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cillianhead · 11 months

Note

Hello dear!!! I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Could you please write a piece about Cillian falling for a (younger!) poet? He starts frequenting her reading sessions and that's how they meet. The rest is up to you!

Thank you 🩵

Yes!! Love this, thank you <3

Enjoy my sweet nonny!

This is heavily inspired by the song All Too Well (10-minute version) (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift!!

Wind In My Hair, I Was There || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: Smut, angst, age gap (reader is in her mid to late twenties, Cillian is in his forties.), swearing, Cillian is sort of an asshole in this in some parts, so that is a warning, infidelity (Cillian is married), general adult content ahead!!

Minors DNI! 18+

I'd also like to clarify this isn't really based on the real Cillian!! I know he's married and very happy, this is just fiction and fantasy!! Not meant to portray Cillian as a bad person!! I'd also like to clarify that the ready doesn't really know who Cillian is... or maybe like Cillian isn't that famous in this fic universe or something because there are a few plot points that may seem questionable... that's all. Anyway... enjoy!!

The autumn you spent with Cillian Murphy would be one you would always remember, not that you really had a choice in whether or not you could forget him.

Your apartment was small and cozy at the time, with a perfect view of the falling leaves outside. It was sitting across from a small park in New York City; the trees were red and orange, and it felt like the fall was putting on a show just for you. You felt fortunate and privileged to live in such a place.

You lived right up the road from a small cafe with a library. Every Thursday, you meet with like-minded writers and read your work aloud. It helped bring you out of your shell; you felt a sense of pride when you read your poetry out loud and had people praise you for being so brave and how well you wrote. Despite the fact you have been attending these little group meetings for almost two years now and you felt pretty comfortable amongst the people who were there, you felt like you could vomit your pounding heart right up every time you stood at that podium in front of the dozen or so people that attended. But even with the lump in your throat, you'd read with a shaky voice and tears ready to spill, you would receive the same round of applause every time and a pat on the back from some of the attendees you were closer with.

It was September 14th when you first saw him, but it wasn't the first time he had seen you, summer still lingering in the air but barely grasping on as Autumn began to take the reigns. You were standing at that cedar-wood podium, reading aloud as nervously as you always did. You had yet to notice him quietly slip in; you were too busy ensuring you were on the right line.

"-And something beautiful sprouted, something that I am not... something that I never will be." You looked up after reading the last line, biting your lip nervously and stepping back from the speaking podium. There he sat, in a sweater and the most hypnotizing eyes you had ever seen. Maybe love at first sight was real, you thought briefly. People clapped, but the room remained silent and still for you as you two made eye contact; he didn't clap; he just stared at you with a look that told you he was just as taken aback by you as you were by him.

He kept attending the sessions, but he never got up and read anything and never really interacted with anyone else; in fact, you'd see him get up and leave once you had finished reading your poetry. You wondered if anyone else noticed him the way you did, or maybe he was a figment of your imagination... a ghost.

It was October 19th when you first spoke with him. You dreamt about him day and night, and you two had never even spoken before every session; you'd wonder if he'd be there, and he always was. Sitting in the same seat, at the very back, going ultimately unnoticed by almost everyone but you.

"Excuse me, sir!" You yelled out, rushing to follow the man in the plaid shirt and beanie. "You dropped this!" It was a pair of keys you had clutched in your hand, the crisp autumn air meeting the apples of your cheeks.

He turned around, only a foot or two away from you, as he looked at you up and down, taking notice of his keys in your hand. "Oh gosh, thank you, love," He took the keys gently out of your hand, his fingers lingering on yours a little too long for a stranger, fingertips brushing together. "I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed on." You took notice of his Irish accent. It made you even more curious to know him better. "Erm... thank you so much."

"It's no problem..." You trailed off. You're not sure what to say now. He gave you a stiff nod and started to turn around and keep walking, but you just couldn't let him leave. "Wait!" What do you say now?

"Yeah?" He turned around, tilting his head at you, blue eyes staring at you, waiting.

"I... I'm Y/N... by the way... I always see you here... but I never see you read anything..."

"Cillian," He chuckled. "Not interested in reading anything I've written, only here to listen." Cillian's response was short but straight to the point.

"You don't stick around for very long... you always leave after... I've finished reading my writing..."

"Well... your work is the only one I come to listen to. The rest of the lots' poems just go in one ear and out the other," He said honestly. "You've got a charm about you; I've never heard anything like what you write. It's unique and intelligent, cleverly crafted written pieces... It captures my attention, unlike the rest, which all seem like people trying to mimic someone else... you write from your heart... or your head... I can't decide which, really." He notices your silence, Cillian steps a bit closer to you. "Perhaps I've said too much." He mumbles. The proximity of where he stands is close enough that you can feel his warmth, a stark contrast to how cold it was outside. "You've surely captivated me, Y/N." He said your name like it was a sacred prayer.

You felt like your heart was in your throat, looking at him dumbfounded and unsure what to say. "That's... very flattering, I don't know what to say... thank you, Cillian..." You scratch behind your ear, swaying nervously on your feet. Cars honked, and people passed by as you two stood outside the little cafe, which was now closed since the reading sessions had ended. Cillian looked around awkwardly before sucking in a deep breath and exhaling, his breath visible out in the open air due to how cold it was.

"Would you like to go out for dinner with me?" Cillian looked at you, eyes reflecting the city lights. The moment felt like something from a movie or something you'd write a poem about. It felt like something that wasn't quite possible within these depths of reality. "I understand... if not... you're a young beautiful woman... probably got someone waitin' at home for y-" "N-No, I'd love to!" You interrupted him, with your heart racing. "I'd love to go to dinner with you... I don't have anyone at home... waiting for me..."

"Well, aren't I lucky... when are you free?" He gave you a smile, the first you'd ever seen from him. It made his usually sombre face light up; he grinned, making you feel all giddy.

"I'm free any time on the weekends... and on Tuesdays, I have work off, so... I would love to... see you this weekend, maybe?"

"Wonderful, Saturday evening, you and me?"

You nodded. You exchanged numbers and went on your merry way, walking down the streets of New York City with a smile on your face that was purely gleeful. People would give you looks, but you didn't care. You were excited about something for once. You obsessed over it for the next day and a half.

October 21st marked your very first date with Cillian Murphy. At six, you waited patiently outside your apartment building in the cold air. With a red scarf wrapped around your neck your nose runny from the autumnal weather, you looked around like a lost puppy.

"Y/N," Cillian's warm voice startled you from behind you. You jumped but swiftly turned around to look at him, a bashful smile on both of your faces. "You look lovely." You felt your heart pound at the sight of him.

"Thank you. You also look lovely yourself." You replied. He leaned in and kissed your cheek before taking your hand in his and guiding you down the street. The feeling of his hand in yours made the cold weather seem like summer. Your body lit in flames at the idea he wanted you close to him. And the feeling of his lips on your cheek remained there the whole evening, burning its mark into your skin.

The night went on, and you found yourself in a charming Italian restaurant. It was nothing too fancy, but it was nice and romantic for a first date, definitely nicer than any other places other guys have taken you. It was just the two of you sitting towards the back, in a small booth, eating your plates of pasta. You talked, and you talked, and you talked. He spoke about how he was an actor; you could see his eyes light up at his passion for his work. He told you he was in New York for work and was filming a movie for something he couldn't legally disclose yet. Your chemistry was magnetic, and the conversation would weave in and out of different subjects. You talked about anything and everything, things like masculinity, The Beatles, the incident that happened on your 21st Birthday, batman, and everything else there was to discuss. You felt like you had known him forever. He said the same thing and referred to you two as twin flames. When you were about to leave, his phone began to ring.

"Fuckin' hell, what is it now?" He groaned. "Probably just a wrong number... or somethin'... hold on, love." He stepped outside, and you watched him on the phone. Cillian looked angry and frustrated, like he was arguing over the phone with someone. Your heart, which once rode the waves of love and joy, now sank beneath them into the deep dark depths of navy blue and dismay, watching him grow angrier and angrier and yell over the phone. He was seeing red.

When he waved for you to come out, you approached him cautiously. He huffed, puffed, and fidgeted his hands in his pockets, clearly restless. "Who was that? Are you okay?" "It was no one," He replied shortly and coldly. "I'm fine, let's go." You didn't say a word after that. The tension was thicker than the cold. You were afraid of saying anything to further upset him. So silence was the answer as he walked you home. You felt disappointed that this was how the night was ending. You wondered who it was and what they had said that had upset him so badly. The familiar apartment building you called home came closer and closer within sight, the disappointment weighing you down like water in your shoes. The disappointment tracing every inch of your freezing skin.

You stood in your elevator with him. He promised to walk you back to your unit at least, and he kept that promise. "Would you like to come in... Cillian?" You asked. You pulled out your house key and unlocked the door, looking at him hopefully.

"No, I'd better not." He remained cold and rigid with you. He couldn't even bring himself to give you a smile. You felt you'd never see him again; maybe he didn't like you the way you thought he did. Maybe he found you obnoxious and dumb. Perhaps the phone call was from another woman he realized was better than you. Maybe you simply needed to be better for him. "Goodnight, Y/N." He turned and walked away; you couldn't speak as tears welled in your eyes. Sorrow built up within you like some sort of horrible game of Jenga; one wrong move and you'd come crashing down and falling apart all over the place.

"Goodnight..." You whispered, but by then, he'd already stepped into the elevator, and the doors shut, taking him away from you. You cried yourself to sleep that night, both out of self-pity and disappointment.

When you awoke, it was to the sounds of soft raps on your front door. It was eight in the morning. Padding gently down the hallway, floorboards creaking, sleep still in your eyes, and your face puffy from the tears that leaked from your tear ducts the previous night, you opened the door, expecting it to be a neighbor asking you if they could borrow some sugar or something along those lines.

"Good morning," Cillian stood at your door, this time with a big apologetic smile, a complete change from last night's cold demeanour. He held a pink, yellow, and white bouquet and a small paper bag in his other hand. "I came here to apologize... for how I treated you last night." "Come in." You ushered him in.

He noted your knick-knacks, the photos on your walls, and your old, worn-out furniture. The way you decorated the place stood out to him, but the look on your face stood out to him the most. Sad, tired eyes, puffy and glazed over, you looked at him expectantly. "I'm so sorry." He whispered to you.

"What for?" You asked as you sat in your favorite olive green armchair. It was velvet and soft, and you'd spend most of your time writing, reading, or drinking your morning cup of coffee.

"For treating you like I didn't care," He sighed. He sat on the leather sofa beside you, gently placing the flowers on your glass coffee table and the paper bag smelling of freshly baked goods. "I don't want to discuss exactly who it was or what happened on that phone call... but I... I shouldn't have shut you out just because I was upset... that was... wrong of me, and I'm sorry." Your anger and sadness dissipated the way a fire dissipates when it's being smothered: immediately. His big blue eyes were the blanket that hushed that flame out, striking him as immediately forgiven.

"I understand, Cillian..." You mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Things happen... it's alright... I...." You wanted to confront him and tell him how insignificant and stupid he made you feel, but you swallowed it back and gave him a small smile. You remained the people pleaser you always have been. You spared his feelings over your own. "I understand." You repeated.

"I thought... I would make it up to you," He pushed the small paper bag over to you. "We could spend the day together... if you don't already have plans."

The paper bag contained a chocolate eclair. You had written a poem that mentioned eating a chocolate eclair while in a made-up love affair. The rhyming was cheesy, but it was one of Cillian's favorite poems of yours. It was the first one he had heard from you. Of course, you didn't realize the irony of it at the time. You just grinned and accepted it happily. You didn't know that you were engaging in a relationship with a man who was already married. So you took a bite of the eclair, letting him into your fragile heart, and entered this sad and tragic love affair.

So you spent the whole day together. You walked around New York City, holding hands and laughing your heads off. It felt romantic and intimate, and you got to know each other even deeper than you did before. You kissed under a stop sign and shared sweet nothings. The clouds rolled over, and the sky opened up. The rain watered you down like a pair of leaves in a pot plant, and you both ran through Central Park, trying to find the nearest shelter until you came across a large oak tree. It was something out of a movie, sitting together, soaking wet, staring at each other as lightning strikes in the distance. The wind was in your hair, and his lips were on yours.

You spent pretty much every day together after that. You made love in every room of your apartment, cherishing each other's bodies. Cillian would sit in that cafe, and he would clap after your readings and then reward you with a kiss when you got back down to him. You wrote poetry about him, and he would write some for you. It was a beautiful, quiet, little harmonious relationship you had going on. You found yourself falling in love. You thought he was, too, though you never said it out loud.

He even met your dad. They got along quite well. Your dad didn't seem to mind that Cillian was only a few years younger than him (and much older than you). Your dad just wanted to see you happy and safe. In fact, your dad told you he had never seen you more content. Cillian made your dad laugh, they got along like old friends. Seeing them bonding and getting along made you incredibly happy and excited.

On November 16th, at noon, you got ready to go to where he was staying, wrapping that red scarf around your neck again and stepping out into the living room where Cillian waited for you with eyes full of affection. You had packed a small bag since Cillian told you he was staying at his sister's house in upstate New York. She was away at the moment. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He hummed jollily. You wrapped your arm through his and went down to the lobby.

His car had that new car smell, clearly a rental. "No matter how often I've stayed in America, I never get used to driving on the wrong side of the road." Cillian chuckled, exiting his parking spot and beginning the long drive to his sister's house.

The drive was beautiful. Driving through the city and slowly entering into suburban areas, red and brown trees lining the streets, Halloween decorations on display, and music playing through the radio, you both sang along to the words happily. The drive was surreal and peaceful. You drove down a long country road, and the tall trees created a tunnel above you. Only small slits of the grey sky could be seen through the scarlet leaves.

"We're here, Y/N," Cillian smiled at you, stepping out of the car and walking off without you. You hurriedly got out of the car with your things. "Oh, lock the car for me, the button doesn't work... please, love." He tossed you the car keys, not looking where he was throwing them, and they landed in the dirt before you. You ignored how it made you feel (stupid, insignificant, small), picking up the dirty keys and locking the car manually before rushing over to where he was unlocking the door.

The house was nice and quiet and far from the rest of civilization. It felt like home somehow. It is decorated nicely with photos of his sister and her husband, even some with Cillian when he was younger. It was getting dark by now, and you set your belongings down in the guest bedroom where Cillian was staying. You never asked when he was going back to Ireland. You didn't wanna know. You wanted to appreciate your time together instead of counting down the days.

Cillian cooked you dinner and shared a long, loving kiss to say thanks. You sat cuddled up on the couch together afterwards, your crimson scarf hanging over the stair railing as you rested your head lovingly on his shoulder. An old Western movie played in the background, but you were too busy holding each other and whispering sweet things.

"Cillian..." You whispered, pressing soft kisses along his stubbly jaw. "I'm so happy you brought me here... this feels so special." "I'm so happy to have you here, Y/N." He whispered back. Cillian pulled you into his lap. "This is special, just you and me... here... I'm going to make you my own." You wanted to tell him, 'I'm already yours, Cillian; my heart and soul are yours', but you remained silent, smiling dopily at him.

And with those charming words, you kissed him. Flashes of red played through your mind, fireworks sounding off in your head as your lips danced together. His hands cradled your head as you made out nice and slow. Both in your pyjamas now, warming each other up, hands running up and down his back. Cillian's hands wandered down your back until they rested on the tops of your hips, his thumb fiddling with the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Take them off." You hummed, raising your hips slightly off of his, and he obeyed, sliding your pants off until you were only in your panties. Cillian observed how you sat back down on his lap, the lace scrunched up, showing off the curve of your ass.

"I'm going to ravish you." He growled, eyeing you up and down. The timbre of his voice caused your thighs to tightly squeeze together. He pressed you down onto the couch, slipping his pants down until he was just in his briefs. He slipped your shirt over your tits, breasts bouncing out of their containment and straight into his mouth. He sucked happily on your nipples until you were a panting mess, begging for more. "Let me feel you, sweetheart."

"Please..." You exasperated. "Please... Cillian."

Two nimble fingers slipped under your lace underwear, straight down to where your arousal pooled. "So wet f'me, always so wet, aren't you, baby?" He groaned, fingers teasing your slit before sliding back up to rub circles on your clit.

"You know what you do to me..." You breathed out, biting your cherry red lips and closing your eyes, embracing the pleasure. "Always so wet for you, Cillian..."

The way Cillian cradled you in his strong arms as his fingers caressed you to your peak was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced. His eyes watched your face contort with pleasure, mouth open and spilling sounds of satisfaction as you came on his fingers.

"That's it, baby... doing so good," He whispered, kissing your cheek. "So beautiful."

You lolled your head to the side, panting and looking at him with a dazed grin. "Please fuck me."

Cillian laughed at your words. "Such a dirty mouth!" He teased as he tugged down his pants. "Gonna fuck you nice and slow, gonna show you how much you mean to me, love."

Then, in the dim light of the TV and the moon shining through the window, you made love like it was your last night on Earth. Hands ran up and down each other's bodies, trying to savor every final touch. Lips captured together, your bodies working as one, the love was there, glimmering in the light. No words could explain how you felt then; nothing else existed to you, just him and his hands all over your body. You and him for the rest of eternity, at least; that's how it felt in your heart.

You held each other tight in bed, clinging on for dear life. You listened to his heart slow as he slept and the way he breathed. You wondered if he dreamt about you the way you dreamt of him. Eventually, you fell asleep at midnight after watching his pretty face sleeping.

At three in the morning, you wake to an empty bed. Sitting up with a sweat, where did Cillian go? You slip out from under the covers, wincing at the room's cold air that meets your bare legs. You wore one of Cillian's button-ups, only the middle button holding it together as you slowly creep out of the room, listening to the sound of quiet music from the kitchen.

"Cillian?" You called out, cautious and slightly afraid at how dark the house is. It was a lot quieter than you were used to. You were a city girl, unfamiliar with the countryside silence.

"Y/N?" You heard, which relieved your paranoid mind.

Down the stairs, Cillian stood in the fridge's light, soft music playing through a small radio on the kitchen counter. "What're you doing up, Cillian?" You worriedly walked over to him, arms reached out as he turned to look at you, only in his sleep shorts.

"Just needed a midnight snack. I'm alright, my love," He smiled sleepily, with a sheepish look since he wasn't fully awake yet. "C'mere... dance with me."

"Oh... Cillian..." You giggled, walking over to him, letting him wrap you up in his strong arms and sway you gently. "This is nice."

"Mmmm..." Cillian hummed into the soft skin of your neck.

The refrigerator remained open, the cool-tinted light painting you both as you swayed side to side. You were half asleep, and the rocking motion didn't help your drowsiness. You felt as though this was some strange dream.

"Are you real?" You whispered.

"What do you mean?" Cillian purred back.

"I just feel like I made you up." You muttered, pulling your head back to look up at him with big, sleepy eyes.

Cillian looked back at you with the same look. Your wide-eyed gaze and his sweet blue eyes looked like something out of a romance film or something you'd see in a painting. The love you shared was unanimous... or at least you thought so. A kiss and then another kiss and then another turned into a sleepy yet heated make-out.

"Gonna take you right here," He grumbled into your mouth. "My midnight snack."

You giggled at his words as he pressed you against the kitchen island countertop. Kissing so hard it felt like your lips could bruise. He ripped off your shirt and pulled it off you like it was nothing. Cillian growled at the sight of you, hands groping at your tits and lips trailing down your neck. You whimpered, letting your head hang back as he ground his stiff cock into your clothed cunt.

"Fuck!" You whined, wrapping your legs around his hips even further. You ignored the feeling of the marble countertop digging into your lower back; the feeling of his cock was too delicious, too distracting, to really let it ruin the mood. "Cillian, please, baby, just put it in me... need you so bad."

He gave you a grunt and slipped off his shorts before pulling your panties to the side. Cillian acted like a feral dog as he pushed his cock into you and began fucking you on his sister's countertops at three in the morning. The act was sinful.

"Oh god! Yes!" You wailed. You could be as loud as you wanted to out here. No one else was around to hear, and you knew how Cillian liked to hear you scream for him. His hips pistoned in and out of you, cock fitting perfectly inside you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He had never been so rough with you before, but you were enjoying it.

"Best pussy I've ever had," Cillian groaned, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Fuck... so good... feels so good."

His fingernails dug into your hips, grunting into the dips of your neck and shoulders as he chased his own high. You ran your hands up and down his back, leaving scratch marks across his shoulder blades. The fridge remained open, but right now, you didn't care. All you could think about was how good he was fucking you. Drool spilled down your chin, mind blank, and legs went limp from the euphoria taking over.

"Yeah, is that it?" Cillian muttered, voice gritty and low as his hips sputtered. "You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?"

"Yes... oh fuck! Yes!" You moaned. "Gonna cum for you, Cillian..."

"Love the way my name sounds comin' from your mouth," He whispered, letting out a mouth-watering whine straight into your ear. Your pussy clenched around him tighter as Cillian, usually a quiet and stoic man, came undone and let out the most delectable pornographic-sounding moans. "Y'make it sound so dirty..."

"Please cum in me..." You whimpered. "Please... need it so bad."

"Really?" Cillian panted and looked at you incredulously. He had never had the pleasure of getting to cum in you yet. "You sure?"

"Yes!" You threw your head back, panting like a dog. "Please, Cillian! Please... give it to me." "Fuck... alright... gonna fill you up, love."

You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, mewling as you came around him and the feeling of his hot cum beginning to spill into you. "I love you." You gasped out, squeezing your eyes shut as you came around him. You meant it; you did love him. You had never loved anyone the way you had loved him. You could see yourself with him for the rest of your life, having his babies, getting married..., and dying together. He just groaned loudly as he came inside you, not saying a word to your confession. Maybe it wasn't the right time, or he would wait until he was done to say something.

"Fuckin' hell..." Cillian whispered as he slipped his softening length out of you and pulled his shorts back up. "Look at that..." He mumbled with amazement, getting down on his knees in front of your quivering and cum-filled pussy.

"Cillian, I-"

"Shhh..." He hushed before pressing a loving nip to your inner thigh, and then he unhinged his jaw and attached his watering mouth to your cunt. You forgot everything you were about to say at the feeling of his tongue licking you up and sucking on your swollen clit. You came again quickly due to how sensitive you were, and Cillian sucked up your gushing juices and his cum that still dripped out of you. Standing up, he grabbed you by the chin and kissed you, spitting the mixture into your mouth, tongues swirling together. You moaned at the salty taste and the dirty act. "Such a good girl..." Cillian hummed. "Swallow it, baby. Show me how good you can be for me."

