleep, his slow breathing like wine, heavy and addictive, and his low voice (his accent thickened with sleep) as smooth and as comforting as velvet, suffocating and all-encompassing, like the warmth and dark of the room, like a pill bug curled up under a mossy log, like a foetus in the womb. "Come here..."

You didn't say anything as he pulled you in even closer, your hips pressed tightly together, his broad thigh wrapping around yours and caging you down against the expensive mattress. You could feel the first stirrings of arousal through his boxers against the thin gusset of your shorts, but you didn't mind, not all that much.

It was too early for worries, surely, too early to be concerned that he might take advantage of your need for comfort and closeness, and take your body as he so often did. 

His arms pulled you into him again, and though he was hot, burning hot (almost too hot, like you descending down the pits of Hell itself), he was also strong and powerful and comforting (and, and, and, you always made explanations for him) and safe. 

You couldn’t possibly resist turning to face him (at least you told yourself that you couldn’t resist), nestling your head into his soft chest, into the crook of his shoulder, and breathing in his scent, gasoline, motor oil, a little sweat (he hadn’t showered yet and you kind of hoped that he wouldn’t until later in the day), the soft musk of effortless masculinity and tan skin and thick hair.

Against your better judgement, you felt safe here.

He was strong. He made you feel small and protected and loved, in a funny sort of way. He was powerful. He was in charge of the house, the looming patriarch of your fucked up little family, like a husband with a doting wife,, and he held all the power that came with that position in a way that so naturally suited him. 

He reached a hand up to stroke through your hair, mussed and a little matted from sleep, and kissed the top of your head very lightly, grumbling lowly in satisfaction as you nestled in even closer, your arms reaching and squeezing around his middle, your legs tangled up with his as you clung like a babe did to its mother.

He was comforting. He made you feel safe.

He made you feel safe.

What a sick joke.

Had the you from three years ago been able to see you now, you had no doubt that they would have begged Strade to kill them, that fateful night in the basement.

Better dead than as a psychopath murderer’s (rapist’s) little lap dog, his little wife, his perfect little hostage.

But he was not your enemy, at least not for now.

He was merely a slumbering beast, a lion, a wolf, his chest rising slowly with each calm breath, up and down, and his eyes gazing lazily down at you as he assessed his prey with the placid and amused detachment expected from a predator.

"My, my, you're awfully clingy this morning," Strade crooned quietly with a low chuckle, the hand in your hair drifting down to your shoulders, feeling the warmth of your skin as it slid underneath your shirt (roaming over the scars that marked your skin). "What, did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Or something," You mumbled, pressing your face a little harder against his chest, trying to make him feel your weight on top of him as he so often did with you. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it much (despite your weight gain over the last three years), but you knew you were doing it, so that’s all that mattered. "I just want to feel you...feel you against me."

"Mm, promises, promises…" He said with another laugh, shaking his head as his thick fingers roamed the notches of your spine. "Normally, you'll do anything you can not to feel me, fraulein...why the change of heart, hm?"

His stubble dotted cheek grazed against yours, the bridge of his nose nestled right up against your jaw, inhaling your scent as you did him, and when you looked up (as he was gesturing for you to do), his golden eyes (so vibrant, even when the room was so dark) were half lidded (still tired) and teeth-achingly fond. 

He was always so good at showing just how fond he was of you, after all.

“What, do you feel like being a good girl for me today?”

You didn't answer his question, not properly. You couldn’t bear agreeing or disagreeing with him, not today anyway.

You didn't say anything, in fact, but you didn't stop him either as he pushed the fingers of his free hand back through your hair, cradled your skull (curling his fingers into a fist) and brought you in for a deep kiss, which you acclimated to almost instantly, clinging onto him even tighter.

It was pathetic, and at least you knew it was fucking pathetic, to admit to yourself that he was everything you wanted before all of this, that he embodied everything you fantasised and masturbated to when you couldn’t get a real person to touch you. It was probably even more pathetic to admit that you still wanted it, in spite of the psychosexual dynamic that was as close to any kind of Stockholm Syndrome as anything else (like it was a real condition anyway). 

You still felt awful and unbearably guilty, in spite of your new found honesty to yourself, that every inch of you continued to yearn for him and crave the feeling of his touch, instead of fighting for your life to be free of him. 

But you always had a way of feeling guilty about the things that you wanted.

You had no doubt that a therapist probably would have said that to you too.

The bruises that seemed to always paint your skin ached slightly, like just being near him, the fire that he was, was enough to set every nerve alight, but the sensation was addictive.

You wanted to get lost in him. 

You wanted to let him make you his, whatever the cost of that submission was.

So, instead of wallowing in your own self pity or lying to yourself (as your fellow captive was so prone to do), you let yourself wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards yourself, deepening the kiss and letting him take you as he wanted (as he always wanted).

Understanding your need without words (since he was always so strangely attentive of that sort of thing), his kisses gradually grew rougher. 

His sharp cannibal teeth grazed your parted lips as he kissed you hungrily, sucking your tongue, biting down, making you squirm and writhe and moan. His hands roamed down the length of your body and dug into each trembling curve and slope of newly acquired fat, squeezing you so tightly and pressing your body against his so forcefully, it almost hurt. 

This was what he wanted, though, and you knew that: you losing control, giving him full access to you, your bruises, your body, hurting you. 

You were sure that he was going to tear into you one of these days, when he bit down on your lips again, a rupture of blood streaming from your mouth, staining his tongue. You were sure that he was going to make you bleed even more and glut himself on your blood completely, but you didn't care. 

You wanted him, still wanted him, in spite of all of that, in spite of his violence and hunger.

And the more you gave in to him, the more he wanted to take from you.

His mouth wandered down from your lips (his slack tongue drooling a dangerously pinkish string of spittle over your lips and down your chin) and to your neck, making you shiver and gasp even more, gripping onto him tightly, arms around his shoulders, legs tangled with his and squeezing tightly.

"I like this," He mumbled softly, pulling back from your neck (after leaving a bite in his wake)  for just a moment and rubbing his forehead against yours, a smile dimpling his features and making him look all the more sickeningly fond of you. "This attitude turn. You're normally so...brusque with me, so dismissive. It's not all that becoming of someone in your position, you know."

"You can't have minded it too much," You replied, your tone as flat as usual, though your arms tightened around his neck and your legs clung even tighter. "I'm still alive...have been for nearly three years, now."

"Mm, that's true," He agreed with a nod, one hand descending down your body, groping your hips, the soft flesh of your ass, palming the shadowed bruises that covered your flesh. "I guess you're cute enough that I can handle a shitty attitude now and then. But, this..." He laughed again before digging his teeth into his bottom lip and grinding his hips down against yours completely. "This really is too cute for words. Maybe you should keep it up, hm?"

"Maybe," You replied coyly, your own eyes flitting downwards as your hips bucked in unison to his grinding, pressing the two of you together even more.

This was the place he liked to bring you, right to the very edge of your most intimate and darkest desires. It was his way of tempting and playing with you, you guessed, an overgrown child playing with his food, playing with his favourite toy until it broke, while you begged and pleaded for him to pull you back from that edge, before it was too late and you fell over it and succumbed to them completely. 

You found that you were (often) pushed far over the edge, and had been for a while as he climbed on top of you and pinned you down to the mattress with his heavy body (pressing his weight into you), his lips against your neck, leaving kisses, bruises, bites and harsh marks on your skin.

You writhed and mewled at each burning pulse of pure shock from his teeth, his tongue, but the pain was such a sweet sensation...almost as good as the satisfaction he felt watching your skin purple and bruise, evidence of what he did for you that everyone would have the chance to see (if he ever let you leave the fucking house again).

This was just how he loved, you told yourself, because surely he must love you to have kept you around this long.

Your pain was his pleasure. It was as simple as that.

"Are you alright?" He asked you as he pulled back and looked in your hazy eyes.

"No," You rasped as you reached up to touch one of the worst bites, hissing as you felt wet oozing out of you, mingling with saliva and spittle. "I'm bleeding."

"Well, that’s hardly a concern of mine," He chuckled, evidently a little turned on by your honest answer as he leaned down to kiss your lips a little more, his strong arms bracketing your neck and shoulders as he loomed in view. . 

His tongue pressed inside your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your lips, and dragged against yours in a sleepy and slow, massaging sort of way, in spite of his violence and how much your bruises were throbbing. He had the potential to be soft and gentle with you, and displayed that potential to you readily only to take it away just as quickly. 

An overgrown child playing with his food. Playing with his favourite toy until it broke.

"I want to make you bleed more," He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth with a slight smirk, groping hands travelling down your hips to wrangle your shorts down your legs and throw them to the side. ”I always do. That’s when you look your best, you know?”

"Mmhmm?" You hummed against his lips, threading your own groping hands through his hair and pulling him closer to you, not bearing to have him away from you for even a moment.

“Mm,” He rubbed his forehead against yours again, his breath warm on your skin as his hips slotted between yours, and you felt the heat of his erection through his underwear against your thigh. “Makes me that much crazier about you.”

You didn't stop him as he initiated another deeper kiss.

But you never stopped him.

"Mmph..." 

You groaned lowly at the back of your throat as your fingers curled into fists in his hair and pulled hard. It was the most amount of power he would ever let you have over him, you knew that, as you tethered him closer to you, to your desires, as he sucked on your mouth, his tongue delving hungrily against yours, again and again, invading you as he pushed closer to you.

You wrenched your head back, away from the kiss, with a harsh gasp (breaching the surface of the water before drowning)  as he slid his hand up between your thighs, feeling the wet heat that lay at the top of them and devling his fingers inside without even a moment of hesitation or any kind of resistance. Dripping wet, pre-cum smeared between your thighs, you were that fucking eager for him.

God, you were fucking pathetic. 

You hissed painfully as you felt him bite down on your neck again as he slowly finger-fucked you, the scruff of his stubble itching your skin as his teeth dug in deeper. You did your best to retaliate, curling your fingers tighter into his hair and pulling on it. You’d tell yourself that you were trying to get him away from you, to release yourself from the painful clamp of his jaws, but you knew that that wasn’t the truth, not really.

It still felt good to do, though. 

Strade growled lowly at the pain in his scalp, and his free hand planted itself in the middle of your chest, pinning you to the bed, holding you down like a struggling animal, stopping you from flinching too much or squirming away from him as he dug his teeth even deeper, grinding them together to make the pain that much worse.

Your mind was hazy, torn between the excruciating pain of his bite and the overwhelming pleasure of his thrusting fingers inside of you. 

Your body was so exposed, so vulnerable, to everything he wanted from you.

Strade was in full control of you, as he so often was, and you ached for it. 

"God…do you even know how much I love you?" You rasped shallowly, finally letting go of the fists of hair you were still clinging onto, as he pressed another bite against your shoulder, lighter but still painful.

“Hm?” He hummed airily against your skin, a light hearted smile gracing his features as his hazy eyes glanced upwards, eyeing you as he pressed his fingers a little deeper inside of you, rubbing against a bundle of nerves that always made you tremble.

“Ngh-!” You groaned, fisting your fingers into the bedsheets in lieu of clinging to him even more, your eyes squeezing shut as you tipped your head back. “Ahh…I do love you. I do. I shouldn't, but I do. So much I can barely stand it..."

“Hm…no wonder you’re so clingy this morning,” He replied, his voice full of good humour, as it often was, like he was telling an especially mean joke that he’d never let you in on. “You’re all loved up. How sweet~” 

He kissed you again, his body pushing down against yours, grinding into you as he slid his fingers from inside you and tucked down his boxers, finally revealing his hard cock and letting it smear a line of pre-cum against your bare skin. His hands bracketed your hips as he kissed you more forcefully, biting down again, and slid down to your thighs to part them further, spreading you open.

He sucked on your sore mouth hard enough for the stream of blood to start trickling again and delved his probing tongue back into your mouth, tasting your blood, evidently (by how hard his cock was) getting more and more turned on as it smeared on his tongue, stained his teeth, made him that much more hungry to see you writhe and tear into you.

You didn't care. 

You'd welcome him tearing into you, if he stayed this close, if he kept kissing you.

"So sweet," He murmured thickly against your lips, in something between a growl and a purr, as he pulled away from the kiss, a smear of blood painting his own lips. "So fucking desperate for it. Do you like this, liebling? Do you like me hurting you like this?" He asked, his voice husky, his breath hot, as you felt him slot his hard cock against your entrance (rubbing against your clit), ready to breach the barrier and take you, as he so often did.

