the riddle of his being

So, I’m listening to the confrontation between Tom Riddle and Harry in the chamber of secrets

and probably what’s striking me the most is the way Tom assumes, implicitly, that everyone who meets him will find him charming and impressive

He talks about becoming Ginny’s best friend, her confidante, the holder of PARTS OF HER SOUL, as if it was a bit of a hassle, but ultimately quite easy. He talks about persuading Professor Dippet that Hagrid was guilty, and describes the effect of his own self-presentation as if it was obvious that one of the most powerful people in the wizarding world should do whatever a 16 year old asked: “Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave…”

And he makes one remark about someone his narrative didn’t work on: “I don’t think Dumbledore liked me as much as the other teachers did.” He’s so confident in the effect of his own narrative, his shiny charm, that he’s genuinely surprised and a bit confused at not everybody buying it. 

And, like, the thing is: we see Voldemort when he’s not doing so well, for most of the series. We see him, largely in moments of crisis: autocratic, cruel, utterly without loyalty to anyone but himself. And inside, he’s definitely all those things. But he’s also so charismatic - so good at faking empathy, too - that all sorts of people end up giving him their souls, literally or otherwise. Think about the range of people attracted by Tom Riddle, whether as a schoolboy or a Dark Lord: Slughorn, Ginny Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange, etc. Those are some hugely different people with genuinely conflicting interests! and yet he plays them all, he acquires all of their trust and admiration, and then when he’s done with them they die, but the others keep following him because that’s how good Tom Riddle is at making people love him

It’s incredibly difficult to perform to so many different audiences, simultaneously, and almost never fail. I think Tom Riddle is so good at using people because he uses himself. He doesn’t exist outside the narratives he performs. He feeds on the reactions of others. No one sees through him because there’s nothing to see. He says it himself: “Voldemort [an absurdly dramatic pseudonym, lets be real] is my past, present and future, Harry Potter”

Tom Riddle: consummate identity manipulator, holy shit

You Clearly Don’t Understand. Play You.

(Or: Things that everybody thinks make Sherlock canonically straight but they really really really don’t and why don’t you see that, because it’s so beautiful!!!)

Apologies to my Doctor-Who followers for this ongoing Sherlock intermezzo, but I just need to vent a little longer: I. Loved. Series. Four!!! 

In particular, I loved The Final Problem. I loved Sherlock calling John family, I loved the smashing of the casket, the touching of non-existent glass, the air plane metaphor, Mycroft outside his comfort zone, etcetera etcetera etcetera. I loved the whole bloody thing.  

But my favourite, favourite moment was the one when Eurus asks Sherlock to “play you”. And he plays the theme of The Woman. 

Because it is the bravest thing Sherlock has ever done. And it makes this moment incredibly powerful. 

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Harry enjoyed his job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; it paid well enough, he was supplied with room and board, and the students were all lovely. Well, except for one.

Tom Riddle, while not a necessarily a bad or disruptive student (quite the opposite, actually), unnerved Harry. It could be how his eyes took on an almost predatory look as they followed Harry around the room, it could have been the amount of time the teen had “accidentally” walked in on him in while he was changing, it could have been how he would lock eyes with Harry during dinner and eat an entire banana in one bite much to the amusement of his housemates.

It could also be because he was standing before Harry with his shirt unbuttoned and his pants dipping low on his hips, a dangerous smirk in place on his lips.

“What do you think would happen if I screamed?” Riddle asked conversationally, inspecting his nails like being in such a state of undress was normal.

“What?” Harry asked dumbly, hoping he had heard his student wrong.

“What. Do you think. Would happen. If. I. Screamed.” Riddle asked again, leaning against the desk behind him and resting his hands it, spreading his legs wider and putting himself in a rather provocative position. “I mean, wouldn’t this just look so bad for you? An empty classroom, a half dressed student…do you think they would give you a trial or would you be carted off to Azkaban immediately?”

“You wouldn’t.” Harry said, his heart rate speeding up when Riddle tilted his head, his eye widening in mock innocence.

“Would I?”

The devil taken the form of a fourteen year old and has come to make my life hell, Harry thought hysterically as he stared disbelievingly at Riddle, receiving a sweet looking smile in return. Harry was aware of how bad this looked if someone were to walk in and see the underage wizard in such a state; he knew no amount of pleading and “this isn’t what it looks like” would save him.

“What do you want?” He finally asked, sighing in defeat. “A higher grade? You already have all O’s and I can’t really control what other professors give you.”

“A date.” Riddle said, looking exceedingly pleased with himself as he straightened up, hands coming to button up his shirt. “This weekend at Hogshead, say at about seven? Most of the other students would be returning to the castle by then. I’ll meet you there; wear that nice set of burgundy robes in the back of the closet, it would make your eyes pop.”

When he finished his last button, Riddle picked up his school bag and spun on his heels to leave, leaving Harry feeling vaguely uncomfortable about what had just transpired and the fact that Riddle knew what was in his closet.


Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Request:  Hey love, I really love your writing, it gives me something to do when I’m up at 2:30 in the morning, the only problem is, after u start reading, I can’t stop, so I’ll end up reading till like, 5:00, when I have to get up at 7:00. Do you think you could possibly do a peter parker mini series, where the reader is his teenage girlfriend, and she gets pregnant, and a lot of fluffy stuff, and peter being a really good daddy and all that cute stuff. Sorry if thus was too long or didn’ make Amy sense

A/N: !!!!!! i love you, anon. this is looking to be about a six part series, okay so be prepared.

Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

Originally posted by tomhollanderr

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Phoenix when talking to Apollo (much more prominent in AA4): Speaking in riddles, being vague but not lying, and keeping his face neutral (this part the most in AA4).

Phoenix when talking to Athena: Avoiding topics, avoiding even thinking about topics, that upset him. Pushing these thoughts and emotions away when they crop up (which is also what Apollo did during AA5, and which is why Athena couldn’t hear his discord yet).

Viktuuri Sickfic

WARNING(S): descriptions of mild anxiety, vomiting, nausea, minor hospital mention, dealing with a kidney / bladder infection below!

“Turn on your side for a second.” Yuuri kindly ordered, a sock filled with heated rice in one hand while the other helped Viktor roll onto his left side, switching out the impromptu heating pad with the freshly heated one, “Okay, there. You can lay back now.”

Viktor moaned lowly as he turned to lay back down, sighing in relief when the heat began to settle immediately into his skin. It soothing the pain that lay within his back, though muscles had nothing to do with it, heat worked wondered it calming the ache from his irritated kidney. That and the mild pain medication the doctor had prescribed along with his antibiotics.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Viktor breathed gratefully, truly appreciating his fiance’s care and attention to ensuring he was comfortable.

“I’m glad it’s actually working to help the pain.” Yuuri admitted, it had nearly sent him into a panic attack when he found Viktor curled up in extreme pain that morning ; a mere bladder infection had took a turn for the worse when it migrated to his right kidney. He’d thought Viktor was dying with how the pain had crippled him.