He watched you gulp it down before leaning in and rewarding you with a wet and messy kiss, teeth grabbing your bottom lip before pulling away. "Cillian..." You whispered, out of breath and incredibly flustered. "That... was so good... I love-" "Let's go to sleep," He interrupted abruptly, crouching and picking up your discarded clothing. "It's real late, sweetheart."

"Oh..." You mumbled, heart breaking a little. "Okay... let's go then." You didn't get a peep of sleep that night. While Cillian snored beside you, one heavy arm draped across you and his hot breath fanning the back of your neck, you stared at the ticking clock with tears slipping down your face. Why didn't he say it back? Why didn't he at least say something? You knew he heard you. The dread built up within you that night, and daylight didn't seem to get any closer.

At 7:47 AM, you were pulled out of a state between consciousness and sleep by Cillian's phone ringing. "Fuck..." Cillian said groggily, reaching over with a heavy hand to pick up his phone. "Who is it?" You moaned out of dissatisfaction from being pulled out of your slumber.

"It's my sister..." He groaned before answering the call. "Hello?.... Yeah, it's alright... no, I don't have anything on today... you're comin' home today?... I thought you'd be home Monday..." You sat up at this, heart racing. Were you going to have to meet his sister today? You were nervous but also excited. Cillian looked over at you with a horrified look in his eye. "Yeah... alright... see you then... bye."

"...Is everything okay?" You asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I guess we're not sleepin' in..." He grunted as he got up and walked towards the en suite. "Gather yer' things, we're going back to the city." "What? Why?"

"I just don't want my sister to know I had a girl over." That was the last thing he said before shutting the bathroom door, clearly in a bad mood. Your heart sank at his words as if it wasn't already hurting. So you got up, fighting back the tears and gathered your things, shoving them back into your bag as you let out a choked sob.

Half an hour passed, Cillian was still in the shower, and you sat at the bottom of the stairs, feeling sorry for yourself. Your bag sat beside you, and the floorboards creaking behind you caught your attention. You turned and looked up at Cillian, dressed in a lovely blue turtle neck, dress pants, and a grim look on his face.

Begrudgingly, you followed him outside and into the car, then began the drive back in silence.

"You wanna grab some lunch wit' me today?" Cillian asked after about twenty minutes of silence.

"No." You said dryly.

"What? You got plans or somethin'?" Cillian asked with a chuckle. The question felt condescending and rude.

"Because what you said to me earlier really fucking hurt me." You hissed, turning to look at Cillian to see him already looking at you.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He barked back, putting his eyes back on the road and giving you that dry, condescending laugh again.

"You said you didn't want your sister to know about me.... that you didn't want your sister to know about you having a girl over."

"Yeah, and?" Cillian quipped, clearly flustered.

"Is that all I am to you?" You whimpered, trying to keep your composure, trying to seem strong. "Just a girl?" "'Course not, Y/N." He said in a hushed tone.

"Then what the fuck are we?" You raised your voice, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Why can't your sister know about me? About us?"

"B-Because..." He faltered before falling completely silent.

"Why, Cillian?" You cried. "You've met my friends... you've even met my father... for fuck's sake... why can't... why can't I meet your sister and her husband?"

He kept his silence. You could see the tears in his eyes that refused to spill. Those tears were just as stubborn as he was.

"Answer me!" You screamed, tears pouring down your exasperated face. "Say something!"

"Because I'm married!" He screeched back.

That shut you up. You leaned back and just stared at your feet. You felt like you had been winded, like all the air in the car had been sucked out, and you were choking on carbon monoxide. He was married. You sobbed as the shock set in, and Cillian pulled the car over to the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt. You fell into a state of despair; your chest felt incredibly heavy, and your brain played a loop of hopeless thoughts.

"Y/N," Cillian said firmly, reaching out and placing a soft hand on your shoulder, which you quickly smacked away. "Y/N... look at me..."

You looked over at him, and you could see him wince at the look on your face. He'd never seen you in so much pain. Never had he seen you look at him so coldly. "What?" You spat. "What is it, Cillian?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," You cried harder, covering your face with your hands and leaning on the dashboard. You cried so hard it felt like you could vomit. You felt like the salty tears were slowly dissolving you away. "Fuck you!" You sobbed.

"Y/N... I am sorry."

"If you were sorry..." You hiccuped, looking back at him with red eyes and tears endlessly slipping down your flustered face. "You never would have... you never would have done this to me... you never would have gotten involved with me!"

Cillian sighed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I... I stumbled into that cafe one night, and I saw you and... I heard the way you spoke... and the words you said... and I couldn't believe you were real... and things haven't been amazing in my marriage lately... and I haven't seen my wife in months..." He was rationalizing with you... with the infidelity. "I... I've never met anyone like you."

"You lied to me."

"How was I supposed to tell you I was married, Y/N?" Cillian snapped at you, looking at you with fangs barred. "What was I supposed to say to you?"

"You didn't have to say anything," You sobbed. "You shouldn't have invited me to dinner... you shouldn't have even... you shouldn't have ever shown up to those reading sessions... you just shouldn't have gotten involved with me in the first place!"

"My wife doesn't have to know."

"That... doesn't make it any better," You bawled. "You have a woman... back in Ireland fucking waiting for you, and I'm here... thinking I'm falling in love with you while you fuck me over!"

"I'm sorry..." He whispered, defeated. "I'm so sorry."

Silence.

"Do you feel anything for me?" "Of course, I feel something for you, Y/N... you're-"

"Do you love me?" You corrected. "Could you say you truly and honestly love me?" "I..." He looked away at that. You scoffed and shook your head, wiping tears off your face. "I don't... I don't know... I just..." "What the fuck was going to happen between us?" You cried. "How was this going to end? This was always going to end tragically... wasn't it? Wasn't it, Cillian?"

"I didn't... I never thought about how I was going to end things... I go back home in December... filming ends in two weeks... I was going to spend the last few weeks with you..." You scoffed again loudly. "Aww... how sweet! Spend your last few days with your mistress, who's twenty years younger than you... and then fuck off back to Ireland and go be with your loving wife and your... oh god... you have kids, don't you?" "Yes... I..." "Fuck!" You screamed. It wasn't like you to be so angry. You weren't usually this loud. But the pain was just too much, and you needed some way to get the pent-up rage within you out. "So this is it... this is going to be the last time I'll ever see you."

"It doesn't have to be that way, love," Cillian whispered, placing a hand on your arm; this time, you let it stay there. The shame of having him touch you made you sob again. "We could... spend this last month together... we could... cherish what we have while we still have it." "What we have is gone," You replied. "It's gone! It's dead! You killed it! You can't even say you love me."

"What good would that do?" He pushed you further over the edge. "I mean... I could lie and say I love you... I could feed into your fantasies that this... this could last... but it's not..."

Those words 'I could lie and say I love you' echoed over and over again in your head.

"I know that!" You yelped.

There was a pause. The silence hanging heavy in the autumn air and your teardrops falling into your lap where your hands lay curled up. Cillian's thumb rubbed circles into your arm, and you only cried harder.

"Maybe... if we had been closer in age... maybe we would have... maybe we would have been fine." Cillian broke the silence with that banger. The words ringing in your ears, you didn't reply. You didn't utter a word. Those words made you want to die. A minute or two went past. You just ignored him, ignored the way his hand lit your skin on fire, and ignored the way his eyes bore holes into the side of your skull. "Y/N?"

"Take me home." You muttered.

"Y/N..." He whispered.

"Take me the fuck home, Cillian."

And so he did. He pulled out of the parking spot, and you spent the next hour in an agonizing silence. At some point, the tears stopped falling, and the stupidity sunk in. You felt stupid and ashamed. You had told everyone about him, how happy you were, how handsome and funny... and how sweet he was. And now you sat in the car of a man you felt like you didn't know.

"We're here, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Cillian."

"Please don't do this." He begged, you looked at him, and he had tears in his eyes. "Please." You sucked in a breath, his eyes pleaded with you, and you wanted to stay so badly... you wanted to give him one last kiss and say, 'I understand,' but you knew you couldn't. You were too heartbroken. It was going to end one way or another... and it might as well end now.

"Goodbye, Cillian." You said once more before stepping out of the car and walking off into your building. Never looking back to see the broken man in the car, crying just as hard as you did, loving you just as hard as you did him.

Three months went by. There wasn't a day where you didn't think of him. Not a day passed when you yearned for his touch and to feel him hold you again. You thought about dancing with him in the refrigerator light. You thought about his hand on your thigh as you drove upstate. The memories all too real and... all too there.

And tonight, as snow fell outside, you stood at that same podium, reading the poem you wrote for him. You could barely utter the words, your heart catching in your throat as you looked around the room and spoke the words written on the page.

"Just between us, I remember it all too well." You finished, and the room clapped, but the applause didn't matter. Your heart still felt just as broken as it did the day you left him.

And as you descended from the podium, people would pat you on the back and murmur praises for how well-written your poem was and how well-spoken you were. But your eyes were focused on the hazy figure outside the cafe, the silhouette all too familiar.

And it was wearing that same red scarf you had left behind.

And you knew it was him, watching you from afar. Loving you from a distance... remembering it the same way as you did...

All too well.

hope you enjoyed!! Sorry this was all over the place a bit but I really wanted to write something angsty... anyway... there are lots of little easter eggs and references to the song, did you pick them all up? Okay byeee!

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders

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thecapricunt1616 · 2 months

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Knock knock 🚪✊- Is anyone out there?! For some reason the bug has only been biting me to write late at night, so I’m sorry I’ve been posting so late lately (lol) but I hope that some lip smutty fluff brightens up your morning! (p.s. ; yes I know there are still 17 asks rotting away in my box. I prooomise I’m getting to them. I’m wanting to do asks how I usually do them, which is giving you an 8-10k plot instead of just what I can write on my phone since I don’t have a laptop at the moment, but I swear im trying to get a new one suuuuper soon!!! I love you all!!)

I’ve been thinking all day, probably since it is Carnival season after all - about how fun it would be to go to a Carnival with Lip over summer break, or even take a roadtrip to Cedar Point together and make a whole week out of it?! Eeee our prince deserves some fun time! I just know he’s the kind that is such a kid at heart, he grew up with so many siblings! He also has Frannie around, so he would totally love stuff like that (more BTC)

(Warnings for BTC: AFAB reader, No physical attributes for reader are described other then r/ has long hair, Smut!!!, No use of Y/N {r/ goes by pet names like baby, sweetheart, honey, etc.}, Fluff {happy lip!!}, Established relationship, College!Lip, sweet older-brother vibes from Lip, vomiting (r throws up cotton candy, it’s not too bad or long though!) , No ‘typical’ Gallagher drama to be found! {giving our mans a break!!} , not heavily edited, sweet/caring BF!Lip) [if I missed any please let me know in the comments!]

So you’d get there probably just as the sun is setting ‘because that’s the most romantic time to go’ he’d teased, in your ear earlier that afternoon between heavy needy kisses that you shared the moment he’d gotten home from work and he tugged you up to his bedroom since the house had been empty, he was going to use that time ever wisely.

He had been talking up this grand fun night together when the Carnival Fair was finally coming to town that weekend. It was going to be a wonderful chance for you and him to get some nice time alone, especially after finishing out your spring semester of school and having the summer off. He’d been working the summer at Patsy’s, so he told you he was gonna have all the money a girl could dream to get cotton candy and funnel cake since you’d gushed about how when you were a kid those were your favorite to get.

He had wrapped his beat up Jean jacket around your shoulders as you walked after he bought your tickets, even though it was nearing the middle of August and during the day summer was in full swing - fall had already begun to creep in at night causing goosebumps to arise on your arms. “Have I ever told you what a gentleman you are, Gallagher?” You kiss his cheek gently and he chuckled, shaking his head a bit

“Takin’ care of you is my job baby.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, kissing your head gently as you waited in line together to get a big bag of cotton candy to share.

“Well you’re really good at that job- you should give yourself a promotion” you held up your left hand jokingly, wiggling your ring finger and he lets out a chuckle, heat creeping to his cheeks that you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride in your chest for being the reason of.

“I promise I will promote myself as soon as I can find it in the budget” he mused, lacing your fingers together as you head up to the counter and the guy a few years younger then the two of you asked what he could get for him- and he looked at you “you still want the bag one, yea?” He confirmed.

You looked at lip like he had hung the moon in the sky that night, you usually looked at him that way. How he was so kind, and attentive in the way he loved you. How he yearned to take care of you, he wanted nothing more than to make you happy. He made you the happiest girl in the world just by remembering you told him cotton candy was your favorite fair treat so getting right in line for it with you the moment you got there. Because it was what you liked, what made you happy.

“Yes, thank you baby” you planted a little kiss on his neck, since you couldn’t reach his lips when he wasn’t ducking his head to kiss you as he handled the paying and the conversation. Being taken care of had become routine for you, pampered- loved. That’s how you felt when you were around lip, loved- and seen.

Your next stop after sitting and munching on cotton candy until you nearly gave yourself a tummy ache, causing Lip to have to tie off the rest of the bag yo keep your sneaky fingers from getting in when he wasn’t looking - was the strongman game.

You giggle and point “Babyyyyy! You’re so strong- look at that cute pink unicorn!! I can cuddle it when you’re at work! Pleeeeease Lip, can you win it for me baby? Pretty pleeeease?” You beg sweetly, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and kissing along his jaw to sweeten the deal.

He chuckled a bit, looking at the top rack where said obnoxiously large unicorn was zip tied to the grate, looking down at you before back up at it and sighing a bit to himself “I can win it - but do I particularly wanna carry it around the rest of the night?” He looked down at you again to see your fluttering lashes and pouty bottom lip.

“For your lady? For your bestest girl in the whole world? Pleeeease? You work too much who am I gonna snuggle!” You stand on your tip toes and peck his lips “if I was strong enough to do it myself I would but I need my big strong man to do it for me” you emphasize for added pizazz and he snorts a laugh, patting your ass playfully and giving it a squeeze.

“You are a damn good manipulator” he teased as he dug out his wallet, grabbing a 5 dollar bill that it costed for the three swings “gimme a real kiss- y’know, luck and shit” he puckered his lips, ducking his head and you giggle, happily squeaking as you plant a juicy loving kiss on his lips, your hand finding the back of his neck and stroking gently

“Thank you best boyfriend in the world” you giggle happily and stood to the side as he handed the guy the money

“So uh- what do I need to do f’the horse” he nodded at the pink unicorn with a rainbow tail.

“It’s a unicorn, baby!” You remind and he rolled his eyes playfully

“The fuckin unicorn, then, what do I need t’do” he asked the man running the game booth

“Have to get 100% on one of your 3 tries.” He explained, putting the money in the cash box and Lip nodded

“Easy enough” he picked up the mallet, rolling his shoulders a few times to stretch them out.

“You got this baby!!!” You clap happily and watch as he takes his first swing and the little piece races up and hits 96% causing you to jump up and down happily “Good job baby!!!” You giggled and he smiled at your sweet, encouraging reaction even for something as silly as a carnival game, something he always adored about you is your undying support and encouragement for the people you love. He always felt when you were around that he could just be himself and somehow, that was enough, all on its own.

“Not bad for a first swing ‘eh?” He mused with a playful cockiness and since it wasn’t all too common someone could really get 100% on the thing, a small crowd of 5 or so carnival goers had stopped to see if he was going to get it.

“Not bad at all, I’m already thinking of names for our soon to be adopted unicorn baby” you said and he chuckled a bit, lifting his arms to take his next swing and you couldn’t help but realize how the hem of his black T-shirt rode up when he did, exposing his v-line and happy trail just a bit. You bit your lip gently at the sight, also not missing the sexy little grunt that left his throat when he used all his strength slamming down on the platform with the mallet.

The little knob races up and pangs the bell, announcing that Lip had in fact hit the 100% threshold - breaking you out of your lustful gaze and dirty thoughts that nearly constantly plagued your mind when he was around, the man was walking sex - how could you deny yourself? You gasped and cheered, rushing up to Lip and jumping into a hug “Baby! Oh my god, I love you! I knew you could do it!” You laughed excitedly, kissing him back passionately as he held you safely around his waist, spinning around with you once and chuckling as he set you down, his cheeks slightly pink when he realized there were still a few stragglers hanging about who had watched him win.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t comfortable with PDA, he actually quite loved showing you off, and showing the fact that you loved him off. It made him feel special, wanted. But the two of you had gotten more then just affectionate, you weren’t just the girl of the month that he was screwing to let off steam. He didn’t even realize that the whole ‘love of your life’ thing was real - or possible for someone like him none-the-less.

But as dopey and love sick as it sounded to him in his head, he knew there are absolutely people out there who aren’t loved as proudly as him by someone like you, so any testament of that love and how lucky he was to have it made his chest swell with pride. You were his girlfriend, his lady. Nothing you could ever do would embarrass him.

“Unicorn, right?” The man asked and you nodded excitedly.

“Baby Glitter Gallagher! Isn’t that so cute? Our very first baby together” you giggle as the man handed over the large stuffed toy and you give it a big hug “thaaaank you lip” you said sweetly

“Baby Glitter - so baby is the first name, glitter is her middle name? Or is it baby-glitter like MarySue or some shit?” He asked, causing you to laugh as you walked with him in search of your next adventure to partake in together.

“BabyGlitter is like MarySue, I’m glad we clarified. She’s absolutely a Gallagher, though. So step up or cough up child support is all I’m sayin’” you joked, earning another adorable chuckle from him.

Your next stop was one that Lip had pointed out, so you felt like it was mandated to stop and partake because it was the first thing he had mentioned on his own since you had gotten here; the zipper ride. You had spent the last 10 minutes in line as you waited for the group in front of yours to go, telling him that you could absolutely handle it.

“Gallagher, are you callin’ me a crybaby?” You teased, playfulness edging your tone. “Cause last I checked I can handle myself, even if I like having a sexy man around to protect me” you smiled, kissing his jaw gently. He chuckled at that, shaking his head and holding his left arm around your waist while his other was holding onto your new member of the family, as well as your remaining cotton candy that was deemed a hostage until at least the end of the night.

“I’m not- I’m not!” He holds the cotton candy up in defense jokingly “I’m just sayin I know you don’t like goin’ upside down is all and if I wanna go on the ride I wanna have fun.. when Ian and I used to ride it we’d be flipping the whole way around it was so fuckin fun.” He chuckled a bit at the memory, bringing a happy warmth to your chest. It was rare that the Gallagher kids got to make real, childhood memories together. So that all the more made you want to do this with him, to be a part of his nostalgia and nurture it the way he always made an effort to be a part of yours.

“Well then I wanna have fun! I’m not a baby we’ll be fine, I have you to protect me” you kiss his cheek as you got to the front of the line waiting to be let on the ride. He gives you a gentle peck on the lips before kissing your cheek

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, princess” he said, putting your things he had been holding for you over to the side with the rest of the carnival goers. He helped you up the platform steps, always being sure you never tripped and kept your fingers laced, rubbing the back of your hand gently with his hand as the man unlocked and opened the cage door, a creaky noise coming from it as he does so.

“There’s no-“ you swallow thickly when you realize there was no seatbelts, and lip gave you a ‘told you so’ look, allbeit playful, it only egged on your petulant pride and you shrug. “No seatbelts, makes for more fun, right?” You muse, stepping in and lip got in right next to you, your shoulders and arms pressed up against one another.

“That’s the best part” Lip smirked, holding onto the grip bars when the man clanked the door shut, dropping the lock bar in place and you were suddenly moving. Everything was no longer steady, and it felt as if you were trapped in a fan blade rocking back and forth ready to flip over any which way.

“Lip” you said, concern etching your voice. He was right, Lip usually was right, as annoying as it is for you most days. You didn’t particularly like heights, or being spun in circles, and mixing that with being trapped in a tiny metal cage was bringing those fears right to the surface and you weren’t quite sure what made your ego so big before you got on.

“What baby? You scared?” He teased, playfulness edging his voice. He begins to rock his weight back and forth, the whole cage rattling and clanging as he does so. The hinges seem to creak and you can see in your mind the gruesome terror that would unfold if the cage door just so happened to give out.

“Stop- stop it- it’s broken! Don’t you hear it, Lip? We gotta get off!” you said worriedly and he laughed like a masochistic 7 year old boy, rocking his weight more dramatically until you were fully laying down before swinging the other way and laying on said creaky cage door while you look below at the 50 foot drop and knuckles popped from gripping the grab bars on the cage door so hard

He chuckled more “baby it’s fine it’s not gonna break. Cmon let’s do a flip” he said, throwing all his weight back and you squeal as your suddenly hanging upside down and he laughs loudly “woops! Guess we’re stuck till we start moving” he teases and you whine, feet dangling off the floor of the cage

“Phillip Gallagher you’re the meanest boyfriend in the whole world!” You shout, causing him to laugh and you heard a chuckle from the riders below you at your current misfortune

“I thought I was the nicest boyfriend also the proud father of- what was it-“ he’s cut off as the ride starts again to let more riders on and you flip forward, swinging back and forth dramatically as the cage once again balanced your weight. You seized the opportunity to slap his shoulder once you found your footing

“You could have killed us!” You said but couldn’t help the big smile on your lips.

“Then I guess Baby Glitter Gallagher would have been an orphan before she even made it home” he mused, before giving you a kiss on the lips.

“This is why no more cotton candy babe” Lip said gently as he held your hair back and you puke up bright purple lemonade mixed with your blue and pink cotton candy.

“Yeah- kinda pretty though, right like -“ you pause to gag, more sugary neon purple mess splashing into the unfortunate bush you had decided to victimize tonight after your what felt like hundreds of flips on the zipper ride. “I would totally get my nails this color-“ you sniffle, spitting in the bush to rid your mouth of the slimey after puke feeling before standing and wiping your mouth with the back of your forearm.

