Hanna

Layla Targaryen, formerly Layla Tully, embarks on a long journey to Pentos, seeking out her husband, who has fled from his responsibilities and left her childless. When met with his fury, she matches Daemon’s with her own, and amidst the heat of their shared ire, Layla finds herself demanding that he does as she wishes.

Ok new episode of House of the Dragon and I am IN HEAT..Daemon is a real man if I’ve ever motherfucking seen one. He just gets shit DONE.

This is the second of chapter of my fanfiction “Dragontamer”, which I have posted on my ao3 (my user being AdrenalineJunkiee). This goes down the enemies to lovers that I somehow always end up on in my fanfictions..what a coincidence, I know! Specifically, it reflects the forced marriage trope.

The journey to Pentos had left Layla weary and jaded.

The unfulfilled Stark girl unleashes her anger out onto her traveling companion Sandor Clegane.

I posted this first on my ao3 (Adrenalinejunkiee) but I decided that I lowk need to post on here again! I’ve recently really been into ASOIAF, and I wanted to make a quick lil character for this smutty one shot. Sandor Clegane is such a fine man, and I just needed to write smut abt him

The garb that Sandor Clegane had bought me in town was threaded in cheap, scratchy material that lacked the colors of my once splendid dresses and the shine of my bygone silken gowns that I'd once donned every day in Winterfell. When I hurled the shirt at his face, The Hound's fierce eyes immediately grew wide in swelling disbelief.

"What kind of garment is this?" I asked loudly, my tongue clashing against my teeth indignantly as I spoke. "I am a lady, and I will be treated like a lady."

"You're the bone between my teeth, m'lady, the bone I fetched and the bone that I'll be rid of, whether you're sold or your dropped off in an alleyway to be raped and skinned. You will wear the damn thing, or you'll find your clothes gone in the morning."

I breathed hard, my anger an animal hardly contained. As my nostrils flared and my gaze grew sour, I stared at The Hound spitefully, wondering how his head would look on a spike.

The journey that I'd made alongside The Hound had been long and tedious. A fortnight ago, I'd left with Clegane during the Battle of the Blackwater, and out from the chaos of King's Landing, I came to a quieter, yet no less favorable predicament. He meant to sell me off to my aunt in the Eyrie. As ferocious as he was, The Hound was equally simple; he worked in favor of himself--solely himself--and that was all that you could truly rely on him for. For his selfishness and his caustic tongue, for his scolding temperament and his distaste of company. Why had I ever come with him? Why had he ever offered?

Wherever I went, I was a means for an alliance through marriage or a ward and a hostage, and now a goddamn package for ransom. By the way he hauled me around or denied any conversation, I might as well have been a sack of goods flung over his shoulder. It was beyond frustrating, beyond lividity--it was the vexation that had lingered like an unsavory aftertaste on my tongue all of my life. I was always at the mercy of another; I'd never tasted the sweetness of autonomy, and now of all people to hold my pride captive, I had landed in the palm of Sandor Clegane--a detestable man who did not even take pleasure in my captivity. He just wanted me gone and done with.

"I bought you this damn shirt with my precious coin." He picked it up while a scowl threaded into his features, his burned skin drooping with his frown. I blinked, and suddenly he'd launched the ugly thing right back to me. "I bought a room with two beds when I could've paid less to cram against you on a single fucking mattress, and yet you're whinging on like a brat. A brat!"

"You offered me refuge back in King's Landing, but this is no safety. This is captivity, and I'm less than a goddamn whore! I've been stripped of my identity and my house-" I paced a step to my right, throwing up a finger, "-I've been dragged around like a sack of wheat-" I flung another finger up, pacing now to my left "-and I've been forced to spend my days with the blandest, most discourteous man in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Would you like it better if you were still being beaten bloody by that blonde cunt sitting on the Iron Throne?"

"It's him, then it's you, then who fucking knows?" I yelled, stopping in my steps and turning my heel to face him angrily. "I'll sooner hang myself than be sold off to the next arsehole, the next man to be married off to, the next man to steal my own life from me."

"Poor little dove, despairing over a fucking marriage." He spat, grim laughter in his eyes as he distantly watched me step towards him. "What silks should she bear for the matrimony? Which fat, spoiled lord should she marry-"

As he blabbered on and as I fumed, I quickly snatched the pouch from his very hands, taking advantage of his surprise and marching off towards the door of our room. Sandor stuttered and called after me, and when I didn't bother to turn around, my hand already closing around the door knob, he snatched me by shoulder and pressed me against the oaken wall at the doorway's flank, blocking the way out.

"Get your hands off of me!" I screamed, slamming two hands against his chest. I fought him out of anger, though I knew it would be fruitless. I fought him out of the plain yet irrational incentive that my fury had instilled in me--a stifling hatred for him and Joffrey and everything that had been taken from me--as it was this incentive that had given me the balls to hit a man twice my size.

"Get ahold of yourself, Stark!" He then yelled at me so loudly that his voice rattled in my eardrums long after he'd spoken. Suddenly, he had my wrists together, collected between his rough fingers as he forced them against the wall above my head. My arms were raised and pinned against splintered wood; the pouch laid discarded against the floor.

"You may be unhappy with me, but you are not going anywhere. You may think it captivity, but I give you meat and mead and sheets. You are no prisoner. You will stay with me until I've gotten my money, and you will obey." His face was so close that droplets of spit had been flung against my cheeks, and I felt his breath as it closed in around my face. 

Our aggravation had blinded us both, and in our moments of fury, we'd positioned ourselves in a way that we were practically pressed against one another. Well, that was primarily his doing, but nonetheless, we'd found ourselves staring at each other with mere inches worth of separation, wide-eyed and troubled and nonplussed. Sandor scoured my face with a gaze far above mine, as his height put him directly above me and forced me to jut my chin up, towards him. The light of the afternoon pooled into the creases of his twisted scars, and as I stared at his disfigured face, I could feel his own gaze drink in the sunlight that bathed my chest, largely uncovered, thanks to the low neckline of my tattered shirt. 

I breathed in slowly. His eyes had ventured down there, too obviously now, and the tension that had polluted the air was thick enough to choke a grown man.

I couldn't describe how I felt about The Hound if asked with a sword at my throat. He was a disfigured, bitter, and selfish man, and it was impossible to sympathize with him. Though he must have been through terrible things in his youth, I'd surmised. I still hadn't found out how he'd earned those burned scars that coiled along the left side of his face, but even those seemed like physical manifestations of his spiteful person, not something that had been inflicted on him. 

And how could he have ever been hurt? He was well over six feet tall, and he made for a mean sight. Yet, despite everything that he stood for--him being a rogue knight whose hatred he wielded against everything living, against the entirety of the world around him, and him being a man who should've hurt me and raped me by now--he had still saved me. Or at least he’d delivered me from that hellhole of King's Landing. 

