#this is what the fourth or fifth in the last week?
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Rating: Teen || Chapters: 2/5 || Word Count 3.5k/??
Summary: The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.
AO3 Tags: POV Multiple, Hob Gadling gives live advice to a bunch of teenagers, while helping them solve cases, that's it that's the fic, also he maybe plays matchmaker for his hot mess bestie
Chapter 1
Read Chapter 2 below, or using the link above on AO3!
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Hob Gadling considers himself to be a rather open minded man. He's lived hundreds of years, and seen thousands of strange and unusual things in that same amount of time, so the chances of something catching him completely off guard are rather slim in the year 2024.
The last few days, however, have proven that there are still many, many things that can surprise him.
One of those things being one Charles Rowland, who is currently waving at Hob from the entryway of the New Inn.
Hob normally doesn't like to get involved in anything having to do with the supernatural, and especially not anything related to the type of work that Edwin and Charles do. He'd met them purely by chance after some asshole with delusions of grandeur had tried to frame him for a series of murders. He’d sent Edwin and Charles on a wild goose chase in a poor attempt to cover his own tracks.
Hob thought that once they caught the real murderer together and cleared things up, that would be the end of things. But then, Hob kept getting involved in their cases over the years, all of them entirely on accident. Eventually, somewhere between the fourth and fifth poltergeist, Hob decided he might as well figure out how to defend himself against supernatural entities, and maybe make himself useful for these poor boys too. They certainly needed all the help they could get.
Hob had been glad to hear that Edwin and Charles had recently gotten some sort of amnesty in exchange for continuing to help ghosts and other souls move on. It was good work, what these boys did. Hob has seen ghosts that haunted the same places for centuries finally be to pass on into the afterlife thanks to them. And now, they not only had permission to keep going, but had gotten more help to do it too.
The addition of Crystal to their little crew had been a surprise, and Jenny an even bigger surprise, though the latter seems less interested in solving cases, and more in making sure Crystal doesn't get herself killed in the process.
Still, Hob's only ever seen the teens all together in some sort of group, never alone, and he's definitely never seen Charles without Edwin. From the moment Hob had first met the two ghost boys, they’d always been a singular unit in his mind. And yet here Charles was, alone and looking strangely expectant while trying to appear casual as he waits for Hob to close out the tabs on the last remaining lunch hour patrons.
“Everything all right?” Hob asks when Charles approaches him once his last customer leaves.
“Of course!” Charles answers, his signature smile bright on display. “I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hello. And to thank you again for the assist the other day.”
As a ghost, Charles is technically always in the neighborhood, so Hob knows that that’s not all that there is to his visit. It also hasn't escaped Hob's notice that Charles specifically picked the one day Jenny wasn't working the kitchen this week to drop by the pub. He clearly doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s here.
But Hob knows by now how to deal with skittish teenagers. Even dead ones.
“Well I'm almost done here and then I'm gonna head upstairs for a cuppa,” Hob says. Mark’s going to be here soon to relieve me of duty. Happy to have some company if you have the time to spare for an old man.”
“Oh! Yeah sure, I'm not busy,” Charles says, and cute that he’s still trying to pretend that he hadn’t come here with a purpose, when his eagerness is so clearly written all over his face. “Don't need any food though, as you know.”
“Sure, sure,” Hob replies, waving his hand dismissively so Charles can head upstairs ahead of him. He's going to make a cup of tea for Charles anyways. The boy always seemed to love the steam that came out of the mugs, even though he’d never admit it out loud.
Mark comes in exactly at 2:00pm, and Hob chats with him for a few minutes, before he clocks out and heads upstairs to his flat above the pub. Charles is already waiting for him in the living room, and Hob immediately sets to the task of warming up some hot water in the kettle and grabbing some mugs for tea.
“So how are things at the agency?” Hob asks as he waits for the water to heat. “Busy as ever, or more so now that you’ve got yourselves a psychic?”
“Definitely busier,” Charles says. “Crystal’s been a massive help with our cases, we're solving them even faster than before.”
“Good,” Hob replies, just as the kettle clicks, letting him know the water is done. “I’m glad she’s using her powers for good nowadays,” he adds as he brings the two mugs over to the couch. Charles looks surprised by the extra mug, but accepts it without a word. Hob doesn’t expect him to drink any of the tea, of course, but as predicted, Charles seems to fall into a trance watching the steam rise out of the cup.
“Thanks for not giving her too much of a hard time,” Charles says when Hob sits down in the recliner across from him. “She’s been really down on herself lately for everything in her past.”
“I can only imagine,” Hob agrees. He knew a thing or two about wanting to reinvent oneself and burning away the past. He’s had hundreds of years to do so after all. In fact, it could even be argued that Crystal was far ahead of where Hob would’ve been had he been in her shoes. The girl he’d met a few nights ago was so different from the one he’d met a year ago in court that Hob would’ve thought she had a twin instead.
“Seems like you two get along well,” Hob notes after a brief silence has passed. Charles perks up immediately, taking the opening in the conversation.
“We do,” Charles replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s amazing.”
“Yeah? So are the two of you a thing then?” Hob asks, and would you look at that, turns out ghosts can blush after all.
“I—maybe?” Charles says, his voice pitched higher with uncertainty. “I don’t know, actually. I mean, it's, well…complicated I guess?”
“How so?” Hob asks. He’d suspected there had been something going on between them, it was obvious in their body language, and how they gently teased one another throughout the night after the banshee had gone. Now Charles is talking like a man newly in love and completely besotted.
“Is she giving you mixed signals?” Hob follows up when Charles doesn't answer.
“No!” Charles exclaims, shaking his head. “It’s me really, I’m—I don’t know.” He sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought for a while that’s what I wanted and then Edwin—” he suddenly cuts himself off, a small amount of panic now crossing his features.
Ah. Now the reason for Charles' visit suddenly makes itself clear. Crystal clear even, but Hob keeps that terrible pun to himself.
“So Edwin finally told you how he felt about you?” Hob asks, deciding to rip the bandage off now and quell the strange awkwardness in the room. Charles’ head whips up so fast Hob feels his own neck start to cramp up in sympathy.
“You knew ?” Charles asks. “But Edwin said he’d only figured it out when we were in Port Townsend!”
Hob shrugs. “Sometimes, things are easier to spot when you’re not in the middle of them,” he replies. “But it was pretty clear that, at the very least, Edwin considered you the most important person to him. It's not surprising he fell in love with you too.”
“You really think so?” Charles asks. “Because I don't—I’d never really thought about it before, you know? He's my most important person too, but I never thought that we would be more than that. But now that he's said it, I can't stop thinking about it.”
“Yeah?” Hob asks. “Does it bother you that he feels that way?” A shake of the head. Good. “Do you ever think you could return those feelings?”
“I don’t know, and that’s the problem!” Charles cries, his voice pitching near to a whine. He stands and paces around Hob’s living room, and Hob has to try not to laugh into his tea. Teenage problems were always the same, whether a live or dead.
“To be honest, I’m still really into Crystal,” Charles starts, “...but then after everything with Edwin, and what happened to Niko, I started thinking, well, how long will that really last? Crystal’s alive, I’m not. She’s going to—she won’t—she’ll eventually—”
“Grow up?” Hob offers when the teen can’t find the right words. “Grow old, hopefully? Live a fulfilling life with someone else that’s flesh and blood?”
“I—yeah. Ideally yes,” Charles replies, though it's clear the thought bothers him by the way he scrunches his features. “But also, what if us being together puts her in too much danger? What if she—if what happened to Niko happens to her, I couldn't bear it, Mr. Gadling.”
“Hob,” Hob corrects the boy gently. “I've told you before that you don't need to call me Mister anything, makes me feel way older than I already feel,” he adds with a laugh. Charles gives him a half smile and just shrugs helplessly. Some habits were impossible to break, it seemed.
“And those are perfectly reasonable fears to have,” Hob continues. “Crystal is her own person though, and you need to take into account that she might find the risk worth it. And to be honest, I feel like the risk to her life is the same, whether you two are romantically involved or not.”
“Yeah, I suppose you're right,” Charles agrees, flopping back down onto Hob’s couch and staring back into the still steaming mug of tea. “So do you think we should give it a go, then?”
Hob shrugs. “I think you two like each other,” he replies, “but whether you think a relationship is worth it is up to you. Does Edwin know about you two?”
“He knows—some stuff yeah,” Charles replies sheepishly. “I had told him I liked her way before he, you know, confessed to me and all. And like, even afterwards, it seems like he’s fine, but I really don’t know if it’s all actually fine, or if he’s just trying to act like he’s fine just because I look fine but he’s not really fine and what if I’ve mucked everything up or—”
“Hey, slow down, Charles,” Hob interjects, and the boy’s mouth clicks shut immediately. “From what I can see, nothing has changed between you, so I wouldn't worry about it,” he adds, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Besides, you and Edwin have been together this long now, you've got more than enough time to sort things out, one way or the other.”
“Yeah,” Charles agrees, his voice now wistfully soft and clearly full of affection. “When we were in Hell, I said that to him,you know. That we have eternity to figure it all out.”
“Did you now?” Hob asks, now smiling himself. “Sounds like you two are on the same page then, as per usual. Now you just need to make a decision yourself and Crystal.”
“Yeah…yeah you're right,” Charles says, seeming to come to a decision. His back straightens and he sits up, his signature smile back on his face. “Edwin and I may have forever, but Crystal doesn't and it's rude to keep a lady waiting right?”
“Absolutely," Hob replies.
Charles leaves shortly after, promising not to overthink everything and let his feelings come naturally to him. Hob is fairly certain he knows where things will land eventually, and he's sure Charles does too. It doesn't make the journey to get there any less worthwhile.
#dead boy detectives#dead boy detectives fanfic#the sandman#payneland#dreamling#charles rowland#edwin payne#crystal palace#hob gadling#seiya writes#seiya writes dbda#chapter 2 let's go friends whooooo
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Another mass shooting, another year of "thoughts and prayers," oh no what should we do about this this is so sad let's just not do anything because we love our guns too much despite domestic terrorism we don't want to give them up. Another year of the US not doing anything about gun control. We would rather fight each other over gun control than prevent shootings from already happening. Everyone keeps asking "When will it end?" And it won't, you and I both know. It won't. Fuck everything
#this is what the fourth or fifth in the last week?#fuck this country#I've seen a sticker on a truck in my own town that said ''control your kids not our guns''#gun control can and will never happen without another civil war#we're too focused on foreign terrorism and sending thousands of troops over sea to kill innocents when we don't do jack shit for the-#homegrown terrorists that kill innocents in our own country#usa#us shooting#mass shooting
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i replayed turnabout trump again for like. the 5th time i think??? god its such a good case
#ace attorney spoilers#i literally cannot get over the foreshadowing that only really hits when you play the case again with full context of the game in mind#'is this your idea of revenge for what happened 7 years ago'#kristoph projecting 'settling an old score' onto phoenix when that was actually HIS motive#also just the fact that phoenix and kristoph here were basically divorcing in court in front of everyone very bitterly BDKHKAD#also how kristoph's sprites are slowly revealed over time#you go from only seeing his normal ones to suddenly the one where he has his hand on his glasses#then the one where he looks up kinda evily and then the twitchy ones the hair in front of his eyes yadda yadda#they did not have to start this game off with such a banger of a case but im so glad they did#also yes i have played this case specifically 5 times though i should say i have not played apollo justice itself in full 5 times (yet)#the first time i played it i was emulating the game on citra but did not get past the intro to turnabout corner on there#the second time i got the cartridge for christmas and played through the game in full#the third time i started to replay the game only a week after beating it the first time (i don't remember if i made it to the last case)#the fourth time was another replay attempt but i stopped at turnabout serenade#and the fifth time was just today where i intend to replay the rest of the game in its entirety again#i am very normal about Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney (lying)#anyways im gonna make sure i actually make it to turnabout succession this time lmao#i dont think ive gotten to that case since i played the first time and i wanna see kristoph's final case as well as see vera again....#turnabout serenade is always about where i stop when replaying the game#i didn't mind the case the first time i played the game but now its kind of a roadblock to me#turnabout trump is great and i love turnabout corner!!#and then there's serenade... but then there's succession!!!!#anyways NDKABDKJD#also don't get me wrong i like serenade just. not as much as the other cases
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Drake's family secret
A/N: Another story idea I had and I probably will keep working on. I kinda want to continue on it I just have no idea how or with what yet.
Tim had a secret. Well, he had many secrets but this was one he had kept closed off for a very long time now. It was one of the reasons he fabricated a fake uncle to avoid getting adopted. After all, if you were put into the system how could you possibly get found or find your last living blood relative? His family didn't know and he never intended for them to know anyway. It was a secret well-kept of the Drake family, one that even the public didn't know about. His parents hadn't thrown around money to keep anyone involved silent for nothing after all.
But Tim had had vague memories as well as found the last remaining documents years ago. The problem had been that he hadn't been Robin yet at that time and couldn't do research like he can now. Tim had often wondered if one of the reasons he had followed Batman around back then was to see if he could help him with that matter too, yet he had never brought it up to Bruce nor any of his other siblings.
In a way it made Tim feel guilty now as he looked over that old piece of paper. The only hint he had until now.
He looked over the security video of Wayne Enterprise again. Watching that group of high schoolers that was there on a school trip visit. His eyes tracked one specific student among them. If things were different Tim would joke about how the boy looked like perfect Bruce adoption material. But as it was, Tim was not going to make that joke.
Because as much as the boy fell into the stereotype of Bruce's adoption problem, the boy had facial features that looked very much like one Jenet Drake. Tim could honestly see it, sure his memories were not the best in regards to his parents but he had kept at least some photos for references. But recognizing that threw in a whole other set of problems.
For one he would need to find a way to make sure the Drake Family secret doesn't get exposed to his family too soon. Second, he needed to find a way to approach the boy without looking suspicious. Third, he was on a time limit, according to what he found the school trip the boy was on lasted for a week. Once the boy was out of Gotham it would be even harder to find a passable excuse to approach him. Fourth, he would also need a blood sample. As much as the boy's looks alone could make Tim believe it, the rest of his family was paranoid and if he was completely homestead, he also would need it for his reassurance that he wasn't wrong. Which again he kind of doubted even with this little amount of evidence. The fifth problem in this was, how was he going to break it to the rest of his family.
Because the best kept Drake's Family secret, he was pretty sure he was the last remaining person in the know, was that Tim had a little brother. A brother that was born when he was around 3 or four years old. A little brother who had never gotten to grow up with him because Jack and Jenet Drake had used their constant traveling as cover so the public wouldn't know about him. They already had an heir with Tim, they didn't need a second child. So the moment his little brother had been born he was given up in a closed adoption. Never to be seen again and never to be connected to the Drake family.
Tim only knew about him because he had vague memories about his mother's pregnancy and also had later found the papers in his parents' office when he was around ten. He remembered how upset he had been at the discovery but also how he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Though it was back then that he had also decided that the moment he could he would do everything he could to find him. Things only started to change when he became Robin and then Red Robin. Now he had the resources and knowledge to find the little brother he had never gotten to grow up with.
But too much time had passed and his parents had been thorough when covering their tracks, which resulted in Tim having been unable to find that little brother of his. Having no name and no idea who adopted him, didn't help either. But Tim had had less to work with before, yet the search had given him massive troubles, to the point that he HAD contemplated getting the rest of his family in on it.
But now that wasn't necessary anymore, there was an actual chance again.
Thankfully he had come in late today, if he hadn't he wouldn't have seen the group of High School students on a school trip in the Lobby waiting for their tour guide. He wouldn't have seen the group of teens that lacked behind their fellow students a bit. But most importantly he wouldn't have seen that kid that looked like adoption bait for Bruce. That then by closer inspection had so many facial similarities to his mother that Tim had first thought he was hallucinating.
Now he was sitting in his office, watching the group of High Schoolers getting a tour through the building through the security cams while trying to come up with the perfect plan that didn't look too suspicious as he watched the boy who could be his blood-related little brother. Oh, Damian would throw a fit if he learned about having another brother, Tim mused for a moment as he noted down the boy's, Danny's, excitement about their aerospace department. He had already decided, if Danny was not living adequately he would pull all the strings he could to get his little brother home.
So far Tim had found out that the boy's name was Danny Fenton. He would dig into that later more. He would also make sure that if Danny was his little brother, he saw to it that he was getting treated right. He had noticed how his little brother appeared overly tired and there was a bandage hidden below his shirt plus through the security camera footage, he had also seen that there was a hint of scarring on his left arm.
For now, though he had sent a message to the tour guide to end the tour in his office, for something like a surprise introduction to Tim Drake-Wayne. He would continue to build up his plan of getting to know and confirm his little brother's status from there.