He chuckled a bit, shaking his head as he dug around in the pocket of his Jean jacket that sat atop your unicorn for safe keeping and pulling out a small flask “open” he tilted your head back and you scrunch your nose, obeying and opening your mouth. “Sorry- but I know Y’gonna wanna kiss me and I don’t want to taste y’vomit babe, as much as I love you” he dribbled a mouthful of vodka in your mouth and you scrunch your face and whine slightly as you swished it around, gargling a bit for good measure before spitting it into the poor little bush and turning back to him to see he was finishing off the flask while you did so before putting it back in his jacket pocket.

“I think you need some water, and we should sit and relax f’r a second ‘huh?” He rubbed your arm gently before pulling you into a comforting hug and kissing the top of your head. You shut your eyes, enjoying the spicy scent of his cologne mixed with the musky earthy scent of tobacco and weed he’d consumed earlier.

“Yeah- but let’s stay over here. Well, maybe not by puke bush. But where it’s quiet. I know you probably want a smoke” you sat down next to a tree and he joined you, resting your unicorn next to his lap

“This fuckin thing is gonna take up my whole side of the bed” he muttered as he dug out his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket, lighting one between his lips

“Mmm, only when you’re not home. Gimme some” you said sweetly. He looked over, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, gentle kiss as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth and you sucked it down graciously, eyes fluttering shut at the short light feeling it gave your mind since you were only getting half of its effects.

“Better be you know I like doin butt rubs after a day at work” he mumbled against your lips before kissing you again, shorter this time because it was inturupted by a giggle from you. He was right, Lip loved to lay in bed in the dark with you, detailing what had went on at work that day while he felt up your ass. It wasn’t strictly sexual, (although a lot of times it ended that way) it was more a…stress toy for him to play with as he went on.

“I love butt rub time. I was actually thinking about that earlier. One of the best times of the day” you wrap your arms around his middle, nuzzling your face in his neck and kissing the warm skin gently as he took another drag.

“Yeah baby?” He kissed your temple gently, squeezing your side and lifting up the helm of your shirt to run his fingers along your bare skin. The action brings goosebumps to your skin, calming but sensual. Your eyes flutter shut at the gentle affections, enjoying the carefree laughter and joyful screams from the carnival a hundred feet or so away, mixing with the gentle quiet sounds of crickets chirping in the woods.

“I love all our time.” You assure him, planting a gentle kiss on his warm broad shoulder.

The next thing you decided to do, after being sure to make a pit stop for ice water and Lip being sure you drank a decent amount - was a calm pretty swing ride. It had a lot of hight to it, but that was mostly so you could get a good view of the city while you swung around at a fast (but not dizzying) pace.

You got in line behind a pregnant mother and her young daughter, who looked to be not much older then Frannie. Smiling to yourself, you thought what it may be like to have kids with Lip some day. You didn’t want that day to be soon, of course. You and Lip had promised eachother that you wanted to finish college. He wanted to make it out of the south side, and while you were a Chicago transplant, you still understood why that was from the stories he told you of their growing up. You wanted to be sure that any family planning would stay far off until you and Lip were both working adult jobs, and had a house or something - when you were real adults.

You hadn’t even realized you’d made it to the front of the line, and were being broken out of your dreamland daze when the little girl stomps her feet “but mommy! We waited all this time! I wanna go on!” She said getting increasingly upset as the ride operator explained that single riders had to be of a certain height

“I know baby but mommy’s belly is too big - I can’t go on it’ll hurt your little sister! I’m sorry, honey. I really am.” The mother tried to explain, and Lip, being the brotherly gentleman he is spoke up.

“Uh- I’ll take ‘er for you, Ma’am - If that’s cool with you- babe are you good on your own?” He asked you and you felt yourself swoon like this was some romance movie and not real life. You nodded with a big smile

“He’s got so many siblings - he’s gonna look after her real well, I’ll sit right behind them!” You gushed and the woman lights up

“Oh gosh- would it be a hassle?” She asked

“Mommyyyy! Please! Pleeeeease!! I’ll listen so good!” She jumped excitedly and the mother looked at Lip before looking back at her.

“Fine- but you better listen! You hear me! Give this nice boy no trouble at all missy” she said, handing her hand over to Lip and she giggled excitedly

“Thank you mister! Thank you sooo much!” She gushed, throwing her arms around his hips and giving him a big hug. You pout at the adorable sight in front of you, following behind to sit in the single seat behind the double they’d be sitting in.

“I’m Marley, I’m 5, what’s your name?” She asked as Lip helped her into the seat before sitting next to her and adjusting the lap bar.

“I’m Lip” he said, causing her to giggle

“That’s a silly name- Lippy lip lip” she repeats as she swings her legs back and forth in that darling childlike way. “Are you a grown up?” She asked him and he chuckled a bit, realizing like when Debbie was little- this carnival ride was going to turn into more of an interrogation then anything else.

“I guess you could say that, yeah.” He said. You watched them with sparkling eyes, a big grin on your face as you saw just how good he was with her. Lip was always good with kids. They took to him because he would usually speak to them how he spoke to other adults (minus as much swearing as he could remember to omit) and that made them feel special, equal. Which is one of the many things he can say he wanted as a kid, and never got. So he did his best to pay it forward.

By the time you’d gotten to the top the wind was louder at the height as you spun so you were no longer able to hear their conversation so clear. You looked at the twinkling lights of Chicago below, trying to see if you could pick out the Gallagher house just by your mental map of the city you’d made in the few years you’d been living here. You did hear though when the girl started giggling wildly, drawing your attention back to them and you saw Lip pretending to be fully limp and dead in the seat next to the girl, tongue hanging out of his mouth and everything.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes at his silly antics. Even though he held up a hard exterior a lot of the time, you knew deep down he was a kid at heart which is why they liked him so much. When you got back down and hopped out of your seat, you greet him with a kiss “did he give you too much trouble?” You asked Marley and she giggled, shaking her head.

“No- Thank you, Lippy Lip” she told him giving him another sweet hug. You returned her to her mother and Lip told her they were welcome to Patsy’s for a piece of pie on the house any time which just made your heart swell even more at how generous and kind he was, even to a stranger he just met.

“You are just the sweetest- thank you so much, Sorry what was your name I never caught it-“

“LIP! Lippy lip lip lip!” The girl sings again, gasping when you came over with your large unicorn “She’s so fluffy I’m gonna die!” She squealed, hugging it tight “what’s its name?” She asked you, looking up with a bright sugar rush smile. This kids gonna sleep good tonight

“Uh- Baby Glitter!” You told her and she smiled

“Baby glitter is perfect” she told you and her mother giggled, a bit nervously at all of her energy likely so far past her bedtime.

“Well, Lip- thank you again. We’re gonna have to check out your restaurant! Alright Marley say goodbye to your new friend we have to go home now I said just one more ride” her mother told her and she pouted, handed your unicorn back over.

“Byeee Lip, I had fun playing with you” she gave him one last hug and you felt like your heart could explode with the way he ruffled her hair and pat her back in such a brotherly way.

“You too kid, be good f’y’r mom heard?” He told her and she nods, taking her mom’s hand and they head off into the crowd.

“You’d be a good dad” you said softly, taking his hand and lacing his fingers with yours. He laughed, shaking his head

“She was just a good kid” he counters.

You’d ended up together at the ferris wheel, luckily it wasn’t one that had to be balanced with weight so you could snuggle up to Lip with his jacket wrapped tight around you and legs over his lap. As soon as you got far enough from the ride operator he even pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and resting his head back as he blew the smoke out.

You sat and just watched him, admiring the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed or the way he adorably sniffled once in a while since the poor guy had year round allergies it seemed, and never bothered with Zyrtec or any allergy medicine at all. “You’re pretty” you said softly, chin resting on his pec as you as you watched him.

He chuckled a bit, his cheeks flushing a cute pink. Before you, no one had ever called Lip ‘cute’ - He had been called a plethora of things.

Disobedient, disorderly, rude, loud, obnoxious, violent, a bad influence, a waste of potential -

But pretty? That was something that started (and he told himself very likely ended) with you.

“That’s all you c’mere” he tilted your chin up, giving you a sweet and tender kiss, cupping your cheek with his other hand and stroking his thumb across it. When he pulled from your lips he kissed across your forehead and browbone, down your nose to your cheekbones and then leaving one final lingering kiss on your jaw before having another drag of his cigarette casually. Your heart felt like it was thumping out of your chest, and your belly was swarming with so many butterflies it was as if migration season came early.

But that wasn’t new, it felt like that every day with lip. Ever the gentle, sweet, kind, affectionate man you had yearned for every past boyfriend to be for you. But you figured it was just the universes way of teaching you to appreciate French Vanilla Bean type of love - rich, fulfilling as opposed to the cheap watered down fake chemical crap that comes in a bottle with a squeeze lid.

So many emotions washed over you, gratitude, love, fulfillment, appreciation, but for some reason what won over- was lust. You weren’t quite sure where it came from, but by the time you had stopped at the top, you were in the depths of a passionate, heated makeout session - cigarette long crushed out.

The smoke scent clung to his palms that cradled your cheeks as if you were a fine porcelain doll to be cherished and gently caressed. He hummed softly, disconnecting your lips and soft puffs of breath fanning over your spit-slick lips as his mind short circuited a moment due to your hand trailing down and popping the button of his jeans, and pulling him free of his boxers and pants.

“You sure?” He asked carefully, hands trailing to your shoulders and squeezing them gently as if to silently tell you it was ok if you just got too caught up in the lust of it all. Lip Gallagher - ever the gentleman. In response you gently stroke over him, using the pre that had started to leak out of his hardening pink tip to give yourself some lubricating before reconnecting your lips once more, opening your mouth for him.

A small whine escaped your throat when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, his hips rutting up into your hand subconsciously. His stomach muscles flex under your touch as you slightly tighten your grasp, twisting your hand with each return pass.

Such actions was causing him to lose all resolve. He panted softly into your mouth, licking and sucking your tongue, breaking to grunt softly at the feeling of his dick trying to twitch at the delicious stimulation you provided but being unable to due to the literal grip you had on him.

“Doin’ so good- so fuckin good baby - god. Jesus fuckin Christ. Such a good girl f’me, huh?” He praised, giving you more sloppy kisses to be sure no moans escaped his throat and if they did would be muffled most of the way by your mouth.

You hummed at the praise tilting your head down and letting a glob of spit fall into your hand, using it as added slick to pump your hand faster and he bit his lip, nose scrunching adorably as he tried to hold himself back. “You gonna cum? Mm? Wanna cum in my hand baby?” You said in the shell of his ear hotly before taking the lobe between your teeth, slowing your strokes and rubbing over his sensitive leaky tip with the silky soft pad of your tongue.

The action made his jaw fall slack, head resting over the ledge of the ride and as you started moving again you quickened your pace realizing you were on your decent back to the bottom. “Yeah? Er you want me to swallow it? Hmm? Get on my knees for you-“ you goad, egging on his release.

He looks at you and nodded fervently, rendered speechless by the actions of your hand causing you giggle a bit- getting on your knees and out of sheer routine Lip gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail and watched as you took him into your mouth, giving his tip sensual little kitten lips and tapping his cock against your tongue making soft wet thudding noises only to be heard by the two of you.

“So fuckin filthy- huh? So eager to have a mouthful’a cum with all these people around?” He eases your head down and you let your jaw fall more slack, swirling and slurping your tongue around him how you’d learned drives him wild.

It wasn’t long of lewd slurping and soft moans of enjoyment coming from you as you continued to get him off, before you felt it.

Success.

You braced yourself as he began using your hair to roughly fuck your face, panting softly as he worked himself through his high. “Jeeeesus - good fuckin’ girl, yeah? That’s my good fuckin girl- my girl” He rambled on as he worked himself through his high. You swirl and slurp around him, swallowing down all you could before he pulled you off

“So fuckin pretty with a mouth full’a’cum, how’s that possible?” He pats your cheek lovingly as you opened your mouth to show the stringy sticky white mess he left. You shrugged a bit, smiling friskely and swallowing, making a show of licking your lips off and he grabbed your jaw, collecting the mix of saliva and cum on your chin with the pad of this thumb before sticking it in your mouth

“Clean it up” he ordered and in turn you sucked the digit clean obediently. “Good girl, now come act decent in front’a’these people, yeah?” He tapped your cheek lightly and fixed his jeans and boxers as you come and plop back down next to him, licking your swollen lips that were adorned with a satisfied smirk as you completed your decent to the bottom

“Mmmm- oh my god literally the trip here was worth it just for this it’s the best” you hum softly, taking another bite of funnel cake from between Lips fingers when he put it to your mouth.

“Can’t lie it’s pretty fuckin good” he said, popping another piece in his mouth.

“Can you believe there are sinners in the world that put marinara sauce on this?!” You said and Lip starts laughing, shaking his head. “What? What!! It’s gross, you like it?” You asked not sure what was so funny

“Baby- babe” he coughs a bit, trying to catch his breath “oh god- y’fuckin kill me, kid. That’s fried dough, people do that with- you’re right, someone would be a fucking psychopath if they put marinara sauce on their cake” he said and you started laughing as well, shaking your head at your own confusion

“I love you” you said, leaning over and kissing his cheek. He blushed a bit, turning his face and giving you a real kiss. A kiss that tasted like tobacco and powdered sugar, and sticky sweet love.

“I love you, baby” he said in that soft low way you loved.

From that year on, the Carnival was a yearly date for the two of you.

A/N: EEE! My longest Lip fic to date!!! I hope you enjoyed, if you did please be sure to like / reblog to let me know ❤️ as always, (kind) critiques & feedback are always SO appreciated! Ilyilyilyyy all!!!

D/C: @carmybrainworms - Wormy stayed up until the wee hours of the morning last night beta reading this for me, Wormy 🪱, thank you for tasting my potatoes so many times!!! I love you down bbg

@mouseymilkovich - Mousey Mouse 🐁! Thank you so much for all your encouragement in writing Lip & inspiring me to do so! I love you so much ❤️

@carmenberzattosgf - My sweetest Martini 🍸, thank you for always lifting me up on hard days, supporting my work, being an all around kick ass friend, and feeding the fandom with your amazing Carmy goodness while I’ve been on this Lip kick! Smooches for days for you (you already know that💋💋💋)

& finally, @daysofyellowroses - my lovely flower 🌼, welcome back to the app baby!!! We missed you so much, even though we’ve been talking BTS, I am happy to see the writing bug has paid you a visit (a very good one that Kerry fic still has me sweating)

#capri writes: Lip ❤️#lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher fanfic #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #lip gallagher angst #lip Gallagher fic #phillip gallagher

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flowersandbigteeth · 2 years

Text

Claimed by your bear mate

General Plot: Your dad is having some money trouble and your best friend is there for you.

Word count: 4K

Bear (Hugo) x female reader

🌶️ NSFW MASTERPOST 🌶️

W: angst and drama with a happy ending, nsfw werebear smut, vaginal and oral sex, some violence and attempted kidnapping, soft yandere vibe

“I’ve told you a million times you need to get this replaced or the roof is going to cave in,” your best friend Hugo grumbled as he smacked the post that held the roof of your back patio up.

Rotten wood rained down on the two of you and he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.

“Well of course it is, if you keep smacking it,” you growled, chasing him away from the post. This was very hard to accomplish as he was an nine foot tall werebear who weighed probably just under a ton.

His pretty russet fur sparkled in the afternoon sunlight and his light brown eyes bore down on you, while his muzzle wrinkled.

“Ugh, you’re so stubborn,” he growled, “you have a hard head, you know that?”

“Hugo, I hear what you’re saying, but I can’t afford to replace the thing. I’ll just have to leave it as long as it will hold up. So stop banging on it!” you argued back.

“You’ve never listened to a thing I’ve ever told you!” he snapped.

You’d known Hugo since you were kids. He’d lived next door to you. He’d been a teenager when you were a little kid. He was the first person other than an adult you’d met when your family moved in and you got attached immediatly.

You’d never seen a werebear before and were convinced at 8 that he was your personal giant teddy bear put on Earth exclusively for you to cuddle. From that summer on you followed him around like a puppy to his annoyance, but he still bought you ice creams and made his friends put out their cigarettes around you.

“I am listening! I told you I can’t afford it. You aren’t listening to me!” you snarled back.

There was a whine and a crack and just as he predicted the roof caved in. Hugo had just enough time to grab you and pull you to safety before the whole thing collapsed.

“See? I told you this would happen,” he said, still holding you against his furry chest, “what if I hadn’t been here?”

“Hugo,” you scoffed, “you knocked it down with those massive hands of yours!”

“Of course I did!” he said, “now I can rebuild it.”

“I keep trying to tell you I can’t afford that right now!” you sighed in exasperation.

“Then don’t pay me,” he grumbled, “before you start with me there’s no point in arguing, I’m going to come do it anyway and since when do you have money problems?”

“It’s not really that bad,” you said, “they just reduced my hours at the factory so I don’t have extra for stuff like this.”

“You should have told me, I could spot you for a while.”

“Hugo, you’re my friend, I’m not going to ask you for money, that’s ludicrous!” you said.

“See? Hard headed. Stubborn. You’re like a little ox!” he huffed.

You suddenly realized he was still holding you and blushed reflexively. He was warm, his fur was soft, and he usually smelled like cedar wood and pine from his work as a carpenter.

“Come on inside, there’s nothing we can do right now. Let me make you a sandwich,” you grumbled back, pulling away from him.

He followed you in and a few minutes later you passed him four peanut butter and honey sandwiches cut into triangles. Hugo was a big grump but he loved honey and if you wanted to put him in a good mood it was the best cure.

Peacefully munching on his sandwiches he explained to you what kind of roof he was going to put on your new patio and you smiled at how much you liked having him around.

“(Y/N)?! You home?!”

Your dad’s voice echoed through your house and Hugo winced.

“In the kitchen!” you called and he appeared a moment later, glaring when his eyes focused on Hugo.

“You’re still hanging around with this animal?” he snarled.

“Dad,” you groaned, “can we please not do this, this time? Hugo is a person just like you and me, just like all of the other Fairyfolk in the world.”

“They don’t belong here!”

“Stop it! Not in my house! Why are you here, dad?” you snapped.

He schooled his features and you knew the ask was coming. You hardly saw your father unless he needed money.

“I’m not doing so good sweetie,” he said, “got in a little trouble playing cards.”

You rubbed your eyes.

“How much do you need this time?” you asked blandly.

“Not much…just to get me by until this thing I got going pans out…5…6 thousand at most.”

Your mouth dropped.

“6 thousand dollars?!” you gasped, “dad, I don’t have money like that!”

“You’ve got good credit, you bought this house. Can’t you take out a personal loan?”

“Dad, I bought this house with money grandma left me.”

You were hardly surprised your grandmother didn’t tell him about the inheritance that was skipping a generation and going directly to you.

“Then you owe me! I can’t believe that old bat gave you this whole house and didn’t leave me a thing! I swear, she always did hate me!”

Feeling a little guilty that your grandmother had made it no secret what she thought of her drinking, gambling son, you walked across the kitchen to where you kept some cash for emergencies.

You fished the roll of wrinkled twenties you’d saved in a jar until it added up to a small chunk you kept in the house in case the grid went down or something insane like that happened and you had to deal in cash. It was a silly thing to be paranoid about, but you still had it.

“Look, I can give you 5 or 6 hundred, but that’s all the emergency savings I’ve got.”

Hugo growled.

“Put that back,” he ordered, “you’re not giving him a dime.”

Your mouth dropped open looking at him. Hugo had never liked your parents, but he’d never interjected directly.

“This is a family matter,” your dad hissed, “get the fuck out.”

“I’m not in your house,” Hugo said and took another bite of his sandwich, licking honey off of his fingers, “and it’s disgraceful that you’re here begging for money from your daughter for gambling debt! You should be a-fucking-shamed.”

Deep down your father probably was ashamed, which is why he lashed out.

“(Y/N) as your father I am telling you to get this animal out of here! He’s nothing but a flea bitten piece of shit no one wants!”

Hugo stood up and looked down at the human man that barely came up to the top of his chest.

“You gonna throw me out, human?” he asked, picking him up by the back of his neck and carrying him effortlessly like a naughty puppy out your front door, before locking it and returning.

You leaned against the wall, pushing out a heavy breath.

“God, I hate when he does that,” you groaned, “I want to help him, but it never ends!”

Hugo leaned against the same wall and looked down at you.

“You were going to give him $600? How much money have you already given him?” he demanded.

You looked to the side a little ashamed, tears pricking your eyes.

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, trying to minimize it, “just a few hundred dollars here and there.”

“(Y/N), I’ve known you long enough to know when you are lying, how much?” he asked again.

You looked up at him and a tear slipped past your cheek.

“Over the past year? Maybe ten thousand…but not all at once…it just added up,” you muttered.

Hugo drew in an annoyed hiss.

“You can’t even keep your house up! You can’t afford to do this…so what? He can just throw it all away while everything you’ve worked for falls apart?”

Tears tumbled down your cheeks and you hid your face in your hand.

“I know! I know!” you sniffled, “it’s just he’s my dad…how do I say no when he says he’s going to be out on the street? He has my mom calling me begging, talking about how there’s nothing in the fridge!”

You let out a loud sob and Hugo felt horrible that he’d gone too far in his lecturing. He never wanted to make you cry.

“Come here. I can’t stand it when you cry,” he said, pulling you into his big warm arms and holding your head to his chest with his massive hand.

He just rocked you in his arms for a while, letting you breathe in his woody scent. When your sobs had slowed he wiped your cheeks with the thick pads of his hands.

“I know you love him honey cake, but you can’t keep doing this,” he said, “people who care about you don’t drain you dry.”

You nodded conceding his point, though you weren’t sure you could hold yourself to that. Your dad had his ways of bullying you. Usually he’d have your mom call you later and tell you a sob story about how she needed something or another…a car repair or something you couldn’t say no to.

Hugo scooped you up like nothing and carried you to your living room, laying you down on the couch.

“You take a nap, I’m going to go over to the lumber yard and pick up some stuff for your patio,” he said.

You opened your mouth, but he held up his hand.

“Pointless,” he said, “this is happening. Go to sleep.”

He brushed the fuzzy knuckles of his clawed hands over your eyes so gently, pushing them shut. You sank back into the couch knowing it would be fruitless to argue. Hugo almost always got his way.

—

You woke in the middle of the night. You were only aware it was night because it was dark when your front door was kicked in.

Startled, you hopped up to see two large dark figures bending down to shove their huge forms through the opening.