When I looked at him now, parts of him that seemed to want me dead, that seemed to want to strip me then and there, and that wanted to walk away and never breath the same air as me again glittered in his eyes like a kaleidoscope of flickering personas. I could not decipher him; I couldn't make out whether he was a danger or not, and that uncertainty scared me. But in equal part, it thrilled me--at least, somewhere deep within me. 

My brows furrowed in some blend of defiance and shock as I faced him. I observed his expression--one moment, his teeth were bared in something akin to hunger, and the next, he had blinked and expelled the thought, now gingerly letting go of my hands and letting them fall back to my sides.

"I provide you your necessities." He grounded out, his eyes burning into mine. "You are a lady, far away from home. You'll be with your aunt soon, but you're going to have to accept this treatment, like the quiet dove you are. I won't be having you acting the brat around me." 

"I'm no brat." I said, though my firm voice was quiet.

"You're a lady who wants her castle back and her silken gowns."

"And you're a dog, ordering a princess around." I said with muted anger. I didn't take kindly to being named a spoiled lady.

"Aye." He agreed, his eyes never betraying, never yielding anything for me to make out. "And the princess will follow. My fucking orders."

He grasped my chin then, as he rasped the words. I could've been terrified--I'm sure a part of me was--but instead, it mostly seemed that it was adrenaline which flooded me in that moment. Adrenaline, or whatever sick feeling had me reeling in perverse frisson, had shot straight through me and sent my breath rattling in my throat. Though my heart pounded as if I'd been cornered by a true, bloodthirsty hound, I nonetheless wrinkled my nose demeaningly and glanced Sandor Clegane up and down with flickering boldness.

"You wouldn't hurt me." I said with faux certainty. "You may be a dog, but you've got no bite. Not with me."

"Do you want to see?" He rushed forward. "Me bite?" The question--the threat--came whistling between his teeth like a sword against whetstone, his voice vicious and jarring. Any closer, and his nose would brush against mine.

I could see the contempt in his eyes, the challenge that roared and sneered in the face of my ire. I couldn't touch him. As much as I wanted to hit him and unleash my rage upon him, in a mere moment, he'd have me pinned against the floor or he'd knock a black eye into me for good measure. I was toeing a thin, precarious line--if I pushed him too far, what might happen to me? What might he do?

I breathed in sharply, feeling my anger pump my heart faster and louder, so that it thumped in my own ears. Anger--it was overriding my sense and my rationale alike to the point that if acting the brat in front of him meant that I could express my fury, then I found no problem with it. Thus, I stole more of the space of between us, wielding an audacity I hardly even knew that I'd possessed, and I firmly pressed my lips together as I stared him dead in the eyes.

"If you've got the guts."

When he moved, half of me had been prepared for the sting of the hit, but my gut instinct had been proven right--once his rough lips captured mine, I could hardly help the boastful smirk that immediately burned onto on my face.

His hand had moved beneath my jaw, and suddenly, the unyielding strength of The Hound was closed around my skin like a vice. The height difference between us was stark, but he made do with what he had. I did, too, despite what I should've done, what my septa would have cursed me for acting upon. Shoving down the shame, I kissed him back ferociously, the anger burning in my throat and exploding in the sweet burn that had kindled between our lips, which now fought and battled and made noises more lewd and sordid than I'd ever heard in my life. 

His other hand lurked behind my torso and grabbed at me violently, molding my body so that it arched beneath his. My own fingers clutched at the rough cloth of his brown leather tunic. A moan whorishly escaped my lips, soft in its breathy release, leaking into Sandor's voracious mouth.

Fingers made for handling a sword tore at the flesh of my stomach, bruising indentions into my alabaster skin and venturing up, beneath my shirt. I took a fearful breath in when Sandor's hand fisted around a tit.

"Brat. Goddamn brat." He grounded out when our lips finally parted. I peered up at him now, through blue, vulnerable eyes, stripped of the courage that I had before. The eyes that looked back at me were glossy with lust and hunger. All men have it, I thought, and yet somehow I hadn't deemed him capable of it. Not with me, not this unmistakable, not so goddamn ruthless and merciless. 

"S-Sandor.." I whispered, lips parted and glossed over with his spit.

"Look at you. A lady, defiled by a dog." His spoke demeaningly; the words struck me in my chest, in my pride, right where it hurt. The oldest daughter to Ned Stark and Catelyn Stark, soon to be devoured by The Hound. 

"You thought I'd hit you? No, dove, I could not hurt you. But I could fuck you. I could fuck you now--a pretty fucking thing with these feisty, soft lips."

His palm reached for my cheek, a gesture that was almost too soft to be his. His thumb pulled at my bottom lip. The fear that I felt wasn't how it normally felt; when Joffrey would have Ser Meryn Trant strike me or when he arrived at my bed, commanding me to undress for His Grace, the fear had spread and engulfed me so terribly that my whole body fell captive to it. Now, my body yielded to my terror, but not in the same way. Fear was now a stuttering hearbeat, a pulse between my legs, a sinister desire to have him devour and destroy and tear me apart, feats I'm sure he was capable of--a fact that sent thrill and terror bolting down my spine, indistinguishable from one another.

"I'd sooner hit you than do what my cock bids me to do to you. When I'm done with you, what would be left of you? I'd fuck the dignity out of you--the shame would ruin you. What lady is taken by a hound?"

I took heed of his words as they spilled treacherously from his mouth. What had I gotten myself into? Suddenly, in ululating tones of scorn and regret, shame was clamoring for attention and rationale was begging for second thought. What might Sansa think of you? Father, killed in front of your eyes? Your septa would forsake you, I thought glumly. Your family would think you mad, shameful. 

His palm was gone from my face. I glanced away, pondering it, fearing what I'd incited. Now, he'd rape me bloody. Or he might even walk away, and I'd sleep with the bitter regret of my foolishness and audacity still on my tongue. Whatever he wanted, I was to do. That's how it was to be.

No. No, I demanded all of a sudden. I just couldn't accept it. Slipping back into the past, I then thought back to when I was Joffrey's by right and by law. I thought of the powerlessness of it all; the powerlessness of my life, the trajectory of it and how my circumstances had reigned over me for so long.

"Joffrey always took me from behind." I spoke then, not even having bidden the words to come out of my mouth. When I looked up at Sandor, he held a steel look, yet his eyebrows had flickered in a soft instance of surprise. "He stole my maidenhood. He took no care in the way he treated me--he had..horrifying habits in the bedroom. I have the scars to prove it."

I looked down at Sandor's manhood as it peaked through his pants. His print was large, unmistakable, a great deal terrifying and imposing. But without thought, I reached and slowly ran a curious hand over it, feeling at the shaft and taking pleasure in the shocked sound that came from his throat.

"What lady is denied her pleasure?" I asked, stepping forward and allowing him to back up, towards the bed as I groped him with the will of my digits. "What lady is denied her desire? What lady is not treated as a queen when she'd bedded?" When he had stopped at the foot of the bed, I took my other hand and guided him to sit atop the sheets, so that he looked up at me--as little as he had to. 