#dp x dc#danny fenton#dpxdc#danny phantom#dcxdp#tim drake#Danny was born a Drake but got given up for adoption#the Drakes didn't want a second child#Tim knew he had a little brother but couldn't find him yet#The rest of the Waynes do not know about this at all#Now Tim his hatching a plan to see if he can confirm if Danny is his little brother or not#Danny has no idea what was happening#Tim got one week to figure out how to make Danny trust him#than Danny would return to Amity with the rest of his class#Danny doesn't know he is adopted#and Tim just wants to confirm it#he might not reveal it if Danny has a good life#is having your parents hunt your secret identity and having a govermental branch hunting you too a good life?#Tim's going to have a field day (and not in the good way) when he finds out more about Danny's live#unedited#no beta we die like danny
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✯Want to play Psycho Killer?✯
BLACK READER!!!!!!!
Summary: Chris realizes his girlfriend has a thing for a certain masked killer, and feeds into her fantasy.
warning: NSFW content, thirsting after Ghostface, CNC (kind of lmao) unprotected sex, whatever kink it is where you get fucked while the other person wears a mask, overstimulation, choking, vibrators, titty slapping, squirting,
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Chris was a very attentive boyfriend.
He noticed everything about his girlfriend. He noticed how her eyes crinkled when she smiled, how her nose would scrunch when she laughed. He noticed how she would stick her tongue out when she was focused on something.
He was attentive.
So attentive to the point that he noticed she would clench her thighs and take deep breaths when watching a certain movie.
That movie being Scream.
He decided to turn on Scream one day since he and his brothers were going to the premier of the fifth movie in a few weeks. It was his girl's favorite movie, and he'd never seen it, so he figured it would be a great date night. As they watched the first movie, he noticed she kept moving around, adjusting the way she was sitting.
"You ok?" He asked her. All she did was nod and keep watching the movie. The next date night they watched the second movie, it was the same thing but a bit toned down.
Same with the third, and the fourth.
he had a theory that she loved the first movie more than the others.
He decided to test his theory one last time by turning on the first movie once again.
His theory was proven when she basically jumped him midway through the movie, and they had sex on the couch.
His theory was proven once again when he saw her bookmarks on TikTok. Multiple videos of guys in Ghostface masks, choking their girlfriends.
He knew what she wanted, and he planned on giving it to her.
For his plan to work, he had to get her alone. He had texted her around 30 minutes ago and asked if she was home. He proceeded to tell her he was coming over and to relax when she sees him.
He didn’t know if she would freak out or not, but he had a feeling she would play along.
He unlocks her front door and walks inside, closing it softly. He pulls the mask over his head and slowly ascends up the stairs, being quiet so she won't hear him. He peeks into her room and sees her lying down on her stomach, distracted by her phone. She had on a thong and one of her babydoll dresses. He inches into the room, coming up behind her.
She feels a presence looming behind her. Before she can look over her shoulder, her head is roughly pushed into the comforter. She screams in shock and drops her phone, thrashing around in fright.
He yanks her head up by her hair and whispers from behind the mask,
“Want to play psycho killer?”
She tenses hearing Chris’s voice. She looks into the reflection of her lamp on her nightstand and sees he’s on top of her, a mask covering his face.
But not just any mask
A Ghostface mask.
“W-what?” She stutters out, too caught off guard to understand anything.
“I said, do you want to play psycho killer?” He flips them around and kicks her legs apart, his right hand moving up her thigh, getting dangerously close to her embarrassingly wet cunt. He allows his hand to move her thong to the side and swipe through her folds, gathering her glistening juices on his finger. She whimpers and tries to close her legs, failing due to him being in the way. He smirks under the mask and tilts his head to the side.
"You can be the helpless victim."
He slips two fingers into her, watching as her eyes gently flutter shut. He glides his finger in and out, teasing her by moving slowly. Soft moans and whimpers tumbling out of her plump lips. He picks up the pace, his fingers moving faster. His left-hand travels up to her neck and tightly wraps around it, "come on baby, say the next line." He urges.
It's nearly impossible for her to speak. The way his long and nimble fingers nudge against the right spot constantly, his left hand squeezing her throat like she loves.
"Please?" She weakly pleads. Chris chuckles and yanks her upright and forward, a noise leaving her throat. "that's not what I want to hear baby, you know your line."
His fingers move even faster, "how are you going to be in the sequel if you can't even remember your lines?" he taunts.
She throws her head back and moans out, feeling her orgasm close.
"Say it or I stop right now!" he threatens.
"Fuck! Please d-dont kill me Mr. Ghostface! I want to be in the sequel!" she pleads helplessly.
"Since you asked so nicely." He begins to ram his fingers into her, curling them repeatedly. Not caring if she could feel his lips or not, she begins to make out with him. Her red lipstick smudges all over the mouth of the mask.
Making out with your boyfriend who is dressed up as a masked serial killer? it's not the most erotic thing they have done, but it is the most taboo.
He feels her walls clenching around his fingers and he presses his thumb against her clit, rubbing it in circles. She yelps and throws her head back as her orgasm washes over her.
Instead of removing his fingers, he keeps going, stroking her velvety walls. "Shi-Chris wait!'' She tries to push his hand away, but he forces her down and keeps going. She withers and whines at the overstimulation, her thighs shaking as he continues the assault on her clit.
It hits her fast, her eyes clenching shut and her back arching.
He removes his fingers and yanks her closer by her legs. She watches with hazy eyes as he begins to pull his pants down, just enough for him to release his aching dick.
Usually, he would give her a few moments to regain her strength, but he doesn't want her to.
He wants to fuck her to the brink of exhaustion.
"Chris ple- nghhh" he cuts her off by slipping into her, her walls sucking him up just right. He snaps his hips, pulling a high-pitched squeal from the girl beneath him. A devious smirk crosses his face as he drills his hips against hers.
He's relentless in his action, going hard and deep. "Don't act like you don't want it. if you didn't want it you wouldn't have been getting turned on by a fucking movie." He taunts in a raspy voice.
All she can do in return is moan and open her legs wider, proving him correct. He grabs her calves, pushing her legs closer to her chest, going even deeper than before.
This position only lasts a few minutes until she's creaming all over him, her body spazzing at the overwhelming sensation. Her eyes are clenched shut, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tries to regain her breath.
Her body lurches feeling a strong vibration on her clit. Her eyes fly open and she sees Chris holding her rose toy against her clit. She can't get any words out, only pathetic moans and small screams as it all becomes too much for her. He begins to thrust once again, adding even more pleasure.
"Fuck- look at you taking me so well. I knew you would. I saw the way you would squeeze your legs together, and now you're squeezing me the same way, such a fucking whore." He groans, his hips stuttering in the process. He's close to cumming but he wants to wait for her last orgasm.
He looks at her, taking in her fucked out face. The makeup she had on now ruined, from the tears of pleasure running down her face.
He turns the vibration up, drawing a loud scream from the girl, her thighs clenching as her fourth orgasm rushes through her core. He chuckles and pulls out, leaning forward so he can whisper in her ear, "You're doing so well for me, maybe you will be in the sequel." He runs his finger through her sensitive folds, making her whine out.
he smirks at the noise and slaps her clit, a choked moan leaving her throat. He chuckles and sits up, pulling her with him. "you gonna give me one more?" she shakes her head, too sensitive to have another orgasm. He shakes his head with her, mocking her as he laughs softly.
"Yes you can, and you will."
He slaps her cunt once again, before forcing her into his favorite position.
Face down, ass up.
He looks at her ass, rubbing his hands over it as her Grool runs down her leg. He lands a smack to her ass, enjoying the yelp that tumbles from her raw lips. She tries to pull away from him but he gently yanks her back, "Stop running baby, I'll go slow. Is that what you want?" he coos. She responds with a weak hum of agreement.
He lines himself up, slipping back inside her warm velvety walls.
Her eyes roll into the back of her head, her fingers weakly gripping her bedding tightly.
He moves slowly at first, dragging out his thrust, before pushing deep inside her, nudging against her cervix. She whimpers at the feeling, trying to pull away as this whole session becomes too much for her. He plants his hands on her waist, gripping her harshly as he pulls her back on his dick. he speeds up, all thoughts of going slow out the window. She reaches back behind her and tries to stop the assault against her aching walls.
"Why are you running baby, this is what you wanted right? You wanted me to fuck you, dressed up like a killer."
She whines and weakly tries to push him away.
He grunts and smacks her arm away, " You can take it, be a good girl, and take it." She tries to push him away once again.
Out of frustration, he grabs her torn-up thong and yanks both her arms behind her, tying her wrists together.
He uses her bound wrists as an anchor and starts plowing into her harder than he ever has before. Her body lurches forward with each thrust, shaking and arching deeper into the mattress.
Her sobs fill the room, matching each and every single one of his harsh movements. He grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her up and pressing their bodies together. He harshly grabs her breasts, twisting her nipples before landing a hard smack to the bouncing flesh. She lets out a mix of a sob and a moan. He pants and moans in her ear as he sneaks the vibrator towards her clit.
A burning sensation swelled at the pit of her stomach, snapping just as quick as it came.
She lets out a horror movie-like scream, and propels herself forward, landing face-first in the sheets. Her vision goes black as her juices splash beneath them.
Chris groans at the sight of squirting and quickly fills her up, his seed spilling out of her as he pulls out.
He grabs his phone and opens up the camera, hitting record. He grabs her hair and lifts her head up, shoving the camera in front of her.
Her eyes are halfway closed, her makeup smeared as if she has caught in the rain, and there's drool running out the corner of her mouth.
she was fucked out just like he wanted her to be.
"Smile gorgeous, you're going to be in the sequel."
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I have such a thing for Ghostface it's honestly concerning😭 like i fr made my old sneaky link wear the mask one day 🤪
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LAST NIGHT | mattheo riddle
summary; on again, off again, you and mattheo have always gone round and round in circles, but this is the last time.
word count; 3962
notes; based on this song! my first ever mattheo fic, or even slytherin boy fic, so hope you enjoy, sorry if it sucks lmao <3
“I’m done, Mattheo!” Your voice bounced off the walls, giving the half-arsed silencing spell you’d cast two hours ago a run for its money. “I’m fed up of this. I’m fed up of your attitude, and your bullshit, and the way you just don’t seem to care about anything!”
“Oh, you’re done?” He mocks, bringing the cigarette back to his lips as he sits on the windowsill, rolling his eyes and blowing smoke out into the night air.
“Yes, I’m done.”
“Bullshit. You say that every other week. What is this, our fourth breakup this year? Fifth?” Stubbing out what was left on the stone wall, he flicked the butt out into the darkness, finally swinging his legs back to the floor and turning to face you. “You had no problem with my carefree attitude and my bullshit and my laidback nature when we started dating. Why are you throwing a hissy fit now, what’s this really about, huh?”
Your jaw clenched, clenched so hard it hurt. He smirked at that, wider when your fists balled by your sides, and he took an arrogant swig of the firewhiskey the two of you had been splitting. The very drink that had given you the courage to do this in the first place.
“Nothing to say, then? That’s what I thought.”
“Mattheo—”
“Storm your pretty arse out the door, love. Slam it, like you always do. You’ll come back in the middle of the night, like you always do, and I’ll be here waiting for you.” A lump caught in your throat, and the fiery anger in your body settled into a cool rage.
“It’s different this time, Mattheo. When we started dating in the fifth year, nothing but having a date to Yule Ball mattered, but we’re two months from graduation, and you— you’re hopeless. We’re hopeless.” His brows pinched, a snarl taking over his features at your harsh words and the small seed of victory was squashed by the tension building in the air. “You won’t tell me anything about our future, about your own and if I even have a place in it. You won’t make plans, you’re barely even passing your classes and you don’t care. It’s been years, Matt, and you still treat me like I’m just some fun.”
“Exclusive fun. At least I’m not sleeping with anyone else.” He smirked again around the words, throat bobbing as he swigged at the whiskey, a golden drop leaking down his chin and your hands itched to wipe it away. “You knew who I was when we met.”
“Yes, I did.” Your voice cracked, and just like that, a gaping cavern seemed to split through all those emotions, leaving a feeling of hollow, cold numbness to fill your chest in its place. So wide it was dark, echoes of feelings bouncing on stone walls, and you rubbed over your chest. “But I wish you were someone I never met.”
Silence filled the space between you both, airtight like the oxygen was starting to thin. “You wish I was someone you never met?”
“Yes.” Your voice shook even as you said it, the glass bottle clinked on the stone ledge as he set the bottle down. His shoes scuffed on the floor, as he made his way over to you, long strides that you matched backwards, until your back was pressed to the door. “Mattheo.”
His hands slammed onto the wood on either side of you, crowding you until your noses were brushing, the warmth of his body seeping into you. His voice was like a growl, skittering along your body like a reverberation as he spoke, “You wish you never met me?”
“I didn’t—”
“No. You didn’t.” He cut you off, your shoulders slumping in defeat as that red in his gaze took over. There was no sentience now, nothing to be said, not as your hand slipped across the wood towards the doorknob behind you. The time for talking was over, there was nothing left to be said now.
He was right.
He knew you far too well. Just like every other time, you wanted to storm out, slamming the door and cursing his name, promising you’d never go back. Just like every other time, you’d end up coming back to him, over and over again, a vicious circle where you crawl back into his bed, and he whispers sweet things in your ear that never come true, and you go on like it never happened.
Over and over and over.
You released the doorknob, his eyes searching your own, and instead, you gripped his jaw. He startled, even more when you yanked his mouth down to yours, hands sliding around until you were pulling yourself up to his height. He groaned, a deep sound as his mouth opened against your own, wet and needy with desperate kisses.
His body collapsed against yours, pinning you to the door, only interrupted by his own arms sliding around your waist, bodies flush and racing hearts pounding together through your chests.
“See, isn’t this so much better?” He muttered, nipping at your lower lip as your head tipped back to rest on the wood, his mouth beginning to make tracks along your jaw instead. “When you just shut up and stop overthinking, and let things go how they work, huh?”
That same hot mouth continued its path, your breath shallowing as he kissed down and down, wet tongue licking across your collarbones and the swell of your tits. Rough hands pushed up at your shirt, bunching the fabric up as your shaky hands attempted to undo the buttons, falling into every touch and lie that came from his mouth.
Just like always, you fell into his trap, like a bee to honey, he knew every weakness. Dropping to his knees before you, pretty brown eyes all but sparkled as he smirked up, glittering with victory. His tongue laved over the soft skin below your belly button, tracing the edge of your skirt, fingers toying with the hem line when your own laced into the soft brown curls, pushing them back.
“Matty…”
“That’s right, baby.” Another wet kiss to your stomach, one sensual enough to leave your back arching against the wood, pushing closer to him as his hands dipped under the skirt to find the sides of your panties. Peeling them slowly down your legs, he propped his chin on the soft pudge of your stomach, peering up. “The only thing that mouth should be screaming at me is prayers to God and begs of my name.”
Your scoff was lost to a moan as he slapped the tender back of one thigh, skin stinging, the welts that would be left by the cold rings decorating his fingers only made you tremble with further excitement, further need. Need for him, desperation for the man who knew you so well, like the back of his hand. Every touch, every tell, every weakness exploited was by design and knowledge.
“You want my mouth, baby? Say it. Tell me what you want.” A nip to the inside of one thigh, delicate skin abused by teeth and lips, a bruise there he would leave so proudly.
“I want your mouth.”
“Yeah, I bet you do. Tell me, who would make you come like I can if you left me, huh?”
A retort sat on the tip of your tongue, stinging words with a bitter bite, ready to chew his head off once more for his arrogance, but it all died away as your head thumped back on the door. His tongue swept through your folds, head hidden under the pleats of your skirt as he lapped from your entrance to your clit, hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin as he moaned.
He wasn’t gentle, nor was he patient, not as he set to work on something he enjoyed just as much as you did. His tongue worked you over, your thighs trembling on either side of his head as he licked and swirled, fingers sliding up the sides of your legs. You didn’t want to speak, to give him the satisfaction of rewarding him for his effort, teeth sinking into your lower lip in a desperate attempt to keep quiet.
He took it as the challenge it was, growling against your core, the vibrations shaking along your spine and lighting you up like fireworks in the crisp night air, sparking you to life like a fuse. He doubled down on his efforts, wet and messy, pulling on every trick he knew you loved, tongue sinking into your hole just to pull back as you clenched, teasing and taunting until you were dizzy.
Sucking on your clit until your knees shook, almost threatening to give way, he sank one finger into your dripping cunt, and your pledge for silence gave way, a loud cry slipping from you and bouncing around the room. He nipped at your sensitive clit to celebrate his own victory, a squeaky sound escaping at the sensation, and your nails scratched into the wood of the door, doubtless leaving claw-marks he’d never let you live down.