In the dim light spilling in from your kitchen you saw they were orcs! They were a clean looking pair, wearing expensive tactical gear with neat haircuts.

“Well this is convenient, the scrap is right here,” one of them chuckled, smacking the other in the chest and pointing at you.

You screamed and hopped over the couch, bolting for the backdoor but when you got there it was stuck. The damn debris from the rotten porch was blocking it. Panicked, you scrambled around your kitchen for a weapon, grabbing a knife.

“There’s no use fighting, scrap,” one of them called to you as they stomped slowly through the house, not at all in a hurry, “your daddy already made the sale. There’s nowhere to run. You belong to the boss.”

You couldn’t process his words, trying to figure out if you could fit out of the window over your sink. Your body was hanging halfway out of it when they dragged you back in by the ankles.

You screamed in pure terror as the orc easily knocked the knife from your hand and wrapped his thick hand around your neck. A moment later there was a rumbling that sounded like a freight train and your entire kitchen wall caved in. Your eyes were like saucers, trying to peer through the dust at the enormous figure panting in the settling debris.

“Hugo?” you wheezed as the familiar form of the bear slowly materialized.

He didn’t wait to lose his advantage, though, and with surprising speed attacked the orc holding you. The orcs were big, but he was ferocious and he cared quite a bit more about you than they did. Faced with an almost ton bear bearing his teeth and claws, the orc dropped you immediately to defend himself. The other orc tried to help his friend and they all went down in a pile of green elbows and fur.

You couldn’t stop screaming, terrified of what would happen if they overpowered Hugo. That didn’t seem to be as concerning as you thought when he grabbed one of them by the ankles and threw him into the other one. You heard bones crack as the two of them flew through the drywall that separated your kitchen from your living room, breaking all the furniture in their way to splinters.

Feral and bloody, Hugo held out his hand to you.

“Come with me,” he snapped.

You didn’t hesitate, practically climbing him to get to his shoulders and wrapped your arms around his wide neck. He dashed back out of your house through the hole in the wall, bouncing you in his arms, and jumped in the driver’s side of his truck.You were too panicked to wonder why his truck was oddly parked just out of view of your front window, not in your driveway as it would have been if he were visiting.

He pulled out onto the street and you panted into his chest, trying to slow your racing heart.

“Wh-what…what was that? They said something about my dad and a sale, Hugo what did they mean by that? What’s going on? Who were those people?”

You were panicking, speaking rapidly and hyperventilating.

“Shhh, shhh,” he said, petting your head with one hand with the other on the wheel, “I have a hunch, but first we need to go to my father and deal with this.”

You had no idea what he meant by that, but just went limp in his arms, exhausted and running out of adrenaline. He roused you in front of his family’s house. Not the small one he and his parents had lived in next to your childhood home, but the big one his dad bought later that supported the bear pack.

Bears weren’t natively a pack species, but prejudices between humans and fairyfolk drove most were-people into odd miss matched packs for safety and community. Hugo’s dad, Riker, was the alpha and he would take over someday when his dad retired if he passed the largely ceremonial vote. They were far more egalitarian than, for example, a wolf pack, but just as loyal.

He’d always been nice to you when you’d met him, but you didn't see him very often, probably since you were a teenager. He didn’t bother banging on the door when he entered, his father had already heard him coming and was standing in the front room turning on the light when Hugo carried you in.

“What’s going on, son?” he asked, squinting his eyes as they adjusted to the light.

He looked just like his son with russet fur, on the more reddish side and light brown eyes, but he had streaks of silver and white running through it.

“Her father fucking sold her,” he snarled, cradling you to his chest like you were a rescued puppy.

Riker frowned and blinked at you, trying to remember who you were.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, “goddess, you were just a little thing the last time I saw you. You’ve grown so much. No wonder Hugo is always going on about you…”

He shook his head and waved you all into the living room. As his dad handed you all small glasses of scotch to calm you down, Hugo explained how he saw the situation. Your dad had come looking for money earlier in the day, saying he had gambling debt. The same night, orcs break into your house implying he sold you. It was all pretty cut and dry when he spelled it out like that.

“Wait…what were you doing outside my house?” you asked as it suddenly occurred to you that he had appeared just in time.

“I’m always at you- I- I mean-I was…I-I left a…tool on your porch and I was just coming by to pick it up,” he said quickly.

There was a long silence as Riker’s eyebrows went up and he took a long sip of his drink.

“At 3am?” you asked.

Hugo shrugged.

“It was expensive, I didn’t want it to get stolen in your neighborhood…the crime has been pretty bad…” he rambled on.

“Okay,” his dad cut in to save his son, “that’s not really important right now. What is important is what we can do to protect (Y/N).”

“I think the best thing you can do, Hugo, is mate her,” he said, as if that were the obvious answer, “with your bite on her neck it’ll be clear she’s under the pack’s protection and any Fairyfolk won’t want her.”

“Woah,” you said, holding up your hands and stiffening in Hugo’s lap, “mate me? Bite me? What are you talking about?”

Riker gave you a sort of sympathetic look and glanced at his son.

“Bears bite their mates to mark them with a scar,” he said, “to any Fairyfolk it would be impossible to sell you. Any potential buyer would know right away you weren’t a maiden and your entire pack was going to chase them to the ends of this realm and the next to get you back. It’s not at all worth the trouble and a human…well they wouldn’t have any hope of keeping you.”

Riker’s pack had police officers, construction workers, ex-marines, fighting trainers, an entire biker gang…just a completely random selection of bears who all happened to be ten feet tall, doing the sorts of jobs bears did. They were not the sort of bunch you wanted chasing after you for anything if you valued your life.

“Oh,” you said, “but isn’t that kind of important?”

You looked at Hugo.

“I don’t want you to waste your bite on me,” you said.

He looked at you with the most sincere face he’d ever made.

“It would not at all be a waste,” he said.

Your cheeks flooded with color.

“I’m going to give you two a minute to talk this over,” Riker said, hopping up and making himself scarce.

You shook your head and your flush away.

“You’re doing too much for me, Hugo,” you said, trying to hop out of his lap, “I can’t let you ruin your future like this.”

He wrinkled his nose in pure frustration.

“You are the most infuriatingly stubborn little ox I have ever known!” he snapped, “will you please just let me protect you without fighting me, once?”

You crossed your arms.

“What do you mean for once? I listen to you all the time! You are the bossiest, grumpiest bear in the whole world!” you snapped back, “I’m trying to save you from a life of misery with someone you don’t love!”

“I do love you, you idiot! I’m in love with you!” he snarled, “I’ve loved you since you were a little girl getting ice cream all in my fur! Do you think I would follow your bullheaded, ornery ass around every day trying to keep you out of trouble if I wasn’t head over heels for you?!”

You drew in an incensed breath and hissed the next words out all in one angry breath.

“Well, I'm in love with you, too, you surly asshole! I think it's pretty obvious I always have been. So…so…”

You blinked at him, your mouth falling open, kind of losing where you were going with that as you processed what you'd both admitted.

“What?” you both asked at once.

You both looked at each other and then years of pent up tension burst like a dam breaking.

Hugo threw you against the couch and his massive body pinned you to the cushions as his tongue found yours. You clutched his furry cheeks in your hands, pulling him deeper into your mouth. You wanted all however many hundred pounds of him there were all over you.

His tongue danced with yours, as his claws started stripping clothes off of you in shreds.

“I’m going to mark you and mate you and make you mine,” he growled into your ear as he nipped at the skin with his sharp teeth. You heard the fabric of your shirt tear as he jerked it with them, leaving your breasts bare in the cool room. Your nipples pebbled and you arched your back into him.

“Please…I need you,” you gasped, burying your fingers in his fur. You tried to grind your hips into the thick thigh pressed between them.

“Goddess, I've waited so long to taste you,” he murmured, his tongue making its way in wet laps down your neck and over your stiff nipples. Taking your entire breast in his big mouth he practically drooled on you laving his tongue over one. Your fingertips jerked his fur until it stung, but your tiny hands were hardly even noticeable as he was solely focused on devouring your body.

He’d waited a lifetime for this and he was laser focused on completing the task. The events of the rest of the night were lost on the two of you as he parted your folds with his fat fingers and started lapping at your pussy.

“Ahhhh! Yes!” you screamed, tightening your thighs around his head.

His fur felt so luxurious and soft, rubbing against the tender flesh. You stretched one hand behind your head to give yourself leverage as you ground your cunt into his muzzle.

He hummed and grunted, sounding just like a bear enjoying a comb of honey as he ate you. Pleasure built in your core until it came exploding through your body in a bright wave. If Hugo had been human you would have probably popped the bones in his neck with how hard you squeezed his head between your thighs.

You tried pushing his head away, but he shoved your legs open, lapping up the juices that flooded your channel with long messy licks.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” you cried as his tongue brushed your oversensitive clit every so often until he’d gotten his fill and you’d been thrust into a second lingering orgasm.

His eyes flicked up to you with nothing but predator in them and he tore open his pants without bothering to think what he was going to wear when he was done with you. The massive cock bobbing in front of him frightened you at first and you tried to scramble back on the couch only to be pinned in place by his big hand.

“You can take it honey cake,” he cooed, as he eagerly lined it up with your wet channel and inched his massive phallus inside.

He stretched you slowly, letting you get used to him as he watched your face to make sure he wasn’t hurting you. You were so much smaller, with tiny little hips compared to his large ones. Every so often he glanced down at his cock splitting your little body and groaned with satisfaction.

“Minnnne,” he growled, unable to stop himself from thrusting it in the rest of the way.

You gasped so full, your abdomen distended from how big he was inside you. He tried his best to start slowly, pushing himself in and out of you with firm, hard thrusts, but soon his muzzle and fingers were buried in your hair and he was pounding into you, drawing the breath from your lungs. You could only desperately cling to his fur as he took you, listening to him muttering your name and how fucking perfect you were in your ear.

Eventually his words just devolved into growls and grunts, pushing your eyes back in your head and making your skin tingle. His thick cock stretched you beyond anything you’d felt before and the angle he rammed into you battered your G-spot pushing you relentlessly towards your end. You screamed into his ear without meaning to when you came and he would have been happy if it were the last sound he ever heard.

As it rang, he stiffened, your pussy clamping down around him, milking his cock. He wished he could hold on longer, he wanted to stay buried inside of you for the rest of his life if possible, but your scent surrounding him, blending with his and your tight channel massaging his cock with your slick passage threw him over the edge.

He emptied his hot cum into you, sinking his teeth into your neck. The bite hurt, but not like a violent pain. It was more like an intense pressure that pushed you into another, unexpected orgasm, your pussy spasming wildly and your body trembling. You gasped as pleasure and warmth enveloped you and finally went limp.

You saw your blood staining his large teeth as he pulled away and you stiffened just slightly.

“It’s okay, honey cake,” he purred, pulling your bruised body into his arms as he eased himself out of you gently.

“So am I your mate now?” you asked softly, “forever?”

He nuzzled your nose with his muzzle and hummed at you, licking the wound on your neck.

“Mhhmm.”

You giggled, as it tickled slightly, and brushed his cheek.

“Okay,” you said.

“Oh. I thought you were trying to put me off,” a strange deep voice grumbled from the doorway.

“I told you, she’s mated,” Riker told the orc standing there. He was wearing a designer suit and had long olive hair in a ponytail.

“Ugh,” he spat, “fucking bears. Well, if she can’t pay the debt, the old man is going to have to do it himself.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Hugo spat, pulling you to his chest to hide your body behind his huge arms.

The orc grinned.

“My name is not important,” he said, “what is important is the debt the little ladies’ father owes me that he now cannot repay.”

“What are you going to do to him?” you gasped.

“Don’t worry darling,” he smirked, “I’m not going to kill him if that’s what you think. Though I think you should know your father sold you to avoid a year of working for me to pay off his debt. I was never going to harm him unless he didn’t comply. It wasn't even that much money. You’re worth a lot more than $3,000. He really doesn’t deserve your concern.”

You drew your brow.

“He told me it was $6,000!” you hissed.

The disappointed orc just tipped his head at the two of you and made his exit. Riker glanced between the two of you and looked amused.

“Why don’t you take (Y/N) up to one of the guest rooms and I’ll find you two some clothes in the morning,” he offered and with a huge blush on your cheeks you let Hugo carry you up the stairs.

“Hugo…I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying, but…you don’t have to tell me the truth. Whatever the real reason was…I’m glad you were at my house tonight,” you whispered into his chest, “I love you.”

“I love you, (Y/N),” he said, smiling wanly to himself as he kissed your head.

#werebear #werebear x human #werebear x reader #x reader #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster smut #yandere smut #yandere male #yandere x reader #soft yandere #monster x reader #size difference

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athena-xox · 5 months

Text

Changing the characters featured in each special without doing any research (it’s been like 2 weeks since I’ve proper watched eah).

True hearts day - chefs kiss it’s perfect

Thronecoming - I like the characters with their side plots but specifically for those going into the storybook of legends I would change blondie and cedar. Blondie would be at the game, it makes no sense why she was there (unless she followed them but she would have to be covering the game anyways so??) and cedar because I feel like they either should have focused more on her being able to lie or just cut her. I would replace them with 1 kitty because she could cover both the plot points that blondie n cedar bring (aka finding out where to go and how to get in) because I think definitely smth could be worked out with her going into the in between. And then I’m in between Ginger and Holly for the 8th girl. I feel like Ginger just because she’s important for spring unsprung so it would make sense to meet her earlier, but also then the focus would be less on raven + briars horrible destinies and on gingers. And I think that Hollys destiny makes a lot of sense for a quick little montage but then that brings the question on if it should be poppy instead or if the sbol they go into is a fake or not.

Spring unsprung - for the girls who get outfits from Lizzie I’m not going to switch them for Maddie and Kitty even tho it would make sense for Lizzie to make the outfits for them (but then again I’m pretty sure the og queen of hearts doesn’t even know who the Cheshire Cat + Mad Hatter r) so the only one I’ll switch is Holly. Just because I didn’t commit to her for the thronecoming arc and so I feel like she doesn’t really need to be there. I would switch her for Farrah (ik she didn’t exist yet but do I look like I give a fuck?) because in the diaries her cedar and Lizzie design together. And briar and cerise can stay because they’re featured and they are like main characters. The others in this special make sense tbh

Way Too Wonderland - ok yeah it makes sense for the 6 girls. The 3 wonderlandians who left pre curse that makes sense. Briar who is literally the catalyst for all these events. And the two main characters. If I could add someone I’d add cerise because her parents got married in wonderland, which could create an interesting plotline, and after spring unsprung her character was kinda discarded which is too bad. The others (the charmings + bunny and Alistair can stay too). Mm honestly I’d remove faybelle. It makes sense for her to be there just to establish her character before dragon games + epic winter but she wasn’t needed. Honestly could switch cerise with her.

Dragon Games - now here’s where I start to actually dislike the line up not just in a nitpicky way. Okay so off the top of my head the ones who compete in the dragons games are Melody, Lizzie, Poppy, Darling, Holly, Apple, Ashlynn, Maddie and Raven. I’m sorry what?! No briar?! Or cerise?! Immediately cutting Lizzie and Melody for those two. And I feel like Ashlynn could be replaced by Jillian, Cupid, Ramona or Nina. And then for those who go to the forest originally are Raven, Darling, Maddie, Ashlynn, Poppy, and Holly. Definitely adding Briar because that just makes this so much more interesting / briar’s rebel arc could have happened!! I’d either just add her to the existing group or if cut the O’Hair twins and also add cerise because cerise is close friends with raven and is seen with darling lots.

Epic Winter - so if you know me yk were cutting rosabella. I’m very tempted to just add Lizzie but we will resist the temptation. I’ll definitely be changing this one a lot. So the crew is Briar, Faybelle, Ashlynn, Blondie, Rosabella, Daring and Crystal. Cutting Blondie & Daring and adding Poppy and Duchess. Okay that might not look like a big change but im changing who gets which arc. Those with flowers are now Briar, Rosa, Poppy and Crystal. Ashlynn is just there because she’s friends with Crystal not because of the flower. Faybelle is there for the same reason. Rosabella is just there because of her flower, of course she becomes friends and stuff but the whole ‘I can fix him’ thing is gone. Instead this is poppy and duchess. Whether or not it’s seen as a ship or friendship Duchess is the one who needs redemption not Daring. Also I just found the blondie wanting a real story arc to be stupid

Forest Fest - I forgot this is considered a special? Is it considered a special? Anyways I think it’s fine I found it annoying how raven and dex had to be the ones to save the girls it could literally be anyone else. I found Poppy kinda a random choice for blondie to take, like just for the hair?? Maybe Ginger instead because she also has a show and they could be going together.

Tbh I want to make another post with in depth analysis

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agentmarvel · 11 months

Text

Pairing: John Price/Reader

AU - Professor!Price & TA!Reader

MDNI - 18+ (minors and ageless blogs will be blocked)

Part 1 of 2

Summary: in which professor john price is head-over-heels for his teaching assistant but cannot reconcile the risks until he's faced with the thought of losing you entirely

Read on ao3

♡

“Would you mind handing these back, please?” John asks softly, handing you the stack of essays due for return. You give him a sweet little smile and nod, taking them from his hands and brushing against his fingers in the process. His flesh is alight with want, and he can’t help but curl his hands into fists beneath the desk in an effort to stop himself from reaching out and touching you again.

“Yes, sir.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong, and John knows it.

He never meant for this to happen; the plot of his plight is typically reserved for bored housewife fantasies, a semi-interesting arc for a television series, or the shit romance novels that Kate reads and tries to hide (poorly, might he add) whenever someone walks into her office. It’s not something that happens in real life, and it’s not something that happens to men like him.

When it was suggested he take on a teaching assistant this semester, John was skeptical. He wasn’t quite so sure that his courses would benefit from having someone else pouring over every facet of his work, and frankly, he was a bit incensed by the notion that he’d even need help; but in casually surveying the department in passing conversation, he realized that he was the only educator in the English department without a TA.

Enter: you. Your application was impeccable, and you came to the department with such glowing endorsements from your undergraduate instructors. Pack that in with the essay you wrote and the accolades decorating your previous work study, it was a no-brainer. John tossed every other application he received without a second thought.

The two of you began to exchange emails shortly after he agreed to taking you on. He quickly found you to be whip-smart, wicked funny, and absolutely wonderful. Looking forward to your replies became a new hobby of his as he jumped to check his phone every time it buzzed. He looked forward to putting a face to the name every day until that day finally came. Then, he knew he was doomed.

You strolled into his office the day before classes began and introduced yourself with a scintillating smile, holding a hand out to shake his. He swallowed hard and accepted your greeting in kind, a bit taken aback by how goddamn gorgeous you are. The image his mind constructed through the internet didn’t hold a candle to what stood before him, what with your doe eyes and pretty smile and the shape of your hips and… wait, what’s that? The smell of your perfume made his brain stutter; something akin to cedar and coconut milk with a smokey vanilla note like a cherry on top. It still has the same effect on him, honestly.

Over the first few weeks of the new semester, he grew to adore you in your entirety, learning all the subtle nuances that previous exchanges didn’t convey properly. He digs every shade of your personality (especially when you’re being snarky and teasing him, even if you don’t know how much of that teasing goes straight to his dick). You engage him in conversation and listen intently to what he has to say, usually with that red pen of yours tucked between your teeth. Drives him crazy when you do that, but there’s something so inherently innocent about the way you look at him; boulders of shame pile on his chest until his ribs cave in with an airy exhale, and he’s crushed beneath the weight of the reality that you’re untouchable.

He’s the professor; you are the student. It’s far too risky, even if he didn’t already know you’d reject him on the spot.

Entranced, he watches from the corner of his eye as you lean over another student’s table, pointing out something on the graded tests you were handing back. The edge of your cute little skirt rides up your thighs just enough that he swears he can see the gentle curve of your ass beneath the hem. How he wishes he could bend you over further, pull those barely-there panties to the side, and fuck you to within an inch of your life.

But this certainly isn’t the most opportune time for him to think about that. No, not with a classroom full of students that could, at any moment, point out the flush creeping high across his cheeks or notice the massive tent he’s sporting in his slacks as he strategically moves to the podium to begin his lecture.

He isn’t sure how he makes it through, truthfully, not when he’s stealing glances at you in between parts of his notes. You’re sitting at your own table on the far side of the room, legs crossed demurely with your laptop open in front of you. Those pretty, manicured fingertips click and clack away at the keyboard, making detailed notes of your own, and he struggles to keep the image out of his mind of those same nails gripping his shoulders while he’s buried inside you.

It doesn’t help that you’re looking back at him every single time his eyes flit over to you, focused so raptly like you’re hanging on his every word. You seem so enthralled by the most minute details, watching him with that darling doe-eyed stare. Your eyelashes kiss your cheeks with every blink, and god, he just wants to know what it feels like to touch any part of you.

You’re the kind of woman Shakespeare wrote sonnets about; a beauty so overwhelming that it’s hard to decipher in ordinary thought. It requires prose, grandeur, and sophistication. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for him to find an eloquent way to speak when he’s sharing space with you.

It’s embarrassing, the way he keeps almost losing his place and fumbling his words like an absolute moron. He can’t help it, though. Not when his heart skips a beat every time you catch his wistful gaze and give him that gentle, supportive smile that reassures him he’s doing well, even when you can hear as clearly as everyone else how much he’s fucking up. He swears he keeps hearing snickers sprinkled across the classroom, but maybe his mind is playing tricks. Not a single student presents anything other than a straight face, save for the brunette in the front row that’s always making eyes at him.

He wonders if you’d be the jealous type, if another girl looking at him would spur you into a fit of marking him up and reminding him who he belongs to, something that could take all night if he played his cards right. The thought of finding all the bruises and love bites and claw marks on his body (and the subsequent downward rush of blood again) further serves to remind him: you’re not his, but he is yours.

♡

John sighs as he digs a bottle of Tylenol out of his desk drawer. He takes three and chases them down with his cold tea, ignoring the bitter bite on his tongue.

Office hours can be absolute hell with the wrong students, and boy, did he pick a list of winners today (sarcasm, full sarcasm). After hours of students passing the buck and making excuses for missing work or seeking extra credit because of said buck passing, he finds himself corralled by Abigail Briarton, the bright but conniving brunette from 20th Century Lit. Another odd scenario, given the feedback he’s gotten from you on her work. You’ve told him more than once that she shows immense capability in her writing, and yet, she always seeks John out, presenting concerns that she doesn’t quite understand the material.