"I like you kissing me," You were breathing hard, your eyes going down to try and watch as he pushed into you, though, of course, you saw nothing but his belly pressing against yours, his tan skin achingly warm (and hot). "Even if it hurts...I like that you're doing it, all the same."

"Is it painful?" He murmured, licking his lips and breathing heavily as he breached your entrance and slid inside of you, easily. “Does it hurt so much, fraulein? Can you barely even take it?”

In spite of the lack of resistance (pathetic, fucking pathetic, god, you hated that you wanted him this badly, you hated how wet you were and how ready your body was for his invasion), there was something intimately painful about the stretch. It was like your cunt was struggling to take all of him in, even though it had done this countless times before, like your body itself was rejecting the painful force behind his initial thrusts and making you clench down even tighter around him.

"Ngh!" You cried out, your back arching and your head thrown back, as his hands covered shadowed bruises painting your skin, digging in, tearing into you. "I-It's torture...the worst pain imaginable…"

"Oh, you poor thing," He murmured with a giddy, rasping little chuckle, like your admission was everything he needed to let go of any sense of composure that he might have had before (if he ever had any). "But there's nothing you can do, is there? No, no, nothing at all."

“Mph,” You whined, your shaking hands going up to cover your sweating face as he gripped your hips tighter and slid even deeper inside of you.

“And I don’t think you want to do anything, either.” He continued, his eyes that of a predator, wide awake and ready to tear into his prey. “You want to be taken like this, forever. Hmm…” He laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Wunderschon, ja? You’ll always be mine and I don’t even have to try…”

Who's to say that love needs to be soft and gentle?

You think you had heard that once in a literature class…or maybe it was a fucked up movie you watched, when you didn’t have this, when you tried to scratch the itch with film recommendations on forums and shock sites. 

All the same, this kind of love (because it had to be love, it had to be, it had to be) was clearly as good as any other, both for you and for Strade.

It seemed that every time you cried out in pain or writhed underneath him, like you were squirming to be set free, it was enough to make him lose his mind and push even deeper inside of you, caging your body down with his, filling you up completely in an erratic need to take your body, by any means necessary.

"Show me your face." He commanded then, his voice hoarse with desire as he dipped his head down to your level again, his thrusting hips stilling for just a moment. “Let me see you.”

"Don't...hah, please don't look at me," You whined, begging, pleading, still covering your face with your hands, trying to pull back, though for what reason, you weren’t quite sure.

“No, don’t fight me.” He chided like he was scolding a child, an animal, wrapping his fingers around your wrists and wrenching them down forcefully, with a strength you often forgot about and yet, were often well acquainted with. “You know you won’t win, don’t you, fraulein? I won’t let you…”

He was clearly enjoying this much too much to let you pull away now, as he pulled your hands away completely, pinning them down to your chest and  forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

You stared up at him, your gaze caught somewhere between fear and dazed detachment.

The light streaming in from the rising sun outside softened his hulking body into dark, curved silhouettes, and the round, paper lantern behind his head (cheap, replaceable, something that reminded you of home, you said) made him look like some cheap facsimile of an angel, your own personal Heaven when he should have felt like Hell.

An angel to some, a demon to others. You knew you heard that in a movie before. 

"Good girl." He praised, the hand pinning your hands still and compressing your chest  reaching up to stroke your cheek (bruised, scarred, probably imagining bruising you even more). “Good, pretty girl. So lovely, so sweet when they’re behaving…”

You didn't even try to hold back a little giggle, your cheeks flushed as he took your chin in hand and pressed your head back against the pillows, a look of (almost) genuine affection in his golden eyes as he considered you further, as his thrusting hips continued, pushing deep and making your body clench up tightly with pleasure. 

“That’s it, there we go,” He continued to praise, his chest against yours as his free hand slid down to your trembling thighs, hiking them up around his waist and forcing your body to bend painfully in two. “No fighting now, liebling, no fighting me…it makes it so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah…” You stammered, your legs tightening around his full waist as his pace picked up, his hips slamming against yours and forcing out gasping little moans with each painful thrust. 

“Mm, you’d really do anything for me, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” He asked again, the hand on your cheek descending down your neck as his expression grew hungrier and more feral, more desperate for you. “Anything at all?”

“Ahhh…” You groaned, your body growing tight and your mind erratic and manic, as he pushed against your sweet spot multiple times, grazing it but not quite stimulating it enough to feel good. “Yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyes-”

"Oh yeah?" He drawled, interrupting you and running his tongue over his teeth (his sharp cannibal teeth) as he pushed into you again and again, hard enough to get you yelping and the headboard of his bed to start slamming against the wall rhythmically. Thank god you didn’t have neighbours who would hear. "Would you die for me, sweet thing?"

"You-ah!" You interrupted yourself with a yelp when he pulled back enough to slap you hard across the cheek, so hard that it made your ears ring and your head spin. You might have stared up at him, wide eyed, shocked and surprised that he would do something so brutal, so cruel, if you weren’t currently being fucked out of your mind. "Nghh, y-you know I would, you don't...don't even need to ask me."

"Good girl," He praised you (he was, at the very least, good with praise when you were in this kind of headspace), taking your cheeks in hand again and pinning your head down to the pillows and mattress more forcefully, his golden eyes half lidded with desire. "What about killing, hm? Would you kill for me?"

"Strade," You whined, your body arching as his hips continued to ruthlessly slam into yours, each barbaric thrust punctuated with a huffed growl. "God, please-"

"Answer the question!" He barked, letting go of your face to slap you once, twice, three times. You wouldn't have been surprised if your cheek was bruised up again after this, but you couldn't bring even a part of yourself to care about that now. "Would you kill for me?"

"Mmph..." You squeezed your eyes shut (your ears were ringing and your vision was spotted with white, you couldn't hold on). "Yes, yes, I'd do whatever you wanted me to do. Goddd..."

"Sick puppy," He chuckled victoriously, gradually slowing down his thrusts and considering you further with a wry tilt of his head. "You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you? How pathetic.”

You whimpered and raised your chin to hide your burning cheek against the pillow. He was gracious enough to let you do that, this time. 

"That's what I like about you," Strade growled, pressing his face into your shoulder and barring his teeth as he huffed out grunts and groans, his thrusts picking up in pace as he got more desperate to claim you. "Such a fucking suck up. I bet I could tell you to piss yourself and you'd do it, wouldn't you?"

You moaned brainlessly in vague agreement, not quite listening to what he was asking, demanding from you, feeling like your throat was closing up on any potential words you might have been able to say.

"Mm, I'll remember that for later," He huffed out a laugh (hot against your sweaty skin) as he pressed another harsh bite into your shoulder, not hard enough to bruise or bleed (like the others) but enough for your eyes to shoot wide open, and to force a shriek from your lips like a dying animal. "So disgusting, fraulein. I'd have the sense to be grossed out, mph,” He stopped speaking for a moment, his drooling mouth slack as you tightened up around him again. “I-If your pussy wasn't clamping my cock like a fucking vice…god-!"

You howled out again, a full throated scream that would wake neighbours and housemates if you had them (barring…well, the obvious) as he pressed a bite against the sensitive skin of your throat. Unable to contain your pain with just the scream, your legs instantly tensed around him and your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. You even went so far as to dig your nails into the dense meat of his back and drag downwards, sure to leave behind a nasty mark in their wake. 

It was as close as you could get to hurting him, and you'd take the chance to show him even a modicum of pain possible, at every opportunity. 

You weren't crazy enough to not enjoy that, after all.

"Hrghhh, you fucking slut," He growled under his breath through a pained hiss through his teeth, the ‘pet-name’ rasped amidst a slur of German that you didn't understand (and you generally understood it well now, three years in.) "So, that’s how you wanna play, you little cunt?” He demanded, pulling himself upwards and glaring down at you, like he was about to pounce, as he so often did on the victims that came after you. “You wanna take all of me, don't you? So, fucking work for it."

You yelped loudly as he took a sudden and firm grip of your bruised hip and shoulder, and switched the positions forcefully, rolling you onto his front and lying back on the mattress, all the while keeping his cock firmly lodged inside of you.

"Work for it! Schnell, hund!" He ordered again, taking hold of both hips (digging his fingers and bitten fingernails in hard enough to leave a new batch of bruises and crimson crescents) 

While he ordered you around (in a tone that always made your cunt throb, in spite of the shame that caused you), he managed to push his cock deeper and deeper inside of you, thanks to his new leverage on your body, manurvering and handling you like you were a doll in his lap, a toy that he could use however he liked.

You continued to whine and moan like the desperate idiot that you were as he dragged you downwards at a pace you could barely keep up with, your hips coliding with his painfully and barbarically. That did, however, very little to stop you from bouncing brainlessly on his cock, your trembling legs tightening around him (as they so often did) and your hands curling into fists against his soft chest, doing everything you possibly could to keep up with him.

"There we go," He praised, gentle in spite of his harshly barked orders, one hand trailing down from your hip to grope your ass indulgently. "You're doing such a good job, liebling, you are making me so, so proud..."

"I love you," You whined desperately, hotly, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you continued to bounce his cock even harder, even faster. "I love you, I love you so much..."

"Mm, I love you too, sweetheart," Strade crooned with a broad, indulgent smile, his other hand reaching up to grope your chest as it heaved, up and down, newly pierced breasts bouncing in time with each of your erratic thrusts. "I love your pussy, anyway," He continued with a mean chuckle, pushing deeper inside of you as his calloused thumb dragged over your pert nipple, making you shriek. "And these tits, and how nicely your body bruises at the lightest of touches. Like you were made for me to destory over and over and over again...however can I resist?"

He sat up the best he could, in spite of your consistent thrusting, the hand on your ass pinning your body still against his chest as he pushed as deep as he could inside of you, like he was impaling you on his cock…and you certainly yowled loudly enough that it sounded like that.

"That's all that matters though, isn't it?" He asked breathlessly, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. He was so hot. "That I love you...doesn't matter which parts I love, right?"

"Mm...mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your whimpers and whines, as the hand on your chest went down to grab one of your fists and thread your fingers together, giving him full oppurtunity to pull you in even closer. "Tell me you love me...t-tell me you'll never let me go..."

"Oh, mein schatz," He crooned, his eyes softening with delight, drawing circles into the back of your palm and smiling up at you, breathless, a heaving silhouette in the darkness of the room. "Of course, I love you...and of course, I'll kill you before I ever let you go again."

Your bitten lips, blooming and beaten with hot blood, trembled hesitantly, much like the soft, scarred thighs bracketing his hips, as a smile pulled at your features, giving away instantly just how deliriously happy you were to hear him say those words, and mean them. 

"Keep me, keep me forever, never let me go..."

"Never ever," He agreed with a shake of his head, holding your hand tighter as his thrusting grew erratic and hectic, and each string of words became grunts and growls. "That's my promise to you, liebe. And you're more than welcome to hold me to it..."

You couldn't think of anything else to do, other than kiss him. 

You pressed your fingers into his hair, now slightly damp with sweat (he worked so hard to provide you, like a good man did), and pulled his lips to yours, finally, finally, probing his hot, wet mouth with your tongue and tasting your own blood on his mouth. 

He let you do it, too, moaning softly against your trembling lips and finally admitting his own sensual, desperate hunger for you. He cradled your skull in hand, not gripping or pulling on your hair or trying to wrangle you into some semblance of submission, and let his body still completely, feeling your sinking hips on his and spilling over inside of you with a human-like murmur of subdued pleasure.

And that was all you needed.

You clenched down tightly on him with a wretched gasp, as you felt the warm seed claim your insides and spill down your thighs, and it was enough to push you far, far over that edge yourself.

In lieu of anything else (because how could you do anything else), you heaved out a tired groan between your whimpers of pain and excruciating pleasure, falling forward against Strade's heaving chest as he flopped back on the bed himself, his lungs taking in slow swallows of air, adjusting himself as you settled against him.

Your vision was still blurred with white spots, but you somehow felt grounded all the same as you felt his warm hand slowly stroke through your hair and down your sweaty back. 

You let out a soft purr, a sleepy smile on your face as he continued to stroke you, like an animal in his lap. 

“As loyal as a dog." Strade murmured fondly, tilting his head forward to kiss the crown of your head and nuzzling into your warmth. "Mm, no, actually. A dog has the good sense to growl or bite when you kick it. You just seem to cling harder.” He laughed kindly, giving his head a little shake, dragging his cheek against yours. “Even Ren isn’t as bad as you~”

You murmured sleepily, not responding to his teasing, too tired to, curling a little closer against him and shivering with pleasure as you felt a stream of his seed trickle down your thigh.