That one finger became two, scissoring and curling until you could no longer take it, exploding around his digits with frantic rolls of your hips into his hand. He let you ride it out, never letting up, never stopping his assault, your body spasming under his hold until he was pulling back, other hand pinning your hips to the door.
Your legs finally gave way, only held up by the support of his body as he kept you locked where you were, slamming those fingers in and out of you until you were begging. Begging for another release, begging for reprieve, begging for anything at all, as he barrelled you towards another orgasm.
When this one struck it was with a scream, with a burning heat so intense you thought your clothes might turn to ash on your very skin, melt away into nothing the same way every thought in your head had managed to do.
He finally pulled back, slick and shining fingers going straight to his mouth as his body supported your own, one hand slipping to your hip and holding you tight, steadying you against the door until your shaking breaths evened out.
The taste of yourself was still on his tongue as his mouth crashed into your own, your shaking hands nothing like his steady ones as the two of you tore at one another’s clothing, stumbling together in a tangle of limbs and kisses towards the bed. Stripping on another of clothes in rough movements and angry tugs and rips, until you were bare, his hot cock pressing to your stomach, smearing precum over your skin and letting you know just how much he wanted you.
He may have you fucked stupid, wrapped around his little finger, but at least you knew you had him in that same helpless grip.
Reaching between your bodies and taking his hard cock in hand, he let out a stuttered moan at the first pump, the drag of his flesh in your hand, precum spilling out over your fingers in a sticky trail. His need tasted like sin on your lips, your name a mumbled praise that sounded like a curse as you pumped him slowly, his hands flexing so tightly on your hips they’d no doubt leave tainted marks.
“Fucking hell, baby. Gonna’ fuck you so good, gonna’ fuck you ‘til you remember some sense, ‘til you’re screaming the way only I can make you.” With one rough shove, you were spilling out across his mattress, gripping the sheets with your fingertips as he crawled up and over you.
A quick movement and you were flipped, finding yourself face down into the bedsheets, his weight pressing into you at every angle from above, and then—
Then the stretch, the slow drag as he sank into you, joint moans as he gave you no time to adjust. The burning rage in his veins drove him into you until your hips sat snugly together, his throbbing cock stretching out every wall within you to that delicious brink between pleasure and pain.
“Fuck, Mattheo…”
“Don’t say my name again tonight unless you’re fucking screaming it.” He pulled back, snapping his hips into your own with such brutality that the sound echoed around the room, your fingers screwed into the sheets practically turning white-knuckled with how your body tensed and shuddered. He did it again and again, slamming into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs every time. “I’m still so goddamn mad at you, but you’re just too hot when you yell at me.”
“Fuck you.” Your words didn’t have nearly as much vitriol as you wanted, not when they were muttered out into the sheets as your face pressed into them, drool on your lips from every slam of his cock into you. He caught them though, fingers lacing into your hair and yanking your head up, the pace never slowing, even as his body covered your own, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I already am, sweetheart. You just can’t help yourself, giving yourself over to me even when you’re mad. My pretty little slut.”
A particularly sharp thrust, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as every other feeling seemed to melt away until only the pound of his hips into your own was left. You could feel him everywhere, outside and inside, as he filled your every thought and every cell. It had always been like this, utterly intoxicating with him since that very first kiss, the moment those captivating eyes had locked on your own and you’d been tangled in the web that was Mattheo Riddle.
The first scream slipped free from your lips as his hand came down across your arse with a slap, a condescending chuckle followed it and he rewarded you with an extra hard squeeze. Driving into you with renewed force, he left a matching handprint on the other side, and you cried out his name with cracked voice. “That’s right, fucking take what I give you.”
“Mattheo!”
His name was like a chant now, unstoppable as pleasure swelled and built inside of you, brain going foggy and his name the only thing that was clear, His touch was grounding but his kisses were like a drug, trailed along your shoulder and spine as he smothered you into the mattress, tears building in your eyes with the delicious overwhelm of it all.
Trembling, shaking, your body was hardly your own as you squirmed beneath him, pushed down into the bed as tears wet the sheets from your eyes, used like a whore and loving every second of it.
Another peak was building, the tangling in your stomach a telltale sign as your body tensed under his touch, like an instrument he knew just how to play as his fingers skated along your body, tweaking nipples and travelling down to your clit, harsh circles rubbed into the swollen bud.
With only a couple of unsteady circles, you exploded, screaming his name just as he promised you would heat flaring through you, sweat slick between your bodies.
His lips left sloppy kisses along your neck as he never let up, only stopping enough to pull back, and leave you for just a second as a trembling mess on the sheets. Long enough to flip you over, to push your knees up until they were almost to your chest, hooked over his shoulders as he sank back into your wetness.
Your hands were shaking, coming up to grip at his biceps, half-lidded gaze locked on that fiery stare of his own, even when his forehead came down to press to your own. Your nails tore welts into his arm, a pleasured hiss on his lips and his hips stuttered, lips tugging up at the edges in a pain-fuelled smirk of sheer bliss.
“God, look at you. My perfect girl, and this perfect pussy grippin’ me so good. I fucking love you, and you love me.” You could only muster a whine in reply, arching your back until your nipples brushed his chest, the added stimulation making your eyes roll back in your head, shuddering right down to every last nerve you had.
“Mattheo…” Your voice was raw, unable to scream anymore, and a sick gratification flashed over his features, open mouth brushing yours, letting you swallow every moan he let out.
His hips rolled, the fluttering and spasming of your inner walls sending him toppling over the edge, and with one last rough stutter of his hips into you he stilled. Bracketed between your thighs his weight collapsed atop you, heat flooding your core as he spilled into you, pump after pump, the aftershocks of your orgasm reigniting a little at the feeling, drawing out until you tingled right down to your fingertips.
If you’d had any strength at all, any ability to even move, you’d shove him off of you, roll away from him out of his grip. Instead, he lay against you, panting, tracing his fingertips softly up and down your ribs in that way he knew you loved, until he’d gained enough of his own strength to push himself up.
A whimper slipped free from your lips as he pulled out, wetness leaking from you immediately in his absence, goosebumps covering your skin as his body peeled away from your own. Kneeling back between your aching thighs, Mattheo’s lips twisted in a cruel smirk as he eyed the mess he’d left between your thighs, only growling at the embarrassed flush that covered your body as you attempted to snap your legs shut.
That burning look of anger and passion still flared somewhat in his eyes, no longer a blazing inferno but lingering enough like smouldering ashes, and he barely bothered to reach over the side of the bed and snatch up his abandoned shirt, tossing it onto your chest for you to clean yourself up. He collapsed down onto the bed beside you, a satisfied sigh escaping him as he propped one bent arm behind his head, rolling onto his side and watching you mop between your thighs with amusement, snickering at the sensitive gasps that occasionally slipped free.
When you were done, his arm snaked over your waist, tugging you closer to face him as you tossed the ruined shirt down onto the floor somewhere to be cared for later. Sometimes he’d light up a cigarette at this moment, in others, he’d pull the hidden bottle of firewhiskey from under his mattress and take a mouthful. Today was one of the rare occasions when he did neither, settling into your side with a smile on his face, eyes slipping closed and he nuzzled half of his face into the pillow on your side.
Your eyes remained open, though. Studying him. It was no wonder you had caved so many times, no wonder it had been so easy every other time to fall into his arms, to believe all his embellished promises and pretty words. So easy to stay, when he looked like an angel, innocent and sweet and kind, with half a smile on his face and an adorably possessive arm over your waist as you cuddled into him. It was just like every other time you’d caved to him.
But not this time.
No, for once, you’d be strong. You’d endure the pain of leaving him, endure the suffering of being without him if it meant being happy, being healthy, being the kind of woman a daughter could look up to one day. You would never let your own child, your friends or family endure this kind of toxicity, so why did you continue to allow it for yourself?
No more handsome smiles and golden eyes drawing you back in.
It was as you were making this decision, taking a bracing, deep breath, that his eyes cracked back open, focusing on where you lay mere centimetres from him. Staring at you from a shared spot on the same pillow, he gave a hint of a smile in the dim lighting of the room, eyes sparkling, like things might really be different this time.
You’d fallen for it one too many times.
His lips puckered slightly, expectant for a kiss, and your own lips pressed together, resisting the urge to find his. Instead, you rolled over, throat stinging and eyes burning as you faced away from him, sliding out of the bed. The stone was cold under your feet as they hit the floor, every step from the comforting warmth of the sheets was like stepping into the Arctic.
“Why are you not in bed right now?” Mattheo groaned, and you heard the sheets rustle as you gathered your clothes. He rolled in the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest instead, an amused look on his face. “You don’t need clothes, I’ll keep you plenty warm.”
Tugging on your shirt, you only bothered with two buttons, his brows rising and smile beginning to dim, as you tugged on your skirt and yanked up the zip. Socks didn’t matter, nor did your tie, shoving them into the pockets of your robe, and he propped himself up among the pillows.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“This again?” He said, still not taking you seriously. His messy hair, swollen lips, those pretty brown eyes, it was all so hard to resist. The frown on his face, the disbelief in your conviction, less so. “Stop being ridiculous and come back here. You’ve made your point, I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Whatever.”
“No, Mattheo. That’s just it.” Finding your shoes and scooping them up, your toes flexed on the cold floor, a protest at the cold, but you’d make it back to your room before they got frostbite. “You won’t change. You never change. I’m not doing this again.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“Yes, and you were right.” His eyes narrowed, confusion flashing over his face at your concession. “I always leave, and right about this time, I always come back, and crawl into your bed, and I’m not doing this again. This time it’s different. This time it’s over, Mattheo.”
“It can’t be over.”
“But it is. This is the best decision for us both, really.”
“I think I should have been part of a decision that's in my interests, then!” He burst, scrambling across the sheets and standing himself, beginning to tug on his own clothes. “We’re not over. We can’t be, you don’t mean that.”
“Mattheo, stop.” He did, pants sitting low on his hips, unbuttoned as his hands fell slack to his sides instead. “Just, give it some thought. You’ll see, I’m right.”
“You’re not right.”
“Sleep on it.” You couldn't do it anymore, any longer and you’d give in like always, fall into his arms and let him temporarily kiss it better.
“I’m still gonna’ wake up wanting you and me.”
You sighed, hand closing around the door handle again. This time, you had the strength to open it. For once, you truly felt like he was listening to you, like the threat of leaving was at last finding its home within him. He was hearing it.
“Don’t leave.” He whispered as you stepped into the hall, the silencing spell crumbling around you as you left the bubble, and the sounds of the world came crashing back in. The howl of the wind outside, the shuffle of midnight wanderers in the common room, and owls hooting to the moon, all fill the empty space. “Don’t leave me. I love you.”
“Become something worth staying for, and I’ll keep loving you too.”
#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle/reader#mattheo riddle x reader smut#mattheo riddle/reader smut#slytherin boys#harry potter#benjamin wadsworth x reader#benjamin wadsworth/reader
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Flower Crowns
masterlist
pairing: harry potter x female reader
warnings: kissing, jily 2.0, fluff, flirty harry
summary: you were quite popular among the wizards and witches in the school, you had many admirers but none of them were like harry potter
a/n: harry would honestly be such a perfect boyfriend
song: i was made for lovin’ you - kiss
It was your sixth year at Hogwarts, today was your first day back after summer. Seated at the Slytherin table with some of your friends, you were in a conversation about what everyone did over the summer.
As you were about to tell them about the trip you took, you hear a throat being cleared from behind you. You turn around as your friends look up and roll there eyes.
“Hello, darling,” Harry grins while plopping himself on the bench with little room next to you.
“Potter,” you nod looking him over.
“How is it you’ve gotten even more beautiful over the summer,” he sighs dreamily. Your friends moved down the table more since they were tired of this routine. You look at them with betrayal as they just smile and shrug.
“What is it you came over here for?” you dont know why you bother asking at this point, you already know whats coming.
“Well, love, I came to ask you if you would go out with me this weekend,” he winks. You glace over his shoulder to see a Hermione sighing and a grinning Ron.
“Sorry, Potter, but I’m going to have to decline your offer,” you said looking back at him. He’s use to you saying no, like how it has been for the past four years. He still trys all the time, he has never done anything with another person either. He is so set on you being for him that he is disgusted at the thought of being with anyone else that isn’t you.
In the summer before second year, he went back home and told his parents about you. He would somehow have a way to bring you up everyday, while he blushing thinking about you. James would always grin at Lily while lifting his eyebrows up and down. She would roll her eyes as James starts to tell him about how to get you to take interest in him.
Taking his dads advice, he would buy you little things at least twice a week, give you compliments every time he saw you, and many more things.
One time during fourth year, he saw you walking around alone at the Quidditch World Cup. You were in a somewhat long silk green dress that complimented your body perfectly. You had some light makeup and your hair styled back. He told the Weasleys and Hermione to go on and that he would joining them in a few minutes.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Harry greets you while letting his eyes roam all over you in adoration. You glance over at him, taking in his messy hair and him in general. You would be lying if you were to say that he was not attractive, anyone could see that.
“Potter, how are you?”
“I'm perfect after seeing you, you look stunning” he smiles.
You blushed and looked away trying to hide your light pink cheeks. Although he most definitely saw, he felt like the happiest person ever. This was the first time he was able to make you blush.
“Thank you, I suppose you don’t look bad yourself,” you tell him while the corners of your mouth lift up a bit.
He could have fainted right there, he started to stutter as he wasn’t expecting that.
“I best be off, Potter. My family is waiting for me, I’ll see you soon,” you wave at the blushing boy as you start walking back.
“I- uhm- brilliant!” That day he went to back to the Weasley’s tent as he told them about what happened. They all teased him about his massive crush as was still in a daze. It was truly astonishing how one sentence from you could lead him to act like this.
Another time was last year, fifth year, when you had gotten detention with Umbridge. You were walking back to the common room with tears stinging your eyes. Umbridge had you stay much longer than you thought because of your “innappropriote behavior”. Apparently, speaking the truth is innappropriote now. As you were turing you almost crashed into someone. You look up to see a worried Harry Potter looking down at you.
“I’m sorry, Potter. Excuse me,” you excuse yourself trying to go around him. Before you can, he gently grabs your waist and turns you to face him again.
“Hold on, darling. Why are you crying, did something happen?”
You couldn’t hold in the pain anymore. You started crying while grabbing onto Harry. His arms quickly wrapped around your waist.
“Shh, love. Tell me whats wrong,” he whispers while using one hand to play with your hair.
“I- um- had detention, with Umbridge,” he looks confused so you take a step back an slowly hold your left arm out.
He was still confused for a second before looking at your hand. He was fuming, he saved his anger for now and decided to comfort you right now. He also felt such sadness that anyone would hurt an angel like you.
“She did this to you?” he asked while sounding like he was about to cry. You nod, with some tears still streaming down your face. Oh how we wished he was able to kiss them away.
“Come on love, I’ll take you to Hermione… she is much better at healing spells than me,” he informs you while gently pulling you towards the Gryffindor common room.
It was pretty late, so the room was empty when you both arrived. Except for Ron and Hermione who were arguing on the couch. They never had anything against you, even though you were a Slytherin, you had never participating in any of the bullying that a lot of other Slytherins did. You even scolded Malfoy when he called Hermione a Mudblood.
Since that day you became somewhat friends with the girl, ignoring the looks of disgust from others in your house.
When the two gryffindors looked up and saw you crying with distraught Harry, their argument quickly ended as they rushed over to you both.
“What happened, y/n? Harry?” Hermione says worridly.
You tell them what happened, and they were just as mad as Harry. They tried to get rid of the writing on your hand but it would not go away. So Hermione decided she would just take the pain away for now. You thanked her with a hug and said goodnight as her and Ron went to their rooms.
You turned to Harry and noticed how close your faces were, you glanced down at at his lips almost leaning in when you heard a bang from the dormitory making you both jump.
“I- uh- should get back. Thank you, Potter,” you smile, quickly giving him a peck on the cheek before rushing out and leaving you both a blushing mess.
Harry was left standing there as he lifted his hand to his red cheeks where your lips were. “What a girl,” he mumbled walking up the stairs.
Back to present times, Harry got back up from his seat and looked down to you. “I’ll suppose I’ll have to try again tommorow, pretty,” he grins walking back to his seat.
You blush lightly before picking up your things to head to your first class. The professor ended up assigning seats, and to Harrys luck, he was partnered with you for the year.
“It’s meant to be, love,” he says as he leans back into his seat.
“You wish, Potter,” you smile at him.
“Yes, I do wish,” he grins looking at your eyes.
After a long day of beginning of the year speeches, you were finally able to plop onto your bed and sleep. You look over to your friend, Daphne Greengrass, she was one of the only tolerable Slytherins in your opinion.
“It’s adorable how much Potter loves you,” she laughs laying in bed.