He’s not stupid; he knows why she schedules office hours. She has a little crush on him - daddy issues, no doubt. It’s clear in how she approaches him, wearing low cut tops, short skirts, subtle (and not so subtle) hints that she’s of legal age and unattached. Their interactions are strictly professional on his end, and after today, he’s remanded her to seeking further clarification on lectures from you.

“If you’re struggling to connect with my lectures or our discussions here, I think it would be best for you to start seeing my TA instead. She’s got a different way of explaining that may be more relatable to you.”

You’re going to hate him for saying that, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take if it keeps him from being unbearably uncomfortable in his own office twice a week.

Speaking of, he wonders how you’re faring until he hears an exaggerated sigh in the silence that befalls both rooms. That seems to be a sign that he should really check in on you, especially since Victor Denley was your last meeting. The kid can’t put his phone down long enough to pay attention in class, so he imagines the scheduled session don’t go much better.

He tugs open the door separating your offices, hinges squealing in protest. Leaning against the frame, he folds his arms across his chest and lets his ankles cross, balancing his weight between the frame and floor. A sympathetic frown tugs at his lips as his gaze falls on you.

The bridge of your nose is pinched between your fingers, and your eyes are squeezed shut. He’s pretty sure you’re using whatever willpower you have left to stave off one hell of a migraine.

“You look bloody miserable, love. Everything okay?”

One eye cracks open, and the grimace on your face tilts into an adorable little half smile.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you answer, moving your fingers to rub at an achy spot on your temple. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“You’re not a good liar,” he laughs. “If you need anything for your head, I’ve got half a pharmacy in my desk.”

“Save it. You’ll need it more than I do.” He raises an eyebrow, imploring you silently to continue. “Mr. Denley is more focused on his phone than his grades, so I suggested he start scheduling his visits with you instead. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“Suppose it’s a fair exchange then.” John shoots you a haughty smirk, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands in the pockets of his slack. You return his cocked eyebrow questioningly. “Oh, I’ve asked Ms. Abigail to start scheduling with you since she’s having so much difficulty grasping my explanations.”

“You’re violating my eighth amendment rights, Professor,” you groan.

“There’s nothing cruel or unusual about this, and you’re definitely not being punished.”

That’s only a half-truth. It is both cruel and unusual, given the fact that he’s awfully sweet on you and that girl is borderline insufferable, but it’s most definitely not meant to be any sort of punishment. You’ve done nothing to deserve that. He just knows that if he insists on her meeting with you instead, she simply won’t show up. Win win.

If you do want to be punished, though, he can think of dozens of more pleasurable ways to do that. Needn’t but ask, really.

“And for the last time,” he adds. “Please just call me John.”

“That just feels too informal.” You shrug. “You’re my boss.”

John scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes with a growing grin.

“We’re alone, right? No students?”

You nod. He abandons the doorway and places his palms against your desk. He leans forward, arms bearing his weight, and he’s less than a foot away when he says, “Then there’s no need to keep it so formal, is there, love?”

“I guess not.” He can almost feel the warmth creeping up your neck, and he’s relishing the fact that he’s practically witnessing you getting all hot under the collar before you cheekily add, “John.”

John ducks his head, moving just a little bit closer to you, saying, “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Oh, it was awful,” you reply right away, pulling a facetious face of disgust. John chuckles, standing up straight. He scrubs a hand across his jaw, shaking his head at you.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m professional.”

♡

“Professor Price?” You poke your head through the doorway to his office, voice sweeter than honey. He hears you, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He won’t until you call him by his name.

His fingertips plod away at his keyboard, the rhythmic tapping counting out the seconds until you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“John?”

“Yes?” he hums, hands stalling as he looks up, heart leaping into his throat. Your outfit is simple, nothing that should be getting him worked up; and yet, it is.

You’ve got on those pants that he loves, a hunter green, high-waisted number with large buttons up the front and a built in pair of suspenders that curve around the swells of your breasts. It accentuates your waist in a way that makes his palms itch with the want to hold you there while wide, flowing pant legs give way for your shapely hips. When you turn away, it gives him a full view of the fabric that pulls tight around your pert ass. The fact that you wear heels with them every time is just a bonus, but he likes to consider what you’d look like in just those heels; patent black leather stilettos with a pointed toe that just barely peek out beneath the hem. Neatly tucked into the waist is a plain, white button down with a lightly frilled collar and a black ribbon tied into a bow beneath the lapels, the perfect knot balancing the loops as to keep from looking lopsided.

You have no right to look that fucking good.

“Can you help me really quick?” He raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure if he’d even be able to stand with the way his knees are knocking together. “I’m having a little trouble deciphering this paragraph; it makes sense, but not in the context of the paper.”

“Yeah, bring it here, love.”

You move into his office, heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you approach him. Instead of sitting across from him in the vacant chair, you perch on the corner of his desk, crossing your legs as you set the stapled stack in front of him. Your finger finds the section in question, but John can’t focus with you sitting so close to him.

In his head, he reaches out and puts a hand on your thigh, slowly kneading its expanse from the curve of your hip to the outside of your knee and back, talking sweet to you about how pretty you are and how badly he wants to ruin you; in reality, your perfume is too overwhelming for him to make heads or tails of what he’s reading, so he passes it over three or four times before shrugging.

Looking back up at you proves to be a mistake. Your pillowy lower lip, coated in a neutral shade of lipstick, is trapped between your teeth as you eye him closely, anticipating a clearer explanation than what you could conjure yourself. It crosses his mind what it would feel like to have your lip between his teeth instead, the erotic noises you’d make when he tugs on it. He was halfway hard just looking up at you for once, but the thoughts have him at full mast. He scoots a little tighter to his desk, hoping to hide it.

“I see what you mean,” he finally says, eyes jetting back down to the essay before him. “Right thought, wrong context. Have you checked it in the system for plagiarism?”

You shake your head.

“No, but that’s a good idea. There’s another section - “ You lean down, moving closer to him as you flip ahead to the next page. It’s too much, and his resolve is crumbling by the second. “ - right here. It sounds very similar to a paper I graded this morning.”

You’d think he’d learn his lesson the first time, but not John. Never John. He glances back to you, and the two of you lock in a heated stare, faces only a few inches apart. Your eyes dart down to his mouth and back up. He wants to kiss you right now, so fucking bad, and it looks to him like you want to kiss him, too. Your head tilts just in the slightest; it seems like you’re leaning in…

A knock at his door yanks you away from him as you scramble off his desk, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in your slacks before moving to open the door. He can’t see who’s on the other side just yet, but he doesn’t care. He can’t move, frozen in place with shock and dismay.

“Professor Riley,” you greet politely. “How are you?”

Simon gives you a wary once over, addressing you by name in a stern but polite tone, and that’s enough to start flagging John’s erection right away. It’s the saving grace he needed in that moment to stop him from acting on an impulse you’d surely both regret.

Still, he wonders what would’ve happened if Simon had waited just thirty seconds more.

♡

Being sick by itself is fucking miserable, but being sick, alone, and having to stay sequestered in the house all day? That’s pure torture.

John hates taking sick days. Sure, the students appreciate an extra day of not having to listen to him prattle on about John Wyndham this week; there’s only so much they can take of discussing the underlying themes in the Day of the Triffids before they’re ready to pull their hair out. But it throws a comically large wrench in all of John’s plans, both for the day and for slightly longer-term, especially when he forgets his laptop in his office.

It’s only with a slew of curses, grunts, and grumbles that he manages to convince himself to go get it, crawling out of bed begrudgingly to throw on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. There’s no way he’ll get through the weekend without his computer, so he knows he has no other choice but to drag his tired ass onto campus to get it. If he’s going to take an unintentional long weekend, the least he can do is finish grading the previous unit. He doesn’t want to in the slightest, but the consideration that he may run into you puts a little spark in his step.

He’d texted you when he awoke with a sore throat and a nasty sinus headache, asking you to put a sign on both his office and lecture hall doors to let students know class is canceled (a group email was sent from his phone around 7 this morning, but he knows a vast majority of his pupils don’t check their damn emails). You texted him back shortly after with a simple affirmation and a sweet get well soon message. There was a pause, and then you texted him again, asking if he needed anything. He was sorely tempted to take you up on it, just because he wanted to see you before the weekend, but there’s no need now if he has to come in anyways.

It’s a quick jaunt, since John lives less than five miles away. He parks in the staff lot and sneaks in the back door of the building, cautiously optimistic that no students will see him. How he’s dressed falls far from the guidelines of professionalism, and the fact that he’s sick wouldn’t bode well for any sort of interaction, lest he spread whatever foul virus has crawled into his body this time.

He’s surprised to see an ‘Out of the Office’ sign hanging on your door, too. He thought for sure that you’d still keep your office hours as scheduled, even without him being around. It occurs to him that maybe you don’t want to hang around the office without him, but that thought, while very sweet, is certainly just wishful thinking. You definitely don’t share his vested interest, even if it did seem like you were about to kiss him yesterday.

As he pushes his key into the lock on his office door, he picks up the faint thrumming of a heavy bassline. He’s surprised he didn’t notice it before, considering it seems to be coming from his office. The light is on, odd since he’s obviously been out all day. Curiosity forces his hand to move faster, and what he finds awaiting him is far better than he could’ve ever imagined.

You’re in his office, standing on a chair, deftly dusting the old birch bookshelf behind his desk. All his books and knick-knacks are stacked neatly on a lower shelf as you wipe the top one. The music he heard is twice as loud as he would have guessed, and you’re rocking to the beat, hips swaying in time. It’s equally as amusing as it is downright sexy. The way you move is tantalizing, and John has to take a moment to catch his breath, swallowing a harsh cough before he speaks.

“Really? This is what you listen to when I’m not around?” he laughs as he closes the door behind him. You don’t seem startled as you throw a hazardous glance over your shoulder, your movements never once faltering, even with the sudden audience. You’re not embarrassed about being caught, and that impresses him. Shameless thing, you are.

“Please, Professor, Backstreet’s a classic.”

“Didn’t take you for the boy band type,” he counters, barely suppressing another cough behind a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. You set down the can of Pinesol and your rag and climb off the chair, leaning across his desk to turn the volume down on your phone.

“Good to know I can still surprise you then.”

“I was really hoping superior taste would prevail if you hung around me long enough.” The way your lips curve up at that feels like a match into gasoline. John isn’t certain if it’s you or the fever that’s starting to bead sweat along his hairline.

“You saying I have bad taste?” you laugh, arguably his favorite sound.

“I’m saying I thought you’d enjoy something a bit harder or faster than those bubblegum muppet boy types.”

“Faster doesn’t mean better, John.” The way you say his name (unprompted, might he add) sends a chill up his spine in the best way. Innuendo hangs on every syllable, and he considers how correct you are. He wouldn’t want to be fast with you, not in any sense of the word. He’d take his time, making damn sure that you’d remember every second for the rest of your life.

In conversation, however, he ignores the comment.

“What do you have against 90’s boy bands, sir?”

“Nothing, I just don’t quite get the fascination. Didn’t get it in the 90’s, either.“

“Can’t handle infectious melodies, huh?”

You’re so comfortable with him; he can tell. Much snarkier than usual in a less professional setting, dressed down, and he can’t help but think that this feels a bit more domestic. You’d act like this far more often in the privacy of his own home, wearing his t-shirt while you shuffle his things off the desk for a quick wipe down, calling for him when you can’t reach something. He loves the thought, honestly.

His pause is noticed and mistaken for hesitancy.

“Oh, I get it.” Your expression moves towards something of agreement as you nod, but it quickly falls right back into the same snarky little simper. “You can’t dance, can you?”

His mouth falls open in a silent objection, then closes, then opens again, like a fish out of water. He wants to argue that he’s a great dancer, but that wouldn’t be accurate. Sure, theoretically, he is, but he’s never really tried. He’s never really done more than a simple stand-and-sway at the odd wedding here and there. There’s nothing to it, though, right?

But that’s clearly the reaction you wanted, isn’t it?

You look at him so expectantly, rapt and ready.

He shrugs, “What, like it’s difficult? Of course, I can.”

“Right, because the hand jive totally counts,” you snicker, narrowing the chasm that separates you. “I almost forgot how old you are, Professor Price.”

Again, his mouth opens, this time in feigned offense.

“I’m not that old.”

“Oh, please! You’re practically geriatric! You’re, what, 58?”

“I’m 42,” he barks with a laugh. “We’re barely over a decade apart!”

“Then you’re still young enough to learn,” you answer with finality, putting your hands firmly on your hips. Your fingers dig into the soft cotton of your apparent cleaning day shorts as you pause, though he’s unsure if it’s due to nerves over what comes next or simply for dramatic effect. “Do you want to? You’ll be able to take it to the clubs.” Your voice gets sing-songy on the last sentence, and John can’t help but chuckle. As if you’d ever see him in a club, as if he’d ever be caught dead in a nightclub.

He contemplates it for a moment, the line between a professional and personal relationship blurring further with each passing second. It’s an interesting opportunity, one that he really should pass up, but he won’t. He gives you a noncommittal shrug with a fairly neutral expression, sighing, “If it’ll get you to stop listening to the bloody Backstreet Boys in my office, I’ll do whatever you want, love.”

You do this adorable little clap, showing off that sweet little smile he loves so much. It’s cute that you’d get so excited about something as simple as showing him some silly little dance he’ll have no need to remember (though he knows he’ll never forget the way your body moves; it’s already on a loop in his head that doesn’t end).

Grabbing your phone off the desk, you scroll a few times before your face lights up again. The volume is pushed to full as you hit play and set it down.

John is ashamed of the fact that he recognizes the song from its first line.

“If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

He stands stock-still, eyeing the way you’re already getting into it. You’re dancing your way over to him, and the air in his lungs freezes when you stop close enough for him to smell the remnants of the morning’s perfume spritz. His head spins when you reach out and grab his hands, encouraging him to feel the beat and just let loose. It’s a little step-touch-sway at first, but you spin yourself under his arm, turning your back to him as you maintain your hold over your shoulder. It forces him to take a step closer, and a primal part of him urges him to bury his face in your neck, smother it with kisses and love bites, mark you up and make you beg for him to give you more.

He ignores it. He ignores it very, very well… Until you bring his hands to your hips. The same place your palms once occupied are now covered by his, his fingers twitching against the barrier separating him from your soft skin. It’s taking every ounce of effort he possesses to stop himself from allowing his fingertips to dig into the fat around your hips hard enough to leave bruises, a small memento of how badly he wants you that will only ever exist in his mind.

“If you wanna make it last, gotta know just who to ask. Babe, it's gotta be the best, and that's me, my lady. If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

John has no trouble keeping with the music as your body’s sway guides him. The twist and swing of the hips beneath his splayed fingers dictate where to follow, and he does so mindlessly, focused entirely on keeping a gap between the curve of your perfect ass and his ever-hardening erection. He’s cursing himself profusely for opting to go commando under the sweats, but in his defense, he never would’ve imagined in his wildest dreams that this was something his day would hold.

“See? Not that hard,” you murmur, keeping your hands on top of his. Oh yes, it is, he thinks. You give him a gentle squeeze, and it catches him entirely off guard when you take a step back, pressing up against him. His brain starts screaming about how wrong this is, but when you tip your head back against his shoulder, everything goes silent. He can’t hear the music now, he can’t hear his thoughts, he can’t hear his own breathing anymore. It all slows down, feeling like delayed motion as you look up at him, still with that stunning smile painted across your mouth. You say something, but the words don’t reach his ears. His gaze locks on your mouth, and he’s itching to kiss you. That’s all he’s focused on until he sees the smile fade, and you gently pull away, turning in his hold.

“Price? Are you okay?”

He hums in question, narcostic. You repeat, and he processes it with a few blinks. His arms are still wrapped around you, and he can’t stop himself from meeting you in the middle. His forehead presses against yours, noses brushing. There are mere centimeters between his lips and yours, and he knows he can’t take much more of this. He needs to know if you want him as bad as he wants you.

“I need an answer,” you whisper, heated breaths washing over his skin. He nods almost imperceptibly, giving you a soft ‘yeah’. You close the gap just a little more, lower lip grazing his so lightly. It’s so tempting to chase after you, get what he’s so desperately been craving for the last three months, but the logical part of his brain finally catches up, redirecting him to the safest path; the one that protects you.

“You know we can’t do this, right?” he sighs, already regretting the words as they’ve formed. There’s a hope that you’ll tell him it’s okay, that you want this just as bad as he does and will keep this dirty little secret between the two of you. Reality, though, tips the scales, and John has to steel his resolve.

“Even if I really, really want to? Just once, and it’ll never happen again, I promise.” Your tone is pained, and he feels his heart clench. He doesn’t need to question how you feel about him anymore; he does, however, need to protect you.

“There’s no going back once we cross that line.” It fucking kills him to say that. He’s functionally just ripping out his own heart and throwing it on the tracks before an oncoming train, but it needs to be said.

You close your eyes as you let out a sigh matching his, and he feels your eyelashes crest across the apples of his cheeks. His grip on you tightens just briefly, fingertips digging in to show you he means it.

“John - “

He shakes his head. He can’t take that chance. If he kisses you, even just once, he’ll only want to keep doing it. That would be his undoing. It’s a gamble he can’t afford to take on your behalf.

“No, love. I’m not risking your education, your future, over one little kiss.”

You nod understandingly, creating a new space between the two of you. John can hear a shudder in your breathing as he lets his arms fall to his sides, and it leaves an ache in that hole in his chest, one that’s only furthered by the dejected look on your face. He wishes things were different so he could kiss that look away.

He briefly wonders if it’s too late to change his mind, but you make it clear for him when you grab your phone from his desk, shut off the music, and climb back up on the chair, intent on continuing to clean like nothing just happened.

“Just so you know, I am sorry,” he says in a hushed tone as he grabs his laptop off his desk.

You smile at him softly over your shoulder, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He can still see that hint of hurt in your expression.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Professor Price.”

♡

He can’t focus. Try as John might, he can’t draw his brain away from you.

The cursor on his laptop blinks impatiently at him as the blank document on his screen awaits its transformation into the following unit’s lecture notes. A white blanket does no favors in occupying his mind with things that are of dire need. His section on 1960s literature begins tomorrow, he’s feeling far better physically than the days prior, and yet he’s still wrapped up in the feeling of his hands on your hips, your touch on his heated skin, the look in your eyes when you said, “even if I really, really want to?”.

It’s not a question anymore, if you want him as badly as he wants you. He knows you do. And there’s something about the fact that he can’t have you that just makes him crave you more.

He’s not sure what about you is making it so difficult for him to keep his head straight. Obviously, you’re stunning. It’s impossible not to see that - even half the students that come in for your office hours are just stopping by to try their hand at flirting with you (he can hear it from his office; drives him up the fucking walls). But he had a more intimate connection with you before he knew how goddamn gorgeous you are, which also somehow doesn’t seem to be the solidifier for his borderline obsession.

He pushes himself away from his kitchen table, deciding a shower and some food might push you out of his mind long enough to get his notes prepared. Anything that can provide some sort of distraction from feeling like such a colossal jackass, both for turning you down and for falling for you in the first place.

Stripping off his clothes, Price throws them in the hamper. He mindlessly guides himself into his en suite bathroom. The sunlight peeking through the window gives him more than enough light to abandon any consideration for the switch by the doorway. He cranks the handle on the faucet over, continually checking the temperature until it’s just right before pulling the lever and letting the showerhead spit to life.

Water just this side of scalding pelts his skin, and he feels his entire body relax, tension melting from his knotted shoulders. It feels good. It allows him to let go of everything in his brain and just feel. But that empty head doesn’t last.

John starts washing his hair, scrubbing at his scalp with the tip of his fingers, and a wave of warmth, warmer than the water, ghosts across his skin. He swears he can smell your perfume, and he imagines the hands in his hair are yours. He can practically hear your little giggle as he tilts his head back to rinse, whispering sweet nothings at a volume only perceptible to him.

It’s a constant struggle to block out the thought of you, even for just a few minutes. As he rakes a hand through his hair again, phantom hands follow behind. He imagines your fingers threading through, grabbing a fistful and giving it a rough tug. It’s enough to get him half hard, and he has to swallow the pleased noise in the back of his throat as he pictures those tugs while his face is buried between your thighs.

His hands map the contours of his body, lathering them up with the scent of leather, vanilla, and pine. He takes his time, picturing your hands running across his skin instead. His fingertips brushing across his hips sends a jolt through him, the image becoming far too vivid all at once. He can’t stop the harsh sigh he lets out, and he’s done pretending that he isn’t going to get off on this.

Not that he hasn’t been jacking it all weekend thinking about you. Honestly, if his math is correct, this puts him in double-digits since Friday night; it’s the third time today, even.

Wrapping a soapy fist around his cock, he allows himself a few short, quick strokes before squeezing around the base and slowing himself down. He’s going to savor this one because he is not going to be doing it again (that’s total bullshit, but let him believe it).

He imagines how pretty your mouth would look wrapped around him, those sweet doe eyes looking up at him as he nudges the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he sighs, picking up his pace a little. “Take it for me.”

His grip tightens around the tip as he twists his wrist, letting out a long, low moan. He likes to think you’d be making all sorts of saccharine little noises for him, sweet like your mouth is full of honey. There’s no way he’d finish like that, though. He’d reserve that for being so deep inside you, you could feel it in your stomach.

He throws his head back, wet hair falling away from his forehead, as he pictures having you bent over before him, bracing yourself on the edge of the tub as he runs his cock through your folds a few times. He’d relish how fucking soaked sucking him off would get you.

“Fuck, sweet little thing, is all that for me?” He thinks you’d nod, biting your lower lip as you look at him over your shoulder, wiggling that cute ass as if you’re asking for more. He’d give it to you. Fuck, he’d give you anything you want.

Again, his fist tightens around his dick. Even with as much as he’d work you up, Price still believes firmly that it’d be a decent stretch for you to take all of him (he’s not bragging; he just knows that he’s well above average). That pretty little pussy would be squeezing him so good, so he does his best to make his grip match.

“Your cunt feels so good, love,” he grunts, fucking his hand hard and fast. “Made for me, huh?”

You’d agree, wouldn’t you?