"Hmph…go back to sleep, love," He then said softly, gently, (more gentle than he should be), giving your head another kiss as he sat up a little more, swinging one leg over the side of the bed. "I've got work to do. You can stay up here, for now.”

"Noo, don't go..." You pleaded quietly, curling your fingers against him and nestling against his chest again as he swung the other leg down and started to stand. "Stay, stay with me, please..."

"So clingy," He chided with another laugh, ruffling your hair. "Settle down and go to sleep. I'll come back soon, okay?"

Strade’s voice was gentle and fond, but you knew that his word was law and he wasn’t to be argued with.

So, you slid back into the bed and curled your body in tight, shivering as he pulled the duvet upwards and covered your naked body.

“Thank you,” You said with a tired smile, letting your fingers drift down between your legs, feeling his cum still oozing out of you. “That was…it was nice.”

“Good,” He smiled, leaning in to kiss your head again, before standing up straight.

“Sleep well, mein schatz. I’ll be back up soon.”

[scivors]

My genuine head canons about Eddie Gluskin that I wrote in my notes app:

I'd like to add a little disclaimer: these head canons involve some heavy topics, so, if you're not comfortable, you aren't obligated to stay.

Also, I do not support any of Eddie's actions..just to make it clear..

ANYWAYS I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO THIS SO HERE WE GO

Like the idea of him being a tailor (if you don't know what that means it basically means a person whose occupation is making or altering suits, jackets, and dresses typically to fit a particular person.) He's so creative and almost patient enough to work with materials. I also like to think that's something he shares in common with his mother who must've taught him a good few things about creating and measurements..

He'll hum a little tune to himself as he's working, makes him concentrate more..

It's not always, though, sometimes he loses his patience if the sewing machine isn't cooperating like it should be..

Although his whole character is based on "love" and wanting to find a special bride who loves him just as much as he loves his bride, it's sad to say that his needs will never be fulfilled..

What I mean by this is that not only are his delusions serving him zero purpose but not only that, hurting anyone that comes across him cause he's so desperate to be loved. However, these delusions could be a result of a coping mechanism from all the trauma he went through.

It's like trying to break the generational trauma but instead making it far worse than you could imagine..

So, being severely damaged as he already is, he takes it upon himself to somehow create this little world where he has a family of his own, a beautiful wife and children.

I also like to think of him being trapped in his little cell where he has nothing but a bed and his own little imagination.., staring off into either the ceiling or some random thing and just sits there..,maybe even talking to himself or laughing..

- His mother's lack of acknowledgement for what had happened to him when he was small made him develop some sense of protective nature as a fully grown adult especially when he mentions the topic about having his own children..

- "He appears so charming and friendly" is what he wants some to believe, he cares about how he presents himself time to time..

He wants you to believe he can be good, a perfect groom, a perfect father he never had. He will show you this people pleasing, gentle, kind and loving personality before he completely switches up and becomes the opposite..

- So, about the love part. Some describe him as overly obsessive, which don't get me wrong, he is. Though, it might seem like this isn't much of a big deal to him cause he will show you every ounce of love he has and shower you with it, if you plan on giving yourself to him that is. You'd be his number one priority, you'll never feel like a choice, you are his everything.. It's always like living the dream from the very start, it'll feel like a movie in Hollywood but slowly yet surely this doesn't last how it should...

Imagine being taken care of by someone as charming and loving as he is, imagine him calling you loving words in his English accent and no I'm not just talking about "darling" , I'm talking about :

"Are you alright, my love?"

"Your virtues have so strangely taken up my thoughts.."

"I think you're stunning.."

"You look as pretty as always.."

He is old fashioned, so he will eventually take it upon himself to act like a gentleman around you, he will make the first move, gets you flowers, he plans everything since he would love spend time with you.. It's all about getting to know eachother..

You'd never have to do such work, stay at home and he will do all the providing. 50/50 chance he comes back home with some nice flowers or small gifts..,like I said, old fashioned..

His thoughts would only be you. His number one priorit would always be you. But,... it's not you?..

You're you but also you're not?..

His mind creates this character of you, it's what he's expecting from you, how you act, how you talk, how you dress, how you walk..it's what he expects from you rather accepting you for who you are. This results to a lot of guilt tripping..

And I know, it sucks, but should've thought about it that before going for a psychopathic maniac that's in an asylum for a reason..

- It's quite easy to spot this one, but one of his most common triggers is when someone makes him think they're going to abandon him.

"I can't be alone!.."

By the way, his height and his strength is actually so scary that if you do eventually try to abandon him by walking away, he'll break the door down, he'll find you, he'll do unspeakable things to either you or the furniture that's in his way of trying to get close to you

(Speaking of which: I've noticed a lot of people using the term "Yandere" for an individual with mental illness. Please, stop that..)

Outside of the asylum I like to think his sense of fashion is probably top tier old money, just casual and nice..

Probably likes taking night walks with his nice coat on. That'll keep anyone from expecting him to be a psychopath..

Originally, the man ((((COULD)))) be from England, however, his parents decided to move countries from Europe to America cause they probably liked it more that way..

Eddie is definitely those kinds of people who have that one parent that's always been treating them like shit their entire childhood but still hold a special place in their heart for them cause they don't have anyone else.. That's Eddie towards his mother, I mean, he was her son...all he had was her and deep down he believes that, there was a point she wanted to help..(Even though her absence permanently damaged him)..

But somehow..that caring nature, that charming side of him, that right there, that came from her..

[truths33k3r4]

Hey, everyone!!!

A while ago, I started noticing that some well-known artists were creating "Voice Claim" videos to show their audience what their characters sound like. (Thank you, @indieyuugure for the inspiration to do this!) And after watching their videos, I thought to myself- "Hmm... I want to do that!"

So, for the last few months, I have been searching and gathering intel trying to decide what my characters from my story, "The Strength in Weakness" would sound like. Finally, I had all my voices picked out.

Then the new year came, and with it, a whole new burst of creative inspiration and drive. One of my main goals this new year, was to practice animation more. And then it clicked: I was going to animate every scene I had picked out for my characters.

I have been working for the last week on this video, and now I can finally present it to you all!!!

~VOICE CLAIMS FOR "THE STRENGTH IN WEAKNESS" CHARACTERS~

Leonardo - It took me a LONG time to figure out my Leo's voice. In my chapters, I describe his tone being cool, calm, and very gentle. However when he's angry or feels threatened, his voice sharpens like the edge of an icicle. This specific tone was NOT easy to find in a VA- A tone that can be as tender and smooth as silk, while also snapping to cold and commanding in a mili-second. I went through many options, but eventually landed on the cool, kind voice of Kirby Morrow, from Scott in X Men Evolution. :)

Raphael - THIS DUDE- THIS....MUTANT- Took the longest to find his voice. Apparently looking up "Brooklyn-accented character" was as useful as a UNO card in a game of poker- A huge part of me wanted to just steal the voice of 2003 Raphael- (Cause he's amazing), but my stubbornness to keep the voices unique won out against that. Eventually I had two options left- Christian Bale in Newsies, or Renegade Knuckles from Sonic Prime. I couldn't find enough audio to use for Christian's voice, so I chose Renegade's instead. Vincent Tong delivered his gravelly, Brooklyn/New York accented lines in a way that fit perfectly with my version of Raph. :)

Donatello - It did not take me that long to see how perfect Jack De Sena's voice was for my version of Don. Sokka, (the original character voiced by Sena), is my favorite Avatar character- and his passion, intelligence in engineering, and squeakiness were just too good not to pick for my angry, freckled genius. :)

Lotus - My precious little oc took a bit of time to get the right voice.. In my story, (at least where I'm up to), she's mostly quiet, but has her explosive moments of suppressed anger or bitterness. She's also quite passionate and argumentative when it comes to someone "lying" or "manipulating" her in any way. She's very conscious of everything happening around her, always taking note of changes in emotions, attitude, and body language. This took a bit of searching, but eventually I found the perfect tone and attitude in the voice of AJ Michalka. :)

Michelangelo - After finding Kurby Morrow's voice, I remembered that his character in X Men Evolution had a little brother... With a chill vibe... and a surfer dude tone. And I was sold on the relaxed, surfer dude, innocent voice of Matt Hill. :)

Originally, I wanted to animate and record the voices for my Splinter and my main villain, Specter. But um... Life got busy again- as well as I was too scared to try drawing- NEVER MIND ANIMATING- Splinter... Soooooo yeahhh that didn't happen... But hope you guys enjoy this all the same. :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

[crazycurly-77]

Visit with Consequences - Chapter 1

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: fluff

There had been hardly anything going on in the last few weeks. It seemed as if the criminals had gone on holiday. On the one hand, that was good, but on the other hand, it meant paperwork and looking through old files.

Well, it did have one advantage at least. Because your desk was diagonally opposite your boss, so you could always throw random glances in his direction.

He was really very sexy and when he wanted to, he could be really charming. But most of the time he was the cool, experienced investigator.

That was a shame and your crush on him was hopeless, but sometimes you had the faint hope that he might return your feelings a little.

And this was exactly such a situation.

You sat at your desk and couldn't take your eyes off those bright blue eyes that you could drown in.

Gibbs stood in front of you, looked you in the eyes and, as he had done so often recently, held out a cup of fresh coffee to you with an almost shy smile that made your heart melt.

You knew that you were the only one he brought coffee for and you hoped that this gesture and his smile meant something. But it was probably just pure kindness towards her.

But as you smiled at each other in silence, you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye.

Maybe Tim or Tony were curious and wanted to know what you two were doing? You carefully looked around Jethro...and you could hardly believe your eyes.

Because there he was, the one and only...Dwayne Pride!!!

Yes! It was really him!! Dwayne! Here in D.C.!!

You stood up, called his name loudly, ran to him and threw yourself into his arms.

Laughing loudly, he caught you and wrapped you in his embrace.

When he looked behind you, he saw his brother in arms Jethro, who was still standing there with your cup of coffee in his hand and obviously didn't understand the world anymore.

But Dwayne saw something in his eyes and everything was immediately clear to him. He carefully pulled away from you: "I'm happy to see you again too, but you left someone there who you should be taking care of more than me," he whispered to you.

You just looked at him, irritated. Sighing, he nodded his head in the direction of your desk, where you left Gibbs as if he wasn't even there and his beautiful, warm smile had disappeared.

Oh. You felt uncomfortable that you had just left him standing there. But before you could say anything, he had put the cup on your desk, put on a smile again and came over to you.

Or rather, he went straight to Dwayne, hugged him and whispered: "My brother." Pride also gave him a warm hug and greeted him with the same words that Jethro had greeted him with.

“Are you here for a case?” Gibbs asked him after he had let go of him.

Dwayne laughed briefly: “No, I have the weekend off. And since I needed a change of scenery, I thought I'd visit my brother and see how he's doing.”

He paused, looked briefly at you and then back at Gibbs, smiled and said: “And I think the weekend will be exciting and fun...”

Jethro's expression darkened and he asked briefly: “Where are you staying?”

“At your place, of course!” came the immediate, happy reply from Dwayne, who patted him on the shoulder.

Gibbs nodded, turned to the team and said: “You can call it a day. We'll see you again on Monday.”

Tim and Tony quickly packed their things and disappeared for the weekend, but you were still standing with the two older investigators.

You looked at Dwayne expectantly: “Where did you leave Chris?”

Dwayne smiled and said in his gentle voice and his unmistakable accent: “He's holding the fort at home.”

It's a shame, you would have liked to see him again. It's been a while since the last time, you thought sadly.

Addressing Gibbs, he explained with a wink: “Y/N and Chris are old friends, no need to worry.”

Well, your boss didn't know Chris, but it was a mystery to you why Pride told him who he was.

The two men knew it all the better, because Dwayne looked at his friend and saw that he didn't like your question about another man, because he stiffened and his expression turned dark.

He wanted to burst out laughing, but he just managed to stop himself so as not to provoke Gibbs unnecessarily. My God, it was just too good.

His brother had a huge crush on you and you had no idea about it. And it was apparently the same the other way around when he saw your red cheeks when Jethro stood next to you.

At that moment, Pride happily decided to help the two of you to see what was obvious to him.

“Let's go,” Gibbs told Dwayne. Then he walked to his desk, took his keys and ran to the elevator.

Pride quickly said goodbye to you and assured you that you would see each other the next day.

(To be continued in Chapter 2.)

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Here you will find the other chapters of this story.

