#why did he looked finer than the movie

[1v31182m5]

[johnwickb1tsch]

Everyone is sending GIF requests, so, here is mine. Hint: Jealous John? (Though I doubt this man can ever be jealous but...whatever comes to your genius brain)

Thanks!

@sweetwolfcupcake SWEEETS!!!!! I loved this prompt SO MUCH!!! You're such a genius. *kisses your head* I hope you like this! 💗💗💗

Bodyguard!John Wick x Shy!Curvy!Fem!Student!Reader

⚠warnings: threat of noncon (not John), mention of parental death

For the record, you didn’t mean to fall in love with John Wick. But he was nothing like the other goons your father had tasked with guarding you before.  Wick was tall, and handsome, and had the soulful eyes of a poet. You know he’s dangerous; he can kill a man 30 ways with a pencil (the men of your father’s Bratva will not shut up about it) but he seems so…gentle. And the thing that really proved your undoing?

That good looking bastard was bookish, and it did something inconceivable to your lit major brain. Ever your dark shadow, you spent countless late nights in the library together, and so many Saturday afternoons browsing the used bookshops, combing for treasures. He would rescue the books that looked better fit for the waste bin, taking them to repair. Maybe he was there to protect you, for your father had many unsavory enemies, but it was easy to forget when John discussed with you the finer points of the Bloomsbury Set or the themes of Anna Karenina.  

Maybe your father assigned John to you because he was one of the few gangsters around in his brigata one could trust to guard a relatively innocent young lady–that didn’t mean John was safe from you. You just couldn’t help yourself; you’d like to plead insanity, your honor, the night you finally broke and tried to kiss him, while he was helping you with your homework for Russian Lit 301. 

How stupid you felt, how utterly pathetic, when he’d very kindly dislodged you from his so soft mouth, looking at you with pity in his sad dark eyes. “You know…we can’t do this,” he told you.

Mortified, you’d fled to your room and cried, knowing you are the most ridiculous human being on the face of the earth.

What were you thinking?

You are nothing like the tall, ethereal creatures that populate the clubs where Wick frequents with your father. You are shy, and curvy, and frankly…a nerd. An old soul, your father would say fondly, but you know he is just being kind.

You’re not sure how you got it into your head, that you were going to make Wick sorry. You’ve never been one for going out, but you decide to give it a whirl, wanting to be anyone but yourself. You decide to go to the Red Circle, to hang out with the other Bratva brats who care way more about clubbing and clothes and who’s fucking who, than classes at NYU. 

At first you really hate it–but after a few shots of vodka, it’s not so bad. John has to hang back, keeping an eye on you but not interacting with your friends. He’s scary good at lurking in the shadows, but you know he’s keeping an eye on every move you make. Maybe that’s why you let Alexsei kiss you, the son of a semi-friendly loan shark who works in proximity with your father. You don’t really like him, if you’re being honest. But he’s not totally hideous–and he’s there–and John will have to watch it all. 

You and Alex start to have a thing. It’s no big deal. Something to do, on the summer break from your studies. You invite him over to watch a movie, knowing you’ll have the house to yourself. Your father is always at his office doing business, your idiotic brother is always out getting into trouble with his khuligan friends, and your mother…is dead, God rest her poor soul. 

You can tell Alex is a little drunk, when he shows up at your door. He’s very handsy, when you settle in on the couch to watch the latest mindless action flick, his pick. It’s ok, until he tries to unbutton your pants.

You have a secret. 

You’re 21, nearly graduated from university–and you’re still a virgin. 

This is not a thing you intend to give to Alexsei Plushenko. You don’t even really like the way he touches you.

“Stop, Alex.”

“Don’t be scared,” he tries to coax you. “This will be fun.”

“No,” you say. “Let’s just…”

He covers your mouth with his, shutting you up, his heavy body pinning you on the couch. “Don’t be such a stuck up bitch.” His groping fingers squeeze your breast clumsily, painfully, before fumbling with your jeans again. You try to push him off, but he’s heavy, and strong.

Suddenly, he is yanked from you like he weighs nothing at all. You hardly recognize what is happening at first, until you hear the sound of flesh striking flesh. John is on him, his iron fist meeting the younger man’s face. 

“John! Stop!” 

Wick looks up at you, meeting your eyes in a primal lock of stares–your heart drops and soars again, as you feel as though you’ve stumbled on a wolf over his kill, and the wildest thing?

You get the inkling that wolf is jealous. 

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. A beating will make some complications for your father. A death? Could mean war.

Wick punches the handsy young man one more time, his eyes never leaving yours, before hauling Alex up by the collar and frog marching him out the front door, tossing him down the concrete steps of your home.

John finds you waiting for him in the marble foyer, his eyes wild, his knuckles torn. You don’t even know what to say. 

“What did you even see in him?” he finally demands, clearly annoyed.

“He wasn’t you,” you answer without thinking.

Wick steps up to you, toe to toe, so that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. His hair has broken free from its slicked back style, tendrils in his eyes.

He’s never looked more beautiful, your savage savior.

“You’re trying to get me killed.”

You shake your head, the very thought anathema to you. You are transfixed, unable to look away, unable to think. “You’re too precious to me,” you admit, and screw your eyes shut the moment you admit it, a spear of mortification piercing you from your heart to your stupid, aching, cunt.

“Milaya…” 

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said to you.

Your eyes drop to his knuckles, torn open in his defense of you. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not to me.” You don’t know where you get the courage, to take his hand, and lead him up to your room. You can hardly believe it, that he actually follows you. In your ensuite bathroom you dab at his knuckles with a washcloth, slather him with ointment and plaster him with bandaids. You run out of sober flesh colored ones, so the last cut gets a Disney bandage, Ariel and sea-flowers decorating this severe man’s knuckles. 

He lets you do all this, watching you intensely with those dark eyes you’re certain can see into your soul. You stand too close–and he lets you, this haunted man who watches over you day and night. Your whole life you have never wanted for anything, your father’s money buying you all your heart could possibly desire.

Until now.

You find it hard to meet his eyes, zeroing in on a spot of blood on his stark white dress shirt. 

“Y/n.” With a gentle knuckle under your chin he turns your gaze up to his again. “You are too smart, and too beautiful, to be wasting your time with a fuckboy like Alexsei Plushenko.”

The first part you already knew. The second, from this man’s lips? Your knees nearly collapse out from under you, a flood of excitement and dread coursing through your system. You almost can’t stand it–it’s like being burned alive, and your native shyness rears with a vengeance. 

You try to flee, back to the safety of your room, and your books, your imaginary lives that can’t really hurt you–but he catches your hand. His grip is not hard, but it is enough to stop you dead in your tracks. 

“Y/n…” He’s pleading with you, but you don’t understand what he’s asking you. 

“You said you don’t want me, John…” you say, still unable to meet his eyes. “So let me go.” 

He answers by pulling you against him, the solid line of his torso a brick wall beneath the hand you raise to catch yourself. But bricks are not warm, like the flesh beneath his designer clothes. You can feel the wires in your brain sizzling, the synapses simply melting down. Your heart is Chernoble waiting to happen. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You said–”

“I said, ‘We can’t.’ Not, that ‘I don’t want you.’��

You almost cannot breathe, your heart attempting to beat out of your chest, a ringing in your ears that drowns out all else. There is nothing, nothing, in this world you’ve wanted more, than to hear those words from this man. But now that he’s standing before you, against you, holding you–you cannot move. You do not know what to do. 

He solves this problem by cupping your cheek in his big hand–God, how you’ve noticed those hands–and then he is pressing his mouth to yours, gentle at first, but then…hungry. As though John Wick has been starving, for you, and it’s all you can do just to stand there and take it without melting into a puddle on the floor. His arms wrap around your back, holding you, lifting you to your tiptoes as he devours you. When at last he pulls back you are left seeing stars, struck utterly speechless with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

“Tell me to stop,” he raggedly demands, his eyes boring down into yours. 

Finally, you find your courage, meeting his stare. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper. 

“Good. Because I don’t think I can.” He kisses you again, just as hungrily as the first time, his arm an iron band around your waist and his fingers sneaking up into your hair. That’s your kryptonite: your hair, and blithely you know he can do anything and everything he wants to you now.  

Your father is a bad man, but you have not had a bad life. You have never known hunger, or true physical pain. He has protected you from the violence of his world. He has played things smart enough that not even the FBI can touch you, even though they absolutely know what he is and where your family gets its money. Despite all this, you have been dying inside, a slow, withering demise, until John Wick’s lips touched yours. He is the life-giving rain over the desert; your heart is a field of wildflowers erupting in a superbloom. 

This time, he leads you, in between kissing you, to the loveseat at the foot of your bed. He sits, and only when he tries to pull you into his lap do you resist. “John…I’m too…much,” you insist, conscious of your generous flesh and what it would be like to set that on top of him, afraid he’ll be horrified. 

However, he just scoffs at you, grabbing you up anyway and guiding you down. For a moment you are weightless–he knows how to upset a person’s balance, how to use their weight against them to put them on the floor. This time he uses it to put you on him. You’re not exactly proud of it, but the ease with which he utterly manhandles you makes your long-neglected lady parts sing with desire. 

“You are perfect, dietka,” he insists, pulling you closer with hands on your round behind, “And I am very strong.” For the first time in you can’t remember how long–he smiles at you. That beautiful half smile with a sparkle in his dark eyes that takes your breath away–you love him so much it hurts. 

This time you don’t feel so shy, about kissing him. You feel like your bones are filled with butterflies, and you both moan and giggle as you do your best to devour each other from the mouth down. Aside from an appreciative squeeze of your thighs bracketing his hips, he doesn’t try to seduce you, even though you know you absolutely would have given him anything he asked you for. He is content, just to kiss you, for this night at least, and oh. He’s good at it too. 

You decide you would burn down the world, for one more kiss from John Wick.  

Later you find yourself snuggled in your bed with John, fully clothed, your head on his shoulder as he toys with the fine hairs at the back of your neck. His touch is heaven, and with your legs twined with his it’s hard not to squirm and writhe against his muscled thigh like a horny little gremlin. 

Later, you tell yourself. It can wait for later. 

Like maybe, tomorrow. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” he warns you. “If your father…” 

If your father found out, the best thing that could happen to John is getting fired. 

“I won’t let you get hurt,” you promise, kissing his bearded cheek, praying you’re telling the truth.

He chuckles at this; a deep sound you feel more than hear. “I thought that was my job?”

“You know what I mean.” 

“I know.” He looks down at you with a tenderness that curls your toes. “It would be worth it, for you.” 

Your heart has suddenly decided it would like to take up residence in your throat–permanently.

“Oh, John…”  

He kisses you again, a soft brush of lips that renders you weightless. This is how you die: it’s almost too much to stand, this impossibly full feeling in your chest. Then he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You have been driving me mad, you little minx. I wanted to kill everyone who so much as looked at you in the Circle.” 

You snort at the thought–you do not understand, really, that he could absolutely do it too. 

“Not to worry. I think the library is more my speed.” He rests his head against yours with a small, contented sigh. “Mine too,” he admits. The smell of old books around you is a soothing balm to you both. 

You know small bits of his past. Morsels he has sprinkled, here and there in the conversations you have had. You know he did not have an easy childhood. You know that this life was not really his choice. Even less so than most, who move and work in the Underworld. 

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?” you ask. 

He lifts an eyebrow at you. “I’m liking New York, at the moment,” he tells you with an affectionate squeeze. 

“Oh come on.” 

“Fine. I like Paris a lot.” 

“Hmm,” you answer, but what you think, is: Done.  You will have the opportunity to arrange to study abroad soon, and you think a trip away from the Tarasov territory might do you both some good.

Surely Papachka wouldn’t deprive you of your most trusted bodyguard?

[mlmxreader]

Date Night | Elliot Stabler x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Elliott stabler

85"You’re adorable when you’re concentrating"

148"I'm taking you on a date, a real date"

289Person A stealing person B’s clothes and getting caught ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Elliot rarely get to go on nice, proper, date for once but as usual, something gets in the way.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ brief non-graphic nudity, swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help Evacuate Mai for Essential Medical Treatment

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The weight of a bullet proof vest still cast a shadow over Stabler as he made his way through the small flat; he would stop every now and then to look into the various animal tanks and see whatever was out. A few snakes, a scorpion, a lizard. It wasn't unusual.

He had grown used to it and, even then, it was one of the reasons why the kids loved coming here; they loved helping feed the animals and getting them out to hold them - so Stabler made his peace with being around them... even if the scorpions did give him quite a jump.

"Dad's best friend", as the saying went, and it never failed to make Stabler smile.

He draped his coat over the bannister, kicking his shoes off near it, and dared to slowly move towards the bedroom door; he could hear a soft grunting, along with harsh breaths, and swallowed thickly.

But then he heard the plastic snap, and allowed himself to cross the room over to you; you were on your back with your head at the bottom of the bed, holding up a little plastic figurine as you tried desperately to fix it.

It belonged to one of his kids, and he appreciated that you were making an attempt; gently, he lowered your wrists above your head, and knelt down to be eye level with you.

"You're adorable when you're concentrating."

You smiled back, welcoming it when he leaned over to kiss you; your hands went to the sides of his head, pulling him slightly closer as you tried to make it last for more than a few seconds.

Slowly, Stabler moved until he was straddling your waist, his hands planted on the mattress either side of your head as he hummed under his breath. "How you been? C'mon, just talk with me for a sec."

You grinned as you let your hands hold onto his shirt tightly. "Not bad, me and Olivia went to get coffee today... how'd your thing go?"

He grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't really wanna talk about it."

"You never have to," you told him softly. "Did you eat yet?"

He shook his head. "Not tonight, I'm taking you out on a date, a real date this time - not a rugby match or a movie or whatever we did last time."

You thought for a moment, trying to remember. "I think our last date we went to the pub, watched a rugby match, and throughout the entire thing I had to explain the whole game... as well as who you're supporting."

He grinned, a warm feeling in his chest for a moment; Stabler always liked to keep things simple and, well, cost effective - and it was just as well. You hated it when he got you gifts, when he offered to treat you like other people treated their significant others and got the flashy, finer things.

But so did he.

It was perfect that you both preferred the quiet and the simple.

"C'mon," he laughed softly, gently patting your cheek. "Get dressed and I'll met you in the kitchen."

You groaned, mockingly protesting as you tilted your head back and pouted. "Do I have to?"

"Yes!" Stabler murmured as he kissed you softly.

