#this be some heavy shite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

padfootagain · 1 month

Text

Only an Almost (IX)

Chapter 9: Testing Feelings

Hello!! Here is another chapter! Will Sam’s plan work???

Hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 2163

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

On paper, Sam’s plan sounded both brilliant and simple.

This night out with your friends did sound, indeed, like the perfect place to make you jealous.

Andrew had spent most of the evening with his friends, including you. You looked ethereal tonight, he wasn’t sure how you did this, how you could always make his heart skip beats by the mere sight of you. Perhaps, if he knew how, he would ask you to stop.

The group was now splitting into tinier cells, some levitating around a game of pool, others chilling by the bar, while some where still lost in conversation by the table around which you had gathered at first. You were off to get another drink. Sam leaned closer to Andrew, the two of them having remained sitting in the booth.

“The brunette over there is staring at you.”

Andrew frowned, before turning around to take a look, trying to spot the person his friend was talking about. It was easy to notice her, indeed. When Andrew locked eyes with hers, she didn’t look away, only threw him a flirtatious smile. He was the one to turn back to his friend with a blush.

“Sam… I don’t know if I should…”

“Ha! No! Don’t back down, now! We’ve talked about this, and this is the best plan we have. So, get out there, flirt with her, and see what happens with Y/N. This woman is perfect! She’s beautiful, and very clearly interested in you. So, don’t make her wait.”

But Andrew made the ice-cube of his whiskey twirl, and didn’t stand up.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Sam, who knew his friend a little too well.

Andrew swallowed back the lump in his throat, before answering in a whisper, still staring at the brown liquid in his hand.

“What if she doesn’t care? What if she doesn’t give two shites about me flirting with another woman? Do I really want to know the answer to that question?”

Sam rested a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, squeezed for a few seconds.

“No, you don’t,” he answered earnestly, making Andrew look up again. “But you need to. You need to, Andy. Trust me.”

Andrew finally nodded, emptied his drink, and finally got up. He gave the woman a timid smile as he approached her. She was sitting at the bar, alone. She was pretty. In another life, he could have fallen for someone like her. But in this one, you were filling all of his heart already.

“Hi,” he spoke quietly, his voice deep and warm although a little hesitant. “Sorry to bother you, and feel free to say no if you don’t feel like it but… can I buy a drink, by any chance?”

She raised a playful eyebrow.

“I don’t even know your name,” she fought back, and he liked the way she smiled with mischief all over her features.

“Andrew. The name’s Andrew. And you are?”

“Marissa.”

“Lovely name.”

“Yours is pretty basic, but it’ll do.”

He couldn’t help but genuinely laugh at that.

“Hey, it gets the job done. You say it, and I come running.”

“And why did you come to me? I wasn’t calling your name.”

“Hmm… no, you weren’t. But according to my friend over there, you’ve been staring. Which is highly impolite. So, I thought I should buy a drink.”

“If I was impolite, shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink?”

“You can buy round two and three, so we’re even.”

She laughed, and the sound was lovely. All Andrew noticed was that you were bringing drinks back to the table. You frowned, looked around. And then you saw him, and frowned some more, as if you had been searching for him, but were surprised to find him there, with someone else.

As he focused on Marissa again, Andrew could think of nothing but you.

“Well, you should buy me that drink, then, so I can quickly repay my debt,” Marissa answered, and Andrew ordered another whiskey.

You were looking at him and Marissa, Andrew wondered if his plan was working.

Daphne and Sam and the rest of the gang were somewhere else, lost in the dim lights and crowds of the busy pub. He was discreetly looking at you over there, standing near the table where some of your friends were gathered. Others were playing pool, some were simply scattered around the place. But everyone was lost in conversation… except for you. You were standing there, staring at him, with an unreadable expression on your face.

Did it hurt, to see him flirt with another woman?

Marissa rested her hand on his forearm. He didn’t feel anything at the touch, but he let her anyway. He even leaned a little closer, for good measure, staring at her dark eyes again. She was beautiful. You were all he could think about…

“When is this wedding then?” she asked, the tone one of conversation, but there was something syrupy in her voice that was meant to lure him in.

“In about four months now! Time flies.”

“Have you decided who you’ll go to the party with?”

He laughed, a little too loudly, just to show you that he was having fun. That he could laugh without you. That he didn’t need you.

He was lying through his teeth.

“Not yet,” he answered while staring right into this stranger’s eyes, making his voice a little deeper than usual on purpose. “Do you have suggestions?”

“I mean… I can think of a possibility… depending on what happens between then and now.”

She held up her open palm, and Andrew knew to place his phone in her hand. She entered her phone number.

“I have to go for tonight, but I hope you’ll call me soon,” she said, handing him back his phone, and her smile was tempting enough to melt a glacier.

Andrew nodded, gave her a wink. She moved closer to kiss his cheek, and he let her, bending a little to offer his skin to her lips. They were warm and soft, he could feel her lipstick on them. He wondered if you were still looking.

She gave him another warm smile; and he returned the gesture, bid her a goodnight and a safe trip home.

He didn’t look at you again, instead he grabbed his glass of whiskey, and downed the burning liquid. He turned towards the bartender and asked for a refill. He recognized your footsteps behind him, and he thought you would stop by his side, but you didn’t. You made a beeline for the bathroom instead, and his heart leapt in disappointment.

“Andy! Get your arse over here!” Alex shouted from somewhere behind him. “I need your word for a story! Daphne won’t believe me!”

Andrew shook his head, a fond and amused smile on his lips as he turned to his friends, taking his new drink with him. He kept an eye on the door to the bathroom while he joked with Alex.

“I was sick,” Andrew defended himself.

“We were thirty minutes before a show, when this guy just gives us the most cringy sound I’ve ever heard. Somewhere between a prepubescent getting hit in the balls and a dying pig.”

“I had the flu, and was completely stoned on steroids to keep my voice somehow functioning.”

“Excuses, excuses! He got us all panicking, thinking he wouldn’t be able to perform.”

“And I did!”

“How professional…”

“Thanks, Alex…”

“… to perform while higher than a fucking boeing!”

Andrew playfully rolled his eyes, making everybody laugh.

He caught a glimpse of your jacket as you hurried from the bathroom to the door of the pub.

“Ha… Y/N’s calling?”

“Fuck off,” he merely answered his bass player, making Alex chuckle.

“You’d better hurry before she leaves you behind.”

Andrew didn’t answer and merely followed his friend’s advice, emptying his drink before leaving the glass discarded on the nearest table.

You were pacing a few meters away from the entrance of the bar when Andrew stepped outside.

You froze as you noticed him.

“Y/N? You’re okay?”

You blinked at him, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

You looked paler than usual, your eyes were a little red. He wasn’t sure if it was due to fatigue or tears.

“Are you sick? You want to go home?”

You hesitated, but finally nodded.

“Yeah, I… I think I’m gonna head home. I’m tired and… I had a bit too much to drink.”

“Give me a sec, I’ll grab my coat.”

“I’ll call a uber. Anyway… you’re not sober either, you can’t drive, Andy…”

“It’s almost one in the morning. It’s late, let me take you home, okay?”

“I… I’d rather you don’t.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at you.

Did it mean that his plan was working? That you were jealous?

“Why not? Did I do something wrong?” he asked, feigning innocence.

You took a couple of seconds to answer, your expression still unreadable.

“No… no, you didn’t. But I don’t want you to accompany me. I don’t need your help.”

He was taken aback by your answer, by how much it hurt to hear those words coming out of your mouth.

“I just… I was just trying to be helpful.”

“You seemed busy enough tonight… Don’t you have someone else to go home with?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, trying to hide how impatient he was, how he hoped for the answer to be a yes.

You scoffed, hands coming up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re not dating! You can sleep with whoever you want.”

“You’re jealous,” and this time it was more of a statement than a question.

“I’m not! We’re not dating! We’re not exclusive! If you want to have fun with… whoever that was, then go ahead! Have fun!”

“We just flirted, nothing serious.”

“You got her number, that’s a win!”

You hesitated for a moment, but asked the question on the tip of your tongue anyway.

“What’s her name?”

“Marissa,” he answered, and you looked away as he spoke her name.

There was a tug to his heart… it came from both satisfaction and guilt.

“You know… we can make a rule about that,” he offered.

“About what?”

“About… the arrangement stopping if we want to sleep with someone else.”

You scoffed again, your arms moving once more, this time to cross before your chest.

“What makes you think you’re the only person I’ve slept with these past couple of months?”

You flinched when his face fell.

“Have you? Slept with other people while we…?”

The question remained suspended in mid-air, and Andrew tried to blink away the stupor and the pain that came with your words. There was no air left in his lungs, like a punch in the guts…

“No… no, I haven’t,” you admitted. “Have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

You’re the only one I want, he wanted to add, but he didn’t want to spoil it all by saying something so stupid.

You remained silent, and so Andrew pulled out his phone and got a uber for you.

“Can you text me when you’re home? Please? Just to make sure you’re alright,” he insisted, and you easily yielded.

It took you a couple of minutes to walk closer to him again. He was surprised when you took his hand. He ran his calloused fingertips across your soft knuckles a couple of times before interlacing your fingers together.

“Can we… can we add that rule of yours? We stop our arrangement when we meet someone else?” you asked, fleeing his gaze.

“Okay, let’s do that.”

“So… are we going to stop our… arrangement? Are you going to see Marissa again?”

You didn’t see his reassuring smile, you were looking at the curb instead.

“No… no, I don’t think I want to see her again.”

You finally looked up at him.

“You’re sure?” you asked, but Andrew’s smile grew more tender as he nodded, and he let his free hand move upwards to rest on your cheek.

“I’d rather have you,” he confessed in a whisper, voice deep and sweet. He noticed how you leaned into his touch.

He wanted to kiss you, he wondered if you would let him… but then there was a car coming, and you took a step back as the headlights illuminated your frame while they came closer, like a halo around something divine.

“Goodnight, Andy,” your voice was soft and tender as you spoke, and he guessed that your words meant more than their usual meaning.

He gave you the most loving smile.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watched as you disappeared in the car, waited as the engines roared a couple of seconds before the vehicle started to move, stared as the car drove away.

He smiled.

You were jealous. You wanted him to have no one else. It meant that you cared. You cared. You fucking cared…

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #series

139 notes · View notes

minihotdog · 6 months

Text

The Scout

Pairing: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost runs into an old... Friend? Enemy?

a/n: idk man I'm just justing

c/w: adult themes MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8k

Ghost excused himself from the group of men after exchanging his post with Gaz for the night and headed towards the grey, empty room he’d been calling his. His body was worn out, along with his mind.

The mission had been going on for weeks and was moving at a snail’s pace. They were pursuing a militia that had recently aligned with Makarov’s forces. Laswell had received intel on a shipment of weapons that were heading for said militia’s hideout intended for Makarov. The shipment was set to arrive within the month and the task force intended to intercept it, but that meant a lot of time spent sitting and watching in shifts.

The detachment facility was concealed but close enough to intercept coms without being detected

Ghost was getting tired of waiting. He was used to action, and adrenaline, and the slow pace was wearing him and his comrades down even more than the countless neverending firefights they were accustomed to. As much as those moments left permanent marks on his psyche, he and everyone he knew craved it in some twisted, bloodthirsty way. At this point, he was doing a thousand pushups a day for “excitement”.

He blew air through his nose in frustration as he sat on the twin-sized wrestling mat he called a bed. He placed his gun on the floor next to him and threw his heavy vest against the wall to use as a pillow.

The weight coming off his shoulders leaves him rubbing his aching shoulders in relief over the sleek material of his sweater. He lies back on the paper-thin foam and his spine lets out a series of pops, finally releasing the pressure built up from hours holding the same position.

He groans quietly, reaching under his mask to scratch his scruff.

M’as well sleep on the floor, this mat is shite.

He rests his hand on his chest and the other on the knife sheathed to his belt. His eyes shut and he chases his rest fully clothed, boots and all.

-Time Skip: Approx. 0300-

He didn’t dream often, especially on the job. On the contrary, nightmares plagued him when he was home and a threatening darkness encompassed him on the field. But this feeling wasn’t right. Even asleep, Ghost was on alert. He could sense to his core that the air in the room had changed and a wave of uneasiness flooded him in his dreamless state.

He couldn’t pull himself from the darkness as he usually could. No matter how hard he subconsciously tried, his body was begging for rest against his efforts.

Ghost felt a weight lower itself onto his lap. Another person’s hands slide lightly from his waist to his chest.

Bloody ‘ell, wake up!

His body tenses involuntarily under the fondling. The zipper on his sweater carefully unzips. The cool air hitting his bare chest causes him to twitch in the battle between mind and body. The grasp the darkness had on him was lethal.

Small, warm hands graze the exposed skin of his abdomen, lightly tracing the patches of thick scar tissue that littered all over his body.

A soft, feminine voice coos at him as he twitches and his mind rushes to fill in the blanks, sending different scenes through his closed eyes in a poor attempt to mask the sound as a dream.

C’mon, wake up!

He felt as if he was floating through dimensions as he began the process of regaining full consciousness, eyes still refusing to open.

The mysterious woman lowers herself onto him, her nose gently nuzzling his neck. She takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to savor his musky scent. Her head pulls away from his neck and he feels fingertips graze his throat.

She fiddles with the hem of his balaclava before it begins to catch at the sides of his jaw. He feels his mask being pulled up and a shock shoots through his body. His limp state disappears instantly and he reaches for her. His other hand remembers its place on the knife.

His fingers wrap around her wrist, preventing it from going any further.

“Don’t worry, darling.” She coos as her free hand caresses his cheek. “I won’t pull it off, that’s not nice.” His grip tightens but she pays it no mind. She moves her hand from his cheek and uses it to pull his mask enough to reveal his lips. Her thumb outlines his bottom lip and she swoops down to plant a small kiss on his lips. He feels her lips through her mask.

His eyes flutter, trying to rid themselves of the blurriness. Moonlight pours into the room just enough for him to make out her figure above him and some of her features.

“I’ve been watching you for so long.” She wines, bottom lip quivering slightly under the material. “I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you.” Her eyes crinkle as if she’s smiling under the mask. The black mask only covers the lower half of her face and a long single braid falls over her shoulder. He sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

“Y/n, we have to stop meeting like this.” The rasp in his voice sends shivers down her spine. She chuckles and tilts her head.

Ghost releases her wrist and wraps his fingers around her throat so quickly she doesn’t have time to react. Her hands come up to hold his in place and a whimper falls from her lips. Her eyes stare into his, lust clouding her pupils. Ghost shifts beneath her, feeling the heat radiating off of her. Her hips involuntarily grind against his in a jerking motion and arousal begins to stir inside of him.

Even through the mask, he could see her jaw go slack, her eyes burning into him. He couldn’t stop himself from giving her a small squeeze and watching her body come alive for him.