Masterlist stories - Part 1 (finished ones)

Masterlist stories - Part 2 (finished ones and ongoing ones)

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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[adventuringblind]

With Me Forever [Remastered]

Reader/Lando/Max/Charles/Oscar/Logan AND Reader/Eventual Ex!Original Female Character AND Sebastian/Lewis

Chapter Summary: Something about how a picture is worth a thousand words...

WARNING FOR THE ENTIRE SERIES: Underage Sex (both consensual and not consensual, NOT BETWEEN READER AND DRIVERS), Mentioned past abuse (sexual, child neglect, child abandonment, physicaly, mental, verbal), medical malpractice & medical inaccuracies, Violence and gore, stalking, cults and witches (Reader is a witch with super cool powers tho-), Kidnapping at some point, some pretty hefty age gaps

Author's Note: I didn't realize how varied in word count the chapters are until deciding to also post the fic here-

Series Masterlist

Chapter Four

Max sits across from her at the dinner table, recounting tales of his summer break that mostly included his new teammate, Daniel. The Australian seems like he would do insane things, like skydiving, and Max would follow him wherever. 

Seb had called it puppy love. Then promptly told her never to repeat that. 

Seb and Lewis are looking at them, but not with the fond eyes she is used to. No, Seb is staring her down like she’s just committed a heinous crime of some kind. “Alright-” he folds his hands on the table and Lewis rolls his eyes at it. “-You are going to tell us about this future seeing thing.” 

Panic seems to be the only emotion she can come up with at this moment. Her lip wobbles, stomach twisting in knots. She’d done so good to avoid anything having to do with the subject only to get cornered. 

She tries to look like it doesn’t matter, shrugging it off. Seb narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “The nosebleeds are worse and you are already predicting this season.” 

“Not much of a prediction given Lewis-” 

“Not the point!” 

She flinches. The tense air and anxiety creeping in threaten to overwhelm her. She looks at Max who is somewhere between angry at Seb and concerned for her. “It’s… it’s hard to explain.” 

Seb reaches his hand across the table, offering it up for her to take without pushing. “We are worried for you, schatz. You are tired and pale, your nose bleeds so much I’m running out of dish rags… Help me out here, please?” 

“I’m different.” Admitting it is scary, but what else is she going to do? The worst they can do is send her back to her father. She’d probably just kill herself if that was the case. “Mom was a witch, and so am I, I guess.” She’s not sure she can elaborate more, her head is pounding and hiding under her blankets sounds nice right now. 

Everyone blinks at her, almost unbelieving, if it weren't for the fact she has no reason to lie and there isn't any other explanation. 

Max looks at her and smiles wide. “Well, I think that's awesome! Is there, like, a way to control it?” his Dutch accent comes out thicker now, excitement bleeding through. “Will you be able to do other things? Can you bring people back from the dead-” 

That question has her zoning out. If only Max knew the half of it. Bringing someone back would've solved her problems back at her fathers warehouse. 

He's still asking even if she's not listening and part of her is endeared by it. 

~~~~~

There is a shift around the garage that she doesn't know how to react to yet. Nico retired, Max gets to start with Redbull this Season instead of halfway through it. She should feel Excited! 

Except for the part where she is being replaced–because Daniel is cooler and older and- 

Is it normal to feel this distraught over something so trivial? She went thirteen years with no friends for fucks sake, how is this any different?! 

She pokes at her dinner plate while Seb and Lewis gossip about paddock drama. Her doctor says she's not on the verge of collapse now, but that doesn't mean food isn't hard. It's the easiest way to punish herself.  

“Dove? Something on your mind?” Lewis has always been gentle with her, slowly teaching jeer things about the world that she didn't understand before. Like how his and Seb's relationship isn't public because it's frowned upon in most parts of the world and in places they travel to. 

She shakes her head no and goes back to pushing food around her plate. They don't try and get anything more from her, based on doctors instructions, and she can't help but feel grateful for it. 

~~~~~

Seb and Lewis go back and forth on the prospect of therapy for a couple of months before finally asking her. She says no, obviously, because the idea of speaking to a complete stranger terrifies her. 

It feels like an argument without the amount of yelling there normally is. Something about it feels inherently wrong, like she should have said yes even if she didn’t want to. Because apparently Kimi doesn’t count as a friend and Max is too busy with his own career and Daniel to pay any attention to her. 

It’s weird, having someone close only to lose them again. Even if he’s still right there, a five minute walk down the paddock and she could be sitting in his garage instead of trying to do math with Seb’s engineers. 

She prefers math over reading. Her father didn’t care much for teaching her that part, only the things that mattered to him, but she has a suspicion there was more purpose to it then that. She can do basic English sight words. Even German is easier than that since that’s the language Seb knows best. 

Kimi comes around the corner and spots her staring at Seb and Lewis, making a valiant attempt at reading their lips. “You know you can’t avoid them forever?” 

“Worried about me.” Her lips twitch downwards into a frown. She had been naive thinking leaving her fathers house would make everything better. Sometimes she wonders if all she did was make life worse for someone else. 

~~~~~

She wouldn’t say she’s lonely. She knows that feeling well and this isn’t it… but it also isn’t a happy feeling. Putting it into words is difficult; it’s almost as if she’s watching life happen around her and she has no part in it. 

Dove withdraws herself from any interaction possible. She leaves Kimi alone, tries her best to only bother Seb when it’s absolutely necessary and goes back to limiting her use of words. It’s not like they need to hear her talk. It’s probably annoying anyway, that’s what her dad used to say at least. 

She tries to wave hello to Max again, but that’s the extent of their interactions until Seb forces him over for dinner. His dad has been getting more violent and everyone can see it. Last time she tried to ask him about if he told her to fuck off about it. 

She didn’t cry about it. At least not until she was alone again. 

~~~~~

“Dove, why are you asleep on the couch?” Lewis comes around the corner rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s an early riser, likes to get a jump on his day where Seb likes to sleep in the extra hour. 

She just shrugs her shoulders, because telling him she wet the bed because of nightmares doesn’t sound appealing. Normally, she would strip everything right there so they would never know it happened. They’ve been under the impression that she’s getting better and she’d like to keep it that way. She just didn’t have the energy after whatever the hell her mind had subjected her to last night. 

It’s fine, she’ll fix it when they are gone-

Lewis comes to join her on the couch and hands her a glass of water. He opens his arms so she can put her head in his lap and then the exhaustion of everything seems to hit at once. 

It’s still weird, crying over trivial things. She used to never cry about anything because it’s not like it ever got her anywhere–merely a waste of time and energy. 

But she sobs until her throat goes dry, her eyes numb, the hitching of her breathe becomes suffocating, and even then it doesn’t stop. 

~~~~~

Okay, so she might have been more tired than expected, but Lewis makes for a comfortable pillow and she hadn't really slept in a week. She cannot be blamed for drooling all over him and making him miss his workout given the time on the nearest clock now reads that it's the afternoon. 

She yawns and tries to scramble off him when she hears him and Seb clear their throats. “Taube, we need to talk, please.” Seb hands over her notebook and pen and panic begins to register somewhere in the back of her mind. 

There is a letter on the table in a yellow envelope. She has a stack of those letters sitting under one of the loose floorboards in her room. She’s received one everyday since January first and has refused to talk about them. 

She makes sure that she is the one to get the mail everyday and has managed to convince everyone that she’s the same as a dog going to get the daily paper at the end of the driveway. It took a while, but she managed and nobody suspected a thing. 

The worst part is that the letter is opened. Probably because it’s addressed to her in scary looking handwriting and in a manilla envelope–all reasons a normal person should be concerned.

Leave it to summer break to ruin everything-

“This letter came for you today, do you know anything about it?” Seb is using his dumb gentle parenting voice that she knows all too well now. The same one he uses when he has to scold her. “Our delivery man says he’s been bringing the same letter to you for a while now-” 

Well, there is no avoiding it now she supposes. She was going to tell Max when the first ones started coming, but he was too busy really integrating himself with redBull and she didn’t want to bother him. 

She runs up to her room and can hear Seb and Lewis trailing behind her. She reaches the door and sees her bed made and the smell is of freshly done laundry and not of urine and–She’s going to cry, actually. 

“Darling, you don’t have to hide things from us. It’s okay, really-” She turns around and throws herself into Seb’s arms. 

“I can’t sleep… because he’s watching.” 

He strokes her hair and hugs her tight. It’s the same way she does when she has a meltdown because her senses are in overdrive. It lessened after she discovered noise cancelling headphones, but then it was all the little things to-

She pulls away to move the floorboards she’d so carefully loosened and pulls out the stacks of letters from the unknown sender. 

Seb and Lewis exchange glances as she pulls out a little over seven months of daily letters. All of them written in the same messy scrawl. 

They don’t talk about it much for the rest of the day. Instead they watch movies on the couch and Seb makes hot chocolate 

~~~~~

They move the following weekend to an apartment in Monaco with good security. It’s one of Lewis’ and also in the same building as Daniel… And also Max. 

She tells Seb that Max is too busy for her, but still ends up dragging her to go and knock on his door to see if he’s home. 

He doesn’t answer, as she expected–probably up a couple of floors spending time with Daniel. Whatever, she’s not jealous-

~~~~~

Lewis hands her a small box on her birthday, away from where Seb and Max can see. They are out grabbing something to eat. Probably not trainer approved for them, but approved for her since she’s stopped eating all together since the visions have gotten worse. The anxiety has been making her vomit recently and the insane amount of blood loss with each one isn’t helping. 

She opens it and finds a really nice camera inside, it makes her insides feel fuzzy, but she doesn’t really know why yet. “I want you to start documenting things, anything you want. Think of it like a diary, but you don’t have to write anything because it’s all pictures.”

The first picture she takes is of her and Lewis together, smiling. 

~~~~~

In the early months of 2018, Dove spends majority of her time with Seb in Maranello. She always has her camera around her neck and most of the team expect to end up in her pictures. 

Lewis says she has a good eye for catching the moments others might miss. He also prints them out for her and buys her journals and Seb takes her to go pick out things like colored pens and stickers. 

They say her stories don’t require words. It makes her feel seen.

She’s working on some online reading and writing lessons that Seb and Lewis have her doing to at least help the skill. Math comes easy and she’s fallen in love with statistics, but that doesn’t help her know what the hell anything says. It’s hard to determine how to interpret data if she doesn’t know what the data is for. 

The new social media admin and her daughter are also sitting in the cafeteria. She looks about Dove’s age, maybe a little older if anything, with blonde hair and brown eyes. She’s a bit pretty, actually- 

The girl makes her way to where Dove is sitting surrounded by Seb’s laptop, her camera, a journal and pens, and the whiteboard she’s been using to communicate because words are too damn hard. 

She sits down across from Dove and smiles. Her soft features have an elegance to them and Dove almost feels a bit intimidated by it–femininity is hard to achieve since she’s been surrounded by males her entire life. 

“Hello, I’m Cassandra but nobody calls me that. I prefer to go by Cassie!” She chirps, incredibly cheery for it being eight in the morning. 

She writes down ‘Dove’ and then flips it around for Cassie to see. “Dove, that’s a pretty name!” She points to a woman who looks similar to her, the new social media admin. “That over there is my mom. It’s just me and her, so I’ll be around alot. Maybe we can be friends? I’ve seen you around while we were getting introduced and stuff and Sebastian says you’re also American, technically. Kind of nice to know I’m not alone.” 

And while her instincts scream to run in the other direction, the allure of having a friend is too good of an opportunity to pass up. She’s getting kind of lonely now, admittedly, without Max. 