He licks his lips, adding, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Sweet little hole made just for me.”

He’d grab you by the throat, pulling you back against him for a sloppy, awkwardly-angled kiss while he fucks into you, on the verge of cumming purely due to the way you’re looking up at him. He’d be a gentleman, of course, offering to pull out, but he thinks you’d decline. He thinks you’d beg him to cum inside you. That’s what does him in.

“Want it inside me… Please, John… Inside… Fuck, don’t stop.”

With a stutter to his rhythm, Price feels the knot in his stomach burst, and he spills over his knuckles, hot, white streaks painting his fingers.

He doesn’t feel bad about it, touching himself, thinking of you; not when he knows without question that you want him just as bad.

♡

The changing of seasons comes far too soon, in more ways than one. As fall gives way to the bitter temperatures of the ever impatient winter, you, too, grow colder.

You don't call him by his name anymore. No longer do you inquire after his weekend or surprise him with his favorite tea in the mornings or recommend books you'd just finished. You don’t smile at him through lectures, nor do you greet him in the hall with your standard enthusiasm. You're still you with everyone else, but only the picture-perfect persona of professionalism with him, and that hurts.

It stings. Thousands of yellow jackets prick the inside of his chest at all hours of the day, driving their thorny needles in as deep as they'll go. He gets no reprieve, awake or asleep. Every icy interaction is another pang of regret, and how curious, he thinks, that those pesky wasps have managed to hold out so long with the changing weather.

As much as he'd like to, John can't blame anyone but himself. By all accounts, he did the right thing. If he would've kissed you, he wouldn't have been able to stop. It would become compulsive, habitual. Someone would find out sooner or later, and there's no doubt it would be cemented as part of your reputation. There's no telling what degree of damage that would do to your career. You've worked too damn hard to get this far; it wouldn't be right of him to take that all away for you over one moment of selfishness.

But is this not selfishness? The devil on his shoulder scolds him. It tells him it was never his place to make decisions for you, that you’re a grown woman capable of doing as you please, that you wouldn’t have practically begged him to kiss you if you didn’t want it just as badly as he did.

It isn’t until he overhears you talking with Johnny MacTavish, a TA from the science department, that he considers that little devil may have a valid point.

“I just feel so stupid, Johnny. One minute, I think he’s just about to kiss me, and the next, he’s turning me down. Did I do something wrong? Do you think I misread the situation? Or am I just gullible enough to think that someone like him would ever want me?”

“Oh, pish. I’ve seen the way that mook stares at you. Nothin’ wrong with you, bonnie; you’re the whole damn package. Seems to be him with the problem, aye?”

It breaks his heart that you’d think so lowly of him to diminish yourself in any way on his behalf. He has half a mind to intrude, to burst into your office and tell you the facts as they stand - that you’re the only thing he ever thinks about anymore, his only vice, that you are perfect to him, for him, that it is him who feels the need to address the issue at hand, that, as much as John may loathe to admit, MacTavish is spot-on (it’s nothing personal; he’s a good kid. Price just isn’t big on being called out for acting like a complete fool).

However, where Price hangs himself for this is the dichotomy of his apparent staring problem.

On one hand, he knows he chances a glance far too often for his own posterity. He catches himself looking in your direction time and time again during his lectures, hoping to catch you staring back, and has to remind himself how inappropriate that is under any circumstance. On the other, though, how is he supposed to just ignore the way you’ve been dressing as of late? It’s like you’re actively trying to kill him. His palms itch with a need to touch, fingers twitching with a want to squeeze, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like you were doing it intentionally. What better revenge than showing him what he’s missing out on?

It eats at him daily, knowing his own indecisiveness is the root of anguish for both of you.

Just this once, he tells himself he should've been selfish.

#john price x reader #john price x you #john price imagine #john price #john price cod #cod writer #cod x reader #cod x you #jj writes

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pinguwrites · 11 months

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Kinktober 2023 | Day Thirty-One — Jackson Rippner + ghostface!reader

Pairing -> jackson rippner x ghostface!reader

Summary -> In this college au, Halloween is nearing its corner, only for the festive mood to be cut short when your classmate is brutally killed. As the series of murders continues, Jackson Rippner finds himself the next target, oblivious to the fact that his hunter is you, his girlfriend, the ghostface.

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Warnings: mention of death, jackson being a simp

Disclaimer: Red Eye characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

This is just an excerpt for the full-length fic that's coming out, bc I felt like this prompt deserved something much longer than just a drabble.

A/N: not me reading over this thing after it's published and seeing all the mistakes 😭

Jackson Rippner was trying to become more romantic for you, an endeavor that started about a week ago after he noticed you liked passionate men. It was a simple conversation about fictional crushes — you know, the ones you have as a kid when he realized all the men you had pointed out were terribly lovey-dovey and all sentimental-like. A few origami roses here and there, some thoughtful gifts, maybe some poetic letters, and he was sure that he could outcompete all of them. He was the only man you needed, the only man you could ever want.

He knew how it sounded—pathetic. Since when was he the type to change himself for a girl? He was no Romeo or Jack Dawson, and he certainly didn’t want to be. He wasn’t a simpering fool, chasing after a pretty girl like it was his life’s mission, but as it turned out, he was for you. And if you liked your men romantic, then Jackson would be romantic

Starting off with whatever this was: a package of your favorite stuff. For one, two books you mentioned wanting to get but couldn’t spare the money for, which Jackson painstakingly searched through the town for. He finally found them in some niche bookstore on the outskirts of Craven, overpriced for the value—or some other equally stupid bullshit—even though he knew damn well that he could get it for half the price if he drove further into the main city. He would have, but he knew his father would get pissed if he wasted that much gas money, and fearing to face his fist, he settled for the high cost. It’s for her, so it’s worth it.

For second, and last—at least for now, some bath bombs. He made them from scratch, swiping the ingredients from around the house. He used a cedar wood scent for the essential oil, as it was the closet smell he could get to his cologne, and made three bombs, wrapped them in plastic, and put them alongside the books in the bag.

It was perfect. You were going to love it. You had to love it. How could you not?

He closed the bag and placed it on his desk, ready to go to sleep, when the landline downstairs rang. It was probably telemarketers, but it could also be his parents, who were out on date night.

He headed downstairs and picked up the phone, but the voice on the other end caught him off guard. “Hey,” a woman said, but it didn’t sound natural. It sounded like there was a voice modulator, the ones that criminals used in those crime shows you forced him to watch.

“Hey?” Jackson responded, confused, and a little irritated.

“I know who you are.”

Jackson tried to focus on the sound of the voice. Maybe he could pick out who it was if he listened close enough, but it was a fruitless effort. It was female, but too common to tell.

“You’re the one calling me,” he said, tone laced with amusement, “I should assume so.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“A creep? A weirdo?” Jackson laughed. “A stalker? I dunno. Take your pick.”

It was quiet. For a moment, he thought the woman hung up, but then she spoke again, “A lover. I’m a lover, Jackson.”

“Good for you.” He glanced back at the package he left on his desk. He was tired, and didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Now, how about you either stop acting mysterious and tell me what you want, or I cut the call.”

“Someone’s going to die tonight, Jackson,” the woman said. Oddly enough, Jackson felt a twinge of excitement at her words. It was oddly thrilling, and adrenaline inducing to hear such a thing. It was at this point he realized with himself that this was a prank, because who would just admit to premeditated murder? but still—it was hot. He wished you would say those things.

“I hope it’s that girl from my English class. What’s her name? Ah, fuck, I forgot. She’s the bitchy one —all emotion. Screams every time the lights go out. You know her?”

“Yeah, I know her.”

So, she’s been on campus, Jackson thought. Following me, maybe. I can’t believe it!

“It’s not her, though. But who knows, maybe she’ll be next. Would you like that?”

“Doll, I really don’t care. Do me a favor, and don’t call me again.”

He put the phone down and went back upstairs. What a fucking psycho. He was too tired to deal with this shit. After freshening up, he pulled the covers over himself and turned off the lamp, drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

@shroombloom-rry

@meetmeatyourworst

@mrkdvidal1989

#jackson rippner #jackson rippner x you #jackson rippner x y/n #jackson rippner x reader #cillian murphy #fanfiction #red eye #pinguwrites #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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ludi-ling · 6 months

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Prompt 1 - Heroes

I knocked out prompt 1 like a rabid little plot bunny. 🐇 Thanks @lovethelebeaux for your suggestion!

Got a prompt? Post it in the replies of this post.

Happy Easter everyone! 🐤🐰🐥🥚

The prompt:

The story:

Heroes

It’s a beautiful night.

Warm, and sultry, like the woman he’s just spent it with.

He slings his trench coat over his shoulder and whistles a dissonant little tune as he heads up the grassy incline to the mansion.

He’s jumped the walls. He prefers not to trigger the cameras. His indiscretions are his own. In any other place, he wouldn’t care. But he does here, in this place where there are responsibilities, and truth, and justice.

He doesn’t fit in. He knows this already. He won’t ever.

I’ll be sad, if you go, Stormy tells him. But if you must, you must.

I ain’t cut out for this, he replies. I ain’t like all’a y’all.

And she raises a gentle eyebrow at him, says; After all we have seen, all we have been through together, you can still say such a thing?

We had some fun, p’tit, he concedes with a grin. But look at ya now. Ya all grown up, Stormy. You’re an X-Man. And I’m still just a thief.

He’s worse. But no one here has to know that, and he doesn’t want them to know, not ever. Guilt is a heavier burden, in a place like this. You weigh your soul against the goodness of others. Stormy figures he can find some sort of redemption here. But she doesn’t know the sins he must one day atone for.

Earlier that day, he’d started packing. But he hadn’t been able to resist one last hurrah before hitting the road once more.

He’ll go back to his room, have a shower. Sleep what little he can, before a new day rises.

Then he’ll bid his adieus and be gone.

He skirts by the lake, and as he does, he hears a nearby splash of water. Once, twice.

It’s too early in the morning for birds. He pauses. He steps around the dense trunk of the cedar tree and follows the sound.

He stops when he sees her.

Floating on her back in the water, eyes closed, her silver and cinnamon hair fanned out like a halo around her.

She’s never like this.

Rogue is brash and loud, and when she’s silent she’s sullen… sometimes sad. But she’s never like this. Calm. Peaceful. At home with herself.

He looks aside a moment, feeling like he’s encroaching on a moment, and not knowing how to extricate himself from it.

Truth be told, he doesn’t want to.

He’s been avoiding her. Not because he doesn’t like her, but because he likes her too much. She’s a reason to stay, and yet a reason to go. He wants to touch her, but he can’t. He doesn’t stay for things he can’t touch, he can’t steal. What’s the point in stealing a heart from a body you can’t touch, after all?

He hears her splash again, and his eyes move back to her.

She’s standing waist-deep in the water with her back to him, her hair a coppery sheen down her back. She lifts her arms and wrings the water from her locks.

She’s naked.

His heart is thudding in his ears.

He knows a thing or two about beauty, but something about hers stirs him every time, in places he doesn’t know could be stirred.

He slinks back into the shadows of the tree, and when he hears her begin to the leave the pool, he turns aside and quickly leaves.

He feels as if he’s intruded on something he shouldn’t have seen, that she would never have let him see. The sentiment has never stopped him before, but he tells himself this is self-preservation. If he sees her and she sees him, it’ll invite him to break a boundary he doesn’t dare articulate. After Belle, after Marissa, after all the women he’s fallen for, there’s too much at stake.

There’s too much.

He marches up the slope to the back entrance. He’d thought he’d worked out all his urges and then some tonight, but she stokes fires in him without so much as even throwing a look his way. Tugs at him with the memory of her kiss, one he can’t ever relive again.

He reaches the flagstone steps, and walks up onto the veranda. The need hasn’t gone, and so he pauses in the doorway and lights up a smoke to calm his nerves. He closes his eyes and breathes. When he opens them again, he sees her walking up the hill towards him, dressed in nothing but a blue, terry-cloth robe, her feet bare. She ascends the steps, oblivious to his presence, and when she sees him in the shadows, she starts.

“Gambit,” she almost exclaims.

“Rogue.” He steps forward a little, into the porchlight. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean t’startle ya.”

She says nothing. For a moment they stare at one another, a little awkwardly, a little something more. He hasn’t spoken to her for about a week now; but he’s sensed her eyes on him, sometimes, across the dinner table, or from the other end of the Rec Room. He’d pulled away from their banter and light flirtation because he’d slowly been coming to the conclusion that it was better to leave, but here, now… he doesn’t want to go without saying some sort of goodbye to her first.

Maybe he's even tempted to steal another kiss from her, her powers be damned.

“You’ve been out late,” she breaks the silence first, noting his trench coat and his unbuttoned dress shirt. She’d been aiming for flippant; but the words are a little self-conscious, a little defensive, as if she knows, instinctively, what he’s been up to.

“Looks like you’ve been too,” he responds quietly.

She colours a little, tugging the robe tighter around her, as if suddenly aware of her nakedness beneath it.

“I went for a swim, down at the lake,” she explains, almost in a rush. “It’s safer to do it now, when no one else is about. Don’t gotta worry ‘bout absorbin’ anyone.”

“Hm.” He nods. “Bet it reminds you of splashin’ round in the Mississippi durin’ high summer too, neh?”

She smiles then, a genuine smile.

“Yeah,” she says. “Sure does.”

Silence falls. She swallows. His heart is still crashing in his ears.

He can’t stop thinking about their kiss.

He guesses she can’t stop thinking about it either.

“Listen,” she blurts, after a moment, “I was wonderin’… Wolverine and I gotta trainin’ session tomorrow mornin’. You wanna join us?”

He’s surprised.

“Heh. You want me to hand your ass t’ya again, chere?”

She almost colours again – it’s less the ass-handing that bothers her, and more the kiss that had come afterwards.

“Naw. Ya just been lookin’ so sorry for y’self lately, I figured you could use a distraction.”

He laughs softly.

“Thanks but no thanks, chere. Three’s a crowd. And I know Wolverine don’t like me much.”

She quirks a small smile.

“That old grump don’t like no one.”

“He likes you.”

She looks aside, reflecting on that a moment.

“Well… I protected someone he loved. And in return… he gave me the gift of life.” Her voice had become quiet. “Before that… he hated me. Everyone here did.”

He’s surprised to hear that.

“Why?”

She darts a look at him, awkward again.

“Didn’t Storm tell ya?”

He says nothing, and so she continues; “I was with the Brotherhood. I… I did a lot of bad things. To the X-Men. To other people. To innocents.”

She clutches the robe tighter around her, as if to shield herself from her shame.

“I nearly killed Ms. Marvel – someone who’s a real hero. I stole everythin’ that belonged to her – her powers, her mem’ries – everythin’ that made her her. Her mem’ries ate at me. Drove me nearly t’madness. She was so strong. So strong, I began to fear I’d lose myself. So I came here. Hopin’ against hope that the Professor could help me. And he did. Just not the way I was expectin’.”

The words seem to take something out of her. She sits on the balustrade, still clutching the robe around her.

“When I first came here, everyone hated me. I couldn’t blame them. I’d tried to kill them, hurt them, countless times. But I had nowhere else to go.”

“And you earned their trust,” he finishes the story for her. “You became like them. A hero.”

She smiles up at him faintly.

“Everyone who comes here… somehow… we all end up heroes. Of one stripe or another.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly and grinds out his cigarette with his heel.

“I ain’t no hero,” he mutters.

“You seem to be doin’ pretty well so far.”

He shakes his head and moves to sit on the balustrade beside her. Close… but not close enough to risk brushing against all the naked skin she’s exposing right now.

“You’ve moved on from your past, chere,” he mutters, rubbing his long fingers together. “Maybe I ain’t ready yet t’move on from mine.”

She stares at him. There it is again. Her gaze, like fire on his flesh, in his gut and lower.

“Nothin’ you’ve done can be so bad it’s irredeemable,” she says.

There’s certainty in her voice. She believes it. Everything she’s experienced here, with the X-Men, has taught her to believe it. But he doesn’t. He knows what it is to stain his hands with blood.

“Would ya say the same to the Shadow King?” he asks.

She says nothing for a moment, and he thinks he’s caught her out – but she doesn’t take the bait.

“Y’know somethin’, Gambit,” she begins softly instead, “for the longest time I wasn’t sure whether I’m here now, fightin’ the good fight, because it was Ms. Marvel’s mem’ries, her personality, her goodness and sense of justice, that brought me here. Hell,” she exhales a heavy breath, “I still don’t know. Scratch the surface, scratch away all the psyches I’ve ever absorbed… when you get to the core of me, the real me, who is Rogue? Is she a murderer and a terrorist, who became a ‘hero’ because she absorbed a hero? Or was she a good person from the get-go? I genuinely don’t know anymore. Since I was thirteen, all I’ve ever had is other peoples’ personalities layerin’ over mine, over and over, buryin’ me under.”

She braves a look at him.

“Sometimes I get scared that… I’ll wake up one day, and discover the real me that’s been hidin’ underneath all that shit. I get scared I’ll kill everyone in their sleep. That I’m not – and never really was – a hero.”

Her eyes her greener under the porchlight. There’s an earnestness in them that tugs at him more powerfully than her body.

And he can answer her question. Because he knows it. Because it’s been self-evident to him since he first laid eyes on her.

“You’re a hero,” he assures her quietly. You’re somethin’ I’m not. He touches the sleeve of her robe because he can’t touch her hand, and he adds: “You’re a good person, Rogue.” He rubs the fabric between his fingers, because he can’t rub her own. “And… you’re beautiful.”

The earnestness doesn’t leave her eyes. She doesn’t look away.

“I think the same things about you,” she says simply.

She puts a hand on his knee, and he feels the warmth of each finger through the fabric of his pants. His heart is crashing in his chest. A touch has never felt so intimate. He leans towards her, and, Dieu, she’s brave enough to lean back towards him. He wants to kiss her so badly, he thinks he might chance it. He thinks he might chance oblivion, and all his ugly secrets being ripped out into the open, to kiss and be kissed by this sweet creature who swears she’s no angel, yet is nothing but to him.

For a few short, lingering seconds they remain there, a breath away from a kiss. She draws away first. He doesn’t know it now, but in the years to come, it will always be her who will draw away first.

“I… I should go. Gotta get up early for that trainin’ session tomorrow.”

She slips off the balustrade. He is still holding her sleeve, and somehow he can’t let go. She glances up at him.

“Will ya be joinin’ us?” she asks hopefully.

“What time?”

“Eight.”

He thinks about it. He’s been planning to be long gone by then.

“A’right,” he says.

She smiles. He loves her smile, because she doesn’t smile enough, not like the way she is right now.

“Great. I’ll see ya then.” She pauses, adds a little shyly, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He relinquishes her sleeve, and she pads up to the door in her bare feet, throwing him another smile over her shoulder before she leaves.

He heaves out a pent-up breath.

His senses are burning. She consumes him like the sun. She doesn’t need to touch him to do it.

He gets off the balustrade and goes inside. He climbs the lonely stairs and heads back to his room. He stares at the bag on his bed, the bag he’d packed only just this afternoon.

He thinks of his words. Words so painfully honest he’d never meant to say them until he’d said them.

You’re a hero. You’re a good person, Rogue. And you’re beautiful.

Her hand on his knee. The warmth of its imprint.

I think the same things about you.

He wants to be the person she sees.

He doesn’t know if he can be. But he wants to be, for her.

He makes up his mind.

Slowly, methodically, he begins to unpack.

-END-

#Romy fanfic #Romy #Rogue #Gambit #Rogue and Gambit #Remy LeBeau #Anna Marie LeBeau #writing prompt #canon compliant

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zvmz · 11 months

Text

A few Lizzie Hearts HCs <3

already said but she has a vaguely heart shaped birth mark over her eye and she covers it up with paint

only kitty, maddie, and duchess have seen her without the paint

her pupils are heart-shaped

her favorite memory is during her 10th birthday the queen of hearts let lizzie have kitty, maddie, bunny and alistair come for a banquet of sweets and then a castle-wide game of hide-and-seek

she owns multiple stuffed animals and dolls

all of them are decapitated for some reason? crazy

i was crazy once

once she started openly dating daring, she started working out with him

thats how she discovered her love for boxing

it started as just a way to strengthen her arms for croquet

but eventually she started punching bags every other night as an anger outlet

and she got MUSCLES

daring loves it

all of her outfits, besides the one she escaped wonderland in, were handmade by her

she often exchanges sowing materials with ashlynn

her only crush before daring was on a young guard who worked in the queen of hearts castle

but she was forced to leave him behind when the evil queen cursed wonderland

she has no idea what happened to him after that

she can do seemingly impossible card tricks

has said she "doesnt understand the point of listening to music"

duchess thinks thats the most insane thing about her

but then she discovered Lana del rey and said "nvm"

her side of the dorm is very cluttered, while duchess' side is neat and organized

keeps at least one knife on her at all times (except thats canon)

she had the hardest time out of all the wonderlandians learning to speak normal english rather than riddlish

daring once bought her a bunch of white roses

they spent a date just painting them red together

she hates the color green

she always goes to sleep at the exact same time every night

11:24 pm

why so specific? no one knows

her and cedar dont actually speak to each other much

but they often just sit next to each other, lizzie sketching fashion designs while cedar paints flowers

lizzie calls kitty by her real name "katarina"

shes the only one who gets to do so

shes never played the dulcimer (string instrument) for anyone before. she doesnt believe shes very good at it

ok just one more sad one

the wonderlandians in eah actually have no way to contact anyone in wonderland

yes lets pretend that the cheshires couldnt do magical facetime or anything

so lizzie didnt even know for sure her parents were alive and well until brooke warned maddie there was a plot to overthrow the queen in wtw

i would say same for kitty but lets be real that woman is probably thriving with all the chaos of the curse

doesnt mean she didnt miss her though

#eah #ever after high #lizzie hearts #madeline hatter #daring charming #lizzie x daring #dizzie #kitty cheshire #ashlynn ella #cedar wood #duchess swan #lizzie the biggest girlboss #eah headcanons

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eremorte · 4 months

Note

You literally always send the best asks, so we’ll thought through and I’ve never seen you ask someone the same thing twice so I figured I’d sent you one

If you could write more seasons / specials / webisodes / crossover for eah what would the plot be for each?