He left you with a final kiss, heading to the kitchen and making both himself and you a decent cup of coffee; whatever they served at the precinct was coffee by name, but it certainly didn't taste like it. It was like a mix of cardboard and steamed water.

The good, cheap, stuff that you kept stocked up was far better, and he knew exactly how to make it the way you liked it.

But when you didn't come back to him once he had finished making it, he was a little concerned.

Stabler called out to you as he made his way back to the bedroom, pausing on the stairs for a moment; you didn't answer, and he grew a little concerned.

He continued, pausing by the door and letting his instincts take over; he listened closely, but heard nothing.

He pushed the door open; you were lying naked on the bed, just about to pull on one of his shirts and steal it from him, again. He stole a more than quick look, trying not to grin.

Usually, Stabler would have closed the door and hurried back to the kitchen, but he cleared his throat and tried not to laugh when he heard you rush to put your trousers on.

Once you gave him the go ahead, he entered the room at last, and smiled.

"You're such a perfect gentleman," you told him, tugging the shirt on and letting it drape around your shoulders.

Stabler tilted his head from side to side for a moment. "Oh, I'm not. I snuck a peek, and... wow."

You laughed, shaking your head fondly and gripping his shirt as you hummed softly. "Why am I not surprised?"

He shrugged, putting an arm around you and backing you up against the bed. "Can you blame me?"

You couldn't help it, groaning softly when Stabler started to kiss your neck softly; your hand went to the back of his neck as you spurred him on, whimpering softly when he pulled away.

"You gonna give me my shirt back?" He murmured against your skin softly.

You shook your head, cupping his jaw gently. "You're gonna have to make me, detective."

Stabler grinned, gently starting to push it from your shoulders as he slowly lowered you down completely; your back on the mattress as you told him to keep going. To keep going and going and going.

"You can't keep stealing my shirts," he told you with a soft, playful, growl. "I'm not gonna have any left to wear to work."

"Is that a problem?" You asked, tilting your head. 'It wouldn't be for me."

Stabler shook his head fondly, placing his hand on your chest and feeling your heart rate for a second. "C'mon, we have a date. We can fool around later."

[crowsofdarkness]

Soldiers: Chapter Eight

-pic not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: The Winter Soldier a.k.a Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Female Agent

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, angst, and smut that will include oral with both female and male receiving, hand jobs, fingering, unprotected pinv, slight choking.

Summary: Voin and Soldat were Hydra's greatest weapons. As they become close, Voin is burdened by the weight of being the one who causes Soldat his worst pain.

Authors Note: this is a reader insert however the name "Voin" will be used a lot. It's her Hydra nickname, like Soldat. Now that I'm caught up, it may take some time for updates to come. This fic will eventually tie into The Winter Soldier movie. Tags are open!

Tags: @bookofriverr @that-blonde-girl @starfly-nicole @globetrotter28

Soldiers Masterlist

“Voin, did you hear what I just said?”

My eyes snapped up from the floor over to Ivan who sat behind his large desk, fingers steepled together. There was clear annoyance on his face because of his need to repeat himself. Quickly, I nodded.

“Yes. I'll unfreeze Soldat and prep him for the mission,” I said, doing my best to hide the waver in my voice.

Ivan gave me a once over before he nodded once, to dismiss me, and I wasted no time in scurrying out of his office and towards the laboratory. I had to take a few deep breaths to steady myself, knowing that this would be the first time I would not only see Soldat but talk to him in almost a month, since that night in my living quarters. Shortly after he left me standing there, naked and confused, Ivan thought Soldat needed to be put back into cryosleep since there was word of a metal-armed assassin being seen in Germany. Soldat needed to go into hiding until the rumors died down.

Could they be called rumors if it was true?

Now, almost a month later, I was ordered to wake him, erase his memories, then prep him for our upcoming mission. Ivan was sending us undercover a few towns over to kill someone that had wronged Hydra; someone that stole quite a few million dollars from Ivan. It didn’t seem as if this mission needed both Soldat and me, not that I was complaining about spending time with him but I practically had to force more information about this job out of Ivan.

“It seems a bit too easy. You say this guy is scum, a lowlife, why send two of your best assassins after him?” I had asked him.

Ivan pressed his tongue deep into the side of his cheek. “This low life is one of the most heavily guarded men in Russia. His father is the leader of one of the most feared mafia gangs. This kid won’t go anywhere without his guards.”

I raised a brow. “Are you afraid of some kid?”

Ivan’s eyes bore into mine. “This kid stole a million dollars from me, he’s smarter than he looks. I’m not going to send someone after him that will fuck it up. Soldat and you are the best.”

At first, I was annoyed that we were being sent on a mission to kill some kid but Ivan assured me that this thirty-something-year-old deserved to die. Not only because of him laundering money from Ivan but this kid had a very lengthy rap sheet that range from drugs to being caught trying to smuggle underage girls into Russia. But as angry as I was, I knew I needed to calm myself because this would not be an easy mission. One of Ivan’s grunts did some research to find out that our target will be at a theater show two nights from now, sitting in his father’s prepaid reserved box seat. This is one of the rare times the target will be away from his guards because he doesn’t want anyone to know he indulges in theater.

Something about being the son of one of the most feared mafia bosses doesn’t allow you to enjoy the finer things in life.

As my footsteps echoed loudly in the laboratory, I gave a tight smile to the doctors that littered against the far side of the wall almost as if they feared me; they did but as long as they stayed on my good side, none of them would turn to dust.

“Voin,” one doctor nodded. “I can assure you, there have been no changes since you were here last night. Soldat is sleeping soundly.”

I knew that, I could hear his heartbeat throughout the compound. It lulled me to sleep every night for the last month.

“Ivan sent me to wake Soldat.”

I didn’t bother giving him any more of my attention. It was all on Soldat who was a few feet in front of me, cold dead eyes peering through the frost on the door of the chamber. I had only seen him like this twice now but it still burned deep into my heart. He was innocent in all of this; he had no say in the choices that were made for him.

Neither did I but I came to terms a long time ago that my say in anything about me ceased the second I asked Johann Schmitt to take me in.

My ears tingled as I heard the hushed conversations from the guards that were posted to watch the room.

“Do you think she’ll erase his memories?”

“She hasn’t used her powers in weeks, she’ll end up killing Soldat. Ivan is wasting his time on her. He should have killed her the second Soldat became who he was.”

Anger radiated off of me which caused sparks to shoot from my fingertips. The electricity burned with a hum around the room as I peered over to my shoulder towards the two guards, lips turning up in a sneer.

“It’s like you idiots forget I have super hearing,” I spat.

Suddenly, Ivan’s presence was felt behind me, and with a low growl, I let the electricity fade from my fingers before typing in the familiar code to finally wake Soldat. The cold air wrapped around me like a vice once the door opened and on my own I stepped up to Soldat, letting his body fall into me as I carried his limp body over to the chair in the middle of the room. This whole scene was becoming familiar and as much as I hated it, I didn’t have a choice. Even before Schmitt died and Zola was captured, they made sure I understood that if I didn’t comply with any orders, not only would I die, so would Soldat. Immortality meant nothing to them apparently, but they still liked to threaten me with it.

Soldat woke, slowly, and when I sat him gently into the chair, he let out a soft grunt.

“Does he need to be controlled?” Ivan asked me.

I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

He mewled over my words for a long moment before nodding. “Take the book with you in case.”

My eyes darted over to the red leather-bound book, the black star mocking me, and gave my curt nod back to Ivan.

“Wipe him then prep him for the mission,” Ivan ordered.

Biting my tongue, I took the familiar position of standing behind Soldat then let the electricity return to my fingers. Soldat was still in a groggy state, not quite realizing what was about to happen. With my eyes closed, I let out a deep breath to center myself mentally. I needed Ivan and everyone else to think I was erasing all of Soldat’s memories but I was only going to erase previous missions. All of his memories of me will stay intact including the night that he appeared in my living quarters after my bath. And the way he made me fall apart for him, spilling my arousal all over his thick thigh.

Heat flushed my cheeks but did my best to make sure no one noticed.

Soldat’s screams echoed loudly in the laboratory as the electricity from my fingers dug deep into his head. He writhed underneath my touch and I could hear his teeth grinding together with the sheer pain I was putting him through. I had done this many, many, times and it never got easier. Knowing that I was the reason for his pain broke me little by little.

Once the surrounding room was filled with silence, it was then that I pulled my hands away before slowly stepping around Soldat, looking into his deep, colorless eyes.

“Soldat?” I asked.

“Ya gotov otvechat.”

Ready to comply.

The motel reeked of overuse of cleaning chemicals and stale sheets but I couldn’t complain too much. We needed to stay at this type of motel to lie low and go unnoticed. Soldat followed closely behind, the heat from him engulfing me. Neither of us said a word the entire two-hour drive even though I was clutching onto him as he sped his way through the night streets on his motorcycle. The guy at the front desk didn’t bother looking away from his book when I asked for a room, he simply tossed the key onto the desk.

Coming to a halt in front of the door, I looked over to Soldat. “Were we followed?”

I knew the answer but still wanted to ask, just to make sure.

He shook his head.

I waited for a few more beats, wondering if he would say something else, but when he remained silent, I let out a soft breath and led us into the room. It matched the design of the hallway to a T. Peeling wallpaper, stained carpet that was from either blood or other bodily fluids, and cracks in the window. Thankfully, the sheets and blanket on the bed looked washed, even recently.

Bed. As in one. The only place to sit or sleep in the entire room.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.

I had told the guy at the front desk that we needed two beds but clearly; he didn’t give a fuck. Yes, Soldat and I had shared a room the handful of times we went out of town for missions but always there were two beds. Not like we both would be asleep at the same time. Soldat usually took watch majority of the missions while I slept. Even though I erased his memories, it’s like he knew he could rest during his next cryosleep.

“What is it?” Soldat questioned, his warm presence once again felt behind me.

“Nothing,” I shook my head.

There was no need to bother him with my internal despair. I was expecting him to toss his bag onto the bed, ready to take watch, so it surprised me when I felt cool metal fingers graze up and down my back. My body shivered underneath his touch and when his warm breath fanned across the nape of my neck, my eyes fluttered shut.

“Last night,” Soldat began.

With a raised brow, I turned to face him. “Last night?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Suddenly, I realized that he still thought that night between us was last night and not almost a month ago. To him, time doesn’t pass while he sleeps. But to me? It’s the longest passing of time I’ve ever felt. His absence brings a dull ache within me.

Instead of correcting him, I simply nodded my head.

“Yes,” my voice was just above a whisper.

The air around us became thick, encasing us in a cloud of desire, and Soldat’s hands gripped my hips while his lips grazed over the shell of my ear.

“Why didn’t you stay?” I asked, my hands spread across his chest.

With our mission, we decided to blend in with the crowd tonight and not wear our tac suits. Soldat was wearing a pair of black slacks and a black T-shirt. I could feel the warmth radiating off of him underneath my hands.

It killed me not knowing why he didn’t stay longer than night. Was it something I said or did? I replayed that night over and over in my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong.

Underneath my hands, I felt his body stiffen and I could almost see the walls going up in his mind so I dragged my hands down his chest before wrapping around his back. Soldat’s breath hitched when I softly pressed my hips into his. His metal fingers gripped my hip while his flesh fingers dug into my scalp and pulled my head back so I looked up at him at an angle.

“Yesli by ya ostalsya s toboy, ya by nikogda ne pozvolil tebe uyti.”

The Russian words brought chills throughout my entire body, and a quiet whimper fell from my lips. I almost couldn’t handle the intensity that burned from his gaze and I let my eyes fall to his lips. Soldat’s grip was still tight on my hair so even if I wanted to step away to put some space between us, I couldn’t.

Not like I was going to.

“Soldat,” I breathed.

However, all of my breath was knocked out of me when he pushed me up against the wall, his grip on my hair never faltering while his metal fingers grazed over the flesh of my stomach which was visible thanks to my shirt riding up a bit.

“Krasivyy,” Soldat mused while he looked over every inch of my face.

Usually, I never faltered or melted in front of anyone, especially a man but there was something about Soldat that made me want to get on my knees and submit to him.

I let out a quiet hiss of relief when his tight grip on my hair left, his flesh fingers now lifting my chin. I brought my bottom lip between my teeth and dug my teeth into it, the desire to finally kiss Soldat digging deep into my bones. His hips pressed into my heated core and I couldn’t stop the moan that fell from my lips. My nails scratched at the skin of his lower back and brought his hips into me once more. A low growl erupted from Soldat which only fueled my desire. I felt the outline of his semi-hard cock press against the inside of my thigh but it wasn’t enough. I needed more.

I exposed the skin of my neck to him and Soldat wasted no time, his teeth and tongue tasting every inch. My hands were running through his hair, scratching nails at his scalp before dragging down his large chest and stomach.

“Voin.”

My name, well nickname, was moaned into my skin when I grazed my hand over his cock before squeezing it.

Suddenly, the phone in the hotel room rang, echoing loudly against the walls. It made the both of us break away from each other, both standing tall and stiff. The phone only rang twice which was the way to tell us it was time.

Our target was at the theater and we needed to get there as soon as possible.

Breathless, I adjusted my clothes while Soldat stood still, unmoving. His hair was disheveled and his dick was still hard under his pants. It was scary how fast he switched back to the soldier.

“Soldat?” I asked.

“Ya gotov otvechat.”

The large room where the show was being held was crowded, with large groups of people trying to find their seats, and with a gloved hand linked in mine, I led Soldat to our seats that were six rows away from the stage, directly in the middle. My heels clicked along the tile floor while the fabric of my dress clung to my body. The cold air brushed against the skin of my exposed back but the heat radiating from Soldat quickly replaced it. He was close behind me, not allowing more than two inches of space between us.

After we received our message from Ivan, Soldat and I rushed quickly to get ready, afraid that if we were even two minutes later, our mission wouldn’t be completed. To get this done with no one batting an eye at us, we needed to blend in. So I was dressed in a floor-length black dress with a plunging neckline and an open back while Soldat wore a black suit, and a white dress shirt underneath. He had a glove over his left hand to hide the metal fingers. It was weird seeing him like this, so normal and not dressed like an assassin, but I liked it. What I loved about the way he looked right now was his long locks were pulled back into a low bun.

My heart skipped a beat when I remembered earlier in the motel room where he allowed me to kneel behind him while he sat on the edge of the bed and I brushed his hair back out of his face.

“Feels nice,” he muttered.