“Do you need another dose of meds?” The younger of the pair asked, shifting nervously on his feet, anxious and wanting to be of use to his love.

“No, not yet anyway, but thank you.” Viktor assured his anxiety riddled fiancé, noting the telltale signs despite his mind being clouded with a mild fever and the minorest of twinges in his back.

“Then, do you need anything? Water? Juice? The doctor said you should drink.” Yuuri questioned, worried he wasn’t following up with Viktor care enough. Had he made him drink enough? Would cranberry juice or water be better at this stage? God, where did he put the at home care papers?

“Yuuri. Yuuri , moy kotenok , you’ve taken great care of me. I’m feeling better. Truly.” Viktor captured his love’s attention, grasping the other’s hand lightly in his to pat it lovingly, his cerulean gaze tender, “I promise. The best nurse I could ever hope for.”

Yuuri sighed, running his thumb over Viktor’s palm, then bringing the hand up partway and leaning down the rest of the way to kiss his fiance’s knuckles, “I don’t mean to press, Vitya. I worry.”

“I know, lapocka. And I love you for it, but I’m doing okay right now.” Viktor reassured, genuinely meaning his words, this was the best he felt since being diagnosed with a bladder (and later kidney) infection, “But perhaps you could lay down with me? If you’re so worried?”

This had Yuuri smiling openly, scoffing in fond amusement as Viktor’s gaze turned imploring, “Of course.”

Walking around to his side of the bed, Yuuri gingerly climbed up under the covers and, mindful of his fiance’s delicate state, scooted over until he was close to Viktor. Not pressed up against him as they both wanted, but close enough to intertwine their arms and have their hands clasped. Yuuri leaned over until his he’d was settled lightly against Viktor’s shoulder, the other turned his head to tenderly stare at Yuuri’s soft features. A moment of lazily tracing his nose then lips with his eyes, he flicked his gaze up to gaze into his fiance’s brown eyes.

A warmth spread throughout his chest, Yuuri’s brown hues holding an affection bred from the purest form of care for another. His worry easily noticed, but also a deeply felt and founded love. Viktor hoped his own reflected such emotions, though he feared they be muted due to his less than par state of being.

“I love you.” He spoke instead, if he couldn’t express it right now, he’d voice it.

“I know.” Yuuri left a small smile upturn the corner of his lips, “And I love you.”

“And I know that.” Viktor responded, it making Yuuri hum a laugh because they were true saps when it came to each other, and they both loved it.

“You should sleep while you can though. I’ll stay here with you.” Yuuri spoke after several minutes of comfortable silence, not wanting to keep Viktor awake just because he wasn’t tired enough yet to sleep.

“Mm, but I like looking at you.” Viktor whined softly, his fatigue showing through his stubbornness in his half mast eyelids and slowed breathing.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Yuuri countered, “And there’s a chance you could dream about me.”

“Mm, compelling point.” Viktor murmured, eyes finally giving up the fight to remain open.

“I know.” Yuuri smirked lightly, leaning over to place a quick yet tender kiss to Viktor’s forehead, “Sleep well, Vitya.”

Viktor merely hummed in sleepy acknowledgement, already moreso gone than he was wake. Yuuri happily let him drop the rest of the way to sleep, content to lay beside his fiancé for the time being.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Viktor woke to pain. It searing along his lower back. His frame shaking with chills and trembling from the level of agony radiating from his back, it seeming to cut through his middle and make his stomach churn. Swallowing thickly against the nausea, even as saliva pooled in his mouth, trying to turn to wake Yuuri. But his fiancé had flopped over to the other side of the bed, sleeping on his stomach and snoring softly.

Opening his mouth to call out was interrupted at the sensation of his stomach lurching had him clamping it shut again. Grimacing, breath near spastic due to the pain and nausea, trying to breath through it losing some of its effectiveness as he couldn’t exhale through his mouth. His stomach clinched, another lurch had Viktor twisting to vomit over the side of the bed. Thankful Yuuri had the foresight to place a small waste bin next to the bed, though his mind was too hazy to aim properly, he hoped he didn’t make too much of a mess.

Coughing against the burn in his throat, and gasping desperately in between the next heave. In an unrelenting cycle; the pain in his back and high fever causing him to horribly nauseous but the persistent nausea not letting up enough for him to take any medication. Even if Yuuri was wake to help.

Abdomen contracting as he gagged harshly, feeling his head pulsate at the pressure and his muscles ache when he gagged once more. Another gag turned into a heave, bringing up only a small bit of stringy bile. His stomach not having much in it due to lack of appetite the last two days. It didn’t mean his stomach wasn’t trying to turn itself inside out, continuing retching despite it being empty.

It took several unproductive heaves before his stomach calmed somewhat, allowing him to breath properly. Panted, shallow breaths at first, then gaining control to breath deeper. Aware now of a hand on his back and another on his shoulder, keeping his steady and showing support through physical contact.

“It’ll pass. Just keep breathing. You’re doing great.”

Viktor became aware of the words Yuuri was saying, comforting and grounding for him. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do without Yuuri. Touched by his fiance’s love and wrung out physically, and mentally due to the fever, Viktor couldn’t stop the sob that tore from his throat.

“Oh Vitya.” Yuuri breathed, feeling his eyes sting at hearing his love cry, stamping down his anxiety in order to tend to Viktor “Can you sit back for me?”

Viktor gave a shaky nod, the trembling having returned with a vengeance and an uncharacteristic weakness seemed to infect his muscles. The nausea lingered, but it wasn’t as demanding at the pain engulfing his back.

“I-it hurts, Yuuri.” Viktor couldn’t explain better than that, too overwhelmed, tears collecting in the corner of his eyes to fall and make tracks down his cheeks.

“I know, Vitya.” Yuuri ran his fingers through the older skater’s hair, moving sweaty bangs from where they stuck to his forehead, “I’m going to get your meds and reheat the packs, okay?”

Viktor grasped at Yuuri’s hand, to which Yuuri gave a firm squeeze back, “Just two minutes, Vitya. I promise. And you’ll be feeling better.”

Yuuri leaned over to kiss Viktor’s forehead, alarmed at the heat there but uncaring of the sweat collected along the other’s brow. Then moved to step away, taking the rice filled socks, Viktor let him. Just two minutes. He could wait that long.

Breathing deeply, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his back that seemed to trail along his to lower stomach and groin area. It encompassing his entire lower middle and back. Tears unbidden continued to sting his eyes and create rivulets down his cheeks. Clenching his eyes closed, focusing on something other than his condition.

“Vitya, here. Take it slow.” Yuuri came back, holding a glass of juice and his medicine in either hand, passing off the pills then helping him take a few sips to swallow them down. Holding the glass to his love’s lips since the trembling wouldn’t cease long enough to let him take a drink.

Once that was done Yuuri set the glass on the side table, then rest his palm against the side of Viktor’s face, his thumb rubbed away a few of the tears there, “That should start working soon, you’ll feel better soon. Let me get the heat packs for you.”