Keep in mind that Mattel would still have to approve it so don’t go crazy with dark lore + queer ships but definitely can add more than what was originally in the series - or you can completely discard this and do what you want. Rules are made to be broken.

I would actually love to hear this extremely detailed if you had lots of ideas

I have been terrified of an ask like this one gracing my inbox. (Still grateful). As much as I ponder the franchise I haven’t thought of much that would objectively move the plot forward. What I’ve been obsessing over are the cracks in explanation or how plain everyone is in a world filled with magic.

Firstly, thank you? One of the reasons I haven’t asked anything twice is because if anyone wants to answer the prompt they are free to (Please do, I beg y’all). And because I figure people have already suggested these ideas already but outright saying “Hey, I want you to answer” appears to work best.

I really like asking people things! But it takes a while when a person has no clear prompt for questions ("asks are open" is vague in this bottleneck of a fandom). Or I see content on their blog that already answer a question I might’ve asked/not involved with other fandoms on said blog.

Also like, the asks I’ve gotten before were objectively a challenge so I just thought that was the bar…

I will say right now I don’t like crossovers so I don’t have many ideas regarding that (Even with g1 monster high).

So webisode ideas….

An episode in which Kitty either apologizes or doubles down on what she did in a Cat who Cried Wolf. (Let’s be clear, the consequences for Cerise would have been worse than death. I am still bitter) (and have also forgotten most of the books if this is ever rectified).

A few episodes where Apple and Raven don’t appear at all and also doesn’t introduce anyone new (they aren’t bad, I’m just bored of them appearing in everything).

Conversely, a few episodes where it focuses on the fact that allegedly Raven and Apple have a social circle outside of their room mate.

(Raven Maddie Cerise and Cedar)

(Apple Briar Ashlynn and Blondie)

An episode on what Apple and Maddie do as co presidents

(any extracurricular episode really)

An episode focusing on the brothers Grimm. I noticed that after Spring Unsprung continuity from the specials doesn’t seem to matter to webisode continuity. So it probably won’t delve into the resentment Giles has built up from being trapped. The next best alternative is something involving Milton’s obsession with the unicorns. Maybe Milton lost a unicorn but is too embarrassed to announce it and sends Giles (or Giles notices on his own and helps anyway) to find it.

And an episode where Ginger has to reconstruct something on her gingerbread cottage and Cerise and Ramona are enlisted to help her.

A boys only episode. Idc what the plot is.

Full salt ahead…

An episode where either Duchess or Ramona call out Poppy on her apparent Roybelness. (Ramona mostly, and then when Poppy reveals the sister secret Ramona is still annoyed, and points out that Grimm probably wouldn’t force them to switch places if he knew at this point (because you don't need two Rapunzel's, but you need at least one Badwolf). Cerise is the reluctant peace keeper)

Oh and also an episode where people eventually hear about the Red/Badwolf romance (friendship?) but mistakenly attribute it to Cerise and Ramona somehow. Obvious it gets cleared up by the end.

If nothing else a picnic date between Ramona and Red.

It seemed towards the end we would have gotten something focused on the hood-badwolf sisters. I'm not sure if the reveal of the secret and acceptance is what I want. I would want a special wholly dedicated to the reform school. Or at least, whatever Ramona did to her sent there.

Because it feels kinda annoying to shove the whole arc of acceptance into 45 minutes start to finish. And nothing in the show explicitly conflicts with Cerise revealing her secret to Hood Hollow (Unfairest of them All) which is objectively the bigger fish for them, compared to the populous of Ever After High, so, I'd be bored watching it. Besides even if in show canon Cerise didn't do what she did. It'd still be just the high school they focus on.

Given how the webisodes are formatted I would've preferred they dealt with the reveal that way (or like how they did THD). The tension between uploads would help.

#ever after high #eah #ask #episode ideas

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twobluecows · 6 months

Text

The Supernatural Novel Series

"Witches Canyon" Review, written by Jeff Mariotte

For those of you who don't know, there is an official Supernatural novel series with 17 books in total.

I have my hands on 5.

I just finished reading "Witches Canyon" which is the second book in the series, here is my spoiler-free review.

Rating: 2/5

The story takes place during season two, specifically early December 2006. The boys are investigating a 40-year ghost-murder cycle in Cedar Wells, Arizona, which is brought to their attention via John's journal. They meet some side characters, namely the town Sheriff, a woman named Juliet, and old man Harmon Baird who all are involved with the hunt in some way.

One of my main questions when going into this series was "how do these stories fit into the canon, if at all?" This book fits nicely into the main canon, it is just another hunt the boys go on. There is no outstanding plot hole that goes unanswered.

Overall this book is boring, which makes me sad to say. It took a while for the hunt to really pick up, and we didn't spend much time with Sam and Dean. Additionally, many of the ghosts they were fighting were Native American, and were consistently being referred to as 'Indians'. Both of which are cause the loss of points in my rating.

There were some funny lines and moments from the boys:

Off topic, but someone, and I'm not naming names (The dog) (Shortie) took a gentle nibble out of my copy.

This has been the first addition of Arin's Supernatural Novel Reviews, 16 more to come.

#arin's supernatural novel reviews #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural novels #book reviews

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artyandink · 7 months

Text

we could be more | dean winchester | 4

Summary: Ivonne Rainer was practically a trained killing machine. Stripped to the bone then built back up by her father in order to become one of the best, like he was. She was forced into hunting when she was nineteen, having developed powers that couldn’t be explained. That is, until she was paid a visit by Azazel’s lackey. Her powers were gone, she needed help, and that’s when she found her father’s journal. Pointing to Sam and Dean Winchester.

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHILDREN SHOULDN’T PLAY WITH DEAD THINGS

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : DRIVER’S LICENSE - OLIVIA RODRIGO

“Come on, Sam, I'm begging you. This is stupid.” Dean groaned as he drove the car.

”Why?” Sam asked.

”Going to visit Mom's grave? She doesn't even have a grave- there-there was no body left after the fire.”

“She has a headstone.”

“Yeah, put up by her uncle, a man we've never even met. So you wanna, go pay your respects to a slab of granite put up by a stranger? Come on.”

“It’s not about that.”

”Enlighten me then, Sam.”

“It's not about a body, or, or, a casket. It's about her memory, okay?”

“Mhmm.”

”And after Dad it ju-just feels like the right thing to do.”

“It's irrational, is what it is.”

”Look, man. No one asked you to come.”

”Why don't we swing by the roadhouse instead? I mean, we haven't heard anything on the demon lately. We should be hunting that thing down.”

”That's a good idea, you should. Just drop me off, I'll hitch a ride, and I'll meet you there tomorrow.”

”How about we ask what Beanie wants to do?” Dean turned slightly. “Whatcha wanna do?”

”Go to the graveyard.” I replied. “Believe it or not, my family’s tombstone is nearby. The night my family died was spent in Lawrence.”

“Well, then, you can pay your respects there.” Sam agreed.

We reached the graveyard, and I instantly started searching for our family plot. As soon as I found it, I sat at my dad’s grave, staring at the inscription of his name.

“Hey, dad.” I whispered. “It’s been 7 years since I last saw you, and if I’m being honest, it’s eating me alive cause I need you with me. I found your book and I saw your notes on Sam and Dean, so I found them and they’re protecting me from the dreamwalker cause the devil came after me, but only took away my powers. It feels like I’ve let you down.” My voice started breaking uncontrollably. “You told me to take care of my family, but there’s no one left to protect, so what am I here for?” I felt a tear drop onto my Panic!At the Disco t-shirt. “Dean and Sam have their own problems to deal with, b-but they insist that I don’t intrude. It’s… c-confusing.” I paused. “And there’s another thing. Everyone expects me t-to live up to either yours or mom’s name, but it’s so hard to do. I doubt I can-”

”Beanie!” I heard, so I left some flowers at the grave and went over to Dean.

“What?”

“Does this mean anything to you?” He pointed to the ground. There was a ring of dead grass surrounding a tombstone, along with a wreath of dead flowers. I wiped a tear from my eye, then nodded.

“It’s an odd ring of dead grass around a grave, it’s usually a sign of a troubled spirit or unholy ground.”

“You hear that, Sam?”

“Maybe the groundskeeper went a little agro with the pesticide.” Sam suggested, so I bent down and touched the soil, bringing it up to my face.

“Nope.” I shook my head. “If pesticide was still here, soil wouldn’t be dry. Excesses of it make the soil wet for a few hours after.”

“Okay, so what are you thinking?”

“Unholy ground.”

“Un-“ Sam stopped, looking dumbfounded.

“What? If something evil happened there, it could easily poison the ground.” Dean explained. “Remember the-the farm outside of Cedar Rapids?”

“Yeah, b-“

”Could be the sign of a demonic presence. Or the-the Angela girl's spirit, if it's powerful enough.” Dean grimaced at Sam’s nod. “Well, don’t get too excited, you might pull something.”

“It's just... stumbling onto a hunt? Here, of all places?”

“So?”

“So… are you sure this is about a hunt and not anything else?”

“What else would it be about?”

“Boys.” I sighed, going and getting a newspaper from a nearby stand.

“You believe what you want, Sam, but -- I let you drag my butt out here, the least we could do is check this out.”

“Yeah. Fine.” Sam grumbled.

“Her dad works as a professor at the university here.” I informed, looking up.

“Dr. Mason?” Dean knocked on the door in the university, and Dr Mason opened it.

“Yes?” He replied.

“I'm Sam. This is Dean, and this is Ivy.” Sam introduced. “We were friends of Angela's. We... we wanted to offer our condolences.”

“Please, come in.” We entered, and while Dean went to the shelves, Sam and I sat down.

“She was beautiful.” Sam smiled, looking at a photo.

“She was.” Dr Mason nodded sadly. I got up, going to the door.

“I’m going to get some fresh air.” I excused, then shut the door behind me. I looked around at the bustling students, and I gulped, remembering my brief time at college before I dropped out.

“You look lost.” I turned to see a dude who seemed to be six foot tall, making me feel small since I was 5’ 8”. He had dark brown hair, brown eyes and a smile that could probably blind me. He was dressed smartly, and glasses framed his eyes, giving him a geeky look. “Are you a student?”

“God, no.” I chuckled. “I’m here visiting Dr Mason with my brothers. We were friends with Angela.” I held out my hand. “I’m Lily Carter.”

“Nate, but the students call me Mr Coleman.” He shook my hand. “I’m sorry about Angela.”

“So am I.” I smiled. “It’s hard, but I’m dealing.”

“Your brothers are helping, huh?”

“More than I think they are.” I nodded. “They’re going through things too, so they need my help as well.”

“Sounds like a good thing.” He grinned, then looked like he was hesitant for something. “C-Can I get your number?”

“Oh, sure.” I pulled out my phone and so did he, and I read out my number. When we were done, his cheeks were red, a goofy smile on his face.

“Do you think we can-“

“Beanie?” Dean and Sam came out from the office, and found me. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” I asked.

“Course I will.” He grinned. “It was great meeting you, Lily Carter.”

“And you, Nate Coleman.” I replied, then walked off with the boys.

“I never knew ‘a breath of fresh air’ meant ‘find a new man’.” Dean teased.

“Dean, it wasn’t like that-“

“Don’t think that we didn’t see you staring at that dude like he was a cup of coffee.” Sam chuckled. “Just couldn’t resist him.”

“I got his number, but-“

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten about Will.” Dean snorted.

“Yeah, Will.” Sam laughed. “Speaking of Will, have you two been in contact since we left?”

“Nope.” I replied. “Just another relationship on the go.”

“We’ve had our fair share.” They both nudged me.

“Speaking of which, where are we staying for tonight?” Dean asked.

“I’ve got a safe house here.” I offered.

“How many safe houses do you have?”

I held up a set of keys.

“Damn.”

The moment we had gotten into the Impala, Dean had been blabbing on about how we ‘found something’. Sam was forever sceptical, and I was trying to find a quiet moment so I could text Nate.

“I'm telling you, there's something going on here. We just haven't found it yet.” Dean repeated as we closed the house door.

“Dean, so far you've got a patch of dead grass and nothing.” Sam groaned.

“Well, something turned that grave into unholy ground.”

”There's no reason for it to be unholy ground. Angela Mason was a nice girl who died in a car crash. That's not exactly vengeful spirit material. You heard her father.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Daddy doesn't know everything there is to know about his little angel, huh?”

“You know what? We never should have bothered that poor man. We shouldn't even be here anymore.”

“So what, Sam? What, we just bail? Without even figuring out what's going on?”

“I think I know what's going on here. It's the only reason I went along with you this far.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is about Mom’s grave.”

“Oh, he just went there.” I whispered, breathing out.

Dean scoffed. “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“You wouldn't step within a hundred yards of it. Look. Maybe you're imagining a hunt where there isn't one so you don't have to think about Mom. Or Dad.” Sam persisted.

“I’m not taking this-“ They were interrupted by my keys jingling, and I put my leather jacket on, ignoring their faces as I fixed my crop top.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked.

“Thanks for realising that I’m still here.” I smiled falsely. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m heading to the bar, alone, to get a drink. You two have a copy of the keys if you want to do something similar.” I went out of the door, walking to the bar.

I was busy drinking a whiskey at the bar, merely cause I was in the mood for something fancier than beer.

“You alright, sweetheart?” The bartender asked, prepping a drink.

“Yeah, I’m just getting away from my brothers. They might be wrestling at this point.” I replied with a scoff.

“I used to do that with my brothers. My mom said it should be professional.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I have something for you.” He gave me a Cosmopolitan, and I frowned.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“But the gentleman across the bar did. Paid for it an’ all.” He pointed to…

“Nate.” I half exhaled, half laughed as he walked up to me, sitting down on the bar stool beside me.

“Lily.” Nate grinned. “I never thought I’d see you again, not after your… brothers… whisked you away.”

“Why the emphasis?” I asked, sipping the Cosmo.

“Because I never knew that Lily Carter could be the sister of Sam and Dean Winchester.”

I choked on my drink. “You know?”

“A lot of hunters know who those two are.” He nodded. “So your name isn’t really Lily Carter, is it?”

“Nope.” I chuckled. “Ivonne Rainer.”

“Michael Rainer’s daughter?”

“You bet.” I smirked, then took out his ID, which I’d nifted from his pocket. “And your name isn’t Nate Coleman, is it, Xavier?”

“You got me.” He grinned. “I’m actually Xavier Jackson.”

“I never thought I’d see a hunter work undercover as a school teacher.”

“I joined the day after Angela’s death.” Xavier explained. “Something was up, cause I’d seen her grave. I’ve never seen a more obvious mark of-“

“-unholy ground.” We finished together, then started laughing. I drank my Cosmo to stop laughing, but then he seemed hesitant to say something.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“The first time I saw you with Sam and Dean, I thought you and Dean were dating or you liked each other, and I was scared to text you-“

I started laughing again, wiping a tear of laughter from my eye. “No way, Dean and I are friends! He just calls me Beanie cause I wore one the first time we met.”

”Phew.” He pretended to wipe off sweat from his forehead, adjusting his glasses. “I-I thought I had some competition, to say the least.”

“There’s nothing in your way, trust me.” I grinned.

I woke up, squinting my eyes at the bright light of the sun and sighing. I giggled when an arm wrapped around my waist, somebody peppering kisses along my shoulder.

“Last night was amazing.” Xavier whispered in my ear, and I turned around to face him.

“Last night was a blur.” I joked. “Can you remind me what happened?”

“Are you-“

“I’m kidding!” I laughed, cupping his cheek and rubbing my thumb against it softly. “Yeah, last night was… I don’t have words.”

“Your phone is ringing, though.” He whispered, and I pulled the sheets over me as I reached over, seeing the caller ID.

Sam.

“Oh, damn.” I cursed, then picked it up. “Hey, Sam?”

‘Ivy, thank god. You didn’t come home last night, where are you?’

“You know Nate, right? I met him at the bar, but I was a bit drunk and he took me to his house since it was nearer and neither of us brought cars.”

‘You could’ve called either me or Dean.’

“And risk either of you ranting about how dumb the other person is? Hell no.”

‘True- Dean, you’ll get your chance to talk- hey!’

‘Text me the address, Beanie, I’ll be there in five.’

“Fine.” I cut the call, texted Dean the address, then grabbed my clothes and quickly slipped into them.

“Call me later, yeah?” Xavier asked while putting his shirt on. The moment it went on, I never could’ve guessed he was jacked.

“Of course I will.” I kissed his cheek then his lips, but he kept me there by holding my hips. I pulled back, grinning. “Dean’s gonna give you the dad talk if he finds us kissing, even if he’s not my dad.”

“Right.” He combed his hair while I reapplied my lip gloss, picking up my keys and putting on my jacket.

“By the way,” I breathed, “you have the hottest sleeper build ever.”

“Glad to know.” He smiled, kissing my hand just as the roar of the Impala came from the other side of the door. I opened the door, waving and getting into shotgun, turning to Dean.

“No call.” He lectured. “No text, no warning that you might not be back-“

“Chill, Dean.” I sighed.

“And even after that, there’s no sign of a hangover. In fact, you’re weirdly glowing…” He paused, his head whipping round. “You got laid.”

“I, uh…” He pulled my collar down then let out a loud laugh, returning my collar to where it was. “You did! And by geek guy as well!”

“His name is Xavier.”

“I thought it was Nate.”

“He’s undercover investigating Angela.”

”We’re on a hunt and you got yourself laid.”

“Don’t think I don’t know about Cassie.”

The comment made him pause. “No comment. Was he good?”

“WHAT?!”

”It’s a genuine question! Did he treat you right?”

“He was great.”

“Then I have no problem.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You deserve to be happy, Beanie. My job is to protect you.”

We ended up at Angela’s roommate, Lindsey’s, apartment. Dean unlocked it, and we walked in, and he picked up a picture, but there was a reflection.

Of Lindsey.

“Who the hell are you?” She confronted before she shut the door, seemingly locking it.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, hold on!” Dean called.

“I’m calling 911!”

“Hear me out!” I spoke up. “I’m here with Angela’s cousin. Alan? Alan Stanwick? We’re here to pick up Angela’s stuff because her dad sent us.”

She opened the door slightly. “He never told me you were coming.”

“We have the keys to your house, sweetheart.” I smiled, holding up the keys.

“Who are you?”

“Naomi Wickham.” I lied. “Alan is my… boyfriend.”

She came back out, coming face to face with us. She sat down on the sofa, and started crying, so we sat down and handed her a Kleenex tissue.

“So. I'm sure you got a, a view of Angela that none of the family got to see.” Dean- I mean Alan- said. “Tell me, what, what was she like? I mean, what was she really like?”

”She was great.” She sobbed. “She was so, so…”

“Great?”

“Yeah.” She nodded before breaking down again. In an attempt to play the kind girlfriend, I gave her a tissue.

“Here you go.” I soothed. “You two must have been really close, huh?”

”We were. But it's not just her, it's Matt.”

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Angela’s boyfriend.”

“Right.” I nodded. “What about him?”

“He killed himself last night. He cut his own throat. Who does that?” Lindsey wailed, taking another tissue.

“That’s terrible.”

“He was taking Angela's death pretty hard, and I guess... I mean, he'd been messed up about it for days.”

”Messed up how?” Dean asked.

“He kept on saying that he saw her everywhere.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s normal, with everything he was going through.”

“No, he said that he SAW her. As in, an acid trip or something.”

“Were Angela and Matt a happy couple? I mean, is there any reason that Angela would be angry with him?” Dean persisted.

“What? No, of course not, why do you ask?” She looked confused, so I had to step in.

“Just checking, Lindsey. Where did Matt live?”

We opened the door to my safe house, hearing something weird going on with the television. Sam threw down the remote, acting as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey.” He coughed.

“Hey.” Dean grimaced.

“Awkward.” I whistled. “Let’s not have me come home to that again, eh?”

”Where in the hell were you?” Sam asked, deflecting.

“Working my imaginary case.” Dean sniped.

“Yeah? And?”

“Well, you were right, I didn't find much. Yeah. Except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat. But, you know, that's normal. Uh, let's see, what else. Oh, he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died. But you know, I'm sure that's just me transferring my own feelings.”

“Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, maybe there is something going on here.”

“Maybe? Sam, I know how to do my job, despite what you might think.”

“Hey, maybe we should check out the overall situation.” I interrupted. “We went to Matt’s apartment and it’s the same thing as the cemetery. Dead plants, hell, even dead goldfish.”

“So, unholy ground?” Sam asked.

“Maybe. I'm still not getting that powerful angry spirit vibe from Angela.” Dean picked up a pink book, showing it to us. “I have been reading this, though.”

“You stole the girl's diary?”

“Yeah, and if anything, she’s a little too nice.” I remembered a book from Dr Mason’s room, so I pulled out every language book I had in my satchel.

”Are you kidding me? I have her bestest friend in the whole wide world.” Dean turned to me. “What’s going on, Beanie?”

“Did you see a book with strange symbols in Dr Mason’s room?” I asked, flipping the book.

“Yeah, I showed him it.”

“I’m gonna need at least a few samples.”

“I didn't realise the college employed grief counsellors.” We were at the house of a guy named Neil, who seemed to be close friends with Angela.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, you talk, we listen. Or maybe throw in a little therapeutic collage, whatever jump-starts the healing.” Dean nodded.

“Well, I think I’m ok, thanks.” Neil refused.

“You heard what happened to Matt Harrison, right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, we just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I smiled. “Grief can make people do crazy things.”

”Look, I'm sorry about what happened to him. I am. But if Matt killed himself it wasn't 'cause of grief.”

“No? Then why?”

“It was guilt. Angie's death was Matt's fault and he knew it.” He said it almost bitterly, piquing my interest.

”How, Neil?”

“Well, she really loved that guy. But the night of the accident she walked in on him with another girl.” Neil explained. “She was really torn up, that's why she crashed the car. Um, look, I gotta get ready for work, so ... thanks for the concern, but... seriously, I'll be okay.”

We left the house, a little more assured than last time.

“Well, that vengeful spirit theory's starting to make a little more sense.” Dean shrugged. “I mean, hell hath no fury...”

“So if Angela got her revenge on Matt, you think it's over?” Sam asked as we got into the car. I was in the driver’s this time to give Dean a break.

“Well, there's one way to be sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Burn the bones.”

“Are you high?” I scoffed. “By ‘burning the bones’ you mean burning a still rotting body. That could release an angrier spirit.”