Finally finding seats, the both of us sat down while our eyes scanned our surroundings.

“Any sight of him?” I asked.

Soldat peered over my shoulder and then gave one short nod. “His box is three rows behind, up towards the left.”

I didn’t follow his gaze.

“Anyone with him?” I questioned.

“A server bringing drinks and one woman.”

This made my brow raise in confusion. Ivan mentioned nothing about there being someone with our target tonight. He was supposed to be alone.

I hummed in response while settling into my seat when the lights went out; the show getting ready to start. My mind was swirling with a new plan, one where we could take both our target and his date out without being seen. Our current plan was I would flirt my way into his box, where I would distract him as Soldat snuck up behind him to snap his neck. Quick and quiet.

I wasn’t thrilled that I would be used as a toy to distract the target because that’s not what I signed up for when I became Voin. But now, there was an extra person to take out, and I felt a small smile pulling at my lips knowing that I wouldn’t only be used as an object tonight.

Soldat was watching me with a soft gaze as I snaked my fingers behind his neck to play with the few loose strands of hair there and leaned in closer to his ear. To the others around us, it looked like a domestic action between two people in love.

“The mission remains the same, only now you deal with him while I get her,” my breath was warm as I spoke against his neck.

Soldat’s body shivered for a quick second before he nodded and we turned our attention to the stage when the show finally started. My hand stayed at the nape of his neck while his gloved hand rested against my thigh, so close to the knife I had strapped underneath my dress. I did my best to keep my mind only on the mission and not the way Soldat’s fingers slowly slipped through the slit of my dress and then dragged up between my legs towards my core. The cool leather of his glove was a striking contrast to the warmth I felt pooling between me. Even though there were people around us, it was still dark enough that no one knew what was happening unless they were directly staring at us.

His name came out in a breath when one of his fingers slipped underneath the fabric of my panties, ghosting over my folds.

“Ochen' vlazhnyy,” Soldat whispered in my ear.

He pressed a finger into me without hesitation pumping it a few times before sliding in another. I let my eyes shut slowly, biting the inside of my cheek so a moan would pass through. Soldat worked his fingers hard, deep, and fast. I was still so wound up from our time in the motel room, not being able to stop thinking about how good his dick felt pressed up against me. I was already so close. The leather added another kind of sensation and when the pad of his thumb began circling my clit, my body tensed for a moment before sheer ecstasy crashed through me like a wave. I grabbed his hand, pressing it harder against my throbbing pussy so I could ride out the rest of my orgasm for a few more seconds.

There were many times that I pleasured myself when I was alone at the compound but none of those orgasms wrecked me as much as this one had. And Soldat only used his fingers.

Breathless, I opened my eyes slowly and noticed that his gaze was trained hard ahead of him, watching the show intently.

“The server has left the box, now’s the time.”

The thickness of his voice told me that my coming undone from his fingers had affected him the same way it had me.

With a nod, I slowly rose from my seat and adjusted my dress before squeezing my way past the people beside me who had no idea what Soldat just did to me in the dark.

[throatgoat4u]

I HOPE YOU'LL FIND SOMEBODY MORE TOXIC

AND Y'ALL GO THROUGH WAY MORE ARGUMENTS THAN WE DID

Y'ALL GO THROUGH WAY MORE ARGUMENTS THAN NEEDED

YOU BETTER GIVE HIM THE SAME FUCKIN' TREATMENT

I KNOW IT'S JUST THE INTRO AND THIS SHIT GET DEEP, BUT

I'VE GOT MY REASONS

I PUT MY WORK IN, IT WASN'T WORTH IT

MY STRESSES TURNED YOU TO THE PERSON FOR SOMEBODY ELSE

I MADE YOU WORTH IT FOR SOMEBODY ELSE

I ENDURED ALL OF YOUR FLAWS

'TIL I BROKE THROUGH ALL THE WALLS OF YOUR GUARD

NOW YOU'RE PERFECT FOR SOMEBODY ELSE

"I'M 'BOUT TO CALL HER, BRUH, I AIN'T GON' LIE"

I KNOW SHE'S SOMEWHERE WITH A GOOD GUY

I KNOW SHE'S OUT WITH A GUY WHO PUSH A PRETTY PENNY

HER FRIEND JUST LET ME KNOW SHE SAY HE GETS MORE PAPER THAN ME, YEAH

THERE GOES MY EGO

THIS SHIT IS WEAK THOUGH

MY HEART IS COLD AS SHIT, IT'S BRICK

MY SHIT IS SHAQ AT THE FREE-THROW

TRYNA GET YOU BACK WITH ALL THESE CHEAP HOES

AND YOU DON'T EVEN PEEP THOUGH

I LET YOU TAKE 'TIL THERE WAS NOTHIN' LEFT OF ME

I SEEN IT ALL 'TIL THERE WAS NOTHIN' LEFT TO SEE

I KNOW SHE WOULD LEAVE ME, WHAT YOU TELLIN' ME?

'CAUSE WHEN IT'S SAID AND DONE, ALL I GOT IS THESE MELODIES

YOU WASN'T THERE WHEN I WAS SELLIN' CDS

JUGGIN' AT THE TD, I WAS MAKIN' CCS

MONEY COMIN' OUT, I'M WATCHIN' IT IN 3D

YOU TOLD ME I'D BE NOTHIN', NOW I'M ON THE TV

FAST FORWARD, COUPLE YEARS LATER, SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, BITCH

CAR FUTURISTIC, SHOULD'VE COME WITH THREE SEATS

TOOK THE LAST FEEDBACK, IT DON'T COME WITH TVS

I STOPPED WEARIN' CHROME HEARTS AND AMIRI JEANS

GETTIN' TOO MUCH MONEY AND IT'S BUSTIN' OUT THE SEAMS

SHAWTY, DON'T ACT LIKE I DIDN'T MEET YOU ON THE SCENE

I ONLY SLEPT ON YOU BECAUSE YOU STARTED SELLIN' DREAMS

OH MY GOD, I DON'T EVEN KNOW, I'M SO ASHAMED RIGHT NOW

SHE BE FUCKIN' RICH N**** SINCE NINETEEN

NO MONEY INSIDE HER BAGS, JUST DRUGS AND MAYBELLINE

SEEMS LIKE MONEY'S GOT YOU DOIN' ANYTHIN'

ANYTHIN', ANYTHIN'

SERVIN' LOOKS, YOU DEADED ME ALL FOR THE FINER THINGS

FUCK ME GOOD AND THEN YOU TELLIN' ME ALL KINDA THINGS

IT'S LIKE MONEY'S GOT YOU DOIN' DIFFERENT TYPE OF THINGS

HONESTLY, LIKE I DON'T KNOW WHY I DID THAT, BUT I DID, YEAH

GIRL, I HEARD YOU FUCKED THAT N**** IN SOME SHIT I BOUGHT YOU

IT HURTS TO KNOW THAT THAT'S SOME DIFFERENT SHIT I TAUGHT YOU, OH

YOU LEFT ME FOR SOMEONE THAT WAS ICY

WITH ALL THAT ICE, DON'T YOU FORGET

YOU GOTTA COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

IF IT'S ON THE 'GRAM, ON THE TV, YEAH

GONNA SEE ME, GONNA SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

IF IT'S ON THE 'GRAM, ON THE TV, YEAH

GONNA SEE ME, GONNA SEE ME, YEAH

WHAT'S IT IN FOR? I'M TOXIC, YOU KNOW IT

WHATEVER YOUR FRIENDS SAY, I'M NOT SHIT, AND YOU KNOW IT

SHE HOPS IN MY DOUBLE-R, SHE'D RATHER CRY TEARS IN THE STARS

AND SHE KNOWS THEM OTHER GUYS IN THE DOUBLE-R, AIN'T LIKE OURS

THEY AIN'T DOIN' IT LIKE US

MOVIE IS PLAYIN' AND THEY AIN'T QUEIN' IT LIKE US

MAYBE I'M TOXIC, MAYBE I'M NOT SHIT

YOU WENT AND FOUND YOURSELF ANOTHER OPTION

LIQUOR, I'M GONE

SIP, SIPPIN' 'TIL I GET DEPRESSED IN THIS BITCH

THEN I'MA CALL YOU RIGHT UP ON THE FLIP

FIFTY REASONS WHY YOUR N**** AIN'T SHIT

FUCK THEM N***** IF I'M NOT AT THE TOP

I GO CRAZY, I'MA MAKE THIS SHIT HOT

DM YOUR N****, HE BLOW UP YOUR SPOT

FUCK UP THE RELATIONSHIP THAT YOU GOT

FUCKED IT UP AND NOW I'M CALLIN' YOU MINE

THERE'S NO REAL INTENTION OF MAKIN' YOU MINE

I JUST DON'T WANNA SEE YOU WITH NO ONE ELSE

LIKE I'M THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO MOVE ON

I'M A FUCK BOY FOR SAYIN' THAT SHIT, GIRL, I KNOW IT

I DON'T DESERVE YOU FOR PLAYIN' THAT LIKE THAT, I KNOW IT

BUT THROUGH THESE TOXIC EYES, I SEE POTENTIAL

TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THE FACT

YOU GOTTA COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

IF IT'S ON THE 'GRAM, ON THE TV, YEAH

GONNA SEE ME, GONNA SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

COME AND SEE ME, COME AND SEE ME, YEAH

IF IT'S ON THE 'GRAM, ON THE TV, YEAH

GONNA SEE ME, GONNA SEE ME

WANT ME CALL, DON'T YOU? DON'T YOU?

EVERY TIME THAT I SEE YOU, EVERY TIME THAT I SEE YOU

YOU, YOU

EVERY TIME THAT I SEE YOU, EVERY TIME THAT I SEE YOU

WHY DON'T YOU RETURN MY CALLS?

YOU TRIP OUT, WHERE I BE

SHOULDA KNOWN, KARMA SEE ME

NOW YOU DON'T GOT ME, SEE ME

anywho!

toodles sluts :)

[prose-for-hire]

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

(Part 2 to Toil and Trouble)

Pairing: Spike x Harris!reader

Request: I wanted to write a second part to this and I got few comments asking for a pt2 as well! This is the aftermath/relationship between reader and Spike after their date and the conversation that needed to be had with Xander.

As you had sensed, that date had been the first of many with Spike. It had been months since that evening where you had untied him and walked into the moonlight. If only life was like a movie, it could have stopped there. With the promise and hope of everything being okay.

Your twin, of course, couldn’t just let it rest. The tension had reached boiling point. In fact, you had been avoiding him for the past three months. That conversation you had promised him? You were never in the room long enough for him to even take a breath to start to speak.

Spike had found himself a crypt, had almost managed to help kill the slayer through Adam at the Initiative and had given you one of his rings to wear. He had turned to you, halfway through an episode of Passions and had actually managed to drag his eyes away and earnestly offered you the knotted silver band. It was a promise. You had never taken it off since.

You, although knowing Spike had been up to something, didn’t want to hear the finer details. So long as your brother wasn’t going to be hurt, you didn’t want to hear it. You just wanted to be close to Spike. Of course it would be nice to save the world and all that but, really, that ship had sailed and it was more your brother’s hobby than yours.

You were sat in his crypt, curled up on his sofa by his side. Your bodies bathed in candlelight, glowing in a silent contentment. All that could be heard was the distant buzzing of the tv. But that didn’t matter to you. Only he mattered. Your head rested on his shoulders as he wrapped an around you, pulling you in closer. The popcorn you had been sharing had long since been abandoned.

You pressed a few soft kisses against his neck, the near-silent sigh of pleasure you heard from Spike made you smile into the kisses. He used his hand to guide your head to face him, pressing your forehead against his. He savoured the moment closing his eyes at the contact, he could stay in this moment forever and be the happiest man alive.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his. He tasted like cigarette smoke and popcorn. He cupped your cheek in his hand, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he started to deepen the kiss, the way he always did. Knocking the breath from your body. He tilted your head back, thumb sliding to caress your neck with his strong hand, his lips hungrily-

The door to the crypt swung open with such force that it came off its hinges. You tensed and Spike pulled you in close to his side, willing to defend you against anything that came your way. He was fiercely protective and you knew he would lay down his life for you in a heartbeat (one of your heartbeats, of course).

“Can’t a vampire have one sodding moment to rest in peace with his love?”

It was your brother. Again. And his friends, Willow and Buffy. Buffy had a stake and a scary look on her face. The only real threat you had ever felt inside the crypt coming from those supposedly on the side of ‘good’.

Once, you may have sprang apart but you were too comfortable and really, you were an adult. Your brother would have to physically prize you apart if he wanted you to move away from Spike.

“Xander! What is your problem?! You’re dating a demon, I’m dating a vampire it’s not exactly much of a difference”

“Actually, love-”

“Not now, Spike!” You both said at the same time.

“I really bloody hate it when you do that” he muttered but surrendered at the look on your face. You just didn’t want him to say anything that could get a redwood in his chest. You really, really liked him.

“Anya’s different” He insisted, awarding him a glare from you.

“Oh my God, you’re such a bonehead! It’s exactly the same”

“Why don’t we all make with the calmness and take a deep-”

“No time or place for none of your spiritual-wicca bollocks now, Red” Spike warned, knowing you well by now. You didn’t like it when people told you what to do. Especially not the ‘morally superior’ group of your brothers friends.

You reached for Spike’s arm subconsciously and rubbed his arm slowly, showing him that you were right there with him. Thanking him for speaking up. You didn’t actually like arguing, you just didn’t like to back down either. Your brother didn’t exactly appreciate the display of affection, however.

“That’s it! You and me, pal, outside!” Xander said, putting his hands in a fist in a way that could only be described as a mockery of a fight.

“You and what army, Xander” You rolled your eyes. Nevertheless, Spike shrugged and walked outside, lighting up a cigarette as he went. Xander looked a little nervous but took a deep breath and followed him out.

You started to follow too, not wanting either of them to come to any harm but Buffy blocked your way. When you tried to move past, it felt like walking into a brick wall. She was incredibly strong despite her size.

“You’re, uh, strong” You offered lamely, stepping back from her.

“We should probably leave them to it”

“Did you ever think that I might be hurt when you all decided to keep this from me?” It was only because of your healthy curiosity that you had come across Buffy slaying and then researched it yourself. If you hadn’t, when you had first been faced with a vampire you may have not even had a stake on your person.