Yuuri moved to leave again, wanting to be quick about getting them so Viktor could have relief as soon as possible. The meds needed time to metabolise but the heat packs seemed to help, plus he wanted to get a cool washcloth to wipe Viktor’s face of sweat and tears. Help him feel more comfortable in any way he could.

Laying back, Vitkor tried to relax until the medicine kicked in. The nausea remained there, annoying and present with the churning in his stomach, but with nothing left to vomit, it didn’t manifest to anything more. Most pressing issue being the pain, gripping the sheet tightly to wade out the severity of it. Feeling sweat drip down his temples, despite the chip that rattled his teeth and made him want to curl up underneath the blankets.

Drawing his legs up, knees coming up towards his chest, his intent to slip underneath the top cover at least to give himself some more warmth. Only to gasp harshly at feeling a burning pain surge through his core, stretching out his legs hoping it ease the horrid ache. After several moments it finally abated, as did some of the sharpness off the pain within his back.

Exhaling it relief, even the smallest decrease feeling grand, but the bliss was short lived at noticing a warm wetness pooling between his legs. Glancing down, Viktor saw his pajama pants had a large dark spot spread on the front and there was a notable wetness beneath him. Eyes widening at realising he’d not only wet himself, but the bed as well, Viktor placed his head in his hands. He’d been told frequent urination was a result of the infection, but to have lost control so completely had him fighting back tears of shame now.

“Here, I ha- Vitya! What’s wrong? Is the pain still bad?” Yuuri hurried to the side of the bed, hand outstretched to place a hand on Viktor’s shoulder but he jerked away. Yuuri pulled away, shocked but no reproach in his expression, only worry that was mounting towards extreme concern over his fiance’s state.

“Vitya, I need you to talk to me, so I can know how to help.” Yuuri spoke softly, kindness and love intertwining with his tone.

This caused the tears to prick Viktor’s eyes all the more, a choked sob pulled from his throat, his hands still pressed against his face. He shook his head. Not wanting to voice what he’d done, but knowing it was inevitable, he didn’t know how to explain it.

“Vit- ah! … oh, oh Vitya, it’s all right.” Yuuri soothed at realising their was a dampness to the sheets and why his love was so distressed, setting aside the small heated rice pack to place a hand on Viktor’s forearm; not pulling his hands away but letting him know he wasn’t upset, “You’re sick. It was an accident. And we have a washing machine. It’s all right, Vitya, it’s all right.”

Viktor let his hands fall from his face, his tear filled gaze flicked towards Yuuri, seeing only love intermixed with concern there. This had the tears collected there falling anew. Yuuri stepped closer to pulled Viktor into a small yet no less tender hug, rubbing a hand along his back gently. Turning to his head to place a sweet kiss on his fiance’s temple, “I love you no matter what, Vitya. This happens. It’s all right.”

“You’re too kind to me, lapocka.” Viktor murmured thickly, hugging his love a bit tighter. Yuuri did the same.

“Come, a warm shower would do us both good.” Yuuri spoke kindly, knowing Viktor would feel better once he was clean and warm, and feeling Viktor nod confirmed it.

Pulling away slowly, Yuuri helped Viktor up and into the bathroom. Leaving him to undress while he grabbed pajamas and towels. Returning to assist the other in removing his pants and socks when bending over was too much for his middle. Throwing them in the laundry bin. Then turning on the faucet, monitoring the temperature until it was warmed, and switching it to shower. Holding Viktor’s hand to keep him steady as he stepped in, and letting him wash off as Yuuri undressed himself. Stepping in behind his fiancé, then when they were finished cleaning, he was the first out to help Viktor step out and wrap him in a towel.

The warm shower having done more than simply clean, it having relaxed Viktor’s taunt muscles. The ache that had settled in his abdomen from the vomiting earlier was eased, and the pain in his back was dimmed due the heat. His fever was waning as well from the antibiotics and ibuprofen. He felt better, not one hundred percent, but better.

“Wait here while I change the bedding, then if you’re up for I can make us some soup?” Yuuri asked, pulling a shirt over his own head after helping Viktor dress, at seeing Viktor grimace at the suggestion of food, Yuuri added, “Just a few bites. I know you’re not feeling hungry, but the doctor said you had to eat and keep your fluids up.”

“Okay.” Viktor nodded, wrapping the second towel Yuuri had given him as a mock blanket tighter around his shoulders, “Only because your miso always turns out better than mine.”

Yuuri hummed smartly at that, bopping Viktor’s nose, “That’s because I have my mom’s recipe, not one from the internet.”

Changing out the bedding, remaking the bed and cleaning up the bin Viktor was sick into earlier, Yuuri was quick and efficient in his movements. Not taking more than five minutes before he was back in the bathroom to help Viktor into a freshly made bed. Pulling the covers back and letting Viktor settle before adding the newly reheated rice pack underneath his lower back as Viktor lay back then covering him up.

“Comfortable?” Yuuri asked, eyeing Viktor critically to ensure he was okay for now.

At Viktor’s nod, Yuuri smiled slightly, “Good. I’m going to get the soup started, but here’s some juice that I want you to drink. Small sips.”

Viktor obliged his fiancé, raising the cup to swallow a small amount. Careful to let it rest in his stomach before taking another and another. It was sweet yet tart, as cranberry juice was, thankfully Viktor enjoyed the taste of it and was able to ignore the slight sting it gave his throat. The coolness refreshing despite that.

Yuuri smiled, glad to see the juice seemed to be settling well and that Viktor appeared to be in less pain than earlier. The medicine must have finally kicked in. Patting his love’s leg as he stood back up, “I’ll be back once the soup’s made.”

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Viktor spoke in earnest, setting aside the half filled glass on the night stand, not wanting to push his stomach too far too soon.

“I’ll always be here to take care of you, Vitya. Just as you’re always there for me.” Yuuri stepped back to the bedside to cup a hand to Viktor cheek, running a thumb along his temple, “Rest a bit while I make the food. My mom will want to hear about how well I’m keeping her cooking legacy going.”

This had Viktor laughing lightly, and Yuuri smiling as he bent over to place a kiss on Viktor’s forehead. Glad to find it cooler than before.

A/N: I’m sorry since this is a lot more comfort than sickfic. I’ve never written sickfic omorashi before. And I’m still new to writing sickfics so I hope this is okay, even with the quick ending. Thank you again for being willing to let me submit this! You’re always so kind

(please don’t apologize, this is excellent! I’m a sucker for comfort, plus bed-wetting is a weakness of mine. Feel free to keep submitting stuff to me; I love your work!)

Surrender (Sam Drake x Reader)

hello everyone i figured in between chapters of wanted i would upload this idea that i had. special thanks to: @unchxrted, @jociemamacie, and @dragonjedihobbit for being angels and helping me develop this idea further and sending me deeper into the pits of hell <3 

Summary: An AU during the 60′s, Sam gets drafted into the war. 

WARNING AND DISCLAIMER: This is kind of a war fic, so there is some graphic imagery and scenes within. Blood mention, death mention.