“C’mon,” Dean chuckled, “since when are you afraid to get your hands dirty?”

We were digging Angela’s grave, the three of us panting as we tossed soil into a large pile. When we were done, Dean gestured to the coffin.

“Ladies first.” He joked to Sam, who winced and opened the coffin-

“What the hell?” I exclaimed. The coffin was empty.

“This can’t be possible.” Sam frowned.

“They buried the body four days ago.” Dean fumed.

“I don’t get it.”

I aimed my torch at the side of the coffin, seeing inscriptions. I got in, bending down so I could see the letters properly.

“Beanie? Got something?” Dean called. I pulled a pen and a flip notepad out of my inside pocket, balancing the notepad on my knee as I quickly wrote down the inscriptions, every small marking possible. “Beanie!”

“We need to get back to the safe house.” I clicked my tongue, holding out my torch to see the paper. “I’m not translating this thing in a graveyard.”

“Alright, what now?” Dean asked, sitting down at the table. I sipped a cup of coffee, taking out every language book in my satchel and laying them out on the table, opening them to the title page. Then I reached in, digging my hand around, shoulder deep.

“Ivy, say something.” Sam urged.

“Alright, then.” I cleared my throat, still searching. “Where is this thing? Oh, right. So, that is an Ancient Greek dialect, as you know. But it’s gonna take me days to find the right one, and we don’t have that kind of time, so I need a little help.” I closed my fingers around a long cylindrical vial full of clear liquid. “Is this the truth serum?” I pulled the cap off, tapping the side twice. It glowed blue, so I smiled. “This is it.” I dipped a finger in it and made an inscription on the paper, feeling proud that I could actually still somewhat retain something from my witch days. “It’s actually relieving that I can still use some parts of sorcery.” I poured a careful amount in my hand and flicked it, drops of water landing on the front pages, but they absorbed the liquid and were left dry.

“What are we waiting for?” Sam whispered.

“Wait for it.” I grinned, and then the pages of every book started moving, flipping back and forth, searching for the right dialect.

“This is cool.” Dean laughed, his hands out and his expression like a child. “We’re experiencing witchery firsthand, Sammy.”

“I can see that, Dean.” Sam quickly replied. Then some books started closing with a snap, all of them shutting until one in the top left corner opened on a page with the exact dialect on it. I picked it up, placing it down on the left of the sheet I’d copied the scripture down on.

“Vitam superiorem voco. Legiones inferorum voco. Magnam virtutem invoco, o diabole, ut hanc animam vivifices. Mihi, illis, vitae.” I recited.

”Hey, you might summon a body!” Dean warned, but I waved him off.

“I need to inscribe this on a coffin for it to work, so chill, you little squirrel.” I chuckled, then looked over them again. “Translation: I call it a higher life. I call the legions of hell. I invoke a great power, O devil, for you to revive this soul. For me, for them, and for life.” I whistled. “This is an incantation for a ritual typically used in necromancy. You can use it to chat to souls on the other side or revive fresh corpses. But you can’ just do a random person, it has to be someone close to you and it requires a blood sacrifice.”

“Blood sacrifice?” Sam repeated.

“You heard me. Person we’re looking for most likely has a rune in their arm. But best bet? Dr Mason. Man knows his Ancient Greek.” I drew air in through my teeth, stacking the books one by one and placing them in my satchel.

“I know we’ve never really touched the subject, but…” Sam pointed to my arm, the one with the rune on it, “how do you get by without your powers?”

“I’ve done a lot of hobbies, and one was hunting. I’ve been training since I was around six or seven, which was when Dad taught me how to draw pretty shapes with salt, what he called holy water and oil. Then when I was ten, he gave me books on different creatures and how to kill ‘em. Then when I was thirteen, he took me to a range in the middle of the woods where he taught me to shoot. By the time I was off to college, I was an expert marksman, a good fighter since he’d put me in martial arts, I knew almost everything there is to know about things and how to kill ‘em. I only got my powers at 19, so I could get by pretty well if I didn’t have ‘em.”

“Your dad taught you well.” Dean smirked.

“Yeah, by the time I was, what, fifteen, I could just do this.” I covered my eyes, aiming for a target board on the wall and firing, uncovering my eyes and seeing that it hit bullseye.

“I couldn’t do that at fifteen.” He grumbled. I checked the time, then cleared my throat.

“I’ve gotta go, boys.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“I’ve got a date.” The two whistled, making me grimace. “You’re both idiots.”

“Well, c’mon, we need to get you ready!” Sam grinned, starting to fluff up my hair. Dean folded my jacket’s collar, clicking his tongue.

“You go and spend some time with Xavier, we’ll confront the old man.” Dean winked.

“If we need you, we’ll call you.”

“Thanks, guys.” I smiled. “Even if you two are both annoying.”

”You’re like our sister, Beanie.” Dean smirked, taking my necklace and hanging it down the front of my shirt, where the green stone was visible. “But if Xavier breaks your heart, I am taking my pistol and going for him myself.”

”I don’t know, maybe I can talk to Angela to get the deed done.”

I was waiting for Xavier outside a bar, when I felt someone’s presence.

“Who’s there?” I frowned, putting my hand on my gun.

“Don’t shoot.” Angela was beside me. “You’re Ivonne. Ivy.”

”Speaking.” I still kept my hand on my gun. “But why?”

”I know your brother. Carter.” She explained. “We met on the other side and asked me to find you. He wants to tell you who took over his mind the night he died.”

”Tell me.” I gritted my teeth. “Angela, so help me, tell me who did it.”

”It was-“

”Ivy?” Xavier was walking towards me, and the next thing I knew, Angela was gone. “Hey.”

”Hey.” I grinned, pecking him on the cheek. “It’s been such a long time.”

”I know, eight hours is way too long.”

After a while of talking, I got a phone call from Dean. I picked it up, sighing. “Really? Three hours?”

’It wasn’t Dr Mason.’ Dean replied. ‘But, uh, we need some help with the rest of this.’

“Do you need my help so you don’t verbally assault anyone else?”

‘Pretty much.’

“I’ll be there.” I cut the call, grimacing. “The boys need me.”

”That’s fine.” Xavier shrugged. “I don’t mind it, cause I know how it is. Go, solve the case.”

”Ok, Xavier.” I smiled, giving him a kiss. “Thanks.”

”Go get it, then thank me again.” He grinned, and I picked up my stuff, got a taxi and drove back to the safe house. I unlocked the door, hung up my jacket, and went into the kitchen.

“You needed me?”

”We think Neil is the one who brought back Angela.” Sam explained.

”Is there some voodoo that you can use to track the spell’s caster down?”

“There should be, yeah.” I nodded, reaching in my satchel and pulling out a spell book and a bundle of rosemary. I arranged the rosemary into a rune, writing Neil’s name onto a sheet of paper and taking Dean’s lighter, muttering an incantation before burning the paper, letting it fall onto the rosemary. All of it burnt to ashes, but then turned red and started forming a person. A person who looked like the spitting image of Neil himself. “There we go.”

“Neil resurrected Angela.” Sam breathed. “The things you’d do for love.”

“But these things are typically what you shouldn’t do.” I clicked my tongue. “Sam, anything in John’s journal?”

“No lore.” He shook his head.

“What, you can’t just smoke ‘em with a headshot?” Dean asked.

“Man, you watch way too many Romero flicks.”

“Well, they can’t be unkillable.” I pulled out a book and opened it. “Oh, god help me, this is in Babylonian even though it’s an Ancient Greek manner of killing the revived. Give me a second.” I peered at it for a second. “The most sure-fire way to kill these things is through a blood sacrifice. Theirs. In order to get the blood, they say you have to ‘nail the dead into their grave beds’.”

“We have to find dear Angie, then.” Dean resolved, storing his gun on his person.

”But Angela’s going to be hard to neutralise, so prepare silver bullets just in case.” I replaced the cartridge full of lead bullets in my gun with a cartridge of silver bullets.

“Got it.”

We unlocked the door to Neil’s house, my gun held up.

“Hello? Neil?! It's your grief counsellors- we've come to hug.” Dean called, and I gave him a look. “What?”

“Really?!” I whispered as he pulled out a gun.

“Silver bullets?” Sam asked.

“Enough to make her rattle like a change purse.” Dean smirked.

“Wilted plants.” I nodded. “And creepy basement door. Unless he keeps his private collections down there, I’d say this is a good place to keep a killer zombie.” Sam opened the door and both Dean and I sped to the landing, holding our guns out as we stepped down the stairs. However, it was empty.

“Sure looks like a zombie pen to me.”

“An empty one. You think she’s gone to get someone?”

Dean pulled back a vents revealing a hole. “Nah, I think she’s gone to rent beaches.”

“Look, smartass, she might kill someone. We gotta find her, Dean.”

“Well, Matt was killed because he cheated on Angela, right?” I asked, hands in my pockets.

“Yeah.” They both answered.

“So it takes two to tango. Plus, Angela’s roommate Lindsey seemed a little too attached to Matt’s death.” I deduced. “I think we need to pay another visit to Lindsey.”

We drove up to Lindsey’s house, running up to the front door. We opened it and I ran past the boys, aiming at Angela and firing three times. She writhed, screaming and facing us. I shot one more time, hitting Angela in the chest, and she cried out and ran out of the window.

“I’ve got you.” Sam whispered to Lindsey, holding her. Dean ran out of the window that Angela burst through, running back in a second later.

“Well, that dead chick can run.” Dean scoffed. “I think we should have a little chat with Neil.” We made sure Lindsey was safe before running to the car, getting in and driving off to Neil’s house.

”So the silver bullets, they did something, right?”

“Something, but not enough.”

“Time to try the nailing into their grave thing as a Plan B.” I grimaced. “I know where we can get a pole from, so I’ve made a call. This is probably where all the vampire lore comes from, now that I think of it.”

“How the hell are we going to get Angela back to the cemetery?” Dean asked.

“You tell me, Winchester.” We pulled up at Neil’s office, knocking sharply on the door. When there was no answer, I took a picking tool and opened it, all of us advancing into his room.

“What are you guys doing here?” Neil asked, standing up.

“You know, I've heard of people doing some pretty desperate things to get laid, but you -- you take the cake.” Dean scoffed.

“Ok- who are you guys?”

“You might want to ask Angela that question.”

“What?”

“We know what you did, Neil.” I persisted. “You brought back Angela. Kid, I’ve gone through a fair share of rituals myself and I know one when I see one.”

“You're crazy.” Neil stammered.

“Your girlfriend's past her expiration date and we're crazy?” Dean scoffed. “When someone's gone they should stay gone. You don't mess with that kind of stuff.”

”It’s black magic, Neil.” I sighed.

“Angela killed Matt. She tried to kill Lindsey.” Sam exclaimed urgently.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Neil whispered.

Dean stomped over, taking Neil roughly by the collar. “Hey! No more messin’ around, Neil. His blood is on your hands. Now. All of us can make this right, but you've gotta tell us where she is. Tell us!”

“She’s at my house!” He burst out, looking hounded. Dean spotted a wilted plant and so did Sam and I, so Dean formulated a plan.

”You sure about that?” When Neil nodded, Dean smirked his proud smirk. “Listen. It doesn't really matter where she is. There's only one way to stop her. We've got to perform another ritual over her grave, to reverse the one that you did. We're going to need some black root, some-some scar weed, some candles... It's very complicated, but it'll get the job done. She'll be dead again in a couple hours. I think you should come with us.” Dean stared intently. “I'm serious, Neil. Leave with us. Right now.”

“No, no.”

I leaned in, dropping my voice to a whisper. “I get your situation, Neil. But more people could die. So, listen to me carefully. Get out of here as soon as you can. But most of all, be cool. No sudden movements. Don't make her mad.” He nodded shakily, and I patted him in the shoulder. I raised my voice deliberately, turning to Sam and Dean. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“You really think this is going to work?” Sam asked.

“Nope.” Dean shrugged. “But it’s the only plan we’ve got.”

”You ordered a metal pole?” Xavier showed up with a pointy metal rod, which he gave to Dean.

“Yeah, we did.” I grinned, kissing Xavier briefly. “Thanks, Zay.”

“We owe you, man.” Sam grinned, shaking his hand.

“Yeah, we do, Zay.” Dean teased. “I’m kidding. Name’s Dean.”

“Xavier, as you know.” He smirked, both of them shaking hands. We heard a noise, and I pulled a gun from my arm holster, going in the direction of the sound. I heard steps behind me, so I turned around and pointed my gun at Angela, who stopped short, putting her hands up.

“Wait! It's not what you think. I didn't ask to be brought back.” She begged. “But it's still me. I'm still a person. Please.”

“Do I care?” I scoffed, then shot her in the forehead. Her head snapped back as she screamed, and I started for the grave, but she tackled me, and twisted my head back.

“I could’ve told you who killed your brother!” She snarled. “Now you have to die, just like he did.”

“Yeah, right.” I shot her in the chest, getting up and shooting again. Another bullet joined me: Dean’s. We both fired at her again and again, until she reached the end, to which Xavier fired a shot from his gun, and she fell in. Dean took the pole, stabbing it into her.

“What’s dead should stay dead.” He growled.

“WAIT! NO-“ Dean drove the stake through her, and she immediately went limp, cutting off her last plea.

”Finally.” I groaned, replacing my cartridge.

Dean seemed rather off after we re-killed Angela, and Sam wanted to keep Xavier company, so the other two were driving back to my house in Xavier’s car. Dean’s hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white, and then he suddenly pulled over. He got out and so did I, watching as he sat down on the hood.

“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting down.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, looking down.

“For what, Dean?”

“The way I've been acting. And for Dad. It’s my fault that he’s dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you and Sam've been thinking it -- so have I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later Dad's dead and the Colt's gone.”

I sighed. “Dean…”

“You can't tell me there's not a connection there. I don't know how the demon was involved. I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly. But Dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know.”

“We don’t know that, not for sure.”

“You, Sammy and Dad ... you're the most important people in my life.” He started crying, and I took his hand. “And now ... I never should've come back, Ivy. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead. You and Sam wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it. So tell me. What could you possibly say to make that all right?”

“I can’t.” I whispered, but I instead leaned his head on my shoulder, letting him cry it out. “But I know how you feel.”

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#dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #sam and dean #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn masterlist #supernatural oc #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x you #supernatural #ivonne rainer

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saibugslegacy · 11 days

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Odysseus Ask Game

my fabulous mutual @rypnami posted an ask game for characters and I decided to fill it out for Odysseus to try and force myself to devlope him more lmao

1) if your mc was an animagus, what would their form be? if they are, what is their form?

His patronus is a black mamba but if he was an animagus I think they’d be a dog, specifically a really big pitbull, we’re talking great dane sized pitbull

2) if they could choose what animagus form they would take, would it be the same? or would they want to have a different animal form?

Honestly he’d probably want to be a snake just for a point, but he’d also be okay with the pitbull

3) does your mc have a favourite colour? why is it their favourite?

His favorite color is actually periwinkle, he likes it because it’s softer and different than all the things he’s “supposed” to like. He’s not supposed to like pretty things but he does

4) in a modern au, would your mc use social media? what would their preferred platform be? why is if their preferred one?

Good news I have a modern au in development so ive actually thought about this question. Odysseus would be on twitter mainly and have two accounts, one his verified account (in my modern au his mother is the vice president of the us) and a private one where he mainly talks shit about all the people and htings he has to deal with during the day and is gay about his boyfriends (this includes in a certain au i have with a certain mutual of mine)

5) did you consult wand lore when choosing their wand? if so, why did you pick what you did? if not, would you ever change wand details to match your mc?

I did indeed. Odysseus’ wand is cedar wood and unicorn hair. I chose a cedar wand because it’s noted as choosing shrewd and incredibly loyal wizards, but what really sold it was that the users of cedar wands are often underestimated but incredibly powerful, especially when harm is done to their loved ones. I picked unicorn hair because it’s a very consistent core and he just really needs a steady consistency, if his wand was moody he’d burn down Hogwarts

6) what is your mc’s diet? are they vegan, vegetarian, do they eat whatever? Why?

Not a limited diet but does tend to err more towards “fancier” foods only because that’s what he’s used to. But “simple” foods are comforting to him

7) what is your mc’s backstory as to why they didn’t join hogwarts until 5th year? or did you retcon that part of the story when creating them?

Odysseus didn’t go to Hogwarts because he was a squib. He had ancient magic but couldnt use it until him and his siblings stumbled on an ancient magic hotspot and activated it. Suddenly he could do magic and less than a week later Fig showed up to Carrow manor with a Hogwarts letter for him

8) what house is your mc in? why are they in that house?

Odysseus is a Hufflepuff because underneath all of the…everything, his core traits are his loyalty to his family and his hard work in order to make his family proud

9) were you inspired by characters from other media when making your mc? if so, which characters? and how did they influence your mc?

The idea of the Owl came very vaguely from Batman and Spiderman but that was it

10) does your mc have any special abilities? (legilimens, parsletongue, metamorphagus, etc) how do they choose to use these powers? did you give them powers for fun, or does it relate to their backstory/plot?

Odysseus is a born Legilimens! He uses the powers mainly unwillingly, he cant really turn them off. But he can focus them and does so either to communicate with people or for interrogation on his family’s behalf. The powers and the backstory kind came at the same time. I knew I wanted to make a Hufflepuff that subverted expectations but wasn’t sure how to incorporate that. I thought of an MC who “should” be a Slytherin but ended up in Hufflepuff, then why would they be trying so hard, maybe they dont have magic but then how does the ancient magic present itself, and i’d already wanted to make a legilimens

11) what is your mc’s blood status? how does it affect their time at hogwarts? how does it affect their home life?

Odysseus is a pureblood, one of the sacred twenty-eight families. His family are definitely blood purists and from hearing their thoughts about it constantly his own thoughts ended up mirroring theirs because that was how he was “supposed” to think. He had a LOT to unpack once he got to Hogwarts

12) did your mc open the repository? why or why not?

I’m not sure honestly, I haven’t gotten that far in the story yet. I think he might take some of it and then contain the rest, but im not married to that yet

13) if your mc opened the repository, how did absorbing all that power affect them, if it did at all?

It would basically just make it so they have more of a core since they don’t have a natural magic core of his own and using magic exhausts him

14) what does your mc think of the keepers? do they trust them? why or why not?

Odysseus HATES the Keepers and does not trust them at all, he thinks the whole thing is stupid and he hates how they care so much about the trials over just answering his questions and letting him do the job they want him to do so he can get it over with

15) how does your mc’s story continue after 5th year? how do they cope with everything that happened with ranrok, sebastian, etc?

Sebastian is going to need a major redemption arc with Odysseus, but Ody’s story in 6th year is mainly trying to figure out how to escape his family then deciding no, he needs to take down his uncle and save his family

16) did your mc learn the unforgivables? why or why not?

He did because to him the Unforgivables are just powerful spells, he doesn’t think different until later but by then he already knows them

17) did your mc turn in sebastian? why or why not?

He did not because he did not care about Sebastian killing his uncle, it was the other stuff he had a problem with. Plus, he couldn’t do that to Ominis

18) what is your mc’s family like? do they have siblings? do they still have parents?

cracks knuckles alright buckle up buttercup. His father, Fabian, died when odyssesus was young because he was an auror and their house got attacked by dark wizards. Odysseus’s uncle Magnus became the head of the family until Ody’s brother Theodore could come of age who at the time of the game is only. Magnus already hated Ody because he was a squib, then he came out and Magnus hated him more because Odysseus being treated as a man would put Magnus’ position as head of family in danger even sooner. Ody’s mother’s name is Yvaine, she was a Lestrange before marrying into the Carrows. Ody also has three sisters, an older sister names Ambrosia who marries Professor Black’s son Cygnus, and despite being an arranged marriage they are grossly in love. Then there’s Vivian, who is 14 and a Slytherin, and little Marianna who is 9

19) does your mc have a love interest? who is it? why did your mc fall for that character, if they do have a love interest?

At this point ody has about 734638 love interests but his main one is phillip ( @rypnami ) or maybe Poppy

20) does your mc have a favourite spell? if so, what is it and why do they like it the most?

I dont think he really has one honestly, if he did it would probably be diffindo, it’s brutal and efficeient

21) if you could change anything that the mc does in the game, what would it be? why would you change it? how would you change it? (ie; a line they say, an event of a quest, things of that nature)

MC is WAY too nice and empathetic to be Odysseus honestly but other than that not much

22) does your mc have any pets? if so, why do they have the pets they have? and for fun, what are their pets’ names?

He has a rosy boa snake named Persephone who is a massive diva and has a rivalry with Ominis over Odysseus’ attention, and a horned owl named Merlin who does not want to be here and just wants to do his job

23) when designing your mc, why did you choose the appearance you did? has it changed at all since you first made them? would you change anything now?

I wish his eyes could be a brighter purple but otherwise I like him as is. I kinda just followed my heart and clicked things till i made a pretty boy

24) where is your mc from? where is their family from?

Carrow manor is in Ireland and partially from india while his mother’s side of the family is from france

25) what is your mc’s favourite season? why is it their favourite?

Odysseus likes winter because everyone stays inside so he can go outside and get some peace and quiet

26) how about your mc’s favourite holiday? what makes it special to them?

He likes christmas because when he was a kid it was the only time he got to see Ominis and they could actually spend time together, unlike the social events they were dragged to where they had to mingle and such

27) if your mc wasn’t in their current house, where would they have been sorted? why do you think they’d be there?

He still wouldn’t be a Slytherin unfortunately for him, he would be a Ravenclaw. He learned so much about things like potions, herbology, and magic theory so he wouldnt be as much of an embarrassment and that takes a lot of cleverness

28) does your mc have a favourite childhood toy? if so, what was it? do they still have it with them?

Before he came out he had a little music box from his mother. His uncle threatened to take it but Odysseus buried it where the ancient magic hotspot was

29) what kind of music would your mc like? is there a reason?

Classical. He will never admit this because he has a hard enough time being taken seriously as a man but he adores dancing, mainly ballet and ballroom dancing, so thats why he likes classical. He’s particularly fond of the violin

30) last but not least, just tell us something you love about your mc!

I fucking love his eyes I wish I could make them look right in game. I will attach a picture below

#odysseus carrow #ask game #mutuals #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts oc #hogwarts legacy male mc #hogwarts legacy male oc

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