Fuckin’ ‘ell

He snaps himself out of the trance and slides himself up until his back rests on the wall taking her with him. He lets out a shaky breath before speaking.

“Why are you watching us this time?” He shakes her roughly when the words refuse to fall out of her open mouth. He unsheaths his knife from his belt and presses the blade to her throat just about his thumb. “C’mon, love, keep this easy.”

She grips his wrist and attempts to push the knife away but he doesn’t budge. A look of panic flashes in her eyes. “Decided to toy with the enemy and this time it isn’t going your way, huh?”

His bare lips graze her ear. “If you were under my command, I’d take you bound and gagged to teach you a lesson, you little minx.” His words drip with poison. She fights against his grip to no avail. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The hem of his fatigues grinds painfully against her clit. He catches himself nearly panting at her little cries.

“I’m here to warn you, you stupid fuck.” She chokes out, clawing at his now painful grip on her jaw.

“Warn me of what?” He growls.

“Makarov has men heading this way. He thinks the task force has been tipped off.” She winces at his tightening grip.

Ghost chuckles, his plump lips tugging into a cocky smile. He sheaths his knife and his grip on her neck loosens and she gasps, finally being able to breathe properly.

“You’re working for Makarov now? That’s fuckin’ hilarious. You just keep getting worse.”

He tosses her backward onto the floor. He jumps to his feet, throwing on his vest and grabbing his gun. He readjusts his mask and turns back to her.

“Well, I recommend you disappear now.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “So no goodbye kiss?”

“Fuck off.”

He places his headset over his ears.

“Bravo 6, Ghost. How copy?”

“What is it?”

“A little birdie told me Makarov’s men are heading our way.”

“All units pull out!”

Gunshots begin sounding through the hallway nearby. Ghost assesses the hall. When his head turns back she’s gone and the window is wide open.

He leaves the room behind to join the fight with his brothers. A trail of destruction leads to the vehicle barreling towards the compound for them. As Ghost enters the humvee he looks back to the dark building. Somewhere in the dense treeline, he could swear she was perched up watching him.

- Time Skip: UK -

“Makarov knew we were there. We did not prepare for that possibility. He could’ve used the gun deal to drag us out there and intended to have all of us killed.” Price sits at the head of the table looking to Laswell at his left.

“How’d you get out in time?” She looks over the images and reports plastered on the table.

Ghost interjects, “He had a scout visit before the attack, a familiar one.”

“Viper visited you before the attack?” Her eyebrows furrow. “This gives us plenty to look into. That’s enough for now.” She turns to Price. “Speaking of scouts, we’re gonna need one to plan for the next mission.”

They all dismiss from the debriefing, everyone heading their separate ways except Soap and Ghost.

“Yer tellin’ me she told ye they were coming? Tha’s a first.” Soap says in disbelief. “I guess Makarov isn’t payin’ them like he used tae.”

They say their goodbyes and Ghost heads to his barracks room.

#simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #tf141 x reader #my writing

123 notes · View notes

abouttofillhisshoes · 2 months

Note

Lena!! ❤️❤️❤️

I finally thought of a request for my fav MPIND Matty 🤭

Maybe something with girlie using a toy on him? Maybe a vibrator? Overstimulation perhaps?

-Sugar-coat-it <3 <3 <3

@sugar-coat-it This was supposed to just be a short blurb but i got way too carried away xx. hope u like it!!

Rush! - Matty Healy

A/N: This was so fun to write!! MPIND Matty lives in a special corner of my heart i think i might never stop writing for him. @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff tysm for being my (half decent) beta reader and making sure this isn't totally shit. Enjoy!! (edit: this is non-canon, so it doesnt have anything to do with the plot of MPIND or its sequel, Before you go)

wc: 9k

content warnings: filthy, semi public?, but also not really, overstimulation, teasing, begging, dom! reader, most of the time, matty is a cocky piece of shite but we love him, grinding, bondage, marking, use of sex toys, specifically a vibrator, what else hmmm, both of them are high, so dubcon?, still in their right mind though, wow the content warnings are long

Everything reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, hints of Jimmy Choo’s ‘illicit’ lingering in the air around Matty. You scrunched up your nose at the scent, Matty obviously having doused himself in it while you were in the bathroom, straightening your hair. Soft music played in the background, Matty using his turn on the Ipod to put on some ambient stuff George had made (yup, George was a music producer now for some reason? Quarter life crisis vibes.)

Adam was on his way, his little red Kia primed and ready for a good smoke sesh in some parking lot somewhere. It was nearly winter, which meant going outside was hardly an option considering neither you or Matty actually owned anything resembling warm clothing.

“I'm not letting you wear my coat again. Remember what happened last time?” he says when he sees your ‘finished’ outfit; a pair of jeans and a sage green long sleeve top, adorned with white and beige rhinestones. How dare he even mention that day, the state you entered the house was completely his fault.

“That only happened because you booked it down the fucking street and left me there!” It was true. The two of you had been sharing his massive coat, both of your bodies easily fitting into it, up until he decided the last four blocks home were to be a sprint, and took his jacket with him.

“Touché.” he grins as you shake your head at him. Fuck him, honestly. You tell him as much, his only reaction being a simple shrug of his shoulders, and his attention was back on his reflection in the mirror, carefully applying glittery purple liner to his eyelids, giving him a sort of emo-fairy look. Ross’d take the piss out of both of you, all dressed up to go smoke in a car on a wednesday evening, but you knew Matty already had some sort of comeback prepared, about how at least he groomed himself, and wasn't desperate to be a ‘proper’ lad (cue Ross chucking the nearest object he could pick up in Matty’s direction).

Impatient as ever, you sigh loudly, trying to get Matty to stop hogging the shared vanity. You could always just go back into the bathroom, but his lightbulb was truly shit, and besides, most of the stuff he was using was yours anyway.

Finally, you give up on trying to keep the piece, and promptly shove him off the chair

“Stop doing yourself up and move-” he doesn't budge, hanging on to the edge of the desk for dear life, refusing to let you finish getting ready.

“Violence is never the answer- Fuck off, christs sake, fine!” he whines like a child, getting up and throwing himself on the bed, and you cringe as it creaks loudly beneath him.

“You love it when I hurt you, shut up.” you tease, watching the look in his eye dramatically change. “Not like this!” he shoots back, flipping you off before grabbing his Ipod, switching to something more punk, heavy drums and guitar filling the space.

“Touché.” you repeat his own words back to him, and he rolls his eyes, sitting up. Taking the same brush, also using the same color, you frame your eyes with purple eyeshadow, trying your hand at a smokey eye. The two of you were matching more often than not, with Hann’s comments on it slowly getting on your nerves

“You both look the fucking same, its like you’re clones.” he’d overexaggerate, just to get a reaction out of a easily riled up Matty.

“D’you reckon Ross’ll have the good stuff this time? I can't deal with Hann’s bickering otherwise.”

You shrug your shoulders, looking at Matty from the corner of your eye. Maybe Adam’s comment rang somewhat true, seeing as Matty was wearing the exact same color scheme you were. Green Jersey top, definitely stolen from George, paired with blue, seventies style jeans, white and red trainers peeking out from beneath the too-long pants.

“I dunno, but we could go to the shop if it's shit, maybe get some wine?” you suggest. It was always 50/50 with Ross, and bad weed always fucked Matty off to no end, making him unbearable. Almost finished, you look around for your mascara, hands rifling through the piles of makeup littering the desk.

“Where’ve you put the mascara?” you ask, slowly getting annoyed.

“Left.” he answered curtly, engrossed in the newest edition of vogue. Sure enough there it was, bots of product caked around the cap. Coating your eyelashes with it, you hear Matty stand up and walk over to you. Setting spray topped off your look, and you run your fingers through your hair, smoothing it out.

Matty isn't particularly strong, but then again, neither are you, so the strong hand around your wrist was useless to fight against, and you let him pull you up. Face to face with Matty, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What was he playing at?

“You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” you blush at the compliment, quietly telling him to fuck off, smiling as you see him grin at you. His brown eyes rake over your body, giving you a slow once-over, savoring the sight in front of him.

“Stop looking at me like that-” he cuts you off with a tug of your hair, smashing his lips against you. Surprised, it takes you a solid few seconds to properly kiss him back, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the kiss. His tongue immediately shoved past your lips, licking into your lips with fervor, drinking in every small gasp for air.

“Taste like sugar as well, so sweet.” He pulls you back in, deliberately not giving you an opportunity to answer. You feel his hands wander, trailing down your back and under your shirt, caressing your bare torso. His fingers toy at the band of your bra, teasing the clasps. Refusing to let you go, he presses your body flush against his, and you can sense every inch of him on your skin, like electricity, the smell of him travels up your spine, intoxicating.

The buzz of your phone snaps you back into reality. The guys, your plans. It takes every ounce of self control in your body to press your hand to his chest, effectively separating the two of you. Matty looks at you with a hurt expression, hands quick to cup your face, desperate to taste you again. Shaking your head, your voice is slightly as you tell him that the others are already outside.

“I haven't seen George in like three weeks. You're not the only person in the world, you know.” George was up to his eyeballs in Uni coursework (yes, Uni), and hasn't been able to hang out since forever, making you really miss him.

“I could make you feel like i'm the only person in the world, have all your attention on me.” he says with a wink, tracing your collarbones over your shirt. Matty was a hard person to say no to, with the way he peered down from above you, eyes wide, silently begging you to just stay.

“No.” you say firmly, grabbing your bag from the chair you were previously sitting on and slinging it over your shoulder. Instinctively, Matty takes it from you, holding it out of reach.

“Can't have you carrying your own bags, what would people think?” he teases, pushing past you and out the door, his footsteps heavy on the carpeted stairs. You follow him, heartbeat finally starting to slow. Already at the front door, Matty waits for you to tug your boots on, leaning against the coat rack as you did.

“What the fuck was that about, anyway?” The way he kissed you was passionate, hot, and definitely not something you just do on a whim. He tries to play innocent, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders.

“Nothing, just wanted a peck.” he answered, running his fingers through his slightly damp hair, still not fully dry from the shower he had taken a few hours prior. You scoff, looking at him in a ‘are you serious?’ type way.

“You fucking jumped on me, don’t be a such a dickhead.” you feel around for your cigarettes and light, smiling fondly as you realize it's the one Matty had gifted to you. “What was your end goal? You know we’re about to meet with the others!”

“I’m sorry for kissing my girl, jesus,” he exhales sharply, hand reaching for the doorknob, a loud honk sounding from the other side. Swinging the door open, Hann looks truly fucked off as the two of you walk down the driveway and climb into the car. Now usually, you would sit in the middle, between George and Matty, letting you comfortably lean forward to talk to Ross and Adam in the front, but it seems as though Matty had other plans.

Shoving past you, he settled into the middle seat, setting your bag on the floor next to your leather clad feet. George looks over, slightly confused at the new seating arrangement, but accepts it, going back to rolling the first spliff. The car starts, sputtering before actually turning on, Hann letting out a sigh of relief. There had been multiple occasions where his ‘precious baby’, as he called her, refused to start, leaving all of you stranded until Ross somehow managed to find the problem and fix it.

“See, this is what I mean,” Hann gestures to you and Matty, facing primarily Ross “They look like fucking clones of each other, its weird.” Matty reaches past the headrest and tries to smack him, causing the car to sway slightly as his hands leave the steering wheel.

“I’m trying to drive, fucks sake.” Hann mutters, pissed off now that Matty had almost made him crash the car. You set a firm hand on the dark haired boy's shoulder, lightly pulling him back into his seat. His legs are firmly pressed up against you now, and you feel a familiar tingling sensation blossom under your skin.

“Try to go steady, ‘m almost done.” George has this legendary talent of being able to roll the perfect spliff in even the most impractical situations, making him a god in Hann’s eyes. The car slows down slightly, and you see George lick the spliff closed, admiring his work. Matty immediately snatches it out of his hands, grinning from ear to ear as he sniffs at it, the smell filling his senses.

“God, you’re so fucking weird, mate.” Ross grimaces as he eyes Matty, watching him try to evenly light the spliff, failing miserably. Both you and Ross couldn't stand the earthy, stuffy smell of weed, constantly begging Hann to roll down the windows whenever someone decided to smoke in the car. Matty, however, had some sort of hash-fetish, and absolutely loved the smell of it, hotboxes being his favorite activity ever. He thought it heightened the experience, which was a load of shite, but he believed in nonetheless.

You were almost there, the Mcdonald’s parking lot being your end destination. Taking the scenic route, the five of you passed the spliff around, partially skipping Adam so as to not get him completely off his tits while he was driving. Matty agreed to rolling down the windows, seeing how nauseous Ross looked, with you not being far behind. Wind raked through your hair as you leaned your head onto the edge of the car.

Feeling at ease, peaceful and very, very high, you don't even notice Matty’s hand trailing up your thigh. He was just like that, touchy and overly affectionate with everyone, not just you, though, the type of affection did differ slightly. Scratching your skin lightly, you feel his fingers claw at the thin material of your jeans, grabbing hold of your panties through them. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and he pulls suddenly, letting go of the elastic. It hits your skin with a muffled smack, and you jump, noticing Ross’ eyes on you, peering over his shoulder.

Slightly disoriented, you don't even register Matty wrapping his fingers around the base of your neck, pulling you in for a hot, definitely too passionate kiss. Yelping in surprise, you sigh, almost inaudibly, into the kiss, letting him take control for a few seconds. George groans as he spots the two of you, dramatically shielding his eyes.

Realsing where you actually were, you pull away, shooting Matty a look that can only be described as ‘what the actual fuck was that?’. His skin is flushed, matching the color of his droopy eyes. Hann doesn't seem to have noticed Matty’s little PDA stunt in the back seat, blissfully unaware of the reason Ross was grimacing right now.

“I'd rather not see you snog, thanks.” Ross spits out, making a fake gagging motion as his eyes meet George’s, equally as unsettled as he was. Adam hadn’t seen the two of you, but the mental image was enough to make him join the other two in their disgust.

“What, you jealous mate? You can ask to join, it's no problem.” Ross laughs sarcastically, taking the spliff out of George's hands, taking a deep drag. He could sense Matty wasn't finished yet.

“You’d have to shave first, can't have you shedding all over my girl.” You still weren't used to him actually calling you that. It felt off, especially with your three other best mates staring at the two of you, silently wishing Matty would just shut the fuck up, for once. He was killing the soft, chilled out atmosphere with his incessant loud babbling, making George roll his eyes until you were sure they were going to get stuck there.

Ignoring the various groans of protest, he pulls you back in, basically climbing on top of you now. You giggle, partially because of the distinct floaty feeling clouding your mind, and partially because of Matty’s complete lack of shame, making him snog your face off just to rile up his mates, not really knowing how much it affected you. You pretend to be annoyed, shoving him off of you, wiping your mouth to really drive home the point.