Words: 1,310

Sam sat at the table anxiously, listening to the radio static.

He tapped his fingers against the table. They were announcing the dates. 

He bit his lip, saying silent prayers that his birthday wouldn’t be called. 

You walked into the dining room, drying your hands with a rag when there was a pause between the dates.

They called out his birthday.

Your eyes met with his. They were blank, glossy, heartbroken. 

Sam slowly shut the radio off, setting his head in his hands. 

Neither of you had words to say. 

You laid down your rag on the table, stepping behind him and putting your hand on his shoulder.

He stood up and walked into the bedroom.

Sam went to bed early that night, but he didn’t sleep. 

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The Price of Freedom

all rights to Hiro Mashima

I was inspired by his latest work and just couldn’t help myself!

Definitely rated M for mentions of torture. I hope you like the one-shot! 


“This one.” She says, grasping the chain with a grin. Seeing how handsome he was, Natsu Dragneel had been captured by Bisca and was now being sold into slavery. Dragneel no longer knew where he was, only that he was far from Fairy Tail. He knew Bisca took him overseas from Fiore but to what country? He hated it, being collared and tortured, scars riddled his back from that blasted whip and the chains on his ankles and throat were rubbing his skin raw. No one bothered to feed him and today was the only time in three weeks that they let him take a bath. It was humiliating, his to-be mistress chuckled when he scowled at her. Natsu would never submit, he would fight till the day he died; she looked weak enough, when the moment was right he’d be sure to snap that pretty neck of hers and break out. “What’s the matter sweet heart?” She mocks, “Aren’t you happy to be with me?”

“Fuck off.”

“Alright Lucy that’ll be 10,000 yen for the boy.” Bisca gratefully takes her money and begins instructing her on Natsu’s behavior. “You should give him a shot every morning to make sure he can’t use magic, Natsu is a feisty one so be ready for trouble, this one was hard to catch with him being a dragon slayer so be sure to weaken him as much as you can. Don’t hold back on disciplining him, the best slave is a broken one.”

The blonde beauty nods in agreement before yanking on Natsu’s chain and forcing him out of the dungeon. The moment he stepped outside Dragneel hissed in complaint, the sun was a harsh contrast from the darkness of the dungeon and hurt his eyes. His mistress didn’t seem to care though and forcefully shoved him into a carriage that had been waiting for them. It was a large cherry wood carriage with curtains for windows and intricate gold designs decorating the darkened wood. Natsu finds himself sitting on a bench with her across from him and couldn’t help but tense up as she reached for her pocket, he knew Bisca gave her those damn syringes before they left. One was a sex drug and the other was a magic nullifier.  Lucy wouldn’t rape him would she?

Natsu braced himself for the inevitable as she reaches for his iron collar, only to gasp when the cold metal clicks open and falls off. Bisca must’ve given her a key, but why would she unlock his chains now? Didn’t the woman know he desperately wanted to escape? He looks at her with utter confusion as she holds up her hand, revealing a Fairy Tail mark.

“Natsu I want you to listen very carefully, my name is Lucy Heartfilia I am an abolitionist from Fiore. Levy contacted me and told me the situation along with a description of you. I need you to stay at my side for now alright?”

Fairy Tail…they really found him?

“I don’t believe you.”

Lucy sighs in disappointment, a certain glimmer of understanding in her deep brown eyes.

“Grey is your childhood friend, you were raised by a dragon and later taken in by Fairy Tail. It’s key founder was Mavis Vermillion and the current master is Makarov.”

Dragneel looks stunned, only members of Fairy Tail knew about Mavis. Did his friends truly succeed in finding him? And if so then why weren’t they with her? That guild mark was real though…just what is going on?

“I’m getting you out of here Natsu, you just have to trust me.”

what the hell would i be, without you

i dont even know where i was going with this fic tbh its a mess sorry

requested by anonymous

au in which lukas breaks philips heart

On the night Lukas says goodbye, all Philip wants to do is see his mother. He wants to bury his face in her stomach, her wiry arms wrapped around him, like she would do when he was a kid. He wants to feel the tickle of her hair on his cheek, hear the murmur of her voice in his ear.

But his mother died almost a year ago, and time still, and always will, take him further away from her.

So he tries to find comfort in the silence, laying back on his bed, pushing the pillow that smells like Lukas onto the floor.

He didn’t realize heartbreak was such a physical thing. That he would feel it in his chest, in his stomach, in his fucking limbs, like a stone sitting on top of him, squeezing everything out.

Lukas Waldenbeck is his first heartbreak. His first many things. His first love, his first loss. Though not technically his first time, sex with Lukas was the first time that mattered.

The only person who could possibly find the good in all of this died a long time ago, and Philip doesn’t know how to fill the gap.

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Title: Tease

 Pairing: Dean x Male!Reader

 Summary: Being Dean’s boyfriend offered you a lot of amazing moments in life, and teasing him, was always one of the best ones.  

 Warnings: Mild Language.  Innuendos.  Hints at sexual acts.

 Masterlist of Fan Fiction 

Originally posted by lookprettyliveclassyplaydirty

 “Baby, can you hand me a wrench?”  Dean asked as he held his hand out from under the car.  

You could only chuckle as you pulled one from his toolbox and handed it to him. You and Dean had been out in the garage for a few hours now, trying to figure out why Baby was making that awful noise.  It was like something was grinding, but neither of you could place it.  

“Any ideas?” You asked Dean when he finally rolled out from under the car.  But the string of curses pretty much gave you your answer.  “Hey, we will figure it out.”  You offered in comfort.  You walked behind Dean and wrapped your arms around his waist, setting your head against his shoulder.  “We always do.”

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It’s funny. We all want to see behind the veil, don’t we? But once we do… We mostly close our eyes again and pretend what we saw wasn’t really there. Aeons, and Gods could never close their eyes, however hard they tried and begged, they were too sensitive to it, too connected.

Entei knew this was the price he paid for seeing beyond it. Because once he gazed into the smoldering, relentless darkness, all that lurks within it…it saw him too. And he begged it for help even in his silence, and it came to his rescue like a breath of fresh crisp air.

And he then felt it, the change. It was like he crossed into another world. It mirrored the world but felt different, bottomless, like all eyes were on him ripping him apart with every carnivorous blink.

Like anyone else, he would picture fear and think of some shadow in the woods, a creature he couldn’t beat in the night. If only it were that simple.

The real fear comes without warning, a deep primal signal from within. A reminder that just because you cannot see the threat, it doesn’t mean that it’s not already there.

He flinched from his experience in his sleep, his dreams riddled with reminders from being trapped in his own shattered mind. It didn’t end well for him, never did for anyone. He thought he could overcome it; make sense of it. Being back with his child the relief set in, now the taint in him was striking out of nowhere throwing him helplessly back into the maelstrom as he slept.

Drowning the mind’s eye in fear, suffocating him deeper and deeper dragging him down too far into the void, numbing him from the reality around him. His body seemed to jolt involuntarily, and a light pain filled groan emitted from him. He was trying to fight whatever it was crawling to the surface.