She nods her head yes and watches Cassie beam. 

~~~~~

She shouldn’t google her biological dad. She shouldn’t read the headline articles that pop up when she presses enter on the search bar. But she’s going to because she can make out some of the bigger words now. 

And Cassie had talked her into it–which doesn’t help because apparently she’s an impressionable young teen just like Seb said and fuck this is such a bad idea. 

She’s not here right now but she’s put the idea out there and now Dove can’t stop thinking about it. ‘Have you ever googled yourself?’ she’d asked, ‘It’s kind of fun to see who else shares your name and stuff!’

It was funny when Cassie did it, but now she’s googled her dad and the first words on her screen are: Major Cult Leader Arrested. Good to know that apparently she was religious without ever realizing it. 

Had that been what all those men were over for? Was she the thing they were worshipping? Is that why they wanted her blood all the time? Most importantly, is that the reason she has these weird healing abilities she doesn’t know how to use and can see the future?

Her head hurts. 

Seb rounds the corner and comes into his driver room to find her crying over his laptop. “Taube-” 

She turns the computer around to him, tears brimming her eyes, and waits for him to read them. “Love-” He crouches down onto the ground, closes the laptop and pulls her into a hug. “Whatever he was, isn’t what you are, if that’s what you’re worried about-” 

“No! Nothing makes sense!” She tugs on her hair to self-soothe while Seb settles them into a comfier position. “All the–the memories!” 

Seb rocks them and waits for her sobs to quiet down before he tries to talk to her again. Which, good on him, because it’s hard to hear over the sound of her own sobbing. “I had a feeling that whatever happened wasn’t good, and whatever you’re ready to talk about, remember that I’m always going to be here. I won’t hurt you, and neither will Lewis, okay? You can scream and cry and throw things if you want, if that’s what you need. Just know I will always be here for you, when you’re ready.” 

Maybe not yet, because sometimes crying is easier to do than talking, but soon.

[beansmack2021]

All For You (Part 2) (Human!Alastor x Daughter!Reader)

Summary: Y/N has never been so scared. How could her father do this? How could her father be this?

TW: blood, gore, mentions of death, cannibalism, Y/N and Alastor argue

It was warm. So very warm. Y/N wondered if she'd still had a fever, and that everything she'd seen was some sickness induced nightmare. Surely, her father wasn't really the Killer of the Bayou.

She opened her eyes. Everything was red and hazy. She looked to the side and scrambled away, shrieking, as she met a body, oozing blood and rib cage opened wide.

Someone to her left chuckled. She looked up and was met with a tall, shadowy figure. His eyes and mouth glowed a radioactive yellow-green color. He wore a tall, black cap. When he spoke, he sounded fancy. It was liking he was trying to sound posh but not quite speaking with a British accent.

"Hello, little one. You don't really look like you're supposed to be here."

"I-" Y/N didn't think she should have been there, either. Wherever there was. She had a feeling she was in one of the afterlifes. She had another, worse feeling that it wasn't one of the nice ones.

"I'm in Hell, aren't I?" The tall figure seemed shocked by how dejected Y/N sounded. She'd accepted where she'd ended up rather quickly, especially for someone who scrambled away from a body so quickly.

"Yes. You look a bit too.... gentle to be here. Usually, the new arrivals have some kind of scales or sharp teeth. Claws, maybe. But you? You look fuzzy."

Y/N looked to her left. She could see her reflection in one of the mirrored windows nearby. She reached up gingerly to touch the teeny little stubs on top of her head. She had little ears that stuck up through her hair. She was covered in tawny fur and white freckles. Her nose was replaced with a little black snout. It twitched as she took a whiff of the air around her. It smelled like sulfur, sewage, and blood.

She wondered vaguely if she had become too familiar with the coppery scent. Sure, she'd only seen one of her father's victims. But, she'd also smelled her own blood as she faded away. She thought she might have felt blood splattering her face as she died. She had heard a loud sound as aje went, after all.

Had someone found out what her father had done? Was their city so (rightfully) angry with him that they sought their own bloody vengeance? Were they happy that she was dead, too?

Y/N started hyperventilating. She thought of her friends from school and what their parents would say about her. "Oh, Joanna. Her father was a murderer. She wouldn't have grown up to be anything good."

"I'm not like him" she muttered. The cloaked figure looked confused. Y/N's eyes widened like she was some cornered animal. "I'm not like him!"

Before the man had time to respond, Y/N took off down the street. She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to find somewhere to hide. What if her dad found her?

She was panting heavily as she crashed into some trash cans in the alley she'd run into. She nestled between them, pulling her legs close to her chest. She looked around rapidly, trying to calm herself. She just couldn't. She'd hoped she was having some horrendous nightmare, and instead, this was her new reality.

Well, Hell was probably pretty big. The chances of her father finding her had to be a little lower, at least. The chances of anyone finding her in this alley....

She heard a noise to her right. She covered her mouth to try and hide the sound of her own breathing. Y/N was terrified. She should have stayed with the tall man. At least he seemed nice. What if this person decided to kill her? Could she die again? Would she be gone for good this time?

"You can come out. I know where you are and you're not really gonna be able to get out. I can keep you safe."

Safe? Y/N had forgotten that was a thing she could be. Between realizing she was living with a cannibalistic murderer and ending up in the fiery pits of literal Hell, safety sounds unreachable. Yet, she couldn't help but feel like maybe this new person could actually offer it to her.

Hesitantly, she climbed from behind the trash cans. Her hands, now covered in a layer of soft, brown fur, pushed against the tin beside her. She stood before the mysterious voice. It belonged to a fairly short man. He had yellow-gold hair that was somewhat hidden by a tall, white cap. He held a cane with a shiny red apple on the top. His entire suit was white. It looked expensive, at least by her standards.

Then again, everything was expensive to her. Her father had been the one to buy her all of her wants and needs. He'd insist on getting her something, even if she tried to protest. He'd buy all of her favorite foods. Her mother wasn't really in the picture, so her father had taken on all of the parental responsibilities. She found herself missing him just a bit, and she had to remind herself of the scene from her kitchen. He'd seemed so docile, just standing their cleaning everything up. Yet, the blood that painted his hands and face suggested he was anything but.

She shivered, trying to clear the image from her mind. This man before her radiated genuine care for her well-being, but he also radiated power. She was afraid to trust him. She was afraid to trust anyone. Surely, though, this man could protect her from her father. She could sense that much. She decided to follow him.

She was a bit surprised to see that he led her to some strange looking hotel, though. He introduced himself. He was Lucifer, King of Hell. She understood why he seemed to have such an aura of power. He was literally the most powerful being in Hell. He introduced his daughter, as well. Her name was Charlie. She was shown to a room and all but coddled.

Of course, she had to pretend that she was still sleeping when Lucifer and Charlie came into her room, peering down at her. She slowed her breathing, the way that she had that fateful night with her father, and listened in.

"I can't shake the feeling that she's not supposed to be here, Char. She's in my records. I called Saint Peter. She's not on his list. She's too soft for Hell. But she had to have done something that kept her from getting into Heaven, even something small."

"I don't know, Dad. The situation seems off. She seems really nice. She doesn't talk the way the rest of the new arrivals do, though. She talks like she's from an older generation."

"She talks like Alastor."

Y/N's breath hitched. Sure, she was in Hell. That wouldn't stop her from praying, though.

"We'll figure it out. Okay, Dad?"

𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳. It couldn't be. Could it?

She couldn't chance it. She tried to maintain her composure, waiting until the two left the room before she silently slid from the bed. If there was even a possibility that these strangers had brought her right to her murderous father, she needed to leave. She couldn't trust them, even if they really did want to help. Ignorance is dangerous. These people may not know what he did, and they'd probably bring her right to him if they connected the dots.

After wrapping herself in the new clothes Charlie had given her, Y/N tried to sneak down the stairs of the hotel. As soon as she saw the door, she made a break for it, only to immediately slam into someone.

She hit the ground hard and flinched as the man who stood before her asked if she was alright. She most certainly wasn't, though. The face and voice man she'd just run into were unmistakable. Looming over her, feigning concern, was Alastor.

[sillystappen]

@justlookingforf1fanfictions gave me the idea of a maxiel! high school AU (I made everyone seniors) with discovering sexualities and I am SO DOWN for that. I've never attempted smut so this is really just dipping my toes in (though this is like 1% on the smut scale it's mentioned thinking). If hope this suffices for you though it may have gotten a tiny bit away from the original prompt lol. As in: I gave Daniel a mild sexuality crisis. But don't worry for the most part this is pure fluff.

Is It Chill That You’re In My Head?

Daniel is so ready to leave school, move away from this stupid town in the middle of Nevada and finally live the dream life of partying until 3am, having sex with the hottest women ever and getting some well-paid job that he actually likes compared to the shitty one he has at the corner shop.

Alas, he is not quite there yet. He just has to finish his final year of high school and June cannot come fast enough.

It's April, a pretty mild and sunny day where it's warm but not warm enough to make it feel like you have been shoved into a furnace. Daniel has this last month before exam season rolls around and his teachers have been breathing down his neck about revising for said exams instead of playing soccer with his mates in his spare time. Honestly, they need to get off of his back - he'll pass just fine, and his mocks went as smoothly as butter on a warm bit of toast.

He lifts his head off the desk ever so slightly when his teacher calls for everyone's attention. "Everyone listen up, we have a very late new student with us."

A new student? Now? Jeez that must suck for them, having to move schools right before the end of senior year. Daniel shrugs to himself and drops his head back on the desk.

"Hello, I'm Max Verstappen," a new voice says and oh, that's an accent. Daniel snaps his head up to look at the new boy, suddenly intrigued. The new boy, Max, seems nearly as tall as Daniel if he weren't so withdrawn into himself (clearly anxious to be at the front of the class with everyone's eyes on him), with sandy blonde hair and, despite looking from his seat towards the back of the class, the bluest eyes he has ever seen. They remind him of the ocean, beautiful and clear but also hiding something in their depths.

Daniel needs to know more about this guy.

"I expect everyone to welcome Max and be kind to him in the last months you all are here," his teacher says before turning to Max, "just find an empty seat and sit there for now."

Max nods and looks out towards the class before quietly walking down the middle to where Daniel is near the back. He gestures to the chair next to Daniel, the one by the window that nobody really likes because the sun can get in your eyes.

Daniel is slow to reply, not realising that Max was asking if he could move so he can sit there. For a while they just stare at each other. "Oh yeah, sure," he mumbles, the realisation eventually hitting him, tucking his chair in a bit so Max can walk behind him and sit down.

Max plops down next to him and rests his head in his hand, tilting it away from the window and towards their teacher, who started explaining some literature principles from the start of the year (lest they forget).

Daniel doesn't pay attention, he's much more interested in the way Max chews his pencil while he's thinking.

1 hour later, at the end of class, Daniel finally speaks to him. Max hasn't said a word since he sat down so Daniel still can't place the accent. They have both stood up, and slung their backpacks over their shoulders and Daniel deliberately stands in Max's path.

"Hi! I'm Daniel, nice to meet you mate," he smiles and sticks his hand out.

Max looks at it for a moment before shaking Daniel's hand in small , gentle motions for a second. "Max, but you know that." He speaks! Thank the Lord.

Daniel chuckles, "yeah, I do. I like your voice, where are you from?"

Max flushes. "Thank you. I'm Dutch. And Belgian too, but raised in the Netherlands."

"Oh that's awesome! I'm just born and raised here, nothing exciting."

"You seem exciting," Max says, as if it's a normal thing to say, like the sun is out, or you need oxygen to breathe. But he smiles, just a little quirk of his lips, and Daniel's brain unhelpfully supplies 'cute'.

It's then that Daniel realises they're still holding hands and in his sudden surprise of his own brain and that, he yanks his hand away from Max's maybe a little to forcefully because Max's smile drops.

"Sorry, aha. I just remembered I gotta go to my next class, as much as I'd like to stay and chat." Daniel rubs the back of his neck out of awkwardness as he half lies, because he really does have another class to go to but it's just two rooms down the hall.

Max nods, still emotionless, "me too." He steps around Daniel, lightly pushing him, and walks out the classroom door.

Daniel spends the rest of the day in his own head. God, why can't he just be normal for once? He's made things weird with the new guy and acts like he's attracted to the guy, like he's interested, which he's not mind you. Daniel Ricciardo is 100% straight, straight out of straightdom if you will. Sure it was nice to hold his hand, and he wants to make Max smile because it's cute and his eyes really are blue like the ocean, but that's just pure platonic feelings, he swears. He just wants to be Max's friend and know why the hell he came to butt-fuck-nowhere Nevada instead of staying in the Netherlands. And why now? Max just produces numerous question marks in his head and it's so confusing.