“For the love of god, Matty, stop humping her, she's probably sick of you by now.” Hann says, making sympathetic eye contact with you in the mirror. He knew how you felt about the kissing in front of the rest of the group, not wanting to alienate them from you and Matty’s dynamic. The whole thing was a complicated mess.

His hand is still on your thigh as you squirm around a bit, you manage to gather your thoughts and speak for yourself.

“I quite am, fuck off, Matthew.” he tenses.

Now, to anyone else, you sound completely normal, if maybe a bit fucked off. Purposefully putting distance between you two, Ross reaches back and hands you the almost done spliff, and you inhale lightly, finishing it off. Matty is uncharacteristically quiet and you know he can feel your eyes on him. A warning.

He was prone to acting out like this, loud and obnoxious, almost bratty. To Ross, George, and Hann, this was normal, his fits a cry for attention, wanting all eyes on him, but to you, it meant so much more.

Stubbing out the joint, you throw it out the window, dangling your arm down the side of the car. George was calm, collected, and seemed to be enjoying life as Adam finally parked in your usual spot, turning the car off. Spreading your legs out more, you bump your thigh against Matty’s, making him twitch slightly, a soft smile spreading onto your face.

“Matty.” you say, his eyes darting up to meet yours.

“Mhm?” nudging him, you lift both your legs up and onto his lap, draping yourself over him. George is a bit startled, but guides you over his lap as well, letting your feet settle against the other side of the car, pressed up against the door.

“Fag?” George asks, holding out a pack of cigarettes in your direction. You happily take one, and so does Matty. Placing it between your lips, you watch George as he hands Matty his lighter after he lights his. His fingers fumble a bit, before finally flicking it on and inhaling the smoke, letting the nicotine mix with the weed, his face nothing but blissed out. It reminded you of what he looked like when he-

“Here.” he mumbles, holding the lighter in front of your face.

“Do it for me?” you ask sweetly, leaning your elbows against the back of your seat and the headrest of Hann’s, making yourself comfortable. His breath hitches as you shift, the bottom of your thigh pressing against his crotch. Two can play at that game.

The flame paints his face in an orange hue, and you feel the world close on around you. The way his delicate hand holds up the light to your cigarette makes your head spin, and not just from the weed. You feel George shift beneath you on the other side of the car, rifling through his pockets, pulling out a small baggie and rolling papers, getting to work rolling another spliff.

Hanns voice rings dully in your ears, asking George to hurry up a bit, saying he was nowhere near the level of high he wanted to be at right now.

“Let me do it, stop nagging.” George's movements are slower, his motor skills definitely more than just slightly inhibited.

“Good?” Matty asks, your attention turning back to him. His eyes are glazed over, red and half closed, and his hair falls over his face, indicating he’s long overdue for another haircut. Mattys hands settle on your knees, rubbing small circles over the bone, warmth blooming underneath your skin wherever he touches. You refused to let it show, opting to lean your head further out the window, admiring the stars glimmering above you, the cold of the night biting at your cheeks.

Matty can tell you’re cold by the way you shiver slightly, and he feels a bit bad, even if he did tell you to bring some sort of extra layer.

“I’m fucking freezing.” you state to the car, Ross turning around to face you, lowering his seat back a bit despite Georges protests.

“There's a blanket in the back, I think.” Hann nods in agreement, confirming his statement. Knowing you wouldn't be able to reach, Matty blindly feels around for it, fingers meeting a slightly scratchy, but still soft, knitted blanket.

Draping it over you, his hands linger on your waist, goosebumps forming on your skin as his nails graze your tattoo.

George is finally finished with the spliff, and hands it to Hann so he can light it. He greedily inhales, letting the feeling overtake him. A soft groan leaves his lips and you see the back of his head slouch against the headrest, lolling off to the side.

“This is some good shit, no wonder Matty’s so quiet.” Hann mumbles, half to himself.

“Told you, my guy’s the real deal.” Ross says with pride, like he’d grown it himself or something. Putting his feet up on the dashboard, he leans back, head craning to talk to Hann. Their conversation is quiet, meaningless, with Ross going on about his stupid bass instruments and chatting pure shit to a half dozed-off Adam.

George is in his own world, gazing out the window and off into the distance. He was tired, you can tell by the way the rings under his eyes were dark and prominent, evidence that he hadn't been sleeping much these days. Uni was truly kicking him in the arse.

A loud sigh from Matty makes you snap out of your thoughts, flexing your toes a bit, trying to stretch without bothering George too much. You feel a tap on your leg, telling you it's fine, and that you can move freely. George smiles at you from across the back seat, stoned out of his mind and looking like he was ready to pass out in the next five seconds.

“Y’alright?” you ask Matty, who keeps shifting around beneath you. One particular movement makes your legs spread, his big palms gripping the side of your left thigh, kneading the flesh.

His eyes flash up to yours, and the look he gives you is fucking delicious. Lips slightly parted, wet and swollen from his teeth gnawing at them for the past half hour, the sight makes your thighs clench, a cough escaping your lips.

The spliff makes its way to you, and you take a drag, your lips wrapping around it as you make direct eye contact with Matty. Your lipgloss rubs off on the filter, and you hand it to him with a smirk.

“I’m fucking knackered, I need to sleep.” George's deep voice cuts through the silence, and Hann nods in agreement.

“We’ve been here like an hour! We never hang out, let's stay for a bit.” Ross protests, sitting properly and trying to face everyone at the same time.

“Yeah, let's.” you side with him. Matty’s eyes widen at your statement, and he goes to speak. A sharp look makes him rethink his actions, and he slumps backwards into the leather, pouting at you. You grin at him playfully, seeing him start to do the same, before pressing your leg down, right onto his crotch. Underneath the blanket, not one could see what you were doing, giving you the perfect opportunity to fuck with Matty

“Fine, but I'm driving home in 20, whoever doesn't want to walk is coming with.” The tinge of annoyance in Hann’s voice is painfully obvious.

Time passes at a snail's pace as you continue your movements, thigh pressing down onto his steadily hardening cock ever so slightly, not wanting George to figure you out.

“D’you reckon Britney’s a good shag?” Ross asks, and you realize he’s holding a magazine, Britney Spears plastered onto the cover.

“Mate, maybe you shouldn’t-” George starts, but another voice cuts him off.

“Probably, I mean, just look at her.” it's Matty speaking, you realize.

His voice is drawn out and deep as he holds out his hand, silently requesting Ross to give him the paper. He’s taunting you, and fuck, is it getting to you. The way his eyes scan over the cover makes your blood boil, and you stare him down, warning him to stop.

“She’s fit.” He says, refusing to look at you as he takes a drag from the spliff, passing it on. His eyes finally dart over to yours, reading you like an open book. You were jealous, and he knew it. It was his goal, after all, to rile you up enough so you knew how he’d been feeling since that moment in your room.

“Hey Hann? I'm feeling a bit shit.” you lie through your teeth “Can we go?”. Ross tries to stop him, but with the vote being 4-1, he groans as the car sputters on, and Hann backs out of the lot.

You go to sit normally, putting as much distance between you and Matty as physically possible, not even looking in his general direction. Not really speaking to anyone, you listen to the soft sound of the radio, the music distracting you a bit. Matty’s eyes are glued to you, watching your every reaction, you can feel it. He silently begs you to stop being mean, ignoring him like this. You almost cave. Almost.

The drive feels longer than it actually is, George being dropped off at his house first. He waves goodbye through the window, which is the only reason you turned to the other side. Eyes avoiding the boy next to you, you blow George a kiss goodbye, hoping he gets some actual sleep tonight.

You and Matty were now both facing forward, chatting to Ross.

“Must be great, having an whole fucking house to yourself.” Ross grunts out, clearly still fucked off that you decided to leave so ‘early’.

“It is,” Matty answers, telling him how nice it was to live without his parents and with you, even if neither of you had the ability to prepare an edible meal, or clean the house every once in a while. You chuckle as his words, painfully true as you think back on the state you’d left your room in, clothes and books and various items strewn about the place.

Matty turns to you, your small giggles at his story making him think he was off the hook. You shoot him a look, and he immediately retreats, knowing it wouldn't be that easy. Not that he didn’t like a challenge, especially from you.

“Alright, you two.” Hann breathes as the car comes to a halt in front of the house. The soft rumble of the engine was deafening as you opened the door, climbing out of the vehicle. Matty followed quickly, almost banging his head against the roof, narrowly avoiding a small concussion. You tapped on the window, waving goodbye to both men in the car. Flashing a smile, you turn to Matty, grabbing his hand and leading him up the steps.

Inside the car, the conversation quickly shifted.

“What's going on with them? They’ve hardly spoken since he stopped trying to jump her bones in front of us.” Ross just shrugs, mind spinning different scenarios of what could've gone down.

“D’you think they’re fighting?” Hann nods, noting that you did look a bit pissed off towards the end.

“I dunno, it's weird though.. them being a thing.” Ross hums in agreement.

“Just leave them be, they’ll sort it out.”

The click of the door unlocking was as loud as a jet engine, and you push it open with your shoulder, Matty trailing closely behind you. You take your time, taking off your shoes, setting your bag down onto the floor next to the coat rack. He fidgets on the spot, not quite sure what to do next.

Without warning, you spin around, shoving him backwards into the door, both your hands on his shoulders. The tension is thick, his heavy breaths loud and desperate for you to fucking do something.

A beat passes between you before he finally speaks, stuttering over his words.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t h-have fucked you off, not infront of everyone.” you raise your eyebrows at him, a condescending smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“So you knew what you were doing then, trying to rile me up like that?” He nods, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. He mutters out another “‘m sorry”, like it was going to save him at all.

Your hands trace his collarbones, just like he had not three hours prior, and you see his breath hitch when you dig your nails into his skin, leaving behind red indents.

“You wanna kiss me?” you ask, tucking his hair behind his ear sweetly, letting your fingers run over his jaw.

“Yes.” he gasps, your chest now fully pressed up against his, your bodies now flush. Mattys eyes are filled with desperation, lust, thoughts clouding his mind and the sight of you wasn't helping him think clearly.

“How badly do you want to kiss me?” he tries to speak, but you shush him. “How much do you want to touch me?”

A guttural groan leaves his lips, and his hands find your back, grabbing onto your waist for support. You look at him expectantly, tapping his face to get his attention back on you.

“Please, I'm sorry, just– fuckk, please darling.” His voice is small, soft, filled with want and desire. He pulls you in closer, and you feel him, fully hard, pressed up against your upper thigh. Your hand travels lower, pushing his shirt up as you go down, fingertips ghosting over his bulge, leaking and painfully hard.

“This all for me?” Matty looks like he’s going to combust, but still, he manages to force out a small, choked ‘yes’.

“You think you deserve it?” He freezes as you squeeze him through his jeans, feeling him twitch in your hand. A desperate whimper rips itself from his lips, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing shallowly.

“I’m sorry, just– please. I’ll do anything, just fucking touch me please, please, oh god–”

You mouth at the spot where his neck meets his jaw, sucking an aggressive hickey into the skin, simultaneously stroking him over his clothes. Trying to seem unaffected, you pull away from his cock, placing that hand over his chest, hearing him whine at the loss of contact.

“Upstairs. Wait for me.” Those four words manage to leave him absolutely breathless as he scrambles to tug his shoes off, throwing them into the corner. One last look is directed at you over his shoulder as he walks up the steps, almost tripping. Catching himself on the bannister, he disappears from view.

You use the moment to take several deep breaths, steading yourself. Matty might be the more expressive one, but he had this effect on you, even if he didn't know the full extent of it. Every reaction you elicited from him made your knees weak, your façade of control slipping slightly. Running your fingers through your hair, you glance at yourself in the hallway mirror, making sure you look good. Good enough to send Matty fucking spiraling.

The house is silent, apart from the odd creak of the floorboards underneath your feet. The door to your room crashes against the wall and you push it open, eyes immediately finding Matty.

Jesus christ.

Sprawled out on top of crumpled sheets, Matty’s eyes rake over your body, his cock visibly twitching in his pants at the sight of you. He had already taken off his shirt, the material bunched up next to him. The atmosphere in the room is heavy, thick with lust and desire and want and every other adjective that could be used to describe the fucking wet dream of a man currently sitting on your bed.

His hands trail up his chest, toying with his nipples as he bites his lip at you, a wild look in his eyes. Your feet take you to the foot of the bed, kneeling down onto it, not quite sure where to look. His skin is flushed a deep shade of red, the blush spreading from his face down his chest, which was rapidly moving up and down as you reached out to touch him.

“How do you feel?” your voice shakes, and you know he can tell. Does it actually matter to you at the moment? Absolutely not.

An indecipherable sigh leaves Mattys lips as he looks at you, curls sticking to his forehead and his cock rock hard against the fabric of his jeans.

“I feel–” he starts, words getting caught in his throat as you trace the inseam of his pants. You still, motioning for him to continue.

“I feel so good, please touch me, I need you so bad. So gorgeous like this, love you so much– jesus.”

You listen to his rambles as his eyes screw shut, everything being far too much for him. It's delicious, the way he squirms under even the slightest touch, involuntary noises spilling from his lips.

He trusted you, and you knew that well enough. Your entire relationship was built on a foundation of trust, a promise that you would never, ever, harm each other. Your hand reaches up to clasp his, squeezing gently. He smiles softly, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected themselves on his forehead.

Your eyes glance over to the nightstand next to the bed, the wooden exterior a stark contrast to the otherwise black furniture of the room. The bed creaks as you get up, slowly pulling the drawer open. Matty watches you move, fluid and sure, as you take out a vibrator, you hear a small gasp escape him.

“You want me, Matthew? Want to be good for me?” you grin at him, throwing one of your legs over his lap, settling right below his hips. The way his cock is straining against the zipper of his jeans couldn't be comfortable in the slightest, but you let him suffer longer, relishing in the way he whined whenever you shifted on top of him, just like he did in the car.

“Will you let me use this on you?” That question is the final nail in the coffin, an animalistic groan ripping itself from the depths of Mattys throat as you palm him through his pants, beads of precum painting the front.

“Please,” his voice cracks slightly, eyes silently begging for some sort of relief.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have pulled that little stunt.” you speak, voice dripping with honey as you unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal making your heart speed up. Unable to speak, Mattys hands go to settle on your waist, gripping the fat of your hips.

“No.”

“W-what?”

His chest heaves as you grab hold of his wrists, pinning them up above his head. The belt he wore with his pants, while usually completely unnecessary, suddenly proved quite useful. Your hands fumble a bit as you bring the leather up, binding his hands to the metal bed frame. The arousal plastered on his face was impossible to hide as he gives the belt a tug, sucking in a deep breath of air when he realized what you’d just done.

“You’re so fucking– holy shit, you’re perfect.” his praises go straight to your core, and you grind down onto his thigh, feeling around for the vibrator that you’d placed somewhere next to you.