“Wake up…” 




imagine: after the horrifying death of your brother athelstan, ragnar ends up comforting you and promising to protect you at all costs. 

  An ear-piercing mourning parted from your dry, crackled lips as tears streamed down your broken and pained complexion, whilst it felt as though your heart was being shattered into a billion pieces of sharp shards of glass; fragile and caustic. It was like your worst nightmare had come true, laced selfishly in vivid melancholy colors.

  It felt as though one of their Gods, Hel the Goddess of Death was knocking at your door, ready to steal all that kept you sane, kept you alive.

  She appeared in the darkness, freezing over everything you knew for God knows how long. It felt like all the happiness on the Earth had been stolen away in just one slashing swipe.

  “N-No…” You whimpered out defenselessly in a small cry of disbelief, consuming every inch of you. “Th-this cannot b-be h-happening.” You murmur more to yourself than anyone or anything else.

  Your knees suddenly gave way and you collapsed onto the muddy ground of the forest, your mind in a lucid clump of disbelief in regards to the words that had left Ragnar’s lips. This must have been some sort of mix up, a mistake that Ragnar had only dreamed up like his witch of a wife.

  “You are u-uttering l-l-lies!” You thus began to weep, letting out another heartbreaking wail that provoked a slight feeling of rage, but an enormous ocean of grief filling your soul, your very vessel. “You must be!” Roaring like a ferocious lion, louder than you had meant it to come out, harsher than you had wished it to sound. It was like your voice stunned the King of Kattegat like one of Thor’s lightening bolts crashing into him, rattling his very existence.

  Once your quaking form broke once more, The Great King of Kattegat witnessed it with shattered eyes, a shattered mind and a shattered body, feeling a weight squashing him down. Guilt riddling his entire being of what he had so mercilessly robbed you of. Your brothers blood on him.

  And his heart began to burst in a wrenching sort of way, crushing his once strong shoulders. This was all his fault. 

  Slowly, his slightly quivering legs carried him over towards you, somehow, miraculously. He found nothing in his heart to pity you, to think of you any less, and selfish as it may be; he only pitied and hated himself for causing you to lose your beloved brother. How could he have done this?

  His legs gave way beneath him, causing him to kneel before you, like someone had forced it from his already weak-self.. If the Gods or the Christian God that your brother believed in were to blame or punish someone, he wished it was himself, - feeling it panning out already in that moment -.

  Watching your lonely, saddened form in such screaming agony was killing him. This was all his fault. All his fault.

  The promise he had vowed to you to keep your brother safe, alive had not only been fractured but simply demolished barbarically he felt sick of himself for not keeping it.

  His fault. His fault. His fault.

  Somehow, as if it were a miracle in the works, he found some way to move his, what felt like at the time, icy and frozen, yet shaking arms around your trembling body, and pulling you into him. He embraced you tighter than he imagined he would have, as though he wished to squeeze all this pain and suffering out of you.

  His dry lips fumbled, kissing the damp with sweat, messy crown of your head. He squeezed his oceanic orbs shut so tightly it pained him more, embracing you much tighter to him.

  “I wish it weren’t the truth, but I would be a fool for saying any different…”

ragnar lothbrok gif : source - 🏹

hope you enjoyed! please follow for more, lovelies.

Dating The Riddler would include:

A few people have suggested this to me, so here it is. Dating Edward Nigma would include:

- Riddles
- Lots of silly flirtations
- Him trying to make you blush and swoon
- Making more coffee than any normal human should consume
- Learning to draw the perfect question mark with ease
- Riddles
- Dealing with and helping with his tantrums and breakdowns
- Never winning in arguments
- Green clothes
- Puzzles
- Him showing off almost constantly
- Restricted visiting hours during his stays I’m arkham
- Bringing him puzzle books during his stays in arkham
- Having to help with his convoluted escape plans
- Riddles
- Being neglected during his breakdown and plans to defeat batman
- Constant questioning from the police
- Riddles, on post-it-notes, on the fridge, the cupboards, the doors, the tables, on ever surface imaginable.
- Him wanting to pick out your outfits. Green ofc.
- ‘I’ll let you have the last slice of cake, IF, you answer my riddle.’
- Living on take out food and left overs, or being the only one to cook real food on a regular basis.
- Him cooking fancy meals when he wants to show off and complaining that you don’t appreciate it enough.
- ‘Lets face it, my cooking is simply better than yours’
- Finding pictures, files, newspaper clips on batman, EVERYWHERE,
- Freaking riddle man.
- Frantic mess everywhere, but don’t touch it, he miGHT NEED THAT LATER.
- Super fancy dates in high class restaurant that have really long waiting lists but ‘of course they let me in, I am very impressive after all.’
- Riddles
- Cute nicknames. Ma/Mon Chere, Dear, Princess…
- Expensive (stolen) gifts.
- Funny looks from people in the street.
- Him not wanting you to be around the other rogues.
- Him not wanting you to be around anyone but him.
- Never having to worry about how you look because you either 'always look perfect’ in his eyes or because his attention is on something 'more important’.
- Him making/buying you riddler themed clothes.

 No miraculous AU with aged up characters (around 23-24)

Pair: Adrienette
Rated T, I guess…
Word count: 1,964

Adrien sighed and stared at the ceiling of his old room, somewhere he hadn’t been since he finished high school. It felt as empty as it was when he was in high school. He despised it. His only companion was his cat Plagg, but he had to beg Nathalie to go to his apartment and grab him.

He sighed and relaxed on his pillow, his eyelids drooping as sleep overtook him. The last semi conscious thought being two deep blue ponytails held in place with red ribbons. 

I was always looking at you…

It was sixth grade and Adrien had forgotten a book for student council. His mother, though reluctant to send him to school, especially with his father completely opposing it, agreed as long as he joined some club. Adrien wasn’t great with people and she figured that having him join a club would help with that.

As he grabbed his book, he saw a single girl in the classroom reading. The same girl he always saw after school, he slipped out of view, heat rushing to his cheeks and his heart beating rapidly as his head poked to look in the class. She looked around, not noticing the mop of blonde hair by the door and chuckled. Adrien’s cheeks grew in colour before he stepped into the class. He always saw her alone. Maybe she was bad at making friends? He never knew if he was right. It was the same books he read. “It’s a good series right?” The girl nodded as Adrien grabbed his book for student council. He waved goodbye, as he left the class.

When student council did end, Adrien returned to his class and saw the girl again. “You’re still here?” He inquired.
“I’m always here. I’m to clumsy to help with the bakery so I stay here.”
“Well we’ll have to change that. I’ll see you tomorrow, uh…”
“I’m Adrien.”

It turned out that Marinette was bad at making friends, which was Adrien’s chance. Like every other day, she was alone. “Marinette, you should come play at my house. It’s better than staying here alone.” The blonde grabbed Marinette’s hand as she stuttered an okay. His mother was so happy to see him bring a friend home. Even his father seemed slightly pleased. His face almost broke into a smile. Almost.
It continued like this for weeks and soon, Marinette came over daily. But then it fell apart. Marinette seemed out of it everyday. Not enough to warrant concern, but still it seemed off. It was only near the end of sixth grade that things got really strange.