"I will not be denied any longer. I won't be treated like some common whore or some delicate dove. I will be pleasured, because I am owed it, even if it's from a man like you."

As I looked down on him, I kept my chin high. In that moment, I looked at him--truly took him in, like I never had before. His vulnerability was a startling thing to behold, but still, I was sure I had it there, in his gaze and in his lips as they parted wordlessly. His brown eyes glittered in their almond hue; in the sunlight, they'd shone a burnished oakwood color. His beard trailed down to his Adam's apple, and his hair was a dark umber color, coated in a sheen of mellow sunlight.

I knew I wanted him then. I didn't have to fear him--I would not allow him to scare me into submission or impose himself upon me. I would take him how I wanted to. As I slipped a finger beneath the fabric of my pants and underwear, I held his eye contact while I pulled the garments down, discarding them with a shove of my feet. 

"You're a dog. Yet, here I am, a lady of Winterfell, stripping herself for The Hound." His manhood was a painful bulge in his pants now, and I could hardly keep composure as I thought of how he might feel inside of me. "Can you pleasure me, Clegane? Or not?"

Then, he began working to strip himself of his pants. Before I could blink, he had thrown it to the floor, and his cock laid exposed before me, demanding and angry and huge. Disproportionately huge, I thought to myself--Joffrey couldn't have been half of his size. It made my pride swell.

Without words, he took my waist between two hands and guided me gently onto his lap. I breathed hotly onto him, biting my lip as he devoured me hungrily with his gaze. His hand groped across my body, reaching beneath my shirt and helping it off of my body as I lined myself up with him and, eventually, took him inside of me. 

We both groaned at the sensation. For me, it was painful to stomach--I'd bled helplessly when Joffrey took me before, so I could not imagine what this might lead to. But it was my pace that led the pleasure first, for now, and I used that to at least get familiar to the sheer feel of him.

He took my breast in his mouth, circling his tongue around my pebbled nipple while I led a tantalizing pace. My nails scratched as his back, and my mouth produced soft, sighing moans as I bounced up and down atop of him.

"Should've killed him." Sandor mumbled as he took my other breast in his mouth, biting the supple skin around my teat. "Blonde cunt, never would've let him have his way with you..gods, now I'm fucking you, fucking your pretty cunt..so fucking deep inside of you.."

Slow fucking turned into desperate riding, and soon, I learned to take him steadfastly and proudly. I could feel him in my stomach, gods, it was titillating, wrong beyond definition and yet so carnally pleasurable. When I got tired, he held me in place and began to fuck himself into me, sending moans rushing out of my mouth, one after the other until my voice had weaved one, unending string of cries and needy implorations. And after that, with a single, fluid motion, Sandor's burly body moved me onto the bed and beneath him, so that he could drive himself into me endlessly.

He'd already come onto my stomach by then, and we'd gone a second time; I could feel the tingling beginnings of a climax in my stomach. Having switched positions, I now stood, ass up against his groin as he slammed into me from behind. The whole inn might have heard my pleasured cries by now, but it was of no concern to me. Let the whole town hear us--I was blind with ecstasy and beyond reason.

Sandor grasped me by the neck and pulled me in, towards him, snaking fingers between my brown locks to grab hold of me by my hair. "Such an obedient lady, taking my cock so good, hm? Should've fucked you a long time ago, if only I knew you'd feel so fucking good.."

I cried out as he plunged himself into me. "You're so-" my ass clapped against him, "-s-so big-" my legs shook, quivering as his body banged against my cheeks and left them red, "-I'm close-" wet sounds purged the air. My cunt was slick with my own fluids, destroyed and burning from his delectable abuse. 

"Here." He took ahold of my hand--letting him guide it, I found that he'd pressed my fingers against my cunt, where my folds glittered. "Touch yourself there. Press your fingers against it, see?"

A gasp of surprise fled my lips at the newfound sensation. Pleasure pooled in my stomach, and as I began to touch myself more deftly, my cunt grew more and more sensitive to the point that each thrust was a precarious step closer to the edge.

"Sandor, I'm going to c-cum, gods-" I chased the high relentlessly. My back was arched painfully, and my fingers worked ceaselessly at my clit. His cock was so far in me that I could see stars, and my stomach was a haze of dizzying, burgeoning pleasure--my climax came like a flood, and I nearly fell onto the bed in the overwhelming bodily sensation of it all. Sandor held me forcefully as he fucked me through to the very end of my orgasm, up until he himself rode through his own high. 

Leila is Chani’s trusted crony. While Chani and Paul share a passionate and intimate love for one another, as Paul embraces his role as Lisan Al-Gaib, Chani encounters detrimental trouble in dealing with his new persona and thus turns to Leila as a channel for her frustration. Leila has been Paul’s own medic for a day, and returning to his chambers to treat an opened wound, she takes her frustration out on him. And yet, she finds out he’s frustrated, too.

The full story will be posted on AO3–HAHA. Just kidding. I have no fucking motivation anymore and it’s killing me. If I manage to fill in a few scenes on this story, then it will make it onto AO3. The full story starts a few scenes ahead of this.

Also, this is based on the movies. I’m reading book 1 now, but I wrote this pretty early on. A lot of the stuff probably won’t make sense in the Dune world. If u have a problem suck my cokkk

Isn’t it obvious I like medic smut scenarios

Also if u want the ending of this tell me! idk if the Dune fandom will welcome me here🙏

I enter Paul Maud’Dib Atreides’ chambers for my second round—and yet within my circumstance, and the unfortunate display of events that have fallen into place, instead of knocking, I barge through.

Scarlett is a young member of the BAU—contemplative, decisive and quietly cunning. Spencer Reid is a young agent as well, with a running mouth clogged with data and facts, and a clumsy charm. Over what starts as a little rumor, and a shameful dream, two agents realize there’s not as much keeping them from each other than it seems.

— This is an excerpt from a short story/fanfic I’ve been putting together for awhile. First of all: I’m alive! Yes, if anyone cares 🤩. I’m coming back with yet another fandom to write about, and it’s Criminal Minds. Tell me if u want part 2 of this (smut), or if I should release the first parts. Or maybe whatever else I should write abt😻

As soon as the marble tiles hit Spencer's feet, he knows something is up.

A moment of eye contact doesn't say anything near what it used to. Even just an hour ago, when their gazes would come together, Scarlett's warm eyes would fall curious, maybe lost. But when he's locked eyes with her, fifty feet away, her body sunken in the couch, he realizes something changed. By the way she isn't watching him, digging for answers yet quick to avert her gaze elsewhere, he can just tell. Someone said something.

It kills him. They're standing in the same room, but they're thoughts have roamed to a distance Spencer can't calculate anymore. He has no idea what's been told to her, to what degree she knows, what she thinks of him anymore?

More than anything, Spencer frankly just wants to talk to her again. He's come to the revelation, slowly, that this has come too far. It should've been their own thing, but by the heaviness of the eyes on him, he senses more people know than he'd ever warranted.