“We told Xander you should know, but we kinda didn’t wanna get in the middle of a twin-fight” Buffy explained, shuddering at the thought of the infamous twin fights she had witnessed between you and Xander. To you both, they weren’t all that serious usually but it appeared to be in front of others. This time had been different though.

“I’ve known you since I was a kid, Willow, where’s the loyalty?”

Willow opened her mouth and then closed it again, unsure how to speak. She had always been fond of you but she was best friends with Xander and she had never really forgiven you for spreading the news that she had cheated on Oz with your brother around school. You had only told one of your friends, you just happened to have been overheard.

Meanwhile, outside…

Xander had, in a surprise to everyone involved, punched Spike and held him against the wall of the crypt. Spike took it, choking out smoke in surprise but stood there and didn’t even defend himself. Only for you. He was love’s bitch, after all. He knew how upset you would be, even though he was an idiot, you loved your brother a lot.

“Leave them alone, this is mucho evil even for you! Stop acting like you like them”

“Be easier, wouldn’t it. If it were an act” Spike shrugged, dropping his smoke and grinding it under his boot, “I love them”

“Oh yeah, love without the actual, you know, lovin’ part”

Spike gave him a look, one that was one part unamused to two parts looking like he wanted to kill the man stood before him. Xander still had Spike’s shirt balled in his fist. He raised his other fist again, as if to land another punch when you ran out from the crypt and grabbed your brother’s hand.

“That’s enough!” You pulled your brother off him. Your annoyance threatening to boil over.

“You don’t need to do this, Y/n”

“Do what exactly, Xander?!”

“You proved your point, I should’ve told you about Buffy. But rise of the evil dead here is bad news”

“You’re such a hypocrite, xander! Anya is older and has statistically killed more people than Spike and yet you stand there all high and mighty acting like I need to be saved from myself. Well, I don’t. Spike is really good to me, perhaps if you gave him a chance…”

Xander scoffed but he knew you well. Sometimes more than you knew yourself. That look in your eyes, you were deeply upset. You just wanted to be close to your brother again, but you couldn’t even consider losing Spike. You were in love. Deeply.

Spike lit up a cigarette, stepping to your side and handing it to you before lighting up for himself. His mind was always on you, he was in tune with you. You never hid anything from him, you didn’t have to. You took a drag, trying to hide the visible shaking from your hand. This could go two ways. You and Xander could make up like you usually would or the rift could widen and Xander might turn his back on you. A wash of anxiety

“All I want is to look out for you” Xander admitted, looking at the floor. He took the fact he was a minute older than you seriously, assuming the ‘older brother’ role despite there being no real grounds (but that was an argument for another time).

“And you did that by letting me discover vampires by almost getting eaten by one in high school?” You asked pointedly.

“You never said…”

“Better be bloody dust” Spike muttered, jaw tensing at the idea of any vampire wrapping their jaws around you. You were his, if there was any biting to be done, he would of course do the honours.

“How many times have you almost been killed by a vampire, Xand? I’m guessing double figures. Can’t we just call it quits? Uh, I don’t wanna… lose you” You admitted quietly, rolling your own eyes this time. You and Xander didn’t usually do the whole feelings thing. You mostly used humour to cope with your dysfunctional family and just shared knowing looks when you both felt the same way about something.

“Hey! No way, you’re stuck with me. Like glue, the glue-iest” Xander launched at you, giving you a hug, wafting the smoke away and fake coughing as he did, though when he released you from his bone crushing hug, he couldn’t help but say, “But it-it’s Spike. He’s gross, Y/n”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen him lick his own nose blood” Buffy grimaced as she recounted it, joining them with Willow from within the crypt.

“He’s my boyfriend. No amount of nose blood or evil rants can change that.”

Willow and Buffy seemed to soften at this, as well as the adoring look that Spike gave you. Both knew what it was like to love people that others might not understand too. He truly did love you, he made a mental note to tell you properly as soon as you were alone. He just wished he hadn’t said it out loud for the first time to your brother rather than you.

“But-” Xander started again but Willow stood on his foot.

“Didn’t you say we would meet Riley at the Bronze at 11?” Willow changed the subject quickly. Buffy checked her watch and groaned, she had stood him up all week and I was already 11:30. Spike bit his tongue from saying ‘trouble in paradise’. Something you noticed and tried to hide your smile. You had both discussed Buffy’s love life at length.

“Why don’t you guys come? Merry merriment for all, right Xand?” Willow asked kindly, echoing Xander’s earlier phrasing.

“Oh, right, yeah, family bonding and all that” You offered, knowing more than anything that danger followed Buffy around and that Spike enjoyed picking a fight with any demons that you came across.

“Watch it” Spike murmured from your side. No matter how much he loved you, he didn’t love the idea of Xander being family. But he did nod his head to agree he would go.

As you and your strange group walked together through the streets, with Spike muttering something about charging the slayer for the damage done to his crypt’s door. Spike didn’t like your brother and he certainly didn’t like the slayer, but he liked you very much and he had decided he would have to live with seeing them a lot more often.

“Huh, maybe it runs in the family”

“What?”

“The demon-y magnetism” Willow laughed and Xander kicked a rock at her words but didn’t say anything. He was just getting you back, maybe he could live with you and Spike being together. Well, maybe he would give it three strikes and then he would try and bring up the idea of you leaving him again.

Spike rolled his eyes at Willow’s words but you smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his pale cheek. You slid your hand into his and he squeezed tightly.

“I love you too, by the way” You whispered softly in his ear. You had heard him. He glowed, a smile spread across his face, you always loved it when he smiled. It lit up his entire face, brightening all of his features.

The moonlight caressed his face, his eyes glistening at your words. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against your forehead as you trailed behind your brother and his friends. He would sit through this, for you. Because he loved you, more than he had ever loved another before.

[dearstvckyx]

Flufftober | 10.24 |

Late Candy Run - Jamie Drysdale

The night before Halloween, you and Jamie Drysdale were lounging on the couch, a scary movie paused on the screen while you debated the finer points of why the lead characters always run toward the creepy noises. Just as you were getting into it, you both glanced at the empty candy bowl on the table, realization hitting simultaneously.

“Oh no…” you murmured, wide-eyed.

“We don’t have any candy for trick-or-treaters,” Jamie replied, equally horrified.

Cue the mad scramble to throw on jackets and hop in the car, speeding off to the nearest 7/11 with a level of urgency usually reserved for overtime games. Jamie parked the car in a haphazard angle, practically jumping out before you even had the seatbelt off.

Inside, the candy aisle was…surprisingly bare. A couple of bags here, some off-brand chocolates there. But Jamie was undeterred, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “We’re buying out whatever’s left. Trick-or-treaters are gonna love us.”

Without hesitation, you both started loading up your arms with bags of mini Snickers, Reese’s, Skittles, and…what was that? A lone pack of gummy spiders? Sure, why not. You had so much candy that Jamie insisted on trying to fit all of it in his arms at once, only for half the bags to come tumbling down and scatter on the floor.

“Could you not?” you laughed, nudging him as you both bent down to pick everything up. He just shrugged, grinning like a kid in a candy store…which, technically, he was.

When you finally got to the register with a literal mountain of candy, the cashier gave you both a long, skeptical look. “You guys, uh, throwing a party or something?”

Jamie, in perfect deadpan, replied, “Nope. Just fulfilling our civic duty.” You tried to hold back a snort as the cashier scanned bag after bag.

As you left, Jamie was already tearing into one of the candy bags, popping a mini chocolate into his mouth. “So, technically, this counts as an advance tax for the adults handing out the candy, right?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t eat half of it before tomorrow,” you teased, stealing a piece for yourself. He shot you a look that could only mean he was plotting to eat more than half before Halloween even hit.

The drive back was full of both of you munching on candy, laughing, and planning how you were going to act like the coolest house on the block tomorrow. As you got back and started piling your loot into a gigantic bowl, Jamie grinned, picking up one last mini Snickers, and handed it to you with a dramatic flourish.

“For your excellent work tonight,” he said, pretending to bow.

You took it, giving him a mock curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir. May our sugar-filled stash be the envy of all trick-or-treaters.”

And sure enough, Halloween came, and thanks to your last-minute haul, you and Jamie did, in fact, have the best stash on the block—even if there were a few less mini chocolates than planned.

[sneezemonster15]

what do you think of yuuta and rika?

Obsessive love turned obsessive cursed spirit. In the JJK film, their relationship while Rika is still alive, is a very close and innocent one, as in the kind that one would expect two shy and introverted kids to have. Like two lonely kids finding solace in each other. But while Yuuta treats the relationship like a child would, Rika seems way more obsessive. I felt like it turned from 'sweetly childlike' to 'obsessive' pretty fast. Rika always looked a little odd to me, the first time when she meets Yuuta, she is alone sitting on a hospital bed with a dreamy faraway look in her eyes, and then she sees Yuuta and smiles as if she has known him forever, her love for Yuuta seemed more adult as compared to Yuuta's love for her, which even though strong, is innocent and childlike, not romantic. To see them playing childish games, which Yuuta takes in good innocent spirit, just like a kid would, Rika seems more resolute and serious, even though she is also a kid, it created an unsettling feeling and it was justified later. And it made one anticipate that this relationship will be the precursor to something drastic. It made more sense when I checked out Gege's interview about the same.

Like you can tell Gege didn't intend to write Rika as a 'normal' person. Like a bomb that will potentially explode and will be destructive as hell. Rika was jealous of Maki in the film, given the attention Yuuta gave to her, and the idea of being with Yuuta as one at the end of the film, the idea of symbolically marrying him ends up drawing her to her full power.

However, Yuuta came of age in the film, after he realizes that it was him that cursed Rika unconsciously, and makes a pact with her, his relationship with Rika also evolves. Although I do think that even though it was Okkotsu that cursed Rika, had it been anyone else than Rika, it would probably not have resulted in a curse, and definitely not such a strong curse.

Anyway, after that, he takes accountability for what he accidentally did to Rika. And now they are a unit, she works more like a subjugated shikigami from ten shadows technique than a wayward cursed spirit. They definitely have a strong bond. But I don't think it is romantic.

However, what is certainly potentially romantic is the relationship between Yuuta and Maki, like it was portrayed in the movie. Yuuta is not a kid anymore, he understands the finer nuances of love, an equal kind of love.

Maki is no nonsense, revolutionary and resolute type of person with a specific goal, who has had a lot of exposure to toxic, inhuman and entirely misogynistic men like Naoya and the entire Ze'nin family tbh. Yuuta certainly breaks that stereotype. He is not afraid to take the more humble position in the relationship, his humility, modesty and sweet humor kind of 'melts' her defences, makes her softer around the edges. She opens up to him even though initially, she did not have the best impression of him and generally was a little prickly towards him. But it evolves. Their relationship is given credible development in the film.

Finally, it's this cover art that I find symbolic of Yuuta and Rika's relationship.

Looks like she is lovingly cuddling with a Yuuta doll. Like a little girl. A doll typically symbolises a plaything, it has no power, to be controlled by someone else. Love can be obsessive like that, but when it's one sided, it makes one anxious, raises red flags. Which is why it made sense that she was drawn to her full power only after Yuuta gave himself to her body, heart and mind. It's clear that Yuuta's guilt about cursing Rika played a big part in him bonding himself to Rika. It doesn't seem like an equal sort of love, it more than borders on obsessive and a bit insane. But it is a very strong bond nonetheless. Rika also reaches some kind of resolution at the end of the film about Yuuta, so I think Yuuta can go ahead and find love someplace else.

[spookyshipperfics]

The Finer Things (Chapter 1)

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: Explicit

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

Tagging @today-in-fic

What is it About? Scully and Mulder are sent undercover onboard a luxury train to investigate the presence of a suspicious and undocumented train car. Playing a wealthy married couple is tricky, but they run into even bigger issues when an unwelcomed agent gets sent in for backup.

Read a Sample: You’ll want to pack predominantly dressy casual, but formal wear will also be required.

Skinner’s advice still bounced around Mulder’s skull. What did dressy casual even mean? For a man who wore a suit and tie nearly every day, he worried the slacks and collared shirts shoved in his suitcase weren’t up to code. The rental car suddenly felt hot, and he cracked the window.

Mulder had been told a lot over the last two days. He and Scully would be riding the Dusty Mountaineer, a train that twisted and wound through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado before opening to the deserts of Utah and, finally, Nevada. It was five days of luxury meets majesty, or at least that’s what the brochure promised. And while that all sounded fine and dandy, they weren’t going for leisure.

The Dusty Mountaineer’s last few trips had included a mysterious train car unaccounted for in any brochures or official travel documents. The FBI suspected some sort of smuggling operation—firearms, drugs, chemicals—but whispers of strange creatures being transported to a testing site in Nevada warranted a knock on the Spookys’ basement door. After all, Mulder had recklessly jumped onto a train only a few years ago for similar reasons.

This train ride would be different, though. For starters, he and Scully would be going undercover as a married couple… again. Goodbye, Rob and Laura Petrie. Hello, Pete and Chrissy Curtis. Who would’ve thought that with all this chaos, the contents of his wardrobe would be what broke him?

“Scully,” he said, glancing at her in the passenger’s seat, where she leafed through documents containing information about their cover stories. “What do you consider dressy casual?”

He didn’t need to look at her to know she rolled her eyes. The sigh of annoyance confirmed it. “Mulder, if the items you brought are anything like what you’re wearing now, you’ll be just fine.”

His shoulders relaxed in his sports coat. He felt considerably better about the fitted white T-shirt and khakis beneath it. “You think?”

“I do,” she responded dryly, and Mulder couldn’t help but sneak another peek at her. Outfitted in a light blue dress that was much more form-fitting than anything he’d ever seen her in, it was difficult to bring his attention back to the road. He did, though, trying to ignore the memory of her smooth thighs peaking from beneath the fabric.

“What do you do for work?” Scully’s voice drifted into his ear, jolting him back to reality.

“What?”

“What do you do for work?” she repeated.

The fluttering papers in her hand reminded him why they were here in Colorado. He had more important things to worry about than how soft Scully’s thighs looked. He was a goddamn FBI agent about to go undercover for five days. Maybe that’s what was really making him nervous. It wasn’t the definition of dressy casual; it was pretending to be married to Scully. It had been easier in Arcadia. He hadn’t really known what to expect. He didn’t realize how much he’d enjoy touching her or calling her pet names.

“Well, dear,” he began, “I’m a community college professor specializing in conspiracy literature and theories, but I also teach history because that’s what pays the bills.”

“Good,” she remarked.