Towering over him, you observe.

It feels like you're daydreaming, the man in front of you just a figment of your dirty, vivid imagination. His skin glistened with sweat, and your eyes flicker down to the bulge in his black calvins. If there was a heaven, you’ve definitely reached it.

Running your fingers up and down the vibrator, you grin at him, watching his thoughts run wild, every possible fantasy playing out right in front of his eyes. Clicking the toy on, you rake your nails over his chest, the loud vibrations filling the room.

You had never done this before, but the utter look of devotion Matty gave you proved that he trusted you completely to do whatever you wanted to him. He follows your movements closely as you press the toy to the underside of his cock. Immediately, you see his eyes clamp shut, his hands instinctively pulling and fighting against the restraints.

“You like that, baby? Feel good?” you coo at him, taking in every single twitch of his body, savoring it. He frantically nods his head as you move his boxers, letting his cock slap up against his stomach. The feeling of the vibrator straight onto his weeping erection felt like pure heaven, desperate moans spilling from his lips, unable to control his own actions.

“F-feels so good, it’s so good, a-ah, fuck me–” he whimpers as you up the speed, your free hand cupping his face, smudging his eye makeup. Blissed out and shaking, Matty tries to hold off as long as possible, desperately wanting to be good for you.

“I can’t– I'm so close, please, let me cum.” his eyes search your expression, begging for permission. Pleasure trickles up your own spine as a sudden movement of Matty’s thigh beneath you makes you grind against him again, a soft moan leaving your parted lips. You swear you could cum just from the sight of him alone, twitching and begging and so, so close to the edge he could taste it on the tip of his tongue.

Shoving your fingers into his mouth, you watch as he chokes slightly, eyes welling up with tears. It's so unbelievably erotic, seeing him fall apart like this, all because of you. His dick twitches in the tell-tale way that lets you know he’s seconds away, just needing a little push. You lock your lips onto his neck, licking and sucking and biting marks into the skin, making him moan around your fingers. It's all too much for him, and his voice cracks once more before spilling into your hand, painting his stomach and the toy with ropes of thick cum, gasping and shuddering as you keep the vibrator against his cock, working him through his orgasm.

You finally kiss him, fingers weaving through his hair as you lick into his mouth, his arms still helplessly trying to pull free.

“That was– fuck– I can’t even describe it.'' His voice is raspy, sore. He looks utterly fucked out, a sly grin already adorning his face not ten seconds after you gave him the most mind blowing orgasm of his life.

“You dont think I'm done, do you? After the shit you pulled in that car?”

Your sudden change in tone makes Matty’s eyes widen, his hips bucking up against you. The evil look in your eye as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss only makes him impossibly more turned on, fingers itching to touch you, a groan of frustration leaving his lips when he realizes he can't do anything but lay there and take what you give him. You move, one of your hands leaving his chest.

“What are you–?” The click of the toy is impossibly loud as a wanton moan rips itself from his throat, his hips twitching away, the sensation overwhelming and raw, almost too much. You grin from ear to ear as you study his reactions, writhing and pulling at the belt holding him in place, eyes silently begging you to just let him go.

“A-ah oh fuckk, no- I can’t–” he cries, arching his back, exposing his neck even more, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he tries to swallow down his sounds

“You can, I know you can.” you lick across the expanse of his collarbones, teeth grazing the skin harshly, the slight pain only making Matty thrash more, the leather of the belt digging into his wrists.

“It’s too much– jesus christ-” he chokes out as you tangle a hand into his thick curls, tugging his head forward, making him look at you.

“Look how desperate you are, you sure it's too much?” you press a kiss to his lower stomach, his muscles tense under the skin.

“I need you so bad, fuck,” he sucks in a deep breath, making direct eye contact with you.

“Look at what you do to me.”

His sudden change in tone makes you take a second, truly taking in the sight before you. He smirks when he sees you staring, arching his lower back with the sole purpose of riling you up, knowing exactly how to get to you, and in turn, get what he wanted.

“Such a slut, fucking begging for attention, aren’t you?” he nods slowly, winking at you provocatively as his eyes follow your movements. The name made his breath hitch, and the return of the toy back on his hardening cock feels like pure ecstasy, moans and whimpers spilling from his lips as you continued speaking.

“Was it worth it?” he cocks his head at you, asking what you meant.

“Was it worth it, fucking around in the car, embarrassing me like that?”

“Absolutely, if it gets me this.” he purrs, trying to provoke you once again. You were going to make him eat his words if it was last fucking thing you were going to do.

“You have a lot of confidence for someone who was grinding against my leg under a blanket not even an hour ago.” A small laugh comes from Matty as he playfully tugs at the restraints, the sound morphing into a moan when you press the toy down harder, feeling him getting close again.

“Gonna cum again, make a filthy fucking mess of yourself?” Matty is so far gone, his cocky persona falling away in bits as he bucks his hips against the vibrator, chasing his high. You watch him, sweaty and out of breath, his hands straining against the leather, the mix of pain and pleasure making his head spin.

“I love you so much, please let me cum, please i’ll do anything, just let me cum–” there it is. Anything. He doesn't know the weight his words hold, willing to say everything and anything for you to let him fall over that delicious edge.

“Cum for me, let me see you.” your voice shakes, one hand planted firmly on his chest for balance, while the other holds the toy to his cock, twitching and leaking all over himself and you as he cums, screaming your name loud enough that it echoed through the whole house.

You watch as he shakes, gasping for air and writhing against the sheets, so overstimulated he could barely form a coherent thought.

“Again.” you whisper as Matty shakes his head violently, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Do you want to stop?” he shakes his head again, hips bucking up against the toy, desperate whines and groans filling the room. His chest heaves, lungs expanding as far as they could go to try and bring some oxygen to his brain. Breathless and exhausted, he looks at you, eyes wet and pleading, the mix of pain and pleasure driving him insane.

“Don’t s-stop.” he begs, voice sore and hoarse. Thoughts run widely through your mind, wondering how much more he could take before tapping out. “If you need to stop, tell me.” you say firmly, his frantic nods telling everything you needed to know. Clicking the toy back on, the reaction is immediate, visceral as he jerks under the warm feel of your lips on his jaw, pressing hot kisses down the skin, mouthing at his neck.

Pulling back, you admire the deep purple marks you left behind, tracing them with your free hand.

“You’re fucking glorious- I- I could look at you forever, so pretty on top of me, fuck, like a fucking wet dream, so perfect–” you listen to him babble through curses and moans, eyes drooping shut as he bucks up into your hand.

“Yeah? You’re so gorgeous for me, taking everything I give you.” you whisper back, pupils completely blown out with lust, the high you were still yet to come down from heightening every feeling, every sensation, until you were grinding against his thigh, desperate for him.

“I see you, baby,” your eyes snap up to his, a filthy smirk spread onto his face, “C’mon, use me like a toy, use me to get off.” his voice is sultry and low, working hard to bite back screams as you finally give in, sparks of electricity shooting up your spine as you increase the pressure on your clit, soft moans and gasps spilling from your lips as Matty tenses his thigh, lifting it slightly to meet your movements.

“Don’t cum until I tell you.” you warn, refusing to give up power, even if Matty made it incredibly fucking difficult to not give in. His eyeliner was smudged, tears streaming down his face, your fingers wiping them away sweetly. You bring your tear soaked hand to your mouth, licking it clean while making direct eye contact with Matty, the expression on his face making the salty taste on your tongue completely worth it.

It didn't take much to bring you to the edge, the warmth in your core blooming everywhere else in your body, your blood feeling hot as you balance yourself. Being met with Matty’s smirk as you look up, the smugness quickly morphs into white hot pleasure when your hand finds his nipple piercing, giving it a small tug.

You had convinced him to switch it out, the black metal ring being replaced with a purple barbell. It shimmered if you looked at it from a specific angle, a perfect contrast to his milky white skin, suiting him well. He gasps when you don't let up, tweaking the metal and rolling his nipple between your fingertips, an indescribable feeling radiating from his chest, making all the remaining blood in his brain rush down south.

You were so close, you could taste it. Matty knew this, doing his best to get you there, just as you were doing for him, holding off his own orgasm. Filthy words leave his mouth, making you feel dizzy with pleasure, the feeling of his jean clad thigh against your clit making your legs shake on top of him.

“So good, you’re so good– fucking marvelous, I could write a thousand songs about you like this.” he groans, eyes never leaving the spot where your core met his leg, watching closely.

“I’m so close, fuckk.” you whine, your high pitched voice like music to Matty’s ears, his cock visibly twitching against the toy.

“Cum for me darling, wanna see you fall apart on top of me.” he coos, and you feel your control slipping. It was all consuming, the pleasure making time slow as you barely manage to slow down to speak.

“You first.” A relieved sigh leaves Matty’s lips, hips bucking violently, precum bubbling from his tip, coating your hand where you held the toy against it. One last arch of his back and he cums onto his stomach, painting his skin white.

You groan at the sight, your own orgasm hitting you like a freight train, vision whiting out as you buck against Mattys thigh, his eyes burning a hole into your skin. He watches in awe as you gasp and stutter, the visual of his third climax too much for you to handle, carnal desire overtaking your body.

Collapsing on top of him, your chest heaves against his, everything blurry and disoriented. He tried to move his hands to your back to hug you, but realizes he’s still tied up, the leather really digging into his skin, leaving angry red marks.

“Darling?” you look up, apologizing profusely as you undo the belt around his wrists, kissing the burns it left behind. Matty chuckles quietly, running a soft hand through your hair, pressing your face into his chest.

“That was..” he starts, eyes still wide in disbelief.

“Okay?” you offer a hint of insecurity evident in the way you speak.

“Fucking amazing, visceral, undescribable, life chang-” you cut him off with a firm kiss, silently telling him to shut up. He giggles into the kiss, his other hand pressing against your lower back, pulling you impossibly close.

“It wasn’t too much?” you ask, gesturing to the marks on his wrists. He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He assures you it doesn't hurt at all, and besides, “You know I like it when you hurt me.” The cheesy wink that follows his statement makes you roll your eyes, leaning down to breathe in the scent of him. Fucking Jimmy Choo, ugh.

“You have to stop using my perfume, you smell like a woman, it's unsettling.” you complain, wishing he’d use some sort of musky cologne instead.

“I thought you liked it when i'm girly? Remember that time when I wore that skirt and you fucking mauled me–'' he tries to tease, being rudely interrupted by you digging the heel of your foot into his leg, making him yelp in pain.

“That was different,” you mutter, avoiding his taunting gaze.

“Was it?”

“Absolutely, yes, now come here.” you grip his jaw, crashing your mouth against his, biting his lower lip, enjoying the small gasp he lets out. The kiss is hot, filled with love and trust, your heart swelling up in your chest.

“Don’t ever pull that shit again, George could have noticed and that would've been a complete shit show-” you shudder at the thought of your mates knowing anything about your sex life, gagging inwardly.

“You were the one grinding your leg down on to my dick, don’t act all fucking innocent!” he protests, a playful tone to his voice.

“Imagine Ross knowing anything about what we do, he’d lose his mind.” you comment. Knowing him, he’d physically throw up and never speak to either of you ever again, the mental image having scarred him for life.

Matty is oddly silent, his hands fidgeting. Your eyes widen in realization

“Dont tell me you fucking– Matty!” you shut your eyes, embarrassment flooding your body.

“He’s my mate, and he asked. Who am I to deny him?” you hit his chest, propping yourself up as you laugh in disbelief.

“Ross asking doesn't make it any better!!” you screech, watching him pull back at the sheer volume of your voice “For fuck’s sake Matty, what did you even tell him? I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again, fucking hell.”

“Just about the camera, nothing else, I swear!” you cup your face, letting out a frustrated groan.

“You know I can never speak to him ever again? The fucking camera, are you taking the absolute fucking piss?!” you throw curses at him as he giggles into your hair, muttering apologies and promising to never say anything again.

“‘M sorry darling, i won't give out the details of our sex life anymore.” he jokes, earning a choked giggle from you, unable to stay mad at him.

Looking up at him from your spot on his chest, anger fades as you take in his features. You could look at him forever if he let you, drinking in every inch of skin, committing it all to memory. Your fingertips touch the top of his cheeks, wiping away any left over make-up, smiling fondly as you do so.

Love. That's what you see in his eyes. Pure love, utter devotion. His breathing is slow, the soft sound of his heartbeat comforting as you lay back down onto him, nuzzling your face into his skin. You could stand the permeating stench of Jimmy Choo if it let you hold him this close to you.

“You’re mine.” he mumbles into your hair, stroking up and down your spine, pushing your shirt up.

“I’m yours,” you answer, this overwhelming feeling of adoration taking over your whole body. Matty was yours, and you were his, from the second he said the words ‘I love you’ that night on the terrace, overlooking the glowing city.

Life with him seems so real. Growing up properly, getting your own house, getting married. It was all possible, still, it felt far away, a distant future. You let your thoughts spin in your mind until the exhaustion won, your body going slack against Matty, soft snores filling the room.

Matty lays awake beneath you, the darkness of the room enveloping his senses.

“I love you so much,” he mutters under his breath, knowing you couldn't hear him anyway. That was the moment he knew, the moment everything solidified.

You were just kids, the pair of you, young and free, life filled with infinite possibilities. So much was uncertain, but he knew one thing without a doubt. Eyes flickering over to his coat, they fell on the outermost left pocket. It wasn't about the pocket itself, but what was inside. Dark red velvet, the same shade as your favorite color. A box.

A small one.

read part two here xx

#i had so much funnn #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #drive like i do #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy x you #matty healy fluff #the 1975 smut #matty healy x reader

118 notes · View notes

poisonsage808 · 1 year

Note

hiii! i wanted to say first off that I love your work! i always come back to them whenever I'm in need of some sandor time and they never fail to make me smile.

i wanted to ask if you could do something w/ "i was so worried. it was killing me, not being able to reach out and touch you" from that secret relationship prompt list. I thought it was fitting for sandor cause that man secretly loves physical touch does he not?

♡ Strong Enough ♡

Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

a/n: hello there! i see your user all the time, i’m so happy you requested something and thank you for your constant support! i tweaked it a bit to suit him more but i hope you like it xoxoxo

tw: blood, violence, death, swearing

The gods were having a laugh at him, weren't they? Giving the ugliest brute in Westeros the heart of the sweetest thing he thinks he’s ever seen in gods know how long just to take them away. Of all the people in the world to weasel their way into the Hound’s heart, it had to be you. Twin to the Young Wolf, Robb, fucking you. A fucking Stark!

You’d somehow befriended the Hound during his stay at Winterfell but then you kissed him on the way to King’s Landing. He was certain you’d hate him after he killed that butcher's boy and end whatever it was the two of you had, but you didn’t. Then he was even more certain you’d hate him after he took you and your sister, Sansa, hostage, but you didn’t. Sandor was abso-fucking-lutely certain you’d hate him after King Joffrey ordered your father to be executed… but you didn’t.