When they're waiting for hotel keys, Spencer watches the three women head upstairs to their own rooms. The team's rooms will be adjacent to each other, as they always are. Derek's on the couch, eyes shut with his headphones on, when Spencer decides he'll interrupt his leisure time.

"Derek."

Spencer comes over, shaking him to his wake.

Derek doesn't take it lightly. He jolts awake, even with as light as he was sleeping, and peers at Spencer through slitted eyes.

"What is it?" He asks, grumbling.

Spencer sits besides him, and Derek sees his panic. His hands are gesturing hastily before he can ever get a word out.

"Scarlett knows something. Did you tell someone, Derek?"

Spencer watches, wide-eyed.

He actually wasn't expecting that Derek had told anyone—he took it that maybe Emily had figured out. But, judging by the way Derek goes dead silent, still as a dead fly, he realizes he overestimated Derek's loud mouth.

"..You told Emily?!"

"Reid, I'm sorry, I-" He faces Spencer, flushed red in anger. "I'm sorry, kid."

"You had one thing to do!"

Rather boiling with hysteria and panic than anger, Spencer puts his hands to the sides of his face. He sinks into the seat beside Derek's.

Spencer's plunged in contemplation. He doesn't know exactly what she knows, but there's a chance Scarlett knows that Spencer had a sex dream of her. He, as involuntarily as he did, pictured her, bare and nude. She, his coworker. She, his best friend.

"Spencer, I shouldn't have done it."

Spencer holds his eyes back from rolling into their sockets. Of course he shouldn't have.

"She's probably disgusted."

Spencer sighs. Derek watches him, bummed to see Reid like this. Stressed and almost wretched.

"..Reid, I told you. She likes you for you, she understands."

"No, she thinks I'm a weirdo who pictured her naked—wait."

Spencer stops. Coming to a pensive pause, he faces Derek.

"Did Emily say anything about how she feels?"

Derek's brows come up, and he smirks a little, lips parting. "That's the part I didn't tell you."

Spencer comes up. His limbs animate and his brown eyes burnish, staring at Derek for an answer.

"Emily's convinced Scarlett has the exact same feelings for you."

Derek watches as Spencer comes to an amalgamation of hope and, at the same time, the exact doubt that's been plaguing him the whole day.

"Emily's convinced. But Scarlett didn't say so."

"Reid, you have to find out for yourself."

Pressing his lips, Spencer meets Derek's eyes.

"..Tonight?"

Silence permeates the space with them, and Derek wordlessly nods deliberately.

Despite everything, every instinct upraised and alert in wariness inside Spencer, he knows tonight can only work.

Yet, as soon as Spencer gets his keys, he's darting to his room and closing it shut, through the doorframe without a peek towards Scarlett's door.

He can do it another day, right? He couldn't physically bring himself to her door—there couldn't be a magnet on Earth that could pull him away from his hotel bed.

Spencer feels pathetic. But the idea of the look on her face, her soft features all ruined with disgust and judgement—he doesn't want to fathom it. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to take any steps now. He's pacing the rug, biting his lips nervously when he quickly grabs his book from his bag. Hitting the mattress and burying his face into the words, a poor yet sufficient antidote for his raucous mind. For now.

Word after word, he forgets. Tonight, he reads slow. Sucking every word in and shielding himself from his embarrassment.

It feels like he can do this all night. He decides he’ll read, and read—move onto the next book if he has to—until he sleeps, without the worry of the decision plaguing him.

But someone has something else in mind.

Spencer had no idea how much time has passed when someone knocks on his door.

The cool, night air is ghosting, and Spencer's staring at his door.

It could be Morgan. He might be standing with a waiting expression before Spencer's door, waiting to drag him towards Scarlett's door.

Or it could be Scarlett herself.

Spencer keeps sitting on his bed dumbly, up until another knock comes.

He's tempted to stay rooted to his bed. He feels like he is. But he feels whoever's outside waiting, and with a volition he doesn't understand, he's standing. Walking over to the door, and after a few moments, he's turning the knob slowly.

Opening the door, Spencer finds his heart pounding when he sees Scarlett in front of him.

Brown hair caressing her shoulders, brown eyes staring up at him. She came over.

"Spencer."

She announces. Greets. Nothing can describe the air between them right now.

Spencer gazes down at her. She hasn't been this close since the coffee incident earlier the morning. It startles him, but having her near reminds him of the ease she used to bring him.

If it were under any other circumstances right now, he might just be able to be comfortable with her again.

He dismisses his thoughts, and decides to actually reply. ..After several moments, that is.

"Scarlett."

He barely utters out.

He can't read her. She looks like she's here for something, but it's taking her awhile to get to the point. Her gaze is wandering and quick—it almost seems she's .. about as nervous as he is?

"-Can I come in?"

Spencer's lips part ever so slightly—the smallest tell that he's relieved.

No repulsed retort, no glower. She wants to come in?

Spencer's mouth hangs open before he realizes how stupid he probably looks, shutting his lips and nodding.

Eyes hesitant, but warm, she smiles at him. Spencer watches wordlessly as her lithe body slips past him, into his hotel room.

He closes his door silently. He's staring at her back. Her hair looks weightless. He hasn't liked having to keep his eyes off of her—every chance that came around, he took to sneak a little glance. She's always been so effortlessly beautiful.

So why is she in his room? If she knows absolutely anything, why is she not hiding from him, at several doors' distance?

"You're reading Stephen King?"

She turns and Spencer gulps in his nerves, licking his lips and shuffling towards her.

"Um, yeah." He offers. "Garcia recommended the book."

Scarlett flips through the pages of The Shining. Her caramel eyes graze over the words lightly.

"It's good?"

Spencer's watching her, and his heart pounds when she meets his gaze.

"Y—Yeah." Spencer kneads a hand through his hair. "It's interesting. I tried reading it slower, to enjoy it more, but .. I only have maybe 40 pages left."

Scarlett nods silently, turning the pages and leaving the room wordless.

Spencer's eyes are furrowed. She comes into his room and takes it upon herself to read his book? While he could watch her fifty million times, eyes sucked in and file through her features that were so pleasant to the eyes—her softly pink lips, her alabaster skin—he can't. Cause he's about to bubble over with curiosity, the curiosity of why she ended up with him despite the odd circumstances.

"Scarlett-"

He gulps when her gaze comes to his. "Um. Don't take this wrong, I just want to know. ..Why are you here?"

Her lips sit in silence. Spencer's fidgety, yet he can't keep his eyes off hers. He's searching the burnished color of her eyes for answers. While she's prone to go silent like this sometimes, there is just so much more tension in her quietness.

She diverts her eyes somewhere near the floor, and comes forward a bit. Spencer can feel himself struggling to keep up with the pace of his breathing.

"I'm here for a reason." She starts. She's not meeting his eyes fully, but there's a shift in her tone that makes her sound candid. She approaches, and Spencer finds the silence alarmingly deafening.