“Pfft, don't be ridiculous Daphne. He doesn't love me,” you shake your head.
“He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world,” she giggles.
“Hm”
You decided to drop the conversation, you closed your eyes and fell asleep. Later the next day, you were in the forbidden forest. Around a year ago, you found a place with a pretty flower field that was closed off. You come here often, as far as you know, you��re the only one who knows about it.
You started to weave a flower crown out of a few lovely flowers you picked. You finished it and put it on as you hear meows from behind you. You turn around a squeal as you pick up the kitten and started to play with her (you checked the gender).
You were unaware of Harry who was on his was to you after using the Mauraders Map to find you. He finally found you and his heart melt as he saw you giggling with a meowing kitten that licked your face as you lay in the field.
You heard walking and sat up only to find yourself looking at the boy who has been on your mind a lot recently.
“Oh! Hi, Harry, I didn’t expect you to come here,” you say.
“Harry?” he asks you, trying to suppress a smile.
“Thats your name, is it not?” you laugh.
“I suppose it is. Mind if I sit?” you nod, as you sit together in silence that was unexpectedly comfortable.
Harry couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you.
“I really do fancy you,” Harry mumbles.
You turn to look at him, “I know… maybe I fancy you a bit as well,” you say, bringing your fingers up to show a pinch.
“Really?” Harry asks leaving closer to you.
“Really,” you whisper as you move so close your lips are brushing. You look into see his eyes and notice how pretty they are.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your mouth as he connects his to yours. You both close your eyes as you kiss back and reach your hands into his hair. For the first minute it was sweet, before it started to become more passionate. You bring your leg over his and straddle him without disconnecting your lips. It was pure bliss.
You tug his hair getting a groan from him as his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, asking for permission. You happily comply and open your mouth, letting him explore your mouth, and you his. You gently pull his hair back and kiss down his neck and jaw. You leave many butterfly kisses. In between the kisses he whispers some small compliments, making you smile against his neck. You find his sweet spot and lightly suck on it, making him whimper, and leaving a beautiful hickey. He says some praises bring heat to your face. He kisses your cheeks, “I love making you blush,” he smiles.
“Oh hush, Potter,” you get off his lap. He groans but you decide its better to stop now before things get more heated.
“Is it alright if I make you a flower crown? I think it would look rather good on you,” you asks with a sheepish smile.
“Of course, love”
He lays his head on your lap as you make the crown, you finish after about four minutes. It was somewhat hard for you to focus when you could feel Harrys gaze on you, but you tried your best to ignore it.
“Andddd… done!” Harry sits up and you place it on his head.
“You look pretty,” you smile pecking his lips. A light pink coats his cheeks. He honesty has never been so happy, he adores you so much that you are 90% of what he talks about. It was such a pain for his friends to have to listen to his rants about your “angelic beauty,” as he puts it.
“Thank you, angel,” he says.
“I think we should head back now, dinner alreader started,” you say standing up, also taking the kitten with you. You both walk hand in hand, you grinning at the kitten asleep in your arms, and both of you forgetting about the flower crowns on your heads. You both keep up a good conversation throught the walk.
You stroll into the great hall with Harry as it goes silent. Then there was a chorus of gasps as they take in your guys hand held together, both of your somewhat messy hair, swollen lips, and the hickey on Harrys neck. You step away from him and you head towards your friends, you could hear most boys wolf whistling, some scowling at Harry. Many girls were also glaring at you out of jealousy.
You look at the staff table and see Dumbledore wink at you, making you raise your eyebrows. You also see Snape hand over some galleons to McGonagall.
“I’m happy for you, Harry,” Hermione smiles, glancing at Ron as she kicks his leg.
“Oh- yeah! Good going, mate,” he smirks as he pats his back.
The next day Harry asked you if you would be his girlfriend. You nodded with a smile and gave him a soft kiss.
#nina writes 🤭💗#harry potter#harry potter x reader#harry potter x you#harry potter fluff#slytherin#gryffindor#hermione granger#harry james potter#harry potter oneshot#ron weasley#harry potter imagine#harry potter fanfiction#hogwarts#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry
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When Steve wakes up, he is very confused. His room looks very different and unfamiliar- but he knows it's his. It still has the plaid wallpaper his mom had picked out for him (he hadn't liked it, but there was a lot of lines and pretty colors).
The toy car his babysitter, Sarah, had gotten him for his fifth birthday isn't on his dresser anymore. He knows that she'd left it there for him last night, playfully insisting that he couldn't play with it until his actual birthday.
He'd been so excited to play with it. He wants to cry, and wail. He wants to run to his parents and scream until they give it back.
But they aren't home. That's why his babysitter had been over the previous night. They have a very important business trip that they aren't allowed to miss, not even for Steve's birthday.
The pictures in the hall look different too. Sarah had put up some cool pictures for him. She'd done the same for his fourth birthday. They had to take them down at the end of the day, but it had been nice to have family pictures up. Even if it was just for a day.
Sarah isn't downstairs.
He almost does scream this time. She'd promised that she'd stay the night, sleeping on the sofa, so he could have pancakes for breakfast. It's one of the many things that he can't, or isn't allowed, to make on his own.
His cake isn't in the fridge either. He even pulls a chair over so he can climb on it, to see if she'd hidden it on one of the higher shelves.
He sits on one of the dining chairs, watching the clock, and waiting.
After two hours pass, he gives up any hope he has.
Sarah, just like his parents, is probably too busy for him. He reasons that she probably just forgot to tell him. His mom had done that one time- it had stung, but he couldn't blame her. He forgot lots of stuff, even if it is important.
The only cereal in the pantry is some plain, corn brand that he doesn't recognise. It tastes just as bad as it looks, but there isn't a lot of food anymore.
At least, not a lot that he can make.
He has a second bowl, putting a few spoons of sugar in. It's not much better, but he doesn't feel so hungry anymore.
The TV looks different too. There's weird and new things playing. It's fun, interesting, and distracts him well enough that he's able to keep himself from worrying about how long he'll have to be alone again.
The next day goes the same.
The third day, he risks cooking. It ends up a little burnt, but it's better than cereal all the time.
The fourth day, he can't eat the food he tries to cook. It smells too nasty. He has to have cereal again. The sugar helps.
The fifth day, he doesn't risk cooking. His parents have never left him alone, without a babysitter, for more than a week, so he'll have a nice meal soon.
The sixth day, he checks their voicemail. There's a few odd messages from grown up sounding people, asking about how he's feeling, but he doesn't recognise any of their voices. He doesn't know what numbers he should try calling. He hopes they try calling again.
The seventh day, he sits at the bottom of the stairs. He stares at the front door, ready to jump up and give his mom and dad a warm welcome home.
The eighth day, he's starting to worry. Surely his parents will remember to call a different babysitter?
The ninth day, there's a key in the door. He almost misses it, sat in the kitchen, glaring at his cereal.
"Steve!" Someone calls. It sounds like one of the nice, unfamiliar grown ups who left a voicemail message. "Stevie! You here? How are- oh my god."
"Hi," Steve greets. He waves, tries giving his most polite smile. He almost forgets to keep his lips shut- his dad told him that his teeth don't look nice enough for a grin that big yet. "You're one of the nice people who left me a message, right?"
She stares at him for a long moment, mouth hanging open. "Steve?"
"That's me! What's your name?"
"Robin."
He sticks a hand out to her. "I's nice to meet you Miss Robin!"
"Yeah," she replies, voice high and thin. Her hand is trembling when she gently shakes his hand. "I'm... gonna need to use your phone. Real quick, ok?"
"Um... ok. But you can't make long distance calls, mommy will be very mad at me." He bites his thumb nail, following her into the hall. "Are you a babysitter? Is Sarah sick?"
"Sarah?" Robin echoes, questioningly. She's only half paying attention though, pushing in a phone number.
"My babysitter. She was supposed to be here for my birthday."
"It's your birthday?" She chokes out, spinning around so fast she stumbles. She looks heartbroken.
"Not anymore! It's ok, you don't need to be sad. She gave me my present early too, so it was good."
"Wait. How long have you been... what have you been eating?"
"Um. Cereal, mostly. All the food is different. It's weird."
"That's not- oh, hi," she turns away slightly, talking to whoever is on the phone. "Yeah, I'm at Steve's right now. Gather, like, everyone. We have a major emergency."
"No!" Steve quickly says. He tugs at the bottom of her top. "Not an emergency! You can't say that, you'll get me in trouble!"
"You don't understand, this is-"
"No, please," he pleads. He can only hope he won't get in trouble for talking back to her. "I'm sorry."
"Ok, ok, alright," she agrees. She pauses for a second, listening. "No, that was Steve. Yeah, exactly, that's why-"
"Tell them it isn't an emergency. Please. If dad hears, I'll be in big trouble."
"Ok, big guy. It's not an emergency. Just... yeah, do that. Yeah. Alright. No, I'll be fine. I can deal with it. Ok, see you soon."
She hangs up with a sigh, turning to look at him. She still looks sad.
"Are you ok, Miss Robin?"
Her laugh sounds strained, but she laughs. "I'm alright. How are you?"
"I'm ok. Do you know when mommy and daddy will be back?"
"I don't. I'm sorry, Stevie."
"It's ok. It's only, like... I can't really, uh, cook."
"I can make you something. What's your fave? It was your birthday, you said? Let's get you something special! How old are you?"
He stumbles a little, trying to keep up with her fast talking as well as he long strides. "I'm five. Sarah was going to make me pancakes."
"We can do pancakes." She searches the cupboards and fridge, frowning. "Where is anything?"
"I dunno. I looked but everything is all gone or weird."
"Well... we'll just have to have pancakes later. Special pancakes, for the special birthday boy."
"I guess."
She steps close, putting her hands on her hips as she looks him over. "Are you sure you're five? Did you hit your growth spurt early? You're getting real big."
"I dunno. Mommy says I'm gonna be tall and be a real ladies man, or something."
"Do you even know what that means?"
"Not really. Mommy thinks it's cool though."
"Hm. Are you too big to pick up?"
"Oh, you're not supposed to. Daddy says I'm a big boy now. Big boys don't get picked up."
"Your dad's an asshole."
Steve giggles, quickly covering his mouth with both hands. "You're not supposed to say that! It's a naughty word!"
"Supposed to do this, supposed to do that," she tutts. She leans down, scooping him up into her arms, resting him on her hip. "Your five, stop being so boring!"
Her hand feels so big on his back, like there's no way he could fall with her holding him. She doesn't even seem to mind his hand automatically grabbing the collar of her shirt.
"Daddy doesn't like it when people pick me up."
"What do you like? Hm? Do you want me to put you down?"
"... No."
"Then I'm not putting you down. Daddy isn't here to tell us off, is he? And what he doesn't know, can't hurt him."
She bounces him a few times, making him giggle. Judging by her satisfied grin, that was her aim.
It confuses him, a little. Mostly because she keeps doing that- little things, little comments, trying to make him laugh. Trying to make him smile. Even just listening to him talk about things. Little things. Silly things. Like she isn't annoyed when he goes on, and on, and on.
By the time another person comes in, he's decided that she's the best person in the whole wide world. If she puts him down or tries to leave, he's going to throw a tantrum.
He knows it's bad, but he doesn't want her to leave too. She's cool.
"Oh, God. Robin, please tell me that the baby isn't Steve."
"He's five," Robin corrects. "And yes, it's Steve. I checked, it's him."
"What the hell happened to him?"
"I don't know, I called you!"
"Is something wrong with me?" Steve asks, voice quiet and timid.
"No!" Robin quickly tries to say, at the same time the man says, "yes, obviously."
"Dustin!" Robin scolds.
"What? Lying to him won't help!"
"Neither will being a dick about it!" She tutts at him, adjusting Steve in her arms when she looks to him. "It's nothing, like, bad. It's just kinda weird. See, when we saw you, a week ago... you were a little bit older than me. And now you're five."
Steve stares at her for a moment. She looks too serious, too honest.
"Weird," he says.
"Exactly," she agrees. "From what you've said, though, it's not that bad. You're still you, and you're healthy. You're just... not so big."
"Maybe El can fix him," Dustin mutters, squinting at Steve. He leans close. "When did this happen?"
"He's been like this for a week," Robin tells him. Her voice is quiet, almost scared- it doesn't help that Dustin looks horrified too. "At least."
"Who's been taking care of him?"
"No one."
"What the hell," Dustin turns his frown on Steve. "Why didn't you call anyone?"
"Not supposed to unless it's a real emergency," Steve says. "Mommy says she has a repo... rep... rep-yuh-tay-shun. It's a big thing."
Dustin looks heartbroken, turning to Robin, who shrugs back at him. He groans after a pause, frowning at Robin. "Shit. You can't drive."
"Oh, shit."
"I'll call Eddie," Dustin sighs, already heading to the hall.
"Who's Eddie?" Steve asks.
"Eddie's a friend. He looks a little scary, but don't worry. He's a big softie, an absolute teddy bear." She leans close, whispering loudly with a grin. "Don't tell him I told you, though. He likes to pretend that he's all tough and mean."
"And he's... not mean?"
"Not a cruel bone in his body."
"Ok," he bites at his thumb, frowning when Robin gently pulls his hand out his mouth. "You won't leave though, right?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You gotta promise, though! Pinky Promise!" He lifts a hand, sticking his pinky up- Robin almost immediately wraps her own around his.
"I promise I won't leave you. Who knows what could happen if I leave you alone with the gremlins." She pretends to shudder. "Oh, the horrors.."
"He'll be here in five minutes," Dustin announces.
"That's... quick."
"Yeah. I barely got out 'Steve is in trouble' before he hung up."
"Maybe don't start like that next time," Robin rolls her eyes. She adjusts Steve again, trying to sit him higher on her hip. "He's probably breaking at least, like, five speeding laws or something."
"I don't think that's how it works."
"Whatever." She huffs. "Jesus. Steve, bud, I might need to put you down for a sec."
"Oh... um... do you have to?"
"My arms are really starting to hurt, bud," she says. She looks as upset at the idea as he feels. "Maybe we could sit down together. Would that be a good compromise?"
"Yeah!" He grins. "What's a comp- compa-"
"Com-pruh-mise." She says it slowly, careful to sound it out, as she sits down on the sofa. She pulls Steve around so he's sat on her knees, facing her. She keeps one hand on his back, supporting him.
"Com-pa-mise," Steve repeats.
"Oh, that was great!" Robin encourages, laughing at how big and excited Steves responding grin is. "Well, compromise is when..."
Robin is so patient with him, taking her time with him, making sure he understands what she's saying- before easily jumping onto whatever tangent he brings up.
It feels like only a few minutes have passed by the time the doorbell rings. Dustin stands to answer- Steve had completely forgotten he was there the whole time, too caught up in his conversation with Robin.
He doesn't come back for a moment. Steve can hear muttering, straining to hear what they're saying, but the living room doors shut.
A man follows him inside. He's tall, with long hair and dark clothes. He looks different to anyone Steve has ever seen before. He looks scary.
"Oh god," he mumbles, frowning at Steve. "You're not joking."
Steve tugs at Robins sleeve, leaning close to her, whispering, "who's that?"
"Oh, right!" Robin groans when she stands, lifting Steve with her. "Steve, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve."
"This is Steve," Eddie repeats. "Jesus Christ."
"Why do you look so scary?" Steve blurts out. He slaps a hand over his mouth, horrified.
But Eddie just laughs. "Damn, Stevie, tell me what you really think."
"You do!" Steve snaps, face warming. "All the black and chains and stuff."
"Robin is wearing 'black and chains and stuff'."
"Yeah, but Robins cool."
"You wound me," Eddie gasps, slapping a hand to his chest. "I'm totally cooler than Robin."
"Nope," Robin quickly cuts in. "Steve said I'm cool, not you. It's been said, declared- no, decreed! Facts are facts, Eds, suck on it!"
"Ew," Steve and Eddie say in sync, grimacing.
"Alright," Dustin interrupts, hands on his hips. "You're introduced, now can we go? Now?"
Part two
#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#ficlet#stevecentric#I've been trying to remember where I wanted to go with this but failing miserably so I'm just posting it#it's not great but I like it so 🤷♂️
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hi!!! is it okay to request R (18) having a crush on her professor which is Nat (either 27 or like around 30s) then Nat heard about it because of the gossips so she confronts reader abt it although reader have the upper hand defending herself yet nat was able to pin her and they kissed—thats the last time they saw each other not until they had a reunion during reader's college years
sorry if this is kinda long😭
SEE ME AFTER CLASS
PAIRINGS: Natasha Romanoff x reader
WORD COUNT: 781
WARNINGS: all are 18+ teacher x student relationship, professor x student relationship, kinda stalking, angst, fluff, and some heated moments yall
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!