“It’s not your fault,” You told him, some of those times through flooding tears, “Don’t risk your head, alright? Not for me, not for anyone.”

Gods, he hated it when you cried. And Sandor had been seeing you cry a lot ever since Joff had your father beheaded. Even so he allowed it, especially because you never cried in front of anyone else. You were strong like that, never giving them the satisfaction of knowing how you were truly feeling. Your red rimmed eyes may say otherwise, it was proof enough but Sandor still thought you were strong and he would hold you whenever he had the chance.

“Keep your head down, little wolf, and do as you're bid. Tell your sister the same.”

‘They won’t hurt you’ he wanted to say but they could. They did and have, whenever they had the chance. They being the Lannisters— Baratheons, whatever, the royal cunts he worked for. Sandor never felt guilt as heavy as he did these past months. He felt it every damn time he saw your stoic face, albeit the red under your eyes seemed to be permanently stained that way, in court or dutifully beside your sister.

The gods were testing his restraint as if Sandor needed a bloody test. He damn near gutted Meryn yesterday for the punch he gave you in front of everyone. He’d take a tongue lashing or walk the gallows for it, gladly. Then he met your eyes. Don’t risk your head, your voice ricotched inside his skull so loudly it stilled him. Sandor had never been so happy to see the dwarf in his life, ending the beating before Meryn’s sword struck you and only you. The little bird with her ripped dress sobbing on her knees tucked into your protective arms. He would’ve killed the Kingsguard himself if it wasn’t for Tyrion and, as much as he wanted to, he didn’t want the last time he saw you to be in that room.

Sandor bandaged you himself, undoing the shite work that old pervert Pycelle did.

“No one’s gonna hurt you again, little wolf.” He swore— no, he vowed, and the Hound didn’t do vows, “No one, you hear me?”

“I’m ok, Sandor.” You assured him as you always did, each time sounding weaker than the last. Never quite yet a lie, you were still strong.

Sandor felt the shift in the air less than halfway to the Red Keep, the walk was eerily quiet. He knew King Joff wasn’t beloved by any means but utter silence was a warning and he’d curse himself if he didn’t chance a look at his surroundings. He’d tell himself this anyways but his eyes landed on the little bird… then his little wolf following behind her.

You didn’t smile when you caught his brief gaze looking back at you over his shoulder. No, you felt the same tense aura he did and he could see the worried expression on your face. Fear. He thinks he hates that look on you more than tears. Sandor wished he could just grab you, hook you under his arm and make sure you stayed there until he saw you to safety.

Don’t they always say “it happened so fast” well it fucking did. Sandor blinked, Joff was hit and his sword was drawn out right after. Then everything went to shit. The Bread Riot they would call it by tomorrow but Sandor Clegane could name it right here and now; his worst fucking nightmare come to life.

Joff was fine, he made certain of that firsthand but when he turned around, though his body never ceased moving, his heart stopped. You and the little bird were nowhere to be seen. Sandor felt like he could breathe at least when he found Sansa, just in time by the looks of it. His sword hacked through flesh and bone then he swung the girl over his shoulder. She cried the whole way back, never ending blubbering was just as bad as her chirping. Only this time they were both thinking the same.

“Where are they!?” She sobbed, “Please, you have to—“

Sandor didn’t need to be fucking commanded to find you, so he didn’t stay to hear the rest of her pleas. He went back to face the riot a third time. Occasionally some idiot came at the Hound only to meet their gorey demise at his sword. Sandor shouted your name until his throat hurt, growing more panicked the longer he went without a response.

Until you called back.

Footsteps come closer, heavier, faster. Rounding the corner his nerves finally leave him alone with relief. Sandor’s shoulders slump as lets out a breath that takes away some of the tension he was holding onto. He takes one step closer while you close the distance with a leap. Your arms locked behind his neck, the blood on his armor smearing against your own attire. You didn’t seem to care, he certainly didn’t. The deathly grip on his weapon shook and his sword clattered when it hit the ground. Sandor enveloped you in his arms and breathed in the scent of your hair. He almost thanked the gods that laughed at him that you were alive—

Then he pulled away harshly, hands flying to your cup your cheeks and turning your head all around looking for any bruises or cuts. He ignored the way you said his name until he inspected every fucking inch of you, making sure you weren’t bleeding or something worse had happened. If you were it would all be his fault, he made fucking vows for you! He—

“Sandor.” You said again

He sighed then begrudgingly met your red rimmed eyes, “It.. it fucking killed me not to reach out and touch you.”

You somehow smiled and attempt to gently pry his hands away to hold them, “I’m ok, I—“

“No.” He growls and holds your face still in his grip.

His eyes are wide, boring into yours. His breaths short and shaking with every exhale. Is this fear? In the Hound— your Hound?

“It would’ve fuckin’ killed me if something happened to you. Do you understand me? I’m strong but,” Sandor sighs and blinks away any traces of fear you thought you saw but he doesn’t meet your eyes for the final part of his little speech, “I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

Halfway through his admission your brows punched up and tears welled in your eyes. You managed to swallow down the sob that almost escaped. Words aside, the seriousness and earnestness in his voice had you choking up. Including his statement, it was just about the closest Sandor Clegane has been to admitting he not only cared about you but quite possibly loved you.

“Look at me,” You managed to say, “I’m right here, Sandor, I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes find yours again. You’re smiling that bloody smile that twists his guts in a way he doesn’t necessarily dislike. It’s weak… but it’s there and it’s mighty reassuring. Sandor’s thumb catches a tear that drips down your cheek. He hates it when you cry.

“Alright…” He swallows hard on nothing.

#sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones imagine #imagine #x reader #game of thrones #sandor the hound clegane #poiboidrabbles #sandor clegane imagine #sandor x reader #sandor clegane

711 notes · View notes

milkyboiiiii · 9 months

Note

Cordless you do N,P,Q and Z for Ran?

Btw love your writing its interesting and fun to read

NSFW Alphabet : Ran!

N, P, Q, Z

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Not really into anything anal, pegging, anal beads, just anal in general really. He just finds it a little unsettling "doesn't it just feel like shiting, but like, weird?"

The most he'll do is a butt plug, and that's if he really loves you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Total wild card when it comes to his pace.

There's times where he has you ride him because he's to tired to do anything else. Times when he takes his time and slowly rocks his hips into yours, making sure you feel the way his big heavy cock drags along you walls with each thrust.

Ran also loves to absolutely destroy you. Fucking you so hard that your sloppy little cunt molds to the shape of his cock. Completely ruining you for anyone else. His pace making you see stars as he fucks you silly.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Ran absolutely loves quickies! Is always trying to pull you aside to get a few rounds in anywhere you guys go.

He makes up some reason to excuse both him and yourself from boring Bonten meanings. Of course only to drag you to the bathroom to make you dumb on his cock.

At this point it's such a common occurrence all the executives know exactly what you two do.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He's almost instantly asleep the minute he pulls out. Ran cuddles with you and holds you tight to him like you're his teddy bear as he sleeps Ɛ>

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers hcs #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev hcs #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers ran #ran haitani #ran smut #ran x reader

168 notes · View notes

bellaxgiornata · 7 months

Text

I Can't Lose You [part two]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.5k

Summary (slightly updated now): The night doesn't go as planned after being tasked by Amanda to seduce a rival drug lord in order to seal the deal for claim to more territory for the Kinsellas. When Michael finds out from his brother what happened, he's not happy with you for following Amanda's orders. Not only is he determined to get revenge on Titan, but he's even more determined to finally get the pair of you out of his family's business.

Warnings/tags: 18+; light angst, overprotective Mikey, love confession, smut

a/n: So this one shot turned into a short mini series. Who would've thought? Feedback is always appreciated! The first part and following parts can be found here.

Tag List: @danzer8705 @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza (kept everyone from the first one so if you'd like to be added or removed please let me know!)

Renewed rage was coursing white hot through Michael’s veins as he stopped before the front door of Amanda and Jimmy’s house. As soon as he’d made his way down your drive after that enlightening conversation with you–one that he had been very reluctant to leave–and saw their house at the end of the street, Michael had seen red. Immediately he’d become pissed off all over again at what Amanda had set you up to do tonight. It had been far beyond out of line for her to order you to do what she had, and he had every intention of making sure Amanda damn well knew that.

She’d never try to whore you out again for a job when he was done with her.

Raising a fist, he began to furiously and rapidly bang against the door, his knuckles stinging from the impact. He didn’t let up with his pounding, either. He stood on their front porch taking out some of his fury on the heavy wooden door until he heard the click of the lock in between slams of his fist. Only then did he stop, his shoulders heaving with his sharp, frenzied breaths as his brother swung the door open. The expression on Jimmy’s face as he eyed Michael’s livid one made it apparent that he wasn’t remotely surprised by his visit.

“Wondered what took ya so damn long to show up,” Jimmy said plainly. “Figured you’d be here fumin’ at some point after I told ya what happened.”

“Went to see if she was alrigh’ first since ya said she was hurt,” Michael grunted out, roughly pushing past his brother and making his way inside. “Can’t fuckin’ believe ya went along with that shite plan. Absolutely fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Figured ya knew what was goin’ on tonight,” Jimmy replied, closing the door after his brother. “Amanda never said otherwise.”

Michael spun on his heel, his jaw clenching. “I'd have never agreed to that and ya both know it. Now Amanda’s goin’ to reap the consequences of her actions,” he grit out. “‘Cause ‘m’not lettin’ this fuckin’ slide. So where the fuck is she?”

“She’s just–”

“I’m right here, Michael,” Amanda said, cutting her husband off as she sauntered out of the kitchen, her heels clicking along the floor with each step. “And there’s no need for all the hostility.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her, his back straightening. The flat and uninterested look on her face had his temper flaring even more. She looked as if she couldn't have cared remotely about the danger she had put you in this evening or the way you'd been hurt. That had the corner of his left eye twitching as he glared dangerously back at her across the entryway.

He certainly wasn't going to leave until he made her understand what a huge mistake she'd made this evening.

“No need?” he ground out, taking a threatening step towards her. “Are ya fuckin’ jokin’, Amanda?”

Amanda’s own eyes narrowed to slits in return, her arms crossing over her chest as she kicked a hip out. “I sent her out on a job, Mikey,” she replied firmly. “‘Cause that’s what she does for this family. Jobs that need to be done. Same as anyone else. And we needed that northern expansion, ya already know that. We’ve got more product than we can push in the territory we already run. We need more buyers if we're goin’ to be bringin’ in any more cash.”

Michael’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles still stinging from where he’d pounded them against the door. It was taking all of his willpower not to start taking swings at Amanda with all the anger burning inside of him. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t imagining knocking that smug look off of her face at her words. Because she’d willingly put you in danger all for the sake of a chance at making more money.

Your safety was non-negotiable in this business when it came to Michael. Amanda had always known that. It was something that had always pissed her off, causing her jealousy to flare up whenever he brought it up during meetings, putting his foot down on jobs she'd try to send you on that he knew wouldn't be safe. Ones he took instead. Yet she often tried to find ways to poke at that by putting you in situations he didn’t agree with but couldn't rightly counter. All because she was jealous that he’d been in love with you for all of these years and not her, leaving her to ‘settle’ for Jimmy instead. And thankfully nothing serious had ever happened from her bullshit schemes–until now.

“We need the expansion, yeah,” Michael agreed, tone low and venomous, “but that wasn’t how we were talkin’ ‘bout gettin’ it. Ya already know that, Amanda. Ya went behind my back and set this up yourself.”

“Because we had a last minute meetin’ practically fall in our lap!” Amanda snapped, throwing her hands out wide in exasperation. “What would ya have wanted me to do, Michael? Let the opportunity to negotiate slip between my damn fingers? Is that it?”

“I expect ya to make the right fuckin’ call!” he roared back. “Ya should’ve sent me in to negotiate! That was the plan all along! I was supposed to handle Titan– not her!”

Amanda rolled her eyes, scoffing loudly as she did. That only further pissed him off, his teeth grinding together as the corner of his eye began to twitch faster. The control he had on his rage was beginning to slip with every word that came out of her mouth.

“Ya were unavailable ‘cause ya were with Anna earlier today,” Amanda shot back. “I needed someone right then–and it needed to be a Kinsella or someone damn near close. Titan would’ve never negotiated with anyone too low rankin’ in the business. And we both know Viking is too hot-headed to handle negotiations. Your brother here isn't much for it, either.”

“Hey!” Jimmy cried out, offended. “That’s a load of shite, Amanda, and you know it!”

Her head darted in her husband’s direction, her eyes cold as she snapped at him. “Stay outta this, Jimmy.”

Michael noticed the way his brother’s composure changed, his body tensing at her order. Though it wasn’t a surprise to him when he said nothing further, quietly seething across the room instead. Jimmy usually always backed down to Amanda, which was partly how she wound up in the position she was in now. Especially because Michael wanted to get you and himself out of the business; running it was the last thing he’d ever want.

“Then why’d ya send her in like a cheap fuckin’ whore, Amanda?” Michael growled, taking another threatening step towards her. “How was that a good fuckin’ plan? Ya could've sent her there just to make a deal, plain and simple. Ya know she’s smart.”

“Come off it, Michael,” Amanda shot in distaste. “It's practically common knowledge that the Titan loves his pussy. I didn’t ask her to fuck him, I only asked her to show interest. Get him comfortable enough so he'd fold to our demands easier.”

“Yeah?” Michael asked, his voice low as he stalked steadily towards her.

He caught the slight flicker of fear that briefly flashed in her eyes at his approach.

A part of him delighted in the sight of it after what she'd done to you–what she'd let happen to you. Something that never should have happened.

Good , he thought, lip curling back into a sneer. You damn well know what I'm capable of. You should be afraid after what you knowingly did tonight.

“If that was the case,” he continued evenly, aware of her arms crossing back over her chest, her own shoulders squaring as she tried to hide the growing fear in her eyes at his continued advance, “then ya could've dressed in that short little dress and pushed your tits into his face yourself, Amanda. Should've played the role o’ whore all on your own if ya want the expansion so badly. Ya claim you’re a Kinsella, yeah?”

Amanda stumbled a step backwards as Michael neared, lowering his face down to hers. Her back hit the wall though, leaving her stuck trying to hold onto the facade of strength while he towered over her.

“Better yet,” he continued quietly, every ounce of anger still very apparent in his words as he invaded her space, “ya could've fucked him yourself. Could’ve let him put his fuckin’ hands all over ya. Why not make him fold to your demands by suckin’ his cock all on your own instead of sendin’ someone else to do it? Shoulda gotten your own hands fuckin’ dirty for once.”

“I’m married, Michael,” she weakly shot back.

A bitter, humorless laugh slipped out of him immediately. Out of all the excuses she could have used, that was the one she was going to go with?