Deciding to go for the extra credit, he continued, “You teach pre-med at the same college. That’s, of course, how we met. What was it now? Seven years ago?”

“Six,” she corrected. “Just like in real life.”

“I know. I know,” Mulder assured her. He knew exactly how long ago they’d met. Scully had changed his life when she’d walked through his basement door. Something like that you didn’t forget. “I’m thinking of making that part of my schtick. You know, the whole forgetful husband trope. I’m bad with anniversary dates. I forget to pick up milk on the way home.”

“That tracks,” she said, and this time, he could hear the smile in her voice. “Birthdays aren’t a strong suit of yours, either.”

“Not a strong suit of Pete Curtis,” he countered. “I want to be clear that this is strictly a character choice.”

Any snarky rebuttal Scully might have tossed back at him was left unsaid. Instead, she let out an excited “wow.” After rounding the last bend, the Dusty Mountaineer came into view. The fifteen-car train was a shiny black and decorated with elaborate gold accents and lettering.

“It looks like something out of an Agatha Christie novel,” Scully remarked.

Mulder nodded. “Let’s just hope this story doesn’t play out like one of hers. I could do with a little less murder.”

The Dusty Mountaineer’s narrow hallways were wood paneled, the floors a floral carpet. It was a bit like stepping into a time capsule. There were no TVs or other technological entertainment, and even the staff were outfitted in clothes of a different era.

“Dinner is served at six. Our dress code requires passengers to dress appropriately when not in their rooms. Formal attire is required for the cocktail party on Friday night.” Jamie, the crew member assigned to walk them to their lodging, continued rattling off rules and detailing the agenda before stopping at a cabin on the far end of the first sleeper car. “This is you, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis.”

Despite everything Mulder had seen thus far, he still wasn’t quite prepared when Jamie pulled open the door. His eyes swept across the cabin and widened. The wood paneling continued inside their room, which contained a full-sized bed, a small table for two, and a sofa. Cubbies and hidden closets allowed for tidy storage. A shelf holding complimentary champagne and glasses hovered above the table.

It was a far cry from the derelict accommodations they were used to. The Bureau had splurged only because people thinking they had money could work in their favor. If the stupid rich couple was caught in an area of the train they shouldn’t be, they could chalk it up to entitlement. Money clogging their brains.

Still, being allowed to even exist in this old-timey glamour sent a secret thrill up Mulder’s spine. He automatically reached for Scully’s hand. The need to conceal the action as part of their cover had him practically shouting over Jamie, who had barely finished explaining how to convert the sofa into a cot. “This is great, isn’t it, honey?”

“It’s beautiful,” Scully responded, and he could tell by the way her eyes glistened that she meant it.

Running on a diet of caffeine and adrenaline, they took advantage of the three-course dinner and complimentary champagne. Upon returning to their cabin, Mulder offered Scully the en suite bathroom first. He took the opportunity to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Scully emerged in silk pajamas a few minutes later, a cloud of minty toothpaste and something floral—lotion maybe—trailing behind her. Mulder followed her gaze to the far end of the cabin, where the full-sized bed loomed. He realized then that this wasn’t like Arcadia at all. There was no downstairs couch to retreat to at night.

Find the rest on a03

[headstrongblake]

❝ you’re clearly exhausted. you can go in the morning. ❞ / bell & o / @thewholecrew

despite being nearly four hours late, pushing her movie plans with her big brother much further into the night than she meant to, octavia still managed to make it to the old apartment building. she shook her head and teased her brother nearly instantly upon entry about how not a single thing in the apartment looked any different than it had before she moved out and into her loft. though oddly enough, it was comforting. after all the things that had changed this year, it was relieving to come home to her brother. to feel at home still as she settled on the couch with a blanket. anything you want to tell me? her brother asked, with that i already know, so you might as well spit it out look, he's gotten her whole life.

emerald hues rolled as she popped a few pieces of popcorn in her mouth, offering her brother a shrug he couldn't see as he put the DVD into the player. "not really, i told you, i was working." octavia said, munching on more popcorn as he settled beside her, his eyes burrowing into her for details. just because he'd rather she find some normal boring job somewhere or only work behind the bar at his nightclub, didn't mean she was hiding her growing business. but, for his own sake, he didn't need to know the finer details. that's what people like nate, and her bestie were for.

"c'mon, it's laaaate, i don't wanna fight with you," octavia playfully whined, nudging her brother with her body as she leaned into him despite his mutter of who's fault that was. "lets just watch..." her sentence trailed off with a large yawn as the back of her hand lifted to cover her mouth, "lemme watch some hunger games before i have to drive across town okaaay?" octavia asked, sitting up straight to shake her body a little in hopes of waking herself up a bit. even though her stake out had run late, she really did want to spend this quality time with bellamy. since she moved, they didn't get nearly enough of it. ❝ you’re clearly exhausted. you can go in the morning. ❞

brows lifted a little as octavia looked at her brother, mulling over the idea of crashing on the couch before she nodded and shrugged, "yeah why not, it's not as nice as my couch, but i can manage a night," she teased with a smirk spreading across her lips. after the movie, she could shoot nate a text to let him know she was staying the night with her brother. or, you could sleep in your bed.

"my...what?" octavia asked, turning on the couch to face her brother as she leaned over him to snatch the remote. clearly she heard him wrong. it's been over four months since she moved out. by now, she had expected him to do...something with the space. anything even. "you kept my bed?" she asked, confusion leaking into her features as she paused the movie's intro. i kept everything you left the same, it's still your room. briefly, all octavia could do was stare, overwhelmed by her brother's subtle show of love. there'd been a time she'd done the same thing for him. "oh." she said quietly, her smile softening as she settled against her brother's side, unpausing the movie before them. silence fell between them as the movie played, but eventually, green eyes lifted, watching her big brother with adoration in the dark.

[kxllerblond]

Lance Josson -— The obnoxious older brother figure who is also an obnoxious vampire. ( PINTEREST )

Lance, like many older immortals, is a being with a plethora of his origin lost to the sands of time-—including his turning and most of his life before. Be it truth or lie, he will be incessant on the fact he simply does not recall that stage in his life at this point.

His earliest bit of life he will bother to recall is serving as a knight for some royal court for some king that hardly did enough to warrant any real spot in his memory. What he does recall in detail though is serving alongside some bastard with a messy head of dark curls and a too-serious attitude who ended up being part of some elaborate Kill The King plot orchestrated by some thieves guild at the time. While interesting enough to shake him from his already settling stupor of apathy most immortals gradually would gain, it annoyed him enough to settle into his memory and he grew to remember this fellow knight simply due to his distaste for him. A mild grudge for a man long dead, funny that.

Lance carried on in life through the years hopping from role to role and position to position, changing everything but the first name he carried with him everywhere he went. While he had plenty of experience in the lower rungs of society, he grew to enjoy the finer things in life and the upper echelon and would eventually take an interest in business and economical pursuits to ensure he never left it.

This would eventually lead him to cross paths with one Clark Thompson. He was an annoying little thing, Lance had thought at first. Young but with the demeanor of a jaded old man, a composure that was anything BUT if one merely looked hard enough. In a way, perhaps, he had reminded the vampire of a version of himself that had mostly faded from his recollection or perhaps he had just been bored enough to convince himself they were similar in some way. Whatever the case may have been, Lance continued to cross paths with the man-—unintentionally at times, intentionally at others.

The two grew to have a rivalry of such as was common in their sphere and this eventually gave way to something close but not quite a friendship. Between their banter and dedication to vexing one another, the dynamic can only be described as brotherly at this point.

General personality wise, Lance is if Clark could get his shit together. He's relaxed, he's confident and it's no show or defense mechanism. His humor is very dry and he's very committed to his sarcasm. His faults are his bouts of cynicism and his overall lackadaisical nature. While he is also a bored immortal like Clark, he doesn't feel that ITCH to fix it and more or less casually strolls through life simply following whatever pursuit catches his fancy. He's more mature and put together than Clark is is certainly the one to roll his eyes and tell the cambion he's overreacting. Despite his detached attitude and Clark's obnoxious one, the two do seem to genuinely care for one another.

Other important/random bits -—

🍷 He shifts aliases every few decades, etc, but he always keeps his first name. His current last name in use is Dumont and he is a very wealthy CEO of a handful of wine companies.

🍷 Obnoxious British accent because why not.

🍷 Even though he has a very social and party guy sort of personality, he's actually not that super into people and is more introverted at heart.

🍷 He absolutely delights in bad vampire movies and fiction.

🍷 Super stylish like Clark. Put them in a room together and heads will turn 100%.

🍷 He actually really likes animals and will often have pets. He's had everything from crows to skunks to rats to ferrets to just a cat or two.

🍷 He is big gay, big homosexual. The stories he could tell you about how gay medieval knighthood was too, phew boy.

🍷 Where Clark is all flat and no emotion, Lance is very expressive. He rolls his eyes, scoffs, whistles, etc. If he thinks you're an idiot, you're going to know before he even says anything. He is a Mean Girl and he will let you know it.

🍷 He likes to collect things! Usually this is weird and occult shit but he also has a weird little habit of being a completionism of, idk, Beanie Babies or Squishmallows. He'll complete a collection and then just sell it all at once and find something else. He's also the type to give you a cool rock and say it reminded him of you.

🍷 He's at least 700+ but his actual age is pretty unknown.

🍷 He's one of those quirky vampires that can go out in the sun but not for long and not without looking like a goth baddie at the beach. He avoids it when he can.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 56 THEON V (pages 723-732)

Theon experiences nightmares as things quietly spiral out of control, Asha arrives at Winterfell for all of five seconds and is not much help at all, and 'Reek' leaves with a promise to return with an army.

-

- great wolves the size of horses with the heads of small children. ... They're dead, dead, I saw them killed, he tried to shout, I saw their heads dipped in tar, -

Nice, very subtle, you'd be likely to dismiss it if you didn't already know, but he doesn't identify them as Bran and Rickon, just "small children" and "them." But because the news ravens said he killed Bran and Rickon, we assume it must mean them. A nice, quiet bit of trickery, though it does provide precedence for movie rules: if it didn't happen on screen, it didn't happen. (And sometimes even if it does happen on screen, it still didn't happen.)

Last night he had dreamt himself back in the mill again, on his knees dressing the dead.

mmm, and there's the second (hindsight) flag after "heads dipped in tar" because why would he be doing that? yeah, there's a possibility it was just a nightmare, but why would his nightmare include dressing the dead? Why would the boys need their pants put back on but for deception, or the kind of thing Theon isn't letting his men get away with?

Last of all he donned his crown, a band of cold iron slim as a finger, set with heavy chunks of black diamond and nuggets of gold. It was misshapen and ugly, but there was no help for that. Mikken lay buried in the lichyard, and the new smith was capable of little more than nails and horseshoes. Theon consoled himself with the reminder that it was only a prince's crown. He would have something finer when he was crowned king.

oh, buddy. No.

Probably reading too much into it, but black diamonds were in Joffrey's crown too. Robb's has nine iron spikes, though I'm guessing it's also/only supposed to be because his people are the ironmen. Renly's crown is gold... was gold. All three things that make up his crown appear in other crowns for the other kings, but Theon's is misshapen, a result of his own efforts spiraling out of control. (His men killing Mikken because he refused to submit to Theon's "surprise betrayal.") Theon himself considers the crown a temporary one, and knowing what we know about how this plays out, it just feels like a bit of a metaphor for his situation and upcoming plot beats. What he has is a shoddy imitation of what he wants, but it's also something he won't be keeping.

... Ha, vengeance one man at a time. ... Oh Theon, that was poorly executed, in every sense of the phrase.

Also is it just me, or- no, no, that's a little too conspiracy. or is it? so my brain is currently running three possibilities for the actual killer: 1: the people of Winterfell slowly fighting back and eliminating Theon's people one by one as they can (possibly Osha coming out of the crypts) 2: Ramsay did it to sow discord and paranoia 3: "The ironborn can't keep secrets, they had to die, and someone had to take the blame for it." Theon killed his own people for reasons (so they wouldn't tell anyone the truth about the boys)

coupled with the earlier comment about one of the 'mystery murders' from Theon 'at least he's not haunting me' in the middle of a string o guilt ghosts... three's looking really plausible actually. It only sounds tinfoil until you stop and think.

I should never have come to the hall, he realized belatedly. I should have summoned her to me.

Ahhh, poor Theon, he just wants to be in charge and adored and told he's doing a great job, but he's just not cut out to be a CEO. He has his own strengths, but this? not one of them.

"When has a maid ever understood a man's need for revenge?"

... Theon. Perhaps consider yourself lucky you aren't going to be standing in a room with a Stark woman any time soon. Trust me, there are plenty of maids who do a damn good revenge.

also, ngl: it took a second to click that Rodrik and Maron were the names of his dead brothers. I read Rodrik and my brain immediately went to Rodrik Cassel.

... gasp. Asha! That was rude... but also true, even Theon knows his crown is ugly.

"Gone hase she?" Reek was at his elbow. (...) He could not think of anyone he wanted to see less. It made him uneasy to see the man walking around breathing, with what he knew. I should have had him killed after he did the others, he reflected, but the notion made him nervous.

Ahhhh, so it was a blend of 2 & 3, Ramsay did it, but it was at Theon's request to cover up the subterfuge with the boys.

I'mma take the win on that one.

... Theon... *raises the steel chair to smack Theon for selling a rape victim to a new rapist but bypasses Theon to bludgeon the sadistic torture rapist to death instead* you live only because you didn't think it would be a transaction completed, or did you Theon, either way you remain on thin ice for now...

And the tall doors opened with a crash, and a freezing gale blew down the hall, and Robb came walking out of the night. Grey Wind stalked beside, eyes burning, and man and wolf alike bled from half a hundred savage wounds.

"Working through stuff trauma dream" or "vision" = 🥛 oooohhh, been ages since we took a drink for that.

..."by the time he was finished she was sobbing" *smacks Theon unconscious with the steel chair*

Urgh, Theon is frustrating!!!! I know he can be a better person, but his treatment of women and smallfolk is just. AARRGGHHHH!!! I'mma hit him again! See if I don't!

Theon's regret for not going with Asha feels like it's a bigger than it is. and by that I mean it feels like it's more than just "he regrets not going," more like, part of him understands that by choosing to stay he's losing himself, his Greyjoy heritage, that part of him that belongs on the sea, he's chosen to stay and he's never going to get back what he's incidentally spurned doing so. Because his whole thing has been about the dichotomy of his first and second decade of life, living on Pyke vs living in Winterfell and the struggle between the two versions of him that created.

aaaand ending the chapter with the internal monologue confession (ish) of the truth about the dead boys.