He doesn't speak to Max again until the following day at lunch, when he enters the school cafeteria. Daniel grins at him and calls him over to sit with him and his mates, Michael and Blake. Max seems hesitant but agrees. He sits next to Daniel and opposite Michael, though makes sure to put a bit of distance between himself and Daniel, just in case.

They hadn't spoken in literature class because Daniel was about 10 seconds away from being late and he really didn't want to annoy Max at 9 in the morning.

"Who's this Daniel?" Blake asks.

"This is my new friend Maxy." Daniel says.

"Maxy?" Michael questions. And shit, Daniel didn't realise he had said that. He doesn't really do nicknames for anyone, unless his friends decide to be annoying then an affectionate dickhead or asshole does get thrown around.

"It's Max," Max eventually speaks up, his cheeks tinged red, "I'm new. I joined Daniel's literature class yesterday."

"Oh, well, welcome Max. I'm Blake and this is Michael."

"Hi." Max's response is clipped and Daniel can't stand it. Blake and Michael give him a look of 'who is this person and why are you trying to befriend him?' and Daniel just shrugs at them.

"So, Maxy, Max, can I call you Maxy?" Daniel asks before launching his next question. Max looks at him, and Daniel feels like he can see into his soul and is about to pull out the thread keeping him together. Max stares like he is trying solve a puzzle and he must've found his answer because he says yes.

"Sweet!" Daniel swears he catches Max smiling at him when he cheers. It's a small thing yet again but Daniel calls it a victory. "Maxy, what are your plans when you finish high school? I'm going to do sports science hopefully."

"My dad wants me to do law." Max sighs and picks at his food. To Daniel, everything about that sentence felt off.

"Yeah, but what do you want to do?" Daniel prods.

"It doesn't matter."

"I don't know Maxy, it matters to me." Daniel half expects to descend into an argument but what he doesn't expect is the way Max looks at him, a real smile, albeit close-lipped but real and big, stretches across his face. Max looks down in an attempt to supress it, and Daniel is having none of that.

"Hey." Daniel shifts closer and brings his hand under Max's chin, lifting his head so Max looks at him. Then Daniel just stops working, his following words disappearing into thin air.

Max looks at him like he's a mystery and a wonder, which is clearly a good thing judging by the way he is still smiling, albeit a little smaller and softer. Daniel lets himself move his hand to cup Max's jaw and he swears he feels Max lean into it. If Daniel had to describe Max right then, he would've told you he looked beautiful. Maybe he could-

Michael coughs suddenly and Daniel drops his hand, he and Max springing apart and what the hell was that?

"Literature and writing," Max says suddenly. "What I actually want. It's literature and writing."

Conversation goes back to normal after that. Towards the end of the day, Michael corners him at the school gate.

"Look, mate, you know if there's anything you need to tell me then I'm here for you," he says, which is weird in itself because Michael knows everything there is to know about Daniel.

"What are you on about?" Daniel asks.

"Just... you know... about you and Max-"

"There's really nothing to it. I want to be his friend. I'm not gay," Daniel cuts him off sharply, the vague implication getting to him a little.

Michael remains calm. "I'm not saying you are; you don't have to label yourself. I'm simply saying if you were interested in Max the same way you would be interested in a girl then it's ok."

"I'm not. I literally have known him for two days and it wasn't like he just walked his pretty self into class and rocked my world just like that."

Michael raises an eyebrow at the word 'pretty' but doesn't comment on it. "Alright, man. I guess I will see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see ya." Daniel waves and walks out the gate.

The rest of the week and the next one continues in a similar pattern. He'd see Max in class, then hang out with him at lunch and something weird would happen that Daniel would shake off, such as them linking pinkie fingers in the middle of class only to let go when the teacher calls on Max, or Daniel wrapping an arm around Max when he sits down with them and forgetting to let him go until Michael eyes him questioningly. Daniel just concludes that he's simply a physically affectionate friend to Max, who has not complained at all about it.

Max slowly opens up to the group, mainly Daniel. He tells him all about the Netherlands and what school was like there (pretty interesting stuff, if Daniel is honest), as well as why his dad relocated them to the states. Turns out his dad thinks there's more money to be made as a prosecutor in the US than the Netherlands and chose now because he wants Max to go to an Ivy League school to follow in his footsteps.

One day Max tells him and only him that his mother and sister are still in Belgium, and that his parents are divorced because his father is abusive. Daniel hugs him that day and tells him that he is welcome over any time should he need it.

He learns that Max is a huge nerd though, much like the rest of them and Daniel usually ends up on the receiving end of a book-rant. He doesn't understand what Max is talking about most of the time, but he talks so passionately and uses his hands to emphasis every word ever that he just cannot find it in himself to stop him. It's frankly adorable.

He also goes to watch them play soccer on Fridays. He doesn't play, mainly because Max claims he isn't very good, but he is a very good cheerleader for Daniel, much to the complaint of everyone else.

"But Max, I have scored more goals this match than Daniel," Blake had once said.

"So? Daniel needs the extra motivation then!" Max had proclaimed.

Daniel loves how comfortable Max is with everyone now, and how he has grown out of his shell and starts to be more reciprocal to Daniel's affections, so to speak, even initiating some of his own. For example, Max often taps his foot against Daniel's which sends warmth through Daniel's body. Another time Max just simply leaned into Daniel and rested his head on his shoulder while he was talking to Blake. Daniel, once again, didn't think much of it let alone properly realise it until someone pointed it out.

Max also tries to teach the group a little Dutch but eventually gives up because according to him it sounds like they're gargling water. Max burst out laughing when Daniel attempted to say 'I am 18 years old'.

It was the first time Daniel had seen him like that and he wanted to bottle up that laugh so he could hear it forever. And God, his smile is gorgeous. His whole face lights up and his smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Daniel has made it his mission to get that to happen again.

Daniel is also realising that maybe, just maybe, these aren't exactly thoughts you have about a friend. He wants to protect Max, to hold him and never let go, but also be the reason he's happy and laughs. However Daniel has never ever been into a boy, and it kinda ruins the 'dream life tm' he has pictured for himself because now said picture is starting to have Max in it: the two of them on a sofa watching some shitty Netflix show. He curses Michael in his mind, blaming him for putting the idea of being with Max in his head.

As he lies on his bed on Sunday, end of the second week with Max, he allows himself to think about kissing Max. Max's lips always look soft and maybe it would be as nice as a girl. He'd hold his face the same way he did two weeks ago, eventually thread his fingers into Max's hair as he kisses him. Girls usually like that. Maybe Max would be in his lap, holding on to his torso like a lifeline as Daniel deepens the kiss into a full-on make-out session, their tongues dancing together as they run their hands along each others bodies and up their shirts and the feeling of Max's skin would be enough to drive him crazy as Max pushes him down, smiling against his lips and-

Daniel sits up abruptly, forcing out the images from his brain before he ends up with more than a semi. He then startles because holy fuck he is getting turned on by thinking about Max.

He immediately calls Michael.

"Bitch, what do you want? It's 1am." Michael groaned down the phone.

"I'm definitely attracted to Max but like... I'm not gay."

"Congrats on finally realising. I called it from day 1... well day 2 for you," Michael says smugly.

"I hate how well you know me sometimes." Daniel grumbles.

"No you don't."

Daniel simply hums. "I'm not gay though. I still like women."

"As I said, you don't need to label it. You just like Max."

The words are comforting; Daniel still likes women, but he also likes Max which means he is still mostly straight. And being called bi or pan also doesn't seem right. He just likes Max.

"Now answer me this," Michael says, "is this just a physical thing or-"

"No! I want to know everything I can about Max. I want to make him laugh and smile and protect him. Y'know, all that sappy shit. I mean, I do think he's very nice to look at but..."

"Yeah yeah I hear you buddy. That's good for you. Anyway, I'm hanging up and going to sleep. You should do the same."

Daniel's phone beeps before he can say good night.

It's felt... good admitting it aloud. It felt like it became normal instead of being this weird thing he had been trying to avoid for two weeks and living in a state of denial. Saying it to Michael was akin to a rock being lifted off his chest and he can finally breathe again.

But just as Daniel is drifting off to sleep he wondered how the hell he is going to face Max the next morning.

Monday morning comes around Max sits in the same spot by the window he always does. Daniel admits that he does shamelessly stare at Max, and how the morning sun makes him look golden. Full send, right? He likes Max in the same way he would like a girl, so he shouldn't be acting any differently. That's his solution to last night's conundrum. Max doesn't seem bothered when he catches Daniel though, and smiles softly at him, making Daniels heart do little flutters.

They can't stare at each other forever so eventually Daniel pulls his gaze away and half-tunes into the lesson on the importance of the curtain being red or some shit like that. He also heard some paper ripping but makes a conscious choice to not look for the sound.

At the end of the lesson, Max taps his shoulder and places an origami flower behind Daniel's ear, made from a torn page of Max's notebook.

"For you," Max says, then walks off happily to his next class. Daniel carefully touches it, not removing it from where it's sat. The stem is tucked into his curls and the flower seems intricately made. It feels romantic and Daniel can't help but blush as he traces the folds of the paper with his fingertip. He doesn't move it for the rest of the day.

Lando, a junior Daniel knows but wouldn't say he's friends with, finds him in the hallway between classes and comments on it immediately. "Ooh Daniel, who's that from? A girlfriend?"

"Haha, no it's-" Daniel cuts himself off. It's different telling Lando than it was telling Michael. Shit, is he ready to even be out like that, to where the whole school knows? Sure he has only a few months left but still, it's a big thing.

"Who's it from then?" Lando prompts, reaching up to touch it.

Daniel swats his hand away. "A classmate," is what Daniel settles on saying. It's technically still the truth.

"Damn, you should ask this classmate out. She is definitely into you!"

"You think?" Daniel tries (and fails) not to sound too hopeful.

"Duh! This is some master-craft shit," Lando says like it's obvious. "Whoever gave this to you must like you. And you clearly like her with the way you're parading around with it."

Daniel nods and scampers off to his next class.

He spends the whole hour wondering how the hell he will even tell Max he likes him and well... he's got nothing. Sure, he said 'Full Send' and all that but Max is different, from a girl and everyone else. He wants it to be important and not just dumped on him during lunch break like most people do. Max is special and deserves to be treated as such.

Therefore the logical thing to do is ask him on a date after school and take him somewhere nice (which is pretty hard in middle-of-nowhere Nevada but not totally impossible) and romance the fuck out of him and potentially kiss him.

Boom! He has a plan! (Someone be proud of him; he's putting himself out there for Max.) Now to set said plan into motion.

At lunch, he sees Max but he keeps it as normal as possible, because really there are no boundaries with them. When Max notices he still has the paper flower exactly where Max left it, he beams like the sun, eyes scrunching up and smile splitting his face. "You kept it," he says.

"Of course, I wore it proudly all day," and Max preens at that. Daniel continues, "It's so pretty, I can tell. Where did you learn how to make this?"

"I got bored one day, and thought that it would be nice to give someone I like."

"Aw Maxy," Daniel coos, reaching to hold Max's hand on the table and lacing their fingers, "I love it."

Daniel can tell Michael is giving a 'really?-right-in-front-of-my-salad' look but hey, he should've known this would happen. Blake has gotten used to their shenanigans but even he looks at them weirdly. Daniel doesn't let it get to him, not this time.

He shuffles closer to Max, pressing their thighs together and starts to chat with Michael about their god awful math class. He never shies away from Max, who almost melts next to him and Daniel fights the urge to kiss him there and then.

He's practically bouncing off the walls of the hallway when the bell for the end of school rings. He lingers by the gate, waiting for any sight of Max and beelines towards him when he sees the familiar ocean blue eyes. "Maxy!"

"Oh, hi Dan." Dan. Not long after Maxy became a thing, Max started using Dan instead of Daniel, and Daniel loves it. It feels intimate to hear Max call him that when everyone else uses Danny or just Daniel. "What's up? I do have to go though, so I'm gonna have to rush you."

Ah of course, his dad and Max's extracurriculars. Daniel makes it quick. "pleasegoonadatewithme."

"...what?" Ok maybe too quick.

Daniel clears his throat and plucks the origami flower from behind his ear and starts twirling it in his hand, watching the flower spin and admiring the petals as he repeats himself. "Maxy, please go on a date with me."

Max doesn't speak, and to fill the silence and to stop himself from panicking, Daniel keeps talking.

"I really like you, like had a full on gay crisis over you because I've never felt this way about a boy like ever and you're like so you and so so perfect, and I know this town doesn't offer much but I will try my damn best to make it special and all romantic and-"

"Dan. Yes." Max eventually says, cutting him off. He's smiling ear to ear in the way Daniel loves the most. "I really like you, too. I thought it was pretty obvious. I don't go around making those," Max gestures at the flower, "for anyone. I told you that they're for the people I like. Besides, I also don't let just anyone touch me like you do."