“Your marriage is barely hangin’ by a thread,” Michael retorted. “And your vows sure as shit never stopped ya from fuckin’ ‘round before. It’s ‘cause ya don’t have the goddamn nerve for this business. Ya sit here in your house bossin’ the rest o’ us ‘round, doin’ your biddin’ and playin’ innocent housewife. But the truth is ya don’t really have the stomach for this. Not when it really matters. Ya never fuckin’ did.”

Amanda scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s bullshit, Michael. I don’t do the jobs ‘cause that’s what the rest o’ ya are for.”

Blind fury shot through Michael at her words. Without hesitation, his right hand flew forwards until his palm slammed forcefully against the wall mere inches from Amanda’s head. Satisfaction flooded Michael as she visibly flinched in response, her eyes flying just over his shoulder. No doubt looking to Jimmy for help. But Michael knew his brother well enough. He wasn’t going to say a goddamn thing. He wasn’t going to intervene.

“We do not and have never issued orders for our associates to fuck anyone, Amanda,” Michael growled viciously. “Or to even give someone very dangerous like the Titan that fuckin’ idea only to put our associates in the position where they would either have to or face the fuckin’ consequences of embarrassin’ someone so powerful.” His hand slammed loudly against the wall in his rage and Amanda once again flinched. “Ya damn well knew what was goin’ to happen when ya asked her to do that tonight!”

“Well she–she works for me, Michael,” Amanda countered. “She’s mine to send out as I see fit. She could’ve–”

“YOU DO NOT OWN HER!” Michael roared, ramming his fist into the wall beside her head for emphasis and watching as she shrunk before him. His entire body felt like it was burning with his fury now. “And ya will never send her on a job like that again! Am I fuckin’ clear , Amanda?”

“Ya aren’t the one in charge, Michael!” Amanda fired back.

Furious, Michael pushed off of the wall and took a few steps back, turning and maneuvering around Jimmy who was watching him in silent curiosity. Reaching up, he grabbed onto the long, decorative mirror hanging on the wall beside the front door. Effortlessly he removed it from the hooks before turning back around and throwing it forward. It smashed on the floor just beside Amanda’s feet shattering loudly as glass spilled forth and clattered all over the floor next to her designer heels.

His glare returned to her shocked face, his own set firm as a hand rose to cover her mouth. He needed to make her understand that she’d crossed a line. She needed to know she couldn’t fuck with you like she thought she could. That she didn't hold the kind of power she thought she did.

“Let's get one thing straight. Fuckin’ a Kinsella doesn’t make ya one,” he ground out. “I could throw ya from this business just as easily as that goddamn mirror, Amanda. Step out o’ line with her one more time like that, and I promise ya, no one’ll be listenin’ to a fuckin’ word ya say anymore. Am I clear ?”

“Fine,” Amanda bit out between her teeth.

“Don’t fuckin’ test me on this again,” he warned, pointing a threatening finger at her. “Ya won’t like what happens if ya do, I can promise ya that.”

Michael turned, focusing on his brother who’d remained silent throughout most of the confrontation. There was still one other issue that needed to be dealt with while he was here. Judging by the look of resignation that washed over Jimmy’s face, he already knew what was coming.

“This won’t go unanswered,” Michael told his brother. “O’Brien can’t go beatin’ our associates and gettin’ away with it. Ya know that, brother.”

“Aye,” Jimmy muttered, nodding his head. “Figured you’d be sayin’ that.”

“We are not startin’ a war with him!” Amanda cried out. “That’s the last thing we need right now!”

Michael’s head whipped over his shoulder in her direction, his eyes shooting her a dark glare that had her mouth closing. “Ya don’t have a damn say in this one, Amanda. Keep your damn mouth shut,” he ordered. His attention returned back to Jimmy who was standing there waiting for him to continue. “I’m takin’ him down for what he did to her. Are ya with me or not, brother?”

Jimmy’s eyes fell down to his feet, a hand running over his beard as he mulled over the question for a moment. Gradually he nodded again, his gaze slowly returning to meet Michael’s.

“Yeah,” he replied. “‘Course I’m with ya, brother. We’ll take him down and find a way to take his territory with it, one way or another.”

“Good,” Michael stated, ignoring the way Amanda was clearly fuming from across the entryway. “We’ll figure out the details later. Just need to know ya have my back on this.”

“I always got your back, brother,” Jimmy assured him. “Ya know that.”

Michael stepped towards him, reaching a hand out and appreciatively clapping his brother on the shoulder. His anger was still there, burning inside of him, but he was grateful for Jimmy right now. At least he could be counted on and trusted, even if he wished he’d put a bullet in the Titan’s head the moment he tried to lay a finger on you earlier. That’s what he would’ve done.

“Ya headin’ back over there?” Jimmy asked. “To her place?”

“Yeah,” Michael replied, ignoring the irritated huff Amanda let out. “Had to come over here and deal with this mess first. Which I…really didn’t want to do after talkin’ with her. Apparently she’s felt the same way all this time and I’ve just been…blind to it.”

Jimmy sent his brother a small smile, clapping him on the shoulder with a hand in return. “‘Bout damn time ya fools took your heads outta your asses,” he teased. “Go on then,” he said, gesturing his head towards the door. “Go get your girl, Mikey.”

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella #kin rte

121 notes · View notes

supercalifragipopculturevomit · 5 months

Text

IN SEARCH OF DANIEL BRÜHL MOVIES? *UPDATED as of 23/05/24 with The Coming Days, King's Road, Un Poco de Chocolate, and Polizeiruf 110: Der Sohn der Kommissarin*

Uploaded a copy of Colonia onto my Mega account to share with a friend and I figured I might as well host other DB movies there—specifically those that are difficult to find—for others who might be looking for them.

This is inspired by these two incredible resource posts: Useful links for Daniel Brühl fans by @bruehl

Daniel Bruhl Movie Masterpost by @rachreads

These compilations have provided me with several DB movies I'd nearly given up on finding. So in the spirit of paying it forward, I'm here to share some of my own finds.

I tried not to overlap my files with the ones already shared by those two resources, but if they do, it's for those who prefer a lower file size for easy downloading or for those who can't be bothered to figure out how to upload subtitles onto YouTube.

Basically, most of these are shit copies but they come complete with English subtitles. So makes for easy watching but not for making quality GIFs. Also included content warnings for those who need them.... but know that they're based on my memory which is also shite. 1. No Regrets / Nichts Bereuen (2001) - 887MB

[CW: sex, partial nudity]

2. The White Sound (2001) - 800MB

[CW: nudity, mental illness]

3. Salvador (2006) - 992MB

[CW: sex, partial nudity, violence]

4. John Rabe (2009) - 1.21GB

[CW: nudity, rape, violence]

5. Me and Kaminski / Ich und Kaminski (2015) - 2.79GB

[CW: sex, partial nudity]

6. Colonia (2015) - 806MB

[CW: partial nudity, violence]

7. The Coming Days (2010) - 2.07GB [CW: violence, sex, nudity]

BONUS: thanks to @bruehl (whose account is currently inactive)

8. King's Road / Kóngavegur (2010) - 1.69GB

I could only open this file on the Google Drive it's in. The subtitle I was able to add via Substital extension. A guide on what it is, how to set it up, and use it on THIS POST.

9. Un Poco de Chocolate (2008) - 698MB Fun trivia: the subs were actually created by @bruehl!

But, wait, there's more...

10. Polizeiruf 110: Der Sohn der Kommissarin (1997) Also found a YouTube link to the episode Daniel is in! There are no subtitles but I'm a quarter of the way through it and it seems easy enough to follow.

Most of these are heavy but they are worth watching. Reviewed No Regrets, John Rabe, and Me and Kaminski on this post: The Best of Daniel Brühl. Hadn't seen The White Sound and Salvador at the time of posting, but Daniel is particularly proud of his work on those. p.s. feel free to message me for other DB films you can't find 😊 will be hosting for as long as I don't need the storage.

78 notes · View notes

tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 1 year

Text

By the time it’s through, Harry is a panting victorious mess.

He swears some Gryffindors get dumber by the year. They were pulling the same stunt at every start of the term. I mean, Harry scoffs and thinks to himself, they couldn’t even have been bothered to pick a different corridor. It astounds Harry how persistent their hatred of Slytherins—of him especially, remains even after all these years.

Like, so what? He can talk to a few snakes, and he’s alright at quidditch, and, yeah, he defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was a baby and then sorted Slytherin at eleven. It’s not like anyone told him it was some cultural taboo to accidentally end a war and sort into the mass murderer’s Hogwarts House.

Honestly, Harry has a sneaking suspicion that even if someone had told him, he’d of ended up in a similar, if not worse, situation. So he’ll take the yearly Gryffindor smackdown any day.

Surveying his handiwork, Harry gives a pleased nod to nothing in particular. These six definitely need the medi-wing, but, seeing as Harry was slighted from the Head Boy position and finishing off his final year at Hogwarts as a mere seventh-year prefect, he figures this can slip under his radar. Of course, it’s not good to slack on the first week back, and usually Harry frowns at anything of the sort, but six to one is his new personal best. So, this little lapse in duty can be a small treat for a job well done.

The pep to his step and smile on his face certainly agree with Harry’s decision as he does an about-face and walks a few paces only to come toe to toe with their latest Defence professor.

Shite.

Harry’s face shutters and he freezes in place. There’s no way he can talk his way out of this. But, more importantly, what the hell is he going to do about a bloody witness.

In the haze of panic, Harry has enough sense to correct his posture quickly. He straightens up, shoulders back, hands clasped behind him, and speaks politely, if a little blandly, “Professor Riddle.” Harry bows his head in what he hopes comes across as a sign of respect and not the blatant attempt to hide his wince that it is. How could he have been so careless?

Professor Tom Riddle is the hot new thing in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not only for the ne’er-do-well gossip mongrels but also just- generally. He’s incredibly attractive and incredibly unknown. Sure, he has more than enough qualifications for the position, but no one has any useful information on the man other than the fact that he might have been a Slytherin in another life. And that’s only because he’s got a pet snake slithering about, allegedly.

All of that to say: Harry has no idea how his new professor will react to this. But it’s vital that he keeps his head down this year; nothing can come between him and freedom from the Dursleys. Especially not a little roughhousing with a few morons. If Professor Riddle punishes him with a detention or eight, it will be a low blow but bearable— and if he brings what Harry’s done to the Headmaster…

Harry is certain expulsion will be considered with a heavy hand. Headmaster Dumbledore did not like Harry one bit.

“Harry Potter,” Professor Riddle’s voice is deep and just on the edge of lilting. It’s a nice voice, Harry’s shocked to acknowledge. His lessons will be a huge step up from Snape’s temporary claim of the role. Thank the gods they forced him back to Potions. Though, Slughorn’s lessons and overall attitude were pleasant while they lasted.

They both stood without saying another word in tense silence. Well, tense for Harry. He’s not too sure what’s rattling around in Professor Riddle’s head that’s keeping him so quiet.

Actually, Harry couldn’t imagine being on the other end of this scenario. Like, what would he do if he’d come upon some kid, who by almost all accounts was the supposed saviour of the wizarding world, beating the shite out of six Gryffindor students? Harry doesn’t think he’d handle it as well as Professor Riddle seems to be. In fact, maybe they should both take a cue from Fake-Professor-Harry and just pretend this never happened.

Harry’s neck is just starting to strain from its lock level with the floor when Professor Riddle speaks, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

His head snaps up at the pleasant, almost jolly tone. Professor Riddle is staring out into the courtyard, eyes glued to something far, far in the distance. Completely ignoring the six injured students mere metres away.

Dumbfounded, Harry replies, “It’s evening.” And it is evening. Harry tries to look out at whatever has Professor Riddle’s steadfast attention and can’t pinpoint a damn thing. It’s dark as all hell out there. Finally, in the awkward pause, Harry finds the wherewithal to look back and tack on a belated, “Professor.”

Professor Riddle’s eyes slip to Harry’s face, but his head remains still, and Harry comes to the startling realisation that this is meant to be an act. Anyone passing by, or any nosey portraits, would still believe him enchanted by the courtyard and not confronting a rogue student.

“I know you’re socially inept, Mr Potter. But you are not stupid.”

And with that charming, hissed comment, Harry turns about-face once again to also fake watch the courtyard. “Why yes, sir. Very lovely.”

“It seems,” Professor Riddle starts up again, “in my vacant-minded appreciation for this beautiful day, I have forgotten some paperwork in my office. Could you spare a moment to accompany me?” Harry hears the loud and clear statement as what it is: a demand.

“Of course, sir. I happen to be returning to the common room and going that direction regardless.” Harry is oddly proud of the truth of this. He is technically done with his prefect rounds now, anyhow.

“Very good. Come along.”

The walk to Professor Riddle’s office is long. It’s made longer by their run-in with a few of the Hogwarts Ghosts. Peeves has always had this odd tolerance for Harry that he’s gladly taken advantage of more times than he can count. Something about his father and his father’s friends, the best group of pranksters to ever walk these halls! or whatever. Harry’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, their slight distraction with Peeves has nothing on the Grey Lady’s interaction with Professor Riddle.

She never takes an interest in anyone outside of her little Ravenclaws if Hermione is to be believed. And Hermione is rarely ever wrong. So Harry is on the deep end of surprised when she floats down the other end of the fifth-floor corridor, sees them coming, and waits. Ghosts can’t really be described as warm— unless you were talking about the Fat Friar, and only then because, even as a ghost, he appears to be wearing too many layers for this time of year— but the Grey Lady’s soft eyes for Professor Riddle is a near thing.

“Tom,” she starts as Harry follows his professor’s lead and stops to greet her. “You’re back.”

Harry tries to keep as quiet as a mouse because he very desperately wants to know what she means by that, and he doesn’t think she’s even realised he’s here yet. Harry doesn’t even think he’s ever heard her speak before, either, but her voice is as soft as her eyes. Dainty like bells.

“Yes, Lady Ravenclaw. It has been a long time.” Professor Riddle seems pleased she remembers him. But… Harry can’t put his finger on it. Something just feels off. His neck prickles with that alert sort of awareness, the kind he’s never really been able to break since he was a kid—that prickle of danger.

Grey Lady nods, “Nearly three decades.”

Three decades? Hell, that’s a long time. How old is Professor Riddle anyway? He doesn’t look a day older than thirty, but unless Grey Lady knew him pre-birth, Harry would have to reevaluate his perception of wizard ages.

Harry is vaguely aware that this is all none of his business, and he really shouldn’t be standing here listening closely and pondering on whether or not Professor Riddle was a good Ravenclaw back in the day. But knowledge is power, right? As an obvious Ravenclaw Alumni, Professor Riddle would appreciate Harry’s retention. And since Harry still has no idea how he’ll react to the little skirmish from earlier, looking out for possible blackmail wouldn’t be amiss.