[lavendertales]

Hi hi hi 🥰🥰🥰 any thoughts on writing a fox on reader and Joel Miller where they have an age gap (obvs) maybe reader is a friend of Tommy’s and Joel is a bit protective over her but they end up fucking and the whole time he’s trying to shut her up from the clickers by covering her mouth, choking her but at the same time talking dirty etc etc I’ll let you live out your thotty imagination with this one xoxo

Hiii love, thank you for the request! Well this one was... phew 🥵 hope you enjoy!

Where you belong || Joel Miller x f!reader**

summary: who would've thought one of Tommy's good friends would have such an impact on Joel?

word count: 2k

WARNINGS: this is FILTH. age gap mention, teasing, some dirty talk, mutual pining, male & female masturbation, choking, unprotected piv, vaginal fingering.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @pajamasecrets

Stubborn and harsh as he may be, Joel Miller knows how to appreciate some of the finer things in life.

A good song, a fine illustration, a movie that sticks with him for a while… and then there’s you.

Tommy’s made it clear that you were a close friend of his and Maria’s, and Joel respected that. He stayed within the limits of respect, never crossing the border. But he did enjoy the occasional sneak peek at you, always when you weren’t looking.

He’s not sure why. It just always felt… easier. Just watching you from afar and keeping things cordial between the two of you was always the easy and safe option, as opposed to actually caring too much.

Caring meant loss. And Joel had enough of that. He just needed something nice for a change. Something good, something that wouldn’t be tainted by the threat of harm.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so fond and so protective of you. Being significantly older than you was certainly another reason why he preferred to keep his infatuation for you at bay, but it also gave him a reason to be your unspoken protector. You didn’t ask for it, yet he simply provided it. For that, you were beyond grateful.

And frustrated, too.

Particularly on this hot summer evening in Jacksonville, when you were out checking the perimeter for raiders or infected, and you used every excuse imaginable to establish physical contact with Joel: a light grip on his arm when you faked a potential fall, soft giggles at his dry jokes that no one else seemed to get, and being face to face with him with every single opportunity you got. Five, in total. You gazed at him, searching his face for confirmation that he understood why you were doing all that, why you were craving his touch so dearly, and still you failed to see that. Joel remained as hardened as ever, and it only grew your frustration more.

So when you got back into town, throwing your gun on the rocking chair in the corner of your living room, you were surprised to see Joel behind you, footsteps heavy, as if he was angry about something.

“What’s wrong with you?” his thick voice asks.

You turn to him, utterly dumbfounded, almost insulted at the question he just posed. Maybe you misinterpret it, too, but hell if you give a shit right now.

It’s been months since Joel’s caught your eye, months of sneaky glances and wishful thinking, and closing onto three years without the intimate touch of another human being.

It’s too much. In this moment, all feels overwhelming.

“What is wrong with me?” you emphasize the pronoun. “What is wrong with you?! Have you not noticed me around you for the past, I don’t know, two hours?”

“Sure I have, how can I not?”

You scoff, hands on your hips and licking your lips in frustration. Gesture which does not go unnoticed by Joel, who licks his own in return, awfully tempted in this moment.

“I don’t know, Joel,” you reply sarcastically. “For someone with such great hunting and surviving skills, you sure lack some basic observation skills.”

He frowns, approaching you. “What are you talking about?”

You grow even more dumbfounded, curious whether he’s playing the fool intentionally or if he’s simply playing with you.

“How long have we known each other?” you ask.

“Six, seven months.”

“Seven months. Seven months since you’ve known me, and you still don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

“What don’t I know?”

You approach him too, your lips parted to make room for words that refuse to come out. Instead, you breathe through your mouth, your body nearly quivering at the simple, yet overpowering sensation of being so close to him, yet so far.

“What I like and don’t like,” you say in a near-whisper manner. “I don’t like being fooled. I don’t like being played or led astray, and I don’t like guessing. I hate guessing games. I was never any good at them.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

You nod several times, puckering your lips. “Clearly.”

“And what do you like?”

The way he says it, so rich with gruffness and tempting, it’s causing your knees to buckle and your heart to race faster. It’s the first time tonight you think he’s actually teasing you, and you feel heat spreading throughout your body, settling in your nether area.

“A lot of things, actually,” you reply, unable to look away from his full lips.

“Mhm. Like what? Tell me. Use your words.”

Yeah, he’s definitely fucking with you. But it’s all the more enticing.

You don’t tell him, though; you simply reach to press your lips onto his, only for a split second, and then you pull away. You watch his face closely, checking if you have his approval. When he wraps a faintly hesitant hand around your waist and pulls you in to kiss you properly, you melt into his arms, and realize that you do have all the approval in the goddamn world.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. In a matter of seconds, you find yourself writhing beneath him on the bed, splayed shamelessly by his calloused hands. Under normal circumstances, he’d be a perfect gentleman and ask you out, spend as much time with you as possible, but for the past two decades, Joel lived on the edge, strictly in survival mode. Which means that some relief is all he can allow himself to have.

Your hands hastily undress him, messy just like the kiss you are sharing with him, and your breaths get ragged, as fast and irregular as your heart.

“You don’t know—how many goddamn times I’ve—wanted this…”

Joel’s voice is trembling despite its huskiness, and it causes you to shiver with excitement. The thought of him wanting you this much, this desperately, is getting you wetter with each passing second.

“Never allowed myself to—to want you” he confesses, peppering wet kisses along your jaw while you worked against his belt and zipper.

“Why not?”

“Tommy might kill me.”

“Or Maria.”

He chuckles briefly, prompting the same reaction out of you. You help him out of his jeans and his boxers, your mouth watering upon seeing how hard he is already. It’s beyond flattering, and you’re not sure how much longer you can stay apart from him.

“Thought about you too,” you confess, spreading your legs further so that you are on full display for him.

Joel stares at you in a delirious haze. In the sunset’s gold and red light, he can see the glistening of your pussy, and he swallows harshly. He doubts he’s ever felt this parched in his whole life, the waiting tearing him apart.

“You did?” he asks cheekily, cupping your sex while you gasp in surprise.

“Yes. Oh yes…”

He’s palming you gently, eyes locked on your face and nowhere else. He’s practically working on muscle memory, but it serves him correctly it seems.

“What did you think about?” he demands, drawing circles around your clit.

“Just you… touching me.”

“Like I’m doing now?”

“Yes—I thought about you… while I was touching myself.”

Joel can’t help the grunt that escapes his lips. That sole confession awakens something primal inside of him, something big, roaring in his chest. He pushes with two fingers past your folds now that he feels you wet enough to grant him easy access, and starts pumping in and out while you whine.

“Shh,” he coos you gently. “Easy, baby girl.”

“F-Fuck—“

“From this moment forward, you’re being silent. Not quiet. Silent. Is that clear?”

You bite on your lower lip and frantically nod your head while you palm your own breasts. It feels so good just to feel his fingers inside you, you can’t even imagine more. It’s definitely been a long time for you—presumably for him too—so you are awfully sensitive and needy, but just knowing that this is Joel Miller doing this to you, causing your body to react this way, to arch under his touch and whine from his words, it’s making you hotter and wetter than anything you could’ve ever imagined.

“Be a good girl for me and shut up, will you?”

He asks too softly for you not to obey, and again you nod frantically, unable to utter any words.

Joel’s fingers keep pumping in and out of you, faster and faster, and you do everything in your willpower to not scream. You barely let out a few whimpers, but it seems they get Joel going: you catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock in the process, the sight lewd as fuck. You focus on that while you reach in between your legs to furiously rub your clit while Joel’s fingers fuck into you, and his own hand is curled around his cock. Breaths ragged and in tandem, you work on each other to climb the ladder of ecstasy.

“Fuuuuuck—“you mutter, mouth in the perfect O shape as you feel your orgasm fast approaching.

“Keep your mouth shut, baby girl,” Joel reminds you, abruptly pulling out his fingers, now sticky as he takes them to your mouth, and you instantly suck on them, having a taste of yourself.

You don’t hide the disappointment on your face upon feeling empty, especially when you see that he’s not even jerking off anymore.

“There could be clickers around,” he seemingly justifies his command.

“We checked the area. There are none.”

“There are plenty of reasons for you to keep your mouth shut, darlin’. Or do you need me to find another use for it?”

You smirk. “If you want to.”

He doesn’t, though. That’s not for tonight, he thinks. Not when you’re both so worked up and needy. He wraps his hand around his weeping cock, almost ready to explode at how hard he is, and guides himself to your entrance. Muttered cuss words fill the room from both of you, said like a chant on repeat with the first roll of his hips against yours. Your pussy swallows him whole, and he watches mesmerized as you take all of his cock in, coating the hair at the base with your juices. He doesn’t waver with the pace: it’s fast and hard from the second thrust. He slams his hips into you, your wanton cries musically pleasing to his ears.

It’s only then that he wraps his hand around your throat, putting an end to any words you might’ve wanted to say. You only moan at him as he’s fucking you speedily, needy, with a fury you’ve only seen him use in combat.

“Do you fuckin’ know—what you do to me?” he grunts, the impending sensation of his release overcoming him. “Do you, hm? Look how full you are… stuffed with my cock… good girl, just like that…”

With a bit more pressure applied to the grip over your throat, you moan as you come, coating his cock with your arousal. The sensation of your walls trapping him inside you is the final click for Joel when he comes too, pulling out and painting the filthiest painting over your swollen pussy and thighs. His warm seed is all over your lower area, and there’s so much of it, you wonder how long exactly it has been for him since he’s last felt relief.

Breathless, you reach for him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him tenderly, a stark comparison to the rough way you were being handled just a few seconds before.

“Do you know what you are doing to me, Joel Miller?” you cheekily ask after a while.

“Think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

You both chuckle, the sound shared only between the two of you, in your bed.

It’s the first time in months Joel gets a good night’s sleep. And the first time in months since he’s laughed. All because of you.

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭?

❝ Ladies, imagine your worst nightmare, like getting kidnapped, having a boyfriend that controls everything about your life and stares at you as you sleep every night, or dating a guy who watches the Fast and the Furious movies unionically, whatever. Now imagine if all of that stuff happened to you - but the guy was attractive?! ❞ - Alex Meyers, "365 days is the worst movie I've ever seen...", June 23rd, 2020.

❤️ NOTE: 365 Days is probably the worst movie I have ever seen in my whole entire life. That's why I set up the challenge of trying to make Massimo into... something, I honestly don't know what. Did I succeed? I don't know, you be the judge of that! It was also very hard trying to keep a straight face while writing this! I actually feel like punching myself for even bringing this into the world...

yandere! massimo torricelli x fem! reader.

The firm grip of his hand on your waist was a reminder of where exactly you stood in this relationship, if you even stood at all.

Massimo Torricelli was a man who was accustomed to the finer things in life and would accept nothing that he deemed to be beneath him. Be it food, clothing, women, his own men that worked for him, he would never lay a finger on anything lest it caught it his attention or he thought it was useful in one way or the other.

You often wondered what he saw in you to begin with.

The chatter of voices and the clinking of champagne glasses brought you back down to Earth as you remembered where you were. The scent of lit vanilla candles cradled your senses as the gorgeously dressed men and women paraded themselves around the ballroom, each person looking more ravishing than the next and all eager to prove their wealth and status to each other.

Pathetic, you thought to yourself.

It was unparalleled of how they all left themselves open, all of their fears and insecurities left on full display as they tried to hide themselves between fake grins, wretched laughs and intoxicating alcohol and other such substances.

The man who accompanied you tonight could not have been more different than the goons and fools that were tailing you like shadows.

Massimo Torricelli hardly had any time for himself let alone a crumb to spare for anyone that failed to exceed his skyhigh expectations. The man was the personification of every single Gucci suit, the scent of dark cologne and the lingering feeling of the burning end of a cigarette bud that was put out on soft flesh.

He always made sure to leave a mark wherever he went.

That included you as well.

To the other party goers you were Massimo's little treasure, the apple of his eye - someone who they could hopefully use against him, either by blackmail or wooing you themselves so that you could put in a good word for them.

The thought made you laugh. Your opinion was irrelevant, no matter how much Massimo claimed for the opposite to be true.

You were trapped in chains upon chains of riches and dirty secrets that no one would ever uncover.

Massimo would make sure of it.

[blurredcolour]

Nom De Plume | Part Two

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: The first month of filming brings many surprises – Cloé’s behaviour, Austin’s kindness, and your reaction to it all.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Mean Girl Trope, Medium Reader Injury, Austin With a Cajun Accent, Vague Understanding of Movie Production, Mature/Explicit Themes [Dream Sex, Oral – M/F Receiving, Penetration, Unprotected Sex] – 18+ Only

GIF credit: @carriediariesedits

Word Count: 5987

»» ────── ஓ ๑ ✧ ๑ ஓ ────── ««

Filming was a marathon.

Greta knew exactly what she was looking for in each scene. Each shot. And she was happy to film whatever number of takes required to achieve her vision. You were truly in awe of Austin and Cloé’s ability to reset – shifting back in the exact position they started from, delivering their lines with the same emotion and energy as the first eight times.

You wondered if this is what writing looked like to others…only a much more internal process, naturally. Greta had chosen to start production with a few scenes of Antoine and Yvette getting to know one another in the barn, and it felt like a very natural place for everyone to ease their way into the story. You found that the burden on yourself and Pearce during filming was minimal – supplying lines, answering questions, assisting Continuity.

When Greta called cut, Austin would usually make his way over to check in with Pearce and yourself. He would clarify finer points of his character, motivations, and how each line fit into the bigger picture. The degree to which he was invested in the story made your heart ache fondly.

You had let Austin know that ‘Sloan’ would be fine with answering any questions he might have, he just needed to pass them along through you. Over the past two weeks, however, he had not once taken you up on that offer. He seemed more than satisfied with the answers that Pearce and you were able to supply on the spot.

Cloé…. well, she was fantastic on screen. Off? You did not have many kind things to say. She would lay helplessly as her team rushed over to her to ensure her every comfort. You expected a certain amount of swarming by hair, make-up, and wardrobe. But they would literally hand feed her and hold the straw on her Perrier which was chilled to her specified temperature. She basked in the attention, and actively called more to herself when her team weren’t satisfying her. Needily fishing for compliments from any crew member she could make eye contact with.