You were fucked, to say the least. You had never been called to stay after by a teacher, but here you stood, eyes shot wide, lips slightly agape as you nodded slowly to Ms. Romanoff’s request.
“You’re probably wondering why I had you stay after with me today,” You nodded once again, and she chuckled while leaning forward on her elbows, unconventionally pushing her breasts further together in your view.
“Well, you’re not in trouble, sweetheart.” She helped ease the tension, and your breath of release caused your eyes to flutter shut, your hand coming to your chest as you feared the worst.
“But, there is something I’d like to talk to you about. There seems to be a rumor lurking around the school, and with your popularity, it only took a short time to reach me.” She suddenly stood from her seemingly comfortable chair and placed herself on the edge of the desk in front of you, leaning down to place a hand on her knee as the other found your chin. While you were both of legal age, considering that you were forced to stay back in the fifth grade when your parents had to move halfway into the school year for your father's work, this was still wrong. You were a senior, she was your teacher. And even though you were near graduation with your final week approaching, you were still hefty about the consequences this action could have.
“Uhm, Ms. Romanoff,”
“Call me Nat,”
“I- I don’t exactly think that is appropriate, I don’t think any of this is appropriate.” You began to stand but were quickly forced back down with her incredible strength, and you nearly whimpered at the contact.
“Shh, baby, no one needs to know, okay? It’s just me and you in here; besides, aren’t you the one with that little crush on me?” Your eyes shot wide, your stance faltering as you failed to explain yourself.
“C’mon, all I’m asking is one little kiss before I have to see my favorite student go,”
And that’s all it was, at first. It started with a small kiss. Only once, never again. But then it came again, and her lips drew you in again and again and again. Up until your day on the podium where you thanked multiple people, her being one of them. That’s where you ended it.
When your parents waited in their car and everyone began piling out, you dragged her behind the school, crying through small pecks as you two said your goodbyes. You expected it to be your last. But then you walked into your fourth class on the second day of college, you were yet to have this class the day prior. It was fresh, the faces were all new, except the professors.
“Nat?” She turned suddenly hearing your voice, smiling widely when seeing you.
“I didn’t believe it when I saw your name on my roster, but it’s true.” She began rushing towards you, thankful for your early arrival. You put your hands on her chest to back her away, causing her to hold a confused raise of her brow.
“What is it? I know we ended things but- but I’m here, and so are you, we’re back together again.” You shook your head with a scoff, your gaze falling to the floor before she lifted your chin to look her in the eye, and goosebumps ran down your skin as you recalled the previous encounters just like this moment.
“Y/N, we ended things because you were going to college and we would be too far. So I moved, and I got a job here, I’ve had the skills and degrees to be a professor and now it’s all finally working out for the best.” She paused, brushing the hair out of your face before cupping your cheeks lovingly.
“We can be together again, Y/N, we don’t have to fear it. We’ll have to hide it for a few years, but that’s all. Outside of these doors, we can be whatever we want to be, I don’t care about the age difference or the looks or the judgement, I only care about you. I love you, sweet girl.”
“Y/N? Y/N!” Your head shot up in a hurry, your mind quickly investigating the surrounding area until you registered where you were.
“You keep falling asleep in my class, and I’m beginning to grow quite concerned,” You faced the older woman who had a small smirk plastering her lips. She leaned in a little bit closer, and you hoped it did not look so promiscuous to others.
“Please see me after class, honey, we need to have a chat.”
#natasha romanoff mcu#natasha romanoff imagine#mcu natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff fanfiction#natasha romanoff au#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff fanart#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader angst#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#natasha romanoff x female reader#natasha romanoff x reader fluff#natasha romanoff x reader smut#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader#natasha romanoff x female#natasha romanoff x you#black widow x y/n#black widow fluff#black widow angst#black widow x you#black widow x reader#black widow
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omg hockey player harry spotting ballerina yn practicing late after hours and sees her land a jump wrong or almost pass out (forgot to eat enough + exhaustion maybe) and harry is all worried and helps her out, maybe drives her home and takes care of her
HEHEHEHEHEH I LOVE THIS
word count: 2.5k
content warnings: none! y/n gets a lil injury but just some good ol' hurt comfort
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. . .
From: Harry S👿
Do you need a ride home again?
Y/N knows it's a gross habit, but she can't help nibbling on her thumbnail as she reads over Harry's text again. And then again. And then a fourth, and maybe a fifth time.
She doesn't know where he gets off. He gave her a ride home once last week because she was too nervous to walk home in the inches of snow they were getting, and she happened to run into him as hockey practice was ending. Of course hockey-goalie-superstar-Harry has a car. Of course he does, and now he thinks that this is a regular thing that they do — her riding in his passenger's seat as he tinkers with the music, driving no faster than 10 miles per hour on the roads that weren't cleared yet.
Because today it's snowing again. Badly. And Y/N couldn't miss practice, not with the spring showcase (which is laughable, really, because it should be called the shitty mid-winter showcase, but she digresses) coming up quicker than she even realizes. She has a four minute solo piece she needs to perfect before the show happens in three weeks, so she trekked her sorry ass to campus, even if none of her peers showed up (including her instructor).
But she's tired, and she's been here for hours — since 7:30 am on the dot, and it's nearing 3 pm now — and she doesn't want any more of the snacks she prepared for herself and she just wants to go home, where she can soak in a warm bath, put an eye mask on, and dull the throbbing pain that's currently radiating through each and every leg muscle. She wants to lay in her cozy bed, read one of those stupid smut books Lea got her hooked on, and go to sleep for a very, very long time.
So, she takes Harry up on his offer.
Not because she wants to be stuck in the confides of his car with him, where she feels like she's being suffocated by his warm, musky fragrance. Ever since then, every time she passes by someone on campus wearing the same scent (she's not sure if it's a cologne or body wash or what), but she immediately does a double-take, feeling like a dog that's been trained to recognize the smell of its owner. It's ridiculous and stupid and she grumbles to herself about it.
To: Harry S👿
yes please. im in the auditorium today tho, not the dance studio
From: Harry S👿
Oh. That would explain why all the lights are off and no one's in there. I thought maybe you were doing some weird meditation or voodoo thing to kill me.
To: Harry S👿
like a sacrificial ceremony?
From: Harry S👿
Yeah. You WOULD know what that is.
Y/N snorts to herself before taking a swig from her water bottle. Sitting down, she takes a moment to stretch out the achy arches of her feet. She hinges at her hips and slowly creeps her arms outwards to give her lower back some healthy, much-needed relief. Her eyes flutter closed, enjoying the slight release, until she hears the doors squeak open. Quickly, she sits up to see Harry traipsing down the long aisle.
As usual, he's freshly showered and has changed from his hockey practice clothes. For some reason, she finds herself slightly disappointed that he's wearing a beanie and she can't see his hair.
"You ready to go?" he asks, tossing his duffel bag into one of the seats in the front row.
"No. Can I just run through this one more time?"
He nods, but pulls his phone from the front center pocket of his sweatshirt, "Yeah, but it's supposed to get worse soon and I don't want to be stranded here all night."
Y/N hides a shudder as she stands from her seat on the stage. Her pointe shoes are disgusting from the amount of wear they've been getting lately, and she mentally groans at the thought of having to switch out to another pair sometime soon.
"Um..." Y/N places her hands on her hips and faces Harry, who's now sitting in the front row. "You can't be here."
"Sorry?"
She huffs. "You can't watch me. Go outside."
"...Why?"
"Because it's not ready yet," she explains hurriedly. She tries to avoid the confused, slightly amused expression on his face, but she can't help it when her gaze settles on the dimple in his cheek. "So, like, leave. Please."
"Y/N. People watch out hockey practice all the time."
"Hockey is different. Ballet is meant to be perfect. And it's not perfect yet, so you need to go."
"It's practice for a reason. Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"
"No. That's not an option in ballet."
"What is this for, anyway?"
She sighs in frustration and tugs at the hem of her wrap skirt. She feels a bit uncomfortable being the sole focus of his attention, especially when she's up on the stage beneath the studio lights.
"The spring showcase is in three weeks and I have a solo, hence the whole perfection thing."
"Where's your... coach, then?"
"Not a coach, an instructor," Y/N corrects, "And she didn't want to come in today because of the snow. Haven't you ever practiced on your own before?"
"Yeah, of course," Harry nods. "You must be really good if you have a solo."
"Don't change the subject. The sooner you leave, the sooner we can get out of here."
"Just do it, Y/N. My body fuckin' aches from my own practice and I don't want to go back up those stairs. I'll look at my phone the whole time if it makes you feel better."
Again, she lets out a loud sigh but doesn't fight him on it. She walks the length of the stage to grab her phone and restart her music. Before she presses 'play', she stares at him with narrowed eyes.
"Eyes on the phone. Don't even think about looking up here."
He snorts before nodding his head, making a show of opening the Instagram app and dramatically scrolling through it. With a roll of her eyes, she plays the only song she's been listening to for the past few weeks, and gets in her place.
She'll admit, she knows she can get a bit obsessive about memorizing a dance. She aims for perfection each and every time, even if she knows it's unattainable to expect that from herself especially as she's learning it. But with every run she does, her confidence slowly grows — she's nailing the fouettés and en pointes she struggled with a week ago, and she feels herself melting into the music, allowing her body to move perfectly in time with the steps she's learned like her life depends on it.
And then... she croaks.
During the grand adage, she loses her balance, her flexibility falters, and before she realizes it's happening, she's on the floor with a thrumming ankle, pain shooting out from the joint. She gasps loudly and tears immediately begin to flood her line of vision. The song continues on, making her feel sad and pathetic, but especially when Harry appears in her sight, a worried expression on his face.
"Are you okay?" he asks. She quickly tries to sniffle the tears away and nods wordlessly. "No, you're not."
He grabs her phone and pauses the music and her chest somewhat relaxes. He's back over in a moment, gently helping her stretch out her leg without moving her ankle.
"Do you have an injury here? Do I need to call the school medic?"
"Do not call the medic," she mutters through clenched teeth, "Yes, I have an ankle injury. It gets worse with the weather."
"So you already know what I'm about to say then."
She nods but she doesn't want to hear it, because she doesn't want to be kicked while she's down. It's what everyone does — you shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard with an injury, you should know better, don't you care about your craft? She's heard it from her parents, instructors, random medical staff a thousand times over.
And somehow, maybe Harry knows, because he leaves it at that. And she's grateful when she's not on the receiving end of a lecture.
"What do you need?" he asks softly. It's the gentlest she's ever heard him speak, and it makes her swallow tightly. "Ice? Do you have sports wrap?"
"I'm fine. Can you just pack my shit up so we can go?"
Harry stares at her like she's grown a second head. "You can't walk on this right now."
She shrugs.
"We have crutches and all that in the locker room, but you'll bust your ass in the snow," he thinks aloud. She sniffles again, this time involuntarily. "You're gonna hate this."
She knows what he's implying, so she's already shaking her head.
"Y/N, it's the only way you're getting out of here safely."
"I would quite literally rather be trapped in this stupid auditorium all night."
He rolls his eyes. "You're being dramatic."
She shrugs. He treks on with his grand idea.
"I'm gonna go outside and bring my car around. And then, I'm gonna carry you out of here, and it's gonna be humiliating, but it'll be safe and we'll never speak about it again. Do you need me to bring you to urgent care or do you have supplies at home?"
Y/N knows he's right. He knows he's right, otherwise he wouldn't be so insistent on it. But the pain is continual, a pulsating, aching, throbbing that will 100% prevent her from walking, and she just. Wants. To Go. Home.
"I have shit at home," she finally mumbles, sitting up slightly to fix her mussed bun. "Crutches, wrap, pain relief balm."
"Okay, good." Harry's form deflates a bit, almost as if he's relieved she's decided to stop fighting him. "Let's get your things together and then I'll help you out to the front. You can wait there while I bring my car in front."
Admittedly, she's basically dead weight as he hurries around the stage, collecting her things. He stuffs them all in her bag and brings it over to her. Noticing a pair of sweats in her tote, he glances down at her expectedly.
"Do you want these?"
She sighs. It's a sad, defeated sound, and Harry really feels bad for her in the moment.
"We'll never talk about it again," he reminds her. She nods and she unwraps her skirt from her waist, folding it neatly beside her. Harry helps shimmy the sweatpants up her tight-clad legs, carefully minding her ankle and the leg warmers around them. It's a vulnerable position for both of them to be in — they've never been this close before, not with his large palms moving up her muscular legs, even if it's anything but sexual.
When they're ready to go, he instructs her to just stay seated, move her bum to the side of the stage, and he'll do the rest. She supposes she's impressed by his strength when he easily lifts her into his arms, her pink tote bag on one shoulder and his Adidas duffle bag on the other. She wants to roll her eyes when she feels his muscles flex beneath her as they silently exit the auditorium, but she knows he's going above and beyond for her right now. Instead, she shows her small bit of protest by simply crossing her arms over her chest. It makes him smile, but she doesn't notice it.
He gently lowers her to a bench inside and close to the door. He takes their things and wraps his puffer jacket just a bit closer to his form as he mumbles out to stay here, making quick work to head out to the parking lot. She wants to ask him where she could possibly go, but she guesses that if she could walk, she definitely would.
In the meantime, Y/N texts her group chat with her friends to let her know that fell on her ankle, but she's fine. It's embarrassing to admit that Harry of all people is taking care of her and making sure she gets home safely, and their responses make her blush.
do u think he could lift u over his head like in dirty dancing
abs?
are u guys gonna........
does he smell good?
Harry returns when she's typing out a reply to her friends, telling them to keep it in their pants. They go through the routine again and this time it's just a tinge less embarrassing now that they've done it once. As soon as he helps her into the car — which, she's grateful that he's already pumping the heat — she lets out a loud exhale, cutting it off as soon as he winds around the front and gets in the driver's seat.
"You feel okay?" he asks as he shifts gears into drive.
She nods, doing her best to swallow her pride. "Yeah. Thank you."
"Of course," he shrugs as if it's the easiest thing he's done all day. "Are you good to deal with this when you get home?"
"Mhm. Ice, wrap it, keep it elevated."
"Stay off of it and take some ibuprofen, too."
"I know."
"Good," he praises. The drive home is slow and quiet and Y/N keeps the side of her head pressed against the cool window. She wants to fall asleep, and she probably would if she didn't live so close by.
When his car slowly begins to come to a stop outside of her apartment, she feels it — an all-consuming need to blurt out her affection and gratitude to him, even if she's been attempting to suppress it for weeks.
"I would do this for you too." she spews out, her eyes widening in surprise. Harry's eyebrows furrow as he undoes his seatbelt, then hers.
"What?"
"I would do this for you too," she repeats, keeping her eyes set on the snow falling in front of them. "I mean, I wouldn't be able to carry you, but I would do this for you if you needed it. I would drive you home and make sure you were okay. I just want you to know that I'm thankful for this. And I know I'm grumpy with you a lot of the time, but I wouldn't sacrifice you or do some voodoo stuff. I... I like having you around. You're very nice."
She can't force herself to turn and look at him, but she can feel his gaze set on the side of her face. Even worse, from her peripheral vision, she can see the grin growing, like he's in the Grinch.
"Thank you for saying that," he says, and it sounds like he actually means it. "I'm glad you wouldn't sacrifice me, because I like being around you."
"Okay." Y/N nods curtly, as if they've just made some type of business proposition.
It makes Harry laugh. "Okay."
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Go to Sleep
Synopsis: Daryl and the reader explore a new way of trying to help you get to sleep.
Details: Smut, 18+, soft-dom!Daryl, afab!reader, tiny bit of mean Daryl but not really, tiny bit of somnophilia but in the end it isn’t really either, Daryl reveals a little of his praise kink, thigh riding, oral (reader receiving), brief descriptions of anxiety, but ends sweetly. wc: 2.8k.
You hate the feeling of having your eyes closed but being so, desperately awake. It feels like a frustrating loop of constantly thinking about the thing you should be doing, the peace you should be feeling, but you simply, just, can’t.
It’s not like when you’re sitting out in the woods, the sun so nice and bright as you rest upon a tree, or when you’re on a ride with Daryl and you close your eyes, resting on his shoulder as the wind hits your face. It doesn’t feel warm and safe; it feels like a dark, void space, and you’re running endlessly to nowhere.
This is how it was, you had been having terrible sleep for weeks now. You felt it in your throat and in your chest whenever— and it was every time— that you woke up with your heart pounding in the middle of the night. You felt your heart beating without even touching your body, and it made you want to throw up.
This is why Daryl had slept with you for the past two weeks, hoping to ease your thoughts.
What you and Daryl had remained undefined at this point. He was loyal and cared for you deeply, but he was also independent and enjoyed doing things at his own pace— initiating wasn’t his strong suit.