Professor Riddle looks surprised, “I don’t recall speaking with you the last time I was here.”

“Because you didn’t,” her reply is simple and to the point. Not said with any ounce of anger. It’s undoubtedly spoken with a fair amount of weight, however.

Harry hasn’t spent six, going on seven, years in the snake pit not to pick up on her clear underlying message: you didn’t see me, but I saw you. And even though it sounds like a threat, Harry is confident she only means it as a warning. A warning for what? Harry hopes to find out.

“How terribly remiss of me,” Professor Riddle shakes his head as though ashamed. “We should rectify this, of course, and speak at length when you have the time,” his accompanying smile is bright and charming. Harry almost wants to whistle in appreciation. That is some fine schmoozing if he says so himself.

But Grey Lady doesn’t respond. Instead, she floats on, and as she passes Harry, her shoulder phasing through his, he can’t help noticing her stricken face. The purse to her lips and the translucent grip of her hands, it’s almost like she’s scared.

Harry watches her go, still for a touch too long, and Professor Riddle clears his throat, “If you’ll continue following me, please, Mr Potter.”

His attention snaps back to the professor, “I had no idea you were a Ravenclaw, Professor Riddle.”

Professor Riddle looks very amused for a moment. Then, he continues walking and asks, “Whatever gave that away?”

Harry is immediately suspicious, “Ravenclaw’s Ghost. She doesn’t speak with anyone outside of her House. Even the professors have a hard time catching her attention unless they are one of her past students.” When Professor Riddle doesn’t respond right away, Harry adds, “For example, she didn’t acknowledge me once during your conversation.”

“That is true,” he nods, and that strange amusement lingers on the edges of Professor Riddle’s lips. They don’t speak for the remainder of their walk, though it isn’t without Harry trying.

Really, Harry hasn’t met anyone this paranoid in his life— maybe Moody, but the Auror is in a league all his own. However, Professor Riddle isn’t far behind, acting as though even the floors have ears. Or, at least, Harry assumes it’s paranoia stopping the Professor from answering. Maybe he’s just fed up with Harry’s questions…

As they enter the Defence classroom, Harry takes in the changes. Each Defence Professor certainly came with their own flair. Lockhart with his vain decor and opulence, Remus with his purely educational and scientific creatures posters and skeletons, Moody with his nearly claustrophobic clutter of dark curse detectors and jars of worms and bees, Umbridge with her bare-walled bleakness almost as though she could be the only thing of note in the room, Snape with his… well… Snape-ness—no one was surprised to come into the drawn curtain, candle-lit, gruesome pictured room last year.

Professor Riddle is an interesting mix, Harry thinks. Not over the top with gold and silver or anything like that, but there’s definitely a lustre to everything that speaks of fine quality. There’s a nice variety of defence posters, all topics from creatures to spells to stances to potions. How refreshing after the gloom of Snape. It’s brighter in here, Harry notes. Even in the late hour, the warm glow of the room is inviting.

Harry carefully tucks away the sight of a large empty vivarium for later questioning as Professor Riddle shows him up the staircase to his office.

“Have a seat, Mr Potter.” Professor Riddle rounds his desk, a simple wooden piece, large and already strewn with papers, and takes a seat. Harry follows suit, taking in his office with much less attention than the classroom. If only because it seems Professor Riddle hasn’t finished setting it up to his standards. Piles of books sit abandoned by the many bookshelves covering one wall, and a fair amount of boxes are open and unopened in each corner.

Harry takes a deep breath and readies to defend himself. He thinks he’s got a pretty reasonable defence (pun intended) for his Defence Professor. Even if the man has heard of Harry through gossip rags like Witch Weekly and the hardly-a-news-source Daily Prophet, Harry figures he’s still got the benefit of the doubt.

Unless, of course, Professor Riddle had strong affiliations during the war. That could always go either way. Harry’s met some pretty chill Voldemort supporters over the years and some pretty not-chill ones. The Malfoys, for instance, treat him like a second son, and Harry’s mostly sure that’s only because they think him the next Dark Lord or something. Whereas Theodore Nott, and probably his whole family, definitely hates Harry’s guts for killing Voldemort.

“Professor Riddle, about what happened earlier, I can explain—“ Harry starts and is near immediately cut off.

“You’re quite gifted in spell casting, aren’t you, Mr Potter?” Professor Riddle leans back and crosses his legs, hands in his lap. Okay…he doesn’t look like he’s about to get Harry expelled… And is that a compliment?

“Uh,” Harry stutters. He’s still not good with praise; it’s still so foreign to him. “I wouldn’t use that word, Professor. But thank you.”

Professor Riddle shakes his head, “It is nothing to thank me for if it is a fact. When I was accepted for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, I first requested a list of all the students and their academic placements.” He pauses to shuffle the papers around on his desk until he pulls out one long parchment, “Four years straight, you held the top of the list in Defence for your year, and your Ordinary Wizarding Levels were exemplary even though you appear to have barely scraped by in fifth-year with a Dreadful.”

Professor Riddle glances up at Harry with a world-weary look, “I have speculations about why you placed so low the last two years. A Troll for sixth-year? With the casting I saw? Highly unlikely.”

Harry blinks, “Oh,” is all he can muster. Welp, that answers how much of the duel Professor Riddle had seen. And, surely he didn’t have all the Hogwarts students’ placements memorised so thoroughly? Is it just his seventh-year classes? Is it just Harry?

For the first time all evening, Harry is struck with the sudden question: why was Professor Riddle in a random seventh-floor corridor, anyway?

Now, Harry can say what he likes about paranoid people being paranoid. Unfortunately, it didn’t mitigate the fact that Harry was a touch paranoid himself. And, even though Professor Riddle hasn’t come off as anything less than concerned-professor-addressing-his-student, Harry still hasn’t quite gotten over that prickle of danger back with Grey Lady. It would be absolutely batty to think Professor Riddle was following him, or whatever, but now that Harry’s thought about it, he can’t stop thinking about it.

“That is just Defence. You have placed consistently in the top 10 of almost all your other classes since you arrived at Hogwarts,” Professor Riddle rolls up the parchment and sets it aside. “Divination and you do not seem to agree, however.”

Harry can’t tell if Riddle is impressed, surprised, or both. Honestly, he’s kind of busy scoping out any easy exit points now that he’s spiralling down the my-new-defence-professor-might-be-stalking-me rabbit hole. Harry lets out a strained laugh and hopes that’s enough of an answer.

“You appear to be a bright young man, so why did you feel the need to fight six Gryffindor students after curfew, Mr Potter?”

Indignant, Harry decides to shelf his panic attack for later, “I didn’t feel the need. This is a yearly thing they like to do. They’ve decided they are within their rights to punish me for my audacity to sort Slytherin when I was eleven and enjoy cornering me during my prefect rounds.”

Riddle arches his brow, “This has been going on for years?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve not gone to your Head of House?”

Harry nearly scoffs, “Snape and I do not get along.”

“Professor Snape, Mr Potter,” Riddle’s amused smile is back in full force.

Harry presses his lips into a thin line and counts backwards from ten. Twice. “Of course, sir. Professor Snape and I do not get along. He tolerates me on the best of days and probably plans out my murder in vivid detail on the worst.”

Peeves may love Harry’s father. Snape decidedly didn’t. Hardly fair, if anyone asked him, that he has to take Snape’s shitty abuse just because he looks like a man he’s never met.

Riddle nods and tilts his head. He’s silent for a moment before he asks, “And do you like Slytherin House?”

It’s such an out-of-left-field question that Harry gapes for a moment. He pulls himself together enough to give it some serious thought. Does he like being a Slytherin? He’s never been anything else, so it’s hard to say. It was pretty shitty in the beginning. Being ostracised for doing something he didn’t even remember or know about until a month before school while also adjusting to a totally new concept like magic being real was kind of awful. And he wouldn’t recommend it. Still—

“Yes,” Harry answers passionately and wholeheartedly. “I love it. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

And he means it. Because even though first-year had its fair share of torture, it was also magic. It was walls that opened with a whispered word revealing a room with a sea-floor view and green velvet sofas, it was his very own room after years of sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs, it was his first friend and his first laugh, it was wands and potions and spells and charms and magic.

Riddle does seem surprised now, as though he expected Harry to give a very different answer. His quiet turns thoughtful for a long, long while, and Harry wonders how long their meeting will drag out. It’s well after curfew and prefect hours now, isn’t it?

A dragging sound pulls them both from their silence.

Harry’s eyes quickly lock on a stack of precariously stacked boxes. They move slightly as though pushed and wobble dangerously. After a few moments of nothing, a large snake head appears from around its corner.

And that answers Harry’s question about the empty vivarium in the classroom.

The snake’s scales against the stone floor are what make the dragging sound as it carefully moves closer and closer to Harry. A quick glance at Riddle shows that he has no intentions of stopping it; great. In fact, that amusement is far too obvious once again.

Belatedly Harry realises the snake is sort of massive, far longer than any snake he’s ever seen. Including that one ball python at the zoo. The snake’s body gracefully adjusts as it creeps up and up and up until its head is level with Harry’s. A cool forked tongue quickly brushes against his cheek. Harry blinks, wide-eyed.

“Excuse Nagini, Mr Potter. She’s just curious.”

Harry knows he shouldn’t say anything. He knows it’s too risky to reply because he can’t quite control his parseltongue in front of snakes, but he can’t just sit here and not say anything. He’s still trying to get out of expulsion and maybe even a few detentions, after all. So he looks very hard at Riddle and desperately hopes the man won’t act too cruel if Harry slips up, “It’s-s fine, s-sir.”

Harry winces. Even he can tell his s sounds were a little too harsh just then, and Riddle’s brown eyes sharpen at the curious drag of his voice.

Riddle leans forward, elbows on the desk, hands clasped together, and tilts his head. “That’s right. As a Slytherin, you must not mind snakes. Comes with the territory?”

“You could,” Harry swallows, “s-ay that.” He grits his teeth. Hope is a lie. He needs to get out of here.

Somehow Riddle leans ever so closer, “It’s interesting. I was under the impression that her presence here might cause a great disturbance. Headmaster Dumbledore was very worried about student safety and their reactions.”

Harry pauses. His eyes drift back over to Nagini. What? Wait, “Student safety?”

Suddenly Riddle is up and standing. It startles Harry more than he’ll ever admit, and while he’s distracted by that, Nagini rests her large head on his shoulder and inches her way behind his neck, “A speaker? You speak parseltongue, young child?”

Riddle quickly rounds to the front of his desk, his fingers tapping a pleasant little rhythm across it. He finds a comfortable spot and casually leans back against it, arms crossed. Harry’s thigh is almost brushing the long line of Riddle’s legs. Harry wants to die, just a little.

“Mr Potter, Harry,” Riddle says his name like a curse and a blessing and very, very different from how he’s been saying it all evening. A chill runs down Harry’s spine.

Nagini interrupts before Riddle can continue, “Are you cold, young child? Tom, the boy is cold. Warm him.”

“My snake seems rather taken with you, Harry,” Riddle carries on, completely ignoring Nagini and her demands. Which makes sense because Riddle doesn’t speak parseltongue, but Harry is sorely tempted to laugh at how she sounds so used to bossing Riddle around. He doesn’t scream doting pet owner, but maybe Harry’s got a bad read on him. Or maybe the fear and adrenalin are making Harry fucking crazy.

And when did he become Harry and not Mr Potter?

Harry coughs, focusing all his attention on Riddle once more, “Cool. What concern did Dumbledore have for the children?” Nailed it.

Riddle’s answering smile is large and closed-lipped. He’s not laughing, but it sure as hell feels like he is. “Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry. And it is nothing to worry about, as I have taken measures to keep you all safe. Nagini just happens to be rather poisonous; her venom is capable of killing a man in less than a minute.”

Huh. Harry suddenly doesn’t feel all too thrilled about having Riddle’s rather large, potentially man-killing, and weirdly mothering snake getting all cosy on his shoulders. Even now, she’s still hissing nonsense words of concern and praise, and really, Harry’s not been paying too close attention to her out of fear of messing up again.

Harry nods as slowly and carefully as possible. “I get why he’d be a little worried.”

Riddle hums, not necessarily agreeing, not necessarily disagreeing. “Back to our original topic, I will not be reporting your altercation with the Gryffindors.”

The fierce surprise waging a three-way war with suspicion and hope in Harry’s chest is enough to leave him breathless. How the hell did he get this lucky? “Thank you, I really appreciate it—“ Harry stops himself from adding an instinctual sir.

Harry sits uncomfortably in the realisation that Riddle is definitely laughing at him as Riddle’s brows inch up. Harry sighs and says, “s-sir.” He clears his throat.

“Apologies, Harry. It is quite late, is it not? I wouldn’t want to keep you; the term officially starts tomorrow, after all.” Riddle straightens up from his lean, and he’s closer now than he’s ever been to Harry.

“One last thing,” Riddle says, and his hands curl around either side of Harry’s neck. Harry is dizzy in the stifling nearness. Riddle’s not touching him, but the warmth radiating off his body and hands burns until Harry is certain there’ll be blisters.

Riddle carefully takes Nagini from her perch on Harry and wraps her gently across his own shoulders, “In exchange for my silence, I expect us to meet here once a week. Outside of our class time. I shall wait until you get your timetable before picking something suitable for us both.”

Harry’s eyes are glued to the floor when he says, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Harry.”

Harry’s neck whips up at breaking speed, and for just a split second, hardly a blink, Riddle’s eyes are a scolding red.

Harry blinks once, twice, three whole times before he manages a desperate, “Yes, Professor Riddle.”

Riddle’s answering smile is the cat’s canary, and Harry certainly feels like prey to a predator right now.

#tomarry #harrymort #tomarrymort #pov: harry #4.1k words #chapter 1 #my fic #slytherin!harry #professor!tom | voldemort #fic: what's lost (what's gained)#i have nothing to say i don't even know where this came from

416 notes · View notes

unmotivated-artist164 · 13 days

Text

“The fewer the desires, the more peace.”

Billy Butcher x GN! Reader

CW: Alcohol use, Language, Sexual content/Smut 18+, Sorta Angsty ending.

A/N: Took me forever to finish this, but i'm pretty happy with how it turned out. BUTCHER FANS UNITE RAHHHHHH

*Not my gif or dividers, credit goes to the owners.*

Playlist for this fic ^^^

The flashing lights of the underground dive filled Butcher’s vision as the vigilante brought a glass of whiskey to his lips, the golden liquid burning down his throat, making his body buzz with warmth. “Why do I agree to these cunts' ideas?” He rasped silently to himself as he watched members of his small team on the dance floor, getting lost in the sea of bodies, bumping and grinding to the heavy bass filling their ears.

The only individual who had stayed off the dance floor for the time being was Hughie, the anxiety-ridden man drinking a beer, eyes bouncing around. As if looking for something. Butcher swore under his breath and moved over to him.