Her most annoying behaviour, by far, was born of her constant desire to have Austin at her side. She would croon his name and, being a gentleman, he would return to her even though you could tell he had more questions for Pearce and yourself. She fussed and cooed and petted at him constantly. The man deserved a medal for his patience with her. ‘Or maybe he likes it…’ the nastier part of your brain stabbed at the fragile blossom of feelings budding beneath your breastbone.

You huffed quietly at yourself and took Pearce’s coffee order, refreshing your mind with a walk to the craft services trailer just outside the studio. You were reaching for the door, two hot beverages balanced in one hand and a snack in your pocket, when it suddenly swung open toward you, making you jump with a squeak. You were fumbling with the drinks in an almost comical fashion when Austin’s large, steady hands seized a cup in each, smoothly avoiding disaster. You pressed your hand to your heart and exhaled slowly.

“Sorry there, makin’ ya jump yet again…” He grimaced.

You shook your head violently.

“I’m sorry for basically shouting in your face. And very, very grateful for your drink rescue.” You smiled warmly and offered your hands to take them.

“Why don’ we getcha a tray?” He winked teasingly and held the drinks hostage, heading over to the cart to get a coffee for himself and requesting a tray.

You quickly packed his drink into it with the other beverages and he looked to you startled. You smirked back up at him triumphantly, the chuckle that he emitted sending a thrill through you. He grabbed the drinks before turning with you to head back inside.

“So…is it as borin’ as ya thought it woul’ be?” He smirked at you with a raised eyebrow.

You could not help the laugh that shot out of your throat.

“Is it that obvious? Gosh I need to work on my poker face.” You joked but shook your head. “It’s…quite analogous to the process of writing. I just…didn’t expect it? But it makes a lot of sense that…getting it to the point that the creator is looking for takes trial and error.” You opened and held the door for him, gesturing him through.

“My, whatta generous answer. Most people are simply bore’ ta tears.” He laughed cheekily and you couldn’t help but join in.

You looked up to see Cloé’s eyes trained on the two of you, a frightening coldness in her expression. It was not one you had ever seen from her before, and it was extremely unsettling.

“Well, it’ll be a nice change o’ pace ta break outta this bar’ tomorro’ ‘n’ shoot on tha back lot.” Austin continued, resecuring your attention.

“Yes! Male bonding.” You grinned as you looked back to him and he laughed again, removing his cup before handing you the tray. “After two weeks in this barn, I can honestly say I’m excited.”

You watched as he took a deep sip, savouring the warmth with closed eyes. You stood there, spellbound by his presence. His mannerisms. Pearce broke your focus by reaching in between the two of you to snag his cup from the tray.

“Thanks for this.” He murmured tiredly and patted your head.

You felt for Pearce, not only was he attending filming all day, but he was also reviewing the daily footage with Greta well into the evening.

“All right folks, break is over, places please!” The assistant director called, and Austin tensed, looking around for something to do with his coffee.

“I’ll take care of it for you, go ahead.” You smiled, holding out the tray and he mouthed ‘thank you’ before hurrying back to his place amongst the straw.

You took your seat behind Pearce and looked up to set, almost choking on the sip you’d just taken. Cloé was sending you that fiercely cold look once again, her hand splayed on Austin’s chest as makeup touched up his lips. You looked down to the script in your lap quickly, as though that gaze physically hurt you. As far as you knew they were simply co-stars, but her behaviour spoke of something more. Or, at least the desire for something more?

The next morning dawned sunny and warm, the perfect weather for shooting the tarmac scene. You had opted to walk to the backlot, soaking in the smell of the damp earth coming back to life with spring. Pearce had offered to take your bag with him on the golf cart, but with all of its occupants it was quite packed, so you’d waved him off as they went ahead of you to the outdoor set. You were about halfway there when yet another golfcart passed you. You looked up and furrowed your brow in confusion as Cloé was riding on the back. She was not on the call sheet for today, so you found her presence surprising. Seeing you, she loosened her grip on the papers in her hand, sending them fluttering into the trees.

“Can you…Thanks!” Was all you heard of her shouted statement, but the meaning was clear enough.

Clean up after me.

Sighing heavily, you set your heavy bag down on the side of the road and began picking up the sheets of loose paper, frowning to see it was script pages. Your hard work, carelessly tossed into the woods to put you back in the place she felt you ought to be in. Beneath her. You followed the trail of pages further into the long grass, under the trees, until you suddenly came across a rather steep hollowing running through the wooded area.

There were just four more pages down there, and you were not about to give up now. The slope was unfortunately not as stable as it appeared, and your feet slid down the turf as you plummeted to the bottom of the hollow. You had thankfully not landed in the water; however, your right ankle had definitely folded up under you and was not wanting any weight to be put on it. Stubbornly, you hopped and limped to gather the last of the pages, hissing and wincing at the hot lances of pain that seared up your leg when you tried to use the injured ankle.

“Fuck me…” You growled to yourself bitterly, looking up the steep wall of the hollow. You folded up the script pages and stuck them into the waistband of your pants at the small of your back, pulling your shirt down over them before trying to pull yourself out. Your yelp was uncontrollable and pathetic to your own ears. You turned to look down the length of the hollow, considering walking along it back toward the office. There must be flat ground somewhere. But a persistent ache had started in your joint, and you truly doubted your ability to get far.

 Footsteps sounded in the grass above you, and you gasped, looking up to see Austin staring down at you wide-eyed.

“Whatcha doin’ down here in tha grass, cricke’?” He tilted his head in confusion. “Saw yer bag back there. Pretty sure we’re filmin’ up tha road, no?” His eyes narrowed as he saw you holding your foot off the ground, only the tips of your toes on your right foot touching the turf. “Yer hur’…”

He slid down quickly to stand beside you, crouching down to assess your ankle. He barely touched it and you yelped again, immediately following it up with an apology. He straightened and frowned softly, taking a deep breath and turning to yell back up to the road.

“ME-” The rest of the word ‘medic’ was cut off by your palm sealing over his mouth with a little more force than you intended, but your reaction was filled with urgency.

“Please don’t make a fuss, please don’t…” Huge, hot tears of humiliation mingled with pain rolled down your cheeks. “I’m not even supposed to be here, please don’t make a fuss, I’m not, I don’t, please…” You rambled, leaning against the bank of the hollow in defeat.

He gently gripped your wrist and peeled your hand from his notably soft lips before gathering you to his chest in a reassuring hug.

“Hey, hey shhh…I gotcha, ok? We’ll getcha outta here…” He looked over the terrain thoughtfully before pulling his head back and craning his neck to catch your eyes with his. “Ok I got ‘n idea, ya trus’ me?”

You sniffled and nodded pathetically, leaning on him a little. He squeezed you once more before stepping back and turning around.

“Hop on my back.” He said, looking back at you over his shoulder as he bent his knees and your eyes widened in shock. “I mean it, we’ll climb out together.”

You wiped your eyes and bit your lip before hobbling forward and pushing up onto his back. His hands found the backs of your knees and hoisted you higher. You slid your arms under his to reach up through his armpits and grab at the fabric of the uniform covering the front of his shoulders, not wanting to choke him.

“Thank ya, cricke’. I do like breathin’.” He smiled and wrapped your legs around his slender waist. “Hold on tigh’ now, I need both han’s.” You tensed your leg muscles to hold on, pressing a whimper into the back of his neck at the pain. He lurched forward and scrambled his way out of the hollow before standing on flat ground. His hands quickly slid under your knees once more, releasing the pressure on your ankle as he carefully but quickly worked his way back to the road. “Yer doin’ so grea’, cricke’, almos’ there.”

You didn’t dare look over his shoulder, not wanting to see the faces of the people waiting on the golf cart. Didn’t even look up as he turned to deposit you in his empty spot on the backward facing bench. He knelt before you, looking up at you as you refused to look up at him.

“Can we getcha some help now, cricke’?” He tilted his head and you finally relented, nodding softly. He smiled warmly and it was not five minutes from the time the driver radioed the medical team to when their van showed up.

“Go on, I’ve taken enough of your time.” You looked to him firmly as the medics moved you to sit on the tailgate of their van.

“Ya sure?” He hesitated and you shooed him away with a gesture of your hand, offering him a brave smile which he returned before heading off to set.

Two hours, and a trip to the Accident & Emergency department, later, you knew it was not broken. It was, however, a nasty high ankle sprain. You were not allowed to bear weight on it for at least three days, so you were settled into the office with your leg propped up on the coffee table, an ice wrap around your ankle, and your shiny new set of crutches leaning against the wing of your armchair. That was how Austin found you near three o’clock that afternoon, carrying a cup of the same drink you’d enjoyed after your trip to craft services with him yesterday.

You looked up from your laptop where you were working on something for Pearce and scrunched your nose at his expression of sympathy.

“I really did it this time…” You sighed dejectedly, saving your document and closing the lid on the laptop. He set the warm drink in your hands and settled across from you in Pearce’s chair. It was then that you noticed he was in his own clothes, jeans and a light knit black sweater.

“Not broken, though?” He asked hopefully and you shook your head.

“Just a sprain. Thank you. Thank you very much for helping me at my most pathetic.” You looked down, slightly ashamed, in retrospect, at your overly dramatic behaviour.

His warm hand pressed against your left knee and squeezed gently.

“Be kind ta yerself there, cricke’. You were hur’. I’m jus’ glad I saw yer bag…” He smiled gently and you looked up to him slowly.

“I was wondering that…how you knew when to show up. Thank you.” You repeated again.

“Yer verra welcome. So, what are yer orders?” He glanced at your foot and then to your crutches before his eyes returned to yours.

“I’m working from home for the next few days, just came back to get my laptop then I’ll catch a cab. No walking on it at all for three days, then slowly add weight back on it over the next few weeks.” You leaned down to snag your laptop back from where it rested against your chair and packed up your laptop.

“Lemme drive ya again? We know tha way…” he offered hopefully, and you hesitated but found you did not have the strength to argue.

“I’m going to owe you a lot more than a conduit to a reclusive author...” You sighed in defeat, and he shook his head, standing to unplug and reel in your charging cord.

“Consider us even if I can cook yer dinner tonigh’.” He collected your things, sliding your bag over his own shoulder before holding out the crutches for you to help yourself to your feet.

It was awkward but he was patient and made sure you were steady.

“That does not compute.” You finally replied to his offer. “That puts me further in your debt.”

You slowly progressed along the hallway with him, swinging the crutches forward before swinging your left leg forward, alternating between the two as your right foot stayed bent at the knee behind you to keep it off the ground.

“Ah, but you’ve neglecte’ ta include tha coefficien’ where it makes me really happy ta cook fer people.” He countered and you laughed despite your struggle.

“Coefficient, hmmm?” You teased and breathed a sigh of relief to see his car and driver waiting outside the studio. Not much further now.

“ ‘xactly.” He replied firmly and took the crutches from you once you’d sunk down into the backseat. The driver then took the crutches from him, tucking them into the trunk as you carefully swung into the car completely and buckled in.

He slid in beside you and looked to you expectantly before you sighed fondly.

“I really don’t have the wherewithal to deny you, so do your worst.” You smiled wearily and leaned back in the seat.

“Perfect. D’ya need groceries?” He asked as the driver headed off toward Slough.

“No, thankfully I went to the store yesterday. Fully stocked.” You looked to him with a nod before giving the driver your precise address. He parked in the lot in front of your building. As you were working your way out of the car, the two men arranged for Austin to get home later that evening without the driver needing to just wait around for him.

You had never been more grateful for an elevator as you rode quietly up to the fourth floor, leading Austin down the hall to your simple one bedroom. You headed straight for the couch, needing a rest from the crutches, and Austin set your things down beside you before heading to the kitchen. You settled in, propping up your leg as you watched him assess the ingredients before preparing dinner for you. He also found time to deliver a fresh ice pack to ensure you were as comfortable as possible.

The kitchen, dining, and living room were all one open space in the apartment, and your view of him was unimpeded. He seemed confident in the kitchen, his knife skills were top calibre, and in what felt like no time he was presenting you with a bowl of pasta. The enticing aroma of it made your eyes water in gratitude.

“Thank you, Austin, this smells amazing…” You murmured in awe, blinking as he took a seat on the floor in front of the couch with his back propped against the coffee table, cradling his own bowl. “Wait, no I can move…”

He shook his head, looking up at you as he chewed his generous mouthful before swallowing.

“This is fine, cricke’. Eat up.” He took a smaller bite, eyes never leaving your face as you did the same, his lips flickering up into a smile at the happy sigh you emitted.

“So yummy…” You exclaimed softly and barely uttered another word as you ate every last bite, the fact that you had missed lunch only registering in that moment.

He beamed as he took the empty bowl from you.

“There’re two more servins’, I’ll put ‘em in tha fridge fer ya.”

He took the dishes to the kitchen and washed up, leaving things to dry in the drain tray. He came back and took the ice pack off your ankle.

“Don’t wan’ tha’ ta give ya frostbite. Now…” He crouched down in front of you, eyes level with yours. “Anythin’ else ya need afore I leave?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks at his proximity.

“Then may I reques’ somethin’ selfish?” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Would ya be willin’ ta share yer numbe’? I…Pearce is so helpful, but I really ‘preciate yer input, too.”

Heat splotched down your neck and across your chest, but you managed a nod, pulling out your own phone and switching details with him.

“I will, quite literally, be right here on this couch so text whenever I can be of assistance.” You spoke once you were capable of coherent thought, eager to repay him for all his help today.

“It’ll be strange withoutcha on set…but ya rest up, ‘kay?” He unfolded his body to stand to his full, lanky height and you swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Austin…” You replied earnestly, watching him give a small wave before heading down to meet his driver.

You felt banished. Useless. There was only so much work to do remotely, so when the first text arrived from Austin the next day you practically dropped your phone in your haste to read it. To help him.

– Cloé is asking why Antoine doesn’t speak more fluent French, and I think I have the answer, but would you be able to confirm the reason for me? –

Seeing her name made you frown a little, but you were happy to provide the answer to him.

– Of course! The state of Louisiana removed Cajun French from the school curriculum in 1921, five years before Antoine was born. He understands more than he speaks, due to spending time with his parents and grandparents, but there was no formal Cajun French education for him. Hope that helps. –

His flood of grateful replies made you smile brightly and feel a little more purposeful. Later that afternoon, he informed you that he had written letters to Yvette for the hospital scene in Calais and asked if you would be open to reading them over for him. You happily agreed, at which point he informed you they were handwritten, and he would arrive with them in a few hours. Oh, and he was making dinner again.