This is also why, just the other night nearing twelve am, you had to beg Daryl to take you around the Alexandria houses for a fourth time on his bike before allowing him to leave you on your doorstep. This is where you admitted what was going on, “Please,” you asked sadly, “When I’m alone… I just- I just start thinking too much. I can’t sleep.”
So of course, he took you around again. He didn’t even say anything, just grabbed one of your hands tighter around him, starting to ride slowly. Firstly because he wasn’t trying to wake anyone up, and secondly because he was trying to make it last longer for you. He went around five more times.
Every time you saw your home approaching again your eyes dropped knowing what was coming until he just kept going. But after the fifth time, just when you hoped maybe this was a dream where you could just go around in peaceful circles all night with Daryl, he stopped. He had to sleep too.
He stood between his bike then, waiting for you to get your door, but you moved at a deafeningly slow pace. You hated the darkness that was beginning to weigh behind your eyes. You hated the night now and you hated it even more when you weren’t with him. So, as you hit the top step, you turned back around, running up to him.
Your eyes were meek when you paused before making your final request, “Daryl… please, will you stay with me?”
And that did it: as if you already hadn’t made him go around the neighborhood almost 10 times, those were the words that hit him at the bottom of his heart the most. Neither of you were ever as forward as you were being that night and he couldn’t say no. You told him that you needed him.
The first night was a success, in fact. You happened to fall asleep quite quickly as his strong arms held you down, grounding you in safety. Though as the days trailed on, it seemed that wasn’t exactly enough anymore. Your intrusive thoughts always found a way of sneaking in through Daryl’s stronghold.
Tonight was a night like that. Your eyes were closed, but your mind was very much awake.
You had initially gone to sleep on your side— you both were. Daryl’s face was almost touching yours.
He wasn’t much of a talker all the time, but the typical method that had been working other than laying on his chest was asking him about his day, what things he might have gathered from any trips outside, or seeing if, and it was only on rare occasions, he would tell you a story from his past.
There weren’t many fond memories, but he would always find something: maybe about one of his first hunting trips, or some hijinks he and his brother got into before he ditched when Daryl was a kid… but he didn’t like casually talking about his brother. He’d keep those short for now. You waited patiently for them to get longer. Either way, the stories always helped you get to that initial sleep, so he’d make sure to find one to tell if it made you feel better.
But now you were still awake and Daryl was seemingly asleep. You knew he could probably tell you were turning and shifting at some points, but you didn’t want to truly wake him up yet. It felt greedy after he was being so giving. And it was so rare to see him so peaceful. His eyes were usually elusive and stern. You might have started to know him more than others, but still, it wasn’t all the time that you could tell what was in his head. He was always guarded, especially between the mouth and eyes, but when he was asleep, his face relaxed.
Though the insomnia was killing you, it was nice to see him like this— he was just so handsome. His hair, his lips, his arms— you were obsessed with every shirt he ruined by cutting the sleeve— his abdomen, you almost grazed his lower stomach with your finger tips, thinking about if and how much you would love his-
Then a thought came up.
Probably worse than waking him up even though that would do it regardless, but you moved mindlessly before really thinking about it.
Your legs slid forward, slotting Daryl’s top leg that perched forward, knee almost touching your leg, in the middle of your own two.
Your legs move up a bit and you brush yourself against his thigh once, the movement is so small, then twice, the slight friction feels good, your eyes finally close again, but then you stop. What were you doing? Your head turns face first into the bed and stays there for a moment, quietly letting out your frustration into the sheet.
“You gonna move or what?” It comes out as a grumble and it makes you jut.
You’ve been caught.
“You ain’t slick,” his eyes are still closed, “but go on.” He takes his top leg out from between you and places it better, from the awkwardness ‘trying’ to not wake him up angle you had it at before.
You hold his top shoulder and he holds you right by the waist and you begin to rock. Daryl starts to flex his quad up into you as you grind down onto him. Your wetness finally seeping up so that your lips open a little as they push and rock against him. You can now feel your clit getting more attention from the hard pressure his thigh causes against you.
Daryl opens his eyes for a moment, yours are closed. Face twisted and eyes scrunched as you let out short breaths. You were invested in getting yourself off, you grinded down faster, his hands on your hips now were loose allowing you to go as hard as you pleased, for a minute, then another, and then another until he stopped you.
He pushed his hands and fingertips hard into your hips, deciding he wanted to control the pace. He pushed you into him slow and deep and despite it feeling good, you wanted to go fast, to stop thinking. It made you whine, complainingly as you came down from the high you felt you could have reached. “But Daryl-”
“Shut up.” It sounded like a quiet bark.
You were getting him riled up, yes, but it was also a full moon tonight and Daryl would rather be sleeping on the hard rock ground under the stars than in a bed, only being able to stare at the sky from a window. Even though he knew you had been feeling anxious about something for a while, and he wanted to make you feel okay, he can’t lie, your sleep not improving was starting to get on his nerves a bit. And especially so tonight when your restlessness kept him up the whole time, despite you not knowing.
He allowed you to keep riding him at his pace for a moment until he got a new idea: he pushed your leg off and you gave an exasperated sighed, frustrated at the feeling of nothingness. “Shh,” was all he whispered, it came out sharp.
“Daryl, let’s just-”
“Stop.” He took you by the face when he said it, squeezing your jaw roughly. “Don’t talk.”
He lays you on your back and takes off your pants you were sleeping with, they’re ruined, and you weren’t wearing any underwear after your shower. The blanket is pushed to his side of the bed now as he goes downward, spreading your legs, not too wide but just enough for him to get in between. Holding your thighs, his thumbs kneading the skin on the inner side. He licks the outside of your hole, almost slurping in your wetness as he does it just so he could move it up your pussy toward your clit and sucks in again. He lays his tongue flat and presses back down again, repeating the motion, making you even more wet, everywhere.
Your upper back moved forward, your elbows and forearms propped up so you could watch. This felt better than before, even with his slower movements, he felt so good there so instantly that you couldn’t help yourself but staying up to look, but after he sees you he stops.
Silently, Daryl pushes your shoulders back into the bed, you can’t tell if he was only accidentally being rough. He pushes your pillow up only slightly against the headboard, just enough so your head wasn’t completely propped up, but just so if you wanted to move your head to the side you could still look if you wanted to when you realized you could. “Stay,” then begrudgedy he adds, “and close your eyes.”
Daryl went down again, making his pace slower than before: His lips and tongue sucked in your clit again, it coming into his mouth as much as the little thing could and he repeats it again until he had peppered you there with slobbery kisses and then he moved to one side of your labia, his lips slotting themselves above and under that one side as his tongue goes out and in, kissing you deeply. The man was literally making out with your pussy.
Just as he would with your mouth, his head turned and leaned into it, pushing his tongue in and pressing against you, his lips in between one of your own down there as he did so. He went in the middle of you again, his nose rubbing against your clit a few times as his tongue went lower, sucking in more of your wetness again. His nose brushing against you made you shudder.
Your eyes were still closed, but they scrunched even harder now and your head started shaking side to side. You have never felt him down there being so intentional, deliberate, and intense. Something so surprisingly romantic, but still so fucking dirty and sexy. He has pushed your wetness everywhere. You felt like a dripping mess and more than half of his face was all coated in it and it just felt so good.
He moved to the other side of your pussy now, giving it the same attention as he did the first. Making out with you down there as if he could do it forever. So slow, but it felt so warm and deep.
You felt him suck you in and swallow some of your wetness. He hummed into you as he did it, a raspy “mmmm” melted into you and it made you moan, the sound coming from you instantaneously because of the vibration you felt down there from his voice. You covered your mouth, your house was quiet and you didn’t want to wake anyone up but the more he continued, the harder it was becoming.
Now, his lip suctioned your pussy lip in between his and he slid down, tongue trailing the inner side until he was able to slot his tongue inside your hole, staying there and still kissing you. Moving his tongue in and out now, still slowly, feeling every bit as he moved.
Your quiet pants were continuous, but you were trying hard to hold in your noises. Not wanting to wake up anybody else you lived with, but also not knowing if Daryl would stop again if you spoke too much.
To your misfortune, he stopped anyway. Your eyes open and push your head to the side of your pillow so you can look down at him. Your mouth was open, but you made sure not to complain.
His chin almost rested on your mound, he was already looking up. “Does it feel good?” You couldn’t read his eyes, but his voice was surprisingly tender and questioning.
You assured him immediately, “yes,” you whispered giggling. You brush his hair with your fingers, undoing some tangles. You got lost in his eyes for a moment before he went down again.
“Tell me,” he says, it almost sounds muffled as he sucks you in until he takes a breath to say more clearly, “I wanna hear you now.”
“Don’t wanna get to loud,” you’re breathless.
He licks you off his lips, looking you in the eye, “so don’t.”
Daryl starts going faster now, breathing you in and humming, knowing you can feel the vibrations, jerk. “Mmm, Daryl, please.” You start to pant again, still too scared you might let yourself go too far.
His fingers spread wide, splaying over to your lower stomach, pushing down until he reaches your tit and circling your nipples. His other hand joins him, it makes you inhale sharply. With that and the way he circled your hole, trying to get his tongue to go in and press as much as he could, it caused you to jerk up, taking one of his hands in your own, squeezing it. Your other hand went to his hair. His fingers weren’t even inside of you, but his hands felt so big no matter where he touched you and his tongue felt incredible, you didn’t know how he did it and it made you start to loose it, “ah- Daryl-”
“You like that?” He pushed you hand off his head and he took his free hand to finger your clit and he went back to sucking and making out with you toward your center. It all makes you nod your head, shaking quickly.
“Say it.”
“I like it,” it came out as a whispered shriek. “I like it, I like it,” you were breathless, “Daryl you feel so good.” You were holding on as hard as you could, but it wasn’t working. Your thighs came to close in on his face but he pushed his hands into your inner legs opening them even further and he kept going down, his nose pressing into you.
His mouth moved up again making out with your clit and lips on top and two of his fingers went into your hole.
You held onto his other hand again and squeezed and he thrusted his fingers into you hard and fast, he wanted to make you reach the end now.
“Oh- Daryl- oh my god,” you were coming out pathetically now as his fingers started to curl into you, and he added another.
Suddenly, you felt it. Right at the bottom of your stomach, the spark, the indescribable electricity as he kept humming into you on top and jamming into you at the bottom. All you heard was the squelch of you and his fingers and tongue lapping and lapping until you let out as much of a suppressed moan as you could release as you came.
Your eyes finally relaxed as you settled down and Daryl sat up on the bed, watching your breathing slow.
He stayed there for a moment, looking at how the night’s light shined on you from the window.
You had pulled the blanket over your legs again but he pulled it off. You didn’t know exactly what he was doing but your eyes were still closed. You were tired and sexed out now, you couldn’t get yourself to open them or ask questions, and it wasn’t a particularly cold night anyway and you still had his shirt on. You let it be, your mind finally drifting until you heard quiet footsteps travel down stairs, until they quickly ascended again.
Daryl took you by the upper back and under your knees, picking you up. With no words he took you to the front porch, gently laid you on the blanket, the side closest to the door. He laid himself on the opposite, closest to the sky.
You’re curled into his chest, you almost looked like a kitten, arm over him, fist curling into your chin contentedly, eyes closed and so peaceful, but you still kept nestling.
“Go to sleep,” he insisted softly. His hand went into your hair, lulling you further into your trance. This time it worked. He did everything right and now the trick was paying off, you couldn’t help but fall closer and closer into your slumber.
Daryl turned to his left to look at the moon, its gentle gleam finally coaxing him into his own sleep as well.
#the walking dead#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x reader smut#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon x y/n#the walking dead fanfiction#twd fanfiction#twd smut#the walking dead smut
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𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)
summary : after the mission, all you can think about is Miguel, up to the point where you can't sleep because of all your thoughts. so you go to the strength and conditioning centre to try and exhaust yourself. but miguel pays you a visit there, and the training takes another turn...
content warnings : mentions of blood, (if there are any others please do tell so i can add them !), reader is obsessed, no use of y/n
word count : 3,9k
note : this is dedicated to the beautiful @gollygothgal , with tension and hot miguel hehe. here's the 2nd part of the miguel 3shot thingy ! i hope you'll enjoy it. i am currently thinking about opening up requests for miguel, so if anyone has got a juicy idea they'd like to see written, don't hesitate to send it !! <33
chapters' list :
1 - lovebite
2 - late night training
3 - unexpected mission (nsfw)
4 - shameless (nsfw)
One punch.
He did it to help you, nothing more, there was nothing behind it, nothing unprofessional, nothing at all.
Two punches.
No, nothing, not even when you pulled on his hair and the moan in his throat vibrated into the bullet that was lodged in your flesh.
Three punches, the bag rocks.
Surely you're not the first person he's done this to, right? Dealing with this kind of wound in the middle of a mission must have been part of his daily routine after all.
Fourth punch, the impact spreads across the knuckles of your hand.
What if it wasn't? What if he'd deliberately decided to give you the special treatment of losing his time on the mission to take care of you?
Fifth blow, you were breathing hard. You stood back, your hands aching as they sponged your sweaty forehead with their backs.
It had only been a week since the last mission, and all you could think about was Miguel. Every five minutes the whole thing would start up in your head, sometimes so strongly that you felt it defined you. The spadassin of your logic kept chasing your imagination brazenly, it was trying to foam hollow ideas about him.
Was this scene really intimate? Or in your cruel lack of physical and sentimental affection had you simply imagined meanings for certain gestures that were pure delusion?
After the mission, while the anomalies were being properly stored, you went to the infirmary. There, you were asked questions that were still stuck in your head.
"What's that bite?" they asked about the two incisions Miguel had left in your skin, "and why is it all blue here? There's more ruptured blood than there should be..."
Apparently, the nurses had very rarely seen incisions of this kind on the bodies of other spider men or women, the only cases so far being on Miguel himself. The news had a strange effect on you. As for the clouds of bruises Miguel had left around the impact, the mere sight of them turned you into a red poppy.
So Miguel had never bitten anyone else on a mission to administer his painkiller... nope, let's not jump to conclusions!
Maybe gunshot wounds just weren't frequent on missions, haematomas or cuts were commonplace here.
After that, you were brought together with the others to report back. You hadn't been much help to the mission, apart from freeing Miguel from that foam. And after that? Too little contact and far too many thoughts.
The few times you saw Miguel, you only had time to say hello before he went about his business. The few words he'd say were "How's your wound?", and then he'd be off, busier than a minister.
And every day, as if you were watching the sky for a shooting star, you hoped. You hoped for a twinkle, a smile, just the possibility that your eyes might meet.
And every night, you would go over and over these tiny things that seemed gigantic in the eyes of your heart. And tonight, the same thing.
It was the hour when memories flood back, just when sleep goes on strike. You were trying to sleep, but you were tossing and turning, your mind replaying the whole scene like a power-point with multiple explanations attached to the images.
Just an focus, on the too pale clichés of a love story, on the state of mind of a woman without an alibi who dreams every night of a man whose existence you didn't even know existed until recently. Just a focus, for a little wink of survival, for all the fools, the love-sick, for all the victims of romanticism. Just a little wink, a focus.
You were tired of this perpetual propensity of your thoughts to redirect themselves to Miguel. There was nothing you could do, it was like trying to stop the sun from rising and setting. Because even with adamantine force, you can't stop the natural from happening.
You're more insignificant than the dust under his fingernails, you thought. Pull yourself together! Miguel has to look after a company of at least seven hundred people like you.
And it was true, Miguel had much better things to do than have anything other than a professional relationship with you.
You huffed and puffed in bed, sleep really not coming, so you put on your everyday clothes, prioritising comfort, and headed for the Strength and Conditioning centre.
If sleep didn't come, you'd wake it yourself. And so you found yourself boxing a sandbag. And honestly? It was harder than what you'd seen in the movies. Or at least, you felt some pain in your fingers as you punched, knowing full well that something was wrong, but not knowing what. The job of Spider Man wasn't new to you, but you had to admit that when it came to hand-to-hand combat, you missed some of the basics.
You glanced down at your hands, their knuckles reddened, and for a few seconds you remembered the ridiculously large size of Miguel's hand resting on your waist, then how it had felt when he had held your thigh in place, and you could have sworn that at that moment his claws had come out, sharper than a quarter of a strawberry.
If only it were possible for your mind to go on holiday, just to get away from the real Miguel City that had settled in your mind a little too quickly. You let out a grunt of frustration.
But your hair stood on end for a second - someone had just come into the room.
"What's wrong?"
You immediately turned your head towards the entrance, Miguel coming towards you. Your heart skipped a beat and you froze. For pity's sake, was this a dream?
The terrible thing about this mental affliction was that, although you visualised him more often than you should because you found that you spent less time with him, when the time came for you to interact as you would have dreamt of, the image of his red eyes went straight to the edge of your heart and you had the sudden feeling that you wanted to leave immediately.