"Oh," Daniel says dumbly. Because, yeah, that all tracks.

"Now I do have to go, but I have some free time on Thursday after school if that works for you?"

"Yeah, that's brilliant Maxy," Daniel says a bit too eagerly for his liking.

Max plucks the flower from Daniels hand and puts it back behind his ear, tucking it gently into his curls. He presses a quick kiss to Daniel's lips and says a quick "bye" before darting out the gate, leaving Daniel standing there, touching his lips in a daze.

June can wait. Thursday cannot come fast enough.

[lucyswinter]

ocean blue eyes _•*.🌊

inspired by the song ‘gorgeous’ by taylor swift

pairing: cillian murphy x f!reader

summary: you love to admire your boyfriends pretty blue eyes :)

genre: fluff

warnings: cillains piercing blue eyes /hj

“ocean blue eyes/lookin’ in mine/i feel like i might/sink and drown and die”

♡ ♡ ♡

(a/n): second little blurb is out! im always reminded of cillian when i listen to this song hehe. *not proofread! im also not super happy with the ending of this but that’s alright.* also this is an au where his gorgeous lovely irl wife does not exist!! no disrespect to my queen yvonne or their kids!<3

♡ ♡ ♡

“Hello my love” Cillian hums as he slips his big hands around your waist and pulls you into a hug from behind. He pushes your hair to the other side of your shoulders and proceeds to rest his chin softly in the nape of your neck, but not before placing a tender kiss under your ear. “Sorry I’m home late” he apologizes, his silky Irish accent accentuating every syllable “The shoot went later than scheduled” he mumbled into your skin. You could feel his long eyelashes flutter shut against your skin as he took a deep breath. You both stood quietly for a moment, finding a relieving comfort each other’s natural warmth.

You reach backwards and manage to place the palm of your hand on the back of his head, giving his ashy brown hair a loving scratch.

“It’s alright Cill. I managed to occupy myself.” you tell him, bringing your hand back down to your sides to then wrap them around the arms he had woven around your waist.

“Hmm?” he asks, an amused tone to his voice. “And what did you occupy yourself with, love.”

“Mmm well I baked some cookies, and listened to some music…” you recount quietly.

“Oh? Well what kind of music you were listening to?” He chuckles, trying to move the conversation along.

“Well I had some Taylor Swift-“ you begin to tell him, but you were interrupted by Cillian unraveling himself from around your waist and spinning you by your shoulders to face him. “There we go, pretty girl. I can see you now” he smiles, giving you his full attention by locking his innocent, ocean blue eyes to yours “as you were saying…?” God you could just melt….

“Oh well i- um” you let out a slightly exasperated breath, distracted by his eyes that twinkled under the fluorescent lights of your apartment. “I was listening to um…” you start, unable to quite get the words out. His pupils were almost the color of a ripe blueberry, sweet and tender. How could you think of anything with those…those things staring at you? They were just so pretty, and they matched his complexion perfectly-

“My love, are you alright?” Cillian snaps you out of whatever daydream you had begun.

“Sorry I um” you clear your throat and turn your head slightly ajar to avoid his gaze. You notice the distinct feeling of blood rushing to your cheeks and tinting your soft face an embarrassing pink. “I sort of lost my train of thought there…what was the question again?” You ask him dizzily, avoiding his eyes in the hopes of getting out a complete sentence.

“Lovey, you seem quite distracted is… is something wrong?” he chuckles hesitantly. You continue to blush silently, your face painting itself even pinker at his attention. “Hey. Look at me.” He asks sweetly, lightly taking your head in his hands and turning it back to him again. At this point, eye contact was unavoidable, so you just accepted your fate, and let your brain be fried by the unimaginable shimmer reflecting off of his glassy pupils. He had to know what he was doing to you, looking at you sweetly, praising you, prompting you with gentle touches. It was so evil of him, teasing you. Surely it was illegal to look so perfect…

“Cill I just…your eyes are so…god they’re so…they’re gorgeous” you breathe. Your cheeks were now surely the color of ripe strawberries. “Sorry that sounded weird…”. You cover your cheeks with your palms, the momentary embarrassment making you want to crawl away and hide forever. It isn’t long before he tries to pry your slightly damp hands away from your burning cheeks. “Hey pretty girl, where’d you go.” He laughs. “Look at me” he asks again. This time, you comply, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

It truly was an out-of-body experience. The longer you looked into his eyes, the more the dashing specs of grey begin to float in the shocking blue waters of the ocean that was his iris. The calm waves splashing back and forth with every small movement, every tilt of his head. You wished you could go to whatever body of water he had trapped in there, though you worry that you might drown if you tried, overwhelmed by the beautiful beaches, freckled with tan sand and thick palm trees.

It was all so difficult to tell him. You felt sort of…creepy being so easily encapsulated by a singular functioning part of him. And such a small one at that (unlike some other parts of him….😉). You knew he thought it was sweet, it just…gosh it drove you crazy. You couldn’t express it all if you tried, and it infuriated you, but you knew that it all came from a place of love. One last look at his eyes, you quickly remember you should probably break the silence that suddenly felt loudly eternal. Your eyelashes brushed your cheeks few times, trying to regain any train of thought.

“I love you, Cillian.” You decide. He could hear about all of this the next time you get lost in his eyes…

“I love you too, angel.” He coos softly.

♡ ♡ ♡

(a/n): tysm for reading my second fic! i will most likely be trying out some smut soon, so bear with me while i work on that 😭 (my bestie aki has written smut in the past so maybe ill ask them for some help lol) anywaysssss, love u, and the song i was inspired by is linked below 🎶 <3

[vigilxnte-shit]

i can see you || matt murdock x éliette de castillon || one-shot

summary: éliette de castillon is 19 years old and engaged to a 22-year-old law student. as far as everyone is concerned, she’s eager to marry and lead a god-fearing life, but a certain blind classmate of her fiancé can’t help the way she takes over his senses.

word count: 2,993

warnings: angsty kind of?? STEAMY. MAKING OUUUUUT. no smut but it gets kind of close, el is engaged to another guy while making out with matt. mentions of emotional abuse. also not edited and its 2:30 AM as i’m starting this

a/n: I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING this is a one-off instance where it’s lowkey kind of hot and also el’s fiancé sucks ass. once again thanks to yuna for the inspo <3

this is an 18+ blog. minors dni. || masterlist

matt murdock saw the world in a different way than most. he had lived without his sight since he was nine, moving through a world on fire with as much grace as one could muster. he smelled every tear leaking from an eye somewhere in the room, heard each cry and moan and shout as he walked the streets at night. matt murdock couldn’t see, but he could feel, a reality that often made the world seem loud and undefeatable and evil.

and then he met el.

el smelled like vanilla and cashmere wood, a scent matt had picked up on half the girls in his classes- clearly, it had to be sold out at the mall right now. despite that, despite it’s overuse, it smelled different on el, unique, warm and soft and scrumptious. it was the first thing his senses picked up on when she sat next to him on the clubhouse fireplace. he’d smelled the exact fragrance on foggy’s date from last friday, but this time it was intoxicating. this time it was enticing.

he turned to face her then, ready to make a move based on scent alone. he didn’t need anything else, he wanted his lips on her skin, but as he turned to her he paused.

her heartbeat was racing. her breath was jagged and raspy, choppy, uneven, a sensation that he knew too well. her temperature was rising, he could taste the salt in the budding tears, and he knew he had to say something.

“hey, are you okay?” he asked. he sensed the turn, could tell she was facing him now, but she remained speechless for the shortest moment. she was taking him in. he was used to that. 

“your breath picked up,” he explained softly. the last thing he wanted was to raise her anxieties, to spike that precious heartbeat even more- he just wanted to explain himself. “it sounded like you were about to hyperventilate.”

he heard her heartbeat begin to slow, the milliseconds between beats starting to lose their numbers and her lungs taking in their oxygen more slowly. he didn’t let himself smile on the outside, but he felt it internally. he’d done something to help.

“i…i’m okay, thank you.”

in that moment, matt could have sworn the floor had given out and sent him straight to heaven. her voice was soft and warm, laced with the smallest hints of a foreign accent on the end of the words- french, he would later learn. in the moment, though, he didn’t care. god himself could not have bestowed a damn about the origin of her accent, all that matt knew was he wanted her to start talking and never stop.

éliette de castillon became his own phantom that night. he went to bed with her voice echoing in his head, with the scent of her vanilla perfume stuck in his nostrils that he hoped would never leave. the sound of her slowed, peaceful heartbeat, the gentle warmth in her cheeks- she was a walking lullaby, a fresh cup of chamomile tea on a chilly winter’s night. and sure, he couldn’t tell what she looked like. he had no clue what her skin tone was, what shade of hair she had or the color of those undoubtedly gorgeous eyes. but matt could see éliette de castillon, and that vision was enough to make her his very own patron saint.

he spoke with her three more times before she married samuel joseph. two more parties; both garish and loud and overstimulating, leading to them heading outside to talk on the local playground for hours; and one fateful five-o-clock in a maintenance closet. 

it was an icy december evening, three days before the end of the semester. the last party they had been to was a fortnight prior, and el had been haunting him since. he’d learned to zero in on her scent amongst the hundreds of girls wearing the same one: she paired it with a caramel body wash and the natural fragrance of her skin, just defined enough she stood out in the overcrowded smellscape, and he knew she passed by him at least once a day. her heartbeat varied in an out, and he usually heard her humming to herself- musicals, pop songs, classic rock. anything. she could have hummed to a sports broadcast, and he would have listened with the fascination of a child in a space museum.

she’d told him at that party she didn’t want to marry sam. that she was desperate and terrified of him, that he mocked her smallest mistakes and encouraged his friends to do the same. she was only marrying him to get away from her foster parents, to escape the life she’d lived in italian catholic purgatory ever since frank had left for the military. she had let matt hug her, and he’d spent each of those fourteen days dreaming of the day he could experience that again. her body was perfect, everything he’d dreamed of. she’d felt like she was made for his arms, the way her waist dipped in right at his arms’ height, her head perfectly on his shoulder and that irresistible vanilla signature strong in his nose. she’d only pulled away after a second too long, and she’d stared at his lips after- he felt her hesitation, the wheels turning in her head as she debated and then shut down the second sam announced his arrival.

he hadn’t been able to focus in class. he’d barely even updated foggy on his love life, too busy thinking about the chances of talking her into breaking it off. he could not care less about preserving his friendship with sam, about keeping things in line with the future district attorney, as he gratuitously called himself. no, matt only cared about taking the dove clean out of sam’s hands before he could clip her wings. 

even now, walking down the hallway from the library, matt thought of it. he felt around with the cane he didn’t need, almost swinging it as he dreamed of their embrace and her heartbeat and her voice and the way she spoke french. his heart had been dropped in her backpack, carried around with her all day, and matt didn’t care to get it back. she could keep it, she could stomp on it, she could toss it out the window and run it over with her car- it was hers to keep and destroy if she wanted. 

he made it almost to the entrance, head in the clouds and feet about to join it, when his nose picked it up. he froze in his tracks and his cane with him, sniffing around, trying to figure out it’s direction. that was el’s perfume. undeniably, definitively el’s.

before he knew what he was doing, he followed it. he had the thought to fold up his cane and toss it in his bag, to drop the act of needing it and just find her, but in the end he didn’t even need it. the smell got stronger, and he paused as his fingers brushed another’s.

“hi, matt.”

it was like sunshine on a spring morning, a fresh-baked cookie after a long day. he couldn’t think straight, all he could muster was vanilla warm sweet as he reached for her hand. 

“el, we need to talk.” 

he couldn’t see her furrowed brow, but she didn’t protest, letting him drag her back up the hallway. she asked for an explanation, checked to make sure he was okay, but he didn’t answer. he walked to the closest supply closet as fast as his feet would carry him, following the closest smell of bleach to get him there.

when he pulled her into the closet, she hesitated. he couldn’t blame her- this was sudden and so shocking, even he didn’t fully process what was happening. he couldn’t give her an answer, though, just pulled her in and locked the door behind them. 

in the tiny closet, he barely remembered to switch on the lights. he hung his backpack on the hook and took el’s messenger bag off her shoulders, not answering her questions. once both bags were safely hanging on the back of the door, he pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose, tucking the rectangular lenses into the water bottle pocket on the side of his bag. 

“matt, what is going on,” she demanded. “you’re acting so strange, we’re in a supply-”

her mouth stopped the second his hands touched her face. she froze completely, and he couldn’t help but pause to take in the entire sensation. her stunned silence, the sensation of her cheeks heating, her speeding heartbeat and that damned perfume. the silence was a perfect backdrop as he slowly traced his thumbs over his cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, her lips.