Then she locks their eyes.

"Spencer..did you have a sex dream about me?"

SHIT.

Spencer's immediately red. He opens his mouth for words to come out, but it turns out there's a void between his lips.

He feels like killing Derek. As he stutters and spits and glances around, mumbles coming out jumbled from his tongue, curses are spilling in his mind.

Nothing coherent comes out of his mouth. He doesn't bare to see the look on her face—he's so caught up trying to make a response that somehow suits his needs, he doesn't recognize the apparent calm in her countenance.

"Spencer, look I'm not mad about it."

Then Spencer stops.

All his attention is on Scarlett. It's her turn to halt into silence.

Maybe he's wrapped up in a delusion. But she looks rosy, put in a daze, as he does, too. It's an odd moment—they're both flustered. Staring at each other, Spencer has the feeling they're both, individually, trying to put together whether they want the same thing.

He's not sure at all. But she's come close, and he's praying she rejects him, before the urge to end this burdensome situation by bringing their lips together ends up becoming too much to bear.

"Scarlett, tell me what you want."

Her gaze is suddenly glued on Spencer's.

He's staring at her with an unfeigned curiosity. He leaves room for the possibility that he's got this completely wrong. But what he said is completely candid—he wants exactly what she wants.

If Scarlett wants to rush out the door in disgust, she can and will. If she wants to forget about all of this, sure. If her eyes are telling the truth, and the crave lacing her pupils isn't a daydream, he'll give her everything she needs.

Following Crooked Kingdom events, Wylan and Jesper are living together peacefully at the Van Eck mansion. Wylan’s father is behind bars, but after everything, Wylan finds himself more scarred than ever. After the pain gets unbearable, Wylan decided to reveal to Jesper why he really found himself in the slums of the Barrel.

I saw a fanfic like this on ao3, same plot with the whole Jesper finding out that Wylan’s father sent guards to kill his own son but I swear this is original I don’t even remember reading it. This is also like my first time writing angst and shit it’s so bittersweet to write it

I think I’m also gonna post this on ao3 I just made an acc so u might see it on there

Wylan didn’t think his life was real.

Living as a Van Eck had proved Wylan used to a chaotic lifestyle: intermittent abuse, most of the days being completely ignored by the people in his own house. Despite his newfound life as a rich man with the lover of his dreams, the years of Jan’s constant malicious words had caved a wound deep inside him, possibly beyond healing.

:readmore:

On the latter, Jesper was unshakeable. With all the money in the world, his debt paid off and able to roam a mansion of his own as much as he reckoned would satisfy him—the lack of gambling, however, had made him a little too jittery—Jesper didn’t really have a worry in life. At least, if he did, he feigned It’s nonexistence.

Jesper thought everything was over. For him it was, but for Wylan..it was terribly frustrating, but he couldn’t seem to move on from the past.

Wylan didn’t want to admit it to himself but, there in the dregs of his heart, he still cared about his father. He always had, despite every single cruel thing he’d deliberately done to his own son. Sending him to a prison didn’t sit well with him, not when he shared the same blood. Not when Wylan found himself still lingering to the time when Jan Van Eck was a father—truly too long ago that Wylan couldn’t cherish the scattered memories of the time, but there was an innate remembrance of the period. All Wylan really wanted, was his father to be accepting of his son again.

Hell, he should’ve moved on by now. For moments at a time, with Jesper—when they were sucked in a kiss, when Jesper would make a funny joke and everything in the past vanished for an impeccable moment. In music—his Kerch fingers running along the keys of the grand piano he never realized he missed so much, the sweet sound of his flute echoing in the garden. For moments at a time the past was cured.

Moments.

Wylan had read the newspaper one day and witnessed a large article with his father’s face front and center, describing the imprisonment of the once prestigious Van Eck. He went to the bathroom and cried like a child.

The ache got unbearable enough that eventually Wylan got the courage to have a talk with Jesper. He didn’t necessarily know the exact things he was going to tell him—which was quite odd, since Wylan usually planned things beforehand in case things went awry, but, as far as he knew, he was going to fill in Jesper with what he didn’t know.

“So.” Jesper placed his tea cup on the table side and climbed their queen sized bed, watching Wylan with anticipating eyes. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Wylan’s fingers were fidgeting fervently. He licked his top lip and inhaled a breath.

It’s going to be okay.

“I didn’t tell you everything.” He started, taking small steps toward the bed. “About my father.”

“I didn’t think he could do a lot worse than he’s already done.” Jesper said with a short chuckle, then cut his mirth off like the twig of a tree. He saw Wylan’s blue eyes gloss, and every bit of happiness, every exaggeration of it inside of him, vanished like the coin of a magic trick.

“Come here.” He offered, gesturing to the bed. Wylan nodded, a bare budge of his head, and climbed into the space beside his boyfriend.

Jesper cradled Wylan into a warm hug, watching him attentively. Wylan resisted every urge to dismiss all that was happening here.

“I..I didn’t run away.” His words were tentative and pithy. He could barely maintain eye contact with Jesper, but he tried. “One day, my father told me he was going to send me to a music school in Belendt. It was convincing enough; he put two chaperones on the boat with me. We were out on the shore, a distance away from the harbor of Ketterdam, when..”

Something caught his throat. His father’s guard, Prior’s, hands were suddenly tight against his neck. The distance from the harbor and the panic of that day were tangibly there, like he were living through it once again.

Then there was a warmth at his fingers. Jesper was taking his hand in his.

“Go on, Wy.” He urged with a soft tone. The memory was farther, less real now that Jesper was there, fingers intertwining with Wylan’s.

Wylan took in a breath. “I was never meant to get to Belendt. My father, he..wanted me dead before the ship could ever reach land.”

There was silence. Wylan had gone over such things too much for his own good, but it still hurt to relive it. Especially say it to someone.

“Saints, Wylan, I’m so sorry.”

Wylan was never really fond of sentiment, but something in the tone of Jesper’s voice made his throat taut, struck his face with a squirmy sensation. He knew tears were coming.

“I didn’t think I could hate your father more.” Wylan faced Jesper fully, allowing himself to be vulnerable. “I don’t think even prison deserves him.”

There was little humor there. Jesper’s voice had turned bitter.

He wanted to believe that. Wylan desired with every swell of his heart that he could hate his father. Thinking about it made the tears come quicker, and Wylan found himself swiping bitterly at the first tear that streamed down his face.

As his chest heaved in heavy waves, Wylan found his face cupped by Jesper’s hand, his lovely fingers thumbing his lightly damp cheek. The next tear came at the other cheek, and Wylan was suddenly fighting an avalanche from falling.

“I still love him.” Wylan said, and a little cry followed. “I want to hate him. After everything, why can’t I hate him?”

Wylan reeled at the weakness in his voice. He hated how pitiful he sounded. But Jesper’s loving, caring gaze made that feel irrelevant.

“He’s your father.”