“Mari, you seem really sad. Want to talk about it?” He inquired softly. The last thing he expected as tears. What had happened? He brushed away the tears as best as he could, but they never seemed to stop. Adrien leaned in and pressed his lips against Marinette’s for a quick peck before hugging her. “I think you know this already, but I really like you. Can you tell me how you feel?” He inquired, pulling away from the hug. The quick smile filled him with hope, only for it to turn to nothing as she spoke. “Can you give me a week?” She left after that.
Adrien groaned and stared at the pillow under him, his kitten Plagg sitting next to him. “A week? I guess kissing her out of the blue wasn’t a good idea.” He thought, pressing his lips to the pillow.

A week passed. Adrien stared at the back of Marinette’s head. “You’ve been really distant lately. Are you okay?”
“I’ve been busy. Things are happening in my family that’s been occupying my mind…”
“What exactly?”
“You’ll learn tomorrow. And about what you asked…” Adrien’s cheeks grew a rosy glow. She couldn’t meet his gaze when she turned around. “I’m sorry.” Adrien couldn’t move as she disappeared, her dark hair being the last thing he saw of her as she ran.

The day after wasn’t any better as it turned out Marinette had left the school. The reason why was never explained, but it broke Adrien. Any time a girl confessed to him he would ask for a week, only to reject her.

Adrien woke up and groaned, burying himself into his duvet. “A nightmare…” He thought, before violently coughing. He sighed as sleep once again took over.

It was the last year middle school. A rumour spread that Marinette moved because her cousin was really sick and her family wanted to be with her. The bakery closed and they moved out.

Adrien was wallowing in despair. He didn’t care about anything anymore. At least that’s what he told himself. He was in despair because he did care. He was still attached to Marinette. By this point he was modelling for his father’s company, being the only thing that helped his father after his mother disappeared. By this point any confession as rejected with a smile. He drained him. But this when he met his only real friend, Nino. He was pretty chill, yet often pointed out how harsh he was. Adrien never explained why whenever Nino asked. He couldn’t talk about Marinette. Even so, Nino brought him out of his depression.

High school soon came, and Nino went to a different school. They were still friends though. He soon met Alya, a blogger and Nino’s girlfriend. It was just after school when the two visited, Alya saying she met someone really cool at school. She pulled a piece of crumbled paper out of her bag and un-crumbled it. Inside was a small beaded crown. “isn’t it cool! You could sell it!’ The blogger exclaimed.
“So what’s her name?”
“I don’t think she introduced herself, or I couldn’t hear her. For now, I’ll call her Ladybug.”
“Ladybug?” The two teens inquired.

Ladybug was a mystery. Alya refused to tell the boys if she learned her real name, only mentioning random facts like her favourite books, or her dream. She’d always bring something with her as well. What Adrien didn’t expect when Alya did bring her to his house, it would be someone he already knew.

“You know each other?” Alya inquired, seeing the simultaneous surprised faces. Even Nino was confused at the turn of events. Adrien never mentioned knowing someone like her.

Did Marinette know how he felt seeing her again? But she ran away again, hiding behind Alya. Adrien gave a cold smile, almost similar to his father’s when Marinette did look over at him. “Marinette. You haven’t changed at all.” He knew how to ensnare her,so she wouldn’t be able to run away again. Adrien could see her overwhelming guilt from the past and he used it. It was the only way he could hold on to her again. He didn’t care if his role over the years would be the bad guy. Because he always loved spending time with her.

Adrien woke up again and Alya’s voice echoed in his head. “It’s your fault for hiding your feelings and harassing her like a little boy! Marinette’s moving and isn’t showing any signs of coming back!”

Adrien wanted to sleep the rest of his life away. Things never worked out the way he wanted to. A soft knock came to the door. “Who is it?” The door opened and Plagg walked in. “Plagg!’ The cat jumped on to the bed and nuzzled against him. “Were you worried? Don’t worry I’ll be fine.” The black cat’s attention shifted to the door. Adrien looked over. “Marinette?”

Plagg left Adrien’s side and nuzzled against Marinette’s legs. She scooped him up and nuzzled against him. “So you remember me too.”
“Too?” Adrien inquired.
“Alya said you were sick so I brought some soup, but I got here when Nathalie was leaving. She brought me in and asked if I could stay here until she came she got back.”
“You can come in. It’s weird talking to you outside of my room.” Marinette hesitantly walked in and sat at the very corner of Adrien’s bed.
“So how are you feeling?” She inquired.
“Just the way it looks.” Silence ensued, before the blue haired woman spoke.

“I didn’t know you were the one who bought the fabric I needed for my winter jacket. I never would’ve guessed it was you.” Adrien grimaced. Nino must’ve told her. He was there when Adrien bought it. He coughed violently and looked at Marinette, covering his mouth.
“That bastard.” He thought.
“It really warmed my heart. I didn’t think you liked me that much…” She confessed. Shock filled Adrien. Marinette thought that he didn’t like her? Who didn’t like Marinette?!
“I would never spend time around people I don’t like!” Chloé came to mind.
“I’m glad to hear you say that…”

Adrien frowned. “I heard you’re moving again.” Marinette’s face was a mixture of shock and sadness. “Why would you do that?”
“Well I’m always travelling–”
“That’s not what I’m asking!” He replied, his voice raised. “Why are you always like that? You always trample over my feelings!”
“You know I’m coming from, right?” She was silent. “Besides you think I don’t know what you’re feeling? I can read people, you best of all. I know what you’re up to. Ever since Alya began working as a journalist for my father’s company you’ve been spending more time around us! Just try to deny it!” Marinette stood up and moved to the bedroom door.
“I need to go home!” Adrien stood up right after her.
“Just wait just a–”

A thud echoed as Adrien fell to the ground, his disease riddled body not being able to support him. Marinette turned around. “Adrien! We need to get you back into bed.” She said her hands resting on his shoulders to see if he got worse. The blonde gripped her hands. He didn’t look at her.
“Don’t move away. Why would you do that to me? Do you want to see me run in circles again?” He looked up at her. He looked heartbroken. “Don’t leave me… I’ve always loved you…” Tears welled in the designer’s eyes.
“Adri–” She was cut off, feeling his lips press against hers. He pulled away and hugged her, burying his face into her neck, her dark blue hair – that was left down today – obscuring his view.
“I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t blindly do what I’m told. Don’t run away. Don’t ever leave me again. Please…”  He kissed her once more, making sure to remember everything he could. He wanted this moment to burn in his memory. “So can you stay Mari?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she buried her face into his neck, her arms wrapping around him. He returned the gesture. “I-I don’t know what to do.” She said between sobs. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me. I tried to forget you! After sixth grade, I had to drain away all of my feelings about you. I knew I had to take control of my emotions! But I couldn’t. I love you Adrien. I really love you.” She looked at him. Her eyes were glassy from crying, but there was no guilt. Adrien smiled softly and kissed her.
“Well, it seems that’s been taking care of…” He pulled Marinette closer, her head leaning against her beating chest. He ignored the blue haired woman’s confusion. “Now you can stay with me. I assume you’ve already handed in your letter to let your landlord know you’re moving out, right?” He felt Marinette nod.