Somehow, you managed to shower and change out of your sweats into jeans and a sweater, but your hair was still wet when he knocked on the door. You made your way to answer it on your crutches and opened it carefully.

“Hey there, cricke’.” He grinned and stepped in careful not to kick your crutches as he took his shopping bag to the kitchen counter before turning back to you. “How’s yer day been?” He walked with you to the living room where you settled into the comfy nook you had built on the couch with pillows and a blanket.

“Boring. I felt kind of useless until you came up with a question to amuse me.” You smirked fondly and he chuckled as he undid his jacket, lifting the right side to reach into the inner pocket to pull out a stack of five handwritten letters.

“It was a genuin’ question, but I’m glad it served a secondary purpose. Thank ya verra much fer lookin’ these over fer me. I know…they’ll only be set pieces but…” He held them out to you, and you took them carefully, cradling them between your hands.

“My pleasure I…get the impression it helps with your character development?” You tilted your head curiously and bit your lip as he rewarded you with a brilliant smile.

“ ‘xactly. Cloé won’ be writin’ hers, someone from props will, I guess. But it really does help me ta think like him…I brought ingredients for rice bowls this time, soun’ good?”

“I…are you sure? You worked all day…” You protested hesitantly.

“Completely sure. Thank ya for lettin’ me do this for ya, remin’s me that I’m a fully functional adul’.” He squeezed your shoulder in his lengthy grip before heading over to the kitchen.

You carefully unfolded the letters, smiling as they were written in historically accurate pencil. The pencil was the preferred writing tool for soldiers of Antoine’s financial means. They could be sharpened with a knife, were not affected by the cold, and did not require refills of ink.

Putting them in order, you read through the first one carefully, chewing on your own trusty pencil ruthlessly. It was shockingly good. Not to say that you doubted Austin’s abilities, just that…you could not have written the letter any better yourself and you had created the damn character. You devoured all five of the letters ravenously, vaguely aware of the sounds of him working in the kitchen, humming something to himself. The apartment was starting to smell very good, but you were completely absorbed.

You found your fingers itching before you reached for the laptop, opening up a word processing document to start typing up a reply from Yvette. She would have been too injured to reply until all five letters were received, so she would only have sent one reply. You continually referred back to the letters, wanting to tie it into the sequence. You played around a little with a few words, knowing it would have to be translated, but you wanted to capture the era, as well as Yvette’s feelings, correctly.

His warmth and the scent of cedar behind you soaked into your consciousness. You turned your head to look back at him. He had perched on the arm of the sofa, knee resting against your side as he faced the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“O…obviously, your letters are very good. Might be nice to put her reply in your kit for the later scenes as your unit closes in on Germany.” You bit your lip as it felt terribly personal to let him read it, but you scrolled up and held your breath as he leaned in to read through it. His arm reached around you to scroll down until he’d read the entire thing.

“God ya really get these characters don’cha…” He breathed against your ear, making you shiver slightly, before he sat up.

“I…” You shook your head, at a loss for words. “I’ll get it translated and sent to someone with pretty handwriting.”

“Antoine would put that in his breas’ pocke’…nex’ ta his heart.” He intoned thoughtfully, hand moving to press against his chest over his own heart.

His romanticism might just be the death of you, your own heart thumping loudly in beneath your ribs. You tried to focus on carefully folding up his letters and offered them back to him. He tucked them into his jacket again before standing to serving two rice bowls and returning to sit with you.

“So, when ya come back, day after next, I’ll drive ya.”

“Austin, please, you’ve done so much already. The cab won’t be that much from here…”

“Nah, selfish reasons. I get ta ask ya so many questions when yer ma captive audience.” He grinned and you managed a laugh despite the acrobatics your heart was performing inside your chest.

Was he flirting? Was he working? Lord only knew; you certainly did not. But you could hardly deny him anything at this point.

“Don’t get too excite’, ma call times are murder…” He teased.

“A small price to pay.” You shrugged in reply, digging into your dinner. “Especially because I got to eat your food. Damn you can cook.” You ate happily, savouring every bite.

He watched you for a few moments before starting to eat his own quietly. He didn’t stay late, just long enough to clean up after himself, wishing you a goodnight. He texted you a few more questions the next day before letting you know he’d be picking you up the next morning at six. You were dressed and downstairs, waiting for him. You were determined to be as little an imposition as possible.

The two of you fell into quite a tidy routine over the next two weeks, travelling to and from the studio together, eating the occasional meal together, digging deeper into his character to really capture Antoine’s essence for the film. Your ankle was getting stronger, too. By day eleven, you no longer needed the crutches at all, just patience and your ankle brace.

As the car pulled away from the studio at the end of the second week, Austin was shifting and fidgeting nervously next to you. His long fingers were pulling at one another, front teeth vicious against his lower lip. You took a breath before reaching out to set your hand on his forearm, gently squeezing.

“Are you ok?” You asked softly, quiet enough that the driver would not overhear.

He looked to you quickly and exhaled deeply, pausing a moment before he shook his head.

“I…we tried a pre-read o’ tha scene fer nex’ week ‘n’ I’m jus’…nah…”

You swallowed tightly as you knew what scenes were being filmed next week. The first time Yvette and Antoine made love, followed by a montage of their passionate love life.

“Is there anything I can do?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your mind went to some of your more descriptive lines in the book.

His brilliant blue eyes sought yours in the intermittent glow of the streetlights.

“Would ya be comfortable readin’ it through with me? Talkin’ it through with me?” His thumb and forefinger came up to pinch the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, tugging at it absentmindedly.

All the moisture seemed to evaporate from your mouth in that instant. As though you had swallowed a fistful of sand. Your tongue was not responding to the neurological signals from your brain, and it felt like a thick, dead weight.

The hesitant optimism melted from his face, expression returning to one of anxious dread. He may as well have driven your pencil through your heart, that look hurt so much. You forced a painful cough and squeezed his forearm again.

“Of course. I want to help you.” You rasped out and cleared your throat again. “I was just a little stunned but, yes of course.” You finished with a nod and exhaled in relief as he smiled softly.

“Thank ya so much, cricke’…We can do it in yer office? Neutral territory?” He offered and you swallowed tightly at the image of discussing sex with him in your living room. You nodded rapidly.

“Sounds good…But you should sleep in tomorrow. Like…ten o’clock?”

He chuckled fondly. “Deal…nigh’ cricke’.” He touched your cheek briefly, fingers running along your skin, as the car pulled up at your building.

Despite choosing neutral territory, you were nothing but an anxious wreck the next morning. You changed clothes four times. It was difficult to pick the best I’m-here-to-discuss-sex-with-you-in-a-totally-chill-way outfit. He greeted you in the car with your favourite Starbucks order and the pair of you sipped your beverages in mutual silence as the driver pulled up to the studio. It was still as busy as ever; other scenes being filmed in his absence. You led him up to the office, the two of you settling into the armchairs and opening your scripts.

“So…did you want to start by just…reading it through?” You asked quietly and he nodded quickly. “Full disclosure, I can’t act or read French that well…” You laughed self-deprecatingly and he shook his head.

“It’s gonna be so helpful, thank ya.” He nodded and started reading Antoine’s dialogue.

You replied with Yvette’s, reading aloud the stage directions as well. Every so often he would break out of character to ask questions, which you were happy to share your thoughts on. As always, you were careful to phrase your responses as though they were third-hand opinions rather than direct answers from the author. You may not be able to act, but apparently you were getting quite good at lying.

“Oh cherie ya have no idea what ya do ta me.” He purred from the chair opposite you, and you fumbled with your binder for a moment before supplying Yvette’s response.

“Oui, Antoine, toi aussi.” Your voice was tellingly thick.

You risked a glance at him as he read his next line and clenched your thighs together at the intense look in his notably darker eyes. You quickly dove back into the script, trying to breathe normally as you kept your eyes glued to the page. So close…almost there…The word choices did not help your current situation. You gripped the corners of the binder, hoping the feeling of plastic digging into your palms would give you the strength to make it through this scene.

You were barely mumbling the lines by the end, but somehow you made it through alive. Albeit completely flushed and aroused. You were extremely grateful Austin had suggested neutral territory. Until Cloé knocked on the door.

“Baaaaabe!” She squealed and hustled into the room without waiting for an invitation, plonking down on his lap.

He winced with a grunt, and you could not help but wonder if he too had found himself affected by the last two hours.

“Heya Clo, how’re yer scenes goin’ today?” He smiled to her politely and you immediately felt the sour taste of jealousy in your mouth.

Closing your script, you collected the empty takeout cups and deposited them in the garbage as she chatted idly about what she was filming that day, playing with his hair in what smacked of territoriality.

“So, you’re coming to my party tomorrow afternoon, right? Everybody’s gonna be there.”

There was silence and you looked over, startled to see her looking right at you.

“I … I, sure that sounds fun? What time and where?” You felt like a deer caught in headlights, committing yourself to be run over by this sudden party invite without time to think. She scribbled down her address on a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table and held it out to you.

“Tomorrow afternoon. I look forward to seeing you there! I’m sure Austin does, too.” She giggled and continued petting his hair. “So, Aus, I have a break now, can you come run lines with me? Pretty please?”

He blinked up at her helplessly before looking to you.

“I’ve got lots of work here, don’t worry about me. You should practice it until you feel ready.” You smiled encouragingly even as the sour taste intensified on your tongue.

He smiled at you sweetly before following Cloé out of your office. You puttered for a few hours before texting him that you were catching the shuttle home. He replied with an apology but, despite your dislike of the woman, it was good they were working on the scene.

You did some chores around the house before turning in early, hoping to catch up on some of your sleep deficit from adjusting to Austin’s hours. Your mind had other ideas. Your exhaustion allowed you to fall asleep quickly, but your mind…

The scent of straw is all around you. The stalks of it poking and scratching at the bare skin of your back. Contrasted by the slick, wet feel of Austin’s tongue on your neck. Reaching out you feel the rippling of muscle under the soft, tanned skin of his shoulders as he hovers above you. His golden curls fill your view, a haze of bright white light surrounding the two of you.

And his mouth is on you, between your thighs. Pillowy soft lips are pursed around your clit, sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your head is thrashing, his fingers are plunging in and out of you, your arousal squelching with the motion.

Your lips are stretching wide around the girth of his cock as your head bobs along his length, cheeks hollowing, the salty taste and velvety feeling of skin on your tongue. His sweet, desperate moans sounding above you. His fingers cupping your jaw, guiding your mouth.

The rough bite of weathered wood against your palms, your cheek. The ache in your lower abdomen as his deep thrusts nudge the tip of his cock against your cervix. The shudder that runs through you as you clench around him. The bite of his teeth on the soft skin connecting your shoulder to your neck. The splash of warm, explosive release inside you.

…You inhaled sharply, raising your head from where it was pressing face-first into your pillow. You found yourself laying on your stomach, you hand between your legs inside your sleep shorts. The tell-tale spasms of a recent orgasm fluttered low in your belly, slick covering your hand. The realization of what had just happened jolted you completely awake, and you nearly flung yourself out of the bed, yanking at the sheets tangled around your legs.

This was a mistake.

»» ────── ஓ ๑ ✧ ๑ ஓ ────── ««

Read Part Three

Nom De Plume Masterlist

[wolfskrieger-a]

He's seen almost every tell, every person try to hide some form of information one way or another. And by now he thought he at least could read her pretty well even in the dark. Of course his eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to be able to see the finer details of her face, the expressions and lack of truly looking at him in the eyes told him just enough. Something was bothering her and it was why he kept his arm around her, why he kept her close enough to make her comfortable to show he was there and he wan't going anywhere. Everything he does for her now was to show comfort, to show she could open up and talk to him about what was going on. It was more than just having trouble sleeping, he could see it, all he had to do was listen.

So when she started speaking up, that's what he did. Hazel gaze was locked on her, not making her speed up or talk but was patient. Even as she gave a quick kiss, one he returned, and got the movie ready, Leon waited. The screen didn't have his attention, she did. And eventually it came, nodding to show he understood and it didn't exactly surprise him. "I do know, and to be honest I didn't think it came without trauma." An honest reply. "But I wasn't going to make you tell me about it until you were ready, if you were ready." His voice is calm, knowing full well what she meant and was going through. He experienced it often himself and it never lessened even after all this time. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

⸺  𝗧𝗛𝗘  𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘  𝗪𝗢𝗟𝗙  𝗦𝗨𝗣𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗦  𝗦𝗛𝗘  𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗  𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘  known  better  than  to  expect  her  mask  not  to  slip  ;  and  slip  it  does  ,  the  moment  he  challenges  whether  or  not  she  is  truly  okay  .  trembling  lips  flatten  ,  rolling  inward  as  she's  pulled  in  closer  and  lined  up  in  the  sight  of  his  stoic  gaze  .  for  a  moment  she  doesn't  answer  ,  simply  moving  as  he  does  to  remain  curled  in  tight  against  his  frame  as  emma  tries  her  best  to  appear  less  shaken  than  she  truly  is  .  but  something  about  the  manner  in  which  he  looks  at  her  ,  in  the  way  strong  digits  trace  soothing  motions  against  her  flesh  .  .  .  for  the  first  time  in  recent  memory  ,  she  can  feel  her  guard  begin  to  lower  .

❝  i  ,  um  .  .  .  ❞  there  is  a  pointed  pause  ,  nose  scrunching  as  she  pecks  his  lips  before  turning  to  set  up  the  movie  ;  stalling  -  as  much  as  she  can  ,  anyway  .  once  a  title  card  has  begun  to  slide  across  the  television  screen  ,  slender  shoulders  lift  and  fall  in  time  with  a  deep  ,  unsteady  sigh  .  ❝  so  .  .  .  i  know  you  know  WHAT  i  am  ,  but  .  .  .  there's  kind  of  a  lot  of  scary  ,  traumatic  bullshit  involved  with  how  i  got  this  way  ?  ❞  she  turns  to  fold  back  in  against  leon's  side  ,  her  own  fingers  beginning  to  trace  shapes  along  the  surface  of  his  chest  as  she  attempts  to  decide  how  much  to  say  .  ❝  i  guess  there's  just  .  .  .  i've  just  repressed  a  lot  .  and  it's  not  always  my  choice  when  it  decides  to  come  back  up  .  ❞