“don’t marry sam.” it was whispered, reverent, a sign of worship. a show of devotion. 

he heard her breath catch and felt her eyes searching his. the whole room felt like it was rising in temperature, like at any second foundation would collapse and the ceiling would cave in on them from the sheer tension in the room. 

“matt.” her voice was near silent, quiet as a dandelion seed, it would have carried away on the wind had they been outside. her soft, fragile fingers covered his, a second frame for the beauty he held between his hands. “matt, you…i can’t just…”

“you can.” he nodded, biting his lip with an air of certainty. “you can. you can tell him no. you can take it back, tell him you’ve changed your mind, and leave him behind.” one hand dropped from her face, taking hers and kissing each of her knuckles. “el, he isn’t good for you. your sparkle fades the second you hear his voice.”

“what would i tell him?!” she squeezed his interlaced hand, never taking her eyes from his intense, gorgeous, unseeing gaze. “what would i say? i can’t- i can’t just leave-”

“it’s your life, el.” the sentence lingered, hung in the air and stagnated. he had fired the bullet. “it’s not his.” 

verbal lightning had struck the room. all that remained was stillness and electricity and static, two people and their frazzled minds and a life-changing decision.

she wasn’t saying she loved sam. that was what matt kept saying to himself, that in the midst of it all, in the silence and the conversation and the nights at parties, she had never once declared that she loved sam. 

and now el was silent. quieter than a nun during the eucharist, than the falling snow on the night they’d first met. no words escaped her lips, and he could taste her strawberry lip balm even with the distance. he sensed it as her eyes dropped to his own lips, her focus undivided and her heart rate slowly climbing. he could hear the blood rushing, imagined the pink in her cheeks.

slowly, he released her left hand. he moved his right forward to hold her waist, his fingers brushing the soft polyester of her shirt. his left pinkie and ring finger curled just under her jaw, a gentle tug, a silent request.

“tell me to stop,” he whispered.

“no,” she answered.

the distance between them was closed in seconds. el’s lip were the softest paradise he’d ever experienced, soft and hydrated, coated with a strawberry flavor that could have been candy. he stole kiss after kiss from her lips, her breath escaping in delicate whimpers between lips and touches and emotions. his right hand found its way slowly up her side, his languid fingers coming to her neck- not to squeeze, just to hold. 

“can i go further?” matt whispered. his free hand migrated from her cheek to her hair, lightly gripping a handful and pressing his forehead to hers. “tell me if you don’t want this, el.”

she nodded. he smiled at the feeling of her hair as she did, still holding it gently.

“words, el.”

“i do.”

he didn’t know it at the time, but he’d think of those two words for years. he’d spend days agonizing over them, weeks on his knees in the church, begging god to bring his el back so she could repeat it over the altar this time. he’d spend five years wondering how she was doing, if she was okay, if she’d lost her sense of flight. 

but for now, it was enough. it was enough for him to tighten his grip in her hair and slip his tongue past her lips, kissing her as though she was the only thing he had ever wanted, the only prize he could ever dream of winning. 

he had to press her against the wall, press one hand to the wall next to her head to stabilize himself. she tasted like summer breezes and cozy nights, like a strawberry shortcake on a blanket in the middle of june. each breath stolen was a treasure for his collection, a moment to add to the track for each time he felt unmotivated or lonely or sad. she giggled when he bit her lip, tugging the bottom between his teeth with a slightly harsh nibble. 

“you’re an angel, el,” he whispered, fastening his hold in her hair to pull her head to the side. “you’re a goddess. too heavenly to be on this earth.” with his newfound angel, matt’s lips trailed to her jawline. he left open-mouhted, sloppy, and passionate kisses down her features and onto her neck, nipping at the skin and sucking a bruise to her collarbone.

a mistake that would haunt him for the next half a decade. 

suddenly, el’s eyes snapped open. “matt, stop. i can’t.” 

without hesitating, he pulled away. his stomach dropped, his sightless eyes blown wide and beautiful despite the panic rushing over him. had he done something wrong? had he upset her?

he waited in agonizing silence, listening as she straightened her clothes and fixed her hair. there was a sadness in her movements, a slowness and hesitation that he began ignoring as soon as she picked up her bag and stopped his world from spinning. 

“matt, you’re amazing,” she said softly. he recognized the edge of tears in her voice. he had no clue how to fix that. 

“you’re kind, and you’re smart, and you’re so handsome.” matt felt his heart sinking. he didn’t care for the compliments, he didn’t care for the praise- he wanted her. he wanted her in his life, in his house, in his bed. he couldn’t move as he heard her swallow.

“and i really hope you find a girl even have as spectacular as you.”

with those words, el stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. at first, matt thought to follow her. chase her down, get on his knees if he had to, tell her he would take her to the courthouse tomorrow and make her a murdock if it would get her out of this. 

he didn’t, though. he listened as her steps synced up with the cracks in his breaking heart, waiting for her to leave the building, to get to her dorm. he never moved the entire time, just sat and listened and thought. 

he pushed the thoughts out of his head- of her, miserable and afraid, living on the whims of an idiot lawyer and his pastor paychecks. he thought of how she said sam had never hugged her like that, never held her or listened to her thoughts, and how she had just walked right back into that fate. how she had stared freedom in the eyes and been too scared to step forward. 

matt couldn’t sleep that night. he tossed and turned, replaying el’s whimpers in his head, touching his lips and wishing it was her. he knew he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t just let her accept such a loveless destiny, leave her to a shadow of loneliness and way too many kids on an upstate farmhouse.

he got out of bed at 6am, the morning sun fresh in the sky as he ran to her dorm. he’d never been before, only been told the address, and after much trial and error he arrived at #96. he cleared his throat and made the sign of the cross before reaching forward, his fist balled to knock, when he heard someone clear his throat.

“don’t bother.” it was a neighbor down the street, just returned from grocery shopping. “they moved out last night. not sticking around for winter, so they headed out early.” 

matt tilted his head, his heart dropping. “...they?

the neighbor nodded. “yeah, the pastor’s kid and his fiance. gone like magic this morning. didn’t give us much warning, either.”

matt just nodded. “thank you.” he stared at the door for minutes as the neighbor walked away, desperate, listening for any signs of life from the other side- nothing but buzzing electricity and the occasional mouse. 

matt spent the next five years thinking about her. she came to mind every time he dated someone new, each time he went to church and smelled vanilla perfume. he tried to find a facebook, an instagram, a linkedin- anything that might tip him off to where she went, how she was doing. it didn’t work. she may as well have vanished from the earth…or so he thought. everything changed one rainy day in hell’s kitchen, when éliette joseph stepped off the c-train. she walked fifteen minutes in the pouring rain, the scent of the city and the petrichor so strong that matt couldn’t even pick out her familiar vanilla perfume. he couldn’t pick up anything about her- the flushed cheeks or the beating heart or the humming of a broadway showtune. he had nothing to tip him off, nothing to prepare him for the moment the door to Nelson & Murdock swung open and his angel walked right back into his life.

[valeriianz]

i was ready to leave this be but then @designtheendless made this gorgeous art so of course i had to write a bit more The Devil Wears Prada AU:

-----------

Dream invites Hob as a plus-one to a fashion event. Hob is ecstatic to get a glimpse into the fast-paced, cut-throat industry that Dream has nudged his way into. He warns Hob that Morningstar might drag him away at any given moment and he’d be left alone, is that alright? Hob shrugs and can’t say he minds. If he gets free food and booze out of it, he’ll gladly wander around for a bit.

And for the first time in Hob’s life, he gets dolled up. Really dressing the part of a fashion mogul’s partner. Dream takes him out, using the money from a bonus in his salary to surprise Hob by taking him to a tailor. Hob wonders why none of his usual blazer and pants combo wouldn’t work and tries not to get offended at the way Dream scrunches up his nose and refuses to answer him.

“Every man should have a tailored suit in their wardrobe,” Dream explains while Hob stands on the short platform and the seamstress takes his measurements. “A perfect fit is the raison d’être of custom suits.”

Hob swallows at the perfect French slipping past Dream’s lips. He had only been in Paris for a couple weeks yet he was already name-dropping influential French designers, recalling conversations he’d had with them in stories he’d recant to Hob in an accent that Hob never knew Dream could pull off. Or that he’d be so enticed by.

“I’ll never get the chance to wear this again, you know,” Hob smiled, a little self-deprecating. Working as a chef hardly afforded Hob time to dress up. And it wasn’t like he ever went anywhere fancy enough for such effort. “After the party, it’s just gonna sit in my closet forever.”

“We’ll make use of it…” Dream says softly, standing up as the seamstress steps away to grab something. 

Dream takes up Hob’s arm, fingers trailing down the length of it, covered in a deep blue fabric that probably costs more than their monthly rent and Hob’s eyes never leave Dream as he inspects the pins and cuffs.

“A custom suit,” Dream starts again, dropping Hob’s arm and moving on to the front of the jacket, caressing the lapels. “Is designed to highlight the best features of its wearer. Bespoke tailoring is an art form, and you are the perfect canvas.”

Hob looks down at Dream, standing on the platform gives the illusion of added height, and Dream raises his eyes to look upon him. Hob tries very hard not to dive too deep into Dream’s blue eyes, tries not to get lost in the crystal clear sea of emotions, the way he could drown in them.

“And what are my best features?” Hob grins, raising an eyebrow, challenging.

Dream chuckles, tugging at the jacket. His eyes never leave Hob’s, even as the tailor returns.

“I’ll tell you later.”

There are a lot of big names and top designers at the event and Hob hasn’t a clue who any of them are, but he listens and nods when Dream points them out. He shakes hands with professional photographers and runway models and designers that Hob kind of recognizes but not really. He’s too busy marveling at the immaculate decor, the flowy dresses, and the free champagne. 

Dream, as warned, leaves his side constantly. But Hob has perfected the art of fake-it-til-you-make-it and smiles cheerily and engages in simple chit chat where he lets the other person do all the talking and nods along enthusiastically. He tugs on the sleeves on his jacket, amazed how a well-fitted suit can feel like wearing nothing at all. The fabric is also high quality, buttery soft to the touch and moving along his skin with every step like a gentle hug. He feels a little like a poser, but after a few drinks in him, settles more into the mindset of a party crasher.

After about an hour of missing Dream, Hob goes looking for him. Weaving and winding through the crowd, finding Morningstar on a few occasions and blatantly ignoring her, especially as he doesn’t see Dream with her.

Hob finds a back entrance that’s all glass and slips through into the cool evening air and hears Dream’s unmistakable deep tenor, talking with someone privately. 

And as Hob approaches, he notes the distinct agitation in Dream’s tone.

“... truly tired of finding you everywhere I go, Christian.” Dream sighs disdainfully. 

“You should be in print,” another voice– Christian, speaks quickly, laying on the charm heavily. “I see the way Morningstar treats you.”

“They treat me fine. You, on the other hand–”

“I’d treat you so well, Dream.”

Hob finally rounds a corner and finds Dream leaning back against a wall of the mansion, holding a champagne flute that no longer has anything in it between them, as if using it as a barrier. Christian is leaning just a hair too close in Dream’s space and at the sight of it, Hob nearly sees red.

“Hey, Dream. I’ve been looking for you.”

Dream turns his head and at the sight of Hob, his face relaxes immediately. The impatient, frustrated look in his eyes, the furrowed brow, vanishing in relief.

Hob isn’t a jealous guy, and he knows it isn’t jealousy that he feels rushing through his veins. It’s possession. It’s some kind of embarrassing animal instinct to claim and parade about how that’s mine, back off.

So the way he slips next to Dream, getting an arm around his waist and pulling him into a kiss that absolutely doesn’t need to be as lascivious and biting as it is, feels both appropriate and completely unnecessary. 

But the way Dream melts at the slip of Hob’s tongue, the way he’s kissing back, using his free hand to knot into the expensive fabric of his button down and pull, keeping him close, wipes Hob’s brain clean and nearly forgets why he’s doing this… until Christian clearing his throat makes its way past Hob’s ears.

They detach with a wet gasp and the way Dream chuckles, a low rumble that shoots straight through Hob’s chest and down to his crotch, makes Hob go back for another, and another. Lips only and chaste, but Dream still leans back respectably, turning his head to address the man before them with a sly grin as Hob nuzzles his way instead up his jaw and behind his ear.

“Christian, this is my fiance, Robert Gadling.”

“Uh, hi.” Christian bites out and Hob turns his head just enough to stare him down. “Didn’t know you were engaged.”

“You did.” Dream insists, extending his arm and pushing the empty glass into Christian’s fumbling hand. “You can leave, now.”

With a barely restrained sigh of “whatever,” Christian goes, shaking his head as he does and Dream takes Hob’s face in both his hands, bringing his attention forward.

“Sorry,” Hob cracks a grin. “I know you’re trying to network and he might’ve been some hotshot guy–”

“He was no one,” Dream interjects, his fingers getting in Hob’s gelled and combed back hair and pulling it. “And that was very hot. Thank you for saving me.”

“Anytime,” Hob laughs and Dream pulls him in to taste it.