It was, after everything, so simple. He would always love him, he would always long for what they once shared so long ago—a father-son bond, nothing more, nothing less.

Wylan curled into Jesper, weeping. Slowly, he unfurled the years of abuse he’d undergone, the words of his father’s that stung the most, the days he felt most alone and didn’t think he’d surmount to anything at all. And Jesper was there, the prize after all the hurt and the pain, the priceless sunset falling against the hills at the end of a long, tedious day.

You’re a new member of Kaz’s gang of crows. You and your boss share a cryptic relationship which neither of you seem to understand how to approach, but within one night in which you attend to a dire wound Kaz receives in battle, the two of you discover your true feelings for each other.

I didn’t think this was actually gonna be seen so I never finished it .. I just checked to see how it was doing and I screamed 😭, so I like rushed the ending part — and DISCLAIMER: I’ve heard some controversy about how smut about Kaz should be written since his trauma unfortunately hinders him from physical touch. I haven’t been necessarily finished the SOC storyline, when I started this I hadn’t even begun the books so let’s just say my writing is very likely inaccurate but I tried my best to be realistic. I read thru this again and I realize I made a lot of mistakes having to with this but I didn’t mean any harm 👌

Like a rabid animal that had been held back, Kaz lunged forward, finally connecting your lips with unhindered force, his fingers molding into your neck, supporting you as he dove into your lips. Passion teemed between the connection of your lips, his tongue dominating and entering your welcoming mouth. You moaned into his, softening under his touch.

His hand at your neck rushed to your back to force you closer to him, your breasts now hitting his clothes. He further deepened the kiss, exploring the depths of your sultry mouth until you two were breathless, throbbing.

In that last moment he pulled back, a sigh escaping his lips, and you doing the same as you two parted from the vigorous, ungovernable passion.

:readmore:

You and Kaz looked at each other. Really, looked at each other—not like the faint glances you'd once given, unsure of your feelings for one another. You looked right into each other, you gazing into his once cold blue eyes, now incandescent in their softness.

This was Kaz Brekker. Beneath his cynical skin, here he was. Dying to fuck you.

And like that, Kaz was shirtless again. With a bandaged waist, nonetheless, but finally you were allowed to explore his chest as you had yearned to do so badly moments ago. Feel the strength of his muscles, run your fingers over the surface of his pale skin.

But you wanted to allow him such pleasure, too. So momentarily, you hurriedly peeled your shirt off from yourself, cold air hitting your shoulders. With coy eyes, you gazed at Kaz as you slowly reached at your back, releasing your bra, letting it fall to your legs and to the floor.

His eyes were free and vulnerable—a sight to behold. They disarmed immediately under your gaze, then wandered greedily as they meandered the softness of your skin and the pertness of your breasts. Before long his fingertips and the sensation of his lips were all over you.

His gloved fingers brushed against your breast, his tongue delicately roaming your sensitive nipple. You mewled, throbbing, yearning and needing all at once at his touch, fingers crawling at his back, grabbing at what they could.

"Kaz.." you whispered, edged with something harsh like sin. Greed. Desire. He groaned against your skin with his lips exploring your breast.

"Such a good girl.." he hissed. Your brows tightened in pleasure, your restless fingers bringing themselves to dig into Kaz's hair.

Lower and lower, Kaz moved, towards your aching cunt. You were just so sensitive; every brisk touch sent shivers down your spine, engendering greatly your growing need for Kaz deep inside of you.

His clothed fingers slipped into the sides of your pants, and steadily, pulled them down your thighs and down to your legs, allowing you to squirm out of the garment and push it aside. And he did this all while maintaining a lustful gaze—silent, but intimate and personal. The intent of his gaze pulsated in the blue of his eyes.

The intensity in the air was so sharp, it could have been sliced by a dagger. As the tension continued burned, your hand reached for Kaz's.

He scrutinized you intently as you placed his gloved hand in yours. You'd heard tales from the crows about the truth of Brekker's gloves as well as from the whispered rumors of the Barrel; he had never allowed anything to brush his bare fingers, at least for as long as he'd owned his gloves. You knew this was something to do with his past—the tales of his digits being stained with blood made you scoff. Although you wanted to unveil all the layers of Kaz, explore his past and understand the core of who he was, you understood that it would take time.

"..Is this.." you began, holding his hand in yours, as you snuck two of your fingers just barely into his glove. He looked afraid—you knew this was novel to him as his eyes gaped. "Is this okay?"

Kaz's blue eyes then averted from your hand to you and your comforting, lovely gaze. Even if this was difficult for him, he knew he was safe with you. Something about you soothed him, made him want to open up, and there weren't many with the same ability as you.

"Slowly." He eventually whispered, and his voice, his voice was no longer strict. It was wanting, heartfelt.

With an assuring nod of your head, you peeled his glove from off his hand. His hand was beautiful—his skin was soft and his fingers were slim and worked. You guided his fingers between yours, massaging his sleek skin, slowly welcoming his touch.

"I wish you wouldn't hide this." Your voice was low, husky, matching the quiet and amorous atmosphere of the room. "You've got beautiful hands."

"What makes you think that?" He inquired. He was staring at you so intently, eyes so sharp and cunning. He couldn't get enough of you.

You ran your fingertip along the side of his finger, stroking it back and forth. "You have strong skin. Strong fingers; it shows how far you've come."

His brow raised softly. He loved how you worded things; he never thought he'd hear such a thing about him in his life.

Desire sprouting inside of him, Kaz cupped your jaw with his vulnerable hand so quickly you didn't process it until you realized his lips were back on yours. He kissed you fervently, gliding his other hand along your side and onto your breast.

You went like that for awhile until he was back down at your waist. You stood, back against the seat, your cunt begging for touch as Kaz fiddled with the cotton of your underwear, teasing you, loving seeing you so bare.

"You're so perfect." He said as he scrutinized your body. Every scar from the battles before, he loved every inch of you. A tender smile grew on your face.

Patience withered, he slipped the panties from under you. His bare fingers traveled, and he slipped one into your entrance, breaking the earlier anticipation. Your breath hitched, lips split as you watched in front of you, Kaz Brekker fingering you. Like each one of your dreams went.

His left hand followed to press against your clit, rubbing circles into your cunt. The feeling of his fingers was more pleasurable than you could’ve ever imagined—you grasped the edges of the seat, breathing heavily. You were already so wet.

You were mewling and struggling to contain your composure as Kaz entered his ring finger in, pumping his two digits slowly in, allowing you to get accustomed to the tense feeling. He continued to play your pussy with his fingers, eyes reaching your dazed ones.

“There you go. All mine.” He crooned, hovering forward, as he was on his knees, to unleash hot breaths onto your lower stomach and waist, staining your skin with his saliva.

“Kaz…Kaz, don’t stop..” you begged, going on to dig your fingers into his brunette strands of hair, grasping his scalp and tightening your already taut hold as he quickened his pace.