If you come at any moment, I'll never know what time to dress my heart. Perhaps it was the extent of your desire that made you feel ashamed, and for fear that he would see it, hear it, feel it, you preferred to leave. But you stood your ground, giving yourself a mental slap in the face to pull yourself together as he came within a reasonable distance of you. There weren't enough moments with him, so you were going to make the most of them.
Your eyes widened slightly, because you'd never seen Miguel in normal clothes before. A hoodie with cut-off sleeves and loose jogging bottoms, simple and relaxed, but how could Miguel be relaxed? After all, he was Miguel.
He didn't look upset, which was a first. You were so used to seeing him frustrated, with that invariable weariness that accompanies him everywhere. On the other hand however, he was looking at you quizzically, and it was only then that you remembered that he had asked you a question.
"Oh, um," you said, resting the side of your fist on the bag, "I've never fought a war this tough, and to think that my enemy is just a sandbag," you smiled.
A sneer stretched his cheek, the thin crack between his lips letting a flash of light shine on his faintly glistening canines, and for a moment the image of them tracing your thigh came back to mind. It had left its mark on your mind, like a stain, and it won't wash off, no matter how hard you scrub your mind.
But a frown settled on his forehead, his eyes lowered to your fist.
"Hmm..." he said simply, crossing his arms over his chest.
You had to stop yourself squinting at them and keeping your eyes on his.
"Show me how you hit," he said.
You bit the inside of your cheek. Training with other spider-men and women was something you were comfortable with, the pressure was off, everyone learned a little from each other without judgement. But training in front of Miguel? The bar had been raised, the pressure of the stare oozing seriousness and criticism weighed on your shoulders.
Timidly then, you stepped away from the bag, and struck a blow with little confidence.
He nodded, the same retentive tt-tt being heard.
"Your fingers are in the wrong place," he raised his to show you, and as you mimicked his pose, he moved closer to you and took your hand to place your fingers correctly.
It was the first time you'd felt his hands naked against yours. They were far from soft, but they were warm, callused by time and effort. It seemed to you that he could lock your fist in his hand with ease, and the vision of his hands rearranging yours gave you the impression that every bit of skin he touched lit up and sparkled with little stars.
It must be that you couldn't mithridate your desires for him, your body and your thoughts returning to the charge to drink it all in, to take any crumb of his presence and his touch that you could get.
His annoyance seemed to return for a moment, his knuckles running over your reddened and cracked joints. He blew out a breath, and the frown disappeared.
"There, try it again", he said, barely moving away.
You came down from your little cloud and struck again. You were almost tempted to disturb your fingers again if it meant he'd put them back into place.
"Keep going," he said, taking a step forward and starting to circle around you.
You swallowed, continuing the task, taking great care not to look too ridiculous. You punched a few more times, Miguel having made an arc and stopped on your other side.
"Your posture is not right," he remarked, and you shivered as his hand came to rest on your waist.
Sliding gently over your belly, applying a minimum of force to better guide you to perfect your posture. You felt his hand come up and pull slightly on your shoulder, putting your arm back in a more favourable position at the same time.
"You need to find a balance in your body when you strike; if you put everything you have into your fist, the rest can be used too easily against you" he said, his tone calm.
But it was a little too complicated to follow his instructions now, especially when you felt his breath landing on your ear and the back of your neck. Every brush of his fingers and skin against yours made your cheeks flush and gave you a real peony look.
His other hand came to rest on your hip, on that famous protruding angle of the pelvic bone, to reorientate your body. You inhaled sharply, but tried not to make it too noticeable. All that was missing was...
"Is everything all right? Your heart rate seems to have increased."
... the same question as last time. This time, there's no way to pretend you're worried about your team-mates who are on a mission. So what's the excuse this time?
"I ate a cereal bar before I came here, must be the sugar, no doubt."
Wow. Beautiful. Brilliant. Fantastic.
You crossed your fingers that Miguel didn't pay any more attention.
"Hm," he exhaled, "just spread your legs a little... there you go, like that," he said as his hand lingered lightly on your waist before moving away from you again. "Show me," he asked, confident that his modifications to your position would prove useful in your training.
Already more confident, you began to strike again. And after half a dozen blows, you turned to him, a satisfied smile adoring his face.
"Much better," he said. He raised his hand to the level of his head, index and middle fingers together, wiggling them, indicating for you to move forward as he stepped back slightly, "Now, show me how you'd do it in real life."
Wait, was he really offering you combat training? The great Miguel O'Hara, who had no time but for the great multi-dimensional organisation of spider-men and spider-women, had just offered you training?
Hesitantly, you moved forward.
"So you want me to fight? With... you?" you asked.
"Who else," he replied, opening his arms to encompass the room, completely empty apart from you two.
"I'm going to get crushed," you smiled as you reached him.
"I'll do my worst," he offered, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you trying to make a fool of me?"
"No, otherwise I'd let you destroy your hands on the bag a bit more," he said, pointing at them, "you'll have to remember to put some ice on it.
Touché.
You felt a little guilty for taking up his free time, he who must have had so little leisure, so few opportunities to settle down without having to worry about anything. But at the same time, what did you have to feel guilty about, when it was he himself who had offered to help you? After all, it was he who had come to you. Was it simple pity then? No, let's not think about personal sabotage, let's just enjoy it.
"Come on, show me how you do it, I'll do it with one hand behind my back if you prefer." He says, not even pretending to get into a fighting stance.
"What an egalitarian spirit," you say, your voice coming out with a half-sigh, half-laugh.
Coming from one of the most capable and experienced Spider-Men in the society, how could you not shudder at the thought of fighting him?
So you positioned yourself, trying as best you could to put in place the investments he had just taught you. The thought of disappointing him was gnawing at the back of your mind.
Once you found your position sufficiently adequate, you dived towards him. With a move that seemed as simple as that, he dodged by leaning to the side while placing his foot against your ankle, so you fell pitifully to the ground.
Well, it wasn't going to be any fun after all.
"Remember what I told you," he said, coming towards you, holding out his hand, "if you put everything you have in your fist, the rest can be used against you too easily.
You looked at him for a moment, his brown eyes slightly crinkled by his little smile. Your cheeks warmed as you took his hand to stand up.
"Do it again," he said.
You breathed in, trying to concentrate and not think about the fact that you'd had more physical and vocal interaction with the object of all your thoughts in the last few minutes than you'd had in a week.
So you tried to balance your strength in your body, and came back to the charge, but you tried a surprise. You knew he'd probably see it coming a mile away, but why not try? So you gave him the impression that you were attacking him from your left, when at the last moment you deflected to the right.
And then you punched him in the cheek. The impact surprised you both, and Miguel took a meagre step backwards, bringing his hand to his cheek with eyes wide with surprise.
"Shit shit shit! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" you moved towards him in a panic, as if to check him out.
You'd just punched Miguel O'Hara in the cheek. But then, just as you were expecting to be shouted at and slammed into a wall in the next few seconds, he smiled, and the smile became a soft laugh.
You looked at him, completely stunned by his reaction. No anger, no exasperation, no threats or insults in Spanish, just a little laugh.
"That's much better," he said. "Don't worry, I can handle punches, but I recognize this is a correct hit."
You fluttered your eyelashes a few times in surprise before just puffing out your nose, a little laugh taking hold of you as well.
"Come on, let's get on with it" he said, this time getting into a fighting stance. He sweated authority, while you sweated... period.
You nodded in agreement, and the two of you began a battle of successive dodges and punches that went wide. He was holding back, you could feel it. He didn't strike a single blow, just tiny smacks with the back of his hand. So you thought for a moment, you were going to surprise him like he had surprised you with his kick. Could you take down a man the size and width of a fridge? Doubtful, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.
It's as if, in the middle of the nettles, you'd found a patch of grass where you could put your foot down without stinging yourself. So you placed your leg correctly behind his knee, which surprisingly succeeded in throwing him off balance, and just as he was about to fall with a small stranglehold of his voice, his hand grabbed your wrist and dragged you down.
The shock was less, because you had fallen onto Miguel himself and his body had been used as a landing mattress. Out of breath, and not exactly aware of the situation you were in, you placed your hands on the ground on either side of his body to at least straighten yours and not crush him, your back bent like a wilting flower.
"Hey, is everything all right?"
Miguel grunted slightly, his eyelids reopening. Your breath caught in your throat as you realised the position you were in, and especially how close you were. Your faces only a few centimetres apart, your breaths colliding.
"Mhm," he said simply, "you did well, I must admit."
And as the simple feeling of victory took your heart by storm, Miguel grabbed you by the waist with both hands and rolled you onto your side, reversing your positions with lightning speed.
"But you're going to have to keep practising," he smirked, one of his hands separating from your waist to rest on the ground next to your head.
And your strength turned to water. Your gaze scanned his, and you wished you could see your own eyes just to know how much they betrayed you, especially when they inevitably drifted to his lips. You didn't need to lie to yourself, you wanted to, they looked so soft... It was the sensation of his thumb making a single, simple circular movement on your stomach that brought you out of your reverie on his lips, regaining his eyes.
"Distracted?" he asked, his eyes a little darker than before.
Sure enough, you had metamorphosed into a big red tomato. So your reflex was to bring both hands up to your face to hide it.
"Uh huh," Miguel prevented, removing his hand from your waist to move your hands away from your face, getting even closer. "What's there to hide, hum?"
His eyes seemed very observant of what was being said in yours, and you wondered if he could see all the emotions rumbling in your heart. You could feel the strands of his hair tickling your forehead and cheeks. The tension was so heavy and pervasive that you could have cut it with a knife.
"My desires," you whispered as an answer, clearing your throat and moistening your lips, your eyes moving tirelessly from his to his lips.
You gasp, the closeness between the two of you acting as a veritable truth serum.
"Tell me about them," he murmured.
You bit the inside of your lip, breathing softly. The inner battle was powerful. To remain silent and regret, or to say something and hope? What if it all stopped? What if it bothered him so much that he couldn't look at you any other way than uncomfortable? And what if... what if... And if I don't try anything, I'll never know.
"A... A kiss," you managed to say.
"A kiss?" he repeated, as if testing the taste of that word in his mouth. "Tell me, where."
You squirmed slightly, perhaps you'd be more successful in speaking your thoughts with your eyes closed? But when you shut them for a moment, you felt his nose brush against yours, his thumb on your hip again making circular movements.
"Where?" he asked again, both of you reduced to whispers. Still hearing no answer, he moved to kiss your forehead, "there?", but you shook your head. Then he kissed the top of your eyelid, "there?", and went on to kiss your cheek, "there?", his voice barely a whisper.
He brushed against your nose again, his lips barely grazing the corner of yours.
His eyes had a tender sparkle as he kissed them tenderly. His lips tasted of wood and rain, pulling back : "There?”
"Yes," you sighed, your eyelids half-closed, "there". You moistened your lips.
"I think I heard you wrong," he murmured. "Say it again."
You swallowed, trying to raise your head to kiss him again, but understanding your tactics, he buried his face closer to your neck, his lips brushing your ear.
"Say it again."
A shiver ran through you as his breath spread a wave of heat down your neck, straightening slightly to face you again.
"Kiss me, again."
And he came to kiss you once more, softly, dark and silent as the night. His hand ran down your body, up your side and over your back to push a little more of your body against his. Your hands came to rest on his cheek and back, your fingers snaking through his hair, nails lightly grazing his skull.
A moan bubbling up his throat reverberated on your lips, just like on the mission.
" If only you wouldn't make me want you..." he whispered between kisses, his mouth growing a little hungrier as his fangs nibbled lightly at the skin of your lip.
He came to kiss your jaw, your neck, drinking in your skin, breaths of ease escaping from your lips.
But suddenly, a small cluster of orange pixels appeared not far from your heads.
"Miguel we got a- oh hi there!" said Layla in a tone that was a mixture of playfulness and surprise.
You immediately turned your head to the side to avoid her, your cheeks flushing red. Your heart was pounding in your chest like a bird trying to get out of its cage.
"Go away Layla," he said though, his hand coming to take your chin, his eyes half closed, kissing you again.
"But Miguel it's-"
"It's very important for your future that you don't finish your sentence," Miguel growled as he moved from your mouth to your throat again, letting his canines lightly trace along your pulse line.
"And the situation is just as important for all our futures," Layla insisted.
Miguel grunted, sighing, and murmured softly:
"I'm sorry."
You kissed his cheek and he raised his eyebrows.
"It's okay."
He kissed your lips quickly.
"This is not over," he warned, sitting up and helping you to your feet. "Go and sleep now." Looking at your hand in his, he added: "And take care of this," pointing to your knuckles.
You nodded as he began to walk away.
"Oh yeah, Miguel has been keeping an eye on you!" said Layla, a small smile wrinkling her nose.
"What?" you asked, confused.
"Layla ?" Miguel called dangerously.
"Okay okay gotta go, goodnight!" she said, vanishing into thin air to come and stand next to Miguel.
The two of them left the room, and you looked at the exit.
What had just happened?
next part >> unexpected mission (nsfw)
#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099 spiderverse#astv miguel#miguel astv#spiderman astv#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#miguel spiderman#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o hara x reader#romance#fluff#miguel o’hara x you#spiderman 2099 x you
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11. “am I your favorite?” “I like your dog a bit more than you I won’t lie” with max but instead of dog it’s cats🫶🫶
P1 IN YOUR HEART ★ MV1
pairing: max verstappen x fem! gf! reader
summary: 5 times you told Max his cats were P1 in your heart, and 1 time he did a Grand Slam.
warnings: 5 + 1 format ( it’s my first time doing it ), fluff, teasing & joking, established relationship, sassy and jimmy are the favorites ( duh! )
word count: 1.7k
note: this just reminded me how much i LOVE writing fluff, thank you kay <3
general masterlist ★ 1k special
1. SEPTEMBER 30, 2023
The first time it happened, it was Max’s birthday. It wasn’t race week and the obnoxious party Red Bull was going to throw him, was the following day. That left you, Max, Jimmy, and Sassy against the world.
“You are so pretty,” Max said while petting Sassy. You smiled, he loved those little beings so much.
“They may be my favorite thing on this house” You answered jokingly, Jimmy crawling into your lap “Taking P1 indeed”
Max looked at you funny because was he really behind his cats? You bet. Max Verstappen loved being first, even if it meant fighting his cats to be P1 in your heart.
“Oh really?” the Dutchman teased “I’ll be the judge of that” He finished as he picked up Jimmy from your lap and ran away.
2. NOVEMBER 28, 2023
The second time it happened, it was Tuesday, two days after Abu Dhabi. Max had already secured his third world championship back in September, but RedBull had kept both of you there until Monday for partying.
You had just arrived at your shared apartment in Monaco, Jimmy and Sassy surprisingly purring at your arrival, tangling in your feet.
“Hi lovelies!” you said softly, petting both of their tiny heads “How are my favorite beings in the universe?”
“Oh, now they’re your universe?” Max complained, leaving his bags on the floor to pet his cats too “I figured a three-time world champion would be”
You just laughed at his childish behavior “Oh shut up, Maxie. Let them have their moment”
3. DECEMBER 31, 2023
The third time, was on New Year’s Day. You were at a party in Monaco, the sky adorned with stars, and the place was full of friends, family, and colleagues; One minute away from giving a warm welcome to 2024.
Max was holding you close, one arm around your waist, the other one caressing your arm. Your arms were wrapped around his torso, eyes focused on the stars before they drifted to him.
“Maxie” You called, he hummed, his arm around your waist losing a bit. “What’s your year's resolution?”
You and Max usually took that question as a joke, even after you achieved the majority of last year's. Max thought about it for at least 8 seconds before a grin popped on his lips.
“That one’s obvious. I will overtake the cats and become P1 in your heart,” He said, unserious. You laughed.
“Hard one. They will always be my favorite”
Max rolled his eyes, bringing you close one more time that year, his eyes shined with happiness and little mischief.
His temple met yours.
“Well, they don’t get to kiss you right…three, two…now”
Cheers and celebrations were shared while Max cupped your cheeks, kissing you sweetly.
“Happy new year, schatje”
4. JANUARY 29, 2024
The fourth time was on purpose. Max was away in Milton Keynes for testing and practice, you were home with two little creatures.
It had been a long day at the office and you missed Max, so around dusk, you decided to tease him a bit with a picture of the cats.
you: [ 1 image attached ]
you: actually my favorites ever EVER
Max laughed at loud when he saw it, getting a whistle from Christian and a pat on the back from Danny (they had just wrapped up a meeting). Max rolled his eyes, focusing back on your messages. He could win this one.
max: you know what’s my favorite EVER?
you: what?
max: [ 1 image attached ]
max: the new car😍😍😍
you: i could fight you and your vroom vroom AND win
max: good luck with that schatje
5. FEBRUARY 14, 2024
The fifth time was on Valentine’s Day. That morning, when buying groceries, you found yourself in the middle of the pet section, buying a couple some cat accessories and costumes for Valentine’s Day.