A week after Adrien was forced into a sick leave, he returned to modelling. Oddly enough, Marinette couldn’t come into work because of a cold, though only Alya and Nino had an idea why.

Should You Fight the Werewolf: the Apocalypse Tribes?

Black Furies: Okay, in theory you could fight the Black Furies. Keep in mind, though: they’ve got no qualms about doing what it takes to win, and they’ll probably just put arrows through you before you have a chance to swing a punch. Even if you win, you’re going to have their entire tribe on your asses. Save yourself the pain. Don’t fight the Black Furies.

Bone Gnawers: Fighting the Bone Gnawers just really isn’t fair. You’re literally kicking the last person on the pecking order. Why would you heap even more crap on them? It’s just pointless. Plus, if you try to fight them, they’re just going to shank you in the kidneys. Don’t fight the Bone Gnawers.

Children of Gaia: The Children of Gaia are quite literally the chillest Garou in the world unless pushed over and over again. Fighting them means you’re deliberately trying to piss them off, and that’s just a dick move. Their totem is Unicorn. Unicorn! They practically have a rainbow trail behind them, for God’s sake. Don’t fight the Children of Gaia.

Fianna: There’s one thing the Fianna love more than a good fight, and it’s the post-fight drinking session. Sure, they’ll tear the house down with you, but they’re more than happy to spend the next day or two rebuilding the house over a few (dozen) drinks. It’s a good time all around, and odds are they won’t hold a grudge. Fight the Fianna.

Get of Fenris: Okay, this is just asking for it. The Get of Fenris reason for being is to fight and kill. Their entire schtick is “we fight, we fight some more, we die gloriously, and then we go to the afterlife…where we fight a bunch more to get ready for one REALLY BIG FIGHT AT THE END OF TIME!” I’d say don’t fight the Get of Fenris, but they’re gonna end up fighting you anyway.

Glass Walkers: The Glass Walkers are the worst werewolves ever. They fight with guns, they use computers, and they live in the cities. The only way they could be worse is if they ran around going “meow meow I’m a kitty”. Someone needs to deck these bastards in the schnoz, and if you’re the one to do it I’ll pay you well. Fight the Glass Walkers.

Red Talons: These are the most vicious and anti-human bastards in the Nation. They’ll just as soon rip your throat out as piss on you, and those ARE the range of options. The trick is, they’re very good at what they do. If you’re going to fight them, you want to go in ready…but save yourself the trouble of having your house swallowed by a forest. Don’t fight the Red Talons.

Shadow Lords: The Shadow Lords are what would happen if someone infected Batman with lycanthropy and took away his problems with killing. That should tell you all you need to know. Don’t fight the Shadow Lords.

Silent Striders: Ever box with Nightcrawler? No? That’s what fighting the Silent Striders is like. They hit and run and hit and run again. These are people whose reaction to being hit with a giant blood curse by the Followers of Set was to go “alright, we’re going to get REALLY GOOD at killing you!” They can hold a grudge like a mother, and that’s not something you want. Don’t fight the Silent Striders.

Silver Fangs: Allegedly, they’re bred to rule. Unless they’re Ahrouns, though, you should be just fine with stepping up and taking a whack. Realistically speaking, the most dangerous things they can do involve dropping the mind-whammy on someone. If you have the opportunity and you won’t get someone dropping the klaive on you, step on up and lay ‘em out. Fight the Silver Fangs.

Stargazers: Fighting the Stargazers is like picking a fight with a Buddhist monk. There’s a chance you’ll find a nonviolent person who contemplates the meaning of existence and swore to never harm a fly, and there’s a chance who’ll turn around and whoop your ass seven ways to Sunday. It’s a roll of the dice. The upside is that even if they do beat on you, they’ll probably call it a lesson on existence, so you’re not in danger of further reprisal. Give it a shot, you might learn something. Fight the Stargazers.

Uktena: These are the most enigmatic bastards you can find. Ask them a question, and they’ll give you a riddle. Even Chimera isn’t that confusing, and his entire thing is being enigmatic. Even if you lose this fight, you can probably earn some brownie points from other people by at least trying. Go for it. Fight the Uktena.

Wendigo: Where the Get of Fenris’s thing is that they’ll kill you, the Wendigo will kill you and be damn unkillable themselves. They can take tank fire and still keep going. If you start fighting one, though, there’s an easy way to get out of things: walk away. It’s probably the smartest thing you can do if you get into it with one. You’re starting a war that you don’t want. Don’t fight the Wendigo

bembixamericana  asked:

those edward nygma headcanons for 451: lay em out if you would

aww yeah

1. his parents wanted him to be a doctor, he wanted to be a detective, he split the difference (more like: careened awkwardly into this career path) and wound up working in forensics for a while. he also, after some wild life events, worked as the Penguin’s idea guy/secretary for a while. he also had a summer job at a carnival once. Eddie’s worn a lot of hats

2. once he made a reference to some obscure detective comic during a crime and Batman got it because they both read that series as kids and that was one of the highlights of Edward’s life

3. on the sliding scale of ‘how obsessed is this Rogue with Batman’, he beats out even the Joker. In that sometimes the Joker doesn’t particularly want to deal with Bruce at any given moment. Eddie constructs 99.9% of his puzzles for Batman alone and will just sit around checking his watch until Bats shows up, and gets incredibly depressed and angry if he doesn’t. (note: the bottom of that scale is Jervis, who genuinely wishes Bats would just Leave)

4. he’s one of the most nonviolent of the Rogues; his traps started out as only mildly deadly (he’s very much the ‘build traps and scavenger hunts’ style of Riddler) and he only takes hostages because he knew that was the only way to get Batman’s attention. As time goes on he gets a bit more violent, partly from spending time around other criminals, partly because Batman stopped personally handling all of his crimes (gasp) and passed some on to the police in order to focus on more deadly Rogues. 

5. he’s generally very soft-spoken and amiable, easily flustered, and swears like he came from a wholesome 50′s cartoon (golly!). Even when he’s threatening people he’s pretty chill about it. The only things that will really trigger his temper, make him raise his voice, etc: people accusing him of cheating, people cheating or ignoring his puzzles. He also gets twitchy when people call him childish/weird/crazy/etc. 

6. he’s one of the few Rogues that have actually kissed Batman

7. He’s not adverse to verbal wordplay and riddles but his focus is more on mysteries and puzzles, with riddles just being part of the whole. He’s one of the Rogues that got named by the papers, and for some reason ‘the Riddler’ stuck. Edward eventually embraced it but fumed for a while over why they didn’t go for ‘Mr. E’ or ‘Enigma’, both of which were right there

8. He’s gotten a bit better with tolerating manhandling (you have to, being arrested and forcibly institutionalized on a monthly basis) but getting hit will either send him into a full-scale panic attack or make him lash out in retaliation somehow. he has a hard time comprehending why the Joker likes it. 