At this point you were a mess. You bucked against his hands as his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot inside of you. Moans fled your mouth, your body stuttered and buckling. Sweat trailed at your temples, the beginning fluids of your climax coating Kaz’s fingers and trailing down your shivering thighs.

“Kaz, I’m gonna..” you bit you lip as his pace became quick and restless. You felt your climax approach, and your body could just barely handle it as your fingers gripped the edge of the seat and roam Kaz’s hair desperately.

“You gonna cum for me?” You nodded fervently with tightened brows. He loved seeing you like this, all he wanted to see was you come undone for him, split in front of him and climax onto his working fingers. “Come on, darling. Cum for me.”

That tipped you over the edge. Your pupils dug into the back your head as your back arched simultaneously. “Fuck!” You cried with collapsed breaths, and you came undone right there. Fluids dripped and coated your pussy, leaving Kaz’s fingers soaked. You shook intermittently, breaths dissolving into the air like mist with your eyes shut, processing all the pleasure that you’d felt all at once.

“Perfect.” Kaz said as he came back up to you, watching as you shook in your strained breaths.

You’re a new member of Kaz’s gang of crows. You and your boss share a cryptic relationship which neither of you seem to understand how to approach, but within one night in which you attend to a dire wound Kaz receives in battle, the two of you discover your true feelings for each other.

This is only the first half of the story, I’m posting this to see if it actually gets any attention and whether I really want to post it cause I’ve never actually posted smut in my life. If it gets enough response I’ll post part 2

"Sit down here."

Kaz had a hand pressed tautly against the detrimental wound pulsating at his ribcage; blood was melting through his clothes as he stumbled into the seat. You were beginning to hurriedly gather the loosely placed medical supplies along the countertops—scrambling, to say the least. It was rare for Kaz to get injured in battle like this in battle, it sparked a panic hotter than Hell in your chest.

"You're bleeding badly." You said as you placed your hands under the running water of the sink. "Take your shirt off."

Kaz, without a word, followed your orders. Although the command did catch him off guard, he followed through without a thought.

Fleetingly, you rinsed your hands and dried them, then sped to Kaz's side, spilling all kinds of tools onto the table adjacent.

Upon facing back to your boss, It took you quite the moment to realize that he was already shirtless. The shame at your involuntarily wandering eyes set in quickly as you turned your focus to his wound.

It was nasty. A successful sword strike—any further into his core and you might've not been able to fix him up in time.

"How the hell did you get this?" You asked, splitting the silence as you grabbed a large cloth.

"I was caught off guard. Stupid bandits pulled an ambush." You quirked a brow, hoping to distract him as you readied the cloth before the wound. His chest heaved, and you just couldn't seem to decipher whether your thundering heartbeat was due to the direness of the situation or the picture of Kaz Brekker shirtless.

You scolded yourself for even considering such a thing at such a moment.

"Ready yourself. I'm going to apply pressure to the wound." You warned.

"Hurry up and get it over with." He said with a low voice.

You did just that. The moment you enforced pressure onto his side, he breathed a pained groan, eyebrows furrowed as his hands clasped the side of the chair. You tried not to think at all as you continued to try and stop the bleeding.

After such treacherous few minutes, you pulled the cloth, dripping with Kaz's blood—a grotesque sight—to see his wound had just barely stopped producing blood.

"Okay, stay with me." You looked up to your boss to see a tired, pained expression. You could see his unwillingness to completely show you that he was suffering just threading his mien, but the pain seemed to be just enough to tear through most of his armor. "Are you okay?" You asked.

"Yes. Fine." He spat quickly, harshly. "Just, keep on going."

Throughout the whole process of healing his wound, all during it you never seemed to get habituated to the sight of his bare chest. You never thought you'd live to see him so vulnerable, it was certainly novel, to say the least.

Still, you completely forced denial unto your filthy thoughts. Even if they lingered there, watching his muscles heave and move with his breaths, the twitch of his face at the pain, you told yourself they did not exist. You scolded to yourself that it was shameful to conjure up such nasty thoughts at a time like this.

"Okay." You concluded after such tense silence. The wound was cleaned and ready to be covered, and Kaz was still alive. Thank the Saints.

"Can you sit up?" You asked, and Kaz nodded. You were just about to lend a hand before he starting grudgingly lifting himself up on his own. You knew he wouldn't accept your help.

Every rise of his chest, the more your thoughts roused and resisted being denied. The more your heartbeat gained acclimation again, your lips parting, watching as his brunette hair fell before his face, eyes hidden in a shadow, only the lightest of his blue eyes apparent. You knew the look of him right now would be stuck in your mind for the coming weeks.

If Kaz saw you right now, oh you didn't dare let him get a peak of your disorientation right now. You spoke quickly to hide your adoring face. "Hold still. This is going to take a second."

With a muttered "mhm", you kneeled down before him to get closer to his wound.

You were so utterly sinful. As you wrapped the linen bandage around his waist, each little contiguity, each little brush of the skin brought you filthier thoughts. You grasped for control, and just barely—after a torturously long moment—you fixed the bandage around his wound.

"Okay, you're good." You said with finality. Kaz nodded at you, and the moment you thought it was over you began putting the supplies away. You wanted get as far away from this little crush on your newly appointed boss as possible.

"Y/n." You froze and turned back to Kaz at the sound of your name, now finally donned in his vest again. "You've been hurt, too."

His eyes led you to the cut that had been bothering you for awhile. It was just at you lower side, sitting just below your breast.

"Oh, it's..nothing." You brushed off, hoping to settle for some good rest. You began to walk back over to the supplies when Kaz called for you once more.

"Don't think you're leaving here without that being properly bandaged." Oh, Saints. "It could get infected."

There was no way out of this. You sighed audibly, relenting at his wish, more so command.

You sauntered slowly over to the chair as Kaz leisurely climbed out of it, allowing you to sit atop, as he just had done before. Kaz began again gathering the supplies while you sat, wary of what was to come. The cut was placed at a certainly tricky place.

Moments passed and he had the supplies together. His gaze fell upon your apprehensive one. You felt yourself tense at his undivided attention. "Lift up your shirt."

Your lips fell agape at the sudden words. Breathing pattern hectic once again, you followed through with his command just somehow.

Kaz slowly walked over to you. He held a wet cloth in his gloved hand, and as he approached, the air between the two of you thickened so much you felt it, each inch, as it sat between you and your boss. You were absolutely disheveled, eyes not knowing where to look.

The sensation of the cloth hitting your cut made you cringe and seethe out a strained breath. You heard his breaths, each one, one after the other, as he scrutinized you.

..You were so close.

The silence was grating and horribly tense.

You and Kaz looked at each other, and for a moment it seemed he were having the same thoughts.

Then, as each one of your filthy dreams went, you watched in utter disbelief as Kaz Brekker leaned his head in towards yours. As his unoccupied, right, gloved hand traveled towards the nave of your neck, you melting below him, moving towards him meekly. Still with no idea what was happening.