You were so eager to try it on the cats that when you got home, you discarded the other bags in the kitchen knowing Max would organize everything while you styled the two furry demons.
“Max! Look at their little costumes!” You said picking up Sassy, she had a heart-shaped antenna headband and a tutu.
“I’m one hundred percent sure she will hate you for the rest of her life” Max answered picking up his phone to take a photo.
“Oh yeah?” You challenged, picking up Jimmy so Max could take a photo of him too. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, since I’m hers and Jim’s favorite… and they’re my favorite”
“Really, schat? On Valentine’s Day?” Max said in faked disbelief “I knew you hated me, but this is heartless”
You just laughed, turning around so you could take off the costumes before they were destroyed.
“I love you, babe!”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Max said “I love you too”
+1 . . . CLOSURE
Finally, it was a “normal” Sunday. Max had a two-week break before the next race, so he took one week off the factory to be with you.
But the thing is, Max, had been acting suspicious. All week long he had been so secretive but also so loving and touchy. What made you realize something was a bit off was his attitude around Friday, Saturday, and today.
On Friday, he decided to go hiking with you, gifting you a beautiful bracelet with three charms: A cat that looked just like Jimmy, a second cat that looked like Sassy, and a couple for both of you. You were used to Max gifting you things, usually, they were simple, handmade items, but he also bought you expensive stuff. You loved everything he gave you.
Then Saturday came. He prepared a dinner date in your favorite Monegasque restaurant, where he gave you flowers and a necklace, it had a heart with an M engraved on it. You loved it.
Even after two days of wonderful gifts and sunshine, Sunday morning was still a surprise. Max decided to wake you up with breakfast in bed and tons of kisses, a lovely morning of you asked anyone.
After that, he said you had to be ready for a picnic at 4 PM, you could have begged him to tell you why but you knew he was stubborn enough to resist everything.
Either way, that’s why you found yourself at the top of Monte Carlo, having a picnic while the sun was burned by the ocean.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s been this weekend?” You asked after taking a sip of wine, it was enchanté.
“Why? Is it out of character?” He asked back jokingly, you rolled your eyes, smiling. “I’m joking”
“I know”
“Follow me”
You grabbed Max’s hand, getting up from the floor. He started walking towards the sunset, golden light shining on his face, blue eyes turning green.
“This past month, we have been talking—daydreaming about a life together” Max started, you nodded “And, yes, we already live together but remember how we wanted more?”
You nodded again, your chest growing warm, this had to be going the place you wanted it to. This had to be the moment you had been waiting for. Max got close, taking your other hand in his as the sky turned pink.
“Well, I figured a couple of months ago before the season started,” He continued “That I want to spend the rest of my days, nights, years, life, and eternity with you”
He started to move away, making up space for a final movement.
“So, I wanted to know,” He knelt “Would you marry me?”
The world stopped. It stopped and even if the sun was setting, daylight had just sprung out from the bottom of Earth.
You started shaking your head yes.
“Yes! Yes, and a million times yes!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him.
Max let out a loud sigh, laughing a bit before sliding the ring into your finger and launching himself at you “Thank you, baby. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so so much”
“I love you so much more, Max”
There were hugs, kisses, laughter, and the dizzying feeling of adrenaline drove the car to the top of the podium. Max, drunk in happiness, cupped your face in his hands.
“Now that's out of the way. Am I your favorite?” He asked, almost laughing, but so hopeful. He was so cute.
“Max Emilian Verstappen!”
“I’m just joking…” He laughed, hugging you for a second and then holding your waist “But am I?”
“I like your cats a bit more than you, I won’t lie”
“Oh for fu-”
That’s when this whole situation clicked for you. Max had started all of this on Friday so it could be like a race weekend, finishing P1 on Sunday’s race.
“Schatje, I’m kidding, you’ve always been my favorite,” You said, now you were cupping his face in your hands “And you just did a Grand Slam,” You said, kissing your future husband.
# “ ࣭⸰ ★ my writings !#mv1#mv33#max verstappen#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen blurb#max verstappen fic#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen f1#cat dad max verstappen#f1#formula 1#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula one#f1 social media au#f1 fanfic#f1blr#red bull f1#f1 2023
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From Three to Four [Mini Verstappen Series]
Dad!Max Verstappen x Wife!Reader (Established Relationship)
Summary: Reader tells Max that your expecting, he doesn't have the best reaction at first.
Warning(s): Slight angst, Flashback to four months before
A/N: This one is a little shorter then normal. It's set before the third social media posts of The Verstappens but takes place before Stones To Throw At My Creator.
Words: 1.6k
Previous Part → Next Part
Mini Verstappen Masterlist
You had suspected before you had been sure. There were no signs that you could be pregnant other than the obvious. Making the appointment was the most nerve-wracking thing. Waiting for the results was stressful, but the confirmation took a bit of the pressure off.
You stared at the sonogram pictures again before placing them back in your bag.
You heard Max coming up the stairs into the kitchen where you had been waiting for him to see the box that you had left for him.
“What’s this?” Max asked picking up the wrapped box.
“Open it,” Your eyes rested on Max to see his reaction to what was in the box.
He ripped into the wrapping paper and pulled the top off the box before seeing a little Red Bull onesie. You had taken the time to go online and order one as soon as your test results had come back from your doctor.
Max was quick to drop the box and the onesie on the kitchen counter.
“I..” Max tried to get out. His expression was too blank for your liking. “I wasn't expecting this.”
"I know that it's sooner than what we talked about." You immediately said.
"I just… didn't think that we'd have them so soon." He looked so lost.
You and Max had talked about waiting for a year or two before the possibility of trying for a baby. He had just won a fourth world title and was in pursuit of a fifth, you understood that.
January 10, 2025 - Saint-Jean Cap Ferret, France
From the moment that you had woken up that morning, you had been unpacking boxes. You started in the kitchen having finished putting the last of the cups and dishes away just before Nico had come in asking about lunch.
You had made him a sandwich and taken a few bites of the leftovers from dinner yesterday because you didn’t feel like cooking after putting all of the pots and pans away.
Max had been in one of the spare bedrooms getting his racing sim all setup. It had been the last thing that had been packed and moved and unfortunately for Max, it was the last thing that was brought into the house after all of the furniture. He wasn’t happy about it sitting in the garage for a week.
After eating, you had finally gotten to the boxes that lined the built-in bookshelves that would house Max’s ever-growing collection of trophies. You were down to the last two boxes when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the lower part of the house.
Looking over, you saw Max come into the kitchen and take a Red Bull out of the fridge. You glanced back down at the trophy in your hands, seeing the little plaque on it, the words Spain 2016 on it.
You heard the clang of the Red Bull can against the marble of the kitchen counter.
"Mijn leeuwin?" You heard Max turning your head towards him.
His hands went to your hips pulling you back against his chest. "What are you thinking about?"
You lightly shook your head. The more that you unpacked things, you couldn't help but think of the possibility of having kids with Max. He was such a good dad to Nico, and you knew that you eventually wanted to give Max more kids.
"Tell me." He whispered into your ear. That was always his way of getting you to tell him things when you didn't feel like you could.
You turned in his arms to look at him, "What do you think about Nico eventually getting a sibling?"
“Checo and Daniel had asked me this." You hadn't realized that Max was already thinking of the possibility of you getting pregnant.
“And…” You wanted to know what Max thought about this. Sure, you would be the one to have the baby but you wanted to make sure that you were both on the same page about when would be a good time.
“And I told them that one day we would have more but not now.”
You nodded along with Max’s words. He was right, one day you would have more kids, but it didn’t make sense for it to be now. You had just moved, and the wedding was in less than a month. Any children could wait until after.
“Maybe in a year or two?” You asked.
“Maybe,” Max said before pulling the trophy from your hands and placing it on one of the empty shelves.
“For now,” He pulled you into his arms. “I want to enjoy all the free practice that I can.”
“Yeah?” You asked. He quickly nodded back as you let yourself melt into his arms.
He took your hand pulling you away from the boxes towards the master bedroom, getting a small practice session in before you had to start dinner.
It seemed like life or fate, whichever one had different plans for you.
You walked closer to him pressing yourself up against his chest, trying to ground him back to you. It didn't take long for him to place his arms around your waist, his hands not traveling down to your hips like they normally would.
“What’s going on Max?” You asked. You weren’t sure why he was having this reaction. Whenever you had talked about having kids before he seemed excited. He didn’t seem that way now.
“I… I, just. I wasn’t there when Nico was born or with my ex when she was pregnant with him.”
Max had never referred to his ex as Nico’s mother. You had accepted that she was just the woman that gave birth to him. That had been easy to accept when you had found out that she had given up her parental rights to him. When you signed the adoption paperwork, something settle inside of you.
“Max,” You reached for his hand to place it on your lower abdomen. You could feel the strain in his hand, he wanted to pull away. “Max,” You started again. “You’re already a great father to Nico.”
“It’s not that. I thought that the first time that you would get pregnant I wouldn’t be driving anymore. I could be home and experience all of it this time around.” Everytime that you and Max had talked about him retiring, it had always seemed like he intended to finish his current contract with Red Bull before that happened.
“Max there is nothing stopping you from driving and us having more kids.” You offered up.
You moved your hands up to Max’s neck, pulling his head down to meet yours.
“You have done everything right by Nico since the day that he’s come into your life. Moving around your schedule so that you can be there for his first day of school, putting off an endorsement deal so that you would be there the day that he started karting.” Max finally looked down at you as you kept talking. “You have been there for all the major moments of his life, spending every moment that you can with him. Besides your not going to want to spend every moment of this pregnancy with me when I’m hormonal and get emotional for no reason.”
Max broke out in a laugh at your last sentence before he started to nod.
“You are an amazing father, this baby is going to be lucky to be raised by you.” You reached up to cup his cheek.
“Really?” He asked with baited breath.
You nodded. You could feel Max’s hands go lax under the fabric of your clothes, his fingertips just lightly tracing over the non-existent bump.
“That means no more free practice.” He muttered as he pulled away a little.
You laughed, “Free practice ended when we got back from the honeymoon.”
Max was fast on the track but it took a little longer for your body to give you those signs.
Your and Max's honeymoon had been two weeks, spending the first week in The Bahamas before flying back home and christening the new house.
Nico had spent time with Sophie, Victoria, and his cousins back in Belgium before they all flew out to see the house.
Your time alone with Max had been nice, just the two of you sleeping in before Max would go and sit on the sim for a few hours. You would eventually get up and make yourself a coffee and something that resembled breakfast before pulling him off the sim and back into bed for a while.
You hadn't been trying to get pregnant, but birth control only did so much.
“I don’t know how Nico is going to feel now that he won’t be getting all of the attention,” Max said leaning his back against the kitchen counter.
"I'm sure he'll find a way to get our attention. He is related to you after all."
“Doesn’t mean that he hasn’t picked up things from you as well.”
Nico had started picking up things that you would do, from the way that you would use certain words in a sentence, to how he would mimic you when you were doing something around the house. In those moments, you felt the most like his mother.
You couldn’t wait for this baby to be a part of such a loving family.
“You want to call your mom and Victoria and tell them, or should I?” You asked.
Max lightly groaned before dropping his head to your shoulder. You ran your fingers through his hair before feeling his head come up off your shoulder.
"Tomorrow?" He asked. You nodded back before noticing Max's eyes drop to your abdomen, his large hands not leaving your sides until Nico had come into the kitchen.
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✘︙Asmodeus !
♡! hope's notes: yes this is a repost from the old blog, hush
CW: body insecurities
"If i'm more pretty, do you think they'll like me?"
The silence that followed gets broken by Asmo's laugh. He mutters a small "idiot", shaking his head, chuckling at the mirror in front of him. Well, the half broken mirror. Most of the broken shards and pieces were on the floor anyway, few embedded on his knuckles.
Looking around the room, Asmo sighed tiredly. Pillows strewn around on the floor, torn pillows ; his pristine silk bedsheets all crumpled up on the floor too. His beauty and skin care products were more or less useless now, most of them had their products dumped in the sink, some in the trash.
He supposed, in a ironic way, it was a beautiful mess.
Lucifer was definitely not going to be pleased and so, albeit reluctantly, Asmo got up to first clean his hands. A little magic would cover and heal it up.
This was the fourth-no fifth "breakdown" he has had in a week. Not his proudest moment. Its all your fault really, or at least that's what he tries to tell himself.
Asmo knew he was pretty. He is pretty. Its a fact. But then again, beauty is subjective, isn't it?
So, maybe he wasn't pretty to you. He has tried to change to your preferences though. He's wore perfumes you'd like, clothes that you find attractive, colours that you love. He doesn't understand why it's not working, he's tried everything.
Asmo knows this is pathetic but what can he do? His looks, as he's been told, are all he's got. So if you don't like his looks, you're never gonna want to speak to a ugly Asmo!
The next morning comes and he's there for breakfast as usual, joking and talking with his brothers as if he did not want to peel his skin off last night.
"You know- I have to say, I think blue looks really attractive on some people!-" his ears perk up as he glances at your direction as you talk animatedly with a hardly-listening Beel munching on his and your food.
I could use some blue in my wardrobe. Asmo continues eating as he makes a mental note to go shopping later.
© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.
#obey me x reader#obey me asmo x reader#obey me asmo x mc#obey me asmodeus#obey me asmo#obey me angst#obey me smut#asmo x reader#om! asmodeus#asmodeus x reader#asmodeus x mc#asmodeus x you#asmodeus x y/n#obey me x mc#obey me x y/n#obey me x you#omswd x reader#omswd#obey me imagines#obey me shall we date#shall we date obey me#obey me fanfic#obey me brothers#obey me#obey me!#obey me mc#obey me drabble#omswd asmodeus#om asmodeus
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ORV as textposts 34/???
[Photo ID - eight images from the ORV manhwa with text pasted upon them.
The first image shows Yoo Joonghyuk standing with gears in the background. The text post is by Tumblr user wormspeddler and reads, "ohoho im just a little puppet, dancing on the strings of time! i am bound to the era i live in and cannot ever escape!!!"
The second image shows Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung falling from a ledge with tense expressions. Kim Dokja's arm is wrapped around Han Sooyoung's neck. The text pasted upon the image reads, "Report: This Week's All Fucking Hell Breaking Loose Projected To Be 30% More Insane Than Last Week's Complete Shitshow"
The third image shows part of Yoo Joonghyuk's face while Kim Dokja follows behind him. The text post is by Tumblr user pjharvey and reads, "liking a male character like hes my girlfriend hes my dad he is literally me i could fix him i could make him worse hes a whore hes my best friend hes my sworn enemy i just want to punch him i want to hold his hand i just want to send him to therapy"
The fourth image shows Yoo Joonghyuk standing on a decrepit street walkway with his hands in his pocket. He is looking over his left shoulder toward the viewer. The text post is by Tumblr user ponyoisms and reads, "t shirt that says YOU DONT UNDERSTAND MY RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD and the back says NEITHER DO I"
The fifth image shows Kim Dokja falling to the viewer's right while facing the viewer. A man in black is looking at him falling with his back to the viewer. The text post is by Tumblr user gayarsonist and reads, ""it happens to the best of us" well im not the best so whys it happening to me"
The sixth image shows Yoo Joonghyuk angrily yelling. The text post is by Tumblr user devilinasweater and has two lines of text. The first line is slightly larger than normal and reads, "I feel like I don't say this enough, but." The second line is normally-sized and reads, "FUCK!! FUUUUCK FUCK FUCK!!! WHAT THE FUCK!! WHAT IS GOING ON!!"
The seventh image shows Han Sooyoung poking out from behind Kim Dokja with a mischievous expression while looking at him. Kim Dokja has a weary expression while he looks straight ahead. The text post is by Twitter user no one believes in an asian basketball... (@/disrupthehuman) and reads, ""let people enjoy things" ok i enjoy critical analysis and being a hater"
The final image shows Kim Dokja standing in front of Yoo Sangah, Lee Jihye, Lee Gilyoung, and Lee Hyungsung, who are all sitting on stairs. Dark blue potions are placed next to Lee Jihye. The textpost is by Twitter user joe bones @/TRAINSPOTTER and reads, "I roll with a pack of goobers so silly it would knock the socks off your fucking feet wise guy" /End ID]
Image ID by @incorrect-web-novels once more!! pls accept my deepest appreciations
#orv#omniscient reader's viewpoint#omniscent reader#omniscient reader webtoon#orv shitpost#orv textposts#yjh#kdj#hsy#dokhyuk#doksoo#kimcom
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