“Oi, what’s got you more antsy than a teenage boy during his first wank?” Billy inquired with a wicked grin. Hughie slightly jumped, almost dropping his beer, eyes wide at his sudden appearance. “Jesus fuck, Butcher, you can’t just sneak up on someone like that.” He grumbled, hand on his chest as he relaxed.

“But it’s bloody amusin’,” Butcher smirked as he downed the rest of his drink. “But seriously, what’s buzzin’ around in your arse?”

Hughie sighed and returned to gazing at the crowd, scanning. “I lost y/n in the crowd, and I’m trying to find them again. They’re known to….” He broke off, cringing with a shake of his head. “Get into some situations.” He finished while rubbing his arm, concern etched in his gaze. “But I don't want to be an overbearing big brother.”

Butcher frowned at the mention of y/n, Hughies troublesome sibling. At every twist and turn, they have infuriated him to no end, always arguing against mission plans, or calling him out on shite especially when Hughie was involved.

Billy ground his jaw before conceding. “I’ll go look for them, stay here.” He declared before stalking away from the bar, dissolving into the crowd as his keen eyes were peeled for y/n.

As Butcher’s demanding footsteps moved him through the club with an imposing demeanor, he slipped through the curtain of one of the backgrounds, fingers drifting over the flimsy red fabric. The stench of cheap booze and sex permeated the air as his eyes locked onto a familiar figure.

There sat y/n on some random wanker's lap, draped there with a lazy smirk like a damn feline, giggling at the unknown man's hushed words. Their outfit hugged their silhouette like the embodiment of sin, face flushed and rosy with warmth.

Before Butcher could register the feeling, molten fury filled his veins, driving him forward, a dangerous glint filling his eyes as his usual mask of a cocky bastard slipped onto his chiseled face.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Butcher purred as he gazed down at the two of them, y/n finally turning their eyes to him, frustration and annoyance plastering over their expression. “So this is where you ran off to, y/n. Tsk, tsk, tsk, your brother’s awfully worried about you,” Billy finally acknowledged the other man. “And who is your little friend?”

“Go suck your own dick, Butcher, seeing as no one else is willing to do it for you.” Y/n snapped back, tired of his arrogant attitude as they shifted on the stranger's lap, glaring up at him.

The unknown man chuckled sinisterly and gripped their waist tighter. “Thas right, baby. All mine tonight.” Something was off about him……

Butcher’s eyes flickered for half a second before he gave the two of them a wide smile, hand sliding on the arm of the couch mindlessly. “I suppose I'll leave you two lovebirds alone for now. Wrap it before you tap it, as they say.” He winked and turned to walk away before the stranger's voice raised.

“Hey asshole, are you leaving now? Seemed like you had business. But I guess you’re too much of a pussy to do anything! This is MY piece of ass tonight, find your own!” The man taunted drunkenly with a wicked grin before squeezing them to the point it became uncomfortable. Y/n squirmed slightly but ultimately let the interaction play out.

Butcher stopped in his tracks, turning back with a raised eyebrow. “What did you just say, mate?” His voice boomed over the music. “Cause I KNOW you ain’t saying something so demeaning about the person you’re practically dry-humping right now.” He replied in a cool tone, hands in his pockets.

The stranger's face contorted into fury as Butcher's words met his ears. “Why you bast-” He started before Billy cut him off. “Ah, ah, ah,” Butcher waved a finger in the man's face as his lips curled into a threatening leer. “Care to wank off before I cut off your tongue and use it to rim ya own sorry arse?”

The stranger froze and quickly set y/n down on the couch. “Fine! Have 'em, you sicko!” He barked over his shoulder as his cowardly ass scurried out of the V.I.P. room.

Butcher’s dark eyes scanned you from head to toe, surveying injuries, maybe lingering a bit longer than needed.

“You alright, love?” His voice uttered as he straightened his posture. Y/n rose from the sofa with a vexed guise and a slight wobble, moving into his face. “What the FUCK, Butcher!?” They snapped at the sinful man in front of them. “I was having fun, and you had to ruin it!”

“Fun?” Butcher questioned as he evaluated you. “Some limp-dicked wanker trying to get you between the sheets is what you call ‘fun’? I knew you had issues, y/n, but damn.” He breathed with his off-handed comment that drove y/n deeper into an inebriated rage.

“I’m gonna get hic Hughie.” They proclaimed before taking a step forward, losing their balance due to the liquid gold running through their veins. Butcher moved swiftly and caught them by the waist, hoisting them back to their feet.

“Oi, easy does it, troublemaker. Let’s get you outta here.”

Butcher notified M.M. that he was taking y/n home, the straight-headed man nodding as he watched the rest of his friends like a hawk while they enjoyed a night away from their high-stakes lives.

Soon Y/n and Butcher were strapped into their current vehicle, a silver Dodge Ram truck that rolled down the road with ease, windows rolled down with the cool night air filling the cabin. Y/n was starting to stir again in the shotgun seat, groaning and letting their head hang.

“Where’re we?” They mumbled, still a bit tipsy. “Fuck, my head is pounding." Y/n complained. “Yeah, that's what happens when you slam back drinks like you wanted to get piss-faced in about 10 seconds flat." Butcher looked at you as you complained about your pounding head, the words sounding a bit rough.

“You got me away from that creep.” Y/n started quietly, arms coming up as they hugged themselves, sliding down in the seat.

Butcher paused for a second before answering in a gravelly timbre. “Well, I couldn’t exactly let you blow our cover could I?” A beat passed.

“Hughie sent you to get me, didn’t he?” Y/n probed further.

“What, I can’t save me companion from a walking erectile dysfunction?” Butcher quipped with a smug smile, amusement dancing in his stare as his view turned toward y/n. Y/n huffed, disgruntled. “You never do anything JUST because. There’s always a hidden motive with you, Butcher.” “You hurt me tender heart, love,” Butcher murmured with a small smirk. Y/n sighed as their vision still spun, their head resting against the headrest on the seat. “And you almost hurt his….well, everything,” Y/n muttered.

Butcher let out a grunt as they drove closer to their present location, a dingy motel with more drug deals than a college campus during final exams. “Someone needed to save ya cunt from whatever STD that twat has picked up.”

“You’ve never helped me before, though.” Y/n turned in their seat, eyes shining. “You’d sooner let me walk into a fully armed compound than lift a pinky, at times.” They exhaled. “You ultimately hate me.”

“I don’t hate ya, troublemaker.” The vigilante rebutted, fingers tapping on the wheel as he kept his gaze forward, expressionless and collected.

“Bullshit.” Y/n barked, brows furrowing.

A few seconds went by.

“You like black coffee with 3-4 teaspoons of sugar with milk.”

Y/n froze, utterly confused at how that filled into their conversation and the fact that he had been that attentive. “…Yeah? What about it?” They inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“You also blare your music in your ears till ya go deaf. Takes forever to get your attention.” Butcher grumbled under his breath. “You use ASL with Hughie when you want to tell him a snide fuckin’ comment from across the room, giggling about it afterward.”

“Butcher, what does any of this have to do with our previous conversation-”

“You don’t back down from a fight.” He cut y/n off as if they hadn’t spoken at all, glancing out at the passing trees. “That brat attitude of yours calls out bullocks when you see it, including me,” Butcher’s gaze softened. “Nobody has had the brass balls to do that since-” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Doesn’t matter. My point is, even if you make me want to blow me brains out on the pavement during a good day, you’re still just one of us. Tryin’ to get to the next sunrise. Can’t fault somebody for that.”

“Very poetic, Edgar Allen Poe.” Y/n retorted as they took in his words, even as a lightness crept into their chest.

“You’re a dangerous little thing.” He rasped with a rumbling chuckle as his grip on the steering wheel relaxed, the pavement grinding against the wheels of the truck. His eyes held a light of amusement and something deeper. Perhaps….fondness? Or something darker?

Soon the truck was parked and secured as Butcher opened y/n’s door for them. They ungracefully dismounted from their seat, yelping when their intoxicated limbs still wouldn’t cooperate. Before they could eat the pavement, Butcher’s reflexes kicked in and he caught them for the second time that night, one hand on their lower back, the other securing their hip.

Not a single thing moved in a quick moment where all y/n could see was Butcher. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or in light of their recent conversation, but something caused their cheeks to redden in his hold. Butcher had always been attractive in their mind, just never thinking about it too much when his infuriating attitude would get in the way.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Butcher purred as he let them go, stepping back. Y/n rolled their eyes, flipping him off. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, that’s a scorcher, very creative.”

The door to Kimiko, Hughie, and Y/n’s room swung open, hitting the cracking dry plaster as Butcher walked Y/n inside and sat them on their bed. “There we go.” He coaxed quietly. Y/n stretched out on the sheets and kicked their shoes off with ease, sighing as their eyes fluttered.

“I should be gettin’ to our roo-” Butcher paused mid statement and huffed. “Fuck, M.M. has the key, god damn it.”

Y/n sat up and gave him an innocent look, leaning back on their palms. “Why don’t you just stay here till they get back?” They suggested. Butcher grunted in acknowledgment before nodding. “Makes sense. And it means I’ll be keepin’ an eye on you till Hughie gets back.”

The two settled in and Butcher slipped off his signature trench coat, rolling up the sleeves of his cheesy Hawaiian shirt before turning back to y/n with an analyzing gaze. “Alright, time fo’ bed, troublemaker.”

A familiar warmth of desire curled inside of Y/n’s stomach as they studied Butcher, gaze drifting over him, unashamed and brazen from the alcohol, strangely silent. When Butcher moved to help tuck them in, they refused and tried to pull him down. “Only if you join me.” Y/n cooed, seduction lacing their words.

“Oi Y/n, you’re tipsy, love. Ya don’t know what you’re saying.” He gently pulled their hands off him with a shake of his head and stepped away. “I know what i want, Butcher!” Their words fell on deaf ears.

Y/n’s frustration grew and they rose from the bed, following him a few steps, Butcher’s back to them.

“You know you just wanna fuck me! Don’t act like I haven't seen the looks you give me! You’ve been eye-fucking me all night!” Y/n finally blurted out, hands clenched at their sides. His posture visibly froze as silence filled the space between them. Y/n realized what they had said and wilted, stepping back.

“I- I didn’t mean it-”

Everything came to a standstill when the wind was knocked from y/n’s lungs at the impact of their back slamming into the shitty motel wall with Butcher holding them up by the collar. “Shut your fucking trap. Ya don’t know what i want, yeah? Now, climb into bed like a good little thing, before you do anything else you’ll bloody regret.”

“And if I don't regret it?” Y/n whispered. “Just sex?”

Seconds passed that felt like hours, the sword of damocles hanging over Y/n’s head

Butcher finally crashed his lips to y/n’s with a deep grumble in his chest. Teeth and tongue clashed in a hedonistic haze. A gasp of surprise from Y/n was muffled by Butcher’s impatient kiss.

He pulled back for a breath before his lips were on y/n’s neck, grazing their fluttering pulse point. “Just sex.” Butcher growled as his mind raced with every desire he was finally allowing himself to entertain.

Y/n’s breath shook as they gripped his back for stability, knees growing weak under the brunt force of desire coursing through the both of them. “Butcher- fuck.” Y/n moaned quietly and shut their eyes as he started to litter hickeys across their skin, occasionally biting into the flesh. “Fuck, you’re such an asshole.” They hissed through gritted teeth.

Butcher smirked, warm breath tickling their neck as his hand snaked to their hair, letting their head fall into his palm as it tilted back. Thick tension filled the air as Billy didn’t make a single move for a few moments. Then his lips melded to the column of their throat, slowly and sensually.

“I know. But you bloody love it.”

Clothes were haphazardly thrown around the room, Butcher keeping y/n against the wall, hiking one of their legs up around his hips as he ground his hips against theirs.

Butcher's fingers traced the outline of y/n’s entrance before slipping two fingers in, a delicious stretch rippling through their body. “So tight, so perfect. This what ya little body needed? To get fucked like such a good whore?” He mumbled, eyes darkening with an unmistakable heat.

After a few moments and quiet groans, y/n glared daggers at Butcher. “I hate you.”

Butcher’s expressions morphed into a downright menacing grin.

“Then show me how much, love.”

A lit cigarette rested between Butcher’s lips as his palms guided y/n’s hips up and down on him, meticulously and deliciously as his dick drove into the deepest parts of them. The smoke and echoes of moans created a Dionysian atmosphere that was heady and all-encompassing.

“No words left f’me, love? Nothing to tell the man who’s fuckin’ you so good? Much better than that wanker could ever do.” He growled as he held their gaze.

“Fuck, Butcher-”

Butcher took a deep drag from his rolly before gripping the back of y/n’s head, pulling them into a fervent kiss, the smoke filling their mouth as y/n responded to the action, pulling his bottom lip between their teeth. This was everything he needed and more. A good tumble in the sheets.

When they finally parted, Butcher sat up, pulling y/n into his lap, chest to chest as he bucked upwards into them, losing himself in the sensation. “Fuck love, it’s like your body was made for me.” He moaned out as his hands chased to touch every part of them.

Y/n threw their head back, lifting their hips to match his rhythm when Butcher suddenly pushed them over, y/n gasping as they fell back into the cheap mattress. Butcher threw their legs over his shoulders, falling forward until they were chest-to-chest, panting as he ripped moan after moan from y/n. His thrusts grew sharper until he buried himself deeper, grunting when he found their sweet spot, almost busting right then and there.

“Say my name. None of that ‘Butcher’ bollocks. Let the neighbors know who’s makin’ you see fuckin' stars, love.”

“Fuck, Billy!” Y/n’s nails dug into his back as they cried out his name, marring his skin. “I’m so c-close.”

“Me too.” He groaned from his position above them. Butcher crashed his lips against y/n’s in a more loving, gentle kiss that sent the both of them over the edge. He pulled out quickly as he came on their chest, painting their smooth skin white, weeping cock twitching in his calloused palm.

The only sound that filled the room were quick gasps. “You look like a damned angel, but I don't think this is what they meant by angels being decorated in white.” Billy murmured as he kissed their forehead, earning an embarrassed groan from y/n. “Shut up.”

Butcher stood and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, prancing around with a cheeky grin before cleaning them up. He threw the towel across the room before grabbing his clothes off of the floor, dressing himself

Y/n curled under the sheets, pausing at his actions. “You aren’t staying?” They questioned quietly, swallowing down the emotions climbing in their throat. Butcher glanced up as he laced his boots. “Well, ‘course I ain't. Just sex, right?”

Y/n’s eyes flickered before they nodded. “Just sex.” They echoed before Billy gave a gruff nod and sauntered out, closing the door behind him with a click of finality.

A/N: FINALLY, IT'S POSTED! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! Might make a part 2 if it's requested enough.

47 notes · View notes