Yours and Kaz's lips hovered not even an inch before each other, both your eyes closed, relishing in the moment. Your chest fell and rose, cheeks burning, everything ablaze.

Is this a dream?

Ominis Gaunt x Fem!OC (you can imagine yourself) also Sebastian Sallow x Fem!OC

Alice Cade is making amends with Sebastian while her friendship with Ominis Gaunt continues to exponentially grow. Yet in a night of confession and confrontation the tides shift in unforeseeable ways.

No smut, just fluff for this part

Times were shifting.

The beginning of 6th year could not be going any better. Finally, Sebastian had come to his senses and we had begun to make amends. My friendships with two fellow Slytherins, Ominis and Imelda, we nurturing excellently. I had grown close to Natty and Poppy. And no trials. I woke up from full, supple nights of sleep waking up and stopping to wonder if it was all real. Yes, nightmares of the horrors before, fighting Ranrok, tormented me, yet only few times a month now. I wasn’t afraid to sleep.

It was just after dinner when Ominis had invited me into the Undercroft for a “serious talk”. I didn’t have an idea of what he might want to bring up, excoect for maybe any lasting concerns about Sebastian, but I doubted it. But what was he bringing up?

:readmore:

I thought out millions of possibilities as I quietly entered the Undercroft. Upon entering, I faced the sight of Ominis pacing at my far right.

“Ominis.”

His jaw rose and he turned, facing me with his hazy eyes.

“Alice. I’m glad you came.” I sauntered over to him, face dipped in a smile. “Surprised that you and Sebastian weren’t so busy flirting, it hindered your arrival.”

“Oh, shush.” I urged with a light roll of my eyes. A chuckle fell from his lips.

“So. I came expecting..a “serious” talk?” I inquired.

“Yes. Yes. Well, er,” my face puckered—out of all my conjured possibilities, none of them necessarily went like this. “It’s certainly harder to start this than I forethought.”

“..Whatever it is, you know I won’t judge.” I stated with reassurance.

“I know.” I watched his eyes dip like a rollercoaster descending.

“I did not expect to..experience such an amazing start to the year after the last’s events.” I nodded in agreement then murmured an “mhmm”, forgetting Ominis couldn’t see my gestures. “And all of that is credited to you. I’d first like to thank you.”

A soft smile appeared on my face. “Of course. I think it was a two-person effort, however.” I added with a larger smile.

His face matches mine, expression immediately lighting up. “Now. ..Promise me that this won’t change anything of our..friendship negatively.”

My eyebrows furrowed following his words. “..I’m not following?”

“Just promise me. Please.”

With the sweet please, I went ahead and followed blindly. “I promise.” I said without knowing the meaning of my own words.

There was silence. I watched his shoulders rise, his chest with them. It was easy to analyze Ominis, for pretty obvious reasons—I sometimes found myself mindlessly watching the most minor of his movements.

My mien was of pure confusion when he spit out his next words:

“I think I fancy you.”

Now I was absolutely not expecting that.

My newly acquainted best friend liked me?

Well, I admit it wasn’t entirely one-sided.

—Wait, what?

So much came at me at once. Suddenly my friendship with Ominis was put in perspective. The idle glances were put in front of me, and I was forced to understand their meaning, each and every one. And, of course, Sebastian.

Sebastian would kill Ominis and fuck the shit out of me if he figured out we were having this conversation.

“Please don’t tell me your promise was in vain.”

I was suddenly sucked out of my trance back to the face of Ominis.

“No, no. It wasn’t in vain. I just..I just need a moment to think.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you do.” I scrutinized his face, and I realized this wasn’t the reaction he’d wanted. He looked rueful.

I didn’t want to leave him hanging like this. But how was I to go about this? Such a face fuck of information so quickly when I was in the midst of reestablishing a relationship with Sebastian?

Then I realized the decision was put forth—Ominis? Or Sebastian?

Fuck.

“I..” my eyes flickered like lightning back to Ominis’. “I just wanted to say something before it was too late. Sebastian will kill me either way, but now I suppose—it sounds cruel, but now I won’t be implying for you to cheat on my old best friend.”

Oh, shit. What would this do for them? They haven’t even reconnected yet.

But, besides all the qualms, I was suddenly thrown into a pondering session over the person who was Ominis Gaunt. Kind, spectacular, hot.., right, loyal. Most of which Sebastian was not. Of course ostracizing hot. And spectacular. I suppose he was kind in some respects as well, but that’s besides the point.

And I saw, as I gazed at him, a desire. He was right there, he had been right there. A cheek I wanted to cup with my hand, enticing skin. A smile I never knew I endeavored for every day.

Merlin. What is happening to me.

“I..” I spit out something to finally give Ominis an answer. “I can’t say I don’t fancy you back.”

The color in his face, with a snap, rushed back. “You..you can’t?”

“No.” I tried to find the right sequence of my next words. “But you know I also have the same feelings for Sebastian. And by doing this you are still forcing me to pick between two of loveliest (I wanted to say hottest, as well) people I’ve ever met.”

His lips parted in response, yet they took a moment to sit together. “I..didn’t think of it like that.”

A little sigh came from my mouth. “When did..when did you start liking me?” It felt odd to say such a thing. “..Why?”

He paused. “I guess I don’t know. When.” My eyes were of a doe’s now. Now that I’d acknowledged I had a little adoration for Ominis Gaunt, I couldn’t seem to get enough. “And as for why, why not?” It felt like blossoms were pricking my cheeks. “I’ve never been so close to a girl. None have ever took to be close to me, it seems inevitable I’d start liking you. I..I cannot see, but you have the most amazing personality I’ve ever encountered. When Sebastian described you all those months before, you..you seemed pretty.”

I’ll be honest: Sebastian hadn’t said anything like that. “Ominis, I.. I don’t know what to say.” The butterflies in my stomach were creating a lack of air.

As I regained a little bit of my stability, I suddenly got an idea. “I..I don’t know if this will help in any sort of way, but,” I hesitated, like I always do, but this time I decided I had to store that away. “Here.”

Slowly, I grabbed his hand. The sudden touch, I saw, took him aback. I led his hand to my face, and placed it to cup my cheek.

“If you want, feel free to feel what you wish.”

I felt myself going red—the bombardo spell must have been slowly taking affect of me. His hand’s touch was already overwhelming enough.

Mouth agape, Ominis eventually began exploring each of my features. His fingers brushed my cheeks, my chest heaved faster, his fingertips then stopped at my lips. I began to have a seizure.

“Is this okay?” Consent kinggg 🫶🫶

“Yes.” I assured, maybe even ushered.

A smile came to my lips, and as it did to Ominis, I softly laughed.

“You are so beautiful.” My lips then drifted apart. I had nothing blessing my tongue.

He moved on. And as he went from my nose to my eyebrows, a shadow danced suddenly in the background.

Hold up—

If that was what I thought it was…

I held Ominis’ arm before pulling my wand out and muttering “revelio!”

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Sebastian!”