9. he tends to get along with everybody and nobody, not starting a lot of fights but not being close with anyone in particular. he’s extremely guarded and afraid of deeply engaging with people. due to this, he’s one of the Rogues that struggles most with intense loneliness even when he’s technically spent plenty of time around people he knows. One of the only things that helps is when Bruce will sometimes talk to him on the way back to Arkham, or visit him while he’s in there. 

10. He tends to be a little kinder (if still very patronizing) to wannabe and low-level Rogues than some of the others, and will hire them to set up aspects of his puzzles or act as slightly-specialized henchmen. 

Jealous (Mature)

From my fanfic Wrong Number, enjoy:

“So, what did you think of the video?”

I glanced up from my magazine and sucked in a breath, “It, um, it was good, yeah.” I nodded, before returning to reading - trying to avoid further questioning.

To tell you the truth, I was beyond jealous. I found myself having to leave the set all the time, claiming I was having an upset stomach or a last minute business meeting because I physically couldn’t stand there and watch my boyfriend practically have dry sex with a woman 100x times more attractive than I without wanted to personally tear her off of him myself.

“Really? You don’t sound convincing.” He said, sitting beside me. “It was good, Justin. I told you.” I snapped, wanting to get off of the topic.

The scenes were burned into the back of my brain to the point where I just couldn’t unsee them, I could actually feel myself getting hot with anger.

“Are you jealous?” He teased.

I glanced at him with the blankest expression I could possibly create before rolling my eyes and grabbing my phone. “Aw, you were!” He exclaimed, a grin on his face.

“Don’t, I’m not in the mood.”

“Sofia was jealous!” Justin sung, making my patience wear thin.

Getting down on my knees, I grabbed the top of Justin’s jeans, pulling them down quickly. “B-babe, what are you doing?”

I didn’t respond. Palming him over his briefs for a minute or two, I watched as his hips stirred and his now apparent hard on grew. I wanted to show Justin that he was mine and that he would have no qualms about dating me - Xenia was going to be out of his mind. It pissed me off that he was practically getting off over her on his Ryan Seacrest interview, I was going to make him think twice.

Tugging his Calvins down until they pooled around his ankles, his evident arousal stood to full attention. He glanced down at me, awaiting my next move. Grasping him in my hand, I made slow movements, I wanted to tease him until it was unbearable.

Dragging my tongue along the length of it, he let out a grunt, his hips bucking upward.

Rolling my eyes at his impatience, I took only the tip into my mouth, continuing my hand movements. Justin attempted to seek further depth but I sent him a look as if to say “don’t bother”. I was planning on having him physically shaking before I gave in.

“Baby, p-please.”

I ignored him and continued to suck only the tip, my hands quickening and then making one slow tug, before resuming that rhythm. Yes, the tip was sensitive - did I care? Nope.

Justin’s eyes were screwed shut as he let out strangled moans, bucking his hips and fidgeting to try and get some friction elsewhere.

“T-too sens-sitiv-ve, ba-by please.” He managed to get out. I watched as his abs clenched and unclenched, his brow riddled with sweat and Justin himself being short of breath to the point where he couldn’t even form coherent sentences.

Giving in, I relaxed my jaw and took him in as far as I could, receiving a sigh from Justin. His hips refused to stay still, so I held him in place, returning to my work, hands-free.

Feeling him twitch in my mouth, I knew he was close. Letting my hands go, I glanced up at him and he knew what I meant. Holding my hair, he fucked my mouth. Groaning and grunting, I watched Justin as his eyes closed and mouth hung open. It was a sight I would never get over, he was too hot for my own good.

Letting out a loud grunt, his hips stiffened and he released himself into my mouth. Taking it all in, I gave his head one last kiss before getting up. Justin sat sprawled across the couch, his forearm covering his eyes as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

“W-what was that for?” He panted.

“Just making sure you know who you come home to.” I replied simply, before making my way to the bathroom to freshen up.

Anonymous asked: can you write something where Cas is going after a djinn but gets captured, and ofc his dream world is Dean and him being happy together, so he’s very disappointed when Dean & Sam save him and he wakes up.

Author’s note: Several other followers requested Destiel + Djinn, but I’m going with this one. And you know me; there’s a happy ending. :’) 

Castiel couldn’t remember ever being woken up by something as simple yet wonderful as the rays of the rising sun.

When living in a bunker where most of the rooms were underground -locked away from the rest of the world-, a natural wake up call such as that was very much out of reach. Instead, the annoying alarm clock on his phone usually had to do the job. Either that, or Dean yelling him awake from the other side of the door because there was a hunt that they needed to get ready for. Or sometimes even because it was ‘laundry day’, which Dean claimed was utterly important.

Somehow, today was different, strangely so. The warm glow of orange and yellow waiting behind Castiel’s closed eyelids made him blink his eyes open, inviting in a lot of confusion when he became aware of his surroundings. The bed that he’d been sleeping in was huge, more like enormous, almost big enough for three people to sleep in it. The room was spacious and light; drowning in the daylight that Castiel secretly craved in the mornings when he woke up, but couldn’t have.

Glancing to his right, he spotted the giant, floor length window that was offering him aforementioned light. He crawled out of the bed, still mildly disoriented, wobbling towards the window on unsteady feet. He couldn’t tell which floor the apartment was on, but he’d settle for ‘way up high’. Close to the sky. So close that Castiel felt connected to it in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he’d fallen and lost his wings.

Breathtaking shades of gold, orange and violet were mixing with blue, only interrupted by a sky scraper here and there. Below, the city was coming to life.

Somewhere, deep down, hidden behind the foreign feeling of warmth and contentment, Castiel knew that something was off. He was feeling a little disjointed, like that one time when he’d decided to join Dean for a couple of strong drinks only days after he’d become human.

This wasn’t the place where he was supposed to be, was it?

Looking away from the window, he noticed a small painting on the wall, on it sunflowers and honeybees. He did know that painting… Perhaps he did have a little too much to drink last night after all. What had he been thinking about earlier anyway? Dark rooms, underground. Dean yelling at him to wake up and get ready for the day… That didn’t seem right, but Castiel’s brain didn’t cooperate, memories shifting. He couldn’t quite figure it out.

He frowned, turning his head and staring out of the window again. Small drops of rain were clinging to the glass now, but the sun never faded. The carpet was soft and warm, enveloping his bare feet. Looking down, Castiel’s eyes fell on the striped pajama pants and soft shirt that he was wearing.

Did he own any of those things? He probably did.

He didn’t get another second to think about it, when two warm arms suddenly snaked around his waist, another body hugging him from behind. A chin rested on his shoulder, and Castiel inhaled the appealing scent that he would know whenever, wherever. Dean.

“Morning, angel. Sleep well? I’m making breakfast for us, in case you’re hungry.”

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